Magus

Here is an idea that keeps persisting so I am going to write it out. - Doc

Magus

By Dave Doc Rogers

© 2009

 

***

 

            The old man wearied of killing children. For that is what it was. For hours at a time he would sit staring into his crucible of fire & water looking for another sign. Inevitably, he would find it. After ensuring the finding was authentic, he would perform a sighting. He would go see for himself. Sweating profusely and exhausted, he would return from his entranced journey. He found yet another one. Will this one survive? His mind momentarily flickered to the water pipe nearby. The hose lifted into the air and drifted toward him as a small flame set upon a bowl at the pipe’s top. He lay back into his multihued pillows and inhaled deeply of the pasty mixture of leaves, pollens, extracts, and essences. His mind was slowly overcome by the intoxicants. The hosed nozzle fell from his senseless hand. His mind hovered over his languid body. He could feel something approaching rapidly from behind him. He turned.

            A great eye filled his awareness. With an effort of focus he was able to withstand the onslaught. The visage would shift as if a great head turned to give each eye an opportunity to further frighten the man.

            “I have a word for your master. Tell him I have found another. I will test it as I have tested the others,” the old man told the great face as it kept twisting, squinting, and grimacing in horrific contortions. “I will inform his majesty when I know more.”

            “What will you do with the carcass?” The question seemed to resonate throughout old man’s being.

            “The same thing I always do.”

            “You can give it to me. I hunger.” The great face contorted into something trying to appear pleading.

            “Away with you. I am done here.”

The face contorted angrily and replied, “I will wait with you in case you fall asleep.”

“I will not sleep.”

They continued their struggle of wills for quite some time. The old man could feel himself beginning to slip back into his body. He kept his breathing rapid and resisted the sleep that pulled so heavily at his mind. To fall asleep while between the two worlds would invite the devourer in. He was not a youth. He would not succumb. He awoke to his body and shot straight up to a sitting position.

“Coffee! Now!” He cried.

A boy nearing his teens entered holding a cup and saucer. The dark liquid bubbled slightly in its glass cup resting in a fine filigree of metal wiring for a base. The old man took the cup from the boy and waved him off. Carefully sipping the coffee, he began planning his journey.

 

***

 

The creak of tack and harness along with the constant jostling of the merchant wagon had no rhythm, no meter. It was a constant movement that matched whatever contours there were in the road. The only rhythmic constant was the clop, clop, clop, clop of the horses’ hooves as they pulled the wagon along the ancient trade route. Still, the heat of the day and nothing to occupy the young mind caused him to drift off to sleep. At first he was with the wagon. He could see himself sleeping. He had seen that many times. He was asleep. He poked his leg to make certain. He smiled when saw his body move and a smile ran across the face. He wanted to laugh but knew he would wake up and spoil the dream.

They were passing through the dry country. There was very little water, very few plants, and a lot of things that could kill you. His father would say this often in trying to scare him from wandering away from the wagon while at camp. The boy knew better than wander from the camp. He could see the dust demons that followed their wagon throughout the day. He knew they would lie in wait for his soul should he wander even the slightest bit from the charms placed around the camp. In his dreams he could see so much more than while he was awake. He saw the constant war that went on between those that lived in these deserts. Great spine legged spiders warring with fire red scorpions. Ants as big as your thumb that tear the biggest animals a part in less that a day. The great cats and lizards. The fliers. The fliers are perhaps the worst. They are never seen except for a fleeting shadow upon the ground; then it is too late. They carry away another crying victim.

The boy carefully stepped out onto the plank at the rear of the wagon. It was his favorite place to sit while he watched the war around him. It was easy for him to stretch out and see them as the wagon steadily rolled on. He felt the hawk far in the sky looking down at his wagon. In a moment he was in its eyes. He did not see himself sitting on the plank at the rear of the wagon. He could see his father and his brother at the front driving the wagon and the two horses. The dust demons would spin around torment all in their path. From time to time they would make war with a desert tree spirit. The two dried out spirits tore at each other thirstily for only a moment or two. The tree spirits seemed to always win. He swoops to the other side of the wagon. His eyes caught movement. There was food down there. It was too close to the rocks and the hissing food under the nearby brush. His mind leapt.

