“Please, it’s not how it sounds. I know it doesn’t make sense, but you must listen,” Seelios said.
Adriel stepped after them but stopped just before the door. He turned to Seelios. “You’re familiar with using runic artifacts I’ve heard. How well do you wield an illusion amulet?”
“I . . . don’t know what that is,” Seelios said.
Adriel reached his hand into the neckline of his robe and pulled up a necklace with a circular orichalcum pendant carved like a sun. As it dangled from his hand, parts of the charm faded in and out, like an oasis on the horizon of a hot desert. Adriel pursed his lips and held an impatient look on his face, waiting for an answer. Seelios studied it for a moment, then frowned. The black haired disciple gave a disappointed grunt and walked out the door, slamming it closed behind him.
Seelios was stunned. It might have been stress or the lack of sleep, but it seemed like everything he said somehow came out wrong.
A few hours had passed since Mirabelle and the others visited Seelios’s room. He spent his time waiting, wandering about, trying to distract his mind as best as he could. He tried anything to keep from the mounting anxiety, even taking some time to browse through the wardrobe. As expected, many of the pants, tunics, shirts, and jackets were too large for him.
He’d just donned a green tunic when a flash of light filled the room, followed by a scorching heat wave. The skin of Seelios’s neck and arms felt like they were on fire, and he dove behind the bed to get out of the painful light. The entire room was bright, but the source of the light seemed to be coming the center of the floor.
When the radiance faded Seelios wondered if he’d escaped a harsh judgment at the hands of Anysia, attempting to disintegrate him with the power of light. Still, he thought the power of the Lumastra was stronger. Surely half of the room would’ve been missing.
Seelios heard the sound of shuffling feet over stone and knew that someone was in his room. The burning scent of smoke permeated the air.
“A fine job you did nearly setting the whole room ablaze,” a man’s voice said.
“I— I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I’m better than that,” a younger man’s voice said. It could’ve belonged to a teenager.
“I’ll tell you what happened. You lost your focus and couldn’t control the artifact. Look at this place,” the older voice said. “Young man, are you in here? Gods, if you destroyed our only— look there, put that out.”
Seelios slowly peeked his head up over the bed and saw a young disciple with long brown hair rushing over to a pile of leaflets that had caught aflame on the desk.
“Not just that. Look here,” Michael said. He was sitting in his wheeled chair in the middle of the room, pointing at the glowing red edges of decorative lace that was shrinking away like a lit fuse. The younger disciple ran over and began batting it with a cloth. His eyes went wide when he spotted Seelios standing up on the other side of the bed and began to back away. He regained his composure and stood by Michael, straightening himself upright.
“Ah, Seelios. We do apologize for the extremely intrusive,” Michael gave the young disciple a small glare, “entrance. It would appear our young adept here is even more novice in teleportation than I’d realized.”
The younger disciple’s face reddened to near crimson.
“Please,” Seelios said as he circled around the bed, “before you ask me questions like the others, can you tell me why I’m here?”
Michael stroked his chin as he pondered for a moment. “I suppose the customs of the Disciples of Light are lost on those who live in the country lands. Much knowledge has been shared with you. Too much, in fact, without the full approval of the rest of the disciples.”
“But, Gregory taught me. If he trusted me enough, doesn’t that mean anything?” Seelios said.
“And is he here to verify his approval of your training?” Michael said.
Seelios went quiet. There was nothing he could say to that.
“Come,” Michael said as he beckoned Seelios over.
The stone floor was still warm as Seelios crossed the room to where the disciples were.
Michael extended an open palm facing up at the young disciple, who returned with a look of surprise through his long strands of brown hair.
“Master, I can do it,” the boy said.
Michael shot a look that would’ve melted Seelios into the wall. “Now, Gabriel.”
A look of shame crossed over the young teenager’s face as he reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a small statue of carved marble, shaped somewhat like an hour glass. He placed it in Michael’s palm and the artifact brightened into radiance at his touch, runes springing to life like they had been freshly branded.
“Come, just like in the carriage,” Michael said.
Seelios stepped closer and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. Gabriel did the same on Michael’s other shoulder. A soft glow enveloped them and Seelios felt his feet leave the ground.
When the light faded and his feet felt a solid touch, he found himself staring out into an endless blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. Bright sunlight shone directly onto him from overhead and a gentle breeze wrapped around Seelios like a warm hug. He looked down saw that his feet were mere inches away from the edge of the floor, which dropped off into nothing but an ocean of sky. He was standing on large stone platform with no walls or ceiling.
“Quite spectacular, isn’t it?” Michael said.
Seelios turned and saw Michael and Gabriel in the middle of the platform. Beneath them was a large mosaic sun crafted into the stone. Its complex pattern of alternating whites, oranges, reds, and blues created a breath taking work of art.
“It’s beautiful,” Seelios said as he looked out to the sky. Nothing but clouds and infinite blue could be seen, even in the perfect clarity of the day. It made Seelios’s palms sweaty to think about how high up they were. A brisk wind could blow him clean off and leave him tumbling through the air for hours.
