Chapter 4 #2
Reina nodded, waving the group of new Converts to follow her as she turned toward the door once more. She reached out and rapped a knuckle on the wooden surface, and the door swung inward, once again displaying the inky darkness.
“Step lively now,” she spoke to the group as they filed through the door one at a time. Reina was the last to step in, shutting the door behind her.
The café’s basement had fallen silent then, and I realized that we were the only ones left other than the man in the porcelain mask. He didn’t move from his position as he watched us, gloved hands tucked behind his back.
“You have questions,” he said, his voice just as charming as he’d been in front of the crowd. “I can see it plainly on your faces. Don’t be afraid. You need only ask them.”
I stepped forward, leveling my gaze at him. “Where did you take Malachi?”
“Your friend is perfectly safe and waiting for me to help ease the malady that befell him during his last visit with us. I’m so grateful he was able to return. The last I heard, he was being held captive in the halls of the Cradle. I suppose that you two are to thank for that?”
Cirian stepped forward then. “And where would you have heard that, if I might ask?”
The Sleeper laughed, his head angling back as he did. “You of all people should know how gossip travels through those stone halls, Acolyte. But that’s not important right now, is it? You’re here because the Saint asked you to come. Tell me, was she too frightened to attend herself?”
Sparks shot from the ends of Cirian’s fingers. “You wouldn’t be laughing if she had.”
“No, I suppose not. It’s been too long since Sancha and I have had a chance to catch up. Sainthood has worn on her sensibilities, I fear. Though I do hear that her miracle was something to behold.”
He knew Sancha? Did that mean that she knew his identity as well? Had she baited us here knowing full well the strength of this man?
“Drop the act,” Cirian demanded, the air around him crackling with electricity. “Who are you, really?”
“Were you not listening, boy? I’m he who slumbers. The first to receive the Source’s blessing. Usurper to the Magi-King’s throne.”
“That’s a load of bollocks,” Cirian sneered. “You may have these Mortals fooled, but we both know that you’re lying.”
“Am I now?” the Sleeper questioned, stepping closer to the two of us.
“Are you arrogant enough to ignore what’s been put in front of you, Acolyte?
Or perhaps that’s the bitter tinge of jealousy I hear in your voice.
Does the Source speak to you, boy? Does it whisper in your ears whilst you dream?
Does it promise you adoration and glory if you merely obey? ”
“Do not speak as if you know it,” spat Cirian.
Another laugh from the Sleeper. “Know it? I was there at the beginning, Acolyte. I felt its presence rend a gaping hole in our world. Felt the tendrils of its influence fill my veins with molten power. There were others before me. Those who burned to ashes at the sight of the Source’s light.
Not me. I was strong. I was precisely what it sought.
Someone capable of carrying the light where it could not go on its own.
So do not speak to me of knowing the Source, for to know it is to know the very blood in my veins. ”
“Then prove yourself,” Cirian rebutted, advancing on the man. “Show me that you are not a falsehood, and maybe then will I believe your heresy—”
“Enough,” I interrupted, stepping forward and pulling Cirian’s shoulder to force him back to my side.
“Whether you are who you say you are matters little. You’ve managed well enough to convince these Converts.
But we are not Mortals, so we have no interest in joining with your delusions of grandeur. ”
The Sleeper cocked his head to the side, the blank recesses of the porcelain mask staring at me with a weight that scuttled across my skin.
“You’re an interesting one,” the Sleeper said, his voice soft enough that I could barely make out the words.
“Malachi returns with us,” I continued, squaring my shoulders and doing my best to keep my voice level. “So, do whatever you must to retrieve him, and we’ll take our leave.”
The Sleeper laughed once more.
Cirian squirmed at my side, his gaze trained on the masked man. I wondered what he thought of my attempt to seize the reins. It was the kind of action he would have taken if he hadn’t been so caught up in his emotions.
“Of course,” said the Sleeper, his voice still thick with amusement. “But before I retrieve the boy, was there not another reason for your presence here tonight?”
My pulse spiked, a chip appearing in my own mask of bravado.
“I know why you’re here. You seek answers. Solutions to a dire situation with someone you hold close. You’re desperate. I can smell it on you.”
