Wielder of the Flame (6 page)

Marc opened his eyes and immediately
knew he was dreaming.

His surroundings were unreal and otherworldly.

An empty gray expanse lay all around him. The horizon was distinguishable
from the floor only because the ground was a dull metallic grey, and the sky
was a bright and sparkly shimmering array of silver hues. With no apparent way
to mark time he did not know how long he sat there, staring into the eternal
void. He stood up and saw that he was still in the attire that he had been
wearing in the waking world, his street clothes and the belt around his waist
with the sword at his side. Upon standing up he saw a figure lying nearby him,
he quickly realized it was Sesuadra. Marc quietly walked over to him.

Should I wake him?
He thought.

He slowly reached his hand forward and was about to shake
Sesuadra awake when a sound behind him made him stop and turn.

There was a thudding sound, like someone falling to the
floor, it came from far away and yet sounded like it was right behind Marc.

He would wake Sesuadra in just a moment.

As soon as he turned at the sound a thick mist materialized
from nowhere. He could not see further than his own hand.

“What is going on?” he asked aloud.

He knew he was dreaming, and yet it felt real. The mist was
slightly cold, and thick. Wet drops of condensation began forming on his
exposed skin. He shivered from the chill. His voice sounded muffled in the
heavy air.

There was another bump, like a heavy object falling against
a wood floor.

“Sesuadra!” He said, “Sesuadra, are you there?”

Marc turned and walked a short distance, trying to reach the
spot where he had seen the young man asleep on the ground.

“Sesuadra?” He called out.

Another thump, this one metallic.

“Hello? Is there somebody there? Sesuadra, is that you?”

Faint whisperings whooshed past his ears and he whirled
around.

“Who’s there!?” He called.

More whisperings. It sounded like a single voice echoing and
swirling in the mist and yet it was all around him.

“Show yourself!” he cried.

As if in answer the mist began to subside and Marc found
himself no longer on the silvery plane, but in a simple room with wooden walls
and small curved beams in the ceiling. It was dark except for a few burning
candles. A bed stuffed with straw and covered loosely by rumpled white cloth as
a bed sheet filled one corner. A large heavy looking wooden dresser stood
against the opposite wall next to a large window with its shutters closed. A
small desk, table with ceramic bowls and cups atop it, and a chair were along
the third wall. A simple canvas painting was hung next to a closed door on the
fourth wall. Marc stood in the corner nearest the painting. And in the center
of the room was a boy who looked a few years younger than Marc. The boy was
slumped down on his knees, facing away from Marc. It took Marc only seconds to
take in everything.

After the initial surprise quickly disappeared Marc observed
the young man more closely.

“Hello?”

The boy did not seem to hear Marc.

The boy was dressed as if he was fully suited for battle. He
wore thick dark gear, armor, leather boots, and a dark forest green traveling
cloak. He had fairly long brown hair, parted down the middle and over his ears.

The nearby flickering candlelight made his armor shine with
a silver gleam, the breastplate, forearms and leg plates were covered with
masterfully carved designs. Around the boy’s waist was a belt of dark brown
leather and around it were pouches that appeared to be full. The boy was
muttering something indistinct.

“Hello?” Marc tried again.

Marc took a tentative step towards the young man. Was this
all just a dream? Everything looked and felt so real, even smelled real. A
slight aroma filled the air, slightly metallic, probably from the young man’s
armor. But it wasn’t just that, there was something else too.

As Marc came closer the whispers grew louder and more
distinct.

Cannot — Once more — happening.
The boy muttered.

“My name is Marc,” Marc tried once more, “I don’t know how I
got here, or what I am supposed to be doing,”

The boy seemed oblivious to Marc.

“Can you hear me?”

Marc stood now just behind the boy. He could hear what the
young man was saying now, repeatedly, over and over.

Not again, not again, not again.

“Hello!?”

Marc put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and pulled the
boy to face him.

“NOT AGAIN!” The boy screamed.

