Wild Magic

by Ann Macela

  When Fergus nodded, he and Irenee both cast their swords, holding them firmly in two-handed grips. She cast her spell to create an energy weapon looking like the gladius, a Roman shortsword about thirty inches long overall. Since the weightless magical blades required both hands to wield, she had modified the original design to increase the length of the grip. Her sword was elegant, she thought, and it fit her perfectly. She started hers on a lower seventh level, green laced with yellow swirls and brought it up to blue.

  To match his size, Fergus’s weapon was a massive claymore, fully five feet from pommel to tip, and he also began at a lower level before raising it to a silver-striped gold. Both pointed their swords toward the ceiling.

  A low hum vibrated through the air, and the light generated by the energy in the swords, plus the pentagon shield, made the room brighter than day.

  She and Fergus saluted each other and brought the tips down to point directly at the Cataclysm Stone. The evil item seemed to grow blacker in the bright light.

  “Is everyone ready?” Fergus asked. They all said yes.

  “One, two, three,” he said softly in a measured cadence.

  The Defenders focused and put their hands first on their magic centers, then extended them palms up in front of them. Magical energy poured from their hands, shimmering with rainbow colors. The individual streams spread horizontally, linked up with those of the others, and began to melt together. What began in various colors coalesced into a shining circle of gold floating midway between the Defenders and the backs of the two Swords.

  The hum increased in resonance and went lower in pitch.

  As she felt the power growing, Irenee took a firm, centered stance, made sure her shoulders were relaxed, and concentrated on her own magic center. The area under her breastbone, which some called the energy well, came to attention. She nodded at Fergus.

  “One, two, three,” he said again.

  She tapped into the power source swirling behind them, gathered energy into her well, molded it into a form she could use.

  “One, two, three.”

  Irenee aimed the power into her sword, and a laser beam of energy shot out of its tip directly at the evil Stone. Fergus hit the item with his beam from the other side at the same time.

  “One, two, three.”

  They both flooded their swords with energy. His turned pure gold. Hers intensified, moving up the levels from blue to blue with indigo streaks. Where the beams met the Cataclysm Stone, they combined into a pure white. The light flowed like water around the black item, over the facets, down the sheer slope of the ruined side. The surface of the black facets turned shiny, as if the Stone no longer tried to absorb, but to repulse the light. The hum dropped an octave, took on the rhythmic aspects of a slow and steady heartbeat.

  They held the pose, deluging the object in good, white power. Irenee lost track of time as she modulated the energy passing through her center, being careful to maintain an emergency reserve while making sure she was reaching all of the Stone facets she could see.

  The Stone began to tremble like the facets were moving or the pedestal shaking. A sensation like the rising of a strong wind snaked around the interior of the pentagon. A low moan sounded at the edge of hearing.

  “Ignore the moan,” Fergus ordered. “It’s at the frequency that causes unease and often terror in human minds. The Stone’s fighting back. We’re making progress.”

  Irenee said nothing, took a deep breath, and blocked the sound out. It wasn’t easy. She could almost feel icy tendrils of evil reaching for her from the Stone, almost see an oily mist of nauseating colors begin to pool in the crystal bowl, almost smell noxious fumes rising from the mist.

  She shook her head and reached for a bit more energy. The illusions vanished. Hah, take that!

  The damaged crystal continued to shudder, and its faceted surface rippled as though its insides had turned molten and boiled. It began to roll from side to side in the bowl like a boat in heavy seas. The damaged slice, which had been facing between the two Swords, began to shift in her direction.

  “Watch out, Irenee,” Fergus said, “the damn thing is maneuvering its smooth side to aim right at you.”

  “I see it,” she answered and increased her power output as the Stone turned its fractured face to her. “From this angle, it appears almost transparent or hollow, but there’s something like a black flame burning inside.”

  “Pure evil power.” Fergus poured on more energy from his side.

  The Stone’s facets began to undulate, trying to throw off the attacks. She and Fergus had tight control, however, and forced the reflected beams right back on their target.

  “Give us more, Defenders. We’re beginning to have a real effect.” Fergus’s sword took on tinges of white when he increased the power of his output.

  Irenee threw more energy from the team into the mix and forced it through her sword until blue and indigo swirled together equally along the shining blade.

  The Stone’s undulations quickened. The facets twisted, writhed, threw off one beam of light only to be deluged by another, until the surface appeared liquid.

  Irenee knew they were succeeding as one, then another facet faded, gave off a brief burst of blackness, and sank into the heart of the Stone.

  Good, progress. Maybe she could relax a little, build up some reserve energy. Breathing easier, she set a part of her mind to the task, flexed her shoulders, lifted her beam the tiniest bit.

  The black flame at the Stone’s center lunged at her.

  “No!” She jerked her sword beam down and forced the flare back into the Stone.

  Another blaze of black struck out. She hammered that one into retreat.

  And another and another.

  She pulled all the power she could—more than she ever had before—from the team, but the flame kept attacking. First to one side, then to the other. Twice in a row she barely managed to bring her beam to bear in time.

