Chapter Nineteen : Screw the Nether (Part Two)
(With bonus of homicidal magicians - more than usual, anyway)
The glorious city of Arcopolis soared towards the clouds, towers of gold reaching up to the Aether like the fingers of a dying angel. Down below, street magicians, hedge wizards, voodooists and all kinds of inferior practitioners of the arcane plied their trade, filling the air with multicoloured fog and random snaps of light. No respectable sorcerer would be found anywhere on ground level, as it tended to be a tad difficult to sneer down at your inferiors when you were the same height.
No, the real magicians were only found in the topmost towers, and the only time they ever came down was in a coffin, or off a balcony, where another magician could sometimes be found suspiciously bemoaning the tragic fate that befell his colleague, oh dearie dearie me, and such a bright future he had before him, what kind of malevolent god should wish such an unfortunate accident upon that man of absolute admirability, and what a fellow he was, too, etc. By the laws of nature, magicians were solitary creatures, and although the plural for 'sorcerer' had been debated by many, most experts agree on Disagreement.
In the center of the city, one such tower pierced into the sky with a vengeance, glaring into the Aether with a positively murderous intent, threatening to impale it like a hog on a spear. The Gods, of course, did not take kindly to such declarations, but in an effort to appear uncaringly contemptuous, had refrained from doing overly unfortunate things to it and its inhabitants. Sure, occasionally people did discover boots with smoke issuing from them with the owner pointedly missing, but the gold spire was mostly untouched - minus the assortment of pies a certain firegod with an unfortunate sense of humour had contrived to glue onto the pointy bit, which must have fossilized by now.
In the highest possible room of the said tower, an ancient wheelchair-bound sorcerer was pushed to a gilded chair, and with as much respect as was possible, tipped onto it. The throne faced a semicircle of extravagant swivel chairs, all of which had their backs turned.
"Finally." Sighed an impatient voice from a silver chair wreathed in tendrils of shadow. "Now we may start."
The old sorcerer blinked. "Start what?" he gurgled happily. "Dinner? 'S it dinnertime already?"
Ignoring the burbling old man, a senior page stepped out from behind the wheelchair and announced : "Let the session begin!"
Immediately, all the chairs swivelled around to face the throne. On cue, all the seated magicians started to speak at once.
"About dinner-"
"We should-"
"-Buggrit, bugger 'em, I say-"
"-MURDER 'EM ALL-"
"- fossilized pies-"
Soon the magicians were up again and hurling thunderbolts, fireballs, teacups, each other etc. across the room in an effort to make the others shut up and remain standing long enough to make themselves heard.
"-Silence!" A voice screamed over the top of them all, accompanied by an explosion of runefire in the midst of the ongoing battle, sending other spells skittering off to the side in the following shockwave. An unfortunate magician suddenly found themselves squinting out of the eyes of a toad in the ensuing chaos.
A man standing in front of a chair etched with millions of tiny runes canceled out his runecircle with a few dextrous finger flicks. "Now," he said pleasantly, like how a crocodile smiled pleasantly just before it ate something. "Does anyone else want to make a contribution? Yes? No? Speak up. What about you, Earthlord?"
"No, Runemaster." A chubby little man said meekly from a chair that seemed to be a miniature continent, complete with mountains and rivers.
The Runemaster smiled and leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrests. The other magicians followed the movement nervously, ready to bolt at the slightest signal. "You all know why we are gathered here today."
Several magicians nodded calmly, despite the fact that they had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. The less wise sat around and looked confused, though thankfully nobody spoke up.
"Certain resources have informed me-" tap, tap, "That the Rogue is once more on the map." He pronounced 'Rogue' in such a way that the capital 'R' made itself obvious, despite not being visible.
A ripple of murmuring went around the semicircle. Ah, yes. The Rogue. Now they were back on familiar ground. Everyone knew the Rogue, just like how every child knew the Bogeymen. In fact, the Rogue was held in such a regard that bogeymen children probably had nightmares about him being under their beds. There were things in the world whose mere appearance can send even zombies fleeing for their lives; the Rogue's job was to stand in their paths and send them back the other way.
"Yes." Rumbled a heavy set man in a chair made out of corrugated iron, with strands of metal in the shapes of vines twirling about animatedly in an absentminded manner. "I have heard also."
"Herd. Of cows. A herd of cows!" The old sorcerer giggled from his position on the throne. Again, no one paid him much attention.
Tap, tap, tap.
