CHAPTER XXII - Jaunee's Story: The Magician
The following day the magician came into my cell and gave me food. It was a rich meal of cheese, wine, and some meat stew. On the road I’d gotten used to eating little, and such a large and varied meal was like a trip to heaven for me. Yes, I had actually been a chubby child once upon a time — before I left home.
“My name is Sebastian Del Toro, Master Magician of the second degree.” He said softly after I thanked him for the meal.
“Jaunee,” I replied with a smile. I was glad to be alive and, all things considered, I was better off with a crazy magician who actually fed me well and took care of me than I was with the Papa in the city.
“No, no, no,” he announced. “In here you are special. Everybody’s got names, but you also get a number. Only special people like you get numbers,” he explained.
“All right,” I replied, not really sure I understood.
“You are Number Three, and it would please me if you answer to your number,” he continued.
“I still don’t understand,” I replied.
“You name is Number Three now,” he repeated sternly.
“No! My name is Jaunee!” I insisted.
“We made a deal. I gave you life and you belong to me now,” he pronounced angrily.
“All right,” I surrendered, now very afraid.
“You will never repeat your old name, ever,” he instructed. “I shall refer to you as Number Three, and you shall answer to that name.”
“All right,” I repeated, but then could contain my tears no further. He left me there with the food I no longer desired. I wasn’t sure what was worse, being in servitude or being robbed of my very name — my identity as a living creature. I was left alone throughout the day, without a flute to pass the time or even a window from which to gaze at the world. I spent the time sleeping or thinking of what it means to be a slave and to have no name.
Slavery, though not widespread where I come from, did nonetheless exist. There was a custom amongst the nobles; they would sometimes travel to villages like the one I grew up in, seek out pretty women — mostly very young, and buy them from their fathers for large sums with the understanding that they would become servants for life. That was the common, dignified way to establish slavery. I knew this because those same esteemed noblemen would often visit brothels such as the one I grew up in to ‘try out,’ ‘train,’ or ‘break in’ their new purchases. I wasn’t too sure exactly what it was they were doing with those young women, or why they needed to buy them in the first place, but the names they used to refer to these women, and the way those women cried or screamed at night painted quite a vivid picture of their ordeal.
So to be a slave, I knew, was to be treated as an object, not a person. To add to that, the denial of my name made me think my situation was even worse. Even a cat or a dog, once owned by a master, has the privilege of a name. Not I, though, and I couldn’t understand why. There was one thing I had learned from the slave-girls back home, though. Those who were obedient and pleased their masters suffered less. Yet for the life of me I couldn’t find the strength to smile and act perky, when deep inside, I just wanted to die. It was perhaps fortunate that at that day which he left me by myself, for I had such fits of weeping that I could do nothing else.
On the third day of my captivity I had put on my mask. I greeted my master Sebastian Del Toro with a wide frozen smile upon my face, as I had seen my mother do countless times when patrons visited the brothel that was my home.
“Master, good morning,” I said.
“G-good morning, Number Three,” he replied, taken back by my odd manners. “Have you slept well?” He asked, trying to be social ― obviously something which he wasn’t accustomed to.
“No,” I replied casually. He fumbled with his words after my unexpected retort.
“I wanted to thank you, Master,” I began, with a winning smile plastered on my face.
“What for?” He asked, puzzled.
“For saving my life …” I answered, “… and for this comfy bed, and fabulous food,” I added.
“You are most welcome,” he replied. “Now why don’t you return the favor and answer my questions?” He added in stern tones. I looked at him mutely and nodded my consent. I had decided to throw him a bone so that he’d leave me alone.
“What can you do?” He asked simply.
“I’m hungry,” I replied.
“Very well,” he said impatiently. “I’ll give you breakfast, but only if you answer my questions afterwards.”
“I will,” I said with a smile, which I meant this time. It seemed that I could pull his strings to some extent after all. He left then, and returned with breakfast an hour later. The meal was wonderful, though I have no idea what exactly it was that I ate.
“So tell me,” he said as soon as I’d done eating. I took my time with my meal, by the way, as I sensed his eagerness. I really was a demon-child, far too clever — like the snake that ate the fruit of knowledge, and as sharp of the tongue as the Devil himself, or so I was told.
“I can light fires,” I began.
“What else?” He asked mighty pleased with himself now that I’d started talking.
“I see things,” I said.
“What kinds of things?” He asked.
“Lights around people, which change color sometimes,” I said.
