Beyond the Sapphire Gate: Epic Fantasy-Some Magic Should Remain Untouched (The Flow of Power Book 1) (30 page)

Atoi’s open, glazed eyes, stared up at her as the last of her strength fled.

NO MIRTH

Light surrounded Garn. Gratified, he absorbed some of its pure white luminance, drawing it deep within him with one long pull. Details emerged from around the light’s ragged edges: a pale, shaved log beam overhead, a glassless window cross-trimmed with bars, a sanded bedpost. Wood joists spotted with dark brown stains, designated leaks from above, the source of a stale mold scent. Mold wasn’t good. He’d break out in hives if forced to be around fungi too long.

He pulled light in, imbibing deeper. With each pull, his thoughts took on coherence, establishing a firmer link to his sense of who he’d been, who he was, who he strove to be. He had a mission.

 He sat up, looking for the way out. The small room was barren except for the large bed, a small vanity, and a matching wardrobe. A rough-cut wooden door with an oval, iron-barred window was the room’s sole exit.

The flight from the alley flooded into memory. Briefly, he wondered how he could still be alive, but it didn’t matter. He had a mission.

He stood. Gripping the door latch, he twisted until he met resistance. The door was locked, no surprise there. In the room adjacent to his, two men sat in silence at the far end of a long, scarred table, sipping tankards filled to the brim with an amber liquid. Two men he recognized. One wore a red-robe, the other, a leather hood ending at the sternum. A woman joined them, taking a seat demurely next to the black-hooded man sitting at the table’s head. The woman, too, was familiar.

“How long is
he
going to be here?” Corteezsha asked. Setting a delicate glass on the table, she poured a red liquid from a bronze-colored bottle.

“When you refer to
he,
I assume you mean me,” Malkor said. He took a long pull from the tankard, wiping foam from his goatee with the back of his bronzed hand. Plopping the tankard down, he belched. “I would’ve departed hours ago, if not for you.”

The blonde curls draping under Corteezsha’s chin shook slightly as she locked eyes with the red-robed man. “Me? I would be the last person to detain your departure. You may go now, if you’d like.”

Malkor scowled, narrowing his oval brown eyes. “I delayed to attempt a final heal to your pet mark for you. I’ve expended much effort to provide the Flow for a rapid heal. The fool won’t draw upon it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have repaired his blood circulator. His death would have come quickly, and I wouldn’t be here expending my energies for
you.
It’s not as if I do not have other duties elsewhere.”

Slamming his tankard on the table with enough force foam rose to the top and spilled over the sides, the Hooded Man leaned forward, his voice soft and ominous. “You healed him at
my
command, not hers. You would do well to remember that.”

Malkor quavered. “Yes, Great One. May I ask, why have the fool healed?”

The black hood swung slowly toward Garn. Their eyes locked. Garn’s breath caught in his throat. Dark amber, feline eyes glinted from underneath the hood. “The
fool
tore through seventeen of my strongest, nearly escaping the alley trap,” the hooded man said, still looking at Garn. “No, he
would
have escaped if not for the defect in his heart. I shall decide if there is merit to this, or merely desperation providing undue strength. Should there be potential, a place with us shall be found.” The hourglass eyes under the hood glinted brighter. “Provided, such a one as him can be trained to the higher quality. If not, you may remove his circulator for your own dark experiments, Malkor. At present, you may continue your other…duties. The
fool
…has accepted your heal.”

Corteezsha glanced at the Hooded Man before turning to look at Garn. Her large blue eyes glinted as a smile tugged at her lips before vanishing so fast he wasn’t sure it’d ever been there.

Malkor was slower. “I checked on him before we sat down,” he said, frowning. “As I tried to say, the blasted fool won’t take what’s placed right inside his...” He spun toward Garn so fast the red hood on his shoulders flapped. “Oh! Blast you!”

Springing to his feet, Malkor strode across the room, kicking two chairs aside as he went. Halting at the doors threshold, his brown eyes glared through the bars. Garn could have punched him in one of those eyes had he wanted to, but the situation hadn’t fully developed yet. “How long have you been standing there? Do you know who your benefactor is,
fool?
” Malkor asked. His hot breath smelled of stale ale.

