Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “This will be mine,” Eldalain said in a hushed voice.

  Narine turned and found him standing beside her. “What?”

  “I have put in the time, developed my talent, and have become the second most powerful wizard in Ghealdor. I have acted as his errand boy and have done what needed doing. I will not throw everything aside so you can ascend the throne.”

  She furrowed her brows. “What makes you think I want to rule?”

  “Why else attend the University?”

  “I did it to be an asset to Father.”

  “Please.” Eldalain’s voice was thick with disdain. “I am no fool. Spare me your self-righteous rhetoric.”

  “Not everyone seeks power, Eldalain.”

  “Wrong,” he retorted. “Not everyone acknowledges it. Some might deny it of themselves, like a martyr, but they are fools.” He turned toward her, his dark eyes boring into her as if examining her soul. “He has grown old, his power finally waning. Of those who might challenge me for the throne, only you remain. Think on that before you lay any plans.”

  The man spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Narine with a deeply disturbing realization.

  It was him. He killed his own siblings to guarantee his position.

  30

  Regret

  Rhoa followed Jace, the two of them weaving through the crowd. Ahead, the massive dome of the Fastella temple waited. By the thousands, the crowd crossed the square and climbed the stairs, slowing as they funneled through the open doors where guards were posted.

  Two men in front of Rhoa were drawn aside by armored guards in purple cloaks, the guards turning the men away because of the swords they carried. Rhoa thought of her fulgur blades, hidden in her room back at the inn. She felt naked without them.

  Rhoa and Jace passed through the doors and into the building. A domed ceiling stood high above, the interior large enough to fit many houses. In the center was a circular, stone dais standing well above the floor, eight stone altars occupying it. A runway connected the dais to the far wall, where closed doors waited. A single, circular window in the domed roof allowed light to come through. Rather than placing the window at the apex, it was offset toward the east, always facing the moon.

  The crowd continued to filter in as citizens surrounded the dais and filled the cavernous space. Rhoa wondered how many people the building could hold. Surely more than ten thousand.

  Jace tugged on her sleeve and moved toward the outer wall. She followed as the two of them circled the crowd until they were near the rear of the building. There, they came across an alcove in the corner. Three torches lit the area, the flickering light allowing people to view the mural-painted wooden panels on the walls. Each depicted a scene of Gheald bestowing his power upon one of the past lords of Ghealdor. Rhoa shuffled past the paintings, examining the images.

  In each, Gheald was a towering giant made of purple-tinted light. He wore no clothing and had a dog’s head rather than a human’s. Although each image obscured the view of Gheald’s groin, it was clear he was a man from his muscular build – a body deserving of a god. She did not recognize the wizard lords in the first three paintings, but stopped when she came across the fourth. From the brown hair and cruel eyes, she knew it to be Taladain. The painting, like the others, depicted this very building. The date at the bottom read the year 2112, indicating Taladain’s rise to lordship occurred centuries ago. He was said to be among the oldest lords in the eight wizardoms.

  The peal of a gong rang out, and Rhoa returned to the mouth of the alcove to stand beside Jace. The doors at the far end of the building closed, dousing the light coming through them. From somewhere above her, the gong rang again. She turned as the doors opened and crowd fell quiet.

  An elderly man dressed in golden robes with a purple stole hanging to his knees entered the building. Rhoa recognized High Priest Faldom, the man having held his office for decades. Two clerics trailed him, each carrying a torch burning with a purple flame. The procession continued until they reached the dais. Six lanterns were lit, and the clerics returned from whence they came.

  Indigo Hounds emerged from the open doors, the guards walking in pairs. The first two carried a woman, bound at her ankles and wrists, wearing only her smallclothes. She appeared unconscious. Her mouth was gagged, her face bruised. The next set of guards carried a man who was, undoubtedly, the woman’s husband. Also unconscious, bound, and gagged, his bruises and scrapes appeared far worse than the woman’s. The last pair of guards carried a boy, no more than eight years old. His eyes were desperate with fright, his face wet with tears as he squirmed against his shackles.

  The woman, man, and child were each laid upon a separate altar, then strapped down before the guards departed. High Priest Faldom raised his hands toward the dome and spoke.

  “You have gathered here today for a ceremony reaching back to Ghealdor’s beginning. For many centuries, we have performed the Immolation of Darkening in devotion to Gheald, our beloved god. By doing so, Gheald empowers our wizard lord with the strength to protect our wizardom and ensure prosperity for all of its citizens.”

  As the man spoke, the room darkened further. Rhoa glanced up at the window in the ceiling. From her angle, she could only see a portion of the moon and the halo of the sun as it approached the eclipse.

  “I now present to you the ruler of Ghealdor, Lord Taladain Killarius.”

  A soldier with gold-tinted chest and shoulder plates emerged, his purple cape flowing behind him. His head was shaven, his dark goatee drawn in a scowl. The look in his eyes carried a threat as he strode purposefully down the walkway. The sword across his back and dagger on his hip reinforced the threat.

  Jace leaned close. “That’s Burrock, Taladain’s lead dog. He runs the Hounds.”

