Delver Magic II: Throne of Vengeance, Jeff Inlo [graded readers .TXT] 📗

her hate. Thunder clap after thunder clap resonated into one massive burst of a deafening roar. Still, the bolts of energy could not pass beyond Enin’s will. They could no more hurt him than they could strike a single building of Burbon. Each strike crashed into the hills, burned tall grass and charred dark soil, but the assault did no other damage.

Enin willed his own might upon the long line of magic. He pulled as if joined in a tug-of-war with the powers of heaven. But this was no god. This was all that was left of Yave’s crazed spirit. The rings closed tighter, shrunk until they pulled the storm clouds into one compact ball. With one last pull, the circles of energy tightened into a closed knot.

An explosion lit the sky. Enin’s white magic vanished. The clouds of the tempest broke from their restraints. They spread across the sky in all directions, but the dark purple began to bleed from their substance. They no longer surged with power, and there were no more bolts of lightning. That which remained appeared as nothing more than an approaching winter storm.

Ryson ran at full speed to the side of the wizard. The guards at the south gate barely saw him pass. He came to a complete stop to face his friend.

“Are you alright?”

Enin smiled lightly. “Slightly tired, a little empty, but no lasting damage.”

“What about Yave?”

“She is no more.”

Ryson looked deep into the clouds hanging overhead. He could no longer hear Yave’s angry threats, but the clouds would not vanish. “Could she still be up there somewhere?”

Enin shook his head. “What is left in the sky is the remnants of the storm, but what was left of Yave is gone forever.”

Ryson looked to the sky and watched the clouds spread to a more natural formation. He could no longer sense anything unnatural about the storm. Yave was indeed gone, and in truth, he felt more optimism than grief. He hoped this signified the end of the madness which took far too many innocent lives.

With these thoughts, the delver watched the skies carefully. The raging purple faded away into a softer gray. The temperature dropped as the heat of Yave’s anger no longer existed to fuel the storm. Any threat of lightning dissipated in the growing cold, and the last rumble of thunder faded off into the distance. The wind was cold, but now reassuringly light. With the anger of the storm diminished, the land lulled into the soundless bliss of dormancy.

“It sure got peaceful,” Ryson noted.

“The dormant season is a time of rest,” Enin suggested.

Ryson considered the thought. He looked to the sky and saw the light gray clouds filling the heavens. As his breath was now visible, he rubbed his hands together to warm them against the cold. He did not wish to escape the chill. He welcomed it. He also welcomed a new hope. As he earlier recalled the blessings of the harvest season, he now reminisced about the hidden joys of dormancy. He put aside his worries over goblin raids, and serps with shags. He stopped agonizing over simply surviving and considered the simple pleasures of living. Maybe the dormant season would lead to harder times, but then again, maybe not. Maybe it was as Enin said, a time of rest, a time of peace. Right now, he could not remember a more quiet time. As the frustration and gloom vanished slowly from his soul, he whispered a silent wish, a wish that was granted.

It began to snow.