Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (18 page)

‘We have discussed enough. Caleb, are you
ready?’

Seb had forgotten he was even there. He
looked across. The old man was sat in the same position he was.

‘Yes, Magister.’

‘Then we travel.’

It came at once. A low rumble. The room
faded to black. His feet felt funny, light almost. He dared to look down – shit
– he was floating! His body lay beneath him, slumped over. Christ, he needed a
shave. And a haircut. The Magister sat beside him. Caleb on the other.

He continued to rise, the
scene below vanishing to darkness as he ascended into the recess above. He accelerated,
and for a moment he thought he’d crash straight into the ceiling. Then he was
free, the roof passing by in a stomach-churning blur of knotted wood and stone.

He couldn’t put it into
words. Years later, when asked, he still wouldn’t be able to articulate fully
the sensation of flying for the first time. The sensation of freedom. Of fear.
The world dwindled beneath him, the mansion becoming a grey spec amongst
irregular shapes of green and brown. The earth became a dot surrounded by dark.
Pin pricks of light twinkled against a midnight canvas. The stars drew
together, dots stretching to lines that converged together into an endless tunnel
of light. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Do not fear, Seb. We are
here.

He looked across. The
Magister was there. She no longer resembled her physical form and instead appeared
as a shimmering, crackling form of blue lightning. The avatar was vaguely
humanoid, two glowing white eyes stared back at him from the entity. Glancing
to the other side he saw Caleb, his Weave-form slightly less luminous than the
Magister, his tone a muted marine rather than the crackling blue of their
master, but the aura was definitely Caleb, moodiness and all.

This is amazing.
He
pulsed, not knowing how, the knowledge coming to him on instinct.

It is the Weave, in pure
form. We all come from this. Everything is formed from this. It is the one
energy. The foundation of reality.

They zoomed down the
tunnel. He became aware then of something tugging at him like a breeze, just
nudging at first, before the touch became more pronounced. His direction
changed, his bearing unknown but different from the others.

Seb! Where are you going?
Do not leave us!
The Magister’s voice rang with alarm.

I don’t know! I’m not
doing it!

Caleb – stop him!

Yes, Magister!

Caleb turned and drifted
towards him, but whatever had hold of him had other intentions. The distance
between them grew. Seb stretched out to Caleb but the old man’s avatar
diminished further.

Caleb!

He had no form here, no
heart, lungs or brain, but the sensation of fear was still very real. The
coldness gripped him, an awareness of the distance growing between him and his
only links back to his physical form. He was drifting away, dissolving into the
Weave itself.

A bright light flashed.
Caleb and the Magister vanished and he was instantly out of the tunnel. He glided
now over an endless expanse of barren ground the colour of rust. Behind him a
swirling vortex of lightning twisted inwards, the hole from which he’d emerged
already a tiny glowing disk that reduced with every passing heartbeat.

Ahead, the horizon
terminated in a ragged line of jet-black mountains. Plumes of cloud, grey, like
floating stone bergs covered the peaks. Rivers of red trailed down the sides,
splitting into narrower channels like the exposed veins of some sleeping beast.
Below him the rivers widened into vast lakes of bubbling lava. The air smelled
of sulphur and his eyes stung from the brittle breeze.

He didn’t notice the
tower at first; such was its similarity to the mountains from which it was
obviously carved. It loomed out of the cloud, a vague form, coalescing into a
jagged structure of wicked edges that pointed at the sky like a finger inside a
mail gauntlet. He slowed now, the wind receding to such a degree that he no
longer had to squint into the gales of biting dust.

The tower was vast. He
hovered near the top, where a huge archway opened out onto a massive stone
platform that jutted out into the sky like a landing pad. Down below, the base
of the tower vanished out of sight, swallowed by a combination of distance and
cloud. Dotted throughout the structure were small apertures. Most were dark,
but some glowed with an inner light. A hollow feeling filled his stomach as he
descended towards the platform. What the hell was this place?

He alighted onto the
platform. The stone, a smooth mineral flecked with white specks, felt cool
underfoot. A sudden thought popped into his mind then – if he could feel in
this place, then could he be harmed? Could he die? A gust of wind made him
wobble. He dropped to his knees, just metres from the edge of the platform. His
heart – was it his heart - rattled in his chest.

