Halfstone: A Tale of the Narathlands (7 page)

“While it had caused them such inconvenience, its power gave your
parents an idea—perhaps it could be used to entrap Malath’s storm. This was the
only way to permanently remove him as a threat to the Narathlands and punish
him for his blind self-righteousness. They confronted him at Darkna. I was
there—one of the wielders delegated to safeguard the temple at the time, and
the power held within.

“Words would not sway Malath from his intentions so Isobel did
indeed drain his storm into the stone. While doing so, Gilthred and I shielded
her from his followers. We defeated many, Selayna included, but your father,
being without power, was overwhelmed.” Jon eyed Aldrick sorrowfully. “Your
father died fighting for the people of the Narathlands, Aldrick. He gave
everything.”

The room was silent. Aldrick couldn’t speak. The world had fallen
away around him.

“Isobel had successfully taken Malath’s storm,” Jon continued.
“This terrified his followers, so they fled, whisking him away with them. It
was the last time anyone saw any of them. Without Malath’s power or position
they were no longer seen as a threat to Galdrem. The Synod was confident that they
would not return.

“Even so, there lingered the risk of a revenge attack on Isobel.
She needed security but refused to stay in Galdrem. The loss of Gilthred had
broken her. Only recently had she found out she was pregnant with you, Aldrick.
She left the city and travelled south, to here, where she built a home for
herself.” Jon looked around. Tears glistened in his eyes. “She loved it here, Aldrick.
This is where you were born.”

Aldrick found tears in his own eyes. He wiped them away.

Jon rested his back against the chair and closed his eyes for a
time before going on.

“An appointed aera and I had followed your mother here to watch
over her, but she did not allow us to stay so we moved to Farguard. In time,
the aera returned to Galdrem. I remained, wary that she might one day need my
protection…

Jon swallowed heavily. “It was in the winter. You were a newborn.
I had come here with supplies for her. When I arrived the house was ablaze. She
was inside. I doused the flames and pulled her from it but… I was too late. She
was…” Jon took a moment.

“I thought all had been lost that day Aldrick, but it wasn’t. With
the raging noise now subsided, I heard your cry from within the trees. Your
mother had hidden you there, tucked in a blanket. You were safe. I am uncertain
if those who came for her were aware you existed. I knew then that you must be
protected. It was my responsibility. The only way to be sure you were safe was
to see that your identity remained a secret. You couldn’t be known by your
father’s name, Aedimon, nor could you stay with me. I took you to Rain, a
village with no prior connection to you or your parents. Braem and Phelvara
adopted you there. I remained here and rebuilt your mother’s house, to preserve
her memory. But I could never quite let it go, Aldrick. That is why I would
visit you as you grew up. Being such lovely people, Braem and Phelvara said that
I was always welcome. Eventually I told them everything but made them swear
never to tell you, only to come to me if I was ever needed… and here we are
today.”

Aldrick lifted his eyes from the floor. Everything was out of
focus and glistening. He felt sick and heavy. Above all other thoughts and
questions, imagery of Gilthred and Isobel—his parents—flooded his mind. Both
murdered, his mother in this very home. Slowly an emotion he was unfamiliar
with began to seep through him. So much had been stolen from him! He rose and
left the room.

Solitude found him outside. He stood a short distance from the
house among the tussocks, fists clenched and head raised to the skies. Rain
quietly fell upon him. Around him the mountains cowered, hiding their heads in
the clouds. He let out a cry of rage and lightning erupted around him.
Simultaneously thunder roared, ricocheted off the mountains and made the ground
tremble beneath his feet.

6

TRAINING

Aldrick closed the door quietly behind him. He felt much calmer
now. Jon and Télia were standing together in silence. The loose ends of a smile
lingered on Jon’s face. Télia’s was a tone lighter than usual. He walked past
them and seated himself by the fire.

“Frightful weather outside, is it not?” Jon asked.

“It is.”

“Your father’s storm surges within you, Aldrick”

Aldrick looked up. “Hold on… are you saying… I did that? I made
the thunder and lightning?”

“You surely did. None of those clouds out there are storm clouds.
That was of your own making.”

“But… but how? How is it that my father, my mother and Malath all
had these abilities that other wielders don’t?”

“An intuitive question,” Jon said, raising a finger. “It is
perhaps what brought them together at a young age—their uniqueness. It occurs
in those who have survived great peril in their lives, who have persevered
through immeasurable odds. In doing so they inherit the ability to control
whatever it was that threatened their survival. As I recall, your father came
to the Narathlands from a neighbouring realm. On his journey he was caught in a
ferocious storm at sea, the likes of which few have ever witnessed. The vessel
carrying him was destroyed but the tide carried him ashore. It was soon after
he awoke that he discovered he possessed the heightened ability to manipulate
the weather.

“Your mother, well, she never talked about it much, but when she
was young, on an expedition into the western lands, she was captured by a
wielder savage who held her captive and tortured her. This was until a group of
aeras tracked her down and rescued her. From then on she was able to take
another wielder’s storm, so as never to be harmed again…”

“And Malath?”

