Some people don’t care about the truth—they only care about being right.

Even when the evidence is irrefutable, these same mud-butts will fight tooth and nail to defend their position. They will claw, accuse, condemn, ignore and outright lie…so long as they do not have to admit, accept or apologize.

All I can say is, I’m sorry. Those people do exist.

Wendell looked up through his sweat drenched hair. He blinked, trying to get the salt water out, so he could see clearly, but it was no use. Sweat drizzled across his eyebrows, pooling the bridge of his nose.

He blinked again anyway.

Even the sharpest pain had lost its effect. Wendell’s body flinched from reflex now. The razor cuts burned with a fire that diminished now to a dull ache.

He blinked again.

Perched on a tiny stool sat a fat monk with large, round glasses. Dipping his quill pen into the inkwell, which was balanced precariously on the corner of the altar, he continued his scribbling. Pushing the glasses back up onto his bulbous nose, he muttered, “…and that’s all I know. Right then,” he looked up at Noah—who seemed preoccupied in his own anger. “I have a wizard, Dax the troll…”

“He’s…,” Wendell sputtered under his breath, “not…a troll.”

“Right then,” scribbling, “I’ll place a footnote here to that fact. Uhhhh, here we are—a girl and you came here because you were dead and now you’re not, which was accomplished by gnome technology.” He stopped, reading the notes over again, just to make sure he got the wording correct. “Um, father Noah—I was unaware that we had the ability to bring people back from the dead.”

“We don’t,” Noah snarled.

“Ah, yes, but Mr. Dipmier just said…”

“THIS,” snapped Noah, reaching over and grabbing a fist full of the fat gnomes hood, “is why we interrogate! To sift through the LIES!”

“You got what you wanted,” Tabbermain whispered, “Let the boy be.”

Noah released the scribe and strolled casually around the alter, side stepping the small trails of blood soaking between the cobblestone. With each step, Tabbermain and Vin withdrew—scuffling up against the wall and dragging their chains with them. The monk sneered at the aged prisoners, holding the tiny whip high. Blood dripped from the speckles of flesh trapped between the jagger grooves of the weapon.

“Would you like to take his place?” he warned.

Both gnomes cowered and shook their heads vigorously.

Noah turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. It disgusted him to be here. To look upon the human filth anchored to the alter. It disgusted him that a human was even in Clockworks, polluting his homeland. But it infuriated Noah even more that he could not break the will of this creature who the people were calling the Gnolaum.

Without warning, Noah spun around and dropped his forward knee, using his whole body to power the blow of the snake whip. Metal shards tore through black cloth and embedded deeply into Wendell’s flesh. Blood splattered up Noah’s dark robe and across his cheek.

Wendell quivered, but made little sound. He was exhausted. His outstretched hands, held in place by the chains, spasmed against the stone, then went limp. Eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, fluttering briefly…then closed.

“Disgusting,” Noah hissed, wiping his face with the sleeve of his robe. He’d have to change now. Clean the heretics blood off of his person. It would not do to have the monks look upon him as anything but the most civilized of leaders. It would cast doubt in uneducated minds—to see their spiritual father doused with the blood of…” he looked down at Wendell, “and enemy.”

Tossing the whip into the open box, Noah reached into the sleeve of his robe and puled out a worn handkerchief. He wiped his cheek properly.

“This will continue, until I get the information I am looking for, Mr. Dipmier.” Examining the cloth, he folded it over and used the clean side to wipe his cheek again. “Or,” he stared down sternly, “until it’s time for the offering. Either way, your visit here is about to come to an end.”

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

Noah kept his gaze upon Wendell. “Enter.”

Light from the hallway torches trickled into the chamber and a thin, wiry figure strode past the scribe and up to Father Noah.

“We may have enough,” he whispered. He glanced over uneasily at the scribe, then down at the unconscious human. “I think you should take inventory yourself, isä.”

