But despite the mess of webbing they found, there was no other sign of the spider. It was almost like the spider had made the webbing and left; an odd thought, to be sure. Whether that was normal spider behavior or not, Durima didn't know, and she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
The tunnel/hallway must have been much shorter than it seemed, however, because after only a few minutes of cutting through the webbing, Durima and Gujak emerged into a wide-open chamber that was a breath of fresh air after being in such a confined space for so long.
This chamber was designed oddly, though. It had no floor; instead, there was an open pool in the center, with dark seawater inside it as still as stone. The seawater must have been the source of the salty, ocean-like smell that permeated the room, reminding Durima of the beach on Zamis.
The pool was ringed by a stone walkway that offered little room for movement and no railing to keep anyone from falling into the water below. Durima had to be careful not to lean forward too much, otherwise she would fall into the water, which did not look friendly or safe to her.
A long, narrow stone bridge jutted out over the water, but it only went about halfway across. It wasn't the stone bridge that caught Durima's attention, however. It was the glint of silver at the end of it, which reflected the light of Gujak's hand as brilliantly as a mirror.
“What's that?” said Durima, pointing at the glinting silver object.
Gujak raised his hand and his light grew brighter. As it did so, the rays washed over the silver object, giving them a much better look at its appearance.
The object resembled a gauntlet designed for a human hand. It looked perfectly preserved, as if whoever had put it down here had made sure to come back and clean it regularly. It was still too far away to make out its finer details, but that didn't matter because Durima knew that they had hit the jackpot.
“There it is,” said Durima, pointing at the gauntlet. “The gauntlet that Master wanted us to get.”
“Are you sure?” said Gujak, looking around the place as if he expected to see an identical gauntlet nearby.
“How can I not be sure?” said Durima. “Master said there is only one gauntlet on Bleak Rock. That object looks exactly like a gauntlet; therefore, it is the gauntlet.”
“I guess you're right,” said Gujak. “Well, I'll go and grab it. It doesn't look like it's protected by anything, so hopefully we'll be out of here very soon.”
Durima wanted to be the one to get it, but when she saw how narrow and unstable the stone bridge looked, she decided that it made more sense to stand back and let Gujak do it. She watched, scratching her arm, as Gujak walked carefully across the stone bridge, which held him with no trouble.
As Gujak walked, his light casting his shadow across the still waters below, Durima fully expected something bad to happen to him. Maybe a sea monster would shoot out of the water and bite his head off. Or maybe the stone bridge would fall into the water. Possibly, the gauntlet itself was rigged with some kind of magical trap, although Durima could not sense anything unusual about this gauntlet.
All she knew was that she was relieved when Gujak reached the end of the stone bridge and picked up the gauntlet. He turned around, the smile on his face evident even from a distance, as he held up the gauntlet and said, “I got the gauntlet, so that means we can go back to Master now! Maybe he'll be so pleased by our speediness that he'll waive our punishment.”
“Great,” said Durima. She gestured at Gujak with her right hand. “Now come on. No need to keep Master waiting any longer than he needs to, right?”
Gujak nodded, but then his smile contorted into an expression of pure, undisguised horror. He pointed over Durima's head and said, “Durima, behind you!”
Durima would have turned around to see what Gujak saw, but then she felt something sharp and burning bite her back. Her body went rigid as a board, causing her to fall flat on her face. As soon as she hit the floor, she lost all consciousness.
Chapter Fifteen
The light that exploded from Braim's casket rapidly faded away. The night returned to take back its domain, but Darek's eyes continued to see the light burned in his retinas as if it was still there. He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to get them to work properly again even as that same horrible laugh from before became louder and louder. It sounded like a snake laughing, an awful sound that sent chills up Darek's spine.
When his vision finally returned to normal, Darek looked back up at the casket and was shocked by what he saw.
The casket was still wide open, but now there was someone standing in it. The being who stood in the casket was not the Ghostly God, nor was it the Magical Superior. The being had purplish-black skin, a color that made Darek's stomach churn, and the skin itself resembled smooth snake skin. He wore the white funeral robes that all Academy mages who died in the school were given; at least, at one point they were white, but now they looked faded and dirty from spending so many years beneath the earth, with a handful of holes in them here and there. His face was a combination of snake and human, with gleaming yellow eyes that spoke of an intelligence far above that of any mortal.
The being, who had ceased laughing, raised his arms and looked at his hands, which were wide and flat. Flexing his fingers, the being laughed again, as if the sight of his oddly long fingers amused him greatly.
Then he looked down at his thighs and legs. He lifted his right leg and almost lost his balance before putting his foot down on the ground and steadying himself. Even that seemed to amuse him, however, because he was smiling like a little kid who had just made an amazing new discovery.
“Oh, how many years has it been since I last had a proper body to walk around in,” said the being. He then made an odd rattling noise that Darek belatedly realized was him inhaling air. “Oh, how many years has it been since I last breathed in fresh air. This is not the air of my world, but it is air nonetheless, as pure and clean as the rivers of Elda.”
