Authors: Edward Lazellari
“So … what changed since ten thousand years ago?” Cat queried, to move things along.
Dorn leaned forward with elbows resting on his lap, rubbing his hands. He struggled with pain. One of his eyelids fluttered, and Cat couldn’t tell if he meant to force it closed or open.
“Men moved across the continent to find refuge,” Dorn continued. “The journey was dangerous; they crossed other races’ territories, blundered into traps. Of the thousands who made such journeys, a handful survived to found villages west of the Dread Marshes and the Spoke, a large inland sea at the center of the continent. A group founded a settlement on the banks of the Sevren River, and named it Aandor. A most fortuitous event, it is the location of one of the biggest lay lines on our world. And there, humans, for the first time, discovered magic.”
“Discovered?” Cat said.
“Yes. Everything I explained came from a time before magic. The lay lines had always been there, and some humans were sensitive to it, shamans and witch doctors and spirit people, but no one had fully utilized the power at that point. The first human to cast a true premeditated spell was in Aandor village. That was ten thousand years ago. No one remembers that first sorcerer or what spell he, or she, cast; it was likely the simplest of spells, but the knowledge was built upon and passed on to others with magical sensitivities. Within a few centuries, the tide began to turn. Aandor, protected by wizards, thrived. Its walls had elaborate wards placed on them to repel gnolls, trolls, frost giants, ogres, korgs—many died as they attacked the village, and soon enough they gave it a wide berth. Travelers knew that if they could reach the gates of what was now becoming a large and prosperous town, they were safe.
“Wizards would travel out to surrounding farms and satellite towns to purge predators from that region, and Aandor’s scope widened even more. Wizards would accompany merchant trains traveling east and trade between the new world and the old became dependable. As word grew, more people flocked to the west to live under Aandor’s umbrella. Aandor, in fact, means ‘man’s haven’ in the old tongue, and it evolved into the first human city with thousands of inhabitants, spurring the creation of libraries, aqueducts, academies, marketplaces, temples, sewers, and technological and cultural advancements.
“Some sorcerers ventured back to the old world to put down roots. Farrenheil, the safest haven before Aandor, built its wizard the finest house in the village; within one generation it became a thriving town, claiming territory in the surrounding hills and forests in the name of mankind. Now it was we who hunted the ogres and pushed the frost giants back into the mountains of Nurvenheim. Magic had changed the balance of power … it allowed our population to grow rapidly, it saved our species from extinction.”
“Then why did you attack this society? Why are you trying to kill a little boy?” Cat asked.
It was as though a switch had been flicked—Dorn’s face transformed to anger. The point was obvious to him and she was too stupid to see it. He lunged out of the chair and hovered above her, forcing Cat to fall back on the bed. Slowly Dorn crouched over, closing the space between them. He placed his hand on the mattress by her head, pinning her down. Cat could smell the brandy on his breath. He was not the man that had walked into the room earlier—his eyes were wild, like a desperate man who’d run out of time.
“Aandor has
forgotten
its origins,” he said, in a guttural whisper. “It’s become soft and fat with happiness. It makes
treaties
with centaurs and dwarvs. It allows vermin to live openly within its borders—within ITS CITIES! It has forgotten that NONE of these races gave refuge to man in our time of need! And now, wizards like Magnus Proust invite abominations like Symian and your precious centaur bitch to learn our secrets—to give to
them
the magic that ensures our dominance!”
Dorn backed away from the bed and regained his composure.
“Aandor may have forgotten, but Farrenheil and many others have not. We will not allow the next emperor to come from the house of Athelstan.” Dorn literally spat these last words out, projecting saliva like a rabid dog. The force of his conviction amplified his migraine—he stepped back and grabbed his head in pain. He pressed into his temples and struggled with the turmoil within.
Tory backed his chair to move away from them. Cat could see the terror in the boy’s eyes. Dorn would frighten the bravest person in his present state and Cat was no exception. Even those who worked for him were not safe. Now it made sense … why Cal worked so hard to secure his prince’s throne. It was to deny his world’s version of Hitler from implementing prejudice and terror as the law of their land.
