The Brotherhood (Part 5)

By Mark W. Meier

Act I

The Final Spell

Scene 5

Nerves kept me from the Bristol Steakhouse – as if I had nerves. I waited outside, intangible and invisible, reading lips through the window. My unnaturally keen hearing filled in where lip-reading failed. In a parked car were Baldy and Library, muttering to themselves with folded hands.

Your conversation with Caryn ranged far and wide, but every topic danced around the edges of your use of magick. A recent drought had ended with a long, soaking rain, saving the crops of farmers across five counties. You’d done that – under my direction. A local newspaper uncovered a corrupt politician – redundant terms, but I digress – and again, you’d accomplished that using magick. The examples went on and on.

After dinner was over Caryn sipped an iced tea. “Ken, you’re dabbling in magic. You can’t do that.”

You sipped a martini. “So what if I am? If you’re implying I’m using magick to help people, at least they’re being helped.”

“The ends justify the means?”

“Well, yeah.” You lowered your glass to the table after the server took your plates away. “In your Bible, God put King David on the throne to put in place a lineage for Jesus. David did all sorts of things that would land anyone today in jail. In his time, it would have put his head on the executioner’s block.”

Caryn frowned. “The lesson there is that even as much as we mess up, God can still use us.”

You snorted. “Use us. For his purposes. Regardless of what we want. Sounds like the same thing. The outcome must warrant the cost, but if the result is good enough, isn’t that worth any price?” You drank the last of your martini.

Caryn shook her head. “Only God can make those kinds of decisions, Ken. Not you, not me. God uses our mistakes to glorify Himself despite the errors. He doesn’t force us into making them.”

You put down your empty glass and left a stack of bills to pay the check. “If using magick condemns me, then I guess I’m condemned.”

You both rose from your seats at the same time. Caryn looked deeply into your eyes. “Use of magic isn’t the problem. Not trusting God is. What nets you damnation is the arrogant assumption that you know better than the Creator of the universe.”

Despite Caryn’s reprimanding tone, the two of you agreed to another dinner a week later.

When Caryn drove off, followed moments later by the sedan with Baldy and Library inside, I could walk up to you again while you waited to cross the road to your car. The mixed scent of restaurant food clung to you like a cloud. “Have a good time?”

“She’s good looking.” A ghost of smile touched your lips. “And single.”

“Remember what I said about needy women?”

You grinned. “I don’t think we need to worry about her influencing my training.”

“Excellent. We’re about to begin working on a spell that will extend your life. Interference at this point would be ill advised.”

For the next week we practiced hand movements in your workroom of tables and shelving.

At one break I explained a bit about the spell. “Without the incantation the gestures won’t do a thing. This spell doesn’t need anything like eye of newt or bits of toenail fungus, but the required motions involve precision to a great degree.”

We sat at one desk covered with pages of arcane symbols. I’d drawn them during your lessons on sigils, and you’d been studying them again as part of your training for this next spell.

“What good are the hands? What do they do?”

“There’s an element in the myelin of your nervous system that affects magick.” I was surprised you’d never asked before. All the others I’d trained over the millennia asked within a month of casting their first spell.“You’re gathering the energy, giving it direction, range, breadth, and form. The words are the catalyst that unleashes magick.” It was nonsense, but you ate up the pablum faster than a pudgy infant.

“What happens if I give the chant without the hand motions?”

I swatted the back of your head. A good reminder to you that I could affect solid matter if I wished it.“It’s like striking a match without fuel. The small bits of power will burn out in a release of energy lower than your ability to detect.”

You kept working, forgetting your lunch date with Caryn. Your staff never told you about the times she came to visit. Besides, your . . . drives . . . had declined with age. Not that she was the type to indulge you.

The day you turned sixty I announced you were ready to combine the somatic and verbal components of the spell.

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Saving Cayn 4

Carnifor busied himself with producing the report for Admiral Choergatan. Their orders specified the admiral be informed whenever the William Placard’s situation changed significantly. A detour to retrieve a kidnapped child qualified.

Sixteen days – six light years, plus a bit. Stars were so far apart the trip qualified as “short.” Lannetay usually loved the silence between the stars, but with five others rattling around inside her ship, she wasn’t so pleased.

Usually Lannetay dressed in coveralls unless on a planet or station. With others aboard she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Besides, it kept Carnifor off balance. While he fixated on her clothing he wouldn’t be trying to undermine her authority.

Instead, Carnifor mocked her with his smiles, and once or twice unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. She considered that a victory.

On day seven he asked, “Must you always dress up?”

