Under a Veil of Gods

by R. Anthony Giamusso

  The guards lifted their swords and pointed their arrows then began their charge. But as the cloaked man held out his hand the entire army stood motionless in their boots. They couldn’t move if they tried.

  Without opposition the cloaked man placed his palm against Indrid’s chest and the pale blue color that Indrid had turned became rosy once again. The man then stepped away and evaporated, rising into the sky.

  Indrid suddenly popped up and spit out water. “Rayne!” he cried.

  “General!” Indrid’s first officer shouted. He ran over to Indrid and knelt by his side. “General Cole. The man—the cloaked man saved you.”

  INDRID RETURNED to the kingdom after failing to capture the cloaked man. The hallway leading to the throne room was infested with spiders, scattering across the floor.

  The door creaked open. It was hard to push as if the hinges were so rusty they’d bonded together, eliminating the ability to swing freely. No one had visited the throne room in years, nor were they allowed to. It became the king’s retreat. Once a riveting place to award high honors, receive Graleon and Mernish ambassadors, or host small ceremonies, it was now an unkempt house, dirty and barren. There were slices through gold-framed portraits of past Volpi kings and queens. The purple drapery of the canopy that hung above the ivory throne was dusty and torn. The room felt just as cold as the water that had almost taken Indrid’s life.

  King Alexandal sat at a long, oak table and stared at the royal courtyard through stained-glass windows, a faint blue glow coloring the room from the moons’ light. There were mutilated carcasses spread across the table; torn pieces of dead animals still covered with furs and skins. Indrid could hear Alexandal biting and ripping through the raw, dripping meat.

  No cook would ever serve a king in this way, and no sane king would ever eat in this way. Alexandal was getting worse by the day, acting more and more like a wild beast. Indrid believed that Montague was investigating the king’s behavior. Montague had told him that Alexandal was suffering from an infection in his brain that caused him to think illogically, yielding his morbid behavior. But Indrid began to surmise that that was just an excuse to cover up something else, perhaps a condition that Montague didn’t want publicly known, or a sickness that he didn’t yet understand.

  “We found him, my lord,” Indrid said.

  “Then where is he? If he is not here, then he better be dead.”

  Indrid paused. He envisioned the consequences of his failure. It could start a civil war. If Alexandal poisons the Hart River, the Merlyn Sound would become polluted and the Mern kingdom would have no choice but to respond.

  “Well?” said Alexandal between bites. He was eating a dead rat with a knife and fork. When he turned his head, Indrid saw foamy blood covering the side of his face. He kept chewing.

  “We didn’t capture him…he—”

  Alexandal slammed the rodent’s leg on the table splattering blood everywhere. “Did you kill him?” he snapped, turning to Indrid.

  The king wasn’t looking him in the eyes.

  “No. But something strange happened,” Indrid began.

  “I already know what happened! The one who is responsible for attacking Ikarus got away. Isn’t that right, high and mighty, General Cole?”

  Alexandal’s complete lack of respect for Indrid made him feel worthless. “Yes, but—”

  “That is all, General,” Alexandal said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, spreading the slimy residue across his face.

  “We can still find him. Please give me time before you retaliate,” Indrid begged.

  “Do you remember Grale, General?”

  Indrid was addled by the question.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been there, over ten years?” Alexandal asked. “Perhaps I should send you back. Or maybe I’m doing the Graleons a favor by keeping you away from their perfect kingdom. I wouldn’t want them blaming me for handing over an incompetent count.”

  “My lord,” Indrid said, feeling defeated.

  “Get out!” the king growled.

  No matter how mentally lost Alexandal had been, Indrid was ashamed that he’d failed his king—his foster father, who once loved him. There was a part of Indrid that still loved him. When Queen Olivia was alive, he was a different, loving man; a man that reminded Indrid of his father.

