by Jake Kerr
“Bergeron.” Mister Ali stated. “You are the daughter of Oliver.”
“What of it?”
“He oversaw the London trains during the Great War.”
“I know.” She kept stacking things.
“Is he here? Is he the Waymaster?” Mister Ali sounded hopeful.
Waymaster Bergeron spun around and marched over to Mister Ali. “He died you old fool. I’m the Waymaster of this dusty shed. Not King’s Cross. Not Union Station. Not Grand Central. This pathetic station, a station so small it doesn’t even have a name. Just a number. Is that so hard to accept?” She stood toe-to-toe with Mister Ali. “And how long will your shield last?”
Mister Ali looked down. “I’m not sure they can withstand this many Djinn.”
The Waymaster shook her head and then yelled out, “Naomi!” She turned, grabbed a chair, and walked toward a window, looking a combination of annoyed and concerned. “She is young, as well, but she at least knows some spells!” The sound of disdain was clear in her voice, and I was about to object when all thoughts left my mind—the wooden door at the end of the room opened, and a blond-haired girl my age entered. Her hair was long, and fell across her face. She wore dusty dungarees with a roughspun white shirt designed for heavy work. She wore brown leather boots, the kind cowboys wore in the movies.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she approached. She had the high cheekbones and arched eyebrows that, combined with her long wavy hair, would have been at home on the screen at the Ziegfeld Theater, but she had a hard and serious look to her. She had none of the giggly shallowness of the schoolgirls I knew, and none of the austerity of those at our church. She looked practical, tough, and beautiful.
She approached with steady and nonchalant steps, pointedly ignoring me and Mister Ali as she stopped near the Waymaster. It was only then that she looked me up and down, as if assessing a horse on the auction block. Before I could say anything she turned away to face Waymaster Bergeron. “Yes, mother?”
She was maddening. Did she like me? Was she dismissing me by turning away? I was worried more about her opinion than the approach of magical creatures on the wind.
“We are about to be attacked by scores of Djinn.” Naomi didn’t flinch, but raised an eyebrow.
“We are? Why are they attacking us? We’re barely a Way Station.”
“They are after the Archmage.”
At the mention of the Archmage, Naomi’s attitude shifted dramatically. “The Archmage is here!?” She looked at Mister Ali and me. “Where is he? It will be an honor to watch him in battle!” It sounded like she could barely contain her excitement.
“Naomi,” her mother said with a sigh, “That’s the Archmage.” She pointed at me.
She turned to face me, and the disappointment on her face was obvious. “Him?”
“Yes, and he can even make light.” I caught the sarcasm in her voice and looked to Mister Ali to defend me, but Mister Ali looked shocked at the presence of Naomi. “Now enough dawdling. What level of shield spell have you mastered that can cover this room?”
Naomi shrugged and replied breezily, “I could summon the Mantle of Anaitis.”
Waymaster Bergeron was about to speak when Mister Ali interrupted her, “Ridiculous! That’s a master level spell, and you expect me to believe this girl can cast it? We don’t have time for schoolyard exaggeration, Miss Bergeron!”
Naomi didn’t look at Mister Ali, nor did she flinch. In fact, she didn’t even register his presence. She looked at her mother and stood quietly. Waymaster Bergeron glanced at Mister Ali quickly but didn’t respond. She knelt down in front of Naomi and took her hands. “How long can you sustain it?”
“Thirty minutes at most. It is a difficult spell.” The Waymaster nodded, as Naomi added, “Is help coming? How much time do we have?”
The Djinn are 20 minutes away, and a train will arrive in an hour,” she replied flatly. If Naomi waited to start the shield until the last possible moment, it still left ten minutes of unremitting Djinn attacks, which didn’t sound like it would turn out well for us.
“I’ll do my best, mother.” Naomi knelt and spread her arms out straight at her side. She then proceeded to embark on the beautifully fluid and complex number of body movements, focusing on minute changes in the positions of her fingers and hands. Some of the movements she made with her fingers appeared impossible. I looked at Mister Ali, who stared in shock.
