Light in the Barren Lands: Travail of The Dark Mage Book One (16 page)

“Have you figured a way back home yet?” asked Jiron.

“Not yet, no. Without magic, or the aid of some higher power, I simply don’t see how we can get home.”

“But I want to see mother!” Jira exclaimed.

“As do I,” her father said.

“And there is nothing I want more than to see Meliana and Kenny,” James added. “But I can’t do magic here. There is no magic on Earth.”

“I still don’t understand how you can be so certain,” Jiron replied.

“I grew up here,” James retorted. “There are no wizards, no sorcerers, no magical beasts, nothing. The dead do not walk, crystals remain simple crystals, and there is no magic!”

During their trek from Haveston, they had had this conversation more than once. James knew there was no magic on Earth. Oh sure, people pretended to have magic, they liked to call the tricks they do as magic, but it was really nothing more than skill at manipulating their surroundings and those watching them. There was nothing magical about any of it.

Time and again he sought the feeling of magic. Tried to work it, touch it, do any of the things he used to be able to do back on Jiron’s world, all to no avail. Earth was a land barren. If ever there had been magic, it was gone now.

“We must not give up,” Jiron said.

“I don’t intend to.”

Just then, their food arrived. Three plates, each with two slices of bread cut diagonally with turkey and gravy layered across the top. The meal also came with a roll for each and a side of lima beans which James resolutely decided would remain untouched. Lima beans! What sort of restaurant served lima beans as a side? He just shook his head, pushed them out of the way, and went to work on the turkey and bread.

During the meal Jiron and Jira talked quietly among themselves to allow James the quiet he needed to figure a way home. Dredging memories from long unused recesses of his recollection, he ran through the gamut of stories, legends, and myths surrounding magic in his own world. The mere fact that his people spoke of magic, and that tales going back to the time of Homer held facets of magic, gave him the belief that although magic may no longer be in the world, it had definitely once been. And what had once been may be again. However, if such were in fact the case, he didn’t have a clue as to where to start, and so he relegated it to the back of his mind where it could be recalled if needed.

The Church maybe? Thoughts of Brother Willim and Miko gave him a moment’s hope that such would be a viable avenue. But then he thought better of it. His former minister had held no magic, of that he was sure. If such priestly magic existed, it would most likely be kept in the hand of the older religions like Judaism, Catholicism, or one of the many others predating the fall of the Roman Empire.

There were a few itinerant healers he recalled from before he left, who traveled about the country. But where they may be now, or even if they were actually tapping into something beyond themselves, he didn’t see how that would suit their needs in any event. In order to make the return journey, he was certain a mass amount of magical energy had to be expended. It was sort of like being in the middle of the Sahara Desert and wanting to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool with water. It just ain’t gonna happen.

He was brought out of his reverie by Jiron suddenly scooting from the bench. Glancing to his friend, he heard him say, “Jira has to use the restroom.” It hadn’t taken them long to begin incorporating Earth’s vernacular into their speech, especially for things such as restrooms.

James glanced around the restaurant and saw the sign off in the corner. “It’s over there,” he said, showing the way.

Jiron nodded and escorted his daughter to the facilities while James worked to finish the last of his meal. Despite the less than aesthetically pleasing inner décor, the food wasn’t at all bad. The meat was tender, the gravy was thick but not pasty, and the roll was light and fluffy.

Flagging down the waitress, he ordered three single-scoop ice creams for dessert so they would be there upon Jira’s return. Then, prior to popping the last of the roll into his mouth, he used it to mop up more of the gravy. He had to admit, the gravy was pretty good. Quite satisfied with the meal, he pushed his plate away and settled back to await the ice cream.

Now that he had tasted “good” ice cream again, he knew his own concoction back on the island had been seriously subpar. Oh sure, it was great when there was nothing to compare it to, but now he knew better.
Maybe a bit more cream?
Or a longer churn time?
Deep in concentration about the whys and wherefores on how to improve his yield, he was abruptly brought back to the here and now when a girl’s scream pierced the relative quiet of the restaurant.
Jira!

