Phate

by Jason Alan

  It was the dawning of a new chaos.

  In the tallest tower, Syndreck the Brooding was awakened by rain that poured through the circular space in the ceiling. His face slicked with blood, he flicked out his tongue and licked a few drops. “Ah, so sweet,” he mumbled through a yawn.

  He opened his eyes. He was on his side, his limbs hanging over the lip of the platform. He rolled over, sat up…and a loud, echoing ring sounded as he slammed his forehead into the cauldron. His brow throbbing with pain, he cried out, “Ah! What is this?”

  From somewhere in the chamber, Drekklor answered, “Your cauldron. I excavated it from the ruins below.”

  “What cauldron? And why do you put it right on top of me?”

  “I put it where it’s supposed to be.”

  “I’ll banish you to the netherworlds, put you where you’re supposed to be, dark demon of trickery!” Syndreck stood up, rubbed his forehead. “Cauldron in my face…I’ll incinerate his…” He grumbled some more, but then when he turned around, his eyes widened with remembrance and he gasped. There, taking up nearly half the space on the platform, was the Cauldron of Carcass Control, his once beloved pot of necromancy.

  “Ah, yes, my cauldron!”

  He reached forward and lovingly caressed its rumpled sides. Molded from corroded iron, it was large, dull, and dark. He was pleased to note its innards were already filled with a bubbling swill whose surfaced sizzled with every drop of blood rain. He continued to drag his hand around it, reminiscing about the glory of viler times…

  “You have no idea, demon. Within this cauldron, a thousand years ago, I brewed the magic that tore down the dimensional walls. Within this cauldron, I wove the spells that sent armies of undead against the legions of light. And, within this very cauldron, I will again find my power!”

  Drekklor floated up to him, bearing a large goblet whose once pristine silver surface had corroded beneath the grimy grip of ancient oily fingers.

  “Give it here!” Syndreck seized the vessel and dipped it into the swill. He then brought it to his lips and poured the froth down his throat. It was disgustingly foul. Syndreck, of course, found it delectable. That he drank the stuff was unnecessary, but, oh, how it intoxicated him so! He belched, his anticipation brimming like the cauldron’s froth.

  Syndreck has shown quite a propensity for disgustingness, eh?

  “Now,” he said, “we shall begin!”

  And with that, he threw the goblet past Drekklor and laughed. He grabbed a long ladle from a hanger affixed to the side of the cauldron, plunged it into the swill, and dragged it round. A necromantic song soon slipped from his lips, and he lulled himself into a trance. Minutes passed by. Then hours. Still he stirred and sang. The liquid bubbled and simmered and glowed. As the putrid froth spilled over the brim, Syndreck could feel his soul’s inherent powers rekindling, could feel the slumbering bear of sorcery within awakening from a thousand-year winter.

  Oh, it was wonderful!

  And now he was ready to go to work.

  He reached into the cauldron with his mind, and thus projected his spectral fingers into the universe around him. He groped the space surrounding Phate. He nodded, for as expected, the dimensional walls surrounding the world were weak and, as he probed deeper, he discovered that the skies surrounding Ulith Urn itself were the weakest of all. “Ah, perfect! Just as I had hoped!” He peered intently into the cauldron, whose surface displayed a wavering image of where he concentrated his powers, and he discerned the exact places where the walls would most easily break. They were right behind him, hanging over the Raging Sea like curtains of frail silk, waiting to be torn. “Soon I will tear through the dimensions, and the Dark Forever’s denizens will flood the universe like water racing from a broken dam!”

  Soon, he thought, Nenockra Rool would be free, and all would be as it should have been, so long, long ago.

  Syndreck’s sorcerous energy surged with his adrenaline.

  “Do you feel it?” he said to himself.

  “Feel…?” The shadow demon, beset with boredom, had thought the necromancer’s words were meant for him.

  “I speak not to you, slave!”

  “I thought not.”

  “Dimwitted nuisance!”