A sly grin flashed over Noah’s face—a predator smelling the blood of a wounded prey. His wide nostrils of the hawk-like nose flared, “Good.” Shoving the handkerchief back up his sleeve, he turned abruptly and strode towards the door. “I’ll give you time to consider your predicament, Mr. Dipmier,” the comment had an undertone of danger, assuring that it would be conveyed to the hero when he woke. Noah turned at the doorway and glared back at Tabbermain, though his comment was meant for Wendell. “I would advise you not to squander it. For when I return, the enchantment granted by your fellow inmates will be broken and we will allow the chains of frost to do the work they were initially created for.”

Tabbermain averted his gaze. His quivering fingers absentmindedly rubbed his wrists.

The guards filed out of the chamber after Father Noah—the flustered scribe scooping up his pen, ink and papers. Lifting the hem of his robe with one hand, supplies in the other, he dashed through the door, before it closed sharply behind.

“Ungh! These theatrics,” Noah grumbled, waving at the torches. Pulling a small chain from around his neck, he aimed the tiny device attached to the end and clicked one of its many buttons. With a whirl and click, rows of florescent bulbs flipped down from hidden compartments, flaring overhead and flooding the hallway with artificial light. Noah gave a sigh of relief. Composing himself, hands slid into the folds of his sleeves. He gave the scribe a warning glance, which kept him at a distance, escorted by the monk guard. Noah then turned back to the messenger. “Report.”

Now that the overhead lights were on, the thin gnome looked even more gaunt compared to his superior. His sharp cheekbones cast shadows across his face, and his paper thin lips were a near replica of Noah’s own. He bowed his head quickly, “Yes, isä. We have recorded your conversations as instructed. The quality of sound is quite good. Perfectly useable.”

“Footage?”

“We have taken footage at key points of your conversation, but I don’t think we have much to use. The lighting is bad, angles and you,” he hesitated, not wanting to anger Noah, “tend to move about a lot while you speak.”

The monk did not slacken his pace. “Did you get any close ups?”

“We did. A few during your more compassionate poses and the Gnol—,” he started to say, but a sharp glare from Noah gave the monk second thoughts. “…human, at his most emotional or angry. We should be able to peace enough footage together, if you feel the quality is good enough.”

The session had gone on for hours, despite Noah’s efforts to break Wendell. It wasn’t as impressive so much as frustrating. Though he’d wanted the human to reveal his secrets, Noah was more interested in causing a great deal of pain and suffering. Payment for all the injustices against the gnome race. Of all the injustices about to befall the gnome race. “Mr. Dipmier has remarkable recuperative powers.” Too remarkable for a mere human, but he didn’t make that thought known. “We will let him rest for now, see to these recordings you have made and if they fall short, well,” his devious smile returned, “we’ll have to provide the boy with another opportunity to confess.”

The group followed a turn in the hallway, then another.

“Is he a mägo then?” the messenger asked aloud.

Noah snorted, “Did you not see his performance at the WHRN station? Of course he’s a mägo, you fool.” He did nothing to hide his disgust at the word describing the grotesque magical practitioners. “And he’s had the aid of those thorns in my side.”

Grinning, “We did keep the footage of Tabbermain aiding the boy, isä. Would you like that separated out? It could be used to begin a new inquiry.”

Father Noah shook his head and slowed his pace to a crawl. The guards behind them placed firm hands on the shoulders of the scribe. They stood afar off, granting privacy to their leader.

At the end of the hallway, two armed monks stood guarding the main exit—thick transparent walls and a single steel door, separating the original dungeon and the remodeled basement of the holy shrine of TGII.

“No need. The techno-clowns have nothing further we can use, now that the gate has been reactivated. The scales, dear brother, have finally been tipped in our favor.” A smile peeled back over both their thin mouths. “The Religious Faction will not only be the only faction in control…it will soon be the only faction left!”

“And if you cannot find where the last seal is located?”

A wary glance at the armed guards, “Then no one shall find it!” Noah hissed, grabbing the monks robe and pulling him closer. Gritting his teeth, the thin black mustache quivered on his upper lip. “I will cast that human into the darkness where he belongs—to be consumed with the rest of the traitors!”

“A-as you say, Isä Noah,” the monk shuttered, “so shall it be done.”

Noah nodded and made a fluid gesture to the exit, “Now show me what your department has recorded.”

****

Wendell stumbled. Hands outstretched, he gained his balance before falling over.

His feet felt so very heavy.

