Land of Verne

by David H. Burton

“No. Those are the Mirages you hear. They play upon your greatest desires and lure you further into the dark. If they catch us, they’ll feed on our souls and leave our bodies in a dreamless slumber forever.”

  “But,―”

  Four Mirages glided towards them, screaming in hunger and anticipation. Grim ducked as they flew past. He helped Dorian to stand.

  The Mirages knocked them over once more and Dorian spread his wings. His eyes glowed red and he growled in rage.

  One of the creatures dropped into the water with a splash. It had been turned to stone. The others screamed and fled into the fog. Again Grim remembered Veerasin’s prediction. He tried to recall what else the woman had seen. There was something about fire and burning.

  They stumbled through the mist, and eventually it began to thin.

  Grim felt like a fool.

  How could he have believed his parents would have come for him in a place like this?

  Grim and Dorian hit another inn in one of the underground city blocks. It had no name. This one was not as cozy as the last, but it had a warm fire for Grim to warm his feet and they were able to bathe. Dorian sat just beside him, hooded, in the common room. He rubbed his head from time to time.

  There were a number of races in the room, some Grundels, a handful of Druids, and a few Wysps, all of them were sinth. The room was also filled with a lot of grimy, rather untidy-looking humans.

  Grim didn’t like the look of any of them and thought it best they have their food sent to their rooms instead. As they departed, the dusty air tickled Grim’s nose. He sneezed and tripped on a wooden stool. The silver pocket watch clanked on the ground and rolled away from him. Grim bolted after it and a hooded man with shiny black shoes sat up in his chair. He did not try to pick it up, he just bent forward and seemed to sniff the air as Grim got close to him. Grim scooped it off the floor and departed while the man and his two greasy-looking companions watched them leave.

  The following morning the three men were in the common room again, eyeing Grim and Dorian with suspicion. The two took their dried fruit and left with it rather than remain any longer at the inn. Grim felt the men’s eyes watching them as they departed and he sensed trouble brewing, thick and bubbling like Master Galan’s scurvy potion.

  They set out to a crisp morning. The underground tunnels had a deep chill, like winter lurked around the corner. And it wasn’t long before misfortune followed them. All three men from the inn walked behind them. Dorian put his hood back up.

  “Stay close to me. If we bolt, they’ll chase us.”

  Grim gulped down the knot in his throat.

  They continued walking, slipping into alleys and other side tunnels, trying to lose them. It was no use. The three men always seemed to find them again.

  Grim glanced back. The hooded one was holding a black walking stick. He pulled back the hood and Grim gasped.

  Marveleous Thingrom!

  And he knew exactly who Grim was as well. Grim could tell by the wicked gleam in his eyes and the way he rubbed his arm.

  The men ran towards them, sudden and swift.

  “Dorian!” Grim shouted.

  He bolted past the Gargoyle and heard him grunt as he noticed what lay behind them. Dorian caught up quickly.

  “Into this alley!” Dorian bellowed.

  Grim’s heart raced in his chest as the men chased them. He glanced back to see one of them firing off a ball of flame from his blaster. It whizzed towards them.

  Grim screamed out. “Left!”

  The two veered and the fire struck the building to the right.

  They ran hard. The men were closing the distance between them and Grim could hear their grunts and mutterings behind them.

  He looked back, and again one of the men was firing off another shot.

  The two of them swerved and stumbled into a city park with dark trees, overgrown shrubs and a sky of clay and stone. A single lamppost shone in the distance, faintly illuminating a small clearing just ahead of them. Grim nearly leapt with joy. The space was filled with colorful mushrooms. He stopped at the edge and put out his hand to stop Dorian.

  “Why are you stopping?”

  “Look around you,” Grim said.

  The Gargoyle looked about and shook his head.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Good,” he said, “then maybe they won’t either. Follow me.”

  Grim quickly dodged through the patch towards an area filled with blue mushrooms at the far end. He stepped around them, careful not to agitate them. Once he was on other side, Grim pulled out the little woman with the umbrella and Dorian stood beside him.

