Souls of Fire

by Vanessa Black

  As I sat contemplating my surroundings, two men suddenly entered from behind me, carrying an impressively large figure between them. The men sat Aaron down onto an armchair next to me and started securing him to the chair.

  As they tied his hands behind his back, Aaron’s huge, muscular arms bulged, hinting at the immense power they possessed. All the while, his head sagged onto his chest, his hair falling into his face and covering his eyes ― he was obviously unconscious.

  “Aaron,” I whispered desperately, my voice trembling from fear and exhaustion.

  No reaction.

  I felt forlorn without him. I was in way over my head, dealing with … people … who wielded forces way beyond my understanding and control. These people could decide to kill us on the spot, and there was nothing I could do about it. More than anything, I needed to feel Aaron’s presence now. Whatever we faced, I could endure it, I could accept it … but I couldn’t do it alone.

  I closed my eyes … and reached out. I could only feel fragments of Aaron’s consciousness. After a second I realized that this must be the result of his being out cold.

  Before I could further ponder his condition, another presence entered the small cave. Immediately, the air itself seemed to leave the space as the study filled up with ripples upon ripples of power. They rolled over me like heat waves on a smoldering hot summer’s day, weighing me down with every suffocating breath I took.

  I sat hunched over in my chair, desperately sucking in the air that would not give me relief.

  “I apologize for the inconvenience,” I could make out a deep mature voice coming from somewhere opposite me. As the suffocating sensation suddenly subsided, I was able to raise my head. Slowly and cautiously, I peered into the eyes of the powerful man that sat opposite me behind the massive stone desk.

  The sight of him was really something to behold. Though he was sitting down, I could tell that he was a tall man. He was probably in his late fifties or early sixties, but his body still looked strong and muscular.

  His short thick, nearly white hair had at one time probably been a deeper shade of black. His posture, the very way in which he held himself, demanded respect. This was a man to be reckoned with ― a powerful man … a leader.

  The most intriguing, or perhaps disturbing thing about him, however, were his eyes. They were a stunning shade of deep blue, intelligent and insightful ― burning with a fierce fire, and piercing through me in a way that made me feel insignificant and small … as if this man knew all my secrets and could see right into my soul.

  There’s something about those eyes, I thought. They just seemed so … no, I must be mistaken. I didn’t know the man. I had never seen his eyes before…

  I didn’t know how exactly to respond to his apology. If by ‘inconvenience’ he was referring to the fact that I had felt close to choking to death, then he had just managed to completely and utterly discount my suffering with one little word.

  “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I often find a small demonstration of my power to be greatly beneficial to my cause.”

  “And what cause might that be?” I asked boldly, feeling the justification to address the stranger freely, since he was clearly seeking an open exchange, judging by the way he had addressed me and by his ‘civility’ in apologizing. Had he not wanted to communicate with me, he would probably not have bothered to try to be civil and would have already proceeded to bashing my head in.

  “Well, my dear, it would be very unwise of me to … how is it you younger people put it? ― spill my guts ― during the very first conversation with you. Then you would have nothing interesting to look forward to.”

  I had nothing to say to that, and instead waited patiently for him to mention what he actually had in store for us. Why weren’t we dead yet? We had witnessed ― well, not exactly witnessed the death ― but stumbled upon the body of Aaron’s friend, or more precisely, adoptive father.

  And it didn’t take a genius to know who must have been behind his murder. So, for having seen the body and the men who had been present at his house, I was sure that Aaron and I would not survive too long after the interview. It was only a matter of time.

  “Now,” the stranger said in a completely relaxed voice, lightly pressing the fingertips of his hands against each other while leisurely stretching and assuming a more comfortable position in his armchair. I thought he looked more like a storyteller in the introduction scene of a movie … getting ready to entertain the viewers. The only things missing were a blanket and a pipe.

  “I think we should wait for your lover to join the conversation,” he then continued, gazing in the direction of Aaron’s limp body. After a few seconds, Aaron actually started stirring a bit. Finally, he regained full consciousness and sluggishly opened his eyes.

  “He’s not my lover,” I retorted quickly, hoping Aaron was still too out of it for any of this to register on his still foggy brain. I tried to convey an utter disregard for my professor.

  This man did not need to know the extent of my feelings for Aaron. He already held enough power over us. I didn’t want to give him even more by betraying our relationship ― or whatever it was we had.

  “He’s not your lover?” the stranger retorted, his voice oozing disbelief with every syllable. “So …,” he continued leisurely, gazing in Aaron’s direction and making sure he was conscious enough to be along for the ride, “… you would call rolling around on the floor while kissing and groping at each other as ‘not being lovers’? Do you make it a recreational habit then of rolling around on floors with men who are not your lovers?”

  He’s definitely enjoying this ― asshole! I thought savagely.

  “Who are you?” I asked in a rather rude way. He could be as ‘civil’ as he pleased. We were being restrained and held underground. As if that wasn’t enough, the guy was mocking and humiliating me in front of Aaron. As far as I was concerned, he at least owed us a name.

