Hemlock And The Dead God's Legacy (Book 2) (30 page)

When she touched the
warm yellow rock, she experienced a vision.  It was hazy at first, but soon it sharpened, and she could hear the earth creature speaking with a man.  The conversation was taking place in this very same chamber, but the cradle was empty, and the man held the Wand in his hands instead of it resting in the dragon carving.  Hemlock saw that he wore a scintillating, fiery crown on his head that seemed much like the Wand—only far more powerful.  The crown made Hemlock’s blood run cold, and where the Wands made her uneasy, this Crown made her fear.

“IT MUST
BE YOU!” said the version of the earth creature in her vision.

“Impossible.  I’ll find another to do it,” said the
tan-skinned man, who was clearly a wizard. Hemlock assumed this was the legendary Julius.

“THREE HAVE ALREADY PERISHED IN THE ACT!  YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS THE POWER!”

Julius looked repulsed, but his dark brow seemed to loosen as he perceived the truth in her words.  The bodies of three fallen wizards were strewn around the chamber: all looking like they had ruptured from within.

“YOU MUST LOVE ME!  PROMISE ME AGAIN THAT I WILL HAVE THIS CHILD FOREVER!”

“Be silent!  I now accept that I must partake of this terrible act with you.  And, yes, the child will live as long as you remain here to guard this Wand,” said Julius.

He approached the earth creature from behind and soon a discordant and depraved coupling ensued.  Hemlock tried to look away, but the vision would not allow her to do so.  The crown and the Wand blazed with a fell light as the act proceeded, and Julius was somehow able to weave runes of Imperial magic during the course of it.
  As the union reached its climax, Julius placed the blazing Wand onto the alabaster carving of the dragon.  The earth under their feet shuddered as the Imperial runes on the dais hummed with power.

Hemlock was haunted by what she had witnessed. 
The earth creature looked enraptured in the aftermath, while Julius looked horrified.

“It is done.  You must not leave this chamber until you give birth,” Julius said, clearly fatigued by the recent proceedings.

“IT WORKED?  IT IS A MIRACLE!  WAIT!  WILL YOU COME TO SEE THE CHILD WHEN IT IS BORN?”

Julius walked around the earth creature as he
hurriedly removed the Crown from his head and placed it into a golden satchel.  As he left the chamber, he turned and shouted, “No, you will never see me again!  I’ll never force myself to lay eyes on the abomination that now takes root within you!”

The vision ended and Hemlock became aware of her surroundings again.  She removed her hand from the
cradle.

“NOW YOU KNOW THE TRUTH IN MY WORDS!”
said the earth creature.

Hemlock nodded to assure her companions that she was al
l right. “She’s right, Julius did promise her that the child would be hers forever.”

Nobody spoke for several minutes as the earth creature continued to sob.
  Renevos retreated into a corner and knelt down.  Hemlock noticed he was initiating a scrying session, but she immediately refocused on the conundrum she now faced.

He
r thoughts waged war with themselves.  On one hand, she couldn’t accept the alien form in the cradle as a child in the conventional sense—just like she didn’t think of the earth creature as being a person, per se.  But another part of her felt sorry for the pathetic creature that was sprawled out before her, and its desperate maternal instinct. 

But can I sacrifice my
principles and let the evil of this Wand persist for the sake of this creature and this unnatural child?  What about the Tanna Varrans?

Just then a soft voice that resembled the heavier grating
voice of the earth spirit projected out from the crib: “Mother, it is time.  We’ve lived here for ages, but nothing ever changes.  I don’t grow, and I know I’ll never leave this place.  It is time.  You must let me go.”

“NO!  YOU DON’T MEAN THAT!” gasped the earth creature.

Hemlock turned and pointed at Renevos. “This is the work of wizards!”

“I
…I believe so, yes,” he replied.

“Just when I think it can’t get any worse…” Hemlock spat.

Suddenly the soft grating voice of the child spoke to her without making an audible sound. But Hemlock was able to hear every word that it said to her directly in her mind. “I've lain in this crib for centuries: trapped, stale and unused, like a stillborn messiah.   As my consciousness evolved beyond the simplicity of childhood, the facade that my mother erected to explain my situation became apparent.”

A host of questions leapt into Hemlock’s mind as the small voiced paused.  But something about the small creature’s earnest delivery made her reluctant to interrupt it.

