The cool air of the evening washed over Raynold as he walked home from the Surekeels’ house, and after the smoke and chaos of the underground temple, even the stink of the city was a balm. The soft white light of the moon lit his way, but Raynold could now see into the darkest alleys without undue difficulty. He was a naturally anxious boy, and he looked into each alley he crossed to make sure nothing was going to jump out at him.
He was a very imaginative young man, and he talked to himself frequently on his walk home without realizing he was doing it. He was becoming powerful, as he had always dreamed he would. Finally, after all the years of excruciatingly slow learning, he felt like he was getting somewhere. The Surekeels knew he could animate and command the dead, but they didn’t know about everything he was learning.
Raynold would have taken the Codex of Death for himself by now, but there was something about Lord Surekeel that told him that would be a deadly mistake, no matter how cordial their relationship was. Lord Surekeel held a demonic power to be reckoned with, and he was a man that made Raynold sweat at even the smallest hint of his displeasure. Raynold was no fool, unlike his friend Kromwell, and he simply kept his mouth shut about all the things he could see going on around him. He really didn’t care about other people anyway. He just wanted to learn everything the Codex would teach him, and he overlooked the patronizing way Lord Surekeel treated him to be able to proceed in his calling. Besides, Lord Surekeel was providing everything he needed to practice his art, things he couldn’t get for himself. He would abide any amount of patronizing behavior for that.
The living room of the modest house was lit by a single lamp when Raynold arrived, but he could clearly see the comfortable sofa and chairs there. It was very late at night, a time when nearly everyone in Stonekeep was asleep. Unfortunately, his parents weren’t asleep, and his hopes of getting to bed without conflict were dashed when his mother and father stood up from the sofa.
“Where’ve you been?!” his father asked.
“We’ve been so worried!” his mother said.
“There’s no need to be worried, mother. I’m just fine. See?”
“Wait a minute,” his father said, his brow lowering. “What’s that smell on you, boy?”
The dreamweed at the temple. Raynold cursed silently. His mind raced to think of another explanation. “I was with Kromwell and the guys, and some of them had pipes. It’s no big deal.”
“That’s not pipe weed I smell, boy. That’s dreamweed. What in the hells are you doing getting mixed up with that stuff?” his father demanded.
“I’m not mixed up with anything,” Raynold lied.
His father immediately struck Raynold across the face hard enough to leave a red handprint on Raynold’s cheek. In his frequent daydreams, physical violence from his father was not something Raynold would tolerate anymore. Those imaginary scenarios ran through his mind now. Violent thoughts, demanding retribution.
“Don’t you lie to me, boy,” his father said with menace. He paused for a moment to think. “After your brothers died in the fields, your mother and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you there, too. Your brothers never got involved with illegal drugs, though. I think we did wrong in not making a farmer of you earlier. All this running around with that Surekeel kid’s led to trouble. Well, not in my house, boy. After you go into the militia, you’ll be joining me in the fields to work out an honest living.”
Being a farmer in this world was one of the most dangerous professions Raynold knew of. It was more dangerous than being a soldier by far. Renders attacked farmers often enough that it wasn’t surprising to anyone that a farmer didn’t come home from time to time. The wages were among the best as a result, but farmers needed eyes in the back of their heads if they wanted to live to see old age. The fact that his father had lived this long was usually a matter of pride, but Raynold certainly didn’t want to be a farmer himself. He had other plans. With Lord Surekeel’s influence, he probably wouldn’t even have to report to the keep for military service.
“I won’t be carrying on the family business, father,” Raynold said haughtily. “Grubbing around in the dirt is beneath me. I have greater aspirations.”
This was exactly the wrong thing to say to any father in Stonekeep, especially when that father thought his son was beginning a life of slavery to addiction. Raynold’s father didn’t take that news well, either. Both he and Raynold’s mother began shouting at their son, telling him how he was supposed to act, berating him for not being a better person, and cursing him for a lazy, worthless slug. They even slapped him on the shoulder or cuffed his head from time to time. Raynold found himself backed against the kitchen cabinet next to the stove. After one particularly hard slap from his father, something in him snapped. Raynold had a sudden clarity. He concentrated on a skill he had recently learned but hadn’t tried yet, and he remembered the words easily. He began speaking the foul words in the whispery, hollow language of death.
Raynold’s father took two involuntary steps back, his eyes widening in sudden uncertainty, something he’d never felt from his normally submissive son. “What are you saying? What’s this about?”
As fearsome and otherworldly as those words sounded, they didn’t truly worry until the magic started to take effect. That was when their anxiety turned to ice cold fear. Raynold’s parents had a sensation of being pricked all over their bodies with needles as they felt the vitality being drained from their limbs. That vitality went into Raynold, which finally gave him the strength he craved to overpower his father. Raynold turned and grabbed his mother’s favorite kitchen knife from the countertop behind him and suddenly slashed through his father’s throat. Blood sprayed from his father’s deeply cut neck, and he reached feebly up to try to cover the gash.
His mother screamed in denial and clawed at Raynold. Finally, Raynold felt strong, and his expression showed it. This is who he wanted to be. The look of revulsion on his mother’s face wasn’t what he wanted to see, and without a flicker of emotion he stabbed her through the heart. She crumpled to the floor, her blood pumping rapidly from the deep wound.
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Raynold watched with interest as his parents slowly died. There was a tiny, little piece of him that cried out in horror at what he’d just done, but the growing part of him watched with detachment as two people slowly died on the floor before him. Over the course of a minute or two, he watched intently as the process was carried out. Soon enough the pools of mingled blood on the floor stopped growing and began to dry up as he knew it would.
