Birthright - Book 2 of the Legacy Series (An Urban Fantasy Novel) (13 page)

Which god?
The
god? Couldn’t be possible.

I mean, if I were that omnipotent the only music in the industry would be seventy’s rock and
Firefly
would never have been cancelled.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked darkly.

“It is just a theory. But all the clues fit. But now, I wish to understand something else,” he replied. “I wish to know more about you. How did you lose your magical abilities, save your healing and the channeling? What happened to your father? And where does Tenzin enter the picture?”

The hard questions.

Either I didn’t have the answers for them, or I made every effort to avoid such questions. But I volunteered for this. I chose to tell Sun Tzu, if not for myself, then for the sake of everyone else. Gil, Abi, Amaymon. For the sake of any victim the Sins will target again. I couldn’t let anyone get hurt simply because I wussed out. If I had to open this particular can of worms, then so be it.

“Fine,” I said. “It’s a long, dark story.”

“I have all the time in the world to hear you out, my friend.” Sun Tzu’s smile was warm and inviting. Just like a true friend’s. Just like a caring father.

Just like Tenzin’s.

“Fine. But before I start,” I shook the empty whiskey bottle at him. “I’m going to need more medicine.”

Sun Tzu bowed his head slightly and exhibited his toothy grin. Amaymon hopped from the table, and I could feel him drawing just the tiniest slivers of power.

“Allow me. I’m getting stiff sitting on my ass all day.” He padded toward the bar and disappeared behind the counter. In his place appeared a man with a shorter, but stouter, build than mine. He wore all black, from the cargo plants to the black tank top, to the black beanie. His eyes retained the same feline appearance, and when he grinned his serrated teeth flashed wickedly. He reached behind him and pulled out a bottle. Without reading the label, he twisted off the top and took a long swig.

“Hmm, single malt. Ain’t bad.”

All this time the other three patrons present, Turtle, Long and Tiger, halted their game and watched the demon with predatory intent. Not that they were making much progress in their game before. Long and Tiger were locked in a perpetual staring contest, with Turtle trying to be the jolly man in between. Each move the two made against each other involved a lot of slapping down tiles and growling challengingly. I never knew Mahjong could be so fierce.

They stared at the familiar, their expressions dark. Amaymon noticed them, held up his hand, and started holding up fingers at random. Turtle let out a gasp and immediately grabbed a couple of tiles. The other two looked at the tiles and shook their heads in defeat. Turtle looked at Amaymon and bobbed his head in thanks, beaming so widely that his eyes closed. The other two glared at the demon who cost them the game, only to see him flipping them off.

“Is he always this helpful?” asked Sun Tzu as Amaymon grabbed a second bottle and made his way toward us. “Turtle usually lets them win, so they can keep playing game after game without resorting to violence.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Amaymon for you. The only reason he helped Turtle out is so he can piss off two people at once instead of just one. And to egg them into fighting each other,” I replied.

“A demon through and through,” said Sun Tzu as he held out his glass and Amaymon filled it to the brim with amber liquid.

“And don’t you forget it,” Amaymon replied smugly.

I snatched away the bottle and filled my own glass. With a silent toast, we all drank and refilled our glasses. Not Amaymon, though — the barbarian chugged straight from the bottle.

“Ain’t you got a story for us, Erik? Start spillin’, man,” said Amaymon in the urban accent he speaks with when in human form.

“Sure. But this is when things turn…” I paused to look for the appropriate word, but anything I thought of could not encompass the gravity of the story. “Well, this is where the crap hits the proverbial fan.”

Approximately 8 years ago

We woke up in the infirmary. It was a small, busy room tended by two very short, quiet young women. Other beds were occupied by members of the Mansion’s security, although judging from their injuries, their jobs also extended to tending the supernatural chicken runs.

The first thing I remember was squinting. The light shone directly on me and was soon shadowed by Mephisto, who loomed in like some kind of cheap special effects specter.

