The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  “I did it?” she blinked, casting an apprehensive glance his way. “Sorry.”

  “An impressive display, if I may say so.” Pulling his wand from his robes, he flicked his wrist, the wax disappeared, the small mess cleared away. “Quite alright, my dear. Magic can fix almost everything, or at least, clear away a mess. Now, let’s try something else.” He shifted to the window and motioned her to join him. In the distance, a copse of trees formed the edge of a forested area.

  “Magic is more than bending a weak flame to your will but is a complex, binding entity of itself. Each of the five branches of magic has their rules, similar but different from each other. Magic can aid you, restore your health, help the infirm, educated and restore knowledge … limitless applications. Fun is but another aspect.” He pointed his finger out the window to the distant tree line. “Would you like to see them closer?”

  “Teleport?” Julie asked, excitement filled her voice.

  “No, not teleport. I’m talking about enhanced vision.” An eyebrow arched in silent question.

  She nodded.

  “You are still a student, and you will need your wand for this.” He waited until she extracted it from her robes. Her clothing was a set made the day prior, a midnight blue outer robe with silver collar and lapels, and small white stars on the cuffs that matched her inner robe. With the wand in her hand, Judas instructed her on the finer points of how to hold the wand and the incantation to accompany the spell.

  Julie spoke the incantation, focusing on her words and intent, but nothing happened. She sighed, dejected, her amber eyes narrowing.

  “No, no. You’re trying too hard to make something happen. Let it flow. Be natural. It’s there, within, like a quiet whisper in your ear, or a spider crawling across your skin, you don’t notice until you do.”

  Julie sighed, her jaw working, setting her teeth, almost resigned to failure again when she tried the incantation. This time, as she spoke the words, the trees jumped, her vision magnified. Judas cried out; the pain was sudden and unexpected. He saw through her eyes, his magic seeping into her as she used his essence to accomplish the incantation. Both of their visions swam, focusing on towering trees with twisting trails and thick underbrush, tumbling waterfalls spewing a fine white mist, and animals either hiding in the underbrush, drinking, bathing or snatching food from the pooling waters.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered with excitement.

  Judas grunted with pain. The longer she siphoned from him, the worse the pain. In moments, she would feel it, too. A dull pain crashed in waves through his skull, akin to a blacksmith using his head as an anvil. A sharp agony started in his temple, and he vaguely heard Julie cry out. He concentrated on his essence, watching the cascade between the two of them, and pulled, reigning back in. Once he wrestled control from Julie, the prevalent anguish receded somewhat.

  The warlock reached within, calling on his magic as he had many thousands of times in the past, and rejuvenated his body. The familiar sensation flashed through him, like waking from a week-long slumber. A wave of unfathomable energy permeated his body, like water soaking into the sand at the beach. Hunger and weariness leeched from him, bolstering his health and vitality. Even at his advanced age, he felt ready to trek up a mountain.

  The pain subsided as the spell worked its way through his body. A sudden movement caught his eye, and he turned to the right. Julie slumped over, holding her head, rocking back and forth. He reached out a hand and touched her, sending his magic through her. She stopped moving almost at once.

  Amber eyes looked up, blinked a few times in disbelief. “That was incredible, whatever you did!”

  “A rejuvenating spell. Comes in handy. A little too advanced for you at the moment,” Judas said with a soft voice. “You do well to remember the spell in the future. I will teach you when the time is right.” A smile crept over his face. “Before you ask, we both caused the pain. In an attempt to control your elusive aura, your mind reached out and snatched mine, a stronger, bolder one. You siphoned, pulled my essence without acquiescence or my help. The pain is a natural fail-safe. Your essence will fight off the invasion, similar to when your body gets an infection; your fever burns it out.”

  She shuddered. “I’ll try not to let that happen again.”

  “Me either. Painful for both of us and I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

  He returned to his seat, and she followed. “Is that common?”

