The Awakened Mage (66 page)

Ears ringing, cheek burning, he stared at the angry old woman. “You might want to think twice, hittin’ me, since I’m the only one as can save your wrinkly hide.”

“Child, child, I’ll hit you as many times as it takes to drive sense into your fool stubborn head! Don’t you know we’re out of time?”

Sticky with blood, his legs unsteady, Gar stepped forward. “What do you mean, Veira? What’s happened now?”

She didn’t answer. Just turned on her heel and stamped along the corridor towards the kitchen end of the cottage.

“Asher,” said Gar, his hands upturned. “We should see what she’s talking about. It sounded important.”

Itching to hit Gar again, he turned on his heel and stalked after Veira. Gar’s footsteps followed him, sounding uneven, as though he were hurt.

Good. Let him be hurt. He deserved a few bruises and a whole lot more.

The kitchen’s back door stood open. The others were outside already, scattered about the yard. Seeking solitude, he moved over to the henhouse. Gar joined Darran by the pigpen and rested a hand on the ole crow’s shoulder. Seeing the blood on him, Darran made to protest. Gar smiled and shook his head. Not dismissive but reassuring. Watching them, Asher scowled. Something had changed there. Some balance had shifted. He looked away. Good luck to ‘em, the miserable bastards. They bloody deserved each other. Veira, her tatty cardigan pulled close to her body, had joined Matt and Dathne a stone’s throw from the stable.

All of them, silent, stared at the sky.

The morning’s blue brightness had almost disappeared. Now the air above the Black Woods was bellicose with clouds. They seemed too close to the ground, low enough nearly for a tall man to touch. Grubby white and dirty gray, they whirled and streamed and jostled like hve things. With a kind of mean-spirited deliberation.

“It looks like Westwailing,” Gar said, hushed. “Weather run amok. Power without form or purpose.”

An ominous rumble trembled the air. Birds exploded from the treetops, flapping away. The horses crammed in the stable whinnied in sudden loud fear. There was a crash as hooves kicked timber. The donkey in its little enclosure off to the side echoed their distress with a nerve-shattering bray.

Asher rubbed the prickling skin inside his shirt sleeves.

“The Weather Magic’s unraveling. The threads binding it to the earth, the mountains, are comin’ undone.”

Dathne turned. “You can feel that?”

He kept his gaze pinned to the curdling clouds. The unwanted knowledge inside him, transferred from the Weather Orb to that secret place in his mind, was chiming loud alarms. Setting his teeth on edge. It was like standing on the headlands watching a bad storm roll in over Drag-onteeth Reef: the air alive with lightning, with wildness. Contemptuous of kings and their magics. Determined to lash without mercy.

It was just like that… only a thousand times worse.

He looked at Matt. ‘This is just the beginning, I reckon.”

Another rumble of thunder, louder this time. This time the ground beneath their feet grumbled a reply. Matt clapped his hands to his head, groaning. Asher closed his eyes. Letting his woken instincts guide him he stretched his mysterious senses into the ah. What he found there made him gag. It was worse now than it had been in the woods. The world around him smelled rotten. Rank and putrid, like a carcass blown with maggots.

He opened his eyes. Spat sour saliva onto the grass. “I can stop this, maybe. I got the Weather Magic in me. I could fight it, stitch up the worst holes, buy us some time—”

“No!” said Gar, alarmed. “Don’t you understand? Morg will sense it. He’ll know you’re alive. The only way to stop this is to stop him. Kill him. And quickly, before it’s too late. Before the land tears itself to pieces. The Westwailing storm will be nothing,
nothing,
compared with what’s coming.”

“Aye, well, you’d know,” Asher drawled. “Bein’ a cripple and all.”

“How dare you!” shouted Darran, pushing forward. “Ungrateful peasant! After everything he risked coming here to you! Endangering his life! Walking for miles! Just to bring that wretched diary where it might do the most good!”

“Good? What’s it good for, Darran? Arse-wipin’? Or maybe I should throw it at Jarralt. Could be it’ll knock him arse over eyeballs and dash out his brains. Maybe that’s what it’s good for!”

Lifting a placating hand at Darran, Gar answered. “It’s good for more than that, Asher. You didn’t let me finish, inside. Barl’s diary is full of spells, incantations. Weapons of war that can bring Morg down. And I can teach them to you.”

Asher laughed.
“You
can?”

