Under a Veil of Gods

by R. Anthony Giamusso

  “I am aware of the disease that your people carry. When did it happen?” Montague asked.

  “The epidemic began about two millennia ago. How? No one knows. But my people blame the one, creator of all five realms,” said Eggward.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we did this to ourselves.”

  More questions came to Montague’s mind. “So how did you all survive this long, unable to reproduce?”

  “This place is not an underground cave; it is an old Nekrum scout craft equipped with some of the same technology as our mothership, even cloning. So, technically, most of us here are just clones.”

  Grimm kept on picking his nose. He would look at his finger then wipe the snot across the back of his head, lifting his long, thin hair.

  “But others, like myself, have been in and out of biofreeze, preserving our bodies and souls. I am the real Eggward Puft. I chose to awaken during this time. I couldn’t pass up the chance to witness the change of an age. Hopefully, one day, the Nekrum race will shed its stigma and reclaim its benevolent reputation and divine right to reproduce. Then, my people can live without the fear of extinction.”

  Montague studied the dozens of heads gathering around him.

  “Cloning was the greatest mistake of my ‘brilliant’ people,” said Eggward. “But it was only the beginning of their madness. The idea led to terrible things. They began to create monsters. They thought they could animate biology manually without a soul to operate it. But they soon realized that the energy a soul contains is far superior to any artificial energy source. And a soul can only enter biology when the conditions are right for the body to support itself.”

  “Cloning might have led to madness, but its initial purpose may have saved your race.”

  “I, myself, am not excluded from blame for I have contributed my share of damage. I am the one responsible for changing Naan’s written history,” Eggward said, shamefully.

  Montague was shocked that this kind, level-headed, well-mannered person would do such a thing.

  Eggward continued, “I was good at telling tales so my people forced me to write an origin story against my will. It was completely fictional although its foundation was based on truth. I knew then that it was terribly wrong, but I knew that if I didn’t do it, they would have killed me and had someone else finish the job. I found Burton and told him about what I’d done as soon as I left the Nekrum mission.”

  “It takes bravery to rise against your own people, master troll. I don’t hold you responsible. Throughout history, many people have been forced to do things they didn’t want to do.” Montague thought about his friend Demitri, a victim of mind control.

  “Well, thank you for defending me, Montague La-Rose,” Eggward said with humbling smile.

  “How do you know who I am?” asked Montague.

  Eggward smiled. “Burton has mentioned you many times. You are unique.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We understand that Burton has kept certain details from you. About your past and who you are. You must know that he did this only to protect you and everybody around you,” Eggward said.

  “Then if you know these details, just tell me.”

  Eggward looked at Grimm. Grimm shrugged.

  “Go on. What do you know? If I’m not really who I think I am, then who am I?” asked Montague.

  “It’s not only who you are, but what you carry.”

  Montague was confused. “I carry nothing of importance; I bear no high-born name. My blood is that of peasants.”

  “On the contrary,” Eggward said, raising one corner of his lips. “The boil epidemic. I’m sure you remember it well. No?”

  “That isn’t something a man can forget,” Montague said. How could he forget? The sights and sounds of suffering was burned into his mind; the late night moaning, the gut-wrenching screaming, the phlegm-filled coughing, the congested breathing, and the scratching of bloody fingernails against the wooden floor was unbearable at times.

  “Don’t you find it curious that you didn’t catch the virus?” asked Eggward.

  “Burton said it was an infection.”

  “Ah, that makes sense. So you wouldn’t find it curious.”

  “I treated those people accordingly and it cured them. Are you going to tell me that he lied about that too?”

  “Well…yes. It was not an infection,” said Eggward surely. “It was a highly contagious, airborne virus transferable by means of open sores, blood, saliva, sweat, or even a simple cough. The nutwood you gave them for the infection killed it. Along with antibiotic—” Eggward paused and reworded, “—healing properties, nutwood spikes the body’s immune system into overdrive, killing the virus naturally. How many people did you treat and for how long?”

