The Keys to Ascension

by Dilland Doe

  The Cornthian warrior turned toward Finio, then charged with his shield extended forward.

  Ahh! Finio never tried to enhance his own speed with the magic. He growled while focusing the power on himself and Kericles. Magical energy flowed through him. He rolled left of the shield. Then dodged left, right, and down, avoiding the swinging mace. The enemy was faster, but Finio could anticipate his moves; just like someone trying to tackle a sedeux ball.

  Finally, Kericles came at the opponent swinging his hammers. Finio retreated to the other end of the arena. The two enhanced warriors struck and parried in blurs. Kericles moved with precision, but the other boy was just too fast and strong. He caught Kericles with another shield bash, sending him flying across the arena, then skidding along the ground on his butt.

  The Cornthian dropped his weapon and shield, then dashed toward the downed Kericles before pulling out a thin visor dagger and inserting it precisely into Kericles’s visor.

  Precision magic too…

  The Cornthian screamed in pain and staggered backward from a hammer blow to the gut. Its shockwave must have shook his organs like mad. But it didn’t matter; by penetrating the visor with a weapon, he was the winner.

  The four contestants shook hands. The older wizard looked seriously at Finio. “You just gotta learn your high being, son. And if it’s too difficult of one, try another. Some high beings are just not compatible with certain people.”

  Finio glanced back at the blue pot on the ground. He didn’t want to give up on Kwitty.

  Sannacles’s boisterous laugh boomed from behind. The kings had entered the arena floor. “What a great show! Don’t worry Finio, that guy’s a Petra mercenary. They have the largest wizard market in all of Citia.” He shoved his brawny finger into Finio’s chest. “That is where you need to be. I’ve already started arranging transport. I’ll send you there tomorrow to learn.”

  “What? But I just got here?”

  The king grabbed and shook Finio’s shoulder, forcing him to adjust his feet to maintain balance. “You will always be my adopted son. But we need a grand wizard, not a novice, and there is no one here to teach you.”

  “Wha? Who will I learn from?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, the king said, “I don’t know. You’ll figure it out. Just ask around when you get there.”

  Ch. 13

  Parto watched Lizeto’s stocky legs propel him down the aisle toward the witness chair. The judge’s stand loomed over the side of it. Parto struggled to not stare at the inquisitor who stood a few yards in front of him in his flowing white clothes, metal mask, and tall, thin boots. The assassin stood ready to strike, his hand on the pommel of a long dagger. Several other blades were barely visible through his clothes. Another inquisitor sat behind Parto. To his left was his Authority-provided lawyer.

  If my dad really was a maleefa, Lizeto wouldn’t know about it. How would he know if I didn’t?

  The Authority prosecutor in his purple suit strode in front of Lizeto. “How do you know the accused?”

  Nodding toward Parto, Lizeto said, “He and his brothers are my best friends.”

  “Do you accept that his father committed blasphemous crimes against The Divinity?”

  Lizeto tilted his chubby head and shoulders to the sides while throwing his hands up before returning to a normal position. “That’s what everyone says. I guess it’s true.”

  Lizeto has always been a loyal friend. No matter what they threaten him with, he’ll stay loyal. Parto’s wide eyes moistened.

  The prosecutor tilted his head. “Was the defendant close to his maleefa father?”

  Nodding, Lizeto said, “Yeah, sure. They were around each other a lot.”

  “Would you say the father and son had a close relationship?”

  “The triplets had an active father, yeah.” Lizeto smiled.

  The lawyer stood tall. “The Authority has found over four-thousands pages of notes about magic in the very house the defendant lived in. And he was close to his father. Is it feasible that the defendant could have known about them, or even practiced the blasphemous arts?”

  I’d never! Lizeto knows this. C’mon, man.

  “Ah ha ha ha ha!” Lizeto bent forward and pounded his knee before looking back up at the prosecutor. “Look, to people who don’t know the Arrassio boys, they were all the same. They looked identical. But I knew them. Parto is the most: stuffy, Divinity-books-pounding, uptight, Divinity-slave I’ve ever seen.”

  A commotion, along with a few gasps and screams, spread through the crowd. Lizeto froze.

