The Warlock's Curse (The Syrane Chronicles Book 4), page 19
“I thought I felt a connection between Duncan and your divine presence,” Derek admitted. “He would speak of moments of clarity, as if a guiding hand was directing his path. The gods that remain, Khor, Dian; all advised their priesthoods to help Duncan should an opportunity arise. It warms my heart to know that you were the one who provided him solace and direction.”
Camulus’ eyes sparkled.
“Duncan Hawkwind is a soul touched by fate, destined to be a catalyst for change,” he remarked. “Our encounters, however brief, served a purpose beyond the confines of this periphery. It is a demonstration of the interconnectedness of our realms and the impact that even the smallest interactions can have.” Camulus nodded, a faint smile forming on his lips.
“Through the ethereal currents that traverse the boundaries of existence, I forged a connection with Duncan’s spirit,” he explained. “Visions and whispers became the conduits of our communication, bridging the gap between the periphery and the world.”
“What did you convey to him? How did you guide him?” Derek pressed, eager to uncover the depths of their connection.
“In his moments of uncertainty, I provided him with glimpses of clarity and inspiration,” Camulus said. “From within the periphery, I imparted wisdom, shared fragments of forgotten knowledge, and stirred the embers of his inner strength. Together, we forged a bond that transcended the confines of our respective realms.”
Derek couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude toward Camulus for the impact he had made on his friend’s life.
Camulus’ expression softened, a flicker of melancholy passing through his ethereal features.
“Duncan sensed a presence, an otherworldly influence guiding him,” he said. “While he may not have known it was I who spoke to his spirit, he recognised the divine hand at work. Our connection sometimes served as a beacon of hope in his darkest moments.” He frowned suddenly. “Yet there were other times when I could not reach him. He was beyond my reach.”
Derek couldn’t shake off his puzzlement. The knowledge that Camulus, the fallen god trapped within the periphery, had somehow interacted with the real world outside, defied all rational understanding. He mustered the courage to voice his doubts.
“Camulus, I am filled, ah … with wonder and confusion,” Derek said. “How is it possible that you, confined within the periphery, could reach out and influence the realm beyond? My understanding tells me that such a connection should be impossible. Can you shed light on this?”
Camulus regarded Derek with an understanding gaze, his ethereal presence exuding ancient wisdom. He spoke, his voice carried a weight that transcended mortal comprehension.
“Derek, your disbelief is justified,” Camulus said. “Indeed, the periphery isolates and separates, its boundaries designed to contain the essence of those trapped within. Yet, the ethereal currents that flow between realms can be both mysterious and unpredictable.”
Derek’s brow furrowed, his curiosity deepening.
“Are you suggesting that there are forces beyond our understanding at work? Forces that allowed your influence to transcend the periphery’s confines?” he asked.
Camulus nodded.
“Indeed, Derek,” he said. “The workings of the ethereal currents are beyond mortal comprehension. The barriers can waver and create a connection at the intersections of these currents.” He smiled. “Similar to how the convergence of the alignment lines grants a mage of significant prowess the ability to guide a portal. So too does it afford individuals of my nature the opportunity to dabble.”
Derek’s uncertainty yielded to a glimmer of understanding.
“So, you seized upon these fleeting moments of connection to reach out and influence the real world,” Derek said. “But how did you know when these opportunities would arise? How did you navigate this vast expanse of possibility?”
A hint of melancholy passed through Camulus’ eyes as he contemplated the question.
“It was not through conscious calculation or precise foresight, Derek,” he confessed. “Rather, it was a delicate balancing act between timing, intention, and the connection that existed between the relic, Duncan, and myself. In moments of alignment, the currents resonated, allowing a temporary glimpse into the realm beyond.”
“Is that why you could perceive him? Khor could not, nor Dian or the other gods still present in Syrane.”
“Yes Derek, I could, simply because I now exist in the periphery.” Camulus’ gaze softened. “Derek, it is through these connections, however transient, that we inspire hope and challenge the boundaries of our existence,” he replied.
