A Manifold of Bindings (The Scrolls of Azbel Book 2)

by John Mangold

  Maluem could feel sinister laughter flow through her.

  “The Master is dead. The Master is not dead. The Master will return. Taelir will be brought to the Master. Taelir will never escape his cell. Taelir will not allow this to happen!”

  “Taelir, you are not making any sense. What do you mean? Is your master dead or not? Where would you go if you were released?”

  Maluem gasped with exhaustion. The strain of maintaining her identity in the constant onslaught was draining her quickly. She had to make some sense of all this before she was completely spent.

  “Taelir must be allowed to escape this cage! He must return to his own plane. You will help. You will perish so that Taelir may recover his true nature.”

  Maluem’s whole essence was filled with maddening desperation. Taelir’s voice drowned out all her senses, overwhelming them as one. In an instant, reality crumbled, along with any sense of stillness or motion, up or down. She could only hear Taelir’s insane warbling growing ever closer by the pulse. In desperation, Maluem flailed for some means of escape. She could feel her willpower begin to wane, feel Taelir’s spirit grab hold of hers’ in a very physical manner. With a sudden wrench, Maluem felt pain pour through her body, causing her to scream in desperation.

  The vision turned to black once more, the void returning to its perfect emptiness, peace enveloping her like a nurturing embrace. She had broken free, but from what she did not know. She only wanted to rest, to regain her strength. She could ponder her vision later. For now, she only wished to be granted the bliss of mindless slumber.

  19.

  To Heal and Create

  “Stay with me, Shelia. I’m right here beside you. Stay focused on me. Don’t you die on me, woman!”

  These were the words that first greeted Maluem back to the realm of the living. She could not quite place the voice, as distorted by emotion as it was, but she knew she should be familiar with its owner. As she slowly began to open her eyes, she became dimly aware of the cacophony of bizarre sounds that were assaulting her ears. Looking around the claustrophobic chamber, she found herself ringed by an array of arcane machinery in different states of functionality. Some were brightly lit, with small lights that winked in and out of their own accord. Others pushed more to the back of the room had large portions of their parts spread on nearby benches.

  “Maluem,” That same voice called out. “You’re awake! Thank the gods! We thought you were in a coma or something.”

  Through her bleary vision, Maluem could make out a bulky human form rushing towards her. The sudden movement jolted her enough that she began to pull away quickly, only to find her hand and leg flailing off into empty space. In a pulse, the whole world upended itself with a hard, cold surface jumping up from nowhere to greet her with a crunch. These sensations were accompanied by a torrent of noise, like a mass of metal exploding on a stone floor. The sudden impact brought reality upon her with its accompanying agony. Maluem looked up to find herself curled up on a hard, smooth floor with Torrez staring down at her.

  “Maluem, oh dak, are you alright? I didn’t mean to scare you! Come on, let me give you a hand.”

  Torrez’s rough hand closed around her flailing arm as his other arm cradled her back. Nausea flooded Maluem, yet she could not tell if it was from disorientation or Torrez’s overly familiar touch. As soon as she partially gained her balance, Maluem pulled roughly from him, staggering into a nearby bed. Her hands grasped desperately to stabilize her buckling knees, thankfully finding the peculiar bedding had a series of metal bars running around it.

  Torrez looked at her with a stunned expression, obviously put off by Maluem’s reaction. She could hear a second, frail voice off in the distance, but she could not make out any of the words save her own name and Nia’s.

  “I know what Nia said,” Torrez answered. “But I wasn’t trying to hurt her. She didn’t need to push me like that-”

  “What did Nia say?” Maluem asked through gritted teeth. The world was righting itself, but it was taking its sweet time about it. Maluem knew that if she had but a few more pulses, she might be able to turn her head without her stomach emptying itself.

  “Oh, uh,” Torrez stammered for a second as though waiting for someone to answer the question for him. “Nia had to go back to Stella for some medical supplies. Shelia is hurt pretty bad. Nia got her ‘stabilized,’ whatever that means, and headed out. She said she would be back here in a couple days.”

