The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  Judas stood facing the growing heat. Sunburst clay tiles adorned the modest hearth’s exterior. His shoulder-length hair hid his azure eyes like a curtain. Eyes glassed over as he revisited nightmares from long ago, absentmindedly pulling on his long, thick goatee. The war never gave him a choice, rising to the challenge doomed him to live a life nobody would have chosen. He wished to spare Julie a similar fate.

  Judas was a cursed man, a fact he was well aware. Ghosts of failures and past mistakes haunted his footsteps. A curse–not of luck or spirits from the Underworld, but rather cursed with a hard life; a quiet disgruntlement turned into calloused belief.

  What else would anyone call it? Bad luck? No, would’ve stopped years ago. If karma, he would be emperor of the Ermaeyth by now, instead, he lived apart.

  He lifted his crystal glass to his lips and took a long, smooth pull of the vivid amber liquor. Sweet–too sweet, unless mixed or sipped.

  “Do you want one?” Judas offered, lifting his tumbler so his visitor could catch a glimpse. He never took his eyes off the fire. When no response came, the veteran took another swig. His guest made no noise other than the constant scratching. He pulled at the right side of his goatee, twisting, then straightening again. “I am surprised you found my manor last night. Not many people are privy to the location.”

  “You sound like you didn’t expected me to find your home.”

  Ignoring the comment too close to authenticity, Judas posed a question instead. “How long did you wait again?”

  “Until midnight.”

  “That’s dedication.”

  Judas’ guest was fast, sharp, and nimble on his feet. His resourcefulness and determination manifested in the fact he managed to track down his home. He expected the young man to either never find his house or, at least, take days. Nature sheltered Judas’ manor with reclusiveness. Thick copses of trees and curtains of rolling hills obscured its presence, set deep in his property. Even if someone stumbled on his land by mistake, the chances of finding it was minimal.

  Did he start researching the location yesterday morning?

  His guest would bear watching in the future. Todd’s career would soar and Judas would help him, sub rosa, of course. He wanted Todd’s success free of the stigma of his association.

  The young man, a mere adolescent at best, tracked down the warlock time and time again. In fact, every time he went to Ralloc, the young man seemed to magically materialize. The boy had a true heart; Judas would give him credit, but he hated when people pestered him as soon as he entered the city. Some adored him for the gleaned facts from his past, but most feared him and his ability. Most could not mustered the courage to talk to him. But this young boy’s audacity made him believe and hope. Judas liked him, the youth with scarce a hair on his face. He desired neither fear or adoration; he aspired to be like every other normal citizen.

  Sometimes it would be relieving to be a face in the masses.

  As soon as he gave the thought life, he banished the idea. No, he wouldn’t fall into self-pity. Fate bore him a warlock, and she always held her reasons close.

  Fate’s a fickle bitch on occasion, he mused before chastising himself for cursing. If not born the intended way, he would most likely be dead or enslaved. The elder stole a hasty glance at the young man. His head stooped over his parchment.

  She would be a little older than him, a few seasons at best.

  Judas let the rare, random thought enter his mind. Hurt helped bury the subject, a heart-shattering anguish: the loss of his daughter. She was breathtakingly beautiful from the moment he held her. Duty forced him away moments after her birth. The memory was all he had, the first and only time he held her.

  I am sure all fathers think their daughters are beautiful.

  Xilor’s followers took her away from him. He made her killers pay with something worse than death: exile–like him, cut off from everything magical. Coincidentally, he just returned from that far-flung world. In the aftermath of his daughter’s demise, rage consumed him. Those were dark moment in his history. Only Meristal could pull him back from the precarious ledge.

  The Other Side; a world where time vanishes, lives pass infinitely quick compared to Ermaeyth. On the Other Side, life lasts a tenth of what they do in the magical world.

  The scratching of quill on parchment punctured the silence. Judas grew accustomed to the quiet, but the scraping thundered in his ears.

