by C. M. Carney
The look of irritation fell from Simon's face as he thought. “Um, sometimes I’m not sure anymore. It’s been so long. I’ve served Ouzerio for so long I can't remember.” The memory seemed to touch something painful inside Simon and his cocky demeanor returned. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because there is something off about this place.”
“Yeah, it’s boring.”
“Yeah, it is,” Gryph thought as his mind worked. “You said your mast…Ouzerio, just got back?”
“Yup.”
“From where exactly?”
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. He goes away and comes back. He usually brings a friend. I bring meals for a few days. Then the friend goes away, and for a while, Ouzerio is happy. Then he isn’t, and he goes away again. He doesn’t bother telling me his schedule.”
Gryph was piecing together the odd logic of this realm, but he needed to ask more questions. Wick’s life, his soul, might rely on the answers this brat provided.
“How many meals have you served him this time?”
“This is the first.”
“Good. And how many do you normally serve before he goes away again.”
Simon shrugged. “It varies.”
“Well, take a guess.”
“Sometimes one. Sometimes a few. I never know until I bring up dinner and he’s just gone.” Simon shuffled his feet in a way that told Gryph he was hurt by it but didn’t want to admit it.
“Okay, that’s good. Now, why don’t you tell me about yourself.”
“Whatcha wanna know?” Simon said, excited for the interest but also fearful that it was some kind of trick or joke.
“How did you come to be here?”
Simon screwed up his face as if the memory was painful, and he didn’t want to remember. After a moment, he shrugged. He stayed silent.
“Come on, kid. You help me, maybe I can help you. Take you from this place.”
Simon’s eyes snapped up, an odd mix of fear and excitement in his gaze.
“I have to bring dinner,” Simon said, shunting the hope aside.
Gryph held back a sigh. This kid had some serious trust issues. He walked over to the cart and pushed.
“Let me help you.”
Simon nodded, but said nothing as they exited the kitchen into a long hallway. After a dozen steps, Simon spoke up in a small voice.
“I don’t remember much. It was a long time ago.”
“It’s okay just tell me what you remember.”
“Morrigan brought me. I think I was his manservant. Not a bad gig, all things considered.”
Gryph wasn’t sure why, but the name Morrigan made his skin crawl. Was it a name he’d heard Wick say, or maybe Ovyrm? He didn’t know. He knew he had to ask and hoped that the question didn’t set this sullen teen down the wrong path.
“Who is Morrigan?”
Simon’s gaze snapped up at Gryph, an incredulous look painted across his face. The boy stopped and fidgeted back and forth as if wanting to run but fearing the consequences.
“It's okay, buddy. I’m kinda new to the Realms.”
Simon’s eyes went wide in excitement.
“You’re from the Outer Realms? Wow.”
“Something like that. Regardless, I’m not up on current events. I promise, someday I’ll tell you about my home.”
“Okay,” Simon said and nodded in excitement. “Well, Morrigan is one of the gods. Soon, he will be the High God. That’s why we came here. Ouzerio is a very powerful wizard. He knows secrets that nobody knows, not even Morrigan. Morrigan wanted to learn and for a while Ouzerio taught him. Then…” Simon stopped as if the next part was painful.
“Then?” Gryph prompted.
“Then they got in a big fight.” Simon held his head as if hit by a sudden migraine. “It’s hard to remember sometimes. I think they fought. Then Morrigan went away and left me here with Ouzerio. I think that was a long time ago.” He stopped again, almost falling over in a feint.
“Whoa, I got you,” Gryph said, lunging out to catch the kid. Simon jerked from his touch again, and Gryph released him. After a moment, Simon seemed to regain his composure and pushed the cart onwards.
“You know,” Simon said in an odd voice as if he had drifted light years away. “I’m not even sure my name is Simon.”
Gryph felt tension rise in him as they got closer to the doors at the end of the hallway. “Well, it's a good name.”
“Yeah?" the kid said as he pulled the cart to a stop and moved to open the doors.
Gryph pulled mana into himself and clasped his spear. Whatever lay behind these doors, he would be ready.