“It is a place where only the Disciples of Light can come. As you can see, there are no stairs or any other means to get up here,” Michael said. “This is where you’ll be receiving your judgment.”
Seelios stiffened. He wasn’t sure what that meant and waited for the disciple to continue.
“Do you think you are strong enough?” Gabriel asked. He snickered a bit as he made the comment, flipping his hair out of his face as the breeze flailed it about.
“Yes,” Seelios said in as defiant a voice as he could muster.
Michael narrowed his eyes. “You do not look strong. And from what Anysia has told me, your resolve can be quite weak.”
Seelios took a step toward Michael. “I stood up to the God of Earth to save—”
“And you failed,” Michael said.
Anger was beginning to build in Seelios’s chest, but he stayed his tongue.
Glowing light filled Michael’s eyes as he stared deep into Seelios’s soul. He held his gaze for a few moments as Seelios stared back, determined to maintain eye contact.
The light faded from Michael’s eyes and he gave Seelios a thoughtful look.
“Come, it is time to take you back,” Michael said.
Seelios sat at the desk in his room in Ophanim’s tower, scratching away with a quill at the leaflets that hadn’t been burned up by Gabriel’s chaotic teleportation. The flickering sconces and moonlight had become old friends, keeping him company on his sleepless nights while he waited for the next visit.
Two days had passed since any disciple set foot in the room and the only interaction since was with the shy handmaiden. She still never said a word to Seelios, despite his insisting questions about what was happening and when he would see the next disciple.
When a knock came at the door, Seelios assumed it was his lunch being delivered.
“Just leave it inside the door,” Seelios called out. He’d grown irritable and tired, knowing that if he saw the girl again that he would just end up screamin
g his questions in frustration. Seelios had never been one to surround himself with a large score of people, but he’d come to find that confinement and solitude did not suit him.
The door creaked open. “I am not your handmaiden,” a deep, gruff voice said.
Seelios spun in his chair and saw one of the biggest men he’d ever laid eyes on, standing at the arch of the door frame. With curly blond hair, a short light brown beard, and huge rippling muscles visible even under the folds of the disciple’s robe, he reminded Seelios of Garrick, except much larger. He stooped down and turned his shoulders to enter.
As the large disciple stood up again, Seelios noticed that he held the Lumastra in his massive hand. His heart began to race at the thought of that weapon being used on him. Perhaps that was what was meant by receiving his judgment.
Seelios was in the middle of imagining the sensation of getting blasted with a lethal beam of light when he saw a young woman stride into the room. Her long black hair flowed with each step, framing a face of perfect features. Her eyes sparkled with the same silver light of all the other disciples, yet captivated Seelios with a lively fire that burned within them. She was hauntingly beautiful, and had Seelios mesmerized to the point of completely forgetting about his imagined demise.
The large disciple cleared his throat, snapping Seelios back to his senses.
“I’m Harut,” the large man said. “This is Alodia.”
The girl with the long black hair smiled at Seelios, mostly with her eyes, making her beauty all the more enchanting.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m glad you didn’t storm in like the last two,” Seelios said as he stood up from his chair.
“Pardon?” Harut asked.
Seelios waved his hand, embarrassed. “Never mind.”
Harut frowned at the gesture, and Seelios realized that he was being too casual. Nerves raised, Seelios gestured to a set of chairs at a table. “Would you like to sit?”
Harut looked at the chairs. “Afraid not.”
Seelios looked at the wooden chairs, lined with plush cushions. Of course they were too small, they would’ve barely been big enough to seat an average adult. He felt a panic begin to rise in his chest, knowing that he was only offending the disciple more with each passing moment.
A shiver of movement came from Alodia and Seelios noticed that she held the back of her hand up to her mouth, stifling a laugh. She brought it down and had a smile spread across her face. Seelios returned the smile for a brief moment.
Harut raised an eyebrow and looked at Alodia, then back to Seelios. He shrugged and held up the Lumastra for Seelios. “You recognize this artifact?”
Seelios nodded.
“Have you used it?” Harut asked.
“No, Gregory forbade it. He said I would need proper training.”
Harut frowned and studied Seelios for a moment. “Wise. Could kill yourself if you’re not ready.” He looked down the Lumastra, then to Seelios. “Would you like to try?”
Seelios felt taken aback, opening his mouth to say something in polite rejection, but realized he always did want to try it. He stood motionless, not sure what to say.
Harut smiled and extended out the handle of the artifact. Seelios slowly took it in his hand and hefted it. The orb gleamed at the top and the orichalcum strips warmed to the touch. The faintest etching of runes grew alight.
Seelios looked up and saw the two disciples watching him with heavy anticipation. They barely knew him, yet they handed him a powerful god-forged weapon and expected him to figure out how to use it. He wondered if that’s what it was like being a Disciple of Light, expected to do miraculous things with little guidance.
Harut motioned to the sun-filled window. “Please, if you feel you are ready.”
The sky looked bright and sunny, but as Seelios stepped up to the window’s edge he noticed the dark gray cloud that carpeted below. If he’d been on the surface it would’ve been a dreadful, rainy day.
