Blackstone

by C E Johnson

  “I’m going to make sure you get there and then I’m going to meet your father for lunch. We don’t want to get in the way at your meeting. You really do look so handsome in your suit.” His mother tousled his thick hair and all his work was suddenly undone.

  “Mom, not the hair.” Malachi hated when she did that in front of other people, but he withheld any further disparaging remarks as he scooted into his seat as far away from his mother’s side as he could get. They drove past the cream-colored, rectangular National Geographic Museum and past the sculpture of a general on his horse in Scott Circle Park to pull up at the entrance to the hotel. Malachi opened the car door quickly to avoid any further attention from his mother. He was nervous about his speech and was trying not to let her see his discomfort.

  “You’re going to do just fine,” she whispered, reaching her hand toward his head again. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

  Malachi dodged her this time. “Mom, enough.” He shook his dark hair back and forth to tell her ‘no’. “I’ll walk home with the agents.” He fled the car like a coward. Tall black columns at the entrance to the hotel greeted him with an impassive silence. The calm secret service agents walked with him, searching the area for anything that caught their eye. He walked through a huge entryway with a soaring skylight made of rectangular pieces of glass. He avoided stepping on any cracks on the floor, which in his mind might bring him bad luck on his speech. Doric type columns were along each wall, with shapes such as sideways diamonds arranged above the columns. Malachi paused in the entryway and looked up through the clear glass. Sunlight filtered through and he idly thought about sitting in this room and simply watching the hustle and bustle of the hotel guests. The thought of giving a speech about the end of the world scared him more than he could imagine.

  Malachi could see the agents out of the corner of his eye, giving each other inquisitive expressions as they glanced at him. One had brown hair, the other black hair. Malachi didn’t know these agents well; they were new to the team. He let out a barely audible sigh and left the light to enter the dark meeting room which was small and rectangular with a long table nearly filling the space. Rows of wine bottles were arranged on one long wall of the room displayed behind refrigerated glass doors. On the other wall were dry erase boards with the meeting agenda written out. Malachi gave an involuntary shiver when he saw his name at the end of the agenda. He often had small shivers like this when he felt uncomfortable, a heebie-jeebie as he called them. He absolutely hated the sensation and the feelings that went along with the involuntary motion, and he attempted to hide the shiver by coughing suddenly.

  The lead security agent, the brown-haired man, glanced at the agenda before giving Malachi a pat on the back and whispering. “You’ll do fine, son.” The agents left the room. They had to wait outside because they couldn’t fit in the room, but Malachi saw the brown-haired agent keep the door cracked so he could listen to the proceedings.

  The chairs were black leather and wood with silver studs. Malachi was luckily the last to arrive. He didn’t like being in a small room with many people too long. He sat in the final chair open, one just by the door that he had entered. Waiters barely could fit in the room; they were bumping the chairs of the members while bringing in drinks.

  Malachi tried to slow his anxious breathing and rapid heart rate. I can do this, he thought. He was becoming more nervous about his speech. The beginning of the meeting consisted of each of the twelve members discussing any new development in their powers which might be of assistance to the United States government. Several defense department employees were in attendance and they yawned in disinterest. Malachi studied two other men sitting together at the other end of the long table, a FBI and a CIA agent, who were both drumming fingers on the table, also appearing underwhelmed by talk of unusual dreams, healing scratches, and shooting arrows well from a long distance.

  The members then discussed current conflicts that they had predicted, and Malachi wondered how to know if they were telling the truth. How easy it would be to make oneself seem important to the panel. It didn’t really matter anyway. Drogor thought this council had some power so it had to be true. Drogor had even chosen most of the members, bringing their talents to Malachi’s attention.

  Malachi’s mind wandered to his speech. His mouth was dry. He drank from the ice water placed before him and his sticky mouth was relieved by the cool liquid, but the glue-like substance went down his throat and he nearly gagged at the horrible taste. Keep focused, he thought. Concentrating on an image of Drogor’s wraith spirit to keep his composure, he remained silent as the meeting proceeded without any input from him. He was always quiet in the meeting, rarely talking, so no one looked at him for direction.

