Ways of Power 1: Power Rises (2 page)

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              Adroman reappeared at the steps of the great white tower, nearly fifty miles from his home. It was built entirely of marble and stood like a beacon of hope, glistening in the night. It caught the light of the moon and every star to make it appear as though it shone with its own ethereal light, and standing almost one thousand feet tall it could be seen for miles.

It was the one place Adroman thought he and his son would be safe; no one in memory had ever tried to openly attack the capital of the Light Magi people. It was a citadel of all their power and knowledge, and was home to Grecrum, the leader of their race.

Adroman knelt at the bottom of the steps and laid his young son down in order to see what damage he had been dealt.

He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he let it out at the sight of Rancoth's chest rising and falling. Thank the gods, he's alive. Adroman now had reason to live again.

Rancoth had high cheekbones and a small slightly upturned nose like his mother. His hair was a light dirty blond, and his skin was a creamy mocha color, the perfect combination of Adroman's dark complexion and Carcella's own pale skin tone.

Seeing all of his wife's familiar features in his son caused Adroman to pause. The ache in his heart was almost unbearable; if he could rip it from his chest he would. He felt the warm build up of tears in his eyes.

No, I can't do this now; I must get Ranny some help, Adroman told himself. He then noticed that there was a large burned bruise left from where the demon's hand had been around Rancoth's neck. His son appeared to be breathing fine, and he could find no other discernible damage. He gently began to shake his son's shoulder, "Rancoth, Rancoth, wake up, son, come on Ranny, it's daddy."

Rancoth didn’t stir and Adroman heard the soft scuff of someone approaching from behind. Already on edge, he quickly turned to see who it was, keeping a hand on his son in case they needed to get away quickly.

All of the tension left his shoulders when he saw the approaching tower guard.

The woman was dressed in a pure white silk robe that hung down to just above her ankles, with a silver sash emblazoned with the tower symbol tied around her waist. She had short dark hair and her glowing eyes were a striking amber color.

"Who are you and what brings you to Grecrum's tower?" she asked.

"My name is Adroman. My son was attacked a few moments ago by a demon. It killed my wife, Council Member Carcella--" but before he could explain things further the woman interrupted him.

"The councilwoman is dead?" 

A simple "yes" was all he could answer.

The woman paused at the anguish in his voice "I'm sorry. Please forgive my insensitivity. Is your son all right?" The woman took the last few steps to close the gap between them, and knelt down by Rancoth. She looked him over quickly, and then stared up at Adroman, with concern in her eyes.

"He will need to be seen by Tre’Atoll, Grecrum's Chief Sage. Unfortunately she is on the other side of the city, and Grecrum will want to speak with you about what has happened."

"I am a phase shifter. I can get us there and back in no time, but I'm not entirely comfortable with my son being left alone with an Elfkin, even if it-"

"
She
," the woman interrupted.

"Fine, even if
she
is the Arch Mage's Chief Sage. Will you allow me to transport you with us, and will you stay with my son…please?" Adroman tried to show his desperation in his glowing yellow eyes

"My name is Jurile, and yes, I will stay with your son." she said.

He closed his eyes as relief washed over him again; he then knelt down, and lightly touched his son's, and Jurile's shoulders. Having been there in the past Adroman was able to picture the Healers’ Quarter in his mind. When he opened his eyes once more, they had arrived.

"That was incredible!" Jurile exclaimed. "I've never felt anything like that. It was suddenly dark, and I felt warm and contented all over. Like sitting next to a fire in the depth of winter, and being wrapped up in a goose feather blanket with my favorite cup of tea. It seemed to last forever, and then it was over, and I realized that no time had passed at all. Is that how it always is when you shift somewhere?"

"That is how it feels to others. I’ve grown so used to it I don't feel anything anymore. I'm simply in one place one moment, and in another the next. While I appreciate your enthusiasm for my power, I must insist we see to the care of my son."

Jurile looked at her feet in shame and replied, "Yes, of course, I'm sorry. It’s just-that was my first shifting, and I've always wanted to know what it was like."

"Which of these dwellings belongs to Arch Mage's Elfkin sage?" He stood and began to look up and down the street. It was dark, but the full moon and the glow of the tower a mile away provided enough light to see by.

The dwellings were practical, made from mortared stones, with thatched roofs and wooden doors. Most were small in size, only a single story. Though wealthy and prominent members of society, healers as a general rule did not live a lavish life style.

Jurile stood, "This way. Your instincts are good, Tre'Atoll's home is just down the street a little way."

Adroman began to kneel down to pick up his son, when Jurile said, "There is no need. I'm a kineticist."

Adroman stood up again "That would be appreciated, thank you."

Jurile simply nodded, and then turned to look at Rancoth. "
Reesa khild
." Rancoth's body began to levitate a few feet off the ground, and then Jurile said, "
attachay mir
" and Adroman watched as his son moved into a position about a foot behind Jurile. "There, he will follow me now."

"Lead the way," Adroman said, with a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. He knew that Jurile was young and only trying to help, but he wanted to get his son to a healer as quickly as possible.

He followed Jurile West as she led him and his son down the dark street. They passed only three houses before coming to one which at first glance looked like any other. The only difference was a carving of the tower symbol upon the door. Jurile knocked, and a few moments later the most ancient Elfkin woman Adroman had ever seen opened the door.

She was completely naked, as was common among her race. She had a soft orange skin tone, and her small breasts hung like two flaps of old leather on her chest. She was completely covered in deep creased wrinkles. Her small pointed ears, the tips of which seemed to droop, as if they had tired of standing erect years ago, stuck out slightly under her wispy golden hair. Her most striking feature however, were her piercing gray eyes with long vertical pupils.

