by Aaron Gansky
Moloch spoke, his voice a dusty buzz. “The elves practice strange magic, as do humans and dwarves. Today, there may be no power to break your bonds, but the power of the people grows. The book will not be safe here.”
“It must be hidden,” Abaddon said.
“Indeed,” Solous said. Turning to Korodeth, he said, “You must hide the book. Tell no one of its location, even me. The secret must die with you.”
Korodeth whispered in deference. “Your Graciousness, a matter so important cannot be trusted to hands other than your own. I urge you, good king, hide the book yourself. Indeed, is anyone else in the kingdom worthy of such a responsibility?”
“Such a task requires time. I have a kingdom to rebuild, trust between races to establish, and skirmishes to settle. Within the kingdom, there are no hands I trust more than yours, no mind so noble and able, no heart more humble, no wisdom more discerning. You alone are worthy to undertake such a task.”
“If there were another, Your Graciousness. Perhaps one of the assembled angels?”
“This is a matter of men,” Pacha el Nai said. “Adonai has entrusted the book to Solous. It is his to entrust to you.”
Korodeth stood, put fist to heart, and said, “Very well. It will be as you say. With your leave, I will prepare myself for the journey ahead.”
Solous nodded, and Korodeth made his way out the back of the throne room. King Solous turned to the assembled angels, still seated patiently. “Adonai wishes me to use your talents in the establishment of my kingdom?”
“He trusts your will. We are at your disposal,” Maewen said.
Solous pressed his folded hands to his chin. He’d not considered how to use the angels after the war had been won. He’d assumed they’d return to the heavens and not return again until needed. How then, to use battle-scarred angels? How might they help reestablish the kingdom?
They must bring the people to trust in Adonai. A kingdom unified in faith would not fall. Korodeth would say the same thing. “Far be it from me to disagree with Adonai, though I am humbled by such an honor. His Hand has established my kingdom and will hold it fast in his grip. Be His fingers, then, and establish His church among my people. Watch over them. Defend them from the corruptive power of Shedoah.”
“So be it,” Tiamat thundered. “Where shall the churches be established?”
Solous sat, contemplated the map of Alrujah. Much of it would need redrawing, but the land itself, the cities, remained. What was destroyed would be rebuilt. He had only to discern which people would best respond to each angel.
Rising again, his finger on a map, he said, “Maewen. I’ve moved the elves to the island city of Harael. They are devastated from the war, and many still resist the rule of Adonai. They are a stubborn people, but your beauty and graciousness give you the best opportunity to gain their respect. Yesterday, they were our enemies. Today, they are our people; they are Alrujahns. You’ve shown your love for the people, and I pray you do so again.
“Moloch, you have gained the trust of the peoples of the Callbred mountains and forests. Their towns and villages have been ravaged by war. Use your powers to bring them life again.
“Abaddon, your battle prowess has impressed the swamp dwellers of Pellbred. They are a stiff-necked people, but loyal. Guide them in the practice of the worship of Adonai, and the swamp will again flourish.
“Tiamat, the coast of Alrujah will be safe under your watchful eyes. Your powers will protect our sailors and ensure the prosperity of our kingdom. The people of Sylvonya are thirsty for direction. Your strong hand will provide for their needs.
“Belphegor, you led the dwarves, who took up arms with humans to march against the elves. Your leadership helped us secure Dalova. I charge you now, protect the people whose hearts you’ve won, within the bellies of the mountains and hills, to establish the church of Adonai and lead them in the ways of our God.
“Legion, your troops overcame the elven stronghold in Yeval Forest. The people have come to call it the Bleeding Grounds, and they live in fear. Establish a strong presence as we rebuild what the elves accomplished. In Orensdale, you will build the church of Adonai and lead the people in peace as you led them in war.
