by Nat Russo
Lamil stopped walking.
“I’m not trying to put salt in your wound,” Nicolas said. “I just want to understand. You always say wisdom isn’t the same as knowledge—that it’s the combination of knowledge and experience. Well, isn’t my experience different from yours? Isn’t it different from any of The People? Why hide what happened when maybe I can help us both?”
“I have hidden nothing from you.” Lamil raised one of his giant hands and made a sweeping gesture around the temple.
Nicolas followed the hand, but he didn’t get it. The temple was empty, except—
The murals. That has to be it.
Most of the scenes were alien, by his standards, and they numbered in the hundreds. One image depicted cichlos and humans eating a feast together, which he always thought strange. They didn’t exactly have the same eating habits.
His eyes scanned from picture to picture but there was nothing that looked like the Orb of Arin in any of them. There were just too many murals to study.
He shook his head and looked down.
When he saw it he wanted to laugh. It had been right in front of him all along. Right beneath him, rather. He saw the murals on the floor every day, the strange sparkles of light, but he never really understood them. The temple was vast, making it impossible to view the entire scene from his height.
But there it was. The iridescent Orb of Arin, hanging in mid-air in the apse of a great temple behind what appeared to be a giant winged helm. Cichlos and humans entered the orb and emerged from it, as if stepping through a gateway. Beyond the orb was a vast field of stars in the shape of a spiral galaxy—the source of the sparkles. On the opposite end of the galaxy was a similar orb in another massive temple behind another giant helm.
Another picture in the mural caught his attention. One figure held an outstretched arm, reaching across the vast galaxy toward another group of cichlos in the same pose. Another figure reached back. Cichlos on both sides of the galaxy held their heads in their hands as they wept.
Nicolas covered his mouth and swallowed a lump. Is that what this place was? Some sort of cosmic trap that sucked people in and never let them go?
Lamil pointed to the orb on the far side of the galaxy. “We traveled by using an object we called Arin’s Gate. Its twin on this world is called the Great Orb of Arin.”
Dr. Murray’s training started to claw its way out of Nicolas’s memory.
“This is no coincidence,” Nicolas said.
Lamil harrumphed. “Coincidence is a word used by fools when they fail to see what is right before their eyes. You may be ignorant, but you are no fool.”
“You worship Erindorian gods, or they worship yours. Your cultures must have intermingled for decades, if not centuries.” Nicolas recalled how the ancient Romans had adopted first the Etruscan gods, and ultimately the Greek gods. “So, who borrowed from whom?”
“Your question, while understandable, is presumptuous. The gods simply existed, long before The People. Long before the humans. In my culture they look like us. In human culture they resemble the humans. I would think it obvious they are neither.”
Nicolas shook his head. He wouldn’t get far if he tried to question Lamil’s superstitions. “I see what happened. But I don’t understand what happened.”
“Before the Erindorian sky turned yellow, we were friends of the humans. We traded with them, and shared knowledge. One day the orb was there, and the next—for reasons that elude us—the humans retrieved it from the great Temple of Arin and brought it to a place they call the Pinnacle. Those of us who remained in Erindor found ourselves cut off from Terilya, our home world.”
“No one thought to ask them? Not so much as a hey, about that orb?”
“You think we hid underwater and did nothing? In the same way that the sky turned yellow, a yellow dome also appeared over the Pinnacle. We tried swimming under it, but those who tried said it was without end. It extended down into the foundation of the world. Many cichlos tried to go through it, in much the same way we can travel through our own barriers, but every attempt resulted in death. Whoever tried simply vanished.”
Nicolas remembered the barrier in his jail cell and what it did to his hands. Not all barriers were equal, and he knew that with a certainty. “They must have wanted something.”
“The man they call the Archmage declared necromancy illegal. Humans believed all cichlos were necromancers because only the priestly caste ventured to the surface.”
“There are cities right above you,” Nicolas said. “Don’t they hunt you down too? Why don’t they just come down here and wipe you all out?”
“That is not possible. Aquonome not only protects us from the shifting sea floor. It also renders its inhabitants undetectable. It is, quite simply, impossible for them to find us by magical means. And were it not for summoning a cichlos priest, you would have died during your descent. The pressure of the sea would have killed you.”
“That orb is your only way back home?”
“The only practical way, yes.”
“You’ve said, over and over, I need to discover my purpose if I ever want to get back home,” Nicolas said. “I think I know what that is. I think I need to find this orb and make it so your people can use it again.” Nicolas looked down. “And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can use it too.”
“I caution you against misplaced hope. Hope can be a driving force. But, when unfulfilled, it can be violently destructive. You think you recognize your purpose because you hope this is your purpose.”
“It’s more than that.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Archmage Kagan is my father.”
The siek’s face was unreadable. He placed his webbed hand on Nicolas’s shoulder as they entered the training dome.
Nicolas wondered whether Mujahid learned the gesture from the siek, or the siek had learned it from Mujahid.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The next day was the same as usual for Nicolas. He was summoned to the training dome and kept busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.
