In All of Infinity (10 page)

♥
Part Three: If Anything,
a Mind ♥

The flames of the great fire caused shadows
to dance all around, almost as if the ghosts of those long dead
were present. The sound of drums that had once been strong was
faint, while voices began singing an ethereal tune laced together
by the melody from a flute. The flutist, standing within the ring
of drummers and singers, was dressed in a white dress that made her
face seem even fairer and her eyes even bluer.

Standing near the fire, sweat pouring down
his face, looking at the faces all around him, Emmanuel didn’t
understand what was happening. The ritual that Truth seemed to
understand very well, causing him to smile, was leaving a furrow of
confusion on the doctor’s face. “Trust us,” they’d said. “We are
not cruel. We are fair people.” Although he’d taken their word for
it, he was beginning to question himself. Truth was almost
completely covered with black splotches, but he remained smiling.
Emmanuel was sure something was wrong with this situation, although
he couldn’t place his finger on it. He couldn’t place anything
anywhere. He didn’t know much about what was happening.

Only hours ago, he’d arrived at Wrenwood, a
small village in the woods, and had to watch Truth explain their
situation to a council. When it was explained (in a language he
didn’t understand), the townspeople began creating a fire and
pulling a group together for the bizarre ritual. As he stared at
all of them now, he still didn’t understand why Truth insisted on
fourteen drummers and singers, but he’d given up caring. He just
wanted whatever was going on to be over so that he could go home.
He sensed his daughter was in grave danger, even though Truth
insisted she was safe. The ceremony had been proceeding for close
to three hours.

When the flutist at last broke the circle
and the flame died down, a pale gray block of stone emerged from
where the fire had been. Emmanuel marveled at it, found the symbols
on the rectangular object rather beautiful. He knew each
represented something, but he didn’t get a chance to ask Truth what
they meant.

Truth approached the block and lay on it,
finding the stone cool to the touch. He turned his head and looked
at Emmanuel, gestured for him to approach. The doctor’s uneasiness
about the situation made him smile.

“Don’t be frightened,” Truth said. He looked
up at Emmanuel and closed his eyes, taking the man’s hand in his
own. “I don’t understand why you’re always so frightened. Life
isn’t all that bad when you don’t know all of the answers. It’s far
more exciting that way.”

Emmanuel shrugged and watched as the flutist
approached them. Truth called her Madame Frost, because of her fair
skin and her ability to create with frost. Although the doctor
wasn’t sure about trusting her, Truth assured him that she was not
to be feared. As he watched her tread lightly on the bramble, he
saw a small smile on her face, akin to the famous painting of Mona
Lisa, and almost as alien to him. Why would she be smiling like
that if she didn’t have cruel intentions? As if she knew his
thoughts, she smiled brighter and laid her flute beside Truth. He
watched as a wider smile formed on her face when she gazed at
Truth.

“I believe it’s time for you to know the
truth,” she said and closed her hand over theirs. As she whispered
in a beautiful yet strange language unlike any he’d ever known, he
found himself closing his eyes. “The truth, Emmanuel Reagan, will
set you free. Free from heartache, memories hidden by a curtain of
darkness, and reveal to you what needs to be known. Needs to be
known now. Now more than ever.”

When he opened his eyes with a start, he
realized he was lying on the block of stone, looking up at Madame
Frost. She smiled knowingly at him, realized how stunned he was by
the truth. It had been hidden from him for far too long.

“Esme is alive?”

“She is,” Madame Frost nodded, still
smiling. “She didn’t perish, as you thought for so long. She is
alive.”

When one of her attendants rushed to her,
whispering in her ear, the smile disappeared. Emmanuel didn’t
understand the melancholy that could cause her glow to diminish
like a fading star. When he’d first met her, nearly went ballistic,
she remained smiling. He wanted to know what was happening and
caught hold of her hand before she could turn.

“What’s happened?”

She hesitated for a second, then, “They have
your daughter.”

