The Curse of the Warlock

The Oathbreaker crested the peaks of The Fangs of the Firmament. A tall man, lean and wiry, dressed in fur and leather for the bone chilling cold. There was a scarlet brand, like an “R” on his right eye.

Men held these peaks to be unassailable. Arkhkyros had set these jaws to trap wicked men. It was impossible to escape them.

But a savage death's head grin was set on the Oathbreaker's face. He had triumphed. A wild light was in his silver eyes. Once more he studied the charts he pulled from his pack.

Northward lay the Iron Tower of Arkhkyros. For twenty-five years he had striven to get here. He shielded his eyes against the Sun and caught sight of his goal in the grim distance. A single spire of obsidian standing out against the silvery mountains that flanked it.

The Tower was over a mile in height. But from where he stood the thing looked no larger than a sewing needle. That meant he had about one hundred miles to travel. Fifteen days ought to do it.

The one benefit of being an outcast and living in the wild was it kept him at peak shape. He'd been cast out of the monastery, yet if it hadn't been for the monastery he never would have found the charts and the parchments. He had kept those secret all these years. He had to be honest with himself—it was Marikha who had saved his life. Without her pleading for him they would have killed him long ago. The Elders were done with his wild ways. He would live, but they chained him in the Monastery and branded with the Mark of the All Seeing Eye, and before he had finally escaped from them, they'd colored the Mark blood red—he was fair game for any who sought his life.

Three days out the Tower looked like a carpenter's needle.

Six days out, a burnt out matchstick.

On the ninth day it was as wide as a crow quill pen.

The twelfth day saw it as thick as a pine tree bole.

By the fourteenth day the shadow of the Tower bore down upon him overwhelming him with dread but he had well learned to recognize these as afflictions of the mind, only.

On the final day, the inconceivable immensity of it weighed down upon him, making it almost impossible to drag his feet. He closed his eyes, set his teeth and kept going.

For the longest time now he had heard a deep, vibrating “thrum.” It was the harsh and horrific blowing of the winds, struggling to seize it in their grip. He felt the resonance in his chest..

The door, when he came upon it, was hundreds of feet high. The fleeing of the Valley of Jurath, the scaling of the Fangs of the Firmament, even the long approach toward the Tower—none of these had torn away at his courage like this final test. Beyond this Threshold he would find the Truth.

It is not an easy thing to challenge that which all your life you have been told is your God. It is hammered into you. It is all you know. How perilous, how dangerously foolish to trust these ragged, crumbling scraps of papyrus!

The All-Seeing Eye had told him that it is impossible to scale the Fangs of the Firmament. Yet—he had done this! Not every word the Elders speak is unquestionably true. He had challenged their teachings and he had won. And if one of their teachings was false—why not others, as well?

The ramp beckoned him in. Beyond was a chamber so wide he could not see the end of it. He broke out his torches. He would need them now. Torchlight revealed walls of dully polished iron. There were tubes and rods and cylinders. He saw containment tanks of various kinds. He saw instruments with dials and numbers he could not recognize and which made no sense to him.

If this was the Temple of Arkhkyros, where then was the God? The silence was eerie and deafening. The wind's hissing and howling had ceased outside the door.

Ramps led him up higher. Though bewildering and labyrinthine, he did not fear getting lost in the place, not when he had made his way safely up and through the mountains that guarded the way to heaven.

But nothing prepared him for what greeted him on the fifth floor. An infinite number of coffins vanishing in the flickering torchlight. Each casket was covered by a clear window. They did not sound like glass when he struck them. Every one of them was empty. But who could have been buried here? The coffins were easily ten feet or more in length!

But he gasped in astonishment on seeing the greatest of the caskets. Fifteen feet in length it measured, but it was the fact that it was yet occupied that astonished him the most!

There was a hissing sound, and other sounds which he could not place. Clickings and rhythmic tappings. Then with a sound like the last breath of a dead man, the cover of the coffin raised itself until it was perpendicular to the casket.

A man lay there, clad in a kind of form-fitting garment. Over this was laid a white robe of some unknown material, open at the front. The eyes shot open suddenly. They burned and pierced like the eyes of an eagle. They stared into the Outcast's own face. He rose and slowly pulled himself erect. His voice was like a thunder heard from far off, but there was no anger in his words.

“I am Arkhkyros. Who might you be, and what are you doing here?”

The Outcast was taken aback. “Arkhyros? Are you...God?”

