Looming Shadow: Journey to Chaos book 2 (17 page)

There he stopped to
admire the full-fledged soldiers. These older, buffer, and scarred soldiers
practiced punches, blocks, throws, and techniques with various weapons. He made
a right turn into their midst and was turned away with a “Wait a few years,
trainee.” He obeyed but grumbled intensely about how unfair it was to be stuck
with grunt work.
He's like a male version of Tiza.
Just like he thought,
this boy-Tiza was headed to the laboratory of a mage researching mana mutation.

The Royal Mage worked
in a tower separate from the main castle structure. It stood taller than the
walls by several stories and it was crowned with a dome in the shape of a
traditional wizard hat. Instead of solid stone, it was built with sections of
the red gold called orichalcum.

This material was a
magical insulator; it prevented outside magic from contaminating whatever the
Royal Mage was working on and prevented that work from hurting anyone else in
the case of magical mishaps. During Eric's nine-day library stay, he learned
that securing the resources to make it was the subject of one of Ataidar’s national
sagas and led by one of its royals. Daven brazenly walked up to this monument
of Ataidar's strength and pulled open the door. Invisible and standing behind
him, Eric face-palmed.

Inside the door was a
spiral staircase and little else. Old-fashioned torches lit the path up and
down, but otherwise, it was bare, old, and dark. The only ornamentation were
gouges and black spots from past magic experiments. Daven hesitated on the
threshold and then stepped inside. Eric slammed the door behind him and he jumped
at the clash of metal on stone. Suddenly in darkness, Daven shook with fear.
Eric was at home.

He felt the age of the
tower. It had stood for over five hundred years and it was still the same as it
was when the corner stone was set all those years ago. An age of magical study
in a place of quiet and solitude and shadow; what more could someone like him
want? Daven, on the other hand, quivered as if he were in the lair of an evil
sorcerer.

He took one step and
then another over the ancient stones. Eric followed close enough to breathe on
his neck, only to fall back when the boy turned to swat the air. This went on
for five flights, at which point the boy stopped to catch his breath. Eric was
fine. He did this sort of thing every day during his exile on Threa. His spirit
felt fresh despite maintaining the Dark Veil for so long. This gave him an
idea.

While Daven panted, he
took a deep breath and then let out a maniacal evil laugh. The poor boy jumped
two feet straight up, ran the next four flights, and then dropped to his knees
all the more exhausted. He looked up and down but didn't see anyone nor did he
hear anyone, until Eric stopped holding in his genuine laughter.

“It's you, isn't it,
Trickster's Choice?”

Safe in his darkness,
Eric didn't say a word. The boy turned red and marched up the stairs. In his
anger, he ignored his fatigue. Then he heard the howls of the monsters above
and paused, and Eric continued his giggle fit.
I never realized how fun this
could be!

“I-I'm not scared of
you, Trickster's Choice!” He stood taller. “I'm going to do this!” Despite the
howls growing louder with each step he took, he continued climbing the tower.

Acquiring
confidence...I wonder...

At the summit was an
orichalcum door marked with a gilded sign. A trio of white, black, and blue
staves crossed at their heads to point at something resembling Latin.
I bet
it’s something like “Staff Supports Scepter.”
The door was reinforced with
ten locks, but all of them were loose and the door ajar.

Inside was a plush room
of carpets and leather furniture. The walls were still bare, if elegant, stone
and the room was still lit only by torch light, but this room possessed an
array of equipment more exotic than anything he’d seen outside. Shadow Dengel
appeared in their midst and admired them.

I know what they can
do and what they are for. Do you understand any of this?

Eric ignored the thing
that didn't exist and its question. Instead, he turned his attention to the
farthest point away from the machinery, the Royal Mage's desk. It was old oak
and varnished to a shine and Shadow Dengel obstructed his view of it by
teleporting in front of it.

Of course you do
not. You are a mere novice while I am the Founder of Magecraft.

Eric walked through the
figment for a closer look and saw the desk was covered in notes, files, reports,
and other paper. One of them related to elfin technology, another to the Bladi clan's
branch of magecraft, a third to soulcraft and a fourth to ordercraft. Each one
was directly related to the cure and treatment of mana mutation. Failing that,
they suggested a means of controlling or taming the monsters so they could be
useful to society.

