by K. J. Parker
Before the blades hit, a massive bulge of water slammed into her, knocking her across the room. A second wave slammed into Valik, rolling him across the ground a dozen times, while a third hit Aldrin who had tried to raise a faint energy shield at the last moment, but was still too weak, and flew backward from the hit slamming against the coffin. The three archmages stumbled to their feet, tired, yet resilient, but it was, too late. The demon, once more in the shape of the old mage, stood by the passageway exit, smiling. “I will see you all again, very soon …” the old mage said, bowing, then turned and ran down the tunnel. He paused only for a moment to yell back, “Have fun!” but not to the archmages. For standing at the tunnel’s entrance was a hooded sorcerer. Gil’s stomach turned. It was the same sorcerer from Astal. The one who had almost taken the shard, who had killed Lavos and the girls, who had killed so many. Inside Gil could feel the fire again. He was drained, and tired, and hurting, but still he could feel it. It was a spark, small and faint, like kindling in a fire, waiting, for fuel.
Valik helped Aldrin to his feet, who immediately began recharging his magics, as Cassandra walked to where the four friends were standing. She looked them over with a few quick glances to make sure they were alright, and looked Gil up and down several times in a very different way. Gil stared ahead at the sorcerer, avoiding both Cassandra’s and Sela’s eyes. The sorcerer leaned lazily against the passageway wall, his legs crossed, his arms folded, a wry twist rising at the corner of his mouth. Cassandra swung the swords back and forth again, several times, building up their charge, pacing in front of the others. She glanced at Aldrin waiting for him to be ready. Finally he nodded and the three archmages stepped towards the sorcerer.
“Who are you and why do you follow Sama?” Aldrin shouted at the sorcerer, who still leaned against the wall, but didn’t respond.
“As a sorcerer, you were once one of us, of RavensKeep. Why do you turn your back on us now? Why do you choose a path of evil?” Cassandra questioned, but still no response.
“Give up, and we will spare you life,” Aldrin commanded, yet the sorcerer still leaned, dark, and silent.
Valik glanced at Cassandra, and Aldrin, then turned to the sorcerer, “We are the archmages of RavensKeep, there are three of us and one of you, you can not defeat our power, and you can not win …”
“Foolish archmage …” the sorcerer whispered flashing a row of jagged blood stained teeth, “you have no idea what real power is … but you will … you will …"
CHAPTER 13: OPENINGS
Monith paced unevenly before the three wooden chairs. Now and again, he paused and glanced at the ocean above him, it was empty and still. A bad omen. He continued to pace, restless, knowing what was coming, until eventually, it did. The large wooden door to the mages chamber swung open. Monith stopped, and turned to stare at an old mage wearing a brown robe.
“I know what you want, but you will not find it here … demon,” Monith said flatly.
“Oh my … but I want so many many things …” Sama smirked as he pushed the door open a bit wider so Monith could see into the hallway, where several dozen bodies lay dead, and piled, in pieces.
“You didn’t need to do that, they didn’t hurt you …” Monith shook his head.
“Need … want … after a thousand years stuck in that box, you’d be surprised how wonderful the little things feel, to breath, to eat, to kill …” Sama grinned and licked the back of his hand which was covered in blood. “Sometimes all one needs is the little things …”
“You didn’t need to. They couldn’t hurt you,” Monith shook his head again.
“Neither can you … or anyone … you're not … fast enough … not … good enough … no one is,” Sama mocked, his voice purring.
“Someone was, once …” Monith smiled. Sama frowned. The two men stood motionless, and silent, for a very long time. Eventually Sama grew bored and took several long slow steps towards Monith.
“I have three questions for you archmage, after that I will kill you,” Sama grinned, his tone flat. “My first question, where is the eye of Tannath? I know you know, the master archmage always knows. If you tell me, I promise, I will make it quick …” The two men paced around the chairs, Sama licked his teeth, grinning, as Monith tried to keep his distance.
“I don’t know, and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you …”
“Second questions, how did the boy take the shard from Astal? If you tell me I might let you live …” Monith paused. The demon didn’t know. At least that was something.
