by CM Raymond
“As a zombie reached down for me, my mother dove and took out the inhuman by the legs. They struggled on the ground, and pulling a flaming brand from the campfire, my mother drove it through the zombie’s torso. The thing screamed until it died.” Ezekiel paused and looked around the room. “And that is just a little story about my childhood.”
Ezekiel finished his glass and sat. For a beat, the entire room was silent. All eyes were on him. He took it as an invitation and continued. “Young Zoe’s story was about watchfulness against pride. About the evil that can spread when power goes unchecked. This is an important lesson. But my little story might tell us this: watchfulness takes many forms.
“Like my father, often we need to learn to love and care for those in need. But that cannot overshadow the gifts and drives of my mother, who understood that we must always be ready to defend those that we love with fire and wrath.”
Ezekiel ended his speech, and he, too, received applause—though more tentative than what was given to Zoe, the young mystic storyteller. His tale was one of gravity, and he hoped it watered the seeds that Zoe had planted. He wondered if it had any effect at all.
Exhausted by the drink and the use of magic, he excused himself from the company of the mystics and made his way to the bedchamber his hosts had provided.
Settling into bed, the room spun gently, a result of a bit too much wine and the intoxication of stories told. It was good to be in the Heights, and Ezekiel wished that he could remain forever in the mountain monastery, but he knew that he couldn’t stay. Arcadia called him. Justice called him. As sleep came rushing in, he prayed to the Patriarch and Matriarch that his journey to the Heights wouldn’t be for naught.
On the edge between waking and sleeping, a commotion from the great hall woke him with a start. The vigilance that his mother instilled in him told him to fear the worst.
Ezekiel jumped from his bed as sober as a church mouse and entered the hallway.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sun caught the edge of the rearick’s silver blade as Hannah wiped it clean of the lycanthrope’s blood. Karl’s gift had already been a blessing, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much more blood it would spill before peace returned to Arcadia. Her body was tingling from her first kill, though Parker was the one that finished the job. Sitting next to her oldest friend on the steps of the tower made everything feel a bit more normal, even if her world had been turned upside down.
“So, I guess you’re a magician now,” Parker finally said, breaking the comfortable silence. “What have you guys been doing up here? Sacrificing goats and shit like that?”
“Glad to see you haven’t gotten any funnier in my absence,” Hannah said. “And no, no animal sacrifices. Mostly it’s a matter of focus. Tapping into the power that was always there, in my blood. In all of our blood actually.”
“Wait.” Parker looked at his hands, playing with his fingers to make signs. “I could do that shit?”
“Maybe. Ezekiel says that in the days just after the Age of Madness, people were running all over Irth trying to access the power within. The problem was it takes willpower and a sharp mind to control it. So, you’re probably out.”
“Man,” Parker said, “have I missed you.” He jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow.
“Yeah, I’m pretty charming. It’s wild, I’m learning so much from him about magic, its history, and how it all works. The crazy thing is that the Chancellor – he was Ezekiel’s first student. The old man even left him in charge of Arcadia when he left. That’s when everything changed. Adrien was the one limiting the magic, telling certain people they couldn’t practice. At first, some folks thought it was to protect the citizens, but soon it just became the way things are.”
Parker nodded. “Which is why we all thought that magic was something you were born with, not something anyone could develop.”
“Exactly. Son of a bitch is controlling magic so that he can maintain power and control all of us. I mean, imagine what QBB would be like if we had been raised learning magic and could use it to make our quarter better. That’s some messed up shit.
“Here’s something else that’s fascinating: There are three forms of magic. In Arcadia, we practice the physical magic arts. It’s taught and passed down from teacher to pupil. There’s also mental magic, which the mystics do, and the nature magic of the druids.”
Parker laughed. “He told you there were druids? OK, the Founder might be a madman after all. No such thing as druids.”
“And… I would have said there were no such thing as lycanthropes if you asked me over breakfast. But I just saved your skinny ass from one.”
“Point taken. And who saved who’s skinny ass?”
Hannah smiled and then ignored him. “What’s crazy is that all of those different kinds of magic are all from the same power that is inside everyone. It is just learned in communities and mastered. I guess some of the people have a leaning toward different forms, and then the form shapes them, reinforcing the magic style they master.”
“So, which one is the Founder teaching you?”
“All of them.”
Parker looked at her sideways. “You’re learning all three forms. How are you not blowing up?”