Absent-minded child!
Shadow Dengel boomed.
Did you forget why you are here!?

“That kid must have
looked at these and then then moved on,” Eric thought aloud. “Now I know what
he's up to.”

Still ignoring the
phantom, he looked for another door. Beyond the strange equipment was a
stainless steel slab, more a gate than a door, and set into the wall apart from
the desk. Every square inch of it, and the surrounding wall, was covered in
every rune Eric knew for protection or restraint and many more he didn’t know. Overall,
it looked like the entrance to a dungeon. It was also open and the howls he
heard on the stairs were coming from inside.

Dozens of caged
monsters made a cacophony of noise, fighting their prisons. There were many
species and many breeds, but they were all stark raving mad due to the chaos
addling their minds. All of them were clustered around a large, black cauldron.
The liquid bubbled, hissed, and smelled of iron, even from the doorway. A solid
wave of other smells were mixed in: sweat, blood, dirt, waste, and one hundred
and one chemicals. Daven stood next to it with a ladle.

Eric dismissed the Dark
Veil and said, “Might that be a love potion?”

Daven turned and
pointed at him. “It
was
you! I KNEW it!”

“Then why were you so
scared? In your queen's castle, you were stalked by a trickster's straight man,
and yet I could
smell
your fear.”

“I made it here, didn't
I? I faced my fear and now I have what I came for! You lost!” He dipped the
ladle into the grey liquid and poured it into a container bearing a simple
tree; a symbol of Noitearc.

“That stuff is
dangerous. You could hurt yourself or someone else. Put it back.”

“Make me, Trickster's
Choice!”

Eric locked their gazes
and poured forth his Evil Eye. Darkness filled Daven’s mind and froze his body.
The horror of a xethras pack on the hunt was inflicted upon his innocent mind.

 “
This
is what
it's like to be terrified, to be enraged, to be helpless. In other words, it's
what will happen to you if you continue with this stupid plan.” He grabbed the
vial and wrenched it out of the boy's paralyzed hand. Then he blinked and Daven
shivered.

“...D-d-darkness...s-s-so
c-cold and dark...” Eric waited for him to recover, at which point he grabbed
for the vial and shouted, “Give that back!”

Eric kept him at bay
with his barrier. Daven punched as hard as he could, but he couldn't dent it.
All he did was hurt his own hand. Eric held the vial before his eyes.

“Is it worth getting
mauled to impress your crush?”

“Crush?” He blushed.
“I-I don't have a crush on anyone.”

“Your plan is to use
this stuff to tame a monster, give yourself a scar, and then kill it in front
of a bunch of people. You're hoping to impress that girl whose hero-worshiping
my teammate and your ultimate goal is a peck on the cheek from her.” 

The boy paused.

“Yeah, I thought so.
Now how about we go back to the infirmary and forget all this happened?”

Reluctantly, the boy
turned to go, only to watch the door slam shut and lock. With his Magic Sight,
Eric saw all the many magical wards activate and seal them inside. While he
wondered who would want to lock them here or who would know they were here at
all, every cage opened.

Mammalian monsters
drooled in anticipation of the meal. Reptilian monsters slithered into a circle
surrounding them. Flying monsters hovered over them, squawking and slashing the
air with their talons. The air between them was filled by insects buzzing
malevolently. A silver-grey aura enveloped them all and bleached color from the
surroundings. One voice declared, “No soul escapes the all-seeing eye. No power
exists beyond the all-controlling hand. Resistance is forlorn.”

The aura vanished and
the monsters descended on their prey. Daven screamed and a pale blue aura burst
from within him. It occupied the horde for three seconds, retracted in upon
itself, and the boy fainted. Eric stood over him. He ducked, blocked, cast, and
slashed, and was himself bitten, slashed, smashed, and burned. Then, suddenly,
nothing.