  Syndreck looked at the demon and laughed in that uncontrollable way of his. Then he looked back into his cauldron. He was eager to begin. But before he started tearing through the dimensional walls, he wanted to test his burgeoning necromantic abilities. They would be useful, for who knew when he would need slaves or guardians of the compound? And he was dying to know just how strong he was becoming. He sang a little song, cast a little spell. The cauldron gurgled in response, its glow flickering. Syndreck was ecstatic, for his spell was instantly coming to fruition.

  “Come, witness the birth of a new age!” he exclaimed.

  Drekklor said nothing and didn’t move.

  “Fool, I said come!”

  “You speak to me?”

  “Yes, I speak to you, fool! By all the devils of hell, what sort of a demon are you? That Nenockra Rool created you I sometimes cannot believe.” He shook his head, muttered ancient curses.

  Drekklor floated up to the edge of the cauldron. He looked into it, but detected nothing unusual. There were swirls of rotten, bubbling liquid, and he experienced some foul sensation he later determined to be an awful smell.

  But then a hand broke through the surface.

  A beautiful, decaying, wretchedly-rotted hand, and a clawed hand at that.

  It was a significant event.

  For the first time in a thousand years, something dead had been purposefully returned to the world of the living.

  Syndreck’s eyes widened with jubilation. “You see, demon, you see?”

  Drekklor looked to Syndreck. Although the shadow demon had learned to never doubt the will of Nenockra Rool, it was still difficult to understand how this deranged mortal could wield so much power.

  Syndreck lifted his arms triumphantly into the air. “I’ve done it!”

  He had done it indeed.

  Although the accomplishment itself was minuscule, the weight of its implications would burden the universe. He had successfully tapped into the power of the Dark Forever, and leaked some of its influence into the primary plane of existence. He screamed, “Yes! I am to be a destroyer of dimensions again, and a master necromancer! Because of me, the skies will be torn apart, dead things will rise, and Nenockra Rool will stomp the face of Phate!”

  He lowered his arms and stared into the cauldron, tears of joy welling up in his eyes as he noticed the hand extend out to the wrist and open its clawed fingers. The liquid around it steamed and light poured from lacerations in its palm as it grasped at the air. Syndreck mimicked the movements with his own hand like a father encouraging the movements of his newborn son. Then he burst into some strange, twisted dance.

  “What a wonderful instrument this body has proven to be!” Indeed, it was. Magic flowed through Tatoc’s body as smoothly as could have been desired. Its trappings were heavy and clumsy, though, Syndreck noted. He ceased dancing, discarded the suit of invisible-steel armor, and conjured himself some nice dark green robes. Satisfied and comfortable, he resumed his dancing, thinking how pleased Nenockra Rool would be. How—

  “The hand disintegrates.”

  Drekklor’s scathing voice.

  Syndreck ceased his revelry, and looked into the cauldron. The hand was indeed breaking apart, crumbling into the bubbling filth. “Bah, it doesn’t matter!” Syndreck kicked a disapproving foot toward the shadow demon. The specimen itself hadn’t been important, just the result of the incantation. This had just been an experiment, a test, and Syndreck considered it a resounding success.

  Yes, all would unfold as he had foreseen in his dreams.

  The only thing more precious than time is the life that exists within it.

  Azurion

  Keeper of the Sorcerous Tomes of Time

  Drinwor Fang was asleep, yet his midn
ight blues were wide open, glistening with reflections of the paradisial dream that played out behind them. He was dreaming of thousands of golden comets, their contrails sparkling like the ends of so many magicians’ wands. They streaked past his head, flew into the distance, and faded, revealing a universe unlike any Drinwor had ever dreamed of before. Giant spiral galaxies dotted with colorful stars were everywhere. Each star was surrounded by life-sustaining worlds, each world surrounded by oceanic moons, all swirling through a void of perfect white.

  May the Gods return, my faithful reader, can you imagine a cosmos of pure light?

  It was a universe bereft of evil, a universe where darkness had been utterly defeated. And somehow Drinwor knew it was he who had defeated darkness, he who had bestowed everyone with such everlasting hope. Armed with the Sunsword Surassis, he was the savior of it all.

  It was so splendid, so overwhelmingly splendid.

