Arthur looked out the nearest window. Wherever this place was, on whatever planet, it was in the middle of nowhere. He could see a group of tall buildings in the distance, across a barren plain of rock and sand. Above them, what might be airplanes of some kind, or maybe spaceships, glimmered. When Arthur looked back down, eight black-robed, hooded figures were standing on the platform. Where had they come from so quickly? Like the other figure, they seemed to be humans and not shades, and their robes seemed to breathe as well. From their necks hung glowing amulets that matched the eight-armed symbol on the wall above them. Their faces were hidden within their deep hoods, and even their hands remained out of sight, tucked within their sleeves.
“The Eight are gathered,” one of the figures (Arthur couldn’t tell which) said in a sinuous voice.
A bell boomed overhead. Dust drifted down from the rafters. Even in the dream, Arthur could feel the reverberations.
The kneeling figure bowed once, then threw back his hood. It was a man — a man somehow wearing a cloak of shade-stuff without getting burned to a crisp! A man with slate blue skin, a bald head, and a distinctive lack of ears — that explained Arthur’s connection to the dream. But he still didn’t understand why he was seeing this.
The Eight took their seats, then one (Arthur again couldn’t tell which) said in a deep tone, “Rise, Kjor of Skrimanta.”
“Honored Hosts,” Kjor said as he stood. Arthur now noticed that Kjor had dark purple lines that wove a pattern on his head and ran down his neck.
“Kjor of Skrimanta, you have requested to join the Order of the Guardians of the Endless Archives, is this correct?” asked another in a high-pitched, feminine voice.
“Yes, Honored Hosts, that is my desire.”
The Hosts bowed their heads. When they spoke at last, they took turns. Arthur knew this only because their voices were distinctive. None of them moved when they spoke.
“Kjor of Skrimanta,” said one, “graduated the College of Shadows with perfect marks, achieving the highest scores ever recorded in Summoning.”
“He endured the Rites of Pain,” said a second.
“He is Skrimantan,” said a third, “and therefore has the ability to communicate telepathically.”
“He has an exemplary record as a warlock,” added a fourth.
“Three times already, he has been battle-tested off-world,” said a fifth.
“And he more then held his own in those engagements,” said a sixth.
“In no way,” said a seventh, “is his devotion to Entropy in doubt.”
The Hosts all looked up, and the eighth said, “For these reasons, Kjor of Skrimanta, we have denied your request to join the Order of the Guardians of the Endless Archives.”
Kjor flinched in surprise, and stammered, “You — you wish me to remain a warlock in the Off-World Service — for a second tour?”
The Hosts, as one, shook their heads.
“No, Kjor of Skrimanta,” said one. “We think that would be a waste of your talents. You are rising quickly in the ranks, and soon your fame will skyrocket. We wish to assign you to a different order before you are too well-known.”
“Kjor of Skrimanta,” said a second, “you are hereby accepted into the Order of Infiltration.”
“Thank you, Honored Hosts,” Kjor replied with surprise, and if Arthur wasn’t mistaken, a hint of disappointment.
“And though you are young,” said a third, “we are assigning you a mission of the highest importance.”
“You are to find the Multiversal Paladin, gain his confidence, and infiltrate the Manse,” said a fourth.
“Become,” said a fifth, “a companion even, if you must.”
Kjor staggered backward a step.
“Your mission, which you shall not divulge to anyone,” said a sixth, “is to discover who or what is assassinating the members of the Paladin family. Assess the threat and determine whether this entity also poses a direct threat to Entropy or to our allies and interests abroad.”
“If it does not pose a threat to us,” said a seventh, “then aid their cause and eliminate the Multiversal Paladin. If it does pose a threat to us, report back, and then aid the Multiversal Paladin in stopping them if you can. If possible, we will divert resources to aid you in any such fight, so long as the Aetherians or Paladins don’t know that we are helping.”
Arthur could tell, even from up in the rafters and without seeing his face, that Kjor was stunned. The Hosts were obviously asking a lot from him, if not the impossible.
