The scarred man pulled his coat in closer around him as the night’s chill tried to seep in. In the distance, he could hear the roar of the ocean’s tide sweeping in, and about him, he could feel the cold wind. In a way, it was amusing, that he was being forced to face such conditions in the height of summer. Just yesterday, when he had slept in one of the guest rooms of his robed associate, he’d done so with the window open and only a thin bedsheet covering his form, and even then he had felt hot. Now, he was all but shivering as the cold seemed to try to leech his heat away.
Still this spot, upon the southeastern shores of Greenland, had been where the immortal he had petitioned had chosen to meet him. In truth, the scarred man had no idea why she had chosen such an inhospitable place to hear his proposal, but he supposed he should be glad that his request had been answered at all. However, a spot so far from the nearest mortal settlements was disconcerting, especially given her reputation for ruthlessness. If he was unable to persuade her to aid them then she might simply kill him to ensure he couldn’t reveal where he’d met her to anyone else.
Not for the first time he asked himself why he was doing this, why he was gambling not simply with the possibility of his death, but with the chance of a living death with a broken mind, or even an undeath of torment for his eternal soul. However, the simple fact was that he had no choice!
He and his associate had failed their patron, and the one they served was not a forgiving or understanding god. At first, he had believed that he and his robed host only had a few days to work with. But then they had received word from their god, telling them of their fate. Their position in his good graces was precarious, and they knew it. As of yet, their patron had inflicted no punishment upon them, but that uncertainty was a subtle form of torture by itself.
There had been moments when he and his ally had considered giving up their plan as too dangerous. However, their patron was not known for his forgiveness of failure. They needed some way to win their way back into his good graces, so they needed to do more than just wait for him to come to a decision. They needed to demonstrate their value, that they should not just be cast aside for a single failure.
Another chilling gust of wind sliced through the air and drew him from his thoughts. The scarred man was currently sheltering amidst a small hollow formed by several large boulders leaning up against each other, but it was far from an ideal shelter. Tugging at his hood in an attempt to get some more coverage over his face the mage looked about once more, struggling to see any hint of the immortal he was here to meet amidst the gloom of early night.
“So, you came, I am uncertain if I should be amused or irritated.”
She was suddenly just there, no sign of approach, no hint of movement. There had been a sound vaguely like the fluttering of many wings and when he looked back, there she was, as though she had been standing there the whole time. Her sudden appearance took him completely off guard and sent him stumbling back a couple of paces before he recovered his composure.
“Tell me,” Her voice was soft and melodious, yet still reached him despite the wind blowing about them. “After the Black Sun, I found you and offered to take you into my service. It was a good offer, one that many mortals would have begged for upon bent knees. Sworn fealty and service in exchange for power and protection was a fair bargain, but you chose to follow another. Still, here we find ourselves. Does this mean that your heart has changed, and you seek a new patron?”
The woman who stood before him was not tall. Still, despite her rather average stature, there was something about her that made her seem to loom over him. It was a presence that extended beyond the simple reach of her body, leaving him feeling smaller and stunted. There were also small things about her, things that set the hairs on his neck on end. There was how her hair didn’t move in time with the wind, or how her breath did not produce mist in the cold as his did. How she showed no sign of feeling the chill, or how she seemed to stand so easily upon loose sand and pebbles making no sound.
For a moment he wondered if he was speaking to an illusion. But then she turned, and he felt the air move with her, even smelt the faint scent of apple blossoms that came from her on the air currents. She was here, it was just that the elements seemed unable to touch her as they did him, and that strangeness at once added to and tainted her beauty.
Her skin had a pale quality to it that was pristine whereas his own was pallid and unhealthy. Her dark chestnut brown hair fell down her back in a wave that was both thick and lustrous, while pine green eyes gazed out from a face meant to break hearts. Even her body was near perfect, that of an aristocratic beauty that was still every bit as compelling as it might have been centuries ago.
The dress she wore was of an old design from the Dark Ages of Europe. One made out of dark silks and satins, the edges trimmed in gold and clinging close to the contours of her body in a way that showed nothing but hinted at much. And her fingers were adorned with many bejewelled rings that sparkled even in the dim light of the rising moon. Strangely she also wore metal armour upon her shoulders, two elaborately shaped pieces that covered her silk-clad shoulders and the outer part of her upper arms. Each piece had the image of a tree inlaid upon it. The tree on her right shoulder was in full bloom of summer, with leaves and fruit upon it, while the left one showed only a bare tree in winter.
Still, for all her striking appearance he could not allow himself to be distracted. She had questioned his reason for this meeting, and if he failed to answer then he might lose more than just this opportunity.
