John Forrester - Fire Mage

After he lifted his sword above his head, he brought it down until the hilt was in front of his chest. He tensed his arms, allowing the fire to surge through his body. With renewed force, he pressed back hard at Ashtera, slamming her against the ground. He leapt at her, slicing down as she lifted terrified eyes to face him. He felt the resistance from her neck bone as it met the blade. Her head twisted and fell to one side as its came partially off the trunk. The sword glowed blood-red as it struck. Ripples of fire washed through him.

The drummers and chanters stopped and gasped in horror. But they went back and stupidly beat their drums and chanted. All too late, for his second blow lopped her head off completely and sent it flying like a bloody windmill. The head lay still on the ground. Her eyes moved-searching for meaning.

Filaments of green light streamed out of her head and body. The dark life force that had sustained her coursed back into the fire. A pile of ash remained where she once lay. I feel it, he thought, the fire in the sword. He growled with power, his eyes feasting on the blade.

The chanters and drummers stood in shock. Talis turned his gaze towards them. He had to kill them. As he charged, the drummers reacted, beating out an angry tune. The chanter's strained voices sang a shrill, powerful song. He flung his hands to cover his ears and his sword fell, slicing into the wet soil. Under that immense pain, he crashed to his knees.

The drummers found a new rhythm and sent the voices of demons to invade his mind. A surge of electricity shot along the left side of his body, great jolts wracking his heart. A sudden command from a demon’s voice echoed inside: smash your head, that stone, do it now! He reached out and exhaled, fighting back. For all the magic Master Viridian had taught him, why couldn’t he have said anything about resisting this kind of magic? He grabbed the stone and pounded the ground, then glowered at them. He wouldn’t stop now. Jumping forward, he hammered the drummer's head, knocking him back.

So the chanters found a low voice, like the sound of ocean waves gurgling through pebbles. They focused on Talis and delivered their merged power at his body. He was whipped back until he crashed into a hut. He slammed his fist against the wet soil, allowing his anger to build up the fire inside.

The drummers sped up the rhythm until it built into a stuttered frenzy. Talis glared at them through the torn hut, determined to win. They moved and swayed to the song of the chanters, the light from an unholy fire filling their eyes. Dark magic flowed from each note.

He pushed himself up, and conjured flames in his mind’s eye. Filled with fire, it surged in at each breath, enveloping his lungs. His blood pulsed with heat and he was fire itself. His palms radiated power. The breath he held inside flamed to a feverish pitch until he exhaled and fire burst from his hands, spinning like a dancing dragon.

The flames punished a chanter's head, pouring into his eyes and gushing out of his feet. The chanter screamed in agony. His writhing body issued forth a stream of fire from his mouth, which ate into the drummer nearby.

The chanter and the drummer melted into ash and only their screams lingered in the forest.

Talis gazed, defiance raging in his eyes. He roared a horrific yell and fire exploded all around him: a multi-fingered fire ripping into village huts, setting them aflame. The fire tendrils issuing from him went wild, scorching tree trunks, drummers and chanters alike, until it seemed as if the whole world would turn into a blazing inferno. He felt a terrific agony inside and his bones and tendons buckled under the pressure.

Mara leapt aside as a wave of flame tore in front of her. She looked stunned. Like a rising crescendo, the flames billowed higher: unceasing, unrelenting, and caring little for where they struck. Another flame nearly seared her hair as it ripped past her.

“Talis, stop!” she yelled. He heard her voice, as if from a faraway land, muddled by time, as if a great ocean was in between. Inside his mind, he pictured the fires of the Underworld, a sea of churning red and black embers. More flames leapt out until it seemed the air itself would take to flame.

She screamed at Talis. “Enough! You'll kill us all.”

Talis blinked, pulling out of a dark tunnel at the speed of a falcon’s dive. He stared at Mara, his senses coming back. What was he doing? He glanced around at the destruction. Had he caused all this? His body still vibrated with the pulse of his charged heart and the heat fevered inside.

He noticed the movement of his enemies and his determination returned. He wouldn’t rest until they were all dead. Wielding his sword, the fire rose again. One chanter fled into the shadows, searching for consolation. Another drummer threw down her drum, and grabbed a rock and lunged at Talis. He dodged and cut her down. The vial of her body spilled opened and spewed ash. The remaining enemies fled into the darkness.

Fire raged everywhere.

Talis glanced around. His friends had come out of their trances. Mara looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept in days. Lenora and Nuella cringed next to Rikar and Nikulo, staring at Talis as if he was some kind of a monster. Lenora’s father, the blademaster, and the sorceress were all gone. What had happened to them? The huts blazed and the green fire went cold. The silent bones seemed to cry out.

“Where’s your father?” Talis said to Lenora.

“They killed him.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Father is gone, consumed by the fire. Mordellia and Javar tried to stop them…but they were slain.”

Talis gazed at bones and bowed his head. “We have to leave this evil place.”

They collected their gear and found their horses. Talis mounted his horse and stared east. A beam of moonlight sliced through the trees. There was still hope; they still had a chance. He rode slowly, but the forest stalked him from every shadow.

After a long ride through the forest, they setup camp along a broad river with burly boulders dotting the beach. A heavy mist blanketed the party in dew. Talis huddled next to the fire, trying to release a chill that refused to leave his body since casting the fire spell. He glanced over at Lenora, sitting on the other side of the fire, her eyes puffy and red from crying. She was holding her sister tight, shivering, staring into the fire as if seeing a monster.

“I’m worried about them,” Mara whispered.

Talis nodded. “I can’t imagine how they feel.”

“I know the feeling well,” Rikar said, his voice choked and bitter. “It’s like having your stomach torn out.” He sighed a long time, scraping the ground with his dagger. “When father died I swore I’d get revenge on his enemies-”

“And who might that be?” Talis said, bristling at Rikar’s words.

“Start at the top, House Storm.” Rikar twirled his dagger. “But fear not, son of House Storm, revenge can wait. Father beckons me from the Underworld.”

“The Underworld? Only the dead visit the land of the dead.”

Rikar chuckled, as if entertained by a secret joke. “You know little, young Master Storm. There is a way, you know. This was spoken many times in legend.”

“The hero’s journey to the Underworld, past the Titans of the deep and the mountain of fire.”

“This is all true, I’ve seen it in a vision.” Rikar threw a stick into the fire. “I’ve seen my father also…his agony…the Grim March. I will rescue him.”

“You’re going the wrong way,” Mara said. “The Underworld is beneath us.”

Rikar shook his head. “No, quite the opposite. We’re going in exactly the right way. The entrance to the Underworld in on that island.”