Dawn of Twilights Past

Chapter VIII

Stepping off the last stair into the hallway, Deiondre cut right down the first corridor. Within a few steps he was at a full sprint, ignoring the doors on the left and right, intent only on the last door in the hall, the white walls pulsating brilliantly. With the translation on the door, he should have the information he needed to find where the book was. Reaching the door, the scripture seemed incomplete. It showed a blank room filled with what looked like clouds. The reaper had attacked Valia here so the symbol made sense, but just maybe there was more in this room than a reaper. Reaper was not its official name. It was called Loqu, the Creator’s familiar, not that the Creator would have need of a protector, it was more like a pet. There was only one way to find out for sure. He placed his hand on the door. Hot searing pain shot into his hand. Frantically he tried to remove it. No longer in control of his own body, the fire burned up his arm into his body. His face twisted in excruciating pain, a scream forming on his lips that never left his mouth as everything went black.

He became aware of hovering in an ocean of black billowing clouds. Looking down at where his body should have been, he saw only black. Moments later, in what seemed like an eternity of floating, large tiles, deep black within black pearl like perfection on a woman’s throat, the opposite direction of the floor, the sky lightened to an angry gray-black hue, swirling. His perception was that of standing on a floor. He still couldn’t see his body or his legs, and that in itself seemed strange.

“Hello,” his voice echoed a dozen times then disappeared. “Where am I?” He continued talking, hoping to make the best of the situation, but there was nothing normal about his situation. He looked up. There was nothing in the distance, just more swirling gray angry clouds. He tried to run. His legs felt like they were moving, yet his position never changed. He stopped running, he would wait. Moments passed, feeling like infinity. He felt something touch his shoulder. He spun without moving. A beautiful woman looked him in the eyes, porcelain white skin, black plaited hair, robes swirling luxuriantly around her perfect form, green eyes smiling seductively.

“Deiondre, I have waited a long time for you,” she said.

“Who are you?” he asked, keeping a wary eye on her as she moved around him in circles without walking, studying him like an animal in a butcher’s shop selecting only the best cut. He didn’t know her, yet she seemed to know him.

“I am Iri. You would know me better as the Creator.” She stepped in front of him, turned and walked away. She smelled like fresh wildflowers scattered across a meadow on a cool spring dawn. A chair zoomed in from the distance. Turning, she sat down, gown sinuously wrapping around her legs.

“I need you to do something for me.” Standing, she approached him again, gown billowing out, caressing his senses. His physical body ached with desire for her.

“The Creators no longer exist. Their power was ripped from them, turning them mortal, the knowledge placed in a book of infinite wisdom and locked in this temple,” Deiondre quoted from one of his lecture manuals, still unable to move on his own accord.

“You are only partially correct,” she chided in a beautiful, melodious tone. “The Creators were ripped from power. All died once the one true maker of this planet pulled the magic and eventually the souls from their bodies. All except myself, I escaped but only to this sanctuary, which I am unable to leave without the book and your help, which I now seek. Do you want to become the next Creator?” Her voice whispered seductively, wrapping his mind in cotton. He couldn’t think clearly, his only desire was to please her.

“You would become my escort, maybe more,” sliding her hand around his shoulders, lingering on his neck, his body, responding with desire, involuntarily moving closer to her.

“Anything you desire, my lady,” he responded unconsciously. “I only need to know where the item is hidden and I will return it.”

She stepped away again. “The item you seek sits in the chamber of the wretched at the axis of conception in this temple. Bring the book to me.” Her voice sounded far away. “It sits deep within.”

“What’s happening,” he slurred. His head started to spin, his body falling, then nothing. He was lying on the floor outside the door looking at the ceiling, head banging like a set of drums during the spring festival. Gingerly rolling over into a fetal position, he utilized the wall as a brace to bring himself to a standing position. He looked down at his hands, not a single scorch mark from the fire that had burned hotter than liquid rock moments or hours earlier; he had lost all sense of time. He tried to think through the foggy haze in his mind. He couldn’t think. He needed something to drink. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled forth a small metal container of liquid. He took a long swig, pulling the bottle away, gasping for air, stomach burning. Normally he drank this stuff in substantially smaller quantities, and mixed. His head was feeling a little better, but still fuzzy. He would need rest and water to clear it completely.

He was looking for something. Why did he come down here in the first place? A dozen questions flooded his mind at once, overwhelming in their desire to be answered. He slowly shuffled back down the passage to the main corridor, effervescent white walls causing his eyes to blur agonizingly. He held up his hand to shade them but to no avail. The white radiated from every direction. He would have to bear it. Something had changed within him the few moments he was unconscious.

A voice echoed in his head, “Chamber of the wretched at the axis of conception.” He fell to his knees clutching his head, Iri! Standing, he ran down the corridor looking for the door leading within the temple where the book could be found. He had to find it quickly for her, the Creator. Dozens of doors later, he had found nothing but libraries, bedrooms, meeting chambers, yet nothing leading to a lower level. Shirt drenched in sweat and winded, he kept moving. Muscles burning with the effort, concentration slowly waning, he would have to find the door soon.

