The Four Kings

by Scott Spotson

  She heaved her shoulders. Only four months ago – was it only four months? – she had enjoyed simple pleasures such as walking one block after the other, staring upwards at the skyscrapers as she strolled. Thinking of dropping by her parents in her weather-beaten Chevy or going to her favorite café to order a black coffee and a pastry were things of her past. Those days were long gone.

  She felt holed up in the huge enclosure, completely decked out in glass. Yet she didn’t regret her new job, not for one second. The adrenalin was constant, like the twenty-four-hour Cable News. It was always there. Her nights now consisted of four-hour “sleeps.”

  She looked at the family portraits on her wall and sighed. Her mother. Her father. Her brother Adam. She had only seen them a few times in the past several weeks. Her longing for her family intensified. Just to chat with them about their dog, Biscuit, or to hear about the latest antics of their quirky Uncle Sam.

  One a.m. Time for bed. No. Just one more look at the crime reports.

  She pushed herself away. Instantly, she felt like falling asleep. Almost staggering, she headed for bed, only several feet away from her desk, and plopped down on the mattress. Too tired to slip under the covers, she settled for lying on top of the sheets, then pulling the blanket over her.

  She turned her head to the incessantly glowing light on the bedside table next to her. She wondered if she could fall asleep without bothering to turn it out. She’d managed a few times before.

  Suddenly, Amanda screamed.

  Demus had abruptly appeared, with a full grin, propping himself against her headboard. Resting on top of her covers, he was all decked out in white cotton pyjamas with red words, all saying, “Liberators.”

  Amanda screamed again, but not as loudly as last time.

  Demus looked at her, excited. “Good to see you, Amanda.”

  She gazed at him. After the initial shock wore off, she noted that he looked so – sexy. So masculine, with his panama shirt hugging his torso just enough to show off his thin washboard stomach.

  Amanda knew he was attractive, but her repulsion won the moment.

  “Get out!” she shouted.

  “Amanda, you’re working too hard,” Demus said, sporting a wicked grin.

  “Get out! Now!”

  “Come on, Amanda,” Demus cooed. Holding his hands out in an innocent gesture, he said, “I’m just here, that’s all. Do anything you like. Talk to me about anything you want. If you’ve ever dreamed of having a pony when you were a kid.”

  “Get out!” she insisted, dragging out her words for emphasis. She was no longer shouting, but asserting more control.

  Demus turned over, resting on his left arm, facing her. “Or talk to me about your favorite food. Anything. I’m here for you.”

  “Demus,” Amanda scolded him, “Your pyjamas give you away. The timing. Everything.”

  Demus feigned mock surprise. “Okay, okay.” He disappeared instantly, and then reappeared on the other side of the room, wearing a tight black long-sleeved shirt and jeans, sitting on a chair that had appeared out of nowhere. “Here I am,” he said, half apologizing, “now can you talk to me?”

  “Demus,” Amanda weighed her words carefully, “Do you like me?”

  His eyes open wide with excitement. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

  “Then go.”

  Demus’ entire body deflated. He momentarily looked defeated and dejected. With considerable reluctance, his voice strained, “Of course. I’m always a gentleman.”

  With these words, he – and the chair – vanished.

  Amanda took a deep breath.

  For a fleeting moment – she pitied the wizard.

  Then, exhausted, she let her head fall to the pillow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Let the games begin,” Indie announced to her citizens all over North America. “Another exciting Games Day underway.”

  Regi and Demus were now glaring at each other in friendly mock disgust, circling each other as if they were in a boxing ring. Yet, they were about one hundred feet apart. This “game” required space – a lot of it. The huge screens on all sides showed close-ups of their intense expressions.

  “Amanda,” Indie turned to her, “You’re the judge.”

  “Me?” Amanda protested, totally surprised. She didn’t feel qualified to oversee the competition at all, given that she wasn’t a wizard.

  Indie didn’t even bother to acknowledge her response. “Justica will award the points. You’re to determine if any of the two men are cheating.”

