by M K Drake
Dedicated to James DB. A stellar friend, and a man with a heart for the people, and all that is good.
A special dedication to the amazing Stan Lee. Thank you for all you gave the world, to the world of comics, for all of the creativity you have ignited in so many minds, including my own. You will be missed.
Atticus and the Blade King
Prologue
The Age of Kazmagus
The sizzle of cooling metal hisses around the stone walls, bouncing between the crevices before echoing back to the sword master. “Good, good, the bond is strong,” he says as he sniffs the steam racing away from the blade. He dips it once more into the cooling vat of colourful liquid by his side then turns to face a long rectangular table. He lays the tongs on the table, careful to place them in such a way that they do not char the wood.
He moves to his left, dragging his heavy robes across the floor, picking up bits of dust from the worn surface. He reaches out and picks out a rolled piece of parchment from a stone shelf on his right, careful not to topple it from its old supports; unrolling the scroll, he begins to read a chant from the decaying page. The language is old, even for this time; the words flow from his lips as he closes his eyes to visualise their meaning while he waves his free hand in a circular motion above the cooling sword.
“Master Alfatun! The demons! They have found you!”
Alfatun turns, pulling the sword from the liquid, gazing at its magnificence, before turning to his friend Meerab. He looks him up and down, the years have not been kind to his comrade, all this running has taken its toll on this non-Majjai human, visible in his sagging flesh and worn clothing. He still walks with dignity however, and Alfatun is forever impressed with his friend’s beard, it remains a powerful feature on a tired face.
“Then we must move quickly. They must have discovered that we are the keepers of the hearthstone, its location must be kept secret. Come, gather the scrolls, I will open a portal to safety for you. I will meet you once I have dealt with this intrusion.”
“But, there are many, master!” Meerab looks through a makeshift opening in the keep’s wall, peering into the distance at the dust cloud that is being kicked into the air by the horde of demonic creatures. “You cannot fight such a number on your own, even with your swords.”
Alfatun shakes his head. “You do not sense him as I do. He is here.”
He taps a crystal that he removes from a pocket inside of his robe, ruby red in colour, almost as dark in shade as the fabric he wears. Whispering into it he creates a swirling mass, opening a doorway to another destination.
Meerab peers through, recognising a place he left many years ago, and smiles. “You’re sending me home?”
“Yes brother, you have aided me much, but your family misses you. This realm owes you a great debt; the least it can give you is your remaining days with those that love you more than I.”
Alfatun places the remaining scrolls into a sack and hands this to Meerab. “I will collect these from you once business here has concluded.”
Meerab swings the sack over his shoulder and embraces his friend with his free arm. “Be safe. Even if he is here, that man is a little mad.”
“Ha!” laughs Alfatun, gazing knowingly towards Meerab as he steps towards the portal. “It’s probably why we get on so well! Now go, I will see you soon!”
“Do not be too long. My children will not believe I have been aiding the Blade King himself!”
Alfatun grows impatient and gently ushers Meerab through, nodding to his friend as he waves. “Tell them the stories. I will be there before they end!”
He waits a moment to ensure Meerab has passed over safely before tapping the crystal to close the opening.
Alfatun returns his attention to the matter at hand and peers through the window; he can see the demons quicken their pace. “They’ll be here soon, so where are you then?” he says, speaking to the empty air.
With a loud crack and a flash of light, a familiar figure appears behind the Blade King.
“Kazmagus! Always a busy entrance with you!”
Kazmagus chuckles. “Would you have it any other way?”
“Of course not, but perhaps a little less noise next time,” Alfatun turns to face his fellow Majjai, when he spies the object that he has in his grasp. “Wait, you have found it?”
Kazmagus smiles as he twirls a large, golden staff, the tip of which is shaped like a trident, with the central fork housing a crystalline-shaped eye. “Indeed, but only to hide it properly!”
