Tales Of Grimea (22 page)

Entranced by the magic of new discovery,
Azrael had forgotten about Raime. Looking around now, he saw her
hover slowly behind him in all her ghostly brilliance. The
necromancer checked that his brooch was on securely enough, then
swam down with his wife along the shockingly deep river. As they
went, he made to pull out another object from his cloak, but his
wife motioned for him to simply swim. As they neared something
luminous in the distance, Azrael allowed her to dissipate back into
heaven as a soul with an aching heart. This past month, after he
became able to summon her, Raime had given him invaluable
information regarding heaven, Odin Allfather, as well as about her
own guild. The man wished he could have her with him indefinitely,
but it seemed that even the Unchained had limits to what they could
do.

The golden haired necromancer neared his
goal slowly, and his mouth began to open in wonder. The guild was
made almost entirely of glass, with metal lattices and beams
supporting it. Inside he could see figures moving around by light
of devices seeming much like his own firelight orb, and much of the
glass was covered by glyphs both designed to power the spell he’d
employed and also for the many traps this guild used to protect
itself against intruders. The building looked very much like four
spheres connected to a cylinder-like shape, and all four structures
were attached to one of the river’s two rocky sides. Each of the
spheres seemed dedicated to one of the four western elements, for
he could see the unfortunate results of a man’s experiment with
fire in one. The man’s hair seemed on fire, and he ran around in
his white robe, being chased by colleagues who were somehow
throwing beams of snow at him. The top right sphere held what
seemed like miniature mountains, but sadly boasted a painfully
obvious lack of researchers on fire. Naturally each sphere held far
more than that, for each was as large as a manor, and not of the
puny kind Glint had lived in prior to meeting the necromancer.

When Azrael reached the guild’s entrance, he
was surprised to find the metal door already opened for him. The
school of fish had fallowed him here, and he shooed them in
thought. Swimming slowly forwards to where a second door, this one
made of metal as well, stood directly before the first, Azrael was
confused. He was in a completely submerged room, due to the portal
behind him being left agape. There was a table here, circular and
metallic, as well as two chairs. All were bolted to the room’s
floor. Both walls to his side were made of glass as well, and he
could peer into the almost eerie orange glow against water running
almost clear. Only then did it occur to the blonde haired
necromancer that the water he just swam in ran too slow to be a
proper river. He’d wondered before why Seltah was situated in this
particular area, at obvious cost needed to deepen the river.

Just as Azrael began to consider circling
around for another entrance, he hear a thunderous whine. Twirling
in place, he was met with a roar as the door behind him slammed
shut. Another sound came, this one akin to clicks one may make if
one were in deep thought and wished to announce it to everyone
within a mile’s radius. As the slightly pudgy man thought, hoping
against hope that he hadn’t already triggered a trap, he noticed
that the water level in his room was decreasing ever so slightly.
In less than two minutes, he stood in a still wet but relatively
air filled environment.
Airtight drainage? I didn’t know you
could even do that.
Then again, he supposed the principle must
be similar to what allowed excess air out of his rose jar but not
water in.

Now that he was standing drenched in his
room, a knock floated to the man. Suddenly a stretch of door
directly in front of him, where the guild should be, turned clear.
I can’t believe she never told me about this stuff,
thought
Azrael in something rather close to annoyance. Not that it was
possible for him to be annoyed with Raime, naturally, but she’d
always told him the advancements in her guild were rather
boring.

The man facing him through that glass looked
annoyed. Like Azrael he had a pudgy face, but his hair was more of
a greyish red hue, marking him to be just past middle aged. With
ability users, of course, that could have been anywhere between
eighty and three hundred years, although the necromancer that that
upper estimation unlikely, for he’d have heard of an alchemist that
powerful in Seltah. The small bit of white Azrael could glimpse
just below his face told him that the man was likely dressed in
white robes, as was fashionable here. It occurred to the
necromancer that it was strange for this particular wall to be of
metal when most of the building was lined with glass. It was
probably to hide guards and traps, but seemed as clumsy as he was
lead to believe.
For geniuses, they really don’t know much about
battle strategy,
thought Azrael with a polite grin. The man
scowled, then motioned for him to take off his jar. Azrael motioned
back, trying to convey that he had no idea how to take the thing
off. The middle aged looking man tried to mouth something at him,
possibly the incantation to release him. The necromancer tried his
best to replicate it, and after a few tries he felt the slight
pressure against his throat cease. In a second or two he was able
to take his jar off his head with a gasp. He hadn’t realized how
warm it had gotten in there.

