Chaos (12 page)

"The barriers have fallen, High Seer," the messenger replied. "They started falling the night before, to judge by the messages. Nearly every city, town, and village in Schatten has sent word that their protective barriers are gone, leaving the Sentinels to wreak havoc as they please. We have already received word of many deaths and more messages have no doubt arrived in the time I have been gone."

That should not be possible,
Drache thundered in Friedrich's head, making him wince and press his fingers to his temple. More quietly, Drache added,
Those barriers were created by Lord Teufel. Only someone of your caliber would be able to mess with them at all, and I don't think you could break them without a great deal of practice first.

It could only be the work of the rogue sorcerer we are trying to find. If he wants to seed Schatten with chaos then that is certainly one way to go about it—and a good reason to reject it! Chaos only brings pain.

No. Chaos brings choice. By its nature is it neither cruel nor kind. It simply is. To destroy every barrier in the country and leave people vulnerable is not chaos. It is vindictive and malicious. It is purposeful, which is definitely not chaos.

So who do you think is behind it?

You know very well what I think.

Lord Teufel would not do this to his own children.

They're not his children!
 Drache started to say more, but stopped with a cry of pain. Friedrich froze and barely held back a sigh of relief when Drache did not vanish as he had before.

He focused on the messenger. "Do we have any idea who is responsible? What is being done to protect the children of shadows?"

"We—no one knows what to do. Magic is normally for the High Sorcerer, but no one—"

"Of course," Friedrich cut in, and he dropped the notes on his desk as he stood up. Dismissing the messenger, he called for a priest.  "Assemble every available guard and sorcerer. If their job is not of life-saving importance, then they are to come to me at once in the Hall of Vision."

The priest bowed and dashed away. Friedrich left his office and headed quickly to the Hall of Vision.  He rang the bell at the back of the hall, summoning the entirety of Unheilvol. While he waited for the hundreds of occupants of the temple to arrive, he strode across the hall to the vision pool and took his place in the curve of the crescent. Instead of facing the pool, however, he turned and faced the altar at the very back of the room, the dais on which it rested not quite touching the tips of the crescent.

Where the rest of the temple was black marble, the wall and dais of the altar were made from obsidian. Friedrich did not know how it could have been done, except by way of magic. A table of some rough, white stone formed the altar itself. Silver candle sticks held candles of black beeswax. With a thought, Friedrich lit them and the soft orange light reflected off the obsidian wall. A bowl sat between the candles, and Friedrich approached it with a knot of dread in his stomach.

He'd never been called upon to use the full force of his abilities. Not since his last life, anyway. No record of those moments was ever made, and he did not know why. But he knew the madness that always sealed his fate came not longer after this deepest of visions. He had known the day was coming, he had just kept hoping it would forever be
the next day.

Drawing the dagger at his hip, he slit his wrist and let blood pour into the bowl until he began to grow dizzy. Magic healed the cut, and he sank to his knees, too weak to stand. He needed to help Schatten, to put back the barriers that had been torn down. But Drache was correct:  though he had the power to do it, he did not have the knowledge or experience. There were no records of such magic. Lord Teufel, for the good of his children, kept such knowledge away from them.

To find it, he would have to cast his Sight much further afield.

Half-asleep from the loss of blood, he let his dagger slip from his fingers, bowed his head, closed his eyes, and prayed, "
Lord of Dark, Lord of Shadows, Lord who grants me perfect Sight in both, give me vision of the time and the place that will save the children of Schatten."

A sharp bolt of pain burst in the center of his forehead, as if someone had taken his dagger and shoved it through the black circle. Friedrich screamed in pain—

And it stopped, leaving only a faint, dull ache. He opened his eyes and saw that the altar was gone. Everything was gone. There was nothing but obsidian beneath his feet and all around him was the open night sky. The air was pleasantly cool, a faint breeze teasing at his robes. High above, the moon was the barest sliver of silver, and the stars were bright, sharp points of light. He had the sense he was high up, though he could not see well enough to know for certain.