  “What are you doing? Do you know how to use that thing?”

  “Nope, but they don’t know that,” he said.

  Dorian extended his wings.

  “Can you turn them to stone?” Grim asked.

  Dorian grinned. “Nope, but they don’t know that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Only once in a day’s cycle. I used it on that Mirage. But maybe I can immobilize one of them for a few minutes.”

  Grim nodded, just as the men ran up to the far edge of the clearing.

  Marveleous Thingrom paused and called out. “You will not get away this time, boy. There is no one here to protect you.” He rubbed his arm where Grim had injured him so long ago with the dagger. “My attempt to ambush your parents failed and I have been an outcast since my failure. I must find a way to absolve myself. And I will see to it that you pay dearly for what you did to me. I need only return with your head in a bag to be forgiven. The rest of you I will feed to the Syndrone.”

  Grim gulped down the knot in his throat, but lowered his head in a mock offering. “Then my head awaits!”

  Thingrom growled and the men bolted towards them, rage and hatred in their eyes. Each of them had their weapons bared and Thingrom flicked a switch on his walking stick. It changed into a blaster.

  They ran hard, trampling the red and orange mushrooms. The reds writhed and then exploded as they were trampled. It was enough to disturb the blue ones. As the three men trampled upon them, their blasters raised and aimed, the blue mushrooms sprayed them with a cloud of noxious gas that dropped the men into the muddied ground. Thingrom fell a foot from where Grim stood. Grim pulled back from the edge of the patch, careful not to inhale any of the gas.

  When the air cleared, Dorian patted him on the shoulder and laughed.

  “Astounding!” he said. “I’d forgotten about those mushrooms. I learned that rhyme when I was young.”

  Grim blushed. “Well I just learned it, so it’s pretty new to me.”

  “Nice,” he said.

  Grim looked back to where the men had fallen and noticed the hand of Marveleous Thingrom. His fingers clutched a little figure of a man with an umbrella. And it was pulsing with a tainted, black hue.

  “Dorian —”

  A well-dressed gentleman appeared under the lamppost wearing a tall black coat with matching top hat. One of his eyes was covered with a black patch. He cast no shadow upon the ground and despite the fact that the trees were shifting in the faint breeze, the man’s cape did not budge. The man disappeared, only to reappear three feet in front of them. Grim sucked in his breath. As he exhaled he could see it. The air was winter cold.

  The man eyed them both and removed his hat. His face was pale, and a thin black goatee circled his mouth. His one black eye focused briefly on Dorian.

  “What are doing here, Gargoyle?”

  “That isn’t any of your business,” Dorian said.

  “I am Sinistral, Master of the Darksworn. You will speak with respect.”

  “Jinn,” Dorian whispered to Grim.

  Grim clutched the little figurine. He fiddled with the umbrella.

  Nothing happened.

  The pale-faced man looked at what sat in his hands. “Interesting device.”

  Grim balled up the fear in his throat and swallowed it down. He flicked the umbrella a little faster.

&n
bsp; Sinistral gritted his gleaming white teeth. Black flames danced at the tips of his pale hands and before Grim could even blink, he hurled fire at the two of them. Grim winced and braced for the impact, but Dorian hastily flipped three switches and pushed a button on his rod. It produced a metal shield. The fire hit hard against it.

  Then the shield folded up.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Sinistral’s malicious eye twinkled with glee.

  “I still have sinth but it’s dead,” Dorian muttered. “Step back!”

  The Gargoyle’s wings unfurled, leathery and bat-like and his eyes glowed an angry red. Dorian growled in rage.

  “I don’t think so,” the Jinn hissed. With sudden, swift movements, he picked them both up by the collars and threw them backwards, sending them scooting along the ground.

  Sinistral marched forward and towered over Grim. Grim scrambled for the little figurine hoping it might help, but it was yards away. Sinistral blocked his path, snatching Grim’s hand in his pale one. Black flames licked at Grim’s skin and he screamed.

