Wanderers: Ragnarök

by Richard A Bamberg

  Her words faded away into nothing and I lost their meaning.

  We reached Beast. Before I could stop her, Cynthia threw one leg over his back and raised the bike upright.

  “Can you drive a motorcycle?” I asked.

  “No license, but I can get us back to Abigail’s.” She cranked the engine and braced the heavy Harley while I climbed on behind her.

  “You’ll do fine,” I said leaning against her back and slipping my hands around her, closing them together above the tight flesh of her belly. “Beast will take care of you, won’t you Beast?”

  Beast growled a response that was lost in the revving of his engine.

  “How about Julia?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m safe now. God, I don’t know how to thank you, Rafe. My car is in the parking lot; Carl had me drive us out here. You two go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Cynthia drove down the first base line until she found an open ramp near the end of the bleachers that led up to the entrance level. Sirens wailed in the night as we rode through the parking lot and onto the street. We passed several police cars before we reached Whitesburg and turned north toward Abigail’s, but the patrols were in a hurry to get somewhere and didn’t notice our passing.

  Cynthia parked in front of Abigail’s house, killed Beast’s engine, and helped me up the stairs. The front door flew open before we got there and Abigail appeared.

  “Merciful Goddess, what happened?” she asked.

  “Carl Nichols nearly killed him,” Cynthia said as Abigail took my other arm and helped us inside.

  “Carl? Why would he?”

  “He was summoning demons. Rafe fought him and won.”

  “It doesn’t look like he bested anyone.”

  I never get any respect.

  They half-carried, half-drug me to the living room sofa.

  “Carl didn’t do this to him; there were others there. Marian and at least one other.”

  “How can that be? Carl and Marian? Together? Summoning demons? It’s just not possible.”

  “I saw the whole thing. Abigail, Rafe called down lightning. Isn’t that amazing?” Cynthia asked.

  I was nearly unconscious by then, but I heard Abigail say. “He called lightning? How?”

  “He had this pattern on his hand that glowed golden.”

  “A pattern? A tattoo? Of a spell?” Abigail’s voice rose shrilly and a chill swept me even as blackness carried me away.

  CHAPTER 26

  I awoke with the feeling that someone had stuffed me inside a punching bag and let Ali and Foreman use it to get ready for their Thriller in Manila. If there were anything that didn’t hurt, I couldn’t feel it for the overwhelming pain signals coming from the rest of me. My tongue felt thick and swollen and it tasted of blood. The light was bright, bright enough that I didn’t want to open my eyes, so I lay still and took a few steadying breaths. The stink of demon gunk filled my nostrils. I lay on something hard and coarse. A breeze flowed across my face and I swear my skin tried to shrink away from the sensation.

  I opened my eyes a slit. From somewhere to my left sunlight slipped through spaces in the leaves and shone directly onto my face. Overhead, the branches of an enormous live oak spread above me. Its small green leaves nearly blocked my view of the blue sky. It was a tree I’d lain under before and it grew in the back of Abigail’s garden. What was I doing here? Then I fully awoke and remembered. Cynthia had gotten me on Beast and drove us here after the battle. But why was I outside and not in a bed with Cynthia’s amazing healing spell?

  I turned my head to the side. The massive trunk of the tree stood a dozen feet to my right. It seemed to shimmer in my sight like pavement on a hot summer day. I blinked, but the shimmer remained. I rolled my head back; the same shimmer was over me, but beneath the branches. I looked to my left.

  Cynthia stood twenty feet away. She stared at me without speaking. The air between us shimmered. I rolled onto my side and sat up. I was on a concrete picnic table, my feet rested on a matching bench. Sitting up made me dizzy and I needed a few minutes to gather my strength before trying to stand.

  “Cynthia, what’s going on?” I asked.

  Rather than respond, and to my surprise, she turned and walked toward the house and out of my sight. Maybe I should have called after her, but she heard me the first time. That she chose to ignore me meant that what I’d hoped was a dream was probably real. She’d told Abigail she’d seen me use a tat or two in the fight, and worse, Abigail knew what it meant.