He was covered in blood.

“Ahhh!” Marc cried and stepped back.

There was a flash of light and the sound like all the air in
the world was being slowly inhaled, followed by a deep boom, then silence.

Marc was suddenly pulled back to the
silver and gray realm, standing above Sesuadra, or he would have been, except
Sesuadra now stood next to him.

Sesuadra nodded and said, simply, “Marcus.”

Then everything shifted and darkened.

Sesuadra disappeared.

The light in the strange silvery world began to fade. Marc
heard someone calling his name. He began to move his upper body back and forth
involuntarily and his name echoed over and over, growing stronger.

Marcus.

Marcus.

Marcus!

 Marc awoke to the early gray of
morning. At first he felt strange.
Where is my bed? Where am I?
But he
quickly remembered everything that had happened. He was on the ground, lying on
some rumpled blankets.

Zildjin was shaking him awake.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Marc said.

Zildjin stepped back.

Marc sat up and looked around. The forest was gone, replaced
by hills and thick grassy plains. It looked as if they had pulled off the road
and made a small camp.

“I don’t remember getting out of the wagon, how did I—?” He
began.

“You are one heavy lump of balkar waste,” Zildjin said with
a grin, “We practically had to unload you from the wagon like a sack of
tartors. You were in such a deep sleep again.”

 “I was reading that book. I guess I must have dozed off.”

“And you would not be woken after such,” Zildjin grinned
again.

The boy stretched out a hand and Marc took it to stand.

Soren came over, overhearing their conversation.

“It must have been the magic you received in the grove, that
powerful of an enchantment would drain anyone of their strength.”

Marc nodded.

“Well, you are on your feet now, time to pack up.”

Soren and Sesuadra were almost done cleaning their portion
of the camp. The two pack animals were munching on grass nearby. Sesuadra was
making sure everything was tight on the wagon.

 “I think we can make it to Kolima by tomorrow morning if we
push on through the night again,” Soren said, seeing Marc awake, “Zildjin and
Sesuadra, help me ready the balkars.”

After they had all relieved
themselves they were soon packed and on the road again. Zildjin had opened up a
crate and passed around food, some more hard bread and some type of strange
fruit Marc had never seen before. It looked like an apple, but it was purple
and not very juicy. It’s sweetness, however, complimented the bread nicely.

Near the end of the meal Zildjin was the one to break the
silence.

“So, Marc, dreamed last night?”

“Yeah, I—” he began, then realized he had not told anyone
about the dream yet. “Wait, how did you know?”

“Sesuadra told me just before I came over to wake you.”

“Oh.” Marc nodded, it made sense, Sesuadra had been in the
dream after all. He decided to voice the thought aloud, he turned to Sesuadra.
“Then that means you really were there last night Sesuadra, in the dream, I
mean.”

The boy nodded a silent ‘yes,’ in response.

“That also must mean that the other guy in my dream, that
must’ve all been happening, for real.”

One of Zildjin’s eyebrows rose, “There was someone else,
besides Ses, in your dream?”

“Yeah, there was.”

Marc proceeded to tell them
everything that happened in the dream. Of the silvery world, of Sesuadra’s
presence there, of the sudden mist, and of the young man covered in blood.

“And then there was a bright light and I was torn back to
the silvery place and that was when Sesuadra saw me and spoke my name, then I
awoke.”

Sesuadra confirmed the story with a silent nod of his head.

“Incredible.” Zildjin awed.

Soren had listened in and spoke up, “I do not believe much
in dreams but even
I
am bright enough to know there is powerful magic in
the air indeed when two walk the same dream and after awakening both remember
well enough to tell the tale.”   

 “Are you familiar with Runestones?” Sesuadra asked.

To hear the boy’s voice, and the strange question caught
Marc off guard.

He paused, thinking for a moment.

“Nope,” Marc finally replied.

Sesuadra shook his head dismissively.

