Author's Notes
I've change Princess Sara's name to Moira for aesthetic reasons, that's all.
Lux Aeterna
by
Steven Mayo
Book I ~ The Meager
Chapter 2 ~ The Miscreant Pt. 2
The catacombs were almost as old as Corneria itself, finished over many times by many people. Supposedly built by the very first proprietor of the tavern, Lux Aeterna, they then, and this is all lore these days, were used as a storage place for alcohol. Indeed, in the first years of the tavern, Corneria had been under strict prohibition legislation, and so the tavern was more a speakeasy. The proprietor, conveniently named Lux, which proved a bit of his haughtiness in choosing such a name for the tavern, was a famously odd man at the time. Besides taking the incredible risk of running the establishment, he dabbled in several powerful magical arts, was an arcane treasure hunter before settling down, and suffered from random swells of dementia, which at the time before modern medicine was blamed on dark spirits. Then again, everything was blamed on dark spirits at one time or another.
Dunnings, who along with Seville was the only man who knew of the catacombs these days, used it for moderate storage but with so little to hide it had most often served as an escape route for Seville.
Given their diminished uses, the catacombs were impressively vast, expanding almost the dimensions of the whole township. The hallways were especially dense under the market place and temple, though not a one above knew of them. The walls were well kept as Dunnings often took free time to polish them, in pieces of course, and Seville had traversed their passages many times. There existed only one other entrance, or exit in this case, and it was a goodly walk to it. The air was dank and still like within a coffin's.
Seville lifted a small wooden rod from out a box nailed to the wall just to his right. It was narrow, like a wooden dowel, and the top few inches were separated by a circumscribing groove. He made a hasty twist of this small segment and from the end of the rod suddenly shown a brilliant beam of light. Illegal trade had brought these magnificent devices from the distant Elfhein, they called them flashlights.
But this first action was simply of habit, something you had to do if you wanted to see. Seville couldn't seem to follow it with anything. He held the flashlight down by his thigh and flicked it blankly with his hand, his eyes studying the horizon of the yellow glow. It was hot as usual, but the sweat dampening his brow was not from the heat. It was everything else. Looking towards the dark tunnel before him, the path disappearing into black, he felt weak and helpless. He felt terrible all over. If he didn't have the will power to fight it he might have started shaking violently, a purging of vehement guilt. With the greatest efforts he pressed his heavy feet forward and proceeded deeper into the combs.
It was an unusual step, the guard captain leading an interrogation in the tavern. Seville could respect that times had been getting tougher economically in the last year, but King Eliv wasn't the kind to enact displays of martial law. It was no doubt a bout of paranoia, which had become the King's trademark since the abduction of his daughter, the Princess Moira, three weeks back. The news had first brought the large city to an uproar and then to a confused stupor, with countless farmers and miners feeling aimless and yet not knowing why. In truth, the kidnapping of the Princess had had no effect on the town but to cause its leader to act rashly at times. This time it just happened to come around to him, Seville was thinking to himself, not his fault really.
But this was a lie. There was a quick burn of enhanced guilt within him and then it faded away, along with the moment, as he moved slowly through the catacombs, almost enjoying the pleasant downtime. Under the city like this it was possible to truly relax and truly know quiet. He had spent many hours just admiring the wonderful solitude of this place. Even when a single hall would stretch hundreds of feet in each direction you could simply aim the flashlight upwards and exist wholly within the small room of light around you. The immense darkness in either direction would not only appear but honestly feel that it had walled you in. Seville loved that feeling but felt wrong in dwelling on it at this moment. Another wave of guilt, but he suppressed it.
Before leaving he had a few things to accomplish, the first of which was raiding the primary storage room, which wasn't really set off with a door or anything, but was wider than the tunnels and stacked with old crates, mainly containing old wine bottles, still aging to perfection. But in the center of the room stood a tall armor stand, currently wearing a well finished leather plate and leg guards. Seville fitted them on quickly and then moved over to a long flat case set upon one of the worn down boxes. The case was ornate and well kept, not lined with dust like everything else. Seville made a ceremonious stroke along the outer surface and then opened it wide, and the contents shined beautifully up at him. They were twin daggers, diligently crafted in silver, brought all the way from the Elven lands. With a graceful spin between his fingers he took them by the handle and sheathed them. With a certain sentimentality, Seville had had inscribed on the two handles respectively Lux and Aeterna.
