A dark, dense fog rolled out of the Abyss, invading the world of the living, a world of shapes and color. A quiet miasma coiled out of the nothing, a world of void, and spread like a seeping poison into Ermaeyth. The murkiness billowed like the dense black smoke of burning oil, condensing into a vaporous fog, rolling over everything in sight. To the east it slithered with deliberate haste, driven by a sentience not its own. From within, the sound of a sinister laugh echoed the closer it drew to Gryzlaud.

This fog carried the will of death.

The miasma’s presence, a violation of the world itself, was set to purpose, driven by a twisted and malevolent spirit, one much like its own. The soul promised the Abyssians, sentients without physical form, the ability to take shape, and become masters of their own bodies. Languishing without the meaning of time, with no regard to what lay outside their realm, ignorant of the world above waiting to be conquered, they stirred for these words. When the invading anima breached their sanctuary, they became aware. With a newfound knowledge, a bargain was struck, promises made. They left their home for the first time in the service of a darker entity. They held up their part of the deal; now Xilor would uphold his.

The black cloud rolled over the manse, a palace of malice, through walls and doors like it was air. Inside the walls the cloud expanded, exploring its destination with curiosity and compulsive intent, like a hound running down a wounded animal. The cloud boiled and billowed with frenzy, searching each hall, room, and crevice. Curiosity satisfied, the obscured vapor retreated, plunging downward towards the mirror in the castle bowels. Like phantom pains from missing limbs, the spirit and consciousness called to each other, a bond growing stronger the closer the miasma drew to the mirror. With caution, the darkness entered the room, circling the reflective surface.

“We have come, traveling from the deep,” the voice slithered out, an oily hiss, slow and ponderous. Each word spoken sounded like an inhale, a deliberate pause between every few words. “Fulfill your promise, High One.”

“How can I fulfill my oath if you still hold my soul?” the eyes said, mocking him.

“Keep your word or it will remain with us, High One.”

“Don’t taunt me, Vlukus; it’d be unfortunate to travel all this way just to die. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, but I must become one first. Then, my full powers will be restored.”

“You never told us this in the Abyss.”

“Know this, Vlukus,” Xilor hissed. “If you don’t give me what I want willingly, I’ll take it by force and destroy you. I’m a man of my word and reward loyalty. Return my soul, and I’ll give you physical form.”

He could feel his spirit fighting to be free, the agitation palpable. He nearly felt whole, complete.

“Bring forth my soul, Vlukus, and let us be done with it.”

----------------------------------------

Chapter 39

The night grew much cooler than Julie expected. As soon as the last of the sunlight washed away, the swamp’s temperature plummeted, defusing the heavy humidity. The rotting wood and decaying smells of stagnant water vanished with the fading rays.

Judas started a fire, and Julie caught snippets of his mutterings about stubborn saricrocians. The gruffness he used while tossing wood into the fire and his curt words betrayed his emotions. After the fire had taken, he laid down on his pack, keeping to himself.

Julie, knowing it foolish to assume all the blame, still bore responsibility for the change between them. She brought up the subject of Judas’s and Meristal’s dead children. Since then, Judas remained uncharacteristically quiet, almost distant.

The fire, the outdoors, the cooking food, seemed familiar. She didn’t know when, or how, but the vague stirring wouldn’t abate. She’ddone this before.

“Master Judas? What do you call what we are doing?” Julie asked feeling foolish.

“This, Julie, is called enjoying the outdoors. Relaxing, isn’t it?”

“No, this whole sitting outside with the fire and the food … I can’t remember, but I’ve done this before, somewhere….” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh, this is camping. Best not try to remember things too hard or to dwell on them; it’ll only produce frustration.”

“Well, what else should I do to keep my mind off what I can’t remember?”

“Sleep, maybe?”

“I can’t remember anything from the other place I came from, not even the name. Where was that again? A person could go mad not knowing. Maybe if you taught me something, it’d take my mind off it.”

“Hold on.” Judas sat up and turned to his pack. Inside, he retrieved two books and handed them to her before resuming his lounging position. Julie handled them with care. Upon inspection, she noted the form of writing she’d never seen before. It arched with strange angles and slants, accented with circles, dots, crossings, and geometric shapes. She looked back at Judas, flabbergasted.

He stared intently from his reclined pose, waiting for something to happen. When the moment passed, he closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh. Julie returned her gaze to the other book with nice, neat handwriting.

