[Mkguild] Investigating Calamity (5/9)

[C. Matthias]

And here's part 5

Metamor Keep: Investigating Calamity
By Charles Matthias

March 16, 708 CR

        The trio did not return to the Mage’s Guild until nearly midday at the insistence of Father Akaleth.  It being Friday during the season of Penance, the priest spent an extra hour in prayer in the Cathedral, both Kashin and Czestadt with him.  The representatives from the Guild who’d come to collect them were forced to wait outside.  It was a cool but pleasant day with overcast skies that gave the air a crisp quality.
        It started raining shortly before the Questioner had completed his prayers which meant the price for keeping their hosts waiting was that they were taken a slightly longer way through the streets to the guild.  All of their clothes were sopping wet when they arrived.  Akaleth’s thick robes dragged along the ground, clinging to him like a hauberk for a man two feet taller.  These fetters slowed him even further, and a trail of water followed him through the side halls of the Guild like a snail’s slime.
        Through it all Akaleth maintained a detached air that only made the quintet of guards and young mage accompanying them all the more irritated.  When they reached the antechamber the young mage who’d never given them his name stormed through the double doors muttering curses.  Akaleth made the sign of the yew in his wake.  The guards scowled and one of them almost instinctively reached for his sword.
        The sword flew from the scabbard across the room and then paused.  Czestadt took a step forward, clasped the sword around the middle, and held the hilt out to the stunned soldier. “That not do again.”
        The soldier snatched back his blade and slammed it into the scabbard.  His eyes, furrowed and dark, scowled at them even as he stepped back against the far wall.  The sergeant stepped in front of him and pointed a finger at the man.  His were reproving but not hateful. “You’re a Caial.  Act like it.”
        The other solider scowled but nodded. “Yes Sergeant.”
        The sergeant an old veteran with graying hair then glanced at Czestadt with the cold hard gaze of a combat veteran. “Behave yourself little boy.”
        Kashin’s eyes went wide at that and he stepped closer to keep the Yesbearn from crushing the impertinent sergeant’s windpipe.  But Czestadt only returned the sergeant’s gaze with the dead gaze of his knightly order. “In Stuthgansk, a knight is fully within his rights to any man kill who to him would so speak.”
        “You aren’t in Stugan or whatever you call it,” the sergeant replied, attempting to stare down the Yesbearn.
        “No,” Czestadt agreed, smiling ever so faintly. “And that is your wife, this evening, will not weep.” The sergeant and the soldiers bristled but the Yesbearn turned his back on them and walked to the far wall leaving a trail of puddles in his wake.
        Akaleth, apart from a brief glance, paid them no more heed as he wrung out his robes as near to the outer door as possible.  Kashin, keeping a wary eye on the soldiers, gestured toward the hearth at the far end of the room. “Perhaps we can start a fire to dry off our clothes?”
        “See to it yourselves,” the Caial sergeant said with only the jerk of his chin to accent his words.
        Kashin did so with the patient care his memories of days amongst the Magyars had taught him.  Czestadt, his point made, was torn between moving to aid him and staying at Akaleth’s side.  He opted to guard the Questioner who was leaving a large puddle at his feet.
        By the time Kashin had a flame dancing on the kindling, Elizabeth emerged between the mass of guards and looked to the drenched priest. “Do you need a change of clothes?”
        Akaleth shook his head. “A few minutes more to dry off and I should be comfortable enough with little fear of catching bad airs.  But will the dampness of my cloak cause you any discomfort?”
        Elizabeth pursed her lips for a moment then shook her head. “No, that will be fine.” As Akaleth glided toward the hearth where the fire grew in brightness and warmth, the mage’s eyes appeared to ruminate on some deep question.  She spoke again only after the flame crackled in merry conflagration. “A quick spell would dry you off; if you’ll permit me.”
        “I fear I must decline, though I am grateful for your offer.” Akaleth offered her an apologetic nod of the head. “I do not know where your powers come from, Mistress Lumas.  I can hardly ask you to use them for my benefit when I do not know their origin.”
