The Mage's Grave

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seeing Uron about to kill him, Darek realized that he had a lot of things that he still wanted to do in life. He wanted to graduate from North Academy and leave the school to see the wider world; wanted to become a more proficient mage; wanted to serve Lord Xocion with all of his heart, soul, and strength; and maybe even get married and have kids someday.

  He would never get to do any of that now. Uron's strange black ball, apparently made from his own flesh, would undoubtedly end his life. He didn't know exactly how it would do that, but he doubted it would be painless.

  The Magical Superior was still unable to help. At this point, Darek would have been glad even for the Ghostly God's help, but that deity was obviously out for the count, too. And Darek couldn't count on any of the students or teachers from the school to help; no one knew he was even awake, much less that he was in the graveyard, facing down an enemy no one had even known existed until now.

  And Darek was still too weak to protect himself. His arms and legs felt like jelly, though they were getting better. Even if he was in his best shape and at full magical power, he doubted he would be able to defeat Uron. While he did not know Uron's full magical power—he couldn't sense it—he understood that Uron was so far above him in sheer power that he might as well be an annoying insect in Uron's ears than a real threat.

  That realization alone sapped him of much of the strength that he had managed to recover, as little as it was. He simply watched as Uron's ball grew larger and larger. It even started to bubble, like boiling water in a pot.

  Then Uron hurled the ball at him. It flew through the air straight and true, Uron's aim impeccable, directly toward Darek. The flying ball of death was coming at him at impossible-to-dodge speeds. Not that Darek had felt tempted to try.

  Without warning, Darek felt a powerful magical spike nearby. He did not have time to look for the source of the spike, however, because the ball of death exploded in midair, sending black bits and pieces flying everywhere. Darek raised his arm to avoid getting the worst of it, but he couldn't help but stare at the spot in the air where the ball had been earlier.

  “What?” said Uron in complete and utter disbelief. “How did it explode? Who did that?”

  Uron looked toward the Magical Superior and the Ghostly God, but they were still unconscious and clearly in no position to do anything. An angry frown crossed Uron's lips as he looked around the misty graveyard for whoever had blown up his ball.

  “Show yourself!” Uron shouted, his voice echoing eerily. “Or I will tear this entire school to pieces with my bare hands!”

  Then a voice spoke from somewhere within the mist. “You sound angry, Uron. Why not take a moment to cool down and think rationally about the fact that you just tried to murder an innocent mortal in cold blood?”

  This was followed by the sound of footsteps across the uneven stone path that snaked through the graveyard. It was hard to tell what direction they were coming from, especially with the odd magical spike that had completely messed up Darek's senses. It felt like a hundred gods had appeared in the graveyard all at once, but that did not make any sense to Darek until the source of the magical spike stepped out of the mist and into the general area.

  Uron hissed when he saw the being, like he was still a snake. “So the God of Martir decides to show himself after all.”

  Skimif, the being who had walked out of the mist, did not look bothered by the clear hostility in Uron's voice. He simply looked from the Magical Superior to the Ghostly God, and then looked at Darek.

  “You all right, Darek?” said Skimif. “You weren't hurt, were you?”

  Darek could not answer. He had never actually met Skimif in person before. Oh, he'd heard much about the God of Martir, of course, particularly from Mom, but actually seeing Skimif in the flesh was a completely different experience from merely hearing about him.

  It took Darek a moment to realize that Skimif was the source of that hundred god magical spike he had felt earlier. Again, he had known that Skimif was the strongest being in all of Martir, but feeling Skimif's energy levels personally was like seeing a Great Berg blizzard for the first time.

  He's generating so much power, Darek thought. How does he handle all of that? Anyone else wouldn't even be able to stand with that kind of power flowing through them. He truly is the God of Martir.

  “He's too shocked to speak,” said Uron. “Or maybe he's so dumb that he forgot how to speak. These mortals haven't shown themselves to be the brightest bunch.”

  Skimif shook his head. “You must have a very low opinion of mortals, Uron, because I know several whose intellect, creativity, and wit are a match for that of any god or goddess.”

