[Disclaimer: This text is intended for adult audiences, if you are
not of age to view it, be somewhere else. This series of stories
explores the darker aspects of the human experience, including
sexuality. If that might offend you, then you were warned, and it
isn't my problem. -- KTM] Anything can happen in the Multiverse. Even a world that
is much like ours, but which somehow... isn't. A world that is a
magnet for the blackness in the dreams and souls of humankind. A
world known as: The Darkside. The World's economic system depends on a delicate
interlocking system of mutual trust and financial debt. When
those bonds shattered, the governments and monetary institutions
crumbled. Even the most idealistic civil servants left their jobs
when their families were gripped with hunger. The Survivors of
the Chaos would come to call their nation the United States of
Anarchy.
I wanna read the Background first.
Background Written - Dec 1998, by KTM.
"Who are you?" said the deep voice. The vast ebon throne room was shrouded in darkness. The speaker was illuminated in outline by the soft blue glow coming from his sapphire seat, and by a faint white light coming from the woman who sat near him.
At the forward point of the gold star set in the floor stood a robed figure. He was backlit by thin shafts of moonlight streaming behind him from the room's large skylight. Dancing around him were tiny flames that chased each other about in hypnotic patterns.
Soberly, the robed man answered the question. "We are the Mage Clans."
"What do you want in my Empire?" the Dark man said.
"For the most part, we only want to be left alone," the mage answered. "We are an insular society."
"Tell me how your people came to be that way." Robert ordered. The mage nodded, and began.
...The Ancient times were more than two millennia ago. Ley lines formed the lifeblood of the planet, and they were close to the surface, bringing with them the magic that stemmed from them. Those with the skill could tap the lines for both power and for transportation.
Our ancestor's spoke of Gods who walked the earth, doing great deeds. Nature, the planet itself, was personified in part, and magic was abundant for all. Mages cast grand spells, and creatures lived in those days that aren't found anymore, for they required magic to survive, just as much as air and water.
There were other lands then, not found on any modern maps. Demi-planes perhaps, connected to the earth by arcane energy. Asgard, Avalon, Olympus, and Tirna Nog are but a few. It was an incredible era, but it all ended with the Drought.
The Drought occurred around the beginning of the Common Era. The magic faded away, the ley lines sank deep into the earth. Nature herself seemed to hibernate, and the elder Gods left us, one by one. Magical creatures fled to the other places, and the links to them were lost. Mages stopped being able to cast magic. It wasn't that the magic was completely gone, there was simply too little left to support all the drains on it...
"Mages without magic," the man on the throne chuckled. Pained silence answered him.
Rebecca frowned, "You asked him to tell his story, Robert, so let him do it." She smiled at their visitor.
Robert sighed, and gestured for the man to continue, leaning back to find a comfortable position in his stone seat.
...The Dry Times lasted until quite recently. The mages learned to adapt to the rarity of magic. No longer could they solely try to be the most skilled practitioner of their specialty. They gathered for protection, preserving their skills for better times. Changing their lives and even themselves.
Breeding programs worked to allow them to make the best use of the remaining magic. They artificially divided the two critical skills that all mages possess to some extent. The first is the skill to draw the magic from their surroundings, the second is the skill to manipulate the magic once it is held. The drawing skill was retained by only a few, while the rest kept the ability to use magic, should they possess any. But the Clans were so completely adapted for the lack of magic, that it's recent return caught them unprepared.
The tide of magic was already starting to show faint signs of returning, when it surged last spring. It was if someone threw open the floodgates. In comparison to the last few centuries, the world's mana gradients were supercharged. The effects of this radical flood of magic are only now beginning to be noticed.
As far the Clans could tell, the world was restored overnight to the Golden Age's high mana mark, as during the time of Atlantis. They didn't have a chance to adapt with the flows, and now they are in an uncomfortable position. There is of magic enough for all, if they could only access it, and the majority are simply unable to do that...
It was the woman's turn to laugh this time. "So that is what happened when you boosted the unknown gift, and the energy that it fed on. It's nice to find out what one's actions accomplish."
The big man pinched her on her hip, and growled to her softly, "It's not nice to tease." Turning to his guest, he said, "Tell me more about this breeding program. It seems to be at the root of your troubles, with magic, and with me."
...Perhaps you should know what we were. Originally the Clans were a guild of the strongest mages, dedicated to the study of magic. Likely apprentices would be sworn to the order and be taught the basics of magic. When they gained a little skill, they made journeyman and assigned to assist a Master in their field of interest. When their expertise permitted, they would create a master work such as a new spell or item. It would be judged by a board of Masters, and confirmed by the Guild master. Once approved the mage would become a full member.
Things changed with the Drought Instead of studying magic, they became the conservators of it. Only the strongest mages could function at all, and those gifts tended to run in families. The guild formed Clans to breed the strongest mages, and keep the gift strong. The guild structure remained, and the occasional outside apprentice was brought in, but a duty to pass on one's genetics was added to the academic requirements.
The position of Guild master, or Clan Lord also changed. Anyone who was sponsored by a number of Masters and thought they were strong enough could challenge for it. The winner of the resulting arcane duel won. With the family structure added, these duels more often became internecine battles of son against father, and brother against brother.
Women rarely became Masters as the culture continued to change. Their genetic duty took too much power from them during bearing and nursing. The time spent rearing the next generation hindered their chances of learning the highest levels of magic that remained. Matings were for genetic advantage, not personal compatibility, and because of it, women were not permitted to refuse a breeding ordered by their Lord.
The females of our Clans might be made to have children by men they despise. They may have any lover they wish, but could never have a child by them, unless a child was approved. To disobey would risk the child's being unclanned, or exiled from the Clans. In this way, women became second class citizens in the guild; eventually becoming discriminated against in every way. It isn't a part of our history I am proud of...