        “It’s magic,” Elizabeth replied with a faint hiss. “There is nothing to wonder at its origin.” She lifted one hand to forestall the explanation leaping to his tongue. “I know the Ecclesia teaches differently.  You do not need to lecture me.  Merely dry your attire and then follow me.”  She glanced at the five Caial and then to their captain. “Thank you for bringing them.  You may return to your duties.”
        Their alacrity in leaving the trio of foreigners appeared to stun even the mage.  No sooner had the words left her mouth than the quintet were all down the passage back to the outer door and the rain.  She blinked twice and they were gone.
        A long sigh escaped her throat.  Akaleth squeezed a corner of his robe but no more water poured forth.  He shrugged and with a quick twitch of his eyes toward Czestadt, offered, “They do not wish to be in our presence.  I am not surprised.  My order does not have a good reputation.”
        “That is putting it very lightly.  I have faced a great deal of unpleasantness in the last two days because I let you into Marigund.” She sealed her lips and said no more, preferring to look at the passage down which the Caial had fled instead.  Akaleth resumed drying his robe.  Kashin and Czestadt eyes each other warily but said nothing either.
        It was only a few minutes later that Akaleth had dried his robes sufficient for his comfort.  He followed Elizabeth along the inner passageways until he came to the high-ceilinged room with eight chairs about a small table.  Six other mages were assembled, none of their faces welcoming.  They did not stand for him either.  Their attire was as different as their personalities.  One, well-dressed, though almost sedately so, man with graying hair and steely gaze gestured with a nod of his steepled brow toward the empty seat opposite him.  Akaleth sat without a word.
        The same man introduced himself as Demarest, and then the other six sitting in the circle.  Only Elizabeth, Demarest, and the man on his left, Massenet, were willing to look at him; though at least in the eccentric Bartholomew’s case it appeared that the mage was lost in thought and not even paying attention to him.  The rest loathed him.
        To Akaleth’s surprise, he felt sorry for them.  He’d spent so much of his life hating others that to see it again and to see what his own face must have looked like for so long he felt a tremendous sorrow.  He lowered his eyes and clasped his hands together.  His robe was still moderately damp in his lap and he absently squeezed it tight.
        “How did you come to learn of Marzac?” Demarest asked in steady tones.
        Akaleth nodded to himself and began in a neutral voice. “I was one of three Questioners sent to Metamor to investigate the assassination of Patriarch Akabaieth.  While there we learned that one of the three artifacts of Yajakali, the Censer, had been seen at Metamor earlier in the year.  I had never heard of it before but my superior had; as he gave credence to it, so too did I.
        “We returned to Yesulam knowing that Metamor had not been at fault for Patriarch Akabaieth’s murder.  We knew only the name of the man who was responsible, Krenek Zagrosek, and his association with the ancient artifacts of Marzac that corrupted all who possessed them.  Armed with this knowledge, we reported it as bidden to the Bishop’s Council.  However, our testimony was altered and we were ordered not to pursue the matter any further.
        “We continued our investigation anyway; my superior suspected that there was someone inside the Ecclesia who was collaborating with Zagrosek.  He turned to Bishop Morean of Sondeshara to learn more of Marzac.  I turned to Bishop Jothay of Eavey and confided in him as he seemed to me to be a man of reason and influence.  I was still angry at Metamor and the way they had treated us.  In that, I was a fool.”
        “Only in that?” The one named Chalcus at his right quipped.
        “No, not only in that,” Akaleth admitted, unwilling to let the barb snare him. “More would come later.  Bishop Jothay was the ally of Zagrosek.  When he revealed this I knew that I was facing the greatest evil I have ever beheld.  This was no mere squabble amongst men of different opinions, no matter who the author of those opinions are.  This was a contest of supernatural entities, forces so dark and evil, so rich in hatred, so barren of compassion, that the foulest thing of man cannot compare.  I would not give them any more information, no matter how much they tortured me.”
        “Did they torture you?” Sir Rivers asked in laconic disinterest.
