The Chronicles of Nir

29 | Farewell to Springwood

Power surged through Ben's veins, burning like fire. The magic was the strongest he had ever felt, and his muscles spasmed as panic threatened to overwhelm him.

Tallon's voice, also edged in pain, remained calm and steady as he instructed Ben.

Breathe, etali. I've got you.

Grateful for countless days of preparation for this moment, Ben obeyed, sank deeper into his concentration, and let his breath carry him.

The intensity diminished, though the power did not. Pure energy flowed through Ben's core with the force of a river current; only now, with Tallon's help, he controlled it, guiding it along the lines of the great spell.

Bran and Aeslin's voices rose as they chanted, the ancient invocation making the air ring. The moon inched towards its zenith, and at last slid into place.

Ben gasped. The jewel on his brow flared with light, weaving threads of silver through his green magic. He watched from a place somewhere outside his body as agony and ecstasy became one. If he resisted, he would break, and so he surrendered completely, trusting Tallon, Bran, and Aeslin to keep him whole.

Tallon watched with mingled awe and dread as Ben's eyes blazed green, and the veins beneath his skin glowed. As the temperature dropped, a breeze ruffled their hair and stirred the sand around them, though the spell lines remained intact. The ritual symbols shone fiercely against the night, bathing the beach in a silver glow. With so much power concentrated within the tiny confines of the circle, Tallon trembled from the sheer magnitude. He imagined the atoms of his mortal shell humming in synchrony with the spell, and wondered how much more he could withstand.

As the enchantment reached its climax, Aeislin and Bran spoke the final word in unison. A deafening silence followed, as if the universe held its breath.

Now, Ben! Tallon urged, speaking more with feeling than with words. Release it now!

A strange, detached stillness filled Ben's mind. He could see everything, and nothing; how magic infused the very fabric of matter, and non-matter; how there was no difference between himself and the sand, the air, the sea, and all that lived therein and thereupon. He could see the structure of the magic that surrounded him, comprehending it the same way he understood himself.

Releasing a shaking breath, he released his hold on the magic and ignited the catalyst.

As if a powerful detonation had been set off deep underground, the circle pulsed with each tremor of the earth. Then the spell shattered, sending wild magic forth, faster than fire as lines spread like roots across the land.

Following the magic, Ben's awareness expanded to the whole of Springwood, resonating through the spark of life in every living thing. From the tiniest creatures in the soil to the great husks of the sleeping Arboreans, for a single moment, all were connected as one.

Entangled as he was with the spell, Tallon sensed this, too, and more. Far across the wastelands to the east, Volaer awoke and stirred with restless hunger. A vast attention shifted their way, like an eye brighter than a desert sun.

This is not your path, half-elf...

Anxiety surrounded Tallon as Volaer's gaze pinned him like a fly to a spider's web, leaving him nowhere to run or hide.

He blinked, and refocused on Ben. If they could complete this spell before Volaer's influence engulfed him again, whatever happened to Tallon wouldn't matter. Even a partial restoration of the land would be a victory; with luck, the Springwood elves might someday eradicate the god's curse completely.