A thick atmosphere settled over the gathering. No one dared speak. Then:
"I would assume you have already set the tools in their place?" A melodic voice came from under a hood with moving flame patterns on it. The speaker was seated in a chair without a definite shape; the frozen flame never quite stilled.
The Runemaster sighed. "Please refrain from referring to them as tools, Fire... Lord." An uncomfortable pause presented itself. By tradition, no women were allowed on the Council, but Tradition had since found itself savagely beaten and burnt into an unknown corner, where it was likely to stay. Along with a lot of magicians who had taken issue. "It sounds so... unsophisticated."
The Firelord shrugged, a graceful movement of slender shoulders. "I prefer to speak of things as they are. Flattering words are a pointless wagging of the tongue."
Tap, tap.
The Runemaster's smile slimmed. His fingers paused long enough to twitch into the rough outline of a shape. The nearby magicians leaned away and tracked this movement with apprehension. The croaking of the unfortunate toad was barely audible above the din of silence.
"The... tools are indeed in place." The Runemaster spoke calmly. His fingers resumed their absentminded tapping, and the rest of the magicians relaxed enough to realise they hadn't been breathing for the past half a minute, which then led to some embarrassing spluttering all around.
"I see you are a man of action." The Firelord's voice contained a tint of what might have been called amusement, if the way a skull grins could be called amusement. "At least, in this matter. Pardon me for my ignorance, but I do not see how this 'Rogue' would affect us. He has refrained from so much as prodding our corner of the map for years. If he wished to take action against us, why has he not done so before?"
Tap-
The Runemaster stood suddenly, slamming his arms into the armrests on his chair violently as he did so. His face had turned white with incandescent fury.
"Your ignorance, for the lack of a better word, may-" Here he struggled with his tongue, which wanted to say one thing and probably would have succeeded if not for the timely prevention by his more cautious mind. "- may cause... complications if allowed to go on as it is. This Rogue is not someone to be trifled with. I doubt he is entirely of the human race, even if he started out as such. No human has the capacity for such cruelty. No human could slaughter so many and still act so calm. The monster didn't even laugh! He-"
The sharp tap of a cane neatly snipped off the rest of his sentence. The Runemaster, face now redder than an inflamed pimple, turned slowly to face the owner of the cane.
"Please remember that you stand amongst equals, Runemaster." The occupier of the silver chair wreathed in wandering tendrils of shadow sat back and re-crossed his legs, his ragged black Necromancer's cloak rustling ominously as he did so, as it was designed to do. "Even if you are the only one standing." The silver skull brooch holding his cloak together seemed to leer at everyone who saw it. It was as much a part of a Necromancer's costume as the black clothes and general air of unease that followed behind them like a wronged dog.
The Runemaster quickly regained his composure and sat back down. He inclined his head at the small hooded figure. "I apologise for my, ah, violent behaviour, Necromatrix. Do not worry, it shall not happen again." He said slowly, calmly, as if addressing an easily startled person, or a young child.
"See to it that it does not." The Necromatrix replied coolly.
"Excuse me." A man in a silver chair almost identical to the Necromatrix's spoke, eyeing the said figure with profound distaste. "If the issue has been resolved, I would assume the meeting is over, no? Unless someone has something else to add?"
The question was met with a definite silence. Except for the desperate croaking of the toad, of course. But no one paid it much mind. The Principal of the Arcopolis Sorcerous Academy didn't have much to say that was worth hearing, even in human form.
"It seems that you are correct in your assumption, Lord Nyx." The Runemaster stood again. "Well?" He snapped at the elderly page standing behind the Speaker's gilded chair. "Adjourn the meeting, man."
The page blinked at him mulishly for a few seconds and then said in a voice of obvious ill-temper. "Oh, very well, your lordship." He made certain that the lowercase 'l' on 'lordship' was audible. "Meeting adjourned."
The magicians filed out quickly, leaving an afterimage of relief behind them. Only the Necromatrix remained seated, as if he simply couldn't be bothered to leave.
After everyone else had left, the Necromatrix beckoned to the page with the lazy flick of a finger. The page glanced at the Speaker to make sure he wasn't trying to crawl out of his throne or attempting to eat it, and shuffled over to the silver chair.
"Yes, your-"
He froze abruptly in the middle of his sentence. His eyes went blank and his arms drooped lifelessly to his sides.
"Conceited fool." The sharp, clear voice came from the gilded throne. The Speaker folded his hands in lap and leaned back against the gilded surface, all trace of mindlessness disappearing as if wiped away by a particularly skillful cleaner. "He does all sorts of things when he thinks nobody's around. Except me, of course." Amusement crept into his heavily lined face. "Oh, but I hardly count, do I?" He adopted a blank-eyed, absentmindedly grinning face for a second. "What did you do to him, my dear boy?"
