Maker

Chapter: 4-1

Chapter: 4

I trailed my staff along the ground behind me, allowing a trickle of power to flow from the tip. Living things grew if you gave them power; it was that simple. Although some plants were more responsive than others.

Weeds, for example, grew faster than trees given the same amount of energy—even when the plants themselves were the same size. I channeled the energy out in a four-meter spread behind me. The weeds and brambles sprung up, growing nearly twice their height in moments.

I was pretty fit. I could jog forever if I wanted, but I couldn’t keep up that pace on this terrain for more than a mile or two. My boots would probably give me another couple miles. They enhanced my speed and gave me sure footing even mountain goats would envy. I wanted to know who was after me and why, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop and ask them about it.

I heard a howl in the distance, and two others answered. I prayed that they were just hunting dogs. If werewolves had gotten my scent, there would be no hiding until they were dead. There would also be no point in running. I’d make it a few miles only to die tired.

I heard an answering call from something a few hundred yards in front of me, and my stomach dropped. Similar voices to the left and right told me I was surrounded. “Damn,” I muttered. How the hell did I walk into this?

I raised the hood on my jacket and pulled the black mesh attached to it over my face. I really hoped this didn’t turn bad.

I pressed myself as hard as I could into a thick tree, jerked my pistol out, and punched my staff an inch into the ground. Long grasses and brambles flew up the tree and over me. Hopefully they would conceal me entirely, scent and all.

I couldn’t do an illusion, or an invisibility spell large enough to hide me, even if my life depended on it. I have proof of that statement since my life currently depended on it, and I couldn’t. I wasn’t the greatest in power, but I was adept at using what magical energy I did have to great effect—and being outgunned while doing it. I could create a gust of wind, split it into five parts and use them to blow out candles on a few dozen birthday cakes… well, probably. I mean, I’ve never tried that exactly, but it’s the sort of solution I’d come up with.

I huddled back into the weeds, took a deep breath, and held it. The hunting party came in sight; mostly cultists with rifles and hoodies, one visible warlock and three feral men in chains. They looked like large hairy men, but they acted just like wolves at times. I called them “wilds” or “wildmen.” They were people who’d had their humanity wiped away and now lived exclusively catering to their baser instincts. Behind them were five ordinary looking men and women, all dressed in jeans and black hoodies. One of them was holding the leashes, and each one had a rifle. The warlock was a gnarled old woman in red robes who seemed to glide along the ground rather than walk. I felt the power in my staff and on my lips.

They were headed right for me, and they’d pass me not more than ten feet away. If I got lucky, I’d go unnoticed and be able to slip away once they were beyond my hiding spot. I wasn’t counting on being that lucky.

They were moving closer, but I could barely see through all the foliage. All I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. It was so loud I was sure it would give me away. I grabbed my fear by the scruff of the neck, and gave it a savage kick to the back of my mind. “And stay there!” I thought. I had to stay calm if I wanted to live through this.

I was starting to wonder if I should’ve bought a lottery ticket when the howl of the lead wildman went up, just before I would’ve been able to slip away too. I tore myself out of the brambles and made a mad dash in the other direction.

I hadn’t made it two steps when I heard, “Flancanio Sano Ithc Forn Ignus!” The flame shot towards me. I brought up my staff and swung. The gust of wind from my staff was minuscule in comparison. I had time to be shocked, yet again, at the power some wizards could wield.

There was no way I could stop that fire; but stopping things was never an option for me. Moving something a few inches to the right or left so it didn’t kill me was much easier. I parry, I dodge; I never block.

Any wizard can toss a flame, but creating a ball of solid air that suffocates your enemy if they cast a spell? That’s not taught at the prim and proper spell-casting academies. That’s a street fighter move.

The wind at the end of my staff captured the fire and swirled it around me. It was enough to feel the heat, even at that distance. I spun, bringing it back around to smash into the face of the first wildman. It screamed at the burn and reeled away as its head caught fire.

The second was right behind him, snarling. I ducked, and the hairy beast went sailing right over me. I yanked on my pistol and took a shot at the fire-wielding hag before I was back up and running. The bullet went wide and harmlessly took a chunk out of a tree near her face. The second wildman had landed, spun around, and was heading back to face me.

“Steam,” I whispered, and the water molecules in his eyes evaporated. He screamed and clawed at his face, but I was already on to the next assailant. A third wildman swiped at me. The dirt and filth caked around his infected nails were probably as dangerous as the claws themselves. I dodged as he drew his arm back to swing again, noticing another bonfire headed straight for my face.

“Kelvin!” The potion dropped into my hand just in time for me to fling it at the fire. The bottle exploded, and the liquid helium inside turned the flame into a large benign puff of smoke. Good thing too; I could use as much obfuscation as I could get. It would stop anyone far away from targeting me, but that wasn’t gonna work on the wildman coming for my throat.

