The Wizard of Time (Book 1) (13 page)
“Where along the timeline of the stone did you drop us, I mean, set us down?” Marcus asked. “Near the beginning, the middle, or at the end?”
“Near the beginning, I think,” Gabriel said.
“Good,” Marcus said. He shimmered and suddenly he wore a kilt and a billowy, white cotton shirt. “I know exactly where to find what we need.” Gabriel looked to Ling and Sema and saw that they suddenly wore long peasant dresses one might find on an 8th century Scottish woman. Gabriel frowned. Ever since his mother’s inspired choice of a costume on his ninth Halloween, he had hated kilts.
“Marcus, don’t be absurd,” Sema said. “Kilts weren’t introduced to Scotland until the end of the 16th century.”
“Are you positive?” Marcus asked, seeming confused.
“You of all people should know,” Ling said.
“Yes, but the lad doesn’t know,” Marcus sighed as he frowned. “Wanted to see how long I could get him to wear it.” Marcus switched his attire to simple wool pants and long, rough-spun cotton shirt. Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief. “This way. It’s not far.”
“Good one, Marcus,” Gabriel said with a grin. “I’ll remember that if we come across a lonely keg of ale.”
“Ah, you can’t hold a small joke against me,” Marcus said as he led them up a steep hill. They all laughed. Gabriel wondered what he would see at the top of the hill and where Marcus was taking them. What tainted object would they find? And what would happen when he tried to use it?
Chapter 11: The Seventh True Mage
“Here’s where it helps to know your history,” Marcus said, pointing to the small stone abbey by a large pool of water. “St. Fillan brought Christianity from the monastery of St. Columba on the Scottish island of Iona into the Breadelane, all through Glen Dochart, and as far as Killin.” The names made little sense to Gabriel, but he assumed they referred to the places he could see from the top of the hill where they stood. “Now, this was in the 8th century CE, round about the middle. The dates are a bit foggy, but we know he died in the year 777.
“However, we’re not so concerned with St. Fillan himself as with what he left behind. His healing powers were renowned, and it wasn’t long after his death before he was canonized and made a saint. That abbey down there is named for him. And in the year 1306, Robert the Bruce, the first king of Scotland, was defeated at Methven and retreated to St. Fillan’s abbey, where the abbot at the time gave him shelter. It was here that Bruce would see the relic of St. Fillan’s left arm, which he would later credit with his defeat of the British. The upshot being the abbey was well-funded under Bruce’s reign.”
“I agree the history is fascinating,” Ling said with impatience. “But how the hell does it help us?”
“Well,” Marcus said, “we see the abbey here, and all we need to do is travel forward in time until Bruce and his men arrive to take shelter.”
“And then we find a sword,” Sema said.
“Sword, axe, dagger, well-used cudgel,” Marcus replied. “It doesn’t really matter. They’ll all be tainted.”
“Right,” Gabriel said as they all started down the hill. As they got closer, they could see a monk tending some plants in a small garden and a boy feeding chickens on the far side of the abbey. Neither noticed them. Gabriel reached out with his magic-sense and could feel Sema casting magic over their minds. He couldn’t grasp exactly what she was doing, but he understood the effect. The mages walking down the hill would seem invisible to those below. Unless someone saw them that Sema did not notice.
Gabriel sensed the magic could only work on a mind that Sema was aware of. He wondered how many minds she could affect at once. He also wondered how long it would take him to learn to do the same. It seemed that his earlier attempt at Soul Magic, of speaking to Sema without words, had been a bit of luck. While he appeared to have a natural talent for sensing the fabric of space-time, sensing mind energy felt much more difficult.
When they reached the abbey, Gabriel took out his pocket watch. He placed his other hand on the wall of the abbey and raised his arm holding the pocket watch. Sema placed her hand on his.
“The abbey isn’t large enough to house Bruce and all his men,” Marcus said, “so I’d look for a time when there were a large number of soldiers camped outside.”
“And night time would be best,” Sema said. “No need to draw attention to ourselves before I can convince people we don’t exist.”
