Kelda—in death—looked much as she had in life.

The young woman was pale and still, yet showed no sign of withering or decay. In many ways, the state of her body reminded Alex of Uldar’s lying dead in his sanctum; both looked as though they might take a deep breath and open their eyes.

But just like Uldar, it was clear that Kelda was long gone.

As were her assistants.

Ten men and women—some young and some old—were laid to rest around her, clad in the robes and leather aprons of wizard-alchemists. Their skin was undamaged, free of wounding or mummification, but their expressions were flat, almost haunted. Looking at their faces was unnerving, the peacefulness of death was absent; something looked wrong.

“Kelda, oh, Kelda,” Birger groaned mournfully, stumbling forward. His crutch clacked against the white tile, and he reached out with a shaking hand.

“Father, wait!” Bjorgrund called. “We don't know if it's safe!”

But Birger would not be stopped as his son ran after him.

The young wizard doubted there’d be any dangers, though, since the sanctum thought he was Kelda.

Alex slowly followed his companions across the chamber floor, gazing in wonder at the machinery around them. It was all old, of course, but of the highest quality three hundred years ago. Metal parts still shone brightly where the dust of time hadn’t covered them.

Alex recognized most of the devices.

A huge complex mana conductor—connected to what appeared to be an archaic mana generator and mana vacuum—occupied part of the room. Next to it stood a glyph-encrusted cauldron—enchanted symbols of power were etched into the metal—one Kelda would have used to disassemble alchemical components or combine them. There were devices made to test the mana conductivity of assorted substances, to heat or cool them to specific temperatures, or suspend them in various essences.

He recognized a lot of the machinery from the history sections of his magic lore and alchemy textbooks. If he’d been around three hundred years ago, he would've killed for a lab as well equipped as this, and the devices in it were still useful for a modern day alchemist.

However, he didn’t recognise some of them.

There was a massive, spider-like machine filled with test tubes and glass cylinders, a long black one shaped like a tall metal tower, connected to…

Alex paused.

“Oh, by the Traveller…” He murmured.

A sinister looking device loomed above him like a vast bronze and steel cage, each bar was etched with glyphs of powerful magic. The kind of magic designed to touch one’s soul. Inside the cage stood a narrow table, much like the one he’d strapped Hart Redfletcher to when he’d enhanced the Champion with blood magic. Surrounding it were dozens of flexible arms made of brass and copper.

A scalpel of bane tipped each arm.

On either side of the table—at thigh height—were two rounded, golden control-handles.

‘This area looks like it was set up for someone to operate on their own soul. Most of those arms end with bane knives, instead of fingers,’ he noted with a shudder. ‘It's hard enough using a single knife on myself to harvest soul essence, what kind of willpower would I need to be able to stand having dozens of them cutting into my soul all together. It’d be faster…if I survived. And those bars…’

The entire arrangement was blood chilling, especially the cage bars.

Carved into them were glyphs for disintegration, death, blood magic, and life force. The cage-like machine was connected to a power source that filled one corner of the room. It radiated more mana than the power sources Shale used in the workshop, or those the Generasians used in the Research Castle.

Much more.

“This must be the machine she used to try to change the Mark,” Alex whispered. “This must've been the machine that took her life.” He went to the glass caskets. “And the lives of the rest of her team.”

Birger had collapsed against his old friend’s coffin. He was weeping like his heart would break, shaking with grief, as his son patted him on the back.

“I'm sorry Kelda, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry that you didn't let me be here for you. Did I do something to make you distrust me? I'm sorry if I did,” he groaned. “I wish you would have let me help you.”

“Father, if she did, you might've lost your life too,” Bjorgrund said.

“And your son wouldn't be here,” Alex added.

“Or maybe I could've helped them all,” Birger said. “Maybe I could've stopped them!”

The old giant sobbed.

Alex was about to say something, but closed his mouth. He knew what it was like to be consumed by grief, and he also knew better than to try and make Birger’s grief disappear with a few words.

“I've never seen him like this,” Bjorgrund said.

“Leave me be,” Birger groaned. “For pity’s sake, just leave me be for a time.”

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Alex and the young giant looked at each other, then the Fool of Thameland—the latest in that long cycle—glanced toward the back of the chamber. Several doorways were there, not portals, but regular doorways still burning with Hannah’s power.

There were eleven in total, and Alex had a good idea what they might lead to.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's leave your dad on his own for a bit, we have some things to explore.”

###

The young wizard and giant quickly learned what lay behind the eleven doors: living quarters for Kelda and her team. All were well equipped, but far from luxurious. The furniture was sturdy and well made, the beds were big enough for even the largest of them to stretch out, and each room had a mana-powered toileting and bathing chamber attached. The rooms weren’t fancy, there were no grand ornaments or magical luxuries, but they were comfortable.

Apart from a good-sized writing desk positioned beside a small bookcase, there was little to do in each room, except sleep or enjoy the view displayed in portals—sheathed in force magic—that opened to a view of a different scene somewhere in the world.

Alex and Bjorgrund watched green meadows, forests, clear skies, snow capped mountains, and even fish swimming through the ocean, in the portals.

“What I wouldn’t give for one of these in our cottage,” Bjorgrund peered through a ‘window’, watching a school of eyeless fish—with glowing bodies—swimming along a black ocean trench. “It’s sure different than looking at all those trees around our place.”

“It's a nice thought, for sure.” Alex thumbed through an old book he’d taken from a bookshelf. “Maybe this one…”

“Hm? What are—argh, by the ancestors!” Bjorgrund recoiled from the portal; an enormous shape had swum into view, scattering the school of glowing fish. An eyeball—easily as broad as Bjorgrund was tall—had filled the portal momentarily, seeming to stare into the room. As it turned away, long tree-trunk thick tentacles kicked up a storm of silt. “What in the world…? Did you see that?”