Chapter Nine

________________________

Leaping to his feet, James raced toward the hallway leading to the restrooms. Without pausing, he shoved the door to the lady’s room open and stopped in sudden shock. The scene before him was perhaps the last thing he expected to find on the other side of that door.

Jiron knelt before his daughter, holding her in a comforting manner. The poor girl trembled with fear. But it wasn’t the scene of Jira and Jiron that so shocked him, rather it was the blood soaked body jerking in its last death throes that lay nearby. It didn’t take James more than an instant to recognize the boy as the same one who had arrived with the family. His throat had been slit, and despite the boy’s best efforts to stem the flow of blood, he wouldn’t last long.

Jira glanced to him with tear filled eyes. In her hand she held a bloody switchblade knife. Suddenly realizing what she held, she threw it to the tiled floor of the rest room but not before those who had followed James into the lady’s room saw.

“Tommy!” a woman shrieked directly behind him. Then pushed out of the way, James saw the boy’s mother rushed forward, quickly followed by the father and sister.

“She…killed him,” uttered the waitress in disbelief.

Jiron picked up his daughter and moved away from the now still and quiet body of the boy. He turned a look upon James indicating he felt conflict was imminent. James gave him a reassuring gesture not to do anything for the moment.

“Bastard!” exclaimed the boy’s father.

“She was defending herself,” announced James.

“What?” the mother practically shrieked. “Tommy would do no such thing!”

“Then what was he doing in
here
?” Gesturing to the decidedly female accouterments and lack of an upright urinal, his point was clear. Stepping closer to Jiron, he asked in a quiet aside, “What happened.”

“The boy made to touch her and she batted his hand away. When he pulled the knife, she struck his wrist and knocked the blade free as I’ve taught her to do. Then he grabbed her, they tussled, she managed to get hold of the knife” Jiron gestured to the dead boy. “The rest you know.”

The cook barged in, aghast at the grisly scene upon his restroom floor. “What the hell?”

The father pointed toward Jiron. “His brat killed our boy!”

“
That
little girl?” he asked, surprised.

“Look at the blood on her hands,” said the waitress.

“Nobody touch nothing,” the cook ordered. “We’ll let the cops sort this out.” Glancing to the waitress he said, “Go call them.”

She nodded and quickly departed.

Now, Jiron may not have known much English other than a few frequently used words that he’d been exposed to since arriving on Earth, but he did know the word “cops”. James had used it often enough. “We can’t stay,” he said.

“A damned foreigner,” cursed the father. Jiron’s speech clearly labeled him as not being from around there.

“I know,” James said, agreeing with his friend.

“Come, Jira,” Jiron said as he made for the door.

The boy’s father jumped to his feet and moved to block his departure. “Just where do you think
you’re
going?” Imposing his body before the door, he stood toe to toe with Jiron.

“Move aside,” said Jiron with stern determination. Despite the lack of a common language, his meaning was clear.

“I ain’t budging until the cops get here,” the father retorted. “Your daughter has to pay for what she has done.”

James could see Jiron barely held himself back from taking out the father. “You better move,” James urged the man. “Unfortunately, we have pressing business elsewhere and cannot stay.”

Jiron stood slightly larger than the other man and James had to admire the grit it took for the boy’s father to stand his ground. With violence in the air, Jiron set his daughter down and had her stand behind him.

“I ain’t moving,” the father said.

“If you don’t move, it’s likely that your wife will lose a husband as well as a son this day,” warned James. He knew Jiron. And with blood having already been shed, he would not hold back, not with the welfare of his daughter in question.

The cook moved to stand with the father.

That was all it took for Jiron to make up his mind. In a flash, one hand shot out and connected with the father’s throat. A split second later, the other hand pulped the cook’s nose. Taking hold of both men simultaneously by their shirts, he threw them to the side. The cook’s hip struck the sink and spun him around while the father sailed past and hit the paper towel dispenser with a bang, leaving a good sized dent in the metal. Both men slid to the floor and didn’t move.

