by Kyle Belote
Julie nodded absentmindedly. Her eyes shifted to him, a troubled look coming to her face. “What happened between you and the Kothlere Council? How did the animosity get started?”
“The Kothlere Council?” His eyes betrayed his surprise that she would be interested in something so mundane and yet specific. “Well–” he cleared his throat. “The Council hasn’t always been nor did it go by the name Kothlere. Emissaries from various kings or rulers of races made up the first one. It was enormous, somewhere around a hundred and twenty-five people. We even had an esteemed guest from the Kran Empire on the other side of the world. War, poverty, and famine spread, severing ties. Not the Wizard’s War, mind you, but wars in general. Lands recalled their dignitaries, and it was disbanded. No one thought much of the slow and steady dwindling of members.
“The Council’s primary purpose had been to keep neighboring lands informed of troop movements and make official reports so no one would assume acts of war when protecting their borders.” He sighed, deep and slow. “After the Realm had recovered from the poverty and the famine, the consensus revolted at the idea of reforming what they considered a useless body, so no one sent their dignitaries back. In turn, sovereignties strengthened armies, borders tightened, and trade became restrictive. In short, the very thing the Council had initially been created to ward against happened. And then,” he said, his words weary, “came the Wizard’s War and the fight against Xilor.”
At the mention of Xilor’s name, the warlock saw his apprentice shiver. She knew the summed up history of him, a vile monster and a mass murderer. He tried to restrict such knowledge.
“We were so uncoordinated,” sidestepping her reaction. “We didn’t know who had what within their lands, the size of their armies, or whether they needed reinforcements or supplies. Xilor marched over us like we were ants, and uncoordinated ants at that. He had speed, numbers, magical strength, and communication on his side. We had none of those benefits in the beginning.”
“How did you overcome the communication problem?” Julie inquired, intrigued.
“We learned by spying–we stole the method from them. Xilor originally came up with the method he used against us during the war. We sent in a few of our most trusted goblins and they watched his followers make contact with their then-unknown master. Xilor didn’t reveal himself to the whole Realm until late into the war, almost at the very end. He worked in a cloak-and-dagger style fighting. When our goblins came back across the enemies lines, we extracted the memories and examined them for ourselves. I would like to take credit, but no. I did help in the beginning, deciphering the memories but during that time, I had a hard time establishing myself because of my youth. People refused to listen, so I left.”
“Where did you go?”
“Well, much like you are an apprentice now, I, too, was an apprentice. I left the master assigned to me in search of another. I had heard of a being, and I vowed to seek him out.”
“With a war going on?” Julie queried, perplexed.
“The war isn’t what everyone thinks; it was sporadic–a skirmish there, a battle here, nothing solid or concrete, no declarations, and lacked solidifying forces wearing uniforms and armor. Each incident seemed isolated from the other with no linking factor between them. We thought the fights were just border disputes, but Xilor used them to weaken us and reduce our ability to counter-attack. He destroyed crops and towns, and even the carpenters’ and blacksmiths’ shops. Vampires devoured herds under the presumption of hunger. The list of the damage he instigated is endless, and we never suspected anything! The price we pay for being fools.
“And while we dealt with these small battles, which were occasional, he geared up for a massive assault. So during this ‘war’, I went and learned from the being, but my tutoring under him came to an abrupt end when Xilor made himself known. He committed many dark and sinister atrocities out of public view. The Great Wizard’s Circle, for instance, was all but destroyed. Xilor made a fatal mistake that ended up costing him: he revealed himself before he totally crushed us. The showing of his hand gave us the push we needed. It gave us a common enemy to focus on. Had he never revealed himself, today we might all be speaking Draconian or some other foul language.
“When the war finally ended, the Council reformed but under a different banner. Each race argued about what it should be named, where to be seated, who should be on allowed to reside, and so on. Eventually, a few of my friends and I persuaded them to name it Kothlere and seat it in Ralloc, in the house of Kothlus. There were supposed to be seven members in all, including the Consul: one wizardkind, an elyf, one goblin, a dwaven, one troll, a centaur, and the Consul, who could be from any group. But unrest came with the decision.
“The dwaven refused their seat outright, saying they didn’t want anything to do with the outside world, but I suspect it had more to do with the xenophobic king than the dwaven themselves. The elyves declined their seat after deliberations, saying immortals mingling with mortal affairs would be improper. Most of the wizardkind were outraged about trolls being on the Council, and the goblins refused if we permitted trolls. Long-story-short: the paper pushers moved legislation around, and they cut out the trolls, suddenly classifying them as animals and not sentient beings, making the majority happy but slipping down the slope of immorality.
“The goblins capitalized on the now-empty seat and pushed for two of their kind. Someone crafted devious legislation, ensuring that if a goblin Consul were named, they would vacate one of their seats indefinitely. Since then, there has been nothing but wizardkind as Consuls. And thus,” he said with great arm movements like he presented a grand masterpiece to a crowd, “the history of the Council, relatively.”
“Why did they go from over a hundred to just seven?”
