by Eric Diehl
Jeeter thrust out his chest and stepped forward, but before he could verbally launch into his clueless cohort he picked up on the stern gaze directed his way by Caleb. The air let out of his posture.
“Err, ya ding-dang melon-head,” he mumbled, shuffling past Durstan’s stony pose, “—he closes his eyes an’ then wonders why he cain’t see…”
Caleb had resumed his long stride, and Jeeter double-stepped to catch up. “How much farther we gots ta go, there, Caleb?” he queried, hop-skipping sideways in an awkward gait and peering hopefully up at the Seer.
Caleb paused and glanced to either side. You can see that the lower-elevation softwoods are thinning out now, yes? We’re coming into the zone of the Mountain Ironwood, and by my reckoning the affected grove is not so far. And listen—” he stopped.
Jeeter tilted his head one way, and then another. He frowned. “What? I don’t hear nuthin’.”
“Exactly,” said Caleb. “Why do we hear no sounds of the forest—no insects buzzing or birds chirping or critters scurrying through the brush?”
“Uh, ‘cause our noisy traipsin’ is scarin’ ‘em off?” Jeeter glared pointedly at Durstan, who didn’t notice.
“That’s part of it, perhaps.” said Caleb. “But that’s not all of it.”
“I hear somethin’,” said Durstan. “Or, more like, I feel it.”
Caleb raised his brow appreciatively. “Very good, Durstan. I feel it also—just barely—in the soles of my feet. A low amplitude vibration,” he thumped his stave on the ground, “as if a distant herd of leviathans tramples the earth.”
Jeeter scowled. “I don’t hear nothin’.”
Durstan frowned. “Levi… lethivians?”
Caleb turned and resumed his stride, and in short time Jeeter had to admit that he could also feel the vibrations—increasingly so with every passing yards-length. He peered at the stave Caleb had slung across his back. “I still don’t understan’,” he murmured. “We’re goin’ after some bad folk jus’ fer cuttin’ down a tree?”
Caleb shook his head grimly. “Not just a tree, my friend; we are speaking of the decimation of an entire forest. And not just any forest. This was virgin forest, legacy hardwood that had never been harvested—not by anyone’s record. Old-growth, with the history of the land held in its roots. There remains far too little of that nowadays, here in the Eastern Realm.”
Jeeter frowned. “But if this no-account had rights t’ the land, couldn’t he do pretty much whatever he had a mind to with it?”
Caleb nodded sadly. “That is, for the most part, true. But there are two issues that set this instance apart from any more common misdeed based in nothing but greed. The first and lesser point is that the land which hosted the forest was not owned by any individual, but in times long past had been deeded over to everyone and to no one, with the stipulation that it be permanently inhabited by no creature wielding language or tools, and that the only wood ever harvested from it would be that which had fallen from natural cause.”
Durstan nodded. “Sounds fair enuff ta me. Tain’t much land left that don’t bear the scars of a two-man timber-saw.”
“Aye,” said Caleb. “None at all, now, I’d venture. But beyond the urgency of that broken pact looms a considerably more dangerous prospect—one that would appear to involve the Black Mage.”
Jeeter jerked to a halt with his jaw hanging, and when Caleb didn’t pause he scampered forward to block the seer’s path. “Caleb LongShadow,” he whispered, wringing his hands, “you knows you’s not s’posed to say, ah… you knows it’s bad t’ say that name out loud!”
Caleb chuckled ruefully. “That is myth, Jeeter; there’s no harm in speaking of the Black Mage.” Jeeter cringed, clamping his hands over both ears. “The grave danger,” continued Caleb, “is of the Mage itself.” He stepped past, and Jeeter scrambled to catch up.
“B-but…,” he stuttered, “the… the B-Black M-M-Mage is long dead—ain’t it? Fer censtrarys… uh… fer cent-sterarys… ah… fer hunerds a years now?” Jeeter had forced the cursed name of the mage out past thinly stretched lips, and he felt ill to his stomach for it.
Caleb nodded grimly. “True enough—or so we’d thought. But the legend has lived on, as have rumors of resurgence.”
“Rumors o’ re-what?” piped in Durstan.
