Hemlock And The Dead God's Legacy (Book 2) (4 page)

A large bed with an ornate brass frame and headboard dominated the space.  There were two nightstands beside the bed, and a small dining table near the middle of the room.  Bookcases and dressers were spaced around the room, and there was a small door, which Hemlock knew led to an adjoining laboratory, where many dark spells had been cast.

Hemlock’s attention was drawn to the nightstand where she had identified the source of the strange light in her dream.  The nightstand was bare.  Curious, she approached it and noticed that it had a drawer.  She opened the drawer, and amongst some parchment , ink, wax and other personal effects, lay an intricate glass ornament. 

Hemlock withdrew the ornament.  It was a square frame made of gold inlaid with silver and sapphires.  Each side of the square frame held a small glass panel that was beveled and mirrored.  Each mirror could be swiveled on small pegs that extended from the mirror and rested in small holes in the gold frame.  The top mirror was adjustable along multiple axes, and could be raised and lowered.

This must be what dazzled me with light that night.  But what is the significance of it?  Why has it been haunting my dreams?

Hemlock placed the ornament on the nightstand, and noticed that it wouldn’t sit flat because of a large peg on its un-mirrored side.

Sensing a riddle in this ornament, she looked around the room.  Immediately, she noticed something unusual.

The table has a
hole in the center of it!

She picked up the ornament and approached the table.  She became excited when she saw that the hole in the table matched the size of the peg on the bottom of the ornament.  She mounted the ornament into the table, matching the peg with the hole. 

Nothing happened, although Hemlock immediately noticed that a splinter of moonlight was falling across the edge of the table.

Of course!  T
he moonlight!

She dragged the table across the floor until the moonlight struck the glass ornament.  She had to rotate the ornament in the hole to line up the mirror, which reflected the moonlight in a tight circle onto the tabletop.

Hmm.

She changed the vertical angle of the mirror and the ornament erupted in light.  Beams
of light shone from each of the four side mirrors.  Each beam shone on the walls of the room.

What is the point of this?

Hemlock inspected the walls of the circular room.  They featured a series of stylized arched recesses, which were inlaid with green marble that contrasted with the smooth granite of the surrounding walls.  Above the arches, the domed roof was set off by a carved extrusion which was decorated at four equidistant points by beautifully carved images of fanged gargoyle women.

Those are pretty creepy.  But wait, four sides—four sculptures!

Hemlock rotated the ornament to align the light beams with the gargoyle women.  She adjusted one of the mirrored sides to shine the light directly on one of the carvings.  She heard a very gentle click.

This is it!

She aligned the remaining two sides, and heard a similar click as each additional beam of moonlight struck a gargoyle carving.  When she aligned the final beam, she heard a click, but also the soft sound of stone grating on stone.

The green marble inside each of the arched recesses was rotating.  Three of the arches revealed bare granite behind them, but the fourth revealed a shadowy chamber, which lit mysteriously before Hemlock’s eyes.

Inside was a small chamber with a desk, a bookshelf, and a trunk.

Hemlock heard a sound at the door and vaulted behind the bed for cover.

She heard mechanical sounds moving into the room, but was soon relieved as she recognized the familiar sounds of Merit approaching.

She rose and confronted him: “What are you doing here?”

“Why, hello, Miss Hemlock.  I was in the atrium when I heard a noise.  I know this wing is supposed to be locked, so I decided to investigate.”

“Merit, it could have been dangerous.  You should have gotten help.  But, in this case, I’m glad you didn’t.  I don’t want anyone to know I’ve been here.”

“Have you discovered something?”

“Yes, I think I have,” said Hemlock, gesturing to the newly revealed alcove.

She approached it and looked at the desk.  Merit walked toward the glass ornament, and seemed to be inspecting the moonlight and the mirrors.

Hemlock saw some notes on the desk, and another quill and ink bottle.  She read part of the document, and it seemed to be related to esoteric spell components.  Losing interest, she moved to the trunk. 

She expected it to be locked, but it wasn’t.  Looking inside, she saw a few white tunics and some ornate sashes.  Moving the clothes aside, she looked deeper into the trunk.  She saw a portrait there, near the bottom, as if concealed.  It was a family portrait of two adults and an adolescent boy.  Hemlock’s was startled as she realized that the adolescent was clearly a young Falignus.