“I know that you found another to serve as your teacher, and I have a strong notion as to who they are. That one is protective of what is his, and he is not one that I wish to cross. Seeking to lure away his servants would lead to a feud between us, and though you are of some interest you are not so valuable that I would set myself against him in order to secure you to my service.”
“On that, you needn’t worry,” He ventured. “I do not seek to change allegiance, rather I’m looking to see if we can make a deal, one that would be to both our advantages.”
This was going to be the most difficult part of negotiations, namely getting her to agree to even listen to him. The scarred man was well aware of how weak his position was. He had almost nothing that she would want, but he was in dire, if not desperate, need of her aid. She could refuse him and lose nothing, whereas if he was refused then all that would be left to him was the dubious mercy of his patron.
“Oh? So, you have called me out here to discuss a deal as though I were some vendor at a street market?” Her voice was no longer as cordial as it once was, now there was an edge to it. “A brave choice. Foolish, but brave. Who do you think I am, some errant imp to come running at your word if a pact is suggested? Do you think me so hungry for the scraps you can offer that my attention can be so carelessly called upon?”
It was all he could do to keep from visibly shaking. Everything about her suddenly seemed to scream of a barely restrained threat! Her stance seemed deadlier, her garments were less elegant and more like subtle armour, even the very shadows around her seemed to darken and conceal the area about her, hiding her movements and any allies she might call upon. Suddenly he was all too aware that while he might be a large fish in his pond, the woman before him was a shark, one made so by her own efforts and cunning.
Ignoring the way the dampness of the ground began to seep into his clothing, the scarred mage went down to one knee before the immortal.
“Never would I be so foolish as to underestimate you so!” He declared, forcing as much sincerity and respect into his words as he could. “As you have said, I have already chosen my master, but even so I would be a fool indeed if I were to disregard your wisdom and power!”
“Sweet words, but you had best have more than that to offer, else you shall learn that your master is not the only one you need fear.”
Okay, this was it! Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small metal and glass jar, one so small and flat that it might have been mistaken for a pair of glass coins stacked upon each other. Inside was a small quantity of red liquid, held in a state of freshness by a carefully crafted preservative spell. As though he were offering a crown to a king, he held it out to the immortal before him.
“And what is this? Do you think some trace of blood shall be sufficient to buy my favour?”
Her words were still grim, but he noted that she no longer felt quite so threatening. He knew it was only a small reprieve. He was a naked child before a starving lioness. But for the moment at least he had her interest.
“If you will allow me a moment to explain, then perhaps you may see that I bring more than mere empty words.”
There was a dreadful moment where she just looked at him, letting the tension build, and then she gave a single nod of her head. It was all he could do not to let his breath escape him in an explosion of relief. The first hurdle had been passed, now he just had to keep going and hope that his estimates of what she wanted and what she was willing to bargain with were on target.
“Some time ago my new patron set a task to myself and an . . . associate. We were charged to take custody of a newly found demigod, one that had yet to Awaken, but one who it was thought would come to possess considerable power. Other factions had an interest in him though, and so we lost track of him as his new guard hid him away. We were able to locate him though, and dispatched a force of servitors to secure him. Unfortunately, things did not go according to plan, and his assigned guardian was more potent than anticipated. Our forces were lost, and the portal we used was destroyed, leaving the demigod far out of our reach.
“Still, our efforts were not without some reward. We were able to take some of the demigod’s blood, enough for four of those small vials, one of which we now offer to you as a gift, a sign of goodwill. We hope that you shall find it enough to your taste that you shall look upon our further entreaties with favour.”
By the time he had finished speaking the immortal was looking at the scarred man with a bemused mixture of irritation and disbelief.
“Truly? This is the best that you can offer? This is the best scheme you could hatch? The blood of a demigod is of use, but you already admit that this is but one of several, a truth that decreases its worth! If this is some sad attempt at humour to stoke some sense of pity in my heart, then you are failing most spectacularly.”
He tried, he truly did try to maintain control, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep himself from convulsively swallowing as he felt fear build in his throat. Taking a deep breath he soldiered on, hoping that he wasn’t damning himself with his own words.
“Any other time you would be correct, but this demigod, he’s different!”
“Oh? And how can you be so sure? What makes you so certain that this tiny portion of his blood is valuable enough to warrant my attention, much less my gratitude?”
Alright, here went his best stab at getting this to work.
“Because when this demigod Awakened, the flare of his power illuminated half the world.”
He could see it, the moment when the pieces slid into place and she understood what it was he was offering. This had been a major gamble upon their part, as that blood was their best hope for gaining mitigation for any punishment their patron might place upon them for their failure. But it was also their best chance to curry favour with the immortal, and such favour would open up many paths that would otherwise be closed to them, paths that could lead to the salvation they sought.
“I see . . .” Her voice was softer now, more contemplative. “This is indeed a valuable prize that you offer to me and not one that I would accept ungraciously.”