He was remarkably skilled with the blades, as with his tongue. Since his fifteenth birthday, when Dunnings had gifted him the daggers, he had trained diligently and found mastery in them. They were manageable and swift, just the two qualities one of his talents held in highest regard. Sometimes he was chilled with his own confidence that he could kill any of the elite guards within seconds. He'd never used them except in self-defense however and did not intend other uses. And so his training was more a tool of appeasement. Seville greatly admired the quality of being skilled.
Again taking the flashlight in hand Seville reentered the long paths of the catacombs, feeling more confident now that he was armed and armored, also because the raging guilt had subsided and he felt more himself. Seville did not care for heightening emotions, as it made it more difficult to act with a cool head. Remembering the brass key in his pocket, Seville gulped, streamlining the wall cracks as he passed in silence.
At his deliberate pace it was a full fifteen minutes, each minute passing as dully as the one before it, to the other exit, which had brought him a good distance across the town. Before him stood a narrow wooden staircase leading up to a hatch doorway. But he could not go yet. He could almost feel that heavy brass key pulse, as if it called to him. Seville knew what must be done with it and shuddered within at the thought. Turning to his left revealed a dark path, grown over impossibly with tendril-like vegetation from the ceiling. Standing solace at the tunnel entrance, one to each side, were fantastic statues fashioned into mighty dragons, their muzzles stretched wide to let forth a fiery breath. They ran almost to the ceiling, about eight feet high, and their thick tails hugged the walls along the path for all of five feet. The statues were solid but for their eyes, where in place were fitted brilliant rubies, the size of clenched fists. The flashlight's beam did not extend far enough, as if it were stifled by the hanging vines, and the tunnel's end, if it ended at all, could not be discerned. Countless times Seville had passed this junction on way up the stairs, each time with a pitiful shudder. Never had he passed by the two dragon gods, learned what lay beyond their gate. It was unthinkable at every moment before this one; to look upon them was to know fear. But Seville suddenly knew he had to pass them and brave whatever ever terror existed beyond. As he passed, the gleam in the dragons' ruby eyes seemed to shift as if following him, but Seville did his best to blame this on the light's reflection.
The first steps were the most difficult, moving cautiously as if his heart might explode from the terrible beating. Just as he had moved deep enough into the passageway that the tendrils from above could scratch against his head, a shocking sense of cold came over him. Before him his breath shown in wavering jets from his mouth, and the sweat upon his skin chilled over, sending shivers down his whole body. The thickness of the dark almost completely choked away the beam of the wooden dowel, and Seville began to squint, still trying to confidently push one leg before the other.
The path must have gone on forever; it felt like hours were gushing by when only minutes had passed. But the scenery did not change or become any the more daunting. Seville adapted to the cold and felt surer of himself with every step. Dunnings had told him at a young age, not long after the death of his parents in fact, to never enter this place, but he would not give a reason to the rule and did not need to. Just looking upon those dragon guardians, it struck against one's very soul to enter such a place. It stunk of desecration. But now was the time. Something in his godfather's frantic voice not even an hour ago told him that the time had come to face the guardians' keep. Whatever the risk. Then, just feet before him it seemed, a small sliver of light flashed back at him.
Now filled with mounting excitement, he quickened to a brisk pace, almost a jog. Much to his surprised, the reflective surface was more than a minute's jog away and he was overcome with frantic fascination as he beheld the magnificent sight before him. A broad chest, of the largest build he had ever seen, lined with gold and silver plates etched with dragon friezes, centering around an incredible metal lock, thickest he'd known, and it glowed with wavy haze. The lock was not quite silver, but not iron or bronze. Could it be steel or even Elven mythril?