In that moment, Derek’s doubt transformed. The old gods could perceive Duncan because they were in the periphery!
They paused and sat. Derek could not be sure why. Perhaps Camulus needed a rest? He himself was not tired from walking. Perhaps the god also grew as bored as he with the unending grey nothingness they moved amongst.
“I could interact in a more physical sense, you know,” Camulus said. Eager to hear the details, Derek urged Camulus to continue.
“I sought to connect with him once again. By taking on a humble guise, a simple illusion of a man. I donned a simple homespun tunic, breeches, and a floppy hat upon my head.” Derek stood in rapt attention as Camulus recounted his interaction with Duncan. “I found Duncan in a tavern called The Grinning Corpse Inn,” Camulus said, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief. “It was a place humming with lively conversations and the clinking of tankards. I posed as the man who ran the shell game, enticing onlookers to test their luck and discern the location of a hidden pea.”
Derek’s imagination painted a vivid picture of the scene - a dimly lit tavern, the sound of raucous laughter, and the sight of a nondescript man with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, coaxing unsuspecting patrons into playing the game. The notion of the fallen god appearing as a simple gamesman intrigued him. He envisioned the transformation of the once-mighty warrior god into a humble shell game operator. He could almost see the broken, blackened teeth forming a smile beneath the floppy hat.
“When Duncan approached the table, his eyes alighted with curiosity and a spark of recognition,” he recalled, fondness clear in his voice. “Though he did not know me as Camulus, he sensed a familiar presence, a connection that transcended the confines of our mortal forms.”
Derek leaned in closer, captivated by the unfolding story.
“And how did you interact with Duncan during the game?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
Camulus chuckled softly, reminiscing about the encounter.
“I guided Duncan subtly, moving the three identical, upside-down shells across the table,” he said. “Though my touch was imperceptible, my influence redirected the flow of chance. Duncan, caught in the web of my manipulation, followed his instincts, and he uncovered the hidden pea.”
“The beauty,” Camulus said, “was Duncan’s newfound confidence, feeling supported. Though unaware of my true identity, he found comfort knowing that someone, something beyond his understanding, was watching over him.”
Derek’s heart swelled with a newfound appreciation for how Camulus had reached out to his friend, even in the humble guise of a shell game operator. The story revealed their deep connection and Camulus’ willingness to offer help and support.
“In that moment,” Derek murmured, “Duncan felt the touch of a divine hand guiding his path, even if he did not fully comprehend its true nature. Your presence, Camulus, provided him with the strength to navigate the challenges he faced.”
Camulus nodded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his ethereal features.
“Indeed, Derek. It is through these threads of connection, woven in the most unexpected ways, that we shape destinies and inspire greatness. Duncan may not have recognised me for who I truly am, but his spirit sensed the bond we shared.”
Derek sat back, his mind swirling with the story of Duncan’s encounter with Camulus in the guise of the shell game operator. The tale renewed his sense of wonder and appreciation for divine intervention in mortal lives.
“But why Duncan?” Derek asked. “He proved to be an extraordinary man, but when we first found him, he was an ordinary man. An outsider, and a large fellow, but not too remarkable.”
As Derek sat in anticipation, Camulus took a moment to collect his thoughts, reflecting upon the motivations that had driven him to aid Duncan Hawkwind in his time of need. He recounted the tale.
“Duncan Hawkwind, indeed a brave and noble soul,” Camulus said. “He found himself caught in the outlook of Mergoth, god of corruption, assassins, and thieves. Mergoth, an ancient enemy of mine, had long sought to sow chaos and discord within the realms.”
Derek’s eyes widened as he listened, connecting the pieces of the puzzle. The enmity between Camulus and Mergoth, and the danger that befell Duncan as a result, took shape in his mind.
“I have long held a vendetta against Mergoth, his dark influence tarnishing the purity of justice and honour,” Camulus said. “When I sensed his intentions converging upon Duncan, I knew I had to intervene. I could not stand idly by while Mergoth’s darkness threatened the life of one who embodied the values I once held dear.”
