Rebels of the Lamp, Book 1

by Peter Speakman

  The room was for storage, and it was a mess of boxes and racks. They didn’t have time to close the door, so Parker and Theo flattened themselves against the wall. A black dread grew in the pit of Parker’s stomach. Less then a week in New Hampshire and he was already in deep, deep trouble.

  The door to the office opened, and Parker and Theo could hear a woman escort a man in.

  “Where did you say you found it?” the woman asked.

  “One of the guys on my crew dug it up,” said the man.

  Parker and Theo heard the thump of something heavy being placed on the desk.

  “At first we thought it might be an unexploded bomb from over at the shipyard, but one of my guys was in the army and he said that wasn’t it. Myself, I think it’s probably an Indian thing, right? Some kind of sacred idol or something? I don’t know. Anyway, I asked around, and people told me this kind of thing is right up Ellison’s alley.”

  Parker scrunched up his face. His curiosity was killing him. Theo frantically shook his head no, but Parker couldn’t resist peeking out the door. He had to see the thing they were talking about.

  He couldn’t see the woman, but he saw the man’s back. He was wearing filthy jeans and a paint-splattered shirt, and he was unwrapping a dirty towel from the thing on the desk. When the man shifted, Parker could see that it was some kind of a container, a metal cylinder about two feet long, covered with weird engravings half-buried under the patina that came from being buried underground for a long, long time. The ends of the object were capped.

  Parker couldn’t tell if it was just his imagination, but the thing seemed to be faintly glowing.

  “It’s an interesting piece, that’s for sure,” the woman said.

  “I was wondering...I mean, you think maybe it’s made out of gold or something? Do you think it’s worth any money?” asked the man.

  “It’s not gold,” the woman concluded. “Gold wouldn’t tarnish like this. I couldn’t tell you if it’s worth anything.”

  The man turned around, and Parker ducked his head back just in time.

  “The thing is...” the man said. “The thing is, that thing’s weird. I mean, it acts strange. We had a devil of a time prying it out of the ground. The pick Tommy was using flew out of his hands when he hit at it, and none of us could really get a grip on the thing. It’s like it’s made out of magnets or something. I put it in the back of my truck, and my dog just sat there growling at it. It’s just...weird.”

  “Well, like I said, the professor’s away at a dig until Wednesday. If you like, you could just leave it here.”

  “That’s fine by me. I’ll be happy to get rid of it, to tell you the truth, even if it is worth a few bucks. Whatever that thing is, it gives me the creeps.”

  The woman led the man out and shut the door, leaving Parker and Theo alone in the office. Home free.

  But one of the straps on Theo’s book bag was caught on something. He gave it a mighty tug and pulled an entire rack of iron spears over. They clanged when they hit the floor, making slightly less noise than a plane crash might.

  Parker and Theo braced for the worst, but they were okay. The assistant and the man had gone.

  Parker smirked at Theo, who shrugged back. Parker went back to the other room as Theo started to pick up the spears.

  Parker saw the metal canister on Professor Ellison’s desk. He walked over and put his hand near the object before pulling it away. He couldn’t stop staring at it.

  In the back room, Theo struggled with the spears. He would get them all upright, only to see one tip over into the next, causing all the spears to go down again. He was contemplating the idea of just leaving the stupid things on the floor when he noticed something strange about the wall behind the rack.

  It was shimmering.

  Not a whole lot, but walls don’t usually do that at all, so even a little bit of shimmering is bizarre.

  Theo reached out his hand, mesmerized. When his fingers touched the wall, Theo was blown backward as if he had touched an electric fence. He hit the floor on his back, the papers from his book bag flying around him.

  Theo just stayed there for a moment, catching his breath. Then he got to his feet and crammed his homework back into his bag, never taking his eyes off that glistening wall.

  He ran to the other room, where he found Parker zipping up his own book bag.

  Theo grabbed his cousin’s arm.

  “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  “Right behind you,” said Parker.

  Parker turned off the office lights before he closed the door. The towel was still on Professor Ellison’s desk.

  The weird container it had once covered was gone.

  B65810—VESIROTH’S JOURNAL, CIRCA 900 B.C.

  The spell is mine!

  In the commission of her daily chores, Tarinn stumbled upon a tattered book that had fallen into the hands of a novice wizard. The intellectual titan had attempted to cast the spell fragment but managed only to annihilate himself in a burst of fire.

  Tarinn handed me the book, triumphant. She knows that I search for something, but in our years together I have managed to keep my true aims hidden. She thinks bringing me this book will endear her to me. In fact, it only underscores the fact that I no longer need her.

  I hold the book in my hands and I run my fingers over its charred pages. I can feel the strength that courses within. Soon, the world will be mine.

  B66015

  I should have known that I could not keep my plans from Tarinn forever. I admit now I underestimated her hunger for knowledge. She grows more powerful every day, and I begin to suspect that someday her connection to the Nexus will rival my own.

  She watched me for days as I pieced together the spell fragments, experimenting with different orders. Finally, she made her own calculations and realized what the spell was.