While the wife screamed and the daughter cradled her brother’s lifeless body, Jiron picked up his daughter and hurried through the doorway.

“Let’s get our things and get out of here,” said James.

Out in the dining area they found the waitress on the phone. One look at them emerging from the hallway was all it took for her to drop the receiver and flee into the kitchen.

“How long do you think we have?” asked Jiron.

“Couple minutes at most I’d wager,” replied James.

Hurrying to their table, Jiron grabbed his duffle with his free hand while James slipped his backpack over his shoulders. Just before he left, he saw the check for their meal sitting upon the table. He hesitated a moment before slipping a ten spot beside it and racing for the door.

Out in the parking lot, the world seemed normal, as if what had transpired within the restroom had never happened. But such tranquility would not last for long. James knew that the police were already on their way.

Just then, a small green Geo driven by a young woman pulled off the highway and very conveniently pulled into the spot directly before them. As it came to stop, James stepped forward and opened the passenger door.

“Get out!” the panicked woman shouted. When Jiron opened the back door and helped Jira inside, she started unbuckling her seatbelt and threw open her door to flee.

James grabbed her blouse and pulled her back inside. “Shut the door and be quiet and you won’t get hurt,” he said. The glint of metal when Jiron pulled one of his knives from out of the duffle stilled her protestations.

“What do you want?” she asked in terror.

“First of all, shut your door and get us out of here,” he said. Looking in through the restaurant’s window, it didn’t look as if anyone had followed them out. Most likely they opted to keep their distance until the police arrived.

Paralyzed by fear, she didn’t at first move to comply until Jiron moved the knife closer toward her.

Motioning for Jiron to back the knife away, James shouted to the girl, “Now!”

His command broke the spell fear had over her. Slamming her door closed she restarted the engine. Without even putting her seatbelt back on, she put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space.

“Wh…which way?” she asked as the car neared the highway.

“East, and make it quick,” James directed.

She paused only a moment to look for traffic. Seeing it was clear, she gunned the motor and the Geo sped out onto the highway.

“Keep it at the speed limit,” James advised her. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

She nodded, keeping her attention focused firmly on the road ahead.

The woman was young, perhaps early twenties with long brown hair flowing just past her shoulders and a fair complexion. Her jeans and blue blouse looked good on her, accenting her figure to good advantage.

“We don’t plan on hurting you in any way,” James said, trying to reassure her. He didn’t like the fact they had been forced to commandeer her car, but they had little choice at the time. Scanning back down the road toward the motel, he could see the motel sign beginning to fade in the distance. So far, there was no sign of pursuit. But how long would that last?

“How far do you plan to go?” she asked.

“Just keep driving until I say otherwise,” he replied. Glancing to the back seat, he gazed at Jira where she sat staring out the window, then to Jiron who still had his knife in hand.

“How is she?”

“Jira is fine.” Placing his arm around her shoulders, he added, “Just shook up. That boy was the first she had ever fought where it was more than play.” Then to his daughter he said, “You did well.”

“Thank you, father,” she replied. “I don’t feel so good.”

Jiron nodded. “That will pass,” he assured her. “I don’t know of anyone who wasn’t rattled after their first battle.”

Turning from the window, she gazed to her father and asked, “Battle?”

“Yes, battle. Anytime you fight for your life, or for those you love, it is battle.”

“And I won.”

Her father nodded.

James could see that Jira was getting over her distress at having killed the boy. It was to her credit that his death upset her. To her father he said, “They’re going to be after us shortly.”

“What do you propose we do?”

“Continue until we find a place to turn off,” he explained. “It’s possible those at the restaurant didn’t see us leave.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Jiron warned.

“I’m not.” A glance through the rear window still showed the road devoid of police. Directly behind them, a quarter mile back, was a fifth-wheel being pulled by a large truck. It was moving at less than the speed limit so their little Geo was gradually pulling away.