by DB King
It certainly wasn’t the way a young man should behave on his birthday.
Putting on a smile he didn’t truly feel, Alec led the boys deeper into the forest. Away from the Crypt and its terrible memories.
He had no idea that before the night was out, he’d be stepping through its gate for the second time.
Chapter 3
A half-hour into their march, Alec judged the boys had walked far enough into the woods. “Halt,” he called, standing up on a rock next to the path and cupping his hands around his mouth. “Everyone take a break. Marcus, Bryan—work on getting a fire started. Everyone else, go ahead and eat some of your packed lunch if you’d like to get an early start on it.”
Now that they were far enough from the Temple to be free of the monks, an easy, light-hearted air penetrated the group. You would never have been able to tell the boys were orphans: they behaved like any gathering of school children on holiday. Before long, half the children were wolfing down their sandwiches from the cafeteria, while the rest played games of tag and monkey in the middle.
No hide-and-seek, though—not in the forest. One of Alec’s rules.
Marcus and Bryan gathered rocks and formed a circle next to the path. Some dry tinder and flint got the fire going, while some of the younger boys rolled a big log over to give them something to sit on. Before long, the children sat sweaty and satisfied, their games exchanged for food.
Alec nibbled the apple he’d brought with him, less hungry than he’d expected. “We’ll have less to do today,” he explained to the boys, “as Master Abel wants us out longer than usual.”
“It would have been nice to bring a ball or something to play with,” Mortimer said. The boy dreamed of playing in the King’s Cup one day, and no amount of explaining that ball players needed both their eyes in working condition could sway him from his ambition.
Shy Thomas shifted on the log, lifting his feet closer to the fire. “Tell us a story, Alec.”
Other boys chimed in. “Yes! A story!”
“Tell us about Ella and the Golden Necklace!”
“That story’s boring! Tell us about a war, a battle!”
“I want to hear the one about the three bears,” Thomas protested, to groans. Nursery stories were the boy’s favorite.
Alec cleared his throat. “How about the First Magus?” he asked. “A tale about the Archon?”
The boys fell silent. The corner of Alec’s mouth curled in a smirk, and he knew he had them in the palm of his hand. Everyone loves this story, he told himself.
“Long ago,” he began, swallowing the last of his apple, “when the Kingdoms of Men were so new the ink on their founding documents still had not dried, the Archon entered the world. The First Magus. One of the Gods, walking the mortal realm like a man!”
Every boy on the log leaned forward. Alec didn’t need to be a mind reader to know they all pictured him—they’d seen enough images of the Archon inside the Temple. A white-bearded man with splendid, flowing robes, the elements at his command. A big tapestry hung from the wall in the Temple’s vestibule, the Archon surrounded by representations of each of the elements. Flames. Waves. Storm clouds crackling with thunder.
“The Archon spoke the language of the Gods,” Alec explained. “A language that could rewrite reality itself. Whatever the Archon spoke into being became true. If he said a mountain turned into a volcano, it obediently erupted and showered the landscape with lava.”
“I bet everything didn’t obey him,” Marcus said, jostling the boy next to him with an elbow. “We don’t obey the monks, after all.”
Alec’s eyes narrowed. Marcus had grown even bolder than usual.
“Everyone loved the First Magus,” Alec said, his words taking on the didactic cadence of a well-learned lesson. “With the language of the Gods—the language of magic—he brought peace and order to the fledgling kingdoms of Men.”
“Get to the part about men trying to speak the words!” one of the boys cried. It was their favorite part—they loved gross things.
Alec pretended to sigh, but inside he laughed. He liked gross things a little bit, too.
“Many men tried to learn the language of the Gods by listening to the Archon,” Alec said, excitement filling his voice. To speak reality into being—what would that feel like? “And a few of them succeeded. But for a mortal to speak the language of the Gods is impossible. Those who tried found themselves ripped apart by the forces they tried to wield, burned to death or drowned or torn to shreds by lightning.”