  “Back here in a couple days?” Maluem repeated. “Where exactly is here? Where are we now?”

  “Oh, I forgot you were out for most of the trip. Nia brought us to her medical bunker on the border with Santilis. This is where she takes new refugees after they cross. It has enough medical equipment to keep a patient alive until they can be transported to her offices in the city. This is where Shelia and I first met her-”

  “Shelia,” Maluem broke in. Her memory of the fight suddenly coming back to her. With it came an image of an unconscious and bleeding Shelia in the back of the buggy.

  “Where is Shelia? Let me see her,” Maluem demanded.

  Maluem heard a murmur off to her right and, not waiting for Torrez to guide her, stumbled in that direction. In only a few steps, she came to another cot ringed with metal bars, this one situated by several devices mounted on tall metal poles, bringing them to eye level with a standing person. Looking down, Maluem could see Shelia peering back. The blanket covering the woman was stained with blood, opaque tubes slithering from beneath the cloth to tether her to the surrounding machinery. With every breath Shelia took, the devices around her peeped in sympathetic unison, like a congregation of mechanical mourners. For a moment, one device let out a shrill squawk but was silenced just as suddenly.

  “Relax, you know what Nia said. You have to save your energy,” Torrez put in, walking to the other side of the cot to take Shelia’s small hand in his own roughhewn grip. It was a soft familiarity that Maluem could not help but feel a tad jealous of. It was one she had never had with anyone except…

  “I am so sorry, Shelia,” Maluem said, breaking her own train of thought. “I never meant for this to happen to you.”

  As Maluem looked down upon Shelia, she could picture that plasma ball careening off from its mark to hit the slowly opening door of the jail. The door she and Nia were opening just in time to greet the wayward attack.

  “You have nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t your fault Maluem,” Torrez answered for Shelia. “It was that sick skrite who did this. What did you call her, Delilah? She is the one who caused all of this.”

  Shelia nodded slowly, looking up at her companions. Maluem was more than a little relieved to see there was no anger in her eyes, but she could find no comfort in it. Torrez’s words had a touch of truth to them, but only a touch. Neither of them knew who the origin of that attack had been. They had just assumed it had been Delilah. Only she and Volo knew the whole truth.

  Maluem debated with herself whether she should tell them. Would it make them warier of her and, if so, would that be a good thing? Once, Maluem had wanted to squash their desire to become her Acolytes. This revelation could accomplish that. But now, with such ammunition readily at hand, Maluem found she was unwilling to use it. Given her recent experience with the couple, she found it difficult to simply dismiss them. But how could she take them on as Acolytes when she was proving to be such a poor Master?

  I can do nothing for this woman, yet I have the gall to call myself a Sorcerer, Maluem rued bitterly. What sort of twisted joke is that? I believe myself powerful, yet when there comes a time of genuine need, my mystical skills count for naught. What did I study all those years? Couldn’t I have picked up one measly healing tome? Did I really believe it such a waste of my time?

  “I wish there was something I could do for you,” Maluem managed to say. “But healing has just never been my forte.”

  “Yes, Nia said that of you,” Torrez put in despite a sour look from Shelia. “She said your strengt
hs are more of the destructive kind.”

  “Nia said a great deal during my absence,” Maluem said. “It is remarkable she had time for anything further. What else did our dear Doctor say?”

  “Only that your strengths are immense, and they are growing beyond your own awareness,” Shelia managed with a weak voice. “Despite your misgivings, you would make a powerful Master, and we would be lucky to have you to follow.”

  Maluem looked from Shelia to Torrez in disbelief.

  “You mean, after all of this, you still wish to be my Acolytes?”

  “I told you we had thought this all through Maluem. Nothing has changed our minds yet,” Torrez responded.

  “What of my tirade on the train?” Maluem reminded them. “Do you not remember what I told you? I caused the death of my previous Acolyte. Does this not concern you?”

  “We know the risks better than you think,” Torrez replied. “Trust me, the life of a Neophyte is no easier.”

  “Besides,” Shelia put in a near whisper. “If you were as incapable as you would have us believe, you wouldn’t have told us of your former Acolyte at all. His death obviously hurt you deeply. To us, that is an excellent sign. If you had met Torrez’s former master, you would understand.”

