The Heartwood Chronicles

Amber half-turned her head. Both her normal and mage sights were washed in sickly yellow.

And then another sun mage leapt onto the scene; this one armored in flame, right in front of Amber. As she watched out of narrowed eyes, the armor reformed into a barrier. A dark silhouette stood in the middle of the raging inferno of colors.

It all happened in a blink of an eye.

Thousands of needles hit the barrier at once.  Amber winced as the pattern trembled from the impact, but the newcomer’s shield didn’t even waver.

“Hey, Blondie,” he didn’t turn his head. “Get out of here now. I can handle this.” The shield dropped several notches in intensity—Amber saw Needle Guy snarling his frustration through its heat shimmer.

Amber side-stepped, then stopped. “No. I won’t leave you. You jumped into this to protect me. I can’t just leave you.” Honesty compelled her add, “Besides, I’m safer with you than not. There are more sun mages out there.”

He grinned over his shoulder. “Sell-spells for hire. Hey, pretty boy,” he called to Needle Guy. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Needle Guy ground his teeth audibly. “That’s my prize, kid. Now stand aside.”

“You want her? Come get her.”

“He won’t,” Amber went unsteadily to stand right behind Kael’s shoulder. She stared at the nape of his neck and wondered how she’d miss the muscle on him, the danger of him, back at the café. Add to that, his unshielded suns seemed to be barely having to work hard. “He likes to stand back and rain blows at people.”

“Good to know. What else?”

“Suns in his wrists, one at his neck. That one’s throbbing rather fast. I think you made him angry.”

“I wonder why? I’m such a nice guy.”

“Don’t stand there admiring yourself too long,” Amber warned him. “He’s really powering up now.” And as Kael attacked, she shrieked, “Watch his right hand!”

He was already at Needle Guy’s throat. Impetuous! thought Amber as energy flowed in fiery colors all around the two figures.

“Here comes another one.” Amber swung toward the trees as a big hulk of a man burst into view. His pants were muddy, one shoe was gone. Scratches covered his face and hands.

“Where’s that witch?” Hulk roared.

And then Troi dropped, unshielding in lashes of wind that whipped Amber’s skirt and hair this way and that.

Show-off.

Hulk attacked with thick black whips; Troi parried them easily with gusts of air. Hulk was no competition—he couldn’t even shield himself. Amber squinted through the pyrotechnics of Kael’s and Needle Guy’s fight.

Doesn’t he ever listen? “Kael! Remember what I said about that hand?”

Needle Guy swung his fist at Kael’s face. Kael caught it with his left hand. “You mean this?” Unstable lines of energy covered both combatants’ arms; Needle Guy was spasming with the pain of his unfinished attack. Kael looked at him, shrugged, then jabbed his fingers into the man’s throat.

Needle Guy collapsed slowly, like some kind of sad puppet. His feet went wobbly, his knees buckled, his waist bent, his eyes rolled up. He dangled from Kael’s hand.

Amber looked at Needle Guy’s fist in Kael’s hand. The sun in his wrist twitched into dormancy, the mad crackle of power was gone.

She looked at Kael. Did he just absorb that guy’s attack?

Troi floated above the ground, hands back in his pockets. Hulk lay sprawled on the ground in front of him, mouth open, drooling.

Amber shut her own mouth and tried to look as if she saw sun mages take each other out every day and twice on Restdays. Like I said, no competition.

Kael waved his left hand at Amber. Needle Guy flopped limply from it. “Thanks for that tip, Blondie!”

Troi floated closer to Amber. “You were right about her, Kael. She’s a good pattern mage, but damn, she sucks at combat.”

It really is all over. Reaction was setting in. Every muscle yearned toward the siren call of calm, rest, oblivion.

But really, she couldn’t let that remark go unchallenged. She focused on the air currents at Troi’s feet, frowning in concentration. Let’s see what happens when I make a cut—right there.

Troi’s expression went from haughty to shocked in one thoroughly enjoyable moment. He fell onto his rear end.

“You’re a good combat mage, Troi,” Amber smiled beatifically, “but you suck at patterns.”

From far away she heard Kael shout with laughter and yell, “She got you, Troi!” but by that point all her reserves were completely exhausted.

She didn’t even remember pitching to the ground.

Read Episode 9.

