Having completed the transmogrification of the massif, the richly-garbed Evoquitus paused to inspect that which he had accomplished. Well aware of his unseen audience, he parted his lips slightly, reveling in sardonic satisfaction.
Motioning for his servitors to follow, he mounted the burning hot solidifying lava steps. His gruesome bestiary responded immediately, mindlessly unaware of effects the searing heat of the newly-formed inflicted upon their bare bones. The mesmerized herd marched in single file up the stair, undaunted by the fact that, with each step they ground the disarticulated bones of their fallen brethren to dust as they lumbered up the steps. At intervals, pairs of disconcerting creatures remained behind, establishing themselves as immobile guardians on the landings leading to the main entrance to the sorcerer’s abode. Having attained the entry, the rest of the profane troupe passed through the portal into the infernal void of the hollowed-out massif.
Beyond the view of the prying watchers, Evoquitus spent the next week reshaping the massif’s interior into a virtual honeycomb of chambers and storerooms, all of which were interconnected via serpentine tunnels. Like Jehovah, the mythical god of centuries past, on the seventh day Evoquitus finally rested, satisfied with that which he had accomplished.
The frightened and confused Baroothians debated long and hard as to the prudence of sending emissaries to greet the still-unidentified sorcerer in hope of establishing a friendly relationship and divine his intentions toward Barootha, be they malign or benign. Given his grand arrival had caused no real harm to anyone, they eventually concluded that a small delegation should be dispatched to welcome the powerful mage. By means of secret ballot, three prominent citizens were chosen to undertake the venture.
Lest their intentions be misconstrued, each of the three members of the delegation bore gifts for presentation to the mysterious stranger. As Barootha possessed no precious metals, jewels, or other priceless treasures, the gifts consisted of delicately carved wooden figures, tapestries of finely spun linen, gaily painted pottery and other handmade fineries. Such handmade offerings were the most valuable items the villagers had to offer. Within a week, the delegation bid farewell to their well-wishing comrades before setting foot upon the twisted stone path leading to the high entrance to the sorcerer’s fortress.
The progress of the unarmed ambassadors was decidedly hampered by the disparaging and all-but-unmanageable dispositions of the mules required to bear the ominous weight of the gifts up such a steep incline. Despite the pairs of petrified chimeric guardians set at intervals along the way, the pilgrims faltered only when the heads of the two huge saber-toothed tigers that guarded the apex of the treacherous stairway blatantly turned to observe the approaching visitors. Despite their fearful unease, the trio persisted.
When they reached the top, they found themselves confronting an enormous, intricately-carved ebony-wood door. One of the three gingerly raised the heavy golden dragonhead that served as a knocker and dropped it, allowing it to slam against the wood.
The awesome door yielded, slowly retreating inward. Two nearly fleshless cadavers appeared and silently bowed, indicating the trio should enter. One of the exotic doormen took charge of the gift-bearing mules while the other led the shivering Baroothians through the winding confusion of the dark labyrinth to a great hallway that culminated in an impressively large chamber. The previously faint illumination of torches set in cressets along the walls suddenly rose to blinding brilliance, directing the visitor’s attention to a raised platform at the far end of the high-vaulted chamber. Set atop the platform was a lone, raven-haired figure seated upon a magnificently bejeweled throne.
The enigmatic lord rose to welcome his guests, bidding them approach his person. He introduced himself politely, his warmly soothing manner somewhat allaying the fears of his obsequious guests. The three ambassadors began to relax only when Evoquitus descended to their level and led them into a less ostentatious room where a friendly discussion ensued over refreshments.
Evoquitus explained he had no interest in instituting rule over the district. The only real interaction he desired with the locals was that they provide him with supplies for which they would be well paid. Beyond this, he made it clear that his privacy must be strictly and absolutely respected.
He thanked them for the gifts they had brought and burdened the mules in return with a number of far more valuable gifts. A mutual agreement had been reached and, having established Evoquitus’ benevolent attitude toward them, the Baroothians heaved a sigh of relief. Soon thereafter, they took leave of the enigmatic sorcerer, anxious to share the promising news with the rest of the townfolk.