Derek’s admiration for Camulus deepened as he comprehended the weight of the fallen god’s purpose. The divine warrior had taken it upon himself to thwart Mergoth’s machinations, standing as a bulwark against the encroaching shadow.
“So, in aiding Duncan, I sought to undermine Mergoth’s plans at every turn,” Camulus said. “Through subtle guidance and whispered inspiration, I aimed to fortify Duncan’s spirit and bolster his resolve in the face of adversity. It was a battle fought with conviction and righteousness, not swords and armour.”
Derek couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for Camulus’ unwavering dedication to safeguarding Duncan from the clutches of darkness.
“With every step Duncan took, I aimed to thwart Mergoth’s influence, to steer him away from the path of corruption and despair,” Camulus said. “Though the periphery may have confined me, it did not extinguish the fire that burned within my spirit. A fire that yearned to quell the wickedness that Mergoth embodies.”
Derek nodded, his respect for Camulus deepening with each word spoken.
“In Duncan, I saw the potential for heroism and the strength to resist the temptations of darkness,” Camulus said. “My help was not just for his sake alone, but for the preservation of the noble virtues that Mergoth’s malevolence had tarnished. I sought to guide him towards a brighter path and to remind him of the virtues he held within his heart.”
“Recall my mention of the ethereal currents?” Camulus said. “It was through these unseen energies that Mergoth wielded influence. He coaxed the young woman to brush against his altar, reigniting the unholy essence within his temple, and securing passage back into the realm of the living.”
Derek stood in stunned silence, his mind grappling with the weight of the revelation. Yet, deep down, a nagging intuition reminded him that such a sinister act might have been a deliberate orchestration all along. Derek had sensed the truth. However, when Camulus voiced it aloud, the stark reality of Mergoth’s deliberate malevolence hit home with an undeniable force.
18. The journey to damnation.
Gamnus and Carg ventured deeper into the heart of the Demonpeaks, where the landscape grew increasingly treacherous. Towering, jagged peaks loomed overhead, their grey stone surfaces weathered by centuries of harsh winds and icy rains. The narrow mountain trails were rocky and uneven, making each step a potential hazard.
As they ascended, the air grew thin and biting; the altitude challenging their endurance. Their surroundings were a fusion of stark beauty and foreboding, with occasional snowfields, stunted alpine trees, and sheer cliffs dropping into shadowy abysses. The distant cry of unseen birds and the occasional gusts of chilly wind were the only breaks in the oppressive silence of the peaks.
Gamnus, his breath visible in the frigid mountain air, couldn’t resist a wry comment to lighten the mood.
“Carg, you know, I always thought a cosy inn with a hearty stew was the perfect respite. But who am I to argue with the rugged beauty of these fine Demonpeaks? Remind me to sing their praises in an epic ballad, will you?”
“You can’t sing for shit,” Carg spluttered.
“And you think that should stop me?” Gamnus smirked. Carg shook his head and continued to trudge. Gamnus also took another step, stumbled over a loose rock and steadied himself against an outcropping.
“Carg, it’s like these peaks have a personal vendetta against anyone trying to cross them. I swear, the Demonpeaks are the only place where the rocks actively conspire to trip you up!” he grumbled. “But what’s an adventure without a few bruised shins and sore muscles, eh?”
Carg said nothing. Night approached, and with it, the temperatures would again drop well below freezing once more.
As the pair pressed on through the rugged terrain, Carg turned back to Gamnus and spoke loudly to be heard over the wind.
“Gamnus,” he said. His words carried a hint of exhaustion. “The village should be not too far ahead. With any luck, we’ll find shelter there for the night.”
Gamnus, his spirits lifted by the prospect of rest, couldn’t help but muster a wry grin.
“Well, my friend,” he replied with a chuckle, “let’s hope this isn’t another one of your legendary stories. My feet could use a break.”
