by J. P. Rice
These assholes could take a spin with me, but they weren’t getting my friend. Perhaps I could kill the damned Huntress once and for all. I readied my magic and felt it bubbling under my skin as I continued down the hill.
A shrill voice cut through the freezing night, “Prepared to turn yourself in?”
Within the blink of an eye, the Huntress and three associates emerged from behind a tree trunk. I tried sizing up her help as the three men branched out, attempting to surround me. My eyes darted back and forth and I sniffed the air to see if they possessed magic.
The three men were dressed in black skintight suits with connected hoods. It resembled an Olympic skier’s outfit and only left their eyes, noses and mouths visible.
I smelled an herbaceous scent, and quickly narrowed it down to a member of the mint family. Basil. An Italian hit squad?
Practitioners used basil in a lot of fire spells, and I noticed the men’s hands were glowing red. I put my hand behind my back and conjured an invisible sword, as the men maneuvered around to keep me surrounded. I felt the grip in my hand and twisted my wrist, turning the blade, so I could slice the gentleman on my right in half.
I was about to unleash a mighty stroke of the sword when I caught a flash of silver out of my peripheral and turned naturally to check it out. As soon as I realized it was the barrel of a gun, the Huntress pulled the trigger from point-blank range.
I dropped the sword and prepared the dodge the shot, but it was already too late. A purple projectile exited the barrel and raced toward my heart. My muscles tensed as the pellet hit my chest and splattered purple paint all over my black leather jacket.
I looked down as my hand started to disappear and I got woozy. My mental faculties became clouded, and I felt a tremendous amount of pressure on my skull. Nauseated, I tried to fight off the cement mixer feeling in my stomach, when the world went dark.
My eyelids blinked open, revealing a dark cave. In a flash, the Bounty Huntress began to materialize in front of me. I turned to my right and located a small opening in the wall.
“Don’t even try it,” warned the Huntress. “The Lair of Justice is well protected. It’s over, bitch. I’ll collect my due. You will die while those you stole from watch your demise. Everyone is happy.”
I said nothing. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” she asked and cackled. “Do you know where that saying originated?”
“Don’t care.”
Her insult reminded me of my last act on earth. Saving Owen. At least I’d ended things on a noble note.
The Huntress whistled and said, “You’re going to hear it anyway. In ancient Egypt, they would cut out the tongues of the blasphemers and feed them to cats. Perhaps we should do the same for you. Make yourself comfortable. You aren’t going anywhere.”
I knew nobody escaped from the Lair. I knew they decided the outcome of the trials before they even started. They had never deemed anyone innocent. Death was the only punishment served down here. The magic council was more of a hit squad than a judicial body.
The Huntress grabbed a torch from the wall and led me into another empty room carved out of stone with a post stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Two men in black robes entered the room and moved me in front of the post. They tied my ankles first, then pulled my hands around the post, tying my wrists behind me. The Huntress stood with her arms crossed over her chest and sported the smuggest look I’d ever seen. Even her stupid purple hair was smirking at me.
She waited until the men finished and left the room. As soon as the last man disappeared into the darkness, she rejoiced, “What a great day this is.”
I warned, “The Celtic Gods won’t be happy about this.”
She scoffed, “Please. You’re not part of the pantheon. In fact, I’ve heard rumors that the Gods don’t even like you.”
I tried to scare her. “Well, you’ve heard wrong. Example A. Machu Picchu. In fact, they are mulling me as an option to take Maeve’s spot in the pantheon. They won’t take this lightly. They will go to the other pantheons and shut you guys down. None of the Gods really care about your little secret police service. The script would be flipped, and you would be the one on the run.”
“They wouldn’t shut us down. The J.J.E. wouldn’t let that happen. I’m not letting you mess with my head. I’m getting my paperwork in order so I can collect the second they kill you.” She snagged the torch off the wall and squeezed sideways through a small opening in the wall.
