Myriad

Kalin awoke early the next morning, momentarily unsure where he was. He sat up and leaned on his elbow, looking around the small room. Ah, I’m at the tavern. It sunk in that he’d finally left home. It wasn’t all a dream.

He lay back on the hard bed. For a while he stared up at the grey ceiling, counting the cracks. The room was incredibly plain; apart from the bed, there was only a small side table, a wooden dresser with an old mirror on top, and a table with a chair. The table had a basin for washing, a jug of water, and a few candles. Shabby beige curtains hung over the window, ripped and dusty. He sneezed, the dust overpowering him.

He got out of bed, reluctant to start the day but knowing he had to get out of there. He got ready, made sure he’d packed everything in his satchel, then left the room and walked down the stairs. He could hear the innkeeper talking to someone in the front room and didn’t want to face him.

Kalin handed the key back to the innkeeper, trying not to look at him, and the man said nothing either, just hung the key back up. Kalin quickly left, pulling open the heavy front door and going outside.

The cold hit him as soon as he was out in the street. He huddled in his cloak and walked briskly, gazing downward. He was so absorbed in wondering where he was going to go next that he bumped right into someone. He looked up to apologize, then stopped.

The man he’d met at the inn last night was standing there, with a small group of people behind him.

Kalin looked at them awkwardly.

“Hello again,” the man said, nodding.

Kalin nodded back, trying desperately to remember the man’s name. What was it?

“It’s Theodore,” he said, smiling.

Kalin gave a small smile back, then noticed everyone in the group was watching him.

Directly behind Theodore stood a man with long brown hair who Kalin assumed was in his early thirties. A striking-looking red haired woman about the same age stood beside him. Behind them was a much older man, with wild grey hair and glasses, and next to him, so short she was nearly hidden by the others, stood a dark-haired girl about Kalin’s age.

He realized Theodore was waiting for him.

“We were about to go have breakfast. Would you like to join us?” he asked. Kalin was thinking how to politely say no when Theodore reached out and placed his hand on his arm. “It’s important.”

Kalin stepped back, suddenly anxious. “I don’t know….”

Theodore looked at him knowingly. “Did the concealment stone I gave you last night work?”

Kalin suddenly remembered the small blue stone that still sat in his pocket. So that’s what it was. With shame he realized he’d forgotten to thank Theodore. In truth he owed this man his life. He smiled crookedly. “It did work—thank you. But how did you know… you know….”

Theodore gave him the same knowing look, his eyes warm. “I can explain everything,” he said. “We just want to talk to you. Can you trust me?”

Kalin stood there for a moment, feeling uncomfortable. “Alright,” he finally said. He owed Theodore at least that much.

Theodore and the others walked down the street towards a waiting carriage, and Kalin followed nervously. They all climbed in, and the driver led the horses away. Kalin sat there wondering where they were going, what these people were going to say to him. He hoped they were safe.

After traveling for quite some time, they arrived at an enormous manor, three stories high, with many rooms. They sat at a large round table in a huge room filled with bookshelves and chairs. Books and papers were piled high on nearly every surface; a beige settee was against one of the walls, worn and soft. Kalin sat across from Theodore, the others to the left and right of him.

Theodore cleared his throat. “This is Mark,” he said, pointing to the man with long hair, “and next to him is Sasha. That’s Alfred and Regina.” He pointed to the older man and lastly the short, dark-haired girl.

Kalin nodded to each of them.

Theodore coughed again, and Kalin thought he seemed nervous. “We’re warlocks and witches, working together to prepare for what will happen this year. If I explain what we’re doing, it will be clearer why we brought you here and how we know you’re a warlock.

“Everyone knows Princess Carmel turns eighteen soon, and the usual panic that surrounds her birthday is happening. But this year it’s different. Do you know much about Myriad?”

Kalin shrugged. “I know what everyone knows. Myriad’s angry with the king because of what happened with his wife.”

Theodore nodded. “That’s only part of it. There’s so much more to it.” He leaned behind him and picked up a scroll from the top of an old chest. He unrolled it, and Kalin saw it was filled with small, tight writing in dark ink. Theodore handed it to him. “Before I tell you what we want, you’d better know the whole story.”