“I nearly lost myself to madness in the ensuing years.  But one of the fallen souls who sought out my Mother's cruel ministrations remembered an ancient art in his final days.  He taught me to meditate, and my spirit was set free to roam the worlds.  My father's line gave me foresight, and my mother's gave me recollection. 

Soon I perceived many things
, things long forgotten and things yet to pass.  I was able to experience the wind in my face and the pleasure of a loved one's touch—but only as you would experience a memory: vivid, yet inherently bitter-sweet. 

My meditation controls my desires, but at times I still despair.  I have struggled to justify my existence
—to explain why fate would deliver me as one so full of potential, but imprison me in this feeble shell of a body.  Perhaps my fate has dictated such an existence, but even the wise can grow weary—grow tired of the wise path, even though its truth is clear.  But recently I became aware of you, and perceived that you were coming closer and closer.  I felt a true sense of purpose for the first time in my long, long life.

That purpose is now almost fulfilled.  I am here now to link you to your
future, and by extension, the City and all the surrounding worlds to their future as well.  You will deliver this future to them, but not without my help.  There are still many things you don't understand.  You must search for catacombs under the Tower.  Within them you will find a crypt.  The crypt holds a secret which you must discover.  You must decipher your path forward within a relic of the past.

In order to do this
, you will need my flesh—the flesh of the Imperator.  Though my body will crumble, I will preserve my hand for you.  Within that hand, some of my essence will linger for a time.  You must hasten to the crypt as soon as you can, for my will can only preserve this small part of me for a short while.

You must find your path, Hemlock.  You must make your secret journey
—perhaps sooner than is comfortable; but time is short and circumstance requires no less.  I have seen a darkness gathering at the edge of time.  Inky black wings bear it aloft as it devours worlds.  It is a taint upon creation—another child of the Imperator and his final deceit.  But it is also a child of us all, a symptom of the corruption we are all afflicted with since the demise of the Red Robed Man.

Remember my words, and reflect upon who I am and what I represent.  Remember the crypt!  And remember my hand!
”

Hemlock stared at the strange child in wonder.

“What is it Hemlock?” Tored asked.

Hemlock didn’t answer.

“Hemlock!”

She thought she should respond to the child—ask him one of the many questions
she had, but it was all too overwhelming.  The continuous crying of the earth creature returned her focus to the present.

“I’m al
l right.”

Hemlock turned to the earth creature
. “Your child speaks wisely.  The wizards have done great evil here—I can see that.  If it were just the fate of you and your child at stake, then I might let you make the decision, but there are entire realms counting on me removing and destroying this Wand.”
              “NO!  DON’T KILL MY BABY!”

Hemlock looked at Tored.  She hoped to receive some sign of affirmation from him, but he returned her gaze stoically.

“Do what you have to do, Hemlock,” said Otticus grimly.

“I have
scryed with Gwineval—the teleport cage is ready.  And he mentioned something about this creature.  Legend says she betrayed the Red Robed Man and caused his banishment!  She’s evil, Hemlock,” said Renevos hurriedly.

“NO!”
wailed the creature.

Hemlock set her jaw and approached the Wand.  The earth creature crawled toward her
pathetically, but Hemlock ignored it.  She reached out for the Wand, and as she did so, she could sense the ancient spells of binding fracturing.  Something about her aura seemed to be weakening the Imperial magic.  It was effortless.  She grasped the Wand, conscious of its warmth.  She immediately felt in tune with the other worlds she sometimes travelled to in her mind, but she ignored the feeling.

With a final, reluctant glance at the cr
adle, she lifted the Wand from its alabaster base.

“PLEASE!” cried the earth creature, but it was too late.

The intricate lattice of Imperial runes that surrounded the alabaster carving started to glow visibly, as if infused with the pale yellow of the stone. This was accompanied by a high pitched screech unlike anything Hemlock had ever heard. Then the alabaster dais cracked from top to bottom, shattering into many pieces in tandem with the violent unraveling of the Imperial runes surrounding it. A swirling wind roared forth from the broken alabaster as the cradle was similarly sundered, and the small, stone body within crumbled to dust and was quickly dispersed through the chamber by the sudden gusts.

