The God-Stone War

Chapter 10

The next few days passed slowly. My experience on the edge of death had exhausted me far more than I had expected. Worse, I had begun hearing a faint song, one that I had never noticed before, a dissonant sound. I avoided thinking on it directly, but it bothered me.

After a week had passed I returned to Albamarl, to see my friend Marc. Since I had been convalescing over the past few days no one expected to see me out and about, so I took the opportunity to sneak out and visit him without any of my usual escorts.

He was surprised to see me when I turned up one afternoon. I had teleported into the house in Albamarl, and after a brief search I found him downstairs. He appeared to be organizing a chest of clothing and other sundries. “You’re going to leave that soon?” I asked suddenly.

“Holy!” he exclaimed, as he jerked and fell away from me. “Damn Mordecai! You scared me within an inch of my life.”

“That was my plan,” I retorted.

He grimaced before standing up and embracing me. “I heard you nearly found an early grave yourself.”

“The rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated.”

“I’m sure Penny didn’t appreciate your close call,” he observed.

I snorted. “I probably would have passed on, but she wouldn’t give the grim reaper permission to enter the room. Did you hear about her battle with the assassin who tried to kill King Nicholas?”

Marc laughed, “Yes indeed. For a woman who is no longer your Anath’Meridum she still has the instincts of a rabid tigress.”

“You try chasing four children around all day… the man is lucky she was in a good mood,” I replied.

“He survived?”

“No, her final blow broke his nose and killed him near instantly. If she had been in a bad mood, she might have drawn things out for a while,” I explained. “The one good thing that came of the whole thing is that the King of Gododdin now regards her as his personal savior.”

Marc grinned, “You can never have too many friends.”

Those words and his smile sent a shadow across my heart, as I thought of his words at our last meeting. There are some friends you can never replace, I thought silently. “Where is Marissa?” I asked, hoping to distract myself from those thoughts.

“Shopping,” he replied simply. “There are a hundred different things we need for our journey.”

“So we have the place to ourselves?” I said amiably. “Like a couple of old bachelors.”

“Hardly,” he remarked. “You haven’t been an old bachelor since… hell, you were never an old bachelor! You went straight from teenager to married life.”

“You have me there,” I admitted.

He shrugged. “Stop changing the subject. Did they ever figure out who tried to assassinate you?”

“James had the palace searched from top to bottom,” I began, “and by the time it was done, they found two more accomplices hiding in the wine cellar, not that it did us much good. We still aren’t even sure who their primary target was.”

“They wouldn’t talk?” Marc frowned.

I shook my head, “They took poison. They were dead within half an hour of being captured.”

“Fanatics,” Marc noted. “You had best be careful my friend.”

“That seems like a snap judgment,” I offered.

“Not many will take poison.”

I thought for a moment, “Perhaps they preferred that to torture.”

“Did they find out how they got into the palace?” he asked.

“According to the seneschal, they were all hired as guardsmen over the past year. They didn’t have to ‘get’ in, they were supposed to be there,” I said, relating the news I had heard from Dorian two days before.

“And they all had guard duty in the dining hall on the same day?” Marc asked with a curious tone in his voice.

“Of course not,” I said dismissively. “As they soon found out, they slew several of their fellow guardsmen and took their places on the roster that evening. They found the bodies hidden in the stables.”

“You’re lucky there were only six of them,” Marc observed. “From what I heard described, they nearly killed Walter and King Nicholas both.”

I nodded, “That’s one thing that still has me puzzled. Why didn’t they have all six of them attack us in the dining hall? Only four of them came at us there, while the other two were found hiding in the cellar.”

Marc stared back at me. “You’re right. If they weren’t participating in the attack, why hide at all? They could have made a second attempt later. It isn’t as if anyone knew they were associates of the assassins in the dining hall.”

Something tickled the back of my mind but I couldn’t lay my finger on it, and after a few minutes of musing over it I decided to worry about it later. Often my mind needed time to work on things in the background before presenting me with a fully formed idea after a few days.

“On another note, I came by to ask you about your book,” I said suddenly.

Marc squinted at me. “You say that as if you have some purpose.”

I smiled. “I do. I think I’ve figured something out.” Over the past few years, Marc and I had begun having detailed discussions regarding the nature of magic. I had shared most of my observations about the workings of magic, wards, runes, enchantments and how they relate to language and thought. Marc for his part had already had quite a bit of experience with magic while he was occupied by his goddess, or rather, his ex-goddess. His initial search to find a method for defeating the gods had been futile, but during the course of our talks he had decided to compile our observations into a tome; a guide to those who might come after us someday, curious about the nature of magic.

I had scoffed at the idea in the beginning, but after reading the first few chapters and comparing them to what I had learned via other means, it was easy to tell that he had something valuable to offer. The distillation of our hard won experience in plain language might not be necessary to us, but someday it would be invaluable to others.

“Pray tell,” he prompted.

“Before the attack, I helped your father by giving King Nicholas a tour of the World Road, and while we were there he asked a number of questions. While I was answering one of them I had a flash of insight.”

“What were you discussing?” he asked.

