* * *
Hours later Khar sat down and flopped backwards to lay on his back, exasperated. He’d sorted his pile over and over again, not having had a chance to read anything yet. The only sound that’d marked those hours was the turning of pages, the moving of paper and the shuffling of three bodies going about their work. Staring at the beautiful ceiling, striking colours and blackness mixing together, a kind face appeared with a smile.
“Want to take a look?” Xiang said, offering a hand to pull the dejected monk to his feet. Groaning, he accepted the hand and they both walked over to the man’s work, K'Chool already there with a smile on her face.
“Not bad for a Naïve.” She said grasping Xiang's shoulder warmly. She was right Khar thought. Somehow, he’d pieced together an incredible number of pages, discarding completely useless material to the side. K'Chool read Khar’s mind and completed another spell with graceful body movements. Where pages met, blueish light shone, growing in intensity and then snapping and popping all over the floor. It looked like molten-blue lava with the surface partially hardening into new rock, the light shimmering and then going out in a wave from the middle. When the final piece of light crackled away, they were presented with near complete pages, all the tears, rips and burns partially repaired, although truly burned text couldn’t be recovered.
“Should make it easier to move them around and read when we need to.” She said absently, staring at what may contain the secrets they needed. “How did you do that?” She said, turning to Xiang. His eyes were a little wet with amazement.
“That was. Beautiful.” He stuttered to an appreciative nod from the Sojela before remembering her question. “I was coerced into the Chinese Special forces.” He said darkly, obviously remembering something quite traumatic. “I hated every moment of it, but through serving masters against my will I found peace. They made me into a deadly weapon, but I wouldn’t let them take my soul. So, I worked on the spiritual side of the martial training they offered, finding calm with the breathing and meditation. When I practice these things, my mind clears, and I can complete tasks unnaturally quickly. I’ve often wondered how I was able to do this, feeling out of place in the world and able to do things with ease.” He laughed. “Maybe it’s magic.” He shrugged with a smile. “That, and my grandma, Po Po, used to love doing puzzles with me. Watching her old and wrinkled hands calmly place pieces without thinking was a kind of magic to me. I would often visit her with new pictures to complete and talk about everything and nothing. She was very wise and time with her was a welcome peace.”
Khar put a thankful arm around Xiang, “Nice work Po Po. Wanna take a crack at my pile?” Xiang looked over at the mess Khar had created. It looked almost as bad as when they had started. The crease in his forehead and slight move of the head showed that Xiang had accepted the new challenge, so he walked over to the pile silently and began his work anew.
“Find anything so far?” He whispered to K'Chool.
“Not yet. Some useless texts on Orc bloodlines, Elf tribal traditions and some recipe books. I thought I was onto something with that book.” She pointed at a dark green object with gold inlays and beautiful text on the cover. “It started with wytch and wyzard lore but then descended into faery tales. Useless.”
“Fancy looking at this?” He pointed at the newly formed documents in front of him.
“Thanks, but I’ll keep up with what I have.” Then she padded over to the books again, effortlessly dropping to a seated position and placing the next book on her lap. Taking Xiang’s lead, Khar slowed his breathing, closed his eyes and cleared his mind, imagining an easy, meandering river whittling its way through his psyche. He stepped forward into the centre of the papers, fell to his knees and reached out unconsciously with his right hand. When the rough paper brushed his hand a crack of lightning shot through his being. Still kneeling where he was, paper in hand, everything around him disappeared to a deadly black in an instant. Faintly glowing in gold, he stayed completely still staring at two figures in front of him, also bathed in gold. They didn’t notice him and carried on as if they were alone.
“You do not need to do this alone, Weyaal.” The Master said with concern and empathy. He looked years younger than how Khar knew him, the way he dressed still unchanged after years of service to The Balance.
“Do not call me that.” The Thousand Curses spat back with hatred.
“We started down this path together.” The Master responded calmly. “Let us finish it together.”
“I’ve moved beyond your needs.” She said without emotion staring at a book with a symbol embossed on the spine.