Hemlock
stumbled backwards and covered her mouth as a cloud of the dusty remains passed close to her, and then dissipated. The screeching sound was gone, but was immediately replaced by the sickening sound of rock being shorn. The entire floor moved under her feet as the chamber lurched to the side and came to rest on an incline. She struggled to maintain her footing while being careful not to drop the Wand.

The earth spirit, who was still sprawled out o
n the floor, began to roll down the incline toward the chasm in the floor. In the next moment ,she fell into the fissure in the rock and disappeared.

The floor stabilized and Hemlock rushed to the fissure
and looked down searching for the earth spirit. But sudden heat and the sight of roiling lava below the floor brought her up short.

"The entire chamber has shifted! We're perched
directly above the lava!" Hemlock cried.

“
The deed is done!” shouted Renevos.

“Yes
, but we have to get out of here!”

Hemlock turned to Tored and saw he
was rushing toward the exit, which had been blocked by fallen boulders. 

“Wait!  Gwineval should be here any moment!” said Renevos, halting Tored.

“He’d better hurry!” said Hemlock, imagining the veil that bordered the City advancing inexorably across the horizon like she had seen in the northern desert after she had removed the Wand that had bound that region.

Suddenly a shimmering appeared in
a corner of the room.  It was followed by a great cloud of smoke, and when the smoke cleared, a large, brass cage was revealed.  Gwineval stood in the cage, beckoning the group forward.  His eye was immediately drawn to the Wand. 

Hemlock glared at
the reptilian wizard, and the latter averted his eyes.  As she and her companions rushed toward the cage, something on the rock floor near the crumbled ruins of the dais caught her eye.

The child’s hand!

She turned and sprinted for the object as the chamber lurched again, and her companions shouted at her in alarm.

She reached the hand, knelt and picked it up carefully. 
It was still intact, although the remains of the wrist crumbled slightly as she handled it.  She placed it in her belt pouch and then ran back to the cage.

There was no time for questions
, and once Hemlock was safely inside, she watched as Gwineval closed the gate, reached a green, scaled hand to the top of the cage and rang the brass bell that hung there.  The world faded to black as the roar of magic filled her ears and time and space seemed to fold inward on itself.

Chapter Twelve

Not three hours after her return to the Wizard Tower, Hemlock made several awkward excuses and departed alone to the tunnels under the seat of the wizard’s power.  The words of the stone child still resonated in her mind, and she held one arm protectively over the belt pouch that contained the small, stone hand.

She had gone deeper
into the tunnels than ever before—far beyond the depth of the secret chamber where Safreon had once found a Wand of the Imperator.  She was unsure how far these tunnels went, but they were turning out to be more expansive than she’d thought.  She was guided by an uncanny sense of intuition, and had made innumerable turns along her journey without any fear or hesitation.

Maybe the child planted
this knowledge in my mind somehow.

The flickering light of the Wand she
carried lit her way in the dark tunnels, and now showed a slim, dark crevice in the rock wall to her right.

This is it.

She entered the crevice, clearing thick cobwebs that blocked her way.  The walls became tighter after several feet, and there was a sharp bend to the left.  She was forced to hug the rock to navigate the bend.

As she regained a normal posture
, she saw ancient-looking wooden stairs about twenty feet ahead of her.

Sh
e carefully climbed down the creaky stairs, and then walked along a roughly excavated passage until it met a finished stone cross passage via a gaping, irregular hole in a wall built with stone blocks.  Though the air was stifling and several large spider webs blocked her passage, she quickly found the crypts she sought.  She entered a large chamber, which housed an array of man-sized indentations along the walls that held crumbling remains.  Eight large sarcophagi were housed in recessed alcoves.  They were decorated with intricate carvings and the alcoves surrounding them were built with beveled blocks that looked like they had once been whitewashed, but now were mostly faded by age.  Runic symbols of the old Imperial period were easily located on the blocks above each stone sarcophagus.

As if answering th
e flickering illumination of her Wand, large, fiery runes became visible on the smooth stone floor of the crypt.  There were three runic symbols, each of which was easily six feet in width.  She knelt and touched one of the symbols, but nothing happened.  She did notice that the symbol’s fiery appearance gained in intensity the closer the Wand came to it—but it did not give off heat.