Emmanuel slung his legs over the side of the
block. He attempted to stand, but she pressed him down with one
hand on each shoulder. He realized, as he stared into her eyes at
her pain, how old she was. Truth had told him that she was ancient,
but he’d never realized it until now. With a shudder, Emmanuel
realized that Truth had never been a person, but a man-child of
fourteen whose sole purpose was to make sure he knew Esme was
alive.

“Does Nadia have her?” he asked.

He realized the name of his seductress had
been buried in his mind all these years, and wished there was
something he could do to stop her from doing whatever she was
planning. He didn’t know this strange world around him, and seeking
out his daughter would merely cause him to lose his way. He needed
a guide, but who would take that position?

“Nadia is no more. She perished in the hour
of sunrise. It is her daughter, Luella, who has taken Reverie. I
know you want to save your daughter and your wife. There is nothing
we can do at this point in time. Reverie and Esmeralda will be safe
for now, because there is nothing Luella can do to hurt them until
the next Black Moon. You must understand this world if you are to
defeat the darkness that controls it. We will help you. It will
prove beneficial in the long run.”

“How much time do I have?” he asked and
looked at the faces around him. They were walking away, taking
their drums with them. He wasn’t going to tell her that he didn’t
understand half of what she said. “When is the next Black
Moon?”

“In almost four years,” she answered
assuredly. She was pleased that they had the same timeframe, unlike
some places that she knew about. “We do not have much time.”

Emmanuel sighed and looked towards the sky,
seeing a pale white moon and thousands of stars. He wondered if his
wife and daughter were gazing at the same sky, but he didn’t ask
Madame Frost if they were. He could sense them. They were on this
strange planet he still didn’t know the name of, wondering where he
was, but there was no way he could send them a message. What would
he tell them? What would he whisper along the wind? Perhaps he
would promise them that he’d find them. He felt a few tears fall
down his face but didn’t say anything.

***

Peniolea was located in the south of the
Cathene Continent. It was a land marked by magic and mystery,
surrounded in splendor unequaled by any of the surrounding lands on
the Cathene Continent. When the sun arose in the morning, it was
claimed that the rays belonged to those of giant goddesses with
brilliant blonde hair. As the sun set, the pinks and oranges and
reds came from angels dancing around with their wings painted in
the hues. The sun, which had once touched everything, did not touch
the town that was filled with evil and made contact with the castle
merely out of fear.

The foundations in the town were once made
of pale white marble, with windows made of crystal. Every
foundation was now in need of repair: the white was covered in
filth, and the windows were covered in wood because they were
broken. The castle was made of the same marble, though the
architecture wasn’t in need of maintenance and the contrast between
it and the town bedazzled anyone who saw it. There was a moat that
surrounded it, hinting at the pretense of peace within; and the
greenery made it seem even more serene, which was why everyone who
stared at it was unable to detest it.

Hiding within the castle in plain sight,
ruling over the town, was he who possessed the darkest soul. His
name was Thomas, a common name for someone who was so uncommonly
evil. It was his job to keep an eye on everyone, make sure they
never caught onto his plans to eradicate all that was good. There
was one particular individual he was told to keep an eye on:
Reverie Reagan, or, as they had renamed her, Ediniah Ojala.

Even though time formed
into years, there was a part of Reverie that threatened to emerge
and reveal the truth that she knew. The magic that had been used on
her was dying while her powers were increasing. If anyone’s life
was made-up, it was hers. She lived with her father the duke at an
estate near the border of Peniolea, enjoyed being doted on by
everyone she knew, and detested each tutor she’d ever had. “They
are boring,” she would often say. “I want excitement in my life.
I’m young. I don’t see how anyone can read a book for
fun
.”