With Evoquitus’ departure, Anama had rejoined his five compatriots in their ongoing efforts to refine the scheme to abort the impending apocalypse. Nonetheless, rumors of his young apprentice still occasionally reached his ears.
Word of Evoquitus’ grandiose arrival in Barootha caused Anama only minor apprehension. Such a tawdry public performance, he realized, was to be expected from one so young. Surely Evoquitus had merely found the opportunity to display his newly acquired wizardly powers an irresistible temptation. Beyond the childishly frivolous showmanship of the occasion, the only aspect that truly bothered the elder mage was the necromantic nature of Evoquitus’ company; how dare he so blatantly utilize the necromantic knowledge he had pilfered from Anama’s library? The master sorcerer could only pray that the novelty of resurrecting the long dead would soon wear thin. Should Evoquitus fail to live up to the standards of the Six, there could be no hope of saving mankind.
Anama’s faith appeared to be borne out by reports of the benign, even friendly, relations his former charge established with the Baroothians. In every instance of official contact with the dweller in the massif, the Baroothians overwhelmingly approved of the respectful treatment afforded them.
In the wake of his initial relations with the Baroothians, further news of Evoquitus’ activities became extremely scarce. He was occasionally observed enjoying leisurely strolls through the valley’s lush wooded areas, always in the company of just one other person, most often another male. Without exception, these companions were described as exceedingly attractive and exotically attired. No one recognized any of Evoquitus’ companions, and introductions were never offered despite the cordiality exhibited by the wizard during any brief encounters with the locals.
As the months passed without further report of any negative nature, Anama grew increasingly confident that his protégé would soon be prepared to take his rightful place among the group.
When two years had elapsed, Anama traveled directly to Barootha and, without delay, ascended the stairway of Evoquitus’ impressively elaborate stone retreat. Although optimistic for the most part, he still harbored a certain trepidation in his heart. After all, everything, literally everything, depended on the outcome of this meeting.
At the apex of the twisted stairway, Anama paused momentarily before employing the bizarre knocker against the gigantic door. Before he could knock, the great wooden barrier slowly opened, and Anama watched as an animated skeleton struggled to maneuver the heavy burden. Having achieved its task, the mindless automaton bowed awkwardly and stepped back, indicating the visitor was expected and welcome.
Assuming the grotesque apparition was incapable of speech, Anama stepped boldly from the brilliant sunlight of day into a gloomy passage without addressing the doorman. Darkness enveloped the aged sorcerer, demanding his eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior of a disheveled, expansive hallway. The bony guide stumbled ahead, negotiating with difficulty not only the roughhewn texture of the passage but the disordered mass of vitrines and clutter stacked and crammed haphazardly against the walls and into every available space.
Anama followed closely, making note of the pitch-black maws of darkness he assumed led to a multitude of rooms attached to the main hall. A thick blanket of dust covered the jumble of display cases so completely that he could not discern the nature of their contents in passing.
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Taking momentary advantage of the slowness of his guide, Anama approached a vitrine at random. He wiped away enough grime to allow him a peek at the contents. According to the label, the case he had chosen contained the crown jewels of Great Britain. The adjacent cases contained other fantastic treasures, including the precious religious icons of a hodgepodge of long-lost cultures.
Realizing his cadaverous pilot had outdistanced him, Anama hurried to catch up. The animated cadaver was nowhere to be found, thus the aged sorcerer continued on alone in the direction of a distant illumination. Coming upon the source of the light, he stumbled into an expansive chamber. The chamber fit the description provided by the Baroothian ambassadors except that it was no longer an empty post-volcanic hollow containing only a throne. Now it was filled with beautifully framed paintings, tapestries, bas-reliefs, statues and all manner of other wondrous artwork. As he gawked at the fantastic contents of what could only be compared to a massive museum, Anama was startled from his reverie by a familiar voice calling his name.