The man's voice stumbled into silence. Both Robert and Rebecca bore stern faces of disapproval. "I know you don't like it, Sir and Madam. It probably will not help to tell you that it was just part of our culture. These habits were passed from parent to child for over a thousand years, in an unbroken line of decent. Not even Britain's royal family can claim the same."
He brought his chin up, and squared his shoulders. "It is my family's duty to keep these records, and we will not deny our history for convenience's sake. Our new Master has ordered me to explain the history of the Clans to you, and I am trying my best to do so."
Robert nodded grimly, "Continue."
...To keep their populations reasonable, the Clans only kept the best and most talented within their compounds. All progeny of the members were the result of carefully researched, planned and monitored matings. Spontaneity in such matters was NOT encouraged. The lesser families were distant relatives of the favored few, who were kept in moderate contact. They provided labor and capital to the elect, and their children were watched to see if anyone with ability came from this 'farm pool' for the bloodlines.
These families were lightly controlled, and were compelled against revealing the Clans existence by any means. Some were aware of their true role, but mostly they were left alone to live their lives. Some matings were ordered for them, but not many. A culture of marrying within 'their own kind' did all that was necessary.
When full members had unscheduled offspring, the child was assessed for their magical potential at birth. The very best were fostered to other clans, while the promising were sent out of the Clans to the lesser families. In no case was the mother allowed to keep the child, it having been her fault for not taking readily available and effective contraceptives. Those deemed too talent-less to keep track of were put in the mundane adoption system.
Unplanned children weren't the only ones who were unclanned. Mages in rebellion to their Lords, could be exiled if they were caught in their treachery. Their magic ability would be ritually severed, and they would have the secrecy compulsion imposed on them. They would made to forget about their heritage, and about magic.. They would be married into the lesser families, or even abandoned to the world of the mundanes.
In this way, the normal communities around the Clans tended to build up cast off magical potentials. Occasionally a child from these neighborhoods would pick up enough latencies to become wild talents or flukes. If they were considered useful, they were brought into the lesser families to enrich their bloodlines, or more rarely were adopted directly into the Clans. Those thought to be dangerous, or who had proscribed powers, were killed.
So the cycle was complete: the Clans were the cream of a broad base of moderate to mediocre talents. The culled rejects were spread into the local populace as a way of regaining anything important that spontaneously reappeared in the uncontrolled breeding environment outside the Clans...
"Treating human beings like livestock is wrong," Rebecca said flatly. "Simply terrible. Didn't you learn anything from the fact that eugenics programs have failed everywhere they've been tried?"
"The Nazi's were amateurs compared to us," the mage said. "We had some notable successes, such as in our enhanced longevity, before our most important program let us down, as you have intuited, sir."
...The classical mage was one who could see or detect the raw magic around them. By gathering that magic to them, or by drawing on a limited reservoir of internally stored power, they could wield magic in prescribed patterns to cast spells. Few could produce magic within themselves, or were skilled at generating magic by ritual means.
That was changed by the breeding program. Those with the best ability to use magic, no longer had the strength to draw it in enough quantity to do anything. On the other hand, those still able to draw the magic were usually limited in their ability to use it. The classic, well-rounded mage no longer was able to do either well enough to be useful at all.
The logical course was to separate the two critical gifts. The wielding and storage of power was divorced from the gathering of it. The greater program developed a Drought resistant mage, able to store a great deal of power when given it, and then make use of it. The smaller group agreed to sacrifice their ability to utilize magic, in order to gather it for the rest.
These brave few were called the Charge Keepers, and they were honored as sources of the power. The Clan Lords, those with the greatest storage capacity, would come to them regularly, and draw their ration of power to redistribute to their followers. The Keepers were treated like Kings or High Priests, supported and tithed to by the Clan leaders, who competed for the honor of being their hosts.
Eventually, gradually, the Keepers began to be taken for granted. The Lords bullied them once they had developed their transfer gift beyond the ability to cast spells at all. By ritual means alone, the Lords could gather enough magic to force a Keeper on strike to service them, and so the balance of power shifted. Now to be the Keeper's 'Host' meant political power for the Clan who did so. They could cause disadvantage to enemy Clans by restricting access to the Keeper, claiming they suffered stress, or weakness.
As time went on, the Lords kept Keepers as near slaves. Disparagingly they called them 'Batteries'. To keep the talent ever stronger, they presumed to dictate the breeding of their most critical servants; with disastrous results, in retrospect. In better times it was thought to be an honor for the best of the bloodlines to contribute to the Keeper Family, and in this way it remained robust.
To try to increase the transfer ability, their line was heavily inbred on itself. With the worsening social conditions, and the restricted gene pool, the functioning Keepers were getting fewer and weaker. This trend was met by an ever increasing restriction to the bloodline...
"In the last few decades," the mage said, "there has been only one functional 'Battery', and he was very old. Last year he was pronounced terminally ill. Far too old to breed, he couldn't be threatened to provide the power. He was already in terrible pain from his disease, so what worse fate was there?"
Those lounged on the dais listened attentively. "The Clan Lords were frantic;" the mage said, "the magic had returned, but it could not be that they could never again tap it's abundance! When the Keeper's end came, his passing was recorded for our archives." The mage threw up a crystal, and those observing could see into a darkened bedroom...
"Stop laughing, you shriveled up old geezer!" snarled the Clan Lord to the dying man. "Can't you at least pass with some sort of dignity, Elias?"
"The way I die is the only thing you can't control, you little prick," wheezed the patient. "So, up yours, Medford!"
"What in the world is he laughing about?" Medford's son Mark asked him. "He's got to be in terrible pain. What's got him going besides the fact we're losing our sole access to the power, when he dies as the last of his line?"
His father shrugged. Usually the Clan Lord who hosted the power-giver had an advantage in council politics. The decrepit Battery had been the pawn of a game of human 'hot potato' for over a decade, especially after his terminal diagnosis. Who ever was his host at the end would get the censure for losing their only channel to the magic. Not that it could be prevented, and every one knew it.