  Their member-elected leader, Amanda Baker, glanced at him and gave him a wink as she continued with her discussion of how she could identify the truth when people spoke to her. To Malachi she was the image of perfection, especially her hair. It was blond and straight, every fiber in supreme order. It cascaded down her back like tiny pipes, not a strand out of place, like hammered gold. She was the same age as Malachi, but she was already so smart and such a strong chairwoman. “I see a yellow glow in people when they lie,” Amanda continued with a proud expression. She talked with a hint of ‘baby’ in her voice. His dad used the term for anyone talking like a cute little child, instead of as an adult. His dad hated when people talked like that, but Malachi liked her voice, he liked everything about her. She sat with perfect posture in her chair. Malachi suddenly realized she had spoken to him several times. “Malachi, you wanted to give a speech?”

  Malachi nodded, his mouth was instantly dry again. He couldn’t talk.

  Amanda nodded to him and rewarded him with a small smile. “This will be the final event for our scheduled agenda. Before he starts does anyone have anything to discuss afterwards? Any unscheduled business to talk about?” She looked around the room and no one spoke. “Well then, after Malachi finishes, we can mingle for a few minutes and then leave.” She began to organize the papers before her while nodding again in Malachi’s direction.

  Malachi stood and again tried to picture Drogor’s spirit in front of him while straightening his suit. He opened his mouth, but only a dry croak mixed with a hiss came out. His mouth was so sticky, it felt like his mucus was again forming in his mouth like super-glue. Sweat began to form in greater clusters on his head. He picked up the napkin on the table before him and wiped his skin. It was drenched in fear-sweat, smelly and cold, not at all like the sweat he produced when he was out jogging. He grabbed the water in front of him and took another swig. He could tell the members could sense his discomfort and they began to talk uncomfortably in whispers.

  Amanda looked up at him and Malachi could see a look of pity in her face. “Would you rather do your speech next week?” She gave Malachi another warm smile and began to organize the papers in front of her one more time.

  Malachi simply shook his head. I have to do this. His hand went to his pocket and he touched his own blackstone. Somehow, he had known it was important to bring his magestone to the meeting. All at once a deep calm rushed through his body, like water putting out a fire, and peace flooded through his nervous frame, more refreshing than the cool water that had cleaned his mouth. Dark magus cascaded through his arteries and returned through his veins. Malachi stood tall. He looked at Amanda and rewarded her with his own warmest smile. “No Amanda, my speech must go today.” He spoke in a deep, resounding voice. “I don’t think there will be another meeting such as this for our council.”

  Quiet voices began to talk in concern. Amanda’s eyebrows went up. Her exquisite hair swayed gently. “Do tell, young prince,” she whispered.

  Why did she call me a prince? Malachi wondered. The glue had fully dissipated from his mouth, the sweat had stopped, and a strange inner calm lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders. “I have a prediction for our group.” Malachi turned to address the FBI and CIA agents in a hale vo
ice, tinged with a touch of sadness. “This is a prediction that will rock our very beliefs and you two will need to discuss it with your departments. There’s very little time left.”

  Amanda stared at Malachi. Her sweet mouth opened in a perfectly shaped ‘o’. She’s impressed by me, Malachi thought proudly. He could see the brown-haired agent looking at him through the crack in the door with eyebrows raised in surprise.

  Malachi ran his hand through his black hair and slicked back the strands still moist from his initial sweat and he stood even taller. “Our world will end as we know it within the next two weeks.” He paused, letting shocked silence reign for a moment. “If I’m correct, and I have it on very good authority that I am, I want you all to do something for me when everything changes.” Malachi looked at the council. Every eye was focused on him; they were all hanging on his words. He picked up the cold glass of water and took a long, slow sip before continuing. “I want you all to join me on the front lawn of the White House when the Armageddon begins. Anyone who ultimately realizes my power and wants to follow the truth that I will preach will be welcomed into my army.” No one moved. Their mouths dropped slightly more ajar, but no one laughed. Amanda’s flawless hair swayed again, slightly.

