by M K Drake
Herensugue slithers in, this once seven-headed serpent demon, still tending to its one headless neck, the head of which was taken by Joyce before the Battle of Aria. The serpent demon stays loyal to his master, but even Herensugue is weary of Razakel’s current state of mind. The defeat at Aria for a second time was not expected. The power of the chosen vastly underestimated, as was the resolve of the other Majjai in the realm of Earth. “Masssster. How goesss it with the pillar?”
“Bring me more!” roars Razakel.
“More Ssssscreamersss sire? It isss proving difficult. You have already consumed almost the entire adult population of these immediate lands.”
“Then bring me the pods, the young ones!”
Herensugue is slightly disturbed, but knows any disobedience will result in his own painful death. He signals to the guards at the front of the chamber, they head out of the room to do their master’s bidding.
“Those Majjai. They have meddled with my plans for the last time,” Razakel growls. “I will not underestimate them again. The realm of Earth is the key. With it, all others will fall to me.” Razakel stomps angrily around the pillar. He holds his hand above it as he sees the blood he poured begin to bubble out of the surface. “See, Herensugue, it is working! Ha! The foolish Majjai will meet their end!”
Herensugue watches in anticipation. The cracks in the pillar begin to glow as the rock plinth beneath it starts to spin. He can see his master’s eager, anticipatory face, smiling with hopeful glee.
The pillar spins in the opposite direction of the plinth, faster and faster. It begins to spin so fast that the entire chamber begins to shake. The floor starts to crack, small openings at first, and then larger ones, breaking through with thunderous bellows crashing through the air. Razakel and Herensugue stumble as they try to retain their balance.
“Masssssterrr! Thissss isss not right! Please, sssstop the pillar before it destroysss ussss all!” Herensugue pleads, his voice slithering to a higher pitch as he screams.
“It must work! It will work!” Razakel stands defiant. Unwilling to accepting defeat, but even he soon realises the inevitability of the circumstance he now finds himself in when the torch lights suddenly expunge, shrouding the room into darkness, only to be re-lit as the pillar explodes, shattering violently into a million pieces of stone and dust. The force of the blast knocks Razakel and Herensugue to the floor. Some of the smaller demons are not so lucky and are vaporised with the blast, expiring in little puffs of black smoke.
The blast soon reverses, and the entire release of energy whips itself back into its centre, imploding into an angry, lightning-encased flash of light. The display ends with a loud whoosh of air being sucked into the imploding space where the pillar once stood.
Then nothing.
Only silence as the dust settles, the crackles of the last few torches trying to illuminate the room are all that attempts to disturb the quiet.
Razakel stands, and with a loud clap of his hands he blasts out a jet of air, clearing the dust and smoke, the force almost taking the huge and heavy entrance doors with it.
In the place where the pillar once stood. Now there is nothing but debris and the stone plinth. The pillar is gone – and with it, all hope of opening a portal from the demon realm to the Earth realm.
“Nooo!!” roars Razakel, holding his fists high into the air. “Herensugue!”
“Yessss, masssster?” Herensugue squelches upward.
“It is time! Summon the Horseman. He will do my bidding!” Razakel snarls into the air, pacing violently around the room. Each step impacts with such force that the stone itself cracks and burrows down leaving a trail of craters. The chamber shakes with each collision, dislodging even more dust from the ceiling and vibrating the flesh on the walls.
Herensugue shakes off the dust from the initial explosion, “You mean the banished one? The World Ender?”
“Of course! There is only one Horseman. He can still traverse to our borders here and the Earth Realm; it is the realm of his brothers he cannot enter or speak to.”
Herensugue slithers to the main doorway, he has heard of this Horseman, but they have never had the need to use him before. Herensugue looks at what remains of the corpses in the room and the charred shadows of the other dead; he knows this madness will either end at his master’s bidding, or through the madness of revenge. His master’s thirst for control, for conquest, he knows it will not be quenched, even with the deaths of all within his realm. But still, Herensugue wonders if it is worth the risk of joining forces with a World Ender.