  She was horrified. She tried to reason with me. Me, the great Vesiroth! She attempted to convince me that I am making a mistake and will grow to regret the path I have chosen, as if I had not spent centuries formulating my plans for a world at peace, with me as its sovereign. Tarinn could never understand the wisdom of my true goal. She once viewed the Nexus as an aid to mankind, but now sees it as a threat. She is convinced that no one can control magick this strong.

  She is a fool. I have put all weakness behind me.

  When she saw I had no intention of backing away from a lifetime of work, she snatched the pages from my table and ran to the fire. All reason fled from me. Furious, I cast a spell of binding that swept Tarinn up and violently pinned her high against a wall. My rage knew no bounds. The papers fell to the floor as I raised my hands again, intent on reducing my apprentice to ash. As the temperature in the room rose, Tarinn’s eyes grew wide with horror.

  In all the time Tarinn was with me, she had never shown fear in my presence. Tarinn alone seemed to see past the thing I have become and glimpse the man I once was. Now, she was like all the rest, cowering in the company of a thing driven past reason by dark magick.

  What had I become? Was I truly now a monster, bringing nothing but sorrow to anyone who would dare approach me? I lowered my hands, and Tarinn fell to the stone floor with a thud. I gathered my papers while she crawled to the door. When I turned back, she was gone, and with her the last vestiges of anything within me that could be considered human.

  I have no further need of her. I can run my own errands and cook my own food. Let her go back to her children’s tricks and illusions. Simpletons like her should leave the real magick to men of vision.

  I am Vesiroth. I stand alone.

  9

  PARKER DRANK A COKE AND pondered his next move.

  He had been futzing with his stolen container for hours in his room, with his door shut and his blinds closed, in what might be considered to be a waste of a perfectly good Saturday. He looked at the mess he had made so far. A hammer, a rusty saw, and a monkey wrench were laid out next to him on the bed. He had tried banging on the canist
er, and sawing at it, and prying at the caps. Nothing worked. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t even put a scratch on the thing. It just would. Not. Open.

  He put the can of soda back on the table and hoisted the metal cylinder. Heavy, he thought. Well made. The endcaps turned, but no matter how much he tried, they didn’t unscrew. The etched markings on the canister’s sides were deeply grooved, and if you squinted at them, they glowed slightly green. What could make it do that? Emeralds, maybe? Whatever was inside there was something special, he just knew it.

  He wiped his hands on his jeans and picked up a flat-head screwdriver. After a moment’s consideration, he jammed the screwdriver’s tip into the slight gap where one of the thing’s endcaps met its body. He pried at it with all his might, but nothing happened. Well, if there was one thing that Parker had learned in almost a full half a year of junior high school, it was that sometimes what was called for was sheer brute force. He set the canister on the floor, inserted the screwdriver, and stepped on it, applying every ounce of his one hundred and eleven pounds. Parker thought that the cap actually gave a little, so he stepped down harder. Suddenly, an arc of blue electricity came off the thing. The lightning made a sound like a bug zapper as it traced the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room. When it touched the overhead light, the bulb inside exploded, plunging the room into darkness.

  Parker took the screwdriver out and the lightning subsided. He was, frankly, more than a little freaked out. He could smell the burning ozone in the air.

  He reached out to touch the canister again and there was a knock on his door.

  “Parker? You in there?”

  Theo. Why not? thought Parker. The guy did live here.

  “Hang on! I’m...”

  “You’re what?”

  Parker couldn’t think of anything he might be doing that wouldn’t make Theo suspicious, so he gathered up the canister and the tools, wrapped them in his blanket, and threw them on the bed. “Nothing. Come on in.”

  Theo opened the door to find Parker standing by the bed.

  “What are you doing in here in the dark?”

  “Just, you know. Thinking.”

  “Thinking? Thinking about what?”

  “Just thinking.”

  Theo jammed his hands into his pockets and stepped carefully into the room. He spent a few moments looking around. There wasn’t much to see.

  “I got the keys back to my dad. He didn’t even know they were gone.”

  “That’s good,” said Parker.

  “Yeah,” said Theo. “Yeah.”

  He walked over to the bed. Parker cast a worried eye down to his blanket, but Theo didn’t sit. He turned to Parker.

  “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday and just, you know, about how I’ve been treating you in general since you got here. I know that what happened in your family wasn’t your fault. It must be tough to move three thousand miles away from all your friends and your mom and everything that you know.”

  Parker was more than a little surprised.

  “It is,” he said. He meant it.

  Theo ran a hand through his own hair.

  “So, anyway, me and a couple of guys I know are going over to this go-kart track in Tramerville, and, you know, if you want, you can come along. If you want.”

  “Yeah! Great! Absolutely!” said Parker. “Just let me get changed.”

  Theo stared at his cousin.

  “You don’t have to wear a tux. It’s a go-kart track. In Tramerville.”

  “Well, yeah, but still. There might be girls there.”

  Theo rolled his eyes.

  “Fine. Whatever. I’ll wait.”

  Before Parker could stop him, Theo threw himself down on the bed. He hit his elbow on something hard and grimaced. Theo’s face fell.

  “Parker,” he said. “What’s under here?”