  Abigail had encountered a Wanderer before, at her age it must have been my mentor, Walt. She’d lived through the experience so she hadn’t been the target of his quest. Well, to paraphrase Ollie, this is another fine mess I’ve gotten myself into.

  The shimmer around me was obviously a circle of considerable strength. Most circles didn’t distort the visible spectrum. Looking at the ground, I could see the concrete ring around the table. I’d noticed it a few days ago, but since it was inactive, I hadn’t noticed the silver inlay. It had appeared to be nothing more than a dirt-filled groove when I first saw it, but the dirt had been there to hide the silver and it was a wide band indeed. Abigail had spent a great deal of money to make this circle.

  A strong circle can stop just about anything from crossing its boundary. Set it from the inside and the caster is safe from whatever external danger threatens. Set it from the outside and you make a prison better than Alcatraz. Still, even Alcatraz hadn’t been perfect. If I’d been rested, my reserves full, I felt I could break through any earth-magic circle. But I’d need time.

  I heard the screen door on the back porch slam shut and I knew I had neither the time nor the reserves. What else did I know about earth magic? Since they couldn’t store power like the Wanderers, most earth magic spells drew on nature’s energy to fuel their power. Covens could control powerful spells because of their combined strength, but individuals needed a reservoir. I needed to break the link between the power source and the circle.

  Abigail appeared from behind the shrubbery, followed closely by Cynthia. They came toward me while I sat still and watched. Stopping at the same spot Cynthia had occupied on my awakening, they stared at me. Cynthia’s features displayed a mixture of concern and fear. I didn’t believe she was afraid of me so hopefully it was fear for my safety that troubled her. Good, I could play on her sympathy. Abigail’s face, however, displayed a cold hate I hadn’t seen in her before. What had Walt done to her? The few people I’d encountered who knew something about Wanderers had always been more awestruck than angry, more fearful than revengeful. But most of those had only heard the legends of Wanderers; few had ever encountered Walt or one of the others.

  “So, you thought to deceive me,” Abigail said.

  It wasn’t a question and I remained silent.

  “I invited you into my home, the very idea of something as despicable as you in my home makes me ill.”

  Her statement was so virulent so full of disgust that I was forced to respond. “I don’t get it, Abigail. I’ve done nothing to harm you. Why the hate?”

  “It would just be a matter of time. I know what you are...Wanderer.”

  She had the same venom in her tone that Carl had used when he named me Wanderer. “Okay, so I’m a Wanderer, but I’ve never encountered you so you’ve heard something that implies I’m a louse. That doesn’t make it true.”

  “I don’t need someone else’s tales to know you. I have firsthand experience with your kind.”

  “Really? At your age, I’d guess it’d be my mentor.”

  “A horrible person with enormous power, but that power was corrupt, just like all of you, Wanderers. You think you’re above man’s customs and laws,” she spit her words at me.

  “So you met Walt. You’re only the second person I’ve ever encountered who’d met him, but your hate surprises me. Walt was pretty level-headed. He treated everyone we met fairly and was only as deceitful as necessary. So what did he do to piss
you off?”

  “He murdered my Mother.”

  Okay, that was a surprise. I glanced at Cynthia. She showed no reaction to Abigail’s declaration. “I’m sorry to hear that, Abigail, but Walt’s been dead for thirty-five years and I had nothing to do with your Mother’s death.”

  “That changes nothing. You’re still a Wanderer so you’re like him. It’s your nature to lie and deceive, to twist the truth until no one is sure what’s real and what’s false. Everything you’ve done has been filled with evil.”

  “Evil? Are you listening to yourself? I’ve done no evil here.”

  “You’ve lied to me and Cynthia even after I gave you a job and a place to sleep.”

  “Come now, Abigail, a little lie here and there about myself, what person doesn’t? When we met, you didn’t tell me about the grimoire you keep locked away in your store. There’s night magic there, great evil, far greater than anything I’ve ever done. Which of us is the deceiver, Abigail?”

  She grimaced. “You twist the truth just like all of your kind. I protect that grimoire from those who would misuse its powers.”

  “Sure you do, while all I’ve kept from you is who I am and why I’m here. Relatively innocent in comparison to keeping a powerful source of night magic at your fingertips. Wouldn’t you agree, Cynthia?”

