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

by Pratt, Brian S.

  James hit the bottom of the stairs as Jiron rounded the corner. In his mind’s eye, he could tell that the man had entered a room and come to a stop. There was another man in the room, quite likely his brother, Agent Randle. That suited him just fine. He had a score to settle with them both.

  Rounding the corner, he found Jiron standing before an open door, fists clenching and unclenching. Anger and rage were practically oozing from every pore. When he came abreast of his friend, he saw the reason why Jiron had gone no farther. Agent Randle held a gun pressed to the side of Jira’s head.

  “Now,” Agent Randle said as he saw James arrive. “Maybe we can get some answers.”

  “I don’t think so,” replied James. Magic flowed from him toward the FBI agent.

  “You aren’t getting away this time,” Seth’s father shouted. “You’re going to be dead!”

  “I told you before, I had nothing to do with Seth’s death.” Magic flowed into the gun that threatened Jira and froze the firing mechanism.

  “Get in here and shut the door,” Agent Randle ordered.

  “As you wish,” agreed James. Then to Jiron he said, “He wants us to enter and shut the door.”

  “What about Jira?”

  “Almost taken care of,” James assured him. Then allowing Jiron to enter first, he followed and closed the door. As soon as it clicked shut, he cast a sad look at the agent and his brother. “You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Magic flowed through him as he sought the crystal in Jira’s pocket. Then slightly altering the spells that imbued it, he activated the shield.

  It sprang to life in a shower of blood. Having removed the safeguards that prevented the shield from intersecting living tissue, it sprang to life and severed Agent Randle’s arm in mid-forearm.

  As soon as he saw the spray of blood, Jiron was in motion. Launching a walking stick at the brother, he quickly followed after with the other.

  Ping!

  His shield sprang to life as Seth’s father tried to take him down with his Browning 9mm. Another shot was deflected before the walking stick caused Seth’s father to dodge the missile.

  “Deactivate!” Jiron shouted to cancel his shield as he swung the second walking stick at the wrist holding the gun. There was an audible snap when the wood shattered the bone. As the man cried out, Jiron followed through with a blow to the head. And as he predicted at the gift shop, the walking stick was quite capable of smashing open a man’s head. Seth’s father was dead before he hit the ground.

  Agent Randle held his bloody stump as James came to him. “I told you to leave us alone. But you had to keep coming.”

  “This isn’t over,” the agent spat.

  “Oh, I think it is.” Canceling the shield encasing Jira, he ignored the agent and picked up the girl. Carrying her to the door, he left Agent Randle to her father. Two blows from the walking stick and it was over.

  Jiron tossed down the gory tool of death then went to collect his daughter.

  “She’s okay, just out,” assured James. “I think it was the same stuff they used on me. She will probably sleep for a while.”

  Glancing at the dead bodies amidst a spreading pool of blood, Jiron asked, “What now?”

  “I seal the room when we leave and hope no one thinks to come in here until tomorrow. By then we’ll be gone.”

  “You mean…?”

  James nodded. “We make a quick run to the motel, collect our stuff, then come back after the park’s closed. We’ll be home by morning.”

  “Good. As interesting as your world is, I’m ready to go home.”

  “So am I.”

  Seated at a bar located within McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, a vodka collins was being nursed by a man who had had a rough past couple of days. Mr. Barnes wasn’t eager to return to Washington, as there were many questions being asked about recent events that he simply could not explain.

  If they had found the bodies, that would have settled the matter. But the explosion had wreaked such devastation, that there was precious little left of the terrorists’ car let alone the terrorists themselves. Sure, pieces of cloth and what may have been bone had been recovered and were even now on their way to the labs for further analysis, but he doubted if even that would satisfy some people.

  It had been his Task Force. He was supposed to apprehend two terrorists and a child. How hard was that? But instead? The Las Vegas FBI building had been damaged to such an extent that it may have to be demolished, over a dozen brave agents and officers lost their lives, and a good portion of Hwy 95 south of Las Vegas was gone.

  They had no clue as to who the terrorists had been working for, what their primary target may have been, nor even if there were other cells out there still in operation. None of the main terror organizations were owning up to it. The only bright spot, if it could be considered one, was that the bomb had been detonated outside of population centers. In the desert, the only thing it had destroyed was a bunch of cactus and yucca plants.

  Downing the rest of his drink, Mr. Barnes glanced to the clock on the wall behind the bar. Ten-thirty, about time for him to make his way to the gate for his flight in twenty-two minutes. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

  Just as he emerged from the bar and was heading down the concourse, his cell phone rang. “This is Barnes.”

  “Sir! The terrorists have been located.”

  “They found their bodies?” he asked, surprised.

  “No, sir. They came up on a routine facial recognition feed. Just got word a minute ago. They are still alive. I repeat, they are still alive!”

  A cold chill went down his spine as he came to a dead stop. “Where?”

  “L.A.”

  “Get hold of Agent Randle and have him coordinate with the L.A. authorities.”

