Hemlock And The Dead God's Legacy (Book 2)

by B Throwsnaill

  A groan from Renevos returned their attention to the old wizard. They rushed to his side and saw blood around his mouth.

  “He needs healing,” said Otticus.

  “That’s a problem since he’s the healer,” said Hemlock.

  “I…I might be able to do something,” said Otticus.

  “Might?” said Hemlock.

  “Well, I was never very good at healing, which is one reason I went for the First Circle.”

  “There is no alternative—we need him, or this journey will have been pointless,” said Tored. “You must attempt it.”

  Otticus looked uncomfortable, but he gently laid the old wizard on the floor and stood over him. Hemlock watched as the young man cast his healing spell; and Hemlock, who had seen many healing spells cast in her time, could tell that the casting was clumsy.

  But Renevos sat up when the spell was completed.

  Otticus beamed with delight as the old wizard spoke. “I feel like I’ve just wrestled with a rock and lost.”

  “Renevos, can you heal yourself now?” asked Hemlock with relief.

  “Yes,“ said Renevos. And after some quick incantations he was on his feet.

  “Are you in good shape to scrye?”

  “Yes. Oh, let me check the time,” said Renevos. “The appointed time is within a few hours. Should we wait?”

  “I sense that the Wand is close,” said Hemlock, “I suggest we press on.”

  They all agreed, crossed over the lava without incident, and continued out of a far passage. They entered a complex of caves that offered a bewildering array of exit tunnels. They were forced to try some passages at random, but fortunately, they found that the caves were mostly interconnected, and all seemed to lead downward in the same general direction. After an hour, the cave they were in ended in a small gorge they were forced to climb down by anchoring one of their ropes to a nearby boulder. Fortunately, a passage continued from the bottom of the gorge. After the first bend, it descended sharply, and they began to feel heat all around them.

  “There must be more lava nearby,” said Tored uncomfortably.

  No sooner had he uttered those words than a truly massive cavern was revealed. A sea of the same lava they had seen in the cavern above stretched out below them like a crimson abyss, with only the dark outline of a nearby spire of rock offering any hope of respite (without turning back). The heat was painful and they feared it would blister their skin if they proceeded. As Hemlock's eyes adjusted to the brutal contrast of the brilliant lava and the impenetrable darkness above it, she noticed through the blur of tear-filled eyes that there was a rocky path stretching down before them, leading to the base of the spire. She thought she saw some motion around a dark opening in the base, but when she blinked and looked again, it was gone.

  "I think the earth creature just went in there," Hemlock cried over the hiss of the steam rising from the lava.

  “Let us follow,” shouted Tored.

  Hemlock made her way down the path, hoping the earth creature would not have the strength to assault them on the treacherous causeway. She could feel the raw power of the nearby Wand strongly, and was certain it was inside the spire.

  They reached the opening at the base and saw that a rough passage extended from it. They entered cautiously, and the heat became more bearable.

  They heard a soft, grating, crying sound as they rounded a corner and beheld a Wand of the Imperator. It was set on a raised dais, which was formed by the convergence of four alabaster arches that topped two foot wide, beveled columns. These, in turn, were topped by a dome of the yellow rock, which was punctuated by beautiful white striations. An ornately carved dragon topped this, and held the Wand in its outstretched claws.

  The earth creature lay prone on the rocky floor near the Wand, crying pathetically. Near it was a small form laying flat on a carved alabaster table that was flat on top, though it curved gently downward toward the middle. It was covered in glowing runes. A few yards beyond the earth creature, the floor was broken by a great cavity in the rock.

  “What is that?” Hemlock asked, as she pointed toward the ornate table-like object beside the dais, the carved dragon, and the Wand. She soon provided the answer to her own question. The small figure that lay upon the table and the nature of the carved stone that it rested on gave Hemlock the distinct impression of a baby lying on some sort of shallow cradle. The small figure was not swaddled, and its skin was nearly pure granite, which gave the unmistakable impression of kinship with the earth creature. Its eyes were closed, and upon further inspection, the small body looked more like a normal baby than the earth creature did a normal person. But Hemlock was sickened by the appearance of the child. It looked like a caricature of the human form.

