by Dan McGirt
“Well, here I am,” I said, wondering if I should fall to my knees.
“No need to fall to your knees,” said Great Whoosh. “You have proven your devotion by reaching this point. We have observed you carefully in your travels and are pleased.
Your skills, your knowledge, your will—all have grown greatly. You have demonstrated courage, loyalty, and resourcefulness. You—”
“Am I late?” said a holy voice I recognized. The goddess Rae forced her way into the assemblage, her face appearing beside Great Whoosh. She smiled down at me. “Hello again, Jason.”
“Greetings, O Rae.”
“As I was saying,” said Great Whoosh. “You have become the hero you were meant to be. Now it is time to reveal to you why all that has happened has happened.”
“This should be interesting.”
“Archiva, would you provide the needed background information, please?”
The Goddess of History, a silver-haired old woman with skin the color of aged parchment, coughed to draw my attention. Her voice was like the turning of ancient, dusty pages. “In the beginning there were The Gods, who dwell in Paradise. And The Gods grew restless and created the Earth, and it was good, and beautiful, and perfect. But no man dwelt in it then, only the birds of the air and the beasts of the—”
“Excuse me,” said Great Whoosh. “There’s no need to go back quite that far.”
“I like to start at the beginning.”
“Could you skip ahead a bit? He’s only a mortal. He hasn’t got time to hear it all.”
“Skip ahead how far?”
“To the Age of War.”
“How can you understand the importance of the Age of War if you don’t consider the Age of Nature and the Age of Peace first? It’s the sharp break with past trends which makes it so significant.”
“Please.”
“Very well. After a millennium of peace came the Age of War. Its origins lie in a complex interaction of such diverse factors as the creation of other intelligent races that competed with humanity, the invention of economics, petty feuds among various gods, and the arrival in our universe of the race of demons. All are important, though the last has the most bearing on the current situation. The demons came from Somewhere Else and constructed the Assorted Hells as a mockery of Paradise, though some speculate that they—”
“Archiva.” Great Whoosh was growing impatient.
“The War of a Thousand Years, involving gods, demons, and the mortal races, blasted Arden and ended with the original Great Eternal Pan-Cosmic Holy/Unholy Nonintervention Pact. In this treaty, all gods and demons promised to leave one another in peace and withdraw totally from mortal affairs. The Gods honored the agreement. The demons, led by Asmodraxas, did not. Unopposed, they created an Empire of Fear, which ruled the world. This was the Age of Despair. After a thousand years, we gods could take no more. We modified the Non-intervention Pact to allow limited involvement in worldly matters and brought forth a Mighty Champion to free mankind from the yoke of demonic slavery. After a hard struggle, he defeated Asmodraxas, brought down the Evil Empire, and ushered in the current Age of Hope. The important features of this age have been—”
“Stick to the matter at hand,” said Great Whoosh curtly.
“The overall trend to note is that each Age lasts a thousand years. The Age of War ended nine hundred ninety years ago, making this the critical decade which will determine the character of the Next Age.”
“Thank you, Archiva,” said the Wind God quickly as she gathered her breath to continue the history lesson. He turned his attention to me. “You have already learned that you are a namesake of the Mighty Champion. Know now that you are of his bloodline. It is for this reason that the Dark Magic Society fears you. They hope to release Asmodraxas from his prison and bring an Age of More Despair Than Last Time. They fear you will thwart them in the tradition of your great ancestor. This is why they seek to destroy you.”
“What about the Demon Lords? They seek to preserve the status quo. How does killing me fit their plans?”
“They are Demon Lords. Their first reaction to any problem is to kill it. We have negotiated with them, however, and they have agreed to take no further action against you. They will abide by this agreement only so long as they believe it furthers their purpose of preventing the return of Asmodraxas. You must therefore act quickly.”
“What must I do quickly?”
“Arkayne will explain.”
The God of Magic, his face hidden by a hood the color of mystery, leaned forward. “You know it is the Superwand which Erimandras and the Society seek. It is by the power of the wand that Asmodraxas was bound, and it is only by the power of the wand that he can be freed. It follows, then, that Erimandras must not gain possession of the Superwand.”
“So where is it hidden?”
“We don’t know. The Mighty Champion hid it and never told us where he put it. Ideally, it should be brought to Paradise for safekeeping.”
“You want me to find the wand and bring it to Paradise?”
“Of course not! Ideal conditions are rarely found. Were the Superwand in Paradise its power would be a constant temptation to all of The Gods. Mistrust would flourish, a godwar would be inevitable. If anyone has the wand it creates a dangerous imbalance in the cosmic correlation of forces.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Prevent the Superwand from being found. The Society believes you know its location, a bit of disinformation spread by my colleague Heraldo, God of Propaganda and Journalism. This has diverted them from a direct search for the wand to a manhunt for you. It’s up to you to make sure they never return to their abandoned direct search.”
“You gods put the Society on my trail?”
“All part of our master plan,” said Great Whoosh soothingly. “We kept Erimandras preoccupied with you and at the same time created circumstances which would allow you to emerge as a hero and destroy him.”
