by Ryk E. Spoor
“No problem. I do have one other general question,” I said.
“Only one? Dear me, Jason, then I must have already said far too much!” Verne said, relaxing.
I laughed. “No, seriously. You’ve often mentioned, offhandedly, things about ‘other worlds’ and how somehow magic was removed or sealed away. I guess my question is…where is the magic? And will it come back?”
He looked thoughtful. “This is not the first time I have considered that question, Jason. To put it simply, magic exists everywhere to at least some very small extent, but its focal point, if you will, is a single world. Why such a truly cosmic force should be so focused I do not know—I never studied magical theory—and the reasons behind such a phenomenon were probably only really understood by a handful of wizards of Atlantaea.
“However, there was a link—a conduit, one might say—between that world and Earth. Kerlamion and his forces either severed or blocked the conduit. If severed, it might well act as would a similar item in the real world, spraying its cargo of power out into the ‘area,’ if one could use such a term, of the break. Where that would be, of course, is a question far beyond my ability to answer. If it was sealed, on the other hand, the power has been building up behind the blockage. Perhaps there is some maximum which is already reached, and thus the barrier will remain unless something breaches it; or, perhaps, eventually enough pressure, so to speak, will build up and shatter even the Seal placed by the Lord of Demons.”
I thought for a moment. “So, to summarize, ‘I haven’t a clue’ is your answer.”
Syl gave an unladylike snort that turned into a fit of coughing; she’d just been taking a sip of tea when I skewered Verne. As I apologized, the others finished laughing. I sat back in my chair, feeling a crinkle of paper that reminded me of something.
“Oh, Verne, I’ve got something for you.” I handed him the check.
He stared at it. “Jason, I appreciate that you wish to repay me, but we’re hardly done yet. Besides, after what I know you’ve spent, I know you cannot possibly afford this.”
I grinned. “It sure shows that you’ve been too busy to keep up with events lately, or you’d have seen the news articles on it. Verne, I’m rich now.”
“What?”
I opened up the paper. “Take a look. After the Morgantown Incident, werewolf paranoia showed up everywhere. And since there’s only one known way to detect the things, people, including the Feds, started making Wood’s Werewolf Sensors, or whatever they wanted to call them. Well, a little pushing from the right lawyers—and the president— and the patent office recognized that I’d done the design work and owned the rights to every version of the thing being produced. In exchange for a real generous licensing deal to allow them any number of the sensors for government use, the Feds made sure that the private-sector manufacturers coughed up the bucks real fast and either got out of the business or started licensing from me. I’m probably going to have quite a substantial income for a long time to come.”
“Truly it’s an ill wind that blows no good, Jason. Even Virigar has brought something good out of his visit. My congratulations.”
“Speaking of those things, have they actually proven to be of any use?”
“According to government sources—who naturally don’t want to be talked about—a number of, um, ‘paranatural security breaches’ were detected through its use and related approaches. That’s one reason they’re very happy to work with me.”
“So all’s well, then,” Verne said. “It is well done with.”
“We’re not done yet,” I said. “There’s still the question of Senator MacLain. And of Kay and your daughter.”
Kafan nodded, lips tight.
Verne smiled. “True, Jason. Yet I have confidence that we will find a way to deal with these things. The Lady is with me again. I have friends. I have my son.
“Faith, friends, and family, Jason. What more do any of us need?”
Part V: Live and Let Spy
September 2000
Chapter 47: Categorization and Catharsis
“Good evening, Jason,” Verne said. “Is there a reason you come bearing a laptop?”
“Evening, Verne,” I said, sitting down in the large, comfortable chair I usually took when visiting. “Yep. Remember, I asked you if you were free this evening. I want to pick your brain, or at least get a start on it.”
“Not spending the evening with Lady Sylvia?”
I shook my head. “No. Syl got an emergency call from a friend of hers, Samantha Prince. A young girl she knows disappeared and so Syl’s down to see what she can do. I guess Samantha and this girl, Aurora, were pretty close.”
