Mythborn (37 page)

Dragor nodded, gesturing for the group to follow him to a table where they could outline a possible plan.

In one corner of the tent a small shimmering of air detached itself from the shadows and went past the unseeing guards, melting into the forest surrounding the camp, its purpose and identity unknown.

Complications

Those who mourn learn the tree of life

is not the tree of knowledge.

-
          
Toorval Singh, Memoirs of a Mercenary

G
iridian looked down at the body, cold now in death, laid upon the stone slab and surrounded by candles. It was held here as custom until the funeral rites could be performed. The lore father had begun to hate the beach and the sound of the ocean. His eyes were red from tears shed for Tomas, hurried and rushed to his death. He’d not been ready, something the lore father in hindsight could see clearly now. He’d let Thoth cajole and push him, and the boy had paid the ultimate price.

“He won’t be the first if you stop training them,” said a voice, the sound echoing hollowly through the Memoriam chamber.

Giridian swallowed, then said, “Get out.”

“I won’t,” replied Thoth. “You act as though only you lost someone. If you could see how it is on the other side—”

“Get out!” shouted Giridian, wheeling on the Keeper. Rage at Tomas’s death consumed him, but his own part in it ate away at any righteous anger. Slowly it diminished and Giridian felt drained… exhausted.

Thoth waited until the lore father calmed down, then said, “I mourn with you. Tomas was a good boy.”

Giridian sighed. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked at the Keeper and asked, “The Phoenix Stone… any more information?”

Thoth nodded, gesturing to the exit. They walked together in silence, ascending the stairs from the underground crypt. The opening at the top was delineated by a blinding square of white light. Giridian moved through it, exiting into sunshine.

Thoth was there, waiting for him. Giridian didn’t bother to look back down the stairs, the fact that the Keeper could instantaneously move from place to place no longer a surprise. Also of no surprise was the frozen time into which he walked, and he knew this conversation was happening only in his mind.

He sat down on a bench near where the Keeper stood, clasping his hands in front of him.

Thoth gestured and a map of the world appeared shimmering in the air. It moved, sunlight sparkling off of small waves, forests gently swaying as if pushed by an unseen breeze. Giridian couldn’t help but smile, his appreciation for knowledge and lore of any type giving him a welcome distraction from Tomas’s fate.

“What do you see when you look here?” asked Thoth, pointing to the Shattered Sea.

Giridian shrugged and said half-heartedly, “Islands in a circle.”

Thoth nodded patiently. “Be open to me for this small bit of instruction.” He pointed to the circular sea and said, “This is where a very large object impacted your world, many eons ago. It blasted the land here into this shape.”

Giridian shrugged absentmindedly. “Falling stars, we see them now and again.”

Thoth agreed but corrected, “This object was the Phoenix Stone. Now it lies deep beneath the Shattered Sea.”

The lore father took a deep breath. “And we must recover it somehow from beneath the waves?”

Thoth shook his head. “No… thankfully.” He smiled. “There is something called the Heart of the Phoenix. If we can recover it, your staff and the Heart can summon the Phoenix Stone, causing it to rise from the depths.”

“Now it’s problems within problems. I take it we need to find the Heart of the Phoenix?”

“Ahh, Lore Father, in this we are most fortunate. There is someone who may know what the Heart of the Phoenix is.”

The lore father met the Keeper’s gaze, his agile mind catching the word. “You said, ‘what,’ not ‘where.’ ”

“I did. We do not know exactly what the Heart is, only that it was lost long ago when the Phoenix Stone fell on Edyn.”

“Who, then, might know what this Heart is?”

Thoth looked uncomfortable before answering, “Lore Father Duncan Illrys, from the Demon Wars.”

Giridian’s eyes widened at that and he said, “Dragor and I tried to find his memories, but they were missing. He’s alive?”

“There is a bit of news we withheld from you, because it did not at the time seem important.” Thoth paused, then said, “Your masters faced a red mage called Scythe.”

“According to Kisan he leads the barbarian forces against Bara’cor,” Giridian said. “He may also be responsible for the destruction of the other fortresses of the Altan Wastes.”

“Yes,” the Keeper said uncomfortably. “Duncan Illrys is the red mage you know as Scythe, the same one Silbane and Kisan encountered. Even now he journeys through Arcadia to rescue his family.”

“What?” Giridian exclaimed. “And you felt this was not important?”

“We thought he died in the explosion that swept away the nomad army. It was not until he was reported in Arcadia that we realized he’d escaped.”

The lore father couldn’t help but pause at that, assimilating this new information. How could Duncan be alive, and what family did he have? He looked at the Keeper askance.

Thoth nodded and said, “I understand your confusion, and there is much to tell. Let me start with this: Duncan and Sonya are Arek’s true parents.”

