Eye of the Wizard: A Fantasy Adventure (5 page)

Issa grabbed Romy by the throat, cutting her off. She pulled her toward the sinner, who stood gaping and rubbing his eyes. "Romy," Issa said, "this one is yours. He robbed old ladies, so I want you to torture him long, and torture him hard, and
no games
."

Romy heaved a sigh. "Oh, all right," she said, staring at her toes.

"And I mean real torture this time," Issa said. "Whips, pitchforks, and the rack."

"Can I tickle him?" Romy asked hopefully.

"No tickling!"

"Can I give him Indian Burns? I'm good at those."

"No Indian Burns, Romy."

Romy scrunched her lips. "How about wet willies? I give a mean wet willie."

Issa roared. "No more wet willies! No more wedgies. No more forcing sinners to punch themselves while chanting, ‘Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself.' And no more making them listen to you practice your accordion." Issa lowered her voice and muttered to herself. "Though I admit that one does come close to real torture." She raised her voice again. "Understood, Romy?"

Romy heaved an even longer, deeper sigh. "Oh,
fine
." She pouted.

"Promise me, Romy," Issa said, flexing her claws. "Promise, or by Lucifer, I'm going to torture
you
and show you how it's done."

"Fine fine, I promise!" Romy said. "Sheesh, you're so grumpy today."

She took the sinner by the hand and led him off into the darkness. Issa stood sighing, listening to Romy's babbling until it died off in the distance.

"...and Floofie (that's my teddy bear) also likes to play marbles sometimes, but he's not very good. Yet. I'm teaching him. And oh—I'll show you my new marble! I hope it wasn't one of those I lost in the lava. Do you play marbles? Maybe after I torture you, I'll show you how to play, but don't tell Issa! Do you play chess? How about checkers?"

When Romy was gone, Issa clutched her head. She needed a vacation.

* * * * *

Today Neev's life would change.

He paced the chamber, boots thunking against the bloodred tiles and echoing in the domed, painted ceiling. His black robes swished around him, and he tapped his fingers against his thigh. The room's columns glinted with gold, paintings of dragons covered the ceiling, and jet statues of demons rose around him, yet Neev didn't spare the opulence a second glance. He had been living in the Coven for five years now, this network of tunnels carved under Batwog Mountain, and no longer contemplated its splendor. Especially not today. Every few seconds, he glanced up nervously at the shadow who sat, black and wispy, at the granite table.

"Is it time yet?" he asked for the hundredth time.

The shadow laid down his quill and looked up from the scroll he was scribing. Shadows were beings of the underground, formed when the spirits of sinners struggled against their doom; their souls were dragged into Hell, but their shadows clung shivering behind for warlocks to collect.

"A moment more, young apprentice," this shadow said, voice like a wisp of smoke. "And please stop pacing, will you?"

But Neev would not stop. He continued clanking across the antechamber, glancing every moment toward the towering stone doors. They were beautiful doors, carved with images of warlocks, griffins, and nymphs, but Neev barely noticed their artistry. He cared about what lay
beyond
those doors. The High Warlock sat there, the Coven's leader, the world's greatest weaver of black magic. Neev pushed back the hair from his sweaty brow.

"You do know," he said to the shadow, "I might become the world's youngest warlock." He was seventeen; most apprentices became warlocks only around age thirty.

"That is lovely, young man," said the shadow, sighing, "but for the next few moments at least, you are still an apprentice, so please use one of our lovely benches and
sit down
."

Neev couldn't imagine sitting at a time like this. His nerves frazzled, and he kept going over his spell in his mind. He had spent the past two years working on this spell, studying ancient grimoires of invocation, preparing every syllable, cramming by candlelight into the nights while his friends were sleeping or partying. He had never cast the spell before. Not a spell like this. This was a spell you cast once in a lifetime.

"It'll blow the High Warlock's socks off," he whispered to himself.

Of course... there
was
the issue of his jinx.

Even if his spell worked, the old jinx could act up. It had plagued him from his first day at the Coven. The first spell he cast—a simple Seeing Spell into Hell—made donkey ears sprout from his head. His second spell—an invocation of smoke from Hell's firepits—gave him a pig's tail. Since then, most spells he cast caused some side effect. He'd often wander the Coven's tunnels with a pig snout, horse hooves, a wagging dog tail, and once, after a particularly complicated spell, a blowhole that spouted water all day.