“What language is this in?” she asked, astounded.

“I can read some of every language in the realm, except Angelic. However, when I see Angelic, I can recognize it. This book is an unknown one.” He opened his eyes and glanced up at the stars.

“Which languages do you know?”

“Well, let’s see. Almost, if not all, creatures speak the universal tongue of Myshku. At least, on this side of Ermaeyth. Hmm, let me see here,” he sat up. “Saricrocian, they speak Cytuu; the gorrillians, they speak Gnilyp; the vampires, their tongue is Sralucon. Taengrenian for the trolls and the dwaven, but if I recall, the dwaven changed to Akyhmri. The fairies speak Kaot; and the elyfian, they commune with Thymulous; that’s about all, I think. But there are others I don’t know, languages across the Golden Sea. Over there, Myshku’s the only language spoken there that’s also spoken here, though scarcely.”

“Wait, you didn’t say goblins!”

“An oversight, my apologies. The goblins speak Lythououri and Taengrenian, along with trolls and dwaven. The reason is that before the dwaven went underground, they enslaved both the trolls and the goblins, and converted them to speak their tongue. However, the movement within the dwaven nation to distance themselves from the stigma of enslavement passed, and they no longer speak it.”

“You said everything except for what the unicorns speak.”

“It’s called Ucoric, but no one knows how to speak it. They don’t divulge that information, even to their kind. For the most part, they speak Myshku. Only a few, enlightened elite know their true tongue. But once a generation, the unicorn maghai change, and the circle closes again.”

Julie frowned at this new complexity. A hidden language, maybe forbidden by their ancestors? She lay on her side, staring at the book and twirling her hair in her fingers.

“Judas?” she asked gently. “If you can’t read this and few can, then why did you give it to me?”

“Oh,” Judas let out a half-asleep moan, “in case you might see something I don’t. A fresh pair of eyes usually does the trick.” She turned her attention back to the book. A few moments later, deep breathing stole over the old warlock as he slept.

She put the book aside and pulled out the other one with a titleless cover. On the first page, a tidy scrawl penned the only blemish.

Property of Judas Lakayre.

She thumbed past the page noting the conglomeration of handwritten notes, spells, and letters stuck between pages from other people. The first letter catching her attention was a name she recognized: Josiah Lakayre, Judas’s twin brother. Untidy, big handwriting littered the page and marked him as young.

It isn’t fair! How did you get out of school? Why you? It should be me; I’m older than you. Ma and Pa say you went back home—what, you miss them too much? You always were a Ma’s boy. People here say you’ve been granted a master already. I say that’s a load. I just tell my friends you went all mental, couldn’t handle the workload.

The school is boring this year. It’s a lot of out-of-class work. I wish you were here to help me. You were always smarter. That’s another reason to hate you! Ha, ha, ha! No, but it’s boring without you here to pick on. Guess we’ll find someone else.

See you during break, Squirt!

Julie smiled and wondered if she had a sibling, back wherever she came from. She’d never know. The jealousy from Josiah’s words was evident, and she wondered if that altered his path in life, putting them on separate courses. Judas talked about his brother in rare moderation, and she wondered if this was the cause.

She thumbed through a few more pages and saw another letter. This time, a crisp scrawl, angular, and sharp, grabbed her attention. The writer took care in crafting the writing, and she got the impression they held themselves of great importance.

It won’t do … too long has passed since you stayed under my roof, ate bread and drank wine from my table, and sat with me for old times’ sake. I do wish you’d heed my words and come quicker than planned. I fear war is about to engulf my beloved city once again. Our borders and boundaries are in dispute and constantly contested. Word has reached my ears of an outpost growing in strength not a day’s ride from the city by the Emaas River. Perhaps you’ll come and document history in the making? We campaign to eradicate them from our lands.

At the closing, Julie couldn’t determine who sent it. A military commander? Diplomat? Someone in a position of power and wealth? Whoever wrote the letter took immense lengths imploring Judas to see him or her. She observed the bottom of the page, torn where the signature should be. Judas hid the identity of the sender. Why? A female friend? The tone didn’t imply such thoughts.

She thumbed through the book a while longer but didn’t find much of interest. Julie set it aside, and picked up the other book with the strange glyphs and marveled at the symmetry, tracing the writing with her finger.

