The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  No, he despises you.

  When the seasons change, you will know, the words flared in her mind.

  What little free time she had, she spent as far away from the Grand Maghai without being blatant. After lessons, she returned to the willow tree near the edge of Fife’s clearing and meditate the way Harold taught her. She reached out, touching the life within the humming insects, the chirping birds, the tree itself, connecting the links between the different life forces, tracing them, finding the similarities. The process once took an odious amount of time without Harold’s guidance, but each day the effort eased, quickened. The first attempt took hours to reach completion, then minutes, now it was near instantaneous.

  Each time, she entered the Shadowcasting, reliving her death, Fife standing over her body.

  The first time shocked her, jarring her out of the Shadowcast, unaware of the ability or possibility to see one’s future. With trepidation and sick curiosity, she returned to her meditation. The events started out nearly the same; she would say or do something that greatly displeased him. He rebuked her, then a magical battle ensued. Each time manifested differently, the location changed, the pretext to their fight evolved. Sometimes, Fife destroyed her, other times she nearly won. He’d always call her empress right before he destroyed her. The end never changed, which fueled her anger and resentment, knowing he kept things from her.

  It’s like Judas all over again!

  Fife’s caveat from the Shadowcast haunted her dreams and plagued her while awake: “Empress, I shall die before I suffer your evilness upon Ermaeyth.” What did he mean by that?

  He means to kill you.

  The changing was not far off, and on that day, she will have been with Fife for half a year.

  Thoughts tethered with doubt hearkened back to Rusem’s ring. She had a way out, leave before Fife killed her. Rusem promised to teach her if she chose to return.

  But Harold’s warning also echoed in her head: ‘The possibility of what she saw may alter the outcome, one event begets another, and will always do so unless affected by an outside source. You must be a shadow when foreseeing these events, there but not part of the world which you see.’

  And it was true.

  Each time she saw, events and circumstances always changed, except Fife’s warning and her demise.

  The moons lurched through their cycles at an alacritous pace; perhaps due to being acutely aware of her imminent death.

  When the seasons change, you will know.

  Caliginous shadows relinquished the faces of the celestial bodies. Soon, all three full moons would fall into alignment, marking the new season.

  The omen clear, the fated rivalry was only days away.

  ***

  Chapter 61 : Julie And Fife

  Fife placed a small bag in Julie’s palm. Perplexed, she opened it, spying several smooth stones of different shades and colors.

  “What is this, master?” she asked, curious.

  “Today, you shall learn by feel. Can you do this, apprentice? You will find porting stones within, which will teleport you to random destinations, you understand?” He held up a bright red stone. “This one shall bring you back here. Are you ready to learn, apprentice?” She nodded warily. “This is no fool’s quest, do not be so suspicious, child. Each will take you to a place.” He held up another empty bag. “The used ones shall go into the empty bag, yes?”

  Julie nodded her understanding.

  “Good, now off with you.”

  “What am I feeling for, master?”

  “For the magic, for the effects. When the teleport happens, open yourself not only to the granules of the air, but the granules of magic, just so. You will observe how they move and shape and change to achieve the port, do you understand?”

  “Yes, master. Granules … again.”

  Fife nodded and grunted, he left her standing outside, closing the door to his cottage. Julie’s strides took her to the sloping trail, leading down to Korlin’s Cove. She took out the first stone, pale pink and flecked with blue, rolling it in her fingers. Cool to the touch with a faint inner light, the polished rock was otherwise ordinary. She gripped it firmly in her hand, fingers curling, encompassing, knuckles turning white. The magic swirled around her hand, then her body.

  Air granules and magic melded together. Her surroundings stretched before her in a blur, her body moving forward at unfathomable speeds yet her feet never moved. Stretched scenery swirled, creating a cyclone as she hurtled down the eye of the storm, the light shifting colors. Before she could take a breath, she emerged at her destination.

