Shroud of Eternity

CHAPTER 15

As thin clouds scudded across the early-afternoon sky, Nathan walked up to the fleshmancer’s dwelling, curious, eager, and a little nervous. He counted on this gifted man’s abilities, hoping to find a simple and straightforward solution to his lack of magic. Red’s commands had led him here.

Andre’s mansion was easy enough to find, not at the top of the plateau where some of the other duma members lived, but partway down the layers of the uplifted city, not far from a spectacular outdoor arena and sandstone outcroppings. The fleshmancer’s home was a large and impressive structure, three stories high with several connected wings on spacious grounds. The walls were built from quarried white stone. Tall fluted pillars held up the portico and arched walls in an open-air courtyard.

As Nathan walked up the pathway, his boots crunched on the crushed stone that glittered with veins of crystal. The exotic gardens captured his attention like a hunter seizing a bird and refusing to let go. The lush hedges had an eerie undertone of unreality, the interlaced branches folded, then folded back on themselves as if they had been slowly tortured, broken, then improperly healed. Bright orange flowers looked like hibiscus, though their perfume smelled oddly bitter. The trees in the garden were stunted and malformed, their trunks bent over at improbable angles, then twisted back up, like a goose whose neck had been broken in two places. Even the repressed fruit trees spilled forth a blizzard of pink blossoms.

In a special section of the garden, Nathan paused before shoulder-high flowers with thick stalks and heads as large as his own, like sunflowers with scarlet petals. As he leaned forward for a closer look, Nathan saw that all the seeds in the center glittered and moved, like insect eyes.

Nathan felt a chill, but also a fascination. True, these plants seemed different, but he couldn’t see anything threatening about them, if one didn’t insist on the original patterns the Creator had used. In a way, he gave Andre credit for his imagination and originality.

Nathan had studied many obscure magical tomes in Cliffwall, searching how he might recover his gift, but he had found no clues there. As each day went by without him being able to do simple things such as lighting a fire or shining a light, Nathan longed to have his gift back. He tried to hide how much he depended on magic, because he was competent enough without the powers of a wizard. By necessity, he had become a much better swordsman, for example.

But he felt hollow. Something was missing inside him, and it didn’t reflect who he was. After the star shift unraveled his gift of prophecy, he had lost so much more. And whenever he felt a tiny flicker of his magic coming back, the results were grossly distorted amplifications or ricochets of his intent. He didn’t dare attempt to use his magic, nor did he dare to remain helpless. He needed his gift back, badly, and he was betting that someone in Ildakar—Andre, he hoped—would help him. He was willing to do whatever might be necessary to accomplish that.

“I see you admiring my garden, hmmm?” Andre emerged from his villa and stood under an entry arch draped with snakelike vines. He casually leaned against one of the fluted columns.

Though startled by his sudden appearance, Nathan showed no reaction other than to give a grateful smile to the man. “The plants are most unusual. Where did you find such strange specimens?”

“Find them?” Andre laughed. “Why, I created them. Most were just flights of fancy, but a few served as practice for other experiments I had in mind.” The fleshmancer drew down his lips. “I learn a great deal of unique knowledge by tearing living things apart, studying how they work, then reassembling them.”

Nathan stepped past the looming red eyeflowers. “I hope you can use some of that special knowledge to help me.”

The other man tugged on the knot of his braided beard. “Indeed, former wizard, you pose an interesting challenge. I promise I will study your condition in great detail and perform any necessary experiments to discover an answer. Shall we begin, hmmm?”

Nathan followed the man inside a cavernous foyer supported by tall pillars. He was glad for the fleshmancer’s assistance, even if Andre seemed to be doing it more to satisfy his own curiosity than to assist a fellow wizard. Andre led him into the first wing, which seemed oddly dark even in the bright afternoon. Although the ceilings were mostly open, they had been draped with indigo-dyed cloth, which gave the interior a nighttime feel. Simmering magical pots of light shone in alcoves and corners.

In the large yet somehow claustrophobic room, Nathan saw three long clean tables, each large enough to hold an outstretched man. He heard the sounds of bubbling fluid and the faint hiss of mist escaping from partially closed containers. The air was thick and moist, laced with an undertone of spoiled food and caustic powders.

Shelves along the walls held small colored glass bottles or opaque jars full of powders. Aquariums filled with murky liquids held strange shapeless objects. Nearby, he saw a tank with clearer water and a fishlike thing swimming in it, its jagged fins so long they reminded him of the feathers of a tropical bird. Cautious, yet curious, Nathan walked toward a tank that held clotted swirls of liquid and a shadowy shape that looked something like a severed hand.

Standing proudly, Fleshmancer Andre said, “Living forms are like clay. Bone, muscle, flesh, even hair is mutable in a skilled fleshmancer’s hand. I am the sculptor. I am the potter. I look at living creatures as raw material from which I can make whatever is necessary … or whatever I wish.”

Nathan looked around at the three empty tables, the numerous unlabeled bottles on the shelves, the oddly shaped but sharp tools in basins or on platters, and his imagination filled in details of what Andre actually did here. “This is where you conduct your experiments?”

