Tearing The Shroud

by JM Bray

  Preparations

  Callendel

  Justus carefully prepared for his journey. He knew the next few days would be the culmination of his life’s work. He mumbled to himself, ‘More like the culmination of my life if this doesn’t go as I hope. I shall cross the Great Divide and claim what is mine.’ At his words, a black parrot flew over and landed on his leather traveling satchel. It looked at him and squawked loudly.

  ‘Be silent, Pae. I know I don’t have to go through with it.’ Pae. Justus continued compiling his arcane supplies. Someday that bird will lip off one too many times. Then it’s Pae pie for dinner. Lip off? He has no lips. He stopped what he was doing to keep from breaking things, and gave in to the mirth that so rarely affected him.

  Pae cocked his head to the side, indicating his confusion.

  Just when his laughter subsided, the thought of Pae pie started it again. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he tried to contain himself. ‘I really do need to sleep more.’

  Pae shook his head and flapped one wing, screeching.

  ‘What do you mean, I sleep too much? Bah.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Yes, yes. I know, I’ll remember the cotton.’ Perhaps the pie would have to wait; the bird was an excellent assistant. Taking each item off the spotlessly clean shelf, and packing them carefully, he made sure the glass containers were completely isolated, and secured by thick cotton padding. It wouldn’t do to have them break against one another, now would it?

  ‘No, no, no,’ he continued aloud. ‘Wouldn’t do at all. It’s not the glass, you know, that is replaceable. If these ingredients mixed improperly, who knows what would come of it? Now, what was I saying? Or was I thinking it?’ He stretched and yawned. ‘That’s the trouble with being an old man. You get tired too easily and your mind wanders.’

  Pae fixed him with a beady black eye, and whistled three times, each louder than the last.

  ‘Fine. I remember now; you don’t have to yell. Here I am, the greatest sorcerer in the world — ’

  Pae hacked.

  ‘No wisecracks from you. You ungrateful, foul fowl,’ he said, throwing a cork stopper at the bird. ‘Where was I?’ He scratched his head. ‘Ah, yes. Here I am, the world’s greatest sorcerer, and a feather duster with a brain the size of a pea is scolding me. A pea, Pae, do you hear me?’ He shook a rag at him. Pae, you’re the reason I think all this is possible. ‘And that’s the only reason,’ he yelled, shaking his finger at the parrot, ‘I don’t get rid of you. Well, maybe not the only reason, but one of them. So you’d better remember not to forget it.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘Egads. Remember not to forget it? I’m so tired, I can’t even talk. Pae, I think it’s time for a nap.’

  With that, he hobbled to his cot, threw off his outer cloak, and lay down. He was asleep almost as soon as he pulled the silk blanket up to his bearded chin.

  As he slept, he dreamed of being young.

  The Fire

  Eighty-Six Years in the Past

  The Greater Valley

  ‘Get up! Hurry! Wake up!’ Justus could hear his older brother Jonas yelling, but he couldn’t imagine why he would be making such a racket in the middle of the night. It wasn’t time to bring the cows in for milking. The cows themselves were probably still sleeping. He rolled toward the wall, hoping it was a dream, but his mind woke up before the rest of him did. Why was he waking the whole house? Something was making the back of his throat itch. It cut through his sleepy mind like a sharp knife. Smoke. Then he heard the other thing Jonas was shouting.

  ‘Fire. Hurry. Everybody get out of the house.’

  He jumped to his feet and dragged on his pants. Still buttoning them, he stumbled into the hall that spanned the length of the third floor. The smoke and intense heat filling the corridor nearly overcame him. Realizing he’d forgotten his shoes, he reached back into his room to retrieve them. When he bent over, he found the air was clearer near the floor, so he sat and put them on then went to his knees. Making his way down the hall, his eyes filled with tears from the smoke and his panic. The house made an eerie creaking as it expanded with the heat. Smoke swirled in a thick blanket inches above him...

  As he neared the end of the hall, he found that the heat was coming up the stairs, like a chimney. He sat back, panic-stricken, unable to move. Sitting there wasn’t the answer; that would end up with him roasted like a chicken. The thought shook him into action, and he crawled back down the hallway.