“Solid.” A marble-sized drop of blood in his neck became a hard, jagged, blood-colored chunk instead. His swipe turned into a stumble, shaking his head and coughing. It would only last a minute or two. I wasn’t near strong enough for permanent transmutation in a living thing, but he wouldn’t bother me again.

My attention moved to the five hoodie-clad people who were coming at me now, and the fire-slinging woman who was preparing another spell—something bigger and more involved this time. “Puppet!” Strands of invisible stiff air pushed and pulled at her arms and legs, jerking them in random directions.

It wouldn’t stop her from casting technically, but casting is mental; it requires focus. For many wizards, the technically nonessential movements are just as important as the technically nonessential words. She was no exception, snarling and shrieking in frustration. It wasn’t a win, but I’d bought enough time to deal with the others.

I heard the automatic gunfire before I saw the guns. I wasn’t paying attention when the hoodies aimed those rifles, but each one pointed at me and went full auto.

My canvas jacket and pants were laced with spells that made me bulletproof, fireproof, and every other proof I could think of; however, there was no way to completely steal the momentum from a bullet. After all, magic must still yield to physics. What my spell-stitched clothing could do was spread the momentum out over a larger area and greater time; converting the energy into heat. Same principle as a bulletproof vest.

Even with the magic helping, it felt like getting hit in the chest with baseballs thrown by a major league pitcher. One bullet hit my mesh facemask and sent me spinning to the ground. I screamed, but pain and I are drinking buddies, and like any good friend he handed me a beer and reminded me I was still alive. So, I clutched my staff, gathered power, and turned my whole world into a freezer.

“Tetanus!” This time I screamed the word. I was well into the realm of panic. I had to end this, and soon. About ten old rusty nails dropped into my hand and I flung them in the general direction of the gunshots. They weren’t big, but they didn’t have to be. The hoodies went down screaming, reaching for their bloodied shoulders, knees and other non-vitals. The nails were designed to find a joint, dig in and shatter. All the hoodies went down, and the bullets stopped pummeling me. Now if only I had time to celebrate.

The wizard woman had regained her focus and was already halfway through a spell. “Shut up!” I screamed, and she went bug-eyed as a fist-sized ball of invisible solid air was suddenly holding her jaw agape. Her hands flew to her mouth to try and force it out.

I could try and kill her, but my hands were shaking, I was already starting to feel the frost lingering in my blood, and my vision was blurry from the head shot I’d just taken. It was all too much to guarantee a hit—even at this close range. I didn’t dare get closer. I couldn’t even line up my sights. I didn’t want to fumble my gun and waste more time, and I wasn’t willing to break Merlin’s rules… again. I was out of options. I left the flame-throwing b***h with her invisible gag and stumbled away.

It wasn’t long before my head cleared and the stumble turned into a flat-out run. I heard more people behind me. I tapped my staff on the ground and did my weeds-and-brambles trick again. This time I sent the trail of plants off to the north while I went south. A simple trick; I didn’t expect it to divert them all and they’d figure it out in short order, but it should buy me enough time to figure out… whatever I would think of next.

I came to a road and crossed it at a dead run. I didn’t look to see what road it was, but I knew if I could make it another mile or so I would be in downtown Chapel Hill—and relative safety. They’ve proven they could find me too easy in these woods and towns had hiding places. I put up more brambles behind me, hoping that would make them think I’d taken the road.

Something grabbed my calf with sharp teeth, and I tripped. I hadn’t heard a thing. The first signal I got, other than the stabbing pain, was a threatening growl behind me. I flipped on my back to see a dark grey wolf the size of Detroit. Something about it was off—it didn’t immediately register as a werewolf, but I was in no position to study it.

“Boingy!” I don’t know if it was coming for my throat so I cast a spell, or if I casted a spell, so it came for my throat. What I did know was that it wasn’t gonna get far trying to crush my arm with rubber teeth.

“Solid!” I slammed my hand into its chest and its blood solidified, but far more than I wanted. It seized up and fell, making wheezing sounds. I grabbed my staff where it fell, got to my feet and stumbled. I had to use a tree to get my balance, and shook my head to clear the cobwebs that were forming.

The werewolf lay there twitching. No way it was going to survive. I put too much power into that spell. Dammit, I could almost feel one of the Martinet over my shoulder.

Living things resisted being transmuted into other things. Whatever was altered always changed back, unless there was some power keeping it that way. None of the living transmutations I cast ever lasted more than a minute or two. Normally I didn’t need that long to make someone rethink attacking me, but these guys weren’t giving up.

What the hell was going on?! Warlocks were glorified scavengers. They rarely put in this much effort, and they were never this organized.

I concentrated for a moment. I was breathing hard. My breath was white vapor in front of me as the energy in the air was pulled in. The bone-deep chill felt as familiar and natural as the breathing, but even after casting spells for most of my life it had never gotten comfortable.

“I want eyes on everything,” I said in my best Nick Fury impersonation. Behind my closed eyes there were eight screens; each was a little blurry and lacked any depth perception.