  “I predict an attack on our world.” His voice became louder, stronger. “Every continent will be affected.” He studied the astonished eyes around the table. “Those controlling the magical forces, and the ones causing the natural disasters, have contacted me.” Amanda couldn’t wipe the stunned look off her face. “They’ve advised me that the impending global chaos will create a new world order.” His felt confident in his knowledge, proud. “I plan to be on the council of the new order and I would like to lead our group when that occurs.” His heart was pounding. “Our power will only increase ten-fold when the apocalypse reveals itself.” His head was pounding harder than his heart. “You will have one opportunity to consider the situation and to decide if you wish to survive or perish.” The force of his own words staggered himself. “If you attempt to act on your own, you will die.”

  Amanda’s immaculate hair began to sway back and forth at a more rapid rate and Malachi realized she was actually trembling. “What are you talking about?” She sounded upset and confused and her sweet features were so questioning. “The end of the world? You want to be our leader?”

  Have I misjudged her? Malachi closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to relax, willing the throbbing in his head to stop. Does she want to lead our magical warriors herself? Drogor said she would follow me. He opened his amber eyes and took the last sip of water in his glass before setting it down on the table. “I don’t know how the attack will come, but it will be successful.” The air flowing through the vents in the room stopped and the room became still. “We will all be affected. I’ve brought a token for each of you to evaluate … I’ve brought you each a blackstone.” Malachi took the pouch out of his jacket and poured the stones on the table. The council members leaned forward to get a better look.

  “They look like they’re glowing,” Amanda whispered, “like there’s an aura around them.”

  “These stones contain a communication device that will connect you to a parallel, but deeper portion of the fabric of reality.” Malachi felt bold and fearless. He would share the spirit world with them. “The blackstones will allow you to experience a world where magic comes from, where wraith-spirits are our teachers. This spirit world is called Ater.”

  “Ater?” Amanda’s face was flushed.

  “Consider all I’ve told you.” Malachi’s heart was singing. “If you have any doubt about my predications, lie down tonight, place your blackstone on your forehead and think about my words.” The blackstones were passed around the table. Once each member was holding a stone, Malachi studied them all. He was ready for the end. He had done all Drogor had asked. He looked at the magicians at the table and yelled his final words in a powerful voice, “Remember to look for Drogor in Ater and you will learn from our new guardian.”

  “Drogor?” Amanda’s voice was hesitant and tremulous. She was examining the stone in her hand. Her hair was no longer shaking; she was still. “I can read the truth,” she whispered, looking up from the stone to glance around the table. “Malachi speaks the truth,” her voice had become louder.

  Malachi turned and walked from the room; the only sound was the loud beating of his own heart. The brown-haired agent gave him a small nod, falling into step behind him. Malachi left the skylight, the black columns and the perfect hair behind. The day of reckoning was coming. He had completed his task with a vengeance. Drogor would be proud.

  The brown-haired agent walked more rapidly until he was alongside Malachi. The agent was looking at him with a cool impassive expression. “So, you think the end of the world is coming this week?”

  Malachi sighed, but nodded to the man.

  “Guess I better party it up tonight,” the man said.

  C H A P T E R 1 7

  Ships

  “Circle the port before we land,” Iscar ordered his pilot without looking away from his computer which was detailing the news. He could sense the private jet beginning its descent and he knew he would soon return to the stifling heat of the Middle East. “Did you read the news?” he asked his shade body-guards.

  “I don’t need to read about it,” Ullr declared in a grunt, “I can feel it. We’re creating it.”