  Panic rose in him like bile in his throat, and he started crying once more. Shaking his head, he fought to concentrate. He had to get himself under control. ‘Come on, Justus,’ he said. ‘Calm down and think. Think think think.’ He crawled as fast as he could, trying to escape the heat. His head smacked into something. A door! His father’s study. Unable to see anything above him, he reached into the dense, churning smoke, for the knob. He turned it and took one last look down the hall, only to see flames rushing at him with a roar, like a living thing feeding on the oiled wood. He dove inside and slammed the door. The relative coolness of the study was an instant relief.

  Nothing in his twelve years of life had prepared him for this. He knew if he were going to survive he would have to get out of the house, and do it fast. Dashing to the window, he threw open the shutters. The sight stunned him. Flames engulfed the forest. Although a clearing fifty strides across encircled the house, the heat was like being inside a furnace. At that moment, the top of a pine tree exploded, creating a huge fireball. A blast of intense heat, noise, and wood struck the house, shaking Justus out of his reverie. There was no one to help them. The nearest holding was a half-day’s ride.

  Justus screamed out the window but heard no answer. No father, mother, or brother came to his aid. He’d have to do this himself. Justus blew out a shaky breath. Desperately searching the room for something to help manage the long bone-breaking drop, all he found were books. His father’s priceless collection had taken a lifetime to accumulate, but it was worthless to him now. The door groaned, buckling from the heat. Turning to the window, he shoved aside the heavy velvet curtains. Grabbing the mass of cloth, he jumped up, trying to pull them down. With his meager weight, it took several attempts but finally they fell in a heap. The heavy brass rod banged to the floor next to him, nearly striking his head. At that moment, the door burst in two, and flames eagerly rushed onto the rug. He had no time to spare. Justus braced the rod across the window and shoved the red velvet into the brightly lit night. He looked down. The drop below the curtain was still high, but not impossible. ‘You can do it,’ he muttered. ‘Just make sure you land right.’ He tried to calm himself. ‘Just like jumping out of the hayloft.’

  Justus eased out the window, being careful to grip the thick cloth firmly. He had lowered himself just two handholds when there was a ripping sound. He looked up as the curtain tore free.

  Time seemed to slow, and he became acutely aware of everything around him. The night sky stood out in stark, beautiful clarity.

  Do the stars always shine that brilliantly?

  His body rotated. The broad wooden planking of the house passed inches before his face; he could count the dowels holding them.

  His thoughts were as weightless as he felt, floating through his mind.

  Is this how birds feel?

  This is really going to hurt.

  Then the magic moment was over. Time rushed to catch up, sweeping at him with blinding speed. Justus landed on his side with a sickening thud, nearly in the position he slept each night. He felt like a mule had kicked him, and knew something inside him had broken. His first reaction was to move. As he tried, his mouth gaped like a fish out of water, unable to breathe. Moving was out of the question; breathing was oh so much more important. Would this be it? Dying, unable to simply draw a breath? Through his desperate struggles, air slowly worked its way into his wrecked body. He coughed and pain lanced through him like a bolt of lightning, nearly causing him to black out. The flames had leaped out the window and were working down the side of the b
uilding. It seemed they didn’t want their prey to escape.

  No, that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe he could roll away. Justus pushed his hand onto the ground and carefully eased onto his back. Each movement brought a shock of pain, as his shattered bones pierced him. Still, he had to get away, had to move, so he pushed, digging in his heels. By his fourth try, he’d traveled a hand-width. It was no use. He was going to die. Justus let out a small breathless sigh and looked up.

  Directly into his brother’s face.

  ‘Justus, are you all right?’ Jonas asked. ‘I just got out of the house. It’s an inferno in there! Have you seen Mother or Father?’ Even if Justus could have drawn the breath to talk, he wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgewise. Jonas stopped when he rolled his eyes upward. ‘Don’t pass out on me, Justus. Come on now, stay with me.’

