The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  The fire, the outdoors, the cooking food, seemed familiar. She didn’t know when, or how, but the vague stirring would not abate. She had done this before.

  “Master Judas? What do you call what we are doing?” Julie asked feeling foolish.

  “This, Julie, is called enjoying the outdoors. Relaxing, isn’t it?”

  “No, this whole sitting outside with the fire and the food … I can’t remember, but I have done this before, somewhere….” Her voice trailed off.

  “Oh, this is camping. Best not to try and remember things too hard or to dwell on them; it will only produce frustration.”

  “Well, what else should I do to keep my mind off what I can’t remember?”

  “Sleep, maybe?”

  “I can’t remember anything from the other place I came from, not even the name. Where was that again? A person could go mad not knowing anything. Maybe if you taught me something, it would take my mind off it.”

  “Hold on.” Judas sat up and turned to his pack. Inside he retrieved two books and handed them to her before resuming his lounging position. Julie handled them with care. Upon inspection, she noted the form of writing she had never seen before. It arched with strange angles and slants, accented with circles, dots, crossings, and geometric shapes. She looked back at Judas, flabbergasted.

  He stared intently from his reclined pose, waiting for something to happen. When the moment passed, he closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh. Julie returned her gaze to the other book with nice, neat handwriting.

  “What language is this in?” she asked, astounded.

  “I can read some of every language in the Realm, except Angelic. However, when I see Angelic, I can recognize it. This book is an unknown one,” he said. He opened his eyes and looked up at the stars.

  “Which languages, do you know?”

  “Well, let’s see. Almost, if not all, creatures speak the universal tongue of Myshku. At least on this side of Ermaeyth. Hmm, let me see here,” he sat up. “Saricrocian, they speak Cytuu; the gorrillians, they speak Gnilyp; the vampires, their tongue is Sralucon. Taengrenian for the trolls and the dwaven, but if I recall the dwaven changed to Akyhmri. The fairies speak Kaot; and the elyfian, they commune with Thymulous; that’s about all, I think. But there are others I do not know, languages across the Golden Sea. Over there, Myshku is the only language spoken there that is also spoken here, though scarcely.”

  “Wait, you didn’t say goblins!”

  “An oversight, my apologies. The goblins speak Lythououri and Taengrenian, along with trolls and dwaven. The reason is that before the dwaven went underground, they enslaved both the trolls and the goblins, and converted them to speak their tongue. However, the movement within the dwaven nation to distance themselves from the stigma of enslavement passed, and they no longer speak it.”

  “You said everything except for what the unicorns speak.”

  “It’s called Ucoric, but no one knows how to speak it. They do not divulge that information, even to their kind. For the most part, they speak Myshku. Only a few, enlightened elite know their true tongue. But once a generation, the unicorn Maghai change, and the circle closed again.”

  Julie frowned at this new complexity. A hidden language, maybe forbidden by their ancestors? She lay on her side, staring at the book and twirling her hair in her fingers.

  “Judas?” she asked gently. “If you can’t read this and few can, then why did you give it to me?”

  “Oh,” Judas let out a half-asleep moan, “in case you might see something I don’t. A fresh pair of eyes usually does the trick.” She turned her attention back to the book. A few moments later, deep breathing stole over the old warlock as he slept.

  She put the book aside and pulled out the other one with a titleless cover. On the first page, a tidy scrawl penned the only blemish.

  Property of Judas Lakayre.

  She thumbed past the page noting the conglomeration of handwritten notes, spells, and letters stuck between pages from other people. The first letter catching her attention was a name she recognized: Josiah Lakayre, Judas’ twin brother. Untidy, big handwriting littered the page and marked him as young.

  It isn’t fair! How did you get out of school? Why you? It should be me; I’m older than you. Ma and Pa say you went back home–what, you miss them too much? You always were a Ma’s boy. People here say you’ve been granted a master already. I say that’s a load. I just tell my friends you went all mental, couldn’t handle the workload.

