chapter 28
previous chapter
"The Wealth rune granted riches beyond imagination, but at a heavy price. Ancient Four was struck down with an incurable disease the moment he claimed the rune, a sickness that no amount of gold could make better. However, Ancient Four became obsessed with hunting for a cure, and so he built a great empire, and spent a great portion of his wealth to cure himself of the rune's disease. In time, he discovered the entirety of Mr Porpoise's failed plot, and as a little joke, he painted porpoises on the bottoms of all the airships he owned."
"In the end, it was all for nothing, of course, and the sickness spread and got worse over the years. And then one day, Septaphim appeared to him, a mere shadow among shadows. Septaphim told him about many things, and eventually convinced Ancient Four to help rid the world of the rune's accursed effects."
"Ancient Four sent men to the top of the Spire, and when they returned, terrified by what they found, he was shocked to hear of what had befallen Ancient Five. By then, the Power rune was completely out of control: the magic had reached saturation point, causing the clouds to swirl constantly in a rapidly expanding and darkening vortex."
"His health rapidly deteriorating, Ancient Four knew that his only hope lay in the last remaining Ancient, but no one knew where Ancient Two had vanished to..."
* * * * *
Ancient Two stumbled through the City. The damned rune... it was messing with his thoughts, and he struggled to stay alert. It was like having a fog in your head, and he felt his memories slowly slipping in and out of his grasp.
Where was he now? Street, street. There was something he ought to remember... running? No, that wasn't it. Rune. Something to do with... no, the thought slipped away again, and Ancient Two grabbed his head. Concentrate! There was something important, something to remember. He shook his head, and gazed at the street ahead. Cobblestones. Street. Somewhere he had to go to... but he couldn't remember. Every fragment of memory was slipping away now.
And then a stagecoach roared down the street. Ancient Two barely had time to raise one arm, in a totally futile effort to stop the coach, and then there was a shout from the driver and a squishy thud. The horses hit him first, trampling his body beneath their powerful hoofs, before the wheels rolled over whatever mangled mess remained after the horses were done.
The stagecoach screeched to a halt, but it was too late: Ancient Two's remains were spread over the street like a long smear of red, sticky, jam.
* * * * *
"So much for Immortality," mumbled Seraph skeptically. "Killed by a stagecoach? What's so immortal about that?"
Ancient One grinned. "That's the strange thing now, isn't it? Yes, yes. All the others... death reduced them to ashes, nothing but dust and ashes. For that was how Ancients die, yes, yes... even Arathea, the greatest of the battle mages, even he turned into ashes when he was slain. But not Ancient Two... no, no. The rune did work, but not as expected, oh no..."
* * * * *
Moments after Ancient Two's unfortunate death, something strange happened elsewhere in the City.
A pile of rubbish lay sadly in an alleyway. It was completely unremarkable: the usual mixture of discarded boxes, tin cans, old rags, leftovers... all mixed into a rather large pile, leaning against the wall. It stank horribly, which was expected behaviour for a pile of half-decomposed garbage, so there was nothing strange about that either.
Two beggars were rifling through the pile, searching for something worthy of being salvaged. So far, they had collected three bananas, a dirty blanket and three cans of cheese. Some sort of cheese, anyway: in a previous existence, the cans had been full of nice warm milk, but the expiry date was long past now, and what was left was a gooey, yellowish substance, perhaps a distant cousin of cheese. They did find a nice, half-eaten apple earlier, but much to their dismay, it slipped and fell to the floor, so they had to discard it for hygiene purposes. Even beggars had standards to uphold, you know.
And it was just then that an arm burst through the garbage. The beggars screamed and ran, as the decomposing heap parted. A terrible figure, four feet tall, emerged from the rubbish heap, covered from head to toe in dirt and foul-smelling garbage juice.
Remarkably, one of the figure's arms was completely covered in an extremely complex tattoo.
* * * * *
"Hold it right there then," said Seraph. He had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was coming, and sighed. "You're going to tell me that the kid is Ancient Two, aren't you? In some kind of bizzare, reincarnated form?"
Ancient One rolled his eyes. You just can't tell a good story anymore these days without someone skipping straight ahead and guessing the ending. "Well.... yes, yes yes," he admitted reluctantly. "The Immortality rune.... it didn't quite grant TRUE immortality. No, nono, no indeed... instead, every time you get yourself killed, a copy of your body is, well, created elsewhere, yesyes. Minus the memories, of course. And with the body of a boy." He stared at Cantrip's tattoo, and his face twitched. "That mark, that mark is the mark of the rune: within the patterns lie all the lost memories of your previous existences, hidden, hidden, twisted and burned into a tattoo."
