“Of all the humans I have met in all the lives I have lived, I have never met anyone as strong as you,” Burton said. “Not physically, but mentally and emotionally.”
“Sensei, don’t be silly. You’ve taught me everything I know.”
“But I haven’t taught you everything that I know. I have kept certain things from you, only to protect you. I am sorry, Montague. I realize now that I was wrong for not trusting you completely. Because I do trust you—I always trusted you.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Never mind now. I’ll tell you everything at another time. There are few of us left who know and believe the truth. But you are the only one to handle this, Montague. If I could, I would protect this world for all eternity. But I’m afraid the laws of the third dimension will not allow that.”
In the middle of the hollow space there was a large bowl-shaped stone filled to the brim with water. Burton held his hand over the undulating surface and stretched out his fingers. “Do you have Gabriel’s Dairy with you?”
“No. It’s at home in the same place I put it the day you gave it to me. I never take it with me on long journeys—just in case.” Montague remembered that day like it was yesterday. The documentation of Man’s history, preceding Planet Naan, felt ten times heavier when Burton had placed it in his hands. From that moment, he knew that he accepted the responsibility of keeping it hidden from an advanced species that would kill anything that prevented them of finding it. The feeling of becoming the diary’s caretaker had been overwhelming at the least.
“Good. I figured so,” said Burton.
“Why?”
“It can act as a conduit in sending messages far and wide. So now I need you to concentrate, Montague. Hold your hand out over the stone.” Burton closed his eyes and spoke softly under his breath. “Help me imagine what is happening here and everything that I have showed you about the Nekrums.”
The water inside the stone started to glow and bubble violently. The turbulence caused the water to spill out and splash all over their boots, leaving behind an empty concave stone. A radiant light blasted straight up from the empty bowl, passing through their hands and out from the tip of the mountain, up to the sky and beyond the stars, into the heavens. It carried both Burton and Montague’s thought forms of the situation on their planet, Naan, along with one simple request: HELP.
After a few minutes the light abruptly went out. Darkness returned and the wind in the cave subsided.
“Go home,” Burton said. “Secure the diary. I need to check more crop and cattle fields. I’ll fill you in along the way. Keep your mind open. I’ll come find you.”
Without question, Montague picked up his bag and torch with its struggling flame. “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but given your condition, are you able to get out of here without a light?”
Burton laughed. “I wouldn’t be much of a light being if I couldn’t.”
When Burton Lang returned to Illyrium, the place he’d once called home, there was almost nothing left. It was the day after the greatest flood the kingdom had ever seen.
In the royal gardens on the castle hillside, he sank his boots into the sodden soil and watched the bloated bodies drift lifelessly along the surface of the murky water. Where once stood houses, stables, and a marketplace, the landscape was now a swamped wasteland of shattered wood and toppled stone. Human and animal carcasses floated past in the receding current. Only a few homes, part of the Illyrium temple, and the castle held their integrity. There were people here and there scavenging through the musky debris.
It was the first time in almost fifty years that the exile walked on this ground. Now unwelcome, Burton decided to go in secret. He pulled the hood of his robe over his head low enough to shadow his face. If someone recognized him, they might blame him for the disaster. Stories of his powers had been twisted to make people believe he was mad so they would fear him.
Nothing about the disaster appeared natural to Burton. It didn’t make any sense that the Noahl River, one that ran alongside the kingdom, would swell a mile inland within a matter of minutes and without warning from the docks. There hadn’t been a storm or rain on the island for weeks, and the ground hadn’t rumbled in over a year. And as an angel among men, Burton knew it was not a god-sent intervention. The second sign to the Fall of Mankind flashed before his eyes: Water.
I hope Montague is safe, Burton thought. His farm would have been destroyed first. His student’s property was just south of the capital, near merging rivers, where the soil was richest.
The sight strangled his heart. Even an incarnated being of divine light was affected by human emotion, influenced by anger and jealousy, vulnerable to temptation and desire, and destined for death. After living through more than five lives of men, the death that surrounded him was a morbid reminder of physical mortality and his own weakening body.
Burton found it a strange coincidence that this freak incident had happened only days after he’d secretly inspected the farms, trying to understand the recent delivery of spoiled meat and moldy grain. For months, people had been experiencing mild to fatal reactions including headaches, fevers, vomiting, or boils, and, in severe cases, rapid death. But the toxin took days before the infected evinced any symptoms, and that delayed effect made it difficult for Burton to link the sickness to the food.
After the wizard had inspected farmer Ben Paddett’s fields for signs of poison or any kind of dangerous chemical composition, he came up with not a trace, just as he did at all the other farms. But there he’d felt a strange presence. Although Ben had appeared to be inside clearing food from his table while Burton navigated the maze of crops, someone or something seemed to be watching him. When Burton had scraped the last corn stalk for analysis, Ben’s dogs came running out from the house after him. Burton was sure that the farmer knew someone had been searching his property.
Now, stamping through dried clumps of algae and mounds of mud, Burton neared the central pillar of the castle. He noticed his old friend at the edge of the retaining wall along the garden walkway. The soil had poured out from a collapsed portion of the interlocking stones.