  Now I understand what the librarian felt yesterday morning. He drove Sam, the librarian, insane with his incessant scratching.

  A moment of panic flooded him. Having faced hordes in battle, he’d rather be there than here with this boy! The veteran dodged the journalist for a long time, for professional reasons, but evasion didn’t last forever.

  “The people want to hear the truth!” the boy had told him habitually. With reluctance, Judas agreed.

  The warlock’s azure gaze swept up from the fireplace.

  “Where do you want to begin?” the young man inquired, looking up. His eyes were pale blue under black hair.

  “We can start by you giving me your family name. You’re always hounding me but withheld your House name,” Judas replied. He hated delving into his life for the boy, but he did enjoy the spirit of the young columnist. In all fairness, he knew him as Todd, but he liked to tease him.

  “I told you, Master Lakayre. I tell you every time you come to Ralloc, but you never listen to me.”

  “What are you talking about? I only hear you flapping your gums as soon as I come into the city,” Judas replied, teasing him.

  “Oh, you’re right. You hear me, but you don’t listen.” The younger man sighed and slouched forward.

  Brass, kid, real solid, Judas smiled approvingly.

  “I’m Todd of House Wynters. I work for the New Suns Times, the paper published once a week in Ralloc. It’s a job, but my passion is in inspiring stories, like yours, Master Lakayre.”

  “You’ve come to the wrong wizard for an inspirational story, Arysto Wynters,” he reproved.

  “Why do you say that? How can your story be sad? You fought a war and came out unscathed.”

  “Unscathed?” Judas tsked. “You should know better. Didn’t you pick up a history book in school?”

  “Even I am smart enough to discern the gaps left out.”

  The elder snorted. “True enough. I will give you what you asked for, my story, but I do not want it spun in a web of half-truths. Not by you or by anyone else. I don’t want a whole city hating, fearing, or loving me; I want to be…”

  “Normal? Alone?” Todd interjected.

  “I’m already alone.”

  “Why do I have a feeling I am going to need a stiff drink for this?”

  “Cause you are a smart boy.”

  Judas gave him a lopsided, knowing-grin. He sat his glass on the hearth and pulled another, setting it by his and filled both, giving himself a more generous serving. With the conversation about to turn ugly, like walking through the Underworld, a little more alcohol couldn’t hurt.

  Might as well be jolly and buzzed.

  Judas drank on rare occasions. With glasses in hand, he crossed the room and handed one to the young man.

  Todd breathed deep, the peach and vanilla scent cloying in his nostrils, and took a cautious sip. His eyes widened in surprise as he smacked his lips. “That’s amazing! I never tasted anything like it! What is it? Where do you find something this good?”

  “One of the privileges of traveling Ermaeyth, you experience all types of foods and drinks. It’s called Parlaquay and hails from the Giem Domain.” The elder smiled and patted his shoulder. “There is a lot to tell,” he warned, switching subjects. “Do you remember how to cast the spell so your quill will do all the work while you sit and listen?” He centered his chair opposite of the correspondent.

  “I think so,” Todd replied, aware of the warlock out of the corner of his eye. After a few unsuccessful attempts, Judas removed his wand and did the deed. A heavy final
ity overcame the warlock as he sat.

  “If you misquote me in your editing process or lie about anything I say, it will be bad for you,” Judas warned.

  “Don’t worry about me, worry about the publisher. When they read something they don’t like, they want to adjust it, which alters the accuracy and reality of what is said.”

  “Tell you what,” Judas said, pausing, thinking hard before trusting himself to speak. He leaned forward. “If your publisher won’t let you publish as is, and you can’t find an honest one, I will fund your work myself.”

  “Really?” A big grin stole over the younger man’s face. “You mean it? You can’t be serious! I always got the impression you didn’t like me.”

  “Quite right,” he denied. A small harmless dishonesty. He didn’t want Todd to realize he enjoyed his spitfire attitude and found it refreshing. If he did, he would never be free of the young man. He glanced at the Parlaquay on the hearth, debating on another taste before deciding to abstain. “Where do you want me to begin my story?”

