Chapter 23: Shells

Chapter 23: Shells

Valdy, Lilianes voice called through the workshops door. Valdy, are you inside?

Valdemar stared at the ceiling while laying on his mattress. The bed sheet covered his grandfathers portrait in a corner of the room, hiding it from view.

He is Hermann muttered. But I I dont think now is the time

Nonsense! Liliane replied. Valdy, I made a cake. With vanilla mushrooms. Right out of the oven. Come out before it becomes cold!

Lilianes words sounded like whispers to his ears, distant and nearly unintelligible. Valdemars pots of blood-paints, the unused leftovers of the Silent King project, shook in a corner. Bubbles rose to the surface as if an invisible fire boiled the substance.

Valdy, talk to me. You can tell me everything, you know that? I swear I wont judge. It will make you feel better.

The paint burst out of the pots and climbed on the nearest wall like aggressive moss. Its color changed from red to green and black and yellow, a twisted chaos echoing Valdemars own emotion.

He he needs time, Hermann whispered, so low Valdemar barely heard him. To think. He is wounded...

Thats exactly why we cant leave him alone, Hermann.

Sometimes The only cure for woe is time, Liliane. He needs time in his lair to lick his wounds. To figure it out. Only then will he let us in. When he comes out we will be here.

A short silence followed.

I Liliane cleared her throat. We will come back later, Valdy. Please dont do anything stupid, alright? Be safe.

Friend? It was Iren this time. Youre still in your room?

Valdemar turned on and stared at the left wall. The paint covered it entirely now, like an infectious growth taking over the room centimeter by centimeter. The chaotic colors had assembled into a stable form; that of a twisted, ghastly tree with eyes for leaves and flesh for bark. His magic had gone wild, letting his subconscious guide the design.

You know I could unlock this door if I wanted, right? Someone will if you dont give us a sign. Liliane is worried youre going to hang yourself or something.

What would that change? Considering Valdemars regeneration, it probably wouldnt stick.

Iren sighed, too loudly for it to be natural. Hermann didnt give me all the details, but enough to figure it out on my own. He thinks you need to be alone for a while to digest what you learned and that we should respect your privacy. I would be tempted to agree, but somehow I think your mood will only get worse the longer you stay alone.

Valdemar doubted that. He had already hit the wells bottom, when depression had filled the void anger had left in his heart. He didnt even struggle to escape in his dreams either.

Iren waited a moment for an answer. Valdemar sensed himherlooking around beyond the door, checking if anyone listened. I know what youre going through, Iren said. More than you know.

No, he didnt.

I dont need telepathy to know what youre thinking, friend. Another pause. Hesitation. You know, when mothers dont want an unwanted child, they usually go to a biomancer. One spell and theyre purged. Some sorcerers though dont take money as payment. Especially when one of the parents isnt human at all.

The flesh tree spasmed, the painted yellow eyes looking in all directions. Black pigments gathered on the bloody bark, like the bud of a dreadful flower.

I was born in a lab, Valdemar, Iren confessed. A biomancer extracted my stillborn, half-formed fetus and perfected it into a viable specimen. Once he had learned everything of value about shapeshifting by the time I reached maturity, he thanked me for my contribution to science and forgot I existed.

The black paint turned into an armless hand with a yellow eye for a palm. The clawed fingers fidgeted on the wall, as if trying to tear through the invisible barrier between its two-dimensional reality and its creator.

The reason Im saying this Iren struggled to find his words. Look, whatever you were born for, it doesnt matter. Ive been so many people over the years, I forgot my original appearance. Boy, girl, old, young, I dont keep a face for long. If being Valdemar Verney is too painful or sorrowful just become someone else. Someone who feels better.

The black hand slowly emerged from the wall, its fingers dragging it across the floor.

Ive said my piece, Iren said with a sigh. You dont owe your gramps anything, friend. Not even your name.

The living hand collapsed into a puddle of black paint, and the flesh tree bore another fruit.

