The Tower of The Dead

Tenth Moon, Year 435 of the Gaullin Imperial Calendar.

My eyes snapped open. Power flooded out of me, coruscating down my limbs before grounding in the magical circles inscribed on my workshop floor. Several large crystals, each ornately carved in metaphysically significant ways, crashed to the ground. They shattered with a tinkling like dozens of bells. A shard of crystal sliced a thin line across my cheek. A single drop of blood flowed down my dusky skin and my eye twitched with barely suppressed annoyance.

I twirled my hand in a mystical gesture and reversed the flow of time long enough to restore my crystals and then lowered them gently to the ground. I turned and stomped to the door of my workshop, where the pounding that had broken my concentration was resuming.

“Jerome, you know not to disturb me during my experiments if you want your status as a Dead Man to remain metaphorical,” I growled as I disabled the mighty wards protecting the rest of the world from what I did in here. I swung the door open, and my lecture died on my lips as I saw Erik the Bold standing there, with my faithful Jerome standing behind him, looking abashed.

“Erik.” I said, my voice cold and hard.

Jerome jumped in quickly. “My lady, I am so sorry. He demanded, quite forcefully, to see you.”

Erik’s mouth formed one of his ugly sneers, the one he fondly imagined was a charming grin. “Don’t be too hard on the Dead Man, I can be very persuasive.”

“No, just stubborn.” I said acidly. My shoulders slumped as I accepted that I was going to have to hear the idiot out in order to be rid of him quickly. I strode back into my workshop, conjuring a seat with a gesture. I sat, and gestured for him to come in.

“Why, Ceriss, no seat for me?” He said, still vainly trying to be charming.

“I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea and think you were welcome here, Erik.”

He came in and Jerome followed, fluttering behind the much larger man, hands wringing anxiously. Unlike Jerome’s slim build, Erik was a hulking brute of a man, easily six feet tall and shoulders wider than many doors. He had a truly egregious amount of hair everywhere that wasn’t his head, all of it a dirty blonde.

I tried to cut to the quick, sparing myself his attempts at social niceties. “What brings you here, Erik? I have not seen you in four years. Nor have I wanted to.”

“That was not always the case, Archmagus.”

I felt mildly soiled by the way he dragged my title across his tongue.

“Once we were boon companions. And it is because of that bond that I am here tonight. I have news of the fate of Jentus.”

Mildly shocked, I stared at Erik, silently waiting for him to continue.

“Thought that would still that sharp tongue of yours.” Erik chortled.

My mind regained its footing, so to speak, and I demanded, “What have you learned? Does he still live?”

His face grew grim. “What I have learned tells me that he is dead, slain four years ago when we lost him, but slain in such a way that his body was lost to time.”

A single tear traced its way down my face. A small part of my mind registered surprise. I thought myself unable to cry any more than I already had for Jentus.

“How?” I croaked.

Erik’s face softened into something that resembled true compassion.

“Do you still wear the necklace, Ceriss?”

I swallowed loudly, mastering myself. “You know I do.”

“May I see it again?”

I reached into my robe and withdrew a gleaming steel locket. Erik leaned in close while I opened it, and we both watched in silence as a small illusion of Jentus appeared in the air over my hand. His eyes sparkled with life and his smile broke my heart all over again.

“Thank you, Ceriss. I wanted to see him one last time.”

Something in Erik’s voice warned me, but far too late. I looked up to see a strange shard of gemstone in his hand, and he plunged it into my chest. Pain surged through me, and I heard the gem crackle with power. Erik pulled me tight to him and spoke softly into my ear.

“I learned that he was shunted bodily into the Realm of the Void. A feat only an archmagus could accomplish. Or someone about to test for her elevation to that rank.”

A strange crackling noise continued to emanate from the gem, and the pain faded. I felt numbness growing from my chest outward. Erik let go, and I fell to the floor, discarded like a broken doll.

Jerome cried out and rushed to my side. “My lady, no!”

Erik laughed and drew his sword, twirling it and tossing it from his left to his right in a flashy but pointless bit of showmanship, before he plunged the blade into Jerome’s back.

I screamed, tears pouring down my face. Jentus still smiled up at me from my locket and my lovely, faithful Jerome slipped to the floor and was gone.

Erik grinned stupidly, vicious triumph lighting his face. His eyes shone with a zealot’s fervor. The gem continued to crackle and I realized it was growing across my torso as I felt it begin to restrict my breathing.

Erik snatched my locket and held it up to my face, so that my whole world was reduced to Jentus’ smile and Erik’s leer.

