Arcane Order Translation Record CD-201:
Subject name: Yerim
Subject order: Zeraphym
Subject rank: 4th Offensive
Trans. record: Zephyrim War of the Dead, 124B CD-201
We have broken the fieras of the Fera'Tul. The Necromancer Lord no
longer holds dominion in these lands. Of course, it is but a matter of
time before he raises his armies to fight again. Blast that master of
damnation! If only we could turn the tides of this war, perhaps all
could be saved. At least we have our own offensive magi to fight for
us; real, dedicated men. Those of the Mephistaltraykin are nothing but
an empty disgrace. I look forward to tomorrow's victory and the
conclusion of this journal. It will be a joyous day to end a
devastating year.
Luke glanced over the page. It was bound within an old leather tome titled Records and Conclusions of the Arcane Order. He had always liked books like that, but this one held a special interest for him. He had heard of this peculiar order.
"Sandra, can you do me a favor?" he asked to the library assistant.
She hesitantly agreed, having served many, many favors on behalf of Luke.
"Great," he replied. "I want you to dig up information on this Arcane Order here. If anyone can find anything, it'd be you."
"Luke, remember what I told you about the last one? These things aren't real. There is no conspiracy, no secret occult magical circles, no elves, and certainly no arcane orders. I'll save you the time of waiting for me to finish. I'm done. I didn't find anything."
"Oh, come on Sandra. I know you don't believe these things, and I'm sorry about the last one. But I have definitely heard this name before. Please, please, please look this one up for me! I'll do anything you want."
After a significant longer period of begging, Sandra agreed in the sort of nonchalant way that implies one may not follow through.
After two weeks without seeing him at the library, Sandra gave Luke a call.
"Hey Luke, I found a few things you might want to look at. I don't think it's anything to get excited about, but here, these will keep you happy. I'll fax them to you."
"Ok. Thanks Sandra! I'll probably be back at the library in a couple days. Bye, and thanks again." He hung up.
The whirr and beeps of the fax machine came alive, and Luke gave a slight jump. He had just gotten it a week ago, and it still scared him every time. Eventually, two items emerged: a newspaper article and a list of contacts, all on the same page. Luke read it closely.
Sandra's Fax:
San Jose: A recent disturbance in the corporate district has concerned
many local citizens. Four days ago, on Tuesday, July 24, a local man
stepped in front of a bus as it approached a traffic light. Witnesses
report that the incident was notable to its peculiar nature: the man
was dressed in a black robe, the light was red to the bus, and the man
could have easily seen the bus coming, as it was a Greyhound charter.
One Mr. Clarence Barker has contacted the local police, but the police
have yet to release his comments. Mr. Barker has refused to comment.
Even stranger still was the mention of an anonymous source that Mr.
Barker may be involved in some sort of occult order called the Arcane
Order, which seems to tie into the black robes the stricken man was
dressed in. The 47-year-old man passed away in Saint Mary's Hospital
last night. He could not be identified. - George Theeman
George Theeman:... (121) 555-1431
Clarence Barker:... (437) 555-2894
Lt. Forest (San Jose Police):... (213) 555-7096
Immediately after reading over the article, Luke dashed to his key rack, grabbed his car keys, and rushed over to the library. He called for Sandra.
"Pull the newspaper for August 23rd, 1997, please. This name looks familiar."
She returned with a pressed copy of that day's Times Harold. Luke set it on the table and glanced at the front page. It was covered with the words "murder", "serial killer", and "victims". Sandra watched as Luke ran his finger down the page. Eventually, he found a page number and jumped right to it.
"Here: 'Local authorities have arrested a man identified as Mr. Clarence A. Barker for the mysterious area killings. Barker's lawyer refused to allow comment due to insanity, however sources say that the alleged "Barker's Massacres", as they are now called, are a result of an occult affiliation known as the Arcane Order. Police say Barker may have psychotic of schizophrenic tendencies. He is now in custody in Bailey City Jail.' This guy must have been nuts. Can you do a computer search for the trial please?"
