“You see, Maalik? Wouldn’t believe me, would you?” Raphael said.
“But, your mind. It’s supposed to be—”
Raphael shushed him. “Don’t be foolish, we can’t entrust him with any more secrets. He’s too dangerous.”
Disbelief and confusion still on his face, Maalik walked over to the table and gathered up all the remaining parchment in his arms. He mumbled to himself inaudibly as he walked out the door. Raphael followed him, clicking his cane with every other step.
A full day had passed since the strange encounter with Maalik and Raphael, interrupted only by the delivery of his meals. He could tell the food was incredibly delicious, but his emotions kept him so distant that he wasn’t able to enjoy the taste. The only thing he could think of was the disciples deliberating his terrible fate in a far off chamber.
That night was the first in many that he’d actually drifted off to sleep. Despite his exhaustion, what haunted him in his dreams made him wish he were still awake. His nightmares were plagued with visions of terrified villagers, chased and killed by Gameus’s minions.
Gregory, laying on the wagon just after he’d given Seelios the Lumastra, was the last image he saw before he woke. Seelios opened his eyes and the bed’s dark canopy hung above, dimly lit only by the moonlight. A breeze rolled in through the open window, chilling him to the bone. His shirt was matted to his chest and he realized he was drenched in sweat.
Seelios had just finished changing into another set of clothes when a soft knock came at the door. He thought he imagined it, a lingering part of his dreams. He thought it odd that anyone would come to meet him in the middle of the night.
Another knock came, louder than before.
Adrenaline shook Seelios from his drowsiness and he walked over to the door. When he opened it, there was another disciple holding a lit candle, filling the doorway with dim, orange light.
“Eyes of silver, so it is true. I had to see it for myself,” the disciple said, staring intently at Seelios. “May I come in?” He was an older man of average size with brown hair and a short beard speckled with white. He had a solemn air about him as the light flickered over his face. There was a familiar look to him, but Seelios couldn’t pinpoint it.
Seelios stepped aside and held the door open. “Of course. I was already awake,”
The disciple walked in and began to light the sconces around the wall. “At this hour?”
“I haven’t been sleeping too well. Nightmares come to me,” Seelios said as he closed the door.
“What about?” The disciple lit the last sconce, walked to the table, and seated himself in one of the chairs.
Seelios walked over and sat across from him. “Death and suffering of people that I could’ve saved.”
A glow came from the disciples hand, and Seelios saw the runes of a truth ring illuminate.
“You carry sorrow with you,” the disciple said from behind glowing eyes. The light quickly faded and he slipped off the ring, placing it in the middle of the table. He gestured toward it. “Go on. This one is yours after all.”
Seelios looked down at the table and recognized the stone band. He regarded the disciple for a moment, wondering why they’d give him the artifact back all of a sudden. He slowly reached out with his hand and picked up the ring.
“On one condition,” the disciple said.
Seelios froze his hand mid-air.
“You must use it right now.”
“On you?” Seelios asked.
“There is no one else here, is there?”
Seelios looked down at the ring, its familiar touch against his finger tips. He slipped it on and took a deep breath. The connection was slow and deliberate, not wanting to make any mistakes in his exhausted state. Mana flowed through his body and he felt his mind speak with the ring.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the disciple’s energy before him, an amorphous swirling silhouette of blue, gray, and purple almost as dark as a shadow. Deep despair pulled at the disciple’s heart, mixing in with an otherwise pure white aura. The visible pain was so intense, Seelios wondered how the man could remain so calm and composed.
Seelios let the connection break, and the image of the disciple’s swirling sadness disappeared.
“I . . . I’m sorry, I couldn’t continue,” Seelios said.
“We are not so different you and I, then, are we?” the disciple said. “We all have our sorrows to bear. I mourn the death of my brother.”
Seelios suddenly remembered who the disciple reminded him of.
“Gregory was your brother?” Seelios asked.