  “Pulling someone’s essence?” He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “First, the one siphoning must be strong to begin with, and though someone may be powerful enough to snatch it, the pain will be enough for them to let go. Second, there are two types, inadvertent and blatant. What you did was unintentional, so we’ll chalk that up to the former. The latter is when someone rips your essence away from your control. They must possess the strength and the endurance to fight off the inevitable pain while channeling: the latter. The stronger the victim, the stronger the agony. Enough practice for the moment, I think.”

  She grew pensive and poised to ask a question, her face betraying her collective thoughts. “I have seen wizardkind and a goblin thus far. What about the elyfian? Why aren’t they among the people of the Realm? Are they all in the Enclave? I don’t recall ever hearing about them doing magic, can they?”

  He shook his head. “The elyfian residing in the Vikal Mountains are a portion of the entire population. They, like wizardkind, are scattered throughout Ermaeyth. There is much history to be learned. Much of your studying, magical or otherwise, will be from scripts and other various compilations, as well as practical application. I can give you a brief summary, but I could never replace a book.” He smiled. “The elyves are the gods of mortality.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when I say the gods of mortality, I don’t mean they rule over us. They are the fairest people in the Realm, docile. Elyfians do not make decisions in haste and are masters of art, crafting, and war, but rarely move to the latter. Elyfians are considered a pacifist race; bloodshed is shied from unless all other measures are exhausted. Once, long ago, they entered into battle and brought a race–the goblins–to near extinction. When they sound the war bell, best not to impede them.

  “But more than war, they mastered magic and made an art form. They are near-immortal and keep away from the mundane and daily use of magic. You could say it bores them, beneath them. They still have mages and teachers instructing the young, but most become artisans, builders, and craftsman. Only the dwaven out-shined them in the art of making weapons of war. But of making war itself, a caste of warriors called the Jaikari is outdone by none.”

  “How is that possible? How can they be second to the dwaven? An immortal race should have perfected their craft by now, right?”

  “They refuse to make weapons of war. Only when they declare war is when they make their blades, and they are far superior to the dwaven’s weapons. After the war is over, each blade destroyed.”

  “Why don’t they destroy their enemies by magic? If possible to wipe out their foe, why hesitate?” she asked. The master considered her curiosity. If she possessed the power to destroy her enemies, she wouldn’t hesitate. Would she feel compelled or obligated to the people and the ones she loved to make sure their enemies never rose up against them again? The thought bothered him.

  “Why would anyone wish that transgression upon any sentient race?” he chided her, breaking the silence. “But to answer your question, like wizardkind, most can use magic, but not to the extent of wizards. Elyfian cannot rely on their powers alone, few can. You, too, will most likely need to learn to use a blade or staff or even archery to keep yourself alive. But back to the elyves, even though they do not make weapons of war, they do make weapons of defense and sporting. They make the finest bows and arrows, as well as light, sturdy shields. Who knows what they do up in the Vikal Mountains. They prefer living in solitude rather than mingling.”

  “Why
solitude?”

  “Have a care, Julie. Elyves seek solitude because wizardkind fear them. We are a nosy and fretting race. Why become involved with a race that fears you or tells you how to run your affairs? Wizardkind, more often than not, is closed-minded and prejudiced as a general rule. Why subject yourself to discrimination? So, their elusiveness makes wizardkind wary and fear will drive people to do shameful things.”

  “Ever consider the reason they dislike elyves is because they are so distant?”

  “Yes, young one, that argument has arisen on numerous occasions. The elyves, however, do not want to be scrutinized like a child with a wand. They are their own people and would rather be left alone. Sadly, it will take another war for the wizardkind to realize that,” Judas intoned.

  “What do you mean ‘they are their own people?’”