“Dear me. I hope things will turn out all right.” He then raised an eyebrow at me, curious. “So you would pick my brain…about what, in particular?”
“Well, when I first met you and ended up with Elias Klein turning into a charcoal briquette, I thought, ‘Well, now, that’s something to tell my grandkids,’ but figured it was a fluke. Then Virigar and his litter of homicidal puppies showed up, and I thought, ‘Jeez, twice in a year. But that ought to be that.’”
Verne sat down in his own chair. “I believe I see where this is going.”
“So then along comes Ed Sommer, genetically engineered contractor-assassin, following your time-displaced contradictory-backgrounded long-lost son, and I get an infodump on the Secrets Man Was Not Meant To Know,” I continued. “At this point, I think I have to accept that as long as I’m involved with you, the Weird Crap of the World is going to keep coming to my door. This puts aside the fact that along the way, I, personally, have gotten pretty high on the hit parade of several nasties—Ed and the Colonel’s former organization, whatever’s left of them, the vampire who sent Klein after you at their request, and of course the King of the Werewolves himself.
“So I figure that as long as I’m going to be in the deep end, I might as well know what else might be swimming around under me, nibbling at my toes.” I plugged my laptop into the wall and powered up. “I’ve set up a database for the weird here, and I want you to help me fill it in, as much as possible, so that when I run into something, I’ll have a chance to figure out what I’m dealing with.”
“I cannot argue with the logic of this enterprise,” Verne admitted. “Whether I agree that I, personally, am the focal point—it could, I think, be argued with equal facility that you are yourself the crux—I am a firm believer in destiny. Giving you more information to work with has always served us well. Ask and I shall answer, to the best of my ability.”
Kafan appeared in the doorway. “Do you need my help, Mr. Wood?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Kafan. Verne probably knows more about the current State of the Weird than you do, given that you spent most of your current life either locked in a lab or hiding in some Viet jungle. If I have to ask about things specific to you, I’ll let you know. By the way, I got a message from the senator; I’ll be having a meeting with her day after tomorrow, and the three of us will have to decide how I’m going to approach it. But I’ll do that tomorrow as a strategy meeting.”
Kafan clearly wanted to discuss it now, but he restrained himself admirably. It had taken more than a little effort to hammer it through his head that there simply was not going to be any quick and easy way to get his children back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said finally. “I’m going out for a while, Father. Morgan says that he and Meta will watch Genshi.”
“Very well, Kafan. Enjoy yourself.” Verne turned back to me as Kafan left. “So where shall we start?”
“Well, why not with you, Verne?” I asked. “Over the last few months, I’ve gotten piecemeal ideas about what hurts you or helps you and so on, and you told me that your powers derive from your…goddess,” I stumbled over the word; it was still difficult for me to casually refer to things as fact which had been myth to me a year previously, “and that Klein’s type of vampire was made in mockery of what you are, but I’d like to
have a unified idea of what you can and cannot do, and why, and then we can compare this to the Klein type of vampire, and move on from there.”
“I have no objection.” Verne settled back and steepled his fingers in thought. “As you know, the Lady Eönae blessed me with these powers. She is the essence of the living world; you can think of her as a spirit who reflects the nature of life and the magic of the soul. During the destruction of Atlantaea, I was one of her priests—high in her hierarchy, but not at the top—and at the time the blow fell, I was serving as…how should I put it…a minister or chaplain to the Royal Family. Seeing the demons unleashed, the Eternal Queen told me to go swiftly and protect her son, Prince Mikael, who had only shortly before left for the Great Temple. She did this partly out of kindness, I am sure, for she knew that my own wife and children were of necessity at the Great Temple as well.”
