“You can lose your mind if you think about it, right?”
“True enough,” Dag agreed. “And then I was born.”
“And then you were born.” The Holy Father frowned. “But something changed in Baomani—I don’t know what. After the return of the god of Destruction in that doomed temple, he helped your mother escape and brought her right here, throwing himself into the arms of those he had just betrayed. A nonsense behavior!”
Baomani was blackmailed, Dagger thought. That’s exactly how a blackmailed person behaves. I know it. And this was the only place where he could hide my mother from Skyrgal’s wrath.
“I was his teacher, and the first man he had deceived. I repudiated the woman, then I imprisoned him to deliver an exemplary death to him. Only then I realized the…problem.” He sighed. “Aeternus had made him a Disciple. A stroke of genius, an exemplary retaliation—of the ten men I had taken away from him, he took one back from me, somehow.”
“And what if Baomani were a Disciple since the beginning? For all he could do, for the way he manipulated your mind.”
The Holy Father shook his head indifferently. “What does it matter, now?” He took off his glove, showing his long claws. “With my same nails I ripped six times his trachea from his throat. I cried. Yes, I cried every time, but it was all necessary so that the others could understand the treatment of a traitor. Soon I’ll know myself what it means—it’s written in my destiny. Once we smoked them out of their holes. Now the Disciples are knocking on my doors. Nobody will come to our defense, but we haven’t yielded if not in front of the end.”
“They are here in Molok?”
“You’re bringing them here. My birds don’t lie. The Disciples might even revive their predecessors, once they discover this underground.”
“Warren says there’s no way to do that.”
“Not yet, but a part of Benighted is here at the Sanctuary. For those who know the right key, the pages of Aeternus’ black book may hide the process to bring back the exiled Disciples. Even the eleven ones who are kept here.”
“You said you had captured only ten.”
Godivah nodded. “The ten original Disciples, of course.” He lifted his claw to indicate the Hammer of Skyrgal. “Plus the Hermit.”
Dagger turned to the wondrous weapon and the cell dug inside it. “You imprisoned him inside the Hammer?!”
“Only in that metal hell could he receive his just punishment,” the Holy Father revealed. “He took my god away. I had good reason to put him there in his place.”
“And what is he experimenting in there?”
“I wish I knew. I even tried to know, forcing one of our prisoners to sit on that throne and tell us what he saw. His face melted before my eyes, but the terror in his eyes was proof enough of the old master’s punishment.”
Dagger noticed that the Shadowthrone—and only that—glimmered with subtle reflections along its surface.
“With the soul of Ktisis inside it, the Hammer shone so bright as to be visible from the sea,” the Holy Father said. “With that of a simple Disciple, here’s the brightness you get. This should give you an idea about the proportions of your power.”
“You’re helping me.”
“Yes, my boy. There must be a reason if Baomani wants to talk to you. To let you speak with him is my last act of defiance against the Disciples before They get here. You’re still my god, even if you show up humiliated in a mortal body. You can stop them. It’s not how you play the game, this time. This time, it’s if you win or lose. It’s up to you.”
Dagger hesitated, before resting his foot on the first step and entering the Hammer of Skyrgal. What if this is just a trap to imprison me inside here again? He turned to Godivah. “Do you want to imprison me inside here again?”
“Don’t be stupid. The soul of Ktisis must first be reconstructed, and two parts are still out there—inside the dagger and the twelfth armor.”
“I see scam everywhere.”
“I can’t blame you.”
Dagger saw something funny about that. He climbed another step, there were still two to the Shadowthrone. He took off his boots and the mayem came to life in contact with his skin. In a whirlwind of energy and reflexes he climbed the third step, then the fourth and last. The light forced him to close his eyes.
A sand-laden wind hit him, carrying to him the voice of a man, “No one must ever know!”
He found himself walking down a corridor, which maintained the same curvature at every step he took, as if it had a perfectly circular shape. His legs ached and he felt like he’d been marching for a long time. Arched doorways opened to his right and each had a carved head on the keystone. All of them had two faces: one smiling and one sad. Beyond one of these unusual thresholds he saw the Glade of Golconda. The image was colorless except for the different shades of ocher composing the figures on the black background.
