Before & Beyond Page 3

  The demon walked on the very air until it stood within a few feet of Albegron. “Why do you dare interrupt me?” Its voice was a strident trumpet that could be heard by all.

  “Great Fhennezel, we call you here to beg your assistance.” Albegron’s voice betrayed no nervousness and Dartallon felt renewed admiration for the master magician. He was certain he would be cowering in abject terror if confronted with such a presence.

  Fhennezel reached out with one taloned hand and grasped Albegron. It held him effortlessly, as if the human was nothing more than a mouse. The demon’s forked tongue flicked out within inches of the wizard’s face and Dartallon was convinced he was going to consume Albegron as if he were nothing more than a mid-morning snack.

  Instead the demon released him and Albegron floated back to his original position. “What assistance are you seeking?” Fhennezel asked.

  “The return of our power, the return of our magic. We are here to demand you continue our agreement.”

  “You demand?” Fhennezel spread his great wings and suddenly flew above Albegron and began to circle the plain like a bird of prey. “You puny humans have the effrontery to make demands on me?”

  Albegron remained where he was and continued speaking in measured tones even though Fhennezel was now behind him. “One thousand years ago we contacted you. One thousand years ago we made a pact, one signed with human blood and souls. You do not have the right or the power to take our magic from us.”

  “Really?” Fhennezel returned to his original position in front of Albegron. “I obviously must since you are asking for my help. And why should I grant it?”

  Dartallon quivered when Albegron answered, “We will pay whatever price is necessary.” Is that why we’re here? To become sacrifices to the demon?

  Fhennezel was not assuaged. “Yes, one thousand years ago I made an agreement. I gave you the access to magic. That agreement has run its course and I see no reason to renew it.”

  “You must,” and for the first time Dartallon heard anger and fear in Albegron’s voice. “We must have our magic.”

  “And what have you done with it, human?” There was anger in Fhennezel’s voice as well. “From what I have seen, and I have seen much over the centuries, you have only used the power I granted you to amuse yourselves. Have you used your magic to educate and enlighten? No. It has become a means of avoiding knowledge and understanding rather than the means of unlocking the secrets of your world and the others.”

  “We have used your gift to conquer our world!” Albegron said. “We have created fantastic creatures to assist us: unicorns, manticores, griffins and more. We have created edifices of diamond and granite and onyx,” and he pointed to the castle on the pinnacle beyond them. “We have made rivers flow with wine, meadows flourish with delicacies of rich delight. We have made our world a paradise!”

  “The wonders you have created are no more magnificent than the wonders your world already possessed. They are mere shadows of what could truly be yours, toys in the hands of children. You have abused the right to the power I ceded you. You shall have it no longer.”

  “Fhennezel, no! We will force you!” And Albegron began to chant.

  “I think not.” The demon made a gesture with one taloned hand and Albegron’s voice stopped. The glow around him vanished and within seconds he was back upon the ground. Fhennezel then spoke again, this time to the assembled magicians below him. “You have not earned what was originally given to you. The pathway between your world and those beyond is now forever closed unless and until I determine you are worthy.” With that the skies once again ripped asunder and Fhennezel vanished into the rift.

  The silence lasted for what seemed forever. No more magic. Dartallon nearly staggered at the thought. Then there was a terrible groaning roar and he and the others looked at the pinnacle. High on its insurmountable face, the great meeting hall the High Council had created was caving in upon itself, sending shards of granite down to the plain below. People screamed then and tried to escape the approaching avalanche, but not all were able. Dartallon then looked down and noticed the glowing pattern had disappeared. The demon has removed our power.

  There was no longer any reason to remain. In small groups, the impotent magicians began to leave. On his way Dartallon paused at one of the great cooking pots. It was now cold to the touch but it still held potatoes and bits of meat. He ate a potato and put several more in his pocket. He knew it was going to be a long walk home.