“Honored Hosts, we — we do not know the identity of the assassins?”
“None of our spies or contacts knows who or what is doing this,” said the eighth. “If anyone knows, the Paladins do. And it is possible that they do not know, either. Obviously, a mission involving deep cover like this may take you some time to complete.”
“I — I have a family …”
“While on this mission, you will receive ten times the normal pay for your rank. And you will be well rewarded should you succeed. Your family shall never want for anything. And afterward, you may choose any post in any order that you desire.”
“But … Honored Hosts, the Multiversal Paladin will never be fooled by a warlock wishing to join his ranks. He will easily detect my mantle of shadow.”
“Not if you have this,” said one of the Hosts. A withered gray hand emerged from his sleeve, clutching a baseball-sized, clear crystal. “A recently discovered device of the Ancients: the Stone of Unbecoming. You need only touch the stone; it will do the rest on its own. Keep it hidden and safe.”
The stone floated across to Kjor who reached toward it hesitantly. As soon as he grasped it, the shadowy cloak and the purplish lines flowed like ink away from him and filled the crystal. But there was more than that inside of him; shadows continued to pour out of Kjor until at last he collapsed to his knees, panting. He now looked identical to how Arthur had seen him in the first dream.
Kjor tossed the stone on the ground as if it were a snake, and it rolled away from him. “This cannot be.”
“The Ancients,” said one of the Hosts, “were masters of Entropy and Aetheria. That is why the search for their devices is so important. That single stone can absorb the Entropic essence of two, perhaps three, warlocks. Be careful not to let it fall into the enemy’s hands.”
“How do I get my mantle back?” Kjor asked.
“What is unwillingly taken can be willingly regained,” said one of the hosts. “You have only to touch the device again and will it to return what is yours.”
“However, each time you use the crystal,” said another host, “the test of will to win it back shall become more difficult.”
A Host waved a hand, and the stone flew back to Kjor, who took it once again. “Be forewarned, Kjor of Skrimanta. If, for some reason, you must use the Stone of Unbecoming against the Multiversal Paladin, we have no idea what it will do. Against an Aetherian, it will not take their power as it does with ours; it will instead take their memories and erase their identity.”
Kjor focused his gaze on the Stone of Unbecoming, and after a few moments, the shadows and ink of his Mantle flowed out of the crystal and back onto him. He sighed with relief, and then stood.
“Though I fear success is unlikely, I will do, Honored Hosts, as you command, to the fullest of my abilities.”
Chapter Ten
Forgotten Secrets
The dream continued, the scene shifting from what he thought of as the Shadow Cathedral to a room that looked almost the complete opposite. It was somewhere in the Manse, he could tell that. Yet he couldn't have explained how, because it wasn't one of the rooms he had already seen.
The large, square room was made entirely of gleaming, white marble and was full of light. A triskelion of golden fire hung on one wall, high above a silver door. Whoever’s or whatever’s eyes Arthur was looking through floated near the top of the opposite wall. Below him stood a second door, a wooden door, a door he recognized. The door under him
led from the Grand Hallway to the Inner Sanctum.
Arthur had expected the Inner Sanctum to be a warm, comforting place. It wasn't — not to him, anyway. Everything here was so bright and so clean and so precise that it felt cold, almost clinical. Honestly, Arthur felt sure it was very wrong to even think this, but … if you got rid of the creepy red light, the Shadow Cathedral would actually be more inviting.
Maybe if he had even a clue about what the Inner Sanctum was for, it wouldn’t bother him. Because it wasn’t a chapel like he had expected. There were no pews, no seats, no altars, no podiums — just a perfectly square room of cold marble. And the silver door: where did that lead? Ylliara hadn't mentioned another room beyond the Inner Sanctum.
Something glimmered on the wall to his right: a pattern of lines forming a complex symbol. The lines were brighter than the marble, almost glowing. But when he tried to focus on the shape to see if he recognized it, the symbol disappeared. He spotted another and tried again. But as soon as he tried to zero in on it, it vanished. He purposefully unfocused his eyes — and took in a deep breath of surprise. The walls, the ceiling, the floor: the whole room was covered with symbols. Whatever they were for or represented, that was the purpose of this room.
