The Axe of Sundering by M. L. Forman
At the last moment, Whalen roared and pushed Alex out of the way. Alex hit the ground hard. He felt something in his side snap, and an intense pain shot through his chest.
Gaylan’s hand, already so close to Alex’s forehead, touched Whalen’s head instead.
Whalen screamed and the blackness spread down over his body, covering him completely. A flash of lightning lit up the room, temporarily blinding Alex. When he could see again, there was only a black smudge on the floor where the wizard had been.
Whalen was gone.
Gaylan cursed.
“Where is he?” Alex gasped. He tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his side kept him on his knees. “What did you do to Whalen?”
Gaylan clenched his jaw in anger. “The old fool. The spell is intended to absorb magical power, but if there is no power to absorb—or if the magic is blocked—then the spell kills. He is beyond my reach now.”
Alex’s blood ran cold. “You killed him? He’s dead?” He couldn’t imagine a world without Whalen Vankin. It was impossible.
Gaylan shrugged. “His selfless act to save you is merely a minor setback to my plan. I still have you—and the axe.” He turned toward Alex and flexed his fingers again.
Alex’s breath pulled at the pain in his side. Sweat ran down his face. He couldn’t let Gaylan touch him. “My power is my own. No one will ever take it from me.” He scrabbled away from Gaylan, crawling along the floor.
Alex needed his magic, his broken ribs were slowing him down too much, but the moment he turned his thoughts inward, he heard a clear sound, like the tolling of a bell, and Whalen’s voice ringing out, repeating the same two words over and over.
Find me. Find me.
Alex gripped the axe at his belt, and the contact with the magical weapon only seemed to strengthen the connection. The sound of Whalen’s voice rumbled through Alex’s mind and body.
Gaylan continued to advance toward Alex, unstoppable as the tide.
Whalen? Alex asked in his mind. Where are you?
I’m here. I’m here.
The sound seemed to occupy a physical presence inside Alex’s mind. He looked up at Gaylan’s scarred and cruel face, but what he saw was an image of a single golden thread shimmering in the air. Alex realized that his connection to Whalen was still intact, master to apprentice.
The back of Alex’s head hit the wall. He had crawled across the floor to the other side of the room, trying to get away, but now there was nowhere for him to go. He was trapped.
Gaylan crouched at Alex’s side. His long fingers rested on his knees. “You should be honored, you know,” he said. “Not everyone is offered such an opportunity to serve the Brotherhood.”
“I will never serve you,” Alex spat out between clenched teeth. “I’d die first.”
Gaylan raised his eyebrows. “If you insist . . .” He lifted his hand and smiled.
Alex’s eyes darted between the dark shadow gathering around Gaylan’s hand and the golden thread that only he could see. He knew his link to Whalen was mental, but perhaps, with some effort, it could be physical as well. He didn’t know if it would work, but he had to try. He would only have one chance to get it right. If he missed, and Gaylan didn’t, then Alex’s power would be drained and the Axe would be used in the service of the darkest evil Alex could imagine.
He took a deep breath, hissing at the pain in his side, and concentrated all his magic and power and will into a single point—the end of the golden thread.
Hold on, Whalen. He sent his thoughts ahead of him. I am coming.
Then he grabbed the golden thread and held on.
He felt a sudden lurch deep in his belly, and his breath was knocked out of his lungs. His bones burned and his blood began to boil. He screamed, but he couldn’t hear himself scream.
Alex opened his eyes in time to see the confused look on Gaylan’s face. Gaylan’s hand had not yet reached Alex’s skin.
Alex? Whalen’s voice reached him one last time. Alex!
He held on as the golden thread pulled him away from Gaylan and everything around him disappeared.
Alex woke in darkness. He knew that he was awake because of the pain. It felt as if he’d fallen down a long flight of stairs, hitting every step on his way down. He tried to sit up but the pain was too much, and he slumped back to the ground once more.
Where am I? he thought. How did I get here?
Even thinking hurt, but now that the questions had started there was no way to stop them. He tried again to get up and failed. All at once his body moved without his even thinking about it. He scrambled to his knees, looking around wildly. He knew he was trying to find someone, but who?
“Vankin,” Alex said softly.
Yes, Whalen Vankin should have been close by, but why? Who was Whalen Vankin? Why should he be close? Alex tried and failed to find a face in his mind, the face that went with the name Whalen Vankin. His failure troubled him. His mind wandered for a time, going completely blank, and then a new question came: an important, urgent question that he had to answer.
Who am I?
For a moment the question didn’t make sense. He thought about the answer for a long time, slowly forming the words in his mind before speaking.
“I am Alexander Taylor, adventurer, wizard, dragon lord, and . . .”
“Say it again,” a voice inside his head demanded.
“I am Alexander Taylor, adventurer, wizard, dragon lord . . .”
“Again, louder,” said the voice.
“I am,” Alex started but stopped as a new pain ripped through his brain.
“Again,” the voice demanded.
“I am Alexander Taylor, adventurer, wizard, and dragon . . .”