Neev did not know how he caught the jinx. Maybe when he'd joined the Coven, somebody slipped a curse into his drink. Maybe he was born with it. Who knew? Neev knew he was wunderkind, the Coven's brightest apprentice... but with this jinx, would he ever be dubbed a warlock?

Neev took a deep breath, tightened his lips, and raised his eyes to the domed ceiling. Painted dragons flew around clouds against a starry sky, each star a diamond; the ceiling was worth a king's ransom.
I'm going to keep my promise, Father,
he thought, gazing into that ceiling as if gazing into Heaven.
I'm going to become a warlock tonight, despite this pesky jinx.
He clenched his fists.
And then I'll be powerful enough. I'll find the warlock who killed you... and kill him.

It seemed ages before the shadow finally placed down his quill, cleared his throat, and rang a silver bell. "The High Warlock," he announced, head tossed back, "shall see you now."

Neev had waited anxiously for this moment, had dreamed of it for years. Now he dreaded it. He didn't want to go past those doors. Pacing this antechamber for eternity suddenly seemed like a good alternative. The shadow, however, slid off his chair, glided toward the large doors, and pushed them open. Neev saw darkness and swirls of smoke beyond. There was no turning back now.

Neev swallowed and followed the shadow into the chamber of the High Warlock.

Past the doors, the air was cold, and Neev saw nothing but swirling green smoke and darkness. He heard the shadow walking ahead, and followed the sound, until the smoke cleared and he saw a great chamber, large as a cathedral's nave, lined with black columns and topped with an arched ceiling. This chamber lay miles under Batwog Mountain, miles from the light and air of the world, buried beneath countless tons of stone.

And at the back of this chamber, the High Warlock sat upon a throne, cloaked in darkness.

The shadow, three feet tall on his tiptoes, puffed out his chest, cleared his throat, and announced, "Apprentice Neev Thistle, son of Sir Sam Thistle of Burrfield, has come before the High Warlock to show his respect, to demonstrate his skills in the art of black magic, and to ask acceptance into the Coven."

Neev bowed his head, sneaking a glance toward the High Warlock. As always, looking at him made Neev shiver. Even after years in the Coven, it was strange seeing a living skeleton. The High Warlock's true name was Jan Rasmussen, but everybody called him Dry Bones. An old fire had eaten his flesh and blood, leaving only his skeleton, white and gleaming. The warlock—probably the greatest in the world—used black magic to stay alive, but could not restore his flesh. He now wandered the Coven's halls as nothing but a skeleton, naked and clanking.

"Thank you, Fitzgerald," Dry Bones said to the shadow, his jawbone rattling. "You may leave us."

The shadow sketched a bow, spun on his heels, and left the chamber. Neev remained with his head bowed, staring at his boots.

Finally Dry Bones spoke again. "Welcome, Neev Thistle of Burrfield. Do you have a spell for me today?"

Neev looked up and swallowed. Dry Bones' familiar, a viper named Baumgartner, slithered between the skeleton's ribs, hissing and raising Neev's hackles. Neev forced himself to take a deep breath.
I'm going to wow both Dry Bones and his snake,
he thought.
Please, jinx, don't act up, not today.

"I do, master," he said and straightened.

"I hope it's an impressive one, young apprentice," Dry Bones said, gazing down from the empty eye sockets of his skull. "It's a bold move to request graduation at age seventeen, and after only five years of apprenticeship. But very well. You may proceed."

Dry Bones leaned forward, and even Baumgartner slithered out from between the skeleton's ribs and stared.

Neev took a deep breath, then began to chant his spell.

Sparks, burgundy and golden, glittered around his fingertips. Cold wind blew across him. His lips moved, uttering every syllable at perfect pitch, in perfect timing; a song of such fragility that any wrong inflection could kill him. The sparks grew, flowing around him, ruffling his hair and dancing in his eyes. The light sang like pixies. Neev closed his eyes, head spinning, galaxies circling him in a dance. Everything disappeared but his magic; all thoughts, all memories, all notions of himself. He was but a vessel, a funnel for power to flow from the hidden worlds through him, moving to his words, forming and twisting with every tap of his tongue and flick of his fingers. As he conducted that magic, weaving strands into patterns, turning chaos into power, euphoria filled him. It was like choir music or towering paintings, art to elevate the soul but greater. This was what he was born for. This was where he belonged, floating between this world and the infinite ones that pulsed around it. He was magic.

