by Clayton Wood
Ariana covered her mouth with her hand, then realized that her left wrist didn't hurt anymore. She stared at it; the bones were perfectly aligned, no longer twisted at a horrible angle. She squeezed the bones of her wrist with her right hand...no pain.
“What the...” she blurted out.
“My thought exactly,” a raspy voice called out from behind.
* * *
Ariana whirled about, seeing an old man standing there, some ten feet from where she stood.
Old, she realized, was an understatement. The man was positively ancient, his back bent severely with age, his pale skin like crumpled parchment. Broken and rotting teeth jutted out from his desiccated gums. A large, pale scar ran across his forehead, with smaller scars scattered on his neck and arms. His simple clothes were torn and mud-caked, a foul odor emanating from them.
His face broke into a smile, making him appear even more revolting than he already was.
“Who're you?” Ariana stated, taking a step back. Her hand went involuntarily to her nose, and she stopped the movement just in time, breathing through her mouth instead. If the old wretch had noticed the motion, he didn't show it.
“I, he stated, rapping the butt of a long, wooden cane he held against the granite floor, “...am curious.” Ariana took another step back, her eyes stinging slightly at the stench.
“I mean, what's your name?” she pressed. The old man shrugged.
“What does it matter?” he wheezed. Then he gestured at Greg's body lying on the ground beside her. “What matters is that this man lost his head...and that you are ignorant as to how.”
Ariana glanced at the decapitated corpse on the ground, clutching her chest with both hands. Slippery wetness coated her palms.
“Who are you?” she repeated, taking another step backward. With a thought, a gravity shield appeared around her. The old man chuckled softly.
“I am,” he stated, rapping his cane on the floor a second time, “...the greatest part of the whole.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“My Chosen is dead,” the old man replied, pointing one shriveled finger at Greg's body, “...because of you.” Then he frowned slightly, the countless lines in his face deepening grotesquely. “Or rather, because of something inside of you.”
“What?” Ariana asked. The old man raised one eyebrow, the scar on his forehead rippling with the motion.
“You don't know, eh?” he observed. He raised the butt of his cane at her, pointing it at her legs. “They're in your bones, little bird...I can feel them.” He tapped his left temple with one yellowed, cracked fingernail.
“What are you talking about?” Ariana demanded. She thought about making a break for it then, of sprinting past this old man and bolting through the door. If she could just make it to the riser...
“The runes in your bones, little one,” the old man clarified. He smiled grotesquely, his cataract-glazed eyes regarding her intensely. “I'd very much like to see them.”
Ariana froze.
“Come, girl,” he wheezed, swinging his cane around until it was pointing at the door to her bedroom. “Haven't got all day.”
Ariana made up her mind, and bolted.
Except she didn't.
Her legs failed to move, her arms staying at her sides. In a panic, she tried to weave magic, to create a gravity sphere to one side, so that she could pull herself around the old man...but there was no magic to weave.
She had no magic at all.
She tried to move her head, but could not. She could only stare at the elderly man, stooped over his cane, a shock of short white hair sprouting from his liver-spotted skull. He began to walk toward her bedroom door, and she found herself doing the same, her limbs moving without her consent. She followed behind him, trying desperately to regain control over her body...but to no avail. He limped up to the door, pushing it open with the butt of his cane, then gesturing for her to walk in. Which, despite her best efforts, she did. Her body brought her to the edge of her bed, turned her about, and made her sit down on the edge.
“Do lie down,” the old man ordered, hobbling up to the bedside. Ariana's body complied without her mind's consent, laying her down on her back in the middle of the bed. The old man sat on the edge of the bed beside her, regarding her with his sunken eyes. Ariana swallowed in a dry throat, her heart pounding in her chest.
“What are you doing to me?” she croaked, surprised that she could even speak. The rest of her body – from the neck down, other than her breathing – was effectively paralyzed.
“You, my dear,” the old man replied, putting a desiccated hand on her left leg, “...are being protected by someone. A person I'd very much like to meet.” He patted her leg, the sensation of his dry, cracked flesh making her skin crawl.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ariana protested. The old man smiled.