  “Voltulo could have lost a legion of Neophytes and never shed a tear,” Torrez added. “Let alone remembered their names. From what we have seen, you are exactly what we are looking for.”

  “Well, as promising as you both are, I still say you are insane,” Maluem replied while shaking her head. “But, on the other hand, sanity never was a requirement for our chosen vocation. So, I suppose you may both consider yourselves my Acolytes.”

  Saying this, Maluem undid the latch from her necklace and carefully removed her own pendant from the strand. Handing this to Torrez, she watched as he fashioned his own necklace from a braided length of wire and hung it around his neck. Once this was done, Maluem draped her necklace containing Volo’s pendant around Shelia’s neck, latching it in place. Maluem still had nagging doubts this was the wisest course, but the satisfied smile on the woman’s face suppressed all inner doubts.

  “Very well, now that we have made this official,” Maluem announced. “Your new Master has a little project in mind for you. However, you must swear to never repeat any of what I am about to reveal to you. Not to another living soul, is that understood?”

  Both Torrez and Shelia nodded without hesitation.

  Maluem proceeded to layout where she came from and of her years in the Archives, leading up to her most recent exit from those hallowed halls. While detailing her gained knowledge from those ancient tomes, she produced the torn page from the staff's wrappings, highlighting the rule of “The Six.” She finished her story with the recovery of Dorjakt’s Staff, which resulted in Volo’s demise. As she laid the staff out before them, the malevolent aura the device exuded washed over her once more.

  “So, what have you learned from this thing since you found it?” Torrez asked, staring at the staff’s foul beauty as though transfixed.

  “Very little,” Maluem replied. “My memories of what Volo paid during its recovery forbid any intense study. I know it was constructed from the spine of a Lamia, and it absorbs blood as greedily as the demon it came from. Also, you can see where it is designed to be but one piece in a much grander device, but I only have a faint idea of what the next segment might be.”

  “Maluem, you say this is the spine of a Lamia?” Torrez inquired. “Well, from what I know of demons, they don’t exist naturally in our world. Shouldn’t these bones have returned to their base elements the moment it died?”

  “Yes, that is true,” Maluem conceded. “However, if the Sorcerer Dorjakt was exceedingly powerful, he might have been able to bind the elements so they would not disintegrate. Possibly to retain the base qualities of the fiend he took this from.”

  “That tells us a little about his nature, don’t you think?” Shelia put in quietly. “I mean, why would someone value such abilities unless they would serve his goals somehow? Do you know anything else about this Dorjakt?”

  “Only that he was so feared that his name was not allowed to survive even in the most secured vaults of the National Archives of Camilos. It seems even the fact that the man is dead has brought little comfort to the high and mighty of my home country.”

  “That is another thing,” Torrez continued, still transfixed on the staff, “even if Dorjakt was able to bind the cells of the demon, he is dead, right? So why is this Demon Spine still in one piece? With his spells no longer fueled, shouldn’t these bones have disintegrated the moment he expired?”

  This troubled Maluem deeply. It is not as though she had not thought of this fact; she knew the nature of Demonic Biology as well as any master of the subject. Not to mention the correlation between a Sorcerer’s death and the resulting expiration of his or her spells. But to hear her concerns come from the lips of another only seemed to cement them. Unless…

  “Perhaps Dorjakt was able to create some sort of self-sustaining loop. Maybe the individual pieces contain an implanted segment of his potency that sustains the other components. Each fuels the next so that they can retain power even after their master’s demise. This would explain why they decided to break his focus up, in the vain hopes of destroying it through separating the individual elements. Given the current state of his staff, their scheme must not have worked as well as planned.”

  “That is yet another point, who are ‘they’?” Torrez interjected, finally turning his gaze to Maluem. “I have never heard of any ‘Sorcerer Lords,’ let alone one ruling over Santilis. What did you say the ruler of our country would be, ‘Lord Daimos?’ I have never heard of him, not even in the most guarded communications of the Nobles, and as a Neophyte, I saw more than my share of their inner squabbling and scheming.”