“And finally, Pacha el Nai. To you, I entrust the very heart of Alrujah. By your hand, you overcame the fist of the elves in Alrujah. With your strength, you oversaw the transfer of the throne. Among all the angels, you shed the least blood but won the most victories. Your wisdom and love of peace must establish the church of Adonai here in Alrujah and Varuth, in Harland and Weileighn. The four cities compose the heart of Alrujah, our very economic and military strength. Keep us from corruption and greed.”
The angels nodded in agreement and vanished with a flourish and shimmer. Solous dismissed his guards and again sat the throne of Alrujah, again felt the weight of the crown. He thought of the children and women and men scrubbing the cobblestone streets of Alrujah.
Adonai, he prayed, accomplish Your will. Protect the book, that Alrujah may never again know war as it has known these long years.
* * *
In the centuries after King Solous’s reign, Alrujah’s fortunes waned. The kingdom had fallen far from the prosperity and peace the fabled king worked so hard to achieve. The problems facing the kingdom weighted Archduke Pentavus Korodeth’s heart.
He knelt on the white marble floor of the throne room of Alrujah. As Captain of the King’s Watch, he was expected to give his report to his king and friend.
Ribillius was the twelfth king in the line of Solous. Korodeth wished the monarch had enough sense to realize what a gratuitous expense it was to sit on a throne fashioned entirely from gold. Ribillius hadn’t fashioned the throne, but he refused to sell it, though the money would feed thousands. Far be it from Korodeth to mention this to his king. Ribillius would rebuff his suggestion as an offense to Adonai. The throne, the monarch was fond of saying, had been established by Adonai himself.
Ribillius stood and waved his guards away. The marble doors closed after them, and the king sat on the steps of the dais. He motioned for Korodeth to sit beside him. “You don’t bring good news anymore,” he said.
“There is little good to report,” Korodeth said carefully.
“I find it hard to believe that in a kingdom the size of Alrujah, your spies can’t find anything positive.”
“Forgive me, my lord. I have entrusted my soldiers with finding potential threats to the well-being of your throne.”
“There are always threats to my throne,” he said.
“Never as many as now, my lord.”
Ribillius crossed his arms over his heavy belly and sighed. “What news, then, Captain?”
“Orensdale has given itself to the worship of Legion. Sylvonya proclaims itself for Tiamat. Both cities have ceased trade with Alrujah, Varuth, Harland, Weileighn, and Dalova.”
“And our people starve,” Ribillius said, the heavy gold crown slipping down his forehead.
“Droughtworm has made its way within our walls as well, my lord. Each morning, my soldiers drag the dead to the sea. There are more each sunsrise.”
Ribillius stood, paced the throne room, ran his hands over the smooth marble columns. “Do you remember when we were children, Pentavus? The most we worried about was whether or not we’d be caught stealing pies from the kitchen. Now, there aren’t enough pies to feed our people.”
Korodeth stood, clasped his hands behind his back. “There is a way to heal the land,” he said tentatively.
Ribillius shook his head. “Do not dishonor this throne room with your talk of Shedoah again. He is the reason we’re in this mess. It is his touch that poisons the land, that breeds distrust among our people, that fuels the diseases that cripple our cities.”
“You misunderstand, my lord. It is his hand that can heal us. I understand your devotion to Adonai, but your faith is misplaced. The prophecies say—”
Ribillius spun. “Prophecies? You mean lies. Shedoah is the deceiver of old. You�
��ve read The Book of the Ancients. You’ve read The Book of Things to Come. You understand what true prophecy is, and yet you cling to half-truths and lies? What of our fathers and their fathers? As long as men have sat the throne of Alrujah, we have dedicated our kingdom to Adonai. His power established our throne, and the suffering we face will not cause us to turn our backs on Him now.”
“Our fathers were deceived. Their faith was strong, but misplaced. As is yours, my lord.”
Ribillius’s face flushed red. “If you were any other man, I would kill you where you stand. We’ve been friends since birth, but that alone will not stay my hand if you blaspheme again. Adonai’s name will not be defamed.”
“Then send me away, my lord. I will not turn from my faith, and you will not turn from yours.”