He looks so young and carefree.  Who are these people, and what happened to him?

She found it difficult to take her eyes from the portrait, but managed to do so when she noticed a time-worn parchment near where the portrait had been.  Lifting it, she unfolded it and read it.  Finding its contents compelling, she began to mouth it aloud.

“
Dear Falignus,

I regret the unusual circumstances that surrounded your admission into the Tower.  Over time you will come to realize that it was for the best.  As you’ve been told, I sired you and placed you with the two nobles who you have referred to up to this point as parents.  You were no use to me as a child, and I had important matters to attend to.  But now that you have grown, you must train to assume the mantle of leadership of the
Wizard Guild.

You may be intimidated by this new challenge.  It is true
that my legacy will loom large behind you, but someday, if you work hard, you may manage to equal it.  You may yearn for your old family.  Because of the risk of this distraction, I’ve had them killed.  Don’t lament their passing; I assure you that it was painless and quick.

You must gather your strength for the challenges ahead.  Do not look back and be paralyzed by melancholy—for this would be a fatal mistake.  Your new role is not assured.  I must be confident that you are ready for it.  I will follow your studies closely.  Do not disappoint me.

Sincerely,

Zaringer
, your father.
”

“What an unfortunate lineage,” commented Merit from close behind Hemlock.  He had apparently heard every word of the letter.

“Yes, no wonder he acted as he did. 
Zaringer took everything from him, and re-made him in the image of evil.  But he was a normal person, once.”

She put the letter back into the trunk.  “Could he have been a normal person again, Merit?  Did I make a mistake leaving him in that desert to die alone?”

“You did what you had to, Miss Hemlock, for yourself and for the City,” Merit replied, softly.

“Then why does it feel like a mistake now?”

Merit did not reply at first, but then spoke. “I don’t know.  But I know your heart is kind and just.”

“Sometimes, Merit, sometimes.”

They stood silent for a few more moments.  Hemlock gazed into the eyes of the adolescent Falignus, but they were cold and distant, and didn’t bring the memory of his former reality any closer to her reckoning.  Finally, she placed the picture and the letter delicately back into the trunk.  As she closed the trunk, she quickly slipped the lid back up, removed the picture and letter, and placed them into her cloak pocket.

She noticed
with relief that Merit had been looking at the adjacent bookshelf and had removed an old, dusty tome from a lower shelf.  Suddenly the gears in his head began to spin wildly.

“Miss Hemlock, look at this!  This is a book I’ve only heard spoken of in legend.  It’s the diary of Julius!”

“Wait, Merit, calm down.  Who is Julius, again?”

“He was the founder of the wizard guild.  He was the first to follow the chaos of the war that followed the death of the old Imperator.  He lifted the City out of a dark age.  This is his diary!  Look how detailed it is!  Miss Hemlock, this book must contain innumerable secrets
about the City.  Secrets that only the Seventh Circle knew.  I know that Gwineval has never seen this book.  We’ve spoken about it.”

Hemlock found this discovery and Merit’s accompanying excitement to be an unwanted distraction from her thoughts about Falignus.  But she knew better than to ignore Merit on matters of historical significance. 

And such knowledge might bring power with it.  I don’t want any more wizardly intrigue while I am gone.

She made a hasty decision, but it felt right to her.

“Merit, I want you to take this book to your chamber and keep it secret.  Even from Gwineval.  I need you to understand what’s in that book, and I need you to tell me about it when I return.  Once I understand what it says, I will decide when to share it with Gwineval and the rest of the wizards.  Can you promise to do this for me?”

Merit looked discomfited by her request, and began to shuffle around.

“Merit, listen to me.  If this knowledge were to get into the hands of someone like Jalis, think how much damage he could do with it while I’m gone.  I trust Gwineval and Miara, but their honor might compel them to share this book with other wizards.  I can’t risk that.  I need you to promise me that you will read this in secret, and not share it with anyone.  Please, Merit?”