49
The doors were fifteen feet tall and made of pale amber wood. Simon pushed them open with practiced ease and returned to the cart. As his gaze passed over Gryph, his eyes grew distant, almost glazed, as if he was no longer present, but just an automaton fulfilling a task.
He pushed the art into the room, and Gryph followed.
“Ah, Simon,” said a voice that reminded Gryph of a kindly grandfather from a candy commercial he’d seen as a child. “I was wondering where you’d gotten yourself to, lad. My guest is famished.”
Gryph eased around the cart, muscles tensed for action. What awaited him was both stunning and expected. An old, white-haired man sat at one end of a long dining table. You know those tables you see in movies that rich folks use. The kind that circumvents any chance at real conversation.
The elderly man, who Gryph guessed had to be Ouzerio, the Barrow King, looked at Gryph, and a smile of both genuine and confusion crossed his face. He reminded Gryph of his own grandfather the last several years of his life. They were not the eyes of a soul-consuming revenant.
“Why, Simon, who is your friend?”
Simon said nothing as he pushed the cart forward. Gryph eyed Simon warily. Something wasn’t right here. He backed away but kept pace with the thin boy. As they fully entered the room Gryph got his first look at the guest Ouzerio was entertaining.
Wick sat at the table's far end, as healthy as Gryph had ever seen him. The gnome's skin looked as if he’d spent the last few months in the sun and not the dour darkness of the Barrow. The blue shock of hair was lustrous and undamaged by acid. A jovial smile split his face. It was only when Gryph saw his friend’s eyes that he realized something was very, very wrong. They were the eyes of the dead, listless and lacking light.
Wick’s gaze fell on Gryph, and the gnome said, “Hello.”
Ice dug into Gryph’s veins. There was something going on here that he wasn’t seeing. On a whim he pulled Wick’s goggle up over his eyes and toggled the lenses to see magic. He almost jumped. The place was rife with tendrils of all colors, moving to and fro. His head began to pound just trying to differentiate between the strands.
He closed his eyes and forced his mind to focus and to calm. When he opened them again, he centered his gaze on Wick. Sure enough, a silvery tendril of magic pulsed from Wick directly to the food Simon was serving Ouzerio.
The old man pulled a tender bit of lamb free with his fork and shoved it past trembling lips, where he chewed. Each movement of his jaw brought a pulse of light into the strand leading from Wick to Ouzerio.
Gryph’s eyes widened. He was consuming Wick’s soul. Gryph spun his spear around and dipped the tip into the stream moving from the gnome to the old man. Maybe the spear’s ability to store magic would interrupt the flow. The tip punctured the flow and energy shot up the spear and into Gryph’s body.
Pain exploded into every cell in Gryph’s body as he flew backwards, impacting the wall and knocking the wind from him. His health bar dropped by nearly a third.
He stood, wobbling back and forth on unsteady legs. The old man continued to chew, and Simon continued to set more dishes in front of him.
“Simon, this is quite delicious,” Ouzerio said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had the like. What is it?”
“It's called gnome, sir,” Simon said.
“
Gnome. Hmmmm, quite tasty. So tender and full of vitality.”
Gryph shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. He advanced on Simon and pushed the lad away from the serving cart. Then he tried to push the cart, get it as far away from this soul cannibal as possible. But his hands phased right through it. It was incorporeal.
“I don’t like to be touched,” Simon said as he stood, dusted himself off, and returned to his duties.
Gryph panicked. Ouzerio was consuming more of Wick’s soul and it was taking a toll on his friend. His skin had turned sallow and strands of gray had wormed their way through his hair.
He rushed to his friend and tried to tear him away from the table, but his hands phased through as if Wick was not there. This close he could hear his friend’s wheezing breath. It was as if his lungs no longer inhaled enough oxygen to fuel him.
Gryph turned and raised his spear. He poured mana into the spear, adding it to that stored in the weapon. The adamant tip glowed as bright as the noonday sun, and Gryph hurled it at Ouzerio with every ounce of strength he had.
