The Spell of Binding (Part One)

by Glen Johnson

  THE

  SPELL

  OF

  BINDING

  Part One

  By Glen Johnson

  www.sinuousmindbooks.com

  Published by Sinuous Mind Books

  www.sinuousmindb ooks.com

  Copyright © Glen Johnson 2012

  Cover image: Shutterstock

  Cover image design by Sinuous Mind Books Glen Johnson has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are fictitious and any resemb lance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without Sinuous Mind Books or Glen Johnson’s prior consent. Except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles.

  Typeset: Caecilia LT Std/Italic

  ASIN: B008Q3DDY8

  Also by Glen Johnson from Sinuous Mind Books (Available in eBook or paperback from Amazon)

  Horror Lamb Chops and Chai nsaws: Nine Disturbing Short Stories About the Darker Side of Human Nature.

  Lobsters and Land mines: Another Nine Disturbing Short Stories About the Darker Side of Human Nature.

  The Devil s Harvest: The End of All Flesh .

  Children/Young Adult Parking do m: You Can Be Small and Still Make a Big Difference .

  Fantasy The Gate w ay: Close the World Enter the Next. World One of the Seven Worlds.

  Occult/Supernatural War of th e Gods: Part One –The Devils Tarots.

  “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

  William Shakespeare

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank some people who helped with this book . My older brother, Gary Johnson who went over the raw manuscript with many read-throughs, editorial help and suggestions. To Pauline Milner, Steven Mcleod and Nigel Johnson. Also Anthony & Barbara Stokes, Matthew Chilcott , Anthony Pike, Victoria Tamki n, Sarah Shortt, Rachel Shapter, Kate Pike , Sarah Kelly , Jamie Kerr, Stacy Folan, Kimberley Driver and Stacey Driver.

  For my brother

  Nigel Johnson

  Prologue

  THE GREAT WAR AND THE VOICE

  The Great War of man has ended. Billions were killed by the weapons of science.

  Thousands of years, and generations, pass.

  This is the history of what mankind has done to Mother Earth.

  The e arth has re-cooled; the polar-shift has halted, the polar geomagnetic reversal complete; the tectonic plates have realigned; reshaping and shifting the continents , some disappear ed completely under the towering tsunamis that touched the sky. The mountains that toppled finally lay at rest, others pushed thousands of feet into the air. The world expanding cloud of ash circled both hemispheres, choking life from the world, killing everything green and beautiful. Eventually, after many generations, the ash fell to the e arth, the sun could once again be seen. The ash built up, blowing across the reshaped, scarred world, accumulating in vast dirty blac k deserts that hold only death.

  After thousands of years of e arths reshaping, something unexpected happened – the magic was reawakened. Forgotten for eons as if sleeping until the time was right. Now the magic has been reestablished.

  A new age of mankind was about to begin.

  *

  No one knows what year it is. No one really cares. What is known is back at the end of the 21st Century, mankind, with the aid of science, almost succeeded in destroying themselves. Few survived the chaos they unleashed . Nine-tenths of the world ’s population was simply wiped away by nuclear fire and radioactive winds that battered the land, air and water. Those that survived wished they had perished along with the others. They had to struggle with what was left, with what managed to pass through. What was later referred to, rather ironically , as Armageddon, because God certainly had nothing to do with it. No one ever uttered the word Rapture.

  Mankind gave up looking above for a God they decided didn’t exist, who stood by idly as billions w ere slaughtered, as they screamed and begged in multiple languages his or her many names. Instead, they looked within themselves. Then they could hear the ringing, loud and clear. Realizing it was there all along. The word God became just another word, a word spoken with scorn and a sense of betrayal.

  The people that survived the End of Days, wandered for generations. The human race became a nomadic collection of individuals and a splattering of tribes. They had to travel to find anything edible; all their time and resources spent scavenging the remains of the old world. Nothing new was harvested from blackened fields, full of burnt stumps of crops. Ash covered the sky; the sun went unseen, and nothing grew.

  Mankind started to devolutionize. They went back to their most primitive origins, which was r equired if they were to survive in the new hostile world that they had created with their science. However, people started to turn from science – the cause of their pain – back to the e arth, to what is natural, to what has always been.

  After sometime those that did survive could hear a new song emanating from the ruins of the past; a new Voice – that of magic. Long forgotten, hidden beneath layers of science and multiple religions, the sound drowned out. Some humans heard the Voice louder than others; they beca m e powerful sorcerers. Was it b ecause of evolution or the radiation or the Voice, no one knows?

  Once again, the Voice prevailed. The magic became strong.

  From the rubble came new races. From the darkest, thickest forests they creped, and from the deepest tunnels, they climbed. Some say they were there all along; hidden, fearing reproach. Dwarves and elves now walk the land, crawling out from their hiding places. New Mankind they were called.

  The radiation eventually disappeared leaving behind twisted deformed patches of land and strange deformed creatures. In hindsight, these new beasts would prepare New Mankind for what was ahead.