“This is where I do my work.” The fleshmancer patted Nathan on the shoulder, let his fingers linger on the tall wizard’s arm, tracing down the sleeve of the green silk robe. “And this is where I will study you. My main living quarters are in the back, but I spend the bulk of my time here in this wing, with my various dissection and reassembly chambers, my performance tables, and of course the recovery gallery.”

With the three tables lined up and waiting for patients, or specimens, this place reminded Nathan of an empty battlefield hospital, joined with an abattoir. He pushed back his anxiety, focusing on the goal. “Let’s get on with it—I need to find answers. Thank you for welcoming me into your laboratory.”

Andre chuckled. “My laboratory, hmmm? I prefer to think of it as my studio. Fleshmancy is an art, and I have created many masterpieces. I scrutinize my subjects, my specimens. I treat them as raw material, blank canvases, and I imagine how they can be improved.”

Nathan flinched as the strange fish splashed in the nearby tank, and he cleared his throat. He wanted this too badly. “I could be greatly improved, if we restore my gift. Then I’d show I am a wizard as powerful as any here in Ildakar.”

“Oh, that would be a thing to see. I’d better inspect you thoroughly first, hmmm?” Andre faced him. As he absently stroked the braided beard on the point of his chin, the expression went out of his gray eyes, as if the fleshmancer had stopped seeing the wizard in front of him, but instead saw something else. He tugged on the silken folds of Nathan’s robe. “Disrobe, so I can have a look at you.”

Nathan felt awkward. “You wish me to stand here naked so you can poke and prod?”

“Yes. I do.” Just the night before, the nobles of Ildakar had talked about wild, crowded pleasure parties, where no doubt there would have been enough naked forms on display to last a lifetime. Andre raised his eyebrows. “You said you wanted my help?”

Surprised at his own reticence, Nathan drove back his embarrassment. He was tall, handsome, and well built, with nothing to be ashamed of. Andre tugged at the sash that held the borrowed wizard’s robe closed, and Nathan shrugged out of it, letting the green garment ripple off his shoulders and slither down to the floor. He stepped out of the pool of fabric. Though the chamber was hot and stuffy, Nathan felt a tickle of gooseflesh up and down his sides.

“My smallclothes as well?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Andre sniffed. “You wanted your magic restored everywhere, didn’t you?”

With a sigh, Nathan submitted and stood completely unclothed before the alarmingly eager fleshmancer.

Andre walked around him, studying the old wizard’s well-toned form. He made nonverbal noises, some questioning, some approving. Nathan had been preserved for a thousand years in the Palace of the Prophets, and since leaving there, he had exercised and maintained his physical appearance. Women had never been disappointed in him.

But Andre showed an unhealthy analytical fascination for his body. Standing behind Nathan, Andre ran his flat palm across the other man’s back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, then down the bumps of his vertebrae. Nathan felt the lingering touch, and a heated flush came to his cheeks. He forced himself to remain motionless for the inspection.

Andre came around to the front, humming to himself. He reached out with a finger to touch Nathan’s forehead, then traced the side of his face, running the fingertip up to the top again, forming an oval. “I sense the lines of Han in you, like scars, but I also see how the tracks have faded … as a scar fades.”

“I don’t want my gift to fade,” Nathan said.

“That is what we’re trying to fix, hmmm? We may have to find your gift elsewhere and re-graft it onto you, assemble you again from your very core … the way I have so successfully put together other specimens for the combat arena.” He grinned so widely that Nathan could see all his slightly uneven teeth. “Chief Handler Ivan says that my creations have made our arena exhibitions more spectacular than any previously seen in Ildakar’s history. I help develop new fighting beasts for precisely that purpose.”

“Fighting beasts?” Nathan thought of the horrific monster they had encountered in the scrub oak grove. “I think we encountered one of them, a creature that looked like a bear.”

Andre nodded. “Hmmm, several of our combat bears got loose. They are very difficult to kill, much more terrible than a normal bear.”

“We killed it,” Nathan said, “but the task was not easy.”

“Ahh, that is sad. I worked hard to create such a thing.” When the fleshmancer shrugged, his bony shoulders popped up and down. He bent lower to touch Nathan’s chest, then followed some sort of invisible line down his abdomen. “But my creatures are designed to fight and kill … and die. I suppose that one served its purpose.”

He pressed down on Nathan’s stomach and traced his left hip. Nathan shivered and grew more tense.

Suddenly, shouts echoed from the courtyard beyond the large arched foyer. Gruff male voices called out, “Fleshmancer! We have materials for you. A practice fight between two of Adessa’s warriors left them both nearly dead. We thought you could save them … or use them.”

Distracted, Andre snapped his attention away from Nathan’s naked form. “Dress yourself—I’ve seen all I need. Let us go see what wondrous things have come to us.”

The fleshmancer bustled out as Nathan hurriedly donned his green robe and gathered his dignity. Leaving the laboratory room under the dark blue fabrics, they rushed out into the bright sunlight.