There were many oohs and ahhs at this part. The boys loved the idea of carnage, as all young boys do. They hadn’t yet grown to the point where they understood the pain and loss such violence could bring.
“When the Archon realized this, he was very sad,” Alec said, provoking looks of sympathy in the boys. Privately, he very much doubted the Archon had ever been sad about anything. How could a being as powerful as he was feel anything for people at all? They’d be like ants to him—even lower than ants. “He realized he could not trust the language of the Gods to the mouths of men. They could not speak magic without harming themselves! He pondered for a very long time how to solve this conundrum.”
One of the boys yawned. They knew this bit, of course. It underscored every aspect of the world.
“So the Archon crafted special grimoires, blessed with his divinity. With the words tucked inside the books, they were safe. Mortals could read them without harming themselves, though they could never truly understand the words they spoke. Then the Archon chose the most virtuous families to bestow these grimoires on in a special ceremony, and these families became the leaders of their respective races. Grimoires were given to the elves, the dwarves, and to man—”
“How did the Archon decide which families to give the grimoires to?” Thomas asked.
“Hellfire,” a boy said, grinning. “I wish he’d give one to me!”
Near the back of the log, Marcus snickered. “He should have skipped over the elves, if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong, Alec—I’m sure your friend Tanuin is nice enough. He gave you a sweet dagger and all! But I’ve never met an elf who didn’t walk around like he had a stick up his bum.”
“That could describe most of the monks, too,” Alec said before he could stop himself.
For a moment, the boys were shocked into silence. Then they doubled over with laughter, filling the forest with mirth.
“Well, it’s true,” Alec said, cracking a smile himself. The sense of foreboding he’d felt since entering the forest had finally begun to fade. “Don’t any of you dare tell Master Abel I said that, though. I’ll deny it, lest I end up cleaning toilets for a month…”
“Your secret’s safe with us,” Marcus said with a broad smile. Yet there was something in the boy’s gaze that made Alec shiver. He wants to go to the Crypt, he thought, a chilly wind blowing the fire to one side of the pit, then the other.
He opened his mouth to tell Marcus he knew the boy’s thoughts. A warning formed on his lips, rising from his throat to forbid the youth from going anywhere near that blasted, ivy-covered stone. The memory of something shifting in the darkness filled his mind.
Then a boy cried out in alarm. “Alec, look! Your dagger!”
He glanced down. Tanuin’s dagger remained clenched firmly in its leather sheath, strapped as it was to Alec’s side. That hadn’t changed. The weapon remained at the ready, easy enough to draw should an animal decide to try and curl up by their fire.
But the metal had begun to glow. A pale amber aura flowed from the steel, bathing Alec’s waist and leg in ghostly light.
Alec stared down at the glowing metal, his jaw dropping nearly to the forest floor. All around him the boys had gone silent, the only noise in the clearing the cracking and popping of the fire.
“What…” Alec drew the dagger from its sheath, “is this?”
“It’s magic,” one of the boys whispered. “Like you were telling us about the Archon!”
A chill
traveled down Alec’s spine. Though the day grew nearer to noon, the sun rising higher in the sky, it felt as if the temperature had dropped suddenly within the forest. The boys snuggled closer together for warmth, the wind kicking up through the trees.
“Maybe not the Archon,” he said after a few moments. He tucked the knife back into the leather, leaving it at his belt. “Some elven affectation, maybe. Perhaps it lights up to warn a ranger when a storm is drawing near.”
“Or a monster!” Thomas cried, more fearful than the other boys. Though none of them voiced it, he could tell similar thoughts stewed within their brains.
“There are no monsters in the woods surrounding the Archon Temple,” Alec assured them all. “And if there were, I would protect you. You understand? You have nothing to be afraid of out here.”
Thomas wasn’t convinced. “I want to go back!”
Alec sighed, covering his forehead with a hand. Tanuin, why didn’t you warn me about your blade? If the elven ranger had just told him ahead of time that the dagger glowed for some unspecified reason, he could have warned the boys. Now the poor things were halfway scared out of their wits.