As the light faded to black, they left me alone with my thoughts in the darkest room I’d ever been in. The lingering stench of death hung heavy in the thick air. Why hadn’t I thought about her following me out to Seattle? Why didn’t I stay in Hilton Head? Why didn’t that spell work on Owen?
The putrid stench of body odor attacked my nose and I knew it could only mean one wizard. It was hundreds, nay, thousands of years of built-up funk. A specific brand of cumin-dashed pungency that made one go cross-eyed.
The J.J.E.
Firelight illuminated one of the narrow openings in the wall. A hairy arm holding a torch emerged first, followed by a potbelly covered in burgundy robes. A plump face appeared from behind the flames. Reddened cheeks merged into a beard as white as freshly driven snow that fell to the middle of his chest.
Silver hair parted directly in the center cascaded down his back, stopping around his hips. He smiled widely as he eyeballed me creepily.
He tapped his chin with his sausage-shaped index finger as words spilled from his crusty, white lips, “My, my, what have we here? One of the top outlaws on our wanted list. Worry not. You shall receive a fair trial. As Judge, Jury and Executioner, you have my word on that.” His smile melted into his natural frown.
“I should have let you die back at Machu Picchu,” I said.
His angry scowl continued taking form, his cheeks and forehead wrinkling deeply. “Well, you didn’t. Machu Picchu proved one thing to me and the Gods. You were and still are a great danger to everyone including yourself.”
“And yet, I still saved your sorry ass. Why are you trying to piss off the Celtic Gods?” I asked, hoping to spook him.
He gazed around the room, his wandering moss green eyes finally focusing on me. “Oh, I hardly think they shall be offended. I’m fighting the war they are afraid to fight. Likely, they’ll thank me.”
I knew it would be hard to rile up one of the most powerful wizards of all-time, but his calm demeanor put me even more on edge. I said, “I seriously doubt that. And you aren’t fighting a war. You’re taking out your frustrations because I...”
Merlin cut me off. “A wise woman minds her lips and tongue. Regarding all occasions and situations. Wasted advice seeing as you’ll be dead soon.”
I chuckled. “I thought you said I was guaranteed a fair trial.”
“You are. As we converse, my servants are mounting their hides, readying to bring back the witnesses. Most of your victims will be here soon enough. One of them actually works for us. You’ve been accused by more than twenty beings. All the same story. The exact same story and the exact same scars.”
He tapped his bearded chin inquisitively and squinted. “But you say, you didn’t do it. If that were true, your arm would bear not a single scar. Shall we have a see?”
I remained silent, stewing. I didn’t have a defense. They had tied me against the post in all my clothes, including my leather jacket. In their haste, they hadn’t even confiscated my phone and wallet. Still, they would eventually expose my scars for all to see.
“Aahh. Slapped by that cruel mistress known as silence,” he said and paced in front of me. “Oh, what could have been if it weren’t for creatures like you. Magic was only to be used for pure purposes. We were in the midst of striking a deal with the demons to stop using dark forces. Then, Machu Picchu happened. And the never-ending war of magic continued. Dark versus pure.”
Merlin explained it as if I hadn’t been there and saved his ass fro
m being squashed. My father and a slew of Gods from various pantheons were trying to strike a peace deal between the Seelie and Unseelie courts when all hell had broken loose.
He cleared his throat and continued, “I, of course, championed the elimination of dark magic. I put together the original force to combat it.”
I said, “There he is. The high and mighty Merlin. Thanks for the lecture, but you should just go ahead and kill me.”
“I wasn’t quite finished,” he told me as he stared into the flames of his torch. “Pure magic passes through the worthy entity, leaving no everlasting effects. Dark magic on the other hand, latches onto you, polluting your soul for all of eternity. When consumed in abundance, the results can be lethal.”
“Whatever, you fooking hypocrite.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, eyes blinking rapidly.
“Oh, please. You look down on me, but you have demon blood running through your system too.”
