“Hush, Lucienda. We don’t want him to lose the path.”
Malek did not let his ghostly friends murmuring in their odd tongue distract him, at last beginning to feel more connected to his city, for all that he felt like he had been gone for a terribly long time.
He felt a curious ache for his other half. He wondered what had become of her. Yearning to be with her, even now, for all that he knew she was lost to him, lost to the serpent of time, taken from his side, and his heart, too soon.
He shuddered, stopping before the grand scriptorium, blinking away hot tears that reddened his eyes and stung his heart.
44
“Your Grace?” A pleasant looking scribe hurrying to meet them at the massive entrance to the grand edifice deferentially asked, several guards bearing leaf tipped spears, wearing shirts of bronze and skirts of linen and leather bowing deferentially before them.
Malek nodded. “Scholars from afar wish to use the library. I have given them my consent.”
The olive skinned scribe's features paled of a sudden, rich brown eyes blinking like a startled calf's before he immediately bowed, deferentially and low. "Of course, Your Grace. I believe I know the texts you seek."
Malek nodded, allowing himself to be led through winding corridors laden with massive shelves filled with endless scrolls of papyrus and parchment, winding ever deeper into the more ancient shelf laden passages, coming at last before a door gilded in gold and, he sensed, the tingle of magic oddly familiar.
“Warded of old, Your Grace. None of us have dared to enter.”
Malek nodded, gazing carefully at the brilliantly complex ward of magics before forming a key of shimmering blood, gently sticking it within, feeling the magnificent construct collapse within itself, ancient power and the knowledge how to construct that artifact blooming brilliantly within his mind. As if he were awakening to a memory of having performed the very work he had just dispelled.
Malek nodded in satisfaction, the scribe seeming to quake before them, as if Malek had just passed some terrible test, which he supposed he had. Had he been an impostor, he would have died screaming, all the blood and fluid of his body sucked out, a desiccated corpse left in its place, the very life force drained fueling the ward, making it ever stronger. Strong enough to last countless eons. Malek smiled at the thought.
“Angels above! You did something, Malek. I sense it!” Latif excitedly crowed, earning a cold look that sent him askance.
“Malek. Remember.”
Morlekai’s words resonated somehow, gently awakening him to the significance of his friends. Malek smiled then, putting the fawning young man at ease. He remembered the sense of warmth and kinship he had with these odd folk. No need to order the foolish boy whipped for daring to address him so familiarly with such a guttural tongue. Barbarians were to be tolerated their eccentricities, whether traders bringing fresh wares, supplicants bringing tribute, or simply friends from afar.
“Malek. Remember who you are.”
Cool words. Insistent. Malek shivered, captivated by Morlekai’s brilliant golden gaze.
“What the hell are you talking about, Morlekai?”
His friend grinned. “Good job on opening the door. Shall we enter?”
Feeling slightly confused as to what their leader was talking about, Malek nodded and gestured for them to enter, instructing the scribe still gazing at him with a sort of horrified wonder to bring refreshments or his own head on a platter and to be quick about it, in the same fluid tongue he had addressed the man before.
“What did you say, boy?”
Malek gazed at Alacabar strangely. "I told him to bring us some olive stuffed lamb, cumin and pepper rice, and rosehip wine on the double, or for the guard behind him to bring me his head. Didn't you hear me?"
Latif’s gaze was one of horror. “You threatened the man with death?”
Malek shrugged. "I'm hungry, and you are my guests. Of course."
Latif was speechless. Malek could hear Lucienda soothing him with soft whispers, gently stroking the healer's cheeks. Malek shrugged off the words that made little sense, focusing instead on showing his friends his greatest treasure.
"And here before us is the sacred work, my friends. That which you have striven so hard to glimpse for yourselves!"
Smiling at their awe-filled gazes, Malek approached the marble slab of stone that served as his reading counter, upon which lay a massive tome that looked for all the world to be made of solid gold, pages shut tight with claspings of a brilliant mithril hue. He gave a satisfied nod.
