Chương 19: Book, Part 1
The demon waved his hand again, and another image appeared, this one of Morne standing over Anthem's corpse as the Jiklok cultist jumped out the window.
"The second part, judgment, passed," the Coltha announced.
The image panned over to the altar and the empty pedestal that previously held the Idol of Pernecia.
"The third part, fulfillment of the contract, passed," the Coltha continued. "The book's contents are now yours to peruse at your leisure. But first…"
The Coltha clapped, and pain became Morne's entire world.
A supernatural energy surged from the stars around him. The stars dimmed as this energy seeped into his stomach with a horrible chill, pouring into the organ with the intensity of water seconds away from freezing over into ice.
Then the energy calmed. It formed a pit in his stomach, which sat still for less than three seconds before it exploded outward, the icy cold filling every inch of his being.
The cold switched to a blazing heat in an instant, scorching his insides as another pit formed in his stomach.
Then the process repeated.
And repeated again.
Over and over.
Morne coughed up ash one minute, only for the tears of pain to crystallize into ice and stick to his face the next.
One moment his mouth was as dry as a desert, the next his teeth cracked from the intense shivers.
He felt his bones shatter as they were bombarded with intense heat followed by biting cold, his organs liquefy only to freeze into misshapen blocks of ice before the loop reverted.
Each time, the pit in his stomach was larger than it was before. Not by much, but the improvement was there. Morne only noticed because each increase in size meant an increase in energy, which in turn meant an increase in his suffering.
Though Morne was far too out of it to notice, there was a small bubble within this pit, a structure the energy made sure to fill with each loop.
It was a vast and yet simultaneously minuscule world, filled with lush grass and blue skies.
Within was a massive tower fifty stories tall. Its black stone was weathered, but not chipped or scratched; a sign that it had stood the test of time unwaveringly. It was a towering monument that radiated power, and stood on the tallest of several mountains in a mountain range.
Next to the mountain that the tower was on, sitting on the grass, was what looked like an old stone well.
It was a small thing, barely an inch wide and deep, and was tiny compared to the tower, but this was where all of the energy was going into.
Energy flowed into its mouth, freezing its stone walls before the heat came and melted the ice. Each time, the well increased in size by a small amount, adding energy to the departing mass of force and strengthening it in a perpetual loop.
An undeterminable amount of time passed.
The temperatures steadily ramped up with every cycle, to the point Morne feared he would be reduced to smoldering ash or a pile of frozen chunks of meat.
Finally, in an instant, it stopped.
The well had grown from a tiny thing that could hardly fit a fingernail to a more acceptable size, seven inches wide and twice as deep. If before it was no more than a thimble, now it was a bucket.
At the bottom of the well, moisture slowly condensed into a clear liquid, purer than even the purest water. This was what had been aiding whatever was wreaking havoc in Morne's insides, but not enough of it had gathered to become liquid before.
Morne's swimming vision became a blur of colors.
He felt like he was falling, but he couldn't tell which direction he was going in.
The feeling soon passed, and he stood still as he waited for his vision to settle.
He was in a business of some kind, with a counter at the back protected by thick glass.
As Morne tried to orient himself, one of the women behind the glass pressed an unseen button.
A door slammed open and several armed men and women rushed out, surrounding Morne.
"State your intentions," demanded one of the guards, who levied his sword at Morne.
"Where is this?" Morne asked.
"State your intentions," the guard repeated, harsher this time.
"Sorry, this is my fault," said a man.
Morne turned his head to find the sharply-dressed Malcinson of Malcinson's Museum of Magicks striding into the building, the glass doors sliding shut behind him.
"Mr. Malcinson," the guard that had spoken frowned but lowered his sword. "What is the meaning of this? You know civilian magic within an imperial building is heavily regulated."
"I cast a Spell on this man within my museum after hiring him to help test it," Malcinson replied. "Unfortunately, I still haven't worked out the kinks."
The guard pondered this for a moment before sheathing his sword. "See to it you are more careful next time," he said.
"Of course," Malcinson replied, gesturing to Morne to follow before leaving.
Malcinson led Morne into a nearby alley before pressing a hand to a brick in the wall. A section of the wall slid inward before dropping down, revealing a stairway leading down. "Come on, then," the old man said.
The stairway was dark and chilly, and opened into a small room lit by candles held in sconces on the walls.
A map of the city hung on one wall, with a shelf full of glass bottles next to it. On the other wall was a map of Xryn, next to a small bookshelf. In the corner was a twin-sized bed, and a chest sat at its foot. A small pantry sat next to the bed, though the contents were hidden by the doors.
"This is a safe room for people like you and I," Malcinson said. "I knew I recognized the remnants of a Trade's embers within you. I didn't expect Brej-N'Ha-Frikt to pick an inheritor in my lifetime. You must have given up something valuable."
Morne didn't miss the implications of what this man was saying, and he directed a frown at the old man.
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