“Malath.” Jon scowled. “I understand he drowned when swimming as a
child. Had he not been revived by a stranger he would have remained in the Life
Afterwards. Unfortunately for us though, he gained the ability to sway death
itself and went on to become the monster he is.”

“So he has evaded his own death twice now. He was left standing at
Darkna? Even after being rendered powerless?”

“Yes. He was your parents’ friend, Aldrick. They never wanted to
take his life. Besides, back then the act of one wielder killing another was a
crime worse than murder. It was those very events—the treason of Malath,
Selayna and their followers—that finally saw the abandonment of that law. Only
then was it realised how truly far a noble wielder could descend into madness
and that only wielders themselves could defend the people, should it happen
again.”

“And now, Malath has learnt of my existence and wants me dead…
because I am the only one who can kill him, because I was born with my mother’s
ability.”

“Well, yes, Aldrick. It is unclear to me how any other wielder
might best him without such a rare advantage. His powers are too great.”

“I don’t understand how this has come to be, though. How does
Malath have his storm again, after losing it to the stone?”

Jon heaved a sigh. “I cannot say. I became aware of this only when
Braem told me of the brand on the ka-zchen that attacked you—Selayna’s brand.
Only Malath could have returned her from death and only she could have breathed
new life into it. It is the sole explanation I am afraid.” He rested an elbow
on his knee and stroked his silvery beard broodingly. His demeanour was that of
someone who was deeply troubled, who knew dark things were ahead.

“If Malath is all powerful again, that’s perfect. I will see he is
finished with, for good this time, and whoever chooses to follow him.”

Jon’s eyes lifted. “You would seek vengeance, Aldrick? I did not
expect it of you. All these years you have been oblivious to so much yet now,
when truths come to light, you act as if it all happened yesterday.”

Suddenly fresh waves of anger and resentment swept through Aldrick.
“You! Why did you never seek revenge for my parents’ murders? Were you afraid? I
thought wielders were supposed to be noble, courageous!”

Every morsel of Jon’s face became a frown. “It would have changed
nothing, Aldrick. I let it go because of you—so you could have a life free of
all this, and so I could be there for you if you ever needed me. I hoped you
never would. Clearly it was not meant to be so.”

Aldrick looked down at his feet, realising he had crossed a line
he shouldn’t have.

There was an uncomfortable silence until finally Télia spoke.

“Tea, anyone?” she asked politely.

“Yes please,” he and Jon replied as one.

He knew he ought to apologise. “Jon, I’m—”

“It’s all right, my boy,” Jon said heartily, casting negativity
aside. His frown had disappeared. “You are taking all this much better than
could be expected. Learning of your parents’ fate and that you are a wielder,
well… I can’t quite imagine.”

“Well, the wielder part isn’t so bad.”

Jon chuckled. “Just you wait, my boy.”

It was late now. They arranged seating in an arc around the fire
and sat in silence, staring into the nonchalant flames. Télia’s brew of tea was
the best Aldrick had tasted—strong and bitter, with the aroma of a spring
meadow lingering somewhere in the background. As he drank he felt strange.
Accepting all that Jon had told him now came with ease, though much of it
remained foreign to him. He was in uncharted waters and did not know the ropes.

Télia sat close at Aldrick’s side. She was without tea and appeared
anxious. He imagined she feared for her family and homeland. He wanted her to
somehow be at peace.

“It’s all right,” he said, nudging her softly. “Everything will
be. I’m going to make sure of it.”

She nodded and offered up an unconvincing smile.

Jon was eying Aldrick with a faint smile of his own. “You are
indeed your parents’ son. They would be very proud.”

“Surely the Synod is aware of Malath’s return,” said Télia, now
voicing her qualms. “That is why I was repurposed to protect Aldrick. I was
sent word on my journey here to do so without hesitation.”

Jon sipped his tea. “Oh, I am quite certain they are well aware.
Malath was always one to flaunt his power. He has probably paraded himself
through the streets of Galdrem.”

“But he can’t be left free to continue his old plans!” cried
Télia. “I grew up in fear of him, even as a powerless outcast. What he intended
to do—slay humanity—that’s unthinkable! Would the Synod stand idle and see that
happen?!”

“Let us hope not. They were wise enough to presume Aldrick would
become a target.”

“And what of the Shard of Heart’s Storm? Is it adequately
guarded?”

“After Malath’s first attempt to gain access to it nearly
succeeded—the attempt Aldrick’s parents foiled—the holding chamber was sealed
with the most powerful of warding enchantments, one not even he can break.”

“The Shard of Heart’s Storm. That is the great power in the temple
you mentioned earlier?” Aldrick asked, feeling increasingly distanced from the
span of his knowledge.

Jon nodded. “Yes, in the Temple Darkna. You see, it is a common
belief among wielders that our storm originates from the heart of the world.
Some wielders believe it religiously so. The Shard is a piece of that heart. It
was found deep in a mine over a thousand years ago; the only piece ever
unearthed.”