“So you want me to kill Erimandras the Overmaster?”
“You may not have to kill him,” said Arkayne. “Just render him and the Society incapable of pursuing their quest for the Superwand. Wherever it is hidden, there must it remain.”
“We have brought you this far,” said Great Whoosh. “We have prepared you for this moment. We have given you a superb mind, body, and will. You have learned the skills a hero needs. Now we charge you with a great heroic mission. Preserve the sanctity of the Next Age. Stop the Society, that it may be an Age of Continued Hope, perhaps even a second Age of Peace.”
“A second Age of Peace? Are you kidding?”
“Well, perhaps that is asking a bit much. Just prevent the Dark Magic Society from plunging the Earth into a long night of evil. That’s all we ask of you. That is your duty. Perform it well.”
“Wait a minute!”
“In this place you will find the relics of the Mighty Champion, your forebearer. Use them in your coming battles.”
“You can’t be serious!”
The vision of The Gods vanished and I was looking at the underside of a normal gazebo top.
“What was that all about?” asked Merc. “I only caught your half of the conversation.”
“I’m supposed to stop the Society from ruling the world for the next thousand years.”
“Oh. Sounds simple enough.”
“Right.”
“Did they offer any suggestions on how you’re supposed to do this?”
“The relics of the Mighty Champion are supposed to be around here somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know!”
“Calm down, calm down. The situation isn’t all that grim.”
“Not all that grim! Mercury, they expect me to destroy the Dark Magic Society! Me! I’m not even a wizard! I was adjusting to this hero thing pretty well, but this is too much! I can’t do it! It’s insane!”
“Now think this through rationally. The Society is trying to kill you, right?”
“Right.”
“You can run, fight, or surrender. Surrender is certain death. No good. Running and fighting both involve risks, but at least you’ve got a chance. With me so far?”
“Yes, but what—”
“When we met I agreed to help you in hopes that your aura would tell me how to get the Society to leave me alone. It didn’t. So why am I here with you now?”
“You promised to protect me.”
“Only as far as Rae City.”
“Because you’re my friend?”
“That’s true, but you loan a friend garden tools. You don’t escort him through the Incredibly Dark Forest. I’m here because you have become my best hope of survival.”
“I’m your best hope? Are you feeling well?”
“Back to run or fight. Both are risky, but running does no damage to the enemy. Your situation never improves. You just keep running until you get caught. That’s been my strategy because I haven’t had the means to fight—until now. Fighting is only a sensible option if you’ve got a chance, no matter how slim, of winning. I saw no hope of victory.”
“And now you do?”
“Jason, you’ve got strength, brains, courage, charisma, and character. The Society itself has given you a worldwide reputation as a powerful, dangerous man. The Gods are behind you. You’re about to own some powerful relics. Women adore you. You’re a leader. You’re a hero. Even I, a disillusioned and cynical sorcerer who doesn’t believe in heroes, can see that. If anyone can bring the Society down, it’s you. I’ll help, of course.”
“Thanks. The two of us should be more than enough.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy. I said we had a chance. I’ve gradually come to this realization and now I’m convinced. Any man The Gods will crowd into a gazebo to talk to must have something going for him. I believe in you, Jason, and I haven’t believed in anything for a long time.”
“I’m deeply touched, Merc, but you’re starting to sound just like the League.”
“No need to be insulting. They’re witless incompetents. Excluding Raella, of course. But us—we’re an unbeatable combination. We’ve gone through the Black Bolts, Zaran, Yezgar, the Red Huntsman, numerous demons, Isogoras, Halogen, and the Incredibly Dark Forest. We can’t be stopped.”
“It’s the paint fumes, isn’t it?”
“Let’s find those relics!”
He dropped to his knees and crawled around the gazebo, minutely examining the turf for clues. Mercury Boltblaster had gone crazy before my very eyes. A practical, pragmatic survivor had become a wild-eyed, suicidal fanatic.
Then again, almost everything I had done since the arrival of Lombardo the Magnificent in Lower Hicksnittle had been suicidal. And Mercury’s logic was compelling—as long as the Society was trying to kill me anyway, I might as well strike back. If I was doomed, if there was no chance of victory, if the enemy was just too strong, then why shouldn’t I try? The course of history for the next thousand years was at stake! My ancient namesake prevailed, and he fought an enemy that already had total power, an Evil Empire that had ruled Arden unchallenged for a millennium. The Dark Magic Society was nothing compared to that, a pale shadow of what had preceded it. Yes! I would fight! Maybe I would even win.
“What exactly does a relic look like?” I asked Merc, dropping down to join his search.
“No way to tell. It can be anything. Body parts. Weapons. Personal items. Anything that came into contact with a great hero can be a relic. Have you ever heard of the Discarded Tissues of the Sneezing Saint?”
“No.”
“They’re relics of Mucosa the Miraculous. Powerful objects, but disgusting to behold.”
“I’d prefer a weapon, I think.”
“Incidentally, this grass is fake.”
We searched the whole clearing, starting at the gazebo and working our way to edge. We found no sign that anything had been buried here. The lugs could offer no suggestions.
