by Jordan Baker
"Kenra is suspicious, obsessed and paranoid," Kroma replied. "It is a strength but it is also a weakness. I do not know the mind of this Calexis, but from what I could tell from her time with Cerric, and the fact that she schemed to kill him, she is cut from a similar cloth and will now expend endless amounts of useless energy worrying about how much I know."
"Did we have to walk right up to her and say it in her face?" Brian asked. "You couldn't have sent a note with a messenger or maybe tied to an arrow?"
"I suppose I could have written a nice letter, but it would hardly have the same effect, would it? Listen to that power raging away against an old, empty temple."
Even as they continued further down through the tunnels, the pounding of blasts of power echoed through the darkness and shook the earth around them. Brian wondered about something else.
"You said you were trapped inside Kenra's thoughts."
"Correct."
"Did you ever try to take control, like you did with me back there?"
"I did not take control," Kroma said. "I asked and you allowed me to speak and act through you."
"Yes, but could you if you wanted to?"
"Yes, but I wouldn't."
"If you were inside Kenra or Cerric, would you?"
"Most certainly. I tried many times and even succeeded for a few brief moments, though to no avail whatsoever."
"So, what's different?"
"You are different."
"What do you mean?"
"You are not Kenra," Kroma said. "I don't know if you noticed, but I am intentionally not listening in on your thoughts. If I were to do such a thing, I could answer your questions before you even asked them, but it would be manipulative and dishonorable to do such a thing, so I do not."
"But you would do it to Kenra," Brian said.
"Kenra is the god of lies, Brian. There is no honor to betray, none whatsoever."
"I have another question."
"Ask it."
"Calexis said you were weak, but you could still smash the ground and keep the temple from falling down. You seemed pretty powerful to me."
"Very little of that power was mine, Brian," Kroma said, and Brian felt the feeling of fatigue flow through him, like the way he felt after doing some kind of difficult activity for a long time.
"Then how did you do it?"
"I didn't," Kroma said. "You did."
"I can't do such things."
"With my knowledge and your strength, you can do many things, Brian."
"I'm not that strong though," Brian said, not quite believing him.
"No, you're not quite that strong," Kroma agreed and Brian felt immediately deflated. "You have strength, but the armor that you wear and the weapons that you carry have the ability to add to your power. You are already a strong lad on your own, which means you are already a powerful warrior but there is a path open to you if you wish to become even more powerful."
"Powerful enough to fight Calexis?"
"Perhaps," Kroma replied. "Every warrior that fights for Calexis is striving to become more powerful. It behooves you to do the same."
"You will help, right?"
"Of course, I am the god of warriors, or at least I was." Kroma's voice became a little less sure for a moment. "To be honest, I don't know if I am the god of anything anymore, but I am what I am and I have much wisdom to offer if you wish to become an even greater warrior."
"Which way do we go now?" Calthas asked.
Brian realized that he was standing at a cross in the passage, and staring blankly at a stone wall. He was not sure how long he was standing like that, and he was glad that the mages could not see his cheeks turn red in the dim light of the mage flame. He took the left passage, which he knew would lead down to the lake, hoping that Elric would not have wandered off the way that Pike had.
"You could have told me to turn at the end of the passage," Brian said.
"I will not influence you, Brian," Kroma told him.
"That's fine, but you can warn me of things if you don't mind, especially if I'm going to get hit by a sword or do something stupid like stare at a wall."
"Very well," Kroma said. "I will try to keep you out of trouble."
"That would be helpful."
"A helpful god, I am," he said, chuckling to himself for a moment, then Brian thought he heard Kroma let out a deep sigh.
"One more question," Brian said, hoping he was not bothering the god.
"Ask it."
"Are you really a thousand years old?"
Kroma laughed heartily.
"I am far older than that, my boy. I have been trapped for a thousand years, but that is merely a blink of an eye, a tick of the clock, a few grains of sand in the glass, a mere handful of moments in time."
"Then it wasn't that long of a time for you."
"It was not a short amount of time either, and it felt like an eternity."
"I suppose it would, being trapped."
"Time passes quickly when one is free, but every moment is agony in captivity."
"I could not imagine it," Brian said.
"I would not recommend that you try."
"How old are you, really?"
"I am as old as the mountains and younger than the sea, truly. Does that answer your question?"
"Not really, but that's your answer, isn't it?"
"It is as close to an answer as I can give to such a question."
"Perhaps I should not ask such questions."
"Nonsense. You may ask and I may answer, but if you do not ask, then there is no answer."
"I think I understand."
"Good. Now we're at another turn and you're staring at the wall like a fool again."
"I thought you said you would tell me when I was going to do something stupid."
"I just did."
"I meant before I did something stupid."
"You only just got here. You haven't been staring for long enough to look stupid. At least I don't think so. What is time, anyway? A blink of an eye, the passing of a day, the change of a season, the spilling of seed, the crops that grow for rhymes or reasons, the times, the seasons, the years that fast fade away, how quickly they go."
