by Clayton Wood
“He was like...?”
“The 'Dead Man?'” he interjected. “Oh yes...but alive, you see. He's been working here for twenty years, you know. Excellent sources of reconnaissance, butlers. Access to everywhere, but practically invisible. And with his shard...” he put one finger on his own forehead, “...hidden under his skin, who would suspect?” He chuckled softly. “I have eyes everywhere, my little one.”
“Who are you?” Ariana asked. “Are you...?
“Xanos?” the old man interrupted. “No. Xanos is a tool, one I use to escape my...limitations. But if you must know, my name,” he added, “...is Sabin.”
Ariana frowned, shaking her head mutely. The name meant nothing to her. Sabin shook his head, a smirk distorting the lines in his pale skin.
“It always amazes me how ignorant people are of the past,” he mused. “Generation after generation, blindly moving forward, rarely looking back, having absolutely no idea of how the world came to be the way it is. Yet the past can be so instructive.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Ariana demanded.
“I,” Sabin replied, raising his palm from her right leg and bringing it to her left forearm, “...am draining your runes of their magic. No need to trigger them, after all...not that such a thing would worry me. When I'm done, I'm going to study them.”
“And then?” Ariana pressed. She had a feeling she didn't want to know the answer, but not knowing was even worse.
“I'm not going to do anything,” he answered. “My pawns are going to...convert a few in your government to my side, in a manner of speaking,” he added. “After vacating a few positions, that is. Orik was the wrong person for the role...free will is such a messy thing.” He released his palm from her left arm, tapping his forehead again, then lowering his hand to her right forearm. “Insubordination will not be an option this time...and when Xanos attacks, my new Chosen will save the day, winning the trust and admiration of the Empire.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Why, for the betterment of mankind,” Sabin replied. Then he chuckled at Ariana's bewildered look. “Just because I'm your enemy doesn't mean I'm the enemy,” he added. “You and your friends rebel against my cause – one that we actually share. We just differ on the means to the same end.”
Ariana stared at Sabin silently.
“Of course you don't believe me,” Sabin declared. “I've caused you pain, so you automatically hate me. But it's true; we both want an Empire built on the ideals of the Ancients...equality, knowledge, and justice. Left alone, your Empire would take countless generations to reach the sophistication of the first Empire...if it lasted that long. With my help, your people will surpass the Ancients in a matter of decades.”
“We didn't ask for your help,” Ariana retorted.
“I didn't ask for your permission,” he countered. “You have no claim over this land,” he added. “It was mine long before it was yours.” He took his hand off of her right forearm, placing it on her forehead. “Your Empire would not exist if I had not willed it.” He kept his hand on her forehead for a moment, then lifted it, placing both hands back on his cane. “But it hardly matters, my dear. Your runes are drained, so our conversation must come to an end.”
Ariana grit her teeth, refusing to be silenced. She had one question left for this man, whoever he was.
“If you're not evil, then why was I kidnapped?” she asked. “Why were my parents killed?”
“What is 'evil?'” Sabin countered. “To cause others to suffer? To kill for the greater good?” He shook his head. “By that measure, Kalibar is as evil as I am.” He put a hand on her cheek, patting it gently. “Good and evil are a matter of perspective, my dear. Consider it a blessing that you'll never live long enough to understand that.”
He lifted his hand from Ariana's cheek then, bringing it down to her right shin. He lowered his yellowed, dirt-caked index finger to below her knee, touching the skin there lightly. A searing pain coursed through her shin, the skin gaping open as if it had been cut with a blade. He drew his finger down her leg, her skin flaying open as he went, until a pearly whiteness appeared underneath the skin and underlying flesh.
Ariana screamed.
Sabin said nothing, prying the skin edges apart with his fingers, exposing the bone underneath. Ariana gasped at the agony shooting through her leg, every fiber of her being screaming to leap away, to escape that torture.
But she couldn't move.
Sabin stared down at her exposed shin bone, and Ariana followed his gaze unwillingly. Bright white bone lay there, countless tiny runes carved into the pearly surface. Her eyes widened, partly due to the pain, and to the shock at what Sabin had exposed.
