Sanctuary: The Sorcerers' Scourge: Book Two

by Michael Arches

  A moment later, I told Gill, “Some spiritual power is here now”. “I can feel a connection with something far more powerful than us.”

  “I can feel something too,” Gill said. “But how do you know it’s your Wakonda?”

  “I don’t. This is the feeling I get when I’m praying to one god or another. This feeling doesn’t come every time I pray, but every time I’ve felt this, I was praying.”

  “Which god is here?” Gill asked.

  “I don’t know. I really can’t tell them apart. Maybe there’s only one, and He answers to many names.”

  At that same moment, I became much more sensitive to the wants and needs of others. From the gulls, I could sense their desire. Hungry—never-ending hunger. I felt a dog’s fear of us when he was still a hundred feet away.

  I kept my hands to the heavens and yelled to the sky, “Thank you! Glory be to the gods in the highest.” To Gill, I said, “I feel the clams now. They feel our footsteps above them, and they’re afraid.”

  He snorted. “High tide just passed an hour ago, and we’re not close enough to the clams for you to feel them.”

  “Too bad for you, ye of little faith. The gods have given me the power to sense what the clams want. The gulls, too. There’s one flying up behind us a hundred yards back.”

  We both turned around, and a gull flew toward us.

  “You heard him,” Gill said.

  “Not so,” I fired back. “It’s not too late to repent.”

  He peered into my mind. “I see your new power. It’s not the same as mine, not Holar, but it works.”

  “You admit, then, that I sensed the clams and the gull?”

  “Yep, but don’t ask me how.”

  “Am I still worthy of your valuable time?”

  “Yep, but I’m more impressed by how you obtained this new ability than the power itself. How’d you manage it?”

  “You saw how I did it. I prayed.”

  As we walked back toward Gill’s truck, we passed a tide pool. I asked, “Do you like lobster?”

  “You betcha. Why?”

  “There’s a big critter—I think it’s a lobster—stuck in a pocket in the tide pool. I guess it didn’t pay attention as the tide started out. He might make a nice dinner.”

  We hurried forward to where I sensed the animal, and Gill saw the lobster before I did. He waded into the surf and splashed onto the rocks that formed the tide pool and grabbed our dinner.

  I hurried after him, terrified that he’d slip and break his fool neck. I slipped instead, and I landed on my hip, squishing some dead critter that reeked of putrid rot. Once Gill caught the lobster, we drove back. I had taken off my pants and thrown them in the back of the pickup because they stank so badly.

  When we got back for lunch, Julienne was thrilled to see the lobster. I put on a pair of clean pants and threw the others away. She left for the market, and while she was gone, Gill and I practiced defensive magic.

  “By the way,” I asked, “why do you say ‘Holarthon’ instead of ‘Holar’? I’ve been doing the same based on advice from a great fighter who protects Atlanta.”

  “I know Henry,” Gill said. “He’s a pup. Marie came from an incredibly ancient magical family. Most of them were members of the Holar Guild. According to their family tradition, his spells worked better when you say ‘Holarthon.’ Nobody knew why.”

  We practiced a few shocking spells, and my lightning bolts were significantly bigger and brighter than before. The new powers I had received on the beach seemed to be the cause.

  -o-o-o-

  AFTER GILL DECIDED I was worthy, he taught me how to become invisible. This spell had been hidden within Marie’s family since time out of mind. It took a lot of power, so I could only do it for a few minutes at a time. Two months ago, a sorcerer had used a similar spell on me, and it’d confused the hell out of me. With his limited magic, the sorcerer had had to partially materialize in order to hurl an attack. Gill’s spell kept me completely invisible.

  He also knew plenty of variations to the classic Holar fighting attacks. My favorite was pulsed white lightning. It immobilized an attacker for far longer.

  Best of all, he taught me his favorite spell, a mirror ward. It made an attacker’s spell bounce back off my shield and strike him.

