As Fire is to Gold (Chronicles of the Ilaroi Book 1)

by Mark McCabe

  The fire made the room quite warm, for which Sara was most thankful. All she had on was the nightshirt she had been sleeping in when the two strangers had grabbed her. She flushed in embarrassment as she suddenly realised how she must look.

  Though there was much about her appearance she would like to change, Sara sensed that she was at least moderately attractive and was glad to have inherited her mother’s tall, slender build. She’d seen the appreciate glances she drew from men when she worked out at the local gym, and she liked that attention, even if she still wasn’t always quite sure of the best way to handle it. It was a welcome change from the feelings of inadequacy she’d endured through her early teens. Her form and looks had undergone some substantive changes over the last few years; she only had to look at her old school photos to see that.

  Not that she was unhappy with the transformation. Slowly but surely her circle of companions was changing, from one dominated by members of her own sex to a much more evenly balanced mix. The increasing attention she was receiving from boys at college was helping her build a sense of self-confidence that would have been unthinkable to the shy girl she had been at school. Where she’d once dreaded being the centre of attention, now she felt much more relaxed . . . normally that is.

  At the moment, her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail for sleeping and she was dressed for bed, which meant a short nightshirt and nothing else. The attention of boys at college was one thing, but she desperately wanted to cover herself in front of these strangers.

  With the arrival of the second boy, her captor turned her around. It was then she noticed the man seated in the armchair in the corner behind her. She’d had her back to him until then and hadn’t noticed him, even when she had turned to review her surroundings. She got quite a shock when she turned around to see him there, realising he must have been watching them all of the time.

  He was an older man, possibly in his forties or fifties, about her dad’s age she guessed. Like the two boys she had already met, he also was strangely attired, wearing a long, richly embroidered, maroon robe, belted at the waist with a broad black sash. His hair was jet black, as was the goatee beard and moustache he sported. The latter gave him a swash-buckling sort of look, very debonair and all that sort of thing, although something about him made him seem more menacing than dashing to Sara; the way he looked at her perhaps, running his eyes over her body, his gaze lingering in a way that made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. The armchair he was seated in was like one of those big ones she’d seen in some rich person’s study in a movie, very masculine and very comfortable looking, with big, curved, padded arms.

  Paradoxically, despite a real sense of presence about him, he didn’t look very well to Sara. Like the young girl at the table, he was quite pale and had hardly moved in the time she was looking at him. He just stared at her in an intense, unnerving sort of way. At least he wasn’t wearing a mask. He looked very human.

