The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (93 page)

If he was to survive, if he was to save the city and all within it from utter destruction, Samuel needed to get the thing away from Ash here and now—and he had only scant moments to do it.

Then, with his mind desperately searching for answers, the thunder sounded once more and Samuel knew what to do.

Ancient words came dancing onto his tongue, appearing almost from nowhere.
‘Karem abatu—
’ he began, forcing them through his broken quivering lips
. ‘Mendar arrellum; daedus mantati hellevar
…’

‘What’s that?’ Ash asked, tilting his head to one side like a curious dog. ‘What are you whispering about, boy?’

‘Amun…morbayah,
’ he whispered and, abruptly, the pain ceased once again.

Ash screamed and reeled back, dropping Samuel’s head thudding to the stones. He stood to his full height, screeching in pain as the Argum Stone flashed white-hot upon his finger. He held his claw-like hand before his face in sheer disbelief and howled at it like a raging banshee. Finally, his finger cracked off, withered and baked all the way through, and crumbled to dust. The Argum Stone bounced to the ground at Ash’s feet while Ash was left trembling and wailing, cleft from his source of power.

Waves of harmonious energy sang out from the powerful relic, making a resonant song in Samuel’s ears. With the sealing-phrase spoken, the Argum Stone transformation was now complete.

Free of Ash’s grip, Magic surged back into Samuel like a wave heaving up and pounding itself down upon the shore. He threw up one hand as if clutching at the very ether and he was instantly filled with raw, pulsing power. His skin and bones and tissue and mind were brimming with magic, replacing the terrible pain that had wracked him only moments before. His body was already spent but, while he could still draw a breath, his magic could sustain him. He and Ash were vastly different. He would never have let himself be overcome by such deranged power.

He stood up without effort—as if carried by strings—with magic filling his ears like a thousand frantic drums all beating as one. He revelled in the power and the world seemed new and clear around him. Somehow, driven by desperation and sheer desire, Samuel had found his strength. It had come to him like a sudden revelation, but this time he was not overcome by it or light-headed or filled with rage. His undivided attention was set on destroying Ash, and all his magical fury lay readied for that task, trembling to be released.

Above, the sky bellowed and flashed. Thunder boomed and crackled in the heights, slapping at the tower with each release and making it shudder. A titanic storm had gathered, trying to balance the immense volumes of power being summoned and spent below. The heavens were voicing their rage.

The wind struck up and began howling like a madman, dragging at Samuel’s tattered clothes. Irshank’s robe had all but been burnt and torn from him. If not for his magic, Samuel would have been tossed from the tower like a straw doll.

Samuel looked to Ash, who was frantically searching the stones with one ruined hand, the Staff of Elders still clutched tightly in the other. His desperate fingers came upon the Argum Stone and the gasp of joy was audible, even above the storm, as he rejoined the great sea of power it offered him. His head rose slowly and he stood back upright like a ghoulish scarecrow. A wicked grin formed below his empty sockets.

They both stood readied and positioned, poised atop the highest tower of Cintar. Samuel held as much magic as he had ever felt before—more than when he had killed the dark-skinned bandits, more than when he had felled Tabbet the magician, even more than when he had slaughtered Captain Garret and his men. He was not fuelled with rage as then, but this was even better. Just as Grand Master Anthem had told him, he was in full control of his power. He could feel more magic within him than he had ever thought was possible, but he knew it would still not be enough to match the-thing-that-had-once-been-Ash. A man could not possibly defeat such a god, but he had to try.

An ocean of power blossomed and filled the air around Ash as he summoned his killing stroke from the Staff of Elders. It took the form of a monstrous being rising up behind him. Samuel’s eyes opened wide at the sight, for it was awesome and vast. So much magic loomed in that space that the air began to smell burnt and acrid in his nose. He had no hope of withstanding such power, but still he stood defiantly, depending on his one slender chance.

‘Come on, Ash!’ Samuel called out. ‘What hope do you have if you cannot even defeat a single pathetic magician such as me? The world is waiting for you to consume it. Kill me if you dare!’