Tre'Atoll's eyes held depths of wisdom and kindness behind them. Adroman knew in that moment that his son would be well cared for.

"Honored Sage, this is Adroman, husband to Councilwoman Carcella, and this is his son Rancoth, who was attacked by a demon moments ago." Jurile said, pointing at Adroman first, and then stepping aside for the ancient Elfkin to see the boy floating behind her.

"Bring him in and set him on the table, young Jurile." Her voice was strong and smooth, not that of a woman as old as she appeared. Tre'Atoll turned and walked into the dark house.

Jurile followed, as did Adroman, whose eyes did not readily adjust to the dark interior. A match was lit, and Tre'Atoll carried it to several candles spaced evenly throughout the room on small intricately designed metal wall mounts.

Tre'Atoll then turned her attention to Rancoth, who Jurile had already moved to the large wooden table and released from her spell. Tre'Atoll peeled opened Rancoth's eyes with her slender thumbs and peered into them.

Adroman's breath caught in his chest, Rancoth's eyes were glowing, a bright green color. A Magi's eyes only began to glow when they reached the age of ascension and began to use magic, usually between eight and ten. Rancoth's had never glowed before; it meant he had used magic for the first time tonight. He must have tried to stop the demon that attacked him, Adroman thought. I wonder what type of magic he wields.

"How long has he been like this?" she asked.

"No long," Adroman responded. He explained what had happened and eventually, his voice cracked, and he began to cry. "It…it killed my beautiful Carcella…"

Adroman collapsed to the floor sobbing, finally able to feel and express his grief now that his son was being seen to. His whole body convulsed with the effort of despair. His tears pooled behind his hands, and pushed out the seams where they pressed against his face. The two women gave him his space and remained silent, allowing him his moment of torment.

Tre'Atoll let Rancoth's eyes close, and began to examine his neck where the creature left its mark on the boy. "Jurile, start a fire. I have no water left so you will need to fetch some from the well down the street, and start it boiling. Once that is finished I will tell you what herbs to use in order to make a soothing tea for the man. I will be able to heal the boy, but he will need to stay with me for some time to make sure no corruption has occurred."

"Yes, of course, Great Sage." Jurile turned to the fireplace, and set about making a fire.

Tre'Atoll, placed one hand on Rancoth's head and the other over his chest. Her palms began to radiate a soft orange glow. She then closed her eyes and began to chant. It was a rhythmic song-like concoction of words which originated deep within the woman's stomach. Calm and melodious, it had a soothing effect on the whole room. Adroman's sobs subsided slightly.

When Jurile returned with the water, the Great Sage was still deep in her healing chant. Adroman, was no longer weeping on the floor. He was instead simply lying where he had crumpled; his hands no longer covered his face, though tears still flowed silently from his swollen eyes.

Jurile walked over to the fire with the kettle of water and placed it in its holder. She then sat on a small simple wooden chair.

Adroman lost track of time listening to the Sage's chant. When Jurile finally spoke again, it sounded as though her voice were coming from the end of a long tunnel.

"Great Sage, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I thought you would like to know the water is ready," she said.

Tre'Atoll continued with her chant for a few moments more and then opened her eyes, the soft orange glow of her hands fading. She turned to look at the young tower guard, and nodded slightly as she went and sat in a soft, faded red chair.

"In the cupboard next to the fire you will find several boxes with different herbs. Look for a tan one tied with a white ribbon. Inside are the dried petals of a small white flower."

"This one?" Jurile asked.

"Yes, child, make a cup for the man, and one for me as well. Feel free to make one for yourself if you wish. The taste is slightly sweet, and very comforting."

Jurile did as she was instructed. After bringing a cup to the sage she handed one to Adroman and then sat back down in the simple wooden chair with her own steaming cup.

They all sat and drank in silence for a time. Adroman, who had sat up to take the tea, finally broke the silence.

"Will my son…will he be…alright?" he asked, looking at the ancient Elfkin with desperation in his eyes.

"He will be fine; his physical wounds were mostly superficial. His real injury runs much deeper than the flesh…his soul was damaged. He wasn't unconscious because of pain, or because of anything that the beast did, at least not as far as I can tell. He chose to close himself off. I have eased his turmoil, and he should be fine in a day or two. I'd like to keep him here if you don't mind, just in case."

              Adroman's relief was instantly apparent. His whole body seemed to relax, the tension left his face, and the grief in his eyes eased slightly. "Thank you, I don't know how to repay you." The ancient Elfkin woman looked at him for a moment.

"I have done all that I can. It is up to him to get past what has seared his soul, and he will need you more than anything, I think. As far as your debt to me, we will discuss that at a later time. I need rest, and so do you." Tre'Atoll placed her empty cup on the table and stood with surprising ease and grace.

"Pardon me Great Sage," Jurile said, "but Adroman must return to the tower and let the Arch Mage know what has happened."

Tre'Atoll did not turn as she walked down the hall but simply replied over her shoulder "Very well, but the boy stays." The finality in her voice left no question as to where Rancoth would be sleeping for the remainder of the night.

              Adroman jumped to his feet. "I will return to the tower and ask for an audience with Grecrum. You promised to stay with my son. I no longer fear this ancient Elfkin woman, but Rancoth has never seen an Elfkin before, and were he to wake I would like a Magi here to comfort him, and to tell him where I have gone."

Jurile nodded. "I will not leave his side. If you can please let the captain of the guard know where I am, he will understand the circumstances and assign someone else to my patrol."

"Thank you,” Adroman said. “I will return as soon as possible." He then walked over to his son, still lying on the table. He tenderly caressed his son's cheek with the back of his hand. "I'll find whoever did this to you and your mother, and I promise they will pay dearly." He leaned down and gently kissed him on the forehead.