Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (14 page)

Inken sighed in relief, recognising the mark of a healer.

“Welcome, Alastair. It has been a long time,” the healer’s voice rasped like gravel.

Alastair grinned. “So it had, Elynbrigge. I fear my time has been rather occupied lately.
She
has had me dancing to the old tunes.”

“Ay and without luck I have heard.”

Alastair nodded. “But I hear you might help me with that.”

Elynbrigge smiled. “Ay, I can.”

Inken looked from one old man to the other, a dozen questions jostling for her attention.
How do these two know each other?

Michael was clearly just as confused. His frown had grown as two greeted one another like old friends, and it took him a moment to regain his composure. “Elynbrigge has only been here a few weeks, but he is a great healer. You are very lucky, young lady. Our temple is not usually so fortunate to host someone of Elynbrigge’s talents.”

“Nor will it for much longer, I am afraid,” Elynbrigge added.

Michael nodded, an edge of sadness in his eyes. Inken could understand his disappointment. It was clear the priests were dedicated to preserving the Goddess’ temple. It must sting their pride to lack anyone with healing magic.

“Now, Alastair, I am afraid you will have to wait just a while longer. First, I shall attend to this young lady. I can feel her pain from here. Please, miss, sit down here.”

Michael helped Inken to sit before the ancient man. Her broken leg made even this simple act a struggle. She tried to sit with her good leg beneath her in support and the broken one stretched out in front of her. She used her good arm to hold herself straight, cradling the other close to her body.

Elynbrigge laughed. “Michael, her discomfort is screaming in my ears. Please, young lady, you may lie down. The others can clear out if there is not enough room.”

Inken sighed in relief, stretching out on the cool tiles. “Thank you. My name is Inken,” she added.

“My pleasure, Inken,” Elynbrigge replied. “Now, to business. Your injuries are quite severe, but they are within my ability to heal. It will be painful, however, and time consuming. You will need to be brave, and patient.”

“It’s okay, I can take it,” she glanced over at Eric and Alastair. “Thank you for saving me. I owe both of you my life. If you ever need my help, you need only ask.”

She closed her eyes then, wondering where the words had come from and unable to look them in the eyes. Yet she had meant them. Whoever they were, they
had
saved her life, and one should always pay their debts.

“It was our pleasure, Inken. Perhaps we will see each other again. We shall leave you to your healing,” Alastair turned to Elynbrigge. “We will talk soon, old friend. I will return after we have made ourselves comfortable.”

Elynbrigge nodded in return.

Alastair waved goodbye and left the room. Eric moved to follow, but turned back at the doorway. “I hope we do meet again, Inken. In better times though. Take care,” he flashed a gentle smile as he slipped out the door.

Then he was gone and Inken felt suddenly, unexpectedly alone.

“Brace yourself, Inken. We begin.”

******************

Eric stared up at the pale cream ceiling, wondering at the feel of a bed beneath him. He could not remember how long it had been since he had slept in a real bed. It wasn’t a very soft bed, but compared to hay, hammocks and the rocky ground, it felt like heaven. He closed his eyes, wanting the peace of sleep, but knowing it would not come. A restlessness had come over him as they left the temple, one he could not shake.

Outside the sun was setting on the Dying City. There was no mystery as to where that nickname had come from. Their second story room looked out over empty streets. Most merchants had already packed away their wares, surrendering the city to the unscrupulous night. A scattering of guards still patrolled, but Eric suspected they could do little to control the city’s denizens once darkness descended.

He hoped the inn would prove a safe haven, standing proud as it did amidst the abandoned buildings and hovels. The bar downstairs was well lit and decorated with old wooden chairs and tables, giving it a homely feel. The keeper had unlocked the door cautiously, but welcomed them with a smile when he recognised Alastair. He offered them their pick of the rooms, with Alastair finally settling on one that suited him.

The room held two single beds and a small table and chairs, which sat before the large double window. The tiled floor offered some cool relief from the heat outside. The room smelt of dust and old cloth, but the thick wooden door ensured little noise could be heard from downstairs. They had draped their saddlebags over the foot of their beds, leaving the horses to the inn’s stable hand.

