The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  It did.

  Unexpectedly, it keeled over, dying a second time. As it stilled, a red-black element escaped the body and floated away, dissolving, fading. Amber eyes glowing scarlet flickered up, thoughtful. Could she perform a life drain on a ghost? Naturally, it wouldn’t technically be called the same, but the concept remained. Rusem took physical form before when Ava accompanied her or whenever he wished, often doing so when they conversed. Would it be enough?

  Her time in the temple reached culmination, her sight restored, and a task fueled by a story, begging for completion. She would have to act quickly take him by surprise, unsure if he had the ability to fight off the attack. He had lied and manipulated her, prodding her towards a hidden agenda of his own. Did he think to possess her? Was it possible?

  I will never be weak again. I will never be helpless.

  “Rusem?”

  “Starriace?” he answered, materializing with a smile on his face, his eyes glittering.

  She waited until he formed fully. He took a step towards her, a hand extended.

  In stunning haste, she called upon the life drain. Her hand reached out hastily, palm up, her fingers mimicking curling spires, like palming a small ball. Rusem glowed red; the force leeched from him. The luster, traversing the expanse between them, entered her outstretched hand.

  His face spasmed in a jerk of strain, his face paling. Dark satisfaction flared in her chest, a smile coming to her lips. “I sense your terror. Not of me, but of what I can do to you. You lied to me, Rusem, tried to use me, manipulate me. You are no different than the rest of them!”

  “You dare!?” he strained. “I helped you! I taught you while others abandoned you!”

  His words invoked her need for retaliation, pulling harder on the siphon, strengthening her command. A howl of rage ripped through the room and for a brief moment, Starriace thought he would break her grasp.

  “How can this be?” he screamed. He strained against her hold, fighting the hemorrhage, clamping down metaphysically. What passed for his cognitive center buzzed in concentration. She felt her grip slip and in a panicked attempt, attacked him with her psyche. She imagined his determination like a hand clamping around a gushing wound, and mentally pried the fingers away, weakening his resolve. The weaker his grasp became, the more panic flooded him, enveloping both combatants, but where he drew fear, Starriace drew strength.

  His mind raced for a solution, knowing he was losing the battle. As quick as he thought of one, Starriace countered. The red energy rippled between them like a tight-spinning, horizontal cyclone, tendrils of lightning. The air crackled and thrummed, potent. The more of his essence she consumed, the more corporeal he became. A stray, bleak thought flashed through his mind, and she snatched it away, making it her own.

  “You fear that I will bring you back repeatedly?” she choked out, the siphon taxing her. Sweat prickled her brow, and she altered his thought, ingenuity taking root. “No, Rusem,” she said, a malicious smile spreading. “I’ll only bring you back once; you will be the first of many. Imagine what an army could do!”

  She basked in his brimming terror, gorging herself. The last tendrils of defiance broke, his mind lay exposed. The secrets he kept belonged to her now, even if she had to pluck them out. He crumbled to the floor, his knees jarring into the stone floor, and the funneling stopped for a brief moment.

  Finish what must be done.

  With palm stretched out, the red glow arched out of the body on the floor. “This won’t hurt,” she encouraged soothingly. “At least, not anymore.” A sick, oily laugh rose in her throat, curling like smoke, thick and choking. Color faded from Rusem’s corporeal flesh, the light from his eyes dimmed, and the red siphon dissipated. Holding the life-force, contained yet apart, she channeled it back into the lifeless being. The luminosity flowed back into Rusem, giving him life once again. She tapered off the ability as the body twitched and rose to his feet.

  “You are the first of many,” she promised, smiling at her creation.

  A dark, manic glimmer sparkled in her eye. The problem she faced now was finding deceased beings and an energy source. She could use her aura, but it would require her rising them individually, separately. She needed an army.

  “You’ll be a lord over our marshals like you were long ago.” An army of one Risen wouldn’t get her far, and she was not about to kill people to get what she wanted, she wasn’t Xilor.

