“Ah, yes.” John said with a slight smile. “He always was a protective sort. When the wizards caught wind of what he’d done, they knew he would be powerful.”
As bored as he was with the entry, Justan had to admit that it was impressive. There was a lightning storm one day when Artemus was twelve. The school house was struck while the children were inside. The building caught fire and before the teachers inside knew, they were trapped. Artemus had been stuck outside while his friends were trapped within. He blacked out and when he woke, the building had burned. The mourning parents started clearing away the rubble, expecting to find nothing but bodies, but everyone was alive. Each child and teacher had been protected by an individual dome of ice while the building burned around them.
“But why does it bother showing me the same entry?” Justan asked. “I’ve already read it.”
The prophet shrugged. “The spirit within must think that’s what Artemus would want you to know. For me it keeps cutting between his recipe for pine nut corn cakes and the day I prophesied that he would be instrumental in destroying the Dark Prophet.” He sighed. “I suppose it thinks he would be mad at me because he didn’t make it there with the rest of us.”
Justan blinked. The prophet had made a prophecy that hadn’t come true? He opened his mouth to ask about it, but there was a soft knock on the door.
“Ah, our next guest,” John said. “Darlan would you be so kind as to pour me another cup of tea?”
Justan answered the door as she did so.
“Justan,” Jhonate said, cheerfully. “Are you ready to run?”
“Uh, sure, but would you mind coming in for a minute first?” he said.
She gave him a warning scowl that told him she wasn’t going to let him get out of his training, but that scowl faded when she saw who was sitting at the table. The look on her face turned more expectant, almost eager. “Mister Prophet, sir.”
“Please have a seat, Jhonate,” he said. “I’m sure Edge wouldn’t mind if you took his chair. Would you like some tea?”
“I would,” Jhonate replied as she slid into the seat Justan had vacated. “Is it the same kind you made last time, Darlan? That was quite good.”
Darlan beamed at the compliment. “Why no. It’s similar, but I cut back on the mint and added dried honstule leaves.”
Justan sighed. He hadn’t thought it possible, but he was actually starting to get tired of honstule. The vegetable had grown quite quickly in the Mage School gardens and had been a hit with the elves. The cooks started putting it into everything after that. Nearly every meal Justan had eaten since awakening from the Scralag’s world had some part of the plant in it.
The prophet gave him a curious glance. “Edge, if you don’t mind me asking, may I see the famous scar that old Artemus has hid himself in?”
“Uh, yes sir.” Justan fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and pulled it open, exposing the frost-covered rune. “Did you know he was here with me when we first met?”
The prophet leaned forward, peering at the rune. “No, I didn’t. I knew there was a frost elemental with you, but I had no idea who it used to be. Quite an oversight on my part, actually.” He reached out with his finger. “I hope you don’t mind?”
At Justan’s nod, John placed his index finger on the rune. A swirl of frost ran up the prophet’s finger, stopping at the second knuckle. The prophet gave a slight frown and Justan felt a strange warmth in the rune that gave him a shiver. After a few seconds, the prophet removed his finger. Justan looked down but the rune seemed unchanged.
“It does appear that he was a bit upset,” John said with a sad smile. “I explained myself and he feels a bit better about it. I was glad to see that you’ve jolted his mind. After two hundred years I don’t know if he will be able to regain full control of the elemental he’s become, but if you keep working with him, I think he may get better.”
The flood of questions that filled Justan’s mind were interrupted by another rap at the door.
“Oh, good,” John said, rubbing his hands together. “We’re waiting for just one more then.”
Justan opened the door again, thinking how crowded the small room was going to be. His eyebrows rose at the identity of the visitor. “Alfred . . . good morning.”
The gnome’s gaunt face looked frantic with worry. “I heard a rumor that the prophet was sighted within the walls. Have you seen him? The guards said he went this way.”
“Come in, Alfred,” John said, turning in his chair to motion the gnome in.
