by C E Johnson
“I like when you have a break from school,” Richard spoke through his first bite of eggs, with a pleased expression on his face. The Weather Channel was on in the living room, describing a tropical storm that was progressing and enlarging into a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean. “I can’t believe a hurricane is forming in March.” Richard set down his fork. “The season usually extends from June to November … maybe only one or two in history has formed in March, so I guess this will be a year to remember.”
“We better go.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the microwave in the kitchen. Emily grabbed her bow and arrows from the wall in the laundry room and they started out the front door with Xena.
“Let’s stretch before we jog.” Anna gestured toward the grass just beyond the porch. Emily nodded. They began their tai chi in synchrony. The sun was just rising, but it already beat powerfully down on their heads. Emily enjoyed the smell of fresh-cut grass and flowers as she went through her graceful mind and body relaxing techniques. After their warmup, they grabbed their weapons and jogged along hill country caliche trails nestled between live oaks.
Emily again couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Xena sniffed the air, sending a faint whiff of steel, leather and blood across their link. Neither of them could identify the source.
“Do you think there’s a connection between the hurricanes on Earth and Iscar?” Isabelle asked.
“Maybe,” Emily answered, uncomfortable at the thought. She tried to focus on the rhythmic noise their feet created on the ground. Once she calmed her mind, she pulled her magic, and whispered a search-incantation, letting her spell quest around her area. She identified birds singing in the fresh air and animals scurrying through the woods as the warm tingling of her magus coursed through her body in a surge of electricity, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. “My magic’s getting stronger lately. Something is changing.”
They were nearing an open field in a large greenbelt where they practiced. It was turning into a perfect day with sparkling blue, cloudless skies. “Race ya,” Isabelle called, and she was off, brown curls bobbing on her back. She started singing a song about friends as she ran, and Emily finally began to relax. They chased each other, giggling and laughing until their sides ached.
Dashing together over the last hill, they entered a field where Poulton Himes, their instructor stood, appearing unfazed by their rapid approach. “Glad you’re enthusiastic about practice.” He had set up several unusual objects. Emily saw a three-dimensional sheep, a howling coyote, and several undead zombies in the field with him. “Like my new targets?”
“Where did you get them?” Emily studied one of the undead monsters, whose skin was a network of scars. For the last year they had been refining their archery skills. Poult had been blown away by their technique and had even moved one of his courses into their neighborhood to ensure they remained in his class.
“My bow sponsors gave me a bunch of these.” Poult gestured toward the zombie, and placed a last anchoring stake into the ground to solidify its position. Poult was tall, well over six feet, with straight brown hair and a smooth, shaved face except for a well-trimmed goatee. He had slightly crooked teeth and laughing blue eyes that treated all of them with an irreverent sparkle. “You guys sure you don’t want to compete in the next upcoming tournament?”
“We’d win it so easily,” Isabelle spoke in an overly-haughty tone while winking at Emily. “Why even enter.”
Emily had suggested their group decline competitions because she hoped to keep away unwanted attention. Her eyes were drawn to an approaching car, a battleship-gray Jeep with its doors removed. It had large black wheels with knobby ridges. “Luke,” she whispered. Luke’s sandy blonde hair was flying in the wind as he braked violently in a cloud of dust. He jumped out of his vehicle, greeting everyone. He went to Emily and they started up the motions of their fencing handshake that they had perfected years ago. Finishing the movements a millisecond faster than her, Luke laughed. He leaned in to Emily, cupping her chin in his hand. She felt his breath on her cheek and enjoyed the unusual sensation of chill bumps rising on her arms just by being near to him. His lips brushed against her own, smooth and soft. Through Xena’s nose, she could smell his soap and shampoo. Emily sighed shakily. Although Luke was tall and skinny, he was beginning to fill out with strong layers of muscle continuing to overtake his frame, converting it into something new.