He heard the distant voice again, this time that of a child, “No one must ever know!”
He recognized the Arena beyond another door. Everything and everyone was still. As he watched the novices and the masters frozen in time, he recognized a familiar face. It took him some time to realize that it was a very young Marduk.
‘Scenes from the past,’ Dagger thought. ‘Are these your memories, Hermit? Am I seeing them through your eyes?’
“No one must ever know,” the voice answered.
Dagger walked on. Some doors were closed, but beyond the open ones—in the memories he was allowed to see—the image of a child recurred. It was impossible to tell the color of his eyes and hair in that sand-and-shadow world. Dagger saw him growing up as he pointed a wooden sword against the observer, ran in the Glade or climbed a tree to hang upside down, his legs clenched around a branch. Dagger looked at the boy laughing until he ran out of breath or walked away with tears in his eyes, as if he would never play with him again. The yellowish shadow of a man often loomed over them. When he was there, the child never laughed and Dagger himself felt uneasy.
In a lot of imaginations from the other side, Dag found himself with his arm around the boy’s shoulders trying to comfort him.
The boy grew up image after image, more and more sad and lonely, until beyond the threshold of a memory Dagger saw him naked and dead, lying on a stone death bed. Boys and girls with their faces concealed by hoods stood around in the semi-darkness. Only the man’s face was uncovered, staring at him, warning him not to talk.
“No one must ever know.”
‘I’ve already seen you, somewhere.’ Dagger dived into those icy eyes, trying to remember. The revelation made him take a step back, ‘Mumakil! The black man who imprisoned me in the tower!’
Door after door, wandering in the tortuous memory, he ran lost and desperate through the streets of Agalloch. He slept in the rain, he stole and killed. Inside a tavern he found his shelter, surrounded by unfriendly faces in the semi-darkness. Alcohol, a lot of alcohol, too much alcohol to quell the unquenchable thirst of a boy on the run.
‘What happened to you, Baomani? Was your brother killed, just like mine?’
A brotherly figure led him down the Main Road, among the ruins. That derelict nothingness gave him comfort, reflecting the emptiness inside him.
“No one must ever know.”
Image after image, he saw a gigantic structure drawing closer: The Throne of Skyrgal—at sunset, silhouetted against the copper sun; at night, guarded by the two moons. He entered the Throne, climbing endless stairs and struggling in the dark, until he found himself face-to-face with the boy who had guided him there.
It looked like it was the first time Baomani found the courage to face him. The face in front of him was angry, round, and framed by curly hair. Only when he noticed the lack of the right ear, did Dagger recognize him, ‘Great Mama…is it really you?’
He doubted that the head of the Spiders guild had ever had a childhood, when he crossed the threshold and entered the memory. The wind-borne sand laid on the figures, making
them animate.
Sannah was holding him by the throat. “No one must ever know.”
He heard his own voice yelling, “Let me go, Sanny!” He flew across the room when Sannah pushed him away. He shrugged his arms, rested a knee on the cold stone floor and stood.
Sannah leafed through the black book, seized by the writings on its yellowed pages. “We made it, little brother. This is the Benighted code: the book of Aeternus!”
“It’s all wrong. This was just our Test. We had to reach the Throne of Skyrgal and get back to the Fortress.” He paused. “Our father will not…”
His brother looked up, freezing him with his grin. “You’re still afraid of him, aren’t you? You still wet your bed when you think about—”
“That’s not true!”
“Oh, yes it is. I know the face of all your fear, because it’s the same that haunts my sleep. But now the story is about to change. Thanks to this book, we’ll finally be free from fear. There’s no limit to what we can do with the power of Skyrgal.”
“No…”
“He said he will teach us! We’ll become Dracons one day, and then I’ll become Pendracon. We’ll be called living legends, yet no one must know. Oh, no one must ever know our secret.” Sannah slowly drummed his ring finger on the black cover.