"Are you all right?"
"I am fine."
"You talk a lot."
"I apologize. It's been a thousand years since I really talked with anyone."
"I thought you said a thousand years is like the blink of an eye."
"It was a very slow and painful blink, and very quiet lonely, save for the insane ramblings of an obsessed and power mad god."
"I understand. You can talk if you want."
"No, I can be quiet now. This is your mind."
"It's all right. I don't mind."
"Really, I'm fine. I will reflect quietly."
"Are you sure?"
"We're coming to another turn in the passage, just ahead."
"Thank you."
"Of course."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jax pulled another stone free from the mortar, opening enough of a space in the wall that he should be able to wriggle through and, after a few scrapes on his ribs and sucking in his breath, he tumbled onto the dusty floor on the other side. It had been many years since anyone had entered this part of the palace but the scent of charred wood still lingered in the air and the scorch marks upon the stone were still dark underneath a thick layers of dust, and Jax felt a slight sense of trepidation when he struck flint to the torch he had brought, irrationally worried that even a single spark might set the palace afire. The torch lit without incident and in the flickering orange glow, Jax set out to find the answers to questions that had weighed upon him for many long years.
As he walked down the stone corridor, past old furnishings and tapestries, it was like traveling back in time to a happier and more colorful kingdom, the days of King Gregor and Queen Aria, before Cerric became the regent and long before the priesthood and their dark magic poisoned the land. Jax remembered visiting this part of
the palace when he was a boy, tagging along with his father, whose job it was to keep the king and his family safe. He had even met King Gregor on a few occasions and remembered his warm smile and unassuming manner, that tempered his commanding and powerful bearing like a thick blanket placed overtop firm, rocky ground.
A good king, he was, and respected by his people, save for the scandal of his marriage to a foreign princess, one of a different race, no less. As Jax remembered things, it had been more of a scandal for the elven people than for most of the folks at Maramyr, most of whom were fascinated by her and greeted her with warm welcome, though a number of the nobles, members of the older houses had been noticeably colder in their responses. His father was investigating rumors of plots against Gregor and Aria, and he suspected several members of the Maramyrian nobility, but he never told Jax who, and the night when the royal apartments caught fire and the king and queen were killed, he had disappeared.
Cerric was quick to blame him, and a number of others who had failed to protect the royal family, and there were a number of arrests, and many interrogations. All of the evidence pointed to someone close to the king and queen, but of the three people Cerric's investigation focused most heavily upon, Jax's father, Dash Larian, and the Royal Armsmaster, Tarnath Coromay, who was perhaps a closer friend to King Gregor than anyone, as well as Zachary, the head of the Council of Mages, and close friend to both the king and queen, both Zachary and Tarnath were grudgingly absolved, though they left Maramyr in disgrace, but Dash had gone missing the night of the fire, so all fingers eventually pointed to him.
Jax never believed the things he heard, that his father would do such a thing. He had seen him with the king more than once and knew they were close and trusted each other, and Jax knew that his father genuinely liked and respected the king. The way that Cerric had handled everything, left Jax convinced that something was being hidden, and from Cerric's behavior of late, from the stories that he had been the one behind the attack on his niece, Princess Ariana, Gregor and Aria's daughter, and how he had declared himself king, Jax was now more than convinced that Cerric was the one responsible for the deaths of the king, the queen, and the child who had just been born, a child Jax had met briefly, held in the arms of his mother, Queen Aria, when Jax had visited with his father the day before the fire.
Jax paused at the blackened doorway to the room where he knew the infant would have slept and he turned around, astonished at how much of the large room that led to it had also been burned. It was surprising because, Cerric had barred anyone except his own hand picked soldiers from entering this part of the palace, and remembering what he had heard at the time, it was never mentioned that the fire occurred in the room where the child slept. That simple fact alone, which had obviously been left out of any stories about the investigation, suggested that if the fire truly was an attack upon the royals, then it was the infant who was the target, and not the king and queen. When Jax stepped into the room, what he saw confused him even more.
The room was blackened and charred and even the stone walls and parts of the ceiling appeared to have melted in places, but at the center of it all was a circle that the fire had not touched. Jax cocked his head and looked at the spot, holding out his torch, away from his eyes so the brightness of the flames would not affect his vision. He knew the room was where the child had slept, and yet there was no cradle, no crib, and Jax distinctly recalled seeing something of the sort from where he stood outside the room, the day he had met the queen and her new baby. The cradle had been removed, but the scorch marks told a story nonetheless.
It was clear that the fire that had burned the palace had not been a natural one. No fire lit by a careless torch or a spilled lantern would burn in a clean circle, nor would it leave a place at its center untouched. This fire was made by magic, of that Jax had little doubt, and he wondered why it was centered around the cradle where the child would have lain. It was as though whoever had created the fire would have been protecting that one place, and burning everything around it, which would only make sense if the child was the one being attacked. But why attack a child? And why kill the king and queen to protect him? It made no sense.
