The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim

by Jay Swanson

  The rest of the men in the hall behind him were thrown back momentarily. When they regained their composure, they found a new fear for the kid in front of them, water flowing off of his hidden brow. Charsi chose me... to be her form of vengeance. A tool of destruction. His face was dark, with the flames blazing beyond, but a white smile slowly protruded from his silhouetted form. It's not what I want, who would want something like that? Smoke filtered through the flying water as Ardin adjusted his stance and relaxed. But can I fight it?

  He hadn't even made it through the hall and already he felt free. This was who he was made to be, if he was made to be anything. The power was seductive, a simple extension of himself that needed exercising. It felt good. Woke him up like stretching tight muscles. He took a step forward, the men took a step back, and he knew he was in control.

  The fire alarm sounded shrill in the glass offices of the asylum. It was startling to hear. As they never ran fire drills, this was the first alarm to go off in ages. The system hadn't been used since being tested after its installation. The three doctors, feeling much like inmates themselves, stepped out of their offices to inspect the commotion.

  Not knowing who was responsible for which duties, the orderlies were quickly organizing themselves. Before anyone could say otherwise they had all rushed off to the secure ward where the fire was blazing. The patients, amused by this new turn of events, whooped and hollered at them to get on with it. Others cowered in fear of the blaring siren. A few continued about their business as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

  “How on earth could a fire start back there?” one of the doctors, a fat, gray old woman asked.

  “Poor wiring?” said the bespectacled doctor before walking back to his desk. “One of you might want to go supervise the patients in the meantime. Looks like every moron working for us ran off to seek his glory in the fire.”

  He chuckled to himself as he sat at his desk, his subordinates hurrying out into the fray to keep the peace. A fire in the secure ward... he thought. That might alleviate some of our headaches. Should have thought of it sooner.

  He could see the two doctors struggling to contain the rising level of commotion through the windows in his office. Chairs were being thrown, fights were breaking out. Half of the men were rolling with laughter as their friends were beaten and kicked.

  “Monkeys,” muttered the fat doctor. “Big stupid monkeys.”

  A loud concussion rocked the room. Everyone quieted down and stared at the air lock leading to the fire, save a few who giggled uncontrollably. Air lock may have been too generous a description, as smoke curled out of the seal while they watched.

  Another concussion rocked the room, followed by another, and another. The room was silent now except for a man laughing maniacally in a corner. The attention of the room was drawn fully to the dull metal door that jutted out from the wall.

  The bespectacled doctor rushed to the end of the hall, anger and confusion playing games amongst his wrinkles. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

  No one answered, and soon his gaze was drawn along with theirs to the door.

  The guard in the small room next to it was frozen in place, waiting. A red light illuminated on his control panel, signaling that someone wanted in from the other side. The monitors on his desk were useless. Either the cameras had shorted when the sprinklers went off or they were steeped in smoke. Unsure of what to do, he looked up into the room at the doctors. They were standing there gaping as much as their patients. Finding no help from outside, he turned slowly to the panel.

  What harm could come of it, he thought? That was why there was an airlock attached to this ward. If it turned out to be one of the murderers from the other side he could keep the second door locked. The patient would be unable to get through unless buzzed past the second door.

  Besides, the orderlies were probably looking to turn off the water by now. With the reassurance of the security system backing him, he flipped the switch that turned the light from red to green. The door buzzed until its latch was disengaged by the person on the other side.

  It opened slowly, and to his horror the guard realized the fire was burning even more fiercely in the hall. Screams broke through the roar and flickering light as a slight figure stepped into the chamber. He wasn't all that small, but he was no orderly.

  The bespectacled doctor's gut writhed as he waited. The light above the metal door had turned red when the other side had opened. Now he was waiting for it to turn green and allow whoever was inside through. Somehow there was a greater sense of dread in the room than any fire should have produced. Why haven't we evacuated the patients? he thought in a brief moment of calm. Why haven't I just gotten out of here myself?

  And then the door burst off its hinges. It flew into the room. The thick rusty metal crushed one man and dragged him across the floor, leaving a bloody skid as it slid and broke the legs of another.

  Standing in the gap was the boy, that little bastard who had put two of his men in the infirmary just a week before. But he wasn't raving. He wasn't hallucinating. He was completely lucid. He could see it in the boy's eyes. He had seen that look before, but always behind the various masks of madness. Never through the crisp clarity of sane volition. The murderous intent was practically glistening.

  Ardin stepped into the room, fire breaking out wherever he went. The patients fled to the walls, screaming that a demon had entered their midst. Hell had finally come for them. One took the time to run up to the fat doctor and scream that he had warned her. He had told her the Demon was hunting him!

  But Ardin was after no souls. He took a moment's pleasure in their terror. Something piqued at his heart. Something was trying to steal the moment from him. He shook it off. He wouldn't let it. He wanted to enjoy their fear. Soak it up, fill himself with the recognition of his power.

  He walked through the room, flames spreading across the floor as he made for the exit. No one moved to stop him, all trying to escape like rats from a sinking barge. Insignificant. The word came to his mind as he ignored the plight of those around him.