“Life is in the blood, but it just turns to dust,” Raynold said to himself. “All we really are is dust in the wind.”
People could interpret that in different ways, with different practical applications for each. Some people would live life to the fullest, knowing that life is fleeting. Others would devote their time and effort to making the lives of other people better, trying to keep those they cared for healthy. Still others would stop caring about other people and would then take what they wanted because they felt that nothing really mattered. To Raynold, that moment of realization cheapened the lives of other people. He felt nothing at his parents lying dead on the floor, nor did he even care that he’d murdered them.
He just wanted to witness the process of death, and he felt a renewed devotion to the art of mastering death so it wouldn’t happen to him.
He wanted to be immortal.
Raynold considered briefly what he was going to do with the bodies. He could probably do whatever he wanted once the Surekeels took over the city, so he didn’t worry about an alibi or any sort of explanation to the neighbors. He eventually decided that an imitation of life would be good enough until such a time as he could enjoy a position of real power here. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the energies he summoned, and spoke the raspy words of the language of death. Magical power in the form of greenish light flowed from his outstretched hands and into the corpses on the floor. The light seemed to be absorbed into their bodies and slowly they began to stir.
The commands in that dark language now came easily to Raynold, and he forced them to clean up the blood on the floor. Then, since his father never valued books in life, Raynold thought it would be a fine joke to force his father to read throughout the coming eternity. Maybe his soul would see his son’s love for reading and magic and understand that he wasn’t meant to be a farmer. Since his mother was such a nag about the cleanliness of the house, well, working at that would be a fitting thing for her to be doing for the time being.
It was very late in the evening by now, and Raynold yawned with fatigue. After he set his new minions to their tasks, he took one of his father’s favorite pastries, which he was never allowed to have, from the kitchen counter and ate it on his way to his bed. He forgot about the inconsequential things of the evening as he got into bed and thought about the power he would wield in the days ahead. A small smile appeared on his face as he drifted off to peaceful sleep.
-----
Elle dreamed peacefully, safe in her bed. Her dream centered around a Man in luminous white clothing that was like a father to her. They meandered through a sunny meadow full of rich, green grass and flowers of every color, hand in hand. Elle occasionally bent down to touch and smell the bright flowers they strolled past. She sighed with contentment.
“Things will not be like this for you very often in your life, Elle,” the Man said.
“Why not? Why can’t this last forever?” Elle asked.
“This is a dream, but Heaven is much like this. In the living world I choose to work though agents in times of rising darkness. I call upon certain people to right wrongs and to help their neighbors, much like you did for your mother. There is a time of peril coming that I wish for you and some others who are close to you to handle. Will you do this work I have for you?”
“Yes. I like to help people, but why me?”
“You have been through dark times. I am sovereign over creation, and everything that comes to pass has done so either with My permission or at My direction. This is something that is hard to grasp for most people. Just trust that I have used everything that has happened in your life, even the terrible things, for your good. I do this so that you can help other people who are going through the same terrible things,” the Man said. “I choose people from time to time to do great things, to spread My glory, and to make life better for the people around them.”
“Your glory?”
The Man smiled gently. “You think it selfish for Me to be concerned what people think about Me?”
Elle knew better than to say He was wrong about something, even if she didn’t know exactly why. How could He be wrong? The Man let her think about this for a moment then answered.
“The people that are glorified are imitated. What good is it to glorify the best warrior? That would only convince people to become better warriors. Is anyone’s life made better by that? If I receive the glory for a thing, then people will want to learn more about Me and My ways, and that is a good thing for everyone.”
“But why me?” Elle persisted. She held her hand up to her brow to shade her eyes as she looked up to Him. She couldn’t tell the difference between the light radiating from the Man and the light coming from the sun, but she wanted to look, no matter how it hurt her eyes.
“I delight in taking the broken things and making them whole. I use the weak to shame the strong, and the things that are foolish in the eyes of worldly men I like to reveal to all to be much wiser than anything they know or can fathom. When righteous people are grounded and humble, I exalt them because people will see that I am over and behind them, empowering My chosen servants. The glory gained by My servant is attributed to Me, and that is important because I want people to want to be more like Me. I am sinless and holy, and people need to see that they will be much better off if they imitate Me and live holy lives.”
“I’ll do what you require of me, of course, but I’m just a girl. How can I do anything great?”
The Man chuckled softly. “Little one, I will protect you in ways you will not know. I will guide you to paths you cannot see. I will raise up others to help you when you need it. I will provide for your every need, and I will give you the strength you need to finish any task. I just ask that you trust Me.”
“How will I know what You want me to do?”
“You will know. At times, I may show you a dream. Other times I will put a desire in your heart. Years from now, I will give you My teachings, that you may teach others My ways. For now, just trust in what is good and righteous. I will make it possible to achieve any good thing.”
“All right. I trust You, and I want to help,” Elle said.
The Man nodded with a gentle smile. “A trial will soon be before you. I would like you to help your family through it.”
“What will happen? How can I help?”
“I am not going to tell you. You see, knowing is different from believing. Who hopes for something they can already see? I want your faith and your trust in Me to grow and telling you how everything will happen will not help you develop that gift. I have given you great promises today. Trust in My word. I will never leave you or forsake you. Rest now and be refreshed.”
The Man kissed the top of Elle’s head. He hugged her tenderly, as a father would, as the prophetic dream ended. A tiny portion of His power, however, was instilled in her.
