Ascending Mage 5 Changeling Uprising: A Modern Fantasy Thriller Read online

  One day, when Elton’s mother was away visiting family, Archibald suggested a new game.

  “It’s a game Simon and I invented. We call it ‘Tin Soldier’, don’t we Simon?”

  Simon nodded slowly, his body language changing. “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll like this game, El,” Archibald said. It had been the first time anyone had ever called him ‘El.’ “You and your stepbrother are the tin soldiers. I’m the captain. I’ll pose you for battle, and you have to stay frozen in that pose, no matter what. If you move, you lose.”

  It sounded like a fun game to Elton. His stepfather would position the boys in awkward poses. They weren’t poses that any of the leaden soldiers were molded into, however. The boys were made to strip naked, as Archibald explained that’s how a proper inspection is done for toy soldiers. A proper inspection required hands-on examination by the captain.

  When Elton squirmed or resisted, Archibald bent his stepson over his lap and spanked him. That was the punishment for being a disobedient tin soldier.

  “If you disobey again, El, you’ll get the belt. Be a good tin soldier like Simon.”

  Simon was an experienced tin soldier. He never flinched, not even when the captain’s inspection became intrusive. Tin soldiers didn’t complain.

  When his mother got home, Elton tried to tell her about the Tin Soldier game. For her part, she scolded him. She said he had an overactive imagination. She told him that he was never to make such accusations, that he should be so lucky to have a father in his life, and that if he repeated such lies to others, the local constable would take him to a home for troubled children. “You wouldn’t want that, not for a second.”

  Later in life, Elton wondered how his mother could be so blind. Was she willfully ignorant? Or was she so desperate for a man in her life that she would expose her only child to the molestations of a sick, perverse mind?

  For daring to tell his mother, Elton received ten lashes from his stepfather’s belt. He didn’t receive any further gifts of toy soldiers. He convinced himself he didn’t want them, anyway.

  It became a predictable routine: Elton’s mother would go to the market or on an extended holiday to her sister’s estate, and Archibald would line the two boys up for another game of Tin Soldier. When Elton resisted or tried to hide, he received lashes from his stepfather’s belt.

  He thought about running away, but where would he go? He couldn’t tell anyone, lest they lock him up in a home for troubled children. So he endured the beatings, biding his time until he could become strong enough to deal with the problem on his own. Then, he would exact his revenge.

  Young Elton Higginbotham wouldn’t have to wait long.

  It had been two centuries since the abuse occurred. Elton had nearly forgotten about that painful memory and the consequences of his revenge.

  The last time he recalled that memory, he was being interrogated by a Grand Inquisitor. It was Will’s friend, Barnaby Harrison. In a reflexive panic, Elton withdrew his consciousness to the darkest corner of his mind. He became the Tin Soldier again, wrapped in lead alloy and watching the world around him as a detached observer.

  He hadn’t planned it—not then, nor now. But then, as now, the instinctive reaction to retreat became the very thing that saved him.

  The Inquisitor Barnaby Harrison had been unable to detect Elton’s true intentions, his machinations against the Druwish High Council in the late 1800’s. Hiding his conscious self within a deep, dark memory gave Elton the ability to hide other truths from the Inquisitor. He had accidentally created a lockbox within his mind. His reflexes bought the conspirators just enough time to successfully execute their plans, and to execute Barnaby Harrison as well.

  Hiding within that painful memory might just save him once again.

  The stranger in the soot-colored coat whispered hoarsely. “They wield magic. A spell to control others. How practical.”

  Elton felt it then: the icy blanket of the Deference Spell—his own magic—as it reversed course and flowed over him. It was different, manipulated somehow by the stranger. Elton’s Deference Spell would coat targets like an invisible shroud over their aura. It would force influence upon the target, make them utterly obedient to Elton. It was the earliest spell he had learned and he spent his life making it elegant in its effectiveness.

  This perversion of Elton’s spell was alien. In a microsecond, the stranger had somehow repulsed the Deference Spell and forced it to serve him. This corrupted magic was oily, sticky, and frigid. It flowed not only over its target but into him, too. Into Elton’s ears and eyes, into his brain.

