Magi Legend

by Andrew Dobell

  Investigation

  Cairo, Egypt

  Vito scowled at nothing and everything. He might only be a little over a thousand miles from Rome, better than being over four thousand when he was in New York, but it was still too far for him, and the heat here was just ridiculous. It got hot in Italy, but nothing like this.

  How did people live here?

  That wasn’t even the worst of it, though. There were far too many Muslims here for Vito’s liking. Vito hated all other religions, including the many heathen variations of Christianity, for spreading their lies about what they thought to be the truth. Only the Vatican held the ultimate truth with their revered leader, Simon Peter, and the blessings of God that he and those others lucky enough to be graced by God’s power could use.

  But they weren’t the only people with powers, and it was missions like the one he’d completed in New York that reminded him that the Devil’s work was all around them.

  The witch in New York had escaped him, and he had no idea which flight she’d boarded. They found out later of course, through their access to the airport security cameras, and had tracked the witch to Ireland, but they lost her somewhere in Donegal.

  By then, though, Vito had been reassigned to a related case here in Egypt. But first, he’d stopped at the Vatican where he’d related the whole story to his mentor, Mary Damask. He’d cringed as he told her about his failure to apprehend the witch, Amanda. Mary could be a strict mentor when she wanted to be and had a harsh temper on her.

  But it seemed like the trail was not yet dead. A report had come in from a priest in Cairo that a man had visited his church, raving about a demon he’d seen in the desert. The description of a huge black creature with a single horn matched that of the beast in New York. Not only that, but when Vito had visited the alleyway where the attack had taken place, he’d called on the grace of God to tell him more about the demon that had been there, and the main image he’d picked up was that of a dry, dusty desert.

  Everything seemed to fit. This time, Vito was determined to succeed and follow the trail wherever it led.

  He’d already visited the priest who recognised Vito as an official from the Vatican and had been incredibly helpful.

  It seemed that the man, a Bedouin from the Sahara called Irfan, had arrived at the church in a state of distress. He was raving about a demon with a single horn who was hunting him. Further discussion had revealed that Irfan had stolen an artifact from an abandoned camp out in the desert. An artifact, which the man believed belonged to a demon who wanted it back.

  Unfortunately, Irfan had said he’d sold it to a trader in the marketplace for a thousand Egyptian pounds, but that was all the priest had gotten from the man. He’d not pushed any further because the priest had no desire to hunt for the tablet. He was only interested Irfan’s well-being.

  An admirable position, but also entirely unhelpful in Vito’s investigation. Luckily, the priest knew where Irfan was staying, so Vito had made his way over and now stood outside on the opposite side of the street, getting a good look at the building.

  It was no good, though. He needed to have a look inside without attracting any undue attention, so he reached up for the cross that hung about his neck and offered a silent prayer to God Almighty. He felt the rush of divine power fill him up, and suddenly, he could see inside the building. He was looking at the inside of the dusty entrance and reception area, and if he looked back out through the front door, he could see himself on the opposite side of the street, leant up against a building to keep himself steady.

  Using an extra set of eyes or ears could be disorientating.

  Vito moved his vision and took a look at the open logbook on the other side of the counter. There was a computer too, but it was old and not turned on. Instead, the owner seemed to prefer pen and paper, which Vito was thankful for. A quick scan of the open book soon gave Vito all the information he needed. Irfan was two floors up. Vito also noticed that there was a note next to his entry listing the church as Irfan’s benefactor for all charges.

  Vito smiled and sent his senses straight up two floors and found himself in an empty room. Moving his vision sideways he went from room to room, looking for the Bedouin.

  It didn’t take him long to track the man down. He was sitting in a chair watching an old cathode ray tube television with an abysmal picture. The man looked tired and troubled but also unarmed.

  Back on the street, Vito opened his eyes but left his senses where they were so he could keep an eye on his target. Vito crossed the road, taking care to dodge the horrific driving of the locals, and moved towards the entrance of the hotel. The key to getting past receptionists and such unchallenged was to look like you owned the place and knew where you were going. So, Vito ignored the man at the reception desk and made straight for the stairs and started up them unchallenged.

  Half a minute later, Vito was approaching the door to the hotel room his senses were in, and so far, Irfan had not moved other than to adjust his position in the chair.

  Not hesitating, Vito walked straight up to the door and gave it a solid kick, his strength fuelled by the grace of God.

  The door slammed open easily, smashing against the wall as Vito strode in and slammed the door shut behind him. Irfan jumped out of his chair and looked up at Vito in shock.

  “Who… who are you? What is the meaning of this?” Irfan asked in his native Arabic. Vito knew the language as well as any native and understood him perfectly.

  “I’m here to ask you some questions,” Vito answered, also in Arabic. “I’m a friend of the priest.”

  The man looked confused. “But, you broke down my door?”

  “Just making sure you understand our relationship, Irfan. So, to be clear, you answer my questions, you don’t ask me questions, understand?”

  “But who are you?” the man asked.