“Yeah, those fish are something,” the young wizard said absently, his eyes fixed on the book. With a grimace, he flipped to the last page, slammed it shut, and returned it to the bookcase.

“This isn't it either,” Alex said, shaking his head.

Bjorgrund wildly gestured at the portal-window. “You can't tell me you didn't see—ugh, never mind. What has your attention over there, did you find something?”

“It’s what I didn't find,” Alex said.

“What’re you looking for?” the young giant asked, peering at the books.

“Something that hasn't been in any of the rooms we've looked in so far,” Alex said. “I'm looking for her notes on the Mark, and on her process to try and change it. I thought there’d be notes in one of these bedrooms, but there’s been nothing so far.”

“Well, we still haven't checked Kelda’s room,” the young giant pointed out.

Alex shook his head. “Bjorgrund, this is Kelda’s room.”

The giant’s eyes grew wide. “It looks the same as the other sleeping rooms.”

“Yeah, she lived just as they did. It says good things about her, I guess,” Alex mused. “But it doesn't help us.” He looked at Bjorgrund. “Did you see any books back in the lab?”

“No,” the young giant said. “But I didn't look too hard. There’s a lot to see. And I mean, a lot.”

“Yeah, I know how seeing all this stuff for the first time can be…” Alex smiled, stepping toward the door, then pausing. “Do you think your father’s okay?”

“I don't know,” Bjorgrund stopped behind Alex. “He might be, I don't hear him crying anymore. I've never seen him like this, so I don't know.”

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, placing his hand on the door latch.

“Me?” The giant pointed to his chest. “Oh yeah, I'm all right, I think. Maybe.”

“You think…maybe?” Alex faced him, raising an eyebrow.

“I don't know; part of me thought we'd never find this place. I was so happy earlier, but now father’s crying. And this is where we have to do all sorts of dangerous stuff, right?” The young giant watched the door, shuddering. “I mean, this is where you're going to do all that stuff to try and change your Mark. You're going to actually be messing with your soul. That's what Kelda was doing, wasn’t it? And it killed her and her whole team.”

“Yeah, that’s right, it did.” Alex grimly reached into his satchel, pulling out Hannah’s artefact, remembering her journal. “According to the Traveller, it didn't just kill them: it completely annihilated their souls.”

“You said that before, while we were searching for this place,” Bjorgrund said nervously. He shifted his weight back and forth on his feet. “I'd fight and bleed against rune-marked or the nasty church filth. I'd even, uh, die—” A grimace briefly flashed across his face. “—if I needed to, but hearing about souls being destroyed…it makes me feel cold in a way that even the deepest winter doesn’t. What exactly happens to you if your soul’s destroyed?”

Alex gave him a long, solemn look. “My friend, I wish I knew. I don't think you get an afterlife; Hannah never met Kelda in the afterworld. I think you just cease to be, maybe? I don’t know.”

“I wonder what that's like…just turning to nothing.” A shudder went through the giant’s body. “What's it like to be nothing? Is it just like floating in the dark forever? Or is it something else…I can't even imagine it.”

“I don’t really want to find out,” Alex said. “That's one reason why I want to find her notes: I don't want to make the same mistakes she did.”

“How do you know you won't?” Bjorgrund asked.

“I have something she didn't. The original notes of the one who created the Marks.” He tapped his satchel. “With them, I'll be working with more information than she ever had. I'll be able to modify her methods, and account for any mistakes she might've made. I hope.”

“You hope? You mean you're not sure?”

“Honestly? No, no I'm not. All I know is that I need to try, Bjorgrund…” Alex bit the inside of its cheek. “I don't know if you know what it's like to have so many people and monsters trying to kill you, and your family and friends…and not be able to do much about it.”

“You're a warrior: you beat an entire army of rune-marked,” Bjorgrund pointed out.

“That's not quite true. Not completely,” Alex said. “I used my staff to summon monsters that fought them. I used potions that might or might not have hurt them. I infused my friends and family with magic to battle them.”

“That was enough, wasn't it?” Bjorgrund asked.

“It was, then. But what about when the church attacked us?” the young wizard clenched his teeth. “They took us by surprise: the First Apostle nearly ripped my guts out and the only thing I could do was lie on the ground and bleed. What if I could've used blood magic to heal myself? I could've joined the fight.”

His lips flattened to a grim line. “What if I could've cast a spell on those archers that were skewering you? Or blew them up with fire, or put them to sleep or buried them in ice or disintegrated them? You wouldn't have had to protect me.”

He swallowed. “We’re about to go up against some of the most dangerous enemies I've ever encountered and, believe me, I've encountered some dangerous bastards. We'll need every resource we can get if we're going to do this properly. Idon't want to risk my soul, but to put an end to all of this, I'll do it.”

The young giant opened his mouth to say something else, when his father's voice came through the door.

“Son! Alex! I think I found something you’ll want to see!” Birger called.

The two young men looked at each other and rushed through the door.

Birger was composed now, and was standing in another part of the laboratory—a part that was hidden by some of the larger devices—in front of a doorless stone cabinet.

Books were stacked inside.

Alex sprinted over to it, excitement surging through him.

He quickly eyed the book titles, finding a leather bound one marked with words written in Hannah’s secret language.

Patch Reversal, notebook I.

With a shaking hand, he reached for it, gingerly turning to the first page while blowing away a layer of dust.

This is it…” his voice was barely a whisper. “These are her notes…this is the process she used to try and change the Mark of the Fool.”