A Summoner's Calling Read online

  “No thanks to you, you despicable nightmares.” She looks up to see the tree branch holding her backpack and blanket.-“Now, I have to climb and retrieve my things. Why couldn’t they have come down with me?” She finishes stretching her body and feeling for injuries. Satisfied, she reaches a branch to climb. Just as she begins, her stuff falls and knocks her off.

  “Well, thank you for the generous help,” she exhales, grabbing her bag and slinging it onto her back, as she sets off in a familiar direction. Once she gets to the fork in the track, she’s careful to use steppingstones to conceal her direction. At the creek, she wades through the water to quench her smell in case they use goblins to follow her. She smiles as she reaches a homey cave with a small camp accompanied by a lit fire, in front of which she hunkers down to warm herself.

  A man turns from the bench where he is crafting a stone. “You didn’t come home again yesterday.”

  “How nice for you to welcome me,” Erryn cocks an eyebrow. She’s used to Oracle’s terse manner. Trying to evade his scrutiny, she moves to put her things in their rightful places.

  “What if you got caught?” he persists, setting aside the stone he’s been working on to follow her.

  “Well, they haven’t found me in the past six months -so, I don’t think we, well I, have anything to worry about,” Erryn says, resting her back on her branch woven bed framed by stones.

  “It’s that assumption that’ll get you caught one of these days.” Oracle waves a disapproving finger at her.

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t jinx it, will you? If we don’t think about it, it won’t happen.”

  “If you didn’t think about it so much, you wouldn’t still have nightmares reminding you of your sister. Never mind the rumor of her being alive,” he says.

  “Wait, what? Where did you hear this?” Erryn redirects her attention from her sore back.

  “Oh, it’s probably just a folly rumor.” Oracle shrugs.

  “Tell me. I have to know.”

  “There are other places than just that kingdom, you know.”

  “Stop changing the subject. Where did you hear it?” Erryn gets up, going to her bench to create more arrows. If Jet’s out there; I’m going to find her. I need to be prepared.

  “My counterparts heard of a girl who fitted Jet’s description. They said she was in Storm Forest.”

  “OK, I need to go now.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Like I would know. I haven’t seen anything the whole time I’ve been out here.”

  “That’s because you don’t venture far into what’s unknown to you.”

  “Why would I? It keeps me from being caught. Plus, just because I don’t go to such areas doesn’t make me oblivious to them.”

  “Maybe next time you ought to be the one getting breakfast, then.” He holds a plate of wild mushrooms and herbs in front of her. She hesitates for a moment before grabbing the plate, sitting on a stump to scarf every mouthful.

  “Fine. I’ll go and fetch us some lunch or dinner, depending on the time I return,” Erryn says, placing the plate beside her. She returns to her work bench to sharpen the edges of the arrow points. Her fingers are occupied with her work, but her mind is devising a plan to get to Storm Forest. I don’t know anyone apart from Oracle, and he isn’t going to tell me what I need to know. I’ll have to go further afield to find out. After feathering the arrows, she checks on a curated leather strap as she creates a sling out of it.

  Oracle points to her bow, which has frayed strings. “You may want to think about restringing that or making a new one.” She takes pliable string that she has been twisted together, retting for the past week from hemp plants. While checking the strings and holding them with her nimble fingers, her mind is working overtime. Today I’ll scout more east of my range and tomorrow to the north. Therefore, I can see if I can find a village, she plots in thought.

  Satisfied with the string, she shortens it before tying secured loose loops on each end. She holds it in place with her left hand while using her right to fit the loops over both the lower and then upper grooves. Once set, she grips the belly of the bow and tests the tension. She shrugs with satisfaction of a decent bow for never being taught the craft.

  “What I’d give for a halfway decent bow, but this should do for now.” She observes after testing the tension pleased with the overall integrity.

  “I presume you’re going hunting?” he asks.

  “Yep. I got to before the sun gets much higher.” Yeah, hunting is a good excuse to see what I can find. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. She follows the path back to the thick woods. Her usual safe zones have all but been hunted out. She recalls there being not much left besides insects and small birds.

