by Jordan Baker
"I do," Ehlena said. "It is strange to see it now, fallen from what it once was. I see the images of people I once knew, faces from the past, places that are now little more than echoes of what they were." She looked at the god, who walked beside her. "They are not my memories but I know them as though they are. That is strange enough at times."
"I would imagine so," Stroma replied. "I find it strange as well."
Ehlena chose not to say anything, though she knew what he meant. Stroma and the Lady, the goddess Ayra, had been companions over the ages, and in some ways they might have been considered husband and wife, and she retained memories of all that went along with such a relationship. It was something she and the Lady had spoken about at length as they had become one, with Ayra hoping that the experiences of her own life would not affect Ehlena's feelings and choices with regard to her own.
"There," Stroma said, pointing ahead toward several large, pillared buildings that came together to make an ancient palace of sorts. "The old structure still stands."
"I thought this place would be teeming with mages," Ehlena said. "Even though the stones of the island obscure power from the outside world, the wind still travels across its surface and it has become very quiet here, and I have heard little."
"I was here, some time ago," Stroma said. "There were many mages here but they did not see me for I was not myself at the time. It is strange that we have not encountered any of them, but perhaps many of the mage priests have gone to Maramyr to work in service to Kenra for the monstrosity he is planning."
"I have heard many of their voices in the city of late, but until this day I heard voices here as well, but now they are silent," Ehlena said and then she saw something and ran ahead.
Gathered around a dais atop which sat an altar was a group of fallen mage priests, strewn upon the ground and looking as though they had collapsed. What shocked Ehlena most was how they looked. It was as though they had been completely drained, not just of their power, but of their life energy as well, their skin pulled tight and gaunt underneath, like dried carcasses that had been baked in the sun. One of them coughed, a dry hack, and Ehlena jumped back, startled that someone could still be alive in such a state.
"Please stop," whispered the mage, who Ehlena realized was a young woman, who now looked like an ancient crone, her eyes turned milky with blindness. She knelt down next to the woman, careful not to touch her, and knowing that even if her eyes could see, she and Stroma had obscured themselves from being seen by anyone who might look in their direction, even with magic.
"What a horrific thing," Stroma commented, carefully reaching out with his power and shifting his vision. He saw the faint line of power that still pulsed from the mage, leading off in the distant direction of Maramyr and knew that Kenra had taken her power to the point that her life energy was being taken as well. The same thing appeared to have already been done to the other mages who were now little more than husks upon the ground.
"Kenra has done this," Ehlena said.
"He uses the magic of the book," Stroma said. "It was not meant for such a purpose. It was intended for the opposite of this."
"Did you not take the book from Maramyr? How can he still take their power without it?"
"The power of the book creates the connection," Stroma explained. "Once it is done, the book is no longer necessary to maintain it."
"But the connection can be broken using the book," Ehlena commented, reminding him of what he had told her and the others.
"Yes," Stroma said. "The magic of the book is required, but Kenra has twisted it with death magic, so the bond cannot be broken so easily."
"What troubles this book has created," Ehlena said, frowning at the god as the misgivings of the goddess whirled around in her mind. "It was a mistake to create it in the first place."
"It was not created for this purpose," Stroma said. "You know this."
"I do," Ehlena said. "Yet, it is terrifying what Kenra has done with it."
"Yes, it is," he said as he knelt next to the dying mage priest and watched as the line of power that bound her to the dark god faded and disconnected, the woman's energy no longer enough to sustain it.
Now that she was no longer connected to Kenra, Stroma placed his hand on her forehead and let a small amount of power flow into her. The woman gasped and her eyes opened wide as her consciousness returned and the image of the god appeared in her vision.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"You know who I am," Stroma said, his voice as calm and reassuring as he could make it. "There is an echo of your footsteps in my temple from long ago, where you would visit often before you turned to the black cloth. You remember now."
