Fierce Lessons (Ghosts & Demons Series Book 3)

by Chute, Robert Chazz

  “No one’s best times can be during war, Merlin.”

  “Our finest hours come when we have occasions to rise to.”

  I refuse to make that a lesson. I hope it’s not true.

  “I dream of everlasting peace,” I said.

  “Could be boring. A heaven with nothing to do is not a heaven.”

  My gaze fell on the sword in the stone. “There’s plenty to do besides wage war. I can’t wait for peace. We could spend our time playing with cool iPhone apps, just for one instance. I could order a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and not worry that I’ll feel bloated and draggy. I’ve actually had anxiety dreams where the demons attack right after I’ve had too much pizza.”

  “Dream on, demon girl. In the meantime, let’s stay focused on my prob — ”

  “You can’t die! That’s, like, the biggest opportunity to do great things ever! You’re a powerful wizard! I really do not get your problem.”

  He turned to face me and, though I couldn’t see through his mask, I felt the first inkling of menace about the old man. He must have detected my alarm. He sat back down and adopted the kind, reasonable tone of an old professor lecturing a dim student.

  “Are you familiar with the scientific studies about rats preferring cocaine to life?”

  “No. I’m way behind on the documentaries in my Netflix list.”

  “There was a famous study. Quite simple. Duplicitously so. The gospel was told that if you put a rat in a cage and provided food and water and an unlimited supply of cocaine, the rat would forego sustenance and stick with the cocaine until the furry little addicts died.”

  “Okay. That doesn’t — ”

  “It was wrong. All those rats in all those cages were not in a natural environment. They were offered cocaine, but little else.”

  “But, they chose the drug over food and water.”

  “Only because there was nothing else to do. If you put a rat in a little rat amusement park, as part of a community with lots of fun things to do, the equation changes. Rats need rat toys. Rats need other rats to have sex with. Rats need rich environments to stimulate their tiny rat brains. Take away the fun and all that’s left is the stale joy of slow suicide by self-medication. The rats in the first experiment were bound to fail and become addicts. In the later study, rats provided rich environments would try the cocaine but would seldom return for more. An exciting life was preferable to a barren environment.”

  “And you’re the rat in this equation?”

  “We are all the rats trapped in this equation,” Merlin said. “The legends don’t tell my whole story. I was a pig farmer for more than a century. I had a large family and I lived by a lovely little village. Everyone knew everyone else’s names. We cared for each other. When I did not die of natural causes, I was venerated as a wise old shaman for a time.”

  “How did it go sour?”

  He heaved a long sigh. “As one grows older, it gets sadder to watch your wives and children grow old and die. There is a repetition to the cycle of life and death that makes a man want to be a boy again. You can only fall in love the first time once, and often those adventures are too brief and squandered.”

  I thought of Brad. Manny’s cure for old boyfriends — even dead ones — was to get new ones. That had not worked out well for me. Besides, people aren’t replaceable. No one else had Brad’s self-assuredness. Or his dimples. I still saw my farm boy boyfriend in dreams. Sometimes I wondered what he was doing in the next dimension. I wondered if he remembered me at all. I hoped not. That would be cruel.

  “Iowa?”

  “I’m sorry, Merlin. What do you need me for, exactly?”

  “The ancient gods were more like us,” Merlin said. “People of the old times understood gods differently than they do now. They did not attribute so much wisdom to their gods. Gods in those days created havoc. The god that is in fashion now doesn’t create chaos but merely allows it to happen and blames us for our troubles. He doesn’t teach. He watches. An old god would mate with a milkmaid. She’d become with child and the gods would stand back to watch a Hercules be born. The Latin phrase speaks the truth! Enim vero di nos quasi pilas homines habent. The gods use mortals as their playthings.”

  “I still don’t — ”

  “Boredom! Boredom is the enemy of life! The old gods got so old and tired of living, they would destroy the world just to watch the fireworks.”

  “You want fireworks.”

  “I don’t want to be a rat anymore.”

