The Orphan's Discovery

by Shawn Robert Smith

  This train of thought depressed him and refreshed his own frustration at being a Decayed. He was meant for greatness. For leadership. To make the world a better place. Instead, he walked to a village to rob someone trying to help a dying man.

  The village came into view up ahead. Torches sat in metal holders around, providing light. A roasting pig rotated above a fire that rested in the middle of the small town. Markus approached quietly, covering himself with his cloak to hide his face. About a dozen huts made up the village, and only one person tended to the pig. The rest must be keeping warm inside. Keeping behind the first hut, he scanned the village, looking for the green door. He found it on the far side. Markus snuck around behind the huts, careful not to rouse anyone. He searched as far as he could see before moving to the next home. Before long, he stood behind the house with the green door. He glanced inside a small break between wooden planks, finding the healer inside sleeping.

  Markus moved toward the front, keeping an eye on the cook and checking the center area for anyone else. The man by the fire poked the pig and then hung up his prodding tool. He left to enter a hut nearby. Markus slipped around to the door and pushed it slowly, testing it for a lock. It opened willingly. He entered and closed the door behind him with ease. A swarm of scents attacked his senses — both nose and eyes, throwing him off-balance. He caught a sneeze before it started, holding his breath until the urge left. Markus checked on the healer, but she remained still, except for the soft movement of her chest. He looked around, assuming the woman kept the potion tucked away out of harm’s reach. Instead, it lay on a shelf above both the window and the bed, open for anyone to take. Markus tip-toed to the edge of the bed, careful not to make a sound. He took shallow breaths and adjusted his position until he found the right spot to reach the concoction without falling over onto the healer.

  The warmth of the vial surprised him. It wasn’t only warm. It felt like the warmth of consoling. Of forgiveness combined with love. The feeling bothered him. He felt pain from it. His anger flared, and he wanted to hurt this woman. Markus put the potion in his pocket and took a deep breath to calm himself. It helped to relieve his rage, but ruined his desire to remain quiet. He sneezed with force. The woman sat up and glared at him.

  “You’d let a child die for your own gain?”

  Markus teetered back and forth a few steps before regaining his balance. Child? This potion was for an old man. The wielder planned to sell it to a wealthy family whose sick child needed it.

  The healer leaned back against the wall. “It’s not yours to take. Leave it here.” She had courage, but Markus had the advantage here.

  “Stop, or I’ll yell for help.”

  Markus formed a dark sphere in one hand ready to use it. Her eyes widened.

  “I can help you.”

  Markus released his magic, noticing her posture shift. What he thought was concern filled her face.

  “This is the last of this potion we have. We planned to use it to save a child, but you’re still young. You don’t deserve this fate. Let me help you.”

  Markus leaned toward her but pulled himself back. No one ever mentioned a cure. If she told him the truth, he could join the Order of the Lion and help change the world. Yet, the Decayed rose to power again. His task was also important.

  “No, I need it to find my people.”

  The woman pulled a dagger from a strap on her leg and stepped off the bed. “I won’t have you waste it.”

  By her stance, she lacked experience using a knife. She was defenseless against him and he’d take what he wanted.

  “Don’t waste your energy.” Markus turned to walk away. She lunged at him. He dodged her parry and knocked the knife from her hand. He grabbed her by the throat and held her up off the ground. The darkness inside of him flared, and he longed to snap her neck. She stood there vulnerable; he with the advantage. The feeling fueled him and overwhelmed his virtue of justice.

  “I’ll take what I want,” he yelled. He threw her to the bed and left. He walked straight through the village center with the vial in his cloak pocket. The man tending to the roast glared at him, but didn’t stop him.

  Markus, full of energy, jogged back to the lodgings he’d paid for, his lack of sleep washed away by his adrenaline. His memory of attacking those men at Darfield reminded him of their weakness faced against his power. He enjoyed his magical ability and what it provided him. He could still impact the world for the better. What it needed was to be forced into line. People bent the rules to their own benefit. Well, they needed to fear breaking the rules. To be told what to do.

  By the time he arrived, the surge faded. He slouched and his muscles ached with every movement. He stripped down to his underclothes and began to shiver. Markus laid on the bed and pulled the quilts up to his neck. He glanced over at his water-logged clothes and goosebumps rippled all over his body. He shivered, but the blankets failed at warming him and his clothes would never dry. He brought his arms out and tried to form red spheres. Nothing happened. Remembering his testing, he focused on loyalty, but he struggled to think of where his loyalties lay. He served the Kingdom, but started to think King Luther’s rule left something to be desired. Maybe the Decayed are on to something. The people needed a leader they both feared and respected. He decided that it was his loyalty to the Kingdom that met his ideals. It may not exist now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t strive to make it happen.

  He thrust his hand out before him and called the magic. The red ball formed. He brought forth another in his other hand and turned both into flames. The warmth made him painfully aware of the depth of his coldness, but soon his shivering stopped and his body relaxed. The heat filled the room. He put more power into the magic and after a few minutes; he released it. His clothes remained damp, but should dry by morning. Markus closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Day 9 — Morning

  Winthrop’s lesson went much better than before now that his classmates accepted him. His magic worked consistently. He needed a goal, a belief to put his desire into. Shannon diverted their lesson discussion into ways of spotting traitors in their Order. Dymnos tried to get them back to the plan, but Mikael brought them back to the Decayed.

