A Dozen Secrets: Twelve Tales of Hidden Magic

by Angel Wedge

  It was an upright one, a completely different shape than the mini grand he was learning on every Tuesday evening. But he was in this bright open space, there was no sign of whom the instrument belonged to, and he wanted to see if he could play it. There was no stool, but he found a battered wooden crate on the edge of the woods that might be about the right size. Alain took a bow, took his seat, cracked his knuckles quickly, and then held his hands above the keys for maybe a second too long before they dropped into the opening bars of Sonata № 29.

  The instrument was well tuned, and much to the boy’s surprise the acoustics were perfect as well. The sound was as crisp and clear as anything he’d experienced. As he reached a quieter part of the melody, he would have sworn he could hear the audience collectively holding their breath. He looked up and saw a hundred people being as silent as they could while he played, exactly the scene his ears had described to him.

  For a moment he hesitated, missed a note and then played the next one incorrectly. He blinked in surprise, and he was in a field again, playing to the buttercups.

  He came back whenever he could, though, loving the adulation of the crowds. All he had to do was play, and there was a concert hall there. If he was good enough, they would even last long enough for him to take a bow. He wondered if the hall might be in his imagination, but that couldn’t explain how on some days he managed to completely avoid the rain that had come down in the middle of his performance.

  All he could conclude was that the piano must be a special kind of magic, just for him. And then the next question was simply: would he someday be able to share it, if he found someone who loved the music enough?

  * * *

  Sephiroth

  “You want the Sephira.”

  “I thought it was Sefirot,” Craig furrowed his brow in confusion, “Have I been scouring the city trying to find the wrong thing all this time?”

  “Probably I pronounce it wrong,” the old man’s accent was pretty thick anyway, but Craig couldn’t quite figure out what it reminded him of, “I mean, I only ever seen the word in the will. The lawyer called it a Sephi-rrrrror with a great long rolling ‘r’, but I always thought that was just the way that man talked. Maybe he had it right, I don’t even know what a Sephira is.”

  Craig just nodded. He didn’t know either, but he wasn’t about to admit that. He’d found this place through a combination of intuition and coincidence, much more than any kind of deduction. Craig had been a soldier once, and had toured some of the bloodiest spots in recent history. A lot of those spots had been in the desert, so instead of seeing the world, his tour in the army had left him with miles of nothing to gaze on, until some unseen foe tried to kill them. On coming out, he’d been looking forward to a peaceful life. But as soon as he got it, he found that he was short of money and constantly on edge. When there wasn’t an enemy to take on, he spent every second expecting to be ambushed.

  Then this old guy, Ezra, had appeared. He’d said he was the Guardian of the Sefirot, like some kind of mythic figure, and that there was a secret war going on hidden in the shadows of polite society. Craig hadn’t initially believed him, but he’d wanted to. Because ever since the first time he’d been shot at, Craig had been unable to avoid the feeling that someone was watching him, someone was waiting for their moment to strike. He knew that he was going crazy, that war had broken him and the shrinks had tried to put him back together, but what was left was always going to be flawed. But if he was taking part in some underground conflict, hunting enemies hidden in the shadows, then maybe he wasn’t insane. As weird as it sounded, he’d wanted to take Ezra’s story at face value just so he could tell himself that constantly looking over his shoulder had been justified.

  Except that only made sense going forward. Even if there was a secret war, there was no reason for them to target him. So looking over his shoulder all those months had still been paranoid, even if he joined in the fight for justice and had reason to watch out for hidden enemies now. Ezra said no. Craig was one of the chosen ones, it was his destiny to collect the Sefirot and bring them together. The Council had been watching him for years, even feeding the top brass intel when he was in the army, to make sure he wasn’t killed too early. They needed him, so the Others wanted to see him dead as soon as his attention lapsed.

  Craig had been reassured by how crazy that sounded. But if Ezra bought into this whole fantasy, then maybe there were others associated with him who’d been following Craig for months. Even if the plot was nuts, the feeling that someone was watching him might have been justified by crazy stalkers who thought he was the chosen one or something. So he’d signed up to their quest, just hoping for something to occupy his mind.

  Ezra had said he had one of the Sefirot, but that it couldn’t be connected to the others until Craig had collected at least three. He’d left a cryptic message, a typewritten page of numbers, and then hadn’t been in touch. Craig had tried to take this as a mystery, to put his puzzle solving skills to use. But that was the problem, he wasn’t too good at solving mysteries. If he was going to be part of some secret society, he needed someone like Ezra to be giving the orders. He couldn’t imagine he’d pass this initiation test, but all that time in the army had taught him never to give up even when things seemed hopeless.

  He’d studied that page of numbers until he could recite bits of it from memory. So he’d noticed one day when flipping through the newspaper that one phone number on a classified ad appeared within the page of mysterious numerals. It probably didn’t mean anything, no way could Ezra be on the end of the line waiting for him to get back in touch. But anything to do with his free time was better than nothing, so he called up the number and spoke to a middle-aged man. He’d mumbled something vague about looking for something, but hadn’t known what else to say.

