Wolf Awert - Ringwall's Doom

“I heard Ringwall lets its disciples go every winter. Some return to their parents to take over tasks for their families. Others, so they say, roam the land to perfect their art and gather experience before taking on more daunting challenges. Do you really mean to tell me that no sorcerer has ever even passed by here?” Nill was chewing on an onion, so his words came a little muffled.

Several of the men muttered to each other, others shrugged or shook their heads. The women said nothing. One did not talk about magic. Nothing good ever came of it. Only the eldest kept his thoughtful gaze on Nill.

On the next day the hole that was to become a field was filled again with the larger stones. On top of the large stones they laid the small ones, then atop that they piled the earth. It looked dark and smelled fresh, and after a few pitchers of water it was moist enough to give the seed life. The new field was small and would likely feed no more than one family, but it had a good and fertile topsoil. It would serve for many harvests.

Nill witnessed none of it. He had barely closed his eyes when the gentle caress of sleep crept over his body and took off his mantle of caution, and the magic of the night fell upon him. Unable to act against the onslaught, he simply let it carry him. Pictures appeared before his eyes, no more than memories in the surrounding blackness; he felt, more than saw them. The white light, that terrible brother of darkness, had no place in the shadows of the night when sleep reigned.

The darkness was not content with surrounding Nill. It seeped into his every pore, filled his ears and shut his eyes. It brought with it its own sounds, smells and images, for which it needed no senses. Nill tossed and turned in his bed and attempted to fend off the darkness with every ounce of magical power he had over the five elements. He had as much success as a person trying to shatter a rock with a small twig. The elemental magic was still there, though; it circled around him like a pack of spectators watching two pitfighters, observing every change and suffering, yet elated, but not part of the battle and unable to intervene.

The night drew to a close. Day came with the light gray of dawn and passed as it had arrived as night fell once more. It took two days for Nill to awaken.

“I’m fine,” Nill reassured his hosts. They finally showed him, not without pride, their new field. And indeed, Nill felt full of strength and life.

What sort of life would it be if I have to make the field before harvesting the plants? he wondered, but at the same time he had great respect for the people who lived and worked here, and also for the food they worked so hard for. In Earthland every bite had been a little treasure too, but his time in Ringwall had made him take food and drink for granted.

How quickly one forgets, he thought as he said his goodbyes to continue towards the Fire. The eldest gazed after him for a long time.

“That was a sorcerer, maybe even higher than that. No smooth-hand can work as hard as us,” he said finally. “And he carries a heavy burden. The air around him flickers and the earth trembles. Nobody could sleep like he did. He probably thought it was best not to show us his true self.”

“Maybe there have been other sorcerers here in the past, and we just didn’t notice,” one of the boys said pertly. The eldest gave him a smack on the back of his head and the boy stumbled forward. “You wouldn’t notice the birds in the sky save for when they shit on your head,” the old man scolded.

More to himself than to those surrounding him he grumbled on. “I was a young man, many winters ago. A sorcerer passed by one day. He was tall and thin and carried a staff that shone in the dark. He healed our oldest and our sick, blessed the children and the animals. The next day he was gone. That was the summer that refused to rain, when many of us starved. I never knew whether he was the one who took the rain in exchange for his healing. You never know with arcanists.”

Nill’s heart was heavy as he left these people of few words yet great hospitality, who fought for life with every dawn, at nature’s mercy without the power of magic. He would have liked to stay for a few more days. If only to give back a little more for what he had received. Distance where respect and courtesy demanded, kindness as should always exist between people, and sympathy where it was needed. These things went without saying for these simple folk, but were a rare and treasured thing in Ringwall.

His dreams drove him onward. The memory of the earthen darkness and the blinding light weighed heavy on his mood.

It’s not right, he thought to himself as he strode onwards. Magic is to come when the mage calls for it. Not the other way around. Not for the first time Nill wondered how these powers always managed to grasp him in their clutches. What use was it to know that he never bore harm from it? The helplessness of being at the mercy of a wholly unknown force was unbearable. Nill remembered that he had fought, but had the white stone saved him from the dark earth’s magic? Could it not be possible that the cold light itself was a part of the darkness, like the sun and moon in their everlasting dance?

Rubbish, he told himself. Light and darkness can alternate light night and day, but it’s either light or it’s dark. Anything else is nonsense.

As determined and final as he made the words sound in his head, they could not quite cover his insecurity. His memories became hazy until he could no longer tell what he had dreamed and what had happened apart. Strange images streamed restlessly through his thoughts, tugging at peculiar feelings. And then there was the constantly increasing fear of being followed. Nill felt it more than he saw it, but there were movements at the fringes of his perception. Where the eye no longer sees color, where it can see movement but not define it; that was where it happened. The ram became infected with Nill’s unrest and began to run circles around him again. There was no doubt that something was afoot, and Nill did not at all like not knowing what it was.

He gave the ram a clap on the rump and muttered: “Whatever it is, we haven’t managed to shake it off yet and we probably won’t at all. We should stay here where our vision is good and the sunlight aids us.”

Nill closed his eyes and sent all his concentration to the point between his brows and the root of his nose, where the corporeal and magical worlds were easiest to join.

His third eye did not need to search for long. It seemed his follower had also grown tired of the game. From the top left, out of the sun and barely visible, came a translucent ball, about the size of a man’s head. Nill barely managed to dodge it by twisting sideways. The ball flew past him with a hiss and stopped in mid-air, looking ominous. The next attack came even faster than the first and Nill put up a Fire shield to protect himself. The shield blocked the attack, but then faded away.

Nill felt the panic rising in his stomach. He had never seen anything like this. Only Water magic could extinguish Fire so quickly. But Nill had not noticed any Water magic. Nill did not have the time to follow this line of thought, for now the ball followed attack with attack. Nill reacted instinctively. He activated his staff and drew up shields of Water, Wood and Metal to block the quick assault. He cursed foully and fluently under his breath.

This isn’t working. Fire, Earth and Metal do nothing. Water gets parried by Metal, I felt it. Wood slows it down, but no more. It’s only a matter of time until this thing exhausts me. Time. That’s it. I need time.

Nill screwed up all his courage and fled to the Other World. He feared this strange attacker more than Bucyngaphos and his legion of demons.