His power swam around him... and he pointed it down. Spinning his arms, he created a circle of fire before him, drove his consciousness underground, found a pulse of life and pulled it up. Fires blazed and winds roared, and the screams of distant sinners echoed in the chamber. Into Hell itself did Neev reach, and with his strands of magic, he fished out a demon.

He took a step back, panting, eyes wide, barely believing he had done the feat. Cloaked in flames and smoke, a figure stood before him, head lowered, bat wings wrapped around it like a cocoon. The wings slowly opened, a flower blooming, revealing the most enchanting creature Neev had ever seen. She was a female demon, shaped as a young woman of infinite beauty, of full lips, of dark red skin, her irises rings of fire. Her hair was made of flames, flowing and crackling, and her horns, fangs, and claws glistened. She looked at him, eyes widening, mouth falling open. Her tail hung between her legs. She was beautiful. She was cruel. She was scared.

Neev shook his hands, casting off the last strands of magic.

His spell was complete.

He had done what no apprentice had done before, what only the greatest warlocks could achieve.

He had summoned a demon.

Panting, Neev looked up at Dry Bones, expecting the High Warlock to gasp with pride and dub him a warlock on the spot. But instead, Dry Bones only stared, silent, Baumgartner hissing on his shoulders.

Neev reached up and patted his head.

His fingers caressed fluffy rabbit ears.

Damn.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * * * *

Flunked.

Neev couldn't believe it.

Flunked out of the Coven!

Several hours had passed since he summoned the demon, an ancient being who called herself Romy of the Ninth Circle. It was the greatest spell he'd ever cast; he should be a warlock now, a sorcerer of legend. Instead Neev stomped through the forest in his apprentice robes, grumbling and kicking pine cones, the demon following him like a dog on its master's heels.

Those damn rabbit ears!
They still sprouted from his head, and would probably remain for hours.

Slapping burrs off his cloak, his scarce belongings clanking over his back, Neev looked over his shoulder and scowled. "Will you quit following me?" he demanded.

Walking several paces behind him, Romy shrugged, her bat wings creaking. When she spoke, her fangs glistened. "Where else would I go?"

"Go anywhere! Just leave me alone. You got me kicked out of the Coven."

Romy shook her head, sparks flying from her hair of flame. "I did not. You're the one who grew rabbit ears. I didn't ask for this. Now what will I do? You brought me into this world, so you're my mother. Now care for me."

Neev blew out his breath in frustration. This was not what he had expected. When he had summoned her that morning, her feral beauty shocked him. Her red body clad in tongues of flame, her hair of fire, her flicking tail—all spoke of temptation, sin, and malice. Who'd have thought she'd act like a newly-hatched duckling, following the first human she saw?

"I am not your mother," he said with a snort. He hitched his backpack, trying to rearrange the spellbooks inside; one was poking his spine with a hard corner. "I'm a fearsome warlock."

Leaning on her pitchfork, Romy raised an eyebrow. "Uh... actually, you're not, Mister Bunny Rabbit. You failed your final exam."

Inside his backpack, the book's corner was now poking his kidney. "Thanks to you."

She shook her head. "Nu uh."

"Uh huh."

"Nu uh!" She stuck out her tongue.

Grumbling, Neev opened his backpack, rummaged inside for the spellbook that was poking him, and tossed it into the forest with a curse. Birds fled, squawking. Neev turned back to Romy, still scowling, and was surprised to see her shivering.

"What's wrong?"

Romy pointed with a shaky finger. "Birds," she said and began to suck her thumb.

Neev sighed. "You're scared of birds?"

She nodded, thumb in mouth, trembling.

Neev drew a shaky breath, trying to calm his anger. "Look, why don't you just go live in a cave somewhere? There are no birds in caves."

She removed her thumb and pouted her bee-stung lips. "No thanks, Mommy. You summoned me, so you have to take care of me. I'm coming with you."