  His consciousness sealed itself against the oily mana, like liquified tin poured into a ceramic mold. He watched with horror from the shadow of his darkest memory as his new master embedded an echo of himself into Elton’s brain.

  “They can call me Mike,” the stranger whispered. “They will tell me…everything.”

  It took Elton a moment, peering through eyes that were his but no longer belonged to him, to realize that the stranger’s lips didn’t move when he talked. The streptococcal whisper formed now directly within Elton’s head. A telepathic transmission.

  Elton listened to his own voice respond as a dispassionate echo in his mind. “I’ll tell you everything you wish to know, Mike.”

  “Yes, they will.”

  He wanted to scream, but he no longer controlled his own voice. He wanted to flee, but how could he escape what’s already inside of him? I’ve got to protect what’s important. Can’t let him know everything.

  Elton could sense it slipping through his head: long tentacles of slimy black mana coiled around and into the porous membranes of his brain. It was a sentient extension of the stranger—of Mike. Only that’s not his real name, is it? He’s not Druwish…he’s not even human.

  The oleaginous energy probed, burrowing into his memories, siphoning information like a vacuum collecting dust. Whispered questions were answered involuntarily, without hesitation.

  “Where is he? He was in this lockbox.”

  “He? We were informed that it was called the Aedynar Artifact. It was here, but there was a fight. I don’t know where it is. It may have been destroyed.”

  “Aedynar. They know of my world?”

  “We know nothing about Aedynar, nor the artifact, really.”

  “He was not destroyed. Tell me about the fight.”

  Elton’s eyes slid to the charred silhouette in the corner of the office. “A fight between mages. They destroyed one another.” He didn’t immediately know why he lied about Ember Wright. He knew she wasn’t destroyed. He wanted her dead, but this new threat was greater. If she was able to vaporize the most powerful Elementalist I knew, maybe she could take out this monster?

  “Mages. Are there many mages in this world?”

  “Not very many. Only several thousand, along with perhaps thirty thousand changelings. Together, we call ourselves Druws.”

  “Mages and shapeshifters. They hid themselves well this past decade. Were it not for this eruption of mana, they may have remained hidden.” Mike glanced at the tarp-patched ceiling. “This one was capable of summoning lightning. There are others with this capability?”

  “Elementalists, yes. The rarest of mages. Some of them can manipulate water or create fire, or direct the wind. There’s not many of them.”

  “I will meet the strongest of them. They will bring them to me.”

  “Yes, Mike.”

  The man in the soot-colored coat reached for Elton’s zaffre tiepin. “They use this to store mana?”

  “It’s a Leystone, yes. It’s a battery of sorts, extending a mage’s capacity beyond their internal limits.”

  “The source of this Leystone is nearby.”

  “The ley line. It’s in the subbasement of this building.”

  The curved scar on Mike’s right cheek flexed as his face formed a triumphant expression. His lips yet unmoving, his hoarse whisper emerged within Elton’s head. “The source of Dr
uws’ power. They will show me this ley line.”

  3

  In and Out

  If anyone would have seen her, they would be forgiven for labeling her as a crazy person.

  The woman’s slender build was hidden beneath a heavy winter coat and insulated coveralls. Golden blonde locks were tied into a tail to emerge from a knitted balaclava concealing her head. Plumes of snow and fine dust arose, swirling with each step of her Red Wings, themselves and the feet they protected experiencing their first February in North Dakota.

  Ember Wright carried on a conversation as she hiked through the rugged terrain of the Little Badlands. If anyone would have seen her, they’d see she was talking to herself.

  Fortunately, the nearest living soul was over two miles away.

  She was careful not to cross any fences, lest she stray onto a neighbor’s property. When she was fit enough to explore the territory the locals knew as the Clay Hills, Luke Farsching showed her a Stark County atlas. He pointed out the boundaries to his vast acreage with a dirty fingernail accompanied by breath reeking of Red Stag. “You’re welcome to wander anywhere within these three sections. Just avoid this quarter to the west. That’s where my worthless brother Darwin went ahead and planted his minefield.”

