Cast the spell
A boon I require
The bounty paid full well
Orange smoke pours out from the opened book, filling the room in a haze. When the colored mist vanishes, my library is gone. Instead, I find myself surrounded by an orange jungle.
I step around in a slow circle.
Yes, this is really an orange jungle all right.
Great tangerine-colored leaves dangle from towering palm trees. The scent of musk and decaying leaves fills the air. Two-headed birds flit between the dense undergrowth. Monkeys like Peli swing from the many vines.
One thing is clear. I’ve been magically transported to the Primeval. To what purpose?
Voices carry through the forest. Stalking through the trees, I follow the sounds and find the speakers.
What I see shocks me to the core.
Before me walks a different version of Peli. No wisdom lines around his large blue eyes. There’s even more spring in his movements, if possible. Others surround him, namely his wife and twin children. There’s no longer any doubt as to the purpose of this particular spell.
Peli sent me to his past.
13
Lincoln
Very few magic users can send someone to the past. In fact, the only confirmed instance in the last hundred years took place when Verus, the Queen of the Angels, sent Myla to see her mother’s history in Purgatory’s Senate. For Verus, casting those spells proved so draining, the Queen of the Angels was forced to rest for hours afterwards.
Now Peli completes a similar feat. Interesting.
I follow the small family through the jungle, careful to make as much noise as possible. No one notices me.
That settles it. This is more of an historical recreation rather than an actual passage through time. The former is a less taxing spell, but not by much. For a recreation, the caster must fabricate everything from their own—or someone else’s—memories. Not easy.
When I first met him, Peli seemed like a goofy trickster from a strange world. Sure, he cast a gateway. Yet for all I know, that’s an easy spell in his homeland. Now I know differently. There is no way recreating the past is a simple task.
Long story short, the more I learn about Peli, the more I realize I have only begun to discover his true identity.
Before me, Young Peli sets his hand on his wife’s shoulder. She’s a shorter and slimmer version of him. “Please, Nora,” he says. “Don’t get the twins excited. We don’t know what will happen today. I’m not a trained wizard.”
“Bah, no one’s better at magic than you. Can anyone else cast a gateway? No. And you’ve trained yourself.” Nora pauses. “Where are the twins, anyway?” She cups her long hand by her mouth. “Mlinizi? Walinzi?”
I hadn’t noticed it, but the siblings snuck off into the jungle.
“Ugh,” groans Young Peli. “I should never have lifted the soul link spell between them. Now it will take even longer to find them.”
“Not to worry,” counters Nora. “They’ll turn up at the Golden Arbor. Trust me.”
“We’ll see.”
Young Peli and Nora step out from the line of orange trees and into a small clearing. In the center of this open area, there towers a massive arbor. I’ve seen redwood trees on Earth, and this one carries the same majestic dimensions. Eight feet wide. Three stories tall.
And every inch of it shines with gold.
A clear blue sky arches overhead. Now that we’re out of the jungle, it’s easy to see the gleaming white stone wall that soars in the distance. We’ve entered some kind of valley surrounded by a mighty cliff.
Waves of recognition move through me. I’ve seen this tree before. Back in the Royal Gymnasium, Aldred ordered Peli to open a gateway to the Primeval. Within that view, there stood a blackened stump backed by a charred wall of stone.
Here stands that same tree, only now it’s full of life. Magic pulses about it.
The Golden Arbor.
Young Peli sits at the tree’s base. Nora plunks down beside him. After lifting his hands, Young Peli conjures a small haze of magic to flare across his palms. When the brightness fades, Young Peli holds a small wooden carving. Four faces look from out around the sphere; one for each of his family. The likenesses are perfectly rendered.
“I hope this is enough,” whispers Young Peli.
“Nonsense,” counters Nora. “I’ve never seen a finer magical peak for a wizard’s staff.”
Mlinizi and Walinzi bound out of the forest. “Don’t start without us,” they cry in unison.
