Light in the Barren Lands: Travail of The Dark Mage Book One

by Pratt, Brian S.

  A voice hollered something, a question by its tone and inflection. Jiron turned his gaze to the man on the floor. Eyes gazed at him from a blood-spattered face. He could tell the man considered shouting. Jiron gave the man a look foretelling impending doom if he should alert those out in the hall. The man remained silent.

  Once the third sheet was attached to the first two, he figured it to be long enough to get him close to the ground. Tying one end around a chair leg, he moved the chair against the wall beneath the window. Then, once his makeshift rope was properly coiled atop the chair for easy release, he took another of the chairs and threw it through the window.

  The resultant crash was heard by those out in the hallway. Immediately, men started shouting and the door began to be assaulted with blows from the other side. Outside, the chair and shards of glass sailed through the air only to land with a crash upon a car far below.

  A few seconds to clear the remaining glass from the window and sill, Jiron then tossed the rope out and passed through the window. Before his head dropped out of sight, he saw the man lying on the floor get up and move to clear away the obstacles from in front of the door. All the while, the man was shouting to those out in the hall.

  Rappelling quickly, he descended a floor and a half before reaching the end of his bed-sheet rope. From above, he heard the whirr of a helicopter and saw one appear as it emerged over the inn’s roof. He let go of the rope and dropped the remaining distance. Feet hitting the ground, he tucked and rolled to absorb the impact. Coming back to his feet, he took off across the inn’s rear parking lot.

  Sirens shrieked from all around. Men swarmed from either side of the inn in pursuit.

  Ping!

  One of their bolts struck the pavement no less than a foot away. He glanced upward to the helicopter and discovered one of its occupants held a long gun. Zigzagging, he avoided the man’s next shot.

  At the end of the parking lot he came to a chain link fence and quickly scrambled over to the other side. There, he raced flat out across another parking lot toward a strip mall.

  People screamed, men and women fled the scene as cops poured over and around the fence. Jiron saw an alley and headed for it. If he could somehow find a hole to hide in, James would be able to track him down. But first, he had to lose his pursuers.

  Bolting into the alley, he passed down its length. In the back of his mind he couldn’t help but be amazed by its relative cleanliness. It was just one more example of the differences between James’ world and his own. In his world, the alley would have stunk to high heaven and more than likely a body would be rotting among the refuse.

  From above came the sound of the ever present helicopter. Jiron gazed up and could see the strange conveyance hovering directly over him. Not knowing what there was to do about its presence, he continued down the alley to the end where he paused momentarily to scout the area. Cars flowed along the busy street, pedestrians walked along the sidewalks, and from behind came the shouts of his pursuers.

  Suddenly, sirens screamed as cop cars appeared down every street. They were converging on his position. There was only one way he could go, and that was directly across the busy street in front of him. Racing from the alley, horns blared as he darted in front of oncoming vehicles.

  He battled his way across the street, for that is how he thought of it. Dodging an oncoming car only to leap over another, he fought to stay one step ahead of the masses of metal his passage caused to skid and slide every which way.

  If shouts and angry stares were arrows, he would assuredly be dead by now. Cops were rushing toward him from either side by the time he cleared the street. Directly ahead of him was a chandler’s shop, or at least this world’s equivalent. Bolting for the glass door, he hit it with his shoulder. The impact caused the door to swing open wildly and shatter upon striking a display table. Patrons scattered.

  Jiron didn’t even stop. As the glass shards went flying, he raced into the heart of the shop, all the while searching for another exit. Spying a door ajar in the far wall, he shot down the aisle toward it.

  Almost to the door, he was suddenly tackled by the shop’s security guard. Even before they hit the floor, Jiron’s elbow had broken the guard’s nose. As they landed, Jiron took hold of the man’s hair, twisted his neck at an awkward angle, and struck. The guard did not move again.

  Cops now filled the front of the store and were coming fast. Scrambling back to his feet, Jiron raced for the door and reached it before the cops could intercept. He slammed it closed, found the latch and locked it. Turning around, he discovered he was in a small hallway.

  Not far from where he stood, two doors, one on either side, stood open. Farther down the hallway was another pair with a fifth door situated at the end. He made for the one at the end. Above the door was the Exit sign which he knew meant the door was a way to leave the building. He raced down the hallway toward it while his pursuers began trying to beat their way through the locked door.

  At the end, he hit the long bar across the front of the door, and came to an abrupt stop. Over a dozen cops bearing the smaller guns stood arrayed before him in a semi-circle. One shouted a command.

  Three red dots moved about his chest. This was another thing James had explained to him. Where the dots went, bullets would follow.

  The thought crossed his mind about ducking back into the building, but the crashing open of the locked door at the other end made that idea moot. Trusting in Jira to free her uncle, and that he would come find him, Jiron raised his hands in surrender.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ________________________

  It was amazing how a situation can, from one moment to the next, turn from a time of happiness and anticipation, to one of panic and fear. Such was the moment in which Jira found herself. Her father had ever been a tower of strength and surety in her life. And to see him brought low so quickly shook her to the core. Not only that, but he sent her after her uncle who throughout her short life, had always been spoken of as one of tremendous power and sharp intelligence. Yet now, he too had been brought low by the someone taking them to who knew where. To say she was scared was an understatement. She was in complete panic-mode.