It puzzled Burton, given the circumstances, to see his former student Demitri Von Cobb, one of the three ministers of science, conducting experiments. As Burton approached, he heard the minister reciting instructions beneath his breath as he cut into the serrated skin of a large gumworm. The bulbous worm was as long as the minister’s forearm. Its skin was scaly between jagged spines.
The anger in Demitri’s voice was guttural and he ground his teeth.
“My friend,” Burton said, clearing the silence.
Demitri remained focused on his knife as he navigated the worm’s internal organs. “Where were you?” he asked coldly.
“You know where I’ve been. I—” Burton began.
“No. I mean, where were you? Didn’t you see this coming?” Demitri’s voice got louder.
Burton couldn’t even answer the question. He hadn’t seen the event coming. And this worried him. After living so long in the same body, his abilities had grown weak. After the body failed, the mind would soon follow, and then he would surely be forced to reincarnate. Even if he was able to reenter the planet, it would take at least six years of physical development before his mind could even begin to remember why he had been sent there. Without the defense of divine power, the Nekrums could rape and conquer the world of Naan in one night.
“The king—Where is the king?” Burton asked, hoping for a quick answer.
Demitri turned back and faced him, sneering. “Where is the king?” he repeated, giggling softly. “I never thought that would be a question you would ever have to ask, my old sensei. How about the queen? Want to know where she is too?” His voice tightened.
Demitri’s wry tone made Burton fear the worst.
“They’re dead,” Demitri said. “Dead.”
The words nearly took the life right out of Burton. His knees began to shake. �
�And the princess?” he asked. The seconds before Demitri replied felt like a lifetime.
“She’s alive. Gretchen and the other castle servants took her to the belvedere of the castle tower just before the water breached the kingdom walls. They haven’t come down since.” Demitri went right back to looking through his eyeglass at the worm’s insides.
When Burton heard those words, he was relieved—a royal Volpi lives. Although he’d spent generations among the royal family and would grieve them like members of his own, he didn’t feel completely defeated. The twenty-three-year-old princess was safe. She was one of the main reasons Burton Lang had descended to the planet: to protect and defend the Volpi bloodline and the existence of Man.
“What happened?” Burton asked. He massaged his eyes, trying to clear the confusion in his mind.
Demitri rose to his feet. “When the rumbling began, I thought at first it was thunder. So I came outside to look and I saw Montague. I thought it was quite curious to see him on Capital Hill. I knew something was wrong. The river came crashing in from the distance, swallowing the silk forest whole. We made our way to alert everyone in the ballroom. The king and queen were there with council members and representatives from each of the islands. But the doors were locked. They were jammed. We couldn’t open them even with six men before the water began to pool.” He paused for a moment. “I knew from the moment I saw La-Rose that something significant was happening.”
Burton saw the horror in his eyes. Someone must have secured the doors so no one could get in or out. There had to have been an intruder or a traitor in the kingdom. The situation didn’t make sense and solidified his theory of the second attack.
“They were trapped in there. And the screams; I will never forget. My wife was among them.” Demitri bowed his head, wrestling with grief.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. She was a great woman. And she is free now. I’m sure she is traveling the heavens with the rest of her late loved ones.” There was nothing else for Burton to say.
Most natural deaths were followed by festivals where friends and family would celebrate their late loved one’s life. But with the magnitude of devastation that the flood had caused, it was impossible to feel cheerful about the horrifying way the victims had been taken from the living.
“She was the only person who really understood me; understood my passion for my work. And because of my work, I wasn’t there to save her.” Demitri looked up to the sun, shining brighter by the second. “What have I done?” He caught his tear with his finger and took a deep breath. “Am I damned for breaking my vows as a husband? Maybe I was an awful husband. But I loved her.” He looked at Burton. “Am I supposed to live the rest of my life—alone, and unloved? Maybe God has other plans for me.” He took a moment and stared into the void of his future. Without his family, all that remained were dying friendships and his work. “Well, back to the maggot.” Regaining focus, Demitri turned back to his operation.
The human in Burton felt a profound anger rising. “Why was no one guarding the king and queen? Was the royal party unattended? How could this have happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Demitri seemed furious at the questions, as if Burton was blaming him for the death of the royals. “If you were here, this wouldn’t have happened!”
The thought frightened Burton. It all seemed as if the flood had been planned to occur while he was distracted, investigating the distant farms.
“So again, where were you?” Demitri asked.
Burton remained silent. It was no secret to the Resistance that he was visiting the farms to question the staff about the spoiled food. Although the minister had turned his back on Burton’s teachings, Burton had kept Demitri in the circle of secret information. There was nothing more to say.
“I stayed up last night and found four of these worms, right here within the castle walls,” Demitri said, pointing his cutter at the mucus-covered worm. “They must have washed in. If some unlucky soul stepped on one of these barefoot, their barbs would inject a poison so toxic he would die in less than three seconds.” His eyes rolled up and over and stared straight through Burton. “Yes, the venom that I had been chastised for studying; the one that can disintegrate an army of men. I’d like to have an antidote. You should never make fun of ‘dirt dwellers’ and ‘flying bloodsuckers,’ as you call them. These creatures have developed astonishing defenses through years of evolution.”
