Promise of Wrath (The Hellequin Chronicles Book 6)

  “Thank you,” Jinayca said as the double doors swung open to reveal the rest of the group, who burst into the room talking at once.

  “Where is Mordred?” Morgan demanded.

  “He left,” I told her.

  “If you’ve done anything to—”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I interrupted. “He needed some time alone. I don’t think you need to go find him right now. We need to get to these rune scribes and figure out what everyone is saying here so we can help Chloe. Everything else comes second, including us getting out of this realm. Anyone disagree?”

  No one did.

  “We can head over when you’re ready,” Jinayca told us.

  “You all go. I’ll fetch Mordred.”

  My words gained me a glare from Morgan, who stepped in front of me after everyone else had followed Jinayca out of the room.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Morgan, I’m not going to hurt him. I’m not going to do anything, but right now, I have a question for him, and I think he’s likely to be more open and honest with me when you’re not there. So whatever you think is happening, isn’t. Go get seen to. We need to figure out how to help Chloe.”

  “I won’t repeat myself.”

  My temper flared. “Move aside, Morgan. I have better things to do than whatever the hell you think is happening here. Now either take a swing, or fuck off and make yourself useful.”

  Morgan’s nostrils flared slightly, and for a second I thought she might actually take the swing, but instead she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving me alone in the room.

  It didn’t take me long to find Mordred, who was outside sitting on a small bench next to several trees, the smell of sweet fruit in the air.

  “We’re getting the runes,” I told him. “I think it would be a good idea for you to get them too. I don’t want anyone left behind.”

  He nodded, but remained staring at the ground in front of him.

  “When we’re done with that,” I continued, “and we know what’s going on with Chloe, I want answers from you. About how you lived, about why you insist you have to kill me, despite the fact you’re clearly not the same Mordred I’ve been fighting for so long.”

  “I might not be able to give them. And those I can give, you probably won’t believe.”

  “You can try. Come catch us up.”

  I was a few steps away when I heard Mordred speak again.

  “What did the dwarf say to you when I was gone?”

  I paused and turned back to him. “There was no evil in you.”

  Tears fell from his eyes, and I didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m not evil. Sorry. It’s just weird to have someone else confirm it.”

  “No need to be sorry, Mordred.” I told him. “You’re not the man you used to be. That’s all that matters now.”

  He nodded. “I guess so. Let’s make sure Chloe is okay.”

  We walked together in silence toward the nearest guard, who pointed us in the right direction, and eventually we found Jinayca and the rest of our friends outside a small building tucked away from everything else.

  There were several minutes of hugging and being grateful that we were all in one piece, before Jinayca motioned for us to follow her into the building.

  Once inside, Jinayca spoke to a dwarf behind a shop counter. Dozens of rune-inscribed pieces of rock and crystal hung behind him. Jinayca spoke to him and he nodded and lifted up part of the counter, revealing a set of stairs going down under the shop.

  We followed them down, torches and crystals lighting the way, until we reached a large cavern several dozen feet beneath the city of Sanctuary.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “Old ruins,” Jinayca explained leading us down another set of stairs carved into the rock until we reached a gigantic cavern. Stalactites the size of cars dropped down from the ceiling, and a small stream of water ran along one side.

  “Where are we?” Remy asked. “This is essentially the strangest few days of my life. And my life has always been pretty weird.”

  “This is an old religious temple,” Jinayca told us. “Over the centuries, religion mattered less and less to us, so we converted it into somewhere the rune scribes could work in peace. For the most part they transcribed old works we saved from the library, hoping to find a way to locate our lost kin, or remove the blight of the blood elves.”

  “And sometimes tattoo people, apparently,” Kasey said.

  “That’s also true,” Jinayca said with a smile.

  We had to walk for a little while before we turned a corner and a temple loomed over us. Seven stories tall, and made from a white brick, the temple was stunning. Dwarves milled about outside it, and there were several balconies where dwarves had stashed large amounts of paper, some of which occasionally fluttered down from high above. At some point, someone had piled it all together outside of the temple. Apparently it wasn’t that important, and a closer inspection showed it to be blank.

  “We only write on paper or scrolls what we consider to be important,” Jinayca told me as I dropped a piece of paper back onto the pile. “Carving into brick or steel is one thing, but paper is too easily transportable, too easy to lose or have taken by someone who shouldn’t have it. It’s why the library is so important; it has everything we have ever written down. At least, everything before the blood elves came.”

  “The library: is it still around?” I asked. “The human slave we found, William, said the elves want to get hold of what’s inside. But then he tried to kill us, so I’m not really sure what to believe.”

  “The library still stands. Fortunately, the blood elves can’t read the runes.”

  “So is the library just piles and piles of paper and scrolls?” Remy asked.

  “I haven’t been there in a long time, but yes, essentially. Different parts of it hold different subjects of varying importance. Unfortunately, we have no idea what else we’ve left behind. It’s why we have so many expeditions—sorry, had so many expeditions.”

  “Why did you stop?” I asked.

