Magus

by R H Frye

  "Did I neglect to mention a rather useful aspect of the blood spell binding you to me, boy?" The hateful voice somehow penetrated the agony that Danny felt. Blinking away tears and struggling not to vomit, Danny managed to gasp, "What…the hell…did you do…to me?"

  "Oh, make no mistake my young fool, you did this to yourself. The spell that binds us takes into account the possibility of attacks aimed at me. In the event that you should ever consider something so stupid again, remember this. Any attack that you make on me is returned precisely to you. I could have mentioned this to you earlier, of course, but this way is much more instructive, don't you think?"

  Danny could only nod his head weakly and pray for the pain to pass. The burning, throbbing agony pulsed through him in time to the rhythm of his heart. Every few seconds, the muscles of his lower back clenched in protest to his injury. Each spasm caused such a white-hot dagger of pain that his breathing suffered, degenerating into small gasps of air hissing through his clenched teeth. Time seemed elastic to Danny, with each instant of agony stretching to seem like hours.

  Some undetermined time later, the muscle spasm in Danny's back eased and feeling returned to his legs. The agony in his back dulled from a shriek to a muted growl, and the nauseating waves of pain subsided to a dull ache. Finally, he was able to roll onto his knees and climb shakily to his feet.

  Maraydel sat smiling in a chair by the room's small table. He had donned the jeans that Danny had provided, but nothing else. His only other accessories were the medallion and bracelets around his neck, wrists, and ankles. With a small jolt of surprise that caused the damaged muscles in his back to scream in protest, Danny realized that the wounds in Maraydel's ankle were gone, as were the scratches on that cruelly handsome face. Apparently the monstrous refugee from ages past had also managed to puzzle out the workings of the room's modern fixtures, since his long black hair was shining wetly in the pale light that seeped into the room around the drawn curtains of the window on the far wall.

  "Feeling better?" Maraydel inquired smugly.

  "What did you do to Carol?" Danny asked bitterly. "That wasn't part of our deal you sick bastard."

  "On the contrary, I brought her back to serve me. And she did serve me. Again and again. After all, five thousand years give or take a century or two, is a long time to go without. Don't worry though. I saved enough for you. Just roll her over and do your thing," Maraydel finished with a wicked grin.

  Danny's face flamed with anger. He took a single step forward, intent on another attack, but the jolt of pain caused by that step forced him to reconsider. Anger and fear warred within him before reason won the battle. Vengeance would have to wait. He could not help Carol if he managed to get himself killed.

  "Good," Maraydel whispered. "You do have the capacity to learn." In a louder voice he added, "The sooner you submit to my will and stop this foolish resistance, the better. When you at last serve me willingly, I will begin to teach you what I know. Now tell me. Where is the food you were told to bring? You found the stones, which I have used for my healing, but I am hungry."

  Danny shrugged. "The police found the car with the food inside. I didn't have enough money to buy more."

  Maraydel frowned. "Where does a person get this money you speak of?"

  "You work for it. Then your boss gives you a check that you cash to get money."

  "Hmm. I don't think we'll work for our money. Do you have any left?"

  Danny pulled a crumpled one-dollar bill from his wallet and passed it to Maraydel. After inspecting it thoroughly Maraydel asked, "This has value?" His skeptical look conveyed his obvious doubt much more effectively than words alone.

  Danny simply nodded his head.

  "And how much of this money is necessary to buy food and clothing more suitable than what you've given me?"

  Danny thought for a moment. "Uh, I don't know. How about $500?" Danny wondered briefly where Maraydel was going with the conversation.

  "Simple enough," Maraydel said with satisfaction. "Let this be your first lesson then. Watch closely. If you can learn this simple trick, I'll heal you and begin to teach you more."

  Maraydel opened the paper bag containing the crystals, which had been lying unnoticed on the table. He sorted through the bag briefly before producing a small piece of quartz and a shiny bit of hematite. He placed both on the table beside Danny's dollar. He looked at Danny and pronounced a word slowly, syllable by syllable. Danny realized the man's intent and repeated the strange, tongue-twisting word several times. Maraydel was finally satisfied and nodded. He picked up the dollar in his left hand and the stones in his right. He flipped the one-dollar bill back and forth a few times, intently studying each side before pointing the index finger of his right hand at the table and speaking the word he had repeated to Danny.

  Danny stared as legal United States currency (as far as his untrained eye could discern) appeared on the table in a growing stack, slowly at first, but faster and faster until many stacks of money were present. Maraydel smiled as he turned to Danny and said, "Now it's your turn." He held out his hands to give Danny the original dollar and the stones.

  Danny turned to the table and attempted to duplicate Maraydel's actions as closely as possible. He examined the dollar, grasped the stones, pointed, and very tentatively repeated the word Maraydel had spoken.

  Nothing happened.

  Maraydel chuckled. "Well then, not so easy as it seems? Never mind. We'll work on it…after you get me some food."

