Southend-on-Sea, Essex, England
The whitewash bungalow lacked a certain amount of menace, James thought as he stood at the beginning of the paved garden path. When he heard the tales of the man inside, of the things he was capable of and the deeds he had accomplished in his seventy years of life this was not the abode he imagined him in. Normality seemed to find all of us at some point, he mused.
The smell of the ocean, of seaweed and salt, swept across his short blonde hair and he took that as a sign he should proceed. The black painted metal gate, no higher than his knees, swung upon without his touch and smart leather shoes clicked with each step toward the rich oak door. Three steps lay at its foot and he stopped just before them, looking at the bronze knocker with the face of a lion holding the horseshoe of metal tightly in its jaws.
The half circle rose of its own accord and fell toward the shield of metal under with a resounding clack. Twice more he knocked and then with his hands in the pockets of his fawn winter jacket, he waited.
The seconds slid by and impatience began to surface in the thirty-three year old, perhaps ten seconds came and went before the lock clicked and the door swung aside lazily. There was not a soul to greet him and why should there be? What was the use in their powers if mundane tasks had to be done by hand.
Hesitation flickered across his calm for a heartbeat before he took the first step and then the rest until he stood on the hardwood flooring of the short hallway. A room lay at its end, another to the left and one more to the right. His senses put his target to the left and he noted that whatever wards he had placed to shield from the unwanted eyes of others like himself had been dissipated. Confident or perhaps arrogant, could the old man be sure that he was in town alone?
James walked to the open door and peered into the room. It was open, fairly square with a higher ceiling than he expected. A silver fan hung from it, spinning lazily and casting cool air over the leather three piece sofa, coffee table and TV, which was affixed to the feature wall above a disused fireplace and hearth.
No sign of his target however. He let his senses flood the house but found nothing- had be been mistaken? Had he walked into a trap!?
Instinct welled up inside him and every ounce of power he possessed surged to the fore, the air around him becoming a haze of charged particles, casing tiny sparks across his clothes, hair and the fabric of the furniture.
"Mighty jumpy, wouldn't you say?" The voice was strong, and directly behind him. James spun on his heel and...found nothing. Bewildered he turned frantically, paranoia and self preservation clouding his find until his eyes found themselves resting upon the high backed leather lounger. In it was an old man of African descent, his skin so dark that the whites of his eyes seemed to shine like stars from their sockets.
"Now what brings you here, young man..." His accent was diluted, a touch more English in there than what might have been when he had first come to this country but there were definite indications of creole lingering on certain words, certain letters.
"You know why I have come. It is time." James responded, helping himself to a seat, the furthest from the old man, on the sofa.
"Time..." He said, almost fondly, a pearly white smile flashed upon his lined face. "My oldest friend."
"I have no time for your tricks and games Elias," James said and as if to punctuate his point the cold hearth close to, and to the right, of the mans chair erupted with fire. "Give it to me."
Elias looked at the fire with disinterest and immediately it snuffed out with a soft 'woomph'. "You will get nothing from me child, for I have nothing to give."
"Do not lie to me old man! You are one of the six keepers, I am aware of this and exactly what you possess. Do not make things difficult, I would take no pleasure in harming a practitioner of your esteem." And he meant it, if he were truthful Elias was something of a legend among those like him.
"Ahahahahaha!" The laugh was booming and mocking from his mouth and James found anger rearing up and taking hold of him, he could barely stop the spells from falling from his lips. "I had forgotten that youth comes with such courage...and so many delusions." All laughter ended there, all humour, mocking or otherwise, fled the room along with the warmth from James' body.
This was it, blonde thought as his blue eyes held the dark, almost, black of his targets stare. Whatever mayhem that was about to be unleashed in this homely sitting room did not commence with immediate flair. Instead they sat there and for the first time James heard the ticking of a large faced clock upon the wall above Elias' head. It seemed to grow louder with each movement of its arm, so loud in fact that nothing seemed to exist outside its rhythmic tick, tick, tick.
