The Road to Magic (Book 1 of the Way of the Demon Series)

by Alexey Glushanovsky

  Seeing as he hadn’t managed to think up a solution, Oleg decided to put himself in the hands of fate. Wherever life took him, so be it.

  Having made such a momentous decision, he leaned back over the table and began examining the second sheet of paper.

  Written in the same angular handwriting already familiar to him, he made out three incomprehensible words, written in Russian letters this time, with the following note below:

  “If thou dost desire to show thine gratitude, for their support, to some powerful creature, which those who do not know often name ‘the gods’, then thine own blood shalt thou spill over the earth, a quantity fitting for thine gratitude, whereupon, having unified these words with the name of that creature, thou shalt utter them hence.”

  On reading this, Oleg fell to thinking. He did feel a certain gratitude towards Clear Flame because it was the ritual to her which had opened up the possibility of magic for him. But on the other hand, Oleg had a healthy loathing of the sight of blood, all the more so if it was his blood… No, definitely not. He would not willingly chop off his own arm and watch the blood flow over the earth; he clearly didn’t have the stomach for that. And so he made up his mind to hold off expressing his gratitude until the next time he cut himself badly, learning the spell by heart just in case.

  ***

  The expedition to the café went not too badly. The outcome of their shared drink (cherry juice for Oleg and wine for Lena, which raised a few eyebrows with the waiter) was the decision to postpone any other “anti-stress techniques” to Friday, when they got back from the birthday party at their mutual friend Denis’s place.

  In the opinion of the participants of this high-level talk, after such an epochal event (Denis knew how to throw a party and loved to do so) they would be drunk enough to attempt jumping into the same river twice.

  Having made this decision and exchanged innocent kisses on the cheek, they went their separate ways.

  Chapter Two

  Crossing the knife’s edge

  The three days flew by quickly and Friday had come round. As he was getting ready for the party, Oleg thought long and hard about taking his guitar with him.

  It was, in fact, a tricky question. On the one hand, live music always went well at a party. And what’s more, Oleg was good at playing the guitar and enjoyed it. But on the other hand, if you play the guitar you should really sing, too, and here Oleg had serious problems. Although he had a good ear for music, he’d long since reconciled himself to the fact that he was definitely not endowed with a pleasant voice.

  Well aware of this, he preferred to simply play, leaving the singing to someone else. However, when certain people (and Denis in particular), had had a bit to drink, and begged him relentlessly, and when - as often happened - they had lubricated him with alcohol, well, those people would get what they wanted. Usually Oleg took a rather philosophical attitude to this: if people want to suffer, go ahead!

  But this time Oleg didn’t want to perform the “vocal variations of the mating cries of the baboon”, as he jokingly called his singing. That was the last thing he needed; after all, Lena would be with him and the last thing Oleg wanted was to make a fool of himself. Finally he compromised: he’d take the guitar, but wouldn’t play much, and on no account would he sing.

  Having made this decision, Oleg set off for his date with Lena.

  ***

  The party was going well. Having taken quite a bit on board (alas, despite all his solemn promises) Oleg let rip and decided to repeat his trick of lighting a cigarette. To his amazement, he managed it with ease. Following a successful demonstration, opinion was divided. Half the group were curious to know where he had got hold of white phosphorous and why he was wasting it like that, and the other half asked which chemical compound produced an invisible flame, and where he’d managed to hide the lighter with it. Oleg grinned and smirked, but didn’t reveal his secrets. In any case, what could he say?

  Moreover, they did manage to convince him to sing a few songs. Contrary to all his expectations, he was not greeted with a rain of rotten fruit, but instead a few all-too kind glances from the female section of the audience convinced him that it was not as bad as he had feared.

  Oleg was shining. And Lena’s glances, full of promise, clearly displayed that his “showing off” was not going unnoticed and that the second stage of the evening would be very, very interesting.

  At around one a.m. the party started to wilt. Someone went out for more supplies, others had already fallen asleep, couples were kissing in corners and Oleg decided it was time to head for home.

