Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) by Christopher Jackson-Ash (ebook reader wifi TXT) 📕

“If you be a true manifestation of the Everlasting Hero, take now the scabbard, named Vasek by the elves, for it can only be worn by the rightful wielder of the Great Sword Fleischaker.” Simon felt a great elation as the scabbard was placed against his body and then a strange tingling and tightening as the belt fixed itself firmly around his waist. Some strange conjuring trick worked its magic, for the belt now had a golden buckle fixed perfectly for Simon’s slim waist.

Everyone in the room, with the exception of Lord Velacourt, was on their feet. There was a babble of chatter. One voice dominated the noise. “Hail the Everlasting Hero. Hail Gilgamesh reborn. Hail the rebirth of hope that Tamarlan may yet survive.” Gamying spoke for them all.

Simon heard little of the excited chatter. He was still digesting the words the old man had spoken. He was looking into the old man’s eyes. He read many emotions there in rapid succession – fear, jealousy, love, and finally peace. The old man’s eyes closed and Simon caught his falling body and laid him gently on the floor. His medical training kicked in. He felt for a pulse, but there was none.

Simon was about to begin CPR when Manfred spoke. “Leave him, Simon. His time has come. He fulfilled his destiny today and he deserves his rest. His has been a great burden and he carried it well. All of this time, under the noses of the Wise. I can barely believe it. The greatest talisman of the ages hidden in a boring museum in plain sight. There is a new statue in the Avenue of Heroes tonight. One that I never predicted. This bodes well for us. I believe there is still a chance. Let us hope that finding the Sword proves to be as easy.” Against the odds, Manfred laughed.

The next few minutes were a blur to Simon. People were shaking his hand, wishing him their best, and begging his help to support their causes. Servants busied themselves. The body of the old man was removed with great ceremony. A meal was served and consumed. The room was abuzz with conversation. Jhamed was at his side, guiding his actions, helping him come to terms with his newfound status. Am I dreaming? Is this for real? Who the hell am I?

A Spy in the Camp

The old man appeared frail as he hunched over the table. Long white hair and a matching beard almost obscured the object he held with both hands. Cold green, bloodshot eyes focussed intently on the centre of the object, which looked much like a soothsayer’s crystal ball. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and obsequious. His words dripped with honey as he fawned into the glass ball. “All is in order, Master. Your great plan will soon come to pass. I have located the Sword and have dispatched my trusted deputies to recover it. Soon the only threat to your Mightiness will be safe in our possession. Soon you will have control of the entire multiverse. You won’t forget your humble servant who has served you so faithfully and well? I only ask to rule FirstWorld. What is one dimension in the infinity of the multiverse?”

The ball blazed red and the old man shook as his unblinking eyes locked onto the object. “Yes, Master. But what is the Hero without the Sword?”

The ball blazed again and the red light made the old man’s eyes look feral, like an animal filled with blood lust. “Yes, Master. The fool Manfred has called a Council of the Wise at Melasurej. He thinks he has found another manifestation of the Everlasting Hero. Those whose hope fails think that Gilgamesh is reborn.”

The ball flashed a cold blue and the old man winced. “Forgive me Master; I will not utter his name again. It is a vain hope. I have a spy in the Council. I will learn everything that happens and whatever futile plans they put in place. My armies march ever forward. I shall join them myself soon and will take Melasurej in your name before the year is out.”

The ball faded to yellow and then translucent. The old man’s eyes blinked again and his hands released the object. His green eyes turned red and his voice hardened. “Fetch me a slave girl – old enough to meet my needs, but still tender.” A servant who had been cowering in the corner of the room rushed to obey.

The old man paced up and down impatiently, muttering to himself. “Soon I shall have the Sword, the Hero, and Melasurej itself. Then I will not have to debase myself anymore. Then I shall be the master of the multiverse.”

The door opened and the servant returned with a naked girl. He pushed her inside the room and hastily closed the door, with him on the other side. The girl was barely a teenager. She struggled to hide her nakedness with her hands and cowered in a corner, head down, barely able to look at the old man. She shivered in terror as she waited for him to take her. Her tiny new breasts heaved as she struggled to form words of pleading that might save her honour.

The old man looked at her and smiled, displaying long canines. He began to salivate and his beard became matted and wet. As he moved towards the cowering girl, he began to change. The grey-haired old man transmogrified into a hideous wolf form. He stood eight feet tall on his two hind legs and his body was now transformed from a seemingly feeble old man into a sleek and powerful black wolf. Its long fangs dripped with a mixture of poison and saliva. The girl opened her mouth to scream but no sound was forthcoming. Her death was mercifully quick as the wolf tore out her throat.

