Skip Scherer - Author"No one fed him?"
Tam shrugged.
"Who is this man?"
Another helpless shrug.
The bald man's eyes narrowed on Tam. Though towering over him, Tam flinched. The man's sleeves rustled, a prelude to violence Tam well knew. Instead, a sharp point. "Down one floor. Find Kry. Get cell 9 prison records." #SiP
Tam lumbered out, his limbs moving beyond his control. Still, leaving this place made him happy. Happy was good. He kept it simple.
The bald man pushed his sleeves to his elbows, then pressed a finger to Kru’s head. “Let us wake you.” he murmured. “What might be gleaned from your existence?”
#SiP
Kru shot up, air rushing into his lungs. A brutal flood. Every muscle screamed with fire. His head fell back, hitting the table. Each breath a desperate fight. Eyes wild, yet he was still. His body locked in place. A bald man in white observed him. He yearned to speak, but his jaw was a vise. #SiP
“Speak. I am Zim, Thaumaturgist of Troth. For this conversation, speak freely. Who are you?”
He could feel his jaw start to move, but not by his will. He clenched it tight, snarling. Kru knew this magic, it was denied him, but his mind was his. He forced the bile from his throat and sent it flying.
He could feel his jaw start to move, but not by his will. He clenched it tight, snarling. Kru knew this magic, it was denied him, but his mind was his. He forced the bile from his throat and sent it flying.
"That was uncalled for," Zim said, flicking the spittle from his robes. "I did not expect such resistance from the likes of you. If you refuse to speak, then we probe deeper."
He waved his hands, and a blazing spear shot forth, piercing Kru’s eyes. Zim cried out as his own hand burst into flames.
He waved his hands, and a blazing spear shot forth, piercing Kru’s eyes. Zim cried out as his own hand burst into flames.
The pain tore through Zim’s arm. Gritting his teeth, he willed an ice spell to douse it away. The flames resisted at first and then slowly gave way to the cold. Zim’s heart raced and the pain, the biting pain, lingered. Cradling his arm, he stepped away from the man on the table. "What... are you?"
Kru laughed. Weak and unmoving, yet his eyes burned bright as he turned his head to Zim. “My secrets are my own. Only I am worthy to save us all. Remove my blocks, and I will teach you things. You are but a child, too blind to see.”
Zim sank back into a chair, staring as the wild man laughed on.
Zim watched as the crazy man’s laugh became a chuckle and slowly died on his lips. The man slept, Zim still watched. His mind ablaze with what his probing had found, he searched corridors of his memory for a solution, an understanding. In a window above the sun set, and Zim watched and wondered.
"Excuse me, my liege." The timid voice broke Zim's trance. He turned to Archivarius Aza, her light blue robes hanging neatly. Hair bound back, a satchel over her right shoulder that burst with scrolls and loose papers, more still in her hands. Waiting patiently at the door as if afraid to enter.
"Aza, come in. Your records may give me the insight I need." Zim rose and waved. Mists formed a round, sturdy table smelling of old oak. He tilted his head, crossed his arms, and waited.
"It took a while," she said, as the contents of her arms spilled on the table, "but what I found is horrifying."
"It took a while," she said, as the contents of her arms spilled on the table, "but what I found is horrifying."
"How so?" Zim asked.
"Records show the last man in cell 9 was meant for cell 8, but a vague fuss put him their," Aza said, sliding papers across the table.
"To the point Aza. Who do you believe this man to be?"
"This is Kru. Kru the Red, taker of flesh, the bane of Troth," she whispered, eyeing Kru.
"Records show the last man in cell 9 was meant for cell 8, but a vague fuss put him their," Aza said, sliding papers across the table.
"To the point Aza. Who do you believe this man to be?"
"This is Kru. Kru the Red, taker of flesh, the bane of Troth," she whispered, eyeing Kru.
Kru's eyes bolted open. That voice! He sought it, afraid to move. Foolish Zim and a girl were talking. Zim was arrogant, his very stance offensive. She was soft, demure, head tilted regarding Zim. He looked away, and her eyes turned to Kru. A red flash, a burning, tore through him. Kru shrieked!
“What’s wrong with him?” Zim said. Waving his hands, mist formed, binding Kru in straps. He floated back onto the table.
“I know not my lord.” Ava replied, her voice low.
Kru’s eyes shot wide. He thrashed against his bonds, to no avail.
“Kru the Red is evil. Bound, I caution even you my lord.”