“Yes.” Lannetay refused to elaborate. The multi-shade layered purple outfit she wore ranged from the palest tint on the collar of her blouse, down to her calf-high boots – the heels colored a tone that might have reached into the ultraviolet.

L-T hardly ever commented, though the purple made him look twice. He nodded with what Lannetay considered appreciation, but then he went back to absorbing information on Cayn.

A day away from planetfall Bill grew a table in the common area for a briefing. The table was a mini version of the common room decking, complete with a marked running track along the edge. The center of the table had a small hologram of the crew sitting around another miniature version. That, in turn, had an even smaller representation of the crew.

L-T, directly to Lannetay’s right, chuckled before beginning his presentation. “The colony we’re calling Cayn was founded less than a standard year ago.”

Carnifor interrupted from Lannetay’s left. “Quit telling us ‘standard time.’ Only people on Earth use traditional timekeeping.” His fingers drummed the table’s lane marker, as did the hologram of Carnifor. The commander yanked his hands off the table and stuffed them in his coverall pockets. So did the hologram.

Lannetay liked Bill’s joke, but knew that sense of humor could also get in the way at times. “I think that’s enough, Bill.”

The holograms vanished. I thought it was funny.

So did I, Bill. But we’re trying to rescue a child. Besides, we mustn’t vex him too much.

Okay. Bill agreed. Not “too much” it is.

“A wealthy individual sponsored the colony.” L-T ignored the interruption – or pretended to do so. “He even donated his own personal yacht, which apparently was used to kidnap the child.”

“Donated for the tax write off,” Bill chimed in. “He claimed twice its market value.”

“Duratine?” Lannetay guessed. Nobody had constructed ships with duratine since the discovery of adamantium in large enough quantities, and many wealthy people had donated ships simply to get rid of them.

“Yes,” Bill said. “He had another one – made with adamantium – in the works before filing the donation.” Then he formed an image for Lannetay’s in-eye overlay of a hologram on the table – sans Carnifor.

Lannetay closed her eyes for a moment, though the image remained visible, and gestured for L-T to continue.

Bill laughed silently in Lannetay’s mind.

“Since then their crops may have failed,” L-T said. “There are numerous messages to surrounding colonies requesting food aid, but there’s no evidence anybody’s answered. Cayn doesn’t have a resequencer sufficient to feed two thousand people, no exports to trade for food, and now they’ve kidnapped a colonial governor’s son.”

Carnifor leaned forward, elbows on the table. “That’s what will get ‘em all killed. Every last one of them.”

“The planet is the size of Mercury, and about as dense.” L-T brought up a hologram of the planet’s surface, complete with a layout of the domes. “Gravity about the same as well.”

“Bet Herlorwis gets a ransom demand asking for food.” From the end of the table opposite Lannetay, Goofball’s deadpan voice belied his sense of humor. “That’ll give people something to chew on.”

Marc chuckled from his seat next to L-T’s. “Icing on the cake?”

A slight smile twitched at the corner of Goofball’s mouth. “At least sauce for the goose.”

L-T scowled at them. Carnifor simply shook his head in disgust, and Olthan, seated next to Carnifor, looked confused.

Bill spoke again. “Goofball should get a job predicting the future. Gerid is calling.”

“Put her on.” Lannetay gestured, and the holo of the planet vanished.

Gerid’s voice came from the sound inducers as her image formed above the table. “Lanny, are you there?”

“I read you.” Lannetay frowned at herself for not using more conversational wording instead of military jargon. “What’s happening?”

“We heard from someone who claims to have taken Hyanto. They say they’ll trade him for three tons of preserved food. We don’t even have a ship in the system, much less one that could haul three tons of food.”

Bill sent to Lannetay, We could haul quite a bit more than three tons of food. If we’d stayed there we could have delivered it.

Gerid continued. “We don’t have the food, either. The best we could do is a half-ton, and that would put us on starvation rations for months until our next crop is ready for harvest. We could send biological material in the form of wood, but our trees have almost zero nutritional content.”

Carnifor cleared his throat. “What happens if you don’t deliver?”

Gerid turned to face him. Her voice took on an ominous tone. “The new governor here is a Wanti appointee.”

Olthan sputtered. “Nuff said. They’s all dead, and you’s dead too.”

“The colony on HIP 36985 will be obliterated.” Gerid confirmed the obvious. “Our colony will be blamed for not having the ransom demand, and quite a bit of our population will end up as slaves in the Confederation.”

“Scrape up as much food as you can.” Carnifor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Lannetay was surprised her self absorbed commander had agreed to help. “In the meantime, contact some of the nearer colonies to see if they can donate some food. Just because some fool kidnaps a governor’s son is no reason to doom the rest of those people.” She planned to have Gerid take care of as much as possible. That would increase her influence in the region. A win-win situation, provided the William Placard could pull off a rescue operation.

