Consequences: The Everborn Histories Vol. 1 Sounds began to intrude on the darkness slowly. A muffled voice here, a half-heard footstep on stone, the sound of glass breaking. Zeddar opened his eyes and had to blink against the pain throbbing through his brain. When his vision cleared, Zeddar was confused for a moment as it seemed the world had been flipped upside down, but he quickly realized that it was him that was upside down. He was suspended by his feet from the center of the ceiling in his own tower, and he was not alone. "Good," a familiar voice said from behind him, "You're finally awake! I was beginning to wonder if the blow to your head was too strong or too well placed and perhaps it had already finished you. But here you are, awake. We have so much to talk about." There were footsteps again from behind him as the man walked slowly around and knelt to put his face on a level with Zeddar's. The High Lord Mordecai, trusted advisor to the Queen, a member of the ruling council, and the man who had betrayed them all to the Darkness. Black specks like tiny fleas swam across the whites of his eyes as he smiled a cruel and hideous smile. "I had hoped to spring my trap on you all together," Mordecai hissed. "But your meddling has unraveled those plans and forced my hand. No matter, though. With you here at my mercy there's nothing you can do to stop what I've set in motion now. The end will come. You just won't be alive to see it." Zeddar struggled for a moment against the chains that bound him, but they were too tight to even move. He reached out with his mind and probed the chains, searching for a weak spot, and recoiled at what he felt. These were no mere chains, they were forged of shadow ore mined in the bowels of Deceit. He could feel the taint of the dungeon in the metal along with something else--an intense and terrifying pain. He shuddered at the sensation and tried again to move against his bonds. "Struggle all you want, Wizard," Mordecai spat. "Those chains cannot be broken, not by the likes of you." Zeddar took a long, slow breath, and calmed himself with great effort. "Do your worst, Betrayer," he said finally. "I will not answer your questions, so you may as well kill me now." Mordecai threw his head back and laughed. "You'll answer me, Wizard," he said when his cold mirth had finally spent itself. "You'll answer me and more. And before I am done, you will beg for me to kill you. If you're a good pet and answer me truthfully, I may grant that wish." Mordecai stood and walked back around behind Zeddar out of sight. "My first question, Wizard, where have you hidden the Necromica?" Zeddar clamped his jaws shut and didn't speak. Behind him he heard a low chuckle. "I was hoping you would choose to be difficult," Mordecai hissed. "It's so much more fun that way." Suddenly there was blinding pain lancing through every fiber of Zeddar's body. It coursed through his blood and raced down his nerves, each muscle seemed as if it were about to explode and his bones felt as if they had shattered. A cry of absolute anguish tore through the chamber at the top of his tower, echoing off the walls and ceiling, and within Zeddar's mind. It only lasted an instant, and then it was gone, but Zeddar was left panting with a slick sheen of sweat cooling over his face. Black and red spots danced across his vision and he had to blink a few times to clear it. "That was only a taste, Wizard," Mordecai whispered, his mouth right next to Zeddar's ear. "Please, resist. Make this as difficult as possible for me. I'll enjoy the screams." Zeddar refused to allow the words to reach him, and he kept his jaw clenched. When the next wave of pain washed over him, he managed not to scream. When it finally dissipated, Zeddar felt like he might pass out. A fist twisted in his hair and turned his face up and he found himself staring at Mordecai's grinning face. "This is going to be fun," Mordecai hissed. "In the end you'll tell me. I just might have to make you bleed a bit first. Shall we begin?" Zeddar thought he had understood pain before, but what hit him now lanced through him like a white hot river of pure agony. Everything else faded, washed out by the sheer, overwhelming power of the pain exploding through every fiber of his being. This was pain induced by pure, dark magic, and it was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His mind cried out as his conscience shattered. His body begged for the blessed peace of unconsciousness, but it wouldn't come. Mordecai's power held him, forced him to experience every fraction of a second that passed. And all the while, the only sounds Zeddar could hear were his own hoarse screams and Mordecai's cold laughter. * Ch. 2 This time it was a smell that first touched Zeddar's awareness. It was thick, coppery, and stale--dried blood. Zeddar opened his right eye and blinked. It took him a moment to remember that his left eye was gone. His body and mind were numb to the various aches and sharp, stabbing pains that assaulted him. He couldn't afford to notice them, not