Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1)

by Roberto Vecchi

  There. Now we can truly speak without the deception of sight. What is it you want, Wizard? said the small boy.

  I would ask you the same question, retorted Intellos.

  Very good. You are more perceptive than the rest of them I see. But you still lack that which you need to know.

  And what is it I need to know? Intellos asked.

  That you are too late.

  Late? Late for what? We have just begun.

  What you perceive as the beginning betrays your humanity and lack of understanding. Wizard, things began in the First Age. What you see as the beginning, is only the end.

  The end of what?

  Light

  There was a pause as both entities attempted to see within the other.

  That which was made before the heavens and earth. That which was made before Hell. That which comes before and will remain to be. That which comes after will no longer live, but die. When the beast is vanquished with pale hands, He will walk upon the red stained silver metal. He will rise and all else shall fall. All else shall die. Take heed, Wizard. Your end is nigh.

  Throughout the ages of his life, with particular focus upon the times he has grown in power and renown, the ending of his life has been foretold on occasions measuring beyond the count of his fingers. And each time, every instance when he stood in direct opposition to a power threatening his life, he faced it with the greatest of calmness because he knew his knowledge would be great enough to prevail. He held the position of Grand Wizard of the Council of Knowledge and has since before the extension of most peoples' memories that have yet to pass into the beyond. He has personally thwarted evil kings and empires seeking to destroy the basics of life and undermine the progression and growth of knowledge. He has stood against giants and monsters of all shapes and sizes, all with aspects of evil within them and all unable to fill their void. But, never has he faced something, some entity this foreign to all that he knew.

  There was evil in the presence of this young boy now seated in front of him, but it was not an evil born of anything lacking. There was no void within the entity he now spoke with. His spell to reveal the intent of the subconscious, the true intent, had certainly found its way to the boy’s shores of understanding. And while, during all such encounters he had experienced before, all evil had its genesis within a lack filled life resulting in a self-serving and self-propagating abyss impossible to fill, this singular awareness possessed none of this lack and no abyss whatsoever. Oh, he was aware enough to understand and distinguish between the boy and the voice, and to see that while this boy's abyss reached the greatest depth he had known, the other presence, while preying upon the boy's, had none of its own. And yet, in violation of all principles of the genesis of evil he had learned though all of his endeavors so far, though there was no void, the presence of evil was great - the greatest. In fact, the more he focused upon the subconscious presence of evil, he became more and more aware that it was not a subconscious at all. But rather, this evil entity was utterly aware of all aspects of itself and hid nothing from itself. It was all consciousness, including the evil. It was the source.

  Now you see, Wizard. Again the voice allowed a slow and insulting pronunciation of the word "Wizard" to emphasize its disdain and contempt. Now you see, perhaps for the first time, you see

  Momentarily leaving the indulgence of his meeting with the wizard all those years ago and drifting back to journey from his meditation chamber to his training arena, he was able to recall his emotional state for the first few moments when he thought he would be facing the wizard alone. The appearance of the voice was still very new to him; consequently, his initial perception was founded upon the justified belief of his isolated progression through all the tragic moments of his yet young life. So naturally, all points of reference were filtered through this instinctual reaction. Though he had just displayed a level of power much beyond his stature, he was still small and relatively powerless when compared to the wizard. But just as the voice had been with him hours past when his hate was given reign to act and fear was abolished resulting in the fruition of all of his violent dreams, it still proved to be there for him while he was yet seated in the chair. It was there to comfort and console him, but most of all, it was present. It was there, with him when all others were not.

  Continuance. Constancy. Two words previously associated only with the thoughts of a relentless hopelessness built upon the entirety of his life thus far. Yet here was something that offered an end to the dismal and perpetually eternal drumming of his misery. It offered the desperate end to his isolation. He remembered the devotion to this voice and the ensuing internal battle he had between revealing the evil he was sure was inside him and responsible for killing Rento and protecting his new found hope that was responsible for the destructive power within. Being raised in the orphanage by the cruelest of men, it was all but guaranteed he would choose to protect the only thing to ever offer him a kindness regardless of its dark and evil nature. Having walked years and years with his Dark Lord, he was able to reflect with internal clarity at just how perfect his mater's plans were to produce exactly the devotion he wanted of Jesolin.

  He employed these exact behavioral tactics when seeking to produce the same effect within those he would now face within the training arena. Indeed, Vismorda the Deathless Blade, and Mordin the Corpse Reaper, were as much aware of Jesolin's tactics as Jesolin was of His Dark Lord’s; however, their devotion to him was in place well before their realization. And just as the voice had inspired a cemented devotion within the boy, so to had Jesolin galvanized his first two subjects to he and he alone.

  Opening the door from the long dimly lit hallway he had just traversed oddly reminded him of when he opened the door from his imprisoning guard house the evening after his confrontation with the wizard. He remembered being asleep in one of the cells, no doubt at the wizard's request, only to hear the voice within him urging him to awaken. The voice explained that it had plans for Jesolin. Great and grand plans, but they could not come to pass while he was still trapped inside the injustice of the halls and inadequate interpretations of those who now held him. It led him through the unlocked cell doors, down other several corridors, bypassing any and all notice from the rotating guard patrols until he stood in front of the final impediment to his freedom. It was not until he reached for the final handle that he realized he had been able to quite clearly see even though the wall candles used to illuminate the hallways were all now extinguished.