  Dark and sunless gloom prevailed on her first stop, cooled by canopied shade. Moss grew thick, a heavy earth and mulch odor hanging stagnant in the air. The atmosphere was damp, and the world had a muted quality to it. At first impulse, Julie feared that she reached the Corridor of Cruelty, thinking Fife betrayed her, but quickly realized her mistake by the time she drew her wand. The swamplands came next, but the trees that pressed in around her were too thick for the swamp. She arrived somewhere new.

  Stray and queer sounds reached her ears, her eyes searching the cloister of trees. Shadows stretched like wisps of smoke, curling, coiling like a serpent. A rustling drew her eyes further into the deep, dark, damp wooded area. Another rustling to her left; she pivoted, her breath erratic as she searched. Grunts, haggard respiration, and a burst of noise like the crunching of dead leaves descended upon her from behind. She turned, a grotesque creature of a green-gray hue rushed her like a gorilla on all fours. It had two legs and four arms, two protruding from its back. The face, marred with gouges, protruding teeth, and three eyes, promised her a grueling death.

  Without deliberate thought, she displaced the creature and launched him backward. Julie didn’t care to watch where he landed, it didn’t matter, she only sought to leave. With haste, she dropped the used stone into the empty bag and pulled another stone from her other bag. She heard the rustling again but this time in multitude. Four more creatures of similar build bore down on her. One leaped for the mage, but the scenery stretched, swirled, and changed, ripping her from the heart of the Goblin Forest.

  Her feet hit a fine powder. The impact sent a plume into the air, softer than snowflakes falling lazily from the sky, though some continued up, disappearing into the air. Without the unforgiving heat, the premonition of standing in a desert seemed unlikely. Though the new location lacked the deep cold like driven snow, a fierce ached gnawed at her bones. What Julie experienced from this place was unlike anything she had witnessed before, and could only describe it as a void; her breath lacked sound though her lungs filled with air. The air remained still, unmoved. The prior location scared her with the sudden attack, but this place creeped her out. Her breath came quick and deep, her eyes wide, darting around. In a moment of clarity through rising panic, she fumbled for a new stone that would take her far, far away.

  When she cleared her newest teleport, a black ground darker than charcoal rushed up to greet her. The grit crunched beneath her heel, flaking and crumbling away. The clouds billowed above and blotted out the suns, their rays diminished through the aerial veil. Monolith stones and epitaphs littered the way before her, wisps of an inky blackness twined about like oily smoke. Julie pulled her wand again, the tip illuminating at her thought. She peered closer to the monolith before her:

  HERE LIES TARQUIN KOTHLUS

  LOVING FATHER, BRAVE WARRIOR

  BELOVED BROTHER TO THE KING

  Kothlus?

  She peered at more monoliths and epitaphs; names flashed across each stone face she passed: Kothlere, Kothlus, Poplu, Dathyr, Nelb, Lakayre, Tyku, Korlin, Lor, Giem, and so many more. Other than the Kothlere and Kothlus names, she couldn’t tell whether they were all from noble houses, she did, however, see an ancestor of Judas within the maze of names.

  A shadow skittered towards her in the distance. A soft shriek grated her nerves like the grinding of teeth from a sleeping child. The scarcely discernible noise of gur
gling breath sounded from the deep. The sound echoed, impossible for her to catch when the beginning of the sound started and where it ended.

  “What comes?” a deep, rattling breath called slowly.

  Julie bolted up from the sojourn among the epitaphs. Her fingers fumbled numbly for a new pebble as the shadow snaked towards her. Through the cloud obscurity and light diminishing properties of her surroundings, Julie recognized the entity, her eyes going wide. She had seen one before. A cold sweat prickled her spine, the returning memory felt like a dream. Judas had fought with one from–somewhere?

  Gods, where was that? Was it a dream or did it happen?

  The cloud of black smoke billowing in and out as it neared. Her scrambling fingers finally found purchase as she back peddled. The stone’s power rushed up and enveloped her, taking her far from the monoliths of the dead, and the approaching shadow.