“All right then,” said Gar, flushing. “Perhaps ‘teach’ is the wrong word. I can translate them. Explain them. Show you in theory how they’re performed. I was a magician, Asher, if only briefly. I’ve not forgotten everything yet. If your friends here are right about you, that might work. You’re strong enough to use the Weather Magics, after all. You might be strong enough for this.”

“He is,” said Veira bleakly. “He has to be. Else Prophecy’s misled us and all that’s left is death.”

“Prophecy hasn’t misled us!” said Dathne, angry. “Don’t you dare lose faith, Veira. You’re the Circle Guardian. You don’t have the right to lose faith.” She turned to Gar. “These war spells. How long will it take you to translate them? How fast can they be learned?”

Gar shrugged. “Learning them’s up to Asher. As for the translations, I’ll need at least a day. The language they’re written in is archaic and complicated. I think Barl used some kind of verbal trickery, in case the wrong person chanced to read them.”

“What does that mean?” said Veira. “Is there danger?”

“Not to me,” said Gar, pulling a face. “I no longer have the means to activate the incantations. But if I mistranslate them and Asher tries to use them … well. It might get very … messy.”

He snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time you tried to kill me.”

Veira turned on him. “Stop that! Is there time for your petty bickering when we stand beneath a sky like
that?”
She jabbed a pointed finger upwards, and they tilted then heads to look.

The thickening clouds had darkened like a bruise, sickly green and purple. Some were turned scarlet, like blood blisters. As they stared, silenced, scattered drops of rain plummeted groundwards, stinking of sulphur. Stinging where they struck exposed flesh.

“Time to get organized,” said Veira, and made shooing motions towards the cottage. “Matt, get that donkey undercover then see to making those horses and the wagon as roadworthy and weatherproof as possible. I should have enough canvas and timber tucked away in the shed there for the makings of a wagon cover. Dathne, set to work in the kitchen preparing provisions. We’ll be heading back to the City soon.”

“The City?” he said. “Why go back to the City?”

“Because that’s where Morg is,” Veira answered. “That’s where you must confront him.” She turned away.

“Darran, you help Dathne. Gar, get to work on those translations. Asher—”

He scowled at the old woman, disliking her intensely. “What?”

“You come with me, child. We’ve Circle business to see to.”

Another roll of thunder. A vivid crack of lightning. The last ragged peepholes of blue sky disappeared entirely.

“Hurry!” shouted Veira as the rain fell down in earnest, and they scattered to do her bidding.

Aware of Asher’s furious resentment, Veira ushered him into her bedroom and calmly closed the door. Smiled at him gravely and patted his arm. “Have a seat, child.”

As he threw himself into the furthest armchair she rolled back the carpet, revealing her Circle Stone hidey-hole. Glancing up she caught a glimmer of interest in his eyes, quickly stifled. With a grunt she lifted the hidey-hole’s lid and set it aside. In the dim light the Circle Stones glistened. Beyond the bedroom window the rain lashed down hard.

“Here is the Circle,” she said, and drifted her fingers across the stones. They felt warm. Comforting. “Each crystal a person, sworn to wait and serve. Dedicated to you, Asher. Dedicated to your fight. Your destiny. Each one would die for you, as Rafel died, if it meant the defeat of evil. No—don’t reject them,” she added as he shifted sharply in his chair. “They chose this, Asher. No one forced the burden upon them. They are special, as you are special. Don’t hurt them by denying their gift. There is no greater service than service performed on behalf of the Innocent Mage.”

“Even though I never asked ‘em for it?”

“You didn’t have to. Prophecy asked and they answered. That should be enough to satisfy you.”

He scowled at her. “And if it ain’t?”

“But it is,” she said softly. “Why else do you think you’re so angry?” She patted the floorboards beside her. “Come sit with me. I think it’s time you met them, child. They’ve a part to play in the battle upcoming and it’s best not to fight beside strangers.”

Grudgingly, he joined her. “They’re all goin’ to the City too?”

She shook her head. “That’s not possible. We’re too far-flung.”

“Then how are they s’posed to help me?”

“By lending you their strength when you need it.” She touched his knee. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be clear soon enough.”

