Epilogue
They found the hidden room under a pile of dirt and burned out timber; the remains of the home where Aren and Kaelyn Rast had once lived. It had taken almost a month of searching, first to find the lost village of Addletown, and then to locate the proper house. Plenty of sweat had been shed over the tasks of digging, lifting, and sweeping wood, leaves, ash, and earth.
"Are you sure this is it?" Eryn asked. She stood next to Silas, joining him in looking down on the solid block of stone.
"It must be," Silas said. "Only a Cursed could move this door."
He smiled at the statement. In the end, his son had outsmarted them all. They had given him the Curse, the sickness, in order to get rid of his thorn in their sides and keep their General loyal. In the end, Aren had used it both to protect the secrets he held most dear, and to stick them with an even bigger thorn. He would have made a fine General in his own right.
"My back is killing me," Robar said, sitting on the grass behind them with his wife.
"Be quiet," Sena said.
"Can you move it?" Silas asked.
Ever since she had woken from the drain and fever caused by pushing the Curse, her power, so hard, Eryn had seemed to gain a measure of greater control over it. Not only had she remembered the effects of her last use, the 'distortion field' as the Overlord had named it, but since then she had been able to bring small amounts of the power forth almost without thinking.
Eryn nodded. She closed her eyes and spread her hands with her palms facing up.
"Leva," she said.
The huge block of stone rattled, and then shifted, lifting out of its place and coming to rest on the ground. The movement revealed a ladder down into the darkness.
It had been nearly three months since Silas and Eryn had defeated the Overlord. The summer of discontent had moved into autumn, and the city of Elling stood as a bastion of hope for the rest of the Empire, as a city where Cursed and their families could come and be safe from his reach.
It hadn't come without cost. The relative peace had been preceded by two bloody months of fighting; first against the soldiers and loyalists living in Elling, and then against additional forces that had been ordered to the region.
Based on skill alone, it might have been a slaughter, but he had lost a General, while the rebels had gained one. They also had overwhelming numbers on their side, with more able-bodied men and women finding their way to Elling every day.
Silas' simple act of defiance had been a spark on fine tinder, lighting a flame left smoldering for years. The victory in Elling had given their part of the Empire something it hadn't had in a long time - hope. Word would spread of his defeat, and the nascent rebellions throughout the Empire would only grow larger and more bold, and perhaps, just perhaps, in time they would keep him too busy to send an army to Elling that was large enough to crush it, instead spreading his forces thin enough that victory might somehow be possible.
That was Silas' hope, and he held onto it, for he knew the days of darkness in his empire would not be so easily vanished. For one thing, there was the Curse, a disease that Aren had said would kill most of those who had it within a few years' time. A disease that he knew how to cure, or at least hold at bay. Iolis had been Cursed for fourteen years or more. Not only had he not succumbed to it, but Constable Penticott had been right; the Mediator's body seemed as young as it had been in Silas' memory.
He glanced over at Eryn, who had walked over to the ladder and held out her hand.
"Ignus," she said.
A small ball of bright white light appeared in her palm, and she turned it over and let it go. She watched it float down into the darkness, bringing light to Aren's secrets.
Eryn wasn't immune to the effects of the Curse. She would die along with any other who had or would develop the disease if they didn't find him, or at least his cure. That was more than enough reason for Silas to seek him, but he also had the promise he had made to the people of Elling.
It would be no easy task, for there was no one, not even his Overlords, or his Generals, who knew where he was. Their commands were delivered to them through large, round, black stones placed in the high towers of the provincial capital palaces, and were passed into the field either by messenger, or through the use of the strange ircidium discs. Silas had hoped capturing the palace would allow them to eavesdrop on his communications, but the stone they had found in the eastern tower had crumbled within a week of the Overlord's death.
"Come on, old man," Eryn said. She stood at the top of the ladder, her legs already on the top rungs.
Silas walked over, and they climbed down, one after the other. He hadn't known what to expect when he reached the bottom. Nothing could have prepared him for what he found.
The room was long and narrow, with just enough space for a single person to walk down the center between a matched pair of wooden counters that rested against each side of the room. On the left counter, a number of glass vials rested in racks, with many of the vials containing dark red liquid beneath cork stoppers. Silas was sure it was blood.
