The Thirteenth Magician

by Patrick Welch

  “At one time I called myself a fisherman. With your help I have become a warrior. With your help I will be a fisherman again.”

  “My help?” Nyxx frowned, then studied him closely. “Daasek. Where have I heard that name?”

  “You never cared before. But maybe this will help.” Daasek pulled the now-inert satchel from his pocket and tossed it on the desk.

  Nyxx studied the purse, then Daasek. Then his eyes lit up with understanding and he smiled without warmth. “Oh frumious joy! My favorite prodigal has returned! And all this time I thought you were dead.” He shook his head, a parent correcting an errant child. “At least you could have written.” He paused, put a finger to his lips. “You look slightly the worse for wear.”

  “Krujj had a strange sense of humor.”

  “That he did. But we are so delighted in your safe return, aren't we, Abracina?” The rat creature merely snarled. Nyxx winked at Daasek. “She really likes you. She's just playing hard to get.” He then sat back. “I would like to hear the details and all, truly I would. But we are rather busy today. So just tell me, where are the others?”

  “What others?”

  Nyxx leaned forward, all traces of civility gone. “That is not an answer. I sensed six intruders entering the forest. No matter how far I traveled, however, I could only find you. Did the others perish on the way, or get lost? Or perhaps you ate them.”

  What is this man talking about? Whatever it was, it distressed the magician, and it was an advantage he must use. “Your farsight must be as dim as your sky,” he replied scornfully. “I came alone.”

  Nyxx jumped from his chair. “Impossible! I clearly sensed...”

  That was when Abracina attacked.

  Nyxx fell back, struggling to grab the rat creature as it tore at his throat. The force of her attack threw Nyxx out of his chair and they rolled on the floor, Abracina biting and clawing, Nyxx trying desperately to get the beast off him. There could be no better opportunity but Daasek held his ground. You deserve your chance, Abracina. Perhaps more than me. This was a battle he would let them fight, and conclude, alone.

  Nyxx soon had blood pouring from scratches on his hands, face, neck. Abracina ripped clumps of his filthy beard away while he tried to crush her against the floor. Despite the ferocity of their struggle and the obvious pain inflicted by both, neither enemy made a sound. The fight finally ended when Nyxx managed to seize Abracina behind her neck and with uncommon strength pull her from him, ignoring the pain as her teeth tore away much of his right ear. Then he stood, holding the squirming creature at arm's length. “You never have forgiven me for taking what was yours, have you, witch?” he said.

  Abracina snarled and bit futilely at his hand.

  Nyxx looked at Daasek and smiled wanly. “She always had a streak of bitch in her.” He held her up and looked her in the eyes. “And I granted you such a wonderful boon. That old body of yours was so decrepit and ... unappealing. In this,” he shook her, “you had youth, strength. I may have let you live forever. So ungrateful.” He began to squeeze.

  Abracina struggled more furiously, shrieking louder with every passing second. Then Daasek heard a loud crack and Abracina relaxed, her head now lolling at an impossible angle. Nyxx tossed her into a pile of refuse without a second look.

  “You stole her soul-catcher, didn't you?”

  Nyxx turned to Daasek, startled at his correct assumption. “Why, yes. The stupid witch was careless. She trusted me. I was being groomed as her successor.” He shuddered. “What she made me do to please her. When she knew all along how I felt about ... females.” He looked at Daasek as if seeking understanding or forgiveness. “I couldn't wait any longer. I couldn't wait for her to die. She would have never let herself die,” he continued in a softer voice. “She would have continued to use me until she tired of me.” He shook himself, as if remembering that there was another in the room. “She was a shapechanger, did you know that? I felt it only fitting that I use her erstwhile power to turn her into something more ... appropriate.” He sat down and caught his breath. He ignored the blood streaming from his face. “But tell me, how did you learn of the soul-catcher?”

  “Roaine told me. She told me nearly everything.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Everything? Hardly. Roaine told you nothing of import. She knew nothing of my crusade. If she did, if she fully understood, then she would have eagerly joined me. Since she refused, she had to die.

