Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) by MJ Blehart Read Free Book Online

excruciating bliss that came with the use of his power .  But he’d been exerting himself for too lengthy a time, and had been using the energies passively, allowing them to flow into his limbs and chest and heart, which in turn let him run far longer and faster than he should have been able to naturally. 
    He’d exhausted himself beyond the limits of his endurance.  Use of the power within for Sorcery was always slightly draining, and the body needed some time, however short it may be, to rejuvenate itself. 
    That had been his great mistake.  He had counted on his full power, to commit an act that required absolutely everything he had to spare.  Too late, he’d realized his error.  The Sorcerer had sunk to his knees, shaking, trying to fight the waves of exhaustion, nausea, and dizziness.  But after all he had expended, it was a fight he could not hope to win, and he’d collapsed.
    Hours later, he’d regained consciousness.  He could barely move, muscles cramped and knotted, but almost immediately he’d realized he remained on the field, and it was night.  He presumed he had wounded, killed, or frightened his pursuers enough that they had not seen him lying there as they limped off the razed meadow.  He’d escaped, but very nearly destroyed himself.
    Taking a deep breath, he had coughed on the dust in his throat from the tumbled earth. 
    He remembered clearly that the ground was cold and hard beneath him, a musty odor emanating from the newly upturned soil.
    He had tried to tap into the power inside himself, to relieve his aches, and his exhaustion.  He could not, for a time, find the center of it.  And when he finally did, he slowly realized he could not touch it. 
    He had tried again, growing frantic.  It was a gift, not to be wasted, not to be lost.  But he could not feel it, though it was there before him, the vital center of his being, out of reach.  No matter what action he took, he could not touch it, could not release it.  It hovered before him, taunting him, mocking him, but it could not be used by him any longer.
    Eventually, he gave up, and limped off the decimated field.  When he had reached the road, he simply followed alongside it, unaware of his surroundings, or the passage of time.  If any passed him along the way, he did not notice them, nor they, him.
    Captured at a roadside tavern following another unfortunate incident, he had considered all lost, and the prospect of death a welcome comfort, especially after his torture.  But the moment he discovered that he may be able to recover his powers, his hope returned, as did his will to live.
    Coming out of his reverie, he studied the webbing more closely.  It was almost as if it was protecting the power within, not really preventing him access.  Why?  What did it mean?  Why would the energy sphere need protection?  How could he penetrate it?
    He examined the small hole he had opened.  It had been created with unusually meticulous concentration.  It was coming back to him now.  When he’d taken his time, and worked slowly, he’d made an opening.  Then he proceeded to tear and tug at that. 
    But when he’d worked bit by bit, methodically, he’d started to get within.  When he fought it, it resisted him.  When he was patient, careful, thorough, he could gain entry.  That was the answer.  That was the key.
    Patience, unfortunately, had never been his strong suit.
    But he had to try.  If he did not, he would never regain his powers.  If he regained his powers, he might just find his way out of this situation, and continue along the path to his destiny.
    Doing his best to slow his heart down as much as possible, he made a very careful examination of the small breach within the webbing.  It took all self control to prevent himself from trying to rip at it.  Slowly, gently, he began to probe at the fissure.  He could feel the tremendous power being held in, begging to be touched, caressed, released.  He wanted so much