Kain heard the shattering of bone explode upon impact, but did not see the gruesome aftermath. Instead, he saw the dwarf hurl the corpse of the goblin into the hole in the ice, then kicked the other one—the one that was there before they’d arrive in after it. Magnus then stepped forward and hovered over Kain’s box.
“Ok,” he said; his face covered with goblin blood-splatter. “Let's get this over with...”
Magnus then lit the fuse of the sleeper, and closed the lid of the casket.
Chapter VI
The Guilt of The Alchemist
Taken From “The Deadman’s Almanac.”
Page 122.
Years have now passed and Ryan, my humble lab rat has died. The circumstances of his death seemed natural enough—natural for a fire-breathing rat that is, but also in the same sense somewhat strange. I only say this now on my deathbed because I know the truth. And it brings me back for a year or so before Kain left my home. I have once said earlier that I haven’t seen this man in forty-years; that is an exaggeration. Kain left me after fifteen years ago, leaving me specifically in the year of our lord, 1583. I reiterate all this because of the guilt I still feel, and the wonder I have in how much remains until I stop writing these memoirs. I am here today, but tomorrow, I may not.
Page 123.
I have cursed future generations. My lust for divine creation of being a healer through science, magick and pyromancy, has enviably left me with an addictive lifestyle to the substance I first pulled from Kain, and a full transference to my own family—a lineage as it were, of those powers and abilities. The same tainted blood that runs within my veins now spans with future generations that belong to my family. And the worse part of all this is that it won’t stop, not until the lineage of Dee is completely obliterated from this earth. To think this only started with the mere experimentation, and a spark that arose from my fingertips.
Page 124.
I had studied Ryan for a full year by then. I was certain that everything I had created since then had fully worked, also, that there were no major side effects to which I had seen. So I proceeded by doing the next logical step within my experiments—human trails. Specifically, it was not going to occur with anyone that I did or did not know. No, I was too afraid that if this would end-up into the wrong hands that the world would see a horrid creature unlike they had ever seen before. Hell would come to London, and possibly to the rest of the living world.
So instead, I injected myself. And to my surprise, nothing happened. I remained flabbergasted for an entire week wondering what had gone wrong, and figured the dose was not large enough for my weight and mass to have a significant effect. So I did it again, and again, and again. By the third week I had streaks down my arms like a heroin addict. Luckily for me, the sleeves I wore were long and Kain stood none the wiser from ever seeing my arms both scarred and tortured. The only one who indeed saw the marks upon me was my own wife at the time. But either out of respect for my work, or not being the sort of wife to ask questions she did not know what to answer, she said nothing and asked nothing about it. But I could tell by the way she tried not to look at me at times, that she was ashamed and probably afraid of what I had become—a junkie to science, magick, and to my own ego.
Needless to say, we had made love and conceive numerous children during that period from which I started taking Pyromite (the chemical compound I gave to my synthesized formula for the blood of Kain). This was undoubtedly careless. Due to my own ego, I did not have the foresight to see what was wrong with what I was doing—creating. I was far too involved—literally engulfed my discoveries, that I did not wish to tell you—my surrogate son, Kain, from which blood I was taking as my nightly medicine. In reality, I did not see anything wrong with what I was doing, or in that case, that anything wrong would come from all this.
Before I end this passage, there is one thing I do wish to mention. The one story, from which I won't tell here in full, that has to do with the son of a woman I was seeing at the time. I need to be honest here, as there is no other way for me to be any other way now, this woman, was not my wife. But the child that she bore during this time was indefinitely my son. This story is too hurtful to tell here, and I refused to continue to speak about—at least, like I’ve said, not in full. Whether this is because of my shame I bear to have been with another woman that wasn’t my wife, and conceiving a child from said affair, or what later happened in result of my terrible work—I could not say that it is actually a bit of both. All I know is this solitary fact: no one should play with fire. Fire burns. And fire destroys.
Page 125.
A month had passed and I saw little to no results from the blood. My breath was warmer, and blood itself ran extremely hot, but overall nothing out of the ordinary happen; more importantly, I never spat fire from my lips like Ryan—more importantly, I never have. But one night something did happen from which I knew all would change thereafter.
It was midnight, and I found myself awoken by the smell of fire. My wife awoke as well, but not to the smell of fire, but to no less the sight of our bedroom curtains being set ablaze. I got up and grabbed the pale of water adjacent to our bed, and tossed the contents within at the smoking linens. Immediately, the flames went out.
“What was that?” She’d ask.
