Ascendancy: The Book of Heylel

Prologue

Ascendancy: The Book of Heylel

The Ninth Son Book III
A Novel by J.M. Kraynak

Prologue
The journal of Charles of House Lysse



         Ad finem Vitae...

         There are many worlds that exist in parallel to our own. In particular the worlds of the most concern are that of the living and that of the dead. These worlds are bound... tied to one another by many threads. These threads act as doorways. Should an individual of an inquisitive mind find their way through one of these, they will have made the ascent beyond the physical natures of life and death.

         To understand this natural balance, it is best viewed as a cycle. One dies - one lives. Life in and of itself is composed of the five elements; Ignis, Terra, Aeris, Aqua, and Aether. If an element were to be removed from this cycle, this balance would shift and our existence would skew. This is the principle, and essence of the Alchemyst.

         Aether is by far the rarest of these elements. It is a highly coveted form of existence that those of my craft seek desperately to obtain. There is however, no easy way of retrieving such an element, for Aether is the thread - it is the doorway.

         I have always viewed Alchemy as the art of transcending understanding. We have throughout history, pushed the boundaries of knowledge and beliefs, and in so doing have made great discoveries. This was done solely by use of the fifth element. Without Aether, we cannot hope to understand the fabrics of life and death; the instant that life ends, and death begins. We have, however reached the zenith of discovery, for to continue to harvest this element would have dire consequences, for each drop of Aether into our Vitriol, Vermilion, and Ethers removes yet another thread which tie these worlds to one another.

         Those of my craft have desserted this belief, for science has little room for supernatural. I have however traveled these paths... I have seen the worlds of the dead and the worlds of the living. I can say with confidence that there is in fact, something greater than the power of science. There is a heaven, there is a hell, and there is a god. Who or what this god is, however, is far beyond my understanding, whether this god is benevolent or wicked, I will never know. What I do know, is that man is by nature, a wicked creature. For what we do in this life, shall echo in death. Each scar we leave in the world of life, shall scar their world as well.

         We however, continue to harvest Aether. We continue to sever the threads, and in so doing, we suffer - they suffer.

         If these doorways to the other worlds were to be shut permanently, death would overwhelm this world, for it would have no other place to travel. I have however made many attempts at opening new doors, and forming new paths. These efforts however, have proven futile... these two worlds are doomed to close forever, and when death spills over, the spirits of those that have passed shall be vengeful. I can only pray that there is a key to the gateway.

Clavem ad Aeternum.

**********

         “The Black continues to appear among the people,” Dante stated as he strode around the circle of the Primes, “It’s a strange sickness. We’ve yet to truly make any progress at stopping it.”

         Niklaus shook his head in silence, he knew the Apothecaries were working hard at unlocking the mysteries of this strange infection, but it was unlikely they would yield any results. Though it seemed rather harmless, it was quite a disfiguring disease. He’d seen only a few folk that had succumbed to the Black, and it was hideous.

         Cracked, black, and splotchy skin were the common symptoms. No sickness, or fever were ever present, but it was still alarming. Though the cases were quite sparse, over the weeks it spread through society at a rapid rate. Numbers had climbed from maybe ten to close to one hundred. There was something more to this than simple contagion, for most of the people that had come to be claimed by this sickness were quite diverse in social standing and locale. It did not spread through households as most infections would, rather it moved from place to place, claiming one here, another there as though it chose its victims like a consciousness… a hunter.

         “Dante, if I may speak.” Gerbert of Tor stood from his chair.

         The Prime Apothecary turned to him and nodded. Gerbert strode through the many seated faces among the order. A sea of intellect and pseudoscience look upon him as though he were a hero or a disease. The Prime Astronomage carried a reputation with him as though it were draped over his shoulders like a black cloak. He was a doomsday speaker; always negative, and rarely correct. Still, Astronomagics were to be respected, for the had predicted many terrible events throughout the history of Everfall. His long chain wrapped around his hand like a snake and jingled as each link swayed to and fro as he walked down the stairs toward the center of the room.