When the old man had vanished James didn't know. His mind seemed muddled, marred by fog, that slowed thought and gave him an almost sedate feeling. It was only when he felt the surge of energy cascade across the room that the grogginess was ripped aside, as his body was thrown, sofa and all, clear across the room where he met the wall with deafening force and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.
It took him moments to untangle his aching body from the shattered furniture but moments are all you need in their line of work. "Zèl nan tonèr la!" The spell boomed with an unnatural volume and James had to use all his supernatural speed to throw himself across the room as the screeching, and it did screech, flurry of bright blue lightning obliterated the wall, floor and ceiling where he had previously been.
He took off running down the side of the room, where the door was, and extended his hand drawing up his spiritual energies he channelled them into the words that flowed from his tongue. "Lancea inferno ira!" A jet of brilliant fire scorched to life from his palm and seared across the distance to Elias.
"Plak pwotèj nan tèt ou, avèk plak pwotèj nan limyè kè, nan fènwa a!" The words, in perfect Creole, were so quick that they were almost a singular noise and the shaft of destruction hit a wall of crackling energy that channelled it around the old man.
They stood there, facing each other, panting. Sweat glistened on their foreheads as the furniture burned from the magic discharge and smoke began to cast a haze across the room.
"High Priest Elias," James smiled. "I can see the title was not just for show."
Elias did not feel a response was needed, his ageing body ached, his heart thundered in his chest. The great power he had once wielded, taken for granted even, had withered with age. Too much was at stake, he could not allow the key to fall into the wrong hands. He had to be stopped, stopped at all costs.
"Shall we end this, old man?" James called out through the thickening smoke. He did not wait for an affirmative, instead he focused his energies into speed. A hiss and a flash of light were all that remained of him at his starting point and then he was upon Elias, a blade in his hand, plunging it into his chest.
"Kraze zèl yo nan kaw a, pa janm li pral vole pa plis!" The old man cried out in pain and James found himself flung once more by powerful, unseen, hands that shattered him against the ceiling before then gravity aided him in rejoining the floor.
Elias clutched at the wound upon the upper right side of his chest. The crimson liquid flowed hot between his fingers and he watched the man stir from the daze of impact. Doubts, selfish fear, raced through his mind as he considered his next course of action. The wound was not fatal, of that he was sure, but it was enough of a handicap to banish any thoughts of victory.
"It is time..." He said softly and then with a steely stare at his foe his considerable might rose to the fore. The very house shook in its foundations, the windows rattled in their panes.
"Obligasyon pou respekte san," The miniature quake grew more intense, sparks leapt from his wounded form. "Ansanm ak doulè, lavi bay lavi" The small fires all around him roared with renewed vigour as the words of power sailed into the ether. "Lanmò pote lanmò!" The final part of the spell said he thrust out his withered hand toward James and the world literally exploded. The roof above him simply disintegrated, the windows in this home and those all along the street blew outwards in hails of sparkling glass, the floor under him splintered and fled his presence.
The downed combatant cried out in pain and flipped onto his back. Upon his chest was a wound, much the same as he had inflicted upon Elias. He looked up furiously at the Priest. "What have you done!"
"Dark magics, child. The key, it will never be yours!" His out stretched hand willed the discarded blade of his attacker into his hand and was an iron resolve he plunged it straight into his chest with a grunt of pain. As he sunk to his knees, the blood bubbling from his lips, he saw the young man rise to his feet.
He was smiling and in his hand was a small object, a few inches in height and white, all be it for a splash of crimson, and as he watched the doll began to smoulder from the chest and then turn black and disintegrate.
"You aren't the only one who know's a bit of Voodoo old man." James smiled and let the ash doll fall to the floor.
The key. The final key, was theirs.
Elias had lived a long life, he had seen and done things most people only read about in storybooks as children. The life was leaving him, draining from the mortal wounds on his body. He had lost, but he was not defeated...yet. If James had looked down after drawing the final key from the Priests body he might have saw his trembling lips move silently.
The call had gone out. The six had been chosen. They would be drawn, one and all, to the six and then the fate of the world was theirs.