No, it wasn’t that they were heavy. His muscles didn’t seem to want to work.

It was night time, but nothing looked familiar to him. The trees, the forest, mountains in the distance, and…

Howling.

His head swayed from side to side—the sheer weight of it taxing the muscles in his neck.

“Hello?” he said aloud, but there was no one to answer.

Another howl cut through the night air.

Where am I? What… he looked down at his hands. Though they looked normal in the moonlight, his fingers felt swollen. Sore. Tired.

Need to rest. He looked about. There was a small cluster of rocks in the distance. Need to sit down. It was hard to focus—even for the simple task of walking. The world around him swayed like the waves on the ocean and Wendell found himself unsure of his footing. “Ungh,” he gasped, a sharp pain shooting through his skull. He slapped a hand over his eyes, but it didn’t help. The pain shot through his head a second time. Burning behind his eyes, jabbing back to his spine. He stumbled again.

This time he fell to the grassy knoll.

Get Up Wendell.

UNGH!! Have to stop. Need to rest for a bit.

Get To The Houses, Wendell.

He opened his eyes cautiously, then blinked. The stars were out in their majesty. The twin moons were high in the night sky and for a moment, Wendell was able to catch the fading flame of Erimuri as the Iskäri day was beginning.

Get To The Houses, Wendell. Get To The Light!

Another howl.

He blinked again, the pain starting to dull in his skull. He looked back at the forest, unsure of where he’d come from—but it felt good to avert his eyes from the bright lights of the sky. It was soothing.

Get To The Light, Wendell!

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back on his arms. There was a cool breeze, which felt soothing to his skin. It blew across the open fields of grass, up the hillside, over Wendell and into the forest. All around him, encasing the valley, were mountains. Huge formations of stone, jutting up from the ground, tops covered in snow.

Wendell frowned.

Have I…been here before? It didn’t look familiar to him, but there was something about this place.

Another howl…this time from the forests edge.

It made Wendell’s spine jump.

“Ok, maybe we should be moving on now,” he said nervously. “Get up, Wendell. Move your butt, before someone finds it!” That’s right, keep moving. Beginning with a brisk walk, it wasn’t long before Wendell felt like having a light jog.

This is, until he stepped into an animal hole and twisted his ankle.

“Argh!” he cried out. Rolling onto his back, he brought his knee towards his chest.

My ankle. Dang it! I’m on the run and you have to go and wound your ankle?!

His ears perked back as the world around him seemed to hold its breath.

For several long moments, Wendell bit his lip to keep silent. With all his might, he tried hard to blend into the nothing that was silence.

A silence that was soon broken by a faint hissing sound.

Get up Wendell, he urged himself. It’s time to move your butt! Releasing his leg, he flipped over to his belly and then up onto his knees. Scanning the ridge where he’d just come from, there was nothing to see. Just open space at the end of the sloping hill.

Again the hiss.

Great. Snakes, he complained to himself, I hate snakes.

Not more that twenty feet away, a cluster of large rocks tempted him, mocked him and his feeble efforts to get to safety. They seemed high enough to get away from the snakes, though. That was good enough. Using his arms and knees, Wendell worked his way across the grass like a wounded animal.

Come on, you can do this. Move it!

Another howl…but this one was close enough to cause Wendell to slap a hand over his own mouth for fear of crying out. Rolling the last few feet, he froze at the edge of the rocks.  Stay calm, Wendell. You can do this. Not knowing where to go or what to do, he ducked his head and tried to curl his body between the stones. Wolves…or whatever that was howling, was far scarier than a hissing snake.

Well,…as long as it’s a small snake.

Already the pain in his ankle was subsiding. Wendell could feel the warmth washing over skin and pulsing through bone and muscle. Would it be enough? He needed to find some sort of…

Hey, is that a house? It is! A village!! The sight of the buildings, sitting in a cluster of light and safety almost made him cheer. He bit his lip. The buildings were still a ways off—much too far to make a dash with a wounded ankle.

So what now, genius? You don’t even know where you are…or what that thing is out…

His attention was immediately pulled back to the present.

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

It sounded like scraping. Something large, being dragged over gravel.

Hssssss.