“Ugh,” was all I managed, and tried sitting up. An alarm went off in my head. I shuddered all over as every muscle, tendon and bone ached and cracked. I felt like I’d been hit by a bus and then swept off in a hurricane. But I guess you’re bound to feel some backlash when you go up against a phoenix, die in the process, and then cast a spell using your own body.

“Well done, Erik. You survived. Both of you did,” Mephisto said.

The world stopped spinning for a moment as I grasped the edge of my bed and tried desperately to get up and punch the demon in the face. The problem was, I saw his face in three different directions.

“Any particular reason why you tried to kill us, or are you just that bored?” I spat, still trying to get adjusted to standing up.

“Oh, but there is a reason, young Master,” he replied. Something about his voice made we wish I was back with the firebird. “This was the final stage of your training and you both passed. Congratulations, children, you are both one step closer to being warlocks now.”

“So, that means we get to keep on killing monsters for no apparent reason? Whoopty-freakin’-doo,” I said.

“There is a reason, and a very good one at that. But first, I have one final lesson to teach you,” he replied. “Something that you both experienced but have not studied: channels.”

“We already know how to channel magic,” said Gil.

She’d been quiet all this time, standing beside me and trying not to let me fall on my face. She didn’t have any injuries on her, but I could see some large plaster patches covering her arms, and she smelled of solvent and medical unguents. Safe to assume her arms were burned and the smelly paste was some sort of remedy.

“We used crystals and thaumaturgy before,” she said.

“Crystals and such trinkets will only get you so far. I am talking about the real channels of power,” he said in his creepiest tone. He looked intently at me, “Blood, Body, and Soul.”

“What happened to me, Mephisto?” I asked, looking at my hands. I had no bandages and no plasters. In fact, were it not for the fact that my clothes looked like something even a homeless person would throw away, I looked perfectly healthy.

“All in due time, Master Erik. All in due time. But first, we must cover the basics of this issue. Meet me at the usual study after dinnertime. That should give you enough time to recuperate.”

“Using the body as a channel will result in powerful magic,” said Mephisto. “As Erik showed with his impromptu water spell, the amplification of the spell increases tenfold at the very least. This, however, is a dangerous method of creating spells, because of the backlash.”

The demon paced around the room as we sat down, trying to shift into a position where our injuries would not bother us. We weren’t succeeding.

“The human body is not conditioned for magic. Let me give you an example. If you were to use a wind spell using the air currents surrounding you and your breath as a catalyst that would be a safe way of creating a spell. However, if you were to channel magic directly into your body and use only your breath as both spell and catalyst, then you would not only expend every last morsel of air inside your lungs, but also every molecule of oxygen inside your system. Blood cells would die and your muscles would atrophy. The damage would be too great.”

“But what about when there are no channels?” asked Gil. She tapped her pencil on her notepad, a gesture she usually did absentmindedly as she got into the lesson. “Like our battle against the phoenix. All we had was a crystal. What happens once the channel is no longer functional? Will words, alone, suffice?”

“No,” replied Mephisto. “Chants are used by humans simply because the human mind is not accustomed to magic. Or rather, deliberate magic. You humans need everything to be organized and categorized. Magic is not so… anal.”

“Did he just call our entire species a ‘tight ass’?” I muttered in Gil’s ear. She giggled silently, trying not to make too loud a sound.

“Humans use chants to achieve the right frame of mind, as a sort of catalyst for the mental portion of the spell. A chant is a mind frame and little else. Indeed, once you advance yourselves into the deeper realities of magic you will be able to wield it as easily as you breathe,” continued Mephisto. “So, to answer your question, Miss Gil, if your channel were to break or shatter, you will be left with no choice but to put your body and life on the line.”

“But,” he snapped abruptly as he spun like a flamboyant magician about to perform his
pièce de résistance
, “the main issue is the durability of the channel. What if I told you that one may create a channel so powerful that it is virtually unbreakable? One so attuned to its wielder that it not only channels magic, but tunes it according to the user’s will and amplifies it accordingly?”

“One ring to rule them all?” I quoted smugly.