  Ember was sure he was joking about the landmines. Reasonably sure.

  By her best guess, she was a half mile from the border of Rudolph and Ludmilla Bayn’s farm. She had scouted this land on previous hikes and had a destination in mind.

  She avoided the drifts as much out of convenience as for safety. Narrow ravines cut their way through the clay buttes, deep enough to break a leg and trap a person should they attempt to traverse the bridges of snow.

  “Is this one solid?” Ember gestured at a snowbank with the lone ski pole she used as a walking stick.

  Her answer arrived in the form of a thin whistle of a voice only she could hear. “Um…I think so.”

  “Bloody hell, Nancy,” Ember grumbled. “Why’d I bring you along if you’re just going to guess?”

  “Because your ghost sidekick is just such great company?” A transparent azure profile floated past Ember. The ghost wore curlers in her hair and a terrycloth robe over an impossibly skinny frame. Nancy plunged into the snowbank, leaving no impression or disturbance of the physical world.

  Ember paused to sample a plastic canteen from the canvas rucksack she wore over her shoulders. The container was already becoming as much ice as water. She removed her mirrored shades long enough to wipe away the condensation using her gloves. The mage blinked at the biting cold as much as the blinding sunlight as it reflected off the landscape of pale clay and virgin snow.

  “There’s no air pockets that I can tell,” Nancy announced as her transparent figure glided through the snowbank. “I think it’s pretty solid, but you know it’s kind of tough to tell.”

  “Right. That’ll have to work.” Ember slipped the rucksack back on. She used her ski pole to test the surface of the snow ahead of her. She was light enough to walk the frozen crust without breaking through. “Sorry I snapped at you, Nancy. I’m glad to have you as my guide.”

  “Your guide,” the ghost repeated with unabashed pride. “I like the sound of that. But…remind me again where we’re going?”

  The irony wasn’t lost on Ember. “It’s a little cave I found during one of my previous hikes. It’s between two hills, near a gnarled, thorny, old tree.”

  “Oh, okay,” Nancy whistled. Seconds later she thought to add, “Um…why’re we going to a cave? Just in the mood to do some spelunking?”

  “Spelunking, yeah.” Ember allowed silence to fill in the blanks for a minute. “Not exactly. There’s something I need to do, though I don’t want to do it. I think I’m strong enough to give it a try.”

  “That’s why you’ve been out hiking these badlands so often, even in spite of the cold? To build up your strength?”

  “Right. Well, no, not exactly.” Ember reflexively ran her fingers through her hair, instead finding only the smooth surface of the balaclava. “I’ve been hiking just to get away from there. From everyone else. I can’t stay cooped up in a hole in the ground with thirty people. I’ve had a lot to think about. Seems I do my best thinking out here, alone.”

  “Not entirely alone,” Nancy said. “Then what is it that you’re strong enough to do but don’t want to do?”

  Ember shook her head. “I’ve got to go back in. In…there.”

  “In there?” Nancy’s glowing, empty eye sockets snapped toward the mage. “Not…you don’t mean into the Spirit World?”

  “The Snot Sea. The ocean of soul eggs and a not-so-friendly giant squid.” Ember shrugged the rucksack, adjusting it before ascending a steep incline of loose gravel. “We’ve done it before. We’ll do it again.”

  “We?” Nancy’s whistling voice reached a new pitch. “You barely got out with your life! Now you want to go back?”

  “No, I don’t bloody want to go back in there. I have to. I need to talk to William Roth’s spirit. I’ve just finally healed up enough that I think I can do it. It takes longer to recharge mana so far from the ley line, but I can tell I’m good enough to give it a try.”

  Nancy floated alongside. “But...why can’t you just summon the Viceroy if you need to talk to his ghost? That’s easier and safer than opening up a gate to the Spirit World, isn’t it?”