“Oh, I know,” he stated. Then his eyes unfocused, and he stared off into space for a second, his smile slowly disappearing. It only lasted a moment, and he turned his gaze to her soon afterward. “How interesting,” he murmured.
“What?”
“It seems,” the man answered, “...that another of my Chosen is about to be murdered.” He sighed, taking his hand off of Ariana's leg and gripping his cane with both hands. “A shame...he was a good man.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your 'Dead Man,'” he replied. “I had him test the boy and the bodyguard. Someone just severed his communication stream to Xanos, and therefore to me. Which,” he added, “...is what happened before all the other Chosen were killed.” He sighed again, placing one hand back on her leg; if she could have shuddered, she would've. “You'll be happy to know it happened right as he was about to kill your friend.”
Ariana's eyes widened, and she felt her heart skip a beat.
“Kyle?” she blurted out, daring to hope. “He's alive?”
“Oh yes,” the old man answered. “For now. But I'm sorry to say that your bodyguard is not.”
Ariana felt a lump rise in her throat, and she closed her eyes, feeling tears squeeze out from between her lids and run down her cheeks. She may never have quite warmed up to Darius, but he'd been a good man.
“It was not the runes in his bones,” the old man continued, “...that saved Kyle. I had his drained as I am draining yours.” Ariana opened her eyes, frowning at the man.
“What?”
“Oh yes, he was protected as you are,” he replied. “A trip through the Void fixed that.” He sighed. “I always suspected he was the focus of his protector, and that you...” he raised one gnarled finger and pointed it at her “...were just...a happy accident.” He shifted his hand to her right leg, cupping her shin in the palm of his hand. “I left his runes alone, knowing that I could study yours while his protector was otherwise occupied.”
“What runes?” she pressed.
“Someone opened you up, dear,” he answered. “Likely while you were sleeping. Opened you up and carved wonderful runes in your bones, wards to protect you.” He shook his head. “They must be amazingly sophisticated, to get past the defensive wards my Chosen have. Poor Greg.”
“He was like...?”
“The 'Dead Man?'” he interjected. “Oh yes...but alive, you see. He's been working here for twenty years, you know. Excellent sources of reconnaissance, butlers. Access to everywhere, but practically invisible. And with his shard...” he put one finger on his own forehead, “...hidden under his skin, who would suspect?” He chuckled softly. “I have eyes everywhere, my little one.”
“Who are you?” Ariana asked. “Are you...?
“Xanos?” the old man interrupted. “No. Xanos is a tool, one I use to escape my...limitations. But if you must know, my name,” he added, “...is Sabin.”
Ariana frowned, shaking her head mutely. The name meant nothing to her. Sabin shook his head, a smirk distorting the lines in his pale skin.
“It always amazes me how ignorant people a
re of the past,” he mused. “Generation after generation, blindly moving forward, rarely looking back, having absolutely no idea of how the world came to be the way it is. Yet the past can be so instructive.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Ariana demanded.
“I,” Sabin replied, raising his palm from her right leg and bringing it to her left forearm, “...am draining your runes of their magic. No need to trigger them, after all...not that such a thing would worry me. When I'm done, I'm going to study them.”
“And then?” Ariana pressed. She had a feeling she didn't want to know the answer, but not knowing was even worse.
“I'm not going to do anything,” he answered. “My pawns are going to...convert a few in your government to my side, in a manner of speaking,” he added. “After vacating a few positions, that is. Orik was the wrong person for the role...free will is such a messy thing.” He released his palm from her left arm, tapping his forehead again, then lowering his hand to her right forearm. “Insubordination will not be an option this time...and when Xanos attacks, my new Chosen will save the day, winning the trust and admiration of the Empire.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Why, for the betterment of mankind,” Sabin replied. Then he chuckled at Ariana's bewildered look. “Just because I'm your enemy doesn't mean I'm the enemy,” he added. “You and your friends rebel against my cause – one that we actually share. We just differ on the means to the same end.”
Ariana stared at Sabin silently.
