deepundergroundpoetry.com

Of Ancient Passages: Chapter 11: An Unready Test

A large bang disturbs him. It makes him open his eyes. He knocks already who it is. He takes a long breath. Getting up he answers the door. A woman stands there with armor in her hands.

“Sol this is for you. My name is Clara and I just want to say all of us don’t agree with Azan.” She hands him the armor.

D’ereen gets up. “Is there anything you can do about it?”

“No, there is nothing any of us can do.” Clara says.

“Then what good are you?” D’ereen says as she slams the door.

He has a tough time getting the armor on. D’ereen helps him. It fits snuggly. A few dents are in the breastplate. The straps are the worse part she ties them tearfully. Lastly goes the belt and into the scabbard a sword. It feels very unusual on him.

“What will you do?”

“The best I can. I just want to survive.” He replies.

“Don’t worry you will.”

Clara opens back the door. “We must go.”

D’ereen sways her hips this grabs his attention. She comes in close, to his ear. Her whispers tickle. “One day I will be your bride.”



A nagging rememberance flushes through him. The placement is lost on him. He feels heavy, weighed by what he has to do. She hugs against him. He holds her, giggling, she is happy for his affection. Sol stands at the doorway a moment and smiles. Leaving he follows behind Clara.  

She offers conversation on the way. “When I was younger this place was wondrous. Understand this place has fallen on rough times.”

“I can see that. But he doesn’t have to put my life on the line. I may die.”

She is a little surprised. “You don’t sound as scared as you should be.”

“Well…I…I have faced the threat of death many times. I guess I am sort of numb to it.”

“Let me offer you some advice. Stay on the move. If you stand, still you will die. Azan has been starving it and it shall be very hungry. Just don’t look like food.”

“Where are we going?” They descend down.

“This way.” She says motioning to a large door. “Azan is the root of all the problem here. But the rest of the council are so damn subservient.” She pounds her fist on the door. “Exezla is catatonic, if only he could help us. I want things to go back the way they were. It seems so long ago. Please do not judge all of us based on his actions. I am extremely sorry for what has happened to you.”

He unsheathes his sword. “I am scared.”

“Not numb anymore, right.” She takes the chains away. “Your friend is right, why not leave. Don’t waste your life on pride.”

“It isn’t pride; I just have to know something. What if I am not good enough to be a wizard. I have to prove it to myself. I just never thought it would be this way.”

She opens the door. Light sprays. Clara pats him on the back. “Good luck, you will need all you can get. I hope for the best.”

The crowd surges with excitement. The door closes behind him. His heart sinks. There is an arena before him. He is in a large circular dome. High above the spectators watch and anticipate.

Pillars litter the field. Most are decimated in some way. Statues of frightened figures enhance the menacing air. The walls are a polished stone shimmering like glass. No scratch is seen, it is as perfect as the day it was made. A soft wind sends up dust.

He waits expecting to hear a monster. What he sees is entirely different. Its claws grip the side of a pillar; it does not see him (yet). He tries to move away but makes too much noise. It stares at him, green maim flushes red, standing on end. Scales rattle and mouth opens wide, hissing.

The cold crush of fear wraps around him. Like a snake coiling him up. For a moment he freezes. Terrified and quaking. All thoughts leave him as he stares at it. The most sinister of things he has seen so far.

It sizes him up. Smiling with its thin lips. Jumping before him, he cannot react. With a rattle of his head, he shakes paralysis.  It dashes forward arms extended. He jumps to the left a narrow miss. It slaps against the wall with a hard sound.

He runs into the maze of pillars. Again, it tries to tackle him but again it misses. Colliding into one of the pillars. It sticks, like the way a spider might. It has lost its prey but not for long. Its stomach rumbles.

The pillars cast there shadows on him. They sway slightly like unknown new terrors. He can hear it breathing some ways off. It is coming for him! With each breath, it gets closer and closer! A stark reality enhanced.

He hides in the shadows, praying it does not see. It is here before him. Close enough to and try to kill or anger. He remains still and silent. It sniffs the air but the wind is in his favor. Slowly it goes away.

