Under a Veil of Gods

by R. Anthony Giamusso

  At first there was no pain, but Lief felt a slight tingling at his wrists and ankles. When he looked down where he felt the sensation there was nothing but a stub at the ends of his limbs. A paralyzing pain pulsed through him. Without feet to stabilize a standing position, he toppled over. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t; the fisherman’s tongue was also severed.

  The ghost of Rayne Volpi disappeared.

  THE SECOND village, an upper class section of the kingdom next to Royal Hill, was one block from the castle gates. At his home, a three-story miniature castle, the Ikarus speaker and high priest of The Temple, Elmer Mongs, relaxed to the smell of the fresh wet air after a downpour had slowed to a steady drizzle. Under white moonlight, he puffed on bogweed for a late night smoke out on his porch. His son, Fervan, was inside, sound asleep in his bed. Elmer sat quietly rocking back and forth in his wicker chair, listening diligently to a relentless tapping he at first thought was water dripping from the roof into his buckets. But as the rain nearly stopped, the sound got louder and faster.

  Elmer became suspicious. He’d had a long day preparing documents for upcoming hearings and wanted nothing more than a night of peace and quiet. But as speaker of the Ikarus council, he had a lot of enemies. Over the course of two years, Elmer had sentenced more criminals for petty crimes to prison than any other speaker in history. Although he was a priest protected by The Temple his paranoia grew.

  Grabbing his knife, he rounded the corner of his porch and saw the buckets clinking against one another. It was just the wind. His discovery was a quick relief to a sudden jolt of fear. So he placed them back where they belonged, catching the runoff from the roof to drink, this time further apart so the rims wouldn’t rattle.

  The speaker went back and sat on the edge of his chair and stared into a forming puddle in front of his home. The running water was soothing to hear.

  Along the murky surface of the water, he regarded his reflection as he took a drag of his bogweed. The plant eased his anxiety. Before long, Elmer melted comfortably into his chair. Thank you, Montague, he said, laughing. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night sky.

  Just when the speaker started dozing off, he heard a soft voice whisper, “Fire starter.” He sat up instantly and became alert. He looked around, but could see no one. “Fire starter,” the voice said again. Then, the whisper turned into a growl and shouted, “Fire Starter!”

  Elmer jumped. “Who’s there?” he yelled.

  Dogs barked in the distance. Birds flew out from the surrounding trees. But there was still no one in sight. The speaker’s closest neighbor was at least fifty yards away and across the street.

  But then everything became quiet again, oddly quiet. Although he saw the ripples, he could no longer hear the sound of the drizzling rain splattering in the puddle. It seemed to stop completely. Elmer continued to puff on more bogweed, hoping to settle his beating heart. After an hour of silent night, slowly, he again started to feel more and more relaxed.

  The soothing effects of the bogweed eventually turned and intense paranoia revived. Once again he heard the soft voice. This time it sounded like his son. “Daddy?” it asked. But, Elmer thought, Fervan should be sleeping. He went to bed hours ago. And he hadn’t called him ‘daddy’ since he was five.

  “Hello? Who’s there?”

  “Me,” the voice responded.

  A vision flashed before him in the puddle in front of his home, a memory he’d tried to forget; one of the boy king screaming in the fire.

  Elmer closed his eyes, hoping the illusion would vanish.

  “Please, you need to see this,” the voice said.

  He licked his finger and pushed the tip of his lit bogweed against his saliva, putting it out, and set the tobacco wrap on the table next to him. For a moment, the speaker, a priest of The Temple, thought the voice was of his Nekrum god. And how could he deny his lord master? He opened his eyes to see a bright fire in the puddle. He could even feel the heat. Except now the boy in the fire wasn’t Rayne Volpi. It was Fervan. And he was burning alive, screaming in agony.

  “Dear God, please stop!” said Elmer.

  “God? There is no god here.”

  “Then who are you?” Elmer said, looking around in all directions for the source of the voice. “What do you want?”

  “I’m the one who determines whether you live or die.”