“Okay,” Gabriel said. He reached out with his time-sense to the abbey. He could feel it stretching back and forward in time. Not in a line, actually. More like moments layered on top of one another, but holding the same space. Images flicked through his mind, all seeming very much alike. Day and night, spring and summer, fall and winter, the abbey in disrepair, and new walls added. People in the yard and on the hills. People in the abbey. Weddings. Seasonal celebrations.
Then an image slipped past. One a bit different. Many men. And he could see soldiers. He focused on it. That had to be it. “Hold on,” he said to the others as the blackness surrounded them. The blazing white light followed and soon they stood in the same place, soldiers camped about, small fires burning here and there to give light to the moonless night.
Marcus looked around and took his hand back. “Well done, Lad,” he whispered. “1306 on the mark.”
With Sema helping him to avoid notice, Gabriel walked into the army camp in search of a tainted weapon. He knew the one he wanted. It didn’t take long for Gabriel to locate Robert the Bruce’s tent among those spread around the grounds of the abbey. It was the only one with guards posted outside. Gabriel paid close attention with his magic-sense as Sema caused the guards’ minds to cloud with sleep. Quickly slipping inside the tent, Gabriel immediately saw the weapon he was looking for: the battle sword of Robert the Bruce. It was heavier than he expected. He had to use all his strength just to hold it up. A double-handed, double-bladed sword, it was nearly as long as he was tall.
Sliding his hand into his pocket to touch his watch, Gabriel held Sema’s arm as he jumped through space. Blackness and a brilliant white light and they stood next to Ling and Marcus at the edge of the abbey in the shadows.
“Couldn’t find a bigger sword?” Ling asked, staring at the blade Gabriel struggled with.
“I thought it might be easier to use,” Gabriel said, laying the sword down in the grass beside the abbey wall.
“I doubt even Robert the Bruce finds it easy to use,” Marcus said as he knelt down beside the sword. Sema and Ling also knelt down as Gabriel slowly drew the long sword from its sheath and placed it across his folded legs. The well-polished blade glittered in the reflected light of the Scottish campfires.
“Something simple,” Sema said, seriousness filling her voice.
“Nothing fancy, Lad,” Marcus added.
“See if you can make this stone float in the air,” Ling suggested as she placed a fist-sized rock in front of him. From the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes, Gabriel suspected she was curious to see how well he might perform Wind Magic. “Reach out to and try to sense the force of gravity that holds it down. When you feel it, will it to avoid the stone, and then you’ll be able to hold the stone in a cradle of the gravity that doesn’t touch it.”
“Okay,” Gabriel said, looking down at the sword. He handed Marcus his pocket watch and placed his hands on the sword. He could sense the imprints immediately, but that did not surprise him. He had been able to sense the imprints of the sacrificial daggers, as well.
The sword was filled with negative imprints. Robert the Bruce might have been fighting for a just cause, for the freedom of his people to choose their own king, but the sword he swung in battle had taken many lives. Each death had left a subtle energy imprint on the blade.
He reached within himself for his own magical energy and as he held it, focused his mind and will upon the sword. Gabriel felt a wave of nausea wash over him as he reached out to the sword. It wasn’t like reaching out to the pocket watch. The imprints of the watch filled him with a sense of warmth and power that reminded him of standing in the sun at noon on a summer’s day.
The power of the sword felt very different — a cold ocean with massive waves crashing down, threatening to crush and suck him into its depths. While he felt like he was guiding the energy of the imprints in the watch when he used it, it felt like he needed to struggle to control the imprints of the sword. Like they wanted to lash out, and he would need to force them to take the shape he wanted.
He paused a moment and extended the unseen senses of his mind to feel for the gravity that held the stone before him pressed into the dew-damp grass. He was surprised to realize that he could sense the force of the gravity. He felt like a fish that had suddenly realized it was swimming in water. The presence of gravity was such a constant he had never noticed it. Now that he did, he could feel how it enveloped the stone. How the stone too had a weak gravity emanating from it, as well. How he did also. How everything with mass did.
As he focused his magical energy through the sword and began to will the gravity holding the stone to bend around it, he felt the nausea again. Bile reached up to the back of his throat and he nearly retched. He focused his mind and willed the gravity to avoid the stone. He blinked in surprise as the stone slowly rose from the ground and began to hover ten inches in the air. Ling had been correct. If he willed the gravity to avoid the stone, he could cradle it and move it.
