The Magic, Warped

by Rick Field

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was becoming an unwelcome and annoying habit, Liane thought when she woke up in an incredible amount of pain. She moved to rub at her eyes, only to feel more pain shoot through her arms and shoulders, and a sharp tug preventing her from moving her arms out of their uncomfortable position.

  Her eyes opened, and she tried to focus on her surroundings. The world looked less vibrant somehow. She tugged at her hands, and realized that they were bound behind her back, large metal sheets encasing her lower arms.

  It was then that she realized that it wasn't just her body that was hurting, it was her magic as well. As she reached for it, trying to soothe and reassure it, pain lashed through her chest, making her back arch and tearing a scream from her throat. Every muscle in her body tightened and expanded at the same time, and she could vaguely feel the horrible sensation of muscle strain setting in.

  As the pain colored her world with reds and browns, her magic raged futilely against the unwelcome intrusion, making her try harder to reach it and ironically increasing the pain further.

  Finally, mentally and physically exhausted, she fell back on the coarse mattress, panting, staring at the ceiling.

  For the first time, she realized that she wasn't alone. Amy was there as well, looking shocked and pained. “Assistant?” Liane cursed the weakness in her voice. The Proctor blinked and beheld the younger girl: she was bared except for simple undergarments. Hurriedly looking down, she realized that she, herself, was in a similar shocking state of undress. Ashamed and outraged, Liane tried to bury herself in the blankets.

  For the first time in her life, Liane felt not only nude, but naked. Despite the fact that cloth around her hips and chest preserved what little modesty was allowed to her, she felt naked. Her Occluding Necklace and her focus gloves were gone as well, opening her mind to invasion and preventing her from working magic, even if she got rid of the restraints.

  She felt horribly exposed, utterly defenseless, and completely naked. Horror at the situation welled up inside of her, and she could feel tears of hopelessness fill her eyes.

  “You seem to be having an adverse reaction to the restraints, Proctor,” Amy whispered. “My Lord Milor and I have been similarly restrained, yet we have not suffered such a reaction, thankfully,” the Assistant filled in, either not seeing, or ignoring, Liane's emotional distress. Focusing on the younger girl's voice, Liane tried to bury her emotions and studied the girl next to her.

  While Liane had her hands and arms bound behind her back, Amy at least seemed to have the advantage of having her arms bound in front. Liane looked around, finding Milor seated in one corner, his arms similarly locked behind his back, staring at the wall. He was still dressed only in a pair of pants, and the runes that had blazed into life on his skin after she had freed him the last time had vanished again.

  “My Lord?” Liane asked, her voice still weak and unsteady. She hated hearing the quasi-buried tears in it as well, and drew a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself.

  She wasn't sure if it was working, but at least she was making an effort. So she told herself, anyway.

  “I am pleased you're awake, My Lady. You were hurt horribly when my uncle decided to punish you, and the restraints seem to be injuring you further. You were thrashing and screaming every few hours since they have been put on you,” he said to her, despite looking at the corner and not turning to face her.

  Liane stared at his bare back. “I see,” she finally said. Deep inside, she could feel her magic, injured, hurt, shaking, unstable, trying to divine the inner workings of the restraints from the other side. A sharp jolt went through her body, making her strained muscles tense and electing a sharp hiss from her. “Is there a reason you are staring at the wall, My Lord?” she finally asked, determined to take her mind off of the pain she was feeling and the helplessness she felt at the situation.

  “You and your Assistant have been left in a shameful and embarrassing situation, My Lady. It would be improper of me to look upon you in such a state of undress,” he answered calmly. His answer sounded too rehearsed, and Liane glanced at Amy.

  Her young Assistant confirmed with a single nod of her head that she had asked the same question before. “My Lord,” Liane said. “You were in such a situation yourself. This situation will be most difficult if we cannot look each other in the eyes. I hereby give you permission to turn around.”

