Lucky or Unlucky? 13 Stories of Fate

by Michael Aaron

  “Babaneko! Come back here, fleabag! Dinnae fash, lads, she only eats cowards!” He walked over and grabbed her by the collar. “Sorry aboot that. Whut brings youse up here, then?”

  The Skipper started to speak, but the Captain held up a massive palm. “Wheesht! I was talking tae the lassie. Whut is it, cat got your tongue, eh? Youse are new, I take it? I’ve naw seen any o’ youse before.” He screwed his face up in disgust. “Somethin’ reeks, lassie, if ye’ don’t mind me sayin’.”

  Marene stared at Babaneko, transfixed.

  “Fish,” she said.

  The Captain’s huge eyebrows furrowed together, then a broad smile spread over his face. “There ye are, Babbie! Breakfast is served! If ye don’t mind, lads, I’ll be takin’ her tae eat. Youse can introduce yesen’ later, or I’ll no hear the end o’ it. Come on, Bab!”

  The creature had turned its attention to a different target, and strained at the collar to investigate the space where Alya was standing.

  “Downstairs, ye dobber! Och, whut’s up wi’ ye this morning?”

  He turned and walked away, dragging Babaneko by the collar. The beast reluctantly followed the Captain down the stairwell.

  The Skipper snapped his fingers in Marene’s face. She jumped and turned to follow.

  “Did you see that? That cat was huge! It was big as a lion!” she said.

  “They’re a common sight in the Orient,” said the Skipper. “The Northern Lords do a lot of trading there, I expect that’s where he picked it up.” He looked over his shoulder. “Time is of the essence, everybody.”

  They turned the corner to the southern side. Here the shutters were open, and morning sun beamed through. Each window gave a breathtaking view of the bridge and the mountains beyond. Ahead, part of the library stuck out of the wall like a glass blister.

  What a perfect place to study, Marene thought.

  The corridor ended in a large, ornate door covered with carved leaves and branches. Over the top, the word ‘Licéar’ was written in stone.

  “Specialist Vorn, if you please?” said the Skipper.

  Vorn took off his pack and squatted on the floor. “Right you are, Skip.” He took out the metal box Marene had seen back on the dragon. It opened to reveal multiple trays and compartments filled with arcane tools. Vorn reached in, pulled out a pair of goggles and put them on.

  “Hmm,” he said, looking up and down the door. “Five-cylinder lock with a double bolt, tuned to a master key. Have to blow it, but that’s not the problem. The whole thing’s rigged to a massive field potential, enough to fry anyone unless the lock’s disengaged.”

  He took out a dull, metallic brick. “I’ll have to discharge the magic field. Might take a minute or two, and the scryers’ll certainly notice.”

  “Do it,” said the Skipper. “We’ll have to hope Haig can keep them occupied.”

  “Someone coming round the corner,” Alya said. “Lots of someones.”

  “Defensive positions,” said the Skipper. “Marene, stay behind us. Vorn, don’t worry about neat and tidy, just be quick.”

  “Aye aye, Skipper. Marene, don’t stand quite so close to the lodestone, thank you. Watch your eyes…”

  There were three wires coming out of the lodestone, ending in shiny silver clips. Vorn snapped one shut on the door handle and another on the lock. Very slowly, he moved the third clip to the hinge on the other side. It made contact with a shower of sparks, knocking him over.

  Marene helped him up, patting down his smoking clothes. “Don’t mind me, girl,” he said with a cough.

  The lodestone changed from dull lead to shiny copper, and Marene was certain it was growing. “Will that hold all the magic?” she asked.

  “If not,” Derrick said, “they’ll never get this corridor clean.”

  “Here they come,” Alya said from somewhere close. “The Captain, his pet and about ten guards.”

  “Stay calm,” said the Skipper. “We may still be able to bluff it out.”

  The animal, Babaneko, was first to come into view, advancing low on her haunches. Close behind was the Captain, followed by guards who looked as scared of their boss as Marene was.

  The Captain stopped a short distance away and affected an air of disinterest, polishing an imaginary blemish on his breastplate.