  The next man who walked out captured Rhoa’s attention. It had been years since she had seen him. The last was before her parents’ deaths. Back then, she was in awe. Now she felt nothing but hatred.

  Taladain, the Lord of Ghealdor, strode toward the dais at an easy, confident pace. Tall and thin, his purple, iridescent robes draped loosely on his body. A gold sash was tied about his waist, and his hands were folded together at his stomach. A golden crown with a purple amethyst at the front held back the man’s long, graying hair. His beard, dark brown with streaks of gray, hung to his chest. His eyes were dark beneath a heavy brow. Rhoa saw cruelty in those eyes as he gazed upon the crowd. Her hand sought the amulet beneath her tunic before she recalled storing it under her mattress. With the amulet, she would be safe from Taladain’s magic. She longed for it and her fulgur blades, imagining using the blades to scale the dais and stab the man through the heart.

  As Taladain approached the dais, Burrock circled the ring of altars, looking down at the crowd, his gaze searching for any possible threats. When the wizard lord stopped in the heart of the circle, everything fell still.

  “We gather today for the Immolation of Darkening,” Taladain said in a booming voice. “Those you see on these altars have been blessed to give their souls to Gheald and will join him in the afterlife for all eternity. When the flame ignites, the Devotion will begin.”

  The dais cleared as Burrock, Faldom, and the two clerics retreated to the far end of the runway where other guards waited.

  Jace leaned close to Rhoa and whispered, “When the Devotion begins, I will slip into the alcove. Be sure to warn me if anyone comes this way.”

  Rhoa nodded absently, unable to take her eyes from the wizard.

  As the sun slid behind the moon, the building darkened further, the air taking on an amber hue. Taladain raised his arms, purple flames swirling around him in a tempest of magic that began to spread. The ball of flames soon obscured the altars, and screams arose from the three people strapped to them. Everyone in the room fell to their knees, raised their hands, and began to chant in unison.

  “Bless us, great Gheald. Guide us in your wisdom, protect us from harm, and grant our wizards your power so they might lead us t
o a better tomorrow.”

  The ball of purple flames became a tower of swirling light and fire, bursting out the dome window and toward the darkened moon. Even with thousands of voices chanting in unison, the screams of agony coming from the dais reached Rhoa, scarring her heart.

  In her mind, the screams were her parents. She imagined the trauma they had endured – the fear, the pain, the loss. If fate had twisted in a different manner, she would have also been strapped to one of those altars. A tear tracked down her cheek, followed by another. Someone needed to put an end to the horrible ritual. Killing Taladain would stop it, until another wizard rose to replace him. For now, it was the best she could do.

  The screams faded and were replaced by an immense presence, one that held a weight over Rhoa and left her unable to think clearly.

  The tower of flames receded, the swirling fires dying down to reveal Taladain, his body glowing. The stunned crowd fell silent. Behind the lord wizard was a towering giant of light. Naked and hairless, the giant’s muscular body was perfect in every way, save for his face. Rather than the face of a man, the being had the face of a dog. Taladain turned toward the giant and knelt. The giant dipped his head in return and faded away, the weight of his presence fading with him.

  Was that Gheald? Rhoa wondered. Was it truly a god?

  “You two! What are you doing?”

  She spun and noticed two guards approaching. Oh no.

  When Devotion began, Jace backed into the alcove and examined the paintings. The instructions he had received said there was a secret release on one of the wooden panels. His gaze swept over them, searching for a faceless priest. On the third panel, the one in the back, he found the image. He pressed on the oval-shaped face, feeling a click. The panel swung open to reveal a recess in the stone blocks. There, a small stack of papers waited.

  He looked over his shoulder, where Rhoa stood with her back to him, the crowd beyond her on their knees and chanting. Bright purple light came from something beyond his line of sight.

  Jace picked up the papers and slid them into his tunic. An odd feeling came over him, and he sensed the presence of something awestriking. It hovered over him, pressing down as if to smother him. It left his mind fuzzy, then it was gone.

  He realized the chanting had ceased and had little time to act. With haste, he dug into his coin purse and removed two small vials, placing both into the recess before swinging the panel closed. It clicked into place as a voice rose up behind him.

  “You two! What are you doing?”

  Jace spun and saw two armed guards standing beside Rhoa. Did they see me? He decided to play naïve.

  “Oh, sorry.” His accent was thick, like one of the tribes in Hassakan. “We are visitors to the city and have never seen paintings done with such skill.”

  One guard glanced at the other. “You weren’t on your knees. Devotion is required in Fastella. Everyone must participate.”

  “Really?” Jace said with raised eyebrows. “When is it to take place? I don’t wish to miss it.”

  The taller guard grunted. “It just finished.”

  “Yes,” the shorter guard said, “but it will happen again shortly after nightfall. Tonight and every other night.”

  During this conversation, Taladain and his entourage walked down the runway and exited the temple.

  Jace put his arm about Rhoa’s shoulders. “Very well then. We will be sure to watch for it. We are staying at the Loose Board Inn. Do you know it?”

