Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) - Christopher Jackson-Ash (black female authors .txt) 📗

there is anything I can do to help? I am very grateful for my release. I’m sure the others are too but they are too excited to say so.”

Jhamed looked at him and smiled. “Thank you, my friend. You have already done us a great service. Hurry off now and enjoy your freedom. Prince Christopher will need your help soon enough.” The man bowed low and hurried off. “Now, despite Simon’s new found leadership, there is something I must do or I fear there will be tears before bedtime. Will you pick up a sword and join me, Captain? You two are more than capable of holding the fort here.” Jhamed and the Captain followed Simon and Juliana.

Dawit looked at Taran and shrugged. “Who would have thought it? A dwarf and an elf holding the fort. These are strange days indeed. I had hoped to see the witch.”

“Be careful what you wish for. If Simon is not successful you may see more of her than will be good for you,” Taran said.

Juliana guided Simon through the cold stone corridors of the dungeon. They climbed slowly until they were at ground level, where they stopped to take stock. “The dungeon forms the lower levels of the central tower of the castle. The Queen’s treasure room is at the very top of the tower. We can use the servants’ stairs to get most of the way up there. There is a single stair for the last two floors. Her apartments are on the second top floor. No one is allowed up to the top floor. Someone is coming, quickly, this way.”

They hid behind a wall tapestry as a group of chattering servants passed by and then crept to a door that opened into a narrow stone stairway. The stairs were worn from generations of use and lit only by a faint light from slit windows at regular intervals. Simon hoped that they would not meet anyone on the stairs. He didn’t want to have to use the sword he was carrying on innocent people. Fortunately, there was no one around and they climbed steadily. Even so, Simon was out of breath by the time they reached Freda’s levels. The higher they got, the more urgent were the demands in Simon’s head. He tried to shut them out, to keep his head clear but it was impossible. Yes, yes, come to me. I am waiting. Without Juliana leading him, he probably wouldn't have had the wits to find the chamber, such was his distraction. The servants’ stairs disgorged them onto a landing. A wide, carpeted stairway lit by wall-mounted oil lamps would take them to Freda’s quarters. They paused for a moment and Simon forced his head to clear a little. “What does she look like? How will I recognise her? In my mind, she looks like an ugly old crone.”

Juliana looked at Simon. “Oh, no! She is the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Simon was confused. He wanted to tell Juliana that, to him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even as dirty and ragged as she was now. The noise in his head got too loud again, so he said nothing. Be careful. She is here. She is waiting for you. They tentatively climbed the stairs. Again, they saw no one. On the next level, a long carpeted corridor led off to many closed doors. A much smaller, steeper staircase would take them to the top of the tower. Simon hesitated. “Juliana, you don’t have to come any further. Wait here for me.”

“No. I must see this thing through. I am coming with you. I feel a great bond between us. It is my destiny.”

Simon was lost for words. He wanted to tell Juliana that the bond was great indeed, that he loved her, and that he wanted to spend his entire life with her. It is time. Come for me now. The witch will die. We will feast soon. I have waited so long. Oh yes, we will feast soon. They climbed the last flight of stairs in silence. At the top they were confronted by a heavy wooden door with a cast iron latch and ring shaped handle. In a fog, Simon grasped the ring and turned. The latch clicked and with a push, the door creaked open.

The room was dark, lit only by two small lamps burning on the walls. Shadows jumped in the flickering light, adding to the eerie stillness. In the centre of the room was a large, simple wooden table. The table seemed out of place. The rest of the room was ornately decorated. The walls contained many mirrors and framed portraits. Several statues were dotted around the room on marble pedestals. In the dim light, they looked like gargoyles. Smaller tables, intricately carved from mahogany, stood against the walls. They contained artefacts big and small – jewels, ornaments, weapons, clothes, armour, even a preserved human head. The plain pine table stood out. It looked like a butcher’s block. It was empty except for a sword, the Sword. It was black, except for a blood red ruby embedded in its hilt, which glowed with a faint energy. It was precisely located in the centre of the table, inside a pentagram. One point of the pentagram was located at ninety degrees beneath the Sword. It pointed directly at Simon and Juliana as they entered the room. The pentagram was dark red. A perfect circle, also dark red, enclosed the sword and the pentagram. To the upper left of the sword, an all-seeing eye symbol was keeping guard. It screeched like an angry magpie protecting its nest. A figure emerged from the shadows in the back of the room. “Be quiet, my lovely, I am here. Hello, Simon, I have been expecting you.”

Simon was in a fog again. His head throbbed as if he were having a bad migraine attack. Fleischaker was calling him. Juliana needed his protection. This woman was welcoming him. He blinked through the fog and focussed on the woman. No! It can’t be. She is dead. “Mother?” was all that he said.

