Chapter 15

“What book?” Brynn asked, trying his best to look innocent.

“You know very well which book,” Themon retorted. His free hand drifted to something belted at his waist. A dagger, the same as Arasen’s and King Jebran’s. How many daggers were there?

Brynn hesitated before answering. If Themon didn’t have The Codex of Essus, that probably meant Seleeku retrieved it before his room had been searched.

“Where is it?” insisted Themon.

“I don’t know,” Brynn answered truthfully.

Themon opened his mouth to respond, but the murmur of voices outside the cell interrupted him. A new light, harsh and cold, peered around the narrow opening in the doorway.

The cell door groaned as the new entrants drove it forward. Two women, one older, one younger, stood in the doorway, the younger one holding a small lantern in her hands. It fought the Darkness valiantly for a brief moment before fading.

Brynn recognized them both. The older woman was High Druid Kynan, while the younger was High Druid Sibila. Kynan looked tired, as if she been up all night reviewing the work of her apprentices. Sibila was said to be the youngest person ever to attain the rank of High Druid. She had an intensity about her that made Brynn shiver.

“High Druid Themon, you arrived early,” Sibila stated.

“Did I?” Themon asked. He was smiling pleasantly and had put on a vaguely vacant expression. “I apologize, High Druid Sibila.”

“We mustn’t be careless when dealing with the corrupted, High Druid. Spending time alone with one could be dangerous.”

“Of course, of course,” replied Themon agreeably.

Sibila held her gaze on Themon a moment longer before turning her cool stare on Brynn.

“Druid Brynn, I have been going over your records. You have an unusual past for a druid,” she said.

Brynn winced. He didn’t like to think about it.

“You come from a village outside of Stormfell. Your family were peasants working the land for Lord Makari. The village was razed by King Jebran II as part of a harrying campaign during Stormfell’s rebellion.”

Brynn saw Kynan’s eyebrows shoot up at the mention of this. Peasants didn’t become druids. Noble daughters that were unable to marry, second sons without hope of inheriting land, children of lords and barons without a future—they were the ones who were sent to the College for training. Druids were of noble blood. The best a peasant could hope for was to become a local village shaman.

“You were the sole survivor from the village, weren’t you?”

Brynn closed his eyes. His village, his home, his family … He had been very young. Fuzzy though the memories were, they still hurt.

“High Druid Themon, I believe you were the one who saved him?”

Brynn’s eyes snapped open. How did he not remember that?

Themon had been staring absently at the wall. He blinked at the mention of his name, clearing his throat. “Ahem, oh, yes, you’re quite right, I’d completely forgotten about it. I was with the army as a healer. I found him up in a tree, just before the knights came. I couldn’t let them murder a small boy in cold blood. It wasn’t right. I was lucky they listened to me. Terrible times, they were. So much death.”

Sibila looked thoughtfully at Themon before turning her attention back to Brynn. “You were brought back to the College, and, like other orphans, put to work washing, cleaning, working the stables. That’s where you should have stayed. Then, many years later, out of nowhere, you became an apprentice. How?” Brynn wasn’t sure if she was posing the question to him, or to Themon.

Brynn had no answer. One day, just as he had finished cleaning a latrine, a steward had come to him and told him to go to the apprentices’ quarters. He had arrived there expecting to be assigned some menial task, but, instead, there was another steward was waiting for him, handing him a set of robes and explaining to him his new role as an apprentice. That had been the start of his new life.

Sibila waited momentarily and then continued. “The records are sealed, even for High Druids. If the High Druids can’t read them, then who can? Don’t you find that strange, High Druid Themon?”

“Strange?” Themon asked, his expression confused. “I’m sorry, High Druid Sibila, I wouldn’t know anything about it.”

Kynan finally spoke up. “It’s just like the Old One’s prophecies, wouldn’t you say?” she said, yawning. “No one can read them either, not even the High Druids.”

Sibila shot Kynan a withering glance, but said nothing. She took a step closer to Brynn, studying him. “I’ve heard rumors that you can speak to spirits. Are they true?”

“Anyone can speak to spirits,” Brynn replied.

“Yes, I, too, can also talk to rocks if I wanted to, but I don’t expect a response.” Sibila smiled thinly. “Maybe you do?”

Brynn thought about the rocks at Grimcairn and how someone had coaxed them into forming the dark edifice. What was it like to be a rock? He didn’t know. Could he communicate with one?

“No,” he said.

If Sibila was disappointed with his answer, she didn’t reveal it. “Are there any spirits here now that we need worry about?” She held up her lantern and gave it a slight shake. Shadows danced on the walls, laughing at Brynn.