Demitri had always been known for his brilliance, but his obsession with lethal toxins and his war-mongering lectures warned Burton about the dangers to this kind of thinking. Once part of the Resistance, Demitri had been a devoted student of his teachings and excelled, like Montague. Burton could bend reality and manipulate the rules of nature. That was why it had been so important that he choose his students carefully. These abilities could be dangerous if they awoke in sinister minds. Demitri had become obsessed with becoming more powerful than others. Yes, the minister was thinking about military defenses, but too many discoveries were being turned into weaponry instead of advancing technology for the betterment of mankind. Once Burton was banished, Demitri had turned his back on him and developed new theories of science that conflicted with his old sensei’s teachings.
Yet now, after the suspected attack, Demitri’s delicate work might be of great use. “I never made any jokes,” Burton said. “I simply stressed the risk that if deadly compounds fell into the wrong hands, it could be suicide.”
“I am not privileged to have the power that you do, my dear friend; this magic or advanced science, as you call it. I cannot simply create something out of nothing. I cannot gain respect by simply snapping my fingers or reciting your pretty prayers; not to mention, cleaving off the summit of an entire mountain. I need to use my brain to contribute to society. But one day I will impress even you, the great Burton Lang!” Demitri said dramatically. He held out his hands, lifting them high as if presenting an attraction. He still wasn’t looking Burton in the eye.
“I’m sorry to upset you, old friend. It wasn’t my intention to offend you.” Burton wanted to explain that he could not ‘create something out of nothing,’ but Burton remained silent. He knew it would only lead to further argument.
Demitri put down the cutter, straightened up, and lifted himself to his feet. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” His words quivered and he broke down again, falling to his knees.
“It’s fine. I understand. There is no need to apologize,” Burton murmured. He placed his hand on Demitri’s shoulder as an overwhelming sadness took the tired soul’s breath.
Burton kneeled alongside his friend, scooped up two pebbles from the assortment of colored rocks along the edge of the path, and dropped them into the pocket of his brown cloak. When he lifted the rocks out again, plump rosy red apples rested within the palm of his hand. Any trace of stone or dirt had vanished. Burton held out a shiny red fruit to Demitri.
Demitri accepted with a blush of reluctance.
Looking his friend in the eyes, Burton truly meant what he was about to say. “You are an extremely respected gentleman and I have been honored to work with you. Every day you amaze me with your keen intellect and knowledge. I meant no offense. I never did.”
Suddenly, a scream ripped through the air. The eerie echo came from the north village, about fifty yards from the castle grounds. Their stomachs turned from a thick, bitter stench floating in the air. It smelled like charred skin. Emergency bells began urgently ringing; more and more shouting and frantic, desperate cries.
“We have to get inside. Now,” Burton cried.
Demitri stumbled into his equipment in a panic, juggling his tools with shaky hands and carefully collecting every remnant of the dissected worm.
The screams grew closer and the heat of the fires began to reach their skin.
“Leave everything!” Burton yelled.
“I can’t leave the worm here exposed, the venom, what if—” Demitri began.
A figure walked toward
them, casting a long, twisted shadow. A murder of crows circled the sky. When the shape stepped close enough, Burton recognized the farmer, Ben Paddett. He looked pale and bone-thin with pruned skin, his big teeth clattering as he stood sweating under his hood and foul-smelling robe. He didn’t seem aware of the mayhem surrounding him. He was just as downtrodden as the aimless crows soaring in circles above him.
“Ben!” Burton shouted. But there was no response, no reaction.
The farmer reached out with dusty, black hands and flashed a concerned grin, like he was trying to warn them of something. But before Paddett could speak a word, a sword carved straight through his neck with a seamless swing, spraying blood across Burton and Demitri’s faces. A small glass marble fell from the farmer’s hand and bounced straight to the tip of Demitri’s boot.
Montague La-Rose grounded himself above the headless body, his mighty sword in hand. He addressed Demitri, who looked shocked and horrified. “I know how this must look, but I don’t have time to explain. You need to follow me.”
“Go! I’m almost finished. I’ll be two steps behind you,” Demitri said, anxiously filling his sack with his tools.
Burton and his apprentice left ahead of him. The stone walls of the outer bailey were on fire. The flames ravaged the castle, melting it like wax. Cautiously, Burton and Montague raced against the heat that made them sweat. As Burton looked back to make sure that Demitri was trailing behind, he was distracted by dark cloaks running in and out of the rubble, slaughtering like cattle the leaderless survivors of Illyrium’s army. The massacre was such that it seemed the kingdom’s men-at-arms had no weapons to defend themselves; swords melted in mid-swing, arrows that were released from elkwood bows turned in flight, missing their marks, and steel shields were shattered like dry timber. Horses neighed wildly and raced away from the fire.
Under a Veil of Gods Page 3
