by T Hodden
“So god predicted men would have genes.” Sylas nodded. “I can see why man cowers before such a being.”
“What if it predicts a specific person?” I said. “What if it predicts, I don't know, a superior person? What if that Genome is the DNA fingerprint for... Somebody.”
“Somebody on whom the fate of the world may hinge.” Sylas mulled this over. “Possible. The right person could change the flow of history. It need not be a Messiah or blessed child, not even a person History will remember. The man who fouls a bullet on a production line can change the outcome of a war. The father of a man who should foul the bullet even. Anybody who says three words that may resonate even for a few moments could be the pin on which history hangs.” He paused. “Though it would be some what difficult for Amduscias to achieve any of this. Being imprisoned as he is.”
“Yet a little of his will was allowed to walk the Earth.” I said.
“Drawn out by that infernal machine. A machine I will see destroyed.” Sylas pointed a finger at me warningly. “Graveland is a prison. In all the time it has held the Demon there have been few enough ways to reach his influence beyond it. Every time he has done so we have found it and removed it. This is no different. There is a reason Covens do not sing his name in black hymns any more. There is a reason the man-beast is not seen abroad. He is contained. Another hand set this in motion. It was not easy for them.”
“Yes.” I agreed. “Another hand stole your weapon. An entire village died to feed some spell that would allow him to reach out for this code. The same hand that found the cursed chainsaw and a spirit camera. A hand Doreen is sure belongs to Mandrake.”
“Is that so?” Sylas closed his mouth. “And who is he?”
“I do not know. I know he was something to do with the Thunder Cage, that he pushed the White family towards their worship of demons and black arts.” Something occurred to me. “You know the name. But you do not know if the name has been usurped by somebody in honour of an old foe, or if that same old foe is still active.”
“Jacob Mandrake the American was a scholar of the dark arts. A seeker of knowledge and hungry for power. He was not afraid to murder, or have murdered, to manipulate or deceive. He tried to enter the realm of my Father many times to seek knowledge, power or influence.” Sylas pushed his lips into a thin smile. “But he was not young in those days. His mortal allies disowned him when they saw the cost of his ambitions and like so many others he faded into the darkness.” His smile was tight and had the air of a politician speaking the party line. “He is dead. We have seen no influence or spell that might prolong his life. So he is dead.”
“And you know this?” I asked.
“It can be no other way.” Sylas waved a dismissive hand. “So you will find who this pretender is.”
“Ah. That sounds a little desperate.” I said. “I take it that if he has found a way to cling to this mortal coil it would not be good news?”
“He is dead.” Sylas snapped. “Shall we go see the records?” He said that like it was a threat that would shut me up.
“Can we?” I asked. “There are records?”
He sneered. “Oh you are on the way there anyway by the looks of things. So why not?” He walked to the wall and reached for a door handle that was not there before his fingers closed around it. He yanked open a door, from which a liquid light flooded out and washed over me. I did not move through the Other World, the world flowed and reformed around us.
We found ourselves in a tunnel. It felt like it was deep underground, from the dank earthy air and the stillness of the place. Somewhere water was dripping and the water echoed. The walls and ceiling were made from thin stones stacked upon each other. They reminded me a little of a dry stone wall. It was lit by the flickering and dancing flames of torches whose pitch soaked wadding burned with an eerie blue light.
Sylas directed me down the corridor to a circular room on whose walls were stacks of shelves filled with scroll cases.
“The Soul Market.” Sylas informed me as he slapped his palm on a brass bell that chimed in a key that hurt my ears. As the sound faded a figure in dusty robes and covered in spider webs and fungi.
“Yes?” The face beneath the robes was so old the skin was like grease proof paper and eyes were almost pure ivory. It was drawn and skull like. “How may I serve, Sire?”
“Jacob Mandrake.” Sylas said.
“Man Drake.” The Keeper of the Soul Market rolled the word around his jaws. “Yes. Well named. A Soul Name. The flower is poison. But his meaning is older of course. Merlin was known by that name. Man and Drake, Mortal and Dragon, the Human and Eternal. A name of dark magic.”
