Crude Magic
Michael D. Young
Future House Publishing
Crude Magic
Future House Publishing
Cover image copyright: Shutterstock.com. Used under license.
Copyright © 2016 Michael D. Young
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copy editing by Future House Publishing
Interior design by Michelle Lippold
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Meckule fidgeted in his ceremonial attire, wondering whose name he needed to curse for designing such inconvenient clothing. Not for the first time, he wished he had been born in the Dorian Clan instead of the Scarlatti. Then, he would have been brought up as a master of disguise, and there would be no need to fuss about actual clothing.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, releasing a bit of Essence into the air. Working quickly before it dissipated, he exerted his will upon it, casting a subtle spell that would straighten his clothing. The high collar stiffened, the brightly embroidered gold and scarlet jacket smoothed, and his knickers and tights lost every blemish. Even his obscenely expensive wig managed to reclaim all its stray hairs.
He took a few deep breaths, his lungs laboring against the heavy air of the mine. He didn’t mind the extra effort. The Essence in the air never failed to electrify his being, filling him with a vitality that made him feel he could do anything.
Now, he was ready to face the public.
With a white-gloved hand, he pushed away the heavy blue drape in front of him and stepped out into the open. The flash of a dozen recording crystals nearly blinded him as he put on his best benevolent-benefactor-of-the-public face. He left one hand close to the pocket that contained the blackmail note, a scrap of parchment he had found last night affixed to his desk with a bloody dagger.
The group stood in a high-ceilinged chamber near the center of one of his mines. Though most of the walls and ceilings were made of rough-hewn gray stone, a semi-transparent crystal with a slight blue tint made up a good portion of the floor.
Behind him, a huge black cloth covered a portion of the crystal. Several of his servants stood gripping the edges of the cloth, waiting to unveil at a moment’s notice. Meckule did not like holding public announcements in the mine, though in this case, there had been no choice. He had to let them see for themselves.
Still playing the part, he basked in the crowd’s adulation for a moment longer before waving a hand for silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dear friends,” he began, infusing his voice with officious enthusiasm. “It is with great personal satisfaction and delight that I have assembled you here today. I promised a revelation of staggering proportions, and I’m not just talking about the impressive spread my chefs have prepared for after the assembly. Do not fear, my friends, for I have compensated for Lord Hampton’s presence by doubling the usual order.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd, Lord Hampton himself joining in and patting his ample stomach.
Meckule cleared his throat, wondering if he should not cast the straightening spell again. Any sort of movement, no matter how small, seemed to create wrinkles in this fabric. If only he had a spell to suspend his need for breath while he spoke.
“And so, without any further pontification, I wish to present—the largest fossil ever discovered!”
He gestured to his employees, who pulled back the black cloth to reveal an enormous vein of crystal, stretching into the bowels of the earth. Embedded deep in the stone was the corpse of an Ultimas Drake, the largest of all known dragons. The crystal had preserved it remarkably, keeping the scales, skin, horns, teeth, wings, and even the eyes intact. It looked as though the creature might spring to life at any moment and rain fiery retribution on its captors.
The crowd gasped and cheered as Meckule spread his arms in triumph, enduring another furious round of flashes from the crystals. It took much longer to quiet the crowd this time. Meckule could feel a headache threatening at the base of his skull.
“As you know,” he finally continued, “our company deals primarily in bones and processing their power. However, with such a find as this, we will be able to process every part of the body. The scales and the membranes of the wings will provide a level of unprocessed Essence hitherto unknown. We shall begin excavation immediately and hope to complete it before the year’s end.”
He posed and preened, answered dozens of questions, and finally bowed out, anxious for his senses to be free.
* * *
Back in the concealment of his private chambers at his estate, Meckule sat in the darkness for moment, collecting his thoughts. He sunk his toes into the plush carpet, relieved to be free of his impractical shoes. The smell of furniture polish and exotic ink melded with the scent of roasting meat that wafted up from the kitchens, foretelling the coming celebratory feast. At great expense, he had hired a Dorian chef to blend spices in a way no other chef could.
Not only did the smell make his stomach rumble, but with his Reserve dry, he felt the emptiness, a sort of hollow pain that most called the Hunger. His earlier spell had drawn even more from him than he’d thought, making the Hunger more severe than usual. He would have to visit the dispensary.
