Fractures, page 17
part #1 of Ledgers of a Dark Mage Series
As he waited on the side for her to finish, a small surge of pride would fill him as he watched her work—she had a way of putting people at ease and he was certain even without magic she would make an exceptional healer.
It made him even more eager to gain Lorel’s approval to work in the infirmary. He looked forward to the day he could work alongside Lyris instead of watching her from the side. For now, he focused on his classes and made steady progress in each subject, staying up late into the night bent over books with ink-stained fingers and stacks of notes.
But studying hard could not completely overcome the disadvantage of being forced to use magic unnatural to him.
Although Thaleon had never been a star student in magic practices, his struggles became more pronounced as the lessons delved into more complex spells. The endeavor of learning and memorizing the convoluted spells all while fighting for control over elar proved nearly impossible.
Recently, his peers had begun referring to him as the weakest mage of Allesdale. Although he tried to ignore them, he couldn’t help but feel resentful of the title.
Thaleon veered off the small trail he had been keeping on and ventured into the deeper parts of the woods. The trees grew tall as he continued forward, their long branches and thick leaves reducing the light and plunging the forest into a premature twilight.
He spotted small yellow and purple flowers underneath a tree lined by red vines and made his way over, coming to a careful kneel by the thick trunk.
Good for headaches and upset stomachs
He recalled from one of Lorel’s lessons as he stared down at the patch of Agari’s Blessing.
He withdrew a small knife barely longer than the length of his palm and began digging up the plant gently. Collecting Agari’s Blessing took patience as the plant lost its potency if its delicate petals or the fragile stem were damaged in the act—the entire thing had to be dug up to the roots for maximum strength.
It took some time for him to harvest each plant. Although the flowers were delicately formed, the roots were quite the opposite—they coiled tightly in the dirt and reached deep, making it difficult to loosen them.
He placed each plant in the bag with care and sealed it with a bit of elar using the spell Lorel had taught him. Similar to the spell laid over the stockroom, it turned the air in the bag several degrees cooler and kept the ingredients fresh until they could be shelved.
He wandered the forest for a few hours until his bag grew full and hunger began gnawing at his stomach. Peering up at the thick green ceiling trying to judge the time proved useless and he began heading back to the castle, enjoying the cool air and listening to the singing birds above.
The woods lightened as minutes passed and a glance up revealed the sun hanging high in the sky. He thought about visiting Lyris after finishing up in the stockroom. Perhaps he could wait for her to complete her shift and they could grab something to eat together.
His thoughts fled as three riders burst from the trees at a full gallop, covering ground with frightening speed and heading straight for him.
“Watch out!” someone yelled.
Thaleon watched, paralyzed, as a massive bay horse thundered towards him. The rider struggled to rein in the animal but it was impossible to stop a horse going so fast at this close of a distance.
He was going to be trampled.
Thaleon’s val surged forward out of pure reflex, forging a ward seconds before the gelding closed the last bit of distance.
The horse screamed as it crashed against the spell—it fell, legs kicking violently, and sent its rider flying several feet into the air. The hastily formed ward tore under the impact, sending thousands of pieces of shredded val into the air. The resulting whiplash shot Thaleon several feet back to land face down in the dirt.
“Wilam!”
The other two riders reined their horses in several feet away. Thaleon shakily raised his head to see Jaspin jumping off his mount, completely abandoning the animal as he sprinted to the still form on the ground.
The blond skidded to a stop before Wilam and fell to his knees, fear written plainly across his porcelain face. Wilam stared up at the terrified face above him, breath coming in uneven, shallow gasps—he blinked several times as if trying to focus his eyes.
Jaspin let out a sharp exhale that sounded like a sob and raised a hand to cup Wilam’s face in a tender gesture. Wilam’s hand came to rest against it—his long fingers curled against Jaspin’s pale digits.
The bay gelding struggled to get to its feet several feet away and when it did, it stood with one leg raised, ears back and frothing at the mouth.
“You nearly killed him!” Jaspin shouted when Thaleon rose unsteadily to his feet.
Thaleon did not hear him.
He stared at the shattered pieces of val saturating the air, each shard shimmering like black glass. Desmin was doing the same, lips parted and eyes wide, as he took in the scene about him. Blood drained from Thaleon’s face as Desmin turned to him slowly, expression one of utter disbelief.
Jaspin and Wilam—both non-mages—could neither see val swirling about them nor guess the reason behind the look passing between Thaleon and Desmin. Thaleon expected Desmin to yell out what he saw, to tell his friends they were looking at a valekyn.
Desmin’s expression turned unreadable and Thaleon’s stomach dropped when his lips parted.
“Come on, Jaspin. We need to take Wilam to the infirmary.”
Thaleon blinked.
Jaspin looked as if he wanted to rage at Thaleon some more but his vicious expression fell as he took in Wilam still dazed on the ground.
He helped his injured friend up and placed him into the saddle of his own mount with Desmin’s aid. Keeping an anxious eye on Wilam’s slumped form in the saddle, Jaspin began leading the horse by the reins towards the castle.
