Mage- The Ancient's Might Read online

  Doors creaked open, and more of the monsters slunk out, their movements silent, their eyes glowing.

  Drawing on my dark gift, I filled the corridor with a blinding cloud, impenetrable to the firelight but not to my enhanced sight.

  They jerked forward with surprising speed, snarling through the darkness. Judging by the way they crashed into each other, the cloud fulfilled its purpose.

  Racing toward them, I ducked, narrowly missing the fierce swipe of a nail-daggered hand. I twisted through an open doorway to another hallway. My arm scraped against a crooked shard of wood, drawing my gasp. The scent of fresh blood touched my nose.

  A united hiss cut the atmosphere behind me. The creatures whirled and ran straight for me.

  Blue flames tore between us on my thought, blocking their progress with a wall of heat and light.

  I sprinted along another corridor, blasting fire at the doors as they opened. My arm stung. Blood slid down my skin.

  Wheeling around a corner, I gasped under the glare of a pale-faced monster. He grabbed me, bared his fangs, and sank them into my forearm.

  I screamed. Searing pain buckled my knees.

  Hauling on my threads of fleeting consciousness, I stabbed my palm at his stomach, sending a spike of ice through his body.

  He screeched. The unworldly sound scorched my ears and echoed in the recesses of my mind, but his strength loosened enough for me to slide from his clutch and stagger on down the hall.

  Fire streaked past the wood, crackling and spitting. The floor trembled beneath me.

  A narrow staircase ahead led down. I stumbled down the first step, but fought on, the menacing breath of my pursuers close behind on my back.

  A thin, crooked door stood in the wall at the bottom. Daylight streaked through the cracks.

  I shoved through it, battered by the scent of grass and the blinding light of late-day sun.

  A hand caught my foot, dragging me backward. My chin hit the ground. Blood coated my tongue. Dust curled up beneath me.

  More hands grabbed my legs and waist. Fangs flashed. A cold, musky breath cut over the comfort of the forest.

  “No!” I screamed and scrambled to hold the ground, to cling to the grass. It broke beneath my grasp, and my finger-trails scraped the muck.

  Lightning struck.

  The creatures ricocheted back toward the burning building, leaving an odour of seared flesh behind.

  I twisted to face them, my breathing shallow and fast.

  At least twelve of them scrambled to their feet, crouched and vicious,

  I couldn’t hold them back. My waning strength would never last against the throng.

  A warm hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  I jolted and spun to this new attacker, hand rising to call my flames, but the gentleness within his features caused me to falter. Sapphire eyes glared at the monsters with sheer dislike, and his fingers tightened on my shoulder. The fabric tied round his thick wrist matched his irises, and power buzzed through me at his touch.

  He shifted in front of me, unfazed despite the terror facing him. “Get back to the shadows.” His hand stretched toward a pile of barrels stacked by the wall, overflowing with black powder.

  The creatures didn’t retreat. The door slammed open, and more spilled out, filling the open space with their rotting scent. They charged, spitting and curling sharp fingers.

  Lightning sparked from Sapphire’s fingertips. It flashed past the monsters and stabbed the barrels.

  They exploded, engulfing the creatures in a ball of orange flame and black smoke. Charred wood tinged the air, merging with the returning scent of woodland.

  I cringed at the ringing in my ears. My forearm stung, marked with the fang-prints of my attacker, and fatigue threatened to plunge me into darkness.

  My rescuer frowned at me. “Here.” He gripped my good arm and lifted me to my feet. The setting sun cast an unusual, blue tint to the crimson-streaked sky and reflected off his light, windswept hair. His fingers brushed my face. Power surged, and the ringing dissipated, leaving me weakened and exhausted.

  His gaze lingered on my eyes, and curiosity flashed through his features. “Come,” he said, and his gentle tone carried none of the effect the monster did.

  I didn’t resist, allowing him to lead me into the trees and across the wild ground. “Who are you?” I asked, my words as weak as I felt.

  “Amicus. And you are?”

