Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [116]
Arantar breathed his last, a small smile upon his lips, and Vyaidelon fell. The five creatures of darkness seized him and battered at him, but their attempts were futile. Light was stronger, and Vyaidelon knew it even as he fell into the darkness.
Vyaidelon sought the last bit of warmth, the last living thing upon the island-the Witness Tree-and fell into the pure essence of the tree. The five sorcerers struck, but try as they might, they could not destroy the now-hallowed tree. Spell after spell and the darkest of magics broke upon it.
Knowing that the murder of the tree was beyond them, the five sorcerers used their darkest spells and imprisoned Vyaidelon in the lifeblood of the tree.
Through the long years, through the coldest winters and darkest nights, the deepest heart of the tree remained alive. Warmth and life still lived there, waiting.
Waiting for the true blood of Arantar to set free his celestial father.
* * * * *
Every bit of Gyaidun's body, both inside and out, pulsed with agony. Cracked bones, bruised muscles, skin cut and scraped-all of it clawed at his mind, trying to drag him down to unconsciousness.
He fought it, willing his eyes to stay open, forcing his lungs to breathe, as he watched his life's blood pouring out of the gash in his hand. Damn my haste, he thought. Cut too quick. Too deep.
Gyaidun heard Amira cry out, saw the blood from his and Jalan's hands soak into the roots of the tree-that thing at the bottom of the stairs cried out, "No!"-then the boy stood, stretched out his hand, and grabbed a pale blossom fluttering in the wind.
A blossom? Gyaidun thought. Hro'nyewachu said nothing about-
Jalan's hand blazed.
It was as if a thousand suns had condensed into the boy's fist and exploded with all the light they'd ever held or would hold.
And then, in the deepest recesses of Gyaidun's mind where he walked in dreams, Gyaidun heard music. It came as if from a great distance, but in the melody he felt warmth and light filling his soul, and in the corners of his mind that had known only darkness for years, something old and buried awoke: hope.
Jalan looked down at Gyaidun, and the scared boy was gone. In his place stood a lord, a hero, and in that moment Gyaidun believed Amira's words, that the boy was of the line of Arantar himself. Jalan was smiling, and his eyes sparkled like sunlight through amber.
A shard of blue light struck Jalan, and the boy stumbled.
Gyaidun turned. Three of the dark sorcerers had come; the tallest led them, the magic of his spent spell still sparking minuscule lightning around his fist.
Two of the other sorcerers struck, one sending a funnel of frost spiraling at the boy, the other loosing a barrage of blue-white light that seemed to devour all warmth from the air.
With a wave of Jalan's hand, the air before him solidified into a concave golden shield, and the sorcerers' spells shattered against it.
"Kneel, worm!" said the sorcerers' leader. "Submit, and I will make your death swift."
Jalan laughed, and Gyaidun heard two voices-one young and full of life, the other old beyond the reckoning of human minds.
"Your time has come," said Jalan. "Time to release them."
The leader snarled and turned, motioning behind him. Up the stairs behind him came the two remaining sorcerers-one who shambled, almost on his hands and knees, and the other was Erun. He held Amira under her arm, the point of his sword resting against her neck. She struggled to walk, arching her back to keep the blade from piercing her skin.
The leader turned back to Jalan. "Surrender and die quickly," he said, "or he will kill her slowly."
Jalan glanced down at his mother. His smile faltered, for a moment seeming almost sad, then he said, "No, he will not." A look of triumph and utter joy filled Jalan's countenance. It looked as if the boy's skin were glowing, as if a power so great filled him that it was leaking out through his pores.
Jalan extended both hands, palms open, to Erun and began to sing a music that was beyond words. Gyaidun gasped