“Anama, my master and friend! You have come to me just as promised. I have anxiously awaited your arrival,” boomed the voice.
The old wizard responded with a request for more light, that he might better view his host. At this, a hundred torches burst to life all around the grand chamber, the dazzling glare causing him to wince. When his vision cleared, he saw Evoquitus standing before him, his arms outstretched in greeting. The pair embraced for a few moments, then Anama pulled away that he might better assess his former student’s appearance.
Apart from the relative paleness of his complexion, Evoquitus was even more astonishingly handsome than Anama remembered. He looked quite dashing in his knee-high leather boots, loose tan trousers and half-open white shirt.
“Well, what do you think? Have I changed so much in two years?”
“The short, trim beard suits you well,” Anama admitted, “in fact, you look very well indeed.”
The younger man accepted the compliments with a hearty laugh. “You flatter me, old friend,” he said. “It is wonderful to see you! I’m very happy to see you are in such good health as well.”
Recalling his manners, Evoquitus bid his guest be seated, indicating a luxurious set of table and chairs that Anama adjudged to be from one of Louis XVI’s palaces. Two necromantic denizens of the massif scuttled in and out with refreshments and a tempting array of viands. Although Anama and his host shared a glass of wine, the old master found it difficult to keep his mind on the niceties of conversation in the midst of such intimidatingly splendid and crowded surroundings. Unable to restrain himself longer, he finally asked, “Tell me, Evoquitus, what is the nature of this extraordinary abode you have made for yourself?”
His host, welcoming the opportunity to explain, proceeded to point out one masterpiece after another, agitatedly detailing the provenance of each, his voice echoing throughout the breadth of the enormous chamber. Many of the paintings, carved figures, frescoes and ceramic styles were familiar to the aged guest. As the speaker rattled on enthusiastically, he seemed oblivious to the growing change in the listener’s demeanor.
Indicating a twenty-five foot colossal stone figure of an androgynously-shaped pharaoh wearing the double crown of ancient Upper and Lower Egypt, Evoquitus proudly declared, “And this special beauty is the only intact sample of nearly a hundred blasphemous images the eighteen-year-old Pharaoh Akhenaten defiantly erected in the long-destroyed temple of Aten at Karnak.” Turning, he pointed, “Just down the hall, you’ll find the solid gold sarcophagus and funerary mask of his young son, Tutankhamun, stationed next to the Berlin bust of Akhenaten’s hauntingly beautiful queen, the infamous Nefertiti.”
He continued excitedly, describing the difference between two giant sculptures of human-headed winged bulls guarding either side of the chamber entry, explaining that one was Assyrian, the other Persian.
“Come,” Evoquitus enthusiastically called out, “I’ll give you the grand tour. Within these walls reside the most glorious art ever created. I’ve collected treasures from all over the world, everything from the horrendous statue of the Aztec snake goddess Coatlicue, numerous intricately-carved Mayan stelae, and the finest examples of Scythian gold to the platinum crowns fashioned for the heads of Atlantean kings! One room contains nothing but amazing friezes plucked from the freshly-built Parthenon. One intact frieze in itself represents a single brilliantly painted scene extending more than five hundred feet in length! I’ve even obtained a number of wonders created by horrific alien races that controlled the Earth eons before man began his slow evolutionary rise from apelike creatures.”
He grinned, gesturing to indicate the whole of the massif, “It’s all here, carefully preserved in an all but endless series of catacombs. The most splendid objects d’art ever created are right here, safe within the confines of my fortress.”
An atavistic fear began to race through the fabric of Anama’s mind. Exerting great self-control, he interrupted his overly ecstatic host. “All of these things are, as you say, clearly precious and wonderful beyond definition,” he said calmly. “I have seen pictures of many of them in the world’s greatest historical records, yet I also seem to recall that the majority of these treasures were either lost, badly damaged or completely destroyed in antiquity. If these are the originals, how can they be here and all in such pristine condition?”
The younger man fell silent, suddenly finding it difficult to look his teacher in the eye.