Alfred stepped in quickly. “John, you must come with me. Latva is still ill. The wizards say they have taken all the poison out of his body, but they don’t know why he isn’t waking up!”
The prophet stood and placed a comforting hand on the gnome’s shoulder. “I will go to him shortly. Please join us in the meantime. We are waiting for one more visitor and it shouldn’t take long.”
The door to Justan’s parents’ bedroom creaked open and Faldon poked his head out. The warrior looked bleary eyed. He had been up late at a council meeting the night before. Valtrek was fairly certain that the identity of their spy had been discovered and with the news that Ewzad was in Sampo, they had been furiously going over defensive plans.
“Good morning,” Faldon said. “My, we have a lot of visit-.” His eyes opened wide when he saw the prophet standing by the table.
“Good morning, Faldon,” John said. “I am sorry to impose. I have something I want to discuss and we are waiting for one more.”
Faldon stepped into the room. “But if you’re here . . . then the attack is coming soon. How much time do we have?”
“I will discuss that later,” the prophet said with an assuring smile. “This meeting is of a different nature.” He paused and glanced back at the gnome. “Why Alfred, you’re carrying your sword again.”
The gnome’s grip tightened on the cane that served as the sheath for his blade. “I have been . . . lax in my training. If I hadn’t forsaken my sword, I may have been able to stop the beast before it struck Latva down.”
“Ah, good, so you’re training again as well,” John surmised.
“Yes,” said Alfred. “As I must.”
“Perhaps then I could get you to reconsider standing before the bowl,” the prophet suggested. “With your sword runed, your prowess would only increase.”
The gnome stiffened. “That won’t be necessary.”
John shook his head, his smile amused as he sat back down and picked up his tea. He took a sip and glanced at Justan. “Being named wasn’t always so rare, you know. And it shouldn’t be now.”
“Then why is it?” Jhonate asked cocking her head with interest.
“People come to the Bowl of Souls for the wrong reasons, mostly,” John replied. “Most who come before the bowl to be named see it as the ultimate acknowledgement of their power or skill. The belief has spread that being skilled or powerful is the only requirement.” He shook his head, taking another sip. “But while those things are usually true of people who are named, that’s not what the bowl is looking for.”
“It isn’t?” Justan asked, confused. That’s what he had been told.
“You of all people should know that, Edge,” John said. “It’s the Bowl of Souls, not the Bowl of Skills. When you stand in front of the bowl, it assesses you to see two things. First, are you the type of person that could be of use to the goals of the bowl, and second, are you the type of person that will do the right thing when it is asked of you?”
Justan frowned. “Then why is it so rare to be named?” Those requirements seem to fit most of the academy warriors he knew.
“People don’t try as much anymore. There used to be a line outside the Rune Tower most mornings as people waited for their turn at the bowl. That’s why we had to put in the rule that warriors could only stand before the bowl once. Some men would try every week!” The prophet sighed. “Nowadays, the bowl sees . . . how many, Alfred?”
The gnome shrugged. “A cou
ple a week, unless the wizards are having a ceremony.”
“Why do you think that is?” Justan asked, frowning.
“Some people, like your father,” he said, glancing at Faldon. “Don’t think they’re worthy, and some people,” He gestured to Alfred and Darlan. “Just don’t want the responsibility.”
Justan was surprised to see all three of them looked away. “You’re telling me that if father, mother, and Alfred stood before the Bowl of Souls they would be named?”
“I am not the one who makes the decision, but I would think so. They definitely meet the requirement,” John said.
“Father,” Justan said, his expression perplexed. “Why don’t you do it?”
“It’s . . .” Faldon scratched his head. “I’m not as good a person as people think I am, son, you know that.”
“That’s not true,” Darlan said, glaring at him.
“The prophet knows how I used to be,” he said.
“Faldon, that was eighty years ago. You put that life behind you,” John said.
