by Nat Russo
Foot and footprint. This has to mean something.
“It was in this room, forty years ago, that I learned of your kidnapping,” Kagan said. “It seems fitting that future generations will know this place as the room where I found you dead.”
The ghostly hand inched closer to him.
He remembered back to his time in the Plane of Death, back to his first experience of vitapotency. Why had it targeted children?
Foot and footprint. No. It can’t be.
The energies were two sides of the same coin. Both channeled life. Necropotency channeled life after it had passed away from this world. So vitapotency must channel life before it enters the world.
He understood. And it was so simple. If a necromancer channeled necropotency into death…then maybe a life magus should channel vitapotency into life.
My god. Is that why there are so few children and so many stillborn?
With great effort he concentrated on the pregnant woman he saw in the Grand Hall. He formed an image of a spark igniting a blaze and willed the vitapotency toward the woman’s unborn child.
A sense of giddiness emanated from the threads of vitapotency, and for a moment he thought he heard a child’s laughter.
The vitapotency rushed away and the shield evaporated. Kagan backed away with a dazed look.
The ghostly hand was less than an inch from his chest.
Something caught Kagan’s attention at the entrance of the room.
“You’re no god.” The voice came from behind him, and it was a voice Nicolas had never heard before.
Whoever this guy was, Kagan looked as if the man was the last person he expected to see.
“You’d do well to watch your words, Tithian. I’ll forgive the—”
“If you’re a god, then this paltry display of the arcane should pose no challenge to you,” Tithian said.
The ghostly hand struck an invisible barrier in front of Nicolas. It struggled to penetrate but couldn’t.
Power flooded back into Nicolas’s well, and he expelled a wall of force that struck Kagan, lifting him off his feet and tossing him back against the far wall.
He turned his mind inward once more and fashioned a blanket of necropotency identical to the shield Kagan had created. Except this one was compressed into a ball no larger than the head of a pin. He hurled it at Kagan and the compressed energy struck the archmage in the chest, connected to Nicolas by a small tendril of energy. Nicolas willed the ball to expand, and as it grew inside Kagan it spawned smaller, microscopic versions of itself that shielded every cell in Kagan’s body.
Kagan was powerless. There would be no way out of this shield.
Nicolas faced the Orb of Arin. The swirls of light danced across its surface in every color imaginable. He’d experienced what it was like to use the Orb of Zubuxo. All he had to do was release a small amount of power and touch it. His greatest desire would come true. He would hold Kaitlyn in his arms again and never think about this place. They’d get married and be happy together for the rest of their lives. He would finish his degree and become an archaeologist, as he always wanted, and honor the memory of Dr. Murray.
The dead Dr. Murray.
The dead.
Countless dead stood upon the Field of Judgment, waiting for purification from necromancers who were being hunted like animals. Nicolas had seen them. He’d stood with the dead and spoken with them. He’d watched as they were defiled by life magic, made dirty even after they were purified. He remembered the cries of the children as the hellwraiths carried one away. Was Dr. Murray standing somewhere on that Field of Judgment destined to face the hellwraiths as well?
The ground lurched as the quake raged on.
He thought of all the villages he passed through, lying in ruin. Everywhere he went it was as if people were refugees in their own cities. He thought of the death piles that Mujahid had told him about, and wondered how many other cities had become victims of Kagan’s quest for power.
Tears rolled down his face and he thought of Kaitlyn. He reached into his robe and pulled out the picture she had given him. All of his hopes and dreams were in that face. He looked into her eyes and saw his own future.
But it was just another future that would never be, because of the sin of a single man.
This wasn’t his fight. He could walk away. He could go home. He never asked for this.
But if he let this world destroy itself for his own benefit, then he would be guilty of the same sin. How many futures would he destroy if he gave in to his desires? How many lives would never be lived? How many children would never be born?
He would never be able to live with himself. And if he became that person—the kind of person that could be happy with that decision—then he didn’t deserve Kaitlyn.
The tears flowed freely. Mujahid was right. He knew what had to be done.
Tithian stepped forward, and Nicolas thought he was about to kill Kagan.
“No, Tithian,” Nicolas said. “Please. This is something I have to do.”
Tithian hesitated, and for a moment Nicolas thought he’d misjudged the man. Maybe Tithian wasn’t a friend at all.
Tithian’s eyes moving from Nicolas back to Kagan. He nodded and stepped back.
“What have you done to me?” Kagan asked.
Disgust welled up in Nicolas’s throat like a lump. He wanted nothing more than to summon a penitent who would rip Kagan apart in a shower of blood.
“Do you have any idea what I have to do?” Nicolas said. “What I have to sacrifice to atone for your sins?”
“If you’re going to kill me boy, then kill me.”
Nicolas faced the Orb of Arin once more. He basked in the energy it gave off. It was calming. But peace was no longer possible for Nicolas. His life would never know peace again.
He closed his eyes and opened himself to the power of the orb. Where once his well of power was like a bucket, now it was like the bed of an ocean. He reached out and drew more and more power until that ocean was full to overflowing.
“Gods have mercy, the power,” Tithian said. His hair whipped around his head by a mystical wind.