  “Oh, uh. Yeah. Not a Divinity-slave. I shouldn’t have said that.” He turned toward the Judge. “In the name of The Divinity, I apologize, I just meant to say Parto is the last person to be involved in magic. He’d probably report his father himself if he knew. And hell, I was over there all the time and knew everything about those triplets…if they knew, I’d know. And I didn’t.”

  Parto felt a huge smile grow on his face. I love you, Lizeto.

  The prosecutor stood motionless for a moment. “No further questions.”

  The judge glanced toward Parto’s lawyer, who dismissed the look with a hand.

  Focusing on the witness, the judge said, “You’re free to go, Lizeto. Tell your father I said hi.”

  Parto couldn’t remove the smirk from his face as he saw Lizeto return to his seat. I’ve seen people hang for saying ‘divinity-slave’. And I’m on trial for my life for something they say my dad did!

  The judge looked down at paper on his desk. “The next person to the stand…the defendant, Parto Arrassio.”

  All eyes went to Parto. He sucked in a deep breath, then bowed his head, whispering, “Divinity, give me strength.” He calmly walked to the chair.

  The prosecutor grilled him on his dad and his mom. Parto said he knew nothing of it. He was smart enough to not openly defend them. Everyone believed they were guilty, but he still wasn’t sure. Could his own parents really be so blasphemous? His lawyer pointed out how plausible it was for Parto to have never known, and asked him questions that showed this.

  Parto stood strong through the barrage of questions; his faith defended him like the mightiest of shields.

  After the defense attorney sat down, the judge spoke. “Everyone except the inquisitors, the lawyers, and the defendant, leave now. I’m commencing a closed session.” The audience quietly chatted as they shuffled out of the courtroom.

  Parto remained in the interviewee chair, waiting for what was to be done to him. He knew there would be a closed meeting, but his lawyer couldn’t tell him what for.

  After the last person left, guards outside dragged the large wooden doors shut. All the empty pews made the room seem bare. A side door opened. A man carrying a meowy entered the room. His hands could hardly be seen under the fluffy white fur of the animal.

  A meowy!? Why are they bringing a meowy in here?

  The judge stared intensely, so did the lawyers…at Parto.

  What’s going on?

  “Meow” The meowy shifted in the man’s hands. He pet its head before scratching behind its ears. The feline leaned its head into the scratch.

  “Parto, don’t react. Pretend like you don’t hear me.”

  Is the meowy talking to me!?

  “Look. You are sensitive to high beings. I am a high being. And with me, I can bust you out of here.”

  Parto pursed his lips. “Blasphemy!” He snapped his head to the judge. “How dare you bring maleefan objects in my presence? What magic is this!?”

  The judged leaned back as his eyes widened before his face went stoic again and he leaned toward Parto.

  The voice from the meowy said, “Damn it. What the hell are you doing? I was trying to help you.”

  Focusing on Parto, the judge said, “You can hear the demon?”

  Parto glanced around, then stared back at the judge. “I hear something, yeah. What?”

  In an official voice, the judge said, “Let the record show Parto A
rrassio has demon sensitivity. We will finish the trial at the scheduled time tomorrow. Inquisitors, he is your prisoner now.”

  The persons armed with a glut of blades covered in flowing white clothes, approached Parto.

  #

  Sitting in a cold, dark prison was freaking boring! Parto wasn’t sure how he was supposed to sleep on a floor. But no matter, The Divinity would maintain his strength.

  He looked at his hands. A maleefa. A demon ally. A wizard? Me? Could my parents really have done such horrendous acts? He stared at the old bearded man sleeping in the cell across from him. But I love The Divinity. How could I be cursed with demon sensitivity?

  Boots echoed down the hallways, getting louder. I already had “dinner”. I guess they do rounds to make sure no one’s escaping.

  He expected the dirty, haphazard clothes of a jailor. Instead, he saw fit legs pressed through pristine white cloth. An inquisitor stood before him. The man lifted his hand upward, palm up.

  Parto stood.

  The inquisitor spoke. “You’re smart, quick, fast, strong, loyal, a steadfast believer in The Divinity, and sensitive. You sound like an ideal candidate for an inquisitor.”