Pull yourself together. You can do this. Don’t seize up. If you do, you die. Dying is bad remember. He cannot decide if these are his thoughts. It doesn’t matter they are right.

It is a little ways up. If he fires a spell at it, he may get it. This may be his only chance. He creeps out of the shadows. His eyes glow a sign of his condition. A push of energy comes out of his hand. The ears move and it moves out of the way.

How am I going to do this without a wand?

Something twinges in him. A sharp pain surges through his fingers. He pushes his hand back at the creature. Basic spells pull out of him through his fingers. It dodges easily. Jumping again, it vanishes from sight. His fingers ache.

As he turns the corner, something swipes through his field of vision. He ducks at the last minute. Something runs hot on his forehead. He tries to disappear among the many pillars. Perspiration runs down his face. His body wants to stop but his brain will not let him.

I am safe for now.

Sol is wrong. It is at him in an instant. Lips drooling in hunger it slashes at his midsection. Sharp talons cut through his armor nearly fileting him. He crumbles to the wall. The crowd is alive.

Blood splashes from his mouth. Its claws dig into his shoulders, through metal into flesh. The pain blooms. The pain makes his movements and a torrent of water erupts from his hands. It is thrown back with such force that it crashes pillars down. It is sore but not beaten.

He runs again, legs weighing heavy. How can he kill it? He has to think hard. The crowd’s eyes follow him it infuriates Sol. Could that be the answer give in to his anger? Let it guide him and take him over?

He can hear it laughing. It jumps at him again, hitting head on. Razor like teeth bite his raised arm. Feeling and hearing the crunch of bone his screams are hard to hear. His arm dangles like rubber in its mouth. A whipper escapes his lips between screams.

It brings him to the ground. With brutal ferocity, it tears through his armor. Pain comes as it rips skin. It has his blood on teeth and claws. He is numb and is slow to feel it. A burst of energy comes and he struggles, escaping.

Sol feels very dizzy. It pummels and forces him back to the ground. It tears, rips and slashes at anything it can. He closes his eyes. Malign hands take control of his will. Anger burns away all other reason. Eyes cinder into magma and his skin burns black.

The beast wrenches back afraid of this new power. Sol is up. Bones hang loose in his arm, a useless piece of flesh. It hurts as the bones assemble and the wounds heal over. His eyes tear as the sinews connect and he regains feeling. He grits his teeth as muscle links and the arm is useable again, complete.

The crowd is in a hush. The beast is very hungry now. Sol can hear its stomach growl. It runs to him, fangs exposed. It pounces, a one trick pony. With firm hands, he grabs it by the neck, and without losing rhythm, throws it against the wall.

It whimpers and yells. Bestial fury has been unleashed. Before it can act, he slashes its throat. Blood starts pouring down. He wipes the blood from his hand. Sol is grateful to be alive.

Quietly smoldering eyes burst as he bores into Azan. The magma fills over and drips to the ground. The young wizard runs for the exit. He runs with versatile speed. Sol jumps. Azan fires a spell at him he dodges midair.

He blocks his way. “You will pay for trying to kill me.”

“G-get him!” Commands the cowardly wizard.

Some start to move. “Do it and I will kill all of you!” Sol growls.

No one moves. Azan trips falling down the seats into the arena. With an easy jump, he meets him. Bolts of lightning are sent at him. At what he thinks is an off guarded boy. He dodges, eyes inflamed.

Azan thrusts his arm out. Kunai shoot from his fingertips. They make a twipple noise. With acrobatic ease, Sol dodges them. Grinning he rushes forward hand reaching for his heart. Something is wrong he is forced stopped.

A large spike juts from Sol’s stomach. It is hardened from soil and clay. It digs deeper with each moment. Azan’s hand is buried under a layer of sand. His fingers move under the grains. The spike twists and Sol’s body goes limp. The spike returns to the earth.