“Auras,” he said under his breath, and then I knew what they were called. I never had the privilege before to talk to a magician. I had to make up names for what I could do.
“What else?” He asked.
“Faeries, too, if one is around,” I said.
“Faeries. That’s odd,” he said.
“And dead people too,” I added casually.
“You see ghosts?” He asked, now very alarmed.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Can you talk to them?” He asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“What do they tell you?” He asked.
“They usually ask me to do little things for them, or ask me what’s going on when they’re confused and don’t know where they are,” I said.
“You speak quite well for one so young,” he observed.
“Thank you. I was told that all demon-children are too smart, and that it’s the mark of the Devil,” I said, shifting the conversation in a different direction since I didn’t want to discuss my powers.
“Who told you that?” He asked.
“Priests, and my father,” I said innocently.
“Your father told you that? What else did he say?” He asked.
“Papa said that red haired girls who are too smart are the devil’s children and that I belong in Hell,” I said.
“That’s terrible!” He said, his aura shifting, perhaps to one of sympathy.
‘Had he suffered a similar childhood?’ I wondered.
“He also said that making fire is the devil’s power,” I added.
“You’re not a demon’s child,” he stated.
“No?” I asked, sincerely hoping the magician had a better explanation of my odd qualities.
“You’re gifted,” he explained. “Your powers are gifts, which are given to a chosen few.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Many reasons,” he replied.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“You should rest up a bit. I’ll come back later, and I’d like for us to experiment with your gifts,” he said.
“What’s ‘experiment’?” I asked.
“We’re going to play with your gifts … to see what you can do,” he explained.
He returned later that day and we started playing with my gifts. He let me try to light fires; first on candles and then on bigger things. I was quite surprised that I was even able to light a torch. He kept asking me how I did it and what I felt; I tried to answer as best I could. We had to stop many times, though, for using my magic hurt me a lot. First I got headaches, then I bled from the nose, and finally I fainted, and had to rest. He tried giving me all sorts of remedies, but nothing worked. Making magic made me sick, and that was a fact. And so time passed — time that I could not measure. We experimented and then he made efforts to make me well. He did not try to advance my magic or to teach me anything new. On the contrary, he hid as much as he could from me and focused the whole of his efforts into working out how I practice my magic without any formal teaching.
Speaking to ghosts proved easier than lighting fires. He took me outside by the hand, and we sought out a ghost. I was glad to be outside, and I knew better than to try to run. At this point, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I was quite fond of him. He treated me well, compared to the way I’d been treated thus far by others.
As soon as we found a ghost, he watched intently as I sparked a conversation with it. Ghosts are always eager to talk with the living world; it is a relief from the state of confusion they usually suffer. I stay away from the malicious ones; those I can usually tell apart from the others because ghosts emanate their feelings. Thus, a ghost who emanates red rage and appears as a bloody man with sword wounds, is usually a ghost out for vengeance. I did notice Sebastian could tell when a ghost was nearby before I did, for his grip tensed and his aura shifted to eagerness, which I now could identify in him with ease.
We spent many days like this, exploring what I could and could not do. Yet he changed — and I don’t know what caused the change in him, but after some time things turned for the worse between us. He came only to feed me, and spoke to me briskly. Even when he did chatter, he always seemed preoccupied. He once commented that I was flawed, and that the headaches and fainting may never pass. Today I know that he didn’t act out of cruelty or boredom, but rather frustration. He spent much of his time seeking a cure for me but neglected to care for me as a human being. I write this now so that you’ll know exactly what kind of man he was. He was a criminal to be sure, but not wholly evil.
Being left alone for so long made me long for the outside world, like a caged bird. My only pastimes were singing or playing music by myself. So I made up both sad and happy songs about adventures and the outside world. I sang of handsome princes and fair maidens locked in towers. I dreamt of spreading my wings and flying far away to a place where I would be really loved. What else can a caged bird do but sing of freedom and the sights and sounds denied it?
After a while I discovered that there was a moment between waking and falling asleep where it was easiest to imagine and travel with my mind. So I used this moment to dream of passing through the walls and flying high and far away. Unfortunately, during those kind of dreams I only saw shades of grey and I heard no sound. I saw then mute tales of human life: romances and tragedies of simple folk, the joyous birth of children, and the bitter mourning of demise. I dreamt of lovers kissing and children playing in the fields, and in a forlorn way, it made me happy ― I was comforted by the fact that at least some children are loved. In my games of make-believe, they were my friends so I gave them names and composed songs for them.
