Sanctuary: The Sorcerers' Scourge: Book Two

by Michael Arches

  “I’m pretty busy, here and in town.”

  “Such a pity. You keep forgetting you’re my minion. I can do with you as I please. Bow before me and acknowledge my greatness.”

  I had no choice. She’d bespelled me so that I couldn’t refuse a direct order, so I bent down on one knee in front of her. “You are all powerful, dread queen.”

  Christina giggled.

  “That’s much more pleasant,” Diana said. “At any rate, there’s a man I know, Gillian Carmichael. He’s the most powerful witch I’ve ever met. I’ve trained with him several times over the years, and he’s always helped me tremendously.”

  “Where does he live?”

  She acted as though she hadn’t heard me. “Gill’s elderly now, and his wife died at the beginning of the year. Since that time, he’s been distraught. He called me this afternoon to say he’s searching for a disciple to pass his wisdom on to.”

  I repeated my question and got the same non-response.

  Christina grabbed Rascal and wandered away, no doubt bored to death by this talk of guilds and strange witches.

  “This is an incredibly opportunity,” Diana said. “I told him all about you. You have to meet him before his condition deteriorates any further.”

  “How old is he?”

  “A hundred and three.”

  “Oh, come on!” I cried out. “His brain has long-since fried.”

  Diana shook her head. “His wife was a gifted healer. Only now is he beginning to lose his health. You’ll visit him right away. That’s a direct order.”

  So I had to go. “For the third time, where the hell is he?”

  “Brittany. His wife’s family has lived there for centuries. They’ve all died out, so you will become his designated heir. I can’t believe your luck, O’Rourke.”

  My knowledge of European geography was terrible. “Is that England or France?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t embarrass me by admitting your ignorance in front of Gill. He lives on the coast of France in a lovely old stone house.”

  Diana had to be exaggerating this guy’s powers, and I didn’t see the point in travelling a third of the way around the world to find out. Plus, I was out on bail.

  “You know I can’t fly to France. Judge Eastwood won’t let me leave this county, much less the country. And, I don’t have a passport.”

  Diana frowned. “Don’t be so naïve. I’ll arrange your transportation. The judge will never be the wiser. This is a priceless opportunity for you to learn fighting magic so you can protect us. He has immense talent.”

  “Okay, I’ll go, no choice, but maybe he doesn’t really want to meet someone as pitiful as me. Maybe he’d rather spend his final days preparing for his upcoming trip to heaven.”

  She brushed a tear from her cheek. That was the first time I’d ever seen this tough queen show any weakness.

  “I talked to him less than an hour ago,” she said. “He’s already grieved for his wife and arranged his personal affairs. I told him you were the perfect disciple and that I’d ship you out tomorrow.”

  “I’m meeting Samuel tomorrow afternoon, or have you forgotten?”

  “Then you’ll leave first thing on Monday. If I hadn’t said ‘yes’ right away, he would’ve called someone else. The man knows dozens of other talented Holar masters. I’m just incredibly grateful that he asked me first.”

  I’d never seen her humble before, either. “If this guy turns you on so much, why don’t you go?”

  “You may not have noticed, but I keep this community operating. I hardly take a day off, and I certainly don’t have a month to spare.”

  I couldn’t believe her. “Have you lost your mind? No, don’t answer that. I know you have. I can’t take a month-long vacation in France. Holly won’t accept me going for that long.”

  “I’ve already coordinated with her.” Diana smirked. “She’s thrilled that you’ll get this priceless opportunity.”

  “What about the gal I’m leaving behind?”

  “Laura thrived without you before. She can do so again.”

  And Diana wouldn’t be the least bit upset if Laura and I broke up. Our Fearless Leader had her own designs on me for her daughter, Viola. “I guess I’m going on Monday, then.”

  She grinned. “I knew you’d be thrilled. Bon voyage, mon petit.”

  -o-o-o-

  Sunday, October 27th

  An informal campground, Boulder County, Colorado

  CRYSTAL DROPPED ME OFF at the end of a rough road back into the forest. There, preparations were well underway for a sweat ceremony. Samuel was officiating, and two of my Osage relatives were helping. Both of them were my first cousins.

