Welcome To The Age of Magic

by C M Raymond et al.

  Ezekiel took a sip from his glass. Placing it back on the table, he continued, “One night we came upon a young woman. She was starving, half-frozen, and for all we knew, she was more than half-dead. My father, being the idealist he was, wanted to help. It was always his way.

  “But my mother was always more discriminating. Our family was more important to her than anything else on Irth. I was young then, and I can still remember the fight they had. There was heavy conversation, and even a shout or two. But, finally my father’s ideals overcame my mother’s reservations. She relented.

  “We built a shelter right there in the woods, although the position was far from secure. My father built a huge fire, a risk no matter where we were. But the generous man thought that we could revive her. And we did. The fire worked, but it worked too well. It brought this woman back from the brink of death, and it led the Mad directly toward us.”

  Ezekiel’s eyes went red, and he raised a hand in the same manner Zoe had. An image danced in front of the audience. Although stories about the Mad were common, the mystics still gasped either in surprise or sheer appreciation of Ezekiel’s magic.

  The spell produced a moving image of ragged, starving people lumbering through the woods. It was hard to even conceive of them as human, though they shared the form with those watching. Their eyes glowed stunning red in the night’s darkness. The Mad lacked all thought except their desire for human flesh.

  “None of you were alive during those days,” Ezekiel said. “And lucky for you that you never had to see them for real, although the same blood runs through your veins. The same blood that gave our Matriarch her strength, the same blood that gave us magic. But the blood had turned bad, transforming these humans into what the lowlanders call zombies.”

  “My father was busy helping the sick woman. He was tending her wounds and rubbing the heat back into her feet and arms. Because of his deep care for her, he was totally unaware of the Mad advancing upon our shelter.”

  The magician’s story was true, but nevertheless more compelling than fiction, and held every ear in the room. He was admittedly not much of a storyteller, but sometimes narrative trumped skill.

  He gave them all a nod and continued, not wanting the cliffhanger to last too long. “I sat there, only a child. But even then, I marveled at the differences in my parents. My father was driven by compassion, my mother by vigilance. She had agreed to let her husband help a stranger, but she never once let her guard down. And as he fought off the frozen death of a stranger, she, with a walking stick in one hand and a large knife in the other, fought off the Mad.”

  “The creatures were strong, but she was fast, moving at a speed I could not fathom. In the shadows of our camp, I watched as her staff made broad, sweeping arcs, smashing heads and taking out legs. I remember the knife, its blade grabbing the campfire lights, driving through the eye socket of one of the Mad. The twitching of its body will never leave me. Then it fell still. She engaged another in hand-to-hand combat. She fought off its lumbering blows, and parried the monsters’ attacks with her own offense. She was a true warrior.

  “There was a moment when one broke through her defenses and ran toward us: me, my father, and the broken girl. My mother drove the knife into the throat of the Mad she was fighting and dashed for her loved ones. I was frozen. Useless. Just a child. But I knew that my life was about to end.

  “As the 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 down. 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 we love with fire and wrath.”

  Ezekiel ended his speech and he, too, received applause, though it was more tentative than that given to Zoe. His tale was grave, and he hoped it had watered the seeds that Zoe had planted. He wondered if it had any effect at all.

  Exhausted by the alcohol 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.

  As he settled into bed the room spun gently, a result of a bit too much ale and the intoxication of the stories. It was good to be in the Heights, and Ezekiel wished he could remain here forever, 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, grabbed his staff, and bolted into the hall.

  19

  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, but she couldn’t help but wonder how much more blood it would spill before peace returned to Arcadia. Her body was still tingling from her first kill, even if Parker was the one who finished the job. Sitting next to him on the steps of the tower made everything feel a bit more normal, even if her world had been tilted 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, anyway? Sacrificing goats and shit like that?”

  “Glad to see you haven’t gotten any funnier in my absence,” Hannah said. “And there were no animal sacrifices. Mostly it’s a matter of focus. Tapping into the power that was always there, in my blood. In everybody’s blood, actually.”

  “Wait.” Parker looked at his hands and twisted his fingers in elaborate patterns. “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 is that it takes willpower and a sharp mind to control it. So, you probably don’t stand a chance.”

