by G. R. Lyons
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he vanished right before my eyes.”
The communicator went silent, and Charlie looked over at the other officer, who was staring, wide-eyed, at the bloody scene.
Charlie took a deep breath and said, “I think our killer is a mage.”
* * *
“A MAGE,” Malrin deadpanned.
“Yes,” Charlie said for the tenth time, nodding wearily as he sank back in his chair at the conference table.
“A mage.”
“That's what I said.”
“How the fuck are we supposed to catch a fucking mage?”
Charlie looked up at Malrin, who sat across from him. They'd called an emergency meeting with everyone involved on the case, inviting Mr. Timpkin and the officer from Five Oaks Agency to join them. The room was full of tense energy as they all tried to absorb the truth that had been staring them in the face all along.
“A fucking mage!”
“Language, please,” Chief groaned, rubbing his eyes.
“No wonder we could never catch him,” Lehinis said. “The man has the power to simply appear and disappear wherever he wants. Talk about the ultimate escape plan.”
“And it would explain why there's no evidence left at any of the crime scenes,” Charlie added. “He can just magically wipe it all away.”
“Did we find anything at the scene tonight?” Chief asked. “Since he was almost caught, I'm hoping–”
“Not a thing, sir,” the officer from Five Oaks Agency spoke up. “We swept the whole house. Checked the body twice. No semen, fingerprints–”
“No nothing, as usual,” Malrin summed up for him.
Asenna looked up. “He's a perfectionist.”
“What's that?” Chief asked, and everyone turned to look at her.
She straightened a tablet against the table's edge, then her eyes went wide and she dropped her hands to her lap.
“He risked getting caught to go back and finish the job,” she said, clasping her hands until her knuckles turned white. “He never leaves any evidence behind, nor does he leave any survivors. It was a close thing. He knew you two were in the house, created a diversion to get you away from the body so he could finish the job, and still got spotted at the last minute. He could have left her to bleed out, but what if she had survived, been able to identify him? He had to risk going back to finish her. Like a compulsion. He couldn't leave it undone. And look.” She brought up an image of the body, and an image of the bouquet the victim had received that morning. “Five sunflowers. Five gun shot wounds. He had to make it match the plan.”
“Any leads on who sent the flowers?” Chief asked.
Several heads shook. “Not a thing, Chief,” Lehinis answered. “We called every florist in the area. Nobody delivered to that park bench this morning, and no one claims to have made that particular arrangement. So either they're lying or–”
“Or he's making the flowers by magic,” Malrin suggested.
“I thought the magi couldn't just make stuff out of thin air, though,” another detective said. “I think I heard that somewhere.”
“Is there any chance of contacting the Jaduan High Council?” Mr. Timpkin asked. “Maybe they have some way of tracking their people? Or they could at least help us understand the limits of his power?”
“That'll mean sending a runner through the Gate,” Chief said. “There's no other way to contact them, as far as I'm aware. I'm fairly certain they shun technology because the magic interferes with it.”
“So no phone calls or email or anything like that.”
“Exactly. Personal visit or hand-delivered mail. That's all we've got.”
“Huh,” Lehinis snorted. “No wonder they still sell pens and stationery. I thought that stuff had gone out of style ages ago.”
“Hey, I still have family back on Ceynes and they're always sending letters and–” Malrin said, but the chief cut him off.
“Can we stay focused, please?”
“Sorry, Chief.”
The room fell silent except for Mr. Timpkin muttering, “I can't believe this. I just can't believe it. That poor woman…”
He trailed off, cringing at the sight of the digital photographs scattered across the table.
“Mr. Timpkin,” Chief murmured.
The man looked up, blinked a few times, and nodded with a sigh.
“Come by the office tomorrow,” he said. “I'll copy whatever files you need.”
The chief nodded his thanks, and the group slowly broke up, trudging wearily away to their homes to try to get what sleep they could.
“What do you think, Chief?” Charlie asked once they were almost alone in the room.
The chief looked at him for a moment before he asked, “Are you up for a journey?”
Charlie blinked. “Me? Go to Jadu'n?”
“I need someone familiar enough with the case in order to express the severity of the situation,” the chief answered. “And you're likely to be the most polite and diplomatic of this bunch.”
“I– Well, if you insist, sir. I just–”
“Charlie,” he murmured, grabbing him by the shoulders. “We'll be fine. And you should be able to get there and back with what we need in no more than a day or two if you use the Gates. You're the only one I trust to properly handle this.”
Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, sir. I'll go first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Chief said, clapping him on the shoulder and leaving the room, joining Malrin and Lehinis as they surrounded Asenna and disappeared out the back entrance.
Charlie watched them go, shaking his head.
“Well, as if you hadn't already seen enough strange things,” he murmured to himself. He gave the room one final glance and went home, but got hardly any sleep as his imagination kept waking him with images of objects flying and people vanishing before his eyes.
* * *
TIMES CROSS Station was quiet and almost empty when Charlie arrived the next morning. Once a busy train depot, Times Cross was now a modest attempt to replicate Divinity Square, less the statues of the gods and a few Gates. The Gate there to Tanas had been destroyed from the other side decades before, and none had ever been built there to reach either Falsin or Indisar.