“Marvelous,” Sabin murmured. His cataract-glazed eyes peered at the patterns embedded into her bones, tracing them rapidly. He sat there for a long moment, hunched over her leg, staring silently. Then he glanced up at her.
“It seems your protector is more sophisticated than I had imagined,” he stated, frowning slightly. “Far more so,” he muttered. He sighed then, drawing his finger back over her wound. The edges closed under his touch, the skin knitting together as if it had never been cut. “But I am sorry to say,” he added, “...that he is not sophisticated enough to save you.”
Ariana stared silently at Sabin, her eyes glued to his finger as it moved to her other shin. The grotesque digit hovered over her skin, the nail yellowed and chipped. She stared at it, feeling suddenly lightheaded.
“Magic,” Sabin continued, “...is a fickle thing. Its allegiance is to that which attracts it most powerfully.” He paused then, his finger still hovering above her shin. She tried to squirm, but only her head could move. “And there is no greater attraction for magic than I,” he declared.
Ariana swallowed past a wave of nausea, sweat trickling down her flanks.
“Your benefactor,” Sabin stated, touching her leg with his finger, his dried skin sending chills down her spine, “...assumed that his magic would protect you. Now he is far away, and My pawns are set to strike,” he added. “Divide...” He slid his finger downward, tracing a line down to her shin. The flesh parted easily, exposing the orange-yellow fat and rust-colored muscle below. “And conquer.” Ariana moaned, feeling her head swim with the pain, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from the horrid sight. Still, she felt his eyes upon her.
“Don't be afraid, little bird,” Sabin murmured, his foul breath washing over her, making her gag. “It'll all be over soon.”
Chapter 19
Kyle sat in his chair, his elbows propped on the round table before him, staring blankly at Marcus. Then his eyes widened, and he pointed at the old man.
“Wait, you're the one who gave Darius to Kalibar,” Kyle exclaimed. “You're Kalibar's mentor!” Marcus laughed.
“I hardly gave Darius to anyone,” he countered. “But as to the latter, you are absolutely correct.” He broke out into a grin. “See? You do remember.”
“Marcus,” Kyle murmured, shaking his head. Kalibar had mentioned his mentor's name – on several occasions, in fact. He remembered clearly now; they'd been escaping from the Secula Magna, bound for Crescent Lake, when Kalibar had spoken of his former mentor. “Wait, I thought you...”
“Died?” Marcus interjected. “Yes, I admit I had to fake my own death. But as you can see, I'm very much alive.”
“What happened?” Kyle pressed.
“Darius offered me a choice,” Marcus answered. “I could either spend the few remaining days of my life at home, and die peacefully in my own bed, or I could go to Antara.”
“Antara?”
“This island,” Marcus replied, gesturing widely with both arms. “Built by Ampir, the man we both know as Darius.” He chuckled. “It was hardly a difficult choice for me,” he admitted. “I'd been struck with a heart attack a day after Kalibar had last visited me, to ask me for a few guards. The heart attack should have killed me, but Darius wouldn't let that happen. He'd already rev
ealed himself to me long before, so I knew his true nature. I didn't want to die, and he knew it. He offered to bring me here, to his home, to join the others.”
“The others?”
“Darius is a...collector,” Marcus explained. “Over the last few centuries, he's gathered some of the greatest minds of each generation, and brought them here...to live for eternity, never aging, never dying. In return for our immortality, he asks us to pursue our passions.”
“Like what?”
“Whom have you met so far?” Marcus asked. “On the island, I mean.”
“Um, a guy name Nalin...and Tek, I think.” Then he frowned. “And a woman, she didn't talk at all...”
“Ah, Samb,” Marcus replied. “She was a famous architect oh, three centuries ago or so. Darius had her design the downtown area, and even my house,” he added. “Even as a mortal, she was famously...impersonal.”
“And Nalin?”
“He was an engineer,” Marcus informed. “He came here...maybe forty Doma years ago. Brilliant, creative, and a bit strange. If he'd been able to make magic, he would've made a heck of a Runic. He works with Tek – a Runic – to make hybrid devices.”