Arthur frowned. So why was he in here all by himself?
As if on cue, Kjor strode through the door from the Grand Hallway, once again wearing the cloak of shifting darkness — his mantle of shadow. His hands were stained with dried blood. Every symbol in the room instantly changed to a triskelion and blazed with light. The shadows began to peel away from Kjor, as if the light from the sigils were burning them away.
But Kjor didn’t seem disturbed by this. He calmly drew a shard of crystal from inside his cloak. He spoke a word Arthur didn’t understand, and the room began to darken. The brilliant white light from the sigils steadily dimmed, replaced by the sort of gloominess all the rooms had when they were infested with shades. Kjor’s cloak of shadows returned to its full form. He tossed a dark-heart into each corner, and they rose up until they were almost touching the ceiling.
Arthur couldn’t believe that Kjor was strong enough to out-fight the power of the Manse in the Inner Sanctum. But maybe the Manse was already damaged in some way, or maybe the crystal in Kjor’s hand was some sort of powerful artifact from the Hosts or the Ancients, whoever they were. As usual, Arthur didn’t know nearly enough about anything.
Kjor placed the large crystal shard on the ground and chanted alien words that Arthur couldn’t interpret. Whatever the power was that normally translated things for him in the Manse didn’t work here in the dream. An arched portal appeared over the shard — a frameless doorway that opened onto another world. Through this doorway, Arthur could see towering stone and glass skyscrapers and enormous oblong spaceships hovering in a crimson sky filled with four small moons.
A line of wraiths dozens deep appeared in front of the portal. Arthur winced as one stepped through, and then another, and another. After eight had entered, Kjor spoke a word, and the portal closed. The wraiths spun on him, clearly confused by what had happened. They must have expected their brothers to come through with them.
“You are the best,” Kjor told them. “You are more than enough.”
This seemed to satisfy the wraiths. One went to each corner, where shades were already forming, and two each took up stations beside the doors.
The symbols Arthur couldn’t quite focus on winked out, leaving the triskelion symbol above the silver door as the only light. The inherent brightness of the Inner Sanctum was now completely gone, and Arthur could barely see anything in here.
Kjor marched toward the silver door. “Stay here,” he ordered the wraiths. “Do not leave this room. Do not let anyone pass.”
The next room wasn’t at all like what Arthur had expected.
It wasn’t a room at all, or even inside.
Floating along, he followed Kjor from the Inner Sanctum and straight into a clearing in the midst of a deep forest. Around the edge of the clearing stood a series of twelve standing stones. They were made from some sort of opaque crystal, each one pulsing with a different color.
A rainbow of energy streamed out of the stones and across the ground towards the center of the circle. The light from four of the stones merged to form a thick red band. Four more flowed together into a single yellow stream, and the last four joined to form a blue one. The three arms of a giant triskelion. And where they met at the heart of the triskelion, in the center of the clearing, they formed a bright white pillar of energy that rose up into the sky as far as Arthur could see.
In the midst of this pillar of light floated an angelic woman. She was sitting with her legs crossed in the lotus pose. She wore a shimmering dress. Her skin was rust-colored; her slanted eyes emerald; her hair copper flames. A golden triskelion glowed on her forehead. This had to be Ylliara’s mother, the Aetherian who had powered the Manse, who had sacrificed herself to bring the Manse to Arthur once the disc over his heart broke.
She glared at Kjor as he entered. Kjor waded across the streams of energy, and they didn’t affect him in any way. He also didn’t affect them. The streams flowed right under his feet as if he weren’t there at all.
“You cannot be in here,” the Aetherian seethed. “It is impossible for anyone to enter the Heart without my permission.”
Kjor grinned. “Lies and tricks do not make something impossible, Orella. Especially when I do not care about breaking your rules.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How then did you make it through the Inner Sanctum? That, too, should have been impossible.”
