“If you must know,” he said with a grimace, his white pearls clamped together beneath the hood of his cloak. A claw restrained him by the wrists and bound them together behind his back. The claw twisted his arms and threatened to bend his elbows backward should he try and resist. “That fucking stings, you hog!”
“I’m glad. Jadana says you’ve been a right cunt,” Kezaiah said while pushing him along the puddle-ridden stairs toward the central tower. She wore no cloak or hood and was utterly drenched by the rain, entirely unimpressed. “You’re not playing around in your fucking garden anymore, it’s time you acted your age.”
“Act my age? I’ve been tossed into an asylum and am expected to lay rest in a barn - I assure you I’m most definitely,” he flinched as she twisted further, “Not the bloody issue! Release me this instant!”
A light shove as they reached the summit left him slipping on the shallow sea of tiles, enough so that his arms flailed outward to catch his balance. He rolled his shoulders and shook his wrists loose.
“How fortunate you are, that I don’t take hold of this storm myself and unleash it upon you,” he said as he steadied his footing, planting his boots firmly and straightening out his sleeves.
“Are you looking to chew on steel?” she replied as she continued toward the marbled tower's grand entrance. “Keep it fuckin’ walking.”
Disgruntled mumbling snuck from beneath his hood, but he chose not to reply.
Before them, as the stairs had come to an end, a hexagon of grey and white took shape. It split into small hexagons, further and further into continuously minute fractals. Within each groove he noticed thin traces of opal, mimicking the strokes of light from the heavens as if lightning passed through the tiles below his feet. He walked with his head low, watching the streaks until they led him out from the rain.
When his head raised, he stood beneath the shelter of a white arch. Opal had been intricately embedded in a series along its edge. They all converged at the centre of the doors where a bronze plaque had been mounted: ‘Arcaevus Tesmet eck Veil.’
“The old tongue?”
“It means,” Kezaiah began to explain.
“I know what it means,” he said. Whispers echoed in the back of his mind, scratching the flesh beneath his dome. Then it spoke once he did. “Power Sleeps in the Storm.”
“Since when could you speak it?”
“Since when would something so bloody mundane interest you?”
“Ha,” she chuffed. “You’re right, it doesn’t.”
His boot lifted, but his face turned. Kezaiah began on her way around its perimeter, re-entering the falling rain.
“Where in fuck’s name are you off to?” He asked.
“Wrong tower. You’re over the hill.”
—
It stood there, crooked. An incarnation of the senile insanity that dwelled within. A second tower, hidden behind the magnificence of the first, only more crudely constructed. It had been tilted and built out in a brash and reckless manner, mostly held together by the twisting encapsulation of copper pipes, linings and reinforcements. Each one shone in its reddish-brown under the flashes above: an illuminated exoskeleton of the tower.
But, Orpheus’ eyes were not drawn to the copper pipes, nor the rough construction. Instead, a gaze of awe settled upon the constant stream of lightning that drew into the monstrosity’s spire. It crackled and chirped, the sparks erratically dispersing into the copper below.
Kezaiah and Orpheus stepped forth, under the cover of the entranceway, already forced to step over and through an absurd web of copper - but she stepped no further than the bottom stair. She leaned against a pipe that disappeared beneath the cobble and drew her blade. She wiped it dry beneath the shade. Orpheus stopped before the door and rolled his eyes.
“Think I’ve had quite enough of the mysterious bollocks. Why do you insist on doing this?”
“Doing what?” she asked with a twisted expression, clearly a bit ticked off.
“This! Leading me somewhere then disappearing off to the bloody hells for all I know!”
“Here to make sure you don’t scurry back to your room, not hold your hand,” she said, looking back to her sword. “Fuck off inside already.”
“Excuse m-” Orpheus said, though held his tongue and muttered instead. He dragged his feet along and pushed the doors open. “I’ll take my hand and hold it around your throat, barbarian.”
“Eh!?” she asked aloud with the brief shuffle of her foot and the threat of violence. Orpheus had no reply and simply closed the doors on her after he’d stepped inside.
He could see no longer, from the interior of the tower, the grey ruffles of storm clouds forming along the sky. Shimmering upon the doors and the stoned walls was a strong azure light; his young and rounded face seemed no exception, as it lit the paleness of his skin. It spanned the length of the room to the stairwell, where all along the floors lay livewire copper developed in rows and columns that carried flickering currents through winding channels. They coiled up the staircase and along the walls reaching for a place where he could hear the deafening sounds of beating metal above him.
“What the fuck?” He said, calling out, “Bloody hello?!” His voice did not echo in the noise.