  Justus wheezed, ‘I’m not...you idiot...can’t...breathe. Ribs...hurt.’

  ‘Oh Justus, I’m sorry. I didn’t even give you a chance to — ’

  ‘Please.’ Justus pointed weakly at the burning house. ‘Hot...away.’

  ‘Right, of course. Okay. How do we do this? I mean, what hurts?’

  ‘Everything...my side...broken.’

  ‘Let me see what we’re working with,’ Jonas said, as he lifted the nightshirt up. A small gasp of alarm let Justus know things were not good. ‘Okay. I’m going to get under your arms and pull you along.’ His brow wrinkled in concern as he tried to reassure Justus as well as himself. ‘Tell me if it hurts too much, and we will try it another way. All right?’

  Justus nodded.

  As Jonas lifted slightly and started dragging him through the yard, Justus started to moan softly, and sweat broke out on his face.

  ‘Should I stop and let you rest?’

  ‘No,’ Justus said through the cloud of pain. ‘Go.’

  Jonas shook his head. ‘You’ve always been the bookish one. How did you get so tough?’ He dragged Justus until they were at the stone cistern in the courtyard. ‘I figure this will be the best place. If things get too bad, I can douse us with water. Does that sound good to — ’

  A shrill scream rose from the front room of the house. The scream tapered off, paused as if to draw a breath, and started again.

  ‘That’s Mother! I’ve got to help her.’ Jonas leaped up and started across the yard. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he called over his shoulder then disappeared through the flaming portal that was once the front door.

  Justus knew he should have stopped his brother, that it was impossible to make it back out with their mother. But he also knew he would have done the same thing. His mind fogged with pain. Time passed. Minutes? Seconds? The small hope of his brother’s return dwindled with each passing moment. It had been too long. His family was dead, they must be. Yet, he kept his eyes riveted to the door. Shadows moved in the flames. Someone was coming out.

  Jonas stepped through the crumbling, flaming skeleton of the house with someone held in his arms but something didn’t look right. Then he recognized what it was — both Jonas and his mother were in flames. Jonas somehow managed to get within ten feet of Justus before he staggered and fell to one side. Still clutching the form of their dead mother, both their bodies continued to burn. Justus rolled onto his right side in his effort to reach them, but the pain was too great to do anything more. He lay there on his side, as they were on theirs, Jonas’ head just above his mother’s, both of their faces in clear view. He tried to look away, to shut his eyes, but couldn’t help staring in a mix of horror and fascination at what transpired before him.

  His mother’s skin was already starting to blacken and crack, but his brother’s seemed to be melting. His features were running like wax, the fat popping and sizzling, finally joining his mother’s in a macabre death mask that looked strangely like a grin. As sanity slipped from his grasp, Justus smiled. They’d posed for the family portrait the same way. In a quieter part of his mind, a litany started, trying to hold back the darkness that threatened to overwhelm it. This would not happen to him. He was never going to die, never going to die, never going to die, never going...

  A Rescue

  When they finally made it through to their neighbor’s home, a scene of terrible destruction met Ezra and his sons. The most beautiful holding in the land lay in ruin. They entered the gate and saw bodies by the cistern. Two of them, charred beyond recognition and another, not burnt but surely dead. He covered his mouth with his kerchief, fighting back the impulse to vomit.

  ‘Looks like none of them made it, boys.’

  ‘Yeah, Da, I guess not,’ his oldest son replied. ‘Wish we could’a got here sooner.’

  The youngest and most curious of the brothers dismounted. Unbothered by the sight, he walked nearer to the bodies than the rest of them cared to. As he did, he spoke up, ‘Da, I think you may be wrong. This one, I think it’s Justus, is still breathing.’

  Ezra jumped off his horse and ran over. ‘Looks like you’re right, boy,’ he said, from Justus’ side. ‘Fetch me the water.’ The youngest returned with it, while his brother kept his distance. Ezra spoke to them with wonder, ‘Will you look at that, three days here and he’s tryin’ to speak.’ He took the water skin from his son and dribbled some into the corner of Justus’ mouth.

