The Magician's Home

by R Corona

  “Hurry,” Brox extended his hand to help Dez up. Slowly, we closed the doors once the three of us were inside. Our sighs of relief filled the extent of the truck. “There must be a reason why you didn’t want to use it.” He referred to the key, which now, hung safely around my neck. “Have we brought something horrible upon us?” Not expecting an answer he scoffed at our fate. “The greatest offense is committed by those trying to do the greatest good. Will the correct path ever glow bright, unmasking itself before me? How can we ever know if this is the right thing for us to do?” His questions could not be answered by me, not without lying. Brox and I were on different sides of the right thing and of the greatest good. For him, this journey had become a quest for purpose, maybe redemption. Brox had jumped into the portal by instinct, hoping to restore peace in the Council, because he had known Good. The decision to come with us to Fexorrous must have come from a different place, since nothing good could enter a place which savored evil. We deserved all that was to come.

  When the truck took off, I slid next to a small barred window which barely let in light from the outside. It was a gray town, clouds hovered above the broken roofs, most of which were suspended by rotten, wooden planks. The muddy streets led to a maze of similar, hut-like houses, all crowded next to one another. Further into town, though, housing arrangements looked stronger and more sophisticated, as the streets became cleaner. The truck took a left turn and having lost my grip on the bars, I tumbled to the floor, hitting my head on something softer than the truck’s floor board. The bumpiness of the road intensified, forcing me to sit by what felt like a sack, holding on to it.

  “What is it?” Brox crawled towards me with the intent of finding out what the sack contained. “Let’s open it, maybe there’s food inside. I’m starving.”

  “That’s not the best idea, son.” Dez had also noticed the sack and recognized Brox’s willingness to open it. “You will not want to see what’s inside.” In a fleeting moment Dez’ eyes expressed the dreadful nature of the truck we had chosen.

  Without a care, Brox proceeded to untie the sack. “We have already seen enough of what no one should be prepared to see.” Brox believed he could handle it, because he had been trained as a fearless Council Guard, a protector and representative of good judgment. He was experiencing the hardest assignment ever given to a guard; the self-sacrificing task of infiltrating Fexorrous. Except, this wasn’t an assignment. To the Council and to the rest of Existence, Brox was no longer a guard. They had already condemned him, as much as he tried to live by their laws of strength and pure justice. The latter, he wouldn’t find in this land of mud and blood, as proven by opening the sack. Under its thick fabric lay a small creature. Not even a Council Guard was prepared to take in the look of this corpse, robbed of its youth. Someone, however, had to witness the condition of this boy and how he had come to be no more. Dez undid the coverings of the sack, and the little body remained above it with hands and feet both chained. A wet cloth covered his lips. His shirt had been ripped open by frantic stabbings, leaving his fragile core as if a beast had fed on it. A small dagger stood from the side of his rib, still perforating the body, left as an adornment. Dez removed it and wiped the blood from it. My heart sunk from the indecency of the ones whom had murdered him for not having the nerve to close the boy’s eyes. Because of this cowardly action, the boy’s last moment of fear will forever be carried with me. With care, I closed his eyelids and in doing so, the blank stare of his still, blue eyes, shining like two fireflies in the night, disappeared. To the far end of the truck there were other body bags, stacked on top of each other. We wrapped the boy’s body in the sack and placed it close to the other bodies. I feared that we would suffer the same fate as the corpses in front of me. Dez and Brox sat by the sacks, deflated, taking a moment to understand that we were surrounded by not only corpses, but by those whom had lived like us. “You!” Brox pointed in anger at Dez. “You insisted we should board a truck today! Look where we’ve ended up. Surrounded by the dead!”

  “If we had only listened to you, we would have also been the dead.” Dez snapped back. “What’s wrong with you? Ever since this morning you have acted like a coward, and now, all the sudden, Brox has become the hero, the one searching for anyone to blame but himself—how was I supposed to know where the truck was heading, or what it contained?”

