Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  “Unless that is to throw people off,” I say. “They are doing this to bring forth a change, correct? Well...they want to walk in the day, right? Isn’t that the purpose all of this serves?”

  “I think you’re right,” William says. “It’s what they’ve always wanted. To walk during the day; to govern the stars.”

  29

  April 1692, Diocese of Constance

  When we arrive at the Gotthard Pass, night has already fallen. That narrows down the Oracle’s current location to somewhere on the other side of the world . . .

  We stick to land as much as possible; our bodies cannot handle much more traveling. Even Tess is vomiting blood after some of our skips through space. But time is not on our side, and the diocese of Constance stretches for miles.

  We cover the ground of the Upper Rhine and scour the German land near Lake Constance, but there is nothing in any of these places to set us on a clear path. Tess’ apparent irritation grows with each travel that leaves us no better off than where we began. If we don’t find something soon, I fear she’ll give up.

  But we’re close. I can feel it.

  When our travels east to Freising prove fruitless, Tess tucks her hands on her hips and turns to me. “This isn’t working. I told you we need to narrow it down.”

  I shrug one shoulder, wishing I could stop her from speaking. I can’t deal with the stress. “There was nothing else in the Malleus Maleficarum to give any indication where the Maltorim would be taking the woman. How else are we to narrow it down? If there are any other hints on where to go, we’re going to find them here.”

  William stands at Tess’ side, and I feel the wall being built between us already. “Tess may be right, Cordovae. Our bodies can’t handle much more, and the night is already half through. We should consider going over the book a second time and trying again tomorrow night.”

  I push out my bottom lip. “We’ll be stuck inside all day tomorrow anyway. We can look at the book again then, if we don’t find anything tonight. We don’t have enough time to waste the night.”

  “No,” Tess says, stepping nearly toe-to-toe with me, “what we don’t have time for is prancing around Germany with no clue where we intend to go.”

  I scowl, then turn away from her, glaring at William with a challenge on my tongue. “Then you two go rest. I’m not giving up now.”

  With that, I head north to Frankfurt.

  And that is where I find the destruction.

  At first, I’m not certain what I’m looking at. There’s a lot of blood and a lot of commotion. Grown men weeping over women, clutching those lifeless bodies to their chests, rocking back and forth, the blood staining their own clothing. Abandoned horse-driven carts turned over, their contents scattering the blood-moistened soil. Children crying in doorways and windows. Old women wailing beside their lost husbands.

  At my feet lies the freshly murdered body of a young woman, her dress ripped away to reveal a naked bosom, her head rolled to the side, revealing the all-too-telling pierce marks on her neck. No one sheds a tear for this woman. No one but me. Gently I cover her exposed breast with the loose flap of fabric from her dress then step over her body to assess more of the town.

  Those that aren’t wailing or weeping stand with blank stares. At first I think it’s the haunting effect of witnessing such unexplainable brutality, but then I see the darkness in their eyes. They are possessed. I spin back, looking to the woods behind me, and that is when I notice the hordes of Morts sweeping through the shadows.

  A tall, pale, blond man with a golden sheen to his skin appears before me, touching my shoulder. He stares deep into my eyes and speaks to me with severity in his voice.

  “We have this under control,” he says. “Go on to your next destination. Good luck.”

  I know he is like me—Ankou. I grab his wrist before he can leave. “What about all these people?” I ask. “What about all they’ve seen?”

  He nods solemnly. “They won’t remember this day.” His sad tone is foreboding. “It’s for the best; not just for us, but for them as well.”

  I don’t ask him the next question. I don’t ask how he will make them forget. Instead, I release his wrist, and in an instant, he joins the blur of the forest. He’s not alone; there are more like us, also weaving between the trees, and every so often a burst of black particles from killing a Mort glitters in the moonlight beneath the forest canopy.

  The weight of how big this is hits me, knocking the wind from my chest. I’m just a piece of a much larger puzzle. A part of this huge mess.

  “Will this war ever end?” I ask myself aloud.

  “No.” William’s voice.

  I spin around, the weight from my chest lifting to see him standing there. I’m so thrilled to see him that I can even ignore Tess’ glare from two feet behind him, her arms crossed and a scowl set firmly in place.

  “You came,” I whispered.

  “We couldn’t let you go alone,” he says.

  Tess huffs, dropping her arms to her side. “I could have,” she says. “William insisted we follow you. What happened here?”

  I turn back to the nightmare behind us then stare at the blur of movement in the forest. “Guess.”

  She lifts her hand, indicating the Ankou and Mort activity surrounding us. “Should we help?”

  I shake my head. “One of the Ankou said they have this under control. We should move on. Things will only get worse if we don’t find that spirit elemental.”

  I can’t hide the defeat in my voice. It’s seems hopeless. I’ll never get back to Anna this way, but I refuse to accept that this will always be my life.

  William steps closer to me, takes both my hands in his, and stares down into my eyes. “We only have to get things under control, Cord. The Morts will always exist, but you will get to...” I see the lump in his throat bob. “...go home.”

  His last words come out strained, and my eyes sting with tears. “Right,” I say, choking out the only thing I can manage to say. “Home.”