Crap. Crap. CRAP! Hands shaking, Wendell held his breath, quivering. Of course it’s a huge snake! Why would it not be? I’m out here, in the middle of nowhere, all by myself, no clue how that happened, so why wouldn’t there be something big, nasty and dangerous to eat MY FACE!??

He clenched his eyes tight.

Hssssss. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr. Skkrrrrrr.

Stay calm. Keep…calm.

The sound drew closer and closer. Sliding up to the far side of the boulder Wendell was hiding behind. He wanted to breathe. He needed to breathe—but fear of being found kept his mouth closed.

Skkrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Wendell inched his hand to his mouth and silently sipped air through tight fingers. It…stopped. Eyes wide, they darting back and forth, searching the shadows around him without moving his head. Please go away. Please, please, please… All he could think about was being eaten. Long fangs, piercing his legs, Injecting the deadly poison to paralyze him long enough to swallow him whole. I’m going to die the death of digestion! Wendell regretted all those late nights watching those horror movies mom never wanted in the house. Stupid teenagers screaming and dying because they wouldn’t listen to adults. I don’t want to be an animal pop tart.

Hssssss.

Wendell clamped down on his bottom lip.

It’s moving! He clamped his fingers over his mouth.

A howl in the distance cut through the night.

Hssst.

Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt. Skkrrrt.

The movements were fast and loud—briefly scraping up against the rock were Wendell trembled and hid.

Please. Please. Please, he pleaded. Don’t eat me. There has to be a nice fat…bear or, he stopped whimpering. Wait a minute. I have been here. I know I have.

He looked around him carefully. the trees, the grass, the stupid hole he fell in. Wendell quickly took in everything he saw. It was just like the dream back at Til-Thorin. Over and over he’d had the same dream. Some of the pieces shifted or changed, but the whole of the experience had remained the same. That was the point. The underlying message. This has to mean something, he convinced himself.

Then he saw it.

The light from the moons cast long shadows along the ground. Dark shapes moved near Wendell’s shoulder.

It was not a snake.

Tattered and worn, perhaps wounded, the creature was dragging itself across the rocks and grass. Wendell couldn’t believe what he was seeing at first.The contours didn’t follow any recognizable from he knew, but one thing looked certain…the beast had been in a fight. Its skin, which hung loosely from its body, looked flayed. Both arms, back and belly were rent like fabric, long fibers hanging from the from.

What IS that thing? It looks like…No! I-it can’t be!? Wendell watched it sway, slithering from his position and dragging its mass over open ground. I’ve seen that before. I know I have.  His mind raced, hunting for clues—some memory that might help link this creature to his past. Wendell peeked over the rocks. Gratefully his position had gone unnoticed and he used that advantage to stare. The pain in his ankle was all but gone now—which meant he could bolt for the homes down the hillside. Or…he could follow the creature, discover what it is and why Wendell had such a familiar feeling about it.

Follow it. On my own. Out in the open.

Riiiiiight.

The creature was still moving away and would soon reach the distant edge of the forest. Once it’s out of site, I’ll make a dash for it. The lights in the distance were a bright sign of hope. He wondered, then, if the people who lived there would know what he’d just seen?

Almost there. He watched the slithering shadow carefully. Keep going, you ugly, that’s it. One. Two. THREE!

Pushing up to his knees, Wendell grabbed the rock for leverage and jumped to his feet.

He sprinted for the homes in the distance.

“See ya suck…”

HSSSST!

Poised silently on the far side of the rock was second creature.

It was not wounded animal.

Wendell cringed, stumbling back from the outcropping. He gasped for breath, unable to inhale as he looked squarely into the hood of his nightmares. The empty hood.

“Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.”

Trembling, his feet shuffled backwards. “No,” he choked, “You’re not real. You’re just,” but he couldn’t finish the statement. Thoughts and feelings collided with such clarity—it all came to him in an instant. YOU! The creature swayed in front of him, reeling up like a viper. The robe of charcoal blackness. Til-Thorin. The dreams. The things seeking after the shard. That’s what you are! But… he hesitated. It wasn’t real. The robe didn’t exist. It had been another creature in a robe that Wendell fought. One with magic, trying to kill Lili.

Lili….

