The 13th Mage

by Inelia Benz

  She remembered that weekend, she remembered Sean walking to the chemist and tears welled in her eyes. She walked toward the window and pretended to look outside. She hated it when tears betrayed her composure. She hated crying in front of others.

  The rain was falling heavily against the glass pane making a thunderous noise, the sky was dark and forbidding, she pulled the net curtain to the side and leaned against the cold glass, it was all so dark, so many rain drops falling. It felt like nothing would survive it. She looked at her mother’s cherry tree, the last of the leaves fell to the ground under the pressure.

  She heard little bells. It was as though among the drops there were tiny little bells that lifted her heart. She leaned her ear closer to the glass. It was coming from the garden.

  “Sean!” she shouted and ran out into the rain, she closed her eyes and faced the sky, cold rain, she heard the tinkering of tiny bells again. It was to her left. She walked slowly so as not to lose the sound, they got stronger. It was by her corner, it was where she used to plant her favorite flowers when she was a little child.

  “Oh, God,” she said and she fell to her knees. In front of her there was the heather bush she’d planted for the fairies when she was eight, its tiny blue bells moving in the rain, and she could hear them singing.

  “Oh dear God, I’m going mad,” she said reaching toward one of the little bells and seeing it shine silver on her fingertips.

  She felt Mrs. Crow’s hand on her shoulder. She’d brought an umbrella.

  “The heart has many ways of communicating Jennifer, you know in your heart who it is that’s sending you that music.”

  She looked up at the old woman, could she hear it too?

  “Sometimes, when a lover goes away, he can send his voice to his loved one using these, sounds like bells playing, or so they say. I’ve never heard it myself, but there again Mr. Crow wasn’t exactly the romantic type, if you know what I mean.”

  Jennifer took the old woman’s hand in hers, another myth. It was probably nothing more than the rain making noises in an old pipe. The sound was gone and so was Sean.

  “Come on dear, we don’t want you to catch your death. That young Sean is alive and well somewhere, that’s for sure.”

  “Do you really think he still lives?”

  “What does your heart tell you?”

  “It tells me he is alive and he loves me.”

  Mrs. Crow smiled. The truth of a young heart was unquestionable. If only people didn’t stop listening to their hearts as they got older the world would be such a nice place to live, she thought, “let’s get back in there and see what we can do about your mother.”

  But her mother was not about to be comforted. It would take a while. Jennifer would leave as soon as possible. She would tell all her friends that she was off to London to marry her boyfriend. People would know she was pregnant but they wouldn’t be able to prove she didn’t get married. She would stay to live in London as long as possible after the baby’s birth, so as when she returned to Skerries she could say the marriage failed and she was getting a divorce. A divorced woman was much more acceptable than an unmarried mother.

  The next day she bought her ticket to London. She had never hated Skerries before, in fact she had always loved the place, but she knew how she herself had shunned a girl a few years earlier when the girl got herself pregnant. The girl went to live with her aunt in Liverpool in the end. It wasn’t as though people would throw stones or actively insult her, no, none of that. It was more like not talking to her, not saying “hi,” in the street when she walked past. Staring at her and talking about her predicament behind her back. The girl’s family would walk with their heads hanging low, which added to the shame she must have felt.

  If people found out about her own state now they would stop going to her mother’s shop. Maybe some of the gossips would go to try and weave some of the sordid details, but they wouldn’t buy anything, it’s likely her mother would throw them out adding fuel to the fire.

  Jennifer felt closed in. London was big, she could disappear in London. She felt frightened.

  She walked down the beach and sat to watch the sun go down. A young woman arrived with three young children and a dog, a Springer Spaniel. The dog ran toward her and wagged his entire body in greeting.

  The eldest of the children, a small blond girl, ran toward her, “don’t mind him,” she said, “he’s harmless. Come on Charlie!”

  The young girl pulled at the dog, which simply stood there wagging all over, staring at Jennifer.

  The mother was walking past and greeted her, then turned and walked toward them, the dog wouldn’t budge, Jennifer thought the woman would help the girl with her pet, but she walked past the girl and dog and sat by her smiling.

  “Sometimes everything looks dark and endless,” she said, “but don’t forget that winter never fails to turn to spring.”

  She handed Jennifer a white rose, “the sea just gave me this little present, I think it must be for you.” With these words the woman stood up and left, “Charlie, come boy,” she said and the dog followed her, jumping and running around and around, lifting clouds of sand.

  Jennifer watched the family move away and realized she hadn’t returned the greeting or said thank you. She looked at the rose, it was fresh. She wondered how it had stayed fresh while floating in salty water. It was scientifically impossible. Someone must have dropped it. For a moment she thought it shone silver in the sunlight.

  “Thank you,” she said toward the now distant woman and her children.

  The woman turned and waved, startling Jennifer, it was as though she had heard her, Jennifer waved back then got up to leave.

  "Winter never fails to turn to spring," she thought and was glad for the first time in a long time. She would have a great future, she had to.

