The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) (21 page)

“You don’t know Norr like I do,” Scythe replied. “He’s got this weird, stupidly stubborn sense of duty. If he takes that marriage vow, he’s going to honor it. He won’t put it aside just so we can still be together.

“And that heifer’s going to want him to stay here and become part of the clan again. Even if Norr was willing to keep me around as some kind of mistress or concubine, I can’t spend the rest of my life living with these people. Not even for him.”

“I’m sorry, Scythe,” Vaaler said, shaking his head. “Even if I wanted to help, there’s nothing we can do. A wizard can’t do anything without taking some witchroot first. It opens up the mind so it can summon the Chaos.”

“I dumped a whole bottle down Keegan’s throat back in Torian,” she said hopefully.

“And almost killed him,” Vaaler reminded her. “Anyway, it’s cleared his system by now,” he added.

“Maybe not,” Keegan said. “That overdose did almost kill me, but I survived. I was lost in the Sea of Fire, but I found my way back. The journey changed me.”

“What are you talking about?” Vaaler demanded.

“When that patrol found us in the forest,” Keegan said, speaking quickly as the vague idea that had been lurking in the back of his mind slowly began to coalesce, “I was able to use Chaos to warp their arrows and snap their bows.”

“And that almost killed you, too,” Vaaler reminded him. “That one small act of magic left you huddled and helpless on the ground.”

“But I did it,” Keegan insisted. “And I didn’t need any witchroot to make it happen.”

“There still could have been some lingering traces in your system,” Vaaler objected. “And the Danaan Forest is special. The trees hold the power of Old Magic. It’s easier to summon Chaos there. That’s why the Danaan mages don’t need to use witchroot like they do in the Southlands.”

Vaaler was right. The Danaan Forest was special; Keegan had almost been able to feel the power of Old Magic hanging in the air. That feeling had vanished once they left the forest behind. But that wasn’t the only time he’d summoned Chaos without the mind-altering effects of witchroot flowing through his veins.

“I’ve done this before,” Keegan said softly. “The night my father died, I unleashed Chaos on the bandit who murdered him.
Killed him instantly. That’s how Rexol found me and took me to be his apprentice.”

Scythe didn’t say anything, but she reached out and placed her hand on Keegan’s shoulder from behind, giving him a gentle, consoling squeeze.

“Remember what Jerrod told us,” Vaaler warned, still not convinced. “Chaos is thin here in the Frozen East. If he could sense that, then you can, too.”

Keegan reached up and placed his hand on top of Scythe’s, still resting on his shoulder. He patted it twice and took a deep breath.

“I have to try,” he said. “If I can’t even help one man win a duel, how can I save the world from an army of Chaos Spawn? Trust me, Vaaler. I can do this. I need to do this.”

The Danaan reached up and rubbed the back of his neck as he thought it over, forcing Keegan to lean back to keep from catching an elbow in the side of his head. The movement caused him to release his grip on Scythe’s hand as it dropped from his shoulder.

“If you can actually manage to summon Chaos without the witchroot, then you should be able to use Rexol’s staff as a talisman to channel and focus its power,” he mused. “We might be able to put some kind of curse or hex on her.”

“Perfect,” Scythe said, leaning in close over Keegan’s shoulder in her exuberance.

“It would have to be subtle,” Vaaler cautioned. “Something small so the Stone Spirits don’t know we cheated. Something to give her a little bad luck during the fight.”

“Will something that small be enough for Norr to beat her?” Scythe fretted.

“At least it’ll give him a chance,” Keegan said. “That’s more than he’s got now.”

“It’ll be easier if we have something to use as a fetish,” Vaaler
noted. “Something personal from Shalana. Hair or blood would work best.”

“Could Norr get that from her without raising suspicion?” Keegan asked, turning back to look at Scythe over his shoulder.

“Norr can’t know about this,” Scythe said. “He’d never go along with it. But I can get what you need.”

“We don’t need much,” Vaaler said. “Don’t shave her head bald or slice off her finger or anything crazy like that. We don’t want to attract any attention.”

“Nothing like that ever crossed my mind,” Scythe assured him, though Keegan got the sense she wasn’t being completely honest.

“What about Jerrod?” the young mage asked. “Should we tell him what we’re planning?”

