A Dozen Secrets: Twelve Tales of Hidden Magic

by Angel Wedge

  Ra’ul had been able to answer that one, at least. Because being the perfect man, being the messiah, was something to aim for rather than something to be. If your soul was complete, with all ten parts, you would have everything you ever wanted. The world would seem rich like wine, and every sunset would fill your heart with poetry. Everything you created would be perfect, and nobody could argue with you or even want to. The texts said you might be immortal, as well, and have mastery over the elements of nature. Nobody was born with that power, it had to be earned.

  That was where the vampires came in. Not the classical vampires of myth, drinking blood to live. A vampire still needed to eat food just like everyone else. But people with good sight could take the aura of others, rather than sharing their own joy. If you could see it well enough, you could grasp the gossamer strands in the fog and take it for your own. It was a difficult skill to master, but there were many who had achieved it. Psychics who could be drunk on the joy of others, and warrior monks who had learned to attack the soul of an enemy rather than their body. They weren’t vampires, though, just people with an unusual skill.

  Vampires took it one stage further. They were people who took someone else’s aura and held it tight. Then they would kill you. The more terrifying and vicious the event, the more heightened the victim’s emotional state, the easier it was to rip out one of their chakra and take it for your own. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds, around the world. All competing to see who could be first to complete a perfect soul.

  One of them had come for Ra’ul when he was much younger. He’d started out with a five-light soul, which meant there was plenty of incentive for the monsters to consume him, but he didn’t have the power to fight them off. What they hadn’t known was that this young man had already started studying martial arts to channel his ambition and drive. As well as self control, it meant that when applied to a path of violence, he could face off against an enemy nominally a few levels higher. Their fight had several rounds, spread over weeks, and with every bout Ra’ul saw a few more clues, learning what was going on and why this monster was after him in particular. Then he killed it, and went from five to six.

  He found out more about them, looking for hints in the news now he knew what was going on. Vampires didn’t make headlines, but they couldn’t hide every trace of their activities, and Ra’ul was always thorough. He trained more and more, making sure that he always pulled his punches. He studied a dozen different martial arts, but never allowed himself to fight at his full potential even if that meant failing gradings. Nobody, not even his teachers, could know how strong he was really becoming. He learned to mask his aura, too, presenting only some parts of it so that the next vampire to come hunting would underestimate him even more than the first.

  “Why don’t they just find a one-light soul that has the chakra they want to take?” Generys had asked. She asked that when he first told her about vampires, and again each time they went over the story, explaining in more detail.

  “Too weak,” he finally explained when he thought his disciple was ready, “Have you noticed that every part glows more brightly in a person with more of their chakra active?” Of course, he was qualified to say that now. His seventh chakra had opened up the sight to him, allowing him to find the vampires without needing to trawl through the news. “A person at the ground state, though able to create their own emotion if they learn how to tap into it, simply doesn’t have balance. Their chakra would be smothered if placed into a more powerful soul. It’s like they can only grow by feeding on someone of a similar level.”

  They had worked together. But neither of them were prepared to become a monster. They only hunted vampires, those who knew what they were getting into with this battle. Generys had been the lure to bring out the monster who called himself Arcadian, who’d made himself the prophet of some crazy suicide cult. If he’d built on his power more, he could have had half the world worship him. But like most at that level, he was only shooting for immortality. He needed prey with the aspects he lacked, and strong enough to be compatible with his own soul. Generys could read well enough to seem perfect prey, and was smart enough to resist her instincts when the vampire turned on the charm. Arcadian had never seen Ra’ul coming, and that had been his eighth.

  For his ninth, he had gone hunting alone. A mere seven-light vampire who preferred to keep to the shadows, it should have been no contest. Generys had been angry, and travelled to find the monster who had defeated her mentor. That was when she had abandoned her normal life and become a hunter. Revenge had been difficult. He had professed guilt, had said he never wanted to hurt Ra’ul. It had been a duel, as he saw it. Once they found each other, they had to fight until only one survived. But then she saw his soul pulsing with energy, saw that he was deliberately using the lure of two of the grey chakra to try to seduce her, make her weak. She wanted to believe him, wanted to be sympathetic, but suddenly she knew she was being played. In that moment, everything she was starting to feel was perverted, she still wanted the monster but couldn’t allow herself to trust him. Desire became hunger, and that was when Generys had become a true hunter, and a true vampire in her own right.