  “Of course, none on your pitiful world understand the full magnitude of what I am trying to accomplish.” He looked up at the ceiling and Daasek saw a light in his eyes that he had once seen echoed in Moogad's mad monk. “Someday you will,” he whispered.

  “You've been too long from the real world, Nyxx. Your pirates and thieves will never conquer Horea for you.”

  His words shattered Nyxx's reverie. He turned to Daasek, suddenly angry. “Conquer? I am not interested in conquest. I am doing this to save your world! For Him. For the one Thirteen who truly loves you and all of Horea.”

  “That's why you want war?”

  “Only because they force me to.” He carelessly wiped at the blood on his forehead with the back of his filthy sleeve. “If they would only understand. Would only obey. All this would not be necessary.”

  “Like the killing of the other twelve magicians?”

  He smiled. “No. That was entirely necessary.”

  Daasek took a few steps closer. “Then I've fulfilled our bargain. Now you must fulfill yours.”

  “Which was?”

  “I've come for my soul.”

  “Your soul?” Nyxx entertained the concept like an unwelcome guest. After a few moments he grinned. “Whatever gave you the idea that I would have kept that insignificant little bauble? Once I was certain you were dead, I threw it out with the rest of the garbage.”

  Daasek shuddered. A chilling hand closed over his heart. To have gone through all this! He shook his head. The magician had to be lying.

  Nyxx watched his reaction, bemused. “Let me think. Perhaps.” He opened a drawer and removed a small vial. He beamed. “What have we here?” He held it up like a child displaying a favorite toy. “Is this what you're looking for?”

  Before Daasek could respond, he felt a sudden separation within himself, as if he had been severed from his body. He recognized it. The same sensation as with Aletia and he knew that Nyxx was trying to seize control of his body. And he didn't seem to be able to prevent it.

  The magician walked forward, still smiling, supremely confident. “You performed exceptionally, I grant you that. Too well, perhaps. You must have had more help than I could provide to defeat them all. To be that successful means you could have been a danger even to me, which is impossible. My agreement with The Thirteen protects me until my great task is over. And I have much to accomplish. Yes, much to accomplish. Too much to have to concern myself with you.” He stopped an arm's length away. “I only took part of your soul last time, foolish boy. This time I will take it all!” With his free hand he grabbed Daasek by the throat and began to squeeze.

  Daasek saw everything but felt nothing. He had no arms, no feet, no body whatsoever. He could only stare into Nyxx's eyes, eyes that opened into a dark madness that was deeper than the pit of Hys. If he could feel, he was certain he would feel total desperation and despair. Instead he was stone.

  Then faces swam before him. The aging Roaine. Part of her soul, he knew, resided with his. But others appeared as well. The puppet master Ynain. The tinkerer Pahluv. The scholar Ensten. The love-struck Mythalia. The mad monk. He could see they were talking to him, although he heard them not. As if they were trying to encourage him, instruct him, help him.

  Then he understood. He had inhaled, although mostly unwittingly, at least a minute portion of each of their souls when he had destroyed their soul-catchers. They were the reason Nyxx had sensed six people journeying this day. And he understood that somehow they were fighting the last living mage.

  Nyxx now unders
tood it as well. He frowned, then increased his pressure. “You really have no hope,” he whispered hoarsely. “Do not fight me. You cannot fight me.” But it was not Daasek who was resisting him, but the other magicians. Nyxx began to breathe harder, his hand trembled. Daasek saw the confidence in his eyes change to surprise, then confusion.

  You have destroyed yourself as well as us, he now heard the worshipper of Moogad say. You have carved your own destruction, whispered Pahluv. You cannot swim against the current of your destiny, argued Ensten. I see death in your future, predicted Ynain. You shall be my lover forever, promised Mythalia.

  “Never. I destroyed you once, I shall do so again!” Nyxx shouted and increased the pressure. But Daasek, though only a spectator, sensed that the stalemate was shifting, that the six within were besting the one without.

