October 25, 2024

Legend of Galivett: Book Two

PROLOGUE: MANY YEARS AGO

DaDrem Vyndot slid the tip of his elongated finger across the frayed spines of the ancient tomes on the bookshelf. The golden irises of his pupil-less eyes glistened in the pulsating blue light. He tilted his head as he whispered book titles to himself until deciding it was time to address his singular audience.

“I am truly sorry to have kept you here alone these past few days,” Vyndot said as he pulled a book from the shelf. “Of course, you understand I needed to ensure we would not be disturbed.”

“How long have you been lurking within the Archives,” replied an intoning voice that seemed to resonate from all corners of the triangular chamber.

“Long enough to learn the klave bearers concealed themselves and their lineages quite well,” DaDrem Vyndot replied. “That is, of course, except for you, Isago Lume. Imagine my surprise when you arrived here after decades of absence from your order. I assumed you must surely be dead by now. Who would have thought that Isago Lume, one of the original four, was alive and well instead of a mere name in a bedside story?

Book in hand, DaDrem Vyndot spun gracefully to face his captive. His elegant robes billowed, revealing the twisted mass of tendrils that formed his lower body. He flashed a menacing smirk and glided toward Isago Lume, who was seated at the opposite end of a long stone table scattered with maps and cartography tools. DaDrem opened the book and grimaced in disgust.

“I do hate the smell of aged parchment. Do you know how hard it has been to reside here among these dust-riddled and decaying volumes of history? I find the vow of the mon yaske to be a rather miserable existence.”

The two glowing domes on top of Isago Lume’s lengthy, narrow head dimmed then glowed again with pale blue light. After days of being bound to the chair, they sat up as straight as possible, showing Vyndot their severely weakened and elderly frame could still offer a towering presence. Isago stared at DaDrem Vyndot with milky black eyes as their disembodied voice emanated from the blue domes on their head.

“I know your true identity, DaDrem Vyndot. I also know of your underhanded dealings with the medgulor.”

Isago Lume leaned toward their approaching captor.

“Judgments handed down to you ages ago were not punishment enough. You have made a fortune preying on those weaker than you. Why can you not take your spoils and leave this place.”

DaDrem rested against the table near Isago Lume. His mon yaske prisoner was so tall the two gothic creatures were nearly face to face.

“My accumulated wealth is a means to an end, my old friend,” Vyndot said. “You know why I am here and what I seek. Let us not play these games any longer, shall we?”

DaDrem Vyndot slammed the book closed, forcing a wave of dust into the air. He tossed the book on the table and peered around the scant living quarters. It was infuriatingly appropriate for a former cartographer and historian. It also lacked what he longed to acquire. He was so close.

Isago Lume did not speak. They only stared at DaDrem Vyndot with a vague expression of exhaustion.

“Isago, my time in the archives has immensely benefited my cause,” DaDrem Vyndot said. “The years of research I have completed have given me much of the direction I need. I will continue to amass more clues and power and one day begin my reckoning.”

Vyndot looked at Isago Lume’s mouthless, thin face. The mon yaske did not reply. Suddenly, DaDrem Vyndot’s face contorted in anger.

“Give me your klave, you old fool, or I will burn everything you ever knew to the ground.”

The brows of Isago Lume’s eyes lifted as if the mouthless creature was smiling. The domes on their head glowed brighter as they spoke.

“I am sure you have learned much here and will try to recover what has been hidden for so long. As for my klave, I am more than content to tell you where it is.”

DaDrem Vyndot’s eyes grew wide in surprise.

“As I said, I know who you are. I have learned of your nefarious exploits. You are not the only resourceful being in our world.”

The weary mon yaske straightened again in a final act of defiance.

“Knowing it was only a matter of time until our paths crossed, I hid my klave in a gift presented to your former partners. The partners you betrayed. The partners who placed a sizable bounty on your head. That is right, DaDrem Vyndot, my klave, unbeknownst to them, was given to the Joku Tri’sestra.”

DaDrem Vyndot’s gaze turned from surprise to anger and then to fear. He sprang from the table and swiftly moved to the chamber door. As he threw the door open, the low, persistent chanting of the mon yaske archivists instantly calmed his emotions. Vyndot took a deep breath and pulled up the hood of his cloak. He drifted down a hallway illuminated only by two blue domes from an unconscious mon yaske slumped on the floor. He then pulled a single pyre nut from his robe pocket. Without stopping his pace, Vyndot thrust the incendiary device against one of many bookshelves, erupting the ancient writings in a ball of fire.