  “It’s no’ the breach in security I mind so much, ye ken,” he said to no one in particular. “Nor the two lads dead in the guardhoose, though I’m no’ lookin’ forward to tellin’ their misses. Naw, it’s that wee King Johnny thinks a few bawbags like yourselves are gannae be worth the bother. I’ve half a mind tae send youse back alive, just tae return the insult.”

  A searing fireball appeared in the space between them, the faint shadow of Alya’s hand behind it. It shot toward the Captain, smoke trailing, and exploded an arm’s length from his face. He didn’t flinch.

  The giant cat pounced, claws bared. Alya flickered into visibility underneath, a knife in each hand, and they rolled and fought. The Skipper made a quick motion with both hands, pulling them apart with magical force. Alya got to her feet next to him, cut and bleeding but ready for more. Babaneko loped back to the Captain with a casual flick of her tail.

  “O’ course, if ye want to try mah patience…” The lamps dimmed, their magic pulled inward by his immense will. The window pane next to him shuddered and cracked. “I never liked the decor in this part o’ the castle, anyways.”

  The corridor trembled. The Captain’s confident glare faltered and he looked around, searching for the new source of magic.

  “Door’s done, Skip,” Vorn said. The trembling increased, then the hardwood floor began to splinter under their feet.

  “What’s happening?” Marene said.

  “That’ll be Haig on his way,” said Vorn. “No finesse, that boy. Presto!”

  Vorn swung the library door open. The team rushed inside, slamming the heavy timber closed. There was an angry meow and fierce scratching on the other side, while Vorn set about connecting the lodestone back to the lock. As soon as the circuit was complete, the stone let off steam and they heard the harsh fizz of magical energy on top of the animal’s pained yowls.

  The Captain’s voice boomed from the other side of the door. “I’ll get ye’s all, ye scunners! I’ll skin ye’s alive and feed the hearts to Babbie! That’s a promise!”

  “He’s rather tiresome, isn’t he?” said the Skipper. “How long will that hold?”

  “About five minutes,” Vorn said. “I’ve set a thaumic charge on the lock, should give them a nasty surprise when they get it open.”

  “Well then, we’d better get cracking. Marene, the mission is in your hands.”

  “The thirteenth gate is in here?” Alya said.

  “This whole place is the gate,” said the Skipper. “Maybe even the entire mountain. What we’re looking for is the means to seal it forever. We know MacNaven has that knowledge in here somewhere, and we have to use it before he does.”

  Marene looked round the library. It was a huge room, with walls entirely covered by bookshelves from the floor to the top of the double-height ceiling. The glass blister let in a soft light, illuminating floating dust motes. Smaller, freestanding shelves radiated from a central podium in a star pattern.

  The podium was a solid, black rock with rough sides and a smooth, flat top. Bolted to it was a locked metal case with a glass top, and inside that was a large, ancient book with a cover bound in scaly hide.

  Marene looked at each of them in turn, wringing her hands. “Um, usually I’d need a librarian, or a card index—it can take hours of research to find one piece of information!” She took a cautious step toward the podium. “But…I know this is what we’re looking for.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Isn’t that strange? I’ve never even seen a book about Demonics before.”

  She quickly reached the centre of the room, where she read the cover. “It’s a form of Cailleach. Te Du’anthe, ‘The Way.’ Normally you’d see a qualifier for context—‘the way
in,’ or ‘out,’ and so on.” She put her glasses on and leaned forward.

  The Skipper took her hand. “Careful, Marene, this is powerful magic. Vorn, give it a once-over.”

  Vorn took out his goggles and examined the podium. “Looks clean… The glass isn’t magically sealed.” He took a prybar from his jacket and cracked the case open, then took out a pair of tongs and gently turned to the first page.

  “So far, so good,” he said. “Let’s see the index, that’s where they usually lock it down…”

  He turned the next page and froze. A grey wisp of smoke escaped from his mouth, then was sucked into the spine of the book.

  “Vorn?” Alya said. “Vorn!”

  Derrick leaned over his shoulder, careful not to touch.

