The Sorceress: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 3)

by James Eggebeen

He just soaked it in, absorbed it, and made it a part of himself.

  A blinding pain stabbed him behind the eyes, as if someone had jabbed a needle into each one.

  He covered his face with his hands and screamed.

  The fireball he had been maintaining faltered, plunging them back into absolute darkness.

  “Control it. Don’t try to absorb it all.” Zhimosom heard Rotiaqua’s words once more.

  She was right. She always was. He grasped the power. Throttled it. Choked it off until just a trickle of it ran through him.

  The light returned, but not all the way back to its former level.

  “Remember that flavor,” Rotiaqua said. “Memorize the taste of it. We will be able to access it now whenever we need.”

  When he returned to the palace, Zhimosom wanted to see how much of the magic below made its way from the caverns up to the pools. Maybe that accounted for the healing properties of the water. He was eager to speak to Rotiaqua, but she was off with the queen and didn’t return until late. Garlath was away on some errand that he had not explained. It looked like Zhimosom was all on his own.

  He sat at the edge of the pool and watched as the water bubbled and cascaded down. When his heart had settled down, he retired to Garlath’s room and slept more soundly than he had in moons. He rose early in the morning and knocked on Rotiaqua’s door.

  “Come see the pools,” he said. “I found them soothing to watch.”

  Rotiaqua dressed quickly and followed him outside.

  The morning sun had just started to burn the dew from the grass. The pools shimmered with mist as the hot water met the cold morning air.

  “I still feel the power,” Zhimosom said. “Can you touch it?”

  “I can feel it through you, but I can’t touch it directly. I thought I had it, but this morning, it’s gone. Can you guide me to it?”

  Zhimosom reached out and joined his magic to hers. He sent the slightest thread of their combined magic deep within the earth to the heart of steam that powered the pools. He found that source of magic, tracking it down by feel, by smell, by taste. He shared it with her, showing her how he had harnessed and directed it while in the cavern.

  “I see it now. I don’t know why I didn’t earlier. This must be the power the dragons spoke of. I suppose we’d better get going, then. We should make haste for Amedon and find the spells we need to protect the dragons.”

  “Garlath said we can leave as soon as we are ready,” Zhimosom said. “He’s been in contact with the wizards in Amedon. They’ve begun searching for the spells we need.”

  “Will I get a chance to say goodbye to the queen?” Rotiaqua asked.

  Zhimosom wondered how Rotiaqua and the queen had grown so close so quickly. Was it because they were both royalty?

  “Not leaving,” he explained. We’re traveling ... by magic.”

  “By magic? I thought that took a lot of power.”

  “It does. We can use the power of the pools to travel to Amedon. We’ll be there in no time at all.”

  “Then I definitely need to say goodbye.” Rotiaqua stood up and rushed for the palace entrance.

  Zhimosom frowned. “Where are you going?”

  “To see the queen before we leave. There’s something I need to do.”

  Not long after Rotiaqua left, Zhimosom felt power well up in him. Rotiaqua was performing a spell, and she was drawing magic from him. Whatever she was doing, it was consuming a lot of magic.

  Was she trying to keep them from Amedon by consuming all his magic? He panicked and held it back from her, but she pressed him harder. As she summoned his magic, he felt the power of the pools blending with his own. She was channeling the magic of the earth through him, blending it together with his magic and her own. He even sensed the shadow of the mini-dragon that had so long ago given its magic to her. What was she up to? Was she in danger?

  He tried to contact her, to find out what troubled her that she needed such power, but she brushed him away.

  “Not now,” was all he heard in response.

  “What are you doing?” Zhimosom tried to rein in the power as it drained from him, to bar her from it, but she continued drawing on it against his will.

  “Don’t fight me!” Rotiaqua scolded him.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Trust me. Please.”

  He grudgingly relaxed and allowed her to channel the power through him. It continued on for some time before it subsided. When it stopped, a tingling washed over Zhimosom and the surrounding city appeared to ripple as if it had changed slightly from what it had been just moments before.