Author’s Note: Another short snippet to finish out the scene. How do you find the lengths of these episodes? Too short or just right? 

Amber snapped awake.

The light above her was slanted all wrong, had taken on the mellow honeyed hue of late afternoon.

But that wasn’t what had woken her. No.

There was a disturbance in the pattern, an intrusion. Amber readied a spell on her palm, pressed it into her cloak. The material rippled as she pushed herself up.

Leaves shook and wings beat as birds took flight. Magic flared.

Amber threw herself to the side. Dark whips sizzled through the air. Most missed her by mere inches—one fell against her cloak, was dissipated in an instant.

Amber scrambled to her feet, fled through the trees. The patterns around her shifted and rippled; she couldn’t stop to read them. She sensed the presence of another pursuing her, sensed the coil and lash of the dark energy, but she was helpless to do much more than duck and keep running. Each lash that fell upon her cloak tore at the pattern woven into it.

It wouldn’t protect her much longer.

Amber dodged behind a tree, hastily wove a shadow of herself. It wasn’t much, just a fleeing thing of braided hair and grey cloak, composed of shallow pants and rapid heartbeats. Her double bolted in the opposite direction. Amber dropped to her knees and hid in the undergrowth.

Think. Think! Fear didn’t bring clarity to her, just confusion. She couldn’t meet her pursuer head-on, but she could feint and hide and confuse. There were so many patterns all around her, rich and deep and magnificent.

Drat it. I’m a pattern mage! I should be able to use these to my advantage!

The other mage out there, a cluster of magical nodes in her sight, was no longer running, but prowling. Her shadow hadn’t fooled him for long—him, because there was something masculine about that energy of his, the way it bunched and moved, like some kind of muscular predator.

Amber ground her teeth in frustration. She saw his nodes, saw his pattern, saw the way he moved through the larger web of the forest, but she could do nothing to him directly. Pattern manipulation stopped at the skin. The higher-level the living creature, the harder to manipulate. As far as Amber knew, controlling another person’s pattern was impossible.

But she could control parts of the environment.

Amber made more shadows of herself, sent them skittering in different directions. She worked the patterns around her pursuer, bleeding small nodes of energy in trees and pools to power her traps. Bunch energy lines into an ugly thorny tangle here, stretch them to razor-edge thinness there.  These bubbles would pop and zing when stepped on, and this funnel-shape would grab and suck.

Small booby traps meant only to harry, but that was all she had.

Amber wavered between her don’t-see-me spell and a protection one, then remembered the exploding construct last night, the lashing whips from earlier. Her skin prickled.

Definitely protection. These sun mages didn’t fool around. She didn’t want her charred remains to be a reminder of how fragile most people really were.

Amber stole out of her hiding place, keeping a wary eye on the sun-mage behind her. Her heart thudded madly and she wondered what her own pattern looked like right now. Fluxing with fear? Pale and sickly from her own cowardice?

I should’ve stayed home. They were right. I am not the adventurous type. She heard Rudi’s incredulous bark of laughter.  Sis, going traveling for a year? You fuss over the state of train cushions and inn bedsheets—you’d go crazy if you had to endure those for a whole year! Amber’s mouth tightened as she ran across a clearing. Even so, I’ve got a confused sun mage blundering around behind me, stepping into thorns and mysterious patches of quicksand. And I can sense another town not far ahead this way. I can survive this. I will survive this.

Then she tripped over a trailing root. As she fell, Amber thought, Oh, lovely, just—

She gasped.

Suns flared to life in a sickly yellow cluster to her left as the enemy mage dropped his shielding. A barrage of energy, shaped as tiny flashing needles, sliced over her head. Amber ducked and rolled just as a lithe figure swung into the clearing.

He sneered at her. His mouth was thin and twisted cruelly. His eyes burned a violent sickly green. “Where are you running off to, girlie? You’re still on a job for the boss, and he don’t take kindly to people leaving him with unfinished business.”

Amber said, hoarsely, “If your boss wants his five hundred coppas, you can just take them and leave. I don’t want this job.”

“Sorry, girlie.” Needle Guy moved like a snake. “It’s too late to back out now. You’re a Finder and the boss won’t let you go that easily. If you come with me now, quiet-like, you won’t suffer much. If I have to drag you back by that hair of yours, you’ll feel the boss’s rage, all right.”