         Niklaus feared the man, not because he was evil or power hungry, rather prophecy was a dangerous school of study. It had many times caused alarm, and quite often riots and violence. Despite it having no provable evidence, it had throughout the ages made its mark on studies in the order. Though, cryptic speaking was easy to misinterpret, and vague hypotheses were an Astronomage’s specialty.

         Niklaus hated the chains that Astronomages wore around their necks, as though they were slaves to truth rather than servants of the people. They cared little for the welfare of the populace, for truth was unbiased and often it was painful. Though quite often, their truths turned to falsehoods and overreaching claims. Still, his opinion was important, and in terms of what they were facing with this new pandemic, every mind was needed, even the unscientific ones.

         Gerbert, the Prime Astronomage let his chain drop from his grasp and it clattered to the floor like stones. Sharp rings shattered the heavy silence of the crowd as he turned slowly and bowed to each of the Primes of the Order. Niklaus shifted his gaze as Gerbert’s eyes fell upon him. He always hated the dark stares of an Astronomage, and the Prime’s was by far the most sharp.

         “Men and Women of the order,” Gerbert began, still turning about, addressing each school, “I say this affliction is more than what simple poultices and elyxers can combat.”

         Whispers sliced through the crowed in dull, roaring, and resonant daggers of hushed voices each proclaiming agreement or dismissal.

         “I daresay this is beyond the world of true science,, and lies within the realms of the Ethereal.” He turned to Alice the Crow, Conjurer of the Order. She nodded at him in silent recognition. “The alignment of certain stars suggests that something stirs in the other worlds. Strings of Aether have been disturbed, and require repair.”

         The Alchemysts sitting behind his seat erupted in interjections. Aether was not something discussed anymore, for it was an unobtainable, and scarcely understood element, and when discussing elements, that was the realm of the Alchemysts, not the Astronomages or the Conjurer. He understood their disapproval of Gerbert’s statement, as he had never dared mention such a thing before, for no one would be so brazen.

         He stood and turned to his school. His sleeves slid down his arms as he raised his hands to hush the many scholars of the elements, “Please allow him to finish,” his voice boomed over the shouting, and soon the cries dwindled to whispers and then to heavy silence. He turned back to face the Astronomage, and nodded for him to continue.

         “Thank you, Prime Alchemyst.” Gerbert again turned on his heels, his gaze slicing into the men and women like a hot, dull knife. “We should consider reopening the gateways to the other worlds.” His voice trailed as though he knew the outrage that such a statement would cause.

         All around the great hall, scholar and mage alike rose from their seats shouting at him. Curses and insults fired like cannons bursting at the Astronomage, but he was resolute. Only the Alice the Crow, the Conjurer remained seated and silent.

         The crimson robes falling like a stream of blood off the shoulders of Freidrich of Cain, dragged behind him down the stairs to the center of the room as he lumbered toward Gerbert, hands raised in silent command for order.

         “Silence! All of you!” His crackling voice rasped through the clamor like the crackling of burning, wet wood. He allowed several moments for the crowd to restore itself and reseat. “I’ve never in all my years as Prime Mathemagician, heard such a brazen and drastic suggestion, which I dare claim is saying a lot coming from the likes of you, Gerbert.”

         The Astronomage shifted his chain around his neck as he stared back at Freidrich, the only Reichlander, among the Order. He was an untrusted man to say the least, for Reichland was their recent enemy. Yet another threat on the peace that they had struggled so hard to maintain.

         “How dare you suggest we reopen that wicked device!” His gnarled finger pointed at him, straight and stiff as a sword. “Have you forgotten our history, Prime Astronomage? Have you forgotten your own Prophecies?”

         Gerbert allowed a crooked smile to form across his thin, cracked lips. “On the contrary, Freidrich, our prophecies have always pointed to this moment. You simply failed to listen to us.” He turned to face each school, as though the statement was meant for more than just the Prime Mathemagician. “Please, if you would, tell me what your calculations have concluded in reference to this threat among the people?” He bowed low, a passive jibe at the school of Mathemagics.

