“Oh, come now, Bodan. The most entertaining things in life are doing things people tell you not to. Don’t you remember being a child, when Mother would tell us not to do something? It just made us want to do it more. When they corral things like this behind their iron bars and their steel doors, they’re really just begging for something like what happened today.”
“Somehow, I don’t think they see it that way.”
Jerrod bowed his head and nodded. “You know, you don’t have to do this.”
Bodan shrugged. “Neither do you.”
The older brother chuckled again. “I’ll tell you what. Once you finish school, why don’t you find out what our next adventure will be? You have my word that once you graduate, I’ll put all this nonsense behind me.”
With a smile, Bodan looked out over the city. “We could always take one of the family ships. Go off sailing to one of those islands that have a dozen names because they’re too small to show up on any maps, but they’re still big enough to be worth exploring.”
“Mother would tell us not to,” Jerrod said.
“Exactly,” Bodan countered, that smile on his face growing even brighter.
The brothers rose, and Jerrod stepped onto the ledge that overlooked the street. That stone façade shuddered beneath his weight, but he seemed not to notice. “You know what would be an interesting challenge? Finding a way to bring this back without being noticed.”
Bodan scoffed and walked up beside his older brother. “Why not just turn it in? Maybe we could get a reward.”
“A reward for stealing and then returning some ornate bauble,” Jerrod said. “Can you imagine?”
“Wealthy people and their money,” the younger brother chuckled.
Neither brother knew what was happening when the stone beneath their boots cracked. On instinct alone, Jerrod stepped back, but Bodan looked about as if there was something in the air that could be blamed for the odd sensation.
Though both brothers no longer placed their weight upon the façade, the damage was already done. A loud rumble was the last warning they had before the stone crumbled beneath the younger sibling’s feet. Jerrod reached out to catch his brother, but it was too late.
“Bodan!” he cried.
It felt as if ages had transpired between the moments the stone gave way and Bodan fell out of sight. But when Jerrod peered over the side of the building, the rubble was already in the street.
So, too, was the lifeless body of his dear brother.
*****
Standing before that empty room, he couldn’t bring himself to enter or move away from it. Jerrod was frozen there, as he was every day since the accident.
How long had it been since his world crumbled—months, a year, more?
Bodan’s room remained unchanged for all that time, as though their family was just waiting for him to come home. All the items there remained in place, and the help they employed made sure it was kept in pristine condition. Jerrod didn’t notice the servants spent most of their time on that one room.
Nor did he realize it was on his orders they had done so.
The place was a shrine, and Jerrod went there to pray every day. His eyes landed on the plush chair that faced the grand window of the room. The other man’s hand was draped on the arm of that seat, but Jerrod could see nothing else.
“How long are you going to stand there?” the man asked.
The lad standing just outside the room sighed. “I’ll stand here as long as it takes.”
“To do what?”
“To move on.”
“And do you think that will ever be possible? You carry more guilt in you than you deserve. The Vela family has already lost one son. Do you think they mean to lose you too?”
“I am already lost without my brother. I see the way they look at me. Not just the servants but the rest of the family. I’m worthy of that guilt, and I would sooner see it envelop me than find it buried like some forgotten thing.”
“It was not as if you pushed—”
“Oh, but it is,” Jerrod interrupted. “If we weren’t there…if my need for a hapless adventure hadn’t put us in that situation…”
“It wasn’t you that caused that ledge to crumble. Fate decreed it. I’ve heard enough of this. Haven’t you grown tired of defending yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to mourn by carrying on with your life?”
“There is no life by myself.” Jerrod turned away from the room, hurt by those words he heard. He nearly leapt into the air at the sight of one of his family’s servants.
“I’m so sorry, Master Jerrod,” the squat woman shouted, bowing farther than it seemed her frame would allow. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
For a few moments, the lad steadied the cadence of his breaths. But as he pushed away that shock, his face turned red instead of white. The heat of that embarrassment was enough for the woman to feel from several feet away, and the grieving lad seemed to glow as he let anger replace his shame.
He inched closer to her, and she leaned back on reflex alone. “You think the matters of some servant bother me at all?” he growled. As he passed by, she grimaced, as though the lad might have lunged and taken a bite out of her.
She swallowed the lump in her throat as the sounds of his footfalls led him down the corridor and away from her. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she cocked her head toward the room. Though her hairs still stood on her arms and her neck, her curiosity piqued. She ventured into the room, Jerrod’s words echoing in her mind as though he were still there.
Bodan’s room was brightened by the rays of sunlight that cast in through the tall window. Though the servants did their part to keep it clean, particles of dust could be seen as the glimmers of morning crept past the parted curtains.
The woman proceeded deeper into the room, her eyes pointed toward that chair in the center of it. But when she passed it, she knew the truth.
There was no one there.
*****
It was a cold evening, and even drawing that cowl up over his head did nothing to stave off the chill. He grinned and snapped his fingers, urging a spark to take shape above his thumb. He cradled the flame in his other hand, helping it to grow.
