by S. V. Brown
“What?”
“Did you forget something before you so precipitously left us?”
He made a face but replied sweetly, “I don’t think so.”
“Let me just tell you then that Harro, that ineffectual, made Jesta a rather unusual spell for her birthday—”
He tried not groan mentally as he remembered the Assembly member’s daughter.
“—I won’t go into details dear, since you obviously felt the need to divorce yourself from us. Her nose just hasn’t looked the same since the ... um ... incident. But I’m sure you’re not that interested in the pesky details and that all the Assembly is in an uproar and furious. And by the way, give my regards to the Assembly member Jarson when he hunts you down.” Her false tinkling laughter resounded in his head.
“Funny how Gareth made sure the spell stuck though.”
Silence met that observation.
“He was—”
He cut her short not wanting to hear the excuse and sent her a jolt. At her screech he broke contact quickly. He could use her ability to magnify at any level of contact, no doubt it was why she hadn’t contacted him earlier but she obviously felt it worth the risk to threaten him. But she had also warned him.
The drizzle stopped and he realized during the conversation his umbrella had expanded with O’rah’s innate abilities. That made it even more maddening. O’rah didn’t actually train; her abilities were completely inherent. It was Paris who worked at the actual spell, creating it, molding it and delivering it. Gareth just held the spell in place until the job was done.
He looked at Path who ignored him. “You’ve joined a renegade. Let’s go.”
He sat the pack on the log, shoved his arms back in and heaved up stumbling forwards. Path jumped off the log and headed in the opposite direction to where he wanted to go.
“Path? Path?” Paris called.
With her tail straight up she disappeared into the glistening leaves now dripping water in the dying light. He spotted her tail now and then through the foliage.
He called one more time. There was no response.
“Traitor.” He kicked at a stick feeling irrational. The first few steps saw Paris trying to dislodge the stick from his pants without bending over. Once free he began walking with purpose for all of a few minutes until again, the pack won the day. He knew where there was a cabin and an insane woodsman nearby. A simple spell would put the man to sleep. Now that he knew O’rah located him he might as well be comfortable.
For that matter … he stopped walking and used a little spell. With a much lighter pack he almost ran down the track.
Paris was determined after a good night sleep, and after plugging up the old man's mouth with a muffler, he would find out why his magic was restricted. Now that he was away from the stupid Trinity pit he found his mind awash with childhood memories. He was sure he had performed spells and magic without the use of actual “spells”. He bolted upright, why had he just remembered that? It was all there, not quite distinct in his mind, but a definite shape forming in the fog. Why had the Assembly always insisted on O’rah, Gareth and him living together? Why in that stupid Trinity pit? Why had the thought of leaving never occurred to him before now? He had entertained vague notions but it always slipped away. And he had been brooding for days on that cliff face. He snorted and lay back down putting his arms beneath his head. The more he thought about it the more he had the impression they had been manipulated. Or maybe it was just him.
By morning he was feeling fresh and resolute. His thin, pale, hairless body stood naked under the outdoor shower. He magically shaved and trimmed his hair. No need to look like a scruff now that he was determined to find out exactly where O’rah had come from, and have a little chat to his descendants of his other long dead siblings while trying to stay out of the clutches of the Assembly. He had just under two weeks before joining the marines. He didn’t know who he could trust yet but he was going to get answers one way or another.
But before he could do anything he had to protect himself. If indeed one of his so called Trinity pals were manipulating, or even being manipulated, then he had to know what it was to perform a counter spell. Or did he? Dark tales of the Goths had reached down into the pit and he found his initial interest wash away. There was a region of Dayre which housed the planet’s undesirables. Deformed beasts and humans were said to be drawn to the dark tunnels which led to the underworld. Demons were said to visit this realm by means of those tunnels. It was said Demons had a magic of their own but that they rarely interfered in the affairs of people. Perhaps it was time to test that theory unless it was the Demons who really ruled Dayre. They might be able to help him. Paris then sniffed at that idea as the real rulers were the Assembly. Plus, he had no desire to visit the underworld. It was time to find the truth; the fact that a truth needed to be found was proof enough to Paris that he'd been a pawn since he was old enough to start making decisions. He just wouldn’t start with Dayre or the Demons.
As Paris dressed and removed the spell on the old woodsman he considered his next move. O’rah had said the Assembly was furious and Jarson was hunting him. He could count on two things. The first was O’rah would have been told not to contact him but in her mind she couldn’t resist to make him fearful so he could count on what she said as being true. The second thing was, they would take him back or kill him. His mind was expanding by the hour which indicated that someone had been inhibiting it and that they had to be close by to achieve that. It could have even been an object but he'd left all his possessions behind so he was safe from that at least. After digging through his pack he realized he had no civilian clothes. And he didn’t want to go back to Career Worlds.
Paris re-cast a spell on the woodsman, patted his chubby cheek as the man sighed, and ran back into town. As he neared the town he started limping as the new boots were chaffing in places Paris hadn’t felt before.