  “Doesn’t that depend on how you decide to use your time?”

  It was as if he hadn’t heard my question. “Have you read Shakespeare, Iowa? I suppose not much. I feel like Gloucester, the deformed hunchback, hating the idle pleasures of these days in Richard III. That was a great one. I watched every play at the Globe, so desperate was I for distraction from the bloody real life adventures of kings and queens.”

  “Did you know Shakespeare?”

  “I saw him on stage once.”

  “What was that like?”

  “He had a cold. I could barely hear him. He was a better writer than he was an actor, as I recall.”

  “You don’t remember? Really?”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal at the time, girl. When aspirants are on their way up, you never know which ones will rise above the rest. I was there for a play, not to meet the man. From my perspective, most men don’t last long. If the humans are very lucky, their works survive, but only I am forever. Just about everyone else is merely passing through.”

  “What have you learned from them?”

  “Boredom races with impermanence.”

  He was silent for a moment. I stared at his black mask, as if that would help. It didn’t. “I don’t get it.”

  “I have seen dynasties. Men with poisonous ambition rise to power to perpetuate their wars and trifles to alleviate their boredom. They build their legacies out of the bones of their lessers. They feed their dramatic addictions. No matter how many men, women and children must be sacrificed on the altar of conflict, the cycle spins on across the centuries, only a wink of God’s eye on the cosmic scale, but our miseries stretch time out and make pain last.”

  “I, uh…I’ve got to get back soon, Merlin.”

  He ignored me and kept ranting. “I have immortality and I am a great man, yet new entertainments are denied me. I crave new stories. Immortality is not enough, Iowa. I so envy your youth, your strength and your innocence. Mostly, I am jealous that you can do new things.”

  I stood, crossed the room and held his gloved hand. “The Choir Invisible needs a powerful magician on our side. We need you. Have you considered that you’re suicidal and we have anti-depressants for that?”

  Merlin laughed. “The Lady of the Lake…she is as beautiful as she is mute, is she not? She is my constant companion in this dank hole. I was her prisoner once. Then I learned a new spell from the demon mage and the Lady became my prisoner. Now she and I share this cell as we await our release. You must find my jailer, Iowa. You can get to the demon mage who possesses the key to my freedom.”

  “But the war — ”

  “Can’t be bothered.”

  “Then you’re part of the problem.”

  “I have seen a thousand wars, girl. My cup is full of horrors and my dreams are replete with memories of the dead. No human — or half-human — should become inured to misery.”

  “So you really won’t fight with us?”

  “No. And if you don’t help me die, I’ll help the Ra. Perhaps I’ll find community in Ba’al’s dimension if there is no solace to be had in this one. The Ra might offer something new.”

  I gripped the old magician’s hand tight. “Merlin,” I said, “you talk a lot. Way too much. I sing.”

  “You sing of swords, Iowa. Go ahead. To protect the human race as you are sworn, sing. Try to sing!”

  I had only one knife on me, hidden in a sheath between my shoulder blades. Manny called it, “the blade in the blood sports
bra.” I pulled it free and shoved the point into his heart. I pushed the tip in deep. Merlin looked down at his chest as blood stained his pressed white shirt. I twisted and turned the steel, digging around.

  The old man screamed, “My silk tie!”

  He didn’t even bleed much. I pulled the blade out, twisting it as I did so.

  Nothing. Executing the traitor wouldn’t shut him up. Not that way, anyway.

  “You didn’t really think that would work, did you, Iowa?”

  “No, but I hoped it would cause you a little pain. Like the pain of drowning, maybe.”

  “No, though I really did fancy that tie.” Merlin took off one glove. His hand looked like a rotten, gnarled tree root dipped in raspberry jam. With demon-fast reflexes, he reached out and put that twisted claw at the back of my bare neck, pulling me close.

  Slowly, he raised his mask. The bowler hat fell to the floor as thick white hair spilled past his shoulders.

  I gasped at the horror that was his face.