  “See, Dez, the problem is I don’t believe you!” Brox was beginning to meet the real Dez. Like the members of the House, his idea of the Great Dez left him betrayed and disappointed. Dez’ reputation as a great energy Wielder and Carrier preceded him. His abilities had always been rumored to exceed the manipulation of energy. Everyone thought of him as a leader, especially members of the Council, for whom Dez was the Creator. He loved living off the praise and worship of those lesser than him, even if they weren’t deserved. No one was sure of the extent of his abilities, I for once, questioned if he was more than a spell caller. The tension between both men was eased by a soft cry which chilled our bones. “Who’s there?” Brox’s voice gave into his renewed fearsome feelings. “As a Council Guard, I command you to show yourself!” His authority didn’t apply in Fexorrous. Dez and I shoved him to the side, realizing he was only scaring the woman.

  “We are here to help, come to us.” Dez’ voice soothed the air, allowing the woman to crawl forward from the end of the truck. She had also been chained. Dez knelt to her and caressed the bruised skin of her face. One of her eyes had been brutally punched shut and her clothes were stained with blood. “You are bleeding.” He told her.

  “I only wish I was.” Her tears fell onto Dez’ arms. “They took him from me—have you seen what they did to him? Oh, My baby son.” She crawled to the boy’s body and cradled it in her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oh my son.” The woman admired his body realizing her boy was gone, and so, she kissed his forehead softly, wrapped in despair. She continued singing the same song, over and over, until she fell asleep on his chest.

  “Don’t be. Don’t be. Don’t be afraid my little boy.

  No. Don’t be afraid, not anymore.

  My little boy, my little boy.

  You were the one I adored.”

  Brox had been exploring the back of the truck and now had moved closer to us. “Dez?”

  About to dismiss his words, Dez waved his hand, not to be bothered as he studied the woman, trying to understand why she was aboard the truck.

  “You’ll want to see this.” Not giving up, Brox pointed to the dark end of the truck where the woman had crawled from. They stared in a blank shock, terrified. Sitting all together the group had seen and heard us since we hopped on the truck. There were two younger men and an older gentleman with a white beard. Behind them, there were three other women. All of them were cuffed by their feet and hands, like the woman who had lost her son.

  “Why have you been taken prisoners?” Dez demanded from the group, enraged by their capture, believing all had been wronged by the Fexorrian army. He anxiously awaited the confirmation, anticipating a state of wrath necessary for what he had set our minds to do. As if there needed to be reason for anger after having seen the boy’s damaged corpse. The answer was held behind their glistening fear, behind their eyes and the silence of their voice.

  From the darkness, a man crawled towards us, dragging his beard across the truck’s floorboard. “They won’t answer you.” He rose to his feet with Dez’ help and whispered. “He took their voices.” The man squinted and pointed his finger at Dez. “You?” A foul-smelling, fine powder clouded the coldness of the truck’s air, as he shook his head in disbelief. After a few chuckles, the bearded man took a step close to Dez. “You haven’t aged a day, my friend.”

  “Do you know each other?” Brox interrupted.

  “No!” Dez yelled in anger before the bearded man had a chance to reply. “This man is a stranger.”

  “A stranger?” The man asked, “Do you not recognize me? It’s me, brother, Kilkes.”

  Dez grabbed his n
eck tightly and pushed it against the truck walls. “You are a disgrace.” Dez hissed under his breath, “I pity your existence.” Confused, the other men and women watched from the far end. Brox took to opportunity to step between them, noticing the tension.

  “I’ve come to save you, brother.” Kilkes added, as a sardonic smile emphasized the meaning of his words. “Is this how you repay me?"

  Dez grunted, throwing Brox aside. He jumped at Kilkes’ throat and clearly demanded to know, “When have I ever been in need of your help?”

  Kilkes’ defeated glance fell from Dez’ face. “Mother was right.” He looked up again, knowing his words would have an effect on Dez. “You’ve always been ungrateful. The efforts of everyone else will never measure up to yours.”