“The dates?” Sylas pushed.
“Born, January first, eighteen hundred.” The Keeper hissed.
“And?” Sylas asked.
The Keeper looked at him.
“Could the Grey King not have just asked?” I whispered.
“Standing orders remain for his highness to be informed in that event.” The Keeper said.
“Could he have died under another name?” I offered.
“This is not the Civil Service. We are not discussing paperwork. This is the movement of souls between worlds and kingdoms. It is an absolute. Souls and Soul Names can not be misfiled.” Sylas growled. “This is wrong. I do not know how why but this is wrong.”
“Because your Father said so?” I asked.
“Because I snuffed the life from that miserable little worm myself.” He spat. “December, nineteen ten. Check the files. His soul was torn from him and his blood spilled over the snows.”
The Keeper did not flinch under the tirade.
“The manner of death is unimportant. Only the movements of souls.” The Keeper said.
“And his soul moved from life to death.” Sylas said.
“No movement was registered.” The Keeper said.
Sylas snatched at the Keeper, dragging him from the floor and crushing at the frail bones of the skeletal keeper.
“I watched him die.” Sylas whispered.
“The soul still walks the Earth.” The Keeper croaked.
“My father told me-”
“And the Grey King would never say anything but the truth.” I said in what I hoped was a soothing voice, but sounded a little too cynical and bitter. “He would never twist the truth to trick anybody. He would never use a lie in one of the thousand chessboards he is playing upon.”
“Do not dare to speak of your betters.” Sylas whispered. “I am his son.”
“So he actually genuinely Cursed my family because he lost track of human lifetimes?” I asked.
“Actually yes.” Sylas let the Keeper down. “But you are right.”
“Hang on. He was eighty eight years old when he killed Doreen in Eighteen Eighty Eight?” I looked at Sylas. “I could have sworn she described him as being young and fit.”
“Incorrect.” The Keeper whispered.
“Well it was the way she told the story I guess. I just had a picture in my head. Funny how we do that.” I smiled.
“I can not comment on his looks.” The Keeper said. “But your estimate of his age is incorrect.”
“So, you were using a different calendar?” I tried.
“No. Dates are converted to your frame of reference to ensure understanding.” The Keeper said. “Jacob Mandrake was three thousand six hundred and eighty seven years old at his time of death.”
“He was born in eighteen hundred BC?”
“Yes.” The Keeper croaked.
“And you are absolutely sure no magic could have sustained him?” I asked Sylas.
“This is not possible.” Sylas turned to look at me. “His is a mortal soul.” He looked skywards. “Father!” The Prince screamed. “You will answer me Father!” He shook his head and muttered under his breath, we were once more transported.
We found ourselves in a large room, clad in sand coloured marble and illuminated by pools of sunlight that spilt in from the circular windows in th
e ceiling. There were many small tables, too many for me to count, on each there was a board, like a chess board, but with figures unlike any I had ever seen. Each was an individual figure carved from obsidian or ivory. I looked down at the nearest, there was a little figure of me, laid on the board and surrounded by figures of bears.
Sylas strutted his way between the tables towards a small figure hunched over one of the game boards tapping his lips with a pencil as he inspected the pieces. The figure was shorter than me and his almost perfectly round head and bulky coat gave him an impression of chubby with out having any fat at all. His manner was somewhat messy, with his black naval reefer jacket, unkempt shirt, chequered trousers and spats he seemed to have stolen from a passing tramp. Every part of his ensemble from the braces holding up his trousers to the designer glasses perched on his nose seem to have come from a different decade.
“Oh my giddy aunt.” The Grey King was muttering as he flicked his bob of black hair out of his eyes and gave a schoolboy grin to Sylas that did not quite disguise his obvious concerns. “That is not good. Not good at all.” He seemed to notice me behind Sylas for the first time. “Oh! Oh!” He pointed at me. “Ah!” He said. “I know you!”
“Very possibly Sire.” I knelt down and lowered my gaze. “I have been honoured to serve you.”
“No you haven't.” The Grey King laughed. “You despise it I think. What is it you do again?”