  “Anywhere is fine. I could ask questions or you could just talk.”

  “Whichever you prefer. I don’t care, Arysto Wynters.”

  The investigative author fired off at ballistic speed. “Alright, we’ll start with me asking questions and go from there. What is the year of your birth? What did your parents do for a living? Any family people don’t know? What did you want to be when in your youth? How did the war affect your personal life? Ever been married? Are you seeing someone now? Tell me about your friends!”

  “Whoa! Slow down! You’re going to stroke out!” Judas admonished. “Put a cork in the enthusiasm. Remember, you’re a journalist now, a code of conduct is expected. Breathe. Compose yourself, and try again.”

  Todd caught his breath and sat back in his chair, trying to show an aura of calm. The veteran knew the boy was bursting at the seams beneath the staged tranquility. “Do you have any friends?” the young man tried again.

  “No. Let me rephrase: Yes, one, sort of. It’s complicated. She hasn’t been around for a tour of years, but she returned last night. I am looking forward to spending time with her.”

  “Who is she? Do I know her?”

  “Yes. I believe you would know her from her public and political views, and her reputation for being one of the best Advocates of Law in Ralloc. She never fancied to be a politician or a lawyer, you know? After the atrocities of the Wizard’s War, she told me the only frontier for new adventures belonged in the political arena. She thought it would be exciting to rebuild society after so much destruction. People in roles of authority found her views too drastic for the comfort, so she turned to law.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Meristal Raviils.”

  “I know her!” Todd smiled in recognition. “She is on assignment, a tour down south, right?” The journalist paused before moving on. “Is it true she’s an Appaerel?”

  “Yes, she can change her appearance to whatever she likes.”

  “A rare gift. I wonder where she got it? The gift is passed down through the bloodlines, but I’ve never heard anyone in her family having it. Come to think, I’ve never heard anything about her family. What does she look like without the changes? I mean, she can’t be that young, I thought she’s your age?” Todd sheepishly pointed out.

  Judas chuckled at Todd’s awkwardness and reclined in his chair. “Well, she never altered her features to make herself appear younger. She’s the same as the day I met her, though a bit more wise. Enough about her, this is about me. Get on with it.”

  “Any other friends?” Todd reclined in his chair, trying to mimic his interviewee.

  “No.”

  “Why not? What did you do to drive people away? Why don’t you have many friends, Master Wizard?”

  “Because you didn’t use my official title. The Kothlere Council in its infinite wisdom wanted the people to fear others like me. I am the same as you. You should use my title, Warlock. If we went by an official title I do not possess, I would be Grand Maghai.”

  “Boast much?”

  “Boasting implies there isn’t much truth to the statement. There is.”

  “Why are you a warlock, Judas? Why is being one bad? What makes someone a warlock?” The writer leaned forward, his interest piqued.

  “I can do things with magic others cannot. I can perform spells without uttering any words, incantations, songs or dances, or any other nonsense.” Judas waved his hand. “I can use the same gift Hagen once used.”

  “Who’s Hagen?”

  “Damn!” Judas’ veered forward, coming out of his seat, dumbfounded for the third time in two days by the lack of education in the young generation. First, Sam the librarian, and now Todd. “Don’t they teach you anything in school anymore? I pity the ignorance of youth.”

  “Sure, but I don’t remember anyone named Hagen,” Todd offered.

  “Don’t worry about it; he’s only the Father of Magic. It’s not relevant,” Judas spoke with a touch of sarcasm. “What’s your next question?”

  “Let’s talk about your family. What are your feelings about your mom and dad, and your late brother? What other family do you have?”

  “I don’t want to talk about my brother,” came the knee-jerk response; an automatic, defensive retort whenever someone broached the sensitive subject. “Some things are better left buried in the past,” Judas breathed, maudlin.