The whitewash bungalow lacked a certain amount of menace, James thought as he stood at the beginning of the paved garden path. When he heard the tales of the man inside, of the things he was capable of and the deeds he had accomplished in his seventy years of life this was not the abode he imagined him in. Normality seemed to find all of us at some point, he mused.
The smell of the ocean, of seaweed and salt, swept across his short blonde hair and he took that as a sign he should proceed. The black painted metal gate, no higher than his knees, swung upon without his touch and smart leather shoes clicked with each step toward the rich oak door. Three steps lay at its foot and he stopped just before them, looking at the bronze knocker with the face of a lion holding the horseshoe of metal tightly in its jaws.
The half circle rose of its own accord and fell toward the shield of metal under with a resounding clack. Twice more he knocked and then with his hands in the pockets of his fawn winter jacket, he waited.
The seconds slid by and impatience began to surface in the thirty-three year old, perhaps ten seconds came and went before the lock clicked and the door swung aside lazily. There was not a soul to greet him and why should there be? What was the use in their powers if mundane tasks had to be done by hand.
Hesitation flickered across his calm for a heartbeat before he took the first step and then the rest until he stood on the hardwood flooring of the short hallway. A room lay at its end, another to the left and one more to the right. His senses put his target to the left and he noted that whatever wards he had placed to shield from the unwanted eyes of others like himself had been dissipated. Confident or perhaps arrogant, could the old man be sure that he was in town alone?
James walked to the open door and peered into the room. It was open, fairly square with a higher ceiling than he expected. A silver fan hung from it, spinning lazily and casting cool air over the leather three piece sofa, coffee table and TV, which was affixed to the feature wall above a disused fireplace and hearth.
No sign of his target however. He let his senses flood the house but found nothing- had be been mistaken? Had he walked into a trap!?
Instinct welled up inside him and every ounce of power he possessed surged to the fore, the air around him becoming a haze of charged particles, casing tiny sparks across his clothes, hair and the fabric of the furniture.
"Mighty jumpy, wouldn't you say?" The voice was strong, and directly behind him. James spun on his heel and...found nothing. Bewildered he turned frantically, paranoia and self preservation clouding his find until his eyes found themselves resting upon the high backed leather lounger. In it was an old man of African descent, his skin so dark that the whites of his eyes seemed to shine like stars from their sockets.
"Now what brings you here, young man..." His accent was diluted, a touch more English in there than what might have been when he had first come to this country but there were definite indications of creole lingering on certain words, certain letters.
"You know why I have come. It is time." James responded, helping himself to a seat, the furthest from the old man, on the sofa.
"Time..." He said, almost fondly, a pearly white smile flashed upon his lined face. "My oldest friend."
"I have no time for your tricks and games Elias," James said and as if to punctuate his point the cold hearth close to, and to the right, of the mans chair erupted with fire. "Give it to me."
Elias looked at the fire with disinterest and immediately it snuffed out with a soft 'woomph'. "You will get nothing from me child, for I have nothing to give."
"Do not lie to me old man! You are one of the six keepers, I am aware of this and exactly what you possess. Do not make things difficult, I would take no pleasure in harming a practitioner of your esteem." And he meant it, if he were truthful Elias was something of a legend among those like him.
"Ahahahahaha!" The laugh was booming and mocking from his mouth and James found anger rearing up and taking hold of him, he could barely stop the spells from falling from his lips. "I had forgotten that youth comes with such courage...and so many delusions." All laughter ended there, all humour, mocking or otherwise, fled the room along with the warmth from James' body.
This was it, blonde thought as his blue eyes held the dark, almost, black of his targets stare. Whatever mayhem that was about to be unleashed in this homely sitting room did not commence with immediate flair. Instead they sat there and for the first time James heard the ticking of a large faced clock upon the wall above Elias' head. It seemed to grow louder with each movement of its arm, so loud in fact that nothing seemed to exist outside its rhythmic tick, tick, tick.