  Sara watched as he lifted himself up from the chair and, with a sense of great fatigue, began to approach her.

  ~~~

  Golkar’s mind was drifting. He was struggling to keep focus. He wanted so much to sleep, to let the growing blackness envelop him, to let it wash over and embrace him. It seemed so desirable, so enticing, so right to want to succumb. He wanted to rest. If he could sleep there would be no need to struggle anymore, no need for the pain to continue. He could just slip down into the darkness. It would be so easy.

  But no. Something was not right about that path. Something deep inside him rang out a warning. The darkness offered false respite. It was the harbinger of doom, a siren’s call, not a welcoming note. If he gave in to that enticement he would be lost, perhaps forever. That was it. That was the very thing he must not do. He remembered that much at least. He must keep fighting it. He must not give in. He had to resist. He knew that he had to find his way back, wherever back was, no matter how tired he felt, no matter how hard it seemed.

  He tried to focus on the light at the periphery of his vision. That would help, he was sure. And it did. It felt right. Slowly, like climbing a long ladder with a sack full of rocks slung across his shoulders, Golkar willed himself back, back from the abyss. Time passed. He could not tell how long. Minutes? Hours? Days? Who could tell? He felt clammy. He could feel the sweat running down his back, dripping from his brow. This was his greatest challenge, his greatest test. Never before had he felt that he was losing control, that he might not even want to return, let alone be able. The void was something to be tapped, not a destination, he had always known that before, never been tempted to join it.

  The light, which had been a blur at first, was like a beacon now. Something to steer by. A marker. Yes. Another memory. He had embedded that thought before he began, use the light as a marker to guide his return if he was in danger of losing contact. He struggled towards it with all of his might now, concentrating, fighting the blackness which even yet gripped him, clinging to him like quicksand.

  And then it was done. With a final wrench of his mind, and his body, he awoke, like someone suddenly freed from a terrifying nightmare. His flailing arm struck the candle beside him, knocking it aside and scattering wax across the papers strewn in front of him. He had made it; he’d survived. The sense of relief was so strong, so liberating. But what of the spell?

  Lifting his head, the first thing he saw was the girl seated across from him, dead now, just a husk. He remembered. He had used her essence, her life force, every drop of it, to weave his spell. That was a first. He had never sucked someone completely dry like that before, never needed to. He remembered how exhilarating that had felt. How he had felt the build-up of power within him as he delved to the very depths of her soul, seeking out the very last vestiges of her spirit. How she had cried out in the end, begging for release, pleading for mercy. How the last dregs of her essence had slipped from her, leaving her empty, skin and bones, blood and flesh, but nothing else, lifeless, a shell. There was nothing to compare with that, thought Golkar, nothing in this world. But what of the spell? Had it worked?

  Golkar’s eyes searched the room, quickly finding what he sought, shimmering in the corner of the room. Leaning back in his chair, he raised his clenched fists above his head in exultation. He had done it. He had achieved what had been done before by only one other, by Tanis himself.

  There, in the corner of his study, the portal hung, a tear in the fabric of space and time, the radiance of the void beyond peeping through the opening as he had expected it would. He had achieved the unthinkable; nay, the seemingly unattainable. He had created a bridge to another world and another time.

  A further quick scan of the room revealed no sight of Ruz or Tug. They must have gone through, as he had told them to do if he succeeded. Now all that they had to do was bring back what he needed. Doubt flickered momentarily across his thoughts. If it was there. If the spell had correctly targeted what he sought. Surely he couldn’t fail now, he tried to assure himself, not after having come so far. Everything hinged on this venture’s success, nothing could be more important.

  Important. What a small word for something that would change the fate of the world.

  The fate of Ilythia . . . in his hands! How right that felt. How could he doubt it? They would succeed. He had done the hard part, the rest would be easy now, even for Ruz and Tug. Tanis’ diary had been quite clear on how to do it, and on what it could deliver. The question had always been whether he could summon the mana required, and he had, even though it had taken him to the very brink.

  The Spell of Portal had been the most difficult he had ever attempted, by a very large degree. Its execution had almost been his undoing, it had nearly killed him. It certainly had killed the young peasant who had lent her essence to the enterprise. He was sure that the other Guardians had no idea it could even be done, assuming they would be willing to try it themselves, which he doubted. That, of course, was the best part of his plan. They wouldn’t know how he had done it.

  W
hat a plan he had forged, so simple in conception, so daring in execution; to bring into this world something outside of the balance established by the Ilaroi, a life force from another place and time. A small thing in so many ways and yet it would be enough, enough to upset the balance.

  As it was, the Guardians were equally matched. No one could overthrow another, let alone the combined powers of the remaining two. But to introduce an alien element, something from another world, that was the stroke of genius that Golkar knew only he could have devised. Certainly, finding Tanis’ diary had helped, but no one else had even thought to look for it. Golkar knew that the spells he could weave with the blood of such a creature would outdo even this one, unparalleled as it was. Then he would make them rue the day they underestimated him, Kell, Tarak, even the pitiful Algarians. He would watch them all bend their knees to him. That and so much more.

  His mind wandered on for some time in this fashion, re-examining each of the elements of his plan, like a jeweller admiring the intricacies of a many-faceted gem. His weariness finally brought him back. The spell had sapped his energy like none before it and he knew he would need rest before he went on.

  Straightening himself in the chair, Golkar rose wearily from the table. Reaching over he righted the candle. With his remaining strength, he dragged himself from the table to the armchair in the corner of the room, turned, and slumped into it. And there he sat, settling in to wait for the return of his minions.

  It hadn’t taken long; a matter of minutes at most. Of course, he realised, it might have taken much longer for them. He couldn’t be sure; time may have moved differently where they had been. He watched silently, exultantly, as Ruz stepped through with the young girl, bound and gagged as they had planned. A smile of satisfaction crossed his face as he saw that the spell had worked just as Tanis’ notes had indicated it would.

  Golkar’s gaze roamed greedily over the otherworld creature before him. Innocent blood. She will do nicely, he thought to himself, very nicely. Any life force would have done, but an innocent, all the better. And beautiful to boot. His anger flared momentarily as he wondered if Ruz or Tug had tampered with his prize. He would flay them alive if they had. She was not for the likes of them. She was destined for something much more than that.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Tug step through and the portal close behind him. Golkar felt a sense of relief with it sealed. With the three of them safely through the portal, he watched Ruz look around for his master, turning the girl to face him when he spied the wizard seated in the armchair behind them.