More and more power began manifesting from the ether, drawn by the will of Ash to join the raging torrent around him. The Elder Staff howled out in torment from within his grasp while the ether itself seemed to growl in anger as Ash tested its limits. Finally, he finished his gathering and there was a long and silent pause as Ash turned directly to Samuel with a maniacal, eyeless grin. The man had gathered more power around himself than Samuel would ever have thought possible.

It was all Samuel could hope for. He threw his hands up and called his own magic blazing forth. Ash began to cackle at the pitiful amount of energy that Samuel had brought into being, for it paled in comparison to what he had summoned. The young magician did not have a fraction of the power he needed to defend himself against Ash, let alone defeat him, but Samuel did not intend on attacking Ash at all.

The storm raged above, now covering the sky from horizon to horizon. It was a sea of raw power, caught up overhead, and it craved to be unleashed. Samuel’s last desperate surges of magic were not directed at Ash, but directly up into the heart of the raging skies. The storm had reached its threshold, filled with incredible, unspeakable power in reflection of all the energy gathered below, and Samuel gave it all the magic he had to offer—and he gave it a path of release.

Ash’s gaze followed Samuel’s gesture towards the clouds and his rattling laughter stopped abruptly.

The air sighed, then a silver bolt blazed forth and speared Ash to the tower. A clap of thunder, violent beyond belief, fell behind it and struck them like the end of the world. It shook the earth and made the tower sway and groan as if to fall. Samuel dropped to his hands and knees and hung on with all his might lest he be thrown from the tower altogether. Stones shattered and burst away from its edges, raining down below. Every man, woman and child in the city would have dived under their tables or run screaming from the streets. The air was full of shrieks and moans and deafening crashes—perhaps from Ash, or perhaps from the tower or the storm itself. When it was done, the sky was silent and the thunder faded to distant echoes.

The stones around Ash smoked and his remaining scraps of clothing had burst into flames. He opened his mouth to make some kind of utterance and a second bolt fell, just before a boom that felt like a hammer blow to the side of Samuel’s head. A brilliant, glowing streak scarred his dazzled eyes before he could look away.

The storm then spoke one final time but, this time, it launched a flurry of lightning rods that streamed from the clouds and set Ash dancing and fitting like a puppet, threading him to the sky with incandescent copper lacing. The noise was deafening—a continuous shrieking and banging that had Samuel lying flat and covering his ears for all he was worth. He could feel his skin tightening and the hairs on his arms smouldered, but he dared not cast any spell to protect himself lest he also attracted the sky’s wrath.

When the lightning had finally abated, only the wind and the soft crackling of Ash’s skin then remained to be heard.

Ash was still breathing; a wet and laboured sound that sounded close to death, and he was still on his feet. He rocked forwards and back, ready to fall, and Samuel could not believe there was any kind of life still in him at all, whatever form it took. The man had truly become some kind of monster.

Then, Ash’s right hand slowly opened and the Argum Stone dropped out, falling towards the scarred and blackened stones.

At this, Samuel found some uncanny reserve of energy. He gained his feet and dived, catching the ring before it could bounce to the floor. Climbing back onto his legs, he could feel the relic nestled firmly in his clenched palm, safely away from Ash.

Ash took an unsteady step, his mouth agape in frozen pain. ‘What was it that made you so powerful, Samuel?’ he then asked, pinning Samuel with his steaming, eyeless sockets. His voice was like tearing parchment. ‘Even with all the magic of the Ancients at my beckoning, you still managed to defy me. What filled you with such power, boy? What force made you into this unspeakable creature that has defeated me?’

‘You did,’ Samuel said, feeling the icy ring tight within his fist. ‘Each time you tried to destroy me, you set me an obstacle to climb, a goal to reach, a new strength to find. Each time you tried to kill me, I was born anew. Each time you destroyed something I loved, a seed of vengeance grew in its place. If it weren’t for you, I would still be picking apples in my father’s orchard. You made me everything I am, Ash, and I will utterly destroy you for what you have done, as I have so vowed.’

