The Will of the Magi

By Paul Dickinson Russell

The Will of the Magi is the story of Aiden, one born to fire, his father a peasant, his mother gone shortly after his birth. Born with the ability of the Magi, to channel and control one of the great elements; Fire. Born to a small, insignificant village, far away from the politics and realities of the kingdom he has been thrust into. His journey through this world will allow him, a man thought to be of no destiny, to have one greater than those of Kings and Magi. If only he can survive the perils of blood, flame, and magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Dickinson Russell
• Release date: Jul 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781941771303

Paul Dickinson Russell

Though a first-time novelist, Paul Dickinson Russell has been writing his whole life, having self-published a collection of short stories and poetry when he was in college. Now in his early thirties, Paul lives in the backwoods of New Jersey, making a living educating and entertaining children. His experiences with the publishing process are a guide for other authors and are detailed in part on the podcast series Publish Me!

Book preview

Prologue

Every moment was torture. With each step she took, she was traveling farther and farther away from home—her beautiful, deadly, burning home. All of her companions gone, dead—killed by their pursuers, killed by the elements.

She would not, could not weep. It was not for royalty to weep over the losses of their familiars. But, sometimes, she wished she could weep for them, weep for herself, just weep and pour out these emotions. But to do so would be a betrayal of who and what she was.

She continued on her trek, passing quickly through forests, over hills, around lakes. She would keep traveling until she reached a place of safety, although where such a place might be, she did not know. It had been a fortnight since the last of her companions had been taken from her, killed by a ferocious she-bear.

The bear had bitten off her companion’s head, and she had caused the she-bear to burst into flame, burning it from the inside out. Her magic had protected her, but it had failed to protect her companions, those guards and courtiers who had sworn their lives to her safety and eventual return to power, should her father and mother survive the uprising of the noble houses.

That night, she settled down at the base of a small tree, near a small lake, idly watching the few fish she had caught cook. She needed to eat, but she had not been hungry in days, the half of her that came from her mother feasting on her own emotional state: her loneliness, her anguish, and her pain. Feeding off of her own emotions was dangerous—it was akin to eating her own arm to satisfy her physical hungers—but there were so few choices to be had here. She dared not tap into the magical currents and stores of the natural world around her, instead relying on what power she had inside. She was harder to track that way, but she could still be tracked.

The fish were hardly satisfying, but the meat would sustain her until she was able to get something more filling.

The morning brought rain, but still she journeyed onward, heading farther and farther away from home, closer to the lands of the dwarves and their mountain homes, the forest elves and their conclaves, the goblins and their warrens, and the humans and their cities. She groaned at the thought of potentially dealing with any of those creatures, but she was of noble birth, and she could bear any burden. She would bear any burden, because it was what must be done.

Days turned into weeks, and after another fortnight of lonely traveling, she made her way down a small mountain, and stumbled.

She fell hard, breaking her arm, her normal effortless grace and dignity gone days before as her stomach cramped from lack of food. She had been preying on what insects she could find, but there was never enough food, never enough to eat or drink.

Her mind wandered even as she tried to get up, using her broken arm, which snapped fully under her malnourished weight. The pain cleared her mind for a single moment as she screamed, and she saw that she was surrounded.

Goblins, perhaps two or three dozen of them. How she had not noticed them, she had no idea, but she would not become fodder for these disgusting creatures. As she gathered what little power she had left, two of the creatures drew primitive bows, pointing their filth-covered arrows at her.

Irritating giggling squeaked out from the foul monsters, but the sound quickly became death rattles.

A pair of arrows sprouted from the goblin archers’ chests, severing the strings of their bows in the same motion. A half dozen more arrows sprouted from the chests and heads of the other goblins that were closest to her, while another three or four arrows dropped goblins that were producing their own bows and arrows.

A half minute gone and a dozen goblins dead. She stared in amazement at the speed at which they were dispatched. The remaining goblins were shrieking, charging in the general direction that the arrows had apparently come from, when another storm of four or five arrows came from another position, a hundred or so paces farther down the mountain.

In a few minutes, the remaining goblins were gone, their piercing cries echoing down the mountain.

Careful of her broken arm, she tried to stand, but the mountain slope was covered in loose rock, and she fell again, landing on her lame arm a second time. Lying there in her pain, she wept, the first tears she had shed since she had been accepted as an adult among her people.

Are you all right?

Startled, she rolled over, twisting her arm badly, but her fear and shock overpowered her pain as she turned, staring at the human woodsman who had apparently been her mysterious rescuer. He was making his way among the dead goblins, taking his arrows out of their bodies. Occasionally he would pick up a small coin or token from a corpse, something of potential value, but he kept half an eye on her as he slowly made his way from corpse to corpse, treating her, she noticed, with the practiced wariness of a hunter near a wounded animal, especially because he was unsure of how the creature would lash out.

She studied the man. He was clad entirely in the skins of beasts, something she recalled was not typical of the humans in the region unless they lived on their own, away from the settled members of their primitive race. He spoke slowly, with care, making sure she had time to interpret what he was saying. This is not the first time he has met someone not of his race, she thought.

Are you all right? The human repeated.

Recalling her lessons in the tongues of the other races: My arm is broken, I think.

And you are hungry, too, I wager, he said, a small smile appearing on his face as her stomach roared in hunger.

She did not know what to make of this human. He was brutish, casually twisting arrows out of the dead, while maintaining a dignified conversation with one of the many non-human races. He wore the skins of dead animals, but he moved easily, as easily as one of those animals would have—yet his movement was also that of a soldier, a warrior, keeping his hand near his sheathed sword and his bow, still strung at his side.

