Oh, wow. Okay. That’s good to know.
Trent paused, sadly shaking his head. “Their world wasn’t always like this – smoke, blackness, streaks of lightning crackling the air. It was once clean and beautiful, sparkling with the light of a thousand suns. Now…”
Huh? The malevolenci world was… What?
But Trent couldn’t hear her question. That wasn’t how this worked.
Trent swallowed as he continued to look at the rift. “I have hope yet that there won’t be an alterni endi and your origini will kill the malevolenci before everything comes down to you. In that case, I guess I’m talking to myself.” He chuckled briefly. “But I can’t take the chance. Your origini might fail. Her alterni might fail. If that happens, alterni endi, you’ll be our last hope to save our worlds.”
Yeah, of that I’m painfully aware. But… Wait. How does he know my origini will be a she? There’ve been male and female origini for centuries. How could he guess–
“I hope by now Roman has shared with you the history of the alterni endi. Yes, there have been others before you, and I’m sure you already understand your unique duty. But hear what I say – you are the alterni endi. Your origini was the last. There are no more of us. There are no more of you. You are our last defense.”
Holy shit. Holy shit!
“If your origini reads the letters of those before us, she’ll realize everything I have, so maybe she’ll leave you guidance as well. She might leave that son of a bitch Master Conjuri a damn letter that’ll explain everything to you. But I can’t trust Roman to share her letter. And honestly, your origini always was a bit…overconfident, so she might not prepare for the worst case scenario.”
He knew my origini? How is that–
“Again, I can’t take the chance of you not knowing everything you need to know. That’s why I’ve left you this memory and the others I’m about to let the vamps drink from me. I’ll give them this memory, which will show you how to open a rift, and also memories that’ll help you understand the truth of this war. The decision of what to do with the truth is yours.” He sighed. “Those before me – and your own origini after me – might disagree with me for doing this, but you deserve to know the truth. All of it. If we’re dead, I can’t stand the thought of being forgotten.”
Esme was overwhelmed and completely confused.
“I’m sorry this burden is on you now. I guess we weren’t able to be the saviors we hoped to be. We tried, though. This was the best plan we could come up with at the time.”
What does that mean?
“If you’re the only alterni left now, there’s no other way. You must enter the malevolenci world and destroy them. As I said, I’m not sure our origini will agree that opening rifts is the best way. But this is what you have to do, alterni. You have to take the fight to them so they can’t hide behind the demons they cast into this world.”
I don’t understand! What–
“Please, alterni, do not let the malevolenci win. Save our worlds.”
Without another word, Trent stretched his bare hand over the water. He lifted his castorca parallel to his bare hand and made a quick slicing motion with his fingers. This cut a shallow line across his palm, and blood dripped into the pool.
Trent said nothing as he held his bleeding hand over the pool. Small ripples spread from the dripping blood. In the bright light of his fire ball above, Esme saw the water begin to color red.
Before long, the pool rippled from movement below.
Esme watched as a pair of ancient vampires swam to the surface and climbed out of the pool. Trent’s fire ball above made them wince back rather than attack, though the blood in the water had piqued their savageness. Trent spoke to them calmly, but his voice faded in Esme’s perception. The whole scene blurred, and a moment later she realized she was disconnecting from the memory.
Remember this! Please, please, remember this!
Before the memory disappeared, Esme re-envisioned the hand motions he’d used to create the rift.
That’s the most important part of this memory. Memorize that spell!
She pictured his casting motions over and over, memorizing his every move.
As Trent’s senses faded, Esme became aware of the taste of blood in her mouth…
Then a whole new scene flashed into her mind.
Trent was at the Capiti in a private medical room. He leaned against the cool window and examined the others with him. Daniel Lord lay on the single bed with a blanket pulled up to his chest. The pale elderly king did not stir as he slept. On the far side of the bed, Mirth and Owen sat in chairs at the king’s bedside. Mirth looked younger than Esme expected, but her face was more stressed and weary. Owen was twenty, and he sat with slumped shoulders, his face gloomy and tense.
I know when this is, thought Esme sadly. This is when Owen’s dad was dying.
She felt the tightness in Trent’s chest and knew the man was trying not to break down in front of the queen mother and heir apparent.
A knock on the door was followed by a vampire healer in white robes entering the room. She gave the royal family a small smile, nodded to Trent, and went about checking the sleeping king’s vitals.
A moment later, the door opened again. A stout middle-aged man in white conjuri robes entered, and Esme took a second before she recognized him. Roman was slimmer in this time, and his jaw was more definable than his current jowls allowed. He also had a thin comb-over of brown hair swept over his head.
His scowl’s the same. But he does look younger.
Roman folded his hands under his long white sleeves and frowned as he looked at the ailing king.
Mirth turned in her chair to look at him. “Yes, Roman? What do you need?”
“I was hoping to have a word with the origini.” Roman looked at Trent and shuffled his feet. “In private, if you don’t mind, Mr. Simons.”
