Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

Their deaths!
The words rung in his head. Suddenly his choices were clear. If he accepted this offer he would at least be able to rid the world of one evil. If he declined both evils would continue unchecked. 

It was a simple choice.

“I accept your gift,” he whispered.

Darkness descended around him.

Eric stared across the empty fire pit. A cool autumn breeze had picked up as the sun began to set, encouraging him to prepare a fire before realising it would be a beacon to their hunters. Now he sat shivering in the lengthening shadows with nothing but Alastair’s snoring for company. When they had finally stopped Alastair had dismounted, propped himself up against a tree, and promptly went to sleep.

Wincing, Eric shifted into a more comfortable position on his log. The days ride had left his body hurting in places he had never dreamed. Even his knees hurt – Gods only knew how that had happened.

To his left Alastair slept on. He half wondered if the old man would succumb to his injuries and never wake again. Yet after what he had witnessed in the last twenty-four hours, it would not have surprised him if Alastair were to wake fully recovered.

The birds had fallen silent and a silent twilight now settled over the forest. The last glow of the setting sun lit the sky red, reminding him of the savage flames from the night before. Only now the world seemed at peace.

They were not far from the God’s Road now. Alastair wanted to be away before the sun rose, which would be almost impossible without the road to follow. He reasoned the Baronian threat meant there was little chance the hunters could continue the pursuit. The silence from the road seemed to confirm the old man’s suspicions.

Eric’s mind was alight with an endless loop of questions. Alastair had promised answers when he woke. Until then Eric was left to stew in his thoughts.

A chill gust of wind swept through the tiny clearing. Eric shivered, looking up in time to see a last flash of sunlight through the branches above. His breath steamed in front of his face. It looked like a cold autumn was on its way.

“Good evening, Eric.”

Eric jumped, almost tumbling from the log. He looked across to see Alastair awake and raising an eyebrow in his direction. The spark of life had returned to his eyes.

“Anything happen on the road while I slept?”

Eric shook his head, watching as Alastair stood and stretched his arms. His bones creaked with the movement and Eric again found himself wondering how old the man truly was.

Alastair took a moment to inspect the wound in his shoulder. The bleeding had stopped beneath the makeshift bandage he had applied.

“How is it?”

“Better. There shouldn’t be any infection. It’ll heal, eventually.”

Standing himself, Eric walked across to where they had tied the horses. “Hope you don’t mind, but I explored Briar’s saddle bags. I got hungry.”

Reaching into the bag strapped to Briar’s side, he retrieved a strip of beef jerky. He tossed the lump of dried meat across to Alastair and fished out another for himself.

“There wasn’t much in there but beef jerky and dried fruits.”

Alastair smiled. “I was planning on buying supplies in Oaksville. Although I don’t generally carry much anyway.”

Eric hesitated. “Is that why you were in Oaksville, for supplies?”

The old man looked up at him. “Starting with the questions already? Can’t you let an injured old man finish his meal?”

Eric scowled. “Not after listening to him snore all afternoon.”

Alastair laughed. “I was in Oaksville for you, Eric. And before you bother asking, no, I cannot tell you how I knew you were there.

Eric stared at the other man, slowly chewing the salty strip of meat. Eric had guessed some things had been left unsaid in Oaksville. Someone, or something, had sent Alastair to find him. The question of who was burning on his tongue, but Alastair’s expression made it clear there would be no headway there.

He asked the other question consuming him. “
Why?
” he tried to keep his tone neutral, but his desperation still seeped into the question.

“Because you have magic.”

Eric heard the words Alastair spoke but his mind refused to process them. Suddenly he was struggling for breath, unable to breathe. His head throbbed. He felt a sharp pain in his palms and realised he was clenching his fists so hard his nails had punctured the skin.

Finally, he shook his head. “That’s impossible. Only nobles have magic…”

“No. While it’s true most of those with magic are powerful people the gift is not limited to royal families or the rich. It is passed down bloodlines from generation to generation.”

“But neither of my… parents… had magic.”

“Magic can lie dormant for generations, until it is all but forgotten, before reasserting itself,” Alastair paused for a long moment. “Such situations often have horrifying results.”

Eric closed his eyes, unable to face the truth.
No, it’s not possible!
A trembling began in his arms and slowly spread until his whole body shook.

“I… I thought it was a curse,” a curse was beyond his control, but magic? People could control magic.

“I’m sorry, no. The power you possess is far too great for a curse. No one has such power they could waste so much on a curse.” 

Eric sank to his knees and felt the mud begin to seep through his trousers. A gurgling, growling sob rumbled up from his chest. His fingers dug into the soft earth, grasping for something solid to cling too. His eyes never left Alastair’s.

“Could I have stopped it? Could I have saved those people?”

He regretted the question as soon as the words left his mouth. He was not strong enough to face the answer.

It’s all your fault,
a voice whispered in his mind.

Strong hands clasped his shoulders and shook him. “Look at me, Eric!”

Eric stared at the old man. “Tell me, Alastair.”

“You could not have saved them, Eric. You could not have stopped the magic. Without training, magic responds to emotions like an extension of yourself, but once released there was no way to stop it. Only proper training would have allowed you to do so.”

“It was still me though.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Eric. Magic is a wondrous thing, when properly controlled. Yet it also has a mind of its own. It will do want it wants, when it can – especially to preserve itself. And a threat to you threatens it.”

“It is a part of me though, and I could not control it,” he paused. “I need to learn how.”

Silently he prayed Alastair could teach him. He had pledge to make amends for the deaths in Oaksville. If he could control his magic, perhaps he could take his first step on that journey.