She nodded, slowly. I’ve been traveling, and I have gotten lost from my compatriots some days back, and I do not know if I can get home.

The last of his arrows were cleaned and put away. He scanned the area, noting the sun and the mountain, and she watched, fascinated, as he sniffed a couple of the corpses. His bow was across his back, arrows secured, and his sword by his side, his manner the easy combat readiness of a professional warrior. Where did this human acquire such confidence and assurance? He behaves as the Royal Guard would when around Father and Mother.

It will be dark soon, and the goblins will soon be wondering what happened to these. He toed one of the corpses. I live in a village that is near here. There will be plenty of food there for you, time to heal, and time to figure out if we can find your companions—and to get you what you need to get safely home. He made his way over to her, crouching down next to her, looking into her eyes as he spoke.

She studied him, thinking along the same lines as he was. I am unfit to travel, as weak as I am.

I am familiar with this area; however, we cannot stay here. You chose a bad area to fall ill in. There are goblin warrens nearby, so if we stay here for long, we will be discovered and captured. However… He glanced away from her, up the mountain, then back at her, and seemed to come to some decision.

She gasped as he quickly and easily picked her up and rushed down the mountain, his pace similar to the ground-eating pace of a wolf. She almost killed him within those few heartbeats, while her heart pounded in her chest, but he held her easily and she felt safe, for the first time since she had fled her home.

Her arms were cradled against her chest, in the best position to prevent her broken arm from being jostled and moved. She settled her head against his chest, listening to the steady, regular beating of his heart. The man had slain over a score of goblins and was carrying her down a treacherous mountain, and was not straining or struggling in any way. Who is this man?

He slowed down from the run at the base of the mountain, maintaining a loping march, and after a few moments, she mentally shook herself as she heard distant drums and screams from goblin throats.

Well, they have discovered their dead. He chuckled. They will know it was me; hopefully that will prevent those monsters from thinking too much about who or what you are.

You have killed many goblins? She could not keep the surprise from her voice. It was evident enough that he had, judging by how easily he had dispatched those that had attacked her, but she still found it amazing that this human could do such a thing, and without magic.

The village we are going to is a frontier settlement of our empire. We must rely mostly on our own abilities to protect ourselves. The soldiers might come to avenge our deaths, but make no mistake: we, the villagers, will still be dead. We are a self-sufficient lot, in all regards.

Settling against him again, her mind drifted off, relaxed and—finally, hopefully—safe. She hoped she could find a way home soon. But if she could not find a way home, perhaps she could enjoy her time with this human. After all, he seemed strong enough to sustain her for a little while, at least….

Acknowledgments

This book has only been made possible by the amazing support I’ve received from my family, friends, and so many others.

I’d like to thank my family for all of the time and energy they put into listening to me ramble on about my stories and pointing out different issues that might arise, for the numerous editing sessions they went through with me throughout this entire process, and for the long-suffering love they gave me as I plowed through this long but outstanding journey. Mom, Dad, Sam, Aunt Dana, Mott: thank you for your help and support.

I’d like to thank my friends who have been so supportive the entire way: to those who have known me since childhood and who have listened to all of my stories and ideas, to those I met in college and who helped me refine my writing process, to my camp friends and family who helped me find my place and the inner peace I needed to get my mind flowing. Vanessa, Allie, Veronika, Patrick, Pat, Jess, Lisa, Megan: I don’t have the words to truly thank you all. David, without you this never would have happened. Again, thank you from the bottom of my soul!

I’d like to thank the entire crew at aois21 for all of their amazing efforts throughout this entire process: this book was truly given life by all of you, and for that I am forever grateful. Thank you for taking the risk that was taking me and my story on. It has meant the world to me. Keith, thank you for this amazing opportunity. Corey, thank you for helping me truly give life to my story. Rana, thank you for helping my world and story gain a much-needed blast of color, and for creating a way to picture my story that is better than anything I imagined.

Finally, I’d like to thank all of those amazing people who donated to the fundraising campaign I did to fund this book. It has taken a lot longer than expected, but we are finally here! Thank you all for this!

Chapter 1

Aiden leaned against the wall of the house that lay on the outmost part of his village, watching the villagers begin to wake up and leave their homes to begin the day. He had been up all night, entering into a meditative state, slowly grasping power from within the earth, pulling deeply and feeding it outward over the dreamscape of his mind. The growing warmth of the sun on his back had slowly brought him out of the dreamscape, allowing him these precious moments to oversee his home and people.

Home was a simple place, a small village that did not really have a name, that was only a small point on the maps of nobility and magi. A place to collect taxes, food, and soldiers from, and then otherwise ignored. But, to Aiden, it was a precious place, as anyone's home should be.

Aiden turned around and walked towards the fields where villagers raised what crops they could. For the past several years, he had joined the men and women in these fields, learning how to help plant crops, how to anticipate the weather, and how to keep out the unwanted plants and pests that could savage and ravage a harvest.

A gentle breeze flowed around him, bringing with it the warm scents of spring, the pull of the moist earth after a gentle rain two days past, and the yearning for physical work.

A single breath was all it took as Aiden embraced his power, allowing the purity of power to flow through him and out of him, cascading down into the earth. Today was the single day out of all eight days in the week that he allowed himself to use his power to help him with his tasks. Power spread out beneath him, warming the earth but staying away from the many thousands of seeds that had been planted in the previous week.

Well, are you ready for the day, lad? A rough voice pushed gently against Aiden, reminding him of his duty and helping him step away from the allure of immersing himself in his power.