The Markwins were a very powerful family of warlocks and witches in Prentor, cruel and ruthless in their pursuit of power. Rainer Markwin, Myriad’s father, was the worst one of them all.

Myriad was fifteen when his father started the bloodshed.

He tracked some of the most powerful warlocks and witches, seven of them, and cast a vile spell to extract their powers. All seven died from the spell, their remains unrecognizable afterwards.

Rainer enchanted a necklace with their powers, combined with his blood. When he wore the necklace, he couldn’t be killed; the necklace would revive him. But what he didn’t know was it wouldn’t only work on him. Anyone in his family—anyone related to him by blood—would be protected by the necklace.

That’s when the war began.

The Markwins turned on each other to get the necklace. They fought, and many of them died. Rainer killed a great deal of them, and he made his son kill more.

Myriad was a universal, someone who could cast any kind of magic. He wasn’t restricted to a certain type, like most warlocks and witches. Rainer raised him in the darkest of magic, taught him the most malevolent spells. Myriad fought alongside his father, even though he was only a child, for nearly ten years.

When Myriad was about twenty-five, he met Machayla. She was the daughter of one of Rainer’s unrelated enemies, and Rainer instructed Myriad to kill her. But for some reason, he couldn’t. He took Machayla away, and they hid. Somehow, eventually, they fell in love.

Myriad abandoned his family, abandoned his old self. He didn’t kill anymore. He changed.

Eventually the fighting ended. There was a final battle, and the remaining family got the necklace away from Rainer. He called for Myriad to protect him, desperately, but Myriad didn’t go to him. In the end all of the Markwins died. Myriad was the only one left.

He lapsed into a deep depression. His family was gone. He hadn’t saved his father. He became lost, filled with remorse. But one thing saved him: Machayla became pregnant.

Myriad’s life began to have meaning again. With Machayla and his child, he could start again. He prepared for the arrival of his baby, but then the worst thing happened: Machayla became ill. She was six-months pregnant and only had weeks to live.

Myriad searched for the cure, but he couldn’t find it anywhere. But the queen, pregnant with Princess Carmel, came down with the same sickness and the king was able to find the medicine—enough to save both women.

Myriad went to the castle to get some of the cure, but it was for nothing. The king had used all of it on the queen, though he only needed a small amount.

Myriad was devastated. He returned to his wife and gave her the bad news. She went into labor the next day. Neither she nor the child survived.

Myriad disappeared. No one heard from him for over a year. No one knew what he would be like when he resurfaced.

On Carmel’s first birthday, the murders began.

Kalin put down the scroll and sat quietly for a long moment. He didn’t know what to think. He knew what had happened with Myriad’s wife, but nothing about his past. He looked up at Theodore.

“Myriad’s not going to kill ten people who work in the palace this year, like he’s done on the princess’s birthday for the last seventeen years,” Theodore said. “He’s promised to kill the royal family themselves.”

Kalin gulped. “How do you know?”

“He sent a message to the palace about three months ago,” Theodore replied. “I know some of the people who work there. The message simply said This year, it ends. But we knew that, Kalin. We knew this day was coming.” Theodore looked down at his hands for a moment, then gazed at Kalin. “You must be wondering what we want with you.”

Kalin nodded. He couldn’t for the life of him figure that out.

Theodore looked briefly at Regina. “Regina is a psychic. She had a vision, two weeks ago, that there was someone in Prentor… someone who was capable of stopping Myriad. That person was a universal, like him. That person would be able to track him like no one else. She said he could be found at the tavern. She saw you, Kalin.”

Kalin frowned, shaking his head. “A universal? I don’t have that kind of power. I haven’t even used magic in years! You’re wrong. It makes no sense. Just because someone had a vision….”

“Put the concealment stone on the table,” Theodore ordered.

Kalin froze at his tone. He paused for a moment, then silently placed the blue stone in front of him.

Theodore stood and turned to a shelf near the window. He picked up a staff, then banged it on the table, with its silver orb pointed towards Kalin. It made a hissing sound, the center of the orb crackled, and flickers of light flashed across it. Then it glowed with the most intense light, filling the room with its radiance.

Kalin shielded his eyes, the brightness blinding him. It was several moments before he could look up.

The table was split clean in two where the staff had lain. Flames licked the edges of the wood.