Master of the Phantom Isle

by Brandon Mull

  It seemed reasonable to Seth that he may have once belonged in this Under Realm. After all, he could speak with the undead and had other dark powers. Might there be light in him as well? Seth knew he didn’t want to cause harm to anyone. Even though he had dark abilities, he wanted to do good with them, not evil. Had he always felt that way? Even back before he could remember?

  However dark his history might be, did it have to define him? With his memory wiped clean, how much did it matter who he had been before? What if it turned out he didn’t like who he had been? He wanted to know his history, but did he have to be a slave to it? Did he have to learn from somebody who kept secrets and acted like he owned him? In principle, Seth didn’t mind freeing some of the undead, but not if people would get hurt.

  Seth ate more shellfish and munched on bread. The meal seemed like another hint that he was close to the ocean. What would he find if he got to the surface?

  He thought about the girl Kendra, the first person he had met, who claimed to be his sister. She had run after him when the puppet Mendigo carried him away. Her desperation had seemed sincere. He wished he knew more about her. Was she really related to him? Or was it just a clever way to win over a person who had lost his memory? Had she been working with his enemies? Or was she on his side?

  These questions had answers.

  He needed them.

  Ronodin had left him alone in an underground domain full of the undead. And Seth could communicate with the undead.

  He pushed back his chair from the table, took one last sip of milk, dabbed his lips with the linen napkin, picked up the little lantern off the table, and walked into a neighboring chamber. Two wraiths stood there. Left to themselves, the wraiths did not do much besides sedately lurk. They were not like the wraiths in the well who had seemed so desperate for freedom, perhaps because these wraiths were already free.

  “We need to talk,” Seth said, pointing to one of the wraiths.

  As you wish, the wraith responded, the chilling words flowing directly into Seth’s mind.

  “Can you speak out loud?” Seth asked.

  “If desired,” the wraith replied in a slithery whisper.

  “I like talking better,” Seth said. “Who am I?”

  “You are living,” the wraith said.

  “I mean specifically,” Seth said.

  The other wraith moved away. Seth saw no reason to stop it.

  “You are untouchable,” the wraith said.

  The other wraith left the room. Seth wondered if it was deliberately avoiding the conversation.

  “You can’t touch me?” Seth asked. “Do you want to kill me?”

  “I serve the Underking,” the wraith replied.

  “Do you know my name?” Seth asked.

  “You are Seth.”

  “What else do you know about me?” Seth asked.

  “You are living. You are untouchable.”

  “Where are we?” Seth asked.

  “We are in the depths,” the wraith whispered.

  “If I went to the surface, where would we be?” Seth asked.

  “At the surface.”

  Seth rolled his eyes. “Where in the world would we be at the surface?”

  “The isle,” the wraith said. “But there are many ways.”

  “Many ways to the isle?” Seth asked.

  “Many ways to many places,” the wraith said.

  Seth sighed. It was hard to get a straight answer. “Does anyone here know more about who I am?”

  “The prisoner knows.”

  “What prisoner?”

  “You must not meet the prisoner,” the wraith said.

  “Why not?”

  “Orders from Ronodin.”

  “Is Ronodin in charge of you?”

  “I serve the Underking,” the wraith said.

  “But you follow orders from Ronodin?”

  “I heed orders authorized by the Underking.”

  “Do you follow orders from me?” Seth asked.

  “You are untouchable. I hear you. You hear me. I communicate.”

  “Where is the prison?” Seth asked.

  “You are to be kept from the prisoner,” the wraith said.

  “Orders from Ronodin?”

  “Orders,” the wraith said.

  “Okay,” Seth said. “Thanks.”

  He walked back to the room where he had eaten. The bread, seafood dish, and milk remained where he had left them. He knew his way to his quarters and went in that direction, but paused at his door and then kept going. He could sense more wraiths up ahead. Maybe he could get more out of a new wraith.

  Seth walked up to the next wraith he found. “Will you take me to the prison?”