Something stopped him in his tracks. He reached over and placed his hand on the wall. Relaxing his body, closing both eyes, he absorbed the magical aura radiating from the wall. The wall was cool to the touch. Keeping his eyes closed, hand running smoothly across the surface of the wall, he walked, almost to the end of the hall, searching for a change to the aura. He didn’t know why he was doing this. He had never searched for anything this way before, and the trait was not one learned from his parents.

He felt the corner leading to the last corridor. He had been down here before. He knew there were just ten single steps leading to an unmarked door. Eyes still closed, he rounded the corner, concentrating on his surroundings. Still sensing nothing out of the ordinary, he reached the door, mind screaming failure, slamming his fist furiously into the door; it never budged.

Frustration written on his face, he looked for writing anywhere to tell him what this room was meant for. He found nothing. He looked for a panel to open the door, yet again he found nothing. He would never accomplish this mission for his mistress if he couldn’t figure out the simple trick of opening a door.

Calming himself, he placed his hands back on the door, slowly drawing the magic into himself, something new to his senses, his inner energy increasing by the minute, twisting his thoughts and body to crave the unknown energy of magic. The invisible latch sprung to his mind like a rabbit out of its hole avoiding a dangerous opponent. It wasn’t just a latch, it required a key, one he already held, given to him by Iri.

Placing his palm flat next to the door, he rotated his fingers to press five predetermined positions. His hand adhered to the door painfully. Pulling back, the pain amplified. Quickly he reversed his energy, pressing against the latch, the pain disappearing as quickly as it had come. He was the key. The door slid straight down into the floor, exposing a small, seamless closet with enough room for one man, standing.

He already knew exactly what he must do, the thoughts coming unbidden, his own mind a pawn removed from the game, manipulated by the queen. Removing his hand effortlessly, all inhibitions gone, he stepped into the room. The door slid into place, leaving him standing in the black of night. Light reversed its direction, drawing back into the walls. Oddly, he could see perfectly the smooth white granite walls surrounding his body. His eyes felt better and his headache had eased up as well.

In a supernatural effort not to rush the transport room, he patiently waited to be moved to a lower level where the real magic occurred in this temple. He never felt the movement of the transport, but the next moment the door slid open revealing a long hallway mirroring the hallway entering the temple, but the scripture on the doors exact in their purpose. The first room held the ultimate killing machine, kept there by magical wards placed by the Creators at the Dawn of Twilights Past, the magic still strong and unbreakable. A creature out of a nightmare looked at him through the semi-transparent door, its body fluid as water. It kept phasing in and out; one moment you would see a set of blood-red eyes, hatred flashing in them, the next moment the rest of its head with razor sharp black teeth meant for rendering a man apart. Its shoulders were black corded muscle. Long, lean, black muscular body flashed in then disappeared into a haze of black smoke. Its legs formed the muscles, twitching in anticipation of the kill. He was created for speed, distance, and stealth; intelligence unseen in any animal resided within the brain of this creature.

Walking on, he came to the next door, also warded, holding an even more dangerous creature. The body was the size of a draft horse with the wings of a bat, the length of a field folded across its back, paws carrying claws the size of a man’s forearm. Its tail razor sharp, edged with a spike, whipped in anger. Its confinement almost unbearable, it fed its hate and hunger for human flesh. Death and destruction was its only pleasure in life. It was created to destroy.

Each door he passed held an even more appalling creature of destruction. He knew the Creators had made such creatures, but not this many. The Creators were said to be peaceful, loving, and nurturing people. This room alone said something terribly different.

He kept moving. He was safe down here, no worry about the guards finding him in this area of the temple, but his mistress wanted him to move fast. That fact alone was all he needed to start running again for as many times this night. He passed large creatures, small creatures, creatures that couldn’t be seen by the unsuspecting eye. All the rooms to this point held death and destruction. Was this why he was looking for the strongest book ever created? He shrugged the thought off. He was here for his own reasons and no one was going to take those away.

The hallway changed. In mid stride, sliding to a halt, he looked around. This hadn’t been here moments before. The building changed with his desires. He desired a book, now he sat in a hallway with nothing but doors upon doors of books. He entered the closest door. A single chair and table sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by piles of books, some sitting on the floor, others placed on shelves, all in pristine condition, kept by magic. He looked around several seconds longer. The book was not here, he could not feel it. Kneeling, he placed his hand on the floor, cold to the touch. Standing, he left without a second glance at the knowledge contained in the room.

He walked into several more doors, all the same as the last, with the same results, no book. “The book,” a thought whispered into his mind, bringing him to his knees. He clutched his head in pain. Desperation echoed in his posture. He stood up and ran. He needed to move faster. The hall started to blur and change again, flickering to one hall, then the next. Moments later it stopped. He was standing in the middle of a hall, magnificent, domed, scripture on every inch of stone face, a single black old leather-bound book resting on a table in the middle.