Marc wondered what he meant, but this whole new world held
so many things he did not understand, that he decided he could do with one less
thing to worry about learning just then and did not inquire further.

Someone coming up the road caught everyone’s attention and
thoughts of the conversation were lost.

“The road will be getting busier now,” Soren noted to no one
in particular, “This close to the capitol.”

A large fancy wagon appeared in the distance behind them. It
was pulled by four of the creatures called balkars, followed by several smaller
carts. There were also several figures riding atop strange two-legged creatures
on each side of the wagons.

 As the wagon train behind them drew closer, a single rider
broke off from the group and rode forward to their cart.

A figure dressed in dark green and purple velvet robes and a
gold colored cloak approached. The animal he rode looked like a hybrid between
a two-legged dinosaur with small arms ending in paws with three claws, almost
like a velociraptor, with long fur on its inverted knees, elbows and tail and a
head like an oversized falcon with lion ears. Its hide was a deep rich maroon,
almost black, with jagged patches of teal all the way down to the tip of the
tail, its fur was a dark crimson and its underbelly was a pale tan, almost like
parchment. It was odd to see something so strange as a mount.

The rider had a long pole attached to his back and on the
pole was a banner. The banner was green, purple and gold in color as well and
the symbol on the banner was the black silhouette of a bolt of lightning
striking a dead tree. He rode up fairly quickly and announced in a loud voice, “Pull
aside, wagon, pull aside! Make way, for the illustrious, the legendary,” he
paused for effect, “Lanvar, Relic Hunter extraordinaire!”

Soren steered his balkars off to the side of the road.

The man on the two legged creature thanked them and rode
back to his train.

“Did you see that?” Zildjin seemed like a little child in
his excitement, “The Reclaimer’s Crest!”

Sesuadra nodded.

“This cycle, The Gathering will be quite the spectacle with
Lanvar attending,” Soren noted.

“He missed the last few Gatherings,” Zildjin added, “that
must
mean he found something really worthwhile to showcase at the competition!
Lanvar! I cannot believe it! Reclaimer of the Talisman, Protector of the Broken
Crown, Vanquisher, Preserver… the Relic Hunters of Relic Hunters!”

The large wagon and company approached.

Marc was very confused, but watched anyway as a large
carriage passed them. It was shiny and extravagant, pulled by armored balkars
with dark purple-mahogany hides and faded light-pink underbellies. The outer
frame of the carriage was painted a dark green with royal purple colored wheels
lined with gold. Green, purple, and gold banners, identical to the one on the
rider’s back who had ridden before, were attached to the top of the carriage
and flapped boldly against the wind.

“Lanvar himself must be inside!” Zildjin said eagerly.

Sesuadra nodded in agreement but let his enthusiasm show
only in his eyes.

The wagon windows were open as it passed and they could just
peer in.

They caught a glimpse of someone inside, a healthy looking
man with black hair and black stubble on his chin. The man looked back at them
as he passed.

“It is him!” Zildjin said excitedly, “Did you see him?”

The others nodded.

The carriage rode on for a bit, before the man inside
ordered a stop.

The doors to the coach opened and Lanvar leaned out. One of
the riders came up with an empty saddled two-legged creature.

Lanvar mounted the creature and with two of the other
riders, rode back to Soren’s wagon.

“All is well?” Lanvar asked in greeting. He was dressed in
fine black and gold vestments. He was tall and muscular. His neatly trimmed
curly hair almost covered his dark pupils.

“All is well,” Soren replied.

 “You are a trader, are you not?”

“Indeed,” Soren replied.

“Are any of your wares for sale?”

“I have some required items to deliver but I have some to
sell, yes.”

“Do you, perchance, have some churta? The gelus are colder
and colder each cycle and it seems to make this particular fruit very difficult
to find, and I do so love the taste of it. I would buy a crate of your finest
churta if you have any.”

“We have two if you want!” Zildjin blurted out.

Lanvar cracked a smile, and then let out a short laugh.

“Do you like magic?” he asked Zildjin.