V - The Deepest Current
A time came when Malefestra called his servants to a feast. Goblins, demons, ogres, trolls, certain wicked dwarfs, a small dragon, and a handful of ghouls gathered in the Broken Tower for a celebration that quickly fell into a drunken brawl. The trolls were beating the floor, and each other, with their clubs. Goblins leaped about on the tables, flinging food in all directions. Several ogres decided they would prefer some fresh dwarf to the meat being served. The dwarves thought this was a bad idea. The noise, and the smell, were appalling.
The Demon King watched in amusement for a time. Then, as if bored with the whole affair, he left on some private business.
In the Broken Tower the revelers reveled on. The party reached new heights of hilarity as mock battles were staged across the throne room floor. Tables and chairs were shattered. Soon clubs appeared, then rocks and spears. It was not long before the battles were no longer mock, but deadly serious, as short tempers, fueled by wine and ale, flared high.
One misplaced club, flying far from its mark, struck the hook from which Aaron’s cage was suspended.
The boy held his breath. The hook, set in the stone ceiling, swung gently back and forth with the movement of the cage. And each time it swung, it pulled its way just a tiny bit farther out of the ceiling.
Aaron gripped the bars and waited without moving. Beneath him the brawl raged on, surging around the room for hours, until at last all had fallen, either from drink or from well placed clubs and fists.
Aaron leaned to his right. The cage swung. The hook moved.
He shifted his weight and the cage swung back.
He began to rock with a gentle rhythm, moving the cage back and forth, back and forth. Slowly, the hook began to worm its way free.
If only he could get it out before Malefestra returned!
Hours passed, and finally the cage did come loose. Aaron felt a moment of stark terror as he plummeted to the floor. The cage’s fall was broken by the body of a sleeping troll, who would now sleep even longer. Even better, the impact of the fall jarred the door loose.
Creeping out of the cage, Aaron looked about cautiously. All were sleeping. Halfway across the room stood Malefestra’s throne.
Beside it, invisible, was the Black Stone of Borea.
Aaron picked his way among the fallen creatures, stepping carefully over outflung arms and twitching legs, avoiding for his life the various demon tails that crossed his path. Several times he slipped in puddles of spilled ale, once actually landing on the flabby green stomach of a fur clad ogre. Aaron froze, holding his breath. The monster opened its enormous single eye, belched in disgust, and fell back into slumber.
The closer he drew to the throne, and the stone, the greater was Aaron’s terror. Each instant he feared that Malefestra would return.
Heart pounding, he climbed the throne. When he was finally able to reach out and touch the unseen stone, he almost fainted at the flood of power that coursed through his body.
Dizzy with strength, with uncertainty, he snatched the stone and hurried back to his cage. Climbing inside, he tucked the stone into his shirt, where it rested against his skin, comforting and strengthening him.
He needed time to think.
He had little of it; not more than ten minutes later Malefestra returned. His reaction at seeing the shambles of the feast was not the explosion of rage the boy had expected. Knowing his servants, the Demon King had known well what to expect when they convened. And it was a simple matter for him to use his power to set the room right.
He seemed more perturbed over the fall of Aaron’s cage.
Trying to control his trembling, Aaron lay as though he had been knocked senseless by the fall. Without leaving his throne, Malefestra resealed the cage door and caused the whole thing to float back into the air. The hook plunged into the stone of the ceiling, jolting the cage, and Aaron with it.
Not until the Demon King reached out to touch the Black Stone of Borea was his wrath King aroused.
“Where is it?” he roared. Behind the rage, his voice held a scarcely detectable note of panic. But it was the power of his anger that roused every creature in the room. A frightened murmur rippled through the hall as the trolls, goblins, and ogres began stumbling nervously to their feet.
Malefestra cried out in fury once more. Now all were attentive, alert and trembling.
But Malefestra stopped his ranting and seemed to grow calm. He spread his enormous, muscular arms and stood trembling with the effort of detection. Slowly, he turned toward Aaron’s cage, sniffing . . .
A prickle of fear slid down the boy’s spine. He grabbed the Black Stone, clutching it to his stomach.
Mistake. The moment his hands touched the stone, Malefestra knew.
“You have it!” he cried. For the second time that night Aaron’s cage crashed to the floor. With no troll to cushion its landing, the cage struck with a bone-splintering crash, shattering to pieces. Aaron was thrown free, and the Black Stone fell from his grasp. Invisible, it rolled across the floor.
“Seize it!” cried Malefestra. At the same instant he gestured for it to come to him. But Aaron was quicker this time. Almost before the stone had fallen from his hands he was after it. Ignoring his pain, he scrambled across the floor, managing to find and hold it.
The others leaped upon him. For a moment he felt as if he would be crushed.
The moment passed in an explosion of screaming and screeching as the assorted monsters were thrown from Aaron’s back, flung back as if by some gigantic hand.