  And not only had Alexandal changed, Indrid’s relationship with Anna had changed. After failing in his attempt at winning her heart, he deemed himself unworthy. She hadn’t been the same since Rayne had vanished. She became evasive.

  But maybe, he thought, Rayne never left. Indrid contemplated the vision he’d had of his stepbrother’s face before he almost drowned and entertained the possibility of Rayne living beyond the kingdom walls. For how smart the boy had been, Indrid believed it was possible.

  When the disembodied man returned to the physical world, not remembering who he was, where he was, what he was, or when he was, he didn’t even remember life as a human. Absent of most emotions, anger was all he could feel.

  Memories of a scorching fire reeled before him; blurred apparitions of men wearing masks had taken him against his will only to burn him alive. And he knew it wasn’t a dream. It had been real. Yet the man’s soul remained bound to Naan. Formless and transparent, his body was neither flesh nor bone. And he didn’t even know his own name.

  With his black cloak fluttering around him, he appeared as a dark mist. He hovered across the land, slowly recalling life as a person and the experiences of joy, hope, love, forgiveness—fear, sadness, and pain.

  After what he’d done to his murderers in revenge, he felt as though he was now no different; his sins were just as great as theirs. But he desired justice.

  As he drifted along the shore of a partially frozen lake he thought about the army general who he had saved there. The general looked familiar and helped trigger more memories of the man’s life. But since the man had returned much was still a blur. He couldn’t ignore the haunting whispers in the back of his mind, crying for help. Growing louder by the minute one provocative voice in particular told him where to go. “Come to the Eire Mountains.” it’d said. “Come. I have something you need to see.” And out of great curiosity, the cloaked man flew across the land to the southern cordillera in shadow form.

  Inside the caves, he followed the breathless air that gave a smothering unwelcome. He didn’t know where he was going or who he was looking for. Some force was luring him in. The deeper he went, the more dense and sour the smell became. In a tight cavern with a small walk space surrounded by pools of a thick liquid, reeking of formaldehyde, were bodies floating in large puddles; dead bodies preserved for what looked like centuries. Portions of coagulated foam drifted along the surface. Where these the poor souls that he’d heard before? he wondered.

  A powerful rotten odor similar to sulfur filled the rheumy air. There was a collage of spider webs decorating the walls. As the cloaked man moved further down the caverns, he heard voices again. But this time, they were voices from the physical world. The man followed the excited chatter and found people wearing dirty rags, barely covering their genitals, walking around aimlessly in and out of what looked like giant wormholes dug deep throughout the metamorphic rock of the mountains. They sensed the man’s presence and crept toward him. They reached out to him with looks of wonder as if they were in disbelief at what they were seeing. But their hands passed right through his body. He was not a physical form.

  These people were walking skeletons. They moved about in languid motion. Most had bruises that almost covered their atrophied bodies. Their teeth were barely hanging by their gums, and their breath was so rancid it would make an ordinary man pass out. There was no doubt that they hadn’t seen the outside world in a very long time. They were in a daze; mentally numb without focus or clear intent.

  It was obvious to the disembodied man that he wasn’t part of their world. He could see it, but it took a great deal of energy to touch it. Along the solid walkway more grotesq
ue people sat against the walls with hands pressed together; muddled whispers dance in rhymes of what sounded like prayers.

  Deeper into the mountain was a long and narrow corridor, water dripping from all sides of the walls. There were noises and humming coming from a small alcove around the corner. When the man entered, there was another man sitting on a throne of bones. He was obviously the keeper of these rancid lands. He wore a long coat with a high collar; slicked back hair, jet black with a slight salting. The skeleton of a giant turtle was mounted as the base for him to sit upon. An assembly of other animal leg and thigh bones acted as his backrest, while long horns of deer and antelope sprouted out from the top. The ribcage of an enormous elephant was positioned vertically behind him, stretching around each side to hold up his arms.