  Instead of being affronted by my ‘lack of manners’, the man actually seemed rather amused by my rudeness. He was obviously deliberating on how much information he was willing to share and took a long time in answering.

  In the meantime, Aaron seemed to have completely regained his senses; one sideways glance was enough for me to tell that he was thinking hard about our options and the mess we found ourselves in. I could definitely see wheels turning.

  “Why don’t you let her go,” he suddenly said calmly. “She can’t be of any use to you. She’s nothing, just a student who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time … you don’t need her. You’ve got me.”

  “And what exactly would I need you for?” the stranger asked, slightly taken aback by Aaron’s sudden declaration but seemingly not disinclined to discuss the matter further.

  “Unlike her, who had no connection to … Adam Wright …, whatsoever, I had a deep connection to him … so … maybe I can help you with … some answers.”

  “You’re assuming then that … actually you’re assuming a number of things,” the man answered. “Firstly, you’re assuming that I’m seeking answers I don’t yet have ― I assure you, I have all the answers I’ll ever need.”

  “Secondly,” he continued, nodding in my direction, “you’re assuming that Miss Jones is an innocent who has absolutely nothing to do with my concerns or the concerns of the people who depend upon me ― you couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  And thirdly, you seem to labor under the misapprehension that I, or any member of my society, intend on doing you harm.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, then I think we’ll be taking our leave fairly soon,” Aaron retorted, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm.

  “Wouldn’t that just be too easy?” the stranger responded calmly. “Now you know that it can’t be that easy. Of course I can’t just let you go. However, that does not mean that I intend to kill you or hurt you in any way.”

  “You mean, the same way that you didn’t intend to kill or hu
rt Adam Wright in any way?” Aaron’s voice had taken on an icy, deadly edge.

  “And this would be the final, and I suppose most significant misapprehension of all. We did not kill your … father. Nor did we in any way participate in his demise.”

  “You know he’s … he was … my father? That he had adopted me? And what did you mean by ‘we’? Who is ‘we’? Who are you people?”

  “You mean to tell me that you don’t know?” the stranger asked, somewhat taken aback. It seemed he had not anticipated this. Obviously this man had thought we knew whom we were dealing with.

  “No,” Aaron responded testily, “should I?”

  The man paused for a second before replying. “Yes … you should.”

  That had gotten both of our attention. The cave went completely quiet as we waited with bated breaths.

  “Well then, first let me introduce myself. My name is Malcolm, and I am the leader of my people. I believe that your late father, Professor Wright, might have mentioned our society. We are the Haven.”

  Aaron’s small intake of breath was sufficient to convey that he had actually heard the name before.

  “Ah, so you have heard of us,” Malcolm said calmly. “I hope you have heard nothing but good things about us …,” he continued, “though I seriously doubt it.”

  “So you admit that there is nothing good to be said about you?” Aaron challenged.

  “No, not at all. You misunderstand me. I mean to say that the outside world has a habit of willfully misinterpreting our motives.”

  “How could anyone possibly misinterpret a dead body lying cold and forsaken on the blood-drenched floor?” Aaron enquired, his voice barely contained for all the rage he was undoubtedly feeling.

  “I will repeat what I have already told you: The Haven ― as a society ― was not involved in the death of your father. And though I cannot entirely exclude the possibility that the murder of Professor Wright was the doing of a select few of my people who might have gone astray, I will let you know that an act such as this was neither sanctioned by me nor by the majority of my people, and that I will personally look into the matter. Despite what you might have heard about us or what you think you know … we are not a vicious, murderous people.”

  Aaron didn’t respond. He was seemingly lost in contemplation, trying to discern whether or not Malcolm seemed trustworthy or was just feeding us bullshit.

  “So, what’s your last name?” I asked, solely for the reason of breaking the unpleasant silence that was weighing down on me like a ton of bricks. The fact that this man seemed to know so much about Aaron, and presumably as much about me, was very unsettling.

  “My full name is Malcolm McKinley,” he responded, “but my surname, all of our surnames are rather unimportant. What’s important is who we are, not where we came from. Therefore, we only ever use our first names not the surname that linked us to whatever family we belonged to before. This is our family now.”

  Wow, I thought, sounds like something a sect leader would say. Next he’ll have us take a pill or drink poisoned wine. Not that I’d object to the wine … without the poison, of course.

  “How is it that you seem to know so much about us, or at least about Professor Chambers?” I asked, hoping to shed at least a little light on the mystery Malcolm, and by extension the Haven, presented.

  “It is a long and complex story. Are you sure you are ready to hear the answer?” the leader asked me, giving me an intense look that nearly made me recoil, and had me wishing I could just shrink back into the next dark corner unseen.

  I had a really bad feeling about this. Deep down, I was terrified of the answer. At the same time, I knew that this was the moment of truth ― literally ― and if I chickened out now and backed down, I might never have a chance to understand … myself.

  This man seemed to know something about me, about the two of us. Where would I find answers if not here, if not from the man who looked at me as if he knew me better than I knew myself? He probably did, I thought.