I wandered over and whispered to him, “Is she doing it?” He nodded but didn’t say anything.
“It’s Waymaster Bergeron,” the Waymaster said to Mister Ali. “You called me ‘Miss,’” she added.
“Yes. Yes. I understand,” Mister Ali muttered. He was staring at Naomi. “Where has she trained?”
“She is self-taught.” The pride in her voice was obvious. “She has the standard texts and the trains deliver and take away new ones as fast as she can devour them.” I looked at the Waymaster, who was smiling. “Which is fast.” I looked at Naomi, spellbound at the fluidity of her movements.
Mister Ali turned and picked up a box. “You were foolish to support this. Magic is too difficult and too dangerous for girls.” He walked the box over and stacked it near the front door.
I looked at the Waymaster. I could see her jaw clenching, but she didn’t say anything. After a moment she turned and went back to the telegraph machine. The silence was difficult for me. I owed so much to Mister Ali, but I felt that it was unfair of him to dismiss Naomi’s efforts. I glanced at her. I didn’t know what she was doing, but I was certain it would be helpful. Why couldn’t Mister Ali see that?
Naomi was still casting her spell when the Djinn arrived. The slight light that could be seen from the windows darkened, and you could hear the dull thud of pounding from outside. There were no explosions, just the sound of arms, legs, and bodies pounding against Mister Ali’s shield.
“Your shield is holding, Ali,” the Waymaster said.
“I’m afraid it won’t last long,” he replied. I was glad they were talking, at least.
Moments later, a glow started in Naomi’s hands and slowly spread out across the room. As it passed through me I noticed that it only glowed outward. Once it was past me, I could barely see it. As it penetrated the walls, the sounds from outside grew muffled.
“We have 30 minutes,” Naomi stated. She then stretched out on the floor, her hands behind her head. We stacked a few more things, but by then pretty much anything that could block a door or window was pressed against them.
“Perhaps you should thank the girl, Ali,” Waymaster Bergeron stated, her voice full of bitterness.
“She did well,” Mister Ali replied, but there wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice.
We waited, the only noise the muffled sounds coming from beyond Naomi’s shield. After a few minutes Mister Ali flexed his fingers and pulled the vicious knife out from its sheath on his thigh. Naomi continued to rest on the floor, her blond hair spread around her head like a halo, her hands folded on her chest. She may even have been asleep.
Suddenly, Naomi’s eyes shot open, and she said in a clear calm voice, “The shield is weakening.” I heard the sound of screaming, although it remained muffled. The sound was awful, like a mixture of shrieks and high winds. It reminded me of the attack on the restaurant. I must have looked scared, as Mister Ali put his hand on my shoulder.
“Just stay behind me.” He smiled at me and then turned toward the door.
Just then several things happened in short order one after the other. Naomi stated, “The shield is gone.” The screaming increased to a painful intensity. The front door blew in with an explosion of air, barely missing Mister Ali and bouncing off the double doors behind us. Naomi leapt to her feet. And, finally, the Djinn were upon us.
Mister Ali crouched in front of the door, launching himself against Djinn as they entered. One after the other they approached only to be struck down by a slash from Mister Ali’s knife. As they were mortally struck, the Djinn would compl
etely disappear into a puff of air. The door was small and Mister Ali was relentless, but there were just too many. Soon, Mister Ali was fighting two Djinn, while barely holding more off at the door.
It was at that point when the window blasted open.
The chairs protected us from the glass, and delayed the entry of any Djinn, but the barricade immediately began to fall to the strength of the creatures. At the first appearance of a clear opening, a bright ball of fire flew toward it from my right. The Djinn in the frame of the window burst into nothingness. I looked over to see Naomi on the balls of her feet, her hands and fingers moving in a blur. After a few seconds of movement, she would throw her hands forward and a ball of flame would shoot from them.
She glanced at me and smiled wickedly. “Detonations!” She turned back to face the window but added in an amused voice, “I’m not allowed to do them.” She launched another one toward the window. But she couldn’t perform the spell fast enough and Djinn were slowly making their way along the wall, using our own barricade as a shield.
