The Stormgatherer

by Adam Bourke

The young woman quickly summoned a wind to protect herself from the falling hail. As the wind formed a protective barrier around her, she signalled to her accomplice in their secret language. He made a subtle gesture in reply, before soaking the assailant with a torrential downpour from behind. The opponent lost concentration and her hail subsided. The young woman looked up and saw the final adversary approaching, she signalled again, to warn her friend, and then sent forth an electrical storm. Her opponent cried out as the Storm entombed him in a cage of electricity. Triumphant, the pair dissipated their magic and left the training room. Their eight bedraggled opponents followed them, defeated.

It was summer, and the trees were in bloom. The particular oak that the two were sat near was the same one they had devised the secret language under. It was their language; they had designed it years ago, back near the beginning of their learning. The training pairs were always the same, and the language was how they kept winning in the academy training rooms. None of the other students knew about it, or had one of their own. It was definitely an advantage. But it would soon be left fallow. When they finished their lives as students in a couple of weeks, their use of magic would be severely restricted. They would never work as battle partners again.

Ryndall sighed. He hated all this damn paperwork. In a way he envied the Stormgatherer. He was free to use his power, to let loose his emotions.

Unlike Ryndall. Ryndall was stuck in the office drawing graphs and tables.

He wished that for once they would let him use his powers. Perhaps a small shower. Or even just a tiny bit of cloud cover. Otherwise why bother learning it all in the first place?

He knew why he couldn’t use it, it would disrupt the ecosystem. A small shower here could result in a drought over in the Almayan Islands, or perhaps a drought in the neighbouring country of Angra. He didn’t really want to do that, but he was annoyed that he couldn’t use the training rooms, where he could affect the artificial weather systems whenever he liked.

Ryndall inhaled slowly and tried in vain to concentrate on the readout before him. Slowly his mind slipped into the past, drawn to memories of how it had all began.

The lofty towers of the Cloud Lords are windy places. There was nothing to shield the buildings from the violent gales or zephyrs of middle sky.

Despite this fact, there were still several hundreds applicants to the school of weather each solstice. The school itself was known as the Academy of Ecosorcery, part of the vast University of Magic situated in Magna, just south of the central mountains in the Lindwurm Empire. The most recent novice intake had been about four months ago, at the winter solstice. The majestic towers had then been crowned by storms of lightning and robed in snow and ice.

Traditionally the winter solstice was associated with the worst weather of the year. For an experienced Cloud Lord, or Lady, it was a natural habit to predict the weather. Rumour suggested they had just to glance at a sky to predict the next few days. In early spring then, it came as a surprise when every Lord and Lady predicted wrongly. Instead of the light showers promised by Academy of Weather, turbulent thunder crashed through the sky.

Initial investigations into the cause of the freak weather suggested that the stormy weather was magically induced, being created by some group or person. This seemingly obvious revelation caused panic all over the region, spreading to the wider empire. When the Emperor directly commanded the Cloud Lords to solve this problem all but the most uneducated wizards in the Academy of Ecosorcery were involved in the research.

It seemed that the magical lightning storms would cluster around a point, before spreading throughout the realm. When the Cloud Lords arrived at one of these points they would find it to be an empty cave. The location of these points seemed irregular, there was no pattern to them, so the location of the next storms could not be predicted.

The wizard that was causing this phenomena was now, officially, being referred to as the Stormgatherer.

As he tore himself from his ruminations his eyes slid into focus and he found himself staring at a large map on the wall. It was a toy really. A childhood pleasure. It was a thaumap. It showed the location of nearby magical activity. At home in the city it had fascinated him. He could stare at it for hours as the map glowed and dimmed. Here though, at the centre of magical learning, the map was constantly glowing with a shifting hue of red and purple. Here it was just a fancy pattern on the wall, any area on the map not a source of magic was filled a dull red by the magic sloshing out of the old school, drowning the surrounding region. As he watched the colours change, he noticed a bright swirl of magic in the south . A few minutes later the strange shape had faded away.

Ryndall sighed and turned back to his equipment, talking as he took his measurements.

“Air pressure is normal, reasonable level of cloud cover,” He muttered as he dutifully made notes twenty minutes later, “average humidity rising still, average wind force low, boredom high…”

Again the young wizard breathed deeply. He was frustrated. He needed to do something. He needed to get out of this stuffy tower. He needed some adventure. He kicked the waste paper basket under his desk. Little paper balls distributed themselves across the floor.