  Dez turned away before squeezing Kilkes’ throat tighter. “You don’t deserve to speak of her!” Dez’ mother was dear to him and he was never able to recover from the tragedy of her death, for which he blamed his brother. In their youth they had been rivals, even forming two different Energy Manipulation Academies. Both brothers had equal capabilities but Kilkes knew Dez was destined for greatness. His destiny was to remain in the shadows of a soon to be Creator. Kilkes decided to run as Major of the Land, politics weren’t of interest to Dez, and so both brothers could coexist. Dez continued training others in the art of Energy Callings. When Fexorrous fell into the Separation Age, after the poisoning of the previous Lord, Dez created weapons and taught soldiers ways of transforming energy to their advantage. Fexorrian opponents were unprepared for the new technology, and so Fexorrous won many battles due to Dez and his followers. The success of his inventions made Dez known across the land. Once having gained its independence from Existence, Fexorrous needed a ruler who was wise and powerful. Although Kilkes had been ruling as Major of the City, they needed someone who could turn the city into an empire. Dez was offered the title of Lord of the Land and he accepted it gladly. “How did you escape my calling?”

  “Oh Brother, only you have the power to unbind me from it.” For a few weeks, it seemed that Kilkes had been freed from a binding calling which forced him to serve in the woods as a protector, never to set foot on Fexorrous. “I knew you had returned then, and it gave me joy to think that you remembered me. When the star-rays set, I received your cry for help in a dream and sent my maggots as requested.” He scratched his beard and asked, “Why are you not content with them? —The light brightens her up. I can see them; all of them flicker like constellations.”

  Dez insisted he hadn’t contacted his brother since leaving Fexorrous. Brox and I began to feel the aftermath of current events. Dez’ voice became an annoyance but it was important for him that we believed his vow of innocence. “He lies, June. This is what this man excels at. I would never ask him for help.” He begged for my attention but my eyes wandered to another place, consumed by sleep. “Brox,” Dez called. “I would never ask for the maggots,” He pled, “you must believe me. I cannot do what he says. I cannot command my being to appear in the minds of others, though I have tried. He lies, a person’s dream is a doing of the mind. I cannot control dreams, though I have tried.” Exhaustion won over him and his body slid down close to us.

  Silence reigned and in the midst of uncertainty and fear, someone would visit peacefully. The humming of a familiar tune evoked tranquility around my body. The bumps from the road became softer and the hum transformed into a tune. The spirit left my body to find the source of the haunting melody. It climbed trees and looked around the morning flowers, but he was too quick. His taunting laughter echoed loudly in my mind. A ray of light descended on him and he smiled when I reached out in curiosity.

  The wind rushed around me like a cyclone. Although, I couldn’t see him anymore, his presence felt too strong to ignore. It let me know that I was being watched, that I had always been and would be, forever watched.

  ***

  Brox tapped my shoulder as the first light of morning entered through the barred window on the wall of the truck. One of the women squealed, when the driver came to a halt, believing we had reached our destination.

  We had stopped in the middle of another square, this one was larger due to its proximity to the Royal House. There was a wounded man, chained by his feet to a wooden platform. A Fexorrian guard removed a dagger from his belt and slid the blade down the man’s skin, near the hip. As the cut bled, the gash grew in size.

  Several bangs along the side of the truck knocked me off balance. The bearded man, jumped to the body bags and removed the bindings from one of the bodies.

  He threw the shackles across, “Put these on. They’re taking us out.”

  Brox and Dez did the same and we braced to feel the full star shine over our bodies. When the doors were opened, the air brushed through and I longed to run free. After studying the driver and his accompanying guard, I knew they would never catch me, I was faster. But the square was surrounded by Fexorrian guards. We all didn’t have the same chance and I couldn’t jeopardize our mission. Like those, there were other excuses why I didn’t run, but after all, I deserved to be a prisoner, though I yet didn’t understand why.