fully. If he did, they would overwhelm him and he'd black out again. He was exhausted. Zeddar felt utterly drained of strength and resolve. He wasn't sure how many times he'd been brought just to the precipice of death only to be yanked back at the last instant with a resurrection spell and a rough healing. Then the mental assaults would begin anew, then more physical torture, and repeat the process. He knew at one point that the sun had stood outside his window, and at another point he'd seen the moon. Now, outside was a dull, almost uniform gray. Clouds hung low in the sky, and from the shade of them, it would rain soon. That meant spring was close at hand, and Silvervale would be covered with wildflowers in a few days. The yearly bloom was intense, but short lived on the northern plains and by mid-spring the flowers would be gone. The grasses and shrubs would spend the short summer and fall producing the seeds that would drop with the first snows and bloom the next year. The cycle was a thing of beauty to behold. Suddenly Mordecai's face was in front of his. The dark mage looked haggard, and tired himself. His face was pale and the skin was drawn tight with a slick sheen of sweat. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. Using so much black magic in one stretch was beginning to take its toll on the Betrayer. He would need his answer soon, which meant he would go too far, and Zeddar would die. Then there would be nothing between the dark mage and the woman. "Have you had enough yet, Wizard?" Mordecai growled. "Have you suffered enough? Where is the book? You can't possibly use it, not and keep your precious soul. The power inside is tainted, I know that just as well as you do. But it IS power. And I want it. I know she knows. The woman at the tavern. I must say, I'm surprised at you, a noble born and all. She's a gypsy, you know, in case that kind of thing matters to you. I'm not one to judge." Mordecai leaned close, his nose almost touching Zeddar's. "You don't want to imagine the things I'll do to her, Wizard. Tell me where the book is, and she will be spared. You have my word. I'll still kill you for the trouble, of course, but you can die knowing that she is safe from my hand." Zeddar didn't speak. He didn't trust himself to. If he opened his mouth, if he crossed even that line right now, he would break. He knew he would. The pain had been too much. He'd felt himself snap somewhere in there, and if he broke even a little now, he would shatter. Instead he began to clear his mind. Zeddar pictured a flame in his mind and he fed his pain and his fear into it. Then he began to feed every other thought and fear into that flame. He fed his memories, his expectations, his hopes and dreams. Everything that had ever been a part of him was fed into that flame and devoured. As he fed it, the flame grew. He felt the power of it well from deep within and beyond him. It was channeled through him, and he was part of it, but the power itself was vast and older than the bones of the mountains themselves. It was elder magic of the same era of the Necromica that Mordecai sought. Zeddar had stumbled across the spells in a library basement in Magincia years before. They were scribbled in the margin of a study tome on ancient magic and words of power. He'd read them and studied them, and after years of careful study had learned their meaning and what they signified when executed properly. As he fed that flame there was one thing that he held back, one thing that he clung tightly to, like a man clinging to rock in a raging river. It was her face, her ruby lips smiling slightly, and dark, almost violet hair tied back with a pale blue ribbon. Slowly, almost miraculously, he felt a smile grow on his lips. "What are you smiling at, fool?" The Betrayer demanded. Zeddar opened his one eye and looked at the man who had once been his friend. They had stood together in the Britain Pass, and fought back to back to buy time for the Queen to escape on her injured nightmare. The same Mordecai who had led the charge into Covetous to rescue Lord Commander Johnson's brother from being held hostage for sacrifice by a group of angry lich worshipers. They had been brothers in arms once, long ago. The last thing that Zeddar had left to feed into the flame was his hatred, his burning hatred for the man before him. "I forgive you," Zeddar whispered hoarsely, and his smile deepened. With Abby's face in his mind, he whispered the last words of his life. "Suflare Vitale!" The flame erupted. White hot light and pure heat exploded outward in a shell so intense that the stone walls at the top of the tower flashed to black and disappeared in a cloud of vapor. The last thing Zeddar saw was Mordecai's face flash briefly with red and black light streaming from the eyes and mouth, and the everything vanished in a blinding light. * Ch.3 Zeddar blinked and was surprised to find that he had eyes. He looked down at his hands and wiggled his fingers. All ten of them were still attached, and they worked. He had a dim memory of words