Amber’s fingers clenched in her cloak. “I don’t work for scum.”

This time she was ready. As Needle Guy’s suns flashed, she threw her arm over her face.

It was still close. Needles bit deep into the cloak, sent pinpricks of pain into Amber’s skin as her patterns unraveled. She forced them back together, but in the end, she had to scramble away from that deadly hail.

Needle Guy followed her. “That’s right. You keep fighting. I can do this all day.”

So he didn’t like to close in, did he? Just liked to stand back there and throw darts around, did he? Amber reached for the pattern under his feet, tore the strands apart right there.

A small hole opened under him, just enough to trip him. He fell on his rear while Amber retreated back to the trees, gathering bunches of pattern in front of her. Be shield, be shield!

She didn’t have time to do more than a rough job. Face reddened, the fair-haired sun mage scrambled to his feet, and yelled, “That does it. I ain’t going to go easy on you, girlie! I won’t stop until I hear you scream for mercy.”

He jabbed his hands out toward her. Needles shot out, impossibly fast. Amber bunched pattern strands in front of her, twisting them this way and that, trying desperately to shield herself. Darts tore apart the strands and ripped into her cloak. Patterns disintegrated all around Amber. The needles left red pinpricks of pain as they stung against her skin.

“Had enough?” yelled Needle Guy. “Because I have lots more right here.” He made a scooping motion with his hand and the twin suns in his wrists glowed brighter.

Backed up against a tree, panting, Amber knew she could do no more. There was no more slack in the pattern of this clearing to gather up and use as a shield and she didn’t have the strength to bend the remaining strands to her will. There were no conveniently-placed nodes to drain energy from, and her mist cloak was in shreds.

Maker, if I have to die today, at least let me do with dignity.

She straightened, lifted her chin, and stared into Needle Guy’s manic eyes and contorted face. He was high off his own energy, now manifesting itself in the normal world as two spheres of gold on his hands.

“Time’s up, girlie!” Needle Guy was wrapped in pulsing yellow. The energy resolved into thousands—no, millions—of darts, poised and waiting.

Continue on to Episode 8.

Author’s Note: Amber’s reprieve was short-lived! I wonder what her mysterious erstwhile employer wants from her (yep, I haven’t figured that out yet!). I’m having fun writing her magic, though!

Sorry I missed last week! I’d originally wanted to expand this next section, but I’m swamped with school right now and didn’t get around to it. I guess I’ll save it for the next draft. 😉 Back to Amber:

 

Just… one… more… step. Cheery morning sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy as Amber staggered off the road and into the forest. Small stones turned under her foot; she tripped over a mischievously-placed root and landed on her hands and knees.

Rest. Sleep. Amber crawled to the nearest tree and curled herself into a ball at its base. The trunk was reassuringly solid against her back. Overhead, a bird trilled.

Amber tilted her head against the bark and squinted up at the light dapples. The plan had come to her in a moment of clarity as she’d walked, unnoticed in her mist cloak, down Hopeswell’s main street.

There was no way she could go back to her rented rooms. It was too dangerous to stay in Hopeswell. The combat mages she’d left behind were strong, numerous, and resourceful. If they wanted to talk to her, they’d find a way to track her down. Equally worrying was Waleem’s client, the shadowy figure behind her midnight expedition. She knew nothing about him, but he knew plenty about her.

Her name. Her whereabouts. Her abilities.

He’d devised a test for her, a test that most mages wouldn’t have had a hope of passing. But she’d been so wrapped up in her desire to show her cleverness, she’d played right into his hands. She’d revealed herself to be a pattern mage who could find things. Not just any things. She could find magical artifacts.

Amber had stood still in the street as salt-flecked drizzle pattered down upon her. She thought of that warehouse stuffed full with war constructs, magical items, and powerful spells. This was the lawless frontier after all—who knew what sort of nefarious elements were arming themselves and for what purpose?

I have to get out. Before either party found her. Rapidly, Amber had run through her options.

Not the ferry, nor the train. They’d expect that. No. I need to walk to another town and catch the train south. Go down into the peninsula, catch a boat from the very foot of Pangyria.

And so she’d gone. Didn’t stop by her rooms, left all her belongings, ignored the fact she had no supplies. She’d taken the main street all the way out of Hopeswell, and continued on it when it became just another cart-track. Dawn had brought her to the tiny village of Camarilla, but she skirted it. No, further south. Just keep walking, one foot after another.

