A Wizard's War

Shimmering lights danced just beyond his reach as Simon emerged from the darkness. He was cradled in the familiar pressure of water all around his body as he slowly kicked and rose to the surface, but he could breathe the fluid comfortably. All at once he emerged from the surface of a small pool, expecting a beautiful field of purple flowers.

There were no flowers or grass, just scorched earth and sludge. The muddy ground around all the nearby pools was soaked in blood and bile as the corpses lay scattered about. None of the corpses were fully human, but misshapen constructions of bone and flesh. Some with pointed spines and other masses formed of pure black ichor. The stench of death was unbearable.

“It’s you!” Someone shouted from nearby as Simon looked around in horror.

Drawing his attention, Simon found the source of the cry. It was a crimson-skinned beast with large bat-like wings swooping down in his direction. The creature carried an equally red sickle in its clawed hands. Simon took a terrified step back as the thing flew closer.

“Don’t be afraid!” the thing called, “I’m here to help…”

Before the red demon could utter more, their body was sliced in half by an unseen force. Their internal organs rained down not far from Simon and their body fell hard with a wet slapping sound against the mud. The force that had destroyed the creature continued to reverberate and cause ringing deep in Simon’s ear.

“Sorry about that,” A mellifluous voice chimed from behind Simon. Simon swung around to find a petite, pale-skinned woman with long flowing red hair. Her body was wrapped as if by the shadows themselves in a black dress. Her ruby lips were parted in a genuinely warm smile.

“There used to be others that protected these lands,” she gestured around her, “But of late, Meridiah has fallen to frequent demon incursions. Nothing I can’t handle… for now.”

“For now?” Simon asked.

“Eventually,” she grimaced, “They will overrun the lands completely, and only a small mirror will stand between them and the land of the living.”

“The mirror of souls.”

“You remember this time around, don’t you?” she asked. She had closed the distance and now stood before Simon a foot shorter, but infinitely greater in magnitude.

“You are…” Simon whispered in terror.

“That’s correct,” she giggled with such innocence, like the mirth of a little child.

Simon felt his legs shaking as he collapsed to one knee before the young woman, who was anything but young.

“Oh please,” she grabbed his arm and pulled him back up, “None of that nonsense.”

“’In the end, all men kneel before the Eternal Empress,’” Simon quoted in a quavering voice.

“You and I both know, this is not your end, Simon Lorall… kingmaker, Seeded One. Not what I expected, by the way. It’s amazing that you can still be surprised even after an eternity.”

“I was unexpected?” Simon asked.

“Not you,” she shook her head, “But the manner in which your power manifested. It had to be wholly of your world and dependent on the resources that dwell within it. The seed of those that dwell there, quite literally making you the Seeded One.”

“I don’t understand,” Simon looked uncomfortable. He was standing next to Vale in a grim display of death all around them. His last moments seemed distant, and his short life inconsequential. Waves of power were radiating from the Eternal Empress as she gazed curiously at Simon. Not like the curiosity of studying a line of ants but a general interest, as if a great mystery of the universe had fallen from the sky.

“I don’t understand either!” Vale finally laughed in surprise. Simon hesitated, but her infectious laughter caused him to chuckle uncertainly too.

“Let’s walk,” she said after she a pause, “We have a long way to travel.”

“Do you need to walk?” Simon wondered.

“No,” she smiled up at him, “But if I teleported us there, we would miss out on a wonderful opportunity to talk.”

“A conversation with the goddess of death…” Simon looked away and wiped his hands over his face. Looking back, he found Vale was still walking in stride along with him.

“You’ll find that I’ve always been there. Alongside you, behind you, before you. I’m more than just death, but everything that exists beyond the waking world. While the other gods tend to your physical needs and existence, I prepare you for everything that comes after. The idea of an ‘Eternal Empress’ is a mortal concept where all men kneel before and submit to death. In reality, no one serves in my kingdom. No one is subject to a greater will. Instead, they exist as they are meant to exist. They are punished or thrive by the weight of their own judgement.”

“And Meridiah?” Simon asked.

“The place in between. Dreams were born here and some of them have found their way into your world. Dragons were the first to liberate themselves. They taught much to those that listened, especially the elves, long before I ever decided to create the mirror of souls that bridges these two worlds together.”

“It is the source of all magic, isn’t it?”

“You get right to the heart of it, don’t you?” Vale was amused again.

“I felt it,” Simon continued, “the connection continued after I came back. The magic was closer somehow.”

