by M K Drake
Upon reaching the door, Marcellus hesitates just for a moment, and gathers himself before ringing the bell. It takes a moment for Joseph to open it.
“Marcellus, my friend, quickly,” Joseph says, ushering him inside. “Atticus is in the front room, he seems to be out of whatever it was that affected him now, and looks ok. I’ve just given him a glass of water.”
Marcellus enters and proceeds to remove his coat. “He needs to rest, and we need to figure out how this happened.”
Joseph takes Marcellus’s coat and hangs it on the wooden coat-stand next to the staircase before leading his guest into the lounge.
Atticus is taking the last sip of water, then places the empty glass on a coffee table sitting about a foot away from the sofa. He starts to sit back but is interrupted by Marcellus.
“You should head upstairs now, Atticus, and get some rest. Before you go, do you remember anything of what happened?”
Atticus, still a little drowsy from the whole experience, looks up towards Marcellus, who is standing just beyond the bay window at the front of the room. He takes a moment, soaking in the warmth of the fire as it crackles away. “It was like I could see everything,” he says finally, “but could do nothing. I was screaming at him to go away, but he didn’t listen. It felt like he was probing my mind for answers, for information. I could hear some of his thoughts; he used my mind to learn our language. But he also left something – I don’t know what it is.”
“Something?” quizzes Marcellus.
“Yes, a question, but, it’s like it is locked behind a door and I do not have the key.”
Marcellus acknowledges only with a brief glance in Atticus’s direction before pacing around the room, observing the books laid out on the coffee table alongside the now empty glass. “Well, we need to talk to Elric about this, but it can wait till the morning. Get some sleep, I have to talk with your father.”
Atticus looks towards Joseph who nods his agreement and indicates to him to go upstairs.
Marcellus waits for Atticus to leave the room and listens patiently for his footsteps to disappear up the staircase. He stays motionless, looking the pile of books that Joseph has been reading. “Where did you get these?” he asks, looking sternly up at Joseph.
Joseph moves quickly towards the coffee table to clear it, frantically closing the ones that are open, hoping Marcellus has not had a chance to check some of the titles. “You do not need to know. I want to learn as much as I can. Wouldn’t you? To protect the ones you love?”
“Do not talk to me about sacrifice in the name of love, I know far too much about that, dear friend. What you are doing is hunting. You’re looking for revenge.”
“You’re wrong! Do you know what it is like? To have the most beautiful part of you taken away? To be ripped out of your soul?” Joseph pounds his clenched fist onto his chest above his heart. “Sophia did not deserve to die, she deserved to live. She deserved to dance. I remember her dancing, Marcellus, the smell of her hair as I held her. It doesn’t go away. But no, I do this not out of a need for revenge, but to learn enough to look after what we shared and loved the most together, Atticus!”
Marcellus shakes his head. “Not with these books. These are demonic, they will lead you onto a very, very dark path. There are things in these books that could curse your soul for eternity. Besides, what could old maps and books on witchcraft tell you about protecting Atticus?” Marcellus points to the items which are now in Joseph’s hands, “Do not be foolish, and do not think me a fool. You are looking for something, what is it? And why will you not tell me who gave these to you?”
Joseph sighs, “You Majjai, not all of you have inherent powers. Professor Morgan, and to a lesser extent, Professor Sprocking; they use trinkets, amulets, and rings for their abilities.”
“Yes, but they have been training with those tools for decades, since they were children. It’s not as simple as wearing a sweater, Joseph. These items, they need to be a match for your own abilities; you need to be compatible or they have the power to consume you whole.”
“If Benjamin Morgan can cope, then so can I.”
“Enough! If you really want to help Atticus, give him what he needs the most. Normality. He does not need another fighter around him. He needs a father.”
Joseph smiles, as he knows now that his argument is won, “You have never had a son or a daughter, have you?”
Marcellus wonders where this line of questioning is going, so graciously responds to this rhetoric. “You know already the answer to that question.”