Mark was right, Brock Medford thought. The old man was going on about something, but what? Reaching deep inside, he drew a precisely measured bit of magic from the meager supply in his reservoir. Shaping the mana into the pattern of a truth- tell, he cast the formed spell onto the sick man. Disbelievingly, he watched as Elias sucked up the magic of the spell before the matrix could effect him.
Elias had never been known to have that ability before! It was a forbidden talent for the Keeper line. If he wasn't so critical to them, he would be executed simply for being able to do it. Since the days of the Lord's revolution, such resistence hadn't been permitted. The other instant penalty of death for the line, was the ability to cast magic of any kind.
"God's damn it!" Mark said. "I'm glad he could never do that before, or we'd never got any magic out of him."
"I know another way," Lord Medford said, turning to the nurse.
"Don't count on it, Brocky boy," Elias cackled. "You'll never get my secret from me. It'll be too late soon, and your damn Clans will finally die!"
"You're of the Clans, too, old man," Mark said.
"What do I care?" Elias snarled. "I could never use the magic, and my kind long ago changed from your leaders to your slaves."
The nurse prepared a hypodermic. Elias looked at it, eagerly. "Finally giving me something stronger for the pain?"
"Something like that," Medford said. "I'm told Sodium Pentothal has some ability to block pain."
"What? No, stop!" the old man whined. "I don't want that!" Strapped down as he was, he couldn't prevent the injection.
"The Battery will be quiet!" the lord ordered coldly. He waited until the nurse nodded. "Tell us what your secret is, old man. You're dying anyway, and I will not settle for anything less than the truth."
"No," Elias said, but his voice was fainter. His monitors showed his vital signs as being weaker than ever. "I'm... not the last."
"What do you mean?" Brock said harshly.
"I had kids... twin boys. 50,...60 years ago," the old man mumbled, his face twisted to a sneer. "Got the lord's daughter knocked up." His voice slurred, and drool dripped from the side of his wrinkled mouth. "S'a big scandal. Kids were unclanned... 'cause no magic, an' she never said who sired 'em. Sure pulled one... on St. Ives..." His eyes rolled up, and his mumbling grew incoherent.
Medford had already turned away. Elias was no longer important. If the decendents survived, they had to be located. If any possessed the gift of power transfer, this disastrous day could still be salvaged. He was in his study furiously writing orders and letters when Mark told him Elias was dead. Brusquely he nodded, and gave him the first batch of messages to deliver. Time was of the essence. Elias's offspring must be found! It was the only way the Clans could survive...
The grim record ended, and the mage retrieved the crystal, tossing another in the air to replace it.
"Elias Dusten is dead," Medford said to the assembled lords of the Clans council." The mutterings that interrupted him were expected. "But there is still hope!" he continued. Stunned silence answered him. "If St. Ives has brought his family records as I requested, we can possibly locate more Batteries."
"From where?" someone queried. "He was the last one. And what does St. Ives have to do with this?"
"Under truth serum, Elias admitted to having bastard children," Medford said. "About six decades ago, with the daughter of the then-current leader of St. Ives. The children were unclanned and given away," he said. "But given to our lesser families to raise, or to the mundane adoption system?"
Frowning, Justin St. Ives opened a thick leather bound book. "That would have been my scandalous great-aunt Marjorie, as the leader of that time was my great grandfather." He grimaced, acknowledging the fact that lords often had short tenures due to challenge. Flipping through the pages, he finally stopped. His face went stern, and he flipped back several pages before he spoke.
"They were judged to have no potential for casting magic, and were sent outside the families. I have the name of the orphanage they were sent to, so we can start from there." He shut the book and sighed. "They weren't assessed for the transfer skill. Elias was still a young man then, and we didn't know our efforts to breed him would be unsuccessful."
"More than sixty years ago?" said the balding Lord Durst. "That's two, maybe three generations marrying with mundanes without supervision. Who knows how much the line has been diluted. We'll probably have to breed the line back on itself if... no, WHEN we find any of the blood. It might be another generation or two before a suitable Battery is produced."
"Simply unacceptable," said Lady Willingston, stiffly. "The magic has returned in full flow. And since we can no longer tap it ourselves, as our ancestors once did, we need the services of Batteries. I refuse to wait 20 to 40 years to feel the power at full.
"You may have to, you old bat," Medford mumbled under his breath. "We all might have to." Willingston wasn't popular. There were few women on the council, but she had inherited the position when her husband and predecessor had been assassinated by their eldest son. Since he hadn't defeated his sire in a proper duel, he had been stripped of his powers and sent out of the Clans. Her daughters were unfit to rule, but the eldest grandson was being raised to lead the Willingston Clan at his majority.
"There are always the Rituals, milady," Medford said sarcastically, able to predict her response to that suggestion. "Chanting and ceremonies can gather magic for us."
She sneered at him. "You know as well as I, that method takes too long to be of use. The power is out there, and we need full access to the magic to return to our ancestor's glory. The power of the Clans will return!"
Lord Mallien asked for the information about the children and the orphanage. He was scarcely more than thirty, and considered young for his rank. He fancied himself a rebel, and affected long hair, bleeding-edge fashions and mirror shades. "As the Archivists, it will be my Clan's job to track down Elias's descendants." His long fingers flashed as he typed the information into his high-end laptop.
Medford leaned over to him. "Speaking of research, Edwin, your Clan has been charting the mana gradients for centuries. Any idea why the full returned happened so suddenly?"
Edwin Mallien looked up briefly, while the staccato rhythm of his fingers on the keys continued unabated. "Actually I do have a theory why it happened. The return came the day before a certain anomalous person created a palace out of nothing in northern Iowa. I think it was... Robert Black."
