Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy) (25 page)

“So the house burned,” said Pi’Vari casually, “most likely along with whoever inhabited it. It would at least account for the general disrepair of the structure.”

Baeld had made his way to the blackened wooden desk set opposite the fireplace. The desk looked to have more or less survived whatever inferno had engulfed the room with little more than a thick layer of charcoal on its surface.

“How long ago do you think this happened?” I asked of no one in particular.

“Years,” replied Dancer quickly, to which Pi’Vari nodded his assent.

“Amazingly, the roof has not yet collapsed,” remarked my herald. “If it had, then the deterioration would have accelerated due to the clearly unnatural storm outside. I believe this occurred at least one year ago but no more than ten—assuming the structure is not being held up magically,” he added, which was actually a good point.

I activated my Third Eye spell and looked around the room. There didn’t appear to be any active enchantments on the structure itself, but I became nauseous almost immediately and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling.

“Well, that’s never happened before,” I muttered after deactivating the spell and regaining my equilibrium.

“There is a spell at work here, then?” asked Pi’Vari, clearly curious.

I shook my head. “Not a spell,” was all I could say for sure, “but something is going on here, and I don’t think it’s by the previous occupant’s design.”

I moved to examine the bookshelves and found that all of the books were nothing but ash, which seemed curious.

“The storm outside was clearly created using magic,” I began, trying to think my way through this puzzle out loud, “but all of these books were burned to cinders. If a wizard lived here then at least some of his tomes would have survived the inferno, regardless of how hot it got.”

“Why do you believe a wizard lived here?” asked Pi’Vari from across the room.

“Because only a wizard could summon the storm out there, and realistically only an Imperial High Wizard could manage to erect a permanent storm of that power and size,” I explained.

Pi’Vari stopped sifting through the wreckage and cocked his head before asking, “Why do you believe the storm is permanent? Perhaps it was erected at the same time as the fire,” he offered.

“Perhaps,” I mused, remembering that only I had seen the image of a snowstorm surrounding the house’s icon on the map. “But the windows in the entry hall were boarded up and the glass was intact, meaning they’d prepared for such a storm before it hit.”

“Of course, you are likely correct,” agreed Pi’Vari.

Dancer’s voice came from near the desk. “Master, look,” said the little man.

I made my way to the desk where both Dancer and Baeld were standing and saw that all of the drawers except one had apparently been destroyed by fire. The lone, remaining, central drawer had obviously endured a fire of some kind, but it had survived more or less intact and it was emitting a faint residue of magical protection.

“This was protected,” I confirmed with a nod to the little man. The drawer didn’t even appear to be locked. “But the wards look to have failed just before the fire died.” Looking down I kicked at the floor in front of the desk, and I thought I could make out a few fragments of blackened bone but I wasn’t sure.

“Is it still dangerous?” asked Pi’Vari as he came over to the desk, apparently oblivious of the remains.

“I doubt it,” I replied confidently, “a person isn’t likely to place a poison trap right over their lap, so it was probably just protected magically.”

“Still,” continued Pi’Vari, “we should have Baeld open it, just in case.”

That was like my herald, hiding behind someone else whenever it was an option. It disgusted me, but I understood that I was probably in the minority in believing that if you wanted to ask someone else to do something, you need to first do it yourself. That’s why the Captain of a ship is the Captain: because he can do just about every job under him, and actually
has
done those jobs on his way up the command ladder.

I jerked on the drawer and it opened without protest. Inside was a rectangular wooden box the size of a DVD case and about twice as thick. I took it out and saw there was also a book in the drawer, and I placed both objects on the desk. The box had four, simple, interlocking circles: one sky blue, one stark white, another was red, and the final one was orange.

In fact, the specific shade of orange used to create that last circle was the same color as Antolin’s last spell. Whatever this box held was probably part, if not all, of what Master Antolin sent me here to retrieve. I decided to ignore the book and focus on the box instead.

I gently opened the box and at first nothing happened, so I continued to raise the hinged lid until it lay totally open.

Inside was a four inch long, glossy, obsidian black key resting in a form-fitted, red velvet depression. The key was of such extremely high quality that to call it a piece of art wouldn’t overstate the case, and I had very little doubt that it also held serious enchantments.

What it opened was another question which needed to be answered, and I reached out to touch its smooth surface with my fingertips. As soon as I made contact with it, I felt energy pour from it which felt like touching an electric fence for a moment before the sensation was gone. My hand recoiled at the unexpected jolt and before I had the chance to close the lid I heard a voice from nearby to my left.

“Hello, old friend,” said the unfamiliar voice, and I spun to see who it was as I raised my spell-key equipped right hand.

The voice had come from a man-sized projection similar to the one the staff had emitted, and when this new, unfamiliar projection didn’t make eye contact with any of us, I concluded that it was just another recording.

The man was youthful looking, with medium-length black hair and a matching goatee. He was short, but also clearly an impressive physical specimen with a thick torso and arms to match. I could only assume the man in the recording was Sherwyn, and that the recording was keyed to the staff or robes, meaning it had been intended for Antolin.

“I am sorry we will not have a chance to complete our work together,” said the man’s projection, and I could see that he was exhausted, or otherwise drained of energy, “but I always knew it to be a fool’s dream. We misunderstood our enemy, which was revealed to be nothing more than simple, human, nature…and one cannot change human nature any more than one can change the stars themselves.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but out of the corner of my eye I could see that my companions were looking at me with apprehension. I needed to focus on this recording though, since I probably wouldn’t get any replays.