Arkhyros smiled and chuckled. “Are they calling me God, now? Things are far worse than I expected them to be. Yes. I am Arkhkyros. But I am no more a God than are you. But then who are you?”

“I am the Outcast. The Wanderer. The Vagabond. I am the Warlock.”

Arkhkyros laughed. “The Oathbreaker, eh? And what oath did you break?”

“I was sworn to the All-Seeing Eye by the Elders. I found these parchments and charts which led me here.”

“But what is your name? What did your mother call you?”

“They took away my name. No one is permitted to speak it.”

“No one? No one at all?”

“Marikha.”

“Wife? Betrothed? Beloved?”

“I...”

“You don't know? Yet she dared say your name, that she was forbidden to speak?”

“It is Alkanon. Alkanon Karasses. She has saved my life more than once.”

“Then what are you doing here? What have you done for her, who you say has often saved your life? Never mind—what brings you to my ship?”

“Ship?”

“Yes. Ship. You don't think we got to this planet by walking here, did you? We named this world Jurath. The name 'Earth,' was already taken. But they've probably destroyed themselves by now so it probably doesn't matter. According to these instruments that was ten thousand years ago.”

“You're ten-thousand years old, yet you say you're not God?”

“We came to Jurath ten thousand years ago, but we set out from Earth about five hundred years before that. Trying to get to the star, Rastaban, in Draco. We slept in all these containment cells—You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you? So why are you here? What did you hope to find?”

“Everyone I've known has always mocked me. Because I was never satisfied to just sit down and swallow everything All-Seeing Eye told me. They say you created Jurath. Is that all true?”

“Not exactly. This world is very inhospitable. I simply prepared the Valley of Jurath. One million square miles. Very Earth-like. All of the people who came with me. I sent them to the Valley. They lived, bred and died there. Once every thousand years or so, one of you makes his way up here and I find out how you all are doing, and I see if there's been any change. But there never really is.”

Arkhkyros led him to a chamber where they were able to sit comfortably. Man-like machines rolled out and served them, and Arkhkyros began to tell him of the world's real history. He listened patiently while Alkeron filled in the gaps of his knowledge. Though he could barely grasp what he had been told he felt he was handling it all pretty well. Still, it was one thing to have proven that the Earth is not flat—and quite another to realize the Sun doesn't revolve around it.

“If all your people left the...ship, why did you not go with them? They had all your knowledge, yet in the ten thousand years that have passed since you first arrived, the world has degenerated into the...medieval level you were describing.”

“Someone had to remain here to keep an eye on things. Plus, I was guilty of none of the crimes for which I banished them., Each time one of you comes up here I'm filled with hope. Surely one day your people will all prove worthy. But another thousand years passes by and you get a foot shorter. I'm afraid that by the time any of you are ready for your inheritance, you'll all be so small I won't be able to hear you, no matter how loudly you shout.”

“You said...Inheritance?”

“I'll show you.” He led Alkanon to a chamber several floors up. It was filled with mechanisms he had never seen before, or even conceived of. There were machines that could synthesize whatever was demanded of them; others were able to draw energy out of the air, or turn light into power. There were machines capable of restoring the balance of the body's natural forces. There were machines that taught al the secrets of science.

“And what might these things be?”

“These? They are of the least value of all. We knew not what we've have to deal with when we set foot on Jurath. They provide defense and, if necessary, offense.”

“Weapons, then—”

“If you like.”

“But why are they all here? Surely your crew would have need of them on a perfectly wild planet.”

“There were no dangers here. Within the extremes of the Fangs of the Firmanent there are no dangers. That is why I exiled them there. That way they'd be no further trouble, and the could better themselves until were worthy of my treasures—their birthright.”

“More than anything else, I have wished to teach my people. But I have always had to hide and be on the run. But with one of these defensive weapons I need never fear again. Then they would have to finally listen to me. Let me have one of these things. I have tried to teach them and share what I've learned. They rule by brute force. Do you think I accepted this brand over my face willingly? But if the tables were turned on them, it would be I who would force them. Then they would have to listen and I would help lift them up. I would make them worthy!”

Arkhkyros looked at him oddly. “Is that what you really want? It is one thing to lead horses to water—but can you make them drink? I did not allow my crew these weapons when I banished them. Do you not understand? My whole world destroyed itself because it thought in the same way you are thinking. And everyone one of you that has come here thinks just the same. There is no place for them, and no place for you here.”