“We have five minutes!” It was the Waymaster who was at the telegraph, tapping away.
I looked at one of the Djinn. They were the color of a dark stone with a tinge of green. They were heavily muscled and about the size of a large man, with long arms and sharp claws. Massive wings were folded tightly against their backs, allowing them to move easily, if clumsily, in the tight spaces amidst the barricade. Their faces were human only in that they had eyes, nose, and a mouth. They didn’t appear to have hair, and there were folds to their face that gave the appearance of melting or having been windblown. As one turned to squeeze behind a large cabinet I saw a glimpse of long sharp teeth, as well. They didn’t have any clothes or weapons, just those claws and teeth.
I gripped the staff, wanting to do something. Mister Ali held off three Djinn. At least four others were pushing through the barricade of the window. I backed against the double doors and held the staff up with my hand, preparing to help either Mister Ali or Naomi. For the first time I heard the noise from the double iron doors, which had been drowned out by the screams of Djinn. It was a pounding and scraping, and I realized that even if the train did come in time, we would have to fight through the Djinn waiting on the other side of those mighty doors.
A claw struck Mister Ali’s shoulder, and he staggered back. I ran up holding the staff in front of me. I remembered how the staff had destroyed the golems by barely touching them, and I hoped that would work here. I thrust the staff into the side of a Djinn on Mister Ali’s left. It turned to me, but before it could strike, Mister Ali stabbed it, and it disappeared into a puff of air.
“Get back, Tommy! I can hold them,” Mister Ali yelled. He was bleeding from his shoulder, yet swinging his knife and spinning like a dervish.
I ignored his words, and went up and swung the staff like a cudgel, bringing it down on the shoulder of a Djinn. The Djinn grunted in pain, and I felt the vibration of the impact through my arms, but the Djinn wasn’t slowed. I backed up as Mister Ali spun and sliced through another Djinn.
I looked over at Naomi. Two Djinn approached her with leering smiles, sharp teeth clearly visible. She gave up any pretension of casting another spell and started to backpedal. She had moments before she would be cut to ribbons, and I turned around looking if someone could help, but Mister Ali was in a mortal fight, and Waymaster Bergeron was furiously tapping on the telegraph. One of the Djinn raised his arm for a slicing blow to Naomi.
I clenched the cane, thinking of nothing other than my desperate need to stop the Djinn and help Naomi. A brilliant light burst forth, filling the room with such brightness that everything looked pale and colorless. The effect was so astounding that I imagined that everyone was moving in slow motion. I blinked, and opened my eyes to screams of pain from the Djinn, rather than their piercing shrieks. The two in front of Naomi were clutching at their eyes. Naomi quickly shot off her detonations, destroying them. Mister Ali easily dispatched his blinded opponents.
Naomi looked at me, her eyes wide. She smiled, and then crouched again, preparing to cast detonations at the Djinn still pushing in the doorway and the window.
The Djinn continued, relentless in their attack, but I was full of joy. I had stopped them. Me! The incompetent Archmage had stopped them. I was thinking of ways of getting from the building to the train with dozens of Djinn between the two when the pounding on the iron doors stopped. They were replaced by a distant sound that I knew well from the newsreels I watched in the Ziegfeld Theater: Machine guns. The rata-tat-tat grew louder, and Waymaster Bergeron slid her seat back, stood, and yelled out over the persistent shrieking noise, “The train is here!”
She ran right past me and up to the doors and started to unlatch them. I was about to warn her about the scores of Djinn outside when, with a grunt, she pulled the door open. There was a gap of about 10 yards between the building and the train engine, which filled my vision. The sky was dark with countless Djinn, but they were being held off by furious machine gun fire by two men standing on the ground next to the engine.
The scene was remarkable. Magical creatures held at bay by tommy guns. A few Djinn made it close through the hail of bullets, but they eventually fell to the deadly weapons. The opening of the doors caught the Djinn’s attention, and they turned and immediately set themselves on Waymaster Bergeron and me.
