Dead Man Walking

by Zach Adams

  Isaac thought about his dream for a moment. As had become increasingly common, the memory he saw through his dream didn’t line up at all with his actual memories. He was certain the only time he had used that spell was at the museum. That book he had caused to vanish, it was the same one he had found his original two Pages in before the hollows attacked. He told himself that the image had simply stuck in his subconscious to be drawn on during the night.

  Do you really buy that crap? Panic and Rage retorted in unison.

  It was just a damn dream, Isaac groaned back in his head. I’ve been working at the library for two years, not two weeks. You two are making me blend memories again.

  Isaac scratched gently behind the cat’s ears to get her attention. She rolled over and peered at him, clearly not pleased at him interrupting her sleep, and hopped from the bed indignantly.

  “Sorry,” Isaac whispered as she left. He switched on his bedside lamp to find his medication bottle, which was on its side next to the light and a nearly empty bottle of water. After tossing a trio of tablets down his throat and draining the last of the drink, Isaac let his head fall back into his pillow. He pulled the comforter up to his neck and forced his eyes shut.

  Back to sleep, Isaac thought.

  Keyword: Thought, Panic replied. His heart rate refused to drop as images from the past few days, both dreamed and real, zoomed through his mind.

  Isaac opened his eyes once again, and sat up on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. With a stretch and a yawn, he spotted something on top of his dresser, opposite the bed; the Page from the museum, which as of yet had refused to translate. The second of the two from the library had been just as stubborn, if not more so.

  They say reading before bed can help you relax and go to sleep, Isaac thought.

  Maybe it will tell us something about what the so-called elf is up to! Panic and Rage agreed.

  Isaac grabbed the Page and scanned up and down; the swirls of text would shift and blur whenever he looked away as if to taunt him. For fractions of a second something familiar would appear in the mess, and he would try desperately to lock onto these partial words and phrases. He passed straight over a word beginning with L, almost not noticing it at all. Panic insisted that he was missing something, so he backtracked toward the word, only to slide straight over it.

  A few more attempts proved that the word was the visual equivalent of an oil streak, and Isaac’s eyes finally admitted its existence. It seemed so familiar, as if he had seen it in a dream.

  “L’úm…” He said, hoping that reading out loud would help it stick. The syllable brought a fresh wave of pain.

  Don’t be a wimp, keep reading. How else do you expect to figure out what’s going on? Rage sneered.

  After a second attempt, the pain overflowed from his aching cranium into his spine and abdomen.

  “L-L’úm…” Isaac lost his balance, toppling forward from his bed, and barely got himself over a small trash can before spilling the contents of his stomach. He rolled over into the pile of junk nearby, smacking his already sore head on a rarely used video game console.

  Isaac whimpered pathetically - but don’t tell anyone. Luckily, no one else was in the room where it happened because those closest to him could easily be expected to go into detail of him curled in the fetal position, sobbing into a pillow and begging over one hundred different deities he didn’t even believe in for them to please make ridiculous things stop happening to him. However, this is Isaac’s story, and not theirs, so no such thing will be mentioned.

  After three-hundred and seventeen seconds, Isaac pushed himself off the floor and crawled to his bed. He wiped his eyes on his knuckles and blew his nose before letting himself fall backward into the pillow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something on that wrinkled old sheet he had stolen was calling after him.

  Isaac sat back up with a growl and picked the Page back up, glaring at it contemptuously. The text swirled as it had before, but now in a new pattern. Each shape began to lock together like gears in a clock. For reasons Isaac was unable to comprehend, it became a fragment of a story his eyes could now interpret.

  Chapter Fourteen: Äl’khäshæ, Part Two

  ERR.

  Among the thirteen Zätæwäpræcü, one stood out. His peers kept themselves hidden in their divine hiding place, the Zätæmärbitrí in which no one outside of their order could set foot. Since the organization’s inception they numbered twelve, and none were aware of this having differed.