“Okay, enough kissing and crazy handshakes. Time for work.” Poult demonstrated their first exercise by threading an arrow through the eye of a target that looked like Frankenstein. “You never know when a zombie might attack you.”
C H A P T E R 3
Malachi
Malachi had just finished dinner in the Family Residence Dining Room of the White House with his parents. Their waiter brought in a freshly baked apple pie with fragrant cinnamon sprinkled generously over the top. Aides scurried in and out, asking his father more questions than usual. They were concerned about the approaching hurricane, but his father appeared at ease, unfazed. Once there was a moment of silence, Malachi asked his father his own question, something that was bothering him. He wanted to know if his father still knew fear. “Dad, what disaster do you worry about hitting the United States? You don’t seem worried about the hurricane.”
“No one can control the weather, Malachi.” The President, William Hughes, sat back in his chair and pushed his thinning gray hair to the right side. He had just finished an official briefing before dinner and looked distinguished in a dark suit that he still wore. The weight of the world had stolen away all the softness from his features, and his cheeks were sharp and lean.
“But what do you worry about?” Malachi couldn’t believe he didn’t have concerns.
“There hasn’t been a conflict in my first three years, and I hope I never see a war or disaster during my Presidency.” He spoke softly, but Malachi could hear the pride behind his words. William’s broad shoulders were thrown back and he wore a satisfied smile.
“No anxiety about anything?” Malachi felt as if his own life was immersed in doubts.
The President sighed. “I worry about a nuclear bomb. I live in fear that some terrorist will smuggle a missile near to our shores and launch it toward us … that I won’t be able to stop an attack against Washington D.C. and our family.” He studied Malachi with his wise eyes that for so many years missed nothing. Only lately, those knowledgeable eyes were missing the multitude of secrets that Malachi held. Malachi wanted to tell his father all of his fears, but something held him back.
“No more questions. Let your father unwind for a little while,” his mother urged. Her long blonde hair fell to her shoulders, shimmering on a rich gown of burgundy silk. A frown of dismay danced across her face. “Don’t think about those who harbor only evil in their hearts. Go and read for a while, let your mind expand.”
Malachi knew when his parents wanted to be alone. “Sure,” he rose and glanced up at the chandelier, his attention drawn to the crystals which abruptly began to weave and intertwine, buffeted by a gentle breeze that came from nowhere. His parents didn’t seem to notice the change, but Malachi’s amber eyes instantly scanned the room for ghosts, or wraith-spirits, as his spiritual mentor Drogor liked to call them.
Malachi. His name floated to him on the hesitant wind in a low whisper. A hum came from the doorway, and Malachi knew a game was in the making. Most wraith-spirits were trapped in Ater, a type of purgatory, but certain wraiths were able to escape their jail and wander on more hospitable planets for a time. He darted out of the room and began searching through the White House.
Malachi, he thought he heard again, just louder than a whisper. Black hair dancing on his brow, he sprinted to his favorite locations where shadows often teased him, playing tricks with his mind. Some of the wraiths were wise, revealing spells and occult mysteries to him, and he hoped tonight to find one that would catch his attention and keep him from going back to the attic.
&nbs
p; Malachi. It was a girl’s voice. She was calling to him louder. Her words were fluttering excitedly in the wind. He was closer. Running through the sitting room faster than usual, he burst into the central hall, hoping to find her. I’ll teach you a new spell, she promised; however, the room was empty. Malachi was a black magician, but he was having a difficult time learning his craft because he didn’t have a proper living mentor. All of his teachers were wraiths, and Drogor only allowed certain wraiths to work with him. Once Malachi became interested in a spell, Drogor would require Malachi to complete a task for him on Earth before he was allowed to learn the final elements of the incantation. Malachi didn’t want to do anything for Drogor tonight, and he was attempting to prove to himself that he could conquer his addiction of traveling to visit with him, for even one night.
