by Paul Sobol
Like a toreador, Xander sidestepped his opponent. As Wolf regained his feet they came together in a clash of muscled arms and straining legs as each vied for a better position to gain the advantage. Several times they fell to the ground, and more often than not it looked as though Xander was in trouble as Wolf, the more skilled opponent, employed various arm and leg-lock techniques. And yet somehow the magician managed to escape each attempt.
As the fight wore on it appeared as if the young tribesman would eventually win by sheer skill and endurance. Those gathered around began a low chant calling out the opponent’s name. “Honiahaka. Honiahaka.”
The two fighters locked in an embrace, and through sheer brute strength tried to push the other out of the circle, but Xander suddenly disengaged. In a flurry of movements, almost too fast to comprehend, the magician executed a series of attacks. In the space of a several heartbeats Little Wolf was on his knees, one of his arms held up at an impossible angle in what can only be described as a very painful arm-lock.
In the sudden silence the early night crickets could be heard chirping. Stunned like most of the onlookers, Simon wondered how the tribesmen would take the defeat of their champion. Very gently he performed a psychic scan of those around him and although there seemed to be quite a lot of disbelief the young men were not angry. If anything they were even more impressed with the magician.
Xander let his opponent go and held out a hand. Honiahaka gladly accepted the offer, and as he got to his feet those gathered around the circle began to cheer and clap. Reconciled, the two opponents embraced and congratulations were given to the winner of the sparring match. The one person who seemed less than enthusiastic about the surprising victory was Simon. Something was definitely odd about the situation, and he wanted to delve a little deeper.
The group walked back towards the encampment, now illuminated by dozens of camp fires. The smell of cooking food permeated the air as well as the rise and fall of voices singing. The whole atmosphere sounded celebratory, which could only mean the Chief’s son or daughter had been born without mishap.
On the edge of the camp, between light and darkness, Simon paused to talk to his friend alone. “What happened back there?”
“I really don’t know,” said Xander after a moment’s consideration. “It was like instinct, as if my muscles knew what to do. It somehow felt…right.”
“Full of surprises, aren’t you?” Simon replied, unconvinced that it could be explained so easily. The manoeuvre Xander had executed perfectly took years of martial training, not exactly something that could be faked or dismissed as mere chance.
“Guess so.” Xander clapped an arm around his friend’s shoulder and steered him towards the celebrating tribes-people. “Now let’s enjoy ourselves tonight.”
The night passed in a blur of singing and dancing around the large bonfires kept burning until the early hours of the morning, until eventually only a few seasoned revellers remained. While most of the camp slept the handful that sat around the dying embers passed around a well-deserved pipe of tobacco and an earthenware jug of liquor that lived up to its reputation as fire-water.
Xander, one of the few still awake, stifled a yawn. For the past few hours, as the climax of the celebration finally subsided, he had engaged in a stimulating conversation with Aiyana. They discussed various arcane subjects ranging from elemental manipulation to theories on the possibility of time travel. So enthralled by the conversation he didn’t realise how late it was. Looking around he noticed even the chief and his wife had retired with their newborn son. The boy had been born with uncommonly red hair, and because of this he was named Fire Eagle.
A small pop and shower of sparks from the fire’s dying embers brought him out of his reverie, and for a moment he stared into the black and orange depths. As if remembering a long-forgotten dream he experienced a sudden familiarity, as though fire and darkness were somehow important. In his semi-conscious state, Xander was filled with the stomach-wrenching sensation of falling, and beneath him a burning world that held untold evil.
“Huritt,” a soft voice brought Xander back to the present, and sheepishly realised he must have dozed off a little.
“Sorry I must have been daydreaming. Please continue.”
“I’m glad you have come at such a special time. Besides the birthing of my brother it is also an important time in my life where I am to undergo the final ritual of Passage. I am to prepare to take on the responsibilities of my mother.”
“What does that involve exactly?”
“It is similar to the dream quest most experience when passing into adulthood, however, I am to go into the wilderness alone and fast for several days. I should then receive a vision that will show me the path to take in life, most likely as the future spiritual leader of the tribe.”
“Sounds pretty intense,” said Xander, amazed at how different the rite of Passage was to his own trial on the Tower of Testing. “And you say you’ve done something similar to this when you were younger?”
Aiyana nodded. “However, the Law requires no one from the tribe be allowed to accompany me on this journey, therefore, I would like to ask for you to be at my side when I undertake the rite.”
Surprised by the invitation, Xander nonetheless felt glad she had asked, even though it may not be technically allowed. Laws and traditions were two different things to break, and one does so very cautiously. “I’ll keep my schedule free that day.”
Without warning Aiyana lent forward and kissed Xander on the cheek. Raising quickly the chief’s daughter silently returned to her tent, turning back once just before disappeared beyond the flaps. Perhaps it was too much fire-water, but Xander felt uncomfortably warm. Things were definitely moving fast for the young magician. Having known Aiyana for only two days he wondered where this sudden - but not entirely unwelcomed – rapport had sprung from, but his alcohol-addled brain refused to get past the kiss.