As she spoke, she extended a hand and delicately picked up the tiny vial. For a moment she held it between her fingers, studying it with an almost frightening intensity, and in the next instant, it had vanished into the voluminous darkness of her sleeve as her eyes returned to the scarred man still kneeling before her.
“Very well, this is a suitable enough tribute that I am willing to hear you out, explain your notion to me.”
“Though we failed in our primary mission we were able to retrieve the blood, however, that is not enough on its own,” The scarred man remained kneeling as he explained. “We had thought that the price of our failure would be swiftly exacted upon us, but when we were offered a reprieve, we decided to use that time to secure some further means to placate our patron.”
The scarred man knew that he was being perhaps overly formal in his speech, but the immortal before him had once lived in court, and he had no desire to accidentally offend her by being coarse as he begged for her help.
“However, the more mundane lines of supply that we have access to cannot provide what we need, thus we sought to entreat you for aid!”
“And what do you expect from me? What is it that you would come to me in search of?”
The kneeling magic user paused for a moment, martialling his nerve as he prepared for what was to come.
“Power, that is what our patron seeks, and that is what we hope to provide. Artefacts, weapons, spells, any sort of resource, so long as it is powerful enough to earn his favour!”
The immortal’s head tilted slightly to the side, her gaze staring down at him as her eyes seemed to disappear into the shadows. For a moment it was as though she were wearing a veil that obscured her features.
“Marcello. Marcello, Marcello, Marcello . . . It is truly a shame that you did not choose to accept my offer. Oh, the sorcerer I could have made of you . . .” She shook her head as though to dislodge a bothersome fly, then focused back upon the scarred man. “I think there are some items in my possession that would be able to meet your needs, things that your god would be eager to possess in turn. Were you to give them to him you would be all but assured to return to his favour, of that much I am certain. I am also willing to allow you to buy them if you can meet the price. The question is, whether you will be able, or even willing, to.”
The scarred man heard her, but despite the importance of the situation he was having trouble concentrating past his shock.
His name, she knew his name!
Names had power, this was one of the most basic rules of magic in the world. Just how much power such names possessed varied depending upon the school being used, the entities involved, and how that name had been gained in the first place. He was tied to several different schools, and in the circles he travelled giving his name out willingly let others place a noose around his neck. He’d been smart about it though, keeping his name hidden with guile and magic, despite some of the tempting offers he’d received from some of the spirits and demons he’d dealt with.
But this immortal, she had just spoken it so easily, so casually, uncaring of the magical law that should have prevented her from being able to voice it!
“Wh-what do you want?”
As soon as the words escaped him he cursed himself, furious that he’d let her rattle him like that. Still, it had been masterful, a subtle but profound display of power, one that had thrown him off when he needed to keep his wits about him.
“First, let us determine what it is that you want, then we can begin . . . bargaining.”
Her tone was lighter now, almost friendly, but even so, it made Marcello feel as though he were a fat mouse that had suddenly been found by a well-fed cat. The cat might well be in favour of ‘playing’ with him and then saving him for a meal later.
“I can conceive of a number of my possessions that I would be willing to part with, were you to repay me suitably. The question remains as to which you wish for, and if you and your associate are willing to pay the price for them.”
She made a simple gesture with her hand and suddenly the wind just died around him, and a globe of light appeared above them, illuminating the area as though it were day.
“Such choices should not be made in such an . . . uncomfortable environment. I trust this shall make it a less onerous task?”
It was another display of power, a simple one that was once again meant to show how far above him she was. Holding back the wind, calling light, driving back the cold, all of these were within his abilities. But to do them all at once, with only a single gesture? That was far beyond his control or finesse. As though to highlight his thoughts, a dot of light formed between them, a dot that then lengthened into a line which in turn rotated to become a portal. Through it he could see a dimly lit chamber, though the light grew brighter as a lamp shone down on a plinth that stood just before the portal. Upon it rested what looked to be a beautiful stone carving of a wing larger than a man.
“There are the petrified remains of the wing of Uriel, lost in battle more than three millennia ago. Though the flesh and feathers have become stone there is still power in it, power I’m certain your patron would be able to put to use.”
Control, he had to maintain control! He might not have devoted himself to learning about the hierarchy of the angels of Heaven, but he knew that Uriel was a peer to Michael, and he was one of the greatest champions of the High Heavens. Wings were important to angels, and this, one that had been lost in battle but remained intact, was something the god he served would be interested in.
“Or perhaps this might be more to his liking.”
Another portal opened, the view through it almost identical to the other. But instead of the plinth being occupied by a stone wing, this one held several rolled-up scrolls, their papyrus yellowed by age and held closed by fraying twine.
