Questions of Treason

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Four: Elementals and Dragons

Questions of Treason

* * *

Explanations would have to wait.

The danger posed by the intruder and apparently abated by Drago, couldn’t.

The Elects and Abram looked down to the lawns and saw evidence that a struggle was ongoing.

“Get down there and stop that,” The Kokkinos said to the Albedo. “Have both brought to the cells. We’ll meet you there.”

The White Elect departed. Along the way, he gathered the six Hermetists most proficient in combat magick he encountered. During the grim twenty minutes it took to get to the one exit nearest the fight, which happened to be one of the five chief entrances to Azhure’en, the Albedo discussed the best method disarming and capturing the intruders without loss of life. The plan they settled on satisfied no one but was the best that could be devised.

Stealth was deemed the best way to approach the combatants, so the septet exited the building through the relatively diminutive sally port farthest from the action.

Their caution was for naught. Two-hundred yards beyond the twenty-two wide, shallow steps fanning out from the titanic doors, Drago and the other were far too busy with each other to notice the arrival of the Hermetists.

A crack in the dark indigo gloom of night overhead lit the landscape far away with bright orange, it moved quickly toward the lodge. Waiting until it passed the Taphros, the Albedo signaled his troops.

They fanned out, prepped spells, and approached under cover of the dark. The twisting, flickering gap in the clouds moved toward the Mother Lodge fast. It hit the fighters, blinding them to all without when the Hermetists were only twenty yards away.

The seven began to run, anxious to engage before they were discovered.

The other, the one fighting Drago, gave no hint that she knew of the seven until she spat a sparking bolt of green fire at them. It was ill-aimed, hitting the Hermetist farthest to the White Elect’s left. She went down as most of her arm evaporated. The Albedo ignored her screams as another of his crew dropped back to tend her.

Drago took advantage of his foe’s momentary distraction, trying to grapple with her, still seeming oblivious that their duel was about to become a mêlée.

He missed his grip.

The other slapped a palm to his neck and squeezed. The hand began to glow green as smoke started to rise from the join of flesh and flesh. Drago did not cry out, but his expression clearly showed the pain he was in.

At a spoken command, red flame streaked from five paired fists, striking the point of connection between the two. They blew apart from each other most satisfactorily.

The Albedo and the man on his left concentrated on the woman while the other three went for Drago. She was stunned and now naked as the last of her rags burned away. Both men hit her again with a stunning blast. She jumped several feet in the air and landed face down, not moving. They had her wrapped up in a web of red energy in seconds. Hauling her bound form a few feet above ground, the duo turned back to Drago—who was giving the others much more trouble.

“Watch her. And help our brother tend to Sybil Hermit,” barked the White Elect. He charged toward the remaining problem.

Though badly injured, Drago fought with the energy of a well-rested berserker. With his neck all but burned away, the Albedo wondered how Drago was still alive, let alone conscious. This would end in tears unless the Hyborean could be reached.

Amplifying his voice, the Albedo said, “Drago Hyborean! We’re not here to kill you!”

It took two more repetitions before what he said penetrated.

Drago stopped struggling, incidentally saving another brother a serious injury, and raised hands, dropping to his knees. The three Hermetists, somewhat the worse for wear, stood panting and glanced at their superior.

The Albedo approached, inspecting injuries of all concerned. Minor for the Hermetists; unbelievably, healing at a rapid pace in Drago’s case. “Drago, please come with us. We have questions.” Slowly, the Hyborean rose and was bound neck-to-waist in red bands of energy.

Their guests were much different than they appeared to be and, in the case of the intruder, much less cooperative than the Hermetists had hoped.

The Albedo and his co-combatants helped the wounded to the infirmary. Sybil Hermit had lost most of her arm and would be out of action for the weeks it would take to regrow. The other injured were patched up and allowed to return to their duties immediately after.

Some time later, the trio of Red, White, and Abram stood in a line in the cells facing the interlopers.

Each was in a separate space outlined by a white square on the blue stone, apparently without restraint. The closer each approached this perimeter, the more pain they would feel. It would increase until unconsciousness resulted. Both were sitting nude on the bare floor. Each had made several attempts to escape. Their expressions were a good indication of their feelings about their failure. ‘If looks could kill’ as the saying went. Drago, the Albedo noted with surprise, showed no signs of injury.

“You are a Hermetist,” the White Elect said to the unknown intruder. “What is your name?”

