The Final Redemption Read online

  Her magic was pushing me downward, trapping and enfolding me—forcing me into a cold lifeless place. My body lay beneath me, a sterile horror of grey skin and dead flesh. No! I cried, but there was no one to hear my plea. The lines of magic tightened, creating a feeling of pressure as I was compressed into that dark place. The voice of the earth faded as the veil descended over me, cutting me off from the world I had once loved. I was alone in the darkness. My last thought echoed in my mind, Why? From someplace far removed, I heard my mouth utter the words, though it was no longer me controlling it, “Why have you done this?”

  At least someone agrees with me, I thought to myself.

  Chapter 12

  My eyes opened, revealing me in a situation many men would have found envious. I was in the stone sarcophagus, wrapped in the arms of an amazingly beautiful woman. Not that I could feel much of her softer features, while she was in a thin gown, my own body was still encased in steel. I knew her name, Lyralliantha, and while the memories I had inherited regarding her were affectionate, my personal feelings were significantly different now.

  “Why have you done this?” I asked, unable to find any better words to express my dismay.

  She stretched and rose from the stone box, moving gracefully. She answered me in her own language, though I understood her, “I will ask the questions. How long have I been asleep?”

  I had been violated, snared, and reinstated within my dead body. Rather than a peaceful death I had been resurrected, this time through no will of my own. I was still a monster and I hated her for it. “This is the thanks I get? Someone finally frees you after all this time, and the first thing you do is deny them a proper death and ply them with questions? Necromancy is forbidden.” The spell-weaving she had used on me, like the one Thillmarius created, and like the ones that created their Dark Gods, had been strictly banned by the She’Har long ago.

  She said a few sharp words, and a strange feeling ran through me. Then she asked again, “How long have I been asleep.”

  “Approximately two thousand years, give or take a few decades. I don’t have an exact count,” I said as truthfully as I knew how. I had no other choice. Sonofabitch! I cursed silently as I realized she had bound me to obedience. My situation was similar to Karenth’s.

  “Where is my Kianthi?” she said, continuing her interrogation. The word she used referred to something that could most closely be translated as spouse, or in her case, husband. She was looking for her mate.

  Memories raced through my mind, whether I wanted them or not. Opening my mouth I answered, “Across the sea, beyond the area now called the Gulf of Garulon. He has taken root in a place that is now an island, without a name, lost to the knowledge of men.” I pointed to the west to indicate the direction. Having satisfied the compulsion I relaxed for a moment and then added, “Are you always a bitch when you wake up, or is it just because you’re two thousand years old?”

  Her lips twitched into a smile, “You are angry with me?”

  My eyes narrowed, “Damn right, I’m pissed!”

  “Then why did you awaken me, and why did you reek of Thillmarius’ magic?” she responded calmly.

  That was a long story, but I did my best to summarize without leaving out any important details. Her geas gave me no choice to do otherwise. I explained the current events as best I could, covering my struggle with the Shining Gods, the return of Thillmarius, and his eventual defeat, when I had stolen the spell-weaving from him that kept his spirit anchored in the world of the living.

  As I talked I was forced on several occasions to stop and give descriptions of some things that had happened over the past thousand years or so of history, in particular the war with Balinthor and the destruction that had created the Gulf of Garulon. Lyralliantha was patient throughout my lecture, stopping me at times to ask pertinent questions or get extra details when she needed them. She never asked me to repeat anything, and it was quickly apparent that her sharp mind retained everything she heard. In her eyes I could see her thoughts moving, and I suspected she had insights into some of the events I related that were unknown to me.

  “After examining you, I realized that the only way to remove Thillmarius’ spell-weaving so that I could release you from the stasis enchantment was to sacrifice myself before completing my other goals, but I felt you were the only hope for stopping Mal’goroth,” I said, finishing my summary.

  “And yet you are angry with me for recreating the magic that keeps you from passing over,” she observed. “Your goals and emotions are not entirely in agreement with each other.”

  I sighed, “The hope of ending my unfortunate condition was a relief to me. I’m ready to lay my burden down. I have little left to contribute to my family, aside from pain.”

  “Your family?”

  The expression on her face bespoke a combination of humor and sadness. I knew she hadn’t forgotten my recent summary, so her question made little sense. “Considering the geas you’ve already put upon me, I am beginning to suspect you have little sympathy with my situation.”

  A silent shiver ran through her body, and her face contorted in sudden pain. After a few seconds whatever had caused her discomfort passed and she relaxed, unclenching her fists. “I have more sympathy for your people than you realize, and having heard your tale I understand that I owe Mordecai Illeniel and his family a considerable debt.”

  Although her body language was odd, it was her words that concerned me more, “What do you mean his family?”

  Her body stiffened for a moment before she answered, “You told me you were unable to enter this dwelling through the normal doorway, because of its magical protections. You were able to do so before your change, yet now it no longer recognizes you. Have you considered the implications of that?”

  I watched her carefully. She appeared to be experiencing some sort of cramps. “I assumed that my transformation had made me unrecognizable to the identity enchantments,” I replied. After a second I added, “Are you alright?”

