Sorcerer's Creed Books 1-3

by N. P. Martin

  "That would be me," Athelstan said. "Just one of my many--many, many--pen names."

  Athelstan sat crosslegged on a pile of animal pelts. Sanaka sat kneeling just across from him, sword by his side. I sat down in the middle to form a triangle as Athelstan offered me a crudely carved wooden bowl filled with a milky liquid. "What is it?" I asked.

  "Probably not the right question to ask," Athelstan said. "Just drink."

  "Will it send me on a trip? I don't need any trips right now. I'm on enough of one."

  Athelstan laughed. "That's a good one. No, nothing trippy. It will calm you though. I sense you need calming."

  I tried the drink. It tasted bitter, like juice from a plant, and it burned my throat on the way down. I made a face as I swallowed. "Good shit," I choked out.

  Athelstan seemed pleased. "Glad you like it."

  I placed the bowl on the ground beside me, unsure if I should drink anymore. Whatever was in the concoction, it was making me feel slightly drunk already. Not that I was complaining as he was right, it was calming. "So this is what you do?" I asked. "Sit in here and write books with that ancient typewriter over there?"

  "Yes," Athelstan said. "Writing is the only thing that keeps me going, even after a thousand years."

  "A thousand years? Really?"

  "He is immortal," Sanaka said.

  "You're clearly not a vampire," I pointed out. "So I'm guessing magick?"

  "More like bad luck," said Athelstan. "I never asked to be this way. Immortality is not all it is made out to be. You know how many times I've died and come back? Guess."

  "I wouldn't...I don't know. A lot?"

  A crazy laugh came from Athelstan as he almost doubled over, then he stopped laughing abruptly and focused his wild gaze on me. "Two hundred and sixty-five times."

  I made a whistling noise. "That's a lot of dying."

  "I've experienced every kind of death imaginable," Athelstan said. "Most of them painful. All of them frightening in their own way. And I just keep on coming back."

  "Why?" I asked. "Is it something to do with the Dark Codex?"

  Athelstan's dark eyes grew even darker at the mere mention of the book. He directed his gaze at Sanaka. "So that's why you are here," he said. "And here I thought I was just getting a simple visit from an old friend."

  Sanaka bowed his head slightly. "Forgive us, but we need your help, Athelstan. The Dark Codex has fallen into the wrong hands."

  "Again?" Athelstan exclaimed, leaning back as if he was about to fall over. "I knew something was wrong. I knew it."

  "Wait," I said. "Did you just say again?"

  "This isn't the first time the book has fallen into the wrong hands," Sanaka said.

  I shook my head in disbelief. "When?"

  "Most recently, Hitler had the book in his possession, but thankfully not for long. Long enough to bring about a world war though. Fucking weasel that Hitler was. A few others have gotten their mitts on the book as well. The stories I could tell you..."

  "I'm sure," I said, not really interested in hearing about his exploits or historical anecdotes. "How did you get the book back at those times?"

  "How did I?" Athelstan said, then laughed. "Oh no, I didn't get the book back. I'm just a writer, always have been. I may have written the book, but I don't look after it. Never have."

  "So who usually gets it back?"

  "It depends. There's always some do-gooder person or group willing to sacrifice themselves if need be. The protectors have varied over the years. I don't pay much attention."

  It was starting to dawn on me that Sanaka may have made a mistake coming here. Clearly, Athelstan didn't know very much, at least not the information I was after. A small sigh escaped me, and I looked at Sanaka for help.

  "The book has been found again," Sanaka said to Athelstan. "The world is at risk once more."

  "I see," said Athelstan. "Lucky I'm holed up in this place then, eh?" He laughed like the whole thing was a big joke, which pissed me off slightly.

  "As long as you're alright," I said, about to stand, but Athelstan put a hand on my leg to stop me.

  "Stay seated," he said, a sudden note of authority in his voice. "I might be able to help you."

  "You better not be bullshitting," I said. "I don't have time for bullshit. Neither does the rest of the world."

