Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts

by Lakshman, V.

  Giridian nodded, touching the cool metal doors that barred the way to the chamber behind. His eyes closed and a faint click sounded as the doors magically unsealed. He pushed them open, but turned to Dragor. "The lore father sacrificed himself to save us and for that I am grateful. Nevertheless, there is a divergence in the Way, and I mean to find out why. How could I do any less than those who came before me to protect my own?"

  Dragor sighed, still worried. Then the majesty of the chamber took hold and he drew an involuntary breath. The chamber was vast; two hundred paces from end to end. Along the eight walls that circumscribed the perimeter stood bookshelves stacked more than three men in height and lined from top to bottom in books on lore, magic, and the Way. It represented knowledge that over the centuries had been saved from the persecutions of the Magehunters.

  The middle of the floor stood cases and displays, each holding a category of items. One section dedicated itself to armor, another to weapons, and still a dozen more to a myriad of other items. The adepts of the Isle had not been idle in their seclusion and the Vault held a great many powerful and wondrous artifacts from ages past.

  Giridian, as the former Keeper of the Vault, was less dazzled by the objects within, but nonetheless the sheer amount of effort it took to find and catalog all these things gave him pause. This was the result of over a century of work and it showed. If nothing else in the chamber awed him, this fact did.

  He motioned to a particular set of manuscripts and they made their way to that section. As he walked, he talked over his shoulder to the trailing adept. "Something was not right at the final battle at Sovereign’s Fall."

  Dragor looked about, wide-eyed at the items within the vault, and he absentmindedly replied, "So you have said."

  "There should be historical texts that speak in detail of that time and of the events leading up to it," Giridian continued, "and yet, few manuscripts have been found. We have some, but not nearly the number that should exist."

  "And where might those be?" Dragor had stopped near a shield, mirror bright and etched with a sigil reminiscent of a hawk with outstretched wings. As he neared it, Giridian could hear the shield start to hum, as if it vibrated to the same song as his heart. Dragor’s hand reached out slowly and the air shimmered in response.

  "Dragor..." Giridian grabbed the adept’s arm and pulled him away, a smile on his face.

  Dragor shook his head and looked about in confusion. "What happened?"

  "That shield seeks a wielder, but will always put you in harm’s way to prove its worth. Not the best companion," the lore father said with a chuckle. "We’re here to do research."

  The two made their way to a section of the bookshelf that held histories from the time of Lilyth. Giridian found the few books that were relevant to the subject and pulled them down. These he split into two small, even piles. One contained information on demons, the other on the final battle at Sovereign’s Fall.

  "I will study the way of demons. You can re-read what happened at Sovereign’s Fall," the lore father said. "Look specifically for what happened to the dwarves following the battle. I don’t understand why they would reappear now, or for that matter here on the Isle."

  With a sigh, Dragor picked up the stack indicated, then motioned to a young page who stood innocuously to one side. "Please bring us something to eat."

  The page nodded, then scampered off through one of the many backdoor passages that connected the various chambers to the kitchen.

  For the next few hours the two read in silence, the bits of leftover food and drink littering a serving tray placed on a nearby stand. Giridian finally broke the silence, standing and stretching as his back cracked in protest. He then looked at the adept and said, "I think I’ve found something interesting."

  Dragor’s voice echoed the boredom Giridian felt when he answered, "That makes one of us." He shut the book he had been reading and leaned back. "Nothing on the dwarves. Once they left Bara’cor, they disappeared as if they were nothing but myth."

  "Do you know where demons, or for that matter, angels, come from?" Giridian asked.

  The other shrugged. "From the left and right hand of the gods."

  Giridian shook his head. "We call them angels or demons, but it says here they are actually a race known as the Aeris. It claims that in the distant past they came upon this world and were emissaries to the people of Edyn."

  "Emissaries? To what purpose?" Dragor asked. "And if they sought us out, what happened? Demons are vastly powerful and dangerous. I have never heard they were emissaries, or they would seek some sort of peace with us. They are disembodied and cannot exist on the corporeal plane, so why treaty with us?"