  They broke for their second round of exercising, which hurt because Winthrop was still sore from before. Shannon, Mikael, and Jared sat with Winthrop at dinner. Mort hovered nearby for a second, but left after Winthrop intentionally ignored his presence. He didn’t know for sure if he turned traitor, but Dymnos thought poorly of him and Winthrop sat firmly on the teacher’s side. His new friends purposefully ignored Mort as well and Winthrop didn’t want to go against the grain.

  They joked about disrupting Fath’s speech with reminders of how evil the Decayed acted over the years, but no one committed to anything. Bells chimed above them, reminding everyone about the presentation. They sat together again along with the rest of their classmates.

  Shannon and Mikael conversed and Jared had the attention of another girl, so Winthrop kept to himself. He wondered about Linette. He hoped she had made new friends and had success at her magic. He wished he knew something to point her in the right direction. With Knilin gone, she received no help.

  Then he thought of Markus. He tried not to because he feared that Markus joined the people Winthrop avowed to destroy. That, or someone might attack and kill him in their attempt to subdue a Decayed. He reminded himself of Markus’s resilience and natural talent, making himself believe that Markus remained alive and well.

  The crowd quieted and Fath walked onto the stage. His blue rope framed his small physique and his gray hair stood out against the dark brown.

  “Will you hear me speak?” Fath said.

  “Yes.” The crowd responded, but without the same enthusiasm as Dymnos.

  “Let me start by saying I think our approach to the Decayed in the past was the right choice given our knowledge of them. They captured one of our strongholds and killed many of our people. When we encounter them, they fight
us without mercy and seemingly without a conscience. They have hurt many of you here. If not directly, then indirectly. You’ve lost a parent, a sibling, or a friend. I don’t diminish those losses. I too have lost someone. My wife died during the Night of Sorrows.”

  The crowd stayed quiet and everyone paid attention. Winthrop wondered where he’d go with this and waited for his proposition. Anything short of defeating the Decayed and he’d lose this Order to Dymnos.

  “With that said, know that I say this as a victim of their cruelty. I believe I’ve discovered a way to restore the Order of Man.”

  He let it stand for a few moments, letting it sink in. Some audibly sighed in what Winthrop thought was shock. But, the obvious question came to Winthrop’s mind: how?

  “Before I get to how, let me state I think we should find those in our Order who sympathize with the Decayed and hold them at arm’s length. As for the Decayed, we should defend ourselves and our people when provoked, but otherwise focus on containment rather than destruction.”

  Winthrop heard the hushed conversations start. Shannon mumbled under her breath. He saw anger in Jared’s scrunched forehead. Those around him wanted justice, or maybe even revenge.

  He looked to Fath as his eyes began to water. Winthrop tried to reconcile Fath’s resolve to restore the Decayed and the sadness he had. It came to him like a bolt of lightning: The Decayed didn’t murder his wife. She was one.

  Fath’s emotions seemed to get the better of him. Winthrop waited for his explanation of how to restore the Order of Man, but remained skeptical of Fath’s intentions.

  The hushed conversations quieted down and Fath continued.

  “Many of you know and deride my interests in research, but I’ve discovered several texts that indicate there is a fifth Order. Honestly, they are vague, but they call it Ventus. My scholars think this translates into wind, but I think it’s much deeper than that. I believe it is the Order of the Spirit. After speaking with various religious experts, I’m led to believe that the Order of Man was comprised of two Orders—the Decayed and the Spirit. Together, they formed an Order necessary for life to function. They brought decay where needed, but also healing. I think something happened to the Order of the Spirit and that caused the Order of Man to lose itself.

  “If you elect me as head of this Order, I can direct all of our Order’s scholars to search through the Kingdom’s records. It’ll also give me the authority to sway over other leaders in our Kingdom to help rediscover this lost Order and bring back our people.”

  Toward the end, Fath pleaded for votes. Winthrop mulled over what he said. If true, they could cure Markus. But still it wasn’t a guarantee. Winthrop lacked worldly experience, but everyone knew there were only four Orders. How come no one ever heard of this fifth Order? If they did, they’d have tested people for it. Even so, people would manifest these powers, eventually. The more Winthrop considered it, the more he thought Fath grasped for something that might bring his wife back to him.

  Shannon leaned over to him. “What a fool. The Decayed aren’t changing their ways. I know your father’s actions weren’t your fault Winthrop. I’m sorry for how I acted before. But I saw and heard him when he murdered my parents. He had no conscience. No mercy for them.”

  Winthrop continued to feel guilt at what his father had done. He needed to make sure the Decayed stopped their destruction. He stood up. Everyone looked to him. Fath turned to meet his eyes. Winthrop felt tears begin to form.

  “My father would be proud of you. I bet he’d vote for you if he lived.”

  The crowd gasped. Winthrop left and ran to his room. He wept.