        “Oh yes.  Krenek Zagrosek beat me for over a week.  But physical pain is unimportant to me.  I have felt it before.  What truly horrified me was what Bishop Jothay did with the Sword of Yajakali.” He paused for a moment, but none of the others seemed interested in interrupting him.  He was not yet certain whether this was an omen for good or ill. “I had betrayed the name of Bishop Morean to him before I knew his evil.  Morean was captured and taken down to a vast pagan altar beneath the city of Yesulam, deep in her substructure and beneath even the aqueducts.  None knew of this place or even suspected it.  Once there, he made me watch as the Sword of Yajakali drained Bishop Morean of his life, leaving him a desiccated husk that in Jothay’s corrupted and perfidious humour he dubbed a Blood Bound.  He also made me watch as various children were brought crying and screaming.  They were laid on the altar, and the Sword was plunged into their chests.”
        Akaleth had to pause here as his breath caught in his chest.  He put his fist to his teeth to hold back a stream of tears he hadn’t known were there.  The memory filled him with an anguish he’d not felt even in the blackest days of his youth when his father had taken the whip to his back every time he’d made the sign of the yew like he’d seen the foul and profane Ecclesiasts use — the very Ecclesiasts he so wished to join as he fled from his Rebuilder upbringing.  Fathers should love their sons and teach them to be men, not monsters.
        He glanced up and to his surprise some of the mages shared his horror.  Elizabeth paled, Chalcus fumed, and even Sir Rivers looked purple with indignation.  Of the others, Bartholomew still woolgathered, Diomedra appeared speculative, Massenet clutched a pipe between his teeth and spewed tendrils of smoke from the corners of his lips, and Demarest tried to keep his _expression_ as level as a master Questioner.
        Akaleth could see that no question was forthcoming so continued his gruesome tale. “The children were completely consumed by the Sword.  Their substance was entirely drawn into the blade which drank their blood with relish and abandon.  Yes, the Sword drank their blood.  It was... somehow more than just hammered gold.  It was... unspeakably evil.  It quivered with hunger and I heard Jothay singing to it like a mother to a babe.  He cradled it to his chest giggling like a madman.  He even licked the blood that spilled onto his alb as eagerly as a dog with water.”
        He turned away and took a deep breath.  His stomach churned and his flesh went cold. “Forgive me,” he said as he fought to still his trembling. “May I speak of something else?”
        “Please,” Elizabeth said, almost as if she gasped for air after being trapped beneath the water until her life had nearly snuffed. “How did you escape?”
        “I used to carry various devices beneath my robe.  Most of them were to help encourage those I questioned to provide answers.  One of them was a small mirror.  Zagrosek was arrogant and kept me unshackled while he beat me.  He wanted me to know just how helpless I was.  I crawled to my things which he kept in a pile nearby and picked up the mirror.  When Zagrosek came to strike me again I blinded him with light.  I had just enough strength left to make good my escape.”
        “You blinded him with light?” Diomedra asked curiously, one finger twirling a lock of hair. “What light did you blind him with?”
        “My own,” Akaleth admitted. “I have always been able to create light.  I needed the mirror to see his eyes so I could direct the light.”
        “You, a Questioner using magic?” Sir Rivers scoffed. “Your order has brutally slain many innocents for nothing more innocuous that a simple light spell.”
        Akaleth knew this would come sooner or later.  It was almost a relief after having to recall those vile days beneath Jothay and Zagrosek’s unremitting and pitiless assault. “I was born with this gift of light.  It is innate and does not require me to draw any power from the life around me to use.  Therefore it is permissible for me to do so unless constrained by my Ecclesial superiors.”
        “I think it just hypocrisy,” Sir Rivers replied with narrowed gaze. “You persecute others for employing their gifts but revel in them yourselves.”
        “I merely uphold the teachings of the Ecclesia in regard to magic; if this has not been rigorously followed by other Followers, and I myself have not always been so scrupulous in its application, it is no fault of the Ecclesia herself, merely that of her members.  That the teachings are not better understood is something that I and others are working to change.”
        “We have only your word on that,” Chalcus pointed out with a glare. “And no reason to trust you.”
        “And what position does his eminence Cardinal Bertu take on the issue of magic?” Akaleth asked in a quiet voice.
        “The Cardinal is not at issue here!” Chalcus replied with some indignation. “And so that you know, he says nothing at all.  He is wise to not interfere with our work.”
        Akaleth turned to the young mage and lifting one eye brow asked, “Have I?”
