The Mage's Grave: Mages of Martir Book #1 (16 page)

“No, no,” said Skimif, shaking his head. “I was just taken aback. I should have explained what I meant.”

Secretly, the Magical Superior was relieved. The gods hated it when mortals interrupted them, even for a good reason. It was a hard, painful lesson that the Magical Superior had learned decades ago when he first became the Magical Superior and it was not a lesson he intended to take again.

“The Old Ruins are a place no mortal has ever set foot in,” said Skimif. He gestured at the floor. “They exist deep, deep beneath the surface of Martir, well out of the reach of even the most sophisticated mortal magic. The gods have known about them for years and it was one of the first things I was told about when I ascended to godhood.”

“But what, exactly,
are
the Old Ruins?” said the Magical Superior, careful to keep his tone and words as respectful as possible.

Skimif shrugged. “From what the other gods have told me, and from what I've learned on my own, the Old Ruins are the only remnants of the world that existed before Martir. My theory is that the Powers left them because they did not know how to use them for Martir or maybe they finished Martir and the Old Ruins were what was leftover. Either way, they are an unusual sight to behold.”

A million questions exploded in the Magical Superior's mind when he heard that, but for some reason he suspected Skimif was not interested in answering any of them at the moment.

So he asked, “What did you find in the Old Ruins?”

“Not much,” said Skimif. “There's a lot of writing, but it's all in a language I can't read. The only god who has had any luck in translating it is Ranama, the God of Language, but even he hasn't been able to decipher much other than a few words. And trust me, he's been at it for thousands of years.”

“No clue at all as to the identity of this presence or what it even wants?” said the Magical Superior.

“None at all,” said Skimif. Then he frowned. “Well, I guess that's not entirely true. Ranama found this. He gave it to me for my own study, but I feel comfortable sharing it with you.”

Skimif held out his hand. His hand glowed brilliantly bright, but it lasted only for a second. When the light faded, a square stone tablet lay grasped between his fingers.

He let go of the tablet, which floated across the Chamber to the Superior. The Magical Superior caught the tablet with his free hand and peered at it closely.

The stone tablet was ancient. That he could tell right away. It felt crumbly and weak in his hand, like it was about to fall apart any minute. It was probably even older than the Arcanium. And if it truly was from the world that existed before Martir, then it definitely was older than the Arcanium, older even than the gods themselves.

The tablet's surface was faded, but he felt tiny raised ridges running across it, like some type of ancient writing. It reminded him, oddly enough, of the raised ink used by the ancient Primordians to write their books. He suspected that whoever wrote this tablet must have used a form of geomancy to raise the ridges, but considering that this tablet existed well before the gods—and therefore, before magic—its writer must have used a different method to achieve that effect.

“What is it?” said the Magical Superior, looking up at Skimif, who had folded his arms across his chest. “I mean, what is it, exactly? A history? A poem? An essay? Or something else?”

“Not sure,” said Skimif. “From what little Ranama has translated of it—and he hasn't translated much, even with all of the study and work he has put into it over the years—he thinks its a diary.”

The Magical Superior frowned. “A diary? Written by whom?”

“That is another thing Ranama is unsure of,” said Skimif. “According to him, the diary was written by someone chronicling the last days of the world that existed before this one. The writer's name is there, but it is the most faded and difficult-to-read part of the text, so Ranama calls him Diary-Writer.”

“This is an amazing find,” said the Magical Superior. He suddenly felt like he was holding pure gold. “It may be the rarest and most valuable object in all of Martir because it didn't even come from the Powers. In all my years, I never thought I'd get to so much as look at something not created by the Powers.”

“You are indeed lucky,” said Skimif, although his tone did not sound congratulatory. “But in the end, I don't care about the obvious academic value that tablet has to someone like yourself. I am interested in finding out if it is related to that presence I felt, the presence I think is up to no good.”

“So you think it might say something about that?” said the Magical Superior.