He ducked down and aimed the flashlight into the keyhole, and again his eyes widened at a revelation. The inner-workings were vast, an incredible configuration of gears and levers, connected with wires.
"Not with an entire day's work and the best tools could I undo this lock!" said Seville, much impressed. He was mesmerized by the swirling aura of white, but knew not what it meant. Magic, of course, but should it function as a warning or a blessing? The key in his pocket felt its heaviest as he lifted it out and aimed it at the keyhole. He felt a sudden need to check over his shoulder and he did so, somehow not pleased when he found that nothing was stalking him.
An odd thought came to him then, so brilliantly that it seemed out of one of the great poems: I can never go back…
Then with an eagerness even the resistance of his heart could not quell he thrust the key into the lock and twisted harshly, thereafter it snapped open and swayed sideways, falling to the floor. Breathing harder than if he had sprinted for miles, he swung wide the massive lid and peered within, fully ready to die for his knowledge, but at first he saw nothing there. Was it empty?
He shifted the flashlight in his grasp, annoyance overshadowing his fascination. This could not all be for nothing, he thought angrily. But then he saw, small and meager in the further corner of the chest, a spherical object no bigger than a child's palm. It lay covered with a thick dust coating, almost invisible but for the impression it makes upon the particle blanket. Despite an intuitive gesture from his brain to just stand and start running that very instant, Seville took the sphere between his trembling fingers and raised it to the light.
How simple an object it was! It felt made of glass, and in wiping off the dust, had no marks but a single molded diagram, a jagged line. Beyond that it was perfectly shaped and surfaced, the interior taking on a dark hue, though it could have just been the murky atmosphere. It has not particularly heavy for its size but just right. It was for lack of a better description a crystal ball, not the first that Seville had ever seen, either. Seville exercised great strain to discern what it meant, hunched right there next to the treasure chest, but did not have but a moment to do so.
Behind him he began to hear a faint, high-pitched gush of air, like a cat sustaining its hiss. The sound had grown considerably before he truly noticed it over the beats from his chest. Taking a moment to fully hear it, he suddenly felt cold all over once more, and he turned with an abrupt spin, finding himself facing a monstrous visage.
Seville recoiled back and fell over the chest, landing bottom first into its wide cavity. He struggled a few vain moments but could not press himself upwards. Floating before him, airy cloak wisping to and fro on nothingness, was a hideous creature, with a human face long and distorted, stuck in the final gaze of delightful terror, eyes startlingly red. From its incorporeal maw it bellowed a piercing screech, like a banshee's, and flew into Seville, passing right through and leaving all of Seville's body frozen. Struggling once more, only harder, Seville managed to push himself up, and made to run before something struck his mind harshly and he turned around. A frantic glance all around and then he spied the orb, clawed it from the dust with a single swish of his arm, and then ran down the dark hallway, the beam of his flashlight bouncing from ceiling to floor in wavy repetitions.
His vision was a confusing mesh of vines slapping against his face. He attempted to duck, but found them down there as well, as if they had grown in the last moments and would imprison him with the demon. Indeed, as the vines caught on the folds and snaps of his clothing, it felt as if they were grabbing at him with small, vegetative hands made to subdue. Beating desperately against their thickness he lost his balance and flew hard to the floor, knocking the wind of out his lungs. As he hacked violently another cold chill set over him, the demon was rising from behind.
Seville jumped to his feet and with assured calculation unsheathed a dagger and made a long diagonal thrust across the creature. The strike would have killed man where he stood. But here it served only to jettison black ribbons of nothing, leaving a transparent slash across the monster that quickly filled in. Seville, now shaken with fear, could only manage weak steps backwards. The creature then seemed to reach into itself with its long fingers, grasping at where its heart might be. Seville found the strength to turn and run once more as the demon pulled forth a long, flowing scythe.