Desmin retrieved Wilam’s limping horse before trailing after the blond. His eyes turned to Thaleon one last time before he followed after his friends and the look sent a chill up Thaleon’s spine.
Servants and students stared as Thaleon tore through the castle.
He did not slow even when he reached the winding staircase and bounded up several steps up at a time until he reached the third floor. He flew down the hallway to crash against the blue door at its very end.
“Laurits!”
He beat against the door, hardly able to breathe not just from the exertion of running the entire way back to the castle—no one answered.
He ran back down the stairs and to Cedrik’s wing.
Servants startled, then scowled, as the contents of his bag fell out and littered the recently swept halls. Although students weren’t allowed in this part of the castle, no one moved to stop him as all of Cedrik’s household had been informed of Thaleon’s special permission for his private lessons with Laurits.
The blood spell parted as he burst into Cedrik’s study.
The hearth stood cold and dead as if it hadn’t been used at all and Thaleon stood in the middle of the room racking his brain trying to think of where Cedrik and Laurits might be to no success. Cedrik could often be found in his study at this time of the day and Laurits spent most of his time in his room.
An older female servant stopped just outside the ajar door and peered in. She took a step forward as if to drag him out of the room after taking in his dirt-covered clothes and boots but seemed to remember the blood spell and stopped short. She stared at the dirt fallen over the rug with exasperation.
“Did you need something?”
“Where are Lord Bayn and Laurits?” Thaleon said, struggling to keep his voice from quivering.
“They left for Varle this afternoon.” Her expression grew suspicious as she looked him up and down.
Thaleon felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. “When will they be back?” He couldn’t bring himself to care how desperate his voice sounded.
“Dunno.” She scowled. “Get out of the room, you are getting dirt all over the floor.”
Savage anxiety gripped Thaleon as he left Cedrik’s wing, knotting his stomach and leaving him feeling physically sick.
As if it wasn’t bad enough Desmin out of all people had discovered his secret, the only two people he could confide in were away from Allesdale for an undisclosed amount of time. The thought of the inevitable events to follow left him paralyzed with fear.
He ran over every single detail of the incident in the woods and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t figure out why Desmin hadn’t revealed him a valekyn in front of his friends.
There wasn’t a shred of possibility the older boy had not recognized his magic for what it was. Desmin knew exactly what he had seen—the incredulity on his face and the darkness in his eyes had been evidence enough.
Desmin delighted in making him suffer—perhaps forcing him to await the big announcement was the first phase of his cruel plan. Maybe Desmin would have a crowd gather and have everyone watch as the guards arrested him.
Thaleon’s anxiety rose with each second until he could hardly draw breath.
He suddenly became aware of the bag hanging at his side, heavy and filled to the brim. His legs carried him to the infirmary out of sheer habit and Thaleon couldn’t even remember how he got to the stockroom as he upended his bag over the table and fell into the motion of sorting the ingredients.
He continued for several minutes until his shaking fingers crushed the small berries, ripping open their thin skin and filling the room with a sweet tart scent.
He stilled to gaze down at his fingers stained red and dripping with the juices—it looked like blood.
It fell in slow drops over the dark surface of the table and Thaleon stared at the half-sorted pile, unable to do anything but watch the continuous drip of red.
Everything—the ruthless anxiety and the terrible worry over the events to follow—crashed down on him and he burst into tears.
20
Agyna did not visit again.
Dawyn lay on his side, eyes unfocused. The tray of food in the corner sat untouched, having gone cold long ago. A bold rat ventured out from its home and nibbled at the corner of the dark bread, squeaking in pleasure as its tiny ears flicked back and forth.
He didn’t mind—he had lost the motivation to force down food long ago.
When he initially found himself alone with nothing to look forward to but a repeat of another torture session, memories of home had served as an escape. Nowadays, he had trouble recalling much of anything.
His thoughts came slow and his body felt drained. He spent most of his time staring at the walls and—when his body allowed—he slept. He cherished the dreamless oblivion and wondered if death felt similar.
The approaching faint footsteps dimly registered in his mind. He didn’t bother to look to see who they belonged to—there were only three people who visited him.
The red room again, always the red room.
Louthe, Selia and Torval proceeded as always. The black void rose alongside the pain, hungry and demanding.
Dawyn let it consume him.
He came to some time later.
As Dawyn’s eyes refocused, he saw the white stone ceiling moving above him. He blinked, confused, then saw the hand of one of the giant corpses curled about his ankle.
A wave of terror ripped through him at the sight of the massive form before him but whatever sound he might have made died on his parched throat too dry to make a single sound. The creature did not seem to have noticed his waking and continued its haltering steps forward, its companion nowhere to be found.
Dawyn felt every rough stone as he forced himself to remain boneless. As he stared through half-lidded eyes, he observed a heavy limp in the creature’s right leg.
The tattered rags too short for his giant figure left the calves exposed, revealing a deep gash on the right leg running from the back of the knee down to the ankle.
Red threads wove in and out of the cut, haphazardly sewing shut the deep wound—small bits of flesh peeking through the gaps in the threads looked disturbingly similar to rotting meat.