“The only copies of the final prophecies of the first Oracle of Delphi, written by the hand of Apollo’s eldest daughter. They remain unread, and I am willing to swear an oath upon the waters of the river Styx on their authenticity. Perhaps their knowledge of the future would be of interest to your master?”
The scarred magic user felt his mouth go dry as he stared at the ancient scrolls, his fingers involuntarily twitching at the thought of the secrets they might contain. The first Oracle of Delphi had been the start of a line of women to hold the post, but she had cemented the reputation of the seers of Delphi due to her prophecies having been so accurate and far-reaching. The gods themselves had respected her, possibly even feared her grasp upon the future. These copies of her final and unknown predictions . . . yes, his patron would indeed be interested in them.
Another portal, another plinth, this time larger than the others as it held upon it a distorted and misshapen skull the size of a small car. In appearance it was vaguely human-like but looked as though the skull had somehow been warped, one side dented in, while the other bulged out, one eye socket half closed, and the jaw crooked.
“This is the skull of the Jotnar king Utgarda-Loki. Once he was one of the greatest sorcerers in Asgardian lore, so mighty that he deceived the likes of Loki and confounded the might of Thor. He kept his kingdom independent of the Aesir for generations, but in time his hubris overcame his caution and he ran afoul of the thunder god and paid the final price. Still, he was an immortal giant, and the potency of his magic was so great that it seeped into his very bones. Another worthy prize to those that know how to use it.”
Alright, that might not be as monumental as the first two, but it was still the sort of prize that would have had the sort of sums normally associated with national debts being thrown around if it were to be on sale in the right quarters. Also, the knowledge that could be extracted from it, the spells that could fool even cunning deities like Loki, would be of worth to his patron.
Another light, another open portal, another plinth. Strangely, this one was shaped into a bowl and seemed to contain nothing but a few flattened shards of stone. His confusion as to what he was looking at must have been plain to see because the immortal spoke once more.
“Though not much to look at those remains are not to be taken lightly. Those shards are all that remain of the magical stone that the stone monkey who would one day be called Sun Wukong hatched from. Empowered by the world and fertilized with every one of the elements the mere shell of that stone possesses remarkable properties. Even one such as myself, one lacking ties to the Orient, can harness the force within them to empower rituals and spells to achieve effects that even Merlin would envy. If your master is interested in a demigod . . . well, these shell fragments are tied to one of the few mortals that attained true divinity.”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
That was true. Even though Marcello was not as familiar with the legends of China as he was with western mythology the tale of the Monkey King was not one he was ignorant of. What made it of particular interest to him and other mortal magic users was that despite all the power he amassed and the remarkable feats he achieved, Sun Wukong had begun his life every bit as mortal as any normal human being. He had certainly been blessed with talent and genius from birth, but all the power and immortality that he had gained had been won through effort, trickery, or outright theft. Among those who had greater insight into the world of the gods, it was well known that the ‘Great Sage Equal to Heaven’ was one of the most powerful known gods. On a par with some of the heads of pantheons in terms of raw strength, and the match of any divine warrior in terms of skill. Anything that could impart even a portion of that famous power was something that any collector of power would value.
Her hand moved again, and all four portals shimmered out of being.
“Well, you have seen some of what I can offer, some of what I have gone to great pains to find and take possession of. Unlike the gods, I was unable to incarnate into this world while the Paths were closed. However, unlike them, I was able to gaze and whisper into the dreams of the easily influenced. I have spent centuries preparing for when I would be able to return, carefully accumulating information and making use of what pawns I could amass. My efforts have yielded much, but I am loath to give any of it up without proper recompense.
“Now, you have seen what I have to offer, do you wish to tell me which you seek? Once you do, I can tell you the price I will exact for it.”
The scarred man felt his thoughts begin to race, chasing about his head as he tried to see all the potential angles to the deals before him. Any one of the artefacts offered would be enough to win both him and his ally back into their patron’s good graces. Yet some of them would do even more, earning his favour enough to secure their position more firmly. They might even gain their patron’s instruction, which could lead to greater power for him and his associate.
Calm down! The first mental step was to rank them, assemble an order of potency. He’d probably be doing a ham-fisted job of it, but he had to use what little he knew to get some sort of balance. So . . . the giant’s skull was probably the least of them in terms of pure value. The next would be the Prophecies, though that was only because their value was rather skewed. They offered priceless knowledge of both the past and the future, but nothing in the way of direct power. That made them something of a gamble, since if the one that read them lacked the power to influence the events they described then all they would do would be to lock them into a fated future.
Lastly was the petrified angel wing and the shards of the magical stone, and in all truth he was unsure of which outranked the other. Either would be a prize for his patron, especially given the nature of the objective he and his associate had failed to secure.