  He tensed, and for a moment, Liane thought he would refuse outright. “It is most improper,” he muttered to himself, then sighed. Finally, he stood up, scrabbling from his position in an unseemly manner without the use of his hands to assist him. “We will both require help from your Assistant, My Lady,” he stated, still staring at the wall. “With our hands bound behind our backs, we cannot even eat.”

  Liane glanced at Amy. “That is true, My Lord,” she admitted, not having thought so far. She hated admitting to the position of helplessness once more and the full horror of the situation descended over her again. For the first time since she was eight years old, she was at the mercy of horrid people without the use of magic to help hide and shield her. She was bound and helpless, not even having the use of her arms and hands, and would require her Assistant's help with everything.

  She was sure that Milor had come to a similar conclusion.

  Neither of them brought the point up; it would serve no purpose and would probably only shock the young girl who would now be the only one with quasi-functional hands. Liane's tears welled up again, and this time, she could not contain them. Curling up on her side, she silently let them flow, trying to hide her distress, her hopelessness, her inability to do anything. She wouldn't even be able to feed herself or go to the bathroom by herself, let alone find a way out of here. She was almost completely naked, stripped of anything that could help or aid, and totally devoid of any use of magic.

  She was completely and utterly helpless, and a shudder went through her body. She hated feeling helpless, hated it with a passion, remembering that horrible blade at her throat when she was eight and just as helpless against a grown man.

  Another shudder went through her body, and for close to ten minutes there was silence in the room. Despite her attempted silence, Milor could hear the quiet distress of his friend, yet refused to turn around and stared at the wall as if the room was in complete silence. It was bad enough for her to suffer a breakdown, which was entirely understandable given the situation. It would be most improper for him to comment upon the fact and add to the humiliation of her loss of emotional control.

  Amy just sat on the edge of the bed, acting as if Liane had gone back to sleep, and just tried to keep her own thoughts.

  Liane felt grateful that her companions ignored the lack of Decorum and the loss of her fragile emotional control. Ten minutes later, she felt empty. Empty and tired. Having exhausted her weary body and ragged emotions, Liane drew a breath in an attempt to draw strength, and tried to resume the conversation where it had been chopped off by her loss of control.

  “Please turn around, My Lord,” Liane told Milor. “We must determine a way out of here,” she added as an afterthought. Her voice trembled slightly, sounding about as confident as she felt.

  He tensed again, before giving a brief nod and turning around. He beheld both of them, then blushed spectacularly, and looked away.

  Nonetheless, he did walk over and sit down closer to them. Liane felt herself heat up as well, now well aware of how he had felt when she had been staring at him at their first incarceration. “I must apologize, My Lord,” Liane whispered into the uncomfortable silence. “Had I not taken down the defenses, or found a way to shield you from them, we could have been protected against the forces brought by your uncle.”

  He swallowed. “It was my fault, My Lady. As Warlock, I am taught never to rest under combat conditions without posting a guard. I foolishly believed us to be safe in the castle.”

  “Let us say we were both at fault,” Liane said, feeling uncomfortable wit
h his admission.

  He appeared grateful at her suggestion, and nodded his acceptance. They lapsed into uncomfortable silence again, neither Proctor, Warlock, or Assistant looking too long at each other without running the risk of staring.

  “Perhaps, My Lord, you would be able to explain your uncle?” Liane finally asked. “He did not speak with the correct form of Decorum, yet he commands at least six Warlocks. His appearance is elderly and sickly, and I did not witness him doing magic of any kind, yet the Warlocks he had with him followed his commands without question.”

  Milor sighed. “I will be forced to omit large parts once more, My Lady. Those omissions are part of the Rules of Equality, as well as other vows of secrecy I have taken. I cannot deviate from them,” he admitted. She nodded, encouraging him without speaking.

  “My uncle is the older brother of my father,” he explained, drawing a breath. “He is a vampire.”