“Arkhkyros—I am a marked man. They preach no one can climb the Fangs of the Firmanent. I am a living proof that what they teach is wrong. If I return they will consider me a living blasphemy and they will kill me.”

“And this is how you prove your worthiness? You would use the violence for which I banished all your ancestors to the Valley?”

“I'll not go, simply to be murdered!” he leapt into the armory and seized several of the devices, anything he thought he could easily carry.

“I shouldn't have too much trouble learning to use these. I'm leaving but if you don't want to see just how lucky I might guess, you'll not try to stop me.” He left Arkhkyros who looked after him with an expression he could not register.

Over the next few weeks he had made his way back to the mountain cliffs of the Fangs of the Firmament. He had proven his rightness about everything. He had also worked on the weapons, seeking to learn how they functioned. One fired a devastating bolt of pure fiery, burning energy. The second set out explosive pulses of impact. Aimed at the ground it shook and cracked it. Both were hand held pistols. The last was a kind of rifle and he found he was unable to work out how to operate it.

They provided no hindrance and he went down the Fangs more quickly than he had ascended—it still required weeks, even though the descent was quicker. When he finally set foot upon the soil of the Valley, it was in fields of Caphros town, one of the largest cities.

The people soon recognized him and word spread until the whole town had come out to witness the end of the Renegade.

“Why have you returned here, Blasphemer? We do not believe it is really you. None can climb the Fangs of the Firmament. Arkhkyros made them so that none might ever escape their punishment. Those jaws close upon us forever.”

“I came to lead you out of your darkness. I have seen Arkhkyros. These, he gave me. Gifts for you.” He held up the guns. His eyes were wild. Even the bravest of men may quail a little when faced with the smoldering anger of ten thousand.

But the weapons in his hand gave him courage. He had set the guns on their highest settings.

“You did not see Arkhkyros! You give us nothing but lies. Oath Breaker! Warlock! You shame his Mark on your face!” They did not wait for the Elder to give the signal. Too great was the superstitious fear in their hearts to take a chance. In their fear they became fearless—even when the flaming ray shot out and burned over fifty of them, and the pulse blaster broke the bones and splattered the organs of a hundred.

He could have done far more damage than he did. The guns were not empty. But as he fired each in his fear he saw a single face in the crowd, and he could fire no more. The flames had nearly struck her. And he saw it was not his desire to elevate the crowd that had driven him all these years, but his desire for bloodthirsty vengeance.

He did not even see the dozen knives that ended his life. All he saw was Marikha's despairing eyes. His strength-less fingers could not pull the triggers.

A blood sacrifice in the Town Square. That called for a celebration, and the Elder called for all the town to join him in the Citadel, there to give witness of the cleansing of evil and pernicious perversity from their midst. All hail the enacting of Arkhkyros's Godly Vengeance!

None remained in the town square. None would disturb that scene of carnage and vengeance taken. Not for an entire week's span would things be cleansed, that it might serve as reminder of what had been done.

It was not until dark that one lone figure dared to approach the place. She stood there in mute agony for nearly an hour. None of the people that knew her would have been able to fathom what was in her heart now. Those who knew her well enough knew that she had often interceded for the Warlock. It was due to her effort and words alone that he had been spared so long.

He had been under a curse. What she contemplated doing now would set her under a curse as well. She remained silent but at last she was resolved.

There was little left of him. No tears fell from her cheeks. Her heart was too frozen to ever shed them again. She knelt down and kissed what was left of his mouth. She took a knife blade and gritting her teeth she made a mark upon her face like unto what had graced his own. She took of his blood and smeared it into the bleeding mark she'd made. He would always be with her now.

She picked up the three guns. She had watched how he operated the fire pistol. She set it on high. She burned what was left of his body. She smeared the ashes on her face.

Why did you not wait? You were always too impetuous. They never would have listened. It would have been hard for you, but we could have educated them slowly, just the two of us.

She picked up the pack he had worn. She would find the charts he had studied. She would know what he knew. She packed away the two pistols and shouldered the rifle. This night she would be renegade, warlock and blasphemer. The Fangs of the Firmament could be climbed. He had done it. And he had met Arkhkyros. She, too, would do as he had done. She, too, would climb as he had climbed. She too would go to meet Arkhkyros. She would return his gifts to him. She looked toward the nearby Fangs of the Firmament and set off on her journey.