“Assembled warlocks all,” he said, voice steady, thank the Creator. “I know most of you have talked with me at some point or another. But I haven’t told some of you what I’m going to say now.” He cleared his throat and shot at a glance at Briton. His face was still, seeming neither upset nor happy, either. “I have known Briton since we were children. At one time, we were inseparable. I was motherless, and Briton’s own mother took over the role. I loved her.” He paused as unexpected emotion rose in his throat. He hadn’t thought of her in a good passing, mostly to protect himself from feeling what he was feeling now.
“Go on, Colin. It’s okay.” Josiah’s voice was calm, soft. He knew the story, knew how it affected him.
Colin mustered the strength to continue. “There were small things here and there. Briton would show off his powers when he knew he had a crowd watching. Disrupt adults to get attention. His mother warned him time and again to be careful, to stop acting like a traveling showman. Briton, like most young boys, paid her no heed. I warned him to, but he would laugh and tell me I was being paranoid. What good was the Deep if we didn’t use it?” Colin took a breath, trying to steady the tremor starting in his hands. Briton leaned back, his movement in the corner of Colin’s vision, eyes simmering with resentment. As soon as Colin looked his way, he cooled his expression. Like usual.
“Tell us about her death,” Radan said.
“Briton began to experiment more and more, finding ways of using the Deep to manipulate objects to use for violence.” A dark muttering overtook the assembly, but Colin pressed on. “He would hunt, and when he caught a rabbit or a squirrel, he would come up with ways to kill them efficiently using the Deep. The enchantments he used I had never heard of. Enchantments that sliced through flesh and bone, that cut off air supply like a noose, that...” Colin stopped, drawing another breath. A sneer had overtaken Briton’s face. He shook his head and crossed his arms, looking at the floor. “These types of things continued. I urged him to leave the animals alone, but he didn’t listen. His mother caught him several times, and she admonished him as well. To no avail.” Colin steeled himself, setting his shoulders straight. “One day, we were out in the woods by his hut practicing various enchantments. Briton was casting manipulation. He had a dozen stones weaving intricate patterns, so fine that I could barely see the enchantment, or even feel it.”
“Too dangerous,” Josiah muttered, throwing a glare Briton’s direction. He still stared at the floor.
“That’s what I thought, too. And what his mother had told him again and again not to experiment with. But as usual, Briton was going to do what he wished. Except this time...” The memory flashed in his mind, the look of horror and pain on her face. “She found him, and as expected, he lost concentration when surprised. The stones flew all directions, some pummeling me and knocking me from my feet. I had just enough time to see her, standing there, trying to cover herself...” Colin stopped, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I scrambled over to her, but she was dead. Then, Briton filled with giant amounts of the Deep. So much, I was certain he was going to die. He tried to heal her, to bring her back to life.”
Briton looked up, anguish and anger mingled in his eyes. Pity laced Colin’s chest. The memory was so clear, it was as if he was there again.
“When she didn’t rise, he let loose his anger. He called all manner of creatures to him, and there in the wood, he slaughtered them. Birds, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, even deer and an elk. He pulled them from miles and miles, until hundreds met their deaths. I couldn’t stop him. It was is if he was in another place, perhaps as far gone as anyone I ever encountered who have lost their minds. He couldn’t hear my plea for him to stop.”
The entire chamber was deathly quiet. The warlocks stared at Colin, some of their faces white, others shaking their heads with disdain.
“As he was killing them, he was...sucking their life force. Pulling it to himself, and embracing their essence. The more he killed, the more powerful he became until he was so full he seemed to glow. His skin was shaded blue, his eyes alight with blue fire. The trees shook with the might of his power, so that the skies darkened over our heads and lightning flashed across the anger that boiled above. I was afraid, more afraid than I have ever been. A rift tore through reality...it was like it appeared out of another sphere all together. A plane of red light sliced through the air, and out of it came such bright power that I shaded my eyes and ran. I looked over my shoulder once. Briton was pulling it into himself, until the Deep mixed with it, and I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.”