  B66002—VESIROTH’S JOURNAL, CIRCA 900 B.C.

  I performed the ritual alone, near my new lodgings deep in the empty desert. No one was there to witness the greatest act of the world’s most powerful sorcerer. I need no audience. I crave no glory.

  I dug the pit and lined it with rare jade as the book demands. I set the burning sulfur in bowls of obsidian facing the north, south, east, and west. I garbed myself in robes covered in runes that were ancient even before this continent had a name.

  I fasted for nine days and nine nights, sitting motionless by the pit’s edge. When my mind wandered, I dug a golden spike into my leg to regain focus.

  At midnight on the ninth day, I stood. My body was weak with hunger, but my will was girded with iron. There was no turning back. My time was at hand. I would succeed where every other man who had ever lived had failed.

  I chanted the age-old spell. My eyes filled with smoke as the words took effect. The ground beneath me shifted, but I was not deterred. When the moon reached its highest point in the night sky, I said the last words and I plunged the sword into the pit.

  The earth responded with a roar and I was thrown through the air. I heard the low, moaning sound of pain, and I staggered back to the pit.

  Through the gloom of smoke and the stench of hellfire, I saw him in his first moments of forming. He was shaped as I am, and he had the features of my face. He was clothed in robes as black as the blackest reaches of the night sky.

  He rose before me, floating above the ground in a cloud of mist. He was a creature of untold power. I admit that even I was awed by the sight of him, and even I was visited by doubt. Was he a thing that could not be controlled? Had I created a beast that would destroy me? Was Tarinn right all along?

  Then my creation bowed his head and in his first words called me “Master,” and I knew that I would have my way. I named the genie Fon-Rahm.

  The world is mine.

  B66015

  His power is immense.

  He has the gift of flight, and he has dominion over lightning and smoke. He can cause men to overlook him as if he is not there. He can conjure objects at will. Men are like insects to him. He is a marvel of magick.

  I have spent weeks inside with Fon-Rahm, teaching him the ways of man. He learned quickly, drinking information and knowledge like a child drinks his mother’s milk.

  In many ways he is a child. My only child.

  I find myself weakened after creating Fon-Rahm. I assumed it was temporary, but my condition persists. I will study my texts until I find the cause.

  It is a small concern. Soon I will bring my genie out to the city, and all will know the glory of my creation.

  I really cannot wait.

  B66027

  He will not obey!

  I called him into being from nothingness. Without me, he was just an idea, an impossibility, a dream that could not be real. I am his creator, the most powerful man to ever walk beneath the sun.

  And he will not obey!

  When I felt that the time for books and schooling was over, I took Fon-Rahm into the city. He looked with wonder at the buildings that towered overhead. The achievements of man were fascinating to him, proof that mankind is a race of artists.

  I know better. I know that mankind is a race of killers.

  I waited, and I watched him explore. I knew that soon we would come across some tempting target.

  And soon we did.

  The soldiers were blocking the street. In their arrogance they assumed that there were none more important than those in their own ranks. Everyone else in the city was there simply to be bullied and spit upon. These were men just like the men who killed my family.

  My time had come.

  I smiled at my creation. Fon-Rahm had been called forth from the void to be my sword. With his might I would be ruler of all men. War would be a thing of the past.

  I issued my command. Fon-Rahm was to wipe the soldiers from the face of the earth.

  And he would not obey.

  I spoke again, with more force. He was to kill these men, with no mercy. Their deaths would be an example to all armies
of my awesome might. To defy me would bring about their destruction.

  He would not obey.

  Fon-Rahm spoke. He told me that he would not kill a human being, any human being. He would not submit mankind to my rule. He said that man must be free to make his own decisions, for good or ill. A world ruled by a wizard was a prison.

  I was enraged. I spit at him to do what I commanded. I was his master! He was nothing, a clump of sand in a hole I dug in the desert. He would bend to my will!

  But he would not obey.

  I heard laughter. The soldiers had heard my pleas, and they saw me, an old man with half a face, begging an empty space in the air to do his bidding.

  Humiliated, I returned to my books with greater intensity than ever before. What had gone wrong? Why was my creation weak?

  I found my answer. The spell demanded that I create Fon-Rahm using a shard of my own life force. A portion of the power that gives me life and energy was taken from me and went into the genie. It gave him life, and it gave him power that was no longer mine. That life force was charged with my thoughts and emotions at the exact moment it was transferred to my creation. In my excitement and naïveté, I had called on the most pure and incorruptible parts of myself, the memories of my wife and children, parts years dormant but not yet extinguished. I know now that Fon-Rahm represents me at my most merciful. Goodness and mercy were built into him, and they would always come before any commands to subjugate man.

  I had failed. On every level, my creation was inadequate.

  A rare misstep. I wash my hands of this pathetic creature. If this genie will not obey me, I will create another who will.

  10

  AS PARKER FAILED TO FIND an explanation about the stolen container that would satisfy his cousin, a black Cadillac Escalade stopped at an intersection outside of Cahill. Another car pulled up behind it. The light changed, but the Escalade didn’t move. The car behind honked, waited, and then pulled around the big Caddy and drove off.