Just a quick note:
Yes this is another version of my Battlemage story, but this is more like an origin story. So now I'm thinking I need a subtitle, what do you think?
I have always known war.
Once I reached my tenth year I rode into battle, along with the other mages,
casting destruction. My blue skin burns with a similarly hued flame, denoting
my natural abilities with fire and death, yet the potential for any magik flows
in my veins. Whilst most mages master one of the two skills natural to them, I
had full supremacy over both.
I can remember a time when the other children
mages, and I, learned about our sorcery in the old dungeon beneath the castle
of our Master. The green boy and I would practice our skills, then the yellow
girl would heal us. The yellow girl was the elder of the three of us, and
watched us while our sires attended to matters of the court. I particularly
recall being chided by the yellow before my first march.
"Ello, tell me about the
aura-poppers." I asked as I focused on a small flame dancing across my
fingertips.
"Auralplorers, and stop calling me that!" She
snapped while directing a green boy, slightly older than me whom I called
'Rock', dig a tunnel somewhere below. "It sounds like a name."
"But what am I to call you when we ride
with the others?" I whined. I closed my hand into a fist, extinguishing
the flame.
"You will call me as everyone
else does, Yellow!"
"But what about the old yellow?
How will he know I'm not calling him?" I pleaded. I placed both hands
above my head, starting a fire in the air above them.
"He is the Healer, and deserves
to be called such." She turned to face me, then cradled her head in her
hands, as if in pain. "Now, what did you want to know about the aura
hunters?"
"If they are not black mages,
why do people fear them so much?" I spread my hands apart, stretching the
fire above from a small spot to a wide plane.
"Good work! Now bring the edges down around
us, shape the flame into a tent." The yellow ordered. I slowly lowered my
hands, trying to do as commanded.
"The majority of green mages have control
over Earth magik, but some have power aura magik." She sat down and began
drawing symbols on the floor. "Dark green mages can even manipulate
another person's aura, which can be used to direct that person as the mage
wishes. They are also not the only mages to be feared. Black mages," she
continued, "have very strong powers. They have been known to control
three, even four types of magik. Also, a black mage is desirable for his
offspring." Her fingers wove intersected triangles and hexagons in the
dirt. "The brood of a black mage is frequently powerful. They can wield
both of the powers that they are born with, and are capable of gaining some
skill in the other types of magiks. Necromancers, Auralplorers, Revivers,
Beastmasters, Mystiks, and Oracles, these are the pinnacle of their respective
sorcery." She glanced up, "Don't bring the edges all the way down or
we'll run out air." She turned her attention back to Rock, the green boy,
"Are you finished?" She asked.
"I believe so." He stood
just behind her, arms folded behind his back.
"Wait 10 heart beats, then open
up the ground beneath us, just as you practiced." She stood, and whipped
back around to me. "Now bring the fire all the way down, keep it in place
as long as you can."
I slowly lowered my arms to my sides, dragging
the fire with me. It was difficult for me to stretch the blaze, without
spreading it too thin. If it was too thin, it was likely to dissipate, but too
thick would quickly go out of control and burn the air out of our lungs. When
my hands reached my hips, the flame contacted the floor. I began counting out
the heartbeats, feeling the heat intensify with my anxiety. Before I was ready
the ground shifted beneath my feet. I tumbled to the ground, and instinctively
flung out my arms to balance myself. The fire is torn to shreds by my
uncontrolled gestures. My feet sink into soft clay, that rapidly destabilizes
into loose sand. Bits of soil and rock filled my vision as I fell. Largish
lumps of something bump into my back, knocking the wind out of me. The fire is
completely gone. My body stops falling in a heap of sand and rocks.
"Anyone hurt?" Ello calls
out from somewhere to my right.
"I'm bleeding." Rock
answers from farther away.
I delicately extricate myself from
the pile of dirt, "I'm not hurt badly, maybe some small cuts." I look
upwards trying to discern the length of the fall.
"There were too many rocks and
large clumps of hard clay, Green. Blue, you need to maintain your fire. Don't
worry about falling, you will be healed when the time comes." Ello
continued criticizing our actions for quite some time. "As a mage our goal
is to assistant our forces, when opposition is found, we fight. It does not
matter who we march upon, nor the goal of our campaign, such is not the
knowledge privy to mages." Thus was my daily instruction.