He was bluffing. There were only a handful of individuals that we’d trusted with information regarding Tobias and his sister’s condition. This man was a charlatan. A good one. Tonight’s performance proved that. Still, I needed to confirm what he knew.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” I replied, exhaling a steady breath. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Come now, Seeker. Falsehoods taste strange on your tongue, do they not? The Acolyte is far more practiced in deception. He spews lies as if they were songs, dancing from his lips in a manner most saccharine.”
Cirian stepped forward once again, the air around him crackling with cerulean electricity. I caught him by the sleeve, keeping him from advancing further.
The Sleeper wagged a finger at us. “Such a temper, Acolyte. That is not befitting of a man of your status.”
“Allow me to show you exactly what a man of my status is capable of,” Cirian seethed, pulling against my grip.
“Patience, Acolyte. You will get the chance to prove yourself soon enough. As for now, let me play the role of gracious host and offer you the assistance that you seek.”
The man snapped his fingers, a sheet of parchment appearing in his hand with a shower of red sparks.
“You want to wake those who dream,” the Sleeper continued, taking the parchment and rolling it between his fingers till it resembled a thin scroll.
“This is not an easy task. The Source exacts a heavy toll on any who channel its power. Trust me, I speak from experience. Recovery may come naturally after many centuries of rest. But if you wish to wake them sooner, then you’ll need to follow these instructions to the letter.
They are the very instructions of Vanena herself. ”
He held out the scroll of parchment to me, but I didn’t move to take it.
“Why offer this to us?”
“Because I know the faces of those who have lost the ones they love,” he answered plainly. “And behind all the bravado and arrogance, I see two broken souls desperate for reunion. I have the knowledge you want, Seeker. Take it. Use it.”
“What do you want in return?” I asked, waiting for the price to come.
“You’ve already paid it,” the Sleeper said, flicking his wrist to toss the parchment at me. I caught it with ease, the paper crinkling under my grip. “You helped bring about the Second Awakening. That means I’ll be forever in your debt. You’ve given the world a wonderful gift.”
Cirian and I remained silent, neither of us corroborating the claims. How could this Sleeper possibly know what happened with Tobias?
The Sleeper moved then, heading toward the corner where the flat door waited. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and fetch our dear friend. Please make yourselves comfortable in the meantime. It won’t take long. Ah, and Seeker?”
He paused by the door, training his featureless stare on me.
“Yes?”
“That last step requires a spell from a compendium locked deep in the Cradle’s vaults. I think you’ll find great interest in it. Perhaps your friendly acolyte companion could help procure it for you?”
Cirian snorted a baleful laugh.
“Back in a flash.”
The door closed behind the Seeker, leaving the two of us percolating in an eerie silence.
“I don’t trust a single word coming out of his mouth,” Cirian said eventually, turning to face me.
“I’m skeptical as well,” I agreed, unfurling the sheet of parchment and holding it up to the light. “But what if he’s telling the truth?”
Written in antiquated hand, the parchment was lined with a complex array of instructions.
I scanned the lines thrice before I finally was able to absorb the writing.
It was a list of potions, tinctures, and concoctions to be administered in succession.
Some I was familiar with, while others sounded like something from a fictitious romp.
“What does it say?” Cirian asked.
“It’s instructions,” I answered, turning the parchment over to make sure I wasn’t overlooking anything.
“Give it here,” demanded Cirian.
I handed over the parchment, my mind preoccupied as I mulled over the details. Was this Sleeper really so keen to help us without reward? I’d been devoid of hope for so long, even a chance as long as this brought a spark.
“This is pure lunacy,” he muttered, his dark eyes scanning the parchment with fervor. “You can’t honestly believe any of this is going to help Tobias.”
“I’ve been met with blockade after blockade, Cirian. I’m out of ideas. If this Sleeper is what he says he is, then maybe there’s a chance this works.”
“And maybe he wants us distracted while he creates an army of newly-magical soldiers to do his bidding. What about that?”
“We haven’t heard a single call for violence,” I reminded him. “I think your emotions have clouded your better judgment. You think just because this man claims to have a deeper connection to the Source, that it negates your own.”
Cirian crumpled the paper and flung it at me, the wadded parchment striking me in the chest before falling to the floor. “No call for violence? How do you explain what’s happened to Sancha’s guard? Or Malachi?”