The Tessellation Saga. Book Two. 'The One'

by D. J. Ridgway

  ‘I do not know how, but my tongue seems to have re-grown, I… I thank you Thaddrick.’ Lemba said as she returned Thaddrick’s smile and laughed as he held his hands over hers to steady her fingers as they flashed, faster than the words would come.

  ‘My thanks to you also,’ Jed added, standing beside his fiancée and offering his hand, Thaddrick extended his own and clasped forearms with the happy young man. Finally, he turned back to the Lemba who had returned to the mirror and was poking out her tongue, studying it.

  ‘Lemba,’ he said a serious look upon his face. ‘Whilst you are here the magic will allow your tongue to be whole, to be as you were, whole and perfect but once you leave I believe it will be as it was before.’ Jed took Lemba’s hands in his as she spoke again, as always; accepting whatever the journey threw at her.

  ‘Then I must talk enough now Thaddrick, for my voice to be remembered.’ She smiled sadly back at him and returned her gaze to Jed. ‘Jed,’ she said quietly, ‘if I can never say it again I would say it now, I love you,’ Jed took the small girl in his arms and with tears threatening to fall and a lump in his throat he kissed her cheek.

  ‘I would know it, iffen yer never ever said it,’ he replied as Thaddrick moved away, quietly making his way across the room and sitting down at the head of the table, boys and girls all dressed similarly to the adults, with long flowing robes or togas were busily clearing the table.

  ‘Hello, my name is Roidan,’ began a small woman smiling as she approached them. ‘I am first woman of the council, this room is our meeting hall and our communal room so don’t be surprised if you see people come and go all the time. Our council is informal for the most part but as one we welcome you,’ she said as she moved to stand quietly behind Thaddrick, her hands on his shoulders. Thaddrick reached up and patted her hand gently. ‘When the time comes if you need any one of us to go with you we will and gladly,’ she added, smiling at Gideon. Gideon felt like a fish in a bowl, it seemed all eyes were constantly moving toward him and he was pleased when the council moved away to sit in unallocated chairs about the large room. Roidan alone stayed beside Thaddrick, she looked at him lovingly, before letting her hands slip to the chair back.

  ‘Please,’ Rhoàld said offering his chair to the standing woman, she shook her head and smiled her thanks, whilst Mayan raised her eyebrows at Gideon.

  ‘My friends,’ Thaddrick called to gain the attention of the travellers, he looked at Gideon’s father, ‘I know how much you love stories Jed and you too Gideon, I have a story to tell you, to tell you all,’ he added.

  ‘Blue, err Thaddrick, I just wanna know who, what, I am.’ Gideon stated matter of factly, ignoring as best he could the many pairs of eyes that still seemed to bore into his soul, for once the old man did not correct his speech as he replied and suddenly looked grave.

  ‘Soon Gideon you will know everything and wish you did not.’ Gideon shivered at his tone and remained silent as the other members of the party sat quietly around the long table and waited for Thaddrick to speak.

  Chapter 27

  Arotia

  ‘My story begins a long way from here, in another time and on another world. A once beautiful world called Arotia. I was born on that world, as were most of the people here. Thaddrick looked around at his listeners and tried to study their incredulous faces. Only Sonal and Varan do not seem surprised, he thought, but what I know of Sonal must also be true of Varan and they both know of the Bleak. Trying not to let his thoughts run away with him, he began his story once more.

  ‘There was a long and terrible war, our world was dying…,’ he stopped again, once more trying to gauge the feelings of his audience.

  ‘How does this tell me who I am, Thaddrick?’ Gideon asked, impatient now that the moment for truth was here.

  ‘Lad, let the man speak,’ his father said from across the table. Mayan put her hand onto Gideon’s as it rested on the hard wooden table. Gideon looked down at the small pink hand, felt the soft gentle touch as it held his rough and callused skin and the tension flowed out of him.

  ‘It’s all right May, I be fine,’ he said looking at Thaddrick once more, Thaddrick rolled his eyes heavenward.

  ‘I am fine,’ he repeated after Gideon, smiling. Gideon grinned suddenly, he did not know why Thaddrick seemed to take such delight in correcting his speech but it amused him to tease Thaddrick, though he was finding it hard to think that the wolf he loved was really a man.

  ‘How did yer become a wolf Thaddrick?’ He asked, ‘an’ ‘ow come yer belong ter us?’ He added.

  ‘Gid, I think yer’ll find that Blue belongs ter no one, ‘Jed said in reply to his son’s question.