  “Not really,” she answered, “but this is to be expected. I will need to return to stasis soon. Will you be able to recreate the enchantment?”

  “If required, of course I can. What’s wrong with you? We still need your help with Mal’goroth, or at least your knowledge. I won’t restore the enchantment until you at least tell me how to control him,” I insisted.

  “You are arrogant, but you will do exactly as I command,” she shot back with a spark of anger in her eye. “You will receive the knowledge you desire only after my orders are completed and I am reunited with my Kianthi. Only then will we help you to stop Mal’goroth.”

  As she spoke, I noticed something strange about her feet, her toenails seemed too long, or perhaps it was the toes themselves. She closed her eyes, and her fingers moved in delicate circles, forming something from her magic that had the appearance of a small green bird. When she had finished it flew around her twice before darting away in the direction of the open door to the chamber. Once it was gone she began climbing back into the stone sarcophagus.

  “What was that?”

  “Just a bit of magic to tell my Kianthi where I am, one way or another we will be reunited,” she said simply. She arranged herself comfortably in the same position she had been when I first found her.

  Her husband, my most distant ancestor and the first human wizard to bear the name Illeniel, couldn’t possibly travel. Thanks to her earlier command, I had seen his fate. Sometime after he had placed her in the original stasis, he had transformed himself into one of her race and soon after that he had found an isolated place to take root. He was a tree now, assuming nothing had happened to him in the two thousand years since.

  “Trees can’t move,” I told her.

  “Then you must take me to him,” she stated, “Otherwise he will send the Kriteck to find me.”

  The word brought forth another set of recollections. The Kriteck were the guardians, soldiers, and warriors of the She’Har. Unlike their normal childre
n, born of the mother-trees, the Kriteck were created as needed by the father-trees. They were unable to take root or reproduce themselves and their lifespans were limited to a period of only two or three months. “But only a father-tree could… Oh!” I answered in my most intelligent fashion.

  My ancestor was a father-tree now, even though he had originally been human.

  “After you have restored the stasis enchantment, you will use your best judgment to get me to where he has taken root. Do not let the Kriteck have me unless you have spoken with him. Once you have, you will treat his words like my own. Obey him utterly. You will make this your first priority, taking precedence over your other plans. You will not remove the stasis from me again until I am near him. Once he and I are reunited you will be free from my service.” Her words felt like a straightjacket settling around me, and I knew I could not disobey them. Reaching out, her hand produced another tiny object, a small green stone. As far as I could tell it had been made purely from magic alone.

  She continued, “This will destroy the spell-weaving that binds Mordecai Illeniel to this world. It will also unmake you, giving you the death you desire. You may use it only after my first commands have been fulfilled. You may not share it or reveal its existence to anyone else until those commands have been satisfied, nor may you find any other means to circumvent the spirit of my orders. Do you understand?”

  I wanted to scream at her, No, I don’t understand a damn thing, but unfortunately her true question had been whether I understood her orders. “Yes, I understand,” the words issued from me without my volition. After my answer my voice was my own again, so I spoke quickly before she could command me to remake the stasis enchantment.

  “Wait, I still don’t understand what’s wrong with you. Why do you need to be in stasis, and why did you say ‘his family’ earlier?”

  She smiled sadly at me. “Look at the memories—from when he put me here. You already know why I must stay in stasis. As for your other question, perhaps it would be kinder if I don’t answer, since you haven’t realized it yourself.”

  “Realized what?!” I almost shouted, “Just tell me!”

  “You are not Mordecai Illeniel,” she answered. “You are a simulacrum, a remnant. That is why his magics don’t recognize you. That is why you don’t have some of his special abilities. You are a magical echo, created by Thillmarius’ spell, and the memories Mordecai left within the body you now animate. Mordecai Illeniel is dead.”

  I stared at her in shock.

  “That is why you have no emotions of your own, only those you receive from fresh human aythar. This is one of the main reasons that particular type of magic was banned by my people,” she added. “It is also why we never used it on a living person.”

  The truth of her words was undeniable, even though I wanted with all my heart to deny them. Being dead was bad enough, being nothing more than a magical construct, a shadow of a dead man—the truth was too cruel. “Then I am—then Mordecai is…,” I couldn’t fathom how to finish my question in an intelligible manner.

  Somehow she understood me anyway, “Mordecai’s soul is caged within you, inside the spell-weaving I created to keep you from fading. As I said before, once you use that…” she pointed at the green stone she had given me, “…his soul will be free to pass on, and you will cease to exist.”

  I wanted to cry, or scream, surely I was going mad. Instead I asked numbly, “How do I use it?”

  “When the time comes, you, or whoever you appoint to the task, need only to destroy it. It can be easily crushed,” she said.

  “Sounds just like…”

  She smiled, “Yes, I borrowed the method from your story. I quite liked his idea for linking enchantments using glass beads. Your Mordecai was an interesting man.”

  A sudden thought occurred to me. “Can he hear us? Is he aware—in there?” I pointed at my chest.

  “No one really knows. At the very least he should have been aware of the world briefly when you destroyed Thillmarius’ spell-weaving, but once I rebound him—I don’t know. He is dormant now.”