He jumped as the woman’s quiet, but mellifluous voice pierced the silence. It was Cloud Lady Iria, recently promoted to the position, and his best friend.

“Frustrated?” She teased, gesturing at the paper on the floor, “Or looking for something?”

Ryndall grinned. Iria always made him smile. He adored her. But she was so much better than him. He had no idea why she was friends with something as lowly as he was.

“It was an accident,” He protested, feigning hurt, “but why are you here?”

She smiled, and Ryndall’s heart leapt.

“I’m on messenger duty, I came to tell you that there’s another storm forming. Just a mile to the South. There’s a dispatch going now.”

“Oh, and here I was thinking you were here to declare your undying love for me.” He grinned, masking his heart’s desire behind the humour.

The young woman’s face lit up at the jest. Her turquoise eyes shone and her smile widened.

“Maybe next time,” She said. She winked and turned to the exit, leaving Ryndall admiring her beautiful figure and long dark hair.

Once he had managed to escape his amorous thoughts, Ryndall located the storm. It was, as Iria had said, to the south of the Cloud Towers. He knew the dispatch would not find the Stormgatherer. But he now knew how they could. The strange swirl, what appeared to be a magical signature of the storm was in the same place as the storm’s origin. The traces of magic that were a prelude to the storm would allow them to tell when and where the storms would form. It showed where the Stormgatherer would strike.

Ryndall at once set off to tell Iria, so that she could notify the Cloud Lords of the phenomenon. As he approached his friend’s room he slowed. If he didn’t tell them, this could be his chance to show them what he could do, to release his frustration, to finally use his magic. He turned and walked the other way. He slowly returned to his room.

He didn’t need to get anything ready, he wouldn’t need anything. He watched the thaumap intently. He still took his readings. He had to, otherwise people would suspect things. But every minute he anxiously glanced at his thaumap, searching intently for the strange swirl.

It took four days before he saw one close enough to get to. One had occurred before then, confirming his theory. It was however, too far away to travel to. He didn’t hesitate. He set off straight away. When Iria, still on messenger duty, came to give him notice of the storm, he was gone.

He was in fact, by this time, approaching a cave in the mountains to the north-west of the university. He had travelled quickly, needing to arrive at the mountain before the Stormgatherer vanished. He caught sight of the storm, furious purple edges spinning irregularly around the peak of the mountain, its calm eye pierced by the summit. Lightning lit the mountains, and thunder roared. He blinked in awe. Then he proceeded into the cave.

It was dark, lit occasionally by brief flashes of lightning. A strange mist played across the floor, making his intermittent shadow seem eerie. He glanced around and saw nothing. But as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a form in the blackness. Slowly the figure moved forwards. It was indeed wearing the uniform of a cloud lord, that much was obvious from the silhouette. Bright light flooded the cave, showing the Stormgatherer in all his power.

The sorcerer was old and decrepit. Wrinkles lined his pitiful face. His eyes were downcast as he stared mournfully at Ryndall, his figure bent and broken. The light faded. From the darkness he heard a weak voice pleading with him.

“Help me!” it begged pitifully, “Help me… Free me… Kill me… anything…”

“Are you the Stormgatherer?” Ryndall questioned, not being able to sound as cold as he had intended.

“It controlled me, seduced me, Oh the power!” The old man croaked, clasping at Ryndalls’ knees. “The power… help me… please…”

Ryndall instinctively stepped back from the frail magician.

“You couldn’t understand….the temptations… the power… please… help me… don’t leave me like this… help me… Fight it… the power … the power--”

The ancient man gave out a moan of despair as his body collapsed in the darkness. Before Ryndall could react however, the wizard screamed. A new light, harsh and cold, enveloped the convulsing man. A tentacle, black and scaled, tore out of the Stormgatherer’s chest. Within its grip rested the barely beating heart of the man who had just been destroyed. The heart stilled and more tentacles erupted from the body. Some burst from the chest, the wizards’ arms were pushed out of their sockets as they were replaced by the snakelike appendages. His neck tore to give way to a final demonic limb.

The Demon ripped its way out, leaving the body decimated on the ground. It was a mass of tentacles, bending and flexing, apart from a collection of gaping mouths somewhere in the centre. It advanced towards Ryndall, who stepped back in terror. When it spoke, its voice seemed to come from everywhere. Ryndall knew it wasn’t in his head; he could feel it resounding in his ears. Wherever it was coming from, it was low and menacing.

