Spirit of the Dragon: A Story of Magic, a Witch, and the Third Reich

by J Cameron Boyd

  “Welcome back,” a voice greeted him.

  “Where am I?” Urik slurred his words as he opened his eyes toward the voice.

  Sitting in a cushioned chair no more than five feet away was the man to whom he had just offered tea. The sight brought back what had happened in his kitchen, ‘He didn’t drink. They were feran and I … I was drugged.’

  “Germany, though it matters not,” the man answered, apparently unaware that his captive was fully awake.

  “Why?” Urik asked, keeping his voice weak. He was referring to motive rather than the importance of location.

  “As I said when I introduced myself. I need your help.”

  “Surely, this isn’t about Steiner.”

  “No. It’s about magic. Or more specifically, the Hermadolin dragon.

  “You speak of myths and bind me because of this fairy tale?”

  Urik knew he was answering too quickly. It was just that the responses he was getting fanned his building fury.

  “The old books say otherwise.”

  “You’re the thief?”

  “I had a need. One, I can assure you, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to fulfill.”

  “If you seek what isn’t there, you’ll find yourself forever chasing your tail,” Urik warned him.

  “That is why I’ve come to you. I know the dragon no longer exists. I also know when it did, and more importantly, I know you have the knowledge to converge our two timelines.”

  “That’s not about to happen,” Urik promised.

  “Oh, I think you can be persuaded,” Haushofer sneered.

  As the German gloated, the Lantian took in his situation. Both wrists and ankles wore iron. All four chains were attached to their own metal eye hook that extended from the surface of the concrete floor. For added security, the bars of an iron cage stood around and above him. As with the chains, the cage was sturdy and yet no match for a few of his simple spells.

  Beyond the cage were about twenty men dressed in German uniforms. Urik didn’t bother counting his opponents for it wasn’t their number that troubled him.

  “How?” he asked, nodding toward one of the creatures.

  “The feran?” Haushofer looked amused.

  “You play with fire,” Urik warned.

  “You don’t think I came to you without experimenting first, do you?”

  “Experimenting?”

  “Before you, this cage hosted an equally reluctant Lantian. But now, I must say, that Lantian is quite willing.”

  “What have you done?” Urik asked, horrified by what the German was hinting at.

  “I have done what was necessary,” Haushofer answered harshly. “And I will continue to do so. Now enough of this banter. Let me tell you what I want and what I will do if you do not comply.”

  Urik didn’t wait to hear his demand. The sorcerer rose and moved toward Haushofer. When the chains would let him go no further, he unleashed the spell. Instantly the iron binding him and the cage turned silver. But instead of shattering into a million ice crystals as Urik intended, the bars and chains developed a reddish glow, then returned to their natural color.

  Urik wrenched against the chains about his wrists in disbelief, giving up only when his blood covered his forearms. Defeated, he looked up from his crouched position and in a hoarse voice asked, “How?”

  “The books are useful even for a novice such as me,” Karl smiled. “As you can see, you are my prisoner to do with as I wish.”

  “You might keep me, but you can’t bend me to your will,” Urik growled defiantly.

  “Funny, that’s what your predecessor said. As you can see, she has gladly given me my bodyguards.”

  “No Lantian would ever stoop so low,” Urik snapped.

  “You’d be surprised what the right kind of hunger can do to motivate a person,” Karl shot back obviously enjoying himself. “Now enough of this chatter. I have brought you here to open a door to the past. I must have access to the Hermadolin dragon. I have need of its magic. It is a need that demands that I do whatever is necessary.

  “Help me of your own accord, and I will set you free. Defy me, and I will make you mine for as long as we both live.”

  “You can’t be serious. You expect me to be afraid of such a hollow threat? There is nothing that could make me go against my vow. I will not defy nature. What is past is past, and that is the way it shall always stay.”

  “Brave words,” Haushofer angrily shot back. “Especially for someone so burdened.”

  “I have no burdens,” Urik denied.

