XVIII. LOSS WILL FIND US
Osric never felt comfortable in opulent chambers or surrounded by superfluous finery, he was a simple man of humble origins. Finery felt somehow disingenuous, its only purpose being to serve as shorthand for power and prestige or a cameflouage when traveling within those circles. While the majority of castle Aglaë collected dust, he took up residence in a ground level storage room with high ceilings and clerestory windows. Rickety bookcases lined the walls, and his dry rotted bed frame had been commandeered from a servant’s quarters.
The still air suddenly shifted and swirled as Osric stepped from a void of nothingness into his austere quarters. He angrily shed his soiled cloak and stormed over to a chest to change clothes. A stray tear fell from his eye and landed on his bloodstained hand. He froze, summoning all of his will to dispel the weakness that had found purchase in his heart. His sister's cries still rang out in his mind, enveloping him in misery and regret.
Abruptly he turned and shot a ghostly blue flame across the room to light a single black candle on the table. Osric washed his face and hands in a small basin, periodically glancing over his shoulder to the flickering blue flame, uncertainty marring his otherwise placid visage. He paced around the room for several moments before finally taking a seat at the table to stare at the unnatural flame.
The blue flame danced as if in a breeze, Osric contemplated the kettle above a makeshift hearth as the minutes ticked by. Suddenly, the candle flared up and burned itself out. Osric closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. When he looked up, he was met by the ghostly form of his former Master standing in the middle of the room.
“Why have you summoned me here, breaker of oaths?” he asked in a voice older than time.
“I am no oathbreaker. Your teachings shall be passed on.” The glimmer of humor in Osric’s eyes threatened to cross onto his lips.
“Always the fool.” Drogo said with a dismissive gesture. “I wished for you to continue my legacy, so that I may finally be done with this cursed rock-”
“You had no intention of leaving that day, I doubt much has changed in the millennia since.” Osric teased.
Drogo clenched his boney, tattooed fingers into a fist. “Insolence!”
“Do not begrudge me for having found a loophole.” Osric said with a smirk.
“So this is why you summon me? To taunt me? In your arrogance you will soon find your undoing.”
Osric slowly shook his head. “No master, I summoned you for council.”
Drogo glided like a wraith across the room and took a seat at the table across from Osric. “Council you say? On what matter? This foolish conflict you’ve incited? If so, then I advise you drink a tea of nightshade and be done with it. You are beyond redemption.”
“I need you to teach me something.” Osric said.
Drogo snorted, his black eyes flashing with disgust. “Have her teach you. I have imparted all I know. In vain it would seem.”
“I need to raise the dead.” Osric continued, undaunted.
“Fool!” Drogo roared. “Have you forgotten such a fundamental lesson already? Tell me this is one of your elaborate jests lest I end you now myself!”
Osric leaned in close, his expression deadpan. “No old man, not to make puppets of corpses, but to return life.”
A flicker of fear briefly crossed Drogo’s face. “It cannot be done. Surely you know this from-”
“From experience?” Osric interjected. “Yes master, as do you. However, where I failed, you succeeded, I want to know how.”
Drogo shook his head, not breaking eye contact with his former pupil. “I cannot impart such knowledge to a man already cursed. It is too cruel a fate, even as punishment for your crimes.”
The locked eyes for several moments, with neither conceding an inch. Osric pounded his fist on the table and leaned back with a snort of disgust.
“Then why set me on this path? Why show me the secrets of the dead and the glories of a past age?”
“Glories, pah!”
“Did you truly think I would not act?” Osric demanded?”
“I truly thought you were not a fool!” Drogo countered. “I sought to give you knowledge, knowledge to sate the hunger we both feel within our breast!”
“It is a knowledge I wish I’d never have gained; an ignorance I should not have been spared. For now, that the floodgates stand open, you seek to dam them again!”
“You deceive thyself child.” Drogo sneered. “Verily, I gave thee knowledge, yet knowledge alone does not lead one to act as you have. You have been beguiled by the demon that played on your fears and ambitions. He played on your desires to right the wrongs of a world that unjustly stole your mother from you. You corrupted logic to justify your methods, and now stand with cold truth alone: you were used and now stand condemned, orchestrator of a fruitless campaign.”
“I can make this work!” Osric shouted as he shot up from his seat.
Drogo smiled, sensing his pupil’s desperation and denial. “Do you think a return to past ways will cure the plague of greed and violence over our species? If so, why did they destroy themselves? Their glass cities and technological marvels were brought about by a desire to more efficiently slay one another. No good can come of this, take it from a man who once lived amongst them. Yes, we could have been great, expanding our reach across the stars, but greed, corruption, religion, politics; these petty inventions of human fallibility thwarted and continue to halt any chance of the utopian world you seek from coming to fruition.”
