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

by B Throwsnaill

  Maybe the child planted this knowledge in my mind somehow.

  The flickering light of the Wand she carried lit her way in the dark tunnels, and now showed a slim, dark crevice in the rock wall to her right.

  This is it.

  She entered the crevice, clearing thick cobwebs that blocked her way. The walls became tighter after several feet, and there was a sharp bend to the left. She was forced to hug the rock to navigate the bend.

  As she regained a normal posture, she saw ancient-looking wooden stairs about twenty feet ahead of her.

  She carefully climbed down the creaky stairs, and then walked along a roughly excavated passage until it met a finished stone cross passage via a gaping, irregular hole in a wall built with stone blocks. Though the air was stifling and several large spider webs blocked her passage, she quickly found the crypts she sought. She entered a large chamber, which housed an array of man-sized indentations along the walls that held crumbling remains. Eight large sarcophagi were housed in recessed alcoves. They were decorated with intricate carvings and the alcoves surrounding them were built with beveled blocks that looked like they had once been whitewashed, but now were mostly faded by age. Runic symbols of the old Imperial period were easily located on the blocks above each stone sarcophagus.

  As if answering the flickering illumination of her Wand, large, fiery runes became visible on the smooth stone floor of the crypt. There were three runic symbols, each of which was easily six feet in width. She knelt and touched one of the symbols, but nothing happened. She did notice that the symbol’s fiery appearance gained in intensity the closer the Wand came to it—but it did not give off heat.

  She realized that the large symbols on the floor matched some of the carved runes above the sarcophagi. Hemlock rose, walked to a nearby alcove, and touched the Wand to the first carved symbol corresponding to the runic sequence marked on the floor. The carved symbol burst with the same fiery light that emblazoned the floor.

  She proceeded to the second symbol, touched the Wand to it, and the same thing happened. She approached the third sarcophagi and then paused beside it, suddenly feeling cautious. But her memory of the odd child quelled that final cautious impulse, and she gently touched the glass head of the Wand to the final rune. There was a dull clicking sound behind the stone panel, and suddenly the square panel of stone around it receded along heretofore invisible seams in the rock, then slid aside. A different stone slab slid forward until it was flush with the wall around it. This piece of stone bore the imprint of a hand.

  It was clear to Hemlock what was required to proceed. She gingerly removed the small hand and regarded it. A creeping feeling of trepidation returned as she considered the magnitude of the discovery she seemed to be on the cusp of making.

  Should I consult Gwineval after all?

  But then her pride, mixed with awareness that this was her challenge to face alone, compelled her to place the hand into the recessed outline.

  When she did so, a low rumbling sound filled the chamber and the sound of rock grating on rock came from the center of the room. The fiery symbols on the floor were receding—no, they were angling downwards through the floor as part of it descended along a fixed axis of rotation, forming a ramp leading down to a lower room.

  Hemlock’s mouth was dry with excitement as she proceeded to the ramp. She gasped as she saw a massive chamber below extending far into the distance.

  Sensing no threat, she walked down the ramp; and as she entered the lower space, her footfalls echoed, confirming she had judged truly when she perceived a massive space. In fact, she soon found her estimate had not done the full scope of the space justice, as she reached the edge of the ramp and took a step out onto the polished stone floor.

  An oddly scalloped ceiling extended out hundreds of feet in front of her, and the floor she stood on extended about twenty feet. She approached the edge and saw there was a sequence of steps leading down into a vast amphitheater. The curve of the steps confirmed the expansive circumference of the space, while the large number of steps suggested the depth.

  She felt compelled to descend into the amphitheater, though her senses seemed poised to deliver signals of danger that were never sent. All she sensed was the grandeur of the space, her soft, echoing footfalls, a strange scent in the air, and an almost oppressive sense of solitude.

