Magi Legend

by Andrew Dobell

  “Holy shite!” Amanda cursed. She reached out and touched the stone of the castle to make sure it was real. “How did you…?”

  There was another flash, another whip of wind and the feeling of dislocation, and they were stood atop the biggest pyramid at Giza in Egypt. The heat here was oppressive; it felt as if they’d just appeared in an oven. Amanda stumbled and fell to her knees, gripping the sandstone beneath her with her hands.

  “This can’t be real, this is crazy,” she said.

  “This is Magic, and you will do this, too, one day,” Gentle Water said from where he stood next to her.

  The energy surged once more, and they stood on the roof of the Freedom Tower in New York City.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. It’s real,” Amanda said, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, not to mention nauseated. Gentle Water smiled again, and with another surge of energy, they were back in the clearing.

  Kneeling on the ground, Amanda had never felt so pleased to be back in Ireland. She dropped to the ground entirely, resting her head against the dew-covered grass for a moment as the strange feeling of dizziness faded.

  “Are you okay?” Gentle Water asked.

  “Heh, yeah, I’m grand,” she said as she stood back up, feeling slightly better. “Okay, so, Magic is real. Consider me convinced. What does that mean for me?”

  “You are Magi,” he answered her.

  “Why do you keep saying it like that? I’ve heard the word before, but isn’t it pronounced Meh-Jai?”

  “The generic word, yes, but not when referring to us. We have own word for what we are, that word is said Mah-Guy,” he answered her.

  “Okay, grand. I understand that. But what does that mean? Are there lots of us? Who are these Magi?”

  “The Magi have been around for thousands of years, Amanda. Hidden in shadows, fighting the darkness, protecting humanity. We are called Arcadians. We are global organisation. We protect Riven.”

  “Riven?”

  “Humans with no Magic,” he answered her. “We fight the Nomads. Nomads are dark Magi, evil Magi who serve ancient beings called Archons who live in Abyss, the Spirit world.”

  “Okay, so, two factions, the Arcadians and Nomads, and they’re at war?”

  “That is right, yes. There is also other group, younger group who fight all other Magi, only two thousand year old. They are Disciples of Cross or Inquisition.”

  “The Inquisition? As in the Catholic Inquisition?”

  “Yes. They based in Vatican, led by Disciple Simon Peter.”

  “The Simon Peter, Jesus’ disciple?” Amanda asked, shocked at the meaning of this revelation.

  “Yes.”

  “But, he would be… Nearly two thousand years old…”

  Gentle Water nodded at her, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. “He is young, we know Magi that are thousands of years older than him. Some Magi can live for very long time.”

  “So, Jesus was real? God is real?”

  “We think he was just Magus who started cult. When you old enough to see religions and civilisations rise and fall, then you realise truth of world.”

  “Magus?”

  “Singular version of Magi,” he explained.

  “Aaah,” she said in understanding.

  Amanda felt bewildered by what Gentle Water was telling her, but also fascinated. Having grown up in a Catholic convent school, she’d been taught bible studies throughout her childhood, and now she was being told they were not entirely accurate. She supposed, given the miracles that Jesus was supposed to have enacted, it would make a lot of sense if he’d been Magi.

  “So, were all Jesus’ disciples Magi? Were they like a group of Magi?”

  “Perhaps. Magi often live in group. These groups called covens. Arcadians have council, too.”

  “Do the Nomads have one? Like, a council of evil?”

  Gentle Water smiled. “No. Nomads don’t work together well. They have covens, but not council,” he said.

  Gentle Water led her over to a rug on the ground nearby and sat down with her. Amanda thought over what he’d said. So, there were three factions of Magi—the Arcadians, the Nomads, and the Inquisition—and it sounded like they didn’t really get on with each other. Thinking about her recent experiences, though, something didn’t fit. She’d been attacked by something that was not human in New York. Surely, that wasn’t a Magus. She looked up at Gentle Water and frowned as she thought about how to phrase the question. Then she remembered he said he knew of the attack in the alleyway, so she jumped right in.

