Chapter 6

(Click here to download entire book.) 

Rome spun away from the table and into a battle stance, the axe suddenly in his hand, a frozen black shadow. Quyloc was out of his chair, his dagger ready.

“How did you get in here?” Rome barked.

A man stepped forth from the shadows in the corner of the room. There was no way he could have been there all along, Rome thought. No way one of us wouldn’t have seen him in full daylight like this. It was almost as if he stepped right out of the wall.

“How I got in here does not concern you.” The stranger walked toward them. He carried a staff made of some black wood, but he did not lean on it. He had white hair and was wearing a simple white shirt and brown breeches. Though his hair was white, he did not move like an old man. In fact, it was hard to tell how old he was. His face was curiously unlined but deeply weathered at the same time—Rome’s impression was of a stone statue left exposed to the wind and the rain for centuries.

“That’s far enough,” Rome said. He couldn’t see any weapons other than the staff, but he knew how effective a staff could be in the right hands.

The stranger paused.

“You didn’t answer my question. How did you get in here?”

The stranger brushed the question away with an irritable gesture.

“Why are you here?” Quyloc asked. Rome glanced at him. His head was cocked slightly, and he had a curious look on his face, as if he were puzzled by something.

“There. That is the question you should be asking,” the stranger said. He started forward again.

“I told you to stop. I won’t warn you again.” Rome raised the axe. It felt light and cold and strangely eager in his hands. He had not used it since Thrikyl. In truth, though he would never have admitted it, he was almost afraid to use it. He was afraid of what it might do, of whether he could actually control it. He wished he had his old war axe with him, but somehow he had forgotten and left it attached to his saddle.

The stranger turned hard gray eyes on Rome. “Your childish posturing is beginning to anger me. You pose no threat to me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rome said grimly. Despite the stranger’s words, Rome caught the look he flashed at the axe. It was a look of wariness, as if he had seen the axe before.

As the stranger came closer, Rome and Quyloc moved aside. He passed between them and walked to the window. He looked out the window for a few seconds while Rome and Quyloc exchanged looks. Then he began speaking.

“When the world was young, it was populated only by beings you call gods. Immortal, ageless, they dwelt in the Great Spheres of Stone and Sea and Sky, endlessly shaping. But the world was a cold, lifeless place, the Spheres motionless but for their wills. All that was changed when one of their number, she who came to be known as Xochitl (so-SHEEL), reached into the three Spheres and took pieces from each of them to create something different.

“Life.

“Life was something new. Its denizens grew of their own accord, flowered, prospered, and died. They were endless variety and creativity. In time, Xochitl molded her greatest creations: man and woman.

“Among the immortal beings was one second only to Xochitl in power. This was Melekath, and he was trusted by Xochitl. But he was jealous of the love humans had for their creator and wished for the same for himself. When he tried and failed to create his own race, he instead created what he called the Gift. When he offered the Gift to humankind, most were smart enough to reject it. But some were not and those were corrupted. So were born the Children of Melekath, perverted humans with great powers and greater hungers. They built a city named Durag’otal and from there they began to build an army to topple Xochitl and kill those humans who had stayed loyal to her.

“Xochitl and seven of the other greatest immortals led an army against Durag’otal. The destruction was horrific, but at last they prevailed. Melekath and his spawn were sealed in a prison of stone and sunk deep in the earth, never to threaten the world again.”

At his words, Rome felt something inside him lurch and he had a strange feeling of unreality. For a moment he did not see the room around him; he was lost in a deep cavern and there was a cold, white glow that blinded him. He put up his hand to shield his eyes and the moment passed. He blinked and looked at Quyloc. His friend had a dazed look on his face. Their eyes met and Rome had the strongest feeling that he was on the verge of remembering something vitally important, but it was like ashes thrown into the ocean, gone before he could collect it.

Rome shook himself. “Thanks for the history lesson, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with us.”

“On the contrary, it has everything to do with you.” The stranger turned and looked at Quyloc, as if expecting a response from him. But Quyloc said nothing.

“The prison had a flaw.” The stranger’s eyes flicked to the axe in Rome’s hands.

Rome shrugged. “So?”

“Melekath has cracked the prison. Soon he will be free. That is why I am here. To prepare you.”

“Really?” Rome asked skeptically. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I expect nothing of you. Quyloc, however, is another matter.” The stranger was again staring at Quyloc, as if looking for something. “You know something is happening, don’t you? You’re not like him. You’re not like any of them. You feel things. You feel this.”

Rome looked at Quyloc and was surprised by what he saw. Quyloc looked thoughtful, not skeptical like he’d expected.

“You have heard the stories,” the stranger continued, still talking to Quyloc. “There is an eyeless, white-skinned creature that burns people with a touch. Another that looks like a diseased man who spreads plague and pestilence wherever he goes. And a third, like a pile of stones walking, that can knock down the strongest walls with its fists. Those are the Guardians, Melekath’s lieutenants.”