  I pointed at Gill. “Holarthon, réfléchit.”

  He cackled as he dodged the spell bouncing back. It was almost impossible for me to maintain my concentration well enough for it to work, but I managed to do it twice.

  Chapter 7

  Tuesday, November 19th

  ON THE THREE-WEEK anniversary of my arrival in France, Gill and I drove to Normandy so he could show me the invasion battlefields.

  While he was driving, he said, “The last time I visited, ten years ago, I felt depressed for months afterwards. It occurred to me yesterday as we were eating dinner that we need to go while you’re here so you can put my brains back together.”

  “I’m thrilled to do it. I’ve heard about D-Day since I was a little kid.”

  “By far the worst day of my life.”

  He lapsed into a reverie, and I didn’t disturb him.

  Eventually, he said, “I’d prefer you stayed longer than four weeks. The time has flown by, but Diana keeps hinting that I need to send you back. I guess the sorcerers are becoming more aggressive.”

  “To tell you the truth,” I said, “I didn’t want to come, but the woman always gets her way. And now that I’ve benefitted so much, part of me doesn’t want to go back. It’s incredibly peaceful here.”

  “Yeah, it’s quiet. Good for a doddering old man. It’s helped you to hone your concentration. That’s the difference between punks and masters. Got it, punk?”

  “I’m starting to. I believe you, but I have a hard time quieting my mind.”

  “Me, too. Do it anyway. All the great Holar masters meditate for hours a day.”

  “I’m working up to it.”

  It took us a couple of hours to reach the old battlefield beaches, which were cold and sunny.

  Gill had landed with the second wave of assault troops on Omaha Beach, near the small town of Vierville-sur-Mer. He couldn’t speak to describe the horror of the day again, but I read his memories of the disasters the American Army had faced in trying to land and push up onto the headlands.

  Today, the sea was mild, but on D-Day, it had been so rough that many landing craft had never gotten to shore, and tanks and trucks were dumped too far from dry land to make it up the beach. Lots of the troops had ended up in places where the shore was too rocky to land. Worst of all, some companies suffered fifty percent casualties.

  We walked along the edge of the shore. He stayed silent until he pointed at a rocky outcropping a hundred yards back from the water. “I remember that. Our landing craft headed straight for it. The Navy guys tossed us into the churning surf and yelled, ‘Go kill Germans!’ Thousands of casualties littered the beach, many of them rolling in the surf.”

  He walked toward the sandy bluffs, and he kept glancing from spot to spot. Then he stopped.

  “This is where I caught that bullet. My blood soaked into this sand. I’m astonished at how peaceful this beach looks compared to that day. The air was full of smoke and the barrage of explosions.”

  All I heard were the occasional shouts of the tourists and their kids.

  For the next hour, he didn’t speak a word, and I didn’t either. Instead, I strolled the beach looking for interesting shells and rocks. God only knew what went through his head.

  Finally, down where the incoming waves seemed to pull the sand from below our bare feet, he said, “I’m glad we came. One good thing about facing my own death is that I might get to see my buddies who never made it off this goddamned beach.”

  Later, I helped him scramble up a bluff above the high tide mark. When we reached the top, he said, “Listen, I’ve been emailing Diana a lot, and we’ve agreed that I need to mak
e you a Grade Three Holar. I’m going to do it now.”

  “If you’ve communicated with her, you know I’m not interested. I love learning from you, but the guild doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret. It doesn’t mean much to me, either. They made me a Grade Six without my consent, and I was pissed at the time.”

  I couldn’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. “Why are you trying to do the same thing to me?”

  “Because this beach reminds me that sometimes we have to do things we hate. It’s part of that whole ‘helping others’ business.” He took a breath. “The bottom line is that, when you have such incredible gifts as a witch, you have a responsibility to serve the needy. And believe me, kiddo, the guild is needy.”

  “Okay, since it sounds like I don’t have any choice. Either of you could make me do it.”