By now, the paint covered the ceiling and half the walls. The tree of flesh shared the room with a pitch-black sky full of colorful stars orbiting around a pure blue sphere. The Mask of the Nightwalker faced the ghastly picture on the right wall, like the Whitemoon glaring at the surface of the world. Painted creatures crawled all around the workshop, from shapeless green blobs no larger than a clenched fist to pale white moths with eyes on their wings.

Someone knocked on the door, and Friggas voice came through. My dear Valdemar, I cannot help but notice you are missing our modeling meetings, she said with a chuckle. Unless you expect me to complete my portrait myself?

The painted creatures lived short lives, but each new generation lasted longer than the previous one. One survived for half an hour before collapsing into lifeless pigments.

Fine, if you wont do me the courtesy of answering, I shant be polite either. The dark elf dropped her mask of playfulness. I dont like you. You have a certain talent for painting and sorcery, but frankly, I dont find you particularly interesting. Youre bland and forgettable.

A moth landed on the painted Earth, tainting its blue waters with thick black blood.

However, your petulant behavior saddens my dear Liliane. She worries for you more than everyone else in this Institute combined, and I believe her pity is wasted on you. I am truly tempted to enter your dreams and put back some positivity in that empty skull of yours.

It would cost her if she tried. All Valdemar dreamed of last night was of the well and the hungry maw waiting at the bottom. When the nightmares came, he hadnt fought them back.

Your new defenses wont stop me if I try to get in, she said. Dont think I havent noticed what youre doing in your sleep. I dont know what you intend to do with that trap of yours, but it wont ensnare me.

Good. It wasnt meant for her anyway.

In any case, get out of that room before I drag you off from it. Your petty nightmares will look like childish fantasies compared to what I shall show you.

The paint had claimed every inch of the room, except the right wall.

The Mask of the Nightwalker exercised a counterforce and channeled a power that rivaled Valdemars own. Painted landscapes of alien worlds, magical glyphs, and chaotic maelstroms stopped at a circle of nothingness around the Stranger artifact, unable to cross the invisible barrier. Even the moth swarm flying around the room couldnt touch the mask.

Valdemar sensed a connection forming through the Blood between the stone floor beneath the paint and the world outside. A surge of magic, powerful and yet nearly imperceptible, created a bridge between the workshop and another place. Valdemar couldnt sense the point of origin, but he did detect the undead sorcerer traveling through it.

Valdemar glanced with shame at his workshops door, remembering the individuals who knocked on it. In truth, while he was thankful for their support... he didnt know how to deal with it.

In his childhood, Valdemar usually ran back to his grandfather for protection whenever he felt sad. Now the mere memory soured his mood, and he had long grown used to isolation anyway. What was he supposed to do, share his dark thoughts and foul mood with others? Spread the pain around? Rant about how his grandfather, the person he dedicated his entire life to fulfilling the dream of returning to Earth, had raised him as a mere tool?

Above all things, Valdemar hated being pitied.

What he needed was time to process everything, to strengthen his mind. Sorrow and anger could only affect him if he let them be.

I suggest that you embrace undeath, Lord Och happily suggested. It did wonders for my good mood, and it will certainly improve your looks.

Valdemar ignored his mentors jab. You could clone me, he suggested. Biomancers often used that procedure for rich patrons, to cultivate fresh organs and replace the originals aging parts. Create a soulless sacrifice.

It will not work.

How do you know?

Because I already tried the day we met. Lord Och chuckled as his apprentice gave him an offended glare. My apprentice, you leave your genetic material everywhere, what did you expect? Between us, I always like to have a spare apprentice or two.

Valdemar shuddered, as he remembered the Dark Lords attempts to duplicate the Pleromians. Why didnt it work then?

Two reasons. The lich joined his hands. First, Earthmouths need the soul of a willing martyr to function. This is why it is such an honor and we do not use, say, prisoners and political enemies for it. The creation ritual does not function if the sacrifice does not consent to it, whether out of despair or altruism.