“And here it lays. The work that is the key to our realm, holding her greatest treasure. The sacred horn.” He looked up from the grand tome. “I trust you have the keys I have sworn never to touch?”
Puzzled gazes met his own. Morlekai was the first to smile and nod, gently revealing a small silken pouch strapped under shirt and armor both. Four perfect crystalline globes were solemnly pulled out, each humming and spinning in the air, unaffected by gravity or any physical force, save when in contact with living flesh, remaining where placed, and moving no further.
Malek gave an approving nod. "Excellent! I must confess I never thought to see them again when I cast them deep within the wells of time. Never did I expect to sound the horn once more, knowing well as I do the terrible agony and beauty of beholding the divine. Yet I too feel the pull of destiny as she weaves her tendrils tightly about our souls. A storm is coming. Grave and terrible. One that transcends time itself."
His gaze was that of a commander preparing to commit his troops to a desperate maneuver, plagued with the knowledge that there were no better options. For as terrible an act as they were about to commit, he sensed that the consequences of letting dark destiny unfold unchecked would be far graver still. "Perhaps now is the time to behold it once more, even if the glimpse of its wonder spells my own destruction. I have lived long and well, and am ready for the next turning of the wheel."
Everyone's eyes were firmly locked upon Morlekai, but Malek did not mind this. It was best for the lesser members of their band to defer to his second, and not trifle him with petty concerns. Speaking of which, where the hell was their repast? He sighed, regretting the need for training yet another librarian.
At that very moment the librarian stumbled in, heaving and drenched in sweat, wreaking of terror, though careful enough not to spill a drop of wine upon the great platter he held, bowing deeply as he lifted the lids off food-laden platters, filling the room with the aroma of cumin and tender lamb.
Malek turned to the trembling librarian, measuring him carefully with his gaze.
The young librarian began to plead in a ragged whisper. Malek ignored the words, speaking over him. “It is ruler's duty to protect. To defend one's nation against all threats from within and without, so it may resonate like the Heavens themselves, through all eras, an eternal symbol of peace and order. And it is for those who are ruled to serve. Utterly and faithfully. If a ruler is lacking, his land will be conquered and its people destroyed. If those who are ruled are less than devoted, society itself will crumble from within, and all will be chaos.”
Malek sighed, gazing sadly at the panic-stricken man desperately scurrying back from his master's approach, till his back slammed against the wall and he could go no further. Malek's smile was almost gentle as he approached the terrified-looking man, lifting a hand to caress the man's quivering cheeks.
“I do believe you did not take my warning seriously, scribe.” The man screamed then, screamed and wailed, kicking and sobbing, weeping tears of blood as Malek caressed him with the barest taste of his power.
“The stain of a lost soul would ring discordant upon the Halls of the Divine.”
Words said with a cool tone of authority. Malek blinked, turning to gaze upon the inscrutable features of his second. Malek's lips pursed in a thoughtful frown even as he waved away the desperately pleading librarian who dashed from the room as fast as his legs would carry him, leaking a trail of blood.
Latif, for some reason, was gazing at Malek with utter horror.
Malek ignored the odd fellow and gave Morlekai the slightest of approving nods. “Discordance must always be avoided.” He gave the matter of the tardy scribe no further thought, focusing instead on the orbs madly spinning in place. “Now, if you would. Each of the four of you, grab ahold of the orb you feel most aligned to.”
Lucienda and Alacabar exchanged glances even as Morlekai nodded, immediately grabbing fierce hold of one that started to shimmer an odd collusion of ivory and ebony. Latif gave a relieved smile, as if sensing his role at last, grabbing hold of one that shimmered a brilliant silvery hue. “I can tell this one is aligned to one who heals,” he said, even as Alacabar grasped hold of one the color of dried blood with an equally dry chuckle, Lucienda grasping hold of one that seemed to have no color at all, utterly translucent, save for the multihued rainbow that shimmered around all of them.
“Very good.” Malek nodded with the approval of a commander for troops that have survived their first serious test. “Now. Place the orbs against the locks that are your diametric opposite.” Though Lucienda looked a bit perplexed, everyone else seemed to know intuitively what lock to place their orb against, and within moments it was done, the entire room suddenly resonating with a curious, ethereal harmony.