  She took a cautious step forward to examine Rusem when a sudden jerk pulled her from behind. Fighting the tenacious grip encircling her waist, she almost succeeded in breaking the hold. Someone or something attempted to rip her away from the temple. The moment passed in a long pause, a heartbeat where her exerted force canceled each other out. Then it was gone, and she was jerked off her feet, hurtling backward. Blackness chased her for a few moments before she landed hard, sprawled on the floor. A towering shadow loomed over her.

  “Welcome, Fallen Angel,” Xilor greeted.

  ***

  Chapter 85 : Gryzlaud Palace

  Mouth agape, her arms holding herself upright, Starriace stared up at the impossibly tall creature. From her haphazard seat on the floor, he seemed even taller. She expected fear to take her, to hold her close, but was surprised that she was only startled, wrenched unexpectedly from the City of Despair. A slow blink let her know she didn’t hallucinate, then the terror sank its claws deep.

  How did he find me?

  Starriace half-scooted, half-skittered back, placing distance between them. With her eyes on him, she rose cautiously to her feet. Without thought, her hand inched closer to her wand still in her robes.

  “How did you find me?” she clipped.

  “I’ve been tracking you for some time.”

  “How long?”

  “Over two seasons.”

  “How?” she spat the question out with alacrity. Tension poised in her shoulder blades and the Dark Lord chuckled, a humoring sound deep in his throat.

  “One of my Xicx tracked you to Far Point. He placed a trace on you, though with some difficulty,” Xilor admitted.

  The night she found her window opened, the water bowl on the floor, flashed through her mind.

  The night I was with Lily.

  The dream of the sheol clawing her face was a memory, attempting to get inside her mind.

  “I must admit, I lost track of you. You disappeared from my sight when you went in the Melodic Mountains. It seems that I cannot track you there.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  Xilor’s cowled head cocked to the side, pondering. Unable to pierce his shadowed face unnerved her. “It is not my first choice,” he acknowledged. “If left with no other recourse, then, yes, you will die.”

  “What do you want?” she blurted. Fear, coiled in anger, surged in her tight chest, more of the former than latter. Though she fantasized of this meeting, a moment she could destroy him, ridding Ermaeyth of his vile oppression, now was too soon. Though hard to swallow, she conceded that she wasn’t ready to face him despite the tingling surge in her aura, heightened by her distress.

  “To offer you an option,” Xilor answered, his voice emotionless.

  “What option?”

  “Walk with me.” For a moment, she considered refusing. The command tasted like bile, her inner defiance rising, but stronger reasoning outweighed her discomforting compliance.

  He said killing me isn’t the first choice, but if I refuse, he may do just that.

  With cautious steps, she padded beside him though well outside the reach of his arm. Xilor set a slow pace, Starriace’s eyes danced about, looking for possible weapons or avenues of escape. Her steps carried her over a floor made of smooth stone, near the color of beach sand. She expected something darker, more sinister. The only decoration in the floor came with large segments cut in squares, each square easily five of Starriace’s feet on end, both in length and width. Recesses, both dark and shallow, separated each square. Eight massive pillars lined the room, four
on each side. A high, arched ceiling towered overhead, and the walls were chiseled ornately like balconies for homes. The decor seemed too simplistic, almost like Xilor tried to recreate a cityscape, a stark contrast to her assumptions about him.

  This place is a mausoleum and a museum.

  Two other striking objects drew her attention. The first, a throne at the far end of the room, a high-back chair of unyielding granite. The stone chair seemed an odd choice and even more bizarre was the design, the arms tall and wide, giving the seat a bucket appearance. The other object was a mirror unlike any she had ever seen. Tall and wide, made of a white and red wood Starriace had never seen. Some parts were white as milk and shifted to crimson with a blend of the two throughout.

  Xilor noted her scrutiny and spoke. “It is fitting that your eye should catch the Mirror of Razen. That is where we must go.”

  “What is it?”

  “My prison for nigh three Ages.”