Osric crossed the room, tearing at his hair. The dead eyes of his master fixed upon him.
He stopped in the center of the room and aimed an accusatory finger at the old man. “Be that as it may, it is not their place to retard our growth!”
Drogo sneered. “Do not shout rhetoric at me with such a lack of conviction. They do not ‘retard’ anything, they have merely hidden the supposed root of our destruction.”
Drogo held out his hand and poured black sand into a small pile on the floor. He drew a red rune and dropped a small ember onto the pile, and it erupted into a brilliant flash of light and smoke. Osric leapt back in surprise, causing Drogo to laugh aloud.
“Surprisingly, their tactic has met with some success.”
“What was that?” Osric demanded.
“The original black magic. The discovery of this substance started an arms race to create bigger and better implements of destruction, culminating in the weapons that poisoned and destroyed this world.”
Osric snatched at the air, dragging the chair over to him. “Should other children suffer the same as I had?”
“There existed poverty in that age as well.”
“Towns run by brigands? Families in constant fear that daughters and wives would be stolen away and raped? That their sons would be killed or conscripted?”
“Violence and criminals have and always will exist.” Drogo sighed. “While on the whole it was not as bad as that, it could and did exist in some of the poorer nations.”
Osric bounced his leg over his knee as he leaned back in his seat. “Hunger? Agrardya had the means to feed the entire planet.”
“Yet they did not, and many in that nation went hungry due to poverty.”
“They learned to replicate the power of the very stars!”
“And instead of using it for good, they weaponized it, and nearly destroyed the planet.”
Osric abruptly stood, his eyes afire. “I have become the most powerful sage to ever live! I can sever the Eloi’s hold upon us and return reason to the mortal realm! I can destroy the beast once and for all, removing his vile taint from the hearts of men and we can become the gods we were always meant to be!”
Drogo bowed his head sadly. “Child, you are lost.”
Osric threw his chair against the wall in frustration. “You terrified old fool! You’ve seen the power I wield! I can usher in a new and glorious dawn for all of mankind!”
“The impertinence of youth!” Drogo laughed. “You damned idiot! It simply is not in our nature!”
“Then I will destroy them and their ignorance.” Osric rumbled menacingly. “And from the ashes, I shall shape a new race in my image. I shall forge a perfect society, free of the curse that is religion, corruption, and greed. All shall be equal, for all have been cut from the same cloth. I shall cleanse this world in fire to put an end to war, violence and crime.”
“You’ll end violence with violence? Cease war with war? You are so lost you can’t even tell you are parroting the demon’s words as he whispers them sweetly in your ear!”
“I am all powerful!”
Osric’s shout sent shockwaves of malevolent energies rippling through the room. Bookcases were toppled and various decorum fell from their shelves. A crazed glow filled his eyes, it was as if he were deaf and blind to the world around him.
“I can bring peace!” Osric bellowed. “I will usher in an unending age of prosperity! I will purge Silex of ignorance and suffering! I can bring her back and we can once again be a family! I shall make certain that we never again experience such dark times!”
“Damnable fool!” Drogo barked as he rose from his seat. “Your mother is dead!”
The rafters shook with his proclamation, and Osric recoiled as he was buffeted by the force of his Master’s aura. Drogo slowly doubled in size as he aimed a boney finger at the visibly shaken Osric.
“Her soul was destroyed when you attempted to resurrect her in your arrogance!”
“LIAR!”
Osric stamped his foot and sent cascading ripples of black flames towards his master. The wall of fire doubled in size with each successive blast, as a black fog emanated from and enveloped Osric. Drogo opened his mouth like a serpent swallowing an egg, and sucked the flames into himself. Osric stumbled back several steps as his master’s chest swelled. He managed to raise a hasty barrier as his magic was spat back at him with three times the power. The force easily broke through his defense and sent Osric crashing into the wall as the shattered glass from windows above rained down upon him.
Drogo waved his hand, and the rubble was instantly dispersed across the room. He clutched at the air, and lifted Osric from the ground and held him suspended in the air, immobile.
“I should kill you now, you oath breaking idiot!” Drogo hissed.
Osric hung limply, his feet dangling as he gazed sorrowfully at nothing. He made no effort to respond or break free of the spell.
“But you’d want that, wouldn’t you?”
Osric turned his red rimmed and defeated eyes to Drogo. “Please…I must know…”
Drogo snorted in disgust and released his hold on Osric, returning to his normal size. “I am obligated to tell you nothing.”