Skimif shrugged. “Ranama said that the diary appears to chronicle some powerful presence destroying the world before Martir, the Prior World, if you need a name for it. Based on what little he has translated, Ranama has concluded that the Diary-Writer was one of the final victims of the presence that destroyed his world.”

“He learned all of that from this?” said the Magical Superior, holding up the tablet.

“It's his theory,” said Skimif. “You've met Ranama before, no doubt, so you know how he tends to jump to all kinds of crazy theories given the slightest bit of evidence. Nonetheless, I think he may be onto something this time. He showed me his reasoning and I think it's pretty sound, although I admit that I'm no linguist.”

“As interesting as this is, I wonder how relevant it is to our current situation,” said the Magical Superior. “Do you think that the presence you sense today is the same presence that caused the destruction of the Prior World?”

The God of Martir shook his head hopelessly. “Maybe, maybe not. It might be something entirely different, but I doubt it. Whatever destroyed the Prior World is aiming to do the same thing with Martir. I'm sure of it.”

“Why would it do that?” said the Magical Superior. “What does this presence have to gain from the deaths of so many millions of lives?”

“How am I supposed to know?” said Skimif, shrugging. “This presence, whatever it is, is still in the shadows. I'm only aware of it because it is starting to get confident. Just half an hour ago, I sensed it directly inside this very school.”

The Magical Superior gasped. “How could it have entered without my knowledge? If the presence is as strong as you, I should have noticed it.”

“Remember, it took me years to be certain it even existed and wasn't some strange magical anomaly,” said Skimif. “I have a feeling this presence has been around much, much longer than the last twenty-four years.”

The Magical Superior could not help but shudder at the thought. “Then does that mean that this presence is possibly manipulating this 'Master' fellow? Or do you think Master is knowingly working with the presence?”

“That's another question I don't have the answer to,” said Skimif. “But I will say this: The gods hate submitting to any authority higher than them. That is the one trait the northern and southern gods share. Even though I've been their leader for a while now, I know for a fact that most of the gods still don't respect me or see me as legitimate. I doubt any of the gods would be willing to submit to this presence.”

“If this presence offered to overthrow you, would that not be tempting to the gods?” said the Magical Superior.

The temperature in the room—which had been cool—suddenly rose high enough that the Magical Superior felt almost too warm in his robes. The temperature increase had to have come from Skimif, who was now scowling.

“The gods aren't stupid,” said Skimif. “They remember what I did to Hollech all those years ago. They would never even think of standing against me, not unless they wish to be stripped of their powers and thrown beyond the Void as well.”

For the first time since he had gotten to know Skimif, the Magical Superior felt a tinge of fear. Most of the time, Skimif acted like a normal mortal, despite being almighty and powerful. Prior to becoming the God of Martir, Skimif had been a simple seaweed farmer, as honest and truthful as they came, with a strong belief in the brotherhood of all mortals, human and aquarian alike.

At least, that was what the Magical Superior had learned while doing research on Skimif shortly after the farmer's ascension to godhood. Right now, however, he was starting to understand that, whatever Skimif may have been in his mortal days, he was slowly becoming more and more godlike.

Thankfully, the Magical Superior had decades of experience interacting with various gods, so he knew how to speak in a way that would not ignite Skimif's temper.

Lowering the tablet, the Magical Superior said, “Skimif, I did not mean to anger you. I was simply offering an idea that may not have occurred to you yet.”

“Magical Superior.” Skimif said those two words as authoritatively as any god. “I know what you were trying to do. I was just angry that that is clearly not the answer. If it was, it would be very simple for me to banish this Master guy beyond the Void. Alas, it is not so.”

The Magical Superior still sensed an undercurrent of intense hostility in Skimif's words, a hostility that he had never heard in the god's voice before. It made him wonder just what kind of toll Skimif's ascension into godhood had taken on him, but the Magical Superior knew better than to ask. Skimif did not seem to be in the mood to answer such personal questions.

Before the Magical Superior could ask another question, a gray ghost flew through the ceiling and landed in front of him. It took the Magical Superior a moment to recognize the gray, slightly transparent, smoke-like being was Junaz's gray ghost, because it looked exactly like the ex-airship mechanic, simply without any color.