“I’ll see what I can do. Gerid out.” Her holo disappeared.

“Why can’t we let ‘em use our food thing?” Olthan asked. “It makes us meals.”

“It works for six.” Lannetay pondered options while letting herself automatically answer the Marine’s question. “Two thousand is another story.”

“Is it possible to use it to bridge the gap?” L-T asked. “I mean, if the difference is letting them all starve to death or rescuing a few, why not help them?”

Carnifor asked, “Which few? Who picks? These ten get to live, the rest get to linger and die.”

Bill interrupted. “Time to shut down unless you want to light up their sensors.”

Lannetay nodded permission, and the engines spooled down. The main power plants went off-line, and auxiliaries took over. Gravity and life support only took a fraction of the energy the ship’s main engines needed, and the r-TEG could power those. A single Thermo-Electric Generator produced more than enough for the ship’s secondary needs.

“Ten hours until atmo.” Goofball shrugged. “Anyone plan on slowing down when we get there?”

“There’s a gas giant in the outer system.” Lannetay brought up a hologram of the system with a dot representing the ship’s position. “We’ll use that.”

“You’re going to hit a gas giant at something like thirty times the speed of light?” Goofball’s question held an incredulous tone. “We won’t last a second.”

Lannetay looked up at the fighter pilot. “We’re not going to use it for aerobraking. We’ll use it to hide our engine use.”

“Will they even be looking?” Marc asked.

Lannetay saw Carnifor tense. He looked about to chastise the boy so she waved the commander down. “I wouldn’t try it at Wrantiban, but Cayn is a tiny new colony. They probably don’t have very sophisticated sensors, so we should be able to get away with it.”

“Mom! You didn’t answer.” Marc crossed his arms.

“She did.” Carnifor glared at the boy. “She told you that whether they are watching or not, they shouldn’t notice anything.”

Bill sent to Lannetay, You sure I can’t annoy him again right now? He doesn’t like Marc participating in “adult” conversation, and I like the boy.

Lannetay ignored the AI’s suggestion as the gas giant grew large.

The crew remained silent, waiting for the moment Bill decided was the best instant.

Then the AI hit full reverse. In a matter of seconds their velocity dropped off.“Okay, we’re down to less than a tenth light speed.” The hologram switched to show the ship as a tiny dot flying past the enormous banded orb. “Nine hours and ninety-eight minutes until we hit atmosphere. This time tomorrow, we’ll be plowing air.”

“Better slow down a lot more,” Goofball muttered, “or air will be plowing us.”

“What about radiation?” Marc asked, obviously still irritated by Carnifor. “We’re hitting solar wind, and that makes radiation.”

Lannetay forestalled Carnifor’s response. “If they’re looking for us, they’ll see us regardless of what we do. If they’re not, we’re not making enough of a disturbance for them to notice.”

Carnifor stood and headed toward crew quarters. “Be rested and ready before we hit atmo, everyone.”

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.

The Brotherhood (Part 4)

By Mark W. Meier

Act I

The Final Spell

Scene 4

I trained you for hours every day and for weeks on end. As the humidity of summer gave way to dry, crisp evenings, your skill improved dramatically. Visits to your teenage girls dropped off, and before long you stopped talking about Caryn from Bristol, despite seeing her every week – lunch every Saturday at the Crow’s Corner.

One thing you insisted upon is using your magick for good. When you were thirty it hadn’t mattered much. As age fifty came and went, perhaps you had your mortality in mind. Then again, Caryn might be influencing you – Caryn and her church. I’d felt their prayers.

You turned fifty-five and your abilities continued to blossom. With the wave of a hand, you caused fireworks to detonate in the sky. A gesture filled a sink with water. You’d think, and rain would fall. The right movements with your fingers produced gallons of warm, soapy water, and a mop would wash your Mercedes without you touching a thing. While driving through Bristol one day, you even stopped a mugging by ripping the knife out of the attacker’s hand. The victim ran off, the mugger stared at the knife blade sunk two inches into the concrete sidewalk.

Caryn rang your doorbell on a hot and sunny June day. Arriving with her: a man and woman from her church. The taste of the cross seeped from their skin, dripping to the floor and sizzling. None of you could sense it. Only a Brother would.

“Won’t you come in?” You stepped aside to give them room.

Your invitation didn’t sit well with the unknown man and woman, but Caryn didn’t hesitate to cross your threshold.After seating your guests in the palatial day room, you moved into the expansive kitchen.

I showed myself again. “I don’t like these people. They have a prejudice against magick.”