  “I…”

  “Leave her out of this,” Abigail shouted. “Don’t listen to him, Cynthia. Everything he’s told you has been a lie. Tell her something true about yourself, Wanderer.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I’ve learned things since that...since your mentor came here. How old are you?” Abigail asked.

  “What difference does that make?” I asked.

  “You said your mentor died thirty-five years ago, how would you know that if you weren’t there? How could your mentor have died thirty-five years ago?”

  I glanced at Cynthia. She appeared uncertain but curious.

  “Tell her,” Abigail demanded.

  “Yes, Rafe, tell me,” Cynthia said.

  “Cynthia, what difference would it make? Would my age change the way you feel about me?”

  “Your age, no, but if you’ve been lying about your age, then what else have you been lying about?”

  “Tell her!” Abigail ordered.

  “All right. I’ll be sixty in November,” I said.

  Abigail blinked, obviously surprised, but Cynthia paled as though she’d just been privy to some great truth. “Sixty…Then you’ve glamoured us to see this boy when—”

  “No glamour. I can’t help how I look. Wanderers age slowly.”

  “Sixty,” she repeated.

  “Hell, Cynthia, it’s just a number. Abigail’s much older than me.”

  “I didn’t sleep with Abigail,” she snapped.

  “That’s what’s bothering you? That you slept with a man my age? I thought you liked older men.”

  “That’s none of your damn business,” Cynthia snapped.

  “Yeah? Well, when you start using bullshit like my age to imprison me I think it is my business. As for you Abigail, I can understand you being upset with my mentor for killing your Mother, but that was long ago and I wasn’t involved.”

  “You’re still a Wanderer,” Abigail said.

  “Yeah, that’s right and your Mother was using night magic.”

  “How dare you?” Cynthia shouted at me.

  “Admit it, Abigail; she was using just like you’re using,” I added.

  “Shut up! Abigail, tell him,” Cynthia said.

  But Abigail wasn’t speaking.

  “She’s not denying it, Cynthia. Maybe there’s hope for her yet,” I said.

  “What? I don’t understand,” Cynthia said.

  “The first step on the road to recovery is to admit you have a problem,” I said.

  “I don’t have a problem,” Abigail said. “Any night magic I’ve used has been to keep the grimoire out of the hands of those who would use its powers.”

  “That’s how it starts. That’s probably how it started with your Mother.”

  “Leave my Mother out of this. She’s dead and gone. She’s paid for whatever sins she may have committed.”

  “Just like my mentor’s dead,” I said. “So why are you imprisoning me?”

  “Because I don’t want to die like my Mother. I saw her die and it wasn’t clean. You Wanderers have set yourselves up as judge, jury, and executioners and I don’t intend to give you the chance to murder me like you murdered Mother.”

  “Abigail, dear, I like you. Really I do. Just give me the book to destroy; help me find the killers you have in your coven and I’ll be on my way.”

  “No, you’re lying.”

  “Carl was and Marian is. I don’t know who the third mage is, but you still have two powerful killers who want that grimoire. Look, it’ll be dark soon, Abigail. They’ll be coming for that book soon. I can’t let you keep me here while they do.”

  “They can’t get past my wards. The book is safe.”

  “Is it? I’ve seen your wards Abigail and while they’d be troublesome, I can breach them and get the book. If I can do it, then those killers can. They’ve made three sacrifices in three nights, that’ll give them more than enough power to breach your wards.”

  “But you saved Julia,” Cynthia said.

  “Yes, but Carl was killed by the shadow demons he summoned. If I’m right, that will suffice as a third sacrifice. It means that the boon they were after, from whatever demon they’d contacted, would now be obligated to fulfill their request.”

  For the first time, she looked unsure of herself, but I was running out of time.

  I pulled on the leather cord that hung around my neck and raised the little whistle to my lips.

  “What’s that?” Cynthia asked.

  “Nothing that can hurt us, dear. The circle will stop all magic from within it,” Abigail said.

  I blew the whistle and a thin, shrill note sounded. I dropped the whistle back in my shirt and listened.

  “What was that supposed to accomplish?” Abigail asked.