“Again, again, again,” the voice screamed over the growing pain.
“I am Alexander Taylor, adventurer and, and . . .”
The words came slower and the pain in his head pounded like a giant hammer every time he spoke them. Alex didn’t know why, but he had to keep repeating the words.
“I am Alexander Taylor, adventurer, wizard, dragon . . .”
Each time he said the words the pain grew. It felt like pieces of his brain were being torn away, and he put his hands on his head to try and protect himself from the pain. He continued to try to say the words, all of the words, but with each attempt he knew that something was forgotten, something was lost.
“I am Alexander Taylor . . . I am Alexander . . . I am Alex . . . I am . . .”
His mouth continued to move but there was no more sound coming out. The pain was so bad that he hardly noticed when he fell back to the ground and curled himself into a ball. Darkness closed in around him once more. When he woke again all of this would be forgotten, but there would still be one question to answer.
Out of the darkness came light, and with the light came pain. The pain was terrible, but it seemed to be fading. He moved slowly, unsure of himself and unsure of everything around him. His eyes felt out of focus, and the small lights above him were dim and seemed to be winking off and on. He reached out for them, trying to touch them or capture them in his hand, but he could not. His pain wasn’t as bad when he put his arms down, and it was easier to breathe as well. For a long time, he stood looking up at the little lights, trying to remember what they were and why they were there, but he couldn’t remember.
Eventually he noticed that the strange little lights above him were going out and staying out, but things were becoming clearer. He looked around and faced a blindingly bright light that appeared from nowhere. It confused and comforted him at the same time. He struggled toward this new light, and it grew brighter as he moved. He thought he must be getting closer to the light, because it was getting warmer. Everything he could see had changed, from darkness to gray and then to brilliant colors. The colors all had names, but he couldn’t remember what they were.
Staggering forward, too weak and worn to worry about forgotten names, he watched the bright light climb into the sky. It was warm, and it w
As the light moved higher into the sky he stopped looking at it. He touched his side once, trying to force more air into his lungs. The searing pain forced him to his knees, and it was a long while before he could get up and move forward once more. He avoided touching his side as much as he could after that, holding his arm across his chest to prevent it bumping him and bringing back the pain.
As the bright light was sinking behind him he rested for a moment, looking into the bag he was carrying. It was empty, but he felt that there should be something there, if only he could remember what it was. This bag was important, but he couldn’t remember why. The bag didn’t matter. It was light enough to carry, and its straps helped him to keep his arm from bumping his side.
Times of darkness and light passed almost unnoticed. His only thought was to keep moving; moving to where the bright light had first appeared. The dark times were worse than when the bright light was above him. There were noises in the darkness, noises of things moving around him that he could not see. They were like ghosts in his mind, reminding him of things he had forgotten and could not remember.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he reached his end. Unable to struggle forward another step, he leaned against a large object that grew out of the ground. He was finished, and whatever force had driven him to move forward for so long was gone. There was nothing now, nothing but to sit and wait for darkness to cover him. Perhaps the darkness would take away his pain, and he could finally rest.
“Are you real?”
Alex felt someone poke him in the shoulder, pulling him from the dark fog that had filled his mind.
“You are real! How did you get here?”
Alex blinked and looked around. He was leaning against a stone wall that rose up from the ground behind him. In front of him was a vast expanse of rolling hills and plains. Crouching next to him was a young man in leather armor, his face shadowed by the hood of the cloak he wore.
“Where am I?” Alex asked. His mouth felt sticky, and his body ached, as if he had walked a long way in a short amount of time.
“You’re beyond the wall,” the man said.
“The wall?” Alex repeated.
“Between the living and the dead,” the man said. “Which is impossible because I think you’re still alive. How did you manage that?”
“I’m looking for someone,” Alex managed. The pain in his side was still there, but it had lessened to a dull throb instead of a sharp stab.
“Who?” the man asked.
“I—I don’t remember,” Alex admitted. “Wait, you said we were beyond the wall?”
The man nodded and extended his hand to help Alex to his feet. “I’ve been here a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of people come here. But never anyone like you. What’s your name?”
“I—I don’t remember,” Alex said again. “Who are you?”
“Zain Blackridge.” He said it as though he expected Alex to have heard of him. He pushed back his hood, revealing a young face with blue eyes and blond hair. When Alex shook his head, without recognition, Zain’s friendly expression hardened a little.
“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I’m still trying to get my bearings.”
Zain folded his arms across his chest and looked Alex up and down. His gaze seemed to linger for a brief second on the Axe of Sundering. “You said you were looking for someone. Might that someone be a wizard?”
A memory rushed into Alex’s mind. “Yes! A wizard. Exactly.” But he still couldn’t conjure up a face to go with the memory. Was the wizard young, old? He didn’t know. He just felt that he would recognize him when he saw him.
“I suspected as much,” Zain said. “He must be someone pretty important—and powerful—to have you come looking for him in the shadowlands.”
“He’s the most powerful wizard who ever lived,” Alex said without thinking.
