InuYasha Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ The Call of the Magi ❯ Magan's Destiny ( Chapter 1 )

The Call of the Magi
 The young mage collapsed weakly in the shadows of the dank hallway. His strength had been taxed to its limit from endless battle. He had fought attacking specters and death shades, legions of ghouls and demons dragged from other planes of existence. More than once, his defenses had been broken, and he felt agony tear through his body as an undead phantom sought his warm blood with claws colder than the Abyss. Struck by mace, cut by sword, even scorched by fire and lightning, his wounds grew in number and damage- but through it all, the young mage had endured. Exultation pulsed through his blood like fever. Never in his life had he been so powerful in the Magic, so close to its ecstasy.
 As he lay, rivulets of sweat and blood dripped from his face and raven hair, forming a small puddle on the floor. His breath came in shallow gasps. He spoke, his voice rasping through the silence, the words flecked with blood, " I live!" The young mage's battered body convulsed as the words were followed by bloody retching. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his knees, and, aided by his staff, he rose unsteadily to his feet. Using one hand to brace himself upon the wall, the mage slowly started down the dark hall. Darkness surrounded him, encompassed his path, hiding dangers as yet unfaced. The mage's broken lips twisted into a small smirk.
 "I, Magan Majere, son of Palin Majere, and nephew of Raistlin Majere, will have passage," he demanded, praying feverently to Paladine and Solinari that whatever lurked in the shadows would hold off. Magan heard a whisper of sound in the dark, saw with growing terror that the darkness itself began to swirl like mist. He readied a defensive spell in his mind as he slowly raised his staff. "Shirak," he whispered almost inaudibly. The crystal that topped Magan's staff burst into brilliant light, forcing even him to avert his eyes. "Behold," he screamed, "the staff of Magius!" The darkness fled, and it bore with it a demon so hideous and repulsive that Magan's hand wavered as he held the staff aloft.
 The brilliant light faded into a softer candesance as Magan wearily lowered the staff of Magius. He continued down the hall, absently caressing the staff as he had fallen in the habit the day he received it. The staff, which once belonged to his late uncle Raistlin, gleamed brightly, illuminating his path. He starred down the hall, warily studying the darkness at the end of the lights reach. He had briefly seen the chamber doors as the light had flared, before he was forced to turn away. He continued his slow pace to the hall's end.
 "There we go," he whispered softly, straining his eyes to see his destination. At the end of the hall there stood two tall, unadorned chamber doors, made of bronze. The doors stood slightly ajar, as though opened purposefully to admit him. Though the room looked magnificent, Magan suspected otherwise. He sensed a malicious presence; an eerie feeling perked his senses. He moved swiftly to the room's entrance. Before entering, Magan prepared a spell of shielding. He grimly calculated that if need be, he could cast this one spell, then maybe two others. Forcefully banishing his fears, Magan entered the chamber.
 The light from the staff of Magius reached neither the ceiling nor the walls of the immense chamber, and Magan suddenly felt vulnerable in such a large space. There would be no cover, no hiding. The air in the chamber was stifling, unnaturally warm. A breeze moved slowly through the room, though it was rank, hot, and smelled fetid. The flow of air stopped, the stink of the air hanging around Magan, making him gag. Another hot gust blew through the room, and Magan doubled over, the smell making him nauseous. The air ceased its flow, and Magan froze. This was no breeze, it was- Breath!? Magan leapt backwards, raising the staff of Magius and calling for more light.
 The staff itself seemed to recognize the presence of the beast lurking in the shadows, and burst in into a shinning radiance, revealing the long, lithe body of a black dragon of Tahkisis.
 Magan marveled as the giant black dragon stood before him. Even in the brilliant light of the staff, the dragon seemed to mix with the remaining shadows, giving no clear estimate of its size. The black scales that coated the dragon like material darkness did not reflect the staff's light. Instead, it seemed to absorb the radiance, attempting to diminish its light.
 "Welcome young one," came a deep and hideous voice. "You've come. Later than I would have expected, 'son of of Palin Majere and the nephew of Raistlin Majere," the dragon mocked, throwing his words back into his teeth. Its eyes glared brightly with its lust for death.
 "What treachery is this!?" Magan cried, as a he was suddenly filled with a fear he had never experienced before.
 "Pathetic human, do you not know what you sense? Do you not know dragonfear?" The dragon seemed to chew on the words, biting them out with deliberate ferocity. The dragon rose into the air with leisure, knowing that Magan could not stop her in his pathetic state. She began to suck in breath, preparing to bathe Magan in its powerful acid.
 NO! Magan thought frantically, I cannot die here! Magan's mind worked at a desperate speed as he stood, holding out his staff.