“That mirror was my greatest gift to humanity, but also a terrible curse,” Vale looked out across the vast plains before them filled with regret, “I was only trying to help them.”

“Is it true then?” Simon recalled Auren’s story about Belothemid, “Did Belothemid promote miraculous healing and prevent you from claiming souls?”

Simon suddenly found himself lifted from the ground, every muscle in his body was rigid and contorted in pain.

“Do not mistake my kindness toward you as an opening for blasphemy!” Vale looked at Simon with deep purple glowing from her now sunken eyes. Simon felt his helpless soul flailing in the storm of her rage and with a single thought she could erase him from existence. After a moment, she released him, and he lay panting and crying on the ground in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed at length, “I know you don’t know the whole story. The Order of Belothemid would paint the demon as the victim in their teachings. Imprisoned by the Eternal Empress herself, all he wanted was to prolong the lives of his followers… blah, blah, blah. He was a twisted soul in life and in death he was even more deranged. I still don’t know how a mortal soul in my keeping found the way back to the world of the living, but I expect an ancient dragon had something to do with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon dried his tears on his sleeves, “I didn’t mean to offend.”

He was shaking in fear. He’d never had to face the sheer insignificance of his life before. In the vastness before him, he thought he was nothing and no one.

“That’s not true, you know,” Vale spoke sympathetically as she read his thoughts, “Every life, especially yours, is important to me. While I possess the ability to end it all… everyone, everywhere, all at once… I don’t and I never will. You are an extension of me, and as much a part of my experience as I am a part of yours. You just reminded me of my failings. My mistakes.”

“A god can make mistakes?” Simon was surprised by such a confession.

“Just like you do,” Vale laughed hollowly. She considered him for a moment before helping him to his feet.

“You keep quiet for a while, my curious little kingmaker, and I’ll start at the beginning… well, I should say, the beginning of what matters to you.” She turned and began to walk away. Simon took a moment to compose himself and then followed her.

__________

The cold wind whistled through the trees of the dense forest as the snow continued to fall. Beyond the edge of the tree line was a great crater stretching out for miles and in the center a fortress of ice. They had counted seven watchtowers standing around the outer edge of the crater, allowing clear line of sight anywhere inside the crater.

“You’re sure they will ignore a lone wolf crossing the crater?” Fogrot questioned.

“It will be far less conspicuous than all three of us marching on foot toward the gates,” Connor shrugged.

“You see the tents outside the fortress?” Rummert growled, “That is a fearsome army, and they are preparing for war.”

“I’m hoping that will also keep them distracted as I approach. In their haste to prepare, maybe they won’t care about a single wolf.”

“They have the patrols clearly scheduled at this watchtower; Rummert and I should have no issue claiming it before you return. Holding it, will be a different matter, so try to find Simon quickly.”

“I don’t like it,” Rummert shook his head, “There are still too many unknowns at that fortress. And, that army makes me nervous.”

“If it is more than I can handle,” Connor assured, “my wolf should have no trouble slipping back out and I will regroup here.”

Connor looked at the hulking forms of the orcs who had become his unusual companions on the trek North. Where Simon was involved, they were equally invested in his well-being, and they would not take no for an answer when Connor set off after him. Connor had set a grueling pace in his wolf form, but the orcs traversed the wooded terrain like champions. Their only delay was when the weather began to turn frigid.

Connor had helped the orcs locate several deer from which they skinned heavy pelts. Without proper tanning, the hides were only kept fresh by the cold temperatures, and it did nothing to hide the wet scent of animal fur, but at least the orcs were warmer. During moments of rest, they would also recount how they met Simon, and Connor was very disheartened to hear some of the struggles the young man had endured since they parted ways.

With their plans in place, Connor checked to see the last light of day on the horizon. He would have to set out soon.

“Be careful, wolfkin,” Fogrot spoke gravely as Connor stood up.

“You too.”

Connor walked a short distance from the others, disrobed and transformed into a wolf. As the wolf wandered to the edge of the forest waiting on full darkness, Connor had time to consider what lie ahead. He knew more about Simon’s current peril from the orcs but also from things the priest, Zolgrim, had told him in passing.

Zolgrim had a look of fondness in his eyes when he had discussed the topic of Simon with Connor. Connor felt a little jealous, knowing from the scent they had sex together, but he also knew it was inevitable that Simon would have other lovers. At the very least, they knew his powers were dependent upon the seed of others and if not Connor, someone would have to supply him with more. Connor was grateful that Simon had found someone compassionate and kind like Zolgrim, if only for a moment, before the brutal orcs and disturbingly pale lord of Votu Vomir.