Colin leaned against the table and blew out a breath. Briton stood to his feet and started clapping. Slow at first, until he gathered speed and started shaking his head.
“Quite a story, Colin.” He left the corner and came slowly forward. “You left out the part where the Liar himself overtook my body and made me his servant of flesh.” He chuckled. “Does anyone here sense the Rift within me? As if I could access it like we can access the Deep?”
The assembly murmured, and Colin backed away. This had been a bad idea.
“What is your side, then?” Radan asked. “We have eyewitness testimony that you called the Rift to you, and stole the lifekeys of innocent creatures. All by the strength of your own access, without the aid of a transmitter.”
“An impossibility,” Briton answered, throwing his hands wide. “Delve me. Call a Brother in. My mind is my own, there is no sickness within. Test me. I beg you, test me! See I speak the truth.”
Silence. Why didn’t someone take him up on his offer? Colin edged away, until he was back against the far wall.
TIBERIUS LOOKED UP as Braille and a small girl entered the clearing. Surrounded on all sides but thick brush, the clearing was hidden deep in the woods a quarter mile from Shroud.
“Tiberius! I thought I might find you here. This is Lily.”
Lily looked at Tiberius shyly. “You are the Brother Tiberius?” she asked, eyes widening. “The one who wrote Interpretations of Frides, The Call of the Mountain, The Study of Argumentation...” she trailed off.
A shaft of embarrassment settled in his chest. “The very one. Although I think my reputation is mostly exaggerated.”
“No, Master, not the least. I’ve read them myself.” Her eyes sparkled.
Ah, the way youth enjoyed life! Their outlook, their insatiable appetite for reality, for joy, for love...
“You think it will come to this?” Braille gestured at the globes in front of Tiberius.
“Truth, I hope not.” Tiberius picked up one of the grun-breth, sliding his fingers over the smooth surface. No bigger than a small rock, it could easily be hidden.
“Where are the others?” Braille looked about as if expecting them to walk out of the woods in to the clearing.
“On their way.”
“What others?” Lily asked with a frown.
“Do not worry,” Braille hastened to explain. “If all goes well, we will not need the web.”
“The web?” She raised her brows.
“A way to keep others, particularly accessors, from our Land, if needed.”
“But Brothers are...” she stopped, shaking her head.
“We aren’t your typical accessor.” Tiberius stood and handed a grun-breth to Braille. He took it, almost reluctant, it seemed. “We do not seek anything but wisdom, and to be helpful to our people.”
She didn’t argue, but her expression was still bordering on unbelief. Let her think what she would.
The brush behind him rustled, and he turned as Walker and several more Brothers emerged from the woods.
“Madam,” Walker said, bowing to Lily.
“Master,” she responded, shifting on her feet.
“Walker! Tiberius!” Another Brother from the Fallen Library burst into the clearing, face wet with sweat. “I found a body!”
“What do you mean?” Tiberius asked as icy foreboding snaked up his spine. No matter how old he got, hearing of death never
got easy.
“He appears to be from Shroud, although I am uncertain. And there are many, many foot and horse prints. At least fifty. A small army.”
“Show us, Clot.” Walker moved to follow him, and Tiberius matched his stride. The Brother pushed on for a quarter mile. Tiberius’ legs ached and his chest burned before they came upon a small stream.
Yoro sat propped against a tree. Braille rushed forward, and Tiberius followed. His face was already pale, and blue encircled his lips. Angry red lines stood stark against his neck. Someone had strangled him, and they hadn’t even tried to hide his body. Sadness gripped Tiberius by the throat, and he looked away.
Sure enough, there were signs of a large camp. Horse droppings, cooking fires, bent grass, and even a discarded shirt. Liar be damned, Yoro had been right.
Briton had brought an army with him.