  What did I really know about myself? Nothing that would even begin to explain all the strange things that had happened since my eighteenth birthday. He might be my only chance to get to the bottom of it.

  I took a deep breath and looked straight into Malcolm’s eyes.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  “How about you?” Malcolm asked Aaron, giving him the same stare-down he had given me.

  “I’ve been ready from the moment you threw my ass in a cell. Honestly, I thought you’d never ask,” Aaron retorted, his usual composed self.

  “Well, all right then. Where should I start?” Malcolm asked, deep in thought, as if trying hard to find the right way to break it to us. Whatever the ‘break’ turned out to be, I pondered.

  “Do you know who you are?” Malcolm finally asked.

  “What do you mean ‘do we know who we are’? Of course we do. What kind of question is that?” I asked outraged and shocked. The fact that this man’s very next question related exactly to what I’d just thought about, was extremely unsettling. I might have already acknowledged to myself that this man probably knew more about me than I knew myself, but to actually have him throw it in my face like that was just too much.

  “I apologize. Perhaps I should have been clearer. I’m not talking about your names and who you are in relation to society. You know your names, the lives you have led, the people who have brought you up as well as I do.

  Yes, I know everything about you there is to know. I have been watching you both for a very long time. What I meant to ask was: how much do you know about your legacy?”

  “What legacy?” Aaron asked, beating me to it by a split second.

  “All right,” the leader stated matter-of-factly, “it appears you know nothing.”

  “Cut the crap and just tell us already, before I give into the urge of ripping your throat out for the fun you’re evidently having,” Aaron threatened out of sheer frustration, or possibly to make a point, straining against his bonds with so much fervor that they actually seemed to give way slightly.

  “There will be no need for such drastic measures,” Malcolm responded calmly, as if nothing Aaron could do would possibly ruffle any of his feathers.

  Who is this guy … Superman? I thought. Why wasn’t he even the least bit concerned? Well, upon deeper contemplation, he probably had powers even Superman didn’t have. I had to admit that this man had his very own ‘Kung Fu’.

  And the question whether it was strong or not had already been answered the moment all the air had gone out of the cave and I had felt I would slowly suffocate. Since he had apologized for his ‘demonstration of power’ it seemed that he had somehow caused the incident. Though how he could accomplish something like that, was beyond me.

  “Perhaps I should start at the very beginning. It might be easier to grasp your destiny if you come to understand your past. Since none of us are still in kindergarten, I will refrain from using the phrase ‘Once upon a time’.

  “Aaah, really?” Aaron voiced in mock disappointment.

  Malcolm’s lips twitched slightly in amusement before he began.

  “All right. Once upon a time there was a wicked witch …”

  “Ooh, I know that one,” Aaron whispered sarcastically in my direction.

  Malcolm shot him a cut-the-crap-and-let-me-get-on-with-the-story-look, and waited until he could be absolutely certain there would be no further interruptions.

  Then he leapt into the tale I both dreaded and longed to hear. The truth about myself ― or at least what I hoped to be the truth. This guy could tell me anything he wanted. There was no way of knowing if he was being straight with us, no way of verifying his story. I would have to take a lot on faith…

  Chapter 11 * Legacy

  “Once upon a time there was a woman unlike any other.

  She lived a long time ago in a little village on the coast of Ireland. Born into dark and desperate times, destined for suffering and loss, the fate of the wo
rld had been decided the moment she emerged from her mother’s womb: for she had been blessed ― or cursed ― with the gift of magic.

  Today the existence of real magic in this world is known but to a few. Most individuals claiming to be witches or to believe in magic don’t even know what real magic looks like, or feels like. They believe in something that doesn’t exist. True magic is more powerful and terrible than they would ever believe possible.

  Although we recognize its existence, we cannot explain where it comes from. We have tried to find out more about its source over the centuries ever since its presence has been known to us, but its heritage remains as much of a mystery as it ever was.

  There are those who believe that magic has been around for as long as the earth itself, and others who suppose it is in no way restricted to earth, but that it can be found throughout the universe and is the reason our planet even exists ― the driving force behind creation, so to speak.

  Even if this theory were to be believed, even if our entire planet had been constructed through magic, it does not explain why some humans have the ability to wield this unspeakable power while others do not.”

  “Excuse me, but I don’t see what any of this has got to do with us,” I couldn’t help but say.

  “Yes, well I was getting to that. It’s a rather long story. If you could please just be a little more patient,” Malcolm calmly responded and then continued where he’d left off.

  “Both before and after this woman lived ― I believe she was born in 1328 and died in 1348 ― there were witch trials even in Ireland; which, in comparison with other countries, mostly escaped the tidal wave of witch-hunt.

  Each and every one of the people tried of witchcraft was innocent. Of all the witches the Inquisition deemed dangerous and guilty of witchcraft there was none as dangerous and powerful as the one they let slip right through their fingers.

  If ever humanity could have been saved by sentencing a witch to death, this would have been its chance. This would have been its most heroic deed, its finest hour.

  But humanity never guessed.