  Dartallon sighed as he pushed himself away from the table, his small meal of nuts and berries finished. Since the tragedy, his days had become endless toil. All the fabulous creatures the magicians had created had vanished, along with the rainbow waterfalls, wine rivers and other wonders. In some ways he considered himself fortunate; his humble home had been constructed with only minimal spells. Other magicians he knew now dwelt in caves or equally crude dwellings as their manors had quickly succumbed to the lack of magical support.

  But he did not consider himself too fortunate. His home was cold and drafty and totally bereft of the creature comforts to which he had been accustomed. Dangerous wild animals roamed outside, his gardens now offered little save thorns and thistles. Each day he scavenged for food and firewood in the morning, then spent the afternoons trying to keep his small abode in one piece. Whenever it rained, water poured in from the roof and he had no idea how to stop it.

  If magic won’t work, what will? he thought morosely. Right now he was exhausted and wanted only to sleep on his straw bed. Instead he threw more wood on his small fire so it wouldn’t burn itself out, then returned to his work bench. His collection of magical ingredients was useless now and he had thrown most of it away. But there has to be a way, he thought as he looked in a bowl where a single robin’s egg lay. Thus far, despite every potion he tried, it had refused to transform into anything more than a spoiled egg.

  Frustrated, he set one of his mixing sticks across another and tried to get them to balance in an effort to take his mind off his problems. They refused, and one end of the top rod slipped under the bowl. He idly pushed down on the other end and the bowl lifted easily. He tried his game again, with the same results. This time, however, the sticks were farther away from the bowl and when he pushed down it appeared to take more effort to free the stuck end.

  He frowned as he looked at the two sticks, then at the bowl. He experimented again and after a few tries realized that the nearer the sticks were to the vessel, the less effort it took to push down on the other end and move the bowl. Dartallon sat back and pursed his lips. I wonder if there is some way to use this knowledge. He certainly intended to find out.

  HHHHHHH

  THE MOST WONDERFUL GIFT

  "I'm bored," she said to no one. The silver faun, noticing her distress, approached and nuzzled her neck, but she pushed it aside. "Go away," she ordered. "I don't want to play." The faun obediently returned to its grazing nearby.

  Frustrated, she walked to the edge of the crystal blue lake, removed her frock and dove into the cooling waters. Floating on her back, she allowed the sun to warm her budding breasts, flat stomach, freckled thighs. A few golden carp swam near inviting her to play, but she ignored them. When she was younger she had enjoyed chasing them into crevices underwater, where they would hide and stare out at her while she tried to chat with them. No longer.

  She gazed up at the clouds and watched a herd of great flying horses waft by, probably on their way to a secret grazing ground high in the mountains. For a moment she considered calling one down to take her with them, then thought better of it. They were amusing in their own way, but amusement was not what she was seeking.

  *And what am I seeking?* she wondered as she swam back to shore. The tranquility and fantastical denizens of the valley had always been enough before. But not today. Not on this of all days. Not on this her birthday. She stepped from the water and lied down on the cushioning carpet of grass, remaining thus a good half hour to let the sun dry her completely b
efore redonning her frock. She knew her mother would chide her if she returned carrying it rather than wearing it. Sighing once more, she left her friends by the lake and started back to her home.

  "And how are we today?" her mother greeted her in the kitchen. "Did you have fun in your garden?"

  "I guess.” She sat and nibbled at a Phoenix egg her mother had cooked her for lunch. Normally its sweet essence would invigorate her; today it was so much sawdust in her mouth.

  "What is the matter, dear? You look unhappy."

  "Not unhappy. Bored."

  "You don't like the garden your father built you any more?"

  "I like it well enough," she admitted. "It's just... I'm fourteen today. I'm too old for that sort of thing!"

  "I see. Well then perhaps you're too old for having birthdays and presents as well."

  "Mother!"

  The woman laughed. "Maybe you should go to your father's workshop. Maybe he has your present ready for you."

  For the first time that day she felt excitement. "You really think so?"

  "Run along. He's in his workshop. I'll clean up the dishes."

