Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (46 page)

"For what?" replied the adept in shocked surprise.

"Follow," Giridian replied. "I will explain."

They made their way out of the tower as Giridian shared his feelings of unease with Dragor. He spoke of the fact that he could potentially sift through memories of the previous lore fathers and see which did not fit cleanly with the history he and Dragor knew.

Dragor held up a hand and interrupted, "You say you have the other lore fathers’ memories?"

"I think so, for the most part."

"And this stretches back to the first?" Dragor continued. "You can sift through centuries of learning?"

Giridian looked at his friend and hesitated before saying, "Maybe, the same way you could in our library, and just as inefficiently. It is not as if the correct answer pops into my head. I have to find it by watching their lives, their interactions. Unless I know specifically where to look, I would spend more time than I had in this life searching."

They made their way around another turn when Dragor’s hand clamped onto his shoulder. The dark-skinned adept looked down, then back up again at the lore father and whispered, "If it is the Gate we must gain knowledge of, then why not look at
his
memories?"

Giridian shook his head, not understanding.

Dragor licked his lips, his eyes darting between the lore father’s and the ground, then he said, "Valarius," with obvious distaste. The knowledge of how close this archmage had brought their world to destruction was still difficult to put aside.

Giridian took a deep breath and stepped back, his mind racing. General Valarius Galadine, Edyn’s worst enemy and harbinger of the last devastation. He had been everything the council had stood against, but at one time, he had also been a lore father. Looking into his memories could help shed light on the riddle of the Gate.

He put a hand on Dragor’s shoulder and squeezed. "Thank you. Let us get to the Vaults, then we will see."

By the time they reached the underground doors, Dragor seemed to have grown to regret his suggestion. "Forgive me, I did not mean for you to try something foolish."

Giridian nodded, touching the cool metal doors that barred the way to the chamber behind. His eyes closed and a faint click sounded as the doors magically unsealed. He pushed them open, but turned to Dragor. "The lore father sacrificed himself to save us and for that I am grateful. Nevertheless, there
is
a divergence in the Way, and I mean to find out why. How could I do any less than those who came before me to protect my own?"

Dragor sighed, still worried. Then the majesty of the chamber took hold and he drew an involuntary breath. The chamber was vast; two hundred paces from end to end. Along the eight walls that circumscribed the perimeter stood bookshelves stacked more than three men in height and lined from top to bottom in books on lore, magic, and the Way. It represented knowledge that over the centuries had been saved from the persecutions of the Magehunters.

The middle of the floor stood cases and displays, each holding a category of items. One section dedicated itself to armor, another to weapons, and still a dozen more to a myriad of other items. The adepts of the Isle had not been idle in their seclusion and the Vault held a great many powerful and wondrous artifacts from ages past.

Giridian, as the former Keeper of the Vault, was less dazzled by the objects within, but nonetheless the sheer amount of effort it took to find and catalog all these things gave him pause. This was the result of over a century of work and it showed. If nothing else in the chamber awed him, this fact did.

He motioned to a particular set of manuscripts and they made their way to that section. As he walked, he talked over his shoulder to the trailing adept. "Something was not right at the final battle at Sovereign’s Fall."

Dragor looked about, wide-eyed at the items within the vault, and he absentmindedly replied, "So you have said."

"There should be historical texts that speak in detail of that time and of the events leading up to it," Giridian continued, "and yet, few manuscripts have been found. We have some, but not nearly the number that should exist."

"And where might those be?" Dragor had stopped near a shield, mirror bright and etched with a sigil reminiscent of a hawk with outstretched wings. As he neared it, Giridian could hear the shield start to hum, as if it vibrated to the same song as his heart. Dragor’s hand reached out slowly and the air shimmered in response.

"Dragor..." Giridian grabbed the adept’s arm and pulled him away, a smile on his face.

Dragor shook his head and looked about in confusion. "What happened?"

"That shield seeks a wielder, but will always put you in harm’s way to prove its worth. Not the best companion," the lore father said with a chuckle. "We’re here to do research."

The two made their way to a section of the bookshelf that held histories from the time of Lilyth. Giridian found the few books that were relevant to the subject and pulled them down. These he split into two small, even piles. One contained information on demons, the other on the final battle at Sovereign’s Fall.

"I will study the way of demons. You can re-read what happened at Sovereign’s Fall," the lore father said. "Look specifically for what happened to the dwarves following the battle. I don’t understand why they would reappear now, or for that matter here on the Isle."

With a sigh, Dragor picked up the stack indicated, then motioned to a young page who stood innocuously to one side. "Please bring us something to eat."

The page nodded, then scampered off through one of the many backdoor passages that connected the various chambers to the kitchen.

For the next few hours the two read in silence, the bits of leftover food and drink littering a serving tray placed on a nearby stand. Giridian finally broke the silence, standing and stretching as his back cracked in protest. He then looked at the adept and said, "I think I’ve found something interesting."

Dragor’s voice echoed the boredom Giridian felt when he answered, "That makes one of us." He shut the book he had been reading and leaned back. "Nothing on the dwarves. Once they left Bara’cor, they disappeared as if they were nothing but myth."

"Do you know where demons, or for that matter, angels, come from?" Giridian asked.

The other shrugged. "From the left and right hand of the gods."

Giridian shook his head. "We call them angels or demons, but it says here they are actually a race known as the Aeris. It claims that in the distant past they came upon this world and were emissaries to the people of Edyn."