She remained silent, so Abram answered, “She is—was—Rayne Hermit.” To the surprised looks on the faces of the Elects, he responded, “I knew her in my early days in Archives.”

Abram described what he remembered, leaving out his knowledge of her association with the Meraculus Mercurius. Though he trusted the Albedo, Abram still had his doubts about the Kokkinos.

“What happened to you, Rayne Hermit?” White. “How did you find our Mercurius? How did you obtain the power to penetrate our defenses? How did you master flight?”

The Hermetist remained silent. It was the other, Drago, who spoke. “She is the Erthe Woman, now.”

“What does that mean?” Red.

“She was taken by a spirit of the Element Erthe.”

“Where did this happen?”

Drago remained silent.

Abram asked, “What are you, Drago?”

“I am me. I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Have you been taken by the spirit of an Element, as well?”

The idea seemed to surprise him. “I…I don’t know.”

The Kokkinos broke his silence. “That’ll be all for now, I think. Gentlemen, we must confer.”

* * *

The Kokkinos’s residence was a huge, egg-shaped pod nesting in a crook of two of the ground level naves, supported by flying arches. The ground floor was one large room, ringed with many small ones. Immediately above the latter was an uninterrupted panel of coloured glass ringing the home. The floor was a shallow bowl with an open fire pit at the bottom. A dozen stacked mezzanines rose to the stained-glass spire that topped the structure. Its light descended through the open space and flooded the floor with cool, multihued light.

The furniture looked like natural changes in the landscape of the floor, combining form, function, and aesthetics in a way that made Abram slightly dizzy. Upon entering the place, it seemed far from clear there were any furnishings at all. Walking toward the fire pit, he passed a low mound to find a flat space nestled on its far side and in front, an extrusion—a desk and chair (the blotter and inkstand gave it away). It was like an illusionist’s trick.

The trio sat in comfortable chairs facing one another, at the edge of the fire pit. “Where shall we start?” Abram asked.

“With the Mercurius, I think,” answered the Albedo.

The Kokkinos sighed and smiled a very tired smile. “I’ve long suspected that the Meraculus Mercurius was still active within the Order,” he began. Abram was relieved to hear that. There was a good chance that he could trust this Elect as well. “The event in the Silvergrey Sea elevated those fears to the borderland of terror. I determined to discuss the matter with the Mercurius. A trivial thing counselled me to hold my peace. It was the Mercurius’s reaction to the irruption.”

“She wasn’t troubled,” Abram guessed.

The Red Elect turned to his subordinate. “Quite the reverse. She barely kept her fear in check. I’ve known her a long time. Most of her moods are readable to me.”

“I’ve always found her quite inscrutable,” White.

“She’s particularly good at keeping her feelings hidden, it is true. I do know her tells quite well, however. She was much more frightened than the situation called for.”

“Why, I wonder.”

“I can only assume she had some specific knowledge that I did not.”

“Why would she be bothered by what happened? If she is M. M., wouldn’t the event have pleased her?” Abram asked. Even as he finished, Abram thought he knew the answer.

The Red Elect confirmed. “That quake was a sign of something going horribly wrong for them. Once I realized what must be happening, I made to leave, but I didn’t get a chance.”

“Why?”

“She is evidently good at reading me, as well. She made all my conclusions and a few of her own.”

“What did she do?” White.

“I’m not sure what it was, but I was compelled to do as she asked of me. She told me the two of you were coming. I was supposed to bring you into her presence. I felt a blind panic at the thought of disappointing her.”

“But she was gone when you entered the room she had been in.”

“The intruder, the ‘Erthe Woman,’ if I remember what that other…Drago?—” Abram nodded— “Drago said, must have initiated the Mercurius’s exodus when she sensed his break-in.”

“Exodus to where, I wonder.” Abram said.

“The Evanescents,” Red.

“Of course. The M.M. had always used the archipelago for their work. What I’m curious about is whether they’re working to return the Templars.”

After a moment’s pause, the Red Elect answered, “No. If the Mercurius were working on the Manifestation, the emergence of the Erthe Woman—which is what the irruption must have been—would have pleased rather than frightened. She would not have fled Drago, either.”

A silence followed, as each absorbed implications of the obvious crisis. Two incarnated Elements were in the cells. That could only mean the Rite of Manifestation was in the offing, whomever was working to bring it about. The Albedo said, “I suppose there’s really no other place than the Evanescents the Manifestation could take place.”

“Brothers,” Red. “We must to the Evanescents go.”

—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026

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