His aim was true, but the weapon passed harmlessly through the old man and hit the wall behind him. A cacophonous explosion tore outwards, smashing a massive hole in the wall. A breeze drifted into the chamber, bringing the sweet smell of spring with it.
Ouzerio didn’t seem to notice as he took another bite, this time it was some kind of custard. More pulses of Wick’s soul oozed down the tendril with each cycle of the old man’s jaw.
Gryph rushed to Simon and grabbed the kid by the arm, tugging him backwards before he could deliver another dish to his soul eating master.
“Let go. I told you I don’t like being touched,” Simon screamed, struggling to pull free of Gryph’s grasp. But Gryph refused to let go. Fear dug into the boy’s eyes and tears streamed down his cheeks.
“How am I able to touch you, but not the others?” Gryph screamed at the frightened boy. Simon said nothing, just tried harder and harder to pull away. “How?” Gryph screamed.
“Because I have no body,” Simon screamed and his eyes widened in realization. Gryph knew, right then, that until that very moment, Simon had forgotten this terrible truth. More tears poured down his face, and a cold calm came over the boy. “I am stuck here because Morrigan gave me to him.” Simon pointed an angry finger at Ouzerio. “Gave me to him to be a sacrifice. I watched them experiment on me, slowly killing my body as they sought to understand my soul.”
Simon shook as the terrors of his past came rushing back.
“No, no, no, it is all my fault. It’s because of me that Ouzerio and Morrigan understand how to feed on souls. I was the first.”
Gryph knelt and shook the boy. “Listen to me, Simon. It is not your fault. They used you. They abused you.”
“They murdered me,” Simon said, “but they did not consume my soul. They used…used me it to build this place.”
Simon walked over to the hole in the wall that Gryph’s spear had made. A small smile came to his lips. “This was my home. Long ago. It’s why I made it again. I wanted to go back home.”
Gryph knelt by the boy, pain fighting against compassion at the thought of what he'd suffered. “How can I help?”
Simon looked up at Gryph with sad eyes. “I do not know if you can, but I may be able to help you.” He looked at Wick. “And your friend.”
“How?” Simon said in a voice full of desperate need.
“You must kill me.”
50
Gryph backed away in shock. Every fiber of his being recoiled at the idea. But he was also desperate to save his friend. There was no training that could help him make this decision.
“I thought you said you were already dead?”
“Yes,” Simon said. His demeanor had changed. He was no longer a scared child but a being who had existed for untold millennia. “My body died so long ago that I’m not even sure that this is what I looked like.”
“I don’t understand. If you are already dead, how can I kill you?”
“You must kill my soul. It enables this place to exist. Without it, the Barrow King cannot survive, and he will cease to be. You must sacrifice me to kill him. While he is still weak.”
“No.”
“It is the only way to save your friend. And I no longer want to live this half-life.”
Gryph paced back and forth in anguish. He could not destroy a soul even to save one. He looked from Simon to the Barrow King, and then to Wick.
“Think. Think. Damn you.” Gryph bashed the palm of his hand against his forehead. Something tickled at the back of his mind. Then it came at him, like a tsunami wave, and he knew what he had to do.
“I may have another way, but I need you to do something for me,” Gryph said.
“What?” Simon asked.
“Stop feeding this old fuck.”
“I’ll try,” Simon said. “But he is able to compel me.”
“Try. That is all I can ask.”
Gryph turned to the Ouzeriuo, the ancient evil that had destroyed countless lives. He was already looking younger. Gryph had no idea how much longer Wick could hold out, but Gryph suspected he did not have long. “Hey, old man, your days are done.”
Gryph built up mana and cast Telepathic Bond. He reached out with his mind and found the wisp that was the mind of the Barrow King. It was a tainted, oily pond of scum and sewerage. It’s rancid taste nearly made Gryph vomit, but he would not fail.
Their minds touched, and Gryph showed the Barrow King his Godhead. The spectral creature pulsed and morphed, rushing at Gryph with a hunger unlike any it had ever felt. Gryph held fast as Ouzerio’s mind swam into his own, burrowing to the deep recesses where the Godhead resided.