“Might?” The archmage prodded. Sama shrugged and grinned.
“Third questions, last question … join me or die,” Sama’s voice was cold, angry, lifeless. He stopped pacing and glared at the archmage, a twisted sick look upon his face.
“You were a fool, even long ago Sama. You chose a terrible path and I pity you. Truely. But they will stop you, you know they will, the other archmages, and the boy, they will find a way. There will always be more that follow the light than the dark, and they will stop you,” at Monith’s words Sama smiled wide and wicked.
“Foolish archmage … you have no idea who follows the dark, do you?”
Monith stopped and stared at Sama for a long while, wondering much. As the two men stood, facing each other, and silent, Sama winked. In the next moment the old mage transformed, his fangs bared, his claws extended, as he lunged at Monith. The archmage didn’t bother to move and didn’t try. Instead, he raised his hand and with a sudden burst of blinding white light, he shattered the glass dome above him, and the ocean came forth.
CHAPTER 14: RECKONING
Cassandra stood in front of the four friends, guarding them. Valik and Aldrin quickly spread to the sides of the sorcerer, then as if one, the three archmages attacked. Valik cut a blood rune and summon a dozen ravens, crafted of smoke, that rushed towards the sorcerer, clawing and biting in a strange wisp of movement and song. Aldrin dashed forward stabbing with a large yellow energy spear, while Cassandra leapt through the air swinging both swords, wildly, shouting and screaming in some strange archaic tongue. The sorcerer grinned and in a few swift subtle movements called forth three more bolts of water, hammering each archmage to the ground. The ravens vanished the moment Valik went down, as Aldrin tried to quickly exchanged the spear for a shield but was still knocked aside, while Cassandra tumbled backwards near the coffin slamming her head against the stone. Grabbing her skull in pain she let go of the two swords in her hands. When she did, the false sword, the one fashioned by her mind, vanished in a shimmering wave of light, while the other, the real Elder Sword, lost its luster, returning to its simple ordinary state. At the sight of the fallen archmages Carmine stood ready clutching his family crest, while both Sela and Tarr charged their hands with glowing druid magic, though for all of them, it was much too late.
Somewhere deep inside, the fire kindling in Gil had exploded. He thought back to his friends. To Astal. To Lavos and the girls crying out in pain, being stabbed by this man, this sorcerer. In a flash his eyes glowed like burning coals. The shard around his neck was on fire, burning a hole in his shirt as he waved his hands through the air drawing symbols of pain, and death. The torches along the walls flickered for a moment, then in a great rush their fires spun and swirled, channeling towards Gil, merging and spitting out from his hands like great waves scorching the earth. The sorcerer tried to raise a bubble of water around him for protection but it was no use. The flames lashed out, hitting the sorcerer head on, vaporising the water shield, his robe bursting into flames, his skin boiling and bubbling, his flesh melting, his muscles, his bones. Seconds later, only a pile of ash and smoke remained, scorched in the broken earth.
The archmages stood around the boy, watching, as he heaved and vomited onto the ground. Gil tumbled over, shaking and trembling with pain, ebbing between consciousness and the unknown. The three archmages glanced at each other, shaking their heads, in disbelief, and wonder.
“You should be dead …” Cassandr
a crouched next to Gil, turning her head to look at his face. Sela knelt on the other side of Gil, swirling waves of green healing energy over him, and glaring at Cassandra. “Using that much magic … you should be dead, even with the shard, you should be dead …” Cassandra lifted the pendant slightly and stared at it. Gil was in no condition to fight back. Carmine and Tarr stepped forward, ready to fight if she tried to take it. Cassandra smiled. “You have good friends … stupid and foolish but good none the less, Lincoln of Arroe …” her tone was mocking to say the least. Cassandra released the pendant and handed the sword back to Gil. Instinctively the boy clutched it to his chest, which somehow soothed him and he stopped trembling.