  Will I ever know home after this? There is no home without Anna...but what is home without William now? I wish we’d never met; I wish he’d been anyone else. Even leaving Tess behind may break whatever is left of me after all this is over.

  Tess stomps past us, her shoulder bumping into mine and knocking William and I from our moment. “Come on. If we’re going to find this woman in Germany, I think I have an idea where she might be.”

  We finish our trek at the beginning of a bridge. Moonlight shines golden on the pale stone. There’s a woman standing at the edge, leaning against the winter wind as though that is all that holds her up. I gasp and dart forward, but Tess grabs my arm and yanks me back.

  The woman looks at me with empty eyes, then looks forward again and steps over the edge, plunging down and out of sight.

  I pull free from Tess, but William grips my shoulder. “She’s already gone, Cord. Has been for a long time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He moves behind me and rests both hands on my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “Look again.”

  So I do.

  And there’s the woman once more, and this time I see that she’s not the solid matter she appeared to be before. She’s not Mort—there’s nothing shadowy about her—but I can just barely see right through her. She lifts her empty gaze to me again, then looks ahead and jumps to her a death again.

  Chills prickle the hairs on my arms, and again my razor teeth snap down. I can only surmise now that somehow it is my heart, not my mind, that controls my Ferrum nature.

  I turn back to William and Tess. “What is this place?”

  “Devil’s bridge,” Tess says. “The legend is that a man had begun to build this bridge, but could not build it fast enough, so he called on the devil for help. The devil agreed to finish building the bridge, in exchange for the soul of the first living being that crossed it. The builder agreed, but once the bridge was built, he sent a rooster across the bridge first.”<
br />
  “Then what?” I asked, both horrified and fascinated.

  Tess shrugs. “Supposedly the devil tore the rooster apart, and the blood tainted this bridge so much so that people claimed crossing it too many times could drive a person mad.”

  “And that woman?”

  “But one of the many afflicted,” Tess says, twisting her lips to one side. “It’s just a legend, Cord.”

  “The woman is real, though. Or was,” I say.

  Tess nods. “She’s an imprint. No way to know really who she was or why she’s here.”

  William takes my hand. “Crossing this bridge may be our only hope. It may be the only way to get closer to the spirit elemental we need to save.”

  “We could just travel there?”

  William shakes his head. “Tess thinks they are around this bridge, but we don’t know exactly where. Obviously not on this side of it, though. We don’t want to arrive in their midst. We need to assess the situation first.”

  Tess reaches into her pouch and pulls out a small handful of nightshade. “This is the last of it. Here—” She hands me half. “Eat up. We’ll need to find more along the way.”

  I stare at the poisonous plant in the palm of my hand. It’s little more than a bite. My own pouch is empty of such herbs; I’m grateful Tess would share.

  “What about William?”

  William nods toward the woods on the other side of the bridge. “I’ll find some small animal on the other side, before we continue our trek.”

  I stare at the darkness between the trees. “So this is it?”

  William slides his hand to mine and gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. “We can only hope.”

  I drop my focus back to the bridge. I don’t know why it terrifies me, but it does.

  I tell myself it’s just a bridge. But the ghost woman staring at me, jumping to her death—she’s telling me it’s something more. Something worse.

  The real danger of the bridge isn’t the legend. It’s being out in the open, an easy mark for our enemies. About a quarter of way across the bridge, Morts start to spring up. First only one here or there, edging as far away from us as the bridge will allow, but then further along, more and more, until they’ve formed a small crowd.

  “Why don’t they move?” I whisper to William.

  He leans down to whisper back. “Because they belong here. Now’s not the time for us to move them. Stay close.”

  Soon we are so crowded we have to push through, and I can feel their cold souls pressing against mine. But now is not the time to deal with them. Instinctively, I reach behind me and grab for Tess’ hand. She allows me to take it, and I hold tight, not letting us get separated.

  We are nearly halfway across the bridge when the Morts begin to disperse, and now they are lined up like soldiers on either side of the bridge. Many of them are fanged, but a few I can see were once Marked Ones. The bridge abruptly ends, and I stop so quickly that I nearly fall forward.

  William stiffens. “What is it, Cord?”

  “The bridge,” I say, frantically looking at him, then back to the broken stone.

  His brow furrows. “We’re almost there. It would take longer to go back.”

  “Look,” I say, pointing just a few feet ahead.

  His attention trails to where I point. “What?”

  Tess laughs. “Oh, no, Cord. Are you falling for another one of their illusions? I would have thought you knew better by now!”

  “Illusions?” I ask. Almost immediately after I say the word, I remember when I first arrived here—the truck in the field. But when I try to push the illusion away, it doesn’t budge. “What if it’s you and William being affected?”

  Tess rolls her eyes. “Not likely.”

  William gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “If we must, we can travel,” he says, “but let’s not jump to that now. I sense we’re close, and we want to remain untraceable and save what energy we have left to get the woman out of this place...if we ever find her.”

  I stare at the gaping hole in the bridge once more, unable to shake my unease. Panic rises in my chest. I’m still new to traveling. What if one of these days I try and it doesn’t work? If Tess is right—that I am being illusioned—then I am obviously growing weak. I have gone so long since my last illusion, that I’d forgotten it was even something I need to worry about.

