Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

“Close your eyes and try to clear the thoughts from your mind. Take a deep breath, and then exhale slowly, until all the air has been emptied from your chest.”

Eric closed his eyes and sucked in a mouthful of air. The muscles of his chest stretched and then compressed as he released the breath in a drawn out sigh. He did repeated the exercise, smiling. This was easy. He wondered whether the old man was playing a joke.

“You’re thinking, Eric,” Alastair’s voice broke across his thoughts.

Eric’s eyes snapped open. “What?” he glared.

“Your eyes were flickering beneath your eyelids. Think of
nothing,
Eric. It’s okay, most take a long time to master the practice. Try again.”

Eric nodded, slightly shaken by Alastair’s interruption.

Alastair stopped him again after another minute. “You’re still thinking too much.”

Eric sighed. His mind kept flickering from one thought to the next, unable to turn off. So much had happened in the last few days; it was all too much for him to simply set it aside.

“It can help to repeat a word each time you exhale.”

“Like what?”

“Well, when I was an apprentice we were told to breath out ‘ing.’”

“I don’t think that’s even a word, Alastair.”

The old man scowled. “Just try it. By focusing on something benign, you will find it easier to allow your other thoughts to fall away.”

Eric grimaced. “Okay, I’ll give it a go.”

He closed his eyes again and breathed out, whispering ‘ing’ as he did so. In out, in out, in out. His heart slowed and the tension began to fade from his shoulders. The word vibrated through his consciousness, his worries fading away before it. All sensation seemed to be drifting away on a sea of black.

I’m doing it,
he exulted.

The thought shattered his concentration. He opened his eyes and grinned at Alastair. “I think I had it for a second there.”

Alastair grinned and stood. “Good, keep practising then,” he stretched his arms. “Call me if you need a hand, I won’t be far away. I’m going to go keep watch.”

The old man disappeared. Eric sat back and started again; convinced there would be no more surprise attacks. Alastair looked stronger than ever now, his injuries from both the city guards and the beast fully healed. Antonia’s magic had done wonders.

Gradually he sank again into the calm centre of his mind, beyond the distractions of the world outside. It came faster this time. Now even the slow thump of his heart and stretch of his chest was disappearing into the vast ocean. He was left alone, cut off from sensation, from all sense of time. He drifted; separate from himself, a ghost within his own mind.

After a time, a memory surfaced once more. It was here amidst the tranquillity of his inner mind that he would find his magic. The thought infused him with purpose and he turned his inner eyes to the search.

A speck of blue light appeared in the distance. The radiance drew him towards it, slowly at first, and then growing faster, until he became a blazing arrow. The speck grew to a lake of blue, stretching out before him, immense and overwhelming.

Instantly, he knew what it was. This was the source of his magic.

Its glow washed over him, its warmth intoxicating. Thin threads of light rose from the waters and drifted towards him. Tentative tendrils stroked his consciousness, gently wrapping about him. Eric felt a surge of power at each new connection. He could hear it calling to him, hungry. He sensed its need and felt his own desire flooding him. This force, this power, it could give him whatever he desired. He had only to use it.

He floated closer, the threads weaving around him, tiny hooks burying themselves in his mind. He no longer noticed, swallowed by the magic’s call.

He toppled towards the lake below.

The light rose up to meet him, changing, becoming not a lake but the jaws of a great wolf. Teeth crashed shut as it swallowed him and the blue light crawled inside him.

A rush of fear rose in Eric. Drowning, panicking, he tried to wake. Instead, the tendrils of magic wrapped more tightly about him, drawing him deeper into recesses of his mind.

Freed of its prison, the wolf blazed brighter, teeth glittering, hair bristling. It grew, even as Eric shrunk in terror. He could feel it merging with him, its hunger eating away his resistance until they became one.

Eric opened his body’s eyes, but they were no longer his own to control. The force within was master now, flowing through his veins and muscles, flooding them with power. His body tensed and he lifted to his feet.

His body looked around. Invisible wisps of magic stretched out around him, searching, seeking out power, seeking the storm. Over the rainforests to the west, they found it.

The storm clouds had been building through the day, growing strong off the moist air. Their energy grew with each minute, water and air and dust smashing to create friction, igniting the lightning within. It waited to be unleashed.

The magic tore great chunks from the clouds, drawing it across the miles to where his body waited. It arrived with a crash of thunder and blast of light, as the lightning struck the ground. It rushed towards Eric, the crackling electricity scorching wherever it touched. Roaring, it gathered around him. Thunder boomed again and again, new bolts tumbling from the sky to join the conflagration. 

Eric lifted his fists in exaltation, while deep within his mind a voice screamed. But the magic, the
power
, was everything now. Exhilarating, intoxicating, indestructible.