Baomani shook his head. “The day of the Red Dawn Skyrgal cursed them all—his servants as well as those who wanted to bend him to their will. Don’t you remember Araya’s lessons? He trusts us!”
“That lizard doesn’t understand the great powers rising WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? THESE MEMORIES DO NOT BELONG TO YOU! THEY ARE MINE, THEY ARE ALL MINE! GET OUT OF HERE!
He moved a step toward Sannah. “You’re changed since you fell into that crevice. The nomad who healed you…he drove us here for a reason. He gave off a stench of death, even through the thick bandages covering his body. Didn’t you feel that? And our fears, I think he…”
“Oh. That. That’s another story.”
“…I think he read our mind, searching for our pain. How did he know of our father? How did he know what he did to our brother?”
“Don’t talk nonsense. That poor man couldn’t hurt a fly. You saw his state. He looked dead, wrapped in rags as old as these ruins. He was barely standing.”
“You too looked dead, Sanny…”
“And he healed my body and soul. He understood my fears—which are yours, too—and didn’t judge them. He offered sympathy and help. Don’t you want to be free after all this time spent IS THAT YOU KAM KONKRA? STOP WASTING YOUR TIME AND COME HERE IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR ME!
Dagger tried to remember who he was, pushing out of the body in which he was. When he realized he was still bonded to that memory, he plunged and dug deeply into it, trying to understand the nature of the fear preventing him from breathing. For a moment he thought he understood, then he was kicked out and found himself slipping on the corridor floor. The door was slammed in front of him.
He saw the next one move. He was quicker and jumped inside.
HEY ASSHOLE, STOP THAT! the voice said, accompanying him inside the new memory.
Dagger found himself on all fours on the sand. He raised his face to look at a man dressed in black bandages and sitting on a rock, barely touched by a ghostly ray of light pouring down from above.
The man turned and looked at him. “No real mission. No Test,” he said. “He who sent you to the Throne of Skyrgal wanted to kill you and make it look like an accident. This place is cursed. Apart from the damn Tankars, who gather here once a year, everyone is keeping away from it.”
“Our father didn’t want to kill us!” he heard himself screaming. “That’s not true! He didn’t want to—”
“Brother!” Sannah rebuked him, sitting in front of the man.
“He—”
“Baomani!”
He felt tears well in his eyes.
“Our father knows that we know,” Sannah whispered. “We saw what he did to our brother, this is why he wanted to…bring us to silence.”
“We’re his children. He can’t…”
Those two terrible, ocher eyes opened in his mind and watched him across the death bed. They warned him not to speak, to shut up even if he wanted to yell at the whole world. He knew his brother was right. Those eyes wanted him dead and wished there was also him on that stone bed—because no one could ever know.
“You see these men at your feet.” The First Disciple pointed at the three corpses in the dark. “They were on your track and would have induced you to silence in the most efficient way, if they hadn’t stumbled into one of my traps.” He looked straight at him. “How can I be your enemy, if I saved you?”
“What do you want from us?” Sannah asked. “We’ve brought your book back. Now you could easily kill us.”
Aeternus smiled because the two of them spoke the same language. “I want you to spend a little time with me. I miss a little company, here in the dark.”
“What?”
“I ask you to remain and become my students, to learn what I have to teach. But maybe there’s more. There’s a deeper gap inside me, a void impossible to fill even with all the hatred and the power of this world.” He bent his face. “I want you to be my children.”
“We already have a father!”
“The same who wanted to kill you, I suppose.”
The two boys were silent.
“Why must I feel this pain?” the First Disciple replied. “Why was I denied the gift of fatherhood, when he who is blessed with strong and healthy offspring is capable of such a crime?” He shook his head. “To pour the blood of one’s own sons…how many Red Dawns deserves such an act?”
“What can you offer me?” Sannah asked.
Aeternus pulled a knife from behind his back and held it in front of him to divide their gazes.