  Rotiaqua came rushing back. She looked exhausted, as if she had not slept in days. Her face was drawn and gray.

  Zhimosom pushed power into her.

  The color returned to her face.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I ... fixed ... it,” she panted.

  “Fixed what?”

  “I fixed the city.” She bent over, trying to catch her breath.

  “What was wrong with the city?”

  “The men,” Rotiaqua said, as if that explained everything.

  “What about the men?” Zhimosom didn’t like where this was heading. “What did you do?”

  “I cast a spell that will give the women power over the men. No longer will the men rule the women. Now the women have magic. They can defend themselves. There will be no more inequality. The women will see to that.”

  “What kind of spell did you cast?” he asked.

  “A subjugation spell. It stops the men from making slaves of the women. It gives them the power to fight back.”

  “Are you sure that was wise?” Zhimosom asked.

  “What harm can come of it?”

  Before Rotiaqua had finished speaking, the ground began to shake.

  The palace swayed.

  The water in the pools sloshed from side to side and spilled on the ground.

  Cries and screams came from within the palace.

  33

  The palace in Rohir shook violently. Pots flew from tables. Plants fell from walls. Furniture rocked on its legs then tipped over. The walls buckled and bent until, suddenly, a jagged crack ripped through the palace. It extended along the entire surface of the outer wall, an angry slash that spread even as Zhimosom watched it grow.

  And that was not all. Zhimosom had to crouch down to stay afoot as the ground swayed beneath him. The water in the pools sloshed violently from side to side. Steaming liquid splashed over the rocks and knocked many of the delicate hanging fingers of white crystals from the edge of the pools.

  Fragile white spears shattered on the rock below.

  After what felt like an eternity, the earth settled down.

  Zhimosom felt the flavor of the magic change around him.

  It had been altered, ever so subtly.

  The pools now flowed with water fed directly from the source below.

  Instead of the muted and filtered magic, the power was now resting on the surface of the great pools and flowing with the water as it cascaded over the rocks. It was no longer buried deep beneath the earth.

  Zhimosom turned to see Rotiaqua standing by with that look on her face. He’d seen it before. It was the look that she wore when she’d done something inappropriate and was proud of herself.

  “Did you cause this?” he asked.

  “I channeled some of the power of the pools into the city. It will power the spells.”

  Zhimosom searched for words to rebuke her, but he never got a chance. Garlath came running out of the palace, his hair peppered with dust and debris. “What happened?” he asked.

  “A spell,” Zhimosom said. “Rotiaqua cast a spell.” He held his fingers in the air about half a digit apart and then threw Rotiaqua a glaring look. “She said it was a tiny one.”

  “Tiny?” Garlath looked at the crack in the wall.

  “Well, not that tiny,” Rotiaqua said.

  “What does it do?” Garlath dem
anded.

  “Balances the power ...” Rotiaqua halted and turned her head up.

  High overhead, a dragon circled, making wide flowing arcs around the palace tower. It descended with each turn, until close to the ground, then it spread its wings and touched down between Zhimosom and the pools. It waddled over to Zhimosom and lowered its head, tilting its neck to get a better look at him.

  After a hand of heartbeats, the dragon turned to Rotiaqua and eyed her just as carefully as it had Zhimosom. Rotiaqua stood still before it, but unlike Zhimosom, she had a look of defiance to her.

  Zhimosom wondered what it was looking for. Were there outward signs that they had accessed a true source of power? Was it what the dragon hoped for, or had they somehow failed in their quest?

  As if in answer to his question, the dragon snorted. It lifted its head and looked down on them. “If you had left here without being touched by the injustice of this society, you would have proved yourself no better than the wizard who summons my kind.”

  It lifted one massive claw and pointed at Zhimosom. “You could not leave without helping. You have a heart that can save us from certain destruction.”

  “It was not me,” Zhimosom said.

