Soul Mage

Four hundred and thirty-seven days. That’s what the tally marks on the wall said. At least, that’s what they had said last night. This morning, there were no tally marks.

           Jesmiar looked around his small holding cell—the prison in which he’d been kept locked up for the last four hundred and thirty-seven days. A bed slab carved into the stone wall was all he was afforded for comforts. A small grate in the corner was for his waste, and that wasn’t exactly a luxury, considering how shallow it was and how infrequently they washed it. But, it beat living in his own filth. The titanium cell door was his only escape, but he needed more strength to be able to break it open. That, or dig through the stone to the surface.

Every day for the last four hundred and thirty-seven days, Jesmiar has sapped his strength and stored it in his soul for later use. Soul mages were rare these days—if any were left alive other than him—but Jesmiar couldn’t hide who he was any longer. He needed out. Three more days and he would have been free. Three more days and he would have accrued enough power to release himself from this prison. Then he could have shared what he’d learned with the others. Souls pray he wasn’t too late. His his cell door slid open.

“It was your tally marks that gave you away,” said a tall, skinny man in a shiny silver suit. The man entered the cell and stroked the smooth stone wall where the tally marks had originally been. Those marks were illusions, by the way. But you don’t know what that is, do you? Anyway, after three hundred days of doing absolutely nothing, we assumed you weren’t hiding anything. Not a threat. Still, we kept studying. Kept looking for answers.” The man folded his arms and appraised Jesmiar with his eyes. “What were you waiting for?”

Jesmiar shrugged. “Why come taunt me now, Xima? You’ve left me here—alone—all this time, and now you decide to flap your mouth at me?”

Xima smiled, his silver suit rippling like sunlight on the rolling surf. “I thought I knew all there was to know about your kind,” he said. “But after a thousand years of near extinction, you have held on to your kind’s secrets well.”

“I’m not sure I follow your ramblings,” Jesmiar said.

Xima laughed. “Of course you don’t! Why, understanding would imply that you admit defeat, which stone mages never will.”

Jesmiar’s eyes went wide. So he doesn’t know.

Xima smiled. “Ah, I see by your expression that you’re surprised I’ve found out. You were close, but I will not allow you to imbue these walls with your powers for four hundred and fifty days. Yes, I know what that will do, so you needn’t act so surprised. Although this facility is well guarded, I don’t doubt you have other tricks up your sleeve. And so, I simply cannot allow you to continue on in this cell.”

Jesmiar didn’t know much about the stone mages—if any were even left alive—so he didn’t know if what Xima had said was true. But he feigned defeat, slumping his shoulders. “You will be transferring me, I assume?”

Xima barked a laugh. “Of course not! You will be executed immediately. Come with me.”

•••••

Jesmiar was led through stone corridors, hands bound behind his back, and two guards on each side of him. The layout was a maze, constructed in such a way so as to confuse any prisoner who tried to escape. Jesmiar had been in similar compounds, but this was by far the most elaborate. Still, the design flaw remained. The way out wasn’t through the exit, which led to a ramp which led to the surface. The way out was up. He had planned on digging his way out with his stored strength, but this would have to do.

Jesmiar burst alive, igniting his stored strength. He pulled his hands apart, breaking his hand ties. In a second, he dispatched the two guards beside him, then quickly took out the other two.

Xima whipped around, mouth agape and eyes wide. “A soul mage!” He keyed a few buttons on his wrist pad.

In a burst of speed, Jesmiar ran to the man in the suit and slammed his fist into the wrist pad. The electronics shorted with a jolt, shocking both Xima and Jesmiar. Jesmiar released his grip on the man before pounding his fist into Xima’s face. Xima fell to the floor, unconscious.

Sirens began wailing along the corridor. He looked at the fallen soldiers, then at their fallen sidearms. He made his decision in a split second. He ran.

With his added strength, he could run faster than most, but these cramped hallways wouldn’t favor him in a fire fight. For one thing, a group of soldiers firing their plasma blasters at him wouldn’t give him room to dodge. For another thing, he didn’t have his own weapon.

Should have taken one, he thought as he zipped past another corridor. He quickly shook those thoughts from his mind; he had vowed to never again hold one of those, and he would hold to that.

He ducked to the side as an explosion ate into the wall beside him, sending shards of fire-hot rock into his exposed arms, legs, and face. He glanced behind himself to see how many were chasing him. Two. He could handle two if he had to. He turned down another hallway, just missing a barrage from the soldiers chasing him. He tapped more of his stored power and raced down the corridor even faster, the walls blurring next to him. With luck, he’d be able to outrun his pursuers before they saw where he went.