“They’re nice.” You pointed at the granite countertop and a platter appeared. With a complex hand pass and a muttered phrase, a heap of quartered sandwiches materialized. Surrounding them, a tasteful circle of cheese and crackers. Some of the crackers supported a small wedge of premium sausage.

I scowled. “They’re not here to be nice. They’re here to stop your magick.”

A look of disgust crossed your face, and then your first overt act of betrayal manifested.

“Begone!” Your fingers flashed the complex weave of magick used to drive away spirits.

I laughed to cover my anger. “I’m more powerful than that spell. Just remember my warning.” Fading into invisibility I followed you into the day room.

“I have ham and cheese on rye.” You placed the tray on a coffee table, where the aroma of meat mingled with fragrant cheese. “Also, egg salad on pumpernickel, whole wheat with salami, or if you’d like, something else. It won’t take a moment.”

Caryn looked receptive and nibbled on a cracker, but the others made no move for the snack tray.

“Anything to drink?” You remained standing as if eager to serve your visitors.

“Do you have some ice water?” Caryn asked. The others shook their heads without uttering a word. You glanced toward the kitchen and sub-vocalized a spell to ask for the water.

I didn’t want to miss anything happening here, so I grimaced and summoned an imp to take care of the request.

You sat. A low level Brother, doubling as a servant, emerged from the kitchen with a pitcher of ice water and glasses. You and Caryn drank, but the others didn’t.

“How did your servant know to bring water?” The bald man with wire-framed spectacles glared at you. Suspicion oozed from his words like condensation on the pitcher of water.

“They’re well-trained and very observant.”

Even an imp could interpret human wants and needs. It looked at me and I waved it toward the kitchen, where it could safely vanish. I wouldn’t owe it too much.

Baldy frowned. “Then why didn’t one of them bring your tray of appetizers?”

You smiled and crossed your legs. “I wanted to help you feel at ease. Something seems amiss, and I wanted to welcome you properly – with my own efforts.”

Baldy’s frown deepened. “Your own efforts. That’s rich.”

“Ken, we’re concerned about you.” Caryn leaned forward and placed her glass atop a coaster on the coffee table. “Magic is wrong, and we’ve seen you do too many unexplained things.”

I moved in to disrupt her composure, but drew up short against her aura of faith. Y-you could handle her, even if I couldn’t. How much longer would they stay?

“Magick?” You affected confusion. “I don’t understand.” Playing dumb was good for an opening gambit.

The gray-haired woman, who looked every inch the stereotypical librarian, cut in. “There are strange things happening, and they’re centered on you and this house.”

“Here?”

She looked over the top of her glasses. “Here. People you meet are affected in ways that are not natural. It’s very subtle. Some win scratch-off lottery tickets. Others living in high-crime areas have homes that are not robbed, and those people are not mugged. We’ve seen these things happen.”

“Sounds like people are doing well and you seem to resent it.”

Baldy elaborated. “Unexplained. And it only happens with people you sell amulets and trinkets to. They tell us you do magic.”

I whispered in your ear. “That act won’t play out for long. Change tactics, or better yet, get them out of here.”

Your expression never changed, but Baldy and Library exchanged a look. Maybe they perceived me. I backed further away from the circle of chairs and sofas.

You stood – a subtle invitation for them to leave. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing.”

Caryn took the hint and also rose from her seat. “I care, Ken. We’ve gotten to know each other over the last few months, and I have to say God doesn’t appreciate magic.Your salvation depends on stopping its use.”

You paused. “When I was growing up both of my parents died. I’ve never been able to rely on anyone but myself. What I’m doing is an extension of that.” You went to the front door and opened it.

Before anyone could leave you said, “Caryn?”

She stopped.

“Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?”

If I had a jaw it would have dropped. Having dinner was a huge step and I thought I’d stopped you from taking any strides that direction..

Caryn pondered.

Baldy and Library paused by the open door, looking like they’d sucked on a lemon.

“I think that can be managed.” Caryn’s eyes sparkled. “Bristol Steakhouse, quarter to six?”

Baldy and Library doubled their citrus.

You nodded, and your broad grin made you look even dumber than a constipated alpaca. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When the door closed, I snapped into full view. Anyone could see me. “What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

“Allaying their suspicions.” You banished the snacks and drinks with a wave. “If they suspect I’m using magick, the best way to disabuse them of that notion is to meet with them openly and without fear.”

“Just be careful,” I warned.

If you appreciate this story, please consider supporting the author's ability to write more stories by purchasing The Brotherhood, available in print and on Kindle. Please share on social media, and leave a review on the page linked above.