  "Are things that bad out there?" he asked. "It's been a few years since I've been off this island. I tend to go a little...crazy out there in the world after a while."

  "Yeah, well," I said. "The world will do that to you."

  Athelstan nodded. "Yes, which is why I spend most of my time in isolation these days. It's easier."

  "I'm sure it is."

  "You are judging me," he said. "Fair enough. You don't know me. But believe this--I gave enough of myself to this world over the centuries, including my blood. Lots of my blood."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not here to judge you. I just want some answers, that's all."

  "I can give you answers," Athelstan said. "But I don't know if they'll be the ones you seek."

  "We'll see," I said. "Why don't we start with how you came to write the Dark Codex."

  Athelstan tugged at his long beard for a moment as if agonizing over something. "Fine, I will relive that ancient pain again, just for you, August Creed."

  I nodded and sipped at the concoction in my bowl as Athelstan spoke. "I was a simple scribe in Medieval England," he said. "A monk actually. I used to spend my days copying scripture. A slow and painful process, but still an enjoyable and satisfying one for someone like me, someone who loves language and books as much as I do. Then one night as I was praying in my quarters before bed, I was suddenly struck with the Holy Spirit. A great light filled my whole body, and I fell on the floor in near rapture as I thought the Lord had come to me."

  "I take it wasn't the Holy Spirit?" I said.

  Athelstan shook his head. "It was not. That much became clear when the voice started speaking. It was this deep, booming voice speaking in what seemed to come from all directions as it spoke in Anglo-Saxon. I knew immediately the voice didn't belong to our Lord, so then I became confused, and then frightened. It occurred to me that I might be being possessed by a demon. Demon possession was common back then."

  "It still is," I said, suddenly remembering with a wave of sickening anxiety that I still bore the mark of a demon myself. "Bastards never change."

  "I tend to avoid all contact wth the supernatural," Athelstan said, zoning out for a second. "It's just easier that way. I tend to arouse their curiosity, which is always unwanted." He shook his head. "Anyway, I knew the power that had invaded me was unlike any power I had ever known at that point. I feared for my soul, but the voice explained that it didn't want my soul, only my skills as a scribe. It said it would not leave me until I had written down everything that it was going to dictate to me. Out of fear, I had to agree to the entity's terms, but I did ask what would happen if I refused. The entity said it would find someone more willing to do its bidding and it would leave me alone."

  "So why didn't you refuse?" I asked.

  Athelstan sighed. "Because despite the fear and the crushing weight of its presence, I still felt like I had been chosen to complete some important task. A holy task, even if the entity in me had nothing to do with God, which it didn't. Back then, I longed to feel important, to feel valued as something more than just a pen monkey who spent his days in dark rooms toiling away by candlelight." He shrugged. "I had self-esteem issues. So I said yes to the entity and agreed to do the work it was asking of me."

  Athelstan left the monastery he had spent his whole life in up to that point and found a room at a local inn to stay in. "I never left that room for over three years," he told me. "The landlord would bring me food, and I would pay him each week with money that magically appeared on my writing table whenever I needed it. All I did was work on the book being dictated to me. Night and day, that's all I did until the book was completed."

  "Did
you know what you were writing?" I asked him.

  "Yes and no," he said. "It was weird. I understood what was being said by the entity, but I never really thought about it as I was too busy making sure it was being properly transcribed. I was in a kind of trance most of the time, and I could also never remember what I had written the previous day. It was like the words just faded from my memory the moment they were written down."

  "So you finished the book. Then what?"

  Athelstan took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "I was given instructions on how the book should be bound, and I also sketched out the design of the cover, based on what the entity told me. I had a local craftsman bound the book and make the cover, which took months of work as the design was so complex. The material used to make the cover was also not of this world. A huge block of this glistening pearl white substance appeared in my room one day, and I carried it all the way to the craftsman so he could shape it. I also paid the man a considerable sum to keep the work he was doing secret. Although an hour after he had finished the work, he fell over stone dead. I had no doubt the entity inside me had killed the man, and I obviously began to fear that I would die too, once the entity had finished with me."