“I will honor your request, Miss Hemlock, although I don’t understand it.  I don’t think Gwineval would share the book until he had also read it first himself.  But you are the leader of the wizard guild.  I will honor your request by virtue of that power, but also because of our friendship.  You must promise me, however, that you will not use this knowledge to harm Gwineval, who is also my friend.”

“I promise, Merit.  Thank you.”

Hemlock leaned over and hugged Merit.  She
briefly inspected the book and then looked around the room.  She finally located an old sack in the laboratory room.  She placed the book into the sack and gave it back to Merit.

“Now go straight to your room and put that book somewhere safe.”

“Good night, Miss Hemlock,” said Merit, as he left the room.

“Good night,” replied Hemlock, trusting her friend
’s promise, but all the same, nervous about the potential power held in the pages of the book. 

She took the ornament and placed it in her robe.  When the moonlight was removed, the secret alcove was again concealed by the marble.  She moved the table back to the center of the room, and returned to her chamber, feeling that more than enough had been discovered in one eventful day.




Merit greedily opened the pages of Julius’ diary.  He could scarcely believe his fortune at being the first one to read the book outside of the Seventh Circle.  He still felt uncomfortable keeping such a momentous discovery from Gwineval, but his curiosity overtook that feeling, and he began to read.

The book started with an odd tale about a different life that Julius had had prior to first coming to the City.

Chapter
Three

Feysal whipped his camosaur lightly to urge it forward.  It was a slow but steady riding beast with a lightly furred body, long legs, and a gullet that could digest plants or meat and store water for long periods of time.  He felt sure that his rival tribe, the Harith, would be camped on the vast desert plateau that lay beyond the ridgeline he was approaching.  This plateau was known as Urimba, which meant "Harsh Mistress" in his tongue.  It was a beautiful land filled with wondrous rock formations, yet water and game were scarce. 

He was so excited to ambush the Harith that he had urged his
camosaur on some miles back, and, since she was the fastest camosaur amongst his riders, she had easily outdistanced them.  He thought that it was just as well, for one man might be missed where many scores would be reckoned.  Especially if that one man was cloaked in a magical darkness like Feysal was.  He was the youngest in tribal memory to ever achieve the title of Charifa, or magic man; and he was the first Charifa to become an Emir of a great tribe.

As he neared the crest of the ridge,
Feysal slowed his camosaur.  She responded willingly, grunting softly with approval, for the fast pace had not been easy on her.

Slowly, the expanse of the plateau came into view.  Feysal deemed it fortunate that Urimba was so inhospitable, for it meant that the Harith, who had set out to raze his camps, would be weakened by the hard journey across it.  Crossing Urimba was an unexpected and bold line of attack, but one of
Feysal's spies had reported the movement in time for Feysal to ride out with his fighters to meet the Harith threat.

Between the earthy colors of the bordering, rocky mesas, which were resplendent even when muted by darkness
—as they were now—and the backdrop of a mountain range whose passes led down to the gently down-sloping Urimba, Feysal could see an encampment which lay just a few miles distant.

Oddly, though it was the hour for tea and bread (and perhaps
camosaur meat, if hunger and scarcity dictated), there were no campfires lit.  Instead, there were pillars of smoke rising, as if fires had recently been extinguished.

Feysal's
pulse, already rushing due to the nature of his solitary reconnaissance, began to pound in his temples.  He drew his bow, scanned the plateau, and then turned his camosaur to scan his flanks.

Nothing threatened him.

Returning his attention to the camp, he noted that a great stillness lay across the plateau.  Nothing was moving in the camp, and, stranger still, no birds or insects could be heard.

Then
Feysal's eyes perceived prone forms arrayed around the camp.  More were scattered at its outskirts.  Still more were visible at a distance of a hundred yards or more.  Some of their poses might have implied a watchful posture, but many others were on their backs with limbs splayed to and fro awkwardly.  He also noticed several tents loosed from their moorings, and the poles of others that had apparently fallen completely.  No camosaurs could be seen, and an unnatural darkness seemed to surround the camp.

Feysal felt sure that, if his eyes did not deceive him, he was beholding the ruin of the Harith.

His mind told him to ride hard back to his approaching fighters.  But something in his gut bid him to urge his camosaur forward.  She had evidently taken notice of the oddity before them, because she was slow to respond and clearly reluctant; but she was the finest of her kind, and she obeyed when other camosaurs might have faltered.