  He was pleased with the startled look that crossed her face as she turned. She hadn’t noticed him until then. How perfect, he thought. She was scared, and rightly so, like a trapped animal with nowhere to run. He was definitely going to enjoy this.

  Now that he had a clearer view of her, Golkar drank in her loveliness, this prize beyond all prizes, watching her squirm under his gaze. She was a rare beauty, he thought, tall, and slim, an innocent young girl on the verge of womanhood. Golkar couldn’t contain his excitement. He had to touch this treasure, to have one last drink of the cup of attainment before he rested. He could already smell her fear. He wanted to feel it as well, to feel her tremble at his touch.

  Wearily he raised himself from the chair and approached his two servants, and the bound girl trembling at Ruz’ side. The power, which had swelled to a crescendo within him when he had summoned the Spell of Portal, was slowly subsiding. As it did so it seemed to drain him of energy.

  “You have done well, Ruz, and you too, Tug,” he said as he approached them. “You will be rewarded for this. Was there any trouble?”

  “It was as easy as bagging a bantuk,” replied Ruz, smirking. “She never had a chance. It was just as you said it would be.”

  “And what is your name, my lovely?” asked Golkar, turning to the girl. Motioning for Ruz to undo her gag, he waited the few moments it took for his command to be accomplished.

  He knew that she would have no difficulty understanding him. Undoubtedly his words would be in a language the girl couldn’t possibly have any experience of. But that didn’t matter. One of the beauties of the portal was the cunningly wrought Spell of Translation embedded within it. It affected anyone travelling through the portal, no matter which direction they travelled in. Because of its effect they understood whatever language was spoken to them in the world they had entered, and they, probably without even realising it, in turn, would speak in the language of whoever they encountered in that world. Just as Ruz and Tug would have been able to understand and be understood by Sara in her world, the reverse was true for her now that she had entered Ilythia.

  “Sara,” the girl replied, interrupting his thoughts and looking up at him with wide eyes once the cloth was removed from her mouth. “What’s this all about?” she asked breathlessly. “Wh . . . why have you brought me here?”

  “Never mind that,” he replied. “Sara. A strange name. But then I guess you’re finding all of this a bit strange.” As he spoke he raised his hand to the girl’s face, lightly brushing his fingertips across her cheek as she flinched from his touch.

  Golkar felt the tingle and crackle of power as his skin touched hers, but too late to stop it. Desperately, realising the danger, he tried to pull back, but it was useless. It took only the merest fraction of a second for the energy to course up through her body, across the contact point where his skin touched hers, along his arm and throughout his frame. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, the energy from two worlds combined chaotically in Golkar’s body, welling up, out of control, hers drawn to his all the quicker by the spell’s residue within him.

  With a scream, Golkar was flung back across the room, his body thudding into the wall behind him. His carcass slumped to the floor like a broken doll. Ruz and Tug both stood there, mouths agape in astonishment. Sara’s cheek tingled where he had touched her. She had felt nothing more than that.

  Chapter 2

  Ruz bent down and placed his head against Golkar’s chest.

  “He lives,” he announced, standing up. His sideways glance at Sara showed a deal more respect than he had been prepared to grant her previously. “I think he’s unconscious, but he lives. What was that? It was incredible. I actually saw it arc across his arm toward her and then jolt back throughout his body. I don’t understand. We’ve both touched her and nuthin happened to us.”

  “I know,” replied Tug. “I’ve never seen it like that before, with me eyes I mean, just what he could do with it.”

  As Tug spoke, Golkar groaned. The wizard’s arm twitched slightly as he reached out and grabbed hold of Ruz, like a drowning man, desperately searching for something to cling to. His eyes fluttered and a series of tremors rippled across his prostrate form.

  “Get the hu-maan locked away . . . quickly,” commanded Ruz, as he knelt to help his master. His voice betrayed his concern. “Then come back here and help me.”

  Before Tug could move to obey, Sara made her move. She’d stood silently while her captors had attended to their master, realising this might be her chance to escape. Wrenching herself away from Tug, who had not had as firm a grip on her as Ruz had had, she darted for the door, only to realise that with her hands tied behind her back there was no way she could open it. Spinning around to look for other options, she found herself slammed into the door by a charging Tug. Quickly grabbing her as she thudded against the door, he twisted her wrist with one hand and gave her a stinging slap across the face with the other.

  “Don’t try anything like that again dog or you’ll really know what pain is,” he snarled, his face inches from hers. As he spoke, he opened the door and pushed her out into the corridor.

  Sara grunted as she stumbled and fell heavily against the wall opposite. Her shoulder scraped across the stone as she fell to the floor. With her arms tied, there was nothing she could do to break her fall. Her head thumped sickeningly against the floorboards. She had barely hit the floor when Tug was on her again, pulling her r
oughly to her feet and dragging her down the corridor, away from the room she’d arrived in. Sara stumbled uncertainly after him.

  Torchlight flickered across the floor as she shuffled along in his wake, half in a daze and with little awareness anymore of where she was. Her head rang and tears blotted her eyes. Unable to wipe her face, and with her vision blurring, she could barely see her feet in front of her. Searing pain radiated across her cheek from where she’d been slapped. Her shoulder felt like it was broken. Tug was cruelly twisting her wrists as he dragged her along behind him and the rope was burning her skin despite her attempts to move with him.

  Sara was dimly aware of steps down and a turn, followed by more steps and more turns. Before she could regain any real sense of direction, Tug opened a door at the end of a corridor and pushed her through it. Once more she stumbled and fell. As she lay there slumped on the floor, too dazed to move, she felt Tug kneel behind her and undo the bonds at her wrists. To her relief, he went no further, seemingly satisfied that he could expect no more trouble from her for a while at least. A moment later she heard a key turn and click and realised he’d left.

  Rolling over, Sara dry retched with her face inches from the dusty floor. She felt shivers running through her body as she eased herself to the floor, curling up as she fought the urge to vomit again.

  She lay there shivering for some time. After what seemed like hours, but was probably much less, she slowly began to regain her composure. She felt like she had been to hell and back. Her mouth tasted of bile and it seemed that whichever way she moved she hurt. Rubbing her wrists, she dragged herself to a sitting position, wiping the tears from her eyes as she did so.