  Liane blinked, shared a glance with Amy, then looked back at Milor. “I did not know that vampires actually existed, My Lord,” she admitted, hoping her voice didn't sound nearly as doubtful as she felt. “I also believed them to be hauntingly attractive, strong, fast, and nearly impossible to kill.”

  Milor allowed a faint twitch of his lips. “I do not blame your skepticism, My Lady. The vampires you talk of exist only in literature and fiction, the kind of vampire that would be able to take over the world, entrance people and bend them to their will. A vampire that would be more demon than man.” He shook his head. “Please allow me to explain the truth about vampires.”

  Liane tried to wave him on, but forgot her hands were chained behind her back. The sharp tug reminded her, and her face twitched in frustration. “Please explain, My Lord. We seem to have nothing but time.”

  He gave a small, humorless, smile. “As the elder brother, my uncle was supposed to gain the family inheritance. He was also a necromancer, and a very powerful one at that. Before my grandfather passed away, my uncle died. However, he did not just die. He died in an attempt to exorcise a large haunting of an ancient cave, a cave dating back from the ancient times, before the Empire existed. This cave was filled with victims from a savage tribe of man-eaters, their victims not given the correct burial, their spirits haunting the save. My uncle tried to exorcise the haunting spirits, give them peace.”

  Milor looked her in the eyes. “My uncle failed. He died there, among the restless spirits he had tried to settle. As he was not buried properly, and as he was a necromancer, his restless spirit reanimated his body. I am sure you are aware, from Rituals and Ceremonies courses, that a body should always receive proper burial rites?”

  Liane nodded, she did know the various burial ceremonies, and knew they were very important. She just did not know why. It was entirely likely that the subject would be covered by Deep Secrets class, a class she was now missing and quite likely a class she would never get to enjoy again.

  “Without proper burial rites, it is possible that a spirit may not gain peace. Even with an absence of such rituals, most cross over peacefully, but certain spirits – those that died violent or dishonorable deaths, may linger behind at the place of their death. Most of these are harmless, unable to affect the physical world. Giving the victims of a violent death a burial rite will settle their restlessness and allow them the peace of the afterlife. It is only proper, after all. My uncle died in that cave, and was not given proper burial rites. The haunted cave made that impossible.”

  “And so his spirit remained behind, and was able to retake possession over his own body thanks to his necromantic abilities,” Liane filled in.

  Milor nodded. “Exactly. His body is dead. It does not feel pain, it does not need to eat, drink, or sleep. It is just as fast and as strong as it was in life, but the lack of the ability to feel pain can be both a boon and a curse. One can injure it, and my uncle will not feel it. On the other hand, one can chop off its legs, and it will still not feel that either.”

  Milor drew a breath. “There are certain limitations. My uncle will feed on the life force of the living in order to repair damage to his body. Even the most grievous of wounds can be regenerated given sufficient life force. He is also prohibited from being active during the day. The day is the time of the living, when dawn breaks, he must be inactive. Despite what literature says, a vampire hiding in a house will become inactive the moment dawn strikes, not because of sunlight, but because it is daylight, the time of the living. Of course, direct sunlight will kill a vampire, but hiding in a house will return a vampire to an inactive, defenseless state.”

  He sighed then. “It is the shame of my family. Grandfather was unable to destroy my uncle, his oldest son. My father too, was unable to strike against his own brother. And so, this prison was constructed. A house, built on an island. No vampire can cross open water. He was here, protected by a small group of trusted Warlocks.”

  “It appears those Warlocks are no longer trustworthy, My Lord,” Liane noted.

  Her friend nodded. “Someone has built a bridge, allowing uncle to leave the island. His guards appear to have switched sides. One thing you have to understand, My Lady. My uncle is a vampire. It is his spirit that inhabits his body that makes it move, however, everything that was once alive is no longer present. He no longer has a beating heart. He no longer has a soul, a conscience. My uncle, as he is now, is driven only by his instincts. As he is completely ruthless and without empathy, he is able to manipulate people. Perhaps he was able to simply talk his guards around. Perhaps he made them promises.”

