Second Chronicles of Illumination

by C. A. Pack

  The Terrorians shared no such restraint. One of them took aim and ended Torran’s screams, and everything else about him.

  Furst jumped up and shot the attacker, rendering him a mere collection of particles in the atmosphere, much like Torran. The curator landed on top of a bank of shelves and spun around quickly looking for Terrorians. “Out, spread, but close to the shelves stay. Secure this floor, we must. Upward then, we must move.”

  The Dramaticans slowly secured the library section by section, checking every storage room, closet, and behind each shelf. When they were certain there were no invaders left in the five upper levels, Furst posted guards near each portal and told them to be prepared. He positioned them on top of bookshelves, so they would see anyone emerging from the portals before being seen themselves, and he gave them each a vaporizer left behind by dead Terrorians. He then locked the entrance to the lower levels and rigged up a contraption that would shoot anyone trying to bust through the basement door. Finally, he cut power to the library.

  ★

  The Ultimium Codi weighed heavily on Pru Tellerence. Its regulations on the deportment of deans outlined very specific behavior, punishable by loss of position and blessings. If she dared do anything contrary to the laws—set forth at the beginning of time, and only modified because of extreme outcome—she could lose everything she held dear, even though holding things dear was not allowed, as far as overseers were concerned.

  ULTIMIUM CODI

  Deans must refrain from any liaisons that may limit their abilities to act on behalf of all residents of the Illumini System.

  This precludes any overseer from becoming involved in any familial or intimate relationship. Sentimentality can cloud the mind. Love can color decision-making. Overseers must be free to act in the best interests of the many, therefore are precluded from falling victim to the interests of the one. All dependent relationships are strictly forbidden and punishable by loss of position and blessings.

  Be forewarned: once the majorious longevicus blessing is reversed, metamorphosis could cause one’s biology and physiognomy to reflect true age and in many cases will result in instantaneous death due to old age.

  Pru Tellerence got up and walked to the bedroom door to observe the sleeping child. Deep within her soul, at the base of her very being, a forbidden emotional attachment intensified. ★How will I ever overcome this?

  ⌘Overcome what, Pru Tellerence?

  LOI

  CHAPTER 27

  Dramaticans quickly spread the word about Furst’s heroism and leadership, as well as the tale of Torran’s demise. By the time Furst exited the library to bring his fellow countrymen up to speed on what had happened, a troubadour had already composed a song extolling the sacrifice and chivalry of The Dramatican Confrontation Against Evil. People who had never spoken to Furst before smiled at him and raised a hand in salute. Others celebrated with libations and loud chatter.

  Furst’s ringlets tightened.

  He jumped up on the edge of the fountain and the crowd cheered.

  “Over, it is not,” he warned. “To protect our realm, be ready.”

  Not one Dramatican picked up a weapon. Instead, they gathered baskets of fruit and barrels of fermented drink to celebrate the fact that their library still stood.

  ★

  “Beck!” Jackson cried out, astounded to see the flight attendant standing there, clutching the wrappings to Myrddin’s Memoir. “What are you doing here?”

  “You can get back to work,” Beck told the warden. “I will see to our visitors.”

  The warden returned to the lighthouse. Beck motioned for Jackson and Johanna to follow him. Johanna got out of the vehicle and gasped, her face going white.

  Beck had already cut halfway across the field and only turned when Jackson shouted, “She can’t follow you. She hurt her ankle.”

  The flight attendant glared at them.

  “Help me,” Johanna whispered. She slipped her arm around Jackson’s waist. “We’ve got to find out what he knows. Besides, he’s got the paper with the wax seal. We need that back.”

  By the time they made it to the other side of the vehicle, Beck had returned and swiftly scooped Johanna up. Without another word, he headed back across the field.

  Burrows and mounds made the terrain uneven. Jackson watched his step, careful not to end up with an injury like Johanna’s. As he trailed Beck, he spotted some small animal bones, and further along their walk, a clutch of eggs. He looked up to say something and saw Johanna watching him over Beck’s shoulder.

  “You know, I could have carried her,” Jackson called out. “Where are you taking us?”

  Beck didn’t utter a word. He just continued striding toward a couple of large rocks that sheltered a tiny shed. He carried Johanna inside.

  Jackson stopped at the door. “Is this an outhouse?”

  Beck lifted his foot and pushed it against a stone at the bottom of the wall. It slid back to reveal a steep staircase. “Watch your head,” Beck said, as he carried Johanna down the stairs into the darkness.

  ★

  Pru Tellerence wheeled around to face Ryden Simmdry. She steeled herself in a cloak of calm.

  ★I’m concerned about the child. She’s been away from her mother for a while and I’m worried there might be some psychological detachment. I hope Bel doesn’t suffer repercussions from being taken.

  ⌘I can calm the child with an enchantment; even emplace feelings of trust and contentment.

  ★But those feelings would be false. I prefer the child’s disposition remained genuine.

  ⌘Perhaps her mother would feel differently.

  ★Perhaps.

  Ryden Simmdry stared at the white knuckles on Pru Tellerence’s hand, which clutched the front of her blouse.