  “And you assume I think the gods are much smarter,” said Uron. “In truth, they are quite easy to manipulate. But it doesn't matter how intelligent mortals or gods are. How did you know I was going to be here?”

  Skimif folded his muscular arms over his chest. “You haven't done a very good job of covering your tracks over the years, Uron. I've been paying attention to your presence as your power grew over the last three decades. I knew it was only a matter of time before you decided to show yourself.”

  “The Ghostly God told you he was not going to do anything wrong ever again,” said Uron with a scowl. “Why did you not believe him? I pegged you as a naïve, trusting fool who always looks for the 'best' in even the worst people.”

  “I do look for the best in others,” said Skimif, nodding. “But I am also realistic enough to know that some people are more prone to lying than others. I was aware that the Ghostly God had been lying when I confronted him on the issue, but I also knew better than to push the subject when he clearly had no respect for me or my authority.”

  “I understand most gods have no respect for you or your authority,” said Uron. “Some leader you turned out to be.”

  Skimif held out his hand. A gold scepter with a ruby topping it appeared in his hand, looking as dangerous as a sword. He swept the scepter before him like an ax.

  “The point is, I knew that the Ghostly God would try to get to the school's graveyard again,” said Skimif. “And I allowed him to do so because I didn't want him to know I was watching him. I originally intended to step in at the last possible moment and stop him before he could open the casket, but something came up and I was briefly unable to act.”

  Darek wondered what had came up that had left Skimif, of all gods, unable to intervene. There wasn't someone else like Uron running around Martir, too, was there?

  Skimif looked very tired, even slightly stricken, which might have been a clue as to what had distracted him. Whatever it had been, it must have been serious if it was bad enough to shake the God of Martir himself.

  “Luckily, I recovered just in time to save Darek,” said Skimif. Then he glanced at the unconscious Ghostly God. “I think I will need to have a long talk with the Ghostly God once this is all over.”

  Uron cracked his neck again. “You're assuming that you will live long enough to have that talk with him. Considering how I intend to destroy everything in this world—including you—I think that that is not a safe assumption to make.”

  “You're the one making unsafe assumptions around here,” said Skimif. “You're assuming that you will defeat me. You have no proof that that is even possible.”

  “The proof is in my power level,” said Uron. He gestured at his body. “The power I wield is equal to yours in every way. I may not have authority over the gods, but that does not diminish my own abilities in any way, shape, or form. It just means I do not have to worry about fools who refuse to respect my authority for no good reason.”

  “That's another unsafe assumption you just made there,” said Skimif. “You're assuming that all of the gods disrespect my authority. You couldn't be any wronger about that.”

  It was then that several more magical spikes—each appearing one after the other, almost too fast for Darek to keep track of—erupted inside the graveyard.
With each magical spike, Darek's senses were assaulted by all of the magic that was pouring in. It wasn't quite as much energy as Skimif's, but so much at once really took a toll on Darek's senses, forcing him to try to ignore the majority of it in order to avoid overloading his senses.

  As each spike faded, beings began appearing out of the mist, dozens of beings, each one completely different from the last. One looked like a scrawny old man, but his glowing body and wise appearance identified him as Nimiko, the God of Light. The one who appeared next to him was little more than a cloud of leaves that took on the form of a lion; clearly the Leaf Goddess, Goddess of Leaves.

  A deep, shuddering roar shook the ground and a second later, the head of a huge baba raga appeared out of the mist from behind the back wall of the graveyard. Its tusked mouth and thick body made the Tusked God, the God of Sea Mammals, look even more terrifying than Uron. His tongue lashed out at Uron, but he dodged it easily.

  All together, Darek counted at least twenty-five gods, not counting the Ghostly God or Skimif, but he sensed more of them hiding in the mist. The gods surrounded Uron on every side, effectively cutting off every possible escape route.

  Uron looked around at his surroundings like a trapped mouse. “I don't understand. How did you get so many gods together like this?”

  “As I said, not every god disrespects my authority,” said Skimif. He gestured at the assembled deities. “These are the gods and goddesses who chose to support me, despite my past. They believe in the importance of obeying the dictates of the Powers and the Powers dictated that I am their leader.”

