Wielder of the Flame (2 page)

“You have come now to face your death!” The dark figure
proclaimed, his voice twisted and vile.

The Keeper struggled to maintain his white energy but the
darkness was almost upon him. Sweat dripped from his nose again.

His whole body felt weak.

He sank to one knee, bowing his head in exhaustion.

I have failed
, the old wizard thought,
I am no
Keeper.

His very bones seemed like they would crack from the strain.

“ENOUGH!” Tremos roared and sent a thrust of magic down the
dark energy.

It struck the old man with immense force, throwing him into
the air like a rag doll.

His staff shattered into a million tiny splinters of
glittering wood.

The metal container holding the six orbs also flew from
underneath his arm.

The old man spun once in the air, head over heels flinging
towards the far wall. He glimpsed the dark magic as it overtook the metal box.

“NO!” He cried out.

The container erupted with a brilliant flash of burning
multicolored energy.

If Tremos had known what the box contained, he would have
taken more care in killing the old man. But it was too late. The dark magic
shattered the box and all of its contents, flinging the wild energy held inside
each of the six globes free with tremendous force.

Instead of exploding outwards, the dark energy absorbed the
orb’s free magic. All the orbs’ raw power went straight back to the source, the
armored giant Tremos, hitting him with several times the magnitude of the
attack he had sent at the Keeper.

Tremos let out a bellow of agony.

The Keeper spun in the air again.

So this is how it ends.
The Keeper thought, seeing
his own doom flashing before him.

The orb in his own hand activated and he felt himself wink
out of the room.

Not so,
a soft, soothing female voice said, reaching
through the ether like an invisible string stretched out to an infinite length
to touch the Keeper's mind.

It was the Oracle.

“Marc, Marc, Marc,” Victor said,
shaking his head and pounding one of his fists into his palm with each syllable,
to emphasize his point, “You made a big mistake.”

A group of nine boys stood in the city park not far from
their school. Victor, the leader of the group, stood in front of Marc. Two of
the older boys pinned Marc’s arms behind his back and he hung almost limply
in-between them. The rest of the gang, five other boys, surrounded them in a
circle. They all wore their sports Letterman jackets, except for Marc.

He didn’t have one.

Though as tall and athletic as any of the boys present, he
had been overtaken by their numbers. 

“Talking with my girl.” Victor slammed his fist into Marc’s
stomach.

Marc let out a groan of pain, doubling over, but the other
two boys held him on his feet.

He was no stranger to bullies. His so-called family moved
around often, making him the new kid in many schools. It meant he never had any
friends, and was always a year or two behind when it came to clothing trends.

Loner.

Besides these things, Marc didn’t know why the star
quarterback and most popular guy in school had bothered to initially single him
out. Like a bad nickname, once it stuck, it was impossible to shed.

Falling for Victor’s girlfriend had only made the situation
worse.

“Touching her.” Victor punched him again.

Marc’s eyes began to water from the pain, his vibrant indigo
irises shining fiercely.

His heart pounded in his chest. Fear coupled with anger
showed clearly in his outward expression. He was angry for being held against
his will, angry that Victor could get away with hurting him. Seeing Marissa
suffer directly because of Victor, as well, poured salt into the raw emotion.

She deserved to be with someone else.

Marc had found her at her locker that morning, crying
because of Victor. Summoning the courage within himself, he talked to her,
tried to comfort her, and even patted her on the shoulder.

No doubt one of Victor’s cohorts had seen the act, and told
him.

The air was heavy with the feel of a soon to come rain.

The afternoon light was beginning to fade as the sky
transformed to a dark grey with the thickening clouds. A chill gust of autumn
wind rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees.

No one noticed the small and sleek black cat hidden on one
of the tree branches, silently watching the scene below.

Another punch.

Marc groaned, his stomach threatened to release his meager
school lunch all over the park pathway.

“You can’t treat Marissa like that,” Marc gritted through
his teeth.

Victor smirked, readying another blow.

Marc, anticipating the attack, threw his whole weight to the
side as Victor’s fist flew.

Surprised by Marc’s quick motion, the boy holding Marc’s
right arm was jerked downward and to the side, directly into the path of the
swing. Victor’s fist connected right below the boy’s belt, between his legs. The
boy let out a groan and immediately let go of Marc to clutch himself. With his
arm free Marc grabbed the sleeve of his other captor and revealed a patch of
forearm.

Marc bit hard and deep into the young man’s arm.