Sandra didn't say a word. She got right to it and found it right away. It turned out Mr. Barker had pleaded insanity at the trial. He was now detained in Bailey City Institution for the Clinically Insane.
"I want to talk to this guy." Luke did not really know why he wanted to talk to him. In fact, he knew it was a bad idea even before Sandra told him so, but something told him he should.
"Are you crazier than he is?! He killed people! And you want to go see him?"
"Yep."
"You're nuts."
"I know. Let's go."
"Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. You're the crazy one. Not me."
"Come on. What else are you going to do? Tell people to shush?"
She agreed to go with him out of spite. They got to the institute in less than an hour. Luckily, it was during visiting hours.
"We would like to see Charles Barker," Luke told the woman at the front desk. She punched quickly at her keyboard and told them what room. They would have to be accompanied by a guard, also. He would meet them there.
They walked to the room, and there stood the broad-shouldered guard. "Alright," his deep voice boomed. "Let's go."
He swiped a crimson card through a reader. The device beeped, and the door opened. Inside, there sat a little old man, softly muttering to himself. Luke could not make out any words. All he could get were sounds. It sounded like "du trike meen frel". He just repeated it over and over again.
"Mr. Barker, you have some visitors," the security guard said. He turned toward Luke and Sandra. "You two be careful. He hasn't acted up in awhile, and I'll be right here, but be careful all the same."
"Thanks," said Sandra.
Luke walked up to Charles. "Mr. Barker?"
The old man's fragile face turned so that his eyes could scan the room. He seemed to not even notice the young man in front of him. After some time, his face turned to stare directly at Luke's eyes, but still he got the eerie feeling that the man could not see him. He just seemed to look right through him.
"Y. y. yes." Charles spoke in a very delicate voice. It seemed to waver on that thin line between coherency and gibberish.
"I read some articles about you in a couple papers. The articles mentioned something about an order of some sort? Do you know what I mean?"
"Uh. oh. yes. Yes. yes I do. The Ar. the Arcane Or. Order. Yes. yes I know. I. I have been. been waiting for you." He handed Luke a slip of paper. "M. must go. must go now. Please. go. Must. go." He repeated himself in much the same manner for a couple minutes.
Luke interrupted him. "Go where? Slow down, please. What is this paper you gave me?"
When Luke finished speaking, the man shrieked in an almost deafeningly high-pitched tone, "Must. go!" When his wail ended, his head fell limp to the side, and he spoke no more.
"Mr. Barker?" said Luke. "Mr. Barker, what's going on?"
Sandra was starting to get worried. "Sir. Mr. Barker?" They waited a few minutes until Sandra spoke up again. "Guard!"
After the security guard discovered Charles's condition, the young people were forced to leave. Charles was taken to the medical center. Neither Luke nor Sandra would discover that he died there for quite some time.
"Well, that was creepy," Sandra said. "What now?"
"I don't know," said Luke. They were still in the mental institution's lobby. "I guess I should take a look at this paper slip." He pulled it out of his pocket and unwrinkled it.
The Barker Note:
8888 8th Ave.
8 days
Only you
There was nothing else written on the little slip, and even what was there was difficult for Luke to discern.
"What's it say?" asked Sandra.
"Not much. I really can't tell, to be honest." He showed it to Sandra.
"Looks like he wants you to go there in eight days. I don't know about that."
"Hmm. hell, if he wanted to hurt me, he could have. I don't think he could even see the guard. But you're right. This is a little. iffy."
"You're nuts," Sandra repeated herself.
Eight rather uneventful days passed.
By the time the "meeting day", as they had come to call it, had arrived, Luke had made up his crazy mind to go. He did not ask Sandra to tag along. The note said only he should go, so he did.
8888 8th Avenue was nothing more than a wall with a door. It was not a building. A building has walls, wrapped around a snug interior. You can see its edges, feel its tangibility. No, this was not a building. It was a wall with a door. Luke knocked.