“Wizard!” it demanded.

“Who are you? What are you? What do you want?”

“Let me into your mind. Surrender to me, let me in, and I can give you everything you have ever dreamed of…”

“Why do you think I would believe you?”

The Demon seemed to pause. Then it started to change. The tentacles paled to a creamy white, and the scales melted together into a smooth complexion. The Demon began to shrink as mist rose to shroud it.

Moments later a woman stood where the Demon had been a few seconds ago. She had long, alluring red hair that fell to her calves, and sparkling blue eyes. Her dress was woven of the strange mist that filled the cavern. It whirled around the being, hugging her body and accentuating her figure. As she began to circle Ryndall, the mists of her garb were disturbed, revealing glimpses of perfect skin beneath.

“I thought you might prefer to speak to me in this, my natural form.” the Demon suggested. Her voice was now soft and honeyed. Melodious.

“I, er… Who are you?”

“I am a demon, I come from a higher dimension, you would classify me as succubus. My name would be incomprehensible to someone of this world.”

The beguiling openings in the gown were sometimes innocent, an ankle, a shoulder, but grew steadily more revealing as the Demon spoke.

“Try me.”

Ryndall didn’t hear what the demon said next. He felt it. Fire burned through his nerves, ice drenched his heart. The pain receded.

“That is a demon name?”

“That is what the language of demons is. With many different forms, demons have trouble with any unified language. We work with a physical language.”

The mist parted seductively around the Succubus’ thigh. Ryndall glanced at the exposed flesh but the vision was quickly clouded by mist again.

“Let me show you some of the more beautiful expressions of our language.”

This time pleasure tore through his body. Bliss leapt from muscle to muscle. Happiness radiated within. The feeling stopped.

“But come, it is time for you to let me into your mind.”

This time the mist cleared around the Demon’s flat abdomen, and again the view was obscured quickly. Ryndall said nothing.

“It won’t hurt, it’s a completely painless process. And afterwards, “ She smiled coyly, “You can have whatever you like. Power, money, my body, other women….”

The mists had begun to fade, the Succubus’ legs were visible, apart from her feet. Her stomach was fleetingly revealed as clouds drifted tantalizingly back and forth in front of it. Her slender arms beckoned Ryndall forwards.

“…A certain woman?” she finished.

He stumbled towards her.

“B..b..but, what about him, you killed him, w..why won’t you do that to me?” Ryndall managed to stammer, gesturing to the remains of the Stormgatherer.

“He is not important. He was weak. He tried to disobey me. You won’t do that…will you?”

She was still circling him. The parting of the fog made Ryndall gasp. He started forwards. The mists fell from the succubus entirely.

“Come to me, open your mind..”

“RYNDALL!”

A young woman was at the entrance to the cave. Her waist length dark hair neatly tied in a plait, her face contorted in fear. She wore the uniform of the Cloud Lady. The Succubus’ spell was broken.

“Iria!”

The Succubus snarled. The mists surged towards her and she grew. The black tentacles returned, striking the ceiling and walls. Small stones fell from the ceiling, until the Demon screamed. The shockwave rocked the mountain, larger boulders crashed into the ground.

The demon’s voice was the same honeyed tone, but louder, piercing.

“Woman! You think to defend him? He is worthless. You have brought about both of your deaths by coming here. You could at least have saved your own skin.”

Iria was not cowed by the vicious threats and taunts.

“What are you doing here?” She shouted up to the tentacles.

The Succubus laughed.

“I am here because this place is so easy to manipulate. The weather, the men, everything. In my realm there are laws, prisons, punishments for these actions. But here you are powerless to resist me.”

Iria beckoned Ryndall closer.

“But why the possesion? Why not turn up and wreak havoc as you are?”

“There is no fun in that. With possesion you can set whole nations against each other. If I appeared like this, who would do as I willed? Who would I be able to beguile? I am a succubus. We need men to seduce. It is our purpose.” The Succubus paused, “Besides, its so much easier to use magic through someone experienced in its use. Otherwise there is so much practice involved.”

Ryndall frowned at Iria.

“What are you doing?” he whispered to her.