  Chapter 5

  Having babies was a big decision, seducing a mortal woman didn’t worry Owen, finding the right woman did.

  One baby, he had decided. One baby who would be number Thirteen, someone else would have to worry about the other twelve.

  The easiest way to make a mage baby was for a mage to have a baby. Most mage were born of mortals, it was a quantum leap in evolution, suddenly the genetic soup would be just right to create a being who was not only conscious of the world around them but also the other worlds around it. The Astral, Ethereal, Old Ones and Light dimensions and their inhabitants, invisible to most people. These were the realms where the knowledge of immortality and the manipulation of the matter and space resided, once introduced into these realms the once mortal person would become a witch or an elder. At least that was the theory. No elder really knew how it came to be. But if a mage mated a mortal, the baby would definitely be a mage. The evolutionary jump was one hundred percent inheritable.

  His mortal woman would have to be very evolved, after all it wasn’t just about a roll in the hay, this had to do with his legacy in the universe, his seed. His child would be streaks ahead of the rest.

  He had spent an entire week in the Astral dimension, it was unprecedented. He’d met several Council members who’d arrived snooping around to see what he was up to. As much as they were clumsy in the material dimension, they were skilled in the Astral, but Owen was one of the best there too.

  He came back to the material dimension thinking this was not his idea of a good time, and wondered why he had wanted to get into the Council at all. But there again when he was young he was keen and quickly learned that spending time in the Astral was essential for Council membership, and that was all that mattered after all. He could glide from one dimension to another with barely any energy displacement. But there was enough to be detected, not even a Keeper could stop that happening, not that they ever tried to.

  The Astral dimension showed evolved mortals best, they traveled within its confines completely unaware of where they were. When they did become aware of where they were they thought they were having a religious experience and wasted their time
exploring their already known material world. Which just showed how limited human mind could be.

  He went into the kitchen to get something to eat, and found that there was nothing there except a thick layer of dust and spider webs. He’d forgotten to get food before going into the Astral, now his body needed nourishment and there wasn’t any.

  He put on his coat and went out to find a restaurant, it was three in the afternoon in London and to his utter dismay he found all the restaurants and pub kitchens were closed.

  He walked down an empty street, freezing cold, wet and hungry and wished he could be back in Santorcaz, where food could be found at any time of day at the local bar, where the sun came out every day, at least for a few hours, and where it stopped raining for most of the year.

  “That’ll be four pounds twenty pence,” said the barman handing him his drink and various packets of crisps and nuts.

  He sat by the radiator and ate until there was nothing left but empty bags. He decided he needed to get someone to take care of the house and food for him.

  He could have used magic to teletransport some food to himself, but magic in the material world was not a recommended pastime for a mage who didn’t want to be located. Apart from advertising his location to every other mage in the universe, it required a lot of energy to balance the displacement of atoms without creating havoc elsewhere, not worth the trouble just to get some food.

  He took a stroll to the local shops on the way to the house and bought a newspaper, there were plenty of people looking for work, all ages and skills, but no one seemed to fit the bill.

  He needed someone young and reserved, yet clever enough to sort out the daily requirements of housekeeping without him having to be there to take any decisions. He didn’t want anyone too old to patronize him or too young to get friendly with.

  He phoned the newspaper to place an ad, then made himself some coffee and retired to his study.

  The week that followed was a long one, apart from the builders Harry had also sent a team of inspectors to the house to check out the electricity and water fittings, all of which had to be replaced as they were not up to modern standards. This in turn meant that apart from the builders there was a team of electricians and plumbers tearing down walls and having cups of tea all day, every day.

  The firm of decorators didn’t take long in making their appearance either, they wanted to make the house look like it had in the 1800s, but Owen was having none of that, he loved the Twenty First Century.

  It was Saturday and at last he was able to settle down in the privacy of his study and do some real thinking. The smell of damp plaster mixed with decades of dust was quite overpowering, but he hadn’t allowed any mortals into the study, no one but himself went in there, a simple sealant spell had stopped the dust molecules and curious builders entering the study.

  He took stock of what had transpired so far and the main point, and one he couldn’t ignore, was that the Keeper wanted his child to be a girl, but girls, like their older counterparts were an impossible lot. There would be no way of controlling such a child, to begin with she was much more likely to become a witch than an elder, and witches were unpredictable and dangerous creatures. Owen wanted his child to follow his steps, to become a member of the Council, someone he could teach everything he knew.

  Well, most of what he knew.

  It was difficult enough looking for these women without attracting the attention of his rivals, but what would be more difficult was his eventual integration into the woman's cultural and societal arena without raising suspicions from the Council. The last thing he wanted was an inquisition, half a dozen elders poking into all his business for at least a year was not advisable at this point.