Dorn grasped at the pharmacy bottle again. His hand shook so violently; he struggled to get the childproof cap off. Dorn threw the bottle at Cat and ordered her to open it. The bottle read Treximet. The daily dosage recommendation was two pills. She popped the cap and handed it back. Dorn swallowed three pills. He was becoming unhinged.
Dorn threw open the bedroom doors and shouted, “Has the detective arrived at the lodge yet?”
The man who was dressed like a butler came in with a cell phone. Something about the way the butler drooped went contrary to his impeccable dress.
“Detective’s there,” he said in a gruff manner.
Dorn grabbed the phone. In the manner of one polite and one crazy personality talking at the same time asked, “Dretch … Where is my prince?” Cat could hear the detailed buzzing of an excuse on the other end. Dorn’s forehead was beaded with sweat as he listened, and his eyes were red. When the buzzing stopped, Dorn breathed heavily into the silence. “Detective—I want you to say hello to my new friend,” Dorn said. He put the phone against Tory’s ear.
“Dad?” Tory asked.
The buzzing on the other end came through loudly—the sound of a man whose child was in jeopardy.
“Dad, what’s going on? What do these people want?”
Dorn took away the phone. “Why can no one, not even the police, with all your technology and street cameras find one scared thirteen-year-old boy?” he asked.
The receiver buzzed urgently.
“You know that I am a miracle worker,” Dorn responded. “You’ve seen what I can do. I’d like to pay you for your service so far, Dretch. I intend to perform a miracle—to reward your loyalty and ensure your absolute commitment going forward. Listen closely.”
Dorn placed the phone in Tory’s lap. The butler joined his master, blocking Cat’s view. She stood up, but Symian grabbed her arms and held her firm.
Cat was worried. If Dretch’s accomplishments so far were the result of halfhearted efforts, what would he accomplish for a man that made his son whole again? What would Cat be willing to do for her own child?
Anything.
Dorn and the butler hovered over the lad. The unmistakable ring of a blade being drawn from its sheath echoed off the walls.
“What’s going on?” Cat asked.
“No!” she heard Tory exclaim.
The boy’s wailing was almost inhuman, “NO! NO! NO! NO!” he cried repeatedly. “AAAHHHHHH!!!”
What kind of spell was this? Cat never heard a human being suffer like that. It was the soul ripped from the flesh and dashed upon a rock. Tory continued to scream, even after Dorn stopped working. Cat struggled against the hands that held her, tears streaming down her face, as much for her inability to shut her ears to the sound of the boy’s cries as for her inability to help him.
Dorn picked up the phone. “Dretch, are you there?” Tory’s screams made it impossible to hear the other end of the line. Dorn made the cutoff gesture at his neck and the butler stuffed something in the boy’s mouth to muffle the cries. “Are you there, Dretch?” Dorn asked again.
Tory’s cries transformed to muffled sobs. Cat wanted them to move away so she could see what they had done. Dorn talked about a reward … a miracle. Would Tory be able to walk after this? Was that it … to incentivize the detective? If so, the pain now might be worth it in the long run.
“I’ve performed a miracle on your son, Colby,” Dorn said. “And I’ll gladly continue to fix him one piece at a time because you’re so important to me.
“What did I do?” Dorn said. “Your faith in me is appalling, Detective…”
The butler dropped two bloody white objects with a splat in an ashtray. He moved away from Tory to clean up in the bathroom.
Cat struggled to keep her stomach down. There were two bloody black gashes where Tory’s eyes had been.
Cat had already thrown up earlier that day; she dry heaved spit and stomach acid all over the expensive carpet. Her throat felt scraped. Symian released her to avoid getting any on himself.
“Why … similar to Heshua the Healer, as told in
The Book of Moons
… I made a lame man blind,” Dorn said into the phone, like it should have been perfectly obvious from the start.
“Find the boy, Colby …
“Find the boy.
“Find the boy!”
CHAPTER 27
SANDWITCHED
1
Allyn tried for a day and a half, but still could not locate the prince of Aandor. He channeled the sparse magical energies of this earth in one failed attempt after another, and had to admit, he had no clear strategy on how to find the boy.
