THE WIZARD AND THE DEMON

THE WIZARD AND THE DEMON

Gabmar the White stood in the low underground room, a heavy book open on a wooden table, a chalk circle drawn on the uneven stone floor. He was old, stooped but somehow vigorous and radiating a power barely hidden. Heavily bearded, dressed in a long white gown which reached to his feet. A grim expression on his face, as if he were about to attempt something which would take all his power, and if not carried out perfectly could risk his death, or worse still, irretrievable madness, leaving him a mindless drooling body.

He raised his right hand and began to read from the book in an ominous voice which echoed back and forth from the slimy damp stone walls. Within the circle a thin wisp of white smoke began to form, spiralling upward toward the heavy ceiling timbers low overhead, and becoming thicker and moment by moment.

A form began to appear; a head and body with human proportions, but not human; strange, different, menacing. A suggestion of different proportions, belonging to a universe with slightly different laws, as though the body had evolved to cope with forces and conditions that didn’t quite apply in our own. Demonic. The floor, surrounding it on all sides, was showered with cockroaches, spiders, worms, centipedes.

A voice, hollow, doom-filled. ‘Who summons Arkathar? Who has the effrontery to summon me at this time? Are you a God? For if you are mortal, I will take your soul and rend it until you plead for death; but I will not grant it to you; I will reduce you to a mere shell, to suffer for eternity.’

‘Down, foul demon!’ cried Gabmar the White. ‘For your time is at hand! No more shall you cause suffering, no more shall you prey on humankind. Now is the time of your doom. You are under my control and henceforth you will do my bidding. I shall cast you into the deepest prison, the most isolated confinement, bound with chains of power stronger than steel, whence you will never return to trouble Humanity.’

Slowly, gradually, the smoke dispersed and the demon’s form became more clearly limned. Foul he was, tall, misshapen, evil. Horns he had, and claws. His tail was forked, his skin like wrinkled leather, or the tough skin of a gnarled oak-tree. His face bore a look of supreme arrogance and contempt mingled as he gained sight of his summoner.

‘Ha! A human! A white wizard! Know, fool, that white wizards have summoned me before and failed. They live in pain and torment, subject to my will. At times I visit them in their confinement and goad and ridicule them for their insolence. And you will join them!’

‘You are wrong this time, demon! I have the Book of Books! With a word I can send you to another dimension from which you will never be able to return!’

‘Fool! So clever! But careless. Look at the circle around me. Your floor is uneven, and there is a gap in the chalk circle! I can escape and reach you, you clumsy fool!’

And he seeped, like a thread of smoke, through the tiny gap in the chalk circle, and suddenly he stood before the wizard. Gabmar hastened toward the book on the table, but before he was half-way there a bolt of pure energy, ravening in fiery red, came from the demon. With the reflexive speed of long-practice he blocked it instantly, and sent a bolt of his own, a deep glowing blue, at the demon. But he was not able to reach the Book and defend himself at the same time. Time and again he reached toward the Book, but had to block an attack from the demon and respond with his own to keep him from approaching any closer, where his fangs and claws could rend and tear, without the need for bolts of energy.

At last he was close enough to the Book to read the words of power, and in a ringing voice, he pronounced them – just as another bolt shot from the demon. He put up a screen of force to fend it off, but the bolt bounced sideways and the Book disintegrated in a riot of iridescent blinding light.

Something changed. They were both aware of it instantly. ‘Stop!’ shouted the demon. ‘Stop! You fool! You’ve sent us both to another dimension and we’re trapped! The spell to send us back was in that book, and now it’s gone!’

The battle was over as fast as it had started. The two opponents looked at each other. ‘Now what do we do?’ asked the demon, suddenly considerably more human, at least in attitude. ‘I was having my breakfast when you summoned me.’

‘What?’ replied Gamar.

‘The centipedes and spiders and cockroaches. And the worms. My breakfast. I’d barely started on them when ‘whoops!’ I’m off to gratify some idiot who wants to Rule the World.’ The contempt in his voice could have cut through steel.

