John Forrester: Fire Mage

Glancing at the twisted black oaks marking the entrance to the Temple of Nyx, Talis frowned, but gave in anyways, despite feeling this was a terrible idea. Mara caught his eyes, and held out her thumb to touch his. They sealed the vow with this act. Now they could do nothing but follow through until they completed the Rites of Zagros.

After they finished their soup, Talis and Mara stepped hesitantly towards the blackened iron gate of the foul-tempered God of War. Once inside, the air seemed to darken, either obscured by the oaks or frightened by the shadow crows alive in the quavering branches above. Talis forced himself on, and Mara yanked his hand, leading him around the sword-shaped temple, through the onyx gravestones marking fallen war heroes.

The air reeked of sulfur. Mara puffed out her chest, eyes squinting, and faced a wall of tangled and twisted vines. She chanted words of passage to the realm of Zagros: “For there were four winds racing from the four corners of the world, four spirits and four demons, consuming all life in their path. Grant access to your dominion, yet hold your devouring fire till old age.”

With that the choke vines moved, loosening and untwisting, making a narrow path before them. Mara and Talis squeezed their way inside, where the power surged in the air, the power of dark magic, the power of death. The sky collapsed to a whorl of gray and black, tiny scintillating bolts forming an electric mesh in the sky. A barren ledge stood before them, with the Nalgoran Desert stretching across the sky. The wind rushed at their faces as they entered the ledge, the ledge where many chose to plummet to an early death.

Talis stepped gingerly towards the edge, mindful of the lack of railing, wishing he’d never agreed to perform the Rites. “All powerful Zagros, finish the deed, grind all matter to dust, from the remains the seed springs to life.”

He stared out over the vast expanse to the east, the Nalgoran Desert, with nothing but sand and whirling wind for hundreds of miles.

Mara tugged at his hand, pulling him to the left towards a cave set inside the massive granite cliff.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispered.

She frowned. “You vowed. Just whatever you do, don’t stare into the statue’s eyes for too long.”

“I know that already.”

“I’m just saying…people have died that way.”

Talis swallowed hard, and followed her inside the cave. Farther in, the darkness was suffocating. He knew he had to walk boldly to survive the initiate’s test, but as soon as he stepped onto a wet stone, the feeling of snakes slithered at his feet. Hundreds of spiders crawled along his shoulders, and cold, slimy hands grasped at his legs. He wanted to kick them away, but he had to keep going. When he tried to breathe, he couldn’t. It was like there was no air in the cave. This was an illusion…part of the Rites. He controlled his desire to gasp like a fish caught out of water. After he pictured the morning sun, the vision calmed himself, and he took deeper breaths.

Around a razor-edged corner came the glimmer of an eerie green light. Talis stopped, his heart thumping hard. Two shimmering orbs hovered in the darkness. In between stood a statue of the terrifying Zagros, in a battle-stance, wielding an executioner’s blade in one hand, and in the other he held hundreds of tiny, severed heads tied together by a string. The onyx statue of the Lord of the Underworld. His mouth was open wide, tongue stretched out. Talis felt the hairs stand up along the back of his neck. The statue was revolting.

A cloaked figure knelt before the statue, mumbling prayers. Mara grabbed Talis’s arm, and they hid behind the corner and bent down, straining to listen.

“…I vow,” the figure said, “my father, his soul find respite-the endless war of Nyx-spare him, oh great Zagros.”

Mara leaned close to Talis. “It’s Rikar,” she whispered.

As soon as she spoke, Rikar whirled around and glared at them. “You dare violate the sanctity of this temple?”

Mara and Talis stepped out from the shadows, bathed in the violent green light hovering above the statue. Rikar raised a hand and Talis felt a sickening energy creep up his legs and into his stomach, squeezing hard until massive bursts of pain shot through his body.

“Stop it.” Mara glowered at Rikar. “Leave it for the Blood Dagger competition.”

Talis gasped out as the pain diminished. He balled up a fist and started to charge at Rikar but Mara held him back.

“I won’t even need to use a drop of magic against you pathetic runts.” Rikar shoved Talis aside. “Nice to see you’re all better, Mara. I look forward to using my sword to make you ill again.” He chuckled, pulled his cloak over his head, and stormed out.

“What was that all about?” Mara shook her head. “Why is he in here, anyways?”

“I really don’t want to know…Rikar is in a very bad place, since his father died.”

Mara shuddered, but took a deep breath and faced the onyx statue. “We must complete the rites of initiation.” She beckoned him towards the shrine, and knelt on the outer ley line.

Talis studied the deep crevices of the god’s face, and approached the statue, eyes fixed on the dark lord. He had to remain fearless, else a dark entity might take possession inside him. As he steadied himself, he thought of his brother, Xhan, dead many years ago. He was free now, free of the heavy burden of life. Xhan rested with loved ones, along the fair seas…

Closer to the statue, Talis stretched out his hand. The god’s tongue was cold and wet as Talis touched it, and soon the feeling of a dank fire slithered down his arm. In an instant, a vision possessed his mind. A dimly lit cave filled with vines. A green fire. Eyes hard and ruthless, staring at him in the chamber.

Mara was wrong, worshipping Zagros didn’t bring them favor; worshiping the God of Darkness only brought a demon’s attention upon them.

The Temple dedicated to all gods, constructed by the magical Order of the Dawn over a thousand years ago, gleamed in the morning sunlight as Talis sauntered up the cobblestone street. Today he would study with Master Viridian, the leading wizard of the Order, for a chance at breaking his many year long failing streak, his inability at casting magic. Not that Talis was optimistic today.

“Another day, another failure?” Rikar said, and tipped his black hat as he swaggered inside the Order gate. Twin wizards at the entrance made notes, studying the students as they came inside.

Talis ignored Rikar’s banter and gathered his red robes, stepping over the stone dragons that guarded the gates. The sandy courtyard inside was raked in clean, diagonal lines that marked the ley lines of the world, divined by the geomancers of the Order. Talis skirted along the edges of the courtyard, following habits of caution, daring not to taint the central lines that marked the middle of the yard. But he was alone in refusing to alter those lines, as others, Rikar and Nikulo included, trampled where they liked, oblivious of what lay underneath.

“Ah…good morning, young master Talis.” Mistress Cavares, an old, eccentric wizard, stared at him. Talis wasn’t sure what she taught (or her area of mastery), but he knew all the rest of the students and wizards tried their best to stay away from her. She came closer and ran her fingers across her wrinkled lips.

“You look…in a dark mood today. Has something happened?”

Talis stiffened at her words, picturing the onyx statue of Zagros, and felt a cold chill spike along his shoulders. “I have studies with Master Viridian this morning,” he mumbled, and looked puzzled at Mistress Cavares.

“I see…” She frowned as if considering something. “Well, on your way. Do go see a healer if you’re not feeling well.”