Marin's Codex

by Benjamin Medrano

  Emonael heard her scream echo from the trees, and at the sound of her own students’ grief, she felt her rage flicker slightly as she fell to her knees and began to sob in truth.

  Chapter 35

  “Why can’t I come with you, Emonael? You’re taking Damiya with you, and I’ve got so much to learn!” Christoff protested, only the faintest glimmer to his eyes.

  “Because I said no, Christoff,” Emonael replied shortly, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Seeing his mulish look, she sighed and continued more gently. “As you like, I’ll explain properly. Of all of you, Damiya is the best in a fight, and she has grown far more attached to me than any of the rest of you.”

  The room Emonael had stayed in for the past year was essentially bare again, all of her personal items either given away or stowed in her bag, and the same was true of Damiya’s. Her friend and lover had already gone to pay her respects at the remnants of the tower, which were still smoking even two days later. The thought sent another pang of grief through Emonael, but she fought down the tears. She’d cried enough already.

  Christoff crossed his arms, frowning at her. “I’m pretty good in a fight, you know. I can shield pretty damned well, and we’re all going to miss you! You’re an amazing teacher.”

  “You are good in a fight. In fact, I think you’re the most well-rounded student I have,” Emonael agreed, ruffling Christoff’s hair as she smiled. “You also have Leah to worry about. I saw the way you focused on defending her during the fight, Chris. I’m not taking you away from her on a mad quest to find who killed my teacher; you just have too much to live for. Besides . . . the other teachers will help you, now that everyone can look at the copies of Marin’s Codex.”

  “That’s not the same, and there aren’t that many copies to begin with,” Christoff replied, flushing slightly as he shook his head and tried to smooth his hair again. “And Leah would understand if I went off to help.”

  “Fortunately, she won’t have to understand, because the answer is still no,” Emonael told him, stepping out of the room. “I know perfectly well that you can keep her happy. As for the copies, someone had better get to work. I’ve made quite enough as it is.”

  Christoff spluttered at the suggestive tone to her voice, turning a brighter shade of red as they descended to the ground floor. She ignored his protests, shoving down the faint tugging sensation that had begun that morning, calling for her to return to the lower planes. She didn’t have time for that just yet, and even if the consequences could be severe, she was willing to deal with them.

  Valis was waiting near the door, looking solemn, and with Hothar next to him. Both looked haggard, not that she blamed them. The attack on the town had been a shock, and nearly a quarter of the garrison had been gutted.

  “High Mage Emonael,” Hothar said, nodding to her and offering a hand. “Are you sure you want to leave? We could really use your help turning this place into a proper academy.”

  “I’m certain. I only stayed because of Marin to begin with, so now that someone got her killed . . . I’m going to find them,” Emonael told them, her tone hardening as she took his hand and shook it.

  “I suppose, though I’m still not sure why you’re that certain about it. Archmage Marin . . . I’m going to miss her,” Valis interjected, shaking his head unhappily. “She deserves vengeance, but I don’t know where to even begin on tracking them down.”

  “The man who tried holding a dagger to my throat talked about an employer, and I think Tethlyn’s a good place to start,” Emonael told him, shrugging as she added. “Besides, there are a few favors I can call in . . . believe me; I’m confident I can track them down.”

  “If you’re sure. I’m going to miss you, you know,” Valis said, offering his hand.

  Emonael looked at his hand, then brushed it aside as she gave him a hug and deep kiss, then broke it with a grin, purring, “Of course you will, silly. Have fun, and marry well, hmm?”

  Hothar broke into laughter at Valis’s stunned silence, and Emonael took the moment to escape, Christoff at her heels. They started the walk in relative silence, and Emonael realized that, just like when she’d first come here, the students were looking at her and whispering. The difference was, this time the reason for the whispering was very different.

  “How’s Nia? Is Imtep still fawning over her?” Emonael suddenly asked, glancing at Christoff.