  “Life is changing on Earth,” Wuldur spoke in a haunting voice. He widened his eyes and gave his best evil expression. Both he and Ullr snorted in amusement. Wuldur was in a fine mood. He gave Iscar a crooked smile.

  Iscar couldn’t suppress a laugh as he listened to the news. My magestones haven’t even been fully distributed and already they’re having quite an effect. Earthquakes were ripping across Central America, with the largest quakes centered in Southern Mexico and Guatemala, areas by the Prime Portal, with a magnitude of up to 9.5.

  Fear and chaos, chaos and fear, Tengu whispered.

  “Hundreds of thousands injured and killed,” Wuldur gave a small shake of his head in disbelief, “more than in an Acacean war.”

  The news continued detailing Tropical Storm Tobias which was causing floods and mudslides in El Salvador along with volcanic eruptions in Mexico. To add to the tumult, there were reports of mysterious powers developing in citizens in the area. “I’m sure Emily Dalton is studying the developments,” Iscar gloated.

  “I’m still not sure if these disasters will encourage her to bring allies across her portal to confront us,” Ullr looked doubtful.

  Iscar shrugged. “We’re far from finished with Earth.” He glanced out the window, excited to see an enormous tanker depart the Persian Gulf port of Jebel Ali, one of the largest ports in the world. “There goes my last ship.”

  “Your ship is tiny … that’s a ship.” Wuldur pointed at an aircraft carrier outside his window. Iscar’s tanker went past several massive United States Navy vessels including the aircraft carrier Wuldur had pointed-out. Iscar couldn’t help but smile at the irony when the two vessels passed each other. His tanker contained a weapon more devastating than all the weapons and planes aboard the huge aircraft carrier put together, a weapon that would soon render the aircraft carrier inconsequential.

  “Are you certain your missiles will work?” Ullr asked with a frown still etched on his face.

  “You worry too much,” Iscar laughed. His missiles would assuredly work. They were held in separate tankers which had been converted to hold missile launchers. Once he was sure his last ship carrying the final hidden missile was out of the port, he called to his pilot, “I’m ready to land.” He leaned back languidly in his seat as the plane landed on a private strip on the outskirts of the city. Tengu took to the sky while Iscar’s squad walked from the plane through the sand to a row of black military trucks. The grit blew in his eyes, but he ignored the tiny particles. Nothing could bother him now. He entered one of the vehicles. “Put the back window down,” Iscar ordered the driver. The
window descended and Tengu flew through the opening, landing in a large graceless mass in the back seat. Iscar steadied his bondsmate while nodding to the driver and the convoy departed.

  “We aren’t being very clandestine,” Wuldur remarked. “Someone is going to see us.” He pointed his fingers to the sky and Iscar knew he was talking about satellites.

  Iscar gave a tired smile while steepling his fingers. “I no longer have any desire to hide our operation.” He was proud that everything was in full gear.

  “I like staying well-guarded and well-armed instead of well-hidden,” Ullr grunted, giving Wuldur a sour grin. Wuldur grumbled at his twin.

  Iscar laughed while studying his two shades. “Do either of you ever consider the incredible event of your formation. My father created you at the exact same time. I’ve never heard of that being done with half-deads.”

  “Do you ever think about your formation by your father with your mother?” Wuldur asked Iscar with a faint smile on his lips. “Your formation is fairly incredible also.”

  Iscar scoffed at him. “Seriously, each of you was formed into a Mavet raa at the same time, and each of you sucked a silver magician dry at the same moment.”

  “You were created by two magicians at the same time,” Wuldur said in a hollow voice. “We are unique, but all creation is awe-inspiring.”

  “I understand your curiosity with the synchrony about us,” Ullr said in a hushed voice, “but we are now very different. We each have killed scores of warriors. We have a multitude of different individuals in our minds.” He ran his hand over his bald head. His silver irises and silver-tinted skin were the only subtle physical difference that differentiated him from other humans, but he was far from human.