Fablehaven: The Complete Series (246 page)

“Well,” Seth said, gathering his thoughts, wondering what the voice wanted to hear.

“Don’t bother with words,” the voice said. “I just needed to get you thinking along the right track. Zzyzx is really so close to falling? And Graulas is running the Society?”

“Yes. You know about Zzyzx?”

“Perhaps I should introduce myself.” A sword appeared toward the back of the room, standing vertically, blade in the ground, visible only as a black silhouette, but surrounded by a corona of pristine white light that illuminated the entire chamber. It was not a large room, round with a domed ceiling. One other person inhabited the room, off to one side, a strange, decaying zombie. Every part of his body except his head and one arm had turned to stone.

“What happened to you?” Seth asked, aghast.

“I am Morisant,” the zombie answered. His voice seemed very lucid considering how corroded his head and arm appeared. “I can tell the name means nothing to you.”

“Sorry,” Seth said. “Should it?”

“I was the chief architect of Zzyzx.”

“What? I thought wizards made Zzyzx.”

“Precisely,” the semipetrified zombie answered.

“You’re a wizard?” Seth asked.

“I am all that remains of a once powerful wizard. Ages ago, some might have considered me the most influential wizard in the world. I see you know Agad. I am glad to know he is well. He assisted me with Zzyzx.”

“How did you end up here?” Seth asked.

“There is more than one answer to that question. I am here because Agad put me here. That is an accurate response. I am here because I was master of Vasilis. Also accurate. Best answer? I am here because of hubris.”

“Hubris?”

“That unhealthy variety of pride which leads a man to destroy himself. You see, sometimes, when a person gains too much power, he believes he is above the rules that apply to others. You’re aware that wizards live a long time.”

“Right.”

“I was the eldest of the wizards who created Zzyzx. The eldest by far. Wizards age slowly, but nevertheless we age. To a human, we may seem immortal, but death still awaits us in the end. Even enormous quantities of time inevitably pass. When my end drew near, in defiance of the wisdom my long life should have granted, I opted to cheat death.”

“What happened?” Seth asked, fascinated.

“I turned myself into one of the undead,” Morisant said with regret. “I wove a complicated spell of my own design, a spell so complex and potent that I believed I could fully preserve my mental faculties and continue my life in an undead body.”

“Sounds like it failed.”

“Something was lost,” Morisant said. “I did manage to sustain most of my intellect. But certain sensitivities abandoned me, unforeseen appetites wakened, and my sword, Vasilis, began to lose its luster. I found ways to ignore the changes. I refused to admit my mistake, particularly to myself. Over time, I became a different person. Indeed, I became a threat to the safety of the world. My most trusted colleagues were forced to capture me and bind me here in this prison, changing most of my body to stone in the process. I vowed they would never take my sword, and, as they lacked the power to do so, they chose to hide me away with Vasilis, making me the guardian of the blade I had wielded in life.”

“Wow,” Seth said. “You seem to be back in control of yourself.”

“Do I? Centuries trapped in this cell have provided ample opportunity for reflection. I have recognized my mistakes and mastered my inability to slake my appetites. But don’t be fooled. I am no longer the same man I used to be. My nature is fundamentally corrupted. I fought against darkness my whole life, only to become everything I despised. My only hope for atonement is to undo the perversions I sired and submit to the inevitable.”

Seth glanced at the sword. “So what now? Do I have to pass a test?”

“I have waited a long time for the arrival of one worthy to wield Vasilis. Some candidates have been slain by the Standing Dead. The rest were slain by me, after I examined their minds. Your need is just, as are your intentions. Should you fail, Vasilis will have been honorably employed. Should you succeed, the Singing Sisters will serve as suitable guardians. They will certainly never wield it. The sword is yours under one condition.”

“What?”

“You use it to dispatch me, then put to rest the Standing Dead.”

Seth stared at the pathetic zombie. He had almost forgotten that part of his mission was to rid this area of evil. “But you’re nice.”

“Many would disagree. I prolonged my life unnaturally. Please remedy this mistake, or I will have to slay you and wait for another. Believe me, Seth, you will be killing me in self-defense. My death is the only way for both of us to get what we need.”

“What about the Standing Dead?” Seth asked.

“I created them,” Morisant said. “A mindless undead legion, loyal only to me. After my capture, I turned them into effective guardians. It will be a mercy to unmake them. Not to mention, you must keep your promise to the Totem Wall, or you will never escape with your life. Will you do as I ask? Don’t lie, I will know.”

“I’ll do it,” Seth said, thinking of Coulter, and of his family.

“Thank you,” Morisant said with great relief.

“Do you have any advice? Can you help me? If Zzyzx falls, I’m not sure what to do.”

“You’re on the proper course, in ways you may not yet understand. I tried to design Zzyzx intelligently. I am glad that Bracken is with you. Try to get word to Agad. He could be useful. Ancient magic bound the demons; ancient magic might save you. Not to minimize the threat. This horde of demons is stronger than any force you could possibly muster. Should the chance arise, give Bracken and Agad my regards. Thank them for me, and please convey that I hold no grudges.”

“Is there any trick to the sword?” Seth asked.

“None. Vasilis reflects and reinforces the heart and mind of the wielder. As a young, loyal, courageous, well-intentioned shadow charmer, you should find the sword formidable in your grasp. I see you have a sister. Fairykind. That could prove interesting.” Morisant paused as if lost to internal musings.