The demigod possessed ties to the Heavens, which was made clear by the fact that a saint had been returned to life to act as his bodyguard. On the other hand that massive display of his Awakening flare had also shown that his power was more . . . mixed than the scarred man would have expected. There had been other essences running through it, a cocktail of powers that combined into something that he didn’t understand.
So . . . should he ask her for the most potent? Any one of the treasures presented to him was worth more than everything he possessed. He could kill himself and have made contracts to sell his magically empowered bones and organs on the black market, along with everything he owned and it wouldn’t come close to the value of the cheapest of them!
He wanted the shards of the egg of stone, but he could only imagine the price she might seek to exact from him for those, so perhaps he might be best served by choosing the skull. Yes, it might be the least of those offered, but with the blood, it might be enough. The secrets of an immortal able to fool the gods . . . that was something of value, not to mention the power that would be inherent to the misshapen bone as well
More doubts, more uncertainty. What price could she ask of him for any of these prizes? How much greater would the price be for the greatest among them?
Wait! There was something to that thought, something that made him pause and reconsider his situation.
How much greater would the price be? That wasn’t the question he should be asking. Rather he should wonder just WHAT the price could be! It was such a simple concept that for a moment he felt his thoughts go blank in the face of it, and then they returned, at breakneck speed.
When he really thought about it, there was no real way that he could afford any of the prizes before him. Be it knowledge, power, resources or connections, nothing he or his ally had access to would be worth any of them. That was why she was tempting him with such treasures. When he’d come to this meeting he’d been hoping to secure something like the golem his associate had possessed. Or maybe some old scrolls of hidden knowledge, or the broken remains of a once powerful treasure. Instead, he was being baited with prizes that would make the mouth of even a god water.
So why was she offering them to him? What did she think he could offer that would be worth even the least of them?
He thought he might have guessed the answer to the first one, but the second he could only speculate upon. She was offering them to him because she wanted something, and she wanted to ensure that he didn’t have the option of refusing her. Perhaps it was something in his possession, or perhaps it was a task she wanted him to perform, but she wanted to ensure that there was no way for him to deny her.
“Are you not going to make your choice? Perhaps these are not grand enough for you?”
The immortal’s amused and slightly mocking words brought him out of his thoughts. He’d been staring at the artefacts in silence for longer than was needed. Still, it had been enough to let him come to some sort of resolution.
“And what is their price?”
“You have yet to choose, once you have selected then I shall tell you their cost.”
“Come now,” he said, hoping that his guess was correct. “No matter which I take, the price shall be the same. So, tell me, what price must I pay for my pick?”
There was a pause and endless collection of seconds where the world stood still as she looked at him and he wondered if he had overplayed his notion. Then, her face broke into a small razor-edged smile.
“Good. I am glad to see that I was not incorrect in my assessment of you. Keep that sharp mind, it shall hopefully be of some use in the future.”
His gamble had paid off, now to find out just what she wanted.
“It is as you surmise, the price is the same for any of them, simply choose the one you want, and pay for it.”
“And what’s the price?”
There was a pause, and in that moment the scarred magic user felt his thoughts race, various possibilities, each more absurd than the last, surfacing in his mind, only to be discarded.
“I intend to steal something, and I want your aid in transporting it afterwards.”
That . . . that was it? What could she possibly be planning to steal that would be worth what she was giving up? And why would she need him? He knew her power, her mastery over magic, for her, it was a simple matter to traverse entire continents in a mere step. If she sought to steal something then it would require the power of a god to stop her, and more skill than most deities could muster, so why . . .
A terrible suspicion began to grow in his thoughts, one he wasn’t pleased to face, but one that made too much sense to ignore.
“You can’t take it yourself, can you? Others will be looking for it, looking for you . . . so you need someone else to transport it . . . I will not betray my patron. You must know this.”
He wanted to make that clear, to leave no doubt as to where his loyalties were rooted, even if that root was held by fear.
“Rest assured, I have no desire to cross the one you serve, that would be entirely more trouble than it would be worth. No, you can let them know of this arrangement if you wish. I have little reason to hide it from them. However, your participation will be . . . assured, regardless of their feelings on the matter. If you renege upon our pact then I have other resources that shall let me complete my objective, but they shall cost me dearly. Be assured that if I am forced to take that route then I shall be sure to make you pay for breaking our agreement, and it will be a long time before our balance is met.”
Well, that was about as subtle as a sword held to your throat, though it still didn’t answer his question. Whatever she wanted him for, it was something she could use another for, but doing so wasn’t cheap. Could the price of doing so be even greater than the prizes she was offering him?
It didn’t make sense! The Scrolls could be exchanged for potent favours, the skull, the feathers, the shards, all of them could be used as sacrifices or reagents to invoke insanely powerful spells! How could anything he could offer possibly be on par with them?!
