Nature's Peril Part 1 (The Nature Mage Series) (4 page)

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of cheek,” Hephistole answered with a smile, which was good to see, though Gaspi was
pretty sure that prior to the Measure it would have been a loud burst of laughter. “Are you an archer Taurnil?”

“Yes Sir,” Taurnil responded. “Talmo’s been teaching me.”

“We’ll just have to wait until the spirits are back. If the quest doesn’t go ahead, we’ll need to give them to the best archers in the city for our defence.”

“Fa
ir enough,” Taurnil said, though Gaspi could tell he was disappointed.

“What about you Gaspi?” Hephistole asked. “See anything you like?”

“Yep. The belt, that ring you showed me, one of the items granting invisibility, and the Wizard’s Eye. Where did you get that from? I didn’t think we could make stuff like that anymore.”

“
We can’t,” Hephistole responded. “Most of the objects were enchanted over the summer, but the Wizard’s Eye is from my private collection. You must have seen it – in the sixth alcove of the Observatory, near the field of variable density.”

“The what?” Gaspi asked.

“The hole in the floor.”

“Oh, right,” Gaspi answered.
“I’ve never been in the alcove.”

“
My mistake,” Hephistole said. “That’s where I keep all manner of magical curios, including some rare artefacts like the Wizard’s Eye.”

“And it works like the scryer, right?” Gaspi asked.

“Yes, but with a much more limited range. The scryer in the Observatory is the only one of its kind remaining, and as far as I’m aware, the same goes for the Wizard’s Eye.”

“Wow,” Gaspi said, glancing back at the now-covered shelves. He opened his mouth to speak again but Hephistole stalled him with a raised hand.

“Sorry Gaspi, I know you have a lot of questions, but they will have to wait for now. Besides, I think that your friends may be getting impatient.”

Gaspi glanced over at the other three, and saw that they were watching him and Taurnil, waiting for them to finish talking with Hephistole. “Okay, we’ll go,” he said.

“We’ll speak about this again soon, but for now please don’t talk about this where anyone might overhear. This is a matter of the highest importance, and requires absolute secrecy.”

“Of course,” Gaspi responded as the chancellor turned to leave. “Hephistole,” he added quickly, and the chancellor turned back around.

“Yes Gaspi?”

“I spoke to Jonn a few days ago,” he started.

“
Ah, so he managed to speak with you,” the chancellor said. “What did he tell you?”

“He told me he was going under cover to try and rescue Adela from a crime-lord
called Belash. I was hoping you’d know more about what he’s doing.”

“I know you mean well, but Jonn will not appreciate any interference,” Hephistole said.

“I know that!” Gaspi said impatiently. “Jonn made me promise not to try and help. Even if I can’t help, I still want to know as much as possible.”

“I
’m afraid I’m not going to be much help,” Hephistole said gently. “Jonn has gone to live among some very dangerous people, and he can’t pop in and out whenever he likes to keep me updated. I cast the disguise, and if he’s there long enough he’ll have to find a way to reach me so I can renew it, but I doubt I’ll see him now for some time.”

“You don’t even know where he is?” Gaspi asked
.

“No I don’t.
It’s a secretive organisation Gaspi, and even Jonn doesn’t know very much. He must at least find out where Adela is kept before I see him again, and to do that I expect he’ll have to work his way through several layers of the organisation.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Gaspi said despondently.

Hephistole was watching him sympathetically. “I know it’s hard, but Jonn can look after himself. He knows where I am if he needs help, and when the time comes to rescue Adela, he will not be unsupported.”

Gaspi nodded, not wanting to extend the conversation any further. Hephistole
clearly didn’t know any more than he did about the details of Jonn’s mission. “I’d better go,” he said.

“Take care Gaspi,” Hephistole said.

Gaspi nodded once more and turned away. He and Taurnil re-joined the other three. “Traveller’s Rest?” Emmy asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Absolutely,”
Gaspi said, and with that they climbed the stairway and left the cellar.

…

When they reached the Rest, they ordered a large pot of tea and retired to one of the snugs. Lydia sat down first, taking a deep armchair by the window. Gaspi and Emmy slid onto the bench, and Taurnil took the chair next to Lydia’s.

“Is he serious?” Emmy asked incredulously when the door was closed.

“I think so,” Gaspi said, frowning as he tried to take in the staggering news Hephistole had just burdened them with.