Trent held in an aggravated sigh, gave a small smile to Mirth, and walked around Daniel’s bed. Before joining Roman at the door, he put a hand on Owen’s shoulder, but the young man was deep in his own thoughts. Esme felt Trent frown in concern for Owen, but he left the room with Roman and closed the door behind them.
“What do you want?”
“It’s time, Mr. Simons. You must write your letter.”
“Now?” Trent looked up and down the hospital-like hall, saw they were alone, and crossed his arms. “Daniel has maybe days left, Roman. Leave us in peace and go back to your lab.”
The man in white scowled. “Every origini has written a letter since the first king’s reign. If we’re ever to win this war, we need your knowledge too, Mr. Simons. You’ve put it off too long already.”
What’s this?
“Damn right, I’ve put it off. I’ve been in this world forty years, fighting to keep myself alive and spare my alterni from this nightmare. If I can live long enough to see Owen crowned, I’ll have succeeded.” Trent sighed tiredly. “I’m this generation’s origini, Roman. And I’m going to outlive my king. Once Owen is crowned, you’ll summon his origini. She’ll be the last of us, and she’ll know it – Omet wrote in his letter how many of us escaped in the first place, so I’m sure we’ve all been counting down. There’s nothing useful I could tell her that the others haven’t put in their letters. What’s the point of writing a letter?”
“It’s tradition,” said Roman.
Trent scoffed. “Tradition. That’s a load of troll dung. You Master Conjuri want the letters because you think they give you power over the Order.”
“That’s not true. My predecessors have collected the letters and learned a good deal that helps us fight the malevolenci. We’ve shown the letters to each origini, and they’ve learned what their predecessors intended. We hold this knowledge so that–”
“The only reason you know anything about this war is because the origini share their knowledge. You only have the termino and senso spells because of us, that’s for damn sure. And you act like you conjuri are the ones–”
Trent frowned. “I realized when I first got here that those before me told you Master Conjuri the truth. That’s how you knew about me while the other conjuri didn’t have a clue. It’s because those in your position read the letters we leave for each other.” Trent shook his head at the shorter man in annoyance. “But you don’t bother to share our knowledge with the kings. Or our alterni. Not even the alterni endi.”
Roman scowled. “You’ve read Omet’s letter. He ordered all future origini to keep the truth to themselves. He ordered us to keep the truth from the Order.” He took a breath. “I know you think we should tell the truth, Mr. Simons, but you’ve obeyed Omet’s rule of silence yourself. Deep down, you agree the truth might break the Order.”
Trent ground his teeth.
He’s mad enough to hit Roman. We’ve all been there. But what’s this about? The origini wrote letters to each other? Where are these letters? And what about my origini? In his last memory, Trent mentioned something about her maybe writing me a letter…
Trent controlled himself but glared at Roman. “Owen’s origini will be the last of us. If she fails, there are no more of us to come to your aid, Master Conjuri. If Owen is left with an alterni endi, will you show them our letters and let them know the whole truth?”
“If the truths we’ve learned were shared with the public–”
“I think you need more faith in the public. You certainly need more faith in the kings.”
“Then why don’t you write the next origini a letter and tell her these arguments yourself? If she is the last, telling the king the whole truth should be her decision, not yours.”
Trent sighed, rubbed between his eyes, and looked back at the younger man. “The problem is, Roman, I’m not sure I trust either of you to do the right thing.”
That’s why Trent left the Meramec message for me. That’s why he snuck around behind Roman’s back and left his memories with the ancients. But Trent didn’t trust my origini to tell Owen the truth either? Well, he said in his last memory that he thought my origini might be overconfident, and he didn’t think she’d agree about opening rifts to fight the malevolenci. That’s another reason he left this message for me behind their backs – if opening rifts is the only way to win the war, he knew he couldn’t risk relying on them to tell me.
“Before I die,” Trent went on tiredly, “I guess I’ll write her a letter. But I doubt there’s anything I could tell her that she won’t figure out on her own. I will tell her to include Owen in the truth, though.”
“That will be her decision, but I–”
Trent pointed a finger at Roman. “Hear me, Master Conjuri, when I say that keeping the truth from Owen is a mistake. For the seventy-eight origini before me, obeying Omet’s orders made sense. But these are desperate times. We’re losing. The rules need to change if we’re going to save the alt-worlds.”
Roman paused, scowling.
Trent sighed. “My king is dying. My days fighting in this war are over. Can’t you leave an old man alone, Roman? I’ve only a short time left with my dearest friend. I need to be there for his son and wife. Owen needs me to be Uncle Trent right now, so leave me to it.”
Esme felt a swell of pride and love for this old man.
Roman gave a somewhat gracious nod. “Very well. As long as you agree to pass on a message to the next origini, I’ve done my duty. I’ll remind you of this again if you don’t send me a letter, however.”
“I’m sure you will.” Trent took a breath. “I’m staying with Mirth and Owen until Daniel… Once my king dies, I plan to retire in Italy. You can reach me there.”