  “Clara.”

  “Well, Clara, you’re lucky I found you when I did. Rarely do any escape the clutches of the Araña.”

  “Araña?”

  “The Hellion you just had the misfortune to meet.”

  “They were Hellion?” I asked. The wicked creatures that once roamed the land were imprisoned at the start of time by the Keepers, never to plague the life of Mage or Mortal again. “But … they’re meant to be locked in the prisons.”

  He cast me a sideways glance. “They are in a sense. You just entered theirs. The Araña can’t leave the clearing. That is their territory. You, however, may pass either way. Only the most dangerous Hellions are locked away from civilisation, and the worst of all are confined in the Underworld.”

  “But … I didn’t choose to pass a Gate back there.”

  The Gates were the doorways to magic. Some were light, and others, like the Hellion prisons, were dark. There were two Keepers, one for the light, one for the dark, that allowed access to the Gates to those qualified to cross.

  “You don’t always need a Keeper to pass,” he said. “When the Araña drew you in, they held the freedom to grant you mercy or death.”

  I swallowed a shaky breath. “Mercy didn’t seem likely.”

  “Indeed.” He stared ahead, expression grim.

  I panted, struggling to keep up with his rapid pace.

  He cast a glance at me, and then slowed down. “They enjoy the lure almost as much as the feed. If you weren’t a Refiner, I doubt you’d have made it out alive. Fire is their weakness. Although, I wonder, how did you break through their hold?”

  “Their hold?”

  He waited, forcing me to cast my mind back on the horror of their home.

  “He made me numb,” I murmured. “He made me forget.”

  Guilt swept through me. Charlie. He made me forget about Charlie. My thoughts turned to the moment my friend pulled me back. He had been there, but I couldn’t sense his gift. And the creature didn’t attack him. It didn’t even register his voice. Why?

  “I have to go back,” I said.

  Amicus skidded to a halt. “Did you hit your head?”

  “I’m searching for someone. I saw him. I have to go back and –”

  He grabbed me. “Now, you listen. There was no one else in there.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. It’s part of my gift. I can sense the presence of others. You were alone.”

  “But …” But it didn’t make sense. “Charlie was there. I saw him. I heard him.” But then, why didn’t the Araña attack him? If they’d known he was there, surely, he wouldn’t have been ignored? Another hallucination like the illusion of the Hellion’s lair?

  “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t this Charlie,” Amicus said. “You were alone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Because if you’re wrong, if we’re leaving him in danger –”

  “I’m sure. Now, come.” He tugged me onward.

  “How do I know you’re not just trying to stop me going back?” If Charlie was there, I couldn’t leave him.

  Amicus’ eyes narrowed. “If I wanted to stop you, I would. Don’t be fooled into underestimating me. I have no reason to lie to you. Whoever you’re searching for, he’s not there.” He released my arm. “If you return there, I cannot help you. So, please take my word.”

  He walked on in silence, leaving me to mull over what he said. A part of me believed him. Surely, the Hellion would have attacked Charlie. Yet, he disappeared. As Zantos,
he wouldn’t have called to me. As Charlie, he wouldn’t have left.

  So, where was he?

  I hurried after Amicus. “You said you can sense others?” I asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “Have you sensed a boy nearby recently? About fifteen years old.”

  “No. There aren’t often people in the forest.”

  My stomach dropped. Maybe I should go to the city with the silver tower. With the sailors undoubtedly watching to make another attack, though, it wouldn’t prove easy.

  “You sense others and you shoot lightning,” I said.

  Amicus’ focus shifted to me.

  “So, you have two gifts?” I asked. “And neither of them is out of the seven. So, who are you? And how …”

  Amicus paused again and rubbed his chin. “You’re not from this world, are you?”

  I blinked. “You know about other worlds?”

  “I’m one of the few who do.”

  I frowned, unsure what to believe. After the attack of the sailors and then the Hellion, trusting him seemed unwise. Though, there was something about him … something different. “So, tell me about them. What do you know?”