Ash raised the Staff of Elders once more with trembling arms and Samuel could feel him reaching for the power within it. Incredibly, a trickle of magic began to seep out of the ancient wood and into Ash. The magic of the Ancients had changed Ash altogether. His body had all but been destroyed. It was now merely a smouldering carcass, a vehicle for carrying his maddened soul and somehow he had ceased being human altogether. The fury of the storm had stunned him, but it had not killed him. Now he had found some way of reaching into the Staff of Elders directly. The magic began coming faster, leaping in ever-growing bursts into him. It was not nearly as much power as before, but it was growing greater at an alarming rate. Ash began laughing—a sickening and loathsome sound that could never emit from something human.

‘I have learnt such things as you would scarcely believe, Magician,’ the creature facing Samuel growled. ‘I have seen the secrets of this world and I will not be cast aside so easily.’

Samuel was spent. The storm was spent. There was only one more thing he could do.

There, clutched tightly in his palm, Samuel held the key to unimaginable power. He opened his hand and looked upon it, seeing the flickering light of Ash’s flaming cloak reflected on its silvery surface. He picked it up and slowly turned his right hand over, spreading his quivering fingers as wide as he could. His hands were shaking and he had to bite at his lip in concentration, but with the greatest of care, he managed to thread an outstretched finger into its centre and he felt its coolness sliding against his skin. He pushed the glimmering ring firmly up to his last knuckle and then he opened himself to whatever lay waiting there within.

A lone figure found himself hanging high in the air, far above a vast stormy ocean of magic. Almost at once, he began plummeting down. Faster and faster the person fell, rushing towards the roaring waters, accelerating at an incredible rate and without limit. He smashed into the freezing seas and pierced deep beneath the tumultuous surface, crushed on all sides by the cold and heaving power. The strength of the magic all around him squeezed the air from his lungs and pushed the blood from his palpitating heart—making his thoughts formless and nonsensical.

He paled before the incredible strength the relic kept pushing into him and he struggled to keep it all from washing over him and smothering him, as it had done with Ash. Its weight was incredible and it pushed in at him from every side, trying to force its way inside him, trying to invade every particle of his existence.

Then, something wonderful happened—an epiphany of sorts—as if some divine presence, in one sweeping gesture of its arms, had parted all the pain and anguish and confusion that now surrounded him and everything he had ever sensed or learned or experienced then coalesced into an atomic mote of clarity, and from this single fleeting point of omniscience, sprang a simple train of thought:

Magic is a strange and wonderful thing. When pressed to describe or define magic, most Masters have a different opinion. Master Sanctus had expressed it as simply a form of energy, while Master Glim called it ‘the manifestation of the will’. Others believed it was the essence of our spirit and some even said it was a gift of the gods. Of all the opinions he had heard, Samuel now recalled what his friend Lomar had once told him and, strangely, he could recollect the man’s words precisely, as if reliving that very moment in time. He could almost feel the great branches of the oak tree from the School of Magic reaching up above them, lending them both its shade.

This is what he said: ‘Magic is a rare and beautiful talent that some of us are lucky enough to possess. Try not to think of magic as something that
is
, but rather as something that can be achieved. On any fine morning, a person may choose to do some chores, or cut some wood, or write a poem, or paint a picture. They can even choose to sit and do nothing. Such is magic. It is not something you can see and say “Look! There is some magic!” but rather something you can experience and say “Behold! What a wonderful thing it is that magic has done!”’

It was pointless attempting to resist such rampant power as Samuel found in the ring. To do so would have corrupted him and blasted his mind and body. Instead, he relaxed and let the force all around fall in upon him. He welcomed it and joined it, letting it push him all about with its currents, washing over him and within him at the same time. He became one with that ocean of power, a sea of no bounds or dimension, a sea that filled everywhere and everything, until there was no
sea
and there was no
him
, there was only
nothing
.