“For a long time, I knew that Burton was different,” said Gretchen. “He was my friend, and he taught me how to play all the instruments I know to play. He never directly told me anything about this hidden reality. So I had to put the clues together myself. When I’d ask questions, he’d change the subject after telling me that my involvement would put me in danger. But he never stopped me from listening in on private discussions among members of the Resistance, pretending that he wasn’t even aware of my eavesdropping. He trusted me. I know there’s something special about Volpi blood. Why would the Nekrums spend hundreds of years manipulating an entire race just for a single drop of blood?”
Montague knew what the Nekrums really desired—to find the Volpi that carried a special gene within the bloodline so that they could reconstruct their mutation. They had murdered countless Volpis in the past, searching for that secret. But every sample of blood they had taken throughout history was too diluted to work. So they would wait until the next Volpi was born, hoping for the miracle gene to be dominant within the body.
Their tragedy was sad and their quest for salvation was almost romantic, Montague thought. He remembered the story Burton had told him like it was yesterday.
Approximately six hundred years ago, the Nekrum race had poisoned another planet called Enot with the same microorganic intelligence that controlled Demitri, infecting human beings.
A malevolent humanoid people, the Nekrums were brilliant and deceptive, only standing about a foot tall with large heads. They didn’t feel empathy for intelligent races that they believed were beneath their own, and would conquer any species that got in their way, showing no mercy. As the other humanoid species among the five realms were much larger and stronger, their size prohibited them from physical confrontation. Instead, the Nekrums created virus-sized intelligences. With these, they were able to infect and thereby pilot living vessels to do their bidding. And as masters of genetic splicing, they had created many kinds of monsters to defend themselves.
Montague was aware that Gretchen knew that the origin of their people had begun on a planet other than Naan, in a civilization that was much more evolved than the colony in which they lived.
“No longer able to reproduce, the Nekrum race is dying. Long ago, on a distant planet, they learned that the humans of Enot developed a technology that could cure their genetic defect. So they invaded and stole the miracle machine. Soon after they learned that the machine alone couldn’t generate the cure. There was another piece to the secret, and that piece was inserted into the blood of Gabriel Volpi, who later escaped Enot and migrated to Naan. He’d come with nineteen other humans who escaped from the clutches of the Nekrums. And he had a son, ensuring the survival of his bloodline and the gene.”
“Try telling that story to a priest,” Gretchen said.
Montague laughed.
But that was the most challenging obstacle Montague faced. Everything he knew as fact about the world was thought of as fairy tales by the common man. A united community was stronger than one divided, his sensei had once said. How can I ever convince anyone of such allegations without any real proof? he thought. The majority of people labeled his beliefs, myth and legend—children’s stories from the ancient past. People thought there was no way monsters from the sky were real. They were not ready to accept the existence of life from other worlds.
“What’s the charcoal for?” Gretchen asked.
“It will help transport the copper safely through Alexandal’s digestive system without getting reabsorbed into his body. I also need it to look at old texts. Some of the writing is faded and charcoal can highlight the author’s pen’s imprint.”
Gretchen smiled. “Well, have fun with your readings. I need some sleep. Oh, and can I get something for a headache?”
“Of course,” Montague said. He took two brown pills out of a cup that sat on his desk. He poured her a mug of water. “Here, take these and drink up.”
Gretchen took a sip and swallowed the pills. When she began to lower the mug, Montague raised it again, making sure she drank the rest of the water. “The herbs will dry your body. You need it,” he said.
“Montague La-Rose, caretaker of the world!” said Gretchen. “Who cares for you when you get sick? Not me, I know.”
“I don’t have time to be sick.”
Gretchen tilted her head and glared. “Not too late tonight. You have an early morning. The king’s birthday is tomorrow,” she said, walking to the door.
“No. I won’t…. Thank you for everything. And feel better.”
“Goodnight,” said Gretchen.
Montague stood in the doorway and watched Gretchen walk over to the castle. It was only yards from the library, but he always made sure she made it back safely.
During a break from the rain, the four wandering stars were visible through small gaps in the clouds. It amazed Montague every time he saw those four lights. Burton once told him that they were actually portals to other planets. Those were the gates in which extradimensional beings used to travel in and out of worlds from the heavens above. In Gabriel’s Diary, Gabriel also claimed that he had to pass through a portal to get from Planet Enot to Naan. The other billions of fixed stars represented the souls of every living being on Naan, from the smallest parasite to the highest king. On clear nights, the stars and moons decorated the sky with a cosmic dance of beautiful light.
The cold, wet summer lasted longer than usual. But Montague could smell the coming change in the air.
Alongside the powder white moon was the home of the Nekrums. It was a ship or biosphere, equipped with weapons that were capable of splitting a world in half. But without the Volpi gene, Montague knew that destroying the planet was not an option for them, not yet.
The diary referred to the sphere as the Moon of Disorder, and its presence generated a negative influence on the inhabitants’ minds, causing emotional instability. When the Nekrum biosphere had arrived on Naan, adding a second giant mass to the planet, it scrambled the orbiting pattern of Naan’s natural moon. Even the climate altered due to the disruption, adding weeks or sometimes months to a season.
