Path of the King - Chapter 14 (Patreon)

He awoke in the way of dreams, a gentle drift from true unconsciousness to something half way between sleep and wakefulness—aware but not tr

He awoke in the way of dreams, a gentle drift from true unconsciousness to something half way between sleep and wakefulness—aware but not truly cognizant of himself nor his surroundings. An indistinct, shapeless pressure told him he lay on his back, something warm and plush pillowing his head. Slender, gentle fingers moved slowly through his hair, each one a pinprick of stabilizing reality where they touched his scalp.

“This is quite unusual, you know. What you did was reckless and foolish.” The voice was soft and crooning, motherly, but with a note of ancient weight that wormed its way into his ears and settled lightly at the edges of his mind. “Mortals rarely find good ends when they choose to seek out my attention, young man.”

There was a timeless silence, the fingers continuing to brush through his short, thick hair. The blunt tips of long nails traced patterns that itched at his sluggish thoughts, and his eyes felt as heavy as vault doors. 

“Ah,” the speaker made a pleased, cheery sound. “It had been much too long. Nine centuries, just about, back when the world was younger and mystery more profound. As much as I love my husband and all my children, sometimes I like to see hard work, a plan, and a good dash of luck worthy of my progeny come to fruition.”

The fingers stopped and Keon blinked once before his eyes slid inexorably shut once again, leaving him with a vague impression of a button nose wrinkled with distaste. A hint of venom slipped into the warm voice. “Well, when they don’t cheat. I hate it when they try to cheat, like they think I, the all knowing woman, won’t notice. A lone mortal standing over a god is an overturning of the natural order, an insurmountable mountain climbed. An army with godly weapons and celestial chains doing it, or a being a single step to the side of the peak, makes a mockery of the achievement.” 

A spark of half-formed worry bloomed in his mind, fragments of fear and unconfirmed rumors turning his stomach. For an instant he was sixteen years old again, sitting in the principles office with his scowling mom and a crumpled stack of papers scrawled with red pen clutched in both hands, Mr. St. Paul’s hazy face twisted into a hateful rictus in the corner of the room. 

A finger jabbed sharply into his cheek and his eyes shot briefly open once again. A timeless, smiling face looked down at him, big blue-green eyes boring into his own and brilliant violet hair framing doll-like features. Keon caught a brief glimpse of pointed ears and an endless expanse of pale nothingness before his tired eyes could stay open no longer.

“None of that,” she chided him. “Luck is just part of the game. Some people need infinite monkeys, but a true king can succeed with just a handful.” She laughed suddenly, high and ringing like a dozen church bells in a long tunnel. “Ah, I doubt I shall ever tire of the foibles of mortals.”

Her voice grew serious, though it still retained its earlier warmth and cheer. “Trickery and good fortune are as much a part of strength as a strong arm and a powerful spell, but one is not a substitute for the other. Remember that.”

And then her attention shifted, and Keon felt himself start to drift away. When next she spoke her words boomed with the Authority they carried and it was as if the whole world was holding its breath.

“I, Pandora, the all giving woman, the witch who brought forward all evils of this world and a shred of hope, claim this child as my newest son!”

There was a great shiver of anticipation, a primordial rumbling roar like continental plates grinding against one another. Hands cradled his face, smooth palms warm against his cheeks. Keon could scarcely remember the last time his mother had held him like that.

“Let everyone present grant their blessings and their hatred to this child! The seven Campione, please bestow the sacred spell words upon this child!”

Keon stopped trying to force his eyes open and struggling to focus his thoughts. Muscles he couldn’t consciously control loosened and the feverish thumping in the back of his mind slowed to a measured drumbeat. His body shifted as he was pulled more fully into a warm, welcoming embrace.

“By the black art I and Epimetheus left behind, this is a sacred birth of an illegitimate child, shrouded in darkness, born of a fool and a witch. A secret of usurpation only made possible through the sacrifice of a god.”

Memories rose unbidden, long forgotten fragments of a time and place that grew more distant with each passing year, preserved mostly in the barely-legible scribbles of a child too young to properly hold a pen and already starting to forget.  A woman whose face he couldn’t quite picture anymore and whose voice was only an echo of an echo, bright beads braided into her hair and a wide smile on her lips. 