Osric dragged himself to a kneeling position as he stared at the floor. “Was it all in vain?”
Drogo looked away from his sniveling apprentice lest he feel pity. “You’ve certainly accomplished something, though what I know not.”
“Show me how to return life.” Osric pleaded.
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“Are you deaf too now? It cannot be done.”
“Not by you perhaps.”
Osric looked up to find Morana standing against the wall on the far side of his quarters. Despite the cold, she was clad in sheer black fabrics that barely covered her supple flesh, more pale than fresh fallen snow. He had not seen or felt her enter, and wondered how much she had witnessed. Drogo was equally surprised by her arrival, and it was the first time he saw genuine fear in his master’s face.
Morana folded her arms over her breast. “Master Drogo, I thought I smelled the stink of fear and cowardice.”
“Morana, whore of the demon. Has he tired of your company so soon?”
Morana frowned and waved her hand, setting a fire under the kettle. “Why is this creature here Osric? There is nothing this thing can teach you.”
“He is here because I asked him to be.” Osric mumbled weakly. “Why are you here?”
“I thought you more intelligent.” Morana said with a disappointed pout. “As for my presence, I need not explain my reasons for anything.”
Morana tapped her bare foot against the stone floor, not breaking her gaze from Drogo, full of loathing and contempt. The air had gotten noticeably colder, and the atmosphere was cloying. The air held all the dread of a graveyard in Deadsun.
“You can sit alone in that cave of yours all you wish, Drogo; in the end you are still a puppet of Asketill. A puppet of the Eloi.”
Drogo stood and prepared to vanish, but Morana effortlessly thwarted his escape with a wave of her hand. Osric watched wide eyed, the sinking feeling of terror filling his senses. Drogo was an immortal spirit, and teacher to both him and Morana, yet she had surpassed him by leaps and bounds.
“Oh no, you don’t get off so easily old friend.”
Morana snapped her fingers and Drogo was plopped back into his seat. The air in his immediate vicinity froze, fixing him in place as ice crystals formed across his body. The kettle began to whistle and she turned her pale gaze to Osric, and without a word, he rose to go prepare her a cup of tea.
“Do what you will to this form.” Drogo spat. “You and I both know it means nothing.”
“Silence old man. Just as easy as I freeze this projection, so too can I reach across the void and pluck the still beating heart from that desiccated corpse you call a body.”
Morana summoned a throne of ice and blackened wood, taking a seat as Osric handed her a cup of tea on a saucer. She looked regal and frightening upon her throne, her hair adorned with a silver and sapphire circlet in addition to the stylized snowflakes and frost that gently floated down from above. The air around her was frigid, thick with decay and at once intoxicating and repugnant. Osric felt every muscle in his body tense and his blood run cold as she looked up at him with glowing blue eyes. She wore a look of neither mirth or displeasure, but something in between. To her, he was as nothing, merely a novelty.
“Has he told you why he resides in that cave?”
Osric flinched and shook his head, his throat was tightly clenched and he could not find his voice.
Morana gestured towards Drogo and took a sip of tea. “Shall I? Or will you tell the tale?”
“It is irrelevant.” Drogo snarled, causing Morana to cackle riotously.
“And you call on this cowardly fool for aide?”
Osric swallowed hard and took a step away from Morana towards Drogo. “If you cannot show me how to give life, then show me how to extend my own.”
“No.” Drogo replied flatly.
Morana cackled again, a sound like ice cracking underfoot, causing both Osric and Drogo to flinch. “What he leads is not life, but an existence wrought by fear. It would drive you mad.”
“Am I not already?” Osric spat.
Morana waved dismissively. “You know not the meaning of the word.”
“You cannot remain in the flesh.” Drogo said cautiously. “But, as I am sure you are aware, spirits roam freely in this realm.”
“Stop filling the boys head with nonsense.” Morana hissed.
“Do you suggest I turn myself into a spirit?” Osric demanded, ignoring Morana’s barbs.
“No fool, you have already sealed that fate. However,” he glanced at Morana, whose eyes were fixed on him as if she were staring into his very soul. “When you inevitably perish, I shall call your spirit back to me, and keep it safe from the dusk. For a price.”
Osric snorted, disgusted by what he knew was coming inevitably. “There is always a price.”
Drogo smiled sinisterly. “There is always a price, it is the necromancer’s way.”
“Very well.” Osric relented almost immediately, “Name your price.”
Morana huffed and crossed her legs, revealing a creamy leg and thigh. Osric glanced at her from the corner of his eye, causing Drogo to chuckle. Osric cleared his throat and busied himself by preparing another cup of tea.
“You’ve conceived a child by that woman.”