The woman spoke again. “Well, Juliana, it seems that you have not yet learned your lesson.” She gestured towards Juliana and the girl was flung through the air, hitting the wall beside the doorway and sliding to the floor in a crumpled heap. “I will deal with you later. Your death will be very slow and exceedingly unpleasant.”

Simon was at a loss. How could this woman, who looked like his mother, behave like this? He rushed over to Juliana and held her limp body in his arms. Her eyes flickered open. “I’m alright, Simon. Don’t worry about me.” She coughed, and a small trickle of blood ran from her mouth. She struggled to sit up and, slowly and painfully, she removed the chain and locket from her neck. “Wear this, Simon. It will help you to see the truth.” Simon took the locket and slipped it around his neck. Immediately his head cleared. He heard the words of Manfred the Magician. Be strong Simon. Fleischaker is rightfully yours. Take up the Sword. Control the Sword. He gently laid Juliana back on the floor and stood up.

The woman moved into the light. She was middle-aged, neither beautiful nor ugly, slightly overweight with a plain face and long black hair that was showing signs of grey. “Do not hurt Juliana again, witch!” Simon ordered.

“So, you see through my disguise, Simon. It’s very useful to make people see the person they most admire or love. It makes them less likely to try to hurt me. You want to hurt me, don’t you? I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Please put down your sword.” Freda’s words were syrupy, sickly-sweet but with a hint of a threat to counter the redolence. The witch gestured and Simon felt his arm moving, without his approval, to lower his sword to the floor. He didn’t try to resist; after all, he was finished with this sword.

“My spies in the dungeon saw you and your friends arrive. You travel with strange company. I never heard of a dwarf and an elf working together before. Who are you? Why are you here? Do you think that a mere boy can threaten Freda, the most powerful Witch Queen that has ever been? Even two wizards together are no match for me. I will deal with your friends and that mutinous Captain soon enough. First, I would have some sport with you. I will know all of your secrets, one way or another. You seem to have strong feelings for Juliana. I will start by letting you watch me torture her and kill her.” She gave a raucous laugh that reminded Simon of the old crone in his visions. “I have no remorse. You are no more to me than that rat, hiding in the corner.” The rat scurried into the shadows.

Simon felt a flash of pity for the witch, but it was quickly followed by anger and hatred. He had only ever felt such emotions before when thinking about his stepfather. He stood tall and faced Freda. The words that he spoke came to him without thinking. He wasn’t sure whether it was he or another that spoke them. “I have come for the Sword.”

The witch laughed. “You! A puny boy. Two wizards could not even touch it. It is protected by my strongest magic. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Know you that I am Simon the Red, Everlasting Hero. I come to reclaim what is rightfully mine, taken by deception from Gilgamesh the Great by Gadiel the Dark God. You have no claim on Fleischaker. We are the Trinity. We claim your soul.” He stepped forward and extended his left hand to pick up the Sword. The bonds of the pentacle shattered into dust. The all-seeing eye screamed and closed. As he picked up the Sword, Simon felt as though all the heat was being sucked out of his body. Freda appeared frozen too; immobilised in shock she stood with her mouth open in disbelief. Fleischaker began to sing and it sounded like a banshee wailing. Simon howled like a coyote on a full moon. Freda died, impaled on the Sword, and Fleischaker consumed her soul. The ruby glowed bright red and the Sword sang. Simon was overwhelmed by emotion. The heat flowed back into his body. Every nerve tingled, like every orgasm he had ever had had come at once.

Over by the wall, Juliana dragged herself to her feet and began to speak. “Oh, Simon you have done it, you...” The words were cut off as Fleischaker cut her throat. The Sword sang and Simon screamed. So began the orgy of death. The Hero methodically worked his way down the tower. In the royal nursery, the children were massacred in their beds. In the kitchens, the cooks were butchered like the meat they were cooking. In a room off Freda’s quarters, a drugged and befuddled King Jack welcomed the peace that death finally brought him. Servants were slaughtered as they cleaned and polished. Guards who came running were dispatched with clinical efficiency and never made as much as a scratch on the Hero. In a secret room, two old men chained to the wall in heavy irons died incredulous and the Hero barely noticed that their bodies turned to dust, which was carried away by an eerie breeze.

As he neared the bottom of the tower, Simon caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length wall-mirror. He was shocked. Truly, he had earned his name. He was completely red, covered in the blood of his victims. Too late, the words of warning came back into his mind. Remember Vasek. Only Vasek can control the Sword. Beware Fleischaker! It consumes the souls of friends as well as enemies. Angrily, he sheathed the Sword. Simon collapsed to the floor, hung his head in his hands, and cried. The tears mingled with the blood