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

by John Mangold

  Slowly, details crystallized on the planet’s face, though there were no borderlines or scripts to define the landmasses for her. However, she had studied enough maps to recognize the interplay of continents and oceans. Through this, she made out the borders of Camilos, which was west of Enox, which squatted on the southern edge of Santilis. Spotting the ecological blight that probably was NuSam, Maluem felt she could guess approximately where her body should be.

  It was here that her eyes focused for, as she drew ever closer to this region, she began to perceive a fantastic array of silvery veins running throughout the land below. Yet, as she peered closer, they began to flow amongst each other in such magnificent complexity that they took on the likeness of a spider’s web. Movement caught her eye far to the north on the globe, across a great sea on what she surmised to be the continent of Furaxis. To her amazement, the surface of that country was becoming similarly coated with the gossamer strands. Within a few pulses, both countries were entirely obscured by the flowing threads. It was as though there was one tendril for every person in the respective country.

  What was even more intriguing was that all these lines were coursing towards one single point in the ocean between the two continents. As her attention centered on this common focal point of silvery tendrils, she grew closer to that region of the globe. There, in the vast ocean below, the millions of threads all met with one another, terminating at a single point, on a lonely island whose name floated back to her in the soft tones of Shelia’s voice.

  “The Tear of Azeza.”

  That disembodied voice had just intoned the last syllable when a lance of shear pain shot across Maluem’s cheek. This was quickly followed by an even more severe pain deep within her flank. If she had not known better, she would have sworn that she had been stabbed in the side. Quickly the globe beneath her began to spin, carrying her south towards Santilis. Pain flowed through her once more, as though the blade had been withdrawn again and none too gently. She found her hands grasping at the perceived point of injury, yet she found no blood when she removed them. Her body began to ache all over, as though she were being pummeled by some enraged brute. Was someone torturing her as she lay unconscious?

  Maluem looked forward, finding that she was plummeting very quickly now towards NuSam. Maluem tried to get a feel for where she was heading in the massive city but was immediately distracted. A slashing pain coursed across her shoulder, as though a scorching knife had creased her skin. She opened her clenched eyes from this most recent assault to find she was on a collision course with an enormous pair of towers. Whatever she had felt up until now, this was going to be much worse.

  Judging from her rapidly increasing velocity, Maluem knew this would be no soft landing. Closing with her impact point, Maluem began to doubt she could survive her arrival. Her arms flew out to protect her face and chest reflexively as a collision became inevitable. When the impact arrived, it was like being struck by a pile of iron beams, swung by a giant. Her senses were flooded with an unadulterated stream of pure agony, forcing her to howl out in anguish.

  Maluem awoke to the familiar tones of her own tortured screams echoing through a cavernous chamber. However, when she slowly opened her eyes, she discovered her situation was far worse than anything she could have imagined. She found herself strapped to some form of steel bed, tilted on an unseen pivot until she was almost vertical, her feet dangling a few inches from the floor.

  About her neck, she could feel the disturbingly familiar sensations of a restraining collar. If she were a betting woman, she would have wagered that this device was some variation of the one Deuce and Dooley had employed. Perhaps the machine they had acquired was not designed to be a Sorcerer’s shackle, but it now seemed likely that they were not the first to see such potential in a contraption of that nature.

  Looking about her, Maluem would further wager that this restraint was far more refined in its make. Everything in the room gleamed, right down to the overly decorative casings on every mechanical gadget occupying the chamber. As she examined these contrivances, she noticed a striking resemblance to the varied apparatus she had seen in Nia’s lab. However, these had a decidedly sinister look about them, as though their creators were primarily concerned with their capacity to induce pain. Though she could not name a single machine in the room or understand their purposes, the chamber's ambiance suggested all implied in the word torture.

  As Maluem’s gaze swept around the room, she found herself locked in the glower of mechanical eyes, mimicking those inserted in Cruentus’s skull. However, where the gladiator’s eyes were minimalistic in their design, these were wrought from the finest materials Azbel possessed. But if Maluem had thought the gaze of Cruentus was feral in nature, the aura of the one who gawked at her now was positively malevolent.