  "My Lord Jesolin," spoke a darkly beautiful woman who was dressed in all black leather with intricate workings of silver metal throughout her bodice and boots. Her sensually dripping words momentarily pulled him back from his childhood indulgence. She wore no shoulder armor but donned a sleek black leather circlet with points dripping between her eyes, down her cheeks, and around her ears. She wore skin tight, black leather leggings which were also laced with the finely crafted silver metal down its length. Tied around her waist was a thin, metallic silver, interlocking belt supporting two identical black sheathes. Inside them were Vismorda's two midnight black blades. They had been blessed by Jesolin himself. Inside each of them was part of his intention, giving each blade a consciousness of its own. They would not fight the battle for her, but their collective sight was enough to give her already incredible skill, enhanced by a superb command of her own large dark fountain, an uncanny boost when she called upon them. She was indeed and intent, a foul and formidable opponent for all such creatures walking Avendia. He turned and silently acknowledged her presence.

  "Good Morning, Lord Kahl," said a thin and wispy masculine voice. In contrast to the physically focused intent of Vismorda's command of the dark fountain, Mordin found his mastery seated firmly in a more metaphysical nature. Whereas her destructiveness unleashed itself within the physical martial skills, his was revealed in his ability to manipulate dark energy, both in its consumption and subsequent release, to affect the unseen aspects of our mortalit
y. He was able to wreak a tremendous amount of destruction by drawing upon all the darkness around him, harnessing it, changing it into what suited his intent in the moment, and then releasing it based on the evil it was meant to display. He was also able to implant this dark energy into other objects whether they be living or dead. He too, was a foe to take notice of and for most, if not all, to fear.

  Perhaps it was his current emotional state, albeit quite out of character for him, that was the driving force behind the continued nostalgic reminiscence into long repressed childhood memories. But regardless of the cause, seeing his two most trusted and most advanced subjects standing in front of him did not normally produce a link to the past, yet seemingly all things in this day's progression had a chance of triggering a celebration of his origins. Not his mortal birth; but his true birth, when his eyes were opened to the certainty that his potential and focus was being orchestrated by a power beyond his own. It was directed to a birth of purpose. It was The One Birth.

  After nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement of their collective greeting, he allowed himself to fade again into the fateful intent of his Master's plans to guide and raise him into the utterly evil essence he had become. This time, after being led by the voice to escape his bonds and negotiate the rooms and hallways of the guard house currently functioning as his prison, he saw the young boy he used to be open the exterior door, believing he was free, yet facing the reality of seeing that belief crash into the reef causing his hopes to sink as a wayward ship. What he thought was freedom, was revealed as several guards, with Captain Vulin at their lead.

  Instinctively he felt fear the way a cornered animal would. He turned to enter the guard house again, but before he had the chance, the door had already closed and locked itself from the inside.

  In an accentuated voice of authority, Captain Vulin spoke, "I do not know how you freed yourself of the bonds, nor do I know how you found your way out. But I do know you stand no chance of furthering your escape beyond that doorway."

  Jesolin stood motionless as he still faced the outer door with his back to the Captain listening for the voice to offer guidance, but only silence was returned.

  "I suggest you turn around, slowly so we can see you," Captain Vulin instructed.

  Where was the voice now? Had it not seen this coming? Did it lead him through the last day only to abandon him in this very moment, only a few short steps from his potential freedom? Was the voice like everything else in his life, fleeting and without promise?

  "No more words, boy? We do not want to hurt you, but we cannot let you go," Captain Vulin stepped forward emphasizing his superior position.

  Jesolin, while again feeling the familiar helplessness produced by his existence, was also beginning to feel just how unfair it had all become. After all, he was just a small boy, or had been, when the tragic condition of his being began to manifest. How could a small boy, or any child, or anyone at all be responsible for the miserable condition of creation? He had no hand in it. He had no influence in its planning, and he was not involved in the decision his parents made to abandon him.

  There it was; his parents. The absence of the two who were supposed to love him most created a hole within his soul that was impossible to fill. His mother and father, their soft consoling touch from hugs never felt, their provision of love and hope through the instruction in life's lessons which were never learned, and their unwavering support which was never offered combined to teach him the only lesson he had ever learned with finality - he was an abomination and beyond the worth of saving. Somehow, upon the day of his creation, whatever power was responsible for his existence deemed him a twisted mistake that had to be punished. And now, now when he had just begun to believe he had found something to fill the hole, it too was gone and just part of Fate's reprisal for his continued presence within their creation.

  Little one. Have I not said I will not forsake you? Was it not I that lead you out of your imprisoned cell? I am here.

  Raising his head slightly and not aware of the passage of time, he felt himself seeking more of the voice.

