The Mage's Limits: Mages of Martir Book #2 (36 page)

“Yeah,” said Darek. “I'll do that later, after I figure out what I want to do. It shouldn't be that difficult, especially since I am a pagomancer myself and all.”

“I know it'll work out for you,” said Mom. “But no matter where you go, I will make sure to let you know about whatever developments happen here. At the very least, I will let you know who the next Magical Superior will be.”

“Of course,” said Darek. “Now, why don't we go back up and tell the rest of the teachers about what Skimif told us? No reason to be down here anymore, after all.”

“Sure,” said Mom.

She turned and headed out the open door. Darek followed, but stopped when he thought he heard something behind him. He looked over his shoulder, but did not see anything except for the stone podium in the center of the Chamber.

Must be hearing things,
Darek thought, shaking his head as he resumed following Mom out of the Chamber.
I'm just tired after all of the excitement over the last week. What I need more than anything is a good night's rest.

So Darek made sure to close the door behind them as they left the Chamber, though as he did, he thought he caught a glimpse of something glowing green inside. He didn't focus on it, however, and it was soon lost from sight as he shut the door firmly closed.

Chapter Twenty-Five

D
urima lay on the tiny, ill-fitting bed in the small apartment she had taken as her own since the end of the Battle of World's End. Every now and then her eyes were drawn to the empty paint buckets and blank canvases scattered around the room, the remains of whoever had lived here before she had moved in.

She closed her eyes to try to sleep, but it was impossible. She kept thinking about Gujak. It had been a long time since she had lost a friend in combat like that. She could still recall seeing how broken his body had looked at the funeral, more closely resembling a hacked-apart tree than a dead katabans.

His death … for the first time in Durima's life, she thought death was unfair. It was never a thought that she had seriously considered before. Having seen many katabans die during the War, Durima had not thought that death could be 'fair' or 'unfair.' Death just was, and if you wanted to continue to be, you had to avoid it no matter what.

She dug her claws into the pillow under her head, causing some feathers to poke out.
Gujak didn't deserve to die. He was a good katabans. Not a smart or wise one, maybe, but he was always helpful and kind. Much kinder than I was, at any rate.

That was why she had had such a hard time sleeping over the past week. In her mind's eyes, she saw herself at Gujak's 'funeral'—which consisted solely of Durima, as Gujak didn't have any other friends that she knew of, aside from the female he had liked but whose name Durima still didn't know—taking Gujak's remains and asking Diog, the God of the Grave, to keep them safe in the ground. She had buried Gujak's remains just outside of World's End, under a tree that had resembled Gujak before his death, albeit vaguely.

She hadn't bothered to put Gujak inside a coffin, as humans were known to do to their departed ones. A katabans's body wasn't as important to them as a human's body was to a human. To the average katabans, their physical body was merely a tool used for interacting with the physical realm.

It's obviously an ineffective tool, though, if we have to die with it,
Durima thought, pulling her blankets as tightly around her body as she could.
Someone should do something about that.

“Maybe you should do something about that,” said a voice from a dark corner of the room, near one of the blank canvases. “At least, that's what I'd suggest if I was an idiot.”

Durima froze. She had heard that voice many, many times over the past week, always at night, when she was alone, trying to sleep. She never heard it while working with the other katabans to rebuild World's End. It reminded her of the Void, even though she knew that the owner of this voice wasn't a product of the Void.

“Go away,” Durima said into her pillow. “I'm not in the mood to talk.”

“You never are,” the voice jeered. “But if we are going to tear down this whole world together, then I think we will need to talk, whether you are 'in the mood' or not.”

Still talking into her pillow, Durima said, “What if I talk to the gods and tell them about you? What if I do that?”

“Of course you won't,” said the voice, as if her suggestion had been a dumb idea. “You are Durima the Demon, hero of the Battle of World's End. In a single day, you went from being despised by all to being the envy of katabans everywhere. You were pardoned by Skimif himself. You wouldn't risk throwing all of that away, not even to get rid of me.”

For the first time, Durima heard footsteps coming from that corner. She still kept her face in the pillow. She hoped that this was nothing more than a nightmare, a horrible, awful nightmare brought on by something in her subconscious that she wasn't aware of. It was the stress of everything, she told herself, just making her see and hear things that weren't even really there.

Durima almost believed it … until she felt the cold, metallic fingers brush her fur, causing her to whip her head out of her pillow and look up at the figure standing above her.

His smile revealing snake-like fangs, his yellow eyes glowing as malevolently as ever, Uron said, “Now, Durima, why don't we have that nice, long talk you've been avoiding for the last week? There is so much to do if you are going to help me escape the ethereal and destroy Martir, after all, that I hardly know where to start.”

Continued in:

The Mages of Martir, Book #3:
The Mage's Sea

A month after the events of
The Mage's Limits
, Darek Takren receives an urgent notice from the Undersea Institute, the second most prestigious magical school in the world, asking him to come help protect the school from a mysterious new threat.

Thinking he is strong enough to handle it, Darek travels to the school to aid his friends there. Yet he soon finds himself hundreds of miles beneath the ocean's surface, separated from the gods, facing a darkness no mage has ever fought before, while Uron's servants operate in the background to free their master from his prison.

Worse yet, at the end of his quest beneath the sea lies a terrible fate for Darek ... a fate he cannot avoid.

Buy it
here
!

About the Author

Timothy L. Cerepaka writes fantasy and science-fiction stories as an indie author. He is the author of the Prince Malock World series of fantasy novels, the Mages of Martir series of fantasy novels, and the science-fantasy standalone
The Last Legend: Glitch Apocalypse
. He lives in Texas.

Find out more at his
website
.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my uncle, James Wilhite, for helping me get this manuscript into publishable shape. I'd also like to thank the rest of my family for supporting me while I wrote this novel. You guys rock.