Light in the Barren Lands: Travail of The Dark Mage Book One (11 page)

Jiron put his full weight against the door as the armored men knocked upon it. Again, a man shouted while another appeared in the window and gazed in. Jiron held his breath, hardly daring to exhale for fear it would be heard by those out in the hallway.

From his vantage point he couldn’t see the one standing before the window, but he could see the shadow the man cast upon the floor. Once the shadow departed and the men moved back down the hallway, he waited a full minute before easing off the door.

It cracked open slightly when his weight came off of it. Reapplying pressure to the door, he sunk one of his knives into the doorjamb to prevent it from opening. When he eased off again, the door remained closed.

Moving to the window, he looked down the hallway for the armored men. He could hear them speaking to one another and moving things about, but the angle of his view prohibited him from seeing what they were doing.

“Father,” Jira said.

Turning toward his daughter, he saw that she was pointing toward the top of James’ head. “He has a bump.”

Crossing the room, Jiron knelt down and gently felt James’ head. The bump was high on the forehead right at the hairline. It was the size of a goose egg. “Head bumps like this often look worse than they really are,” he explained.

Shaking his friend gently by the shoulder, he said, “James.” A second shake seemed to rouse him. “Wake up.”

“Hmmm?” he mumbled.

“You have to wake up,” Jiron insisted.

Eyes opening only halfway, James turned his gaze upon the man kneeling before him. “Jiron?” he asked confusedly.

“That’s right,” he replied. “Jira’s here too.”

Attempting to rise, he suddenly brought his hand up to his forehead. “Oh man,” he moaned as he was suddenly assailed by a fierce headache. Then memory returned, and despite the pain, abruptly sat up.

A quick glance around the room told him they were no longer on the island. “Where are we?” he asked.

“We don’t know, uncle,” replied Jira.

“She’s correct,” affirmed Jiron. “I have never seen such a place.”

There was an edge to Jiron’s voice that he rarely heard. He glanced to his friend and could see worry on his face. “Any sign of the mage?”

Jiron shook his head. “Not since we arrived.”

“That’s good.” Putting his hand to his aching forehead, he found the lump. “What happened?”

“You dove head first into the side of your platform,” Jiron explained. “After that there was flame, and then we were here, wherever
here
is.”

James nodded and immediately regretted doing so. Once the pain subsided somewhat, he glanced once more at their surroundings. It was oddly familiar. A look to the ceiling revealed eight round objects recessed within holes spaced at even intervals from one side to the other.

Had there been light Jiron would have seen the color drain from his face as he began to understand. Almost afraid to look, he turned his gaze toward the door and fearfully began searching the walls. When he saw the four small levers situated in a closely aligned quad, he knew the truth. He was home.

“No!” he exclaimed.

“Shhh!” urged Jiron. Gesturing to the hallway he said, “We are not alone. Soldiers are out there and I don’t think they are friendly.”

“Soldiers?”

Jiron nodded. “They carry battleaxes.”

“Show me,” he said.

Getting up with a little help from Jira and Jiron, he accompanied Jiron to the window where Jiron tried to show him the soldiers. But like Jiron before him, was unable to see that far.

“You better tell me everything that happened after I bumped my head.”

As best he could, Jiron related the events following James’ injury. First, the wall of fire, then the waking in a world of rain with no clouds and the horrible screeching, finally culminating with his flight into the room and the men who came knocking. Jira added her observations as well.

James sat quietly when he finished, thinking about what he had just heard. There was no question he was back on Earth. Aside from the light switches on the wall, there was the Exit sign and snatches of conversation overheard from the axe-wielding, armored men whom he preferred to call fire fighters.

From the description of the room, the smoke, and the fact that the sprinkler system in the building had gone off suggested their appearance had in some way precipitated the fire. How and why he wasn’t sure.

The fire department had responded, searched the floor for others needing help, and now were most likely at the place where he and the other two had appeared, trying to figure out what happened.

“Uncle James,” said Jira.