His prey screamed, throwing his assailant free.

Marc hurtled through the air and skidded across the ground.

Without wasting a moment he scrambled up quicker than he
thought himself capable and bolted for the nearest grouping of trees.

“Don’t let him get away!” Victor bellowed.

Marc didn’t bother to look behind him.

He had to get away.

Bushes and branches tore at his face as he stumbled deeper
into the trees.

There was a strange coppery after-taste in his mouth and he
spit several times trying to get rid of it. 

A bridge ahead arced over an intersecting path.

He made as if he was going for the bridge, then jumped and
slid down the steep embankment to the path below. He grunted as the grass and
loose pebbles raked across his back, elbows, and rear end. He fumbled on
reaching the bottom, recovered, and raced under the bridge. He only followed
the lower path for a brief moment before bolting towards a grouping of trees
nearby.

He heard the boys yelling behind him and finally stole a
glance back as he ran.

Victor and three others were racing down the hill after him.
The rest remained at the top of the bridge, pointing and yelling.

Marc whipped his attention forward just in time to stop
himself from running right into a tree. He dodged around it and continued on.
They would easily find him hiding behind a single tree. He sprinted on. Wind
whipped through his hair and twigs snapped underfoot.

It began to drizzle.

He struggled to catch his breath. The cold made his lungs
sting as he sucked in air. Sweat made his shirt cling to his chest. He gasped a
few times, hearing the boys getting closer. He slowed to a stumbling jog and put
his hood over his hair to stay dry. He couldn’t stay ahead of them forever. He
had to find a place to hide.

He ran past a few more thin trees and came upon an expanse
of grass. On the far side of the grass were several different clumps of dense
trees and bushes. He might be able to conceal himself there long enough for
them to give up for the evening. He summoned a burst of strength and sprinted
as fast as he could to one of the clumps of bushes.

He pushed through the thick growth for a good bit before his
hoodie caught on some branches.

He pulled frantically, trying to free himself.

The fabric would not come loose.

He pulled harder. There was a loud ripping sound but he was
still stuck.

Then he heard the boys drawing nearer and he froze.

Am I far enough in to be completely hidden?
He tried
to look around but leaves and twigs enshrouded his vision.

“Where did he go?”

The voice was somewhat distant.

“I swear he ran this way!” someone else added, even closer.

Marc tried to free the garment more gently, but the bushes
shook with the slightest movement and he didn’t want to give away his position.

He heard footsteps draw near. His heart pounded in his
chest. The sweat on his forehead turned cold from the evening’s autumn breeze. He
could hear his own breath coming in heavily and he tried to slow his breathing
down. It was silent. Had he lost them? He let out a sigh of relief. His stomach
gurgled loudly in the silence, protesting the previous punishment it had
endured. He stifled a groan from the pain and stopped himself from vomiting.

The bushes shook and a hand clamped around his wrist.

“I found him!” a boy yelled.

Marc pulled frantically.

“Quick!” the boy cried. “He’s going to get away!”

The boy yanked hard, Marc pulled back. His skin burned with
the friction.

Thinking quickly, Marc unzipped his hoodie and twisted out
of it.

There was a crash as the other boy fell backwards.

“Hey!” he cried, the jacket hanging limp in his hand. “He’s
over here!”

Marc cursed silently to himself at the loss of his jacket
and delved deeper into the brush.

The rain turned into a downpour.

Lightning filled the distant sky, followed by claps of
thunder.

He tried to pick up his pace but was almost entirely out of
breath. He forced his legs into a trot, but that was all he could muster.

This was it.

He had eluded them for now, but was it really over?

It was getting dark and hard to see.

Two small floating lights appeared in the darkness ahead of
him, low near the ground. He froze. The lights disappeared as quickly as they
had come.

The sky crackled with lightning revealing nothing were the
lights had been.

What was that just now?
He thought.

Once more, the two lights, like little green circles
appeared, closer this time.

Another flash of lightning in the sky illuminated Marc’s
surroundings.

A cat, black as night, stood not too far from him, its eyes
gleaming in the dark.

It meowed, and looked hard at him.

The cat turned, facing away from Marc, as if to leave, but
instead looked back at Marc, and gestured with its paw for Marc to follow it.

What the—?
Marc returned its gaze, puzzled.

He glanced behind him at the sound of his pursuers getting
nearer.

The cat let out another meow and motioned again, this time
more insistent, and bounded forward.