Then ‘she’ came into my life; the monster.
Sebastian opened the door one day, and I greeted him as I always did, with a false smile plastered on my face. Unlike all his previous visits, though, this time someone tailed after him.
“I brought you a friend,” he said as took her by the hand and presented her to me. She was slightly taller than I, with mangled red hair and a pale complexion. That is where our similarities ended. She had a stocky build, somewhat like a barrel, with too many bulging muscles to be feminine. Her too-large monkey-hands ended with long fingers and sharp, eagle-like silver nails which frightened me. Her mouth sported four fangs amidst other sharp teeth. By all accounts she was a monster, and there was something about her playful smile and shiny red aura that frightened me to the core of my being.
“Number Three,” he began. “I’d like to introduce you to Number Four.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Number Four said in awkward French.
“I made her just for you,” my captor said.
“I don’t understand,” I replied.
“She may not be as pretty as you, but I’m sure you’ll be great friends,” he said.
“You think I’m pretty?” I asked.
“Let’s play!” She interrupted before he could fumble with a reply.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Sebastian said as he departed, locking the door.
“You’re such a little thing, a pretty thing,” Number Four said, and I took a step backwards, feeling like a cornered animal facing my predator.
“Come and be my pet and maybe I’ll be good to you,” she said as she advanced. My eyes filled with the blood-tears that I had cried ever since I drank his potion.
“Come closer. Don’t be scared, little bird,” she said, and advanced, while I sought ways to keep us apart.
“All right, let’s play cut and chase,” she said, and advanced towards me quickly, cutting my hand with her sharp nails as I tried to dodge out of harm’s way. I cried as I bled, and she laughed giddily. My only consolation was that she sought to cause me pain and misery, not death. For as I cried, bled, and suffered she seemed pleased, but made no more advances to injure me further. I’ll spare you the exact grim details of our ‘game’; just try to imagine a cat playing with his prey.
At the end of our play session, which seemed to last forever, she left me on the floor crying in a panic, with blood all over the room ― I had never known that I had so much blood inside of me.
When Sebastian finally came back, he struck Number Four’s face hard, and she in turn hissed at him, baring her fangs, then smiled as her lips bled. He seemed enraged — more enraged than I had ever seen him. In my heart I prayed for her death. He lifted his hand and seemed to strain ― and as he did so she rose in the air, as if an invisible hand had grabbed and choked her.
“You shall never hiss or challenge me, Number Four, lest I show you the horrors of my wrath,” he said, and flung her across the room, causing the wall to shake as she hit it, and my bed to break as she crashed into it. He then advanced towards me, and I hugged his leg in fear, horror, and relief, weeping uncontrollably. With a touch he healed my wounds and sent me to sleep.
When I awoke I was in a different room, one with a hole in the wall through which I could view the corridor. I was fed large meals and allowed plenty of time to rest here. All the while, however, I dreaded the return of my new ‘friend’, something which eventually came to pass. Her games now were slightly less cruel, for it seems she had learned her lesson. Every time she came to play with me from then on, she knew better than to leave any marks of her abuse.
As my life turned to hell, I spent more and more time far away in the Grey world of dreams. I began learning the language of that world by reading the creatures’ lips. I was also constantly on the alert and eavesdropped on every conversation I heard through the hole in the wall, until I managed to figure out more and more of my captors’ language.
I discovered many things this way, including that Sebastian had perhaps an associate, perhaps a brother. I never saw the one who often referred to Sebastian as ‘brother’, though I noticed that Sebastian never called him that in return. He referred to him instead as ‘Azimar.’ The name sounded alien and odd to me. I distinctively remember a conversation which took place near the corridor one day, and which relates to your story, Raymond. In this conversation, there were two more individuals whom I’d never heard or met before. One was a very loud and sinister-sounding individual, the other very self-confident one with a rasping voice.
“I’m telling you, according to the prophecy the Sword of God is here, in this town,” said the rasping-voiced man.
“What does it mean for us?” Asked Sebastian.
“Only that you all need to be especially careful in order to succeed at what you intend to do,” the rasping man replied.
“Why are you helping us?” Asked Azimar.
“Because I know full well that I’ll be rewarded for my help when the time comes,” the man replied.
“I don’t believe you!” Roared the loud voice. “No mortal man can defeat me!” He added.
