Land of Verne (28 page)

Roe raised her bow, wings taut behind her. “Where is
Widget? And where is Mimick?”

The boy that looked like Widget chuckled. It was a deep,
unnatural laugh.

Magus Nimrel sped forward. “Back, children! This thing is
not what it seems.”

“Indeed, fool!” bellowed the boy. And in a red and
black mist that swirled about him, Widget changed in front of their
eyes. He grew long and slender, his skin bubbling until it turned
into scales. His one eye developed into a slit and his legs formed
into a coiled body. Slowly he grew until a giant red-eyed cobra
rose above them.

The one eye was missing, just like on the boy that had stood
before them.

 “What is that thing?” Maddock asked as the
snake breathed red and black flames at them.

They leapt to escape its heat and poison. The fire singed the
ground, barely missing them.

“Jinn,” said Magus Nimrel. “And not a good
one.”

“Who summoned it?” Sari asked, ducking as the
snake’s tail lashed at her head.

And she got her answer as a man stepped from the shadows. He
wore a black suit and tapped the ground with a matching cane.

“Marveleous Thingrom,” muttered Madam Patrice.

“Hello, my old teacher,” he said. He removed his top
hat and offered a mock bow.

“Traitor,” she said.

He smiled. It was an unctuous grin.

“Your death will end the line of Mystics,” he said,
“and the Darksworn will rule.”

“You will never open the Tower,” she said. “It
is sealed.”

“With the power that lies behind that door I will,”
he said. He looked at the snake and then walked away. “I will
leave them in your hands, Master.”

“With pleassssure.”

Master Rickett drew his sword. “What is your name, Beast,
that I might remember the monster we slew in this putrid pit of a
cavern?”

The snake chuckled and the walls of the cave shook with the echo
of its dark laughter. “I am Ssssinisssstral, you fool. And it
isssss I who will remain here.” It struggled to speak with
its forked tongue. “Thissss Lair isssss mine, asssss you will
be. I will sssssssumon you from the dead to be my ssssservantssss
for all eternity.”

The Mystic’s Circle

The Mystic’s Circle

“Quickly, children,” said Madam Patrice. “Get
behind me.”

“Foolisssssh Mysssstic. Your power issss dying,”
hissed Sinistral. “You need the Myssstic’ssss Ccccircle
to ssssummon!”

“You’re standing in it!” yelled a voice. It
was Widget. He limped from the shadows, Mimick bounding along
beside him.

Widget scraped the dirt at his feet. Etched into the rock
beneath were symbols.

Madam Patrice had a twinkle in her eye.

Sinistral raised his head to strike as she raised her hands.

“By air, earth, water and fire,

Arabus come, our need is dire.”

A white mist filled the cave and a blue dragon emerged from it,
blocking the serpent’s strike just as its mouth was about to
close over Madam Patrice. It hurled the snake to the other side of
the cavern. The group stepped back as the dragon turned to face
Sinistral.

“We meet again, old friend,” the dragon said in a
low, warm voice.

“Arabussss,” the snake hissed. It lunged at him.

The dragon batted the snake’s head aside, sending it
crashing into the stone wall. Stalactites fell threatening to
skewer Sinistral, but he scurried away before they struck. The
children backed towards one of the walls, weapons ready, but unsure
of what to do other than stay out of the way.

While the Jinns battled, Magus Nimrel took Madam Patrice and
Master Rickett aside and had them use the keys. A tiny door opened,
and as much as the four youths tried to catch a glimpse of what was
happening, all they managed to see was a simple locked box. Magus
Nimrel handed it to Madam Patrice and whispered. Yet Widget’s
one mechanical ear was more sensitive than his natural ear and he
caught what was said.

“Keep this safe,” Magus Nimrel said. “With the
rise of the Darksworn and the loss of so many Mystics, its time
will come soon. Hide it where none will find it – not even
me.”

Madam Patrice slipped it into her robes and with a swish of her
hands, it disappeared. Then they locked the door once more just as
Arabus’ tail swung round. The three of them ducked and it
swept over their heads.

The dragon changed into a white mist that wrapped around the
serpent, almost like another white snake that coiled around
Sinistral. He roared in pain. Sinistral’s skin smoldered and
he tried to breathe fire upon Madam Patrice, but only white smoke
emanated from his nostrils. Sinistral swung his tail, but it
flopped before it struck. Then he cried out to the Weepers for help
and a single fang fell from his mouth.

The Weepers scurried from the tunnels, tumbling over each other
to come to their master’s aid, but they burned as they
touched the white mist. The serpent-like mist grew brighter,
lighting up the cavern as if the midday sun shone down into the
depths of the underground. The Weepers fled from the cave in
droves. Then the white mist formed smaller serpents that chased
them into the tunnels. The screams of the Weepers echoed through
the cavern.

Arabus was now gone as Sinistral wriggled, his skin still
smoking, and morphed back into the boy who looked like Widget.
Steam rose from his head and he reached down to grab the fang. It
was razor-sharp. He said nothing and fled for the tunnels. Mimick
ran after it and grabbed him by the ankle. Sinistral lashed out at
Mimick and sliced its arm with the tooth.

“Mimick!” it cried, yet hung on.

Madam Patrice herded Roe and Sari forward, clasping their hands
in her own. “You cannot be allowed to leave.”

