Mirus approached a glowing jar on one of the many shelves. Its illumination lit his face in the dark chamber. Placing his long, elven fingers across the glass, he lifted it to better inspect it. No larger than a jar of preserves, the container held the essence of an immortal soul within its walls. He thought it might squirm or scream as he held it, but the spirit quietly rested in its prison, apparently silent in its torment. The jar provided no evidence of its owner, but once he replaced it on the shelf, he noticed a small brass plaque in the wood and prominently display, reading, “Aaron Salson” in abyssal runes.
Walking down the length of the shelf, the court mage noticed a name underneath each soul indicating its former owner. Syma followed closely behind and noticed the same pattern, although she couldn’t read the cursed lettering engraved on the metal. She asked Mirus who confirmed her suspicion that the strange symbols correlated with the name on Intekon’s victims.
“Are they organized in any particular way?” the apprentice asked. “It’s the Abyssal Monarch of knowledge. I doubt It would keep its records in an unorganized mess.”
“You spent more time than I did reviewing the books in the library. Did they follow any order?” the elf asked.
“I think they were loosely organized by topic, but it’s difficult to say, because I couldn’t read most of the titles and author names. They didn’t appear alphabetical, though.”
“They wouldn’t be alphabetical for us in our common tongue. If Intekon kept any order, It would maintain it as alphabetical to the abyssal script instead of our alphabet.”
“Well? Is it?”
“Perhaps, but only loosely. Instead of the defined letters our alphabet uses, abyssal script utilize open-throated syllables, some of which cannot be imitated by mortal throats. I wouldn’t say that these are alphabetized in our sense, but I think it follows a pattern.”
“Can you find your mother’s soul, though?”
The question pierced the elf’s heart. The very possibility of entering the Hall of Souls but failing to locate his mother would prove the ultimate loss. He refused to consider his defeat and answered with only a tinge of truth, “I believe so. She should reside somewhere over there.”
He pointed in a vague direction which he believed might hold the location of his mother’s soul, but he knew with no certainty. The pair walked together as the court mage attempted to maintain confidence, although his apprentice saw through the act. At an interval of five or so shelves, Mirus inspected a name and changed course, accordingly, attempting to set their trajectory towards their goal. Several hours passed as frustration began to mount in his mind. Syma attempted to comfort him with reassurances that they would find it soon, but even she knew the futility of the hope she tried to grant.
Over time, however, their search narrowed. The court mage began to understand the pattern of the shelves and found himself rushing towards a particular section of the chamber. As they advanced, they lost sight of the outer walls. They only saw an expanse of shelves, jars, and pillars. With nothing distinguishable besides the strange markings on the brass plates, Syma soon felt overwhelming lost, but held her tongue to appease Mirus.
At last, they approached a bookshelf which the court mage excitedly checked and then fell silent. In the neatly arranged jars, a gap remained. The brass plate beneath the missing soul read his mother’s name. Although he dared not utter a sound, his apprentice understood the situation without a word. She could only place her hand on his should. He accepted the gesture but found no solace in the expression of comfort. Tears welled in his eyes as his breath felt like a lead weight. A decade of secret work which jeopardized his every accomplishment fulfilled nothing. Before he could process his grief, though, a voice interrupted their grief.
“Incredible work,” it sounded deep and rich, with a hint of sophistication and overconfidence often found among the aristocracy; however, its calm demeanor and knowledgeable tone nearly justified its arrogance. “I’ve watched you with quite the curiosity since you’ve arrived in terra abyssa. I possessed a strange affection for your adventure, curious to see where you might fail, but you’ve exceeded my every, admittedly low, expectations.”
The pair turned to see the sight of a hybrid of a man and an owl. Its face betrayed the appearance of a large pair of eyes along with a beak adorned in a mask of feathers. Its neck extended into a vaguely human body from which two wings extended from its back. It wore a lengthy robe of black and red whose fringes displayed embroidered images of figs and apples. Around Its neck, It wore a writhing eye frantically looking around its master, connected via a severed optic nerve wrapped around a length of silk.