  “Gone,” he said, with a little shake of his head. Vorn’s body fell backward, stiff as a board.

  The Skipper pulled at his moustache, the other hand held tight behind his back. “Hmm!”

  Marene had never been so sure of anything in her life. “I can read it. I know I can.”

  There was another thump on the door, followed by a long, angry hiss from the lodestone. “At this point,” said the Skipper, “I don’t think we have any choice.”

  Marene stepped over Vorn’s body and lifted the book out of the case. She ran a finger down the index and turned the pages.

  Alya whispered to the Skipper. “What’s up with her?”

  He spoke quietly, eyes still on Marene. “Knowledge has its own power. Some people are natural conductors for that energy, even if they don’t know it.” He raised his voice back to a normal level. “Marene, what does it say about the Gates?”

  She didn’t look up. “Hmm? Oh yes.” She flicked to a chapter. “‘Te Du’anthe é Gares,’ the way between worlds. Let’s see, there should be something about closing a portal here somewhere…”

  “What about opening one?” asked the Skipper.

  “Opening, opening—there it is, relatively short incantation. Now then, permanently closing…”

  “That passage you just mentioned,” said the Skipper. “Read it, please.”

  Marene blinked. She took a step back from the book and turned to the Skipper with a puzzled frown.

  “Read it? But that’s the opening spell. It’ll, you know, open the thirteenth gate. To the Demonic realm. The one with all the Demons.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “Now read it. Quickly, Marene, they’re about to open the door.”

  “Boss, are you sure about this?” Alya asked.

  “It’s vital to the Empire’s interests,” he said.

  “I can’t!” Marene said. “I won’t be responsible for bringing them back!”

  “You won’t be. You’re just following the King’s orders,” he said. “If you won’t do it willingly, I will have to ask Derrick to…change your mind.”

  “But that’s…” Her voice trailed away. She turned to Derrick, whose flat stare was the most terrifying thing she’d seen all day. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Do it, Marene,” the Skipper said. “Do it for King and Empire.”

  She turned back to the book. She began to read, in a halting voice, hot tears falling on the pages. “Kore án, annore te Du’anthe…”

  An explosion from the library door shook the room, but Marene carried on. The passage was blocked with fallen masonry and timber, between which they could see the Captain and his guards working feverishly to clear a path.

  “Marene, don’t stop!” hissed the Skipper. “Derrick, you’ll have to chance it here. Alya, I’ll take you and Marene to the roof.”

  Marene hung her head, the spell finished. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  The magical lights dimmed, then went off completely. The Captain shouted through the rubble.

  “Whut have ye’s done? Great Gods above, whut have ye’s done?”

  “Terribly sorry, made a bit of a mess,” called the Skipper. “Can’t talk now, must fly!”

  He reached his right arm toward the observation window, and uttered a spell. The glass shattered outward, taking a rush of air and loose papers with it.

  Marene’s hair was completely undone now, and blew across her face. She looked at the Skipper.

  “Did it work?”

  The room shook, sending shelves tumbling over. “Oh, it’s worked. Grab the book. Put your other arm round my waist and hold tight.”

  She did as he asked. Alya held on the other side.

  “We’re going to run out of the window as fast as we can,” he said. “Don’t let go!”

  “Another potion?” Marene shouted.

  “No!”

  They picked up speed, sprinting side by side to the open window.

  The guards broke through, firing spells and crossbows at the escaping trio. A bolt hit Alya in the back of her shoulder, breaking her stride. The Skipper picked her up without losing speed.

  “Marene! When I say, pull the cord at the top of my bag!” The room was really shaking now. Cracks appeared in the walls.

  They jumped.

  Outside in daylight, the mountain range stretched across the horizon before them. Directly below, the bridge twisted and buckled, throwing people, carts and horses off the sides. The straight edge of Mount Lugh fell away to the valley floor, where a distant carpet of tiny fields and towns hugged the river. They hung in midair, surrounded by fluttering scrolls and sparkling shards of glass, then began to fall.

  “Pull!” shouted the Skipper. She found a piece of cord and yanked it hard. The backpack fell open and away, ripping the cord from her fingers. The floor of the bridge was much closer now.

