by HDA Roberts
I prodded his own efforts in the right direction, providing basic Spell frameworks for his own powers to flow into. It was best not to add too much Magic of my own to the mix while his was running rampant, it could cause him to lash out in his delirium and injure himself further.
Once his eyes were repaired, and his breathing had become easier, I gently encouraged his mind back into wakefulness, and he sat up with a panicked breath.
Ball-kicker barked something out in her own language before the fellow could do something unpleasant. He replied, gabbling away.
"He's asking what happened, I'm explaining," she said.
I nodded.
Before she could get much more out of him, the man was on his feet and staggering to a nearby lab bench, where there were four large, glass vials, topped with shredded rubber stoppers. They were full of what looked like water. I felt him use his powers on them, with Ball-kicker right next to him, shouting at him all the while.
He shouted back at her and then turned to me.
"What did you do to the samples?" she asked on his behalf.
"What samples?" I asked.
"The ones in these vials! All of the Death's Breath is gone," she translated.
"Oh, if you're talking about the parasite,” that still sounded better than any other descriptor I could think of, “I eradicated that. And anyone trying to get more will be getting rather a hard kick to somewhere sensitive," I replied, letting my eyes narrow at the man. This would appear to be one of the idiots who had actually wanted to get their hands on the Hunger, or Death’s Breath, I suppose (not calling it that, though, too over-dramatic).
He took a menacing step towards me and I nearly laughed.
Before he had the chance to pick a fight, though, Ball-kicker smacked him about the head and pointed at the sick people. They argued some more, but he eventually moved to help the others, occasionally shooting me an ugly look. I didn’t care; I was already working on another victim.
"He was Tarun's son," she explained, "Tamvir believed in his father's quest."
"To find an ancient parasite?"
"To find the Black Pyramid. They thought that the ruins where the things came from would lead them to it."
"From what I know of the history, that all sounds like a terrible idea."
She shrugged.
I went back to work, but I made a note to have someone come down on that fool like a ton of bricks. What was he thinking?!
Eventually the other Flesh Mage woke up and started helping, but I barely noticed, simply going about my work, fixing one injury after another. My world narrowed down to blood, pus, and bacteria; muscle and bone; artery and vein. Hour after hour, all through the day and well into the night. Ball-kicker kept her people in line and far away from me. I think she was still a little scared of me.
It was a very mixed group, with the deep dark skin of central Africa mixing with the lighter tones of the Middle East. About a quarter were men, mostly young and of a type with Tamvir. They didn’t seem wealthy, but nor were they poor. I saw simple jewellery on many, and their clothes were well made. Their gear was cared for, but not patched or ragged. Most of them couldn't speak English, but Ball-kicker translated for me, mostly just to let them know to lie still and consume as much food and water as possible. Otherwise, they were polite and grateful, one or two of them taking on expressions of such reverence that I felt a little uncomfortable.
As I worked, I was dimly aware of Tamvir trying to get into the cave... and being thoroughly beaten about his person for trying. Nobody was keen to repeat what had happened. There might not be a passing Archon next time, after all.
Finally, I was done, and the last sick person slowly got to his feet before falling into the waiting arms of his mother. The camp's three children had been the least affected, something about a child's immune system keeping them a little healthier than the others, so I could afford to leave them for last, painful though that had been for the parents.
Damn, that had been tiring!
But I couldn’t go back to Killian’s just yet. There was one last thing to do, perhaps the most important job.
I approached the cave.
"You shouldn't go in there," Ball-kicker said, her tone conveying that she would like to yell at me, but didn’t dare.
"I won't. What's your name, by the way?"
"Umaira.”
"Nice to meet you, Umaira. I'm Mathew."
She bowed.
"Thank you for saving my family, Mathew," she said.
"It was my pleasure. But I'm afraid that Lord Killian is going to have some difficult questions for you."
"Lord Death?" she asked with a shudder.
I nodded, "He won't like that any of this happened in his territory."
She swallowed, but nodded, “I understand.”
I knelt about thirty metres away from the entrance and reached into the earth. My Affinity showed me exactly how deep that cave went, and let me feel the complex of man-made caverns at the very bottom, which worried me for what that implied, Black Pyramid wise. I felt traces of the Hunger whisper against my senses and knew that I had to block this place away until Killian could deal with it permanently. This could not be allowed to happen again.
I started gathering Gravitational Energy. I was going to increase the weight of that rock until it crushed the caverns underneath...
"Stop that!" barked a new voice.
I did so and turned to see a man I didn't recognise. He certainly hadn’t been among the infected, I’d have remembered him. He was almost wider than he was tall, squat, with broad, coarse features and skin so dark it almost drank in the moonlight; his head was shaved, but he had impressively bushy eyebrows. His teeth were yellow and crooked, easily seen through the snarl his face was contorted into. The suit he wore was very expensive, silk and hand-tailored, dotted with platinum and diamond, probably worth more than my father's car.
He was also a Sorcerer, Water Affinity. Not the greatest threat in the desert, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.