  He stopped at the center of the main hall and raised his hands. The temperature in the room peaked as his fingers reached their apex above his head. The floor was turning black, a mixture of soot, blood, and the onset of death. Ash swirled around him, mixing with the white mist as the heat gently brushed his skin. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the last of the screams fell silent. He thought of the wraith in the darkness, the ghosts of his guilt and despair manifest in one form. He had destroyed it with light and with heat – and he would do the same to these wretches.

  The roof dripped and dropped and crashed around him as the screams died or were drowned out by the roar of the flames. He flexed every muscle in his body, feeling the ripples in the Atmosphere as it was bent to his will. He relaxed, and walked through the heat towards the ruins of the exit.

  Ardin stepped out into the dusk as it fell on the foothills, the remote asylum engulfed in flames behind him. He smiled, though somehow the action made him feel sick. He turned and walked north into the mountains. To find freedom. To meet Tristram.

  FIVE

  “DEVASTATION DOESN'T EVEN BEGIN TO COVER WHAT HE'S WROUGHT.”

  “It is disappointing, yes.”

  “He killed them all, Tristram. He has shown an utter lack of discernment.”

  “He remains yet a boy.”

  “A boy with a great burden on his shoulders, brother.”

  “These were but the leavings of the Demon's attempts to corrupt mankind, Oscilian. Animals in their own right.”

  “I will not suffer you to think as they do.”

  “Forgive me, brother. I do not dare to tread that path. But as I said, many of the inmates and even those who labored there were under the influence of the enemy. One could say what they received was well deserved. “

  “That is not for us to decide, you know this. It has never been our place to judge. What do any of us deserve in the end
? After this show of force... I'm no longer certain we can rely on him.”

  “What choice is left to us?”

  “There is always a choice, Tristram. Always. We can take these matters into our own hands.”

  “You know that not to be true. Think of how history transpired. The odds were against us last time. And for that battle we had the Magi in their full glory.”

  “We are stronger now. The enemy is weaker. Things have changed.”

  “Things have indeed changed, brother. But they have not changed in our favor.”

  ARDIN CONTINUED TO STUMBLE ALONG THE DARK ROAD. So far it had led him well away from the smoldering remains of the asylum. His hunger had caught up with him again and now he fled more slowly into the night. He no longer escaped his confinement so much as the carnage he had wrought.

  His shoulder was aching too, the dull pain growing to a steady burn. The loose gown he wore had barely been touched by the swirling embers and heat of the fire. But there was a dark slash on his shoulder where something had gotten through his defenses. It felt like something was still in there, burning on.

  He plodded away into the night, the miles passing in a blur as faces wandered in and out of his field of vision. The soldier back at the Cave... just a boy. The first victim of his new power. The first person he had ever burned. Ardin could still hear the fear in his voice; he had hardly been any older than Ardin himself. If only he had been able to control his power. If only he had been able to hold Charsi's influence back, perhaps that boy would be alive today.

  But he hadn't been the first victim of Ardin's failures. He hadn't been the first to burn. Ardin wrapped his arms around himself as he fought the chill of the past. His family had burned in their small house in Levanton. They haunted his dreams in the asylum. He had never seen them, but he could hear them dying. And his brother, killed by Elandrian soldiers in the midst of the inferno. Those men had died by Ardin's hands as well... but that had been different. That had been deserved. They had shot his father like some animal. Crushed his brother's skull. Burned his mother and sisters alive. They were monsters.

  Or was he the monster? Had he done that? After what had just happened hours before, he couldn't be sure any more. He looked at his shivering hands as he continued on in the moonlight. He wouldn't stop, couldn't. He didn't want whoever he had been back there to catch up to him. He didn't want to... didn't want... any of this.

  But the power had felt so good, so reassuring. More than that, it had been seductive. Invigorating. He wanted more of it, to discover its limits. His limits. He wanted to know if he had any.

  He didn't feel sleepy, even if he was tiring. He had done nothing but sleep for months. He would do fine without. He had to concentrate on keeping himself warm, using the magic to keep the frost at bay. There was more and more snow the deeper he walked among the mountains. The road had dwindled to an ill-maintained path. He wished he'd grabbed something else to wear. If not for warmth, at least to protect his blistering feet. He should have stolen one of the old rusty ambulances in front of the building. At least it would have provided a source of heat.

  But it was too late for second guessing. He feared that if he drove, which he barely knew how to do anyway, he would either miss Tristram or wind up in a ditch. Neither sounded like they were worth the risk, so he trusted his feet to find the way. They were getting raw from treading the frozen ground as the road deteriorated beneath him. He wished again that he had thought to grab some clothes.

  Even the idea that he was looking to find this Tristram was plaguing him. He didn't know if the winged warrior truly existed. Had he been hallucinating? The thought made his stomach lurch out of step with his gait. If he had done all of this because of a hallucination... what did that say about him?

  “Halt!”

  The deep, echoing command jumped through the night with power, resonating through the trees as if they comprised a canyon. The ground ahead was dimly lit by the floating figure, like light cast through moving water. Ardin stopped, slightly relieved and yet unnerved. Not knowing what to say, he remained silent and waited.