  “Jinayca!” shouted a dwarf as he left the temple. He was smaller than Jinayca, and with a raggedy ginger beard. He also had the look of someone who was exceptionally tired and really needed a good night’s sleep.

  “Are these the people for the treatment?” he continued in English. “My name is Stel.”

  “Treatment?” Remy asked, looking around worriedly.

  “My apologies; I’ve used the wrong word,” Stel managed to stammer out, appalled at his mistake.

  “It’s fine,” Diane said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Just tell us all what we need to do.”

  Stel nodded. “You’ll be taken in one at a time, placed in a chair with your eyes closed. There’s a machine in there that will etch a rune into the skin.”

  “Like a tattoo?” Kasey asked.

  Stel frowned, but Jinayca said something in dwarvish, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, just like a tattoo. These aren’t permanent, and will come off over time, but while you’re here, you’ll be able to talk and read the language. You might not be able to read some of the runes; the twenty-one original runes are not included in the machine’s ability—for safety reasons.”

  “How does the machinery work?” I asked as the first in the group, Remy and Diane, went in.

  “We don’t know,” Stel admitted. “It’s maybe tens of thousands of years old. We can add the runes we want it to use, and we can sit and watch it work. That’s it. No one knows how to actually get it to work. It’s theorized that the old dwarves, those who came up with the original twenty-one runes, were capable of alchemy that no one else has been able to match. They died long ago, but we’ve managed to get some of their inventions to work. The crystals that help plants to grow? That was one of theirs. We were able to modify it and use it as we need.”

  “If it helps, there are things that the Romans and other cultures did that the humans still can’t figur
e out how. Sometimes it just takes one person to spot something.”

  “Well, we have a lot of time on our hands,” Stel said. “We’re hoping the great library might hold some secrets, but there are millions of scrolls there: millions upon millions. And some are locked with magic, which should be impossible. There are secrets there we simply can’t ever get to. Not now.”

  The other members of the group got their tattoos and Jinayca took them outside of the temple to wait for the rest. They all said they barely felt anything. As the last two, Kasey and I followed one of the dwarves into the temple and down a hallway until we reached a large room that held what looked like an empty swimming pool. We descended the steps to the floor of the pool and found the machine.

  The machine was a block of black stone that reminded me of an MRI machine. Gears and leavers on either side mystified me, and a golden slab of rock jutted from the front that looked a lot like a seat.

  “Please remove your shirt and take a seat,” one of three dwarves in the room told me.

  I did as I was told, passing my filthy T-shirt to Kasey before climbing onto the golden seat. I lay down with my head just inside the black stone. I heard levers being pulled, and gears whirled as a portion of the black stone opened and slowly lowered until it covered my eyes. Another lever was pulled, and the block moved apart, giving me back my vision. A few seconds later, both sides moved down to my shoulders, the cold stone making me shiver as it touched my skin.

  “Can you look up at the rune above the doorway?”

  Once again, I followed the orders without pause, and the second I caught a glimpse of the rune in the doorway, my brain was flooded with images and I began to shake.

  “What’s happening?” I heard Kasey shout.

  “We don’t know,” someone shouted back. “It’s not switched on.”

  I stopped hearing anything as memories tore into my brain with abandon.

  CHAPTER 21

  416 AD. Dwarven city of Thorem.

  I walked into the temple and found it full of people I’d never met. Several adults and more than a dozen dwarves towered over me, discussing secret adult things, but all of them quieted when they saw me. My mother, Brynhildr, and our head bodyguard, Asger, walked on either side of me. My mother’s hand on my shoulder squeezed gently when I stopped moving.

  I looked at her and smiled. She was radiant—everyone always said so—although there was a tinge of sadness to her, which caused me to be afraid.

  “It’s going to be alright,” she told me with a smile.

  I stared down at the pool of red liquid in the center of the room. It appeared to be deep and not at all pleasant.

  “That’s blood,” I said. “Why is there so much of it?”

  My mother knelt in front of me and opened her mouth to speak when a large man walked over. She looked up at him, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

  “This your boy?” he asked, which was stupid. Of course I was her child, but I said nothing.

  “Nathaniel, meet Thor.”

  Thor got on his knees and offered me his hand, which I shook without pause.

  “Nice handshake,” he said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Nathaniel. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Be quick,” my mother snapped. She looked over to Asger, who walked off to talk to several other adults.

  “Did you ever meet your father?” Thor asked, unbothered by my mother’s irritation.

  “No,” I said honestly. “He died when I was born. He was a great warrior, and a good man.”

  Thor appeared sad. “Yes, he was. Can I give you some advice?”

  I nodded again.

  “Not everyone here is your friend. Remember that for as long as you can.”

  I studied all of the people around me, trying to recall any of their faces, but I knew no one except for my mother and Asger.

  Thor stood and whispered something to my mother before walking away.

  The memory changed, and I began to see everything from outside of my child’s body. I looked down and found myself wearing clothes I didn’t recognize. I watched the child-me talk to my mother and felt an ache in my chest. I had no idea what had happened to my mother after this meeting. I so wanted to be able to talk to her as the man I’d become, but it wasn’t possible. I almost envied the child-me, a notion that quickly made me feel stupid.