  “Master Judas, if you aren’t willing to talk about anything, what are we doing here besides wasting our time?”

  Brass and a point to boot, the war vet marveled. “Point well said. My brother is my older twin. We do not share the same birthday but appear somewhat similar. That’s all the commonality we had. The vast differences between us: our ambition–what we sought out of life–and our personalities. He was an extrovert, popular and well-liked. He loved the adoration more than he cared about school or learning. I, however, am an introvert. I knew I wouldn’t receive the same treatment being second born, so I turned my attention to books, hoping one day I would outshine him.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be doted on?”

  “I’m not the first born. My father was a man of outdated traditions.” Judas twisted his goatee absentmindedly.

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Outshine your brother?”

  “Oh, yes,” Judas’ regretful whisper came. “In more ways than I care to admit. I forget you know nothing about me other than the Wizard’s War, but once I was a man not so different from everyone else.

  “My brother’s ambitions sealed his political standings with the community. He sold me out trying to achieve the coveted office of Consul. People are born warlocks, and I was one long before I entered the war. But the gospel leaked, so to speak. No one cared until they found out Xilor was a Sorcerer–like a warlock but dabbles in questionable aspects of conjury, twisting it for malevolence. Xilor reigned death and destruction and Ralloc pleaded with me to stop him. After I had destroyed him in his current state, they exiled me.”

  “This is great stuff,” Todd exclaimed with glee. The feather quill danced under invisible influence. Only when he turned his focus back to the warlock, he found his solemn face awaiting. Todd’s smile faltered to a more serious expression. “You don’t realize how many people are going to want to read about you, about your life. They are going to know they don’t need to be afraid of you,” he promised.

  A ghost-of-a-smile touched the veteran’s lips. “One can only hope.” His eyes drifted toward the window, pushing out with his essence, reaching out towards Julie. He found her with ease. Her potency radiant. He would need to teach her how to dampen it. Obscuring her aura not only made her harder to find, but help teach her how to block the magelust. The magelust responded differently to everyone. Blocking the magelust required self-discovery; it couldn’t be taught, but dampening her aura would give her the foundation of where to start. He could help with that. Julie almost experienced the lust earl
ier with Todd in the lobby. Unfortunately, learning to block your aura or someone else’s was not something he could teach her. The method differed for everyone, and she would need to learn on her own. Her power rippled at his gentle touch, an subconscious response. He wasn’t even sure she felt it. Judas returned his attention back to the excited writer.

  “What’s your next question, young man? There’s a lot of my life to cover…”

  “How did your brother die?”

  Judas exhaled. Old, painful wounds opened again. “He died in combat. The Dark Lord took him.”

  “I thought you said your brother was a politician? If so, how did he get on the field of battle?”

  “My clever brother understood image meant everything. In our youth, he never got caught misbehaving, always waiting until our father left for fields or the teachers and adults were absent before he would antagonize me. The same can be said of his political career.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Every once in a while, a moon turn, give or take, my brother came to the battlefields. He boosted low morale by making public appearances, shaking hands, and sometimes engaging in a small skirmish. The oddest part? He was on the battlefield the day before. I didn’t expect him for at least another moon turn.”

  “Why did he come?”

  Judas angled towards the other, the intensity leaking from him, and Todd mirrored him. “I always wondered myself. To make matters more interesting, the Dark Lord teleported into our midst, winking into existence and sent a blast of energy, knocking down all those around him. I threw up a mage shield in time. For a second, a blink of an eye, my sight fell away from Xilor. When I turned to face him, I saw him kill my brother. The Dark Lord dissolved him into nothing. Xilor turned his scrutiny upon me and teleported away.” The elder snapped his fingers. “Within my grasp.” He snapped again. “My brother died.” He snapped a third time. “And just like that, both gone.” He leaned back in his chair and the young man did the same, albeit slower, letting the information sink in. “But,” Judas broke the mounting silence, “one good thing can be said about Xilor.”