Except this land wasn’t anything like she’d expected. The very air breathed of vastness, the forests spread out for miles, the stones and trees felt ancient. The patterns of life and magic indented the land deeply, as if carved by a knife.

This wasn’t anything like home. Not like the tiny, tidy city of Oakstown nor in any place in her home island of Ravin or any of its smaller satellites that made up the archipelago of her home country.

This was the mainland, and the wind brought snatches of unrecognized scents and never-before-seen patterns. The air tingled with the taste of wild magic.

Wild magic.

No wonder those combat mages are so strong, if this is the land they live on, the air they breathe. I thought I’d seen the mainland when I stepped on Hopeswell, but I was so wrong. Hopeswell is just another transplanted part of Ravin, whereas this—

Another bird called out, its song fierce and harsh and beautiful.

This is the real thing.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She slept.

Read Episode 7. 

Author’s Note: It’ll take me some time to get the hang of writing in episodes! I could’ve done more with this short scene, probably in terms of world building and exploring the wild magic. Something to think about for the future!

The temporary base was a seedy underground bar, clearly taken over by some sort of paramilitary group. Apparently, Winged Girl’s team was not the only one that had been out tonight. The place milled with dark-clothed people, no longer hiding the dull gold, tree-shaped insignias on their collars, high-fiving each other over the night’s multiple—and presumably successful—operations.

Most looked to be about twenty. All were stronger mages than anyone else Amber had met back on Ravin. She sat on a stool at the quieter, shadowed end of the bar, where she’d been told to wait for the unknown Master Zoya. She didn’t feel sleepy anymore, just gritty-eyed and very angry. The longer she sat, the harder and colder her anger got. Amber’s freezing again, as her brother Rudi would say, which usually led to her siblings competing against one another over who’d be the first to make her laugh.

Her brothers and sister weren’t here tonight. Just this bunch of ale-swilling strangers, pumped up on their own power.

“Hey, there, Blondie.” A tray thumped onto the counter, followed by a tankard which slopped weak ale. Kael beamed and pushed a plate toward her. “I brought you something to eat.”

I’m not blond! Amber looked at the plate and shuddered. She knew those sticky pink-frosted buns. Her stomach wasn’t ready to handle such rich food. “No, thanks, I’m not hungry.”

“I’m famished.” Kael devoured a sticky bun in two mouthfuls. He nudged the tankard toward her. “Have something to drink at least.”

Does he want me to share his ale? “I don’t think it’d be a very good idea right now.”

“True. You look awful. We didn’t scare you too much, I hope.”

No, of course not. I live for those nights when a bunch of over-powered combat mages busts through the ceiling. Amber eyed the youth. The pale feathers braided into his hair trailed behind his right ear and caught the light in delicate, pearly tones, as if they were made of mineral rather than organic material. The effect against the rest of his outfit—pants, short-sleeved tunic, vest, all in a state of dishevelment—and his general careless attitude, was incongruous.

“Hey,” said Kael between mouthfuls. Bad table manners, Amber added to her list of his flaws. “Thanks for the help with the nodes back in the warehouse. You’re a pattern mage, aren’t you?”

Amber made a noncommittal noise. Papa was a lawyer—she knew to be careful with her words. Your Honor, I can truthfully say I didn’t reply in the affirmative.

“I knew it back at the bakery. You’re the one who fixed the balance of those spells. It was giving me a horrible headache.”

Startled, Amber asked, “You saw the spells?”

“Nah, I just sensed the imbalance. I can’t do a thing about them, though.” Kael downed the ale, waved the tankard for more. “Hey, Jex, I’ll take some if you’re pouring.”

A huge shirtless man, with dark skin and more scars than Amber would’ve thought possible, grinned and poured ale out of a massive keg he held in one enormous hand.

A sun mage with pattern mage senses? This isn’t right. Even Amber hadn’t noticed that mild imbalance until she’d gone looking for it. Or else my overpowering hunger disguised it. But still—he noticed it right away. From the outside.

“That was a neat trick, getting inside the warehouse in the first place.” Kael was downright chatty. If he hadn’t been so focused on the buns, Amber might’ve thought he was interested in her. “What were you doing in there, anyway?”