“You fool Kazmagus, you have exposed this to them? They must sense it! This is why they have sent so many. It is not only Asmodei that covets this, there are those in Helheim and Tartarus that ache for the Staff of Mages. The Eternals hid this for a reason!”
Kazmagus steps over to a rack containing several blades in their sheath’s. He picks one up and pulls it out from its guard. It sparkles in the dim light of the chamber, giving energy to the dying flame with its own power. “Truly my friend, your skills are unsurpassed. With such weaponry, why do you hide? You could defeat this demon contingent with one hand tied behind your back.”
Alfatun, angered by the show of nonchalance grabs the sword from Kazmagus, forcefully placing it back onto the rack. “You and Al Amir, with my training you both have the skills to be sword masters yourselves, so please stop toying with mine. Now stop evading my questioning, why have you brought the staff here?”
Kazmagus sneers, perturbed by the forceful nature of Alfatun taking the sword from his grasp. “Come now, you really see me as a fabled sword master? And as for Al Amir, the traitor took his wares and hid his sword of power. He is more demon now than Majjai. We will have to deal with him soon. Anyway, if you do feel that I am worthy of such a moniker…”
“Kazmagus! My patience grows thin, tell me, or leave me to deal with this intrusion!”
“Bah!” Kazmagus scoffs. “You are not much fun anymore! Very well. We need the staff. It has the power to be linked with the hearthstone, its heart, which will give power to the lifeless husk. This will be vital now – the staff has gifted me some scattered visions. Its power is immense! The Eternals can use it to make sense of their Time Infinite view of things, alas, we cannot.”
Alfatun removes his heavy robe to reveal the light armour bound to his body by leather straps. His muscles tense up as he loads the empty scabbards all around his body with his blades from the rack. “We shall continue this discussion after we have disposed of these vermin. Are you ready?”
“For a fight? Always!” Kazmagus stabs the staff into the floor, suspending it, then slaps his palms together forcing a vortex of wind to surround himself and Alfatun. The vortex soon collapses, and as it dissipates, it teleports them out of the keep.
# # #
Alfatun peers around, dodging an attempted playful elbow from Kazmagus before focusing his gaze at the dust cloud heading their way. “A few hundred I would say.”
Kazmagus scoffs. “Pah! Is that all? And you were worried?”
“Meerab was worried.”
“Ah, your little helper, I did wonder why the smell had improved in your keep, it’s because I didn’t see him. Sent him away did you?”
Alfatun tenses again; Kazmagus is a good friend to him for sure, but his attitude towards non–Majjai – unless they are soldiers or warriors – borders on narcissistic despotism at times. Alfatun wonders if Kazmagus’s thirst for battle will be with him for eternity. He loves the fight so much, that he often shows the same level of arrogance and disregard towards Majjai who choose not to join in the war as he does to the non–Majjai. “I sent Meerab home, he has more than honoured his life debt to me, his family need him more.”
“A King without his slave? W
hatever next brother?”
Alfatun shakes his head, he never saw Meerab as a servant or a slave, he saw him as a friend, one who has stood by him through many trials. But right now, he senses things are about to change, and this fight is just the beginning. “Prepare yourself, they are coming.”
Kazmagus leaps into the air and pulls the diamond and ruby Sword of Ages from its scabbard before diving into the oncoming horde of demons; he slices through them with ease, throwing Screamers and Graigons into the distance to crash back to the desert surface.
Alfatun smiles. “Always with the exhibition,” he mumbles to himself while unsheathing two blades; he clangs them together to spark a bright blue glow from them, he then spins around holding the blades out from his person, turning faster and faster until his motion becomes a blur. He moves at speed towards the battle and cuts through the attacking army. The blades barely slow, and in only a few moments, the battle is over.
Alfatun looks over to a barely exercised Kazmagus who is wiping away the purple demonic blood from his sword. “You’re getting slower.”