Garn said nothing. He’d come across men of Malkor’s type somewhere in his past, though he couldn’t recall where. Short and spoiling for a fight, Malkor believed he had something to prove. The shorter man was looking for any provocation, however small, to take on someone bigger than him. Such men were dangerous. Sureen had called it short man’s syndrome, but then she’d been a psychology instructor. There had been supplements to the conversation, but he couldn’t recall the specifics. Large gaps in his memory had been with him much of his adult life—particularly when he tried to recall some tiny detail involving his wife, or his life before he met her—and he hated it.

He had only vague memories of his parents in Low Realm, but he did retain a vast knowledge of certain survival skills there. Sureen had never pressed him on it, though she’d had him see one of her doctors every few months, though nothing had come from it. Now he was past caring of that life. The most important was retaining memories of his wife. His newly repaired heart lurched.

Malkor pressed his narrow face close to the barred window, blocking Garn’s view of the room outside, his thin lips pulled back into a practiced sneer. “Well, fool? Have you nothing to say to your benefactor?”

Garn spoke loud enough for those in the other room to hear. “Yes, I do.”

Malkor raised his smug, haughty face.

Garn straightened to his full height, looking down at the red-robed man. “My benefactor…won’t be disappointed with my training.”

Thrusting his face against the bars, Malkor snarled, his beady eyes wild.

Garn held his ground, keeping his gaze steady on the shorter man.

A low laugh sounded from the room beyond. “There you have it. What do you think of your fool now, Malkor?” the hooded man’s soft voice asked. “He has passed his first test well by showing how much you are feared.”

Giving the bars a final shake and a hard glare, Malkor turned and stalked from the room, raising his hood as he went.

The Hooded Man laughed softly again, his teeth bright and uniform under the hood’s shadow. “You shall reclaim your room, Corteezsha. Go inform Codar he has a new…volunteer for his…loving ministrations.”

“Codar is too brutal, Great One. I don’t think he likes training. There are far too many ‘accidents’ under his tutelage. Won’t you command Braith to do it? He’s quite good.”

The Hooded Man’s voice was softer still. “Go. Do as I say.”

Corteezsha rose, and left the room gracefully, without a backward glance.

Sliding sinuously to his feet, the Hooded Man regarded Garn with his yellow eyes. “Continue to prove your worth to me by mastering what Codar has to offer quickly. Monumental…events are about to happen. Do so, and you may yet survive your…apprenticeship,” he said, his voice low enough Garn had to delay drawing a breath to hear. His vibrant, hourglass eyes regarded him for a while in silence, and then left the room through the same wide door the two others had used. Garn suspected it was the only way in or out, though he could see a door to his left. It likely led to a storage closet or pantry.

His suspicion was confirmed when a beefy man shouldering a monstrous hammer entered through the door a short time later. Inserting a key into Garn’s door, he swung it open, using his broad frame to block any chance to run past. “Pay attention, you learn; give trouble, you die,” the man, presumably Codar, said. His language was comprehensible, though he spoke with a thick, unrecognizable accent.

Garn detected the arrogance of confidence in his words but no malice. Still, he planned to watch for an accident since Corteezsha had warned about it, should he decide to go along with his captors. The big man was alone. He could kill him and take his weapon. But he suspected such a move to be...expected. Besides, the inhabitants of this world had shown him they were capable of healing by some sort of magical source. What other powers might they have? “Perhaps you’ll find it relevant to inform me what you consider trouble before it comes to that,” Garn said.

Codar blinked. “Do not speak to me, or anyone, unless I give permission. Or you die. You follow me. Do not stray, or you die.”

Garn followed, electing to not speak or stray. Discovering how things worked was his best course of action for now.

The area outside the two small rooms wasn’t what he expected. Codar led them into a hallway with dirt flooring. Rooms branched from each side, four on the right, and three on the left. Barrels crowded the rooms, with the exception of the first one where racks of dark bottles gleamed. A musty fragrance wafted up as they climbed a single story of wide, rough-cut wooden stairs.

At the top, Codar set a steady pace across a large warehouse buzzing with activity. Men and women in leather aprons sweated over fires built under metal bands that ringed curved slats of wood soaked in water. As they went along another group of workers pounded the top band over the slats upper portion. Using wooden mallets, they worked wide iron bands around the slats in a circular pattern, and then pounded end caps in place on both ends. Other workers marked finished barrels with an inked stamp. Many others in the busy warehouse carried empty barrels to storage, or rolled full casks through a massive set of doors to a dock where wagons waited to be loaded. The workers kept to themselves, or worked in small teams, going about their business in silence. Every eye he tried to meet slid past without a hint of curiosity on each sullen face.