He pushed the stone toward Ling with his mind. Ling swore in Chinese. He didn’t know what she said, but she sounded afraid. Sema’s amulets didn’t always translate swear words. Gabriel let the stone drop back to the ground and released the magical energy of the sword. He was happy to be free of it. He turned to his three companions. They all had the same look in their eyes: a mixture of fear and awe.
“That settles that,” Ling said as she spat on the ground.
“How do you feel?” Sema asked. “I sensed a great deal of discomfort.”
“It’s not pleasant,” Gabriel said, “but I’m okay.”
“What does it feel like?” Marcus asked. “Using a tainted artifact?”
Gabriel thought for a moment. “Like dropping a piece of gum on the floor of the boys’ bathroom and being forced to eat it.”
“Thank you for that image,” Marcus said with distaste.
“Now we know,” Ling said, looking at Marcus and Sema. “You are the Seventh True Mage.” She looked Gabriel in the eyes. She seemed wary and Gabriel realized why. This was the closest any of them had come to sitting peacefully with a Malignancy Mage. Was that what he was? Wasn’t he more than that?
“If I’m not a Grace Mage and I’m not a Malignancy Mage, what am I?” Gabriel said. It was a worry that had been growing more palpable every moment since he had touched the tainted power of the sword.
“You’re something special,” Ling said, the features of her face softening. She must have sensed the distress she had elicited in Gabriel and reached out to place both hands on his shoulders. “You are something unique, Gabriel. Something that has never existed. And people will fear you.”
“Both on the sides of Grace and Malignancy,” Marcus added.
“But we will not fear you,” Sema said.
“We’ll be right there with you,” Ling agreed. “We’ll help you through this. Help you figure out how to be what you are.”
“And how to use your powers wisely,” Sema said.
“Because there will be those who simply want to use you,” Marcus added. “Apollyon will be one, but you’ll find plenty at the castle ready to treat you like a shiny new weapon to be tested in battle.”
“So you stick with us,” Ling said, her eyes sharp and serious, “and we’ll watch your back.”
Gabriel could feel a tightness growing on his throat and he coughed before it could move to his eyes. He realized now the feeling that had been eating at the back of his mind and churning his stomach since they had told him what catching the fireball back at the temple meant. It was fear. Fear that he would become something he didn’t want to be. Fear that he might already be that thing. But Ling didn’t think so. And neither did Sema or Marcus. They didn’t see some evil mage in the making. They saw something in him that they trusted. And he trusted them. So, he would trust himself as well. Even if doing so was as frightening as facing Apollyon.
“Thank you,” Gabriel said. “Now let’s go back and find Ohin and the others.”
“Right,” Marcus said, patting Gabriel on the back and standing up. “But first you might best put that sword back before the King of the Scots wakes up and finds it missing.”
Gabriel stood up and Marcus helped him re-sheath the sword. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he took his pocket watch from Marcus. He could have used the energy-tainted sword to jump back to the tent, but Gabriel had already made one clear decision: he would only use tainted artifacts when it was absolutely necessary. A moment later, he stood in the tent again. He placed the sword where it had been and was back at the side of the abbey a moment after that. He was getting better at jumping through space. It hardly took him any time at all to manage it now.
The others were waiting. They each raised a hand, stacking them one upon the other. Gabriel placed his hands on either side of his companion’s palms, one holding the Aztec pottery shard and the other holding his pocket watch.
“No closer than ten minutes after we left,” Sema cautioned. “We don’t know how long Apollyon may have lingered.”
“Everyone stay alert,” Marcus said. “We don’t know what we may find.”
“If we can’t stay alert heading back to a fight with Apollyon, we should retire now,” Ling with a hint of agitation. “Jump already. Let’s get this over with.”
Gabriel didn’t waste time responding to Ling. He reached out to the pottery shard with his time-sense and felt his way to the correct moment, a moment just shortly after he had left the top of the Aztec temple. Blackness and white light followed swiftly, and suddenly they stood in the middle the wide avenue where they had first arrived in Tenochtitlan.