“I wanted his face and mine to be the last things you saw before I handed you over to judgement. Soon your soul will be laid bare before the wrath of Restyr! You will remain trapped like a fly in amber until your soul is scoured clean of your vile deeds!” Spittle flew from Erik’s lips, both rage and the flickering light of insanity danced across his visage.

“I didn’t kill him! I loved him!” I cried. The encroaching crystal made me gasp and snatch short, shallow breaths.

Erik backhanded me, rolling me across the floor. The strange gem continued to grow as I lay dazed and gasping.

“I don’t want to hear your lies! I believed you, had faith in you for all these years. And you murdered my best friend! You killed the best man I ever knew. For that, you deserve far worse than this fate!”

He flicked Jerome’s blood from his sword and lifted a horn from his belt. He blew it, a sonorous tone filling the tower. I faintly heard a cry raised in the courtyard outside. Almost at once, I could hear screams and the crash of smashed furniture.

The gemstone covered one ear and one eye, but I could still hear as Erik turned to me and said. “All of your Dead Men will die for true this night, and this tower will burn. All within it shall be purged and the balance of justice will begin to swing true once more. May your gods have mercy on you, for Restyr surely will not.”

I wanted to spit his benediction back in his face, but my mouth had been covered and my world was fading to black.

—

The Temple of All Lights, Ravenna City

Third Moon, Year 284 of the Ravennan Calendar

—

I have lingered here longer than I can guess, bathed in the light of a God I never knew. For an age or more, I have been at peace. I do not know if I am alive or dead. I do not know if this is an empty heaven or a negligent hell.

There is a sound. I am frightened by it. I have not heard a sound for a handful of lifetimes. The voice tells me to be calm, that my time of limbo is ending. The voice is not frightening. It is in my head, and I have heard it many times before.

The new sounds continue. They are chaotic and muffled, grinding and cracking sounds. Now I am seeing light. Light sears eyes that have not seen for a lifetime. I wince and cry out. My own voice hurts my ears.

Again, the voice urges me to be calm. The pain will pass, Shardborne.

Shardborne? Is that my name? No. My name is something different. I can’t recall it, but it’s close to the surface of my mind.

Be patient, Shardborne, you will remember all in time.

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Flakes of crystal fall away from my face and air reaches my skin for the first time. It is cool and the temperature difference is shocking to my senses.

There is more sound as crystal rains down around me, freeing my arms and legs, falling away from my body. My legs are limp beneath me, unable to hold my weight. My arms have no strength and I collapse gracelessly to the floor amid a pile of crystalline pebbles.

I hear the harsh rasp of my breathing and am stunned by the rush of cool air into my lungs. I am alive. I am awake. After a time I cannot fathom, I hear voices around me, hands on my limbs lifting me. I am still reeling from the trauma of being born again. My vision blurs, then the world tilts on its side and slips into darkness.

I wake to a softly lit room. It smells of incense and herbs. I lay in a soft bed, fresh linens engulfing my body. I open my eyes cautiously. The room has one window that has been covered with a heavy curtain. It moves softly in a breeze from outside, but lets in little light. I am grateful.

My mind is still a jumble of foggy images and woolen thoughts. I take a moment to assess my body. I don’t seem to be in any pain, I feel weak, like a starved kitten. I raise my hands to my face and notice a pallor to my normally dusky skin tone. My hair is gone, as are my eyebrows.

There’s a thin young man slumped in an overstuffed chair nearby. His chin rests on his chest and gentle snores emanate from him. He is wearing loose white breeches and a strangely tailored white smock.

As if the simple act of waking has drained me, my jaw cracks wide in a yawn. I gulp greedily in the fresh air, then my throat constricts, parched from long disuse. A fit of ragged coughs rip from me, shaking my whole body, what little remains of it.

The young man, barely more than a boy, wakes. He quickly strides over and his hands move in a familiar gesture. He is a healer, of course. I see odd symbols embroidered in the sleeves of his smock. They tug at faint memories, but fail to draw them to the surface.

His hands glow with an inner light and my cough eases. His hands smoothly flow through practiced motions, while his lips chant sacred words. Despite his youth, this healer is talented and experienced. Within moments, I feel like I have had a full night’s rest and a hearty meal. I am still weak, but I feel measurably stronger. The young man, in turn, seems to have taken on a share of my infirmity.

“Thank you.”

My voice is not quite the toadish croak I feared it would be, but it is not far off, either.

He smiles and bows, awkward and gangly in the way that only young men and newborn foals can manage. “You are most welcome, Mistress,” he mumbles. “It is greatly pleasing to see you finally wake.”

I smile and say, “I’m pretty happy about it myself.”

He laughs politely. “My name is Caleb, Mistress. Caleb Neuss. I have been tending to you since your rebirth.”