Glancing down to her he asked, “Yes?”

“Father said you could get us home to mother.”

The enormity of her statement hit him like a ton of bricks.
Home!
Meliana and Kenny!
A vision of the mage leveling the manor house sprang to mind and he feared for his family. But how were they to get home? Earth had no magic! Holding out his hand, he tried summoning his orb. Even with his head still slightly muddled, he should have been able to perform so rudimentary a spell as that. Especially since it was one he regularly practiced almost on a daily basis. But the magic would not come.

There were no tell-tale signs of the mental barriers that a head injury would produce. No sense of magic being present but
just beyond reach. There was absolutely nothing!

His hand flew to his belt for his last remaining crystal. Jira saw the movement and retrieved the crystal from her pocket. “Is this what you were looking for uncle?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, relieved.

Taking the crystal, he searched for the red glow that all powered crystals bore. “No,” he moaned upon finding no glow within the crystal.

“James?” questioned Jiron.

“I…I don’t think we can go home.”

“But there
has
to be a way,” he argued. “You were brought from here to our world. We came from our world to here. There has to be magic of some kind within your world!”

Holding out his hand again, James tried and failed to produce his orb. “I have no power here,” he said frantically. “Remember, it was Igor who brought me to your world in the first place. Perhaps the rules regarding magic are different for gods than they are for mortals.” Again he sought to create an orb, and again he failed. Over and over he tried. Switching to different spells, he ran through the whole gamut of his repertoire with no success. Finally collapsing against the wall, he began to be wracked with sobs.

Jiron looked to his daughter and could see his own worry and fear mirrored in her eyes. He could no longer shield her from the truth. They would never see her mother again. Taking his daughter into his arms, he couldn’t help but match her tear for tear at their loss.

It had grown dark, the sunlight coming through the window having disappeared hours ago. Sitting with his daughter’s head in his lap, Jiron gently stroked her hair while she slept. James’ sobs had continued unabated until he too had succumbed to sleep.

Thoughts of Aleya ran through his mind. How he loved her. Even now it seemed odd for him to care so deeply about another as he did for his beloved Aleya. Her hair, the way she moved when pulling back the string to her bow, everything about her called to him.

His daughter was no less precious to him. At least he had this much left of his Aleya.

“No!” he suddenly exclaimed to the darkness. He was not going to give up on her so easily. Such was not in his nature. There had to be a way home and by the gods, James was going to find it!

Moving so as not to awaken his daughter, he scooted to the side and laid her head upon the floor. Seeing that she remained asleep, he crossed over to where James lay curled up in a fetal position.

Waking his friend with a shake, he said, “Wake up, we need to talk.”

“Wasn’t asleep,” he said wearily without moving or changing position.

Jiron grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him to a sitting position. “We don’t have time to wallow in grief,” he began. “We need you to get that brain of yours working and find us a way home.”

“I told you,” James said, finally raising his eyes to meet Jiron’s, “magic doesn’t work here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Sighing, James raised his hand and once more failed in an attempt to summon his orb. “I can’t even produce an orb,” he explained. “There is no magic.”

Jiron knelt quietly before James. “We have been through many adventures you and I,” he said. “More than once our situation was dire only for you to get us through. Sometimes by the skin of our teeth, but we always made it.”

Pausing a moment, he gave James an opportunity to comment. When he remained silent, Jiron continued. “I remember you talking of the magic of your world. What about this Gandalf character you speak so highly of?”

“He’s naught but the creation of a rather talented bard,” James replied.

“Even still, answer me this? How can a world devoid of magic
know
of magic?”

James sighed. “Magic is a term my people use to describe the causality of events that cannot be explained. It doesn’t necessarily refer to magic as you and I would.”

Seeing that he was getting nowhere, and not nearly having the flare with words that James possessed, he was forced to change tactics. “So what are we to do now?” he asked. “If as you say we are to remain on your world for the rest of our lives, what now?”