For once, Jeeter ignored his friend’s fool-headed question. He clutched at Caleb’s sleeve. “Whaddya mean, Caleb? What we’re doin’here don’t have nothin’ to do with the B-Black Mage, does it? Cause there ain’t no Mage ta worry over, right?”
“Yes. Well, no. I mean, I don’t know. We approach Resolution Forest—or the remains of it—and that was the site of the final suppression of the Black Mage. There may have been only mage one by then; the accounts differ on that point. In any case, one or more of the last of the stygian sorcerers had taken refuge in the Forest, and that is where the Whites Knights of Calearn, aided by the magic of the white sorcerer Wirlis, tracked, and encircled, and finally, at huge cost, destroyed whatever remained of the nether Mage.”
“Res’lution Forest?” whispered Jeeter. “That’s where we’s goin’? Where the ground were soaked through wit’ blood and scattered wit’ bone? Where jus’ two o’ the comp’ny o’ Knights made it out alive, an’ even then lived hardly long enuff ta tell their tale?”
Caleb nodded grimly. “That’s where we’re going.”
Jeeter once again found himself planted in place, his feet wanting to slide backwards as if their path forward was a steep, muddy upslope. But in reality it was a very modest grade, and actually descending for the moment. Caleb strode purposely onward, with Durstan in tow and urgently gesturing for his friend to follow, and Jeeter gulped down what he dearly prayed was not one of his few remaining breaths and hustled to catch up.
The first clue beyond the odd vibration was a permeating stench, making Jeeter want to scrub at his nose and even consider a bath. It was not the stink of rotting carrion or of an open latrine trench, nor was it in fact any malodor that he could name. It did carry a strong suggestion of decay, though, and of great age. It festered with the cloying scent of someone who had teetered far too long at the brink of demise, whose cloudy eyes and wracked joints and bloody, toothless gums were good for nothing but pain and malaise.
There was also the sense of a blighted ruination, looming ever closer. The shadows became less deep even though no shafts of light cut through the forest canopy, and then the meandering game trail turned a corner and abruptly opened onto a very changed world. Jeeter trudged a few steps further and stumbled to a halt, not even noticing when Durstan bumped up behind.
The trees were gone, entirely; razed by what could be nothing but an instrument of depravity, with nothing remaining other than an occasional uprooted stump and a huge mound of ash and deep-glowing charcoal that smoldered in the center of the spreading atrocity. But perhaps even more astounding was the scattering of monstrous contraptions that lumbered over the churned soil, with plumes of black smoke roiling from their stacks; trundling track drives with rolling gouges that scooped loads of earth and stone and dumped them atop what would seem to be vibrating screens. Loose dirt and smaller debris fell through the sieves, and creatures that appeared to be over-sized and misshapen simians (if one did not look too closely) crouched around each screen platform, snatching larger rocks and roots and clods of dirt and flinging them away. While Jeeter watched dumbfounded one of the beasts snatched an item from the screen and began to chatter excitedly, and it scampered away to place whatever it had found in the hamper at the rear of the lumbering apparatus.
Jeeter’s mouth gaped. “What… are those? And what are they doing?”
Caleb’s gaze had fallen to the tilled soil. “They’re contrived and driven by the Dark Arts; that’s all we can be certain of. As to their purpose…” He knelt to sift through the loose soil, and he picked out a modest fragment of what looked like dark shale. He stood with it in his open palm, and a voice suddenly came from
behind; a menacing rumble that even so seemed somehow lacking in substance. Jeeter squawked and spun in place.
“I see that you have found a sampling of what we labor here to recover,” it intoned darkly, further loosening the sockets of Jeeter’s knees. “It belongs to me in more ways than you might imagine—I would request that you relinquish it now.”
A shadow had fallen over the scene, though the sun still rode high in a cloudless sky, and the being that had somehow emerged unnoticed from the forest was vaguely man-like in stature, though half-again too large. He, or it, was clothed, or draped or however it should be phrased, in what appeared to be an absorptive shroud that allowed no light to reflect from its surface. A textured shadow; it seemed to Jeeter that he looked into the abyss of a nightmare, his darker fears exposed and enveloping him so completely that not even a breath of air might penetrate.