Perhaps because it chose to, the creature created loud currents of wind as it rushed after Seville. He could hear the flapping drapes of its intangible cloak beat against themselves in vibrant thuds. They got louder and Seville knew the creature was upon him again. Instinctively he ducked his head low and felt the breeze of the murderous scythe as it slashed above him in a long swoop. He pushed as hard as his legs would allow, and then even more, but the monster could not be outdone. Blood thumping hotly in his temples, he strafed from side to side, trying his best to avoid the airy blade.
And then he saw a dim glow of red off in the distance, sparkling like the ruby eyes of the dragons. As he neared their cross he squinted hard at the coming of another horrible screech from the banshee, so loud his eyes rattled. But his legs were growing stronger, he was in sight of the crossing, and he would make it; he would escape this demon forever if he could only…
Seville let out a bitter yelp of pain as the cold scythe thrust through his right arm, just through without a single surface abrasion. And yet pain suddenly coursed throughout his body, running along his veins and arteries like blood. With his left arm he attempted to strangle the life out of his right, as if he would block a poison from reaching his heart, all the while running forward to the dragon gods. His pitiful dash became staggered and weak, each step more like a heavy stomp before the next. The banshee screamed again and moved in for another strike.
But then Seville crossed by the dragon statues with a final jolt of adrenaline and hurtled up the stairway, grasping his throbbing arm as he went out into the daylight. As the demon collided with the gaze of the dragons it instantly dissipated into a jumble of cries and smoke; and then nothingness. Seville, however, did not see this.
********************
"Open! Open!" a terrified Seville called, pounding his good arm flat against the wide door while his other arm cringed up next to his body, jagged and hurt. "Open, I say! Eddie, please, open!"
Seville pounded a moment more but could not continue. The incredible pain in his arm had almost brought him to tears, and coupled with the chase down in the catacombs, his wholeness was flushed with disorientation. Head bobbing to pitiful sobs he collapsed to the ground, sitting and holding his injured limb in close. Looking upon his arm, which seemed small the way it was clenched tight, Seville wept. The scythe scar was internal, from elbow joint to palm the underside of his right arm was bruised deep blacks and purples, and his fingers were scrunched inwards like an eagle's claws, petrified. Any attempt to move them hurt terribly. It throbbed so strongly that it should have vibrated like a spider's egg sac, each pulse a crippling blow to his constitution, occurring at the intervals of his heart beat. He wanted to die and felt sure that he would very soon. It hurt so much!
Tears rolling down his sweat laden face, he gathered the strength to strike at the wooden door a few more times, though weakly in comparison. He had found his way to the back of the temple, the clergy entrance, and thanked heavens at that moment that no one was around at the time. But he had not come to pray.
"Eddie, open up," he said under his voice, a meager attempt, but just then, the door did open, and a bright but concerned face peered through the opening.
"What in the…Seville, what do you think you're doing?!" said the man, clearly agitated. But his voice and demeanor shifted quickly as he saw on the footstep of his cathedral entrance a broken man, a teenager at that. But he could not see what was wrong, as Seville was still caressing his arm tightly, but simply being near the man gave off an aura of sickness. There was something terrible here.
"Eddie," said Seville, with tired, dry gasps, "you gotta help me."
And here Seville held out his arm, his gaze a helpless mire of desperation. It even hurt to hold it up.
"Praise be!" said the man, and his eyes widened in fear. "You must come in, now!"
The man opened the door and grabbed Seville by his good shoulder, lifting him gently. Seville showed a grimace of swelling pain as he lifted and the two entered the backrooms of the temple.
Edrick Valance was an apprentice clergyman. He dressed in white robes ornamented only with a few burgundy threads along the cuffs of the sleeves and leggings. Apprentices always kept their hoods down, so his silky blonde hair, hanging short and down to each side like a bowl, shown brightly in the light from the sunroof. Only a few years older than Seville, he still had boyish freckles across his nose and cheeks and had beautiful blue eyes. He was called Edrick by everyone but Seville; Seville insisted on calling him Eddie. He was a classically nervous fellow, afraid to make mistakes in the face of the harsh church law.