  “But –”

  “This is Level Three. You’ve seen a few of them, Amanda. Move on.”

  Demus and Regi gazed sideways at her, both tense over their impending showdown.

  “Ready, get set, go!” Indie yelled.

  Regi, quick on the move, zapped first.

  Instantly, Demus found himself in a scene akin to being in an airport baggage check terminal, standing next to a steadily moving conveyor belt, stacked with assorted luggage, amidst throngs of travelers. Sizing up the challenge, he quickly scanned the new environment, crouching. The passengers, otherwise looking bored or chatting among themselves, glanced at Demus’ strange combative stance. Then, an ominous loud ticking sound rang out.

  Regi watched on with glee, anticipating Demus’ next move.

  “A bomb!” Demus yelled, while the terrified bystanders screamed and scrambled for safety away from the conveyer belt. Using his magic powers, he zapped up all the suitcases, valises, and handbags into the air, one by one. Each of them ascended about a thousand feet into the air. Suddenly, one of them exploded with a loud boom, emitting debris that rained down on the scene below. The stricken bystanders covered their eyes and screamed again, some ducking for cover under the benches in the terminal.

  While Demus was distracted by the pandemonium, a sniper, dressed in civilian clothes, took out an air rifle and shot Demus into his left side. Demus groaned and grasped at his wound.

  Amanda jumped a little, startled, and had to remind herself that none of this was real. Demus couldn’t possibly be injured – could he?

  “Five points for Regi!” Justica said.

  Demus zapped away the sniper, and the scene froze immediately. Irate, he pointed a finger at Regi, who was still chuckling. “Cheater!” he yelled, and turned to Amanda. “Strike these points!”

  Pressured, Amanda searched her mind for the rule book for Level Three, which she had read several times. “On what grounds?”

  Demus’ face was full of fury. “Simultaneous stimuli,” he growled.

  Regi stepped forward, peeved. “For Pete’s sake…”

  “Hold on,” Indie held up her hand, waiting for Amanda.

  “Simultaneous stimuli,” Amanda repeated, biding her time while she thought furiously, “That relates to bombardment to the subject of various threats that all occur at the same time.” She reflected some more. “Since the shooter came after the bomb exploded, I can’t conclude in your favor.”

  “It was too fast!” Demus yelled, his face red.

  “No,” Indie asserted. “It was a few seconds after. Amanda’s right. You got caught off guard, Demus.”

  Demus turned to Indie, realizing he was fast becoming outnumbered. He started to say something, but shut up.

  “Honestly, Demus,” Indie said, “If I had been there, I would’ve guessed that if there was a bomb, there must be a bomber. Right?” She glanced at each of the other people in the space. “It was logical. You should’ve thought of it. I would’ve anticipated the terrorist taking advantage of the panic caused by the bomb.” She smiled sweetly at Amanda. “What’s your decision, Ms. Fullerton?”

  “The decision stands.”

  Upon the words, the airport scene vanished, leaving nothing but open air between the two combatants.

  “All right,” Indie said, holding up her hands. “Let’s move on, then. To be more than fair, even if Regi should be allowed to try to beat you to it again, let’s instruct him to ho
ld himself back and allow you to make the next move, Demus.” She stepped away, as Demus and Regi circled each other again.

  “I’m surprised Demus is behaving this way,” Justica admitted, whispering to Amanda. “Usually he relishes these contests. He never complains.”

  Amanda gulped, and then nodded her head.

  “Oh, my Elsedor,” Justica said, wholly transfixed by the fight scene.

  Amanda didn’t understand. She looked at the contest, and saw that Demus, exhibiting a wicked grin, had conjured up a man wearing nothing but a full body suit in pitch black. There weren’t even openings for the eyes or mouth. The man appeared lean and muscular, threatening Regi, who suddenly appeared pale.

  “I haven’t seen that for a long time,” Justica muttered under her breath.

  “What is it?” Amanda asked, ready to panic.

  “A shape shifter,” Justica said.

  “Is it within the rules?”

