SUGGO

Suggo ran on four paws, trees blurring by him on the rocky path that took him to the crest of the mountain. He’d traveled all night to get there, expending much of his power on the transformation so he could arrive before night’s end. Cautious his entire life, Suggo rarely took chances. But tonight the he gauged the danger worth the risk.

If he had fully mastered panther form, he would have forced his maw into a smile. How ironic it was that his father wasn’t there to see him. The powerful crave more than they can ever eat. His father told him that right before the old man succumbed to the Yellow Plague. A weak man, my father. Magically, that had been true, for his father barely possessed a shred of magic, yet when he spilled his seed into Suggo’s mother, he’d created a competent wizard, one a thousand times more powerful. He bore me, Suggo of the Shadows.

The night was Suggo’s strength, for in the darkness he dominated most mortals. This power should have made him a God among men. But other wizards could create light by merely thinking about it, and light was his weakness. Among them I have always been weak. But tonight that may change.

His trek finished moments later. The tallest plateau in the Agoth Mountains was called the Spire. Near impossible to climb from any direction except a narrow, dangerous path, few dared climb it. And if they did, they never returned to the lands of men.

Suggo paused before he reached the top and swerved his head toward the mountains behind him. My mountains. My realm. But only because no other wizard wants them. A growl formed in his throat, and without further thought he turned and bounded across the ten foot canyon to land atop the plateau.

As soon as his paws touched the rocky ground, a deep voice boomed. “WHO DARES ENTER MY REALM?” The voice didn’t speak the common tongue. But Suggo knew it well. The language of the Primordial.

Suggo knew this language, for he had studied for this moment his entire life. He answered, “I am Suggo, warlock of the mountains Agoth, willing servant of the Ancient and Powerful God of the Earth.” Suggo knew better than to speak any of the Primodial’s names.

The plateau Suggo stood on with his four paws was over three hundred feet wide, nearly twice as long. Near the center, the ground rumbled and tore. Boulders shot into the air, shattering at their apex. The pebbles seemed to float, slowly forming into a twenty-foot-high, and three-legged creature of living rock. Its torso was wide, and three arms formed equidistant around it. Two boulders rested atop the millions of pebbles that formed its image.

Suggo knew this image from his years of study. The Elder God Crag.

“MY NAME SOUNDS IN YOUR MIND.” The sound came not from the creature but from the mountain itself. One of the rock arms pointed at Suggo. Thousands of pieces of gravel shot toward him, flying in a tight spiral.

Suggo readied himself. I must hold my ground.

Sharp and blunt rocks alike struck him by the thousands. The impact disrupted his concentration needed to maintain the panther form. He hacked and gagged and coughed until moments later Suggo realized he was naked on his hands and knees. His blood dripped from numerous small wounds. As his blood hit the ground, the droplets bubbled on the surface before sinking into the ground. Suggo thought once more of his father. It is a fool that tries to swallow the whole cow at once.

Crag’s voice shook the ground around him. “RISE, SUGGO OF THE AGOTH.”

Suggo felt exhausted, unsure if he could stand. Remembering it then, he bit the seed he’d stuffed in his mouth before the transformation. Juices from the seed immediately restored him. The price for that instant surge of energy would be paid later, he knew. If I survive.

Suggo stood and bowed, limbs shaking not with exhaustion but with newfound energy. “Lord of Pangaea, I bring news of the old blood, born anew.”

The gravel swarmed him around him like thousands of powerful gnats, lifting him into the air. He felt himself being cut in thousands of places. Suggo could not help but scream. After what seemed an eternity of pain, the whirlwind of rocks disappeared, leaving Suggo hovering prone in midair. Directly below him was the visage of Crag.

Suggo felt the momentary energy from the seed wane. He struggled to stay conscious. If I fall unconscious, I will be ripped apart.

“BOY STRIKES THE HAMMER WITH HIS FATHER?”

“Yes, great one,” Suggo said.

“FATHER A LOST CHAMPION. MOTHER THE SLAYER OF TENS OF THOUSANDS.”

Suggo answered, yelling, “Yes, great one.”

“SISTER MORE POWERFUL?”

“By far,” Suggo said.

The very mountain rumbled. “BOTH BLOODRIGHT.”

“Yes, great one.”

Suggo dropped nearly twenty feet to the ground. Instead of slamming into the forgiving rock, his body slowed and then hovered just above the ground, as if an invisible bed of air held him. As that faded his body eased to the ground, and a surge of power poured into him.

His energy returned. Suggo felt stronger than he ever had. As he looked at his bloody body, brown tendrils of magic crawled over his skins, healing his many wounds. A great peacefulness blanketed him. Suggo sat down, folding his legs and resting his elbows on his legs. His palms lay open as Suggo breathed, closing his eyes.

Suggo entered a type of trance. Around him he felt the old rocks of the mountains, heard them grinding together. Felt the earth under him moving, ever so slightly. How have I never noticed them before?

Suggo slowly opened his eyes. Though he had not moved from his sitting position, he found once more at the edge of the plateau. Still naked, Suggo looked at his body. Though he no longer bled, scars from his many recent wounds, thousands of them, marred his body, making his torso and legs look like a quilt made of fresh pink scars. Yet he felt no pain.

“SUGGO OF CRAG NOW.”

Suggo stood and bowed, knowing from years of study the proper response, “Suggo is true and loyal, to the end of eternity.”

“GO. WATCH. LEAVE THE BOY TO HIS FATE. UNTIL THE BLOOD RUNS FRESH AROUND HIS FEET.” Then the creature collapsed in the middle of the plateau collapsed upon itself and was nothing but pile of rocks.

A gust of hard wind pushed Suggo off the plateau. Calling forth the Earth to cradle him, Suggo fell quickly and then floated the last few feet to the ground. As he stood looking back up at the peak, he pondered his next move. Vara will keep close eyes on the boy. But Yayisha? She’ll require my personal attention. Crag had said nothing about her, after all.

This time when he transformed into the shadow cat, it didn’t drain him at all. Instead, it seemed to make him stronger. As Suggo streaked toward Haver, he felt excited. The tides spoke the truth. The old gods are awakening.