  Montague had to think about it. “Several dozen people for four months.”

  “And did you take any of the nutwood for yourself?”

  “No.”

  Eggward smiled. “I’m sure you’ve caught the occasional sniffles or felt headaches after working too hard in the fields. But you’ve never really been sick. Have you?” he asked like he knew the answer.

  Montague couldn’t recall a time when he was unable to care for himself. “But what does it mean?”

  “The host wants to decode Gabriel’s Diary.”

  “Yes,” said Montague. “Demitri said he wants to recite spells from it. What is he trying to do?”

  “The codes to tap into the collective human consciousness are contained in the angelic verses of Gabriel’s Dairy. If the Nekrums could see into the mind of Men then they can find the carrier of the gene that holds the cure.”

  Montague knew the story. Long ago, when Burton had taken Gabriel’s Diary from Gabriel himself, he rearranged the codes to reject those that might attempt to hijack it. So access was limited to only a select few.

  “But what does this have to do with my immunity?”

  “The miracle gene found in a certain Volpi’s blood can cure any disease in any realm. You see, my people already have the cure. It’s up there on their craft sitting right in front of them.” Eggward chuckled softly. “But the cure is two parts: a lock and key of some sort. They have the lock. They just need the key. There is a reason why Burton hid you from the rest of the world. Did you think it was natural that you’ve never been sick? With your blood you are the most powerful weapon that we have against the enemy. You can connect to their mothership. And only you can do this. Then Burton Lang and Rayne Volpi, can shut down the craft, destroy it, and break the quarantine.”

  He was more confused than stunned. “This is absurd,” Montague said, shaking his head. “How do you know this?”

  “I can smell the gene within you. You are the key—a Volpi; a bastard Volpi.”

  “I am no bastard!” he snapped. “I am a farmer’s son, a La-Rose.” The weight of what he’d just learned overcame him.

  Grimm jumped back.

  “Forgive me, Mr. La-Rose,” said Eggward. “I may not look like it, but I was once a scientist and a doctor for my people, and I still have the remnants of insensitive manners. Shame on me.”

  The cross-eyed head named Grimm was lackadaisical in bringing a pot of tea over to them. Biting his tongue, he poured some into cups with a spoonful of sugar already at the bottom.

  The news was hard to swallow. But it resonated with Montague. “No. I’m sorry, Eggward.” He knew deep down that it was true. Even after discovering that he was a Volpi, THE Volpi, he still didn’t feel special, sacred, royal or any different than any other man. He only felt responsible to help mankind. If Eggward was right and he was the only one who could stop the Nekrums, then he was ready to do just that. “How do I tap into their mothership?”

  “You must retrieve the connection from Von Cobb. He carries a marble with him. It is the source of the Nekrums’ influence,” said Eggward. “Take the marble, and Burton will do the rest.”

  A third head, even smaller than the other two, waddled
over to Grimm and whispered into his hairy ear encrusted with a thin layer of dried wax. Grimm then delivered the message to Eggward.

  “We must go to Illyrium. The people there need our help. They have taken Burton Lang,” said Eggward.

  Burton Lang felt the spell that had quarantined him for twelve years suddenly lift. Informed by the trolls, he knew that Demitri had been behind the enchantment. It hurt him just knowing that his old friend had become the Nekrums’ host.

  He’d watched Anna Lott descend into the deep waters of the oubliette on her way to Mern, the real Mern. And he knew that she would be under the protection of the intelligent and deadly waterbirds.

  “Hide!” Burton yelled into the luminous cavern to the rest of the exiles. “Now! Someone is coming.”

  The lights dimmed down to a soft orange glow.

  Everyone in the cave was still silently munching on the crumbs of the delicious food Burton had made for them.

  Burton had no idea who was descending the well this time. He went to investigate, alone.

  Navigating his small wooden boat across the black reflective water to the oubliette landing rock, he sensed that the visitors were not of mage kind. There was no smell of sulfur or pheromone complex; a chemical mages wore to discombobulate their enemy. He heard the echo of the basket hitting the rock pile bottom.