As the wolf ripped apart her body and gorged itself, it didn’t notice the forgotten and still-uncovered glass ball on the table, which momentarily flashed with a chilling blue light.

More History Lessons

After lunch was cleared away, Manfred stood and cleared his throat. The room came slowly to silence. Twelve faces stared at him expectantly from points around the huge circular table. Velacourt remained, though his handmaidens had been asked to leave. Rheanna now sat alone, her guards too having left the chamber. Manfred looked at them one by one over the metal rims of his spectacles, meeting their gaze, grabbing their attention, locking them to his will.

Simon was the last to be locked in. He was drawn into the wizard’s gaze and found himself lost in the pale green pools of his eyes, swimming in a velvety softness. A voice spoke quietly in his mind, “Pay attention, heed what I say, do not interrupt or question until I have finished.” Simon trusted the wizard implicitly. He knew he had no cause to fear him and so he allowed the voice to work its magic. If only my university lecturers could learn this technique, he thought as the wizard broke contact. Simon thought he saw a momentary smile flash onto Manfred’s face before it stiffened into a stern visage.

Manfred stood before them. He was clothed all in white, his long white hair and beard adding to the purity he projected. He held his staff in his right hand and an ancient scroll in his left. Every person present that day was indelibly affected by him. They all spoke in awe of the vision in white, glowing with power, strong and ancient. They remembered the multi-hued staff glowing with the same power and the strength of his voice. They never forgot the words that he spoke; they were burned into their minds. Yet, when he sat down afterwards and he released them from his spell, they saw a small, tired and frail old man, clothed in rags, holding an worn wooden stick and a scrap of cloth. Often they wondered which was the truth and which the vision.

These were some of the words that Manfred spoke that day. The words that awakened in Simon Redhead some ancient race memory and showed him, for a brief moment, his appointed place in history; his destiny.

“My friends, great allies, the last of the free, thank you for your attendance here today. For many of you this is your first, and perhaps only, visit to Melasurej. This is a special place, as you will soon understand, and none of you will be unaffected by your visit. Before us stands the greatest challenge ever to face humanity. In the next few days, we must make decisions that will have major and irreversible impacts on the entire multiverse. All of our futures will be affected, perhaps our pasts too. There is a great burden placed upon us, upon each of you. This is a greater burden than any human has ever had to carry before. I wish it could be otherwise, but we have come to the moment when it cannot be put off. We must be strong; we must pick up and bear this burden, lest we commit the entire multiverse to fall into chaos for all eternity. Today is a day for listening, for understanding. Tonight you will sleep on the knowledge you have gained. Tomorrow, with clear heads we will discuss the options before us. By week’s end, we will have chosen our path.”

“We have already heard much of the history of FirstWorld this morning. But to understand our predicament we must go back further, to the Creation. I am going to explain to you all the history of the universe and the coming into being of the multiverse, as best I can. I am going to talk of gods and of the ancient struggle between law and chaos. I am going to show you two possible futures for FirstWorld and the multiverse. I am going to show you why FirstWorld is so special.” A small tear ran down Manfred’s cheek and disappeared into his beard. He steadied himself and continued.

“The universe that FirstWorld inhabits is very old. It is the very first dimension of the multiverse. Indeed, for many eons it was the only dimension. The universe was formed long ago. No one knows how it was created or who created it. There have been many theories over the millennia, but they are not relevant to our problem. Life was abundant throughout the universe. Intelligent life evolved in many galaxies. Civilisations were formed, flourished and died. The rules of physics were obeyed. Space had three dimensions. Time was linear. There was order. Good and evil were found in equal proportions. They fought each other. There was balance. There were no gods. Intelligent beings throughout the universe had no need of them.”

“Amongst all of this arose one race of superior beings. We call them the Great Old Ones. Their civilisation flourished above all others. They achieved true greatness in all areas of endeavour – engineering, medicine, science, the arts, philosophy. They were a benevolent and good race. They shared everything with other civilisations. However, as they evolved further they got so far ahead of other civilisations that they became revered as gods. This did not sit well with them, so they retreated into their own systems and broke off contact with the rest of the universe. As they continued to evolve, they gained a longevity that bordered on immortality. The price of this immortality was that they lost the ability to procreate. At this stage in their evolution, they had lost corporeal form and existed as beings of pure energy.”

Simon was hooked on Manfred’s story. He had heard such theories before but they had