‘Cool,’ he thought. ‘Here within the shadows. The sun is not so bright. I can dig and hide. I can eat.’ He looked around, sniffed the air, ears turning independently. He was hunting danger. He sniffed again then turned back to removing the top layer of sand to get to the cooler dirt below. He dug at the ground nearest the base of the rock and was rewarded with a grub that ventured to close to the surface. He could feel it scream in pain as it lost the war with the desert rodent. He heard a hiss. He froze.

‘I taste it,’ he thought. ‘It is nearby.’ He flicked his tongue for another taste. ‘Oh yes. If only it wasn’t so hot and I wasn’t already full.’ He hissed in his delight. It tasted good. He would have to remember where he tasted the air for this one.

He was sitting on the back of the wagon, bouncing along as it traveled. They were slowing down. He could feel the difference in movement.

Author's Note

This is a work in progress. I just had to get the initial idea out so I can get the to parts that keep playing through my head.

Reviews

[Babbette Francis]

I like the fantasy feel to this. I really enjoyed the imagery, it very well written- I could see it very clearly- nice!!! I would very much like to read this again when you have more. It may be just me but there were times I was pretty confused but I think its because the whole story isn't there. Please send this to me when you have some more.

[TL Boehm]

so. Are you continuing with this? I found it already solidly written, intriguing - already you have jumped into the story and drawn me in...Chilling - surreal...wow. Impressive.

[Kathryn Star, Shine!]

It shows a lot of mystic in the air, which draws the audience in. The fact that he has people waiting on him makes him powerful. Their journey, in which he devises makes a great story line and easy to follow, with the introduction you gave us. I think you have a mystery type genre' working here, and who knows what will follow with the rest of your writing. It could be Thriller/Mystery/Occult. In any view, the beginnings of your story have proved to bring in the audience, lock them in, and need them wanting more. That's a true book, novel... whatever you choose for this delicately written book.
K

[MikeyCam]

I like this so far. The beginning section worked well at showing that the man was a sort of mystic. I wasn't so sure about the first line "The old man wearied of killing children". You never got around to explaining it so I'm not sure how it fits.

The second half had more description and gave more details about what this world was like. I enjoyed your choice of words to describe the different "warring" factions.

I do hope you continue this. I'm rather curious about this journey they are taking.

[Starsong]

Very interesting. I am very curious to find out where this is going. I absolutely love the desert world you created. Look forward to reading further.

[SR Urie]

Hi Dave.
It's good when the bricks of that writer's block give way for a while.

The old man who's in cahoots with the big eye that feeds on kids is an eerie concept, especially once the eye/face get's his fill of youth. So what happens then? Does the child's youth flow into the eye and make it close as the face absorbs the youth and becomes stronger, perhaps less anxious to kill because it is not as close to death anymore? Does the old man feel some warped fulfillment or gratification, or does he take on responsibilty for the demise of innocence? Is the old man trying to regain control/power over the eye/face from some distant memory of the desert where the hawk/beasties of the wilderness were beaten back from the boy he once was, conjurring up the evil eye that once saved his life and a thirst for youth? How much strength/power/hunger does the old man, whom was once the boy in the desert with his dad and brother, have over the eye/semi visible face? Or is it the face that is control, a meer facet of the young boy's imagination/dream in the desert? What is the cost in youthful souls? Does the boy on the wagon pay the price or is the old man paying the price from some long forgotten memory of the desert? Is the gardenn hose a sybolic icon that enables the boy on the wagon to overcome the beasties/demons/monsters in the desert?
Hmmmm.

I hope a little objective conjecture can help you arrange those intangible ideas, Doc. Once you get them lined up in your head maybe you can place the details in the story where it is easier to understand where you're going and what the real plot is. The wall of that writer's block can sometimes be very sturdy, eh?

Take care,

S

[emmajoy]

Oh my, what a creepy, out of this world tale!. You quickly take the reader into the 'place', but then, slowly work through a succession of thoughts and happenings, using some fine descriptions. The old man's introductory start intrigued me more than the next part which seems to wander of the path a little but still held my attention.. in fact i really gobbled up the story so had to read again!

There are two things i'd like to mention, if you don't mind: 'A lot of things that kill you' - it doesn't say anything plus is too casual/modern... plus.. you use the word 'cool' and I don't think that fits with the type of tale you're writing.

Overall, this is fantasy-come-myth; I look forward to the next part!