The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  “Does it matter to a woman of your stature?” he purred.

  Swathed in cyan vestments to match the color scheme of the inn, his robes were of a high caliber of linen, woven with care. A simple gold threading embroidered the cuffs, a design reminiscent of a vine. His gray eyes twinkled, lingering on hers before she dropped her gaze to his chest, the plunging line of his robes showing more skin than she first realized. She fixated, his flesh calling to her, beckoning her, and she almost missed his soft words.

  “I’ll check the kitchens for some food, Cynthia.” He walked away to the dining room. Disappointment flooded her, realizing she asked him for something that would bewitch him away from her presence. She followed a few short steps into the dining room, her gaze lingering on his backside as he strode away.

  Julie’s pulse quickened as she imagined what he looked like beneath his clothing. Was it as dazzling as his smile? As gratifying as his face?

  I want him! Shit! What’s happening to me? I can’t stop thinking about him. I must have him.

  Her body thrummed as she hungered for him. She blushed again, turning scarlet, grateful he didn’t witness her embarrassment. Her vision swam again, weaker this time. She tried to shake her head to clear away the vibes but that only made it worse. She took a step back towards the lobby and found her breath coming easier, then took another, and another. Her senses came back, a gradual regression through the fog.

  Get out of here!

  Julie heeded her advice and climbed the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. She didn’t want to disturb the other patrons or worse, awaken Judas.

  A fine time for him to show up!

  She reached her room, the first door on the left of the second floor, fumbled with the key for a moment before making entry. Shutting the door behind her, she sagged against the wood as if a refuge and let out a deep, shaky breath. Tiny prickles of sweat beaded her forehead, and she wiped them away on the cuff of her sleeve.

  What’s happening to me?

  A quiet rapt on her door, two quick knocks, made her jump. Pride rippled through her for not gasping aloud. She opened the door, a small sliver, spying the man’s face and the heady sensation returned as strong as before. Her vision swam, nearly swaying.

  “Your food, Cynthia?” he whispered.

  Her body shuddered when he called her Cynthia, like a cat’s purr or silk drawn across the skin and her abdomen tightened as did the rest of her body. The sweat returned, a thin sheen on her forehead, but this time, she resisted the urge to wipe, embarrassed by the thought.

  The door opened wider, his frame filled the doorway, a striking figure. His hands held the plate out to her; a slice of bread coated with a meager layer of honey and an apple adorned the dish. To control the trembling of her hands, she clenched her fists at her sides before reaching up, taking the plate from him, and put it on the dresser beside the door. The food was far from her mind, almost forgotten.

  “Anything else I can do for you, Cynthia?”

  Before she realized it, she nodded. Her body quivered when she heard his voice, the way he said her name. “Call me Cynthia, again.”

  “Cynthia,” his voice rumbled in his throat, soft.

  The moment carried her along swift currents. She reached out for him, kissing him, his warm lips pressed against hers. Her mouth opened, inviting; his tongue slipping through. A vigorous hand cupped her left breast, pinning her body against the door. The passionate persuasion crawled within her, called out and grew stronger. Each trickling second lasted a lifetime. The buzz thrummed through her body, building like the crashing of a gong.

  He pushed into her room, her head resting against the door. A steady arm snaked around her waist, pressing her into his body while his other hand explored down her robes. The scent of earth and musk filled her nostrils. His hardness pressed into her, a wanton smile coming to her face. Her fleshed tightened, quivered, her pulse pounding in her neck. Hands continued down, reaching her groin, his fingers opening her garments. A few more seconds and she would feel skin on skin contact for the first time. Her robe opened more, fully exposing her undergarments. The other arm still around her waist hastily joined his exploring hand. A twinge at first, then a throbbing point, dug into the top of her leg. The lecherous fog broke for an instance of clarity.

  “Wait,” she said, gasping, chest heaving. Pulling away, she padded deeper into her room, and he let her slide out of his arms. She closed her robes, holding them shut with her arms crossed. “I can’t.”

  “But you want to.”

