Wolf Awert - Ringwall's Doom

Burnt out .

A new fear rose like bile in Nill’s throat. There were stories, tales told in Ringwall’s corridors, of mages who lost the ability to use magic overnight. The energy and knowledge was still there, but the pathways of the body were blocked in some places and too wide open in others. The magical streams no longer flowed properly and many who had experienced this were glad to still be able to make a small fire after a cold night.

Nill gathered his thoughts. Plant light, earth heavy.

The blade of grass wobbled, just like when he had first attempted to separate Wood and Earth. No more, just wobbled. Nill hid his head under his arms.

The wind whispered in his ears for a long time before he raised his head again. Burnt out , the words pulsed through him in an intrusive rhythm.

Pulsing and hammering and beating. The contraction and expansion of nature. The pulse of life. The Nothing. The saving grace in his hour of need.

Whenever all seemed lost, the Nothing helped Nill. He could not say he knew it would work so far from Ringwall’s Sanctuary, but what choice did he have? He fell to the ground and released his body from the bonds of the world. He was not sure he had reached the Nothing; his senses dwindled and returned suddenly. He felt like he had taken a short nap and took a deep breath. Weakness and exhaustion were gone. He felt strong, full of vigor and magic. Healthy and invincible.

He raised his open hands and flung fireballs into every direction, raised the flames to the sky and concentrated the water in the air to a cloud that rained down on his head and extinguished the fires with hissing and sputtering – Nill stared around in disbelief. The grass was unburnt, there had been no firewalls around him and above his head there was not even a hint of mist, let alone a cloud.

“Plant light, earth heavy!” he yelled and made a wide, flailing gesture to slice through the dense roots beneath the surface. He failed. Nothing happened. Nill shouted spell after spell. He could feel the energy roaring in his body, but the world seemed unaffected. Nill had no influence on it.

But the young archmage was not easily dissuaded. If his magic no longer obeyed him, there must be a reason for it. He felt around for the elemental magics and to his relief he found them. All five elements were present.

I haven’t lost the gift quite yet , he thought.

There was Fire, red in every aura. Somewhat pale and lucid, but it was there. He also knew the brown of Earth, darker than ever, and so too was the blue Water, closer to a night sky than a still lake. But Earth and Water were there, no mistake about it.

The Metal’s black color had grown pale. As Nill searched for and found it, it had lightened to gray. And Wood? What of the element of life itself? He could see neither the light green of youth nor the rich, full vibrancy of summer. Instead there was a flickering motion, a soft darkness with light tips. Something had changed and Nill did not understand it. All he knew was that he could no longer use magic. He prayed that time would heal it, as it did so many things, but now he had one more worry to care about.

“What do you think, old boy?” he called to his ram. “Will you let me ride on you?”

Although Nill’s body was taut and his gait springy, his voice sounded tired. It was not his body, it was his soul; too caught up with itself and unwilling to take on any more work. Even putting one foot in front of the other was an effort.

The ram turned its back on Nill and threw him a dirty glance over its shoulder, as if to say, “I’d like to see you try, friend. My back is my own.”

“You could at least carry my baggage,” Nill grumbled.

The ram stepped to the side and held a firm distance to safeguard itself from further foolish ideas. Nill sighed and began to walk with sluggish steps.

They continued their way towards the Fire. On the third day after Nill’s encounter with Amargreisfing Nill saw several gray spots dancing in the distance beneath the boiling hot sun. The closer they came, the calmer the spots grew. They sunk to the floor and took shape until they were finally recognizable as small, stout huts. Hastily stacked rocks formed the walls. Atop them lay the most precious treasure in the plains: long wooden beams, carried here from far away, connected to each other with angled bones. They bore roofs made of animal hides that had been sewn together. They offered refuge from the sun, rather than the rain as in Nill’s village. Such houses were quick to build and just as quick to fall apart when the family left.

“Welcome, stranger,” a voice spoke to him from the shade of an entrance. “Come inside and flee the merciless sun. There is always enough tea in my house for visitors. Bring your companion inside, if you will.”

Nill had to hunch over to step through the door. It was comfortably cool in the hut. The stones held back the heat and the gap between the walls and the roof let in a gentle breeze. A man of indeterminable age sat on a pile of skins and furs in the center of the room.

“My name is Mahan, and this is my family’s home until fate decides otherwise. Sit. And you, come closer, let me have a better look at you.”

The ram looked around the strange new environment inquisitively, but stayed resolutely in the doorway. It felt no compulsion to enter the confines of a man-building.

“A proud warrior,” Mahan said with a nod, his voice full of admiration. “Even when you have to sell your herd, or you lose them, you should never part with the guardian. I have never seen one so big.”

“It’s from Earthland. The animals there grow larger than here in the Fire Kingdom,” Nill said calmly. He doubted his own words, however: even in Earthland, the ram had been far bigger than the other males.

“That sounds right.” The old man reached for a slender jug and poured a green liquid into two small cups. His movements were smooth and calculated. Here, where the sun was always bright in the sky and clouds were a rare mercy, the people had learned to move slowly. Nill took a sip and his face contorted. The tea was even more bitter than the one he had drunk at home. Surprisingly, however, it quenched his thirst.

On the plains, the people were not pressed for time, and so Mahan spoke no more. He had said what he wanted to say, and knew that Nill would continue the conversation after a few moments. He would say where he came from and where he was going, that was the way of guests. Honesty was not required.

“My name is Nill.” Nill waited for a second in anticipation of the usual surprise upon hearing his name for the first time, but the old man showed no reaction.

“I come from Earthland, from a small village not far from Metal World. I seek people who understand the script. I have heard that the Fire Kingdom holds such wise folk who understand the gift of writing and reading. But I do not know the kingdom, and so I follow the paths and see where they take me.”

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