He who was watching from the outside blinked, and that same boy he had seen lying on the marble bed was now sitting between the First Disciple and Sannah. He saw the dead boy turn to him and smile, before vanishing into the pain out of which he was born.
The surprise made him fall to the ground. “Don’t you ever do that again! Don’t do that again!”
“I have the knowledge. I’m the one who will show you the way. Listen up children, and follow me. Or I’ll let you pay the price of Hanoi.”
“Can you bring him back?” Sannah asked. “Our brother, can you—”
“That was just an illusion,” he heard himself whimpering. “Sannah…that was just an illusion, don’t you see? He’s using us, is using our—”
But his brother stood up and clenched his fists. “Can you bring him back? Can you give him back to us?!”
Aeternus nodded. “I will show you. I will teach you. And then I will ask the soul of that vile lamb that you’ll be more than happy to sacrifice on the altar of the damned crab.”
Sannah turned to him and said, “THERE YOU ARE! GET THE FUCK OUT! THESE MEMORIES ARE MINE, THEY ARE ALL MINE! COME HERE, IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR ME!
Again Dagger ended up slipping on the floor with a door slammed in his face. He moved forward, but the memories closed at his passage as if they didn’t like to be probed that way. He managed to run fast enough to get an idea of the following events: Baomani and Sannah remained in the desert, trained by Aeternus. Then a long series of locked doors, inviolable memories followed by the return to the Fortress, where they were presumed dead.
There was no more trace of Mumakil, their father.
‘Something happened to him beyond the closed doors,’ Dag thought.
Their training continued in an underground forge at the Fortress, where the shadow of another Disciple crept. He saw him feed on the young bodies received in return for his help. He saw the sparks rise in the furnace as the manegarm was forged.
Soon a fourth shadow, covered with scales, joined them. ‘Araya?’
Sannah rose higher in the ranks. He became a man. He wore the armor of the Guardians, then of a Delta Faithful Twelve and, finally,
he became the Delta Dracon.
Dagger saw her suddenly, a child in Sannah’s arms, “Mum!” He gave everything to his forces in the desperate attempt to see his mother’s face in life, but he was denied that memory in a dull thud. He could only fall with his fists against the wood, and slip to the ground. “Mom…” He had noticed a dark room with dozens of faces lit by ensiferum spheres, and a man with metal teeth holding a knife at the throat of a young boy.
COME TO ME, KONKRA. I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU A LONG, LONG TIME.
Dag stood up and walked slowly. Now the doors didn’t close anymore, as if Baomani didn’t consider those memories worthy of being defended. Dagger wasn’t surprised. The paths of the Hermit and that of the rest of the world had split. He only saw tortures—the vulgar display of atrocities inflicted by the Holy Father to punish Baomani of his betrayal.
At the end of the corridor was a wall. On the clay bricks he read a vermilion engraving: I’m in hell. Save me.
The barrier to the unconscious came down under the touch of his hand. Infinity lay beyond. Suspended on the endless void, irregular slabs of red, polished marble lead toward a distant throne in blue granite, flanked by purple columns emerging from nowhere. Following them with his eyes, he saw them disappear in a darkness studded with red lights—scattered stars in a rosy ribbon.
Lowering his eyes he realized that a boy—barefoot and wearing a long robe of white wool—was now sitting on the throne. He stared at Dagger, waiting, a leg over one armrest, his head resting on a bored hand. Dag shut his eyes and the slight figure disappeared. He blinked again and the child reappeared halfway, standing and with hands behind his back.
He looked at Dagger mockingly.
Dag stopped. “If you were looking for a way to make me uncomfortable, I must say you found it.” Then he thought, ‘Damn, this is a vision. I don’t need to close my eyes.’ He tried to keep them open, but he couldn’t.
The boy disappeared again.
“Ktisis!” Dag said.
“Don’t be so quick with the introductions.” The voice coming out of nowhere was deep and adult. “After all, you took your sweet time in getting here. I was expecting something more from the son of Skyrgal.”
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