Jax walked around the room, looking at its center from every angle, trying to imagine what might have transpired, but all he saw was the layer of dust in an empty, charred room. He closed his eyes and thought back to what it had looked like when he had glanced inside, so many years ago. It had been about midday and the room was bright and cheery, the wooden trim around the windows freshly painted and with bright tapestries hanging from the stone walls. Sheer curtains billowed in the afternoon breeze, and patches of sunlight shone upon the floor.
Jax opened his eyes, then he turned around and looked at the window. Like the entrance to this part of the palace, the window had been sealed with stone and mortar, blocked from the world, away from prying eyes. The more he thought about it, the fact that the royal quarters had been sealed in such a way made little sense. He knew that Cerric had taken up residence in another part of the palace, and one of his first acts as regent had been to decree that the scene of the death of the king and queen would be sealed away, as a reminder to all of the tragedy that had befallen them, and the Royal Council had readily agreed. Jax remembered that it had happened quickly, in a matter of days, for he had tried to get into these rooms, to try to find out what might have happened to his father, who had gone missing.
Jax stared at the window, its grey surface a mottled pattern of stone and fresh mortar, obviously put up in a hurry, but telling him no more than what he had discovered in the room. He stepped a little closer to the window and held out his torch, looking at its surface and he saw movement and a dull reflection from the torch upon the mortar. He reached out and touched it and was surprised to find it soft and damp to the touch, as though the window had only just been covered. Jax was not a builder or a mason but he knew that mortar applied years ago should not still be wet. Curiously, he picked at it with his finger and the mortar fell away in gobs, landing on the stone windowsill.
Within moments, he managed to pull one of the stones loose and he pulled it away, revealing something very strange. Behind the stone, where he expected to see the night sky, Jax saw a strange glimmer that glowed with a bluish light. He pulled away the rest of the stones, tossing them to the floor, and behind the stones was something that looked like a hole, torn in a piece of fabric, except what was torn seemed to be the world itself. On either side of it, Jax could see the dark clouds in the night sky and the glow of torchlight from the city below.
A bright light flashed from what looked like the direction of the temple district, then all of Maramyr lit up with bright beams of light and Jax wondered what Cerric and his blasted mage priests were up to now, and he thought perhaps it might be time to leave, for it was likely something dangerous. Curious about what was happening in the city, he leaned in toward the window, get a better look, and he felt something, like a kind of pull coming from the tear itself and he found himself wanting to move closer to it, even though he knew he probably should not. Jax looked more closely at the bluish glow and it slowly darkened into a clear, starry night sky, and it felt like he could see all of existence.
Jax blinked and shook his head, wondering if there might be some kind of magic at work upon him, and he stepped back from the window only to realize that it was gone, and the room he was in was also gone. He felt a rush of panic when he looked down and saw only stars, but he somehow knew he was not falling. He turned and took a few steps, and found that he could walk as though he was on solid ground, though there was nothing beneath his feet, nor in any direction, save for the stars in the night.
"Now this is passing strange," he said, and his voice echoed around him.
"'Tis a strange place, this is," a voice said, and Jax spun around.
Sitting on a wooden log, next to a blazing fire was a man Jax recognized whose face he had not seen in many years, a face that was half blackened by soot and his clothe
s charred and smoking as though he had accidentally caught himself on fire and had just put out the flames. The man raised a jug of what appeared to be wine and took a long drink from it as Jax walked toward him.
"What are you doing here?" Jax asked him.
"Drinking, obviously," the man replied with a drunken laugh.
"What are you doing in this place?"
"I just told you, I'm drinking. Sitting here, drinking some wine and staring at this blasted fire, that's what I'm doing."
"Why are you sitting here drinking by a fire?"
"Why? Why not? There's not much else to do, I can think of." He lifted the jug. "Would you care for a swig? It's darned good wine, best you ever tasted, I reckon."
"Do you know who I am?" Jax asked.
"You?" The man laughed. "You look like a traveler, though you could be a thief, sneaking up on me like you did. You might be in my imagination though. I have been drinking for some time, you know, so it's possible I'm seeing things, and this place, it plays tricks. You do look familiar though. Have we met?"
"It's me, Jax."
"Jax? I know that name. It rings a bell, it does. There was a young fella I knew once, by that name, a good lad he was. Jax. I think that was his name."
"Do you know who you are?"
"Do I know who I am? Of course I do!" He laughed, his face red from the wine and the warmth of the fire. "Of course."
"Are you so drunk that you don't remember anything?"
The man stared up at him and Jax saw tears begin to well up in his eyes.
"I don't know. I don't want to know." He took another swig from the jug then held it out to Jax. "Have some wine."
"No, thank you," Jax said and he sat down on another log that somehow appeared where none had been a moment ago.
"Well then, sit a while. I could use the company. Not sure when I last had a visitor."
"Others have come here?"
"Now that I think about it, I do believe that you're the first."
"And you have been here all this time, drinking."
"I'm not quite sure. I suppose I have."