Waiting at the end of the crushed-stone path stood a wooden cart drawn by a single glum-looking yaxen. One outflung, bloody human arm flopped over the side of the cart. Andre peered eagerly down into the bed. Nathan joined him and looked at the bodies of two well-muscled men wearing only loincloths, their skin laced with a webwork of old scars as well as fresh, open wounds that oozed blood. Both were mortally injured, barely clinging to life. One of the two men was shaved bald, but with a round swatch of his skull waxy and pale from a long-healed head wound. Blood bubbled up from his neck, where a blade had cut deep, nearly to the spine.

“The sword practically lopped off his head,” said one of the men at the cart. “A blunted sword! It was supposed to be a practice fight.”

The second worker had blue-black whiskers that stuck out from his chin like wires. He flashed a strangely excited grin. “Adessa commands them to fight as if their lives depend on it … and sometimes I think the warriors want to die.”

“They live only to fight and die,” Andre said dismissively. “Now let’s see what we can make of these two.”

Nathan stood there, feeling flustered and out of place as he heard the dying men groan and gurgle. They both bled from chest wounds, deep sword thrusts to their sides; they had nearly hacked each other to pieces. The bald warrior’s foot had been mangled and his right arm had been lopped off at the elbow.

“Carry them inside to the studio. Better hurry.” Andre’s voice was vibrant and animated now. He smiled at Nathan. “I apologize for the distraction, but this will occupy my attention today.” He bustled behind the two cart workers as they manhandled the dying warriors, lifting the hacked bodies out of the cart and dragging them through Andre’s well-manicured garden into the mansion. He led them into the main room under the dark blue fabrics. “Use two of the clean tables, hmmm? Adjacent ones. I want the specimens next to each other.”

The men did as they were told, showing no hesitation, no queasiness. After they had hauled the victims onto the tables, Andre chased them away. “Thank Adessa for me, and let Chief Handler Ivan know I may have something interesting to turn loose for an upcoming exhibition.”

The two blood-spattered workers were all too happy to depart, without waiting to be paid.

Nathan wanted to leave as well, but he felt obligated to remain, though not sure how he could help. He remained in the background, trying not to get in the way, and also reluctant to be splashed with the warriors’ blood. He was close enough to hear their sickening groans.

Andre circled the tables as he gathered tools, decanters, and powders, flasks filled with bright liquids, packets of dried herbs. Nathan noticed that the perimeter of each table was etched with faint and obscure spell-forms, binding labyrinths designed to keep a patient’s lifeblood confined while the fleshmancer did his work.

He looked up at Nathan as if he were a colleague. “These were two well-recognized fighters from the combat pits, trained for years. Very strong. Good specimens.”

“They appear to be dying,” Nathan said. “And I’ve seen more dying men than I care to remember.”

“Yes, they may be dying, but we can still use them.” Andre moved about frenetically. “There’s not much time. This one here is nearly dead.” He indicated the deep neck wound, the burbling blood. “With the loss of the arm and the damaged leg, the rest of his body is useless. But his head appears mostly intact. The other one will heal … but perhaps he could benefit from the Han of the first. Two together. They will live to be more than the sum of their parts.” He seemed to be dancing with glee. “I have never done this before. Grafting one man’s head onto the shoulders of another. Which brain will be dominant, I wonder? Hmmm?”

Nathan was horrified. “Do you really mean to put a second head on the first man’s shoulders?”

“Why not? It’s perfectly possible with fleshmancy. I will have to split and move the vertebrae in order to create a proper anchor point for the necks.” He spoke faster, like a chef making plans for a large banquet. “I will extrude the nerves and connect them to the brain of the second head. From there, fusing blood vessels and connecting flesh is a simple matter, like a sculptor manipulating clay.”

“Dear spirits,” Nathan muttered, “I don’t know what to say. Why would you do such a thing?”

Andre blinked at the seemingly absurd question. “Because I can. Because it would be interesting.”

Nathan felt deep doubts as to whether this man could help him with his own problem. He wasn’t sure he wanted the fleshmancer to reshape his flesh and his mind, and his own Han.

Andre seemed impatient. “Without your gift, you cannot assist me in the operation, Nathan. In fact, your lack of magic may dampen my own abilities. I’d rather you left the studio now. Let me mull over how to restore your gift, but I’ve seen enough to determine a solution. It is obvious what’s wrong with you.”

Nathan had begun to retreat, but those words brought him to a stop. “You know what made me lose my magic?”

“The gift is intrinsic to you, but you have lost the heart of a wizard. You need to gain it back. Some spark within you changed with the star shift, but it can be fixed.”

“How?” Nathan asked.

The two dying warriors groaned and coughed on the table, bleeding out into the spell-confined troughs. The one with the grievous neck wound fell into an ominous gurgling silence.

“Your heart must be replaced with that of a powerful, gifted man, and then your Han will be whole. You will once again be the great wizard that you always wanted to be.” The fleshmancer bent over the two bleeding forms in front of him, his attention drawn away from Nathan. “But that cannot be done today. Leave me to do my work before time runs out, and these two poor souls become little more than useless hunks of meat.”

Disheartened and sickened, Nathan hurried from Andre’s dwelling.