“That is the prophecy,” replied the rasping-voiced man, in simple yet firm tones.
“Prophecies are for fools,” the loud voice replied.
“True, yet precaution is never foolish,” replied the rasping-voice man. I marveled at the control this man asserted over the conversation.
“I agree,” replied Sebastian.
“As do I,” replied Azimar. “It is never foolish to be careful,” he added.
“Very well,” said the loud voice. “Who is this Sword of God?” He asked.
I could almost hear the rasping-voiced man smile. “This is where my price comes in,” he said.
“Talk or die!” The loud voice said.
“Kill me and you’ll never know,” replied the rasping-voiced man, as calmly as ever.
“There is no need for squabbling and violence,” said Sebastian.
“Name your price,” offered Azimar.
“Three things,” the rasping-voiced man began. “First, you are to transfer all your experiments to the south quarters,” he said.
“Why?” Asked Sebastian. The rasping-voiced man ignored him.
“Second, once my prophecy comes true and your Demon lose to the Sword of God, none of you shall attempt to harm the Sword in any manner, ever,” the rasping man said.
“I WILL NOT BE VANQUISHED BY ANY MORTAL MAN,” the loud voice roared.
“Then my second request shall be voided, since there will be no Sword of God,” the rasping man mused.
“Who is this man?” Demanded the loud voice.
“Third, once I reveal his identity none of you are to harm me in any way, directly or indirectly, unless I attack you first.”
“I am losing patience,” replied the loud voice.
“First, you must all promise what I have instructed, and then do as you promise,” he replied.
“I promise,” said Sebastian.
“I promise,” joined Azimar.
“Very well, then, if your prophecy holds true and the Sword of God slays my host body, I shall not engage him in any sort of further combat,” the loud voice said.
“Promise?” Asked the rasping-voiced man.
“I promise, mortal! Now tell me who the prophesied Sword of God is!” The loud voice roared.
“His name is Lord Durrant. He is a master swordsman currently here in town,” the rasping-voiced man said.
“He is here?” Demanded the loud voice.
“Indeed, and investigating your experiments, no less,” answered the rasping-voiced man.
“Interesting,” replied Azimar.
“I can tell you how to kill him,” said the rasping-voiced man.
“I need no aid in killing a mortal man,” replied the loud voice.
“He’s not an ordinary man, but you’re right, I shan’t argue for your benefit. After all, I will get what I desire either way,” the rasping-voiced man said.
“It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out,” reasoned Sebastian.
“Fine,” the loud voice relented.
“Just wait for him to find you; he shall approach you on the night of the dead. Use whatever powers you possess without engaging in physical combat and you will prevail over him,” the rasping-voiced man instructed.
“How do you know all of this?” Asked Azimar.
“I’m a prophet?” Answered the rasping-voiced man, his voice dripping with smugness.
“So prove your powers — tell me my future,” Azimar said.
“How did a man as smart as you ever come to possess real power?” The rasping-voiced man asked.
“What?” Azimar asked.
“He means that he can just tell you a good fabrication of your “future” — for telling fortunes is no sign of true power,” Sebastian explained.
“Very true,” the rasping voiced man said, quite amused.
“So you want to know how I came by my powers?” Azimar asked angrily. “I discovered the secret names and words of power, and I was brave enough to use them, and strong-willed enough to get my way,” he explained.
“Very well―” the rasping-voiced man began.
“I may not be as sharp as you or Sebastian, but don’t presume that I’m weak, and don’t take me for a fool. I could ruin you with a word,” Azimar warned.
“Tell me of my experiment, then,” said Sebastian, changing the subject.
“Number Three is your winner. Some day she will take upon herself the role you have assigned her and make the world a better place; she shall be known as the as the Red Witch.” The rasping-voiced man said, a reply which stunned me, and I guess Sebastian and Azimar as well.
“And what is the purpose of my experiments?” Sebastian asked, reassuring self-control.
“You explore the innate magic as exhibited by a select few people.” The rasping-voiced man replied.
“To what purpose?” Sebastian asked further.
“To make a god.” The rasping-voiced man replied.
“You are no prophet,” Sebastian remarked casually.
“What makes you say that?” Asked the rasping-voiced man.
“You obviously know a few scattered details, yet you are so mislead on your assessment.” Sebastian replied dryly.
“Enlighten me then,” replied the rasping-voiced man with a smirk.
