Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (13 page)

“There you are!” Celeste observed brightly from one of the
overstuffed chairs in the living room. “My, you are looking a lot nicer now!
Come, let’s sit you in front of the fire and I’ll get your food for you. After
you eat, I’ll take a look at that arm.”

The heat from the fireplace felt wonderful, and Paul eased
himself into one of the overstuffed chairs, enjoying the feel of the soft
cushion against his back. Celeste returned in short order with a large tray of
fruits, cheeses, breads, and Danishes. With restrained gusto, Paul ate
hungrily, everything tasting like manna from heaven to him.

“Let’s work a little on that arm to prevent any possible
infections,” Celeste told him. She knelt beside him and produced a white towel
from thin air, laying it on the arm of the chair, directly underneath his damaged
arm. Then, again from thin air, she pulled forth a small attaché case, which
she opened to reveal an array of oddly shaped devices.

“These are medical instruments,” she cheerfully explained.
“Magical ones, of course. We’ll start with this one.” And she pulled forth a
small wand with two small lenses glued to one side. Gently taking the stump of
his arm with her right hand, she held out the wand in the other and moved it in
close.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” she pronounced readily. If the
sight of his injury affected her in any way, she gave no indication of it.

Paul grimaced in reply. “Whenever a doctor tells me that, I know
he’s lying.”

Celeste smiled reassuringly, and then a small white light
emerged from the lenses, sweeping across the stump of his arm.

“This removes the dead tissue and most of the tissue that’s
badly damaged,” she explained confidently. “It will greatly speed up the
process of grafting a new arm on you.”

Paul blinked in astonishment, his mouth momentarily dropping
open. “Grafting an arm? That’s possible?”

“Yes, it is. Even Normies—that is to say, even modern
medicine—can do a fairly good job of it these days, though the magical methods
are better, of course.”

Her implications disturbed Paul a little. “Where would the
new arm come from?” he asked, slightly queasy at the thought.

“From a donor, of course. We will look for someone that has recently
passed away, from natural causes or an accident, obviously—someone with your
general build, age, and blood type. If they have living relatives, we will pay them
for the arm. We will tell them that we need it for medical research. There are
many people in the world that would leap at such a chance to sell us what we
need.”

With a small, crooked smile, Paul realized that the woman
was right, and that with magical powers, it probably wouldn’t be too hard to
find a suitable replacement arm. Still, the idea of using a dead man’s arm made
him a little uncomfortable. And yet, lots of transplants were being done these
days from donors recently deceased. Paul told himself that he was being much
too prissy.

“Now, before I start answering your questions, of which I am
sure there are a few, would you mind answering one or two for me?” she asked as
she finished with the first medical instrument and started working on his arm
with another one. “If I know more about your background, then I will be able to
answer your questions better and perhaps avoid telling you things you already
know.”

Paul shrugged indifferently, fully prepared to grant her any
reasonable request she might make—and perhaps more than a few unreasonable ones
as well. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Well, you are Paul Thomas Armstead, of Mojave, California,
is that right?”

“Yes,” Paul nodded, dumbfounded at how much she already
seemed to know about him.

“And you work at Edwards Air Force Base?” she asked.

“I do. Well, I did. They have probably fired me by now. I
don’t know for sure.”

“How long have you possessed magical powers?” she asked with
that mysterious smile of hers.

Paul managed not to blush this time, but only barely. “Only
a few days.”

“Tell me, please, how did it happen?”

So he quickly told her the whole story, from helping Glenn
Michaels, to the genie and the wishes, to his stay on the mountaintop, to his flying
blanket and the fabrication of his talisman, to the subsequent attack by the
Oni. He didn’t leave out a single detail and stopped only after describing his trick
with the portal into orbital space. She listened with rapt attention but didn’t
interrupt once.