  “Well, ‘that’s because you stay in familiar areas.’ Psh, I’ll show him and find the information I need, too. Just you wait, Oracle,” she says, scrunching her nose and bobbing her head side to side, mocking his words. She pauses at the extremity of her safe zone, drawing out her bow and notching an arrow. This is unfamiliar territory, so she needs to keep a keen eye out for sudden movements.

  Her senses are heightened and her pulse races as she worries what she could run into moving away from her safe zone. Then, before too long, she hears small feet scurrying behind her. It causes her to spin around. A bush to the left of her shakes as she swears to catch sight of a dark small creature; one from her nightmares. Her heart rate accelerates, and nerves cause her hands to tremble. Then, a snicker carries to her like a faraway echo. Had she seen it or was her mind playing tricks on her?

  Osmium : Jet

  2

  Deep underground of the mountain range, Wyvern’s Maw, a young woman, is napping against a stone column in the forging town of Osmium. Her gentle snoring blows a tendril of long brown hair off her face.

  “Are you really sleeping on the job again?” The man nudges her foot, testing her awareness. Receiving no response, he shakes his head. Noticing something in the oven, he warns, “It’s going to melt.”

  “Do I really look like the type to waste material like that?” Jet opens one eye to him and stands to face the oven.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he smiles, reaching for the handle.

  “Chris, you touch that, and I’ll break your arm,” She smacks him before he grabs it. He steps back with his hands up, grabbing a pair of durable gloves that fit up to her elbows as she fastens a heavy apron.

  She reaches in with sturdy metal tongs pulling out a blade, still glowing in a rosy light from the heat. Jet places it on the nearby anvil to draw out the blade to its proper length. She returns it to the oven, reheating so she can hammer out the ridges. Once that’s done, she holds it by the core and twists the bars before she brings it over to the grinding stone. As she turns the handle, the rhythmic whir of the stone soothes her. She shapes and sharpens the point, shaping the bevel by running the blade down the stone to hone it.

  After sharpening, she returns it to the fire. She quenches it in oil before tempering. Now, it’s nearing a completed project. She adds a hilt to the tang of the blade, before placing it in a shaded pile. She imagines what it will look like once it has been to the jeweler. The mountain provides the ore for their swords as well as daily utensils. Better still, it provides the glittering gems which will adorn the hilt. Even the poorest can afford a jeweled handle.

  Chris watches her work with satisfaction. “You know you’re not supposed to be making those. Thomas would be, at the very least, cross if he knew you were building these.”

  “What that old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Anyways, since my being here, I’ve become one of the top armor smiths. You know I’ve surpassed the weapons smith under whom I studied. I’ve my own technique for interweaving metals. My blades are the strongest. Anyway, wasn’t it your idea for me to help you guys with these?” She points to mounds of weapons which are waiting to be checked.

  “Don’t get cocky. Just remember that, if not for that ‘old
man’ you wouldn’t have been allowed to learn what you have. That hardened soul normally doesn’t take in wounded strays never mind from within the Storm Forest. You’re lucky Ryan was with him.” Chris crosses his arms as if to end the conversation, but Jet know he’s teasing her.

  Two individuals arrive to speak to Chris.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” Jet sighs a greeting hoping to change the conversation.

  “Morning, Jet. Has his Greatness been entertaining himself extra early today?” The corners of Chief Grant’s lips twitch in amusement.

  “Entertaining? What do ever you mean?” Chris shrugs, playing coy.

  “If you’re asking me, I’d say he’s a bit on the cranky side today. He’s very grouchy compared to the norm,” Jet says.

  “Why am I so confused right now? Sure, gang up on poor old me.” Chris pouts.

  Jet is surprised because usually Chris would have entered the joke wholeheartedly.

  “Chief Grant, please. We mustn’t keep them waiting,” the second man interrupts.

  “Keep whom waiting?” Jet squints an eye with her head tilted perplexed.