Quyloc nodded. “I’ve heard.”

“Those are just rumors,” Rome interjected. “Things like that don’t exist.”

“What do you think?” the stranger asked Quyloc, leaning toward him slightly, awaiting his answer. Rome found himself awaiting Quyloc’s answer also, as if a great deal depended on what his old friend said next.

“Something is happening,” Quyloc said at last.

The stranger nodded. “How do you know this?”

Quyloc’s look turned inward for a moment. “I just do. It’s…a feeling.”

The stranger nodded again. “I was right to come here then.”

“Does someone want to tell me what is going on?” Rome demanded. “What are you two talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Quyloc admitted.

“The end of the world,” the stranger said.

“What?” Rome stared at the man. “Are you crazy? The end of the world?”

The stranger said nothing, only continued to stare intently at Quyloc.

“I don’t think he is crazy,” Quyloc said.

Rome turned on him. “You too? Did everyone fall over the edge this morning and forget to tell me?”

“I’ve felt…something,” Quyloc said to the stranger. “I thought it was just me. It’s getting stronger. What is it?”

“It is Melekath, reaching into the world once again,” the stranger replied.

“That’s enough,” Rome sputtered. But the other two ignored him.

“The Tender holy book claims Melekath’s prison is impregnable,” Quyloc said.

“Impressive,” the stranger replied. “You know your history. I was not sure I would find any who still knew it.”

“But you’re saying that the prison isn’t impregnable.”

“There was a flaw. It took thousands of years for Melekath to exploit it, but finally he has.”

“No,” Rome said firmly. “No, no, no. I’m not swallowing this at all. What’s wrong with you, Quyloc? You don’t honestly believe this man, do you?” A strange feeling passed over him as he said the last part and he found himself wondering if the stranger was really a man, or if he was something else. There was something undeniably different about him.

“I’m not sure yet,” Quyloc replied, still staring at the stranger.

“It is only reasonable to be skeptical,” the stranger said. “It is not every day a stranger appears in your midst and turns your entire world upside down.” His eyes hardened. “Make no mistake, though. Your belief, or lack thereof, changes the facts not one wit.”

“Right,” Rome said. “And those facts are what? That some old god no one remembers is escaping his prison and coming to kill us all? Funny, but there are at least a dozen children’s stories that say pretty much the same thing. It’s ridiculous.”

“Children’s tales come from somewhere.”

“Except when they don’t. They’re just stories, that’s all. Made up by parents to frighten their children into being good.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Quyloc said. “Variations of this same story appear in every region I know of. The details change, but the same thread is always there.”

“But those are just legends.”

“And what about what you did with that axe at Thrikyl?” Quyloc countered. “In a thousand years won’t that just be a legend?”

“That’s different. It really happened.” Though privately Rome had to admit to himself that there were times when he wondered if it really did happen the way he remembered it. It seemed so implausible.

“So did this,” the stranger said. “You feel the truth of it, don’t you, Quyloc? Be honest with yourself. You aren’t like him.” A faint gesture toward Rome. “You aren’t like any of them. You are sensitive to the flow of hidden energies. You know what I am saying is true.”

Quyloc sat in silence for long moments, seemingly fixed by the stranger’s gaze. Finally, unwillingly it seemed, he nodded.

“Well, I don’t feel anything,” Rome said, trying to shake off the coldness that was seeping into his gut. “It’s just rumors and legends. The wilder they are the more people believe them.” The other two both ignored him.

“How do you know all this?” Quyloc demanded suddenly, his voice almost angry.

“Because I was there.”

The words hung in the silence and then Rome laughed. Or tried to. This couldn’t be real. What was it he couldn’t remember? “Now you’ve gone too far,” he said. “You almost had me believing you but that last part…” He tried to laugh again.

“You’re him, aren’t you? Lowellin.” Quyloc’s eyes had gone wide.

The stranger nodded. “I am the Protector. I am the one who will do anything, sacrifice anything, to defeat Melekath.”

“And you’re thousands of years old.” Rome tried to sound sarcastic, but he didn’t quite succeed.

“Xochitl herself set me to this task, to watch over her creation.”

Quyloc’s gaze had turned inward once again.

“I saw the flaw from the beginning.” Lowellin’s face had grown very hard and his free hand was curled into a fist. “We were so close. The prison was nearly complete and Melekath would have been gone forever, but she—” He bit the words off. “She let weakness interfere with her resolve. I saw it happen. I knew this day would come.”

“But why have you come to us? What can we do?” Quyloc asked. “Why can’t the gods who built the prison fix it?”

Lowellin scowled and something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

"The gods are gone. They have left mankind to its doom."

Go to next chapter