“This room is filled with Darkness,” he told her.

“Yes, I can see that. The cell doesn’t get much light, does it?” She chuckled.

“It’s not the absence of light. It’s the absence of … everything.” Brynn caught Themon watching him intently. Then the High Druid resumed his unfocused expression as he turned to address Sibila.

“All this talk about spirits and light and dark is giving me a headache. Perhaps we should get started?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kynan said wearily, agreeing with Themon. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sibila considered Brynn before replying. “I think the Ritual of Kazeera would be appropriate.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” Themon sounded shocked at the suggestion. “I think the Ritual of Damula would be more than enough.”

Kynan chimed in with her own suggestion. “I agree with you, High Druid Themon, the Ritual of Kazeera may be more than we need. It is quite risky to all participants. But Damula herself wrote that her ritual was not always effective. There is a little known ritual that I happened upon several years ago, in what was then a previously undiscovered tome deep in the archives. I believe it strikes a good middle ground between the two …”

Brynn listened with increasing boredom to the discussion about the various merits of the rituals that they were each advocating. The rituals were passed down by the Old Ones, describing how to contain and control the disparate spirits that inhabited the world. A druid’s training focused on these rituals and how to perform them properly. The Old Ones were difficult to interpret, however, so the instructions were not always clear. Sometimes even the intent of a particular ritual was difficult to fathom. There was always the possibility of adverse effects. The life of a druid was a dangerous one. Brynn had never been the best student.

The three High Druids finally settled on Sibila’s initial choice, the Ritual of Kazeera. Her argument was simple. The King’s life was potentially in danger, which meant bold action was necessary. This ruled out Damula. Kazeera’s ritual, although dangerous, was described in the The Codex of Essus, one of the more studied texts of the Old Ones, unlike the ritual Kynan proposed, of which little was known. It seemed better to go with the more well known ritual, no matter the risk, than to try something new.

“When was the last time the Ritual of Kazeera was conducted?” Brynn asked curiously.

From the looks on their faces, it was as though the High Druids had forgotten he was there. “That we know of? One hundred and sixteen years ago,” Sibila replied, amused by his question. “The last one without negative consequences, was two hundred and fifty three.”

Kynan blanched at the answer, but kept quiet. Themon maintained his blank expression.

“Shall we?” Sibila said, motioning to Themon. He took his dagger out and slowly, carefully, inscribed a circle on the ground around Brynn. Then the three of them spread out around the circle, facing each other, and began chanting in the Old Tongue:

Eme gal sparick, foudivuls comines colte!

The shadows were no longer on the walls. They were cavorting through the room, jeering at Brynn.

Queaded caue sterriatizer!

The Darkness picked apart the light from the lanterns, shredding it with black claws.

Al v ded tors feesionsed cile, prignerect lisemattrate laned med!

The light was dying. A void was opening beneath Brynn. He could hear the High Druids’ voices falter. They were afraid.

You know the words to the Old Tongue, but do you know their meaning?

Kodroth had told him that, in a dream. The dream was fading away, though. Fading with everything else. The cell, the druids, the world, fading away. Brynn was falling through the void. Shadows swirled around him, grabbing at him, mocking him.

Brynn despaired.

He had failed. The Darkness was going to destroy everything.

don’t

He was a failure. He had given up. Of course he had given up. He had always given up.

Don’t

It was all his fault. His home, his family. Why hadn’t saved them? He had given up. He had run away. Just like he had run away during the battle at Brightmyst. Just like he had run away from Seleeku. He was always running away. He was a coward. Nothing but a coward. A failure and a coward.

DON’T

No, he told himself. No. Stop. He forced his thoughts to stop. He was angry. Angry at Kodroth and his insane plans, angry at Seleeku for pulling him into convoluted prophecies, angry at the High Druids for conducting a deadly ritual they knew nothing about. Angry at the Darkness for its senseless urge for destruction. Angry at himself for not doing more.

“Delyead arnacragg! Swardergans ralsto!” he cursed at the shadows. He didn’t know what the curses meant, but he didn’t care. He shouted them over and over again, wailing at the shadows. “Delyead arnacragg! Swardergans ralsto!” he shouted until his voice was hoarse. It was the only thing he could do, the only way he could fight back. “Delyead arnacragg! Swardergans ralsto!” he rasped. When he could speak no more, he spat at the Darkness. He would not surrender. He would not give up. He was not a failure. He was not a coward.

The world went dark.