  We stood facing each other. Gill put a hand on my shoulder. “Here goes.”

  He raised his voice, but only the gulls were close enough to hear him. “The ancient and honorable Magical Order of Holar has thrived on this fertile Earth since the memory of man runneth not to the contrary. Holar first established his mighty academy to preserve his knowledge of witchcraft for future generations. His wisdom has been passed down from master to disciple over the millennia until the present day. By the authority vested in me by the Grand Council, I hereby designate you as a Third Grade member of the Holar Guild. Written confirmation of this designation will be transmitted to the appropriate representatives forthwith.”

  Gill patted my shoulder. “Go and sin no more.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t feel the least bit different.

  -o-o-o-

  Monday, November 25th

  Gillian Carmichael’s home, near Ploubalay, Brittany

  THREE DAYS BEFORE I was scheduled to leave, Gill’s phone rang. That was a rare occasion, and Julienne hurried over to answer it.

  Breakfast was over, and Gill was reading the local newspaper while we drank coffee.

  After a brief hello, the housekeeper listened for a minute, then hung up without saying goodbye. Wearing a frown, she whispered to Gill in French. He jumped up from the sofa and sat in front of his computer.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  He replied, “That was Diana, telling us that a message was waiting on the witch network.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, which told me he expected something alarming. He’d never done anything quickly before.

  A moment later, he said, “Shit. Some judge in Colorado is looking for you. He wants you at a hearing at nine o’clock this morning.”

  I checked my watch; it was already after 7 a.m. Then I did the mental calculation. They were eight hours behind us, so it was late yesterday there. “Even if I could fly out right now, I wouldn’t make it in time. What’s the supposed emergency?”

  He shrugged. “All I know is that she’s managed to arrange for a plane to pick you up in an hour and forty-five minutes. Get your stuff together.”

  I ran to my room and threw my belongings into my duffel bag. While I was doing that, I racked my brain to figure out if I’d screwed up somehow and revealed my location. I hadn’t used my credit card or cell phone since I’d arrived in France, nor had I sent any letters.

  When I got back downstairs, Gill seemed less alarmed. “Maybe it’s better this way. I’ve always hated long goodbyes.”

  Julienne was scurrying around the house to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I replied to Gill. “You don’t have to worry about being extradited to Oklahoma on suspicion of murdering a cop.”

  He sighed. “True. I wish I could go with you, and I will come at some point, if for no other reason than to make sure you haven’t let your training go all to hell.” He paused, glanced around, and then said quietly, “Listen, I have two things I need to talk to you about. I’d planned to do this later, but it’ll have to be now. First, I have an ancient book of Holar teachings I need to pass on to you.”

  I began searching for the tablet that I used primarily to read eBooks. There was no WiFi here, so it shouldn’t have given me away. “Why me? I’m no scholar.”

  “You’re my last disciple. This book has been handed down in Marie’s family for over a thousand years. They’re all dead now. You are my designated magical heir within the guild, but I don’t want to take any chance of you not receiving the book after I’m gone.”

  “As you wish, Master. What should I do with it?”

  “Katie O’Dell tells me that your local university has an ancient languages department. Work with them to see if the book is useful in any way.”

  “You bet,” I replied. “What language is it written in?”

  “Don’t know, but it ain’t English, I can promise you that. Katie thinks some witch at CU might be able to figure it out.”

  “Great. I’ll work with her to see if we can translate the text.”

  He nodded. “Marie’s family thought it was an old form of Breton, which is the Celtic language still spoken by many people here. The thing is, though, I know some Breton, and I didn’t recognize any of the words on the few pages of the book I scanned.”

  Finally, I found my tablet partially hidden behind a sofa cushion. “It’s a book of spells?”

  “Again, I don’t know. Nobody’s been able to read it for centuries. Her family thought it was. Actually, the legend is that it’s a translation of a much earlier book written at the time Holar was alive.”