Stunned, he crouched, placing his hand on the floor. Warmth moved slowly up his hand into his arm then all the way through his body, whispering dark secrets into his subconscious mind of power beyond that of the Creators. Subversion, anything he wanted. He could either form it from his own hands or destroy it with just a thought.

Crouched, relishing the warmth and deep darkness of the room, hours passed in moments, his existence like a flickering flame flaring in the bright of night. When he had been placed into the hall of libraries, the building had given him books of knowledge and magic, nothing more. In his desperation, without thinking, he supplied the information required for the building to understand the difference and now he knelt before the one true book.

Standing, he took the last few steps to the table. Hesitant to touch the precious manual, his hand lingered over the leather, feeling the heat caress his hand. Picking up the book gingerly in both hands, he flipped to the first page. The language was even older than that of the Creators. He only understood half of the first page. He would need Iri at his side in order to exploit this book.

Turning, he left the table, book in hand, disappointment painted like a mural on his face. At a marble slab etched with the symbol of the Creator, he stopped, turned and waited. Moments later he was standing in the hall of demons. Striding through the hall, ignoring the growls and feints of the creatures within, he reached the transport room. He stepped in, turned around and watched the door close silently.

The door reopened moments later allowing him to step out into the brightly lit hall. Clutching the book protectively to his chest, he moved intently towards the last door down the first hall on the right.

Reaching the door, he hesitated, the pain still so real in his mind. Reserved, book in hand, he placed his free hand on the door. Quickly drawing it back, he felt no pain. He placed his hand back. The book in his arm started to radiate heat like something living. The latch clicked audibly, the door slid open. Black clouds poured out, pouring down the hall, turning all in its path black. Deiondre stood his ground, looking for the creature within. An inaudible laugh rolled off his lips as he stepped into the blackened room. Clouds billowed around him. He saw nothing for several minutes. Even with the clouds rolling out the door, the amount of black in the room never diminished.

Then he noticed her standing across the room, eyes glowing in the dark, black silk gown billowing around her perfect form. His body ached just looking at her. He took one step, then another towards her. Her smile was enticing, inviting. He held the book out, wanting her to take it.

“You have done well, Deiondre,” her voice sultry in his ears. She stepped forward, holding out her hands for the book. “We shall create and destroy this land as you wish, my lord,” her words caressing his mind. She reached out, taking the book from his hands. He looked down, not caring that his life’s purpose was to hunt down this book and he had just handed it to this woman.

He never saw it coming. She reached over, touching his hand ever so lightly, chanting. His body doubled over in excruciating pain. He looked down. His hands had elongated into black claws, his body transforming into corded black muscle down his back and haunches. The last thing he heard before all went black was a deep low laugh, as the transformation continued.

Valia gasped and nearly fell of Gray Ghost, his ears flattening in response. She felt cold black licking at the edges of her mind. He didn’t, she thought, anger flaring at his stupidity. He had released the evil spirit in that room. She brought the procession to a halt, signaling Karish and Saeran to join her.

“You’re not going to believe this, he opened the door.”

“What,” Karish exclaimed, “is he stupid?”

“My sentiment exactly,” Valia continued.

“He fights his own battles then,” a certain over-and-done-with tone to her voice.

“I don’t know if it will be that easy. There is not a human alive that knows how to fight magic, except those who are magic,” Valia spat the words out. “If it’s only one and they come together, they should be able to kill it. I suggest we leave this place fast before it becomes our issue.” Valia continued, a bit calmer this time.

“We make the resupply point in an hour. We stay there only as long as it takes to obtain food and water,” Karish dashed out, Whispering Wind never missing a step.

The group was moving once again toward the resupply point. They had brought two days’ worth of supplies with, if they didn’t stop at the resupply point they would run out of food before they cleared the mountains.

Deiondre woke. His whole body ached, his mind unable to form cohesive thoughts. His only burning desire was to obey and protect the Creator. He stood, black-corded muscles rippling along his body, razor sharp claws clicking on the floor as he made his way over to her, elongated mouth, razor sharp teeth brushing against her hand for affection and approval.

She looked down, patted his deformed animal-like head fondly, “Now you are beautiful.” Looking up, she held her hand out for Loqu, her familiar, rubbing his dangerously sharp pointed ears, his red eyes blazing in the black clouded room.

“You will teach our new friend the ropes and we will rule this world together.” Iri departed the room. Black clouds billowed behind her as she walked, the walls flashing one hall then another as Loqu and Deiondre followed quietly behind. She wanted the rest of her creations out, held captive like herself since the Dawn of Twilights Past by the one true Creator. He had created beautiful things: flowers, birds, trees, fish and many other pretty, harmless animals. She had been his mate and his opposite.

There were others, but they only did what he told them to do, created weak things incapable of fighting for themselves. He was weak, she thought vehemently. She was going to find him and destroy him, whatever it took, and this book containing all the Creators’ magic and spells should do the trick.

Laughing perversely she placed her hand on the first door in the hall of demons, watching the ward sizzle brightly, blue flame lashing out from the destroyed cube as the door slid open soundlessly. Spinning ecstatically, she traipsed over to the next door, Deiondre and Loqu following soundlessly behind.