“I had help.” Kjor tossed the shard into the air, and it stopped to hover in place about ten feet away. Within the shard appeared a bright purple eye with a catlike, vertical slit. The eye blinked. A shiver ran along Arthur’s spine.
“Where is Quintus … and Arthur?”
“Dead, but you know that already.” Kjor lifted his bloodstained hands. “I killed him and the boy myself. It wasn’t as hard as I would’ve thought. Quintus never saw it coming. And with the boy gone as well, your mission is over.”
“You are lying.”
Kjor drew a sword handle out from his cloak: Bright-Cage. He tossed it onto the ground.
Orella’s eyes blazed with fury. “I will destroy you!”
“If you could, you would’ve done so already. Without your champion, you don’t stand a chance against the power I now wield.”
“I cannot believe you would kill the boy,” Lady Orella said, with sadness staining her voice.
“Go to him then, give him the Call. I don’t know what good it would do to make a four-year-old the Multiversal Paladin. But go ahead and try.”
Orella closed her eyes and creased her brow. After several moments, she muttered words to herself, and her column of light burned brighter. Nothing happened, and she gave up with a sigh.
“Can’t find him, can you? Honestly, I did him a favor. That boy was doomed from the day he was born.”
“You swore you would protect him. I thought you were a man of honor.”
“I am, but my honor was pledged elsewhere, long before I ever met a Paladin.”
“You have doomed the universe.”
“I doubt that,” said Kjor with a smirk. “I ended your diabolical scheme while furthering my own cause. Oddly enough, I aided both Aetheria and Entropy at the same time. You see, I figured out what was going on. I know who was killing the Paladins. And I know the boy was going to be your special weapon. You and your … faction … had designs on him. He’s different than the other Paladins, because his mother is special. It took me a long time to figure that out. Quintus didn’t know. Even Amelia didn’t know. But you … you knew what the boy was. He could change everything. He could’ve advanced your faction’s cause by a thousand years or more. Now he won’t change anything other than the feeding patterns of the maggots in the dirt where I buried him.”
Orella’s eyes narrowed again, and she gritted her teeth. “
I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, of course you don't,” Kjor said, shaking his head. “Lies, Orella. Tricks and lies.” He pulled out the Stone of Unbecoming and threw it at her. “But they won't be lies for long. Soon you truly won't know.”
Orella never had a chance to move, and though Arthur had expected the column of light to protect her somehow, apparently it couldn't.
The stone struck her in the chest, causing her to double over and cry out, and then it dropped to the ground, landing in the center of the triskelion. The energy flows all ceased for a moment, then flared so brightly Arthur was almost blinded before returning to normal.
“My memories … what have you done?” Orella muttered.
“I am erasing you. Then I will return to Skrimanta, while you and the Manse slowly fade away.”
“Memories or not, I am eternal.”
“Not in a Manse populated by wraiths and infused with shadow. Your power is slowly being leeched away.”
She screamed. “My databanks! Two thousand years of Paladin history!”
Kjor nodded. “Like I said, you are being erased — your memories as Orella, Herald of Aetheria, and your memories as the Manse.”
Orella closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “Then I shall power down to only my essential systems and give one final order, hardwired into the fabric of the Manse itself. As long as the Manse and I endure, however many years it takes, we will continue on this final mission — a mission you cannot undo, no matter how many dark powers you invoke.”
“What are you doing?” Kjor asked, with worry in his voice.
“I am sending the Manse to find Arthur Primus, wherever you have imprisoned him, despite whatever dark magic is hiding him from me, so that he may be rescued and take his father’s place.”
“No! You fool!” Kjor raised his bloodstained hands. “I told you the boy is dead!”
Orella looked confused. “But … but that cannot be …”
His face contorted in frustration, and he seemed to be almost on the verge of tears. “You forgot sooner than I would’ve thought. I should’ve realized the newest memories would be the most fragile.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Even if the boy lived, who would rescue him, Orella?”
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