Darek shook his head and looked around. The Magical Superior still lay on the ground, but he no longer looked quite as stunned as he had before. Still, Darek didn't think the Magical Superior would be getting up anytime soon, so he began looking for the Ghostly God.
He found the Ghostly God soon enough. The God of Ghosts and Mist was lying flat on his back on the ground. He looked like he had been knocked out by a professional fighter and for a moment Darek didn't know if the deity was even still alive.
Then he saw the Ghostly God's chest heaving up and down, and Darek knew, with disgust, that the god was going to be okay.
The being apparently lost interest in his physical body, for he lowered his arms and began looking around at his surroundings. “My, how different the world looks from two legs. I have been in that accursed snake form for so long that I forgot what being two-legged was like.”
Darek's teeth chattered, even though it wasn't very cold out. His senses were starting to return to normal and he was sensing that this being, whoever he was, was absurdly powerful. Far more powerful than the Magical Superior, dwarfing even the Ghostly God, this being seemed to be on a level all his own. He was definitely not a god, but what he was, exactly, Darek didn't know.
But what he said about that 'accursed snake form' … Darek thought. Could he be—?
“Yes, Darek Takren,” said the being, who was now looking directly at Darek. “It is indeed I, Uron the teleporter snake. Or at least, that's the identity I chose until I could get a new and better body. Obviously, I am not and never was a real teleporter snake.”
Darek's eyes widened and his hands shook underneath him. “Then what are you? What is going on here? Where did you even come from?”
“You have many questions,” said Uron. “I probably should not answer them, but you and the whole world will know my name soon enough. Perhaps you can become my herald who will tell the entire world about me.”
“I won't be your herald,” said Darek. “I swore an oath to the gods, not to … whatever you are.”
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��Why would you ever swear loyalty to idiots like them?” said Uron, gesturing at the Ghostly God. “They are pompous, arrogant, and foolish, not to mention easily manipulated. I do not even want to get into their pathetic jealousies or vendettas against each other, nor how their constant scheming against themselves and their ruler are more irritating than amusing.”
“Even so, I'm not your servant and I never will be,” said Darek. He was finding it hard to talk, but with both the Magical Superior and the Ghostly God out for the count, he knew he had to keep it up until he could come up with some kind of plan to stop Uron. “I'd rather die than serve you.”
Uron shrugged. “I haven't even told you who I am and you are already saying such silly things. I know you mortals tend to jump to conclusions based on very little information, but this is another thing entirely.”
“You can still tell me all about you,” said Darek. “Just because I won't serve you doesn't mean I don't want my questions answered.”
“Very well,” said Uron. He stretched his arms. “I need to give myself a few minutes to stretch out the kinks in my bones anyway. This body hasn't move an inch since it was buried all thirty years ago. I am lucky it hadn't turned into dust.”
“Then start,” said Darek. “Begin at the beginning.”
“The very beginning?” said Uron as he put his hands on his back and pushed it inwards. “That is a very, very long time ago, well before the gods, well before Martir, even before the Powers. But very well. The beginning it is.”
Uron went silent for a moment, as if he was thinking about how to start. Darek kept glancing at the Magical Superior, but the headmaster didn't seem likely to wake up anytime soon.
“All right,” said Uron. He gestured at himself. “Do you know about the world that existed before Martir?”
Darek snapped his attention back to Uron. “What?”
Uron sighed. “Of course you don't. The world that existed before Martir is unknown to the vast, vast majority of mortals who live in this world. The gods know of it, of course, but even they don't know everything about it. They know only what little the Powers shared with them about it, but even the Powers only knew about the ruins they found.”
“What does that world have to do with anything?” said Darek. “If you're telling the truth, it is long gone. It's not relevant.”
“Only the ignorant say that history is not relevant,” said Uron, rubbing his face as if he had never done it before. “You see, Darek Takren, I am from that world. It is where I was born, raised, and yes, where I died. And it is a world I intend to bring back.”
Darek blinked. “Died? But you're still here. How can you say that you died when I am talking to you? I'm not dead, am I?”
“No, of course not,” said Uron. “And I suppose I technically didn't 'die,' but it certainly felt that way.”
“I still don't see how you could possibly be from some other world that existed prior to this one,” said Darek. “You can't be telling the truth.”
“Allow me to finish my story before you make any judgments,” said Uron. “Now, you see, my world was once a beautiful and majestic place. It made Martir look like the cobbled-together mess that it is. My people, after eons of hardship and war, were a prosperous and advanced society, constantly improving and innovating in every way. It was not the kind of world you ever expected to end, especially when our fearless leaders kept reassuring us that nothing was wrong no matter what anyone said.”
Then Uron's face made a very obvious scowl. “But it was all a sham. A sham built on lies and deceit. For you see, Darek Takren, on that world, I was what you called a scientist. I studied nature and the world in an attempt to learn how best to use it to advance my race. It was a noble profession, one in which the truth was revered above all else … except when that truth contradicted the truth taught by our leaders, of course.”
