THE SEVENTH EVENT

by Phillip Shaw

  This had not been a normal day in the prison, ever since the fiasco in the room Brad Schreiber had been placed in a cell himself, he wasn't under arrest he was awaiting evaluation from the medical staff. He thought back to the moment when the prisoner spoke to him, it had all suddenly became so clear, his head felt swimming with ideas and ambitions, maybe he would start up a business for himself when he was fired. The door opened and the governor walked in, Brad collapsed to the floor, the pain coursing through the synapses in his brain stopped him being able to function. ‘Brad, why have you stopped obeying me?' said the governor. Brad couldn't respond, there was conflict in his head, previously he had followed any instruction he was given but lately, this had been harder and harder, it had only been eighteen months ago when he was being fast tracked to be a head officer since then he had become tardy, lazy and had skipped work. Brad looked up at the governor, things were as before, bald head, mouth chewing tobacco and stern features but there were the eyes like caves in the earth, they were blacker than the darkest night, with every word he said they pulsed and bored into his senses, they were causing the pain in his head, he had to end it he had to find the energy to stop this creature. How have I never felt this before? He thought struggling to his knees, he had been working under this man for years. It had to be related to James Coates. He had opened his eyes to this demon.

  Libero looked at Pamela. It's a pity she isn't a Denouncer he mused. She would have been pleasing on the eye to accompany him, at best he could just keep her safe, use her to get a handle on this world. The only subject he had met in here had been that security guard Brad, he had been so under the Magister's control that reaching out to him and freeing him had been a risk. Libero wondered what effect freeing one so under control had.

  Brad kept looking into those eyes, the hatred in him grew, he had to kill it, it was immoral it had controlled him for all these years. All it took for the spell to lift was the words of the prisoner, he got him to open his eyes. He had to pretend it was the only way. With the conflict in his head still raging Brad stood up and looked at the governor. Just do as he says, it was no use the governor's eyes grew darker again then he turned and made for the door screaming for help. Brad seized his chance he had been unable to convince the thing that he was back under control so now he had to kill it. A quick scan of the cell revealed nothing immediate he would have to improvise, the governor was nearly at the door when Brads foot struck it, the door slammed shut and the two men crumpled into a heap, the screams of the governor were raising and now Brad could hear footsteps, he grabbed the man's slimy face in his hands and squeezed, those eyes they have to be killed, he drove his thumbs hard into the sockets, blood started to seep out he kept pushing deeper and deeper, blood was all over the floor now but he kept pushing, the death twitches of the governor continued when the door burst open, his two personal assistants burst into the room, the secretary reached into her jacket and pulled out a gun, the other the younger one was standing in shock, as the gun was raised time slowed for Brad, he thought he caught sight of a strange red marking on the wrist holding the gun, the flash that followed eased his conflicted mind.

  8. The Pyre

  Libero jumped to his feet before reaching the limits of his chains. The Magister was gone, his presence and sphere of influence winked out in seconds. Libero would need to act fast the effects of so many people's minds being completely freed could be devastating. His thoughts clouded suddenly to the scene of battle. If felt so fresh to him but then it was only moments ago in his consciousness, he had experienced this before; taking down an enemy so rapidly was like throwing a wasp's nest into a room, no one could be sure of the effects. Libero put his hands over his eyes and shook away the thoughts of the life just passed.

  Pamela asked him ‘What is it? What's wrong?' the sound of the prison alarm going off silenced her. ‘Pamela, we need to get out of here, something bad has happened.' Being so close to Libero over the past few weeks, the effects of the Magister seemed to be weakest on her but Libero knew he couldn't begin to explain what was happening in here. He needed to get them both out of here before the prison resembled the battlefields he remembered.

  He didn't have time for anymore reminiscing, the sound of battering at the mirror glass window made this situation chronic, he had to get free it couldn't end this soon. The chair leg burst through the window and the pair in the room saw a melee on the other side, the battering was the desperation of a female guard trying to get away from the others in the room, three prisoners stood over the doors with whatever basic weapons they could find, mop handle, snapped, leaving a point, dining trays and worst of all a nightstick took from a guard, the only thing between the vulnerable guard and evisceration were her colleagues and the way things looked they were just an appeasement.