  As Maluem took in the being before her, she could only surmise this thing was once a woman or a machine crafted to imitate one. Her body was elegantly designed, proportioned to some ideal no mortal could attain. The only place where flesh was visible was her cheeks and her mouth. The scant parts her masquerade mask failed to conceal. It seemed impossible that a machine such as this could portray any sort of emotion. Yet, as Maluem gazed into those mechanical eyes, she could feel a level of malice only the demonically possessed were capable of.

  Slowly, the flesh starved humanoid strolled across the room towards her captive. Every movement the thing executed spoke of perfected grace, gliding across the floor with the silken ease of a ballerina. Yet, where such dancers’ actions evoked a sense of tranquility in the beholder, this thing inspired nothing but gut-wrenching horror.

  With a perfectly executed spin, the fiend came to rest uncomfortably close to Maluem, staring directly into her eyes for a suffocating eternity. Several times Maluem’s mouth opened to speak, only to close again as she failed to conjure something to say to an animated horror such as this. At long last, the villain’s lips parted to speak, emitting a voice so soft and smooth that Maluem could barely believe something so hideous could produce tones so deceptively soothing.

  “Such a marvelous likeness! If I did not know better, I would insist I was gazing at Mara’s twin. This shall be ever so delicious!”

  “She does have such lovely screams,” another voice added. “I was not aware you were starting the process without me. Even in victory, your impetuous nature knows no bounds, does it my wife?”

  Maluem followed the sound to a second mechanical human, this one male, if only for the voice's tenor and the shape of the meticulously crafted form. Again, the proportions of the being’s humanoid body fitted ideals mere biological muscle could not withstand. This one was far more encased in metal and synthetic materials than the first, with excessive amounts of intricate decorations on every available surface.

  Looking at the two of them together, with their audacious augmentations and gaudy attire, Maluem realized she was in the presence of the Santilis Crown. Unlike the rulers of Camilos, devotion and fealty were not the reactions this royalty invoked. Instead, Maluem felt nothing but disgust and horror that two such depraved creatures held the reigns of such a mighty nation.

  “Perhaps, if our Emperor Letifer could extend his concept of perfection to the virtue of promptness, there would be no need for such questions,” The ‘woman’ replied without turning to face him.

  Her tone was full of bitterness, yet her facial and body language spoke of something closer to lust. Looking at the man approaching, Maluem could sense a similar reaction in him. Perhaps during all of these modifications, these creatures had lost all understanding of genuine human emotion. What had replaced those human responses were so twisted and corrupt that pain and pleasure, love and hate had become blended to the point that no distinction between the two could exist.

  What a perverse existence that must be, Maluem thought as she watched their bizarre marital relations play out before her.

  “Please, my dear,” Letifer said. “Let us not play our parlor games in front of our gue
sts. It is so unseemly. Now, by what method did you elicit such wondrous tones of misery from our savage? She does not seem to have a mark on her for all of that tragic wailing.”

  “She has been a gratifying subject,” his wife replied. “I have not touched her in the slightest, yet she has cried out so magnificently in her slumber. I only hope that we might inspire such pleasurable tones once more. But with features such as hers, I doubt I will struggle to find motivation for my labors.”

  “Yes, it does have an amazing likeness to your sibling,” Letifer agreed. “I can understand your exuberance to begin. Still, do try to restrain yourself, my wife. We need it to convey a bit of information before it is released from its pain. It does know how to speak, doesn’t it? It is a savage from the south, yes, but for all the power I have heard it possesses, it should at least know how to communicate in some crude fashion. Perhaps it does not understand the royal language? Why don’t you speak to it in the tongue of the commoner, my dear Skylla? I understand you are quite familiar with it.”

