It’s my birthday weekend, so here’s a gift for you! I recently added a new Part 3 onto the end of “The Eighth” (Intro to the Alt-World Chronicles). This little scene, tacked onto the end of the previously existing short story, gives a brand new perspective on events from Roman’s POV. (He’s the secretive Master Conjuri holding all the secrets about the Order, their magic, the truth about the war, etc. Now you can see a bit more of what he knew all along!)
If you haven’t read all of “The Eighth” yet, you can grab a copy directly from my website HERE.
Roman, Master Conjuri of the Order, sat in the Capiti’s grand library and pretended to skim a text while waiting for the last conjuri scholars to finish for the night. Only two white-robed students remained at the nearest lamp-lit table. They appeared diligent in their studies, perhaps putting in extra hours because of his presence.
Distracted, Roman set aside his book – a scientific analysis of spindlox poison and its effects on each race – and tilted his head to stretch his chin folds. This brought the library’s ceiling into view, and the old man scowled at the ceiling’s patchwork of murals. Some paintings depicted glorious landscapes or hell-like fields of ash where ancient gods fought malevolenci beasts. Other sections portrayed gods battling beside kings and heroes of old.
These paintings have fostered rumors for centuries, thought Roman as he scowled at the artwork. What chaos would come if people knew the rumors were true?
His eyes moved over a beautiful painting of King Tiberius and the goddess Lakshmi, who held a flower over the king’s head, symbolizing good fortune. Another scene showed King Stephen fighting back to back with Horus. Gaia fought beside King Vincent. Bastet beside Montgomery. Shiva beside Upton. The oldest scene depicted King Cesare brandishing his sword beside the fearsome God of War as they fought a dragon-like bentaforx.
Ares, thought Roman with respect. He set the strategy for how we fight this war. What if another god had come first? Heaven forbid Janus made the rules… Talk about chaos.
Finally, the two conjuri packed up their books and made ready to leave the library. Once they were gone, Roman sighed and lifted his bulk from the chair. His white robes swung in a soothing, familiar rhythm as he walked, but the ache in his old bones had become an unwelcome familiarity. Upon reaching the foot of a curving staircase, he held the wooden banister and slowly climbed to the balcony above.
The balcony’s stillness greeted him, and Roman caught his breath before shuffling to a particular bookshelf along the back wall. Lifting his arm, he gathered a ball of magic and tossed it to deactivate an illuso symbol etched into the top of the bookshelf. The symbol sparked briefly, and Roman looked down as an ancient book flickered into visibility between two innocuous tomes on Order history. With reverence, Roman retrieved the secret book, turned to a stand nearby, and activated the small lamp on the stand. Opening the book’s cover, he took a moment to marvel at the ancient handwriting on the first page.
The book was a collection of letters, bound together over the centuries as each Master Conjuri collected them. It was perhaps the most sacred book in existence. The stories, instructions, commands, and secrets it contained were meant only for the eyes of a commanding Master Conjuri, and Roman was humbled to be its current caretaker.
He lifted his gaze from the open page to confirm he was alone. His predecessors had hidden this book in far more protected locations, but the Capiti’s library had served Roman well.
Sometimes the best place to hide the truth is right in the open, he thought as he glanced at the ceiling mural.
The old scholar looked back down at the opening letter, which Ares himself had written at the beginning of the Sanctuary’s war. As a young man, Roman had trembled when he’d first read Ares’ words. The revelations in his letter were life-altering. World-altering. Creation-altering, truth be told. After reading this book, many Master Capturi had gone mad. Others had turned cruel. Many had lost hope. It was isolating, to say the least, to be the only person who knew the full truth about the Sanctuary’s war. But the instructions Ares had left for the Master Conjuri made their duty clear.
I have obeyed Ares’ commands, thought Roman as he took comfort from the letter yet again. I’ve summoned alterni to partner with three generations of kings. I’ve trained the alterni in the ways of magic. I’ve taught kings and alterni how their predecessors fought the enemy, and I’ve recorded what they’ve learned. I’ve done everything I can to ensure each alterni’s success… So many alterni.