  Having put on their coats, they set off in the direction of Lena’s house. They had quite a long walk ahead of them, but Lena was pleasant company, and it was a warm, starry evening. Chattering away, Oleg didn’t notice three skinheads who’d been following them.

  Overtaking the couple, the gang blocked their way and one of the skinheads, who looked like a boar on steroids, grabbed Lena. Meanwhile another, obviously the ringleader, turned to Oleg suggesting he hand over any valuables and take off.

  Four years of regular karate practice were not in vain. Oleg’s accurate blow completely took out “the Boar” who had been holding Lena. Next Oleg ordered Lena to run, and to give her time, he took on the other two thugs.

  The fight was going pretty well for Oleg. Not expecting any resistance, used as they were to getting their own way, the thugs were in shock. Oleg’s karate training not only meant he could easily block blows from the ringleader and “Spotty”, as he had nicknamed the third gang member – he was a tall young guy, about sixteen judging from his looks, his face covered in unbelievably huge zits - but also to counterattack sometimes, too.

  Oleg’s blows were rare – after all, he had two opponents to deal with – but totally convincing. After the ringleader failed to block a Kagi Tsuki his nose took on the form of a pancake and Oleg reckoned that Spotty’s mouth now held three teeth fewer on the left.

  Unfortunately, in the heat of the battle Oleg had quite forgotten about the third guy, the Boar who’d been knocked out by the first blow and was taking a breather in a puddle, as a result of which his likeness to a pig beggared belief. But having rested enough in his natural element, he felt his strength returning. Pulling a cheap Chinese knife with a flick blade from his pocket, he hurled himself at Oleg’s back with unprintable howls.

  It was just at the point, when Oleg was taking out another three of Spotty’s teeth with a repeat Kagi Tsuki, that the Boar’s blow struck home. Oleg felt a sharp pain in his side and looking down, saw the plastic handle of a knife, clenched in the Boar’s fist. Then it disappeared, but blood appeared in its place. And there was a lot of blood. Really a lot. Bright red, it quickly soaked his clothes and flowed down, pulsating in time with his heart. ‘Looks like an artery’s been punctured,’ Oleg thought listlessly, slowly slumping down onto the tarmac.

  Having some medical knowledge, he was fully aware of the fact that he had less than a minute to live. The shadows thickened around him fast, covering the thugs, who’s agitated voices he heard as though from far off, and even the stars suddenly became enormous, close, as though calling him to them. He looked at his blood, abundantly flowing out onto the tarmac, and all kinds of nonsense whirled in his head. He remembered the Book of magic, which he’d read just three days and a whole life ago, the handwritten sheets with the spell “Freedom of the Way”.

  The symbols he had read out then danced before his eyes once more and the mysterious verse rang in his head like a drum beat. Only now it no longer hid any secrets from him. Death – that was the key word, that was what activated the spell. And now Oleg, on his deathbed, fully realized this. The incantation was ready like a cat by a mouse hole, the tip of a whiskered nose already poking out; it was waiting until the last second to catch the soul as it flew away and to send it off. Where to? That was what Oleg wanted to know. What worlds would he see? What would happen next?

  And with these memories he remembe
red the second sheet of paper, too. ‘What a good moment for gratitude,’ he thought. ‘There’s lots of blood now… How did it go?... ‘Ottorey mikharey liris, Clear Flame’, he whispered. And as though they had been waiting for that moment, the shadows thickened and hurled themselves at him, utterly blocking his view.

  Then he sensed a mighty force that carefully picked him up and carried him to the very heart of the darkness, past the tunnel filling with blinding white light which suddenly appeared above his head, transporting him further, further, to a place where, amid the shadows now taking on a myriad of hues, light and joyous flame flared up. Drops of water glistened, taking on the image of little laughing grimaces, and clouds flew by like pictures in a book of good-natured fairy tales. The gusts of wind driving them suddenly became visible, and massive boulders of amazing shapes and colours rolled around...

