Scratch an errant Lich 1

 this is a long short story in 5 parts, which grew out of FF, and may go in as it is to a mixed fantasy/fairy tale book with Gina and Simon or I might expand the idea of an international magical police force and see if it will expand to a modern fantasy book if anyone likes it.

Scratching an errant lich

 

I

 

The problem with magic, reflected Amber Luytens, was that nobody believed in it any more. It was what made it so hard to cover up problems caused by the magical, especially those who had no idea what they were doing.  The global village made it both easier, and harder. Easier, because a rapid-response team from The Council could readily find out about, and handle, a problem. Harder because not only did people travel, and spread their genetic heritance widely enough to make the appearance of Unfamilied Talented more likely, and because people discussed things on the internet.  The use of films and books and explaining away happenings as film locations kept those of literary bent very busy. It had been a brilliant stroke the first time that was used, on the part of someone when there were strange tales told of what had happened during the second world war in an obscure, English seaside town.

It also helped if those who were Familied had the decency to keep their Talent to themselves.

Wherein lay the problem.

“So, tell me about your uncle, Zhanargul,” sighed Amber, team leader of team Alpha, speaking to the new recruit. Zhanargul was a slim, dark girl from what Amber privately called ‘one of the Darkest Stans’. It could be hard sorting out the difference between the borders of Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgiztan and if you wanted to be picky, Lechistan, which covered, in the old way of thinking, much of the Ukraine and Poland. Zhanargul Nurtazin was a princess of an obscure little kingdom which hid quietly in a valley and had very little to do with the outside world, being one of the bizarre little pockets which still was openly magical. 

“My uncle is an evil man,” said Zhanargul, in the precise English which the team, like air traffic control, used as a lingua franca. “Tulegen Nurtazin is his name, and he has tried more than once to kill my father. He wishes me dead, or married to a puppet of his, so he can rule through me. He considers himself a skilled Demonologist.”

“What a nuisance,” sighed Amber. “So you joined up as a RRT member under the Council to learn more and to keep safe?”

“Yes,” said Zhanargul. “And if my country is protected by the Council, so too it is important to do my bit towards helping out with that.”

Amber nodded.

“With great power comes great responsibility ... oh dear, I’m going to have to take you to the cinema. What is it about Familied Talented which makes them ignore some of the joys of technology?”

“In my country, an uncertain supply of electricity,” said Zhanargul, dryly.

“Oh, fair point,” said Amber. She was Familied officially, but had been adopted by relatives when they had found her in an orphanage, so she was as happy to do things Mundanely as with Talent. Her husband, Wulf, was her second in command, an Austrian; and her active team members were Wojciech Kowałski, Lázló Bathory, Jeronim Shevchenko and as a departure from Eastern Europeans, Takeo Honda. It would be nice to have another female on the team, but Amber had been picked for her facility with languages and her ability to soothe the sometimes abrasive culture differences. Wojciech’s wife, Gosia, was still recovering from birthing their son, Michał so was off the team.

Wulf was the team internet specialist, and he was out looking for more information.

He returned with a printout.

“Nurtazin is Zhanargul’s name; I don’t know if there’s anything in this, but I thought I’d bring it back just in case” he said.  Amber read the article quickly.  The name Tulegen Nurtazin was mentioned with respect to being a backer of an archaeological team investigating what was believed to be a high status Scythian tomb. 

Amber turned to Zhanargul.

“He’s paying for some Mundanes to dig up an ancient tomb,” said Amber “Any idea why?”

Zhanargul frowned.

“All I can think of is that there might be some artefact he wants to get his hands on,” she said.

Amber scowled; considered; and pulsed Lázló and Wojciech with magic, through the amulets the team shared.

They teleported in.

“I need you two to go to Uncle Marcus and have him forge you documents as Mundane historians and archaeologists; Wojciech, you can be an expert on plant material.  Lázló, you know enchanted items; be an expert on ritual significance.  This man is trying to kill young Zhanargul, here, who is our newbie; find out what he’s up to.”

They nodded. Marcus Bellamy was high in the council, and provided ... necessary equipment.

