Book of Names (Casters of Syndrial 1)

by Rain Oxford

  While rescuing Ascelin, the Painter earned a favor himself, and he wasted no time exploiting it. He had learned from Langril how to gain immortality and get revenge on Merlin at the same time. He attained a number of tools to enhance his power along the way, including a ring that could contain souls.

  With Ascelin standing by, Painter finally faced Merlin and tricked the older wizard into killing him. As he died, his soul was absorbed into the ring, which Merlin foolishly took to Ascelin. It went perfectly according to the Painter’s plan.

  When Painter was resurrected, he was almost completely immortal. The only person who could kill him was his twin brother.

  And then he got started on making his brother join him.

  Chapter 20

  I was shocked. I was also horrified, not for myself but for him. No one could expect a person to go through what he had and come out sane. I wasn’t ready to trust him, but I was willing to hear him out.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

  I realized my expression wasn’t encouraging. “I know. I’m not expecting you to,” I said. He smiled. It wasn’t a cruel or manic-insane grin. This time, he was actually happy and relieved. He must have been waiting years to meet me and explain who he was.

  “I knew you would get it.”

  “I’m not saying I do.”

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked, his joy vanishing.

  “I do. I don’t think anyone could make that up, especially with that much conviction. You have no reason to lie, and it explains a lot. I just need time to process this. I knew I was adopted, but it had never occurred to me before that I had family who would want me, let alone a brother I had been separated from.”

  “Maybe I was wrong to let our mother---”

  “No,” I interrupted. “You saved us both. The only one to blame is the asshole who killed our mother. That doesn’t mean you haven’t done things that I disagree with. You’ve killed people.”

  “People die. I’ve just gotten them out of my way. I never said I was a hero.”

  “What is it you want from me?”

  “To be brothers, as we were supposed to be.”

  “You want to destroy the gods and rule the Land of the Gods.”

  “Yes, and you can rule with me. There is so much more that we can do with our magic than we’re doing now.”

  “That’s not what I want.”

  “It will be when you see it. We’ll get the book and then I’ll show you how great it is to have power.”

  “We get the book and then we save Luca,” I corrected him. He hesitated and then nodded. “Promise me that after I help you get the book, you’ll help me save Luca before doing anything else.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Then I have a plan to figure out which priest killed our mother. First, we need to go to the temple of Isis. Since Talot was her vessel, that’s where I’m thinking we should start.”

  He frowned. “I was thinking Set’s priests were more likely.”

  “They might have wanted to steal us from her. That’s a good idea. Let’s start there.” I was glad to see that my twin brother wasn’t an idiot.

  “No, I was wrong. I’ve already killed those priests and none of them had the book.”

  He said it so nonchalantly that it took me a moment to catch what he actually said. “You killed them? All of them?”

  “Yes. Of course I did. They wouldn’t give me the book.”

  “They didn’t have the book.”

  “I didn’t know that at the time.”

  “You’re not killing the priests at Isis’s temple.”

  “I’ve already killed several of them. I’m giving the remaining priests time to stew in their own fear.”

  “You’re not killing any innocent person in front of me!”

  He huffed. “Fine.” He started painting in his book.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making the portal to the temple of Isis. Or did you want to walk there?”

  “I thought portals only went from world to world.”

  He scoffed. “For unimaginative people, maybe. My portals open to a specific spot, at a specific time. If you don’t want to kill everyone, I guess we can do the same spell.”

  “Actually, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty worn out, and I’d rather save my energy for the inevitable battle. I have another idea. Although it would require a little magic, it wouldn’t be as strenuous as summoning an ancient monster.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, we were at the temple of Isis, which looked identical to the High Temple, except that the statue room included only one statue. Painter had resumed his strange disguise, and I asked him why he didn’t just pick an appearance he liked.

  “I’m very good at recognizing faces and I highly doubt I’m the only one.” He set his open book on the floor and said “Druseuni.” Ten cat-sized black dogs leapt out and within seconds, they began to grow. Soon, they were horse-sized. “Gather up the priests,” Painter said. Obediently, the dogs took off.

  After that, we created the trap together. By the time the dogs returned a few minutes later, we were ready. They had nine priests, but two were too young to have killed my mother. That was fine; they wouldn’t be harmed and they would authenticate our trick.

  Painter and I stood on either side of a stone stand and faced the priests, who were lined up across from us. Painter didn’t use his feet trap this time because we needed them to be able to move.

  “How many have you killed?” I asked.

  “In this temple alone? Ten,” Painter answered easily.

  “What’s going on here?” one of the priests asked.

  “I’m the Writer. Twenty-four years ago, a priest killed my mother on the day I was born. That priest is going to die today.” I watched their faces closely. “If you’re not the person who killed her, you’ll be perfectly fine.” I gestured to the large vase on top of the stand, which was made of smooth, white ceramic. “Each of you will walk up here, in the order of youngest to oldest, and stick your hand inside.” I gently tapped my knuckle on the side and everyone heard the furious hissing answer. “There are five of the deadliest snakes alive in here.” Several of the priests blanched, while others narrowed their eyes in suspicion. “By magic of the gods, they will only bite the guilty. First up.”