Simon was not himself with Crusnik, Connor could see that now. The demon was desperately trying to win some inner turmoil and wanted Connor’s power. But, it didn’t make the words hurt any less.

‘We want the beast, not the man.’

Simon’s power and pleasure were linked to the seed he collected. Connor had to be prepared this time to offer what was needed and not dwell on the words of the demon or the enchantment of the undead Crusnik. He had to reach the boy he had met and bring him out of the darkness.

With the cover of night, the wolf set out across the crater toward the ice fortress in the distance.

__________

“We come at last to the distasteful topic of Belothemid,” Vale sighed as she looked over a beautiful valley beyond the large hill upon which they were standing.

Simon could make out the familiar purple flowers and a babbling stream winding its way through the valley. There was a sweet scent in the air that made Simon’s memory foggy and his body more relaxed. He looked around, uncertain how long they had even been walking.

“It’s the flowers?” Simon realized suddenly.

“They normally make the transition easier,” Vale confirmed, “between life and death. They cause a reassuring, calming effect. Help the soul let go.”

Vale pursed her lips and blew lightly into the air. Simon could feel the flower’s pollen or whatever magic they carried disperse as if a great wind had come along.

“In the realm beyond this, the Eternal Realm, many souls find peace and in time they journey on as part of the collective. While other souls dwell on the things they have done or left unfinished. Those souls torture themselves and often deform their own bodies to reflect the pain and misery they feel.”

“Demons,” Simon frowned, “They were once people?”

“They were once souls,” Vale corrected, “In the infinite, not all souls are people. The demon in question though, was indeed a person. The elves of the time had power and magic gifted to them by dreams and dragons from the realm of Meridiah. Those quiet enough to listen could sense the magic in their world.”

“But there was one, a self-proclaimed king, Bartholomew Iomodaius, whose conquest for power stole the lives of nearly ten thousand elves and magical creatures. He siphoned their power and drained their blood. Stole things that did not belong to him and claimed power that was never his to wield.”

“The other gods and I should have intervened long before we did, but we tried not to limit the potential of our creations. We attempted to maintain a distance and my purpose was in the realms beyond life, so I turned a blind eye. Why should I concern myself? Raigar, Esther, and Neptune would inform me if the threat were too great.”

“None of us could have known,” Vale whispered sadly as a tear fell from her eye. Simon looked away and shifted awkwardly. He had never expected to witness the goddess of death crying in front of him; despite the vastness of her power, she seemed so human in that moment.

“When that festering soul entered the Eternal, as all men eventually do, it went through all the normal changes. It fed upon its own misery and pain, but instead of crumbling and breaking, it grew stronger. The deformed twisted thing that emerged called itself Belothemid. In that moment, Belothemid looked around and realized there was an entire realm of twisted souls waiting to be corrupted. They had built an empire in life, why not do it again in death?”

“It was not until Belothemid escaped that I truly felt fear for the first time. A demon from my Eternal Realm was not meant to walk amongst the living. And soon, in horror, all the gods watched as our precious humans were easily corrupted. Belothemid would practice miracles and display his magic, claiming that he could help everyone live forever. His followers would willingly give up their souls and Belothemid would summon one of his demon followers to inhabit the vessel left behind. The bodies would be broken and battered and just as promised, they would live forever.”

“Which is where the story arose about the god of miraculous healing,” Simon realized, “People thought he was saving them, but in reality…”

“He was destroying souls,” Vale wept openly now, “Defiling the dreams of others and corrupting the Eternal Realm. I still feel the emptiness of all those lost. A stain that will never come out, a scar never to heal.”

“In our desperation, the gods intervened and granted gifts to the world to combat this new enemy. I opened a doorway, a Mirror of Souls, which would allow the magic of Meridiah to flow freely and touch those gifted with great power. Neptune distilled the treacherous songs of the sea into the mythical Siren’s Conch. Esther plucked the Heart of the Sun which gave rise to terrible mechanical creations and the engines of war. Raigar gifted the Moon Stone so that man may rise as beast against their oppressors. And in our arrogance, we watched our gifts succeed. It turned the tide, and our enemy was defeated.”

“This time I was ready with a prison! Shackled that demon in the deepest darkest parts of my domain outside of time and space to be ravished by the insurmountable void!”

The air was cold and storm clouds were rolling in as Vale concluded this part of her story. The clouds were dark blue and the lightning within was red and purple as it flashed across the sky. Instead of thunder there was a soundless wave of force that Simon could feel reverberating in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Vale spoke shakily as she dried her eyes, “Perhaps we can walk for a while longer, until I’m ready to continue.”