It struck him as a dark, wild-edged version of the temple where he visited Drache.

The soft swish of fabric drew his attention and Friedrich turned—and stopped, too stunned to move, eyes fastened to the vision before him.

He was beautiful, the most beautiful man Friedrich had ever seen. His skin was a dark, nutty brown, covered in shimmering gold dust. He was bare-chested, skin smooth and flawless, muscles well-formed. Gold hoops gleamed at his nipples, connected by a fine gold chain. There were gold bands at his wrists, a heavier chain at his throat from which hung a brilliant purple stone that nestled perfectly in the hollow of his collar bone. But it was his hair that was the most stunning. It was as long as Drache's, the color of the night around them, and pulled back in a long tail with gold clasps holding it together at regular intervals.

If darkness could take a human form, then that form was before him. The man was night wrapped in carnal thought and sent to drive mortals mad. "Who are you?" he asked.

The man laughed, his voice as sensual as the rest of him, husky with a hint of wicked. "You are the Highest of my Seers and you do not know me?"

Friedrich's eyes widened, and he immediately fell to his knees and bowed his head. "Lord Teufel."

"Mm," Teufel murmured, long fingers running over Friedrich's not-quite smooth head. After a moment, the fingers fell away and cupped his chin, forcing his head up. "It's been a few decades since last you came to me this way. A century, in fact. You are looking for a way to help my children."

"Yes, Lord," Friedrich replied. Long nails, painted purple, stroked his cheek. Moonlight gleamed off the jewels on the rings Teufel wore. "I did not mean to disturb your Holiness, however. I sought only to see deep into my own past, to find a spell I might have known in another life."

Teufel gestured for him to rise. He was shorter than Friedrich, but somehow seemed to loom anyway. "Always a good priest, my Highest of Seers. I was the one who chose you, long ago when the world was still new."

Friedrich frowned, confused. "My Lord?"

"You were the first priest, the first granted Sight, and you ever remained the strongest. Few could compare to you in power—only two, in fact. The Priest of Storms and the Priest of Ashes."

"I don't …" He trailed off, not certain what to say. That he didn't understand? That he didn't know who those two priests were? Was he supposed to know them? Why?

Teufel chuckled and stroked his cheek again, then stepped back. "They were priests from the days when Schatten foolishly aligned itself with the other four countries. They little matter now, sealed out where they cannot do the bidding of their gods."

He smiled and Friedrich felt a chill. "I want only to serve Schatten, my lord."

"Once, I believed you when you said that," Teufel said. "But serving Schatten means serving me, and in the end you turned on me. You've been suitably punished—are still being suitably punished—but every now and then you need a reminder. So here we are."

"R-reminder?"

Teufel's smiled took on an edge that made Friedrich step back before he caught himself and tried to hold still. "I know when your mind begins to turn to thoughts of treachery. In every life you are the same." He paused, then said, "Well, nearly the same. You look very different than you once did, my priest. I admit, you were chosen mostly for the potential you had in terms of power, but I also chose you for your beauty. I am the shadow of Licht. Nothing less than the best should surround me."

He raked his nails lightly down Friedrich's broad, bare chest, leaving a faint sting behind. "I found you, brought you up, gave you power, let you into my bed … and in the end, you too betrayed me."

Memories like smoke wisped and curled through Friedrich's mind, of a dark-haired beauty and tangled sheets, the smell of myrrh and cinnamon and Licht blossoms. Of a long, lithe body covering him, fucking him, gold dust rubbing off as he held fast to firm shoulders.

Friedrich's eyes stung as he remembered, as realization dawned. "You belonged to Licht, but… why …" He knew the answer, though. Teufel had loved Licht—absolutely, passionately, and blindly. But he had enjoyed his toys and enjoyed them thoroughly.