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Maybe the candle on the nightstand fell. Either way, were both fine now and we can head back to bed, dear?”
I lied to her—right to her face, and she believed it. I knew the truth. And it might have been too impossible for her to even comprehend. I myself did not understand it fully, and I was the one who did the experiments. But the truth was that I had been awoken previously to use the washroom, and possibly get a glass of water. For some reason, I was extremely thirsty. My body felt as if it was burning all over as well. Freshening up might do the trick. But it didn’t. Freshening up only made it that much worse.
My hands felt dry and extremely coarse then, and my mind felt numb and a little hazy, while my skin—and I saw this with my own eyes—was actually crawling. That was when I rubbed my hands together and somehow, strangely, I saw a spark. I did it again, and after a few tries, the entirety of my hands were engulfed in bright blue flames! I had done it! I had accomplished my task of physical pyromancy! But in the same token, it was also extremely late, and I needed to head to bed. And so I did. Briefly before laying my head down, I began to look outside my window; as I always do before going to bed (Old habits in the night die-hard.) I didn’t realize it then, but my hands were still very hot. Hot enough to then start a fire. Which is what happened to our bedroom curtains upon me touching them with that instant of pulling them apart?
Though my work reached a slight hiccup in its initial discovery, the overall grand scheme of it all proves to us—or at least to me—one thing: that I had much more research to accomplish if I wanted to be a master pyromancer. The consequences were things that I was willing to take. No matter the cost. I was stupid to think I was able to accept those terms, but I digress. Kain, as it were, remained forever in the dark about all this; and so did the rest of the world. He never found out, but I suspected he knew what was actually going on and what I had become. I suppose that is the reason why he left my home. He did not care to be under the will of a witch—sorcerer, as he’d wisely put it. But also, I know that he wanted more in his life than just being an assistant to an elderly alchemist. By then, I had full control of my abilities, while also the children, they in-turn had unexpectedly carried the same powers within them as well. The circle was complete, as it were. At the same time, I had started to feel and see the effect of the abuse I had placed upon my body—that being that my veins upon my face, arms and anywhere else, were beginning to bulge and become visibly noticeable. They were also a mysterious shade of bright blue.
PAGE 126.
I called it the “Curse of Kain,” but we all know this to be not true. Kain did not do this to me, but in a sense, the name is fitting for the crime. I am
here now because of it, and I am dying, burning inside-out, like a human furnace due to those sins that I’ve afflicted because of it. My veins are bright blue, in the sense that they look and bear the same shape like Kain’s scar—the mark that God placed upon his face because of what he did so long ago. And if you’re wondering, Kain’s mark—the scare upon his face isn’t blue, but the fire that burns and I can fully take control with my hands, definitely are now. I still can’t breathe fire, and rightfully so, maybe it would be that much more painful if I was able to.
The fire is killing me. I regret everything. I can’t even finish writing these words here without feeling the sting of its corrupt death choking me from the inside out. If this were the last passage, let it be simple, short and sweet. Do not, I repeat, do not my future generations follow my path—dissolve these fake truths of this wretched fire, and move on. And most importantly, do not use the fire. The more you use it, the faster you’ll die—being left with the horrid scars and marks from the sins that one man committed, and spread to the rest of his own lineage.
PAGE 127.
I am at least satisfied with one single fact. I know that one of my children has readily seen the evil within this man’s heart. I cannot say for certain how or even when this reality was known to them, only that they came to me yesterday, as I was writing a previous passage, and told me one of two things that I shall never forget.
One: That they love me with all their heart, and wishes that my soul be spared upon meeting Saint Peter at the gates of Heaven.
Two: That the name of Dee stands for a true abomination, but a justified one at that. That being said, they from this day forward, they would change their name from Dee to the appropriate name of Faust.
She, my daughter, Margaret, says that she took this new name as an homage—a beautiful and poignant gesture of kindness for her dear uncle, my cousin, and friend to all of us, Faustus Kain. Oh, if she only knew the truth of her beloved “uncle,” maybe she wouldn’t have picked that name. My elder son, Arthur wishes to keep the Dee dynasty going; this is not my decision to make, but I tried to urge him otherwise. Furthermore and on another note, I’d once asked Kain himself why he picked this name for himself after his, lack of a better word, rebirth. And he’d told me that the origins of the name meant “lucky” or “luck” as it were. He had been given a second chance, and as a result, he should (though at times he didn’t) feel and consider himself lucky to live again.
