The King by K. C. Herbel

Author:K. C. Herbel [Herbel, K. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781944314187
Publisher: Epic Books Press
Published: 2017-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

One Man’s Demon

Billy swam in a fevered nightmare, floating between the world of men and the world unseen, between life and death. When he lost consciousness, his mind drew lines on the grey blankness that surrounded him. Each was written from a spell that stretched out into a dark, wavy line. He wrote these lines, never finishing one, never completing a spell. Each line begat more lines, crisscrossing one another at various angles and forming patterns. Then objects formed out of this patchwork: bricks and stones that became part of a giant, curved wall.

Then he would wake up. Before his closed eyes, it was the same awake or asleep: lines and more lines. At last, he would gather the energy to open his eyes and see the world of men that had become the inside of a tent, alternating with the inside of a wagon. Quite often, Myrredith was there with a kind word and an offer of cool water or food. The mere mention of food made him wretch, and so his menu promptly reduced to water.

One or two swallows of water and some medicine made from herbs and tree bark, and he would lose consciousness again. Once recaptured by his subconscious, he would return to writing the lines, over and over again. There was no rhyme or reason, only a feeling of desperation. He had to finish the wall before time ran out.

A black cloud surrounded his wall of scrawling words—seeking a way in—and Billy knew why he was building the wall. Soon, the cloud found the opening Billy was desperately trying to close and poured in, filling the void around him. As if it knew no other purpose, Billy’s mind began drawing the arcane web of lines in white against the blackness, but they were different words, different spells, and he realized he was no longer the one writing them. Again, the lines multiplied of their own accord, but now they formed only right angles and only in particular regions. Before long, the pattern of a large rectangle emerged. The lines looked like moonlight reflected off ripples in an inky pond. The rectangle rose out of the pool, which was now like tar. The tar bled off the surface of the rectangle and revealed the black tome Billy had taken from the Witan’s home.

He took hold of the book warily and pulled with all his might until he wrenched it from the tarry surface. The black curtain surrounding him evaporated, leaving Billy standing under a star-littered sky, in a tiny clearing surrounded by dense forest. He felt a sharp pain in his hand and dropped the book.

The iron bindings of the big volume split and fell away from the cover, smoking and glowing red with heat. The faint smell of sulfur burned his nose. Drops of blood stained several of the tiny claws that topped the points on the wavy cover.

Billy absently put the new wound in his mouth as he studied the book. The taste of blood was real enough.

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