  “The curse of the gods, my friend. The curse of the gods,” the German reminded the Lantian.

  “You can’t,” Urik gasped. And then less forcefully he added, “You wouldn’t.”

  “I have and if you don’t volunteer to do what I ask of you, I will again.”

  “You will pay,” Urik tried to threaten.

  If only he could have kept the fear from his voice.

  CHAPTER 13

  Roaring down the lane leading away from Pinder Barracks, the Packard turned onto the main road without slowing. As the inside wheels lost contact with the road’s surface and the Packard tilted dangerously, the magician yanked the steering wheel to the left.

  The tilt corrected, the wheels found pavement, and the vehicle started to slide as the Lantian slammed on the brakes.

  The car’s rear end swung around as they ended up on the left side of the road. An instant later, the Packard was parked on the side of the road, aimed toward Pinder Barracks. The Lantian flipped off the ignition switch and turned to the witch.

  “You know of the blood curse?”

  Elizabeth, released her death grip on the dash and door handle, and, taking a few deep breaths, nodded. “It was the only way the gods had to save those few that survived the Lantian/Piretian war.”

  “So we’ve been told,” Raul sighed. “The truth is, I would have rather died.”

  “I know it has been hard, but there is an end in sight.”

  “The prophecy?” Raul snorted.

  “Uriel has never been wrong.”

  “Given eternity, all things eventually come true.”

  “That may be …” Elizabeth began before recognizing the spiral she was walking into. Backing off, she launched herself down a more relevant road. “Why the sudden turnaround? And why was it so … intense? You probably alarmed every sentry that place has.”

  “I refrain from taking flesh by will and ingesting alternative tissue. But a month doesn’t go by where the temptation isn’t before me.” Raul paused, casting a troubled look toward the Barracks. “As long as my blood carries the genetic patterns of your father’s people, my burden, as with all the old ones, will be with me.”

  “This I know,” Elizabeth pressed.

  “Does this have something to do with my father?” Gregory asked as he tried to make sense of Raul’s actions and words.

  “Son, your father and I were among the first to seek an alternative to human flesh. He has never wavered in his opposition to the hunting of humans.”

  “What does this have to do with that stunt you just pulled?” Elizabeth impatiently demanded. “It’s a wonder the barrack guards didn’t come after us.”

  “I saw but one guard,” Raul corrected her.

  “Where there’s one, there’s usually more,” Elizabeth retorted.

  “Did either of you get a good look at the guard?” Raul asked them.

  “Not really. I had picked up on the essence of my father, and it distracted me.”

  As Gregory was talking, Elizabeth entered her memory, rewinding it until the guard appeared. She then studied the man’s image.

  “Oh no!” she blurted. “Feran.”

  “I thought the same,” Raul agreed. “Then, just after that particular revelation, I felt the tentacles of an overwhelming power reaching toward me. A hint, no more, but enough to tell me that if I got any closer, my resolve to live in peace with humanity would never survive.”

 
; “The magic attacked your will?” Gregory asked, astonished.

  “I sensed enough to know it obliterates wills. If this were my time for feeding, I’d eat the first person I came to.”

  “But my father’s in there!” Gregory jumped out of the car and started for the Barracks.

  “And we will get him out, but we must have a plan!” Raul called after him. Gregory hesitated, then turned back to the car. “Okay, fine! What’s the plan?”

  Raul and Elizabeth looked questioningly at each other. A silent, ominous cloud fell over the Packard.

  ***

  Again, it was the impatient witch that was the first to act.

  “I’ll be right back,” she announced, exiting the car before anyone could protest. The Packard sat just off the road next to the picket fence of what appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse. Walking to the front of the car, Elizabeth gave the mage a quick wink and then crossed to the other side of the road. Seconds later she vanished into a small stand of trees twenty yards from the road.

  “What’s she up to?” Gregory asked, not expecting an answer. Neither man had a clue. “What do we do?”

  “We wait, of course.”