  The school is boring this year. It’s a lot of out-of-class work. I wish you were here to help me. You were always smarter. That’s another reason to hate you! Ha, ha, ha! No, but it is boring without you here to pick on. Guess we’ll find someone else.

  See you during break, Squirt!

  Julie smiled and wondered if she had a sibling, back wherever she came from. She would never know. The jealousy from Josiah’s words was evident and wondered if that altered his path in life, putting them on separate courses. Judas talked about his brother in rare moderation, and she wondered if this was the cause.

  She thumbed through a few more pages and saw another letter. This time, a crisp scrawl, angular, and sharp, grabbed her attention. The writer took care in crafting the writing, and she got the impression they held themselves of great importance.

  It won’t do … too long has passed since you stayed under my roof, ate bread and drank wine from my table, and sat with me for old times’ sake. I do wish you would heed my words and come quicker than you planned. I fear war is about to engulf my beloved city once again. Our borders and boundaries are in dispute and constantly contested. Word has reached my ears of an outpost growing in strength not a day’s ride from the city by the Emaas River. Perhaps you will come and document history in the making. We campaign to eradicate them from our lands.

  At the closing, Julie could not determine who sent it. A military commander? Diplomat? Someone in a position of power and wealth? Whoever wrote the letter took immense lengths imploring Judas to see him or her. She observed the bottom of the page, torn where the signature should be. Judas hid the identity of the sender. Why? A female friend? The tone did not imply such thoughts.

  She thumbed through the book a while longer but did not find much of interest. Julie set it aside, and picked up the other book with the strange glyphs and marveled at the symmetry, tracing the writing with her finger.

  Serpentine whispers of alien words tickled her ears, resonating all around, but soft, like a delicate breeze. The whisper, neither threatening nor frightening, conveyed warmth, inviting, seductive. The unfamiliar words grew acute, steadfast. Her eyes turned down to the book, realizing the words came from within. The hushed gibberish morphed into something recognizable. The glyphs on the cover contorted into the common tongue of Myshku before disappearing altogether.

  “Your wand, your words can release us … We will tell you everything; you are the Bearer of the Secrets of past, present, and future….Give your name to us. Become one…”

  Apprehension rooted deep. Too fantastical to be true, she told herself. She wanted to cry out to Judas, startled by a book speaking to her, but something abstained her words. Her fingers ran over the cover of the book in a cautious, exploratory manner.

  A book even Judas can’t understand, and yet it spoke to me. It will open for me and no other…

  She took her wand out. Though doubt lingered, she spoke her name to the book. “Julie.”

  The book burst open. Radiant light saturated its holder, a luminosity that would leave her blind had she been anyone else. But she was the Bearer of Secrets.

  What is a Bearer of Secrets?

  In revealing her name, the book shattered the block inhibiting her from reaching her potential. She felt it give way, crumbling, obliterated. At once, the unfathomable well of magic awakened in her, answering her command as easy as breathing. At long last, she could feel her essence without unbridled emotions.

  “We shall teach you in your greates
t times of need,” the book promised. “For your instruction to start, you must return to the Place of Origins in the Melodic Mountains. For what is to come, you must give your mind, body, and soul. Do not hold back.”

  Julie looked over to her teacher. It wasn’t until then she allowed herself to believe what was happening, free from a dream. A habit she formed since leaving the Corridor of Cruelty. She glanced back to the book and began to speak but found the words could not come.

  There is no need for words, the book supplied.

  “What must I do?”

  “Journey south to the Melodic Mountains, to the Place of Origins.”

  “What about Master Judas?”

  “It is of no consequence.”

  “Why do I need to go to the Place of Origins? Judas is a warlock; he can teach me.”

  “True, he can teach you, but for what comes next, he cannot. You will still need to go, delaying the inevitable.”

  “I am worried about him.”

  “Fear not, he is a formidable man of ancient bloodlines. As much as people fear him, they should fear his offspring more.”

