Page 37 of An Archer's Redemption

There, lodged in the memories of the man, was an image of the most beautiful place I had ever seen. At first, his memory was of a small village on an island, an idyllic setting that appeared to be little more than the fond memory of a random stop in his travels, but there was somethingimportantabout this place.

I dove deeper, and memory became a vision.

I climbed a mountain.

The path at my feet flared with an odd magical glow as I took each step. I felt the island’s ever-present breeze.

I passed a simple shack, somehow knowing it was unimportant and would not impede my journey, yet understanding that it served some vital purpose. It had . . . a presence.

The mouth of a cavern gaped before me. The dim light cast by torches bearing ever-present magical flame greeted me as I stepped inside. Rough-hewn rock turned smooth and translucent, vibrant with color and light.

The tunnel opened into a massive cavern, and I froze, awestruck.

If my eyes were dazzled by the colors and light of the walkway, my senses were now overwhelmed by the tapestry of shimmering power before me. I looked down and saw a flow—no, a current—in perpetual motion beneath a glasslike surface. As I strode forward, mist swelled up from that river and reached toward my feet, as if yearning for my embrace.

Crystals encasing the walls and ceiling glowed and twinkled with a dizzying kaleidoscope of hues.

As stunning as the cavern was to my eyes, it was the intense sensation of power emanating from across the room that consumed my heart and soul.

I ascended the steps and stilled.

The mist was gentle, even playful before.

Now it raged out of the opening and engulfed me.

The hairs on my arms and neck tingled, and I arched my head backward and laughed at the ecstasy of magic’s touch.

Thirsty for more, I stretched out my hand.

The mist swirled between my fingers and parted as I neared its source below. My skin breached the surface of the river, and swells of magic tore into me. It felt like trying to hold a raging beast. Only when I relaxed and allowed the power to flow through me did its anger and fear abate.

In that moment, I knew true power.

This was nothing like the pathetic imitation of mortal power I had sought a millennium before. It was nothing like my quest for vengeance.

It was the power to destroy and the power to create.

It was the will of the gods.

It could make one a god—or goddess.

I grinned at that.

Then another memory slammed into me from the Mage’s mind.

A woman with rich, dark skin and deep brown eyes stared up through scrying water. My vision was as clear as if she stood before me. The woman’s smile was warm, her eyes sincere. Behind her, crystalline walls shimmered, though only a portion of the cavern’s majesty was in view.

The woman’s intoxicating voice resounded throughout the chamber. “. . . must help me. Atikus, you and Velius are the only ones alive with knowledge of the Well’s location—and of the Spell of Sundering now guiding its flow. For the safety of magic itself, no other can know of this place. The people of Rea Utu have stood vigil for thousands of years and remain to guard our secret, yet even they do not fully understand what it is the Keeper keeps. Only you and Velius.”

In that moment, I knew this was where I had lost my power.

Where they’dstolenit.

This was where my supposed brothers and sisters had ripped true magic from my grasp and given Gifts to the mundane people across the land.

And this was where I would seize my power once again.

Chapter 15

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