Brian Pratt - Shades of the past

“What?” Brother Willim asks.

“Tell your brethren to halt all magic, now,” he says with more strength.

“But we’ll be killed,” he states.

Shaking his head James shouts, “Just do it!” Pushing away from Brother Willim, he makes his way to Miko.

“Shut it down!” he yells to be heard over the roar of the battle. “Shut it down now!”

Miko is so caught in maintaining the flow that he isn’t paying any attention to him. Stepping back, James kicks the Star out of his hands. When the Star leaves his hands, Miko collapses into an unconscious heap.

Another shimmering ball flies toward him, the mage grinning in triumph. Sending out his magic, he explodes the ball and once more he’s hit by what must be a backlash of power which sends him to his knees.

Turning back toward the mages, James gazes at the mage standing there. The look on the mage’s face says he’s sure of victory as another of the shimmering spheres appears between his hands. Using the last vestiges of power, he casts one final spell. A shimmering bubble leaves his hand and floats its way toward Kerith-Ayxt. As his sight fades to blackness James sees the look of victory again on the face of the High Lord Magus, then passes out.

“Is that the best you can do?” Kerith-Ayxt asks.

With a thought, he sends the sphere to destroy the bubble. Instead of being destroyed, the sphere appears to be absorbed by the bubble. Then suddenly something latches onto the flow of magic coming from him and begins drawing magic.

The High Lord Magus tries to cancel the flow but realizes in panic that he is unable to. Growing in intensity, the bubble begins drawing more and more power from him. Behind Kerith-Ayxt, mages fall as the Lattice pulls ever more magic from them to replenish his reserves that are being drained by the bubble.

Sparkles begin dancing within the bubble from the accumulation of magic stored within. Brother Willim and the two remaining followers of Asran watch in awe as the bubble glows with growing intensity, the sparks within it increasing in number and intensity.

From across the battlefield, Jiron blocks a soldier’s downward hack with the crossed blades of his knives and kicks him backward. Momentarily free of attackers, he glances around the battlefield and sees the light coming from where the bubble is growing. Suddenly, another soldier appears before him and thrusts with his sword.

Deflecting the blade to the right, he lashes out with his other knife and takes him in the side of the neck. As the man falls, his eyes are again drawn to the now blindingly white light. “Oh no,” he breathes as recognition comes.

“What?” asks Stig from where he’s parrying a series of attacks.

“We’re all dead,” he says with finality. Memories of the explosion that rocked the night when they escaped the City of Light play through his mind. Casting one more glance to the growing doom behind him, he turns back to the battle at hand.

The High Lord Magus, the most powerful mage in the Empire, is on his knees as magic continues to flow from him. Unable to stop it, he watches as the bubble before him grows ever larger. At one point, the light coming from it robs him of his sight as the brightness burns his retinas away.

As he falls to the ground he can feel his skin beginning to shrivel itself upon his bones as his life leaves him. Sadness grips him. Sadness of the loss of magical advances. Sadness over the loss of the many friends already dead behind him. But most of all, he’s sad for what the future may hold. The School of the Arcane helped control and direct those who practiced magic so the world wouldn’t have to endure atrocities. Now, without their influence, how many more Baerustin’s will there be?

His lungs quit working and finally, his heart grinds to a stop. Kerith-Ayxt, High Lord of all the Magi, dies.

The bubble, now brighter than the sun reaches critical mass. The magic within it too great for it to last much longer. When at last the bubble gives out…

Schtk!

…and time suddenly freezes just as the magic was about to explode outward.

Men stand frozen across the battlefield. Poised to attack, their swords remain stationary in the air. Arrows are halted in midair on their way to their targets. A surreal quiet settles over the battlefield as all sound is stilled.

Moving across the field of battle, a man winds his way through the men frozen in combat. On one side he sees a Raider with the point of a sword protruding from his back from the thrust of an enemy. On the other a head that was shorn from a nearby headless torso hovers two feet from the ground, waiting for time to start again before finishing its fall.

The man reaches where the Star of Morcyth lies upon the ground, still pulsating with light as if in defiance of the stoppage of time. Next he comes to Miko and pauses. Bending down, he runs his hand along the side of his face, caressing it as a father would his beloved child.

Standing up again, he continues along until coming to James. Glancing over to the bubble, frozen at the moment of detonation, the man shakes his head. “Why did you have to do that James?” he asks. “Couldn’t you see another way?” Gazing at the unconscious James, a tear wells from his eye.

Of all the probably outcomes of bringing James to this world, this was one of the ones they feared the most. The only one they had feared more was his death before he finished what he was brought here to do. Now, the world stands upon the brink. Time, once a friend has become the enemy.

Returning his gaze to the man in whom the hope of the world had been placed, he just shakes his head sadly. Raising his hands, he creates a protective barrier around James and the rest of the defenders, a shield against the blast. That much he is allowed to do, no more. What happens from this point on rests in James’ hands.

Once the shield is in place, the man straightens his blue vest and pushes back his felt hat. “Good luck, James,” he says then vanishes. Once the man is gone, the passing of time resumes.

Booooooom!

The sky turns red as fire burns across the top of the barrier in the blink of an eye. Many soldiers of the Empire are caught on the other side of the barrier and are incinerated in an instant. The ground leaps and ripples causing everyone to lose their balance and hit the ground.

Heat from the fire burning on the far side of the barrier passes through and is incredibly hot. Even with the protection the barrier affords, hair smokes and those caught at the edges suffer great burns.

A full minute does the ground move until finally settling down. Illan is the first to return to his feet. Staring up at the blaze which is covering the top of the dome, he asks under his breath, “James, what did you do?” In every direction, the fire burns. How are they even alive?

“What happened?” comes a voice behind him.

Illan turns to find Ceadric approaching, his head turning this way and that as he looks at the fire.

“I don’t know,” Illan replies. The smell of burnt hair comes to him and he looks to where the edge of the barrier touches ground and the dead men lying next to it have begun to smolder. “Get everyone away from the edges,” he says. “Everyone to the center.”

Ceadric nods and begins gathering men. “Up you dogs!” he yells to those still on the ground. “Pull the injured to the center. Away from the flame’s edge!”

Jiron and Scar help Potbelly to the center. During the fighting, he had suffered a severe wound to the leg. A tourniquet is tied securely around his upper thigh to stop the flow of blood. “Can’t take him anywhere,” Scar comments to Jiron.

“Shut up,” says Potbelly weakly. “Don’t need any help.”