  Vito shot forward, moving quickly, and delivered a solid punch to the Bedouin’s face, knocking him back onto the bed. The man yelped and groaned. Vito gave him a few seconds to recover before speaking again.

  “I said no questions,” Vito stated, having taken a few steps back to put some distance between them. With a quick, silent prayer to God, Vito reached back as if to remove something from his waistband and summoned his gun to his hand.

  “Irfan?” Vito asked, but the man didn’t answer. Instead, he suddenly got to his feet and made to lunge for Vito, but stopped partway when he saw the gun that Vito had pointed at him.

  Irfan raised his hands in surrender and then sat back on the bed, a look of defeat spreading across his face. “Ask your questions.”

  “I only want to know one thing, where’s the tablet you stole and subsequently sold? Who did you sell it to?”

  ***

  “Stop, rewind that,” Vito said, looking over the shoulder of one of the techs who worked for the Vatican. Several of them had been assigned to him as they hunted through hours of CCTV footage from cameras all over Cairo, with a particular focus on the airport and main train terminals.

  It was long, tedious work, but it had to be done. Vito watched them dispassionately as they scanned through the sped-up footage, hunting for family groups that matched the description that they had from the market trader.

  Just like Irfan, the trader had opened up to Vito after very little pressure and described the family, including the blonde-haired boy of about sixteen years of age who had led the negotiations on the item’s price.

  Vito found it curious that the buyer had actually been the boy rather than the father, but he’d learnt a long time ago not to be surprised by the things he found out in this line of work.

  So far, they’d tagged several groups of three who matched the look of the family they were hunting for, and as the techie moved the recording back, another group of three came into view, walking through the airport.

  Vito gave the trio a good long hard look. They were the best match yet.

  “Okay, follow them, they look right to me. Let’s find ou
t who they are,” he said and set two of the tech guys to work. Within half an hour, he had the flight and the names of the family members in the video. As the tech guys followed them through the airport, they watched the boy, who they now knew was called Stephen, open up his hand luggage and lift out a large, heavy object wrapped in rags that fit the description of the artifact. The boy then went on to unwrap it enough to convince Vito that he’d found them.

  Vito smiled at the screen with the frozen image of Stephen gazing in awe at the artifact he’d bought from the trader in Cairo.

  “Successful hunt?”

  Vito turned to see his superior and mentor, Mary Damask standing behind him. He’d not noticed her approach, but then he’d been so focused on the task at hand that he wasn’t exactly surprised.

  Mary was shorter than he was and sported a severe black bob haircut and a sharp face. She was a powerful woman, in more ways than one. Not least of which was the fact that she was the first, and so far, the only woman that had been appointed to the rank of Grand Inquisitor and been admitted into the Conclave. She was ambitious and calculating, and Vito felt reasonably confident that she had her eyes on the seat of Grand High Inquisitor, the highest rank within the Inquisition below Simon Peter.

  “Very. I think we have our target.”

  “Excellent.” Mary smiled.

  - Notes on the Warlord Horlack and the Siege of Constantinople

  By Kalmár the Elder, Scribe, and Poet

  10th April 1204 “The bloodlust of the demon Horlack was like nothing I had ever seen before during my time as the scribe of my master.

  I have seen many strange things in his employ, but what I saw that day chilled me to my very bones. This Horlack was like something from the Pit. Nothing could stand against it; it killed everyone in its path. Death has come to Constantinople.

  May God have mercy on our souls.”

  Apprenticeship

  Donegal, Ireland

  Amanda stood balanced on one foot, her other foot tucked up beneath her, her knee turned out to the side, her hands held out wide as she let the feeling of Essentia flow through her. The energy filled her up, making her feel alive and vital, but also connected to everything around her.

  These last few weeks had been filled with wonder and amazement every day as she learnt to harness and use her Magic under the careful tutelage of Gentle Water. She felt like she’d come a long way, and yet she knew the journey had only just begun.

  Amanda balanced on top of what amounted to little more than a thick fence post. Arrayed around her were forty-nine logs, each one between six and ten inches in diameter—similar to the one she stood on—that had been rammed into the earth so that the tops of them were about three feet off the ground. They were spaced approximately two feet apart from each other in a rough circle which Amanda stood on the edge of.

  Gentle Water stood on another post, on the opposite side, facing her.

  “Ready?” Gentle Water asked.

  Amanda opened her eyes, bringing her hand round before her, clenching her right hand into a fist and placing it into the palm of her other hand. She gave a slight bow to her mentor, indicating her readiness.

  “Then we begin,” Gentle Water said.

  Amanda reached out with her mind, pulled on the ebb and flow of Essentia, and gave herself some added awareness by bending the forces of fate to her favour. With a smile, she hopped from one pole-top to the next with little effort, approaching her mentor. Within seconds, she was before him and defending herself against a punch, which she deflected.

  It was like a dance, although one that was rife with danger and risk. One misstep and she would tumble between the poles to a rough landing. Something she had done a few times already. However, by using her Magic, she was able to keep an awareness of where the tops of the logs were and make sure she stepped on them and not between them. Amanda hopped from one to the next, deflecting Gentle Water’s attacks and throwing her own back at him.

