The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  His pride.

  Admittedly, he was a coward, and the wound remained fresh. If he came to terms with his choice long ago, he could find peace. But he couldn’t. Beneath all his cowardice, a weak will afflicted him.

  I’d like to see others try to live my life.

  The tenacity for conflict fled him, if existed at all. Thoughts of youth brought back fond memories and a tinge of bitterness. In retrospect, he had been an arrogant sycophant, basking in his personal gratification and shunning anyone who rightfully deserved attention. If they grasped his insecurities, his image would crumble away, abandoning him as hastily as his followers. In his false bravado, he hoarded many friends who desired to be like him, but in truth, he couldn’t measure himself to anyone. Life, back then, had been a competition, and he won on charisma alone.

  He loathed himself for the stupidity of youth.

  Blisters formed on the bottom of his feet and sweat clung to the spaces between his toes. His socks drowned in perspiration. The grass, thin and withered, a faint green from lack of rain.

  In school, one of his classmates had been Judas. He couldn’t stand the brat. Now, he wasn’t sure if his opinion remained true or if misguided by youth. Truth or perception? Perhaps he had been wrong in viewing Judas that way. Did the fault lay with him? If so, it was almost as hard as accepting his cowardice.

  Beneath the unforgiving Apor and Praema, the dual suns, his sweat didn’t cling to his shirt and cool him off, but evaporated swiftly. His tongue swelled, sticking to the roof of his mouth. In silence, he cursed his decision to forgo a horse. When it came time to teleport, he couldn’t port the horse, too. He didn’t possess the magical command for such a feat. The Betrayer shrugged his pack higher on his back and cinched the straps tighter.

  His frown deepened while his mind churned over the past. As an indentured servant of Xilor and on a personal level, his life seemed to be a series of failures. Pondering such circumstances made his stomach clinch. The gods granted one reprieve in the gloom of his life. In Gryzlaud, sealed away from the rest of the world, two young women resided. Born a little under twenty-three hundred years ago, during the Wizard’s War, Xilor held their lives in his hands. He used them as means to threaten the Betrayer into continued service. Whenever he became unruly, his master reminded him the cost of his service or lack thereof. Without those two girls, the Dark Lord held no sway over him. Death was not an option for him. He was certain if he died, his volition or otherwise, they would follow him to the Underworld. Xilor would make sure of it.

  A faint, gentle breeze floated towards the weary traveler and he reveled in the simple pleasure while it lasted. The cooling wind was a balm against his sweaty face. He raised the girls, Miza and Olga, since their infancy, taking pride and joy in their presence. When they neared the Age of Maturity, the girl’s personalities shifted, growing apart in their contrasting individualities.

  Olga, prickly by nature, blithe and scathing, hungered for power and glory and was willing to do anything to achieve it. Her personality mirrored his in his youth. Miza was the antithesis, soft, sweet, and naively innocent. She yearned for knowledge, not power, which marked her as the outcast among the three of them. Despite Miza’s differences from him and her sister, the Betrayer found her to be more fascinating, charming, and engaging. Unconsciously, he devoted most of his attention to her, but it was treacherous footing on a steep incline. If Xilor ever came aware of his attachment to her…

  Olga roiled with disdain, jealous and spiteful at the lack of attention. Olga’s heart hardened against him and sought neither comfort nor pity. It was his fault. When he realized what his actions wrought, he tried to turn the young girl away from her path of resentment. His actions only drove her further down her path.

  When Olga reached the Age of Maturity, she banished the Betrayer from her sight. Even though he wandered the same halls as she, he hadn’t seen her for many years. He wasn’t sure he desired to anymore. He still loved the little girl he remembered, but she had changed long ago. Even though they resided in the same palace, they might as well have been continents apart. Olga, he feared, was a lost cause. His heart rent every time he acknowledged that.