  The e arth changed with its new residents. The past was forgotten; the old world became nothing but a distant, unused and uncared for bad memory.

  Then came another cataclysm, one of a different natur e , not from the machines of war but from the very magic that had been awakened.

  A dimension, which had been held back for eons , spilled fourth into our own. Later all made sense. The sorcerers studied long and hard, and they say they found the answer.

  Amazingly, many manuscripts survived the holocaust of the distant past, (some believ ed the time and effort s p ent to protect them was worth more than human life). One was a simple book, which was found not too far away, between two ancient rivers that once ran across the landscape: the Tigris and the Euphrates. In this book (it was buried in a thick lead box, completely sealed to the changing world), which was in two parts, similar to the ancient Rosetta Stone, but instead of being carved in Egyptian and Greek, it was written in Babylonian and Assyrian, from the Neo-Assyrian Empire and Neo-Babylonian Empire, from the same time frame as the Epic of Gilgamesh. Whether the Great Spell was uttered then, or passed along through time and eventually written down at a much later date, is unknown. However, what is known is that it told of the time before the Great War. A time before science, when the Voice was as loud as it is now. In that time, all the great sorcerers came together, forging one Spell; to be the most powerful ever uttered or used – the Spell of Binding. All the vile creatures that walked the e arth, creatures later only referred to in stories and myth , were torn from the world, thrown into a prison; a dimen sion, where they waited, poised. Always ready. A lways waiting.

  The power released from the weapons of
science weakened the Spell; cracks appeared. They started to seep through (some whispered that this is where the dwarves and elves really came from). Then eventually it crumbled completely and the beasts of nightmares, from the darkest parts of the imagination , returned. The vile floodgate of hell was re opened. It became hell on e arth.

  Another new chapter in earth s history had just been opened. New mankind had surviv ed the buckling and rearranging of the world ’s crust, now they had to learn to survive the creatures their ancestors had banished.

  The small book gave hope. The great magi of old wrote down the powerful Spell; engraved it on stone, then placed in a sacred place of keeping, inside the legendary Temple of Time; locked away for eons until it would be needed again.

  The time is now, if it can be found.

  A small group consisting of a female sorceress, a human and a dwarf, along with an elf are being gathered to head out across the wastelands, towards hope; so they believe. They have been p ulled together by fate. Their guide is a small leather-bound book, and they will have to travel through what has been released.

  Will they survive long enough to find the ancient carved s tone that rests in the great temple? A temple that has stayed hidden through time, wars and countless generations? A temple that must have been destroyed when the e arths crust buckled and lava flowed freely, when nature obliterated everything that mankind had created? If they find it, will they have the strength to return it to their ruling mag i ? Will the Brotherhood of Sorcerers even be able to comprehend the ancient Spell? Have they the power to even make it work again? Or will the powerful demon king called Vorr, with his vast armies of destruction, get there first?

  Chapter One

  CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT

  Pramos sat still while holding his breath, fearing that the sound of it would give his hiding place away. He had only gone a short distance from the protective barrier, which the mag us from his village had erected.

  The creature stood no more than thirty paces away, its small piercing eyes scanning the area; it believed it had heard a noise .

  Pramos couldn’t believe his bad luck. He had traveled this short path hundreds of times, and had never run across a creature brave enough to approach so close to the village .

  It must be new in the area, scouting out a new territory, or all-out-desperate, or just plain suicidal.

  Pramos made the trip several times a month in the Growing Season, when he knew the bush would be covered in figs. The barrier for the village didn’t extend this far, so it was a risk to harvest the fruit, but well worth it due to the amount he could collect. Some he would keep for himself, the rest, he sold to Amos; the merchant from the small dilapidated fruit stall at the market.

  Suddenly, the creature jerked around facing his location, its large nostrils twitching.

  Has it picked up my scent? Damn what I wouldn’t give for a weapon right now .

  He had never need ed one for the short trip before . He cursed himself for becoming lacks. He groped around on the ground, feeling for a stone. He touched one. He didn’t take his eyes off the beast as he wrapped his hand aroun d the reassuringly hard surface.

  It was better than nothing , he thought.

  I could swing the bag of figs at the beast. But they aren ’t heavy and would do absolutely no damage , it would just make them all mushy and no good to sell. Well, if I survived to be able to sell them.

  His hand twitched ready to strike out at the tall lean creature. But he knew there was still a chance, no matter how small, that it could carry on past.

  There were no Gods to pray to. No deities to promise remorse for past transgression , so long as they helped you now. No instant realization that if you survived God had a calling for you. The ancestors weren’t worshipped, so they held no imaginary power over the situations. Worship and idolization were words of a past world, a world that was destroyed because no supreme power stepped in and helped when the ir need was the greatest. He realized he was totally and utterly on his own, with a small stone and half a bag of ripe figs.