“Our order is broken, and The Protectorate wants to enslave us. We should be doing this together.” The older man said, gently gesturing with his hands and flowing robes.
“Maybe.” She said absently.
“Why did you kill him?” Rumaliza asked into the dark face of the woman.
“He was rotten. Diseased. Time had taken its toll on him and he didn’t deserve me.”
“Perhaps. That should have been a decision for the clerics and I though.” A fatherly tone had found its way into his voice.
“You would’ve deliberated too long. Then he’d have gotten away with it. The old ways should stay in the past. Buried with the dead that time stole away.” She was beginning to lose interest in the conversation, her eyes glazing over as if bored, her hair floating around her face unnaturally from an unseen force.
“Where will you go?” Obed sensed that he’d lost her for now and that he’d need to find another time and another place to turn her back to the light.
“You know where.” She said flatly, starting to turn away from her old master.
“Sahld’veba?” He called after her, but she was gone into the dark. A faint gold outline remained where she had just walked from, which Khar stared after, frustrated at the unanswered questions from this new vision.
“Why are you here?” An angry voice threw at Khar, dragging his attention back towards Obed. The Master was now looking directly at him. “Be gone.” Robes blurred as a choreographed and passionate whirlwind of movements commenced, the older man speaking to himself angrily. After completing his incantation, he forcefully shoved both arms backwards, fists balled, as he faced Khar. The shockwave slammed into Khar and the darkness receded, taking with it the golden outline of Obed as he walked away.
On hands and knees, sweating and breathing hard, Khar raised his head to look at his two companions, his vision over. Neither of them registering that something had happened, absorbed in their own tasks. Shakily he stood, focusing on the paper he still clutched in his hands, looking for a symbol he knew would be there. Settled at the bottom of the page, a hand drawn loose spiral with a cross through it glared at him, daring and full of resolve. It was the same symbol that appeared on the spine of the book The Betrayer was holding. Standing deathly still, statue-like and frozen, Khar was trying to piece the story together, but K'Chool interrupted his thoughts by asking what he was doing. No words came from him and he said all he needed to with his eyes.
K'Chool rushed over, placing both hands on his shoulders, searching for answers. “What did you see?” She whispered with worry.
“Her.” He choked. “With The Master.” Disdain souring his mouth. “They were here, and it sounded like he was helping her. Then he let her leave with a book that had this symbol on it.” He raised the paper in between them so she could see the evil scribblings.
“Necromancy.” She gasped. “All records of that magik were supposed to have been destroyed after The Barren Sun died.”
“Apparently not.” Khar uttered incredulously.
“What’s going on?” Xiang interrupted, surprising Khar more than it should’ve. He’d silently padded up to them without either noticing, concern spreading across his features.
K'Chool turned to him without removing her hands from Khar’s shoulders, face shrouded with fear. “No one knows why Surelikai made a dark magik. The Barren Sun
magik.” She said coldly. “Some say she did it for balance, others say she was hurt by something and poured all her anger and hatred into the arts, so she no longer had to feel. In either case, her older sister, Sophia Reklan, took The Barren Sun and lost herself to it. Twisted and evil arts came from that broken mind, one of which was Necromancy.” Her head bowed slightly.
“The practice of communicating with the dead, in order to predict the future.” Xiang finished. The two warrior monks looked at each other with surprise, K’Chool’s arms dropping to her side.
“I can read.” He said, before retrieving a piece of paper from Khar’s old pile and showing it to them. It had the same symbol as what Khar had in his hand but printed more neatly than his version. It looked like the remnants of a history, or text book of some kind. “Why were records of the magik supposed to be destroyed?” He asked, looking at K'Chool.
“Reklan died whilst practising this art after many years of living separately from her kin. Artoor Moniin, The Eternal Light and founder of our order found her dead body and declared that Necromancy should die with his sister.” She trailed off.