At present, she was eighteen years old, in
the king’s court, and one of the most-loved daughters in all of
Peniolea. She had several young men courting her, and kept a diary
with their names in it. She hardly ever wrote anything, so that was
an achievement in itself. The girl she used to be would be appalled
at this alone, much less her disinterest in books and adoration for
men. Despite the interest of the young men, the king himself had a
roving eye that was often focused on her, and his curiosity was all
that really mattered.

“Thomas, you had best forget her.”

He was standing in his bedroom, surrounded
in darkness except for the glowing crystal ball in the center of
the room. His queen’s face was in the ball, her dark eyes warning
him. She always knew what was on his mind.

Instead of saying anything, he remembered
seeing Reverie in the nude only yesterday. There was a river near
the estate that she frequented when her father was away, which was
quite often as of late. He’d been told about it by one of the men
he’d told to spy on her, and went there early that morning to watch
her. He wasn’t the only one there, because he saw a strapping young
lad with dark hair and sturdy body. Thomas knew him as Otis
Champlin, who wasn’t from around Peniolea, but further south, which
explained his tan. He was a spy who usually had good intentions,
but obviously not when he was around Reverie.

“What brings you here?” she teased, swimming
towards the shore.

Otis dismounted the steed he was riding and
began undressing, first taking off his shoes, undoing his belt, and
then taking off his overtly-ruffled shirt. The shirt was a fashion
he claimed was designed so that the ladies could see his muscles.
Looking at his upper torso, Thomas wished he were muscular instead
of tall and wiry. When Otis stripped off his pants, Thomas’s mouth
dropped: the younger man’s manhood was twice as large as his!

“Why do you think I’m here, Ediniah?” Otis
asked, tossing his clothes over the back of his horse.

“Oh? Is that it?” she laughed and stepped
out of the water. Snatching up a towel, she looked at his large
member. “I’m still a virgin, you know? Although I am very tempted,
I’ll have to decline.”

He blushed, covered his manhood with a
laugh, and then wrapped his arms around her. Thomas wanted to
retch, wishing he could be the one who could make love to her. She
was younger than he was by twelve years, but that wasn’t all too
bad. She more than made up for her youth by being so full figured.
Still, though, her reluctance was peculiar. She was supposed to be
without morals, completely having the potential to become an evil
queen, but she refused Otis. Why?

Although nothing happened, he had Otis
captured and imprisoned in his dungeon. He had gone down before
breakfast and seen him, tied to the wall in chains. Damned spy!

“I know what this is about, peeping Tom,”
Otis laughed. “You saw us. You’re jealous. What’s the matter? Not
big enough down there? Or does she know what a cruel bastard you
are?”

Thomas raised one side of his mouth up in a
smile, not finding the situation the slightest bit humorous. He
turned to one of the guards, gestured for him to approach. The
guard was like the dungeon with clammy, filthy skin, and smelled
like hay. He didn’t say anything when he approached.

Thomas was going to change the smell and
noise of the place. The wailing for justice, for the death of the
king, would become distant to Otis’s ears. Very, very distant.

“Strip him,” Thomas ordered without
moving.

“That’s perverted, isn’t it?” Otis asked,
laughing.

“You’ll see,” Thomas nodded. He watched the
guard pulled Otis’s clothes off, revealing the flesh that Reverie
wanted but refused to touch. When Thomas at last saw the younger
man’s privates, he smiled brightly at the guard. “Let’s boil
ourselves a weenie, shall we?”

Otis looked at him, eyes wide with fright.
He gulped. “You wouldn’t.”

Thomas didn’t say anything, then watched as
the guard built a controlled fire, then set a small pot on top of
it. He then positioned Otis on chains from the ceiling, each one
binding an ankle or a wrist. Thomas smiled and found himself begin
laughing uncontrollably when Otis’s large member met the boiling
water.

“If this doesn’t make him talk, I don’t know
what will,” Thomas informed the guard. “If he still doesn’t talk,
cut it off. Better yet, cut it off anyway. It will teach spies
never to mess with King Thomas, ruler of Peniolea.”