The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 (22 page)

He had left The Crenshaw early this day, in order to pay Shu-Shu a visit. It had been a few weeks since he had seen her, and he missed her company. He had invited her on more than one occasion, to join Crenshaw and him at the inn for one of their all night discussions. He had hoped that by spending time with her outside her shop, she would eventually grow fond enough of him to maybe teach him a few magic spells, or maybe just give him a scroll or two. When he arrived at her shop, however, it was closed up tight, and the note on the door said it wouldn’t reopen for two days. “Research” was the only word of explanation offered by the note. Disappointed, Tartum turned around and made his way back towards the inn.

He was just a few blocks from the inn, as he passed an alleyway. It was a typical alley, full of the trash and waste of the nearby inhabitants. Old papers, left overs from unfinished meals, urine, feces, and the degenerates of society. As he was passing this particular alley, however, the sound of a dog, quite literally screaming, caught his attention. Tartum had killed animals in his life, he was quite good at it. He was even a butcher’s apprentice for a very short time when he was younger. However, this wail of pain caused his soul to quiver. Something was wrong, very wrong, and his instincts screamed at him to investigate. As Tartum was becoming accustomed to following his feelings, he ventured into the alleyway to find out what was happening.

It didn’t take long to find the source. On the ground, surrounded by five filth encrusted teenagers, was what appeared to be a large dog. The teens had surrounded the creature and had him backed into the corner of the alleyway. They were now taking turns stabbing it with what looked to be a broken dinner knife; probably the prized possession of this gutter gang. The dog looked to be in terrible shape. The back half of the animal had been badly burned, the remaining hair on its back legs was blackened and smoking. Its face was swollen from where it had been hit by something recently, and it was holding one of its front paws up off the ground as if it hurt to put weight on it. The poor dog was yelping and bleeding from a dozen stab wounds that the urchins had inflicted upon it. The look of terror and confusion in its eyes sent a sharp pain of despair shooting through Tartum’s soul. It collapsed just as he was noticed by the group.

Their attention on Tartum, the dog stopped whining. It seemed to realize death was approaching and accepted its fate without further complaint. Judging by the animal’s condition, death would be a release. It laid on the ground looking at Tartum as if expecting him to finish him off and release him from his torment. It even tried to feebly wag its tail at him. Tartum’s heart broke at the sight, at the wrongness, of this situation. Anger began to bubble up inside of him, as he looked at the teenagers responsible, waiting for an explanation.

The kids were young in body, but they had enough malice and contempt inside them to not even feign guilt or remorse. They squared off and faced Tartum; he could see in their eyes that the bloodlust inside of them from their kill had them ready to pounce on him. The way they looked at him, like he was nothing more than another dog and the fact that they had no care for what they had just been doing, disgusted him. The idea that these kids were capable of such a horrendous act was more than he could bear. No words would come to him, no amount of debate was going to solve this abberation. Tartum’s vision went red. He went into a fury; a fury that could only be sated with magic...and with revenge!

The leader of the degenerates was saying something to him. He was pretty sure the filthy and very unattractive child was a girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen. She was talking to him like she was offering him something. Tartum couldn’t hear her over the roar of adrenaline rushing through him. Her smug look and air of superiority removed all reason from Tartum’s mind. He opened himself to the magic; it flowed into him like a tidal wave and erased all other thoughts from his mind. There was only the rage, the magic, and the need to punish.

He reached into his pouch and removed the rose petals needed to cast his spell. He removed them slowly, deliberately saying the words of magic, syllable by syllable, to form the spell that would quell the rage burning inside him and bring the punishment to these urchins they so rightously deserved.

“
Moro-yet krat-tu-veyin doro-peth!
” he hissed! As he spoke the words of power, he lifted his arm in front of him and infused the petals with his magic. He released them, and as they fluttered towards the ground, they burst into small orbs of white hot fire. No bigger than the rose petals that they had been born of, the balls were the embodiment of the white hot rage inside him. Pointing at the children, Tartum spoke the final word of the spell.

“
Torroth!
” he said, with a voice as empty as his victim’s hearts.

At the sounding of the word, a ball of light shot into each target Tartum focused on. The first ball shot out at the youngest boy. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen and had such a sneer on his face, a convict three times his age would be proud to own it. The ball took him full in the face and removed his sneer, as completely as it removed his face.

The next boy was a little older. Maybe fourteen, he was a large boy and clearly the muscle of the group. The ball of white hot orb passed through his chest and obliterated his heart. The scent of burnt meat and sizzling fat filled the air. He hit the ground with a look of shock, frozen forever on his face.

The next two tried to run and ended up slamming into each other. One folded himself into fetal position, and the other got on his knees and begged. Tartum didn’t care. He sent a ball of magical wrath into both of them, shuffling loose the mortal coils binding them to this world. It was too late to beg forgiveness. He had nothing but contempt left for these pigs.

He saved the girl, the leader, for last. Tartum perceived, through his haze, that she alone had the time to fully appreciate what was about to happen to her. Her companions had fallen quickly, only half of them even having time to beg or grovel. Their deaths had been instant and efficient and as far as he could tell, painless. She wouldn’t have such a clean death; this one deserved to linger, like she allowed the dog to do.

“
TORROTH-BEI!”
Tartum shouted, with more hatred than he had ever felt in his life. The ball flew out and hit the girl in the chest, not aimed for the heart, thanks to the addition of the final syllable, but for the lung. It blew clean through her body, evaporating flesh, blood, bone, and organ before dissipating back into the nether. Although her body was dying, the girl’s brain hadn’t caught up to the fact, and she fell to her knees, clutching the wound. Looking up at Tartum as he approached, she spoke, blood frothing from her mouth as her remaining lung filled with blood.