“Huh?”
“Machines that combine magic with standard mechanics. Like a magic-powered engine, for example. He's been working on that ever since Darius gave him that book from Earth.” Kyle's eyes widened.
“Wait, you know about Earth?” he pressed. Marcus shrugged.
“Only what Darius told us,” he admitted. “He only found Earth maybe...” he paused then, frowning. “The conversion rate always trips me up,” he admitted. “You see, for every year that passes on Doma, three years pass by here.”
“Time goes faster here?”
“Correct,” Marcus replied. “Darius can explain why far better than I,” he admitted. “You should ask him about it sometime.”
“I'll try,” Kyle stated noncommittally.
“In any case, he only found Earth a short while ago. From what I hear, it's a fascinating place.”
“It is,” Kyle agreed. Marcus smiled.
“Yes, I forget you're from there originally,” he stated. “In any case, there are about fifty of us living here on Antara, spending each day advancing the magical and physical sciences, building and sharing knowledge with each other.”
“Just fifty?” Kyle asked. He'd only seen a small part of the city, but what he'd seen looked like it could house an entire, well, city. That did explain why the place seemed so deserted.
“Samb keeps busy,” Marcus explained. “With a few new recruits every few decades, and no one leaving, eventually we'll need every last building.”
“Why is Darius doing this?” Kyle pressed. “I mean, why does he need you guys to research stuff?” Marcus shrugged.
“To be honest, I don't know,” he admitted. “Darius doesn't exactly speak his mind most of the time,” he added with a rueful smirk. “In any case, I suspect that you're right...whatever ingenious inventions we've created, Darius already thought of millennia ago. After all, we still haven't eclipsed the technology of the Ancients...and Darius started with that technology.” He shook his head slowly. “He showed me his old armor, the one he wore back in Ancient times. It was so far advanced of anything I'd ever seen, I couldn't begin to fathom it. I can't imagine what he's come up with in the last four thousand years or so.”
“Wait, what?” Kyle asked. “I thought the Ancient Empire was destroyed two thousand years ago.”
“True,” Marcus agreed. “But Ampir created Antara less than a thousand years after that,” he added. “And remember, for every year that passes on Doma...”
“Three passes here,” Kyle finished. “Got it.” Then he frowned. “You still call him Darius too,” he realized.
“I met him as Darius,” Marcus explained. “And lived with him for over nine years before he revealed his true nature. I have a hard time thinking of him as Ampir.”
“Yeah,” Kyle mumbled. It was difficult to reconcile the surly bodyguard with the heroic, but tragic, man in his dreams. Especially when he remembered what Darius had done...standing idly by while Kalibar had been tortured. And allowing Rivin and Bartholos to die.
“What's wrong?” Marcus asked.
“Nothing,” Kyle muttered.
“Something's on your mind,” Marcus observed. “I can tell you, a terrible secret does far more damage untold...and you'll find that in telling it, it loses its power over you.”
“Kalibar said the same thing about dreams,” Kyle said, smiling despite himself. Marcus smirked.
“He had a good teacher.”
“It's just...” Kyle began, then stopped, grasping for the right words. Then he sighed. “Did you hear about what happened to Kalibar?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, when we were captured by the Dead Man, he...tortured Kalibar.” He swallowed, willing the image of Kalibar's mutilated face from his mind. Marcus nodded.
“Yes, I know,” he replied, his tone suddenly grave. “They took out his eyes.”
“Yeah,” Kyle mumbled. “And Darius watched the whole thing. He didn't do anything.”
“Yes, I know,” Marcus repeated. Then he gave out a long sigh. “A difficult choice, to let that happen...but the right one, I think.”
“What?” Kyle blurted out. Marcus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He said nothing for a long moment, staring at the tabletop. Then he looked Kyle in the eye.
“Kalibar was...stuck,” Marcus stated. Then he shook his head. “He had a wife, long ago. He'd married her after becoming a Weaver, but before he'd met me. They had a child, and it died at birth.”