  “And as he is a Necromancer, he might be able to do certain things that would entice people to follow him,” Liane said. “Bring people back from their peaceful rest, perhaps.”

  Milor shrugged. “It could be anything. It is pure speculation. I do not, however, believe that it has been only recently that my uncle was able to escape. There is still the attack that you so valiantly assisted me with a few years back.”

  “You believe that event and this one to be related, My Lord?”

  “I do not know,” he admitted. “But it does seem likely. I did not recognize the Warlocks that attacked us, and the woman that fell was completely unknown to me, so it is possible that either uncle had already escaped and managed to hire different people, or the guards hired a team in his place.”

  Liane could accept either explanation, and remained silent. There was nothing more to say, and she knew her friend well enough by now to know that he would not say anything else on the subject. He had been brought up in Decorum, bound by honor, where a man's word was law. He was already skirting the edges of what he was comfortable with, divulging as much as he had.

  They remained in silence, Liane angrily struggling to sit upright, her lack of arms requiring more effort than she liked. Her body was exhausted and her muscles hurt from whatever spell the Warlocks had inflicted upon her, and her magic and muscles took further damage from the restraints.

  By the time she had finally managed to sit upright, she was panting. It hurt. Even mere sitting hurt. She tugged on the restraints behind her back. The position her arms were in was uncomfortable.

  “How long have we been here?” she asked.

  “We do not have a window, and there is no way to tell the passage of time, My Lady,” Milor replied. “The guards come in with food, and replace the lamp in the corner with a new one. Except for the meals, there is no way to tell the passage of time. The guards rotate frequently, the food always remains the same. There is no way to tell whether it is breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Or whether we are even getting a breakfast, a lunch, or a dinner. We might just be receiving a meal whenever the guards feel like giving us a meal. The intervals between meals seem to vary.”

  “We have received 5 meals since we woke up, Proctor,” Amy said. “Either that means a day and a half, or as much as two days and a half. Or longer.”

  Clanging outside had all three tense up. Keys rattled, a lock was engaged and a deadbolt snapped. The door opened, two guards piling in.
The one at the back was carrying a tray. The one in front was a Warlock.

  The same Warlock that had to restrain Liane. He gave her a smile. “So good of you to wake,” he told her. “I have never seen such a horrid reaction to the restraints.” He leaned closer to her, and she could smell fish on his breath. He'd obviously just eaten. “I'll be keeping my eyes on you, young one. You're interesting. Maybe it'll be even more interesting to break you, I'd wager that any child you'd give me would be plenty powerful.”

  She tried to squirm away, tried to hide the horrid shame of her near-nakedness, but failed to do so. She felt the horror spread through her body, the revulsion of what the man was implying. Last time, Yari had threatened something similar, and she had just brushed him off.

  But she knew Yari, and knew that he would never do such a thing, despite his big mouth. And she had her magic, then.

  She had no access to her magic now, she was nearly naked, and Yari wasn't here. He laughed at her, then threw his hand to one side.

  Despite herself, Liane flinched back, realizing that he was about to strike her.

  To her surprise, the blow never landed, and the Warlock laughed again. “Leave it,” he told the second guard as he turned to walk out the door. The second guard placed the tray down on the table that hadn't been there earlier, and locked the door behind him as he left. Through the barrier, the Warlock shouted.

  “Enjoy your meal, My Lady! If you're having trouble, I'm sure I could be persuaded to feed you by hand!” His booming laughter trailed off as he walked away.

  “My Lady...” Milor whispered.

  “Don't, My Lord. It isn't worth it,” she said, struggling to her feet, before falling down in one of the chairs next to the newly created table.

  He followed her easily, either more used to not being able to use arms or hands, or else, his highly trained muscles allowed him to compensate. She didn't care which. He sat down opposite her. “You are in a defenseless and shameful situation, and horrible insinuations were made at your address. I would be a horrible friend if I did not say anything.”