  Uron's shocked expression quickly turned into a sneer. “Are you expecting me to be impressed? There are maybe fifty gods here out of the hundreds who live in Martir. If this is the best you could gather, then you truly are hurting for help.”

  “The only one who is going to be hurting around here is you,” said Skimif, pointing at his enemy. “You see, Uron, each one of these gods knows what you are planning to do and each one of the gods will do everything in his or her power to crush you like an ant. Because Martir is our world and we all live in it and are responsible for protecting it from threats like you.”

  Darek didn't see any way that Uron could get out of this situation alive. Skimif and fifty of the gods (who, interestingly enough, appeared to be evenly split between the Northern and Southern Pantheons) versus one … whatever Uron was. Uron was clearly not a being to be reckoned with, but against so many powerful opponents all working to take him down, Darek didn't see how he could possibly win.

  That thought gave Darek the strength to stand up. His knees were still weak, but in the presence of so many gods, he wanted to show that he was strong enough to stand by them and help however he could. He pulled his new wand out of his robe pocket and aimed it at Uron.

  “The only reason that my gods haven't attacked you yet is because I haven't ordered them to,” said Skimif. “They're waiting for my signal.”

  Uron's eyes darted around the area, but Darek didn't feel nervous about that. There was no way Uron could escape, nothing he could use to attack the gods, much less defeat them. He was as good as trapped and there was not a thing he could do about it.

  Then Uron looked at Skimif … and grinned. “I guess, then, that your gods will be waiting a very long time for that signal. Because you will never get to use it.”

  Uron held out his arm to his right. The Magical Superior, who was still lying on the ground (although he had been stirring like he was waking up), vanished into thin air. The next moment, the Superior appeared in Uron's hands. The fingers of Uron's right hand wrapped around the Superior's windpipe, while his right hand held the Superior's body upright.

  Skimif took a step forward, while the other gods made various sounds of disgust and annoyance. “What are you doing with the Magical Superior?”

  Uron rolled his eyes. “I see why the Powers made you the God of Martir. You are easily the slowest god of them all.”

  “Let the Superior go!” Darek shouted, causing the gods to look at him like they had forgotten he was even there. “Don't you dare harm him or I'll—”

  Uron burst out into laughter, cutting Darek off. “Ha! You, a pathetic mortal, are threatening me? The audacity is humorous and well-appreciated. Please, this is too much.”

  “I understand what he's trying to do, Skimif,” said Nimiko, who stood near Darek. “He's using the Magical Superior as a human shield.”

  “That's a little bit closer, God of Light, but not quite entirely correct,” said Uron. He tightened his grip around the Magical Superior's neck, making the headmaster choke. “I am using him as a human fortress, to allow me to ride out the siege that you gods have put me under.”

  “What nonsense,” said one of the gods, a winged woman with an eagle-like face who Darek thought was the Avian Goddess. “Why are we still standing around here waiting? Skimif, order us to attack and wipe out this fool from the face of Martir.”

  But Skimif didn't look likely to order any of the gods to do anything. He seemed to be thinking, but whatever he was thinking about must not have been good because he was frowning in frustration.

  “Skimif will never order you gods to attack me,” said Uron. “Not even if I was one step away from completely destroying this world you call home. Because he knows I will end this mortal's life if he does and innocent blood will be on his hands.”

  Skimif's silence was all the confirmation anyone needed to know that Uron's claim was accurate.

  “What will you do, then?” said Nimiko. “Just because we won't attack you doesn't mean we'll let you get away so you can complete your plans later.”

  “Nimiko is correct,” said the Avian Goddess. “We will stay here until Skimif orders us otherwise. You can't hold the Magical Superior forever.”

  Uron didn't look disturbed by the presence of so many deities all deciding to wait it out. He simply chuckled. “Interesting. We must be more similar than I thought. My plan, too, is to wait out this stalemate, although unlike you, I know it will end and when it does, I will be the last one standing.”

  “How arrogant,” said the Avian Goddess, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “What makes you think you will win?”

  Uron's eyes flickered up toward the sky. “Why ruin the surprise? You will all learn soon enough … learn, and tremble.”

  ***