“Not unless you want him to try to stop us,” Scythe shot back. “You really think he’d let his precious savior do something this risky?”

“He can be a little overprotective,” Vaaler agreed. “But in this case he might be right. Summoning Chaos is always dangerous. Don’t take this lightly.”

“I won’t,” Keegan promised.

Vaaler let out a long, heavy sigh. “Okay, I guess that’s it. Let’s meet tomorrow night on the far side of the camp near the latrines after everyone else is asleep. We’ll want some privacy for this.

“Now let me get some sleep,” the ex-prince said, lying back down and turning his back to them.

Scythe backed out of the tent, then Keegan did the same, tying off the door flap. They stood up and he turned to head back to his own tent, but stopped when Scythe grabbed his hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning in close so he could hear. “This means a lot to me, and I know how hard this is for you.”

She squeezed his hand, then let go and vanished into the darkness, leaving Keegan standing alone in the night.

T
HE NEXT NIGHT
, Vaaler was already waiting for Keegan when he arrived. Inside the perimeter of the camp, peat fires and lanterns provided plenty of illumination and heat. Here beyond the edges, however, it was both dark and cold, and the young wizard used Rexol’s staff to help feel his way across the frozen, uneven ground.

At least the cold keeps it from smelling too bad
, Keegan thought, remembering the nearby latrines. The fact that they’d been built just west of the camp, so that the prevailing winds would carry the stench in the opposite direction, probably didn’t hurt either.

“Any trouble slipping away?” Vaaler asked, as his friend approached.

Keegan shook his head. Ever since Norr had challenged Shalana, the Stone Spirits had stopped treating the Outlanders like prisoners. There were no guards assigned to watch over them, and—as far as Keegan could tell—no restrictions on their comings and goings.

He’d expected to be regarded with either suspicion or curiosity by the clan, but instead the barbarians mostly just ignored him. Few of them spoke Keegan’s language, or if they did they weren’t interested in making conversation. They weren’t even interested in making eye contact.

Vaaler had already begun to make preparations for the ritual,
tracing a two-foot diameter circle on the ground. Around it he’d inscribed several arcane symbols. Some of them Keegan recognized from his studies with Rexol, but others were unfamiliar.

Let Vaaler worry about the symbols
, he reminded himself.
You just make sure to get the words right
.

He’d spent most of the day alone in his tent, memorizing and rehearsing the tongue-twisting syllables Vaaler had written down for him until he could recite them flawlessly. Fortunately, all the words were ones he’d used before, so he had some experience in saying them with the proper tone, inflection, and emphasis.

Is that coincidence, or did Vaaler compose this spell using only words he knew I’d be comfortable with? Does he know enough about magic to actually alter and modify a spell to make it easier for me, or did he just grab a simple incantation that only uses the most basic verbal components to bind the Chaos?

Keegan understood that his friend knew more about magic than he did; in their time together under Rexol it was clear Vaaler was the far superior student. What he couldn’t be sure of was exactly how much more Vaaler knew. Unleashing Chaos on the mortal world in an explosion of destructive power was a relatively simple task; even Keegan could manage something as crude as that. Channeling and directing it to a specific purpose, especially something as subtle as the hex they were hoping to cast on Shalana, was far more difficult.

If Vaaler knows how to do this, then what else does he know? How much can he teach me? And how long will it take me to learn? And will it be harder because of my missing hand?

Rexol had never focused on the importance of using physical gestures to control and shape a spell, but Keegan had noticed that it was something that happened almost unconsciously whenever he unleashed Chaos. A clenched fist; a raised arm; a finger pointed at a specific target: small, subtle things. But even subtle things could have major consequences when dealing with the mages’ art.

“Did you see Scythe anywhere behind you?” Vaaler asked, interrupting Keegan’s train of thought.

“No,” he said. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

What if something went wrong? What if she was trying to get some hair or blood from Shalana and got caught?

“I’m sure she’s okay,” Vaaler said, sensing Keegan’s apprehension. “She knows how to handle herself.”

As if on cue, a small, lithe figure scurried quickly toward them from the shadows near the camp’s edge, crossing the treacherous terrain far more quickly than Keegan had dared to.