Glancing back as his mind returned to his own body, Aiden smiled at Ailean and the score of other men who were with him, watching what Aiden would do.

I’m always ready, sir. Just tell me what fields you want plowed and they will be. Ailean nodded, and pointed to the right.

The far fields is where I was planning on working us today. If we hurry, we can have them planted and seeded today, with your help.

Aiden nodded. The ground is still wet from the rains two days past. Should we water them again?

Ailean chuckled. You are as swift as that power in your mind, boy. One thought and action at a time, lad. First we will plow the fields, then we will plant. Once we have accomplished that, we will talk about water.

Aiden nodded, then focused his mind and will onto his power, centering on his power and concentrating it on those five fields. Each of the fields was enclosed with lines of stones, to help Aiden distinguish one field from the other. These five were the farthest from the village, and had rarely been used before Aiden had begun helping everyone out.

Seven days out of the week, Aiden did not use his power in any of his tasks when he was helping the villagers—in the village or in the field. It strengthened his body, and gave him a solid sense of the amount of work that went into everything in the village.

But on the eighth day, Aiden dipped into the vast well of power that was his and used it to help out where his power could make a difference.

Aiden smiled at the sensation of his power flowing through him as he began to shape it, finding the links and similarities between fire and earth. Fire and earth had few links, but those few links were all he needed. All four of the major elements were links, in one way or another; it just took a skilled and disciplined mind and will to figure them out and to use them to one’s advantage.

Five pits of fire formed in Aiden’s mind, slowly pushing upward, slowly swelling with his power and slowly being shaped by his will. It was tempting to let the fire swell on its own accord, but fire, without control, burned all in its path. A wild fire ravaged the landscape and left nothing but death in its wake. A controlled fire warmed the body and soul, allowing a man to rest in comfort and peace, if only for a moment.

Aiden expanded each of the pits, allowing them to form rows and paths beneath the soil, slowly allowing each to press upward with gentle yet unyielding force. Fire began to burst upward out of the ground, leaping into the air before disappearing with a flare. Aiden relaxed, smiling to himself as he felt the fields settle into place—then fire erupted out of the fields as if a wildfire burned beneath the earth. Aiden gasped, almost losing control of his magic. Lashing his will to his magic, he refocused the magical energy, slowly diminishing the strength of the fire until it gently died down. In a handful of moments, the fields were done and ready for planting, although they were a lot drier than they should have been.

The men were already moving, each clapping Aiden on the shoulders, congratulating him on another job well done.

Ailean chuckled. I am glad you were here to assist us, lad. He glanced out to the fields, where other workers were already filling in several holes in the earth. Shaking his head, Ailean nodded back to the village. But, right now, your presence is requested at the smithy. Something about the fires not producing enough heat.

Aiden sighed dramatically, glancing at the older man. A man’s work is never done, is it, sir?

Ailean sighed as well, his eyes twinkling. A man’s work is finally done when his kin honor his life and deeds as they give him back to the soil from which he came, lad. That is the only moment when a man is truly finished with his work.

A brief laugh rose from both men, each knowing the type of life they had been born to in this world.

Now get going, boy. You do not want to keep Arzhur waiting.

Nodding, Aiden raised his hand in farewell and hurried back into the village. He nodded greetings to everyone he passed, hurrying towards the village center where the blacksmith undoubtedly waited.

Men and women scurried about the shop, moving metal sheets, metal ingots, and finished pieces about, while others carried buckets of fresh water, mixed salt water in other buckets, prepared oils, and brought fresh firewood from piles as it was chopped.

Arzhur was working on a sickle the moment Aiden entered the shop. Glancing towards the door, he turned back to the task at hand.

The fires are not hot enough and the coals are not burning bright enough, boy. Those swords and spears are for the village, he said, pointing to a small rack where a dozen swords and a score or so spearheads leaned against it. See if you can work them properly.

Aiden nodded solemnly. Yes, sir. I will see it done.

A singular grunt was all the answer he received.

Once he had his back turned to Arzhur, Aiden grinned slightly. The blacksmith was a gloomy man, forever frowning and grumbling. Despite that, he was one of—if not the—most respected and well-liked men in the village. He gave freely of his time whenever it was asked of him, and despite his rough and gloomy exterior, the man was fast with a laugh and in good humor if his wife or daughters were present, being the only ones who could get him to smile or laugh. Those women always made sure that he laughed as often as they could get him to. The only time they left him alone was when he was working with his tools and metals. He would get so involved with his work that he rarely noticed those around him, although Aiden had seen the smith have to hold himself together after his daughters' antics at times while he was in the smithy. Their antics had cost him the scythe he had been working on, but he had not minded at all, the mirth in him lasting for the rest of the day.

Aiden stood close to the fire, smiling at the memory as he breathed in deeply, taking in the feel of the flames and the coals. Concentrating his will took but a moment, and he focused on the essence of the flame at the heart of the forge, slowly feeding it and allowing it to grow hotter, not larger. Simultaneously, he used his hands to direct more power outward, finding the links between fire and air, using the air to grasp ahold of the swords and spearheads, bringing them into the forge, allowing them to begin to warm up enough to be reshaped and repurposed.

Focusing on the heat, fire, and the various metals, Aiden allowed the fire to reach its perfect peak temperature and the metals to reach their optimal liquid state. He had gotten rather skillful at feeling and understanding the various ways metals worked with heat and fire, the ways different kinds of wood could help or hinder the different metals, which materials went best together for different results.