“Maybe we’re overlooking the obvious.” I returned to the gazebo. “This is free-standing, not anchored.” I jammed my fingers under the base of the structure and easily heaved it onto its side. It collapsed into a pile of lumber.
“Shoddy construction,” said Merc. “I’m just losing all faith in The Gods here.”
“But look!”
Beneath the gazebo was a narrow stone stairway descending into the ground. Cold air that smelled like strawberries oozed up from the opening. I heard the distant sound of dripping water.
“Your relics are probably down there,” said Merc.
“Think so?” I lifted my axe and cautiously descended.
Merc right behind me. The stairs went down thirty feet or so and we were soon in complete darkness.
“Could you conjure up some light or something?”
“I could set off a flare if you’d like, but in a confined space that could be unpleasant.”
It proved unnecessary. At the bottom of the stair was an unrusted iron door. It opened soundlessly at my touch, and warm, friendly light spilled out. The strawberry smell was now intense.
We entered the cold chamber beyond. It was a dome, hewn from the rock and polished smooth. There was another iron door in the far wall. The floor was tiled. In the center of the room was a stone statue of an armored warrior. The statue held a sword and shield which looked real, as did the armor.
“Look closely at the face,” said Mercury.
I did. The statue had my face. “An almost perfect likeness.”
“Remarkable! Most remarkable!” I was startled by the cheery new voice, but even more startled when the speaker slid into view. It was a six-foot strawberry with big blue eyes and a huge human mouth. “The likeness is remarkable!”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the Keeper of the Shrine of Greenleaf, of course!”
“But you’re a big strawberry!” I protested.
“And you’re a big, hairless ape—what of it?”
“Well strawberries don’t… they can’t… that is to say… I don’t believe this.”
“Why should a talking, intelligent strawberry be any more unusual than, say, a talking, intelligent, luminous green spider?” said the Keeper.
“You have a point. But for a place called Greenleaf I’d think a talking tree would be more appropriate.”
“See that tuft of leaves on my top?”
“Yes.”
“What color are they?”
“Green.”
“There you have it. I admit I’m not quite the typical guardian of a holy shrine, but The Gods put this place together rather hastily and all the talking trees were booked. I’m normally a minor servitor of Freshlord, God of Fruits and Vegetables, but things are slow around the office once most of the spring planting is done, so I got tapped for this duty.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
“Don’t mention it! I’m getting paid overtime for this. Now I’m supposed to explain these relics to you. I see you already possess the Ring of Raxx.”
“This?” I twisted the ring Timeon gave me. “What does it do?”
“No one is really sure, but it looks nice. Let’s see if I can remember my briefing on the other relics. Ah! The armor is forged of miraculum, light as air, proof against most weapons, and looks like it will fit you nicely.”
“And the sword?”
“The sword. This is the enchanted blade Overwhelm. It will cut through stone like warm butter and has other wondrous properties which I can’t recall just now.”
“And this is all mine to keep?” I asked breathlessly.
“If you can pass the test.”
“Why do I have to pass a test?”
“Regulations. We can’t be handing out holy relics to just anyone.”
“So what’s the test?”
“You must pass through the far door and follow the tunnel beyond. At its far end you will face the test, which you must successfully complete before returning to claim your prizes. Simple, isn’t
it?”
“Right. Simple. Pass the test, claim the prizes.”
“I will wait here with your friend,” said the Keeper.
Mercury clasped my shoulder. “Good luck, Jason.”
I gripped my axe nervously and crossed to the far door. It slid open at my touch and I stepped into the steeply sloping dark tunnel beyond. The door closed behind me with a mournful clang.
* * *
18
I counted three hundred paces before the tunnel opened onto a small ledge overlooking a great underground cavern softly lit by luminous fungi. A gurgling black river flowed through the chamber; it was some fifty feet below where I stood. This had to be the fabled Hidden River, hidden because it flowed underground! But what was the test?
“Ahem!”
I spun in place and raised my axe. A narrow trail led to a slightly larger ledge a few yards to the right of where I stood. A thin, bespectacled scribe sat at a wooden table. There was a school desk facing him.
“Are you Jason Cosmo?” he said in an officious, nasal voice. “Here to take the test?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any identification?”
“I have… the Ring of Raxx.”
“Is your name Raxx?”
“No.”
“Then that’s no good. Well, I suppose it must be you. Sit down. Did you bring a Number Two pencil?”
“No.” The desk was too small and it wobbled and squeaked with every breath I took.
“Tsk, tsk. Unprepared. Here is a pencil.” He stood and handed me a pencil, then placed on the desk a sheet of paper covered with little lettered circles.
“What is this?”
Reading from a sheet of instructions, pronouncing each word slowly and carefully, he said, “Grid your name into the appropriate boxes.”
“What do you mean?”
The scribe looked up from the instruction sheet and gave me a snooty appraisal. “Can you spell?”
“Yes.”
“Then fill in the circles which correspond to the letters of your name.” He began to read again. “Next fill in your age, date of birth, most recent address, and the name of this testing site, which is Greenleaf.” His voice and manner were more irritating than the screech of a bloody nuisance.