“That’s the craziest thing I ever heard!” Emmy said indignantly. “He wants us to sneak past thousands of ogres and risk our lives trying to steal some broken bits of altar? I mean, I know it’s important and everything, but why us? We’re barely legal adults for goodness sake! It’s…it’s…irresponsible!”

“Someone’s got to do it,” Taurnil said.

“Yes but that someone shouldn’t be us! It should be a team of experienced magicians!” Emmy insisted.

“What do you
think Lyd?” Taurnil asked. The gypsy girl had been staring out of the window, and clearly hadn’t been listening to the conversation.

“What?” she
said vaguely, turning her head to look at Taurn.

“The quest,
” he said. “Emmy thinks it’s reckless.”

“
Oh, I don’t know,” Lydia answered. Gaspi and Taurnil shared a look.

Taurn r
eached out and rested a hand it on Lydia’s knee. “Are you okay Lyd?” he asked solicitously.

“
I’m fine,” she answered, turning her head and staring out of the window once more. Taurnil looked at his friends helplessly, but there was nothing any of them could say. When the fire spirit had died, Lydia had been inconsolable. Emmy had sat by her side in the infirmary until she’d finally fallen asleep under the ministrations of the healers. She’d literally cried herself to sleep, but when the gypsy girl awoke, there had been no more tears. She’d barely spoken a word since that day. She walked around with them, joining in with whatever they were doing, but she was like a ghost.

Emmy had tried to use her powers to help her,
just as she had for Gaspi after his battle with the Skelkans at the Measure. She tried to combine neuromancy and healing to soften the edges of Lydia’s painful memory, but it turned out that it didn’t work where grief was concerned. It helped with traumatic memories – gruesome or painful images that haunted or traumatised the mind – but grief was so fundamental to human existence that it had to be left to work itself out. Gaspi knew that Taurnil was fraught with concern for her, and all they could do was keep her company, waiting for her mind to heal itself over time.

Gaspi looked at Taurnil’s worried expression and revised hi
s opinion on his friend’s reaction to the quest. Under normal circumstances there’d be no holding Taurnil back. If you said the words quest, danger and combat in the same sentence he would already be committed! His care for Lydia was the one thing that trumped his thirst for action, and in that moment, Gaspi was certain that Taurnil would do everything in his power to protect and look after his girlfriend, even if it meant saying no to the quest. One thing was clear - Lydia was in no condition to go travelling into dangerous places. The only thing they could do was wait; for the elementals to return, for Lydia to recover; for some basic sense of what they should be doing. At that moment, Gaspi couldn’t help feeling they were reeling uncontrollably from the devastating events of the Measure, and no-one knew when they’d get their footing again. He also couldn’t help feeling they were burning time they didn’t have.

After a long day
tending the sick, Shirukai Sestin was taking his ease at a beach-side tavern, looking out at the frothy breakers of the Southern Ocean. He sighed, unable to shake a feeling of dissatisfaction – a feeling that had been growing for the last month or so, and which had become difficult to ignore. He already knew what it was about. The last year and a half had been incredible, but finally, after all that time, he was starting to long for Helioport, and more importantly for Chloe.

He
looked back over the journey he’d undergone, weighing up whether or not it had fulfilled his expectations. He thought about the decision he’d made just after graduating from the College of Collective Magicks. It had been a very hard choice to make. He’d received an invitation from a member of the ruling council in Bolanze, offering him the chance to shadow the magician who served as his advisor and eventually take over that esteemed position when the old mage passed away. It was an extraordinary opportunity for such a young man, and Bolanze was a cultured and sophisticated city. Situated on the south coast of Antropel, it was a major centre of commerce, and its rulers were important players in the politics of the Southland. Bolanze was soaked in warm sunshine throughout the year, but balmy coastal breezes kept the streets from growing too hot, and its citizens ate outdoors all year round.

All in all, it was
difficult to turn down such an offer, especially when Chloe had been in his ear about it day and night, urging him to accept. But there was something Sestin loved more than luxury, social position and sunshine; something he valued even more than Chloe, or any of his friends, and that was magic itself. He was beguiled by it – not just by its power but also by its beauty. He had a burning desire to acquire knowledge of the art-form he loved so much, and if he settled into a role as a working magician, he may lose much of his freedom to do that. Old Clem, his mentor at the college, had always said that you learned more of magic on the road than you ever could in a classroom, and something about that statement had fired Shirukai’s imagination.