Arzhur had chosen the best woods for the forge at the moment, knowing that he would be able to call upon Aiden’s particular skills today. Aiden recognized the blacksmith’s choices as he sent his will and power flowing through the smithy. Putting those thoughts—and the questions they brought up—to the side, he concentrated on the task before him.

His mind and will focused on his power, on the fire that burned before him and within him. He unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it to the floor behind him. Leaning forward, his mind surged into the fire, swirling with the coals, around and through the various metals.

Aiden felt them slowly begin to merge together, and he began to shape them, using the connections he knew were there, finding them anew and strengthening the bonds between fire, earth, air, and, last, water. There were buckets of water close to the forge, where a blade could be thrust so it would cool and harden.

The spearheads and swords were swiftly crafted, as they did not require much work or energy from him. Once shaped, the hot metal was immersed into the water trough near the forge, and then lifted out and set to be polished and worked together with the other pieces of each weapon.

As Aiden worked through the swords, a single blade caught his attention. The mixture of metals was slightly different from the others, requiring greater heat and precision than the other blades. This is why he asked me to come, Aiden mused. He wanted me to work this blade, shape this blade, and show him what I am capable of. If I am wrong, I shall have to spend a great deal of time working off my debt to the old man. But if I am right…. Letting the thought hang in his mind, Aiden refocused, swiftly but steadily working the remaining score spearheads and half-dozen sword blades. But all the while, he marveled over the single blade, judging it, observing its reactions, how it absorbed the heat and still thirsted for more.

Feeling the perfect moment for the blade, Aiden pulled the metal from the fire, shaped a long, slender blade, and thrust the metal into the water. The steam obscured everything from view, but Aiden could still feel the blade, the fire, and the metal. The blade was thrust back into the flames, the water instantly gone from the intense heat. Any blacksmith would have tanned his hide for forging a blade in this manner, as he had heard many, many times from Arzhur over the past few years, but those blacksmiths did not have access to the mystical arts; they could not grasp with their wills the fire and metal and shape them perfectly, ensuring that there were no flaws in the metal.

For an hour Aiden worked the blade, heating, cooling, and shaping it until the blade felt right in his mind. He never could explain why or when he knew a piece of metal was finished, but his intuition always served him well with any weapon he was asked to craft—sadly, however, never with farming tools.

Thrusting the blade once more into the water, Aiden drew his power from the forge and dispersed the heat slowly into the ground and earth around the village, not allowing his power to get away from him, only allowing his power to fill the earth and then diminish over the passing moments.

When he finished, he pulled the blade slowly out of the water, examining it with a well-practiced eye. No blemishes; already hardened, straight and lean: a true warrior’s weapon. Gently holding the blade in his hands, he turned to the master smith and held the blade out for Arzhur’s inspection.

A deft hand smacked the blade lightly. Come on, boy. I know you well enough by this point and what you can craft. Gently picking the blade up, Arzhur took it and began crafting the hilt and cross-guard.

Thank you. You have done well, Arzhur grunted, never taking his hands from his work.

Aiden looked around, unable to find more weapons or metal to forge. What else would you have me do, sir?

That was it, lad. You have done what I required of you, and from what I see here, you have done it well. Arzhur nodded somberly. You might want to get going to see Father Aonghus. I’m sure he has some work for you to do as well.

Puzzled, Aiden bowed and left without a word. Why would Father Aonghus want to see me so early in the day? I normally see him in the afternoon. Another test? Something else?

Trying to work out the various possible issues that might have arisen since the previous night, Aiden hurried towards the small stone structure in the center of the village that served as the village shrine. Pausing before the statue of the Lord of the Scales, the Deliverer of Justice, Darach, Aiden bowed slightly, pressing the tips of his fingers to his lips and then to his forehead before going inside the small door.

The small, dark room offered little comfort to those who entered. Darach had no need for comforts, holding true that Justice must be served to those who deserved it. A single stone bench ran along the walls, leaving the floor open for those who wished to offer themselves to the God of Justice, the chief god of the triumvirate that Aiden’s people worshipped.

Above the door, a single window let light fall upon the petitioner’s circle, where Father Aonghus knelt in prayer. His bowed head was kept perfectly still, while his hands were pressed against his knees, palms upward, a sign he was opening himself to his deity and had nothing to hide.

Aiden shook his head. Knowing how long the aged cleric could take when it came to his prayers, Aiden knelt slightly behind him, bowing his head, and began to meditate, offering his thoughts to the triumvirate as a whole.

The scene played itself out in his mind, as clear as possible after these seven years. A young boy, seven years old, normally sickly in appearance yet sharp of mind, lay at death’s door on the floor of the temple, a filth-encrusted goblin arrow having been recently removed from his shoulder while Father Aonghus prayed and his own father, along with the wise women of the village, rushed around, preparing hot water, clean rags, poultices, and herbs to clean the savage wound.

Aiden watched in his meditative state as his younger self ran from the village into the fields, standing alongside the men of the village as a few score goblins rushed at them, screaming their savage cries, promising pain and suffering for all. Hands thrust in front of him, Aiden pulled his power from deep within himself, shaping it with his immense will, and sent darts of fire whistling through the air towards the goblin line.

Goblins burst into flame as their moldy leather armor was consumed and the mystical flames greedily devoured pale flesh. A score died in those first few seconds, and another dozen were torn apart from the fire that struck them as it exploded outward, showering the other goblins with the remains of their kin.