“I was hired to find something. That something just happened to be in the warehouse. The fact that my timing coincided with your operation was just bad luck on my part.” Amber clenched her fingers in her mist cloak. The celebratory atmosphere in the room—the noise, the excitement, the obvious verve and vim—only served to make her feel smaller and greyer. Did sun mages re-charge themselves by leaching energy from others? There were those stories that filtered out from Serepentina, that long island nation of sun mages that had sought to conquer the known world only about a decade ago…

“Aw, don’t say that. I think it was rather good luck.” Kael winked at her.

Is this a pick-up line? thought Amber in disbelief. But he had gone back to stuffing his face with fried chicken, so it couldn’t be.

A sudden hush filled the room. Glancing over Kael’s shoulder, Amber saw several people entering. This group was composed of adults, all competent and tough-looking, silent and shielded. At the front of it strode a woman whose very presence commanded attention. She was not tall, not beautiful, but her very bearing spoke of both controlled power and an unquestioning acceptance of it.

Amber looked at the cut of the newcomer’s clothing, at the semi-uniforms of her escort, and thought, Uh-oh.

Serepentine mages. Most of whom had been kicked out of their home country and sent into exile for crimes too heinous for even that militaristic culture.

And they were here.

“Master Zoya will want to talk to you.” Kael waved a chicken leg in the woman’s direction. “And”—he grimaced—“me, too. Don’t look like that, Blondie. She’ll go easier on you than on me. You didn’t destroy half a warehouse.

“I’m not blond,” said Amber.

“Really?” He peered critically at her hair. “Looks blond to me. Maybe it’s the light.” He shrugged.

“Kael!” The winged girl, still in her ludicrous outfit, beckoned ferociously from across a nearby round table. “Stop eating and get over here.”

“In a mo, Lisette.” Kael stood up and stretched, making alarming popping noises. His power, even shielded, beat against Amber’s senses. “I’ll walk you home once Master Zoya’s done with you.” He snagged another bun and sauntered away. “Later, Blondie.” An upraised hand, and then Lisette fell on him and dragged him away.

Blondie is better than baby doll, but not by much. Amber eyed the Zoya person, now surrounded by minions reporting to her. Lisette hung at the edges, waiting her turn. Zoya obviously heard something she didn’t like; she turned and glared at someone—maybe it was Kael? Amber’s stomach dropped at the look.

That lady is bad news. And this whole group is up to its neck in something I want no part of. Time for my vanishing trick.

Amber smoothed her hands down her mist cloak, fingers trailing a pattern. Good, no one’s looking. Everyone’s watching this Zoya chew Kael out. She knotted the ties together, put the hood over her head, slipped off the stool.

Na ni no nee. You can’t see me. I’m just a puff of air. And soon I’ll disappear. Amber said the rhyme over and over in her head. This was her oldest piece of magic, one she’d discovered as a child, something she’d been able to do without even knowing how. The pattern surrounded her like a spider’s web, a faintly-gleaming grey. She walked into the shadows between the strands, and they seemed to enfold her, hiding her from view. The web glowed brighter, drawing attention away from her. The rest of the world became fuzzy and indistinct. She felt as if she moved under water.

Amber crept around the edges of the room, navigating sprawled legs, dropped packs, and protruding weapons. As she neared the door, Zoya said, low and severe, “Three reports of loud noises and one of fire. No, don’t even tell me. I know it was Kael.”

Amber couldn’t help taking a quick peek over her shoulder. Kael stood out, his presence like a twisting spire of open flame even in this room full of magical luminaries. But Zoya next to him was a dense mass of power, obsidian, mostly-hidden. Amber hunched under her cloak, trying to make herself even more unnoticeable. She had the uncomfortable feeling this Zoya would see more than she let on.

I’m just a puff of air. Amber stood by the doorway, next to a guard who was deaf and blind to her presence. There was a small twist of magic, the door opened, and another sun mage entered, stamping his boots.

And soon I’ll disappear! Amber slipped through the narrow gap before it could close, hurried up five stone steps to street level, and took in a deep breath of warm, salted Hopeswell air.

Read Episode 6 here. 

Author’s Note: Out of the frying pan and into the fire! Amber’s not having a very good night so far. I bet she wishes she’d never taken on this job! But she managed to escape–for now, at least.