  Her eyes were blinded for a few moments as the suns blazed hot and naked in the cloudless sky. A burnt smell reached her nostrils while she spied charred wood, crushed rocks, and shattered remains of a town. The radius of the town was small, far smaller than Far Point, an insignificant spec on a map next to the grandiose scale of Ralloc or even Dlad City. For a moment, she stood in silent horror, witnessing the aftermath of devastation. Bones jutted out amongst the remains. Someone attempted to clean up the carnage, but abandoned the operation, half completed. Peering closer, the charred remains, broken bodies, and corpses in various states of decomposition filled her eyes. She had seen this place before, sure of it. Though destroyed, it was still recognizable.

  This is Wizard’s Pass, where the trolls first attacked. I saw this in my Shadowcasting.

  And the memory came back, all the death and blood and destruction. Even the exchange she had with Judas returned.

  “So much death and violence, I don’t think I can stomach a war!”

  “You better get used to seeing it,” he barked, his voice stern.

  But she didn’t want to be desensitized. It was madness. Hate blossomed in her bosom, her skin itched with ire, tingling and quivering with malice channeled towards the being responsible for the massacre: Xilor. The building enmity augmented her abilities and sensitivity, the faintest touch of a presence communed with her, strong and radiant, warm and caring. The touch like a memory, faint but familiar.

  Judas.

  She noted his concern, knowing he recognized her wrath and pain, but she clamped down on her aura, her essence, and withdrew from his touch. She turned her attention back to the scene before her. Seething at the injustice and plotting revenge for the fallen, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was Fife’s true lesson today. Every place she ventured to seemed, in some way, tied to the tyrant; this last stop affirmed the suspicion. Perhaps Fife’s intent was a motivator for her to chose her fate or fulfill the destiny orchestrated by the fairies. She hardened herself from the flood of emotions the evident massacre invoked. For strength, she repeated her vow, her mantra, but with an amendment.

  I will never be weak again. I will never be helpless. And if the fairies believe me to be the mage from beyond, I will fulfill their prophecy by killing this fucking son of a bitch or die trying!

  ***

  Chapter 62 : Xenomene

  Six months ago…

  The night pressed in on Xenomene as she stood vigil over her sleeping Krey. It was her turn for the Hour of Challenging, a segment of time set aside for someone to stay awake during the night, mindful of silent enemies slipping amongst them. Her breath misted in front of her and a wolf howled in the distance. She twirled her sword lazily in her right hand.

  Scrotum of gods, when is my hour up?

  She yearned to return to her blankets, to strip off her clothes and sleep. Xenomene wore clothing out of necessity. The only difference between being on the trail with her squad and back in the Hive was that now every once in a while, one of them saw her flesh. She often wondered if they would hound her, but none bothered her thus far, except Bitcher. They couldn’t see her beneath the blankets, and it wasn’t like none of them hadn’t seen someone naked before. But in the Hive, she could bolt the door and had the privacy of her room.

  She sighed, wondering when or if she would ever return to her room.

  The stars twinkled above, and Auqyn glittered with its’ pearl luminescence; Faellon had already departed the sky. A movement behind her set her hairs on end, and she pivoted, bringing her sword point just shy of Bitcher’s throat.

  “It is unwise to sneak up on me,” she warned.

  “I ain’t sneaking, bitch, I was walking quietly as not to wake the others,” he grumbled, his gloved finger pushed the point away. “I’ve gotta piss, and it’s my watch next.” Xeno nodded but didn’t say anything. He sauntered away, standing next to a tree.

  She turned away when Bitcher removed his manhood from his pants, but cast a glance over her shoulder. He let out quiet moans as he sprayed his steam to and fro, drawing crooked lines on the ground, steam rising from his urine. Xeno rolled her eyes and sighed, turning her head away, wishing to be away from him and the rest of her squad. She didn’t even want to indulge futile thoughts of when she would be alone again. When he finished, Bitcher returned to her side. He grabbed her buttocks and gave it a squeeze before letting go.

  Her emerald eyes narrowed and she turned her head towards him. “Can I help you?”

  “You know,” he said at last, “I haven’t had my cock sucked since we left over a moon turn ago.”

  “Is that why you are up early? In the hopes I would suck you off before you assumed watched?”