  ‘What’s he sayin’, Da?’ the oldest asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Ezra lowered his ear to Justus’ lips, listening carefully. ‘Sounds like, ‘Never going to die.’

  The Choosing

  Justus was bedridden, in constant agony, for two Lunos cycles and a sevenday. He refused to speak about his ordeal, or the loss of his family. The last attempt, made by Ezra’s wife Pricilla, ended with him screeching as she backed wide-eyed from the room. ‘They’re burnt meat. Do you know what that smells like? Sunday roast. Don’t — speak — of — it. Never, do you hear me? Never!’

  The Healer who treated him was the best in the Valley, and had traveled for two days to reach the holding where Justus lay swimming in fever. Ezra kept messenger birds and was able to dispatch one to summon the Healer quickly. This was a fact that Ezra brought to Justus’ attention often during his convalescence.

  He would come to ‘see how the lad was coming along,’ and then proceed to fawn over him like he was royalty. At first, such deference embarrassed Justus. Then it became tiresome. Eventually, Justus was disgusted each time Ezra would start up. He was like a sniveling child waiting for a piece of candy. A moment of clarity came to him one day as Ezra stood at the foot of his bed with his eyes meekly directed at the floor and his hat twisted in his hands. He’s approaching me with, what? Anticipation? Supplication? He sensed that he had some sort of power over the man, but couldn’t figure out why. After dismissing Ezra with a wave of his hand, he put the matter to serious thought. They wanted something. But what could he possibly offer? After all, he wasn’t even into his teen years yet. A lad to most, and a child to many. A child with no family, an orphan. Not just an orphan; the sole survivor of his family. Sole survivor. Sole inheritor.

  That was it! His father was rich. Everyone in the Greater Valley knew that. They also knew his family had more than just land and cattle. In his youth, Justus’ father had helped settle the remote section of the Valley where their holding lay, and he’d mined gold from it. The vein had eventually run out, but not before his father accumulated a vast fortune, enough to make his grandchildren seven generations later very rich men. Justus was the sole heir. Furthermore, only he knew where the gold was stored; only he had access to it.

  His parents had been determined that their boys should never want for anything, but also that they shouldn’t feel entitled. They kept their studies up, helped with the chores, tended the cattle, and worked maintaining the crops. Justus had never considered the importance of his family’s wealth. Now, quite simply, he had.

  During his ordeal, something had broken within Justus, something beyond flesh and bones. It was a part of himself he didn’t know existed. Now, that dark twisted thing ros
e up and filled his mind. The room chilled and his thoughts came to him as if someone whispered in his ear.

  Gold carries power.

  They want it...the power...the gold.

  Ezra practically drools for it.

  Justus sniffed and shook his head muttering, ‘What a complete simpleton. He helped me out expecting to take what’s rightfully mine.’

  The chilling voice in him caressed the idea.

  Let him believe it — long for it.

  Make him grovel.

  It will be...fun...yes, so much fun.

  Part of him recoiled but the temptation was too much to resist.

  Power, the voice whispered. Over their lives...or deaths.

  I could control death?

  Yes...death...the ultimate form of control.

  Theirs, and even...

  ‘My own,’ Justus whispered.

  He closed his eyes and imagined the possibilities. A smile crept to the corners of his mouth as he envisioned himself the master of every moment, with those around him doing his bidding like puppets on strings. Pleasure at the idea warmed him as the chill left the room, its task complete. Slowly, over the course of his healing, the idea took root and blossomed. Justus set his feet on the path he would follow for the rest of his life. A life that he planned would continue for a long, long time.

  Chapter 4

  Fall 1984

  San Diego, California

  They maneuvered Vincent’s 1976 Toyota Celica through the narrow streets of Old Town, looking for a parking spot. The area was a major tourist draw, with restaurants and shops, but small homes still nestled among them. The streets worked well in 1830, but the founders never envisioned how things might be a hundred years later. The thick fog sat here, contained by the surrounding hills like soup in a cauldron. Flea pointed, and Vincent pulled down a narrower side street. They finally found a spot between an old Studebaker and a new Mustang.