  He let out a soft moan and sank deeper into the dream. He perceived that he flew across the universe like an angel, and soon came upon the center of a shining galaxy of golden stars. And there, in front of the largest star he had ever seen, the image of a giant face was materializing. The features formed…the face was his.

  “What is this?”

  He flew in closer, and reached out to it…

  The face erupted with blood and fire, then crumbled to dust. Drinwor’s consciousness spiraled down into darkness, and for a single, terrifying second, he experienced nonexistence…

  His eyelids fluttered and he awoke, screaming, “My stolen soul!”

  “My Lord, I was trying to wake you.”

  “Wha? Who…?” Drinwor sat up, shook his head, and looked about.

  It was Vu Verian. The sky elf’s silhouette towered over him, a greyish shadow surrounded by a thick white haze. Ah, yes, the haze. This was the haze that had appeared in those last moments in the Forest of Chanting Angels. Drinwor was fairly certain that they weren’t in the forest now, for although he couldn’t see much of anything beyond Vu Verian’s silhouette, the ground was hard and there was no breeze. Vu Verian leaned over, offered his hand, and Drinwor pulled himself to his feet.

  “Were you having a bad dream?” the mystic asked.

  Drinwor narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know, I can’t quite remember. There’s flashes, little images flitting through my mind, but…” He stretched his arms, breathed in deeply, then exhaled. “Where are we?”

  “Vren Adiri.”

  “Vren Adiri… How long was I asleep?”

  “Half the morning.”

  “Really? Feels like longer.”

  Vu Verian motioned around him. “It’s this place. It’s a place of healing, resting, rejuvenating.”

  “Nice. I should move here.”

  Vu Verian evinced a little smile while Drinwor waved off his jesting comment. Then the dusk elf’s eyes grew suddenly wide, and he blurted, “Oh, may the Gods return, that reminds me! When we were in the forest I never got a chance to ask you: what happened to my home?! I mean, I’m glad to see you unharmed, but by the Seven Glories, was Areshria destroyed?”

  “No, no. It was damaged, but nothing too severe. It still flies.”

  “That’s a relief! It seemed like half of it fell on top of me after my fall.”

  Vu Verian placed his hand on Drinwor’s shoulder. “About your fall—I’m sorry I sent you off like that, but I had to get you out of there as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh, I know, that dragon would have killed me. I mean, if my father wasn’t able to—” Drinwor choked on his words. Trembling, he reached up, grabbed Vu Verian’s shoulder, and looked deep into the sky elf’s eyes. “Oh, Vu Verian, my father…”

  Vu Verian took Drinwor’s hand, brought it down between them, and grasped it tight. In a low voice, he said, “Drinwor, tell me all about your fall. Areshria is so lofty a perch, you must have seen many things.” He realized the fall had been a most harrowing experience in itself, but was willing to bet its recollection would at least momentarily steer Drinwor away from dwelling on his father.

  He was right.

  Drinwor immediately perked up and gasped, “My fall! Oh, Vu Verian, it was crazy! I was tumbling over and over and then I saw the dragon and I was worried about you and then I fell into a storm and…and then I turned over and got a glimpse of the world. It was incredible! But then I thought I was going to crash into these glassy trees and—” He abruptly stopped, his eyes alight with some new thought. “I just remembered something else, I meant to give back your…” He took his hand from Vu Verian’s grasp and reached for one of his fingers. Surprised to find nothing wrapping it but the taut material of his demonskin’s glove, he hesitated, looked around, and said, “I must have lost it in the forest. Vu Verian, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Lost what?”

  “Your ring, the Ring of Floating.”

  “Oh, you didn’t lose it.”

  “You already took it back?”

  Vu Verian paused for a moment, then said, “Drinwor, the ring was an illusion.”

  Drinwor, in obvious shock, took a step back. “What? What do you mean it was an illusion? Then how—”

  The mystic sky elf gestured for him to calm. “Don’t concern yourself with this now. Many things will soon be revealed.”

  Drinwor looked on Vu Verian curiously, almost suspiciously, but presently decided to let the matter of the illusionary ring go. He circled around, swirled the haze with his hands. “So, Vren Adiri is another sky elf palace, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the whole place filled with mist? I wish we could actually see something.”