“I am cursed to serve you in the matters of the supernatural walking the Earth. Mostly I look after Bears sire.”
“Is it that way round?” The King raised an arched eyebrow. “And how did you come to be here?”
“In my wake Father.” Sylas said before I could offer any answer. “You told me that Mandrake was dead. That lie is not acceptable. I demand an answer.”
“Well, ah.” The King polished the toes of his shoes on the back of his legs and mangled his hands. “For some reason I thought it a little unwise to tell you of all my enemies given the rather nasty little secrets you have been hiding. Weapons and such in your corner of the kingdom. In hindsight, that you did not tell me you had HaMahhit locked away in your gun cabinet, or that he had escaped really did make me feel better about not trusting you with the current details of the Mandrake.”
“If I told you the weapon would have been no use to me. To us.” Sylas said.
A furry hand touched mine. I looked down. Tiger was at my side, Ginger was on tiptoes to look at one of the game boards, his nose resting on the edge of the table.
“There you are.” Tiger snapped, wagging a finger at me. “How dare you go wandering off into Graveland while the rest of us are still worried. You can play with your friends another time.”
I shushed her in time to hear the words the King was muttering.
“If you told me, perhaps a lot of lives might have been spared.” He waved us away as he darted to another board, moving a few of the pieces. “Now, I really must be allowed to work. I can not waste time making holding patterns and plate spinning moves just to talk to you, as nice as it has been.”
“Is Mandrake trying to free Amduscias?” I asked.
“Yes.” The King made several moves on several boards in quick succession. “But if that is his ultimate goal or just a means to another end I can not say. There is too much disruption, too many troubles to fight and wars to end for me to see clearly. He is hiding in the confusion, using chaos and ruin like a magician would use smoke or mirrors.”
“Yes!” Ginger dug in his pockets and held up a card over his head. He slapped it onto the nearest table. It was a card from the board game the bears adored. “Smoke and Mirrors.” He declared. “Transpose two pieces with out penalty.” He swapped a couple of pieces on the board and tipped an enemy counter. He stopped and thought for a second. “Er, which side are we again?”
“Ha. Good show.” The King clapped his hands together. “A shame about a few of the consequences of course...”
“How do I find Mandrake?” I said.
“If he lives.” Sylas added for me.
“He will live.” Tiger said, stamping her foot. A few game boards wobbled. “He better live!”
“Sire. How do I find Mandrake?” I demanded.
“You have his illegitimate daughter and he will no doubt believe I have brought you here to hear all his secrets.” The Grey King smiled. “I rather expect what you should be doing is preparing for him to come to you.”
Night suddenly fell over the room. It lingered for just a second.
“His heart is crashing. Too many spikes. We need to stabilise.” A disembodied voice boomed around me.
“What?” I asked.
“Clear!” The Voice yelled as a sudden jolt of electric pain swept over my chest.
“Good luck.” The Grey King said brightly.
“Clear!” The Voice shouted again.
The next jolt of pain brought me crashing back to my body. To a bed in a hospital where electric paddles were being taking off my chest as a machine beeped at a regular beat.
“He is back with us.” The Doctor said. “A close thing.”
Tiger and Ginger were at the back of the room. They looked like they were asleep and nobody seemed to have noticed the packets of salt scattered at their feet. Or at least not to have thought it odd. They kicked the sachets of salt under one of the chairs, for the cleaners to be delighted by later.
“Whuhhappnd?” I asked, discovering my tongue was still in bed and not all that willing to obey.
“Mister King. Do you know where you are?” The Doctor asked, shining a light in my eye.
“Room 101, Smith Ward.” I answered, trying to sit up. “Bella,” I looked at one of the bears who had been looking closely at the paddles, “don't touch that. Peaches, please do not unplug the life support machine to charge your phone.”
“Well. I wish we could take that as confirmation you are doing better. For now we need you here to be observed.” The Doctor gave the nurse some orders I did not understand and left some notes before she shuffled off to do some paperwork or save another life. The bears were torn between huddling around to whisper about the Grey King and the troubles ahead, and bouncing excitedly at my bedside as they told me everything that happened to me that they thought I had missed.