Verne’s voice took on a trace of that ancient accent, and his eyes became dark and sad as he continued. “It was while I raced down the Diamond Way that I was attacked by a mob of demons. Individually, they were no match for me at all, and as a group, they should not have been able to defeat one of my rank and training. But even as I summoned the power of the Lady to oppose them, I felt it falter. For the first time in living memory, something was threatening the strength of Eönae herself, and because of that we, her chosen, were weakened at the very moment when we so desperately needed her power.” He sipped from his crystal goblet, eyes staring into the past. “Yet still had Queen Niadeea placed her command and charge upon me, and I would not fail her. With the shadow of power still mine to command and with my own will and training, I managed to fight my way free of the demons, but they had greviously injured both body and soul. I should have died there, moments after that desperate victory, but I could not—would not—yield my life without reaching the Great Temple. I refused Death, forbade it to touch me, and swore upon all the Powers of the Two Worlds that I would still reach the Temple and see Prince Mikael’s living face, even were my very heart torn from my body.
“Around me, as in a nightmare, I could hear the destruction of the city—screams of terror and pain, the snarls of demons and monsters, the crumbling of buildings, the flare and thunderclap roar of spells and mystic weapons against the invaders. My breath seemed to give me no strength, yet I forced one foot in front of another, following the wavering path onward towards the building I must reach.”
I found myself gripping the laptop tightly, knowing what was coming. There was pain in Verne’s voice, a pain that literal ages had not been able to entirely erase. I hadn’t intended to ask for his past story, just for something on what he could do, but I realized that this was a story he hadn’t told for a long time indeed, and maybe a story that he had to tell.
“The steps of the Great Temple were covered in blood. The echo of the Lady’s presence was fainter. I staggered up the steps, my shattered ribs grating, blood trickling down my side, vision narrowing until it seemed I walked down a black tunnel, a tiny sliver of light ahead of me revealing bodies, torn tapestries, nothing but death, death and destruction everywhere.” For a moment, his voice, the smooth, deep voice which almost never varied its controlled pitch, caught, wavered. “Then I saw them.
“Mithanda lay atop Nami and Suti, futilely trying to protect them to the last. The beast that had slain them turned towards me, grinning, feeding upon my horror and despair. I screamed, I know that, and swung my staff of office, caring nothing of how I died now. But the staff carried the enchantments, as did almost all weapons in those days, and the monster had seen my wounds; it had thought me unable to fight, and its lunge took it straight into the path of my blow. The staff shattered, but the mystic force slew the monster in that same moment.
“I could do nothing for my family now. I had to see if the Prince was safe. Surely, he would have been taken to the Heart, for the Sh’ekatha to defend him. I had nothing left, only the command of the Queen. Somehow, I still moved, leaving them behind. Mourning would be for later.” He drew a deep breath.
“But the Prince was not there. The Sh’ekatha was, but he was already near to death. The Lady was one of the demons’ greatest enemies, so one of their greatest killers had been sent to make her cult impotent. It had not been easy, not even for one of the Great Demons, but even as I entered, Balgoltha broke the Sh’ekatha’s back over the Heartstone. My cry of protest was barely a cough, so weak was I, but still the Demonlord heard it and turned. Wounded though he was, he laughed, and rightfully so. I was no threat to such as he—not even had I been unhurt. The Lady’s power was faint, and fading. I had no more hope or help to give, and I had failed the Queen, for surely the Prince was dead or captured now. With no other recourse, I used the last of my strength and staggered into the Mirror of the Sky; at least I would die in a place where no demon might touch my soul.”
He swallowed, eyes still focused on things long gone to dust. “But the Lady is wise, and has the craft of the Earth within her. In that very instant, she drew upon the strength of the world entire, and I…I became the Sh’ekatha.
“Balgoltha had tried to seal the power, but even he had failed to realize how strong the Lady could be; by the time he reacted, it was too late. Here, in the center of the Great Temple, I rose from the Mirror, healed and touched by the very grace of the Lady, and Balgoltha knew he was no match for me, not in that moment, not as he was. It would have pleased me to fight him, finish off at least one of the enemy, but he was no fool, and fled with a curse.