  “Yep, which seems to be annoying Andrew a fair bit. Imtep may not be an enemy, but the two definitely don’t get along,” her friend replied with a soft laugh, smiling as he continued. “Uthar seems to be doing well, too; he just spent too much mana. I can’t believe he was able to turn sound into a weapon like that.”

  “Of course he could. He understood it, and finally figured out his lessons properly,” Emonael replied, smiling to herself. “That’s what Marin wanted. She wanted each of you to take her work and create new forms of magic. Don’t be constrained by what’s just known, Chris. Push the limits.”

  “Fair enough,” Christoff agreed, taking a deep breath as they came into sight of the tower. A couple of magi were keeping watch over the area, but Damiya was standing nearby, wearing a pack, with determination in her eyes.

  “Christoff, Emonael,” Damiya greeted them each with a nod. “I’m ready to go.”

  “As am I. I’ve said my farewells,” Emonael agreed.

  Christoff gave Damiya a hug, his voice thick with emotion. “Take care, both of you. Try to keep Emonael out of trouble.”

  “Like that’s going to happen. We’re looking for trouble,” Damiya retorted, to Emonael’s amusement. “Take care, too; you and the others.”

  “I will. Good luck,” Christoff replied, and Emonael gave him a nod, setting a hand on Damiya’s shoulder.

  “If you’ll wait a moment?” A woman’s voice came from behind them, the tones oddly resonant, and Emonael paused, turning to face the approaching figures of Sir Calda, his fellow dragon-sworn, and their charge.

  The two men were garbed for travel and carrying packs, while a young woman was holding the reins of four horses near the tree line. The priestess nodded slightly as she approached, gesturing her escorts back slightly.

  “I believe you were the High Priestess of the Sanguine Enclave, were you not?” Emonael asked, a bit surprised. “I thought that you had already left.”

  “Not just yet. My Lord sent me to see your teacher, but I was a touch too slow to follow His directives. I regret that, quite deeply,” the woman replied, looking at the ruins of the tower and pausing. “I wished to convey my sympathies to you, Emonael. She will be missed.”

  “I . . . must admit some surprise. I thought that most dragon-kin disliked those of other species,” Emonael replied, trying to puzzle out why the woman was acting the way she was. It felt like she was honestly distraught, which was unusual.

  “She saved my father,” the priestess replied simply, and bowed her head. “Should you have need of refuge in the Sanguine Enclave, it will be available to you. May your vengeance be sated in full.”

  “Thank you,” Emonael replied softly, her anger surging again, but she forced it down. Her rage could wait until she found a proper target for it.

  Without another word, the dragon-kin turned to leave. Sir Calda gave Emonael a respectful nod and followed. Once they were gone, Emonael settled herself again and looked at Damiya.

  “Brace yourself. This will be . . . unpleasant,” Emonael warned, and once her friend nodded her understanding, she began the teleportation spell.

  With a flicker of light and a jerking sensation, Emonael found herself in a new place, and she blinked as Damiya gagged.

  “Oh, gods above . . . that wasn’t fun . . .” Damiya gasped, and Emonael murmured her agreement, looking around speculatively.

  They were in a plain chamber hewn from stone, a couple of the walls featuring simple engravings, and a lamp hung from the ceiling to provide basic illumination. The door was wooden, but of surprisingly good manufacture,
and Emonael considered it for a moment. The door opened before she could make a decision, and an elderly human man with white hair looked at them, his eyes surprisingly clear, but clothed in simple homespun robes.

  “Ah, I thought I heard visitors! Not who I expected, though . . . whom might you be?” the man asked, tilting his head.

  “I’m Emonael, and Marin was my teacher. This is my own student, Damiya,” Emonael replied, bowing her head slightly as she added, “She said that ‘the road to knowledge extends ever onward.’”

  “Good, good . . . I’m glad to hear that she had a student. I’m sorry to hear she passed on; I’d hoped that she would outlast me,” the man said, shaking his head. “I’ll lead you to the repository. You’ll have to provide the key.”

  “Of course,” Emonael murmured, and began following him.