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PART THREE
“IS IT MY TURN TO SPEAK?” Briton glided forward on sure feet. Colin stayed where he was, plastered against the wall. The warlocks stirred uneasily, but Radan seemed to ignore them all except Briton.
“You may speak, Manipulator.”
Briton only smiled and turned his back to the Council, facing the assembly. He didn’t look Colin’s way. “It is a poor excuse of logic to attack a man for his personal thoughts instead of directly confronting his ideology. I have never claimed to be what others would term a ‘good man.’ I have my faults, which are many.” He shrugged, gave a small laugh with a shake of his head. “I mourn my mother’s passing into the Other Land every day.” His eyes filled with moisture, but he did nothing to wipe it away. First laughing, the next second crying? The man should have taken to traveling entertainment instead of politics. Colin shifted on his feet, gripping his hands into fists.
“Yes, but what do you have to say against Colin’s confession? That you control both the Rift and the Deep?” Radan half stood from his chair. “He gives testimony to your moral character by an eyewitness statement to your despicable exploits!”
Briton glanced over his shoulder at Radan before turning back to the assembly. “For years we have been on the run, brothers. Afraid of what would happen should we be caught and culled. The Hovels are in hiding, accessors afraid of our own shadows. If it weren’t for our scant army, we would stand no chance of survival in this conflict. A few good men believe in us, and defend us. But at what cost? To themselves, and to us?” His eyes flicked to Colin. “I do what is necessary for the good of all accessors!” His face took on a pained expression, brows furrowed, before turning back to the assembly. “The Rift remains firmly behind the hole where the Creator left the Liar. How is it that Colin and Radan, and perhaps some of you, think I can access it? It makes no sense. What Colin saw was through the eyes of a scared child, seeing a monster where there was none. Did I grieve for my mother with passion and sadness? Yes, of course. I did accidentally kill her.” He swallowed, looking to the floor. When he raised his head, his eyes blazed. “I should have listened to her. But I didn’t, and I bear the consequences and guilt every. Single. Day.”
Radan started to say something, but Josiah rested a hand on his arm. Face red with rage, Radan sat back in his seat.
“It is not a secret that you have turned the Lands against us.” Josiah leaned forward, elbows resting against the top of the table. “You have spoken ill of the warlocks to the kings. Your actions of violent upheaval have spoken for us in ways we never would have wanted them to.”
“Violence has been around since the dawn of the first Time.” At his words, the entirety of the assembly murmured and stirred in their seats. Colin shuffled toward the door. Now was the time to leave. This wasn’t going to end well. But he stopped as Briton continued. “How do you suppose the Liar was sealed behind the Rift in the first place? Not by choice, I’d imagine. No. Even the oldest stories etched on stone caves depict a massive battle between the Creator and the Liar. Violence. Bloodshed. The Creator won, thankfully. But he had to use violence! It is not desired. But it is often necessary.”
The Council stood, some shouting to be heard, others just shaking their red faces.
How had it come to this? Yet he knew, deep down inside. Briton had made it clear as soon as he had invaded the peace talks and demanded an audience with the Council.
Colin had seen anger before, but not like this. Briton stood silent and still under the onslaught of shouting directed at him. The fury of their words rose into a crescendo. In a moment of clarity, Colin almost stepped out of the reality before him to observe the small, slight man in the flowing brown robes.
He had been a baby once. Known love and affection. Had the Creator known he would turn into a monster? He appeared more like a drake than a mad warlock.
“We demand you cease your perverted ways!” Spittle flew from High Councilor Radan’s mouth, specks glittering in the air. “You have embroiled all the Lands in your war, and have forced the warlocks into hiding, even from our own nations!”
“You cannot blame me for this.” Briton’s voice rang deep and commanding. Colin felt the impact, a burning desire to believe him burning in his chest. But reality sank back in, followed by a shaft of fear. Time to try and leave again...
