Wanderers: Ragnarök

by Richard A Bamberg

  Blue light glowed through the shirtsleeve on my right arm as I triggered one of my tats. I focused the spell’s energy on the night sky and called down the wind. The oak’s branches swayed and then bent as the wind reached them. The wind ripped the remaining leaves of autumn from the oak’s branches. The leaves burst into mini fireballs as they passed through Cynthia’s flame. For a moment, flame and smoke obscured my view. Another second passed and the tree began to lean, farther and farther. It bent down as though reaching for the demon with its thick branches. Then, with a loud popping of timbers, the massive tree fell.

  CHAPTER 7

  Okay, so my aim wasn’t perfect.

  With a snapping of branches and a ground-shaking thump, the main trunk of the tree caught the demon in mid-stride and drove it into the ground. Cynthia’s flame spell died the instant the tree fell and for a long moment, I thought one of the branches had hit her. Then I heard her exclamation from the far side of the once majestic tree.

  I ran through the tall grass toward them. I held no false hope that the tree could kill the demon. The trunk was already smoldering as the demon’s trapped body heated up. In a minute, the heat would be enough to ignite the tree and a couple of minutes after that the demon would be free again.

  If I waited.

  The wind blew tendrils of smoke off the bark. Cynthia stood ten feet past the fallen tree, her long hair standing nearly parallel to the ground as the wind forced her to lean into it. A wind spell doesn’t just move local air molecules around. To get a really powerful wind, your spell has to grab an enormous quantity of atmosphere and force it to change direction. Once you have all that mass in motion, it takes time for it to stop moving. It’s that Newton’s First Law thing. As I arrived beside the tree, the wind was still dropping from hurricane to gale force.

  “How’d you do that?” Cynthia shouted.

  “Do what?” I am so the master of snappy comebacks.

  “Make the tree fall. You can’t have the power to bring down an oak.”

  “Hey, I thought you did it. It was already damaged by the demon. Maybe it was just luck that it fell now.”

  In the light of the now glowing flamoxin, I didn’t even need my senses augmented to see her skepticism.

  “Just a minute,” I added and raised my dagger.

  I focused on its runes and brought the blade’s temperature down; down as close to absolute zero as I could make it, and then I plunged it into the demon’s exposed backside.

  It began kicking furiously and let out a howl of rage, which quickly turned into a panicky cry as it realized what I’d done. Frost spread out across its backside as the dagger’s cold absorbed the creature’s internal fire. The frost spread quickly and in moments, its cry had become almost pitiful. It’s somewhat embarrassing for the whole demonic world to have something as powerful as a fire demon go out with a whimper.

  I held the dagger until I felt the life force of the demon disappear from this plane of existence. Then I drew the knife, aimed it overhead, and released its gathered energy in a massive vertical flame that shot several hundred feet into the night sky and caused another burst of wind as superheated air flowed upward to be replaced by the cooler night air. Frost had formed on the blade, but as its energy dissipated, the frost sublimed back into the night. Yeah, I could have left all that energy stored inside my knife, but it’d be like carrying a hand grenade with the pin already pulled. I shook a few bits of frozen demon gunk from the blade’s surface and returned the knife to its sheath in my boot.

  As I started to relax, pain returned. My head hurt from the blow of the demon’s fist, my ribs felt cracked below my shoulder blades and a general ache from the sudden drop from a full-on magic rush down to the mundane left me with a feeling of being massively hung-over. Then there’s that feeling of tiredness that can overwhelm after a fight with magics.

  “What did you do to it?” Cynthia asked and stepped closer to the still smoldering tree and its frozen demon.

  “I put out its fire. That’s the fastest way to get rid of a flamoxin. You quench its heat and puff, it’s gone.”

  “flamoxin, a fire demon? That’s why my spell didn’t hurt it.”

  I nodded. “Pretty much. Now if you’d tried ice...as it was, you just pissed it off. I think it had an inferiority complex. Your fire must have been hotter than its own and it just couldn’t stand that. Otherwise, it would have kept coming for me.”

  “An inferiority complex?”

  I shrugged. “Good a reason as any for it to turn away from me and go after you.”

  She looked more doubtful.

  “Hey, thanks, by the way,” I said. “It was getting a little dicey. If you hadn’t come along when you did to distract it, then I might have been toast by now.”

  “What made you think you could take on a flamoxin by yourself?”

  “Hey, I didn’t know it would be a flamoxin when I started out here. I just knew someone was summoning a demon and I wanted to get here in time to see who it was.”

  “And did you?” she asked.

  “No, I ran into someone on the way. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. It wasn’t my fault that you were running through a dark forest and couldn’t see where you were going.”

  “I was doing pretty well until you showed up.”

  “Luck.”

  At first, I didn’t respond. She really didn’t need to be thinking about how I had maneuvered down the path at a full run in a dark forest. But guys my apparent age were cocky so if I didn’t act the part she might get even more suspicious. “I’d rather be lucky than good, any day.”

  Cynthia grunted. “Yeah, that sounds like what I’d expected from you. You probably drove off whoever summoned that demon with your rushing in here. If you’d waited for me and moved slower we could have seen who it was before they knew we were here.”