Hannah jabbed him in the ribs. “Because I’m a badass. Actually, he’s trying to teach me a fourth. Zeke thinks it is somehow a combination of all three arts into one. It’s how I created this guy.” She nodded at Sal, asleep between her feet.
“Damn. That’s pretty awesome. So, are you going to create an army of dragons or something?”
Hannah looked down at the dragon. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. Me and Sal have a special connection, you know? I think it might have been a one-off kind of thing. But Zeke is hopeful. Enough about me. How’s my brother?” she asked, her stomach tightening into a knot as she mentioned him.
“William’s better than ever. Healthy. Strong. He’s started doing a bit of hustling—he decided it was time to be done as a panhandler.”
“Oooh, good for him. With those big pouty eyes, he’ll do just fine. And my—”
Parker saved her from naming her father. “He’s fine. Still walking all over the freaking city trying to find work. Will told me about the spell he’s under. Hasn’t touched a drink since you’ve left.”
“Well, if you didn’t believe in magic before…”
“Yeah, right? Arcadia is also, well, different since you left. Everybody on high alert. The Guards and Hunters are always on the street. They’re turning houses over looking for you and the Founder and rounding up Unlawfuls along the way. Word is, there’s a pretty sizable sum on your heads. The Founder’s bounty alone would be able to buy you a place in the noble’s quarter.”
“Now I know why you’re here!” She pulled the rearick’s knife. “Don’t get any ideas.”
She laughed at her own joke, but inside she was hurting. To think that her actions had brought more severe treatment on the boulevard made the power within her boil. Nothing drew her passion more than the mistreatment of her people, and she knew that soon justice would be hers.
Hannah also knew that she wasn’t ready. Adrien and his forces were more powerful than a single lycanthrope or a wild boar.
“Actually, I just came to warn you about the bounty,” Parker continued. “I’ve been saving your ass for years. I figured a few miles of distance shouldn’t change anything. And…”
Hannah’s throat tightened as she readied herself for more bad news. “And what?”
“And, well, I missed you.”
She could feel herself flush. Parker had always been the person she was closest with, and she thought he was great—and not terrible to look at. Although she wasn’t inexperienced with men, she’d never thought of him in that way.
“But you’re mostly here for the reward,” she quipped, deflecting his comment.
“You got me.” Parker cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Come on out boys we got her.�
�
They both laughed as if nothing had ever changed.
****
Stellan’s patience had worn thin. The mystic at the door was both spaced out from too many years of meditation and already half in the bag on their powerful drink.
He didn’t mind the latter, in fact, after a day with the douche brothers, he was mostly jealous of the man’s intoxication. Not to mention that if his gift was walking around in other people’s twisted brains, he’d be half drunk all the time as well. But the man working door duty was obstinate, bordering on downright rude.
“I’m not asking to see the Master, I am telling you to bring us to her. Not giving you an option here, spacebrain. We are on official business from Arcadia by order of the Governor and the Chancellor.”
He could feel the mystic push against his brain. The man wasn’t strong enough to get through Stellan’s defenses, but he had to remember to keep the wall in place. Anger had a way of weakening one’s capacity to keep a mystic out.
“Yes, yes, yes. The Governor and Chancellor… I heard that. I just can’t, not tonight, she isn’t to be disturbed. Would not be prudent to go against what she desires.”
The man’s bloodshot eyes dashed back and forth from Stellan to the other two guards and back again. He was suddenly nervous, and it struck Stellan why. The mystic was in their heads, and now knew more than he should.
“Damn it, boys, defenses,” he shouted.
But it was too late. Dirk pulled his gun, a magitech weapon, and held it out at the man. “Out of my head, freak. Out now.”
“Holster your weapon, Dirk,” Stellan commanded.
The tension was thicker than a morning fog on the River Wren.
“Get out,” the kid screamed again.
The mystic’s confusion increased. Alcohol dampened his ability to think clearly. He jerked his arms toward the sky in defense, but it looked more like he was moving to cast magic. And that’s when Dirk blasted him with a thick blue beam of magitech energy.
****
Hearing the blast, Ezekiel took the stairs two at a time, his robes flowing out behind him. Sliding around the corner, the first thing he saw was the mystic who had greeted him earlier at the door, unconscious—or perhaps dead—on the floor.
Three men were standing over him, one of them holding what Ezekiel only surmised was one of the magitech weapons he’d heard so much about. A chill passed over his spine as he thought of what other perversions Adrien was creating within the walls of Arcadia.