Ill prepared for this savage reprisal, the remaining goblins continued charging forward, a few loosing arrows from their ram-horn bows, one of which flew towards Aiden with speed—but not before he had sent a growing arc of flame out from his hands that cut the remaining raiders down, burning them to ash. Then the ill-fated arrow struck, the filth that encrusted it released into a young child’s defenseless body.

The village spent weeks trying to heal the boy, and eventually he did recover, thanks to the herbs and medicines of the wise women and his father’s fanatic obedience to their demands. Many times he ranged from the village that week, fetching the freshest herbs and plants for the women so that they might save his son.

When he was well enough to talk and understand when he was spoken to, Father Aonghus spoke with Aiden and his father, telling them what he had learned from the gods.

Aiden had almost died because his body had been too weak to fight the primitive poisons of the goblins. So, he had seen a solution that would help strengthen Aiden’s body and allow him to continue with his studies that he, Father Aonghus, oversaw. Each morning he would assist the villagers in their tasks, as their children did, and each afternoon and evening he would study in the shrine, gaining skills that few peasants enjoyed: the ability to read, write, work with numbers and figures, learn the history of the kingdom as well as the legends of the gods themselves.

In addition, the gods told Father Aonghus that there was a resonance to every activity, a sound being a better way to describe it. Every act of magic—every time Aiden used his power—could be heard by others. The more powerful the resonance, the farther away it could be heard.

Aiden smiled to himself as he remembered the past seven years. He was still years away from being a man, but he had the stature of a man and, despite his still tender years, was already well respected in the village. He had learned his lessons well, and through meditating, Aiden believed he had achieved the answer for others not hearing the sound of his magic—of his power. Every few months, a pair of Magi would travel around hunting for magic users who reportedly operated in the area. They were an older pair, slightly senile from the way they acted, and accompanied by a glowering man in worn chainmail, carrying a massive sword over his shoulders. Aiden had learned to shield his mind from those other Magi through conversations he overheard between the Magi and Father Aonghus. A wall of air and water and fire and earth, pulled from within his own mind, surrounded him when he was using his power, and a blank mind, devoid of thought, acted as a perfect barrier for when he was not using his own power.

Learning those lessons had been perilous but a required part of his education, according to Father Aonghus. The village had been aware that Aiden had been trying to learn something and had created distractions, raised concerns, and meddled with the Magi when they came around, asking no questions of Aiden, luckily.

It had taken several visits, over nearly two years, for Aiden to master what he was trying to learn, and shortly after he had mastered it, the pair had come through one more time, very much unchanged in their appearance and mannerisms. That was the only time they acknowledged Aiden in any way. It seemed to him, as he considered that moment, that during the past visits they had deliberately ignored him. But that one time they acknowledged his presence, wishing the village well and hoping everyone remained prosperous. It had been an odd occurrence, but by that point Aiden’s control and ability to shield himself no matter what else was going on had become second nature.

Aiden’s mind returned to the present, shaping his meditation and turning away from his past, and sent his mind soaring on the winds of power he felt within his own self. Father Aonghus had encouraged him to spread his faith and worship around. He worshipped Darach, for he was the patron god of the kingdom, but he also worshipped Cearbhall, Blade of the Void, Slayer of Darkness, God of Warriors and Battle, for he helped men keep their bodies strong and their wits sharp for the battles that life produced. Aiden also worshipped Breesha, Goddess of Magic and Knowledge, the Lady of Light and the Maiden of Thought.

Father Aonghus had not been able to explain to Aiden why he should worship the entire pantheon instead of just Darach, as the rest of the village did. He had merely said that Aiden should, and whether he did or not was his business. A strange day it had been, but Aiden felt the better for it.

He felt strangely at peace whenever he offered his prayers to each of the deities that protected his village and kingdom. Deep within his meditation, Aiden smiled to himself, shaping three separate prayers with his power and will, and, as his prayers took shape, he sent them speeding outward into the far reaches of the world. Perhaps, one day, his prayers would be answered. He could only hope.

Chapter 2

Aiden’s meditation allowed him to further his understanding of the various ways his Will could influence the power that flowed through him. He was exploring the various connections between the four eternal elements when a soft hand gently pressed against his shoulder. Regretfully pulling himself away from the flows of power, Aiden brought himself back into reality. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what he had been doing, but only a moment. He turned to Father Aonghus, who was standing at his side, smiling gently.

Did the gods grant you wisdom, my boy? Aonghus asked, his voice a hoarse whisper from a lifetime of bellowing sermons to peasants and soldiers.

Yes, Father, the gods allowed me a further glimpse into the world, as they always do.

I am glad. Aonghus’s eyes grew distant for a moment before he vigorously shook his head, pulling Aiden to his feet.

I wanted to speak with you, lad, about your future. Aonghus led Aiden out of the shrine, and as the early afternoon sun beat down on them, they made their way towards Aiden’s home. From the street, Aiden could see that his father was home, moving about, doing his work as the village fletcher, full quivers resting outside of their small wooden home.

They walked in silence, Father Aonghus offering no further comment after they left the shrine, Aiden puzzled by the upcoming conversation.

Aiden hurried ahead so that he could open the door for the aged cleric, who murmured a small blessing upon the house and its inhabitants before entering and immediately taking one of the three chairs that were set around the small table that dominated the front of the home.

Aiden’s father, Lennan, handed Aiden a pair of quivers, gesturing out the door. As Aiden turned around and placed the quivers next to the others, he heard his father murmur to the cleric.

What have you said to him?

The purpose of our conversation, and nothing else, lad, was the murmured response.

Turning, Aiden stepped into the house, closing the door behind him, a gentle thump that was swiftly followed by the shriek of his father’s kettle, signaling that the water was hot enough for tea.