  “Let me guess, you’re just another junky I sentenced to prison, seeking revenge for an unfair judgment. Well, let me tell you something—”

  “Sentenced to prison?” the voice said. “No. I wasn’t that lucky. But I am seeking revenge.”

  Elmer felt his stomach turn. “Please, I am a servant of our lord, Gabriel. I simply carry out his will. I’m a priest!” he said, lying about his allegiance.

  “Another one who doesn’t take responsibility for his actions. So, Gabriel personally speaks to you? He gives you instructions?”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Elmer said.

  “Then tell me. How exactly does it work?”

  “Ikarus has laws, and these laws are created to protect the people and their faith. Our faith is embraced by The Temple where divine judgment is made. Representatives are elected to interpret God’s will as it is written in The Book of Volpi. Then, the Ikarus council carries out The Temple’s orders.”

  A dark mist appeared before the speaker. It slowly amalgamated into a tall shadow-figure. “Does The Temple endorse murder?”

  Suddenly, Elmer had an epiphany. He recognized the face that formed in the shadow.

  “My god,” he said, almost losing his breath. “Seeing you now I—” Elmer paused, realizing his hallucination. Too much bogweed. He became firm and reacted, “I’m proud of what I’d done, or attempted to do. I knew then you were a sorcerer, a curse sent to destroy us!”

  Elmer thought of his lord master. He had never seen him; none of the priests had. But he knew firsthand how powerful the lord master was. He knew that Alexandal was under his control. And The Temple, along with all the armies that were devoted to it, followed the lord master’s will. “You have no idea of the powers that you are interfering with.”

  The shadow that Elmer now knew was Rayne Volpi just stared at him in silence.

  “What do you want?” the speaker cautiously asked.

  Rayne’s voice, now loud and angry, shook Elmer’s bones. “I want you to feel the pain that I felt. Maybe I should hang you from the top of the temple so your fellow priests understand that their corruption is at an end.” His angry tone suppressed. “As for your boy, I am truly sorry for the pain I have inflicted on him. I hope he lives a long and happy life.”

  The shadow of Rayne Volpi retreated to the puddle in front of the speaker’s home and fell into it without splashing any of the water.

  The speaker ran to the water’s edge, fell to his knees, and looked into the shallow puddle. Again he saw only his reflection, but this time moving differently than his own physical movements. He watched his reflection reach up and light the tip of the tobacco wrap, hanging out from the reflection’s mouth. But Elmer didn’t have a tobacco wrap in his mouth. When the wrap in the reflection was lit, it immediately ignited. The reflected fire erupted out from the puddle’s surface and caught the cuff of Elmer’s coat, igniting the rest of his clothes into a fireball.

  The speaker ran out into the street, screaming. He felt the fire melting his skin before he dove into the wet street and rolled back and forth until he no longer felt the flames.

  Elmer could smell his burning flesh in the smoke.

  Word of the attacks spread fast. Indrid Cole, five other council members, two maids, and two guards were summoned by King Alexandal for an urgent, secret meeting in the castle basement. It was strange to meet here instead of the council room where all matters of importance were handled.

  Upon entering, the fisherman, Lief, was sitting at a table with the only candle in the entire room. There were spots of blood on the floor under the wooden bench on which he sat. On
e maid washed his limbs. The other held a mug for him while he drank wine to help ease his pain. He drooled all over himself, huffing and moaning.

  Alexandal circled the fisherman. He waited while the maids tried to make Lief comfortable enough to talk.

  Indrid realized that the speaker wasn’t included in the gathering. Mongs was always by Alexandal’s side. “Where is Speaker Mongs?” he quietly asked the dungeon master.

  “The speaker is being treated at La-Rose’s chambers, lying bandaged. The only victim who appears sane enough to offer testimony is the fisherman. But along with being denied the use of his limbs, his voice is useless. His tongue was severed.”

  Lief could only mumble, filling the room with barks and gestures with sore countenances. His body shuddered, and it wasn’t from the cold. He looked frightened.

  “Tell me what happened,” King Alexandal demanded. He sat across from the fisherman in darkness. The king put down a parchment, shoved aside the maid who was washing his wounds, and patted Lief’s nubby limbs with ash. “Draw!”