Eric’s thoughts turned to Inken. He had been unable to shake her from his head since they left the temple. Images flashed through his head; the moonlight reflecting off her soft curves, her gentle smile as she looked at him, the cool glint of the killer in her eyes. He pictured her slipping through the night, bringing the soft kiss of death to her foes.

He groaned, hands running through his hair. None of this mattered any longer. Despite its poverty, the city was huge and Alastair had not told her where they would be staying. And she still did not know who he was. At least, he hoped she didn’t.

The noise from downstairs was gradually growing louder as the dining room and bar filled. His stomach rumbled and he guessed it was probably almost time for dinner. Alastair would be waiting for him.

He rolled off the bed and pulled himself to his feet. Stretching, he fought down a groan. His exhaustion that morning had shocked him. His muscles felt as though he had run ten miles, gotten to the end, then turned around and ran it again. The ache had begun to fade, but Alastair still had not told him what had happened. The old man was reluctant to give answers where others could overhear.

He pulled open the heavy door and turned left down the hallway, searching for the stairs. Their room was the last in the corridor and he did not appreciate the extra distance. No doubt Alastair had his reasons. He grabbed the railings as he descended, staggering his way down to the first landing. Each step sent a jolt up his shaking legs, his knees threatening to give way.

At the bottom he pushed through the double doors into the diner. The room was already half full and the last of the tables were going quickly. Waitresses threaded their way between the tables, balancing plates of food and great mugs of beer in outstretched hands. The floor was old oak, worn smooth by the passing of patrons and scratched by moving chairs. Behind the bar, three men stood serving those customers looking to quench their thirst after a long day’s work. The rich aroma of stewed meat and spilled ale filled the air.

The roar of voices throbbed in his ears, but the prospect of food drew him deeper into the crowd. He moved among the tables, his gaze sweeping the room for Alastair. He had promised to meet him here for dinner. Eric found the old man near the back, sitting at a small table by the windows. Eric sank into the opposite chair with a sigh of relief.

Alastair grinned across at him. “About time you showed up. I was afraid I’d have to eat yours for you,” he gestured at the large bowls of stew sitting on the table. Eric glimpsed chunks of beef and potato, mixed with carrots and green vegetables of some sort. His stomach growled again.

He licked his lips, not needing any further encouragement. He took a spoon and started gulping down the hot food. It had been a long time since they’d enjoyed a proper meal. The spices in the stew were unfamiliar and after a few mouthfuls his tongue began to burn. He stopped to swallow some water, his eyes watering. By the time he’d emptied the bowl he was sweating heavily. Eric glared across the table as the old man chuckled in amusement.

Eventually a waitress came to clear the table and Alastair slid a few silvers across in payment. Eric swallowed hard when he saw the price. Apparently, food did not come cheap in the Dying City.

Together they stood and made their way back up the stairs. When they reached their room Alastair unlocked the door, then stood aside as Eric stumbled inside and collapsed onto his bed.

Eric gathered his strength and asked the question that had been eating at him all day. “Okay, I think I’ve waited long enough. What the hell happened last night?”

Alastair stood still, staring out the window. “You tell me.”

Eric sighed, thinking again of the insanity in the desert. “It was as though my magic was alive, like some whole other consciousness. Its power was… irresistible.”

Alastair sat down on the opposite bed, nodding. “What you achieved last night usually takes months. I seriously underestimated you,” he paused. “Perhaps the way you’ve tapped into it in the past helped. Either way, it is a dangerous thing, a Magickers first contact with their magic. I am sorry, I should have warned you.”

Eric shivered, remembering the icy grip of the magic encasing his consciousness, of something
else
taking control of his body. He recalled the
power
, the terrible craving to unleash it.

“What makes it so dangerous?” it did not seem fair, that he finally had a way to control the curse within him, yet still it sought to destroy him.

“Magic is not an inert force. It lives to escape, is desperate to break free from its prison and take control of its host. Last night you touched it, unprotected, and it struck back. Without the right preparation, you never stood a chance.”

“I could have killed you,” the thought terrified him.

Alastair nodded. “That was my fault.”

Eric looked up to see the old man smiling. “
How do I control it?
”

“You master your fear. That is its only weapon against you. If you do not fear it, your magic cannot harm you.”