Azan gets to his feet and dusts himself off. He turns toward the crowd. “You see he was unworthy. Alunda has lied to us from the start. We will decide what will be done about the upcoming threat. This world does not need a savior or a hero. It needs only strength.”
He is a fool! Never turn your back on an unfinished battle. It is just not a good policy. Sol rises clutching at his wound. His heart races in desperate peril. It will take a few moments to close.

He wipes the blood from his mouth. Magma eyes rage with renewed vigor. “Ouch, that hurt.”

The fool turns around. “You?”

He snaps his neck. “You are really pissing me off. You self-righteous prick. Time to put you in your place. I hate the way you get under my skin.”

His black skin cracks and red glows fracture through. Blue eyes flow down with liquid fire. Sol opens his mouth wide and swarms of bugs come out. They bombard the unaware master wizard. He crippers as they land and sting him. Green matter splatters as he pummels Azan in an insectile hurricane veil.
His fist skids across his temple. Azan is sent down. “What…exactly…are…are you?” He pants.

He grabs him roughly by the cloak, enough so they are face to face. Cracks rip in his cheeks, showing the burning within. “A demon. A monster. It makes no difference because you are dead. Time to pay!” Sol smiles down at his beaten opponent. His hand glows white hot, he lifts it for one fatal strike.

D’ereen appears grabbing tightly to Sol. “Please no more! No more!”

The white-hot leaves his hand. A less threatening appearance flushes back. They boy looks almost sickly. Apart from this, he is himself again. He wobbles over. She catches him.

“I’m so tired.” He whispers.

The beaten Azan is put on a stretcher. Silently Alunda watches. He knows his pupil will not gain acceptance. Only a wrong sense of hate and matched fear. Even wizards fear what they don’t understand. The stretcher moves into the building to the healers.

“So…so what happened?” Sol asks.

D’ereen moves him along. “Don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t remember anything.”

“Come on let’s get you back to our quarters. I will tell you everything there.” She says.

The next day is shaded with gray. Rain falls with little noise. Everything is hushed, still, timid and unpredictable. Outside of the window trees dance to the high wind. The sounds of limbs scratch somewhere close. It is a dark day for dark news and darkest inescapable judgments.

Everyone sits around, in a chair here or a bed there. The boy is lying down. He pulls the covers over his shoulders to his chin. He turns on his side away from the window. A flash of lightning casts rainy shadows. Still it is noiseless. Pulling the covers over his head he drifts back to sleep.

A knock on the door comes around the middle of the day. Everyone dresses and readies themselves. There is a tense feeling in the air. Their feet give the only sounds. Out on the pergola potted plants are swept from their spots. A few times the wind made them misplace there steps. The rain lightly touches their clothes.

Their faces reflect the sentence they know is coming. Slowly they climb the steps and enter the chamber. No longer is there silence it has graduated to whispers. Sol’s eyes linger to Azan. Both of his arms are wrapped, hanging loose from a brace. Seats are ready for them at the front.

Azan speaks under some struggle. “…you have wounded my heart little hermit. I would have never let that Nue touch you. I wished only to test your obvious potential. But…you sting me and the sting is unbearable. You would have become a great wizard…you damned yourself!” He shifts his gaze to the floor. “You have found my company not to your liking, perhaps the wolves will prove sufficient. You are a monster, Sol the Wreoth, and you are not welcome. You are a blight on humanity. You shame us all with your presence. Be gone and take your friends with you!”

“But…we…” Alunda is stunned.

“Come on lets go.” Sol says in a very downtrodden voice.

Outside a sound breaks. A pitch so clear and unused that it still harbors war. A sound so crystal that it still heralds memories of a golden age. It crashes through all other thoughts and matters. Everyone rushes to the windows to see the commotion. Sol’s gaze is the last to be fixed.

A well-armored figure stands at the front of a division of many more armored figures. The whole of the wizarding community is nervous. Is such a host justified? The soldiers are anxious. They grip there weapons with white knuckles. Rightly so, not many would want to think about battling wizards.

“Wait here everyone; I will see what this is about.” Azan says.