“Yowee!” He limped into town and down the back streets to ensure he didn’t bump into the brunette, Emily or the supply marine. He found an old clothes store when a sight caught his eye. He pulled the pant and top ensemble off the rack cursing. That … that … scat sold his clothes here. They’d been cleaned going by the lack of stench. He limped, trying to look authoritative, and dumped the clothes on the counter. “These are mine!”
“Sure, mate. After you pay me.”
“They were stolen.”
The man lifted the pants and laughed. “I thought you’d be glad.”
“I want them back.”
“Then go down the guard station, file a complaint, and if they believe you they’ll give you a ticket.”
The words of the marine came back. “Did you piss her off?”
“Do you know who stole them?” the shopkeeper asked with a supercilious expression, lifting the top with some distain.
Face burning, knowing he’d made a complete fool of himself, he angrily plucked them off the bench and put them back, tidying the hanging clothes around them. He found two decent pants and tops, and a soft pair of boots. As he looked through a rack of clothes he saw the shopkeeper still at the counter talking to a younger shop assistant.
“I’ll take my lunch now.”
“Sure, John.”
They both glanced over at him so Paris pretended to browse realizing he was at a rack of dresses. He quickly moved to another “manly” rack hoping John would go away and after several minutes, with Paris growing annoyed at John for taking his sweet time, the older shopkeeper finally left for the back of the shop. Relieved that he could buy his clothes without feeling like an idiot Paris handed over his money.
“Settled on better, hey?” John asked loudly from behind him.
Paris jumped and then nodded. The man had returned to grab some keys from the till.
Swallowing his pride he asked, “What did you mean by if they believe me? Don’t they investigate?”
John laughed loudly. “Over a ragged pair of pants and top?”
Once a
gain Paris left with roars of laughter following him.
Along the way townsfolk touched him on the arm or shoulder.
“Good on ya.”
“Good hunting, marine.”
“Tha a brave lad.”
At the last Paris half laughed, half groaned and increased his pace. He found a place to change and headed back thinking of his situation. If the Trinity was into some kind of mind control at least Harro would be the least worried about being manipulated as all he ever aspired to be was the best Buzzard player in Dayre. Paris still felt vaguely responsible for the youth until a blister popped. Swearing, he limped back out of town.
Paris left the cabin after eating some bread and cheese. The woodsman didn't have much so Paris left a gold coin on the table. Just as the old man started to rouse Paris left and headed east toward the mountains of Pyre. The woods were less dense and he crossed a few fields. It would be important now to remain free and get the answers he needed. There were two spells he could use. One would change his appearance or he could become like a chameleon. A disguise would mean characterization and then manipulating people to get answers. The energy to maintain such a guise while staying in character would be high. The other used less energy but he’d have to rely on local gossip going his way. He grinned suddenly, towns loved gossip. He could make some nocturnal visits, whisper sweet nothings into the ears of natural investigators and then simply follow them around waiting for the answers. He had time and it wouldn't raise suspicion.
Paris wasn’t stupid though and he knew he had to reckon on counter spells and the unknown element to show itself. But then he was stupid because he’d lived under a spell for hundreds of years and not known it. His narrow face took on an angry pout and black eyes shone with frustration. Stupid. Stupid. If he used a bit more energy he could slip into one of the levels of the underworld. It was like the frequency of a communications device. The underworld had many frequencies and the chances of them finding him would be difficult. If he didn't stay in one area too long then it would be near impossible to track him. He thanked the gods that gargoyle had some uses, his previous work before becoming the Spell Binder had been as a computer hacker, different line of work but with the same principles. More complex data streams equaled longer hacking times. Paris suddenly wondered if Gareth had gone through Career Worlds. No, he was being paranoid.
Paris stopped for lunch, munching on one of the ration bars, and made the necessary preparations. He was now glad that Path had gone her own way. Unless she was in fact the tool for betrayal. No, he'd only bought her several decades ago. And if anything his rebellious attitude started soon after that. Maybe he should go find that witch. But he would keep that option open, he could always visit her later. Stuffing the green bar wrapper in his pocket he stood and retrieved his pack. With decisive steps he travelled towards the first town, Sak, stopping at a hidden entrance. Paris had created a little spell and looked out for a shimmer. There was one now just ahead of him between two trees.
To the uninitiated it looked like Paris was waving his arms around before stepping into a mist. After his seeming “disappearance” into the brush he kept heading east through what should be a relatively unused frequency. It was so close to the normal world he could still see the woods and dirt path. He came across a junction—not in the real world—and stayed his path. The witch lived in the west and he didn't have much time for riddles; he’d never met a witch who gave straight answers to simple questions.
Fields surrounded the town but he was still in woodlands. They were thinning though as he travelled along a wider, dirt path. Sak was a town rich in culture and gossip. They prided themselves on knowing a lot. Paris rather thought they’d be a lot of know-it-alls. He also guessed that the Assemblers would go there too. No doubt they worried about his new freedom and would have several search parties out there looking. He wanted to leave a false trail so appearing in a few towns north, and mingling with the inhabitants making sure they would remember him, seemed like a good plan.