  "So this entity," I said, trying to understand. "Did it tell you anything about itself, where it was from, why it was getting you to write the book?"

  "Nothing," Athelstan said. "And I didn't ask. The identity of the entity remains a mystery to me to this day."

  I shook my head. "Very strange."

  "Strange? Yes. Even stranger that it left me alive--immortal in fact--because it said I would be needed again at some point in the future. It never said what for. I was told to give the book to a particular group of people back then, who would keep it under their protection. And although the book has changed hands many times over the years, that was the last I saw of it."

  "So you've just been floating around ever since," I said. "Writing more books?"

  "Mostly, yes."

  I looked at Sanaka, who was still calmly kneeling and listening. "What's your take on this?"

  "What do you mean?" Sanaka asked.

  "I mean why do you think the entity made Athelstan here immortal? What do you think its plan is?"

  Sanaka shrugged. "I have no idea."

  I shook my head. "Seriously? None?"

  Sanaka just looked at me and said nothing.

  "Well do you at least know how to destroy the book that you wrote?" I asked Athelstan.

  "Destroy?" Athelstan shook his head. "It cannot be destroyed. I thought you knew that."

  I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes for a second. "That fucking bitch."

  "What?" Athelstan said.

  "Nothing," I said shaking my head, thinking I should have known better than to trust Angela Crow.

  Sanaka snorted slightly as if he knew about my conversation with the Crow. I was going to say something, but I let it go.

  "I'm not really sure why you are here," Athelstan said, looking like he'd had about enough of our little unannounced visit. It was clear he wasn't really a people person. Otherwise, he wouldn't be living alone on some far-flung tropical island in the middle of a jungle, would he? "Everything I've told you, Sanaka here knows already." He looked at Sanaka. "You know everything already."

  Sanaka shook his head slightly. "Not everything."

  Frowning, Athelstan said, "What do you mean?"

  "We do not know your exact power over the Dark Codex, nor your connection to it," Sanaka said. "You have made no contact with the book since you wrote it, but I believe you have power over it. I believe you can locate the book, and possibly destroy it completely."

  Athelstan snorted. "Pure conjecture."

  "Are you denying you have an innate connection to the book?"

  A weary sigh escaped Athelstan, and he began to tug nervously at his beard. "I have a sense of the book, yes, I'm not denying that."

  "A sense?" I said. "What does that mean?"

  Athelstan released his beard as he looked at me with thinning patience. "I can feel the book at all times, no matter where I am. The closer I am to the book, the more intense the feeling until I can hardly stand to be anywhere near it because it feels like a wretched fire is burning out my insides." He shook his head as he seemed to relive the feeling. "I realized a long time ago that I am not meant to have any contact with that book. The pain is self-explanatory."

  I thought for a second as I stared intensely at the former monk. "That only goes to support the theory I posited a moment ago," I said. "I still think if you and the book come together, the book will be destroyed somehow."

  "And so will I," Athelstan said quietly. "Do you think I haven't thought about exactly everything you have said. I've had a thousand years to think about it."

  "That's a lot more than most people get," I said.

  "So you are asking me to die now?" he said.

  I shook my head. "You don't know if you'll die. You don't know anything at this point. But I'll tell you what I do know. If we don't try and put a stop to the book's new owner, and then the book itself, there won't be a world left for you to live in, Athelstan. At least not one you'd want to live in, and there is no island far-flung enough for you to hide out in. There'll be no one left to read all those books you wrote. So even if there is a chance that you'll die, so what? You've had a fucking thousand years. Are a few more years of reclusive living worth the fate of the whole goddamn world?"

  Athelstan stared at me a moment, and then slowly turned his head towards Sanaka. "You didn't tell me your apprentice was a crusader. He reminds me of a character I used to write in an adventure series. His name was--"

  "Don't care," I said, raising a hand to interrupt. "Seriously, have you not been listening to me?"

  "Yes, I've been fucking listening," Athelstan snapped. "You sit there and ask me to go with you to my likely death and expect me to be happy about it--"

  "No one said you had to like the idea," I said. "And you're not the only one putting your life on the line, either. Fucking Christ, you've already died and come back hundreds of times. Who is to say you won't do so again?"