Lennan gestured towards the kitchen. Fetch the water, son, so we might have something hot to drink while we talk.

Aiden gathered three clay cups and the iron kettle with a slight sigh. His father always insisted on doing tasks with his hands, forbidding Aiden from using his power inside their home. A man who cannot survive by his mind and hands is no man at all and should not burden himself upon others. A harsh view, Aiden thought, but he loved his father, whose rough manner had ensured Aiden survived this long and learned far more than any other member of the village, including his education by Father Aonghus. Even with all that, Aiden grumbled to himself, wishing he could just use his Will to get everything for tea.

Lennan produced a small pouch and put a small pinch of leaves in each of the cups before pouring the boiling water in. As he put a cup in front of each of them, he smiled briefly.

While the tea cools, cleric, would you please share what is on your mind with my son and I?

Father Aonghus was silent for a moment, his eyes distant.

Aiden, you are fourteen years old, less than a year away from turning fifteen. In the village, you are still considered a child by your age, but your deeds are those of a man. No one in the village would contest such a statement. However, there is little for you here. You are a Magus. While you may not have the formal training or backing of the College, and while you may not have the legal protection that the College and King grant to the Magi who come from the College, you are a Magus. If you could go to the College, you would be able to greatly expand your knowledge and ability—of this I am certain. Aonghus slammed his fist onto the table.

The nobles and merchants of this kingdom keep the wealth and power to themselves, and leave the people with nothing. You have the ability to change that, as long as you are alive and remember where you came from. Would you try and better yourself and your people? Or will you remain here, in this village, watching the seasons turn and the world passing you by?

Shock rippled through Aiden. There was nothing that could have prepared him for this idea, for this argument or discussion from the cleric.

True, he had occasionally dreamed of leaving the village, exploring the world, using his power to gain fame and fortune. But he was a peasant. If he did not have an education from the College of Magic, then he would be hunted down, a price always on his head, and eventually executed as a rogue. Stories were rare of peasants gaining the ability to use the power, and all of them ended with the execution of the peasant, generally along with the destruction of their families and kin.

Aiden glanced at his father, who had finally picked up his cup and taken a sip of his tea, his eyes closed in contentment.

Father? What do you think of this? Aiden watched his father for some clue as to what he was to decide to do.

Lennan set his cup down and sighed. There is no easy choice here, Aiden. But, there are more choices than those Father Aonghus has lain before you. You could pack your things and leave our village, and start a life wandering the wilds of the world. Go and try to see the wonders that the gods have left for us to marvel at. Perhaps you could go and seek out a rogue Magus somewhere, one who would teach you more about your powers than you have ever dreamed. All of life is a choice, my boy. That is what this all comes down to: your choices. Will you stay here? Will you attempt to go to the College? Will you leave here? And that’s all I have to say on the matter. Lennan picked up his cup and took a brief drink, holding the cup in his hands, eyes closed.

Father Aonghus picked up his cup and drained it. Lad, this is not an easy discussion to have, and I know you are panicking right now, but these are things that need to be said, need to be considered.

Why? Why do I have to make these kinds of choices? Aiden said, shivering slightly at the thought of leaving his home, afraid of these choices.

Because you are at risk while you are here. The village cares for you, your father loves you, and no one here would see you come to harm. But travelers do pass through here on occasion, and while you have helped turn the tides against the occasional goblin raid, the village cannot have you turn against the Baron’s soldiers if they were to come out this way, inquiring about a Magus—especially when a Magus would never deign to spend more time than absolutely required in a village such as ours. We have been fortunate that our village has always been a prosperous one, and a productive home, so we have never given the Baron—or, more importantly, his tax collectors—reason to be suspicious of us.

Aiden turned away from the table, staring out the window by the door, into the village. He saw boys and girls he had grown up with running from one building to another, carrying out tasks assigned to them by parents or masters. He watched men and women who he had worked with going about their daily business, consumed with the daily work that accompanied life in a small provincial village.

Father, what would you do if I left? Do you wish me gone? Aiden kept his eyes looking upon the village that had been his home.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his father. No, lad. You are my only child, the only memory left to me from your dear mother. I do not wish you gone. But, I do want what is best for you, and for you to stay here … I see what Father Aonghus says, and I see the sense of it, but I will not say yay or nay to this. This is your choice, lad, and I will support whatever decision you make.

Aiden closed his eyes, feeding his emotions and thoughts into a personal fire at the core of his being. The fire shifted as his thoughts and emotions entered it, transforming from fire to water, from water to air, from air to earth, and back to fire. His mind silently processed the transformations and changes as he stripped himself of all thought and emotion, as he tried to shed the growing anxiety in his heart.

I cannot decide on this. He shuddered as his emotions tried to take hold of him. I … I … I need time.

The soft rubbing of wood on dirt floated into Aiden’s hearing, as a hand rested on his shoulder.

Take what time you need, son. Lennan spoke to his son gently, his voice carrying a father’s understanding. Go and do what you must. Come back when you are ready to. Even if you have not come to a decision, you are always my son, and you will always have my blessing and love.

Aiden stood and whirled, embracing his father. Lennan gripped his son tightly, then gently put his hands on Aiden’s shoulders and pushed him away.

Be careful, son. A strange look entered Lennan’s eyes when he turned around. By the way, Arzhur dropped this off for you. He said it was yours. In his hands was a sword and sheath, the sword he had forged earlier that day gleaming brightly in the spot of sunlight that shone from the window.