  “Humans burned me for practicing witchcraft. More than once,” he said. “I have been shot and stabbed. I was an old beggar when Napoleon’s grapeshot mangled me on the streets of Paris. I wasn’t even part of the riot. I was merely a bystander, witnessing the rise of another dictator, the fall of yet another empire.”

  I couldn’t look away from the roadmap of scars that traversed the sagging wreck of the sorcerer’s face. He might live forever, but he had never stopped aging.

  “After too many years, death is welcome. Many so-called elderly humans facing the end of their natural lifespans welcome the end of this existence after a mere seventy years or so. Imagine the fatigue of a thousand years, of two thousand years!”

  I didn’t throw up, but I wanted to. Still, I couldn’t look away from his ravaged face.

  “Life is precious, but only if it doesn’t last too long. My need to leave is based on a simple principle of economics, Iowa: only scarcity creates value.”

  He released my neck.

  “Why can’t you use a glamor spell on yourself?”

  “Don’t you think I would have thought of that through the centuries, girl? I can help you hide your horns because they are natural to you. Your father is a demon. My immortality, and the traces of time on my visage, is a demon mage’s curse. I can’t break another’s curse. This dark spell must be lifted by he who cursed me.”

  “How are you going to get him to lift the curse?”

  “Leave that to me.” Merlin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When the demon mage first cursed me, I didn’t know it was a curse. I thought it was a beautiful gift. I dreamt of watching the sun die. I’d see the end of everything from a world populated with my children.”

  I frowned.

  “You disapprove, but only because you are still so young. Every man and woman begins the long mourning for their dead youth at their first gray hair. Petty concerns, compared to my numerous disfigurements, hm? You risked your life to rid yourself of a pair of horns from your head. Do you feel better about your horns now that you’ve seen the ugliness I endure?”

  “I’m sorry for all that has happened to you,” I said.

  “At the hands of humans,” he said. “It is not the Keep’s walls that imprison me, Iowa. I am held fast here by my scars. The screams of terrified children have followed me through the streets of the world’s cities and towns through history. No more. Down here, I wait for the return of Chronos. And you shall be my deliverer.”

  “Well…um…you talk pretty.”

  He chuckled. “Now that you have finally come as Chumele predicted, perhaps the long winter of my discontent shall end, hm?”

  He sighed and pulled his mask back into place. “In the books you write about the Choir, you are fond of imparting lessons to your recruits. Allow me to share some wisdom, from one old man to posterity. If you have the opportunity to become immortal, choose the kind where you stay young and do not suffer scars. Warn them as I warn you now: stay young as long as you can. Treasure every first kiss before loneliness comes for you. Loneliness and boredom are the monsters that kill all we thought we could be.”

  That’s Lesson 164. Kind of a downer, but consider yourself warned. Go give somebody a kiss and a hug right now!

  9

  “Okay. What do I have to do to stop you from going over to the dark side?” I asked.

  “Heh. It’s not just about stopping me from joining the Ra. You still want your horns to be invisible. Or has my appearance obliterated your concerns in that regard?”

  “I’ll take the glamor spell, sure. But right now I’m more concerned that the great Merlin is thinking about becoming a traitor.”

  “Their mages are more powerful than ours,” Merlin said. “If you can’t get to the one who cursed me, don’t blame me if I seek relief from another of their kind.”

  “No, Merlin. I’d blame you. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Who is the demon mage I’m looking for?”

  “You’ll find him at Stanford. He’s a full professor, enjoying the good life.”

  “What?”

  “You’re surprised. Victor is keeping things from you. The demon mage you seek is far from the only demon who has masqueraded as a human. A few have crossed the boundaries between dimensions for centuries.”

  “Like who?”

  “Leonardo Da Vinci was such a one. A demon mage.”

  “But — ”

  “Only the outliers, the very talented, manage to come and stay and contribute and integrate. Picasso was another. When you look to those who are doing something different and groundbreaking, you may be looking at a demon genius. The citizens of Ra are not just bred for battle. Some are bred for greatness. Salvador Dali and his melting clocks. Tesla, feeding the world electricity with lightning bolts through the air.”