  “Well,” he shrugged, “it would be a starting point. You know how we Forgotten Islanders are.” He smiled, teasing her.

  Only from what I have heard, though I’m not sure if what they say is true. It would be interesting to find out. She mentally shrugged. Or maybe it wouldn’t. I don’t care now; I just want to sleep.

  “Oh, so you want to fuck?” she whispered. Bitcher cast her a sideways glance, but said nothing. “It has been a long time for me. Do you want to fuck me?” Her eyes twinkled, but he was still wary of falling into a trap. “How do you want to do it? Are you going to lay on the ground and I straddle you or am I just going to bend over? Did you want me to suck your dick before or after you fucked me?”

  Hearing Xenomene’s provocative talk excited him, his manhood swelling. He turned to her, but stopped short when the long blade of her knife cleared its sheath and rested firmly against his favorite body part. “If you value your friend as much as I think you do, you will never talk to me about sex again. Understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he breathed, nodding vigorously.

  “Besides,” Xeno returned the blade to her sheath as quickly as it cleared, “everyone knows you got genital warts or some other type of fungus growing on your shit.” Bitcher shoved her, his ego bruised. She continued taunting him. “You should ask Two-Tons. I hear if you close your eyes and have some butter available, it is almost the same.” She let out a huff of air. “You’re taking the rest of my hour for touching my ass. Consider it as payment. Hope it was worth it.”

  She patted him on the shoulder and turned to go when a blue light burst into existence outside their encampment. The light fade as fast it appeared. Five wizards stood in a semicircle; the dark robes made the Kothlere sigil on their chests stand out.

  Xenomene spun, alacritous, lithe. They found us! she realized with horror. Before the light faded, Xenomene’s blade was free of her scabbard.

  “TO ME!” she screamed. The bloodlust took over, and she leaped for the nearest one. The gulf between them over ten meters away, but the bloodlust, coupled with her dragon-plate emboldened with runes, augmented her skills. The blade whistled through the air and would have split the mage in half without his barrier enveloping him. In the mind meld, she could feel the other consciousness of the Krey awakening; their rage joined with hers, swords screamed free of their sheaths.

  Indistinct shouts cried out in the night as
the mages formed a tighter semicircle, backing away from the stirring Krey. Even the A’uri joined the meld now. A glowing barrier shone brightly, engulfing the five invaders.

  “STOP!” the mental voice screamed, echoing through the heads of the Krey. Xeno recognized the voice, it belonged to the Mind, the A’uri who controlled the meld. Her bloodlust howled for the mage’s blood, to bathe her steel with their insides, but the power of compulsion from the Mind’s command kept her sword at bay. Slowly, the red veil drained from her, dissipated by the power of the Mind. Her limbs trembled, the adrenaline depleting rapidly.

  “We mean you no harm!” the first mage yelled. Weapons grudgingly returned to their sheaths. Xenomene kept hers out.

  “We were sent by the Consul,” another called out.

  “That cunt,” Bitcher shouted back. “That castrated fool is a gutless worm.”

  “Don’t call her that to her face,” another responded.

  “Her?” Xenomene inquired, perplexed.

  “Aye,” the first one spoke again, taking charge of the conversation. “Many things have changed since you left the Hive. There is a new Consul, for starters.”

  “Oi, that’s just fucking perfect. Instead of that witless cock of a Consul, we have his lapdog, a cock-sucking piece of ass for our commander,” Bitcher yelled to the stars.

  “Silence cunt! Let the fucking mage speak!” Xeno shouted back.

  “Who are you calling a cunt, bitch?” he replied, pulling his dagger from his belt.

  “She’s calling you a cunt, Bitcher, so shut the fuck up,” Raven barked. “Xenomene is also second in command, and you will answer to her as you would me!” Raven trekked to the front of the group and stood beside Xeno. “Forgive my associates; they are schooled in war, not propriety. Please, tell us of your news.”

  “Apology accepted, and please forgive us for our abrupt appearance; we did not mean to startle you or teleport so closely. That was an err of judgment on my part. I am John of the Gyles House.”