  The magician's long, thin fingers tightened on his throat. Will I suffocate first? The thought amused him. The battle he was fighting did not concern him. It was a wizard's war being fought about and within his body. If I could move I could probably help them, he thought idly. But he could not, and so he lost interest in the events outside. Instead he thought back to Borof, to Choro, to his Great Sail. The grandest of the Great Sails. How sad that the minstrels will not be able to sing of it in the taverns across Horea. Alegro was right about that, at least.

  Then Roaine's face swam before him, within him. She called to him urgently and he mentally shook himself, forced himself to listen. You will soon regain control of your body, she told him. It may be for only seconds. So you must be ready to act.

  Act? Act how? What could he do? Use his physical strength? Despite the magician's seeming frailty, he was indeed a match for Daasek. His sword was gone. His knife...

  Then the curtain lifted, just as Roaine had promised. Abruptly back in his body, Daasek felt the flood of intense agony caused by the magician's onslaught. He would have collapsed to the floor save that Nyxx's grip held him upright. He could feel the fire in his lungs. Yes, he was suffocating. But this is no worse than my battle with the warback, no worse than the removal of the killing velvet. He forced himself to hold what little of his breath remained while he concentrated on moving his arm. He forced himself to ignore the blood pounding in his ears, the pressure welling in his chest. This is no worse than the kiss of Aletia or the song of Alegro. He felt his hand begin to move slowly back. He felt himself smile. Thanks to you, Nyxx, I can endure pain. And he could act despite it.

  Nyxx, however, was unaware that Daasek had regained control of his body. Instead he seemed to be holding a dialogue with someone unseen even as he tried to squeeze the life from the man before him. His attention distracted, Nyxx did not notice Daasek reach behind. Remove his knife. And drive it deep into the wizard's side.

  Nyxx dropped his hands and stepped back. He looked to his wound, then to the knife dripping red with slow dawning comprehension. “You can't,” he said as if reprimanding a misbehaving child. “You can't do that. My Master promised me. You can't do that.” Then he slowly wilted like a flower brushed by a glacial wind and lay still.

  Daasek staggered against the wall gasping for breath. Now that the terrible pressure was relieved, he no longer felt the presence of the others inside him. But he knew they were still there. The vial. The thought cut through him like a blade dipped in acid and he began frantically looking for it. And saw it. And shuddered.

  The glass had shattered on the floor. Whatever it held had dissipated entirely. He walked slowly over to it and studied the shards. Nothing. What was left of his soul, if in truth it had held his soul, was forever lost.

  Then he smiled. Regeneration, Roaine had said. Someday, perhaps. He shrugged. He now shared the souls of Roaine, Pahluv and the others. He had his past again. Most his memories had returned. He had himself. The plague on Myniah was at an end. That was more than enough.

  Yet one more task remained. He approached the dead magician and withdrew his knife. The black soul-catcher stood out in the man's death grin. He removed it carefully, then studied it. So many have suffered because of these. Once it is destroyed, all contact with the Thirteen will be severed forever. We have earned that freedom.

  He squeezed it slowly. He felt the soft surface begin to shift, to crack. He took a deep breath as he waited for the stone to rupture and eject the foulness that was Nyxx.

  * * * *

  The room was suddenly flooded with light; blinding, yet soft and warm and calming. An ethereal serenade, more beautiful than any music offered by Alegro, caressed him. The visage of a strong, gentle man appeared before him. Daasek could not distinguish features, yet his beauty filled Daasek instantly with love and awe.

  You have done well, My son, he said in the most haunting, caressing voice Daasek had ever heard. A voice he heard within him and without. I have forced upon you many trials, but with My guidance you have conquered each of them without question and without fail. You have justified My deep love for you and My great confidence in you.

  Tears welled in Daasek's eyes. The Thirteen. All this time, everything he had done, everything he had been, had truly been at the behest of The Thirteen. His Thirteen! The agony he had endured, the agony he had caused others. Now that he understood, he felt vindication and relief. And frustration. What he had endured for Him was nothing, nothing! “I, I am sorry I could not do more,” he said haltingly, fearful that his voice would break the spell, force his Thirteen to leave.