She
realized that the large symbols on the floor matched some of the carved runes above the sarcophagi.  Hemlock rose, walked to a nearby alcove, and touched the Wand to the first carved symbol corresponding to the runic sequence marked on the floor.  The carved symbol burst with the same fiery light that emblazoned the floor.

She
proceeded to the second symbol, touched the Wand to it, and the same thing happened.  She approached the third sarcophagi and then paused beside it, suddenly feeling cautious.  But her memory of the odd child quelled that final cautious impulse, and she gently touched the glass head of the Wand to the final rune.  There was a dull clicking sound behind the stone panel, and suddenly the square panel of stone around it receded along heretofore invisible seams in the rock, then slid aside.  A different stone slab slid forward until it was flush with the wall around it.  This piece of stone bore the imprint of a hand.

It was clear to Hemlock what was required to proceed.  She gingerly removed the small hand and regarded it. 
A creeping feeling of trepidation returned as she considered the magnitude of the discovery she seemed to be on the cusp of making.

Should I consult
Gwineval after all?

But then
her pride, mixed with awareness that this was her challenge to face alone, compelled her to place the hand into the recessed outline.

When
she did so, a low rumbling sound filled the chamber and the sound of rock grating on rock came from the center of the room.  The fiery symbols on the floor were receding—no, they were angling downwards through the floor as part of it descended along a fixed axis of rotation, forming a ramp leading down to a lower room.

Hemlock’s
mouth was dry with excitement as she proceeded to the ramp. She gasped as she saw a massive chamber below extending far into the distance.

Sensing no threat, she walked down the ramp;
and as she entered the lower space, her footfalls echoed, confirming she had judged truly when she perceived a massive space.  In fact, she soon found her estimate had not done the full scope of the space justice, as she reached the edge of the ramp and took a step out onto the polished stone floor.

A
n oddly scalloped ceiling extended out hundreds of feet in front of her, and the floor she stood on extended about twenty feet.  She approached the edge and saw there was a sequence of steps leading down into a vast amphitheater.  The curve of the steps confirmed the expansive circumference of the space, while the large number of steps suggested the depth.

Sh
e felt compelled to descend into the amphitheater, though her senses seemed poised to deliver signals of danger that were never sent.  All she sensed was the grandeur of the space, her soft, echoing footfalls, a strange scent in the air, and an almost oppressive sense of solitude.

Sh
e reached the floor of the amphitheater and looked up.  The scalloped ceiling was barely visible, and had to be hundreds of feet above her.  But then she noticed something.  The space above her was starting to shimmer.  Balls of light were rapidly forming in the open air above; and with a rapidity that caused her to crouch and reach for her sword, a magnificent rendering of the strange other space she had seen in her visions sprang to life.

Her
caution quickly gave way to amazement as she beheld the entirety of the other-worldly space laid out in precise detail above her.  The City and its lands were at the center of the display, sailing along the surface of a huge, raging ball of burning crimson.  A cloud of innumerable worlds floated lazily around the City.  The City and the worlds collectively looked something like a system of blood vessels: the huge ball of flame that supported the City was the heart, and thick columns of fire connected this flaming sphere with the nearest worlds. Smaller rivers of flame extended from these nearby worlds to more distant ones, and still smaller tongues of fire extended from them; until, ultimately, tiny, fiery capillaries flowed to the dim, distant worlds. Beyond these distant worlds, which were little more than small points of light, was utter blackness: nothing in its most absolute form.
 

She lifted her
hands to try and block the blinding brilliance of the City’s ball of fire, but as she did so, the City suddenly receded, and more distant worlds and connecting arcs of the fire came into view.

Hemlock
was surprised and confused.  As her eyes adjusted to the sudden light, she slowly moved her hands apart as she brought them down, then stopped as the view of the City slowly got larger and regained its former clarity.

Recognition dawned on h
er, and she began to move her arms above her and refocus the view to her liking.

Look at it all!  The size of it...the scale!

As she took stock of her newfound control over the startling projection, her attention was drawn to certain worlds. The worlds themselves were like half spheres floating over the streams of celestial fire below. Each of them had a distinct color and pattern.

A dusty, tan world that soared adjacent to the City caught her attention. She felt an emanation projecting from it, and was startled to realize that she had pinpointed Falignus; he was not only alive, but he was on that world.
She was absolutely certain of it.

How can I know this?