  Yet, deep within her, she knew it was now up to her. Her uncle needed her help. Her father would not have sent her after him if he didn’t think she was up to the task, would he? There was some small comfort to be gleaned from that. She hadn’t a clue as to how to help her uncle, but one thing was certain, she wasn’t going to give into fear. Her father and mother never had, and neither would she! But it is hard to be brave when you are alone.

  Lying against the back of the cab, she could hear the man speaking. Whether to her uncle or to himself, she couldn’t be sure. The words were calmly spoken, in a manner similar to how her father and mother would speak to people they knew. Curiosity got the better of her. Rising up to peek through the rear window, she saw the man holding something shiny to his ear while he talked.

  Her uncle leaned against the passenger door, his eyes only half opened like Uncle Scar after having spent too much time at the Bent Blade, a tavern that Pit Fighters favored. His face looked swollen. Ducking back down to avoid being seen, a tear came unbidden to her eye which she quickly wiped away. No! I will not cry! But as the truck rolled through the lights of Vegas, more tears followed.

  It was dark when the truck finally came to a stop. Far off in the distance the glow from Las Vegas could still be seen. Jira peered over the side of the truck and discovered they were now in front of a home. It looked deserted. The sound of the driver opening his door caused her to panic. As he left the cab, she slipped from the back over the opposite side of the truck.

  From within the cab, she heard a groan escape her uncle. She longed to see if he was okay, but the approach of the man around the front of the truck prevented her. Hitting the ground, she rolled under the truck just as the man rounded the front and came to the passenger side door.

  Jira was scared, more scared than she h
ad ever been before. Scared for herself, but even more so, for her uncle. The man opened the door and dragged her uncle from the cab and to the front door. Peering out from beneath the truck, she watched him open the door and disappear into the darkness within with her uncle.

  A moment later a light came on and she saw how the man had left her uncle lying on the floor just within the doorway. Then the man appeared again. Giving a kick to the side of Uncle James as he passed by, the mean man shut the door.

  Jira slowly emerged from beneath the truck, fearful that at any second the door would open and the man would discover her. With eyes ever watchful upon the door, she came to her feet and hurried over to the window near the door. Peering through, she saw the man tying her uncle to a chair in the other room. Then after checking her uncle’s eyes, the man slapped him hard across the face and checked them again. Cursing, the man moved off farther into the house and out of sight.

  She needed to find another way in other than the front door. So, moving around the house, she briefly checked each window until she came to one with light coming through. Approaching the lit window cautiously, she peered through. Any other time the sight that unfolded before her would have produced a giggle, but not now. This might be her best chance to see about her uncle. Leaving the man perched atop the toilet with pants around his ankles, Jira hurried back to the front door. There, she very slowly turned the doorknob until she could push the door open. Then she slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind her.

  James was drugged. In some corner of his foggy mind he recognized that fact. The lightheadedness, the lack of conscious mobility, and the lack of caring for what was going to happen to him all confirmed it. When the man had looked into his eyes, the overhead light had shot daggers into his brain. The slap across the face hardly affected the fog he was in.

  He didn’t recognize the man, though the man seemed to know him. Throughout the drive from Vegas, the man kept saying how he was going to make him talk before the real fun began. By fun, James assumed the man was referring to torture. The funny thing was, he didn’t care. In the drugged state he was in, the man could have set his hair on fire and it wouldn’t have bothered him.

  Minutes ticked by. He could hear the man moving about in the adjoining rooms, finding and gathering a dozen or so items. The man made sure he allowed James to see the collected items; an assortment of knives, a hammer, screwdriver, corkscrew, etc. All very makeshift as far as being instruments of torture, but probably effective in their application nonetheless.

  Once the man’s items were arrayed upon a table close at hand, he brought a chair from anther room and set it before James. “You hungry?” the man asked.

  James of course was in no condition to reply.

  “No?” Laughing, the man rummaged in a cupboard behind his prisoner. Then came the sound of a can opener. When the buzzing of the can opener stopped, he returned and sat in the chair before James. Using a fork, he ate beans out of a can.

  “It’ll take a few minutes for the drug to lose its edge, then we’ll get started. In all the excitement back at the motel, I used too much.” Then he shrugged. “It’s not like we don’t have all night.” Laughing again, he took another bite of beans.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?” He peered intently into James’ eyes for any sign the overdose was wearing off. Not finding any, the man leaned back in his chair and continued eating the beans. “No? Well I’m the guy that’s going to ask you a few questions. And when I’m done, I’m going to kill you.” He grinned. “Just so you know.”

  He saw James’ eyes flicker. “Ah, it won’t be long now. Maybe another ten minutes or so before the fun can begin.” Pausing a moment, the man asked, “You like fun, don’t you?” Laughing at his own joke, the man sprayed bits of beans in James’ face.