Roman hesitated, then conceded. “Italy. Of course. Many of your predecessors who outlived their kings chose to do the same.”
Trent nodded. “The old country is full of Order history. I want to see it before I die. That’s where the earliest origini are buried too, so it feels right to go.”
Trent’s letting Roman believe he’s planning to fade into the sunset. This story about retirement threw Roman off. Really, Trent was visiting the ancients in Meramec and doing gods know what in Italy. He probably kept opening rifts and fighting malevolenci too.
Roman for the first time offered a more personable smile. “Good luck explaining your departure to Mirth.”
Trent managed a chuckle. “Yeah, she won’t be happy. Owen either, for that matter, though he’ll have plenty to distract him.”
Esme sensed a tightness in Trent’s chest again as he contemplated his future losses. He’d been partners with Daniel for forty years. Esme could tell he truly did love Owen, and he cherished Mirth as a dear friend.
But he left them. He kept in contact with Mirth. He came back a few times when Owen needed him during the early days of his reign. But he left them to prepare for the end of this war… I wonder if he ever wrote a letter to my origini. And did she write one for me?
With a civil parting, Trent turned from the conjuri and opened the door to return to the king’s bedside.
The scene faded to darkness, and Esme again sensed the metallic taste of blood…
Without warning, Esme found herself thrown into a memory on a desolate, smoking, charred landscape. A chiroptorx swooped overhead, snapping its beak at Trent. He ducked and continued running down the rough hillside, looking ahead to see his open rift waiting.
This is the malevolenci world!
Once the demon swooped skyward to position itself for another attack, Trent lifted his castorca and flicked his fingers. His fire spell shot at the chiroptorx as the giant bat circled back to charge him. The demon ignited and turned to ash, and Trent swept his hand to blow away the remains. One of his knees weakened from a sharp pain, but he dared not slow his pace as he raced to escape.
He’s not as old as he was in the previous memories, thought Esme as she tested her senses within Trent. But he’s still past his prime. Coming here alone was so dangerous!
Trent skidded on loose dirt and caught himself before tumbling down the hill. With a wince of pain, he stopped to rest his aching knee. Trent kept alert and scanned the smoky terrain, a knot of fear in his chest.
Esme heard whispering. It was like a voice was coming from everywhere at once, or else echoing in her mind. Once she concentrated enough to make out the whispers, she recognized the voice as Trent’s deep baritone. Despite the oddity of hearing someone else’s thoughts in her own mind, Esme was thrilled. It was like the ancient had said – their connection was growing stronger the deeper she sank into Trent’s memories.
I’m getting old, thought Trent. They won’t kill me if I can help it, but I’m too old to win this war. There are still too many of them. They almost caught me this time. They know I’m here, so if I don’t get out of here before their beasts find me…
Trent glanced back. His tracks led along the charred hillside at the midway point up the mountain. He hadn’t dared get too high, knowing the volcanic gases in the air might kill him. Even at this height, the smoke was thick. Lower, what had once been lush forest was now a graveyard of black trunks poking up from centuries of cracked lava and ash. Far below where the mountain leveled out to meet the sea, all was jagged stone and frozen ice along the shore. Lightning flashed over the dead ocean.
Get moving, thought Trent.
Limping, he trudged the rest of the way to his rift. The hole he’d created into this world was obscured by smoke wafting out, but he waved a hand to clear the center and stepped through.
He emerged onto a grassy field, the sky above clear and covered in sparkling stars. Trent took a breath of the fresh air and shook ashy filth off himself. Then he turned to draw the termino over his rift. He swung his arm to create a curving line of magic, and he took his time to make sure he did it right.
I won’t survive many more missions, he thought. After me, there’s only one origini left. Will she be able to get the job done?
> He drew another slashing line of the symbol.
Roman would be furious if he knew I was opening rifts – never mind that they do no damage. Will the last origini agree with Roman? If she doesn’t do what’s necessary…
Trent began the swirling motion that blurred the symbol over the rift.
Roman and other Master Conjuri have followed Omet’s protocol of secrecy for years. Other origini have done the same. But these are desperate times. If the next origini doesn’t follow my lead and fight like I have… Maybe I should leave instructions for her alterni, just in case.
The rift swirled and broke apart as the termino sucked it into oblivion. A moment later, the smoking tear was gone, and the symbol crackled and disappeared.
Esme, only transiently self-aware anymore, sensed the faint taste of blood…
A bentaforx roared as it flew from the rift. Cavali, who fought spindlox all over the theater’s parking lot, panicked when they saw the giant demon.
“Fire!” Daniel shouted from behind a minivan. “Fire!”
A cluster of men swung their guns at the roaring bentaforx, and their echoing shots slammed into the bentaforx’s massive neck scales. This did little damage against the beast, but the men succeeded in drawing its attention long enough for a vulnerable group of cavali to seek cover.
Malevolenci Page 17