  Giridian nodded, "I never said they came in peace. The author of this book says they used the guise of peace to gain knowledge." He then pointed to a manuscript that looked truly ancient. "He too, seems convinced they never intended to treaty with us." The lore father picked the book up and flipped to the first page so Dragor could read what was written in clear script on the inside cover.

  Dragor leaned in and his eyes widened in shock. "It cannot be!"

  Giridian read aloud, "‘Those who do not heed their mistakes, are condemned to repeat them – Valarius Galadine.’ " He looked at his friend and said, "Your idea to look through the memories of Valarius is a sound one. We will try and see what memories he has of the battle that cost him his life."

  Dragor laid a cautionary hand on his friend’s arm and said, "Can I help in any way?"

  Giridian looked at the younger adept and smiled. "Keep your hand in contact with me, so I can draw upon your strength, should I need it. The visions are seen by lore fathers only, but your presence fills me with confidence."

  Dragor answered with a small smile, though Giridian could see he feared to be near even the memory of one who had caused so much pain and anguish.

  Giridian closed his eyes and sank into blackness, a space with stars of light. These would be the memories of the lore fathers who had come before. He took a mental breath, then dove into the stars and back through the memories of the lore fathers who had preceded him.

  His mind swept past Themun’s to Duncan Illrys, who was lore father for only a moment before dying on the slopes of the Fall. His memories then flew past him to his wife, Sonya, lore mother before Duncan. Her reign was singular in her stalwart defense of their world against Lilyth. He then slowed his thoughts, for before Sonya’s time came Valarius Galadine. His memories occupied a space, here... but there was nothing.

  His mind searched, carefully sifting back through Sonya’s memories. Her mind went from her ceremony where she became lore mother through her reign. Giridian shook his head, not understanding. Declaring Valarius an enemy of the land conferred his seat as lore father to Sonya. The ceremony, now known to him, should have resulted with Valarius’s memories here.

  Wait, he told himself, if the ritual of transference was not carried out willingly, a lore father’s memory transferred to the Way upon death. Valarius did not die when they stripped him of his title. He had died on the slopes of Sovereign’s Fall. Giridian moved forward again with renewed energy. The answer would be somewhere before Duncan or Sonya’s passing. Nothing else made sense.

  Giridian opened Duncan’s last thoughts, but where there should have been a lifetime of learning and lore, he also found... nothing. He backed up mentally and felt the reassuring presence of Dragor. Taking a deep breath, he opened the memories of Sonya Illrys and found them to be intact. He could see her life, her teachings, and her last stand against Lilyth. He could see everything up till the moment she let her spark jump to Duncan, when transference had occurred.

  He went back to search for Duncan again and still found nothing, no memories, no transference. The same was true for Valarius, nothing but a blank space between Sonya and Themun’s lives. A disturbing thought began to grow in his mind.

  There was no situation where the lore did not transfer from father to father. It was the single thing that kept thei
r teachings intact, or at least accessible for later generations. Furthermore, there was no way Themun would not have known this. Now his dying message seemed all the more cryptic.

  He opened his eyes and looked again at Dragor.

  "What?" asked the adept.

  "The lore father said something to me before he died," Giridian said, looking at Dragor.

  The younger adept asked, "What did he say?"

  "It doesn’t make sense." Giridian looked about as if trying to find an answer in the air around him. He stopped when Dragor laid a gentle hand on his arm.

  "Share it."

  Giridian paused, then said, "Armun." He looked at Dragor again and continued, "It makes no sense. Who is Armun?"

  "I don’t know," whispered Dragor. "What about the memories of the other lore fathers?"

  "There’s nothing," he replied woodenly. "What I mean is, they are missing." Giridian closed his eyes again, searching, "They do not exist. No memories from Lore Father Duncan. None from General Valarius Galadine."

