Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening (9 page)

He was just about to roll out of his bed when he looked toward the left side of the room and discovered the source of the noises. A man and a woman that he couldn’t recognize were standing next to one of the infirmary beds in in the row across the room from him. They were holding each other in a tender embrace and were kissing passionately. The most he could tell was that each were wearing white, he white robes, and her a white dress. White was the color worn by healers. His hair appeared dark in this amount of light while hers appeared a lighter shade, possibly blonde.

The two of them were not what he had feared, but he was shocked nonetheless. He immediately guessed that the lovers were here at this time of night because they wanted to keep the affair a secret. He didn’t know why this was. It could be that one or more was cheating on their intended. It was nighttime and the room was otherwise empty. Vincent was the only patient in the entire ward and was supposed to have been put asleep by magic. No wonder they thought this location would grant them the secrecy they desired.

They didn’t know it had worn off.

The man pulled her even closer and tighter against himself as they tasted each other’s lips more intensely, caressing and feeling her back with his hands. She held his head close in one hand while holding and squeezing his shoulder with the other. The complete silence made their breathing seem fairly loud. Vincent continued to hold still, wondering just how much further they were going to take this.

It wasn’t long before they parted just enough to begin taking off their clothes, having trouble keeping their lips separated long enough to do so. He pulled his white robes up over his head, revealing his bare back and strong muscles while she unbuttoned something in the back of her dress. It soon came off as well, exposing to the moonlight the fair smooth skin of her supple breasts, hourglass form, and pleasantly shaped legs. They set their clothes on top of a bed further left in Vincent’s view, and she lay her lush body down on the bed just right of that, raising one knee in the air. They hadn’t bothered to remove the covers and were going to commence directly on top of the bed.

Vincent reasoned that he probably should have said something when he first saw them, and was regretting having not since now it seemed too late. He didn’t want to interrupt their love-making. He felt it was wrong to disturb upon their bliss, and kept perfectly still and quiet. It felt like the infirmary room, large and empty as it was, was starting to heat up.

The man, whoever he was, got in between her legs on top and carefully inserted himself with the help of her hand to guide him in. Once the penetration was complete, he pulled closer and wrapped his arms around her back, using his elbows for support. She enfolded her arms around his neck and squeezed with her bare legs. They kissed while he moved back and forth within her, back and forth, making love on top of one of the infirmary beds. Their bodies were intertwined as one.

Vincent felt his face flush red and thought that maybe he shouldn’t be watching this but was unable to make himself stop. He was too caught up in their passion. People making love wasn’t a bad thing, he supposed. In fact, it was actually beautiful, but meant to be private.

Eventually though, he became less amused by the eroticism he was witnessing. It was intriguing at first, but amidst it all he was forced to think again of his own situation and everything that had happened. A lack of consciousness could no longer prevent it. The lovers in their embrace only reminded him that Jessica, the woman he was in love with, would most likely never be his, and he would never be able to share his love for her the way these two were sharing theirs.

Vincent laid his head back again and closed his eyes, deciding to give them their privacy, but still had to endure the heavy, passionate breathing from both. Each were also verbally exulting their ecstasy in their own personal way as well. It went on for hours, and now that Vincent was awake, he found himself wishing that they would just finish so he could get up and be on his way. When he thought it had stopped, he would open his eyes again a crack to look, only to find them changing position to have the woman on top, riding him like a horse. These readjustments to different positions would happen periodically through the night and annoyed him each time since it always held the chance of it coming to an end.

It was early summer, roughly the eleventh of June, and so the morning sunlight’s first rays were tinting the black nighttime sky a dark blue earlier and earlier in the day. When Vincent first noticed this happening, he knew they couldn’t be much longer. Shortly after when he opened his eyelids to a tiny slit again, when he thought they were changing positions, he saw that they were finally putting their clothes back on. The infirmary was often empty at night like this, and Vincent was getting the sense that these two perhaps came here regularly in his absence. He was just in their way. He was always in everyone’s way. It was just one more reason why he had to leave Gadrale behind.

As soon as they were gone, he got up and sat on the right side of the bed, finding his own clothes, boots, and things still in the neatly folded pile not far from his feet. He stood and started changing out of the patient’s gown, glad to be putting them back on. Everything but the sword, anyway. They had been washed and dried and smelled of clean soap. Vincent felt much better now that he was free to move with at least some small semblance of dignity. Pulling his boots on his feet felt best of all yet also painfully reminded him of what he must do; he could not stay. He pulled on his dark blue cloak last, not bothering to pull up the hood.

It was still quite early in the morning, and as much as he dreaded it, he still needed to pay a visit to Arrendis. It would be hours yet before the old man would even come awake. Vincent also suddenly realized that he was famished and should probably eat before he left on his long journey home. Since there was nothing better to do, he decided to go to the central dining hall. He would have to wait there too, but it was better than staying in the infirmary one moment longer.

After navigating through stone hallways and down two flights of stairs, Vincent was finally on the bottom floor. As he walked through the hall leading toward the dining room, the area lit by light orbs attached to the ceiling, he looked toward the opening of the staircase leading down. It was the one leading downstairs through the many floors to finally reach the vault. The intruders must have passed through this very intersection.

He smelt the slightest hint that something had been burning here. When he looked around, he noticed one tiny charred flake of black material sitting on the stone floor. Whoever had done the cleaning had missed it. Vincent’s stomach began to turn and he was losing his appetite. He walked on faster toward the dining hall as much to flee from the unpleasant thoughts as the smell. His hurried footsteps echoed on the stone.