Once they realized Its presence, the pair felt immediate chill in the warmth generate in the room. All the souls around It began to glow brighter as It casually stepped towards them. A nudging in Mirus’s pocket distracted him. Without taking his eyes off the powerful being, he rummaged through his robes to feel the compass vibrating violently. Taking it from his pocket, he opened it to reveal the needle spinning wildly and uncontrollably.
Once he realized who stood before him, he made a gesture and uttered an incantation. He admitted he failed to consider the consequences of his actions but acted on pure instinct. A wild mass of amorphous flame emitted from his fingertips, but before he could approach the being in front of them, it disappeared as quickly as was summoned. The stranger released a strange and hideous laugh.
“Did you really think that would work?” It hissed. “You couldn’t even hope to harm the lesser daegon, but you used the same pitiful attacks against me?”
“Uh, Mirus,” Syma began. “Is this who I think it is?”
“Yes,” he answered solemnly.
“Indeed,” the stranger smirked with its beak. “You stand before the Abyssal Monarch of Knowledge. I am Intekon, the Purveyor of Secrets and Lord of Mysteries. And you, a mortal court mage and his apprentice trespass in my domain.”
“I didn’t believe the actions of mortals would warrant your personal attention, especially for such a trivial crime.”
“You don’t,” It admitted. “If you were any pair of daegon, I would disintegrate you to dust without a second thought, but mortals from terra firma are far more interesting, especially from a former client.”
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“A former client?” Syma asked. “I thought only your mother made a deal with daegon?”
The court mage looked to his apprentice with an expression of anger and desperation. He truly needn’t say anything more, but the Abyssal Monarch answered on his behalf.
“Of course,” It spoke. “Mages rarely work without the least curiosity of me invading their thoughts. They often trade their souls for some worthless piece of trivia or arcane piece of knowledge they may never truly leverage.
“Mirus, however, presents a special case. You know his mother traded her soul in exchange for all the knowledge Mirus required to become a court mage directly under the king; however, he omitted an interesting piece of the narrative when he told you his history.”
“And how do you know what I told her?” the elf demanded.
“Oh, what a stupid question,” Intekon cocked his head in condescension. The eye around Its neck looked at him with condescension. “When you opened your first portal into The Abyss, you garnered the attention of many of the more powerful entities of terra abyssa. You provided us with an intriguing sense of entertainment, but none took you seriously save me. I sent out my own daegon to follow you in the shadows and report your every action back to me. Ever since that stormy night, I’ve memorized your every word and action. Like a pathetic mouse running lost in a maze, I’ve watched you struggle.”
Mirus recoiled at Its words as the full realization steeped into his mind.
“To the story you failed to tell: I remember the day in full detail. The sun rose warmly over Rodannia as few clouds bothered to drift across the blue of the sky. A messenger from the King Justinian II rode along the cobblestone streets of Ravenspire, which didn’t warrant much surprise until it entered the quarter known to house the elves. The horse stopped in front of the hovel you called your mother’s home and the messenger, Samuel Quick, dismounted with a letter sealed with the royal crest in hand. Knowing you planned to visit on this particular day, he knocked on the door and you answered.
“Mr. Quick shuttered at the countenance of your kind, but he fulfilled his duty and provided you the letter. Your hands trembled as you accepted it. Quickly opening it, your eyes frantically scanned the contents, which invited you to join the royal court as the mage. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you called for your mother. You shared a sweet embrace and found a quill to sign the acceptance. As soon as the ink inscribed your name, my part of the deal was fulfilled.
“As you handed your signature to the messenger, I sent two daegon to take your mother’s soul. Normally, I wait until death for collection, but this particular bargain was quite costly. Most trades are an exchanging of knowledge, but I needed to impart a natural intelligence within you, guide you through decades of schooling and career changes, and protect you from those who sought to kill you. You may not know it, but many tried to poison or harm you, but your early demise would have voided my deal. You needed to live long enough to become a court mage.
“With the incredible expense you cost me, I expediated collection to balance my ledger sooner. My emissaries opened a portal to your mother’s home where you both chattered endlessly of the possibility of your future. She was telling you of how proud you made her until the daegon appeared and the realization of dawned on her. She explained the situation and found herself willing to go peacefully, but the newly christened court mage refused to let her go.