“We most certainly can,” Councilmember Josiah said, his calm demeanor a direct contrast to Radan, who sat red-faced next to him. “This war must end, Briton. And you are the one who can end it.”
“Am I to blame that the common people are afraid of us?” Briton’s dark eyes swept the assembled warlocks, turning from the table where the Councilmembers sat to appraise the others. Colin had a good view of the men present, and their wide, enquiring eyes as they watched Briton the Brown’s every move.
No doubt Briton would hold them in his grasp, only to wrench the rug out from under their feet in an instant. His silver tongue couldn’t talk its way out if this predicament. A shiver, icy and cold, crept up Colin’s spine.
Briton had made his bed. Violence was never the answer. Surely he knew this.
All roads led to him. All Lands feared the warlocks because of him. His lust for power, his love of control, his flattering lies, his whispered secrets into the ears of the Kings...the man must be stopped. The Council needed to quell him once and for all.
“Listen to me, all of you. The war isn’t the problem. You are the problem. You refuse to stop this war, not because you can’t stop me, but because you fear the leaders and their armies stacked against you. Think of peace, brothers. Think of what you could accomplish if a warlock took the Stone Throne, and the Triumphant Throne.” Briton’s voice rang solid and firm, his eyes sweeping the crowd.
“Treason!” a voice shouted to Colin’s right, and the call was picked up by several more throughout the room.
“I do not speak treason, but reason.” Briton’s hands swung outward as if to plead with them, and spinning, he pointed a finger at the Council. “True, lasting peace, everywhere, and not just for the Lands! How could you be so selfish?” He strode up to the Council table, slapping his palms on its top. “It is not treason to want what is right, and safe, and good. The Deep was not meant to keep common man in subjection to the warlocks, but to free him. How can you not see it?”
Briton’s voice rose in frustration as Colin inched toward the doors. He wanted no part of this foolishness. It could only end one of two ways: Briton’s head on a platter, or the Council under his thumb. Colin would put his coin on the latter being the case.
Colin left the building and the shouts followed him out. Indistinct words and garbled cries rang into the front yard, floating into the breeze. He pulled his cloak over his head against the wind, which whistled with the same anger left behind in the Council chambers. He glanced up at a contingent of soldiers waiting, shifting
feet restless, huddled in their cloaks, blades at their sides.
What were they here for? A familiar insignia was emblazoned across their chests, a gold hand with fingers spread. Part of the Warlock Army, yet assembled around the building as if waiting for something. They hadn’t been there when he had arrived earlier. Unease replaced the simmering anger lurking inside his chest.
He edged past, and some of the soldiers gazed at him with seeming uncertainty, as if hesitant whether to let him through or not. Thankfully no one stopped him and he hurried toward the Brotherhood’s quarters across the square.
An explosion of power ripped through the Deep, stopping Colin in his tracks. The powerful waters, ever present on the edge of his mind, rumbled and foamed. He fell forward, catching himself before he crashed on his face. The Deep writhed as if hundreds of warlocks accessed it at the same time, and at exactly the same spot.
Colin reached forth with his mind. The point of access was the Council itself, where he had just left.
Colin turned in shock as the soldiers descended on the building, blades drawn. Screams erupted from the confines of the structure. Should he run back to help? But no, they would need no such protection. Warlocks should have no trouble defending themselves against steel and armor.
Then what were the horrifying screams? His head buzzed, and sharp pinpricks raced across his arms and palms. Several townspeople were gathering to watch the scene, bumping him. He gathered his cloak, indecision rooting him to the ground.
“What is going on, Master Warlock?” a scared woman asked, clutching at his cowl.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. A collective gasp rang out as Briton the Brown exited the building, dragging the High Councilor by his hair. Colin jerked forward. What in the Liar’s teeth was going on? Why didn’t Radan defend himself? Briton filled with the Deep, then pulled his hands apart like he was holding string that needed stretching. Radan’s head exploded in blood and brain matter.
The Tale of Briton's Fury Page 4