  The crowd began to move toward the exit, busily chattering, an air of awe in their voices.

  The taller guard nudged his companion and made a gesture to leave. The shorter one looked at Jace. “Just be sure to join in Devotion, or you’ll find yourself in a dungeon cell.”

  The guards continued on, following the citizens of Fastella as they funneled through the exit.

  Jace whispered to Rhoa, “You were supposed to watch for guards. They almost caught me.”

  Her mouth tightened as she glared at him. “People died today, burned alive for a stupid ritual. Yet all you can think about is yourself.”

  “I don’t know why you’re angry with me,” he said in a hurt tone. “Those people were going to die regardless of what you or I did.”

  “Not if Taladain were dead.”

  “Shh!” He hushed her while looking around, then lowered his voice. “Don’t ever say that out loud, and certainly not anywhere near the temple or citadel.”

  Her glare remained, but she gave him no other response.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Jace waved her along. “We need to make a stop before returning to the inn.”

  As he reached the rear of the crowd, he slowed, waiting for others to funnel through the door. He turned and saw Rhoa staring at the dais, her face like stone, showing no emotion.

  She is acting odd. Is it possible she has never seen an Immolation before? he wondered.

  The ceremony happened twice a year in every great city. The dates were all different, depending on when the full eclipses took place, and each god had unique aspects to the ritual, but the result was the same. Rhoa’s travels with the menagerie had taken her many places, but an air of innocence remained, as if she were naïve to the darker side of mankind. Worse was her friend, Rawk. The man seemed like a child who had never left his home and understood little of the world.

  Glancing up, Jace saw a quarter of the sun now free from the moon’s shadow. The building’s interior grew lighter by the minute.

  The square was filled with people heading in every direction, returning to their lives. Jace ignored the others and hurried along, no longer inhibited by the pace of the crowd. With Rhoa following close behind, he exited the square and took Candle Street, which ran diagonal to the other streets, toward the southeast corner of the city. Rhoa, despite her short legs, kept up to his eager pace, past pedestrians, horses, carts, and shops. The pair reached another square, one with a circular fountain in the middle, and entered Harper Street. A backward glance forced him to stop when he didn’t see Rhoa following.

  Jace backtracked and found her standing at the corner, staring at a building. He was about to scold her for falling behind but stopped short when he saw the look on her face. A tear tracked down her cheek, her eyes filled with longing and loss.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and asked in a gentle voice, “What’s wrong?”

  Rhoa wiped her cheek and nodded toward the building across the street. “That used to be a carpentry shop.”

  He frowned, noting woven rugs hanging in the window.

  She continued. “The man who lived there made the most beautiful furniture. He would sing while he crafted it, working from sunup to sundown. It was a labor of love, like everything else in his life. His wife managed the business. She was good with numbers and was an excellent cook. The woman was smart, loyal, and trusting.”

  Jace turned back toward the building, imagining it as she described it. “You knew these people.” It was a statement, not a question.

  She nodded. “They were my parents.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “The lottery. They were chosen ten years ago. Today is the anniversary of their deaths.”

  Shock struck, and he almost staggered. He looked across the street and saw the number on the building. 618. He turned toward the corner and read the street sign. Harper Street. Rhoa’s parents had lived at 618 Harper Street.

  Oh, dear Gheald, Jace thought. What have I done?

  31

  The Lottery Caper

  Ten Years Ago

  It was dark, the moon obscured by clouds. The sun had set over an hour earlier. Devotion had passed, and the streets of Fastella were quieting, the foot traffic thin and sporadic.

  Jerrell stood inside a recessed entrance with his cloak wrapped about him. Melded into the shadows, he watched the three-story house across the street. The door opened, light from inside pouring onto the street as a man dressed in finery stepped out. At his side was a man twice h
is size – big, bulky, and armed.

  Bodyguard, Jerrell thought.

  The well-dressed man was Perque, a man Jerrell knew by reputation. Perque’s business crossed boundaries that touched on Cordelia’s enterprise. As he had numerous times in the past, Jerrell wondered why Cordelia allowed it.

  Perque and his oversized escort walked down the street, the small man moving in a rush, the larger one keeping up with long, purposeful strides. When Perque faded from view, Jerrell emerged from his corner and crossed the street. He did not rush or dally. While he was aware of every movement in his peripheral vision, he did not turn his head. No need to appear like I have something to hide. Without knocking, he opened the door and entered.

  Three girls were in the sitting room, two of them lounging on a sofa, the third sitting on a window seat. All three were dressed in gowns too revealing to wear in public, their legs exposed to the knees, their necklines plunging beyond the point of distraction.

  Jerrell pulled his hood back and bowed. “Hello, ladies.”

  “Jerrell,” Marbi said from the window seat. The blonde raised one brow, her gaze flicking the length of his body. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Or is it business?” She laughed, her voice a twinkle. “What am I saying? Both are the same in this house.”

  Jerrell had known Marbi for years and had always liked her. Now, at twenty-four, she might be six years older than him, but she had never treated him like a child. It was among the things he appreciated about the girl. He admitted to himself that her appearance influenced his perspective.