Rebirth. That word starts a quivering in my head, a sensation like the ripples on the surface of a pool that speak to the stirrings of a slumbering beast beneath.

“My.. rebirth? That sounds dramatic. How long ago was that?”

“You emerged from your Shard twelve days hence, Mistress,” he says.

My Shard. Shardborne… the word echoes through my mind, looking for a place to belong.

“And how long was I in there, like…” I start, intending to continue ‘like a curio on a shelf’, when the phrase ‘like a fly in amber’ comes screaming out of the dark corners of my mind.

I gasp, clutching my head in agony as the beast of memory breaches the surface.

Erik. Jentus. The crystal. My faithful Jerome.

I must have fallen back, for when I next became aware of the present, Caleb was standing over me, looking worried.

I seize his sleeve and hiss, “How. Long.”

His concern vanishes in a flash of fear. “I-I don’t know, Mistress. Your shard is from the old city, the old temple, the records were lost in the exodus.”

Old temple? Old city? I was liking this less by the minute.

I let go of the poor young cleric’s arm.

“What is the year, Caleb? You must know that.”

He calms a bit, rubbing his arm as he answers.

“284, Mistress, sixth moon, 284.”

Shades, a new calendar to deal with, too? I rub my temple, my headache is fading, but this threatens to give it a chance to rally.

“Do you know what that would be by Gaullin Imperial reckoning?”

He looks abashed, like he should have known better.

“I’m sorry, Mistress, of course. You couldn’t know. The Gaullin reckoning ended when the Imperial city fell. That was 448 Gaullin reckoning. Ravennan Year 1 by the new reckoning.”

My mouth hangs open. I was in that damned rock for three hundred years? There are no words. Shock is too small a concept.

Everyone I have ever known is dead. Not just dead, long dead.

I feel very small, and very alone.

He sees it in my face. He steps back. “I’ll give you some time, Mistress. Call for me if you need anything.”

***

Caleb is the only face I see for the next few weeks that has a name attached to it. Many others poke their heads in, drawn by the curious woman from another time. I ignore them and focus my energy on rest and recovery. Caleb’s skills, both mystical and mundane, mend my body and my spirits. My hair grows back, peach fuzz at first, but thoughtfully given a boost by Caleb into a reasonable auburn bob.

Twenty-one long, boring days later, I am staring balefully at a teacup when Caleb enters my chamber.

“Mistress?” He begins, looking worried again.

“Quiet,” I snap, a little more forcefully than I intended.

I collect my will once more, make a simple arcane gesture, and utterly fail to levitate the teacup. I sigh, relaxing my concentration, and flop back on to my pillows.

“For the fiftieth time, Caleb, my name is Ceriss. You can use it.”

I swear he smiles. “Yes, Mistress.”

He settles in his usual seat at my bedside and straightens his odd little smock. I am growing to appreciate his precise, controlled demeanor. It makes it all the more fun to tease him.

“May I ask what the teacup did to anger you, Mistress?”

I grinned ruefully. “The teacup is innocent, Caleb. My anger is for myself.”

He angles his head to one side, entirely too much like a dog.

“There’s no need to be angry. I would be happy to brew more tea, Mistress.”

I smile gently and pat his hand. “Thank you, Caleb. That will not be necessary.” I return my gaze to the teacup. “Caleb, you have been so kind to me, You have never asked who I was before, or how I ended up in that shard. Aren’t you at least curious?”

He looks pensive for a moment, hesitating before answering.

“The use of Judgement Shards is rare, Mistress. It is considered a punishment in excess of execution. The sins of the Shardborne are never discussed, because they are considered a new person upon rebirth.”

“A new person?” I parroted, hoping he would explain further.

He continued, warming to the subject.

“No one emerges from a Shard unredeemed. We are taught that the light of Restyr chastises the hardest of hearts in time, and all who are reborn are hence a force for justice in the realms.”

“I don’t recall any chastisement,” I say, “It was peaceful. The voice spoke to me, kept me sane.”

“Mistress, to be placed in a Shard is to be cast unprotected into the gaze of Restyr, the God of Justice. No one would be subjected to it that had not been found guilty of the foulest acts. The whole Choir of Succor must unanimously agree before the Shard Ark can even be opened.”

“Or one fanatic can do it on his own, apparently.”

“Mistress? I don’t understand.”

“I wasn’t brought before any Choir. I was unjustly attacked in my home by someone I trusted. He murdered my servants and stabbed me with one of those things.”

Caleb’s green eyes go wide in shock.

“You were a victim of Erik the Oathbreaker?”