Serpentine whispers of alien words tickled her ears, resonating all around, but soft, like a delicate breeze. The whisper, neither threatening nor frightening, conveyed warmth, inviting, seductive. The unfamiliar words grew acute, steadfast. Her eyes turned down to the book, realizing the words came from within. The hushed gibberish morphed into something recognizable. The glyphs on the cover contorted into the common tongue of Myshku before disappearing altogether.

“Your wand, your words can release us … We will tell you everything; you are the Bearer of the Secrets of past, present, and future … Give your name to us. Become one…”

Apprehension rooted deep. Too fantastical to be true, she told herself. She wanted to cry out to Judas, startled by a book speaking to her, but something impeded her words. Her fingers ran over the cover of the book in a cautious, exploratory manner.

A book even Judas can’t understand, and yet it spoke to me. It’ll open for me and no other…

She took her wand out. Though doubt lingered, she spoke her name to the book. “Julie.”

The book burst open. Radiant light saturated its holder, a luminosity that would leave her blind had she been anyone else. But she was the Bearer of Secrets.

What’s a Bearer of Secrets?

In revealing her name, the book shattered the block inhibiting her from reaching her potential. She felt it give way, crumbling, obliterated. At once, the unfathomable well of magic awakened in her, answering her command as easy as breathing. At long last, she could feel her essence without unbridled emotions.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“We shall teach you in your greatest times of need,” the book promised. “For your instruction to start, you must return to the Place of Origins in the Melodic Mountains. For what is to come, you must give your mind, body, and soul. Do not hold back.”

Julie looked over to her teacher. It wasn’t until then she allowed herself to believe what was happening, free from a dream. A habit she formed since leaving the Corridor of Cruelty. She glanced back to the book and began to speak but found the words couldn’t come.

There’s no need for words, the book supplied.

“What must I do?”

“Journey south to the Melodic Mountains, to the Place of Origins.”

“What about Master Judas?”

“It is of no consequence.”

“Why do I need to go to the Place of Origins? Judas is a warlock; he can teach me.”

“True, he can teach you, but for what comes next, he cannot. You’ll still need to go; don’t delay the inevitable.”

“I’m worried about him.”

“Fear not, he’s a formidable man of ancient bloodlines. As much as people fear him, they should fear his offspring more.”

“He told me his child died—what do you mean?” As an afterthought, she added, “And how can I trust you?”

“That’s a lie!” The book sounded outraged. “The offspring of Judas lives as well as does Madam Raviils’. The Time Warden hid the truth to protect them. They have not yet perished and have prominent parts yet to play.”

“Who are they? Where are they? How can I find them?”

“It’s not a matter of who and where they are, for there was only one birth.”

Judas’s daughter is alive! Meristal’s son is alive! But if there was only one birth, which one was the truth?

“I thought Madam Raviils had a son, and Judas had a daughter. If this is true, then how can they be one?”

“One birth because the offspring of Judas came from the womb of Meristal Raviils. They were told opposing stories to protect the true identity of the offspring—the only true hope of the end of the dark lord. The bloodline must not fail; that’s why such measures were taken to ensure their survival. However, if both should fail, there is another.”

“How do you know all this?”

“It was foreseen, glimpsed in the fires from long ago. Everything in this book is factual or foreseen. My creator made me for the Bearer of Secrets.”

“Where can I find them? Who’s your maker? Why am I the Bearer of Secrets?”

“That’s enough for now. I bestow one boon to you. Your mind is chaotic, and your emotions are in turmoil. I shall lock your emotions away, but you’ll have to face them eventually. The block will remove itself when you arrive. More awaits you at the Place of Origins, and you’llfind out when the time is right. You’ll know when you look for the truth. It cannot evade you but will come willingly. Head for the Melodic Mountains. There, you’ll study as he studied … and we’ll be with you also.”

A surge of beautiful light, a cleansing refulgence washed through her. The anguish she suffered from the Corridor vanished. The memories were there, events, but the book eviscerated the sentiments. Memories, events, happenings across time flowed into her. At first, the scrambled images flashed chaotically, but as mere heartbeats went by, she understood and put them in order. The book didn’t send them in chronological order but rather as momentous events, big and small, in order of importance for her to understand. She knew there were gaps missing in the information because the whole picture didn’t quite make sense. Perhaps with time, it would.

She tasted the faintest traces of Judas’s essence in the flood of visions, as if responsible for those memories, a scent of him imprinted on the recollections. The final revelation before the energy stopped pouring was a small creature. Silver hair clung to his pate on the sides of his head. A long, bushy beard cascaded like an iridescent waterfall down to his belt. She saw Judas’s old master, Fife Doole.