“Sorry,” she whispered as she drew close. “Norr’s nervous about the duel. Took me a while to get him calmed down enough so he’d drift off to sleep.”

“Did you get what we need?” Keegan asked quickly, eager to keep his mind from imaging exactly what Scythe might have done to help her lover relax.

“Is this enough?” she said, holding up several strands of long hair.

“Perfect,” Vaaler answered.

“How did you get it?” Keegan asked. “Are you sure Shalana doesn’t suspect anything?”

“I may be out of practice, but I still remember a few tricks from my time on the streets,” was all she said.

Vaaler took the hair and placed it inside the circle he’d drawn on the ground.

“What about Jerrod?” Scythe asked. “I thought he’d be watching you like a hawk,” she said to Keegan.

The young man shook his head. “He’s been spending most of his time in his tent meditating. Maybe he thinks it will help him regain some of his … well, whatever it was he’s lost in this land.”

“There is Chaos here,” Vaaler said. “But it’s faint and hard to draw on. He’s not the only one affected by its absence, remember?” he added pointedly.

“I can do this,” Keegan assured him though he couldn’t help worrying about the effect of his missing hand.

“So you’ve said,” Vaaler replied, before making a final inspection of his work, though it was clear from his tone he still had his doubts.

“I think we’re ready. Scythe, let’s back up and give Keegan some room.”

The two stepped away, leaving the young mage standing by himself near the circle and runes Vaaler had inscribed on the ground. Keegan dropped to his knees, clutching Rexol’s staff in his hand while resting his stump across the wrist of his good arm. He took a few seconds to collect himself and focus his mind, then he began to chant in a soft whisper.

“Saarash hamsha eethiss. Essthich suurra shevvish.”

The incantation itself held no power, but the words helped shape and form the patterns of his thoughts to maximize the potency of the spell. The repeated mantra was carefully constructed to help a mage unlock his own potential, to stimulate and awaken the subconscious mind in ways that could draw on and manipulate Chaos.

“Saarash hamsha eethiss. Essthich suurra shevvish.”

It was easier with the witchroot. The drug helped free the mind from the chains of consciousness. It made it easier to let go of the physical world, while simultaneously heightening his awareness and perceptions. Without the witchroot running through his veins, it was a struggle to let go of the familiar, mundane patterns, and Keegan could sense his conscious and subconscious in conflict, battling each other for control.

“Saarash hamsha eethiss. Essthich suurra shevvish.”

He focused on the words as they fell from his lips. There was a softness to them, a soothing sibilance, like a zephyr brushing against his skin, or a lover’s whisper in his ear.

“Saarash hamsha eethiss. Essthich suurra shevvish.”

As he lost himself in the words, part of him seemed to break free and float away, hovering above him, watching. This was the essence of Chaos: to master it, one had to first surrender all conscious control. Allow it to wash over you like an ocean wave, then slowly try to contain it within the twisting, winding channel of the spell.

But as the Chaos began to gather, everything felt strange. Slow. Heavy. The power didn’t flow through or wash over him like the tide; it crawled along like a river choked with mud.

Jerrod believed Chaos was thin in the East, but Keegan realized the monk was wrong. Magic was strong here; but it was bound to the earth and stones. Like it was trapped in some kind of stasis. Frozen still by something more ancient and powerful than winter’s ice and snow.

“Saarash hamsha eethiss. Essthich suurra shevvish.”

Slowly, drop by precious drop, Chaos was gathering. Directed by the repeated chant, his subconscious continued to call upon it, freeing his conscious mind to channel it through Rexol’s staff. The runes painted along the oaken shaft became illuminated, shimmering with red and blue light as the Chaos ran along its length. The gorgon’s skull suddenly came alive as an intense green light flared up in the empty eye sockets, pulsating with a steady rhythm that matched the cadence of Keegan’s voice.

“Saarash hamsha eethiss. Essthich suurra shevvish.”

Echoed and amplified through Rexol’s staff, the trivial drops of Chaos Keegan had initially summoned were multiplied over and over, kindling a familiar heat in his veins. The heat intensified rapidly, and Keegan embraced the pain. It grew quickly then, a self-feeding circuit racing from wizard through the staff and back in an endless loop, a mounting pressure pushing him closer and closer to agony and ecstasy.