There was no audible answer. Nobody shouted, "Come in!" There was not even the somewhat rude, "What do you want?" The door just swung open. It was funny. Luke could have sworn it had been locked.
He stepped inside. The air had a musty smell, but it was nothing that could not be explained by old age. It was dark, though. Luke could not see a single light fixture in the entire building.
He took a step further in, and the door clanged to a close behind him. The clang frightened him a great deal: so much, in fact, that he had not even considered the fact that he was now stuck inside. He recovered his wit, and then that thought hit him.
It was pitch black, but that did not stop him from finding his way back to the door. He tried it, but it would not open. He simply started beating on it and pulling at it until his hands were raw, trying to pry it open. It would not budge. Eventually, he fell to the ground beaten, hopeless.
And it was just at that moment when there came a soft "Hullo!" from behind him. A little bit of light shone from far down the hallway. Luke could barely make it out. The voice returned: "Hullo! You're early!" It was a man, and it looked as if he carried a torch.
When the man drew closer and saw Luke's condition, he grew concerned. "My dear boy, what have you done? Have you no wit about you? Come, come. We shall tend to you." Luke was dumbfounded. He went.
The man led him down a seemingly endless hallway. Luke thought this impossible. Bailey City was small. This place was. well. big. Very big, as a matter of fact. It confused him.
At the end of their journey (which was straight down that hallway perhaps a whole mile), the party of two happened upon (whether by design or fortune Luke did not know) a little environment. It was not an office, like one would imagine a city door to lead to. It was a sort of cave, only it was not. The sun shone in through the rooftop, trees were blooming tall, and the ground was covered in a lush carpet of green grass. It reminded Luke of the summer camp he went to when he was very young, but in so doing, it confused and baffled him even more. This was not possible.
"Dear boy, if you would please find your way to the spring just over and around the corner. Wade in it until we come to fetch you. I believe you will find the waters quite refreshing." At that, he turned and departed back into the hallway.
Luke went to wade in the water. It was refreshing. In fact, it was exhilarating. It seemed to fill him with a life that he had not felt before. As he tossed himself around in that refreshing bath, he noticed the pain from his battered hands disappeared. He was not weary anymore, either. It was, like everything else in that place, not possible.
While Luke enjoyed that marvel of refreshment, two other very important events were taking place. In one other sector of the 8th Street Place, a very important meeting was being held by members of the very order which Luke sought. That meeting concerned Luke's destiny.
In another place, however, which was neither far away nor nearby, another meeting was being held which concerned both the order and Luke. This meeting was held by Necron and his trusted advisors, the Masters of the necromancers. At this meeting, the fates of the Arcane Order and their newest and only hope were discussed. At this meeting, it was decided that Luke must die before he should become too great a threat for them to handle. At this meeting, the end of Luke's world was coldly and masterfully calculated.
The same old man that came upon Luke returned to him to fetch him from the spring. He was accompanied by two other men in white robes, but Luke had been through too much insanity to think anything of it. He just went with them, not even considering any possibility of danger after he had seen the goodness of that place. It was fortunate. There was none.
The man spoke. "My name is Piris. I am the master architect of this place. That, of course, is saying that I administer it. Its dimensions are far beyond even my capabilities.
As you may have guessed, we are the people of an exclusive order known as the Arcadim. Your reference, one Mr. Charles Baker, was not a particular member of our order. He was what we like to refer to as a familiar, or a being that exists only to serve a purpose. He worked for us, if you will, but he was not one of us.
We function out of this inter-dimensional gateway zone known as the Portalis. This zone holds the only known Portal on Earth. The Portal serves as a dimensional rift that allows access to or from any one of a million times an infinitesimal number of other zones. Each zone tends to be inhabited by a race that is very skilled in one particular magic. Do you follow so far?"
Luke had already heard most of this, but only in stories. It was funny to hear it coming from a real man in a real place. But given the things that he had seen, he could not bring himself to laugh or question him. He merely nodded.
