Prologue - Divine Apostasy Book 4

Prologue

Jagen approached the temple spire wearing his favorite medium armor. Created from the scales of cloud drakes, it looked like a rainbow made of diamonds. Two stone golems stood at the temple entrance, their bodies bathed in the red light that emanated from the temple’s roof, and made everything appear covered in blood. The red light let the people of Malth know that their god occupied the temple.

Izac had summoned Jagen shortly after the city had turned red, and Jagen had immediately started toward the temple. It never paid to keep a god waiting, but Izac had been in a terrible mood since Jagen’s return, which made offending Izac even more dangerous.

Jagen climbed the temple steps. The golems recognized him and let him pass unharmed into the spire. The lightstones were all dim, and the red glow from outside didn’t penetrate the spire, leaving the interior dark. This suited him just fine, as the darkness mirrored the awful loss he felt.

A loss without an explanation.

Striding quickly down the central aisle, the Overseers and Necromancers he passed didn’t try and stop him, not even when he climbed onto the raised dais. A blood-red portal hovered behind the altar, and Jagen stepped through it and onto the spire’s tip.

Izac stood at the edge of the spire’s roof, looking down at the vast expanse of Malth, and the darkness of the Breathless Sea beyond it. An Ink Lord hunched at the roof’s center, probably to keep himself as far from the edge as possible. Jagen had little fear of heights, but standing on a thirty-foot circle over two hundred feet in the air did turn his stomach. A Bone Sculptor lay face down on the floor, and blood leaked from his ears.

The blood was fresh and still full of power. Jagen almost tapped the blood out of habit with Blood Tithe, an Overseer ability. But his Health and Mana were full, and Izac might have plans for the blood himself. It was safer to just ignore the body.

“My Lord, how can I serve?” Jagen asked.

Without turning, Jagen spoke. “This Mage was recently forced from Eiru. These are the four involved.”

Figures, ten-feet high, appeared in front of Jagen. Scarves covered their faces, only leaving their eyes and hair visible.

“Do you recognize any of them?” Izac asked.

“I do not,” Jagen said.

Jagen felt Izac enter his mind again, searching for Jagen’s time in the Spirit Realm. The violation pained and angered Jagen, but he let the emotions go. His purpose was to serve Izac, even when his Lord didn’t trust him.

Izac turned and walked toward Jagen. “Nothing has returned?”

Jagen bowed. “I am sorry, my Lord, no.”

“The dark-haired male is her newest Champion. I’ve studied the Mage’s memories, and that boy clearly utilized more than one Class.”

Izac’s thorough search of the Bone Mage’s memories explained the body. Jagen wondered if the Mage had survived Eiru only to die here and if Jagen might be next. He knew Izac wasn’t patient and certainly didn’t care about his subject’s discomfort. Maybe Jagen would head down to the vats after leaving here and see when the Mage would revive. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him in person.

Izac continued. “From the descriptions of those who disappeared from Deepwell two months ago, I believe his name is Ruwen Starfield. Does that name trigger anything?”

Even though he’d spent decades in the Spirit Realm, he remembered nothing about it. “I am sorry, no.”

Izac stared at Jagen intently. “You were seen with Uru’s three Champions and a few others at a Cultivator match involving one of Lalquinrial’s lackeys, the Scarecrow. From my source’s descriptions, these women might have been there with you. I’m uncertain if the males were at the event, but from the fight at the temple, I can tell they are both students of the Steps, although I can’t tell which Clan. Is any of this helping?”

Jagen shook his head, depressed and angry that part of his life had disappeared.

Izac clenched his hand. “None of this makes any sense. The Adjudicator came to that fight with hundreds of her followers. She gave everyone a Wyrm Coin, including you. I think she did that to cloud the fact she wanted to provide someone there access to information or possibly misinformation.”

“Were you able to discover what I did with my coin?” Jagen asked excitedly.

Izac shook his head. “The Adjudicator’s logs aren’t that detailed. I know you didn’t get anything physical, as that would have been listed. In fact, that’s why our librarian is here.” Izac turned to the man hunched in the middle of the platform. “What did you learn about the books the Scarecrow received.”

The Ink Lord flinched and didn’t raise his head. “It was as you suspected, my Lord. The books, when taken together, hint at the iris portals. But, I’m confident anyone who made the correlation would have gone much further south. It is my humble opinion that the Great Wyrm purposely tried to mislead Lalquinrial’s follower, the Scarecrow.”

Izac nodded. “That is interesting. Lalquinrial never joined our Pact, and has kept himself removed from our affairs. Why would he send his Scarecrow to help my sister? What does he need so desperately that he risks angering the rest of us? And, most importantly, if he ferried my sister’s people out of the Spirit Realm, why would he take you as well? Is he trying to send me a message? Something to ease my anger at helping my sister? Was he the one that hid your memories?”

“All excellent questions,” Jagen said. He brought up one possible explanation. “It is possible the Ascended aren’t able to retain memories from the Spirit Realm.”

“I agree,” Izac said. “Which is why I’m sending you to the Infernal Realm. Lalquinrial has enemies, and they will be interested to know our Adjudicator might share their views. Just the fact he is aiding my sister should damage his standing. You must find what the demon god needs from my sister so that we can use that to our ends.”

Jagen had just returned from a forced trip to the Spirit Realm and had no desire to visit the Infernal Realm, but he knew the consequences of complaining. “As you wish, my Lord.”

Izac looked toward the sea, only discernible because the city lights ended. “My sister has never seen reason, and I fear her misguided beliefs have doomed her. She is desperate, which makes her even more dangerous. When she is gone, nothing will stop my plans, and even the Universe will tremble at my power.”

Jagen remained quiet. He could hear the tension in his Lord’s voice, and knew, just like a spring, it would eventually release. Sadness overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he envied the peace the Bone Sculptor at his feet had found, even if briefly.

If Lalquinrial had hidden Jagen’s memories, maybe another demon could find them. He would do more than his Lord’s bidding in the Infernal Realm. He would figure out how to make himself whole again.

Whatever the cost.