“Eric, stop!” a voice shouted over the thunder.

Eric raised an arm towards the speaker. No enemy would rob him of this power now. Blue lightning crawled along his arm, tingling where it touched. As it reached his fingertips, it leapt. A bolt of lightning shrieked through the night. He watched the shadowy figure dive from its path. Light flashed as it struck the cliff behind him, leaving only molten rock.

“Eric, listen to me. I am Alastair, your teacher!”

The name was familiar, but he shook his head. He needed no teacher now.

Another bolt chased Alastair into the darkness. The world was burning again, but now Eric breathed it in with relish, revelling in the smell. Yet still the man escaped him.

“Die!” he screamed into the night. Flashes of lightning shot from him, leaving tracks in his vision long after they passed.

“Eric, you must stop this. The magic will destroy you. Remember Oaksville!”

Eric broke off his attack. The word reverberated in his mind, cutting a track right to his soul. Some small, forgotten part of him grabbed for it like a lifeline in the open sea. Sanity clawed its way back from the deepest recesses of his mind. Horror struck him as he took in the world around him. Bile rose in his throat.

Oaksville, Oaksville, Oaksville.
The word rung out again and again, drawing him back.

Yet the magic rose again, burning away thought and reason. Eric gritted his teeth, determined to force it down, guilt eating away at fear. He would not let it consume him – he must tame this monster inside him.

The lightning around him flickered, but he could not let it go. Its heat radiated on his skin, stinging now where it touched, as his magic receded. If he released it now, it would destroy everything around him. Alastair and Inken would be helpless before it.

Eric sucked in a breath and with it drew the lightning to him. It danced over his skin, closer and closer, until it seemed his flesh itself was alive with electricity. Then, to his astonishment, it began to sink beneath. He did not stop to think.

He could not afford to hesitate, or the lightning might escape. Within he could still feel the lightning’s sting. He gripped it and forced it deeper. He sunk again into his inner mind, determined this time not to lose control, and drew the lightning and magic with him. The power fought against him, the electric blue lightning merging with the magic. He drove them deeper, driven by instinct.

The lake appeared again. He directed the riving ball energy towards it and hurled it into the depths. Not a ripple broke as it disappeared beneath the calm surface.

Eric opened his eyes and collapsed. Footsteps crunched on gravel. He fought to move, but found his muscles locked in paralysed. Not even his eyes would obey his weary mind. He stared up at the stars in terror.

Alastair stood over him, his face grim. “Too close,” he shook his head. “I am sorry, Eric. That was my fault. I have never seen anyone go so far, so fast. Magic is both friend and foe. Most do not discover this for years. But tonight you met the beast that lives within you and survived Next time it will be easier. Rest now,” he reached down and closed Eric’s eyes with a gentle hand.

Inken squinted into the noonday sun, blinded by its light, the heat searing into her burnt skin. Her face was the worst, the gashes and sunburn still fresh from exposure to the desert. Her cheeks throbbed; the ache of her broken bones dull by comparison. Sweat ran down her back. The air was suffocating.

A granite bridge stretched out before them, half a mile long. The old brick pavement stretched wide enough for five horses to ride abreast. Stone railings in the form of vines stood either side, worn smooth by the passage of time. Wind whistled between the bars.

Beneath the bridge stretched a crater almost two hundred feet deep and half a mile long. Around the edges landslides had taken bites from the smooth crater walls. The bridge had stood strong through the years, but each year it cost more and more to maintain the old structure. The crater was all that remained of the great Lake Chole.

Inken glanced across at Eric and Alastair. Alastair had walked for the entire day, leading their horses across the perilous countryside seemingly without fear. He still looked fresh, almost excited, as they stood now so close to the city. For that she was thankful – neither herself nor Eric were well enough to walk. Between her injuries and Eric’s sickness, they had been lucky to have the two horses.

They stopped at the foot of the bridge. No one spoke; in fact, no one had spoken all morning. The tension was unsettling – but she was not eager to break the silence. She had woken to a throbbing headache, her vision coming in and out of focus. Her thoughts had been sluggish, but she knew enough to realise she had been drugged. It took almost an hour for the symptoms to wear off.

Then there were the signs she had noticed around the campsite. The air reeked of smoke, and not from the regular campfire. Conspicuous scorch marks dotted the cliffs around the camp, even turning the rock molten in places. Something had happened during the night and she would put gold on it having something to do with Eric’s illness.

The young man had barely stirred all morning. Alastair had not bothered to wake him as he packed up the camp, or as he helped lift Inken into his saddle. Eric’s eyes flickered as Alastair lifted him onto the other horse, but he had hardly made a noise. Inken had rarely seen such exhaustion, but a chilling suspicion had taken root. She’d heard Magickers sometimes experienced extreme exhaustion after performing great works of magic.