  The dog behind the youngest priest started growling when the priest shook. “I wasn’t even alive twenty-four years ago!” he said.

  “Then you have nothing to fear.”

  He approached, shaking. He froze until Painter sneered and barked, “Hurry up! There are eight more priests waiting their turn.”

  “Don’t be rude,” I chastised.

  His eyes widened and he stared at me like I was crazy. “How am I being rude? He’s the one prolonging the killer’s life.”

  “I’m sure the killer wants his life prolonged.”

  Painter scoffed.

  Our discussion took the attention off the young priest just enough to stick his hand in the vase. Painter was quick enough to grab the vase before it fell as the priest jerked his hand out as fast as he could. He was white as a ghost. “Oh, gods! I could feel them!”

  “Of course you could. They didn’t bite you, so you must be innocent. You can go now.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. The next guy approached and after a short hesitation, he stuck his hand in as well. He blanched when he felt them and carefully pulled his hand out quickly. Painter nodded and the priest took off running. Those were the only two too young to be our mother’s killer.

  “Next,” I said.

  The third priest approached with more confidence. He didn’t hesitate to stick his hand in the vase. When he calmly retrieved his hand and walked away, it sunk into the minds of the priests that the snakes really wouldn’t bite the innocent. At that point, the dogs all took several steps back from the priests, as we had planned. Two more came forth and weren’t bitten.

  I was starting
to worry our plan wouldn’t work. The next priest in line was shaking as he stepped up to the vase. “What are you afraid of?” Painter asked.

  “Do the snakes bite anyone who has killed?”

  “Who have you killed?”

  “A commoner broke in and tried to defile the pyramid. I didn’t mean to kill him, but he was not going to leave alive.”

  “The snakes will only bite the priest who stabbed my mother in the chest.”

  He slowly stuck his hand in and then sighed with relief when the snakes didn’t bite.

  At that moment, the next priest in line ran for the door. Two of the dogs easily flattened him and dragged him to us. He fought the entire way. “If you didn’t kill my mother, stick your hand in the vase.”

  “I don’t have to play your game!” he shrieked.

  “That sounds like a confession of guilt to me.”

  “I would never have killed Talot! I was the priest in charge of taking care of her!”

  Painter and I met each other’s eyes for a second before focusing on the priest who had just incriminated himself. “I didn’t tell you who my mother was.”

  “I’ve heard the prophecies about you!”

  “Is that why you killed her?”

  “I didn’t kill her!”

  “Was it to get the Book of Names?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Then stick your hand in the vase and let the snakes judge you.”

  He started fighting the dogs harder.

  “Tell me why you killed my mother.”

  After a few more minutes of struggling, he fell limp. “I loved her. I was loyal to her. I never told anyone when I saw Isis opening the secret panel.”

  “How could you kill someone you love?”

  “I never touched her, even though I was the only person she was allowed to talk to, yet she let someone else touch her. I took care of her and she turned to someone else.”

  “She didn’t ‘turn to someone else.’ Set didn’t give her a choice.”

  He looked up at me. “Then she did love me?”

  “You’re sick. Really fucking sick.”

  “Where is the Book of Names?” Painter asked.

  “You can’t have it. It’s mine.”

  Painter opened his book and started painting. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “That’s not fair,” I said. “Don’t you think we should kill him together?”

  He stopped painting and looked at me. “I actually thought you would spare him. You’re supposed to be the ‘good one,’ aren’t you?”

  I actually hadn’t intended on killing the priest, or letting Painter do it. I was tempted to let him do it. Hell, I wanted to do it. He made me question whether there was such thing as good and bad, or if, like he had said, there was only differences of opinion. I had always believed there were legitimate reasons to kill someone, like in self-defense or to stop them from killing others.

  But those were my reasons.

  People had been killing throughout history, yet I said it was wrong because my parents told me it was wrong. That didn’t mean I was right. I wasn’t going to end killing. I could help children, and I did so because they were innocent and couldn’t defend themselves. In fact, Painter had helped children, probably for the same reason.

  “Nathan,” Painter interrupted my musings sharply. I blinked. “Have your good-versus-evil mental breakdown later. My dogs are getting bored and they tend to chew on people when they do. Do you want to help me kill Talot’s murderer or turn your back and say you had nothing to do with it?”

  “How do you plan to do it if I say I don’t want to?”

  “I’ll crush his heart.”

  I gently reached out and took his brush from him. He didn’t fight me; he trusted me. “I’m not going to say it’s wrong to kill him, because I’m not sure if it is right now. I have no doubt he has some nasty plans for that book.”

  “Good. Let’s kill him.”