He and Toridyn sat together in silence, while Nicolas practiced his summoning. He was tired. Not that he needed sleep—more like he needed a vacation. Living the lives of every person he called back from the grave was beginning to take its toll on him.
I’m too young to feel like this.
“Cheerful,” Toridyn said, and he nodded to his right.
Nicolas dismissed his penitent, causing the cichlos skeleton to crumble to the floor. The other students in the training hall ignored him and continued summoning their energy spheres.
Siek Lamil was crossing the dome with Jurn and two undead cichlos. They must be Jurn’s penitents. Bile rose in Nicolas’s throat.
The siek stopped between two student formations and waved Nicolas over.
Toridyn excused himself and walked a short distance away.
“It is time to move on to areas you have not yet been tested in,” Lamil said. “Areas in which you must excel if you are to succeed at your task.”
“What areas?”
Jurn chuckled.
“Combat,” Lamil said.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Nicolas said. “I don’t plan on picking any fights.”
Jurn made a sound that Nicolas didn’t recognize.
“Outside of Aquonome your plan will count for nothing,” Lamil said. “Many will hate you, and most will fear you. Combat will find you, even if you do not seek it.”
Nicolas pursed his lips. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“The only way I can learn how much knowledge you have, is to discover how much knowledge you lack,” Lamil said. “I will do this by observing you as you duel. Send your penitents away, Jurn.”
Nicolas realized what was happening, and it chilled him. Jurn had beaten him without mercy, and now he’d get to do it again? This wasn’t a fair fight. Jurn had already been a master necromancer once.
Nicolas looked at Tor
idyn, whose eyes had become even larger.
Jurn commanded his two penitents to stand at the entrance of the training dome.
“I’ll have them guard the exit,” Jurn said. “In case you decide to run away.”
Lamil gave him a disapproving look.
“There are rules,” Lamil said. “You will not injure one another. You will not attempt anything, mystical or physical, that could result in the death of your opponent.”
Nicolas felt a wave of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to fight for his life.
“Perhaps I should leave, then, Siek,” Jurn said. “My breath alone could snap him like a trout’s spine.”
“You can say that again, fish man,” Nicolas said.
Jurn reared back with one of his massive arms but Lamil stopped him.
Lamil’s deep voice sounded like walking through gravel. “Do anything to cause him harm, student, and you will know what that trout feels like.”
Jurn looked like his grandmother had threatened him with a switch.
“You may summon the dead for this exercise, if you wish,” Lamil said. “They may do anything except injure your opponent. Your duel will remain confined to the training dome.” Lamil faced the three training formations. “Students, clear the center of the room.”
The other students, Toridyn included, formed a single line around the perimeter of the dome.
“You may begin at will,” Lamil said.
Two cichlos skeletons materialized and charged at Nicolas before Lamil finished his words. Nicolas had yet to begin summoning a penitent of his own, and the speed at which they came at him broke his concentration. He dove between the two oncoming warriors. His power-enhanced agility made the dive easy, but he landed hard on the dome floor. He channeled energy into the symbol of the skull.
The namocea took hold, and thirty years passed in a single moment. When his consciousness returned, he no longer felt disoriented as he used to. He took control of his penitent and launched it at one of the attacking skeletons.
Nicolas circled Jurn, attempting to find any advantage he could. Whenever he summoned a warrior penitent his knowledge of combat improved, as if he absorbed some of the penitent’s wisdom. His newfound battle prowess told him it would be better, this time, to remain on the defense and try to draw out an attack.
As he crossed between Jurn and one of Jurn’s penitents, he felt a strange surge in power, as if he’d stepped through a beam of energy.
Nicolas’s necromantic link vanished without warning and his penitent collapsed. Jurn’s two skeletons turned on him, forcing him to circle around to the left. A faint beam of light passed through his body from side to side as he stepped in front of Jurn. It was coming from Jurn, but the moment he became aware of it the beam disappeared. He must be going crazy.
Jurn made a chuckling noise and an alien energy entered Nicolas’s mind. It felt like what he imagined being dipped in oil would feel like. Like there was something he just couldn’t shake off. He tried summoning another penitent, but the energy struck the oil slick and slid off.
“I have seen enough,” Lamil said.
Jurn banished his penitents, causing their bones to separate and fall to the floor.
“Jurn,” Lamil said. “Form up the students and return to your training.”
“Yes, Siek,” Jurn said. Some of the other students congratulated Jurn as he walked away.
“From where I was standing, I didn’t see a fight,” Lamil said.
“I couldn’t think fast enough, Siek.”
“No one would be able to.”
“Jurn obviously can.”
“Jurn defeated you for two reasons and two reasons only—his experience, and his instincts. He did not defeat you because his thought processes were faster than yours. You lost this battle before it began.”
“Between him and his penitents I’m like china in a bull shop.”