“Then you do not know the duty a father has to his children. He is their protector. The one who makes them feel safe. How can a father sit back and do nothing? A father needs to be everything, not just a comfort blanket. I already failed at being a husband by not being able to save my wife. Do not deny me the ability to be able to save my son.”
Marcellus pauses, pondering the best way to tackle this. He can see in Joseph’s eyes that his resolve is unrelenting. If he doesn’t help Joseph, then his friend will find someone else – someone who may not be so friendly. He sighs once more, giving himself a moment to reassure himself that what he is about to offer is the right thing to do. Then he holds out his hand for the books and maps that Joseph is holding. “Ok, I understand. I still think you are wrong to do this, but if you are not going to listen to me, please allow me to help you in the right way.”
Joseph nods, and hands over the old books and maps to Marcellus. “Very well, but do not hold back from me, Marcellus. Atticus is all I have left.”
“Never my friend, never.”
Joseph embraces Marcellus in a tight bear hug, thanking him.
Marcellus gasps for air, “Ok, ok, you can let go now, or I’m going to be the one needing protection!”
Joseph laughs, and waits for Marcellus to turn around. As his friend goes to set the books and maps in the foyer, near the door, Joseph quietly slides a book that Marcellus did not see lying on the floor , hiding it under the sofa and out of sight.
Marcellus returns to the lounge, dusting his hands, and looks up at his friend with a smile, “Well, now we have that all sorted, how about some tea?”
A Majjai History, Vol 2 Chapter 14: Majjai classifications:
The general term for anyone possessing the abilities of a Majjai, whether through a trinket or inherence, is simply Majjai. From there we are able to accord several titles dependant on ability and status.
The first major classification is that of Mage.
The title of Mage is often given to a group or clan leader, for example, the Bhandari Clan’s leader is Mage Avipaul, and that of the Mecha Knights is Mage Marcus.
The other way a Majjai is able to achieve the title of Mage is through ability. Mage Callan of Wysardian Manor is a perfect example. His skills and abilities are almost enough to match those of the Chosen Ones (who we will come on to shortly). Mage Avipaul is another, he earned the title of Mage before he gained the right of clan leader.
The next level of classification is Master Mage, often shortened to Master. There are very few Master Mages in existence. Myrddin is probably the most well-known example; in fact, he is the only member of a Majjai Six to not bear the mark, but his classification as Master Mage was more than enough for him to be part of that group.
Some have asked if there is a missing Chosen One, lost to time or locked into it, but as Myrddin was so instrumental in his time with the first Majjai Six, it is often a point that is forgotten.
The Chosen classification is for those that both bear the mark and are members of the Majjai Six. Recent translations from the scrolls found in the Tomb of Kazmagus hint that there may be more than two during the Prime Timeline’s continuation, but translations in the older texts have been difficult as the dialect is one that has rarely been seen. We hope to study these further and release more information in a later edition.
There is one Majjai who is beyond these classifications, the one known as Kazmagus, for he existed during
a time where Majjai levels and rank were rarely measured. It is assumed that his rating would be beyond the current scale of measurement or rank.
Outside of the standard Majjai ranks are Dark and White Witches. These beings are often very powerful, but use spells channelled through potions and various other concoctions to enact their abilities. Most Dark Witches were wiped out during history of man's rise to power, most of the time they were misunderstood.
There are very few White Witches still alive today, but, thankfully, many were protected by the Majjai. They have aided us with their healing skills and charms. The term White Witch must not be confused with the fabled white magic that has been rumoured to have been discovered by Kazmagus, for that is an altogether different power.
Chapter 15
Memories
Elric sits alone with Kazmagus in the medical ward. The only things keeping them any real company are the bubbling concoctions that Madam Healsey has on top of the shelves for emergencies, and the ticking clock on the wall at the far side of the room. Most of the students have gone home, making the ticks and tocks of the timepiece seem much more pronounced than normal. The wooden pillars embedded into the walls absorb some of the sound, but not enough to stop the rhythmic pattern echoing around the chamber.