  She followed his gaze and let go of the fabric when she realized he’d noticed.

  He gazed into her eyes, but Pru Tellerence did not allow him to see past her defenses.

  ★

  As Beck passed certain areas in the stone fortified tunnel, torches recessed in wall niches automatically sprang to life, lighting the way. He neither said nor touched anything, yet the torches seemed to sense his approach, and sputtered out after the trio passed.

  “Motion sensors, right?” Jackson speculated as he followed along. The pathway leveled out and curved for a while before descending again. “How far underground are we going, anyway?”

  Beck continued to keep his own counsel. Johanna remained just as silent.

  “Will somebody talk to me, please?” Jackson asked.

  Just then, a door slid open and Beck carried Johanna into a large cavern with a vast window carved into the face of the bluff looking out over the water. Bowls, bottles, and boxes of all descriptions littered a large slab of sandstone that topped a complex metal structure in the center of the space. A bank of computers and high tech gadgetry lined the red stone walls. And what looked like a stainless steel elevator door set in solid rock in another corner of the room made its own statement. The windows, lighting and technology appeared to be cutting-edge. However, the cavern retained an old-fashioned aura. Without question, some of the vials and vessels cluttering the countertop looked like holdovers from another century, and while some objects looked contemporary, others appeared to be medieval.

  ★

  A group of Dramaticans set to work removing the Terrorian bodies from the library. It took three or more men to drag the dead weight of the much larger, heavier invaders. Meanwhile, their kinsmen gathered dried twigs and branches and built a mound out of the combustible materials. Heaving the Terrorian carcasses on top of the pile took effort, and after placing the first corpse, they knew they’d need a much larger pyre.

  “Ring the bell, Furst.”

  “Life or death, the fire is not.”

  “The bell, ring, or all day we’ll be here,” Dungen stated.

  “And all night. Not over, the war is. Just beginning, it is.”

  “My friends, I will get,�
�� a boy volunteered. “More firewood, we will find.”

  Furst nodded at the boy before helping his kinsmen heave a second Terrorian onto the mound of twigs. They continued to work until evening, gathering wood and adding to the pyre, before finally putting a match to it.

  In the end, it did not take much prodding for the flames to grow into a huge blaze. The Terrorians’ oily skin fueled the fire as it crackled in the heat. The plume of smoke and orange glow from the flames could be seen for miles, and attracted Dramaticans like moths. But their attention was short-lived once their curiosity was sated. The foul odor made many of them sick to their stomachs, and they retreated to the sweeter air inside their homes.

  ★

  Inside a private print shop, etching machines that Nero 51 used to produce his invasion maps had been moved to make space to garage the time machine. The Library of Illumination would have been more convenient, but Nero 51 did not want to be immediately linked to the stolen vehicle if the overseers paid a surprise visit.

  He approached General Lethro 814, whom he had placed in charge of the invasion. “Has a second wave of soldiers been sent to Juvenilia?”

  “Not yet.”

  Nero 51 kept his voice even. “And why is that?”

  The general held up an obelisk. “This document describes the library on Juvenilia as having translucent walls in bright primary colors.”

  “That is correct.”

  “According to Ilio 22, the cupola he left our troops in had transparent floors and dull brown walls.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?”

  One of the general’s tentacles developed a slight tremor. “You told us you wanted to meditate and not to disturb you.”

  Nero 51 grabbed a weapon and pulled the general inside the time machine. “I guess if I want knowledgeable answers, I’ll have to find them for myself.” He thrust the firearm in the general’s tentacles. “And you will protect me while I do so.”

  Moments later, the time machine disappeared on its journey to another realm.

  ★

  “What is this place?” Johanna asked. Her eyes came to rest on an older man in a tattered white lab coat studying an ancient book. Johanna quickly surmised the book to be nearly as old as Myrddin’s memoir, but not quite.

  Beck finally spoke, but not to Johanna and Jackson. “These are the people I told you about. And,” he thrust the book wrapping at the man, “they had this.”

  The man examined the brown paper packaging, and then scrutinized Johanna’s face, as if trying to read her most secret thoughts. “Are you Johanna Charette?”

  “Yes. Will you tell me what this is all about?”

  Beck released her and she yelped when her foot touched with the floor. Unbidden tears made tracks down her cheeks, but her voice remained even, belying her pain. “I was asked to come here and solve a riddle of sorts, for the person who sent me that.” She reached for the wrapper, but Beck lunged forward and quickly pulled it away from her.

  The older man walked over to Beck and retrieved the paper. He smiled at the sigil embedded in the wax seal before looking at the curator. “I sent you this package.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I saw the man who claims ownership of the contents of the book, and he is not you.”

  “You saw Myrddin? Of course you would in a Library of Illumination. It’s protected.”

  Jackson coughed to get their attention. “Maybe I’m missing some obscure point here, but books, enchanted ones, that come to life inside the Library of Illumination, can come to life outside the library as well.”

  “Did you see the book come to life or just Myrddin?”

  Jackson tilted his head ever so slightly. “What’s the difference?”