The lore father couldn’t help but start laughing, his head slowly dropping into his hands. At the quizzical look he got from Thoth, Giridian explained, “You withhold information that might have changed the priorities for my masters. You compound that with misinformation about Arek. How can I fight this war with counsel such as yours? I sent Kisan to kill Arek on
your
orders. How likely is it that Duncan will help us once that deed is done?”

“Worry not,” said Thoth reassuringly, “I can find them in Arcadia and deliver a message. All hope is not lost.”

“You’ll understand that my faith in your competence is waning, Keeper. With strategy like this, it’s no wonder you’ve been fighting Sovereign for so long.” He stared at Thoth until the older man looked away, his discomfort plain to see. “You can send a message to my masters. Can you do more?”

“More?” inquired the Keeper.

“Can you transport us into Arcadia? Can you return them to me?”

The Keeper shook his head. “You forget that I’m not ‘here’ in Edyn, Lore Father. I am a construct, a mental image cast from Arcadia itself. I no more exist here than any other Aeris, not without a body, and Lilyth has absolute control of the gate.”

“But in Arcadia you’re real?”

“If by ‘real’ you mean I can be hurt or killed, yes,” the Keeper replied softly. “Though the death of a Keeper is tantamount to the death of knowledge. No Aeris would dare that, so worry not for me.”

“I have two masters in Arcadia and two adepts near Dawnlight,” Giridian said with frustration in his voice. “My most senior student lies broken and dead. What would you have me do?”

“Have patience, Lore Father. We will find the Heart and use it to raise the Phoenix Stone from its watery grave.”

“Just in time for me to die upon it,” he muttered, but he gave the Keeper a half smile. “Do not worry, I will die a thousand times if it would save this world.”

Thoth looked down, not saying anything. His demeanor seemed almost respectful, and when he finally did speak, it concerned Arek. “I can protect the boy within Arcadia, but when he emerges here, he must die.”

“And how will we do that
and
convince Duncan to help us?”

Thoth breathed in and then let it out with an explosive sigh. “I never said this would be easy, Lore Father.”

Giridian nodded, his head resting back in his hands. “No, but I never expected it to be quite so hard.”

The Galadine Way

Against an opponent do such overwhelming harm

that his vengeance need never be feared.

-
          
Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades

D
uncan awoke to an intense stabbing pain in his shoulders and wrists that pierced his muscles and felt like it split bone. Cracking open one eye, he saw that he was hanging from vines supported by what looked to be two entwined wood posts. Something was wrong with his other eye because he could not open it. He slowly brought his feet under him and stood shakily, his head swimming with vertigo. The vines tightened on his wrists, alive in some way. They were too short for him to sit, so he slowly tried to bring his arms down. Judging from the pain that flooded through his chest, he’d been hanging there for some time. He took a shallow breath and his eyes involuntarily squeezed shut from a new type of agony as his lungs expanded from near asphyxiation. He was quite sure had he not awakened, he would have been left there to die.

He opened his eyes again, and saw his arms were still not completely down. He’d hung for so long they felt as if they were at his sides, but in fact stood out in a cone shape that would have been funny if it didn’t hurt so much. He focused, bearing the pain as he slowly finished bringing his hands down in front of him. The movement was excruciating and slow, his labored breath coming out in short gasps.

When he finally could look around, he realized he was standing in an open area. For some reason he’d assumed he was in a cell, but taking stock of his surroundings he was in fact in an audience room of some sort made out of a smooth, polished wood. A small upraised bowl in the center, also made of wood, grew seamlessly from the ground. In fact, everything seemed to be made of wood. Behind the bowl came another shock.

Crucified on the wall opposite him was the mummified body of a man. It hung there, its flesh desiccated and ancient. The arms were entwined on a wooden circle, much like the iron one he’d held Rai’stahn to, and that memory did not bring him comfort. The dead body stood with arms outstretched like an idol giving benediction to the still waters beneath. Something in Tulien’s memory, something he absorbed earlier tickled Duncan’s thoughts, but nothing he could use surfaced.

Then a man stepped into his field of view. Judging from the vast stillness of the place, he could have been there the entire time. He was tall, garbed in gold armor etched with a phoenix. His skin was as white as parchment. Amber eyes reminded Duncan of a wolf’s. The man’s hair fell below his shoulders, also pure white and long, held back by a circlet of gold set with a green gem.

Duncan blinked his one eye to clear his vision, knowing somehow that the weight around his neck was the collar of the Galadines, blocking his path to the Way. He tested one of his wrists and the vines retightened their hold. He looked back at the man. The face was bearded, yet Duncan still felt he should know him. Pain and fatigue conspired to make his mind move slowly, and he could not connect what he knew was likely obvious. That, or the collar was interfering with his thoughts.