Eric stared. He had never experienced such terror as when the wolf appeared. It was as though his fear had turned to pure energy, fed by his magic. How could he conquer such a beast?

“Eric,” Alastair interrupted his thoughts. “Do you know what you did there, at the end?”

He shook his head.

“You drew the lightning into yourself,” Alastair whispered.

Eric shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. If I released it, it would have killed you.”

“Such an ability is incredibly rare. I have only heard tales of those who could draw aspects of their element into themselves. Many believe it to be only legend. It is an extraordinary ability. You should be able to summon that lightning from within, whenever you might need it.”

Eric allowed himself a smile. He doubted he would ever find such a skill useful, but Alastair’s enthusiasm was amusing. The room fell into a comfortable silence. He closed his eyes, feeling the gentle pull of sleep. A final thought came to him. “Alastair, what would have happened, if I hadn’t come back?”

“Your magic would have sucked your life force dry. Your powers are limited and your magic was converting massive amounts of energy into magic. That is why you could barely move afterwards. A few minutes more and you would have died – or at least your soul would have. Your body would have lived on, controlled by your magic. That is how true demons are made, Eric.”

Eric drew a deep, shuddering breath. He tried to control the quivering of his body and failed. His heart hammered in his chest and his stomach clenched tight as iron. Horror rippled through him.

Alastair lay down on his own bed. “Good night, Eric.”

It was a long time before Eric slept.

The room was sweltering. Eric threw off his sheets and looked around, spying the telltale glow of daylight seeping beneath the curtains. Through fuzzy eyes he saw Alastair’s bed was empty. He groaned, his body still stiff and sore. But if Alastair was gone, the morning must be growing late.

He crawled out of the bed and stumbled across to the window. Sunlight flooded into the room as he threw open the curtains. He groaned again, his sleepy eyes blinded by the light. The sun was high in the sky, almost noon. Eric was not surprised. He’d lain awake half the night, willing himself to sleep. And when he finally had, blue flames and demons stalked his dreams.

At least he felt better than the morning before. His arms still felt like lead weights, but the sting in his muscles was fading. Cramp threatened his legs as he stood, but receded after a few moments.

Stretching his arms, he pulled on a fresh shirt. His stomach grumbled. Looking around he saw a handful of silver coins on his bedside table. Presuming Alastair had left them for him, he swept them up and headed for the door. It still took an effort to reach the bottom of the stairs, but he made it safely through the big wooden doors at the bottom and into the diner.

Lunch was still an hour away, but the aroma of roasting meat filled the inn. The scent set his stomach rumbling. The few other occupants ignored Eric as he made his way to the bar. He hoped he would be able to get an early meal, before the place became too crowded. 

Seating himself on one of the barstools, he waved to the bartender. As the man approached he realised it was the inn’s owner. He smiled when he saw Eric, showing his yellowed teeth.

“You look like you’re feeling better today, young man,” he observed.

Eric smiled back. “A little. I’ll feel better still with a bit of food though,” he slid the coins onto the counter. Alastair had not mentioned the price of the dinner last night, but Eric guessed lunch would be no cheaper.

The innkeeper laughed. “No doubt. I’ll see if I can find you some lunch then,” he took two of the coins and handed the others back. He disappeared into the back room.

Eric slumped against the counter as he waited. Through the windows he could see the street outside, baked dry by the harsh sun. The reflection off the pale bricks was so bright it hurt his eyes. The air was still, heat radiating through the air like a sickness. A trickle of sweat ran down Eric’s back, leaving his clothes sticking to his skin.

A few minutes later a waitress placed a plate of hot food in front of him. Eric picked up his fork and knife and attacked the tender steak. Gravy ran off the meat into the mashed potatoes and boiled vegetables. Eric shovelled his way through the food, eager to ease the ache in his stomach. He felt a pang of disappointment when he scrapped the last crumbs from his plate.

Eric licked his lips, thoughts drifting over the last few days. He was surprised to find himself smiling. The guilt of Oaksville still weighed on him, but despite the twists and danger, there had actually been good moments. The old man might be quiet company, but it was better than the exile Eric had suffered for so long. Then there was the enigma of Inken and the confusion which swept over him whenever he thought of her.