  Danny sighed and glanced at Carol's abused form on the bed. Resigned to more work without rest, he grabbed a handful of money, stuffed it into his pocket, and limped out the door.

  Chapter 5

  John snapped awake to the ringing of the telephone.

  “Damn it, this is getting to be a habit,” he grumbled. He winced as he stumbled to his feet to determine where he had left the cell phone upon his return to the cabin after the adventures of the previous night. The exertions of his flight through the forest had caused his legs to stiffen, and he limped and hobbled as he made his way to the small kitchen table in the rear of the cabin. He had followed his nightly ritual of emptying his pockets after his exhausted and bewildered return to the cabin, so his cell phone was lying on the table with the other odds and ends from his pockets.

  John reached the table and started to answer the phone only to discover that his caller had disconnected. He checked the display window of the cell phone and was relatively unsurprised to see Matt’s name and number showing as a missed call. Oh well, Matt can leave a message, John thought. Before speaking to anyone he was determined to have a hot shower and some time to absorb the events of the previous day. He had been much too tired to consider all that had happened in the previous 24 hours when he returned from his wild flight through the forest.

  John stretched, and the movement brought a grimace to his face from the tightness in his lower body. He had always considered himself to be fairly physically fit; however, he had not hiked or sprinted so much in years, so a bit of soreness was not too great of a shock. He made his way to the small bathroom that occupied one corner of the cabin, kicking off his jeans as he went. He stepped into the cramped bathroom, which was barely large enough to hold a sink, toilet, and tub. He turned on the hot water and was pleasantly surprised to feel the flowing water become hot within a few seconds. He adjusted the temperature to a degree that was only slightly less than scalding, switched the flow from the tub to the showerhead, and stepped into the shower.

  Fifteen minutes later John turned the shower off and realized with a rueful grin that he had forgotten to find a towel before stepping into the shower. With no other real options, he stepped out dripping and tracked water over most of the small cabin before finding clean bath towels in a chest near his grandfather’s bed. He dried himself off, mopped up the water around the cabin with his damp towel, and hung the towel across the back of one of the cabin’s two dining chairs to dry. With order restored to his grandfather’s neat
little cabin, John donned jeans, a tee shirt, and his work boots before sitting on the shabby couch in the “living room” section of the cabin’s single room to think.

  There were certain mysteries that needed to be dealt with and certain decisions that John needed to make. To begin with, just exactly what had happened yesterday? John had already faced the unpleasant prospect that certain of his views about the world would have to change. Most noticeably he could no longer consider the things his grandfather had wanted to teach him as a load of superstitious crap. And if he admitted that there could be more to Native American medicine than forest lore and the gullibility of superstitious people where did that leave him? Obviously, someone considered John to be a threat and several unwelcome suspicions were forming in his mind about the nature of the man he had faced and the altar he had found in the clearing in the mountains. As impossible as it seemed John could not shake the certainty that the altar and the man were linked to his dreams. And if so, there could be serious problems, to say the least.

  In short, John knew he needed help. But help from where? John had studiously avoided anything that seemed to have anything to do with the supernatural since leaving Cherokee all those years ago. Where should he start, and whom could he turn to for information? For that matter, why did he have to do anything at all? Why could he not simply bury his grandfather, pack his personal items in the truck, and place Cherokee squarely in his rearview mirror for the last time?

  The idea was attractive, but John never seriously entertained the thought of simply walking away from the problem. To answer his own question, there were several good reasons that he could not simply pack up and forget the whole mess. First, John Raintree was not the sort of man that started something and left it unfinished. Second, he owed it to his grandfather to see things through. Third, that bastard Maraydel had tried to kill him and his pride simply would not let him walk away from something like that.

  John pondered the problem for a bit until he thought of an angle that could possibly help him find the sort of people that he needed. He picked up his cell phone and dialed the number for Matt Running Deer.

  “Hello?” Matt asked as he answered the phone on the second ring.

  “Hey Matt, this is John. How’s it going?”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear from you. I tried to call you a little while ago.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry I missed you. I was in the shower.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was just calling to see if you wanted to grab a late breakfast. I know your grandfather was your only real connection here, and I thought you might want some company.”

  “Yeah, that sounds okay. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about anyway. Where did you want to meet?”

  “Well Hardee’s came to town shortly after Harrah’s. It’s not exactly gourmet food, but they make a pretty good biscuit. Sound okay to you?”

  “Sure. See you there in a half hour?” John asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  After saying goodbye, John disconnected the call. He grabbed his keys and wallet, and after a brief internal debate, also took along his gym bag with the pistol and tobacco inside. He stepped out the front door and locked it behind him before tossing the gym bag in his truck and heading for the Hardee’s in downtown Cherokee.

