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| Source: https://pixabay.com/illustrations/hands-sphere-light-fingers-magic-1835994/ |
“What kind of magic was that?”
Orville opened his eyes. Pain dug its claws into his chest, making every breath he drew an agony. The sky above him was a searing blue, interrupted only by a gust of sand that rolled over him like a fog.
Choking, he tried to sit up, but unseen hands pinned him to the ground. Unable to do anything else, he made the sign for Light with his right hand. He was certain he would suffocate, his pulse banging in his ears, his brain screaming for air. The wind billowed around him, stinging him with sand. It gusted, it wafted, and then it was still.
Light filtered through the brown air from his hand. It was only enough to illuminate the space around him, nowhere near enough to inflict damage on the unseen enemy.
And still, the hands held him down.
The sand swirled in the air like dust motes. He couldn’t feel it settling, but the visible patches of sky told him it was. “Oh, you’re awake,” a masked face appeared to the right of him, red hair dangling as a woman leaned over him. “Hi, I’m Sasha,” she clasped a wet cloth over his mouth, “Appreciate it if you don’t do the thing where you blow us up. Asiema here has been healing you all afternoon.”
Healing, of course, he should have noticed it, would have noticed it if the pain wasn’t so deafening.
“He’s not gonna blow us up with that,” Asiema popped into view as she sat up. A pink balaclava covered most of her face. “That’s just ‘Light.’”
“Sand,” Sasha called, ducking down. It drifted over to them, whisking the cloth off Orville’s mouth. Sasha seemed to remember him at the last second, snatching the cloth before it could flutter away and cramming it into Orville’s face.
”Just Light,” he thought as the cloud of sand encased him. Yes, this was the fate of a Mage who excelled at just Light; to die alone, in pain, unable to breathe in or out. In his helpless state, the words of his teachers scrolled through his head, ”Useless. Can’t even focus his own mana. If he is to have any success, he needs to learn to use a weapon.” What kind of Mage uses a weapon?
A worthless kind.
He was so full of self-loathing that he only half registered the drop in the wind and Sasha’s hand loosening his gag. ”Let’s move him . . . East,” Sasha grasped one if his arms and hoisted him off the ground.
”East! Aggggggggh!” Orville clawed at Sasha as she threaded one of her arms between his legs. ”That’s into the sandstorm!”
”Sam’s East,” Sasha started walking, pink-hooded Asiema trailing them, her black plastic medical case clasped in her arms.
”Yes! Sand’s East!” Orville panted.
”Sam and sand,” Asiema’s eyes sparkled, “and a cave.”
Orville huffed, ”A cave’d be good.” Sasha’s shoulders bit into the cuts and burns across his chest. ”My gun?”
”Asiema has it,” Sasha grunted, shifting Orville’s weight on her shoulders. ”Those people took your runes though. Did you see what they were doing with the arrows?”
“No.” Of course he had. They were shooting at him.
“The Mage was lighting them on fire, while they were in the air. It was so cool! I mean, not for you probably.”
“Yeah, it was cute until one hit me,” he wiggled, trying to find a position that was less uncomfortable.
”There were six of them. Kinda unfair, six against one,” the muscles in her bronze arms twitched, ”So much for all that ‘glory in battle’ crap. I don’t know what kind of glory comes from hiding and picking on the weak.”
”You calling me weak?”
”Yeah, you suck. Where’s your armor? And what kind of magic was that?”
”Put me down,” he couldn't take it anymore, “I don’t need armor and I don’t need your help.”
Sasha ignored him, ”You know, some teams are really strong, some are smart about their tactics, some are fast, some are stealthy. We’re not really good at any of that. The way I see it, the only thing we have on our side is the element of - ow!.”
Annoyed that she wasn’t releasing him, Orville bit her arm.
“Did you just . . . bite me?
”I said, ‘Put me down,’” Orville made the sign for Wind, cupping a hand to his mouth.
“Sasha! Drop him!” Asiema’s warning came too late. Sasha cartwheeled, pushing Orville away from her as she tumbled. He rolled down a sand dune, groaning as he came to a stop.
Sasha appeared above him, her face creased with annoyance. “Let’s start over,” she stuck out a hand, “Hi, my name is Sasha. I’m trained in Chain Arts. I’m trying to help you and if you do that again, you’ll find out what Chain Arts is.”
“I’m Orville,” he took her hand. It was calloused from training, her nails cut to the quick. “Thanks for the healing, but I’m okay now,” holding his hand up took every inch of his physical energy. At least his mana was recovering, he could feel the warm yellow buzz building in his chakras.
“That’s a dumb name, and you’re obviously not okay,” Sasha looked beyond him, towards the horizon, “We’re not okay either.”
“So I’ve been noticed,” the woman seemed to materialize out of the sand, “We tried to get you to go the other way. I mean, who would purposely walk into a sandstorm?”
“We?” Sasha’s muscles flexed, her hand hovering over the wood-handled mace clipped to her belt.
Two other figures appeared with a gust of wind. “Mages,” hissed Orville, “Wind and Earth I guess. And maybe a Healer.”
“Asiema, take care of him,” Sasha stepped over Orville, “I’ll take care of these other guys.”
He felt it before he even saw the hem of Asiema’s skirts, the blue buzz of a shield encased them, holding them in a bubble of protection. “We can’t just sit here,” Orville protested, “They’ll kill her.”
Sasha’s mace sailed through the air, chain following it like the tail of a kite. For a moment, everything was silent, then there was a roar. Sand pelted Asiema’s shield like hail. Turning his head, Orville could only make out snatches of color and movement. Outside their bubble, it was confusion.
“Drop your shield,” Orville commanded.
“But -“ Asiema protested.
“Let me out,” the pain in his body surged as Orville made his only sign that was battle-worthy.
As soon as Asiema dropped her shield, she seemed to vanish in a swirl of skirts and sand. Sand poured into his eyes, his mouth. Sand battered at his wounds. Laying as still as he could, he let it coarse over him until he was certain. Then, and only then, he released it.
Light.
Whiteness stripped away the blowing sand, the roar, the confusion. It blossomed out across the sand, a tendril of blinded shadows and searing heat.
The edges of Orville’s vision lit with starbursts, blue sky popping in and out of focus.
“You idiot, you could have killed me!” Sasha stood over him, mace in hand, “I got stupid lucky and was blown backward, but I saw what happened to those sandstorm mages and that’s not a way I want to go. What possessed you to fire straight at me?”
“I couldn’t see anything. It wasn’t like I was aiming at you personally.”
“Was that Light?” Asiema was panting, the edge of her skirt torn.
“Yeah,” Orville smiled, “Just Light.”
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Cross-posted to 12 Short Stories
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