Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Tristen
Idon’t realize I’m running my tongue over my fangs until they slice it. Shoot!
Leave.
Run to Titus and drag him here, or better yet, force him away from this mission.
“Sit that pompous ass down. I’m sure you’ve let filthier things touch you,” he huffs. “Oh, but wait, before you do, be a good lad and get me the aged bottle of human whiskey there.” He points to the trunk.
I fall into the role of callboy. He’s lucky I don’t smash this thing over his wrinkly head.
“I’ll stand,” I bite out as I lean against the wall.
He mutters under his breath, too low for me to hear.
“Tell me,” I press. Smelling all this mold is making me dizzy.
“Do not,” he says, lifting the bottle like a dagger, “intervene again. Do as you’re told.” He takes a swig from the bottle.
“I’ve seen swines swallow with more grace,” I grumble. “Why is Caldara so important?”
“It’s a cursed place I wish we could forget, but evil seeks evil.”
“Everett wanted my brother to find this place. Titus isn’t evil,” I point out.
His eyes look longingly into the bottle. “Not Titus.”
“Selene, then?”
He rolls his eyes and releases a fed-up huff. “You need not find Caldara, boy. You’re already here. You seek the wrong questions. The night grows late. Let me tell you the story I was told as a boy, the same story Everett asked me to tell him.”
He kicks his feet out and leans back in the chair. “Long ago—”
“Shouldn’t you start with ‘Once upon a time’?” I cut off, raising a brow.
He rubs his temples. “It’s rude to interrupt your elders.”
“You’re well past elder age,” I jab.
He levels me with a glare. “Do you wish for me to continue?”
“Yes, fine.” I cross my arms loosely and let one of my shoulders rest against the wall.
“It’s not ‘once upon a time’ because the story was never finished.
So, I’ll say it again: long ago, a war between what you call the gods and the creatures they call elves revealed a terrible truth.
The gods were no longer immortal. Since the elvish army was larger, the gods withdrew and then reformed. ”
I tap my boot on the floor with an impatient beat. “They don’t sound like gods to me.”
“Ignorant,” he grumbles, running his hand down his face. “Wise creatures take refuge when the storm is too strong. Fools stand out in the open. The gods had no other option. You’d do the same.”
“I’d rather fight till the end, but whatever,” I shrug, waving a dismissive hand.
“That’s a hero’s story, boy, but what if only the enemy survived to tell your tale? I doubt they would write you as a hero who fought to the end.”
I hate to admit it, but… “Point made. I stand corrected. So, these gods and whatever the heck an elf is are at war; the gods run. Then what?”
“Like you, gods seek vengeance.”
“I seek justice.” Freedom for my brother, a life away from Selene’s fucked-up family.
“Some say it is the same,” he counters. “They came here to build an army, but humans were like paper; they could hold great wonders written within their pages, but they were so fragile. The gods needed to create something stronger. They infused their power into the humans, and over the centuries, you were born.”
“Me?” I push my spine into the icy wall. “You’re suggesting I’m the descendant of a god.”
“You?” He tips his head back and chuckles. “No.” He slaps his knee. “You’re like a mangy mutt compared to a demigod. You have a god’s magic, not their blood.”
“What’s the difference?” I bark.
“Meet a demigod on the battlefield and find out.”
“Demigods aren’t real. They’re myths.”
His laughter dies. “You’re in for a rude awakening. Myths are like dried flowers pressed between old pages. But a flower came from a seed, boy. Hands plant seeds. There is truth in every myth.”
He pats his thigh. “As I was saying, wars between the new creatures and the humans grew vastly. So in secret, two of the gods tried to correct their mistake. They created a new creature; they didn’t know this, but things forged with love are no less deserving of being called a child.
“One created a book with endless pages, but it was the other god who altered the book; she took a piece of her magic and fused it into the book, then she forged the first rune.”
“The Vitalis,” I declare. The book that will free my brother from Everett’s magic.
“Wow, he knows some history. Color me surprised.”
“I was told runes are nothing more than mage magic.”
“Lies spread faster than truths. Unfortunately, people believe them quickly. Here I am, telling you the facts, yet you narrow your eyes at me like I’m the delusional one.”
