Wolf Awert - The Reign of Magic

“That’s only five, though. Unless you counted Exmediant for two?”

“The sixth and last demon is little-known. His name is Subturil and he is the Demon of Pride.”

Nill was not certain whether he had heard correctly. “Pride?” he asked.

“Yes, pride – or arrogance. The tales say that no mortal can escape these demons when confronted by them. They are described in our legends. Many of the old heroes fought against them, but all of them failed. Each in their way – some went out in great battle, some sad and pathetic.”

“And you can talk to them?”

“Yes, I can, although I never have. You must know that the six great demons are the demons of the ancient time, when emotions were still pure and powerful. These days people still battle their emotions, but their enemies are of a less threatening nature. No, the time of the great demons is over. And those six are not even the mightiest of all. Above them still stand the Archdemons. The Griffin-Legged, the Goat-Legged and Serp the Mighty, who takes the form of a snake. Whoever goes to the Other World should take great care that no birds of prey, no rams and no snakes are near. For demons are cunning, clever and capricious in the human world.”

“Do not worry. I will make sure that the ram does not approach the fire,” the druid said.

Urumir seemed to calm down at these words, for the ram had disappeared. “Now then. Name your demon, Nill,” he said.

“Esara called him Bucyngaphos.”

It looked as though all life had been drained from Urumir. He collapsed, held up by the bones and quills on his clothing, but then fell backwards off the trunk. Nill saw two filthy feet follow. Dakh’s face had lost all color. Nill could not tell what scared him more. How could simply giving a name make two such powerful men helpless, like a hedgehog flipped on its back? The thought of leaping up, running away and leaving behind everything that had to do with the Other World and its demons shot through his head. But it passed before he could act upon the impulse, and in spite of all his fear he could not tear himself away. He felt pulled towards the Other World like a moth to a light. Accessible , he thought.

Dakh regained composure first and helped the shaman back up.

“Is that possible?” he asked Urumir. “And if it is – what does it mean?”

“If what Nill says is true, the Other World is looking for him. And if Bucyngaphos is after him, he will be found. In this world or in his world. And because Nill can’t escape him, he must meet him head on. Are you ready, Nill?”

Nill was not, but he nodded all the same.

“Then we shall go through the flame.”

Nill did not understand what he meant, for the shaman was still sitting.

“Look into the fire, I will help you.”

Wild images flitted past. Nill saw the primal fire igniting, raging, shrinking to earthen fire and falling apart, the sparks growing ever smaller. Now there stood only a torch in the darkness. Nill saw things burned in the fire, he saw mages conjure flames from nothing, saw the calm, silent blaze of molten rock and bursting flames. He saw fire by the river and in the mountains, fire underneath ice and in his mother’s oven.

He felt dizzy. He was standing in the fire, felt its heat and heard its roar, saw the heat waves in the air and heard the cracking of wood and stone. In the middle of the inferno he saw a black spot that slowly grew, taking on a human form.

“Come,” the spot said, “follow me.”

Nill stepped hesitantly forwards and passed through the flames. In front of him was naught but an enormous darkness.

“It takes some time for the eyes to get used to the darkness when you enter the Other World through the fire.” The shaman’s calm voice was clearly audible. The blackness all around began to feel less absolute, the shadows started taking shape. At first they were washed-out and formless, but they slowly began to resemble bodies. Nill could make out faces and differentiate between armor and robes, rags and noble dress. The people in front of him moved at a steady pace or hovered above the ground. There was no rest anywhere, everything was moving.

“I wouldn’t have thought this place to be so busy,” he murmured in wonder.

“It isn’t. It just seems like it because we’re in the demons’ world now. Time and space as we know it have no greater part to play here, they are not constant. If you move towards one of these figures you’ll see that there are great spaces between them. There are not many humans in the Other World.”

“Is this not the place where all dead people go?”

“No, only the people we remember. Our grandparents and parents, our brothers, sisters, sons and daughters. And the people of old, of legend: powerful kings and mages whose stories have been told for generations. Why do you think rulers have their deeds chronicled, why do we build statues and memorials? As long as a person remembers you, you will stay in the Other World.”

“And if I’m forgotten?”

“Then you will go back to the void whence you came.”

“So as long as I’m here I can speak to my fellow people, even if I’m long dead.”

“If someone is there to call upon you, yes. That is why people come to us shaman. We possess the magic of communing with the spirits of the dead. We are the mediators.”

“Do spirits like being called upon?” Nill asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean maybe the spirits would rather go back into the void than waiting around here for someone to finally call them.”

The shaman shook his head. “The spirits do not feel any longer. The time they spend here does not exist for them.”

Nill went on through the shadows. It looked as though they were dodging out of his way, but maybe they were not there at all. Occasionally he saw someone in a regal gown or in mighty armor with bloodstained weapons, but most of them were like the villagers he had known: farmers, hunters, shepherds and craftsmen.

Between the dead, small things that Nill could not quite make out hopped around. When he came closer they retreated quickly. Nill followed them and the amount of spirits lessened. It was not easy to see anything. Some of the creatures had small, red dots for eyes. Nill looked over his shoulder and realized with a shock that he had lost Urumir.

“Urumir, where are you?” Nill cried out silently into the flowing nothingness all around him. His guide had left him in the Other World. He was gone. Everything seemed to fall apart. Nill’s eyes found the only solid point he could find in all the confusion: a pair of slanted, yellow eyes.

“You, here?” Nill breathed. He had never thought he would greet his old ram with such relief and happiness. “It seems you want to follow me everywhere. How did you get past Dakh-Ozz-Han?”

But the eyes stayed sill in the darkness and did not move. Nill stepped towards them. The eyes recoiled from him.

“We’re all alone here, so come to me,” Nill implored and began to doubt whether the eyes really were his ram’s. His happiness was suddenly gone and fear began to replace it. Nill took a step back and the eyes followed. Nill could not make out what creature belonged to those eyes. He walked to the side, backwards and forwards. The eyes mirrored his every move as in a silent dance. Nill squatted down and the eyes rose up. He leapt and the eyes dropped to the ground without losing a trace of their intense gaze. He spun around and the eyes were gone. Nill was afraid that this was all just a game, the rules to which he did not know, something which reality could burst out of at any second.

How do shaman find their way in the Other World if there’s nothing to hang on to? he wondered. At this point he had even begun to doubt whether the floor he was standing on was really there, for the shadows around him sank through it into the depths or rose up into the sky, as though there were no actual boundaries whatsoever. It seemed the ground was only where he chose to stand. Nill jumped up, expecting to sink with the other descending shadows, but he landed on his feet again. His jump was feeble too, not more than a small hop. “I’ll never get out of here. Urumir, was it you who lost me?”