He followed Codar down a side stair that passed a windowed room built to the dock’s end while providing a panoramic view of the warehouse inside. The guards inside the room wore dark plate armor and stood with weapons drawn, keeping watch both inside and outside of the bustling warehouse. Garn glanced through the largest window facing out onto the docks. Seated behind a counter, he thought he glimpsed a dark hood and the glint of a gold band clamped around a muscular arm, but he couldn’t be certain. A second look wasn’t worth the risk of being cut down, well, bludgeoned down, in this case. Codar’s hammer was massive, and the big man would know the instant he slowed. Now wasn’t the day to die. He had to bide his time until he discovered enough to move out on his own.

From the dock, Codar set a fast pace through a jumble of back alleyways. Climbing over fences using wooden crates stacked into makeshift staircases, he suddenly veered into a decrepit shack without slowing, and then popped out into another back street lined with ominous-looking shanties. After many such ventures, Garn supposed Codar didn’t want him to find his way back to the warehouse or his ultimate destination, likely both. The broad-shouldered man had done a masterful job so far. For a man his size, Codar strode easily at the pace he set, which was one-step shy of a run. Garn concentrated on maintaining the same pace as the taller man. Still, he managed a furtive glance to one side now and then. They marched past bustling smoke-filled back entrances to two different smithies, past a seedy tavern, and beyond several busy structures with no obvious clues revealing the types of services they provided for the community, good or bad. A brightly painted house sported several women in scanty lace, leaning provocatively from a second story deck railing. The women refused to look in his direction upon noticing the brute he followed. Codar was obviously notorious in Gray Water, which meant the Hooded Man must run much of the place, if not all. Things were not looking good, so far.

The worn, wooden buildings gradually improved to stone. The structures grew immense with each one they passed; sprawling right up to a brown rock mountain flecked with gray, the same color as the buildings. Codar veered from the back streets only when a huge coliseum blocked the way forward, which proved to be their destination. Codar swung onto a wide walkway lined with tall, robed statues keeping a stern eye on those bold enough to pass below. Male or female, the carved, stern faces displayed no mirth.

Garn found their dour moods fitting. He had no mirth lurking inside, either.

GROTTO

Jade pushed upward when she felt something solid beneath her feet. Breaking the surface, she blew water from her mouth, gulping a ragged breath. A fit of coughing forced her lungs clear, giving her eyes time to adjust to the dim light. Large boulders loomed on both sides. Nearby, water swirled shoulder deep around a massive rock before draining away gurgling, as if someone had pulled a huge plug.

A loud clatter caused her to turn. A hole was opening up above a series of benched rocks stacked like an uneven staircase, meeting the hole she fell through. Clumps of rocks and grass splashed in front of her, twilight flowed in. Hopping tranquilly down, Burl moved from bench to bench, stopping at the bottommost one to peer at her with his yellow-orange eyes. She smiled at him.

Camoe shoved his head into the hole upside down. “Are you injured?”

“I don’t think so. I’m thoroughly soaked, though.”

“Can you get to your creature? I am coming down.”

She pushed through the frigid water, discovering an underwater slope, which made it easy to climb beside Burl. How could Camoe still call him a creature? He’d been so lifesaving to have close by.

Burl made as if to pull her bag from her shoulder with his surprisingly dexterous hands. Curious to see what he wanted with it, Jade didn’t resist. Lifting it gently away from her, he set the bag on the edge of a dry, flat rock, and then hopped into the subterranean pool, twisting to flip the black bag open. Removing the nearly empty water flask, he set about submerging it underwater.

Camoe climbed down in the hole, stopping beside her. “Would you look at that? Your Dark Creation does not drink—there is no mouth—yet it fills your flask.”

“He’s not a creature.”

“Have it your way,” Camoe said, cheerfully. Squatting, he began to fill his own water bag. “He certainly found the best way down to you after bringing it to my attention you had vanished. Check for wounds;, the water is cold enough you may not feel anything right away. The drop is longer than I had first thought.”

Close by, a tall rock beckoned as good place to take the weight from her tired legs. Sitting, she felt what she could of her wet body. Nothing seemed to be broken or bleeding, not even, where the branch had ripped her jeans. “No wounds but I’m freezing.”