Kyle nodded; he remembered the night Kalibar had told him, at the roadside camp. It seemed like forever ago.
“Kalibar's wife blamed him,” Marcus continued, “...and became terribly depressed, as some women seem to do after giving birth. She killed herself soon after.” He shook his head again. “I can only imagine the pain and guilt he felt after that.” Marcus took a sip of his ambrosia. “I think he's been punishing himself ever since. Entering the military, his stint on the Council, his spectacular term as Grand Weaver...he took on as much responsibility as he could, and sacrificed everything – his time, his freedom, his dreams – to prove that he could do it without letting anyone else down.”
“You think he was making up for what happened?” Kyle asked. Marcus nodded.
“I don't think he ever let go of that guilt,” he explained. “He never dared to remarry, or think about starting a family. When he retired, he'd already accomplished everything he'd set out to do...and, instead of enjoying his retirement, he decided to spend all of his time locked up in his mansion, rarely visiting his friends, bent on discovering the great mystery of how magic works.”
“Another responsibility?”
“A distraction,” Marcus corrected. “For all the years I knew him, Kalibar rarely displayed the one emotion I consider the most critical of all.”
“What's that?”
“Joy,” Marcus answered. “Tell me, have you ever seen Kalibar laugh so hard he couldn't breathe? Or tell jokes?”
“He's pretty serious,” Kyle admitted.
“He's boring,” Marcus corrected. “He wasn't always that way...in fact, he was quite the happy-go-lucky young man before...the tragedy. I myself implored him, after his term as Grand Weaver ended, to take a wife and settle down...to have children and set his guilt to rest.” He sighed then. “When Darius told me about you, I immediately thought of Kalibar. You see, Darius's original plan was to have me act as your mentor.”
“Wait, what?” Kyle blurted out. Marcus shrugged.
“I was the perfect choice, as far as Darius was concerned,” he replied. “After all, I mentored Kalibar...and he'd known me for over a decade before he found you.”
“So why Kalibar?” Kyle pressed. He felt quite uncomfortable with the idea that this man would have been his 'Kalibar'...that he might never have met
his adoptive father if things had gone differently.
“Oh, it was all Darius's idea, really,” Marcus confessed. “Apparently, I couldn't stop talking to him about Kalibar. I was proud of my protégé’s accomplishments, of course.” He took a sip from his ambrosia, then shrugged again. “I was also worried about him, and Darius must have picked up on that. A few weeks before my 'death,' he told me he had changed his mind, and was going to use Kalibar instead of me.”
“Why?”
“Probably because he saw that you would have far more value to Kalibar,” Marcus guessed. He smiled at Kyle's puzzled frown. “He knew that Kalibar would see you as the son he never got to raise...if he was put in the position of having to protect you. He spent his entire life making up for his failure to protect his first son, after all. It was Darius's genius to realize the inevitability of Kalibar's bond with you...and how that would lead to his salvation.”
“What do you mean?”
“As I said, Kalibar was stuck. He couldn't move on after failing to save his son's life. That is, until he got to save yours...by sacrificing himself.”
Kyle's eyes widened, and he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. An image of Kalibar laying there as the Dead Man's fingers gouged into his eyes came unbidden to his mind.
“Oh...” Kyle murmured. Marcus sighed.
“I rarely agree with Darius's methods,” he admitted, scratching his temple with one hand. “But I can't deny their efficacy. It is easy to forget how truly ancient he is...and the wisdom that so long a life would yield. He plans everything, that one...everything. Plays us all like instruments, tuning us and forcing the sweetest of notes from us.”
“But he crippled Kalibar,” Kyle countered. “He didn't have to let it go that far,” he added. Marcus smiled.
“You'll find Darius is not as heartless as you think,” he countered. “Because of him, Kalibar went from a retirement filled with regret, stepping aside apathetically as an impostor vied for the throne, to discovering a reason to fight for his country...and his family.” Marcus stood then, pushing his chair back and walking around the table to Kyle's side. The old man put a warm hand on Kyle's shoulder. “Can you imagine what he has in store for you?”