Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy)

by Caleb Wachter

  But it had been a half century since the last of the great pilgrimages, and the cathedral was no longer the shining, brilliant beacon it had once been.

  The polished walls, which had once seemed impossibly smooth and reflective, were now pitted and beginning to crumble. The seams between blocks, through which even a blade of grass would have once been unable to fit, were now sometimes an inch wide as the ravages of time looked to have finally caught up with the once majestic temple to the communion place between mortal and divine.

  The great bell, which had rung thrice daily for a thousand years without a single interruption, no longer hung high in the steeple after falling from its perch forty years before. It had shattered into a dozen pieces upon impact with the stone floor of the temple’s entrance, and those pieces had been quickly gathered up and taken by travelers—travelers who were interested in nothing but picking over the bones of the once-great monument to the mutual need of humanity and the gods, likely in the hope of selling their fragment of the religious artifact for a small fortune.

  And yet, throughout the decline and decay of the temple itself during what he knew were its final fifty years, one man had stayed behind to safeguard the knowledge contained within its hallowed walls. There were secrets there…secrets which even the old gods did not know, and it had been his charge to safeguard those secrets by any means necessary.

  But much like the temple itself, his body had become frail. When the ceiling of the temple had collapsed during a fire a decade earlier, he had been nearly crushed beneath one of the timbers when it finally succumbed to entropy’s insatiable appetite. The smoke from the fire had permanently blinded him, and the massive beam had cost him the use of one leg but, using the gifts he had previously received from the gods, he had managed to survive these many years in isolation.

  But on this morning he had received guests: a man and a woman. He could not see their faces, but from the blinding light shining forth from their souls he knew that they were no ordinary pilgrims. He also knew the moment they had entered the ruined temple that he had been expecting them for a long, long time…although the identity of the woman surprised him more than he had thought possible.

  “What you ask, I cannot provide,” the temple’s keeper repeated. “My charge has been, and shall continue to be until I draw my final breath, the safeguarding of this place in preparation for the coming of our salvation.”

  The woman, who was sitting on a stone bench beside the man who had accompanied her, leaned forward. The old man could see her do this, but not using the eyes with which he had been born. He beheld her using one of the many gifts he had received from the gods: the Third Eye, which was a supernatural ability allowing its user to look beyond what mortal eyes could see. It was draining for him to keep it open, but he knew that this meeting was the very reason he had been given such a wondrous gift.

  “Keeper,” she insisted, her voice controlled, “you have seen what carnage our enemies will wreak if they continue unchecked.” She gestured to the dilapidated temple. “Within twenty years, this once-great house of worship will be reduced to naught but a pile of crumbling bones and all it stood for will have been forgotten!”

  “The will of the gods is not mine to comprehend, Mistress,” he explained serenely, finding the title he bestowed to be a bitter one as it passed his lips. “I have but a small part to play in their design, yet I shall fulfill that part as I have been instructed—even if it costs my life.”

  “The gods are hunted, my wise Elder,” she argued with a disappointed sigh, “and the ruination of this temple represents the merest fraction of the damage their hunters have already caused to our world.” The woman stood abruptly, “I shall not allow this to take place, as I believe the gods have charged me with a portion of this world’s defense against those who would pillage and rape her!”

  The temple keeper stood slowly. “If you have indeed received such a charge,” he began stoically, “then you have no choice; you must stop at nothing to fulfill your solemn duty.” He could not see them, but the old man knew that the woman before him had tears streaming down her face. The keeper held out his hand, brushing it gently against her moist cheek. “My own duty requires that I do the same, Mistress,” he said, his voice becoming tremulous as he spoke.

  The woman wiped away her tears and shook her head angrily. “I am no Mistress, Elder,” she snapped before taking a deep breath. When she resumed, she had regained control of her voice, “Our cause has need for men possessing your wisdom and piety,” she pleaded. “Who is served by your intransigence?”

  The old man shook his head calmly, having already come to terms with his role many decades earlier. “That is not for me to know, little one,” he answered, as though it explained everything. He withdrew his hand from her cheek and straightened himself the best he could while leaning on his crutch. “This temple and its secrets must be kept from those who would defile the Divine Plan in any way, and that keeping is my responsibility. I cannot rest until the baring of her secrets can no longer interrupt what is to come.”

  The woman’s companion, who had been thus far silent, chose that moment to speak. “If the Divine Plan’s dictated by the gods,” he began, his deep, smooth tone clearly challenging the old man’s assertion, “then nothing could hope to stop it. Why would the gods require you to stand aside in order to ensure something that’s inevitable?”

  The old man turned to face the woman’s companion. He could not see the man’s face, but he could see the fire which burned deep within his soul, and it was in that moment that he recognized with unflinching certainty the identity of the man who stood before him.

  “The Divine Plan is not inevitable,” he explained, “for the gods have long needed humanity as partners in effecting their will. It is only through our continued piety and obedience that they are able to protect us from the Great Enemy.”