Necropotency coursed through Nicolas, and his body trembled as he tried to consume even more, but no more would come. He had reached the limit of his abilities, and he would use all of his power to see this to fruition. If he died in the process, then so be it. He was dead already.
He opened his eyes and watched Kagan scoot back along the floor. The archmage’s face had turned ashen.
Nicolas had been right about the gods. The gods couldn’t die. The gods simply were. They existed. And he would raise them the same way he had raised so many others.
Blasts of vitapotency exploded all around.
The Tildemen archers dropped two of the five magi, but the arcane volleys increased in frequency, forcing Mujahid and the Tildemen back into the main plaza.
More archers dropped as they retreated. They didn’t have enough people to take out the remaining three magi, and Mujahid would add little value. The transfiguration had left him exhausted, and it seemed as if he couldn’t draw necropotency into his well.
When they reached the main plaza, the four monolithic doors leading into the Pinnacle stood open.
More than one hundred Council magi had spread out on the steps leading up to the doors. The entire Council had shown up for the fight.
Mujahid offered a silent prayer that Zubuxo would show him mercy when he arrived on the Field of Judgment.
Nicolas opened his well and emptied it into the symbol of the skull. When it would absorb no more power, he cast it forward, stretching it over the surface of the Orb of Arin. A great beam of necropotency radiated from his outstretched hands.
“No!” Kagan screamed.
A loud hum filled the room as the beam fed into the orb. When the hum reached a volume that threatened to burst his eardrums, silence descended.
He had heard that mystical silence in Paradise, right before—
The
orb exploded into billions of tiny fragments, and the shock wave threw Kagan backward into the stone wall. It sounded as if the entire building would crumble down on top of them. The wave parted around Nicolas and Tithian, however, and a feeling of peace entered his mind.
When the explosion ended, Nicolas looked to where the orb had been hovering in the air. It had been obliterated, except for one small section that now lay in ruin on the floor.
A beam of sunlight penetrated the room through a gaping hole in the ceiling. The ubiquitous yellow glow was gone. The sky was as turquoise as the stones the Native Americans sold at the trading posts near the Grand Canyon, and it was the same shade as the hide of a shriller.
He had destroyed the barrier.
A strange sensation tickled the back of his neck. It was the feeling he’d get when someone was watching him.
The smell of fresh roses filled the air.
A cataclysmic explosion rocked the plaza, and Mujahid had to dive behind the battlements on the staircase to avoid the debris that was raining down. A gaping hole had been torn in the side of the central tower, and several portions of the roof had collapsed. The council magi were a mass of confusion, some running farther out into the plaza, and others back into the Pinnacle.
The island grew brighter all around him, and he had to shield his eyes.
“Gods in paradise,” Yuli said. She was staring up into the sky.
He followed her gaze, and when he saw what she was looking at, he lowered his head and offered a prayer of thanksgiving.
The barrier was gone.
But something else was happening—something so unexpected, so beautiful, that Mujahid could only stare and laugh.
Hundreds of people appeared on the shores of the Pinnacle, cichlos and human alike. They seemed disoriented, glancing around and staring at their bodies, as if they were getting used to their own limbs. Many had begun to laugh and cry. Others embraced one another as if reuniting with long lost friends.
It all made sense now. The barrier never killed anyone. It took them. And now it had brought them back…everyone it had ever taken.
For the first time since coming to terms with Mordryn’s disappearance, Mujahid wept.
“Commander,” one of the Tildemen shouted. “The Council is boiling the sea.”
Mujahid knew that wasn’t right. As soon as the barrier collapsed he sensed the magi stop casting. He faced the dock.
Waves crashed against the shore where no waves had existed earlier. Something was disturbing the sea from underneath.
A wall of water rose up from the sea and struck Mujahid and the Tildemen.
Man-sized objects shot out from the sea as if giant crossbows were fired from just below the surface. Water rained down, obscuring Mujahid’s vision as the objects kept coming.
He wiped the water from his eyes.
Dozens of undead cichlos were shooting out of the water, landing on the docks, and charging the staircase.
In the midst of the churning water, blue-cowled cichlos were emerging and walking up onto the shore, directing their penitents.
The necromancers emerged from the water, and it wasn’t long before they were battling the Council magi in a direct confrontation. The Council was in full retreat, fleeing back up the steps and into the Pinnacle, but that didn’t stop the cichlos from chasing them.
An old cichlos necromancer climbed out of the water next to Mujahid. It had been years, but Mujahid would know this cichlos anywhere.
“Siek Lamil,” Mujahid said.
Four undead cichlos materialized next to Lamil and charged into the battle, followed by four more, then four again.
Mujahid examined the siek for signs of insanity. No man could withstand twelve summonings in the span of seconds.
Lamil harrumphed. “Were you planning to assist or stare at me for the remainder of the battle?”
“How did you do that?”
“What is the Prime Duty of a Necromancer?”
Mujahid smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
The god Arin stood resplendent in his golden winged helm. His brilliant, white armor reflected the Erindorian sun, and he radiated an aura of peace.
Tithian dropped to one knee.