The strange cat, or Victor. Marc’s stomach growled, still
throbbing with pain, and helped him make his choice.

I guess I’m going to follow this cat.
 

It was a difficult thing to do, with only a brief sparkle of
two glowing eyes now and then to help identify the cat from the darkening
surroundings. The cat hastened its pace, Marc did the same. Dodging smaller
trees, he batted away branches and put up his arm to brush past thicker bushes.

He had never been to this part of the park. It was so thick,
like it hadn’t been tended to for a long time.  

He noticed the shouts of Victor and his gang had
disappeared.

The rain continued to pour, the trees failing to stop it. A
flash of lightning revealed the forest around him again. It teemed with fallen
leaves and vegetation. The trees were thick and ancient. Mushrooms and moss
grew on and around fallen logs.

This is no park.
Marc thought.

The cat had stopped just ahead so Marc stopped as well.

He looked around, and fear began to creep in.

Where am I?
He thought.
I’m completely lost! How
did I even get here?

The cat bounded over to him and rubbed against his leg. He
looked down and grinned, the fear seeping away. He always liked cats.

He bent down and petted the feline on its head.

“Huh—?”

The cat’s fur was perfectly dry, despite the storm.

Meow.

Marc stopped and straightened himself.
Odd.
He
thought.

The cat’s curiously dry state reminded him of how wet he had
become in the storm, and he shivered, wiping water from his face.

The creature purred at him, looking up. The cat’s intense
forest green eyes sparkled momentarily. It then turned and bounded toward a
thick grouping of brush and vines. It stopped there and looked back to Marc. It
turned away again and pawed furiously at the undergrowth.

He then noticed an orange-golden glow just on the other side
of the natural green wall.

He stood there in the rain for a brief moment, then decided
the cat was trying to tell him something.

He walked over to the wall and crouched down to where the
cat was scratching the vines. The small animal sat on its two hind legs and
flicked its tail, content that the boy had come over.

He reached over and attempted to pull the vines apart. They
were thick and he struggled against them. He yanked and tore leaves away. As he
worked at the wall of growth, the golden light began to peer through. He pulled
more quickly, a hunger to know what lay beyond, fueling his already spent
energy.

And then he was through.

He stepped into the opening he had made, his mouth slightly
open in wonder at what lay within.

Light shone from the middle of the glade as well as from a
smattering of faintly glowing stars in the night sky above.

A wall of towering thick vines and overgrowth created a
circle around the glade. The only opening in that circle was the one he had
created. The cat jumped through the hole after Marc. Inside the grove it was
quiet and dry. Despite the rain behind him on the other side of his opening,
there was no storm here.

In the center of the clearing was a small hill. The undergrowth
and debris had been cleared away to reveal a large boulder protruding from the
hill. A sword jutted from the rock, embedded almost to its hilt. The golden
orange glow emanated from the sword. The light pulsed faintly, showing through
even in the small cracks of the stone.

“Wha—” he began, “What is this place?”

Meow!

Marc looked down at the cat. It tilted its head upwards to
return the gaze, its eyes glimmering from the nearby glow.

He couldn’t believe this was happening.

He thought he should feel more concerned about being
completely lost in a dark overgrown forest with a cat that remained dry while
it rained. But despite the unusual circumstances, he felt completely calm here.

The cat bounded up the hill to the boulder and stopped to
look back at the young man. It glanced up at the sword, then at him, then back
at the sword.

His intellect and senses were caught up in a battle of
coinciding what he was taking in with what he knew as the law of natural
things, for many things he was experiencing here did not fit in with his
knowledge of reality. 

Despite the uneasiness in his stomach, or was it the pain
from earlier? He felt an impulse to climb the hill and pull the sword from the
stone.

He took the fifteen or so paces up to the boulder and
stopped just an arm’s length away from the sword, to inspect it more closely.

It looked old and worn. The hilt seemed to be made of gold,
but was faded and tarnished. The blade that he could see poking out of the rock
was tinged with red rust, chipped in several places along the two edges of the
weapon. Black streaks that looked like ash smears further tarnished the dull
metal. The hand guard was a simple straight piece of metal separating the grip from
the blade. The guard and pommel were littered with little dents and dings. The
only beauty the weapon held was in the magical, unearthly glow it radiated.

The cat meowed and raised a paw. In response, a glowing blue
and white light appeared around the young man’s middle and then vanished with a
wisp of smoke. A plain brown leather belt and a sheath suddenly adorned his
waist.