Kazmagus returns his sword to its enclosure before replying. “I just wanted it to last longer. It’s been a while since Asmodei has sent a real challenge, or come himself, so…”
“So you go looking for your own trouble?” Alfatun interrupts his friend, knowing that he still has not told him all about the Staff of Mages and how he came about it. “Now, how did the Staff of Mages come to be in your possession?”
Kazmagus, realising that Alfatun will not desist from his questioning begins to explain. “I was summoned by an Eternal, and a Horseman.”
“To what end?”
“An experiment. Something called Proteus…”
Alfatun turns white, he shakes fearfully, sitting on a small boulder to calm himself. He breathes steadily, trying to relax. “Do you remember who they were? Which Eternal, which Horseman?”
Kazmagus, concerned for his friend, sits next to him. “Unfortunately not. I could sense what they were, just not who. They clouded my perception somehow. Some of the elders were also there. And another, a being I could sense nothing from. It was strange. But why are you so concerned?”
“When I was a child, before you awakened me, I had a dream. The Proteus was a force of nature, destined to either save existence… or fail and be the catalyst for its destruction. It must either be killed, or nurtured.”
Kazmagus laughs. “Fairy tale, the experiment failed in spectacular fashion, almost blasting a hole into the cosmos.”
“Cosmos? Where did they take you?” Alfatun turns, looking perplexed.
Kazmagus stands and helps his friend to his feet. “Well, they took me into their care and into Time Infinite itself. Anyway, they wasted my time; they dared to summon my person, then did not have purpose or conviction to succeed, and still they feel they are superior to me? I was having none of it. I took the Staff of Mages and left. It was as I was teleporting back it gave me the vision, but I could not understand it.”
Alfatun dusts the sand from his attire and opens a portal back to the keep. As Kazmagus steps through, Alfatun walks towards the Staff and pulls it from the floor. He stares at it for a moment, admiring its workmanship, the fine grooves to aid grip and the razor sharp edges to the forks are exemplary. He is almost mesmerised by it, by the crystal eye in particular; he gazes into it and begins to feel a little drowsy, until a bright flash shoots out from the central fork directed towards his forehead. Everything goes dark, as he feels his body go limp, then collapse to the floor.
# # #
Alfatun finally opens his eyes. Strained at first, he looks up, his blurred vision clearing quickly to show the face of Kazmagus and Meerab peering over him. “Help me up.”
“Easy old friend,” says Kazmagus as he lifts Alfatun slowly from the makeshift bed. “Your friend, Meerab here, was kind enough to lend us a bed in his home. His wife, however, does not want us here. Something about her husband being more loyal to you than to her.”
Kazmagus is interrupted by loud shouting from beyond the door, he looks at Meerab who immediately leaves to try and calm his wife.
“See?” Kazmagus quips.
Once the door is closed, Alfatun stands, slightly wearily. “We need to go. The staff told me something. Showed me a task. We must get to the hearthstone.”
“The hearthstone of creation?”
Alfatun nods, hurriedly checks to ensure his attire is all secure.
“And what will you be doing with such a massive slab of rock?” asks Kazmagus.
Alfatun grins. “What I do best, my friend. I have another sword to make.”
Chapter 1
The Sparks of Hel
Atticus remembers some of the things he read about this river that he, Olof, and Khan find themselves upon. One of the scrolls from the Tomb of Kazmagus mentioned ‘whisperers,’ ghosts, that hissed the word ‘Gjöll’ near the gates of Helheim. It is the name of a river that connects the realm of Earth to the Norse realm of the dead, a realm which belongs to the goddess, Hel.
Olof has heard rumour of a waterway where this name is heard breathing over the lapping waves, and so the trio find themselves here, close to the banks of a large body of water in Norway, a place called Dyrdal.
On Ju Long’s advisement, they brought with them very warm clothes, even after Olof’s own assurances that the weather is mild this time of year. Atticus is especially glad they did so, for he finds the air chilling to the very bone, he remembers making a note to himself to never trust the judgement of warmth from a commander of ice.