  “There are seven worlds, each differing in knowledge and glory. In your world, you say there are seven gifts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, here there are many more. Your flames, the Refiner within you, it is rare here. I have only met one other with your ability. And no one with golden eyes.”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “The effects of magic. Are there many with yours, with the lightning, I mean?”

  He chuckled and brushed a stray hair from his cheek. “I know of no others with the ability.”

  “And what about the other gifts? Are they all rare?”

  “Just a few hold particular talents. Many are the same.”

  Interesting. How many matched mine or like me, held more than one? “What other gifts are there?”

  “You’ll see soon enough. I’m taking you to the camp. Perhaps, there you can find the help you seek. You can eat and rest and prepare yourself for your search. But it would be wise not to mention your home world. There are those who would take advantage of such a detail. Let’s keep this to ourselves.”

  3

  In a large clearing, lay a camp set out with crude versions of the tents we had back home. Sections were folded back into entryways, and torches protruded from the ground with orange flames aglow.

  Pink tinged the sky and cast a reddish halo around sparse clouds. The setting sun held a blue tint. Grass blades rippled in a warm breeze, and the rushing of water reached me from somewhere nearby, drawing attention to my parched mouth.

  Several people wandered the space between the tents. One held a white ball of glimmering light in his palms. He pressed it against a glass bowl, letting the light beam through the water within. White ripples reflected off the grass and clothed nearby tree trunks, twisting and ebbing across them in a mesmerising dance.

  The presence of his power tingled through my skin, and a smile rose to my lips.

  Another figure cloaked in black caught my eye. Thick eyebrows framed dark eyes and dirt caked the bottom of his cloak.

  An expression of shock flitted across his features upon seeing me.

  Then, it was gone.

  He rushed forward and grabbed my hand, sending a stab of pain through my wound. He stared at my eyes. “Celeste. You look tired, my dear.”

  Confusion crossed Amicus’ brow.

  “Celeste?” I asked.

  The stranger’s eyes narrowed and skimmed over my blood-soaked arm. “Hanrel.”

  “I’m on it.” Another man darted out of a shelter, a ball of water twisting behind him. Covered in the wrinkles of age, he paused before me and directed the ball to my injury.

  At once, the sting faded, and the familiar comfort of healing washed over me.

  He smiled, emerald eyes sparkling. “Wow. Golden eyes. Nice. I’m Hanrel. I must say, it’s nice to heal again.” He cast a scowl at the black cloaked man before turning back to me. “Araña, yes?”

  I nodded, wondering about his statement.

  “Aye, nasty things,” he said. “I assume Amicus stepped in to help, huh?”

  “I owe him one.” Gratitude clung to my words.

  “Aye, that you do.”

  “Thank you, Hanrel,” Amicus said. Slight irritation clung to his words, and his cheeks reddened.

  Hanrel shot me a grin and shuffled back to his shelter.

  The black cloaked man touched my shoulder. “You must be hungry. This way.” He led me farther in, past a couple of women talking to a bluebird.

  Amicus followed beside me with a reassuring nod.

  “I’m Kyne,” he said, “leader of this group.” He peered at me, as though waiting a certain response.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  His lips tightened.

  “Why are you camped right out here?” I asked.

  He frowned. “Where else would we camp?”

  “I thought … the silver city …” I shot a glance at Amicus.

  “Oh no.” Kyne waved a hand dismissively and glanced back with a furrowed brow. “We couldn’t live there. This life might not be as luxurious as the Mortals’ way of living, but it’s far better than being hunted and executed for being Mage.”

  Well, that explained why the sailors attacked.

  Kyne gestured to the forest. “Out here, we can be who we are. We are free to use magic without fear or secrecy. Tell me, Celeste –”

  “My name is Clara.”

  “If you haven’t come to find my camp, what are you doing in the forest?”

  “I’m looking for someone. My brother.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Your brother?”