Why did the blade glow? Tanuin’s words about today being a ‘momentous occasion’ filled his mind, and he pursed his lips in thought for several moments. Why did strange things have to start happening today, of all days?
“You haven’t finished your story yet.”
Alec looked up sharply. Of course it would be Marcus who bid him to continue. The tale of the First Magus and the bringing of magic into the world was an old story—the boys had heard it many times from the monks, as Alec had as well. The first half of it was noble, filled with virtuous leaders and dangerous words tamed to man’s will. The second half…
Alec swallowed. He shouldn’t have continued speaking. Had he any wits in his head, he’d have marched the boys back through the forest to the Archon Tower, despite Master Abel’s displeasure. But it felt as if something compelled him that afternoon. Something deep and primal, that spoke in words that required no voice to pronounce.
“After his task was complete,” Alec said, settling back on the log, “the Archon left the world. Where he disappeared to, no one really knows. Some say he ascended back to the realm from which he came—a kingdom of perfect light and gold, where there’s neither hunger nor want. Some say he traveled to a new land, to bestow magic upon the races there. Either way, no one ever saw the First Magus again.” He swallowed hard, a lump in his throat. “But we saw his kin.”
The boys were very quiet now. To Alec’s surprise, it was Thomas who spoke first. “The Traitor Gods?”
Alec nodded. “The Traitor Gods. When the Archon left our world, they entered it—slowly at first, until an entire group threatened our world. Some say the Traitor Gods were beautiful, more perfect and holy than the Archon himself.” Several boys shuddered. “But what they brought was only darkness.”
One of the boys let out a pitiable moan. “The Traitor Gods,” he said, shaking his head back and forth as if one of them had just walked into the clearing. “When I was young, Master Abel told me if I didn’t keep my room clean, one of the Traitors would slip under my bed and drag me to their dark realm!”
“Master Abel says many things,” Alec said, pulling the boys back from the brink. He’d told this story many times, and although they always got a little wide-eyed and worried at this part of the tale, he’d never seen them like this before. Perhaps he should reign it in just a touch. “The Traitor Gods are gone, Bartholomew. They can’t hide under your bed because they no longer exist.”
“Did the Archon stop them?” Thomas asked.
Alec hesitated just a touch. “Yes, of course,” he said. “The Archon would never let monsters like the Traitor Gods wage war on humankind.”
The boys relaxed. If only they knew the truth! Even Alec’s story wasn’t the half of it. He’d received the whole history, in painstaking detail, during one of Master Matthias’s many lectures. How the Traitor Gods had tried, just like the Archon before them, to teach their favored races to speak the language of magic. Only instead of men and Elves and dwarves, the Traitor Gods rose monstrous creatures from the Earth—the Shadow Races. Orcs, Dark Elves, the Reavers. Such creatures never ventured anywhere near the Archon Tower, the First Magus be praised, but the King’s Army and the Expeditionary Force ran into them all the time.
Like the Archon, the Traitor Gods gave the Shadow Races grimoires. Only while the Archon’s texts gave man the power to control the elements, gave elves their agelessness, and dwarves the tools to form great chasms beneath their mountains, the Shadow Races’ grimoires did dreadful things. They could bind demons to their will, twist and corrupt the minds of men… Alec had even heard tales of men brought back to life on the battlefield, resurrected as skeleton warriors or zombies to serve the Shadow.
Necromancy, he thought with a shudder. Such terrible magic.
“Um, Alec?” Mortimer leaned forward, his hand on Alec’s thigh. “Your dagger… it’s really glowing.”
Alec gasped. While he’d been speaking of the Traitor Gods, the dagger at his side had begun to glow brighter and brighter. It was as if a torch lay against his thigh, bathing the clearing in a piercing white light. The dagger seemed to sense the content of the story—and didn’t like it.
No. Something else was happening.
The children’s fear grew. Even a scary story shouldn’t have whipped them up like this. A black cloud blotted out the sun, casting the forest floor in dappled shadow that made it hard to see much further than the treeline. Boys cried out, hugging each other and whimpering for parents they’d never see again.