  “We tried contacting Agent Randle but there was no answer.”

  “Damn! He’s got GPS on his cell, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then track him down. Tell him he’s to be in L.A. by the time I get there and I don’t care how. Have a chopper waiting at LAX when I arrive, preferably with him in it.”

  “Yes, sir. Uh….”

  “Yes? Out with it!”

  “The facial recognition feed that ID'd them came from Disneyland, sir.”

  “The park?”

  “Yes, sir. Could that be their target?”

  “Dear god let’s hope not. Notify the park. Have it sealed off in case they’re still within. Don’t evacuate unless imminent danger to the populace is perceived. See if we can get our agents into some Disney character costumes and start trolling the park. We can’t afford to let them get away.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s being done.”

  “Good.”

  Closing his cell phone, Mr. Barnes turned about and began to move quickly. Call after call he sent out as he hurried down the concourse. First was to requisition a plane from Vegas to Los Angeles, another was to the governor to see about the possibility of the National Guard being employed. He wasn’t going to take a chance this time. He didn’t know what stunt the terrorists had pulled in faking their own deaths the last time, but he vowed this time not to believe they were dead until he stared into their lifeless eyes!

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ________________________

  Having taken a taxi back to the motel, they found their room had remained undisturbed. By this time, Jira started coming back around and sat on the sofa while her father and uncle readied their belongings for travel.

  The clock read 11:03. “The park closed at eleven,” announced James. “And according to the Guide, the stores on Main Street remain open for another hour. If we were to return around twelve thirty, the place should be relatively empty except for the cleaning crews. Shouldn’t be any problem avoiding them.”

  Jiron had his knives secured about his waist. After the events leading to the death of the Randle brothers, strapping them on had been his first priority upon returning to t
heir room. He kept glancing at his daughter, vowing to never again let her out of his sight. How she had been taken was something he didn’t understand. His attention had only been diverted by the intriguing aspect of the Haunted Mansion for a second, and she was gone.

  She caught her father gazing her way and gave him a smile. “I’m okay, father.”

  “I know,” he replied. “And I promise you always will be.”

  There wasn’t much about what happened after the Haunted Mansion that she could recall, much to her father’s relief. A girl of that age didn’t need to be exposed to such things as what he had done to the Randle brothers once he knew she was safe.

  During the wait until leaving for the park, James went down to the lobby and returned with an armload of apples, bananas, and blueberry muffins which the motel set out for its guests. He thought that he might need a Vyrilyzk to call forth the earth spirits once he was ready to begin the process to return them to Jiron’s world, and wanted to be prepared.

  He also sat at the room’s table, took some of the motel stationary, and composed a letter to his grandfather. In it he explained what had happened to him and where he had gone. He also went into great detail in describing his grandfather’s new granddaughter-in-law and great-grandson. By the time he was through, he had filled three full sheets and part of a fourth.

  But there was a problem. He didn’t know where to mail it. He did know that his grandfather lived somewhere back east with his great-aunt Beatrice, but did not know her address or even the state. He thought it may have been Missouri, though couldn’t be certain.

  Then he got an idea. Taking his backpack from off the floor, he rummaged through the side pocket until he produced the driver’s license taken from Destiny, the girl whom they commandeered outside of the restaurant after Jira’s little incident. He felt bad ever since about the fear and anxiety he had put her through. Now, maybe he could do something about it.

  Along with the stationary supplied by the motel, there were four envelopes. He took one and wrote the address from the license upon it. Then he folded his grandfather’s letter, slipped the driver’s license and both of his pre-paid credit cards into the middle of the folded letter before putting it all into the envelope.

  Taking another piece of stationary, he wrote her a note.

  Destiny,

  I would like to apologize for all that you have gone through since that fateful day outside the motel when we had you drive us down the road. For that, I am truly sorry. Enclosed, you’ll find your driver’s license and two credit cards with a combined total of over $6,000. They are yours, for your trouble.

  Also enclosed you’ll find a letter to my grandfather. His name is John Reese who I believe is currently living with my great-aunt Beatrice somewhere back east. I would greatly appreciate it if you could find him and deliver the letter for me. I realize you have little reason to do me a favor, but maybe you would do it for him. The letter will put his mind at ease and allow him to spend his few remaining years at peace. I’m sure by now the reporters have tracked him down, so they may be of some help in getting the letter to him.

  For the record, my name is James Reese. I and several others, three of whom I know, disappeared from the Haveston area six years ago. One was David Pierce, my best friend, who is now dead. The second was Seth Randle. He too is dead. You may have heard that his father and uncle were killed by me recently. It was in self-defense. They believed me to be responsible for Seth’s death and wanted to pay me back in kind. I did not kill Dave. He was my best friend and I did all I could to save him. The third was a girl whose name I never knew. All I know about her is that she was about sixteen, dressed in jeans and wearing a sweater bearing the name “San Francisco” across the front. She too, is dead. Let their families know. If there were others, I never encountered them.