Hollow, vacant holes stared back where a face should be. Shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reaching out…yearning.

“Clossssser child. Let ussss end your pain.”

Like a specter, it moved slowly towards him, crawling, prowling along, pausing only to stand upright. It towered over Wendell even while it hunched, arms outstretched, fingers—or the cloth in their place, curled inward. The words projected into his mind chilled his to the bone.

“You made your choice, boy.”

“NO!” Wendell screamed, his senses returning. He realized his mistake. The robe lunged—but not before Wendell arched wide, sidestepping to avoid itst attack. The swipe from fleshless claws raked only air as the hero became a blur of motion.

Have to get away. Escape, he panicked. Without looking back, he spurred himself on, gulping air as he ran. There was only one place to go. The village. I have to warn them.  Help them.

His brows dropped forward. No. I have to protect them.

It’s time to do more. To be more. That meant accepting the mantle of the hero. He’d accepted the responsibility in front of others…even in front of the Iskari High Council—but he’d not accepted it for himself. For his own personal reasons. Evan was the real hero. Wendell knew that now. He was the one everyone actually wanted. But they had ended up with Wendell instead…and it was time to accept that fact once and for all. Exerting all the strength he had, he put distance between himself and the robe. The hissing sound faded into the background of the crickets.

“If I’m not the hero,” he huffed out loud as he sprinted, “then it’s time I learn how to be one!” The words felt…good. Powerful.

The village was close now and he had no idea how much time he had before the robes would be upon them. A brief glance over his shoulder showed a shadow fast on his heels.

Great, he frowned, I’m leading the danger right to their doorsteps. But he would need help. Hero or not, he couldn’t do this alone. Not yet.

Have to get everyone attention. “Välo,” he barked, followed by, “Teho!” Light quickly gathered around him, blazing like a beacon and brightening the area. He held the image of his skin, glowing like the noonday sun. I hope this doesn’t hurt.

“Teho!” he shouted, again.

Light flared from the Ithari, bursting through the black fibers of his shirt.

HSSSST!

The robe, right on his heels, fell back from the light, a tattered sleeve covering the gaping opening of the hood. The creature slowed its pace to a crawl.

“HEY!” Wendell bellowed, “WAKE UP! EVERYONE UP! YOUR VILLAGE IS UNDER ATTACK!” It wasn’t the accurate truth, but he didn’t have time to explain. “TO ARMS!” he cried, “TO ARMS! TO ARMS!!”

He didn’t stop running until he’d reached the nearest hovel. His momentum was so great, Wendell slammed into the front with a loud bang.

“Who is it?” called a trembling voice from inside.

“My name is Wendell,” he shouted back, banging on the door with a fist. “Your village is about to be attacked by…,” but his voice cut off. What the crud do I call those thing? He had no idea what to say, what to call these things chasing him without sounding like a complete lunatic. “Demons,” was the only word that came to mind, but he didn’t say it out loud. The villager wouldn’t likely open up hearing that. “We need to warn your village!”

But the door remained closed.

“Did you hear me?” Wendell shouted even louder, “You’re under attack!” He looked into the front window, but drapes covered every inch.

“I heard you,” replied the voice warily, “and it is night! No torch burns that bright—which means either you be the problem…or you have magic with you. If you have magic…then it is you who be the problem!”

“What?” Wendell gasped, “Are you serious? I’m trying to warn you! So what if I’m using magic?!” It had never occurred to Wendell that people might not be accepting when it came to magic. He’d naturally assumed that what he’d seen over the past few months was the norm? Had he been wrong? He shook the thought from his mind. There wasn’t time. It didn’t matter right now. The robe was already at the edge of the village.

Waiting.

Wendell turned his head slowly, the swaying motions at the edge of the light catching his attention. Oh boy, he gulped. The thing hissed loudly at him.

The light of Ithari dimmed.

In the gloomy distance, two more shadows converged—the faint hissing echo growing louder with each moment. Not good. NOT GOOD! Wendell flipped back against the door, his confidence quickly waning. He screamed frantically, “Come ON! Blast you—I’m trying to help!!”

“Then go away!” the voice yelled back, irritated. “Best thing you can do is move along—take your problems with you I say!”