“When you wake … there are a great many things that need explaining …” she touched the side of his face as he fell asleep. Cassandra glanced up at Sela, and smiled though it didn’t seem to do any good. The archmage glanced at Carmine and Tarr. “As for you three—” suddenly she stopped. Cassandra turned her head, as if listening, staring at the passageway. A heavy silence filled the cavern as the others glanced around, nervously. The air felt strange. “Oh gods …” she muttered, “Seal it! Seal it now!” Cassandra screamed and pointed at the tunnel rushing wind.
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When Gil woke it was dark and the air smelt like salt, smoke, and burning fat. For a moment he didn’t know where he was and panicked. Dashing to his feet, the Elder Sword held out, he could feel the fire inside him growing again, fanning. A soft hand touched his shoulder, it was Sela. He calmed. She knew what he wanted to ask, the torches were out, so she led him to the passageway. Gil stumbled towards it. A very faint, very soft, yellow glow ebbed from the opening. Tiny energy bubbles were trapped inside a netting of tangled roots as thick as wool, dense and dark. The entire passageway was blocked. At his feet a small puddle had formed. Gil stared at it, then at the wall of roots, where drops of water were soaking through, slowly. Gil reached up to touch it.
“Please don’t do that …” Valik called out. He was sitting several feet away, his legs crossed, his eyes closed, facing the root wall. “It’s hard enough to keep this up without you poking and prodding at it,” his voice was calm, and smooth, but held a hint of burden in it, straining. Gil turned. Aldrin was sitting next to Valik, his face was dimly lit by the glow from the barrier, and his eyes were also closed, concentrating.
“Keep what up?” Gil asked, though neither mage answer. Sela tugged on his hand and lead him through the dark to the back of the cavern where the others sat quietly against the wall. The ground was cold and damp. “What is going on? What are they doing?” Gil stammered out.
“They are keeping us alive, Gil …” Cassandra mused wryly. Gil was silent, thinking. “Your friends have told us a great deal while you were sleeping … how do you feel?” Gil wasn’t sure if her voice was filled with curiosity or anger, and couldn’t see her expression in the dark.
“I’m Fine. How are they keeping us alive with that?” Gil asked again.
Cassandra sighed, “Do you remember when we first met? The ocean glass in the mage’s chamber?”
“Oh …” Gil replied, realizing what had happened. “Why?” he asked.
The cavern was silent for a very long time. “Sama,” Cassandra finally replied, and again silence.
“We put out the torches to save air,” Carmine spoke. “The water will recede, eventually …” Tarr added. It was good to hear their voices. All of them. Gil was worried not everyone had survived.
“Ask him about the sword …” Valik called back to them, still sitting with his eyes closed. “And the jacket …” Aldrin added. It was good that it was dark. The look on Cassandra’s face would have been enough to start a fight. She was getting to that. She didn’t need them telling her what to do.
“As I’ve said, your friends have told us a great deal. Who you are, where you came from, even about the shard. You’re an idiot, and a fool. You let a demon trick you. It told you lies and spun sweet words in your ear, and you listened, you did exact—”
“Everyone in my village died! Everyone!” Gil snapped at her. “What the fuck do you people know? Ever since I took the shard everyone I’ve met has tried to kill me! He tried to kill me, this pile of dust over here …" nodding to the ashes of the sorcerer in the dark, “the pen-cu, the magi in Astal, the bandits at the inn … they all tried to kill me! Even Mast—” Gil stopped suddenly. He hadn’t told anyone yet, not even his friends. “Even your own master fucking Oal tried to killed me …”
Suddenly a light flickered on in the cavern. Cassandra held out a small rock in her hand, illuminated with a soft white glow. She held it up to Gil’s face, confused, angry, and curious.
“What do you mean?” She prodded.
“Master Oal. He tried to kill me three days ago. He knew I had the shard and he wanted it. He tried to take it …” Gil’s voice trailed off.
“And?” Cassandra asked, the light still held up.
“He failed …" Gil replied coldly. Cassandra extinguished the light. Gil sighed. “The old mage saved me. I didn’t know he was a demon. He saved me and he warned me. He told me not to tell anyone, especially you …”
Aldrin snorted.