Catch me if you can. The girl’s voice drifted to him from a balcony, soft as silk, full of excitement. Malachi hoped the voice belonged to Jael. He dashed past the West Colonnade into the Rose Garden where the ghosts of Dolley Madison, Lincoln, and Jackson were rumored to roost.
You’re getting colder, the voice teased. Malachi darted back inside, through the halls and into the basement of the White House. He ignored the secret service members staring him, probably seeing just a tall, skinny, awkward sixteen-year-old who appeared half-crazed. Floorboards creaked and groaned as he continued to wander through the old house.
Once he entered the door to the indoor pool, the temperature lowered several degrees, and Malachi knew the game was over. “Jael, where are you?” he whispered.
I’m here waiting for you, slowpoke, Jael whispered back. Are you going to stay and talk to me, or are you going to see Drogor? She rolled her eyes dramatically.
“What do you know of Drogor?” Malachi rolled up the legs of his pants, and sat on the edge of the pool, letting his legs enter the heated water.
Drogor is one of the strongest spirits in our starless realm. Jael’s pretty little mouth twisted into an unhappy grimace. He once lived on Acacia. Her spirit sat next to Malachi and he could see small ripples in the water where her legs moved. She hesitantly placed a hand on his thigh, and Malachi felt a chill of excitement dance along his leg and spine. Do you have your magestone with you? She asked.
Malachi nodded. Before dinner he had gone up to the third floor of the White House, past the linen and cedar room to enter the attic storerooms where he housed his treasure. He had crouched in the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Malachi never used lights in the attic, it was meant for the shadows and ghosts. He had knelt on the floor until he found the loose board, which he had slowly pried out to reveal his most prized possession.
Can I see it? Jael asked, her voice brimming with wonder.
Malachi took a slow and steady breath, fighting his desire to selfishly keep his treasure to himself. I must stay in control, he thought. He reached his hand into his pocket, and when it touched the cool dark surface of his gemstone, his blackstone, he felt a new warm rush that had nothing to do with girls; this thrill was one of magic and magus. Opening his clenched fist, he revealed his stone of the deepest black he could imagine in a triangular, trillion-shape.
And you found this on Earth? Jael leaned closer and Malachi felt his heart flutter. He thought he could smell a woodsy perfume mixed with orange blossoms.
“I found it on a trip with my father.” He ran his finger lightly over its smooth surface. “We went to investigate an asteroid that had fallen to Earth in New Mexico. The stone was at the periphery of the impact site.”
Jael reached out her shadowy fingers toward the gem. As her wraith-hands made contact with the stone, she suddenly had more substance and Malachi could see the beauty to her. She appeared around eighteen, with long brown-hair draped on her smooth shoulders. She was tall and striking with an elegant dress, but her eyes were dull and colorless. Will you bring me back to life? She spoke in a soft voice, while flashing a seductive smile.
“I don’t know how,” he stammered. I wish I could kiss her, he thought as he looked at her sideways.
Drogor knows how. You have to learn from him, she urged. Do what he asks to gain more knowledge.
Malachi stared down at the stone in his hand. He had barely let the stone out of his grasp since his father had returned it to him, often even holding the stone when he slept. “I’m not sure if I fully trust Drogor,” he spoke haltingly, “but I’ll ask him about the spell.”
Jael’s face lit up, her smile was warm, kind and shy. Thank you, Malachi, if you bring me back as a Mavet raa, I will steal magus from a magician to become a half-dead, and then I’ll serve you. What half-dead would you like me to be?
Malachi swallowed hard, his hands felt clammy with sweat. “I think a vampire,” he mumbled. He pictured her all clad in leather armor, but she seemed so vulnerable at times that he wondered if she could really fight. He hated that she had to go back to Ater, where the colors were dark and bleak.
I must return, she whispered, letting her lips brush against his cheek. I have only learned how to escape Ater for short times. She stood on the edge of the pool. I’ll teach you a spell next time. You were too slow today and there’s no time left. Giving Malachi a darting, teasing look, she dove into the water, disappearing as her spirit contacted the surface of the warm liquid, leaving only tiny lines on the pool.