Interspersed with the sound of the clock is the heavy breathing of the newest visitor, albeit uninvited, to the Manor. To all intents and purposes, Kazmagus himself may not even be classed as a visitor; the very fact that his Tomb is buried beneath this building could allow him to lay claim of ownership. This fact has not escaped Elric at all as he gently strokes his grey beard. He takes comfort in the knowledge that Mage Callan and the Mecha Knights are still around, as the concern for Spitfire’s well-being continues to play on his mind as well. Mage Callan will ensure that the focus of the Knights will be on the resurrection of their noble friend.
He feels a sharp but thankfully short pain in his left leg; age is catching up with him quickly, despite trying all manner of potions and treatments. The millennia he has survived now feels fleeting. Life was gifted to him for a very long time, and Elric has the ominous feeling that it wants what was taken to be given back – with interest. The Orb of Time was indeed a curse as well as a blessing.
While he waits for Kazmagus, the only living Majjai known to be older than him, to drift back into a state of consciousness, Elric reminisces on his own past. He tries to think of all the good, every time he has helped to save the world, a life; but his thoughts always land back onto Zarileh. Not many know how she passed; nonetheless Elric keeps this knowledge within him. He could never love again, not after the pain he felt upon losing her, and the rest of original Majjai Six.
The events of the demise of the original Majjai Six are not well documented. Barmak, Myrddin and Elric aside, the fate of the others is shrouded in mystery.
Elric carries a guilt he fears he can never rectify, and he misses Zarileh dearly. The first and only instance he has loved taught him a strict and valuable lesson. Time does not heal pain, not for the loss of ones that you truly love – it simply teaches you how to handle it, how to store it away and deal with the hurt so it can’t make you cry anymore.
“Where am I?”
Kazmagus’ voice resonates deeply, reverberating around the medical ward.
Elric looks up from his pondering and chooses his words cautiously. “Careful, my friend. You have been gone a long, long, time.”
Kazmagus sits up and swings his legs off the bed to face Elric, “You…, you are Elric Griffin…, from the boy’s memories. He trusts you.”
“That boy, his name is Atticus. He is resting at home now; thank you for taking him there.”
“You lead the Majjai of this time?”
Elric stands and walks over to a small fridge in the corner of the ward. He removes two bottles of water and returns to his seat, he opens one and hands it to Kazmagus before opening his own and taking a sip.
Kazmagus observes Elric and follows suit. “Sanitation has certainly improved since I left these lands. The water is clean.”
Elric smiles. “Yes. And to answer your question, my time of leading the Majjai started its end once Atticus came of age and accepted his powers.”
“The boy? He leads?”
Elric chuckles. “Not yet, not in practice, but he has the trust of others that a leader normally takes years to earn. The Majjai believe in him. There was a battle against Razakel not so long ago; he proved himself there, and every day since.”
Kazmagus raises an inquisitive eyebrow, as if he knows or has heard something he recognises. “Razakel? Asmodei’s puppet? Ah, it makes sense now, the flames of Skarvak.”
Elric looks puzzled, he has not heard of this term before. For all the time he has walked the Earth, he is surprised there is something apparently evident that he does not even have an inkling of knowledge about. “The flames of Skarvak?”
Kazmagus laughs. “Ha! You claim to be a leader and you are unaware of the Skarvak lands? The demon homeland? Everywhere has a name. But Skarvak is now more a prison. There are voices in the flames.”
“You are talking in riddles now, what is it that you remember? What do you recall before The Void?” Elric tries to get Kazmagus to focus before taking another sip of water. The flames of Skarvak, and its origins can wait, he thinks, eager to ascertain whether Kazmagus is actually going to be a threat or an ally.