  As Skylla gave her husband a scathing glare that held more than one conflicting emotion behind it, Maluem gave some thought to the tongue they were speaking in. She understood it well enough, though she did not immediately realize the implications of why she did. The last time she had run into it was in the depths of the forbidden Archives in Camilos. It was the language of the crown in her home nation, a language only the highest royals used. She had always believed they devised it to protect their secrets and to separate themselves from those of lower birth. Yet, here in Santilis, these mechanical fiends were using that lexicon in the same fashion. How could this be?

  “Do you understand commoner, Bocor?” Skylla demanded. “If not, I am sure we have all the tools necessary to teach you. Perhaps some electrolysis to assist in establishing the basics.”

  “I understand you both well enough,” Maluem replied in the royal tongue. “I do not know why you have confined me, or by what right you deem to detain a subject of the Camilos crown. However, if this is what the Santilis crown considers royal hospitality, then I am pleased to be labeled a savage.”

  “How do you know our language, Bocor? Who taught you?” Skylla demanded as she grabbed Maluem roughly by the chin.

  The hands beneath Skylla’s silken gloves were likely synthetic, yet familiar nausea gripped Maluem as the Queen’s artificial fingers compressed her flesh. Maluem shook her head as her body convulsed in a desperate desire to escape Skylla’s grasp, but her grip would not be broken. At long last, Skylla’s curiosity bested her fetish for sadism, withdrawing her hand to gaze upon Maluem in astonishment.

  “Why this subject is delightful,” Skylla purred. “The simplest grasp brings such wondrous discomfort. I fear this might all go far too easily. I really had hoped to employ some of our more elaborate methods this evening. Very well, Maluem, is it? Where did you learn our language?”

  As she finished this, she lunged, suddenly bringing the back of her outspread hand uncomfortably close to the side of Maluem’s face, stopping but a finger’s distance from her cheek. The physical threat this implied was not lost on Maluem.

  “Do not waste my time with trivialities,” Maluem spat back. “You did not abduct me just to discern the roots of my linguistic skills. Do me the courtesy of being direct. What knowledge do you hope to extract from me?”

  Maluem could feel nausea returning with the closeness of Skylla’s hand, but she was not about to let this influence her reactions. Swallowing hard against a rebellious stomach, Maluem watched Skylla intently, waiting to see what emotion would flood the Queen’s eyes next.

  Skylla’s hand struck Maluem across the face in an almost playful nature, yet the pain the blow inflicted was anything but amusing. Probing the inside of her mouth with her tongue, Maluem detected that two of her teeth had been loosened. From the amount of blood she felt running down her chin, Skylla had also inflicted a deep laceration on her cheek. All from a strike that took the minimal effort of swatting an insect.

  “Oh, I do apologize, Bocor,” Skylla said. “It seems that I have hurt you. Perhaps you should be more careful with your tongue lest you invoke a more serious rebuke from me. Simply answer our questions as we ask them, and you may profit from this whole affair. Refuse, and the pleasure of our encounter will be ours alone, I assure you.”

  “What is it you desire to know?” Maluem replied through gritted teeth.

  “This will go much faster if we need not repeat ourselves,” Letifer replied for his wife. “It might even reduce the number of injuries you will endure. So, for the last time, where did you learn our language?”

  “I am a scholar of Camilos,” Maluem replied. “I learned your language from royal emissaries dispatched by your country,”

  “We send emissaries to such lowly places?” Skylla replied in mock surprise. “We must stop these practices immediately. Such wasteful ventures can only encourage unsavory habits in the vermin of those lands. Very well, until we give you further notice, you will respond in commoner's tongue, is that understood Bocor?”

  “I will speak in the tongue I choose,” Maluem replied in the Royal Tongue, earning her a second slap to the other side of her face, this one loosening three teeth and bloodying her nose. Maluem could feel nausea within her growing stronger, possibly from a combination of pain and loss of blood.

  “Careful, Bocor, or I might accidentally break your jaw,” Skylla warned.