Back in his tent, Xander finally found the inner peace required for deep undisturbed sleep. The gentle pressure of lips caressing his cheek were the last thoughts that passed through his mind before oblivion took over.
Are you sure this is the right place to be? There is something unusual going on and I fear it is interfering with the plan.
I understand your concerns, but you are to remain close to the target and ensure nothing happens to him.
I do not need reminding. The target remains unaware of the past, but since arriving here I have felt something pushing against the restraints. I believe something inside is beginning to stir in response to external influence. I shall try and strengthen the shields, but ultimately I fear they will be insufficient.
Do what you must. These arrangements were only meant to be temporary in the first place, but if circumstances beyond our control should precipitate his awakening sooner, before he is ready for the truth, it could spell his undoing. If you detect any more changes don’t hesitate to contact me.
Understood.
Opening his eyes, the inside of the tent Simon shared with his friend was out of focus. The psychic link had been severed without warning and he was left feeling a little disjointed, as though his mind had been in two places at once, and like a rubber band snapped back together. His master might be amateurish with psychic magic, but he was still a very powerful magician.
And even though he had voiced his concerns Simon didn’t feel relieved. If anything he was more unsettled about his assignment and wondered if he should have accepted it in the first place.
Chapter Twelve
Impenetrable fog shrouded San Francisco harbour as the Marado slowly docked at the quayside. For two weeks it had been at sea and some of those aboard were glad to finally set foot on solid land. The journey had been long, boring and uneventful across the ocean, and there was still several days’ travel before reaching the final destination.
It had taken every shred of Will to remain idle during the crossing, but Forx had managed to endure the trip stoically. With the end
in sight he was ready to set his plan into action. He’d had a lot of time during the trip to think about what he wanted to accomplish, and in his mind it all seemed reasonable, but first he had to tell the Master of their arrival.
The captain’s cabin was dark, but the faint sound of sobbing coming from somewhere inside confirmed its occupancy. In the light that spilled through the doorway Forx could see a trail of blood disappearing into the blackness and wondered how much longer the poor harbour pilot would live. The Master had been toying with the human for an hour already; most likely taking turns in eating the flesh as well as the soul.
With so much blood around the smell alone sent shivers down the lesser demon’s spine. His kind could never resist the sweet taste of blood nor the intoxicating rush of power that came with it. This was most likely true for the vampiric race, created millennia ago during the first Mage War, when one side attempted to create a human-demon hybrid. However, modern day vampires were a contemptible imitation compared to their ancient ancestors who once ruled the night without fear.
Forx sighed in remembrance of the good old days, and not wanting to keep his Master waiting too long delivered his message. “Master, we have arrived.”
A large bulk shifted in the darkness, it made a wet slopping sound as it turned towards the diminutive imp. “Prepare for our relocation to the new facility.”
“I shall take care of it personally. We should arrive before the week has ended, barring unforeseen circumstances.”
Sensing his Master’s attention had returned to his repast, Forx bowed and retreated from the captain’s cabin, making sure the door closed behind him. Time was now of the essence, and he had to move quickly if things were going to happen according to his new plan. Outside, under the cover of fog and night, the lesser demon shed his humanoid skin, and with bat-like wings unfurled took flight.
From his vantage point high above the city it wasn’t long before Forx found what he was looking for, and descending from the darkness shifted back to his human shape before reaching the ground. Not for the first time the imp was thankful for the ability to switch between forms, although shedding too often could damage the newly grown skin beneath. To walk freely amongst the mortals most demons, including his Master, relied on a single skin worn over again until damaged beyond repair.
Around a corner he came across a line of people waiting to gain entry to a night club. Loud bass could be heard even through the heavy front door that was mostly reinforced steel, and out front stood two large men wearing black suits who looked more than capable of handling trouble.
Not bothering to wait in line Forx walked calmly towards the entrance beyond the two bouncers. He had already altered their minds to allow him through without challenge, and amid loud muttering from those lined up he was about to enter the establishment when one of the would-be patrons demanded to know why he had been allowed in without waiting. Ordinarily the lesser demon wouldn’t have bothered wasting time on something so trivial, but tonight he felt like being a little reckless.
In mid-step Forx turned around.
The young man at the front of the queue was about to say something else, but without any warning his heart was violently ripped out of his chest. Within moments the body was consumed in flame and reduced to ash, leaving Forx standing over the remains with a bloody heart in his clawed hand. Considered a delicacy amongst demon-kind a vampires heart was not something the imp wanted to waste, but pressed for time he tossed the morsel aside with a look of regret.
Chaos erupted as the onlooking crowd of vampires realised what had happened and decided to make a hasty escape before joining their fallen comrade. The two bouncers, duty-bound to protect the clubs’ entrance, stood ready with bared fangs, but knowing they faced a formidable opponent decided against further provocation. Standing aside, the bouncers gave the lesser demon a wide berth as he entered the club.