“The Last Word was here K'Chool.” Khar pointed at the ground. “She found a Necromancy book, destroyed the library and The Master let her do it.” He was getting angry, words passionately spilling from him. “A banned magik was in the hands of a dreadful evil who was helped by our very own Surelikhan. We need to stop her.” He looked both of them in the eyes. “Let’s gather everything we can on soul binding, this place called Sahld’veba and any records where this symbol appears.” He angrily shook the partially crumpled page towards them both. “Then let’s get back to Aitch and see if he can help us piece some of this together.”
K'Chool and Xiang agreed with nods and then made their way back to their piles. Xiang settled back into his rhythm, methodically sorting through his puzzle and channelling his Po Po, a slight smile touching the corners of his mouth. K'Chool watched as Khar continued with his own puzzle, most likely channelling Xiang's Po Po as well, the will to find answers driving his efforts.
“My Weyaal, all grown up.” She whispered to herself. Heat rushing to her face and blushing. “What other secrets have you been keeping from me?”
CHAPTER THIRTY - SHIRTS AND SHOPS
Christophe awoke a few hours later, the coins gone from his mind and having not heard, or felt, Rosalind getting up. He let the image of her walking away from the bed completely naked linger in his still dreamy mind, the light from the window silhouetting her curves as she bent down to pick up a shirt. He imagined it was one of his, but there wasn’t anything to suggest it would be anything of his. He just thought she would look special dressed that way and he fell a little further for this imagined version of her. Long life had treated him to many experiences with women, and men, and all those in between. In the past, he’d sought out as many new experiences as he could and being a shape shifter allowed him to experiment being each gender with multiple sexual orientations, always seeking something extreme and varied to satisfy his urges. The passing of time, however, dimmed his excitement for passion, it dwindling with the years and each encounter, yet imaging her, in his shirt caused a stir. He felt the warmth of the sheets where she’d just been and caught a whiff of her as he pulled the sheet aside and got up. When did I become a horny teenager obsessing over my new crush? Pushing the childish thought aside he pulled on some loose trousers and walked into the main room to see where she’d gone.
When he rounded the corner, he felt that stir again, she was bent over, looking at something in lacey, delicate panties and wearing one of his shirts. He caught his breath as what he’d imagined whilst lying in bed was now made real in front of him. All those long and dreary lifetimes he’d lived slid away in that moment. All those encounters with sweat, skin and heavy breathing cascaded away into the distance to meaningless nothingness. He’d need to be careful. He’d need to tread lightly and steel himself from becoming a teenager trapped in his crush’s web. The vision of her, wearing what she was wearing, distracted him from what she was doing, and he worried it was a warning to some greater machinations of hers. One-by-one, she was tenderly stroking each of the body parts in the purple-white boxes. Inspecting each one with the utmost scrutiny and care. Looking. Searching. Testing. When she came close, each object she caressed stopped its sickly, unnatural vibrations and shuddering immediately at her touch. They lent into her fingers as they brushed over them gently, slowing themselves, so she could see how much they’d grown. How strong they’d become. Even the ones closest to the current one she was touching still moved oddly, but significantly less, leaning towards her so they could be touched next.
He watched her as she worked meticulously from one end of the purple-grey limb garden to the other, the body stems, mutilated torso and distorted head, toing and froing with her as she went by. The whole scene struck him as sick, but he was mesmerised by Rosalind as she worked, the stirring he felt earlier mixing with disgust into something new. A feeling he liked and un-liked. An emotion he wanted to immerse himself in and swim away from. He would do anything for her and wanted nothing to do with her. He barely had time to wrestle with his inner workings when Rosalind stood gracefully and turned to face him. She was wearing the kindest and sincerest smile he’d ever seen, motherly, loving and honest, completely at odds with how seductively he thought she was standing. The shirt wasn’t buttoned up at all, showing him a clear, undulating and tempting path from her soft lips, past the alluring curves of her partially covered breasts, down to the top of her lace underwear. All innocence and light, as if embarrassed by how she must look to him, she spoke in that voice he liked. It embodied the softer side of her, musical and enticing. It was dangerous.
