Wielder of the Flame (45 page)

“You seem much stronger than you look,” Marc said as he
retrieved the Sword of the Phoenix.

“Magic,” Drake replied simply.

“Of course,” Marc said, “I shall use mine then, if I may.”

Drake nodded, “Of course.”

Marc retreated to where he had been for the first attempt
and turned around once more to face Drake.

He stole a glance at Laura drawing a quick flash of energy
and faced Drake.

This time he let the power of the sword erupt with a small
flame and glowing light. The energy began to glow around him as well.

He lifted his sword and charged once more, a powerful yell
emanating from his mouth.

Drake lifted his weapons again to defend the blow but this
time the Phoenix Blade knocked the two katanas back much further than before.

Drake opened his mouth and let out a grunt of exertion to
push the Sword of the Phoenix away.

They exchanged a few sword hits before Drake was able to
finally throw Marc down.

“Much better, and it was not just because of the magic, you
learned quickly, even after only one attempt.”

Marc nodded, taking the compliment.

“The danger of learning quickly is allowing your swiftly
earned success to make you overconfident, overriding your caution. Do not let
that happen.”

Marc nodded again, “I won’t.”

“Your speech is strange at times,” Drake said.

“To me,” Marc replied, “So is yours.”

Drake shrugged, fair enough.

“Alright, a few more, and then I will face the others one by
one, and then general instruction.”

Marc nodded a third time.

Puck’s mouth was dry, his lips
parched.

He had tried to stay on the road for as long as he could but
he knew that if the surviving Bloodcloaks wanted to track him down, they would
do so relentlessly and the road would be the first thing they would follow.

As the morning broke on that first day of his escape he
turned off the road, traveling into the woods but still moving downward towards
Whiteholt, or at least, that was his intention.

The food and water he had grabbed had quickly been consumed
and without provisions his already beaten and tired body had pushed him over
the edge.

He tried to tie himself to the aldom but his arms were too
weak. He tried to draw strength from the pendant his sister had given him, but
even that had been used up, it seemed.

He saw blackness closing in all around him and fell from the
creatures back. His bag fell from his shoulders.

Puck shook his head and tried to scream in frustration, but
he was too tired, and his voice was nearly gone. His eyes were laced with red
and every single muscle and bone in his body seemed spent. He closed his tired
eyes and took a deep breath.
I just want to sleep, sleep and die and end
this misery.

The aldom came over to him and licked Puck’s face, right on
his wounded cheek.

He opened his eyes and sat up at the pain.
No!
He
thought to himself
I have to keep going! I have to get home, I have to get
home and show them the journal.

He reached over and retrieved the bag, making sure he could
still feel the journal within it. He stood with the help of the aldom but he
could not get back up on the creature.

Tired, so tired.
Puck’s mind drifted as he walked,
step after step, through the forest, holding onto the aldom’s neck. His feet
were sore, his muscles ached, he walked tired and he looked tired. His
shoulders were slumped he bowed his head in weariness.

Finally the sun set and Puck, eyes half closed, fell to his
knees, and then onto the mossy forest floor, face first. He lay there, his
nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed in and out. The world around him grew
dark as the sun’s light faded and night fell. His eyelids fluttered in the
dimness and he was about to fall asleep right there when something in the
forest ahead of him, far in the distance, caught his attention. It was a small
fire, a single light in the black void all around him.
Could that be
Whiteholt?
Puck’s hopes soared. The thought gave him a small burst of
strength. It was enough for him to push himself up. 

Father.
He thought.
Mother, I won’t give up on
you…
Puck staggered forward. His legs ached, flared with pain, burned in
protest. Each stumbling step seemed to take an eternity. Thump… thump… his
footsteps sounded dully against the forest floor. Puck did not know how much
time passed. His vision blurred, like looking at the inky blackness and the
fire through stained glass. The fire came closer, closer, it was not just a
single light, but several. They did not seem too far away now. But it was
getting harder and harder to go forward.

Father…

Mother…

He thought with each trod of his feet.

But his strength drained away with every movement.

Aliyana…
Puck shook his head and his eyelids
fluttered again. But the fires were so close now. He was almost to their
reaching light.

Ranasa…
   

As he fell to his knees he thought he heard voices.

Tristen?
An image of his brother’s face flashed
across his mind.

He fell backwards and was looking up to the darkening
treetops.