  Justica hesitated. “Just barely. Watch very closely to make sure it’s not too overwhelming for poor Regi.”

  Amanda’s pulse quickened, and she stared at the sinister figure in black.

  Regi stepped back, assuming a defensive stance, his legs wide apart, and his torso slightly leaning away.

  Instantly, the figure morphed into a giant black scorpion, with features so dark that Amanda couldn’t tell the contrast between the body parts. The scorpion darted ahead, appearing directly in front of Regi in just a second, its pincers advancing. Sensing its trajectory, Regi disappeared. The scorpion brought its tail crashing down to the left of where Regi last stood. It erred.

  Regi materialized atop the scorpion’s back. In his right hand was a light sabre. He started to bring it swooshing down onto the scorpion’s neck, but the giant beast was too fast for him, and grabbed him with one of its hind legs. Before Regi could suffer a bone-jarring impact on the ground, he vanished.

  “Ohhh!” Amanda shuddering and covered her face with her hands. It was too much for her.

  Demus smirked as he watched Regi’s predicament. Twisting his wrist, he released the fingers of that hand. The scorpion transformed into a foreboding robot, again totally enclosed in black. The face appeared as if it were an ancient native mask, with all facial features exaggerated and delineated. The eyes were haunting, with an eerie greenish glow. Regi, who had reappeared standing in front of the robot, seemed terrified.

  As Amanda gasped in horror, two more pairs of mechanical arms pivoted out of the robot’s metallic chest, endowing the robot with six sets of arms. Six steel swords magically materialized, one in each hand. Brandishing its weapons, the robot executed a series of complex, expertly-controlled maneuvers that left practically no escape routes within a six-foot perimeter.

  “Stop it, Amanda,” Justica pleaded, her eyes fearful.

  Amanda stepped forward and yelled out, “Violation!”

  Demus, who had been observing his creation contentedly, snapped into an instant rage. “What!”

  Amanda slightly retreated, but held her ground. “Intimidation.” She looked at Regi. His eyes told her everything: he was afraid to chicken out, but he was secretly relieved he wouldn’t have to battle such a monstrous creature.

  Demus sputtered, “This can’t be! Come on!”

  All four looked at Indie. She frowned. “It is a very borderline case,” she finally said. “As much as I’d love to witness this battle, it does seem excessive. Perhaps in a future Game Day when Regi has demonstrated he’s more than capable of jousting with this incredible creature.” She pursed her lips. “Reluctantly, I have to agree with Amanda. Try something a little easier.”

  Demus scowled, then giving no warning whatsoever to Regi, released his right hand, and transformed the robot into a glistening black dragon.

  “Much better,” Indie announced to her audience, “Mortals, sorry for the confusion. Please do continue to enjoy the Games.”

  As Regi dodged the fire of the dragon, Justica whispered to Amanda, “Gee. Demus is sure in a bad mood today. I wonder what’s causing it.”

  Amanda felt a lump in her throat and lied, “I have no idea.”

  Chapter Twenty

  One year post-Liberation

  Amanda strolled the hallway en route to the cafeteria from the main office, within the Liberators’ Headquarters in San Francisco in search of some dinner. Deep in thought, she glanced out through the glass windows. An orange glow emanated over the horizon, atop the vast ocean and it appeared as if the sun would set soon.

  Today marked one year of Liberation.

  Surprisingly, all four Liberators had neglected to mention their one-year anniversary during Debate Day today. They were too engrossed in the debate over installing giant mirrors – by magic, of course – in the Canadian Arctic in order to combat global warming.

  It was one year ago on April thirtieth that everything changed.

  And despite the rhetoric that flourished on all sides today, she noticed Demus was sullen and withdrawn. She wondered if he was ill. But wizards don’t get ill – do they? For the umpteenth time, she wondered if it was because she had continued to reject his amorous advances.

  Suddenly, she felt her feet drag along the surface, and realized she was walking on an uneven sidewalk. She blinked. Somehow, she had materialized into an alleyway. The darkness of the shadow cast upon her space startled her. She could “feel” the damper, cooler air: she was now outside.