"Nonsense," said St. Ives. "We sent an agent to petition him about something or other, and there was no magical aura around him. And besides, why would he do us any favors?"
"Maybe he didn't," Mallien said. "And about the magic aura... while that's quite true, our records indicate the ancient Gods never radiated magic. They controlled magic, and some of them WERE magic, but they didn't use magic. They didn't need to."
Medford frowned. "Are you saying Black's a God? I don't know if I can swallow that. He's too much the fool."
"Everyone knows the Gods are dead," said Durst. "There are no more of them. Good riddance, I say, they were bothersome beings."
The clicking stopped briefly. "Everyone knows...?" Edwin echoed. Then sarcastically, he said, "In the mundane world, everyone knows there's no such thing as real magic. Who's to say that the return of the magic didn't mean the return of the Gods... or maybe it's the other way around." He started typing again. "I'm just suggesting that we should be careful around him."
"He's simply an ego-driven dictator," Lady Willingston said, "the kind our Clans have always manipulated and controlled. He will be no different."
The archivist sighed. "Dusten's descendants settled in half of America, it seems," Edwin said, changing the subject. "I'll give each of you places near your homes where you can start the search, and loan you experts in records search and locating people. We should be able to find at least one with some potential."
"Whether Black is a deity or not," Medford said. "We should at least be careful of his Powered minions. The Power gifted and the psionics are an unknown quantity to us. We don't know how our magic will affect them, should we ever get access to it again."
"It's frustrating," St. Ives said sternly. "To have our access to the magic so limited. It's like... a guild of goldsmiths dependent on one man to mine the precious metal. We can do such wondrous things with our magic, if only we had the raw material to work with." There were several on the council who gave the normally prosaic Justin strange looks.
Medford nodded, catching his mood. "The descendants live and die, never knowing they soak in the mana around them like they soak in the sunshine."
"How philosophical," Edwin said snidely. "Here's your lists. When we meet in a month, we should discuss our results."
"You're Mallien, the archivist, right?" Robert asked. The mage nodded. "So tell us what happened next." Edwin bowed his head, and began.
...During the next month, the fraternal twins were tracked from the orphanage to their adoptive families. The brothers were separated but one was easy to track. He was studious and was taken in by a good family. He married well, and had several children. One by one those children's lives and lines were traced. Frustrated mages found themselves at grave sides, knowing that one avenue of possibility was forever closed. There were even names on the Vietnam memorial who were descended from Elias Dusten's eldest son, but that didn't help, either.
The second brother seemed to be a trouble maker from the start. Like his sire, he was always in hot water, in and out of reform school and juvenile hall. He walked away from his home town when he was seventeen, and never looked back. Keeping his pattern of lawlessness, prison terms were found in the records they discovered. Since he moved constantly from town to town, and state to state, Edwin himself took on the almost impossible task of finding his line.
Living descendants of the first son were found, but of them all, only one with the potentially active Battery ability was found. That was a relief, for they feared there would be no one with the potential. The latent mages they found were left alone, for now. At the monthly meeting she was discussed. The daughter of ex-hippies, the twenty year old woman with the improbable name of Hyacinth Storm was a partner in a New Age book and supply store. She studied eastern mysticism, and possessed the characteristic snowy white hair of a Battery.
The welfare of the Clans was paramount. Though it distressed a few, it was decided that the woman would not be given an opportunity to say no to them. She would be kidnaped and made to spend the rest of her life in service to the Clans as their magic giver, beginning with the St. Ives Clan. One of her first or second cousins with a lesser potential would be located in order to breed the line back on itself...
"I sent word that I was too busy to attend, as I worked on
tracking the second son's line." Mallien told the Emperor and his
adviser. "The rest of the story you have already been told by
the principles involved." The mage seemed relieved to be
finished with this part of the story...
Story Written - Dec 1998, by KTM.
Hyacinth Storm was locking up the 'Endless Dreams', her New Age bookstore, the night she was taken. She became so sleepy that she sank down on the sidewalk in front of the door, so she could rest. It seemed very important that she rest right then.
She awoke in what she learned was called the House of the St. Ives Clan. When she stirred on the bed, two men entered the room. "You'll come with us," one of them said gruffly.
"Like hell I will," she said. She didn't know where she was, but it didn't look like she safe. Her dad had taught her passive resistence was the best defensive tactic. So, she went limp when they grabbed her, becoming a dead weight. One pulled on her silver hair, while the other pulled a taser from his pocket and made it spark. She stood, and let them pull her out of the room. It wouldn't be worth the pain, dad, she thought.
She saw heavy bracelets without clasps on her wrists as they led her through the house. She was brought to a grand room with medieval style trappings. She disliked the expressions on the faces of the people in the room. They were hostile, and predatory. One scruffy looking man's stare made her skin crawl. He sat with his own guardsmen, and his wrist's bore bracelets similar to hers. No one else here wore them. She guessed they were some kind of restraint device.
"Welcome home, Miss Storm," said a man, dressed in 'old- wealth' type clothes of a dated style. He was seated in an ornate wooden chair reminiscent of a throne. "My name is Justin St. Ives, and this is my household. You weren't aware of it until today, but you are a distant cousin to most of my Clan. We've gone to great lengths to find you, because your family needs you."
"MY family lives in Monterey," she said, "and I want to go back, right now."
"That won't be possible," he said. "Your duty to the Clan outweighs anything. All the Clans need you, but as your kin, I have charge of you." His eyes lingered on her body.
"If you think I'm staying here..." Hyacinth sputtered.
Coolly, he said, "The walls are ten feet high, and the gates are guarded. If you get within five feet of them, the bracelets you're wearing will cause you pain. Your cousin Bruno has already found out about this." One of the men by the scruffy man picked up Bruno's wrist, showing the bandages under the solid band.