         Freidrich’s eyes narrowed to thin slivers, his eyes burned with the intensity of burning brimstone. “We calculate that at this rate, the entire kingdom shall succumb to this ailment within a year.” He turned to address the room, his voice exploded around the crowd, sharp and ragged. “I have personally calculated that your rate of being correct is roughly equal to the rate at which stars fall from your beloved night sky.”

         “That may be so,” Gerbert nodded, “but it is time to allow your sciences and calculations to rest. You’ve all done what you could to surmise some sort of solution, but where has that got us? Have we come any closer to an answer? No. It’s time to allow the mages a chance at saving our Kingdom from this blight, and I say we require drastic measures to compete with this.”

         Again, his dark eyes shifted to him, Niklaus lowered his head, but still he felt his eyes, burning like concentrated sunlight upon parchment. “The Alchemysts are by far the only ones who truly understand the nature of Aether. The Apothecaries, the Mathemagicians, even my own school cannot comprehend their art.” He pointed to Alice the Crow, “Our Conjurer is an expert on the other worlds, and my school as you all know, also follow the studies of the arcane. We can reopen the gate, and protect us from what lies beyond. Niklaus and his Alchemysts can repair the Aether disturbances, of that I’m certain.”

         Niklaus stood from his seat at the head of his school, eyes of the Alchemysts fell upon him like a thousand stones, following him as he marched toward the two men.

         Cold, musty air filled his lungs as he drew in a heavy breath, “I concur that there is an anomaly forming in the flow of Aether. All of our studies suggest that this is not a corruption of the body but rather the malformation of spiritual energy.”

         Dante nodded his agreement, for the Prime Apothecary had suggested as much weeks before.

         “I however, will not condone such a rash action without further study and understanding of this blight. I will not agree to opening the gate without proper assurance that whatever remains in that damnable world will not harm us again as it has.”

         Hushed echoes slithered throughout the room as each school whispered their agreement. He turned to face King Midas, who was surprisingly silent throughout the belligerent debate. The king’s eyes were still as stagnant waters as he returned the gaze. He stroked his dark beard, streaks of silver cutting through the curly whiskers like wisps of smoke. “My king, as you may understand the Alchemysts have always strived to understand the elements of life, Ignis, Aqua, Aeris, and Terra, but the element of the spirit, Aether, is beyond simple study. The spark between life and death is as swift as lightning, which as we all know, is the only moment we may harvest Aether with any success.”

         The king nodded, jewels shimmering like moonlit ripples upon clear water. He knew King Midas understood, for he was once Prime Alchemyst himself before ascending to regency.

         “I believe that harvesting Aether this way is dangerous, as it disrupts its natural flow.”

         “Niklaus,” Dante interrupted, “Please explain this, the other schools are not as learned as yours in terms of the fifth element.”

         He sighed, “Imagine for a moment, a farm. The farmer sows the soil with seeds, hoping for rains, and a good harvest.” His eyes scanned the sea of silent, inquisitive faces. “Rains come, and the plants grow. Winds blow about the pollen of these plants, allowing them to germinate and create more seeds for next season. Fires cleanse and fertilize the soil between harvests, allowing these plants to remain robust. This cycle is all tied together by Aether. It is the flow of each element through this world. When we take from that flow, it weakens, just as a stream slowly weakens as you dam it. Eventually the force will overcome that dam and overflow, even burst. We have since done the same with Aether.”

         His head lowered to finally meet the dark, glowing eyes of the Prime Astronomage, “To release the force behind the dam would flood this world with Aether. If we open that gate, it is my opinion that that will happen. We’ve interrupted the cycle for too long. Our four elements build in our world, and Aether builds in the other. Both will overflow, and I cannot begin to imagine what consequences would come of this. Until we can understand this flow, I cannot agree to opening that gate. Until I can be reasonably certain that we can withhold forces here and there…”

         “I understand your concern, Niklaus,” Gerbert placed a hand on his shoulder, “but what other answer do you have?”