The chamber on the highest floor giggled and chuckled, hysterics riding every echo that tumbled down the stairs. When he’d made his way close enough, the giggles and chuckles took the form of mania, utter mania. They were proclamations, proclamations to the world and all that walked it.
“DO THESE PEOPLE NOT RECOGNIZE IT?! THIS GENIUS - MY GENIUS?!” An old voice squawked. Their voice seemed rampant with energy as if there were a hundred of them all chanting in unison. “I. AM. CHOSEN!”
When Orpheus finally rounded the last steps, his eyes could barely remain open. Electricity arced in a violent rampage, streaming from a countless number of pylons embedded into the copper dome ceiling that contained the chaos. Had it not all converged at a single point, it’d have been impossible for Orpheus to make him out.
A white beard that brushed his knees, sizzling at the end of every strand; grey robes, torn, shredded and scorched from the influx of azure; beady eyes, red with maniacal passion; fingernails that grew out unattended, coated in the same brownish-red as the copper above. The old man leaned back with his chest to the ceiling, his hands outstretched as if to call the heavens upon himself.
“I,” he said to himself, his eyes peeking over the scorched marble floor. “I refuse.”
As he spoke, the man’s head whipped and he shot his crazed gaze at Orpheus. A grin stretched wide, revealing black and crooked teeth.
“COULD THAT BE ORPHEUS?! THE BOY OF THE HOUR - THE BOY IN QUESTION?!” he said with a giggle, one that grew quickly to a cackle. “COME HERE BOY, IT IS TIME FOR YOUR LESSON!”
He turned to make his way down the stairs, intent on escaping from the absurdity. Then he chuffed. His hand lifted to massage his brow and he dragged himself back up the stairs. Orpheus stood at the edge of the chamber.
“I’ll play your fucking game, dotard,” he said as a tired grin appeared. Sparks raced from his fingertips. “You had better not regr-”
“YES YES YES YES YES YES!” the old man cried as he pumped his arms into the air. Bolts shot down from the ceiling to gather in his hand, leaving his claw-like nails completely illuminated. With the sound of a droning, Orpheus’ eyes widened. “FEAST YOUR EYES ON GREATNESS! I AM IMPECCABLE!”
“What a load of shit!” said Orpheus. In his fingers from a glimmer of electricity manifested the translucent shape of a sceptre. It held an aethereal texture, as light taken form.
“THEY WILL CRY OMAEX! CRY IT OUT IN WONDER AND AWE!” Omaex moved his hands to the sky in odd circles and from the channels of the coils on the walls, and the stoned floors, came an explosion of lightning at Orpheus like the ripplings of a web. Holding out his sceptre Orpheus moved the strands of hair from his eyes.
The sceptre expanded, drawing in the branches of electricity which formed, from rod to tip, a pulsating orb. When the last sparks of the web were swallowed, Orpheus passed the flat of his hand over the sceptre rod. Shooting out from it, many more filled the room like small stars. From every direction they turned and advanced, coming quickly toward the professor in clusters.
Then the professor held his hands to the sky again and the orbs stopped in place.
“HOW MARVELOUS! CREATIVITY BEGETS POWER BOY! AND POWER,” he cried, as the orbs of electricity began to pull from their clusters; electricity from the coils and pylons formed new spheres. “POWER IS ABSOLUTE!”
“The only thing absolute about you is your fucking insanity,” Orpheus planted the sceptre to the floor and seemed to wait for the rebuttal. “You should hope, dotard, that your remains are recognizable.”
“A WELCOME CHALLENGE! WELCOME WELCOME WELCOME!” he chanted the word repeatedly, firing an orb with every utterance. Streaming and spiralling toward Orpheus, instead, they targeted a single point: the sceptre.
The orbs disappeared into the tip of the sceptre, the light disappearing into it like the last embers of a dying flame. The sceptre began to pulsate and shake. Energy overflowed within. Orpheus wiped sweat from his brow and his smile pressed thin.
“Fuck, wait,” Orpheus said, his grip tightening in an attempt to contain the energy. “Wait I said!”
The translucent shape cracked and splintered. Light spilled from it as the last of the orbs converged at the tip and, save for the noise of his breath, there was no sound or illumination any longer that he could see. There were no lines of electricity through the channels of the coils. The azure crystals no longer glimmered against the walls. He could see in the long darkness the glow of the sceptre in his hands.
“HERE IT COMES! HERE IT COMES HERE IT COMES! THE MAGNIFICENT!” Omaex announced in glee.
“You fuc-”
“BOOM!”