  And then, right on cue with Drinwor’s words, the haze swirled into itself and quickly faded away. The revealed scene made Drinwor think he had stepped into another dream.

  Vu Verian spread his arms out. “Behold, the Chamber of the Staring Sun.”

  Drinwor tilted his head back and swiveled on his heels. His eyes wide with awe, he said, “It’s even more beautiful than Areshria.”

  The elves beheld a massive tower whose hollowed-out interior mimicked the ancient sky. The silken walls were a soothing shade of blue—a blue that Drinwor had only ever seen in the eyes of his sky elf friend. Clouds drifted above. Puffy, clean and white, their densities increased as they climbed toward the ceiling, which hung thousands of feet overhead. And there, embedded in the center of the ceiling, shining with star-like brilliance, was a giant jewel called the Sun’s Remembrance. It was a crafted representation of the sun of old, a polished, round gemstone that caught Drinwor’s eyes and sparkled them. While he gazed at it, it issued shafts of scintillating yellow light that shot through the clouds and all the way down to the white marble floor, surrounding the two elves in glowing columns.

  Now, with the Sun’s Remembrance beaming, Drinwor noticed the telltale glint of scales amongst the clouds.

  “Vu Verian, are those…?”

  “Yes, Drinwor, you look upon dragons.”

  There were dozens of them gliding in long, slow spirals, gracefully slipping in and out of the clouds around the upper reaches of the chamber—cloud dragons and spirit dragons; lightning dragons and crystalfire dragons; even the sparkling tinge of lesser translucent dragons was evident. They were magnificent. I get misty-eyed just writing about them, and cannot wait for you to meet my favorite one of all…

  Drinwor shook his head. “I must be still dreaming, for where else could such beauty exist?”

  Vu Verian nodded. “It’s the home of the Fallen Angel, a sanctuary for the dreams of yore.”

  And then, as if the place wasn’t surreal enough, music arose from some indiscernible place, the low melodies of phantom flutes accompanying high-pitched female voices. The sounds were lulling, emotional, the long-drawn-out notes dragged like a caressing hand across the soul.

  Drinwor turned to Vu Verian. “Listen to that. You know, I never took music for much of a companion. But this…this makes me believe I’ve truly missed something. There’s a sadness
but also a solace in the sound. To hear someone or something else produce this makes me think there are others who feel as I do. It makes me feel as though I’m not alone.”

  Vu Verian nodded. “Here, the songs of the spirit elves ever sing. I’m glad you get to hear them, my Emperor. I’m glad you get to see this. I hope this place comforts you on your most difficult day.”

  Drinwor made to answer, but was distracted, for a strange sound, like a dragon’s inhalation, was emanating from the space right beside him. He instinctively leaped backward. Vu Verian swiftly but smoothly stepped aside, then remained still and ready.

  The sound rose in pitch and volume…then silenced. Drinwor muttered, “What was—”

  Suddenly, a small cloud of crackling black vapor appeared in the air between them. Within it, glowing blue and white light poured like liquid lightning over a shape that was composing itself into some sort of humanoid form. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the cloud vanished, leaving only a few puffs of dwindling vapor at the feet of the newly arrived figure.

  Morigos of the Moom stepped forth and cackled. “His most difficult day? I think not. That is yet to come!”

  Vu Verian’s expression evinced both shock and rage. “How dare you enter this place! For your tainted eyes to even set their gaze upon the grace of this palace is blasphemy! Begone, dark fiend!”

  Morigos coughed through his retort. “As I’ve already told you, I was summoned, invited, just like you.”

  “Invited to Vren Adiri?” Vu Verian snickered. “You speak nothing but lies.”

  Morigos dipped his cowled head. “For an ancient owl, you are not very wise.”

  “I should separate the skin from your bones!”

  “Thank you so much, but it’s already been done.”

  “Then it should be done again, vile deceiver!”

  Black blood dripped from the corners of Morigos’ mouth, but with his face hidden in the shadows of his cowl, this went unseen. He struck back at Vu Verian with biting words. “And what of you, sky elf? Your continued threats and insults do nothing to disguise what you really are.”