Merlin exploded, his baritone voice bouncing off the walls of the small room, “Which is precisely why I understand it to be so dangerous. I fight against the darkness every day.”
He marched up to me with the torch next to his head. His sour, yeasty breath hit me as he opened his mouth and said, “So I am certain that the amount of dark blood coursing through your veins and arteries is an outright danger to society. You can’t control it. I’ve seen and heard the stories of your destruction.”
He was right. I wanted to be good. It just wasn’t in my blood.
I stretched my neck and told him, “Just kill me already. Enough of the song and dance. Then you can run to my mother and tell her all about it.” Brighid oversaw the Supreme Magic Council.
Merlin stared at me coldly, the glossy whites of his eyes reflecting the rippling fire. “But that would be too easy. No. I’m afraid you will have to face the very creatures you stole from. You will be reminded of how awful you truly are before your ultimate demise. Then, your soul will have all of eternity to think about your actions in this life.” He belly laughed demonically.
I wouldn’t grovel before Merlin. It wouldn’t do any good. I stood there tied to a post with my muscles aching and my lips sealed.
Merlin stared at me proudly, like a fourteen-point buck’s head mounted to the wall. I was a trophy to him. He turned on his heel and glided toward the opening in the wall. For an obese man, he was nimble on his feet. The torch disappeared along with Merlin’s robed body, leaving me in darkness again.
Fook that Santa Claus lookalike. Merlin could go straight to hell.
Even though I’d wronged my victims, I couldn’t let them get into my head. I didn’t want to languish as a tortured soul, questioning my worldly motives endlessly. That was exactly what Merlin wanted. I couldn’t let them break me. I had to stand strong and take my medicine.
I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do.
Flickering orange flames appeared through the opening in the wall and a big purple afro followed. What did this bitch want?
As the Huntress entered the room, I noticed a tiny figure behind her. She put her hand on his bald head and guided him close to her side. The faint fire exposed a tiny man in dirt-stained white robes. As I focused on his facial features, my heart nearly stopped.
The Bounty Huntress said, “Judging by your bug eyes, I have a feeling you know this person. Haruki hasn’t forgotten you. That’s for sure. He was your first victim, I believe. The Lightning Mage was looked at as a God among his people because of his magical abilities. He planned to use his gifts to stop the brutal war being waged in Japan. His power was unmatched.”
I interrupted her, “If he was so powerful, how could a normal person like me defeat them? It beggars belief, no?”
The Huntress clenched her fist and took a step toward me. “How dare you? You know damn well the Morrigan helped you with your first few victims. Yet you stand here acting helpless. She filled you with more dark blood than you could ever control. And still you consider her your friend. She made you into a ticking time bomb, don’t you see?”
I responded, “You talk a lot of shit down here. But when you saw her on the street, you ran like a coward.”
“That will be enough out of you,” she said, taking two more purposeful steps toward me. She reached across her body and backhanded me on my left cheek.
My ears rang in pain as she continued, “When you stole Haruki’s magic, you stole his identity. He went from being considered a deity to being shunned by his own followers. If you were wondering why he hasn’t said a word, it is because he stopped talking after you raped him of his magic. Now he is the sad, pathetic mess you see before you.”
She flexed the fingers of her right hand as if she were debating whether to slap me or punch me. “He never eats, barely sleeps and stares off into the distance wondering what could have been. Look at him. Look at your destruction. Own it. Think about it.”
I couldn’t think about it. I had to remain resolute in my stance. How could I feel bad for someone else when no one gave a shit about me? No. I couldn’t allow my head to go there.
I stared at the wrinkled mess of a man, his face so lined that his dark eyes were barely visible. I remembered the day I had met him. He’d stood with his chin raised, a sign of great pride. Now his head sagged and he stared despondently at the ground.
Before I felt any sympathy for him, I turned away, but the thoughts wouldn’t dissipate. I’d lured Haruki to the lake where the Morrigan was lying in wait. She’d captured him rather easily, but the torture had taken weeks before he’d agreed to give up his magic.