“Massster,” he says gingerly, stopping just beyond the doorway. He turns slowly, evidencing his piousness to his King, “The World Ender, this Horsssssseman. He cannot be trusted. Hisss motivation iss unclear, even to hisss brothers. He isss not Demon, or Human, or Majjai. What if he deccidesss to betray usssss?”
Razakel looks towards Herensugue, “He dare not. I will destroy him myself for any betrayal and serve him up to his brothers in pieces. I already have a plan.”
“What will be his misssssion Massster?”
Razakel smirks, “The scrolls of convergence. That idiot Pharaoh should have found a way to dispose of them. He now gives me another doorway! Ha!”
Herensugue nods his heads, and for the first time in what seems like decades, he hears true purpose in his Master’s voice. The Scrolls, he ponders to himself, this could actually work. He slithers away, contently, as the voice of his Master turns from mutterings to maniacal laughter.
A Majjai History, Vol 2 Chapter 3: The Eternals:
There are many different types of beings in our universe and the realms living just outside of it. Some you may have read about in other works, such as The Torah, The Bible or the Qu’ran. The religions of the book speak greatly of angels and other powerful beings. But only a subset of those are regarded as what we call Eternals.
The term was coined during the times of Kazmagus, to describe those beings who are able to live throughout eternity, beyond the life of the universe, this one and the next.
Some, not all, angels’ are regarded as Eternal, but only the most worthy.
It is rare to find any Majjai that has earned the right of the title, and rarer still any mortals.
Eternals are gifted with many abilities, but most important of which is their capacity to unravel the very delicate nuances of Time Infinite. The vast knowledge required to interpret such a quantum state is such that only the most erudite of Eternals can decipher their learning’s. To most, what they read is a blurred tapestry of events that gives a vague insight of what is to be.
The Horsemen of the Apocalypse are among those we call Eternal.
Chapter 4
The Story of the Scrolls
Atticus sits in his bedroom and taps his fingers on his desk. He has his notepad open, but he is unable to focus on this evening’s homework. Still haunted by the screams of all the death he has experienced, at the Burrows’, during last year’s battle, so many lives lost. He turns to look for some excuse to persuade him away from his chair. The bed is inviting, but messy. His school uniform is in a scruffy heap, his cloak half hanging off the side of the mattress and his shirt with its arms inside out propped on top. Tidying it away is not a worthwhile enough task to drag him away from his homework, but concentration is pointless anyway at this moment in time.
Joseph is downstairs, tinkering on something. Atticus is sure he has spied someone visiting the house on occasion; a woman. He has seen her as he arrives back from school some days. He knows that Joseph is far from ready to even contemplate a new relationship, but decides not to query. He knows his father will speak to him when the time is right; at least, he hopes he does.
Finally giving up, Atticus moves away from the desk, sweeps his uniform onto the floor and flicks on the TV mounted to the wall opposite the bed.
As the TV crackles into life, it drowns out the chirping of the birds outside who are trying to settle for the night. The news comes on first.
/> “Next, we bring you extraordinary reports of the animal attack at Dugary Blythe Lane yesterday evening,” says an excitable female reporter, she has such a nasally annoying voice that Atticus, for a moment, wishes he stuck with his homework. He stays with the report, as he recognises the street name. It’s where the Burrows’ lived. Eager to hear any snippets of what the public are being told, he waits, attentively.
“Here we have Mr Bollins, who lives just over the road.” The reporter sticks an oversized microphone over Mr Bollins’s mouth.
“Aye, I live just over there, like.”
“And what did you see?”
“A werewolf love, it looked like a wolf with big hands and it was, like, walking like, you know, like a man. But it was a wolf see, a werewolf.”
Before the reporter could quiz Mr Bollins, some shrieking is heard in the background.
“Oh my God, Sarge! Over here!”