“King Solous established your line to the throne. I cannot send you away. Even if I could, I would not. You are as close as a brother to me, Pentavus. You are a loyal and trusted friend, misguided as you are.”
Korodeth’s heart fisted. What could he say to convince his friend of the truth of Shedoah? He’d tried countless times, and each time, was dismissed. “How do you explain the suffering? If Shedoah is chained in the deeps, if his power is sealed with seven seals, as you say, how may he touch the land? How may his influence or corruption conjure droughtworm, cause cities to renounce Adonai?”
Ribillius righted the crown on his head. “The seals must be weakening. The Book of Sealed Magic must have been found. Rumors of the Mage Lord must be true.”
“They are rumors only, my lord. I’ve seen no evidence of a Mage Lord at work.”
“You’ve told me the signs with your mouth. The droughtworm, the poverty, the distrust, the fall of faith. What more evidence do you need? We must find him, must restore the seals. Have your soldiers keep a close eye on Orensdale and Sylvonya. No—their faith has already fallen. He’ll turn to cities closer to Alrujah, try to garner strength closer to the seat of our faith. Watch Dalova. Viceroy Gerald is a good man. We cannot afford to be without him.”
“My lord,” Korodeth said. He used a practiced deference and kept accusation far from his voice. “These commands have the feel of desperation, not of logic.”
“How would you proceed were you in my place, Pentavus? Continue to let our people fall to starvation and plague? Wait until your precious Shedoah breaks his seals and turns us all to slaves, turns us all to corpses?
“No, my lord. As always, you speak with wisdom.” Korodeth put a fist over his heart and inclined his head.
Ribillius nodded. “I’m sorry, my friend. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“No apologies necessary, my lord.”
The king returned to the dais steps and sat. “I have court in an hour. Leave me, my friend. Bring me news as it comes. And please, try to find something positive to report.”
“As you will, so it shall be done.” Korodeth exited through the back door, navigating his way through the dank stone hallways to his office overlooking the city square. The smell of death soured the scent of lilacs and lavender. He sat at his desk and pulled an ancient scrap of parchment from within. As he whispered over it, the paper shriveled with age.
Though his door never opened, Korodeth detected a presence within his office. A moment of concentration identified the man as Argus Berand, brother of the traitor Trieli. As far as his Chameleon Soldiers went, Argus was one of the best. He’d proven his dedication and loyalty, not only to Alrujah, but to Shedoah himself. “You have news from Yeval Forest?”
The man removed his hood, exposing his face. The rest of him was armored in enchanted mirror-mail, making him invisible to the eyes, but not to Korodeth’s keen perception. “We made it as far as Orensdale.”
Korodeth did not turn his attention from the well of ink, over which he cast a simple enchantment. “What news?”
“They’ve burned the Yeval monastery and erected a church of Legion.”
“Good,” Korodeth said. The Shedoahn Prophecies continued to be filled. Before long, Shedoah would discontinue his willful submission to the false deity Adonai. He would rise and crush Adonai and again restore order and peace and prosperity to Alrujah.
But that could not be done as long as Ribillius sat the throne. “News of Varuth?”
“Firmly devoted to Alrujah and Adonai.”
“And Dalova?”
“The same.”
The time to act drew near. Korodeth scrawled on the parchment: “He who controls the daughter controls the king.” He rolled the parchment, tied it carefully with black twine, and whispered a last enchantment over it. Only Ribillius would be able to read these words. A simple trick of twisting spells, but it would speak to his ability as a mage—something even Ribillius didn’t know about. He handed the parchment to Argus. “Leave this where the king will find it. Do not be detected.”
Argus replaced his hood. “As you will, so it shall be done.”
Chapter One
And four shall rise. And they shall be in the world, but they will not be of the world. They will be in it, but will not belong to it. And one from Alrujah shall come alongside the four, and they shall act as one, and they shall free the land from oppression with a mighty triumph, and they will be called the Hand of Adonai.