A grumbling sound drew
his attention to the far end of the hall. A thin sliver of light appeared as two
heavy, impossibly thick doors of obsidian opened inwards. A silhouette filled
the door, a tall shape that now drifted towards him.

Seb scrabbled on hands
and feet away from the edge of the platform, the panic only subsiding when he
felt the safety of walls around him. He crouched, panting, clinging to the
smooth stone for dear life.

‘You’re here earlier than
I thought.’ The voice was gentle, almost a whisper. A shadow covered the ground
around him.

Seb forced himself to
look up, fighting an almost overwhelming fear that seemed to ooze from the shade
that covered him. He stifled a cry when he saw the serpentine face looking down.
Unblinking eyes, orbs of pure crimson, sat on either side of a red-scaled head,
stared at him.

‘Who are you?’ he heard
himself say.

The creature’s mouth
curled into what he assumed was a smile, but the display of dagger-like teeth
sent a shiver of fear down his back.

‘You don’t remember me?
Well I suppose that’s not a surprise. Let me look at you.’

The creature squatted,
burnished armour creaking as it lowered itself to his eye level. He tried to
raise his mental shield as he’d been shown, but the barrier was swatted away as
if it were nothing more than an annoying insect.

‘Your skills have
improved I can see, but you’re not ready. Far from ready.’

‘Who are you?’ he said
again, his voice firmer this time as the creature stood and walked past him,
stopping at the very edge of the platform. Seb struggled to his feet and forced
himself to turn back into the biting wind.

‘Not yet. Not yet. You
can’t know that yet,’ the creature turned, Seb almost collapsed as a powerful
sensing
crashed into him. It made even the Magister’s powers seem feeble in comparison.

‘The pattern is locked
deep. And it’s bound to your soul. No one but you can retrieve it.’

‘That’s what they tell
me. But I can’t do it. I can’t use this damned Weave. It’s beyond me!’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You
found your way here didn’t you?’ The creature said, a hint of amusement
creeping into its voice.

‘That wasn’t me. That was
the Magister.’

‘An unworthy title if
ever I heard one.’

The creature stepped
towards him, the gaze unrelenting. Seb gritted his teeth and squeezed every
ounce of energy into his limbs, forcing himself to stand.

‘The Magistry. The
warriors of Danu. Once it meant something, when they had abilities worth
talking about. You know there was once a time when the magi had the power to rip
from the Great River the lost souls of the dead. They gazed upon the very
pillars of creation. They understood, they
knew
,’ the creature’s face
creased into a frown that resembled a snarl. ‘No more, no longer. But you know
this already, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know. I’m new to
all this. I don’t know anything, asides from the fact that I have this thing in
me but I need to learn the Weave to get it out.’

‘No. You are more than
that. You are
different
. You don’t know it yet, but you will. Providing
you live long enough.’

‘I don’t understand. Why am
I here?’ Seb said. Something was changing. The energy was leaving him. He
looked at his arms. The blue glow was fading. It was still bright, but slightly
dimmer, like a bulb on its last legs. He looked up as the walls of the chamber
flickered. For a moment he was back in the sanctum, the Magister and Caleb
crouched over him, shouting something that he could not hear. The image
flickered again and he was back in the great chamber. He screamed and fell
backwards when he saw that lizard-like face not six inches from his own.

‘You will go now, your
time here is almost up.’ The creature knelt down next to him. Seb tried to roll
away but his strength was sapped. He could only flop onto his back and await
whatever hardship the creature would throw at him.

‘What do you want from
me?’ he whispered.

‘The time is coming,
young mage. The time of the sleeping world is over. The Consensus is breaking,
and the time will come when you have to make a choice.’

The world began to blur, the
walls faded and the wind receded. Above him, behind the creatures head, the oak
beams of the sanctum chamber began to form out of the gloom.

‘I don’t understand. What
choice?’

‘Not yet, mageling, not
yet. Now, take this from me, take this and go.’

‘What is it?’

The creature smiled as it
held up one finger from a hand that contained only three. At the edge of the
sharp talon glowed a small, almost invisible ball of light. As the creature
lowered its finger towards his chest it leaned over, its great maw level with
Seb’s ears.