“Eighty years!” Justan exclaimed. Did he even know his parents anymore?
There was another knock at the door.
“I’ll get that,” Faldon said, avoiding Justan’s eyes, and as he opened the door Justan knew he was hoping it was someone calling him away. Well it didn’t matter. Justan would find out the truth soon enough. He was going to dig all their little secrets out so that this kind of thing didn’t happen again.
Tolivar was standing at the door looking a little confused. “I-uh. I know it sounds a bit strange, but I just had a really strong feeling that I should come and visit you this morning.”
“Good, Tolivar,” said the prophet. “That means you are listening. Come in so we can get started. There is so much to do today.”
“John, you’re back!” Tolivar stepped in, looking unsure of what was going on. “Uh, good morning everyone.”
“Now, John, can you finally tell us why you wanted everyone here?” Darlan asked.
“Of course,” John leaned back in the chair and took another sip of his tea. “I have a story to finish. Before this battle begins I think it’s important you understand the true nature of Mellinda.”
Chapter Thirty Two
“Mellinda? Why are we the only ones here, then?” Alfred said. “We’re missing several people that were here for the other story.”
“All the people that most need to know this part are here,” John explained. “And our time is short. The moment I walk into the Rune Tower there are going to be other demands on my time. You bonding wizards can relate the story to your bonded for me. Other than that, I trust your judgment as for who should know.”
“Then tell us, sir,” Jhonate said, leaning forward. She placed her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together. “I must know how the witch came to be buried under that tree.”
The prophet chuckled. “Very well. When last we spoke of Mellinda she had left Stardeon to see what she could learn from the Dark Prophet. She left because she was frightened. She was frightened that she had lost some of the intelligence her bond with Dixie had given her and also scared to bond again. Considering how badly her last bonds had ended, she didn’t trust another being to share her thoughts and even more, she didn’t trust herself.
“When she arrived at his palace, I am sure that the Dark Prophet was happy to see this fear in her. Fear is one of his favorite tools to use, you see, because it is a great motivator. It’s an emotion that overrides sense and reason.
“When Mellinda arrived, he fostered that fear in her. He fed it. He convinced her that a true bond was too dangerous for her; that the friendship and companionship the bond offers was an unwelcome prospect to someone as untrustworthy as her. Even more, he convinced her that the best way to get back what she had lost was to take it.”
“And she believed him?” Jhonate asked.
“Not at first, I’m sure,” the prophet said. He drained his drink and handed the cup back to Darlan. “Could you fill that one last time, dear? Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Remember that Mellinda had allowed herself to walk down that dark and selfish path before and falling into darkness is a lot easier the second time.
“When the Dark Prophet felt she was ready, he had his servants bring in a gnome. My sources were not able to tell me the gnome’s name, but he was a scholar who had been in the Dark Prophet’s service for some time. The Dark Prophet dragged this gnome before Mellinda in chains and began telling her a litany of the gnome’s crimes. The gnome’s focus had been in the dark side of spirit magic you see, and his sins were terrible I’m sure. So the Dark Prophet convinced Mellinda to hate this gnome; to despise this gnome more than she despised herself. Then he told her to reach out with her magic and bond with the gnome. She could do it quickly. He convinced her that she could take the gnome’s intelligence, hollow him out and then leave him empty and harmless, unable to hurt another living soul.”
Justan found himself wincing in distaste. “But could she even do that? Can the bond work that way?”
“Not with the Creator’s power involved, no,” John said. “But remember, she had removed the Creator’s control over the bond. She could wield it as she wished. And that is what she did. She reached into the gnome and bonded with him. Their bond was as real as any bond of yours. Then, as the Dark Prophet instructed her, Mellinda absorbed his every talent, every scrap of his intelligence and skill. When she cut the bond between them the gnome was little more than a drooling husk.”
