Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (49 page)

The mage moved to the dragon and looked up at him, then closed his eyes. Rai’stahn could feel the binding knots that sealed him from channeling his full might. While Silbane may not have the skills of a Lord of the Old Lore, what he did he did well. Still, it only took a moment for Scythe to unbind Rai’stahn, and when he finished, the mage stepped back and said, "It is done."

Rai’stahn could feel it! His power was free, coursing through his veins, healing and strengthening his body. He could feel it bunch and flex, like lightning aching to strike. He breathed in deeply, then stretched his wings to their full span, reveling in the sheer power of the earth and air around him.

His wings snapped back into place and the dragon-knight looked at the red-robed mage and said, "I wish to kill thee, mortal, but that can wait."

Scythe smiled and said, "Kill Arek and leave me to my purposes. If I succeed, you will still get your wish."

Journal Entry 13

Failure and success of sorts. I find it hard to write "failure," so will call it, "an experiment whose outcome I could not predict."

The fact I am still writing means I survive, though barely. I have tried every version of the wards I know, yet after a time, they all fail. It is as if deep inside I know they are not enough, and I erode them. Ritual is key, but faith is the power.

I look at the last sentence and realize something. I have written that before, but not exactly in the same way. The word "but" creeps into the writing and therefore must also exist in my thoughts. Doubt fills my very journal and condemns me, yet I must keep this as a testament.

I need something else, something here that is unassailable in building my faith. I need to find something to believe in. Perhaps something that is a part of me...

My imps are becoming smarter. Today one watched me for what seemed the entire day. So I decided to speak to it. Strange to hear my own voice in all this desolation. Of course, the mere utterance of any sound scared it away. Hopefully, it will return and we can continue the lesson.

F
IRST
C
OUNCIL

In mastering yourself,

Give away all that one can use against you.

Share your weakest moments willingly,

Tell your deepest fears.

Once uttered, these things lose power over you.

You become a wall to which no doubt can cling.

—Kensei Shun, The Lens of Shields

T
he Last Passage for Lore Father Themun Dreys was a solemn affair and held at the time of the setting sun. The body rested inside a wooden boat as mourners gathered along the beach. The repetitive sound of the waves breaking along the surf was in its own way welcome. It was far off, a building rumble, crash, then bubbling hiss that gave the assembled a sense of peace, as if the entire world waited for the lore father to be put to rest.

Along with the adepts came those elders of the Isle who sought to mourn their loss, these orphans having become part of their family as much as any child born to them. Each carried a small candle set upon a wooden plate. These would be set to float alongside the funeral boat of the lore father. They had chosen a secluded spot on the shore where currents flowed quickly out past the breakers and into the wide, blue expanse of the ocean.

Lore Father Giridian spoke of the life of Themun Dreys, his single-minded vision that kept his people alive and protected. He paid homage to a man who had spent the better part of two centuries protecting those he loved and in his final act, saving the Isle from unknown assailants.

At the proper moment, the boat was launched and set afire. Along with it floated dozens of candles, individual flames of tribute to those who had fallen. The boat blazed orange and yellow, like a sun brought to earth, reflecting its light in the deep blue waters. It made its way out to sea, a shining beacon that illuminated the dark, much as the lore father had done during his long life.

Once concluded, some mourners remained, seating themselves on the beach and gazing out at the sea and the stars as they slowly winked into existence. Others wandered back toward the main halls, their purpose lost with the death of those they cherished. It would be some time before the survivors would heal, but they would never forget.

Lore Father Giridian watched everyone, his concern plainly evident. They needed answers, a reason why this tragedy had occurred, or else there would be no closure. He motioned to Dragor, who came and stood beside him.

"We need to delve deeper into the lore fathers’ memories. The answer to this attack is somewhere in our past," he said.

Dragor looked out across the sea and asked, "To what end? You said the memories of Valarius and Duncan are missing. Even if we find an answer, what will we do about it?"

"Come," the lore father said, moving off the beach and to the Halls, "there is still a lot to be answered for."

They made their way back to the Vault and settled into the chairs they had occupied earlier that day. One of the pages had neatly arranged the books they had found so they could easily continue from where they had left off. Giridian picked up Valarius’s tome and said, "He wrote of demons as emissaries. Why?"

Dragor shrugged, "You know I don’t believe that. We know demons exist on other planes and seek entry into this one. It’s the reason for these periodic incursions by Lilyth and its forces. Families lose loved ones, but we stand guard against them. They are ethereal and need a corporeal body to possess." He looked at the lore father, then grabbed his hand and squeezed the flesh, saying, "It is this existence they crave, for with it they experience the physical pleasures of the body. We are
life
to them."

"What if that is wrong? I have heard it said that demons are more like moths drawn to a flame. They don’t wish it, just as a moth has no desire to be consumed by fire."

"That is absurd. How many died in the last war against Lilyth? Families watched as their children were torn from them and taken through the Gate. This was no involuntary, ‘moth to a flame,’ impulse but true, sinister aggression."

Dragor took the book from Giridian’s hand and flipped through it, stopping on a paragraph that had a few marks in the margin. "Did you make these?"

Giridian looked, and shook his head.

"Listen to this then," Dragor continued. "‘I have concluded the Aeris suffuse our world. Upon creation, they are helpless, existing for no other reason than to bring our focus on the Way into clarity, to breathe life into our spells. They are used, subsumed by our spirit and lost forever. They are the basis of our magic.’ "

"The basis of our magic..." Giridian shook his head. "If that were true, then we, by using the Way, are using the demonkind?"