Clues to the Nekrums plan could only be found in The Book of Volpi. First, Montague turned to where he’d left off in the astronomy section and poured a small portion of the crushed charcoal onto the first page of chapter sixteen, verse thirty-four and brushed it across with his hand, highlighting what was washed-out.
Montague searched for any kind of upcoming planetary alignments that the Nekrums might be following, hoping to glean a pattern in their random timing of attacks. They would only be victim to time if they were using celestial influence to make their attacks more effective.
The black powder outlined a constellation chart. He immediately recognized the star alignments.
Tomorrow night, the stars will be positioned the same as they were when the king was born eight years ago. Montague feared another attack. But the Nekrums followed no ceremonial dates for war, Montague remembered Burton telling him. Could his teacher have missed this? There were thousands of pages of corrupt writing left unread and it would take years to read all of the material in their entirety. If only his sensei would return, Montague thought.
Studying the Nekrum’s writings in The Book of Volpi, Montague had nothing but his intuition to evaluate what was true and what was manipulated. Burton had said that there were truths within the lies. If something was completely false, people would know deep down in their hearts and never truly accept it. But if there were fragments of truth within a false story, it would be easier to believe. The manipulation was meant to limit people’s questions and keep them in the dark about the Nekrum’s invasion. But I have too many questions now, Montague thought; even ones that he never thought to ask his sensei when he had the chance. Maybe, Burton had left some helpful information behind.
In Gabriel’s Diary there were two sets of inscriptions: one written in ink explained Gabriel’s journey coming from a different world, and another part
, invisible to the ordinary eye, detailed the architecture of spiritual lifecycles.
Although the written information in the diary provided the true history of the human race of Naan, the more ancient story of the heavenly angels and the demons from the abyss could be found between the printed letters. Montague had to read the gaps between the inks where each space shaped its own letter of the angelic language.
Now the only person in the world he knew who could interpret angelic language, he felt the weight of mankind’s conflict pressing down on him.
Spending years learning ancient mysteries from Burton Lang, Montague realized that most magic was simply an advanced science, not yet understood by the minds of their current world documented in books. Powders, potions, and crystals were just chemicals and structures that did things that only appeared to be impossible. But instead of using this chemistry for developing the civil world, the Nekrums had used it as a weapon of destruction.
The technology of Naan couldn’t protect Man from a threat so powerful, not alone.
Montague had assisted Burton in a plea to the high heavens for help and hoped that an angel was coming. These advanced entities were ascended masters made of pure light, equipped with abilities such as: telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, flight, and materialization—appearing in and out of physicality. In physical form, the diary referred to them as—wizards.
In the past, angels had a problem descending to the planet. The Nekrums had quarantined Naan, forestalling any divine being from entering the physical world. The quarantine secured an astral barrier extending up hundreds of miles into the sky like an interior dome that filtered divine light.
Montague’s sensei had been able to descend before the invaders arrived. Born and raised by the Lang family, Burton had been hidden among peasants. After suffering from amnesia for six years, the memory of his true identity returned. But then the angel needed assistance from the people on the ground who knew the truth. The ground crew called themselves, the Divine Alliance. And Montague had been indoctrinated into that alliance as a child, yet he still didn’t know how to break the quarantine. As long as the Nekrums controlled the planet’s etheric body, angels would not be able to incarnate.
Rayne Volpi, the last known Volpi, appeared different from any other human on Naan. Montague could only guess that either he was the angel that he and Burton had called upon, or he had indeed been cursed by the mage during his birth, inviting a demon to reside in the consciousness of the prince; only so the Nekrums could control the entity, and the boy. Montague felt overwhelmed at the power he was up against. Divine magic was different than organic magic, the advanced chemistry that he understood. Angels or ‘wizards’ could harness liquid light, the substance that formed the heavens. Although the Nekrums had discovered how to manipulate the elements with their technology, if divine light was controlled by evil, it could be deadly.
Every time Montague looked up at the auburn moon, he was reminded of the responsibility that he now carried as one of the last surviving members of the alliance. How can I carry this burden alone, he thought? What if my best isn’t good enough?
The first light of a mid-autumn morning barely lit the mud-gray sky. Montague La-Rose escorted Indrid Cole; the seventeen-year-old orphaned count of Grale, through the second-floor hallway of the Ikarus castle. With the shadow of his father’s beard, Indrid looked more and more like him every day. They were meeting Gretchen and Anna Lott, the young girl from Mern, at the handmaid’s quarters before the king’s birthday celebration.
“Monte, can I ask you something?” asked Indrid. Now a member of the Ikarus Guard, he wore boiled leather under armor, even when off duty.
“Of course,” said Montague.
“Rayne is eight years old now. But…he doesn’t look it, or act like it. Instead of skipping stones or taking on a skill such as sword fighting or archery, like most children his age, he’d rather read or sit in the gardens and draw pictures of the scenery. He can outwit any educated man in the kingdom. I swear his head should be bigger than it is to hold a brain so complex. Then, there is his body size. If he is almost my height now, he’ll be a giant by the time he’s my age. We won’t even need an army.” Indrid laughed. “Will he become king before he turns eighteen?”