  She reached the floor of the amphitheater and looked up. The scalloped ceiling was barely visible, and had to be hundreds of feet above her. But then she noticed something. The space above her was starting to shimmer. Balls of light were rapidly forming in the open air above; and with a rapidity that caused her to crouch and reach for her sword, a magnificent rendering of the strange other space she had seen in her visions sprang to life.

  Her caution quickly gave way to amazement as she beheld the entirety of the other-worldly space laid out in precise detail above her. The City and its lands were at the center of the display, sailing along the surface of a huge, raging ball of burning crimson. A cloud of innumerable worlds floated lazily around the City. The City and the worlds collectively looked something like a system of blood vessels: the huge ball of flame that supported the City was the heart, and thick columns of fire connected this flaming sphere with the nearest worlds. Smaller rivers of flame extended from these nearby worlds to more distant ones, and still smaller tongues of fire extended from them; until, ultimately, tiny, fiery capillaries flowed to the dim, distant worlds. Beyond these distant worlds, which were little more than small points of light, was utter blackness: nothing in its most absolute form.

  She lifted her hands to try and block the blinding brilliance of the City’s ball of fire, but as she did so, the City suddenly receded, and more distant worlds and connecting arcs of the fire came into view.

  Hemlock was surprised and confused. As her eyes adjusted to the sudden light, she slowly moved her hands apart as she brought them down, then stopped as the view of the City slowly got larger and regained its former clarity.

  Recognition dawned on her, and she began to move her arms above her and refocus the view to her liking.

  Look at it all! The size of it...the scale!

  As she took stock of her newfound control over the startling projection, her attention was drawn to certain worlds. The worlds themselves were like half spheres floating over the streams of celestial fire below. Each of them had a distinct color and pattern.

  A dusty, tan world that soared adjacent to the City caught her attention. She felt an emanation projecting from it, and was startled to realize that she had pinpointed Falignus; he was not only alive, but he was on that world. She was absolutely certain of it.

  How can I know this?

  She then considered the lineage of the strange child, and that Falignus, like the child, had Imperial blood running in his veins.

  That must be why I can sense him.

  Another world caught her attention then. It was a mostly dark half orb that barely contrasted with the void around it, but for the roiling gray clouds that made it distinctive. She perceived a different type of emanation coming from this world, but it was also familiar to her. She pictured a tricorne hat and locks of blond, curly hair.

  DuLoc.

  His energy felt more elemental than Falignus', and much stronger. And an accompanying emanation confirmed that he had a Wand in his possession.

  Wait.

  There was energy coming from the City as well.

  She zoomed in closer to the City, and as she did so she immediately sensed her own energy.

  She was chagrined to realize that her aura was weaker than DuLoc's—but it was also much different. Hers seemed similar of the Maker's Fire itself, and seemed to morph and dance like a tongue of flame. She thought she might sense her sister, Mercuria, too, but she did not.

  So she's not like me, then.

  She realized this with a sense of disappointment that surprised her.

  She next perceived the aura of the Wand she had brought with her, and that of
another Imperial Wand interlaced with intricate binding magic. This other Wand lay deep under the tallest of the range of mountains that bordered the City on its eastern side.

  But there was something else: another faint emanation coming from the City itself. Hemlock instantly knew who it belonged to.

  Merit!

  It was faint...very faint. But what astonished her was that it most resembled a much weaker version of DuLoc's aura.

  Interesting. Another clue to your story, my amazing little friend.

  Seeing nothing else of note on the City's world, she again zoomed out her view until it encompassed the entire cloud of worlds. She sensed the emanation of another pair of Wands deep in the outer worlds. Both Wands were intertwined with a different type of binding spell than what she had seen in the City's mountains and what she had personally witnessed in the northern desert and the Witch Crags. The magical energy was much more focused. She tried to magnify her view so she could see what was being restrained. It was a large tower unlike anything she had seen before. It was large enough that she could see it in some detail.

