A Dangerous Energy

by John Whitbourn

  With infinite pains Tobias redrew the pentagram and window then checked and rechecked it. This done, he changed into the embroidered gown. As a last gesture he strapped his sword on, despite feeling somewhat foolish for doing so. The tiny sense of security thus engendered might just make all the difference in so hazardous an enterprise. He had no offering to carry with him this time, for nothing in his possession was of sufficient value to influence a summoning such as this.

  Now that there was nothing to do but start, he appreciated just how simple his preparations had been. In truth he was relying solely on his developed powers and his intelligence to carry him through rather than rituals and magical geometry. Perhaps all great magicians came to that stage and finally realised that the essence of magic lay in the mind and anything else was merely auxiliary. Very few, however, Tobias included, ever cared to act upon this and dispense with all ceremony. At this level the penalty for any failure actively discouraged experimentation.

  Having lit candles, Tobias stepped into the pentagram and had no excuse for delaying further. He was human enough to take a long look around his room and his few accumulated possessions. If things went wrong this would be his last sight of the world of men.

  Then, breathing deeply, he recited the preparation spell and was thus moved one small step sideways from normal consciousness. The force he was summoning was named and worked into the pattern of the pentagram, but still it was necessary to make an act of will and call for oneself.

  ‘Lord Burgess,’ Tobias chanted softly. ‘I request an audience with you; take my life if you can, I will give it freely.’

  Extemporising in this manner, he continued for a long time. In a way that defied words he knew he was succeeding. With every minute that passed he was building up some sort of rapport with something equally indefinable and from beyond the world of ordinary Nature. Each chant added a minuscule amount of awareness to the growing level of contact and he knew that eventually a decisive climax would be reached.

  As it happened, just under an hour was sufficient to make the chalked window flash into life. Tobias was very pleased at such swiftness – in earlier years he had been kept waiting longer just to see a mere Bishop. However he had little opportunity to consider, for events moved quickly. All the letterwork and symbolism of his pentagram lit up with a blue light; the whole pattern shifted, dipped and levitated in a way that chalk and paint should not be able to. Simultaneously, the most powerful wind he had ever known ripped into the room from the window. The candles were doused and thrown, candlestick and all, to the far wall. Furniture cartwheeled across the floor and the bed was stripped of blankets. Yet the pentagram held and the wind did not come inside it; Tobias could stand and watch untouched as his room was savaged in the eerie blue light. He had no mind to do so, however; his attention was riveted upon the window, and the line of his pentagram which wavered and shuddered under the storm’s force but held firm. For once, there was little enough to see through the window which revealed only an inky blackness.

  He did not know it but an icy cold emanated thence as well, and outside the room the slow-witted guard stamped his feet, blew upon his fingers and dimly wondered if he could endure twelve more hours.

  Then, after about five minutes as far as Tobias could reckon, the wind suddenly ceased as did the assault on the pentagram. The scene through the window also changed slightly to show points of light in the blackness which was less absolute than before. The gentle sound of the sea came from the darkness. Obviously no one was coming to speak to him, so, as anticipated, he must go and seek them out. Using a spell of transference of his own devising, Tobias raised his arms, palms outstretched, and then suddenly moved them to grip his gown. Instantly the pentagram lost its blue glow and became a mere complex pattern on the floor again. At the same time the pattern embroidered on his gown achieved illumination and, his zone of safety thus successfully shifted, he was ready to move.

  Tobias picked his way through the wreckage and walked over to the window. Somewhat cautiously he put his head through it and looked around. Now that his eyes were a little more accustomed to the dark, he could see a stony shoreline. A quite normal-looking moon shone on the sea which, at high tide, lapped gently on a pebbled beach. Of the country beyond the shoreline, he could see nothing for it was in deepest darkness. Far out to sea a few lights were visible, one of them flashing regularly, but Tobias knew they were beyond his reach.

  He was beginning to feel a little puzzled when a light sprang into life along the beach. Judging by the way it flickered and danced, it was produced by a bonfire. Since this was less distant and might have relevance to his quest he had little alternative but to investigate it.

  Despite the futility of drawing back at this late hour, Tobias hesitated slightly before committing himself entirely and climbing through the window. Only his self-discipline carried him through.

  On the other side of the wall and beyond the Earth, Tobias could almost imagine himself on a perfectly normal beach at night. Only the bluish gleam of his gown hem, now slightly dimmed after crossing the divide, served as a material reminder that this was not so. Looking to either side and behind, he could see nothing of interest, but the light of the bonfire ahead served as cause to move on.

  This he did, making a seemingly enormous noise on the pebbles where the only other sound was that of the sea. Completely alert, he pressed on for ten minutes or so by his pocket-watch but covered little distance for the rolling pebbles were hard going. Out to sea the lights were still there, arousing a curiosity that could not be satisfied. Inland a single light had come on but it, too, was a very long way off. Then, fully accustomed to the gloom, Tobias noticed a figure standing ahead of him at the edge of the sea. It seemed human in form and to be facing in his direction; more than that he was too distant to tell. The other party did not seem disposed to make a move. Tobias instinctively glanced back at the faint glowing lines of the window hanging in mid-air, but he walked on – keeping to a straight line along the top of the beach which would take him past the figure by the water. As he drew level Tobias could make out a man dressed as if for work in a London accounting house, that is to say in a sombre black suit. Even more surprising was the observation that his face was featureless: lacking eyes, nose, mouth, ears or hair. In fact the head, although human in shape, looked like a perfectly smooth ball of skin. In its hands the figure carried a bloodied axe.