  “Um. Wow.”

  “Wow, indeed. And don’t forget me. I’m only a half-demon, but the demon who sired me was so powerful, I am quite extraordinary. A genius, in fiction and in fact.”

  I looked around his humble abode and chose not to comment. Instead, I asked about the demon mage at Stanford.

  “Dangerous,” Merlin said. “His powers are so strong he can stay in one place as long as he wishes and humans are none the wiser.”

  “Neat trick. Has he got a name?”

  “His human name is Alfonso de Spina. His demon name is Chronos. Call him that and he will be forced to reveal himself. He is a hedonist. I envy how much he enjoys his human life. No scars for him or those who follow him.”

  “How will I get him to cooperate?”

  “He can’t be killed, but Victor will give you a box that will restrain him. Don’t let him speak. That’s the main thing. If he speaks to you, all is lost.”

  “Wait. If he’s that powerful, how am I going to do anything? This sounds like something for the Impossible Missions Force. Isn’t Tom Cruise available?”

  “No. You’re very droll when you’re nervous, aren’t you?”

  “What about Simon Pegg? Not even Simon Pegg?”

  “If your mission was easy, it wouldn’t be much of a noble quest, would it?”

  “But — ”

  “It’s not an adventure if you know exactly what’s going to happen, girl.”

  “It’s not an adventure if I know it’s certain death. It’s suicide.”

  The wizard sighed. “Find a way. It is possible. We all have a vulnerability. It was decided a long time ago: every Magical has limits placed on him or her equal to their gifts.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m an immortal, trapped in scars. You are a sword singer, weakened by your human half. Chronos is strong in black magic but he cannot see the future. If he could, you would have been murdered as a baby. Chumele could see the future but she was vulnerable to slings and arrows and martyrdom.”

  “Chumele was nice.”

  “Too nice. That’s why she’s dead.”

  “Seeing the future didn’t seem to help Chumele much.”
r />   “She died to help you.”

  “I didn’t ask her to do that.”

  “If she hadn’t, you and your friends would all be dead.”

  I made a mental note to light a candle for Chumele. I didn’t know what else to do so I resolved to do that.

  “Every spell costs us something in energy or curses,” Merlin said. “Even the most adept among the Magicals needs to rest after casting a powerful spell. There is a balance in this. Homeostasis, the moderns call it. If all magic folk were equally powerful in all aspects of the craft, we would have taken over the world and enslaved humans long ago.”

  “So…we’re all just Muggles to you? JK Rowling got it right?”

  The old wizard chuckled. “We? What do you mean we, warrior? You are a demon girl.”

  “You’re only half right.”

  “You think like a human, but you aren’t one of them anymore. You never really were. Can you think of any time, before the horns, when you felt the demon stir your heart? In the thrill of battle or, perhaps, in seeing an inferior human? Did you not feel something snarl from down in your genes or behind your lizard brain? Don’t act so pure. I’ve been watching you. You defend humans, surely, but you’ve felt the ache in your eye teeth for meat.”

  “Maybe a little. I’ve always liked barbecue.” But I was thinking of a rainy night when a guy from New Jersey threatened me. His road rage tempted me to kill him. When my attacker had run off, terrified, I’d enjoyed his fear a little too much. I’d wondered where the casual contempt came from. Now I knew.

  “Let’s get back to the demon you want me to kidnap. How am I going to do that exactly?”

  “I suppose you’ll have to improvise. I can’t solve it all for you from here, girl. You will have to be clever.”

  “Great,” I said. “Be clever. I’ll write that down.”

  “Chronos has all kinds of tricks. He is valuable to the Ra. However, your first concern will be his bodyguards. They are human, but he granted them the kind of immortality I crave. They all look young. Their motto is ‘Frater Perdurabo.’ It is Latin. It means, Brother I shall endure to the end. They don’t scar and each is an expert in combat. They live in eternal youth, presumably until you show up to cut through them, I suppose.”