So wrapped up in misery over the loss of Meliana and Kenny, James’ train of thought hadn’t quite reached that far.

“Should we stay here?” asked Jiron, indicating the room about them. “Or should we leave? And if we do leave, where do we go?”

“I don’t think we should be found here,” began James. “With the fire, not to mention your and Jira’s knives, there would be questions raised we couldn’t answer. At least not in a way they would believe us.”

“Okay then,” said Jiron. “We leave.”

James nodded. “Wonder where we are?” Coming to his feet, he moved to the room’s window and looked out onto the hallway.

Feeling better now that life had begun returning to his friend, Jiron crossed over to where Jira slept and woke her. “We’re leaving.”

Sleepy-eyed, she asked, “Are we going home?”

“Not yet,” he replied.

At the window, James pressed his face against the glass and peered down the hallway. “It’s quiet,” he said. “We better make our way from the building by morning.” Glancing back to his friend he added, “They’ll for sure have cleaning crews in to repair the damage caused by the fire sprinklers.”

Moving with his daughter beside him, Jiron crossed to the door and retrieved the knife that wedged it closed. “Then there’s no time to waste.” Opening the door slowly, he poked his head out and looked down the hallway. Finding it deserted, he motioned for James to lead the way. “
Your
world.”

“Right.”

Passing through the doorway, James immediately went to the window at the end of the hall. From there he looked out over a town very much of his world. Tall buildings with lit windows, rivers of red and white lights flowing to and fro along the street far below, and several blocks away could be seen the unmistakable golden glow of a pair of arches. The sight made his stomach cramp and his mouth water.

“Does it look familiar?” Jiron asked.

Shrugging, James said, “At night, all cities look alike.” Eyes lingering hungrily on the golden glow in the distance for a moment longer, it was only by a sheer force of will that he was able to turn away. Remembered tastes and odors of long ago assailed him. “Let’s get out of here.”

Taking the lead, he led the way down to where a doorway was blocked off with yellow tape bearing the words,
“Police line. Do Not Cross.”
Pausing before the open door, he looked beyond the tape but couldn’t see much of anything in the gloom.

“What’s this, father?”

James glanced down and saw she had ripped one of the lower strands of police tape off the doorway and was holding it. “It’s telling everyone not to enter,” he explained. “That you will get into serious trouble if you do.”

“Oh,” she replied.

“Put it down Jira,” her father instructed.

“Yes, father,” she said, letting the tape slip from her hand.

James gave the darkened room one last look and was about to leave when the number on the door caught his eyes; twenty-three thirty-four. “We’re on the twenty-third floor,” he announced.

“Twenty-third?” asked an astonished Jiron. “How can they build that high?”

“My people can do some pretty amazing things.” Leaving the room behind, he continued down the hallway until coming to the elevator. About to press the button, he suddenly remembered elevators have cameras in them. In fact, he and Dave once mooned an elevator camera years before that fateful day when he answered the ad. For the next week they feared repercussions for their act, but thankfully, none ever materialized.

“Perhaps not,” he said more to himself than to the others. It might be best to leave without any record of them having been there. Glancing about, he located a door with a small window which had light coming through from the other side. Next to it was a plaque denoting a flight of steps.

Crossing to the stairwell, he led them down from one floor to the next, their footsteps echoing eerily. After descending five flights, James brought them to a halt.

“We’re going to need to do something about our attire,” he said. “Dressed as we are, we will stand out once we leave the building.” Glancing to Jiron and his knives, he added, “And if anyone sees your knives the cops will be on us.”

“Cops?” asked Jiron.

“It’s what we call the town guard in my world,” he explained. “It isn’t customary for my people to walk around so armed.”

“How do you defend yourselves?” Jiron asked.

“Most people don’t,” he replied.

“I’ll not give up my knives,” he firmly stated.

“You don’t have to,” James assured him. “But we will need to find some way to conceal them before we leave the building.” Glancing at the knives hanging on Jira’s belt he added, “Yours too.”