  Tobias quickened his step, hoping that this was not part of his quest.

  Although eyeless, the figure appeared to watch the priest’s gradual progress and its head slowly turned to keep him in ‘sight’. Tobias trudged on, for a while leaving the figure behind, but soon he heard pebbly footsteps behind him – the thing was keeping pace.

  More than ever disinclined to turn back, he carried on until he was near the bonfire. Close up, he could see the fire was on a massive scale, perhaps twenty feet high and giving out an intense heat. Around it were the bulks of three boats, beached and dilapidated beyond hope of use. They were of the type and size that might be seen fishing off Pevensey Bay, but in the flickering light they looked old and sinister. Realising that this was not an occasion for military-style caution, Tobias walked straight into the middle of the illuminated area. At first, blinking in the light, he thought himself alone for the footsteps had ceased. But, looking about, he saw a plump middle-aged woman of dowdy appearance who sat with her back to one of the boats.

  ‘Hello,’ she said in a voice that belonged more properly to a man of short temper.

  ‘Lord Burgess?’ queried Tobias. He had not noticed the glow of his portable pentagram dim a little.

  ‘Yes – you have taken a long time to get here.’

  ‘There were difficulties and you are some way from the portal.’

  The woman got up. She might have been pretty once, but no more. When she spoke again her voice had changed from being masculine and abrasive to very feminine and sweet. ‘Forgive me, Tobias, but I do not often have – human –
visitors.’

  ‘Pray don’t mention it; all is well now that I am here safe and sound.’

  ‘Such confidence, Tobias, is a less than endearing characteristic. You are far from safe I can assure you.’

  ‘It was merely a form of speech.’

  ‘Ah – I see; I am unfamiliar with the idioms of your language. Tell me, why is it that I was unable to kill you in your room; that has not generally been the way of things so far.’

  ‘Generally?’ said Tobias. ‘Who has successfully contacted you before me?’

  ‘I feel disposed to answer.’ Lord Burgess replied. ‘Two humans only, in your era, but I have made a holocaust of many failures.’ The female figure waved a hand towards the fire and Tobias, following the gesture, noticed for the first time that among the planks and sticks were innumerable bones. They looked human.

  ‘What were the two names?’ asked Tobias, unintimidated.

  ‘One was Robin Corbishley … ’

  ‘Of course, I would expect that.’

  ‘Several hundred years ago now – such a charming conversationalist.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Mamarutu, about fifty years ago. You would not know of him, he lives on an island still unknown to your civilisation, around the other side of your world.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Of course, you should not deceive yourself that you rank alongside Robin Corbishley and his ilk as one of your world’s greatest magicians. You are slightly above average and no more. Only the foolhardy seek to contact me.’

  ‘But I was good enough to make contact and protect myself.’

  ‘Pride is another of your faults.’

  ‘This is true.’

  Lord Burgess studied Tobias closely, her face lit up crazily by the fire. He found it difficult to imagine this homely woman as a Demon Lord. At length she said, ‘I wish you to meet someone well known to you although you have not met.’ A raised arm beckoned to something outside the circle of light.

  Tobias did not bother to query the paradox since he was sure it would soon be resolved. This was indeed the case for out of the darkness came strolling the faceless axe-man. He, or it, came and stood by Lord Burgess.

  ‘We have met already,’ said Tobias.

  ‘Oh – he followed you along the beach did he? Obviously he sensed a kindred spirit and came to greet you.’

  ‘I heard no greeting.’

  ‘Well – that is his way but I’m sure a warm welcome was intended. Allow me to introduce you to Murder.’

  ‘Is that his name?’

  ‘No – that is what he is.’

  ‘Can he speak?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how do you know what he is?’

  ‘Do you think I am restricted to communicating through speech alone?’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘That’s all right. Incidentally, Murder is of both sexes.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘I found “him” on the beach one day and have since kept him as a sort of pet. Of course he spends a lot of time in your world.’

  Tobias discovered himself about to launch into a whole range of questions on this interesting topic, but realised he had completely forsaken his purpose there. This was the Demon Lord’s deliberate doing – he must be brief and make up for lost time.

  ‘This is all prevarication,’ he said. ‘I want information which because of my safe presence here you are bound to give me, am I correct?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Truthful information?’

  ‘That is so.’

  Tobias decided to test this assertion. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘In human rendering, Lord Burgess.’

  ‘Very well, what I want to know is this: what greater powers surround you; who binds you to tell truth to summoners?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘But you bind Threadgold to abide by his vows.’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘But Threadgold said you did.’

  This was not quite the case. Threadgold had professed ignorance on the matter but Tobias thought it would be interesting to test Burgess’ knowledge of his vassal.