More and more he was becoming convinced that something was going on here that he couldn’t see, something that was hiding behind the curtain. A part of him just wanted to abandon this deal, to simply call it all off and retreat to his home, to take his chances with his patron’s displeasure! But . . .
Sulphurous oaths boiled at the back of his mind as he began to realize that he didn’t have nearly as much of a choice as he would have wanted. Move forward, that was his only choice! He didn’t like it, but he didn’t see any other options that offered a better path. Besides . . . there was at least some hope. The immortal hadn’t been lying when she said that she wouldn’t want to cross his patron, that was something he knew to be true. So, if she was going to screw him over, there were hopefully limits on how far she could push things. It wasn’t ideal, but it was at least some sort of comfort.
Taking in a deep breath he reached to where one of the portals had been.
“I’ll take the shards then.”
“Ah, I see you choose to take the mightiest that I offer.”
Her voice was amused as she raised an arm to reopen the portal. Beyond it was the same plinth of stone, the shards still resting upon it. There was no mistaking what they were, the power they radiated could have been felt by any mortal off the street. To him, one skilled in mystic divination and discovery, they fairly roared of trapped power waiting to be used.
“If they’re all of the same price then I shall take the best for what I am paying!”
He replied, scooping the shards into a soft bag of velvet that he’d brought in anticipation of having to carry away some fragile prize. In this case, it was largely unneeded though, the shards, though thin as paper, might as well have been inch-thick plates of armour, the power within them overcoming their physical frailty.
“So, you shall undertake my little errand?” It was a statement, even though it might have been spoken as a question, and it left him with little doubt as to the answer she expected.
“Yes. I shall perform the agreed-upon service. This . . . loot of yours, I’ll take it as you wish, and do my best to see it delivered. Now when do you wa-”
His question was cut off as her hand suddenly darted out, swift as a striking snake, and seized his left wrist.
“I should warn you, this is going to be painful.”
He barely had time to register her words before it was as though his entire arm lit up with fire from the inside! His mouth opened to scream, but her other hand came across, clamping down on his face and silencing him before he could even draw in breath. He struggled, thrashed as he tried to break free, but despite her slim form, her limbs might as well have been carved from iron for all the good it did him. All he could do was scream into her palm as it felt as though his bones were burning within his flesh.
“No, no, no! Quiet now. It shall be over soon, do not disgrace yourself with such an unbecoming display of weakness.”
The words flowed over him, but they were hard to grasp, barely making it through the roaring of agony in his ears. After what seemed like an eternity the pain began to fade, and the magic user came back to himself. Seeing he was regaining his composure the immortal released him, letting him stumble back a few steps, cradling his arm to his chest.
“Wha . . . what . . . wh-why?”
“Because I am no fool, Marcello,” In contrast to her almost gentle tone while torturing him, her voice now was sharp and hard. “Honour has little hold over you, save for that which pride allows. Fear may motivate you to keep faith with me regarding this agreement, but I require more assurance than such a brittle emotion can provide. After all, the prize you shall be carrying for me shall be tempting indeed. You could gain such favour by betraying me. This little gift shall ensure you do not think of straying from our bargain. Think of it as a reminder, an aid, and a token of motivation.”
Shocked as he was the scarred man managed to lift his left arm, staring at the limb in a combination of terror and amazement. On his arm there was now a long sinuous tattoo of a black vine, one that snaked its way between the scars that marred his flesh as though it had grown about them. Every leaf, stem, and shoot was picked out in crisp-edged detail, unnaturally so.
“What is this?!”
He very carefully did not shout, he did not demand, he did not even raise his voice, even though he really, really wanted to. He needed information, but he could not afford to antagonize her further.
“In terms that you would understand, let us say that it as an attached secondary mana pool for your use. Over the next few days, it will deplete your normal rate of magical regeneration, but do not fear. Once it has fully sated itself it shall recharge its own mana without having to draw upon yours. Afterwards, your own regeneration will return to normal.”
For a moment he just gaped at her as he tried to process what she had just said. A . . . a second mana pool? To magic users, their internal supplies of magic and mana were everything. Without either the use of magic became next to impossible. As such, a great deal of a magical education was devoted to getting as much out of their reserves as they could. Mages worked to expand them, deepen them, refine the energy they held to make them more efficient or try to increase the rate at which those reserves were regenerated. All of it working towards the single goal of letting the magic user do more. This . . . this was one of the Holy Grails for magic users!
“Of course, that is not all my gift grants you,” She continued, confirming Marcello’s thoughts. “I have tied it to a geass, one forged upon our agreement. Should you play me falsely, perhaps thinking to take my prize for yourself . . . well, the consequences will be unpleasant, of that be assured. You may survive it, but even if you do, your magic shall be forever burnt from your body.”