When the book finally closed, Julie glanced with uncertainty in the direction of the warlock. The old man still slept. Only she could perceive the light; she placed the book into her pack. He’d given it to her, and the book promised to help in times of need. Weariness burned away, and she stood, revitalized. To her new perception, the once powerful warlock seemed fragile now, not as superior as she once envisioned.

Is it my imagination that he’s weak, or is it my impression? she pondered.

A tree swayed in the distance, drawing her attention. She snapped her head around, searching the gloom.

Something called her, out in the swamp, between the dark foliage area, where the ground turned to mush, and the trees grew thick and tall. A sense of waiting, wanting, compelling. The tug persisted like a gentle call. Compelled, she followed the beacon.

The call grew stronger the further she moved from her campsite. A sense of wrongness came over her, breaking through the compulsion. Still, curiosity drove her forward, but she warded her mind. Deeper into the swamp, away from the light and into darkness. A persuasive summon. The walls around her mind repelled the enticement, the sense of wrongness clinging to her, turning her insides cold.

Her steps carried her further from the camp and deeper into the gloom, her boots wading in ankle deep water, following the voice. Yes! That was it, a voice!

The compulsion behind the seductive voice purred with warmth, soothing, promising it’d be over soon while secretly sinking its unforgiving talons in her. She scoffed at the attempt, a twist of a smile coming to her face.

With the hem of her robes soaked, she reached the source of the voice and paused. The voice told her to do something she knew would harm her. She surveyed the vast darkness, revealing an image stirring her terror.

One of the trees slowly approached her, each step slow, methodical, silent. A branch swayed. With blinding speed, it reached for her. With no time to duck or dodge, impulses awakened by the book took over.

She’d experienced it before when Judas teleported her from Cape Gythmel to the opening of the Corridor—witnessed the essence, the shift of energy, the surge of movement. Within a blink of the eye, she’d moved thirty meters to the left.

Relief and surprise gushed in the wake of her first teleport. The tree noticed her hoodwink and tracked her. She sensed the movement more than saw or heard. Yellow eyes opened, glowing from the crown of the swaying treetops. A burst of flame shot out, rushing towards her. A simple gesture of her wand kept the flames from burning as they engulfed her. A manic mirth bubbled out of her, the mage-shield holding strong.

The glowing flame revealed a saricrocian, a much younger adult, but a hungry one. She was prey, sleeping in the swamp. Judas didn’treceive safe passage through their land, and the Ancients were in no position to enforce such edicts.

Cousin to the dragons, saricrocians were a fast, fierce, and a formidable mental opponent. Often, they lured prey into their mouths from their hiding places. This saricrocian tried to lure her into the darkness.

Then, she sensed a familiar trace, a scent she tied to her teacher. Judas. The creature lumbered forward, approaching her sleeping master.

An electrical current coursed through her body, discharging from her wand, arching to the back of the large bipedal reptile. Water churned as it spun around, charging her. Another blast ripped through scales on its chest, searing flesh, rupturing tissue and muscles. A bone-jarring roar peeled through the night. The arching blast jumped from its chest to its head, and when his mouth yawned opened, stray bolts illuminated his sharp teeth as the current raced down its gullet.

The beast kept coming. A premonition flashed in Julie’s mind but too late.

With a movement too fast to counter, the tail swung from the side. Her incomplete mage-shield took the brunt of the impact, but the kinetic energy launched her off her feet. She hurtled through the air. Hardwood and bark rushed up towards her, promising an imminent, bone-shattering death.

Without hesitation, she leaned backward, flipping over, her feet to hit first instead of her head. She concentrated, her life depending on it. Commanding her essence to cushion the blow, she used the tree as a springboard, returning towards her adversary. She accelerated. A stray thought broke her concentration.

Am I flying?

She lost speed; the ground rushed to greet her. Splashing down in brackish water, the impact sent her rolling, her robes drenched and her hair matted. Flecks of dirt and twigs peppered her face. Crouched, she waited, watching, listening.

The persistent voice filled her head with a buzzing sensation. The walls fortified against the coercion, sensing the mechanical, logical mind from wherever it hid. Judas’s words about teleporting, winking, and blinking echoed in her mind. She urged her essence.

Wink. She disappeared from the physical plane.