It was difficult to look upon, literally; Jeeter found that he could see next to nothing when staring directly at it. He had to look to either side to capture it vaguely in his periphery. Everything about the vision was wrong, and seeming to shift in and out of wavering focus. A brimmed cowl—which at certain moments appeared more of a carapace—shielded its head, and beneath that a shadowy void revealed nothing other than the suggestion of eyes that held a great and mesmerizing power in their almond glow. Jeeter’s heart was banging at his ribcage; he thought it likely to his benefit that he was unable to look directly into those cold glowing eyes.
Caleb closed his fingers over the object and slipped the hand into a pocket, shrugging his shoulders as if he had no other choice in the matter. Jeeter thought that he must be imagining the scene; he couldn’t believe that the Seer appeared calm and composed— personally, he would have been halfway home if his legs hadn’t turned to water above lead anchors for feet. The vision elicited a strangely dark, compelling urgency in Jeeter’s chest; terror laced with desire, horror imbued with excitement. His eyes stung fiercely but he was unable to shut or even blink them.
“What has happened here?” asked Caleb mildly. “One of the Realm’s greatest treasures has been forever lost with the destruction of these ancient woodlands.”
The vision seemed to shimmer; perhaps surprised at the absence of fear demonstrated by this most presumptuous woods-sooth?
“The forest was of no consequence,” it rumbled, “when weighed against what lay hidden within. Surely even a base mortal such as yourself might intuit the magnitude of what he bears witness to? This marks the first perfect balance between the countering forces—the lull of darkness and the salve of light—since that day three centuries past when Blacke Sorcerer Alon Malagar was immolated. But what you would have no way of knowing is that Malagar’s demise was purposeful, his own choice, and that over the span since that moment Malagar has labored, in the formless Realm of the Dark Lord, to more effectively reshape himself in preparation for an ever greater rising—on this very day.”
Another chill rattled Jeeter as he realized that, unlike his perceptive problems regarding this denizen of the nether-world, he had no difficulty whatsoever looking directly upon the ape-like creatures. The huge tilling contraptions had chugged to a standstill and the shrieking, howling beasts had climbed down and were now converging like a band of toughs intent upon a good beating. His heart nearly seized when he got a good look at their glowing red eyes and the fangs protruding over their hairy muzzles. He tugged at Caleb but the sooth didn’t seem to notice.
“A greater rising, you say?” mused Caleb, shaking his head. “That is not normally accomplished by wasting the land. Has it not gone well for you so far?”
“Foolish human,” its chortle was like a receding thunderstorm. “You seek to goad me into revealing any smidgeon of knowledge that might be turned against my purpose? That is not an issue, for it no longer matters what you do or do not know, and if you hope that the small fragment of bone that you’ve secreted away will make a difference, let me assure you that it will not. I have already recovered more than enough of my mortal remains to fuel my new ascendance. There was only one critical finding,” he held up a blackened skull with open, mocking eye-sockets, “and I have possessed that for some time now. I have only continued the search to keep my nasty-tempered minions busy while awaiting the moment of actualization.”
Jeeter was certain that he’d seen something move within the empty skull, but how could he imagine to see a shadow within a void?
The beasts had now gathered around full-circle, and they darted in and out, teasingly, singly or in groups, grunting and screeching and thumping their fists on their chests and on one another. Jeeter’s knees folded under his quavering weight but Durstan caught him from behind and stood him up on wobbly legs. Caleb reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a leather pouch, emptying the contents into one hand, and he spun in place, sending out a glittery arc in a circle around their position. The nether beast roared, and Jeeter clamped his hands over both ears and squinted through tearing eyes.
Suddenly they were surrounded by a circle of pale chimera, appearing as shadows on a reversed negative, and as the revenants swept outward the apelike creatures screeched and leapt away, catching at and running over one another in their haste to disappear into the falling darkness of the forest.
“You presume that by utilizing meager remnants of Wirlis’ fair sorcery you will deter Alon Malagar from his resurrection?” snarled the apparition. “Think again, fool. You’ve come here with the apparent intent of warding off my resurrection, here to the apex of the Dark Arts, but the irony is that you have instead facilitated my quest.” He bellowed out a laugh, and Jeeter grimaced at the thunderous aural barrage that literally pressed him backward.