Lennan shifted slightly, bringing the sword upward. You are a man, my son. You may be a few years from your ceremony, but as has been said already, you are a man in your deeds and thoughts. You deserve a man’s weapon.

Aiden reached out, gently lifting the sword from his father’s hands, admiring the weight in his hands and the harsh beauty of the gleaming metal. A sigh escaped his lips as he gently strapped the blade along his back, the weight feeling comfortable, feeling right.

Go out to the forest, son. When you are at peace, come back to us. Lennan kissed his son on the forehead.

Father Aonghus stood. Go with my blessing as well, lad, and may the gods watch over you.

A thousand thoughts roared up in Aiden’s mind, assaulting the delicate inner balance he was precariously holding onto, and for a terrifying moment he thought he would lose himself. But he held on, forcing his Will upon his emotions and thoughts.

Thank you for your words and opinions, Father Aonghus. It has been appreciated. Aiden looked at his father. Thank you. I will be back soon, hopefully, to help you pack up your arrows for shipment to the Baron.

Turning, he left his home, walking with swift and sure strides towards the southern gate. It took him only a few minutes to reach the gate, and once he passed through the entrance to the village, his stride increased, allowing him to fly from the village, his pounding steps echoing behind him as the line of trees that marked the southern end of the village’s territory drew closer.

While he ran, his control over his Will slipped, and his power flowed from him. He felt it flow through his hands, through his feet, out with every breath he took. His power flowed into the land, spreading around him, bringing vibrant new life to every plant it touched.

He tried gaining control of his Will, tried to assert his control over his power, but it was like trying to stanch a broken flood gate with a single board and a bucket of nails, and no hammer. A person could get it done, eventually, if nothing else distracted their focus, but no one had figured out how to do so yet. So his mind flowed outward, following each sliver of power as it flowed from him, drawing upon the power in the earth, in the air, the power that surrounded him and that he was constantly aware of.

Branches whipped past his head, while roots reached up to ensnare his feet. He whirled around, flying forward still, at peace for the moment, as he lost himself in the forest and to the cascade of power flowing through him.

Deep into the woods he ran, traveling fast from the thoughts that had been inspired in him. His power flowed from his mind and body, his Will too scattered to maintain any form of control. Rampant growth and destruction erupted from him. Fires, raging wildfires and the briefest of flickers, were smothered by rapidly advancing vines and radiant flowers, while trees and bushes were torn apart by savage winds and uprooted by rising waters. His new sword was suddenly heavy across his back, but he dared not take it off and leave it behind, as his power flowed through him and into the sword and, like his hands, from the sword into the forest around him, the sword a new extension of his power.

Perhaps the cleric was right, and he was a threat to his village. After all of this time, after growing up using his power, of focusing his Will, a few doubts, a few words he had not expected, and he was lost and unable to focus, his power flowing freely and unrestrained.

He came to a small river and leaped upward, his power and speed carrying him over the flowing water, which surged underneath him, a whirlpool forming for the span of moments before breaking apart and allowing the river to continue as before.

Aiden hit the ground hard, going down to his knees as his forward momentum finally stopped. In that explosive moment, his power surged outward, wrapping itself around every plant, rock, decaying log, and individual drop of water. His mind was drawn outward by his power, but as it was drawn outward, he felt something—a stronger pull along one of the lines of power. Curiosity did what fear and panic could not. He set his Will upon his power, slowly drawing each line inward, refocusing himself and his abilities until only that single line remained.

Reaching inward, Aiden tapped into the fire that burned within him. His body was exhausted from being used that way, from running nonstop for at least two or three leagues before crossing the stream. But he needed to keep moving. He wanted his body unable to do anything, unable to move in any way, so that his mind could focus on the questions that had been presented to him that day.

His mind found a single thread of power, a single path to travel down, and he followed that single line of power deeper into the forest until he reached a small clearing, in the middle of which was a small crater where a large, black monolith stood, gleaming with veins of gold and silver. Covered mostly in moss, it was impossible to tell anything about the stone except for its immense size, and the glimmers of light that seemed to leap from the few cracks that appeared like spiderwebs across the stone. Walking towards it, Aiden sent his Will towards the stone, examining it, trying to understand it—and reeled from it, mentally and physically.

The stone contained immense amounts of silver and gold, along with a large number of precious gems. Wealth beyond imagining was bound into this stone, but what stunned, frightened, and intrigued Aiden was that the stone seemed to be gathering his power into itself, absorbing it. But the stone was not just gathering his power. Power flowed into the stone from the surrounding area, and inside the stone was a titanic reservoir of power, many times greater than anything Aiden had ever tried holding inside his body and mind, or unleashing.

He sat before the stone, contemplating its makeup, the various metals and precious stones inside of it, applying his mind and Will to figuring out how this had come to be, how it all worked together. His mind, trained by a blacksmith, a farmer, a tanner, a leather maker, a fletcher, and a cleric, traveled down numerous different paths, seeking the right one, as his body began to truly feel the strain that he had forced upon it not that long before. Sitting still, his body finally allowed to rest, Aiden’s mind traveled through the stone, through each of the precious gems; as his body yielded to exhaustion and rested, he came across the answer.

The metals acted as conduits. When blended properly, the metals could augment power, but the metal itself could not hold onto the power. That was the function of the precious gems. The gems could contain power, could hold onto raw power or, perhaps, hold onto power shaped for a specific purpose.

The idea thrilled Aiden. He could take stones and shape power into them so that others could have access to it. Thoughts of how he could shape these stones and metals into useful tools for the village flowed through his mind, giving him a glimpse into a future where everyone in the village—and the kingdom—had access to the immense power, to the ever-present magic, that he had access to. He saw the bountiful harvests, the towering homes where the poorest peasants lived as kings, with powerful devices doing everyday tasks for them.