The man at the other end of that alley could see the fellow’s features, even from afar.
Gone were the youthful features of a lad with his whole life ahead of him. A year of guilt and sorrow had left Jerrod’s face looking weathered and his eyes filled with madness.
Benjamin wondered if he should have bothered to walk the rest of the way down that dark corridor of Argos. The man he meant to do business with seemed more concerned with the flame than anything else.
That pouch on the fellow’s hip seemed to bulge enough to burst, though, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.
Jerrod saw the quiet approach of the man across the way. Through the flame, ever brighter upon his fingers, he wondered if what he saw was real.
“Trachis?” the Magician queried.
Growling, Benjamin hurried the rest of the way. “I wish you wouldn’t use my name. It’s not exactly good business to be associated with one of your kind.”
Jerrod pushed a sound from his lips that seemed somewhere between a scoff and a chortle. “This hour of night, in an alley like this? Nobody heard a thing beyond a breeze against their window. Did you bring what I asked for?”
“Did you bring what it is worth?” Benjamin pressed.
His eyebrow arched as Jerrod slapped his hand against that coin pouch. Sure enough, the sound of silver and gold clapping against one another could be heard.
His collaborator offered a subtle nod and reached into his tunic. A small roll of parchment came out within his hand, and the Magician tugged the coins from his belt before the document could be unfurled.
“You know what this is, right?” Benjamin asked. “I haven’t been able to confirm it. As of right now, it’s just whispers and hearsay.”
“As I hear it, the very words came from your fa
ther’s lips. You have no idea how long I’ve been searching for something like this. If there’s even some small chance…”
The two men exchanged the items, and Benjamin hurried to gather a look into the pouch. A contented snicker rose into the air as Jerrod pulled the twine from the vellum and looked at what was written upon it.
“You’ve done a great service, Trachis. Someday, I’ll find the proper way to reward you.” When he looked up, his coconspirator was already moving down the alley. Jerrod harrumphed, but a bright smile was already upon his face.
Renewed by the scroll in his hand, he swept back his hood and turned. A few steps brought him into the open, and when he was in the street, he jogged along a familiar route until he reached the place he considered his second home for some time. There was nowhere else in Argos better to ply for information.
The Queen’s Dare had served him well.
He didn’t bother to knock. Anyone who would have holed up in the tavern had already gone off into the night, finding a warm bed to sleep in, not necessarily their own. Even the bartender had retired for the evening.
Jerrod knew, however, the more important members of the Brotherhood never truly left the place. The Queen’s Dare was a staging ground like no other, and its premiere members—three respected leaders—were always on hand.
The Magician moved the cabinet out of the way and proceeded down the steps. The flicker of light in a sconce in that underground version of the tavern above proved his suspicion.
He was not alone.
Striding across the floor, he was sure the leaders of the Brotherhood heard his boots tapping against the wood. With that in his mind, he opened the door without obtaining consent.
The man in the center of the room, the oldest of their order, turned to the unexpected guest of that late hour. His bushy eyebrows fell as he sent a scowl his way. “Jerrod? What in Evarice are you doing here this late?”
“Master Jandori,” the young member of the guild said. He smiled as he marched into the room, carrying that rolled piece of parchment before him. He passed the first of those leaders and spotted the other pair, already sitting at the table near the side wall, weathered tomes before them. “Masters Bacal and Winifred,” he greeted. “I have something of the utmost value in my possession. You value knowledge almost as much as gold, and I’ve happened upon a truth that could set this city ablaze if it were to be used properly.”
The youngest member there—and closest to the door Jerrod had entered from—blew out a sigh as he regarded the eager brigand. “What is the meaning of this, lad? Can’t you see we’re busy here?”
“We won’t have to worry about ledgers and books after today, of that I can promise you. The last book we need has been found.” He placed the scrap of paper on the table and stepped back, offering a nod to Jandori once more. “Surely, you recall the tales of the Kalistrazi. They were the great heroes who ventured from the darkness to see this world shaped into the place it is today. One with magic, they carved a spot for humanity in a world too hostile to accept us.
“The first men are a part of this world, and they left their mark. Their powers were too great to let die with them, so they were siphoned from them, so they could be utilized later.”
“You’re talking about the Arcanax Compendium?” the man known as Winifred asked. He looked to the other seated leader, who nodded after reading the scrap of paper. “Those tales also tell us this book was created to draw power from the men who let magic corrupt their minds. If we are to believe what was once said, the compendium could be the greatest relic known to Tellest—not just humanity.”
“And it’s nearly in the palms of our hands.”
“If it’s been lost to us for this long, that might not be a bad thing,” the longest running member of the Brotherhood went on. “That corruption could be our undoing, don’t you understand? We’re a great many things here in the Brotherhood, but I’d like to think being megalomaniacs is something well beyond our reach.”
“Megalo…” Jerrod began to say before the word trailed off. “We could be ushering in a new age. We could be shaping the world as we know it, and you’re too cowardly to venture a journey to the palace?”
“We’re thieves, not anarchists,” Bacal said.