         Niklaus recoiled from the calming touch, “I don’t, and it would not matter if I did. Clavem ad Aeternum is a myth, nothing more. That gate will never open, and I would add that we have other issues to consider.” He turned to face Elias of Vlad, Primum Aedificasse, the greatest engineer of their time.

         “Elias,” Niklaus said as he summoned him to the center, “You approached me this morning with an issue that needs attention, would you please address King Midas?”

         The old man stood, a long, white beard flowed from his chin to the floor and dragged along as his hunched body labored to the center. His gnarled staff clicked against the cold stone floor in quiet rhythm as he walked. A balled fist shielded his lips as he cleared his throat before facing the king.

         “My king,” he said with a voice as thin as parchment, “It has come to my attention that the walls of Westmarch are crumbling. The Reichlander’s siege may have been stopped by the Black, but they have wounded our defenses. As we all know, Westmarch is key to maintaining hold of the defense of this kingdom, and with failing walls, I’m afraid we cannot hope to defend against their continued attacks.”

         “With the Black taking them as swift as it has, I doubt their will be many more attacks.” Alice the Crow, interrupted his address. It was the first time she had spoken throughout this assembly.

         “Be that as it may, Conjurer, we cannot afford to neglect the safety of this Kingdom.” Elias turned slow on his feet to face her.

         The king nodded, “What do you require to make the repairs?”

         “We will need flowstone. More than ever.”

         The king sighed and lowered his head. Niklaus knew it would be a difficult decision, for the limestone mines were a dangerous place. Each time the miners entered, fewer returned. The mines had grown unstable over the many years with many shafts having collapsed from neglect and delving too deep. The weight of the earth above finally began to sink upon one of their most precious resources. For limestone was the primary ingredient to the creation of flowstone. Without it, it would not harden or bond to the stones in the walls.

         “Very well,” the King said with a solemn and harsh voice, “We will mine as much as is required. Niklaus, how many Alchemysts can you afford to the production of Flowstone?”

         He as well as anyone else valued his safety against the reckless hatred of the Reichlanders, “As many as is necessary, my king.”

         Shouts and grunts erupted from the back of the great hall. The Praetorians who normally stood silent, exploded in chaos as one drew his sword. Several of the armored sentinels surrounded the man, clearly recognizing him as a threat to the safety of the Order, but it didn’t seem to matter. He hacked his way through the wall of swords and spears and rushed through the crowd.

         Tables and chairs upended and crashed to the floor, splinters of dry, cracked wood burst from impacts like glass. The Praetorian ignored the many scholars and mages as he rushed through with a host of ironclad men in pursuit. Men and women surged this way and that in dire attempts to avoid an early death. Not that it seemed to matter, his eyes never fell on any of them – they were focused only on Alice the Crow.

         Niklaus' eyes followed as the Praetorian rushed passed him. It was as though his feet were nailed to the floor, shock and fear overcoming him like a torrent of water. The Conjurer seemed to be unbothered by the disturbance as she returned her own abrasive gaze.

         The Praetorian shrugged aside feeble hands grasping at his scaled armor. It clicked and screeched with a sharp hiss as steel scales grinded against one another, and the horrid sound screamed through the clamor. His sword point, sharp and hungering, aimed at the Conjurer with a wicked intent, still she did not move.