  “Our guests. Thomas and some of his friends have come to pay us a visit,” Chief Grant replies.

  Jet feels a wave of her nerves warm her armpits and hands.

  “Oh, how delightful. Wouldn’t it be nice to show him everything you’ve accomplished so far, huh, Jet?” Chris turns to her, raising a brow and tapping his foot.

  “Sure… it’d be nice to see what the old man has been up to,” she glares back at him. Jet puts her gloves on the table after shutting the oven door and hangs up her apron beside it. She follows the tribal tattooed shaman as the chief waves them to continue without them. While walking away, Jet looks back at the chief who places his hand on Chris’s shoulder. Chris cradles his head in his hands.

  “Something the matter?” the shaman asks.

  “I don’t know, maybe. Chris is usually grateful and cherry, but his character just then was unlike him. I have a sinking feeling something is wrong,” Jet explains.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” he assures her. They turn a corner going up a set of stairs chiseled from the mountain’s stone. Others pass them and bring down more materials from the mines.

  Reaching the top of the stairs which lead to the center of Osmium, Jet can’t help but enjoy the cavern’s canopy.

  “It’s rather nice of Chris to grow massive crystals up there and replicate the stars,” Jet says. Though, she can’t help reminiscing what the sky looks like since she’s been underground for a couple of months. She wonders how the village folk cope with never seeing the sky. But then, most of them have known any different.

  In the center of Osmium sits the most majestic fountain created by talented masons. It is admired by all for its beauty since it filters sparkling water from the mountain. Beside it stands a young woman close to Jet’s youth and two older men.

  “Thomas, so good to see you,” Jet hugs one of the older men.

  Thomas holds her at arm’s length to look at her. “Hey, glad to see you’re doing well.”

  As she nods, the chief and Chris walk up. In the light of the dome’s crystals, Jet notices a darkness to Chris’s neck that wasn’t there before.

  “Ah, my dear friends. How have you been?” Chief Grant greets his guests.

  “Grant, you shadow boulder. Things are good. Work is slow but productive. You remember my close friend, Richard Banks,” Thomas shakes Grant’s hand and gestures to his friend.

  “Yes, of course. Is this lovely Ilyana? We haven’t seen you for quite some time.” The chief turns an admiring eye on her, noticing how she has gained in her beauty.

  “It is. How are you, sir?” She smiles as her eyes glance over to Chris. Jet notices a troubled look on her face.

  “Something the matter?” Chris asks.

  “Oh, no; sorry. I just couldn’t help but think that you appear to be exhausted, sir,” she waves her hands, not wanting to offend.

  “It’s nothing, I assure you. Sleep just eluded me last night, is all,” he says, stretching and rubbing his neck. Once he removes his hand from his neck, Jet sees black coursing within his veins, growing and creeping slowly up his neck. Jet looks at Ilyana and realizes that she’s seen it too. The two-stand quietly, realizing they’re the only ones to notice.

  “Shall we get to the temple and start this meeting, Chief Grant?” The shaman indicates for them to move to the temple.

  “Oh, right. Let’s carry on, shall we? Jet, if you don’t mind, can you manage the mounds of blades before they’re shipped?” Chief Grant requests, raising a brow.

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll get right on it,” Jet waves goodbye, heading off to take the opportunity to cover her work before Thomas learns of it. Returning to the smith, Jet sees the massive pile she has forged this past week. She hadn’t realized how many she’d created. I think I can see why Chris was a bit peeved with me, she thinks. Jet looks around. Seeing a group of empty barrels by the back wall and begins filling them.

  An hour goes by and Jet almost has all the blades in the barrels. Suddenly, the shaman rushes in. He grabs a column to hold himself up, taking a breath. Outside the forge, people are running. A note of panic is in the air.

  “Shaman, what’s wrong?” Jet asks, having never seen him this shaken before.

  “It’s Chris. He’s losing his mind. We need to hurry,” he says. Jet grabs a belt and holsters a blade. Sprinting out into the throng of town’s people with Shaman, they head to the fountain. Jet stops short.