  “I felt it prudent you watch this from a detached point of view,” Erebus said as he stood beside me.

  Erebus was the living embodiment of my magic. For all intents and purposes, he was me, and he was meant to be evil. The magic inside of me wanted to be used, to grow in power. It was the same for all sorcerers, but if a sorcerer used too much, too fast, that magic would manifest itself as a living entity inside a sorcerer’s mind—a nightmare. The nightmare would use a sorcerer’s magic in a way the sorcerer could only dream of, showing him just how powerful he could become if he allowed the nightmare to take complete control. Many had accepted the offer, and then they’d been hunted down and killed for it.

  From a young age I’d been told to be terrified of the nightmare, but the blood-magic curse-marks on my chest had stopped the creature from taking control. Over the centuries, I’d allowed the nightmare, Erebus, to take control of my magic. I was playing a dangerous game by even allowing my nightmare to converse with me. The nightmare could gain control of the sorcerer, removing control from the sorcerer over his own body. But something was different about Erebus; he’d saved my life, given me information I needed. Still, I couldn’t let my guard down. I wouldn’t become a puppet.

  “So . . . this is all real?” I asked him. He wore thick furs and held a goblet of drink in one hand. “You look a little out of place.”

  “They can’t see us. You know better than most that you can’t affect a memory without repercussions. We’re outside of this memory, looking in. I didn’t want you to have to go through this as if it were happening for the first time.”

  “So that’s Thor?”

  “Yes, Thor. The great warrior, and a danger to those who stand against the Norse gods. I know little of him, because you know little of him. I do know this is the one and only time you meet him.”

  “These memories were locked from me.”

  “Everything that happened before this day is locked from you. I assume the walls they’d put up to protect you will begin to crumble.”

  I searched the room for familiar faces, finding one with ease. “Merlin,” I whispered as I watched the young me come face-to-face with the old sorcerer, who laughed and smiled as I spoke to him.

  “I told him he wasn’t as scary as the stories made out,” I said, mostly to myself. Or literally to myself, because Erebus was a part of my mind; it’s complicated and makes my head hurt, so I don’t like to think about it. “He looks happy. What happened to you, Merlin? When did you become a tyrannical monster?”

  “Notice anyone else?”

  I looked around for more faces and recognized two more. “Hera and Zeus.”

  Zeus was talking to a large man whose back was toward me, so I couldn’t see what they were discussing, but occasionally I saw Zeus look over to the child-me and smile. He was a broad, tall man, with a visible scar that ran across his throat.

  “Legend has it Hera gave him that scar,” Erebus said.

  “I know,” I told him. “I’ve heard the same thing.”

  “Sorry, just making conversation. You’ve been quiet for a while.”

  “Why was he looking at me? And why is Hera looking so angry?” She looked over to the child-me as he was taken around the room to several dwarves in the corner. “Fear. Why is she afraid of an eight-year-old boy?”

  “She’s not afraid of you so much as what you represent. What you could become.”

  “And that is?”

  “Why you’re here today. Power, Nate: you represent total, undisciplined power. A power she will never be able to corrupt to her needs, and she knows it. And hates you for it. She hates a
n eight-year-old boy simply because you are too innocent to understand what you could become.”

  As Erebus spoke the words, I knew automatically that they were true. Hera’s expression told me everything I needed to know. “And what is that, exactly? What could I become?”

  “Her better.”

  I was grateful that the child-me had spent so much time looking around at everyone. There were a lot of faces that were dark and clouded over, and the detail on the room wasn’t perfect, but I was eight, so I forgave myself pretty easily.

  The view changed and we were suddenly beside my mother. “Where did the blood come from?” my mother asked.

  I stared at Brynhildr for several seconds, and wished she could know I was there. I had her eyes, especially when they were narrowed in anger. What had they done to remove my memories? What had they done to make my first-ever memory be of waking outside Camelot, beside death and destruction?

  “Do you really want to know?” An elderly dwarf asked, his one-time dark beard now peppered with gray.

  “Yes. How many did you have to slaughter for this to take place?”

  “Hundreds, maybe thousands. The deaths took place in the earth realm. It took a long time to arrange for the two sides to go to war. Even longer to put the runes in place that would transfer the souls of the dead into the soul jars around the room.”

  Brynhildr rubbed her eyes as I looked around the room and noticed the jars for the first time.

  “And the blood?” she asked.

  “Animals. The souls are enough to ensure the curse marks will work. Human, dwarf, or cow blood, it really doesn’t matter.”

  “This is unfair.”

  “I know you’re angry,” the dwarf snapped, “but you knew this day might come. War is coming, Brynhildr. A war that will not stop until your boy, and those like him, are dead. We need to hide him away from this realm—from any realm. We will give him the power he needs, and then mark his body to keep the rest of his power hidden. There’s no other way. Without the marks he will be a beacon for everyone searching for him. Giving him to Merlin to raise is the only way to keep him safe. Avalon can keep your son safe. You cannot.”