Shortly after, the hall opened up into the central dining room of the keep, empty as it was. Light orbs hovering high in the air near the ceiling kept the vast square-shaped room lit even at this early hour. Rows of wooden tables with long benches on the sides of each were lined up in more or less the same direction he was walking. At the far side of the room was a lengthy rectangular window opening into the kitchen area. The window was where food was normally distributed. Another window in the stone wall opened into an area where dishes were returned for washing. Both were empty; he was far too early and would have to wait. He pulled the scabbard of his accursed sword out of the way so he could sit down but kept it hanging near his leg so that it wouldn’t stick out in the aisle between the two rows of benches.

Vincent leaned over the table, placing his elbows on top, and rested his face in his hands. He felt deeply disturbed that he had killed anyone and even more disheartened because he was somehow not fully up to the task. He wasn’t good enough at killing people, and that was what everyone expected him to be. If he remained, he would have to do better, be better, at such a morbid, terrible deed. He wanted no further part in it.

He was wrong to have ever come here in the first place and saw that clearly now. So many years, so much time and effort, and it had all been for nothing. Vincent had no purpose for being; his life was without meaning. He tried to keep his composure and to keep his eyes from glistening since he knew that sooner or later people would be coming along. He didn’t want them to see how distraught he was.

At first, only the cooking staff arrived. Vincent ignored them but could hear the banging of iron pots and pans and the clanking of silverware and dishes as they prepared to feed the entire keep its morning meal. Later on, some of the earliest risers came, and one or two began to form a line to wait. Vincent reluctantly rose from his seat and took his place behind them. It wasn’t long before more people filed in behind him, and the food was finally being served. A few of the staff placed stacks of wooden plates on a table to the side of the window last, seemingly so that they would be taken now that the cooks deemed the first batch of food ready.

Vincent took one of the wooden plates and forks when the line progressed and moved along to where the food was being given out. There wasn’t much choice this morning. It was just some scrambled eggs, a few pieces of bacon, and a bun. The serving persons dispensed each on each person’s plate by just slopping it on. Vincent thanked them and then went to go sit back down.

He ate not seeming to care so much about what he was eating or how it tasted, wanting only to get it over with so he would be
not hungry
. He had unpleasant business to take care of, and this was nothing more than a trivial obstacle to it. How he would make himself do what had to be done, he didn’t know. He only knew that he had to.

When he was a boy living in northeastern Ryga, Arrendis was the wizard who had visited his shabby farming village to test the children to see if they were gifted. It was a simple test in which they were each given a daisy and urged to concentrate on it heavily and will their magic into it to do anything they liked. It didn’t matter what they wanted to have happen; if they had magic, something would, even if it was not what they intended.

Vincent’s daisy had blackened and wilted. He was worried because he had been trying to make it become red like a rose. Master Arrendis told him that it was alright, that he was gifted. Vincent asked him what his gift was. He didn’t have an answer. He told Vincent that if his gift was for pyromancy, the flower would have burst into flames. If it was for botanical magic, he might very well have changed the flower’s color. He had produced an unexpected result that made identification difficult. Vincent was slightly older than his cousin, and so at the time he was the only gifted child in town; Karl wasn’t recruited until later.

When Arrendis had discussed with Vincent’s parents the prospect of taking Vincent to Gadrale Keep so that he might train to become a wizard, they were both shocked. His father had refused, but his mother later convinced him to agree to it because they were poor and it gave Vincent a chance at a better life.

He was brought here. The fortress and its surrounding campus was the most impressive place he had ever been. It struck him with awe. Arrendis ran further tests to see what his gift was for. Nothing worked. They found out later only by accident. Right after Arrendis had him try to focus his magic several times to no avail, Vincent became frustrated while he continued sitting at the table. Idly, he reached over and with his finger traced the designs on the metal candle holder. It began to glow a bright red.

Arrendis did some research and found a few vague references. He remembered feeling disappointed when Arrendis told him that throughout history those like Vincent were regarded as less worthy wielders of magic, practically useless individuals who occasionally performed sword tricks. It seemed like the end of it. At the look on his face, the old wizard told him not to despair, for no magic is ever really what it seems. He was convinced that through hard work, scholarship, and active attempts to explore it, Vincent could become far more than someone who juggled swords at a fair.

He warned that it would not be easy. Aside from the mental and physical effort Arrendis promised to put him through, even to continue training for what little Vincent knew how, there would be some harsh attempts at experimentation to stretch Vincent’s understanding of his own magic. There was much he would have to learn about Gadrale Keep and much he would have to discover about himself on his own.

And there would be barriers.

He was honest in telling Vincent that because his gift was for an obscure magical discipline that was neither highly respected nor well understood, there would be those who wouldn’t take him seriously. Worse yet, there would be those who might stand in his way. Arrendis could at best only offer him guidance, not instruction. Because of these reasons, there was a chance that his admission into Gadrale would be rejected by the Council of Masters.

Vincent was a stubborn child. He helped his father on the farm because there was need and because he would be punished if he didn’t. He never wanted to be a farmer. Even as young as he was, he saw this as his only chance for something else. He had wanted so badly to learn at Gadrale that he had begged Arrendis to let him stay and earn his keep by doing odd jobs.

Arrendis laughed and told him that he was growing fast: he was already learning to bargain. His mentor didn’t know if Vincent’s additional offer would be enough to convince the council to change their minds if they weren’t interested in retaining him, but out of kindness, he agreed to plead Vincent’s entry on his behalf.