  I didn’t dare tell her I was rushing to prevent a murder. That was way beyond earth magic at my level and would lead to even more questions. Questions I needed to avoid. What I did need to do was to get after the mage while his trail was warm. Given time, I could spot his path through the woods and maybe even get some aural remains to identify him later.

  And there was still the pixie. Had the pixie been fleeing the scene? It’d fit what I knew about them, they had some magic, but not enough to want to be around a demon summoning. Maybe the pixie had seen the mage and could identify him.

  There was a light on the trail back toward the party.

  “We’re getting company.” I nodded my head toward the light.

  Cynthia half turned. “Good, with Abigail we might be able to still find out who summoned this thing.”

  “People who start summoning demons tend to keep summoning demons.”

  She gave me a glance that wouldn’t have been obvious if my senses spell hadn’t still been active. Her brief glance told me that I’d said too much. She didn’t think someone at my level ought to know so much about demons and the people that summoned them. You’d think after sixty years I would have learned to keep my mouth shut.

  I dropped my senses spell. With Abigail approaching, I didn’t want to make the old gal suspicious and she could have noticed an active spell.

  The next minute passed with neither Cynthia nor me speaking. I spent the time concentrating on pain control and getting the mending of my ribs started. My pain control technique needs a lot of work and while I couldn’t take all of the sharpness away, I got it down to where I could carry on a conversation without making it look like I’d been smashed around by a demon.

  It takes a lot of time to control and speed the mending of bones, but I activated the intricate spell tat above my heart. The spell took time to work properly, but since its energy was directed only into my body, I thought it wouldn’t be noticeable by Abigail, Cynthia, or the rest of the coven. In a day or two, my ribs should be as good as new.

  I also needed time to get my power back up to full strength. Since Wanderers can store power, we c
an do things most magic users have trouble with. But using that stored power means we have to replace it. I can tap the ethereal magic like any magic user, but in a fight, my best offensive spells require immediate energy. While I’d not used much of my reserves this night, the use would leave marks on my face and body. Marks of time.

  You see, Wanderers store their magic in their life energy. While we rarely show signs of aging, a significant drain on our reserves will be obvious in what would appear as age in a normal human. A serious fight can have me looking like an old man, even older looking than my actual six decades. There are two ways to replenish my magic energy. I automatically draw low levels of energy from my surroundings, like a car battery on trickle charge, but to refill quickly requires a direct tap in the wellspring, either from a ley line or from the Earth. Either direct tap is noticeable to any experienced magic user and something I couldn’t do without giving away too much to Cynthia and the others. Fortunately, I can restore an enormous amount of life energy overnight, given time to rest and absorb back what I expend.

  The light came around a curve in the path and I could make out several women carrying lanterns, the kind that had been hanging around the yard for mood lighting during the party. I wondered why they hadn’t cast a light spell, but then there were more mundanes at the party than magic users. The coven was probably trying to maintain a low profile.

  Cynthia called out to them and Abigail answered. In another minute, a portion of the coven had gathered around Cynthia, me, and the melting demon. I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose in disgust at the stench. I glanced around the group and noticed Marcus Poe and Warren Levington were the only men present.

  “A flamoxin,” Abigail said, without making it a question. “I haven’t seen one of those in many, many years, not since I was an apprentice. Last I remember, they were wicked creatures to tangle with.”

  She looked from Cynthia to me. “Which one of you?”

  Cynthia nodded toward me.

  As Abigail and the rest of the coven turned to stare at me, I said, “Cynthia helped. If she hadn’t come along when she did I’d have been toasted and roasted.”

  I don’t know about the others since I was concentrating on Abigail, but she seemed skeptical.

  She nodded her head as though in deep thought. “First a shadow demon and now a fire demon. You’re moving up in the hierocracy of demons terribly fast for a youngster.”

  “Not by choice,” I said.

  “I see. You identified yourself to the coven as a seeker of knowledge, but yet you seem to already have more knowledge than I’d expect anyone your age to have. How do you explain that you’re able to take down a flamoxin, granted with the assistance of my apprentice?”

  “That’s a damn good question. I’d like to hear the answer,” Poe said.

  There it was, one of the questions I’d been afraid of. This was a juncture that could make or break my cover. I pulled my dagger out and passed it hilt first to Abigail. She took it somewhat skeptically and examined the blades markings by the light of the lanterns.

  “Druidic runes,” she said. “Looks like a spell for enhancing.”

  “That’s right. My mentor spelled it for me as a parting gift. It can amplify even a novice’s spell.”

  I waited while she twisted the knife around, carefully examining both sides of the blade and the bone hilt. The runes were a good earth-magic amplification spell. Unless she removed the ivory hilt and saw the Japanese script etched into the tang, she should buy the runes as being exactly what I’d said they were. Even if she attempted to use the knife, she’d only be able to activate the blade portion of the runes.

  Abigail studied the script for a moment and then mumbled a spell. Light burst out of the knife blade, turning the glade into full daylight.

  “Excellent,” Abigail said. “An impressive weapon indeed, your mentor must have felt you’d need strong support in your seeking. But it begs the question of why your mentor felt you needed such a powerful weapon.”