"Jolted his ghost a bit." The Necromatrix answered. "He will go back to normal in half an hour or so."
"Good, good." The old sorcerer smiled. "Pardon an old man's paranoia - but I would feel more at ease if I could see your face. Old suspicions die hard, I'm afraid."
The figure silently pulled back his hood. A pair of mismatched eyes blinked at the sudden light, one grey, the other a disconcerting purple slashed through by a cat-eye pupil, a result of a forebear's unfortunate affair with a demon. The pale face was surprisingly young, placing the Necromatrix's age at no more than eighteen and no less than fifteen. A scar ran from the right side of the top lip to the left side of the bottom lip.
He was, after all, the youngest Necromatrix in the history of sorcery, though quite frankly nobody expected him to last this long as one.
"Kind of you, my boy." The Speaker said in a tone of joviality that if peeled off, would reveal something cold enough to freeze a volcano mid-eruption. "Now, what was it we actually came to discuss?"
"Runemaster Zacheus." The boy said quietly. If anyone was eavesdropping on the conversation, the loud gasp of shock would doubtlessly have given them away. Using the actual name of a Council member was considered a crime punishable by decapitation, or worse, an eternity of amphibianhood.
"Ah yes. Him." The old sorcerer pronounced 'him' as if it was an object he found in the privy. "The fool thinks I don't know about the pot of mercury he put under my bed. Hmph. Youngsters these days. Back when I was young, we used honest poison. None of that slowly-pushing-them-off-the-edge-of-sanity business. Takes far too long. More risk of discovery."
"Yes." The Necromatrix said carefully.
"Never liked him. Pity. He looks like a bright young fellow. I don't suppose you are fond of the man, by any chance?"
"No," the Necromatrix said shortly. The Runemaster had taken every opportunity to use the age of his appearance against him, going as far as to implying that the responsibility was too heavy for a magician so young. It was starting to get old, no pun intended.
"Ah. Good. Good." The old man leaned back and closed his eyes.
After a moment of silence, the Necromatrix inquired : "And the Rogue?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes." The Speaker of Arcopolis snorted. "He's no trouble as long as we don't bother him, which is why we've largely pretended not to see him all these years. But the young Zacheus, hmm." The old sorcerer paused. "Our Runemaster seemed to hold some kind of grudge against him. They are both dangerous individuals, you see." The old man's eyes suddenly glinted ominously.
The Necromatrix caught the look and the train of thought almost instantaneously.
"You mean to let him have his way." He spoke quietly.
"Yes." The Speaker said pleasantly. "Two Ghasts with one bolt, as they say. As useful as our Zacheus is, I'm afraid he must make an exit soon. He has some unsafe notions. Quite unsafe. And if we could catch our Rogue as well, then..."
"Eliminate the victor of the outcome and give the reason of death as battle injuries." The Necromatrix murmured. It made sense. The Arcopolis magicians had been doing similar things for centuries. Death and dishonesty lay at the foundations of the sorcerous hierarchy. A certain ability to bullshit and backstab was a requirement for being a sorcerer and surviving it.
The Speaker gave him a brief sharp look. "Yes. Although I must confess I would rather the victory went to the Rogue. It may be that we can make use of him."
The toad chose that moment to make itself heard.
"Ah, Principal." The old sorcerer's attention wandered over to the stuffed leather seat. "Do excuse my lack of manners in not addressing you before. I hope you find your current form comfortable? It rather suits you, in my opinion."
The toad croaked indignantly.
"Sneaky, my dear boy." The Speaker addressed the Necromatrix. "Using the aftershock of the runefire as a cover. Where did you get the spell?"
"A hedge wizard sold it to me for two crescents." The Necromatrix answered insouciantly.
The Speaker smiled. "Funny how much a life is worth. Two crescents, eh?"
The toad now croaked in alarm. It hopped off the chair and made a desperate dash for the doors-
A hand made out of solid cold caught it mid-leap. The toad struggled frantically in vain, croaking until it ran out of air.
The ghost applied more force until the creature exploded like a red water balloon.
Bits of it squelched onto the floor unpleasantly.
"Get rid of it." The Necromatrix ordered coldly as he walked out of the room.
:Yes, master. The ghost bowed stiffly.
The Speaker smiled in his golden throne.
I wondered what plural for 'Wither' was.