“That’ll be enough, Mister Vela,” Winifred urged to the overzealous member of their guild. “Forget you ever saw this scrap of paper. We’ll not be pursuing it further.” The man crumpled the unfurled scroll between his fingers and let it fall to the table.
Jerrod stood there for some time, his eyes shifting from the leaders to the paper that held his future. He considered all the trouble he went through to achieve it and what he was leaving behind if the Arcanax Compendium remained undiscovered.
“This is unacceptable,” the Magician muttered. “I cannot retrieve the book on my own.”
“We will not be involving our brothers in your foolish quest for power corrupted.”
Bacal watched while Jerrod’s eyes brightened with a red glow. He reached under the table, his hand landing on the curved dagger on his hip.
“Perhaps I don’t need you, then,” the Magician considered.
Bacal brought his weapon above the table and moved to throw it. Before the blade could leave his fingers, though, a blast of fire leapt from Jerrod’s hands. It dislodged the dagger from the young leader’s hand and engulfed his tunic in flames.
Jerrod was in continuous motion. A hand landed on his shoulder, but he was already spinning about. A blast of heat met Jandori’s face, disorienting him long enough for the Magician to settle his hand on his opponent’s short sword. A firm kick sent Jandori stumbling backward, though he heard his weapon scrape out of its sheath.
Winifred moved at once, kicking the table forward to put distance between him and the upstart thief.
Jerrod heard the furniture sliding across the floor, though. He turned to see it moving toward him and blasted fire at the ground. The explosion sent the table flying into the air, and he had the sense to duck beneath it.
Winifred couldn’t have expected the lad to charge forth, Jandori’s blade in his hand. The longest serving member of the Brotherhood couldn’t bring his blade to bear quick enough to parry that furious lunge.
He gasped as the fine blade pierced his lung, and his eyes grew wide as blood gushed into that organ. He coughed out a gob of crimson, while Jerrod left him pierced against the wall.
The killer looked around the room. Bacal finished flailing, collapsing to the ground, his clothes singed and scorched, and the flames kept crackling. Jandori, on the other side of the room, blinked away his stupor, his vision returning to him. When the old member of the guild realized what damage had already been done, the lump in his throat was apparent.
His eyes betrayed him when he looked to the exit.
Before he turned to move that way, Jerrod cast another one of those flames. It burst between Jandori’s legs, spilling the man to the floor.
The Magician was there in an instant, his hands already bright with new fire. He grasped the old thief around the throat, eliciting a cry. While his mouth was open, Jerrod clasped his other hand across Jandori’s lips.
One surprised gasp was all it took to feed the old fellow that flame. When the passionate killer released his hold on him, Jandori slumped to the ground, his terror etched forever onto his face.
With his superiors dead around him, Jerrod felt the adrenaline leave his body and fell to the ground, catching himself on his hands while he panted and shuddered. The sweat on his brow dripped onto the wooden floor, and the flames that ate away at Bacal continued to crackle.
He reached in that direction, sending another blast of fire toward the burning corpse. The blast erupted at once, and both flames dissipated into the air.
All Jerrod heard was his own labored breathing.
“What have you done?”
He could have just as easily said the words himself. The exasperated fellow exhaled one more time before he rose to his fee
t and turned.
There, by the rear door of that room, was a familiar face.
“It was the only way, Bodan,” Jerrod said. “One day soon, I will have you back—more than just this figment of my imagination.”
The vision of his brother shook his head. “You have to let me go. What happened wasn’t your fault, and you know it, else you wouldn’t have me say things like this.”
Jerrod shook his head. “I won’t let go. Not when I’m this close. With the Arcanax Compendium in my hands, we’ll give power to everyone in this damned city until someone has the power to bring you back to me.”
*****
Thoro saw the tears in Jerrod’s eyes as he related his tale. After all he had done—all the lives he’d ruined and the damage he’d caused to the city—he was no closer to bringing his brother back from the dead.
The jeweled dagger lodged in his chest glowed orange, and Thoro knew there were flames dancing around the blade in Jerrod’s abdomen. He tugged the weapon free and watched as the fire blazed in the wound.
Jerrod swallowed away the pain and regret. “I just wanted to see my brother again,” he lamented.
His brow furrowing, Thoro fell to a knee before his former brother. “Well, now you’ll have your chance.” He reached for the book that had given the Magician his greater power and spun the emblem on its front before opening it once more.
Both men saw the aurora shift and realized it was traveling backward, into the tome.
Jerrod groaned, and it was easy to see why. Those flames that burned in him were called toward the Arcanax Compendium as well. His life was fleeting, and the flames—the only thing keeping him whole—were being snuffed out.
Unable to persevere any longer, Jerrod collapsed onto the cobblestones.
*****
Had she not been stabbed, she was convinced her efforts would have been just the same. Riptide could endure forever, and she was a mere mortal. Every attack against him had the same effect. He could parry, he could dodge, or he could accept a vicious stab or slash, and it didn’t matter. Riptide could not be harmed.
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