  “I’m looking for something in particular,” Craig had said when he came to the door. The ad had said it was a clearance sale, inviting viewings for anyone who wanted to buy some of the guy’s great-uncle’s antiques and junk. The way the ad was written, Craig had got the impression the man didn’t know half of what he had, and would be unable to distinguish a valuable antique from a memento with only sentimental value. It would be a hell of a coincidence if one of the Sefirot turned out to be here, but it was at least an excuse to talk to someone, and the guy sounded pretty lonely himself.

  “You want the Sephira.”

  “I thought it was Sefirot,” Craig had muttered, unable to believe that a long-shot hunch like this had paid off. Maybe the conspiracy theories weren’t so wild after all. They traded a few more lines before Mr Cohen invited him into the house, and offered a coffee.

  “Thanks,” Craig smiled, “I’m not too good at the social thing, so hope you’ll let me know if my manners are a bit rusty. Why don’t you tell me what you know about the Sefirot, and we can go from there.” Step one in any interrogation, don’t let the subject know where the gaps in your knowledge are. But this wasn’t really an interrogation, because Cohen had shown no sign of hostility so far.

  “Well, I suspect you know far more about these things than I do,” Cohen finally explained as they sat down in the lounge with a couple of mugs. “I don’t even know what it looks like. Uncle Ash said he was going to give me his greatest treasure, and he took me aside in secret. He said I was going to get the greatest gift a man could receive, and he wished he could give it to me himself but it had to stay with him as long as he lived. He was quite into his ancient mysticism, all the old stories that he couldn’t share because they were so secret. I was never sure if it was a real treasure or some kind of metaphor, but it would have been kind of rude to ask, I thought. I just thanked him, and wondered what it might be.”

  “Then he died, and in his will he left me everything. Antiques, collectibles, everything in his house. And the will said that I get the Sephira, too, however you pronounce it. Everyone gasped at that, and I figure maybe there’s someone in my family who was hoping for it, but they never said a
nything to me afterwards. I advertised in the classifieds, because he’s spent his life collecting trophies, coins, clocks, you name it. I thought they should go to people who are interested in those kind of things, and maybe once some of those are gone, I’ll find it easier to work out what the Sephira is among the remainder. But so far, most of the folks who’ve come round have been interested in odd knick knacks, or they’ve been house clearance people who this is just a job for. I think that would be disrespecting the old boy’s memory, don’t you?” Craig just nodded. So he knew there was a Sephiroth here somewhere, but neither of them had a clue what it actually was. He’d already looked in the encyclopædia, but the description there didn’t give the first clue what it might look like.

  “So how did you know what I was looking for?” he asked, “I mean, if you’ve only come across the name Sephira once before, then why would it be the first thing you say when a possible buyer comes around?”

  “You said you were after something special, but you didn’t say what. He was always cagy like that too, wouldn’t even tell me what this greatest treasure was called, just that it was so important for some reason. Some day, the whole world would want to see it. Then in the will, it said that I got all his collections of old stuff, to do with as I wanted, but that he charged me to keep the Sephira safe for the man who needed it.” He took a long slow gulp of his tea and then put the empty mug down, “And, I guess, it was a hunch. But I was right, wasn’t I? You’re the guy I’m keeping it safe for? So come on, I’ve been wondering about this since he first mentioned it, when I was just a kid. Can’t you tell me what it’s for?”

  “I don’t know,” Craig couldn’t keep it secret any longer. This guy had only been friendly, had told his mysterious story, and there seemed no benefit to keeping him in the dark any longer. Not to mention, he was probably the only person Craig had met who wouldn’t laugh at him for his strange story, “This old guy told me I’m the chosen one. Or something like that, I’ve got to collect ten Sefirot, and use them to save the world. You’re the first person I’ve met, so I don’t know what it looks like either.”

  “That’s a puzzle, then. I’d give it to you in a moment, I get a good feeling about you. But I can’t give it to you unless I know where it is.”

  “Well, here’s an idea. You’ve looked through some of his collections, right?” Mr Cohen nodded as Craig spoke, “So why don’t you join me. No offense, but I get the feeling you’d like an excuse to get out a bit more, see the world. When we find the next one, we can go together, and if you see something and think ‘Uncle Ash had one of those’, then we’ll know what the Sefirot are. It seems to me that instinct is a big part of this quest, it’s only by chance I called you in the first place, so maybe if we stick together we’ll be able to solve the mystery.”

  And just like that, there were two of them on the quest.

  * * *

  Box of Bliss

  Lucas grinned as he opened the letter. It was a brown envelope, with his name printed in block capitals behind the window. He didn’t need to worry, though, he already knew this wasn’t yet another demand from the taxman. The twin-crescents in the top left corner of the envelope formed what he now recognised as the logo of Bliss Inc.

  The company who had offered him a chance to change his life. He opened the envelope eagerly, wondering just what form the next step on his road to happiness would take. He opened the envelope, and all at once the Bliss flowed out. Of all the self-help programmes in the world, this one did exactly what it says on the packet.

  Lucas knew even before the waves of euphoria faded that he’d be buying from them again.