  “There is no escape for you.”

  Grim closed his eyes, knowing now that Veerasin’s foretelling had come to pass. He waited for the pain, waited for the burning fire, and the end.

  Grim Doyle’s life was now in grave danger, more than it had ever been. He waited for the heat, waited to be burned to a crisp. He braced himself for the agonizing pain.

  A sickening feel churned in his stomach. He winced. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

  Grim opened his eyes and the Jinn’s fire enveloped him, incinerating everything on the ground around him. Black and red flames danced along the ground, and all along his skin. Yet Grim felt nothing. He was still alive and not melting. He rolled over, away from the Jinn, and Sinistral’s single eye widened in shock.

  “Impossible!”

  Before Sinistral could respond a man in a white suit and cloak appeared in the clearing.

  Grim froze briefly, unsure of what to do. They couldn’t possibly stand against two of them. He crawled across the ground as the white-cloaked one advanced.

  He marched with a limp and a shiny wooden cane. He removed his cloak, letting it flutter to the ground. The man didn’t advance on Grim or Dorian. The man went after Sinistral, limping towards him with a determined stride.

  He swiped at Sinistral with his cane and the black-cloaked Jinn shuffled back. Grim scooped up the woman with the umbrella as Dorian ran up beside him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Grim nodded, shaking.

  “How did you survive that? You should be dead.”

  “I don’t know,” he muttered and checked his skin and clothing. All was normal, other than the mud on his garments.

  “Come on,” Dorian said. “Let’s get out of the way.”

  Grim followed him and dashed towards the edge of the trees while the two men fought with each other.

  Thunder echoed from the ceiling as their canes struck. The man in white seemed to hide in Sinistral’s blind spot and attacked from such angles that the man in black had trouble seeing him. Their canes, alight with flame, sailed through the air, slicing at each other.

  Then the white Jinn was knocked off his legs and he struggled to rise. Sinistral lunged forward and pounced on him. He tried to sink his fingers into the other man’s throat, but the white one rolled and swiped at Sinistral once more with his cane, slicing him along his face. It was a swipe that scratched the corner of Sinistral’s one good eye.

  The black-cloaked Jinn stood. He looked at his opponent, bowed his head, and then swiftly departed the clearing and the forest, his cane tapping the stone alley at a hurried pace.

  Then the white-dressed man turned his gaze towards Dorian and Grim. He retrieved his cloak, fastened it and limped towards them.

  The Jinn studied them for a time before speaking. “We have not encountered your kind in some time.” His voice was soft.

  Dorian stepped forward. “I don’t understand. Our kind?”

  “Not your kind,” he said and then looked at Grim. “I am Arabus. Who are you, child, that you have summoned me?”

  Arabus!

  “My name is Grim,” he said. “Grim Doyle.” He offered his hand and the man took it with an amusing smile. “I didn’t summon you.”

  “You are standing in the Mystics Circle and you summoned me with that device. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s my Poppa’s,” he replied and held it behind his back.

  Arabus chuckled. “No need to hide it. I have no use for it. What is your lineage? The Mystics are lost. Only the Darksworn are left.”

  Grim pulled out the pocket watch.

  “Ahh,” he said. “Your bloodline is that of the Mystics of old.” He took it from Grim, studying the back of it. “And this is from your father?”

  “Well he’s not really my father. I wasn’t born from him.”

  The Jinn handed it back. “And why are you here?”

  “I was looking for you. The Scourge is spreading through Madam Malkim’s. We think Jinn’s blood will cure it.”

  “Jinn’s blood will only help reverse certain conditions if you know its cause. Who sent a child on this errand?”

  “No one really sent me, although my Aunt Patrice knows I’m here.”

  “Patrice,” said the Jinn with a nod. He almost seemed to smile. “You are either very brave or very foolish to come out here.”

  “Does that mean you’ll give us what we need?”

  From out of his jacket Arabus pulled three red vials.

  Grim took them. Each one sparkled.