  Dragor shrugged. "Is that so strange? They died. Perhaps they never carried out the ritual and their memories didn’t transfer, or Themun rejected their learning. Duncan wasn’t even lore father for more than a few moments before the king killed him."

  Giridian shook his head and said, "Any lore father can unlock them."

  He paused, looking at Dragor’s confused expression, then explained, "They don’t need to carry out the ritual, for their lives are contained in the Way. The spark of transference is not knowledge, but access to knowledge, which is recorded and contained within the Way, forever. Even Lore Father Themun, who was largely self-taught, gained access to the collective memories of those who came before him in this manner."

  He stood, shaking his head. "For countless centuries the tradition has been followed, even when the lore father was petty or misguided. Knowledge of weakness and mistakes is more valuable than lessons from success, and we cannot count on every lore father choosing to pass on his knowledge. It is impossible that Duncan’s and Valarius’s memories are not here."

  Dragor locked gazes with his friend and said, "Unless..."

  "Unless they never died."

  Journal Entry 12

  When you read this, you make yourself stronger. You survive, against all odds, and your belief will suffuse you with strength. Doubt is your enemy, your faith is the key.

  My area is not safe, and it is this continued belief that I am in danger that fuels these raids. Ritual is key, faith is power. I will keep writing it again and again to commit it to memory and heart. Ritual is key, faith is power.

  My mind, like any man’s, must perform a system of actions that result in the conviction that I am safe.

  It is the same for the mother that hangs hollyroot above her baby’s bed, or when one consumes sunbeam for fever. It is our nature to believe these remedies work, therefore they do.

  Now I must do the same, but on a grander scale. I must create a system of faith that is impervious to doubt, and it starts with me.

  I know many spells of warding. I believe here, in this place, they will have greater power. I know this to be true, I feel it. I believe it. It is my will that is master here.

  Ritual is key, faith is power. Nothing can stop me. I must believe. My life depends upon it.

  FALLS OF SHIMMERENE

  You cannot know a person’s heart

  Until you have crossed blades with them.

  Once done, their character lies open to you.

  They will always act as they did,

  When trying to survive.

  —Davyd Dreys, Notes to my Sons

  Arek awoke to the sound of birds... a sound more incongruous because of its source. Was he not in the Altan Wastes? As his eyes cracked open, he found himself lying in a bed, with a canopy of fine silk above. Flitting about in a small, golden cage were a pair of black and yellow songbirds singing to each other. He was dressed in soft clothes that made him uncomfortable, but only for their fineness. Then he looked down and two shapes pushed up the fine blankets, his feet.

  He choked out a small laugh... it was not a dream! Then, with a trepidation he had not felt since he was a child, he wiggled the toes of the foot he had thought lost.

  Pain shot up his leg and exploded in his brain. Yet instead of feeling bad, he could not help but laugh. To feel anything at all was better than feeling nothing but a stump... and with that exhausting effort, a world of new hope opened. Tears sprang unbidden down his cheeks. His foot and therefore his future might once again be his.

  "Nice."

  Arek started, then turned to the voice, hastily wiping his face. Piter, he thought at first.

  "Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you. Honestly."

  Arek finished wiping his eyes and realized the voice came not from the shade that had recently become a part of his life, but rather from a girl. "Your name?" he managed to croak, sleep still in his voice.

  "Tej," she answered simply, "of EvenSea."

  Arek’s eyes focused on his guest and his breath caught. Not just any girl, he corrected himself. She was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. Her hair flowed from her head like an ocean wave and framed a face that was exotic, but burdened by a deep pain, a pain that made her seem more vulnerable. Her eyes were amber, and it occurred to him that the royal family of EvenSea were said to have amber eyes.

  "I... your name?" he asked again, his voice sounding stupid to his own ears.

  She laughed, then looked past his bed to the window. Her eyes caught the sweep of the desert sun and seemed to soak it in, then intensify it, until her gaze almost glowed. When those eyes looked back to him, his heart skipped.