His life was changing so quickly he could scarcely believe it. In less than a week he had gone from fugitive to apprentice Magicker. He had met a man over a hundred years old, a bounty hunter hired to kill him, and the Goddess Antonia
herself.

Yet Alastair’s purpose remained a mystery. Where was the old man now?

I should be helping him,
the thought leapt into his head. Alastair had saved him, lifted him up instead of leaving him for dead. He had put a name to his curse, taught him about magic. Eric owed him is life. He just hoped he could find some way to repay him.

The noise at the bar was beginning to grow as people filled the room for lunch. Deciding it was time to leave, Eric rose from his seat and left through the oaken doors.

Upstairs he quickly found himself with nothing to do but wait for Alastair’s return. Outside the air shimmered with heat and only a trickle of human traffic still flowed through the streets. Eric fanned himself with his hand, wondering how the people here could cope with such temperatures. Why did they stay, know their city was coming apart at the seams. Eric felt a deep respect for their courage, to toil on against such adversity.

He thought again about his magic. Goosebumps shivered down his neck as he remembered the night in the desert. It had left a terror in him, one that lurked just beneath the surface. He could not ignore it.

Alastair had promised his magic would be a gift. The old man had lied. Every day it appeared more and more the curse he had always believed it to be. Magic it might be, but it was no less perilous for the name. His dread grew as he imagined what could have happened if he had not regained control, if it had swallowed him.

He remembered the ruins of Oaksville. Shuddering, he closed his eyes as the guilt came rushing back. The dead still came to him when he slept, their eyes accusing, demanding vengeance. He must redeem himself – must take the opportunity Antonia offered. Yet how could he help anyone, unless he could master his magic.

A tremor ran through his body. The notion would not go away. He could not change the past, but he might still change his future. Without magic, he could spend an eternity righting wrongs and it would never be enough. With it, he might just be able to make a difference. If only he could overcome his fear.

A memory leapt unbidden from the depths of his mind. He had been swimming in the river near his house, when a strong current dragged him under. It took all of his energy to pull himself back to the surface. The undercurrent threatened to drag him back down and with water filling his mouth he had made one final lunge for the bank. His hand had found an overhanging root. With the last of his strength, he had pulled himself onto the bank.

When he finally made it home, he had found his father and sobbed the story to him.

“I was so scared, dad. I’ll never go swimming in the river again,” he had finished.

“Why, Eric? You have always loved the water. Why let one bad experience ruin that? Next time, you’ll be more careful.”

Eric remembered the terror then, sapping away his courage. “I can’t dad, I’m afraid.”

His father had sensed his shame at his admission. He crouched down and took him by the shoulders. “There is no shame in fear, Eric. Fear is natural. We are all afraid at times. But you must not run from fear. If you do, it becomes a beast that will devour you. Real men take their fear and learn from it. Do not feed the beast Eric, instead you must make it your own,” he stood. “Come.”

“Where?”

“To the river.”

Eric smiled at the memory. He had swum again that day, and many times since. The fear had still been there, but each time it grew less. His father would tell him to face it now too, not run from it. He knew what he had to do. Today would be his first step towards redemption. He only hoped he was strong enough for the task.

Closing his eyes, he sat back and began to meditate. It took a long time for the chaos within to clear. He persisted, determined to put the last few days behind him, for a while at least. One by one, the worries he had brooded over fell away, as his thoughts flowed inwards. The darkness of his inner consciousness rose all around him.

He flinched as the first tendrils of magic touched him. Its voice whispered in his mind, its lure sinking into the recesses of his conscious. Terror rose in his throat, but he crushed it down. Eric summoned his courage.

Light flooded his consciousness. The pool of magic filled his vision, banishing the dark. Yet here he did not fear the darkness – the light was far more treacherous. When he touched it, the wolf would come. Could he tame it?

Eric gritted his teeth. He had come too far for second thoughts. He had to do this. If he ran now, he might never stop. He braced himself, then stepped off the ledge into the pool.

For the longest time, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the light began to shimmer and change, drawing in upon itself. Legs clawed their way into existence, lightning rippling along each limb. Gradually the wolf took shape. The beast snarled, teeth snapping, its monstrous image filling his mind.