A brilliant flame lit
up the room and Kasile was at his side. Between her fiery aura and the venom in
his veins that blurred his vision, she looked like her ancestor, the fire
goddess Fiol. She put a gloved hand on his chest and flames shot forth into his
wounds. It was excruciatingly painful but also pleasant; like coming into a
warm home after hours in the frigid cold. A stretch of time passed and his
wounds were closed; not cauterized, but truly healed.

“Thanks...Kas...” he said
drowsily.

She giggled. “You have
the dopiest look on your face.”

He sat up and piles of
ash slid off him. It filled the room one foot deep and smelled of both burnt
flesh and sweet incense. The concentration and combination of the two made him
gag. Daven lay off to the side and still unconscious.

“I vaporized the
monsters with my holy flames.” She raised her right hand and a stream of
glistening fire appeared. “I assume you know all about it.”

Eric rolled his eyes.
“Of course. Your divine ancestor is mentioned more often in the library and
everywhere else than any other avatar. Did you receive a vision of my gruesome
death?”

Kasile arose and her
dress shimmered like the dawn. The ashes of monsters slid off her skirts as if
they had never been there. Then she reached down and helped Eric up.

“Sort of. The Trickster
crashed my meeting with the Knight of Economics and drew my attention to the
Royal Mage's tower. I saw the monsters with my divinely powered eyes and fired
a holy flame arrow to destroy them while sparing any innocent trapped inside.”

“But the orichalcum...”

“
Holy
flame
arrow.” Kasile flipped her hair. “I have long since left the boundaries of
mortal magecraft.”

“So you taught yourself
avatarcraft, ran a country, and promoted mana mutation research all at the same
time?”

Her trickster smile
appeared. “You forgot studying the new recruits to learn what will best
motivate them, rein in a pompous mage with one of greater caliber and equal
standing, confirm the heritage of your healer friend, and select the prefect
tool…” She winked at Eric. “...to appease the Dengel apologists and mend the
bridges between Ataidar and Dnnac Ledo, thus positioning my country to benefit
the most from any leases of elfin technology at the expense of others. All the
while directing attention to my cat's paw and presenting myself in the most
flatteringly divine light.”

Eric was silent.
Suddenly, he realized why she looked so tired.

“Kas, you seriously
need to mellow out.”

She snorted, then
yawned and smiled. “Now that you're back, I think I can.” 

Again, she hugged him
was hugged in return. She breathed slowly and deeply, more stress leaving her
body. Eric stroked her back to help things along and she responded with a
pleased groan. Silently, Eric vowed to do what he could to help her bear this
burden.

After all, I am her “co-conspirator.”

“YOUR MAJESTY!”

Kasile's eyes popped
open and she pushed Eric away. He stumbled while she made minor adjustments to
her hair and skirts. She had time for one calming breath before the shouter
reached the doorway. It was the Royal Mage.

He was an old human man
with orange hair. He wore a leather lab coat smudged with the potion in the
cauldron. It was held tight at his neck with a bow tie. He looked nervously
from his boss to the piles of ash to the unconscious boy and back again.

“Y-your Majesty!
I-I.... would have... cleaned if I knew you were coming!”

Kasile smiled coldly.
“I am no stranger to ashes, but I am to any results your research has
produced.” She gestured to a cluttered work desk. “Would you please introduce
us?”

The Royal Mage at once
pulled out drawers and yanked out papers, all the while babbling magi-gibberish
and “creative differences” with the consultant she hired. Kasile looked down
her nose at him with her cold fire eyes and icy smile. If Eric hadn't held a
stressed-out version of her in his arms a moment ago, he'd be scared too.

“I would hate for this to become a repeat
of your attempt to raise the dead.” 

This sent the old man into a greater hurry
and he accidentally shut his hand in a drawer. He bit his lip and continued
hustling.

“Raise the dead?” Eric asked. Kasile looked
at him with her cold eyes and sent an annoyed expression through their link.
“Uhh...forgive my speaking out of turn, Your Majesty, but I love learning our
country's history and so I spoke without thinking.”

Aio was never alive to begin with...

“It was a disaster. All he succeeded in
doing was reanimating corpses with a pre-programmed script. When he submitted
them to the Knight of Magic, she was so repulsed that I was left with no choice
but to blame The Trickster and cancel the project.”