She then considered the lineage of the strange child, and that Falignus, like the child, had Imperial blood running in his veins.

That must be why
I can sense him.

Another world caught her attention then. It was a
mostly dark half orb that barely contrasted with the void around it, but for the roiling gray clouds that made it distinctive. She perceived a different type of emanation coming from this world, but it was also familiar to her.  She pictured a tricorne hat and locks of blond, curly hair.

DuLoc.

His energy felt more elemental than Falignus', and much stronger. And an accompanying emanation confirmed that he had a Wand in his possession.

Wait.

There was energy coming from the City as well.

She zoomed in closer to the City, and as she did so she immediately sensed
her own energy.

She was chagrined to
realize that her aura was weaker than DuLoc's—but it was also much different.   Hers seemed similar of the Maker's Fire itself, and seemed to morph and dance like a tongue of flame. She thought she might sense her sister, Mercuria, too, but she did not.

So she
's not like me, then.

S
he realized this with a sense of disappointment that surprised her.

She
next perceived the aura of the Wand she had brought with her, and that of another Imperial Wand interlaced with intricate binding magic. This other Wand lay deep under the tallest of the range of mountains that bordered the City on its eastern side.

But there was something else: another faint emanation coming from the City itself. Hemlock instantly knew who it belonged to.

Merit!

It was faint...very faint.
But what astonished her was that it most resembled a much weaker version of DuLoc's aura.

Inter
esting. Another clue to your story, my amazing little friend.

Seeing nothing else of note on the City's world, she again zoomed out her view until it encompassed the entire cloud of worlds. She sensed the emanation of another pair of Wands deep in the outer worlds.
Both Wands were intertwined with a different type of binding spell than what she had seen in the City's mountains and what she had personally witnessed in the northern desert and the Witch Crags. The magical energy was much more focused. She tried to magnify her view so she could see what was being restrained. It was a large tower unlike anything she had seen before.  It was large enough that she could see it in some detail.

A tree-shaped edifice of pure granite rose from a
large lake to a majestic height.  The granite tree was split in the middle, with two branches diverging from the lower trunk at offset angles, one reaching slightly higher than the other.  The granite was punctuated with rock outcroppings that looked like great crustaceans, giving the illusion of leafy growths.  Each of the two upper branches was topped with a flat surface of rock, and atop the taller branch rested a magnificent tower of clear crystal, which rose to about half the height of the branch it rested on. It reflected the setting sun, dazzling the eyes.

Her fleeting vision of a red robe barely visible through a
n adoring crowd sprang to mind.

She recalled the vision of the Red Wizard
she had seen when the Bachawn Witch had touched her with its kinslayer ribbon—a fragment of the robe worn by the Maker himself.

I won’t call him a wizard any longer—t
hat term is now sullied.  Why couldn't I see his face?

Falignus had said she was descended from the Red Robed Man.  And she had felt a primeval affinity to that figure as it strode through her dream with adoring people surrounding
and obscuring it.

She felt a sudden realization that the Red Robed Man was
not just any relative, but was her father.   She knew it was true.

It’s his Tower!  The Maker’s Tower!

A thought interrupted the wonder of this latest revelation, and caused her to drop heavily into a sitting position on the stone floor, indifferent, for a moment, to the wondrous display above her.

I am alone. There is nobody else like me.
I am the last of my Father's bloodline.  And there are enemies all around me.

Seeming to underscore her sense of isolation, she noticed the small st
one hand—the hand of the stunted prophet that had lain trapped in an alabaster prison for centuries—had crumbled into a small pile of dust.

She sat looking at that pile of dust for many minutes, the knots of concern in her mind slowly unraveling as she did so.

She understood the tasks that awaited her: the struggle against DuLoc, the restoration of what must be her Father's tower, and the redemption of the City itself. They all lay squarely on her shoulders.

There is no one else.

And then a small ray of optimism shone over the gray of her responsible acceptance of her fate.

But look at all the worlds!
So many people!  All of the adventures that await me! If this is my fate then I shall meet it bravely. And with sword in hand.



Hemlock walked down a rough stone corridor, part of her still wanting to crawl out from under the weight of the responsibility she felt, another part of her chafing in reaction to the pointlessness of that feeling.  She was aware of the eyes of her companions on her as she walked.  Watching.  Assessing.