Brian Pratt - The unsuspecting mage

Tendrils of power spring to life and converge from all directions at a point somewhere deep within him. From there it surges outward from his outstretched hand and arcs toward the shimmering wave. A blinding explosion like a mini-super nova flares when the two powers meet. Once the dots cease dancing before his eyes, he finds the wave from the vortex gone and the girl sags unconscious in the grip of the evil’s minion.

Hatred and malice erupts from the vortex. As it washes over him, James senses that the evil in the vortex is now focused upon him.

The evil’s minion turns toward James, letting go of the young girl who collapses to the floor.

Wariness turns to shock as he discovers the evil’s minion to be a girl that looked a little younger than himself. Dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt, he’s further dumbfounded when he spies the words San Francisco written across the front. She’s from home!

Her eyes glow with an inhuman intelligence; her face twists in an expression of pure evil. Wielding a dagger in one hand, she chants words whose very utterance set James’ skin acrawl.

“I’m from Earth, too,” he shouts.

But her expression fails to change.

“We can help each other.”

Unresponsive, she continues toward him and the chanting continues.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of a change in the swirling of the vortex. Taking his eyes from her for a moment, he glances quickly over to it. A shiver goes through him when he finds the vortex beginning to coalesce and take shape.

The chanting from the girl suddenly stops and a dark cloud exudes outward toward him. The sight of the miasmic cloud causes him to dart backward out of the room but the cloud moves faster. He holds out his arm as if to ward it off, but instead feels excruciating pain.

It engulfs his arm; welts form and fire races along his nerve endings. A scream escapes him as more of his body comes in contact. Somewhere amidst all this agony, he finds the strength to cry:

Soothe and heal

No pain to feel

Power courses through his body and reduces the pain to a dull throbbing. The black cloud dissipates when the power behind the spell is exhausted. The features of the girl are contorted, misshapen and twisted by the evil which controls her. She continues advancing toward him.

Thinking fast, James glances at the floor as an idea comes and casts:

Stone like pudding

Soft and slick

Entrap her feet

Then harden quick.

As her foot descends to the floor during her next step, it sinks beneath the surface. Then as she moves forward with the other, it too passes within the stone of the floor. Once both have sunk into the stone floor a little past the ankles, the stone solidifies around them, encasing her feet. Her legs continue trying to bring her toward him, as if she does not realize what has happened. She starts chanting another spell.

Taking a small stone fragment from the rubble littering the floor, he casts the same spell used when he killed the wolf and throws. Ping! The stone ricochets off an invisible shield surrounding the girl.

Her chanting raises an octave and there’s a disconcerting prickling of his skin. He reaches down for another stone. Then borrowing from his druid’s repertoire of spells, he draws his arm back and says:

Forces of Good, forces of nature,

More aid do I need.

Pierce the shield, through the heart

The power of good, succeed.

Again a multitude of power tendrils flow into him, meet in the center, and surging outward as he hurls the stone at the girl. This time when the stone connects with her protective shield, there’s an intense flash of light and the stone passes through to strike her in the chest. It then explodes out her back and she slumps lifelessly forward to the floor, settling at an awkward angle due to her legs still being encased within the stone floor.

Tired, exhausted and drained, James turns toward the pentagram and the evil coalescing above it. The swirling vortex has now almost completely formed into something inhuman in aspect and malignant in nature. The glowing red eyes of the creature are fixed upon him and he can feel hatred roll over him like a filthy tide. Somehow, he knows that he must find a way to close this portal between worlds before the creature is able to manifest completely. He modifies another of his druid’s spells:

Forces of Good, forces of nature,

Hearken to me one last time.

Seal the rift, the passage to close,

And let victory at last be mine!

One last time he feels the influx of multiple tendrils as they suffuse him with more power than ever before. So intense is the power as it passes through, that it feels as his nerve endings are being seared raw as it flows outward. In his mind’s eye he visualizes the portal and the power of the evil fighting to keep it open. Such malignant hate and evil; even in his worst nightmares he never could have imagined such to exist. His mind’s eye concentrates on the portal, directing the magic in drawing it close. The power continues flowing to, and then out through him, toward the portal.

Wave after wave of malignant hate strike him like physical blows, each nearly causing him to falter. Somehow though, he manages to remain focused and continues directing the magic in closing the portal.

Just before the portal is no more, a final surge of unbelievable malignancy blasts into him and knocks him back several steps. With the closing of the portal, he ends the spell and the magic tendrils cease flowing into him. He has little time to enjoy his victory. Completely drained and exhausted, his eyes roll up into the back of his head, and he collapses to the floor passing out.

When consciousness returns, he comes awake disoriented and with a headache threatening to split his skull wide open. Others are in the room, but he’s having a hard time getting his eyes to focus properly so couldn’t make them out.

“James, are you all right?” a familiar voice asks.

He knows it’s familiar, but his mind can’t quite put a name to it. Unable to utter more than an incoherent grunt, he shakes his head. Water is poured into his mouth and after a couple swallows, his vision clears. He manages a weak smile as his eyes finally focus on the one addressing him; Ceryn.

“Thought…you…home,” he manages to get out.

“Thought I went home?” When James nods, Ceryn shakes his head. “No. I was visiting a friend and happened to be at the Squawking Goose when Corbin came running through the front doors screaming of demons.”

“When he finally told us what was going on, we hurried out here.” He then gestures to a man by the pentagram and continues, “I dragged our priest along just in case. When we saw the devastation, we thought for sure to find you dead. Imagine our surprise that you weren’t.”

His mind couldn’t make sense of what the Warden was saying. “Devastation?”

“Devastation like I never would have believed. Trees shriveled in a massive swath with this house at the center; plenty of the animals, too.”

“How?”

“We thought you might be able to tell us.”

James just shakes his head.

Another man kneels by the pentagram, the little girl in his arms. Sobs come from the man. James thought at first she was dead, but then the man notices him looking their way, wipes tears from his eyes, smiles and says, “Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for saving my little girl.” His sobs were those of gladness, not sorrow.

The priest walks over and addresses Ceryn. “The girl is fine, if very weak. She will be fine after a few days rest I would think.” Turning to James, he adds, “You could do with a little rest yourself, young man” With that, he returns to the girl and her father and talks quietly with them.