I thought I was dead for sure. A huge Djinn let out an unearthly wail and spread its wings as it leapt toward me. I instinctively brought up the staff to defend myself. All I could see was a claw swinging through the air and a sneering mouth full of vicious teeth. The claw hit the staff and the force threw me to the ground. At the same time, the staff sent some kind of force up the Djinn’s arm. It disintegrated.
An arm grabbed me by the shoulder and dragged me to my feet. “Get to the train, Tommy!” It was Mister Ali, and he practically threw me toward the two men guarding the engine.
As I stumbled toward the train, I watched the bizarre scene of deadly hails of bullets erasing entire portions of the dark sky. One of the men pointed into the engine and yelled “Up there. Now!”
There must have been a powerful shield spell around the train itself, because Djinn hovered around it, rage in their faces, but unable to get close. I watched as their claws slashed at air, bouncing off an invisible barrier.
I scrambled into a room at the front of the train, which was open but small. There was a window facing the track ahead and plenty of gauges and levers. I leaned against the rear wall and held my hand against my chest, breathing deeply. A few moments later Mister Ali limped in. He had a bad gash on his shoulder, and countless scrapes and cuts elsewhere. His colorful armor was shorn away at points, and he was covered in sweat and dirt. When he saw me, he smiled weakly but didn’t say anything. He patted me on the shoulder, but I noticed him wince when he did so.
I was about to ask how he was when one of the men from the train arrived. He was half supporting/half dragging Naomi into the compartment. She was screaming and using all her force to break free and head back outside. The man’s grip was like a vise, but his face was full of sadness and sympathy. “It is too late, miss. The best thing you can do for her is save yourself.” She fell to the floor and sat with her back against a wall. She pulled her knees up tight to her chest and sobbed.
The other man with the machine gun climbed up into the compartment. “We are safe on the train for now, but we need to get going. It would be bad if a Marid showed up. Really bad.”
Mister Ali walked past me to the rear of the compartment, grabbed a handle, and slid open a door that revealed a large and comfortable room. “Come, let us rest and allow the engineer to do his job.”
We all moved into the room, which looked like a combination of a living room and study. It was paneled in dark wood. I walked over to a plush reading chair and sat down for the first time since we had entered the mine. I set the cane across my lap and watched as Mister Ali walked in with Naomi. She shot me a murderous glance.
“This is your fault!” she screamed at me. Mister Ali whispered something in her ear and turned her away, leading her to a sofa. He touched his hand to her forehead and she closed her eyes, her head slowly falling onto the plush arm.
Mister Ali approached me, leaned down, put his hand on my forehead, and whispered, “I owe you many answers Tommy, even though you are too modest or respectful to ask the questions. You will have them, but right now you must rest.”
At that moment the pain in my body suddenly hit me. My leg hurt, but not as bad as my hip, which took the initial rock throw from the golems in what felt like something that happened ages before but actually had occurred less than two hours previously. I leaned back, and I could vaguely hear Mister Ali saying something in Farsi, but it quickly got lost in a haze. Somewhere in the distance I heard a train whistle. The wail of the whistle was worse than that of the Djinn. It was otherworldly and painful in a way I couldn’t describe. But it stopped as suddenly as it started, and I felt Mister Ali’s hand on my shoulder. “We will heal you when you wake.” Then all was dark and blessedly quiet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I FAIL AT MAGIC
I awoke in so much pain I was afraid to move. As I opened my eyes, Mister Ali came forward. His shoulder was bandaged; his armor was still damaged but clean. All in all, he looked much better. “Tommy, there is a lot we need to talk about, but we must heal you first. Do you understand?”
“Healing me would be good,” I replied. I winced as I stretched my leg.
Mister Ali nodded. “I want you to be quiet and relax as much as possible while I do a small healing spell.”
“Will it hurt?”
“No, but don’t expect much. You will still be sore.”
“I can live with sore.” I smiled. I wanted to appear brave to Naomi, but when I glanced over she appeared to be asleep.