“You made a counteroffer to my daegon. You attempted to outwit my agents. You wanted a contest between you and them. The winner would take both you and your mother’s soul. Naturally, you lost and my daegon tore the soul from your mother’s corpse. They took her essence into a jar and traveled back to The Abyss while you grievously comforted the lifeless husk left behind.
“You see, a body simply degrades to a biological machine without a soul. Her heartbeat and her lungs took in air, but your mother’s vacant eyes stared into the wall. You sat with her and tried to plead for her to find any remnant of her herself. You shook her, slapped her, and cried into her shoulder, but you’re your efforts proved futile. She couldn’t hear you. Nobody heard anything in those walls for three days before her body finally expired from dehydration.
“Now your mother rests within my castle with me. Only your long lifespan keeps us apart.
“But your presence presents a particular loophole. When making the bargain you made the following phrasing: ‘You may have my soul so long as you have my mother’s, but once I win this game, I shall free us both.’ You see, my claim on your soul is only valid so long as I have your mother. If you can liberate your mother’s soul, I no longer have a stake in yours. Which raises the question of whether you came here so selflessly as you professed to your apprentice or if you’re only here for selfish reasons.”
“Mirus,” Syma began. “Is all that true?”
The court mage paused.
“Yes,” he finally conceded. “I bargained my own soul to save my mother’s. And I lost.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He paused again and at last admitted with a single word answer, “shame.”
“What about trying to save your own soul?”
The court mage declined to say anything but only looked contemptuously towards the powerful being.
“Lucky for you, you still have a bargaining chip” the owl monstrosity resumed its monologue. “Once you entered into terra abyssa, an otherworld energy tainted your soul, making you both far more valuable to Abyssal Monarchs, such as myself. Mirus, your soul is forfeit, so you may not play. Syma, however, may stake hers.”
“Absolutely not,” the court mage announced. “She was never supposed to join. This matter is between you and me. I can surely offer you knowledge you’ve yet to see.”
“You surely can’t,” It answered flatly. “On the contrary, however, she was always part of your journey. My daegon watched her as much as they watched you. They whispered the idea of sending a letter to the University. They urged Cynna to help you cross in The Abyss and encouraged her to join you once your crossed into the portal.”
“You’ve been manipulating us since the beginning,” Syma spoke accusingly. “Ever since I found Mirus after his tenth attempt at breaching realms, you’ve used us for your own ends.”
“You should feel honored,” the Abyssal Monarch replied. “I usually never pay much attention to the affairs of mortals, but you two intrigued me and I sought to make a bargain with you.”
It paused and rummaged through its cloak before it procured a glowing jar in its feathered hand. It showed it to the pair. Mirus simply stammered. Syma knew its contents and nearly cried.
“Here’s my deal,” Intekon announced as the severed eye looked expectantly at the apprentice. “You may choose a game of your preference. If you win, I shall release Mirus’s mother’s soul and both are freed. If I win, I add your soul to my collection.”
A pause lingered in the air as Syma looked between the half-owl and her master. Her mouth gaped, but no words emerged.
As weight of her decision weighed on her, an understanding revealed itself to the court mage. He spent the last decade of his life wondering why his mother exchanged her soul for his own well-being. She traded an eternal afterlife for the finite gains upon the physical world. He never thought the bargain fair, but as he watched his apprentice struggle between himself and the infinity of power which stood before them, he finally realized why his mother made the ultimate sacrifice. He approached Syma and let his hand rest on her shoulder. She looked at him with a pained expression. He shared a look of discontent acceptance.
“My ring, please,” he gestured with an open palm of his free hand. “We will leave this place. I should have known the treachery of this damned dimension.”
The apprentice didn’t speak, but only took the enchanted ring from her pocket and gave it to Mirus. He fastened it on his finger and nearly spoke the incantation required to bring them back to terra firma, but Syma interrupted him before the portal opened.
“I accept your deal,” she called out to Abyssal Monarch
“What are you doing?” the court mage exclaimed. “Our original quest is void. Whatever game you play, It will cheat and use every possible loophole to win. You will only join my fate and the fate of my mother. Do not do this to yourself. Break this chain of misery.”
“When I followed you, I swore I would protect you. I’m not surrendering now.”
“Excellent,” the monstrosity answered. “Now select your game.”