  ‘Well then, I mean, ‘ow come yer was a wolf an’ stayed with us?’ Thaddrick laughed loudly.

  ‘How. You, and Were Gideon, but please, only one story at a time,’ he replied, “By the Journey’ you have questions enough to try the patience of the Gods,’ he laughed again as both Sonal and Gideon’s father nodded their heads in agreement. ‘Now,’ he said ‘let me continue, just where was I?’

  ‘There was a war and the planet Aro… sommat was dyin’…’ called Mayan quickly as all eyes turned to her. ‘What?’ She said, as she looked at her companions, adding, ‘I like stories…’ the group laughed softly and settled down again to listen to Thaddrick’s tale.

  ‘Arotia, not unlike this valley is a magical place and everyone was born into magic. Those strong in magic became mages, dedicating themselves and their abilities to ensuring the health and happiness of the people. A long time ago one of these mages became corrupted by the power at his command, he was known as the Gatherer because of his habit of gathering followers of weak minded and greedy fools and he, along with his followers were the ones destroying our home, albeit unintentionally, but destroying it all the same. He became all-powerful using an outlawed form of magic that allowed him to herd his unwitting followers like sheep, these followers became known as Gathersmen. The Gatherer himself began using them and their own inherent magic for his own gain using false promises of wealth and position and they gave their blood willingly to advance the Gatherer’s game, becoming dependent upon him for everything.’

  Rhoàld stood, breathing hard, his hand reaching for his neck and the scar Gath had left him with as a reminder that he belonged to the king.

  ‘Please Rhoàld,’ said Thaddrick, ‘this will be hard for you to listen to but my vow stands, you will not be used, we would not use you any more than we would use Gideon.’ Rhoàld slowly sat once more though he seemed tightly wound up, like a coiled spring waiting for release.

  ‘Please, none of you will be harmed, in this place time stands almost still, this land has magic of its own and, well, if you can close your eyes and listen, you will hear the truth of my words.’ Young Jed stared at Thaddrick, what does he mean, time almost stands still, he thought but as no one else had seemed to notice, he said nothing. Once more Thaddrick began speaking and as one by one the company closed their eyes they found themselves watching as the story took on a life of its own, the listeners seemed to be part of the tale, imagined themselves there, watching silently as the events unfolded.

  ‘The Gatherer constantly challenged authority and with his growing number of followers caused conflicts all over his home region, people unaffected by his charisma and undoubted charm strove and fought to get back loved ones they believed had been spelled. He began experimenting with the magic causing inexplicable damage and untold death, eventually the entire population of a small village disappeared in a spell that went horribly wrong, only then did the Council of Parton, the major city of Boetesh finally act. Some say too late, but the council managed to capture Gatherer and many of his chief disciples, bound and imprisoned for the study and the use of illegal Blood Magic they awaited their fate as the council then deliberated over punishment. The council’s decision was to re-educate the people who had fallen victim to the Gatherer’s charm, as it was the humane thing to do. The wise and loyal men of the anc
ient kingdoms had long ago outlawed this type of magic, Blood Magic, knowing it to be a form so destructive and evil, so old and rare that most people believed it nothing but folklore and superstition. However, one could still feel the air turn to sand if the subject ever came up late at night and around the old and fearful.

  Underestimated by the council and enraged by his incarceration the Gatherer and his men plotted escape and they chose their moment well. A celebration, held for the supposed ending of the Gatherer’s power and a return to peace allowed for leniency toward other inmates of the prison and in honour of the occasion, the council declared a day of visits from families, loved ones and priests. It was permitted of course, in the belief that it would help rehabilitate the prisoners. A sudden and dreadful storm occurred during the visit and whilst every available mage was out helping to calm the tempest and counteract the damage it was causing, the Gatherer managed to escape from his cell. He stealthily released his men and together they killed their fellow prisoners, their families and the guards, they made their way out of the storm-ravaged city passing through the city gates and again running as freemen.

  The Gatherer and his surviving aides again began to use blood magic freely; they became stronger than ever commanding vast armies. The Council of Parton was at a loss, not knowing how the Gatherer had suddenly become so powerful. Gathersmen in their hundreds rose up and lashed out against the Council, the war and hostility now spreading across the globe. Over time, a Council of Schools was created, with a mage from every nation offered a seat, all in an effort to stop the Gatherer.