“For all our sakes, I truly hope you can achieve that which we set out to accomplish so long ago,” Sherwyn’s image continued, “but I fear I can no longer stand with you. I have fallen victim to my own nature too late to realize the danger.” The projection’s shoulders slumped visibly before it continued. “While I have done all I can to ensure that my failure these last few years does not endanger our work, I can no longer be certain that those measures will prove to be enough…which is why I have placed all that remains of myself, my hopes, and my dreams for that better world in the same prison you once helped me build to contain our darkest nightmares.”

That was awfully cryptic but I suppose if there were sensitive things hidden in this ‘prison,’ it was better to be circumspect in the event that someone should manage to crack the message without the proper keys.

“I know I have failed,” the projection of Sherwyn said, hanging his head, “but I would still ask a kindness of an old friend.” Tears ran down the man’s cheeks as he continued, “Show mercy where I failed to, and let that mercy put an end to the fruit of my failure. I know that I will never be able to truly rest after allowing my vanity to destroy everything I ever loved, but this is no longer about me. If only I could have realized that sooner,” said the projection, his voice filled with sorrow.

The figure straightened itself and walked to in front of the desk until he was standing where the small pile of bones was, and then began manipulating what I assumed was the drawer.

“I will destroy everything in this house while I have the strength to do so,” he said with a sudden ferocity in his voice. “The final barrier will only open for one of us, so there is little chance of what is hidden there falling into the wrong hands. Our enemies have taken everything good that I ever had in this world, but they will not take our dream as well…even if it is a fool’s dream.” He shook his head sadly, and even though it was merely an image, I could tell that he was summoning a great deal of magical energy. “I suppose it is fitting that in my last moments I cling to the hope of that dream, because for the first time since last we spoke, I realize that I truly am that fool!”

With that, Sherwyn’s body erupted into a giant ball of fire which spread throughout the room and roared out into the hallway, burning for a few seconds before the image disappeared. I had flinched instinctively and dropped to one knee when he had ‘exploded,’ and when I returned to my feet my companions were looking at me as though I were insane.

I straightened myself hurriedly. “You didn’t see that?” I asked self-consciously.

Pi’Vari folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, while Dancer shrugged his shoulders and turned back to exploring the room now that the show was over. Baeld didn’t seem to care, as he looked at me impassively.

“I saw nothing, Jezran,” said my herald warily. “What did
you
see?”

“Never mind,” I muttered, hoping that Pi’Vari was telling the truth and that he hadn’t seen anything. The less he knew the better, as far as I was concerned. I picked up the book and checked the binding, which was without markings.

It wasn’t made of the fine materials needed for holding enchantment, so it was likely a mundane book. I opened it and found my suspicions confirmed as the inside cover indicated that it was a personal journal of some kind, the eighth such volume in a series.

I flipped from page to page until I came to an entry dated eight years before which caught my attention due to its vague title,
A Visit With An Old Friend
, which read:

I received an unexpected guest today while walking in the garden. There, beside the short wall, was my oldest friend and ally. It has been six years since we last met, but we were glad for each other’s company. We spoke of many things, including the dreams we shared in our youths. He spoke with the same passion I remembered from so many years before, and I realized that I had lacked that measure of commitment to our vision for quite some time.

He stayed for dinner and met my wife, Isabella, for the first time. I believe he was at the same time impressed and dismayed that I had managed to find a small corner of the world where I might share a measure of happiness with such a kind person, but as always it was difficult to read his true feelings. Jealousy almost certainly played a part in his reaction, however…but how could I begrudge him, of all things?

After dinner we went to my study and spoke on the usual matters. He believed he was nearing some kind of major breakthrough, the kind which would allow us to finally achieve our lifelong goal, but I had heard him make similar claims all too often which had yielded nothing. I tried to encourage him to seek happiness in this life as I had, for it is increasingly obvious that it is all we will ever have, but my friend took great offense at my suggestion.

I fear I will never again see my dearest friend in this world and while I harbor no regrets as to the turbulent nature of our parting, I do hope that he can achieve that for which he has striven ever since I met him. Myself, I have found contentment where I am, and I find that to be all I desire.

That was the end of the passage, and there were several months’ worth of meaningless, blissful entries regarding his wife, whose name was Isabella, until he began to note a longing in his life.

It seemed Sherwyn had become dissatisfied with not having a child, and had brought the subject to his wife on more than a few occasions. Apparently Isabella had been pregnant once before, but had suffered some kind of tragedy which she believed would make childbirth unusually difficult.

This friction continued for the better part of a year until he wrote one day in joyous terms that his wife had announced her pregnancy to him. Sherwyn was overcome with happiness, and they were again content for many months.

Some more passages indicated that his wife had become somewhat distant in the months leading up to the birth of their first child, and when Sherwyn had attempted to discuss the subject his wife had become distant. Eventually, Sherwyn notes that he decided to uncover the reason behind her unusual mood.

He discovered nothing before the baby was born, which was understandably another joyous period for him. Isabella even seemed to have warmed, and Sherwyn attributed her previously distant mood to have been a kind of normal pregnancy-related apprehension.

One day, when the child was nearing its first birthday, his entire mood changed and it began with the following passage:

My wife; my dearest, loving, and loyal wife has done the unthinkable but she is not to blame. I spoke for so long about wanting a child that she took it upon herself to enter into compact with an entity who promised her the outcome she—no, that I—desired.

Isabella could not know the price of such a bargain and though I have vowed to undo this misguided arrangement, I find that my powers are no longer equal to the task. I have considered asking my only real friend for help, but we parted on bad terms and I do not desire for him to learn of my great mistake before I have a chance to correct it.

There were a few more entries before this one, dated five years ago:

I have undone it! The being which held compact with Isabella and my son has been vanquished, at no small personal cost, but it is a price I pay gladly to be rid of such a curse. I am weary with exertion, but I believe I shall recover well enough that I can live out the rest of my many years with my family.