"I do," she replied, then tears began to stream down her leathery cheeks. The woman rolled onto her side, curling up and burying her face in the black cloth of her robes. "Please, do not look upon me."
"There is no shame," Stroma said. "You did not willingly embrace the dark power. I have seen your thoughts and I know the truth."
"Forgive me," she said. "I was not strong enough."
"You never stopped fighting his power," Ehlena said and the woman sighed between her sobs and looked up toward her. Ehlena felt the tentative touch of the woman's magic, briefly rekindled by Stroma's gift, reaching out to her, curious at who she might be, who would accompany the god, and her tears began anew when she recognized her power.
"You have returned," she said, her face cracking into a painful smile. She closed her eyes and lay back upon the ground. "The gods have returned. Blessings be upon us."
"Rest now," Stroma said, and they watched as the last wisp of energy ebb from the mage as her essence flickered and died. Stroma looked up at Ehlena with a dark expression, his eyes like thunderstorms. "So little remained of her, only that small part that once held to my name. Kenra steals everything, their power, their thoughts, their minds and even their bodies."
"Come," Ehlena said. "We must search for the book."
Stroma closed the woman's eyes and they both rose and continued onward toward the tall structure at the center of the island, the last surviving evidence of what once was, long ago, the place the mages continued to make their studies into the mysteries of magic. They walked between the high pillars that marked the entrance to the main building and into a cavernous hall, ignoring the numerous piles of black cloth scattered in various places, with limbs and horrified faces peering out from underneath.
"It is here," Stroma said, stepping over another fallen mage lying at the threshold of another chamber. "I can feel it up ahead."
Inside were rows upon rows of high shelves, lined with innumerable books and scrolls, a treasure trove for any scholar, the repository of knowledge gathered by countless generations of mages. Past the stacks of books at a large table, sat a mage under a black cowl with his hand on a single, leather bound book that lay upon surface of the table. Scattered all around him were more dead mages, but they were not drawn and gaunt like the others, and from the scorch marks and spatters of blood on the glossy stone floor, it was obvious they had been killed by the mage, and recently, it seemed.
Stroma and Ehlena approached slowly, fairly certain that the mage would not be able to see them for they had once again concealed their power, and he showed no sign of noticing their approach. They could both see a strange aura of energy surrounding the mage and his power was concentrated where his hand rested atop the book. Stroma stepped closer to him and looked down at the book.
"The book is closed, face down and turned top to bottom," he said. "If the book were in its original state, this mage would have freed himself from its power by this method."
"What is he doing?" Ehlena asked. "It is as though he is frozen in the middle of some kind of spell."
Stroma lifted the mage's hood and pushed it back over his head, revealing yet another gaunt face that had been stripped of life, except that the mage's eyes moved, and his head even tilted a little as he looked around with a panicked expression.
"Who is there?" he rasped, his voice dry and harsh, echoing in the silence of the cavernous library.
"He is alive," Ehlena said.
"Yes, and he senses our presence," Stroma said, leaning and looking closely at the mage. "It is very strange. The connection to Kenra has been broken, as though he has passed the point of death, but he is still trapped by the power of the book itself. If I am not mistaken, this man is already dead, and yet somehow, some part of him still lives."
"Will Kenra see us if we reveal ourselves?"
"No," Stroma said. "So long as the book remains closed, he will see nothing, but it is better that you remain hidden. I suspect Kenra has already sensed my power in the world, so it matters little if I reveal myself to this mage."
Stroma released the energy that obscured his presence and the mage saw him appear right in front of him, standing next to the table where he sat, trapped and unable to move.
"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I know the face of almost every mage and I do not recognize you."
"I am no mage," Stroma said. "You may not know me, Dakar, but I know who you are."
"Have you come to kill me?" Dakar asked. "Cerric sent you, didn't he? He knows."
"Cerric does not have the power to command me," Stroma said. "And no, I have not come to kill you, Dakar. I have come for the book."