Nora shoots Young Peli a sly look. “Told you.” She positions the twins so they sit between their parents. “Now stay silent while your father tests the peak for his wizard’s staff.”
Mlinizi and Walinzi chatter at once. I can’t pick out who is speaking, but I do catch what they say.
“Where’s the staff part?”
“He needs to get the peak done first, dummy.”
“Then will Poppa become a real wizard?”
“No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he will.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have magic, too.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Hush, children,” says Nora. “Allow your father to begin the ritual.”
Young Peli sets his carving down before the base of the tree. He lifts his arms. Tendrils of orange haze wind around his palms. Fresh magic.
I move in closer, hoping for a better view of the spell. Over the years, I’ve seen my share of castings. If I had to guess, this is a classic summoning spell. Young Peli will wish to call forth the spirit of the Golden Arbor. Since the object placed on the ground is the peak of a wizard’s staff, Young Peli probably wants to know if his future in magic stands a chance.
Although I haven’t known Peli long, it’s now clear that he carries two unique sides. One is the trickster monkey. The other is a serious wizard. Is this the moment when one path is crushed? And if so, why does Peli wish for me to see that take place?
“Oh, Golden Arbor,” states Young Peli. “I come to you to ask for a blessing on the true peak of my wizard’s staff. Will you listen to my plea?”
The tree shivers. Golden leaves whisper with the wind. Young Peli grins.
“Thank you for considering me, Golden Arbor.” Peli exhales. “To make my case, I shall perform the traditional rite.”
Peli lifts his arms once more. A fresh cloud of orange haze appears. The magic flattens out into a map. As the cloud solidifies, the details of the map come into focus. Turns out, the Primeval is a round continent that’s divided into four slices, pie-style. At the center sits a round space dominated by a golden tree.
“I summon the power of the Avians, Icythians, Reptilians, and Felines,” intones Young Peli. As he speaks each name, a slice of the world lights up. “And most of all, I call upon the energy of my people, the Simians, whose lands hold the Golden Arbor itself.” Now the center of the map brightens as well.
I commit the image to memory. At this point, I stand in Simian territory, which sits at the center of the round continent that makes up the Primeval. Good to know.
Young Peli continues. “I plead to the Golden Arbor and all lands of the Primeval. My deepest desire is to become a Simian wizard and join my brothers and sisters in channeling magic. Please confirm my future in magic by consecrating the peak of my wizard’s staff. With this request, I hereby end the ritual.”
Everyone waits.
Nothing happens.
Sweat beads on Young Peli’s forehead, he swipes the moisture away with the back of his hand. “I know the trouble.” Young Peli looks up to the treetop. “Golden Arbor, I’m unrecognized by Quilliam, our wizard king. All my life, I’ve been forbidden from court. Yet this month, I’ve been summoned to his presence. I can only see him if I take with me the consecrated peak to my wizard’s staff.” Young Peli looks expectantly at the glimmering arbor.
Despite a breeze, there’s no rustle of leaves.
“Please.” Young Peli’s hands curl into fists. “If you bless my wish to serve as a wizard, I shall protect this land with every scrap of magic in my soul.”
At last, the branches of the Golden Arbor sway. A single golden leaf wafts downward, pausing as it touches Young Peli’s carving. Golden light flares from the leaf, encircling the peak of his wizard’s staff. Magic and energy pulse through the air before the golden leaf vanishes.
Young Peli bows his head. “Thank you, Golden Arbor. I welcome the approval.”
Nora elbows him gently. “Told you so.”
Orange haze appears on the ground. More magic. The concentration grows heavier until I’m encircled in a haze of power.
Peli’s spell must be ending.
Only it doesn’t.
Instead of orange haze, I become engulfed in white flames, a blaze that surrounds me but doesn’t burn. Angelfire. I see this every time I ignite my baculum sword.
Familiar magic, but it has nothing to do with Peli’s spell.
Who’s behind this new casting?
