Wizard Trials: Chapter 142 (Patreon)

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          Unlike the usual ice Draevin created with his cryomancy, the ice in the tower beneath him didn’t dissolve and reform so easily. It had to be negotiated with almost like it had a will of its own. He assumed that had something to do with the “piercing the veil” thing Peter had mentioned. In his mind, Draevin pictured his ice flowing across the city to form a protective dome. The ice didn’t react to Draevin’s commands. It sat there, seemingly content to stay just as it was: a giant, useless pillar of ice. “Come on,” Draevin urged the ice. “We have about five seconds to get moving or people are going to die.” The winds were already picking up, battering Draevin’s face. The roiling black clouds of the Everstorm were close; Draevin could see flashes of white peek out in spots, hinting at the true nature of the tempest that raged beneath the surface.

          Without protection, Draevin had no doubt that most of the buildings still standing in Truntstown would crumble beneath the power of that storm. He thought of his friends being ripped apart—everyone dead because he had failed. His stomach wrenched at the thought of it, at the thought of pulling Grrbraa’s broken body from the rubble.

          The ice beneath Draevin’s feet erupted into sudden motion. He was flung off, forced to catch himself on jets of steam to stop from falling out of the sky. The Everstorm was nearly upon them. Draevin’s ice rushed forward to meet it. He had no idea what it was doing. He certainly wasn’t controlling it. The glacier reached the edge of the city and began to spread into a protective dome of ice. The sound of roaring wind and crashing thunder cut out as soon as the dome closed itself, leaving in its wake an eerie silence, and an unspoken feeling of dreadful anticipation.

          Draevin let himself fall from the sky so as not to be tossed around by the winds if the dome failed to hold. He pulled up at the last second at the base of the main spire to join a random group of orc warriors and human soldiers in holding their breath, waiting to find out if they were all about to die. It seemed many of them hadn’t even bothered trying to take cover. As they all stared upward at the newly erected dome the Everstorm struck. Even though they couldn’t see it, it was evident when it happened, as a great rumble echoed across the city. For a second, Draevin thought the dome would hold, then cracks began to form on the Eastern wall facing the storm. The cracks expanded, then the dome on that side began to cave in on itself, sending sheets of ice the size of buildings crashing down. The people around Draevin scattered for cover.

          “No!” Draevin screamed. He held up his hands and seized the falling ice with his magic, forcing it to bend to his will. The ice stopped. He was in control. In defiance of the gales of wind pushing into the city, Draevin sent the broken pieces of ice back into place before the whole dome collapsed. The storm pushed back, but Draevin was determined. He strained at his ice, pushing more mana into it through his staff. Finally, he got it back in place and that same eerie silence returned to the city. Draevin stood, legs apart, arms held upright, straining with all his might to keep his dome from breaking. He felt gusts batter against it and sent his mana to reinforce those sections before cracks could form.

          The Everstorm continued to batter the dome of ice relentlessly. It didn’t weaken even for a moment, but for the time being Draevin had the strength to hold it back. Each time a crack formed, Draevin patched it with new ice he fed from his staff. Cracks formed, Draevin repaired them. More cracks formed, Draevin repaired them. He lost track of time. People around him screamed in terror or tried to talk to him in turn, but he was wholly consumed by his task of keeping the city safe.

          For a while Draevin convinced himself that he could do this, that he could single-handedly hold back a force of nature. What he realized too late was that he’d only been holding back the outside fringes of the true storm. When the heart of the Everstorm finally buffeted against the dome, there was nothing Draevin could do to stop it. A roiling darkness slammed against his ice and simply… unmade it. The heart of the storm didn’t crack Draevin’s ice, it erased it completely. He tried sending in more ice to fill in the rapidly expanding hole before the winds rushed in and leveled the city, but everything he sent was sucked in by some insatiable void. The storm Draevin had put everything into holding back came rushing in through the hole that had been burned into his defenses.

          Buildings made of solid stone were swept up and tossed around like paper bags. Draevin had to freeze his own feet to the ground just to stop himself from joining them. He looked around desperately. Where was Istven? He was supposed to step in to help, but he was nowhere to be seen. Peter had said Draevin would only need to hold out for a few minutes. Surely, Draevin reasoned, it had been at least five minutes since the storm hit. For all he could tell it might have even been five hours.

          No. Draevin looked around and saw that he was alone. Maybe Istven wasn’t even coming, maybe Sylnya couldn’t heal him enough to get him back on his feet. The important thing was that Draevin was the only thing standing between the lives of this city and complete annihilation. He couldn’t wait on someone else to come save him, he had to do it himself.

          More power. He realized what he needed was more power. Draevin opened himself to the Elder Tree like he’d only done that first time, the time it had nearly burned him out. Now wasn’t the time to be concerned about preserving his own life. His staff lit up like the sun. Draevin had to grip it with both hands to steady himself as an entity powerful enough to dominate a planet reached through him. His hands burned at the contact with the staff, but even still a river of mana blasted through his body. He couldn’t stop it, only guide it, shape it. He sent it to the hole in his dome, ordering it to fill the gap. Mountains of ice exploded out of Draevin, flying towards his wall to fill in the gap. Still, the storm pushed forward, eating his ice almost as fast as it formed.