Aaron stood. But this was no longer Aaron, powerless apprentice to a master magician. Rather it was an Aaron whose hidden strength had been quickened by the Black Stone of Borea, an Aaron who had finally tapped the currents of magic that lay deep within him and discovered that the power he had ached so long to feel was now surging through him, joining with — and magnified by — the power of the stone. Somehow, without knowing how, he knew how to use the stone. Standing, he held it high above his head, trembling with its strength.
Power crackled through the air. Shrieking, the minions of Malefestra fell to the floor and covered their heads. The Dark Lord himself was not so easily broken. Throwing up a shield, he protected himself from the power Aaron had unleashed.
“Put it down, child,” he said smoothly, the words drifting from the smoke that curled where his head should be. “Put it down, and you may be allowed to live when this is over.”
But the power that had woken in Aaron was still growing. Filled with pride, he threw back his head and laughed.
His second mistake. For now the Demon King was angered indeed. Aaron’s laughter had fueled Malefestra’s hate, and his strength. The shield about him shattered and the power that had been Aaron’s swirled madly around the room to rush back at the boy.
“No!” cried Aaron. He held the stone before him. The power struck, and was absorbed by the stone. Instantly it grew hot and began to burn against his flesh.
Now it was Aaron’s turn to be frightened. Bolt after bolt of power crashed toward him. Though he used the stone to capture every one it grew hotter and hotter with each bolt of power it absorbed. Soon the boy felt his flesh begin to sear. The sickening smell of burning skin hit his nostrils. He nearly vomited in terror.
Yet he dared not let the stone go; to drop it would mean death — death not only for him, but for more and more of the people in the lands that his master had sworn to protect.
“Surrender!” roared Malefestra. Again the air was slashed with power. “Surrender!”
Aaron fell to his knees but would not let go the stone. It was glowing now with the power it had absorbed and it seemed to burn him to the very bone.
“Surrender!” bellowed Malefestra.
“Never!” whispered Aaron, his throat so tight the sound could barely pass. “Never!”
And then the stone erupted. All the power it had absorbed burst free, and a bolt of enormous energy shot across the room. The stone itself exploded into a thousand pieces. From somewhere far away Aaron heard a cry of anguished pain. Then there was silence.
Malefestra lay still and silent on the floor.
Unable to move, unable to speak, Aaron knelt and stared at his hands, oblivious to the chaos erupting around him.
The legions of Malefestra, which had quivered against the walls during the battle, now began to rouse themselves. Their babble grew louder, until at last it penetrated Aaron’s daze. Without looking up, he waved his hand and cried, “Begone!”
The forces of darkness fled squalling into the night, scattering to their separate holes and hiding places in the darkness of the earth.
And still the boy knelt and stared at his hands, on which no burns could be seen, but which throbbed with a pain so fierce it felt as if he was holding them in a fire, and pulsed with a strength that made him weak to think of it.
At last his lips parted and he whispered, “Bellenmore, please help me.”
“Alas, you’ll have to help yourself, my boy,” said a faint voice behind him.
Aaron turned, and saw the magician, who had been called back by the power of his words. (By my power, Aaron realized in astonishment.)
His joy faded as he realized something was wrong. Though he could see Bellenmore, the wizard’s form was hazy, shimmering. Aaron reached toward him. His hand went through the image.
The wizard shook his head sadly. “There’s always a price, Aaron. Always a price. You were right — I should not have joined forces with Dark Anne, even in the cause of good. I cannot come back, at least not yet. Even to speak to you like this is painful, and difficult. I will contact you when I can, my boy, and I will watch as I am able. But you must fend for yourself now. You’ve found your power. It’s time to go back to the cottage, and learn how to use it.”
His form wavered and he disappeared from view. Aaron fell to his knees moaning, “Come back, come back!”
When he finally lifted his head, he noticed the lizard coiled on the floor in front of him.
“I didn’t agree to the deal with Dark Anne,” it said. “So I got to come back. Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”
Picking up the lizard, Aaron made his way from the tower.
Aaron sat on the edge of the ravine, watching the sun rise. It had been two weeks since the battle in the Broken Tower, and though his hands still throbbed with pain now and then, he had mostly recovered.
And the land — the land that Bellenmore was sworn to protect — was peaceful. The light of the rising sun lay in golden pools among the leaves. Burnished acorns were scattered like jewels in their midst. A soft breeze washed across him, carrying news from all across the earth.
He enjoyed the quiet. And he was learning to live with the newness that was in him, the thing that had been struggling to be born all these years and had finally been unleashed by need and terror in the tower of the Demon King.
Aaron turned his gaze back to the ancient book of power that lay in his lap.
The lizard coiled on his shoulder whispered an explanation of what the words meant.
Deep within him, Aaron felt the surge and ebb of a power he still did not understand, but that he knew would mark the days of his life forever after. A power that he knew would someday allow him to bring Bellenmore home.
Turning the page, he continued to study.
– End of Wizard's Boy –