  Someone stepped out.

  Approaching the landing rock, Burton could see a knight standing beside the basket—a Graleon knight, wearing black steel. He didn’t have a helmet on, but he wore a black stocking wrap around his head, exposing only the tip of his nose and his eyes.

  “Hello there,” Burton said. There was something familiar in the knight’s eyes.

  “I am Simon Atikan, knight of the Graleon throne,” he said.

  Burton froze. He was stunned. Burton recognized him and the sword and scabbard Simon carried. He had given this very sword to Gretchen to deliver to his son, and as much as he wanted to reach out and hug Simon, he couldn’t. Burton would be leaving this world shortly. He had no more time to build a relationship with his son. And it wounded him to think that he had missed all of Simon’s childhood, when one’s soul shines brightest. Burton believed that was the time when human beings know themselves best. And at the same time, childhood was when a person was most vulnerable, easily shaped and influenced by his surroundings, good or bad.

  In the recent years of the angel’s long life, Burton Lang had stripped himself of almost every fear that he had acquired in his human body. But there was one that he still couldn’t shake. With his fading memory, he couldn’t handle the fact that he might not recognize his own son if he ever saw him again. Burton had only seen him periodically throughout the years, so his son may not recognize him either. But when he heard Simon’s voice and looked into his hazel eyes, the knight didn’t have to speak his name for Burton to know that he was his father. Burton was proud of the stories he had heard about him, Sir Simon Atikan, the man who’d been to the edges of the world and back.

  “You are requested at the surface by Count Indrid Cole of Grale,” said Simon. “Please, come with me.”

  Burton didn’t say a word. When Simon offered his hand, Burton exited the boat onto the gravel shore. He did what his son said.

  Ascending in the basket, Burton couldn’t stop staring at Simon. And Simon noticed, but kept quiet and stared away. Before meeting him face to face Burton had been prepared to die and expected to die. He trusted that Montague would figure it all out and do what needed to be done to rid the planet of the Nekrums. But standing in the basket next to his son, he felt the first feeling of hope since before he’d been imprisoned. He was glad to be alive for the little time he had left. And he couldn’t wait to see the outside world again—the sun—once again.

  After living so long without sunlight, he felt that a creeping death had been upon him. He calculated only weeks until complete surrender.

  The basket clicked at the top of the well. There was a black-cloaked body lying there. Burton looked to Simon. “It was the mage that lifted the spell. Indrid Cole struck him after he did so.”

  Simon led him out of the tunnels that ran beneath the Illyrium castle. Burton felt the light shining from under the door just yards in front of them. The warmth of the sun surged a great illumination within him. He ran past Simon, slammed his body into the door nearly breaking the hinges off, and kept running straight into the sunlight.

  Out in the open, Indrid and his men drew their swords.

  Burton stripped his robe from his naked body and ran into the courtyard ruins, collapsing to his knees in the middle of the overgrown weeds. He cried out, reaching for the sun, which provided the fuel for an angel’s power. The feeling was uncanny. The inside of his body ignited into life. The dying wizard felt strong again.

  It was only seconds before Ikarus soldiers placed a blanket across his back and lifted Burton to his feet. They were amused by his eccentric behavior. Burton tried several times to throw it off and run, to gather more light, only to be covered again. The third time he undressed, an Ikarus soldier hit him in the back of the knees and threw the blanket over him. “Try it again and I’ll break your legs,” he said, spitting on him.

  Indrid stood over him. “So you’re the great Burton Lang,” he said. “What a first impression.”

  Some of Indrid’s men laughed, but not Simon and most of the Graleon soldiers. They didn’t find humor in Burton’s embarrassment.

  “I’m taking you to Ikarus. Demitri Von Cobb, a traitor who invaded the new capital, requests your presence. He agreed to leave if I deliver you to him,” Indrid said. “He is a tyrant and cannot remain in power. If you want to help mankind, you will comply.”

  “How do you know this?” Burton asked.