  “What have you done, Ardin of Levanton?”

  “I escaped, like you asked.”

  “At the cost of so many lives?”

  Ardin's response caught in his throat at the rebuke. Who was this man... this thing to question his methods? He had been a prisoner, against his will. They had starved him, beaten him; they were going to beat him more. But at his core he knew his justifications to be weak.

  “They were coming to hurt me,” he said quietly. “Maybe to kill me.”

  “The patients and inmates, Ardin? Were they conspiring to kill you as well?”

  “I got free! Isn't that what you wanted?”

  Tristram remained silent, wings floating gently in a breeze all their own. His armor and the thick cloth beneath were covered in intricate designs, drawn up with golden thread that caught the dimmest source of light and threw it gently back into the air. The hilts of two swords jutted out from behind his shoulders, roaring lions' heads serving as their pommels. The cross-guards looked like curved claws and their pointed scabbards hung down below the thick belt around his waist. He looked as though he might speak, but caught himself. Instead he turned and started to make his way up the road.

  “Follow me, little one.”

  Ardin obeyed sullenly. The first real glimpses of guilt were breaking through the battle of fear and satisfaction his power had brought. He felt nauseous.

  The ethereal warrior left the road as they fell under the dim shadow of the first peaks. These mountains were unfamiliar, which made Ardin suspect he was farther east than he had ever been. Tristram led him through some dense, low foliage. There weren't a lot of trees around, but there was a fair share of bushes and brambles. Every few steps, something would jab into one of Ardin's feet, causing him to curse under his breath. Each time he would look up self-consciously at his guide, but the being never seemed to take notice.

  Soon they came to a creek bed, the shallow snow melted for a few feet to either side.

  “Bathe yourself.”

  “You're kidding.”

  But Tristram was gone with a gentle thrumming in his ears. Ardin looked around, wondering if the creature truly wasn't some figment of his imagination. Maybe it was like his vision of Alisia, come to help guide him to freedom. He thought not, but after his experiences in the asylum anything was possible.

  He looked down at the water. It bubbled and rolled on where most streams would have begun to freeze over. He knelt down, feeling the warmth emanate from it as he extended his hand over its surface.

  Dipping a finger in, he found it to be almost hotter than he could bear. He figured this was as much the result of how cold he was as it was due to the temperature of the water. He couldn't resist the invitation. He was so cold and his feet were so sore. He stepped in slowly, tenderly testing the water. He forced his feet to overcome the initial burning shock of their entrance. His whole body started to tingle as the heat worked its way up his legs and into his chest.

  Ardin dropped the rancid hospital gown. He let it float off downstream as he lowered himself into the creek naked. He shuddered at the collision of warm water on cold skin. The wound in his shoulder burned afresh. He grunted at the sharp pain, but forced the gash slowly under. Soon he felt the pain leaving his arm, like poison being drawn from a wound. A sigh of relief escaped at the sensation. His arms and legs floated freely as his back rested on the smooth stones beneath. He could feel the buildup of filth wash slowly away. It was beyond refreshing.

  The moon shone lazily on his face in its passage across the sky, no longer obscured by the mountain that loomed over him. He watched the stars twinkle and sucked in the crisp winter air. He enjoyed it. For the first time in months a smile graced his lips.

  After a while he felt warmed, refreshed, and in sitting up he felt stronger. He looked down. His arms and legs seemed to be bigger, restored. He pushed and pinched at the muscles for
a moment. They felt sore still but alive again. His feet were whole as well; the cuts and tears from the frozen road were healed and nearly back to normal. He reached up to his right shoulder to inspect where he had been burned. A long raised scar remained, even paler than the rest of him. He prodded at it and was rewarded with a sharp pain that made him wince.

  But the rest of him seemed whole again. If it didn't feel so incredibly real he would have doubted the truth of it. But then again, feeling real is what had made his dreams so potent in the asylum. He looked around and saw fresh clothes folded on a rock near the water's edge.

  He shook his head in wonder and got out of the water, the chill air above the creek tingling sharply along his wet skin. He dried quickly as he put on his clothes, loose fitting off-white trousers and a tight gray jacket with furled shoulders. A big brown leather belt held it all together, and the gray woolen cloak was a nice fit as well. He grit his teeth for a moment as the cloth rubbed against his shoulder. A harsh reminder of the pain he had caused.

  He pulled the hood over his head and looked upstream to where a light blue glint along the shore caught his eye. Tristram hadn't reappeared yet. Perhaps he was the source of that light. Ardin made his way towards it, the fresh boots like a massage on the soles of his feet after his long walk barefoot.

  The creek snaked slowly through the trees that gathered at its bank. After a few gentle twists he found himself staring at a tall rock face. It looked to be the very root of the mountain protruding from the bank of the creek. Out of a smooth crack came the dim, blue light. It wavered, growing gently in intensity before dying back down the same way. It was beautiful.

  Ardin walked up and inspected it more closely. He placed his fingers on the edge of the crack. As he ran them gently down the rock, he found little rivulets of energy coursing invisibly along the surface. He recognized them, pulsing under his touch like veins of blood in the stone. He had never felt them before and yet he knew what they were.