  “One drop should suffice. Should this spread further,” he said, “you have two more.”

  “Thanks,” Grim said. “And thank you for saving us.” He watched where Sinistral had departed and then to the mushroom patch where Marveleous Thingrom had collapsed. The man was no longer there. “I don’t suppose you can escort us back to Madam Malkim’s. Sinistral may come back.”

  “You summoned me for only one purpose — to save your lives.”

  “Can I summon you again?” Grim asked and looked at the figurine. She had a crack running through her.

  Arabus shook his head. “This device will only work once for such a purpose.”

  “But what if I need you again?”

  “Although you are of the line of Mystics, you do not have the power to summon me again. It is a shame the Tower was closed. One of your blood could be well trained there.”

  “Can I find another device like this one?”

  “They are rare. But you won’t need it.” He handed Grim a leather-bound book from within his jacket. “This book will teach you what you need to know. I will come for it soon. I suggest you memorize its contents because I give it only once.”

  Grim grinned. “Cool!”

  “Remember, it is a one-time gift.”

  He nodded.

  “Until we meet again. Good day,” Arabus said and limped in the opposite direction of Sinistral. They watched him go.

  “We should head back,” Grim said.

  Dorian lowered his head and scuffed his feet. “Uh, Grim, I’m not going back.”

  “What? Why not?” he asked. He could use with Dorian’s help.

  “There’s no proof of what happened to Valeria, and I’m meant to face stoning in Gravenhurst. It wasn’t Eevenellin who did it, and if it was Festrel it’ll be difficult to prove. He’s the son of a very powerful Lord and he’s accusing me. No one will believe he did such a thing. I must disappear, for now. Perhaps I can return when things have settled and my name is cleared.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, looking towards where the Jinn had walked away.

  Grim nodded in understanding and had a sudden idea.

  “Take this,” he said, and handed him the pocket watch from his dads. “Go and find my parents. Hand this to them and tell them you helped me. Tell them that Grim Doyle of Earth sent you.
They’ll know what that means.”

  Dorian hesitantly accepted the pocket watch. It shone in the faint lamplight.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  Grim nodded. “I insist. You’ll be safe with them.”

  “Thanks, Grim. You’re all right.”

  “You too,” he replied with a grin.

  The two then walked together, Grim telling Dorian of Earth and its various technologies to which Dorian listened intently.

  After a few hours, Dorian found a sewer that he was convinced would take him out of the city. Grim then eventually found his way to the surface on his own and worked his way back towards Madam Malkim’s. A certain comfort shrouded him as he drew near, like he was coming home.

  Curious.

  All was eerily tranquil, as if the building had been abandoned. He wondered how he would sneak in without being noticed. He couldn’t go in through the side door of the Library since Madam Tyne would see him. Then they’d know he’d been outside and he’d have a lot of explaining to do.

  A few autumn leaves rustled at his feet as he stood there. Then around the corner came Rudy and Aunt Patrice.

  His sister supported their Aunt as she walked.

  “How did you know I was here?” Grim asked.

  His Aunt smiled. “You summoned Rudy.”

  “Huh?”

  Rudy shrugged. “I knew you needed me.”

  Their Aunt nodded to the book in his hand. “Lesson One: Need.”

  Grim flipped open the book.

  Lesson One: Need

  A Mystic’s needs always surpasses a Mystic’s wants. Focus on your needs first, and all manner of things can be summoned.

  He closed the book. He wanted so much to tell her everything, to tell her about Arabus and Sinistral, but there wasn’t time.

  “I have the Jinn blood,” he said.

  “I’m glad you made it back safely,” his Aunt said, and stroked Grim’s face. Her hands were coated in brown splotches, even worse than before. She gripped his shoulder briefly for support.

  “It’s good to be back,” he replied.

  Master Galan marched towards them from across the grounds. He was out of breath when he reached them.

  “I received your message, my Lady, and got here as soon as I could,” he said, puffing. “Hello, Grimwald. Rudolpha.”