  The words of the wraith reached his mind. You are not to go there.

  “Speak out loud.” Seth wondered if he could use some cleverness to get an answer. “What direction should I avoid to keep away from the prison?”

  “The wrong direction,” the wraith said.

  “Which way is that?”

  “The wrong way.”

  Seth folded his arms. “Who could tell me about the prison?”

  “Ezabar,” the wraith said.

  “Can you take me to Ezabar?”

  The wraith gave a curt bow and started walking. Seth followed, wondering if he should be worried or excited to speak with Ezabar. He had not yet dared to wander far unescorted by Ronodin, and he felt curious to see more of the Under Realm. Whether by slope or by stairs, the way descended downward, some portions of the journey like a cave, others enclosed by crude masonry. Seth frequently sensed undead presences, several of them unfamiliar and more disquieting than he had felt before, but he saw none of them.

  The air grew colder, and the little lantern seemed to have more difficulty pushing back the darkness. The wraith stopped outside an elaborately carved doorway with bones fused into the stonework.

  “Is this where I go?” Seth asked.

  “Ezabar,” the wraith said.

  “Are you coming in with me?” Seth asked.

  “No,” the wraith said.

  “Will you wait to take me back up?” Seth asked.

  “Yes,” the wraith said.

  Seth took a step toward the door and then stopped. “Is Ezabar dangerous?”

  “Yes.”

  Seth walked up to the door, ancient wood bound in iron. If there was a prisoner he was not supposed to meet, Seth wanted to meet him. Or her. Or it. If talking to Ezabar was a loophole that could help the encounter happen, Seth figured it was worth the risk. He thought about knocking, then hauled the door open.

  Coldness flowed from the open portal. In the tomblike room beyond, the lantern light penetrated the darkness to reveal a sinister figure at rest on a large marble slab. The apparent corpse wore a long chain-mail hauberk under a white tunic, hands folded on the hilt of the broadsword atop his chest. His faintly glowing skin had a blue tint and was translucent enough that Seth could make out the bones inside his hands and behind his face.

  “Why do you disturb me?” the supine figure asked in a deep, hollow voice.

  “I’m looking for Ezabar,” Seth said.

  “You have found him,” the figure said, rising from the slab to stand with his feet hovering a few inches above the ground, the sword clutched in one semitransparent hand. “State your business.”

  Seth worried he had disturbed a being he should have left alone. Goosebumps now textured both of his arms. He tried to act confident. “I need to visit the prison.”

  “You are alive,” Ezabar said.

  “Don’t hold that against me,” Seth said. “I’m doing my best with what I’ve got.”

  “Tell me, shadow charmer, what business have you in my prison?” Ezabar asked.

  “Your prison?” Seth check
ed.

  Ezabar rested the blade of his sword on one armored shoulder. “I oversee all matters here.”

  “Are we at the prison?” Seth asked.

  “Nearly,” Ezabar said.

  “Could you give me a tour? I’m new.”

  “The living who enter my prison seldom return,” Ezabar said.

  “Are some in your prison living?”

  “All.”

  “No undead?”

  “None.”

  “Why don’t I just go have a look?”

  “I must destroy any who enter the prison without permission,” Ezabar said.

  “But I’m untouchable,” Seth said.

  “No living being is untouchable here,” Ezabar said.

  “That’s what I get for listening to wraiths,” Seth muttered.

  “Perhaps the wraiths were asked not to harm you,” Ezabar allowed.

  “Why not give me permission?” Seth asked. “Isn’t my shadow charm working?”

  “You have yet to provide evidence to justify a visit,” Ezabar said.

  “What kind of undead are you?” Seth asked. “Is that too personal? You hold a better conversation than a wraith. And revenants don’t seem to talk at all.”

  “Revenants are focused so deeply inward it is a wonder they can move,” Ezabar said.

  “You’re a lich,” Seth guessed.

  “That is one label, I suppose,” Ezabar said.