Then he realized it was not Tristen, but the young man from
his dream.

“Puck?” The young man said.

How does he know my name?
Puck thought.

It was his last thought before he welcomed the darkness.

Puck opened his eyes slowly.

Everything was fuzzy and cast in shadow. He lay on his back
on something soft, looking up at the stars, four treetops at the edge of his
sight. The crackle of fire sounded softly nearby him and he tried to sit up and
turn to look around. He groaned as he moved and decided against it, his head
landing back down on the bundled up blanket beneath him.

A couple of seconds passed and he heard the rustle of loose
clothing. Then, a pretty female face appeared over him.

Her bangs fell to each side of her face revealing her blue
eyes and the rest of her shiny black hair was tied up in the back. Her skin was
a light chestnut in color. She looked to be in her eighteenth or nineteenth cycle
of life.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

All his cuts and injuries were wrapped in some sort of
remedy and cloth and he realized he felt much better than he had before. A cool
leaf and salve was placed over his deep cheek wound, keeping it from hurting.

“I—” He tried to speak but his voice came out like a raspy
scratching noise. He coughed.

“Here, drink this,” she said.

Puck nodded his head slowly. The cool liquid felt so
soothing on his lips, but it hurt slightly going down his dry throat. Puck
drank too much too quickly and coughed.

“Not too much,” She said, taking the waterskin away.

“It is good to see you alive,”

Puck turned at the voice.

It was Drake.

“Drake! I—” Puck was immediately embarrassed. He felt bad
for having simply walked out and abandoned his traveling companion, someone who
had done so much to save and protect Puck’s family.

Drake shook his head dismissively, “Worry not about what
happened in Whiteholt.”

Puck gave a sort of shrug as if to say
But should we not
talk about it?

“You did what you did because you thought it best.”

“I was a fool!” Puck admitted, “Look what I have to show for
it,” he coughed.

He looked around and realized that he was in a camp with
many makeshift beds and several sleeping figures. Drake and the girl were not the
only ones present.

“Who are all these people?”

“They are my friends,” Drake said, “Marcus is with them.”

“Who is Marcus?”

“The young man from our visions.”

“He is
here
?” Puck sat up more straight, a little
excited.

“Go back to keeping watch,” the girl told Drake, “he needs
to rest.”

“How did you find me?” Puck asked one last question as Drake
turned to go.

“In the morning,” Drake replied, “All will be explained in
the morning.”

Puck nodded.

“Now rest,” The girl said.

Puck laid back down.

“What is your name?” He asked her.

“Mel, Radan of Terga.”

“Puck,” he replied, “Salvend of Essoril.”

And then he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

Marc was packing up his gear when
Puck awoke.

He was glad Mel had come along. He could not have predicted
they would have needed her healing abilities and skills when they found the
young man.

Puck had looked like he had gone through hell and back. He
was cut and bruised all over his body and face. It looked like he had gone
awhile without food and water. Mel had told them this morning that he had slept
mostly through the night but had awoken once.

Marc and the others came over when they saw Puck was awake.

Puck and Drake were talking as everyone gathered around.

They stopped their conversation as the group approached.

“How are you feeling?” Marc asked.

“You,” Puck replied, “You really are the one from my
vision.”

Marc nodded, “I remember you,” he said, “Transforming metal
with magic.”

Puck shrugged and nodded his head once, “It seems that my
abilities are not out of place here.”

“Nope,” Marc replied.

He placed a hand on the Sword of the Phoenix and released
the glowing magical power.

“My name is Marcus. I am the Wielder of the Flame.” Marc put
his hand out for Puck to take.

Puck sat, mystified by the statement.

He glanced at Drake, the only other person he really knew,
for confirmation.

Drake nodded.

Puck took Marc’s forearm in the same manner that Marc had
gotten use to as the handshake of Lyrridia.

“This is Laura,” Marc began, then sort of froze, forgetting
how they introduced with last names and everything.

Laura picked up on the queue and finished for him, “I am
Laura, Chaelath of Linwel.”

The others stepped forward and introduced themselves.

“I am Zildjin, Jidan of Kolima.”

“I am Sesuadra, Jidan of Kolima.”

“I am Cydas, Ardusk of Fallhaven.”

Puck greeted them each in turn. He appeared much better than
he had when they found him. Mel really could work wonders.