  “I don’t know,” Maluem confessed once more, “I can only hope that I will learn more as I collect the scattered shards of his Focus Point. I can’t help but believe that I will know the true nature of all that has gone before by learning the nature of Dorjakt. Whatever transpired, he seems to have been at the center of it. In the meantime, I must work towards my own goal of creating my own Focus Point. To do so, I intend to learn as much from Dorjakt’s device to help me construct my own.”

  Torrez returned his fixed stare to the sinuous form of the Demon’s spine. As Maluem observed him, she noticed that he seemed to be nervously turning the ring on his left index finger. On closer examination, she realized that he had a long, intricate tattoo running from his knuckle down to the tip of that digit. He had a similar one with an accompanying ring on his right index finger as well. Each piece of jewelry was etched deeply with expertly formed runes running around their outside circumferences. As he rotated the ring to align one rune with his tattoo, the marks on his skin began to glow. They were spell bindings, expertly created to change their function depending on the setting of the ring. Whoever had given this to Torrez had indeed been a master of the craft.

  Slowly Torrez began to reach out his left hand towards the spine, watching his hand intently as he did so. As his outstretched finger came within a foot of the device, a small rune projected itself onto the back of his hand in green. Maluem recognized it immediately as being a symbol of life draining. In that form, it was a mild warning, hardly enough to cause harm to a small child. As his hand drew close to the device’s surface, however, the rune took on a bright orange hue. This was a much more serious warning, indicating that sustained contact with the object could prove fatal. Torrez quickly pulled his hand back.

  “Maluem, how long have you possessed this thing?” Torrez asked, looking at her in shock. “This staff is constantly absorbing energy from everything around it like a ravenous leech. From what I am seeing, holding this artifact in your bare hands would kill you inside of thirty ticks!”

  “That is ridiculous,” Maluem replied. “I carried Dorjakt’s staff since we found it. If that is the case, I should be long dea
d by now.”

  “My runes never lie, Maluem,” Torrez said. “You saw the readings as clearly as I.”

  With a lunge, Maluem grabbed the staff, holding it out before her horizontally over the empty cot. Both Entwhistles gasped at first, but after minutes ticked by with Maluem suffering no ill effect, their shock gave way to curiosity. Could Torrez’s readings have been wrong, or was there another explanation they were not seeing?

  “Maluem, that shouldn’t be,” Torrez exclaimed as she laid the staff back down. “That thing should’ve sucked you dry.”

  “Maybe it is because she found it,” Shelia suggested. “Maybe it has claimed her as its new master.”

  “I don’t think so, Shelia,” Maluem replied. “A Sorcerer’s staff never claims a new master. It serves the one who created it and no other.”

  “Maybe it makes an exception for those of a similar bloodline,” Torrez suggested. “I have heard of traps made with such safeguards.”

  “Are you suggesting that I am related to Dorjakt?” Maluem inquired. “Now that is more than a bit insulting! From what little I have studied, the man was a being of pure malevolence. I may have my faults, but I do not believe I have sunk to those depths!”

  “Maluem, I did not mean to insult you,” Torrez replied. “You know your family line far better than I. All I am pointing out is that this device should devour anyone who holds it. You wield it without any ill effects. If you have no connection to the one who made it, then you tell me how that is possible.”

  A tense silence drew out between the two, making the ample room feel small and claustrophobic. At last, Shelia broke in with a soft cough.

  “Maybe we should worry less about how this relic works and concentrate more on emulating one to suit Maluem,” She put in with a soft tone.

  “Well, in the meantime, I think we should create a better shield for this thing,” Torrez replied. Walking over to one of the older machines in the back of the room, he turned the ring on his right index finger until the runes markings on his finger radiated a brilliant blue glow. A blinding spark jumped to life between his fingertip and the device’s singular support post. Running his finger from top to bottom, Torrez sliced the cylinder's surface like a knife through parchment. Pulling the severed tube free, he revealed an intricate cylinder core of metal and blue crystal that supported the weight of the machine’s main body.