  “Emonael? Now that we’re here, can you tell me where we are, and what we’re doing here?” Damiya asked, her voice slightly plaintive. “This doesn’t seem anything like Tethlyn.”

  “No, we’re north of Maple Lake. This is the Monastery of Hidden Words, an order of monks that specialize in gathering knowledge,” Emonael explained as they passed down a corridor and past several hallways and other doors. “Marin paid them to keep a room for her, one which she wanted to keep secret. It was her fallback plan, and she told me about it some time ago.”

  “I’m surprised she spoke about it to anyone. She told me that if no one arrived in a decade, the monastery should take possession of the knowledge and spread it far and wide,” their guide spoke up, glancing over his shoulder at Emonael. “She thought it likely at the time.”

  “Things changed,” Emonael told him, shrugging.

  “As you say. Here we are.” The man stopped in front of a sturdy wooden door, the lock iron, but looking well cared for.

  “Thank you,” Emonael murmured, pulling out the key that Marin had given her and taking a breath, adding softly, “You better not have given me a fake, Teacher.”

  Contrary to her fear, the key turned, though the lock was stiff with disuse. With a loud click, the door unlocked, and her tension eased slightly.

  “Very good! I’ll leave you to peruse at your leisure, ladies. Let me know if you need anything,” the man said, nodding to both of them, and turning to leave quickly.

  Emonael waited until he was gone, then lifted the latch and opened the door, murmuring the words of a light spell as she did so. The orb of pure white floated upward, and Emonael took a step inside the room, only to stop, staring.

  “Oh, gods . . . this . . . isn’t that her desk? Her mug?” Damiya asked, her voice trembling. “Emonael, is this . . .?”

  “It’s her library. She ensured that it would teleport away in an emergency, that it wouldn’t be lost. Alas, she never took similar precautions for herself, the old fool,” Emonael replied, reaching out to brush the spine of a book gently, untouched by the dust that covered the floor. “The desk and her mug . . . those are a bit of a surprise. I wonder what book it was that she had out for this last experiment? She always was unpredictable with those . . .”

  Emonael took a step forward, her voice trailing off as she approached the desk and took in the cover of the book, which looked almost new. It had no title on the spine, but it looked almost the same as the codices, but only half as thick. Puzzled, she opened the cover, only to find a sheet inside with Marin’s handwriting. Removing it with trembling fingers, Emonael unfolded the sheet and began to read it.

  Dear Emonael,

  I’m sorry, but it appears I will have to break my promise. I cannot explain the experiment I was undergoing, for it isn’t safe to do so. What I’ve done . . . the time I spent in it defied all description, Emonael, and the knowledge I gained was terrifying. So terrifying that rather than risk it in mortal hands, I erased it from my mind. But before I did so, I recorded some of it, my dear student. What is within this volume is dangerous beyond measure, but it may be necessary at some point in the future. Of the volumes of Marin’s Codex, this alone is not one which I wish for you to share. To you alone do I entrust this knowledge, Emonael, for you are the one and only person I trust with it. Keep it well.

  I hope that your years are many and pleasant, and I hope to take my assailants with me this eve.

  Goodbye,

  Marin

  Emonael read through the letter once, then twice, even as she felt a strange pressure building over her once more. Potential power was surrounding her, thick and strong, and with only a glance at Damiya as she perused the shelves, tears trickling down the young woman’s face, Emonael cracked open the book and flipped through it, and as she did, her eyes widened in disbelief.

  Forging souls from pure mana, modifying souls via magic, forging ley lines and nodes, crafting planes of existence . . . those were merely the first few subjects that were discussed in terse, direct terms. Each was as basic as all of the books had been, the essentials of how without discussion of the full potential they could reach. The sheer insanity of this being the least dangerous of the knowledge that Marin had learned staggered Emonael, and as she came to the realization, the power finally descended upon her.

  Emonael physically staggered as power flooded into her, re-forging her body as it did so. Strength surged to her limbs, and her core of mana expanded almost exponentially as not just one mantle fell upon her, but three!