Most of the council follows him. Azan is a little annoyed at this. He thinks he is more than capable of doing this by himself. Shoes tap down the steps, echoing. The gusts blow there robes about. The dark clouds flash with lightning, sparkling on armor. The rain tinks on helmets, breastplates, gauntlets and greaves.

Azan stands before them. “What can I help you with? These troops are a bit…excessive.”

The man in front of his men takes out a scroll. He unravels it. The rain leaves wet spots on it. He clears his throat and begins to read. “It is by order of King Belraz the Fourth that mages pose too great a threat to his majesty and the welfare of all citizens. Therefore, all magic users are henceforth disbanded from services of the Helengate Empire. All users of magic are now considered apostate. For fear of the power of the mage, all of their practices are banned. Any who are seen using magic will be subject to the laws of heresy. Based on those laws all heretics will be subject to burning at the stake.”

A great outrage bursts forth. All of the onlookers erupt with shock or with anger. All of them good or bad are considered apostate. They are now akin to necromancers, biothermagists, and worse. In the eyes of the Empire, there is no difference between them. Since the beginning of magic, mages have tried to distinguish between the bad and the good.

“This is outrages. What have we done? We have served the empire for millennia.” Azan says.

He folds the scroll back up. “Do you accept these terms?”

“You cannot ask this of us.” Says a voice within the crowd.

“It is not a question wizard. I am obliged only to ask if you accept this.”

A new set of feet echo down the steps. Kelan looks up and her mouth drops. Azan’s eyes are glazed with fright.  The Grandmaster stands before them. Azan cowers away, disappearing. Everyone’s heart lightens at the sight of him.

The council seems to awaken as if from a long sleep. They smile at him. Their eyes regain an old luster. The master of the house is alive. He is full of vigor and determination. The wind dies and the rain slows.

“Who are you?” Asks the head of the division.

Kelan speaks for him. “He is Exezla, son of Mardak the Valiant. Pupil of Kelcore the Legendary Master of the Flames.”

Avara continues. “Fourth degree master of the High Magical Arts. Creator of the Five Handed Path.”

Velra takes over. “Destroyer of Aruun Sekor, the dragon wizard and of Belvos the Ice Lord.”

“Professor at the Arkadeck Academy and founder of the Exezla Fortress.” Kar says.

The man in front of the division seems more than a little impressed. “Have you heard what I said?”

“I heard you but I am not inclined to listen.”

“What? Those sound like treasonous words.”

“You came here and threatened us not the other way.”

The leader smirks. “This is our land all of this is his majesties. It does not belong to you wizard.” He speaks up for all to hear. “All of you are like leashed dogs. The Empire was your only master. You are all expendable.”

Exezla’s frail voice works in. “I would rather see this Fortress burned to the ground than given over. I have fought years of oppression and I will continue fighting. If we have been exiled fine but do not try and incite a war with taut words.”

Tightly gripped swords are unsheathed. Bows are notched. “His highness is too lenient; all of you are big threats. But not for long, me and my men will cut you from your footing.”

The council fights with the intensity of two divisions. This battle could go no other way but in their favor. The soldiers never had a chance. I am sure most of them know this but they fight on. The lust for war is only in there commander. It is a fruitless fight but orders are orders.

Exezla stands among the wreckage of the bodies. He holds a frog within his hand. He speaks to it. “You chose a poor solution commander. Maybe you will have a better life as an amphibian.”  He chooses a spot near some grass and sets him free. “Go now explore the world in ease.” Every eye is drawn to him. “I want the breeze. I yearn to see trees. I need the outside. Come with me if you want.”

People follow as he walks. Kelan stays near to him and the Council behind him. There is a sitting area with rocking chairs and a wooden table. The umbrella here would (on sunny days) cast away some sunlight. Today the bright colors on it give a nice feeling to the atmosphere. This is the spot Exezla chooses. The bench is cool and for him it is a refreshing feeling.

Kelan sits next to him. Seats fill quickly but it does not matter. The ground is just as cozy. Taking his shoes off the grass slips between his toes. There is vigor in him as well as an easy breathing. Color splashes into his face.