“Before? Before The Void? That infernal prison. Asmodei, the scum tricked me. Created the pit for me to fall through. I was careless in my battle. I had defeated him, I knew it. But it was an illusion. He feared the magic of white. And so he should, so should all! Without control it could rip through the fabric of the universe itself. I had to use it carefully to escape The Void.”
Elric strokes his beard again, much of what Kazmagus is speaking of is confusing. What pit? Asmodei fearing this white magic is new. When did the transition of power occur if Kazmagus was not the one to defeat Asmodei? And the flames of Skarvak, what are these flames? Elric takes a moment to compose himself, pulling out an old pocket watch from his robe, a gift from Myrddin many years ago. He flips open the cover to check the time, taking a cursory glance towards the wall clock to check that the two timepieces are indeed in sync. “Do you know of anything in this time? Was The Void completely closed to you?”
Kazmagus rises and stretches his limbs, joints cracking loudly as he does so; his physique is imposing, standing tall, his exposed arms from his karategi are full and defined, every sinew appears tuned to perfection, not just in body, but Elric can also sense Majjai energy flowing through every vein, every ounce of flesh. He has never detected anything like this magnitude of power before, not even from Razakel. Although the taint of the demon king was also apparent. Something definitely happened with the red mist entering The Void from the first Battle of Aria.
Kazmagus takes a moment to relish in the comfort of his exercised muscles and responds to Elric. “The Void was kind to me. It showed me glimpses. You see, time, it is not linear. The Void understands this and its prisoners do not age. It is also not only the Majjai’s prison – there were demons who were sucked into the Void as well.”
“Who else uses it?” Elric asks, curious to know who else has the keys to this resource.
Kazmagus chuckles. “The minds of man are so small. Humanity is infinitesimal. I have transcended this boundary of time and space. I shared thoughts with The Void; it is sentient, and shares the concerns of the World Enders.”
Elric is absorbed, the conversation is at a much higher level than he was expecting, the suspicions of The Void actually being a sentient entity is also confirmed. And the reference to the World Enders, Elric suspects must mean the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Before he can ponder much more, Kazmagus continues.
“I see this timepiece, hear its ticking. But it measures something that is not true. Time does not pass, time just is – it is the same everywhere. We add linearity to it; we give it that purpose. It makes things easier to c
omprehend. Once you learn how to manipulate time, you will understand this. Not in the way your meddler has. This… Myrddin. The damage he has caused to the continuum is irreversible, unless it is substituted...” he pauses for a moment. “Hmmm. This could explain many things.” It appears he is mentally putting together a massive jigsaw puzzle as his eyes dart wildly from left to right, as his head tilts upwards. “Yes. It is clearer now.”
Eager to understand what Kazmagus has pieced together, Elric asks quickly, “What is? What is clearer now?”
Kazmagus begins to laugh, louder and louder, his demeanour changing. “The white! The blue! The red! Time! The Universe! Arrgghh! Asmodei! Your fire! It burns! I know the power, I use it, but still you burn me demon! The Horseman is coming! He will win! No! I am Razakel reborn! No! I am Kazmagus, I am infinite! You foolish Majjai! Razakel’s powers. They had nowhere to go, they came to me. How could you be so stupid? The end of everything, you will bring this!” His body begins to glow, switching rapidly between red and blue, his eyes glowing a sharp, bright white. Lightning begins to spark from his body, almost striking Elric. Kazmagus stretches his arms out to his side, bending them at the elbows as he clenches his fists with immense force, the power of which sends a charge throughout his body and then outwards, knocking Elric to the ground and shattering some of the vials on the shelves.
Elric throws a hand in the air to create a shield around Kazmagus, but it is useless, the power of his foe is too great. Elric tries to stand quickly, but he cannot, his limbs are seizing; they are getting the orders from his mind, but they cannot act. Kazmagus storms towards him and is about to attack when his eyes suddenly glow blue, and then shift back to normal. He shivers and falls to the ground in a heap.
