Tommy Black and the Staff of Light

by Jake Kerr

  “No, Archmage. Your power is too great. No one can defeat you. We can only hope to beg your kindness.” Vingrosh, his voice echoing in the hole of his existence, sounded timid and even servile. “Provide us with the dark that is darker than dark, and we will depart this world to live there.”

  I looked at Naomi, and she shrugged. “I will do this for you, but you must lead me to my grandfather and Mister Oz.” I looked around. “And we must escape this place first.”

  “The Citadel’s electrical light defenses were silenced by your magic.” I didn’t say anything, and Vingrosh added, his voice almost gleeful. “It is dark!” Seconds later I heard screams both near and far.

  I didn’t want him to kill everyone in the Citadel and, with horror at what I might find, I yelled out, “Vingrosh, do not kill them! We just need to escape!”

  “They are not dead, Archmage.” Vingrosh’s voice came from in front of me, and this, more than anything calmed me. He knew I could destroy him in an instant, yet the hope I heard in his voice led him to trust me. “We hold them in our darkness. They are… elsewhere. We will return them after you depart.”

  While Vingrosh assured me that no one was hurt, I remembered the horror of losing all feeling in my hand as it passed into a Shadow. The thought that someone’s entire body would be in that void without any feeling or sight filled me with sadness and revulsion.

  Naomi interrupted my thoughts. “We need to go, Tommy. I don’t know if he is telling the truth, but we need to get out of here.” She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the gate. I nodded and followed her lead.

  After a few steps she punched my arm, whispering, “Not bad, streetlight! Shadows are good allies to have.”

  We were quiet until we passed through the gate and were a few yards down the road leading away from the Citadel. Naomi broke the silence. “As soon as I know where we are, I’ll get us to a Way Station.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. We are not taking a train.” The words of my great-grandfather about the trains running on the tortured magic of Marids and the memory of the wail I heard, a wail I now knew was of horrific pain, were reasons enough for me. Using one again was something I would never do.

  “Got a better idea?” Naomi looked at me, a look of annoyance on her face. The look bothered me. I wanted her to look up to me, to respect me, to want to be near me, and yet I was about to tell her that her dead mother’s life was dedicated to the propagation of slavery. But I had to.

  “No, but the trains—”

  “You must use the rails, Archmage.” The voice of Vingrosh came from nearby. “Your grandfather is at Persepolis near Shiraz in Persia. There is no better way to get there.”

  “I will lift the darkness, Vingrosh,” I stated.

  “As you wish. We are away from the lights and hold those that were chasing you.”

  I let light return, and saw Vingrosh, a mass of black at the edge of the road. I turned to him. “But the Marid?”

  “This is about the Marid?” There was disgust in Naomi’s voice. “You are concerned about that?”

  I ignored Naomi, and waited. Vingrosh eventually replied, “You know of the slaves.” There was a pause, and then he continued. “Your concern is noble, but there is no other option that won’t put the staff at risk.”

  So that was it then. It wasn’t about the slavery of the Marid for Vingrosh either. It was about the staff and, it appeared, my ability to create a perfectly dark and safe home for his people. Was I the only one who cared? I shook my head. “We don’t appear to have a choice if I’m to save my grandfather, but I will talk to the Marid before we go.”

  “The Marid will not listen, Archmage,” Vingrosh stated. “Your words enslave them.”

  “Talking to the engine? This I have to see.” The sarcasm in Naomi’s voice was clear, and I found her callousness painful. Did she not see magical creatures as people? We were having a conversation with one. She had called the Shadows great allies. How could she not see that enslaving them was evil?

  Knowing this wasn’t a conversation we needed to have at that moment, I changed the subject. “We still have to find a Way Station first.” I looked down the road. “Maybe we can find a street sign or something.” In response, Naomi strode ahead and didn’t seem inclined to have me catch up.

  After a few minutes, I spoke up. “Why are there so few magicians?” It was a question that had bothered me since I discovered that beyond Cain there were only three masters in England, and two of them were Persian.