The camera is waving around all over the place, Atticus can hear the running footsteps of the camera man, and the reporter also nattering through the microphone, in between catching her breath as she runs. “We, have found.. something… over there. The Police, they have found something at the far house.”
Atticus already suspects it is the bodies of the Burrows family.
“Keep that news crew away!” screams someone else off camera.
“On my way Sarge!”
The reporter still tries to break through, “We have a right to report,” ***crackle*** “You can’t hide the truth!” she yells at the top of her voice.
“Listen love, you do not want to see what is in there, not if you want to sleep soundly again.”
In the background Atticus can hear the first officer who screamed out, “The smell Sir, I noticed the smell first, and then saw this side door had been smashed open from the inside, but look over…”
The news feed is quickly cut, and the anchor appears on the screen. “Apologies, we appear to have lost the feed. We will bring you more on these developments soon.” The anchor puts his left hand to his ear, trying to listen to something through his earphone. “Yes, we are getting reports of several bodies found inside a house. One of the neighbours. Good lord. I can’t say that… not on live television, kids could still be listening at this time. Ok, ok.”
The anchor looks visibly shaken, he takes a sip of water from a glass in front of him before continuing, “The bodies, we are being told, are in pieces. It appears that the same animal from the attack is responsible…” Fzzzzzzzt.
The transmission ends abruptly as the screen switches to black for a short moment before humming back to life with a different anchor now presenting. He does not say much, “This local news report is being verified. Please bear with us while we return to our normal program.” The replacement anchor then disappears and adverts appear.
The phone in Atticus’s room rings, startling him, taking his concentration away from the television. Atticus scrambles over his bed, and grabs the handset.
“So, you are home?” says Khan on the other end, “Why do you not open the door?”
Atticus goes to his window to check, on the path to his door he spots Khan waving frantically; with him are Joyce, Safaya, and Olof. Still with the phone to his ear, he goes to grab his keys. “Didn’t hear you guys, the TV, the news… they found the bodies.” Atticus wonders why Joseph did not answer.
“Well, hurry, we need to get to the manor. Elric has looked at the thought crystal from this General. The things with the Burrows – that was inevitable, given the circumstances.”
Atticus returns the handset to the cradle and throws on his jacket. Running downstairs, he spots Joseph in the kitchen, “Dad?”
Joseph appears not to hear him, he is busy reading something, muttering under his breath.
“Dad!” Atticus calls out louder.
Joseph finally snaps into focus, “Ah, Atticus, sorry, I was just caught up in this,” he says, pointing to an open book on the kitchen worktop.
Atticus recognises it as one of his Majjai history books. “Are you ok Dad? We have not spoken much recently, I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine son, just miss her you know. She didn’t deserve what happened to her,” his voice trembles, rising in tension. “That monster! He took her from us Atticus, we need to kill it.”
“No, I need to kill it. You, you need to keep safe.”
“I need to keep you safe son, no matter what.”
Atticus puts his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “You do that, every day. Now it’s my turn. But I have to go to the manor. Elric needs us. Talk when I get back?”
Joseph nods and returns to the book.
Atticus thinks to ask about the mysterious woman, but relents, it can wait until he gets back. Hopefully Joseph will still be awake.
Outside the others stand grouped together at the end of the garden path. Daylight is starting to fade, but the air is still warm with the scent of spring.
Atticus notices Joyce first, his love for her is still strong, and he finds it hard to talk to her now, as he stubbornly continues to keep his feelings under control. She radiates her beauty without knowing it, and Atticus can sense the difficulty she also has in dealing with this situation. Her hair catches a gust of wind, it flicks over her shoulder before settling again, she looks towards Atticus for a moment, and even that simple, quick glance sends his heart racing. He quickens his pace to compensate and to fight away any fluster. It must be this way, Atticus fears for her safety; all that matters now is the mission, to keep humanity safe.
Khan calls out, “Come Atticus, we must hurry.” He waits for Atticus to walk down the path and opens the gate.
