An Elemental Witch

by R D Martin

  Hustling across the lobby, wincing every time her shoes squeaked on the marble floor, she almost leapt to ring the service bell and braced for the gong sound she knew was coming. When the sound finally disappeared into nothing, she had to shake her head to clear out the reverberations still bouncing around in her skull.

  Expecting to see the shaggy-haired attendant rising from behind the counter, she leaned over the marble top only to find a solid floor with no hint or outline of a trapdoor. Moments turned into minutes with nothing happening.

  Reaching over, willing to endure the bone-shaking gong again, she was about to tap the bell when a voice stopped her.

  “Touch it again and you’ll lose the hand.” From the shadows behind her the Finder’s attendant emerged, dragging a burlap bag behind himself so large he could use it as a hot-air balloon. With each jerk on the sack she could hear the high tinkling of broken glass. “Six years,” the attendant growled. “Six years I’ve been putting this damned sculpture back together, and I was almost done too. Bring it into the shop, I said. No one comes in often and it’ll be safe, I said. No worries about it shattering when I have to bring it in. Now look at it. Back to the beginning. I will never pay off this penance. What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t… What penance?”

  “What?”

  “You said penance? What did you do?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What? Wait, no.” She took a deep breath to re-center herself. “I need to see the Finder.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Yes, damn it. Yes, I do. I have an appointment and it's for right now,” she barked at the hairy attendant. She would not get drawn into another of his word games.

  “Okay, okay. No need to get yourself riled up. Just asking’, you know. It’s my job. And it’s not like you were in the middle of something delicate when someone shook the building anyway.” The attendant strode by her, continuing to mumble. Placing one hand on the black marble countertop, he leapt over. When he reached the other side, however, it was as though the floor didn’t exist as his large feet passed straight through with the enormous sack following behind like a long, disfigured tail.

  Unsure what to do with herself, she drummed her fingers on the counter. Moments later there was a loud bang from behind the counter and a section of the floor flew open to reveal a set of stairs from which a voice arose, yelling and cursing. Shortly after, the attendant’s head appeared from the darkness. Reaching the top of the stairs, the attendant set down what looked like a small child’s doll house. Mumbling to himself, he opened the front door of the house and stepped back into the shadow.

  Inching its way out the front door of the miniature home, the caterpillar-like Moab appeared. It had only just cleared the small doorway when images began flooding her mind, images she translated into words.

  “Hello, small one. Did you take my advice? Did you go see the Moirai?”

  Bella nodded and launched into her experience of dealing with the three. When she told of how William had rescued her from the mosh pit, her cheeks flushed with a warm glow and the Moab’s antennae twitched back and forth.

  Having started her story, she now found herself unable to stop. She told the Finder about meeting the Pooka and being sent to see Ceto. At the mention of the name, the back of her hand itched, a reminder she still needed to make a sacrifice to the old witch. The Moab’s reaction was unexpected.

  As though her mind were a child’s plaything, she felt the consciousness of the Moab dive into those memories, examining each like they were three-dimensional photographs to be sifted through. When the image of the knife floating in the air appeared, everything else but that memory seemed to fade from existence.

  “She tasked you with finding the Fallen Blade? Why?”

  “Fallen Blade? She called it the Blade of Ages.”

  “No. The Blade of Ages lay beneath the sand with the temple of Urt.”

  An image of an ancient desert city appeared in her mind. A sandstorm raged around it so large it blotted out the light. Before the storm ended, it buried the entire city.

  “So what is the Fallen Blade?”

  The Moab’s hairy body twisted and its small face contorted. She had the distinct feeling the creature was trying to decide what, if anything, to tell her. The Moab must have reached a decision because it straightened out and, rising to its full height, took control of her mind. The Moab’s touch was gentle, but firm as it created a white space in her head before filling it with images.