  Libero saw his chance he screamed at the guard halfway through the broken window to release him, he sensed cooperation and she threw the keys into the room, Pamela picked them up. ‘Release me, I am our only hope!' he pleaded. Pamela moved over slowly and began to struggle with the cuffs, Libero realised this was the closest he had been to her, he sensed her feelings, he had to keep them alive. When his hands were free he moved immediately to get a better view of what was happening beyond the glass. The guards were involved in a horrible fight with the prisoners, one was down, the mop shaft sticking from his chest the others were going down soon, he wasn't going to be able to do anything here their minds were gone from the magister's death, there was nothing to save, nothing to influence, escape was the only option. He assessed his surroundings and quickly saw the only option, the roof. As the screams of the fight grew more intense he spoke to Pamela. ‘The roof tiles, here I'll help'. He cupped his hands and pushed her up; luckily the tile came away exposing the roof compartment. As he forced her up into the gap he heard another crash behind him the rest of the glass was coming through and whatever was being forced against it was leaving a bloodstain. It was too late to save any of the guards, he climbed onto the table and leaped for the gap in the roof, he would get out of this, he could fell the burning sensation of hope in his head, hope, freedom, it fuelled his power. With the shackles of this dungeon free and the feeling of free minds around him, he could match his enemy. All in good time. Pamela crying, the calming effect he had tried to put on her was no match for the horror of the interview room. In a matter of moment, she had gone from being in control of a civilised situation to this primal survival. He would just have to get her through this.

  Pamela was in pieces, her business suit was ruffled and torn from crawling up into this space, her glasses in the room below, and all she could cling on to was the arm of her client. What is he? She thought, he certainly was not the same James who had been resigned to dying this morning, there was energy around him and aura she could feel, she actually believed that this was the right thing to do and that they were going to get out of this. She actually felt stronger around him, this can't be right. It didn't feel natural to her; suddenly she was feeling as agile and strong as she had when in the swim team she eagerly awaited instructions, all thoughts of the horror experienced below were gone.

  Libero sensed her calm, the effect of a free mind and being near him might be enough to help. He watched as the glass below caved into the room and the prisoners spilled in, blood-stained but weakened from the fight. There were only two now, he could take them. It had to be this way. He dropped down into the room and saw what he was against, two feral, broken minds, he would ease their suffering. The larges came at him first but Libero sensed the movement, he ducked under the grapple and aimed a sharp blow beneath his assailants arm, it landed and he felt bones break, to a normal mind this may be the end. The second came at him quicker and with a strike of his own; before the foot could connect he blocked it with his own spinning his opponent around. Libero saw his chance, with one recovering on the ground and the other facing away he struck, he grabbed the head of his last attacker and drove it into the metal table, perhaps a fatal blow he di
dn't have time to care, the first had managed to pick himself up and was trying to charge him, Libero saw the man's eyes, crazed and hungry he knew all he had to do was move, a simple sidestep sent the man sprawling into the remains of the broken glass, one of the pieces found their mark and the fight was over.

  Pamela lowered herself into the room, James stood alone, he was already rifling through the pockets of a dead guard for keys. What was going on here? She could hear screams and then gunfire coming from the direction of the exercise yard. Prisoners are trying to escape. She looked at James his reaction said he thought the same.

  Libero found the keys in the pocked of the female guard, what way to go now? They could go out and hope to escape, in the chaos that was going on outside but what then, hunted down, chased by the very people he was trying to save. No, he needed something more permanent. They needed to be dead. Swapping clothes with the bodies wouldn't be enough he needed an accelerant. Beckoning Pamela to stay in the room he went to the cleaning supply closet, evidence of a looting was there, all the brooms and mops were gone but he found what he was looking for a bottle of turps. Back in the room Pamela had donned the uniform of the dead guard and he began to dress her in Pamela's clothes, if not for his influence this would have been too macabre for her mind. He doused the bodies; dental records may show up the knowledge in his head said but not if there was no suspicion. He hoped there would be too much confusion to check, it was their best bet.

  Pamela felt something on her mind as the bodies burnt, like an arm around her shoulders, this was necessary she had to follow James, his draw was electric to her she couldn't do without it now she had experienced being in his world. The fire grew and grew like a pyre from an ancient world, the flames engulfed the room helped by the material they piled on, chairs, paper, anything that burnt, the evidence of the conflict melted away. Then suddenly she felt a hand on her, I need a tooth James said, the blow was painful but he soothed her mentally, the tooth was cast onto the pyre. Pamela Harding would die in this room, an innocent victim of a prison riot on an extraordinary day.

  Libero felt guilt at hurting her, she had been the only source of light to this vessel before he awoke, and he would see she was safe until the end. He reached into his mouth and easily snapped a tooth free, so dies James Coates; no one will ever know that he should be dead already.

  Now we have to get out of here. Thought Libero, walking slowly into the main mess room the pair saw the scenes of chaos, chefs struck down by prisoners and guards alike, the effect of the mind breaking had been infectious, the magister had not been powerful enough to control this many people, some had joined in the destruction, this was a full-blown prison riot. They moved into the kitchens, and Pamela grabbed his arm, one of the secretaries to the governor was lying bleeding with a gun in her hand, the other was dead beside her, from the bodies piled around them they had defended each other back to back until the bullets ran out, Libero walked over and stood staring at them. Pamela noticed him staring at a strange tattoo they shared on their inner arms. A red triangle made up of spheres.