“Legendary stories?” Carg queried.
“Yes, like Aunt Agatha’s cooking,” Gamnus said with a grin.
“That was your story,” Carg growled.
“Are you sure?” Gamnus asked. He doubted Carg could see the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Yes.” Carg replied. Gamnus didn’t remind Carg of his annoying habit of not explaining himself.
“Your krompir is getting cold,” Gamnus smirked to himself.
With that, they continued their journey, their eyes set on the distant promise of respite.
###
Gwidion’s journey began at the crack of dawn, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, casting a warm golden hue on the forest. With a small satchel slung over his shoulder, Gwidion navigated through dense forests and followed the winding trails that twisted their way into the mountains.
He travelled south and avoided major settlements. Gwidion only drew near under the cover of darkness. He still bore the marks of the warlock’s curse: horn-like spines that bulged under the surface of his skin marked his smooth hairless head, and the mystical tattoos writhed eerily across his skin. All he approached for food and shelter shunned him, but thanks to his use of magic, none refused him.
His path followed the north face of the Garon Mountains that wound through the Ochre Forest, and took him south and west until he finally reached the Demonpeaks.
The terrain grew increasingly challenging as he ascended higher into the peaks. Loose gravel and rocky outcroppings demanded his full attention, while the thin air at higher altitudes left him breathless.
After weeks of tireless trekking, Gwidion found the first item on his list. One evening, as the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape, Gwidion finally spotted a glimmer. A small, glassy stone with a hole through its centre. It lay nestled among the roots of a hardy mountain shrub, partially concealed by the unforgiving terrain.
With cautious excitement, Gwidion approached the stone and gently retrieved it from its hiding place. The adder stone was cool to the touch, its surface polished by the passage of time. It felt like a rare treasure in his grasp. Satisfied with his discovery, Gwidion carefully stowed the adder stone in his satchel.
With the adder stone safely secured, Gwidion took a moment to consult his well-worn map. Treacherous mountains filled the landscape. Small, isolated villages clung to the rugged terrain like hardy weeds. As his gaze scanned the map, he noticed a nearby village marked by a simple representation - a cluster of cottages nestled in a valley.
With newfound determination, Gwidion adjusted his satchel and set off toward the village. The terrain continued to be unforgiving, forcing him to navigate steep slopes and rocky pathways. Yet, fuelled by the knowledge that he was one step closer to solving the enigma of the book’s whereabouts, he pressed on.
As Gwidion approached the rustic mountain village nestled among the Demonpeak Mountains, he pondered the likelihood of the villagers possessing knowledge of the ogres that prowled these rugged lands.
Surely these village inhabitants will know if ogres’ lair nearby.
The demon’s presence, though unsettling, had become a constant companion on this perilous journey. Zastrokas’ presence flickered within Gwidion’s mind, like a distant ember in the dark, shared in his musings.
“Zastrokas,” Gwidion said, “I wonder if anyone in this village might have information about the ogres. Perhaps someone here has encountered them or knows of their lairs.”
The demon’s presence responded with caution.
“Villagers often keep their distance from the ogres, and rightfully so. Ogres are notorious for their aggression and territoriality. They’re unlikely to reveal their secrets to outsiders. But there’s always the chance that a passing traveller or adventurer might have crossed paths with them.”
Gwidion acknowledged Zastrokas’ point. Ogres were indeed formidable adversaries, and few would willingly venture near their lairs. However, hope remained that someone among the villagers had gleaned even the slightest hint of the ogres’ movements.
As the last remnants of daylight faded behind the imposing peaks, Gwidion entered Knavesmire Gully. The village had a rustic charm, nestled under the towering mountain spires.
Its architecture bore the mark of ages gone by, with sturdy stone buildings that appeared to have grown from the very bedrock of the mountains themselves. The dim glow of lanterns and torches cast warm, flickering light onto cobbled streets and narrow alleys. Wooden shutters, painted in faded earthy tones, adorned the windows of the homes that lined the cobblestone streets.