  Naomi slowed down and answered, although she still didn’t turn to look at me. She was still angry, and she spoke to me as if lecturing a child. “Perhaps it is because it is almost incomprehensibly difficult.” She kicked at the dirt. “And why bother training five years to learn a single detonation spell when they are no more powerful than a rifle, which any idiot can use?” The bitterness in Naomi’s voice was thick.

  I didn’t reply and gave Naomi her space. Her answer reminded me of my experience with my Grandfather at Coney Island. He had told the illusionist to use magic on the water that couldn’t be replicated by science, and the magician couldn’t do it. Was that the secret to the disappearance of magic? That it was archaic and ineffective compared to technology, like a horse-drawn carriage or gas streetlamp? The thought that it was all just a waste of time made me realize how hard it must be for Naomi. She spent her life studying something that was completely useless.

  I felt bad for her, even as I still found her attitude toward the plight of the Marids troubling. Maybe it was all of a piece. She was desperately clinging to magic, no matter what the source. I found it all too complex and difficult to understand. Luckily I saw a road sign in the distance, which was not only an opportunity to get our bearings but was also a way to get our minds off our troubled thoughts.

  “There’s a a road ahead,” I said as I jogged up next to Naomi. She didn’t say anything but didn’t increase her pace to get away from me either. It was something.

  There was a sign at the intersection. “London Road,” I added, reading it as we approached.

  “That’s not very helpful,” Naomi noted. “It’s probably miles long and extends all over the city.”

  “Yes, but that is.” I pointed up London Road. There was a sign that said Wentworth Club. “Is there a station in Wentworth?” I asked, turning to Naomi.

  “No, but there’s one in Sunningdale!” She pointed to a smaller sign that had an arrow pointing down London Road in the other direction. It said Sunningdale Golf Club. We turned up London Road and marched along the side. A few automobiles and horses passed us, but for the most part we continued on in silence, the sniping of our previous conversation not being something that I, at least, wanted to repeat. We reached the station, and I knew what I had to do, whether it permanently alienated Naomi from me or not.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BEAUTY AND PAIN

  After King’s Cross and the Citadel, Sunningdale station was a rather drab affair. Naomi and I entered through the white painted double doors and found a mostly vacant room with a ticket booth to the right. Without waiting for me to say anything, Naomi went up to the woman at the ticket counter and asked, “We need to see the Way Master.”

  The woman looked confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean by Way Master, but the Station Master is busy. He’s overseeing a rail line inspection.”

  Naomi smiled. “Thank you.” She then turned and said to me, “Follow me.”

  I shrugged and followed her. She was, after all, much more familiar with Way Stations than I was. As we exited through the large doors that led to the tracks, the ticket woman yelled out, “Excuse me! You aren’t allowed out there.” Naomi didn’t bother to respond and just continued on.

  I followed. She stopped at the edge of the tracks and looked left and right. There was a train at the station, but it appeared to be ready to depart any second. Naomi shook her head. “No time to talk to the Way Master.” She turned to me. “Be intimidating.” She t
hen looked at me and shook her head, smiling slightly. “Okay, try to be intimidating.” She continued to the engine car.

  As I rushed to follow her I tried to understand her smile. It was maddening. Did she find me amusing in a dismissive way or did she like me? And why did I care? She discounted the slavery of the Marid. That was hard to forgive. The thought of the Marid reminded me of what I needed to do.

  Naomi climbed up and pounded on the window of the engine and then hauled the metal door open. I heard a “Hey!” but she just pulled herself in.

  I paused but she poked her head out. “You need to talk to the engineer.”

  I scrambled up and entered to find Naomi making a fist and looking up at a tall man. “This is an emergency. The Archmage is here and needs immediate transportation to Shiraz.”