He turned his head from the book to see over the balcony’s railing. Down below, in the main room, the study table was empty where he usually met with alterni. They all died eventually. The alterni weren’t nearly the weapon that Ares and the other gods had hoped.
The alterni would be even more useless if they learned the secrets in these letters. They’d fall into madness. It’s right that we Master Conjuri hide these letters from kings and alterni alike. We wouldn’t want to overburden our kings with…too much truth. It’s best this way, all around.
Feeling the reassurance he had sought, Roman closed the book and returned it to the shelf. For a moment, he stood here and looked along the wall of bookshelves to where other secret books were spelled. He frowned.
I can’t imagine what Owen would do if he learned of these letters. The boy has always been overly honest, and he’s already told Hakim more than is traditionally allowed. What if Owen shared these letters with his inner circle? What if he told the public? That would be a disaster! Chaos and panic would sweep across the Order! Fortunately, our Master Conjuri tradition of secrecy has kept our society intact for centuries. No, I will not break tradition. Trent was wrong – there are ways to win this war without Owen knowing the full scope of what we’re up against.
Scowling, Roman’s heart and mind wrestled as he once again thought through the arguments of Trent Simons, the first and only summoned partner of Owen’s father. Trent had survived every malevolenci battle and outlived even his king. During the king’s final years of illness, Trent had tried to convince Roman to win the war by discarding Ares’ strategies and attacking the enemy in a new and terrible way. Trent had attempted to plant seeds of rebellion in Roman’s heart, and his counsel haunted Roman even now.
What Trent asked me to do is unthinkable! Even Ares was not so bold, and the other gods followed Ares’ strategies. Who would I be to disagree? Besides, Artemis shared my belief – after all these centuries, the enemy must be as close to defeat as we are. Just because Janus insisted upon a change in our tactics… Could it ever be right to defy one god by obeying another?
Roman’s mind drifted to a hidden chest in the archives room, and his scowl deepened at the one concession he’d made for Trent’s sake.
Trent was right about one thing – these are desperate times. Our gods are gone, and we cannot rely on the alterni to save us. Owen’s alterni are some of the weakest I’ve ever seen, and if I’m reading the signs correctly… I will not follow Trent’s sacrilegious plan, but there must be another way to win this war and save my king.
This was why Roman had dedicated his life to studying the malevolenci. Everyone thought he was obsessed with his research down in the lab, but he suspected that finding a scientific way to defeat the beasts was their only hope.
If I had–
Breaking the silence, a bell rang on the main floor of the library. Roman stepped back, reactivated the spell that hid the book on its shelf, then turned to descend the stairs. The bell continued to ring as he shuffled across the main floor to a small table. Here, an aged bell sat beside a lamp. Roman summoned magic to deactivate the illuso symbol carved into the tabletop, and the bell illusion flickered away, revealing a phone instead of the bell. The phone rang one more time before Roman lifted it to his ear.
“Yes?”
“She’s dead.” That bluntly, Owen relayed the news.
Roman’s heart sank, though without surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that, my lord. Did she close the rift first? Are the malevolenci contained?”
He hated being this cold. But it was necessary. The alterni were weapons, not people. He could not grow attached. Neither should Owen, but the king was a lost cause in that regard.
Owen’s anger was clear, but he answered, “Yes, she did. The area is secure. For now.”
“Good.” Roman tried to sound sympathetic. “I can give you a little time, my lord, but we’ll have to summon another alterni soon.”
“I know.” With that, the king ended their conversation.
Roman scowled and set the phone back in place.
This was Owen’s eighth alterni. I have to make sure the next one lasts. Owen’s soft touch has to end. We must test the next Esme harder. Train her harder. She has to be ready before we throw her into battle. Owen’s alterni are mediocre, but should we find ourselves without one…
He had a bad feeling.
Roman looked up at the ceiling mural, trying to summon hope. And faith.
If there are any gods left who are worthy of our prayers, I hope they hear mine.
Alone, the old man turned to leave the library and the secrets he hid there. In the morning, he’d venture to the Capiti lab and continue his studies of the captured, caged malevolenci beasts. If he could learn their secrets, perhaps he’d find a way to win this war.
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