He released his power as he turned down another hallway, surprising a small group of soldiers marching toward him. Without hesitating, Jesmiar tapped his power and launched himself into them. One shot at him, but Jesmiar moved too quickly for the man to be accurate. Jesmiar slammed his shoulder into the nearest man, pushing him into the other one behind him. The two stumbled to the ground as Jesmiar dropped to the floor and kicked out the legs of a third. This man shot as he fell, hitting his comrade in the shoulder. The fourth man yelled in pain and dropped his weapon. Jesmiar jumped to his feet and grabbed the man who had been shot, throwing him on the two he had first toppled.

Jesmiar left the four soldiers on the floor as he bolted further down the hallway. He turned down two more before he found what he was looking for. The hangar bay stood before him, sirens blaring and red lights flashing. Pilots stood on alert near their ships, rifles at the ready. It seemed they were ready for any scenario, and while a single person storming the hangar was one of the least likely plans to succeed, they were ready still the same.

           Half a dozen ships were exiting the hangar through the launch tube in the ceiling. Titanium hatches stayed open as multiple fighter craft blasted up into the fresh air.

           A call to his right brought everyone’s attention on him. He tapped deep within his stored powers and jumped. He soared upward and grabbed hold onto one of the catwalks fifty feet above the ground. That had used up far too much of his energy stores, but there was no way he could rush through the hangar without risking a stray blast.

           He pulled himself onto the catwalk and ran at normal speed. He should be safe from blasts from below up here. Pilots standing near their shuttles opened fire at him while a few remaining fighters took off. They would want the facility protected from outside attacks as well, so sending up fighters would be part of their plan. Now all he needed was one for himself.

           Unfortunately, it looked like all that were launching were already mobile. Only two remained. The hatches groaned as they reactivated and began to slowly close. He had to move now. The second to last fighter rose carefully through the exit. The last still hovered near the ground, waiting for its turn.

           Jesmiar jumped with normal strength, but tapped his power just before he landed on the last fighter. He slammed onto the hull in front of the cockpit. He cried out in pain as his bones shattered then quickly patched themselves back together. The pilot nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Jesmiar smiled at the pilot, then, tapping the last of his reserves, slammed his fist into the transparent aluminum silicate glass hybrid viewport. The thick glass shattered at the impact and the pilot scrambled to unholster his sidearm.

           Jesmiar reached through the shattered viewport with his other hand and pulled the pilot out, throwing him to the ground. The fighter rocked as it hovered in place. A plasma bolt took Jesmiar in the shoulder, nearly throwing him off the ship. He quickly regained his balance and swung into the cockpit, adding more cuts to his bare arms and legs.

           Blood dripped onto his inmate outfit, coloring the solid grey with streaks of bright red. He quickly took stock of the ship’s controls then, pulling on the stick in front of him, raised higher into the air toward the closing hatches. He sank into his seat as the G-force pulled on him, his ship rising faster than was safe. The air whistled through the shattered cockpit, biting into his open wounds. He made it through the first hatch, but just past the second hatch, the ship in front of him sat hovering, blocking his escape. The hatch was still closing. It was now or never. Do or die. Or die anyway if this didn’t work.

           Jesmiar pulled harder on the stick, shooting him up faster. His ship’s wings clipped the second hatch, throwing his equilibrium off balance. He careened into the waiting ship above him, sending them both crashing into the walls. The launch tube was wide enough for three fighters side by side—a precaution made for the larger ships—but that didn’t make it any easier to navigate. Still, Jesmiar continued to pull in the stick, and he slowly moved up through the tube. He rocked the stick back and forth, trying to get free of the other ship.

           There were brief moments when he had a clear escape, but the other pilot expertly repositioned their ship each time it was rolled off. He was past the second hatch, but if he couldn’t clear the tube, he was still as good as dead. He had one last shot.

           He continued to rock the ship. Then, when the other ship moved just enough that he could see the night sky from his cockpit, he slammed down on the eject button. He blasted through the canopy and past the second ship, narrowly missing being skewered by its sharp front end as it maneuvered back into place about the ship he had just abandoned.

           Jesmiar shot up above the surface, clearing it by no more than his own height. He fell back toward the launch tube, but reached out and managed to grab the edge. With an effort to hold on—his left hand still mangled and bleeding from punching out the fighter’s viewport—he hoisted himself up and rolled onto the earth.

           Free.

           He was finally free.

           He took a moment—too long of one, perhaps—to breathe and look at the sky. The blackness of space above was speckled with countless twinkling stars. Souls beyond, he thought, I’ve missed seeing this.

The sound of engines descending to his position forced him back into the present, and he got up and ran. Mountain peaks rose up in the distance, the tips frosted with white snow. He didn’t recognize the area, but he would figure this part out. He’d broken out of the high-security prison, so what was navigating some open scenery?