‘What you came for,’ it
whispered.

The creature touched his
chest. His back snapped upwards as a pulse of energy ripped through his core.
The world turned white. Something roared in his ears. He opened his mouth to
scream.

‘Seb!’

Caleb’s voice. The
whiteness began to fade. Shadowy blobs moved and twisted, shrunk and grew.

‘Seb, can you hear me?’
Caleb again. Frantic. Someone shook him by the shoulders.

‘Seb. Come back.’

This time it was the
Magister. Her voice resounded around his head as if blasted from a megaphone.
The whiteness vanished. The stone structures of the Inner Sanctum came into
view. Caleb knelt before him, his face a picture of concern.

‘Caleb,’ he said. His
voice sounded slurred.

‘Are you okay?’

Seb connected to the Weave.
He
sensed
out. Caleb’s concern echoed back. The Magister was more
intrigued than worried.

Wait a minute.

He
sensed
again.
Farther this time. Echoes came back almost instantly, rebounding from all
around the building.

He could do it. He could
connect to the Weave.

‘Seb?’

‘I’m good, Caleb. Thanks,’
he said, accepting the offered hand and standing. His legs shook. He channelled
a simple Script designed to invigorate tired muscles. The shaking vanished
instantly.

‘I’m really good.’

The following few weeks flew by in a blur.
With
his Weave connection established, Seb threw himself back into training with
renewed vigour. Caleb asked once what he’d seen on his Weave-walk. Where had he
been? Some images still lingered. A tower. Lightning. Barren landscapes. He
couldn’t quite remember what had happened. Had he spoken to somebody?
Something? He couldn’t remember. Something had happened, he was sure of that.
Something that had removed the doubt that nearly ended his training before it
began. It hadn’t removed the block in his mind, the one that hid the message,
but it had allowed him to channel the Weave as easily as breathing. Sure, he
was behind, way behind, compared to the other acolytes, but he was up and
running now, and he wouldn’t let it slide. Just one thing lingered from the
Weave-walk where he’d been pulled away to places unknown. A phrase burned into
his memory.

A choice. He would have
to make a choice.

The mornings were always
focused on Sentio. Quickly he’d discovered he no longer needed the foci. Caleb,
impressed, and perhaps a little bit curious, had pushed harder. Seb absorbed
Script after Script. When he wasn’t calling Scripts he was head down in the
Foundations of Arcana. Many, if not most of the Scripts there were beyond his
understanding, but he found that the more he learned the more he came to
understand others. A familiar rune here, another script comprised of two known
ones added together. His knowledge grew. His library of scripts with it.

Any spare time in the day
was spent honing his
sense
. He cast it out, seeing what he could find.
All too often it was nothing but confirmation that other life was out there,
but in recent days he’d seen a subtle shift in the echoes he received. Where
before it had just been a vague indication of life, now he was able to discern
individuals amongst the noise.

It was addictive. And he
craved more.

The afternoons were
focused on joining Caleb on his rounds. He’d met many different individuals on
these journeys, all loosely coupled to the new world within which he now
existed. His knowledge had grown, but with it so had his doubts. It was not a
happy time out there, he’d learned. Attacks by the sheol had been growing at an
alarming rate, and there were growing rumours that the Brotherhood were unable
to cope with the increase. When questioned, Cade had snapped that perhaps he
could ask the Magistry how they were coping. Seb didn’t need to answer that, but
from the increased number of meetings of the Three he suspected that the
concern wasn’t the Brotherhood’s alone, although he was hard pressed to see
what their contribution had been to the Brotherhood’s struggles.

The evenings were his
own. He’d tried earlier on to spend time with the other acolytes, but
regardless of his new found prowess the orders regarding his segregation still
held, the rest shunned him, keeping to themselves, avoiding his eyes whenever
he walked past. So instead he spent his time with his head buried in one of the
many books that filled the mansion library. Many of them of course were bound in
the same Runic Script that he was still learning to decipher. Some though were
in English, translated from their original language. Their content enthralled
him, and he spent many hours reading up on the Sharding, the Great Crossing to
Aura and the many tales that preceded it.