As the closest thing they had to a guardian, Alec had to take action. Something very strange is going on here, he realized, standing up from the hollow log. It felt as if a presence stalked the clearing—an aura of malevolence. Alec became certain they were being watched.
He drew the dagger. The hilt felt good in his hand, and the feeling of dread lifted a fraction. The blade vibrated faintly against his palm, moving evenly back and forth like a bell. It seemed almost alive in his hand, truly enchanted. Had Tanuin found some elven Mage willing to weave an enchantment in the steel?
“A...Alec,” Thomas panted. Snot dripped from the boy’s nostril, and Alec suddenly realized just how young the youngest of the boys were. “I’m scared! I wanna...I wanna go home!”
I’m scared, too, he wanted to say, but he didn’t dare. Instead he gave the boys a brave smile, tucking the dagger into his belt.
“We are going home,” he told them, feeling more certain of himself with every word. It could very well have just been a strange, foreboding feeling—nothing more than that—but the forest felt distinctly… hostile that afternoon. Alec would much rather face Master Abel’s irritation than come face to face with whatever caused the dagger to glow so brightly.
“You mean it?” Thomas asked. One of the other boys stuck out their tongue at the display, but most of the children looked almost as frightened as Thomas did. “We’re supposed to stay out until sundown.”
“You let me worry about that,” Alec said. “I need to get back, anyway—someone needs to tell Master Matthias about Tanuin’s letter. I really should have done that before I left.”
The excuse calmed the children down. Alec knew it wouldn’t mollify Master Abel, but then again, nothing ever seemed to penetrate the ancient monk’s prickly hide. He’d gladly weather that storm in order to see the boys home safe. Making a mental note to keep them away from Archmage Diamondspear once they arrived at the Archon Temple, he brushed off his legs and bid the children stand up.
“Everyone stick close together, just to be safe,” he told the boys. “The woods are a bit darker than usual because of the weather. As long as we stay in sight of each other, no one will get lost. Thomas.”
The boy was trying—and failing—to stop his sniffles. “Yes?”
“Why don’t you stay up front with me? I'll keep you close.”
<
br /> A smile spread across the boy’s face. “Thanks, Alec!”
He found himself matching the boy’s expression. “The rest of you stay close behind me. Marcus will bring up the rear, as always.” Now that he thought about it, it felt strange that Marcus hadn’t had some cutting remark about the sudden retreat back to the Temple. Was he a little more scared than he let on, perhaps?
Where was Marcus?
Alec looked around. “Mortimer, where’s Marcus?”
The one-eyed boy turned a small circle, pointing at each of the exits to the clearing. “I don’t know. He was here a few minutes ago. He disappeared. Right when you started talking about the Traitor Gods.”
A bolt shot through Alec’s body. Right when Tanuin’s dagger began to shimmer. Damn it, was the elf trying to warn me!?
“He can’t have gone far,” one of the boys said. “He’s probably taking a piss in the woods…”
If it were any other day, Alec would have assumed the same thing. He did a quick head count, making sure none of the other boys were missing. All of them were quickly accounted for. None missing—save for Marcus.
Who’d had a look in his damned eyes about that Crypt all morning. Why didn’t I pay closer attention?
“Boys, stick close to me,” Alec said, gathering them around. “We’re going to be moving a little faster than usual. We’ve got to catch up with Marcus before he gets where he’s going.”
Mortimer gave a start. “Where’s he going?”
Alec sighed. “The Crypt.”
The boys looked as if a monster had climbed down from the trees and stood in front of them. “He’s gone in there?”
“Not yet he hasn’t,” Alec said firmly. “Come on—we need to catch up to him. I’m not letting him get inside the Crypt.”
As the boys began to run, Thomas clutched his hand. “What happens if Marcus goes inside the Crypt, Alec?”
“I don’t know,” Alec muttered. And I hope to the Gods I don’t have to find out.