  A tree-shaped edifice of pure granite rose from a large lake to a majestic height. The granite tree was split in the middle, with two branches diverging from the lower trunk at offset angles, one reaching slightly higher than the other. The granite was punctuated with rock outcroppings that looked like great crustaceans, giving the illusion of leafy growths. Each of the two upper branches was topped with a flat surface of rock, and atop the taller branch rested a magnificent tower of clear crystal, which rose to about half the height of the branch it rested on. It reflected the setting sun, dazzling the eyes.

  Her fleeting vision of a red robe barely visible through an adoring crowd sprang to mind.

  She recalled the vision of the Red Wizard she had seen when the Bachawn Witch had touched her with its kinslayer ribbon—a fragment of the robe worn by the Maker himself.

  I won’t call him a wizard any longer—that term is now sullied. Why couldn't I see his face?

  Falignus had said she was descended from the Red Robed Man. And she had felt a primeval affinity to that figure as it strode through her dream with adoring people surrounding and obscuring it.

  She felt a sudden realization that the Red Robed Man was not just any relative, but was her father. She knew it was true.

  It’s his Tower! The Maker’s Tower!

  A thought interrupted the wonder of this latest revelation, and caused her to drop heavily into a sitting position on the stone floor, indifferent, for a moment, to the wondrous display above her.

  I am alone. There is nobody else like me. I am the last of my Father's bloodline. And there are enemies all around me.

  Seeming to underscore her sense of isolation, she noticed the small stone hand—the hand of the stunted prophet that had lain trapped in an alabaster prison for centuries—had crumbled into a small pile of dust.

  She sat looking at that pile of dust for many minutes, the knots of concern in her mind slowly unraveling as she did so.

  She understood the tasks that awaited her: the struggle against DuLoc, the restoration of what must be her Father's tower, and the redemption of the City itself. They all lay squarely on her shoulders.

  There is no one else.

  And then a small ray of optimism shone over the gray of her responsible acceptance of her fate.

  But look at all the worlds! So many people! All of the adventures that await me! If this is my fate then I shall meet it bravely. And with sword in hand.

  

  Hemlock walked down a rough stone corridor, part of her still wanting to crawl out from under the weight of the responsibility she felt, another part of her chafing in reaction to the pointlessness of that feeling. She was aware of the eyes of her companions on her as she walked. Watching. Assessing.

  She had just taken them to see the ampitheater. She had shown them its wonders, and had explained to them the auras she could sense within it—things they were unable to perceive. They had many questions, but she told them to wait.

  She was aware of the concentrated power of the Wand in her hand—and certain she would have to give that power to another very soon.

  She also felt something familiar as she made her way down the dusty corridor that led to the cavern where she had destroyed the first two Wands. Rather than the thrill of discovery she had felt when she first entered this ancient hallway, she now felt only a hollow echo, tinged by a longing numbness. The same longing numbness she had felt after Safreon's death.

  Merit and Gwineval had told her the story of Julius that morning: his origins in the desert, his arrival in the City, his rejection of his Father's ideals, and his eventual surrender to the temptation of Imperial power. Dark debts had gone unpaid for centuries, debts that she and the City had inherited, and which had finally come due for settlement.

  Now that debt has become my burden. But I am strong enough to bear it.

  As the group descended in silence, Hemlock perceived an arched doorway at the edge of the torchlight. She reached it and passed through it into the cavern beyond, reflecting on her youth. The two stone statues sat in silent observation as they faced the chasm that held the fire below. The Maker's Fire.

  She continued to walk into the large cavern. As she neared the ruined edge of the stone causeway where Safreon's wife Jupita had met her demise, she understood that deaths were not always absolute. She felt that sometimes death was incremental. And she was sure some part of her had passed away with that small infant with the stone skin that was loved by Amarank, the earth spirit. Hemlock wondered whether Amarank had died in that room as well.