  On a barren landscape, devoid of grass, trees, or even sand, she witnessed a battle. Things seemed to be the only description she could think of for the creatures. As they moved, the combatants changed, morphing into different shapes to suit whatever need they had. Hoofs would appear for a moment, then just as quickly be replaced with taloned feet. Bright wings carried the creatures into the air before disappearing into nothingness. The airborne creatures plummeted to the ground, slamming into their opponents. The mishmash of shapes made it too difficult for her to understand which side each fighter was on. At one point, two creatures fighting back to back turned to fight each other, each one tearing at the other in the bloody melee.

  The Moab made one thing clear about the battle, however. These amorphous things would, when other lesser creatures formed on the land, become the gods they worshiped.

  The image widened, showing hundreds of miles of land where thousands of these soon-to-be gods fought and killed each other, soaking the land in their blood. With a sharp jerk the image shot to the left, making everything a colorful blur until it stopped short. The sudden shift of perspective left her feeling dizzy, her stomach threatening to revolt.

  When the blur cleared, there stood one creature apart from the others. Unlike its fellows, it appeared uninterested in fighting. Rather, it dug into the surrounding earth, creating a hole so wide and deep, chasm seemed to be a good description. This thing’s shape seemed just as confusing in its shifting as the others, but unlike with the others, she could sense something different emanating from this one. This one was frightened and trying to hide.

  Hiding didn’t seem to be an option, though, as another shape, all gnashing teeth and shifting flesh, approached. In its fear, the huddled blob began scooping great mounds of dirt from the ground and throwing them to protect itself. As one massive rock struck the advancing creature, a thunderous crack boomed across the land. The young god died where it stood and the stone split in half.

  Fear replaced curiosity as the huddling mass oozed forward, examining the rock fragments. Soaking in the blood of the never-to-be god, the two parts gained a sheen that glinted in the light. The godling didn’t have much time to satisfy its curiosity as another amorphous blob attacked. Whipping one of the stone sections around with an arm that stretched hundreds of feet, the stone slammed into the side of the creature, bowling it over. A second impact, followed close by a third, killed it too.

  The image jerked again, this time to a grassy plain, and she sensed a large amount of time had passed. None of the shape-changing creatures were seen, but hidden among the branches of a tall tree, a band of monkeys screamed and hollered. Something bothered the long-armed creatures, and as the scene zoomed in, she could see a large catlike creature stalking the base of the tree.

  The cat tried to climb the tree, but its large size kept it from pursuing the monkeys up on the higher branches. Engrossed in their taunting, one group of primates didn’t notice a member of the tribe knocked from the tree by its companions. But the cat did. As fast as a lightning strike, the cat jumped from its perch, intent on having the simian for a meal. The monkey dodged left and right, just avoiding the cat’s sharp claws and teeth. Its luck didn’t last long as a large paw struck it, sending the animal sailing through the air, only stopping as it bounced against a bit of rock protruding from the ground.

  When the cat leapt at its downed meal, the monkey did the only thing it could think of. Reaching back,
it grabbed the rock and slammed it into the cat’s approaching maw. Dazed from the impact, the cat staggered back and didn’t see the next strike coming. Again and again the monkey struck out, covering the stone and himself with blood. When the cat finally stopped moving, the monkey dropped the rock and ran for the tree.

  The scene shifted again and again, each time showing fighting and death, each one centered on the rock. Humans, and things only shaped like humans, fought and died. Stone weapons replaced sticks, and the rock changed shape as bits were chipped away from the outside, revealing a silvered crystalline center. The crystal became chipped as well, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose, until it resembled a long knife blade.

  More death and killing surrounded the blade. Some images were familiar, but most were new. The blade was used by heroes and villains both, but regardless of which wielded it, the knife was always soaked in blood.

  Bronze and steel soon replaced wood and stone, but the blade didn’t change. If anything it seemed to grow stronger, more resilient. The blade no longer glinted in the light, but absorbed it.

  After a time, the images in her head stopped being just words and became the voice of the Moab.