"The book is useless," he said.
"I see you have attempted to free yourself from it," Stroma said. "I also see that your attempts have failed."
"There is no way to be free of its power," Dakar scoffed. "I have tried magics that are known to no living mage, secret spells from distant ages, forbidden powers that only I have discovered, and nothing has worked. Cerric, and this god within him, have doomed us all."
"You would lay this at the feet of this king Cerric?" Stroma asked, his skepticism thick in his voice. "Were you not the one who found the books and spread their power across the lands? Are you not the one who first communed with Kenra, the one who opened the path that brought him into this world?"
"You know many things," Dakar hissed, his eyes turning suspicious for a moment, then his frustration returned. "What shall I say? I was mistaken? I was a fool? It matters not. I suffer no illusions, not anymore, and I care little for blame. Kill me if you will. I welcome death."
"No," Stroma said, leaning in toward him and looking him in the eye, his voice becoming deeper and more powerful as he spoke. "Death is too good for you, Dakar. This little trap you have found yourself in must be sheer torture, existing in a lifeless corpse, unable to move, to do anything except to sit there and feel your body slowly begin to decompose. What will it feel like when your flesh finally turns to dust and only your bones remain. Will it be painful? Surely that chair upon you sit cannot be comfortable. How long before it becomes excruciating. Do you feel pain in this state, Dakar?"
"Did you come here to scoff at me?" Dakar asked, his voice growing angry. "Is that why you have come, to take the book and laugh at my fate? Take it and go. Either kill me or leave me in peace. But torment me no more."
"Why should I do what you say?"
"What do you want of me?" Dakar asked, his voice a low rasp.
"I want nothing of you, but you deserve to suffer," Stroma said and his voice rumbled with power that reverberated through the library like dark thunder.
"Then you already have your wish," Dakar said. "Yes, this chair is terribly uncomfortable, if you must ask, and it is very painful and sickening to feel one's innards turning to mush, and it happens surprisingly quickly. Do you know what it feels like to rot from the inside?"
"No, I do not," Stroma told him. "I would think that you would be accustomed to such a thing, with the choices you have made."
"How amusing," Dakar sneered. "And I hope it amuses you, whoever you are. Now, if you don't mind, I have some dying and rotting to do and I would prefer to do it without your pestering. Take the blasted book and begone."
Stroma raised his hand to strike the mage but Ehlena touched his arm.
"It is enough," she said, her voice silent to the mage. "He is trapped here, and his pain and fear are plain to see."
"You would strike at someone who is defenseless," Dakar yelled. "That is the sure mark of a coward!"
"You have no right to speak such words!" Stroma thundered, pushing Ehlena's hand away and raising his hand once again. "You and your god have made slaves of so many with the twisted power of this book, and you have killed countless others, few of them with the power to defend themselves, and you would dare speak of cowardice?"
"No, you speak the truth of it," Dakar said, licking his dry lips with his brittle tongue. "I do not have that right. Strike me if you will."
Stroma paused.
"I am trapped here," Dakar said, his voice cracking in desperation, his body barely to move, but trembling nonetheless. "I know this, for I know the ways of magic and I know what I have done. I am caught at the moment of death and cannot free myself, and this predicament is entirely of my own making. I know this, and I am at your mercy and the mercy of anyone who might happen upon me. That is the truth if you must know.
"I thought myself to be clever, that I could gain the favor of a god and become powerful, but I learned the truth of that power, of the lies that bind and twist tighter with every step. But this is not the first trap I have fallen into. I have been trapped ever since I found that accursed book, and though I may be stuck here in this dying, rotting corpse, which is a fate I likely deserve for the things I have done, many of them willingly, it is far better than being touched the dark power for even a moment longer."
"Is it within your power to free him?" Ehlena asked Stroma.
"It is," he replied. "It will require the magic of the book, and it is not without risk so I would rather not."