  It was a not so subtle attempt to get more information from me.

  “Well, he did say I was too reckless for my sake. He thought I might find a use for it.”

  “It appears he was wise,” Abigail said. She held the knife out to me hilt first and I took it. The light died as she released the hilt. “Spread out people. Let’s see if we can find what mischief was done here.”

  Across the field of tall grass and a variety of weeds, we walked with me in the lead and Abigail and Cynthia close behind with the remaining members of the coven close on their heels. I felt cockleburs and thistle tugging at my pants, but I didn’t attempt to shield my clothing from their clutchings. The coven would scrutinize any additional expenditure of magic by me.

  I opened up my senses, drawing in the sights, sounds, and smells of the forest night without the use of my spell. Cattle crowded the larger pasture to our south, but they were moving away. They may have smelled the odor of blood on the night wind. I could smell it well enough and it led me to the body more than my eyesight did until we were close. I didn’t walk directly toward the body, but at a slight angle so that I’d pass near it.

  I crossed over the wide circle of hemp rope as if I hadn’t noticed it and continued to walk slowly until I heard the sudden intake of breath from Cynthia.

  “Oh my God,” she said in a soft whisper as though trying not to disturb the body that lay in the grass. I turned quickly and found the coven rushing forward to view what Abigail and Cynthia had first spotted.

  The woman’s bare torso lay face down on the matted grass. Her face was away from us and she wasn’t immediately recognizable. She was young, perhaps no older than Cynthia. A robe lay in a heap near her feet.

  The ground around her was dark and pungent with spilled blood. I hung back and let the coven fill in a circle around the body.

  Cynthia, as direct as ever, crouched and felt for a pulse at the woman’s neck. She jerked her hand back instantly and held her fingers to the nearest lantern. Her fingers dripped blood.

  “Oh dear,” Abigail said. “This is not good, not good at all.” She stepped closer to the body and held her lantern low near the woman’s face.

  “Jessica Spelling,” Abigail said. She turned to one of the other older women. “Evelyn, wasn’t she working with you?”

  Evelyn, a gray haired lady in her sixties, had started at the woman’s name. She nodded slowly at Abigail’s question. “She worked with me most of the summer, but last month she started making excuses about why she couldn’t meet. Most of them were about her class schedule and I didn’t think anything else of it.”

  “She came out here with someone, willingly would be my guess, and I don’t think it was a boyfriend type. Ladies, this is serious. Not only has this young woman been murdered, but her death was a ritual sacrifice. The flamoxin could have been summoned without her death, so something else is going on here.”

  “You’re completely right, Abigail,” Theresa Patagonia said. She was another of the older members of the coven, but one who was several rungs down the ladder of power from Abigail. “But shouldn’t we save this discussion for a private meeting? There are people here who aren’t part of the coven and there’s no telling who else might be within earshot.”

  Several eyes turned toward me at the mention of outsiders. No one, I noticed, looked at Cynthia.

  Abigail glanced around her coven and several of the other women nodded in agreement with Theresa. Marcus Poe stared directly at me without nodding.

  “Cynthia,” Abigail said, “Would you and Raphael return to the house and call the police? We’ll stay here and investigate and make sure there isn’t any sign of the demon by the time they arrive.”

  “I could use my cell,” Cynthia said, one hand dipping in a pocket.

  Abigail raised a hand. “No, dear, we don’t want them to know we could call from here. Calling from the house will give us time to remove any signs of the demon and give you an excuse for the delay in your call. Don’t let
them know you had a phone with you.”

  “Yes, Abigail, of course.”

  I didn’t know about Cynthia, but I wasn’t anxious to leave the crime scene. There was still a lot I could do to determine who had killed this girl. Given a little time alone at the site I could call up whatever spoor the killer had left behind. Once the police trampled over the scene, my task would be many times greater. Perhaps if I could think of a way to draw the coven away from the scene, I could return and investigate before the police arrived.

  Cynthia muttered a brief spell and a blob of light appeared over her head. I placidly followed her across the glade, over the fallen tree where the demon was beginning to stink, and back down the path toward the house.

  When we were out of earshot of the coven, I said, “Cynthia, do you have any idea who would have done this?”

  The narrow trail forced us to travel single file and she didn’t bother to turn to look back when she responded. “Me? Why should I have a clue?”

  “You’ve been with Abigail a long time, so long that I’m surprised they haven’t asked you into the coven. You must know most of the players in this area. Come on, who’s the best suspect for murder?”

  “For one thing, I’m not a full witch; I’m still an apprentice. The coven only numbers thirteen people. They’re full, have been for a couple of years, and I don’t see any of them dying or moving away in the foreseeable future.”

  “Thirteen is just the best number for a group spell or meeting, there’s no reason that you couldn’t have many more in the coven,” I countered.

  “Maybe so, but as long as Abigail is in charge they’ll limit the real coven to thirteen. There are affiliate members like you say, but they don’t have a vote and don’t participate in anything serious.”

  “All right, so Abigail’s a little old fashioned, but you should still know most of the other users in the region. Come on, give.”