“First, the purpose of my experiments is not to make any sort of god. Number three is no winner, and she means nothing more to me than a test-subject.” Sebastian lied. I knew him well enough by now, and I could hear the rise in his vocal pitch when he was lying.
“I don’t follow,” Replied the rasping-voiced man.
“Foolish man!” Answered Sebastian, losing patience. “If you had any measure of true understanding of the occult, you would have known that magic is no gift. It is a craft — an art. A deal must be struck with an outside force, later it must be studied and practiced to perfection. And yet, some people are born with some minor innate magic ability. Meaning, they can use minor magic without any sort of studies, practice and deal-making.” Sebastian explained.
“And Number Three?” The rasping-voiced man asked.
“She’s only unique in the sense that she has more than one such innate ability and therefore she makes a better test-subject,” Sebastian explained.
“So what’s the final goal?” Asked the rasping-voiced man.
“To study these innate abilities. Once I understand them fully, I should be able to alchemically purify these abilities. Then I should be able to control who gets born with innate powers, and what kind of powers they shall have. In the long run this research may circumvent the need to strike bargains with outside forces, and may even benefit humanity in a number of ways.” Sebastian explained. The rasping-voiced man laughed.
“I just told you everything, haven’t I?” Sebastian asked. The rasping-voiced man kept laughing. “Well played!” Sebastian replied, obviously amused.
“So how do you know anything about my experiments?” Demanded Sebastian, after being sufficiently insulted by the rasping-voiced man’s laughter.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” The rasping-voiced man asked, provoking him further.
“I can’t believe you’re buying into this!” Demanded the loud voice. “Surely this man is a trickster. I sense no touch of the divine about him — he doesn’t even have a soul,” he added.
“So your damaged sight makes my words false?” Asked the rasping-voiced man.
“Do not tempt my patience,” replied the loud voice.
“May I remind you that you promised,” replied the rasping-voiced man. I heard the sound of loud breathing, which I assumed belonged to the loud voice, because he spoke no more.
“Answer my question!” Sebastian demanded. The rasping-voiced man began talking when Azimar interrupted.
“You think you’re so smart, coming in here and playing the wise prophet, calling us stupid and imaging that you have the upper hand,” Azimar said.
“Perhaps,” the rasping-voiced man replied.
“I can play this game as well. I know more about you than you think!” Azimar said.
“Oh yeah, like what?” The rasping voice challenged.
“I know that those are Arabic numerals on your wrist, which means you’ve been to Arabia or Spain and studied the secrets of algebra,” Azimar said.
“Maybe,” retorted the rasping voice.
“And I know from your odd Latin vernacular and from your blond Northman looks that you’re probably a Northern scholar who traveled as far as Arabia,” Azimar added.
“Let’s say you’re right; now what?” He asked.
“Don’t take me for a fool,” Azimar warned.
“I never said you were a fool,” the rasping-voiced man replied.
“I may not know why you’re here or why you pretend to help us, but I do know this. If ever I so much as suspect that you’re working against us, I will rain hellfire on you,” Azimar warned.
“Of course, and I shall cower in fear.” The rasping-voiced man said.
“I will make you suffer torment you have never even dreamed of, and I’ll keep you alive until I’m bored with you,” Azimar added.
“Of cou―” the rasping-voiced man began.
“And I will help him, free of charge,” added the loud voice.
“Are we done threatening me?” Asked the rasping-voiced man. Receiving no reply, he continued, “My word shall hold true. You just keep your end of the deal and I’ll keep mine,” he said in softer tones.
“We will,” replied Sebastian calmly. “You may leave,” he added.
“Goodbye,” said the rasping voiced man and left.
“Goodbye?” Azimar repeated after the rasping-voiced man had left, puzzled.
“Gods be with you,” explained Sebastian.
“What an odd man,” replied Azimar.
“I know this man, or a man like him,” replied Sebastian. We all listened carefully.
“A long ago when I was seeking treasures in Arabia, I met a young man who spoke just like him,” Sebastian said.
“And?” Azimar asked.
“And he destroyed something precious to me,” Sebastian replied.
“So we kill him?” Asked Azimar.
“Yes, we kill him,” replied Sebastian. “But first I’ll go move my experiments, he just might be right.” The loud voice started laughing.
“What about our promise?” The loud voice asked after calming down.
“Just make sure you slay this Sword quickly and seemingly effortless, confirming he is a simple mortal man.” Sebastian said.
“If our esteemed prophet is wrong, we owe him nothing,” Azimar added.