Dragor simply said, "Aeris. He names them, Aeris."

"So these ‘Aeris’ are used by us, unknowingly? They then become a source of power by which we are able to exercise our spells?"

"Simply not true," Dragor said. "Think about it. Centuries of lore fathers would be hiding this truth from everyone else. To what end?"

Giridian looked at his friend, thinking, then said softly, "Not if they didn’t know, or to keep things as they are." To Dragor’s confused expression, Giridian said, "Freeing the Aeris would mean changing the very fabric of our society. In whose interest is that?"

"No one, least of all Valarius," Dragor admitted. "His hatred of these Aeris brought the last Demon War upon us."

The lore father leaned forward in his chair. "Do you believe he acted, perhaps, in our best interests?" The look on Dragor’s face was enough of an answer, so Giridian continued, "There is something missing here, and I need to see for myself."

Dragor leaned back, his offer to help plainly written on his face. He held out a hand and said, "Do you wish me to...?"

"No, my friend." Giridian smiled, realizing after the first attempt he could do this alone, as every lore father before him clearly had. While he did not believe they would hide something so important, neither did he wish to break the sacrosanctity of his office.

"Perhaps, then, I can wander around and look at things?" Dragor inquired, not quite so innocently.

"Of course, though try not to touch anything," Giridian replied with a smile. "Nothing will harm you, but you never know what might happen. And keep in mind—" he smiled at the younger adept—"the job of Keeper of the Vault is open now."

Dragor nodded, smiling in return, then made his way into the main Vault, his eagerness hard to hide.

Giridian sat back, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the Way. It opened before him easily, a liquid silver flow that brought him dizzyingly to a central point of stars. Each of those stars, he knew, would be one of the lore fathers who preceded him.

Now, the key was to find the right one. Part of him wondered why whomever had created this method of archiving their knowledge had made searching it so absurdly difficult. It was unnecessary and spoke either to a cruel architect, or a clumsy mistake. Regardless, it was something he would look into later.

Now, he needed to focus his attention and look past Themun Dreys to Sonya Illrys, the woman most connected with the time of Valarius’s dismissal. Her knowledge may shed light on his current predicament.

He chose a moment closest to the time when Valarius was still an adept and not yet lore father, hoping to see what events led to his elevation. The search brought his vision to a council in session, over two hundred and fifty years ago.

* * * * *

"He continues his research, though forbidden." A young woman reported, her eyes flashing in anger. Giridian didn’t recognize her, but Sonya’s memory supplied a name: Finnow.

"I trust him, Fin... don’t you?" asked a man Sonya knew as Dale. "He may be reckless, but never has there been one of his power before. Perhaps he sees what we cannot. What if he’s right?"

Finnow spread her arms, clearly exasperated. "That we need to stop these encroachments by waging war? That is absurd, but more dangerous is that he seeks to open a new gate for them, one through which they could invade our world!"

Dale shook his head placatingly and said, "You know he does not wish that."

Finnow said to Dale, with acid in her voice, "You believe his claim they are here now, amongst us, silent and watching?" She laughed, turning to her brethren. "Angels and demons, necessary to give us the commands of our gods?"

"Watch yourself!" admonished Dale. "You presume much, for one so young." The older man looked at the council members and said, "It is easy to say such things, but Valarius has never claimed these creatures speak for our gods."

"Then where is he to explain this?" retorted Finnow. She stepped up to the older man, her withering gaze filled with ire. "Why do you speak for him? The
prince
mocks us, even now."

"So sure of yourself, Finnow?"

The deep voice came from the entrance to the council chamber, where a man stood. A palpable power emanated from him and Giridian knew instantly this could only be Valarius Galadine, brother to the king and crowned prince of Thar. All eyes turned to him as he strode into the chamber and claimed the speaking floor.

Finnow backed away, her eyes downcast. The rest of the council waited to hear what Prince Valarius had to say.

"I apologize for my late arrival. There were matters that necessarily delayed me." He looked around the room, and where his gaze fell people shrank back, but not in fear. This man radiated strength, the kind that made one uncomfortable because of its intensity.

"It is true. There are Aeris amongst us, unseen, unheard." He took measure of the room and the people within it, then looked pointedly at Finnow.

Finnow stood defiantly, her back ramrod straight, and said, "So
you
say. Only you." She nodded to another man seated at the head of the chamber, "Lore Father Damian does not feel their presence, nor do I.
None
of us see what you claim."

Valarius outwardly remained calm, but one could almost feel the storm that brewed within, barely contained. "Must you see something to know it is real?" he challenged. "What of the Way? How does your will, unseen, move the earth?"

Finnow paused, her eyes calculating. Then she said, "Our gods give us the Way. It is blasphemy to deny this, a fact you are well aware of,
prince."
She then looked to the assembled council and said, "It is absurd to believe these Aeris are the source of our power. You make us to be nothing but siphons and leeches?" Her gaze turned stern and she shouted, "Our power stems from the most divine of sources, the power of the
gods,
channeled through us!"

Valarius laughed. "Gods? You believe in unseen gods over unseen Aeris? It is a fine hair you split."

The force of Valarius’s presence made Finnow retreat again, despite herself. Giridian saw her visibly gather her courage, then haltingly reply, "Divine Right. It is our destiny to have the Way, else we would not have it."

"Your argument is at best circular. Our gods do not grant us these rights—"