“Yes, that is going to become a problem. We do not have enough sunlight to risk climbing down the next ridge. Perhaps we should remain here for tonight. It is well-hidden and protected from the wind, though the humidity is high. Starting a fire may prove to be difficult, but it is critical to get you warm. We have to risk it. Hopefully the smoke will not be spotted before full dark has fallen.”

Jade wasn’t about to argue. Cold, wet and weary, a fire did sound critical. “Where do we get the wood?”

Camoe set his bag and bulging water flask next to a rocky bank of debris. “It is closer than you think. With luck, I can dig out enough.” Climbing partway to the surface, he pulled several wrist-sized branches from the tangled mess around them. Dropping the armful in front of her, he returned to pick through it for dry flower tops and splintered wood chips.

Watching his every move, she was beginning to shiver.
Can’t he move faster?
Sometimes he could be too methodical.

Camoe balled up a mass of long, dry weed stems, pressing down on one side to resemble a bird’s nest. Breaking several smaller sticks to length, he set them to one side.

Her teeth began to chatter. Jade opened her mouth to keep from vibrating her skull and everything it enclosed.
I’m going to die of exposure while he builds the perfect fire,
she thought. “Can I help?”

“I do not believe so. The first part is tricky; I have to cultivate the right ember.” Removing a flinty stone, a rounded piece of metal, and a charred cloth from a tin in his bag, he carefully placed the cloth in the center of the nest. Striking the metal against the flint, a spark flicked downward. After the third pass, he leaned in close and blew on the nest. A tiny flame sprang to life. Adding a twig at a time, the druid coaxed the flame higher. The flame joined others, feeding on the wrist-sized branches. Camoe sat back, satisfied with his handiwork. “You did well in finding this place. I would have sauntered past without ever knowing this underground hut was here,” he said, a soft smile playing at his lips.

She managed to flash a quick smile though her teeth clattered as soon as they touched. Any other time she might have laughed at his dry humor, for it didn’t come very often. Right now though, she was convinced she was going to freeze solid where she lay.

The little underground grotto soon heated. Jade’s soaked body warmed quickly, but her clothes stayed moist. Though he stayed back from the flames, Burl brought enough wood in one load that Camoe didn’t have to do anything but keep it going. To her, the fire felt better than the heat of the midday sun.

Before long, her eyes felt as heavy as her sodden clothes, so she lay on her side with her bag under her head, giving in to her fatigue.

Jade woke in the gray darkness of pre-dawn light. The fire had burned down to tiny embers, glowing with a last stubborn light. Her clothes had dried except for a few persistent damp spots on the seams of her jeans. The grotto still radiated warmth, but it was cold on the side of her body farthest from the fire. Camoe would need to rebuild it soon.

Though still sore, she decided to do it herself. The heat would do them good. Stifling a groan, she sat up. A sound made her freeze. Snuffling drifted down from the entrance hole above and echoed softly throughout the grotto. Fear stole through her. Suddenly, the tiny embers seemed terribly bright. Animalistic by the sound of it, the snuffling grew louder. She heard heavy breaths mixed with guttural grunts, then the sound of padded feet coming to a standstill straight above them. A hand gripped her elbow. Jade stiffened, too frightened to cry out, nor gasp with relief when she realized it belonged to the druid.

After an interminable time, the padded feet moved to the cliff edge, which Camoe had looked over the sunset before. A commotion of snuffles intermixed with soft whines floated down.
There are several of them,
she realized. Milling back and forth, the whines mixed with deep-throated growls. Without warning, amid savage snarls, the sound of padded feet faded rapidly into the distance.

They sat in silence, Jade scarcely recalling the need to breathe. Finally, Camoe spoke, his voice low enough she strained to hear. “I believe they are gone. At least, I hope so. I have no idea what manner of species the Dark Citadel has sent to track us. From the sounds of them, I have never encountered their like in my seasons of infiltration. Nor would I want to. We shall have to use caution from this point on, keeping a sharp lookout and making no noise.”

Jade was numb. How could she hope to travel quieter? She was already putting forth her best effort. “I thought we’d been careful.”

Camoe stood. “We have to keep better watch from now on; I have been too lax in favor of keeping our strength up. Come, the night is drawing to an end.”