  According to Council Law, to be able to father a child he would have to marry the mortal woman who would be the mother. A complex and long drawn bureaucratic procedure chiefly formulated to discourage marriages among mortals and immortals. Every aspect of the relationship would be dissected and investigated. Every member of the Council would question the elder’s reasons. Not many marriages had been allowed in the recorded past, the ones that were, had in their majority ended in disaster. The main problem lay in the fact that mortals would by their very nature, one day die. By the time this happened the elder would be bonded and more often than not would go insane with grief at their abandonment, he himself had had a close call some decades back, had nearly died with the loss. There was no known way of finding the mortal’s new body, laws beyond the comprehension of mage ruled rebirth. Apart from that it was not in the Council’s interest to increase the number of mages in the world, so procreation was badly looked upon.

  Striking a relationship with a mortal woman was filled with dangers, it was less dangerous than doing so with a mage, but it was still a very risky business. Apart from the risk of bonding, there was the risk of his plan coming to the surface, both of which would mean expulsion from the Council.

  Owen wasn’t one for taking risks. On the contrary, he usually calculated and planned his moves thoroughly to minimize risks. Having a baby would put his position in the Council in danger, but it was worth it if it meant his ticket to learning the Way of the Witch without becoming one himself.

  On the witches front he had no problem, they didn’t have rules or regulations at all, and everyone could do pretty much as they pleased, except perhaps a mage being witch and an elder at the same time. Both sides seemed to agree on that rule. A person had to choose or or the other.

  Around him carefully chosen and exquisite items of decoration started flying against the walls, smashing into a cloud of anger.

  “Stupid fool, you stupid fool!” he shouted and grabbed the delicate shawl and fought to tear it to pieces.

  Why on earth had he made that promise to Aeoife? How could he put his seat on the Council in jeopardy? He wouldn’t. He would make sure no witch would find out he was still practicing Elder Magic, and he was absolutely sure no elder would find out he was practicing the Way of the Witch. If there was anyone who could pull it off it was him, and if he didn’t pull it off, then he really was not worthy of the Staff. But if he did fail, what would become of him?

  He looked at the mess around him and cursed the day the Keeper had entered his life. Then he quickly took the curse back.

  The shawl stayed intact, nothing could damage it. Just to make sure Owen spent the next few hours trying every known spell to destroy the soft piece of needlework. There was strong magic around it. He wondered how witches did their magic. This was stronger than any elder magic he had ever seen. Except perhaps the magic with which Rossini held the Staff. He wondered if this was Mage Magic at all, maybe it was Keeper magic, if there was such a thing.

  He wondered if he had misinterpreted the Keeper’s meaning. Why couldn’t she just come out and say things as they were? He went over the conversation over and over.

  She had told him that witches had a different kind of magic to elders, mortals evolved faster than mage and she wanted him to have the Staff. He went over his notes on lemonade and tartitas, apart from being great ways of administering potions there was nothing magical about them. She didn’t like the heat, heat was bad, and she had given him a shawl to give to the Thirteenth one.

  He had to get a baby and keep it warm. Maybe the Keeper wanted him to adopt a baby. Adopting was much easier than conceiving a child himself. He was also in his right to adopt a child, sooner or later he would have to. He had been adopted by a mage and he would have to adopt a mage, it was the Debt of Gratitude, the way to pay back a great good. Adopt a baby, just like he had been adopted by a witch. He would look for a mage child that showed signs of following the Way of the Witch, then he would Borrow into his or her mind while they grew up. It was much more logical, and less risky.

  Witches were not interested in the Staff. Why was that? He wondered.

  The child would grow up following the Way of the Witch, at the same time he himself would be learning the Way of the Witch through the child
. Even if Borrowing for so long was impossible he could simply order the child to get him the Staff. No, he couldn’t pass on the quest for the Staff to any child, no matter how much he controlled it. After all, he had broken away from his adoptive mother when he realized the type of magic he was born for was not her own. Once he became an elder his interests changed, his way of seeing the world was greater, bigger, and more important. There was no way to predict a child’s behavior after her power’s came into being. No way to make her get the Staff and hand it over.

  Maybe it was he, Owen himself, who had to become a baby. But what good would that do?

  Reversing the aging process to babyhood was a long procedure and it would leave him vulnerable to every mage in existence. Plus it wouldn’t change a thing about him.

  The way in which mortals managed to evolve faster, he now knew, was rebirth. They continuously changed their bodies, cultures, families. This gave them a wide range of experiences that were denied to mage plus a time at the Source, whatever that was. One time they could be rich, another poor, one white, another black, one male another female, one sickly, another healthy, the possibilities were endless. Plus the knowledge of imminent death was a great drive to achieve as much as possible in the little time they had to live.

  He began to get a picture of what the Keeper had hinted at, it was revolutionary, dangerous, it was the sort of thing an elder’s mind would never conceive. It was his ticket to the Staff.

  He would die and be reborn.

  To grow and develop his powers he would become something completely different, he would be reborn female, and would make sure the female learned the Way of the Witch. This way he would keep his promise to Aeoife without endangering his position in the Council.

  It was a most horrifying and disgusting plan, it was beautiful. He would then die again and be reborn as a man once more. A man who would hold all the knowledge of elders and witches within his mind, the most powerful elder in the universe and no one would know it was him, no one would be able to expel him because of breaking a law. He would be The Staff Holder.