“Defiant as usual,” said the demon. “But let me ask you this — why do the most iconic mythological figures always appear wielding one weapon? And why is that weapon always named?”

“Because people like to name things.”

“Or, perhaps, because their relationship with the object is so deep that a part of their very essence, their soul you might say, is inside that object, tying it to them forever. Why is it that spirits always linger in old houses? Because the person who lived there has invested a portion of their essence inside the very walls of the building.”

“So, you’re saying that any wizard could just create a channel which is indestructible and all that?” I asked with disbelief. “Why doesn’t everyone do that and be done with regular junk?”

“Because it is exceedingly difficult to create one. The person needs to be completely open to magic, find an object suitable for them, and most importantly, find a creature with magic parallel to theirs, subdue it, break it down to its essential elements and integrate those elements into the object.”

Gil and I looked at each other. I guess both of us began to realize what it was that our family actually did with all the monsters.

“Who would go through all that trouble and danger?” asked Gil.

“Exceedingly powerful and desperate wizards,” replied Mephisto. “Like your brother.”

Both Gil and the demon frowned at me. What the hell was he on about? I like to think I’m powerful but, truth be told, ever since I woke up from that hospital bed I couldn’t feel any magic. It was like someone had switched off the tap.

I just chalked it up to a side effect of coming back to life after being clinically dead for a few minutes.

“What do you mean, ‘powerful and desperate’?”

“It’s very simple. The fact that you managed to heal your dead body implies that you have unleashed your greater potential,” said Mephisto. “But I firmly believe, Master Erik, that you have lost your ability to use magic.”

“I’m gonna need a better explanation than that,” I said.

“And you shall get it,” replied Mephisto. “Follow me outside for a moment, please.”

He led us to a clearing adjacent to our front door, hidden from view, but not so that you couldn’t fully see the house from where we were.

“Cast any spell you wish, Master Erik.” Mephisto leaned against a tree, a smile plastered on his face.

I looked around, taking in my surroundings. If this creepy bastard wanted me to shoot something, I might as well blast him. Probably not the best of ideas. Instead, I settled for a small bush, perhaps ten meters away from me. I dug inside my pockets and produced a matchbox. I struck a match against the side and watched as the small flame began consuming the small length of wood.

Mephisto had allowed me to pick out anything I wanted on the way out of the mansion. I snatched the matchbox as quickly as I could. Fire magic was flashy and generally fun to play with. I mean, come on, who doesn’t like shooting fireballs? Give me some fantasy armor and they could make a video game character out of me.

Matchsticks were great tools for magic. Wood is a natural material and the amount of energy you can pass through it is almost unlimited.

Fire is one of the purest elements in any form you can get it. Fire is fire – it hasn’t changed since cavemen first rubbed two flints together.

I focused on the flame and channeled magic through the lit match. Pain flared through me, jarring every bone in my body. I dropped the match — my entire body shook and convulsed with the sheer surprise of agony.

“Erik! Are you alright?” Gil had her arms around me. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked Mephisto. The demon remained against the tree, his attitude relaxed and bored.

“It’s just as I suspected. Erik’s magic has become internal rather than external. His magic is locked inside him, constantly looping inside his body. That was why he could practically resurrect himself from death. That amount of healing required his entire magical potential and it is now solely focused on Erik and his body.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I spat through clenched teeth. My lungs burned, and I bent over into a fit of coughs. I tried breathing slowly and riding out the pain, but it had no effect. It was like someone had crushed my very core, shaking me from the inside. Like I was a rag doll being ripped apart and sewn back together.

“It means that you cannot use magic outside the confines of your body,” replied Mephisto as he eyed me. He focused on me with predatory gaze, as if he were a scientist and I was Frankenstein’s creation. He looked at me as if he were waiting for me to spontaneously combust. “In terms that you can understand, your entire body has become something akin to a channel.”

“Didn’t you say that was impossible?” asked Gil.

“I said it was harmful to use magic through a human body. This,” Mephisto pointed at me, “is a mutation. The question is not what, but rather, how. And why.”