  “HAVE MERCY ON ME!” cried the earth creature.

  “What do you mean?” asked Hemlock.

  “MY CHILD—HE IS SUSTAINED BY THE WAND. IF YOU TAKE IT, HE WILL DIE!”

  Hemlock turned to Tored, then turned her attention back to the cradle. She could sense powerful life magic emanating from the runes that covered it. But there was also a binding quality to the magic that seemed like it could imprison while it sustained. She wasn’t certain that the small creature would die if the Wand’s power was removed, but she guessed it was likely true.

  “She’s telling the truth,” said Hemlock flatly.

  “I AM TELLING THE TRUTH. TOUCH THE CRADLE TO SEE THE TRUTH OF THE PROMISE THAT WAS MADE TO ME!”

  Hemlock turned to her companions and they all discouraged her from touching the cradle.

  “It could be a trap!” said Otticus.

  “But I need to know if what she says is true!” said Hemlock.

  “Hemlock, be careful!” cried Renevos as she reached out toward the alabaster surface of the cradle.

  When she touched the warm yellow rock, she experienced a vision. It was hazy at first, but soon it sharpened, and she could hear the earth creature speaking with a man. The conversation was taking place in this very same chamber, but the cradle was empty, and the man held the Wand in his hands instead of it resting in the dragon carving. Hemlock saw that he wore a scintillating, fiery crown on his head that seemed much like the Wand—only far more powerful. The crown made Hemlock’s blood run cold, and where the Wands made her uneasy, this Crown made her fear.

  “IT MUST BE YOU!” said the version of the earth creature in her vision.

  “Impossible. I’ll find another to do it,” said the tan-skinned man, who was clearly a wizard. Hemlock assumed this was the legendary Julius.

  “THREE HAVE ALREADY PERISHED IN THE ACT! YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS THE POWER!”

  Julius looked repulsed, but his dark brow seemed to loosen as he perceived the truth in her words. The bodies of three fallen wizards were strewn around the chamber: all looking like they had ruptured from within.

  “YOU MUST LOVE ME! PROMISE ME AGAIN THAT I WILL HAVE THIS CHILD FOREVER!”

  “Be silent! I now accept that I must partake of this terrible act with you. And, yes, the child will live as long as you remain here to guard this Wand,” said Julius.

  He approached the earth creature from behind and soon a discordant and depraved coupling ensued. Hemlock tried to look away, but the vision would not allow her to do so. The crown and the Wand blazed with a fell light as the act proceeded, and Julius was somehow able to weave runes of Imperial magic during the course of it. As the union reached its climax, Julius placed the blazing Wand onto the alabaster carving of the dragon. The earth under their feet shuddered as the Imperial runes on the dais hummed with power.

  Hemlock was haunted by what she had witnessed. The earth creature looked enraptured in the aftermath, while Julius looked horrified.

  “It is done. You must not leave this chamber until you give birth,” Julius said, clearly fatigued by the recent proceedings.

  “IT WORKED? IT IS A MIRACLE! WAIT! WILL YOU COME TO SEE THE CHILD WHEN IT IS BORN?”

  Julius walked around the earth creature as
he hurriedly removed the Crown from his head and placed it into a golden satchel. As he left the chamber, he turned and shouted, “No, you will never see me again! I’ll never force myself to lay eyes on the abomination that now takes root within you!”

  The vision ended and Hemlock became aware of her surroundings again. She removed her hand from the cradle.

  “NOW YOU KNOW THE TRUTH IN MY WORDS!” said the earth creature.

  Hemlock nodded to assure her companions that she was all right. “She’s right, Julius did promise her that the child would be hers forever.”

  Nobody spoke for several minutes as the earth creature continued to sob. Renevos retreated into a corner and knelt down. Hemlock noticed he was initiating a scrying session, but she immediately refocused on the conundrum she now faced.