"Your warning is well deserved, Ava," Zim said. He walked to a shelf, pulling tomes. Each floated before him with a flick of a finger. He read, "I recall a tale before Kru the Red. Kru the Sovran Thaumaturgist. Last to achieve such rank. If memory serves, he was obsessed with the study of Jur.”
"Like you, my lord?" Ava asked.
"My interests are a side study. Jur built wonders and hid them. If I found them, I would use them.”
Kru convulsed on the table, back arching. "Mine! The legacy is mine! You cannot fathom the depths you pry at! My power, my knowledge or Jur will destroy us! Return me!"
“You found something? Jur designed the castle's base, where the cells lie. 9 was his number of power.Thought it silly, but had the brute look. There's more. What do you know?”
Kru thrashed. He’d given too much. Only he should know. What did he know? He'd found nothing; knew nothing more. Or did he?
All Kru knew was the cell. Gone there seeking Jur, but no mark was to be found. Each detail known: A door, ledge for a bed, sloping floor, a hole, the shape of water. In his mind, each one became like a line on a piece of paper. For the first time he saw it all, he saw Jur, and he started to cry.
It was right there. It was there. He was right. He needed to go back.
He turned his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. They were his only hope, this fool Zim and the—other. He would play them, work their feeble minds, control them. He needed one more thing—one thing to make it all work. Magic.
"Send me back!" Kru whimpered. "When I'm there, my mind clears, and I see the horrors I've done. I deserve my penance! It's just—so incredibly dark. Give me a spark, a single spark, to see by! Then leave me be."
Ava's hand found Zim's shoulder, her eyes pleading. “Can we not show mercy my lord?”
Who was this man, this wretch, to make such requests of Zim? Zim would do as he pleased. The idea rattled in his head, but his outrage calmed, replaced with—caring? He nodded and looked at Ava. “Perhaps you are right. This man, a beast now, has no answers. Perhaps we can show him a shred of mercy.”
“Your magic cannot be returned. However, I grant you this.” Zim touched Kru’s hand and a symbol appeared on the back.
Kru’s eyes went wide, warmth rushing over him—that tingling, that sensation of power running through his veins. Oh, how he missed it.
“A simple reading light rune. May it serve.”
"Ava, call the brute. Return this thing to its proper place. I'm done."
"Yes, my lord." Ava murmured, slipping out.
Kru had done it! He held still, the knowledge, the new power, threatening to burst free! No one else could know, no one else was worthy. Jur's portal summoned him; he would answer.
Tam entered the room. The place was too large, unsettling; it made his neck hair prickle. He didn’t recall leaving, so why was he here?
“Take this one back to the cells. Care for him. Report his condition. I would know how he survives.” Zim said.
Tam nodded, lifted the man, and made for the door.
As the brute left, Kru slung over his shoulder, Ava stood in the door. She nodded, mouthing a silent “thank you,” and then vanished.
Zim’s eyes glazed over, mind hazy. He shook his head as Kry entered, breaking his trance.
The old, plump woman had a small, crumpled scroll clutched in her hands.
"What do you need, Kry?" Zim asked.
"I brought the files, my lord. Tam said you needed them. Sorry it took so long, they were buried deep."
"I asked for no files."
"He said from deep cell 9?"
Zim waved her off. "The brute makes many mistakes. Begone." He vanished in a wave of smoke and light.
Tam walked down the stairs, liking down more than up. Less work. Good. The guy on his shoulder squirmed, giggled. He was annoying, and Tan didn’t like that. Tam stopped, looked around—nobody. He pivoted. The guy's head cracked off the wall, body went limp. That was better. Simple. Tam liked simple.
Kru's eyes opened, goosebumps pricking his skin. Rough stone floor ripping at his clothes. He rolled to his knees, smiling, awash with joy. A pat on his hand and the light rune filled the room like a candle.
His heart pounded. A chill ran down his spine. Eyes widened, darting around. Kru screamed!
Punching the door, his knuckles ripping and tearing. Grabbing the small barred window. Across the hall was cell 9. He shoved his arm through, reaching, screaming for the guards. It was no use.
Kru fell to the ground, exhausted. The light rune faded. Alone in the darkness, a whisper began to laugh.
"Ava?" Kru begged, but darkness offered no reply. He touched the rune. Light glowed, showing a rotting pallet, a waste hole, a trickling tube. All a prisoner could need, unless that prisoner was Kru. With a thump on his head, bread fell between his legs. Standing, seeking the window, again—nothing.