 "Akii esithin issani-" a blue light flashed from the ends of Magan's fingertips, "isser ellines karii izzenen-" the light encircled the dragon, and ice began to form on the dragon, hampering its flight as its wings became coated in ice. The dragon writhed and dropped to the ground, unable to fly. Bellowing in agony and pain, thinking only to destroy this human that dared challenge its power, the dragon's head reared as it prepared its breath weapon. Magan saw its intent and redirected his efforts, sinking to his knees from the effort of maintaining the spell. Layers of ice formed around the dragon's head in seconds, and her toxic flare pooled in her mouth, eating away at her own flesh. The dragon flailed about as the acid burned her insides. In a last attempt to free herself from her pain as her reptilian body became sluggish from the cold, the dragon cast a powerful mirror spell around herself- trying to reflect the mage's deadly spell at himself.
 Magan felt the dragon's power, and his exhausted mind shrank from it. His words faltered, and the spell wavered in its power. He felt a chill wind blowing about him, and fear seized him. Nausea swept through his body and his eyes were failing to focus on his target. Failure is death, the memory echoed through his mind. Magan lurched to his feet, unbalanced and shaking violently in the freezing cold. His vision wavered as he fought to remain conscious. Through the fog in his head, Magan saw the Staff of Magius glow with an unearthly incandescence. Warmth spread through his body, and he summoned his life's sustaining strength for one final spell. Magan's chanting rose above the wind, but the words were unfamiliar to him. Panic filled his mind as he tried to revert the spell to its original form. He was no longer in control, and the magic pulsed unchecked through his body. Magan screamed and lurched forward, but stumbled and fell. The power inside him was trying to escape, and he felt as if he was being ripped apart. Through the incredible pain, he felt his lips still moving, and heard his own voice chanting insanely. He spoke the final word of the spell. The awesome blast that ensued threw Magan to the chamber wall, and he fell to the floor unconscious.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 Magan awoke in terror, struggling to rise, but fell back to the floor with a cry. His head throbbed, and he felt as if all his bones had been broken. Hearing voices, Magan carefully turned his head to find two mages standing a ways to his left. One was an elf, the other a human. The elf had long, black hair, streaked with gray, and seemed aged beyond his years. Magan already knew this man; this was his teacher, wearer of the red robes and the master of the tower of high sorcery at Wayreth. The other man was dressed in black robes. Magan had never seen him before.
 "Ah," said the red robed mage. His voice held a certain familiar note, though Magan could not remember where he had heard it before.  "Magan Majere, son of Palin Majere. You had come to the tower to take the test at a very young age, as did your father." He paused and glanced meaningfully to the black robed mage, "And you have passed. Passed with exceptional skill." Magan heard the words, but his mind could not concentrate enough to understand before he slipped back into unconsciousness.
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 Magan lay on the floor, his features arranged in a look of terror as he was tormented in his dreams. He stirred in his uneasy sleep, and searing pain lanced through his body as he moved, jerking him awake. A vision of a dragon drifted through his mind, though he didn't realize it for what it was through the haze of pain and fatigue. Tentatively, Magan attempted to move his arm, and he hissed in pain as he felt as if his body had just exploded into flame. Stars erupted into his field of vision, driving all thought from his mind as he felt the darkness swirling around him once again.
 As the darkness enfolded him, Magan heard a voice, and saw the shadows being eaten away as a thick fog under the sun. The soft chanting seemed to be strangely choral, as though the speaker's lone voice was composed of many. Magan slipped into unconsciousness, the choral tone ringing softly in his ears.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 Magan woke to the sound of running water, and the smell of fresh baked bread. He noted that he rested on something very soft and warm, not the cold hard chamber floor he had fought upon.
 "Ah," came a soft voice from near his left- the voice of a young woman, not at all what he had heard in the tower. "He awakens, Master." Magan turned his head quickly to catch sight of her as she swept from the room. Too late he remembered his terrible wounds, and sucked in his breath, bracing himself for the searing pain that was to come.
 He felt nothing. Hesitantly, he clenched his fist. No pain. Magan slowly raised himself to a sitting position and drew a deep breath. He was marveling at his recovery when a man dressed in midnight-blue robes entered the room.
 "You stare at your hands as if you've never seen them before," he remarked. His voice was cold, emotionless. He seated himself in a chair that faced the bed Magan sat upon.
 "Well, I-..." Magan's voice dwindled as he studied the man before him. He could see plainly that the man's features had an almost pretty cast to them, though they were hidden in the deep shadows of his hood. He was not a large man, tall but wirey in frame. He pulled back his hood, revealing his almond shaped elvin eyes and long black hair, which became lost under his cloak. A single silver earring graced his left ear, which tapered to a gentle point. Magan was surprised to  realize he was speaking with an elf.
 "Sir," Magan started, unsure of the proper form of address for this elf that he had never seen before, "How long have I been in your keeping?" It was a safe question, Magan thought, though he burned to ask dozens more. The elf appeared amused by the question. He seemed to sense that Magan wished to know everything but what he just asked.