Osric flinched and fumbled his teacup.
“That was payment for my instruction, old man.” Morana’s voice was like a cold snap, sending shivers down the spines of the listener. “It is not his to barter.”
“Allow me to finish.” Drogo boomed, his voice buffeting against her like waves on stone. “I know of your ploy to bind your souls to that child, a risky and unreliable process to say the least, but the end result is-.”
“Reincarnation.” Osric interrupted, feeling the part of an insect amongst giants. “Yes, I am aware of this.”
Drogo turned his dead gaze to Osric. “I want that child.”
“I am afraid I don’t follow…” Osric took a seat as his tea steeped.
“The two of you were my greatest pupils, I would very much like our craft to pass to one other than the damned.”
“It will take centuries before you get what you want, old fool.” Morana floated her empty cup onto the table. “Are you truly so fearful as to sit in that cave for another millennia?”
“I’ve suffered two already, what is another millennium in the grand scheme of the cosmos? I cannot recall the last time I’ve felt the sun upon my flesh, smelled the salt of the sea or seen an ocean of ripened wheat dance in the breeze. I am weary.”
“What are you really after?” Osric asked.
“He wants another Morana.” She teased, the sudden shift in demeanor barely concealing the rage just under the surface. “Another young girl for him to corrupt and ultimately abandon, isn’t that right old man?”
“I want a replacement.” Drogo said flatly.
Osric leaned back and considered his old master’s proposal. Working with souls was an incredibly difficult and fickle endeavor, though he had no doubt Drogo could do as promised. By some means, he had managed to gain control of his own soul, preventing it from being wrested from his body at death, gaining immortality. To be spared the tortures of The Dusk was certainly enticing, but he was equally wary of agreeing so easily. Drogo was not a man known for being forthcoming. To say nothing of the fact that his manner of immortality was a fate many would consider worse than death.
“The decision is yours, Ozzy.” Morana said with a disinterested yawn. “I’ve already secured my salvation, or rather, my freedom.”
Osric chewed on his thumbnail, too deep in thought to fully grasp the implications of what she had said.
“Do we have an agreement then?”
Osric met the black holes that were his master’s eyes. As expected, they revealed nothing of his true thoughts or intentions. He merely stared, still fixed in place by Morana’s magic.
“For once, he isn’t trying to screw you over.” Morana said at length. “I suggest you accept.”
Anger briefly flashed across Osric’s eyes, but he quickly dismissed it. It was becoming more and more difficult to disprove the possibility that she could read minds. Though everything he knew told him that such a feat was impossible.
“I’ve spent many centuries in meditation, experiencing the world via astral projection.” Drogo visibly relaxed as Morana released her hold upon him. “I have only been conscious for two weeks in the past two millennia. As one can imagine, I am terribly vulnerable, alone in my cave.”
“Why can’t you leave?” Osric asked softly.
He had seen Drogo in the flesh only once before, and was only the third person to even know of the caves location. The Second was Morana, and the third was unknown to him. Osric recalled being underwhelmed by his master. A frail old man of skin and bone sitting in the lotus position, covered in mold and mildew, cobwebs and dust. Drogo had barely even breathed, and Osric had a hard time believing he was even alive.
“I sought to cheat death, to gain immortality. I travelled to the realm of dusk and stole the key of mortality from the goddess of death and winter herself.”
Osric followed his masters gaze back to Morana, who waved cutely back at them. This goddess Drogo spoke of was supposedly just a myth, part of the old world paganism of before the collapse. The fact that the goddess was also called Morana had simply been a coincidence in his eyes, now, he was far less certain.
“I then fled to my current home, to put my ill-gotten knowledge to use. No sooner I complete the deed, a girl of the Eloi appears before me, and with the gall to chastise me for my actions.” Drogo sneered and shifted in his seat as he relived the memory. “She told me ‘Men are not allowed to exceed their allotted time’, so I challenged, nay, dared her to strike me down then and there. For in my youth, much like you, I was overconfident in my abilities.
“But she merely smiled…a smile I still see every day, my face reflected in her hollow eyes, as the rising sun lit up her golden tresses….”
Osric wiped the sweat from his brow. His heart was racing and he felt suffocated, despite the chill air and spacious quarters. He knew the girl his master spoke of, for she had turned that same mocking gaze upon him.
“She told me that there was nothing she could do, that my wish for immortality had been granted. With or without the Eloi’s blessing. Foolishly, I thought myself victorious. Yet, as I took my first step to leave the circle of salt around me, all six feet of it, she halted me.” Drogo’s face was contorted in rage, giving him an inhuman appearance. “I shall have my immortality only so long as I stay in the circle. I was in the summer of my eighty-eighth year, with an allotted lifespan of ninety-one. My ‘act’ had forfeited my natural span, for I had not extended my life indefinitely, but rather, I had halted the passage of time around myself.
