But a more thorough observation showed that Skimif was no mere aquarian. His muscles were thicker and bigger than any aquarian's, he wore white robes that were as bright as the sun's rays reflecting off the snow of the Great Berg, and he carried a scepter in his right hand that was pure gold from top to bottom. He even smelled divine, a scent which reminded the Magical Superior of roses mixed with cream.
Although the Magical Superior had met many gods over his lifetime, none of them were quite like Skimif. The God of Martir radiated a power and authority that put him a step above the other gods, and this in spite of the fact that he had only been the God of Martir for thirty years. The Magical Superior had often speculated how strong Skimif would be in a hundred years or a thousand years, although he knew he would not live long enough to see that.
“I am not doing well, Lord Skimif,” said the Magical Superior. “And neither is my school or the visitors from the Undersea Institute. You are aware of what has recently been happening here, haven't you?”
Skimif nodded. “How can I not be? And please, simply call me 'Skimif.' 'Lord' is too formal.”
The Magical Superior felt uncomfortable with that request, but he had made it a personal policy to follow the gods' request and commands, so he decided to go along with it. “So you understand what I have been through over the last couple of hours.”
“Of course,” said Skimif. “The gods have always paid special attention to North Academy, and I am no exception to that rule. I am quite aware of most of what has happened here.”
“Then you know that it is one of the gods who is behind it,” said the Magical Superior. “I don't know which god, but we have captured two katabans servants who have confirmed that they are serving a god.”
Skimif folded his arms across his chest. His face was a difficult read, even for the Magical Superior, who had many years of experience deciphering unusual godly facial expressions, many of whom did not have normal human or even aquarian faces.
“That is the problem, Magical Superior,” said Skimif. “Although I have been keeping careful track of the situation, I don't know which of the many, many gods are behind this.”
The Magical Superior leaned forward slightly; always a dangerous move in his old age, as he never knew when he would simply topple forward. “But you are the God of Martir. There is nothing in this world that happens without your notice.”
Skimif sighed. “In comparison to some gods, I am still quite new and still figuring out the full extent of my abilities. My omniscience, for example, is imperfect. I can only really know what is going on in any one particular location at any one time. I can't focus on everywhere at once. Believe me, I tried, and it almost drove me insane.”
“Do you have any theories about this 'Master's' identity?” said the Magical Superior. “Could it be Hollech? This seems like his doing.”
“No,” said Skimif. “I banished Hollech beyond the Void years ago. He hasn't been seen since. And he couldn't return, anyway, because I sealed the Void from his side to prevent him from coming back.”
“Oh,” said the Magical Superior. “But how can you not know which god it is? Haven't you been searching?”
“I have,” said Skimif. “But it's not easy. Aside from the fact that there are hundreds of gods in both the Northern and Southern Pantheons—many of which are still unhappy with my rule—there's been some presence obstructing my own senses.”
“A presence?” the Magical Superior said. “What do you mean by that?”
Skimif unfolded his arms. “Ever since the end of the Katabans War, I have noticed a powerful presence emerging deep from underneath the surface of Martir. At first, I dismissed it as nothing more than the collective magical energy of the gods collecting in Martir's core. That happens sometimes because the gods produce so much magical energy that not all of it is used by you mages and so it will usually end up collecting somewhere until it is used up.”
That was the first time the Magical Superior had ever heard about something like that before. That made him wonder just how much the other gods had hid from him over the years.
Another reason I like talking to Skimif, the Magical Superior thought. Unlike the others, he has no great distrust of mortals like myself, so he feels freer to mention things like that to me.
“But that energy is usually discovered and used up by a mage or group of mages at some point,” said Skimif. “Often quickly. I am sure you are aware of those mages known in history as the arcanians?”
The Magical Superior nodded. “You mean the most powerful mages in Martirian history.”
“Yes,” said Skimif. “They got that way by stumbling upon these energy wells, as I tend to call them, and using their power to boost their own. It is an effective way for a mortal mage to push past his own limits and become stronger, although it is always temporary.”
“Very interesting,” said the Magical Superior. “But it is irrelevant to the discussion. Tell me more about this presence.”
“It's hard to tell you anything about it because sometimes I am not even sure it's real,” said Skimif, glancing at the floor. “Like I said, I first noticed it after the end of the Katabans War, although I have a feeling that it is much older than that. In times of crisis it is more noticeable, but every time I try to focus on it, it goes away and becomes impossible to find again. It acts like a real, living being, but I don't know what it is or where it came from.”
“That is disturbing indeed,” said the Magical Superior. “Is it friendly or unfriendly?”
“I have no idea,” said Skimif. “As I said, every time I try to focus on it, it will draw into itself. I have spoken with some of the older gods about it—Nimiko and the Mechanical Goddess, among others—and even they have no idea what it is. They've promised to keep an eye open for it, but I doubt they'll be able to find it.”
“I don't understand what this presence has to do with our current situation,” said the Magical Superior. “Do you think it has something to do with this 'Master' fellow that the two katabans mentioned?”
