Walks Along The Cliffs
Magic, in of itself, is mostly neither good nor evil. However, it tends to attract utter bastards, as the ruthless and often-maniacal pursuit of power at all costs is often rewarded with, well, more power.
And here we have a textbook example of the aforementioned bastards, under the sinister cloak of night, the stars and crescent moon offering dim light overhead. Whilst a full moon has more occult potential, and is more suitable for dramatic effect, the wielding of magic doesn’t require the moon to be full (with a few rare exceptions).
Four men in long robes with their faces obscured by hoods and matching golden masks stood in a dank cellar, the candles that were lit and placed around a long torture rack cast shadows that played evilly upon the visages of the men.
A teenage girl was bound to the rack, her wrists and ankles chained and connected to each corner. Her eyes darted all around, she was in a vice-like grip of fear. She had been walking home from her friend’s house, she remembered hearing a van driving behind her and then…..darkness.
Around him, she could hear low pitched chanting in a language he couldn’t understand. She tried to scream out, but his mouth was gagged.
The chanting fell silent.
“Brother Kalinius, do you have the tome?” boomed the voice of one of the men with the tones of one comfortable in a position of authority.
This wasn’t some mere trinket or fraudulent piece of “magick”, this was one of the Blood Archives, a series of texts of Higher Magic, or, as it was more accurately known, Cruel Magic. It’s an exception to the “magic is neutral” rule. Although it can provide unending and limitless power, the mental, physical and moral sacrifices required to wield it meant that it was considered problematic at best and outright monstrous at worst.
The Blood Wizard, as he was often known, had no such qualms with Cruel Magic. Driven by rage and revenge, he was ruthless in the pursuit of power, people and animals alike were expendable, mere tools to be deployed and disposed of as needed.
“Indeed, I do, my lord.” Kalinius said with a degree of deference. He handed over a large and weighty book bound in what to the casual eye appeared to be a type of leather at first glance, but was in fact, human skin. The tome was covered in a protective cloth to shield it from the elements and any prying eyes.
The Blood Wizard took the tome out of the cloth and brushed one hand over the tome, the texture did not feel as expected. He looked down and frowned behind his mask at this grave logistical error. He then gave Kalinius a Look which could have flash-fried a whole cow. Even though the masks hid their expressions, Kalinius could tell that The Blood Wizard was displeased.
“What the bloody hell is this?” The Blood Wizard asked, waving what should have been the tome but instead had Chef Jenny’s Baking For Beginners embossed on the front. Kalinius would do anything to have avoided eye contact with him at this point.
“Look at me, you cowardly bitch! Where is the damn tome?” The Blood Wizard demanded an answer, and Kalinius was desperately hoping he could provide one.
“I think it may be in the van, my lord.” Kalinius responded with hesitation in his voice.
“Well then, go get it.” The Blood Wizard hissed. Raising his voice and snapping his fingers, he barked to the other two. “And you two idiots go help him because it seems this dickhead cannot tell the difference between his arsehole and his elbow.” He kicked a nearby stool in frustration.
The two idiots, Anders and Mathius, left with Kalinius to look in the van.
A few minutes passed and the three acolytes returned, their body language did not provide much in the way of hope. The Blood Wizard looked at them, waiting for the inevitable bad news.
“My lord.” Kalinius began in his most subordinate voice, sometimes derisively known as “the arse-kissing voice”. “There has been…..a complication.” Kalinius and the others flinched instinctively, awaiting the inevitable blast of fury.
Instead, he was quiet, which may have been worse. At least with a good beating you knew where you stood, and eventually he’d run out of steam, but this time he just stared at them.
“What do you mean by ‘a complication’?” The Blood Wizard could have frozen hell itself with his voice. “Where is the tome?”
The three acolytes looked at each other, Anders and Mathius pushed Kalinius forward as their impromptu-spokesman.
Kalinius gulped before responding. “My lord, it is lost.”
The Blood Wizard said nothing. He was stone-still, his eyes not leaving Kalinius. “And how, do tell, did you lose the tome?”
“I think it was when we kidnapped the girl here.” He said, gesturing to the victim. “There was a…scuffle and I think the book got left at the village we took her from.”
The Blood Wizard listened on as Kalinius, haltingly and with many panic-induced stutters, explained that the kid put up more resistance than expected, using her bicycle as a weapon. They tried to subdue her with magic, but the close quarters meant they couldn’t risk it without potentially knocking themselves out.
In the midst of the scuffle Mathius tried to knock out the girl with chloroform but was rewarded with a hearty whack to the head. The book had bounced out of the van, landing into thick undergrowth of the nearby woods. Eventually, Anders bonked her on the head, making her crumple to the van floor.
The scuffle had caused a stir amongst the house dwellers, lights had been switched on and there were voices and people began to step out of their houses. Panicking, the acolytes decided to accelerate off into the night, back to their base of operations.
The Blood Wizard listened to all this with barely-restrained fury.
“If you three were not the only ones remaining in our shit heap of an organisation, I would have killed you here and now.”
Mathius raised a shaky hand.
The Blood Wizard sighed. “Yes, Mathius?”
Mathius was trembling on the spot. “So you’re not going to kill us?”
The Blood Wizard muttered something unprintable. “No, Mathius, but don’t tempt me.”
Mathius fell quiet as his superior continued. “We need that book, see if you idiots can find it.”
Kalinius coughed meaningfully.
“Yes, Kalinius?”
He pointed to the chained boy. “What about her?”
The Blood Wizard waved a hand irritably. “Just kill her, you can at least finish part of the ritual, we'll have to finish the fucking thing when you clean up your mess. I can’t believe I wasted all this prep time just for you three asshats to mess it up.”