“You see, foolish man, you are the last piece of the puzzle. My rebirth requires a death from the ranks of the Light, and as the Augury has foretold, you have come to be offered to the Dark Lord as my sacrifice, that I might again willfully herald his baleful prophesy!”
He swept his arms wide, sweeping a closing blanket of darkness over the scene, and Jeeter gagged on the worsening stench. He pulled a kerchief from a pocket and pressed it over his mouth and nose, and struggled to force his disconnected feet to run.
“Jeeter!” bellowed Durstan, and Jeeter darted his gaze to his friend, but Durstan was not looking at him, he was instead gawping at his own feet, his face contorted into a mask of sheer horror. Jeeter looked down, and with a vile, burning knot rising in his throat he realized that he was unsteady on his feet not only because his knees were clattering like a pair of castanets, but in large part because the very ground had come to life, with the tilled soil roiling with multi-tentacled, squirming, pincer-wielding slug-like creatures. They already covered his boots and were starting up his pant legs, and Jeeter screamed. He stamped his feet, shaking off a few of the slugs while most clung tight, and his stomach heaved at the squishy sensation under the soles of his boots. There was nowhere to run, since the ground as far as the eye could see was a greasy, undulating mass. The black-enfolded nether-beast had begun to sink into the soil, its thunderous laughter dropping the leaves from the trees in the forest behind, while Caleb stood rigid, either ignoring the slimy, clasping slugs that climbed his frame, or as Jeeter imagined, frozen stiff in fear.
“Even before you suffocate under their weight they will have been feeding upon you!” The beast roared. “They will ingest you, bite by tiny bite, and return you wholly to the soil, and then my cycle of ascendance will have come full circle!”
“Caleb!” shrieked Jeeter. “What do we do?!!! There’s no where to run! Ow! OwOwOw! They’re biting! Through my clothes! It hurts! Oh please Oh please Oh please Caleb do somethiiiiiiiiiiing!”
But Caleb stood unmoving. The howling demon continued to sink into the plowed soil, proclaiming how he would savor feeding upon their souls even as their mortal substance was being ingested and excreted, and only when the nascent Black Mage had fully subsumed himself did Caleb reach for his pants pocket, brushing and squashing away the c
entipedal creatures that clung there an. He pulled out the black piece of bone and raised it in one hand while raising the curled stave in the other, and he slammed the two together over his head. The clouds of pale chimera swept back out of the forest and enveloped his clasped hands, and Caleb cried out.
“Fallen to ash and broken bone, never again to rise!!!”
With both hands he plunged the stave deep into the soil and the chimera followed it to earth like a lightning strike, and a shock wave pulsed outward, as from the epicenter of a quake realigning the crust of the earth. The slug-like creatures’ purposeful movement was immediately transformed into spastic contortions, and a viscous green fluid began to seep and then pucker and burst all across the morass of writhing feeders.
Jeeter gagged from an unimaginable stench, his tongue swelling at the back of his throat and his vision blurred from a flood of tears, and the congealing green fluid burned his skin. “Caleb!” he shrieked. “Durstan!” He couldn’t see and his nostrils were filling; he could scarcely breathe and his heart was hammering too fast—he cried out and collapsed to his knees, sobbing, but a strong hand gripped his shoulder and another began smearing away the decomposing sludge from his face, and in short moments he was squinting up into the concerned eyes of Durstan.
“Y’ OK, huh, Jeeter?” queried Durstan, his own face smeared green and hideous but still a welcome sight.
Jeeter choked back a sob. “Ah, ya soft-headed, sponge-hearted stooge,” he croaked out, and he stood and pulled Durstan into an embrace so that his friend wouldn’t see him cry.
Black Mage: Requiem?
Jeeter plodded dripping wet out of the pond, tossing away the smooth flat of sandstone that had left his skin pink and tingling from the good scrubbing he’d just given it. He swiped off the excess water and pulled on his wrung-out trousers and jerkin, and slumped down beside the glowing camp-fire. Durstan was still splashing around in the water and singing some nonsense song, while Caleb sat across the fire pit.
Jeeter released a great sigh. “So. They’re finished for good now—the Black Mage.” He felt relieved to make that proclamation, and felt more comfortable speaking the cursed name aloud now that the Mage was good and done for.