"Who do you speak to?" Dakar asked.
"That is none of your concern, mage," Stroma told him.
"If we take the book, even if we destroy it, will he be trapped like this forever or will he be released?" Ehlena asked.
"It appears that this trap he is caught was created in part by the book, but is not sustained by it," Stroma said as he took a closer look at the power that remained within the mage. "What has happened here should not be possible, but the spell circles in upon itself. It is a strange form of immortality, though it appears that the price of it is being trapped in almost perfect stasis. Tell me, mage, how did you achieve this."
"It is an old magic, a spell that would allow one to be in more than once place at the same time," Dakar said. "I simply created my second self within myself instead of separating the two."
"Clever, but doing such a thing is not so simple. I know of this magic, and it is very painful to split your essence," Stroma said. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"Why?" Dakar was incredulous. "To stop him from knowing my every thought and to try to free myself. Why else?"
"But you were a loyal follower," Stroma said. "Under the power of the book, Kenra would have known your thoughts and he would have perceived what you were planning to do."
"He did not know," Dakar said. "This is a magic I learned long ago, before I found the book, and created a hidden place with it, for my thoughts and the forbidden things I learned. When Cerric was busy with the war in Kandara, I came here to this island and discovered that the bond was weak and could be broken for a time. That was when I took the part of my mind where I kept my secrets and created this place within my thoughts, imbuing it with all of my knowledge and a small measure of my power, not enough that he would notice, but enough to sustain myself, a refuge where I could continue to work on freeing myself."
"And this refuge has now become a prison," Stroma commented.
"Sadly, yes," Dakar replied. "That is the truth of it."
"Why not release him?" Ehlena asked. "What good does it serve to keep him thus?"
"It is a fitting punishment for the terrors he has unleashed upon the world. And if I released him, it is unlike
ly that he would survive the day. It would mean his death."
"And then what?" Ehlena asked. "Dakar can do no more harm. I can see how little of his essence remains, and condemning him helps nothing."
Stroma looked at her, and she could tell that his anger was subsiding a little and that he might her suggestion.
"In a way, this is similar to what happened to me, only this mage has retained his full consciousness and his knowledge by remaining within himself, whereas I became like a corporeal spirit, only half in the world, missing pieces of who I was, and unseen by all, with only one odd exception." Stroma sighed. "It was maddening to be cursed in such a way, but I was able to move about and acquire knowledge, and that was enough to continue on from one day to the next. This mage has no such hope."
"Who are you?" Dakar asked again. "You speak of magics that most mages have not even considered. Why do I not know of you?"
"Who do you think I am?" Stroma asked, his voice calm, without a hint of power.
"I can tell that you are powerful," Dakar said. "You hide your power well, but I am no fool."
"Then tell me, Dakar," Stroma said, his voice rumbling with thunder as the library darkened, its high ceilings suddenly brimming with storm clouds and lightning of pure energy crackling in the air. "Who do you think I am?"
Dakar's eyes widened and he felt as though his heart would have burst in his chest if it had not already stopped beating. The power that filled the room was far beyond that of a mage and he knew who it was that stood above him, deliberating his fate with some other, who remained hidden, though he could sense great power in whomever it was.
"Enough," Ehlena said. "Now you are frightening him."
"He deserves to be frightened," Stroma rumbled.
"Perhaps, but now that you have succeeded at that, will you grant him some small mercy?"
"If he wishes mercy, he must ask," Stroma said, letting his power go.
"Is it so simple?" Dakar whispered.
"It is," Stroma told him. "If I choose to believe you, that you ask it with truth."
Dakar thought about the things he had done, even before he had fallen under the spell of the book and the influence of the dark god. He remembered himself as a young mage, not as talented as others, but clever and more determined, driven to become powerful, no matter the cost. And now, here he was, with nothing but an empty shell of a body, barely clinging to life when he should already be dead, helpless despite all his clever schemes.