  Julie found herself nodding at his statement. “Yes,” she stammered. “But my father is just down the hall.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Yes. You don’t know him. If he wasn’t here, possibly, but he is. I can’t do this now.” The lie seemed to help, the haze clearing, and the distance she put between them aided in her recovery.

  He smiled, knowing his hopes of conquest would succeed under different circumstances. “Aren’t you glad I never told you my name? Just another boy on the street.” He took a step backward, exiting the room, closing the door behind him. The wistful twist of his mouth was the last thing she saw. Julie went to the door and pressed her ear against the wood, listening to his retreating footsteps, half-sorry she stopped herself.

  When the soft footfalls faded, she reached down and locked the door, not trusting herself or him. Casting a glance at her leg where the discomfort originated, she explored the cause, realizing her wand bruised her as his hand plunged downward. Thinking of the moment caused her stomach to flutter, reveling in the fleeting moment. The heady sensation abated, fading.

  What was that? What caused that?

  She turned, putting her back to the door, knees shaking. The slender volume she had thumbed through earlier fell into her view. In a moment of certainty, she knew. Two deft strides carried her across the room and she snatched up the small publishing. Pages turned until she spied the short article titled: Woes of Magelust.

  Ever feel drunk but you’ve never drank? Found yourself staring across the room at someone you never met? Chances are the magelust ensnared you. Another year has gone by with leaps of progress for the Apothecary, Pharmacon, and healers, but nothing for the magelust. Speaking for those few who have difficulty managing the menial task of blocking out other people’s aura or dampening their own, I’d like to see some progress made on this front.

  Two percent of our population cannot block out auras, even though the majority of citizens can dampen theirs. It helps, but not enough. Even people who never sought a higher education in magical practice can turn the magelust on for those more sensitive to its pull. When will the lust become a social issue and be addressed? The Krey’s bloodlust is considered a malady, why can’t the magelust?

  To date, the magelust affects far more people than the bloodlust. The Krey are a tenth of a tenth and then some of our population. The government should be looking out for the welfare of all its citizens. While pain can help break through the lust, chances are, nothing is available on hand to induce that pain, unless you are a Lord out with your Lady, and she slaps you for kissing the servant. For myself, and two percent of the population, it will be another year of promiscuous encounters and strange entanglements.

  Julie inhaled a deep draw and blew it out noisily through her nose. The magelust. It made sense. She, according to Judas, had a strong aura and had yet to learn how to block out other auras or dampen her own. Was she like the two percent or would control come in time? It was another question she needed to ask him, but would he tell her the truth or shy away and become elusive? Her belly growled again, and she closed the book, dropping it to her bed.

  A glow outside her window caught her eye. Perplexed, Julie moved towards the glass panes. The illumination hadn’t been there earlier. She pulled the thin curtain aside with the back of her hand and peered out. Flames crackled with life; an entire building engulfed in a towering inferno. For a moment, she hesitated, stricken by panic. Thoughts
and scenarios flashed through her mind. The most prominent notion was to reach out and try to affect the flames with her essence, but this task was well beyond anything she could ever hope to accomplish.

  A muffled scream ripped through the night, muted by distance and the glass. The cry for help jarred her out of her reverie. Judas, he can help! Why she did not think of that first, she didn’t know. She stepped towards the door, turning away from the window. A vibration, followed by a deafening crackle of sudden energy like distant thunder, echoed through the somnolent witching hour. Before the brontide abated, her sole window shattered, the fractured glass lacerating her back, the strength of the blast knocking her to the floor.

  Her face smacked the floorboards, a wave of bright light and pain swelled, darkening her view. In the distance, she heard more screams, louder than before, closer too. The deck rumbled, a vibration she felt through the floor with the side of her face, footsteps thundering down the hallway. She was sure Judas was one of them.

  Drawing her arms under her, she rose. A cold sentiment crept along her back but as she stirred, hot, sharp agony peppered her skin, the glass burrowing. A gasp escaped her, and her vision threatened to dim, shifting from hazy to in focus.