          Narrowly, Draevin edged it out. The hole started to close, weakening the strength of the winds that had made their way inside the city. Slowly, steadily, the hole disappeared entirely. That was hardly a victory, though. Draevin could feel the storm still eating at the outside of the wall. He didn’t let up. Though it felt like trying to drink all the water in an ocean, Draevin let himself be a conduit for the Elder Tree and sent forth a torrent of ice that glittered with a strange silvery light.

          Angry mana burned at Draevin’s insides. He knew it was killing him, he wanted to stop, but he could feel the Everstorm out there, still smashing against his walls with all its rage. The moment he stopped, it would get back inside. Already Draevin’s brief lapse had probably cost lives. He committed himself to keeping up his wall until either he collapsed or the storm left. His body burned and then—more terrifyingly—went numb. There was no question in Draevin’s mind that the lack of burning pain didn’t mean the mana had stopped killing him. He could see his bones though the skin where they gripped his staff! That… seemed like a bad sign. Still, Draevin didn’t let up. Even when he started to hallucinate.

          Standing before him, Draevin saw a waking vision of Tenna he knew couldn’t be real. She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing a new flavor of stabbing pain in nerves he’d assumed had already burned out. Still Draevin fought on, screaming his defiance at the storm trying to destroy them all until his throat gave out. He gave everything he had until his very hands crumbled away to ash. Even then he didn’t stop. He still had just a tiny bit more to give. He could still hold back the storm a few more seconds. His mind was drained of anything but the will to keep his dome of ice intact.

          Draevin pushed mana through his body until his vision started to fade to black. It was too much. More than he could handle. He fell backwards, his last vision as his consciousness faded away was the very storm he’d fought so hard to stop rushing in to gleefully claim the city in his absence.

          Darkness. Endless, timeless darkness. Draevin was sure he’d died.

          “I didn’t tell him to kill himself,” Peter’s voice said from somewhere nearby. He sounded defensive.

          “We owe him our lives,” Sylnya said. “He held off the Everstorm single-handedly for three minutes! I’ve literally never heard of that being done before.”

          Draevin opened his eyes. Istven was standing over him, eyes burning with a powerful light. He practically radiated an aura of implacable strength. “Did I die?” Draevin asked.

          “I fixed you,” Istven answered simply. It wasn’t exactly an answer. “You will live.”

          Draevin sat up. “I will? I mean… I actually feel fine. Did anyone die? The storm got in. I saw it tossing buildings around.”

          “Some died,” Istven said remorselessly. “It would have been many more without your sacrifice. Thank you, Draevin.”

          Istven was unmistakably different. He looked stronger even than he had when he’d first ascended to godhood. That he was not quite too proud to say “thank you” when it was warranted seemed to Draevin like a good sign. “You’re welcome,” Draevin said. He got to his feet and looked around. Sylnya, Peter, Istven and Grrbraa were all huddled around him. Even Kot was hanging out in Sylnya’s shadow, twitching his tail and trying to get a good look at him. Around them all the buildings of Truntstown looked pristine, like they’d just been built yesterday. None of it made sense. “What happened?” Draevin asked. “How is everyone fine? How is the city not destroyed?”

          Peter volunteered an explanation as Grrbraa finally couldn’t contain himself and jumped forward to wash Draevin’s face with his tongue. “Istven hooked himself up to the PME once Sylnya got him functional enough for it,” Peter said. “He took over for you only a few seconds after you… died. He used solid shadows to blanket the city until it was safe to let the walls down.”

          “Did the Everstorm finally leave then?” Draevin asked. “What happened to the Blackroot? Was it destroyed like we hoped?”

          “No,” Istven said. “The Everstorm did not leave. It is no more.”

          “Don’t tell me… you actually killed it?” Draevin tried to wrap his head around how much power that would have required. More than the PME could produce, for sure. It would certainly explain Istven’s new aura of strength.

          Istven’s face went carefully blank at Draevin’s question. It was Peter who spoke up to answer. “Actually… it wasn’t Istven. It was eaten. It was eaten by the Blackroot. Sho’tan is dead.”

          Draevin didn’t know what to say. “I… I practically killed myself holding that thing off with everything I had… and… it wasn’t even trying to attack us. It was just nearby. What kind of power can kill something like that?”

          “You did die,” Istven corrected. “I had to make a new body for you.”

          “You what?”

          “The old one was more charcoal and ice than flesh,” Istven said, as if that explained everything.

          “What? I… what…” Draevin had a moment of disassociation as he wondered what that meant for his consciousness. Was he even really still him? He shook his head, brushing off the question. No. He still felt like him, all his memories were still intact, that was all that mattered. “Well… thanks, Istven. Thanks for saving me. Did I already say thanks?”