Dawyn realized the thing must be taking him back to his cell. Each session in the red room had resulted in him losing consciousness to wake up in the cell alone. For the first time, he had woken outside of the cell, and the opportunity it presented glared back at him.
His heart began to race as he considered the real possibility of an escape. He had thoroughly examined his cell to find its every inch solid stone save for the iron bars and the door.
The only time the door unlocked was when they took him to the red room, and he was helpless against Selia and Torval. Each session left him weaker and he recognized grimly he would be dead before another opportunity presented itself. It was now or never.
The cell loomed ahead and Dawyn’s stomach twisted at the thought of being locked up again waiting for the next visit from Louthe. He decided with cold certainty he would rather be killed for trying to escape than return to the cell.
The door stood open and the creature passed straight through. He deposited Dawyn carelessly in the middle of the cell and limped back towards the door.
Dawyn sprung to his feet and kicked the limping leg with all his strength.
The corpse thudded to its knees as the maimed leg gave out under the unexpected assault—Dawyn wasted no time in speeding past the creature, eyes fixed on the open door with adrenaline pumping through him.
A frightening force ripped him back and only the wild flail of his arms to wind about the iron bars saved him from crashing backwards. The thin fabric of the tunic gave away as the creature tightened its grip and pulled—a rush of cool air pressed itself into his suddenly exposed back.
He slipped through the door and slammed it shut a split second before the corpse came crashing against it. A terrible ringing vibrated through the entire crypt.
It crashed over and over against the iron bars like a caged beast. The scarlet eyes opened wide and its lips strained against the thick red threads, causing the flesh to stretch and pull into a nightmarish snarl.
The terrible sound of flesh slamming against iron continued to fill the crypt as Dawyn ran faster than he ever had in his life. As the halls blurred past, anxiety nagged at him he had guessed wrong, that he would never find his way out.
Intense relief filled him as a stone door came into view ahead, perched atop a set of stairs. The sight gave him the last bit of strength he needed to sprint up the steps.
He came to a slamming halt against the door and pushed at it like a panicked animal, frantic hands searching the surface for any sort of mechanism to open the door.
Strange symbols engraved into the stone glowed faintly as if lit from within. Overwhelming despair crashed over him as he realized the door must be sealed with magic. Breathless sobs poured from his lips as he beat against the immovable stone.
Rumbling sounded behind him.
Dawyn turned, then screamed, when he saw a giant figure charging up the stairs. The creature—the corpse—bounded up several steps at a time, sewn over lips pulled back into a horrifying snarl.
He saw through the blur of tears the gleaming pieces of magic weaving through the engravings like yarn. Closer observation revealed slight fractures within the pieces, weak spots not so obvious at a first glance.
He pushed against the fragile points, the physical action accompanied by the efforts of his mind. The pieces gave just a bit, and Dawyn’s breath caught as the door slid open an inch. The sound of his pursuer grew close behind and Dawyn pushed again with all his strength.
The door parted a few inches more, allowing just enough space for him to squeeze through. It thudded closed as soon as he emerged on the other side and Dawyn did not linger to find out if the creature would follow.
Another set of stairs later, Dawyn found himself faced with another door—also sealed with magic. This one took a little more time but he managed to unlock it after several minutes of testing the weak points and straining against its length. When it finally slid open, it opened to the middle of a narrow hallway.
An exploration of the space led to the discovery of several doors secured by heavy iron locks. He tested each lock as he went, then paused upon coming across an unlocked door. Heart in his throat, Dawyn stood before it wondering if it could be the way out.
The nerves made his hands sweaty and he wiped them on his torn tunic before trying the door. He expected it to be barred from the other side but it slid open silently.
The moment he peeked his head in, his eyes flew up the length of the white, circular stone wall stretching impossibly high into the sky. Through the thick iron bars crossing the open space overhead, Dawyn saw countless stars, their glimmer familiar as they hung in the same patterns as the ones from Alfhum.
The sight filled him with a rush of emotion and he stood motionless, lost in the brilliance of a thousand stars stretching across the night sky.
A sudden gust nearly flattened him to the ground. The beat of wings like thunder sounded overhead.
Dawyn watched stupefied as an enormous white beast flew into the air on the other side of the structure. Even from a great distance, it looked massive.
It landed against the barred ceiling with a heavy thud and let out a terrifying roar, sending him to his knees with hands pressed over his ears. Talons as long as spears clutched the iron bars and a pair of slitted golden eyes glittered in the moonlight—he was in Louthe’s dragon pen.
He saw then the piles of bones and body parts littering the ground—a hind leg of a cow, a front half of a pig, and not five feet away, a round shape. The scent of copper assaulted his nose.
He tried to stop himself, told himself not to look, but his eyes moved of their own accord.
Dawyn forgot to breathe as he stared at the dark curls and the empty sockets. The rotting head had been torn off the body just above the shoulders, long pieces of decaying flesh trailing from it like tentacles. A fat black insect crawled out of Imora’s parted lips.