14
Lincoln
When the white fire vanishes, I find myself standing on the edge of a lush green forest. Trees buckle and sway with the breeze. Stars swirl overhead, the many tiny blinking bodies speeding in coordinated waves. I’ve seen paintings by the human named Vincent Van Gogh. This scene looks like one of his creations brought to life.
Some part of me screams that this scene should be strange and overwhelming. I brace my stance, waiting for adrenaline to kick in.
That isn’t what happens. My breathing slows. If anything, my new surroundings soothe me.
I scan the great expanse of forest before me. About a half-mile ahead, a thin tendril of blue smoke curls up toward the skies.
A memory appears. After my battle training with Rufus, I’d felt a larger and invisible threat looming against me and Myla. At the time, I pictured a forest where smoke curled in the distance, yet I was uncertain if a larger fire would follow.
Now, some kind of magic creates that very a scene.
It can’t be coincidence.
A voice echoes through the air. “I soak in power from Peli and his world. Primeval magic works differently in the after-realms. When I’ve taken in enough energy, I will appear to you.”
The voice sounds familiar, yet I can’t quite place it.
More white fire bursts up around me. The flames press in, warm as a blanket. When the blaze disappears, I find myself back in my library. I stand in the exact same spot as when the casting began: looking down at the Wictus spell book.
Peli sits upon the tabletop, watching me with his large blue eyes. For a moment, he doesn’t seem like the silly trickster who knocked over shelves in Antrum. This is someone who’s wise and cunning.
“How long have I been gone?” I ask. There’s no need to specify. We both know I’m wondering how long I’ve been gone from this reality.
“Only a few seconds,” says Peli. “What did you think?”
“That was a powerful spell. Why not simply tell me more about the Contagion?”
Peli’s mouth presses into a too-firm line. At the same time, his throat convulses with the effort to speak. I’ve seen this effect in the past.
“You’re under a magical aegis not to speak of this, aren’t you?”
Peli’s throat grinds more furiously. His small hand grips his neck, while his chest heaves. Peli doesn’t pull in a breath.
I’ve seen this before as well. Peli can’t breathe. If he doesn’t stop trying to fight the spell, he could hurt himself.
“Don’t try to answer. When you’re ready to share more, simply take me to your past.”
Peli sucks in a rough breath. “Thank you.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Peli hops about the tabletop while making ooo-ooo noises. The glimmer of the other Peli has vanished.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Ooo-ooo.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. After seeing the Primeval, why send me to a forest?”
Peli falls still. “I didn’t.”
“Ah, my mistake.” I’d suspected this, considering the change in magic. Good to have Peli confirm things, though.
“Many confuse jungles and forests,” says Peli. “You need to get out more.”
I’d mention my skills as a hunter, but Peli seems to accept the situation as is. Somehow, I suspect that news of another magic user tagging onto Peli’s spells would make things more confusing, not less.
Best to change the topic.
“Thank you for showing me the Primeval.”
“You’ve much more to learn if you’re to protect your people while helping me save mine.”
“That raises a good point. You’ve some plan with Aldred, and my guess is that there’s no aegis against chatting about that.”
“No, there is not,” replies Peli. “Which is why you must rest, my friend.”
Peli lifts his hands. A whirl of orange magic appears between his open palms while sending odd shadows across his rounded features.
Peli exhales a long breath. The exhale sends his magic spinning toward me. As the orange mist touches my chest, my head turns fuzzy with the need for sleep.
Seconds later, I pass out.
15
Myla
What a crap day. I need Demon Bars and sleep. In that order.
With that thought in mind, I rush through the Ryder mansion at double speed. If I were a cartoon, fluffy dust clouds would follow behind me. Soon I step out the mansion’s front door. A limo awaits.
Hmm. Not sure how I feel about that.
Don’t get me wrong. For the first weeks after I became the Great Scala, the limo situation was fun. But now? I’d really rather drive myself, thank you very much. Mostly because—if I’m being totally honest—it helps me let off steam. Professional drivers are totally civil and blah. I’m both a demon and nineteen. Driving like a banshee goes with the territory.