  A moment later, I heard the distinctive sound of a Harley revving up. When it became evident the motorcycle was coming toward us, the two women turned to face the path to the house. I could hear Abigail speaking a defensive spell, but Cynthia still hesitated.

  Beast rolled into sight on the path and came straight toward my prison.

  Abigail finished her spell and tendrils of what looked like kudzu erupted from the ground. Growing rapidly thicker and longer, the tendrils swirled around Beast.

  “Abigail, release me before your garden is damaged,” I said.

  “You think your motorcycle is a threat to me, here at the center of my power? I think not.”

  Beast slowed as the vines tightened around it. Its motor roared and its rear tire kicked up a cloud of grass and dirt as Beast tried to break free.

  “Last chance, Abigail.”

  Abigail turned toward me as she finally suspected I wasn’t bluffing. She began another spell and I could see the shimmer around me thickening, solidifying.

  “Beast! I need your help, I release you!” I shouted.

  Beast growled and in mid-growl its voice changed from the deep bass rumble of the Harley to the thick leonine roar of a manticore. Cynthia screamed and leapt back. Abigail was concentrating on her spell and ignored the roar.

  The vines surrounding Beast molded around his new form, but the manticore lashed out with claw and tail, shredding the vines like the simple nuisance they were.

  I realized Abigail’s spell wasn’t darkening the circle, but thickening the air inside it. In seconds, it was too thick to breath.

  Beast extracted himself from the last of the vines and leapt toward Abigail. She shrieked and started another spell, but Beast wrapped his tail around her throat and squeezed off her words. The spikes on the end of his tail flexed back and forth in front of her face like a cobra ready to strike. Beast examined my prison, and
then looked around.

  “Ah,” he growled, “the tree.”

  Beast cast his own spell, not at the circle, but at the great oak that towered above me. For a moment, nothing happened; then the oak’s leaves began to brown and fall. At first, they fell singularly, but within seconds a cloud of dead leaves fell around us. As the tree withered, so did the power in Abigail’s circle.

  The air became breathable again and I gasped, relieving my oxygen-starved lungs. A few minutes passed until the circle was no more powerful than a soap bubble. I popped it and immediately began drawing in energy.

  I stepped over the circle and said, “Thanks, Beast.”

  “My duty, but how did you allow this witch to trap you?”

  “I was unconscious.”

  “Then why didn’t you summon me before? I could have guarded you.”

  I felt somewhat stupid about it, but I said, “I trusted these women not to harm me.”

  “Ah, well what shall I do with this one?” He shook his tail yanking Abigail off her feet.

  “Let her go!” Cynthia screamed. She held her wand level, pointed at Beast.

  In response, Beast moved Abigail into Cynthia’s line of fire. “Do what you will, witch. I will be happy to dispose of you both.”

  “No, Beast you will not harm either of them except in self-defense. Release Abigail.”

  “Are you certain? This one wishes you dead, it would be better to kill her now and be done with it.”

  “I know, but she won’t do anything now that I’m free. She’s misguided, not evil. Let her go.”

  “As you wish.” Beast lowered her until her feet touched the earth and then his tail unwrapped from around her neck. She staggered back, gasping for air. Cynthia rushed to her and supported the old witch. Abigail’s throat was red and puffy where Beast’s tail had squeezed harder than he needed to.

  I was exhausted. The sleep had helped, but I’d suffered too much damage to snap back with just a little sleep. The women watched me with apprehension. I’d seen it before, the use of powerful magic would cause it among the mundane, the appearance of a manticore could cause it, and occasionally the knowledge of what I was could bring it. I didn’t enjoy seeing it in people, especially in people I’d grown to care about. Wanderers leave singularly lonely lives, friendships are short lived, romances even shorter. In forty years of Wandering, I’ve made a half-dozen friends, people I make a point of visiting when possible. The mundane ones have aged, the strong witches less rapidly, but still they age. Occasionally, I see resentment in their eyes. Resentment at feeling their lives growing short, their bodies frail, while I appear to remain unchanged. It’s one of the reasons I only have six friends. The other is this apprehension I cause. Some people never get past it. It’s not as if I actively try to help them through it. What would be the point? I’d be leaving soon and would never see them again.