I do not feel as lucky as Kain did, or still does. I feel ignorant and ridiculous. I hope you read this one day old friend, and tell me, if we ever see each other again, your feelings about all this. One last hope I wish to share before I retire from all this, is that, if this being my last passage of my own life, then I hope it only falls within the hands of Kain after this, and not some sort of monster wishing to recreate or produce some kind of gain from all this. I say this with apprehension, for I do not know what will happen to this after I am gone. If you are reading this, and you are not Kain, please hide—or better yet, destroy these passages, there is no need for the wrong idol hands to have something like this within their reach.
Epilogue
Fulfilling A Promise
Antarctica, 1568.
267 Years After The Fact...
Magnus Gunderbrow rode on the back of Darla to the same spot he’d buried—encapsulated in ice, the crusader known as Faustus Kain hundreds of years ago. Both the dwarf and pig were a lot older now, but still far from looking death’s gaze within their path. Magnus’s only regret was that he had to keep the color within his hair far longer than what was expected of him. The sharp orange locks that curled in long strands and fell down to his beard above his stomach, was now unsurprisingly a greyish-white. Darla’s tough hide had as well, began to sag, while the coat of the creature herself was beginning to fade. But, if there was anything to be proud of, the dire-boar’s tusk were still as ridge and as jagged as the spiked edges of a mace. Time, though truly relevant to both of them, was truly kind to them. Best of all, there was no devil that was hanging onto their backs—telling them what to do or what to think of themselves. Being a servant of the Devil was long behind him now, and he was excited to live out the rest of his life as a nomad, if need be. At least, he would be free.
2.
“Here be the spot, Darla.” the dwarf said to the bore. “Would you mind breaking the ice?”
The dire-boar grunted, seemingly slightly confused as to why it was now her job to break the ice; the dwarf had a pickaxe after all. Also, why didn’t he enchant any trolls or goblins to help him upon retrieving the body? She then realized that she would have to carry said frozen casket upon her back as well, and gave the dwarf a worried look of sheer unpleasantness.
“I know what ya think, sweetheart,” the dwarf continued, making his way to the bore and patting her on her side. “But the ground is indeed frozen solid. And I don’t care to be here longer than need be. Just crack the ice, and I’ll do the rest for ye, okay?”
Darla looked back at the dwarf with her head tilt, and nodded politely. She then licked him across the face lovely.
“Thanks girl,” Magnus replied with a smile. “I knew I could always count on you.”
From there on, the two worked in silence breaking the ice, until the chain, that Magnus had place years prior from which he left for this precise moment was fully visible. The chain was meant to hold the casket—suspend it above the depths of the frozen lake, as to make it easier to pull the box up, when the time was right. That time had finally come, and though Magnus was not necessarily dreading this day to come, he wasn't looking forward to the day either.
Upon seeing the link of iron dangling above the water, the dwarf grabbed it with both arms and began to pull. When he felt that he had enough slack upon the chain to support Darla’s weight, he tied the links to the back of the dire-boar’s anchor and had her pull the casket up to the surface. Without a word or a grunt spoken between each other, they dragged the body till they reached London in the dead of night.
“I’ve been watching this gent for quite some time now,” the dwarf said to the dire-boar. “He’s a fairly skilled alchemist and a pretty decent philosopher—though, mildly flawed in certain of his theories, but still widely skilled.”
Darla let out two short grunts.
“I’m not sure what you mean?” the dwarf replied. “Kain is a grown man; he can decide the genuine nature of this man when he meets him. I only need a location other than the roaming mountains of Romania for him to reacquaint himself to this new world. Things have changed since he’d been asleep, just as much as it had been the first time around. Also,” the dwarf hesitated and looked past the boar. “Also, he needs a better life than what he’d had previously. This is a new start for him in my ways—he doesn’t have to have the life of a warrior anymore if he wishes. Kain could study science and the angelic arts in private, as he once did with that old bastard, Merlyn, long ago.”
Darla let out a single grunt, and placed her large head onto Magnus’s lap.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll indeed miss him too. But this is a better life for him, if he chooses, and who knows, maybe we will cross paths with him again. I’m almost certain we will if the fates have anything to do with it.”
It is assumed then that Magnus fetched the delivery-service, paid them well, and had them have the casket sent to the address from which John Dee lived. This is what had happened, and in the meantime, the rest is all but history.
The End - 12/2019.
Coming Soon... “The Shadow of Saint Nicholas” Parts 2-3. “Bearskin” & “Fable” (In-between Stories).
M. Benjamin Naves - @disneyfilmnerd
[email protected]
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