She almost dismissed the thought out of hand. The young man had been so kind, so innocent. Yet
something
had happened while she slept – and the signs around their campsite seemed too similar to the description given of Oaksville. Their story did not add up and Inken could not ignore the signs.

Was Eric the boy she hunted, the demon of Oaksville?

Yet he had been the one who’d seen her in the desert, the one who had helped her,
saved her.

Inken thrust the thoughts to the back of her mind, focusing on the present. No longer able to stand the silence, she said. “This bridge is a reminder of our folly.”

Eric stirred, twisting in the saddle to look at her. He seemed more alert now. “What do you mean?”

“The original bridge was destroyed when Archon laid siege to Chole. Afterwards, it took years for Chole to recover enough to rebuild. Almost a decade had passed before construction started. By then the rains had retreated behind the volcanoes and the lake had started to shrink.”

“And they still built it?”

Inken nodded. “The change was so gradual; people were convinced it would be temporary. So they built the bridge, and here it stands traversing barren rock, testament to their ignorance.”

The silence resumed and Inken looked away. She already missed the easy conversation of the night before.
Something
had changed.

Alastair tugged on the reins and led them out onto the bridge. Inken snuck a glance at Eric as they drew side by side. He sat straighter in his saddle now, although there were dark rings circling his eyes.    

“What will you do in Chole, Eric?” she asked.

Eric was staring over the rails, at what by now would be at least a hundred foot drop. He shivered and looked away from the edge. “I’m not sure. I guess we’ll take you to the temple first. Hopefully there are still healers there who can help you. That and find some food. I’m starving.”

Inken’s stomach growled in agreement. She could feel her injured strength shrinking with hunger. She prayed to Antonia those at the temple would be able to heal her injuries. The two of them had done their best patching her up, but without a healer it would take months to recover. Even then, she would be marked by horrible scars for the rest of her life. She trembled at the thought. She had never been vain, but even so…

“What about you, Inken?” Eric ventured a question. “What will you do?”

What
will
I do?
She asked herself.
Claim the bounty?
Aloud, she said. “When I am healed there are some friends I must visit, to let them know I am back and alive. I expect they will all enjoy a good laugh when they hear about my folly. At least it will make a good story.”  

Eric chuckled. “I’m sure they will be happy to see you.”

Inken nodded. “Perhaps. How long will you be staying in the city?”

Eric glanced at Alastair. “I’m not sure. Alastair hasn’t said.”

Inken had quickly realised it was the old man who made the decisions, but was surprised at how little Eric knew.
Perhaps Eric is his unwitting pawn
, she thought.
Or perhaps they are just two weary travellers
, she argued with herself.

“What are the people here like, Inken?” Eric ventured.

“They mostly keep to themselves. The desert has made them hard; they do not tolerate any weakness from their own. But they do like outsiders – the city would not survive without them. The only resource we have are a few gold and sulphur deposits in the hot springs around the mountains; everything else we buy from the trade caravans that come through every month.”

The city walls loomed above them as they reached the end of the bridge. The wind had worn the stones smooth and cracks riddled the mortar holding them in place. Elsewhere the rocks had worked their way free, leaving pitted holes across the smooth surface. 

The bridge finished at a gaping abyss in the wall where the gates had once stood. Now the tunnel stood open, the great wooden doors long gone. No one had cared to replace them. Timber was expensive here and the desert protected Chole now.

A man stood within the shadow of the tunnel, garbed in the blue and black of the city guard. Despite the shade, he was sweating through his chainmail and half helm. He held a spear loosely in one hand, an iron shield in the other. A sword was strapped to his waist.

The steel rings of his mail chimed as he moved to bar their way. He held his spear defensively before him. “Stop, what is your business in Chole?” he didn’t seem too interested in the answer.

Inken grimaced. As much as they tried, that was the way of things in Chole. Order was slowly evaporating in the Dying City. As the population shrunk, more and more turned to crime to make a living. Meanwhile, the city guard dwindled. The city’s underworld no longer had much to fear from the Magistrate.

“My name is Alastair, and this is Eric. We found this woman, Inken, in the desert. She’s been badly injured, so we’re taking her to Antonia’s temple to be healed.”

The guard glanced at Inken. She didn’t recognise him, thankfully. It would be bad enough telling the tale herself, without word of her folly spreading ahead of her.

One look at her face was enough to convince the guard. He waved them through without another glance.

Inken sighed as the shadow slid across her face. The relief from the sun was instant, soothing her burning skin. Unfortunately the stifling heat remained.