Charlie parked his car in the old paved lot and locked it up, leaving his mobile inside, knowing it would be less than useless on the magical Isle.
Crossing the old terminal to the Gates, Charlie found the one labeled Jadu'n and stood before it, contemplating the glittering, shifting surface that was neither solid nor liquid, yet looked to be both. He reached out, almost touching it, then snatched his hand back.
“It's just a doorway,” he muttered to himself. “That's all it is. Just a doorway.”
With a deep breath, he took a step closer and stopped again. Lifting his hand, he touched the starglass with his fingertips, feeling something that was neither hot nor cold, neither wet nor dry. There was certainly some sort of tangible sensation that reached his brain, but he wasn't sure he could define it. Taking another deep breath, Charlie closed his eyes and stepped through.
He froze on the other side, holding his breath, and slowly opened his eyes.
“My…gods…”
Chapter 17
CHARLIE BLINKED, mouth agape, and tried to remember to breathe as he looked around at the scene that lay before him.
The courtyard in which he'd arrived seemed a living structure, with woven tree trunks framing doorways, branches thick with leaves serving as roofs, walls of natural stone, and flowers growing in impossible places. Stone pavers in subtle hints of color wound their way around trees and flowers, fountains and statues.
Glittering lights sparkled in the trees, while glowing vines trailed up the sides of stone buildings and along bridges. Charlie looked up, turning slowly as he gazed into the distance, and saw what appeared to be a ring of mountains encircling the valley in which he stood.
But he knew, from
having studied the maps as a child, that it was no ring of mountains that contained the Isle of Jadu'n.
Squinting his eyes, he looked to the nearest end of the valley, and saw water spilling over the top of the highest point, the ocean trickling its way down into Jadu'n.
“The Hole in the Ocean,” Charlie breathed.
“Indeed.”
Charlie whirled around and saw a young man in the blue-grey robes of the Siksani standing before him.
“Hail and well met, stranger from Agoran,” the man said with a bow. He straightened, frowned in thought for a moment, then brightened as he approached Charlie with his hand extended. “I am—or, rather, I was—Viscount Milar Banisden of Andria, and now a priest of our Father Kalos.”
Charlie shook the man's hand, cleared his throat and said, “I'm Charlie Crawford. I…I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know–”
“Quite alright, quite alright,” the priest said, waving his hands. “Do not fret about your ignorance of our customs. We of Jadu'n learn to embrace all customs from all lands. And what brings you to our magical Isle?”
“Um…” Charlie shook his head, trying to tear his eyes away from the splendor all around him. “I'm…uh…a detective.”
“Ah! A detective! Halston Yard, and all that?”
Charlie blinked. “I'm sorry, what?”
“Oh, goodness, my apologies. A throwback to my country. Not yours, of course.” The young man wrung his hands. “I'm afraid I still have a great deal to learn. Please, direct me. Tell me how I might be of assistance.”
“Well, I…” Charlie blinked again and shook his head. “I'm sorry, this is all just so extraordinary.”
“Yes, captivating, is it not?” the priest said with a smile. “Such a wonderful place to learn. It is a shame most of our Rajali are away at the moment or I could show you a great many wonderful things.”
“Well, it is about your…Rajali? Your magi. We believe one of them is responsible for several murders.”
The priest stepped back with a gasp.
“No,” he whispered. “It…It…It cannot be true. The magi do not harm! Oh, this is terrible…”
Charlie watched as the priest turned and paced before him, wringing his hands and muttering to himself.
“Can you help us at all?” Charlie asked. “Anything, please. So many have died.”
The priest lurched to a stop and looked at him intently, his eyes on the verge of tears.
“I will take you to the Vakti,” the man said, nodding rapidly. “They will know what to do. Follow me!”
Charlie hurried to catch up as the priest turned and disappeared through an archway, the stone woven through with vines and flowers. The pavers on the ground slowly faded away, transitioning seamlessly into a firmly-packed dirt path that led to a stone bridge, the gentle arch spanning a wide river of sparkling waters.
Following the water with his eyes, Charlie looked into the distance and saw the river dive beneath a stone building that spanned the width of the river, the walls of the building looking somehow both natural and man-made, and inset with the most stunning stained glass he'd ever seen.
Charlie tore his eyes away and hurried to keep up with his guide, but everywhere he looked, he seemed surrounded by a living faerie tale.
“You see that doorway there?” his guide asked breathlessly.
Charlie shook himself and turned around to see where the priest was pointing.
“Yes,” Charlie said, gaping at the carved wooden doors that stood beneath another marvelous archway of stone and flora.
“Wait just outside for me,” the priest said, hurrying off toward another, smaller door to their left. “I must go call Hana.”
“Hana?”
The priest stopped and pointed. Charlie looked up, beyond the wall in which the door was set, and saw a large structure atop what looked to be a hill. Charlie blinked, shifted a step to the right to get a better look, and stretched up, his eyes going wide when he realized the entire hill was simply floating midair.