  “Now, since you have given us a proper response, we shall respond in kind,” Letifer added. “We are going to provide you with some information. Afterward, you will be presented with a decision. I advise you to choose your response carefully. The words passed in this chamber tonight cannot be allowed to leave these walls. So, if your choice should displease us, you will not be leaving these walls either. Is this understood?”

  Maluem nodded. She could feel nausea in her stomach increase twofold. Could this be from ingesting her own blood? Had she really bled so much already?

  “Have you heard of one called Lord Daimos?” Letifer asked, eyeing her closely for any reaction.

  Maluem slowly shook her head. In fact, she had read that exact name while in the secured catacombs under the Camilos National Archives, but she did not feel like repeating the discussion on the origins of her knowledge. Somehow she felt her teeth would not survive it.

  “I would not expect so,” Skylla cooed. “Lord Daimos is an Auspex of unimaginable power and perfection. Through this, he is the true ruler of Santilis, maintaining command for uncounted generations. My husband and I have decided that such supremacy should not be held so long by a single creature, perfect or not. You shall help us wrest that authority from his clutches and place it into our own hands.”

  Maluem merely stared at them blankly.

  “I am sure you are wondering how we can achieve this,” Letifer continued. “How do you wrench control of a nation from the grasp of a god? You do so by first discerning the nature of that god’s strength. Though I am confident you are unaware of this, his mark is on all things in our land. From our majestic flying vehicles to the crude trinkets the commoners insert into their filthy bodies, all function by his will alone.

  “Of course, the rabble have no idea that every time they bond one of those baubles to their flesh, they are binding themselves ever closer to our lord. How do you think we keep our subjects at a state of war against a nation they barely know? Lord Daimos feeds them their hate through those bindings they so willingly subject themselves to, doing as they are told without ever knowing why. Such are the chains wrought by our Lord.”

  “Yet he holds back,” Skylla chimed in. “He refuses to allow us the final victory over our enemy across the sea. But if we commanded that power, we could bring our nation’s true might against our enemy, crushing Furaxis outright in a single campaign. Once this is done, and our two nations are united under one rule, there would be no power in Azbel that could stop us!”

  “I am sure you are wondering how one being could
control so many,” Letifer picked up once more. “We have long pondered this, only recently discovering the key to his indomitable control. The nexus of Lord Daimos’ power is hidden on the very centerpiece of our conflict, on the island known as ‘The Tear of Azeza.’ It was the contamination of that holy island by Furaxis that started this conflict one thousand years ago, and it is there that Daimos has buried the apex of his domination. If we wrest that lynchpin from him, we will take direct control of every soul in our glorious nation. Once that is done, the masses will move to our will, and not even a god will be able to stand in our way.”

  The nausea was now overpowering, yet neither Skylla nor Letifer was terribly close to Maluem. Something was wrong, something that neither her wounds nor the proximity of her tormentors could explain. Something else was triggering this internal response, but what? As Maluem pondered this, her discomfort must have been apparent on her face as both Skylla and Letifer misinterpreted her expression for disbelief.

  “Perhaps you think us mad to concoct such a plan,” Skylla supposed. “How could we two control such a powerful, mystical device when we hold no knowledge of such arts? We could utilize one of our Auspex to manage it in our stead, but none have proven to be up to the task. As much as we have endeavored to groom our minions to train a superior class of magic wielders, none have been suited for much more than mechanical marvels or sleight of hand trickery.

  “But then you come along, a Bocor from a backward nation to the south. A woman who single-handedly wiped out two villages, managing to inspire fear in the heart of our own Lord. Not an easy feat, by any metric. When Lord Daimos commanded us to find you, it was as if he was placing the implements of his own destruction into our hands. How could we miss such an opportunity as this? And so, here you are.”

  “So, we arrive at our proposition,” Letifer summed up. “We want you to master the manifold of bindings at our bidding. You have the Bocor knowledge we lack, while we possess the physical and spiritual perfection you naturally desire. Align with us, and you may achieve a fraction of the splendor you see before you.