  “I understand that, Keeper,” the woman interrupted in exasperation, “which is why we must have your assistance if we are to succeed! How else shall the people learn the will of the gods if not at the feet of learned holy men such as yourself?”

  The Keeper shook his head. “As with so many things, that is not for me to know, little one.”

  “I think you’re afraid,” growled the younger man. “I think you’re terrified of what’s going on out there and you just want to hole up in this crumbling sanctuary, hoping someone puts things straight for you.”

  The young man stood up, and the Keeper could see the newcomer’s soul flash with a brilliance so intense that it blinded his Third Eye in a radiant display like nothing the old man had ever believed possible. He knew, even as it happened, that the brilliant, rich, blue light which had blinded him would be the last thing he ever saw. A sense of peace and serenity washed over the old Keeper as the first act of the final revelation which the line of Keepers had received a thousand years prior was made manifest.

  “You can stay here if you like,” continued the young man, whose voice was trembling with rage, “but someone has to go out there and stop them. Your gods are dead, old man,” he shouted, “and their Divine Plan has already been defiled! That’s why you can’t hear them any more—and that’s why this temple and everything it stood for is falling down around you!”

  “My love,” began the woman, clearly trying to calm the young man, but it was plain to anyone within earshot that he was past the point of negotiation.

  “No!” he yelled, and as the powerful echo of his voice traveled throughout the stone temple, a handful of stone blocks from the top of the once-incredible structure’s walls fell from their thousand-year-old positions and crashed into the floor where they exploded into miniature, deadly showers of stone and dust.

  “You brought me here to help you fight this war,” he continued, “and it looks like the only people we can depend on are each other. I’m not going to waste another second arguing with this old fool!” With that the young man turned and stormed out of the temple, leaving only the woma
n and the Keeper.

  After a moment’s silence, the old man turned to the woman. “You have fulfilled one old man’s dreams, little one,” he said quietly.

  There was a lengthy pause. “What do you mean?” she asked, obviously confused.

  “You have found the Harbinger who shall usher in our salvation,” he explained, tears filling his eyes. “When you left five years ago…I did not believe you could know the will of the gods, but I see now that your destiny is of greater import than mine could have ever been.”

  There was only silence between them, during which time the old Keeper wept tears of joy. Finally, the woman spoke in an awestruck voice. “Then you believe me?” she asked.

  The old man nodded. “I do,” he affirmed, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the only thing to have never left his possession during the last four decades. He held it out for her to take, and she gasped when she saw it.

  “The Kor’Degar stone!” she whispered in reverence. “Why did you not tell me earlier?”

  The old man slumped. “Forgive an old man his intransigence,” he began with the barest hint of a smirk, “but when you told me that you had received a vision from Narcath, Queen of Terror…I was filled with fear. Her will has ever been difficult for mortals to know, and in my foolishness I tried to protect you from what I believed was certain doom at the hands of the Lady of Nightmares. But while I do not know that which lies before you on your path, I do know that Narcath’s Mistress shall require her Queen’s Kor’Degar stone.”

  “I told you already,” she protested, “I am no Mistress.”

  The old man shook his head. “It was revealed to me before the destruction of this temple that one day the Mistress of Narcath shall appear, bringing with her the instrument of our salvation…and when I laid eyes on that instrument I would forever lose my gift of sight.”

  The woman immediately began to sob, clinging to the old man’s simple robes as she cried, “Grandfather!”

  The old man embraced his granddaughter for a moment before pushing her gently, but firmly away. “It is as it should be,” he said in a kind voice. “You must go, for the future of our world now rests on your shoulders. I am where I was always meant to be, and this is where I wish to end.”

  The woman sniffed and wiped furiously as she tried to dry away her tears. “I will not forget you, grandfather,” she said, her voice quivering.

  The Keeper nodded. “Nor I you, little one,” he said before gesturing toward the door. “Now go, and do that which the gods have commanded.”

  The woman squeezed the Keeper’s hand tightly before turning and striding out of the temple.

  As the old man stood and heard his granddaughter leave the once-grand cathedral, he knew that his work, while very nearly at its end, was not yet finished.

  There was one more visitor the Keepers had been told to expect and while there was ample time to prepare for his arrival, the last of the Keepers knew that much needed to be done. It would be his final act in this life, but it was one he embraced with open arms.

  Outside the temple the woman quickly found her companion, who was still fuming about their meeting inside.

  “My love,” she said, moving to his side so she could clasp his hand in her own. “I have never seen you so quick to anger.”

  “I’m sorry,” he began, a hint of frustration in his voice, “but the more we do for these people, the less they seem to care!”

  The woman shook her head. “It is not our place to know the will of the gods; all that is required of us is obedience. The rest shall be attended according to the Divine Plan.”

  It was the man’s turn to shake his perfectly smooth, hairless head. “I have no idea what this ‘Divine Plan’ even is…and I’m beginning to suspect that nobody else around here does, either.”