  The mark of the magisters, why is it on these humans? He had not been prepared for this before this mark had been the sign of his enemies forces, his most trusted captains and commanders, it was a sign he had learned to fear as it meant a fight to the death. It made no sense; he could have defeated them easily. Is the world already lost? He thought, almost falling before feeling the grip of Pamela, he lifted the key card and made his way towards the delivery entrance. There should be no one guarding it, the guards were among the bodies.

  Pamela followed behind him, whatever he saw on the two women scared him, fear was not something she had ever felt from James, about to die more than once today he had firstly shrugged it off and now exuded the confidence and that power so that it didn't matter. They moved through the exit and came across a delivery van, the driver was inside. James walked to the window said something and then opened the back door, ‘Are you with me?' Pamela hurried into the back.

  9. Partnership

  Markus sat in the waiting room taking in the details. His training had taught him this but now it seemed a hobby. He glanced at the receptionist, five foot five, size 10, clumsy with her lipstick, spent too much time worrying about her appearance and, of course, the mark of the Magisters' showing slightly beneath her shirt cuff. He felt under his sleeve and remembered getting his own tattoo.

  He had been brought before the leaders of his Swedish sect by his proud grandfather. Markus had only been eighteen, the childhood exuberance gone, living with Snapper he had been ready. They showed him the scroll and asked him his interpretation of it. Markus had been taught that the interpretation of the member was an indication as to what role they would perform, an aptitude test of sorts. Markus had looked at the red figures and said ‘It means one, to be a leader, to unite everyone behind you and move forward from there.' The members had looked impressed but Markus continued. ‘It also means to be cautious; if the front is weak the remainder can take their place.' This had not been so well received, the prospective members had the sign drilled into them for years, the front was the tip of the spear, sharp, and flawless the weapon that could penetrate anything, for anyone to suggest that the front could be imperfect was not in the mandate. Snapper had moved quickly to highlight the quality of an analytical mind. He held such sway that he had been accepted into the Magisters. The branding of his arm was just a formality. The small triangle of red dots that looked like the balls on a snooker table was an honour, a calling to these men and had been for centuries. For Markus, it was the start of his life's work

  Markus analytical fortitude had marked him out to be a field agent, he trained in weapons handling, mortal combat, electronics and anything else that might be of use. The only training that had mattered though was the training of his mind. He had been physically and mentally tortured until he felt like his brain was in pieces. He was told it was necessary but every night for a month he cried himself to sleep. When he could take no further training began every time they sat him down and made him do simple mathematics, when he wrote the correct answer they struck him, firstly with their fists then with an iron pipe. It was all to keep him writing the correct answer, it was strengthening his mind, building the shield around it that Magisters needed. Markus had passed the tests quicker than anyone in his region. His results led to advanced training, negotiation, standoffs and interceptions. His life had been a far cry from the receptionists.

  Her skills would have been determined in early years just like his had been. Snapper taught him everything he knew, his childhood games had been preparation in secret. Hide and seek, Manhunt, and orienteering. Yeah, normal childhood games. He laughed. The receptionist hearing the snigger shot him a smile in his head Markus added single and desperate to the list.

  He didn't blame the secretary for flirting; leading this life did not lend itself to relationships. Most people in the organisation married internally, had the children then left their positions until they were grandparents. The secretary was only following these ideals. Markus smiled back and looked at the glass wall, for all his analytical prowess he had not looked at his own reflection for anything other than a weekly shave. He had aged. His lean face was weather-beaten, his piercing blue eyes remained but his fair hair was showing signs of receding to the world he looked like a single, bitter alcoholic, sometimes the world is smarter than we think.

  The receptionist received a call and beckoned him over, ‘Magister Stent? The room is ready for you now?' Markus eased himself out of the chair and leaving his case walked towards the door. The secretary stopped him. ‘Are you single Magister?' she asked coyly, Markus did the maths in his head, came to his conclusion. ‘I am, by the way, you have lipstick on your tooth.' Markus walked into the room.

  In the room was the usual gathering of high-ranking officials. Markus strode towards the decanter at the side of the room and poured himself a brandy. Eying up his first sip he was interrupted. ‘Stent! About time, yo
u showed up. What's wrong, don't they serve alcohol on flights anymore?' The voice belonged to Daniel Miller, the head of the English field team. If they are here something big is going on. Markus scanned the room; the heads of all the tactical teams were here, Miller from England, Patrick Sulién from France and others stood out. Markus walked over to exchange pleasantries before he could aim a jibe back at Miller the other door to the room opened and Sebastian Schultz walked in.