  “What label do you use?” Seth asked.

  “You are either extraordinarily brave or exceedingly ignorant,” Ezabar said. “Either way, you assume too much familiarity. Either provide a reason for intruding on my rest or face the consequences.”

  “I heard there is a prisoner who knows me,” Seth said, hoping to earn some points for honesty.

  “I fail to see the relevance,” Ezabar said.

  “The Underking invited me to stay here,” Seth said. “I work with Ronodin. I just freed a bunch of undead from a well and gave them their own castle to haunt. But I’ve lost my memory. If one of your prisoners might know me, I want to have a talk.”

  “There is a prisoner who knows of you,” Ezabar said. “He would attempt to poison your mind if given the chance. Ronodin would not like that conversation to occur, though the Underking has not forbidden it.”

  “Wait, do you know me?” Seth asked.

  “I know enough,” Ezabar said.

  “If you lost your identity, wouldn’t you want to gather information?” Seth asked. “Speak to anyone who knew you?”

  “I would never be so foolish as to lose something so precious,” Ezabar said.

  “I don’t even know how I lost it,” Seth said. “Ronodin is teaching me. Why would he want to keep me away from a person from my past?”

  “This prisoner has harmed many of our kind,” Ezabar said. “He destroyed several who were close to me. He is a menace.”

  “I’m not going to blindly believe him,” Seth said. “But it’s important I hear from multiple sources if I’m going to put together the pieces of my past. Unless Ronodin has something to hide . . .”

  “I do not care to guess at the mind of Ronodin,” Ezabar said.

  “Then why not let me interview the prisoner?” Seth asked.

  “I do not oversee a social parlor,” Ezabar said. “This is the prison of the Under Realm.”

  “I’m a guest here, and one of your prisoners could be useful to me,” Seth said. “Should I ask Ronodin? Is he who really controls access?”

  “Ronodin is a visitor here as well,” Ezabar said. “Albeit an honored one.”

  “How does it usually work to talk to a prisoner?” Seth asked.

  “Seldom is a prisoner interrogated,” Ezabar said. “Such rare circumstances are almost uniformly at the behest of the Underking.”

  “Then what do you manage here? Sounds like there isn’t much to do.”

  “The prisoners are all living,” Ezabar said.

  “You already explained that,” Seth said.

  “I primarily keep the other inhabitants of the Under Realm from feeding on them.”

  “Gross,” Seth said, wrinkling his nose. “I guess that makes sense, though. Then why not just let me talk to the prisoner? I promise not to feed on him.”

  Ezabar gave a nod. “It is amusing to hold a conversation with a live person. Especially one who is not imprisoned. What would you be willing to do for me if I grant the access you seek?”

  “I don’t know,” Seth said. “You’ve got a tomb over your head, a sword to hold, a marble bed, cool armor. What do you get for the guy who has it all?”

  “What about a piece of information?” Ezabar asked.

  “You know I lost my memory,” Seth said.

  “This is information you can obtain,” Ezabar said. “Ages ago I dwelled in the country of Selona. Do you know it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Seth said. “I remember some places. I don’t think I’m an expert with geography, and who knows how much I’ve forgotten. I’m not even sure where I’m from, though I would guess the United States, since a lot of the states and cities sound familiar.”

  “Selona is in Europe,” Ezabar said. “There was a boy called Toleron, son of the Duke of Hester. The child’s mother was called Ingrid. It would interest me to know what became of him.”

  “Like what he did with his life?” Seth asked.

  “Share whatever you can learn,” Ezabar said. “The topic is of enough interest that if you vow to do this, I will grant the access you seek.”

  “Can I get to Selona?” Seth asked.

  “Not easily perhaps, or soon,” Ezabar said. “If you survive long enough, there are ways to get you close. Time is on my side.”

  “Okay,” Seth said. “I vow to do that.”

  “Very well,” Ezabar said. “Wait here.” He gestured toward his marble slab. “I must check on the prisoners before allowing you access. If you exit this chamber before I return, the offer is void.”

