“That would entail manipulation of your genetic code. I suppose it’s possible, but you’re talking about something so complex that it would be much easier approached through science, not magic.” Savonah shook his head. “It would be too dangerous. You could make a mistake and turn yourself into a blob of protoplasm.”
Kyle nodded grimly.
“Why don’t we try something easy, like launching some of these boulders into outer space?”
Far off down the beach, Debbie stood with a half-awake Finney, who was shivering in the midnight breeze. Debbie was pointing, and saying, “Look! Look!” Things that looked like falling stars were shooting up from the ground around Kyle and Savonah and burning up into the night sky. “I want him fired tomorrow morning,” Debbie said. “I want to leave.”
Finney nodded, mumbled something, and turned and shuffled back toward the huts.
Debbie continued to watch with angry eyes.
#
Debbie had Finney summons Savonah into their hut the next morning. Kyle knew something was up because Debbie wouldn’t talk to him, and Finney wouldn’t look at him. The doors swung open by themselves, and moments later Savonah came walking in, looking like he was prepared for a confrontation.
Debbie didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “I wasn’t paying you to teach my bodyguard magic!” she shouted at him.
Savonah raised his chin defiantly. “You were paying me to teach you magic, Miss Hitler, which I have. I wasn’t charging you anything to teach your bodyguard magic.”
“He has no business learning magic on my payroll!”
“He has a natural talent for magic. He has the potential to become twice the sorcerer I am. He has the ability to reach the level of the great primeval sorcerers of Earth’s past. I can’t charge him or you for that. It’s my privilege to even know him.” He pointed at Kyle. “In six weeks, he’ll be teaching me.”
All eyes turned to Kyle. He didn’t know what to say. It was the first time he’d ever been good at anything other than bodybuilding.
“Just great,” Debbie said. “I’ve got a muscle man who looks like a Greek god, who’s a master of magic, but it all adds up to nothing because no matter what he still doesn’t have a penis. As a man, you’re worthless.”
Kyle felt his face go red. She’d said it. She’d said it out loud in front of everyone. He clenched his teeth, shaking, feeling tears welling in his eyes. Seeing the affect her words had on him, Debbie laughed.
“He’s not a man,” she said. “I don’t care how good a sorcerer he is.”
Kyle walked out of the room, out of the hut, and away.
Following him was Debbie’s voice, shouting, “Go on, eunuch! Go on!
You’re fired! You hear that, Bruce? Fired!”
#
The feeling of shame and humiliation was so powerful that it almost seemed like a radioactive force that was burning his face bright red. It was like a dark angry sun shone from within, burning him with a harshness that made his arms quiver and tears streak his face. It was just like when he was a teenager, and all his friends were going through puberty. All everybody thought about was sex.
All the girls wanted from him was sex. When the word got out, they called him a freak. Even his closest friends stayed away from him in public.
It was a horrible time in his life, but it was years in the past. He thought it was gone, put behind him. But here it all came back up again, just as grating and painful as before. His differences stood out, his inadequacies. The falseness of his manhood.
Kyle was far down the beach, part the way around the island.
He walked in long, angry, painful strides. Then, abruptly, something made him stop. It was his instinct again, his intuition, and for one very brief moment all thought and sound stopped. Even the constant sound of the surf faded, and he had one long, quivering chill. He looked up and saw the black attack craft flying in from the sea, three of them, and they were heading right toward him. He looked back and forth, but there was nowhere to hide.
Instinct led him up to the face of the lava cliff, where he threw himself down on the sharp obsidian shards just as energy bolts began to rain down around him. Several blasts hit the cliff above, and he curled up and thought of a big turtle shell as the rocks began to fall on top of him. Soon it was dark and all he could hear were the sounds of rock hitting rock. Through the rock he could feel the throbbing of gravity engines as three craft hovered above him. After a moment they receded, moving off in the direction of Savonah’s home.
Kyle turned inward, reaching out with his dark senses, seeing himself huddled under a mass of black stone. He was protected from the weight by an invisible umbrella of energy. Kyle soaked the stones around him with his thoughts, feeling the forces of gravity weaken then reverse. Getting his legs under him, he pushed himself up through the stones like they were feathers, shaking them off.
The attack craft were still visible down the beach. They were firing into the metal huts. Kyle ran toward them.
By the time he reached the huts, the raiders had accomplished what they had come for and were racing off across the sea. The first thing Kyle saw was Finney. His torso and one leg lay half-charred on the ground, and pieces of him were scattered everywhere. His eyes and mouth were wide open, frozen in an expression of surprise and horror. For a long moment Kyle was afraid the man was still alive.
Kyle. It was Savonah’s thought-voice.
He looked around, unable to tell from where it was coming.
Kyle.
“Where are you?” Kyle shouted.
Kyle. Help me.
The guest hut was on fire. Savonah’s hut, which had holes blown through the roof, seemed safe enough to enter. It was dark inside, so Kyle picked up the broken leg of a table and willed one end of it to burn. Inside the hut was total wreckage. He found Savonah in the back, his torso a mass of bullet holes. He blinked in the light of Kyle’s torch, but was unable to move.
There’s a spell in a book that could save me, Kyle.
“Where’s the book?”
It’s over to your right, in that pile. The irony is, Kyle, you don’t understand the language it was written in. I’d have to translate it for you, and I’ll be dead before then.
Kyle searched through the pile, found several old volumes sealed in protective covers. “Which one?”
Doesn’t matter, Kyle. Take them. Learn.
Kyle propped the fire against a piece of wreckage and fed it more oxygen, brightening it. “Which book, Savonah? Which one?”
Go save your employer, Kyle. They took her. She’s still alive.
“You first, Savonah.”
Too late. Too late, I see it ending. I see the…the chaos.
“Which book, Savonah? Let’s at least try!”
Staring into the man’s eyes, he saw the gleam had gone out of them. They were beginning to dull over. Savonah was silent.
Kyle took the books outside, found one with Savonah’s notes it them. Translations of spells, in his handwriting. Translations, and a key to translating. The book itself dated back thousands of years. Kyle thumbed through it, searching for something, anything, that would give him an idea. A red tab caught his attention, slips of paper in the book with the words, “Spells to manipulate space/time.”
#
The high-powered assault craft thrummed as it made its way back to the mainland. The weather was sunny and clear, with large puffy white clouds overhead and the ocean relatively calm below.
The rich-bitch captive lay bundled on the floor, unconscious. She was bleeding here and there, but nothing major was damaged. It didn’t matter much to the mercenary commander, as there was only a slight bonus if they delivered her alive.
The pilot saw his instruments flicker, and felt a bit of disorientation as it seemed the clouds ahead stretched and receded.
His head cleared after a moment, and he checked to make sure they were still on course. They were, so he thought nothing of it, passed it off as a side effect of the drugs he’d taken the night before.
It was one of the turret gunners who suddenly yelled out. They had been flying in a delta formation with two other gun ships, and now the gun ships were gone. The commander himself went forward and checked the instruments. The gunships were not on the screens at all. He double-checked to make sure they were on course, which they were. Not knowing what else to do, he ordered them to stay on course.
The trip continued for hours with no further incident. The hostage began to stir at one point, and the commander — having been warned the rich bitch had some sort of dangerous psychic powers — ordered one of his men to pop her with another tranquilizing dart.