He was right. The outer edges of the stepped ledges peeked out of the darkness, but something was missing. “Where’s Burl?”

“Blast it!” Camoe swore. “Your bloody Dark Creation has run off, gone back to his Dark Master. He shall bring enemies upon us!”

“Burl!” she called, a bit louder than they’d been speaking.

“Jade!” Camoe said his voice hoarse. “We must be quieter. Those animals—or whatever evil creations they are—could still lurk close by. Let them get some distance away before we get moving. The best we can hope for is to avoid them and stay ahead of the pursuit.”

Jade didn’t trust herself to speak. She grappled with Burl’s disappearance. He’d been watching over her without fail for days. Why would he leave now?

“Drink your fill of water; it will become scarce from here,” Camoe whispered, unstopping his leather flask. “I want our water flasks topped off, too.”

She glanced around the grotto. “Where’s my bag?”

Camoe lowered the flask from his mouth, glancing around. “Blast it all to dust! Now we only have one pack and one water bag. The fault is mine for allowing us to sleep at the same time and trusting that creature to wake you at the sign of trouble. I am a bloody fool! Here, drink this until you feel sick.” He thrust his flask in her direction.

Despite her worry, she did as instructed, draining two-thirds of the flask in one pull, surprised at her thirst. She upended it again. Finally, she couldn’t swallow another drop and handed the nearly empty vessel back.

The druid submerged it in the flowing water. Then, slipping the flask over a shoulder he stood, and moved as close as he could. “What was in your bag?”

Jade thought about it. “My water and quite a bit of food; it will hurt us not to have it.”

“We can make do without the food. The water is far worse.”

Suddenly, Jade felt sick to her stomach. “The water isn’t the worst of it. The white candle is. It’s important I know it! I felt
something
whenever I’ve touched it. Crystalyn will be so mad that I lost her indenture provider’s artifact.”

Camoe drew a sharp breath, made intense by its low volume. “You had a white candle, a white
crystal
candle? Why did you not tell me?”

Jade was indignant. “When have I had the chance? It’s not as if we’ve had much leisure time around a warm campfire. Besides, I had to know I could trust you.”

“Can you?”

“Yes, I know that now.”

Camoe’s blue-gray eyes glinted in the dimness of first light. “I would have given much to study the candle. You are correct believing it an artifact. All the crystal candles are, though I have never heard of the white one. Perhaps it is one of the rarest ones, infused with Greater Flow; one that could augment a User’s ability limited only by the User. Infused with any Flow at all, it is still a terrible loss. It is likely the candle is what the Dark Creation’s master wanted all along. If it
is
of the higher class, it’s a strong possibility your creature’s master was able to perceive it by the creatures proximity to the artifact. Our side has taken a great blow.”

Jade wasn’t thinking about sides, but she did feel bad about losing the candle.
And
for losing Burl, she missed him already. She couldn’t believe he would take the candle and run off, not him. A thought occurred to her. “Your daughter had a blue one. Was it an artifact? Did it have power, this Flow you mentioned, infused in it?

Camoe paused. “I have not had time to assess the strength of your…ability. It is stronger than I realized. Yes, Maialene had a blue crystal candle, a strong one that augmented her ability quite a lot, though it was not one of the ones infused with Greater Flow. Some of the great artifacts can even negate the need for an Interrupter, but those are extremely rare.”

“What’s an Interrupter? Have we talked about this?”

“I do not believe so. We shall, but not here. Come, we have allowed them to move far enough away by now.”

The rock stairway brought them to the debris mound’s surface. Following Camoe’s lead, Jade glanced around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, in fact, nothing moved at all. Not a single bird took flight. That in itself was disturbing. Now that accessible water was exposed, some woodland creature should have crept out of the forest to investigate.

Halting at cliff’s edge, Camoe paused to gaze around. Jade chose not to think what they would do if the pack of creatures circled back, they were too exposed once they’d moved beyond the grotto.

The druid began the long climb down a last cliff. Automatically now, she let him get far enough ahead to shout a warning in case she kicked a rock loose. Then, concentrating on the descent, she began, avoiding looking below except where required to map out the next step of the path. She’d learned that a glance downward would invite vertigo, the last thing anyone wanted while hanging on a cliff face. Testing each hold, she wondered how Burl fared, wherever he went. Her new world had become harsher and lonelier than ever before. Jade wanted to cry.