Ah, that made more sense. He hated it, but it made sense. A geass was a sort of enchantment that could take many forms, sometimes it could be used to compel obedience, and sometimes it could be used as a curse. But most often, as was the case here, it was used to empower a promise or agreement. Such empowerment normally meant that there would be severe consequences to breaking the agreement.
Trying to calm himself the scarred man focused on the thought that he’d never planned to break the deal anyway. Yes, this had been painful to get, but the benefits might outweigh the drawbacks, at least in the long term anyway.
“The situation is simple, Marcello. Complete our agreement, and I shall allow you to keep the extra mana pool, as well as the other benefits that come with the pact. Fail, or betray me, and I shall burn the magic from your body, and the thoughts from your mind. It is simple, would you not agree?”
Straightening, though still feeling a slight tremor in his limbs, the magic user simply nodded. He could feel some dull anger smouldering inside him, but he ignored it, reminding himself that such an emotion was useless in the face of one such as this immortal. In a few years, after he’d built up his power and resources, then maybe, just maybe, he could consider such a thing. Until then he might as well rail at the sky for rain and snow.
“Let me know when I need to be ready. Having some time to prepare would be . . . advantageous.”
His tone was flat, almost dead, but it was the best he could manage. Again, that flicker of amusement passed over her face before she nodded in return.
“Of course, it is to my benefit if you can provide your best effort.”
He said nothing more. Instead, he simply turned and walked away. From behind him he could hear that sound once more, something akin to the flutter of dozens of soft wings, and knew that if he were to turn then he would not see her anymore. Of course, simply because he could not see her it didn’t mean that she was no longer there, or that she was not observing him.
So, he did not turn. Instead, he just walked on, making his way to where a rented vehicle awaited him. It would be a long drive to the spot where he could arrange a gateway to his ally’s castle, but it was better than the ruinous cost of trying to open the portal here.
From the bag, he could feel the power radiating from the shards, like warmth leaking from contained embers.
It seemed like a good deal, but had it really been? Had he pulled his neck from the noose only to end up laying it on the chopping block? He was uncertain, and it wasn’t something he liked, but what other choice had he had?
The question gnawed at him as he began to drive.
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She watched him leave, the turmoil within him easily discernible to her practised eye. She felt an odd combination of both amusement and pity at his state.
Ah, the gods, such challenging obstacles, and yet so entertaining!
She had to acknowledge the wisdom and foresight of the deity that had gained Marcello’s allegiance. His sight had been keen indeed to discern a jewel covered in dust from the pebbles that surrounded it. He had also been wise to secure the mortal as soon as possible. Though the scarred mage might not be the most powerful of practitioners, he was skilled and precise, and eager to learn, valuable traits in a servant one wished to raise to power.
Of course, there was also that little hidden detail, that truth about Marcello that he was himself almost certainly completely unaware of. His talent was valuable, but it was his bloodline that was of greatest note. To be sure, it was not of divine origin, so he would never be a demigod, but it could be traced back to one of the many mortals that once wielded power enough for even the divine to respect them. That bloodline might be diluted now, but the gifts that ancient mage had sealed into their line remained. The gifts were buried deep, but they were there, and they could be useful if brought to the surface.
The immortal deeply respected those old mages who had reached the level of power needed to stand tall in the face of the likes of the Fay courts, or the Vampire nobility. A respect that had survived her centuries of exile upon the outer planes of the world. How could she not? Had not she once been such a mortal, one gifted with talent and ambition enough to drive her to the heights of mortal power? Had she not been one of them, until the day that she had overcome her mortality and become something more? Yes, she knew how far a mortal could rise, if they had the right means.
Marcello . . . he had potential, but she had not been lying when she told him that she didn’t think him worth the trouble of facing his master in order to pry him away. Gods like that one, old gods with millennia of history behind them, could be difficult to deal with. Even if they lacked power they were old enough to have learnt secrets that could overcome such a disadvantage, and their relative weakness could lead them to be vicious in a way that could surprise the unwary. And Marcello’s patron was far from weak among his kind.
Regardless, she would not be placing herself against that one, not when it was a simpler matter to purchase a single service and then leverage it to the best advantage that would serve her.
Another smile touched the immortal's face as she watched the mortal pass from the sight of her eyes. Her mark was upon him now, so there was little point in continuing to monitor him, instead, she could turn her mind to more weighty matters.
Matters such as her future plans.
Reaching out with her magic she connected to the channels of mana that flowed through the world, letting her physical form dissolve into magic, magic held together and given cohesion and power by her will. Through the stream of raw mana, she swam, a fish in a rushing river, moving at speeds that would have made lightning jealous. Then she emerged, magic returning to flesh in a metamorphosis that spoke of her mastery. The transformation was seamless, the product of centuries of practice and refinement, letting her shift into physical form in mid-step as she strode towards the object of her attention.