  “You’re all right,” William says. His lips brush against my temple, warming my chilled skin. “You’re with me. Just close your eyes and try not to think about it.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to get the nerve to step where my eyes tell me there is nothing to step on. Sweat dribbles like pebbles of ice down the back of my neck and spine.

  “Come,” he urges softly. “Trust me.”

  The words open up a new bravery in me. If I am strong enough to trust him, I am strong to overcome this. To overcome anything.

  I step out into the air, still grasping his hand. My foot slides on a patch of stone I can’t see, and William tightens his grip on me, holding my body tight against his.

  “I got you,” he says. “Come on.”

  Solid stone presses into the sole of my foot. Each step is less terrifying than the last, and it becomes easier to trust the ground is really there, even though I cannot see it. And the more I trust William, the more I trust myself, the more the illusion breaks away. I start to see the stone beneath me—ahead of me and behind me as it has always been.

  When the bridge once again looks as solid as it feels, I run. I run hard and fast for the last quarter of the bridge, William and Tess running behind me until we reach the shelter of the forest canopy on the other side. The skeletal trees and their early-spring branches are a welcome change, and I marvel in the almost musical sound brought on by spring. There’s the whisper-snap of bird wings, the yip and howl of wild dogs in the distance, and the rasp of our own breaths.

  We made it.

  I turn to William, a big grin breaking across my face and a smile lighting his own. Even Tess is smiling.

  But our joy fades when a branch cracks in the not-so-far distance.

  30

  April 1692, Just Across Devil’s Bridge

  William hunches on a bed of pine needles and lifts a finger to his lips. Tess and I squat quietly beside him, peering over the underbrush. It’s only then I notice the shrunken heads hanging from the trees branches above. My stomach churns. Their grayish skin reminds me of melted wax, their eyes disproportionately large to the rest of the face and sunken in like small boulders in quicksand, their expressions twisted with anguish and mutilated by horror.

  I imagine they might be Ankou that had been affected by the sunlight, and then later beheaded. Where are the rest of their bodies? Why were these heads hung here? Shuddering, I force my gaze past the tiny heads that dangle by their hair and to the campsite beyond.

  About twenty-five feet away, obscured by the spruce, pine, and beech trees, a campfire blazes, surrounded by four men so large I can only assume they are Maltorim soldiers. Except for one. His skin has a golden glow not unlike our own.

  Laughter echoes on the wind. I squint, and the simple action seems to enhance and sharpen my vision until it’s as though the men are only a few feet away. Two of them have the Ansuz marking on their neck—Marked Strigoi. Instinctively, I hold my breath at the feeling of sudden closeness.

  A breeze sweeping through their clearing kicks up the debris of crushed dead leaves, and the branches above us creak. The smoke of damp wood wafts toward us, and my skin starts to itch.

  And that itch sends my mind back to my life as Rose. Camping with Pa for the first time...before the abuse began. I broke out in hives. An allergic reaction to burning cedar, the doctor later said. Back when my Pa still let me go to a doctor when I needed one.

  I swallow hard, pushing away the memories that want to follow, knowing that I will have to face those memories one day soon enough, face them to return to Anna. But I don’t need to face them today.

  In my weake
ned allergic state, the world around me dims, the way one would expect of a darkness only punctured by moonlight. I scratch at the rash forming on my neck gently, trying not to make noise as I focus on the men in the clearing.

  We’re out of nightshade. I scour the ground, hoping to find something. Anything. On the other side of the path, I think I can just make out some rotted Daphne berries on the ground. I crawl toward them, but someone grabs my shoulder. I think it’s Tess. I swat her away. I’m almost there.

  The voices from the campsite grow louder, and I freeze, tensing. I try to breathe soundlessly. The voices quiet down again, and I continue forward, quickly but silently, until I reach the berries. The moment I lift them, they heal to near perfect ripeness, and I pop the sweet berries in my mouth and chew quickly, my rash almost instantly disappearing and the world around me brightening to my usual Ankou-gifted night vision. My eyes sting at the sudden shift.

  Tess is looking at me with her eyebrows all twisted up. She jerks her head to the side, signalling for me to come back across. I wait until all the men in the clearing have their backs turned, then hurry back to William and Tess’ side.

  “Look,” she whispers, and I cringe, hoping those men can’t hear us. “Do you see that?”

  She points to the Far East corner of the clearing that the Maltorim soldiers occupy. My vision steadies and clears. There’s an eroded dirt path, uneven with embedded stones, and a horse-driven cart is tied to a nearby tree, its wheels cracked. The wooden cage it carries is covered with so many shrunken heads hanging from the bars that the person inside is nearly obscured.

  But I see what Tess sees. A woman. Shackled.

  “That must be her,” Tess says quietly. “Sorry I doubted you.”

  “You did it, Cord,” William whispers. “This is it!”

  He’s grinning, all the way up to his shining maple-syrup eyes. But there’s something more there, too. A sense of awe, maybe? Is he...is he admiring me? For finding her?