Lamil paused and looked Nicolas up and down. “All of your successes share one thing in common—your actions were instinctual, not planned. Think of the shield you created. You didn’t create it because you planned it carefully. You created it because you needed it, and you instinctively engaged your necropotency to bring about the desired effect. Instinct and necessity are a powerful combination.”
“But I had a plan. I couldn’t draw any damned power. It’s like he hog-tied my brain.”
“The cichlos general, Erasces the Great, once said ‘The first casualty of combat is a warrior’s battle plan.’ What makes a combat necromancer great is not his plan … it’s his ability to adapt when his plan is no longer feasible.”
“Erasces never met Jurn.”
“Erasces defeated an army of thirty-five thousand with fifty priests, securing freedom from our oppressors. I do not think Jurn would have posed a challenge.”
Nicolas swallowed.
“You have not yet flaked a scale off the surface of your potential. We are going about your training the wrong way.”
Nicolas squinted. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
“You don’t need less danger to find your potential,” Lamil said. “You need more.”
“Now hold on—”
“The next time you face Jurn, there will be no restrictions. He will be free to kill you, and you will be free to do the same.”
It took an act of will for Nicolas to suppress the panic that rose in his chest. “He’s too strong. I can’t beat him.”
“Then tomorrow you will die, for tomorrow you will face Jurn once more.”
Nicolas gave up on sleep after several hours of fitful turning, opting instead to spend the rest of the night in the Temple. There was something peaceful about the place. It reminded him of the chapel at the orphanage, where he’d sometimes go to be alone. Unlike the chapel, however, priests wandered in and out throughout the night refilling spent siborum and performing other rituals he couldn’t identify.
For the last week he felt as if the orb were calling to him, drawing him closer. But every time he approached it, wanting to touch it or place his ear against it, tendrils of energy entered his mind. It was Siek Lamil searching for some piece of information in his brain, no doubt.
His mind drifted toward Kaitlyn while the rituals went on around him. Seeing life through the eyes of so many others had given him perspective. He understood her now. The way she always wanted to lay out his clothes, walk the dog, do the dishes and any number of other chores, wasn’t because she felt he was a baby that couldn’t take care of himself. It was just her way of showing him that she loved him. He was better able to deal with the sense of loss now, but there were times when he wanted nothing more than to hold her and smell the rose scent of her skin, to run his fingers through her auburn hair, and to hear the lilt of her voice as they walked Toby through Zilker Park.
But that would never happen. Because today he would die.
It can’t end like this.
His body ached the way he imagined an old man would ache. Thoughts of Kaitlyn made the pain bearable, though. He could practically feel the warmth of her body against his skin, and how soft her hands were. He let himself get lost in the memory of her face; the way the right side of her mouth curled up in a crooked smile. Serenity radiated through him like the warmth of the sun and he was at peace.
Do you remain ignorant? Lamil’s voice rang like a bell in his mind.
Kaitlyn’s face disappeared, but the peace remained.
“I have no idea how Jurn messes with my penitents. Mujahid said that wasn’t possible. He was wrong, obviously.”
Or perhaps just testing you, as I do.
“I don’t know. I see my reflection and don’t recognize my own face anymore.” I feel so…old.
That is natural, Nicolas. Your spirit has lived many lifetimes, and the wisdom it has gained is far beyond your physical age.
But why does my body feel like this?
Your mind is no longer ignorant. Your spirit is now much older than your body so your
body grows confused. It will adjust with time. And you will learn…other ways to care for the body.
Nicolas jerked his head back in realization. The siek was standing across the dome. He had done it.
Yes, you have. You are ignorant no more. You have found your cet.
“Kaitlyn.”
“She is a deeper part of you than you know,” Lamil said. “She is both the source of your strength and of your peace. And far more than that, if my instinct serves me.”
Nicolas squinted at him. You know something about my future.
“Does this surprise you?” Lamil smiled.
Nicolas couldn’t help smiling in return. He stretched and yawned.
“I wish it were that simple, though,” Lamil said. “Prophecy is the least understood concept in our religion.”
“I’ve always thought prophecy was more about the past than the future.”
“You are not far from mastery,” Lamil said. “And I do not use those words lightly. But remember that the future is not determined. You change it with every decision you make and every action you take.”
“Not sure I have many decisions left.”
“I will not go back on what I told you yesterday. You will face Jurn, and he will be free to kill you.”
“You’d let one of your students die?”
Lamil looked Nicolas up and down. “Other priests live years between visits to the halls of power, sometimes decades. Yet you have mastered two symbols in a matter of months. The futures of many, cichlos and human alike, depend on your survival. But if you’re asking me if I would allow Jurn to kill you in open combat…my answer is yes. And you already know why.”
Lamil was right, though Nicolas didn’t want to admit it.
Necromancy was dangerous. If the wrong people attained mastery the results could be catastrophic…to the dead as well as the living. Lamil was the gatekeeper of the priesthood for the cichlos people—The People—and he would never allow the wrong person to wield its power. If Nicolas was a casualty of that principle, Lamil would consider it a blessing to have weeded out an incompetent priest.