“Of course you don't believe me,” Sabin declared. “I've caused you pain, so you automatically hate me. But it's true; we both want an Empire built on the ideals of the Ancients...equality, knowledge, and justice. Left alone, your Empire would take countless generations to reach the sophistication of the first Empire...if it lasted that long. With my help, your people will surpass the Ancients in a matter of decades.”
“We didn't ask for your help,” Ariana retorted.
“I didn't ask for your permission,” he countered. “You have no claim over this land,” he added. “It was mine long before it was yours.” He took his hand off of her right forearm, placing it on her forehead. “Your Empire would not exist if I had not willed it.” He kept his hand on her forehead for a moment, then lifted it, placing both hands back on his cane. “But it hardly matters, my dear. Your runes are drained, so our conversation must come to an end.”
Ariana grit her teeth, refusing to be silenced. She had one question left for this man, whoever he was.
“If you're not evil, then why was I kidnapped?” she asked. “Why were my parents killed?”
“What is 'evil?'” Sabin countered. “To cause others to suffer? To kill for the greater good?” He shook his head. “By that measure, Kalibar is as evil as I am.” He put a hand on her cheek, patting it gently. “Good and evil are a matter of perspective, my dear. Consider it a blessing that you'll never live long enough to understand that.”
He lifted his hand from Ariana's cheek then, bringing it down to her right shin. He lowered his yellowed, dirt-caked index finger to below her knee, touching the skin there lightly. A searing pain coursed through her shin, the skin gaping open as if it had been cut with a blade. He drew his finger down her leg, her skin flaying open as he went, until a pearly whiteness appeared underneath the skin and underlying flesh.
Ariana screamed.
Sabin said nothing, prying the skin edges apart with his fingers, exposing the bone underneath. Ariana gasped at the agony shooting through her leg, every fiber of her being screaming to leap away, to escape that torture.
But she couldn't move.
Sabin stared down at her exposed shin bone, and Ariana followed his gaze unwillingly. Bright white bone lay there, countless tiny runes carved into the pearly surface. Her eyes widened, partly due to the pain, and to the shock at what Sabin had exposed.
“Marvelous,” Sabin murmured. His cataract-glazed eyes peered at the patterns embedded into her bones, tracing them rapidly. He sat there for a long moment, hunched over her leg, staring silently. Then he glanced up at her.
“It seems your protector is more sophisticated than I had imagined,” he stated, frowning slightly. “Far more so,” he muttered. He sighed then, drawing his finger back over her wound. The edges closed under his touch, the skin knitting together as if it had never been cut. “But I am sorry to say,” he added, “...that he is not sophisticated enough to save you.”
Ariana stared silently at Sabin, her eyes glued to his finger as it moved to her other shin. The grotesque digit hovered over her skin, the nail yellowed and chipped. She stared at it, feeling suddenly lightheaded.
“Magic,” Sabin continued, “...is a fickle thing. Its allegiance is to that which attracts it most powerfully.” He paused then, his finger still hovering above her shin. She tried to squirm, but only her head could move. “And there is no greater attraction for magic than I,” he declared.
Ariana swallowed past a wave of nausea, sweat trickling down her flanks.
“Your benefactor,” Sabin stated, touching her leg with his finger, his dried skin sending chills down her spine, “...assumed that his magic would protect you. Now he is far away, and My pawns are set to strike,” he added. “Divide...” He slid his finger downward, tracing a line down to her shin. The flesh parted easily, exposing the orange-yellow fat and rust-colored muscle below. “And conquer.” Ariana moaned, feeling her head swim with the pain, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from the horrid sight. Still, she felt his eyes upon her.
“Don't be afraid, little bird,” Sabin murmured, his foul breath washing over her, making her gag. “It'll all be over soon.”
Chapter 19
Kyle sat in his chair, his elbows propped on the round table before him, staring blankly at Marcus. Then his eyes widened, and he pointed at the old man.
“Wait, you're the one who gave Darius to Kalibar,” Kyle exclaimed. “You're Kalibar's mentor!” Marcus laughed.