“That’s incredible… the thought that our world is founded on some
great body of storm. If just a shard bears such power, imagine what power lies
within the heart itself…”

“A thought many wielders have entertained. But come, now is not
the time to linger on it. Télia’s fear that Malath seeks to acquire the Shard
and fulfil his evil desires is not without warrant. There is no doubt in my
mind that he will try to find a way into its holding chamber. He is far too
ambitious not to. If he cannot achieve it by his own hand he will find the
necessary means to.”

“So we must do something,” said Télia urgently.

Jon looked flustered. “Yes, yes. But exactly what is the
question.”

“Well, it’s clear I have my part to play,” said Aldrick. “I will
use my mother’s ability in the same way she did to trap Malath’s storm.”

“But the stone she used was the key. Without that, you could never
withhold his storm long enough to allow a reliable chance to strike, and you
would find yourself rendered defenceless in the attempt. Your mother had barely
mastered wielding that ability herself. You have yet to learn even the most
basic of wielding techniques.”

“I made thunder and lightning,” argued Aldrick.

“Yes, but that was with your emotions flowing freely. Occasions
like that are incredibly rare.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling somewhat disenchanted. “So we need the
stone then.”

“Absolutely, I won’t have you go blundering after Malath without
it.”

“What happened to it after Darkna?”

“The damned Synod claimed it, declared it a rare magical artefact
and locked it in Delthendra’s museum. That’s what happened to it,” fumed Jon “It
was exhibited as ‘The Halfstone—the stone that stole a wielder’s stormhalf’.
They failed to conceive what a threat it still posed. Not a year passed before
it was stolen, most likely by one of Malath’s faithful, perhaps Malath himself.
That was the day any lasting faith I bestowed in the Synod was lost, and another
reason I chose to remain here, away from their witlessness. Wise they may be,
but insightful? Oh no.”

“Wait, if Malath has probably had his hands on the stone all this
time, why is it not until recently that he has found a way to retrieve his
storm?”

Jon shrugged. “As I have said, I do not know how he’s done it… and
I’m not so sure I want to.”

“We must find out,” stressed Télia. “It may yet work as it did for
Isobel.”

“Yes. It seems to be the brightest hope we have at the moment.” Jon
looked at them both gravely. “You do realise that if we were to find the stone,
this all boils down to a confrontation with Malath?”

Aldrick gritted his teeth. “That’s what I’m hoping for. Do you
know where he is, Jon? Surely twenty years has not passed without word of his whereabouts.”

“Well, no one has seen him. But it is believed he fled to the
Blackbed Plains, to the north of here.”

“Blackbed… I have heard that name before, in stories.”

“Many have. It is a sinister land, one of the last few places in
the Narathlands where evil yet thrives. Only those with nasty, dark hearts find
refuge there. It would be of no surprise to me if that is where Malath and
Selayna dwell. Before she died, Selayna occupied an ancient fort there where
she claimed to be researching the mysteries of the area for ‘academic
purposes’.” Jon clenched his fists and the fire began to roar once more.

“We would need an army to infiltrate a place like that!” exclaimed
Télia. “I have heard stories of aeras venturing there and never returning
home.”

“I’m afraid we are on our own,” Jon said glumly. “I could request
the Synod unites what remains of the wielders in Galdrem, but I doubt they
would support such a venture unless it was proven that Malath poses a direct
and imminent threat.”

“Well it’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Télia stood up. Her face was
lit by the blaze of the fire. Her hair wavered in the heat. “All my life I have
trained to protect wielders under the Synod’s command. I refuse to believe that
they would do so little in the face of adversity. You must warn them of what is
coming, Jon!”

“I will try, but expect my words to fall on deaf ears.”

Télia sat down again, huffing. Jon looked on into the fire. There
was a lengthy silence. Aldrick felt tiredness lulling his eyes closed. Télia
had crescents under her own. She had slept even less than him over the past few
days.

“Perhaps it is time for us all to rest,” he suggested.

“True wisdom right there,” Jon said, rising and stretching. “We
will speak more of all this tomorrow. If you are feeling up to it, Aldrick, I
will teach you how to wield your storm in the morning, at least, get some of
the basics out of the way.”

Aldrick nodded. “Please.”

Jon showed Télia to a spare bed through a doorway to the right of
the living room. Aldrick remained put. In accompaniment with the woollen rug,
there were enough blankets and cushions for him to find comfort upon the floor
by the fireside. When Jon returned he waved his hand and the flames dwindled to
a smoulder.

“Goodnight, my boy,” he said before retiring upstairs, extinguishing
lamps and candles as he went.

“Goodnight.” Aldrick rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He
was too tired to think anymore.

The morning arrived sooner than Aldrick hoped, though not before a
surreal dream in which he told a little black fantail that he was leaving on an
adventure. The adventure consisted of repeatedly falling from the cliff behind
the family home, though this time he was unaware of the cause. Each time he
landed at the bottom unscathed, where Kaal met him with a grin and words of encouragement.
When he woke from this dream, it took a moment for the words he, Jon and Télia
had shared last night to come flooding back into his mind. He lay on his back,
assuring himself that he had truly woken, then heaved himself to his feet. This
was all real. Here he stood—in the wielder Jon’s living room, far from the
place he called home and the family he held dear. Here he stood—a wielder
himself.