  The man looked like a giant made of all muscle. He had thick black hair, and while his coveralls hid his build, it was clear that he was a physical force, and the look on his face made it clear he was someone not used to being confronted. “Look, young lady. I haven’t heard the Shiraz stop and the Pehlivan mentioned in the same sentence in nearly thirty years. I don’t know what kind of game you are playing, but—”

  “I am the Archmage.” I tapped the cane to the ground and lit a light from it’s top. The light was intense and filled the whole small compartment. The man towered over me, but he clearly recognized the staff. His jaw dropped open as I lifted it up toward his face. “And this is an emergency. We need to travel to Shiraz, and if you don’t take us there immediately, I will—” I tapped his chest with the lit edge of the cane, which made him flinch. “melt you.”

  I immediately felt foolish saying the words. They sounded so silly to my ear. Melt him? But as I was beating myself up over my inability to intimidate him, he replied, “Of course, Archmage. But we have passengers. I’ll need to disconnect them from the engine.” I didn’t say anything, and he added. “We can’t take them to Persia!”

  “Oh. Of course. Of course.” I moved to the back of the room. “Naomi,” I yelled out. “Please keep an eye on the engineer as he disconnects the train. When he’s done escort him back here. I’m afraid I don’t trust him.”

  Naomi smiled like I had just given her a birthday present. “Sure thing, Archmage.” As the engineer made his way out, it hit me that this was the first time that Naomi had called me anything other than “streetlight” or “Tommy.” I felt a rush of confidence.

  I opened the door to the next room, looking for the mighty imprisoned Marid. I walked through and closed it behind me, not allowing Naomi the opportunity to follow if she returned quickly. Thankfully, the living area was empty. This train was apparently only operated with a staff of one.

  The door at the back was thick, and it took some effort to haul it open. I immediately saw why—it was solid iron, with only the side facing the living area lined in wood paneling. The room was filled with gauges and tubes. It was also very hot. I dared not touch the tubes, as I knew they would leave me with blisters. The tubes appeared to come from the room behind the one I was in. It was all new to me, but one thing was clear: Whatever was in the next room powered the entire train.

  The door to the Marid was iron, and the handle to open it was a spiral of coils, like you sometimes find on fireplace pokers. The door slid open to the right, so I grabbed the handle and pulled with all my strength. Thankfully, despite its thickness it wasn’t hard to open. Once it was open, however, the hot air slammed into me with tangible force. It was almost impossible to breath, and my instinct was to back out and shut the door.

  I walked through.

  The entire room shook with a low rumble. Across from me was a massive furnace with a small opening glowing yellow orange. The air was so hot that everything looked insubstantial. Solid surfaces wavered in front of me. I closed my eyes as sweat started to drip down my face. I closed the door, both out of a desire for privacy as well as concern over the heat damaging something in the other room.

  “Marid, you may not understand my language, but it is important for me to tell you this, whether you can understand or not.” I squeezed the cane in my right hand. I hoped that my sincerity would be understood even if my words were not. “I have taken charge of this engine because I have no choice. I don’t want to use your power without your permission. I think to do so is—” I paused, choosing the word carefully. “—evil. So I ask you, please carry us to Persia. My grandfather is a captive there, and I wish to bring him home.” As soon I spoke of his temporary captivity to the Marid I felt embarrassed. How could I express concerns over Grandfather’s captivity to a slave? I made a decision, one I knew was right. “My needs are unimportant compared to your own, however. So I make this promise to you: If you do not wish to make the journey, do not move the train. Leave it here. I release you from your bondage. You are free.” I opened my eyes, the sweat and heat filling them with tears. “But if you do take us on our journey to Persia, you are still free. Either way I release you. I will not force you to make this trip.”

  I turned to leave, the furnace burning but silent. The heat had become overwhelming, so I pulled the door open quickly. I exited, but before I closed the door, I leaned in and whispered one word, in a voice barely loud enough for my own ears to hear: “Please.”

  Naomi and the engineer were waiting for me in the first room. I didn’t enter as it was a tight fit. I leaned against the door jamb. Naomi had her hands outstretched toward the engineer, who was holding his hand against his left shoulder. “Problem?” I asked.