“Enchantments, more specifically, the reasons why they don’t require a constant input of energy,” I said leaning forward intently.

“In the past you stated that the rune structure was balanced properly to contain the magic without loss.”

I nodded. “I did, but as I was restating it for Nicholas, I saw it from a different angle. Magic works in four dimensions, the three of space and one of time, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“No. Listen,” I interrupted. “The geometry of the runes is set precisely to isolate the magic with respect to the fourth dimension. While it may involve some constraints, for practical reasons, in regard to the three spatial dimensions… it is the fourth dimension, time, that the structure controls most particularly.”

My friend was one of the most intelligent men I had ever known, but even his brows furrowed after the mouthful I had just regurgitated at him. “Wait, what?” he said articulately.

I reached into the special bag at my waist and drew out my staff. It was one of the earliest enchantments I had done, and in many ways one of the simplest. “Alright, we talked about this one before,” I began, “but the staff has an enchantment built along the wood called a ‘rune channel’.”

He waved his hand at me, “I remember… what about it?”

“The rune channel has a structure that allows magic to be focused along its length, for purposes we have discussed before. Because of that, the runes are built into a structure that resembles a hollow tube, which constrains the magic along two physical or spatial dimensions, right?”

He gave me a quick nod.

“But the structure does more than that,” I added. “It also controls the magic completely with regard to the fourth dimension, time.”

“No it doesn’t,” Marc argued. “Once you channel a line of focused power through that staff it strikes something and dissipates. It doesn’t stick around forever.”

“Touché,” I replied, “but you miss the point. The magic that is contained within the staff’s runes does not dissipate. The aythar that is channeled along the length of the channel, also temporarily becomes immobile along the time axis, until it interacts with something else.”

Marc looked doubtful.

“Perhaps the staff was a bad example,” I admitted. “But it occurred to me because of the shiggreth. In the past they have proven almost immune to all normal magic, except for magic that had been channeled through something like my staff. Now I understand why… because that magic is temporarily immobile along the axis of time.”

“Give me a different metaphor,” said Marc.

I thought for a moment. “Ah!” I exclaimed at last, “The stasis enchantment!”

“The one that kept Moira alive for over a thousand years?” he answered.

“Yes. In the case of the stasis enchantment, the magic is not simply being isolated along the time axis to preserve a physical effect in three spatial dimensions; the enchantment itself is built entirely to exploit that effect upon a set area. In that case, it was built so that an area the size of a cradle was entirely within a space quarantined from normal time,” I explained. “Normal enchantments do the same thing all the time; they just don’t affect the time axis for anything except themselves.”

Marc’s face lit up as he caught on.

“We can do the same for you,” I added.

“What?”

“I’m starting to understand a lot more. You heard about Walter right? He wasn’t just wounded, Marc. He was dead. Now granted, he was just barely dead, and his spirit was still there, but even so, I was able to repair his body and hold him there until he reconnected with it. There may be a way to do something similar for you.” There was a desperate fervor to my words.

“What does that have to do with the stasis enchantment?” Marc asked.

“I can create one for you… to stop your decline long enough for me to figure out how to repair whatever is causing it.”

He laughed, “So you want to store me, like salt pork, with the intention of reviving me later?”

“Well I wouldn’t have chosen those words exactly, but… yes,” I admitted.

The look in his eyes was anything but humorous, despite the tone of his words. Marc stepped close and put his arms around me again. “I’m sorry brother, but no.”

Tears stood out in my eyes, though I have no idea how they appeared so quickly. “Why!?” I demanded. I refused to hug him back.

Pushing me out to arm’s length, he studied me carefully. “My illness isn’t a matter of a damaged body or a disconnected spirit. The very wellspring of my life is dwindling, like the atrophied muscles on an old man. There’s no way to fix that, at least not with what you have told me about so far.”

Rationally I agreed with him, but I still held hope that I might figure out a method later. “It’s as if you’re trying to die.”

“I’m tired Mordecai, and nothing has really changed since our promise all those years ago. Now that matters are well and truly out of our hands, I would rather accept it gracefully,” he said solemnly.

“I wonder how Marissa would feel about this…” I asked aloud. “Perhaps we should include her in this discussion.”

“I wonder how you’d like a split lip and a broken nose,” Marc answered pointedly. It was an empty threat of course, given my shields, but his voice was angry.

The fight drained out of me suddenly and I returned his hug at last. “I hate you sometimes,” I told him.

I sensed his grin even though his head was over my shoulder, “I hate you too, brother.” Both of us remembered the conclusion of a fight long ago between Penny and me, when we had all admitted our hate/love for one another. After a moment he let go of me and we stepped apart. “I have one final question for you though,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked curious.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all…,” his tone was sincere. “We’re leaving in less than a week so I want to make sure. If there is anything you need, that I can provide, tell me now.”

I fought to maintain my composure as I smiled. “You’re an idiot. I’m a Count now, and a wizard, I have everything a man could want… a home, children, Penny. I’m fine. The only thing I’d prefer is for you to stick around.”

“That’s one thing I cannot do. I need to get Marissa back to her family. You sure there isn’t anything else?”