Justin gestured, and her attendants pushed her to chair. "Now for the reason you are here," he said, holding up a jeweled globe. It looked expensive. "This is a rare artifact from the ancient times, called a mana battery. It has taken the Clans a month to fill it. I shall now discharge it into you."
Hyacinth was puzzled. As far as she could tell, he was talking about magic. Not stage magic, and not the subtle karmic forces of the New Age, but real sword-and-sorcery 'Merlin the Magician' type magic. And he believed it! She wasn't sure if he was insane, but the situation was so strange, she wouldn't be surprised.
He held up the globe. "Pay attention to this, my dear, you must learn this the first time. Next, you will learn to gather the energy by yourself." He took the cap off the globe and pointed it at her. She could feel the swirl of arcane energy as it curled toward her. Reflexively, she somehow reached for the energy, and drew it inside of her before it could leak away.
Those watching her, gasped. Suffused with the energy, she could sense it now, even see it. The bonds on her wrists glowed dully, and the jeweled globe shone more brightly. Except herself and Bruno, everyone had a dimly glowing nexus just below their heart, mostly dark. When she looked down at herself, she had fibers of light all through her body. Bruno had very faint fibers through him.
Justin forced her to look at him. "Don't let the magic go. That's very good." He smiled wolfishly. He held the empty globe to her. "Fill it back up, now."
She glared at him. She didn't want to part with it. The taser behind her sparked again, making her jump. Frowning, she looked into dark opening of the artifact, willing the power to fill it again. It swirled from her readily in shining strands, and poured into the battery. Suddenly it sprayed out around his hands, as the globe's capacity was reached, and exceeded.
"Not too much!" he snapped, quickly putting the cap back into place on the precious heirloom. Then he looked at her with a cold smile. "Now get more magic," he said.
"From where?" she said.
"From all around you," he said. "You can do this, and by all the Gods, you will!"
She felt bereft without the energy, she realized. But she'd sent more magic than the globe had given her. She could get more! She closed her eyes, and drew it in. To the mage's senses, fairy motes of light from all around entered the room, and flew to her, sinking into her skin, imparting their radiance to her.
It wasn't long before she surpassed all other magic sources in the room, and was still building. Justin watched her carefully, but she showed no signs of drawing from the mages, or from established magic patterns, like the bracelets. The energy within her remained neutral, and wasn't refining itself into more complex patterns.
Batteries that could shape the magic were dangerous. The Lords forbade that ability, doing their best to eliminate it. He was satisfied she was safe. Though she was too valuable to be killed for having a forbidden ability, she would be stripped of her active gift, so they could try again with her children. The Batteries weren't permitted to rebel.
The motes flowing to her slowed, then stopped. "She's double, nearly triple Elias's capacity at his prime, my lord," one of the mages said. "We have ourselves a new Battery!"
"Battery?" she said, feeling confused.
"More like a capacitor," he said. "You provide the power that we utilize. Look at me; like the artifact, I'm nearly empty inside. Touch my hands and fill me."
He reached out, and glared at her until she took his hands. He was like a void inside. Reluctantly, she let the power flow to him. She held more than he could take, by far, but she couldn't seem to 'overflow' him.
Justin stepped back, spreading his arms. His followers came to touch his hands, arms, or face; drawing until they were sated. They had much less capacity to hold the power than he. She slowing drew in again, as she watched.
He turned to the men guarding her, "Take her to the guest quarters," he said gruffly. "Tonight she will learn the rest of her duties to the Clan." Despite herself, she shuddered.
She didn't like the smirks on their faces as they shoved her into a sumptuous bedroom, and closed the door firmly. When Justin St. Ives entered the room, he said imperiously, "Attend me.".
"Up yours," she said.
He gestured, and her wrist bands began to burn, like a hot iron laid on her skin. "Come, and it will stop," he said. Cursing, she went. "Such language! You will fill me again. I have empowered my Clan, as is my duty, so you must empower me." Her expression was rebellious. "Or do you want the burning to return?"
She took his hands and filled him again, fast and rough, trying to hurt him. When he smiled hungrily at her, she realized her mistake. She had merely succeeded in arousing him.
"I can use the magic that will forever elude you," he gloated. "You are my servant, and slave to the needs of the Clans." He caressed her face before she could draw away. "It's a good thing you're so pretty. Fucking you is going to be very enjoyable."
There was no escaping him. She figured that he could have bent her will to his, but instead he made himself strong. He held her, and stripped her naked. Throwing her on the bed, he was on her immediately. Quickly lashing her to the frame, he moved back and began to undress.
He was a large man below the belt, not in length, but in thickness. He lay down beside her, playing with her body. "If I use magic," he said, "refill me immediately, or be punished."
"You can't do this," she cried, struggling.
"But I can," he said, still reveling in the enforced intimacy. "Since the Clan lords rebelled against the Batteries they've been our servants. I have every right to use you as I see fit, and since your body arouses me, I'll use you in bed."
He cast a spell on her. She filled him before she knew what he'd done. She suddenly noticed her cunt was wet, undoubtedly for his convenience.
"Suck me," he said, as he kneeled by her head, thrusting himself at her face. She hesitated a moment, and he gave a yank on her silver hair. Unwillingly she opened her mouth to him. He filled her mouth, and he began to brusquely stroke in it. She found that she was able to take his full size, and that the taste was more appealing than she'd ever known before. Another spell, she guessed. With a groan, he came in her mouth, but he didn't get soft.
He climbed between her legs, aimed his cock at her opening, and sank in with one stroke. He showed no concern for her enjoyment. Thrusting himself in her at his own pace, he seemed to delight in changing his rhythm whenever she showed signs of responding to him. He pumped hard in her just before he came, leaving her still frustrated.
"That was an object lesson," he said. "You are here for my pleasure, not yours. The mundane world has taken women's rights too far. You think men owe you pleasure, but we don't. You'll learn."