  To them collectively, I said, “Thanks so much for driving so far.”

  Grandpa nodded. “Plus, it’s elk season. We all got Colorado elk tags this year.”

  I caught up on the recent family gossip. Then I asked, “Any news on the investigation of Cantor’s well-deserved death?”

  “The police keep investigating the family,” Grandpa said. “No surprise there, but the warrior who deserves our gratitude is well-protected.”

  “I don’t want to know who, but tell him I deeply appreciate him avenging our loss.”

  Grandpa nodded. “I will certainly do so.”

  This sweat lodge was a temporary hut made out of blankets wrapped over long willow branches. The outside was covered by tarps to keep the steam in. I’d brought a loincloth and moccasins so I’d be dressed properly.

  Samuel said, “We have an initial task to perform.”

  The rest of us sat around a campfire that was heating rocks for the sweat ceremony. Samuel went to the bed of his truck and brought back a leather knapsack, then removed something bundled in a plastic bag and butcher paper.

  It was a hunk of bloody skin covered with black hair on one side. A scalp, and I knew whose. “Sheriff Cantor!”

  The others grinned at me. “We have exacted our retribution,” Samuel said. “To avenge our honored dead.”

  Samuel took a gourd filled with seeds out of his knapsack and handed it to me. The others began to sing, and I shook the rattle and hummed. This was our tradition, getting vengeance with loud voices and angry blows. Each of us wiped blood from the scalp onto our hands and yelled curses at Cantor’s spirit. Then I tossed the scalp and its wrappings onto the fire, where they were consumed by the flames.

  The smell of burning flesh and hair was strangely satisfying. A great weight seemed to lift from my heart. I still had to punish Escobar, but that couldn’t happen until I got much stronger.

  When the hot rocks from the fire were ready, we moved them into the center of the lodge. Then, back outside, we dressed in loincloths and moccasins, and Samuel purified each of us with smoke from burning cedar twigs.

  We entered the lodge and sat in a circle while Samuel ladled water over the hot rocks. While he was doing that, we said prayers in Osage and sang songs.

  Unfortunately, I’d neglected my Indian heritage as I grew up, and I couldn’t speak much of my native language. But I could carry a tune, so I warbled and pounded a drum while the others were singing. This was not a warlike ceremony but exactly the opposite. Everyone was humble and peaceful. I tried to tell them how much I appreciated the honor of participating, but some feelings cannot be expressed in words.

  We didn’t finish the ceremony until long after dark. The fire had burned out, and Samuel gave me a metal bucket containing some of its ashes. My hand tingled as I held it the handle.

  “Next time you go into battle,” he said, “wear some of these ashes. They will strengthen your spirit and weaken your enemies.”

  -o-o-o-

  Monday, October 28th

  Brigid’s Community Ranch, Boulder County, Colorado

  EARLY IN THE MORNING, I took the black stallion Hercules out for a fast run. It was below freezing, and a dusting of snow had crusted on the pastures. The clan�
��s wolves, disguised with glamor as Rottweilers, joined us for our regular outing. By the time I returned from France, the ranch foreman, Herman, expected the fields to be filled waist-deep with snow.

  Clumps of brown grass still stood tall in most places, but all the flowers had vanished. In the distance, the high alpine peaks were solidly white, and more threatening storm clouds had piled up to the west. Laura had promised to show me how to cross-country ski after I got back, and that was something to look forward to.

  I hoped the month with Gill would pass quickly. At least I’d be near the ocean. I’d only seen it once, on the Texas coast, and the horizon had been dotted with oil rigs. Not appealing.

  After my ride, I ate breakfast with Laura, Christina, and Tess. Laura had grumbled a bit the night before, when I told her that Diana was making me leave, but this morning, she was eager to offer some suggestions for sightseeing in France. My girlfriend bowed way too easily to Diana’s dictatorial whims.

  “Do your best to get to Paris,” Laura said. “Even if it’s just for a day. It’s the most beautiful city in the world.”