  “Long ago, elyves were not so different than wizards.” He held up a finger. “Let me back up to give you a better perspective.” He gestured with his hands as he recited. “The druids were the first race to walk Ermaeyth. The archangels fell in love with the race and began to breed with them, giving birth to the first new race of Ermaeyth, the nephiliam. From the descendants of the nephiliam, came two dominant races, wizardkind and elyves. Of course, there were subcultures within the two races. The first markings of difference between these two races are minuscule, but over time, the gulf between the two became more prominent. Wizardkind sought to harness magic, mold it to their will. They also became scholars of magic, science, agriculture, and general knowledge.

  “The elyves, on the other hand, became only wielders of higher mysteries of the arcane, learning enough to augment what they sought. From our perspective, they seemed like vain creatures, obsessed with beauty and the ability to change anything to suit their pursuit of elegance. Needless to say, they experimented on themselves and each other, drawing out aristocratic features and enhancing areas of attractiveness. For all their beauty and conceitedness, they soon saw they would become easy prey to wizardkind. They took up the art of war, crafting weapons and armor of the finest caliber and honing their skills with augmented strength, speed, and agility to negate wizardkind’s magical prowess. Until the Wizard’s War, we never witnessed firsthand the beauty and ruthlessness of their prowess in combat.”

  “Can you tell me of the Wizard’s War? I only know generalities but not specifics.” He noted the dripping curiosity and eagerness from his student. What part of the subject did she hunger for?

  “There are many theories on the war, which is the first thing you must understand. I don’t profess to be a scribe of histories nor a historian. I will tell you what I learned over the years from my studies and first-hand knowledge. Again, if you want to learn, I recommend a good book. The actual Wizard’s War didn’t begin when wizardkind entered but long before. That is a crucial point to understand. Not many accept this fact.”

  She leaned forward in her chair.

  “The actual war started an Age before my birth with the elyves and the goblins. Why the goblins and elyves went to war is still a mystery.”

  “You have a theory, don’t you?” she guessed.

  “I have theories, like the next man, but now isn’t the time to speculate. The elyves rallied and pressed the goblins on all sides. Many thought the elyves would end the race–even the goblins. In the end, the elyves pitied them for pushing them close to the brink of extinction and they found restraint. The elyves destroyed countless treasures of their artisanship, their weapons of war. Only a few pieces are kept in museums as a reminder of both their skill and lethality.”

  “But it was warranted, right? The goblins struck first, didn’t they? If so, the elyves should hunt them down,” she spoke, an edge of resentment crept into her voice.

  “That’s what history tells us.” he answered cryptically. The low fire danced lazily in the hearth. He scrutinized the turmoil rolling across her face, thinking about atrocities ending before her time. Judas pondered his new pupil. Though energetic and full of wonder, another side emerged, one not seen while she slumbered.

  She was ruthless.

  This wasn’t the first time Julie talked about taking a hard line against those who wrong others. In taking her stance, she skirted close to the brink herself.

  Depends on where you stand yourself, Judas thought.

  From where he stood, he found little difference between Xilor and Julie’s hardline approach except the former was inherently evil while she flirted with a gray morality. Before he caught himself, he started talking about Xilor and the war.

  “Sixty-three hundred years ago, the war started between the elyves and goblins. Around twenty-nine hundred years later, Xilor announced himself to Ermaeyth. That is the time most consider the beginning of the Wizard’s War, because we became involved. He reigned destruction, chaos, and death for a long time. But in the end, he was defeated–at least, for the time being.”

  “What was your role in the Wizard’s War?”

  “Various. I did fight on the front lines though. My first foray in the war came on the battlefield near Far Point. To reach Far Point, you must travel through the Corridor of Cruelty. The Corridor is in the mind of the perceiver, so I went through, and the journey took me ten years. At least, from my experience.”

  “Your experience?” Julie inquired, unbelieving.

  “When we pass through the Corridor, you will understand.”

  “What do you mean ‘when’ we pass through? Don’t you mean ‘if?’” Julie’s eyes narrowed.