  Her thoughts waged war with themselves. On one hand, she couldn’t accept the alien form in the cradle as a child in the conventional sense—just like she didn’t think of the earth creature as being a person, per se. But another part of her felt sorry for the pathetic creature that was sprawled out before her, and its desperate maternal instinct.

  But can I sacrifice my principles and let the evil of this Wand persist for the sake of this creature and this unnatural child? What about the Tanna Varrans?

  Just then a soft voice that resembled the heavier grating voice of the earth spirit projected out from the crib: “Mother, it is time. We’ve lived here for ages, but nothing ever changes. I don’t grow, and I know I’ll never leave this place. It is time. You must let me go.”

  “NO! YOU DON’T MEAN THAT!” gasped the earth creature.

  Hemlock turned and pointed at Renevos. “This is the work of wizards!”

  “I…I believe so, yes,” he replied.

  “Just when I think it can’t get any worse…” Hemlock spat.

  Suddenly the soft grating voice of the child spoke to her without making an audible sound. But Hemlock was able to hear every word that it said to her directly in her mind. “I've lain in this crib for centuries: trapped, stale and unused, like a stillborn messiah. As my consciousness evolved beyond the simplicity of childhood, the facade that my mother erected to explain my situation became apparent.”

  A host of questions leapt into Hemlock’s mind as the small voiced paused. But something about the small creature’s earnest delivery made her reluctant to interrupt it.

  “I nearly lost myself to madness in the ensuing years. But one of the fallen souls who sought out my Mother's cruel ministrations remembered an ancient art in his final days. He taught me to meditate, and my spirit was set free to roam the worlds. My father's line gave me foresight, and my mother's gave me recollection.

  Soon I perceived many things, things long forgotten and things yet to pass. I was able to experience the wind in my face and the pleasure of a loved one's touch—but only as you would experience a memory: vivid, yet inherently bitter-sweet.

  My meditation controls my desires, but at times I still despair. I have struggled to justify my existence—to explain why fate would deliver me as one so full of potential, but imprison me in this feeble shell of a body. Perhaps my fate has dictated such an existence, but even the wise can grow weary—grow tired of the wise path, even though its truth is clear. But recently I became aware of you, and perceived that you were coming closer and closer. I felt a true sense of purpose for the first time in my long, long life.

  That purpose is now almost fulfilled. I am here now to link you to your future, and by extension, the City and all the surrounding worlds to their future as well. You will deliver this future to them, but not without my help. There are still many things you don't understand. You must search for catacombs under the Tower. Within them you will find a crypt. The crypt holds a secret which you must discover. You must decipher your path forward within a relic of the past.

  In order to do this, you will need my flesh—the flesh of the Imperator. Though my body will crumble, I will preserve my hand for you. Within that hand, some of my essence will linger for a time. You must hasten to the crypt as soon as you can, for my will can only preserve this small part of me for a short while.

  You must find your path, Hemlock. You must make your secret journey—perhaps sooner than is comfortable; but time is short and circumstance requires no less. I have seen a darkness gathering at the edge of time. Inky black wings bear it aloft as it devours worlds. It is a taint upon creation—another child of the Imperator and his final deceit. But it is also a child of us all, a symptom of the corruption we are all afflicted with since the demise of the Red Robed Man.

  Remember my words, and reflect upon who I am and what I represent. Remember the crypt! And remember my hand!”

  Hemlock stared at the strange child in wonder.

  “What is it Hemlock?” Tored asked.

  Hemlock didn’t answer.

  “Hemlock!”

  She thought she should respond to the child—ask him one of the many questions she had, but it was all too overwhelming. The continuous crying of the earth creature returned her focus to the present.

  “I’m all right.”

  Hemlock turned to the earth creature. “Your child speaks wisely. The wizards have done great evil here—I can see that. If it were just the fate of you and your child at stake, then I might let you make the decision, but there are entire realms counting on me removing and destroying this Wand.”

  “NO! DON’T KILL MY BABY!”

  Hemlock looked at Tored. She hoped to receive some sign of affirmation from him, but he returned her gaze stoically.

  “Do what you have to do, Hemlock,” said Otticus grimly.