“Insightful, aren’t you?” Judas smiled in the flickering orange light. “The decision came about that it would be best for one representative per race instead of one representative from each kingdom or empire, in a sense, forcing the hands of all rulers so they would need to work together to influence the one or two members available to them. Thus, all the domains worked together. The initial thought is all but moot. Many smaller kingdoms combined to form a larger one, at least, the races that aren’t wizardkind. The smaller kingdoms of wizardkind formed a republic long ago, turned over by a monarch.”
He caught a minute movement out of the corner of his eye, Julie trying to stifle a yawn but to no avail.
“Get some sleep,” Judas offered. “You have a big day tomorrow. I sense we are nearing the end of our journey and hopefully soon we will be on our way. I’m going to get some sleep, too.”
“Nearing the end?”
“Get some rest,” Judas reiterated. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
***
Chapter 24 : Here Madness Dwells
Many minutes passed before her master’s rhythmic breathing reached her ears. The sound, a pleasant deep rumble, a soft almost nuance-snore. She curled up on her side, listening to his rhythmic breathing. The alien nightlight flickered about her, peppering her auditory faculties with unease. Crickets chirped, a hollow sound, ending moments too early, almost impossible to distinguish, but she could. The grass whispered in sighs as animals slithered or padded. She latched onto his snores, focusing on them, hoping to wash away her disquiet.
While listening to his breathing, she thought back over their conversation they had. Some of the things said she agreed with. At one point, she felt a rush of affection for him. She tried to imagine what it was like for his children growing up, how they managed to live with a father hailed both hero and scapegoat, war veteran and warlock. At times, she peered past the armor he built up around him, the facade of a mentor, teacher, and saw the man beneath, his soul naked and bare. In those times, she almost wished she had someone like him to call father, a part of a family. She had a father and a mother, but she couldn’t remember them. For a moment, she wondered what they must be going through, not knowing what happ
ened to her, where she had gone. She made a mental note to ask Judas later.
She tilted her head to regard him, smiling as he dozed. He would have been a great father to have. But a part of her also couldn’t identify with the sentiment, having been his apprentice. She glimpsed a side of him his children never did. Sighing, she let those speculations slip from her grasp and returned to the conversation they had.
It was nice to hear him talk about long-term plans and ideas. He genuinely cared for the people of the Realm, and the Council filled with a bunch of idiots. The people’s prosperity was foremost on his mind. His affection meant a lot to her, showing he had–or would–put a lot of thought into her future with him and beyond. He would help her achieve her highest potential. And for a moment, all her anger and resentment she had been building towards him as they entered the Corridor seemed so trivial.
Don’t ever forget what he is like! the voice sneered.
Was that her inner voice telling her never forget his sidestepping or his abandonment? Perhaps her worst fears awoke to remind her? At this point, she wondered what her worst fear would be. Fail so utterly that Judas would abandon her? That she would never be able to help him fight against Xilor should he ever rise again? Then she remembered the nameless young man in Dlad City. What if Judas had found her with him?
Mortification lanced her.
What if he had walked in on them in various stages of undress? What if he discovered them while having sex? Her chest burned with embarrassment and the humiliation only distressed her further. But beneath her initial reaction, a blasé defense flared to life.
What does it matter what I chose to do with my body and with whom? It’s none of his business!
She tried to push such embarrassing reflections aside, instead focusing solely on the young man in Dlad City. Much to her chagrin, she couldn’t recall his face which escalated the sense of shame, a victim of the seducing lust with the inability to recall her intended.
It’s not my fault! she reminded herself, seemingly better. Why am I so defensive?
Both Meristal, and the author of the book’s passage, told her the fault did not lay entirely with her. Still, she couldn’t help the reaction of being abnormal, defective.
What if the defect spilled over into my ability not to use magic?
She chased those wayward thoughts until late in the night and discovered another truth. When she had asked Judas what happened between him and the Council, what caused the animosity, he had answered with a long-winded explanation about the origin of the Council and the Wizard’s War. Never once did he broach what caused the breach between them. Realizing this only furthered the hardening of her soul against him.
Damn it! He did it again!
He still held his secrets close. Maybe he had the right considering everything that has happened to him and did nothing but disillusion her, marring their relationship as hollow and jaded.
Still, she found comfort listening to his measured breathing. Only when she stilled her mind, and returned to listening to his rhythmic breathing, did she surrender to sleep.
Julie woke up unexpectedly to the quiet echoes of early-morning life in the Corridor. The sounds bathed her with an eerie impression. There was something strange about them, not quite right, forced and unreal. She listened harder, deeper. The chirping of a cricket didn’t seem the same, but at first, she couldn’t think why or how. The flat tone and odd timing pulsed out toward her.
In the pause between drawn out chirps, an owl hooted in the distance, and that, too, sounded different, hollow. It didn’t carry the same resonance it customarily did. Peering out into the expanse, she failed to spot the animal in question, but in the stygian atmosphere, she didn’t see anything past a few feet. Only in the distance did she see a faint ribbon of crimson, heralding the coming dawn.
