The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  Xilor tossed the remains on the steps and turned to face the gathered. Without prompting, each knelt, heads bowed. Xilor called to the hovering fog. “What you wish is still yours. Are you certain?”

  A slight hesitation. “Yes.”

  In a fluid motion, the grisly wand cleared his robes, a blast of energy erupting from the tip. The wand was fashioned out of several black, twisted metal pieces, spiraling around the core and bound in the curved hilt.

  The fog segregated, breaking up to form individual clouds, shaping and solidifying into new beings conjured from Xilor’s endless dark imagination. Shapes emerged carrying the same hue as the oily miasma.

  The channeled conjury ceased like an aposiopesis, halting in the middle of expounding soliloquy. Fatigued washed over Xilor, he stumbled, legs trembling. The throne broke his fall, taxed by the nimiety of power that left him. He called his rage, bolstering his strength.

  The Abyssians, newly embodied, scuttled and thrashed about, growing accustom to the sudden equilibrium and legs. Corrupt, perverse hybrids, that of man and centaur. Six legs shot out from their flanks like a spider, a strong lithe body supported the torso of a man with arms, the hands boasted two large, wide fingers and an opposable thumb. Long, curving nails extended from the fingers, sharp enough to lacerate flesh.

  The body was covered with reptilian scales to include the face. A long snout protruded, lined with serrated teeth, the end of the lower jaw extended beyond the top and curling towards the face, forming a deadly hook. A crest as hard as stone sprouted from the back of the head, curving downward, flaring out, protecting the back of the neck.

  One Abyssian gingerly stepped forward, still unsure of his feet. “High One,” he rasped.

  “Vlukus.” Xilor rose to his feet.

  The Abyssian lowered his body to the deck. “You have our allegiance, Master.”

  “I will use you as needed. Until I send you out, you are to remain here at the Palace. Am I understood?”

  “Completely.”

  “Your bodies are extraordinary,” Xilor declared. “Your tongue has healing toxins in your saliva to heal wounds from battle. Your legs can carry at high speeds and help defy gravity. We shall put such wonders to test later. When in war, like gambling, you do not reveal your entire hand at once. But now, I have a task for you.” Vlukus rose and neared Xilor. Bending at the waist, Xilor relayed his instructions.

  “It shall be done, High One.” Vlukus turned and retreated from the hall, his Abyssians following on his heels. The clacking of their six legs against the stone was the only noise disturbing the somber setting.

  Xilor lifted his head to others in the room. “Leave me.”

  The Xicx, various attendants and apprentices departed, filing out of the room with haste. When the door shut behind the last minion, Xilor turned to his shattered Mirror. With a wave of his wand, the pieces reformed. The seamless glass glowed bright yellow-green.

  “I am free,” Xilor’s rasped through the Psimond, knowing the whole Realm witnessed. “I shall have revenge on every mortal in the Realm.” He relented, stepping closer to the Mirror. “Here is my promise to you. All will die. None will be spared, no man, woman, or child, creature or pet. Genocide and enslavement await you all. Nothing will be left in the wake, except, the person or persons that deliver Judas Lakayre to me, alive!”

  ***

  Chapter 42 : Beyond Reach

  Judas woke to an empty camp. A wave of cold panic swept through him. Multiple times, he called for Julie, and the only answer was the echo of his hoarse voice. He stretched out through their bond and learned two important things: she still lived and whatever barrier kept her from reaching her full potential had shattered. Somehow, she managed to shroud her presence, and he couldn’t get an exact location or direction. Her aura radiated everywhere, like reflections in mirrors surrounding an individual. No matter which way you looked, the reflected image continued forever.

  He closed his eyes, searching in vain. The vast presence he always sensed in her was bound. Now, an unrelenting current poured into her, a torrent. He hadn’t felt this in anyone for a long time, not since the destruction of Xilor, and the death of his friend, the king. After the initial shock wore off, he reached out again for her.

  What he could sense troubled him. Julie fortified her mind in a way she never previously achieved, but sporadic bursts of feelings bled through. Controlled yet uncontrolled. She burned brightly in his mind, like a beacon, but fading the more distance she put between them. He glimpsed her resolve, fears and worries cast aside.