  “I have scryed with Gwineval—the teleport cage is ready. And he mentioned something about this creature. Legend says she betrayed the Red Robed Man and caused his banishment! She’s evil, Hemlock,” said Renevos hurriedly.

  “NO!” wailed the creature.

  Hemlock set her jaw and approached the Wand. The earth creature crawled toward her pathetically, but Hemlock ignored it. She reached out for the Wand, and as she did so, she could sense the ancient spells of binding fracturing. Something about her aura seemed to be weakening the Imperial magic. It was effortless. She grasped the Wand, conscious of its warmth. She immediately felt in tune with the other worlds she sometimes travelled to in her mind, but she ignored the feeling.

  With a final, reluctant glance at the cradle, she lifted the Wand from its alabaster base.

  “PLEASE!” cried the earth creature, but it was too late.

  The intricate lattice of Imperial runes that surrounded the alabaster carving started to glow visibly, as if infused with the pale yellow of the stone. This was accompanied by a high pitched screech unlike anything Hemlock had ever heard. Then the alabaster dais cracked from top to bottom, shattering into many pieces in tandem with the violent unraveling of the Imperial runes surrounding it. A swirling wind roared forth from the broken alabaster as the cradle was similarly sundered, and the small, stone body within crumbled to dust and was quickly dispersed through the chamber by the sudden gusts.

  Hemlock stumbled backwards and covered her mouth as a cloud of the dusty remains passed close to her, and then dissipated. The screeching sound was gone, but was immediately replaced by the sickening sound of rock being shorn. The entire floor moved under her feet as the chamber lurched to the side and came to rest on an incline. She struggled to maintain her footing while being careful not to drop the Wand.

  The earth spirit, who was still sprawled out on the floor, began to roll down the incline toward the chasm in the floor. In the next moment ,she fell into the fissure in the rock and disappeared.

  The floor stabilized and Hemlock rushed to the fissure and looked down searching for the earth spirit. But sudden heat and the sight of roiling lava below the floor brought her up short.

  "The entire chamber has shifted! We're perched directly above the lava!" Hemlock cried.

  “The deed is done!” shouted Renevos.

  “Yes, but we h
ave to get out of here!”

  Hemlock turned to Tored and saw he was rushing toward the exit, which had been blocked by fallen boulders.

  “Wait! Gwineval should be here any moment!” said Renevos, halting Tored.

  “He’d better hurry!” said Hemlock, imagining the veil that bordered the City advancing inexorably across the horizon like she had seen in the northern desert after she had removed the Wand that had bound that region.

  Suddenly a shimmering appeared in a corner of the room. It was followed by a great cloud of smoke, and when the smoke cleared, a large, brass cage was revealed. Gwineval stood in the cage, beckoning the group forward. His eye was immediately drawn to the Wand.

  Hemlock glared at the reptilian wizard, and the latter averted his eyes. As she and her companions rushed toward the cage, something on the rock floor near the crumbled ruins of the dais caught her eye.

  The child’s hand!

  She turned and sprinted for the object as the chamber lurched again, and her companions shouted at her in alarm.

  She reached the hand, knelt and picked it up carefully. It was still intact, although the remains of the wrist crumbled slightly as she handled it. She placed it in her belt pouch and then ran back to the cage.

  There was no time for questions, and once Hemlock was safely inside, she watched as Gwineval closed the gate, reached a green, scaled hand to the top of the cage and rang the brass bell that hung there. The world faded to black as the roar of magic filled her ears and time and space seemed to fold inward on itself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Not three hours after her return to the Wizard Tower, Hemlock made several awkward excuses and departed alone to the tunnels under the seat of the wizard’s power. The words of the stone child still resonated in her mind, and she held one arm protectively over the belt pouch that contained the small, stone hand.

  She had gone deeper into the tunnels than ever before—far beyond the depth of the secret chamber where Safreon had once found a Wand of the Imperator. She was unsure how far these tunnels went, but they were turning out to be more expansive than she’d thought. She was guided by an uncanny sense of intuition, and had made innumerable turns along her journey without any fear or hesitation.