  Do not fear your current situation little one whom I will always help. I will help you now, again, but you need to do something to allow me to help. Can you do this?

  Jesolin nodded in his approval.

  "Very well now. I see you have decided to join us again. I want you to turn around slowly. We do not want anything to happen to you. We just want to take you inside until we can find you a proper home," said Captain Vulin, obviously mistaking Jesolin's nod for an agreement to his insistence.

  Follow the hate my young champion. Follow it to its end and you will find it again.

  He did so. He explored the new found revelation that he hated his parents. He knew them not, but oh how he hated them. He lifted them to the torture he had lived through for all of his memorable years. He raised them up in his mind, suspended upon a cross of his own internal damnation, and displayed them for all of his emotions to see. Rage, hopelessness, depression, fear, desolation, isolation all stood to openly observe his parent's crucifixion upon the cross of a quickly growing liquid hate. The trial of his life was happening now, in this moment. All of him was present, all of him was witness to the silent examination of all the questions he had subconsciously wanted to interrogate his parents with, yet was never able to because he lacked the awareness of their responsibility for his agony. But now, having found the voice, and being led to the very center of his tribulations, he was finally able to rest in the knowledge that he, the boy, was not the cause. Had his parents loved him as the voice loved him, his life would have been vastly different. Yet it was not. And someone had to pay the reparations due him. His emotions made jury judged his parents as guilty. His rage made executioner, carried out the sentence. And his mind made prosecutor celebrated by finding and drinking from the dark fountain once again.

  Yes my little one. I do love you more than they. I have not forsaken you as they did so many horrible years ago. Drink.

  Mentally, he again cupped his hands and took in gulp after ecstatic gulp. Again he felt the dark power coursing through his internal awareness seeping down into corners and recesses he was still unaware he had. He continued to draw upon the fountain by reaching his hands into the icy dark liquid and pulling out handful after handful. With each luscious sip, he felt his body become more substantial as if he was gaining a more solid stature. But along with the feeling of solidity came a foul aftertaste he had not noticed before. Mixed with the ecstasy of knowing he was being filled with that which would allow him to escape was a dark and devilish rage fueling his desire to drink more, to hold more, and to become more for no other reason than to destroy more.

  "I told you to turn around, Jesolin. You cannot get away. We are not trying to hurt you. We just want you to be safe. Turn around," Captain Vulin ordered again.

  This time, Jesolin did. Slowly he turned to face the six foes standing in his way, but he did not see five guards and their Captain who were all simply doing as they were instructed. He saw six images of his parents. Each one bore the guilt of his suffering, and each one was going to suffer in kind. He did not know why, but he sensed within one of the guards a similar hate. He extended his reservoir of dark liquid into that guard and found the void. Jesolin transferred some of the dark liquid into the guard and mentally instructed him to draw his sword.

  "Soldier, I did not tell you to draw your sword. In fact, I told you to not draw your weapons. Now place it back in your sheath," ordered Captain Vulin, but the guard did not follow the order. Instead, he slowly stepped toward the captain and began raising his weapon for attack.

  "Soldier, what are you doing? I told you to sheathe your sword!" But again the guard did not heed the now forcefully delivered command. Taking another step toward the captain, he raised his sword to its highest point and prepared to deliver a downward strike. Captain Vulin drew his weapon without any further hesitation and took two shuffled steps away from his a
ttacker. Doing so caused the guard to miss with his initial attack, but he delivered an upward slash that caught the cheek of the Captain leaving a slender red line of blood. Jesolin smiled.

  "Enough!" shouted Captain Vulin. "Shoot the boy!"

  Instantly, the two guards who had bows in hand, but no arrows yet knocked, made the smooth and practiced motion of drawing them from their quivers, knocking them, and loosing them. Jesolin the boy, filled with the coursing power of the dark liquid, reacted with blinding speed and caught both arrows, one in each hand. The four guards not under his control were momentarily stunned by the fantastic nature of what they had just seen. Captain Vulin was trying to shout orders, but he was being pressed by the Jesolin controlled guard. Seeing their captain being attacked and needing help, the two guards without bows drew their swords and joined the fight. The archers again drew, knocked, and loosed another round of arrows, only to have them caught once again. This time though, Jesolin started slowly walking toward them. Again they drew more arrows and let them fly only to have them either dodged or caught and discarded by the walking boy.

  One of the guards assisting Captain Vulin had fallen victim to the sword of the controlled guard who had taken two different strikes himself, but seemed unaffected by them. The Captain opened trails of blood on the man's right shoulder and left thigh. Both of these wounds were deep enough to slow even the strongest of men, yet they presented as only a momentary annoyance to Jesolin's guard who pressed the attack. He struck one of the guards in the side of the neck spilling his blood and body upon the ground. Jesolin had closed the gap to the two archers who had drawn their swords. The guard closest to Jesolin tried a quick strike aimed at piercing his abdomen, but all he found was the air as Jesolin spun to dodge the slow strike. The other archer turned swordsman attempted a horizontal slash trying to cut the boy in two. Yet again, Jesolin proved to be too quick and easily dodged the clumsy attempt.