  “It was just a rock, but the first death, the death of something that would be a god had it lived, made it something more. It yearned to be used, to soak in blood. Mayans used it for sacrifice and it absorbed life like a sponge, giving its bearer power. It was the blade used by Hercules, making him the hero he became. Cesar used it to become powerful and Brutus stole it, using it to give the final killing blow to his old friend. The Vampire Council used it to control all of Italy until the Imperium formed. The first thing they did was break the blade to keep it from being used against them.”

  "So why send me after it?"

  “That, I do not know. But I would be, um, careful. That blade could kill anything, and just possessing it makes you a target for beings wanting power. And the hag told you it could separate the Lank from its host?”

  Bella nodded, still reeling from the cascade of images running through her mind. She would never get used to this feeling and, in some small corner of her soul she refused to share with the Finder, could understand why his race was almost hunted to extermination.

  “How many pieces have you gathered? Are they safe? Where are you keeping them?”

  Rubbing her temple with one hand, she pushed the unicorn backpack across the counter toward the Finder. When he neither said nor did anything, she realized she must seem like a fool. It wasn’t like the small creature could open the bag himself.

  Unzipping and reaching in, she pulled out the folded parchment and two packages, one wrapped in leather and the other in an old newspaper. Removing their wrappings, she did her best not to touch the shards. Her head was already pounding from the Finder’s invasion and she didn’t want to go through more right now.

  “Two shards. You have two shards. You have two shards? How did you find them?”

  She pointed to the folded parchment. The moment she did so, the Finder’s entire body started to shake as though taking a plunge in ice water. A soft breeze blew in from somewhere in the darkness, passing over her skin like the finest silk, and lifted the parchment into the air, where it hung transfixed. She felt the hum of electricity vibrating in the air and then the parchment unfolded itself.

  “It uses blood to—” she started, but was interrupted by the assistant clearing his throat with a noise like rocks in a blender. Turning toward him, she caught him shaking his head at her.

  Understanding, she returned her attention to the floating parchment. Whatever magic the Moab possessed must be more powerful than the map because, even without the blood drop, the parchment lit up with its golden light. This time, though, the scene was different. Instead of showing her apartment building, it showed nothing. Or at least that was what it seemed like. The entire surface of the map pulsed with a golden glow so bright it was almost blinding. It was as if the parchment was shouting the final piece was, well, everywhere.

  “I told you, it takes blood.”

  Again the assistant shushed her, though this time he was less polite, holding up a finger to his hairy face and issuing a sound like steam escaping from a broken pipe.

  Frowning, she turned back to the Finder, ready to take the map and show him. Before she could do anything, however, the light emanating from the parchment changed. It was subtle at first, a flicker she wasn’t sure really happened, but the change in the light continued as parts of the map darkened. As the light dimmed, she realized it showed a different view than before. Her apartment building was gone, and for that matter, so was her city, replaced by an overhead view of something looking like a child’s drawing. Haphazard streets bent and twisted between outlines of buildings that made no sense. Some structures appeared as normal squares, others were round, and still others were of a shape that hurt her eyes to follow.

  This time when the apprentice whistled, it wasn’t to shush her.

  “It’s the Iremia,” he said in a reverential whisper.

  “It’s what?”

  “The Iremia. It’s us, here.”

  “What do you mean? There are no maps of the Circus.”

  “Circus? What? No. This is the Iremia. See? Look,” he said, pointing to a circular section of outlines just left of center. “This is the Water Market.” Moving his finger down a few inches, he pointed to a large square shape. “This is where the flyers meet. I don’t go there. The smell is so bad you’d pay just to get away from it. That means…” He hummed, moving his finger in a circular motion around the map. “We are… here.” He jabbed at a tiny square. As he did so, the map zoomed to center the area he indicated. While the square became much larger, it revealed no more details and remained empty.