“Hello, intruder. Welcome to-“ the man
started, before apparently catching himself with a caugh. His voice
echoed strangely, and Azrael wondered where exactly the voice was
reaching him from. “I mean, uh. Who be you, to enter our guild so
easily? Declare yourself.” He was obviously used to repeating a
specific greeting.

“Good morning,” said Azrael with his usual
ease. People had always come relatively naturally to him, despite
the necromancer having a knack for making some of them angry. “I
can’t tell you what my name is, but I am a friend of the guild. I
assure you, there is no harm to be found in my cloak.” It was a
common oath in these parts, but happened to also be true. That
small ceremonial dagger didn’t count.

“Ah, man, I haven’t have brunch yet! No need
for theatrics… alright, whose friend are you?”

“Sera Bakas, and a woman called Raime, I’m
here to convey the second’s last words to the first.” The man was
taken aback for a second, then asked for a password, which Azrael
provided. He nodded grimly, then opened the portal slowly, grunting
all the way. Water dripped from the door as it went upwards slowly.
The man didn’t waste time in ushering Azrael towards the earthen
part of the guild after locking the door behind him and opening
that farther one, flooding the room in between once again. All
around Azrael oogled.

“First time actually here, eh?” asked the
man, then slowed down in his brisk stroll to shake hands. “Name’s
Mattias Finch, by the way. Aetherian?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Azrael answered. “Yes
and yes. You have a good ear for accents.”

“Cornhill, myself. A bit further off, but we
like the peace and quiet. We commute every day, you know.”

“Really?” asked Azrael, feigning surprise,
then felt bad. Mattias was a friendly guy, and deserved a small
hint of truth, at least as much as could be given presently. “Oh, I
remember. Sera mentioned it once, but doesn’t like to do it
herself.” Naturally, it wasn’t Sera who’d told him. A memory
surfaced of Raime kissing little Judith before stepping into a
circle and disappearing into thin air. Judith. Azrael gulped as his
heart lurched, unbidden. He’d thought he had gotten used to loss,
but ripples had a way of causing waves. “What’s that?” he asked
suddenly, attention drawn by a rock one guild member in spectacles
was demonstrating to others. It was set upon a white table, in the
middle of many alchemy glyphs.

“Oh, that’s an automatic ore fission
circle,” explained Mattias, pulling Azrael closer to see the thing.
The rock, circular in shape, suddenly seemed to split into two
smaller ones. Whereas the first was a myriad of colors and
obviously natural rock, it now had much less red in it. The second
rock was smaller and seemed to be comprised purely of the red ore
now missing from the first. Then it split again, and again, until
there were five different rocks of similar sizes and all seeming
mostly comprised of a single ore each. The surrounding spectators
clapped enthusiastically and Azrael joined in, eyes wide like a
three year old’s.

“That was amazing,” he said when he was
dragged away by the arm. “I’ve never heard of ore being split like
that. It’s incredibly sophisticated!”

“That it is. How come you forgot the
enchantment to get the aerators out? It’s pretty simple.”

“I didn’t forget it,” grinned the
necromancer. “I never knew it?”

The man frowned. “Then how come-“

“Always been good at lip reading,” Azrael
informed him.

“Wow, that’s pretty handy. Here, we’ve
reached advisor Bakas’ office. Come on in.”

“Advisor? I thought she worked in water
purification.”

“That was
years
ago! How long has it
been since you two last spoke?” asked Mattias, still leaving no
room in his heart for suspicion. Azrael cursed his memory
silently.

When the two knocked, they were greeted with
a cheerful, “Come on in!” the red haired man chuckled to himself,
and Azrael realized that he’d found a kindred soul in the man. They
both loved to have their fun. Knowing that there was little reason
to keep up his façade. He let the fake accent drop with a sigh,
letting his true Aetherian extravagance shine through. “Well then,
master Finch. I thank you for the tour, but shall be able to take
care of the rest quite well enough on my own!” Leaving the man
standing outside, Azrael stepped through the door, shut it behind
him, and turned to a now slightly alarmed Sera.