When he finished, she offered a bemused smile. “That’s a
remarkable story, Paul. Truly remarkable. It tells me quite a bit about you. Now,
that arm looks much better. And it’s my turn now to explain a few things.” Celeste
packed away the medical instruments and moved over to the chair on the other
side of the coffee table. “It’s a long story, but I will keep it as concise as
I can.”

• • • •

The beginnings of wizardry were lost in the mists of ancient
history yet it somewhat paralleled that of the growth of the scientific method.
Over the centuries, a few gifted individuals researched and experimented, very
slowly divining the fundamentals of magic, developing skills and magical spells
that actually worked.

However, unlike the physical scientists who published their
findings in order to gain recognition and to contribute to the knowledge of the
entire world, the ancient wizards hoarded their discoveries for personal wealth
and power.

Nevertheless, understanding of magical methodology continued
to grow and spread, and it gained an increasing number of adherents.

The wizards tended to follow one of three paths. A small
percentage of them divorced themselves from the affairs of men. These wizards
retreated to quiet corners of the planet, content to use their powers in peace,
focusing their attention on further development of their magic.

A slightly larger group of wizards used their powers for the
selfish gratification of their senses and appetites, choosing to party
riotously in nonstop fashion.

“I’m going to be honest with you about the third group,” Celeste
said with a regretful smile. “They are the largest group, and almost from the
beginning, they have used their increasing magical powers for personal gain.
They worked to accumulate vast amounts of money and other worldly riches. They
strove for power and influence, learning to control kingdoms, governments, and then
nations. At first, they peacefully competed among themselves, each striving to
have more influence and control than the other wizards. Eventually, their
competition became violent, their magical powers growing to be so great that
they began to initiate wars among the Normals (those without magical powers) in
order to gain even more control and wealth.”

She gazed over at the fireplace, obviously deep in thought. “About
a thousand years ago, this third group of wizards decided to form an
association, sort of a syndicate. This organization has, over the centuries,
grown to include almost every wizard on Earth. It has become known as
Errabêlu
.
The name itself should tell you what sort of organization it is. Erra is the eighth-century
Akkadian name for the Babylonian god of plague, mayhem, pestilence, and
political confusion. Bêlu is the Akkadian word for lord, master, and king.
Together, the name of the syndicate means the masters of the god of mayhem and confusion.

“
Errabêlu
has no real control over any of its
members. Mostly, it serves as a neutral ground, where a meeting of the minds
can take place and sometimes where challenges and accusations can be made. All
the wizards give lip-service to the organization, no matter what they actually
do in private or with the Normals or governments they control.

“And even though they might all belong to
Errabêlu
,
they still make every effort to improve their own standing, advancing the
science of weaponry and warfare, hungrily pursuing the maximum of wealth, advantage,
and control. The situation has, at times, deteriorated to the point that the
wizards have actively hunted and killed each other. As a result of the warfare,
virtually all of the two previous groups of wizards I mentioned were killed or
forced into deep hiding.

“All the wizards now recognize their special status, that
their magical powers define their segregation and superior nature apart from
the rest of humanity. Defensive of that special status, the wizards of Earth go
through extraordinary pains to maintain their monopoly on magical powers,
successfully squelching any effort by Normals to investigate or experiment in
any specialty that might confirm the existence of magic and thereby discover
its properties. But that seems to be the only goal that we wizards have in
common. On every other front, most of us seem to always be on the lookout for
ways to murder our rivals and take their possessions.

“Sometimes, the wizards will form small alliances,” Celeste
explained. “Where two or three of us will work together in order to defeat a
common enemy. However, such alliances don’t typically last very long. Egos tend
to get in the way, and there is almost always a falling-out later on. Some of
us recognize that if we don’t stop the bloodshed...well, it could end up
killing everyone and everything on Earth.”

Paul nodded slowly in complete understanding. Thermonuclear
warfare made that prospect potentially possible. The thought made his stomach
feel a bit queasy.