Valdemar thought about the vision he had, and the dead look in his illusory doubles eyes. Despair, he thought, born of betrayal.

Second, your peculiar biology makes cloning you a hazardous prospect, as testing can attest. When I tried to duplicate you, your clones regeneration went Lord Och hesitated. Haywire.

ABOMINATION.

It mutated? Valdemar asked, although he wasnt sure if he even wanted to know.

All I will say is, if you ever lose a body part, I strongly suggest that you reattach it as quickly as you can. Or throw it at your nearest foe. Lord Och chuckled to himself. Come to think of it, we should explore this idea in the future.

Valdemar crossed his arms. Speaking of the future, where do we go from now Lord Och? You asked me to help Hermann with the Painted Door project and we completed it.

And the experience proved highly pertinent for all parties involved, Lord Och mused. You are a Scholar of Pleroma, Young Valdemar. You are free to take your research wherever you want, and I suspect you already know your next destination.

Yes, he did. The Silent King had shown him the path.

In my visions, I saw a derro with a crown building a portal, Valdemar admitted. Probably King Otto Blutang. From what we gathered so far, its highly probable that the derros summoned my grandfathers unit to Underland with their technology.

Do you intend to ask the derro king to share his discoveries with us? Lord Och asked mirthfully. Considering the troubles in Astaphanos, Im sure the empress would agree to a diplomatic mission.

In all likelihood, it would end with Valdemars brain in a jar and his skin used as a disguise by some mad dwarf infiltrator. Maybe the English parts of the diary hold information about the tunnels where my grandfather landed, said the summoner. You could examine them. Maybe the derros left hints.

The Dark Lord scoffed. I could examine them? Are you offloading your duties to me, apprentice? Or have you given up on fulfilling your dream?

Was that dream even his own?

Valdemar still thought mankind deserved a world with an open sky, but he wasnt certain if he was the best person to find it anymore.

His familys cult had worked for a bloodthirsty Stranger. If they wanted to reach Earth so desperately and created Valdemar to achieve their goal, then it served their patrons goals somehow. Maybe the Stranger wanted to access Earth for its foul purposes.

Valdemar was afraid. Afraid not to be in control, or worse, to accidentally poison the perfect world he had dreamed of. Lord Och, is my mind compromised? Do I want to reach Earth because I want it, or because an instinct embedded in my blood is pushing me to?

The lich remained eerily silent.

Valdemar sighed. Im the only one who can answer that question, is that it?

Keep building that Painted Dreamscape, the Dark Lord replied without really answering. It will help you figure out the truth.

A pointer was better than nothing.

Locating the site where your grandsire appeared is a good idea, the Dark Lord said. But as I warned you before, the tunnels in question are dangerous. Even more so now that your familys cult is active once more and that the derros are on the offensive again. Thankfully, the combat-magic teacher I had in mind has agreed to take you under his wing.

Which Master will it be? Valdemar asked, banishing his darker thoughts from his mind. Edwin and Loctis appeared to be the most talented battle mages in the Institute from what he had seen.

My chosen instructor does not serve me, or anyone else for that matter, Lord Och replied. You will have to travel to the Domain of Sabaoth to meet with him.

Sabaoth? It made sense. This Domain was the Empires bulwark against derro invasions and monsters wandering out of the unexplored depths of Underland, a fortress of stone, steel, and magma pits.

However

Wasnt I supposed to stay at the Institute until the wererat was apprehended or slain? Valdemar asked with a frown.

Lord Och brushed off his worries. You will travel to the safest place in the Empire under good escort. Young Marianne is making her way back to us as we speak, albeit short a retainer. I believe a stay in Sabaoth will also help her sharpen her blade.

Marianne is returning? Valdemar was eager to see her. She had investigated the Verney family far enough to detect a hidden cultist, so maybe she had found something interesting. I need to know the truth, Valdemar thought. The full truth. About who I am, and my purpose. Who is this instructor?

The lichs ghastly smile sent shivers down his spine.

It is time, the Dark Lord said, that I introduce you to my previous apprentice.