“As Talented, or Mundanes, Amber?” asked Wojciech.

“As Mundanes.  You’re credible people to take an interest, the Scythians were part of the background of all Eastern Europe.  If there’s any sort of artefact he is after, it is probably not very nice. And when I say ‘not very nice’ I probably mean ‘rather nasty’. You may have to steal it; be careful.”

“Yes mother,” teased Lázló.

“We will,” said Wojciech.  “You think he has ambitions to be a Gerhardt Schwarz of the east?” Gerhardt had been a Talented who had infiltrated the SS and rose within their ranks by ruthless use of Talent, using the mysticism of Himmler to uncover artefacts and forgotten knowledge, including making a bid for the Book of Thoth in Egypt. His plans had involved taking over from the Nazis when Europe was subdued. His career had been ended by the Council, who had sent a small group of Talented commandos to assassinate him.

“Something along those lines,” said Amber “He apparently raises great form spirits for a hobby; not something I’d like to do.”

“Yet I wager you’d do it better than most,” said Lázló “You know the dangers; and you have moral scruples.” 

“If he has a sacrifice waiting it becomes worth their while to obey him,” said Wojciech “I don’t know a lot about them but I have read widely and such things are recommended to keep demons satisfied.”

“Larverly,” said Amber.  “Well I leave it in your hands.”

“You can trust us,” said Lázló.

“More to the point you can trust us not to fuck up by showing an indecent amount of nobility like Ritter.” said Wojciech laconically.

Amber chuckled. Ritter Dunkelwald had been on the team, but was currently recovering from Core Drain, for being convinced he could handle something without aid. He was honourable to a fault, and at times, it could be a fault.

“The good news is,” she said to Zhanargul “We know where he is; even if we do not know why.  And that means he can be watched.”

Zhanargul nodded.

“Knowing that these men are my brothers and comrades, and that they watch for me is of great comfort,” she said.

“You’ll be too busy hating me as I train you to work with the team to worry about anything as minor as a wicked uncle for the next few weeks,” said Amber. “We use ritual a lot, and one thing I’m going to do, showing you the basics, is how to set up Wards. I want to strengthen our wards against such fey spirit creatures usually designated as ‘demons’ by many cultures. The fey are not, as such, evil, though individuals may be; but they are alien in thought, very capricious, and they have more or less solidity.  They are related to the more solid fey types like Wiły, dryads, Kobolds, Huldrvolk, Apsara, Rusalki and so on, which have different names in different cultures. Such races have achieved solidity by breeding with mortals, and they gain advantages and disadvantages. The discorporate and semi-corporate fey generally try to gain some form of solidity by stealing humans, or winning them. Their favourite game is known in Britain as hurley, also known in various forms as shinty, bandy, kolv and goff. It gave rise to modern games like hockey, lacrosse, golf, croquet, modern shinty, and in a rather back about face way, pool and billiards. None of which you need to know, but we do play hurley in its earliest and most brutal form, to keep fit and to oppose them at need.”

“They sound more complex than the term ‘demonology’ covers,” said Zhanargul.

“Believe it,” said Amber. “The fey are willing to use arts which would damage the souls of mortals, because they have their own checks and balances, which a mortal son of evil does not have.  You have been taught the definition of evil, of course?”

“Not really, no,” said Zhanargul.

“Schools these days!” said Amber. “Well, essentially, evil is about intent to cause harm. It is inherently selfish, for personal gain, and any adherents to a dark lord or lady are definitely minions, not disciples. Disciple implies a two-way flow of loyalty; a true dark lord gives a semblance of loyalty, to keep his followers, but inside? He doesn’t give a toss. Doesn’t care,” she added, noting that Zhanargul was unfamiliar with slang. The huristic language spell Amber was running would help the new girl to assimilate Amber’s idiom more quickly than with normal learning but it needed help.  “One could argue that spells and magic in themselves are not inherently evil, and there’s a big grain of truth in that, but we have to be careful about it. The spell.S Szabla-blask cuts, and is very useful, and one is permitted to kill with it, when facing a foe, but one must be careful not to use it too freely, and kill without thinking.”