  “I was beginning to think that the rumors of your return were false. But I’ve also felt your presence. And now that you’re standing here in front of me, I almost can’t believe it,” the man said as he sat up from his throne. He greeted him with a devilish smile. “You are of Volpi blood, no?” the keeper asked, reading right through the man’s confused expression.

  As soon as the cloaked man heard the name, Volpi, he knew it belonged to him. Then he heard a woman’s voice in his head say his first name: Rayne. But he didn’t tell this to the stranger.

  “Demitri Von Cobb is my name,” he said, bowing. “My king. What can you remember?”

  “At first all I could remember were two men who had defiled me. But then I began to remember more. I saw a woman, a beautiful woman who looks so familiar, but I don’t know her name. I can even hear her voice sometimes in my head. I think I knew her.”

  “A woman’s beauty can make us think many things. Be mindful of the feminine, they can be very seductive to the lust of men; and I assure you, dear one, she is of no significance to you. I myself once loved a woman, but the inevitable deceptive quality of her gender caused her to deceive me,” he said.

  “What happened to her? Where is she now?” Rayne asked curiously.

  “Someone who once called himself my friend let her die.” He had a devious stare. Demitri then quickly changed the subject. “I heard about those men who were recently hurt at Ikarus. I’m guessing they were the ones that were involved in your abduction?”

  Rayne didn’t respond.

  Demitri smiled wide. “Why didn’t you bring death to them in return? How did you keep your composure? That’s very impressive.” He lifted his brows.

  “I didn’t want to kill them. That would have been too easy. I want them to live the rest of their lives without the things they cherished the most, yet took for granted every day.”

  Rayne took a moment. There was something curious about Demitri. Rayne wanted to exact as much about him as he could. Demitri hadn’t stopped fidgeting with his hands from the moment Rayne arrived. With his left hand, Demitri would juggle a shiny black marble, dancing it across his knuckles with it disappearing as the finale of his trick. As he spoke, Demitri used petty illusions to try to distract Rayne. But Rayne had been quite aware that this man had only intentions to manipulate him. So he paid careful attention to the answers to his questions. The more Demitri spoke the more information Rayne could acquire and make sense of things. “How did you know what I’ve done, living all the way down here?” Rayne asked.

  “Ah! Clever man! My king is no fool. My eyes and ears are everywhere, young lord. A skill I have developed, just like you. You don’t understand the power you possess. You are an elemental god to these people; you are earth, the wind. You are fire and water. Your capabilities are endless; you just need to open yourself up to the fact that you are infinite now.”

  “What’s happened to me?” Rayne asked. He was more interested in his identity than his supernatural powers, a magic ordinary man could only dream of having. But without his memories, a past, Rayne felt as though he had never existed. The one thing that was most familiar to him was the woman with green eyes.

  “As time passes you’ll remember that you were sent back from death to free us, your people, from our slavery to the kingdom,” said Demitri. His eyes turned from deviant to petty; an act to convince a slanted version of the truth, Rayne was sure of it. “We’ve been banished here because we exposed the secrets of our ancestors and the people then accused us of being mages. For God’s sake, they even tried to kill you, my lord, their own king; my king. It is they that are the true villains! They are all corrupt murderers, just like the ones who burned you as an innocent boy who never looked for any trouble. You’ve showed them what a caring soul you have been and yet they cast you out. Revenge is the most natural response to any man whose life had been sketched of abandonment and cursed of betrayal. But first we must be freed from our torture, and that is why everyone here is so excited to see you again. You are our savior; an angel of our kind.” His tyrannical smile stretched ear to ear.

  “So, the ones who rule the kingdoms are the enemy?” Rayne asked, anticipating Demitri’s response.

  “They are! Invaders! Filthy, selfish cowards, and they will turn on you at the drop of a hat.”

  “And what about the bodies floating in these puddles of filth? Were they cowards as well?” Rayne asked, offended by the sight and curious about the reasoning to disrespect a soul’s dead body.