“The only way up to the temple is by wingback,” the priest said. “I'll be right out with Hana.”
The priest hurried off, disappearing through the small door, and Charlie stared at the spot where he'd been, blinking as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
“The hill is floating,” he whispered, shaking himself. “You're not mad, you're not mad, you're not mad…”
Taking a deep breath, Charlie went over to the wide doorway and pushed against it.
The door didn't budge.
Frowning, Charlie looked down, checking again to make sure he saw no handle on that side. He tried again, pushing against the door, but still it would not open.
Digging his fingers into the space between the doors, Charlie tried to pull it toward himself. The door moved just a bit, but he couldn't get enough hold to really give it a good pull.
He tried again, both pushing and pulling, and looked around for something to slide between the doors to pry them apart.
Beyond the door, Charlie heard the clomp of a horse's hooves, followed by the priest's voice.
“Detective Crawford?”
“I'm here!” he called back.
Charlie heard a gasp, then a scramble of movement before the doors both opened outward, the priest lowering his hands to his sides as they came to a stop.
“My deepest apologies!” the priest said. “I have become so accustomed to the habit that I often forget others lack the power.”
“The power?” Charlie asked, eyeing the doors suspiciously as he stepped through the open archway.
The priest nodded. “There are no door handles on Jadu'n.”
Charlie blinked. “At all?”
“None at all,” the young man said, shaking his head. “It is the first thing a mage-in-training must learn upon coming here. He gets neither food nor rest unless he can learn to access our dormitories, classrooms, and halls. Many accomplish it right away. Some struggle for days before they find the proper focus.”
Charlie looked back at the doors, then at the priest as he asked, “And you let them struggle for days? Without food? Without sleep?”
The priest nodded. “It is a valuable lesson.”
“What lesson is that?”
“Well–” The priest spread his hands. “Behind every door is an opportunity. Those who have the courage, strength, and perseverance to go after an opportunity will be able to open a door and pursue success. Those who are lazy and wait for others to help them…they will never learn what is on the other side of that door.”
“Sounds like something Thrysundir might teach.”
The priest nodded. “The Lord of Action is a great part of our lives here on the Father's Isle. Those who need help must first help themselves. Those who wish to learn here must first show that they are willing to put in the effort to learn. Willing to persevere. Willing to focus. Only then do they deserve the assistance of those who can teach them to harness their gifts.
“But for those who sit idly by,” he went on, “and wish for others to do for them, those who make no effort to first help themselves, those who are not even willing to try—they deserve no such help from others.”
Charlie looked at the ground, shaking his head, then turned and sat down on a bench along the stone wall.
“Is something amiss?” the priest asked quietly.
“Just…something I hadn't thought about in years.” Charlie breathed a laugh and shook his head again. “After my mom died, I was out on the streets, nowhere to live, nothing to eat. I tried every day to find work somewhere. Something. Anything. Just something to afford me some food and a place to sleep. But no one was hiring. Still, I tried. Every day, I tried. And finally I got so desperate that I broke a window and stole some bread–”
He cut off and looked up at the priest, ready to apologize for rambling, but the man looked genuinely interested.
“Go on.”
“It's nothing interesting, really–” Charlie began.
&nb
sp; “Detective Crawford,” the priest interrupted him, “in our training to become magi, we are not taught just how to harness our magical skills. Since we are often requested for posts all over the world, we are also trained as diplomats and advisers. Our knowledge of different cultures, religions, political systems—all of this puts us in a unique position to both listen and advise. And every time one listens is an opportunity to learn.”
The young man waited patiently, giving him an encouraging look.
Charlie took a deep breath and shrugged. “Well, I stole some bread, and got thrown in a cell for the night until the bakery owner could be contacted, so he could decide what my punishment would be. While I was there, another boy was brought in, also for stealing. I knew him, sort of. We'd gone to school together. I forget his name. Thalion– No, Thayeron? Something. Anyway, he'd been in and out of homes for years. Missed a lot of school. Never even tried to get a job.
“The next morning, the owner of the bakery came to the cell, along with his defense agent. The Chief, they called him. Well, Chief sat us both down, asked us a bunch of questions. Who we were, where we worked, where we lived, what we'd done to warrant being jailed. Both orphans, both homeless, both jobless, both thieves, but the other kid made it pretty clear he had no desire to work. He just wanted to be given a home, food, shelter. Me? I couldn't wait to get out of there so I could try to find a job, pay back the man for the broken window and the bread I stole. I felt so guilty, but I was so hungry…”
He trailed off, shaking his head.
“And this Chief helped you,” the priest said.
Charlie looked up at the young man, and nodded. “He paid for the damage, took me home, gave me something to eat. I felt so awful. I didn't think I deserved it. I ran out, first thing next morning, and tried to find work. Spent all day looking. He brought me home again that night, fed me again, let me sleep there again. I did whatever I could around the house to help him, to try to pay him back for everything he'd done for me. And when I still couldn't find work, he gave me a job, sent me back to school. He gave me so much, and more…”
“Because you deserved it,” the priest said knowingly. “You kept going after those doors.”