“I grant you my blessing,” for the first time she hesitated for a moment before continuing, “…Keon Hephaestius, so that you may be reborn as the new God-Slayer, King of Kings, Campione!”

Warm lips brushed his brow, ushering him back into the hazy mist of sleep. 

No sooner had my eyes opened than I was on my feet, Gáe Bolg clutched in my clenched fist as I looked wildly around. Something less than a memory was bleeding rapidly from my mind—indistinct words, a warm smile, a touch on the cheeks and forehead. Instinctively I tried to cling onto it, but it slipped from between my fingers like sand, vanishing faster and faster the harder I held on. In moments I was left with all but nothing, just vague, meaningless impressions. 

I grit my teeth and set it aside for the moment, focusing on my surroundings instead. 

The cave was practically unrecognizable from how it had looked this morning, identifiable only by the hole in the ceiling and the misshapen tunnel entrance that led out onto the cliffside. The furniture, carpets, and draperies were all gone, reduced to less than ash. In a few places I could see pools of scorched, half-molten metal—all that remained of the various traps and monitoring equipment I’d set up around the room. The shallow pool at the center of the room was completely empty and all that remained of the altar of stacked stones I’d used as the focal point of my summoning was a vaguely cone-shaped mound of slowly cooling molten rock.

Baldr’s Authority had momentarily turned the room into an incinerator, instantly burning away anything that could be burnt and melting everything else into slag. The interior of the cave was still as hot as a blast furnace, air visibly warping from the heat, but to me it felt no worse than a particularly sunny summer day back home, the air unpleasantly dry but not burning on my tongue.

My back straightened and my grip on my spear relaxed as my mind finally started to catch up with my body. I was completely naked, neither my clothing nor shoes having survived, but looking down at myself with eyes I remembered bursting I could see that there wasn’t a mark on me. I stood barefoot on smooth stone hot enough that it had started to melt in formerly jagged spots on the ceiling, but my feet weren’t burning and blistering. It wasn’t even all that uncomfortable. I could feel that it was hot, but pleasantly so; a bit like walking barefoot on a sunny, sandy beach.

I remembered…not dying per se, but so close there was no real difference between the two. The smell of my own burning flesh lingered in my nose and when I traced my finger across my face my memories insisted that I should be feeling charred, blackened bone, not healthy tissue. 

My lips split into a toothy grin and a moment later I started to laugh. I spun Gáe Bolg between my fingers, the spear suddenly feeling practically weightless in my hand, and looked to where I remembered Baldr standing what felt like just moments ago.

There was no trace of the god, but I knew in my gut that he was dead. He was dead, and I wasn’t. He was dead, and I was a Campione. The seventh Campione.

I threw back my head and laughed and laughed and laughed, my voice echoing off the walls and filling the cave. My eyes were wide and unfocused, staring unseeingly towards the weak column of sunlight trickling in through the opening in the roof, and the pitch of my laughter grew higher and higher as more than a decade of anxiety fell from my shoulders and shattered on the rocks. I felt so light that I might float away at the slightest breeze; a balloon tethered to a feather.

Still laughing, I took two quick steps forward and leapt, the motion effortless as my muscles hummed with strength. I soared through the air, light as a butterfly, and caught my fingers in a narrow crack a foot up the opening in the roof. I swung back and forth, easily holding myself up with just the fingers of one hand; not an impossible feat even for a regular human, but not one that would have felt nearly so effortless just this morning. 

I swung myself back and forth several times gaining momentum, then threw myself half way up the chimney and braced myself horizontally with one hand and both legs, Gáe Bolg held carefully in the other. I held myself there for several long seconds, basking in the comparably cool sunlight as fiery heat rose up around me, then smoothly climbed the rest of the up to the surface. 

My giddiness faded slightly as I emerged onto the clifftop, though my shoulders still shook from time to time with quiet peels of laughter. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of the earth and sea replaced by an acrid stench that scratched at my throat and stung my eyes. The area directly around the crack from which I’d emerged looked like a bomb had gone off, the ground stripped down to bare granite for hundreds of feet in every direction and broken, leafless trees lying scattered like toothpicks. Beyond that radius, fires raged, trees and shrubs blazing like pyres for nearly as far as I could see in every direction. 

