by CM Raymond
The creature looked like it was a were turning back into a man, only to get caught in the in-between, frozen forever on two legs. Its long arms stretched toward its knees, culminating in razor-like claws.
Sniffing again, it took a step in her direction and paused. Hannah held her arms up. She considered casting. But with the magic fails she just experienced in the tower, she second guessed her ability to produce anything at all. She probably couldn’t even give the thing a good paper cut.
“Easy…” she cooed, hoping the thing was more animal than man.
It tilted its head back to Parker then returned to her.
“Guess we’re the easy prey,” she said to Sal, who had wedged himself between her legs. “Now’s the time for you to learn fire breathing. Think you can do that? Yeah, didn’t think so.”
Holding her hands up, she said, “We don’t mean you any harm.”
The lycanthrope let out a howl and bolted in her direction. Its humanoid form, mixed with the attributes of a common wolf, was terrifying.
“Shit,” she yelled. Scooping up Sal, she made a break for the tower.
The lycanthrope was swift. There was no way she was going to make it to the tower before she was accosted by the beast. She cursed herself for falling into this position again, but something told her Karl wasn’t going to turn up this time. So, she changed tactics.
She turned downhill, taking advantage of the slope that ran into the woods off to the north. Maybe she could lose the killer animal. She spun through the trees and found a thick patch of underbrush.
“Come on, Sal,” she panted.
Her heavy breathing mixed with the panting of the animal on her tail. Pushing through the thicket, she burst into the open and found herself stumbling into the River Wren.
“Shit burger,” she cursed as she realized she miscalculated her trajectory.
The beast cut through the thicket just behind her. His mouth curled up in a snarl, baring yellow teeth made for shredding meat.
Hannah shifted Sal into her right arm and tossed him into the air in the direction of the closest tree. “Time to learn to fly, Sal.”
Flapping his wings like a wounded bird, the tiny dragon made it to a branch just out of reach of the lycanthrope. Hannah exhaled, knowing at least one of them would be safe. Then, it suddenly struck her as odd that her end might come, not in an act of avenging the evils done in her city, but in the jaws of a storybook animal.
“Just you and me, you mangy shit.” She pulled the knife from her belt, as the beast crouched for attack.
It leaped, and Hannah willed whatever power she could gather out through splayed fingers. The beast struck a wall of energy just before it reached the girl. It wasn’t enough to stop it, but it did throw the creature off balance.
The lycanthrope spun, hair, and legs, and arms, and tail in every direction. Hannah ducked and the animal flew over her, only to finally land in the river. Unfortunately, he landed in the shallow part. Hannah turned to face it. Running was futile. She knew the creature of the woods could outlast her if she did.
Spreading her legs to shoulder width, she spun her arms across her chest and drew fire from deep within. As the lycanthrope pulled itself from the current, she launched two balls of flame at it. Sizzling filled the air, accompanied by the smell of burning hair. The thing screamed but continued to advance. She didn’t have much left. It bore down on her, and she raised the rearick’s knife in defense.
The lycanthrope circled her, a predator with its prey. Before it could strike, a rock the size of the thing’s head flew in from out of sight and slammed into the beast.
“What the hell are you doing?” Parker screamed as he broke through the thicket. “Get out of here.”
“And let you have all the fun?”
“That’s my girl,” he grinned.
“I ain’t nobody’s girl,” she called back. “But I’m about to make this thing my bitch.”
She slashed at the dazed creature, slicing a line down the middle of its chest. Screams spread out over the river. It swiped a clawed paw at her, making purchase on her shoulder. Lines of anguish followed the razor-sharp weapons of the lycanthrope. Hannah could feel warm blood flowing down her arm.
It took another swing; this time Hannah was expecting it. She ducked and rolled to safety. Parker volleyed rock after rock at the thing. His throwing arm was better than his juggling, and he landed several projectiles. Letting out something between an animal's roar and the battle cry of a warrior, it rushed Parker, batting away rocks as it charged.
Hannah pushed everything out of her mind and reached for a peaceful state. Then she let go, brought back the fear and let it swell under her skin. With eyes glowing brighter red than they ever had, she screamed as she launched every ounce of power she could muster at the beast. Light shot from her fingers and struck the lycanthrope, flipping it ass over end. It landed hard in the dirt at Parker’s feet.
Her partner was ready.
A giant rock was raised over his head. With perfect aim, Parker brought the rock down with all the force he could gather on the creature's skull. Shattering bones and splattering brain filled Hannah’s ears.
Parker, not wanting to chance it, brought the rock down over and over, spreading the lycanthropes head all over the shore of the River Wren. Finally, when there was nothing left of it, Parker collapse on the sandy water’s edge.