  Miza, however, still enjoyed his company. She understood the good in him, the sacrifice he made, and his unbridled shame. He denied the goodness for a long time, the good that clung in some deep, dark corner of his heart. Where he proclaimed failure and weakness, she boasted his courage and strength. Miza knew the story of how she and her sister came to be in Gryzlaud Palace, how his actions spared her from the Underworld as an infant, and what he gave up. Most importantly, she was grateful. The Betrayer had nothing to live for, except her, his redeeming grace.

  Her warm smile filtered through his thoughts, taking his mind off his aches and pains. Memories of her soft, sweet voice and merry laugh filled him with a buoyancy. He hoped once his current task concluded, the Dark Lord would allow him to return to Gryzlaud Palace. He longed to be near the vibrant young woman who saved him from self-pity.

  He felt the slight pull of magic, a familiar sensation warning him of the approaching summon. He stopped and pulled the small shard of mirror from his pocket, grateful for the reprieve in his journey, but the face on the other end was not one he expected or wanted to see. Krurik, the Dark Lord’s chosen successor, glowered on the other end.

  “Tell the Dark Lord Judas has been summoned to Ralloc and instructed to bring the Wcic. The Council wishes to see her. I will arrange her stay overnight. After he leaves the city, she will be slain. No one will suspect my involvement.” Krurik whispered. Krurik cast a glance over his shoulder, towards the door he secreted himself behind. Though hiding in plain sight, he was still in the heart of Ralloc.

  “And if he does not heed the summon?” the Betrayer asked.

  “I know where he is. I will personally oversee her death.”

  “Makes my job easier. I need to give our master good news,” the Betrayer said. Relief washed over him at the chance to get back into Xilor’s good graces.

  “Only an incompetent fool like you would,” Krurik scoffed. “The Betrayer is a name unsuited for a cur like you. You are nothing. My betrayal is real, visceral, and daily. I hide in plain sight among the fools. I bring my master pride, not you.”

  “Don’t you mean our Master?” the Betrayer insisted.

  “No, mine! You are not an apprentice but a slave, a dog brought to heel.”

  The Betrayer moved to cut the communication between them when Xilor’s apprentice spoke. “When I rise to take my master’s place, you will be the first to go, along with those cunts you love so much. I will destroy all you hold dear, make you watch, and after you suffer, I will kill you, too.”

  The green fog swirled and the image faded before the chastened Betrayer could come up with a retort.

  ***

  Chapter 16 : Julie

  The flame fluttered, responding to her pull. A smile spread across her face. Illumination from the feeble light sparkled in her amber eyes.

  Perhaps Judas is right, and magic comes with time.

  Ever since she experienced her essence, the conjury came easier for her, however, but presented new challenges. The incantations he provided failed to manifest, so she started over with the flame, calling her essence. He wrote down two simple spells for her but the magic refused to respond to her call. She released her influence on the flame before reaching out again. The fire churned, glowing brighter, the flame elongating before curling, bending, looping back on itself. Her smile widened. Julie threw her arms up in celebration but kept from shouting out her excitement. In this late hour, she doubted many remained awake. Judas retired to his room hours ago. Her smile faltered when she thought of her master.

  Master? Such an odd word.

  The world changed for her, a rapid transition over the last few days and she was still trying to catch up.

  Earlier in the day, Julie took the warlock’s advice and opened a book from the small bookshelf in her room. She al
ternated between influencing the flame and her books. A cover to cover reading was a feat she wasn’t inclined to indulge in but rather skimmed through the short excerpts. Only when she found a passage that grabbed her attention, she read the section. The thin book, printed in the last year, covered various subjects. A small portion was written in remembrance of the Wizard’s War and lacked the detailed events. The tidbits of information she found, she already knew, either from Judas’ Transference or his ramblings. But even as he talked, he withheld information. Julie was certain some of the information he withheld was for personal reasons, but the general knowledge, the details, he held those back as well. Every time she asked, she sensed the weight of his gaze and noted ponderous thinking behind his azure eyes.

  A trust issue.