  “He told me his child died–what do you mean?” As an afterthought, she added, “And how can I trust you?”

  “That is a lie!” The book sounded outraged. “The offspring of Judas lives as well as does Madam Raviils’. The Time Warden hid the truth to protect them. They are still out there and have prominent parts yet to play.”

  “Who are they? Where are they? How can I find them?”

  “It is not a matter of who they are and where they are, for there was only one birth.”

  Judas’s daughter is alive! Meristal’s son is alive! But if there was only one birth, which one was the truth?

  “I thought Madam Raviils had a son, and Judas had a daughter. If this is true, then how can they be one?”

  “One birth because the offspring of Judas came from the womb of Meristal Raviils. They were told opposing stories to protect the true identity of the offspring–the only true hope of the end of the Dark Lord. The bloodline must not fail; that is why such measures were taken to ensure their survival. However, if both should fail, there is another.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “It was foreseen, glimpsed in the fires from long ago. Everything in this book is factual or foreseen. My creator made me for the Bearer of Secrets.”

  “Where can I find them? Who is your maker? Why am I the Bearer of Secrets?” she interrogated the book.

  “That is enough for now. I bestow one boon to you. Your mind is chaotic and your emotions are in turmoil. I shall lock your emotions away, but you will have to face them eventually. The block will remove itself when you arrive. More awaits you at the Place of Origins, and you will find out when the time is right. You will know when you look for the truth. It cannot evade you but will come willingly. Head for the Melodic Mountains. There you will study as he studied … and we will be there with you also.”

  A surge of beautiful light, a cleansing refulgence washed through her. The anguish she suffered from the Corridor vanished. The memories were there, events, but the book eviscerated the sentiments. Memories, events, happenings across time flowed into her. At first, the scrambled images flashed chaotically, but as mere heartbeats went by, she understood and put them in order. The book did not send them in chronological order but rather momentous events, big and small, in order of importance for her to understand. She knew there were gaps missing in the information because the whole picture didn’t quite make sense. Perhaps with time, it would.

  She tasted the faintest traces of Judas’ essence in the flood of visions, as if responsible for those memories, a scent of him imprinted on the recollections. The final revelation before the energy stopped pouring was a small creature. Silver hair clung to his pate on the sides of his head. A long, bushy beard cascaded like an iridescent waterfall down to his belt. She saw Judas’ old master, Fife Doole.

  When the book finally closed, Julie glanced with uncertainty in the direction of the warlock. The old man still slept. Only she could perceive the light; she placed the book into her pack. He had given it to her, and the book promised to help in times of need. Weariness burned away, and she stood, revitalized. To her new perception, the once powerful warlock seemed fragile now, not as superior as she once envisioned.

  Is it my imagination that he is weak, or is it my impression? she pondered.

  A tree swayed in the distance, drawing her attention. She snapped her head around, searching the gloom.

  Something called her, out in the swamp, between the dark foliage area, where the ground turned to mush, and the trees grew thick and tall. A sense of waiting, wanting, compelling. The tug persisted like a gentle call. Compelled, she followed the beacon.

  The call grew stronger the further she moved from her campsite. A sense of wrongness came over her, breaking through the compulsion. Still, curiosity drove her forward, but she warded her mind. Deeper into the swamp, away from the light into darkness. A persuasive summon. The walls around her mind repelled the enticement, the sense of wrongness clinging to her, turning her insides cold.

  Her steps carried her further from the camp and deeper into the gloom, her boots wading in ankle deep water, following the voice. Yes! That was it, a voice!

  The compulsion behind the seductive voice purred with warmth, soothing, promising it would be over soon while secretly sinking its unforgiving talons in her. She scoffed at the attempt, a twist of a smile coming to her face.

  With the hem of her robes soaked, she reached the source of the voice and paused. The voice told her to do something she knew would harm her. She surveyed the vast darkness, revealing an image stirring her terror.