“Who are you?” she demanded with a pointed
finger from her seated position. In response, Azrael took off his
brooch. She almost jumped right out of her own skin. “Az- Az- Az-“
she spluttered, still pointing a finger.

“Yes, Sera,” exclaimed the now tall thin
raven haired necromancer. He had wished for a brooch to actually
change his features, but needed to settle for a psion’s artefact
designed to affect the sensibilities of those around him. “It’s me.
I died that night, like you heard. You can tell what that means, I
assume?”

“Ye-Ye-Ye-“ she confirmed, shaking only a
little but realizing what she was looking at.

“look, I know that it’s going to be hard to
explain, so I’ll summon Raime to help me explain. I can do that
now.”

“No,” she said suddenly, sitting back down
in her seat. “There’s no way.”

“Yes there is. I just told you, I died. You
don’t know what I can do now.”

“No, you can’t do that,” she said, somehow
getting his nerves up.

“Sera, now is not the time for that,
just-“

“I said no!”

“Ugh, fine, look!” with a gesture, Azrael
pulled his power from deep within and shaped it with an age old
spell. The spell was the same one employed by necromancers from the
Purple Skull guild, but with his vastly superior powers it took on
a different nature. A cold whisper could almost be heard in the air
and Sera’s breath fogged over. The overhead light, which seemed
alchemical and looked like a glowing knot, suddenly sputtered as
his death energy flared. His wife appeared, first as a glowing orb,
then just like he remembered last seeing her, in a beautiful white
dress and little to no make up on her skin. Her eyes had been a
brown which he insisted was honey based and she believed to be
muddy, but now all of her, even her hair, was that pale grey glow.
She was undeniably beautiful, what with a strong jaw and shoulders
coupled with creamy skin, but he felt sad seeing her like that.

Raimy said, “Boo,” but Sera had already
fainted by then. “Great,” she added with a disappointed sigh,
heading over to Miss Bakas and trying to poke her with a finger
that went right through her nose. “Now what?”

“Now we wait.” Azrael Windslayer moved over
to a red armchair and splaying himself right on it with slight
disappointment. His hands rubbed against the velvety red for a few
seconds as he glanced about. The office was warmly furnished,
mostly in reds, yellows and deep browns. Sera’s desk was especially
impressive, and he envied her it a little. You could see ocean
through two windows to each side behind the desk, and they offered
a breathtaking view of fish and blue. Along the walls, practical
shelves were lines with books and essays, many being simple reports
written by simple researchers looking for advice. He headed over to
one particular shelf. “I’ll need to rethink how I explain things.
Do you want to pop into heaven till then?”

“Nah, I’ll help. You’ll need help telling
her that you’re practically a god now, and planning on making sure
nobody ever dies again –Which I’m still not sure I approve of- but
that in order to do so, you need to manifest a portal into the
realm death resides in.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” remarked
Azrael in a slightly hurt manner. “It does sound bad. But I really
need her help with the force conversions. If I do it wrong, I might
end up releasing the true spell.” He pulled out an essay on
automatic ore fission, took it to his seat, and set into it with
the hunger of an avid reader.

“What would that do again, honey?”

He fidgeted. “uh. Well…” Under her stare,
the Fourth unchained in known history relented. She knew what it
was going to do, he’d told her right after raiding that devil
worshipping temple and finding the scroll. “It might unleash demons
of death and kill more or less everyone in the world.”

Chapter 2

Glint Stryger ached from toe to toe. He’d
enjoyed a rough evening the night before, for Lord Aje had thought
instructing multiple higher class first circle guild members to
gang up on him. Luckily all were fourth and fifth rankers, and so
were no true match for him. Then again, there had been five of
them, and so he had to deal with a knee halfway sprained as well as
more bruises than you could shake a blade at. He groaned, and the
young man’s bracers began to glow softly. Slowly, the pain subsided
and the warrior was able to slightly bend his left leg. Moaning
still, he swung his legs over his bunk bed, almost smacking Sung as
he did. “Oya, Glint,” exclaimed the tall boy in a deep voice. His
eastern features contorted in mock anger, then he laughed at the
look Glint gave him.