  Demus appeared beside her, with a disgruntled expression on his face. He was wearing a dark brown leather jacket, white cotton shirt, and jeans with a studded belt.

  Upon seeing him, she became tense. She now knew she had been transported against her will. She was starting to really dislike the guy. What did it take to convince him to leave her alone?

  “Demus,” she said firmly, “You’ve got to stop this. Take me back.”

  “No,” Demus said, seemingly no longer caring what she thought of him. “Not until you know more about me first.”

  Amanda was puzzled. “Know what?”

  Demus pointed at a brick wall of a dilapidated building down from the alleyway. “This is Detroit, Michigan.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where I grew up.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “This is a slum area. Can’t you tell?” His eyes were dangerous. He appeared as if he was daring her to make a move.

  Amanda glanced around, a little afraid. There was graffiti on the concrete walls on either side of the alley. An open bin of garbage, some contents spilling out, stood ten feet behind them. There was muddy, thick liquid lining the cracks of the sidewalks. Broken beer bottle shards scattered randomly twenty feet in front of them. Looking upwards, Amanda noticed that whatever few windows there were, were all barred.

  “Yes, it seems like it,” she acknowledged. “What are you trying to prove, Demus?”

  “I grew up in a slum area,” Demus told her, holding her shoulders. His eyes were angry and sad at the same time.

  Amanda was startled by his forthrightness. “Yes.”

  Demus yanked at her arm to walk further down the alleyway, and didn’t let go. Amanda wanted to protest, but decided to wait until she knew what Demus wanted from her.

  “Watch this,” he said.

  As they two stood there, two young male teenagers walked from behind the building on the right to appear in view. Seemingly nervous, they darted glances everywhere, fumbling about their pockets. Amanda started to walk away, worried about their presence, but Demus grabbed her arm and restrained her. “Don’t worry, they can’t see us.”

  Oh. So this was an illusion.

  The two male teenagers were skinny, wearing designer baseball caps backwards. They both had zippered hoodies hanging over their meagre frames. One appeared older than the other. They both had brown hair covered with a cap. The older one had stubble on his chin, while the younger one was clean-shaven – or perhaps it was because he was too young to sport facial hair yet. They wore washed-out jeans and designer sneakers.
r />   Amanda gazed more closely at the younger boy. She recognized him, but wasn’t sure. “Is that…?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Demus said.

  Amanda stared in astonishment.

  “I just turned seventeen that day,” Demus grimly added.

  Amanda felt sympathy. “Oh, Demus…” she said.

  Demus kept looking straight ahead stone faced. Amanda understood. He wanted her to keep watching.

  The two teenagers started talking to each other.

  “Christ, I forgot some,” the older boy said, patting his inside jacket pocket.

  “Lemme see if I have more,” the younger Demus said, reaching into his back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a strip of plastic and opened it, peering inside.

  The older boy darted a hasty glance to their right. “Quick, give it to me!” He grabbed it from Demus and placed it into his inside jacket pocket.

  Swearing, the younger Demus said, “Think Rat Face will show up?”

  “Shut up!” his friend said, and swore some more.

  After a minute of both teenagers looking off in all directions, as if they wished to conceal their whereabouts, two young males, definitely past their teen years, suddenly appeared from the left, hunched over. Both were tall, thin, and imposing. They also wore baseball caps worn to the front, rather than to the back.

  “Got the stuff?” one of the young men asked the two teenagers.

  “Here,” said Demus’ friend, pulling out the folded plastic case from his back pocket.

  The receiving young man carefully inspected the contents, and then handed it to his friend for confirmation. Both nodded at each other, and then the first young man pulled something out of his front pocket and pushed it into the older teenager’s outstretched hand. The two young men started walking away quickly.

  “Hey!” blurted the older teenager, “That’s only a hundred bucks!”

  “That’s all I have. I’ll pay you later,” the first young man gruffly spoke.