  Perhaps, Judas mused, the fairies myth is true.

  “You will not find her,” a small voice spoke, scarcely louder than a whisper but tinkled like wind chimes. Judas turned and faced the small floating pixie.

  “Is this your doing?” he demanded.

  “No, but it was meant to happen. Even you cannot fight a fate foretold.”

  “Bah! Fate! I should have never listened to the Elder fairy. What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing, Warlock Lakayre. What happened was destined to happen regardless.”

  “Do you think you can keep her from me? She is mine to protect, to train!” he said angrily. “I told the Elder fairy this when she came to her!”

  “Train? Like you trained her for the Corridor? You didn’t realize that she wasn’t a Plotus mage!”

  “There was extenuating circumstance–”

  “–like you protected her from the assassination attempt?”

  “Again, that–”

  “Like you protected her from the Corridor and all its horrors? From the likes of Mr. Pleasure? You’ve lost touch with what it means to be a teacher!” the fairy scolded him.

  “It’s not my place to interfere!” he objected. The look on his face confirmed the pixie’s truth. The guilt he held for allowing the Corridor test her beyond her abilities festered like an open sore in his soul, gangrenous. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. How was I supposed to know what it would do?”

  “You didn’t, but you could stop it. Where were your morals, then?” Judas said nothing to this but let his legs give out, collapsing to the ground. She fluttered closer, wings sounding like a whistle, and landed in front of him. “Do not ridicule yourself too much warlock; you did as foretold.”

  “Where? Where did it say that I would allow her to be tortured?”

  “Actions are fluid, not stone, but we prophesied what you allowed to happen, long ago. All events, all planes of possibilities converge on her. It would happen another way, by another mean, regardless of your actions.”

  “Who else would drag her through the Corridor? No one!”

  “Who said it would be the scarrings of the Corridor? Perhaps another wizardkind left the scars? Maybe elyves? Sheol? What if I told you … had it been anyone else from other possibilities that she would be physically scared, deformed? What if, by someone else’s hand, she turned into something worse than Xilor and killed everyone who opposed her?”

  “I would be required to kill her.”

  “Yes, you would hunt her down. But your blinding quality to see the good in everyone would prevent you from taking decisive action, and in the end, years would have melted by before you came to the precipice of choice. By then, she would be able to destroy you.”

  “How do you know?” Judas anguished.

  “I do not. We are talking conjectures.”

  “If we are talking conjectures, if she journeyed with someone else, nothing would have happened.”

  “Alas, no.” The fairy shifted her weight, taking a step forward. “You have something that belongs to us. We want it back, now.” Nodding, Judas called his pack to him, digging out the item she wished for. After a few moments, he pulled the small crystalline wing out and handed it to her. She took the wing in her hands, inspecting the last remains of an Elder fairy. With a flutter of her wings, she rose from the ground.

  “Heed my warning Warlock Lakayre. Trials await her. She must be molded and shaped into
what she is to become. What she has to become. You will do more harm than good if you reach out to her. Stay away! We will be with her now as is our duty to our Head of Creatures. She is our prophesied one, meant to become what she will. If you come after her, we will hide her from your sight, but for now, take solace that we grant you that ability. Break our edict and we will revoke the blessing!”

  “And what is that? What is she supposed to become?” he croaked.

  “She will be a balance of darkness and light, a champion of life and a harbinger of death. Stay away Lakayre or you will do more harm than good.” She hovered in front of his face before fading into nothing.

  Alone in the swamp, an anguished cry echoed out.

  ***

  Chapter 43 : Wizard's Pass

  Wizard’s Pass was not the most legendary of villages, but the cozy reprieve was like a part of home, despite being so far from a civilized municipality. Many people deemed the small settlement as a haven to retire from the bustling life of the city. Those who didn’t retire here often visited.

  T’son Hans, in his role as the local barkeeper, mused over his luck at working in such a place. Most were oblivious to his colorful past and he planned to keep his secrets.

  The door burst open. Towel in his hand forgotten, the wet ale mug dripped on the floor, a lone figure stood in the doorway.

  “Well, com’n an’ shut th’ door, will ya?” T’son said with his thick accent. Someone not from their village wouldn’t understand what he said. Most of the time he played it up, he could speak passably well, but when he was excited, his thick accent returned in force.