Simon had a strong urge to lay a comforting hand upon the goddess, then thought better of it.

“You are kind,” Vale whispered, “I feel your comfort even without the physical touch.”

“There is a saying,” Simon considered, “that time heals all wounds. But for you there is no time.”

“I feel it all,” Vale nodded solemnly, “From all of them, all the time. And our fear, our regret, and our anger are just as real now as they were when it happened or will happen.”

__________

As anticipated, the lone wolf, while a curiosity, did not raise the alarms of the army encampment or the fortress guards. Connor realized quickly upon arrival that the entire complex was in a state of chaos and confusion. The wolf risked darting nearer to tents, within range of conversations and urgent whispered rumors.

“More are still arriving through the portals daily.”

“I’m sick of eating the same damn filth! And this cold is unbearable!”

“I heard he was dead or something when they arrived. So much for allies within the alliance!”

“Those Order guys give me the creeps in their black robes. What is it about them? Corpse-like. Yea, that’s it!”

The fragments of conversation from around the camp did not answer as many questions as they raised. And despite his hope, there was never mention of Simon or anyone remotely sounding like Simon. Connor relied on his other wolf senses and tried to pick up a scent, but the cold and snowy atmosphere had dampened the scent from the outside. He’d have to find a way into the fortress to continue his search.

A group of servants carrying supplies into the larder granted Connor the opportunity for which he’d been searching, as they left the entrance primarily unattended while they carried heavy crates. The wolf darted through the opening and weaved its way through the kitchens. Connor hoped Simon was in hospitable conditions, but he feared it more likely he would need to explore the lower reaches of the ice palace for some sort of dungeons.

The wolf’s senses allowed him to avoid detection as he crept cautiously through the palace. Despite the walls of solid ice, the temperature inside the palace was not unpleasant, and a significant improvement over the past days in the frozen forests of the North.

Eventually, the meandering halls of the palace deposited Connor in a central chamber with high vaulted ceilings. Jagged columns of ice supported the elaborate structure, and the entire chamber was abustle with servants and soldiers alike. Connor hesitated in the arched entryway, certain to be spotted if he continued. The most striking feature of the chamber was the great portal that had been opened in an ornate wall. The wall was mostly stone with a myriad of carved runes and sparkling aquamarine. While the architecture was fitting to the ice palace it seemed very different, perhaps much older.

Periodically, a company of black-clad soldiers would march through the open portal and were given instructions where to camp or directives to prepare for a coming battle. The one at the center of the chaos, directing soldiers at the gate, was a bald man in gray robes and several heavy chains burdened by talismans. The man in the robes reminded Connor of the grotesque, undead Julian Crusnik and the wolf let out a low growl of distaste as it exposed its sharp teeth.

“Hello, wolf,” A familiar voice suddenly spoke from behind Connor. The wolf whirled around to see Simon’s haggard body leaning against a wall. He was dressed in fine garb, but his eyes were sunken, and the normally bright green irises were flat and clouded.

“Are we ever glad to see you,” Simon continued to speak, “We could use a boost in strength.”

Connor could not sense Simon’s familiar scent. It was polluted by something, and the wolf’s hackles began to rise in alarm.

“No need for that,” Yidian rolled their eyes, “You and we have met before in similar conditions. Granted, Simon had left us with a lot more to work with. We are surprised you followed, after the last encounter.”

Connor knew if the demon had assumed full control, Simon was likely dead. Again. Connor felt exhausted and weary at the constant uphill struggle trying to save his friend. He was so distracted by the onslaught of emotions; he did not sense the net falling around him until it was too late.

As the wolf snarled and thrashed within the confines of the magical net, Yidian spoke out.

“Do not harm the creature, he is important to us!”

“Then we will welcome the beast as an honored guest,” the man in gray robes responded.

“Do not struggle,” Yidian continued, “You will be safe.”

The words were so calm and gentle, Connor stopped his thrashing, almost wanting to believe it was Simon. Looking through the net, Connor saw his hope was not a reality.

“Might I suggest, “the man in gray robes continued, “Moving it to your quarters before releasing the net. I would not trust that the creature will not flee.”

“We agree,” Yidian considered reluctantly.

The magic net shifted around Connor, pulling tight and then finally lifting from the ground without any tethers or ropes. Connor floated helplessly above the ground as he was taken to the demon’s quarters.