  She looked at Tored as he stoically regarded her. No, there was emotion in his face. It was a detached pity. He knew she was suffering, but the part of him that could reach out to her had also passed away at some point during their journey to Tor Varnos.

  Are we all just shells of ourselves walking aimlessly through our lives, accepting our fates after the parts of us that resist them are finally worn down?

  She looked at the faces of the others that had followed her here: Samberlin, Mercuria, Gwineval, Renevos, Merit, and Miara. Each of them wore an expectant look, although varying individual emotions were also reflected on each face.

  Just like Julius, I’ve returned to the City to accept the legacy of a dead god, and to combat the legacy of another one.

  Hemlock began to speak softly then, her voice clear above the distant crackle of the fire that raged many leagues below. And her Father was alive in her mind, his very essence seeming to warm her from the glowing river of tumult that raged in the depths of the rock far below her feet.

  “Do you have questions?” Hemlock asked.

  There was a long period of silence, and then Gwineval spoke.

  "You said that you can sense this DuLoc? How is this possible?" asked Gwineval.

  "Wasn't this the Imperator's vision? Can we trust it?" asked Miara at nearly the same time.

  Hemlock turned toward Gwineval. "I can just feel it. It may have something to do with my…nature." Then she turned to Miara. "I think the Imperator did build it. But I'm not sure. Maybe he just sealed it away. But I can tell it’s a true depiction of the worlds. I've seen them in my visions."

  "But you needed the Wand to make this room show the worlds, didn't you? Doesn't that imply it's an Imperial device?" said Miara.

  "Yes, maybe so. But I don't think it matters beyond the fact that it seems to require the Wand," said Hemlock.

  "Does that mean you intend to keep the Wand?" asked Gwineval.

  "No, I need to rely on my visions instead. I've been observing the magic in the ampitheater and it's helped me understand how my visions work and how I can invoke them without needing a Wand."

  "So you still intend to destroy the Wand? Shouldn't we keep it in case we need it to fight this DuLoc?" said Samberlin.

  “Don’t you understand? The Wand is an instrument of Imperial power—DuLoc’s power! He can’t be resist
ed with it,” said Hemlock.

  Nobody spoke for a few moments. "Samberlin, I realize now that you have been as great an architect in the redemption of the City as Safreon was. Your ambition has been to destroy the Wizard Guild, and now you are on the cusp of success. But you don't understand the purpose of your quest. If left on your present course, your work would result in the creation of a new tower in the Senate—a tower just as vast and impenetrable as the Wizard Tower was. Your purpose must now be to destroy the Senate—to reduce it to its lowest form—so that it is almost formless and insubstantial. It must be transparent in the face of the will of the people. It must appreciate that the people are collectively smarter than any governing body—no matter how great the governors may be."

  Samberlin smiled slightly and his mouth opened. Then he frowned and did not say a word. The old politician averted his eyes.

  As Hemlock turned her attention to each person in turn, none of them met her gaze.

  Several minutes of silence ensued.

  Gwineval finally looked up at her and stepped forward. "Hemlock, who are you?"

  "I am the daughter of the Maker," she said, twirling her hair on her finger unconsciously.

  "You said you would give up leadership of the Wizard Guild."

  "I have."

  "But you still speak as our leader."

  "I am the leader in the war to resist Sub-Imperator DuLoc, who will soon return to the City bearing one of these," said Hemlock, holding the Wand of the Imperator aloft for all to see.

  "Nobody is compelled to follow me. I am finished imposing my will by force until the final battle arrives. Those who wish to resist the Imperial Law and its vices will follow me because their values will be in alignment with mine."

  Hemlock looked for any doubt in Gwineval's eyes, and clearly saw it playing over his face, though he made a poor attempt at concealing it.

  "Safreon tested you once, and now you will be tested again," said Hemlock. She strode forward and before Gwineval knew what had happened, she gave him the Wand of the Imperator. She took a step back to stand astride of the line of people that now faced the reptilian wizard.