  The wounds were clearly still tender from the amputation and left streaks of blood as he drew, crying and yelping with every line and curve. When he finished the picture it looked like a hat or crown.

  “A soldier’s helmet,” Alexandal said.

  But Lief shook his head.

  The coin master said, “It looks like a hat of some sort.”

  “A crown,” Indrid said. “A king’s crown.”

  The fisherman nodded fast.

  “It’s a warning from the mages, a threat of invasion. They are after the crown—me—the king,” Alexandal said.

  Lief’s eyes widened, shaking his head, as it seemed the king misinterpreted what he was trying to say. But before he could interject with a mumble, Alexandal waved him off, signaling his guards to take him away.

  Although Lief couldn’t speak and could barely draw, there were so many more questions Indrid wanted to ask: What did the assaulter look like? Did anybody else see what happened? The fisherman’s answers might not be easily interpreted, but Indrid felt that it was worth asking. Apparently, he was the only one interested. Why wouldn’t Alexandal ask these things?

  “This attack was an act of war, and it will not be tolerated by Ikarus authority. We will retaliate, but without sacrificing the lives of our own people. I’ve contemplated this for some time. And as cruel as it sounds, they leave us no choice…We will poison the Hart River.”

  Indrid almost fainted.

  Alexandal continued. “They get their fresh water when it runs through the mountain. We do it upstream where the Noahl and Origon merge. They will never expect it.” Alexandal looked proud to share his idea so quickly imagined.

  “Poison the river?” Indrid asked. It sounded like madness. “The Hart River? That’s sacred waters? The Merns will be furious! It empties directly into waters that flow through their bays. You will start a war,” Indrid said nervously.

  “We are at war, young general. Remember, you even said it yourself. As long as mages and exiles are conspiring against the throne using magic against us, we cannot remain silent.”

  “Yes, at war with those that threaten our kingdoms, but not with our own people.” Indrid begged them to reason.

  It was obvious that the other council members did not agree with Alexandal either. Their grins wore their objection, but their silence made it obvious that they were scared to oppose the king.

  “Then I grant you the opportunity to bring me the one responsible for this attack, General. Bring him to justice and I will reconsider the only other option in sending the message back,” Alexandal said.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Indrid said.

  “Your alacrity is inspiring.”

  As a designated survivor in the event that the king and all of the council members were killed, Indrid was fifth in line from the Ikarus throne, which he noted to himself almost daily. At the moment, he was a mere general at Ikarus, yet a pending count of Grale. He wore armor that was given to him by his people, the Graleons. And despite the dispute with King Alexandal, they were all still expecting Indrid’s return.

  Before heading out on the hunt for the attacker, Indrid stopped in the library basement to see Montague. It was crucial to tell him about Alexandal’s threat. Indrid knew that Montague would be devastated at the news, but just in case he and his men came up empty-handed in the search for the one responsible for attacking Lief and Elmer Mongs, Montague could still influence the council.

  The wax of the candles’ oozed from their holsters onto Montague’s table and down to the carpet. Each row between the bookshelves led to darkness. “Hello?” Indrid shouted.

  There was a light on in Montague’s quarters. When Indrid walked in, Montague was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at Speaker Mongs, who was lying on a wet bed. Elmer was sleeping and covered with a thick lotion.

  “Did he wake yet?” Indrid asked, staring at the speaker’s burns. Elmer’s shriveling skin was blackened.

  “He has been in and out of consciousness,” said Montague.

  “Has he said anything?”

  Montague got up and started applying a clear gel across the speaker’s face. “He went on about a fire in the water that reached out and grabbed him. He kept saying that he saw a ghost. Onlookers had seen no fire, only Speaker Mongs running around screaming for help. When our guards found him, he was crying in a bath of mud.”

  “A ghost?” Indrid asked. He took a moment—to think. “The fisherman appeared just as scared, as if he’d also seen something strange.”

  “What happened at your meeting?”