“Release me,” Duncan croaked, surprised by the sound of his own voice. Sudden thirst made him realize how long it had been since he’d had any water, and he let out a ragged cough.

The man smiled and said, “Duncan Illrys, I have dreamt of the day I would see you again.”

The voice! Duncan knew immediately who this man was and said, “Val…” He raised his head and met the yellow eyes of his captor and finished, “Death becomes you.”

“Not so dead… and not quite alive.” Valarius paused, moving a bit closer. “The Way changes one here, makes one stronger. I take on the aspect of my children, for their faith gives me power.”

It was true. As he came closer, Duncan could see that except for his parchment-white skin, Valarius looked just like one of the blue-skinned elves. His gaze narrowed and he found himself unable to find any joy that the man still lived. “Fate doesn’t have the sense to be rid of you.”

“Rid?” The backhand caught Duncan unaware, rocking his head back as Valarius struck him viciously across his jaw. “It is only because of me that Edyn survives!”

He fell, only to be held painfully up by the vines snapping his shoulders into agony. His head whirled and he hung there, limp. Slowly, he regained his senses and managed to get his feet back under him. His mouth was too dry to spit so he swallowed the blood, finding a strange satisfaction in the act.

Then he looked at the archmage thought dead so long ago and said, “I see you’re still good with using your words.”

Valarius smiled, then motioned to someone outside of Duncan’s field of view. “I’ll not have you die so easily.”

Duncan’s head was jerked back and a spigot put in his mouth. Cool water flowed, threatening to drown him, but he gulped as quickly as he could. Then it was yanked away, and he hacked and coughed out what had nearly choked him, trying both to clear his lungs and swallow water at the same time. The coughing brought fresh agony to his chest and ribs, but the cool water was pure bliss. He could almost feel death’s door retreat as his body absorbed every drop.

“I saved you. When Lilyth struck, I extended myself and deflected the blow that would have ended your life. And you repaid me with this.” Valarius touched his own face.

“You opened the gate,” Duncan said. “You let the demons in. The king decreed mages be killed because of—”

“Do not speak of my brother! He has been reborn to a greater purpose, but you… still have much to answer for, including what you did to him.”

He blinked at the vehemence, and the random thought of how prisoners under Duncan’s own hand had fared came to mind. In truth, if he’d had his new clarity it would have given him the burden of perfect recall. Luckily his memory was vague, stifled. Yet through all of it he knew his reasons had been noble—to find and recover his family.

He looked at the elven highlord that had once been Valarius and said, “You want to be thought a savior? Release me, and you’ll start with one person who might believe you.”

“Ahh,” Valarius smiled. “I have more than one.” He looked to his side and said, “Sonya.”

The air shimmered and the shade of Duncan’s wife stepped into view. Something in her demeanor made him feel she was not here by choice, but she wore a smile laced with pity, and there was still no love in her eyes when she looked at him. She came up next to Valarius, put her hand upon his waiting arm, and said, “I told you not to come.”

Duncan stared, the sight of her standing on his arm confirming his worst fears. It was a punch to his gut, a stab that deflated any sense of purpose he might have had. His quest now seemed a mockery of everything he cherished. His head sagged, and a bolt—a lightning quick surge of rage—turned his skin red and made his vision blur.

When he looked back up, he was greeted with a smile on Valarius’s face that drove his hate for the man to new heights, but still he said nothing. He’d not give them the satisfaction, and with this collar on it was unlikely anything he did would be useful.
Better to wait
, a voice said, and a small titter escaped before he could clamp his mouth over it.

Valarius raised an eyebrow at that, but when it was clear he would not speak, the highlord said, “We’ve known each other now for two hundred years. What is your commitment compared to our lifetime together?” While the words were logical, they were delivered with a malicious smile, as it was clear the man was enjoying this moment. He pulled Sonya in tighter, who went willingly into his embrace.

He refused to look at Valarius. Instead, Duncan’s eyes bored holes into Sonya’s own until she looked away. She had not changed, since he’d seen her last, not one bit. It was as if time had frozen her appearance just as she had when she’d left him, and perhaps it had. Perhaps his obsession had played a part in casting her in this form, he thought, a walking tribute to his own memory but nothing else. It seemed so when her ghost appeared, and here again in the bedrock of the reality he faced. Sonya was no longer his. A part of his mind wondered in a detached way if elves did not banish shades with their touch?

“Do you know what we do here?” Valarius asked, his words attempting and failing to pull Duncan’s eyes to his own. He waited, but there was no response. “We are the only thing standing against the demons of Arcadia,” he said this with a gesture meant to encompass everything. “We are the only proof against Lilyth and her Furies, the Aeris who invade our world and seek possession of our people.”