  The dragon gently touched Zhimosom on the chest with its sharp talon and then did the same to Rotiaqua. “You share one heart.”

  “One heart?” Zhimosom asked.

  “One heart, and now it is ready.” The dragon spat fire into the air. “To Amedon with you. There you may yet find what you need.”

  The dragon snorted, took one quick step, and with a single beat of its wings, launched itself into the sky.

  Garlath turned to Zhimosom. “You two certainly lead an interesting life, don’t you?”

  Zhimosom didn’t know how to answer that. It was not as if he had chosen this path. It had been thrust upon him and he was simply doing his best to survive. Even so, he was eager to get to Amedon and learn what he might. Maybe they would have an explanation for all this. “I can access the power of the pools to help us travel to Amedon,” he explained. “Can you guide us there?”

  Garlath held out his hand to Zhimosom. “I can show you the way, but I will need to draw power from you. I cannot access the pools as you do, and I do not have enough power of my own to make it to Amedon.”

  “I’m ready.” Zhimosom held out his hand.

  Rotiaqua took it. Her hand was sweaty in his and trembling.

  Was she afraid of the travel spell or upset about what she had done to Rohir? Some days, Zhimosom thought he was beginning to understand her.

  Today was not one of those days.

  He heaved a heavy sigh and invoked the travel spell that would take them to Amedon.

  Zhimosom, Rotiaqua, and Garlath stepped from the void just outside of the wizards’ keep. The gates of the keep stood open, and no guards were present. Zhimosom had never seen anything like it. People streamed in and out of the open gates while oxen towing wagons and carts vied for space on the road leading up to the keep from the town below. People carrying bundles of goods on their backs stepped to the side of the road in an attempt to stay out of the way of the carts.

  “Is it market day?” he asked.

  “No. Most days are like this.” Garlath ushered Zhimosom and Rotiaqua through the gates, squeezing between a cart full of hay and the wall. Once inside, the road continued a short way, then split into three separate paths. The one on the left wound around and behind the building and emerged again to cross that great chasm ending at the doors to the keep tower.

  “Come on.” Garlath led them along that path. “This is the way.” He gestured to the tower. It could only be reached by means of a narrow rock bridge that spanned the great chasm between it and the main keep. The bridge was narrow, cut from the mountain by winds and weather. The treacherous span had no guardrails or walls to prevent someone from simply sliding off. The wind whistled out of the mountains and made the crossing dangerous. Zhimosom found it unsettling.

  Garlath led them across the bridge, pointing out rough spots and dangerous breaks until they were once again on solid rock.

  Zhimosom heaved a sigh of relief. It was only then that he noticed that Rotiaqua had been gripping his arm tightly. He gently patted her hand and she released him. She had a sheepish grin on her face that told him that she was no less afraid than he was.

  Looking up seemed like a good idea, but it quickly turned out not to be. Zhimosom felt as if the tower were falling over as the clouds high overhead sped past the top. The tower was imposing, jutting into the sky. He turned his gaze back to the tower entrance. The oversized doors were made of sturdy wood, banded with rusty iron. Unlike the doors to the keep, the tower doors were closed tightly. Zhimosom grasped the brass handle and pulled.

  It didn’t budge.

  “Magic,” Garlath said.

  “Magic?” Zhimosom asked.

  “Magic. You have to prove you have magic or they won’t open.”

  “Aperire et me transire,” Zhimosom said, waving his hand in front of the door.

  Nothing.

  Garlath stood behind Zhimosom with a slight smile on his face.

  “Why won’t it open?” Zhimosom asked.

  “Why do you want to enter the library?” Garlath gestured to the doors. “That has to be part of the spell and it must be a genuine reason.”

  Zhimosom considered. He’d learned a fair amount of the ancient languages from Rotiaqua as they traveled, and quite a bit of the wizards’ tongue from Garlath. He needed the words. What would they be? What did he really want? “Habere scientiam et potentiam trans fores,” Zhimosom said, requesting the doors to open and permit him access to the knowledge that lay within.