whispered, and then blinding hot flame. He shuddered. "Best not to think too hard on it yet, kid," a woman's voice said from behind him. Zeddar turned and found himself looking at a stunning woman clad in startlingly bright clothes. She had hair the color of a deep, ruby red sunset and eyes a fiery green like fine emeralds. Her skin was dark olive complexion and high cheekbones framed her stunning smile. There were tiny silver bells tied at the end of her tresses that tinkled as she moved her head. "Kid?" Zeddar asked, "I'm two hundred and thirty seven, girl." The woman smiled a smile that made Zeddar feel two inches tall, and she arched one eyebrow. After a moment, she motioned to a chair in front of a fire that Zeddar hadn't noticed before. He glanced back at the woman and she was seated on an ornate black-oak throne. The room they were in seemed to be a simple mountain cottage, though, and outside the window was a pleasant sunny mountain meadow with a few isolated stubby pines and oaks. The throne was out of place, but impressive. "Listen, I need you to focus," the woman said in an imperious tone. "You keep changing things around like this and we're both bound to get sea-sick. Try to focus on keeping things as they are." "You mean I'm changing things?" Zeddar asked, and the woman nodded. "That doesn't make sense." "It doesn't have to for me to be right and you to be wrong, Zeddar," the woman said. "I am Fate, by the way." Zeddar snorted. "I don't believe in Fate." "I know," the woman said, and she arched an eyebrow again. "Please, sit down. It will make us both feel better." Zeddar sat slowly in the chair across from the woman, from Fate. She seemed young to him, at least her body did. But when he looked into her eyes, he saw a deep wisdom there that was somehow both attractive and terrifying. "You made an awesome sacrifice, Lord Zeddar," Fate said. "And unleashed an awesome power. I saw it from three miles away, like a small sun burning on the horizon. Then the sound, like the deepest, hardest thunder ever in the history of the world, rolled over the land. It raised dust two feet off the ground. That's why that kind of magic was determined as too dangerous and allowed to die. You were never meant to resurrect it. I spent a long time burying those secrets." Zeddar actually found himself feeling contrite. "I never meant to use it. But I had to, or a very bad person was going to gain access to an even more terrifying power. A Necromancer would have walked the world, and I couldn't allow that. Do you disagree? If you are who you say you are, then you know how bad that could be for human kind." "Of course I know, fool," Fate snapped, "I was there the first time. Unlike you, I might add." She stopped and took a long, deep breath. After letting it out slowly, she continued in a more even tone. "As I was saying, you made an awesome sacrifice, and you saved the woman you loved. She lived a long life after that, and a happy one. A husband, two inns of her own to run, children, and a warm home. She had everything she ever dreamt, and all of that happiness was thanks to your sacrifice." Zeddar blinked back sudden tears and felt his face blush. "Why are you here, Fate? If I'm dead, as you claim, then let me sleep in peace!" "I wish I could, Lord Zeddar," Fate said sadly. "But you are part of it now, part of the war. And your part isn't finished yet. I will have need of you in the future, and so you cannot have peace yet. But I wanted you to know that your sacrifice was not in vain. Abby lived, and because your sacrifice was selfless and pure, you will live again as well." "Live again?" Zeddar asked, confused. "You are now one of the Everborn," Fate said. "Because of your heroism you are now part of the war between good and evil. And you will live again when needed, to carry on that fight." "I don't want any part of your damned war," Zeddar growled. "I already died in it once, remember? I paid my price, I carried my burden, and I'm done. Leave me be, Fate." The woman frowned, her face pinching up briefly in an angry scowl. "You always were a stubborn old mule of a wizard. I'm sorry you feel that way, Lord Zeddar, but this is simply too important to leave up to your whims. There are larger things at stake than your comfort and desire to spend eternity indulging in self pity." "What are you trying to say?" Zeddar demanded, and he stood. "I'm trying to say you have no choice," Fate replied. "We'll see about that," Zeddar growled. He turned on his heel and strode the door of the cabin. He flung the door open and stepped outside into a biting blizzard. He blinked against the driving snow and wind, his breath fogging in front of him. There was cold, bare stone beneath his bare feet, which were quickly turning numb. He turned and found a large green icon on the floor. He was in the Honesty shrine on Dagger Island, clad in nothing but a deathrobe. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and Zeddar groaned. He was alive again. Ch.4 "I told you I want no part of your war," Zeddar growled. "You don't seem to listen very well." "And you don't seem to remember to whom you are speaking," Fate growled back. "Just because you have a part to play don't think you're immune from my wrath. You made a choice, you entered this war of your own free choice to save another from dying in it. That act had consequences, and now you are paying them. You know, some people would be grateful to live forever." "Some people might," Zeddar agreed, "But I haven't lived forever, have I? I was killed. And then I was brought back. Alone. Everyone and everything I ever loved has been dead and gone so long even their bones have turned to dust and been forgotten. And you want me to fight? For what? For some dirt and grass and gravel you call a creation?" Zeddar turned his head and spat. "Enough!" Fate snapped, and Zeddar took an involuntary step back. "You want to know why? Fine. I will show you." Suddenly the air around them in the tavern twisted and the walls of the drinking hall vanished. Zeddar felt a lurch in his stomach as if he suddenly were falling and jumping at the same time. When his vision cleared, he and Fate stood in the north woods. Zeddar could hear the sound of the storm surf pounding the rocky northern beaches a few miles away, like distant rolling thunder. "Where are we?" He asked. "You need something to fight for? Here it is. Follow me," Fate growled. She strode off down a stone path that led between two flowering trees. Zeddar followed, uncertain of what had just happened or how Fate had transported them. Ahead of him, Fate opened an iron gate and stepped inside what looked like a graveyard. Hooded monks strode through the grounds watering flowers and blooming trees, raking up leaves, and smoothing paths among the tombstones. As they entered, one of the monks nodded to Fate, and she bowed low to him. "These are the silent brothers," Fate said. "They tend the graves of the honored dead here, in silence, from the day they take their vows to the day they draw their last breath. I wanted you to see this." Fate strode to the back left corner of the plot to a pair of weathered markers. The two stones had been carved of the same deep black granite, but time and the elements had eroded them to mere stumps. Any writing or etching on the markers had long been lost to time. "These are two of the first markers that were ever placed here," Fate said. "The one on the left was yours. The one on the right was hers. When you need something worth fighting for, remember this place. You will be together here for all time. It isn't much but it's all I have to offer." Zeddar was quiet for a long time. When he finally turned back to Fate, he had tears on his cheeks. "What do you need me to do?" He asked in a tired, defeated voice. "Learn to speak to animals," Fate said. "When the war comes, we'll need the dragons on our side." Zeddar nodded. "Now please, leave me with my grief." Fate reached out a hand and almost laid it on his shoulder, but she hesitated. Then she turned and walked away. One of the Silent Brothers escorted her to the gate and she paid him handsomely for his time. The Brotherhood lived on the charity of those who visited the graves, and she always made sure to have gold and gems handy to pay them. Zeddar stood for a long time at the grave, his memories flooding over him. It had been ages since he'd seen Abby's face, or heard her laughter in the hall, but for him it seemed like only days. After a time, though, his tears ran dry and he turned and left the graveyard behind. As he stopped at the gate, the monk who had escorted him handed him a loaf of bread and a flask of water for the road. Zeddar dug in his pack and pulled out two fat gold coins, the only money he had to his name, and handed them to the monk. The man smiled and bowed, then tucked the coins into a pouch. Zeddar left through the gate and walked towards the sound of the crashing waves. Past the flowering trees, the stone path disappeared beneath the forest floor. Zeddar walked until he stood on the shores of the sea and looked out over the waters. "I think I'll build a home here," he said to the waves. "I'll call it The Vale..." Note from the Author: Just wanted to let you guys know that this will be an ongoing story line that I will be posting updates to. It will also interweave with other plot lines I have written in the past with the ultimate goal of possibly culminating in an in-shard event (if interest is high enough). Hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading!!