The room she was in was small, but she had little need for grand scale, not for this. As long as she had enough room to work, to improve her creation, then she could not care less about the rest of it. These four walls, a single small slit in the stone to let in air, and the light from the lantern that was suspended from the ceiling, that was enough for her needs.
Moving to the centre of the small room she came to a stop overlooking the simple block of stone that sat as the focus of the modest chamber. The block was large, easily seven feet long, three feet wide, and three feet tall, made from a shiny grey stone. Stone that seemed to almost shimmer in the lantern’s flickering light. Had a mage seen the stone, they might well have choked on their own drool as they salivated over the potential uses for such a stone. It was so soaked in mana that it was more akin to a giant magical battery than, as it was, to a crude altar. However, for all its remarkable properties it was not the stone that held the immortal’s attention, rather it was the figure lying prone upon it.
Almost the entirety of it was covered in bandages, making it look like a strange parody of an Egyptian mummy. The coverings did little to hide the size or musculature of the body beneath them. The figure was large, powerfully built, and tall. Even lying prone upon the block of stone there was a sense of barely contained power radiating from the covered figure.
An almost maternal smile touched the immortal’s lips as she stepped closer, but there was nothing motherly about the way her fingertips traced the broad chest, from the navel, all the way to the face. Then, with a simple flick of her fingers, the bandages covering the face came undone, and she stared down at the revealed features.
Had anyone else been there they would have recoiled in shock at what was uncovered because the face now being illuminated by the lantern’s flickering light was one of the most famous in the world. That face had appeared on television screens across the world, in newspapers, in magazines, even in some comic books and on cereal boxes. Pictures of it were in files in such places as the Pentagon and the Kremlin. Files were read by people of power and position as they made decisions that decided the course of nations and the fates of lives.
“Ahhhh. Arthur, if only it were this simple.”
The face before her was indeed that of the famed King of England, but though the features were perfect, the skin was oddly pale, and the few wisps of hair that could be seen were brittle and dull. He also did not seem to be breathing, and his lips had the pallor of death upon them, even though the skin was warm beneath her fingers.
She caressed the face for a moment, then folded the cloth strips back into place, a satisfied smile on her face as she did so. Her work was proceeding well, the altar feeding mana into her construct going every bit as smoothly as she could have hoped for. It was not yet ready, but that would come in time, time enough for Marcello to grow used to his gift. Time enough for him to accept it so that when she called in her favour he would be that much more receptive to her wishes.
There were still pieces to be placed, resources to procure, and leverages to be gained, but even so, her plans were coming together smoothly, so it should not be long until she was ready.
Of course, she was not so foolish as to believe that everything would go in her favour. That was a lesson she had learnt well in her mortal life. Chaos was as natural a part of the world, as blue was a part of the sky. Plans would fail, and expectations would be overturned. Even if she set everything up perfectly something would go wrong for her, something would break, something would fail.
Ultimately it all came down to backup plans, setting events in motion so that even if her first plan failed it would simply serve to advance her second. And if her second failed, it would then fall to her third which would be advanced by that collapse. And then to a fourth, and a fifth. Plans beneath plans beneath plans, almost to the point of absurdity.
Mortal minds were flexible, but that level of complexity . . . it was almost beyond them. Even the most skilled mortal intellect could only manage information to a certain level before the coherency of so many lines of thought began to cross and clash. With outside aid, it became more possible, but the management of so many interweaving plans was the work of an organized collective, not the individual, no matter how talented.
Of course, she was no mere mortal, if she had been then she would have gone insane centuries ago. The ascension from a mere magic user to an immortal did not serve to massively augment such aspects as cunning and intelligence, such had to be earned in mortal life. Instead, the mind was altered by the transformation in such a way as to allow it to endure and thrive through a life that could last for millennia. Her mind had become able to think in a different way, deeper, broader. It wasn’t that she had grown in brilliance, merely that she was able to . . . encompass more.
It was a thought that had always amused her in the past, the myth that attaining immortality granted brilliance and power beyond measure. The foolish and desperate gazed upon those who had reached such lofty heights and dreamed that if they could do likewise then equal glory would be theirs. Yet all the time they did not understand that it was because of them possessing such power and brilliance in the first place that they had become immortals.
Yes, the multi-layered plans that she had created were expensive in many ways. If an initial plan went too well then the resources invested in the contingencies would go to waste. But it was a small price to pay to achieve her ends. What she wanted . . . it went beyond the hollow values of wealth, power and favours.
Stepping away from the figure with a final sigh she turned, then she was gone, having disappeared between one instant and the next. In her absence, the small chamber was silent once more, as the altar continued to feed power into the form resting upon it. It would remain that way for some time yet, but eventually, a sound would break that silence.
The sound of the body taking its first breath.