The Archmage Unbound (5 page)

“My family is none of your damned
business!”

“Your sister is worried about you, so is
Dorian.”

“What about my father eh? I guess he
didn’t bother to ask after me did he!?” Marc was standing now and approaching
cautiously.

“At least you have a father!” I shouted
back.

“How long are you going to play the pity
card over that one?” he sneered.

“Till I’ve knocked you on your ass and
beaten some sense into your head,” I replied a bit more calmly. My anger was only
half real, in the back of my mind I was still trying to calculate what the best
way to bring my friend to his senses would be.

“Still got your shield up?” he asked.
From an outside viewpoint it was almost odd how calm he seemed as he asked that
question, but it seemed normal enough at the time.

“No I took it down a moment ago...,”
before I could finish my words he caught me in the mouth with a quick jab. I
stepped back quickly before he could follow up with another but he didn’t press
his advantage. I wiped the blood from my lip… I could already feel it starting
to swell. “Not bad,” I commented.

“Might improve your looks,” he snapped
back.

I stepped forward and took a short swing
at him but I found only air. I threw a few more but I still failed to connect
till finally he blocked one and planted a sharp punch in my stomach. As he
delivered the blow I got my left arm around his shoulder, his second strike
drove the air from my lungs but I held on and managed to start a grapple.

Things improved for me after that. As
with our childhood scuffles I was still no match for him in a straight up
punching match, but once we had closed I was the better wrestler. My longer
legs and arms gave me better leverage and he lost the advantage his quick
reflexes normally gave him. We stumbled about the room for several moments
before he tried to drive me into the bed post. With a twist I took his
momentum and he wound up getting the hard wooden corner in his back.

With a strangled cry he quit trying to
break the grapple. That seemed like a good idea, so I let go and rolled off of
him, panting to catch my breath. “Are you alright?” I asked.

“Hell no! It hurts like hell!” He had
his hand against his lower back. “That was a shitty move.”

“You’re the one that tried to run me
into it! You’re too damn strong for me to hold you down, so it was either you
or me,” I bit back.

He scowled at me for a long minute while
he rubbed at his aching backside. I glared back at him till finally neither of
us could take the tension any longer and we broke into grins. A moment after
that we started laughing and our anger drained away.

“Some things never change,” he said once
our chuckling slowed down.

“I thought we had outgrown these little
chats.”

“Me too,” he agreed ruefully.

“Desperate times require desperate
measures,” I announced.

We were lying on our backs side by side
now. The hard wooden floor wasn’t exactly comfortable but neither of us
complained. Then Marc spoke again, “Desperate indeed my friend. I appreciate
what you’re trying to do, but it isn’t going to be enough.”

With a sideways glance I could see him
staring at the ceiling. “Why not?” I asked.

“Because it hurts Mort, it hurts far
more than you can possibly realize.” He rolled his head over and caught my
gaze. We had been friends for most of our lives and looking into his brown
eyes I could see the pain behind them. I watched him for a long moment before
he looked away. Tears had begun to well.

“I don’t understand,” I confessed.

“Nobody does. Even now, even knowing
the truth, I want her so badly it feels as though someone is driving a stake
through my heart. It’s painful Mort… excruciatingly painful.” He was
referring, of course, to his goddess. Perhaps I should call her his
‘ex-goddess’, Millicenth, the Lady of the Evening Star.

“We all lose things, it’s a part of
life,” I said softly.

“This isn’t like that Mort. Imagine
living happily with Penny for years and years, having children, loving them and
receiving their love. Imagine everything you ever wanted, love, respect,
trust… all of it. Now imagine you wake up tomorrow and discover that it’s all
gone. Not only is it gone, but it never existed. The woman you loved wasn’t
real; she was a dream, created for the sole purpose of manipulating you. The children,
your life, your happiness, all of it was a lie, fabricated by a being so
foreign that it didn’t even hate you… you were merely a tool.” Marc paused for
a moment.

“She made you think you had children?” I
asked, puzzled.

“No… idiot! I was using that as an
example, it was the closest thing I could think of to convey the sort of
happiness she created within me. It wasn’t just happiness, it was… everything.
While she was with me I had no doubts or fears. Death might threaten but she
was holding my hand, and I believed she would be waiting for me beyond death’s
doors. Every action had meaning, and every moment was full of importance, all
part of her plan to better humankind. No… it wasn’t just that…” He stopped
for a moment, a note of shame in his voice.

“What?” I asked. I wasn’t certain I
wanted to know, but he wouldn’t have begun if he hadn’t needed to get it off
his chest.

“It was like sex, only better. The
entire time I was in her service I abstained from women… I had no desire for
them. Whenever I healed someone…” I saw a shudder run through him as he
remembered.

“You had an orgasm when you healed
people?”

“No! But my shame is just the same,
worse, the sensation was far better than an orgasm. It was like a drug, an
exaltation of the mind and spirit, as well as an ecstatic sensation of physical
pleasure. Why do you think I went looking for people in need?” The look in
his eyes was one of abject despair and humiliation. “I ‘wanted’ to find sick
people. I needed it… and when my craving became so bad that I had dreams of
hurting people, just so I could heal them… she forgave me. She told me it was
normal, a weakness of flesh forced to contain the divine.”

I couldn’t help the feeling of revulsion
his words evoked, “That’s…,” I stopped myself before I finished with what I was
thinking, ‘disgusting’.