The river itself refuses to freeze, even with the air trying to harden the surface with its arctic breath. The frost quickly gives way to the ever so slightly warmer water below, the flow of which breaks any attempt of the ice to form.
The small Pilothouse boat Olof acquired earlier in the day is basic, the motor whines with the stress of trying to navigate against the current, the complaint echoing against the trees of the thick forest that guards most of the banks along this vast river.
They’ve now been on this journey for a few hours, searching for a clue of where they need to head; Atticus wonders how much longer they will search. “Olof, buddy, are you sure this is the right part of the river?”
Khan sniggers under his breath. “How can you doubt this great Norseman Atticus? You’ll anger him enough to turn his blonde hair brown!”
Olof ignores his friends’ taunts, concentrating on the river ahead of him, casually flicking his thick, tightly wound, ponytailed hair in a manner forcing its movement to narrowly miss the other two.
Atticus steadies himself before turning to Khan, who is not a fan of this rough journey over the water, evidenced by his clinging to the wooden railings on the rear portside section of the boat. “Did you see this note from Kazmagus to Elric?”
Khan shakes his head. “No, I did not. All Elric told me was that it was received via a portal that woke him when it opened. Kazmagus literally threw it at his head while he was lying in bed, grinned, then closed the opening without a word.”
“You see. I still do not know about Kazmagus. He has totally cut us off when we need him more than ever. And then shows up with this stunt,” Atticus joins Khan in holding on as a wave knocks into the boat violently, sending the bow upwards for a moment before crashing back down. “Thanks Olof! I only just persuaded my lunch to stay put on the last wave.”
“Sorry my friends,” Olof replies as he wrestles with the helm. “I need to stay close to the banks, though the water here is much more active. If I suspect things to be true, then we are not far.”
“What things?” asks Atticus, curious to find out what Olof knows.
“A long time ago there was an accord. A deal between the Greek and Norse gods. The Greeks offered a guardian to protect the gateway to Helheim, if the Norse gods agreed to help them reverse death in Tartarus.”
Khan strokes his chin, rustling his light beard. “Reverse death? The Greek gods did not have control over
their own domain of hell?”
“Not quite,” Olof replies. “Hades was quite protective over his province; Hel, on the other hand, is quite open to playing with the boundaries of life and death, as well as crossing souls between them… for a price.”
Atticus holds his hand up, beckoning Olof to stop, he can hear a faint voice shouting out over the sounds of the river.
“Olof! Over here! Can you hear us?”
The trio in the boat look around towards the riverbank, trying to locate the source of the voices.
Olof smiles wryly. “Alvaar! Kalle! I see you! One moment brothers!”
Atticus peers through the mist generated by the waves crashing on the shore, forcing its path, and spots a small estuary hidden by the foliage. Just to the side of it stand Olof’s friends. They look not too dissimilar to their Norse warrior, with strong bearded appearances, long platinum blonde hair, and thick robes to keep them warm.
Olof expertly navigates the current to head into the estuary where Alvaar is waiting. Khan tosses over a thick piece of rope that is attached to the boat over to Alvaar, who dutifully ties the other end to the trunk of a large tree.
The boat is soon fully secured not far from the bank. Khan jumps off first, eager to find a solid footing of earth beneath him.
Kalle helps Atticus disembark as Olof jumps from the bow onto dry land. “Welcome friends. Olof, we believe the entrance lies further up, your suspicions appear to be correct.”
Atticus wraps himself tighter within his heavy robe, keen to get warmer. All Elric had told them was that they need to retrieve a book called ‘The Sparks of Hel’. The spelling of the word Hel was enough to scare Olof such that his skin turned more pale than it usually is. Atticus remembers Olof explaining how Hel is the custodian of Helheim, the Norse Underworld, their hell. So the trio were sent to speak to the goddess Hel herself.
Unfortunately, Atticus also remembers another reason why this could be even more dangerous than just a conversation with the keeper of Nordic hell. “The guard of Helheim?” Atticus asks. “Did you find evidence of the guard?”