  The closer Starriace drew, the more detail she could discern. The mirror boasted elaborate carvings of gods and animals. Each carving portrayed a bust of a being, or an animal ranged in color, each figure shifting in pigmentation from cloud-white to rose-red and all blendings between. An oily black wood framed the sides, dark as ink. Engraved runes gilded in gold adorned the timber. The four legs formed the base and made of a precious metal she couldn’t identify.

  “What option?” she probed again, stopping in front of the large silver glass. Starriace noted her reflection, her glowing red eyes. Unnerving? Absolutely. Hideous? No.

  “To rule beside me,” he offered, his voice sincere. “To conquer all and have them bowing at your feet.”

  “That doesn’t appeal to me,” came her impulsive response.

  That has never been me.

  In the space of a few heartbeats, the thought grew on her. Her idea varied from Xilor’s, primarily, him being uninvolved. If given the chance and capable, why shouldn’t she rule? With her as a guardian, Ermaeyth would be safer, better. A society of bliss without fear and carnage.

  “Then what does appeal to you, child?” Xilor intoned beside her. His skeletal, metallic-black hand reached out and caressed her honeyed hair around her left ear, then her face, his fingers resting near her glowing eyes.

  His touch feels like ice, like death.

  His question loomed in her mind. The first thought was of riches. Wealth had its appeal and while a pleasantry, it failed to motivate her. Gold did offer her something that nothing else could: freedom. The next thought was of a home and land. She recalled Judas’ manor clearly though she had been there a few scant moments. Property lacked allurement, but in the future, should she wish to settle down, she would need her own. Knowledge and the power it brought rushed at the heels of her previous thought. She yearned for both, but neither would serve her in death. The last inkling flickered imperceptibly through her mind, buried beneath her emotions and ambitions. Family. She coveted the feeling of belonging, a part of a whole, more than herself, love and acceptance, peace of spirit and mind.

  “Peace,” she said at last, turning to look at him.

  Xilor let out a hiss, and she took it as a laugh. “What do you think I am doing?” he mocked her.

  “Destroying lives,” she snapped, emotion bleeding into her voice. Her face flushed, emotions bubbled, and her glowing eyes flickered a shade darker and itched.

  He waved her comment away like it was frivolous, trivial. “Chaos promotes change. You view me as malevolent, malicious. A distorted perspective. You cannot judge what you do not understand.”

  “What is there to understand? You wish to stand on a pedestal of dead bodies, giving those less than you two choices: enslavement or death. And for what? Personal satisfaction? Revenge? Domination?”

  “For peace,” he whispered back, his voice still smooth and emotionless. His calm demeanor chilled Starriace, but his mockery infuriated her. The entire conversation riled her. Xilor arrogantly assumed he knew what was best for everyone, had the audacity to ask her to join his delusional spectacle.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He chuckled again. “Of course not. Once before I started a purge, removing all thorns from society, and once again, I pick up the task but for different reasons.” The manner in which he carelessly talked about countless deaths vexed her, like a gardener conversing about a tree needing pruning. “You call my campaign domination, I call it restructure.”

  “And how does that not scream of needless slaughter?”

  “Needless?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I have taken away the weak, leaving survivors capable of resisting the purge. When I am finished, there will be no weak to prey upon. I envision powerful wizards in our realm, living without fear, able to protect. I am far from finished, and the ones left will equal with me. Who will be left to oppose? When it is done, I will cleanse Ermaeyth of the infestations I created.”

  “Infestations?” Starriace queried, perplexed.

  “The sheol, the Xicx, and the Abyssians,” he supplied. “Rid the realm and Ermaeyth of them. Nothing can remain, or it would undo what I am trying to achieve.”

  “Sounds like you are breeding an army,” Starriace sneered.

  What’s next? Kill all the unicorns, dwaven, and elyves?

  “Perhaps, in a way, you are correct. All subservient races must be purged.”

  Starriace fought to control her face, not letting her horror show. Xilor spoke of a deep-rooted hatred for anything that didn’t fit his design and plans for wizards. Extermination of all races.

  Genocide on a massive scale.