  Some time later the witch reappeared and made her way back into the front seat of the auto. Closing her door, she explained, “I did an aerial reconnaissance.”

  “What if their radar had picked you up?” Gregory worried.

  “I left any metal I was wearing here. To anyone watching the screen, I would have looked like a big bird.”

  Raul didn’t say a word, content to wait for the young witch’s report.

  “The magic is like soup. Powerful but sticky, as if created by an amateur. There’s also two vibrations. One suggesting some sort of persuasive spell, and the other a blocking spell. Until we gain access to the point of origin of those spells, we won’t be able to do any magic.”

  “What about witchcraft?” Raul inquired.

  Elizabeth’s wry grin was his answer. Then, not to leave Gregory in the dark, Elizabeth added, “Neither spell interfered with my flight, but then, I was above the soup. On the ground, mental manipulation of energy and molecules will be impossible. The blocking spell will stop us from using magic. Basic witchcraft, however, being based on the elemental components of things, as in alchemy and healing, is far less mental and much more a hands-on approach. Exacting a change in physiology or the molding of one thing into something else should still be possible. The elements will still obey me.”

  “Guards?”

  “Maybe thirty. All members of the pack.”

  “They’re all werewolves?” Gregory gasped.

  “Feran, son, feran,” his uncle corrected him. “This isn’t make believe.”

  “Right, but what are so many feran doing here and why are they decked out as soldiers?” Gregory asked.

  “These soldiers weren’t feran when they became soldiers,” Elizabeth gently answered him.

  “But that would mean a Lantian turned them …” as the ramification of that dawned on Gregory, his objection trailed off. Could the persuasive spell be impacting his father in such a horrific manner? Unfortunately, the existence of just-turned feran meant that a Lantian had to be involved. Could his father have done this?

  Gregory’s shiver told Elizabeth what was going through his mind. “Look, we have no idea what’s going on, so let’s not jump to conclusions. We need to get in there and get your father out. Okay?”

  Turning to Raul, she asked, “Do you have any weapons in this vehicle?”

  “Didn’t anticipate dealing with the creatures,” Raul admitted. “Even so, if I could accompany you, they would be no problem. They’re no match for me.”

  “You know you can’t come, Raul. That’s why I was asking about weapons.”

  “Sorry, guess I’m a little shaken. Got two pistols and a shotgun in the boot. But no silver whatsoever.”

  “No worries,” Elizabeth assured him. “I can deal with the ammunition. Gregory, can you deal with a few feran?”

  “I went on a hunt once. Didn’t like it … but yeah, I can cope.”

  “Good, then let’s go get your father out of there?”

  ***

  Skilled in alchemy, as are all witches, it didn’t take Elizabeth long to convert the ammunition to silver. Lead can hurt, but it won’t stop a feran. Silver will drop them, and though it won’t kill, a good shot to the heart will knock them out of commission for at least an hour.

  “Remember, the only kill shot is to the hypothalamus. If you miss it, it’ll push the brain around a bit, but that's about it. Best to go for the chest. The heart is bigger. Hit that, and we’ll be gone before they can recover.”

  “Why the hypothalamus?” Gregory questioned.

  “Most of the reactions a feran goes through as it changes from man to beast are hormonal,” Elizabeth answered as she continued to ready their weapons. “The reddening of the eyes, the elongation of the mandibular ligaments, and the vascular engorgement of muscles resulting in such an increase of power, speed, and size come from the hormonal output of the hypothalamus.” Elizabeth handed him an ammunition belt loaded with silver bullets. “I suspect it is the seat of evil in the feran. Why else would it explode as it does when it is destroyed?”

  “Then, shouldn’t I shoot for the head?”

  “A brain shot that misses the hypothalamus gland not only pisses the feran off, but it also exacerbates the transition. If you want a stronger and angrier feran, by all means, aim for the head.”

  “Chest … got it,” Gregory repeated, sounding far more anxious than Elizabeth would have hoped for.