She reached into the hidey-hole and withdrew the one crystal she’d never yet used. Unwrapped its soft silk covering and held it carefully in one hand. It was the most beautiful crystal in the kingdom, one of a kind, forged from shards of all the other Circle Stones by Jervale himself. She closed her eyes and sank into a light trance, acutely aware of Asher beside her and the multifaceted crystal nestled warm and waiting in her palm. With her other hand she touched each Circle Stone, calling to its owner, summoning them to the link. Not one by one, but all together. Showing each to the other for the very first time in the Circle’s history. Three stones she left untouched: Rafel’s, Dathne’s and Matt’s. Rafel had already done his part—while Dathne and Matt would lend strength in different ways.

At last the remaining Circle members were united. Through the shimmering, shadowed link she saw then beloved faces. Felt then curiosity and fear. Their excitement and then trepidation. Let it flow through her like a river, like a soft breeze, like a sigh.

Veira… Veira… Veira…

“My dear friends,” she greeted them. “Welcome. I’ve called you now, in this time and to this place, to share with you completely what many already suspect or know. The Final Days are upon us. The Innocent Mage is revealed. The evil foretold has risen… and we are ah that stands between it and the end. Now comes the time for the Circle to join hand in hand and deny evil its dominion. Are you with me?”

Thundering through the link, all their separate voices singing as one.
We ‘re with you, Veira. We ‘re with you. Tell us what to do.

Blindly she reached out and took Asher’s hand. Felt his brief resistance, then felt him surrender and submit. Heard him gasp as he was admitted to the shadow world of Circle communication.

“Behold, friends, our Innocent Mage. Young, and fiery, and full of ire. The evil we battle has touched him already. Bravely he carries the scars. Bid him welcome, and share with him your hearts.”

Welcome, Asher. Welcome, our Innocent Mage. Know we stand with you. Beside you. Behind you. No matter what may be.

She felt Asher’s hand tremble in hers as the Circle’s love poured through him. Heard his ragged breathing. “Speak, Asher,” she whispered. “The Circle will hear you.”

“I don’t—I can’t—what do I say?” he muttered. “Whatever comes to mind.”

“I don’t know why I’m chosen,” he said at last, hesitant. “Can’t believe there ain’t nobody better than me. But since I am, since it don’t seem there’s anyone else, I’ll fight this evil best as I can. Can’t promise to win. Just that I’ll fight.”

Bless you, Asher. And we ‘11 fight with you, never fear.

Veira squeezed his fingers. “And so we will. Dear friends, this Circle forged will stay unbroken. Go about your daily lives until I call you. And when that call comes stop what you’re doing wherever you are and pour all your powers, all your strength, into this binding link. Pour it into Asher, that he might in the end prevail.”

Call us, Veira, and we will come.

Withdrawing from them was a wrenching pain that sprang tears to her eyes. Reverently she laid the crystal on the floor then looked at Asher, stunned and silent by her side.

“You see?” she said softly.

He nodded, his anger softened, his face pliable with understanding. “Aye. At least… I reckon I’m startin’ to.”

“Then will you not find a way to make peace with Gar? To put aside the hardships he’s caused you, knowing it was all in the service of Prophecy?”

He pulled his hand from hers. “That’s got nowt to do with this. What’s between me and Gar is between me and Gar. You keep yourself clear of it, Veira. Clear of me and Dathne too. Since I got no choice I’ll be your Innocent Mage. I’ll fight your battles for you. But that don’t mean you got leave to dance in and out of my life on a whim. Understood?”

She sighed. “Understood, child.”

Tucked away in the corner of her hidey-hole was a

felt-wrapped bundle. She pulled it clear and laid it on the floorboards.

“What happens now?” said Asher. Polite enough, but with bidden flint sharp in his voice.

She looked up, and deep into his eyes. “Do you trust me, Asher?”

He shrugged. “I’m still here, ain’t I?”

She unwrapped the bundle, revealing a hammer and a knife. The hammer she lifted and, before she could hesitate or waste time with regrets, struck it sharply to the forged-crystal Jervale had made.

Asher cried out in protest as it shattered into myriad pieces, glittering with all its colors.

“Don’t fret,” she told him. “The Circle’s unbroken. This is just the next step.”

Swiftly she sifted through the shards, searching for the perfect piece. Finding it, she put it to one side then again turned to Asher.

“Bare your breast to me, child,” she commanded. “On the left. Above your heart.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“You said you trusted me, Asher. I swear I’ll do you no harm.” Then she pulled a small face. “Well. No great harm, and not lasting either.”