  The figure stepped inside, closing the door behind him. T’son’s eyes adjusted to the darkness again. “Well, if it ain’t an Archangel then it’s got t’be Warlock Judas!”

  “Greetings, T’son.” Judas shuffled forward, his feet heavy, mood solemn. “I told you I would come.” He hid his emotions under an expressionless mask, but his voice failed to obscure them.

  “Y’ur ‘Prentice, whur’ is she?”

  “Gone.”

  “E’en tho’ ya’ gone all noble ‘n us backwoods fo’ks, ya still got ya’ sense o’ humor, I see. Whut can I git for ya’? ’Ow ‘bout a good, col’ ’warf ’ew, er maybe a Bloo’y Vampur?”

  “Not today, T’son, I don’t feel much like drinking,” Judas replied dispassionately.

  “Oh, one of tho’ things. Well, I’d like to spot ’em hooey snooty c’me down ‘ere an’ tries ta’ su’vive. ‘Ey won’t. Thur ta fancy an’ got all thur delicacies…”

  Judas let out a weary sigh as he sat down opposite his friend. T’son looked him over and for the first time noticed his less-than-jovial mood.

  “Shades! You weren’t jokin’.‘” T’son exclaimed, dropping his thick accent. “Ya’ look like shit! Wha’s th’ matter wit’ ya’?”

  “My apprentice. She’s gone. I failed her more than I have ever failed in my life.”

  “Oi! Don’ be so hard on ya’ self. It can’ be tha’ bad.”

  “You don’t understand T’son; I let terrible things happen to her. I failed her in the Corridor. I should have stepped in and stopped the madness … and now she is gone. She left because I abandoned her when she needed me.”

  “Oi! Shu’ it! I’ve known ya’ a lon’ time, Judas, thru’ thick an’ thin’, in good an’ bad, an’ when th’ whole of Ermaeyth wa’ thrown in ta’ chaos, an’ never once did ya’ fail ta’ see th’ good in people. Even when they don’ deserve it. Ya’ w’uld give th’ shirt off ya’ back to’ clothe someone less fortunate than ya’. I don’ pretend ta’ know wha’ happened, but I know tha’ yur lawful. Too lawful for ma likes–but ever’one has ta’ have some fault–an’ ya’ moral to ya’ core, and tha’ is somethin’ tha’ is jus’ as sure as th’ risin’ suns. Ya’ made a soun’ judgment based on th’ facts at han’. If she lef’, an’ lef’ angry, eventually she will know ya’ had th’ bes’ intensions a’ he’rt. She’ll remember in th’ en’, they all do.”

  “Was that speech something you had prepared beforehand?” Judas smiled weakly.

  “Always had tha’ speech prepared fur ya’, Ages really, ya’ jus’ never needed it till now.”

  Judas’ smile broadened and swiftly fell. “I just can’t-”

  “Oi! Enuff! No sense dwellin’ on th’ pas’; it’s fur th’ dead. Th’ future is a youn’ virgin too far away ta’ care abou’, bu’ thur’s no time like fuck’n’ in th’ presen’.”

  “Fucking in the present? That’s it? There isn’t a line to come after that?”

  “No, ya’ ass, it’s a play on wor’s. Shades ya’ thick.” T’son laughed heartily at that, and Judas couldn’t help but laugh too.

  After T’son had coaxed Judas out of his shell of lament, he served his long time friend many drinks, drowning the stress and anxiety of losing Julie. His mind was filled with regret, and T’son could discern the shadow in his eyes, the haunted anguish, but the foreigner steered him clear of anything that would bring up the events of the Corridor or his apprentice. When it was evident that he could not accomplish this, T’son asked him how the Consul, Kayis Dathyr, was doing and if they were friends again. That started Judas on an uproar, grandstanding his detest of his old apprentice. The conversation switched to politics and the lost cause the Kothlere Order had become before digressing to the real reason he was here.

  “Wha’ ya’ come ‘ere for? Not order’n’ ya’ aroun’ righ’?”

  “Yes, well, the finer points of exile is lost upon the ignorant, but no, not orders. I got to see you again, always a plus. Unfortunately, war is coming.”