  With a scream of delight she ran from the kitchen and down the lane toward the small outbuilding where her father was. Rarely was she allowed to visit him at work, but when she was something wonderful always happened. Once he had given her a unicorn. Another time it was a special telescope that enabled her to watch the funny little creatures on the world below. Today, on her birthday, something truly extraordinary had to be waiting!

  He was working at his bench when she entered. "Daddy!" she yelled and bounded to him.

  He embraced her in his huge arms and hugged her to his leather tunic and apron that reached almost to the floor. His eyes glowed as he looked down at her. "My beautiful princess. And how are we this happiest of all days!"

  "Not very."

  "Do I see a frown? No, no, that must not be." Shaking his great bearded head, he turned and searched through his workbench. "Aha, what be this?" He turned, clutching a small stone carving. "Would this thaw thy frozen heart?"

  She studied the small sleeping dragon etched in the marble. "Is it real?"

  "When you say the magic word, it will awaken and cavort before you."

  She examined it further, then sighed and placed it back on his bench. "I'm fourteen now, father.”

  He put a finger to his lips. "Oh, I see. Yes, such a bauble is not meant for someone as ancient as you. Perhaps a handsome prince?"

  She giggled, then made a face. "Only if I can turn him into a frog!"

  "You'll have to kiss him first. In that case you must want the special birthday gift I am making you."

  "Oh, yes, father, yes!"

  "Shh. Cease your jumping and yelling. It is not yet finished. Run along and play with your friends. It shall be ready for you come this evening."

  She obeyed--reluctantly--and found some enjoyment in chasing a moonbeam around her meadow. But even her favorite unicorn could not shatter her restlessness and ennui. She bided her time as long as she could bear before running home, hoping every step that her father had finished her present.

  Her parents were beaming proudly when she entered. "Happy birthday, my darling daughter," her mother proclaimed and hugged her.

  She endured it for a second then escaped. "My present. Do you have my present?" she half begged, half demanded.

  "A present? Let me think." Her father made a great show of going through his pockets. "No present here," he opened one. "Nor here. But I do remember something." He turned around and suddenly he was holding a small wooden chest. "This, I think, is what you're looking for."

  "What is it?" she asked, holding her breath.

  "Open it and find out," her mother encouraged.

  She undid the clasp and slowly forced open the lid. Inside was a large pile of carved figurines. She chose one and gazed at it. The squat figurine had large pointed ears, a gaping jaw and long grasping talons. On its bulging stomach was carved the word "Avarice." "What is it?"

  "One of the evils of the world, Pandora. Each of the figurines represents a different one."

  "Just say it's name and you will unleash it upon the world below," her mother added.

  "Really?" Her eyes glowed with delight as she rifled through the pile of carvings. "Can I try one?"

  "Of course," her father said. "But just one. We are giving you this to teach you patience."

  "Prudence," her mother added.

  "Responsibility."

  "You should save them for only special occasions."

  "Only times when you really need to use them," her father concluded.

  She only half listened as she studied the array of figurines. "I choose," she paused, "this one." The doll was curled over onto itself, its face grimacing, its body covered with wounds and welts. "What does this say?" They told her. "Pestilence!" she ordered gaily.

  The figure glowed and curled in her hand, warming her and then disappearing in a shower of sparkling light that caused her to tingle and sneeze. "Now what?"

  Her father handed her the special telescope. "Look."

  She gazed out from her world onto the world below. Its denizens had undergone some transformation since the last time she had peeked in on them. Many were lying in beds or on floors, seemingly wracked in pain; others were weeping as they stood over still bodies in wooden boxes or near mounds of freshly dug ground. She gazed on the vista a good ten minutes, admiring her accomplishment. Then she giggled and slapped her hands in delight. "Oh, Daddy," she exclaimed, running to him. "This is the best present ever!"