“Congratulations,” Duncan sneered, speaking to Sonya, but it was Valarius who responded.

“Edyn has remained safe for two hundred years, because of me!” he stepped forward and blocked Duncan’s view of Sonya, forcing him eye to eye. “I hold them from invasion, my elves keep them contained and occupied, but at dear cost. Still, I have never abandoned the land that abandoned me so readily.”

Duncan finally looked at Valarius, instead of looking through him, and said, “Lilyth sent me here to kill you, Val.” It was stated simply but the rage behind it could not be hidden no matter how much he tried.

“You’ll find that difficult.” He moved away and said, “Mikal.”

From behind a curtain to one side of the hall stepped the king who had loosed the arrow at Duncan and Sonya. Though he was blue-skinned and winged, the man’s face had been burned into Duncan’s memory. Here, too, perhaps he had had some influence, for the people he remembered most were the least changed.

A part of him wondered at why Valarius was so different, but the thought was asked and answered in the same breath. He thought Val dead, and therefore never obsessed over him. He also understood his fixation for analysis at this moment, a defense to keep him from breaking down. Analysis provided emotional distance and… apathy.
Be silent.

Mikal Galadine came forth and bowed to Valarius, then knelt before Sonya, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped as if carrying a great weight. “My queen, forgive us,” he said while breathing out softly.

Sonya for her part looked down on the penitent king. “Rise,” she said. That she could show love to the man who had put an arrow through her was almost too much to bear, so Duncan fled back to noting every detail. The man wore silver armor much like Valarius’s, with the same phoenix symbol on pauldron and chest. No weapons seemed evident, but he was carrying a bundle in his weapon hand, the hand that drew the bowstring that changed his life.

Valarius reached and Mikal handed him the bundle, which moved and squirmed. A gentle hand removed the cloth and inside was a small baby, its pink skin and face marking it as a child of Edyn. For a moment, Duncan forgot that Arek was his son and thought this babe would in fact be revealed as his true offspring. The sickening clench in his stomach abated with Valarius’s next words.

“Though we have stopped the full invasions of the past, we cannot end Lilyth’s raids. Children are still taken.” Valarius looked at Sonya and then handed the child over. “This one was lucky, rescued by my elves.” Then he and Mikal went to stand before the crucified form with Sonya and the baby in tow.

Valarius took the center, in front of the small upraised bowl, and met Duncan’s eyes. “Do you know how we combat Lilyth?”

The sick feeling returned, a sudden dread that Valarius would harm the child in some sort of sacrifice. Duncan licked his parched lips and said carefully, “Nothing is worth harming an innocent child.”

“Said from a man who has brought harm to everyone he’s met,” replied Valarius, “men, women,
and
children.” Then he smiled and added, “Do not fear for the child. I’m not as cruel as you, and he has a far greater destiny.”

While Sonya removed the cloth and gave the naked baby to Valarius, Mikal turned and pulled a small piece of desiccated flesh from the crucified form, not more than a speck to Duncan’s eye. Then the king turned and traced a circle on the baby’s forehead. He placed the speck on the baby’s tongue.

Valarius then dipped the baby in the water of the bowl, submerging and pulling him out quickly. When the baby emerged it was covered in a black liquid tinged red in the dim light. Duncan realized with horror that the babe had been consecrated in blood.

The yellow flash of a binding Oath startled Duncan, though no words had been uttered. It was intense, so much so that for a moment the scene was a sunburst of blinding yellow light. Then Valarius intoned, “From my flesh and blood, be reborn as the angel Sorath, who gave himself for his brothers. You will be Fate’s Lyre, your music will change the world.”

When Duncan’s vision returned he could see Sonya cleaning off the babe and swaddling him again. The three then made their way around and back to the shackled archmage, who could only watch in silence as the baby’s skin began to change.

It darkened, then slowly became a soft blue, glowing with health and vitality, visible even to Duncan’s now mundane vision. The bundle seemed to grow a bit, and he was sure if Sonya removed the blanket, he would see fledgling wings. He looked slowly up from the baby, to his wife, then to Valarius. “What have you done?”

“We need angels to fight demons. Blood and faith lets us create them, but living flesh is needed.” He looked at Mikal and said, “Tell the warforged that Sorath has returned to them.”

“You turn children into elves?” Duncan asked, aghast.

Valarius shook his slowly. “These are far greater than my elves, though they too are forged from my blood. Of the thousands of children stolen by Lilyth, I rescue those few I can and give them a higher purpose. If they carry the bloodline of the first families they become my angels. You bore witness to the birth of one just now. If they carry the noble Galadine blood they receive the greatest gift of all, serving as archangels in our war against Lilyth. We are Edyn’s sacrifice and carry the burden of her safety upon our shoulders.”