Gryph pushed forward, digging deep into the foul center of the Barrow King’s mind. He was gambling all and knew that if he didn’t find what he sought, then all was lost. Gryph pushed through memories of atrocities, nearly drowning in their pain and the utter joy Ouzerio had taken in inflicting them.
It was like swimming through toxic mud. He burned and was suffocating under the wretched onslaught. But he kept swimming. He knew what he sought was there. He kept moving.
He was getting close. He could feel it like a blind man felt heat. He dove deeper, and the world became blacker. It was down here, the knowledge he needed. The knowledge the Barrow King had guarded for millennia.
Then he saw it. A mote of silver light puncturing the black crud. He swam deeper and deeper and reached out. At his touch, the world exploded in silver and he stood in some kind of laboratory.
He looked down and saw hands clad in an arcane robe. He looked up and saw a reflection looking back at him from a mirror of burnished silver. He was Ouzerio. A younger Ouzerio, for sure, but the man all the same.
There was another man with his back turned from Gryph. He was sharpening implements.
“We are close, my friend,” the man said, and the voice was familiar. Like something from a distant dream or an often-heard radio commercial.
But the man did not turn around, and Gryph discovered he had no control over the body he now inhabited. He was living a memory.
He felt himself look down and there, tied to some kind of operating slab was the boy Simon. A gag stoppered the terrified boy's mouth. Some skin on his torso had been flayed and burns and sliced flesh dotted other parts of his small, quivering body. As Ouzerio moved to his side, the boy shivered and shook his head in a desperate no. Tears poured from his eyes. Gryph could feel what Ouzerio had felt that day, and it made his blood turn to ice.
The man had felt nothing that could be deemed a decent human emotion. No pity. No shame. No hesitation. Just anxious excitement.
Gryph felt himself smile down on the boy and he lightly pet his forehead. “Everything will be all right,” he lied. “Soon, it will be all over.”
“Would you like a turn,” the familiar voice asked.
“Why not, Morrigan," Ouzerio said. “After all this will be my crowning achievement.” He l
ightly stroked Simon’s head, and the fear exploded in the boy’s eyes. Ouzerio looked up at the man holding out a scalpel like a device of torture, and Gryph knew why the voice was so familiar.
“Alistair Bechard,” Gryph said in horrified wonder.
“Yes, yes it will be,” Morrigan, the man those of Earth knew as Alistair Bechard, the god worshipped by millions across Korynn as the High God Aluran, said. “Yes, I will remember this day forever.”
Then Gryph felt this body that he could not control torture Simon until the boy’s body died. As a small part of his own soul died, Gryph’s reached out with Assimilation. He had defeated the Barrow King in the Realms. Now it was time to claim his prize.
Gryph dug into the mind he shared with Ouzerio and grabbed the pulsing silver beacon. His mind exploded with knowledge. It was as if a thousand hands made of acid, rotting death, plague, and pestilence dug into his mind and forced the knowledge to stick.
You have learned the skill SOUL MAGIC
Levels: 1 - 25 - Tier: Base - Skill Type: Active.
You can now wield the power of Soul Magic. Soul Magic is the rarest and potentially the most powerful of all the spheres of magic. Soul taps into the essence of the immortal soul for a wide range of abilities.
Note: Soul magic, while powerful, is also easy to abuse.
Gryph would have vomited had he been in his own body, and the fact that neither Ouzerio nor Morrigan did, told Gryph everything he needed to know about these two men.
“Congratulations, master,” Morrigan said as he eased himself as fluid as a snake around the slab where Simon’s body lay to face Ouzerio. “You are truly the greatest mage alive.” Gryph felt a smug smile form on Ouzerio’s face as he drank in the praise. Then, Morrigan moved with incredible speed, and Gryph felt a dagger puncture through the underside of his neck and up into his brain.
Ouzerio died.
Armed with the knowledge he’d come for, Gryph pulled from the Barrow King’s dying mind and swam towards the surface. Compared to the vileness of the last scene, the acidic sewerage he now swam through felt like a dip in a pool on a hot day. He slogged and swam, all the while desperate for release from the terrible despair and pain he felt: Simon’s pain.