Behind him stood Tamvir, a satellite phone clutched to his side, marking him out as the idiot who'd been in the middle of a health crisis and not called for assistance.
"Can I help you?" I asked, trying so hard to be polite. I'd had enough of a day to be going on with, and didn't want a fight on top of everything else.
"You can stop what you're doing," the man barked. His accent was regional, his English a little halting, but understandable. His tone was hostile, though, and he looked at me with clear contempt in his eyes.
"And you are?" I asked.
"Igwebuike Yoruba," he replied imperiously and then scowled again when I evidently didn't recognise the name. "First Triumvir of the African Council of the Mystic Art."
Ah... that rang a bell. The African version of the Conclave wasn't run like most of the others, with a single Primus-equivalent. They had three, a Triumvirate, who were supposed to be equals, but people being people, it was always going to end with someone being ‘number one’ and someone being ‘number three’. Apparently, this fellow was 'One'.
"Oh, well, nice to meet you. I'm Mathew Graves, the First Shadow."
He did recognise my name.
"Well, now that you've introduced yourself, you can go ahead and leave."
"And indeed I will, just as soon as I've made sure nobody can get any more of the Hunger out of that cave complex," I said, turning to resume my work.
"I don't think you heard me. I told you to leave!"
"Well, not to nitpick, but no, you didn't. You suggested I leave. I chose not to take that suggestion," I said, drawing the conversation out while I slowly gathered the necessary gravity for the Spell. I could have cast a version that would have gathered the Gravity for itself, but I suspected that Yoruba would have been able to counter that. You didn’t get high up in Magical government without knowing your Spellwork.
"Well, now I'm telling!" he snapped, taking a threatening step forward. "You will leave!"
<
br /> I turned back to him.
"You do realise what we're talking about here, right? A biological weapon, possibly a remnant of one used against the First Civilisation? Are you really suggesting that I just... leave it there?"
"No. I'm telling. Step back, Mister Graves."
"No," I said and released my Spell.
He tried to intercept it, but my Dispel caught his in mid-air and they cancelled each other out in a flash of light.
My Spell hit the side of the mountain. Gravity flexed, and suddenly all that rock weighed a hundred times as much as it had before. There was a great rumbling crack, and the mountain seemed to slip in on itself as all the caves collapsed. The entire network of natural tunnels crashed down on one another in a great rumbling wave that I could feel through my feet. Dust spewed from the cave mouth before it, too, collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble and a slightly smaller mountain to mark its location.
My Spell wasn't strong enough to penetrate all the way down to the man-made passages, but it certainly had enough 'oomph' to very effectively block anyone that might try something foolish in the near future.
It was theoretically possible to get a Space Mage in to Portal down there, but I doubted that they'd find one stupid enough to try before Killian could come out here and finish the job I'd started.
Yoruba looked like he was about to have a fit.
He gestured and a wave of Kinetic Energy was blasted out at me, powerful enough to have broken every bone in my body.
I Dispelled it before it could hit me, or the three of my former patients standing behind me. I replied with a surge of Shadows that erupted from the sand around his feet and tossed him into the air. He bellowed in shock, which turned to pain as a long, thick tendril of Shadow walloped him hard in the side before he could hit the ground, sending him tumbling into Tamvir.
They both hit the sand, cursing and groaning in pain, Tamvir especially. The kid still wasn't all the way healed; he did not need an eighty kilo bag of meat smacking him in the chops, but that was his own damn fault for summoning said bag in the first place.
Umaira and the two women with her looked ready to rush the men themselves. They were armed with those nasty-looking short-spear things of theirs, their faces creased with rage and hostile energy flickering around them. I waved them back, though. It was one thing for me to beat up on a head of state, but quite another for them, and they'd been through more than enough already.
Yoruba was up on his feet in a second, glaring at me.
"I will have your head for this!" he snapped.
"Who talks like that?" I asked him. "You sound like an idiot."
He looked like he might try something else, but forced himself to stop. Common sense likely reasserted itself as he thought things through.
"Your Circle will hear of this. Mark my words; you will regret what you have done this day!"
"Saving thirty-one people and stopping a semi-intelligent bio-weapon being unleashed on a world with seven billion people living in it? Doubt it."
He scowled and dragged Tamvir to his feet before conjuring a Portal and vanishing, leaving me alone with Umaira and company.
"I'd advise that you and your people come with me. Lord Killian will look out for you, and besides, he’ll probably want that word," I said to her.
She nodded, "I'll get everyone ready."
She turned away, but then stopped and turned back to me. She bowed low and then stood tall to meet my eyes.
"You saved our lives and no doubt countless others when you stopped the Triumvir. I will not forget that, Lord Shadow. You have made friends here today."
I bowed back and she scuttled off to gather her people.
That was a nice change for me. Rarely do I go anywhere and get a thank-you afterwards; it’s normally screaming, swearing and insurance claims.