I also recall the day Ello became
Healer for our Masters. It had been the fourth, or perhaps the fifth,
march I accompanied. Grey skinned Swordsmen, Lancers, Horsemen, and Archers moved
with precision, attacking an mass of brown skinned fighters. The grown mages, a
Yellow Healer, and a Red Battlemage, set us to work.
"Green, raise up a wall around
the Master and his personal guard."Commanded the Battlemage, the woman who
bore me.
"Blue, rain brimstone on the enemy archers, that will give our men a
chance to flank them. Yellows, be ready for the wounded, they will be here
shortly. I will go to the Master to receive any missives he has for us." A
sphere of coloured wind carried her away, moments before arrows pelted us from
above. Quickly I blasted flame above us, in an attempt to burn them away.
Sadly, I was not fast enough, two arrows cleared the blaze. One lay on the
ground, singed. The other protruded from the arm of the Healer. Ello,
immediately began to pluck the arrow from the wound, but the Healer stopped
her.
"Save your energy for the
fight. I can tend to myself." He ordered. "Remember how I instructed
you? Certain wounds can wait, but others are more pressing. Look there, I see the
Battlemage returning."
Thus the fight continued, the green
and I following the directions of the red Battlemage, and the yellow healing
with the guidance of the Healer.
I concentrated my efforts on killing
the archers. Anger at myself, for not being fast enough, boiled in my veins. I
pushed that anger into my hands, letting it fuel my flame. Above the archery
group nearest us, molten lava formed a perfect sphere, which plummeted down
into their ranks. Chunks of brimstone followed on the heels of the lava,
quickly finishing off the remnant of the archers. My Master's Horsemen rode through
the gap in the forces that opposed us. They slashed and skewered at the brown
skinned men. Throughout the battle field, arranged in a familiar pattern,
spears of rock spiked up from the ground. As I searched the field for another
group to target, a new sensation arose in me. My stomach seemed to plunge down past my feet,
and a sour bile pushed up into my mouth. A deep pit seemed to have opened
within my body, and inside it an emptiness called to me. I closed my eyes and
swallowed, trying to banish the feeling. Yet, as I concentrated on the abyss
growing inside me, I felt the dead from the battle. They were gathered, as if
awaiting orders from a general. I was within the void now, standing just beyond
arm's reach from the fallen. I recognized the man closest as one of the guards
from my Master’s castle. I reached my hand out towards him, knowing there was
nothing I could do for him. Something crashed down on my hand. My eyes snapped
open, bringing me back to the fight at hand.
“Do not!” The old healer hissed in my ear. He gestured
toward the enemy across the field, “They cannot know the full range of your
abilities! No matter how strong the urge maybe, now is not the time to wield
your power over death.”
“How did you know?” My voice trembled as I asked. “This
is the first time I’ve seen them.”
“I know that you were born of a Red mage, as well as a
Black one.” He stepped back, and motioned to the few remaining skirmishes
before us. “The battle is all but over, assist the Green and the Master’s
fighters while the young Yellow and I care for the wounded.” He looked ragged
and weary as he walked away.
At last, the Master sent word that we were to return to his
camp. Ello pleaded with the Healer. "Let me care for you now."
"There is no need," The
healer wheezed, "I have dealt with myself sufficiently."
"But you are not well!"
The younger exclaimed.
"Of course I'm not well!"
The Healer countered harshly. "I'm dying."
"How?" I demanded, Rock and
I had kept all other attacks at bay.
"The arrow." He answered.
"It had been poisoned, courtesy of an Orange mage."
Rock lowered his face, "Come,
Fa..., Healer. I will see to your resting place."
With the death of the Healer, the yellow
garnered her title, and I lost the only other person who knew anything about my
bloodline. Many had fallen that day, and even though I knew the Master’s men
were more difficult to replace, the death of the old mage weighed heavy on my
mind. What had his death gained? More prominence for Ello, and a place at court
for her? What had the battle gained? Nothing that I knew of, it was all a
waste, all the death was for naught. It felt wrong somehow, that a mage could
be tossed aside as if he were but a threadbare coat.
Even if it meant
forsaking my power, and my duty to the Master, I would not let the same happen
to me.