He cleaned himself with a small spell, then he put on a robe, clapping his hands. The scruffy man was brought in, also in a robe. "Bruno is your second cousin, Hyacinth. He has a latent talent for what you can do. You must perpetuate your line, and he's here to 'assist' you. Fair warning, he was taken from a federal prison. I think his conviction had something to do with sex crimes."
The big man threw off his robe, and leered at her bound form. While he rubbed his jutting erection, she could see that he was covered with scars and gang tattoos.
"Remember, Bruno," St. Ives said from the doorway. "You can play rough with her, but you can't really hurt her. You know the penalty if you do." Bruno nodded never taking his eyes off her sweat covered body.
As the door closed, he leaped at her with a growl. In the hallway, St. Ives responded to her muffled screams with a frosty smile, as he strode away from his guest room.
The days that followed blurred, one into another. From the mystic portals that linked the Houses together, other lords came to St. Ives to partake of the power. She was told who to be generous with, and who to shortchange, claiming fatigue. Limiting the power available to rival Houses was a perk of the Hosting lord. The other leaders seemed so grateful to have access to the magic again, they didn't complain, but that would change soon.
When she wasn't being tormented, or giving power to the Clans, Hyacinth was left pretty much alone. She found some comfort sitting in the beautiful garden of the House. After several days, an old gardener woman handed her some plants and a spade. "If you're going to look at it so much," she said, "you can help me keep it pretty.".
Hyacinth loved to garden, and she gladly helped Marge work with the plants. She'd seen other domestics around the House, and told about the lesser families they came from. Marge looked to be about sixty or so, and like the others, she was much nicer to Hyacinth than the mages were.
While they worked, Marge would tell her stories about the Clans. About when the power givers were benevolent rulers who sacrificed their magic to empower their brethren. Of how they were called Charge Keepers, before the lords revolted.
"I heard a rumor," Marge said one day, "of the last Keeper. That he'd learned to absorb spells before they could take hold of him. It's something that you might be able to learn with practice. Your best ally is patience."
A small miracle she enjoyed was Bruno's inability to impregnate her. St. Ives was becoming dissatisfied with the brutal convict's lack of results. He queried Mallien for news on the second son's line. They would need another stud for his prize mare.
Mallien responded with a call for a clan meeting. He had finished his research, and wanted to share it with the council.
"There is another Battery," Edwin said. "And I claim his Hosting."
"Mallien has never been a Host," Medford snapped. "Besides, I have recent experience."
"Then it's about time my Clan did," the archivist said. "You think the power flows well now? Considering he's never drawn in, this young man is estimated at least twice her capacity. There will be plenty of magic for all, if we get him working for the Clans. He's living a normal life right now, and I won't ruin that for him unless if I have the Hosting. That way, I can ensure that he's treated right."
"Very well, Edwin," Durst said. "We'll put it to a vote." It pleased the balding lord that there would be a second source of power, because he was at odds with St. Ives at the present.
"I object," Justin shouted. "I was granted Host of the girl because she's my kin. I should have this one as well. What better mate for her than another full Battery?"
"I agree," Edwin said. "But he can be Hosted elsewhere the rest of the time."
St. Ives was outraged when the vote went against him. For so new a Host, he'd been very heavy handed in his politics. He had only himself to blame, but he didn't have to like it.
"He's Joshua Cross, and an unknown quantity," Edwin said. "His father is Jonas, your exiled son, Lady Willingston. Jonas was stripped of his power and memories, but his gifts were strong. He'd have been drawn to a latent power giver, like the boy's mother. I've seen Joshua he's like nothing we've ever come across before."
"Haven't you an inch of spine, Edwin?" Justin sneered. "We shall simply take him, as we took the girl, and damn the consequences!"
"I will be his Host, and I will be the one to get him!" Edwin roared in outrage. "You libidinous worm! Don't think I haven't smelled your sex on the girl when you presented her for the power giving? Your hosting can be revoked if you continue to manage her so poorly."
"Don't presume to threaten me," St. Ives growled.
"Stay out of this," Edwin said. "The council's vote is final. It's my call."
Joshua Cross was a hard young man, who'd had a hard life. It was no wonder that his hair turned silver early. His dad was a psychotic, subject to violent rages, and his mom turned to substance abuse because she had trouble dealing with reality.
He'd gotten help early from a youth center, and from the folks of a friend of his. They'd gotten a foster care license just to help take care of him. Despite their help, he'd been thrown out of regular high school for fighting, and was in his second year of continuation as a senior.
He was tired of school, but his foster folks wanted him to stick it out. He was eighteen, and wanted to get a GED and just be done with it. They were nice folks, but he couldn't stand to stay. He went to the Chicago job show to look around. With a job he could strike out on his own. If he could just get a break, he knew he could turn his life all around again.
At the job show the high technology companies interested him the most, but no one wanted a hoodlum dropout. He turned to leave, when one man caught his eye, gesturing for him to come over.
His name tag said Edwin, and he watched Joshua closely. He had a long black ponytail, and silver shades. The modest sign at his table said 'Mallien Information Systems: Exploring the magic of computing.' The man stood and offered to shake his hand. "How are you doing..." Edwin looked down at the boy's name tag, "Joshua? I'm pleased to meet you."
"Why?" the boy said, his gray eyes betraying his bitterness. "I don't have a diploma or even a transcript. All I'm good for is diggin' ditches, I guess."
"I don't care about all that," Edwin said. "A Power doesn't need an education to be valuable. You have a gift, son. One I'm looking for."
"Right," drawled Joshua, with a natural streetwise suspicion.
"Here," Edwin said, passing the boy his shades. "These glasses can see the gift I'm looking for. Look at me, see the glow? Notice how hardly anyone else has even a spark?" Joshua nodded, fascinated by the auras. "I'm done today. Give me my glasses and I'll say goodbye to you. If you want to learn more, you'll have to come with me to lunch. I'm buying."