  Indrid wasn’t surprised that Montague knew about the secret meeting. Even though Montague had been forced to resign from the Ikarus council, he was still aware of every session and appointment with the king, even if it was undisclosed. “Alexandal is going to poison the Hart River if we don’t find the one who did this.”

  “Do we even know where to start looking?” Montague asked.

  “Eyes at Faux Tower saw a black mass hovering near the drop-off. It sounds like I’m hunting a ghost,” Indrid said nervously. “If we fail, please be prepared.”

  “Good enough,” Montague said.

  INDRID COLE raced alongside his men toward the cliffs of the Ikarus plateau, southeast of the hillside. The two moons were full and bright, emitting a tranquil glow. The gods seemed to be lighting the way.

  At the edge of the field of which they were traveling, Indrid spotted someone standing within a band of trees. He and his soldiers chose to stop and investigate. As soon as they were close enough and the light of their lanterns lit the tree line, a cloaked man hurled out of the brush, running straight out into the open grass. Once again, the hunting party was on the move. The cloaked man ran so fast Ikarus horses couldn’t keep up. Through the fog, the man was barely in their sights. Once Indrid and his men neared the end of the grassland, the great cliff was just ahead, so Indrid slowed to a trot.

  At the drop-off, the tall cloaked man stood at the edge of the rocky cliff. He stood taller than any man Indrid had ever seen. As general and aspiring leader, Indrid knew he had to be brave and dismount. He was the one in charge.

  Gripping the handle of his Graleon sword, he began his approach towards the cloaked man. He swallowed hard. The man didn’t look anything like an ordinary mage or anything he had ever encountered in battle. With each step, Indrid struggled to keep his composure. The man’s gown waved gently in the wind as if it were enjoying the breeze. A silver emblem of five assembled circles hung from his collar. And beneath the darkness of his hood were glowing green eyes.

  “Who are you?” Indrid asked. He had no idea who or what this man was, but he didn’t respond. “I am General Indrid Cole. And these are Ikarus soldiers,” he said. “We are here to take you into custody. You are accused of assaulting two people of the Ikarus kingdom; one being the speaker of the council. The king demands your presence,” Indrid said. He waited briefly for some kind of response fro
m the shadow, a gesture or something, but the man did nothing but stare back at Indrid. “There is nowhere to run. You’re surrounded,” Indrid said.

  The rest of the Ikarus guards dismounted. Indrid moved in with two men at his sides and three behind him, unraveling rope to tie the suspect’s wrists. With each step Indrid made toward the towering man, the man took one step back and stopped when his foot reached the edge of the drop-off.

  When the figure leaned back and spread out his arms, Indrid lunged for a piece of his cloak, but his hand passed through the transparent fabric. Losing his balance, the momentum pulled Indrid over the cliff following the cloaked man’s descent.

  The cold wind numbed Indrid’s senses as he fell. He reached out for something, anything, to grab, but his body twisted and he was falling too fast.

  At the bottom of the fall, Indrid smashed through the ice that covered the lake below. Swallowing his body heat, the freezing water made Indrid’s muscles cramp almost instantly. His custom-made Graleon armor was too heavy to swim against its weight. Indrid sank. Numb, he barely felt his boots hit the gravel bottom.

  Through the frozen darkness, a form began to take shape before his eyes. It must be death itself coming to take me, he thought. Then the shape morphed into a man. Indrid was certain that he was dead when he saw his stepbrother, Rayne Volpi, offering him his hand.

  THE IKARUS army tramped down the slopes of the cliff as fast as they could, tripping over their own feet to the general’s rescue. But by the time they finally reached the frozen shore, there was no sign of Indrid. The surface of the water in the hole that Indrid had made, crashing through the ice, was still.

  After minutes, the glassy surface began to ripple. A brilliant green light blasted up and out of the lake. In its trail, a black mass sprang out of the water and hovered across the ice to dry land. It dropped Indrid in the high grass before shaping into the cloaked man before the soldiers’ eyes.

  The man stood above Indrid’s motionless body. He clapped his hands and began to place them on the general’s chest before an officer snapped and yelled, “Get away from him!”