“I hardly gave Darius to anyone,” he countered. “But as to the latter, you are absolutely correct.” He broke out into a grin. “See? You do remember.”
“Marcus,” Kyle murmured, shaking his head. Kalibar had mentioned his mentor's name – on several occasions, in fact. He remembered clearly now; they'd been escaping from the Secula Magna, bound for Crescent Lake, when Kalibar had spoken of his former mentor. “Wait, I thought you...”
“Died?” Marcus interjected. “Yes, I admit I had to fake my own death. But as you can see, I'm very much alive.”
“What happened?” Kyle pressed.
“Darius offered me a choice,” Marcus answered. “I could either spend the few remaining days of my life at home, and die peacefully in my own bed, or I could go to Antara.”
“Antara?”
“This island,” Marcus replied, gesturing widely with both arms. “Built by Ampir, the man we both know as Darius.” He chuckled. “It was hardly a difficult choice for me,” he admitted. “I'd been struck with a heart attack a day after Kalibar had last visited me, to ask me for a few guards. The heart attack should have killed me, but Darius wouldn't let that happen. He'd already revealed himself to me long before, so I knew his true nature. I didn't want to die, and he knew it. He offered to bring me here, to his home, to join the others.”
“The others?”
“Darius is a...collector,” Marcus explained. “Over the last few centuries, he's gathered some of the greatest minds of each generation, and brought them here...to live for eternity, never aging, never dying. In return for our immortality, he asks us to pursue our passions.”
“Like what?”
“Whom have you met so far?” Marcus asked. “On the island, I mean.”
“Um, a guy name Nalin...and Tek, I think.” Then he frowned. “And a woman, she didn't talk at all...”
“Ah, Samb,” Marcus replied. “She was a famous architect oh, three centuries ago or so. Darius had her design the downtown area, and even my hous
e,” he added. “Even as a mortal, she was famously...impersonal.”
“And Nalin?”
“He was an engineer,” Marcus informed. “He came here...maybe forty Doma years ago. Brilliant, creative, and a bit strange. If he'd been able to make magic, he would've made a heck of a Runic. He works with Tek – a Runic – to make hybrid devices.”
“Huh?”
“Machines that combine magic with standard mechanics. Like a magic-powered engine, for example. He's been working on that ever since Darius gave him that book from Earth.” Kyle's eyes widened.
“Wait, you know about Earth?” he pressed. Marcus shrugged.
“Only what Darius told us,” he admitted. “He only found Earth maybe...” he paused then, frowning. “The conversion rate always trips me up,” he admitted. “You see, for every year that passes on Doma, three years pass by here.”
“Time goes faster here?”
“Correct,” Marcus replied. “Darius can explain why far better than I,” he admitted. “You should ask him about it sometime.”
“I'll try,” Kyle stated noncommittally.
“In any case, he only found Earth a short while ago. From what I hear, it's a fascinating place.”
“It is,” Kyle agreed. Marcus smiled.
“Yes, I forget you're from there originally,” he stated. “In any case, there are about fifty of us living here on Antara, spending each day advancing the magical and physical sciences, building and sharing knowledge with each other.”
“Just fifty?” Kyle asked. He'd only seen a small part of the city, but what he'd seen looked like it could house an entire, well, city. That did explain why the place seemed so deserted.
“Samb keeps busy,” Marcus explained. “With a few new recruits every few decades, and no one leaving, eventually we'll need every last building.”
“Why is Darius doing this?” Kyle pressed. “I mean, why does he need you guys to research stuff?” Marcus shrugged.
“To be honest, I don't know,” he admitted. “Darius doesn't exactly speak his mind most of the time,” he added with a rueful smirk. “In any case, I suspect that you're right...whatever ingenious inventions we've created, Darius already thought of millennia ago. After all, we still haven't eclipsed the technology of the Ancients...and Darius started with that technology.” He shook his head slowly. “He showed me his old armor, the one he wore back in Ancient times. It was so far advanced of anything I'd ever seen, I couldn't begin to fathom it. I can't imagine what he's come up with in the last four thousand years or so.”