  Their plan was simple; walk in as if they belonged.

  As for the magic, there wasn’t much they could do about the suppression spell within the Barrack’s walls. While it was active, there could be no other magic; except, of course, the spell affecting the Lantian’s will. That nasty piece of magic must have been wrapped into the German’s suppression spell. Fortunately, Elizabeth still had her witchcraft.

  The witchling conjured up a white mist that she wrapped around Gregory and herself. Elizabeth could feel her sense of assuredness rising as the mist swirled around her.

  “This should keep us from being affected by that will-robbing magic,” Elizabeth explained. “It should also allow me to use a little persuasion on anyone we run into. We’ll tell them we are inspectors for the construction company.”

  “And the non-living?” Gregory asked, though he was certain of what her answer would be.

  “The silver bullets should do just fine,” Elizabeth smiled encouragingly. “Are you ready?”

  Gregory nodded, tucked a pistol into his waistband, and slipped the shotgun under his overcoat, then took the lead as they walked toward the brick wall surrounding the Barracks.

  As they approached, the power of the magic was unmistakable. “Amateurish,” Elizabeth confirmed, “but still deadly potent. The power behind this magic could stop a rhino.” The realization sent a shiver through the witch as she made her way to the Barrack’s front gate.

  “Halt!” the guard challenged.

  Elizabeth never slowed. Raising the hand that held one of Raul’s pistols, she pulled the trigger. Silver sliced into the feran’s chest, and though the creature stood for a few seconds longer, its back finally hit the ground as the two walked past.

  Entering Pinder Barracks, they could see the compound was not quite finished. Consequently, the first place Elizabeth chose to start their search was the one building that wasn’t surrounded by construction scaffolding. It was also the largest building in the grouping of large, brick, three-story structures.

  To get there, they had to walk across a parade ground. “Wide open and not an iota of cover.” Gregory exhaled worriedly. “If someone starts shooting at us, the best we have to hide behind is a blade of grass.”

  “We also can’t sneak up on anyone,” Elizabeth said as she led Gregory into the open. “Look like you belong,” she said, determinedly.

&n
bsp; “Good plan,” he said, trying to sound encouraging.

  There was a commotion near one of the doors of the building they were headed for. At first, Elizabeth feared the worse. “We’ve been spotted,” she whispered, but as she continued to stare at what was going on, the situation came into focus.

  Three of the four individuals were definitely feran. The fourth was, as best as Elizabeth could tell, a young woman. The female was thrashing about, struggling against the two that were holding her by her arms.

  “She’s putting up a good fight,” Elizabeth said, desperately wanting to race to her rescue. But to do so would place Gregory, as well as the mission, at risk. Even so, Elizabeth quickened her pace, keeping an eye on the third feran who was holding the door for the others.

  “Come on,” she told her partner, breaking into a trot.

  She knew the third feran would spot them as soon as the other feran and their captive disappeared through the door. Anticipating that, Elizabeth wanted to be close to the third feran before it turned back toward them.

  The door closed, and as the feran turned to take up his post against the building, Elizabeth knew they had been spotted. The feran reached for its weapon.

  From thirty yards away, Elizabeth went for her gun at the same moment. At a dead run, she fired first—a split second before the feran’s rifle fired. Both bullets missed their intended targets.

  “Hit the dirt!” Elizabeth yelled as she flung herself forward.

  Before hitting the ground, she pulled the trigger again. Where that bullet went, she never knew, for, at that very moment, the report of a shotgun blasted through the air.

  Elizabeth hit the grass and rolled. She popped up with the revolver aimed, only to realized there was no longer a target. Silver shotgun pellets had splattered through the feran into the building.

  Elizabeth whirled around to check on Gregory. He was standing with the smoking shotgun casually resting on one shoulder. Looking into her eyes, he brought the barrel in front of him and blew the smoke from the muzzle. “Ma’am,” he said as he touched the brim of his hat and started toward the door of the building. Smiling, she followed him to the building.