As his mind flowed down the various avenues of thought and memory, he shifted his body, and felt the strap from the sword's sheath dig into his shoulder. The reminder of the weapon that he had carried into the forest broke his train of thought for a moment. Reaching around, he drew the sword and laid it across his lap.

As his hands rested on the sword, and he stared into the gleaming metal, seeing his reflection staring back at him, Aiden’s mind went down another path, visualizing weapons made with these metals and precious gems, imagining armies fighting where every soldier had the fighting skills of the greatest of warriors and the magical prowess of the mightiest of Magi.

A vision filled his mind of such an army, conquering all before it, and as the army marched away, he turned inside the vision and saw what it had left behind. He saw his father—or, rather, what was left of him—staring at Aiden, his dead eyes accusing him of unleashing this horror. Father Aonghus’s head was all that remained of the cleric, sitting in the bottom of a crater that still burned with the heat of the fight that had descended upon him.

From horizon to horizon the dead lay, all of their eyes upon Aiden, all of their silent screams battering him as they each accused him of killing them, of bringing about their destruction and violation.

Aiden shook his head, clearing it of the vision as his fear and panic rose again, hard and fast. Tossing his sword in front of him, he rolled to his side and heaved into the grass, emptying his stomach of the meager remains from that morning’s meal. Tears ran down his face at the memory of his father, of his companions, of everyone he knew lying among the uncountable dead.

He tried to heave again, but there was nothing left to purge from his system. After a few moments, he sat back, breathing heavily, tears dropping from his face.

He could still recall every detail of the vision. And he wept as it filled his mind a second time. Shaking his head, he turned and gazed upon the monolith that was filled with the power to change the world.

No. I will not let that vision come to pass, Aiden thought. I will learn to harness my power; I will learn how to help others. I will not let that vision come to pass.

He stood, and brushed himself off. His body was still tired, and the sun was setting. He had been lost in the stone, exploring its secrets, and inside his visions for several hours.

If I head back to the village now, it will be dark by the time I get back, and the gates will be closed. True, the gates were not any inconvenience for him, but it was what they represented that he considered.

I’ll remain here tonight, and try to figure out what to do with this stone and the power it contains.

Nodding in agreement with himself, Aiden picked up his sword and then sat against the stone, settling in for the evening.

Reaching around to his back, he unstrapped the sheath and slid his sword back inside, settled it across his lap, and closed his eyes. A gentle breath escaped his lips as he wrapped himself in his own power, creating a shield of earth, air, water, and fire around himself so that he could sleep and not have to worry about anything that might happen upon him during the night.

As his mind drifted, he set his remaining conscious thoughts to his Will, and focused his power and Will upon the collected energies within the stone at his back. Tapping into those stores, he began to set his mind so he might meditate while his body slept and recovered.

Mind adrift, Aiden gathered power to his mind and soared upward and outward, intent on traveling as far as he could with the power now at his disposal.

Chapter 3

Drifting upon the winds of magic, Aiden’s mind floated, gently heading upwards towards the highest reaches his magic had previously taken him. He drifted from one unmarked spot to another, allowing his mind to wander. The higher he flew, the greater the changes, the denser the power, and the more impressive the saturation of magic everywhere he looked with his mind’s eye.

Suddenly, he was enveloped. Something wrapped itself around him, restraining every thought and movement. Terrified, angry, he sent his Will outwards, hurling his power against the invisible walls that held him fast.

You are too young to be here, little one. A soft, caressing voice spoke within his mind. It is impressive that you are here, but you are not yet ready to be up this far.

Who are you? He demanded. Who are you to restrain me like this, to confine me?

I am one who knows far better than you, mortal, the dangers that can be found up here, and the risks that would destroy the unwary. But do not worry yourself. I, and others, have been watching you, and you will be ready soon.

The magic that restrained Aiden gently loosened itself from around him, no longer restraining and controlling, but merely embracing and preventing him from going any higher.

Go back to your body, Aiden, son of Lennan. That which you rest against, let that consume your time and energy before you go back home to make your choice.

Suspicions flowed through Aiden’s mind, bringing new concerns to the fore.

Who are you? He demanded angrily. You tell me what to do and you seem to know everything about me, yet you reveal nothing about yourself.

Soft, feminine laughter filled his head. You will learn who I am in due time, young man. But now, it is not the time for you to focus on who I am. I entreat you: focus instead upon the choices that your father and the cleric of Darach have set before you. You have some time before you have to make your choice, but I would hurry, and make it soon, or else you will have it made for you.

Pressure grew above Aiden, pushing downward, pressing Aiden back to his body. He threw his Will against the invisible barrier, but even with the power that he drew from the stone, he made no progress.

Take comfort in this fact: I mean you no harm and I want only what is best for you. The voice caressed his mind for the briefest of moments. Go home, young Magus, and take the stone with you. Do not use it for wealth; that much I will tell you. You have discovered its purpose, and what it is capable of. You have the knowledge already—now make something of yourself. Take the stone with you, for you will find a need for it, eventually, but do not let its purpose or potential trouble you, for now. Forget this stone, and focus on your own strengths and abilities, so that when it is time for you to remember, you will be prepared for it. Do this, or lose what destiny you may have!

With the last command, incredible power grabbed Aiden and sent him hurtling down into his body. As his mind collided with his body, his Will shattered and his power exploded outwards. He was dimly aware of the majority