  “So, what attacked me in New York?” she asked.

  “Aaah, that was Scion,” he said. “Long time ago, thousands of years, when Archons still on Earth, they each create servants, a bloodline of creatures: transformed humans into monsters. Vampires, werewolves, and other beasts. All are real. Some still serve Archons or Nomads, but all are real. You were attacked by Horlack. He very old Scion. Lucky you go through Epiphany.”

  “Epiphany?” Amanda asked.

  “Yes. Your Magical awakening, when you realise Magic is real and gain new understanding.”

  “You mean when I fired lightning at him? That was my Epiphany?”

  “Yes. Epiphanies often take form of great Magic.”

  “Wow. That was lucky. So, if I was attacked by a Scion in the alleyway, I’m guessing that the man in the airport was an Inquisitor, given the cross he was wearing at the time,” she thought out loud to herself. She noticed Gentle Water nod as she spoke. “This is a lot to take in.”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “No, no, that’s fine. I’ll think it through later. So, I can use Magic?”

  “Yes. Magic is powered by Essentia, Magical Energy, which you see as glowing mist. You are already strong in Magic, Amanda, you just need to accept it and learn to use it. I teach you.”

  “That would be awesome.” Amanda smiled back at him in unrestrained glee. “So, what kind of stuff can I do?”

  “All kind of things. You can make things appear, travel great distance in blink of eye, throw fire and lightning, and heal any wound or illness. Almost anything possible, Amanda,” he explained.

  “Anything is possible,” she repeated in wonderment. “I just… I still need to get my head around this.”. It sounded like she’d been subconsciously using magic for a while, until her Epiphany when she was finally able to use it for real and kill that Scion.

  Amanda made a sudden connection in her mind and her giddy smile began to fade as a realisation dawned. She looked up at Gentle Water.

  “So, I could use Magic from the moment of my Epiphany?”

  “Correct, young one.”

  “And, Magic can heal people?”

  “That is true.”

  “Ah shite,” Amanda said as she thought about Georgina and the possibility that she could have saved her. Had she realised it, had she pursued it and tried to harness the power within her, maybe Georgina would still be here.

  “What is wrong?” Gentle Water asked.

  “I could have saved her,” she muttered. “If I’d known, if I’d realised, maybe I could have done something.” She’d decided to put her experience in the alleyway to one side when she got to Ireland. She’d chosen not to tell Georgina and to instead just be there for her. She’d been passive rather than active. She could have done something but didn’t, and now her friend was dead.

  “Amanda. You not know then. You not understand Magic. You must not blame self,” her mentor said. And yet, she couldn’t help it. She could have saved her, she’d had that chance, but now that chance was gone and so was her friend.

  “But I could have.”

  “Then learn from it. Take your pain. Hold it close and learn from it.”

  - Grand Inquisitor Marcus’ report on Horlack’s Disappearance. July 1204 AD.

  It seems my old enemy, my nemesis, has disappeared. I tracked him and his forces to Constantinople, but it seems that he vanished during the chaos of that glorious siege. I don’t believe th
at my old foe has been killed. I feel it in my bones that he’s still alive, somewhere.

  I shall not rest until he is found, by the honour of the Disciples of the Cross, I swear this with God as my witness.

  Acquisition

  Cairo, Egypt

  Wandering through the Markets in Cairo, Stephen could not be happier. The place was amazing. It was filled with hundreds of stalls selling all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff. Everything from beautiful carpets and clothing, to spices and foods—many of which he’d never seen before. The air was filled with rich aromas that assaulted his senses, and every turn revealed a new scent.

  He was here with his parents, and it was funny to watch the locals spot them and try to sell them something. They stood out from the crowd with their western clothes and pale skin. A couple of people had already attempted to buy his mother. He had no idea if they were serious or if they were just having fun, playing up to the stereotypes which they surely knew about.