The stairwell leading down was decorated in a garish mixture of imitation gothic and modern day industrial. Aesthetically awkward, without any real consideration to form or style, the designer unsuccessfully disguised the steel girders and rusted iron railings with blood-red velvet curtains and cheap plastic chandeliers hanging at random intervals. Nearing the club’s main dance room the volume increased exponentially until it became a physical presence, and had those inside not already been dead their human bodies surely wouldn’t have survived the music.
Through a set of double doors padded in studded leather, Forx re-evaluated the vampires’ taste in décor, for whoever had furnished the club had gone to great length to make them feel at home. Forgiving the cheesy mirror-ball dangling in the centre of the room, everywhere the lesser demon looked were implements of torture and death. Among ancient sarcophagi were iron maidens complete with internal spikes. An entire wall dedicated to bladed weapons sent the mirror-ball’s light bouncing in a million different directions, and beneath the glass countertop of the bar were glittering rows of stainless steel surgical instruments.
But what really impressed Forx were the fountains of blood.
From hidden recesses high up the walls the thick red liquid poured into large multi-tiered basins that overflowed into each other to finally collect at the bottom. Vampires not writhing to the heavy metal music congregated around the fountains and filled long-stemmed crystal goblets with viscous blood. The overall effect was quite mesmerising, especially when small internal pumps randomly sent jets of blood squirting across the room to land in an opposite fountain.
The far wall was dominated by a tall dais, complete with blood-stained altar, but instead of virginal sacrifices it was covered with various sound equipment, manipulated by a DJ blasting out noise that could barely be considered music. But the undead masses didn’t seem to mind. High on a mixture of fresh blood, alcohol and drugs, they swayed and moved to the beats with single-minded purpose.
Above the DJ station was a large dark tinted window, prevented those below from seeing in. This, Forx sensed, was his destination. Unobtrusively out of the way another bouncer guarded a reinforced door which, the lesser demon assumed, would lead to whoever was behind the glass. The imp hoped someone of importance was available to help him, and if not, he would be highly vexed having come all this way for naught. Spinning a little illusionary magic around himself Forx made his way through the dancing crowd of vampires.
The well-dressed security guard nodded in recognition as Forx approached and opened the door with a swipe card. To his eyes, the lesser demon looked like one of the guards from above. As the door closed behind, Forx allowed the simple disguise to dissolve, revealing his humanoid form beneath. Climbing another set of stairs took him to a mezzanine where a private bar overlooked the dance floor. Several beautiful women sat languidly on couches around a glass coffee table, and judging from the smudged lines of cocaine they were completely stoned. Pausing for a moment, Forx was surprised to sense they were human, and he surmised the vampires below were getting high on blood saturated with cocaine.
Ignoring the poor wretches that would soon become a late night snack, Forx crossed the bar and stopped before a single door. About to knock on the door he suddenly felt the familiar sensation of magic being employed nearby. It felt out of place here amongst the ‘undead’, but whoever was channelling mana was using quite a lot. Should it come to a fight the lesser demon might actually be outmatched. With nothing to gain by waiting he knocked.
Noiselessly the door opened, and at first the light that shone through the opening was quite bright, but then something large got in the way and all Forx could see was a silhouette. Judging from the size of the man before him the demon figured he would have to be at least seven feet tall and just as wide as the doorway itself. The only oddity about this behemoth he was not a vampire but a magician, and from a quick peek at his aura he served neither the light nor dark. It was uncommon for a magician to be completely neutral, similar to mercenaries who held allegiance to no side except the one that paid the most. This mage eked out a living selling t
o the highest bidder, and while he certainly had enough power Forx noticed the hired gun was not the most powerful in the room.
Having to bend his neck down at an impossible angle, the large man asked in a rumbling voice that perfectly matched his size, “What is your business here?”
“I have come to speak with your boss,” the imp said confidently. He did not want to show weakness here, surrounded by vampires and magicians, but this was exactly where he could hire some extra bodies.
“He’s busy.”
“Look,” Forx began in a level voice whilst suppressing a sigh of frustration, “I don’t want to cause any trouble. I was hoping to complete my business amicably, but you’re not making it easy. So please, step aside.” The lesser demon unshielded his power, letting the magician know exactly who and what he was dealing with.
The big magician was unfazed by the show of power, but a voice from behind told him to stand down. Allowed past the hulking figure Forx entered the room, and as expected it too overlooked the night club below, hidden behind the obscurity of one-way glass. It also did a remarkable job of lessening the noise, Forx had to strain his senses to hear anything outside, although the music could still be felt vibrating through the floor.
Aesthetically furnished by someone with obvious good taste the office was complete with expensive leather chairs, ornate lamps precisely placed around the room to highlight famous works of art, and to finish it off an expansive mahogany desk fit only for someone of equal or greater stature. Such a man sat behind the desk now, casually examining Forx as he made his entrance. The lesser demon didn’t miss a detail either.
The seated magician looked to be in his sixties, balding and neatly attired in an expensive tailored suit, which led Forx to believe he was also responsible for the room’s lavish accoutrements. The lesser demon didn’t even have to probe the man to feel the dark power radiating from him.