“Well, he is the king. And we’ve discussed his condition. There is no doubt that he is maturing faster than most people, physically and mentally. But the law states that his rule commences when he turns eighteen, just as you have to wait. Until then, Alexandal acts as steward of the throne. Only a month from now, you will return to Grale and rule your kingdom,” Montague told him.
The Graleon boy had spent too long in Ikarus, Montague thought. The plan had been to care for the children, Indrid, and Anna, the youngest Mern and cousin of the royal Lott family, for a short time; only as long as it took to rebuild their homelands and secure the safety of both kingdoms. The restoration took only fifteen months. So far, Indrid and Anna, along with her relatives, had been kept at Ikarus for eight years by order of Lord Alexandal.
Indrid’s voice rose with excitement, “Will I return on my eighteenth birthday? That very day?” he asked.
“On that day, you are the one to make that decision. You are the heir to the Graleon throne,” Montague said, “Unless you object and choose to stay here with us.” He winked.
“I’ll be a good count,” Indrid said.
“No. Be a great count. And all great counts must know the very histories of Grale that I’ve been trying to teach you,” Montague said, frowning. He thought maybe Indrid would get the hint that he needed to pay more attention to his studies. “It’s not fighting experience or brute strength that gives leaders power, its knowledge.”
“I’ll leave studying to the scholars.” Indrid looked away. “I’m a warrior.”
“Many Graleon counts were once warriors,” said Montague. “But to lead people and defend a throne takes more than just the might of a man. It demands good judgment; when to fight and when to yield, when to give and when to take. Good judgment is gained from experience, and when one lacks experience, one must refer to second hand information—the documents and journals I’ve asked you to read hundreds of times. You may be a fine warrior, but your knowledge of history and political affairs is minimal.”
Indrid ignored the comment and walked ahead of him.
At the end of the hall there was an airy sound of a flute reverberating from Gretchen’s room. The door was open. On the opposite side of the hallway was a rack holding a rainbow of dresses. She paraded in and out of the room carrying different colored fabrics.
Montague recognized the melody of the song. It was called The Merlyn Sound, a song about the mythical Mern kingdom that existed leagues under the sea. Then, the progression of the flute stumbled to a crashing stop.
“Again,” said Gretchen. The flute continued.
“I’m surprised you’re early,” Gretchen said looking at Montague. I just came down from waking the birthday boy and preparing breakfast.” She turned to Indrid, who was quick to enter the doorway, and kissed him on the cheek. “Good morning, love. I have a shirt for you. We’ll have to take some measurements to fit it. Come.” She took his hand and led him inside the room over near a tall mirror.
The flute came to a controlled stop.
When Montague walked in, Anna Lott, now a sixteen-year-old lady, stood in his way. Her hair shone as if it reflected the sun. Most Merns had very light hair, almost white. But Anna’s was brilliantly blonde.
“Is Burton Lang still alive?” she asked Montague.
“What?” he couldn’t believe Anna was asking him about Burton. Aside from Gretchen, he hadn’t heard anyone say that name aloud in years. He wished he knew that his sensei was still alive and where he was. But he didn’t. And talking about him made Montague uncomfortable. To the civilized world, the name Burton Lang was synonymous with evil.
As Gretchen buttoned Indrid’s shirt, she gave Montague an I-told-you-so look. She’d warned him that the
children would start asking questions once they were educated. Allowing them to use his old textbooks with information that had been deleted from the education system had given them a different perspective of history. The name Burton Lang had been deleted from public records thirty odd years ago. But this was Montague’s way of exposing them to the information.
Unlike Indrid, Anna was a regular reader. It had been only a matter of time for her to start asking questions.
“I read the story of Burton Lang, the one who built the original three kingdoms of men; Illyrium, Grale, and Mern, using sticks and sounds. He supposedly cut off the summit of Ikarus Mountain, creating the plateau,” said Anna. “Greta told me that you knew him. Is that true?”
“I did. Long ago.”
“He was exiled?” asked Anna.
Montague’s gut coiled with nervousness. “He was.”
“When I was younger you told me that you knew a wizard. Was he the wizard?”
Montague forced a laugh. “Bedtime stories, my dear. I’m sure I told you that I went on adventures with trolls and giants too, probably fairies as well.”
“Why was he exiled?”
“You’re next!” Gretchen said to Anna, taking her by the hand. “Monte and Indrid are going to get Rayne while I finish doing your hair. We’ll be late.”
Montague took advantage of Gretchen’s intentional intervention. She glared at him. “Let’s go lad,” he said to Indrid. “The king is waiting.” He stepped out into the hallway then turned back, remembering to tell Anna, “It sounds like that flute is a little out of tune. I repaired yours for you. It’s on my desk.”
“Thank you, Monte!” she replied.
Indrid paused, then looked back at Anna, “I’ll see you there, my lady.” He smiled.
Under a Veil of Gods Page 11