  “Magic, Lost Knowledge, and Forbidden Knowledge. These are mine,” Emonael murmured, and she felt the tugging from the lower planes grow still stronger as they tried to pull her back.

  “Emonael? Did you say something to me?” Damiya asked, poking her head around the shelves curiously.

  “No, but I did need to speak with you,” Emonael replied, slipping Marin’s letter inside the front cover of the book and closing it. She didn’t have time to gain proper vengeance for Marin’s death, not with the call of the lower planes. So that gave her only a few ways to fix things. She needed to get someone to summon her again, so she looked at Damiya and smiled.

  “Yes?” her lover asked, stepping around the corner and approaching curiously.

  “I have an admission to make,” Emonael told her, and smiled gently. “Then, I’m going to make you an offer.”

  Epilogue

  The journal came to such a jarring end that Rissia almost felt like she’d walked into a solid wall. What happened after that? What had Her Lady done to those who had killed Marin? So many questions were swirling around her head, and she didn’t have the answers.

  With new eyes, Rissia looked on the library and the desk in the corner, the untouched copper mug explained at last. It was so plain and unadorned, and yet it still resided there, untouched by the ravages of time.

  Sighing, Rissia slowly stood, closing the journal that told her so much of why Emonael had turned out the way she had, and why she obsessed over Marin so much. Even the vague explanations in the journal were fascinating, and Rissia couldn’t help but envy the ancient elven mage.

  Sliding the journal back into its place on the shelf, the librarian took a brief look around the simple, small library and let out a sigh. Then she stepped through the portal, refusing to take advantage of Emonael’s goodwill.

  She snapped back into existence on the other side of the portal, the light from above seeming too bright in some way, even though the two rooms had been lit in the same manner. Rissia took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Did you find it interesting, Rissia?” Emonael asked, back in a mirrored shape of Rissia. She was looking up from a book, an eyebrow elegantly arched.

  “I did, though I have a few questions for you, My Lady. The ending was quite . . . abrupt.” Rissia admitted, bowing her head slightly.

  “It was. I didn’t use that journal beyond that point, as you can well imagine,” Emonael replied in amusement, sliding her book back onto the shelf. “What are your questions? All at once, if you please.”

  “What did you do to Braemas? The Brotherhood of High Magi? Tethlyn?” Rissia asked, extending
her arms and shrugging as she added. “For that matter, what happened to your students? There’s so much that was just . . . left hanging there!”

  “Oh, you did lose yourself in the journal, didn’t you?” Emonael’s laughter echoed through the library, and she stood. “Well, as for the first three . . . have you ever heard of any of them before, Rissia?”

  “No, My Lady,” Rissia replied. “It has been close to fifteen millennia, with the Godsrage in between, though.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But even if you were to go looking for mentions of them, you won’t find the slightest trace of those three groups in any book you’ve heard of. Oh, a few individuals might still remember them, but only those who knew them or who heard tales of their destruction,” Emonael replied, her voice sweet as she finished. “I didn’t just destroy them. I erased every last trace of them from existence. They’re naught but a memory.”

  “Oh.” Rissia’s eyes went huge at the implications, and the sheer amount of effort that it must have entailed.

  “As for my students . . . Christoff became one of the first Archmagi. He married Leah and shepherded the Academy of Pharos to his dying day. An admirable young man, I must say. Andrew only ever became a High Mage, but he still worked hard and proved to many of those who would otherwise have ignored the common folk that they could become magi as well.” Emonael began ticking off fingers as she explained. “Nia . . . she eventually rejected Imtep’s advances and became a powerful magister on her own, until she got too arrogant and was choked to death by an apprentice. A poor choice of student and her own attitude, really. Uthar decided to meld music and magic, and became famous among the various courts for his performances. While he never became a High Mage, he was the most well-known of all of them, and lived an excellent life.”

  Rissia waited for a moment, but when it seemed that her goddess was done, the succubus asked, “What about Damiya?”