  “It would be, yeah,” Ember admitted. “But it’s been almost three months since I…dispersed him. We’ve not been able to get anything of personal connection to him. To summon him, I’d need to be near his corpse or touching a personal object of his. There’s no body, and despite Jackie’s attempts, we have no personal items.”

  “What about that photo I found?” Nancy asked. “That…old turn-of-the-century picture from the archives?”

  Ember patted the chest of her coat with a gloved hand. “I cut out the portion with Barnaby Harrison’s figure and tucked into the locket opposite of your photo. It’s in my pocket. But the rest of the photo was in my apartment in Minot, and that’s out of reach now.”

  “You’ve got Barnaby’s photo? So you can summon him if you want?”

  “Right.”

  Nancy said, “Maybe you should call him up? See what he thinks of this idea, of going back to the Spirit World?”

  “I already know what he’d say.” Ember shook her head. “He’d tell me how foolish I am and give me some sort of ominous warning of doom. I’ve already got self-doubt in spades. I don’t need anyone else shoveling it on.”

  “What did Rik say when you told him?”

  Ember walked in silence.

  Nancy floated in front of the mage. “You didn’t tell him? Then what about the others? Anna? Stephanie? The other Schmitts? Doctor Gloria?”

  Ember shook her head. The temperature around her descending even further as she walked through the ghost.

  “You didn’t tell anyone?” An azure blur swirled anxiously through the rocky landscape. “How could you tell nobody that you’re making a trip into the Spirit World? Do you have a death wish or something?”

  “They would just try to talk me out of it. It wouldn’t take much to convince me not to do this. Believe me, I remember what’s waiting for me in there.”

  “What’s so important that it’s worth risking your life for? Your soul?”

  Ember laughed humorlessly. “Where do I begin? First off, the Deputy Viceroy was kidnapped and is still missing. He’s legally the next in line to serve as Viceroy, and he’s on our side. We have no clue where he’s being held, either.”

  “How do you know he’s alive?”

  “I’ve got his Gibson mandolin.”

  “A mandolin?”

  “It’s a type of guitar, yeah.” Ember sucked in frigid air through the knitted balaclava as she climbed. “Geoff’s prized possession. There’s a strong bond between it and him, so if he was dead, I’d be able to summon him easily using it. But I’ve not been able to, though I give it a go daily. Ergo, Geoff Shad
bolt is still alive—wherever he is.”

  “And you think William Roth knows where the Deputy Viceroy is being held.”

  Ember nodded. “I should think so. And even if he doesn’t, he has all manner of other vital info. He can name his co-conspirators. What they’ve done, what they’re planning to do. Everything.”

  “And you think he’ll just give you all that?”

  “I’ll force him to, yeah.” Ember tightened her gloved fist around the ski pole.

  “Can you, though?” The ghost’s hair curlers shook silently with her head. “Douglas Demorrett wasn’t very cooperative after you brought him back.”

  Ember chewed her lip, tasting the dampness of the face cover. “I know. I’m hoping I can hold William’s spirit long enough to get the answers we need. Geoff’s location. Names and what they have planned. If we can get at least that much, it would make all the difference in bringing them down.”

  “But…this is so risky.”

  “I know. You’ve got to understand, we’re at a stalemate, Nancy. Time is on their side, not ours.” Ember paused long enough to look at a ring of grey-blue hills two miles back. “My friends are crammed in Luke’s underground shelter back there. Every day, they wake up wondering if today’s the day the bad guys find us. Every day, they wonder if they were rescued from one prison only to find themselves in another. Eventually, something will give. If we sit tight and do nothing, Elton and his goons will find us.”

  An ancient, winter dormant Russian olive stubbornly made its home high in a saddle between two rounded peaks. With only bentonite, gravel, and some gold-colored sand, the scrubby tree drew Ember’s attention when she first discovered it on an earlier hike. She returned to it several times to plan and consider what she now, finally, was about to do.

  With gloved hands, the mage touched the scaly grey bark of the thorny tree. She slipped the rucksack off her shoulders, letting it drop on the bald arch of clay. Two yards downslope from the tree was a narrow chasm cut into the bentonite by generations of rain. “This is it.”