The Morrigan had convinced me that the process was normal in the world of the supernatural. I was so caught up with the prospect of having magic that I hadn’t stopped for a second to consider the consequences. It had taken about fifty years to realize my actions were wrong.
The Huntress went on about Haruki’s struggles in life, occasionally stopping to assault me. I collected a mouthful of blood as she stared at me with a smug look of satisfaction glued to her face. I parted my lips and spat out the liquid, drenching the Huntress’s face in blood. She gasped and stepped back, wiping her cheeks with the sleeves of her elk skin jacket.
“You’ll pay for that,” she promised and grabbed Haruki by the shoulder. She led him out of the room, once again leaving me in darkness.
Another person holding a torch entered the room. I waited for my watering eyes to settle from the sudden rush of light. A short man with a ragged yellow beard to his belly, dull blue eyes and a wind burnt face walked toward me with a stool in his hands. It was the druid named Finchley.
He smiled, and I noticed several missing teeth. The short druid with close-cropped blond hair that bordered on gray walked right up to me. “My, my, my, how the tables have turned. Remember when you had me tied to a post? Remember that? When you and the Morrigan took turns whipping me into submission. Remember those good times? Because I surely haven’t forgotten.”
He turned around and removed his hemp shirt, exposing a back full of grotesque scars. I turned away and closed my eyes.
“Look at it,” he screamed. “Look at your work. Or I will burn you at that stake.”
My neck finally acquiesced, and I faced forward and opened my eyes. He made me look at his mangled body for a solid minute before he put his shirt back on.
Finchley planted the torch in the ground next to him and looked up at me as he spoke, “It had taken me nearly four hundred years to learn that magic. And then in the blink of an eye...” He blew into his open hand. “Just like that. It was gone forever. Never to return.”
It was getting harder not to respond, but this was the best way. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t affecting me emotionally, but I had to fight it off. A confused soul was destined to wander aimlessly, searching for answers that would never come. It was much better to die with peaceful thoughts and a clear mind. My soul would thank me later for that.
The druid extracted two items from his back
pants pockets and approached me. As he neared, I saw he was holding two smaller torches. He dug into the crotch of the pants and produced a ball of string. Gross.
Finchley pushed the step stool next to me and tied the two torches to the wide rectangular post on either side of my head. He stepped down and reached into his back pocket, producing a little pack of wooden matches. He struck a match and climbed back up on the stool. He ignited the torches and blew out the match.
If I turned my head in either direction, the flames would ignite my hair. As the warmth kissed my cheeks, it forced to look straight ahead. In silence, the druid began to disrobe. He stepped out of the hemp pants and stood nude, scars painting most of his body. Apparently, he wanted me to see more than just his back.
“All of these are from you.” He pointed to a hideous purple one near his hip. “Remember that one. When you bit and tore away a chunk of my flesh. Never truly healed. Your lips and mouth forever stained with my blood.”
Finchley snapped, “Huh? Do you? Or have you forgotten about my pain and suffering?” He softened his tone. “Sure. You got what you wanted and moved on.”
He spun around, and I fought away tears as I stared at his mangled back with its intersecting avenues of scars. It had been a blur at the time and I hadn’t thought about the aftermath or fallout. I’d felt jilted by life with the disappearance of my husband and I wanted to acquire as much magic as I could by any means necessary.
I closed my eyes and hoped it would all go away.
“You close your eyes, I’ll set your pretty red hair ablaze,” he threatened and screamed, “Look at what you have done. I battle chronic pain in nearly every part of my body. All due to you.”
Finchley softened his tone as tears built up in his eyes. “I pray nearly every day for the Gods to put me out of my misery. Yet the Gods are cruel, though not nearly as cruel as you. Of all the people in all the worlds? Why me?”
I didn’t have an answer. The Morrigan and I operated randomly, leaving it up to chance. I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do.