"There is one zone known as Mephistaltraykin. In that zone there dwells a race of beings that are neither of physical nor spiritual existence. They exist in such a way that is hard to describe: they are not composed of life in any way. They are built of death and decay.
"It is from their very essence that the troubles of this world have flowed. The translation which you have read in the library was published from our records by an anonymous agent. It was specifically intended for you. We knew no one else would hold anything more than interest in simple- minded fiction, so we allowed it. That translation is entirely accurate. Long ago, the people of Earth waged a grand war against these necromancers. Their leader, the powerful Necromancer Lord Necron, devised a plan by which he would consume all of the dead his minions could manage to slay. Using them, he would take this zone and all of its people as part of his own, strengthening his army and his land with ours. After taking our resources, he planned to move on to the next zone.
"At that time, however, it was fortunate that magic was a popular skill. All soldiers of the time practiced it, and a very elite guild of offensive magi known as the Zephyrim managed to force the necromancers back into the Portal, closing them off in their own zone.
"Following the successful defense of our world, the Zephyrim split into two groups: half remained the offensive Zephyrim, and half became the elite defensive team known as the Arcadim. This new branch of elites learned the magics of protection and illusion, which would prevent the necromancers from every reentering our zone again.
"The Portal was hidden among an intricate web of illusionary spells and enchantments, which is where you now stand. We are meant to protect it."
He stopped, and Luke just looked at him. "Um. ok," he said. He really did not know what to think.
"It is a lot to take in, I know, but I must finish before you have time to fully understand. I am afraid time is not a luxury we can afford to waste.
"Here." He pulled a book from his pack. "Look this over. I believe it will serve you very well. Your fate will guide you to the right pages. Retire now."
When Luke next blinked, he found himself in a room with a very large bed, a table, and a lamp. It was surprisingly comfortable. In fact, it felt just like home. He looked at the book in his hand. The Omnicron - interesting, he thought. He opened it up.
The Prophecy as explained in The Omnicron:
Following the defeat of the Necromantic Fera'Tul, the defenders of
Earth were left with one final hope: the Arcadim. As the forces of the
Fera'Tul had been banished from Earth, there was no longer any need
for the offensive prowess of the Zephyrim, and so the order decayed,
leaving the Arcadim bearing all magical power remaining in the Zone of
Spirituality. As centuries passed, it became evident to the Arcadim
that their magics would not be enough to successfully repress the
onslaught of the Fera'Tul necromancers forever. They devised a plan by
which a seed of life would be gathered from each of the other Prime
Zones.
They then opted to combine the seeds they gathered into one of immense
potential magical power. This seed they planted inside a familiar
woman under the concealment of night, and it grew until the son was
born. The Prophecy of the Arcadim states that the child born of this
familiar will one day become the only person capable of stopping the
Fera'Tul attacks. He will be a mage not of one element but of many,
neither possessing nor lacking any particular element. He will truly
be one with the multitudinous zones.
Upon finishing this, it made Luke curious. He was intrigued. He flipped to a new page and read.
The Legend as translated in The Omnicron:
From one world flows the ancient ways
Of the elder Elven ways,
When beings held a magic grand,
Bound no less than boundless sand.
But water trickles soft downstream;
Furious waters no more teem,
No more Elven Lords survive,
And Fera'Tul grow five by five.
That world will once again grow grand;
Spread will it its boundless sand,
Churn its anxious water gates,
And command its wondrous fates.
That one being then will reign
The Fera'Tul and men the same,
And his power will supply
The power to yet pacify.
Praise that being when he comes.
Teach him, train him all the sums
That he will need to know his world,
And then their zone shall be secured.
Upon completion of this poem, a daft drowsiness came over Luke, and he took to sleep. He saw no more of The Omnicron.
When he awoke, he was met by Piris, who, by that same strange design as the night before, teleported him back to the grassy area. There, they were met by six men dressed in white robes.
"Come," said Piris. "You have much to do."
The party of eight walked together. "I trust you learned of the Prophecy from our tome of learning? It is very similar to your encyclopedias, only it shows you exactly what you are looking for. Very convenient, is it not?"