He stepped out of the chamber to do just that when a lithe figure crossed in front of him, moving gracefully in the dark. In the low light, he could see she wore a long, silky shift. Torrents of bright red hair fell around her head, curling and twisting in a way that made the entire thing look like a waterfall frozen in an instant. The enticing scent of fruit and spices enveloped him as slender arms wrapped around his neck.
“So, how is the soon-to-be richest man in all the realm?” she whispered close to his ear.
Normally, such a display from his mistress would have him more intoxicated than the most potent magical diversion. Vahashti was not his first mistress, but she was by far the most alluring. She was the type who only used enough magic to sustain her body, but still she wove a different kind of spell around him, one that did not require a trip to the dispensary.
But though he treasured her with a bright passion, she would never be his first love. As a young man, he had made trips to the Dorian capital to see Evelet, the first woman to have ensnared his heart.
They had shared all the joys of youth toge
ther until a single strange night altered everything. On one of his usual trips, instead of finding Evelet’s normal, vibrant self, Meckule found her almost listless and knew at once that something was wrong. But when he pressed her about it, she would not explain. In the morning, when he stepped into the main living chambers of the Dorian keep, the guards rushed in and promptly threw him out.
At first, he thought it was because their illicit liaison had been discovered, but he soon realized that other things were afoot—the clans were going to war. After that day, he did not see Evelet again, nor could he get any word of her. He waited years for tensions to cool down, and once they did, he inquired after her immediately. To his horror, he was told in no uncertain terms that Evelet was dead.
It had been some time before he could even think about giving his heart to another woman. Vahashti entranced him more than most, though he could not understand why.
But today, he felt colder than the dead dragon encased in the mine. He would surely make for poor company in this wretched, preoccupied state, especially considering he’d used up all his Reserve. “Not now, Vahashti. It’s not you.”
As she pulled away, he noticed a strange pattern on her neck, imprinted on her skin in light brown ink, made up of geometric shapes. It appeared too faint to be new, and he wondered briefly why he hadn’t noticed it before.
He pushed past her in the darkness, feeling his way down the hall. The magical lights that lined the hallway would require more power to light than he currently possessed. Besides, with his headache, he preferred the darkness. He could hear Vahashti’s quiet pursuit as he reached the door to his office.
“Is it?” she asked, not completely masking the hurt in her voice. “Do you truly feel nothing for me now? I might as well be your wife.”
At that, Meckule turned and drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly before responding. “I said, it’s not you. I am not well. Had I my full faculties, I would no more be able to resist you than the moons can resist the pull of our planet.”
“Now that is a relief,” Vahashti said, “though I’m sure being the actual wife of the richest man in the realm would have its advantages.”
Meckule sighed, thinking about the many times they had discussed this very subject. “As much as you think you want that, you truly don’t,” he said. “There are many responsibilities that come with being an actual Scarlatti. The business of the clan would occupy your time almost entirely.”
Meckule reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear. “And neither of us want that, do we?”
Vahashti shook her head. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked after a moment.
“Perhaps,” Meckule said, searching his mind. He needed to do something to take his mind off things, whether or not it was good for business. “See if you can get box seats at the opera. I hear Carvanni is debuting his first new piece since Twilight for Marinello. I suppose he’ll have to do.”
Vahashti chuckled lightly. “Yes. It is called The Red Sword of the Mal King. Perhaps something with a few more clashing swords will hold your interest better than Carvanni’s last work.”
“Perhaps,” Meckule said. “But it will have to have fewer cadenzas. It just isn’t practical to sing for two minutes before delivering the fatal blow in a duel.”
Vahashti laughed again, the sound stirring a spark of their usual attraction. “Go, my dear,” Meckule said. “Perhaps the opera will calm my nerves, and I’ll be a bit more like myself.”
Vahashti let her hand graze his cheek before vanishing into the darkness.
Meckule waited for a few moments before turning to open the door to his office. He made his way to the plush chair behind the massive desk of wood and stone. As he sat, a glint of silver caught his eye—he jumped back up. A slender blade stuck out of the desk, pinning a scrap of parchment to the center of it. With trembling fingers, Meckule ripped the parchment free, squinting at the scrawled writing.
A good first step—but do not drag your feet.
When next Azure shines, you must be complete.
Meckule sank into his chair, clutching the sides of the note to keep from trembling. The Azure Moon had shone full just the night before and would do so again in only thirty days, after the other two moons had taken center stage in the sky. Thirty days for a job that should take months. Something told him that not even the opera tonight would be enough to lighten his mood.