“Let me see if I understand what you are saying,” he
interposed. “You’re saying that all the countries of the world are magically
controlled by wizards, and it’s because of them that there are so many wars? So
much death and destruction?”

“Not quite, no,” she responded patiently. “There are only a
few hundred wizards on Earth. Most of the kings and presidents and other rulers
are what we call Normals. But somewhere in the background of the dictatorships
and military governments, and even most of the democracies, there is usually one
or more wizards, quietly manipulating the strings of power, stirring trouble,
and scheming new evil to be unleashed.”

Paul silently mulled over her words. If that was true, it would
turn his understanding of the world completely topsy-turvy. Her story seemed so
utterly fantastic. And yet, it would explain a few things. He had never
understood the desire of some nations to wage war on other peoples. War was
such a terrible abomination, and that made it a thing to be avoided. Even the
victors of a war lost so much, in terms of cost and of lives shed. Could there
ever be justification for a war?

Well, in some circumstances, there was, he realized,
thinking of World War II and the evils of Adolf Hitler and his henchmen. Okay,
that kind of people had to be stopped. So maybe there were times when such was
necessary. Yet, if Celeste was telling the truth, even that war had probably
been instigated by wizards
.

Paul clinched his jaw in anger. With wizards actively
fomenting armed conflicts, world peace never had a chance and never would.

“What are the Oni?” he asked, pushing his glasses up on his
nose.

“Biologically constructed warriors.
Assassins, for
the most part,” Celeste informed him. “A thousand years ago, the Oni were
derived from human stock. But now, they are essentially clones created to do their
master’s bidding. They are physically strong and fast, and they possess a
certain degree of magical power. But fortunately, they are not very
intelligent. Most of the wizards of
Errabêlu
use the Oni as bodyguards,
slaves, and even soldiers.”

Not very intelligent, huh? That explained why they had blindly
followed Paul’s trail into outer space.

“The Oni go out in public? But how? I mean, they would be
seen!” he pointed out.

“Their powers allow them to disguise themselves,” Celeste
explained patiently. “In outward appearance, their disguises make them look and
sound like human males. You yourself may have met an Oni or two without
realizing their true identity. Of course, now that you possess magical powers,
their camouflage spells will no longer work on you. Henceforth, you will always
see them as they really are.”

So he might have actually met Oni before, but seen them as
human, due to a magical spell? Gee, that was a creepy thought.

And then another question occurred to him.

“How did they follow me?” he asked, still mystified by the
Oni’s abilities. And yes, still feeling more than a little fear left over from
the previous day.

She shrugged. “They probably had a gemstone, one that held
the power to detect magical energies. That’s what the Oni usually use to try to
track a wizard’s movements.”

Abruptly, another possibility dawned on Paul, and he squirmed
nervously in his seat at the disquieting idea.

 “Then could they not track us here, to Paris?” he asked, an
edge of panic in his voice.

She smiled, lightly shaking her head. “No, they couldn’t.
Over time, we have learned ways to mask our magical spells, especially our
portals. And the energies released dissipate in just a few minutes. The Oni won’t
be able to track us here. They tracked you because—forgive me for being blunt—the
energies you used for your portals were much greater than necessary and weren’t
masked in any way. Also, your talisman is rather crude. Oh, don’t get me wrong!
For a first effort, it is impressive! You should have seen my first talisman!
But it isn’t even the equal of what the Oni carry.”

Yes, Paul had received ample demonstration of the truth of
that contest. At her calm assurances, his panic subsided into the background again.

“No offense taken,” he replied, his mind still spinning
furiously. “Tell me, is that how you found me there in the desert? By following
my trail of portals?”

Her smile was almost patronizing. “Yes, Paul. Like a trail
of breadcrumbs.”

He was still not offended. “But how did you know to come
looking for me in the first place? For that matter, how did the Oni know that I
existed?” Then the truth burst upon him, and he felt like slapping himself
upside the head. “It was the talisman, wasn’t it?”