It was much too hot, like a summer day back home rather than the more temperate heat they should have been experiencing this far north. The sunlight felt harsh, unnaturally sharp and angry in a way that made my skin prickle with danger. I remembered the plasma-like column of golden sunlight that had descended alongside Baldr and my toothy grin twisted into a scowl.  

Heretic gods were a blight on this world. I may have summoned this one years or decades before his time, but it would have only been a matter of time regardless. This wasn’t my fault, it was Baldr’s, and I had excised the threat before he could do any more harm than he already had. 

I looked around again, squinting to see the edges of the slowly spreading blaze far below and accessing the damage. Outside of the immediate area of the summoning, the rest of the damage seemed reasonably minor. It would heal in time, once the fire had gone out and the vegetation had time to regrow. And it wasn’t like this circle of shattered trees and scorched rock was unique—I could see a number of other patches of gray stone dotting the cliffs, though most were much steeper and more precarious. 

I slowly headed towards where I’d stowed everything that hadn’t been inside the cave, marveling at the ease with which I was suddenly moving. I’d thought my previous experience with breathing and walking was incredible, but this was something else. My eyes picked out patches of loose pebbles and uneven footing with unerring accuracy and when I cautiously leapt down onto a narrow ledge, I landed with catlike grace, or perhaps like one of those mountain goats that could scale sheer cliffs.  

I winced when I finally reached the area where the other cave entrance was. As I’d feared, it was still well within the blast radius of Baldr’s descent. The trees and lush greenery that had shrouded the rocky crevice from view were just gone, and there was a charred, half-melted cone of completely bare stone extending from the crevice to the edge of the cliff. Of my things—neatly tucked away out of sight between a large pine and a bouldery hollow—only a few scraps of scorched leather, melted metal, and foul-smelling plastic slag remained.

I stabbed Gáe Bolg into the stone and crossed my arms, tapping my foot rhythmically against the ground as I stared off into the distance. Well…this was awkward. I hadn’t really arranged a pickup, and my nearest cache of supplies was a ways away, and didn’t actually include a cell phone. I could see two boats far below—tiny spots of color on the water—but both were visible sailing away from what they’d probably thought was some kind of weapons test or accidental detonation. 

After a moment, I stilled my foot, took a deep breath—wrinkling my nose at the persistent stench of smoke—and paused when I heard a distant, indistinct voice drift to me on the breeze. A moment later it came again, a second voice somewhat higher pitched than the first but still too faint to really make out. I strained my ears, tilting my head in the direction I thought they were coming from, and the third time I could make out some words past the crackle of fire.

“…much too close…for the other…dangerous…”

I took a slow, soft breath and closed my eyes, letting my body relax into a more comfortable, more proper stance. 

I missed the second speaker’s response, but then it was like I was standing a scant few meters away from the two. “Slow down!” the man demanded, a slight slurring accent creeping into his Norwegian, “the Grand Marshal and Lord Doni are both on their way. Do you really want to be here when they arrive?”

The woman’s tone was sharp and eager as she responded, “We still have time. The Sixth is coming all the way from Italy and there’s no way the Kaleidoscope is in any hurry to get here either. Imagine what sort of treasures we could find in the meantime and be gone before anyone knows we’re missing!”

There was a crash of snapping wood and tumbling rock, accompanied by a high pitched yelp and cursing.

“Careful!” the man snapped. “And I know exactly what we might find! A thrice-damned heretic god, Nora!”

The woman, Nora, was slightly breathless, but undaunted. “Oh calm down Jacopo! It’s fine, the detector hasn’t picked anything up in hours. The god may have descended around here, but it’s long gone. Remember what Madam Edelfelt told us? Heretic gods almost never stick around where they descend for long.”