  “No, when,” he corrected her. “Anyways, my understanding grew from the knowledge of the Corridor, both about magic and myself.”

  “You defeated the Dark Lord?”

  Judas clarified. “I stopped him, so I guess you can say defeat, but he isn’t dead.”

  “Why didn’t you track down the Dark Lord’s family and rid Ermaeyth of them or hold them hostage? That will solve the problem, right?”

  Again, her hard line approach. Julie’s idea, though sound in logic, lacked morality. Her view walked across a chasm of difference from Judas’ own. The gnawing in the pit of his stomach did not abate, knowing his duty required instilling her with morals and magic.

  “Julie, it’s much more complicated. Only a select few know of the Dark Lord’s true existence, who he is. His family, if he even has one, may be innocent.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “That information eludes me,” he revealed in a flat, defeated voice.

  “Why?”

  “I found no trace of evidence for my suspicions. In reversed roles, I would erase such information. For a time, I thought I knew his identity. Many things about him seemed familiar to me, but the possibility seemed unlikely and improbable. I hated myself for many years thinking such a thing. I disgraced and dishonored someone’s memory.”

  “Who did you think he was?” she queried.

  “Someone from my past.”

  He knew Julie waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she prodded him further. “Who? What did he do? Where is he now?”

  “A good friend, and he is gone,” he said with a finality.

  She is intrigued by Xilor. Our conversation has turned dark. What does she hope to glean from him?

  “So what happened, did everyone think you died in your ten-year absence?” she asked. He remembered that he didn’t finish the story.

  “No, my dear. That is how I perceived my time in the Corridor. I was only gone for a season.”

  “Three months? How do you get ten years out of a season?”

  “Like I said, the Corridor of Cruelty is all in the mind of the perceiver. The curse of fear is similar, but you don’t fear the Corridor–you fear what it can do.”

  “So what happened during those three months?” Julie queried, hungry for his story.

  “I’ll withhold most events because you’ll pass through the Corridor soon. Within, you will find your strengths and weaknesses, your fears and hopes.”

  “So, you to
ld me nothing.”

  “I can only teach you so much before you must experience things on your own,” Judas evaded.

  The warlock floundered, bolting to his feet. He fumbled, digging into his robe as if a hot coal burned his leg. From a pouch, he pulled out a small mirror. A swirl of green fog obscured the surface for a moment before the face of a wizard materialized.

  “Judas Lakayre, report to Ralloc on the morrow. The Consul has an assignment for you. Bring the Wcic,” he commanded. The face faded in the green swirling fog.

  “What was that?”

  “A summon from the Kothlere Council. If they think I am going to come running back to them with you in tow, they are bigger fools than I thought.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I cannot until I find out who is hunting me. Well, I assume me. That is why we are ‘on the run’ and not at my manor. Whoever is looking for you or me would go there first.”

  “If they don’t know where you are, how did they manage contact with you?”

  He smiled. “An astute observation. I linked my essence to this mirror instead of a fixed position like my residence. They can contact me, but not track me. You’ve got to be one step ahead always.”

  “What’s a Wiz-sick?”

  “What?”

  “You called me one at your manor, telling me about the Elder fairy.”

  “Oh! A Wcic! It’s an acronym for someone like you: wizardkind caught in crossover. It means someone with magical abilities from the Other Side.”

  Judas walked to her mantle above the fireplace and retrieved the sole candle. He rubbed his fingers near the wick and a flame appeared and placed the candle in front of her.

  “Let’s try again, but this time, with your essence.”

  ***

  Chapter 15 : The Betrayer

  A bead of sweat gleamed on the Betrayer’s brow. He teleported recently, leeching his magical strength. He regretted making the journey without a horse, but he had no other recourse. The suns scorched him from high above. A dull ache festered in his feet. Without companionship and conversation distracting him, he obsessed over his ailments. His feet occupied his waking thoughts, but something else hurt, too.