They found a table, and Seville lay with his back upon it, looking up to Edrick with a distorted countenance of pain. His thick hair had wrapped into rakish clumps along his forehead, sticking down over his eyes.
"Can you move it?" asked Edrick, examining the arm with a doctoral curiosity but wary to touch it.
"No," said Seville, "Hurts … too much."
"What happened here?"
"Man, Eddie…" said the injured man with a cough, "Just … can you heal it?"
Edrick quickly suppressed his offended look and knelt in closer to the arm. Seville's veins seemed to glow against the skin now, but very lightly, so that you had to look to see. Even since he had entered the temple the injury had darkened, no longer bruise black, but true black. The pressure was building in Edrick's temples; this was out of his league.
"I…" he stuttered, "I can't heal this wound, Seville. I don't even know what it is?"
"Eddie!" shouted Seville angrily, but also with a tone of hope.
"Alright, alright!" responded Edrick with a jump, and he ran his fingers up through his fine hair. "Just, uh, you're gonna have to lie it flat!"
Edrick felt like he was sinking into darkness. Never confident with his magic and a good friend of his cringing at his waist, his eyes darted randomly, his mind racing to think of a spell.
"Flat, Seville, lie it flat!" he said, killing more time.
"Would you hurry up?!"
"Alright! Uhhhh, uhhhhh, okay, just, don't move now!" And Edrick laid one of his hands palm-flat upon the top of the other and aimed them at the wound that Seville struggled to keep extended from his body. Amidst the cries of the man on the table he closed his eyes and concentrated hard. He murmured incantations under his breath, fumbled, and then began again. He closed his eyes so tightly that it wrinkled his young skin clear to his temples. And he completed the spell.
White air slowly filled in between his hands and the injured arm, quickly accompanied by tiny bubbles flowing from surface to surface. The spell shone brightly, and Edrick whispered energetically throughout. The entire effect lasted only seconds, and when Edrick slackened his tired arms he quickly opened his eyes and stared down with what he knew was false hope. Seville screamed out!
Seville's eyes widened and he shook all over his body, looking up at nothing as if overcome with the most powerful sense of disbelief. The dark abrasions along his arm began to spread, crawling up to his finger tops and wrapping around his upper arm. Over the pain he could no longer scream, but only let out bitter hacks, as if choking on his own air.
"Oh, it's not working!" Edrick called with exasperation. "There's nothing I can do for this, Seville. And the minister is away!"
Seville only shook his head weakly, giving up to the hot thumps of pain.
"Wait a minute!" yelled Edrick and then he hurtled a table bench and ran into another room.
Seville's moment alone was the longest of his life. Seething with pain, with sickness, he came to know the true meaning of hopelessness. Adapting to the pulses, he no longer held his arm or moved at all. He could only lie still and be consumed by it. There was no growth to his thoughts. They had been singled out. He lingered towards a coma. Death was upon him.
But a frantic Edrick rushed back into the room, almost tripping over the scattered objects along the ground. In his hands he held a glass vial filled with a clear liquid. As he hunched over Seville's body he had to pry the lips open with his fingers, and he poured the potion in, trying to not spill a single drop. There was a moment where the silence itself seemed to scream at Edrick. His eyes were wide and frightened. This was so far out of his league.
With a violent bout of coughs, Seville awoke, startled and aware. His head spun swiftly, overcome with disorientation. He breathed hard, in thick thankful gulps. Forgetting the least where he was, he didn't notice that he was opening and closing his right hand in brisk repetitions. Edrick didn't seem to know what was happening either. He hadn't known what reaction to expect. Suddenly grasping the near past, Seville brought his right arm around front and admired its mobility. The dark bruises still blackened his skin and his veins still glowed faintly, but he couldn't feel it. The pain was gone. Risking a smile he looked to Edrick, who he suddenly viewed like a saint, and noticed the empty vial in Edrick's hand.
"A cure potion!" said Seville, the strength in his voice apparent.
But Edrick shook his head sideways, "Morphine. Don't try to stand up."