  Over the next several minutes, James began regaining some of his faculties. The first to recover was the ability to flex his fingers. Next came the realization of the gravity of his situation and the impending doom awaiting him at the hands of the man before him.

  His returned ability was not lost on his captor. Upon seeing James’s fingers move, he nodded to himself and continued eating. When the contents of the can had been consumed, he set it aside and leaned forward to check James’ eyes. Finding dilation of the pupils, he announced, “I think you’re ready.”

  Mind growing clearer, the fog never quite dissipated enough for him to reach the point where he was able to concentrate sufficiently and take hold of the magic. He could however take in his surroundings, though his vision was slightly blurred and wavy.

  They were in a kitchen, that much was clear. The linoleum floor and Formica countertops were unmistakable, as were the refrigerator and oven. He tested his bonds, but found them to be beyond his ability to undo. Then turning his attention to the doorway situated behind his captor, he thought he saw a flash of movement. But in the state he was in, he figured it to be nothing more than the effects of the drug.

  “Now,” the man said as he leaned back in his chair, “Who are you?”

  Before he could formulate a reply, he heard himself respond. “James Reese.”

  “Excellent.”

  Truth serum? Is that what he drugged me with?

  “Now, tell me where my boy is.”

  James didn’t immediately respond. Boy? “I don’t…”

  Whack!

  The man struck James across the face. “Seth!” the man yelled. “My son is Seth Randle. Where is he?”

  This is Seth’s father? “Dead.”

  “Dead?” The man grew angry. “Did you kill him?”

  I didn’t know it was him! he screamed in his mind. “No,” his voice replied.

  “Were you present when he died?” Eyes filled with rage bored into his.

  Visions of that night again assailed him as his voice answered, “Yes.” I would have helped him had I known it was him! But in the back of his mind, he wondered if that was really true.

  “Who killed him?”

  “Wolves in the night,” he replied. “Didn’t find what was left of him until the following morning.”

  “And you did nothing?”

  “No.”

  Whack!

  After striking him again across the face, Seth’s father got to his feet and kicked his chair across the kitchen. He paced back and forth before James a few seconds. Pausing, he took a bottle of liquor off the counter and drank deeply.

  “Were you responsible for his death?”

  “No.”

  “Who is?”

  “Igor.”

  “Igor?”

  “That is what he called himself.”

  “What was his interest in Seth?”

  “I do not believe he had a specific interest in Seth, nor in any of us that crossed over.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was a job to do. We answered the ad. I believe I was the only one to have survived.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “To prevent the end of the world.” His ability to consciously form his answers grew, though deception continued to be beyond his reach.

  Seth’s father laughed. “You expect me to believe this? What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

  “An ignorant one.”

  Whack!

  “Insolent bastard!” Downing the rest of the liquor, he threw the bottle across the kitchen where it smashed against the wall.

  Motion from a side entrance caught James’ attention. A little face peered around the fridge. Jira! He was not alone. Then he saw her draw a knife from the knife rack and step toward the man.

  In the language of Jiron’s world, he purposely slurred his words as he said, “Back off, Jira.”

  “What was that?” asked Seth’s dad.

  James saw the small figure retreat out of sight.

  “What did you say?” Coming to stand directly in front of his captive, Seth’s father grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back until their gazes met.

 
“I said…” and again slurring his speech, he said in the language of another world, “Back off, Jira.”

  Whack!

  James wondered what the man thought he had said. “I’m sorry about Seth.”

  Letting go of his hair, Seth’s father picked up a long carving knife. “Not as sorry as you are about to be.”

  Jira poked her face around the fridge again and saw the man threatening her uncle with a knife. She gripped one in her hand too, and thought about her chances of successfully attacking. But then a memory came of a time she played Kill the Deer with her father.

  Sometimes they altered the rules of the game. In one case, when she was the Deer, she had to reach a specific objective without being killed. Jira remembered how a noise her mother had made in another room had drawn her father away. Perhaps such a thing could be done here?

  Leaving the kitchen, she quickly ran to the back room. There, she found a small wooden stool and chucked it at a window before turning and racing back the way she had come. Upon hearing the stool shatter the window, she ducked into a closet and closed the door until only a small crack remained.

  Footsteps hurrying down the hallway announced the approach of the man. She could hear him mumbling to himself as he went to see about the commotion. Once he was past, she slipped out of the closet and raced back to the kitchen where her uncle was being held.

  “Jira,” her uncle said as she came into view. “Where’s your father?”

  “I don’t know. He sent me after you.” Moving to his side, she began cutting through his bonds with her knife.

  Jiron’s not here? Then where…? No time for such questions. “Never mind that, Jira.” From the back room came the shout of Seth’s father. “I know you’re here! Show yourself!” Doors began slamming as he began searching the house for the one who broke the window.

  Jira continued trying to saw through the plastic ties securing him to the chair. “Jira!” Drawing her attention from the ties to him, he said, “This will do no good.” Already, the sound of Randle’s searching had drawn closer to the kitchen. He had to think!