A rush of power swept through them: heat like the fires of
Underhaven, cold like the Sea of Despair, the ground shook like in
the Ruins of Seeto, and the winds blew as if standing upon the tip
of Mount Simeon. The girls gripped as tight as they could. They
could sense Madam Patrice’s thoughts and knew that the power
she wielded was due to the box she had hidden in her dress. And it
was like she was a part of them – combined they were one
being, one power that was going to lock this Jinn in stone forever.
Their hands slipped, and they clenched their teeth. And Sinistral,
his eyes aflame with red anger, screamed his outrage.

“No!” he cried as his feet turned to rock, binding
him where he stood. He started to change back into the snake, but
it was no use. The rest of him petrified, until all that remained
was his partly human head.

His spat out his last words before the rest of him turned to
stone. “I … will … return.”

Madam Patrice let the girls go. They fell to the ground gasping
for breath.

Mimick sat off to the side, cradling its arm. A blackness was
overtaking its body.

It whispered to itself. “Mimick. Mimick.”

The four orphans crawled over to it.

“Mimick,” it whispered.

Roe pleaded with Madam Patrice. “Please, we need to heal
it.”

The woman shook her head in a sullen motion. “I need
potions and powders for this sort of wound, and I have none
here.”

“But Mimick can heal. We’ve seen it.”

“Then it will need to heal itself,” she said.

Mimick shook its head and touched each one of the children on
the forehead. Its tongue changed from pink to black and rolled back
up into its mouth. Then it closed its eyes and its head tilted back
to rest against the cavern wall. Its tail, which always had that
hypnotic motion, lay still, coiled upon the ground.

“No!” Sari cried.

They all reached over to touch the strange creature, petting its
fur. The warmth was seeping from its body.

The cavern began to shake once more and a green aura slipped
from the body of Mimick. It spread into the walls and floor.

Madam Patrice pulled the girls up. “I suggest we leave,
posthaste.”

“What’s happening?” Maddock asked.

Magus Nimrel took him and Widget by the arm. “It seems
that your friend is cleaning the cavern of the evil that lingers in
it.”

“How?” asked Master Rickett.

“I do not know, but we must leave.” He handed a
fresh piece of
strall
to each of them. A feeling of energy
swept through them as they chewed.

Widget and Sari looked back at the statue of Sinistral, afraid
it might come to life, but it did not move. Master Rickett ushered
them into one of the tunnels as rocks fell from the ceiling.

They crawled and ran, Widget leading them once more through
winding tunnels and old city ruins. They reached the final
staircase and wound upwards, climbing to safety.

They spilled out onto the halls of Simian’s Lair and
sprinted for the entrance.

The early morning sun shone through the windows. They had
survived a full night in the depths of the caverns. Madam Patrice
pointed her rod at the doors and they flew open. They spat out the
foaming
strall
and ran out into the city streets.

Mimick’s magic was now inching up the walls and struggled
to fight off the dark shadow that refused to release its
centuries-old hold over the manor. The magics wrestled, subsiding
at points, rising at others. And then, with one last momentous
effort, the power that Mimick had summoned with its death forced
the darkness into the ground. Then the green aura dissipated into
the air and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

It was short lived.

The white-stoned beginnings of the new building shook and the
same darkness that had once enveloped Simian’s Lair now
engulfed this one from below. Layer by layer it blackened,
rearranging itself, slab upon slab, into a blighted structure that
resembled something from the Shadowlands. The ground around it
darkened and sank into a bog. Crows alighted around the swampy
grounds and three vultures sat atop the tallest tower. It beckoned
them like a twisted, stone finger. A dark chuckle emanated from its
depths.

“A great victory, but a heavy price,” muttered Magus
Nimrel.

The others nodded and waited for something else to happen.

For hours they sat, expecting Sinistral, Marveleous Thingrom, or
some other evil to come bursting forth, but the morning remained
still, and each was left to their silent thoughts.

In the days that followed, there was much to do around
Simian’s Lair. Now that the manor had been cleansed it had a
renewed purpose: home to the many orphans throughout the land. The
corrupted section was to remain uninhabited. It was to be overseen
by a City Magistrate — a woman by the name of Malkim.

Magus Nimrel entered the building but once, to retrieve a few
items, and to ensure that it did not pose an immediate threat. Then
he never set eyes upon it again.

Two days later they held a service to remember their fallen
friend. They owed Mimick much. Although they had barely know it,
the creature’s sacrifice was something that each of the four
children would never forget.

And as the ceremony ended, and they had spent the last of their
tears, the foursome strode to the lamppost where they had first met
Mimick. And as they stood around it, the wind seemed to carry upon
it a familiar sound. And for a moment, the four friends thought
they caught a silhouette bounding about with a tail that swayed
behind it in a hypnotic motion, just off in the distance.

They all held their breaths, and then walked towards it, with
hope.

About the Author

David H. Burton was born in Windsor, Ontario to parents that instilled in him the love of the written word at a very young age. Throughout his childhood, David read relentlessly, often into the wee hours of the morning.
Fantasy and Science Fiction novels have always been David’s greatest vice and he has indulged in the likes of Terry Brooks, Robert Jordan, Margaret Weis, Mark Anthony, J.R.R. Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Robert J. Sawyer, Isaac Asimov, Melanie Rawn, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Sarah Prineas, and J.K. Rowling.
David graduated from the University of Toronto with a major in Biology and a minor in Classical Civilization. He also dabbled in Computer Science, to which he owes his current occupation in the Telecommunications world at one of the large banks in Canada.
When David isn’t writing he enjoys spending time with his partner and three boys: hiking, swimming, kayaking, biking, and reading. David has a great fondness for Portuguese cuisine, good wine, and all things left of center.