A Mob of Withers? A Threatening of Withers?
Right now, I was leaning towards a 'Murder' of Withers. It sounded more accurate. Our companion skeletons looked like they didn't bear any intention to invite us over for tea and fairycakes anytime soon.
I silently cringed inwards. Above our merry band, the Wither himself floated along peacefully, occasionally making remarks at Horus. They (Again, Horus insisted they were a 'they'. I don't even know how he knew that, but the Wither didn't seem to object, so he must have been right) seemed to be fascinated by me for some strange reason. It must have been one Nether of a reason, because only very strong drink ever made anyone fascinated in me, and only then as a target.
"So how do objects stay in your stomach after you consume them?" The Wither suddenly addressed me curiously. "Don't they just fall out the , ah, other hole?"
I twitched nervously, digging my hands into my pockets to prevent myself from drawing my sword out of instinct and sheer terror. "Um." I began eloquently. "I think it's because it needs to be digested first. Um." I added.
The Wither made an impatient noise. One of their smaller heads rotated around to give me the most unimpressed look recorded in the history of unimpressed looks. "Yes, but what actually prevents it from falling through?"
"Er, the will of Notch in His design of the human body?" I suggested nervously.
Horus made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort. He pinched the bridge of his nose and a looked almost surprised for a second, though I was sure it was only a trick of the light. His permanently bored look left no room for another expression on his face.
"So you're saying your God's power is responsible for this phenomenon?" The Wither asked slowly. "By Herobrine, he must be very busy indeed, having to constantly prevent embarrassing mishaps from taking place at all times of the day."
Horus pinched the bridge of his nose again.
"Er, that's not what I meant... I mean, I don't, I don't really know much about um, about it." I scrambled over my own words in my haste to spit the sentence out before I could further embarrass myself.
The Wither drifted closer so they could look down at me. "Hmm." They said, in no apparent context.
I leaned away instinctively, almost backing into one of the Wither skeletons escorting us to wherever. It clanked disagreeably and prodded me in the back with a stone sword, fortunately not hard enough to break skin.
I wrinkled my nose at it and glanced over to Horus.
To nobody's surprise, there was a no-go zone of one meter radius around him in the three block wide tunnel. The Wither skeletons nearby squeezed up against each other like a crowd of tourists around a lion pen with a two meter high fence that just witnessed the said lion clearing a three meter high rock with ease. Even the Wither respectably kept their distance.
The Wither must have noticed my expression. "Ah. We try not to aggravate Him. The consequences are rather hard to clean up. We couldn't get the bone dust out of the brickwork after last time." One of the Wither's smaller heads tried to shrink back into their shoulder, teeth clattering in what could have been fear.
"Oh. Er, why?" I said intelligently.
A smaller head rotated around to stare at me, and proceeded to hiss animatedly. "There was an incident in the Overworld concerning a certain amount of impudent Mobs and a castle ambush." The Wither answered, ignoring the recalcitrant head seemingly trying to pop off their shoulders and run very, very far away. "He was slightly irritated, and a certain group of rash and rebellious individuals attempted to follow the example set by their Overworld cousins..."
"Oh no." I said with sympathy. I had a feeling I knew what was coming next.
"'Oh no' is certainly correct." The Wither agreed dryly. "We had to dig for a week to recover their remains, not to speak of the size of the crater. In our language, we call Him - " Here they made a series of clanks and hisses. "- It means 'Go-around-the-other-side-of-the-lava-lake'. Though sometimes it sounds a bit different, of course. We have fifty words for lava."
"Okay." I nodded. "And a hundred words for 'kill them'?" I immediately covered my mouth and hoped I wasn't about to go-through-the-other-side-of-the-lava-lake.
The Wither gave me a strange look. "How did you know? Is this the 'precognition' you humans speak of? How - Never mind. We have arrived."
In front of us, mounted on a pedestal, was a frame made out of magma blocks, not unlike the frame of a Nether portal. The only difference being the magma blocks instead of the obsidian, and the empty air where the swirling purple light should be.
"What's that?" I asked.
Horus stepped up to the frame. "This, Steve," He said without turning around. "Is something that only three humans in the entire history of the universe has seen, one of them being you. And I'd like to keep that number the way it is, so if word about this threatens to get out, it may very well find itself without a throat to go through. You see, there is something that even I have to protect."
I have mixed feelings about this...
You see, the Arcopolis has actually made its way into my fantasy world map, so I don't know whether I should put it here, even though it was designed for this story in the first place.
Ah well. It's not very important.