The reverend sat lotus style at the center of a makeshift henge in his basement, constructed from cinder blocks, stacks of books, and whatever else he could throw together from the contents of his home. A white painted circle demarked the boundaries of the henge. This circle was not big enough to draw power directly from the lay line miles away, but it tapped into the henge behind the church like an extension cord. Still, Allyn wondered if a blessing of this magnitude was possible from a subordinate henge. His objective was hundreds of miles away, possibly thousands. He should be doing this outside in the larger henge behind the church.
Come spring, Allyn would plant bulbs and seeds in the outer henge. The garden would hide the pagan construct sitting in the backyard of the Baptist church, so that when he used it, it would look like a reverend enjoying the fruits of his labors. Just as important, what he planted would eventually be useful in his vocation. He would share his rediscovered ancient abilities with the people of the greater Raleigh area. His last attempt at a garden had failed, but this time it would be successful, aided by his will. Allyn had a newfound respect for druid orders, which supplied many of the herbs, plants, and animal parts most clerics took for granted. In the city, one simply shopped for them. But on a world where magic was relegated to adventures in children’s books, spell casters had to procure their own goods.
Allyn wished there was a way to procure an item belonging to the prince of Aandor. With the Taylor children he’d had Zach’s drawing to connect him to the child. But the prince had been lost for thirteen years; the trail was ice cold. He racked his brain to come up with alternative methods to pinpoint the boy and nothing came to mind. A blessing of that magnitude required items that he simply didn’t have.
Rosemarie came down the stairs with a tray of hot cocoa and biscuits.
“How’s Mom doing?” Allyn asked.
“She’s cleaning the bathroom again,” Rosemarie said. “Third time since you came down here.”
Michelle had been adamant against Allyn constructing “pagan temples” and “casting witches’ spells” in the house. Allyn explained that casting outdoors in the actual henge would raise too many questions. The logic was lost on Michelle, who insisted he refuse the request to find the prince in the first place. Allyn only agreed to help Malcolm to keep Aandor as far away from his family as possible. Politics were never Michelle’s strong suit—Allyn was the people person. She had more of a mind for accounting and derived pleasure from items lined up neatly in columns. A literal thinker, Michelle did not always get the joke, but it’s what the reverend loved about his wife.
Allyn understood the interactions between power and authority and how to lever them to achieve results both within and without the church. He and Michelle complemented each other. They built this beautiful church, which helped lower teen mortality and increased black-owned businesses in the greater Raleigh area. The church helped take people off government programs, preached self-sufficiency, and returned dignity to their lives. It was a center of goodwill. Allyn tried to explain that the henge, too, had the power to heal, but Michelle would not hear it. When he began his task, she took to cleaning the house, as though Clorox and Lysol could scrub away the stains of paganism.
“Home’s cleaner than I’ve ever seen,” Rosemarie said. “Smells like a chemical lemon garden. I think I prefer the musty rawness of the basement right now.”
Allyn pointed to the old recliner, pushed into the corner, for her to sit on. “Lemons grow in orchards,” he said. “You have a book to read?”
“Nope. Want to help you.”
“Your mother said you’re not to have any part of this.” He waved his arms around in a showman’s gesture at the circle of books and blocks.
“Well, you said the magic isn’t evil. This is so exciting. I never met a
real
prince before.”
“And God willing, you never will. Rose, I’m doing all this to keep us out of this fray. If I find the prince for Malcolm, we’re done with them.”
“I’ll bet he’s handsome,” she said, ignoring her dad. “Have you seen him? What does he look like?”
Allyn was mildly annoyed at his daughter’s fawning. How could she be over the moon about a boy she hadn’t even met? He blamed the Disney movies, elevating princes to ideal objects of desire when in reality, royals were as flawed as any peasant—more so, since peasants were at least self-sufficient.
Prince Danel wasn’t to blame for Allyn’s irritation; he was annoyed at Rosemarie’s interest in boys in general. She was twelve … biologically on the cusp of womanhood. It seemed like only yesterday she had started to form complex thoughts—to assert her multifaceted personality upon the world and her parents. He had only just begun to know her as a person and not just his child—more than a responsibility to care for, a person to educate. Now she was giving back, teaching those around her and bringing newly formed thoughts and ideas to the conversation. And she was looking at boys, one of which would soon supplant the reverend as the most important man in her life.