“I think this presence is hiding him from me,” said Skimif. “I don't know why, but I usually feel this presence at its strongest whenever I search for the identity of the one known as 'Master.' I suspect that the presence is either an ally or a manipulator of this god, whoever he is, but why, I don't know.”
“This is all far too disturbing for my tastes,” said the Magical Superior. “I don't like it.”
“Neither do I,” said Skimif. “It's disturbed me so much that I've even tried to talk to the Mysterious One about this and see what he knows. But he seems to have vanished from Martir; at least, none of the other gods have been able to tell me where he might be and Bleak Rock is practically a ghost island at this point.”
That was another interesting revelation. The Mysterious One was one of the few gods that the Magical Superior did not have a divine statue of, for the simple fact that no one knew what he looked like or, for that matter, if he even existed. Legend said that the Mysterious One was the God of Mystery and Magic, but up until now the Magical Superior hadn't even believed that he was real.
“What's even worse is that this presence is powerful,” said Skimif. “I only get occasional glimpses of its might every now and then, but I can tell that it is at least on my power level. It might be able to beat me in a fight if it wanted.”
“Forgive me for my impudence, Skimif, but that is ridiculous,” said the Magical Superior. “There is no one in Martir who even comes close to your might. The Powers made you the strongest being in the world, didn't they? Not even the other gods can match your might.”
“I thought so, too, but apparently there exists someone who can match my power here,” said Skimif, his voice troubled. “I don't know who he or she is, but if you want my theory, I think this presence is far older than Martir, maybe even older than the Powers themselves.”
The Magical Superior had a hard time wrapping his head around that. Years ago, after Prince Malock and Skimi
f had succeed in convincing the Powers to spare Martir after their disappointment with its development, the Magical Superior had conducted a brief interview with Prince Malock to find out more about the Powers.
Malock had told the Magical Superior that the Powers had revealed to him that a world had existed before Martir, but that it had been in complete ruin when the Powers arrived. The Powers had then used the remains of that world to create Martir, according to Malock, which meant that Martir was literally built on the ruins of another world.
It was that thought that prompted the Magical Superior to ask, “Do you think it could be something left over from the world that existed before Martir?”
“I don't know,” said Skimif. “I have been investigating the Old Ruins and—”
“The what?” said the Magical Superior. He immediately put a hand over his mouth when he saw Skimif's startled expression. “Oh, forgive me, Skimif, for interrupting you. I just had to ask that question, but if you do not want to answer it that is fine.”
“No, no,” said Skimif, shaking his head. “I was just taken aback. I should have explained what I meant.”
Secretly, the Magical Superior was relieved. The gods hated it when mortals interrupted them, even for a good reason. It was a hard, painful lesson that the Magical Superior had learned decades ago when he first became the Magical Superior and it was not a lesson he intended to take again.
“The Old Ruins are a place no mortal has ever set foot in,” said Skimif. He gestured at the floor. “They exist deep, deep beneath the surface of Martir, well out of the reach of even the most sophisticated mortal magic. The gods have known about them for years and it was one of the first things I was told about when I ascended to godhood.”
“But what, exactly, are the Old Ruins?” said the Magical Superior, careful to keep his tone and words as respectful as possible.
Skimif shrugged. “From what the other gods have told me, and from what I've learned on my own, the Old Ruins are the only remnants of the world that existed before Martir. My theory is that the Powers left them because they did not know how to use them for Martir or maybe they finished Martir and the Old Ruins were what was leftover. Either way, they are an unusual sight to behold.”
A million questions exploded in the Magical Superior's mind when he heard that, but for some reason he suspected Skimif was not interested in answering any of them at the moment.
So he asked, “What did you find in the Old Ruins?”
“Not much,” said Skimif. “There's a lot of writing, but it's all in a language I can't read. The only god who has had any luck in translating it is Ranama, the God of Language, but even he hasn't been able to decipher much other than a few words. And trust me, he's been at it for thousands of years.”
“No clue at all as to the identity of this presence or what it even wants?” said the Magical Superior.
“None at all,” said Skimif. Then he frowned. “Well, I guess that's not entirely true. Ranama found this. He gave it to me for my own study, but I feel comfortable sharing it with you.”
Skimif held out his hand. His hand glowed brilliantly bright, but it lasted only for a second. When the light faded, a square stone tablet lay grasped between his fingers.
He let go of the tablet, which floated across the Chamber to the Superior. The Magical Superior caught the tablet with his free hand and peered at it closely.
The stone tablet was ancient. That he could tell right away. It felt crumbly and weak in his hand, like it was about to fall apart any minute. It was probably even older than the Arcanium. And if it truly was from the world that existed before Martir, then it definitely was older than the Arcanium, older even than the gods themselves.
The tablet's surface was faded, but he felt tiny raised ridges running across it, like some type of ancient writing. It reminded him, oddly enough, of the raised ink used by the ancient Primordians to write their books. He suspected that whoever wrote this tablet must have used a form of geomancy to raise the ridges, but considering that this tablet existed well before the gods—and therefore, before magic—its writer must have used a different method to achieve that effect.