His devotion had not gone
unnoticed. A couple of times he’d seen Cian in the library too. The giant
warrior didn’t speak at first. But over time Seb had earned the occasional
grunt of acknowledgement. As their meetings increased in number Cian seemed to
accept that Seb wasn’t going to be getting bored anytime soon, and so began
recommending certain reading material - "if he wanted to learn something
useful."

But it was the Weave, and
the mastery of this mystical force that drove him. The more he used it, the
more he connected with it and threw out his
sense
, the more he craved
from it. He’d been begging Caleb for weeks to begin learning Avatari, the Self,
saying that he was ready. Caleb had denied him, firmly at first, but less so as
the news of increased attacks began to filter through. Seb’s argument that he
needed to be better equipped to defend himself now held water, and Caleb’s
refuting of it had grown weaker by the day. Eventually he had relented. And
today was the day he would learn the Self for the first time.

Seb paced around the
centre of the chamber. He’d been there since before dawn, when an urgency born
of desperation to learn had made him pretty much vault out of bed. Caleb was
only just stirring as he went, but it didn’t matter. Today was the day when he would
begin to learn how to harness the Weave for himself.

Eventually, Caleb
shuffled into the chamber, clutching a steaming mug of coffee. He groaned and
flexed his neck, but Seb only smiled. The show of age was only an act, Caleb’s
aura was brighter now, if not brighter, than it was when Seb had first seen it.

‘Come on, old man, it’s
not like you to be late.’

‘It’s not like you to be
early.’

‘Touché. Although this is
no ordinary day.’ He looked down at Caleb’s attire. ‘You don’t look
particularly ready for training.’

‘I’m not.’ Caleb said.
His face broke out into a wide grin that made Seb feel uneasy.

‘But I am!’

Seb stopped, nearly
tripping over his own feet as Cian entered the room, stooping to get his giant
frame under the door.

‘Master Cian,’ he heard
himself say, his voice having risen in pitch.

‘Last time I checked.’

Cian walked into the
centre of the chamber. He wore the familiar grey smock that Seb had seen on
many occasions watching him spar outside. The sight of his favoured weapon, the
staff, strapped to his back conjured a dread feeling in Seb’s gut.

Cian stopped and threw
his staff to the ground. He turned and looked Seb up and down.

‘So, Caleb tells me you’re
ready for the Self?’

Seb shot a glance back at
his mentor. Caleb gave a quick double nod back as if to say "go on!”. He
looked back. Cian was staring at him with one eyebrow raised.

‘Well, boy, unless you’re
communicating with me via telepathy - and failing - you’re going to need to
speak up.’

‘Yes, Master. I believe I
am ready.’

‘Why?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Why, Seb? Why are you
ready? The acolytes out there aren’t ready. They can barely sense themselves
when they look in the mirror. Why are you ready?’

The question caught him
off guard, but he focused quickly, drawing on his training to filter out the
growing anger, pushing it to one side. He let out a deep breath.

‘I have not mastered Sentio
that is true. However I am more than able to keep pace with the lesson’s Caleb
is teaching me. I teach myself often, well into the night. You’ve seen me
yourself. Plus I need to learn it, if I’m to defend myself against the sheol.’

Cian stared at him for
what seemed like an eternity. The giant warrior cast a look at Caleb, who gave
a resigned shrug in response.

‘Interesting. You may
find it hard to believe, Seb. But I agree with you.’

Seb’s mouth slammed shut.
He’d been ready for a counter argument. Cian’s acceptance was fortunate, as he
had nothing else to throw back.

‘Really?’

‘Don’t look so surprised.
You are far beyond where you would have been expected to be. We
do not
know what happened to you in your Weave-walk.  The results were successful,
perhaps too successful, but that is a conversation for another time. For now
though, I do agree. You need to be able to protect yourself. Properly. You don’t
have the luxury of a Family’s wealth and their retinue of bodyguards. A
phosphorus gun will only go so far. You are ready. And I will teach you.
Understand?’

‘Yes, Master.’

Cian nodded. ‘That will
be all, Caleb.’

Caleb left. Seb watched
him go before turning back to Cian. He flexed his fingers together and tipped
his head to one side and then the other as he shook out morning muscles.

‘You should not be so
eager.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your desire to learn is
great. A rare thing in fact. But be careful that you do not run before you can
walk.’