There were several reasons behind
Old Clem’s mantra. For starters, if you placed yourself in challenging situations, you were often forced to find creative ways to use your magic. It was where theory was tested and developed by harsh reality. What you may have thought would be useful while cloistered in a comfortable study may prove to be utterly worthless on the road, especially when those around you distrust magic and shun its practitioners.

In addition to that, there were numerous isolated societies dotted around the continent, all of which had their own magical practices. There were soothsayers, shamans, weather-watchers, and
many other denominations of spell-caster. Healing ran through these traditions like a vein of gold, but each of them applied it in a different way. Who was to say what those healers may have discovered through decades of practice? Many formally trained magicians were snooty about such practitioners, seeing them as pagan and simplistic, but Old Clem had disparaged anyone who thought like that. The wisest magicians understood that you could learn something from anyone if you paid enough attention, and even a hedge-mage may have something up his sleeve that could teach you a thing or two!

Enticed
by the promise of knowledge, Shirukai had decided to roam the length and breadth of Antropel, using his healing skills to pay his way while he learned more of the art of magic.

Chloe had begged him not to go, of course, but as far as he was concerned, if he didn’t do it while he was young, he might never get another chanc
e. So despite her protestations (and her sweetly whispered promises) he had donned his travelling cloak, and set off down the road on his own.

He’d travelled for many months, journeying right up to the icy mountains of the North, where he’d learned much from the tattooed shamans and their earthy traditions. Next he’d passed down through the Karkarus desert in the central region of the continent, travelling with the nomadic merchant-tribes that traversed that forbidding land. Finally he’d journeyed down to the coastal regions of the South, avoiding the city of Bolanze and sojourning in smaller towns and villages instead, where he used his healing gift to great effect among the
provincial locals.

He’d learned a thousand little things about magic
during his travels. One night he’d come across a family trying to rescue their child from a ditch. The boy had fallen into the extensive drainage ditch surrounding their town and wasn’t responding to their calls. Dark had fallen, and the family were stumbling around without lanterns, in danger of falling into the ditches and injuring themselves too. Under normal circumstances, Shirukai would have summoned a globe-light, but magic was distrusted in that part of the continent, and he’d been forced to get creative. Instead of summoning a single large light, he summoned a thousand tiny ones, using his advanced neuromantic skills to convince the family that they were only fireflies. The illusionary flies had swarmed around them as they searched, and eventually, aided by secret magic, they’d found their child lying unconscious in the ditch. As soon as they had rescued him the flies dispersed, and the family had carried the boy back to their home convinced that the gods had favoured them in their search.

Anothe
r night, Shirukai had eaten in a local tavern, listening to a group of locals discussing the evils of magic. Many of Antropel’s rural backwaters were deeply suspicious of magic, and in the worst places local law enforcers had been known to arrest anyone they caught engaging in what they perceived as a foul practice. If the stories he overheard were true, some of those magicians had been killed for their gift. Disturbed by what he heard, Shirukai had joined the conversation and laced his voice with suggestion. The spell-work had been subtle, chipping away at the trenchant prejudices of those locals, suggesting that magic, if employed for the benefit of others, could play a vital role in the functioning of society.

Slowly, as the night had worn on, Shirukai had seen those men become open to the idea that magic might not be such a bad thing after all. They weren’t convinced, but they were willing to see things in a different light. Perhaps it wasn’t a
dramatic achievement, but Shirukai thought it was important, and spent many a night doing the same thing in towns and villages the length and breadth of the continent. It wasn’t an entirely selfless pursuit, however, as it helped him take his already advanced neuromantic skills to a whole new level. By the time he’d reached the south coast, he’d become so sophisticated in the art of magical persuasion that he began to wonder if anyone at the college could rival him.

Yes, the traveller’s life had turned out to be everything he’d wanted it to be – a life of discovery, with new mysteries awaiting him around every bend in the road, but despite his satisfaction with his experiences, Shirukai could feel th
e call of home, and more particularly of Chloe. Sitting there in the beach-side tavern, he remembered the softness of her touch and wondered if she still waited for him. Perhaps she’d found someone else. The thought made his pulse quicken. Trusting his instinct, Shirukai faced the possibility that his travels may be over and found that he wasn’t disappointed. Most of his decisions were made instinctively – even the important ones – and with a surge of excitement, he decided there and then that when he woke up the following morning, he would set out for Helioport.  