“What is it?” said the Magical Superior, looking up at Skimif, who had folded his arms across his chest. “I mean, what is it, exactly? A history? A poem? An essay? Or something else?”
“Not sure,” said Skimif. “From what little Ranama has translated of it—and he hasn't translated much, even with all of the study and work he has put into it over the years—he thinks its a diary.”
The Magical Superior frowned. “A diary? Written by whom?”
“That is another thing Ranama is unsure of,” said Skimif. “According to him, the diary was written by someone chronicling the last days of the world that existed before this one. The writer's name is there, but it is the most faded and difficult-to-read part of the text, so Ranama calls him Diary-Writer.”
“This is an amazing find,” said the Magical Superior. He suddenly felt like he was holding pure gold. “It may be the rarest and most valuable object in all of Martir because it didn't even come from the Powers. In all my years, I never thought I'd get to so much as look at something not created by the Powers.”
“You are indeed lucky,” said Skimif, although his tone did not sound congratulatory. “But in the end, I don't care about the obvious academic value that tablet has to someone like yourself. I am interested in finding out if it is related to that presence I felt, the presence I think is up to no good.”
“So you think it might say something about that?” said the Magical Superior.
Skimif shrugged. “Ranama said that the diary appears to chronicle some powerful presence destroying the world before Martir, the Prior World, if you need a name for it. Based on what little he has translated, Ranama has concluded that the Diary-Writer was one of the final victims of the presence that destroyed his world.”
“He learned all of that from this?” said the Magical Superior, holding up the tablet.
“It's his theory,” said Skimif. “You've met Ranama before, no doubt, so you know how he tends to jump to all kinds of crazy theories given the slightest bit of evidence. Nonetheless, I think he may be onto something this time. He showed me his reasoning and I think it's pretty sound, although I admit that I'm no linguist.”
“As interesting as this is, I wonder how relevant it is to our current situation,” said the Magical Superior. “Do you think that the presence you sense today is the same presence that caused the destruction of the Prior World?”
The God of Martir shook his head hopelessly. “Maybe, maybe not. It might be something entirely different, but I doubt it. Whatever destroyed the Prior World is aiming to do the same thing with Martir. I'm sure of it.”
“Why would it do that?” said the Magical Superior. “What does this presence have to gain from the deaths of so many millions of lives?”
“How am I supposed to know?” said Skimif, shrugging. “This presence, whatever it is, is still in the shadows. I'm only aware of it because it is starting to get confident. Just half an hour ago, I sensed it directly inside this very school.”
The Magical Superior gasped. “How could it have entered without my knowledge? If the presence is as strong as you, I should have noticed it.”
“Remember, it took me years to be certain it even existed and wasn't some strange magical anomaly,” said Skimif. “I have a feeling this presence has been around much, much longer than the last twenty-four years.”
The Magical Superior could not help but shudder at the thought. “Then does that mean that this presence is possibly manipulating this 'Master' fellow? Or do you think Master is knowingly working with the presence?”
“That's another question I don't have the answer to,” said Skimif. “But I will say this: The gods hate submitting to any authority higher than them. That is the one trait the northern and southern gods share. Even though I've been their leader for a while now, I know for a fact that most of the gods stil
l don't respect me or see me as legitimate. I doubt any of the gods would be willing to submit to this presence.”
“If this presence offered to overthrow you, would that not be tempting to the gods?” said the Magical Superior.
The temperature in the room—which had been cool—suddenly rose high enough that the Magical Superior felt almost too warm in his robes. The temperature increase had to have come from Skimif, who was now scowling.
“The gods aren't stupid,” said Skimif. “They remember what I did to Hollech all those years ago. They would never even think of standing against me, not unless they wish to be stripped of their powers and thrown beyond the Void as well.”
For the first time since he had gotten to know Skimif, the Magical Superior felt a tinge of fear. Most of the time, Skimif acted like a normal mortal, despite being almighty and powerful. Prior to becoming the God of Martir, Skimif had been a simple seaweed farmer, as honest and truthful as they came, with a strong belief in the brotherhood of all mortals, human and aquarian alike.
At least, that was what the Magical Superior had learned while doing research on Skimif shortly after the farmer's ascension to godhood. Right now, however, he was starting to understand that, whatever Skimif may have been in his mortal days, he was slowly becoming more and more godlike.
Thankfully, the Magical Superior had decades of experience interacting with various gods, so he knew how to speak in a way that would not ignite Skimif's temper.
Lowering the tablet, the Magical Superior said, “Skimif, I did not mean to anger you. I was simply offering an idea that may not have occurred to you yet.”
“Magical Superior.” Skimif said those two words as authoritatively as any god. “I know what you were trying to do. I was just angry that that is clearly not the answer. If it was, it would be very simple for me to banish this Master guy beyond the Void. Alas, it is not so.”
The Mage's Grave: Mages of Martir Book #1 Page 12