  “Ah, ya’ talkin’ abou’ th’ broadcas’, aren’ ya’?”

  “What broadcast?” T’son quickly surmised the events of Xilor’s realm wide broadcast. “So, he finally did it. He’s out.” Judas rubbed his temples to knead out the building stress. “I warned them that this would happen. Are you prepared? Do you have any men available?”

  “‘Course. They haven’ been doin’ nothin’ since th’ las’ attack–no’ since th’ war. Thur all slouchin’ aroun’ ‘ere somewhur, gettin’ all fat an’ bored.”

  “Good, call them here. We need to be prepared just in case, and if Xilor is out, then it may be too late!”

  T’son scurried across the wood-planked floorboards of his humble, rickety establishment. It wasn’t the nicest place, never came close, but it was T’son. Compared to the grandeur of Ralloc, this equated to a horse stall. But Judas also felt comfortable here, even with the dark swirl of thoughts shrouding his mood. Worries washed away in the simple life they held here.

  T’son reached the front doors and flung them open. He yelled. “Oi! Drabass! Get yur rott’n, sodd’n, bottom up in th’ pub. Ge’ all ‘em, Sergean’ of th’ Guards too!”

  Judas covered a smile in the palm of his hand. T’son screaming at his underlings brought back fond memories for the warlock, remembering where they met, on the deck of T’son’s ship on Judas’ maiden voyage. The trading ship was christened Floating Dreams and T’son ferried cargo from port to port, out on the open sea or up and down the rivers. When times were tough, the former kaptyn would smuggle people, weapons, and other rare off-limits items. He recalled T’son’s tale about being the only one ever to venture out into Lake Feral and make it back to tell the tale.

  Much later, Judas learned how T’son’s made his income. Their main means came from raiding pirates, looting their pillage, consuming the goods, and absorbing the less dangerous crew members. The others, the kaptyns, first mates, and the loyal crew, were placed in shackles and returned to the nearest port for the bounties. Occasionally, they would hire themselves out for private purposes. T’son and his crew were merchants, smugglers, and even mercenaries, but under T’son’s banner, they managed to be the good guys, just not lawfully validated.

  T’son would still be sailing had he not lost the two loves of his life. His first mate, who was also his wife; and then his ship, when his cousin, Oslo Hans, w
on it from him in a card game. Upon winning the ship, Oslo renamed it The Keeling Bitch. After that, T’son took his earnings from all those years at sea, chose a town, and settled down to make a home.

  Judas looked up as T’son returned to the bar.

  In short but precise order, all the men and women gathered to hear the governor and Judas explain the possible impending war. Many were disbelieving though some did, hearing about the vampire’s attack on Dlad City. The news of Judas’s public shaming in Ralloc had reached Wizard’s Pass, the Consul calling him a renegade and menace in the hopes that someone would warn Ralloc if he showed up.

  “Look,” Judas said in exasperation, “is it so hard to believe that a second war is possible? Xilor is out; he made a broadcast, apparently one that I missed. He’ll be coming for blood.” Murmurs rippled through the gathering, some agreeing and others not. For confirmation, all turned to T’son, hoping he would renounce or reaffirm what Judas said.

  “Why ya’ lookin’ at me fur? I ain’t any po’erful mage, jus’ a gov’nor. If Judas says it is, then it is.”

  “You can stand and fight, or you can run,” Judas said. “The victor of the first battle, wherever it may be, will determine the motion of the war. We must do what we can for anyone who wants to travel through the Corridor or make it to a coastal city where they can sail to relative safety. By nightfall, I want decisions on whether people are preparing for fortifications or fleeing.”

  ***

  Chapter 44 : Julie

  Setting off on her own seemed like a good idea at the time. The book made persuasive and sound arguments. The luring promise of more knowledge and power intrigued her, considering her unsuccessful tutelage under Judas. With the block removed from her essence and the emotional damage temporarily sealed away, a future without the warlock seemed bright.

  The suns blazed above and rivulets of sweat poured in fat droplets from her brow. Her hair hugged the sides of her face, her legs cramped, and her lungs burned from exertion. Leaving resembled less and less like a good idea.