The disciple nodded. “He was. I am Ramiel, the last disciple to see you before you receive your judgment.”
“I’m so sorry. He saved my life more than once. He was my mentor and my friend, and I would give anything to bring him back.” Seelios felt like his heart was crushing inside of his chest.
“I was saddened to hear his fate. The circumstances of his death bring troubling news.”
“I don’t know why Gameus did what he did.”
Ramiel’s expression darkened, candlelight dancing around him. “Your mention of the clay men having faces that resembled Raphael, combined with other reports we’ve received, have lead us to believe that the God of Earth has been creating clay men in the image of the Disciples of Light.” Ramiel cleared his throat and straightened up in his seat, visibly disturbed by what he was sharing. “This behavior is quite . . . unusual. He’s creating blasphemous visages in mockery of Ophanim. We believe its demonsign.”
Seelios felt his heartbeat quicken. Something as horrible as that couldn’t be true, but it would explain much. “A god being controlled by a demon? Can that happen?”
“No mortal in this world has ever witnessed or interacted with one. We don’t know what’s possible and what isn’t.”
Seelios took a deep breath. “My friend, I think he’s been taken by a demon as well.”
“We know of Garrick Sandwin. Your relationship with him will factor into your judgment.”
“Can you tell me what that means? All the disciples have been coming into this room to ask me questions. Why? What is the judgment for?”
“The disciples have been observing you through questions and their truth rings.”
Seelios blinked at this. It was a bit of an obvious statement. “But why? They say I’ve received training without their permission, but what’s the harm in that?”
Ramiel furrowed his brow and his eyes drifted off to the window. He stared for a few moments before continuing. “The other disciples are . . . concerned of what you might become. Some do not trust your tales of how my brother died and think that you killed him to steal his artifacts for your own purposes.”
Seelios balled his fists up and clenched his teeth. He wanted to get up and scream. He wanted to yell so loud that the entire tower could hear him. The chair creaked underneath Seelios as he readjusted himself, taking in several deep breaths to calm himself.
“This was all thrust upon me. I never meant for all those people to die. All I wanted was to save your brother.” Seelios locked eyes with Ramiel. “You must believe me.”
Ramiel stared back. A silence hung near the length of an eternity as they studied each other. The disciple reached into his robes and pulled out a familiar miniature stone tower topped with a glass marble, and set it down on the table.
“I recognized my brother’s totem the moment Mirabelle showed it to me,” Ramiel said. “He never did master the art, but still insisted in having one so he could practice. He was the most diligent man I’d ever known.”
Ramiel gestured for Seelios to pick it up.
“You’re giving it back to me? But, you’re his brother. It belongs to you.”
A frown spread across Ramiel’s face as he looked down at the runic artifact. “No. It was his gift to you and remains yours.” He nodded to Seelios’s hand. “As is that ring.”
Seelios picked up the teleportation totem. He felt mana cour
sing through its surface, begging to be unleashed. When he used it to save the villagers he’d nearly discharged it to the point of being inert. Now, he held the same artifact with more mana compacted within it than he’d ever thought possible. There was, however, something a bit different about it.
Ramiel stood up from the chair and picked up his candle. “Your judgment will be at the top of the tower today at noon, should you choose to be there.” He turned and walked out the door, leaving it wide open behind him.
20
Seelios got up, walked to the entrance, and watched the candlelight retreat down stone steps that wound out of sight. Every other disciple made it a point to close the door and lock it as they left. It could only mean that Ramiel knew the judgment wouldn’t be favorable and wanted him to escape.
An overwhelming sense of dread and frustration came as Seelios grasped the situation that he found himself in. There he was, at the mercy of the protective Disciples of Light, yet in a matter of hours they were going to kill him because he’d been involved in something that he had no choice in.