  “What is that?”

  A black ink slithers through the town. Its tendrils lash out, wrapping themselves around people’s ankles. The ink infuses their blood and consumes them from the inside. Jet is horrified as it takes anyone, regardless of age.

  “What the hell is it? What’s happening to the town? How?” Jet asks, looking at the fountain.

  “I don’t know, but it’s all tied to Chris somehow,” the shaman says. The blackness converges and swells before spreading out towards the fountain. It leaves only one clear path to the temple. Then, behind Jet a rift in mid-air opens. A man steps out, entering the chaos. Upon his arrival, the shaman and Jet step away from the majestic fountain as its water transforms into the blackness.

  “Jet, the temple.” the shaman pushes Jet forward, as the mystery man chuckles.

  Although not understanding why he has a familiar presence to him, she runs. Arriving at the temple Chris, Chief Grant, Thomas, Richard, and Ilyana all exit the building. Chris’s neck has been overtaken by black veins, which now creep onto his face and his left arm.

  “We must evacuate everyone we can,” Chris’s struggles to fight against his affliction.

  “We’ll help,” Thomas and Richard offer. The chief accepts without hesitation.

  “Ilyana, stay here. Look after Chris and the shaman.” The chief turns to Richard suggesting they split up to cover more ground. The three men disappear into the confusion.

  “Hey; question. Does anyone know who this guy is?” Jet indicates the mysterious man walking up. “He just sort of popped through a portal.”

  Ilyana and the Shaman’s expressions are blank, but Chris blanches.

  “Why him of all people?” Chris’s eyes widen.

  “You know him?” Ilyana asks.

  “He’s kind of family,” Chris says, attempting to regain his strength.

  “No, it can’t be.” The shaman understands Chris’s revelation. “This is bad.”

  Chris’s skin begins to bulge, changing into something rocklike. The mystery man approaches. Jet doesn’t like the sardonic smile on the man’s face.

  “Good morning, ladies. If you’ll excuse me, I have a temple to redecorate,” he says, continuing up the steps to the temple.

  “You are not welcome here,” Chris says, trying to focus on his body while the affliction contradicts his change.

  “Really, Chris? In what kind of state are you to talk, as if you can stop me?” The man l
ooks down on him.

  “If he says your unwelcome, then I must insist you leave.” The shaman stands firm in front of the entrance.

  “You must be the shaman of the mountain men, I take it. Very well,” he says, conjuring a blackness orb and throwing it at him.

  “Shaman, no!” Jet screams.

  The orb disappears and Ilyana’s runic powers float in the air.

  “That’s not possible!” The mystery man’s eyes glitter with malevolence.

  “Oh, good, so I don’t have to explain myself. Now, I’m pretty sure this man told you to leave,” Ilyana says. In the distance, a low rumbling can be heard as the cavern wall west of the temple shakes and crumbles, resulting in a giant hole opening to the light of outside.

  “Chris, are you sure?” the shaman asks as Chris’s outstretched hand drops to dangle beside him as its petrified in stone but moveable.

  “Go,” he urges as Thomas, Richard and the chief, along with his wife and child, return.

  “What do you mean?” Jet asks.

  “Now!” Chris begs as his weight crushes some stone steps. A green light emits from within him, completing his transformation into a huge rock golem.

  “This way!” The chief urges everyone to follow as Chris bull rushes the man.

  “What’s happened to Chris?” Jet follows, confused, to Chris’s ability.

  “It’s his true form, the Colossus,” the shaman answers.

  “You won’t stop me, Colossus.” The mysterious man stands his ground, defying Chris to attack him.

  “No, I can’t, but I can give my people a chance to live, Kosmos. Even if it means my life,” he says, his voice akin to stones grating together, generating a hammer in his hand.

  “They won’t make it far. You’re already infected with my Kozrot,” Kosmos punches Chris, causing him to fly back into the temple stairs. The blackness within the town hunts everyone as they head for the exit. Its wicked grasp kills all it touches.