        Chalcus fumed. “I cannot think of a specific instance yet, but I’m sure you have.”
        “This is ridiculous,” Elizabeth said in exasperation. “Father Akaleth, let us return to your ability with magic.”
        “Light only.” The Questioner spread his hands wide and then lowered them to his legs. “I have always been able to create light.  I was taught that it was evil and so had not used it for many years.  But I did then to save my life and to aid Father Kehthaek and Felsah in their quest to root out the evil of Marzac in Yesulam.  I had found what I believed to be its head in Bishop Jothay; that had to be revealed.  And so, I summoned enough light to blind Zagrosek and make good my escape.”
        “Have you never tried to do anything else magical?” Elizabeth asked.
        “No,” Akaleth admitted after a moment’s pause. “I have never tried.”
        “Why not?” Diomedra asked with a faint laugh.
        “That I could create light I have known since I was a child.  Perhaps it never occurred to me then to try anything more.  Once I was grown I’d been drilled in the belief that my ability was evil and so never sought to use it for anything else.  Now, I have accepted that it is not, but know that it is something I can use for good or for ill.  I do not use it flippantly but only when I must.”
        The blonde, buxom woman continued her derisive chuckling. “Why have you not used it since coming here?”
        “I was ordered by the Patriarch not to use my ability except to save my life from immanent death, or when asked for a demonstration by the Mage’s Guild.”
        “Ordered?” Sir Rivers scoffed.
        Akaleth nodded, his composure once more fully regained.  Even though their words were antagonistic again, it was a comfort to hear their mockery after the memories of his far too many days in that pagan temple.  With his disinterested aplomb he said, “It is his right to decide the good or evil in my gift, as it would be for any who possess powers beyond the normal ken of men.”
        Rivers rolled his eyes. “You ought to know your abilities better than that man.  Patriarch Geshter is well known for his distrust of magic from his years as Cardinal of Pyralis.”
        “Yet he knows far better about souls than I do,” Akaleth replied. “And his office is from Yahshua Himself.  To that will I cleave and in that will I trust and rest secure.”
        “A corrupt office of narrow-minded, power-hungry schemers!” Chalcus declared with a hooting laugh. “It’s no wonder you Questioners are not well liked.  You never think for yourself and make yourself beasts for your distant master!”
        “Chalcus,” Elizabeth snapped with a fierce scowl.
        But Akaleth turned on the scarred red-head and smiled. “You believe that we each should use our own reason to discern the will of Eli in our lives?”
        Chalcus nodded in a rather smug manner. “And turn to the Canticles.  We can read and learn for ourselves.”
        “Ah, yes, the cry of the Rebuilder.  We can find Eli on our own.  You would rather build Eli’s house anew for each one of you than follow the path trod by your ancestors who passed down the faith to you.”
         Bartholomew actually looked at Akaleth for the first time as this discussion commenced.  The wizened old face crinkled in amusement, though at whose expense it was not clear.  Chalcus did not yet realize the trap Akaleth had laid for him and walked right into it. “I know from reading the Canticles what Eli intends, as much as He has hold revealed to me.”
        “So all we need is the Canticles to learn right from wrong?”
        “One’s not corrupted by the Ecclesia at least!”
        “And all who would love Yahshua should seek Him in this way by using their reason as they read the Canticles?”
        Chalcus slammed a fist on his armrest. “Of course!”
        “And yet, the very first temptation recorded in those Canticles was to gain knowledge of good and evil that we might elevate ourselves above the counsels of Eli!” Akaleth did not smile, but spoke as calmly as any Questioner would. “Therefore, we are to conclude that valuing our reason above the revelation of Eli is the same sin that the Adversary first tempted man with.”
        Demarest sucked in his breath, Massenet coughed on his pipe, Elizabeth lifted one hand and opened her mouth to object, while Sir Rivers and Chalcus purpled with rage.  The scarred man balled one hand into a fist, spikes of iron growing from the flesh. “If you are suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, I will make sure you leave this city in as many directions as possible!”
        Chalcus!” Elizabeth snapped and flung her slender arm out.  A vise of blue energy coalesced around Chalcus’s fist and his attention turned to his fellow mage as he struggled against her.