Alastair’s eyes bored into his own. At last, he nodded. “Very well, I will teach you.”

Eric felt a rush of elation. He sat back against his log, a smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in years he felt a touch of hope. “Do you think it’s safe to light a fire, before we get started?” The night had closed in; he could barely make out Alastair’s silhouette in the faint light. Somewhere in the darkness an owl began to hoot. Soon other creatures would begin to prowl the night.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he shrugged his wounded shoulder. “I’m still too weak for an encounter with some of the animals that stalk these woods and a fire will keep them at bay. I think both the Baronian’s and villagers will be occupied with each other tonight,” he moved over to the horses. “It’s a good thing you collected the firewood before night fell.”

A few minutes later they had a merry fire crackling. Eric stretched out his hands towards the blaze, feeling the chill flee before its heat. The fire cast the tiny clearing in a warm glow.

“How old are you, Eric?” Alastair asked.

“Seventeen. A man since last month. Why?”

Alastair chuckled. “Just curious. So young, but yes, you are by rights a man.”

They fell into silence. Eric stared into the fire, deep in thought. When he finally spoke his voice was soft. “What
is
magic? It’s not the cheap potions and gimmicks of the street venders. So what is it?” he flicked another stick into the flames. Sparks rose up, drifting for a moment on a gentle breeze before fading.

“No, magic is not a human creation. It is a part of nature. It comes from the forces that move us, the energy that drives the weather, the light of the sun. It is the harnessing of the energy stored in everything on this planet. Only a lucky few have the power to tap into this energy, and even then, there are limitations. For starters a person can only be connected to one of the Elements.”

“What do you mean by the Elements?”

Alastair frowned. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. The forces of magic are divided into three Elements – the Light, the Earth, and the Sky. Most people control just a small part of an Element. For instance, I am able to manipulate the forces of attraction between objects. That comes from the Light Element. But I cannot control fire, or light itself, which are other aspects of the Light.”

“And mine?”

“Your magic is different. From what I have seen, it seems you may control all facets of the Sky. And while it is the weakest of the Elements, that is no laughing matter.”

“It didn’t seem weak when I created that storm,” Eric replied bitterly.

“No. But you should also understand, our magic cannot create. Only the gods can create something out of nothing.”

Eric tilted his head. “What do you mean? That storm certainly seemed to come from nowhere!”

“Yes, but that is because it came from somewhere else! Your magic manipulates the weather, Eric, but it does not conjure it from nothing. The magic within you drew that storm to Oaksville and made it larger by pulling in other weather systems. But it was not
created
.”

Eric ran his hands through his hair, trying to process the new information. The magic was a part of him, a part of everything, but only certain people could control it. Magic could manipulate the world but could not create new forces.  His head still ached from the beating Gabriel had given him.

“…night,” lost in thought, Eric only caught Alastair’s last word.

“Sorry?”

“I think that it would be best if we stop for the night. A good night’s rest will do you good. As I said, magic come from within you – and when you use it, it draws on your life force. That can be exhausting, in fact I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long. I’ll keep watch, since I slept all day. We’ll leave before first light.”

Eric nodded, struggling to contain a yawn. His questions had kept him alert through the day but now a wave of exhaustion swept over him. His eyes were drooping and his thoughts had grown fuzzy and confused. It would be useless to continue their discussion now.

He grabbed a blanket he had taken from Briars saddlebags and curled up in front of the fire. Closing his eyes, he sought sleep. Thoughts drifted through his consciousness. Images appeared, some as clear as day, others just a blur, as if viewed through a cloud of smoke. Then as it so often did, his mind turned to his parents and his fifteenth birthday.

The day was still clear in his memory. Clearer, in fact, than much of two years that had followed since. The time he had spent on the road seemed a dream compared to the clarity of that fateful day – and the horror the night had brought.

It haunted him still.

“Eric, catch!” the nectarine tumbled towards him.

Eric reached up and plucked the fruit from the air. He wiped it clean on his shirt before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. His friend sat in the branches of the tree above him, munching on a second nectarine. Juice ran down his young face. Behind him, an autumn sunset lit the sky blood red.

“So how does it feel to be old, Eric?” Mathew asked.

Eric shrugged. “No different really, only I think it could mean a lot more work from here on out. My father’s already talking about getting me in the fields!”

Mathew laughed. “That’s too bad. Maybe you should just forget about this birthday thing. Stay young forever.”

Eric grinned back. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“Eric” a voice shouted from down the hill. “Come help set the tables. Just because you’re a man now doesn’t get you out of your chores!” he swore sometimes his mother’s voice could carry across mountains.

“It begins,” Mathew mocked in an ominous voice.

“At least I get presents,” Eric retorted as he started down the hill.

Eric heard his mother’s voice again and began to run. The ground was muddy from rain, but his sturdy boots carried him easily along the slippery trail. 

Covered by uncut grass and scraggly trees, the hill led down to his parents’ house on the edge of town. Half a dozen other houses also neighboured the hill but his families was easily the smallest. Over its thatch roof and smoking chimney he could just make out the rest of the farming village. It spread across the rolling plains, around fifty houses in all. In the distance green mountains towered over the valley, hedging them in to the west.

Puffing, he ran up to his back door and pulled it open. Leaning down, he was sure to scrape the mud from his shoes before entering. His mother’s fury would be something to behold if he trekked mud into the house again.

“There’s the birthday boy – or should I say man!” His father greeted him with his booming laugh and welcoming grin.