She smiled and made a small gesture with her hand. Ryndall looked at her confused, but then his memory seemed to clear. He recalled using the training rooms years ago. He remembered working with his partner, he remembered a secret language. He grinned as he translated her movement.

“Distract her”

She was getting it to talk so they had time to plan. Ryndall responded in the same limited vocabulary of the language.

“Plan?”

“I don’t know, you?”

He gestured a suggestion to Iria with a subtle slashing movement. She nodded and they prepared to bring lightning down on the Demon. The demon carried on unaware.

“But possesion gives access to instant power. I can use a master’s honed skills to attack his own fellows, I take pleasure in their confusion.”

Ryndall grabbed Iria’s arm to stop her.

“Won’t work,” He struggled to find a word to describe the Demon, “She is using Storms. If Lightning works on her, she wouldn’t”

“Plan?” Iria gestured the question in reply, “Sunshine? Rainbow?”

“I can’t do that. Snow?

“Ok” she started speaking normally and addressed the demon, trying to stall their deaths. “How did you possess him though?”

“Inquisitive Pest!” The demon seethed, but then relaxed, “But I suppose you won’t survive the night. I might as well give you a one last answer. It was simple really, a brilliant method I devised myself. I seduced him as I would have seduced your friend had you not interfered. He was a young man then. I found my possession of him hugely accelerated his growth.“

Ryndall and Iria prepared to unleash their magic.

“He touched my naked body and his mind was left unguarded. I sent my flesh to another, safe, dimension. My mind settled on his. He struggled but I dominated him. He had no chance to exercise his will until the end, when I was preparing to leave him to enter a new, younger host. I brought my flesh together around my mind, resulting in his death.”

Iria nodded to Ryndall.

“That is all I will tell you. Now you will-”

A small snowflake drifted into the cave. When it landed on the Demon its scream was unbearable. The world around them shook, pain filled their minds, but still the two young people focused on their task. The Demon, in its agony moved to attack. Ryndall finished his part first. Moments later, after Iria had summoned a large enough wind he pushed her behind a fallen rock, landing clumsily on top of her. Around them the rock glowed with the fire spewing from the Demon’s maw. Voices could be vaguely heard shouting near the entrance. Ryndall didn’t notice. He suddenly had the blinding perception that he may not be alive for much longer.

He Kissed Iria.

Iria, shocked, pulled away instinctively. Ryndall looked at her, perhaps to say something, but they were distracted. The spells had worked. A blizzard swept towards the Demon. The walls around them began to crumble as the Demon thrashed around in pain. , trickles of dust streamed from the ceiling. Rocks crashed around them. Ryndall grabbed Iria’s arm and dragged her towards the entrance. He felt her stumble as a boulder crashed into her foot. A sharp stone pierced his leg, blood leapt from the wound and spattered his robes. The cold of the icy winds staunched the injury quickly, leaving a small amount of the dark fluid staining the snow.

It was enough. The Demon scented the blood and leapt towards the tiny amount on the floor. The in-built desire for blood overtook the beast’s mind and the Succubus snapped the crimson snow up in the largest of its fearsome mouths. Its scream ripped through the pair as the Demon’s language had torn through Ryndall just minutes ago. Their muscles felt like they were being lacerated, their skin slashed, their minds shredded, their lives clawed from them.

Then it was over. As the Demon’s cry faded their pain left them. Their bodies were whole. This time it was Iria who kissed Ryndall. She realised that she had been given what she had wanted, what she had ritually prayed to each of the twelve gods for, and she intended to claim it. When Iria pulled back, Ryndall smiled shyly at her and embraced her tightly.

But the mountain was still trembling above them. Iria quickly dragged Ryndall away from the remains of the Demon. As they stumbled towards the exit they heard the voices from earlier. When their sights reached the entrance they saw Cloud Lords, all of them, using basic magic to clear the entrance of fallen rocks. Whirlwinds carried some boulders away, while ice split others, and lightning reduced more to liquids. The two victors limped out of the cave as its collapse became complete. Behind them the dissolving corpse of the Demon was scattered in the wind.

As the ceremony began to draw to a close, the Dean of Ecosorcery stepped forwards.

“Lord Ryndall and Lady Iria, for your contribution to our facility, you have been appointed researchers in magical signatures. This post comes with responsibility. You must take assistants and treat them respectfully. You must not allow any personal differences to affect your research.” He paused as the young couple glanced happily at each other, “Do us proud.”