  Äl’khäshæ cared little for such petty traditions. This was but one of many arbitrary laws which his brethren adhered to as long as they had lived. But what use was tradition, he thought, if it stood in the way of greatness?

  The handsome Æ’géminë was, until the creation of the cosmically sensitive Pán’ämírä, the last to be grown by the archaic and complex Æ’lúmélýrä ritual. Once he was grown past the adolescent pixie form to a level mature enough to think for himself, he chose to leave his body younger than the rest of his kind. There was no age, no true children or adults in Átrí Nä’lún, though their varied Úë’mæ practices had a way of wizening them ever so slowly. Äl’khäshæ intended to be the best of them, reasoning that he required the greatest head start on this path. He would entertain no suggestions that it was done out of vanity.

  Äl’khäshæ studied deeply the arts of telepathy and metamorphosis. Gaining respect came easily as he shifted his form however necessary to assist and entertain. His neighbors found him charming and generous, little though they knew how he employed his full range of skills to gain their favor, which of course only showed how skilled a magician he was. But the love of his peers, whether influenced by his manipulative powers or not, was not enough for him.

  The L’, denizens of the golden valley north, those lucky few deemed worthy of Ascension by the Eternal Lightbringer and thus the title by which they were collectively known, like many others Äl’khäshæ regarded them with something almost like worship. They made up barely a quarter of the population and were rarely seen outside of their precious valley, but it was their approval the ambitious Äl’khäshæ craved.

  Only one of the heroic L’ was a common sight in the forest. L’m

  Remember me…

  ERR: Temporal discrepancy encountered. Previous compensation resumed.

  Only one of the heroic L’ was a common sight in the forest. Næ’zätæmém would visit the common city every phoenix cycle to visit with Mälä, the artificer, who supplied him with garments of phoenix feathers and dendra leaves in exchange for payment only the two of them knew the details of. Mälä refused to ever speak of their dealings, yet her neighbors had noticed a vague cloudiness about her eyes after each visit.

  Næ’zätæmém was all too aware of Äl’khäshæ’s dreams.

  “You challenged the stone-clad rule of the Zätæwäpræcü and emerged victorious,” Næ’zätæmém told him. “Even I must look on in awe at what you have already accomplished. Regardless of any violation of tradition, my brothers and sisters in the Shrine will have no choice but to grant your trial. Approach the fountain, you know already that have one voice around it. Make your dreams real.”

  Äl’khäshæ’s mouth watered at the mere thought. Ascension. The dream of everyone in the forest, to gaze into the water of the Eternal Lightbringer’s fountain and be pulled closer to her divine wisdom. Such a thing only required trial and judgement by the six who meditated around it, the elite among the elite. The circle which counted Næ’zätæmém among them.

  “After all,” He said in Äl’khäshæ’s ear. “What use is tradition, if it stands in the way of greatness?”

  Næ’zätæmém led his protégé through the golden valley, to the tallest mountain. A tunnel through it, its inner walls smooth and glowing with images carved into it by the greatest Æ’géminë. A rope ladder hung down from above, and they climbed to another, shorter corridor. A stone statue of a phoenix sat at the end, guarding the entrance to the Shrine within.


  Næ’zätæmém approached the statue first.

  “Purpose?” The dark stone bird croaked, though no part of it moved.

  “I am one of the Six, come to sponsor one from the trees for trial,” Næ’zätæmém said to the statue. This apparently meant little to it.

  “Däthë vös säväním,” The groaning voice said. Næ’zätæmém stared into the thing’s gray eyes.

  “Næ,” He said, infusing the word with his will. The statue shook gently, and then sunk into the ground, allowing the pair entrance. It was a circular, windowless structure of white marble, containing a single room. The smooth outer walls curved upward into a narrow pillar with a clear eye at the top which always saw the moon.

  “They only respond to a certain level of power,” Næ’zätæmém told Äl’khäshæ as they entered the moonlit Shrine. “If you can make the statue move, it will let you in.”

  As they entered the dim, circular room, hushed voices could be heard.