"You've got a deal," Joshua said. He helped the man pack up his carefully neutral brochures and they went to a restaurant across the street. When plates had been put in front of them, Edwin continued.
"The glasses are interesting, aren't they?" he said, watching the boy look around with them. "Look down at your hands; see yourself as I saw you. You glow like a star."
"What is it?" Joshua asked.
"It's a special kind of energy," Edwin said truthfully, but evasively. "I can put it into patterns. You can only store it, as a generator of the energy. That makes what you can do valuable, and worth good money. Let me show you how it works..." Edwin brought out some mana batteries, and in a manner of minutes taught the boy how to draw in and transfer the energy.
Joshua grinned. He'd given the glasses back. He didn't need them anymore. He'd analyzed the pattern and figured out how to duplicate the ability by himself. He could do this, and it felt so good to do! "How much money is it worth?" he asked.
"How about a thousand, no, fifteen hundred dollars a month to start? Free room and board, and full medical?"
Joshua shut his mouth. His momma didn't raise no fools. 'If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.' As badly as he wanted to accept, he needed time. "I'll have to think about it, and I need to talk to my family. Do you have a card with a number I can reach you at?"
"Yes, I do, Joshua," the man said, giving it to him. "I'll tell you now, the ability to detect your gift is very rare, and those who need it are almost as rare. I can just about guarantee you'll never get a better offer. Take my card and think it over. I'll be in town for a week."
Joshua nodded. He shook Edwin's hand and walked away. Before he went home, he discovered that Mallien was right. The local Imperial Adjunct couldn't detect what his gift was, but they did tell him he had an unknown ability. He waited at home for his foster parents, to talk it over with them.
"You fool," Justin said to Edwin as the archivist entered his hotel room. "You had him, and then let him get away. When the council finds out how you bungled this, your grant will be terminated."
"You're the fool, St. Ives," Edwin said. "The way I've handled it, the boy will come to me of his own will. Keep your heavy-handed tactics out of this."
"Too late, Edwin," Justin smiled. "The hunt is on, and I'll be the one to take home the prize. Thanks for all your help, now I won't have to train him." He began casting a spell.
"I'll see you broken for this!" Edwin said, while he worked to counter the magic.
"We'll see," Justin said, "history is written by the victors." Edwin noticed then, that there were several St. Ives nearby casting in unison with their leader. He could feel himself falling, slipping under. St. Ives gave a swift kick to the upstart lord, now lying in a deathlike coma. "Let's go, boys," said St. Ives.
Joshua was telling his foster mother about the fantastic offer he'd gotten, and promising he'd go to night school to make up his education. She was a little skeptical, and when they tried to call the handwritten hotel phone number on the back of the business card, it went unanswered. "Maybe he's out to dinner," Joshua said.
His skin tingled as energy flooded the room. He analyzed the structure and turned it away from him. With a moan, his foster mom collapsed. "Mom?" he said, checking her pulse. She seemed to be deeply asleep. "Mom!"
The back door splintered and two men came into the room. They stopped short when they saw Joshua awake. "Get him, cast it again!" the smaller one said.
"It could kill her," the taller one said, beginning to cast.
"What do we care?" the first one said, "she's only a mundane."
"No!" Joshua shouted. He watched the spell form, and as the matrix flew toward him, he sucked away the magic that formed it, causing the spell's structure to collapse.
"Damn it!" the second one said, pulling his taser.
Joshua bolted. They only wanted him, it seemed. He had to lead them away from the house. They followed him, not giving the woman a second glance. Once outside, he could see a dark van and other bad guys waiting for him. The van was a problem, it could outrace him on the streets, even if he knew them better. He took off across the street, beside the opposite house, and vaulted over the fence. The van couldn't follow him this way. He knew that he could lose the men in a chase through the alleys his neighborhood.
His thoughts raced as he worked his way through the residential area. Who the hell were these guys? He suspected that they had something to do with his mysterious gift. Mallien said that Joshua wouldn't get a better offer. Was this what he meant? What Mallien would pay him for, others would try and take? At least he had youth and strength on his side. Those dudes were old. They couldn't keep up with him.
But he kept hearing them coming up behind. How were they tracking him? He stood panting in a dark corner downtown, and made the visual switch from normal sight to the magic gradients. Through the building, he could see them coming, their eyes glowing strangely. Then he saw everything near him was glowing from his own reflected light. He was a walking beacon! No wonder he couldn't shake them.
He tried to spin his power to form that sleep pattern he'd seen, but his hands stumbled through the motions. They were about to rush him from around the corner. Fuck it! When they came at him, he threw a jet of wild, unformed magic.
The plume hit one of the men dead on, and he screamed. The mage's inner energy nexus flared out of control and burst, audibly. The standing spells the man was keeping on himself turned inward and burned out his channels. He fell dead, smoking.
The two on the edges of the blast clutched their eyes and cried out in pain, as the side flares scorched them. To them, the wild magic was like a magnesium flare in the face of a man with night vision goggles. Coolness, Joshua thought, before he ran away again.
He was able to get some distance from them. They were scared, and he was no longer helpless. There was one place he could go, and he went as directly as he could, still trying to evade the distant pursuit. The local Imperial Adjunct, the one that couldn't detect what his gift was, stood half a mile away in the city center.
Both the Mallien and the St. Ives forces were after him now. Edwin, to take him into protective custody, and Justin, to strip the dangerous young man of his powers. Their forces boxed in on either side of the plaza where the black tower stood.
As dusk began to fall, Joshua dashed to the man locking the doors. "I know what my power is now!" he said breathlessly. "There's a bunch of guys trying to get to me, and you need to ask the Empire for help!"
