Chapter 24
Silas slowly opened his eyes in a groggy haze. He could hardly make out his surroundings in the scarcely lit area, and his head ached as if some had pummeled him with a club. His channels felt like an overstretched bowstring that had been set on fire, leaving behind charred shoestrings in their place. He closed his eyes and gingerly turned his body to the side, letting the stone floor's coolness ease his pain.
“Xavi, is everyone safe?”
He didn’t dare call his mage light for fear of doing more damage to his tender channels, so he sat in the darkness for a moment while he fished out a potion bottle they had purchased in the hunting camp during their stay. It tasted like piss and berries, but it wasn’t meant to taste good; it was meant to save your life. Xavi had been holding the bulk of them, but he kept a couple on hand in case of an emergency.
After he finished, he called out again, “Kara, Antony, is anyone there? This isn’t funny. Where are you?”
Silence filled the area. Silas groaned as the potion took effect and rolled to his back. He forced his eyes to open again, only to see a blanket of stars glittering above him. The scene took a moment to register through the daze, but when it did, he looked up curiously, “Stars? How long have I been unconscious?”
“Merely a few minutes here,” a strange voice said, “But in your world, you just hit the ground. And not very gracefully, I might add.”
Silas pushed himself onto his elbows, looking for the new voice. The sight that met him was completely unexpected. He was lying on a dark stone platform forty feet across and just as wide. The platform was surrounded by an endless sea of stars in all directions, giving the impression of floating across the heavens on a cloudless night. He shot up and reached for his weapon, finding it missing. Pushing past his worry, he tried to conjure a fireball only to have that fail, too. Seeing no one around, Silas crept towards the edge in a fighting stance solely out of curiosity.
“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you. I have control here, but I make no promises where you would end up if you were to fall,” the voice said.
He spun around to see a tall, thin man standing beside a simple table and two chairs with his hands folded behind his back. He wore a dark red set of mail with scared black leather, showing the timeworn age of a hardened warrior. His demeanor had no threatening air, but Silas hesitated to get too close to a man like that. Having little choice, he slowly made his way forward.
“Good, come sit initiate,” the man said through a smile. “Though I should be calling you an adept with how quickly you dispatched that challenge elder. And being able to call the word while simultaneously using and controlling a living weapon is impressive. I’ve met masters who were not able to accomplish such a task,” he said, the warm grin never leaving his face.
Silas limped over to the table, his desire to sit overcoming his alarm at his situation. He sat heavily in the offered chair with a creaking groan, while the strange warrior joined him.
“Where am I, and who are you?” Silas asked as he sat.
“Ah. Straight to business then,” he chuckled. “I am Nevious Locks or Commander Locks, as most of them called me. I am a warlock like you but much older. Much, much older. After my time, I was offered the honor of holding the position of trainer to all those who wish to further their abilities as a warlock. This place is a liminal space, a world between worlds, given to us by our god, Pathezaus the Archdemon, so we may safely hone our craft.”
Silas rebelled, saying, “I have no god, and I’m tired of everyone telling me that I do just because of the power I hold. I don’t care if you’re a Keeper or a Commander; I do not worship anyone.”
The commander peered at him silently a moment, “So you’re one of those then,” he laughed, “Curious. That is a slippery slope to travel, just like a soul; the power given can be taken back if you fall out of favor with Pathezaus, and he is ruthless when he does so. I have seen the results firsthand, and it is not pretty,” he took a deep, reminiscing breath before leaning in and continuing. “Tell me, you mentioned a Keeper. I wish to know why you said such a thing.”
Silas shrugged, seeing no harm in telling the tale, and recounted his run-in with Lady Kioko. Silas couldn’t help but smile at the expressions that swept across Commander Locks’s face. One moment, he would be a stare of disbelief, and the next, horrified or awe. When Silas was done, the commander ran his fingers through his long dark hair, sitting in contemplative silence.
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“That is truly an amazing tale. The keepers are sworn to eradicate us on sight, and the fact that you lived at all is a miracle. Not only did you survive, but you passed her test and received a blessing from her, and she is vouching to the others for you. Incredible. How the times have changed,” he shook his head with a sigh. “Thank you for sharing your tale. Before we get to your prize, tell me, what have you learned from the other warlock covens? What type of training have you received?”
Silas leaned forward with a confused look, “Covens? All warlocks were wiped out some three hundred years ago with the ending of the battle mage wars. As far as I know and from what my familiar has told me, I am alone. Though he tells me very little.”