  Parto breathed in deeply. He imagined himself riding the fastest horses while his white robes and bouncing daggers flowed behind him. He saw himself running up walls, sprinting across roofs, and diving into buildings before ramming his dagger into a demon-lover’s heart.

  “You have a choice,” the inquisitor said, “Take whatever ruling the judge gives you, or attempt to join the inquisition, and serve The Sovereign, The Authority, The Divinity.”

  Parto snapped his feet together and pounded his right hand on his left chest. “I wish to serve.”

  As the inquisitor unlocked his jail cell, Parto thought, maybe I can also research my parents.

  Ch. 14

  Every sway of the horse’s back sent pain through Parto’s body. Even after six weeks of training, he ached with soreness. Sometimes he wondered if death as a maleefa would have been better. But the first stage of training was almost done. He would soon no longer be a candidate, but an initiate inquisitor.

  He stared up at the jagged, black spires of the count’s fortress. Why would someone ever make a castle look so evil? He approached a gate where two guards wore armor with angles and points just like the fortress. Their spears pointed toward the sky.

  “Parto! You made it!”

  From the side, Lizeto waved at him with a sedeux grounder paddle-staff in his hand. Wow, he waited outside the gates just like he said in the letter.

  A handful of boys surrounded the count’s son holding clubs and staffs. They looked like peasants that Lizeto made practice with him. He snapped at a boy, “Stable my friend’s horse.”

  The boy and Lizeto approached Parto as he dismounted. His friend’s big face shined with a huge smile. Suddenly, Lizeto’s body smushed into Parto’s, his thick arms squeezing tight.

  Parto patted his back. “Miss me?”

  Pulling back from the hug, Lizeto stared at Parto with wet, jittering eyes. “Yeah, man. My three best friends are gone. You are the first I’ve seen of my boys since the Arrassio inquisition.

  At least my brothers escaped. Parto closed his eyes and frowned as he remembered his father’s head drop into a basket at the public beheading. Fury sparked in his brain. In a seething whisper he said, “Demon lover.”

  Lizeto scrunched his face. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Lizeto hugged him hard again. “I’m glad you got away from those damn mines. I can’t believe they punished you cuz they thought your dad was a mage. Total bull.”

  The boys separated from the hug. “Honestly,” Parto said, “I’m just too sore. Working in the mines is ridiculous. I barely made it here even now.” He told the truth about the soreness, but it was from training, not working.

  Stomping his foot, Lizeto said, “Damn inquisition. A bunch of zealots.”

  Parto leaned his head to the side. “Hey.” The boys locked eyes. “Thanks for testifying for me.”

  Dismissing the comment with his hand, Lizeto said, “It was nothing. You wanna play some sedeux?”

  They batted around some sedeux balls for about forty-five minutes until Lizeto said he was hungry. For Parto, the feeling was mutual.

  #

  Lizeto shoved a handful of sliced pork covered in sweet sauce into his mouth. Parto’s pork had a light glaze of the sauce. He ate the slices one at a time with a fork.

  Talking through a mouthful, Lizeto said, “Hey man, even after working six weeks in the estra mines, you still play sedeux like a freaking champ. I’m doing my best to lead the team without the triplets, but having only one totally awesome player,” he pointed both thumbs toward himself, “isn’t as good as having four.”

  “Hang in there, big guy.”

  Lizeto nodded. “Yeah, I am pretty big and muscular.”

  “Uuuuuuh.”

  The stocky boy lurched forward. “Hey man! Shut up!”

  Parto knocked his head back, laughing.

  Lizeto grabbed his plate, then flung a glob of wet meat at Parto. It slapped onto his face.

  “You little—” Parto lifted his own plate as a throwing weapon.

  Lizeto shook his head and pointed his finger. “You better not.”

  “Okay okay.” Parto lowered the plate.

  Lizeto relaxed before Parto flashed his wrist. The meat flew off the plate and into Lizeto’s face, half of it landing directly in his mouth.