Cantrip was looking at his own arm in utter horror. His mouth opened as he struggled to find the words to say, and then closed. And opened. And closed. His brain was rapidly disengaging itself from the real world, and running off to whimper in a quiet corner of his head. It's one thing to find out that a crazy, rich old man is actually an Ancient in disguise, but it's quite another thing entirely to find out that you are one as well. Right now, he was incapable of anything more coherent than doing a fine imitation of a stunned goldfish.
Ancient One turned his attention to Seraph. "Septaphim told Ancient Four exactly what to look for, and he eventually hired you to find the boy. Time was of the essence to Septaphim, however, and in his impatience, he found the boy first. With his shadows, he knocked the boy unconscious, and brought him to you."
"Wait," croaked Cantrip. Parts of his brain were starting to kick in, and there was something he needed to know. "Prawn... what happened to Prawn? Did he survive?"
Ancient One fell silent. "Yes, he did... sort of. In a manner of speaking," He sighed again. "It's all very complicated, very complicated, yes. Septaphim grew weaker and weaker with each passing moment, and he was forced to... borrow another body to continue using his powers. When he finally found you, he did not have much time left, and so took control of Prawn's body to summon his shadows. You must understand that he was little more than a shadow himself by now, and your friend proved to be a most receptive host. Even now, Septaphim moves, always moving in the darkness, within Prawn's body, and it was his shadows that guided you here, yes."
Cantrip shuddered. He imagined Septaphim lurking in the shadows, hiding within the body of a street urchin, pulling strings and shadows from the edge of perception.
"Alright, old man, I think we've heard enough," interrupted Seraph. "If everything you say is true, then we don't have much time, do we? Just one last thing: what happens to the runes after its holder dies?"
"Ah, ah ah. No doubt you have noticed the walls," said Ancient One delightedly, and cackled. "Yes... two of the runes have returned, yes indeed, the runes of Wealth and Invincibility lie within this chamber once more. If you kill the holder of the rune, then it returns to this chamber, back to where it started, and it can be claimed again by another. Only the Immortality rune can never be reclaimed, because it is impossible to truly destroy anyone who holds such a rune, " His eyes glinted as he continued. "But that can be taken care of. Bring the other runes back here, and I will seal the Vault for all eternity, and lock away Arathea's Gifts, once and for all. Now go... you must find a way to retrieve the rune of Power, before all is lost."
next chapter
"The Wealth rune granted riches beyond imagination, but at a heavy price. Ancient Four was struck down with an incurable disease the moment he claimed the rune, a sickness that no amount of gold could make better. However, Ancient Four became obsessed with hunting for a cure, and so he built a great empire, and spent a great portion of his wealth to cure himself of the rune's disease. In time, he discovered the entirety of Mr Porpoise's failed plot, and as a little joke, he painted porpoises on the bottoms of all the airships he owned."
"In the end, it was all for nothing, of course, and the sickness spread and got worse over the years. And then one day, Septaphim appeared to him, a mere shadow among shadows. Septaphim told him about many things, and eventually convinced Ancient Four to help rid the world of the rune's accursed effects."
"Ancient Four sent men to the top of the Spire, and when they returned, terrified by what they found, he was shocked to hear of what had befallen Ancient Five. By then, the Power rune was completely out of control: the magic had reached saturation point, causing the clouds to swirl constantly in a rapidly expanding and darkening vortex."
"His health rapidly deteriorating, Ancient Four knew that his only hope lay in the last remaining Ancient, but no one knew where Ancient Two had vanished to..."
* * * * *
Ancient Two stumbled through the City. The damned rune... it was messing with his thoughts, and he struggled to stay alert. It was like having a fog in your head, and he felt his memories slowly slipping in and out of his grasp.
Where was he now? Street, street. There was something he ought to remember... running? No, that wasn't it. Rune. Something to do with... no, the thought slipped away again, and Ancient Two grabbed his head. Concentrate! There was something important, something to remember. He shook his head, and gazed at the street ahead. Cobblestones. Street. Somewhere he had to go to... but he couldn't remember. Every fragment of memory was slipping away now.
And then a stagecoach roared down the street. Ancient Two barely had time to raise one arm, in a totally futile effort to stop the coach, and then there was a shout from the driver and a squishy thud. The horses hit him first, trampling his body beneath their powerful hoofs, before the wheels rolled over whatever mangled mess remained after the horses were done.
The stagecoach screeched to a halt, but it was too late: Ancient Two's remains were spread over the street like a long smear of red, sticky, jam.
* * * * *
"So much for Immortality," mumbled Seraph skeptically. "Killed by a stagecoach? What's so immortal about that?"