Eric shivered. The wolf took a step forward, towering over him. His courage began to crack, his fear shining through. His defences were crumbling. Eric tensed, preparing to flee.

You must not run from fear, Eric
, his father’s words echoed in his mind. They shot through him and his heart surged in response. He relaxed and looked back at the wolf, his fear slipping away like water between his fingers.

The wolf growled, yet as Eric watched it seemed to shrink. His soul swelled, feeling its power fall away. He approached it, seeing through the wolf to the magic at its heart.
His
magic. The magic he needed to save Chole.

He towered over the wolf now. It nipped at his heels, no more threatening than a fly to a giant. He smiled to himself and reached down to catch it.

Power flooded him, but this time it rose at
his
command. He was master now. Gone was the lust, replaced by his determination to use it for good.

If only he knew how. Sensing the magic building within him, he thought back to when his magic had taken control. It had reached
outside
of him to summon the storm. Could he do the same?

Eric looked to the sky, imagining himself amidst the cloudless heavens. His mind spun and he felt the weight of his body vanish. He opened eyes and watched the rooftops of Chole fall away beneath him. His soul soared upwards, the magic branching out around him in search of his Element.

For a while he drifted, his purpose forgotten. He had never felt anything like this, never seen the world in such a way. All physical sensation was left behind – hunger, pain, and exhaustion were gone, left below with his body.

Eric felt the arid air blowing around him, its heat sucking life from the land. It sapped at his strength as well. Death lingered with its touch. It was time to put an end to it.

Gather up his magic, he raced east, sensing the gathering of storm clouds in the distance. Their power called to him, guiding him over desert and volcanic peaks. A ripple passed through him as he flew across the last of the mountains and the sickness vanished from the air. He pushed on.

The ocean was close now, the storm clouds waiting. They raged over the dark waters, wind driving great waves to batter the rocky coast. Trees bent beneath its onslaught, the air filled with torn branches and flying leaves. Precious rain fell on salty seas.

Again Eric drew on his memory of the night in the desert. His magic had formed hooks to draw the storm to him. He would do the same.

The clouds beneath him glowed blue with his magic. Claws formed, sinking into the hurricane, while lines wrapped their way around the dark clouds. Wisps of cloud slipped from his grasp and seeped away, and the storm railed against him. Eric tightened his grip, determined.

With a surge of energy, he started to pull. The storm began to move, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Leaving behind the ocean that had born it, Eric drove it across the forests and rivers. He had no sense of time, but felt strength beginning to fade.

Finally, the storm reached the mountains. There they stalled and he felt an invisible barrier pushing back against him. The rain would go no further.

Eric would not give in. Gritting his teeth, he drew on more magic. Power poured through his spirit and into the storm. He pulled harder, the air crackling with pure energy, the magic giving him strength.

The air screeched, sparks flying within the clouds. Lightning flashed through the barrier. The storm short forwards, wheeling across the volcanoes of Chole. Eric heard a faint tinkling of glass, as if something had shattered, but there was no more time to pause. The storm had passed the mountains and was rushing now towards Chole.  Rain was on its way.

Back in his room, Eric’s soul crashed back into his body. He opened his eyes. Agony lanced through his head. He lay back on the bed, embracing the pain, as a grin spread across his face. He had faced the beast and conquered his fear. Nothing was beyond him now.

Sleep beckoned. This time, there were no dreams.

******************

The door slammed. “Thank Gods,” a voice shouted.

Eric jerked awake. He looked around wildly as Alastair stalked into the room. The old man towered over him, his face dark with anger. Veins popped in his neck and his eye twitched. He reached down and grasped Eric by the front of his shirt, hauling him from the bed.

“What were you
thinking?
”

Eric gasped for words, fighting for breath as his collar bit into his neck. His mind was still foggy with sleep and he struggled to understand Alastair. “Wh… What?”

“What?
What? You damn well know what!
You summoned your magic!” he added an expletive at the end.

A strange calm descended on Eric. He had no idea how the old Magicker had found him out, but it did not matter now. He had cast the die and, against all odds, had succeeded. “I had to do it, Alastair. Otherwise, the fear would have only grown. How did you even know?”