In mid-thought Seelios heard whispers echoing from up the stair case, punctuated but what he swore was the mention of his own name. He turned his head in the direction of the voices and strained to listen, slowly making his way up the wide stone steps that spiraled along the plain tower wall. Light spilled out of a room with its door half open and Seelios carefully peeked in. Michael and Mirabelle were seated at a table while Anysia paced about on the far side next to a roaring fireplace. Harut leaned against a wall, stroking his beard while lost in a trance of deep concern.
“These reports grow more disturbing by the day,” Michael said as he dropped a parchment down on the table, rubbing his eyes in tired resignation. “This senseless violence has no aim. The objectives of the destruction only conflict. Together, they accomplish nothing.”
“The demons have no objective, they thrive on chaos and destruction,” Anysia said with a stern look.
“These demons have not been seen for millennia,” Harut said in his gruff voice, his eyes focused on Anysia. “There’s no proof that they’ve returned. Nothing has changed, the prison remains intact.”
“The evidence of demonic presence is all around us. First and foremost the man of Fembleton, right under our watchful nose. What’s more, there may be a herald of greed come from the same town.” Anysia turned toward the door, causing Seelios to duck behind the wall. He held his breath for a moment, praying he wasn’t seen.
“Then why kill so many people?” Michael said. “Nearly every single village between here and the Southern Mountains have been decimated by the God of Earth. If he were possessed then his aim would be to keep those villagers alive. Demons cannot survive without souls to consume and corrupt.”
“Then perhaps that is his objective. Perhaps he’s not possessed at all and wishes to combat the demons in his own right. Rid the beast of its food and it shall starve,” Harut said.
Horror dawned on Seelios at the mention of this. The thought of killing off man just to keep the demons at bay was sickening. What was the point of protecting a defenseless people from evil if there were no more people left to protect.
“I do not think that is his objective,” Mirabelle said.
Seelios turned at the sound of the friendly voice and peeked one eye into the room again. Mirabelle sat hunched in her chair, silhouetted by the flames of the fireplace.
“It is my belief he aims for provocation of the gods.” Mirabelle lifted the parchment from the table. “These are attacks only on the Paloise kingdom. He wishes to draw the God of Light into action.”
“By all that is holy we are the God of Light now,” Harut said, slamming his fist into his hand with a loud clap. “These people are our charge to protect, yet we sit here and squabble.”
Anysia’s lip curled up with anger. “You would doom us all! We don’t stand a chance against his power. We are bringers of peace and Ophanim’s doctrine, not soldiers of war.”
“We have someone that can withstand Gameus,” Harut stood. “The boy has—”
“Exactly that, a boy!” Anysia yelled. “He is scared and timid, he will fall to the demons before he turns any tide of war. We can’t grant more power to one we can’t be sure will remain on our side.”
Seelios realized he was still clutching the teleportation totem when it began to grow warm in his hand. The light grew bright, causing all conversation in the room to stop. Heads turned in his direction but before any of the disciples could act the light enveloped him and drowned out the world. He’d done nothing to activate it, yet it acted on its own. His feet lifted off into nothingness and he felt his body slip away to some far off place.
He landed on hard packed dirt, kicking up a small cloud of dust with the planting of his feet. The light faded and he saw the ground he stood on was part of a wide road, rutted deep with wagon tracks. It split the border between a thick tree line and an expansive grass plain. It must’ve been the Trade Road.
Seelios looked around and saw nothing but unfamiliar trees rustling loudly in the breeze. He wondered how the artifact had brought him there without him even knowing of the place, but then remembered his experience teleporting to the clearing where Emeline died. The sad memory seemed so real that he could smell the blight again.
Seelios gave the air a sniff and realized that it wasn’t just a memory, a rotten stench hung in the air that stung his eyes. The trees and vegetation bore no sign of decay, but the smell was coming from somewhere. He turned and followed the scent along the road until he found an opening in the trees. A wooden sign was staked into the ground that said, “Welcome to Pinewood.”