“I see,” said Zhanargul.  “Equally the persuasion spell, rozkaz can be misused to persuade someone to do something foolish, though it cannot be used to do something seriously outside the will of the one it is cast on.”

“No, but you add ‘świetny’  to any spell, and it becomes a great-form spell. Pulls the drek out of your core unless you have tapped into the local heat and use that to power it, which is heavy ritual, and not everyone can do it.  Or, for that matter, should.  Using a great-form spell too powerful can cause local blizzards in summer, consequently changing whole weather patterns, and doing that without thinking is almost worse than dark magic. But anyway, supposing you use the great-form spell, that allows the scruples of the target to be overcome.  And if you use bodziec which needs naming magic to work properly, to stimulate as you choose – to make the target cough, sneeze, be tickled, caused pain – you can target directly the pain or pleasure centres in the brain.”

“And targeting the pain centre would be evil.”

“Well ... maybe,” said Amber. “On the other hand, it could be used to shock damaged nerves into working, in an emergency, or get a stopped heart restarted by making the body produce its own adrenaline to deal with the shock. But targeting the pleasure centre is likely to be more easy to use for evil purposes.  I mean, you can addict someone to pleasure.  I read science fiction books,” she added. “And they will be ready to do anything, and I mean anything, for the next hit of pleasure.  It’s not as simple as ‘hurting people bad, making people feel nice, good.’ Equally by using magic to get someone in your debt for the purpose of using them as a tool is dark.”

“I think now I do start to see,” said Zhanargul. “And the fey can use spells which the International Council of Combined Talents consider ... I think the word is ‘dodgy’ ... with more impunity?”

“Yes; because they have custom and usage enshrined in their society; rules about hospitality, about games, about agreements. This  is why demonology includes agreements written to force a summoned fey into doing something without taking retribution afterwards, and why demonologists with any sense use a better summoning circle than one made with chalk drawings on the floor, which can be scuffed.  I use a cast silver summoning circle quenched with my own blood in the quenching fluid to tie it to me. It would work for others, but not as well.”

“Blood magic is one of the things considered dodgy,” said Zhanargul.

Amber shrugged.

“It has a bad reputation,” she said. “It’s because the evil will insist on using unwilling blood sacrifices, and doing things like killing them,” she said. “Willing sacrifice takes one much further, and the sad, pathetic and yet ironic fact is that willing sacrifice of a little blood is more powerful than the death-magic of some random, unwilling victim.  Unless you can tap life-force. Which the fey can.”

“And do?”

“Well, this is the point of stealing and winning young humans becomes valuable to them,” said Amber. “Youngsters under the age of seven, or those in puberty have the most life force; and pregnant women.  Pregnant women don’t usually attract them, though, as they want to sire their own children on mortals, to have those with more substance as their agents. It’s one thing I suspect your uncle might try as you’re still growing, I fear; to have one of his demons get you with child, and then give you to the demon when you birth a trainable baby.”

“But ... but what would the demon gain?”

“Other than your life-force to feed on, your womb for other children, and some control over the child who is your heir and in your uncle’s hands?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. I might miss my guess, but it does lead me to wonder if your Uncle Tootles or whatever his name is, is looking for something to add to his control of the fey. You know the laws of transmogrification, and how much harder it is to make something from scratch, and how it doesn’t last long?  Well, this is because any idiot can break the bonds of the strong nuclear force to make sound and fury, but creation means you have to put bonds of energy together to make it into matter, and that takes more energy. The fey can’t readily manufacture bodies, with all the time and Talent in the world, but a human can reproduce in nine months and produce a host body for one of them. Of course, unless the host body is Talented, it wears out pretty quickly. And even the Talented wear out fairly quickly. Being used by pure magic is exhausting. It’s the source of tales of those who visit fairyland, and return to find they have aged and a long time has passed. It’s a mangled story of how they return a few years later massively aged, all their life-force sucked from them.”

“Unpleasant,” said Zhanargul.

“We’ll make an Englishwoman of you yet with that level of understatement,” grinned Amber.