  She heard a thwap, like a sail catching the wind. Their descent slowed, then stopped completely. They flew parallel to the bridge, close enough to see the astonished faces of the traders still clinging on.

  “Try not to move, please,” said the Skipper. Marene twisted her head round to see what was keeping them aloft.

  “Wings!” she shouted. “You’ve got wings!”

  “Yes,” he said. “Between you and me, they’re a lot less useful than you’d think.”

  They swung to the left in a tight, dipping turn that made Marene’s stomach flip. “I can’t get us all to the roof on my own, ladies—sorry, not as young as I was! But if we follow the wall, we should catch an updraft to do the heavy lifting. Could be a bit choppy. Hold tight!”

  He completed the turn, sending them back to the castle. Amidst the chaos, a few soldiers saw them and raised their weapons. The Skipper flew fast and straight, aiming where the mountain ended and the walls began. The building was falling apart, with an entire corner and its turret ready to crumble.

  At the last moment he pulled up, beating his wings at a furious rate. Fireballs and bolts zinged past as they shot up the side of the castle, racing over windows and pennants.

  They crested the top and set down inside the parapet walk. Alya fell to one knee, blood pouring down her back. The Skipper tended to her immediately, pulling salves and bandages from a leg pocket. Marene couldn’t take her eyes off his wings, which were black as a raven’s.

  “There you are!” Haig called from a turret. “Hold on, I’m coming!”

  The roof looked like a battlefield. Scorch marks and small fires were everywhere, as were numerous bodies. Haig carried some minor cuts and burns, but was otherwise unharmed.

  “I felt something big down there. Was that the portal closing?”

  Marene looked at her feet. “Um, no. Opening.”

  “Good, then—what? Opening?”

  “Yes, opening,” said the Skipper. He looked up, scanning the clouds. “Our lift is late.”

  Haig leaned over the wall. “So we might see a demon, then? Wonder what they look like.”

  “Best observed from a distance, no doubt,” said the Skipper. He looked up again. “Where is that blasted creature?”

  “Something coming up!” Haig shouted. “Something holding a lot of power—there!”

  He pointed to a
turret door at the end of their walkway. It swung open with tremendous force, smashing the hinges off. An unearthly growl came from the darkness.

  Babaneko stepped out, her fur singed, limping on one paw. Behind, Captain MacTavish stepped into the light. He watched them with the calm, dispassionate face of a man gone beyond simple rage.

  “Nine hundred and seventy-one years,” he said slowly. “That’s how long it is since the last of them were driven back and the gates closed. In aw’ that time, no man has been mad enough to open the bloody things again.”

  “That’s a long time,” said the Skipper. “Military magic has moved on since then. I’m sure you’ll be able to deal with whatever comes through.”

  “Oh aye,” he said. “We’ll deal wi’ it all right, after the castle’s torn to pieces and the lands are burned to charcoal. Which is what wee Johnny wanted, I’m sure. But first,” he raised both hands, energy sparking from his fists, “I’m gannae deal wi’ you!”

  Haig took the brunt of the assault, absorbing the attack with a hastily cast shield. The blue-white lines of magical power hit his outstretched hands, unable to penetrate an invisible bubble around the team.

  “Gods, he’s a strong one!” Haig grunted. “Skipper! Might need a hand, I’m running low!”

  “I’m drained, too, old man—flying really takes it out of me! Just hold it a moment longer, he can’t keep this up for long!”

  Veins stood out on MacTavish’s forehead. Haig grimaced in pain, eyes shut tight. The protective bubble contracted, gouging deep grooves in the stone floor.

  MacTavish broke off the attack and cast a new spell. A section of the castle wall, big as a horse, broke off and hovered by his shoulder. He launched it at them with a huge, wordless bellow, muscles straining.

  Marene screamed. Haig’s eyes were still closed, his face had transformed into a serene mask. He pressed his hands together and the tattoo glowed again, this time sky blue.

  At the last possible moment, he punched forward with his right hand. The massive block of stone exploded against his fist, sending bricks and dust flying around them.