Nicolas was uncertain of what to do, so he dropped to one knee as well.
Two other beings materialized. The first was a woman who radiated a scent of fresh cut roses. Brown hair cascaded down to her shoulders in tight curls. Her eyes were a piercing blue that glowed with an inner light. The second was shrouded in darkness and wore a cloak made of shadow. He couldn’t see the being’s face, but he had no doubt it was Zubuxo, the God of Death.
Arin squatted next to the orb fragment and picked it up. An expression of pure fury passed across his face, but the aura of peace returned.
Arin stood. His eyes, rust colored a moment ago, flashed a brilliant yellow. They cycled through every color of the rainbow before returning to rust.
Every hair on Nicolas’s body stood on end, but nothing happened from what he could see.
Arin spoke, and his voice was soothing, as if all the cichlos of Aquonome were singing in unison.
“Why are you unable to channel, Archmage?” Arin said.
“Arin,” the woman said. “Now is the time for mercy.”
Nicolas had no frame of reference for what he was witnessing. Were the gods of Erindor, Terilya—and who knew how many other places—really standing before him? And what did this imply about his own beliefs?
“You cannot channel, Archmage, because your son is a greater magus than you are,” Arin said. “We did well to choose you, Nicolas.”
Arin’s eyes were kind, but they were sunken as if weary from witnessing millennia of joy and horror.
“I sent the Barathosians to teach you the true nature of vitapotency,” Arin said. “You paid them back with murder.”
“Arin,” the woman said.
“You didn’t capture us, you vain man,” Arin said. “We went willingly into the barrier so that it would feed on us instead of the countless unborn.”
“Arin,” the woman said.
“You traded my words for your own twisted version, all while invoking my name with mock piety.”
“Arin, please,” the woman said.
Arin turned and his countenance changed. The aura of peace radiated from him again.
“There were others on your path, Nicolas,” Arin said. He extended his arms and the scent of saltwater filled the room. A cool sea breeze danced across Nicolas’s face.
Mujahid, Yuli, and Siek Lamil materialized in the room.
“Siek?” Nicolas said. He couldn’t believe it.
Mujahid and Yuli fell to one knee when they saw the gods. Lamil bowed his head but did not kneel.
Nicolas’s heart sank. He’d promised the cichlos he’d help them, but the orb was destroyed.
“You amaze us,” Arin said to Nicolas. “Even in your moment of greatest loss, your heart turns to the plight of others.”
The woman reached out to touch Arin. Tears pooled in her eyes.
Arin faced her. “Have you ever witnessed anything like this in Erindor before, Shealynd?”
So that’s who she is. Shealynd, the Goddess of Love.
Arin closed the distance between them and gently grasped Nicolas’s upper arm.
Flesh and blood. He feels like any other man.
Tithian and the others bowed their heads lower.
“Do you see this man, Zubuxo,” Arin said.
Zubuxo removed the shadowy hood covering his face. The god had the appearance of an old man, with a long white beard that ran down to the center of his chest, but his eyes were two black orbs.
“You know my mind,” Zubuxo said.
The archmage floated off the floor, pulled toward Arin by some divine force.
“So many cry out in anger, victimized by your atrocities,” Arin said. “So many are doomed to live out their penance in the six hells because of the damage you did.”
; “Please,” Kagan said.
“You owe a price too great to count,” Arin said. “You will be cast into the hells for eternity, and you will serve in whatever manner the Mukhtaar Lord deems worthy of your wretched nature.”
Nicolas shouldn’t be bothered by Arin’s judgment, but he was. Kagan had caused a lot of evil. He should be happy to see Kagan get what he deserved. But eternity was a long time.
Kagan’s mouth was open as if trying to scream, but no sound escaped it.
“Take him,” Arin said.
Nicolas remembered the argram, the first creature he’d ever successfully summoned. As evil as the creature’s acts were, acts which resulted in the downfall of a civilization, he had made some small progress during his time with Nicolas.
“Wait,” Nicolas yelled.
Kagan hung in midair, a look of horror on his face.
“I’ve seen more than enough evil, Arin,” Nicolas said. “And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that no one is beyond redemption. Tossing him into hell is just revenge, as far as I can tell. It doesn’t help him, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna help the countless people he’s hurt.”
Shealynd smiled.
“What are you asking of me?” Arin said.
Nicolas took a deep breath. “If the Prime Duty of a necromancer is to raise the dead and help them achieve purification, then how can I sit back and watch someone be thrown away because of the evil they’ve committed?”
Lamil placed a hand on Mujahid’s shoulder and smiled.
“Yes,” Kagan said. “That’s mercy. Don’t throw me away, my Lord. You’re a good son, Nicolas.”
Nicolas gave Kagan an icy stare. “You’ll pray for hell after you hear what I’ve got in mind.”
“I’m listening,” Arin said.
“Make him my penitent,” Nicolas said.
It was Zubuxo that smiled this time.
Kagan’s eyes widened. “No. Not that. Don’t make me live like that.”
Arin lowered his hand. “So be it.”
“No!” Kagan yelled and became silent as if someone had cut off his breath. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor of the sanctuary, dead.