Jacopo didn’t sound convinced. “But sometimes they do,” he protested, "It's not worth the risk. It’s a heretic god, Nora! A heretic god! Who knows what kind of Authorities it could have access too? The kit they gave us is good, but it’s just high-quality magecraft. And even if it is gone, what if it left some kind of trap behind, or even a divine beast of some kind? We’re not dealing with some dumb beast or untrained idiot, this is a full blown heretic god!”

Nora made to respond, but I’d heard enough. I recognized the name Nora had referenced, both from my past life and this one. The Edelfelts were one of the great magi families in this part of Europe, and its members held a number of senior roles within the local mage’s association. Odds were that these were agents of the Society of Seidhr.

A few hours ago, I would have been rightfully wary of the duo. The Society was not a major player compared to some of its neighbors, but it was still a power comparable to my homeland’s Council of Sands and its agents were fully trained spellcasters who could give Clock Tower enforcers a run for their money. If they’d wanted to hurt or rob me out here, with no witness around to report what had happened back to my family, there was little I could have done to stop them unless I got the drop on them.

But that was then, and this was now.

The pair was rapidly approaching, making good time up the very same unmarked trail I’d used to reach this place. Another thirty seconds or so and they’d be practically right on top of me. 

I plucked my spear from the ground and twirled it around before letting it come to rest against my shoulder. Then I called out, pitching my voice to carry, “Don’t you worry about the big bad heretic god. It's long gone and won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

I heard a sharp clack of teeth on teeth and a soft intake of breath. The approaching footsteps froze, and I supposed that the duo were communicating nonverbally in some fashion.

“Come on now,” I added, letting a hint of irritation creep into my voice, “don’t be shy. Get up here.” I paused for a moment, listening for any sign of movement but hearing nothing. I sighed softly. “Now.”

There was a hushed exchange, so soft I couldn’t make out more than a handful of syllables. Then Nora, voice firm and tone formal, called back. “This land is the rightful territory of the Society of Seidhr, and we its agents. Identify yourself.”

A smile crept onto my face. Neither of the two magi were particularly good at sensing magical power, it seemed. I wondered just how close the two would need to be…

There was no need to lie. Every magus in the world would know my name and face by the end of the week. The thought sent a thrill of elation shooting down my spine. This was perhaps the last time I’d need to introduce myself for anything but the sake of politeness. “Keon Hephaestius,” I answered.

There was another pause, then, “Of the Council of Sands? Registered to be studying at the University of Oslo?”

I hummed in agreement, wondering if they’d looked my name up on some manner of list or if one of them had heard of me previously. “Affiliated with the council, I’m not necessarily a member myself,” I corrected, for the first time not forced to cling to whatever extra safety true membership could provide. “But that’s the one.”

Nora sounded a lot more confident now, “This area is restricted. By the authority vested in me by the Society of Seidhr, I command you to hand over your knowledge of the unidentified heretic god and surrender yourself into my custody.”

I rubbed my chin, stubble rough against the pad of my thump. “Hmmm, I don’t think I will,” I drawled casually.

The air turned sharp, pricking against my skin with the promise of impending violence, but I remained relaxed, my smile not wavering an inch.

“Your Council’s agreement with the Society demands you comply with all instructions during a major crisis, such as the manifestation of a heretic god. You are in violation of that agreement. You are out numbered and reinforcements are nearby. This is your first and final warning.”

I yawned, loud and deliberate. The two magi clearly took it as the answer I intended it as, because I could immediately hear approaching footsteps and rustling. I didn’t move as the duo appeared from around a bend in the rocks, a tall, striking blonde woman with icy blue eyes followed by a stout, tanned man with short-cropped black hair and rows of piercings over each eye and along his lower lip. They wore matching uniforms, pale-blue and vaguely reminiscent of something a special forces soldier might wear, but studded with amulets and talismans made from gem stones and precious metals. 

I saw a flash of surprise in their features when they saw me—nobody truly expects a naked black man in the middle of the wilderness—but were much too professional to be distracted. The man stopped and extended a hand out towards me, the trio of bangles on his wrist floating forward and sparking with electricity as he began to chant. “Might Jupitor, lord of the sky and master of storms, grant me the power of your lightning!” 