  I nodded, “I think maybe…”

  She didn’t let me finish. “I’ve waited too long already. Put me back in stasis and obey my commands.”

  “But…”

  “No more talking. Obey me—now,” she commanded.

  My mouth closed and I did as she bade me. Even my mind gave itself over, focusing entirely on the complex task of restoring the stasis enchantment.

  Chapter 13

  I wasn’t able to regain any autonomy until the enchantment was complete. My mind stubbornly refused to turn aside from the task. It was an odd sensation, and when at last I had my freedom back, I felt sorry for Karenth for a moment. I hadn’t treated him any better.

  And apparently I’m no more human than he is, despite my delusions.

  Straightening from my work, I surveyed the heavy stone sarcophagus. It wouldn’t be simple to move. It had to weigh hundreds of pounds by itself, not to mention the slight additional weight added to it by Lyralliantha.

  I silently cursed her impatience. If I had been given a moment’s free thought, I could have devised several better arrangements, any one of which might have made it much easier to move her. Why had she been so rushed anyway?

  Lyra had told me the answer lay in my memories, so I took a minute to search them, following the thread she had given me—the last few minutes before she had been put into stasis, over two thousand years ago.

  The answer, once I understood it, was so simple I was surprised I hadn’t realized sooner. The odd appearance of her feet should have clued me in immediately. She was preparing to set down roots.

  The She’Har had an interesting life cycle. Those like Lyralliantha, who took humanoid form, were actually immature. Although they were intelligent, animate, capable of magic, etc…, they were in reality children. They were born in pods that were grown by the mother-trees, although they did require pollen from the father-trees to produce their living children.

  Once they had emerged from their pods, whole and seemingly adult (at least to human standards), they could spend decades or even centuries before transitioning to their adult tree form. These children were sustained by another type of fruit produced by the mother-trees, called calmuth. Calmuth was the only nutrition the children of the She’Har required, although my memories showed me clearly that they had enjoyed many human foods as well.

  The mother-trees could only produce enough calmuth to feed a certain number of these children, and when they could no longer eat calmuth it triggered a change in their bodies. She’Har young that stopped eating fruit from the mother-trees would take root, becoming new trees and fortuitously, producing more fruit to feed the other children.

  Lyralliantha had been the last of her kind. Although my ancestor had protected her from the fate that destroyed her people, he could not produce the calmuth that she needed to remain as she was. After a period of only a few weeks, she had begun the change.

  He had placed her in magical stasis, protecting her from the remnants of what had destroyed her race, while simultaneously halting her transformation. Later, after his battle with Thillmarius he had discovered that without his enemy he had no way to free his lover. After years of struggling to find a way, he had at last surrendered his burden to his son, charging him with finding a way to free her. His last act as a human had been to transform himself into one of the She’Har and wait to take root in the place he had prepared for them.

  Their story had been tragic, and the sons of Illeniel had failed to fulfill their father’s promise. Lyralliantha’s hurry made sense now. She had been afraid of taking root here, hundreds of miles from her Kianthi—from the only hope of restoring her people.

  Reaching into one of my pockets, I touched the small figurine that would allow me to call the dragon. Come as soon as you can. I will meet you near my house in Albamarl. Don’t worry about avoiding observation.

  With that taken care of, I uttered a wo
rd and used my magic to lift the stone sarcophagus, levitating it in front of me. I had been inside the house for over five hours now, and I knew it couldn’t be long before someone found me.

  Ascending the stone steps I made it to the ground floor of my house, and my magesight found Cyhan nearby in the hall that led to the kitchen. The stubborn bastard woke up and dragged his mangled body down two flights of stairs hoping to warn someone.

  A pang of guilt ran through me as I considered the damage I had done to my former friend, or Mordecai’s former friend. I’m never going to be able to keep the distinction clear in my mind. In the end I decided not to bother, for my purposes I might as well be Mordecai. I still intended to achieve his goals, protect his family, save humanity, etc…

  “Stupid never dies,” I said to myself, repeating one of his favorite phrases. “Mordecai might die, but his ‘stupid’ lives on.” That set me to quietly chuckling. I had finally properly understood my identity. I’m his ‘stupid’, living on to accomplish his foolish plans. I laughed louder at that thought, stopping only when I heard a painful gasp coming from Cyhan.

  The taciturn warrior was still inching his way along, trying to reach the door. I lowered Lyralliantha to the floor and walked over to kneel beside him. “You are a bigger fool than even Mordecai,” I told him fondly. Removing my gauntlet and making my helm transparent to aythar, I reached out toward him, intending to remove his necklace and render him unconscious. Healing him would be simpler and less painful if he were deeply asleep.

  My family chose that moment to arrive, and I sensed Penny enter first as the front door to my house swung open. She was holding Irene in her arms, and Lily was close behind her with Collin in tow. The twins and Sir Egan entered immediately after them, and I felt my daughter’s attention focus upon me the instant she passed the threshold.

  “Momma, someone’s in the house, in the hall with Sir Cyhan,” announced my daughter without hesitation. “He’s hurt bad, Momma. I think he’s dying.”