  Cairo was a curious mix of old and new. One moment, they were looking at a wood-framed stall selling brightly-coloured spices from terracotta pots, a scene that had probably remained unchanged for hundreds of years, and then the stallholder would pull out their ringing mobile phone, or Stephen would spot a fast-food restaurant in the background.

  The mix of cultures was fascinating.

  As they wandered, Stephen looked for some kind of souvenir to take home. Something he could show his friends. Something that would fit their interests.

  Stephen’s father worked for the Natural History Museum in London, and he was always bringing strange new artifacts home or photos of the museum’s latest acquisition. Having been surrounded by mystical artifacts his whole life, Stephen had grown up with a fascination of myth, legend, and magic. He was convinced that there was something to these stories from around the world, that there was an element of truth in there, and after that séance he’d had with his three friends the other week, he’d become even more sure of it.

  He wished he could have brought Ben, Francesca, and Liz with him; they would have loved it here. Especially the girls, who were more into the occult than even he was.

  Their friendship grew from a couple of chance encounters and was based on a mutual interest in Science Fiction, Fantasy, and the occult. Ben, a local kid who lived in a council estate not too far from Stephen, had caught him reading a comic. Ben was a huge comic book geek—something he kept hidden from his mates on the estate—and he seemed relieved to find someone he could share his interest with. They practically never mixed while in school as their friendship circles were just too different, but outside of school, they were close friends.

  His friendship with Fran and her sister Liz came about sometime after befriending Ben, when he’d been forced to partner up with Fran during a science class. He’d been daydreaming during one of the lessons and had been doodling in his notebook, sketching out pentagrams and stuff. Francesca noticed them and started to ask questions. It turned out that the girl he’d considered to be a bit odd and not someone he was interested in was also into myths and legends. He remembered her looking at his sketches and calling them cool. Her comment, and the way she looked at him in that moment, changed the way he viewed her. When he’d first met up with Fran and Ben outside of school, she’d brought her sister, Liz along with her, too. They were identical twins, but could not have been more different in appearance.

  Fran had dyed her hair copper and wore it in loose waves that fell over her shoulders. That night, she also wore a short, ripped denim skirt over a pair of leggings and several layers of old tops beneath a denim jacket that had seen better days. She walked confidently in her high heels and greeted them warmly.

  By comparison, Liz was dressed in a warm high-necked sweater, long coat, jeans, and sneakers, and wore her long blonde hair loose and straight.

  It was only in their faces that you could see any resemblance between them.

  They’d met up regularly ever since and were good friends. As they talked more about their interests, he remembered Fran saying that she and Liz could sometimes make things move with their minds, like some kind of telekinesis. He and Ben had laughed at the idea, of course, but didn’t dismiss it, and when the opportunity presented itself, they set up some candles and tried to mimic the séance-like situation that the girls had been in when this phenomenon had first happened.

  When that first candle had risen up and floated before them, suddenly the idea of magic or psychic powers didn’t seem quite so far-fetched, or quite so funny.

  They’d repeated the exercise several times on different days, and Fran said that she and Liz were practising their ability whenever they could. More recently, the girls moved heavier items and had scared Ben and Stephen with their talent, such as when he’d pissed Fran off, and she’d unconsciously moved a nearby car as she’d shouted at him. Stephen was of the private opinion that the girls weren’t fully aware of the extent of their powers and were more powerful than they knew. Whatever the case, woe betide anyone who really made them angry because they’d probably end up as a stain on the wall.

  The girls were convinced it was some kind of magic. Ben, on the other hand, thought it was some kind of psychic ability. Stephen wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt there must be an explanation for it.

  They were always looking for mystical books and any resources they could find. They had taken to visiting a couple of magic shops in London that carried strange and curious items, hoping to find something useful.

  When he’d told his friends he was visiting Egypt, he promised them he’d be on the lookout for anything strange and he’d been looking forward to exploring the markets to see what he could find. He’d heard tales of tomb robbers selling their wares through markets like this one and hoped to find something of interest.

  He’d found a few stalls already that were selling so-called artifacts, but nothing really leapt out at him or looked authentic.