Ithari’s light waned…and finally vanished from under the black cloth of Wendell’s t-shirt.

“But…there’s danger,” he pleaded. Please don’t shut me out. Please listen to me. People are going to get hurt. “Why won’t you listen to me?” he whimpered weakly. “The creatures are…the robes…” but it was no use. His forehead rested against the wood surface of the door. Please open up..

“That’s why I’m in here and you’re still out there,” the voice chided, “You made your choice, boy.”

Eyes fixed on the door,Wendell lifted his head. “What…did you say?”

“I said,” repeated the voice cooly, “You made your choice, boy!”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

Wendell’s feet stumbled back from the door, hands clenching into fists. The voice…the words…they sounded  familiar.

Too familiar.

The wood of the door splintered, ripping from the hinges. Fragments flew outward, forcing Wendell to raise an arm and protect his eyes. A heavy rancid scent of decaying meat and molding rot rolled out from the doorway—assaulting his senses. It made the world spin and his eyes water. Slapping a hand over his mouth, Wendell reeled back, gagging.

In the shadows of the doorway, rising up to dwarf the height of the framework, lurked a robe. Black as midnight, tattered and frayed…it lunged.

Spinning on his heels, Wendell was unable to take even a step before razor claws raked across his back.

Blood sprayed from the gaping wounds.

Wendell cried out into the darkness.

****

“Don’t do it—you’ll get us all in trouble!” Vin snapped. He reached out and grabbed Tabbermain’s wrist.

The gnome yanked his hand free. and whipped his head about to face his friend. “Weren’t you listening? Noah already knows we helped him!”

“You helped him, not I,” Vin said sharply. “Don’t blame me for something you did.” He looked around him, wondering where the hidden cameras must be hidden. Behind stone? Behind cobweb? “And you’re the one getting us into further trouble!”

With a deep sigh, Tabbermain’s face softened. “I’m sorry old friend. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that and it was very unkind.”

“Yes it was,” Vin pouted, folding his arms.

“Please forgive me.” Then softer, “The boy is in so much pain, can’t you help me? I don’t have the strength to do this alone. My talents are in metal and stone, not flesh and bone.” Tabbermain watched his friend huff and roll his eyes—yet Vin did not move from the straw he lay upon. “He could die if we do not lend him aid.” Poking Vin’s leg with a boney finger, “And you would be responsible for helping put the famed Gnolaum to death, plunging the hopes of the people into darkness.”

That got his attention. Vin popped up into a sitting position. “Oh no you don’t,” he grumbled, “You’re not gonna put that on my conscious!”

Tabbermain turned his head to hide the grin on his face, “A wise choice, as always.”

Vin grumbled again, realizing he’d been played, “Let’s get this over with. If we’re going to tick off the monk, we might as do a thorough job of it.”

“That’s the spirit, you old coot!” shouted Doddle from the other side of the room.

“Oh shut up!” Vin snapped, but it only made Doddle laugh louder. “Can you reach him? My chain isn’t as long as yours…”

Tabbermain reached out for Wendell, fingers stretching for his heel. The hero lay prone across the alter, shuddering violently. The blood across his back still seeped from open wounds and every few minutes, the unconscious hero sobbed loudly. Grunting and pulling at the chain on his own ankle, the gnome could barely touch the end of Wendell’s sneaker with a fingertip. “No,” he gasped, “he’s still too far away.”

“Here, let me try to pull him closer,” Vin said in a kinder tone.

“No,” retorted Doddle, “save your strength for the healing—you’ll have to help Tab. I’ll do it from here. I don’t have to touch the boy.”

Tabbermain and Vin nodded, scooting back into the straw.

Pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his wide nose, Doddle let his neck relax and his head fall forward, chin resting peacefully upon his chest. Raising his hands into the air, fingers spread wide, the gnome began reaching through the air…searching.

“Focus,” Tabbermain whispered, but it was more for his own benefit than to be heard, “you can do this.”

Doddles head tilted ever so slightly. His hips rocked forward until he was kneeling erect. Suddenly his hands stopped, fingers tense and curling inward, as if latching onto something which could not be seen.