He measured time by bread drops, yet knew not how long they were. Hunger was the enemy that bound his mind. He fought it, studying his new cell. A box. Nothing to challenge his thoughts, nothing to get him closer to Jur. Anger would crush him if not for hunger. He languished in his eternal solitude.
He lost count. Was this day 24 or 224? Mind — foggy. Thoughts strained. Day’s light came and left, but no sun pierced this vile cell. Yet he was Kru, his will was power! He could escape. Master his mind! Head ached, pounded, throbbed. “Ava! Help me!” he cried.
“Who is Ava?” replied a small voice.
“You are Ava.” His voice burned, raw. “I heard… saw you in the tower.”
“I do not know this tower.” Her voice cold.
“Lies. Show yourself, why play games?” Winds swirled across the cell. Kru pushed to a corner, fear rippling his skin.
“I do not lie.” Softer this time.
“Tell me! Tell the truth!”
"Mock me‽ I know the secrets of Jur. I can stop his deadly machines. Only me. No. You are not Jur, I see now… you are—" The answer was there, yet the more he grasped, the further away it got, a butterfly floating beyond his fingers. "—show me how you get out."
"You already know." The voice faded.
A mad refrain in his mind. “You already know.”
Walls grew frigid. Drips froze the pipe. Cold biting his skin, he focused on what he knew. Magic. Shaking hands waved the light rune on and off. Magic required power, and the only power was him. A prick in his block—it was a—whisper. He needed a roar.
He pushed at his bonds again, straining, pouring power into the light. It grew brighter until his will gave out. He broke focus, waving the rune off, but the searing pain remained. As he blinked, the room flashed before him, darkness and light battling back and forth. With no victor, Kru battled on.
The light scorched his vision and into his soul. He fell back, splayed out on the ground, staring at the ceiling. His eyes, locked open by searing pain, couldn't close. Spots danced in his vision, colors swirling. Fading, as always, but this time, for the first time, Kru smiled. For Kru beheld Jur.
It ignited on the walls, light dancing across the stone. The rune had brought him a script he knew. Cherished. The words of Jur. They etched the cell, top to bottom. No space spared. Reading this gift would cost him, burning his vision. He cared not. He had the time, and with it the will to endure.
His eyes bled, he read on, draining power from the rune to feed his desire. Letters became words, then sentences, and meaning took hold. He'd once prided himself on his knowledge, but now saw it as a mere drop in the ocean. This was not the portal, but a machine of Jur, and now, it belonged to him!
The words shimmered, morphing into gears of light. Turning cogs hummed, clicked and whirled sacredly, echoing from the walls. The room spiraled, radiant, transcendent. Kru spun at the heart, rapt in awe, arms outstretched. A flash. A breath of divinity. Then the machine of Jur swallowed him whole.
The aroma of lavender and orange was the first thing to reach him, rousing him from sleep. He sat up in bed and instantly he knew this room. Yet something was… off. The walls were too bright, and if you peered hard, translucent. Gears grinding away. Still, there was no mistaking it. Kru was home.
Cold nipped at his bare feet. He paced the room, noting all in its place. The dresser, desk, murals, they were there, impeccable in detail. Yet, it was all touched by Jur. The gears were faintly turning. He faced a mirror. Sunken eyes, straggly hair, pale, blotchy skin. He was not touched by Jur.
He was in the machine, but for what purpose? His studies of Jur paled before this. He found clothes; dressed and headed for the door. A cold wind struck, and he winced, for woven into it he heard a whisper. Not the cold, echoing one from the cell, but that was warm and tugged at his heart. His wife.
She was the sunlight of a new day. She was the wisdom of the stars. In her heart beat the love of ages.
Kru’s wife entered the room. His heart sank. He seized her chin and twisted her head. Gears whirled, barely seen, under luminescent skin. “What torture is this?” he spat. “You're an abomination.”
"Oh, spare me the theatre," she sighed, batting his hand away. "It's just the presentation stressing you, Kru. Your big discovery. I can hardly wait."
Kru's mind went cold. A knot of ice formed in his stomach. "Presentation? What day is this?"
"Have you forgotten?" her voice sharp with disbelief.
"Tonight," she laughed, "the King's High Festival, and the world awaits! Unveil the wondrous device of Jur—take center stage!" She spun and danced, but Kru sat still, his mind reeling. He remembered no festival, only his pleas before the King and his advisors. The moment before he killed them all.