* * *
Meckule rested his head against a cushioned headrest in his enchanted carriage, sighing. The carriage was one of the finer specimens in his fleet, with finely woven scarlet for the canopy, mage beast leather for the seats, and the best quality carpet available for the floor. The intricately patterned rug rippled gently under his feet as he navigated the switchbacks leading to his brother’s base of operations.
History had long forgotten how the World Fissure had been formed, but it was the deepest fissure anywhere in the Realm. It leaked a steady stream of magical energy, energy his brother harvested via a series of collection points—slender metal towers with transparent globes attached to the tops—erected along its length. The globes atop the collectors flickered as Essence neared, creating an erratic display of light all along the Fissure.
Meckule spotted his brother’s stocky frame and floppy hat only a short way down the path to the Fissure. The carriage interpreted his will and brought him to a stop not far from where his brother worked: a small hut near the tallest, central collection point.
Tailon turned immediately and raised a hand, waving frantically. “Hello, brother! How do you fare?”
“To tell Rahim’s honest truth,” Meckule said, glancing at the Fissure, “I have half a mind to cast myself screaming into this pit. It would be a fitting end for a day such as this, and I would no longer be burdened with worry about tomorrow.”
To Meckule’s surprise, Tailon threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, how you carry on, brother. Surely it wasn’t as bad as all that. Wasn’t there some important meeting you had today?”
Meckule sniffed. “Yes, the unveiling. It was very important. So important, in fact, that you should have been there. I don’t run this business by myself, at least in theory.”
Tailon’s jolly expression fell suddenly, almost as though he’d remembered something he’d forgotten.
“In any case, brother dear,” Meckule continued, “I’m not here to berate your lack of attendance. I’m here for assistance.”
A smile returned to Tailon’s ruddy face. “You’ve come to me about your fossil problem,” he said. “And you think I can help you? Don’t you have the resources you need?”
Meckule pursed his lips, drawing a deep breath through his nose before answering. “Of course I do, brother. It is not so much a matter of how, but a question of when. I’m sure you’ve heard the news on the street. There’s war on the horizon, and you know how good war is for business. A mother lode like this could turn the tide. If you lent me some of your Essence, we might be able to extract the Drake from its unfortunate prison in a fraction of the time. But if we do not act quickly, we may not be able to process it in time to aid in the conflict.”
Meckule stepped closer, holding out his hands with the palms facing upward. “Now, I know you’ve been storing all the energy you’ve collected for some time. You even claim to have some higher purpose, which is only known to you. As maddening as that is, it is your prerogative. But I plead with you to think of the greater good here. If our armies fail, the other clans could capture all our facilities, and then where would we be? If you would allow me to purchase some of your store, I assure you I can pay you back a hundredfold after we process the Drake.”
Tailon set his usually smiling lips into a firm line. “Brother, you don’t know what you’re asking. And you act as though this were a guaranteed return on my investment. If your calculations are incorrect, even to the smallest degree, the explosion would destroy the remains, not to mention the entire mine. And where wo
uld the return on my investment come from then?”
Meckule knitted his fingers in front of him and clenched his jaw into a tight smile. His brother was right, of course. These worries had surfaced over and over again in Meckule’s mind, taunting him in his waking hours and whispering their doom at night in his sleep.
“Naturally there is some risk involved,” Meckule said, maintaining his tense smile. “But you are no stranger to risk. It is your daily companion. Just look at where you’ve set up shop!”
Tailon folded his arms across his chest, wagging his head back and forth. “I am too close to achieving my goals. I think you are more than capable of running your half of the business as you see fit, but I must be allowed to run my half in my way. If you would just be patient, you’d see how much I have to contribute. Even all this gloomy talk of war may disappear, once I have completed my work.”
Meckule could take it no longer. He’d listened to the same excuses for years, both before and after their father died and left them the company to carve up.
“I am through with your stubbornness, Tailon,” he hissed. “Only Rahim on His throne has shown more patience than I have to you.”
Meckule leaned in closer, his face nearly touching his brother’s. “See if you can picture this with perfect clarity. If you don’t help me, people will die. And not just a few of them. Thousands. Tens of thousands. They will all suffer and die, our company will be decimated, and there will be no way for either of us to fulfill any of our dreams. This is still a request, but barely. You must see reason before it is painted in blood before your sniveling face.”
Meckule breathed hard, cheeks flushing. To his astonishment, Tailon remained placid, his face taking on a look of contemplation. The expression so unnerved Meckule that he stood silent.
Crude Magic_The Hunger) Page 1