  “They are dead elders, the ancient ones, lifeless and dependent on an alternative energy source. They are disposable and will only awaken from the command of my voice with the power of this little marble. And awaken them I will, and they will obey me!” Demitri said, holding out the black marble he kept so tightly in the palm of his hand, “The powers that the world of elements can yield are unimaginable. When the time is right and the kingdom is at its weakest, we will strike and Ikarus will fall!”

  “They don’t want a war. Civilians are innocent,” Rayne said.

  “Don’t you see? Don’t you see what they have done to us? They poisoned our river!” Demitri growled. “We take the smallest portion of food from the only grounds that sprout nutritious plants and it so happens to be a claimed farmland! Is that what we deserve? Either starve or be poisoned?”

  “It was me they were hunting, after I hurt those men. They thought that your people made an attempt at invasion. They would have never done such a thing. I’m asking you to reconsider your plans to retaliate. You must stand down. If I am your king, then that is an order,” Rayne said.

  “I have reconsidered, and I’ve decided to do the same. With all due respect, my lord, the war has already begun,” Demitri said.

  The mountain began to tremble.

  Demitri continued, “You are one of our people. If Ikarus men were after you, then they were after us. You set the example, so you can understand that our only response is revenge, correct?”

  Rayne looked away. He didn’t answer.

  “Please, my king. I can bring you back,” Demitri said, holding out a small black marble, “Back into the world, where you belong. Then you can have that woman; feel her and touch her like a man should a woman.”

  Rayne looked into the marble and saw her. But there was someone else he recognized. It was his father, Alexandal Duncan, and the vision began to trigger more memories. The flashback was short, but the little he did recall about him was nothing but neglect, how he yearned for his father’s love, but never received it.

  “I know him. That’s my father,” Rayne said.

  “Your father? Do you really think a mortal man could provide a seed strong enough to create what you are?” Demitri asked, giggling. “Let’s not worry about Alexandal, he is well taken care of and is getting what he deserves. Look at how he treated you.” He danced the marble across his fingers.

  Rayne could see the tether connecting Demitri’s marble to Alexandal’s mind, controlling him. “You! You let this happen. No. You made this happen! You made Alexandal poison the rivers. This whole attack was orchestrated. It was a reason for retaliation, a reason for you to invade and when you did, you can make yourself look like a savior to
your own people. I won’t let you get away with this.”

  Just as Rayne finished his statement, Demitri pounded his hand on the giant turtle shell table in front of him, squashing a bug. Demitri tightened his grin. “Are they really worth all of the trouble that I promise you will have?”

  Rayne calmly lifted the crushed bug and brought it closer to his face, blowing ever so slightly. The bug healed before their eyes and flew away.

  “Every last one of them,” Rayne said, gladly accepting Demitri’s threat.

  The morning after Anna Lott had visited her stepbrother’s memorial, she woke to an odd sound that echoed across the sky. It was a peaceful melodic tone, but it rang so loudly that the vibration shook the ground for a brief moment before it was gone.

  A flurry of gossip roared in the street. Outside the castle, she saw a giant stone pillar standing upright from the ground. It was thicker than a small house and taller than the kingdom walls. Beyond the gates, she saw more, as far as she could see, all planted along the perimeter of Ikarus.

  The sun climbed the horizon.

  When Anna walked between the marvelous displays of architecture, she felt an amazing vibration. A team of masons was already there using ropes and rods to measure the placement of the stones. They then recorded everything in a journal. She had overheard engineers say that the pillars were an equal distance apart from one another and historians had never seen the language engraved on them before.

  At the sound of her stepbrother’s footsteps approaching from behind her, Anna stopped walking to talk and admire the magnificence of the stones. “Is it true that Alexandal poisoned the crossings?” she asked.

  General Indrid Cole stood beside her and stared at the stones with her. “Yes,” he said.

  It was the quietest Anna had ever heard him speak in his life.