He fished in his pocket, an old habit easily resumed. Surprise welled up in him as his fingers brushed cold iron. These new clothes, this world within Jur’s machine—yet still, it was here. He used his thumb to feel its edges, to trace it, to know it. The first relic of Jur unearthed in ages. A coin.
It was all wrong. His head throbbed with the thought. The machine was doing it, warping his memories, remaking his reality. Why? Was this some kind of test? He tried to hold on to the thought, but it was like water through his hands. His wife smiled and beckoned him, and they were off to the fair.
The crowd was a curse. Loud, sweating, pressing. Kru hated it. Despised it. Yet, there she was. His wife danced through the vendors. Taking in the sights.
Impossible.
She was his echo, his equal in desires; working in tandem, a single entity.This vibrant glee, this mask, was a lie. What was this?
They watched the games; the archery, the wrestling, the jousting and through it all a sense of warmth fell over Kru. He was happy here in ways he had never felt before; it all felt so completely right. The sun was setting, and the fires were lit, and all the crowd gathered around the center stage.
Dancers pranced across the stage. Jugglers tumbled to the crowd’s delight. Then came singers and acrobats, comedians and bards — the night stretched long. Yet not a soul strayed. They dared not miss what was coming. Waiting, breath held and eyes wide, for the main event: Kru and the Machine of Jur!
"Silence!" The compère tipped his hat, twirled his mustache, skipping on the stage. "The time's come! Gather close! Kru, Sovran Thaumaturgist, will reveal his discovery! A relic from Jur! Jur the maker, Jur the wonderful! Such a thing has not been seen for an age! Prepare your eyes! Cheer! Rejoice!"
With a light heart, he strode on stage. This was the peak of joy; he would reveal the wonders of Jur the world only dreamed of! Then, he stumbled. His mind kicked and bucked. A flash of fear, then dread, took him. His wife stood by, lifting him up. His mind instantly calmed, and all worries receded.
He looked across the sea of wide-eyed people, all locked on him in awe. Kru felt a need, a desire, to give them what they wanted. The glorious! The never-seen! The remarkable! His mouth opened, his hand reached into his pocket; touching the coin. Rage, blood, and flashes of death scored his mind.
He spoke, and the world listened. The words flowed like silk and all praised Jur. The crowd gasped, their eyes alight with ardor and hope. Inside, his mind was screaming! This was false. These were not his words, not the tale he told the king—this world, this construct was ripping through his mind.
Kru roared! The crowd recoiled, falling silent. Tearing at his head, the rhythmic pounding fueling his agony. "I am master of my mind!" he shrieked into the night. A cool breeze; his hands dropped, and a calmness settled on his mind. He felt the soothing and with a last burst of will — rejected it.
He wrenched the coin from his pocket. Flames shooting out of his hand. The heat scorching his face. Gears connected and clawed their way across his palm. The more he fought, the more the coin sought to lull him into submission. Pain was his resistance, and he pushed into the pain. The crowd cheered!
As the light flew from Kru’s hand, little gears drifted, swirling, connecting, breaking apart, flying off, bursting into pops of color. The crowd called for more! The gale of applause was an assault on Kru’s senses while his mind reeled.
“Fools!” He shouted, a futile attempt to extinguish it all.
His mind was his own. Kru would tolerate nothing less. Over the cheers of the crowd, the pounding in his head, Kru pushed back. No one saw the danger; no one saw the cataclysmic power. All they saw was the false wonders of Jur. Kru would have to force them to see the horror of their utter ignorance.
Kru turned on his wife, grabbing her. “I know not this world you have crafted for me. But like in the halls of the king, I will use it the same. It seems my destiny is to use you, I am sorry.”
“No!” She shouted. “You are supposed to embrace the wonders of Jur!”
Kru slammed the coin onto her head.
Her skin aglow from the sheen of this world, began to ripple. The coin's dark gears grew as they gnashed and interacted, merging into one cold, unfeeling mass. She screamed as it draped her body. "Stop this now!" she shrieked. “Kru! Give them the wonders, give in to happiness! You must love — obey!"
A tear fell from Kru’s eye. While this wasn’t his wife, his mind knew she was a construct of Jur, still, his heart yearned for her. Jur would destroy them and only he could see that. To change that, he had to change everything, even in this world. What they saw, what they believed… what he loved.