“Parker,” Hannah screamed as she ran in his direction. She pulled him into an embrace. Pulling back, she held his face in her hands. “Holy shit. You good?”
“I think I’m pretty good. But did I see you throwing fireballs?”
Hannah couldn’t help but laugh. “Not bad, right?. Guess we made him our bitch.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It took several exhausting jumps for Ezekiel to head south toward the temple of the mystics. Transporting took a lot out of a magic user, and even one as skilled as Ezekiel couldn’t cross too great of a distance without taking breaks. But the long journey paid off, and after one final jump, Ezekiel appeared in the heart of the Heights—the large mountain range making up Irth’s southern border.
Steadying himself with his staff, Ezekiel got his footing on the rocky ledge of the mountain. Once steady, he slid down onto a rock. Just beyond the tree line, he could see the temple clearly while remaining obscured.
He had chosen the right spot. He had used this one years ago, the last time he had been to the Heights. Pulling his cloak around him, he took in the view.
The sun was dipping close to the front range. Its peaks, still snowcapped despite the heat of the summer, were turning red, blue, and purple. The Matriarch and Patriarch were painting an amazing welcome in the sky for the old magician.
He pushed his eyes further and watched range after range spread out behind the first. Although he’d spent plenty of time in the Heights, the view never disappointed. With a landscape as majestic as this, it was no wonder that the mystics were the masters of mental magic and had all but perfected meditation. But their art was not without its effects on them.
Residents of the Heights, while physically present on Irth, weren’t always fully there. They were known for their aloof nature and the way they sated the effects of their mental gymnastics with strong drink.
The jump had taken its toll, so he spent some time drawing his strength as he focused on his heart rate. The monastery wasn’t far, but it was better to go in strong. There was no telling what waited for him. After gathering enough strength, he got to his feet and started the short, rocky trek to the home of his old friends.
It had been decades since he’d last visited, but he remembered every turn of the path. Holding his breath, he made the final climb and then stood before the towering monastery of the mystics of the Heights.
The building was large, simple by design, but built with a welcoming air. The pale walls were like a blank canvas for the mystics to paint upon. Ezekiel knew that beyond this first building lay a sprawling compound of gardens, homes,
and places for training.
He paused at the door, nervous to proceed. An image of Adrien rushed through his mind. One of his students had already fallen—the one he never expected to turn to self-aggrandizement and manipulation of the weak. The fear that the same may have happened with his pupil in the heights struck him like a rearick’s war hammer in the chest.
But he needed to know.
Pushing the fear out of his mind, he tapped the end of his staff on the tall, oak doors and waited for a response. The answer didn’t come quickly, but that wasn’t a surprise.
Dwellers of the Heights had a different conception of time than those humans dwelling in the cities and even the woodlands of Irth. Just as Ezekiel and Hannah could lose time in meditative states, the mystics did as well. But their meditations had become a consistent state of being. For them, meditation was as commonplace as eating or sleeping for the rest of the world.
Just as he moved to knock for a second time, the door eased open, and a man nearly a quarter of Ezekiel’s age stood in simple robes much like his own. Only the younger man’s covering was pristine, unworn by travel in the world beyond the monastery walls.
The man stepped aside and tilted his head inward. An invitation to their hospitality. Ezekiel nodded, smiled, and stepped into a grand entry that spread into a vaulted ceiling designed to draw the eye toward the heavens. He stood just inside the door and waited.
The man simply stared at the magician, and Ezekiel wondered if his host had taken a vow of silence, a practice not altogether uncommon for the mystics as they plumbed the depths of the human mind.
Finally, he said, “Ezekiel, you are most welcome to the home of the Mystics of Irth. We have been expecting you.” A serene smile spread across his lips, and Ezekiel wondered if he was softened by drink.
Ezekiel, who was capable in mental magic to a certain extent, knew the dangers of the art. It was one that had its own consequences on its users. Traveling the earth through astral projection and stepping into the minds of others wasn’t an easy task, nor a clean one.
The community had turned to strong drink brewed in the bowels of the monastery to take the edge off the changes to their minds. He couldn’t blame them, but it made for awkward interactions such as this.
“Thank you, brother. It has been a long time since I have stepped into the Heights. It looks as though the community has suffered these years well.”
The man nodded his head. “Few make the trip to the Heights. Anyone attempting the journey is not here for harm, but for help. It makes life on Irth a dream.”
Ezekiel smiled and wondered if that dream would always last. “Indeed. I am here to talk with the master. Unfortunately, not all of Irth can experience the peace of the Heights, and I am going to need some guidance from the one I trained years ago. Can you take me to the master?”
“Follow me. I will talk with the master and confirm a meeting, but I know you must be tired. I hear that jumping from the lowlands takes its toll, even on one as talented as you. Let me show you your room. I will have one of the initiates bring food and drink.”