The friendly smile returned to Zain’s face. “That’s good to know. Can I ask—what are your plans? For when you find him?”
“I need to help him,” Alex said. “I came here to help him. To bring him back, if I can.”
Zain’s smile grew. “You sound like a good friend to have when trouble shows up.”
Alex’s memory was still shattered, but it felt like a voice was murmuring to him, low, in the back of his mind, and urging caution. Perhaps even distrust.
“You know, since I know this place probably better than anyone else, I could help you look for your friend,” Zain said.
“Be careful,” the voice in Alex’s head said again. It sounded familiar, but Alex didn’t know from where.
“How long have you been here?” Alex asked.
Zain shrugged. “Longer than I would have liked. When we find your friend, maybe you could help me too?”
“Help you? How?” Alex took a step back from Zain.
Zain licked his lips and looked down at the axe. “You know how to use that?”
Alex touched the axe and hesitated.
“Can I see it?” Zain stepped closer to Alex. “The workmanship looks incredible.”
A rush of wind blew past Alex, materializing into an old man in worn wizard’s robes. “Stop, Alex!” the wizard said. “Step away from him.”
Alex obeyed without question. Memories flooded his mind like a wildfire burning away dry grass. He put his hand to his forehead. “Whalen?” he gasped.
“Stay out of this, old man,” Zain snarled, all traces of friendliness gone from his face. “This is none of your business.”
“Actually, it is.” Whalen glanced at Alex. “Send him away, Alex. Now!”
Alex shook his head. “I don’t know how—” He could feel a well of power inside of him, but he couldn’t remember how to use it.
Whalen took his hand and the golden thread that had connected them once before appeared again. “I know the spell. You have the power. Now, banish him!”
Unknown words filled Alex’s mind and he spoke them automatically. The power obeyed his command, shooting out of his fingertips like a tornado. It swallowed Zain in a cloud of dust and carried him away.
Whalen released Alex’s hand and pulled him into an embrace. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you got my message. I wasn’t sure it would work. Gaylan didn’t touch you, did he?”
“No, well, I don’t think so. Are you dead?” Alex asked. Whalen felt real, but so much in this place was not what it appeared to be.
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter,” Whalen said. “We don’t have much time. He’ll be back soon.”
“Who was that man? Zain?”
“He is the dark wizard Gaylan hopes to free from death. He is the original founder of the Brotherhood, and if we don’t stop him, evil will overtake the known world.”
“But he is dead. He cannot cross the wall. Nothing can.”
“He could if the wall was broken.” Whalen looked at the axe at Alex’s belt. “If it was Sundered.”
Realization dawned on Alex. “This was Gaylan’s plan. To use the Axe so Zain could break free of death and return to the land of the living.”
“Yes,” Whalen said.
Alex looked at the wall beside him. The top only reached to his waist. Over it, he could see the gray lands and the rolling hills that were familiar to him from his previous trips to the wall . . . though he had never been on this side of the wall before.
“Zain must not put his hands on the axe,” Whalen said. “The wall must be protected. It must remain unbroken.”
“And the dead must stay on this side of the wall,” Alex whispered.
Whalen put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Yes. I know you want to help me, but you cannot bring me back to the land of the living without opening the way for Zain to follow. That must never happen. He must stay here.”
“I can’t leave you here,” Alex said. “You can’t be dead!”
“It is too late for me,” Whalen said. “If I had been able to access my magic, perhaps I could have stopped Gaylan another way, but at the time, I didn’t have any other choice. Dying to save you was one of the best things I have ever done with my life. I am an old man; I have lived a good life. You still have things you need to do. Adventures to go on. Knowledge to gain. People to help. Go now. Take the Axe far away from here, defeat Gaylan, and never come back here. It is the only way.”
“I won’t leave you,” Alex said.
“You must.”
“How am I even supposed to return to the other side of the wall?” Alex asked. “Climb over the top? I can’t use the Axe.”
“No, you must return the same way you arrived. By using your dragon magic.”
Alex nodded. His memories had returned and he knew the spell that would take him back to Gaylan.
“I am so proud of you, Alex. You are a fierce warrior and a powerful wizard, but most of all, you are a good man.”
Alex embraced Whalen. “Thank you,” he said. “I will never forget you.”
A gust of wind blew past the two wizards and Alex looked up. Zain had returned with a storm of his own. Power rolled off him in waves. Anger had turned his blue eyes to ice, and his cloak billowed behind him like a dark shadow.
“Give me the Axe!” Zain thundered. He strode toward Alex, his hand outstretched.
Alex pushed Whalen behind him to protect him. “Never!” Alex shouted back.
“You dare to deny me, you worthless, pitiful, embarrassing excuse for a wizard?” Zain gestured wide with his arm and a bolt of lightning shot out of the clear sky and scorched the ground inches in front of Alex’s feet. “You think you can defeat me? You can’t kill me—I’m already dead!”
Alex held his ground. He kept his hand on the Axe, determined to keep it from Zain no matter what.