  The woman smiled as she nestled herself into the crook of his long, tan arm. “Such a statement implies that you already know more of it than most of the self-proclaimed prophets who once traveled the long roads to stand where you are at this very moment,” she said, tilting her head toward the many ruined, winding roads stretching forth for miles in all directions from the broken gate which led onto the cathedral’s grounds.

  The man chuckled, and they stood there together for a few moments before the woman pushed away and found his gaze. “You are the only one who can lead the people of my world through the coming apocalypse,” she said seriously, a fierce determination burning in her eyes. “I will stand by your side for my entire life, no matter the horrors we must endure.”

  The man looked in her eyes and nodded. “You saved me from the brink of death and gave me a new life—a life full of purpose like nothing I’ve ever known.” He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her closer until they were chest to chest. He towered over her short, lithe frame with his long, muscular body that looked like it had been designed by a master sculptor. “You are the only woman I’ve ever loved, Tyreva,” he said quietly, “and even though I’m a stranger in this world, I will do whatever is required of me to save everything you cherish.”

  Tyreva looked up into his eyes before turning her head to rest her cheek against his bare chest as she squeezed him in an intimate embrace. “All I cherish is now wrapped tightly in my arms,” she said softly, “and while those arms still have strength, I will never let go, Adam.”

  A Sneak Peek of The Price of Enlightenment

  The following is an excerpt from The Price of Enlightenment, a Cobalt Heresy novella which will soon be available for free at the Seeds of Humanity Facebook Group page

  Compliance

  The two men sat inside the middle-aged sorcerer’s dining hall. His home had been built into the granite cliff face hundreds of years before by his ancestors. Those ancestors had passed their knowledge of the arcane down through their family, along with the many ancient objects, relics and artifacts which they had collected over the centuries.

  Yav’el was the sorcerer’s name, and he had taken sole possession of the secluded location and its many secrets five years earlier when both his father and brother had died at the hands of an unspeakably powerful wizard the likes of which even legends rarely described. Until today, Yav’el had hoped he would never again come face to face with that wizard’s ilk during his life.

  Yet despite Yav’el’s attempts to keep all that was precious to his line concealed, someone had seen through his family’s carefully constructed shroud of concealment and found him. And now the man who had done so now sat across the table from him in the very same chair Yav’el’s brother, Gan’el, had used for every meal the two brothers had shared with their father growing up.

  It was impossible for any normal human, even a sorcerer as powerful as Yav’el’s father, Tor’el, to pierce the veil of obfuscation which had been laboriously erected around his family home at great expense. But the man seated opposite Yav’el was no ordinary practitioner of the arcane arts.

  “I cannot do as you ask,” replied Yav’el. “Not only would it be a betrayal of those we have sworn to protect, but I am obligated with even greater priority to defend the legacy of my forebears. While I draw breath I cannot allow any portion of that legacy to fall into the hands of those who might pollute and defile it.”

  “I assure you,” replied the man in a voice as hard as iron, “I have no intention of desecrating any product of your ancestors’ illustrious line. However, you must realize that your days are numbered. If I managed to penetrate your defenses, then how long can you expect to remain hidden from the Great Enemy?”

  Yav’el shook his head gravely. “As I said,” he insisted solemnly, “I cannot do as you ask. It would be a betrayal of the highest order to all which I, and those who went before me, hold dear.”

  The other man slumped back in his chair with unreadable features. His head was devoid of hair, and the skin of his scalp had a waxy appearance which reflected the dim candlelight flickering from the chandelier above the table.

  “You know I cannot allow your legacy fall int
o the hands of the people who slew your kin,” said the smooth-headed man softly, “for I have made a vow of my own to those of your line who came before you. Too much of their work would lead the agents who have nearly reached your doorstep back to me, and I cannot,” he slammed his fist down on the table suddenly, “allow all that I and my line have worked toward to be destroyed!”

  Yav’el had expected this, knowing full well the bargain his line had entered into with this man over a century before. He stood slowly from the table. “Then I would ask a favor after I am gone,” he said respectfully.

  The bald man stood slowly from the table, his eyes piercing Yav’el as he did so. “As I said,” he reiterated pointedly, “I will not desecrate, or allow to be desecrated, any product of your ancestors tireless efforts. That which bears your legacy shall be protected to the best of my ability; of that you have my word.”

  Yav’el trusted the wizard standing across from him, just as his father, grandfather and great grandfather before him had trusted him. He knew that the man would honor his word no matter the cost. Yav’el’s only regret was that he would not be the one to see his brother’s most sacred responsibility seen through personally. “Then you must do that which you came to do,” Yav’el replied, feeling a measure of serenity as he did so. Certainty had a virtue all its own…even when it carried darkness.

  The smooth-headed man nodded. “It must be public, and I fear it must be absolute,” he said with more than a hint of regret in his voice. “It is the only way to protect your family’s legacy, as well as the people who have depended on your kin through the years.”