  All this was mixed up without any order whatsoever, moving around chaotically and, although at first glance it looked very attractive, it soon made Oleg tired.

  Oleg closed his eyes and tried to relax. After a short while, he sensed that the momentum had slowed down, and soon he came to a complete stop. And immediately heard a pleasant female voice calling him.

  ***

  That evening Tolan was planning to have a really good time. Tolan – that was what they called Anatoly, the ringleader of the small band of thuggish youths. They had already chalked up several raped and mugged individuals of various sexes and ages. But so far they had got away with it all. Anatoly’s father held a very high position in the municipal police and he protected his son as best he could. Tolan’s two companions were called Semion and Vitaly, though Semion far rather preferred to be addressed by his nickname Boar, which he got thanks to his particular appearance and behaviour. As for Vitaly, no-one called him anything but Pucker.

  And so today Tolan was planning to have a really good time. Along with Boar and Pucker he was wandering about in search of adventure.

  It was Pucker who noticed the strolling couple first. Eyeing Lena lustfully, he let fly his favourite exclamation and said in a loud whisper, to get his mates’ attention, ‘Hey, look at that beauty!’

  The three oohed and aahed. And indeed, it was a sight worth looking at. The short skirt barely covered Lena’s elegant hips, which could have been carved out of white alabaster by a Greek master’s hand. The slim waist, enough to rouse the envy of any model, was bare. The light top, semi-transparent, was sliding off one shoulder with erotic negligence, baring it. And the pert bust seemed to be literally bursting out of the light fabric of the top. It was as though her silky, dark hair blowing in the wind were beckoning one to touch.

  While they were feasting their eyes and drooling, ogling something which really deserved spectators’ attention, the couple disappeared round a corner.

  Boar was the first to come to his senses.

  ‘After them!’

  But this time their tried and tested routine fell apart. Instead of eyeing Tolan’s band and meekly carrying out their demands, the guy picked a fight. And what’s more, he wasn’t at all bad.

  He was lucky to knock Boar out with his first blow and Anatoly, who was used to giving the orders but never actually lifted a finger himself, had to fight along with Pucker, who was really only any good for finishing off and taunting adversaries once they had fallen.

  Within a few minutes of fighting, Tolan bitterly regretted going after the couple. The broad had took off and was surely phoning the cops right now, while the guy turned out to be a tough fighter.

  Semion was lolling around in a dirty puddle, doing full justice to his nickname, and it didn’t look as though he would be able to do anything in the near future. Pucker was coughing blood mixed with shards of kicked-out teeth, and was clearly trying to figure out how he could split. Even the ringleader was hard pressed to counter the blows, trying in particular to shelter his bloody nose, and miserably trying to figure out whether it was broken or just squashed. It was most likely broken and this observation upset Anatoly considerably. All the more so as their adversary seemed practically invincible, not counting a smallish scratch on his left jaw, and he hadn’t even bothered to take the guitar case off his back. (For the sake of fairness, it has to be noted that the thought had crossed Oleg’s mind to use the guitar as a percussion instrument, and give a jolly little whack on the heads of his attackers. He simply didn’t have the time to execute this cunning plan. And it would have been a shame about the guitar…)

  In short, Tolan was almost on the point of bowing to “the best form of bravery”, i.e., to run away so fast that not even light could catch him, when the situation suddenly changed dramatically.

  Slowly Semion picked himself up and, swaying, stared with cloudy eyes at Oleg’s back. Noticing this, Tolan and Pucker doubled their efforts in the hopes of quickly getting even with this unlucky night and the loathsome “tough guy”. As a result they forgot about defence, and with his next blow Oleg once again made Vitaly spit out shards of his teeth.

  But they achieved their goal. Rolling his eyes crazily, Boar grabbed the flick knife he so often liked to wave in front of his mates, and swearing foully, he planted it in the guy’s side. With a short gasp, the latter slumped onto the tarmac, pressing his hand to the wound.

  Tolan and Vitaly stared at Boar. Under their gaze he bristled and quickly muttered: ‘Who does he think he is? That’ll teach him!’