  “If we are to ever break our curse…”

  “Our laws are handed down from the Eternal Herself…”

  “Her guiding hand has never come with a demand for worship or obedience…”

  “Enough. The circle is complete, and we have with us an outsider.”

  A hush fell over the six silver-haired others around the great fountain. The object was built of the same material as the walls around it and occupied much of the space. The water within was still and clear, reflecting the faces of those around it with the slim beams of moonlight allowed through viewing holes in the ceiling.

  Äl’khäshæ stood still while Næ’zätæmém took a vacant seat. The others nodded silently in greeting, and then turned to his companion.

  At the opposite side from Äl’khäshæ sat a figure in a gray-and-brown tunic which was the most common garb among their kind, draped in a silver and gold-feathered cape. His head was tilted against his left hand, gold eyes locked on the new arrival. Úë’sälúm, the reluctant but generally accepted sovereign of Átrí Nä’lún addressed the newcomers first.

  “Næ’zätæmém, nä’sálvë. This council has gathered as per your request,” He said. “What is the purpose of this meeting?”

  “Úë’sälúm,” Næ’zätæmém replied curtly. “This one, Äl’khäshæ of the Zätæwäpræcü, would request trial,” Næ’zätæmém explained. “Word may not have yet reached the Shrine, but as he was able to persuade the brotherhood of dust to -”

  Úë’sälúm interrupted. “The Council is well aware of Äl’khäshæ’s exploits,” He said. Næ’zätæmém’s eyes narrowed as his peer spoke. Äl’khäshæ nearly cheered.

  The Council of Six knows me! He managed to keep to himself. Both of the Ascended who had spoken thus far glanced at him as if they heard his thoughts from a great distance.

  “There are those of us who are unsure such actions are appropriate for trial.” Úë’sälúm continued. Äl’khäshæ’s heart sank. A woman with scarlet eyes, seated to Úë’sälúm’s right, spoke next.

  “We agree the Déndréminë’s actions are unorthodox,” She said. The others muttered her name, Märæsälúm, in recognition. Næ’zätæmém’s eyes locked on her. “And yet many in the forest below see it differently. Perhaps this Council ought to recognize boldness.”

  Úë’sälúm sighed and silently beckoned Äl’khäshæ to come closer to him.

  Úë’sälúm, the greatest of our people! Äl’khäshæ thought as he approached. Úë’sälúm frowned as he stared into the Déndréminë’s eyes. Even he had difficulty circumventing the young one’s mental wards, finding little more than evidence that Äl’khäshæ’s thoughts were well-shielded. It was this barrier of determination which seemed a concern.

  “What is it you see, Úë’sälúm?” Äl’præcü, a mountain of Æ’géminë who resembled dendra bark, asked. He was seated nearest the entrance with an eye always scanning for danger.

  “I am… uncertain, Äl’præcü,” The gold-eyed one replied. “With the sponsorship of now two of us, we must vote. I will cast Äb. Märæsälúm?”

  The rejection of the de facto king fell upon Äl’khäshæ’s ears like a slap to the face. Perhaps his hopes were to be dashed before they could rise.

  “Ném,” The scarlet-eyed woman replied, nodding once. Úë’sälúm continued from her right.

  “Pán’ämírä?”

  The smallest within the Shrine, and indeed the youngest of all Æ’géminë, looked away from the water which had mesmerized her since before the meeting began, almost unaware she had been addressed.

  “N-Né-… Äb.”

  Äl’khäshæ glared at the indecisive girl. If you cost me my deserved reward, there will be… He began to think but stifled his annoyance before anyone could detect it. Úë’sälúm and Äl’præcü eyed him suspiciously.

  Næ’zätæmém chimed in with his vote of approval before the leader could address him. Äl’præcü looked down at him with disdain before turning his eyes to his leader for permission. Úë’sälúm indicated wordlessly for him to speak.

  “Äb,” The guardian said firmly.