  Speaking through noisy chomps of pork, Lizeto said, “This may taste good. I do enjoy the meat you just gave me, but Lizeto Pinsta is not pushed around by nobody!” He swallowed the meat before leaping on the table and jumping after Parto.

  Parto flashed to his feet and ran, laughing as he dashed out the room then down the great hallways and under the vaulted ceilings of the count’s fortress. Parto gained a lead on the thicker boy.

  “You can run but you can’t hide!” Lizeto yelled, “I know this place like the back of my hand!”

  “More like the insides of a roasted pig.”

  “Parto!” Lizeto stomped even harder after his friend.

  Parto ran up spiraling stairs, gritting his teeth at the soreness that burned through the back of his legs. He then dashed off the steps before turning a corner to see a large man right in front of him. Parto leapt to the side to avoid crashing into him, then dashed forward.

  The man said, “Parto!”

  Parto froze at the sound of the count’s voice, then slowly turned. The heavy steps of Lizeto pounded down the hall, then rounded the corner. He slammed into his dad, who stumbled forward, almost catching his feet before crashing into the ground.

  Lizeto leaned forward with his hands to the sides. “Ooooooooooooohhhhh. Dad, sorry!” He helped his father up, who brushed off his black clothing before leaning on his dark cane.

  He looked at his son. “You’re too old to be acting a fool in the fortress!”

  Lizeto lowered his head. “Sorry.”

  The count turned toward Parto. Even with knowing the man forever, the noble with a violent reputation still intimidated him. The count spoke in a soft voice. “I’m sorry about your father. He was my friend. And I’m sorry for you. I lobbied the judge for a light sentence. Four years in the estra mines isn’t so bad. Soon, you’ll be out and ready to restart life.”

  Parto felt scared to ask, but he got so little information while training, and he had to know. “Has The Sovereign decided what to do with my father’s lands?”

  The count nodded. “I’ve spoken with The Sovereign on this as well. Fortunately, your aunt is married into an important alliance. We can’t risk upsetting the Actians when we’re so close to breaking into the League. So, the lands will stay in the family. You have a distant relative living in the south, he’ll send a son to watch over the lands until your sentence is up.” The count smiled. “You will inherit all of the Arrassio domain.”

  Warmth rushed up Parto’
s cheeks. While the inquisition taught him to maintain stoic expressions, he had to let himself loose here; he couldn’t risk blowing his cover.

  “Thank you, Count Rylo. Thank you!”

  “Anything for Themeno’s son.” They shook hands. “Excuse me. I have a meeting.”

  They nodded toward each other. The count walked halfway down the hall, then turned into a room with a large opening. After the count entered, Parto dashed toward the room. “Wait!”

  He entered the surprisingly dark chamber. There were a few chairs around a central table, and a few off to the side. On a side chair sat a man in black, dressed in mysterious robes. Parto couldn’t get a good look at him, but he sensed his magic. He wanted to breath in deep, but he couldn’t give himself away. This is how I got into the inquisition. I’m demon sensitive. And one wizard can usually sense another. Why is the count having a meeting with a maleefa? And by the feel of it, a powerful one.

  The count turned and faced Parto.

  Parto said, “Count Rylo, I will repay your kindness. I will. I don’t know how yet, but I will. Thank you.”

  After giving a thin-lipped smile, the count said, “Very good, boy. Now out. I have business.”

  Parto left. A bell rang from the room and servants dragged heavy doors shut.

  Lizeto approached him. “You don’t owe my father nothing. We’re all friends. Anywho, let’s go have seconds. I’m still hungry.”

  Parto walked forward, hardly hearing his buddy. I’m gonna repay his kindness by turning him in for a demonic alliance. I must. The Divinity expects me to. The inquisition has to know what a count of Hyzantria is doing with a maleefa. Maybe he doesn’t know. Or maybe, the vicious count is up to no good. He winced at the mixture of guilt and determination that flowed through his mind.

  Ch. 15

  Tyzonio sensed that open connection again, just like a week before. He examined his shiny, black gloves before dancing his fingers before his eyes. That boy, Parto. He probably doesn’t even know he’s sensitive. He’s practically an enslaved mine laborer for the next four years. Maybe he’s open to instruction. Having an apprentice could be useful.