  Thank you very much and again, I’m sorry for what we put you through.

  James

  He slipped the note in with the rest then sealed the envelope. A glance to the clock revealed it was now twelve fifteen. Close enough. Slipping the envelope into an outer compartment of his backpack, he came to his feet.

  Jira was the first to notice and she hopped off the sofa. “Now?” she asked excitedly.

  “May as well. I’ll call down for a taxi.” Picking up the phone, he had the man at the desk arrange to have one meet them out front.

  Jiron came to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you certain you’re ready for this?”

  James nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Then let’s go home.”

  “Yeah!” Jira exclaimed.

  Down in the lobby James paid for the room and also bought a book of stamps, of which he placed one on the letter. Then thinking it might be a bit over the weight/size limit, added a second. “Can you send this out in your morning mail?”

  “Sure thing,” the man replied.

  “Thank you.”

  Just then the taxi arrived.

  “Hope your stay was enjoyable.”

  “It was great,” James assured him.

  Leaving the lobby, they climbed into the taxi. James had the driver take them in the general direction of the park. When they were still two blocks away, he had the taxi come to a stop. Out the window, they could see the complex surrounding the inner park. Shops, eateries, etc formed a wall as defensively well constructed as any to be found surrounding a keep. Giving the driver a twenty he said, “Keep the change.”

  “They’re getting out of the taxi now,” came a voice over the radio.

  “Do nothing but watch until I arrive,” he told them. Already in the helicopter, Mr. Barnes was being flown with all speed toward Disneyland. “Are our agents in position?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Tell them to hold their positions. Monitor what they are doing, only.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Handing the radio back to the operator, he leaned forward and shouted to the pilot, “How long until we get there?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  The Task Force Chief nodded and sat back.

  He couldn’t believe Agent Randle was dead. Served the man right. He and his brother knew the terrorists were still alive yet had kept the information to themselves. If Randle was alive, Mr. Barnes would have killed him himself. Apparently, he and his brother had a whole other agenda they were playing out. Events six years in the past connected them to the terrorist, but Mr. Barnes had only learned of this in the past hour.

  There was one good thing to be had by all this, Randle had managed to place a tracking device on the terrorists. How he had managed it was a mystery. But when they tracked down his cell phone via GPS, they had discovered the monitoring device still in operation. That was how they had found the terrorists so rapidly.

  Wishing the helicopter would move faster, Mr. Barnes could only wait until he arrived.

  From where the taxi had dropped them off, James took a roundabout route to the park. Not heading toward it directly, he took advantage of shadows and little used ways to narrow the distance.

  The whole area seemed strangely deserted, but that could readily be explained by the lateness of the hour. A few people were seen moving about in the distance, cleaning crews and such going about their duties.

  Once to the wall surrounding Disneyland, Jiron took the lead. Jumping up to catch the top, he hauled himself up until he could look over to the other side. The area looked empty so he pulled his body up and over. “Okay!” he whispered to those waiting on the other side.

  At his signal, James first tossed over the duffle bag, then his backpack. When again Jiron’s “Okay” sounded, he helped Jira up and over. On the third “Okay,” he jumped and caught the top of the wall. Straining mightily, he managed to pull his body up enough to get his elbows over the top. Once he had their support, it was simple enough then to scramble over to the other side.

  They remained silent as three pairs of eyes scanned the area for any sign of movement. A man emerged
from around the side of a neighboring building, blasting the pavement with a high pressure washer. When it looked like he planned to move away from where they hid, James motioned for them to follow the wall as they worked their way past.

  Other workers were out and about as well. At night was when the majority of the park’s cleaning and polishing happened in anticipation of the following morning’s visitors. James kept them on a circuitous route, ever mindful of their final destination at the heart of Disneyland.

  At one point they found themselves moving along the fence surrounding Big Thunder Mountain. Off to their right, the river upon which Mark Twain’s paddlewheel ferried park visitors glistened from the numerous lights still illuminated throughout the park. Hidden behind a garbage can, they watched four men coming their way. From the tool belts strapped around their waists, the men looked to be park technicians.

  Jiron tapped James on the shoulder and pointed toward the tracks of the roller coaster. Not very far from where they skulked, the tracks entered one of the ride’s tunnels. James nodded. They may be able to duck within before the men approached close enough to discover them. Moving stealthily, Jiron went first with Jira following close upon his heals. James brought up the rear.

  Slipping over the fence, they kept low as they raced for the tunnel entrance. James kept his eye on the four men who were quite close now. Thus far, none had even so much as glanced their way.

  Ping!

  His shield flared to life microseconds before a bullet ricocheted off its surface.

  “Run!” yelled James. All pretense of trying to remain unobserved was gone. They knew they were there.

  The four men who had been approaching immediately drew guns and began firing. Jiron’s and Jira’s shields sprang to life as their crystals detected the incoming projectiles and took steps to defend them.