  “I don’t expect to wander much,” I replied. “If the French cops stop me for anything, I’m totally screwed. No passport, no visa, and I’m entering the country illegally. I hear French immigration prisons are awful.”

  That put a damper on everyone’s spirits, so I started talking about the weather.

  As we finished eating, Diana’s assistant Amber wandered over to our table. “Ready for your trip to Europe, Ian? I’m so jealous.”

  “You’re welcome to go in my place,” I fired back.

  She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t be naughty. I spent an hour arranging your flights. Diana pulled a lot of strings to get you this chance.”

  That made me feel a bit guilty. It was a great opportunity to learn, but I couldn’t believe Gill needed an entire month to whip me into shape. And if the French figured out that a fugitive from Oklahoma justice had snuck into their country, I’d probably never see daylight again. There was no Bill of Rights there to protect me—and, according to Tess, they treated witches like terrorists.

  When I stopped woolgathering, Amber was staring at me.

  “Sorry. I know Diana is doing all this for me. Please be sure to tell her I appreciate it.”

  I kissed Laura and Christina goodbye. “If I don’t make it back, Christina gets Rascal, and Laura gets everything else.”

  They gave me more hugs and kisses, and I headed to Laura’s apartment to grab my huge duffel bag full of clothes.

  Amber had followed me, so I asked, “Can I take my staff?”

  “Sure. There’s no airport security, the way you’ll be traveling. Don’t take any firearms, though. The French have strict gun control laws.”

  As I’d been instructed, I carried my gear to a van in the garage. There, I asked Amber, “Where are we going?”

  “First stop, a ranch out east. You’ll fly to a farm in Virginia and switch planes. Then you’ll fly nonstop to a farm in Brittany. Gill Carmichael’s maid will then take you to his house. Couldn’t be easier.”

  -o-o-o-

  AMBER WASN’T KIDDING ABOUT how easy it was for me. She drove me for an hour to a remote ranch north of Denver. There, a small silver jet was sitting on the paved road running through the property. I climbed aboard and discovered that the only other person present was the pilot.

  He checked my face against a photo in his hand. “Welcome aboard, Mr. O’Rourke. As soon as you’ve stowed your bag in the back and buckled up, we can leave. There are drinks and snacks in the galley. The bathroom is behind it.”

  I nodded and put my bag in a luggage rack in the back of the plane. The jet was spacious and contained a dozen plush, fully reclining seats. A dining table that would seat six was next to the galley.

  The pilot didn’t speak again for a good three hours. Then he said, “Please buckle up for landing. We’ll only be here for about fifteen minutes to refuel. You’re welcome to go outside to stretch your legs, but please don’t wander away. We’re slightly behind schedule.”

  I saw through the window that this part of the country was thickly wooded. The trees were displaying their fall colors, and it was quite a sight.

  Once again, the pilot had used a private road as a landing strip. I couldn’t help but wonder what they did when the wind was coming from the wrong direction. I also wondered how they avoided showing up on FAA and military radar.

  The pilot seemed comfortable, so I imagined that I was completely safe.

  A fuel truck was waiting at the farm, and, without a word to me or the pilot, the truck’s driver pumped jet fuel into the plane. While we were refueling, the old pilot said goodbye and introduced me to a new one. Fifteen minutes after we’d rolled to a stop, the new pilot waved at the truck driver and took off.

  I slept during the flight over the ocean.

  -o-o-o-

  Tuesday, October 29th

  WE LANDED IN FRANCE in the middle of the night. The pilot shook my hand as I left the plane with my heavy bag. “Bienvenue en France!”

  Gill’s housekeeper, Julienne, picked me up behind the plane on a road surrounded by darkness. She was tall, thin, and gray-haired. On the plus side, she smiled a lot, but she could only speak a few words of English. We were perfect opposites, because I could only speak a few words of French despite years of classes during high school.