“You could have put a warning on this fucking shard you know?! Or the statue?! Or even this cave!” Gil shouted at the archmage. “If you didn’t want someone to resurrect a demon, maybe you should have put up a sign that said ‘Danger! Demon inside! Do not open!’ I mean what kind of idiots just bury a demon in the middle of a graveyard without warnings or guards or anything, and instead just hope nobody finds it! for fucks sake …” Gil spat. He could feel the fire growing inside him again. In the dark Valik smiled, dissatisfaction with the mage’s council, check.
“Not us …” Cassandra spoke softly. Gil tried to calm, he knew it wasn’t their fault, not really, he knew it was his. His gift and his burden. “We didn’t bury him here. Not us. Sama was … is from another age. A thousand years ago, he was an archmage of RavensKeep, and unlike any other. Greater, better. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and so he made a pact with Vashna, the dark god, and lost his soul in the process. Slowly he became a monster, a demon in man shape, and did terrible horrible things. He bred skinners, raised the dead and ate the flesh of men. He became a soul eater. He exchanged his life and theirs for power, dark power, for the more he gained the more he took. When he was finally discovered, magi from all the kingdoms banded together to defeat him. Many died. Many. Even with all their powers combined, they still couldn’t kill him, no one could, and so they locked him away, buried for all time, a half life, trapped in a tomb, in a mountain, unmarked and forgotten …”
“I’ve never heard this story before?” Carmine interrupted.
“Of course you haven’t!” Cassandra snapped. “Few have … this story was wiped from history, everywhere, erased and forgotten, and destroyed, so that no one, ever, would know the name Sama, or where the demon was buried. It was a story that was meant to be lost …” Cassandra’s voice trailed off. A long silence passed.
“Why?” Gil finally whispered.
“Because dear boy, he isn’t the only one …"
CHAPTER 15: RISING
Outside the chamber, the narrow valley had flooded. When Monith shattered the ocean glass, a sea of water poured forth, rushing, pushing, hammering against the castle as great waves crashed about rock and stone and steel. Monith had hoped it would be enough. It wasn’t. Even with the torrent of water smashing through the Keep, Sama was still too fast. In that moment, when the demon lunged, claws extended, fangs ready to tear, to rip, to kill, Monith had shattered the barrier holding back the wizard’s sea. Sama leapt to the side, avoiding the main crash of water barreling down, and sliced Monith across the chest rather than outright kill him. In a flash Sama dashed from the room, racing out of the castle with unnatural speed, running for his life, as wave after wave of water crashed behind him, filling the castle's halls, its rooms, and every square inch of space hidden or not.
&nbs
p; The water pummel against doors, smashing and breaking every wood, every iron it found, churning and twirling and spinning a hundred statues and vase and chests and tables, like knives spit from an ungodly mouth, destroying everything in its wake.
Below, in the courtyard between the towers, a group of students stood, whispering and gossiping, feeling a tremendous shake and rattle all around them. For a moment they paused, then, one by one they looked up. At first a tiny drop of water fell. Then another, and another, until what seemed like rain, but wasn’t, poured down. Rivers of water burst from windows far above, spewing great streams of rock and stone, shards of jagged liquid, and death, falling down to everything below. People screamed.
In the valley below the butte, in Mendoc, the sun had just risen, and few people were awake. A codgy old farmer, splitting logs for the winter to come, breathed blue-grey pipe smoke into the frosty air. It hung languidly, almost laughingly, then whisked away in a heartbeat, as if knowing more than it should. The farmer titled his head, confused, then blew three more puffs into the air. Each vanished in a blink, each seemingly a bit wiser than the last, as the farmer removed his pipe from his mouth and stared, ambiguously. For a moment he wasn’t sure, but then, he felt it. At first, it was a soft brush against his cheek. A puff, like a gentle breath of a lover too close, or an oven too hot against the skin. The puff grew to a breeze, and the breeze to a wind, as the farmer rounded the corner of his house, and cried.