          “You did,” Peter confirmed. “But seriously. We need to discuss options. The Blackroot is still spreading. The Everstorm definitely damaged it, but that’s barely going to slow it down. I went up on the spire to look around and it’s red wastes as far as the eye can see. The only reason you can’t see any under your feet right now is because Truntstown was built on stone, it doesn’t seem to like stone.”

          Sylnya nodded along. “Who knows how far its spread over the horizon…” She trailed off, looking to the North. “There are some trees I’m very fond of up in Setsya,” she added.

          “Maybe… it’s not that bad?” Draevin tried to suggest. He didn’t really believe it himself but he wasn’t sure what they could possibly do about it. “If we don’t touch it, maybe we can just pretend it isn’t there. I mean, who really cares what color our dirt is anyways?”

          Peter shook his head. “No,” he said. “Even if we ignored the danger to our individual lives, it is changing the planet in ways that we can’t begin to imagine. Even assuming we didn’t care about any of that, what would we eat? It kills every plant it touches. It was bad enough when the Everstorm would come by and knock down trees by the thousands, but at least it left behind usable soil. This is worse. Much worse.”

          “So what do you suggest?” Draevin asked. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

          Peter frowned. “We could leave; find a new world to live in.”

          “And go where?” Draevin demanded.

          “No,” Istven said. “There is no running.” Everyone looked over at him. “It will consume everything. Nothing can stop it. I… I was… it was like drowning in an ocean of rage. When I touched it… I have never felt something so powerful, so…” He trailed off. His glowing eyes stared emptily into the middle distance. Sylnya put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched. “It is not a thing that can be stopped,” he finished. “It will consume all of creation one day. There is no world we can run to that will offer anything less than a brief respite. Better that we stay and learn to survive.”

          “Well,” Peter said, “the demons have managed to do it in Hell for a while, so we know it’s technically possible.”

          “I don’t want to become a demon,” Grrbraa objected, ears pulling back.

          “That isn’t what I was suggesting,” Peter tried to say.

          “Well I agree with Gerby,” Sylnya said. “You guys are all doom and gloom. Can’t we just—”

          “We cannot!” Istven shouted. Grrbraa whimpered. “If you had touched it, you would know!”

          “So what?” Draevin asked. “The world is doomed and we should just get used to it? It can’t be too late! It’s spreading, but it hasn’t consumed everything yet. There has to be something we can still do.”

          “There… might be…” Peter said slowly. All eyes turned in his direction.

          “Well?” Draevin prompted.

          “I was just… thinking. I had this dream about orcs summoning meteors from the sky a while back. I think it was some kind of—”

          “I know that power,” Sylnya volunteered. “That’s what the orcs called it: Meteor. It’s their version of umbramancy. They used the magic to grab pieces of their shattered moon and drop it on their enemies. The power was so devastating they had to ban it completely to keep their planet from dying. Is that what you’re thinking? Drop a meteor on this thing to kill it?”

          Peter shook his head. “No. That would never work. I mean, maybe it would, but we’d need to call down so many meteors that we’d kill the planet even faster. No, I was thinking of a different application altogether.”

          “What application?” Draevin asked, fearing he might like Peter’s answer less than dropping meteors.

          “Well the way I see it, a power that can call down meteors is probably capable of moving planetary bodies, so… in theory we might be able to use it to move the moon back to the orbit it used to be in. If we move it back in time, we should be able to trigger the Conflux.”

          “We can just… do that?” Draevin asked.

          Peter shrugged. “Theoretically. It was just an insane idea I was thinking about. It would be almost impossible to figure out exactly where to move the moon, but if we do it right when the Conflux would normally trigger all we’d have to do is move it into alignment to cause an eclipse. That’s where the moon used to be every year when the Conflux came, but after my wish it drifted out of orbit. If we just manually moved it back, the Conflux should trigger again.”

          “The idea is worth considering,” Istven said. He crossed his arms. “Do you think the Conflux would be powerful enough to stop the Blackroot? You saw what it did to Sho’tan.”

          “Well it was a Conflux that made the Everstorm,” Peter reminded Istven. “So it’s got a better shot of working than anything else I’ve heard suggested. And what’s more, there’s good reason to expect the Conflux might even be four times stronger than usual to make up for all the time it was away. It was a thin hope, but Draevin held onto it. He had a feeling he wasn’t the only one.

          Istven nodded curtly. “Very well. We will try it,” he said as though nobody else’s opinion on the matter was worth considering. He wasn’t wrong but Draevin was still annoyed by the implication. “When is the next window to do this?” he asked Peter.

          “Three days, twenty hours and thirteen minutes,” Peter replied confidently. The number he threw out far too precise for Draevin to believe he hadn’t been planning to convince everyone of this from the start. Still, it was the only plan they had.

          “It is settled,” Istven said. “In three days I will wield the power of the Conflux and destroy this Blackroot. We cannot stop it from eating worlds, but we can at least stop it from eating this world.”

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