Uron cracked his neck. “You see, during my studies of the world, I discovered that my world was dying. It was not dying due to anything my people did. My world was simply reaching its natural end, its core slowly cooling. I tried to warn my people of this because there was still a chance we could survive, even save the planet itself, if we acted immediately.”
Uron spoke of it like it happened yesterday. To Darek, this all sounded like the ramblings of a mad man, but as this was a very powerful mad man, he knew better than to interrupt.
Uron squatted and stood up again. “My leaders did not like that. They started a campaign to slander my name. They called me a liar, a deceiver, and a charlatan even as the cooling of our world's core began to cause devastating natural disasters everywhere. Millions of people died, and by the time my leaders finally began to listen to my plans, it was too late. Our world was dead, and we who had survived the previous natural disasters went with it. Including all of our art, history, technology, and discoveries.”
He said that with such heartbroken-ness and bitterness that Darek, strangely enough, felt moved by this story. He still didn't know if it was true, but Uron seemed to believe it at any rate.
“But I survived,” said Uron. He put his hands on his chest. “Prior to the final day of our world, I placed my soul into the core of our world, where I went into a deep, self-induced sleep. My plan was to awaken at some point, get a new body, and begin the process of rebuilding my world and saving my people. A noble goal, wouldn't you agree?”
“But your world is gone,” said Darek. “And your people are dead. How do you intend to do that?”
“I am not finished telling my story,” said Uron in a tone as sharp as a knife. “Or do you want me to skip to the part where I kill you in cold blood?”
“Continue,” said Darek. “I'm listening.”
“Good,” said Uron. Then he stroked his chin. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. After I sealed my soul, the Powers came. They saw the remains of my world, believed no one to be using them because they saw no life there. They took the remains and, along with some of their own materials, began building a new world that would one day bear the name of Martir.”
His hands balled into fists. “Martir … what an ugly word. Do you know it's etymology, Darek Takren? It is from an ancient Divina word meaning 'a new creation.' Perhaps an appropriate name, but the word has a positive connotation to it, a connotation I cannot agree with.”
Darek already knew about Martir's etymology. It had been part of his early education as a North Academy mage, one of the very first things he had been taught. Hearing Uron attack it made Darek want to punch him out.
Uron lifted up his hands. “I awoke shortly after the Powers finished building Martir. I was confused at first. I thought that maybe my world had survived, that its end had been a terrible dream, and that my people still existed. Sadly, a deeper look showed me that my thoughts were wrong. Martir was—and still is—nothing like my world. Nor will it ever be.”
“It doesn't have to be like your world,” said Darek. His strength was returning to his limbs, but he was still too weak to get up. “Martir is its own world.”
“And that is the problem,” said Uron. “Who gave the Powers permission to use the remains of my world to build one of their petty creations? Nonetheless, in the beginning, there was very little I could do about it. I had no physical body, for one. For another, I did not know how strong the gods were. I was afraid that if I revealed myself right away, the gods would defeat me. The gods were one at that point, not divided like they are now, which is why it will be so much easier for me to do what I need to do today than it was so many eons ago.
“It was then that the Godly War started, which I watched with interest. I thought that the Powers' beloved creation, the world that should not exist, was going to destroy itself. I planned to begin the rebuilding of my world after the gods had torn each other apart, but then the Powers returned and ended the conflict.”
Uron shook his head, but it seemed to be more because he was still getting used to his body rather than communicating his disapproval. A quick glance in the direction of
the Magical Superior told Darek that the headmaster was still out.
Although even if he wasn't, would he be strong enough to defeat Uron? Darek thought.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the next part of Uron's speech/story.
“They divided the gods and forced them to sign a Treaty,” said Uron. “As you can imagine, I was disappointed. I had hoped that the gods would do all of the hard work for me. That is just further proof of what happens to those who rely on others to do everything for them, in my opinion.”
Darek didn't really care about Uron's opinions, but at the moment there was little he could do about them. Not when he wasn't even sure he would live long enough to see the sun rise in the morning.
“So what did you do after that?” said Darek. “The Godly War was thousands of years ago. Why did you only choose to act now?”
Uron flexed his muscles. “Do you honestly think this is the first time I've tried to do this? Many times over the eons, I've awoken long enough to try to put my plan into action. Each time, events I did not foresee forced me to abort it to avoid detection by the gods. My last attempt was a mere 50 years ago, when my botched attempt to get a new body for myself ended thanks to the death of the mortal man I was manipulating at the time.”
“Why do you need a humanoid body?” said Darek. He tightened his fist around a clump of dirt. “Your snake body seemed just as effective as a humanoid one.”
“It was weak and pathetic,” said Uron. He gestured at his muscular body. “If I had revealed my true identity before, I likely would have been crushed by the Ghostly God. I needed a stronger body, and you mortal mages have very strong bodies, despite not being nearly as powerful as gods.”
The Mage's Grave: Mages of Martir Book #1 Page 19