“Magical Superior, sir,” said Junaz's gray ghost, his voice echoing from the ghost's mouth. “Urgent news. The two katabans intruders from before were discovered to be missing from their cells. But don't worry, we know where they are, because one of them was captured by the traps I set up at the graveyard's entrance. I and several other mages, including the Institute mages, are heading there right now to apprehend them once and for all.

“Additionally, Eyurna has discovered that the entrance to the medical wing has been completely sealed off. She said that the last people in there were Darek Takren, Aorja Kitano, and Jiku Nium, but she doesn't know why the door is sealed. Jenur Takren is working with her to open it, but so far they have had no luck. Jenur is looking for alternative means of entrance, as the medical wing has proven to prevent even teleportation into it.”

“What?” said the Magical Superior, even though he knew that the gray ghost couldn't hear him.

“We are requesting your assistance to deal with these two problems,” Junaz's gray ghost continued. “You do not have to reply to this gray ghost.”

With that, the gray ghost dissipated into a thin, gray cloud of smoke that quickly evaporated into nothingness.

Skimif frowned. “I forgot how urgent mortals sound when dealing with what appear to us gods as minor crises.”

“Skimif, I am sorry, but I must leave immediately,” said the Magical Superior, turning to leave. “I trust that Jenur Takren has the medical wing situation under control, so I will go and help Junaz and the others re-capture the katabans.”

“Good luck with that,” said Skimif.

The Magical Superior stopped before he left. “Wait, you mean you aren't coming to help?”

Skimif shook his head. “I wish I could, but I have other things to attend to. I think you mages are perfectly capable of handling whatever is going on here by yourselves.”

The Magical Superior was about to ask Skimif what other things the god needed to attend to when Skimif suddenly burst into a bright shining ball of light. Like before, the Magical Superior was forced to cover his eyes, this time using the ancient tablet, in order to protect them.

When the light faded, the Magical Superior lowered the stone tablet and looked at where Skimif had stood previously. The God of Martir was gone, almost as if he had never been there at all.

It doesn't matter,
the Magical Superior thought.
Skimif is probably right. Whatever is going on right now, we will simply have to handle it on our own.

Before he left the Chamber, however, the Magical Superior placed the old stone tablet on the floor in front of the podium. He felt it would be safe here until he had enough time to study it further. Then he walked out the door and up the stairs.

As the Magical Superior ascended the staircase leading up to his study as fast as he could, he found himself wishing that Skimif had stayed and helped. He had the feeling that whatever was about to happen next would require all the help that he and his students and faculty could get.

Chapter Ten

“O
h dear,” said Gujak, who was still hopping from foot to foot, succeeding only in making Durima more nervous. “You're trapped. You're caught. We're dead.”

“We're not
dead
,” said Durima in an annoyed voice. “Not yet. There's still a chance we could recover from this.”

Having gotten off the fence, Durima now stood on the floor of the cage. She was right up against the cage's bars, her claws wrapped around them tightly. Although they were covered in dirt and smelled like it, the bars stood as strong as the bars in the catacombs had, if not stronger. They looked newer than the bars of her cell, like they had only been installed in the ground recently.

“We're still dead,” said Gujak. “Dead, dead, dead.”

“Would you shut up?” said Durima. “The mages don't even know we triggered their trap yet. We still have plenty of time to—”

She stopped speaking when she saw that Gujak had gone perfectly still. His large yellow eyes were focused on something behind her, his mouth open with dread, his whole body shaking. It was like he had seen a ghost.

“What are you staring at?” said Durima. She twisted her head over her shoulder to see if she could spot it. “Did you see Master or … damn it …”

A whole crowd of mages—comprised of human and aquarians—was running down from the Arcanium to the graveyard. There had to be at least two dozen of them, divided half and half between the two species, but for once, the humans and aquarians were not fighting amongst themselves. Instead, they were united in their purpose, and their purpose was obvious.