  Years of war, both magically and physically violent followed, great armies of the Council Loyalists and Gathersmen marched and battled until, it seemed, there was not a continent on the planet that was unaffected by the vicious war, not one soul untouched by the death of a loved one. People died in their millions, whole communities were wiped out as the old, the frail died and the men and boys would follow the Gatherer’s banner. Still, the schools mages could not work out why he was so strong, why people flocked to fight and die for him.

  Eventually common soldiers forgot why they fought; the only thing they knew was the fight itself. Then the planet’s very core began to falter under the stress of everlasting war and pain, the Gatherer gained the upper hand, his men infiltrated the Council at its heart, using the blood magic so abhorred by civilised society, he devised a way of extracting the minds and souls of certain chosen men, the most powerful members of Arotian society. He replaced them with the souls and minds of his own followers, men loyal without question to him; these chosen and extracted souls were contained and held within spent spell crystals, crystals whose magic had been used up, and were now no more than pretty ornaments waiting like sponges to be refilled.

  These stones, mined from the mountains of Dakar and used for good were born again, born of blood magic and they became powerful artefacts for evil. A source of a power the Gatherer and his closest men had never imagined or even hoped for, here in these once spent crystals the stolen souls would remain until the stone shattered finally allowing its release. Freed at last it would continue its journey into the afterlife. Once empty of a soul, the original fallen bodies, now just empty shells of men, remained to wither and die, so great pyres were constructed where the bodies were burnt. Those that missed the fires were left to rot and decay with wild animals and even insects refusing to prey upon the corpses, somehow knowing they were evil.

  The Council of Schools and the people had fought using all the power they safely could but the evil that was the Gatherer and his followers had virtually triumphed. The battles had gone on too long, the war had to stop before the planet died and all died with it. The warring factions had almost drawn the planet asunder and had had a cataclysmic effect on the core of the planet itself. The once stable but molten centre became volatile as the countless magical barrages devastated the population with disease and malnutrition becoming rife, wiping out entire regions, small pockets of people survived only to die of starvation as food stocks and clean water became scarce.

  Now on the verge of complete collapse magically enhanced explosions tipped the planets axis out of true, causing climate change, flooding and drought. The seas boiled, life was almost gone from the roiling waters as ice melted, mountains fell and buildings lay in ruins after constant earthquakes. Volcanic action in the South Seas filled the very air needed to sustain life with toxic waste from the bowels of the planet, the sun was hidden behind by vast clouds of red dust and debris, everywhere around the globe, life was being extinguished, but still the Gatherer and his followers fought on. The world, our world of Arotia was dying, shaking itself into oblivion.

  In desperation, the few remaining leaders of the allies, once a part of the council had gathered for a final summit at Parton, thought to be the only remaining populated capital. Amid the trembling earthquakes and falling masonry...,’ Thaddrick stopped speaking, Roidan knowing these were painful memories squeezed his shoulders once more. Lifting his left hand, he placed it over hers and started speaking again.

  ‘An envoy was dispatched to the Gatherer with a message. ‘Peace, we beseech you,’ it read but the head of the envoy was returned in reply, the Gatherer did not want peace; he wanted to rule the world.

  The fabric of the world was coming apart as spell crystals were becoming scarce, of the crystals on which the councils magic focused, only a few remained. Their source, the mountain ranges of Dakar had been heavily mined and fought over, once beautiful beyond measure the mountains now lay in an area where life was not possible. The few crystals that did remain in Parton were weak but it was unknown if the magic of the crystals alone would be enough to save the world. At last the planet itself began to vibrate constantly, as if it were just waiting to explode and a gentle hum filled the air continually as it shook.

  One of the council members conceived a simple plan, so simple it was almost idiotic. There was considerable doubt about its success but they had no other choice, although the price for success, the price in balance for Arotia’s survival, would be high they had no other choice. Théoden...’

  Again, Thaddrick stopped and Gideon peeped out from under his lashes, he was not surprised to see Thaddrick’s eyes mist over. He glanced quickly at Mayan whose own eyes were tightly closed but as Thaddrick resumed his story all trace of the tears Gideon had seen were gone, he closed his own eyes once more and watched as the pictures again filled his mind.

  ‘Théoden, First Mage of Schools had spoken long with his peers, the Council of Mages. All were in agreement, all wanted the very slim chance to evacuate some of the people and save a little of the culture of Arotia, the planet and the few remaining inhabitants that could not be evacuated were to be left to fate and courage.

  A few months before, a follower of the Gatherer, a man named Astin, was caught as he attempted to steal the soul of a Mage named Themos.’ Thaddrick faltered again, it had been so long since he had spoken this name aloud. Roidan squeezed his shoulder once more; he swallowed hard and yet again resumed his tale.