His favorite toy had been the man Friedrich had once been:  Ehrlich, Priest of Night and Day, the most powerful Seer in the world, and one of three priests who had granted great power by the gods. Slain nine hundred years ago when Licht was lost, though Friedrich could not yet recall what exactly he had done wrong. Only that he had angered Teufel, and Teufel's wrath always ended in blood.

"You defied me, you betrayed me," Teufel said, the words almost sing-song. "So you were killed, as you deserved, and so you continue to suffer, as you also deserve. Your current life bleeds away, Highest of Seers. I can take it any day now, but how I take it depends on you."

Friedrich looked at him, eyes stinging, vision blurred. "What do you mean, Lord?"

"Find the child of chaos, capture him, bring him to me at Sonnenstrahl, and I'll give you the death you have craved these nine hundred years. Defy me, try to fight me as you once did, and I will ensure that you die as you always have—and that you will take all of Unheilvol with you."

"You can't—" he broke off with a cry of pain when Teufel struck him.

"I can do whatever I want, and neither you nor that child of chaos nor those damn fools who lurk at my border can stop me. Bring me the child of chaos, or watch your temple die in agony and madness before I finally take your life—and your hope. I will restore the barriers of protection when my children stop succumbing to chaos and remember their place."

"What—"

But his question went unfinished as the world vanished around him.

Friedrich cried out—then realized he was back in the Hall of Vision, finally free of that terrible vision. He wiped tears from his eyes, wiped his nose with a handkerchief he fumbled from a pocket. Movement caught his eye, and he turned as a priest slowly approached him.

"Are you well, High Priest?"

"I will be," Friedrich said. "My Lord Teufel has spoken to me." He allowed the priest to help him to his feet, then dismissed him. On slow, unsteady feet he walked back to his place at the curve of the vision pool. The hall was filled with priests, acolytes, workers, guards, and many others who had been in the temple at the time the bell was rung.

Friedrich cleared his throat and said loudly enough the hall would carry his words to all, "My Lord Teufel has gifted me with Vision of him and told to me directly his desires and disappointments. A threat has descended upon Schatten, a child of chaos who threatens to ruin the loving order our Lord Teufel has bestowed. The protective barriers were removed by Teufel for our unfaithfulness, and he will restore them when the child of chaos is found and brought to me. See that his desires are made known across the land."

The hall exploded into conversation, fear and panic wending through the crowd. Friedrich motioned to his priests, who immediately set to calming and moving the crowd.

Retreating to the altar, he stared into the bowl where his blood still pooled, dark and thick and cold. He swallowed, feeling raw and used and afraid. Tentatively he reached out to the only being that could soothe him, and might be able to answer some of his questions.
Drache?

Beloved.

Is it true? All that he showed me?

Yes, and there is much more he has not—will not, until the moment when it will hurt the most. Nobody excelled at cruelty like Teufel, and nobody was better at ignoring it than Licht.

Drache's bitterness coiled through Friedrich's mind.

Who are you, Drache? Are you me? A memory of me?
Any other day, Friedrich would have been horrified, yet amused in some small way, that he had been enjoying dreams of fucking an ancient version of himself.

The idea did not feel wrong, but it was not right either.

Something like a memory,
Drache replied.
Teufel's hold on me has not loosened enough for me to say more than that.

Does he know about you?

That I speak to you? No. He has rendered me mostly powerless, but not entirely, as he believes.

Friedrich closed his eyes, not knowing what to do. He felt alone, afraid, and helpless. If he did not do as Teufel wanted, Unheilvol would die with him. What could he do except comply? Only a short time ago, he would have been more than happy to comply.

But Teufel had lashed out, woken memories, taunted him, forced him. All Friedrich could remember was defiance, that once upon a time he had felt it necessary to oppose Teufel despite the danger of doing so.

Fate was never meant to be absolute. Licht and Teufel would not accept that.

What do we do?

Find the child of chaos. Take him to Sonnenstrahl. Do whatever you must to help him kill Teufel.