  A new noise caught her attention as the thundering feet fell away; her head turned towards the door, tracking the origin. Her vision reverted, clear and sharp. A large, shadowed figure appeared on the outside the threshold of her room, the edges blurred, the face distorted in magic and shadow but everything else crisp and distinct. The being entered her room. Julie had reached her knees as the intruder clawed her throat, cutting off her air and ability to cry for help. Panic enveloped her, and she could do little more than spasm. Muscles seized, constricted; her breath became short and sporadic.

  The face, a mirage, flickered and changed, shifting before her eyes between shadow and visage of creatures she had no name for, obscuring the identity. One seemed feline. Demonic, twisted, something out of nightmares. She perceived movement and grasped something plunged deep into her skin, both white hot and cold. Julie gasped, or attempted to, her mouth open. The hand released her throat, the blurred image backing away, and she slumped to her knees. A gust of cool air filled her lungs, enhancing the agony. Stars sparkled in her vision. Hands fumbled, traced the discomfort. With shaking palms, she lifted, beholding the dark, velvety red coating her digits. Her gaze flickered back to the doorway. The intruder vanished.

  Her head slumped, catching the opaque protrusion still in her abdomen.

  The ground welcomed her as she doubled over, slumping, falling to her side. Warmth pooled about her as frail fingers clasped the object. Infirm, she pulled it free. Her eyes rolled as the blade clattered to the floor, excruciating paroxysms washing over her. The compulsion to vomit was too hard to ignore, her body dry heaving, and she gasped for breath between each constriction of her insides. Touching the wound in her stomach again, she tried to hold her hand there, applying pressure, hoping to dam the blood and ache.

  “Shades, it hurts … help,” her weak voice managed.

  Stop … stop hurting; stop bleeding and let the pain end.

  A memory flashed through her mind, Judas’ face looming close, the words tumbling through her mind. “You are not the first Wcic to come back from the other Realm; you are the thirteenth.”

  Her visioned swirled, blackness lingered on the edges.

  Perhaps Judas was right all along. Everyone that comes across dies; I am the thirteenth Wcic to do so. I’m no better, no different.

  Her lungs burned, and she took one last, deep breath.

  ***

  Chapter 17 : Judas

  A rumble in the distance snapped him awake. For a moment, in the haze of sleep, fading dreams, and the resurgence of memories, the Wizard’s War manifested. He rolled out of bed, squatting on the floor in one swift movement, his knees popping. Hand extended towards his window; he sent his essence, a shield manifesting in time against the onslaught of energy. The window held but vibrated in his grasp. He heard shouts, doors opening in the hallway. Head snapped in that direction, he paused, listening.

  Civilians.

  Having slept in his inner robe, he shrugged into his outer robe and donned his sandals. He crossed the room and jerked the door open but paused a moment, forgetting his wand. He held a hand out in its general vicinity, the nightstand beside his bed, and called it to him. The wand leaped into his outstretched hand without the aid of incantation, and he slipped through the door. People filled the dark hallway; some stood resolute while others shuffled down the hall towards the stairs. Judas lengthened his strides, entangled in the current of bodies. At the base of the stairs, most patrons lined the dining room while others yelled at a young, tall man with dark hair. He looked sleepy and shocked, surprised by the sudden blast that shook the building and the throng of people pressing him for questions. The warlock paid them no heed as he slipped through the front doors and out into the streets.

  The black night reminded him dawn still hours away. A blast of heat greeted him; bright orange flames destroyed his night vision. A gust of air whooshing overhead drew his attention, his head turning to track it. Whatever cut a swath through the night vanished before he snatched a glimpse. A scream reached his ears, and Judas set off at a trot towards it. The air churned again above him but this time, he didn’t bother to glance up. Few creatures possessed the ability of flight, the first, a dragon, and there would be more chaos if one were here. Another building flared in the distance, too far away from the first. Dragon’s breath caused area-of-effect damage, and more than one building would light on fire from each blast. Each blast from a dragon like a lava flow, and less like flames. A calculated, precise attack. Damage, terror, but no lasting effects.