  He didn’t trust her, and the path worked both ways. From his own mouth he stated his actions, taking her away from wherever and performing complex, untested magic on her. Granted it worked, but what if it didn’t?

  You’d be dead, she reminded herself.

  The edge of truth cut deepest, her reality hinged on what Judas relayed. But how could she discern the truth from uncorroborated testimony? Trusting blindly did not bode well, and the less he trusted her, the more misgivings she had. He gave restrictive knowledge and sheltered her. She wanted freedom, the ability to choose what to learn, where to go. The distinct possibility didn’t seem likely at the moment. Judas said someone hunted them, but she couldn’t make sense of why they holed up in an inn when they should be moving. Couldn’t someone find them once they reached their destination? Their journey’s end eluded her but from the little hints she gathered, the place sounded secluded, off the well-trodden path. Seclusion meant isolation, and isolation implied a small location.

  She sighed, and her insides gurgled. She pined to see Ralloc. Everything she knew about the city, and from the way Judas talked, sounded majestic. A massive hive of buildings and races intermingling throughout. An adventure! One she wouldn’t have, not anytime soon. A spark of resentment flared in her, her magic washing out of her like a wave. The candle flickered, danced, and ignited brighter, reaching higher than before. The sudden burst startled her and she reined in on her emotions. The light danced and dimmed, shrinking back to its normal size.

  She recalled her meeting with Staell and the thoughtful, brooding mood Judas opted for in the wake of the unicorn’s departure. A conversation must have taken place before her arrival downstairs and whatever the contents of the exchange was, it bothered the warlock. His semi-petulant mood made her yearn all the more to know what they conversed about. Judas was a methodical man, lost in his thoughts more than not. That did not bother Julie other than the absent knowledge, excluded from the internal monologue. What she would give to comprehend what he thought, his sentiments and moods, and what secrets he kept.

  Perhaps magic can help you?

  An intriguing thought, tantalizing. When she grew more powerful and controlled her abilities better, perhaps more opportunities would arise. Was that even a possibility, to read people’s minds? The first reaction bore squeamishness. To possess such a gift would be an invasion of privacy but the possibilities were too tempting to pass up. She would be aware when Judas lied to her, if he indeed lied, siphoning the secrets he held close, knowing for sure whether he warranted her trust. He would, after all, shape her near future.

  Julie hated the impression of not being able to control her destiny, to be so reliant on a person, not able to fend for herself. By wizardkind standards, she was well over the Age of Maturity and an adult, but he lead her by the hand as he would a child. A bitter thought. True, she needed guidance; she held no delusions in that regard, but was bothered by the way he led. He guided her with vague direction.

  She recalled his words. I cannot tell you what to feel; that must come from within. What in the Underworld did that mean?

  Judas told her that he never trained someone from the beginning, a learning experience for the both of them. No matter how she viewed his sentiment, she found no way to deny the obvious truth. He seemed to be fumbling, bumbling through. Perhaps such rudimentary and elementary tasks were too menial for him. That would explain a lot. He may be a prominent master, but simplicities escaped him. She gathered that much from the small book she skimmed through.

  The book she read offered two short passages regarding him within the slender confines. One detailing the legality of his banishment more than anything, citing him as the only exile within Ralloc and Marcoalyn Domains and his branding of a warlock. Last year alone, he repealed his case three times to reinstate his citizenship. All were denied, a fact she knew before reading the passage. The second passage, as vague as the first, focused on his role in the war. A few of his notable battles were mentioned, including Far Point and his delayed arrival. The author summed up his greatest accomplishment in a few short sentences:

  Judas Lakayre survived his twin brother, Josiah, and went on to defeat the Dark Lord Xilor. Details surrounding his ultimate victory is a guarded secret, and it’s unclear who all is privy to such information. Regardless of his legal status or what title bestowed with, he single-handedly brought an end to the Great Wizard’s War. We should not forget the deeds of our heroes, no matter how far they fall, or the lost lives that granted us a future without oppression.