Atticus and Joyce walk through first. As he steps through, he spots Safaya hold Khan back. Turning around he sees her whisper something to Khan. He knows their plan all too well. He doesn’t bother to fight it, and he and Joyce walk on together. The footsteps of the others can be heard following soon after, just out of earshot.
“How are you Atticus?” Joyce asks, breaking the awkward silence between them.
“Fine, trying to keep busy, you know?”
Joyce nods, “And how is your dad? I haven’t seen him in quite a while, ever since…”
“He’s not so good,” Atticus decides to interrupt Joyce’s prose for fear it will just remind him of more loss, “He is delving deeper into Majjai history, looking at really old dark materials. Uncle Marcellus is trying to help him, but Dad… Dad wants a different kind of help, I fear.”
“What do you mean?”
Atticus looks directly at Joyce for the first time in what seems like ages, her eyes are always mesmerising, and quite often distracting, but he tries to carry on his explanation regardless, and pulls his gaze away, “Dark things, ways to use magic. I think he wants to hunt Razakel himself.”
“Or maybe he is trying to find a way to protect you? Keep his promise to Sophia?”
Atticus didn’t think of things like that before, the clarity of thought that Joyce brings is something he has definitely missed. What if she is right? Maybe the best way to deal with Joseph is to show that he doesn’t need protecting.
“What about the business?”
“He has hired someone else to deal with that day-to-day. He still manages things, but most of the work is done at the warehouse now. I think he finds it hard to have things around the house that remind him of mum.”
Joyce places a hand on Atticus’s shoulder. He appreciates the comfort, and tries to hide the fact that she can still send a tingle down his spine.
The two are disturbed by a harmonic buzzing noise coming from Olof’s heavy coat. He flicks away his beard and removes a communication crystal.
Mage Callan’s voice begins to resonate through it, “I’ve sent Spitfire to pick you all up, it’s getting late, and we need you here sooner; there is much to talk about.”
No sooner has Mage Callan finished speaking than the tell-tale roar of Spitfire’s engine can be heard rumbling over the crest of tarmac a
head of them, followed quickly by Spitfire himself. Ever the expressive entity, he has morphed into his favourite vehicle form, a long, sleek, black sports car. With the road clear he spins and comes to a halt right at the side of the pavement where our heroes wait.
“Hello my friends,” Spitfire says as he opens his doors, “I trust you are all well?”
Joyce gets in first in the passenger side, Khan, Atticus and Safaya sit in the rear, while Olof, as he is the oldest-looking, especially with his proud Nordic style beard, sits in the driver’s seat. Spitfire blips the throttle as the doors close and can’t resist making a little bit of noise as he whisks the Majjai back to the manor.
# # #
The young Majjai are soon inside Wysardian Manor, thanks to their chariot’s haste. The echo of their footsteps on the shiny marble floor is always much more apparent at this time of evening; with no hustle and bustle of other students to absorb the sound, the noise is free to bounce around the entire entrance hall and beyond. It also aids as an early warning notification for people coming the other way, Mage Callan proving that quite well with his approach to meet them.
“Come, let us get to the main hall.”
They follow Mage Callan as he opens the giant doors, encrusted with intricate designs of dragons and Majjai rings. Atticus clutches his birthmark, reminding himself of how all of this started, and how he was found all those years ago. The birthmark, a circle entwined with a vine-like pattern, has been both a burden and a comfort to him.
The main hall is still adorned with its seating from the day’s lessons, row upon row of plush wooden chairs and some benches.
Elric appears on the front stage, walking ever more slowly; his own energetic exuberance looks to be fading faster each day since the destruction of the Orb of Time. Atticus and Joyce have both tried to come up with a way to use their powers of healing to restore some of his youth, but alas, to no avail. Myrddin gifted Elric the power of long life, but the gift was forever tied to the Orb, and when it died, then the power it gave died as well.