“Color me skeptical.”
“Spread your legs and accept it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not my type.” He smirks.
I prop my foot against the wall and glare at him through my thick lashes. Is that steam coming out of my ears? It feels like it. “So anything drawn in the Vitalis has magic?” I retort.
“It’s not a book for toddlers. If you scribble down letters, you can call it a name, but a name is not defined until it is earned.
To function, a rune requires nurturing, much like a child.
One must have a clean mind; they have to think of many circumstances, time limits, magic limitations, and how the magic will react.
It’s like making a feast rather than a simple sandwich.
“Then, and only then, once the pages are satisfied, will the rune remain on the page. After that, the rune can be copied onto flesh, and through magic, the rune will work as the artist intended.”
“So far-fetched,” I mutter.
“So is the fact that you have survived countless wars yet are so clueless.”
I tip my chin up. Does he want me to end him? This way, his secrets die before they reach my ears.
I’ve got news for you, old man; that old crusty heart will keep beating until I say so, and that sharp, bitter tongue will keep talking.
“Think of the runes like a virus,” he continues. “They enter your body and change it. But instead of fevers and aches, you get magic. Eventually, your body returns to normal, and the rune disappears.”
“So they have to be inked onto the skin?” I clarify.
“Ink is preferable, but some used to be tattooed and burned in. Just as your magic needs to be recharged, the runes do as well. The tattoo remained, but the rune would rest until it charged and reactivated itself. Tattoo runes can be dangerous. I would proceed with caution. You can wear less complex runes, like simple shields, as pendants or carve them into walls. They activate only when threatened. They could withstand many blows until the rune deactivated.”
“What happened to the book?” I need to find it to free my brother.
“Eventually, the gods returned with their army, but they left the book behind. It presented too much danger should the elves obtain it.”
“Now they sound more like the gods I know.”
“Why is that?” His interest sounds genuine for once.
“Because leaving a book so powerful is cruel. We kill for land that has dead soil. Imagine what we’d do for a book of power.”
His eyes drop. Is that guilt heavy on his brow?
“Taking it away would have been crueler.” He licks his dry, cracked lips. “Sometimes we try to do a good deed, but it results in a terrible one instead. Interpretations are like options; opinions are like taste. We all seek different ones, digest them differently.”
“That’s not an answer.” He speaks in so many riddles, it makes my head hurt.
“We will always fight over silly things, boy. Caging people won’t change that, nor will stripping them of their freedoms. One must allow everyone liberty, even if that liberty involves initiating conflicts. It’s a balance,” he replies in a solemn tone.
“What happened to the book, old man?” I press.
He answers me without a fight. “A man named Torin tried to fix the balance. He lived in a time when runes were abused. He thought his actions were heroic.”
Why does it sound like you were there?
“You never told me your name?” I say warily.
“I am not him.” He grunts and continues, “Torin stole the Vitalis in the hopes that one day he could destroy it. It was born of two gods. Only one thing is known to have killed a god.” He looks down at his hands and tries to flex them.
“When the gods returned to their world, they left the God Swords here. Torin happened to have that in his possession as well.”
“Wait… if Torin used this sword to kill the book, then…” That means Titus will never be free. “I don’t understand.”
“A God Sword can kill a god, but this book is different. The god who made it did not realize that some of the materials he used were not of this land.”
“What land were they from?”
He looks to the corner of the room, gazes deep, as one does at a night sky. “You know… I don’t recall the name anymore, but I still remember the heat of the rising suns.” He smirks. Is he going to cry?
“Suns?” We have only one sun. This man makes no sense.
His hand shoots up faster than I thought it could, covering his mouth as he scrambles to filter his words. “That detail isn’t important to this story. All you need to know is that he was given material to help him make the book. He simply desired to see her smile again.”
“Who gave him the material?”
“How should I know?” he grumbles as he looks down.
Liar.
“It’s important to your story, isn’t it?” I acknowledge. He looks at me with respect for the first time.
“Indeed.” His eyes snap to mine. “Back to Torin. He tried to stab the book, but the cover was like an impenetrable skin. However, if he pulled back the cover, he could cut the pages free.”
“So all that’s left of the Vitalis is just a front and back cover?”