  The creature was what was aptly named a Tigerman. Imagine a house cat , then give it the appearance and intelligence and size of a tall man , with l ean, strong, powerful arms tipped with two-inch razor claws, and a mouth brimming with long sharp feline teeth, and standing on powerful hind legs. Then give it a crazed temperament to match. This one though was alone. Unusual they hunted in packs of five or more. But seeing it up close he noticed it was wounded.

  That’s probably why it was willing to come so close to the village. Desperation and hunger was driving it to do things it normally wouldn’t , he reasoned.

  Pramos could hear the creature mumbling, uttering inhuman guttural words. He lifted the stone slightly, knowing he would have no chance against a Tigerman normally without a descent weapon, and a group of weapon bearing men at his side, but this one was wounded. If he attacked before it noticed him he might stand a good fighting chance; hit it hard on the back of the head, cave its weak skull in. But all it needed was one slash of its powerful razor-tipped hand and he was done for – gutted like a sandfish.

  Once again he hesitated, not really sure why, simply relying on his instincts, something that has kept him alive for the last seventeen years. Three years of those he had been totally on his own, since his brothers fatal accident.

  Pramos never knew his parents. His first memory was of his older brother trying to get him to eat an undercooked , pale yellow rocklizard. Janos, his brother, who was five years older, had been a terrible cook, but they did eat regularly. His brother didn’t know how long they had wandered in the wilderness, or how they had survived the initial attack, when both his parents and two uncles died, along with the other thirty-nine in the caravan that was transporting minerals from their village to the city of New Babel. His whole family was hitching a ride with the merchants ; they were resettling in the larger city because the smaller village a hundred and forty miles away had become too dangerous. Ironic that the move that was to make their lives safer was the one that killed most of them.

  Pramos and his brother only survived because of a large outcrop they were passing, the very same one that the ambush came from. It wasn’t demons that attacked, but human bandits, the lowest of the low, those that had gone over to the demons side. That was the only reason the brothers had survived; hiding, wedged in a small crevasse. If it had been demons then they would have been sniffed out.

  Once the bandits had le ft they stayed hidden for hours. The screaming had long since died away. Shaking and crying quietly they eventually crawled out, and started scavenging through what was left of the caravan, while trying not to look at the butchered bodies that lay scattered around. They knew they didn’t have much time , the smell of blood would waft for miles. The demons would soon come to feast on the warm remains.

  For days they wandered in the general direction they had been heading, hoping to see the towers and large shimmering protective dome of the city. But they were hopelessly lost, and near starvation and suffering from dehydration. Without the adult’s guidance or tracking skills they had wandered in a huge circle , and were now heading in the wrong direction.

  His brother tried to console him, but Janos was only thirteen, just a child himself. For four days they wandered lost in the wilderness, always crawling in some hole or crevasse at night, and only walking in the main heat of the day, when all the demons retreated to the shade. Funny enough, their main food source came from the very bush he had just picked from. They sat under the fig tree and gorged themselves off its fruity flesh. His bother had used a knife to carve their names into the bark. He felt closest to his brother here. He remembered the huge fig smeared smile his brother gave after they had sat and stuffed themselves for twenty minutes. It was the first time he had seen his brother smile in many days.

  Eventually they spotted a hazy shimmering in the distance. At first they ignored it, thinking it was another mirage. They had given up hope, thinking they would roam u
ntil they dropped from exhaustion or heat stroke, or became an easy meal for a predator.

  The scream of a woman, who was stood close to the protective barrier of the small village, brought people running to their aid.

  The creature’s growl brought him back to the moment at hand.

  If we had met a Tigerman when we were wandering , we would have been an easy meal , he reflected.

  The bipedal beasts wide nostrils stretched, sucking in his scent. Its furry head flung to one side, its tall muscular body followed, as it d id a half twist, landing lightly on all fours like a trained gymnast , ready to start its hunt. Its two in dependent ears started to twist this way and that, trying to pick up any new sound. It started to move slowly in the direction of Pramos ’ scent, gripping the floor with powerful claws, ready to propel it forward if the prey showed itself.

  Pramos sat with his back against the rock. “No, no, no,” he mumbled to himself, while banging his head against the stone, as if trying to knock an idea into his head.

  Mere seconds were all he had left. He had no choices left. If he ran he would be caugh t instantly, with the creatures weight pushing down on him, while its sharp teeth sunk into his neck with the killing bite. He had no choice but to stand and face the Tigerman with nothing but a small rock and anger that this place had finally got the better of him. He wouldn’t leave this world without a fight.

  Dammed if I d o. Dammed if I d o n’t.

  In one swift move he stood and stepped around and away from the rock.

  The creature froze, its eyes darting this way and that, expecting an ambush. Surely one measly human with a simple rock wouldn’t be out here alone, and about to fight? It had to be a trap? A wide, disturbing smile spread across the beasts face. The human was alone, and had given away his location. A stupid human. Suicidal human. A warm meal.