"Now, see here, kid..." the man began, and then stared at the men and cars rushing into the plaza. The tower was rocked by an energy blast, and that was enough for the clerk. He rushed back inside with Joshua, and hit the Legion alert. "Stay inside, son. I've called the army." The building rocked again.
"I gotta get out there, where I can shoot back!" Joshua said. He ducked out of the building and began blocking the power bolts that were heading for the tower.
"Defend yourself, Joshua," Edwin called. "I'm here to protect you."
"Not a chance, Mallien," Justin shouted. "He's a rogue Battery and must be stripped."
"Your jealousy has brought disaster on us all, fool," Edwin said.
The Chicago Legion tried to break up the mages, only to turn on each other, controlled by spells, or to fall unconscious. The army pulled back, and dug in. This situation called for the Power Team. Teke's team warped in with a power item Robert had given them. It brought the team in, and they immediately found themselves on the defensive. They had never dealt with this kind of opponent before.
Lady Web's networking kept the attempts at confusion or sleep spells from entirely affecting them. Blur was able to avoid the azure energy bolts, but the others weren't so lucky.
"Call the Emperor," Teke yelled, as he shielded the others behind a force wall. "This is more than we can handle!"
In a flare of dark, Robert appeared, his Rod in hand. For a moment every eye in the square turned to him, but the St. Ives mages continued to fire. They were attacking the soldiers who were firing back at them from cover. They were shooting at the Power Team, at Joshua, the other mages, and even at Robert. The Mallien mages only cast at the St. Ives men, and were trying to protect the rest.
Edwin said, "Oh shit," when he saw the Dark man flinch from a blue magical blast. It looked like it hurt him, so five more came his way in quick succession. Robert made an annoyed face at first, which changed to a feral grin.
"Everyone, stop!" Robert said, and with a flare of his power, they did. "Whoever's in charge will come here to me." Several people came up to him. Justin St. Ives being one of the first, and Edwin Mallien. Teke and the commander of the local Legion militia reported to him. The chief clerk of the black tower came also, dragging Joshua along with him. All of those who felt in charge of one of the factions present were compelled to approach him.
Robert looked at those before him, and chose the youngest first. "Who are you?" he said to the boy the Imperial clerk presented to him.
"Uh, I'm Joshua Cross," he said, "and this guy," he gestured at the red garbed St. Ives, "is after me. This guy in blue was trying to help, so he said. He offered to hire me, before the others started chasing me."
"Why were you chasing him?" Robert said to St. Ives.
"I don't have to answer to you," Justin sneered, and then cast the strongest beguiling he knew. The big man blinked slowly for a moment.
"My lord!" Teke said, "they have mind bending powers."
Robert groped his way through the patterns of the energy. It was like the mind control he'd felt before from Benjamin, and the magical blasts he'd just analyzed and threw off. Robert shook his head briskly, and smiled widely at St. Ives. "That didn't work, and it never will again." The lord gaped at him.
"Call your men to surrender," he commanded St. Ives, and Justin turned, doing his bidding as if was his own idea. "Tell your people to cool their heels," he said to Mallien. "We're all going inside the tower to have a long talk. You're dismissed, Commander, and you have my thanks. Teke, the Power Team can use the gateway here in the tower to return to the Palace. I have things under control now."
Soon the principles were seated around a table in Chicago's Adjunct. Edwin reluctantly gave a sketchy briefing to the Emperor about the Mage Clans, and what caused the day's conflicts. As soon as Robert learned of Hyacinth, he summoned the girl to the meeting, and on her advice, he called Marge as well.
Hyacinth told them her story, and then cried, relieved that she was finally free. Her emotions turned suddenly to anger, as she realized that her rapist could now be punished. Marge tried to soothe her.
"Respectfully, sir," Edwin said when she'd done so, "I think the Clans are none of the Empire's business. We have always been autonomous of any government. Let us deal with this ourselves."
Robert nodded to himself. "Sorry, Edwin, but I can't allow a group of people who feel themselves to be above my laws to run around unchecked in the Empire. I have Towers for Psionics and Healers, so now I'll have a Blue Tower for Magic. Joshua, I appoint you and Hyacinth to be joint Ministers, with the Clan lords to be your council of advisors."
"Won't the lords just enslave them again?" the old woman asked.
"Not with my authority behind them, and with Joshua's abilities to fight them. If the... Keepers relocate to my Palace, the lords will have to come to them for the Power. That way we can regulate and control the mages under our administration. But, I don't recommend that you allow felons to hold a seat on the council."
He turned to St. Ives. "You will no doubt have to step down from your office. If Hyacinth presses charges, and you're convicted, your position and freedom will be on the line." Despite Justin's glares, Hyacinth quickly pressed charges, and the lord was hauled away for trial, wearing anti-magic chains.
"It'll be your job," Robert said to Joshua and Hyacinth, "to administer the Clans and the lesser families, and judge any grievances that arise. I suggest the Clans' records be copied to a cental archive at the Palace, and that you appoint a staff for magical research and development."
Joshua shook his head. "I'm just a kid, sir. A wannabe High School dropout. What do I know about all of this?"
"You've got a good start right here, son," Robert said. "Hyacinth is a business woman, who knows how to manage money." He smiled at the young woman. "Edwin is an archivist, and Marge seems to be a wise old lady. Besides, the other Ministers will help you. I'll want a briefing on the Clans later. You'll arrange it."
"Hyacinth," Marge said. "I couldn't say this before, but I'm your great-grandmother, and yours, Joshua. I'm Marjorie St. Ives, condemned to house servitude for my indiscretion. Our long lives allowed me to live to see you." Hyacinth hugged her in delighted surprise.
Joshua politely gave her a kiss, and turned to Robert. "What does being Minister of Magic pay?"
"I can better Edwin's offer," Robert said. "But first... you'll have to finish High School."
The room rang with laughter from the chagrined expression on the boy's face.
To be Continued...
Copyright © 2000, Katherine I. McClure