“Just tea for me.” Ezekiel knew that the elixir they made in the lower levels was the best in all the land, and he would be happy to imbibe, just after his meeting. He needed to keep his head clear and his intuitions sharp for what was to come. Strong alcohol was good for sleeping, but he had not come to the Heights for rest.
The man nodded and showed Ezekiel his room.
Alone in the chamber, he picked at the plate of food provided by a child no older than fourteen. The kid said nothing as he placed the tray on Ezekiel’s table.
As an early teen, he had already entered the age of training. The mystics started earlier than the Arcadian’s, which was one source of their power. Paired with the seclusion of their mountain paradise, the early education made the little ones powerful much sooner than their lowlands counterparts.
As Ezekiel’s stomach filled, his energy returned. Pouring a mug of piping hot tea, he slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace. Its flames danced, lulling him into deep thought.
The magician’s mind dwelled on the edge between waking and sleeping, and he thought of his newest student.
Hannah had something in her that was different than all the others. Maybe even different than Adrien. Ezekiel’s advantage was his diligence.
Hers was her spirit.
There was something about her that made the power within more pure and powerful than his would ever be. He wished that he could talk with the Oracle about her. Lilith would certainly untangle the mystery of the woman’s power.
But there wasn’t time for that journey, and he hoped that the Master Mystic might have some answers to his questions. They were not only powerful people but knowledgeable.
His mind passed from his newest pupil to his oldest. As a boy, Adrien was always different than the others. Ezekiel had attributed his morose attitude and cynical view to that fact that he was an orphan who did whatever it took to protect himself. Without a doubt, this contributed to who Adrien would become. But there was something that flowed inside of him that contributed as well.
It seemed that nature and nurture created a monster, and with Ezekiel absent to guide the young man, the monster had overcome Adrien’s better tendencies.
The magician cursed himself for leaving Arcadia in his hands. If he had only stayed, he may have been able to see the boy and the city to maturity.
The door squeaked open behind him and pulled him from his mental self-flagellation.
“Was the food appropriate?”
Ezekiel couldn’t help but smile at the odd turn of phrase that the mystics often used, but he followed the man’s lead. “Most appropriate, as is the rest of your hospitality.”
Nodding, the man stared at Ezekiel. The magician reminded himself that navigating the community took the utmost patience. Monastery life was not one that valued efficiency. After what felt like an eternity, the man said, “The Master will see you now.”
****
Climbing the stairs to the Master’s residence, Ezekiel felt the joy build in his heart. Master Selah was his primary pupil during his time in the Heights. Their work together not only laid the foundation for a community of magic users that were arguably the most powerful in Irth, but also a friendship that Ezekiel knew transcended time and distance.
While there was much to be discussed regarding Adrien, Arcadia, and Ezekiel’s newest student, he also yearned to catch up with the man whom he considered one of his dearest friends.
His mystic escort opened the door for Ezekiel and stepped aside. The magician stepped across the threshold and looked up, hoping to find his friend. But instead of the big, old, jolly man with skin darker than the night, he looked into the eyes of a young woman—no older than her mid-twenties—with a beauty that could start wars, and even stop them. Her hair was dark, with hints of auburn.
She rose as Ezekiel entered.
“Master Ezekiel,” she said through a perfectly white smile, “I have waited a long time for this day.”
He froze for a moment as if he were one of the mystics. “You’re...”
“A woman? Yes. Young? Yes.”
“Not Selah,” was his reply.
Her eyes cast to the floor. “Forgive me. I thought you knew of his demise. Your friend passed on to the next plane two years before now.” Her speech was steady and more like those who dwelled in the lowlands but still marked with the mystics’ idiosyncrasies. “His departure was swift and distinctly appropriate. I now hold his chair. Please, sit.”
Ezekiel took his place by the fire adjacent to the woman. Apparently, Hannah was not the only young woman who had special talents.
Some believed that the Age of Madness would be the great leveler. A catastrophe that would allow the world to emerge with people on equal footing, that it would wipe away the differences of race, class, and gender.
But Arcadia had shown him that it hadn’t come to pass. Rich men still held the mantels of powe
r, but this woman and Ezekiel’s newest student may be indicators that the patriarchal society was passing. It was said that the Queen Mother had also been an outlier.
A woman to arise in a male dominated world. One that could show the power, might, and justice of the fairer sex.
“My name is Julianne. And it is my honor to lead the Mystics now in our pursuit of the greater peace.”
Ezekiel nodded. “How did you…”
She smiled and held up a finger. “First, a toast. We must proceed with procedural appropriateness.”
Picking up two goblets from the table between them, she handed one to Ezekiel. She raised her own, it’s crystal causing the flames from the fire to dance around the room. “To the Matriarch and the Patriarch.”