“You were saying?” Seth prompted.

Morisant snapped out of his stupor. “The sheath rests beside the door. Do not unsheathe the blade more often than necessary. Should you fall, no enemy can claim Vasilis, only a friend. In life, the sword can only be given away voluntarily. A single caution? Vasilis is powerful, and power can have an adverse effect on the heart and mind, which can in turn alter the sword. Many have acquired the sword while walking in the light, only to lose it in darkness.”

“I’ll do my best,” Seth promised.

“Coulter would be proud. Now, Seth Sorenson, I hereby transfer Vasilis into your care, on condition that you release me and my fellow abominations from our necrotic prisons. Take up the sword and keep your promise.”

Seth crossed the room to where the sword stuck out of the ground. He could hardly believe he had made it this far. Maybe he really would keep his promise to Coulter! Maybe he would find a way to stop the demons and save his family.

When he grabbed the hilt, warmth flooded through him. The dark blade burst into red flames, and the white radiance became scarlet. The blade came out of the ground easily. The sword felt less like something in his grasp and more like an extension of his arm. His emotions were magnified—his fury at Graulas keener, his sense of purpose clearer, the concern for his family more poignant. The courage he had struggled to find when facing the Standing Dead now seemed to spring from an unending well.

Seth whirled to face Morisant. The undead wizard looked even more wretched by the blazing red light.

“Yes,” the wizard said, obviously delighted. “You will be most formidable.”

Seth strode forward and raised the sword. He knew what he had to do, yet he hesitated.

“You promised, Seth,” the wizard reminded him. “It is a true act of mercy.” The wizard raised his voice. “Let it be known that Morisant the Magnificent died in possession of himself! Better late than never.”

The pathetic ruin of a man closed his eyes, and Seth brought the sword down with a fiery whoosh. Morisant instantly burst into flames. Within seconds his corrupted flesh had been entirely consumed.

Seth walked out of the room to where the Standing Dead waited in their columns and rows. Was it his imagination, or did Vasilis feel eager in his hands, tugging him forward? As he stalked through the room cutting down the Standing Dead, setting those tinder-dry corpses ablaze, he found himself wondering if he was wielding the sword, or if the sword was wielding him. The weapon felt alive in his hands, seemingly rejoicing at the massacre. Or was he the one rejoicing? Minutes ago, these burning figures had tried to kill him. Now he was mowing through them like the Grim Reaper during a manic phase. Every swing of the sword felt so natural, so perfect, it was as if he were performing some violent, predestined dance. Without screams, without blood, without any evidence of pain, the Standing Dead crumbled to ash around him, until he stood alone, surveying the empty room by the flaming glare of his sword.

Only then did he realize that he had forgotten the sheath.

Seth returned to the room where Morisant had perished and picked up the sheath. Without his torch, he would need the light from his blade to guide him out, so he held the sheath in one hand and Vasilis in the other. The coldness of this subterranean lair forgotten, Seth marched out radiating fervent heat.

The Alder Door opened as he approached, and he stepped out into the noonday sunlight. The door closed behind him. For a pregnant moment, the Totem Wall watched him in silence.

“Now, that is a sword!” the Hunter exclaimed.

Seth sheathed it, and experienced an immediate sense of loss. He suddenly felt tired, and clammy, and much smaller. The faces of the Totem Wall chattered and cheered as Seth crossed to the stump, scrambled up, and retrieved his things. He paused, studying the animated wall. The jubilant clamor was unintelligible. He heard no English.

Satisfied that the Totem Wall seemed content, he climbed down from the stump. Without a backward glance, Seth hurried to rejoin his friends.

Chapter 24

Civia

With an overcast sky hiding the sun, Raxtus landed silently on a side street near the grocery store parking lot. Remaining invisible, the dragon took off again, leaving Kendra and Bracken behind. Bracken raced along the sidewalk, bearskin cape flapping, Kendra at his heels. Jumping over the low bushes bordering the sidewalk, they dashed across the parking lot and hurried into the back of an SUV.

Warren waited in the driver’s seat. “Nice outfit, Bracken. You really blend.”

“Is she still in the store?” Bracken asked.

Warren checked his wristwatch. “Almost eight minutes. I’ve been tailing her for about two hours. The info you relayed from Niko took me right to her apartment.”

“Good,” Bracken said. “No sign of our adversaries?”

“Not yet. Without an evident threat, I didn’t want to approach her solo. I’m not a unicorn, I’m not fairykind—I have no way to prove I’m an ally.”

“Probably wise,” Bracken agreed. “Besides, there wasn’t much you could do to help her escape until Raxtus arrived. Our inside source at the Society told me a new assassin was dispatched to help bring down the last Eternal. He said the others have orders to wait for the newcomer before moving in. It should buy us some time. Apparently they tried to take her out a couple of weeks ago in South America but blew the chance. She’s supposed to be slippery.”

“Her name is Civia?” Warren asked.

“So I hear from our source,” Bracken said. “The source also hinted that the new assassin they sent out might somehow work in our favor.”

“Let’s hope your source is reliable,” Warren said doubtfully.

“I’d rather not bet the fate of the world on it,” Bracken said.

“Don’t you have armor?” Warren asked Kendra.

“Everything I had got soaked,” Kendra explained. “We had to stop and get dry clothes. I’m actually glad. Armor isn’t my thing. I felt clunky.”