Slowly they approached the scene. 
Feysal perceived some camosaur remains to his right.  Most of the torso had been torn away, leaving the head and legs like some discarded fancy. 

As he got a closer look at the bodies, he saw that many of them were also gruesomely dismembered.

“What manner of beast could do this?” he wondered.

As he was looking down
, he noticed a huge shadow on the ground, approaching rapidly.  He had no time to do anything but look up in wonder as a huge, winged beast landed heavily on the ground, not ten feet from him.

He felt his
camosaur trembling beneath him.  Both camosaur and rider were paralyzed with fear.  The creature was as big as the largest of his tribe’s tents and covered in black scales.  Fetid breath, reeking of blood and gore, emanated from a huge jaw that was lined with large, sharp teeth that dripped with the remains of the Harith.  The creature’s eyes were black as night, but in their center were pale crescent irises that shone like moons.

“Hail Julius, son of the Imperator
,” spoke a rumbling, bestial voice directly into his mind.

Feysal strove to quell the panic that had brought his sensibilities to a temporary halt.

“Who is Julius?  And why does he use the ancient term for the Old God?” Feysal wondered.

“Hail Julius, son of the Imperator,” repeated the beast.

Finally Feysal found his voice. “Are you the Old God, come to take vengeance on the Harith?”

“I am old, but no God.  I have come to destroy you.  I will then re-make you.  Your father ordered it.”

“You speak of my father?  My father…”  Here Feysal faltered as he considered that his father was unknown to him.  He had been found in a sand dune bordering an encampment of his tribe, the Powitat.  “I am Feysal, Emir of the Powitat, son of the desert!”

“No!  Feysal is now dead.  It is time to begin your new life.  You are Julius, son of the Imperator.  It is he who left you in the desert.  You will leave this land.  We will return to the City.  Your father has left something there.”

Feysal felt beguiled by the grandeur of the beast, and the suggestion it was making that his origin was altogether more grandiose than he had thought it was.

“I am the son of the Old God?”

“Yes.  You are the son of the Imperator.”

A thrill of pride raced through Feysal.  He had expected to rule his world, for he had known for years that his talents and skills exceeded all around him.  But now this beast suggested that he might be…a God.

“What if I believe you?  What if I go with you, as you say?”

“We will return to the City.  It is not in this world.  We will cross the great divide.  Once there, you will accept your birthright.”

“Will I ever return?”

“Feysal is dead.  Julius may return some day.
  You must decide now.  Will you go?”

Feysal looked back for a sign of his
approaching fighters.  None were visible along the ridge behind him.

“What if I refuse?” he cried defiantly.

“Feysal is dead.”

Feysal paled a bit as he realized that he had no choice if he wished to live.

“Then I accept.”

“Leave the
camosaur and your belongings.  Climb onto my back.”

The beast lowered itself and positioned one of it
s great limbs in a posture that allowed Feysal to climb awkwardly onto its back.  There was no clear way to get a good purchase for Feysal besides digging his fingers and his toes into the gaps beneath the black scales.  This was uncomfortable for him, but it did seem to provide adequate grip.

Feysal felt the beast’s muscles knot up beneath him.  The force he felt
in the beast in that moment astonished him, and extinguished the small doubt that Feysal still felt about the decision he had just made.  Then the beast jumped into the air as its wings began to beat furiously, kicking up clouds of sand.

The Dragon climbed with powerful strokes of its wings. Feysal struggled to remain mounted, although his
camosaur riding skill aided him somewhat. As they gained altitude, Feysal stared in wonder at the expanse of terrain revealed below. He saw the mountains below him, and as the Dragon turned slowly, his fighters came into view, proceeding slowly toward the ridge leading to Urimba.

Though transfixed by the view below,
Feysal looked above him and gasped at what he saw. The stars, which had been distinct points of light in a sea of black, were taking on a different character. They were now connected by dim red strands which, when taken in sum, gave the sky the appearance of a great black rock punctuated with red striations.