  The driver mumbled words in New World tongue to the guard after wrestling with the lock to get the door opened. Having a slightly robust and short frame, the guard jumped on the truck with the help of a step and the arm of the driver. Brox chuckled, as the guard managed to put himself together. The man carried a spear similar to Brox’s, along with two daggers hanging from his belt and a baton dangling from a chain. He kicked the body bags over as he tied each of us to a longer chain to keep us connected in a single line. The man looked at us with disgust; we didn’t deserve to be seen or touched by him, or by any Fexorrian guard for that matter. A Fexorrian guard possessed a higher grace, one closer to Lord Creat. Tainting his spirit with the mere picture of our semblances was forbidden. Empathy towards a simple energy form, as he perceived ours to be, was the ultimate sin; a sign of a potential traitor. With a pull on the chain, one by one, we jumped off the truck. As the man exited the truck, he took one last look at the door’s lock, baffled by it. He turned to the driver with the same disgust, then laughed. In his eyes we must have been dumb for accepting a prisoner’s fate; for not being bold enough to unbolt a broken lock. “While our driver prepares the truck for the journey ahead, how about we enjoy the Feeding of the Ragoudi?” He laughed loudly when no one answered. “Not many have the chance to see what awaits them.”

  The crowd parted to let the guard through. He walked us to the front of the square, closer the platform where the prisoner had been wounded. Behind it, a group of Elite peacefully watched. All wore gray cloaks which concealed their faces, except for one of them: her cloak was golden. Her face, too, could not be seen, but there was something more which identified her regal status. A black stone attached by a leather cord clung from her neck. At times the crowd glanced towards her but never directly at her. The hypnotism of her stance gave way when she pressed the stone into her fist and then the people knew.

  The sound of a rustic blow horn radiated through the city, releasing a group of dark-winged beasts from the towering Royal House. After hovering around the prisoner’s head, they descended onto the platform. The crowd was advised to step back, but not us, we were close enough to feel the heat escape through the wooden boards and to smell the life of the prisoner pour out from the open wound.

  The birds paraded in circles, puffing their deep, red-feathered chests until their pupils became solid white. Their large wings flapped anxiously, waiting for the signal. While the guards watched respectfully as the birds began their feeding ritual, I focused on the prisoner. Dez advised me not to watch, but I wanted to know his fears and feel his pain, for I wanted there to be no doubt in my mind that Lord Seb Creat of Fexorrous and his followers were an evil race; one to be abolished.

  The man, ailing in murmurs, took a single look behind the platform. Seeing that the woman still held on to the stone, the man breathed as if the air had condensed to water.
The horn was blown again and the woman’s grip tightened. Receiving the signal, one of the birds hoped on the man’s back and inserted its claw onto his skin. With the help of its beak, it ripped a hole into the upper part of his shoulder. The other birds followed, but fed from the first wound. As all shrilled with the taste of the man’s blood, the euphoria of a kill sent screeching sounds into the air.

  “What’s that you whispered?” The guard leader asked before striking the front of his boot onto the prisoner’s face. Due to the harsh blow, blood rapidly accumulated in the man’s mouth and stained his teeth. Ignoring the guard’s offense, he tried to speak, peacefully. Blood and saliva ran down his chin when he opened his mouth. Laughter arose once again from the rest of the guards on the platform and some devoted members of the crowds. “Weak man! Make a greater effort, will you? The Ragoudi venom will dry your blood before the crowd has a chance to enjoy the death of a dirty traitor like yourself. These are the last words to remember you by. Nothing to say?”

  “What has Fexorrous become?” Dez murmured, exhaling in desperation. “Take me back to the truck!” He demanded to our designated guard, whom stood a few feet away from us in the crowd. Brox pulled Dez back before the guard could take his eyes off the spectacle.

  “Dez, don’t ruin this now.” Brox whispered, keeping his eyes on our guard. “I don’t want to watch either but we can’t destroy our cover or the mission. We owe it to this man, to those who were and those who will be oppressed.”

  “No one can endure the venom of the Ragoudi. He is weak, too weak to speak” Dez’ body became distraught in trying to understand the nature of the guards, “Why do they taunt him, what do they seek?”

  When the Fexorrian guard had finished his mockery, the prisoner was addressed directly. “For the Court of the Elite has dictated that you are guilty of treason and, as such, you shall die, nameless, to be forgotten, all in efforts to rid the City of the sins committed against the Royal House.” He turned to the crowd thereafter, “Let the lack of this man’s words signify his repentance and let his silence convert to a vow of servitude in honor of the Royal House of Lord Seb Creat.”