I guess I’m going back to Drogor tonight after all. Malachi set his lips in a hard line. He felt a vague anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Running one hand into his hair and touching the tip of one of his pointed ears, he wondered if Jael was somehow in league with Drogor. His shoulders slumped in confusion as he walked upstairs to his attic, his departure zone. He grabbed some camping gear that he stored there: a large green pillow with faint stripes and a shiny blue sleeping bag made of squishy material that could even handle freezing temperatures. He adjusted the pillow into an optimal position for comfort. Unzipping the sleeping bag, he lay on the cushioned material and placed the blackstone on his forehead between his eyes. He propped his phone next to his ear, placing the volume at its highest level and finally relaxed. Speaking the words taught to him by Drogor: Loqua umbra, he left his earthly fetters behind.
Malachi could sense the powers of his magestone aiding him. Stone-magus coursed into his body from where the ebony blackstone contacted his thirsty skin. Whirls and swirls of dark shades formed a kaleidoscope of blackness. Although he was instantly surrounded by other wraiths upon crossing over, his existence, his spirit, in the dark world was entirely different from the others. He was bathed in such a warm glow of light that the other wraith-spirits were drawn to him, basking in his glow and attempting to feed off a portion of his magus. The spirits were not as beautiful as Jael, but they were similar, all promising to tell him secrets and urging him to stay. They were careful with him, enticing him, always complimenting him while delicately sampling his magus. Their actions scared Malachi, and he again wished he could tell his father about all of his fears. Malachi left the spirits behind, heading for the teachings of Drogor.
C H A P T E R 4
Disasters
Emily woke up to the sound of the news on the television downstairs. A reporter was commenting about torrential rains associated with the approaching hurricane, and she knew the weather channel was probably on as usual. Sounds like bad weather, she thought to Xena.
Her parents were talking together with a mixture of excitement and fear as she went down the wooden staircase, running her hand along the smooth banister with Xena pressed against her leg. Her father glanced up at her approach. “Look at this.” Her father was unshaven and still in his bedclothes standing in front of the television, gesturing toward the screen. Her mother rolled her eyes, letting Emily know her father was in one of his moods. She walked into the kitchen while fixing her hair.
Emily went to the couch and sat down. She pulled her legs up under her body and listened to the news. An earthquake was causing damage in the Yellowstone Park area, and scientists feared a massive volcano, a
super volcano, in the area could become active. “What’s a super volcano?” She had never heard the term before.
“There are around twenty super volcanoes in the world.” There was a glint of excitement in her father’s eyes as he spoke. “They’re so large that if they erupt they would send debris high into our atmosphere. If this particular super volcano under Yellowstone Park erupts, magma would reach Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana and the ash could block so much sunlight that we might be thrown into another ice age until everything cleared.”
“How do scientists find out how much magma is underground in this volcano?” Emily couldn’t believe the volcano was really that large.
“Good question.” Her father scratched at his stubble with a fingernail. “It’s like an ultrasound. Doctors use an ultrasound to see inside of us by using sound waves bouncing into the body and back to a hand-held transducer to make pictures on machines. He sat next to Emily. “Scientists use machines that read information from sound-waves produced by earthquakes that go underground and then bounce back to map what’s under the surface. The magma cavity under Yellowstone Park has been filling since the last eruption that was more than six hundred thousand years ago.”
“Do you think it’ll erupt soon?” Emily felt more curious than worried, somehow certain they could survive the aftermath.
We should be prepared for the worst, Xena warned as she jumped up on the couch next to her and lay down on her side, resting her head against Emily’s leg.
“I doubt it, but if the earthquakes triggered by moving magma become progressively shallower in a characteristic pattern, I suppose it could happen.” Richard paused, stroking his unshaven chin again. “I don’t want to scare you, but Earth is really unstable right now.”