 "You are not in the tower of high sorcery at Weyreth, and I am not a wizard of any of the three Orders," he said rather impassively, completely ignoring Magan's question. Magan couldn't comprehend what he had just heard. He sat, suspended in the shock of his mind at the sudden revelation. "Furthermore, you will not be allowed into any of the three." The words struck Magan like a blow.
 "You-" Magan leapt up from the bed, "You lie!" he hissed at the elf, backing away from him as though he had drawn a weapon. "I passed the test! I have lived! I slew a dragon for all the gods sake!"
 "Congratulations," the elf said, smoothly interrupting Magan's outrage with his emotionless tone. "But your efforts were wasted. No one had planned to accept your skills into their Order."
 "But the test-" Magan protested angrily.  
 "Test? Trap? Hopeless struggle against unending foes? Call it what you will," the elf's cold words brought Magan up short. "I am no stranger to treachery. I myself have arranged for the unpleasant demise of several of my enemies. They left you bleeding on that chamber floor to die, Magan." The elf paused, and he seemed to consider something before continuing. "Do you not remember, Magan?" he asked, leaning closer. "They came to you. They stood over your broken body as it lay on the floor," his voice dropped to a low whisper. "And they left you there." The elf rose, standing taller than Magan, and moved toward him.
 Magan took a faltering step backwards. "Keep away from me," he grated. The elf ignored him, and reached out with his hand, touching Magan's forehead. Magan flinched from the contact.
 He was burning. A thousand memories flashed through his mind. The blur slowed, and he saw the chamber where he fought the dragon...
 A voice cut through the darkness. "Ah, Magan Majere, son of Palin Majere. You had come to the tower to take the test at a very young age, as did your uncle, Raistlin Majere." Magan saw in the darkness two men standing over a figure crumpled on the floor. The speaker, a man dressed in red robes, turned his head to the man on his left as he spoke. The other said nothing, and the red robe continued. "And you have passed," he said softly, his eyes returning once again to the bloody red robed mage on the floor. "Passed with exceptional skill."
 Magan saw well enough in the darkness to recognize whom the figure on the floor. It was himself. He recoiled from the sight of his own broken body, a bleeding wretch on the floor. He lifted his gaze to the men standing over his ruined body. They faced away from him, though he instantly knew the stance of the red robe to be his Idarolan's, his master. The black robe was unknown to him, but he could not move closer to gain a clear view.
 "There was no need for this," Idarolan said after a long pause, his red robes softly ruffling as he shook his head. "He had not needed to suffer so."
 "It was nessisary," the other figure said harshly. "The balance must be maintained. We cannot allow our petty preferences to blind us to that."
 "He wore the red robes, Relgar," Idarolan said remorsefully.
 "As his uncle did before him!" hissed the black robe called Realgar. "Tell me you did not sense his power! Tell me you did not also feel its source!" Yes, it was cruel-" he waved dismissively at the bleeding body that lay at his feet as if it were an insect- "but this boy was not one of us, Idarolan!" Relgar lowered his voice, a sudden sliver of fear coloring his tone. "He comes from a most interesting line, Idarolan. The blood of Raistlin Majere- the black robe who had power to challenge a god- is mixed with that of Palin Majere- the wizard who defeated Chaos!"
 Magan felt anger stirring in his blood. He had been lying there so close to death and his own master left him for the maggots?
 Relgar turned back to face Magan's body on the floor. With a sudden cry he staggered back, a spell of warding on his lips. "His eyes!" he cried. "See for yourself, red fool," Relgar hung back, treating Magan's broken body the same as he would a venomous snake. Idarolan peered intently into Magan's blank face, though from his position Magan could not gauge his reaction.
 "I see nothing unusual," Idarolan said with a hint of confusion in his voice. "Just the... vacant stare of the dying." Relgar made an inarticulate noise as he swept forward once more.
 "Are you blind, old one?" he asked mockingly. "They held the shape an hourglass..." his voice trailed away as he leaned closer. In swift anger he raised his hand as though to smite Magan, a burning blaze of fire erupting in his uplifted palm. Bright light flashed, blinding Magan as he watched the strange scene, and he heard the angry voice of his master.
 "You have already stolen his life from him," he said scathingly, "would you now carry his body to your Dark Mistress in pieces?" Magan's eyes had not adjusted from the sudden flare of light, but he heard movement as Relgar picked himself up from the floor. "I will have his body to be honored in proper fashion, Relgar," Idarolan continued coldly.
 "I will make allowances for your grief over the loss of your apprentice, Idarolan," Relgar said in a strained voice. "I will await your presence at the tower." Magan heard the spidery language of magic and knew Relgar had gone.
 "I am sorry, Magan," came the soft voice of his master.