  "I already told you...," she answered again, just as simply. "A one-time princess, now just Tej. For someone so handy with a weapon, you’re not very good with faces," she added with a faint smile, pointing to a small bruise on her temple where Arek’s foot had connected. "Though you clearly you don't mind hitting a girl."

  Arek realized with a shock where he had seen her before, in the hallway outside that chamber. That seemed an eternity ago. Now his earlier guess that she was of the Tir royal line fell into place. Had he hit her? The look on his face must have betrayed his thoughts, for he saw the girl’s smile grow and she moved closer.

  "Please, no titles or rank. I'm trapped here as much as you." Her head tilted to one side and she smiled and said, "You fight well. Ash says you’re better than anyone he’s ever faced."

  Arek looked around, his mind quickly wondering what new tact the king attempted, and asked, "No guards? What do you want?"

  "A favor."

  At that moment, Arek’s vision tunneled and the world froze and he felt the familiar space of time that portended Piter’s arrival. It didn’t take long until the familiar dark-robed figure strode into view, appearing from thin air. The shade paused, looking at Tej. "Pretty, but useless."

  "What do you want now?" Arek asked, tired and fed up. The anger of the torture and treatment by the king, the fear of having been abandoned here amongst strangers, it all came together now, then fell upon the shade of Piter.

  "I saved you. If I had not come, you would be dead now!" Piter moved past the frozen figure of the princess and faced Arek, standing his ground. "It’s more than you ever did for me!"

  "What are you talking about?" Arek asked. Something in the tone of Piter’s voice broke the turbulent frustration and anger that had threatened to boil over a moment ago. He felt drained and somehow melancholic.

  Piter looked down, but when he looked up again, there seemed to be a change in the shade’s eyes and a question came out in earnest: "Why did you hate me?"

  Arek stopped, dumbfounded. "What?"

  "You were always cruel, letting your friends poke fun. When did you include me? You fall in with them and I am left behind, the odd one?"

  Arek took a breath, then asked, "When did I hate you?"

  "It wasn’t always like that. We grew up together and were friends, brothe
rs." Piter looked away, then said, "It’s hard enough to be an orphan, but you made my life on the Isle miserable."

  A heartbeat passed, then two, and Arek dropped his gaze. He hadn’t thought of it like that, it had always seemed that Piter was annoying, or somehow just in the way. He answered, softly, "We... I didn’t mean anything."

  "No?" The shade looked on a bit longer, then said, "Forget it, Master. It doesn’t matter now. All you should care about is your own life, your own friends, as usual."

  Arek didn’t have an answer. His treatment of his classmate hadn’t felt particularly mean or base. Neither Tomas nor Jesyn liked Piter and therefore he became an easy target. But it was just jokes, Arek told himself, no harm had really been meant.

  Now the shade forced him to think about his actions from his name-brother’s point of view. By that measure, he was less sure he had acted so kindly.

  Silence hung between them, stretching out for a few heartbeats before Piter said, "Your destiny lies deep below this fortress. Don’t be foolish and open a portal for the king. You’ll be killing me twice."

  Arek shook his head to clear it, not hearing Piter completely. "What?"

  Piter rolled his eyes and said, "Fool, you need to head downward. The Gate you seek is there. It is a place of power. Your will is the key, and achieving this Gate will set things right."

  "You mean, free you? You can still be saved?"

  The shade looked around, as if sensing its own departure, and said, "Perhaps, but you are likely too stupid."

  Arek felt a flash snap as time resumed its normal pace—the jolt of connection and the shade of Piter was gone.

  In that moment, he heard Tej finish her request, "Take me with you when Ash’s team goes to the nomad camp."

  Arek looked at the girl with a faraway stare, the last conversation still filling his brain. He knew he needed to think about how he had treated Piter, but the direction the shade had given him burned its way into the forefront of his mind. The Gate lay below Bara’cor? Then he looked at Tej and blinked, her question registering for the first time. "What do you mean, take you?"