Malek felt his teeth start to vibrate even as the golden tome itself began to glow a brilliant silver-white.
Malek gazed resolutely at the glowing tome, solemnly placing his own palm upon its surface and speaking in a tongue so wrapped in ancient power that all save Morlekai shook as he spoke, streamers of brilliant crimson flowing from his hand through the complex maze of lines etched within the work’s cover, the exquisitely thin strands of blood eventually connecting all four spinning orbs, at which point Malek stepped back as the tome began to pulse with the force of inconceivable magics, seething with hot coronas of energy like a miniature sun.
Even as his companions gazed in silent wonder, the tome lifted upwards off the great stone slab of its own accord, righting itself and growing, the fine abstract design that had been etched into the book cover seeming to take on added dimensions, the lines of a sudden forming a tunnel vast and wondrous that appeared to go completely through the tome to unimaginable realms beyond.
Morlekai's own shout of exultation mirrored the thrill Malek felt coursing through his pounding heart. "Come, my friends! The Horn of the Heavenly Host beckons us. Let us sound her and embrace her wonder and glory, even as our souls shudder before Heaven's light! Let the angels above hear our cry! A holy war rekindled, an end to all the forces of Hell as we reshape this world anew!"
And with those words, Morlekai clasped a dazed Malek's hand and jumped through the strange portal, their friends just behind, all of them caught up in the wonder of the moment, dashing ahead with an adventurer's sense of awe, rolling the dice of fate with manic glee, ready to embrace whatever came their way.
"By the angels above!" Alacabar's awed declaration was met with silent nods, all gazing raptly about the incredible chamber they found themselves within. Malek blinked, suddenly confused as to who he was, what he was, as he gazed upon the unspeakably vast room. Massive fluted columns of pristine white stone rose endlessly upwards towards a dome so vast Malek half wondered if he saw the faint mist of clouds forming above, though it did not detract from the astrological configurations depicted in silver and gold. The chamber entire was an inconceivable feat of engineering, of colossal scope and scale. Malek had no doubt that any artist or architect would weep with wonder at the very sight of it.
Malek felt a cold chill as he caught sight of the starry sigil of the Seven Sisters, positioned at the very peak of the dome, drawing all eyes towards it; the sun and moon seeming almost to revolve around that ancient sigil. He swallowed, an odd feeling of reverence overcoming him as he caught sight of the Knight, the Wanderer, the Panther, and the Wolf, all easily recognized constellations within that sacred depiction of the heavens.
"This place, it's incredible!" Latif's voice was little more than a reverent whisper, and Malek began to hear the peaceful melody of flute and harp playing in concert, his eyes taking in the bas-relief carvings upon the massive columns, each panel part of a series that appeared to tell an ancient tale of battle and conquest, the forging of an empire.
Remarkably, all the panels were all in pristine condition, many of the carved figures painted in various shades of copper and gold without the slightest trace of tarnish. Or perhaps not so unique, he thought, as he appeared to be in the heart of a solemn and majestic Regio; a dream within a dream.
Malek saw Lucienda grab Morlekai's arm, her gaze one of puzzled wonder. "Morlekai. Have you noticed how this story progresses? Who the leads happen to be?" She then turned her questioning gaze to Malek, who gave a self-conscious smile and focused upon scenes etched within the columns once more, curious as to what had so caught Lucienda's eye, when it hit him.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. He froze in his tracks. The pictures were somewhat stylized, but there could be no mistaking the woman with the shield painted a mithril hue, nor the exquisitely detailed cat beside the massive gold throne she sat upon, its eyes perfectly cut sapphires that seemed to twinkle of their own accord.
Malek gasped and turned away, refusing to register the features of the man who sat upon the throne by her side. “Come. We need to reach the center of the temple.” Abruptly he began to walk at a brisk pace to that which would lead to their horn, still feeling that much communion with the dream he had allowed himself to sink into, a dream which he was chillingly certain could better be described as an ancient memory that had slipped beyond the bounds of time.