John glanced around at the expressions of the faces of the people he had gathered and gave them a grim nod. “I see that you understand the gravity of what she did. Whatever her emotional state, no matter how foul the deeds of this gnome, the thing the Dark Prophet convinced her to do was the purest of evil. The bond is a sharing. A sharing of talents. A sharing of souls. She took that beautiful gift and turned it into thievery.”
“But when she ended the bond with the gnome, wouldn’t the intelligence she had taken fade?” Tolivar asked.
“No. The Dark Prophet taught her how to accomplish a permanent theft of the gnomes intelligence. Mellinda felt the horrible nature of what she had done. But she had also increased her intelligence far more than she had dreamed. And to be truthful, it wasn’t just her intelligence, but her capacity for thought that increased. It was an exhilarating experience for her; an addictive one.
“The Dark Prophet knew he had her then. She wanted more. So he brought her more prisoners and she sucked them dry as well. Together they went over a list of her weaknesses and found ways to overcome them. She roamed the countryside, doing the Dark Prophet’s bidding as she searched for those whose powers she could steal.
“Over time she became stronger than a giant, faster than a horse. She went from species to species, looking for some aspect she could absorb. Her powers grew until she was truly god-like.”
Alfred was wearing a deep frown. “But John, how could she do that with the bond? The talents and abilities we gain from the bond can’t take us past the physical limits of our race. Sir Edge will never be as strong as Fist and I’ll never be as strong as Charz.”
“Those limits had been torn away by her perversion of the bond. Perhaps I’ve been unclear. She wasn’t just taking their abilities. She was taking the aspects of their race she liked. She took the life magic from an elf. She took the toughness of a dwarf. She took the ability to breathe underwater from a merman. She took the power to exude heat from her very skin just like a bandham. Do you see now? Though she had human form, Mellinda was no longer human.”
He shook his head. “Those were dark days. The average people in the populous had no idea who she was, but the leaders of every kingdom and Mage School in the known lands grew to fear her. None of them knew her as Mellinda of course. For them she was known as the Dark Goddess.”
“The Dark Goddess,” Darlan paled. “My mother used to scare me as a child with tales of her. She was a woman more beautiful than any other woman who
could destroy any warrior, no matter how tough, and destroy any wizard, no matter how powerful. And if a child was bad, she would come at night and suck the living soul from your body.”
The prophet laughed. “Well, the parts about her power were true, but of course, she had no need to steal the souls of children. It was the powerful that needed to fear her. At least that’s the way it was in the beginning. After a while she grew bored. There were none who could challenge her. No one with a power she did not have. The only place she didn’t dare attack was the Mage School and that’s because she knew that it was under my protection.
“At one point, the Dark Prophet declared she was to be his bride. But that thought didn’t please her. She began to ignore his wishes. After all, why did she need him? His powers seemed weak in comparison to hers. Instead she focused on a little thought that had festered in her mind for years. She thought of revenge. There was one group of people that had wronged her in the past and she wanted them punished.”
Jhonate’s hands flew to her mouth. “The Roo!”
The prophet nodded. “She decided to destroy the people that had rejected her. She decided to conquer Malaroo. But to do it alone would have been tedious. So she bent her mind to building an army.”
“She became the Troll Queen,” Jhonate said through clenched teeth. “All this time I thought she had been destroyed.” Justan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“You understand now,” John said. He looked around at the rest of them. “Mellinda built an army of trolls, creatures that were barely a nuisance back then. But she infused them with her magic to make them stronger and hungrier and less intelligent. Then she farmed them until she had hundreds of thousands of the creatures, all of them under the control of her vast mind. She brought them out of the mountains of Razbeck and invaded Malaroo.”
“But the Roo fought her,” Jhonate growled. “They were a proud people, strong with the gifts of the spirit. They drove her back.”
“You know your people’s history. That’s good, because I told them not to forget,” John said. He picked up his cup, but the tea was no longer hot and with a somewhat regretful look, he set it down.
The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat Page 38