The oldest, and clearly the leader of the gang, looked up at Ezekiel. Recognition washed over the man’s face. The guard had been issued descriptions and even drawings of the powerful, old Unlawful running around. And that Unlawful was now within his sites.
The guard’s eyes turned black. He drew a sword, and with a flick of his wrist, it burst into flames. Clearly, the man was well-trained.
“Hurting the mystic was a mistake, friend,” Ezekiel said. “Perhaps if you laid down your weapon and let me attend to him, you can find mercy in this place.”
The large guard sneered. “You are the one who will be begging for mercy when we’re through, old man.” The guard nodded to his partners and they stepped forward, both with magitech weapons drawn.
Ezekiel sighed. “So be it.”
The man on the left fired, and a ball of energy flew toward Ezekiel. But the old man could move faster than most expected. He sidestepped the blast and waved his hand upward. The marble tile underneath of the advancing guard came to life. Ezekiel closed his hand as if holding onto a rope, and a hand made of tile reached up from the floor and grabbed the guard’s leg. Ezekiel pulled his hand down, and the marble hand followed suit, pulling the guard. The man disappeared into the floor.
“Dirk!” The other fool yelled as his partner vanished before his eyes. He turned his weapon on Ezekiel, but never had the chance to fire. Ezekiel waved his hand and the weapon exploded, releasing its energy in the face of the man who held it. The guard screamed in pain then dropped to his knees.
Ezekiel had dispatched two guards in as many moments, but they were only pawns compared to the third. The man smiled, his black eyes lifeless. “Well, at least the rumors about your power were true. I might actually enjoy cutting you to pieces.”
The soldier threw his arm forward, and a large copper urn sailed over his head. Ezekiel reached out a palm and pushed the missile aside, but it was only a distraction.
The guard had charged forward at a sprint, his flaming sword swinging overhead. Ezekiel raised his staff just in time to parry the blow. Light flashed as their two weapons met.
****
Stellan was surprised that the Unlawful’s staff blocked his sword. He had expected his weapon to split the stick and the old man in two. Clearly, he was a powerful magic user, and he must have been actively enchanting his staff, increasing its strength.
No matter, thought Stellan, I’ll find my opening.
Stellan hammered his sword again and again, attacking at every angle. But each time the old man managed to block it, his staff and robes twirling in a tight dance. Before long, their positions were reversed, and Stellan was the one forced to block the deadly rod of oak. The old man’s eyes burned red, and the anger in his face was just as clear.
When the old man feigned high, Stellan fell forward. He raised his sword to block the crushing blow, leaving his lower half undefended.
The Unlawful took full advantage of the misstep and swung his staff low. It crashed into Stellan’s knee, and he screamed in pain. But the guard kept his wits about him and slashed his sword outward, forcing the man back.
Stellan accepted the fact that this strange old man had him outmatched in hand-to-hand combat, so he tried another tactic. Before the Unlawful could move, Stellan dropped his sword and reached both hands outward. He pulled with all of his strength, and a window high above the old man shattered, raining down shards of razor sharp glass.
The old man twirled an arm above his head and pushed his palm forward. The glass followed his command and recreated itself as a glass wall in between the two magicians.
Stellan took the opportunity. He grabbed his sword from the ground and drove it forward. The wall shattered around his arm—it was worth a few cuts to finish the old man. But as he broke through the wall, instead of flesh and blood, his sword found only air. The old man was nowhere. Stellan had stabbed only a hollow reflection.
He looked left and right, then a sinking feeling hit his stomach. He turned around, just in time to see the Unlawful’s staff swinging through the air. It cracked the side of Stellan’s head and stars clouded his vision.
In a desperate attempt to save himself, Stellan swung his flaming sword upwards, but the old man was ready. He caught Stellan’s hands in his own. A cold feeling spread from the man’s flesh and slowly, from the hilt to the tip, the fire in Stellan’s sword turned to ice.
When the ice reached the tip of the sword, the blade shattered, leaving nothing but a jagged piece of frozen steel sticking out of the hilt.
The old man twisted Stellan’s arms and forced the broken sword through his chest. Stellan coughed up blood as he looked down at the hole in his chest. With his last breath, he raised his head.
The last thing he saw was the strange old man’s blood red eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The guard slumped to the ground, hands still grasping the blade sticking from his chest. Ezekiel saw the black in his eyes turn gray, and he knew the guard was dead. For a moment, Ezekiel thought of his mother and smiled. He was a helpless child no longer.