  “Not like that. We need time to think about it, because it’s not something we can undo later. If we do find out he has to die, either because he’s hurt more people or because he plans to, he deserves worse than a crushed heart.”

  Painter grinned. “You want to torture him? I knew there was hope for you.” He took back his brush but didn’t use it.

  “We need to plan it out better. We’ve found him. Let’s put him somewhere for safekeeping and then find the book.”

  He considered it, his grin growing. “You’re right. His name will be in the book as well. We could do all kinds of things to him then. I wish he had children. A wizard who took my dragon once said that there was a kingdom---”

  “I’m sorry, wait,” I interrupted. “Did you just say… you had a dragon?”

  He scowled. “Yes. She was the most beautiful dragon, too. Well, she was an egg, and the wizard stole her before she hatched. But, he was bonded to her, so I thought it wouldn’t really be fair to take her back.”

  “Why did you have a dragon?”

  “To use her blood as paint.” His tone was subtly different.

  “No, that’s a lie,” I said.

  He huffed and glared at the vase. “She was going to be your birthday present.”

  I gaped.

  “Can we go?” one of the priest asked, holding a dog off of him with his staff. Painter wasn’t lying about them chewing on people.

  “Oh, right,” Painter said calmly. “Yes, all but this murderer can go.”

  All of the dogs except for the two holding my mother’s killer down turned to black dust and were reabsorbed into the book.

  “What did you have in mind for this one?”

  “We should summon Isis.”

  “Isis!” Painter yelled.

  She appeared before us, scowling. “You should have some respect for the gods, Painter” she said.

  “What has respect ever gotten me?”

  “Anyone can just call you by yelling?” I asked, surprised and disappointed.

  “No. Demigods can, and we can refuse to answer if we choose.”

  “We’re practically family,” Painter said, feigning shock. “You wouldn’t refuse us.”

  “This is the man who killed Talot,” I said, pointing to the priest, who was hiding his face in fear.

  She frowned at him as if I had pointed to a softball-sized wad of snot. “Why have you not killed him yet?”

  I sighed. “We haven’t come up with a terrible enough punishment yet. Can you imprison him somehow? We might need to interrogate and/or torture him.”

  She nodded, obviously finding that a completely reasonable explanation. “Of course.”

  No wonder I was having a morality-identity crisis.

  She and the priest disappeared. Painter smiled with manic glee and if he wasn’t holding his book and paintbrush, he would have been rubbing his hands together. “Now we have dessert set aside for later. Only once can you kill your mother’s murderer. Oh!” His eyes widened. “I know! We can resurrect him! That way, we can kill him a thousand different ways! This is going to be so fun!”

  I just shook my head. “The book.”

  “Right. Did you find that priest in his room?” Painter asked the dog on the right. I couldn’t tell them apart, but that must have been the one who brought him in because it nodded. “Take us there.”

  The dog turned and started leading us out. The other one followed behind us to guard us.

  The temple was no different than the High Temple except that there weren’t apprentices running around. The dining hall was a ridiculously large meeting room, with a single, twenty-foot long table. The priests’ rooms were all in the same place as the other castle, and the dog soon stopped at a door, which had been broken down. Painter braced his hands on either side of the door frame and carefully stepped on the door pieces. Then he reached out to help me, as if I needed help. Instead, I stepped in the spots he had.

  I was used to being L
uca’s older brother. Painter may have been older than me by a minute or two, but that didn’t mean I was going to take a younger brother role and let him treat me like I was delicate. On the other hand, it made me better appreciate Luca’s willingness to let me control our lives.

  Now I sound like a domineering husband. Damn. I owe Luca five bucks.

  The room was even more lavish than mine, since this priest had the most important job in the temple of Isis. The ceiling was made of brilliant blue stone, while the floor and walls were made with black marble. It was twice the size of mine. Most of the colorful, cushioned furniture was made with wood. Centered on the ceiling was a three-tiered candle chandelier.

  I opened my book.

  The location of the Book of Names is revealed to its rightful guardian.

  The words faded the instant I finished. “I need something else…”

  “Like what?” Painter asked.

  “I don’t know. I just feel like we have to prove that we have a right to the book. We do, don’t we?”

  “Our mother was the original guardian of it, and the gods usually pass things down by blood, so yes. We should be the rightful owners of it.”

  “Passed by blood. Maybe if I use our blood as ink, it’ll work.” I pulled my dagger out of my boot. My finger wasn’t completely healed from my visit with the seers, anyway.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  However, instead of letting me do it, he put his book in his pocket and took my dagger. Then he held out his hand for mine and I let him reopen the wound on my finger. I set my book on the table as he cut his own finger. While dipping my pen in both our blood for every word, I rewrote the sentence. This time, it didn’t fade.

  Painter gently grabbed my finger and his skin felt hot, as if his hands had been over a heater. I didn’t bother to ask what he was doing, because a few seconds later, he retracted his hand and my cut was healed. “That’s impressive.”