“It was only...a mongrel...dog...” She said, in disbelief, stubbornly refusing to accept her fate.

“No my dear,” Tartum said, much more calmly than he felt; “The only mongrel left in here, is you.” Swinging his staff at the dying girl, he caught her just above the temple, finishing her off and sending her corpse flying into the rubbish she desevered to die in.

With the teenagers dead and the dog avenged, the haze of rage lifted, and Tartum was once again himself. It was a hollow victory over the children, he knew, but he felt no remorse. He was proud of himself for destroying the deviant bastards and knew he would do it again in a heart beat, if he ever found himself in this situation again. His victory was bittersweet, however, when he finally saw the condition of the dog upclose.

It’s body was ruined, the burns he saw before were far worse than his initial assessment. There was no muscle left on its back legs, he could see charred bone and several lacerations on the back, where the children must have hamstrung him. It explained how they cornered the dog so easily. The upper body was no better, more than two dozen small stab wounds perforated the animal’s chest and upper legs, the poor thing wasn’t even bleeding anymore. Its neck was partially cut and the ears were missing, one eye was swollen shut, and the other eye was looking at him. Tartum couldn’t believe it! The animal wasn’t dead yet! It was suffering, but somehow it was still clinging on to its life!

The anguish came back to Tartum, but this time it didn’t bring out hate...it brought with it sympathy! This poor animal was in more pain than any creature had a right to be, and yet when it looked up at him, it whimpered and weakly wagged its tail. It looked at Tartum like he was going to fix everything, make it all ok again. Even after all that this dog had suffered, it hadn’t lost its faith in man. The focus came back to Tartum, the pain at knowing children had done this for no reason. They weren’t killing for food or survival, they were
torturing
this animal for the sheer pleasure of it!

Something snapped in Tartum, he couldn’t cure the evil in the world...but this animal’s pain, that, he somehow knew he could fix! Without thinking, Tartum placed his hands on the dog’s mutilated body and demanded the magic to flow into it. Uninhibited by the fear of burn out or death, Tartum felt the magic flow through him and into the dog, felt it fill up every speck of its being. It was going to work! A terrible sweet pain filled him. It hurt so much, and yet it was exquisit bliss! He pulled more and more magic inside of him, knowing it was damning him to death but not caring. It was too much! The magic raged inside him, and he knew he was losing control.

The feeling was different from the burnout he felt when he bound the scroll to his spell book. The feeling quickly became unpleasant. Now it was white, hot, shooting pain, lancing through every nerve in his body. He tried to cut off his connection to the source, but there was too much magic inside him with nowhere to go. He knew he was doomed and was about to give up, when he saw the dog, tail still wagging, waiting for his faith in man to be rewarded.

Anger at his momentary weakness hit him, and Tartum used it to focus and regain control over the choas raging through him. Using a will he didn’t know he possessed, he focused this raw energy, demanding it did as he bade. Not knowing any healing spells or mending gestures, Tartum focused on one thought...“
HEAL!”
He let the magic flow through him and into the animal’s body. Suddenly, the animal’s pain was his own, and with the magic amplifying everything, it was too much. Screaming in pain, Tartum almost broke away, when again, he saw the wagging tail, only he thought it was wagging slightly stronger than before. Maybe it was the magic enhancing things, maybe he was losing his mind, it didn’t matter. This dog was going to live, no matter the cost!

Concentrating on the flow of magic inside him, Tartum focused on the thought again.

“HEAL!”

He felt the magic run out of him and into the animal. “
HEAL!”
He focused harder, trying to not lose consciousness, knowing, somehow, that he wasn’t finished yet. “
HEAL!”
It wasn’t a request. To much about this world was wrong, and if it was the last thing he did, he would correct this wrong! He would remove this dog’s pain and correct what the gutter gang had done. Damn the magic for resisting him, damn it for being difficult, damn its rules and structure. It was going to obey his command, or Tartum resolved to tear the whole city apart with the magic he would release in failure. It was all or nothing, and Tartum didn’t plan to fail. He wasn’t asking the magic for its help, he was
ORDERING
it to do his bidding. Tartum DEMANDED the magic heal this animal, and beyond all reason, against everything he had been taught about how magic was supposed to work...it obeyed! Through what he felt, more than what he saw, he knew the dog’s body was getting stronger.

“HEAL! HEAL, HEAL, HEAL...HEAL!!”

The fact it was working filled Tartum with the strength he needed to hold on. The thrill of being in control of such a force, the knowledge that it
could
be done, and that
he
was doing it, gave him the will he needed to finish this impossible task. Demanding that the magic not fail him, not fail this animal,, Tartum demanded, one last time from the magic...“
HEAL!”

An incredible surge of power passed through him and into the animal. The sensation of razors made of ice, ran over his skin, causing him a pain so acute that when he screamed no noise left his mouth. It was too much, the magic had burned him up, he was past endurance, past emotion, he had nothing left to hold on to the source, and he released his connection.

“Heal him Gods damn you...heal him!” Tartum whispered, as the last of his energy slipped away. As his grip on consciousness was ripped from him, he barely registered the fact that he was falling.

The last thing he saw was a standing dog’s back end...tail wagging.

...

Tartum woke up in a room. Not a big room, but it was large enough so that he didn’t feel cramped. The bed he was lying in had a soft mattress, goose down, Tartum guessed. A small lantern glowed in each of the four corners, lighting the room in a bright but comfortable light. The lanterns sat on wooden pillars that had been shaped to look like candles. The window overlooked the road outside, and there was a desk against the wall across from the bed, with a basin and a pitcher of water on it. Next to the bed, on the nightstand, was a plate of bread with some fruit and cheese, as well as a mug of what Tartum assumed was ale.