  “He attempted to yell for help,” Naomi replied. “I stopped him.”

  “You cannot use this station without approval from Cain,” the engineer stated, his voice unsteady.

  “Do you think he was trying to get warning to Cain?” I asked Naomi.

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but it is possible. We are very close to the Citadel. It would make sense that Cain controls this station.”

  I turned to the engineer. “We leave now or I’ll let Naomi practice her detonations on you.” I glanced at her, hoping that she would go along with my plan. Without looking at me she started making the familiar hand movements of creating a detonation.

  The engineer was clearly familiar with the process, as he screamed out, “Okay, okay. I’m firing the engine now.”

  Firing the engine. The words disgusted me. That’s what he called whatever process they used to get the Marid to move the locomotive. The engineer pulled a lever, and the train shuddered but didn’t move.

  Naomi squinted at the engineer. “What are you up to? We need to move now.”

  “I don’t know! The engine is not responding!”

  My heart fell. I knew what had happened. The Marid understood me and was preparing to free himself. He had no intention of taking us to Persia. We would need to find a new way to get to my grandfather. The engineer pulled the lever again, and the engine shuddered but again didn’t move. Before he could yank on the lever again, I spoke up. “Stop. Let me check something. Naomi, please keep an eye on our friend. If he moves feel free to blow up the offending body part.” She smiled.

  I assumed the Marid had decided he wanted to be free. Perhaps he was still enslaved in the furnace. Knowing my opportunity for escape was now gone, I could at least help free him. However, before I had taken one step, an ear-splitting wail filled the air, similar to the one I heard on my previous rail trip, but this was different. Where before I was hearing rage and pain, this time I heard something different—passion? Joy? Effort? Whatever it was, the sound was still fearsome.

  The train shot forward, nearly knocking everyone off their feet. The engineer turned to me, his eyes wild. “What did you do? I haven’t even engaged the engine, and we are moving at extraordinary speed!” I looked through the window at the track ahead of us. It was true, the scenery was flying by.

  “I used a different method to engage the engine.” I stared at the engineer, whose eyes went wide. I was enjoying being the intimidating Archmage. I could only imag
ine what was going through the engineer’s head as he pictured what kind of magical torture I used on the Marid to have him move the train faster than it had ever moved before.

  “Naomi, we need to talk,” I stated.

  She looked at me. “What about him?” She nodded toward the engineer.

  I looked at the engineer who looked nervous but not scared. I needed to change that. “Engineer. You saw how fast we exited the station. Imagine the torture spell I placed on the Marid to make that happen.” The engineer nodded slightly. “Now imagine that spell applied to you. If we aren’t heading to Shiraz, that is exactly what will happen.” The engineer glanced toward the rear of the train, then at the gauges, and then at me. He nodded again, and I believed him.

  I left and went back to the living area, Naomi following but quiet. I sat down in one of the ubiquitous reading chairs. All magical living areas seemed to have them, along with a small table containing a book on some arcane topic. The one next to me, however, was empty. I ran my hand through my hair and rubbed my eyes. I wanted to make Naomi understand about the wrongness of imprisoning the Marid, but I worried that she wouldn’t understand.

  “You look pretty dark for a streetlight.” I looked up. Naomi was standing directly in front of me, magical energy crackling in her palm.

  “Is that a detonation?” My question seemed to surprise her, and she glanced down at her hand.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t going to use it on you if that’s what you were worried about.” She sounded amused but I didn’t see a smile. She sat in the other reading chair. “It probably sounds odd, but I find them calming. Although, to be honest, it’s more calming when I actually get to cast them and blow stuff up.” I looked at her, and she forced a smile.

  “I find it calming to watch you blow stuff up, too.” I looked at the cane. “I can’t believe Mister Ali betrayed us,” I blurted out. Not me. Us.

  “He is a deluded foolish old man.”