Ancient One grinned. "That's the strange thing now, isn't it? Yes, yes. All the others... death reduced them to ashes, nothing but dust and ashes. For that was how Ancients die, yes, yes... even Arathea, the greatest of the battle mages, even he turned into ashes when he was slain. But not Ancient Two... no, no. The rune did work, but not as expected, oh no..."
* * * * *
Moments after Ancient Two's unfortunate death, something strange happened elsewhere in the City.
A pile of rubbish lay sadly in an alleyway. It was completely unremarkable: the usual mixture of discarded boxes, tin cans, old rags, leftovers... all mixed into a rather large pile, leaning against the wall. It stank horribly, which was expected behaviour for a pile of half-decomposed garbage, so there was nothing strange about that either.
Two beggars were rifling through the pile, searching for something worthy of being salvaged. So far, they had collected three bananas, a dirty blanket and three cans of cheese. Some sort of cheese, anyway: in a previous existence, the cans had been full of nice warm milk, but the expiry date was long past now, and what was left was a gooey, yellowish substance, perhaps a distant cousin of cheese. They did find a nice, half-eaten apple earlier, but much to their dismay, it slipped and fell to the floor, so they had to discard it for hygiene purposes. Even beggars had standards to uphold, you know.
And it was just then that an arm burst through the garbage. The beggars screamed and ran, as the decomposing heap parted. A terrible figure, four feet tall, emerged from the rubbish heap, covered from head to toe in dirt and foul-smelling garbage juice.
Remarkably, one of the figure's arms was completely covered in an extremely complex tattoo.
* * * * *
"Hold it right there then," said Seraph. He had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was coming, and sighed. "You're going to tell me that the kid is Ancient Two, aren't you? In some kind of bizzare, reincarnated form?"
Ancient One rolled his eyes. You just can't tell a good story anymore these days without someone skipping straight ahead and guessing the ending. "Well.... yes, yes yes," he admitted reluctantly. "The Immortality rune.... it didn't quite grant TRUE immortality. No, nono, no indeed... instead, every time you get yourself killed, a copy of your body is, well, created elsewhere, yesyes. Minus the memories, of course. And with the body of a boy." He stared at Cantrip's tattoo, and his face twitched. "That mark, that mark is the mark of the rune: within the patterns lie all the lost memories of your previous existences, hidden, hidden, twisted and burned into a tattoo."
Cantrip was looking at his own arm in utter horror. His mouth opened as he struggled to find the words to say, and then closed. And opened. And closed. His brain was rapidly disengaging itself from the real world, and running off to whimper in a quiet corner of his head. It's one thing to find out that a crazy, rich old man is actually an Ancient in disguise, but it's quite another thing entirely to find out that you are one as well. Right now, he was incapable of anything more coherent than doing a fine imitation of a stunned goldfish.
Ancient One turned his attention to Seraph. "Septaphim told Ancient Four exactly what to look for, and he eventually hired you to find the boy. Time was of the essence to Septaphim, however, and in his impatience, he found the boy first. With his shadows, he knocked the boy unconscious, and brought him to you."
"Wait," croaked Cantrip. Parts of his brain were starting to kick in, and there was something he needed to know. "Prawn... what happened to Prawn? Did he survive?"
Ancient One fell silent. "Yes, he did... sort of. In a manner of speaking," He sighed again. "It's all very complicated, very complicated, yes. Septaphim grew weaker and weaker with each passing moment, and he was forced to... borrow another body to continue using his powers. When he finally found you, he did not have much time left, and so took control of Prawn's body to summon his shadows. You must understand that he was little more than a shadow himself by now, and your friend proved to be a most receptive host. Even now, Septaphim moves, always moving in the darkness, within Prawn's body, and it was his shadows that guided you here, yes."
Cantrip shuddered. He imagined Septaphim lurking in the shadows, hiding within the body of a street urchin, pulling strings and shadows from the edge of perception.
"Alright, old man, I think we've heard enough," interrupted Seraph. "If everything you say is true, then we don't have much time, do we? Just one last thing: what happens to the runes after its holder dies?"
"Ah, ah ah. No doubt you have noticed the walls," said Ancient One delightedly, and cackled. "Yes... two of the runes have returned, yes indeed, the runes of Wealth and Invincibility lie within this chamber once more. If you kill the holder of the rune, then it returns to this chamber, back to where it started, and it can be claimed again by another. Only the Immortality rune can never be reclaimed, because it is impossible to truly destroy anyone who holds such a rune, " His eyes glinted as he continued. "But that can be taken care of. Bring the other runes back here, and I will seal the Vault for all eternity, and lock away Arathea's Gifts, once and for all. Now go... you must find a way to retrieve the rune of Power, before all is lost."
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