  “Myrddin can only come to life inside the Library of Illumination. Or inside this workshop. Viviane, the Lady of the Lake, made sure of that after she turned the sorcery he’d taught her against him and trapped him inside this rock. He can’t get out, but that didn’t prevent him from conjuring and experimenting and noting his findings in the memoir I sent. It’s quite fascinating reading, part diary, part spell book, part philosophical treatise.”

  “Somehow,” Jackson said, “his entrapment is a little hard to believe. Why couldn’t he just use the tunnel to get out?”

  The older man offered his hand. “I’m Cathasach, by the way. You must be Jackson.”

  Jackson cautiously shook the man’s hand. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “There was no tunnel at that time. Myrddin made a good start of it, but could not finish it in his lifetime.”

  “How do you know any of this?” Johanna asked.

  “From the tales passed down by the man who found him after the earthquake of 1690. They say the tremor was felt as far as London. It apparently created a chasm that was discovered by a like-minded sorcerer looking for solitude on this island. Further investigation revealed a cave like opening that led to the tunnel Myrddin had started to carve out. That sorcerer ultimately discovered this laboratory and Myrddin’s skeletal remains.”

  “So you’re theorizing,” Jackson said.

  “Not theory, young man, fact. You see, Myrddin’s body may have left this mortal coil, but his soul lingers. He imbued the pages of his workbook with his energy, and thus lives on inside this cave where he had been banished by Viviane. His notes briefly state his belief that he could probably materialize inside the Library of Illumination within the confines of this book. He seemed to have some kind of connection with the library, although we’ve never been able to figure out what that is.”

  Jackson folded his arms across his chest. “So he haunts the place.”

  “I guess that is one way you could explain it.” Cathasach smiled benevolently.

  Jackson motioned toward Beck. “What about him? What does he have to do with all this?”

  “The secret of Myrddin’s lair has always been too large—too important—for any one man to protect,” Cathasach said, “but we certainly couldn’t let the public get wind of it.

  “Following its discovery, Bradán—the sorcerer who found this laboratory—knew it would take a special cadre of people to protect it. He invited his most trusted cohorts to share and protect the secret. Those eight people founded Eahta Frean fram Drycræft.”

  “Eahta Frean fram Drycræft,” Johanna echoed. “That answers that question. We’ve been looking for you, but we didn’t want to ask for you by name.”

  “A wise decision. There are dark forces about who would go to great lengths to discover this site and the whereabouts of Myrddin’s notes.”

  “That still doesn’t explain him,” Jackson said, pointing to Beck.

  “Beck is one of the Eight Masters of Wizardry—one of the Eahta Frean fram Drycræft.”

  Jackson’s mouth hung half-open while his eyes darted from the airline attendant to Cathasach and back to Beck. “You’re a wizard?”

  Beck smiled.

  Jackson folded his arms across his chest. “How do we know you’re a wizard?”

  “My employer doesn’t serve beer from Pembrokeshire to passengers.”

  “You conjured that out of nothing?” Jackson’s eyes grew large.

  Beck grinned. “I conjured it out of my backpack. I’m from Pembrokeshire.”

  “So that doesn’t prove anything,” Jackson said.

  Beck picked up Johanna by the waist and sat her on the island, swinging her around so her swollen ankle rested on the counter. He removed her shoe and sock.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Jackson rushed to her side.

  Beck glared at him. “I thought you said this just happened at Martin’s Haven.”

  “It did,” Johanna confirmed.

  “Really? Who taped it? This was done with a practiced hand.”

  “A practiced hand, huh?” Jackson turned to Johanna. “See. I told you I knew what I was doing.”

  “He taped it while we waited for the boat,” she told Beck. “He’s got the tape in his bac
kpack if you want him to show it to you.”

  Beck grabbed a scissor and cut the binding on Johanna’s ankle.

  “Ouch!”

  Under the tape, her blue-tinged skin had wrinkled. Beck gently examined her ankle. Released from its bindings, it soon started to swell. “You really did do a number on it. For a moment, I thought it was a scam.” He rummaged through a rack of beakers looking for herbs. He ground some using an old mortar and pestle, then added a few other ingredients before mixing it with what looked like blue sludge. He smeared it on her ankle.

  The smell turned her stomach. “What is that stuff?”

  “Trust me,” Beck replied. “You’re going to love me in the morning.”

  “Whoa!” A wave breaking against the window startled Jackson.

  “Looks like a storm’s brewing,” Cathasach said. “I guess you’ll be our guests for the night.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” Johanna replied. “We’re staying at a hotel in Marloes.”

  “There’s no boat service to the mainland when the weather gets like this. The seas are too rough.”

  “We’ve got to go,” Jackson said. “I promised Dylan I’d return the dumper truck this afternoon.”

  “That’s easy enough to do.” Beck loosely wrapped gauze around Johanna’s ankle. “The cottage is only a mile from here. You can easily drive it over and walk back within a half hour.”

  “Forget it. I’m not leaving Johanna alone here with you. Either she comes with me, or I’m staying put.”

  Cathasach addressed Beck directly. “We don’t want to impose on our landlords. Why don’t you return the dumper truck.”

  “And tell them what when they start asking questions?”

  “Don’t tell them anything. Just return the dumper truck and come back before they see you.”