Days later Paris, thinking his plan was already getting holes in it, sat on a hill that was covered in green grass and little white flowers. He leaned against the trunk and enjoyed the shade of a young tree. Sak spread out below. He received another call and he tuned in.
“Yes?”
“Aren't you in a charming mood?”
“What do you want, O'rah?”
There was a hesitation. “I’m supposed to find out where you are dear but I’ve suddenly developed a splitting headache from your rudeness.”
She broke the connection.
He smiled. Despite where her loyalties lay she would not play the puppet even if she intended to. O’rah had a temper and it would work for him in this case. Everyone had their limits and obviously the manipulators had theirs. Paris clapped his hands together and closed his eyes. There was work to be done but first a nap. And then, the marines.
“Hello?”
Paris sat bolt upright and spotted a very pretty face on a rather attractive body.
“Please, can you help me?” Her face and smile were so pretty he missed her arm rising and hand spraying mist in his face. The last thing he remembered was her laughter.
Spell Six – Cat Act
As he woke a voice silkily caressed his mind. Do you know why we succeeded all these years, Paris? We played to your ego, the oldest trick in the book. You were very clever to conceal yourself in the underworld but ever so stupid to stall for the pretty face.
He stopped a groan from escaping his mouth.
The mental voice of Jeffnia continued, It’s a pity you left in such a hurry and missed the party. I told father that it was my nose and therefore my revenge. I can’t believe you three thought you were the only ones to hold true power. And don’t think you can use this against us for you’ll be put where you can do no harm. Poor Paris. If you hadn’t ruined my party I’d have been forced to reward you suitably. I fear where you are going there will be little comfort. Of course I could fix my nose myself but then we’d be exposed. I may be vain but not stupid like some I know. I did enjoy finding out something though. You are one of the Magician Elect. We’ve been controlling you for years. Oh, by the way, you aren’t snoozing by the tree now. They moved you into Sak overnight. You’re in a prison cell! There was a giggle and then silence.
He heard voices speaking quietly. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes but felt the hard surface under him and the cold from the floor leeching through his clothes. What a fool he’d been. There’d been a cry of help from a very pretty woman with an angelic smile ... well, what was a man, no, what was a marine to do but help her? Not that he had helped her. In fact, he hadn’t even offered her help but the thought was there. Somewhere.
“He’s waking,” a male voice said.
Paris had meant to stay still but had wiggled in agitation. So much for outsmarting the Assemblers. The only thing he had figured out was that they had been at this for a long time and were much smarter than he. If he ever got to the marines he was determined to become smarter. The marines were the smart ones he was sure of it. And he’d been a puppet for far too long and the marines were not puppets.
As he opened his eyes he noted the bare cell, bars, and he wore only his pants and top. Everything else had been stripped from him.
After an embarrassingly long trial held in Sak the words of judgement fell hard upon his heart just as the spell they’d bound him with was a constant pressure upon his mind and body. The Assemblers, in their drab black robes, were sitting around the court pit looking down on Paris. He grimaced at their evident delight in the proceedings.
“We banish you to the underworld.”
Paris had just stood there. Caught in his own trap. Underworld. The one place he’d decided not to go.
Five days later, after travelling by horses along paths surrounded by woods, the Assemblers rode to the bramble on their right. The dark, knotty shrub rose from the ground and grew thicker and thicker, against a rising mountain r
ange, the further they rode. One Assembler looked far too happy cutting Paris’s rope cuffs, shoved him down a narrow path through the bramble and pushed him in. There was a swirling mist that tunneled into dark depths. It was all a little dramatic for Paris’s tastes.
The clamp on his powers was suddenly gone.
“Don't bother trying to escape, Paris. We’ve means to ensure the Demons take you.”
Paris broke out into a sweat. He’d been incarcerated in that very small cell with no visitors in Sak. The food had been minimal and tasteless and there had been little light. He stumbled along the mist laden path, that became a steep incline, unused to such physical exertion. It seemed like a long time before he neared a base of a mountain he hadn't seen above the brambles. A very dark tunnel lay in front of him. He tried licking dry and cracked lips. His hands were hot and knees felt weak. He could see vague shapes in the darkness and in fear he passed out. It can’t have been for long because he was blinking with sudden inspiration. He dashed back down the slope and out as if the demons were chasing him.
He yelled causing those who brought him to turn. “But you can’t banish me.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a marine that’s why.” A tall, uniformed man appeared to their left and stared hard at the Assemblers. “We are calling him in early. I’ve been tracking him for days.”
Paris sighed in relief. To the dithering Assemblers he said, “Sorry, duty calls.”
There was a flurry of movement towards who he thought was an officer and Paris was left out of the proceedings as his fate was being decided.
Voices were rising but the voice of the officer broke through the rabble. “Silence! He’s our new mascot.”
Mascot? What the fuck?
At least he was getting a hang of marine language.