“Good morning! You’re finally awake,” Judas said in a cheerful voice, almost in a sing-song. He squatted near the fire. The steady beat of forced sound from the early morning life throbbed painfully in her ears as she turned. “Breakfast?” he offered, smiling at her.
Damn, a morning person. Just perfect!
She couldn’t stand someone bubbly and cheerful in the early morning. “Sure,” she mumbled as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes–eyes that were still fighting to remain closed for a few hours more. She wished she didn’t stay up so late.
Rolling out of her sleeping pallet, she hobbled closer to his small fire where he squatted, stirring something lumpy and flecked in a black pot.
“What is it?” she questioned with mild disgust.
“Probably best if you don’t know. Just eat, it won’t kill you,” he promised, and then he handed her a cup. “I made a hot drink for you, too.”
They didn’t have bowls, so they both ate from the community pot. Julie tried to the best of her ability to choke down the mysterious creamy substance he prepared. She was grateful until her first spoonful, finding the texture akin to snot dripping down the back of her throat. Something hard and squishy caught in her teeth, and she set her spoon down to take a sip of the drink instead. The hot, dark, and bitter substance slid down her throat, triggering a vague familiarity about it. Its aroma warmed her, inviting repressed memories to return. She didn’t bother to inquire about the liquid, a far better alternative than the mystery slop she forced down. Besides, the drink kept the morning chill at bay and helped her wake up.
“Why is the Corridor what it is?” she asked, holding the warm mug in her hands.
“What do you mean?”
“What makes it do things the way it does?”
“I think I know what you are getting at. You want an explanation as to why the Corridor is here, why it works?” Julie nodded, remaining mute, as he continued without pause. “No one truly knows how it operates, why it’s here, the way it influences the people who enter. There is, of course, lots of supposition, but nothing acknowledged as certain. Anything I tell you is based on speculation by the best minds and through my personal experiences and beliefs.
“It was, in theory, created during the time of Hagen, the Father of Magic. An interesting notion, to be sure, but lacks empirical evidence. But it did give rise to the speculation this strip of land is a result of all the sudden infusion of energy during his time and formed from a cesspool of excess–two opposites surviving synchronously, creating and destroying at the same moment, surviving in a constant state of flux. It is both stable and unstable, but can never be one or the other. Do you understand?” He paused, and Julie’s face fell into a blank expression. When she did not reply immediately, he continued.
“There are other theories; for example, that Hagen himself created this place. In my opinion, I don’t think so. It would give him too much credit where none is due. Yes, he is the Father of Magic, and he did introduce a lot into the world, but he wasn’t a god. Not to toot my horn, but I have bested Xilor, the strongest known magical wielder of our time and even I couldn’t create the Corridor–or anything similar. I wouldn’t know how. I think, in my limited view, its creation came about through the Lord of the Underworld.”
“What does that mean?”
“Have you ever heard of Shades?” he asked, and then answered for her. “No, of course, you haven’t. What was I thinking? A Shade is a side of us, a part of what makes us wizardkind. You have emotions, your physical presence, and your mental faculties. Those three things–emotionality, physicality, and mentality–make up the Shades; one Shade per essence, if you will. I think the Corridor of Cruelty is formed through Shades or at least, operating through them.” He fell silent as he began eating again. After a few bites, he washed it down with the hot, dark, bitter liquid and moved to eat again when Julie interrupted him.
“Well?” Julie inquired impatiently. “Go on!”
“What are you talking about? That’s my theory,” he protested as he shoveled more food into his mouth.
“What is a Shade? What does it mean to me?”
“I just told you what a Shade
is. What it means to you is inconsequential. It is what it is, and nothing will change that. If I were to sit down with you and explain every detail of a Shade or the essence of the Underworld, it wouldn’t make a hill-of-beans difference here. Nothing will change it, so don’t worry.”
“I would still like to know, for personal knowledge, what the Shades are,” she said, changing her tactics, allowing her voice to go soft and almost pleading.
Judas gave a loud sigh and started to put less food in his mouth so he could talk and eat simultaneously. “The Shades are a myth. No, not a myth, a poor choice of words,” he tarried to swallow and consider his next words, and then he took another bite and tried again. “The Shades have never been proven to exist, much like no one god of any creature or race has been proven to exist. It’s not necessarily faith that makes some believe, rather a rational, critical thinking about the way magic behaves. A born necessity. How they can think this as proof is beyond me,” he said, and then defensively held his hands up to prevent any questions. “They, being the people who can rationally and critically think, believe Shades are like ghosts, neither part of this world nor part of the next. Some judge they are spirits while others think they are either servants of a god or ghouls of the Underworld. There is no way to tell, but the most interesting thing about the idea of Shades existing is this: the Corridor works exactly like the theory of Shades which tests you emotionally, physically, and mentally. There is nothing else to it than that, and that–in and of itself–is the key.”
“I think,” Julie said slowly, watching him finish the pot of food, “you didn’t tell me anything just now.”
Judas was silent for a moment as he thought about her statement. He smiled. “Indeed.”