Memories of Light and Shadow: The Everborn Vol. 2 Memories of Light and Shadow Zeddar sat at the table and stared into his ale. It was a good northern brew that tasted heavily of malt and hops. The miners of Minoc called it a Summer's Ale, but most southerners would be warmed by this it even in the deepest, darkest winter night. Miners, of course, had thicker blood. A good thing, too, given the strength of the ale they drank. The old Wizard had already had four frothy mugs and was nursing the fifth, his head swimming. There were half a dozen dice games going on at various tables, a few games of checkers, one enterprising backgammon game, and even a game of cards being dealt to a group of young Nobles out of Yew by the cut of their tunics. The rich did like to slum it now and again. Suddenly the common room went silent. Zeddar glanced out of the corner of his eye to his right and saw that the dice that had just tumbled out of a player's hands spun in mid air, suspended, yet still rolling. Their outcome in the hands of Chance. Zeddar did not even have to raise his head to see that the counter part of Chance sat across from him now. "Fate, I told you to leave me be," Zeddar growled as he looked up at the red-haired gypsy sitting across from him. "I'm afraid that can't happen," Fate said matter of factly. Silver beads in her long hair tinkled as she tossed her head to the side. It was a gesture that was painfully familiar, and for a moment her eyes shimmered to the deepest shade of lavender and she looked just like Abby had the last time he'd talked to her at the Siren's Call. Zeddar dropped his eyes. "I told you to leave me be, woman," he growled again, though with less force. "You've lied to me enough, don't you think?" "I never lied to you, Wizard," Fate hissed, her voice hard and cold as steel. Zeddar felt a chill across his spine as he thought about the power she wielded. But he refused to be daunted. "Never lied, eh?" He growled again, slamming a fist down hard enough to make his ale jump. "You told me there would be a price to pay. You all but said it was the service, fighting evil for the rest of however long we have in eternity. You never told me the truth, though, not all of it." Zeddar stood and leaned forward on the table, his face red and his eyes hot. "You never told me the real price," he whispered, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. "You never told me I would remember. Remember the past lives, the pain, the loss. I remember them. All of them." "You said it yourself, Wizard," Fate replied, her tone softer and more sympathetic, "I never said the words. You just believed them and I didn't correct you. I told you there would be a price to pay AND that you would have to risk everything, even your soul, to fight evil. And you accepted. As far as the price, I never said. And you never asked." "Well I've certainly learnt my lesson, Fate," Zeddar grumbled as he sank back onto his bench and belched loudly. He drained the rest of his Summer's Brew in three gulps. "Your price is too high. I won't pay it, not anymore." This time it was Fate who rose and Zeddar sank back on his bench. Her eyes were cold and gray now, and her hair seemed to blaze in the eerily still light of a dozen torches and candles around the common room. "You already made the bargain, Wizard, and you will pay the price no matter. You cannot change that now, and you cannot deny your service, though you may wish it. You will do as you are called to, and that is that. You are already bound, Everborn." There was a flash as of lightning and a clap of thunder in the common room so loud that everyone jumped at the same time. The dice that had been spinning in the air on their corners suddenly fell to the table. Around the common room every single pair of dice in more than half a dozen games landed and came still with a single pip showing. Twelve men at once had rolled the Eyes of Fate. A roll that won in some games, and lost in others, depending on the rules of the game. Zeddar pulled a faded blue satin ribbon from a small pouch tied to his belt and brought it to his nose. It still smelled of roses, lavender, and honeysuckle. The last time he'd seen Abby had been the night she told he she was going to marry another man. Tears had stood in her eyes, knowing what it did to him to hear her words. She untied the ribbon and handed to him, asking him to remember her always. And he had, though he'd never set foot again into the Call. He had ridden by and would, from time to time, see Abby standing on the patio. She liked to come out on nights when the twin moons stood full in the sky, and her eyes and hair would shine the most lovely shade of lavender. She would see him and wave, and he would wave the ribbon in return. But that was as close as he would come. Now, looking back on those nights of light and shadow, his heart ached. They were opportunities that he had allowed to slip through his fingers. He had never said the words, never told her how he felt. She knew, and he was aware she knew, but neither had ever spoken of it. Her heart had always belonged to another. A twist of fate, or Fate that he had met her after Lord Cage. That had never softened the sting of it, though. To love someone so deeply and to know from the beginning that it could never be. He should have told her. He knew that now, though there was nothing he could do about it. He should have said the words out loud, let her hear them, no matter what did or did not come of them. But instead, he had let his pride and his pain drive him away. And now, all he had left were memories of light and shadow.