“What happened after Whiteholt?” Drake asked.

Puck looked down, reminded again of his shame.

“Well,” he replied, “I decided to strike a deal with one of
the leaders of the Bloodcloaks.”

Everyone except Marc groaned in disbelief. Marc would have
as well had he known and understood more about the Bloodcloaks.

“I know, I know,” Puck admitted, “It sounds foolish after
saying it out loud, but I was brimming with confidence in the moment, too much
so.”

Puck proceeded to tell them his story of capture and
torture, of why he had gone with the Bloodcloaks in hopes of discovering who
was behind targeting his family, and of the journal he found during his
escape. 

“And now you know who it is then
after your family?” Marc asked.

Puck shrugged, “To be honest, since my escape I have not yet
looked through it more thoroughly, but I believe some answers lie there.”

They nodded, understanding.

Sesuadra and Laura handed out food for everyone to eat.

The group ate hungrily, especially Puck. First meal was
downed with a drink Marc had gotten use to that tasted like sour yet sweet
cider.

“We were wondering,” Marc said, “If we could see the pendant
your sister gave you, and the crystal on it.”

“How did you know—” Puck began, but then glanced at Drake
and realized he must have told them, “I guess,” he continued, “Why?”

“This,” Cydas said, digging through his bag, “will explain
why.”

He withdrew one of the glass artifacts from the Oracle.

“Is he well enough?” Cydas asked, looking to Mel, the
healer.

“For what?” Mel replied.

“Marcus?” Cydas asked, lifting up the relic.

“What is that? What does that have to do with my sister’s
pendant? Well enough for what?” Puck questioned.

Marc looked at Puck, “Do you want to know why I appeared to
you, how we found you, why your sister’s pendant is important?”

“Of course,” Puck said.

 “This is from the Oracle.” Cydas said.

“The Oracle?” Puck appeared to be in awe, “but she is just a
myth, a tale from the Illuminated Era.”

Cydas shook his head, handed the magical relic to Puck and
explained what it was and how to activate it.

Puck listened silently, still somewhat astonished, then
finally followed the instructions and was soon taken into the magical grip of
the item.

The group chatted amongst themselves as Puck conversed with
a piece of the Oracle.

“It is lucky Mel came with us,”
Zildjin said to Marc.

The two friends were tightening the saddles on Redmor and
Tandur. Marc patted Redmor on the neck in a friendly manner.

“Yeah,” Marc agreed.

“But Laura is from the Order of the Leaf,” Zildjin
continued, “I am sure she probably would have been able to lead us all in how
to help Puck.”

“Actually,” Marc replied, “From what we’ve talked about,
Laura said she struggled in the Order of the Leaf, learning a lot, but
forgetting most or not being able to really apply what she remembered.”

“Hmmm,” Zildjin shrugged, “I think we could all benefit from
learning a little more practical healing techniques and survival skills than we
all know, then.”

Marc agreed.

“What are you two talking about?” Laura had come over.

“Nothing,” Zildjin averted his gaze.

“I told him you aren’t the healer everyone would expect
coming from the Order.”

“What!?” Laura said, a small anger lacing her face.

Marc shrugged, “What? I didn’t think there would be a
problem with—”

“I told you that in confidence Marc!” She crossed her arms
underneath her breasts and turned around, storming off. She strode over to Mel
to confide in her female friend.

Zildjin gave a small laugh and shook his head.

Marc stood there with one of the saddle straps in his hand,
dumbfounded.

He rolled his eyes and thought
Girls.

Puck came out of his trance and the
light from the magical relic faded and went out.

Cydas retrieved the relic and replaced it in his bag.

The group gathered around Puck again.

Puck reached inside his shirt and withdrew the pendant.

When they saw the crystal immediately they all felt a sort
of aura, emanating from the crystal, surround them.

The Sword of the Phoenix began to glow.

“Do you feel that?” Marc asked, turning to Laura.

Laura nodded, “I feel like, like I can do anything!”

One moment the crystal pendant hung around Puck’s neck, and
the next moment it was around Laura’s neck, the crystal in her hand.

“Hey!” Puck said, surprised.

Laura looked down at the necklace and then said, “Sorry, I
did not mean to—”

Using her magic she sent the necklace back to Puck.

“You can send other things through the unseen paths as
well?” Cydas asked.