  Years later, in a quaint market town, she tried to blend into the crowd. There was a vampire on the other side of the street, moving roughly parallel to her own path. She muted her soul, and knew that her enemy did too. She hadn’t been able to find any trace of him in the media, which was proof enough that he was a grand master of concealing his aura. He had no fame, even when she could feel the strands of his aura all around her, energising the crowd and making this city suddenly the place to be if you were a fashionable shopper. She liked to think she was better at concealment, but the excitement was building in all the fashionistas between them. She thought it would be a match between equals, and hoped she was right as their circuitous paths brought them ever closer. She knew they had the same number of chakra pulsing with power; she could see it even through the crowd. She could see that some of them throbbed with power, while others were more muted. Still more powerful than anyone of lower rank, but it was easy to see which chakra were more focused, more often exercised. If only she knew what they meant…

  This one was good at keeping his activities discreet. She hadn’t managed to find any record of him. Maybe he didn’t have a paper trail anywhere, didn’t have a social security number. There were always more things that you could do with spiritual power, things she’d never even imagined. Some of the vampires she’d seen didn’t know that it was possible to see someone’s soul; maybe one of the other tricks was keeping yourself out of the news. But even without the news, she knew that she was facing a vampire. Nobody was ever born at that level; nobody could have nine parts to their soul without some of them being stolen. And amid those nine was the one she needed.

  Threading her way between the oblivious shoppers, she wondered how acutely aware he was of her movements. She could tell from the excitement buzzing through the crowds now that he wouldn’t run away. Today, the hunt was on, and one of them would surely win. The endgame.

  * * *

  A Business Traveller

  Lambert was a cautious man. It was the first thing most people might notice about him. He might not look both ways before crossing the street, but he always looked both ways before stepping into an alley. You never knew who might be waiting for you.

  This time, he didn’t look before he leapt, because he didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. There was nobody around, walking through the park at night. The gravel crunched under his battered sneakers; there hadn’t been grass here for years. The sculptures had gone, the trees had died long ago and the bark was marked by so many names in paint and scored into the trunks that they weren’t even recognisable as some natural element. He looked over his shoulders, but among the sparse shapes it was easy to know there was nobody else around.

  The wind whipped his short hair around a little, blew through the tear in his sweater, but the cold was
no threat either. Lambert looked around cautiously, and knew there was nothing to be afraid of here.

  Then he put his foot down on smooth flagstones of polished marble, and looked around in surprise. The park was gone, or very much changed. There were no houses here for the impoverished lower classes, no battered street furniture or worn red brick row houses. This park was a courtyard in what looked like a high class office building. The trees were in the same positions, but here they grew with regular pruning to ensure their symmetry.

  On the other side of the courtyard, a man sat on a carved stone bench that had long since been stolen. He was young, but not a kid. He was wearing a charcoal grey business suit, and had his nose buried in a newspaper. He wasn’t paying much attention to the briefcase at his feet, which looked way too expensive to not contain something valuable. Lambert looked down at it, and the man spoke to him.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you. Well, actually, I probably would. But it wouldn’t be a good idea. You see, I’ve found the secret of eternal life, and I only mean to share it with people who have helped me in some way.”

  “You offering me something?”

  “No, I just thought I should try to explain in some way, though I doubt you’d ever understand.” Those words were enough to annoy Lambert. He darted forward, faster than anyone could react, but the other man was quicker. The briefcase made a reassuring click as it opened, though Lambert didn’t see what kind of weapon the man had pulled because this graceless businessman was suddenly behind him.

  “You see, there is a price for any great power. And for immortality, strength, and speed, they require a suitable sacrifice. In fact, there’s only one person whose life should be worth enough to me to qualify. So, of course, I cheated.”

  Lambert turned, looking around him for any sign of escape, ready to strike at any moment while the other man was giving his monologue. But then he caught the other man’s eyes, and saw an expression he’d seen before. He recognised this stranger, recognised the expression, and the face, that he saw every day. He didn’t understand the how, but at least he could see why. It was a flash of inspiration that took him completely by surprise, but maybe the businessman could have expected it. It was an incredible understanding.

  And then he died again.

  * * *

  Spiders

  “Soul metal is at the very foundations of modern alchemy,” the guy had told her. He taught her well; his lectures were often a little preachy, but never overbearing or boring. When she didn’t understand, he’d use complex metaphors or even show her how to do it. It was great having a wizard in the family, even in a modern world where next to nobody believed that such powers even existed. No, especially when people didn’t believe in him, because the few who did would come from miles around in search of his talents.

  Donna couldn’t remember now why the guy had been part of her family. That was the problem with soul metal. It was a danger he’d often warned her of, but the lesson hadn’t really sunk in until the day he disappeared. He’d just never come home one day, and the whole family had been distraught. Thinking back now, Donna couldn’t remember why. If people asked, she’d tell them that he’d been in a relationship with her mother. It sounded about as likely as anything else she could think of, and it was easier to explain the tears if she had some story like that. People didn’t understand the holes in her memory. It creeped them out, possibly even more than eldritch monsters could.

  One day, her teacher hadn’t come home. He’d been working on something big, so maybe he’d forgotten who they were. That was the kind of realisation that left a huge, empty place in your heart, wondering if you were meddling with things man simply wasn’t supposed to understand. Soul metal was the heart of alchemy, you see, and the heart of the creator as well. You could, with the right kind of meditations and incantations, form tiny slivers of your memory and emotion into a metal. It wasn’t gold, but turning lead into gold was a pipedream of superstitious masses, a story spun to convince the scientists that alchemy had no real foundation.