Umaira’s people were surprisingly quick packing up their belongings. They had that entire camp broken down into backpacks and Magically-lightened crates in less than fifteen minutes, and all with only the barest whisper of Magic. The entire group still looked unwell, but they were visibly recovering. I was also glad to note that all of them were eating as they worked, which would help the healing process, even if all they had was some sort of ghastly-looking dried meat and what might have been called fruit. They all looked to one another, as a family would, and especially to Umaira, who watched over them like a mother duck with its chicks.
When they were ready, I focussed and opened a Portal back to Killian's pyramid, gesturing for the group to precede me. There was more than one gasp as they saw where they were going.
After everyone else was through, I emerged to find the pyramid brightly lit against the night... and a very cross Cassandra waiting by the front door.
She opened her mouth to let forth the stream of invective she’d had to have been storing up for a while now, but stopped when she noticed the children.
Instead, she marched over to me, glaring hard, to the point that Umaira moved up to my side, hand on her weapon, which was nice of her, if somewhat unwise.
"I can explain... most of it," I said.
Cassandra stopped advancing, but the glare narrowed even further.
"I did a good deed, really!"
She began to tap her fingers against a sunburned arm.
"There was only a small international incident...” I offered.
The tapping of the fingers increased in tempo. I felt shifty under those piercing, dark eyes.
"I may have started another war," I admitted.
"That's more like it," she replied with a deep sigh.
Chapter 35
Killian was really not happy.
He was busy unpicking that mess for weeks, and it was ages before I got the full story.
Simply, though, it was more or less as you might guess. The Triumvirate got greedy, sent people out to find things best left buried and disaster had ensued.
We were just lucky that it wasn’t much worse. As much as I hate to credit those half-wits with anything positive, Tarun and Tamvir had likely saved a lot of lives by not calling for help. Any rescue team would have become hosts to the Hunger and from there...
Well, a parasitic, gestalt intelligence growing smarter with every host taken and every reproductive cycle would have been a disaster. I like to think that the pair knew that when they didn’t summon help, but I suspect they just thought they’d recover and didn’t want to share their spoils.
This was apparently a bit of a recurring theme with the African Council of the Mystic Art. It was one of the oldest Conclaves in the world, founded around the same time as the ones in Athens and what was then called Damascus. They hadn’t much liked how the centres of Magical power and society had shifted away from them, and had been doing their best to get those back ever since (with rather... mixed results).
After he’d got them settled, Killian spent a lot of time talking to the survivors, drawing as much information from them as he could. I sat with them during that, offering a friendly face to balance Killian being Killian.
From what I gathered, Tarun had been something of a bigwig in Nigeria, something akin to a local lord under the Council’s system (which they deliberately didn’t describe as feudal, but which remained feudal just the same). While the other people sent looking for the Black Pyramid by the Triumvirate had taken maybe one or two assistants with them, Tarun had brought more or less everyone he knew. He’d not only packed up his family, but most of his subjects as well, all so he could remain comfortable and provided for while he went poking around in the desert in search of things that could kill people.
I hate to speak ill of the dead, but what a bloody fool! Of his immediate family, only Tarun and Umaira (his third wife) survived the Hunger. The rest were buried with him.
I suppose we can be grateful that all Tarun found was some old ruins and not the Pyramid itself. I can only imagine the mess we’d have had to clean up if the idiot had opened that Pandora’s Box. Nobody really knew what wa
s in there, but we could guess that gems like the Hunger would be low on the list of terrible things we’d have to dispose of, which should give you some idea of how bad we suspected it could be.
Once Killian was finished talking to the survivors, he arranged for them to be his guests until he could make proper arrangements for them. They didn't really have anywhere else to go; they’d lost their old lord and pissed off their new one, and he owned their homes and land, now that his father was dead
Feudalism really is terrible. We’d been trying to get the Council to change the way they did business, but African Magicians were a very traditional, very conservative lot. Besides which, the ones in a position to actually change the system rather liked the way that their subjects just funnelled money and presents in their direction without them having to do very much in the way of work. Why would they change it?
Once Killian and I were on our own, and away from anyone he might accidentally terrify into a coma, the look on his face became rather horrific. He’d managed to conceal it during the interviews, but he was absolutely furious. Searching for the Black Pyramid was as illegal as it could get. Nothing good could, or had ever, come from it.
“Oh, I am seriously thinking of burning those bastards down to the ground,” Killian snarled, glaring at a map of Nigeria on the wall, Abuja (the capital, and where they kept their Conclave-equivalent) was marked in red.
“Have at it. They nearly arranged for something really stupid to happen,” I said, leaning back in a leather armchair.
We were in one of his studies, a small one about half way up Killian’s pyramid. This was the room where he kept track of the politics in his sphere of influence. There were shelves on half the walls, full of binders and sheaves of carefully bound paper; the other walls were covered by chipboard on which were pinned dozens of charts, maps and diagrams. At the heart of it was a huge map of Africa, under a plastic cover that was almost completely covered by notes in whiteboard marker and post-its.