Still further they climbed, and the air grew colder. Feysal clung mor
e closely to the warmth of the Dragon, finally noticing the oozing wounds on his hands and feet caused by the rough scales of the beast. The ground below now looked like a miniature, and seemed dream-like and surreal to Feysal. His head swam, and he focused more intently on the dull pain emanating from his hands to steady himself.

Above, the red tendrils that connected the stars were now tongues of flowing fire,
glowing a fierce crimson in the blank void. He saw that his own world was also connected to a fiery strand, which seemed like some slow-moving lava flow. How it did not consume his world eluded his reckoning.

Now the blackness was all around
them, and the Dragon altered its flight, diving gently toward the fiery river of light nearby.

Feysal became alarmed, as the heat of the fire soon became apparent.
He found the red glow of the fire slightly repulsive, like one of his tribe would regard rancid well water or spoiled meat crawling with flies and maggots.

“The Maker’s Fire is below. I must fly low to gather
its currents. This will hurt us both.”

The Dragon dived and as they approached the river of flame, Feysal felt increasingly ill.  He eventuall
y threw up his lunch of bread and meat, which floated beside him oddly for a few moments before the Dragon began to increase speed.

Feysal held on with all of his might as the Dragon accelerated.  The fire beneath him was now just a bright red streak as the Dragon’s wings beat faster and faster.

Finally the Dragon climbed and the painful heat and wretched sickness left him.  He noticed other worlds flying by them at great speed now.

Looking ahead, he saw a great central ball of fire to which all of the fiery tendrils were linked.  He could see a world moving swiftly around that great ball, but slowing down appreciably as they approached it.  It turned about the great ball, coming in and out of view.  As it touched the tendrils of fire that were connected to the fiery ball, those tendrils burned more brightly for a moment until the world lost contact.

“Is that where we go, beast?” cried Feysal.  But his voice seemed feeble as he appreciated the great clamor of the burning fire around them for the first time.  He felt sure the Dragon didn’t hear him.

“Yes,” replied the beast into his mind.

The world they approached looked like a blue semi-circle floating on a great rock that turned molten where it touched the great ball of fire that it sailed upon.  The path of the world had slowed and Feysal could see that the Dragon was tracking it and that they would soon cross its path.

The blue became deeper and deeper as they got closer, and soon blue overtook black, and dominated his field of view.  The blue was shimmering in a strange, insubstantial way.  They got closer and closer to the blue, and Feysal realized that where his world had faded to black imperceptibly, this border was more absolute.

Before he could ponder this mystery further, Dragon and rider burst through into daylight.  Again Feysal beheld a world beneath him, except this world seemed smaller than the one he had left.  There was a lush region of green to Feysal’s left, and a region of huge mountains to his right.  The Dragon soared toward the mountains.

“Let us go to the great oasis!” cried Feysal, his hair whipping in the cool air.

“Not yet.  Soon enough,” came the rumbling but silent reply.

The approaching mountains looked desolate except for a few paths that wound amongst them.  Feysal thought that he saw a great building straddling the nearby peaks of two adjacent mountains, but this disappeared from view too quickly for him to be sure.

The Dragon made for a mountain that was near the edge of the range.  Soon they descended below the peaks, and the mountains surrounded them.  Feysal became alarmed because he saw no destination below.

S
uddenly the Dragon landed hard on a rocky outcropping that  bordered a shelf of rock some feet above and beside it.  This shelf proved to be at a height convenient for Feysal to climb off the Dragon's back, and the latter shuffled sideways toward it, as if offering non-verbal encouragement for Feysal to do just that.

Feysal was unsure whether he felt better on the back of the beast that some part of him hoped might yet bear him home, or safely on solid rock.  At the urging of the Dragon, he opted for the latter.  He climbed from the Dragon awkwardly, and took full note of his recent abrasions.

He took his eyes off the Dragon for a moment longer and discovered the shelf of rock he now stood on met a cliffside at a distance of some thirty yards, where it formed a narrow pathway that followed the cliff-face for another fifty, finally ending at a ledge which fronted a shadowy defile that seemed to give way to a small cave.

Returning his eyes to the D
ragon, he waited for some cue from the beast.

It spoke into his mind again
. "Beyond lies the room prepared for you.  Your father left a message for you.  And he left you an inheritance.  But I think it is not as he intended. "