"Emissaries? To what purpose?" Dragor asked. "And if they sought us out, what happened? Demons are vastly powerful and dangerous. I have never heard they were emissaries, or they would seek some sort of peace with us. They are disembodied and cannot exist on the corporeal plane, so why treaty with us?"

Giridian nodded, "I never said they came in peace. The author of this book says they used the
guise
of peace to gain knowledge." He then pointed to a manuscript that looked truly ancient. "He too, seems convinced they never intended to treaty with us." The lore father picked the book up and flipped to the first page so Dragor could read what was written in clear script on the inside cover.

Dragor leaned in and his eyes widened in shock. "It cannot be!"

Giridian read aloud, "‘Those who do not heed their mistakes, are condemned to repeat them –
Valarius Galadine.’
" He looked at his friend and said, "Your idea to look through the memories of Valarius is a sound one. We will try and see what memories he has of the battle that cost him his life."

Dragor laid a cautionary hand on his friend’s arm and said, "Can I help in any way?"

Giridian looked at the younger adept and smiled. "Keep your hand in contact with me, so I can draw upon your strength, should I need it. The visions are seen by lore fathers only, but your presence fills me with confidence."

Dragor answered with a small smile, though Giridian could see he feared to be near even the memory of one who had caused so much pain and anguish.

Giridian closed his eyes and sank into blackness, a space with stars of light. These would be the memories of the lore fathers who had come before. He took a mental breath, then dove into the stars and back through the memories of the lore fathers who had preceded him.

His mind swept past Themun’s to Duncan Illrys, who was lore father for only a moment before dying on the slopes of the Fall. His memories then flew past him to his wife, Sonya, lore mother before Duncan. Her reign was singular in her stalwart defense of their world against Lilyth. He then slowed his thoughts, for before Sonya’s time came Valarius Galadine. His memories occupied a space, here... but there was
nothing.

His mind searched, carefully sifting back through Sonya’s memories. Her mind went from her ceremony where she became lore mother through her reign. Giridian shook his head, not understanding. Declaring Valarius an enemy of the land conferred his seat as lore father to Sonya. The ceremony, now known to him, should have resulted with Valarius’s memories
here.

Wait, he told himself, if the ritual of transference was not carried out willingly, a lore father’s memory transferred to the Way upon death. Valarius did not die when they stripped him of his title. He had died on the slopes of Sovereign’s Fall. Giridian moved forward again with renewed energy. The answer would be somewhere before Duncan or Sonya’s passing. Nothing else made sense.

Giridian opened Duncan’s last thoughts, but where there should have been a lifetime of learning and lore, he also found... nothing. He backed up mentally and felt the reassuring presence of Dragor. Taking a deep breath, he opened the memories of Sonya Illrys and found them to be intact. He could see her life, her teachings, and her last stand against Lilyth. He could see everything up till the moment she let her spark jump to Duncan, when transference had occurred.

He went back to search for Duncan again and still found nothing, no memories, no transference. The same was true for Valarius, nothing but a blank space between Sonya and Themun’s lives. A disturbing thought began to grow in his mind.

There was no situation where the lore did not transfer from father to father. It was the single thing that kept their teachings intact, or at least accessible for later generations. Furthermore, there was no way Themun would not have known this. Now his dying message seemed all the more cryptic.

He opened his eyes and looked again at Dragor.

"What?" asked the adept.

"The lore father said something to me before he died," Giridian said, looking at Dragor.

The younger adept asked, "What did he say?"

"It doesn’t make sense." Giridian looked about as if trying to find an answer in the air around him. He stopped when Dragor laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"Share it."

Giridian paused, then said, "Armun." He looked at Dragor again and continued, "It makes no sense. Who is Armun?"

"I don’t know," whispered Dragor. "What about the memories of the other lore fathers?"

"There’s nothing," he replied woodenly. "What I mean is, they are missing." Giridian closed his eyes again, searching, "They do not exist. No memories from Lore Father Duncan. None from General Valarius Galadine."

Dragor shrugged. "Is that so strange? They died. Perhaps they never carried out the ritual and their memories didn’t transfer, or Themun rejected their learning. Duncan wasn’t even lore father for more than a few moments before the king killed him."

Giridian shook his head and said, "Any lore father can unlock them."

He paused, looking at Dragor’s confused expression, then explained, "They don’t need to carry out the ritual, for their lives are contained in the Way. The spark of transference is not knowledge, but
access
to knowledge, which is recorded and contained within the Way, forever. Even Lore Father Themun, who was largely self-taught, gained access to the collective memories of those who came before him in this manner."

He stood, shaking his head. "For countless centuries the tradition has been followed, even when the lore father was petty or misguided. Knowledge of weakness and mistakes is more valuable than lessons from success, and we cannot count on every lore father choosing to pass on his knowledge. It is impossible that Duncan’s and Valarius’s memories are not here."

Dragor locked gazes with his friend and said, "Unless..."

"Unless they never died."

Journal Entry 12

When you read this, you make yourself stronger. You survive, against all odds, and your belief will suffuse you with strength. Doubt is your enemy, your faith is the key.

My area is not safe, and it is this continued belief that I am in danger that fuels these raids. Ritual is key, faith is power. I will keep writing it again and again to commit it to memory and heart. Ritual is key, faith is power.

My mind, like any man’s, must perform a system of actions that result in the conviction that I am safe.

It is the same for the mother that hangs hollyroot above her baby’s bed, or when one consumes sunbeam for fever. It is our nature to believe these remedies work, therefore they do.