  One of the trees slowly approached her, each step slow, methodical, silent. A branch swayed. With blinding speed, it reached for her. With no time to duck or dodge, impulses awakened by the book, took over.

  She had experienced it before. Judas teleported her from Cape Gythmel to the opening of the Corridor, witnessed the essence, the shift of energy, the surge of movement. Within a blink of the eye, she had moved thirty meters to the left.

  Relief and surprise gushed in the wake of her first teleport. The tree noticed her hoodwink and tracked her. She sensed the movement more than saw or heard. Yellow eyes opened, glowing from the crown of the swaying treetops. A burst of flame shot out, rushing towards her. A simple gesture of her wand kept the flames from burning as they engulfed her. A manic mirth bubbled out, the mage-shield holding strong.

  The glowing flame revealed a saricrocian, a much younger adult but a hungry one. She was prey, sleeping in the swamp. Judas did not receive safe passage through their land, and the Ancients were in no position to enforce such edicts.

  Cousin to the dragons, saricrocians were a fast, fierce, and a formidable mental opponent. Often they lured their prey into their mouths from their hiding places. This saricrocian tried to lure her into the darkness.

  Then, she sensed a familiar trace, a scent she tied to her teacher. Judas. The creature lumbered forward, approaching her sleeping master.

  An electrical current coursed through her body, discharging from her wand, arching to the back of the large bipedal reptile. Water churned as it spun around, charging her. Another blast ripped through scales on its chest, searing flesh, rupturing tissue and muscles. A bone-jarring roar peeled through the night. The arching blast jumped from its chest to its head, and when his mouth yawned opened, stray bolts illuminated his sharp teeth as the current raced down its gullet.

  The beast kept coming. A premonition flashed in Julie’s mind but too late.

  With a movement too fast to counter, the tail swung from the side. Her incomplete mage-shield took the brunt of the impact, but the kinetic energy launched her off her feet. She hurtled through the air. Hardwood and bark rushed up towards her, promising an imminent, bone-shattering death.

  Without hesitation, she leaned backward, flipping over, her feet to hit first instead of her h
ead. She concentrated, her life depending on it. Commanding her essence to cushion the blow, she used the tree as a springboard, returning towards her adversary. She accelerated. A stray thought broke her concentration.

  Am I flying?

  She lost speed; the ground rushed to greet her. Splashing down in brackish water, the impact sent her rolling, her robes drenched and her hair matted. Flecks of dirt and twigs peppered her face. Crouched, she waited, watching, listening.

  The persistent voice filled her head with a buzzing sensation. The walls fortified against the coercion, sensing the mechanical, logical mind from wherever it hid. Judas’ words about teleporting, winking, and blinking echoed in her mind. She urged her essence.

  Wink. She disappeared from the physical plane.

  Darkness converged on her as she reappeared. Nothing. All remained still.

  Wink. Out of sight, and again, nothing. Then she realized she searched from the ground when it was as tall as the forest around her.

  Wink. She reappeared in the top most branches nearby, looking out. The sound of wind rushing in and out, deafening in the sudden silence.

  Breathing!

  She surveyed from the left, sweeping fast, hoping to find it before the saricrocian found her. As her head turned to the right, a giant yellow eye popped open three feet from her.

  A red energy cascaded from her wand. The limb shook upon impact, sending her plunging. Gaping jaws chased after her, undeterred by the blasts; its’ intent focused on stopping the pain and filling its belly.

  The swamp came rushing up. At the last instant, she blinked away, only to emerge a few meters away at a run. A glimmer caught her eye. The small fire flickered in the distance, much further away than she remembered.

  Where is Judas? Hasn’t he heard the roars and the snapping trees?

  She chanced a glimpse behind over her shoulder, the saricrocian bearing down, its chest relatively healed. Only a few, faint scorch marks remained where she initially hit it with electricity.

  Damn, it heals too fast. I won’t win a physical battle. But a mental battle?