  "The book," he said. "I've always known it would be the cause of my final death if I ever had one. Why do you think I've spent the last one thousand years avoiding the cursed thing? And besides, the book has always been retrieved in the past, albeit too late, but still retrieved and protected once more. Why is this time any different?"

  "It is different," I said. "This time the book has made a god that will wreck everything. Maybe the whole damn universe, I don't know. The potential is certainly there. I'm also not willing to wait until the damage has all been done, either. Things move faster now than they did in the past."

  Athelstan nodded almost nostalgically "Yes, I'm afraid they do."

  "Then you know you don't have a choice," I said as gently as possible. "Maybe this was your destiny all along? To destroy the very thing you had a hand in creating."

  "Leave the poetic irony to the experts, Mr Creed," he said making a face at me just before he stood up suddenly and began tugging at his beard again. "Alright, fine. I'll go on this crusade, or suicide mission or whatever it is with you, but on one condition."

  "Really?" I said, glancing at Sanaka. "What?"

  "You must grant me another half a day so I can add what might very well be the last chapter to my memoirs," Athelstan stated.

  I puffed my cheeks at the balls on the guy. The fucking world was about to collapse in on itself, and he wanted to finish writing his fucking memoirs. "Alright, fine," I said, looking a Sanaka, who just nodded like he didn't mind at all. "Just make it quick."

  Athelstan looked down at Sanaka. "He's very pushy your apprentice."

  "I'm not his apprentice," I said, shaking my head in annoyance.

  "Whatever," Athelstan said. "I'm blaming all of this on you in my memoirs, Tetsuo, I hope you know. You knew things would turn out this way before you came here."

  Sanaka sat and made no acknow
ledgment of Athelstan's accusations, even though I knew the former monk was completely correct.

  As Athelstan threw Sanaka and me out of the hut so he could get to typing, I stood outside in the baking heat and considered giving in to my frustrations so I could throw a temper tantrum. But then I saw Sanaka walking towards the pool, calmly disrobing and sliding inside like he didn't have a care in the world. "Fuck it," I said, heading over there myself. "What's good for the goose..."

  26

  At The Gate

  When Athelstan finally emerged from his hut several hours later, he had a distant look on his face like he had just woken up from a dream. "Finally," I said marching over to him. "Can we go now then?" By that point, I had had enough of the sticky heat and the biting insects. I wanted back to civilization if it even still existed and the world hadn't completely crumbled under the weight of excessive magick use by then.

  "I suppose so," Athelstan said, then stared intensely at me. "You must promise me something."

  "What?" I asked as Sanaka came to join us, hardly a bead of sweat on his brow.

  "If I don't make it back," Athelstan said. "You must promise to come back here and retrieve my memoirs from the hut."

  "Sure," I said. "Providing I live to do so myself."

  Athelstan nodded. "That will have to do then."

  Sanaka took hold of our arms. "Ready?" he asked, his sword now on his back.

  "Ready," Athelstan said with not much enthusiasm.

  "Wait," I said, looking at the former monk. "You're leaving like that?"

  Frowning, Athelstan said, "Like what?"

  "You're wearing a loin cloth. You look like a naked tramp. Style issues aside, you'll need a bit more protection than that around you."

  Athelstan sighed. "Fine," he said, then walked back into the hut. A moment later, it was like a different person emerged. "What about now? Do I still offend your sense of style, Apprentice?"

  "I told you, I'm not an apprentice," I said shaking my head. "And yeah, you look...more ready now." Athelstan no longer looked like Robinson Crusoe's junky brother. His dark hair was now short and combed, his beard trimmed to leave a thin mustache and a short, pointed bit on his chin. He also wore a light colored three-piece suit that looked like it was made several decades ago, but which looked good on him nonetheless. I didn't ask how he managed such a dramatic transformation in such a short time inside a mud hut devoid of anything but manuscripts and a typewriter. I knew magick had to have something to do with it.