Next to the vials sat an odd contraption that Silas didn't recognize or understand. It was made of wood and metal and glass, with two tubes that faced downward, spaced apart as though they were meant to be looked through. A raised tray rested in the center, on which sat another piece of glass with a drop of blood smeared onto it.
On the opposite counter were three books, all laying closed, a quill, and a dried up inkwell, along with rows of colored stones, each with a label underneath.
Floating above them was the small, bright ball of light, the light that Eryn had created.
"I don't understand any of this," Silas said.
Eryn put her hand to the book closest to the quill, and opened the cover. Inside rested a few loose sheets of paper. She glanced at them, and then held them out.
Silas took them from her, and began to read.
Father,
I write this letter with the greatest hope that you will one day hold it in your hands, read these words I have written, and understand why events have unfolded the way they have. There is so much I would like to say, so much I wish I could have said, but I fear my time is short.
There are three books in this room. The first, closest to the quill, is my translation of the ancient language to our own, so that when you come across this writing that predates his Empire, you will be able to read it. There are truths within this language that he wants none to see, and he has gone as far as to send special soldiers out to find any and all such texts.
The second is an ancient text I stole from the furnace in the Elling library, describing methods of science that predate the Empire, and referencing an amazing tool which allows you to look very closely at things that are invisible to our eyes. I have reconstructed such a tool based on the principles described, though I fear it is a poor facsimile. Even so, it has allowed me to confirm my suspicions.
The third is a journal of the research I have done to determine the exact nature of the Curse, which I will briefly outline here.
My studies have shown that what makes up the Curse is a living thing, a creature of some kind that survives in our blood, thriving on those very things which bring us life. Through the use of the tool, I have discovered that these creatures are in every single bit of water that covers the Empire, from river to raindrop, and therefor in every single one of us. Yet in most cases it sleeps, and never wakes.
For others, the Cursed, the creature is woken by the changes that occur between childhood and adulthood. It begins a process of reproducing, at rates that differ from one individual to the next. I believe that it continues this reproduction until its numbers become so great that they ruin the host's blood, and kill them.
In between their waking, and the Cursed's death, a relationship can develop between the creatures and their host. The forming of this relationship is unique to each person, but the end result is that the host can enter a state of communication with these creatures, and make use of a strange power they seem to have to be able to affect the very nature of the world around them in a way that I cannot understand. I have created a word, 'magic', to describe this relationship, for lack of any better description.
It is based on this information that I have tried to create a cure of my own and find a way to kill these creatures. I have failed. He has the cure, I know it. The Mediators live, and they are all Cursed. I believe the Overlords may be as well.
You might wonder why this matters so much to me, and why I have pursued this information with every ounce of my soul. At first, I sought only knowledge of the past. I didn't question his rule, or his decisions. I wanted only to learn all there was to learn. My curiosity got the better of me, and I became determined to read the books that we were ordered to destroy. It was this path that led me towards understanding, and ultimately will mean my death.
I could have accepted that. I never would have made this place, or studied the Curse to save my own life. I did it to save my daughter.
Kaelyn gave birth only a week ago. She is a healthy girl, but I fear that the risk of her being Cursed is high. Kaelyn became pregnant after I was infected with the woken creatures, but before I knew what had happened. I have worked so hard these months to find the cure, so she might never have the Curse, and might never die from it, either at his hand, or through the course of the disease.
I've heard that you have sent soldiers and a Mediator to come and take me. If you're reading this, I'm sure you've already seen the note I left with the innkeeper in Heathers. I want to tell you again that I forgive you. I pray that, Amman willing, you find this place in time to save her. I question if I should have told you of her in that letter, but I feared the innkeeper's trustworthiness and was not willing to risk her life.
You know him. Please, go to him. Ask him for the cure, and if he will not give it willingly, take it from him. For the sake of your granddaughter, and every other child and grandchild who he allows to perish if they do not meet his needs.
Once you have the cure, find her. I'm to bring her to a village not far from here, a place called Watertown. There is a blacksmith there, who helped me to fashion the parts for the tool. Seek him out, and ask after his girl.
Please.
I beg you.
- Aren