  “He’s only fifteen, and he’s in danger. He’s here somewhere, but I don’t know where to look and –”

  “Relax.” He grabbed my shoulders, drawing me to a stop, and surveyed me carefully. “Amicus wouldn’t bring you here if you weren’t a Mage. Tell me, what is your gift?”

  “I’m a Refiner.” I glanced at Amicus. Probably better not to tell Kyne I held seven gifts.

  Kyne’s lips twitched with faint surprise. “Really? Show me.”

  Blue flames leapt to my fingers laced with orange light.

  His shock grew. “Impressive.”

  Amicus’ eyes darkened.

  Kyne pointed at an open entrance. “Food, drink, and rest. And don’t worry about your brother.” A slight smile tugged the corners of his lips. “I’ll help you find him.”

  *

  When I woke, the two moons were bright in the sky. A slight breeze rustled the leaves on the surrounding trees and bushes. Orange firelight flickered around the clearing.

  The last of the bread and fruit lay untouched on a wooden table after I’d eaten my fill. Still in the outfit I arrived in, I longed to wash myself. A thick layer of dirt clung to my white trousers, along with the scent of blood.

  The sound of rushing water drew my attention to my dry mouth. The berry juice provided hadn’t quenched my thirst as it should. Ignoring the juice jug by the bread, I wandered through the shelters toward the fresh hint of Riparian. The tiny, pink flowers swayed a little way ahead and sang in the breeze, marking the water’s edge. I inhaled their aroma, a familiar scent of home gracing me with a little comfort.

  A short drop led to a river where rapids danced on the surface. A narrow path curled down from the trees on my left to a thin bank. A few rocks lined the edge of the bank, almost silver beneath the moonlight and the strange, new stars.

  I cut under the leafy canopy and onto the path with eagerness, and then splashed into the cool water. It whirled around my ankles with soft caresses, and then seeped over my knee-high boots and through my trousers.

  With Amicus’ concern over my gifts on my mind, I glanced over my shoulder to check that I remained alone. Satisfied with the peace, threads rose from the centre of the river at my thought and swirled before
me in the familiar pattern of the Healers. I sensed every contaminate, every particle of dirt. I dragged them from the liquid, and then scooped the clean water into my hands. Refreshing and sorely needed, it restored my energy, washing away my weakness and pain.

  Since my first taste of Healer’s water, nothing else came close to it or restoring my energy as pure water did.

  More threads rose from the surface. They pulsed through my clothes and hair, and stroked over my skin, driving out the dirt and blood, washing away the horrors of the day.

  My boots squelched when I finally stepped back on to the bank, but another moment of focus released the droplets from my hair, my skin, and clothes. They circled me once before dropping back into the watery gulf. Warmth flooded me, dragged in from the air, and I breathed deeply, pleased to be clean.

  Only my troubles remained.

  I sank down on a rock and fiddled with the fraying string around my wrist, my mind on Charlie. How could he have disappeared like that? Perhaps he had been a hallucination. But he sounded so real. I longed for the comfort of his presence, to know he was safe. “Oh, Charlie,” I whispered. “Where are you?”

  “Who’s Charlie?”

  I leapt from the rock and whirled to face the speaker.

  Two men stood between me and the path, the presence of their power tingling along my skin. Both well built, they wore simple clothing and a cloak each: one black, the other green.

  I glanced toward the river, wondering how much they’d seen of my Healer gift. I should have been more careful. “Are you wanting to wash?”

  Their skin was flawless, pale as the moonlight they stood beneath.

  The black-cloaked one smiled. “You’re new here.”

  “Yeah. I guess you … do you not get lots of newcomers in the camp?”

  “We’re not from the camp.”

  A lump grew in my throat.

  The green-cloaked one shifted his position, almost as though he sensed my discomfort. His light hair dipped to his eyes. “We’re the Keepers of this land.”

  “The Gate Keepers?” Relief swept away my anxiety. If they were anything like the Keepers back home, I had nothing to fear.

  He nodded.

  “But, you don’t look alike,” I said. The Keepers I knew were twins, born of magic when the comets fell and created the land.