“Listen guys.” I cleared my throat. “Calm down a second, okay? Seems that the man who sent us the chainsaw, who freed an Angel of Death and killed Doreen to make a trick camera, who sent the camera to kill Pam Stoke, who has been doing a lot of nasty and naughty things is Jacob Mandrake. A very old, very naughty enemy of the Grey King. And there is a chance, according to the Grey King, that, well, ah...” I said.
“He is going to be coming here with a big mean hunger to hurt Fish!” Tiger said. She had her hands on her hips. “And we are going to stop him. Fish is under strict orders to rest so he will rest. Nobody is going to hurt him.”
“Argh!” I yelled as Tiger gave me what was meant to be a gentle pat on the head.
“Erm, nobody else.” Tiger corrected herself.
“And what will you do? Have armed bears in the corridor?” I smiled at their nods. “Chalk, a silver mirror and the electric light that looks like a candle in a jar.” I said.
“Ah.” Ginger understood. “A cleansing?”
“A cleansing.” I agreed.
*
A cleansing is a protective spell. Instead of creating a magic circle it fills a room with energy. Positive energy. Those imbued with the effects of dark magic will often be unable to enter the cleansed room, or will find their powers stunted. Everybody else will feel positive effects. Doreen, hiding in her shadows, would have felt her confidence and spirit boosted as the bears sung their charms and traced patterns on every surface with their chalk. It was supposed to help my heeling too, but it was hard to tell with the pain killers.
Jenny and Damon arrived soon after the spell was completed. Jenny ruffled a few bears hair and accepted a couple of sweets from the various paper bags waved at her.
/> “Hey.” She said. “We were passing and I thought we should check on you.”
“You don't have to do this any more.” I said. She had never been that fond of this side of my life.
“You are still a mate.” Jane said.
“And you did us a solid with that car.” Damon said. He went to shake my hand but did realised it might be too much trouble. He paused. Doreen had appeared behind them. Damon turned to look at her. His face crunched in thought. “Do I know you?”
“No.” Doreen smiled warmly. “I doubt we would have been in the same circles.”
“Ah.” Damon seemed thoughtful. “And I am sure I should have remembered a girl like you.”
“Down boy.” Jenny said through the side of her mouth.
“Jenny. You were right about me. About the bears.” I said. “Take Mabel, go visit your mother for a few weeks, but don't be here. Don't be in this room.”
“Who are you afraid of?” Jenny asked nervously.
“Jacob Mandrake. A man with dark hair and a livid scar on his cheek.” Doreen drew a finger down her cheek to illustrate the scar. “Though he may be older now.”
“Really?” Damon seemed fascinated. “If we see anybody with a scar we will steer clear.”
“If he has a scar still.” Tiger said helpfully. “He has died at least once since Doreen saw him.”
“Died?” Jenny said.
“Well, his body did. And the fairies did think they had consumed his soul too. But he seems to be a bit of a tricky one.” Tiger said.
“So how does one survive both body and soul being consumed?” Damon had a look of bemusement now. “Anybody else taken a smack to the noggin?”
The bears gave this some serious thought. It was Theodore Edison who came up with the answer.
“A Parasite Bond!” Ted said, waving a finger in the air.
“Ooh” Said several of the bears. Along with “uh oh” and “oh dear”.
“A what?” Jenny asked.
“Just a few souls that are particularly hardy can survive the hop between bodies. Almost anybody can be exorcised from their own body, but will end up back there after a few minutes, a few hours at most. A hardy soul, like Fish has, can be plucked from his body for a jaunt There, on a fairly regular basis, but will survive being bound to a new body permanently. Just a few of the hardiest of souls can.” Ted paused for breath. “And if the mistake we made was believing that Jacob Mandrake was a man and not a Demon, Angel, or something older, then he could have a soul hardy enough and powerful enough to jump between bodies at death. But, this is the clever bit, he does not jump into an empty body. He keeps the original soul in there, so when he seems to die a soul is destroyed as well. Which means somebody somewhere is a prisoner in their own body.”