  “Breeding is such an animalistic term. Think of it as encouraging an army.”

  “Why? For what purpose? What’s the point? Why destroy everything and everybody for this army that you ‘encourage’ to be subservient to you?”

  “In the time of my … imprisonment, stranded beyond this life and the next, I discovered doorways. There are other worlds out there, other Ermaeyths. Places with beings who have no drive, ambition, or structure.”

  “And you feel it is your duty to ‘restructure’ these beings?” Bile rose in her mouth.

  “To have structure, you must have a ruler,” he cooed. “My dominion here is nothing more than readying the realm for what lies out there, beyond.” He used his hand for emphasis. “As many planets that have beings with no ambition, there are some with powers rivaling our own, even superseding. See for yourself.”

  Xilor waved his hand over the surface of the silver-looking glass. Starriace fidgeted, shifting closer. The surface flashed with creatures and beings Starriace had never laid eyes on before. Whole worlds with people living simple lives and others with dizzying, towering heights. The flashes were fast, too quick to count them all but, she guessed the number over a dozen. One such placed seemed vaguely familiar, a sense of deja vu crawling over her.

  “Do you see, child? Do you see what lies out there?” he asked, his voice thick with hope.

  “Yes, I do,” she replied without emotion. “You want to extend your will of oppression to these unsuspecting, innocent people. For what? To bend and control them as you see fit, like you do for all your henchmen, like you’re trying to do to me now.”

  “Innocent? Who says you or they are? No one is truly innocent. Perhaps unsuspecting, but blameless?” He shook his head. “How do you know they aren’t planning the same thing this very instant?” Xilor asked, his voice oozing out from under his hood. “My aims are far simpler than suppression of other worlds that may not know we exist at all. Together, our goal should be to ready ourselves against possible incursion. I have plans in motion to do just that.”

  “What plans?”

  “Come with me, let me guide you, who knows what achievements you could reach. Together we can demonstrate what order should be. With you at my side, the fighting will cease, and we can topple anything that rallied against us.”

  “Through domination?”

  “No!” he hissed, a slight pleading tone enterin
g his voice. “Ruling Ermaeyth is but a small portion of the grand scheme. A necessity. We will bring order to the aimless, end conflict and war, tame the beast riders of Groyntahl, subdue the country Cronele, and topple the Kran Empire of Vesole. Can’t you see the logic? Together we are unified.”

  “And all you want in return is for me to kneel to you?”

  “Align and stand beside me. Today, you would stand beside me. Tomorrow, you would be my equal. In the future, my successor.”

  “Stand beside you?” Starriace asked, skeptically. “Not kneel at your feet?”

  “It is not necessary unless you need to learn your place–” Xilor mused aloud.

  “I bow to no one! All that I know is to hate you! I’ve seen your restructuring firsthand. I watched the trolls butcher Wizard’s Pass, seen the aftermath, the devastation.” Recounting the bodies, both in the Shadowcast and when she walked the ruins of Wizard’s Pass, made her throat constrict, burn with righteous wrath. Her hands trembled with rage and the repulsiveness he elicited. Her eyes burned like they were tearing up, but her face remained without wayward beads.

  How could I have ever empathized with him?

  “So, you will not join me?”

  She shook her head. “How could you ever–?”

  His hand moved with an alacrity that belied his size. She jerked toward her wand, but an invisible force clamp around her. His commanding presence was overbearing, more than anything she felt or recalled. Fife and Judas never called this much power so quickly, so effortlessly. Either he attained far more power than they realized or both her former mentors never brought the full might of theirs against her.

  “You do not understand who you are dealing with.” He turned his back on her, gazing into the flashing scenery in the Mirror of Razen, but the hold never wavered. While she fought to break free, a part of her couldn’t help but admire his totalitarian control, an important lesson to learn. “I can see into your mind, and you think you are powerful, but you have only been lucky. You are a fool, misguided. The Corridor of Cruelty broke your mind beyond repair, and warped your perception. I feel the warring within you.”