#7. BAHKIS II

The view from the Maelstrom Mage Suite at the Height Line Hotel had unparalleled views. Nestled against a mountain near the coast, the penthouse apartment had a full view of the bay to the south, the luscious pine forest that surrounded the town, and the beautiful, setting sun.

Bahkis was reclining in a comfortable chair, its polished wood warm against his skin. He wore a summer outfit, shorts and a loose shirt, for in this realm, Prallos, it was always warm weather. The sun shown brightly above him, the rooftop garden a perfect hide out from the hotbed of tourism below.

The Height Line was his sanctuary. It was a place of reprieve from the machine of bureaucracy that was the Institute.

“The Institute,” he sneered within. “How far it has come from its origins.” Bahkis’s thoughts were aggressive, negative, deeply at odds with his placid surroundings. He was perturbed more than usual. Without his finery and fancy medals, the jewelry and the wealth, all that remained was his dissatisfaction with the way of things.

And now the Red…

He reached over to grab a glass from the small table beside his chair. It was sweating, the ice inside having reduced by half in the short time he had been sitting outside. He sipped it, savoring the mentholated burn of the alcoholic drink. He sipped it again, then took a long swig from the glass. When he placed it back down, it was nearing empty.

He swallowed against the burn, leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with an arm.

“What could we possibly do to fight against the Red… those fools.” Images of his last meeting with the Dreamweaver Initiative filled his head. The bluster, the confidence, all of it for naught.

Few people knew what Bahkis knew, a secret that had been deliberately erased from time. This secret now weighed on his soul, almost literally holding him in place, unable to act.

Red Mysterium… it was so much more powerful than people thought.

He felt his stomach well up with disgust for the truths of the world he helped keep in the shadows. He could tell others, obviously, if he truly wanted to. But the threat it could create…

“The Crimson Era all over again,” he thought.

He grabbed his drink and finished it with an angry gulp, slamming the glass back onto the table. He sat forward, resting his face in his hands.

For a long moment, Bahkis wallowed in his luxurious chair, under the hot sun of Prallos, and pitied himself.

A young woman approached, an attendant from the Institute. She was cautious, but after it was obvious he was not going to see her, she cleared her throat.

Bahkis groaned. “What?”

She frowned. “I have a message from Arkanist Supreme.” She held up a small pouch, no doubt containing a Seeing Stone.

He frowned too, motioning impatiently for her to hand it over. When she had, he gave her an equally impatient shooing away. She rolled her eyes, turned and walked away with annoyance accenting each step.

Bahkis was shaking his head. “Should know to treat her betters well,” he thought. He disregarded her, emptied the small pouch into his palm.

It was not a Seeing Stone, but a small Chimeric Avatar in his hand.

Fear flooded his belly immediately. This was no trifle, but a powerful piece of magic that was sitting perfectly in his palm. It was a creature, no larger than an orange, composed of various different parts of many different animals. It had the head of a reptilian, but had wings like a turkey with two bat-like claws at the crook. Its body was that of an ape, and its legs like that of a bull. It had a tail like a scorpion which stung Bahkis on his hand before he could react.

He dropped the Chimera, its body slumping heavily to the floor. It turned its head to look up at him as he stepped away in fear, holding the sting site. It opened its mouth and words echoed in the space around him.

“The Conspiracy reduces by One.” It exhaled a dying breath before it began to bubble away into black and white vapor. Soon, it was as if it had never been there.

But Bahkis could already feel the poison of the Chimera at work.

He fell to the ground, clutching his hand. It was beginning to swell, the sting site bleeding. He looked around for anything at all that might help, but found that he was all alone with nothing close at hand. He had no Arkanite on him, none of his enchanted items, none of his potions.

He flopped onto his back, muscle spasms making him lose control of his motor functions. He felt a massive shiver run its way through him and he knew that, unless saved, he would die.

And unlike most people, Bahkis knew exactly why he was dying. He had been told long ago that he would be killed if he were to lose his purpose, if he were to allow himself to doubt the cause of the Conspiracy. He had agreed, a zealot and a youth with no sense of self or future beyond the call.

Now, he reaped what he sowed.

Bahkis lay there, dying under the hot sun of Prallos. He tried to summon magic, found no sources, and began to surrender to the idea of death.

But then a change began to come upon him. His mind grew foggy, began to fill with voices. He felt his body rising up even though he still lie on the rough ground beside his chair. He flew upward into the sky, and soon, as was according to plan, Bahkis was dead.

But the transformation had just begun. He lay there, baking in the heat, until small shakes began to fill his muscles. A twitch, a shake, a persistent shiver. The motion grew more and more pronounced until his entire body was vibrating like a string.

Then, like a doll learning to walk without strings, Bahkis began to stand. It was a series of jerking motions, his joints creaking against the unnatural movements.

Soon, he was standing. The sun above was all but forgotten. The Chimera, the Institute, the Red, all of it had faded away. Bahkis stood there, emptied out, enthralled with a potent death magic. The Others, those who kept the Conspiracy alive, had further use for Bahkis, the Geomancer Surpreme.

“Not…well,” he croaked out, voice rough and distrubing. “I… not well.” This time the inflection was more human, less uncanny. “I…am not feeling…” Bahkis’s voice was returning, the commanding tone that carried with it just too much entitlement.

He cleared his throat. “I am not feeling… well.” He smiled, a deathly grin that would give even the most hardened killer a shudder. “I am not feeling well.”

This thing in the body of Bahkis made its way from the roof. It descended through the Height Line, across the town, and all the way to the Leyline Portal.

Its mind was filled with only a single purpose: Find Nabras Kahn.

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