  She grabbed for more energy. The team responded.

  A flare shot out.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” she snarled and threw it back into the Stone.

  Breathe, relax the shoulders, keep the wrists flexible.

  Another strike. Another block.

  How much did the team have in reserve? How long could she keep this up? What would happen if they ran out of energy?

  She stopped yet another assault from the Stone and braced herself for its retaliation.

  She vaguely heard Fergus shouting, “John, Hugh, the rest of you! Get in here! Mary Ann, call for every Sword and Defender in the Center.”

  John came through the shield to stand beside her, and his pure silver blade began to work with hers on the evil reaching out of the Stone.

  She increased her power and speed. She wasn’t going to relax her guard again.

  She felt her father at her back, his hands on her waist, feeding his energy directly to her, and oh, it was so powerful and so welcome. Her sword glowed pure indigo.

  The Defender reinforcements added strength to all three Swords.

  More people, including two Swords, joined them inside the pentagon. Irenee ignored them. All she could see was the black fractured face with the hideously obscene flame behind it. The evil continued to attack her alone.

  Brilliant light surrounded her and all the Swords as they poured energy onto the Stone. The hum had become a deep roar, and people were shouting or screaming with the effort to produce more power.

  She found support. Physical in the bulwark of her father. Mental and magical in the energy the Defenders were pouring into her. She embraced both to increase her output. Her sword developed a violet tinge and settled into violet streaks through the dark blue.

  Attack. Counter. Attack again. Counter again.

  She had no idea how long they battled.

  A cheer rose when facets finally began to die once more. Slowly, so slowly, the Cataclysm Stone began to shrink.

  At the last, the smooth face collapsed in upon the
flame, and the Stone lost facets at an accelerated rate. It dwindled rapidly to a six-sided cube, then a four-sided pyramid on a square base, and finally to a triangular structure of only four facets.

  “Strike now!” Fergus thundered. “One, two, THREE!”

  Irenee threw every bit of energy she could grab into her blade’s beam. Blinding white light hit the dying Stone from all sides.

  A shrill cry of rage and despair filled the room as the black flame flared one more time. What was left of the Stone disintegrated into a small pile of ashes.

  The cry continued until only its echo reverberated off the walls.

  Finally, silence, except for everyone’s harsh breathing.

  Irenee let her hands fall to her sides, dissipating her blade. So drained she couldn’t have even cast flamma to light a candle, she looked straight across the remains of the Stone at Fergus and said, “Well, that was exciting.”

  Then she fainted into her father’s arms.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Alton!” Bruce let himself into the Finster mansion and put the keys into his pocket. He’d been jolted out of a sound sleep by the sure knowledge something was horribly wrong. He had the distinct impression his Stone was calling to him. Since it never had before, he thought the feeling must have come from the bad dream he’d been having—until the phone rang.

  The house was silent. The caterers had all left, and the staff had gone to bed.

  “Alton?” Bruce called again. “Where are you? What’s so important to get me over here at two thirty in the morning?”

  “Here.” Alton appeared in the hall and beckoned him into the study. His cousin looked like shit—pale skin, dark shadows under his eyes, his hair sticking up, his clothes disheveled. Quite a contrast to the debonair host he’d been at the party.

  “What’s the matter?” Bruce asked as he entered the room.

  “It’s gone,” Alton wailed. He pointed to the corner of the room where Granddad’s old safe lay. The rug was folded back, and the safe’s door was open. “You gotta help me.”

  Bruce looked around the room. Except for the safe, nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. “Take it easy. What’s gone? What are you talking about?”

  Alton handed him a piece of paper.

  Bruce glanced at the paper, and his center contracted into a cold, hard ball. Displayed on a black pentagon, the Defender golden shield with two silver long swords across it practically leaped off the page. He quickly moved over to the desk to read it under the light.

  NOTICE OF CONFISCATION

  By order of the High and Defender Councils:

  Alton Finster:

  You are hereby notified that the Defenders have confiscated an evil magic item or items found to be in your possession.

  This seizure was made in accordance with Section LX, Paragraph 1, of the Practitioner Constitution; Section XII, Paragraph 2, of the Rules Concerning Magic Items, the High Council Procedures; Section II, Paragraph 1, of the Defenders Mission; and your oath as freely given on your eighteenth birthday to abide by all practitioner laws, rules, and codes of ethics.

  The item or items will be destroyed as quickly as possible.

  Note: If you have attempted to or have actually used the item to cast spells:

  You may be physically or mentally harmed in the destruction process.

  Your magic level may be decreased by the destruction process.

  You may be in need of medical attention after the item is destroyed.

  By authority of Section XII, Paragraph 10, of the Rules Concerning Magic Items, the High Council Procedures; Section III, Paragraph 5, of the Defenders Mission; and your oath referenced above, neither you nor any member of your family may sue or otherwise attempt revenge on the High Council, the Defenders, or any other person involved in this seizure and destruction. If you take any such action, none of the above are liable for the outcome, which may result in greater physical harm to you, up to and including your death.