Someone cleared their throat nearby,
disturbing his reverie. Shirukai looked up to find a stranger standing over him – a man with such an unappealing aspect that Shirukai almost blanched. The stranger’s cheekbones were so prominent they looked like a deformity, and his scalp was utterly hairless, showing every knob and bump of his skull. Skinny to the point of emaciation, he had pallid skin and muddy green eyes set into a heavy-boned face. Without a doubt, Shirukai had never seen an uglier person.

“Good day to you,” S
hirukai said, forcing a smile and gesturing at an empty chair. Ugliness gave him no cause to withhold basic courtesy. “Care to join me?”

“Thank you,” the stranger said,
taking the seat. His voice was a harsh rasp in his throat. “I was watching you heal today. A noble pursuit - especially for one so young.”

“Sorry, I didn’t catch y
our name,” Shirukai responded.

“
Ossthak,” the stranger said.

“I’m Shirukai.” He extended his hand in greeting. Ossthak took it and shook it briefly, his grip hard and knobbly.

“Shirukai,” Ossthak re
peated, and turned back to watch the breakers. They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Ossthak spoke again. “I have come to ask for your help,” he said without looking away from the ocean.

“
Oh? What kind of help?” Shirukai asked. It wasn’t uncommon that people saw him work during the day and approached him privately later on. Usually they had some kind of embarrassing condition they didn’t want anyone to know about. 

“My people need of
the services of a healer,” Ossthak said. “We are isolated from the mainland, and though our warlocks are powerful, our race does not breed healers.” Shirukai’s curiosity was pricked. This was a much more interesting prospect than he’d anticipated. An indigenous magical tradition that didn’t focus on healing? He’d never heard of such a thing.

“Tell me more,
” he said.

“A plague is running rampant through the villages. It starts with what looks like a simple
fever, but over the course of weeks it becomes dire, and only the strongest survive. The elders have sent me to find help, but I fear we do not have much time.”

“Where is your home?” Shirukai asked.
It certainly sounded like these people were in desperate need of his services.

O
ssthak hesitated before answering. “The Isle of Mists.”

Shirukai drew in a sharp breath. “Skelka?”

“I see you have heard of it,” Ossthak responded tautly.

“Who hasn’t?”
The Isle of Mists, otherwise known as Skelka, was a huge island several days sail off the southern coast of Antropel. The tribes-people who lived there were said to worship a dark deity and engage in perverted acts of worship involving the consumption of exotic poisons that induced an ecstatic state, and which culminated in human sacrifice.

“
Whatever you have heard about my people is false,” Ossthak said, visibly angry. “They are a fiction, made up to scare children!” The Skelkan was agitated, his face flushed with unchecked emotion.

“Ossthak, I’m
sorry!” Shirukai said, holding up his hands. “I really am. I should know better than to believe everything I hear.”

Ossthak took a few deep breaths, calming himself down. “I should be us
ed to hearing such things, but having seen your healing skill today, I couldn’t help feeling hopeful for my people. If you will not come, then I fear all is lost.”

Shirukai heard the desperation in the man’s voice.
“I will come,” he said, unable to make any other choice. As a healer, he felt compelled to relieve the suffering of others, and as a person, he felt guilty for offending Ossthak.

“
Thank you so much!” Ossthak said, relief written all over his face. “I have a boat, and we can leave as soon as you are ready.”

“I have no ties here
,” Shirukai responded. “We leave on the morning tide.”

“
Again, you have my thanks,” Ossthak said, touching his breast as he rose from his seat. “Rest well, and I will meet you here after sunrise.”

“You too
,” Shirukai responded. He watched the Skelkan depart, wondering what had just happened; it seemed like his plans had changed almost without his consent. One moment he was looking forward to returning to Helioport and the next he had committed himself to a trip into one of the most ill-reputed places in all the known lands.

He
sat back and considered what he’d committed himself up to. Yes it meant he’d have to wait a little longer before seeing Chloe again, but as a healer he couldn’t look Ossthak in the eyes and say he wouldn’t help his people. Besides, it meant one last trip into the unknown. This would be the last time, he assured himself, and by the looks of it, it may turn out to be the most interesting part of his entire journey. He would help combat the plague, saving children’s lives and giving their community a fair chance at survival. At the same time he would have the privilege of unprecedented access to a culture so fabled it was the stuff of legend. All in all it seemed like a fair deal.