Sadly, my own beloved nasty mobile, the lovely station wagon Betsy, is back at my parents place.
Limo, here I come.
I slide onto the back seat. In no time, I’m at my parents place in Upper Purgatory. Basically, if a haunted gothic mansion got busy with something out of Star Wars, then the resulting bastard baby house would be my parents’ mansion. This is what happens when ghouls design things.
Needless to say, I plan to move out ASAP. It’s on the list, too. Only unlike saffronia, this is a top ten item.
For now, I hang out in the more space-shippy parts of the mansion and avoid the basement, which is scary as fuck. Another nicer part is my parents’ office. That’s where I head once I get home. It’s a cozy spot with wooden furniture and lots of wall space for Dad to tack up battle plans.
Not that we’re at war. My father was General of the angels. Some habits die hard.
When I step in, I find my parents sitting at a small square table. Stacks of paper lie scattered across the top. Both grin as I approach. As always, Mom looks like an older version of me. I’m talking curvy figure, dragonscale tail, and auburn hair. For his part, Dad wears a gray suit and Mister Suave vibe. He has cocoa skin, bright blue eyes, and a jawline so sharp it could cut day-old rump roast (which the ghouls served at Purgatory High and is not unlike eating steel wool with gravy.)
My fam and I say our hellos and share kisses. Once the niceties are over with, I head right for the trouble zone. My conversation with Cissy still bugs me, big time.
“What do you think of this Purgatory Path?” I ask. “It’s all over the papers.”
“We quasis can be rather bossy,” says Mom. “I’ve been hearing rumblings about this sort of thing for a while now. Nothing to worry about. Everything is perfectly fine.”
Here’s what I think. Fine is when you get a run in your pantyhose but it happens by your butt where no one can see. Fine is when you step in just a little bit of dog poop with a nice stretch
of grass nearby to wipe off the nastiness. Fine is when you order diet soda and they add too much ice… but who cares because it’s free refills.
All that is fine. Me being forced to alter my entire personality? That’s not fine. That’s a perfect disaster.
I take a seat at the table. “Be honest with me. Do I really need to change?”
“You’re wonderful just as you are,” says Dad. He emphasizes the point with one of his million-watt grins. “The rest of the world doesn’t matter. In fact, I’ve half a mind to get on Purgatory Live and tell the quasi population what I really think.”
I shoot Dad a thumbs up. “I like this plan.”
Mom shakes her head. “Xav, we have six new soul processing bills before the senate. We can’t get the administration involved in this Purgatory Path scandal.”
My eyes widen. “It’s a scandal?”
“Just a little one,” says Dad. “Everything will be perfectly fine.”
There are those two words again. Perfectly fine. And I can’t help noticing how Dad isn’t insisting on the Purgatory Live idea any more. Not that I want my parents to their risk soul processing bills. If Dad went on TV—and then an innocent went to Hell because the bills didn’t pass quickly enough— then I’d never forgive myself. Still, I can’t help feeling a little mopey about the whole situation.
“We’ve other matters to discuss.” Mom fixes me with what I call her Mom-idential stare. It combines an I run Purgatory vibe with a clear undercurrent of maternal panic. “We’ve seen the news. The Trials of Acca take place on Friday. Your father and I are worried about you.”
I sniff. “Remember when I got chucked into the Arena for the first time? That was scary. This is a total meh.”
My parents share a long look and an exhale. “Good to hear,” says Mom. “Because your father and I planned a week-long Purgatory press tour, starting tomorrow. We want to drum up support for these bills.”
“That’s a good idea.” I force a smile. After all, it really is a good idea. So why do I feel like I’m six years old again and someone just cancelled my birthday party? Not that my parents need to be standing on the sidelines while I go through some big nothing like the Trials of Acca.
Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3) Page 6