  Pandora sat on the bank of the crystal blue pond and dipped her toes into the pleasantly chill water. Beside her rested the chest she had been given on her fourteenth birthday so many many years ago. Now only one carving remained. She occasionally regretted her profligate youth; the figurines could have provided her renewed pleasure throughout the eons instead of just a few centuries. But she had been easily bored then.

  She gazed upon the single carving with only mild interest. Today it would remain like it had all these years. Patience. Her dear father had been correct; the chest and its treasures had indeed taught her that. Still she was becoming distressingly restless; the varying amusements of the garden, her enjoyment from gazing upon the world of Man, were paling day by day. Soon, she promised herself, looking once again at the word carved on the figurine. Armageddon would come soon.

  Bingo

  “Will you stop that racket? I’m trying to take a nap.”

  Billy Porter looked up from his sandbox, his toy steamroller still in his hand. Was that Mr. Harrison who said that? he wondered. He looked at the fence but couldn’t see if there was anyone on the other side. And except for Bingo, his beagle, lying nearby in the shade, there was no one else around. Maybe it was his father, he decided, although that certainly didn’t sound like his voice. He looked but his dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Finally he shrugged. Must be someone’s television or radio, he decided. He returned his attention to the mound of sand he was smoothing. “Brrrrurrppp, vroom, vroom,” he said, mimicking as best he could the sound of the heavy machinery.

  “I asked you nice. Keep it down or do I have to chew your leg off?”

  This time Billy dropped his toy. “Who said that? Who’s there?” he asked, a tinge of fear in his voice.

  “I did.” Bingo slowly rose and shook himself. “Can’t you play quietly?”

  Billy stared at his pet. “Brad, is that you?” he asked after a long pause.

  “Your brother isn’t here. Probably out copping a beer or a feel with his friends.” Bingo slowly approached the sandbox. “I’m asking you nice.”

  Billy leapt out and grabbed his dog. “Bingo, you can talk!” He rubbed the dog’s head roughly. “You can really talk!”

  Bingo stepped back. “Yeah. Big deal. Now stop shouting. It hurts my ears.”

  “I gotta tell mom!”

  “No,” and Bingo bit his hand lightly. “I’ll tell her when I’m rea
dy.”

  Billy sat on the grass, confused and frustrated. “But why didn’t you talk before?”

  “Had nothing to say I guess. I’ll explain later. Go back to your sandbox. But keep the noise down.” Then Bingo waddled off to sleep in the shade.

  Billy complied, but he was too excited to play now. His dog could talk! He shivered with excitement at the very idea. He didn’t care what Bingo wanted; he had to tell someone! So he did when he went in for lunch. “Bingo can talk!” he greeted his mother.

  Jaymie Packer smiled down at her son. “Can he now?” She looked at Bingo, who was standing next to Billy. “And what do you have to say, Bingo?”

  Bingo just stared at her.

  She tousled Billy’s hair. “Cat must have his tongue. Eat your lunch, dear. Then it will be time for your nap.”

  Later, in his room, Billy sat on his bed pouting. “She didn’t believe me,” he wailed.

  “I told you to keep a lid on it,” Bingo said.

  “You could have said something,” Billy said and balled his hands into fists. “Then she would have believed me.”

  “You don’t listen very well, do you? Maybe that’s why you’re doing so poorly in school. I’ll tell them when I’m good and ready.”

  “This isn’t fair!” and Billy buried his face in his pillow, fighting back self-righteous tears.

  “Neither is getting neutered but you don’t hear me complaining about it. Now take a nap like your mother said.” With that Bingo rolled on his side and closed his eyes.

  Billy tried but without success. Who could he tell? he wondered. His older brother? No, Brad would just laugh at him, probably hit him for good measure. His mother didn’t believe him and he was sure his father wouldn’t, either. Maybe one of the neighbors? Somebody had to believe him.

  He still hadn’t thought of anyone and he was getting more frustrated by the minute when the family convened around the dinner table that evening. “So, did anything exciting happen around here today?” Ray Parker asked after finishing grace.