        Akaleth paid it little mind. “I merely suggest that if one carefully examines the facts one can conclude the Yahshua gave us the Ecclesia in order to guide us back to Him.  We who are Followers follow Him by our humble obedience.  Rebuilders in arrogance try to build their own way to Him, try to remake Him into images of themselves, instead of making themselves into images of the Son who was obedient in all things to the Father.”
        Akaleth got no further as his tongue suddenly froze inside his mouth.  Demarest rose from his seat, arms stock still at his sides, pupils vanished into dark orbs that chilled the blood.  His voice dropped several octaves and made Akaleth’s flesh tremble as if it were going to shake apart. “ENOUGH!”  The darkness bled from his eyes and some of the blue returned, but still they were a milky concoction swirling and eddying like a festering geyser pool.  His voice no longer rattled the room but still arrested everyone. “I warn you, Father Akaleth of the Questioners.  Speak one more word of this and you will suffer the penalty for which your progenitors suffered.”
        Akaleth felt his tongue loosened and he gazed at the towering man with as placid an _expression_ as he could manage.  He admitted to himself that he was a little frightened by this mage, but his long years of training, and the brutality he’d suffered from Zagrosek and Jothay, gave him reserves beyond the grasp of most men.  His words were a quiet counterpoint. “I will not allow you to mock the Ecclesia or those who follow her faithfully.  You may do with me as you wish.  But that alone I will not countenance.  And you will find that command in the Canticles readily enough.  Shall I supply you chapter and verse?”
        Demarest stood a few inches taller, the darkness filling his eyes again.  Both Chalcus and Massenet had slid as far from the Questioner as they could.  Diomedra watched with an amused lilt to her eyes.  Sir Rivers appeared almost jealous of the Guild Master.  Elizabeth’s scowl encompassed everyone.  But Bartholomew did something none of them could have expected; he applauded.
        “Oh well done!  Well done!  I must say they do teach you very well down in Yesulam.  You’ve not even lifted a finger, you’ve earned a death sentence at least five times over by my count, and we cannot do it!  You are a most impressive man.”
        Akaleth’s firm countenance failed him.  He gapped in astonishment at the aged wizard dressed in robes decorated by astronomical symbols.  His clapping turned all eyes to him, even Demarest who blinked in stupefied wonder.  Bartholomew reached up and grasped Demarest by the arm and gently pulled him back down. “You cannot hurt him, Guild Master.  Like it or not he is correct.  It was we who insulted his faith first.  His defence was most interesting.  Far more damning as well.  In truth he should die for it, but, he is a guest and we in Marigund are gracious hosts.”
        The colour returned to Demarest’s eyes and he turned on the old wizard with an apoplectic rage barely constrained within his mortal flesh. “Barty, I will speak you with you privately when we’re finished here.” His eyes swerved to the Questioner and they were daggers both. “We will continue with our investigation and there will be no more mention of sectarian religious differences from anyone present.  From anyone!”
        Demarest sat back down and several let go breaths, Akaleth amongst them.  The Guild Master straightened his attire, closed his eyes, and put his fingers to his cheek bones in intense concentration. “Now... you say you can create light.  I would like a demonstration of your power.  You said you were permitted to do this.  Will we be allowed to test your strength in this matter?”
        “I believe to some extent that is allowable.” Akaleth nodded, his words slow and carefully chosen. “So long as it is merely test and not contest.”
        “It will not be, as you say, contest.” Demarest grunted, his anger still simmering but contained for now. “Massenet, if you would.”
        The man with the pipe nodded and turned back to the priest. “I am going to create some darkness.  Merely pierce it with your light.  That is all.”
        Akaleth nodded and sat still in his chair.  Massenet blew on his pipe a few more times, the smoke rising from the bowl collecting tighter and tighter in a deep mist like a shimmering veil.  A few short seconds later that veil had become a solid sail of black hovering in the sky.  Akaleth willed a beam of light into being and it easily pierced the veil, splintering it right through the middle.  Massenet nodded in approval and waved the blackness away with one hand.
        “I thought you’d be able to do that.  Let’s try something a little harder then.” He puffed a few more times on his pipe, and this time the sail become an entire block stretching across the ceiling above their heads.  Thick and wide, it appeared a solid mass of pure black.