  Spotting another stall covered with more trinkets, he stepped over to it, his parents just behind him, and started to look over the items for sale.

  He spotted the usual miniature pyramids, busts of Nefertiti, Tutankhamun’s mask, and statues of the gods of ancient Egypt, but again, nothing of great interest.

  Stephen sighed, smiled at the vendor and turned away.

  “You not find anything you like?” the vendor called after him.

  “No, sorry,” Stephen said, looking back.

  “I have more. Come, come round, you see,” he said, waving Stephen around the side of the stall. He glanced at his parents, who smiled and watched, urging him to go and have a look.

  Feeling more confident, he moved around to where the trader sat behind the stall. He had a small table set out with a range of items on it, from tiny bits of jewellery to a huge stone slab that was covered in detailed carvings.

  This last item caught Stephen's eye, and he felt immediately drawn to it. Kneeling down, he got a better look and noticed right away that the carvings on the stone’s surface were not Egyptian. There were no hieroglyphs on it at all, in fact. But as he looked closer, hidden in the reliefs, he could clearly make out some curious runes that he didn’t recognise.

  On the side facing him, the carvings depicted a man reading from a book which emanated rays of energy out to a group of people who sat before him. Stephen had no idea what it meant, but it completely captured his interest.

  “You interested? You buy?” the vendor asked.

  Looking up at the man, Stephen did his best not to look too interested. “Maybe. How much?”

  “For you? Seven thousand,” the man said.

  “Seven thousand?” Stephen asked incredulously.

  “You mean Egyptian pounds, right?” Stephen’s dad asked from behind him.

  “Yes, yes,” the trader said.

  “That's like, three hundred British pounds,” his dad whispered to Stephen.

  “Oh,” Stephen said. That didn’t sound quite so bad, but it was still more than he wan
ted to spend. He didn’t have three hundred on him, but he was curious to see what he could get the man down to. Maybe his dad would help him buy it. Looking back at the trader, Stephen thought before responding. “No, no. I can’t pay that. How about, three thousand?”

  “No. No way. Six thousand, maybe. Maybe.”

  Stephen liked bargaining, so he narrowed his eyes in a show of thought before answering, “Three thousand five hundred.” The trader had dropped to six thousand easily, so he was clearly seeing what he could get away with. Stephen knew he needed to drive a hard bargain, but wanted to show he was willing to move.

  The man thought about his offer. “Five,” the man said.

  “Three thousand, seven hundred and fifty,” Stephen shot back, quick as lightning.

  “Okay, okay, four thousand, but no less, that is last offer,” the trader said.

  That meant it was nearly two hundred for the item, which was still too much. Stephen looked at his dad, who whispered to him, “Agree to four, and I’ll pay half.” His parents had given him one hundred and fifty British pounds to spend in the market, so he’d still have some leftover, and Stephen was more than happy to share the item with his dad, who also looked interested in it.

  Turning back to the trader, Stephen offered his hand. “Deal,” he said.

  The trader shook it, a broad smile lighting up his face. “Excellent, excellent. Here, I wrap, yes?” the trader offered while he and his dad sorted their money out and handed it over.

  Taking the stone slab in his hands, Stephen was surprised how heavy it was. But holding it only cemented his idea that this was something special. He was sure he could feel it, the power that it contained. He couldn’t wait to show it to his friends back home.

  - Transcript from Witch trial of Francis Chastain

  France, 1448

  “Subject continued to wail and scream. Brother Macías was unable to bring forth any further details from the warlock. We deemed it necessary to use more coercive tactics and applied the use of the devices. The subject then began to talk. I asked the name of the witch who we had observed with him that night, but again he protested, saying he would rather die. He went on to say she would find him and make him suffer. We applied the devices again, and in time he offered us the name of Yasmin the Dark. Despite further applications of the tools, we could get nothing further from him, and he was placed in a cell. The following morning, Francis was dead. What little remained of him was splattered up one wall. The duty guard heard nothing all night, and no one had been granted entry.“