“‘The Oathbreaker’? I like the sound of that. Nice to know history gets some things right. He was called ‘The Bold’ in my day.”

Caleb shivers despite the warmth of the room and makes a sign of warding.

“The Oathbreaker’s perfidy wasn’t known until many years later. It’s still a mystery how he was able to access the Shard Vault. No records survive that told what he did with the shard, just that he stole one. It is considered one of his lesser crimes, and was not deeply explored.”

I made a little choking noise in my throat.

“Lesser crimes? What else did he do?”

Caleb’s face was somber.

“Regicide, treason, murder on a shocking scale. Necromancy. He played a large role in the fall of the Empire. He is one of the Tyrant’s Triumvirate, though it has been twenty years or more since he was last seen.”

“Twenty years? H-” The question died on my lips, Necromancy, Erik had descended so far into madness and evil that mere death could not stop his hatred.

“He’s a Lychknight, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Mistress. He is most terrible, but he rarely leaves the Screaming City now.”

“Screaming… I don’t want to know right now. I don’t understand, Erik was an ass, but it’s hard to imagine him throwing his soul away for power.”

Caleb looked curiously at me.

“Did you know him personally?”

“Yes, We travelled together. We were a small band of- not exactly mercenaries, but more like problem solvers. We journeyed to improve the lot of those we met, and to improve our own skills and strength. We called ourselves the Delvers.”

Caleb’s face lit up. It’s uncharitable of me, but it made him look more puppyish than ever.

“You were adventurers!.”

“I suppose that’s as good a word for it as any. We certainly had a few along the way.”

“I loved hearing stories of the old guild when I was a boy. I dreamed of wearing the coral drake. Who else was there?”

“We weren’t part of any guild, but our little group was built around complementary skills. Erik was our holy warrior, Rhu’hark was our archer and tracker, Branwyn was our healer, and Jentus was our leader, a knight of noble birth and nobler character.”

My voice cracked slightly and a tear came to my eye as I spoke of Jentus.

Caleb didn’t seem to notice, he was enthused by the notion of my cohorts.

“So you had a Questor, a Woodsman, a Mender, and a Scion, That’s amazing. The only skills missing would be magic and artifice. Are you a mage or a tinker?”

I chuckled.

“I was an archmage. Now I can’t even ensorcell a teacup.”

His face stilled, his eyes moving to my face.

“A real Archmage? No one has reached that rank since before the Howling. I’ve heard it said that the realm’s mana flows were deeply disturbed, and simply do not flow strong enough for that level of magic to exist anymore.”

My mouth twisted in a wry smile.

“The Howling? You say that like I should know what it means.”

I saw the lecture forming in his eyes, so I held up a hand to forestall him.

“So… mana flows are different now in some fundamental way. I didn’t even think of that. I just drew power like I always have. Be quiet for a moment and let me recenter. I want to try and tap these different flows.”

Obediently, he quieted and stepped away from my bed.

I closed my eyes and extended my magical senses. I chanted quietly the very first rituals I ever learned as an initiate. The working to seek the flows. My awareness flowed out of my body, into the very foundations of the earth. I could tell at once that Caleb was right. Some cataclysmic event has reshaped the magical energies of the entire continent.

Off to the west, I felt a cold pulsing of terrible power. Vast lattices of necromantic energies swelled and waxed fat. I realized that the mana flows hadn’t just been changed, they had been diverted. One of the major ley lines of the continent was now flowing directly into that horrible spider’s web of dark power.

Pulling away from that horror, I mapped the flows around me and drew handfuls of power. The mana felt… filthy. Like that Necromantic tap was polluting everything. I returned to my body and drew a deep breath.

Adjusting my mental conditioning, I drew this new, tainted mana and forced it into a useful shape. The teacup rattled, jumped, then lifted smoothly off the saucer. Testing a theory, I cast a simple entropy spell on the cup. It was repulsively effective. The cup crazed with cracks, yellowing with age and mildew. I cast the counterspell and the cup returned to its original form… almost. A faint yellow tinge remained, taunting me and reminding me that magic was different now.

I returned my focus to Caleb to see him staring in horrified awe.

“Was that… necromancy?“

I smiled. “Nothing so dark as that. A simple entropy spell, and its counter. My specialty was always time magic.”

“That’s very rare now. Most mages are conscripted into the Evoker Legion. Only the most extraordinary of prodigies is allowed to pursue, um…“ He paused, searching for words. “...scholarly magic,” Caleb finished..

I narrowed my eyes. “You mean non-combat magic, don’t you?”

He looked mildly embarrassed, “ Yes, mistress.”

I rubbed my temples and said quietly, “What kind of world have I woken up in?”