  Three rejections from six, Äl’khäshæ thought. It is all over… All eyes were on the final councilmember to Úë’sälúm’s left, a slender woman with piercing blue eyes and a pale glow even more pronounced than that of the rest. They were adorned with a delicate silver crown and a shimmering gold and red robe which made a faint sound like windchimes as she moved.

  “Qäläsämär?” Úë’sälúm asked the next councilmember. She eyed the subject of their dispute from head to toe.

  What is the point of this? I have lost, why go on with the torment? Äl’khäshæ thought.

  “Ném,” Qäläsämär hummed melodically, stretching the m as it drifted through all present ears.

  A tie? What happens now? Äl’khäshæ thought.

  Næ’zätæmém gave the leader a look of silent gloating as the latter simply watched Äl’khäshæ with unease. Úë’sälúm looked to Märæsälúm, and they shared a moment of silent, unbroken eye contact. She met his gaze without hesitation and raised a single eyebrow. If any other information passed between them, Äl’khäshæ was not aware.

  “Trial granted,” Úë’sälúm said reluctantly. “You have sworn an oath to the Zätæwäpræcü brotherhood, to collect and preserve knowledge and relics of our forgotten past. We shall allow you to venture beyond the walls of the forest for a quarter phoenix-cycle only, to perform this duty to the best of your ability and return with something worthy of the Lightbringer’s favor.”

  Their leader lifted his palms to the air, and everyone stood. They all passed Äl’khäshæ on the way to the phoenix statue without a word or glance. Næ’zätæmém was the last of the council to leave, and he ordered Äl’khäshæ to follow.

  Once they were beyond earshot, Äl’khäshæ spoke.

  “How am I to accomplish my task?” He asked. “It surely cannot be as simple as searching the Zätæmärbitrí for some forgotten text, nor would the brotherhood allow any to be removed.” His mentor put a hand on his shoulder and looked off into the distance.

  “Ném, but that is precisely what you must do,” Næ’zätæmém told him quietly. “You once told me of a Page you uncovered, the very artifact which swayed the dust-brethren to take you.” He pulled two sheets from the folds of his tunic, glowing with swirled text among its ancient lines. Äl’khäshæ looked on in astonishment.

  ERR: Feedback loop encountered. Beware irreversible psychic injury.

  “But how -” Äl’khäshæ began. His mentor cut him off.

  “There are gods that are forgotten, but not dead,” Næ’zätæmém explained. “It is thanks to them we can tap into power from realms beyond. Read the words - næ’chäb äl’mæ dä ægö säväním - and what you dream will become real. Úë’mæsömníä is an archaic discipline, but more potent than many are aware. The second Page may give you an idea of where to begin your search. Bring me your other Page, and you will see your path to Ascension.” Äl�
��khäshæ took the page, held between the tips of his fingers.

  “I will do as you say,” Äl’khäshæ said, and returned to the forest. With every step the ground beneath him erupted into burning light, the darkness of the sky melted into the horizon until the city could not be seen. He examined the impossible Page as all vanished around him.

  “Æ’chäbömín,” Äl’khäshæ said contemptuously to himself, the sound drifting into the void. “Vile mutants, the children of Velryd… We ought to lower our walls and raze the lot of them. What antediluvian knowledge could those savages possibly be hiding?”

  ERR: Feedback loop intensifying.

  ERR: Compensation failed.

  ERR: Collapse imminent.

  Isaac let the Page drift softly to the top of the mess on the floor. He felt short of breath and mildly dizzy as the words and their accompanying images washed out of his brain. He let his head fall back into the pillow, having to remind himself a few times to blink.

  Äl’khäshæ was name-dropped in that first story, from the library… But didn’t that one say it was the night the elves’ home fell? Panic asked.

  This must be a prequel, Rage pitched in.

  Märæsälúm said he killed elves, but he’s talking about those mutant things, wasn’t Velryd with that Næ…uh… what was his name guy in the other one? Panic chattered on.

  We need to get the second Page from the library to translate, it must have the rest of the story! The brain gang said in unison. But Isaac was already worn out by the one he had just read. He wasn’t about to get out of bed again. He let his eyelids drop.