  Julienne drove us for half an hour to Gill’s house, which turned out to be outside of a town called Ploubalay. All I could see of the area were the lushly green borders of trees along the roads. Gill was asleep when we arrived, so Julienne took me to a small guest bedroom on the second floor, and I collapsed on the bed.

  Chapter 5

  Wednesday, October 30th

  Gillian Carmichael’s home, near Ploubalay, Brittany

  ALTHOUGH I REMAINED MOSTLY asleep, I sensed someone near, so I opened my eyes with a start. A pair of gray eyes surrounded by wrinkles was looking at me from two feet away.

  With a strong Texas drawl, a man said, “Funny, you don’t look like any Conan the Barbarian.”

  I pulled back as much as I could, which wasn’t far. “Who are you?”

  “I’m your host, Gill Carmichael. I had hoped that Diana would’ve at least mentioned my name to you before she shipped you off, but I guess not. She promised me someone called Ian the Barbarian. Who’re you?”

  “Ian O’Rourke,” I said, still half-groggy. “I expected her to tell you about me, too, so we’re in the same boat.”

  “Why are you here, again?”

  I sat up and stared at him, disbelieving. All my misgivings rushed to the forefront of my mind. Had I spent the better part of a day travelling for nothing?

  He stood about five and a half feet tall; he seemed frail, but his eyes were alert. He was stooping, holding a cane with a hand that shook. The man was completely bald, and his skin was covered with liver spots. I probably could’ve blown him over with a sharp breath. His corneas were dark gray, which was creepy. He didn’t look anywhere near 103 years old, though.

  “Why did I come? To learn magical fighting from a great warrior. To be completely honest, Mr. Carmichael, I expected someone…” I ran out of words, because nothing that came to mind sounded the least bit complementary.

  He cackled. “Call me Gill. Anyway, I’ll pretend to be impressed if you’re willing to do the same.”

  At least he had a sense of humor. “Deal.” Then, I had to ask a question about his eyes. “Why don’t your corneas have slivers from the sorcerers you’ve beaten?”

  “There were too many. You’ll soon get to the point where your eyes look like prisms, which freaks non-magical people out. For years, I had to wear colored contacts. Then, all the bits blended together into gray.”

  He had to be talking about dozens of victories. I had no idea what to say about that.

  “If you want breakfast, it’ll be served in thirty minutes. The hot wate
r tank only holds eighty liters. Lucky for you, Julienne and I took showers hours ago. The bathroom is the first door on your right. Good luck fitting in the stall.”

  With that, he shuffled out of my small, cold room.

  I found the bathroom, which was the size of a closet, and took a quick shower. The only way I could keep my head from rubbing the stall’s ceiling was to bend at the knees and hips.

  After dressing, I headed down the creaky wooden staircase, looking for the dining room. The house looked old and tired. The hallway was poorly lit by bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and the rooms appeared to have been furnished during the Victorian era.

  I found Gill in a small room with a table that could only seat four. He looked up from reading a French newspaper as Julienne brought in a traditional American breakfast of eggs over easy, bacon, biscuits, and gravy. It smelled fantastic.

  “Have a seat and dig in,” Gill said. “It won’t last long. I’m a pig, and so’s she.” He pointed at his servant, who smiled, apparently not recognizing the insult.

  I hadn’t had a decent meal in a day, and I was famished. The food seemed to be fast disappearing as both of them helped themselves, so I nodded and did the same.

  “I’ll tell you the rules of this establishment as we go along.” Gill paused to eat a few bites. “The first rule is that we don’t talk while we’re eating.”

  I nodded. Then I did my best to keep up with them until the food was gone.

  Gill burped. “Julienne, deux café, s’il te plaît.”

  She left and brought back two steaming cups of expresso and a cup of tea for herself.

  I said, “Uh, sir, I don’t drink coffee.”

  “You look like you just flew a third of the way around the world without sleep, son, and I need you alert. Keep adding cream and sugar to it until you can get ‘er down.”

  I did, with a grimace.

  “Good. Rule number two, I like doing things my own way. Diana says you can be stubborn. That ends now.”

  I was astonished at how blunt he was, but I nodded. This could become the worst month of my life.