"Yeah. Yes it is," Luke answered.
"Good, I'm glad you enjoyed it. We are now moving on to a basic training area. Once you learn to harness your powers, you will have no need for any more training. Unlike most others, your skills should be naturally imbued into you. Don't ask. Just follow us."
They reached a hallway broken off by a barricade. It was labeled with a bright yellow sign that read "Do Not Enter" in glowing red words. Piris said it was set up to keep everyone else out, but they should go in. They did.
Beyond the hallway and past the sign, there was a great dome, under which spread a vast darkened field of seemingly black turf. It was very difficult to see.
"We are going to begin by harnessing your senses. It is very difficult to get around in this place or anywhere else without doing so. This process is not very difficult, but you need to focus. It may be tricky.
"You need to pick a spot somewhere in the distance. Look in some direction where you cannot see or hear anything. Focus on that spot with all your concentration. Something will become visible or audible to you, if only very slightly. If you cannot see or hear, keep focusing. It will come.
"When it does, you must shift your focus to that sound or sight. Direct your attention at it as best you can. Enhance it, augment its properties. It will become louder or sharper, and more sounds or images will make themselves available to you. Keep using this focus technique until the whole area is illuminated to you. You will find that once the augmentation is complete, it will remain so. This is a type of spell known as passive enchantment, but you do not need to worry about that. Try it."
Luke tried it. He looked off into the distance: blackness. He stared, focused with all his might on that spot. Eventually, a little speck appeared in the distance. It seemed to prance and dance around, dashing to and fro. He focused on it. The world around him brightened, and he could then hear the vague chirps of birds and crickets. He focused still harder on them. The dancing light took form. It was a deer. He focused. Before long, the room was as bright as if the sun itself was shining in on it, and he could hear the chirps of crickets and birds as crisply as though it was a fresh summer day floating through the air. It was amazing, and, of course, impossible.
"It worked. Wow." That was all he could manage.
"Good, good! You did that very quickly. Well, normally, we would have to assess the spell casting abilities of an apprentice, but it is the general consensus of we seven that you need no such assessment. We will simply tell you how to cast a spell. We will then leave it up to you to do it.
"The process of casting a spell is not much different than your enhancement spell there. You simply decide what you want to do, picture it happening, and focus on it until it happens. Of course, this will require some deal of imagination; it is difficult to focus on making yourself invisible when you are looking at your own two hands. The trick, you see, is to picture it in your mind, not in your eyes. You must see what you make of the world, not what has already been made. That is the trick to magic. Everything else should be, for you, fair game."
He tried it. He looked up to the sky. There was a twinkle. Good, he thought. He could use that twinkle. He thought of that twinkle as a comet floating through the stars - an abrupt fireball waiting to crash down onto the Earth. He pictured the comet falling down through the sky. He focused on this image. Harder, harder, and still harder, until eventually it fell. The fireball came crashing through the clouds with immense fury. It smote the ground with a grand clap, spreading the ground around it out in ripples. Liquid fire flew through the sky.
He turned toward Piris and just stared. "Look again," Piris said. The fire was gone.
"When you break your concentration, the spell will be broken, but its effects will remain. These spells are known as active spells. You must concentrate on them to keep them working. The more active spells you cast, the more difficult it is to keep them all running. But you already knew that."
In the next few days, Luke further developed his spell casting powers until he became a master of magic. But he was different from Piris and the others. They had only the magic of illusion. Luke found he could control illusion, but also fire, ice, lightning, wind, and anything else he could come up with. The others were impressed, but he was frightened. He knew, deep inside, what this meant.
At last, the day came when Piris told him outright.
"Luke, I think you have figured out by now who you are. The Prophecy called for one who could control the elements; not one, but all of them. That one is you, and you alone among us. We know that Necron is planning a massive assault sometime soon. We do not know when. You are the only one who can stop it. Are illusions can deceive, but deceptions cannot stop an entire army. You must take the position of Portal Guard."
"Tomorrow, I will begin."