  “A gospel for Holar? That could be an incredible scholarly discovery. Why haven’t they researched this book already?”

  “They were convinced it’s survived until now only because they kept its existence secret. But what’s the use of saving it if nobody can read it?”

  I grinned. “I’ll keep you posted. Could be amazing.”

  Gill gave it to me already packed inside a cardboard box. “It’s carefully padded, so you can put it in your luggage for the trip home.”

  When I took it, I didn’t feel anything special—no more power or the like. Still, it was over a thousand years old. I put it in the center of my bag and surrounded it with clothes to protect it.

  “Oh, one other think about the book,” Gill said.

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s only one professor who I don’t want you to use. She’s the world’s greatest living Holar scholar, Sorcha Leòideach. The lady knows him better than anybody, but she and I have butted heads for decades. Keep that crazy bitch away from my book!”

  I smirked. “It’s not your book anymore, remember?” Before the snarl left his throat, I added, “Don’t worry. Sorcha’s on my do-not-call list.”

  “Good. I can’t wait until she finds out I’ve kept this from her. It’s going to really chap her bony ass. I just hope I live to see the explosion.”

  God, I was going to miss him. “Sounds like you two have a battle royal going. What started it?”

  “Her bragging that Scotland produced the best beef in the world, but the woman is so stubborn that we’ve fought about everything for decades. Our latest feud happened when the guild made her a grade three master over my strong objections. She might be bright as hell, the bitch is an Oxford professor, but Holar is for fighters. She couldn’t win a battle against the Pillsbury doughboy.”

  He was getting more and more agitated as he spoke, so I tried to calm him down. “Fine, no snotty Oxford profs will get to see the book.”

  “Perfect.”

  Then he left the living room and went upstairs, where the housekeeper was still searching for my mislaid stuff. After a minute, he came back downstairs with Julienne.

  “Say goodbye,” he said to me.

  I did, in lousy French, and she kissed me goodbye on both cheeks and wished me a safe journey home. I kissed her back and gave her a certificate for a free dinner and bottle of wine that I’d picked up at a local restaurant as my parting gift. Then I lo
aded my stuff into the back of the truck, and Gill drove us toward the farm where I’d arrived a month ago.

  A few miles down the road, he smiled. “Now, we can talk in peace.”

  I nodded. “What about? Oh, I forgot all about the second thing.”

  “I hold a secret so important we need absolute solitude.”

  That sounded ominous. It didn’t help that he looked through the truck’s back window, apparently to make sure nobody had snuck into the truck bed to eavesdrop. I tried to imagine why he was being so ridiculous.

  He took an old bronze coin from his windbreaker pocket and showed it to me. It was heavily tarnished, a severely worn disk about a half-inch in diameter. Words had been engraved on the side I could see, but they’d worn down to almost nothing. The medallion hung on a long, beaded chain like the ones they used to use for a GI’s dog tags.

  “Hold out your hand,” Gill said.

  Instead, I clenched my fists. “Not until I know what you’re giving me. This pitiful-looking thing seems to have a lot of sentimental value for you.”

  “You betcha. This is one of the most closely guarded secrets in the world of witchcraft. Now that Marie has passed, only two people know this little trinket still exists, and they’re sitting in this truck.”

  I slid my hands under my legs. “What is it? Kryptonite for sorcerers?”

  He laughed. “No, not nearly as useful, but it’ll change your life, kiddo.”

  “You’re confusing me. Just tell me what the hell it does.”

  “Sorry, but I have to swear you to secrecy first. This amulet was rumored to exist in Holar’s day, but he denied it to his death. The legends say it was found, but it was lost again three thousand years ago when a Trojan ship sank in the Mediterranean.”

  “So, you swam to the bottom of the sea and found it?” I asked.

  “It never sank,” he replied. “More lies to hide it. The medallion has been out of sight until now. If sorcerers learn that this thing still exists, they’ll do anything to take it from you. Most witches would want it, too.”