At the same time, the woman reinforced her body with magic and accelerated until she was moving as fast as a car, a pair of short blades gripped in her hands. She stayed low and moved in a zigzag, keeping the space between me and her partner clear but drawing my attention towards her. 

She was on me in an instant, crossing the space between us faster than most magi could cast a single spell. The other magus’s attack was only a moment behind, his chanting as fast and precise as any I’d ever heard. It was a fearsome offensive, born of decades of training and practice.

The woman may as well have been moving in slow motion. I knocked one hand aside with Gáe Bolg’s haft, something cracking loudly at the impact, and caught her other by the wrist, bringing her up short as she attempted to strike at my back. 

Lightning struck at me, a trio of brilliant flashes filling the air with thunder and the smell of ozone, but I felt no danger from the spell. The magic washed off me like water off a duck’s back, unable to so much as singe the hair on my arm. 

The woman struggled for a moment, then suddenly went slack, her eyes going wide and horrified as she dangled from my upraised hand like a fish on a line. “Stop!” she shouted, and Jacopo froze, his hand still extended towards me and sparks falling like rain from his fingertips. She looked up at me, then quickly dropped her gaze to the ground, her face pale as a ghost’s.

I grinned and dropped her, not caring to hide my delight as she scrambled to prostrate herself at my feet. There it was. A moment I’d daydreamed a thousand times featuring a thousand different faces. 

Her words were like a balm on my weary soul. “I beg forgiveness, your majesty, for myself and my subordinate! We were unaware of your presence here and your identity, I swear it! Please, have mercy on your unworthy subjects!”

It took a moment for her words to register on Jacopo. I saw him mouth what she’d said, and then he too fell to his knees, bangles ringing and clattering loudly as the magic suspending them in the air failed and they fell onto hard stone. 

I reached down and plucked the askew blue cap off the woman’s head, idly toying with it as she continued to babble desperately. After a few seconds, I dropped it on the ground and planted Gáe Bolg back in the earth beside me—I doubted I’d need it now that they’d recognized me for what I now was.

I squatted down and she fell silent as I cupped her cheek, my thumb hovering lightly over her eye. She swallowed heavily, but otherwise stayed perfectly still until I pressed lightly under her chin, obediently tilting her head up until I could get a good look at her ashen face. The mix of dread, hope, and awe in her pale eyes was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

“What a pretty little thing you are,” I whispered softly, “So delicate. So fragile.” She held her breath as I shifted my hand so I could stroke my thumb across her lips, a bright splash of red on her bloodless features. “What’s your name, magus?”

Her voice was commendably even, with only the barest trace of a tremor. “Nora Aaberg, your majesty.” 

I didn’t recognize the surname, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. I knew all the major families that made up the Society, but there were always plenty of new talents, bastards, and migrants who could be individually powerful or well connected. 

“Don’t you w—

I was cut off by a sudden burst of music and a loud, insistent buzzing coming from one of the pockets on Nora’s uniform. The woman’s back went stiff as a board and her face somehow managed to pale even further. I raised an eyebrow and straightened, clapping imaginary dust from my hands. 

“Answer it,” I commanded, and this time she scurried to obey.

She dug a perfectly mundane looking bulky flip phone from an internal pocket and flicked it open, silencing the ringing. “Ma’am,” she began, but was cut off by the rushed words of her superior.

“Aaberg, what the hell are you doing out of position? I just heard from the boys upstairs. Word is the Witengamot just announced the rebirth of a new thrice-damned Campione—as if the world needed another one—and none of the other teams have seen any signs of this god in nearly an hour. Could be we’ve got a situation on our hands, as if one disaster a day wasn’t enough... Get back to the perimeter and be careful, don’t—“

“Respectfully, ma’am,” Nora began, her voice choked. Her eyes flicked up to my face, over to my spear, and then back down towards the phone clenched in her white-knuckled fist. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing as if for a blow, then opened them to watch for my reaction. “I’m looking up at him right now.”

There was a moment of dead silence. “Oh.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And he can hear me?”

“Every word, ma’am.”

I didn’t speak the language, and a Campione’s gift for tongues only worked so quickly, but I could recognize cursing when I heard it.