‘I’m sorry, Master. It’s
just that once I connected that first time, it was as if something had awoken
inside me. For the first time in my life I’d found something that I could
actually do, but not just do, but excel at. When I lost it, and I couldn’t
connect anymore, I felt lost, disconnected. When it came back I vowed never to
take it for granted again. I know I’m a novice, but it just seems so natural to
me. Does that make sense?’

Cian studied him in
silence for a moment. Something in Seb’s mind tingled, and it suddenly dawned
on him what was happening.

‘You’re reading my mind.’

‘Only the surface. I
wanted to gauge if your intentions match your words.’

‘And do they?’

‘I wouldn’t be here if they
didn’t.’ Cian nodded to the mat. ‘Sit.’

Seb obeyed. He adopted
the usual sitting position, legs crossed. Soles facing inwards, the backs of
his hands resting on his knees. Cian kneeled down opposite him.

‘You have become
proficient in Sentio. You can sense out now, detecting lifeforms. Correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Over time, as you
practice, that will grow. As your connection with the Weave strengthens you
will learn to not only sense life, but also their intentions, their fears.
Eventually your reach will grow, crossing even to other Shards. Eventually, you
will be able to read the inner most thoughts of any living creature.

‘However, with this growth,
so increases the risk. You are aware of the Consensus?’

Seb nodded. ‘Yes. It’s
the collective strength of the conscious and unconscious minds of the Unaware.’

Cian laughed. ‘Well
regurgitated. Correct, of course, but do you know what that actually means?’

‘That reality is bound by
the rules of the Consensus?’

‘Much better. Yes,
exactly that. At the time of the crossing, Woden and his fellow magi decided
that this new realm, which was as yet untainted by the power of the Weave, would
remain so. In their ultimate sacrifice, they combined their powers, and bound
the Weave to the will of the Observers.’

‘The Observers?  You mean
the Unaware?’

‘They are one and the
same. The basic rule that only a reality that was bound by the Consensus, this
collective
perception of reality
, if you will, could actually exist. They bound their
abilities into this rule, and then stepped back from the world.’

Seb nodded again,
thinking back over the texts he’d read. ‘So two things come out of that. One,
is that things only exist when they’re observed, and two, that only things that
are accepted as
normal
can actually happen?’

Cian sat back slightly, a
genuine look of surprise on his face. Seb smiled back.

‘The Consensus Explained
- Volume One.
’ Seb said.

‘I think I need to enforce
this reading policy across all my students,’ Cian said, a grudging smile
creeping onto his face. ‘But yes, you are right. The former is well known
amongst our kind, and even the scientists of this realm are beginning to
speculate on it themselves. However it is the latter, that only events that are
accepted as the norm by the Consensus, that concerns us.

‘With Sentio, it is not
much of an issue. The act of sensing is a subtle effect. No one can tell you’re
doing it unless you’re a Latent yourself. And if you’re Latent, then the
Consensus doesn’t apply in any case.’

That was a new one. ‘Really?
How does that work?’

‘It means that
Weave-effects can be done in front of a Latent with no penalties applied from
the Consensus. However, when we look at Avatari, and beyond that, Novo, we have
to face the restrictions of the Consensus head on.

‘Reality is enforced by
the Unaware. When someone, or something, attempts to change reality in a way
that goes against the Consensus, there is a push back against the changer. For
subtle effects that can be passed off as occurring naturally, explained away as
a trick of the light, then there is only a minor push back. For things more
vulgar, that just
cannot
happen, then the push back is more severe.
Sometimes even fatal. Understand?’

‘I think so,’ he said.

‘It’s a lot to take in. For
now let us act. We can talk later.’

Cian walked to one side of
the chamber. He emptied a bundle of short wooden sticks to the floor. He waved
his hand. The air crackled with Weave-energy, the hairs on Seb’s arm standing
on end. The sticks moved, rising from the ground as if on strings. They came
together, hovering in mid-air, settling into a loosely humanoid shape around
six feet in height.

‘Wow.’

‘This,’ Cian said, moving
in front of the stick man, ‘is a mage variant of what is called in fighting
circles as a wooden man. Basically it’s a training dummy.’