  ‘No doubt he genuinely believes that; alas it is not true. As his superior in power and imagination, I am recognised as his Lord and obeyed through fear. But there is no obligation – not from me at any rate.’

  ‘But he said you were the black eminence, the only Demon Lord.’

  ‘Nonsense, there are more than you can count and the existence and identity of any “black eminence”, as you call it, is unknown to me. Poor little Threadgold. He could destroy your world, but he only knows of one Demon Lord; namely me.’

  ‘And you are of equal power with these other Lords?’ said Tobias agitatedly.

  ‘By and large, yes.’

  ‘There is no supreme power?’

  ‘Possibly – there are constraints on my actions just as there are on yours. I cannot enter your world freely – you cannot jump mountains – it’s all the same thing. Where these constraints came from I don’t know; they just exist.’

  ‘Birth and death?’

  ‘I cannot remember being born and I’ve never heard of a Demon Lord dying. Mind you, very occasionally one will entirely disappear; perhaps that is our equivalent.’

  ‘Then perhaps there are beings above you to whom you owe allegiance – other Demon Lords!’

  ‘Of course there are, Tobias. However, don’t worry your head about them; even to know their names would kill you.’

  ‘But — ’

  ‘Neither could they help you for they could only give the same sort of answers you’ve had from me.’

  ‘Then — ’

  ‘That’s right, Tobias. We’re all of us bounded by unknowing – isn’t that enough to drive you mad?’

  ‘Blast you,’ yelled Tobias. ‘You know nothing!’

  ‘Is that a crime, Tobias? You are angry with me because in common with other living things I do not know every answer to every question. More to the point, you’re angry because I can’t justify your life. So what? Does it really matter? Reconcile yourself to the fact that life is pointless and accept the consequences that follow. Be mad and happy!’

  ‘I’ve been wasting my time – you haven’t the wits to justify anything or anybody.’ Tobias turned and began to walk away.

  ‘Wait Tobias, wait – I have something more to tell you.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  ‘Would you like to know what happens to humans after they die?’

  Lord Burgess’ voice took on a placatory tone. Tobias ignored it and carried on walking, engrossed in his anger and a sense of despair that grew minute by minute.

  ‘I do have knowledge of God, Tobias; we are all his slaves willing or not.’

  Lord Burgess was shouting now. Tobias heard but knew it for lies because unsolicited information was not bound by the vow and he walked on. Now that their conversation was over he suddenly realised that the glow of his pentagram had dimmed almost to extinction. Burgess had been exerting power against him all through their speech and had been trying to stall and delay. God knows he had almost succeeded. Only Tobias’ impatience and disappointment had saved him, or at least given him a few extra moments, and he was under no illusion as to what would happen if the pentagram’s life and efficacy should falter and die under Burgess’ assault. In this sphere every single atom was a creation of the Demon Lord and would react to a stranger’s existence in exactly the way their Lord wished it. Which meant that any such stranger would be snuffed out and left to Burgess’ mercy for eternity.

  Small wonder, then, that Tobias took to his heels and ran with a speed not seen in him since he had sprinted for the walls of Reading as a young man. From behind him he heard Burgess’ voice, now harsh and masculine again: ‘Murder – he is yours!’

  Tobias had seen many horrific things in his life but the nightmarish chase that followed ranked very high among them. His laboured breath drowned out
the sound of the sea, so that all he could hear was the sound of two sets of footsteps – his own and those belonging to a personification of the act he had admired for so long.

  Even as he ran, he wondered why he had bothered. Yet run on he did. Tobias knew enough of demons to know that Murder’s axe would be but the first part of a death lasting for ever.

  So the chase continued; the issue being not so much whether Murder would catch up with Tobias but whether Tobias could reach the safety of his own world before his defences fell to Burgess’ sustained attack. He felt almost certain that his own magic would not function in this sphere and he could not spare the time or energy to test it.

  It had taken perhaps twenty-five minutes to walk to the bonfire. Going back, because of the various incentives, Tobias made much better time. As he came within clear sight of the window, Murder was running almost side by side with him. The gown pentagram was feeble unto death now and flickered ominously. Each time its light faltered, Murder drew closer and Tobias desperately fended him off with his sword. The gory wounds thus inflicted seemed to cause no worry at all. Ever more bloody, Murder kept pace, ready for the kill.

  Tobias was so exhausted that he was beyond rational thought. Otherwise he might have cared to reflect that he was in no small way responsible for his adversary’s obvious strength and stamina. Much of his adult life had been spent in carefully making his pursuer as mighty a force as possible. Now his works were turned against him for his own ruin. In later reflection he would spot and appreciate this clear irony.

  At last, his mind full of fear and his mouth of bile, he reached the window as the pentagram was on its last breath and Murder was lifting his axe. Most unlike a man in his fifties, Tobias threw himself through the portal and returned to his own world in a very undignified posture. Behind him he had left his sword and one of his shoes. Not noticing his extensive bruising, he crawled the two paces to his old, floor-bound pentagram which instantly sprang into life. In man’s world, man’s magic was supreme and that little part of Tobias’ mind still functioning told him he was safe. He lay on his back panting and feeling sick, waiting for more of himself to come back under control.