  Five days ago…

  “Come quick, Thomas,” one his apprentices shouted from behind his bedroom door.

  “What is it Mylar?” Thomas had already woken up and was in the process of dressing himself. He wore only the finest of clothing. Yet, today he wore a jacket with over-sized sleeves. Today, he’d kill King Luther, and he needed the space to hide the glass orb of dark magic.

  “Your father’s research. It’s arrived. I had the guards put the boxes in your study.”

  Thomas rushed to finish and took off toward his study, Mylar was already ahead of him. Thomas kept the small room immaculate but the clutter of boxes brought a smile to his face. He doubted his father kept any clues about the seventh progression but the possibility that something here might lead him to it excited Thomas.

  Higel died earlier in the year. Thomas received word shortly after the lines returned to his face. Aurora found a balm that helped diminish them so that when he applied a light powder to his face, they virtually disappeared. Thomas remained vigilant every day and checked his face repeatedly.

  The timing of receiving these documents was poor as he had little time to look at them before the King required his presence in the meeting room for the Council of Light. On any other day, Thomas might have sent another in his place but today the Decayed required his presence there. Today was the beginning of the reign of the Decayed and he’d be rewarded handsomely for his help in today’s events.

  “Sir, there is a note included here from your father.”

  Thomas approached his desk. The square room contained stacks of boxes taking up every inch of the room except a small walkway from the door to his desk. More boxes sat on either side of his desk, leaving a small space open for the letter. Even the one window was partially blocked by five boxes stacked on top of each other.

  He sat down and broke the wax seal on the letter. It read:

  My beloved Son, Thomas,

  I’m sorry for leaving you but my time has come. Even though we ceased working together so many years ago, I’m grateful for it. You’ve grown into the intelligent, kind, and strong son that every father wishes for. I’m proud of you. As a renown researcher and scribe in your own right, I hereby bequeath to you my research. Should you desire to pick up any of my unfinished projects, they are yours. If not, I’m sure you’ll relinquish them to another who might seek to benefit from my work. In any case, I hope they’ll serve as a fond memory of me. This research is who I was and I take great joy it’s a part of you as well.

  With all my love,

  Higel

  Thomas let the tears fall. He sighed and took a deep breath. He felt a mixture of joy and guilt. He’d lived up to his father’s expectations, something many sons struggle to achieve. More importantly, his father acknowledged it willingly and directly. Yet, a knot formed in his chest, pressing on his lungs and making it difficult to breathe. Thomas sat here, reading this letter and about to murder the King. Thomas closed his eyes and pictured his father. He said goodbye and let him go. That was his old life. His new life started today.

  Thomas looked down at the desk and noticed another parchment. It bore the same seal as the letter that Thomas threw in the fire so many years ago. It had been broken long ago, but the two pieces next to each other fit together like a puzzle, revealing a solid image. He’d found little about them, his biggest prize was a medallion of the seal. He pulled it from the chain around his neck and held it in his hands, looking at it and at the seal on the letter. Thomas looked up to his apprentice, who he’d hardly noticed amongst the throng of boxes.

  “Where did this come from?” Thomas asked about the parchment.

  He moved out from behind some boxes to give him a better of view. “I helped unload the boxes and bring them here, sir. On one of my trips, I noticed that seal and remembered it matched the medallion you carried with you. I thought it might be of some importance.”

  Thomas glanced down again, unable to hide his excitement. “Thank you, you’re dismissed.”

  The apprentice left and Thomas unfolded the parchment. It read:

  Year: 2348

  Gornd,

  I have discovered the cost to become a master. I’m trusting only you with the knowledge. No one should learn how to accomplish this.

  No one.

  The risks are too great. I’ve come up with the “to” rules req
uired to mitigate that risk. Train the Order with these rules. Beat them into their minds with religious zealotry.

  1. Protect your Keeper, to keep your life.

  2. Never have children, to maintain your focus.

  Every member of this Order must have a Keeper. They must protect them with their life. Teach them that their bond with the Keeper is sacred. Lie to them if you must. Make them fear losing their Keeper like it is life or death.

  We must ban bearing children. We shall rid the Order of family life. If you and everyone in the Order devoutly follows the first rule, then allow members with children to keep them but for all future members, demand they commit to singleness and purity.

  Buford

  Thomas slammed his hand on the table. This letter didn’t seem to help. He read it again and paused at the end. The letter said “to” rules. There were two rules but was his use of “to” a mistake? Then Thomas noticed that both rules had the word “to” after the comma. Could it be that the four rules really were two rules with the word “for” after the comma instead?

  It was a clue, but it didn’t lead him anywhere. Thomas needed to know what they were or where to find them. Thomas set the medallion down, put the letter on his desk, and paced the room. At least he tried. The boxes limited him to the space between his desk and the door. After a few laps he sat back down and looked at the medallion. Sitting in one hole lay a letter. The two holes were a way of decoding secret messages. He needed to determine the placement of the medallion. At the top, sides, and bottom were little marks. He placed one hole over the first mark on the letter and the other hole lined up with the letter “S.” Thomas continued this process for each mark until it spelled out “Senectus” and then “Library.” He jotted it down on the letter and stared at the words.