The girl’s eyes widened further, her screams muffled by the gag and pure terror coursing through her body as one of the dark mages flourished the knife and carried out their grim assignment.
Spring was awakening late in the quaint village of Fallingham. It was a beautiful little town in the countryside, nestled nicely away from the hustle and bustle of London. There were cottages with thatched roofs, farms, quaint shops and a cosy little tavern which was the informal heart of the town.
A leafy old settlement that was once occupied by the Vikings as a farming village. Later civilisations added the small castle on its outskirts, which in the old days would serve as a handy vantage point to watch the sea and the plains for any potential attack.
In modern times, it was the kind of place that Americans would think England is like when you asked them about our little country. It could easily serve as the picturesque setting for *those* type of Christmas films where the protagonist is a high-flying city executive type who returns to the small town and falls in love with a wood worker and discovers the meaning of Christmas.
But on this day, it wasn’t Christmas, nor were there any Vikings nor powerful women in marketing or finance scouring for love. No, this was a story about siblings, twins in fact.
Genevieve “Gen” and Damien Duclair, who were nearly 16 years of age, were quite different despite being twins. On a superficial level, their respective fashion senses were worlds apart, despite their parents attempting to dress them in matching clothes when they were small.
Gen often dressed in such colourful combinations that people often thought she was the survivor of an explosion at a paint factory or that she was part-rainbow.
Her personality was as loud and endearing- or annoying, if you were feeling cruel- and very much an extrovert, often making friends and being a source of cheer and comfort.
Damien, meanwhile, often resembled a human raven or perhaps an old plague doctor, both were accurate descriptors. He was far more introverted than his sister. Although, in all fairness, even stand-up comedians would be considered introverts in comparison to her. He was shy and withdrawn, but was loyal to a fault to those who he cared about, not that making friends was his strong suit.
It was early Saturday afternoon, and whenever the weather was nice enough, such as this particular day, the twins would walk along the Coastal Trail, a long but relatively flat path along the cliffs. Below lay rocky shores. The other side of the geographical sandwich lay rolling fields and the looming tower of the ruins of Fallingham Castle.
Their backpacks clunked and rattled as the contents- mostly food and drink- moved around the space.
“I saw this video on Instagram, a raccoon had some candy floss but he dropped it in the water and he was all sad and the music.....” Gen would often speak, at length about anything. Her mind had a tendancy to wander so much that it would often bring back postcards and souvenirs from its cognitive travels.
Damien stopped and looked out towards the sea. The waters were calm and tranquil. On days like these they brought peace to his often turbulent mind. A faint breeze drifted around.
Damien was often awkward and ill-at-ease with his peers. Try as he might, he’d always stumble on his words or make some ill-conceived joke or statement and then ponder it for days. He wished often that he wasn’t the bag of trembling anxiety and nerves that he was.
Gen turned around, realising she had lost her audience of one.
“Hey bro, did you even listen to a word I said?” She asked, annoyed by a lack of consideration to her compelling raccoon story. Her expression softened when she saw the melancholic look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” She laid a tender hand on his shoulder. He said nothing, merely refusing to meet her gaze. This wasn’t uncommon, eye contact was an optional extra for Damien.
“We’re gonna be meeting the gang in a bit, that always cheers you up.” She continued, with a faint smile. “Want any chocolate? I have plenty.”
She reached into her bag, pulled out a bar and tossed it to him. Damien gleefully wolfed the chocolate down in one gulp. Gen was impressed. Damien was far from a big lad, but he had an appetite that was almost vampiric.
“Better?” Gen grinned at her brother. He nodded. She could’ve sworn that a smile crossed his face.
They soon approached their destination. There were two benches facing the sea. One of the benches was occupied by three individuals, which was a bit of a squeeze. The girl in the middle, Debbie, stood up and ran to hug Gen. She was the tallest of the group, her blonde hair cropped and both her ears pierced. Much like Gen, Debbie and the other two- Marie and Amy- also wore almost-offensively bright clothes.
Marie and Amy soon followed, a group embrace occurred whilst Damien stood awkwardly at a distance. He was never one to show much in the way of emotions or affection, unlike his sister, who apparently showed them all the time.
“Hey guys, it’s so good to see you, it feels like forever.” Gen squeaked excitedly.
“It was yesterday.” Damien mumbled to himself, the sarcasm going unheard by the rest of the group. After stopping briefly and chatting about the pressing concerns of teenagers, they continued on their walk until the rolling fields gave way to the woods. This was a handy shortcut back to the town.
As they traipsed among the trees, Damien swore he could hear a sinister whispering that echoed in his head.
"Hey Gen, can you hear that?" Damien asked, worried about how he might seem to the rest.
She shook her head but listened out. The whispering returned, this time Gen heard it, and she looked at her brother with her eyes wide.
"Oh shit, what is that?" She asked in hushed tones, secretly worried that whatever was whispering would hear. Amy, Marie and Debbie stopped and turned around.
"Hey Gen, what's wrong?" Amy asked with concern.
The whispers became louder, and the rest of the group could hear.
"Come free us, come find us." The raspy voice whispered. Oddly, Gen suddenly felt like she knew where the voices were coming from. She set off eastwards, the voices were increasing in volume until it became a scratching, harsh cacophony of noise.
Gen stopped by some bushes. Damien and the group soon arrived. They were by a road and could hear the occasional car drive past, but they were shielded from prying eyes by the old, tall trees.
"What is that?" Damien asked, pointing to something in the undergrowth. His sister reached in and pulled out a book. The harsh whispers rose to a crescendo and abruptly stopped.
Gen looked at the front cover. It seemed almost alive, almost hungry.