“I knew it was wrong, but I had to
believe her. I needed to believe her. I was like an addict… I am an addict.
Even now I have dreams… I want to go back to her so badly.” He cradled his
head in his hands.

“Yet you rejected her,” I said, hoping
to remind him of his own inner strength.

“Even in that decision I cannot claim
pure motives. Truly I was angry that she refused to aid Penny… that was the
moment when I could no longer pretend she had our best interests at heart. I
already knew… deep down… but in that moment I was sure. Even so, I would not
have had the strength to reject her if I hadn’t been so angry.”

“Angry that she wouldn’t help Penny,” I
added for him.

“No,” he answered in a voice devoid of
hope, his face was red and his eyes were swollen with tears now. “I was angry
that she wouldn’t give me what I wanted… what I needed. It was the anger of an
addict who’s been told he can’t have more.”

I stared at my friend for long minutes.
He had run out of words and I had none to give him. My only thought was that a
man of noble spirit had been broken, and turned into this. The friend I had
known so long was ruined, thoroughly, inside and out, more completely than
anyone could be. Looking back I think that was the day that I realized anyone
could be corrupted, that none of us were immune to evil. No matter how lofty
our ideals, we are all susceptible to weakness and depravity. It was a final
passage from innocence to adulthood.

Yet we still have choices. Perhaps not
good ones, and sometimes they seem insignificant, but they are still choices.
At the very least every morning holds the choice, sink into despair or get up
and try to do something, no matter how meaningless.

Eventually my thoughts came together and
I spoke, “So what are you going to do now?”

He laughed, “There’s nothing to do. Let
me have that bottle and I’ll do the only thing I can to dull the pain.” There
was no apology in his voice, merely numb acceptance.

“That’s just a slow death,” I replied.

“Suits me fine,” he said. “It isn’t as
if I want to live anyway. What I have become… isn’t something that deserves to
live.”

“Do you really want to die?” I asked
without a hint of mockery.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“What?” he asked with a note of
surprise.

“Not me of course, I still have things
to live for… but if you really are in that much pain you should let me help
you,” I told him earnestly.

“That isn’t funny. I’m being serious
here Mort.”

“I know. I love you Marc. You’ve been
one of my best friends for as long as I can remember. If you’re hurting this
badly I want to help you.” At that moment I was deadly serious, and he could
see it on my face.

“Why?”

“Let’s look at the alternatives,” I
explained. “You can drink yourself to death… over a period of months or years,
hurting everyone that cares about you, forcing them to watch your slow
decline. You could also end yourself in some spectacular manner, shocking
everyone and hurting them even more. Or…,” I paused and held a finger up, “You
could let me help you.”

“Help me how? You’ve lost me,” Marc
said, but as he spoke I could tell curiosity had replaced his anger and despair
at last.

“Help you die. Normally when someone
commits suicide they do it alone, and the result usually winds up being someone
gets a very nasty and messy surprise when they discover what has happened. If
I help you your options are vastly better. You can choose how, when and where
and I’ll make sure that no one finds your body… unless you want them too. You
can just disappear and no one has to know… or I could get ‘news’ months or
years later to give your family closure.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I don’t think I could call myself your
friend if I abandoned you at a time like this, but…,” I paused meaningfully.

“But what?” Marc asked.

“You have to swear to let me help you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t do it alone. If you
seriously decide you want to do this you have to let me help you. You can do
it however you want… I’ll help with any plan you come up with, but you have to
tell me first and it can’t be something stupid like drinking yourself to
death.”

Marc stared at me carefully for a long
moment; his face held more hope than I had seen in a month. “Fine, you have a
deal,” he said.

“Swear it,” I insisted.

“I swear to let you know when and how I
will die, so long as you swear to help rather than interfere,” he answered.

“I swear to help, no matter what.”

“What now?” he asked.

“I have things to do this morning, how
about you?” I told him.

Marc laughed, “There’s nothing on my
schedule. I had planned to drink myself into a stupor but that seems rather
pointless now. I guess I’ll start planning.”

“I suggest you take a bath and shave
first, no sense smelling like a dead rat. Don’t forget though… you have to
tell me first, no matter what you decide,” I stressed the last part.

“I will. I’m not sure about the shave
though, I was thinking of growing a beard.” He passed his hand over the patchy
growth that had sprouted across his cheeks. Marc had never been blessed with a
good beard; the hair grew willy-nilly across his cheeks, leaving some spots
almost completely bare.

“That’s probably a bad idea for you my
friend,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

“I think you’re just afraid my beard
might look better than that paltry goatee you have there,” he replied
mockingly.

“Believe what you will… but some of us
have the gift and some of us have… well whatever that thing sprouting on your
face is,” I teased him. We kept the banter going for several minutes after
that before I finally made my way out.

As I headed to my workshop I wondered
what he would decide. My instincts told me whatever it was would be better
than what he had been doing. Finally I put the thought aside and decided to
trust him. I had a feeling things would work out, but I’ve always been
optimistic.

That evening Marcus made it to the
dining hall, freshly shaved and looking much better. He was still pale but he
was definitely sober. Dorian gave me a quizzical look… I could almost hear his
unspoken question:
What did you do?
Later when I had a chance I told
him I had spoken to Marc, but I never did give him the details of our
agreement. For that matter I didn’t tell Penny either.

Two days later Marc caught up to me in
the smithy. I had been spending so much time there lately that almost everyone
knew to look for me there when they needed me now. My work was still
proceeding at a good pace but it looked as if it would take me months to
accomplish my goals.