  Indrid handed him a letter. “He sent this to the Graleon castle.”

  When Burton felt the tactile words, he knew it was a curse. There was no way Demitri would leave the kingdom, Burton knew that, but there was no point trying to convince a boy who appeared to be influenced by magic. The blue writing was most likely Demitri’s own blue blood. Written spells seduced the unaware reader. Indrid was compromised. As a victim, he didn’t even know he was being manipulated. The enchantment made the young count’s mind weak and confused, allowing his inner desires to control him.

  “Fine, but you must bring everyone else out of that hole before we go. They will die if I’m gone,” Burton said. He could tell by the sneer on Indrid’s face that he wasn’t buying it.

  “How conceited. You really think you’re that special, that people will die if they aren’t in your presence?” Indrid laughed.

  Burton looked at Simon. He knew that his son took his concern more seriously than his leader did. But the knight, obligated by his vow to protect and defend the Graleon count, looked to the ground. Burton could feel Simon’s inner struggle to challenge Indrid. But Simon remained silent and stoic.

  “Sir Simon, take him,” Indrid said.

  “No! No!” Burton cried. He was frantic. “You need to get them out!”

  Simon gently took Burton by the arm, “Please calm down,” he said softly. The knight then looked to Indrid. “He seems sincere, my lord. Maybe we should free the others before we go.”

  “He seems pathetic if you ask me,” Indrid said.

  Simon leaned in close to Indrid, and Burton heard what his son was whispering. The wizard could hear a single cricket within an orchestra from miles away.

  “It might seem conceded, but this man is a sorcerer. We don’t know what he’s done down there. I beg you to reconsider,” Simon pleaded.

  “A mage, Sir Simon,” Indrid said. “Nothing more than an old mage—just like the elder I have slain in battle. There is no time to free everyone now.” Indrid turned and addressed everyone. “We are leaving.”

  “If these men were just sent here after Demitri took Ikarus, they’ll die without food and water,” said Simon. “This oubliette is nothing but rock and dirt with only sea water running through it
s caverns. I’ve been there many times before.”

  “Lang has been down there for years! And he’s fine. There must be something to eat,” Indrid said.

  Simon’s skeptical expression provoked Indrid to question the knight’s concern. “What? Do you think he’s been ‘magically’ creating food?”

  “He must be doing something, my lord,” said Simon.

  “He is! He’s hunting rats, gathering worms, and collecting ground water. Is that so hard to believe?” said Indrid.

  Simon didn’t reply.

  Burton kept quiet. The lives of all those men down in the oubliette flashed before him. What will they do with nothing but dirt, stone, and salt water, he thought? He made one last effort to run back to the tunnels below the castle, but an Ikarus soldier tripped him with the staff of his spear. Burton was still too weak to use even the pettiest charms of defensive magic.

  “Sir Simon, bind his hands and drag him if you have to,” Indrid said, loud enough to reach everyone’s ears. He mounted his horse and trotted away.

  The rest of the soldiers followed Indrid’s lead.

  Simon helped Burton up. “We’ll come back for them, I promise. I give you a knight’s word,” said Simon.

  “It will be too late,” Burton said, wiping his tears.

  The party headed to Ikarus. Indrid chose to travel along the shores of the Origon River before they would cross. Capping the end of the traveling party, Burton was glad that Simon stayed behind, close to him.

  “Why do you keep looking at my sword and smiling?” Simon asked. “If you have any ideas of stealing it and escaping, I urge you to reconsider.”

  “I haven’t seen it in a long time is all. It served me well in the past. I hope it has done the same for you,” Burton said.

  Simon stopped walking. Burton stopped only feet ahead of him and turned back.

  “Who are you?” Simon asked.

  “A friend, I can assure you that,” he said.

  “Do I know you?”

  “No, unfortunately,” Burton said. “But I know you.”

  A Graleon rider fell back from the party to inform Simon of a situation ahead. About ten miles north, the river was rising. Its shores were shrinking and the water was glistening with light.