         A satisfied smirk squirmed across her scarlet lips as a great fire ignited within her eyes. Niklaus knew the Praetorian was little match for her talents, but was still astonished at the man’s murderous rage. It was as though he’d been taken hold of by a puppet master’s hands, caring little for whatever harm may come to him. His fluid movements ground their way to a slow, abrupt, and violent fit of stepping and slashing as if his joints were popping in and out of place. He’d never seen such strange movement in anyone. As he scanned back to Alice, he realized, she had taken hold of the man. The dark crystal which crowned her gnarled staff shone with a deep, eerie glow of wavy streaks of greens and blues. The rays of cold, terrible light scattered about the chaos like a dance, jolting between folk of all the schools, and around tables and chairs, finally coming to meet in violent and blinding collisions against the Praetorian. Beads of sweat rolled down his rippling, pale skin, across the splotchy and cracked marks of the Black which took hold of his arm. It appeared as a grey-blue cloud of corpse flesh among a still lively body. It was the worst case of the Black he’d seen yet, as though this man battled it for weeks prior to his violent outburst. His arms quivered and shook as he fought against her will. His fingers trembled as his sword fell to the floor with a ringing hiss, his eyes following it down. His brow creased to several fissures of sweaty skin as his gaze returned to his captor.

         Alice stood from her seat, almost giddy from the show and strode toward the Praetorian with a playful and casual grace. Black robes drug upon the dull gray stones, waving about like a blanket of thick smoke upon a gentle draft. It was as if her outfit was as alive as she. Locks of fiery red hair draped against a black shroud shone with intense brilliance, like staring into the sun. Light around her seemed to fade to a dim cloud of darkness, sinking away from the world that they were all a part of. All the while, the wisps of light from the staff whirled about her like a veil with each ray piercing the man’s flesh like arrows. His body convulsed as he bent over double upon the cold stone floor.

         “It is a great crime to attack one of the Order,” She hissed, “Most especially the Conjurer herself.”

         The Praetorian screamed and coughed as light danced about from within his flesh making him glow like a candle’s wick that had burned through to its center.

         She knocked the butt of her staff upon the ground and the dancing light shrunk inward toward the Praetorian, erupting with a brilliant flash before burning out entirely. The great hall and its people were silent as the graveyard on a windless night. Dark swallowed the room, and Alice sneered down at him as though she were looking at an insect; insignificant and feeble. She knelt down, her eyes leveling with his and she stroked a sharp, scarlet fingernail down his cheek. A trickle of blood rolled down his face and upon her hand. Her eyes followed it for a moment and she smiled as the returned to him.

         “You’ve no idea how much pain I can cause you.”

         “Conjurer!”

         King Midas’ voice boomed through the deafening quiet. “You will not harm this man!”

         Alice jumped to her feet and spun to face him, her fiery hair whipping about her like a fan of knives. “Your Majesty, our laws-“

         “Are written by your king,” Midas shouted, “And your king commands you to not harm him. His eyes turned to the back of the great hall. “Praetorians, take this man to the Alchemy laboratory and clap him in Irons.”

         Armored men rushed to the center of the hall, some grasping deep gouges in their flesh trying to hold back the rivers of blood that flowed between their fingers.

         “Apothecaries shall see to the wounded. The rest of you, return to your schools. Niklaus, Perhaps a bit of Oleum Veritatis for this man.” His voice trailed as he turned from the crowd. Heavy oak doors creaked on their hinges and boomed as they slammed shut once more, the King, disappearing in the dark corridors outside.

         Niklaus’ hair raised and waves of gooseflesh shot down his arms. He felt her gaze. His eyes met hers, and his body stiffened. She offered him a delicate, caring smile before rushing out of the hall. Men and women scattered through doorways all leading to separate wings of the great castle; hurried and panicked. They would retreat back to their schools, and lose themselves in study, divination, or whatever other arcane arts they pursued, with this strange occurrence haunting the backs of their minds just as it would his.

         “Bring him,” Niklaus ordered the colossal men that held this new prisoner.

         They both nodded and hooked great hands beneath his armpits, lifting him from the floor as Niklaus turned and marched toward the great oak doors that led to the Alchemyst Laboratories. Behind him, darkness still swelled about in the great expanse of a hall and caressed the back of his neck. Stabbing splinters of a chilling malice wormed their way down his spine as he quickened his pace. Whatever power the Conjurer unleashed certainly wasn’t of good intentions. He could feel it, and hear it. Wicked stirred in this room – stirred in his soul…