“I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed a shirt.” Christophe just shook his head slowly to say he didn’t mind. “I picked up these whilst you were out.” She pushed part of her hip towards him, showing off more of the underwear and more of her body. “I’ve been feeling bad about how I’ve treated you and I thought you may like it.” His brows raised, not sure how she would know that classy lingerie was a treat, Naïve women used to please men. Well. The real purpose was to empower them, reducing their feeble male counterparts to quivering wrecks if used properly. “When Eve was Anne, she did it a few times when she was in relationships.” She traced the line of the material with her fingertips, the corners of her mouth turning upwards in pleasure. “She did it to make things interesting. All her suitors were so. Bland.” Her fingers went back the other way and she turned her hips to get a better look at herself from a different angle. The pushed back shirt, fell a little further across her breast, the nipple catching it before it revealed the entire game. “Do you like it?” Still partially turned so he could see more of her, a slight frown appearing for Christophe’s benefit on her brow. She wanted acceptance. She wanted his desire.
“Very much.” Christophe managed through a slight cough, not quite playing it as cool as he’d have liked. She smiled that smile again and he knew he was in deep trouble.
“Good.” Very gently, she reached for the shoulders of the shirt and tugged them away from her, letting it fall to the crooks of her elbows. She held the shirt there for a moment, letting Christophe bathe in her glory. She felt powerful in these clothes. She felt strong and loved. She didn’t need them to earn Christophe’s affections, but she liked how they helped and the reaction they got from him. Modestly trying to cover up, she crossed one leg in front of the other and let the shirt fall. Christophe was folding her into his arms before the shirt touched the ground, greedily taking every part of her in as earnestly as he could. Things pushed and pulled again. Time froze as they joined again. Hurting, touching. Revelling, melting into one another. They found each other again, their hearts joined in a synchronised chorus. They traded kisses, hot breaths and earnest, longing touches taking each other in more than they’d done before. Time moved on, or it didn’t. They lost themselves in the celebration until contented. Teenage Christophe
found himself looking at Rosalind again as their breathing slowed. The longing and devotion emanating from him. Turning to meet his gaze, that smile appeared again across her beautiful face. He tried to resist falling but it was no use. Whether she was manipulating him or not he didn’t care. For now, it was enough that she was his and he was hers.
“They’re ready.” She said quietly, interrupting Christophe’s thoughts.
“Who are?” He knew the answer before it came, thinking on how lovingly she doted on those things in the other room.
“My children.”
Christophe didn’t like that, moving past it quickly to try and mask his feelings. “What about the stranger you paralysed?”
“He needs more time.” That smile was anchored to her face now, immovable. “My children are just growing, so it’s simpler. He… He’s changing, so it’s more complicated.” Her smile was met with a concerned brow. “Don’t worry.” A warm hand found his cheek. “I know he looks like him, but that doesn’t matter. I let him go a long time ago.” Teenage sulking over, Christophe let out some air, relief marking him out against the sheets.
“I just need one more thing for my children.” She got up, Christophe already missing the warm hand on his cheek, his fingertips working to where her touch used to be. Pathetic he thought, but he couldn’t help himself. He was under her spell.
“What do you need?” He asked, dragging his mind into the present.
Rosalind pulled some trousers up and over some planer, more practical underwear, Christophe sad to see the others once disappear for a while. “You’ll see.” That damned smile again, turned his insides into goo. “Will you come with me to The Merchant?” Only half dressed she stopped mid flow to look at him, brow all creased, wanting his approval, wanting his attention.
“Of course.” His head dropped slightly, picking out a spot on the bed so he didn’t have to look at her when he asked this. In the past, if he’d questioned her, words would have met him and crushed him. Making him their prisoner and slave. Now though, he was braver. He would’ve put it down to age if asked before they slept together, but the feelings he was having betrayed that age. No, it was something in her that’d changed. She’d softened in places, become more open in others. Maybe it was being trapped in Eve. Maybe it was that she wasn’t using her magiks as much. She’d never really done anything for him before and here she was, wanting his help and wanting to please him. Here goes.
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