  “I’ll wait right here,” Seth said. “Do you mind if I sit on your slab?”

  “I do not mind,” Ezabar said. “I shall return.”

  The lich left the room, closing the door. Seth sat down on the cold, hard marble, wondering how long he would have to wait.

  Kendra knew Thronis only by reputation. Standing up tall, she barely came halfway up his hairy shins. He loomed before her, clad in sandals and a sky-blue toga. Liver spots stippled a bald head fringed by the short bristles of graying hair. Except for his enormous proportions, he looked like a regular man approaching the age of sixty, with a paunchy belly and inquisitive eyes.

  “That guy is freaky,” Knox murmured.

  The enormous room of fine marble and granite was sparsely furnished with divans the size of sailing ships and ottomans bigger than gazebos. A bonfire roared inside a gargantuan hearth. A colossal mural on one wall depicted a giantess seated on an elaborate chair that had been carved into a mountainside. Numerous tiny humans groveled at her feet. On the far side of the room, doors stood open to a balcony that overlooked the night sky.

  “Is this Stormcrag?” Kendra called.

  “I hear you just fine,” the giant replied, his voice powerful but not deep. “No need to shout. Welcome to my mountaintop. You must be Kendra.”

  “These are my cousins, Knox and Tess,” Kendra said. “And my friend, Tanu, along with the satyrs Newel and Doren.”

  “And I know Marat,” Thronis said. “You are welcome here. The new wizard known as Andromadus obtained my permission to send you.”

  “Where is he?” Kendra asked, looking around.

  “He pledged to return shortly,” Thronis said. “You have endured a difficult night. Can I provide any refreshments?”

  Kendra sagged. Were refreshments an option? It felt like a long time since she had found a
chance to pause. Were they truly safe? Agad had just been devoured by Celebrant. It had looked like they would all die.

  “I’m thirsty,” Tess said.

  “I wouldn’t mind a drink,” Doren said. “If you’re offering.”

  The giant walked away, footfalls sending vibrations through the furniture, and returned with a golden bowl, which he placed on the floor near Kendra. It came higher than her waist and was full of clear liquid.

  “I have some cups for small folk,” Thronis said, walking from the room.

  “Are you sure he isn’t going to eat us?” Knox asked.

  “Thronis always tells the truth,” Kendra said.

  “Not by rule anymore,” Thronis said, returning to the room. “The spell Agad cast on me died with him. But I do believe in honesty, and it has become quite a meticulous habit over the years.”

  The giant placed a large drawstring bag on the floor, and Tanu tugged it open. “Plates and utensils too,” Tanu announced as he withdrew several glass mugs and began handing them around.

  When Kendra dipped her mug in the fragrant liquid, she could feel it was warm. She tried a sip and tasted tepid water suffused with subtle herbal flavors, including mint. The aroma, the taste, and the temperature combined to make each sip relaxing.

  “This looks like what a fancy guy would use to wash his hands,” Knox said. “But it tastes good.”

  “Thank you, Thronis,” Kendra said.

  “My pleasure,” the giant replied. “I very rarely get visitors.”

  With a red flash, Patton appeared, along with the winged horses Glory and Noble and many griffins from the stable, including Tempest. A moment later, Andromadus arrived with another burst of light.

  “So many mounts,” Thronis said.

  “You have facilities for such?” Andromadus asked.

  Thronis gave a nod. “I am fond of griffins and keep many of my own here. These are all welcome. You will reinforce the protections on my manse?”

  “Indeed,” Andromadus said. Closing his eyes, the wizard raised his staff and began mumbling words, his free hand splayed. He lowered the staff. “It is done. Your home is now a bastion of the founders.”

  Thronis smiled. “The dragons would probably not try to attack us here, knowing the winds I could summon, but I don’t mind my abode becoming more secure, especially now that the sanctuary has fallen and I have taken in fugitives.”