        Akaleth could feel its contours like a wedge in his mind.  This was not like shadow which was merely an absence of light, this was a pure negation of it.  Not evil as such, that he could feel, but a bitter neutrality that neither posed nor answered moral questions.  But this again parted ways for him when he willed his light into being.  The brilliant white was clearly visible from any direction as it pierced the solid block through the middle.  A cobweb high up in the ceiling shone with brilliant array and consummate arachnid artistry.
        Massenet looked troubled that his spell had been so easily shattered.  He glanced between Akaleth and the rays of light cascading from the ceiling like splinters of glass.  He rubbed his chin in thought and asked the other mages, “Should I test him again?”
        “You need to blind him,” Diomedra suggested. “He could see the shadow before.  What if he can’t see it at all?”
        The other mages who were not still scowling in apoplectic fury nodded their heads.  Akaleth folded his hands in his lap and waited patiently for whatever spell they would concoct.  Massenet puffed only one this time on his pipe to produce a wisp of smoke.  He then turned his hands in the air as if he were churning butter and the smoke began to stretch and thin like a bit of twine being spun.  It circled Akaleth, turning into a band, then two, then three, then four around him.  Akaleth paid as little attention to it as he could.
        The strands continued to stretch and spread until they were so numerous and dense as to form a tube of darkness spreading from his navel to his neck.  Massenet lifted his arms upwards and the sepulchral cylinder rose to encircle Akaleth’s head.  And then, like a ebony mask, it collapsed inward, shrouding the priest in complete darkness.  He could neither see, nor hear, nor smell anything.  He could feel the chair beneath him, but not even the barest breath of air brushed past his cheeks.  He could open his eyes, but there was nothing to see.
        If he were invited to break this barrier, he never heard it.  And then his heart began to race; not only couldn’t he smell anything, but he couldn’t breathe either!  Questioner training to still the body kept him from panicking.  He focussed first on steadying himself, and then on the problem of the mask.  In the past he’d always seen where the light would appear.  Now...
        Akaleth envisioned his face wreathed in darkness.  He could remember what the room looked like and so he imagined that too.  The black mass on his face was a writhing thing, like a living bag nourish itself from his flesh.  He had a momentary temptation to add smug or murderous expressions to the mages but resisted it.
        He willed light into being, imagining it to pierce the mask, rising up from his very face.  This time he felt some resistance, his skin warmed by the light, but unable to break through the mask.  The interleaving strands of darkness were stronger than a solid mass.  Akaleth narrowed the light, as he’d once done against the Shrieker, driving its intensity away from his cheeks and through his eyes and mouth.  The mask shuddered as it swam about him, undulating in its courses around the light.
        But the mask held its place.  Akaleth drew back in himself, feeling the panic he’d denied begin to return as his chest ached from lack of air.  A sudden memory flashed through him; that of Patriarch Geshter counselling him in the weeks after he’d been freed from the shadow of Marzac.  What had he told him?  The man who’d been a plaything of evil assured him with all earnestness that his gift of light was not his own, but belonged to Eli and unto Him was it to be rendered.
        Oh Eli, let thy light shine.  Not my own.
         Akaleth folded his hands before him in prayer, slipped from the seat and knelt, head tilted back in adoration for his true Lord.  He heard nothing about him.  He opened eye and mouth again, pouring forth his light in confidence renewed.  With an almost audible shriek the mask gave way, tearing to shreds as the light seared in white hot beams from eyes and mouth.
        When Akaleth made the sign of the yew over his chest and stood, his light gone, he saw three scorch marks on the opposite wall; Both Demarest and Bartholomew were cowering out of the way, the latter clutching his pointy hat which had a little hole scored through it.
        “I think you’ve sufficiently demonstrated your power, priest,” Demarest said as he settled back in his seat.
        The others mages looked rather disturbed, but Akaleth felt a warm delight at seeing those burn marks.  One for Eli, one for Yahshua, and one for the Spirit Most Holy.  He offered another quick prayer that his pride would accept none of this for himself.