When the old man had vanished James didn't know. His mind seemed muddled, marred by fog, that slowed thought and gave him an almost sedate feeling. It was only when he felt the surge of energy cascade across the room that the grogginess was ripped aside, as his body was thrown, sofa and all, clear across the room where he met the wall with deafening force and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.
It took him moments to untangle his aching body from the shattered furniture but moments are all you need in their line of work. "Zèl nan tonèr la!" The spell boomed with an unnatural volume and James had to use all his supernatural speed to throw himself across the room as the screeching, and it did screech, flurry of bright blue lightning obliterated the wall, floor and ceiling where he had previously been.
He took off running down the side of the room, where the door was, and extended his hand drawing up his spiritual energies he channelled them into the words that flowed from his tongue. "Lancea inferno ira!" A jet of brilliant fire scorched to life from his palm and seared across the distance to Elias.
"Plak pwotèj nan tèt ou, avèk plak pwotèj nan limyè kè, nan fènwa a!" The words, in perfect Creole, were so quick that they were almost a singular noise and the shaft of destruction hit a wall of crackling energy that channelled it around the old man.
They stood there, facing each other, panting. Sweat glistened on their foreheads as the furniture burned from the magic discharge and smoke began to cast a haze across the room.
"High Priest Elias," James smiled. "I can see the title was not just for show."
Elias did not feel a response was needed, his ageing body ached, his heart thundered in his chest. The great power he had once wielded, taken for granted even, had withered with age. Too much was at stake, he could not allow the key to fall into the wrong hands. He had to be stopped, stopped at all costs.
"Shall we end this, old man?" James called out through the thickening smoke. He did not wait for an affirmative, instead he focused his energies into speed. A hiss and a flash of light were all that remained of him at his starting point and then he was upon Elias, a blade in his hand, plunging it into his chest.
"Kraze zèl yo nan kaw a, pa janm li pral vole pa plis!" The old man cried out in pain and James found himself flung once more by powerful, unseen, hands that shattered him against the ceiling before then gravity aided him in rejoining the floor.
Elias clutched at the wound upon the upper right side of his chest. The crimson liquid flowed hot between his fingers and he watched the man stir from the daze of impact. Doubts, selfish fear, raced through his mind as he considered his next course of action. The wound was not fatal, of that he was sure, but it was enough of a handicap to banish any thoughts of victory.
"It is time..." He said softly and then with a steely stare at his foe his considerable might rose to the fore. The very house shook in its foundations, the windows rattled in their panes.
"Obligasyon pou respekte san," The miniature quake grew more intense, sparks leapt from his wounded form. "Ansanm ak doulè, lavi bay lavi" The small fires all around him roared with renewed vigour as the words of power sailed into the ether. "Lanmò pote lanmò!" The final part of the spell said he thrust out his withered hand toward James and the world literally exploded. The roof above him simply disintegrated, the windows in this home and those all along the street blew outwards in hails of sparkling glass, the floor under him splintered and fled his presence.
The downed combatant cried out in pain and flipped onto his back. Upon his chest was a wound, much the same as he had inflicted upon Elias. He looked up furiously at the Priest. "What have you done!"
"Dark magics, child. The key, it will never be yours!" His out stretched hand willed the discarded blade of his attacker into his hand and was an iron resolve he plunged it straight into his chest with a grunt of pain. As he sunk to his knees, the blood bubbling from his lips, he saw the young man rise to his feet.
He was smiling and in his hand was a small object, a few inches in height and white, all be it for a splash of crimson, and as he watched the doll began to smoulder from the chest and then turn black and disintegrate.
"You aren't the only one who know's a bit of Voodoo old man." James smiled and let the ash doll fall to the floor.
The key. The final key, was theirs.
Elias had lived a long life, he had seen and done things most people only read about in storybooks as children. The life was leaving him, draining from the mortal wounds on his body. He had lost, but he was not defeated...yet. If James had looked down after drawing the final key from the Priests body he might have saw his trembling lips move silently.
The call had gone out. The six had been chosen. They would be drawn, one and all, to the six and then the fate of the world was theirs.