His eyes bulged in shock, “You mean to tell me all of the great covens have been destroyed? That is not possible. By the gods, how can this be?” Commander Locke’s head fell into his hands, “Oh Pathezaus, what has become of your grace? And you torment me further by sending me an untrained pup. One year is not nearly long enough.”
“One year?” Panic welled in his voice, and he jumped to his feet, “What do you mean one year? I need to get back to my companions. I cannot stay here an entire year!”
The Commander stood and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Relax, boy. This is a liminal space; time flows differently here. One year here is less than one hour in your time, though it can be much greater if I want it to be. Your prize is a set prize for graduating to initiate, so the time is set to one year of training with a grand master. Be at ease, and know your friends will find no harm in the next hour.”
Silas took a deep breath, “Do I have a choice?”
He smiled mischievously at him, “If you did, would you actually pass up the opportunity to train with a full-fledged warlock who has seen more battlefields than most would see in ten lifetimes? After all, you are alone in your world.”
He looked up at the beautifully glowing stars hovering above his head. ‘One year is a long time…’ he thought.
“Come, boy, do not act as you will truly pass this up." With a wave of his hand, he sent the table and chairs floating off into the abyss. A long, two-handed, dark purple, and white-spotted sword appeared in his hands, and he raised it in a high guard. “I have returned your access to your mana and stamina essence. Conjure a weapon and show me what you are capable of so we know what you must learn.”
Silas’ face twisted in confusion, “You want me to what?”
The Commander dropped his guard and took in a deeply frustrated breath, “This is going to be worse than I thought. When you arrived in the challenge area, I sensed the soul stone in your possession. Which I will add that it is still not attached to your body, and we will change that later. For now, focus on my instructions. Tap into the souls inside and move them with your will. Pull them into your grimoire and hold the image of a weapon in your hand. Then, push that image into being through your channels. It is no different than controlling the living weapon you used, just slightly more finessed.”
“I have only done that once, and it was on a whim that I even tried. I still don’t fully understand what I did to achieve it either. If you simply gave me a sword…”
“No!” interrupting him. “You will listen and do as I say. Do not question me. Just do as I tell you. Now, conjure a weapon.”
Silas closed his eyes and reach out to the soul stone hanging around his neck. He had tried many times to access the stone with no success. This time, he pulled when he made the connection, and he felt a powerful force enter his body. He strained his control and moved the force into the grimoire. As instructed, he held the image of a sword in his mind and pushed mana from his core, mixing it with the force from the grimoire, through his channels, into his hand. When he opened his eyes, a dark purple and white-spotted, single-handed broadsword appeared in his hand. His heart pounded in excitement, but before he could speak, the sword drooped limply to the side before disappearing entirely in a purple haze.
The Commander laughed, “Maybe try stroking it next time. I hear it helps if you have… performance issues, "he said, laughing even harder.
Silas looked at him flatly, “You’re worse than my familiar.”
Commander Locks wiped a tear from his eye, “At least you have one. It is scarce to be granted one, even as a Grand Master. For you to get one from the start is extraordinarily unique. Now, try again, and this time, do better,” he teased.
He ignored the man’s jab and rolled his shoulders. He followed the instructions step by step, and this time, when he was done, he held a perfectly balanced broadsword lightly in his hand. He swung it with a flourish to test its weight.
“Begin!” the commander yelled. Without warning, he charged at him so fast that afterimages blurred the distance. Silas barely had time to reset his stance before they clashed.
Commander Locks pushed him hard, weaving his long two-handed blade through every defense he could muster like a snake in a nest. Once he was covered in cuts and gashes, he disengaged by jumping backward. Silas followed in frustration, not wanting to be beaten so easily, and lunged forward with his conjured weapon, tip pointed straight at his heart.
The commander smiled wickedly at him, and just as Silas was within arm's length, his two-handed sword morphed into a tower shield with a screaming face in the center. As soon as he struck, it let out a heart-stopping scream that dropped Silas to his knees, breaking his control of his own weapon in a puff of purple smoke. His offhand caught him in the jaw, sending him flying back as he charged in after him. The commander raised his hand, stopping Silas mid-flight as he closed the distance. The tower shield morphed again into a long trident as he moved. He stopped his movement just as the trident tip rested on his neck. With a grunt of approval, he released Silas, dropping him to the ground.
“Not terrible. Not great, but nothing I can’t work with.” He dismissed the trident and reached out a hand, “Are you ready to learn the secrets of your kind?”
Silas hesitated a moment, then took his offered hand and stood. He nodded at the man he would spend the next year learning from, “Teach me everything.”