Seville looked confused for a moment, but Edrick continued.
"I can't cure it, Seville. I don't know if it can be cured. But I can stop the pain, at least temporarily. You'll be out of it though. When the minister returns I'll request his presence for this."
The brief upset of hope did not anger Seville. He closed his eyes in a warm self-embrace and then let his head rest back down against the table, still weak and floating on a euphoric release. He felt dizzy.
"It was death, Eddie. I felt it!" said Seville, but Edrick was still shaking nervously. He didn't seem to want to hear about that.
"Seville, I need to know how it happened. I could do some research when I find time, after the centennial maybe."
The word 'centennial' chimed in Seville's brain but he hadn't the strength to argue the point.
"I was attacked. I don't know what." He said lowly. "I was looking for something."
"What were you looking for?" asked Edrick, suddenly feeling more jittery.
Seville had forgotten the orb in his pocket completely. Pain will make you do that. With his good arm, still afraid to use the injured one, he pulled forth the small orb and handed it over to Edrick.
"Found it in a treasure chest. Looks like a crystal ball to me."
Looking at it clearly in the sunlight from the roof above, it was indeed opaque in its center, a dark gray gas, like storm clouds, puffed within. The gas seemed both to swirl and remain stationary, perhaps just an effect of reflection.
"Huh! I think you're right. Defective now, however," said Edrick, eyeing the orb closely, twisting it with his fingers, "When they are active they are clear. You know, the church has something like this."
"It does?" asked Seville, perking up intently.
"Yeah, somewhere in the storage room, I think. I know I've at least seen it before. Oh, except the groove here is different. Shaped like a flame on ours."
"Well go get it, Eddie."
"Eh, come on, Seville. Don't act delirious. It's just a broken crystal ball. You should try to sell it at the fair tonight."
"Eddie!"
"Fine, I'll get it, sheesh!" And Edrick stood, returned the orb, and headed back towards the same room he had found the potion. He shut the door behind him.
Again alone, Seville reveled in his rest, like sitting after three days jog. He admired the speckled dots of light reflecting out from the orb as he twisted it with his good hand. He found himself following individual dots as they traced the ceiling. They felt close to him. But then he blinked hard and set the orb down, it was mesmerizing him. Seville detested the feeling of dizziness or tiredness. A man of his talents held alertness sovereign. But he couldn't fight it now. The liquid that Edrick had given him; he could feel it within him. The world was becoming hazy again; his mind was floating.
Why did Dunnings send to get me that stupid orb? I bet he didn't know that creature was down there. Well, I'm gonna tell'em if I can just get off this table.
Seville fell to the floor.
Whoa! I'm sick!
"Seville."
I'll tell Dunnings that I'm sick, then he can't get mad anymore.
"Seville!"
What, Eddie? Did you know that it's not really a centennial? You see…
"Seville! What has happened to you?"
I thought we'd already …Professor!
"Professor Sylum?" said Seville distantly, breaking out of his trance.
"Now, now! This won't do, old chap!" said a warm voice, deep and precise. "Got ourselves into a bad one this time, haven't we?"
"Professor … I … monster …" said Seville, still searching for orientation. Finally his eyes found the good doctor, but he was little more than murk in his vision.
Dr. Darrin Sylum was tall, with vibrant brown eyes, a sharp nose, and wire glasses that hung low. His light brown hair was academically pressed downwards, but he covered this with a tri-quarter steepled hat, dark maroon in color. He wore fine dress clothing, centered on a beautiful maroon cloak that hung to his feet. He smiled, intent but calm. For a scholar he was built strongly, and even at this moment wore a short sword to his side. All this finally came clearly to Seville's vision.
"Are we here now?" said Sylum. "I'd like to know what has happened. I figured you'd be here after the soldiers ran over the Lux."
The voice still seemed to echo faintly in Seville's ears but with will power he pressed the sensation away. He did not want to drop off like that again.
"Dr. Sylum! I'm happy to see you!" said Seville weakly but clearly. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"
And Seville held his arm out, after which the doctor became very studious, eyes crawling up and down the wound.