  She was getting used to the apparatus now, having used it for several weeks, and was able to throw in the occasional kick as well. Gentle Water, though, was amazing to watch. His movements were graceful and precise, allowing him to move across the tops of the logs as if he were fighting on the ground.

  Gentle Water pressed the attack, forcing her back and towards the edge of the circle. Amanda tried to move to the side to bring herself around him and give herself some room, but he anticipated her movement and blocked her, throwing strike after strike at her.

  Seconds later, she found herself on the edge of the apparatus as Gentle Water sent one final punch at her.

  Moments before it hit, Amanda sensed a surge of Essentia around Gentle Water as he pulled some of the local energy into him, and with her Magical sight, she could see the golden mist flow into his hand, making it glow before he threw his punch.

  Gentle Water’s fist caught her at the base of her ribcage. As the strike connected, the Essentia in his fist rushed into her.

  They’d traded punches before many times in their sparring sessions, it was an accepted hazard of their training, but this one felt very different. Pain lanced through her body as if she’d been struck by a powerful electrical bolt and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Falling from the top of the log, Amanda landed on her back and had the air knocked out of her with a grunt of pain.

  For a few seconds, she struggled to breathe before she finally sucked in some air and started to calm down. Her sternum ached like crazy, though. As she sat up, Gentle Water, who had already jumped down, knelt down next to her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his words. “I not hurt you too much?”

  “You didn’t, don’t worry. Ugh, I’m grand, so I am,” she reassured him. He hadn’t really done any significant damage to her, but she felt sure she’d have a nasty bruise there later on. “What the bloody hell was that?”

  Gentle Water smiled. “It Essentia Strike,” he said. “Essentia can not only be used as fuel for Magic, but it can also be used for attack and defence. Concentrated Essentia, released suddenly through punch or kick, disrupt flow of Essentia through body. It hurt, yes? It also damage Aegis. Very useful.”

  She’d already learnt about the Aegis. Invisible to Riven humans, it was the Magical shield that all Magi used as their primary line of defence against Magic and harm. In its basic form, it was a hardened shell of Essentia around a Magi that protected them against Magical attacks. Any unwanted Magic thrown at the Magus would be deflected away by this barrier. An Aegis wasn’t invulnerable though, as any Magical attack also damaged the Aegis, meaning it had to be maintained to keep functioning as protection.

  Amanda was already capable of creating her own Aegis and had started to experiment with adding a force field element to it. Her basic Aegis would only stop Magic. A mundane, non-Magical bullet would pass right through it and still kill her unless she augmented the Aegis with further effects, such as a force field to deflect gunfire and other attacks.

  “I think I’ll have a nasty mark there later,” Amanda said, rubbing the area he’d hit her.

  “I heal you?” Gentle Water asked. Each time she’d been healed, she always thought back to that realisation that it was precisely what she could have done for Georgina. That she could have saved her friend. This idea haunted her even now, weeks later, even though she tried to put it out of her mind. But whenever she thought about it, she also remembered Gentle Water’s words about using that pain. They were words that she had really taken to heart, and within hours of talking about it, she’d made a choice. She’d chosen to act. She didn’t want to be passive anymore, she wanted to push herself and move forward. She felt a determination within herself, a slow-growing fire of passion and determination to make it on her own.

  “No, no, I’ll be fine,” she said pulling herself up. He’d healed her a few times now when she’d hurt herself during their training. Seeing how the Magic he summoned could knit together cuts and make bruises fade to nothing was fascinating.
He’d told her how all things had Essentia within them; it was a fundamental building block of the universe: the legendary fifth element, the Quinta Essentia, or Quintessence that Riven alchemists had theorised about for millennia. Inanimate objects all had Essentia within them. They had to, otherwise they wouldn’t exist. But anything living, from humans to cats, right down to plants and trees, had a flow of Essentia moving through them. It was that flow that gave them life. The difference between a Riven and a Magus was that a Riven could not access that flow or control it. A Magus could, through their Anima Mundi, their life force, or, for want of a better word, their soul.

  “So, tell me about this Essentia Strike,” Amanda asked.

  “Of course, follow,” he said leading her through the clearing, away from the poles, and towards the tree line. “You pull Essentia to you, just like when you use Magic. You send it to fist, and when you hit, you release. When you hit living thing, Essentia in strike disrupt flow of Essentia through body, hurting them more,” he said. “Watch.”

  They reached the edge of the clearing and Gentle Water walked over to a nearby tree. He dropped into a fighting stance. As she watched, she saw him work his Magic and the Essentia rush into him. The effect was always beautiful to observe. Usually, the golden mist hung in the air and flowed around lazily, occasionally rushing when something living passed by, creating small ripples or minor whirlpools. But Magic had a much more dramatic effect on it, making it surge and glow, creating powerful whirls and eddies in the mist. Just like it did now, as Gentle Water pulled the Essentia into his hand.