  Matt was sitting in the parking lot waiting when John arrived. The two men shook hands in front of John’s truck, exchanged greetings, and stepped inside the restaurant. They had arrived just before breakfast ended, so John ordered a sausage, egg, and cheese combo while Matt had the bacon, egg, and cheese. Over Matt’s protests John paid for both meals and they collected their food and moved to a booth near the front door of the restaurant. After a few silent moments spent enjoying the tasty (but terribly unhealthy) food, Matt broke the silence. “Hey, did you hear about the fire up near the Trail?”

  “Huh? What fire?” John asked while carefully maintaining a calm expression to hide the nasty shock he felt when asked about the fire on the Appalachian Trail.

  “Oh you didn’t hear? You must not have turned on the TV this morning. It’s on all the networks. The firemen seem to think some campers got careless with their campfire since there were no thunderstorms last night. Anyway, there’s one hell of a forest fire burning up near the Appalachian Trail. It’s burnt over 100 acres already.”

  “Damn! Is it under control?”

  “They think they’ll have it out in a couple of days. Must have been touch and go for a while though.”

  “Well it’s good that they’ve got it under control anyway.” John devoted his attention to his biscuit for a moment before asking, “Hey, you said my grandfather was a little odd yesterday, remember? What was odd about him?”

  Matt looked uncomfortable for a few seconds, but finally he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, everybody knew that Charlie believed in the old ways. Some people, mostly the elderly, preferred going to see your grandfather instead of a doctor. Everyone said he was able to cure or help most minor illnesses. He was good with almost anything from asthma to arthritis, to cuts, breaks, and sprains. And every so often he’d disappear into the woods for days at a time. Nobody would see him for a few days and then, sooner or later, he’d turn up in town, looking a little more skinny than usual and wearing that same friendly grin that everyone loved. He’d buy some tobacco and other supplies before heading home and opening his house again to a steady stream of the ill and ailing. Like I said, he was odd…but very well-liked,” Matt finished apologetically.

  John nodded. “Well, that’s about what I expected. Thanks.” He hesitated briefly before plunging ahead with the question he had wanted to ask as soon as he met Matt in the parking lot. “Uh, this may sound like an odd question but, well, are there any other…medicine men…around here?”

  Matt’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing. The people I’ve talked to that remember you said you and your grandfather used to fight about it before you left.”

  John tried for an expression that fell somewhere between casual and embarrassed. He thought he mostly made it. “You’ve been checking up on me?” He hurried on before Matt could reply. “Well, nothing wrong with that, I guess. Anyway, I was asking because I haven’t believed in that stuff since I was a kid, but my grandfather did and it only seems fair to him for me to find out what he believed about burying the dead and that sort of thing.” He finished speaking with a sheepish grin on his face.

  Matt thought for a moment. “I can understand that I guess. Tell you what, I’ll ask around and see what I can find out. I know there are some groups that meet in these mountains and up in Virginia too. I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “I appreciate it. How long do you think it’ll take?” Realizing that may sound a bit anxious, John added, “I can’t wait forever before getting back to work, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll try to let you know something by this evening or tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  “Okay, thanks again.”

  Matt and John spent the remainder of the meal talking about the changes on the reservation since John left. Harrah’s had brought an influx of much needed money to the local economy, and the tourist trade had also grown as the people of North Carolina flocked to the sole oasis of legalized gambling in a desert of Bible Belt morality.

  After a bit more discussion, the two men finished their late breakfast, shook hands, and parted ways.

  John stopped at the first gas station he found and topped off the tank on his pickup. As usual, the fuel bill for the large truck caused him to give some passing consideration to buying a fuel-efficient import car of some kind, but he simply could not picture himself behind the wheel of a car. He decided that he was just a truck kind of guy before turning his attention back to more pressing concerns.

  John located the phone booth outside of the service station and was relieved to find that the current interest in stealing the directories from pay phones that was so irritating i
n the Charlotte area had apparently not yet reached Cherokee. The phone book was hanging there in its hard-plastic cover from a thin steel cable. Most of the pages seemed to be present as well, in both the white and yellow sections of the book.

  John briefly considered several categories before discarding them. He finally settled on Religious Organizations as a starting point; however, those listings were not very helpful. From the list it was evident that the southeastern portion of the United

  States was a great place to be religious…as long as you were Christian and not partial to the Pope in Rome. There were listing for Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans, Episcopalians, and a Church of God, but nowhere did he see a listing for a shaman or medicine man. Not really surprised, he broadened his search, trying more oblique angles at every turn.

  Finally, under the Spiritual Consultants category, he found what he hoped was a step in the right direction. With serious doubts but lacking any other ideas, he dialed the number for “Madame Serena-Spiritual Advisor.”

  The phone rang repeatedly, and John was about to disconnect and head for his truck when a female voice answered, “Madame Serena’s. How can I help you?” The voice on the phone sounded groggy, and John belatedly realized that it was only 11:00 on a Sunday morning, a day when the less God-fearing members of the population (himself included) would often sleep late.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m calling about a spiritual reading,” John answered in something less than his usual authoritative voice. He still felt more than a little foolish about this whole idea.