           The ground exploded in front of him as a fighter’s laser blast scorched the earth, sending up rock and debris in all directions. Jesmiar stumbled into the newly formed crater, grimacing as he rolled on his hurt hand. The crater wasn’t deep, nor was it wide, but it was enough to slow him down and give his pursuers an easy target.

           He scrambled out the crater and continued running. He needed to reach the mountains. That was his only hope. If he stayed out in the open much longer, he would…

           He dove to the right as a fighter unloaded a barrage of laser fire into the stop where he had just been standing. Being the small target he was, these fighters were doing an unfortunately good job at tracking him.

           The blast sent him sailing through the air. He landed on his feet, but promptly fell and rolled. He tried to stand up, but he legs screamed out in pain. He pushed through the pain and limped forward. He watched as a fighter closed the distance in front of him. Engines from his left and right warned of more incoming ships. There was no way he could survive a coordinated attack. He would be charred dust in moments. Still, Jesmiar struggled on.

           A pillar of red stone erupted from the ground in front of him, rising high into the sky and slamming into the bottom of the fighter before it could open fire on him. The fighter was sent flying, flames emanating from its engines as it spiraled into the distance.

Two more stone pillars rose up on either side of him. He instinctively dove to the ground as he covered his head with his good arm. Jesmiar didn’t see it, but he heard the two oncoming ships smash into the two pillars. The only sound he heard was the burning husks of fighters. Then, from the pillar in front of him, the stone seemed to push its way outward then to the side.

A man stood in the new opening, beckoning Jesmiar to hurry. Jesmiar didn’t need to be summoned twice. He limped the remaining twenty feet to the man, the newcomer looking anxiously from side to side and to the skies as he waited. When Jesmiar arrived, the man pulled him in to what looked to be a tunnel with unnaturally smooth walls.

“Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?” The man put his hand to the wall and the opening closed up, leaving them in darkness save for the man’s torch. Then, small flickers appeared further down the tunnel, moving closer to them.

“Thank you,” Jesmiar said. “I don’t know who you are or how you did what you did, but thank you.”

“It is nothing,” the man said. “I am Dockmathel, recruiter for the New Alliance.”

“New Alliance?” Jesmiar asked, slumping to the ground. He couldn’t move any longer. He could hardly think. He leaned his head against the stone wall. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

“You don’t have to follow,” Dockmathel said. “We’ll carry you.”

The lights came closer until Jesmiar could see it was a group of more men and women, some carrying a long plank, others carrying sacks of…something. The people gently lifted him onto the slab before taking out food from one of the sacks. They fed Jesmiar small bites of sweet fruit, then had him drink some water.

The ground shook around them. “We mustn’t linger,” Dockmathel said. “It won’t be long before they realize what has happened. Come! Let’s move.”

Four of the newcomers lifted the plank Jesmiar was on and they carried him through the tunnel.

“Who are you?” Jesmiar asked Dockmathel, who was walking beside him.

“I already told you,” he said. “I am recruiting.”

“Yes, but for what?”

“For the New Alliance,” he said, voice more stoic now than the first time he had spoken. “For a new hope that will defeat the Juggernaut Nation before they destroy our world and move on to the next one.”

“So that was them,” Jesmiar said softly. He coughed, his ribs aching with each one. When his cough finally subsided, he continued. “I learned a bit about their technology before being captured. I was held prisoner for…years. Three, I think? It was difficult to keep track, being secluded as I was. I used the meals they brought me as a way to judge the passing of time, but I’m not sure how consistent they even were with that.”

“You have been in their dungeon for eight years, son.” Dockmathel’s voice seemed sad. “At first, they thought you were a wind master, and so they broadcast your capture. But they played with you, messed with your sense of time. Used their technologies for that, I’d wager.”

“Illusions…” Jesmiar thought aloud.

“Yes, something like that would do it. But our leader recognized you for what you were. We have been trying to come up with a workable plan to break you out these past eight years, but their dungeon is too well guarded. Too much technology. You gave us the chance we needed to help when you broke out on your own. But much has happened during your time away. There have been wars between our kind and the Juggernauts.”

“Our kind?” Jesmiar asked.

“Mages,” Dockmathel said, turning to look at Jesmiar. “Stone mages, pyromancers, and hydro mages.

Jesmiar’s eyes went wide. “You mean…?”

“We are not all wiped out.” Dockmathel smiled. “Not by a long shot.”

“So we have a chance,” Jesmiar whispered.

“You’ve given us a fighting chance,” Dockmathel said. “The soul mages were the missing key.”

Jesmiar smiled. The secrets he’d uncovered wouldn’t go to waste after all.