  You shall do more, My son. On My behalf you have rid your world of great evil. But there is still so much we must do together. We must purge your world of hate and pain and suffering and transform it to one of love and eternal happiness. One where you and all of Horea can place your hopes and dreams and fears and desires in My care. You are all My children, and I am here to tend to you. You, Daasek, will lead them to Me.

  Daasek trembled with ecstasy and fear. Ecstasy at the sight of Him, fear that he would fail. Lead his people. Yes. Everyone must follow Him, come to understand the love and dominion of The Thirteen. "But I am only a fisherman."

  I have a great love and respect for fishermen. But trouble yourself not with that part of your past. You are much more than that. I chose you. I have guided you throughout your life. Everything you have done, have experienced, has been because of My divine plan. Now you have the most perilous portion of Our journey before you. You must spread Our word among your people. Some will not want to listen. Some will not want to obey. You will have to be strong, even stronger than you have proven thus far. You will be hated, you will be feared. But you will also be loved. By Me, and by the people who embrace our message.

  Daasek trembled. The comments of Ensten came to mind. Guided. Like a river. He looked down at his scarred body. Everything had been done for His purpose. He smiled to himself. The pain, the loneliness, everything he had experienced was now justified. In fact, joyfully embraced. “I will do anything I can for you, master. What is it you wish?”

  You will become the first of the new Guild, the preeminent Guild, the Preachers Guild. You will form it, you will gather acolytes, you will spread Our message throughout your world. You will reunite My children into one wonderful family. A family full of love for each other and for Me. Have no doubts or fears or questions. You merely need to heed My words. You need never worry if you merely heed My words. You will begin with your friend Borof. Together you will make this structure into a shrine worthy of your adoration for Me.

  “Of course,” Daasek said, falling to his knees and clutching the soul-catcher. A new Guild! One devoted to love and the will of his Thirteen! One not just for Myniah, but for everyone! Together, he and Borof. Yes, they would succeed!

  He looked at the fallen body of Nyxx. He no longer hated the magician. Indeed he loved him. The magician had merely been a tool in a much greater plan, a tool that had brought Daasek to his final destiny. “Father,” he whispered, “I am honored beyond words.” Tears of joy streamed down his face. “Please, what may I call you?”

  You may call Me Y
ahveh.

  * * * *

  “We should be done within a moonphase.”

  Daasek nodded to his friend Borof. “Excellent. We have so much to accomplish.” Daasek had visited Borof immediately after returning to Myniah. It had taken only the slightest touch of his new-found power, power granted by his Thirteen, to convince his old friend to join him. Already the former hall of the Timbermen was being rebuilt into a shrine worthy of the guild Daasek was committed to founding. Borof's wealth was proving invaluable in that regard.

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, my friend. You and the One we both serve have given me all I could ever hope for.” Daasek then left Borof to supervise the workers while he returned to his sanctuary. A supply of parchment, ink and quill pens awaited on his desk. It was time, he decided, to set down the words his Thirteen had given him so his followers could read and understand. And find their final salvation within the destiny he was soon to preach. He began to write.

  Meanwhile, below the snow-capped Vyron Mountains, a solitary hunter paused over the crushed remains of the victim of an avalanche. It happened often in the winter and it was not the first time he had stumbled across the aftermath. The victim had been dead for several years and was now reduced to bones and a few ragged scraps of clothing. He stirred the pile of remains with his sword and was surprised to see a flash of light. Bending closer, he noticed a silver ring still attached to a clasped hand. A silver ring with a solitary black stone in the center. The bones snapped easily as he removed it and dropped it in his purse. On the whole a very successful afternoon, he thought. He would study his find later, perhaps sell it for the silver.

  That evening he examined the ring thoroughly in the security of his cabin. Soon after, a new magician dwelt in Horea.

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  Afterward

  I would like to say the idea for The Thirteenth Magician came in a dream, as with Robert Louis Stevenson, or that I wrote it in a fit of fiery passion, like Herman Melville. Neither is close to the truth.