After a time, he responded in a stammering, shyly apologetic tone. “You of all people are aware of my high esteem for beautifully crafted things and my all-consuming passion to preserve them. I couldn’t bear their being damaged or lost and ruined forever, so I, well, collected as many as I could, the very best of the best, and I have brought them here where they will forever be spared the ravages of time and wanton destruction of ignorance.”
When he looked up, it seemed Anama was peering directly into his very soul. Judging from the expression on his well-lined face, Anama did not approve of what he was hearing.
“Not only did you pilfer the secret of negotiating time from the forbidden tomes of your friends and benefactors, but you then proceeded to violate the paramount obligation imposed upon anyone who would dare use that knowledge responsibly,” the mage chastised his companion.
Anama allowed a moment to pass, praying the deep implications of his words might be absorbed by his protégé. He felt like Agamemnon demanding Paris comprehend the full effect of the abduction of Helen, the difference being, in this instance, that Evoquitus gambled not with the fate of a city but of an entire world.
Evoquitus attempted to defend himself. “I admit I learned the secret of time travel without your approbation. I felt I was doing wrong at the time but I also felt compelled. As to defying the prohibition against tampering with the past, my motivations were never of a selfish nature. The world is already doomed, so how could anything I do possibly make things worse?”
Thoroughly disgusted, Anama grumbled, “You are a fool, Evoquitus, and I see now that we, as your teachers, have been equally foolish in our optimism. We have spent years carefully sifting through the past in a fruitless search for the catalyst that has caused the Sun’s premature demise. Not for an instant did it occur to us that we would eventually become our own executioners. By nurturing and encouraging the magnificent creature that you have become, we have unwittingly created the very instrument of our ultimate destruction.”
Evoquitus stared uncomprehendingly at the speaker.
Exasperated, Anama barked, “Use your head, man! The problem was not in the past at all, but in our present and the future. In spite of our good intentions, we were unwittingly constructing the very device of our own destruction — you!”
It seemed Evoquitus still did not understand.
“When you interfered with the past, you defied the laws of nature and thus undermined the very principles that maintain order in the universe. Each additional violation s
erved to widen the irreparable rent you made in time until, eventually, our sun fell through the gap. Had we not provided you the means to do this, none of this would have occurred — the Sun would have continued to function predictably for another five billion years.” He leaned closer to his audience for emphasis. “You know very well that time is cyclic. We may not know much about the working of time, but we do know that when one travels back in time, even the most minute change will dramatically and unpredictably affect the future, the effects expanding exponentially through the centuries!”
As understanding dawned on Evoquitus, he stopped grinding his knuckles against the sides of his head and slammed his open palms onto the surface of the table. “Assuming all this is true, I put it to you that this precious world of yours does not deserve to continue. You and the others persist in deceiving yourselves with your idealistic dream that mankind had the latent potential to evolve into some kind of wondrous superior being. You blindly ignore the fact that the human species has repeatedly failed to prove its intrinsic goodness throughout of millions of years. Doesn’t that tell you something? No matter how much we learn about ourselves and the world around us, we insist on repeating the same unforgivable mistakes endlessly, inflicting war upon our own kind, committing unimaginable atrocities, and mindlessly destroying anything and everything around us, including the very environment that makes life possible. Nothing changes from century to century apart from the scope and intensity of the horrors we create.
“Even with the tremendous reduction of our numbers, we still we insist on cultivating the errors of our ancestors. A few elite still dominate the masses that they might exploit the helpless and send them off to certain death in an insane quest for ever more power. You’ve seen what remains of the world’s once great cities; you’ve witnessed firsthand the verminous condition to which humanity has reduced itself. What will it take for you to realize that after all is said and done, it matters little whether we annihilate ourselves now or in some future time? Look at the what is left of the world right now. Odds are that, given another decade or two, those few who manage to survive will be reduced to predatory beasts, roaming the countryside like a pack of ravenous wild dogs, mindlessly pillaging the remaining communities and slaughtering each other until everyone and everything worthwhile is dead.”
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