Kelan pulls from her pocket his wand. She hands it eagerly to him. The wand seems to recognize his touch for it begins to glow. The glow is a pumpkin orange. For a minute O’ Hollow Evening is in everyone. Deep creases disappear from his face. No feat of magic could do so well.

“It would be nice to have a drink.” He says. “Could someone get me a glass?”

“I will be right back.” Says Kelan and she leaves to get him a glass. It only takes her a moment before she is back with it.

He takes it from her. “The glass is filled with water, good.” He taps the side of the glass twice. “You remember Kelan.”

“I do.” Her voice is perpetual and gradual like a rose in winter.

He sips the draught. “Ah, yes, Fizzy Pumpkern. I have the worst sweet tooth for it.” Exezla breathes in a great breath of air; voice loses its ancient stress. “I fear you have all been wronged. Some time ago, I was taken ill. My mind slowed, I suffered from a sleepless dream. Someone did this to me, took a spell from me. The spell dulls the senses to all those except the user. It allows one to control others. I invented this, but never meant to use it. I made it long ago. This someone used it, but not very well. If he had, I shudder to think about it. We will get to that in a minute. Please stand you three.” He points to Sol.

They stand and walk near to him. The old wizard motioned Sol to come closer still. He does. Exezla pats him on the shoulder. “I owe this boy a debt of gratitude. Give him the same respect you would show me.”

“Please no, there is no need.”

“There is every need.” The oldest wizard remarks. “There is much to be fixed. Let us start with simple gratitude.” He pauses as if remembering something. “Please a few of you go and bring Azan to me.”

“It shall be done.” Says a new voice, he and a few others go off to find him.

“I see there is a dokkilalfer with us. It is good to have another grace my abode. I miss my old alliance with them. You are always welcome here my dear. If you forget the way young Sol will show you here.”

She smiles. “Thank you much; I will remember your kindness.”

Azan is brought forward. He kicks and screams. The very sight of Exezla, in a fine state, sends him whirling. Everyone scatters to make way for the malcontender. Traitor is said on their lips. He is forced to his knees.




Sadness rambles over Exezla. “Dear Azan, do you deserve any pity? Does a wretched creature like you deserve any more power? I see the tribulations of a mage are too much for you. Perhaps I should never have taken you in.  I taught you myself, so the blame falls to me. I must have not taught your lessons well enough, you are my failing.”

The seditious voice is weak. “If you find me so wretched maybe you should never have saved me!”

“No, even the likes of you deserve the right to live. Your journey has taken you to this end but so many times, you were my friend. You were not always, as you are now. Even in the darkest despair, there is a twinkle of light. Perhaps in the future you will see this light.”

“You try to barter when it is you who are blind. You are old and Valtier is dangerous. You will not be safe from them. No one is. You should let me go.”

“Still trying to use my spell against me? Your words are as twisted as a snake. Your ears hear only defeat and death. I will take only one from you. The one that caused the most pain.” Exezla’s hands glow, placing them on Azan’s head. “I Exezla curse Azan, so mote it be.”

An unseen force pushes them apart. As he moves his lips, nothing comes out. A heavy tongue is weighted down. Whenever his vocal cords move, agony comes from both throat and lips. The strangest expression comes from his eyes. He gets up and starts to run. The grass is wet and he slips and slides but soon he disappears. To make best what life he still has.

A shade passes over Exezla. “If you please, I would like to rest now.”

The young apprentice is left standing, unsure what to do. As Kelan guides Exezla back into the Fortress, everyone disperses. Nothing would have prepared him for this. What ever happened to the honey of magic? Has it ever existed? Magic is supposed to be more than this, right? The question is left silent.
Written by MrE (C. R. Powers)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 0 reading list entries 0
comments 1 reads 697
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
COMPETITIONS
Today 4:56am by NANCY_RDZ_STORIES
SPEAKEASY
Today 4:15am by Grace
SPEAKEASY
Today 3:33am by DCLXVI_1989
COMPETITIONS
Today 00:41am by Louismatteo349
SPEAKEASY
Yesterday 11:19pm by Ahavati
POETRY
Yesterday 11:05pm by Grace