“Push his legs out,” Vin whispered then, a smirk worming its way onto his face. “You’ve got it, Doddle. That’s it.”

Inch by painful inch, Wendell’s feet pushed out behind him. His torso lay upon the altar,  with little pressure upon his legs—but he’d been kneeling for more than a day, hunched over the stone structure. His legs were stiff and numb, unwilling to so easily comply. Chains held his arms and wrists in place…but nothing bound the boys legs.

Doddle grunted then, his face flushing a beet red. His hands and arms trembled, muscle tight as he leaned ever forward, pushing at the invisible object.

“Almost there!” Tabbermain encouraged him.

Wendell’s knees scraped across stone, inch by inch, until, with a sudden jolt, his legs shot out behind his hips…and past the two gnomes.

“You did it!” Vin cried with glee. He grinned at Tabbermain, “The little fart actually did it!”

Doddle’s eyes rolled back into his head. Like a plank, he fell backwards into the straw. For long moments all that could be heard was his labored breathing. Wheezing and gulping, like air being forced through a straw.

“Doddle?” Vin called, “Are you alright?”

Tabbermain’s face grew pale, “Doddle! Speak to us!!”

Sitting up, the gnome adjusted his crooked glasses and blinked several times in rapid succession. “Woo,” he shook his head, “That was…,” he wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, “…intense.” Then looking over to his friends, he smiled brightly. “It worked?”

Tabbermain clapped his hands together, then rubbed them vigorously, “Perfectly.” Staring down at Wendell’s legs, he gave Vin a nod. “You ready?”

The grumpy gnome sat up on his knees and similarly clapped his hands together. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Faster and faster they rubbed their palms together. As the did, each gnome began to hum. Deep, from the base of their chests, in a single, carefully picked note. The notes added to one another. Clinging. Amplifying until the chamber was filled with a deep rumbling of power. Taking a sharp breath, they continued the perfect note…and their hands began to glow. The pink of their flesh sparkled, but not with light. Red spots appeared, like the reflective surface of a ruby, spreading across wrist and palm, working down to their finger.

Reaching out, Tabbermain, ceased the labor of friction and placed his palms under the lip of Wendell’s jeans, grasping his ankle. Vin, without a word, follow suit.

Wendell let out a gasp—his head wincing upward, only to thud back down onto the cold stone of the altar.

Both gnomes took another sharp breath and continued the solid note.

“That’s it!” giggled Doddle.

Color flooded back into Wendell’s body. The blue in his lips faded, his cheeks flushed. But that was not what the gnome stared at.

Across the hero’s back, the open wounds started to mend. Layers of torn flesh reached across the gashes, created by the arcane whip, and joined together. Tiny fibers, connecting to one another, until the wounds closed in full and pulled tight. Each slash left its mark across Wendell’s flesh—but within moments, his torso was completely healed. Even the mägoweave repaired itself, now free to do what it was enchanted to do. Gashes and tears mended themselves until at last, Wendell lay upon the altar whole.

Tabbermain and Vin ceased their chant. Their own blood now trickled down from their noses and they swayed. Tabbermain fell onto his back exhausted.

“Thank you,” he whispered aloud. “I could not have done that without you, Vin.”

“No,” Vin gasped, leaning heavily on his hands, “No you couldn’t have.”

Wendell stirred. A faint moan escaped his lips.

Both Vin and Tabbermain moved back from his legs as the hero tried to right himself. Grabbing hold of the corners of the altar, Wendell drowsily lifted his head.

“Where am…,” he moaned again, this time, much louder, “Oh.”

“How do you feel?” Doddle asked cheerfully.

Rolling his head from side to side, Wendell’s neck popped sever times. “Like I’ve been chopped up to bits and glued back together.”

The gnome scrunched his face, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“I wouldn’t recommend trying it.” Ok, forget the glue—I feel link I’ve been stepped on by a giant. His head throbbed loudly, bass drums beating like thunder in his ears. He let his forehead rest on the stone. The tiny tink sound, accompanied by the prick of a pin along his brow, reminded his of the silver circlet still wrapped around his skull. He flexed the muscles of his back, rolling his shoulder muscles. The searing pain was gone. Completely gone, he noticed.