—The Book of Things to Come
IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, Oliver found Lauren in her pajamas, ankle deep in the snow, a foot away from the edge of the steep cliff overlooking North Chester, Minnesota. The wind circled around her feet and pulled the bottoms of her pink pants near up to her knees. Ice crusted the tops of her slippers. She stared out over the valley. No footprints; she’d been there a while. The snow reddened her ankles, and he wondered why she hadn’t worn socks.
He came up behind her quietly and slowly. “You okay?” he asked.
Lauren didn’t move. “We’re on the mountain.”
“I know.”
“Not this mountain. In Alrujah. Vesper’s Mountain.”
Oliver took a few more steps and stood next to her. Of course she’d be thinking about the video game they’d created together. She always was. Then again, he was, too. Still, her fascination with it, her fantasies about leaving earth and being magically transported into a digital world, concerned him. She was too eager to leave the real world, and that would only make it harder for her to live in it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Your mom is worried.”
The dampness of her cheeks had crystallized into ice diamonds. Had she been crying or just been cold? “I’m surprised she realized I was gone,” she said.
He took his jacket off and put it around her shoulders. “I’m worried, too.”
She turned back to the valley. Snow slipped from the slate sky. It covered the buildings below. The gray clouds obscured the sunlight, made it feel much later than four in the afternoon. Already, the shops and homes below had their lights on. All of North Chester did, for that matter.
Lauren standing this close to the cliff made Oliver nervous, made him wonder what exactly she had in mind. “Can we go inside?” He folded his arms over his chest and shivered.
Lauren put her head on his shoulder. He liked the gentle weight of it, how he had to bend a little to his right so she wouldn’t have to stand on her tiptoes. “Don’t you ever want to go? To get away from here?” Her voice wavered, either from sorrow or from her chattering teeth.
“Of course I do. Wouldn’t spend all my free time running code if I didn’t.”
“I mean really go. No more school, no more bullies, no more embarrassment or harassment. In Alrujah, I’m a princess. Here, I’m a fat loser nobody.”
“Come on,” he said and shivered again. “It’s not that bad.”
She pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her pink flannel pajama bottoms. She punched a few buttons and handed it to Oliver. Sarah the Skeleton, the “hot” girl from chemistry, had sent her a message. If I wuz as fat as u Id kill myself.
Oliver sighed and put his arm around her shoulder. “First of all, you’re not fat.
Second of all, she’s retarded. You have to know that.”
“She’s not retarded,” Lauren said. “And she’s not the only one who thinks that. Maybe she’s right.”
Oliver thought of the cliff, how close she stood to it. “Let’s go inside and talk, okay? Sarah’s dumb. She thinks anyone over fifty pounds is fat. It’s not your fault you’re not a skeleton like her.”
Lauren faced him. She held her arms out to her sides, palms facing him. “Look at me, Oliver. Tell me I’m not fat.”
She sounded like a wife asking her husband, “Does this dress make my butt look big?” No answer would suffice. Still, he had to say something. He thought for a minute of how to say what he wanted to say but didn’t act fast enough.
The red on Lauren’s cheeks deepened, embarrassment adding to the crimson chill. “See, you can’t say it.”
He crossed his arms, tucked his hands into his armpits and shivered. “Other people may think you’re fat. But I don’t. Neither does your mom. It’s not your fault. The doctor said once he finds the right medication, you’ll start to slim down some.”
Lauren wiped at the iced line of tears trailing down her cheeks. “Stupid thyroid,” she mumbled. “Bailey Renee calls me fat, too.”
“She’s your little sister. She’s supposed to call you fat.” He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering and pulled her head to his chest. Remarkably, the chill of her ears pushed through his sweater and shirt, froze his chest above his heart. She’d been out here far too long. Hypothermia long. He had to find a way to get her inside, but she’d have none of that talk until he’d soothed her self-loathing.
He put his arms around her and held her tight. He could warm her a bit while he tried to talk her away from the edge. She shivered. He said, “You may not have a magazine-type body right now, but you are beautiful. You have a face that inspires poetry.”