“Atlantaea was ended, and the demons scoured the earth. With the Lady’s blessing, I could hide from them, but little else could I do for long, long years. Only when they had left, confident that their work was done and only harmless savages remained, did I emerge and, taking those few things I could salvage, begin to rebuild what had been lost.”
There was a long silence then. Finally, Verne shook himself and looked apologetically at me. “Dear me, Jason…I became rather carried away there. I had no intention of talking so long on a topic, which is, at best, a side issue to the one at hand.”
“It’s okay. I think you needed to talk that out.”
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “You may be right, my friend.
“And though it’s about half a million years too late…I’m sorry.”
“Your sympathy is appreciated.” He sipped from his goblet, and then with visible effort, cast off the feeling of brooding sadness. “Enough of this. It was only after that time that I truly began to understand what I had become, and why. The powers of a Sh’ekatha, and their limitations, are all part of what it means to represent Eönae, the Lady of the World.
“Firstly, I drink blood. Blood is in many ways the essence of life; it carries all that sustains a living being, and thus I depend on it as all living things depend on each other. I am strong, a strength that represents both the unity of life and the solidity of the Earth, and a strength which grows as time does pass, just as a forest can grow from a single seed in time. Only things that are living, or that derive directly from the activity of life, can harm me as weapons. This reflects the fact that the existence of life itself is not truly dependent on the Earth’s decisions, for life is a natural consequence of the world; only the turning of life against itself, or an unnatural form of life, can destroy life.
“I cannot enter a dwelling place of intelligent creatures unbidden, because the very nature of intelligence is to control nature; nature only enters a dwelling if the owner permits it, and therefore one who is the living avatar of nature may not enter without permission either. I can change my form, since life is itself mutable, and nature exists in many guises; yet the forms I can assume are constrained, because in nature the rules constrain the ways in which life evolves.
“Sunlight harms me and those of my kind, if any others still exist, because it is the source of energy for all other forms of life, but the Sh’ekatha draws his strength from the Earth itself; he is reminded, by this separation, that he is different from all other things
that live because he, alone of all things, is tied to the Spirit of the World directly and can do no harm to her without feeling it rebound upon him, nor can anything long harm the world without harming him. He can no longer turn to the sun for strength and light, but must find it within himself.
“I can influence the world, especially the elements of air and water, through the action of my will—although this power does not come to a Sh’ekatha immediately, but grows over time just as the physical strength. This power derives from the fact that life itself can affect and transform the world, and is in fact an expression, by its very existence, of the power of spirit over matter. Similarly, as that which lives can affect me, I can affect it to some extent, and thus I have some power over minds.
“As I represent the Earth, itself, and life in all its guises, no mirror or image made by unthinking machines can capture my essence; a picture of myself can only be created by the power of a thinking mind that sees me with its soul as well as by crude light. As I am living, I can also reproduce, though in a way unique to myself; I can place some of my power in another who is willing, and let that power grow; my life-force acts as a seed and symbiote, creating a new and stronger life, but one with some ties to both me and to the original creature.” He sat back and finished his glass of blood. “I believe that covers everything. If I recall anything else, I shall inform you.”
I typed, asking questions of him occasionally since I had to clarify certain points—he’d reeled that stuff off awfully fast. Finally, I finished. “Okay. How about those vampires like Klein? Is there a specific logic in the parody of your powers?”
Verne’s mouth tightened momentarily. “Oh, yes. Their creator was a magician of vast power, one who, in essence, was attempting to become a demon and perhaps something even greater in darkness. I was one of his major adversaries after the Fall of Atlantaea, because I attempted to establish a new civilization based on the old and had the power to do so. He intended to create his own empire, or so I believe, in order to use the strength of the human race to further his personal quest. In any case, I became a perennial thorn in his side; he could not corrupt the world or its spirit so long as I lived. Eventually, he came up with this curse, which was all too effective.