Seelios frowned. He’d never been to Pinewood before, or really anywhere near it. He knew of it from travelers’ tales and looking at Garrick’s atlases, it was one of the largest villages between Fembleton and Paloise, but he’d never traveled so far to actually see it for himself.
He looked down at the artifact. “Why did this thing take me here?”
A path branched off the Trade Road by the sign and into the trees, lined with iron lanterns devoid of flame. The darkness reminded him of the tunnel of dead trees he followed to find his friend and wondered if it was going to be a similar experience. As he walked, a flash of light came from ahead and a wispy wall of luminescence rushed toward him, like a torrential down pour of sunlight surging over the land. Seelios searched for cover, but the wall seemed to stretch out beyond the trees in either direction. Before he could focus on teleporting, the light hit him with a soft warmth and wrapped around him like a down blanket.
Seelios scrambled and kicked, trying to shake off the luminescent film that covered his whole body, clinging to him like a spiderweb. He looked down at his hands and saw the light rippling over his skin, up over his sleeves and clothes. The light moved and flexed with his every movement, covering every square inch of him like a full body suit. When he touched his hands together, he could feel the sensation of pressure, but one hand couldn’t feel the other.
He turned back toward Pinewood and noticed that the empty lanterns were now lit with bright wisps, similar to the one Mirabelle had made by Alnerwick. It had to have been the work of a Disciple of Light.
“Hello?” Seelios called out. “Mirabelle? Anysia?” No replies came.
Pinewood was a fishing village with huts and buildings built among the trees instead of a clearing of land like most other villages on Inf. The people didn’t believe in deforesting just to make room, they felt they should only take what they need for themselves, which turned out to be very little. Many houses were built around the bases of tree trunks and some up among the branches, connected by drooping bridges of vine and wood.
Seelios looked forward to seeing such a village, and was saddened when he saw the state it was in. As he walked down the path he saw the charred remains of people’s homes. Structures in the trees had been ripped down, rope bridges were dangling from branches. Not a soul was in sight.
Up ah
ead, between a crowded gathering of burnt huts, a light shone through lingering smoke. Squinting his eyes, Seelios noticed a broad man kneeling down with his hands raised, pleading with someone. When Seelios got closer, he could make out the standing figure of another silhouette, gleaming with an aura of light so bright that it was hard to make out any features. The only thing Seelios could see was a shining armor that looked as reflective as a mirrored surface.
The light disappeared in a flash, along with the armored figure, and the kneeling man was left with his hands outstretched, grasping at nothing. His arms dropped and he slumped to the ground.
Seelios crept closer and the man jumped up, but found his feet unsteady beneath him as if he were weak or exhausted. He braced himself on a thick oak and it turned brown at his touch, its branches sagging. All of its leaves shed at once and blanketed the ground.
Seelios took a step forward, squinting with unsure eyes. “Garrick?”
The man pushed off the tree and took a shaky step. “Seelios, you’re here, just like he said.” Garrick looked through sunken eyes that held nothing but pain. He still had his wide frame, yet his flesh hung loose on his bones like he suffered from a terrible plague. His skin had turned to a dull gray, with splotches of black all over. The man before Seelios was a shell of his friend, sickly and diseased.
Seelios stepped forward. “ I can’t believe it’s—”
“No, stay back,” Garrick said with genuine concern appearing in his eyes. He scanned Seelios up and down, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of the light wrapped around his body.
“What happened here? Where are all of the people?” Seelios motioned to their surroundings.
Garrick hugged his arms around his chest, a look of nervous anxiety about him. “Something horrible is happening to me.”
“Garrick, let me help you. The disciples in Paloise, they can heal you. If we just—”
“No!” Garrick yelled, causing Seelios to jump back involuntarily. “It’s too late for me. I must to tell you something.”
“Whatever it may be, tell me in Paloise.” Seelios held out the teleportation totem. “I can use this to take us there in an instant.”
As the Earthen Stag Walks (The Simulacrum Book 1) Page 17