  Another creature of flight cut through the air, the dirt kicking up around the running war veteran before it landed in front of him. The animalistic features, elongated mouth with razor teeth, the giant, leather-like wings, and ears similar to the elyfian announced the arrival of a vampire. Because of the prominent features, Judas realized this fiend was not a member of the elite caste but a lackey, a soldier. Judas stopped in his tracks, wand raised.

  “You are a long way from Shadow City. I suggest you return before you cause more harm than you masters would want.”

  “My masters serve another. It is his will we follow.”

  Yells in the distances followed by another explosion drew his attention for a moment, his eyes flickering from the creature towards the origin of the noise. “You are declaring war against Ralloc.”

  “War is inevitable to bring about change.” The beast shrieked and launched itself at Judas. Faster than the vampire could attack; the thought entered Judas’ mind, and he released his essence, letting the magic manifest, a wall of fire between the two combatants. But the vampire, already in motion, could not alter its course, he hit the wall of fire and the flames wrapped around the creature like a cocoon. Its shrieks brought a pang of empathy from Judas, but he understood the consequences if he released the monster, recuperate by seeking a victim’s blood to regenerate to full strength. A moment’s decision, one death of an enemy or the life of an innocent, and Judas spoke the truth; this attack would be considered an act of war.

  The warlock didn’t wait for the end. He took off again in the direction of the first scream.

  As he ran, he took note of the carnage; Dlad City burned, falling like a city from the war. The destruction, nothing near the level of decimation he’d seen in the past, but the shock was still prevalent. Screams erupted all around him as he sped on. For the briefest moment, he remembered the countless battles from long ago left buried and unspoken, but never forgotten. His body locked as he recounted the Wizard’s War in a fraction of a second.

  Screams pushed him into movement again. He shook the fog of war clear and sprinted to the southwest, the origin of commotion. Smoke limited his sight. If this were a true vampire attack, he would catch more of them flying back to safety. Shadow City, a re
fuge of dark, spiraling spires and convoluted, intricate tunnels covered in a habitual state of darkness, lay in the same direction.

  Goblins encroached his vision as he ran–some lay motionless, probably dead, others bled from lacerations or traumatic injuries. Rarely did one venture from their master’s estate. Some families allowed a goblin to reside with them. Work ethic and loyalty were the cornerstones of such servants, but they were paid. Ralloc abolished slavery a long time ago.

  Judas shuddered. One motionless creature reminded him of the goblin Julie had encountered.

  Julie! I hope she is okay! She is probably scared out of her mind. These people need my help first.

  Shrilling shrieks ripped through the air as the warlock hurtled past a building blazing with fire. Thick, black smoke curled into the sky, a swirling pillar dark and dense. Flecks of ash fell about him, a snow marking the destruction. Wood creaked and groaned under the stress of flames, incinerating the establishment. A woman flung herself forward as he came close.

  “Help me, help me, please!” she screamed.

  “It’s okay, my Lady. What do you need?” he inquired.

  “My friend, a goblin … attacked by a wizard,” she sobbed, pointing in the southwest vicinity.

  “What does he look like?”

  “Dark hair, brown eyes, and a pointed goatee!” An all to familiar description kindled fury in the pit of his stomach. The woman clutched at him, wailing, choking on her heavy sobs.

  The veteran shrugged off the woman harder than intended; she stumbled to the ground. He set off in a sprint, faster than before, caution forgotten. He drew on his magical essence to sustain him, to fortify his aging body. As he ran, swooping sounds slithered through the air above him. The diamond-littered sky against black velvet only marred by flying figures: giant bat-like wings attached to mutated, wizardkind and elyfian traits. He couldn’t distinguish their long fangs or distorted, animalistic features as they blurred by, but vampires were distinctive among the races. Indeed, they’d been foolish enough to ally themselves with Xilor again, and doing so only proved Judas’ theory. The Dark Lord stirred, attempted to return.