Darkness converged on her as she reappeared. Nothing. All remained still.

Wink. Out of sight, and again, nothing. Then, she realized she searched from the ground when it was as tall as the forest around her.

Wink. She reappeared in the top most branches nearby, peering out. The sound of wind rushing in and out, deafening in the sudden silence.

Breathing!

She surveyed from the left, sweeping fast, hoping to find it before the saricrocian found her. As her head turned to the right, a giant yellow eye popped open three feet from her.

A red energy cascaded from her wand. The limb shook upon impact, sending her plunging. Gaping jaws chased after her, undeterred by the blasts; its intent focused on stopping the pain and filling its belly.

The swamp came rushing up. At the last instant, she blinked away, only to emerge a few meters away at a run. A glimmer caught her eye. The small fire flickered in the distance, much further away than she remembered.

Where is Judas? Hasn’t he heard the roars and the snapping trees?

She chanced a glimpse over her shoulder, the saricrocian bearing down, its chest relatively healed. Only a few, faint scorch marks remained where she initially hit it with electricity.

Damn, it heals too fast. I won’t win a physical battle. But a mental one?

She stopped a few yards shy of the fire. Turning about, she focused her mind on the subtleties of the saricrocian’s mind, melding her thoughts with its alien cerebral.

Leave, leave me in peace, and I won’t harm you anymore, she urged.

She felt the resistance waver, uncertain. She pressed harder, sinking her mental claws into it, commanding recognition, compliance.

Its pace faltered, the foul water splashing in its slowed pace. A flame flickered inside its mouth.

Leave or I’ll destroy you!

The saricrocian shuddered, a hiss escaped its mouth before it turned and fled into the murky waters, plunging deep into the night.

“Come,” the book called to her.

When she could no longer sense the saricrocian, she walked back to camp. The firelight gave off a soft glow. Judas still slumbered without stirring. The book explained, answering her unspoken query, “I placed him under a sleeping spell, much like he did to you upon your arrival. Nothing short of my destruction would rouse him. Gather your things; it’s time to go. Your new life’s starting, and it shall begin with your journey there.”

“You could’ve helped me.”

“A foreseen victory,” came its simple response.

She cast a glance at the sleeping warlock. “What of Judas? I can’t just leave him.”

“Can’t you? What has he done for you? Other than bring you pain and misery. Haven’t you suffered enough? I’ve watched you since you were first brought into this world, so long ago.”

“Long ago? I just got here—”

“Gather your things with all due haste. We must be out of the swamp before sunrise.”

“Will he be okay?”

“He won’t die this day,” the book offered. Julie took a moment to mull over the choice before her. She could continue with Judas to Wizard’s Pass and carry on under his tutelage. Perhaps reconcile the anguish and lack of trust between them. She might, in time, learn to forgive him and let go of her … hate.

Once she acknowledged what she felt, it was evident. She hated Judas because he allowed those terrible things to happen to her. She didn’t loathe him with utter disgust, but she held enough resentment that she could follow him no longer. Perhaps with time, she could return to him and begin to rebuild the relationship he destroyed.

“Okay,” she breathed, a slight mist in her eyes. In haste, she gathered her things. Having collected her pack, the two books, and her meager possessions, she battled with her morals for a few heartbeats. She vaguely realized where she was going, how far it was, and she didn’t have any money.

Kneeling next to Judas, she reached for his coin purse and removed it from his belt. Bits of copper, chips of silver, and gold bright eyes emptied on the ground. A few small gold bars she recognized as ingots peppered the coins. She quickly surmised that Judas carried more on his persons than most made in a year. Taking ten chips of silver, less than a third of his total, she tucked them away. The rest of his money, she gathered, and placed it back in the coin purse and returned it to his belt.

“You should take more, much more,” the book chided her.

“Stealing from him isn’t what I wanted to do, but I need money. Even though I’m thieving from him, I’m not without conscience. I’ll only take what I need to survive.”

The book fell silent as she started away from the camp. She didn’t look back until she’d taken a hundred steps, counting each one, weighed down by a chance at freedom and guilt equally. A small lump formed in her throat.

Can I leave him?

Yes, the voice in her head replied. Mr. Pleasure flashed through her mind, hardening her resolve.

I’ll never be that vulnerable again. I’ll never be helpless, she vowed to herself.

She turned her back on that chapter in her life, plunging deeper into the unknown, heading for her new life and whatever adventures awaited.