  Tolan glanced at the guy. He was lying on the tarmac, a red puddle spreading swiftly around him.

  ‘No, he won’t. You’ve killed the dude. There won’t be a next time for anything for him!’

  The gang began to panic. It was their first stiff and Anatoly remembered his father’s admonition: ‘If you want to play around, then play around, but know the limits. If it goes as far as murder then the case will be sent to the public prosecution office and there’s a few folk up there who wish me ill. You could really land yourselves in it...’

  Now, standing over a pool of blood, he remembered another piece of his father’s advice, which he had not given any importance to previously: ‘If you’re already in it up to your neck, grab all the valuables and documents. A robbed and unidentifiable corpse, that’s a run-of-the-mill case, might even go through as an “unresolved”. And it’s best to hide the body as far away as possible – the later it’s found, the slimmer the chances of you being caught.’

  It was time to cover their tracks. Drunk on adrenalin, the gang immediately set to work under Tolan’s keen leadership, and the one thing which made their undertaking pointless didn’t so much as enter their heads: Lena’s escape. She was already close to the dorm and would be calling the police, dictating where they had run into the gang, and describing the attackers. There were many tips which pointed right to them, such as the drops of blood from Tolan’s nose, the shards of Pucker’s teeth and the “dirty” stain on Boar, not to mention the pool of blood flowing out from Oleg. All this was more than enough to open the case, find the murderers, and put them all behind bars.

  But as it happens, Tolan’s band didn’t need to know any of this. A completely different fate awaited them.

  When the frightened thugs made a move towards Oleg’s body, another force came into play, a force which Tolan, Vitaly and Semion had no inkling of. As usual, it was Pucker who smelled trouble. He let out a short squeal, leapt away to one side and screamed out in fright, pointing at the pool of blood collecting around Oleg.

  ‘What the hell? It’s burning!’

  Tolan looked up mechanically, glanced at the blood, and his hand, already poised to deal Pucker a smack on the head so he would keep quiet, froze in mid air. The blood was indeed on fire! Unbelievably bright and blinding tongues of scarlet flame were dancing over the equally scarlet liquid, as though licking it, making their way steadily towards the body. One of them gingerly touched the wound from which a weak little stream of blood was still trickling, shrank back as though frightened, and then flitted inside.

  At that moment the whole
body burst into flame. The fire surrounding Oleg seemed to tenderly and carefully carry the body somewhere far away, dismantling it molecule by molecule and transporting it somewhere into the unknown. Suddenly becoming semi-transparent, the body disappeared with a soft bang, leaving only its outline on the tarmac, melted by the heat.

  Tolan was the first to get over the shock.

  ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all,’ he announced. ‘Let’s get outta here,’ he bellowed at his conspirators. And coming to, the gang ran off at top speed.

  But they didn’t manage to run far…

  Chapter Three

  Elementalistics and Demonology

  When his flight stopped, Oleg felt something hard under him. For a few long seconds, he strained to think: was it worth risking what was left of his common sense and opening his eyes, or was he alright as he was? He was distracted from his musings by a pleasant female voice, asking with noticeable sarcasm: ‘Well, sleeping beauty, are you awake yet?’

  Oleg opened his eyes and looked round. He was in a very strange place. At first glance you could take it for a small forest clearing somewhere in central Russia. However, on taking a closer look, Oleg noticed some most unusual differences. Everything around him – the young fir trees with grey trunks and little needles, the emerald-green grass, the boulder which seemed to be granite, and even the small gingery lizard sitting on it, in short everything, absolutely everything which met his eye was made of flames.

  Fire was everywhere. Frozen like earth, lapping or flowing like water, it surrounded Oleg, supported him and carefully bent around his hand when he wanted to touch a “leaf” or break off a “branch”.

  ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ This time there was unmistakeable pride in the voice. ‘I created it myself. Specially for you. Enjoy it.’

  Coming back to his senses, Oleg looked round to where the voice was coming from, but saw no one. Only the lizard on the boulder, looking at him quizzically.