He looked at Tabbermain, who was sitting cross-legged and wiping the blood from his nose onto the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “Did you do this? Heal me?”

The gnome shrugged.

“We both did,” grumbled Vin, sniffing, “you’re welcome.”

He felt foolish, it taking so long for the comments to make sense in his head, but it was obvious now. These were mago. The… “Are you…techno-mägo?” he asked, curious.

Tabbermain studied his face for a moment in silence before nodding.

Suddenly Wendell didn’t feel so alone. “Thank you,” he added, forcing a grin across his weak face, “I’m very grateful.” He looked over at Vin, who sat there, glaring. “To both of you.”

Vin huffed, but he stopped glaring.

“I helped too!” squealed Doddle, not wanting to be left out of the conversation,”Though, I don’t really know healing magic.”

“Well I thank you anyway,” Wendell grinned, “for you part.”

Doddle beamed.

The pain in his head had grown through the night. Wendell was finding it much harder to focus on anything for very long, Even now, his eyes blurred and he could only see the gnome’s faces if he blinked over and over, shaking the fuzziness from his head, It was like standing in a fog, wrapped around your face. You were away of more, but you just couldn’t see more than a few inches from your face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a way to get these shackles or this brown-thingy off my head, would you?” he asked hopefully.

Tabbermain shook his head. “I don’t know much about the artifact on your head…but those chains cannot be broken by magic. Of that I know for certain.”

So much for trying. “How do you know magic get me out of the chains? Maybe the person who made them left a flaw in it?” It was reaching, but Wendell was ready to grasp at anything at this point.

Again Tabbermain shook his head. “There are no flaws in the chains.”

“But how do you,” Wendell started to say.

“Because we made them. boy!” snapped Vin, folding his arms in finality. “We were the ones who created the chains. Together, the three of us—and they’re made to withstand any magical force or coercion. They’re made to hold mägo fast…and over time to drain their ability to focus and perform the magic itself.” The gnome lifted his own leg into the air, the single chain dangling from his ankle. “So smart we were…to make our own prison.”

Wendell slumped backwards, as far as the shackles would allow him. Wonderful. “What about the thing on my head? Can you do anything about that?”

Tabbermain stared at the ring of silver and shook his head again. “We did not create it—though we know a fair amount about it.” Pointing at Wendell’s head, “It’s meant to weaken your resistance to suggestion. The longer you wear it, the easier it will become for Noah to get whatever information he’s looking for.”

“But I don’t have anything to take,” Wendell sighed, frustrated. “Why doesn’t he understand that? It won’t matter what questions he asks—he won’t get what he wants…because I don’t have any secrets to uncover! There’s nothing for me to lie about. I came here to mix among your people and to help unite the population. Once that was done, I was going to leave.”

The gnomes fell silent. Each glanced at one another, but the bulk of their attention remained focused on Wendell.

“What about the seal you’re looking for?” Tabbermain finally asked. His eyes darted around the chamber, hoping to locate the hidden eyes and ears of Father Noah. The statement was so matter of fact and unemotional, Wendell’s mouth popped open.

“Uhhhh,…what?”

Tabbermain frowned, “There are two deceptions here. One is, you are lying. You are looking for the seal…of the Demoni Vankil. You know it’s here, in Clockworks, and you still look for it. You cannot leave without it—I can see that plainly in your face. The second lie is not yours, but Noah’s.”

Now it was Wendell who frowned. “He would probably trust me more if he believed that I was actually the Gnolaum. I understand that everyone’s talking about me like some prophet or divine being—but I’m not. I admit that! But I can prove that I’m the host of the Ithari—I am, in fact, the Gnolaum. If he allowed me to get up, I could show him the gem in my chest. Easy as can be! I’d let him examine me, the gem, whatever he needed—so there would be no doubt in his mind that I am, in fact, the real article!”

“But that is the second lie, Mr. Dipmier,” Tabbermain said calmly, though he looked visually disturbed. Not only does Noah have exactly what he needs to carry off his plans…he has always known that you are in fact, the Gnolaum.”

The words hit Wendell in the chest like a sledgehammer. “B-but…that doesn’t make any…”

A look of pity crept across the gnomes face.

“That’s why you are in here.”