  The doors swung noiselessly open.

  Zhimosom felt a surge of pride at his accomplishment.

  He extended his arm, and Rotiaqua took it. The three of them headed off down the long hallway.

  After what felt like a league, the hallway took a turn that must have taken them beneath the mountain. There were no windows, and the air turned chill. Soon Garlath halted them before a doorway. He gently opened the door and gestured for Zhimosom and Rotiaqua to enter.

  Zhimosom wasn’t prepared for the sight of the library. The great hall was covered from floor to ceiling with books and scrolls of all sizes, shapes, and colors. The library shelves stretched as far back as he could see. On each side of the main hall, were rooms that no doubt were equally packed.

  Surely there was a wealth of knowledge here.

  “It’s magnificent,” Rotiaqua said.

  “Where do we start?” Zhimosom had never seen a library before. Surely there was some arrangement to all this knowledge that would help them find what they were looking for.

  “Let’s ask the librarian.” Garlath guided them to an alcove where several men sat at desks beside a wall filled with small drawers.

  “Excuse me,” Garlath announced their presence to one of the younger men.

  The librarian held up his hand to stop him and scribbled a notation.

  When he finished, he looked up at the three of them, surveying them quickly. “I don’t recognize you. Student, apprentice, or master?”

  “Free wizards,” Garlath said simply.

  The librarian held up his hand, extending it palm up to Garlath. Zhimosom saw a small tongue of fire lick into existence, and then quickly vanish. He extended his hand to Zhimosom and looked him in the eye. When Zhimosom didn’t respond, he said, “Fire?”

  “Prove you’re a wizard.” Garlath whispered.

  Zhimosom focused his mind on the man’s hand and silently spoke the spell to call forth fire. A fireball the size of his fist appeared in the man’s hand. It spat sparks and whistled loudly. Zhimosom flushed and quickly extinguished it.

  “Not one for control, are you?” The librarian reached his hand out to Rotiaqua.

  She called forth a simple flame like the one you would see on any candle and just as quickly extinguished it.

  “Ni
ce control.” The librarian sat back behind his desk. “What can I help you locate today?”

  “We need to help the dragons,” Zhimosom blurted.

  “What dragons?”

  “A dragon came to us and asked for our help.”

  The librarian gave a smug, superior smile. “The dragons are gone. They left ages ago and have not returned.”

  “We saw one,” Zhimosom said.

  “There are no dragons, and if there were, they certainly don’t need help from any junior wizard.”

  “He came to us ...”

  Garlath held out his arm to stop Zhimosom. “We are looking for something to defeat a summoning or binding spell.”

  “For that, you’ll need to access the spells of war. You’ll need permission from the council. Those spells are dangerous. We don’t let just anyone back there.” The condescending tone in his voice set Zhimosom’s hair on end. Who was this upstart to deny them access to knowledge? Zhimosom held his gaze on the youth, who returned to his notations and ignored him.

  Perhaps more fire?

  Zhimosom gathered his power, preparing for a show of force, but before he could decide which spells to employ, Garlath stopped him.

  “Thank you for your time,” Garlath said. “We’ll seek the council’s approval.”

  Garlath grabbed Zhimosom’s arm and pulled him back the way they’d come. “I know it’s important, but you can’t make a scene here, not in the library. It’s frowned upon.”

  “Why won’t they let us search for those spells? Why was he so rude?”

  “It’s not his fault. All he sees is a young wizard who was refused access to some very dangerous magic. It’s not up to him. We need to see the council, and it’s better that they don’t start with a reprimand for breaking library protocol.”

  Garlath took Zhimosom and Rotiaqua back to the main building and escorted them to the dormitory where visiting wizards were housed.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to share a room with several other young wizards,” Garlath told Zhimosom.

  Zhimosom shrugged. He had no illusions about his status here in Amedon.

  He turned to Rotiaqua. “You have your own room. There are no other sorceresses in Amedon at the moment.”