  And that was it. Nothing more on his exploits, no details on his grand feats of magical prowess, just a few lines summarizing what everyone already knew. A waste of paper as far as Julie was concerned. Both passages mentioned nothing about the kind of person he was, his views, philosophy, religion, or political leanings. It was not beyond the realm of distinct possibility that neither writer knew him other than a distant figure they’ve heard about. Both wrote with a distant tone, annotating their personal feelings or lack thereof. Her stomach grumbled again.

  Sighing, she stood, abandoning the comfortable chair and tossed the book on her bed. She tried sleeping earlier, but the elusive comfort abandoned her. Her mind churned with what the future may bring, where they were going, what magical abilities she may yet discover. One unaccounted bonus to not knowing who you were or what you could do was the aspect of newness. Each passing moment was a learning experience, discovering the world for the first time. Each day, she found out that it was a bad thing, too.

  Julie opened the door to her room, peeking out into the darkened hallway devoid of life. A floorboard creaked in the distance. She snapped her head behind her, down the hall towards the end and Judas’ room, a tingling racing through her body. The hall remained empty and dark. Her scalp prickled but she shook the impression away.

  It’s an old building, probably just sighing.

  A funny notion, thinking of buildings as sentient beings that sighed. A ludicrous thought, but one she didn’t dismiss completely. Perhaps they could be?

  Descending the stairs, she eyed the empty lobby and dining room. A fire crackled in the latter and the lobby’s candles burned brightly. Someone was awake at this hour to help late arrivals or wandering guest such as herself.

  “Hello?” she called into the quiet. Noise stirred from behind the counter, through a door to a back room. A young man–older than her but not by much–came through, smoothing his clothes. His dark brown hair contrasted nicely with his pale gray eyes. He was tall, too, enough so that Julie had to look up at him. The smile she received was heavy with evident sleepiness, but seemed to wake up by her presence. She returned his smile with one of her own. He was attractive, even if he did just wake up.

  “Good evening, Lady…?”

  “Uh, Fossard,” she stammered, remembering the alias she and Judas used.

  “Lady Fossard. How may I assist you?”

  A caress so subtle she never realized its gentle arrival. A soft stirring within her, a fluttering heartbeat. Warmth crawled, languid and salacious, across her flushing cheeks, the familiar prickling in her tightening chest.

  What can he assist me with? What am I doing here again?

  Her st
omach clenched and with it, the pangs of hunger reminded her of why she came down.

  “I know it’s late,” she murmured, her breath catching in her throat. She swallowed. “Is there anything in the kitchens? A piece of bread or some fruit?”

  He smiled again, a dazzling display of his teeth. The corners of his mouth tightened as his lips spread, a teasing, coy grin. It made him more handsome. “Sure, I can snatch you something, but you have to do something for me.”

  He wants me! she realized. “What- What is that?”

  “Tell me your name, Lady Fossard.”

  What? That’s not what I expected. “Why do you want to know my name?”

  His smile widened.

  Oh! He knows he’s attractive!

  “You’re a beautiful Lady. Not many minor nobles come down here. Never even talked to one. How could I resist?”

  She smiled at that, mistaken for nobility, an agreeable feeling. Somewhere through the haze of her mind, she remembered Judas’ words about not using their real names. Since she identified herself as Fossard, she continued to play her role. “Cynthia.”

  He came around the counter, held out his hand, palm up. She placed her hand in his, and he brushed his warm, full lips against her skin, a delicate touch. “The pleasure is mine, Cynthia.”

  Heat crept into her face, her mind swam with a heady sensation. He stood to his full height, his head and shoulders towered over her. Even Judas would be half a head shorter.

  From his closeness, she sensed more than felt his warmth. For the first time, Julie regarded him fully. His handsome face, tall, broad shoulders, and fair complexion though tanned from time not spent indoors. She even noted his hands before he let go of hers, rough, calloused, strong. She thought Todd attractive, but even the journalist didn’t measure up.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, breathy.