“Malek. That man looked like you!” Malek grimaced, refusing to look Latif’s way, doing all he could to push the thought away.
“And that is not the only similarity,” Lucienda’s melodious voice added. “Is there something you would like to share with us, Malek?”
“I liked the cat, myself. Not too often you see cats carved in relief. Always lords or soldiers or some such,” Alacabar noted.
Morlekai alone forbore to comment, but his measuring gaze made Malek queasy for some reason. “You know your eyes are completely golden now, right, fearless leader?” A cool smile was all he got in return. Malek grimaced, doing his best to ignore questions he could not answer, questions he was almost terrified of examining too closely himself.
It was then that Malek felt a dreadful chill. A dark caress upon his heart that stopped him cold.
“Bloody hells, boy! What’s gotten into you?” Malek raised a firm hand at Alacabar’s good-natured grumble, and immediately the man was silent. Everyone save Latif was immediately on alert, their hands flashing battlecode every Squire of Highrock and no few adventurers knew.
“Report.” Morlekai’s voice, ever that of the cool commander.
“Uncertain. Something doesn’t feel right. Be wary.”
Alacabar hissed. "Bloody bullocks, I knew this was too easy." And Malek recognized the muted sounds of boot laces and other straps being checked and quickly tightened even as blades were drawn, armaments readied, Malek's own massive Zweihander instantly in hand, his wavy serpentine blade glowing an angry crimson, odd counterpoint to the serene and beautiful realm they were in, save for that dark, awful feeling Malek had that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Recon.”
Malek nodded, taking point, moving cautiously ahead with his massive blade held effortlessly at the ready in Ochs. Such was the curious dread he felt that he found little comfort in Alacabar's laughing assurances that there was no need for him to tremble like a raw recruit about to see combat, that even among Delvers his martial prowess was extraordinary, near a match for Alacabar's own.
For all that he appreciated the patter, Malek was no fool. He knew there were horrors in Shadow he and his companions would be lucky just to survive, let alone triumph against.
Malek shook his head with a grimace. He d
id not understand the source of this sudden doubt in himself, but he could taste a certain peculiarity in the air. One that brought flashes of dark horror and one particular image with awful clarity. A wolf the color of fire and shadow, gaze fierce as the embers of a dying sun, howling endlessly over his fallen master upon a plain of ash and sand.
And then he saw it.
Heart hammering with awful certainty, Malek exchanged a too knowing glance with Morlekai as they approached the center of the massive temple, taking full stock of the hideous rent torn within the very heart of that sacred sanctuary. A rift cloaked in stormy shadows that flashed flickers of fiery crimson. The stench of brimstone. The mournful howl of desperate souls shrieking faintly through the air.
And Malek could swear it had only formed in the very instant they had gazed upon it.
A hideous malevolence, staring back at them even now.
“Morlekai! This is bad. Really bad! This rent shouldn't be here. We need to head back, now!”
Malek was beginning to understand. Beyond them lay horror unlike any they had ever known before.
Morlekai, however, appeared momentarily frozen. Pale as a sheet. Brilliant golden eyes filled with a sudden desperate fear. To see his ever-confident leader struck with such dismay filled Malek with a cold sickening dread.
"No. Not the horn," Morlekai whispered. "Saints above, we cannot let the horn fall! We must retrieve it, now!"
Lucienda’s gaze was one of horror. “My love. We are not fools. We have Delved too deeply to miss the signs. We know well what those crimson flames mean.”
Alacabar's gaze turned grim. "Saint's fire, man. That black rift doesn't kiss darkest Shadow. It leads straight to the Abyss!" His gaze was one of horrified loathing, though he did not flee.
Latif turned pale as a sheet, shaking in terror as rank and awful as that of a condemned man staring at the headsman's axe. Malek could only imagine how bitterly his friend now regretted taking that purse full of gold, remembering all too clearly Nadia's haunted eyes. Somehow, she had known. “Angels protect us! By all the gods, by all that is holy, I will not go there, I would never go there!”
Gods of Shadow and Flame Page 51