Free The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) by Sam Ferguson Page A

land, but I wanted revenge more,” he said sourly. “Because of him my father is dead.”
    The voice laughed and mocked him from the darkness. “Oh, but you have it all backwards, my dear Eldrik, your father is dead because of you.”
    “That is NOT my name!” Aparen shouted. “I had nothing to do with my father’s death. He was slain on the battle field, all over a squabble started because of Erik.”
    “No, youngling, your father died in an alleyway betrayed by a dagger held in his son’s own hand.”
    “You are mad,” Aparen shouted back.
    “I am neither mad, nor blind. You, on the other hand, are a bit of both.”
    Aparen called forth a spell to illuminate the room, but the magic withered in his hand and crackling sparks fell to the ground without so much as revealing his own hand.
    “Magic will not peel the scales from your eyes, youngling. You must use the light within yourself.” A clicking sound echoed in the distance off to Aparen’s left.
    “You are a satyr?” Aparen guessed.
    “Humans call us so, but Terramyr calls us fauns.” The voice seemed softer now. “But you do not see my form. You are only relying upon your ears to tell you what I am.” Click-clack, click-clack. “Open your eyes, youngling. See what is around you.”
    “My eyes are open, it isn’t my fault you have blinded me.”
    “Ha!” the satyr scoffed. “I have not blinded you. That is how you entered my home. You are as a newborn baby, with the crust of birth still sealing its eyes together. Though I suppose not all of it is your fault. There is a curse over you.”
    “A curse?” Aparen asked.
    “I can lift the curse, but you would no longer be held innocent. By that, I mean to say that you will know all about yourself, as I do.”
    “You know nothing of me.”
    A sigh echoed in the darkness. “Dremathor spoke highly of you, but I have my reservations. Perhaps it is best for you to return to the forest. You are not ready for what I have to show you.”
    Aparen stood silently, waiting for the satyr to make the next move. When nothing happened for several moments, Aparen gave another question. “Why would Dremathor speak highly of me?”
    “Indeed,” the satyr said. “That is what I am sorting out for myself.”
    “What is it he wants from me?” Aparen pressed.
    Another sigh. “That, I cannot disclose to you until after the scales have fallen from your eyes.”
    “So help me, remove the curse.”
    “If I remove the curse, you will not be able to forget what you will see,” the satyr warned.
    “Show me,” Aparen insisted.
    The satyr grunted and mumbled something in a language that Aparen could not comprehend. A flash burst through the darkness. It didn’t illuminate the room as Aparen had expected. Its intense, white light focused on his face and he fell backward, shrinking away from the scorching brilliance. He held a hand up over his face, but there was no escaping the light. It enveloped him, lifted him off the ground, and whisked him through the air as if he were no more than a spiderling on a strand of silk riding a spring breeze.
    The ground below him was a green blur, followed by blue, and then another flash of green. It took him several seconds to realize that he was flying over Terramyr. Everything happened so fast. He saw so many memories at once, yet each one was as clear as if he were living it for the first time. His brother slain by an arrow, the swordfight at Kuldiga Academy where Erik beat so many apprentices, the ritual where he became imbued with power, and so many more. They didn’t come in chronological order. Instead, they all assaulted his mind at once, barely allowing one to finish before another would start. Below him he saw the battle after his father was slain, then a flash of shadow overtook the fields to replace the view with the battle that Gondok’hr led against Lokton Manor.
    At that moment, all of his energy turned to the north and Drakei Glazei seemed to float up to him. The