“No.” I said simply. “How about you? Won’t you need money for this trip?”

“You already paid for it,” he smirked.

“What… oh never mind, I don’t want to know,” I said with some exasperation. “Actually, there is one thing you could help me with,” I remembered suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“The other day, when you showed me the ‘First Accord’, the treaty between men and the She’Har, I wasn’t entirely honest with you,” I stated.

“I knew that already,” he said. “You ready to talk?”

“Something awoke that day, inside me,” I told him. “It was as if I had lived another life, one that I had forgotten completely until that moment. It’s as if I have been two different people,” I said, struggling to explain myself.

“So who is this other person?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“What?!”

“Well, I do know… somewhere, but I haven’t let myself look at it yet,” I said.

He sighed, “Why not?”

“There’s something dark there, Marc. Whoever that other person was, whatever he did, whether he is me, or whether he is someone else… he did something terrible, something so awful I can’t bear to look at it directly… not yet at least.” A shiver ran down my spine, as I finally said the words I had been keeping within.

Marc chuckled suddenly. “Something you can’t face Mort? I doubt that. After the things you’ve done, I doubt any amateur could compare.”

“What do you mean?”

“The war with Gododdin.” He was referring to the thirty thousand men I had slain to end that war.

I glared at him. “That was the most terrible crime I have ever committed, murdering those men, and you want to make a joke of it?”

“That’s the point,” he explained. “You did that, and it wasn’t murder, it was necessity… No, I’m not going to argue that point now!” He waved his hands to keep me from interrupting. “My point is that you have already done what you consider the worst thing imaginable. What could this stranger’s memory have to compare to that?”

It was a valid argument, so I took a moment to consider it and then I allowed myself to peek at the emotions that dwelled within that foreign memory. Comparing them with my own, it was easy to see the difference. Swallowing I looked at him, “It’s worse… whatever it is… it’s much worse.”

Marc’s face fell… he had been betting on that argument to cheer me up. “Damn… really? What was it?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know, and I can’t look, not now.”

“Then why are you bothering to discuss any of this?” he said bluntly.

Marc always had a knack for getting to the heart of matters. “I need your advice. I’m trying to approach this logically from the outside, before I delve into what seems to be a morass of painful memories,” I explained.

“The fastest answer would probably come from facing whatever you’ve got collecting dust in the back of your head,” he noted.

“I’m afraid I won’t be me anymore.”

“That’s just stupid. You’re you… nothing will change that. Whatever those memories contain, they’re from someone else,” he said, with a certainty that I wished I could emulate.

“How can you be sure?”

“I grew up with you, if that counts for anything. I happen to know you didn’t commit any horrible atrocities while we were children. Whatever is in your head came from somewhere else… either by magic, or as a side effect of your magic.”

I couldn’t see it as a side effect, but I grasped at the other possibility. “You mean someone may have implanted the memories within me?” It was an attractive idea, especially if it absolved me from the guilt of whatever lurked in the knowledge in the back of my mind. “How and when would that have happened?”

“Perhaps a spell cast upon you by your father?” he suggested.

“I have trouble imagining a father inflicting this upon his child,” I said.

Marc shrugged, “Some people don’t share your conscience.”

“Reincarnation would be easier to accept,” I responded.

“Trying to take the blame anyway?” Marc replied. “If reincarnation were real, there would be more people complaining about their resurfacing memories.”

“Unless memories don’t make the transfer, from one life to another,” I countered.

“Again… then where did these memories come from? And quit trying to find some method to take blame for whatever bad there is in them, they’re not yours,” Marc said.

“Well a spell makes no sense,” I stated, “the memories come from a period of time that has to be at least a couple of thousand years ago… so my father couldn’t have cast the spell.”

“Unless it was passed on to him first,” Marc observed.

“Or perhaps it is some sort of bloodline memory, like an inherited spell… or curse,” I said suddenly, and then I knew. The hair stood up along my arms and neck as a cold chill swept across me. Illeniel’s Doom… no… Illeniel’s Promise… this is part of it.

“You alright, Mort?” Marc’s face carried an expression of concern. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Or as though I carry one… “No, I’m fine,” I said slowly. “But I think I have a feel for this now.”

“A feel for what?”

“Illeniel’s Doom… it’s a part of me… a part of these memories. No, that’s not right… it’s somewhere else…,” I answered. Down below, behind the stone door… beneath the house.

“Stop being so cryptic and just spit it out!” Marc’s voice was full of frustration.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t look at it, not yet. “No… I’m sorry Marc. This will have to wait.”

Marc let out an explosive breath, “What the hell?! I can see now why you and Penny fought so much in the beginning. You must have been a real pleasure to deal with.” His comment was riddled with sarcasm.

“If you let me put you in stasis, I’ll be happy to explain it all to you later once I’ve dealt with my internal issues,” I offered with a cynical smile.

“Is that how you proposed to Penelope?” Marc shot back. “I already told you no.”

“Then you may just never find out the answer,” I teased, with a humor that didn’t fully touch my eyes.

“I’ll come back to haunt you,” he retorted.

I’m sure you will.