  “But how is it possible? There aren’t any maps of the Cir… uh, the Iremia. Try to draw one and it disappears like invisible ink. Everyone knows that.”

  It was true. The magics surrounding the Circus were some serious spells intended to protect it from everything. Someone trying to draw a map from memory would find their fingers shaking so bad they couldn't trace a straight line. Taking a picture of the place didn't work either. The moment the picture left the Circus, it faded from existence.

  This is dangerous, came the thought from the Finder.

  Bella found herself in complete agreement. Reaching for the map, intent on putting it away, she paused in midmotion as a simple thought struck her. The map wasn’t showing her building anymore. It was, against all odds, showing the Circus, but that meant it was here, right?

  Yes, intruded the unbidden thought of the Finder. I believe you are correct. The last piece is here, though I don’t know where. It is not among my, um, acquisitions.

  “But the map can’t be wrong, can it? I mean, it was right about where we found the other pieces, wasn’t it?”

  Be that as it may, I do not have it. There was such force behind the thought her head rang from it.

  “So where is it?” Taking a deep breath, partly to clear her head from the jarring tumult of noise left behind by the Finder, she tried to think about it rationally. If the map said it was at her apartment when she’d searched for the piece there, and it was now saying the last shard was in the Finder’s tent, that had to mean she’d brought it with her. But how? The only thing she’d brought from her apartment was the two shards they’d already found. She’d dropped them and the map in the backpack before she and William…

  Lunging forward, she snatched up the sequined bag. Pulling the top open, she dumped its contents onto the counter. Samantha was always looking for magical things and, no matter how much Bella tried to convince her otherwise, would end up leaving her newest finds at her apartment. What if, she thought as she spread the contents out, what if she had found something magical? What if she found the shard piece Ronnie hid in her apartment? And if she did, maybe she’d tucked it away, waiting for the right moment to show it off.

  Papers, pens, and other school supplies
flew off the counter to clatter and flutter on the floor, leaving behind a small assortment of strange objects. It amazed her what that little girl thought could be magic. A rock with dents that could be a face, a bit of wood wrapped in leather and tucked inside a Ziploc bag, and a bundle of twigs tied in the shape of a dog among them. The rock and the dog-shaped bundle were discarded easily enough, leaving the Ziploc bag and its contents as the last item.

  She reached gingerly for it, her hand steady though her nerves were so on edge she felt as if someone had hooked her up to a car battery. Popping open the baggie, she slid its contents out and onto the polished marble counter where leather and wood stood out in stark contrast. Pausing only a moment to take a breath, she picked it up, bracing herself for the images to come.

  A flurry of pictures flooded her mind, washing through like a spill from a broken dam, each one horrifying with the bloody carnage they showed. Creatures of all kinds, some she could identify like werewolves and redcaps, fought and died in every manner imaginable. She drowned in blood and slaughter, besieged by screams of the dying and the triumphant yells of victors. Her heart pounded in her chest, thumping so hard it threatened to burst through her ribs. A distant cry rang in her ears.

  Through the pain and blood she felt a yearning emanating from the final piece of the shard. Beyond the blood, beyond the slaughter and death that surrounded it, the shard wanted something else. It wanted to be whole again, to reunite with its missing pieces. And it whispered promises into her ear, promises of glory and riches, of adventure and adulation. It promised her the world and everything in it if she would make it whole again.

  The images changed with each promise. She saw herself seated at the head of a large table, world leaders deferring to her wisdom. Behind them a large screen displayed news articles of peace being spread around the globe. Sure, some peace was enforced by her massive armies, but for the first time in history, armed conflict around the globe ended. The voice in the back of her mind promised it could be hers.

  The scene blurred, and when it solidified, she saw herself heavy with child and cradled in William’s arms. His pleasant smile sent shivers coursing through her body, adding to the warmth of his arms around her. He kissed her neck and the feeling spread until every inch of her basked in his warm touch. The voices promised her a life of safety, a life of content.