        He acknowledged Demarest with a slight nod. “I believe then you wish me to continue speaking of what I know of Marzac after my escape from Zagrosek?”
        “Aye, continue your recitation.”
        “I escaped from Zagrosek more by Eli’s grace than any skill on my part.  He knew far better the maze of passages beneath Yesulam than I did; nevertheless he could not follow me and I finally collapsed into the arms of the first person I met.  This happened to be one of the Magyars that Kashin’s twin Nemgas led.  I am sure he has spoken of that.”
        “And how did a Questioner take being cared for by thieving, pagan Magyars?” Sir Rivers asked with an arch amusement.
        Akaleth turned to the well-manicured mage and offered a half-crooked smile. “It was one of the best lessons I have ever received.”  And he spared no language to describe it.  Talk of his own humiliation seemed to make the mages happier than anything else he could ever say.

        By the time that Akaleth reached the battle against Jothay, Zagrosek, and the Blood Bound, it was past noon and a light repast of bread and cheese was supplements with various sausages which Akaleth did not eat, nor did Massenet or Bartholomew but he doubted the white bearded mage was a Follower.
        It was while he was describing the underground chamber that Elizabeth finally began asking him questions. “You said there were symbols on the wall, is that not so?”
        He nodded. “Nine of them.  They were not easy to follow but they were clear.  Veins of fulgurite were imbedded in the floor and they rose up through columns along the walls.  It was on those columns that the symbols were etched.”
        Elizabeth nodded, lips pursed tightly. “I have some drawings.  I would like you to tell me if they are the symbols you saw.”  Akaleth nodded and Elizabeth produced a parchment from beneath the table on which a single symbol was drawn.  A curvy line with two slashes through it.  Akaleth’s chest tightened and his nostrils flared; a chill like a million snowflakes brushing his skin gripped him.
        “Oh aye, I’ve seen that.  It was one of them.” His voice was tight and crisp as it fought to control a tremble.
        Elizabeth set it aside and drew another parchment.  The symbol was decidedly more complicated but Akaleth could only nod.  She then produced a third and his nod came quicker.  He did not see the mages anymore, but the earthen walls, vaulted dome, orange and black fulgurite, and the laughing, insane face of Bishop Jothay crowing and preening like an imbecile as the blood of children were swallowed into the golden blade.  He’d remembered them all before but then they’d been wisps of thought.  Now they were tangible reality come back to plunge him into the terrible past.  She produced a fourth chevron and Akaleth put his arms over his head, one hand reaching into his sleeve and grasping for that which was not there, all the while whimpering, “No more!  No more!  Please, they were there, aye!  No more!”
        Elizabeth looked mortified as she set the parchment aside. “I...” She folded her hands in her lap as all the mages stared dumbfounded at the sudden transformation that had taken place.  The Questioner had been reduced into a craven figure by mere symbols.  “I have no more with me.  It is not safe to have all nine present in the same room.  Even now with Marzac destroyed I will not risk it.  I’m sorry.  I did not know they would cause you such distress.”
        Akaleth breathed heavily and blinked his eyes several times.  His arms fell back down and he hastened to remove his hand from his sleeve. “I... I did not know they would either.”
        The other woman, Diomedra, crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. “You do frighten by the oddest of things, Questioner.”
        The black-robed priest managed to straighten himself out and after a deep breath regained his Questioner mask. “Having seen what the Sword of Yajakali could do, I could be no less.  But frightens me more is the notion that these symbols may yet have power.  You say Marzac is destroyed, then why is it that these symbols still have power?”
        The question let all seven mages uncomfortable.  They glanced at each other, the overturned pieces of parchment, and then inward to their own thoughts.  But though their minds searched for some answer to the dilemma, none of them found any answers to share.  Akaleth drank in the silence which was broken only by the creaking of chairs for many seconds.  It was a good sign.  They would be even more vigilant now than they had ever thought to be before.
        Somehow, Akaleth knew that they would have no more stomach for baiting him.  Their attempts to goad him had only made him wish that he’d never done it himself in years past.  Still, they were really bad at it.  He so wished to turn the tables on them and start asking them questions, but he kept silence.  He would enjoy this reprieve as long as it lasted.

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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4c97e923230545126175762!

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