On the other side of the wall the tunnel opened out into a short street. Buildings hemmed them in on all sides, each in a state of disrepair. Those who lived closest to the walls were generally the poorest and here the houses were little better than flea ridden hovels. Open sewers ran along the roadway, carrying with them the stench of human waste. Garbage littered the streets. A pack of dogs looked up from a pile as they approached, and then retreated down the street. The rats ignored them.

They rode deeper into the impoverished city, seeing little of its human inhabitants. The few they did glimpse moved about their business quickly, ignoring the strangers. Others sat hopeless against the grimy walls, their hands stretched out in silent entreat.

As they passed a homeless man who had lost both of his arms, Inken caught a glimpse of Eric’s face. His eyes were wet with tears, his gaze lingering on the desperate man as they passed. His mouth opened, but no words emerged.

His reaction only added to her confusion.

They moved on, leaving the poorest districts behind. Dried out fountains appeared, although Inken had never seen them run. They stood as another silent reminder of Chole’s past. The muddy road turned to brick, although even here the passage of time and people had worn deep grooves into the ground. The piles of garbage shrunk, although the stench remained.

Alastair led them confidently through the maze of streets. Inken watched him closely. It was clear he had been here before, probably many times. Chole’s streets were a rabbit warren at best and few other than locals could find their way confidently. Landmarks were rare – one dead garden looked much the same as another.

The city seemed empty and they made good time. Inken was thankful it did not take them long to reach the temple of Antonia. Here at last was a building that had resisted the erosion of time. Marble columns as thick as the giant redwoods to the west towered over them, bordering the stone steps which lead up to an outdoor patio. Overhead stone eaves rested atop the pillars.

Priests garbed in light green robes sat in quiet meditation in the shade of the courtyard, while behind them the pillars gave way to the walls of the inner temple. The quiet chanting of a hymn drifted on the breeze. A priest waved to them for his seat at the bottom of the stairs and said he would take care of their horses.

Inken stared up the steps, heart sinking. They were only two dozen in number, but even so, they were well beyond her strength. It took a shoulder from Alastair and her own grim determination to make the climb.

Her heart warmed a little when she noticed Eric following them up. It made her feel slightly better to see he also needed a hand from a monk to reach the top. She had enjoyed his quiet company, whoever he really was.

They made their way through the meditating monks, drawing the eyes of a few curious watchers. Inken’s shoulders were tense with anticipation. If there was no healer here, she would have to make do with the services of a doctor. One would probably be among the priests, but she knew which option she preferred.

Another monk stood waiting for them in the doorway to the inner temple. His robes were edged with gold, with white bands adorning the sleeves and collar. A purple diamond patch on his right breast marked him as a doctor. He offered a friendly smile as they approached, wrinkles appearing around his amber eyes. His hair was jet black streaked with grey.

His smile faded as they reached him, a concerned frown taking its place. “Welcome, travellers. My name is Michael. Please, come this way,” he spoke in a warm voice. His eyes lingered a moment on Inken before he added. “Quickly.”

They followed him through the doorway. Inside was dark, lit only by a scattering of candles, and the air was thick with incense. The scent carried the whisperings of fruit and flowers, a rare offering in the desert city. The floor was covered by a worn green carpet, which led to a simple wooden alter at the end of the room. Citizens and priests knelt on the ground around the room, offering their silent prayers to the Goddess Antonia. In the far corner, a young man played the piano, the gentle music welcoming them into the sanctuary.

Michael led them to a small door beside the alter and through into a corridor. Doors lined the hallway on the left, while on the right windows opened up onto a central courtyard. Inken shrugged off Alastair’s hand and hobbled across. She peered through the panes in astonishment.

The building ringed a courtyard at its centre. In the courtyard was a garden, filled with the green of life. Plants grew from soft, moist earth, defying the fierce heat of the sun. They thrived amidst the brick walls, trees and vines thrusting from the earth, ignorant to the desert without.

Inken stared, feeling a new respect for the priests who lived here. To be able to grow anything in Chole was an accomplishment, and they had achieved far more than that.

Michael coughed, drawing her attention away from the miracle beyond the glass. They continued along the corridor, Inken snatching glimpses of the garden as they moved. She wished she had visited this place earlier. She had never paid much attention to the religions of the Three Nations, but perhaps she needed to reconsider.

She was thankful it did not take long for Michael to find the room he sought. He pulled open a simple door and beckoned them inside.

Within was a simple room without any decoration or furniture. A man sat alone on the tiled ground, watching them with pure white eyes. Skin hung in folds from his face and long locks of grey hair tumbled down his back. A narrow scar stretched across his face. His arms were frail and marked by old battles. He wore robes similar to Michael’s, except where a pink diamond had replaced the purple.