  ‘Themos was too strong a mage for Astin and forced his surrender. Under a spell of truth, Astin confessed to his crimes, confessed to the theft of minds and of souls. Finally, he told of the Gatherer’s pact with a Demon from the void, this was the reason the Gatherersmen and their leader had become so powerful almost overnight.’

  ‘Demon…!’ mouthed Mayan, almost smiling at the absurdity of it and peeked at Gideon from beneath half-closed eyes, Gideon did not respond and Thaddrick had stopped talking again, so Mayan closed her eyes once more.

  Thaddrick himself shuddered; he thought of the arrogance and the mistaken leniency the Council of Parton had shown the Gatherer and his men whilst it had held them captive and from that arrogance, the beginning of the final mage war.

  ‘My friends,’ Thaddrick said slowly, ‘the next part of my tale is taken from a memory orb, a pulse of magic if you like an orb that can collect or show memories in their truth. I warn you now, althou
gh very old it is still very potent, the sound, ‘Thank the Journey,’ has long since corrupted, although I will narrate. I show you only because I want you to understand what the council was up against at this time. This memory was taken from Astin and for this, you will need to open your eyes as it was not my memory although I have seen it many times, it pains me as much now as when I first saw it.’

  As everyone opened their eyes, a light began to glow from a small box Roidan placed in the centre of the table. The light grew and expanded, pulsing as if it had a heartbeat of its own, the light in the room dulled as it sucked into the ever-growing orb now spinning, even as it thinned and expanded on the tabletop. People appeared within the yellowy light, some old, some young, men, women and children all silently screaming and then falling silent. Mayan could see tears running down faces and knives flashing as throats were savagely sliced open one after another. Everywhere there was blood, deep red blood. She saw the back of a girl’s head so close to her she thought she could touch it, a hand; my hand she thought, even as she realised it was not her own hand but the hand of the man Astin, whose memories she was watching. The hand reached out and pulled the girl’s head back by the hair. A flash of silver and she tasted blood, felt hot, warm blood flowing over the knife used to slice open the child’s throat and she felt herself stutter in her song as she licked her lips to rid herself of the blood splatters. By the journey ‘e were singin’ as ‘e killed ‘er, she thought feeling sick and wiping away real tears of horror and shame that she should be watching such a thing. Strewth Gid, what’s this got ter do with you? She asked herself silently and closed her eyes with a loud sob, unable to watch anymore. Instead, she listened as Thaddrick told the tale the others were watching.

  ‘As I have already said, the people and the Council of Parton held a celebratory party on the Gatherer’s initial detention where he and his men plotted escape. In desperation, they killed their guards and herded the rest of the prisons hapless inmates, along with their families into the great dining hall where he held them captive. Here, led by the Gatherer himself they performed a dangerous spell of summoning. In their self-congratulation, thus their arrogance and arrogance surpassed only by the Gatherer’s own, the council believed the gatherer and his power were at last contained. Never had they been so wrong. The skies darkened and the wind and waves lashed the castle above them as they sang their spell, the balance for the extraordinary spell was the frightful storm that raged above Parton. Trees uprooted and great ships in the harbour were flung around like mere flotsam, whilst the city mages struggled to calm the unexpectedly bad weather, attempting to prevent damage and loss of life. The Gathersmen themselves blindly began to chant with their master as one by one, the captive men, women and children lost their lives; their throats cut with ruthless savagery. Their blood used as a sacrifice to appease the Dark Magic’s balance, as the victims bled, and screamed, their pain also joined the song of summoning and a discordant noise filled the air. Exultant, the Gatherer sliced his own wrist and sang of death and promise as he watched his lifeblood fall away in a deep scarlet stream. When he weakened, his followers changed their song, cutting their own wrists, pouring their own power into their master, giving him their support, their aid in his spell. Finally, for the first time in the history of the worlds a rent in the barrier of the void, the place between worlds and between times appeared briefly and the Demon slipped through. The Gatherer was half-dead with his own his soul, black and iniquitous, clinging to his body by a thread even as he bargained. The Demon offered a powerful compulsion spell, a worldwide compulsion, a glamour that eventually drew men and women alike into the Gatherer army. In return, as the Gathersmen and their victims died and began their journey into the afterlife, their souls, up to a thousand, thousand would belong to it, belong to the Demon. The Gatherer himself it was agreed, would keep only a select few.’