"My word!" Sylum whispered. He pressed his glasses up and reached his hands forward but decided not to touch it.
"Pain?" he asked.
"Lots! But Eddie gave me something like Morphus, or Morpheus, or…"
"Morphine. It's a pain killer, extracted from opium. Strong stuff. I wouldn't try to stand up just yet."
"Yeah, he said the same thing."
"Well, it's a good thing Edrick knows something. You don't mind that I'm mildly surprised? He couldn't cure you?"
"Eddie can't cure a paper cut. No, actually the spell … backfired," said Seville. He looked a moment as if he might pass out again but then regained.
"Okay, well, this is really something here. I've never seen anything like it. Still, I'll check my manuals. You know this isn't my field."
A door in the back opened and Edrick emerged, proudly carrying a small crystal ball, but he soon dropped his smirk and became sullen, nervous.
"Oh, I didn't realize you had come, Dr. Sylum," said Edrick, suddenly feeling as if he was losing control of the situation again. Seville was his patient, no matter how useless he was.
"I didn't mean to startle you. Come, Edrick, what do you think of this?" said Sylum, also aware of Edrick's spastic tendencies.
"I will ask the minister when he returns. There is nothing I can do. It's rare, for certain."
"What's that you have there?" asked the doctor.
"Huh? Oh!" Overly concerned about Sylum's sudden presence, Edrick had forgotten about the orb he'd gone to get. Remembering it, he grasped it firmly, as if to confirm its reality, and then he showed it forward. "Oh, something that Seville asked me to get. He found something like this … well, somewhere."
"Hand it here," said Sylum, extremely curious.
"Hey, I was the one who asked for it?" complained Seville, but the doctor just flashed him a blank glance and took the orb in hand. He studied it carefully, looking so deeply into it that he went cross-eyed for a moment. This orb also was filled with a dark stationary gas that seemed to spin in the light. The groove along the side however was a wide and shaped like a solitary flame.
"And you say that you have one of these?" Sylum said to the man lying on his back. The doctor seemed to place a lot of importance in his question.
"Yeah, here," said Seville. He liked the doctor very much and would always respect his wishes diligently. He knew that he lacked the average amount of respect for most people, but he made it up in his admiration of Dr. Sylum. The doctor took the second orb in hand and studied it with equal fervor.
"Do you know what they are?" asked the apprentice clergyman, feeling on the brink of revelation, and not wanting it.
A funny look came over Sylum's face as he acknowledged the question. His lips raised, and his whole body did the same. The two other men could feel the coming of a miracle, a rapid gush of stunning information. Sylum suddenly looked on the verge of pouring his soul out into the church. But all he said was:
"No. Nothing. Just defective crystal balls, most likely." He slackened, but continued to look at the two orbs. His listeners slacked as well, granting each other a disappointed glance. It really felt like something was there. The moment had settled quietly when Sylum said:
"But you know, I have something a lot like this in my office at the quad."
The other two men perked up brightly, "You do?"
"Yes. Oh, except the marker is different. It's a water droplet on mine." Sylum looked at them unbelievingly. This was too weird.
"Can I see it?" asked Seville, very intent on doing just that whether the doctor liked it or not. In just those last moments he felt charged with a quest, and these little orbs had something to do with it. He was certain. Seville did not like to go without answers, and neither, in fact, did Dr. Sylum.
"Of course! Do you feel okay to stand?"
"Yeah, yeah!" said Seville, trying to be strong, though he felt very weak on his feet once he had reached them. Edrick was ecstatic to seem them go. Equilibrium returned at last. He slumped down in a chair, folding his white robes over so as to not rumple them, and breathed comfortably. Then his eyes shot wide. Somebody has to pay for that morphine! The minister is gonna kill me!
But Seville, with support from the doctor, was already out of the cathedral and making progress around the side of the building. Then, just as he cleared the corner he saw a glimmering flash of bronze, his teeth clicked, and all was black.