  A soul metal pendulum would swing faster in the presence of thaumatic energies, the driving force of sorcery. A soul metal divining rod would attune to the heart of the user, and find whatever you were searching for. A soul metal compass needle would always point the way you were destined to go, though not necessarily along the path you wanted. It was magic, pure and simple. A pretty big claim for a dull metal the colour of grey ash. Donna had learned to make it, feeding it tiny memories she no longer wanted, like the kids who teased her at school for her outlandish tie-dyed dresses and the flowers in her hair that never wilted or stopped growing. But that man, her teacher, had done larger things. He’d saved the world, maybe, and that could cost you a feeling that would never leave.

  He’d never come home one day. Maybe he’d saved the world, forged a soul metal chain to reseal the gates of Hell after some foolish sorcerer underestimated the danger of his powers, but the cost of that metal was to forget his family and those he loved. That was a terrible thought, and the kind of thing that put Donna off ever using those techniques again. At least, until one day the gap in their lives had seemed like a bottomless pit, the pain insurmountable, and she’d opened her crucible one last time to let herself forget him and all the things she missed most.

  She didn’t remember her mother, either. Or her father now. It was only looking back that she realised just how much she’d thrown away. But she didn’t regret it, never regretted what she’d had to do. Whenever something hurt her, or someone made her burn inside, she could cut them out of her heart like a surgeon’s scalpel carving away some metaphysical tumor. She didn’t regret being the only person in her city who had the power to keep only the good memories.

  That was why she had so many pets. She’d found that divining rods, ritual knives, pendulums, and blessed coins had no attraction for her. The very first time she could remember teasing out a sliver of soul metal under his watchful eye, she’d decided to use it as the mainspring and make herself a pocket watch. What better use for perpetual motion?

  She had always been fascinated by clockwork, and worked for hours over a giant magnifying glass, with a jeweler’s saw and tweezers. But she didn’t know the gear ratios to approximate something as human and arbitrary as time. She could shape the spring and the escapement to run at the speed that was natural, but she had no way of knowing how many ticks per second that might correspond to. And as she looked in library books, hoping to find the answer, she realised that she didn’t want to know. She repurposed the gears, and fashioned a clockwork pet instead.

  Now, she had dozens of spiders. They lived all around her apartment. She could speak to them, give them instructions, get them to find things for her. It was almost like they were a part of her, and that was the most wonderful thing she could imagine. Some of them were bright silver; some chrome treated with salts and acid to give them an iridescent gleam. Some were brass, or even gold when she’d been able to hold down a good job. The smallest were the size of a pinhead, so small you’d need a magnifying glass to even recognise it was a machine. The largest was as big as her palm, a masterpiece in pewter and steel, and at times Donna wondered if Ariadne was actually smarter than her, with the massive complexity of nearly nine thousand paper-thin gears collected into a crystal-lined abdomen two and a half inches long.

  Some of them even had tools. A mandible with a tiny drill bit; a foreleg with hardened and tempered saw teeth along one side, or a screwdriver tail that made it look almost like a scorpion. They could repair each other if they were injured, and even cut the patterns for their new siblings. The only part of the process that Donna had to be involved in was cutting the escapement, which was made from her own soul.

  She didn’t need more spiders, and didn’t create them on a whim. Only when a memory was holding her back would she take away part of her past, and replace it with new friends. Until now, of course.

  He’d broken her heart. She’d thought about all the things somebody
could do to hurt her, and known nothing would ever drive her to sacrifice a serious emotion, but then she never thought it was possible to feel so bad over one person. Every time she thought of him, it was like a knife in her mind. Every time she saw a Josh on TV, some celebrity or some man on the street, it was his face that came to mind. And she wanted to punish him. So she gathered every memory she had of him, every ounce of love and every gram of hate, all gathered together into an ambivalent, mottled pebble of emotion made solid.

  The soul metal wasn’t grey today. It was like burnished gold, or rusted tin, every shade of metal imaginable, shimmering as she turned the tiny sliver over and over in the air. She worked day and night on her masterwork, drawing and shaping the finest pieces of wrought iron anyone could imagine. She forged black spiders using old fashioned methods, beating out every piece on an anvil made from the head of a pin. Thirty-nine spiders, one for every week they’d been together, one for every lie in some strange symbolic way. When she was finished, she slept like she’d never slept before. It was as if in pulling out such a complex bundle of emotions from her heart, she had drained herself of all energy as well.

  Two days later, she opened her eyes. Her body was stiff, her sheets soaked in sweat. She stood up, and saw the black spiders she had named Vengeance arrayed in a semicircle in front of her, like a military corps awaiting the order to attack. She smiled, and waved them back towards the complex nests in the walls. She didn’t hate anyone enough to set the spiders on them, certainly not right now. She had never interacted with anyone closely enough to hate them, but she had no doubt that someday she would meet someone who deserved Vengeance.