“Aim above the horizon, if you will,” Harut said.
Alodia turned to Harut. “Are you sure? If he manages to drop his aim a little bit below—”
“Have faith in the boy, won’t you? Let us give the citizens of Paloise a light show.”
Seelios turned back to the window. He held out the Lumastra at arms length, pointing it up at an angle. He closed his eyes and let his mind search out the runic artifact. The familiarity of its energy met him like a long lost friend, distant but not forgotten. There were many strange complexities about the artifact, but Seelios was beginning to feel confident he could use it. He opened his eyes and saw that the runes were blazing with bright intensity. The mana surged along the orichalcum bands, free and ready to be disposed as its wielder wished. He wrapped his mind over the stored mana and pushed it to the orb where it began to glimmer like a star.
A sharp gasp came from Alodia and Seelios felt a jolt of pride and excitement. Brimming with confidence, he pushed the rest of the mana into the orb and it flashed with an erratic burst. Light cascaded out its sides, shooting out in a spread rather than a focused beam. Light ripped through the bottom of the arch of the window, blasting away blocks of stone like pebbles in a hurricane.
Seelios backed away and dropped the Lumastra to the ground with a ring.
Harut cursed loudly and picked up the artifact. “Go to Raphael and Michael. There will be healing needed.”
Alodia rushed out in a flash of black hair, disappearing out the door and up the stairs. Seelios turned back to the window, which looked like something had exploded on the sill. Large chunks of rock were missing, leaving jagged edges that went nearly to the floor.
Harut stomped out of the room and slammed the door closed behind him.
Seelios lay on his bed for hours, sick to his stomach at the thought of hurting anyone else. He prayed that the disciples were able to save those that needed it.
The door burst open and a cacophony of bickering flooded the room. Raphael hobbled in with his cane, rambling with another disciple with darker skin and short black hair. They moved to the table, shouting at each other in what appeared to be an argument. They took their seats and spread out a shuffle of parchments in front of them.
Raphael’s face scrunched up with irritation. “You confounded idiot, it would never work that way. You’d have to—”
“The orichalcum is the key, Raphael. Don’t you see? It needs to reflect the light more. The metallurgy needs to be worked,” the other disciple said in a calmer, but still raised, voice.
Raphael began shaking his head. “No. The light must be absorbed, then transferred.”
The other disciple considered for a moment, then brightened. “Perhaps we could have two devices, one to gather and one to discharge. Write that down.” He waggled a finger at the table.
Raphael’s lip turned up. “One of the most brilliant minds in the temple and you can’t even remember to bring a parchment and quill with you? Gods forbid you come up with an idea when you’re by yourself.” He mumbled to himself as a scribbled on one of the parchments, tore off a portion, and tossed it across the table.
“What was it we came for?” Raphael said as he looked around the room. His eyes fell on Seelios, who’d been watching on with curiosity.
“Right, of course,” Raphael said with a groan. “You’re fortunate your little accident happened while it was raining. All the fires were extinguished by the time we’d arrived.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Seelios asked.
“Besides a couple having the daylights scared out of them when a piece of our temple smashed through their ceiling, no.”
Seelios breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Having the Disciples of Light think him to be even more incompetent was something he could live with, but more people getting hurt was more than he could bear.
Raphael stood from his chair, bracing himself with his cane. He motioned for the other disciple to speak. “Well, go on.”
The darker skinned disciple stood up, gathering the parchments off
the table. He held them up, looking from one to the other as if he were searching for something. His eyes lit up and he dropped all of the parchments back on the table except for one.
Seelios watched the disciple walk the scroll over to the bed and hold it out. It had a sketch of what looked like a fanciful centerpiece for a grand dining table. It most resembled a flower with metallic petals curling upward, cradling a large faceted gem in its center. Sketched lines with different scribbles of measurements criss-crossed over the design. Notes were scattered all over the document, crossed out, erased, and reworded to the point of illegibility.
The disciple tapped the parchment with a finger. “Tell me what you think.”
Seelios blinked at the design, overwhelmed. “It’s impressive.”
The disciple turned his head to Raphael and smiled, jerking a thumb at Seelios. “You see?”
Raphael rolled his eyes. “Maalik, the boy doesn’t know a horse from a donkey.”
Maalik turned back to Seelios. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
“A runic artifact?”
A smile grew across Maalik’s face. “Yes. Yes it is.” A silence filled the air as Maalik looked at Seelios with anticipation, his smile growing wider.
Seelios looked down at the parchment, then up to Maalik’s broad grin. “Was there . . . something else?”
“Don’t you see it?” Maalik said.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Maalik’s smiled began to fade and he pointed at the design. “The calculations. They’re all wrong. You know what they should be, correct?”
Seelios gave a nervous glance over to Raphael, who was looking on with smug boredom.
“I’m sorry,” Seelios said as he looked back to Maalik. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
Maalik looked at Seelios with disbelief.
As the Earthen Stag Walks (The Simulacrum Book 1) Page 16