  Members of the High and Defender Councils will call at their earliest convenience to investigate your possession of this item and to determine the effects it may have had on you, your actions, your environment, and other persons.

  You may be subject to a fine and/or a censure and/or required to make restitution for harmful effects caused by you, the item, or you and the item acting in concert.

  It is in your best interest to cooperate with the investigation.

  Sword and Defender

  The freeze in his center became an arctic blast that almost congealed his gut. Bruce waved the sheet of paper at his cousin. “What the hell is this, Alton? What did they confiscate?”

  “It was here before. They must have taken it during the gala, but the door was locked,” Alton mumbled while he paced around the room, gesturing wildly.

  “Alton!” Bruce grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. “Stop it. Tell me what happened. What’s missing? What evil item did they take? How did they get into the basements without somebody noticing?”

  Alton seemed to deflate. He pointed over to the open floor safe and shook his head. “I had my Stone in there. I’ve been using it lately to make sure the deal went through—the new one with the Iranian group.”

  “You had your Stone up here? You used it up here? You left it up here in the safe?” Bruce’s voice rose, and he shook Alton harder with each question. Finally he flung his cousin into a chair. “You damn idiot! You shit-for-brains fool! How many times have I told you to never cast a spell with your Stone anywhere except in the shielded room downstairs? And never without me, without our using the Stones together for maximum power? And never to take it out of that room?”

  “I know,” Alton sniveled. “The deal looked like it was going bad. Their numbers weren’t adding up. You’ve been out of town for the past month, and the people from the gala were driving me crazy, and the Iranians were pressuring me for answers. So I cast a few spells to get the weapons buyers off my back.”

  Bruce ran a hand through his hair. What a time for Alton to develop an independent streak. He thought he’d cured the jackass of acting on his own initiative long ago. “You’re all wrong about the deal, but that’s not the most important thing. Why did you keep your Stone here? It was only yours, wasn’t it? Alton, if you brought mine upstairs and they took it, so help me ...”

  “No, no, it was only mine. You know yours doesn’t like me. It won’t let me use it like you can do with mine. Besides, I like having mine around. It feels good. I feel good.”

  “Goddamnit, you’re addicted to it. I’ve warned you about the dangers, haven’t I?”

  Alton wiped his face with his sleeve. “How did the Defenders find out? We’ve had the Stones for twenty-five years, and we’ve used them over and over again. We wouldn’t have been able to build that side of the business without them.”

  “How the hell should I know how the Defenders do anything? Maybe they have antennas on the Hancock Building or the Sears Tower to pick up spells being cast with items like the Stones. Granddad told us in the red book to never take them out of the special room, remember? He obviously had a reason. I did what he said. Why didn’t you?”

  “Oh, my God. The red book.” Alton’s face went even paler. He jumped up and ran over to the safe, knelt, and rummaged through the remaining contents. “It’s not here.”

  “They got the book, too? Oh, great, just great.” Bruce took a deep breath and concentrated on getting hold of himself before he really did kill his cousin. Think, man. “Look, maybe it’s not so bad. They probably can’t read it. We couldn’t—not until we took over the Stones. They conferred the power on us.”

  “How can we get mine back? The letter says they’re going to destroy it.” Alton stood up and went back to slump in his chair.

  “Who specifically took it? When exactly?”

  Alton leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He spoke slowly, as if reciting his actions carefully. “I know my Stone was here before the gala because I looked at it d
uring the afternoon. There were people, gala organizers, caterers all over the place for the last three days. I kept the study locked and posted a guard to make sure none of them had access to the private parts of the house. Somebody must have taken it during the party. But who? It could have been any guest or staff. Maybe we can ask the guards who patrolled the hall if they saw someone.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll have to compare the entire guest and staff lists to the practitioner registry to find our likely culprit.”

  “The registry doesn’t tell who’s a Defender. Except for the people on the Defender Council and Whipple, their names don’t get broadcast around.” Alton was whining now, and Bruce wanted to slug him to shut his cousin up. The man was such a wimp.

  “No, but it will help us narrow the field, and I have a couple of sources for gossip.” Bruce started pacing between the desk and the door while he ran through possibilities and probabilities—not, however, about retrieving the idiot’s piece. The notice of confiscation said Alton’s Stone would be destroyed as soon as possible. They could be working on killing it this very minute. Probably were. No, that Stone was gone.

  His, however, remained. His, the larger piece, with the greater power to go with his higher magical level. His magic center seemed smug all of a sudden—exactly like it was when he was casting spells with the Stone. His Stone. He’d miss having Alton’s piece to boost his power, but he didn’t really need it.

  He almost laughed. Without his Stone, Alton would cease to be a nuisance, would have to get out of his way completely, even as a figurehead. Bruce would be the one in complete, unquestioning control. He’d finally get what was due him. Looks like Granddad’s prophecy was going to come true. He’d be in charge of the companies—and all their activities.

  Bruce stood staring at the door and beyond it, contemplating his wonderful future, when a strange noise, a drawn-out grunt from Alton, turned him around to face his cousin.