That night, however, did not go uninterrupted. While the Portal Guard kept watch, a lone Fera'Tul necromancer snuck through the gate, right past him, unnoticed. They were actually devilishly hard to see.
The tiny demon danced its way through the labyrinth that was the Portalis until it finally found its way to the chambers. Being an entity not of physical existence, it easily passed through the walls of the buildings until it found the chamber in which Luke was sleeping. It took him very lightly in its arms and danced its way back to the Portal. The guard took note at the floating body of Luke, but he could not act. The minion was too nimble.
It jumped through the Portal. Luke was in Mephistaltraykin.
The minion took Luke back to its master, and there he was bound and held captive as prisoner. Necron fastened his soul to an ethereal prison, but did not wake him. He sent his army through the portal.
It would not be fitting to call the Portalis a battleground. It was more similar to a slaughterhouse. The minions of Necron laid waste to the Arcadim and their deceptions, destroying everything along their path. No matter how hard they tried, though, they could not find their way out into the rest of the zone.
Meanwhile, Necron looked on from Mephistaltraykin. He dared not cross over into Arcadim territory, for he knew that if he perished, so too would the minions that bore his life force. He just watched, and very eagerly at that.
Luke nodded. He had a terrible pain in his back, but he could not put his finger on what it could be. With his eyes still close, he imagined the pain to fade away, and it did. That is probably the only thing that saved him right then.
Keeping with that morning's tradition of not opening his eyes, he followed his morning teleportation with them closed. When he opened his eyes, he was somewhat stunned to see a hideous shadow looming before him.
The creature was not of flesh or blood. It was simple darkness, and Luke loathed it. It did not seem to notice him, but he definitely noticed it. He prepared a shield around him.
Necron looked over towards the soul shard to check on his prisoner. He was terrified to see Luke missing. He spun his essence, searching the area for anything physical or corporeal. He found Luke behind him, merely looking at him.
"Fool of a human," the shadow hissed. "Do you dare stand before me and not attack?"
Luke replied, "Yep. I'm crazy."
The shadow wisped and spun towards Luke, but Luke merely appeared on the other side of it. "I know what you are. You cannot take any other zone."
"I can, and I will!"
Luke interrupted the monster. "No, no, I don't think you understand. You see, I'm from that zone. I am alive. You're made of death. Death and life don't mix well."
The shadow approached him. "Perhaps you are right," it growled. "That is exactly why we get rid of the life before we take it over!" It touched Luke with its shadowy limb, and an icy pang shot through his body.
The ice spread inward toward the very center of his body. It was strange; he knew this feeling. He knew he was dying, but it was more than that. It was a familiarity that he recognized. He had this power.
He let that icy touch encompass his entire life force, until at last he fell hopeless to the ground. His eyes were empty, his spirit drained. Necron knew he had won.
"The Zone of Spirituality is mine!"
Suddenly, the dark gloom of Mephistaltraykin shimmered with a blinding light. The air seemed to crackle and burn with an unnatural luminosity. It hurt Necron's mind.
"What is this? Stop it! Stop it!"
A voice rose from over the Mephistaltraykin horizon.
"Lord Necron of the Fera'Tul necromancers, hear me. I am Lord Lucas Thorazon of the Turalian Guard of the Phalanxian Council."
Necron had heard of the Phalanxian Council and their legendary roles as guardians of all zones. Everyone with any little of power had, but their existence had never been verified. They were, until then, nothing more but a phantom guardian, and it would not be long after that until they returned to this standing.
"You were unwise to destroy my physical body in your realm. I am a wielder of all elements, a resident of all zones, and in death, I am no less. You threaten the intricate delicacy that is the zone network."
At that, a blue nova filled Mephistaltraykin, and the zone was no more. With it fell Necron, and with him perished all Fera'Tul in the Zone of Spirituality. The Arcadim had all been defeated as well, and the grand illusion which made visible to solitary door to the Portalis shimmered and faded.
The Portalis and the last great threat to mankind were no more.
Review