“Should I step from that circle; my death will come instantly.”
“Forfeit? Did you not challenge this? Under what pretext did they have to take what was rightfully yours?”
“She was a god fool!” Drogo thundered. “Her kind do as they please, and I knew she spoke the truth for they have no need of lies.”
“Their kind is founded upon lies.” Morana snarled.
“What makes them gods?” Osric mused as he rapt on the tabletop several times. “They aren’t creatures, that honor goes to the daemon. And even if they were, men create life as well.”
“Men huh?” Morana chuckled.
“Why must we bow to them?” Osric continued, ignoring Morana. “Why are we inflicted with infirmity and death? Why can we not enjoy the secrets of immortality?”
“You have been a poor Master, Morana.” Drogo said with a smug grin.
Morana rolled her eyes as she absently swung her leg. “You had him first.”
Osric bowed his head and clutched his robes in his fists as his face flushed red. “If I have missed something, by all means, enlighten me.”
Osric shuddered as the icy hand of Morana caressed his neck. His stomach knotted up as his heart began to race. By now, he was somewhat accustomed to her sudden appearances and lack of respect for personal space, but unlike their usual encounters, the terror was notably absent. He felt a distinct warmth from the gesture.
“It is a balance. Death and sickness inhabit the Dusk, youth and vitality with The Dawn. We reside in between, and thus we carry the weight of both.”
Morana delicately dragged her finger across Osric’s face as she stepped in front of him. “But how will we be certain you will hold to your end of the bargain Drogo?”
Drogo drew himself up indignantly. “You dare question-”
“I do.” Morana snapped. “Careful Ozzy, this one is quick to claim ‘neutrality’ in a desperate bid to avoid compromising his already tarnished soul.”
Morana leaned in close to Drogo, digging her nails into his thighs. He winced and let out a startled yelp, by all reason, she should not have been able to even touch him.
“What is the point of such a pathetic existence Drogo? Will you stand idly by as they rip the flesh from his back as well?” Morana spat at the floor, and it shattered like ice. “Coward. Traitor. Oath breaker. Run back to hide and fret over your ‘mortality’. If you prostrate yourself and suckle the child gods dick, they may yet allow you a glimpse of their realm.”
Morana squeezed for good measure before standing up straight, folding her arms across her chest. Drogo matched her gaze for several moments, but eventually looked away with a dejected sigh.
“No, I did not come when you called, though it was within my power to do so. However, I did not forsake you dude to cowardice or some other moral failing on my part. You were beguiled and blinded, a servant to the beast. You simply traded one unjust master for another, I saw no point in intervening.”
“And he hasn’t?” Morana demanded.
“No, I haven’t.” Osric said calmly. “Abigor is a means to an end. I have come to terms with the fact that he cannot be controlled or manipulated, but he can still be used.”
“Do tell.” Morana said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“I will give the demon his war between Dusk and Dawn, and in the end, one will destroy the other. The victor does not matter, only that the chains be broken.”
Morana rolled her eyes. “So little more than a distraction? You should stick to the idea of soul transference.”
Osric blushed and avoided the gaze of his tutors. He had thought hard for any and all alternatives, and was quite convinced there was no way to accomplish the lofty goals that started him on this fool quest. While simple on the surface, the plan held merit. The only reason the Eloi even bothered with Silex was because it was a gateway to their realm. If the Eloi were concentrated on fighting the demon, they’d either forget about the mortal realm, or destroy it in retaliation. As for Abigor, the demon was a mindless husk of pure aggression with no soul; it could pose no threat under the purifying light of Dawn.
“Feeling rather foolish now, aren’t you?” Morana teased. “As you should.”
“Then what do you suggest we do? That won’t result in us being raped and tortured by the demon for an eternity?” Osric snapped.
Morana recoiled and put her hand to her breast. “No need to get nasty Ozzy. Besides, we have our out as it were, in the child and his promise. Assuming of course that he chooses to keep it.”
Drogo remained placid as Morana glared daggers at him. “You have long crossed the point to be second guessing yourself.”
“Why are you still here?” Morana asked icily.
“Be certain we are alone when you next call upon me.” Drogo said before shimmering away.
Osric tipped his cup and set it back upon finding it empty. “These options, will they truly work?”
Morana shrugged. “If that old fool wants a replacement as desperately as I believe, then he will certainly find a way to do something.”
“And this child?”
Morana smirked. “She...is a work in progress, but I foresee success.”