  “Man,” Parker said, “have I missed you.” He jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty charming.” She grinned, still looking out at the forest. “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 was Ezekiel’s first student. The old man even left him in charge of Arcadia when he departed. That’s when everything changed. Adrien limited the magic, telling certain people they couldn’t practice. At first folks thought it was to protect the citizens, but soon it just became the way things were.”

  Parker nodded. “Which is why we all thought that magic was something you were born with, not something anyone could develop.”

  “Exactly. The son of a bitch is controlling magic so he can maintain power and control over 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 physical magic. 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 before breakfast. But I just saved your skinny ass from one.”

  “Point taken. And who saved who’s skinny ass?”

  Hannah smiled and ignored him. “What’s crazy is that all of those different kinds of magic are all from the same power source inside everyone. It is learned in communities and mastered. I guess some people are better at different forms, and then the form shapes them, reinforcing the magic style they master.”

  “So, which one is the Founder teaching you?”

  She paused, and then turned her head. Her eyes were dead serious. “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 again. “Because I’m a badass. Not to mention, 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 Sal. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be able to do that. I have a special connection with Sal. I think it might have been a one-off 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 is on high alert. The Guards and Hunters are everywhere. 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 nobles’ quarter.”

  “Now I know why you’re here!” She pulled the rearick’s knife and turned its point toward her friend. “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 faster than the mistreatment of her people, but 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 came to warn you about the bounty,” Parker continued. “I’ve been saving your ass for years. I figured a few miles of distance between us 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 to. He was kind and funny and not terrible to look at. But while she wasn’t completely inexperienced with men, she’d never thought of him 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 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 Arcadia business 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. 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 pointed it at the man. “Out of my head, freak. 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 up 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.

  Ezekiel heard the blast and took the stairs two at a time, his robes flowing behind him. He slid around the corner and saw the mystic who had greeted him earlier unconscious, or perhaps dead, on the floor.

  Three men were standing over him, one of them holding what Ezekiel could only surmise was one of the magitech weapons he’d heard so much about. A chill ran down his spine as he thought of what other perversions Adrien was creating within the walls of Arcadia.

  The oldest, who was clearly the leader of the gang, looked up at Ezekiel. Recognition washed over the man’s face. The guards had been issued descriptions and even drawings of the powerful old Unlawful running around.

  And that Unlawful was now within his sights.

  The leader’s eyes turned black. He drew a sword, and with a flick of his wrist, it burst into flames. The man was clearly well trained.

  “Hurting the mystic was a mistake, friend,” Ezekiel said. “Perhaps if you lay down your weapon and let me attend to him, you might find mercy in this place.”

  The large guard sneered. “You are the one who will be begging for mercy before we’re through, old man.” The he nodded to his partners and they both stepped forward, weapons drawn.

  Ezekiel sighed. “So be it.”

  The man on the left fired, and a stream 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 beneath the feet of the advancing guard came to life. Ezekiel closed his hand as if holding onto a rope, and a hand formed of tile reached from the floor and grabbed the guard’s leg. Ezekiel pulled his hand down and the marble hand followed suit, pulling the guard into the floor as if he were being pulled underwater.

  “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 are true. I will actually enjoy cutting you to pieces, old man. It’s been a while since I’ve had a fight worth my while.”

  The soldier threw his arm forward, and a large copper urn sailed from a tall narrow table toward the old magician’s head. Ezekiel reached out a palm and pushed the missile aside, but it was only a distraction.

  The guard had sprinted forward, his flaming sword swinging over
head. Ezekiel raised his staff just in time to parry the blow. Light flashed as their weapons met.

  Stellan was surprised that the Unlawful’s staff blocked his sword. He had expected his weapon to split both the stick and the old man in two. Clearly, he was a powerful magic user, and he must have enchanted his staff to increase its strength.

  No matter, thought Stellan, I’ll find my opening.

  Stellan hammered his sword at Ezekiel again and again, attacking from every angle with skill forged through years of training. 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 clear.

  When the old man feinted 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 error 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 outmatched him in hand-to-hand combat, so he tried another tack. Before the Unlawful could move, Stellan dropped his sword and reached both hands outward. He pulled with all his strength, and a window high above the old man shattered, raining 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 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.