Wolf Awert - The Reign of Magic

Nill thrust and his dagger sliced through the creature’s outstretched arm, merely disturbing the smoky swirls. The whip-tail with its metal barb circled through the air with a howl, passing through the walls of the hut as though they weren’t there, and wrapped itself around Nill’s chest. Nill felt icy cold and fiery heat at once. But the tail dissolved on the surface of his body, disappearing into his flesh and reforming behind him. The smoke became murkier and denser. It stopped swirling and started to drip like oil. Nill let out another scream. His battle-cry of anguish and anger with the light, penetrating sound of his young voice made the creature jerk up its head. It roared back at him. Dull, but from the depths of its body it aimed the roar at the boy. It was the sound of chaos, shaped, but not yet words. The sounds marked the beginning of feelings, while destroying all thought. The roar blasted through Nill’s head, surged down his spine, tumbled in his stomach and tore back out through his skin. Nill shook under the branding storm of a language he did not understand.

Esara stood with her back to the wall, paralyzed by fear, her fingers digging into the woven branches of the low-alders. Nill’s first cry had woken her. She had leapt up before she could even see anything, prepared to defend her son from anything and anyone threatening to disturb Grovehall’s peace. But at the sight of the swirling cloud whose stench settled heavily in her nose she lost all strength and determination. Esara was but a truth-teller, yet from the remains of a past life that had long sunk beyond memory an old knowledge rose. And with that knowledge came understanding.

Esara’s eyes darted around the room and came to rest on a small table, on which stood a bowl of blossoming Nightwort. Nill had brought it home two days ago from one of his wanderings.

“Drop the dagger and take the flowers!” she screamed.

But Nill did not understand. He glanced at Esara and saw her mutter words he could not hear, their sound drowned by the growls of the boar. Nill flipped the dagger so that the point faced downwards like a wildcat’s claws. He lowered his arm, stretched his wrist and the dagger vanished from his opponent’s sight, well hidden behind his body. The beast swiped at Nill with its left arm to crush his shoulder and sink its claws deep into his flesh. Nill turned, dodging the attack, and struck upwards with his dagger. The blade went through the arm, throwing up a cascade of brownish-yellow swirls. The battle-boar roared louder.

Esara’s voice was suddenly clear and bright in Nill’s mind and bypassed the disturbed air. Somewhere in a mystical center between his ears it sounded calm, decisive and urging, with no fear or desperation. “Drop your dagger, take the flowers. Focus on the flowers, forget the smoke. Remember how it was when you picked them.”

The beast’s next blow hit his shoulder and the claws sank deep into his flesh. The pain was more severe than when he had been struck with the whip, but again there were no wounds, and not a drop of blood spilled from his body.

“Remember how it was when you picked the flowers, how you carried them home, how you placed them back in their natural element, the calm water.” Esara’s voice had lost its urgency and instead sounded as monotonous as a small brook. It took Nill’s thoughts away from battle and war to peace, to beauty and love. Nill turned about, took the flowers carefully out of the water and let the beast be. He did not feel the hot-cold grasp of the paws around his throat, nor the sharp horn of the claws. A comforting warmth spread from the watery plants in his hands through his body. The pain of fire and ice dissolved, the eerie creature in the smoke became ever more translucent. The last thing Nill saw was the battle-boar’s wide open maw, the huge skull thrown back. It looked as though it wanted to shout something. Then the smoke vanished and only a faint echo remained of the roaring and howling.

Esara embraced Nill and whispered: “Come now and sleep. It was just an illusion, a vision with no power.”

Almost limply Nill let her guide him. He was numb and fell asleep instantly. Inside him, the battle still raged. All through the night he tossed about, screamed and woke with blank eyes staring at invisible pictures. Esara sat by him all night. To stop the slight beginnings of the fever she repeatedly spread a few droplets of water from the Nightwort on his brow. When Nill finally seemed calm, the sun had begun to rise.

“I had a terrible dream,” Nill said as he sat blinking on his bed. “I dreamed of a terrible creature I had to fight.”

Esara looked tired and old. Several strands had loosened from her banded hair, her hands shook slightly and her eyes were deep. It was not the lack of sleep that brought this weariness about.

“I wish it were so,” she said quietly. “Look, your knife is lying there. Exactly where you dropped it. And if you check the floor, you’ll find traces of your foe. I’ll brush them away when the sun stands higher.”

Nill looked at the floor from his bed and saw a fine yellow dust with a scattering of rough black grains.

“Sulfur and Dark-filth,” Esara answered his puzzled gaze.

“What was that creature that attacked us?” Nill asked.

Esara gave a bitter laugh. “It was a demon. I only saw the smoke and smelled the stench that heralded it, but I’ll never forget that smell.”

“Couldn’t you see it?” Nill asked.

Esara shook her head. “Sometimes only the person who is targeted by the demon can see it.”

“I don’t even know if it was really there,” Nill said. “I could make it out quite clearly, but we could not touch each other. My dagger went through it like the smoke it arrived in, and its claws did not harm me even though I felt them.”

He rubbed his shoulder, which still hurt a little.

Esara looked pensive. “Demons are creatures of the Other World. They only come when they are called or when someone sends them. Then they can exist in this world and are unstoppable.”

“But you stopped the demon. You, by yourself. You told me what to do and your voice was stronger than the demon’s roar.” Nill suddenly saw Esara through different eyes.

“I can’t remember that,” Esara said quietly. “But that wasn’t me. No, to stop a demon you have to be a powerful warlock or mage, and even then success is uncertain. Demons are companions to feelings and memories. It must have followed your chagrin, your anger or your disappointment. I should have known that the dancing runes were presaging something... but a demon! I had not expected that. Whatever you felt, the only way to banish the demon was to replace your feelings with a different memory.”

“But I wasn’t angry. Just confused. Does that mean that whenever I don’t understand something that demon is going to come?” Nill sounded uncertain.

“No, only if the feelings are very strong and have been lying dormant for a long time. And if the person is accessible for the powers of the Other World.”

Nill tried to understand what Esara was telling him. “So I’m one of the people who are...” Nill hesitated over the strange word. “Accessible?”

“I don’t know. You did not meet in this or the Other World, but somewhere betwixt. I could not see the demon, so he wasn’t here. I could not see you clearly either, a part of you had already gone. There is an old song about Mortar the Seeker. He went to the mid-realm. That’s all I know.”

“So you don’t know what it looked like? It was a beast made up of many different animals.” Nill eagerly described the demon in all detail and Esara drew defensive runes in the air, shocked.

“If I could not feel his presence here, I would agree and say it was all a dream, for the demon you just described is called Bucyngaphos. And he is no ordinary demon; he is one of their three lords. The legends say that Bucyngaphos looks different for every person. Only two things remain the same in all accounts. For one, he is always made up of different animals, for another, he always stands on the legs of a bird of prey. But you must be mistaken.”