  * * *

  Nine Lights

  Generys walked calmly down the street, just another shopper going about her daily business. She kept a half smile on her face, and restrained the instinct to look in every direction. A few years earlier, she might have thought that all the people around her had their own quirks, would be so interesting if you knew them, but in a crowd like this they were all just people. Now she knew that most of them were just sheep without an original flicker in their minds, and more importantly, she knew they weren’t all people.

  Generys walked slowly down the street with shopping bags dangling from both hands, and didn’t allow her eyes to dart around the crowd looking for vampires. She knew that some of them could pick up on the slightest motion, even the flicker of recognition in her eyes, so she didn’t dare to look for them. She didn’t need to, anyway. She had enough practice now, and enough spiritual awareness, that she could feel the aura of every person within a hundred yards. She knew there was a vampire in the crowd, walking calmly on the other side of the street.

  She’d learned from one of the best. He’d styled himself Master Ra’ul, and had run classes for people who wanted to boost their spiritual enlightenment. He’d shown her how to open her inner eye, and to let the auras become a real thing instead of just a vague impression. One day she’d sat through an entire meditation group in silence, her shoulders unusually tense, but she was already aware enough that her inner turmoil didn’t dull her vision. Afterwards, Ra’ul had asked what was wrong. She’d said that half the people in the room had no aura; she’d asked if that meant they had no soul. He’d answered simply: “Do you believe in vampires?”

  After that, he’d given her private classes. She’d still come along to the group meetings, and she’d learned to more easily recognise the different types of aura a person might have. It was so much easier to see when they were focusing on it themselves, when they were striving to manifest their spiritual potential. And in their sessions afterwards, she had discussed what she saw with Ra’ul, comparing notes. He said she was the most enlightened student he’d ever had, and that in a year she would probably see more clearly than him. It hadn’t taken that long. And as her sight grew, he taught her the meaning of the different things she was seeing. Four months later, he had been killed by a vampire, and that’s when Generys started her hunt.

  About a third of the crowd had no soul. That didn’t mean they were monsters, though. They were just empty shells, like people without a heart. Like extras in a movie, in a way, nothing interesting would ever happen to them. Or like robots, unable to do anything but what they’d been taught to do, treading an uninspired path from the cradle to the grave. It had been shocking when she first realised that, but now it was just the way the world worked. She’d seen diagrams, that suggested that everyone had a spirit body consisting of spheres of energy along their spine. The word Ra’ul used was “chakra”, though these weren’t the 7 or 9 foci described in ancient mythological texts. There were 10 of them, it seemed, glowing balls of light within a person’s body, but most people didn’t have a complete set. She guessed they represented some different aspects of enlightenment, but it wasn’t so easy to tell what each one meant. Certainly, she’d never noticed anything in common between the personalities and behaviours of people who had or did not have the same orb illuminated in the constellations within their bodies.

  She could see, though, that three of the chakra initially appeared different from the others, to her vision at least. Their colours were dull and muted, almost hostile. But enticing in some way, as if she were drawn to people in whom those three appeared. From her own instinctive response in the past, she suspected that if she were to meet someone with all three of their grey chakra, she would find them impossible to resist. It wasn’t that these three were special in any way, though. It was simply the three that she herself was missing.

  The people without souls weren’t entirely blank to her abilities, she knew. They carried an intangible aura with them, a mist of emotion that surrounded them like they’d just walked through a room full of bright cobwebs in the 7 primary colours of her second sight. Everyone did, and when people engaged with each other in an emotional way, their auras shifted and flowed together. It was a year or two after Ra’ul’s death that Generys finally understood what this meant. It wasn’t just your heart, it was your emoti
ons. The empty people, the dull people, they need to build up their aura by interacting with others, sharing the mist that makes them feel complete even though they can’t see it. The people with chakra, with a heart, with a soul; they are the ones who generate all this energy as they go about their lives. They are the ones feeding the world.

  The soulless, in a way you could call them zombies. Emotional zombies. They don’t have feelings of their own, so they like to bump against real people and hope something rubs off on them. She couldn’t hold it against them, they weren’t evil as such. They were just dull, bodies that had never had a chance to become people, craving contact without ever knowing why.

  Everyone else, the real people, were the mystery. Some of them had drive, some of them had talent. They were the artists and the musicians, the politicians, the visionaries. It didn’t take long for Generys to realise that all the celebrities had at least 5 of their chakra glowing like suns. That is, the celebrities with talent. Sports stars and actors, people who achieved fame through talent. Sometimes, she wondered if they might have gained more fame than their talent merited, simply because the people who had no aura to call their own were drawn to the people who exuded emotional energy in spades, showering everyone around them with the divine light. She knew what it was like to feel drawn to someone, every time she met someone who had one or two of the fragments she was missing. How must it feel to have none?

  The people at the top of the tree, though, they were supposed to be special. Prophets or messiahs, the people the whole world looks up to. But according the texts Ra’ul had never quite trusted her enough to show, there was nobody born with a full set of chakra. He speculated that some major figures in history – Hitler maybe, or Jesus – had 8 glowing orbs, and spread the aura fog around them like it was nothing. But if there was nobody in the world who had all ten, if it wasn’t just a one in three billion chance like the statistics would suggest, then why were there ten at all?