‘That was your breakfast? You ate them?’

‘I said so, didn’t I? Well, I would have eaten them if you hadn’t interfered!’

Gabmar’s face was a study in revulsion.

‘Now we’re stuck,’ complained the demon. ‘And we don’t even know where we are.’

Outside was a low growling sound, continuous and intermittent at the same time. Certainly not the sound of hooves on cobbles, or of the iron-shod wheels of wagons and the whips of the drivers urging the heavy draft-horses along the narrow streets. As the fumes from the late battle dispersed, another smell assailed their nostrils through the high windows that opened onto the street outside. Thick sharp, oily; not the smell of horse manure and stale urine that would normally be there, and had been there a few scant minutes ago.

The demon seemed to be more in control of the situation than Gabmar, who was still standing bemused, gazing at the charred ruins of the book. ‘I suggest we go outside and see where we have ended up.’ He looked at Gabmar; ‘Well, are you coming or not?’ The wizard seemed to come to himself and looked up. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Oops!’ said the demon. ‘Can’t go out looking like this!’ And his appearance changed, subtly at first, then quicker and quicker until he had transformed into human form; a tall, dark man in black, with a tidy beard and his hair with a widow’s peak. He looked sinister, but not unattractive. ‘All right, now I’m fit to be seen without scaring anybody.’ He smiled, not a terribly nice smile. ‘Well, not initially, anyway.’

Gabmar walked over to the doorway. ‘That’s strange,’ he said. ‘I feel different. More energetic, somehow. And – this is weird – I’m walking easily without the usual aches and pains.’

‘Oh, my fault, I’m afraid,’ replied the demon. ‘That last bolt I shot at you was a Youth Spell. I was trying to make you younger, send you back to before you were born; you’d vanish completely and I’d be rid of you. Just my luck, most of it missed. I’ve just sent you back to your prime; you’re in your twenties.’

Gabmar was still trying to come to terms with his new youthful status when they went outside. The surroundings were completely bizarre, nothing like he was used to. On the road outside cars rushed past, horns blew, people in outlandish clothes, crowds of them, far more than he’d ever seen together in one place before, bustled along the sidewalks ignoring each other. The air smelt of hydrocarbons – fumes and soot and grime.

‘Oh, so that’s where we ended up,’ smiled Arkathar. ‘That’s not too bad at all. If we’re to be trapped somewhere for eternity, we could have done a lot worse. I know this place well; I come here a lot. I’ve even got a place here.’ Gabmar was at a complete loss; control had certainly passed to the demon. ‘Well, now that we’re here, we might as well enjoy ourselves. Let’s go and get pizza.’

‘What?’

‘Pizza. It’s food. Good, too.’

‘But how can we pay for it? Nobody will give us food without some kind of payment.’

‘I’ll have to magic up some money. You can’t exist without it in the here and now. And a debit card. I don’t think that’s outside my capabilities. I am a demon, after all.’

They walked slowly down the sidewalk, getting shoved by the others going in the opposite direction, or those behind, annoyed with their slow pace, pushing past them.

‘Ah! Here’s a place!’ said Arkathar. Flashing neon lights in garish colours announced a Pizza Place, All You Can Eat, 120 varieties! They went inside, and a teenager with multi-coloured hair and piercings all over his pimply face said ‘Waddya want?’

‘Well, let me see,’ mused Arkathar. ‘A Supreme with the Lot, I think. Super-size.’ He turned to Gabmar. ‘You hungry?’

‘Well, yes. I suppose so.’

‘Good. You’ll like this.’ He turned back to the pimply one. ‘But no pineapple, understood?’

‘Yeah, waddever,’ came the reply. And he turned and shouted into the kitchen ‘Hold the pineapple!’

‘Pineapple just doesn’t belong on pizza’, said the demon. ‘It’s evil. In fact it was a colleague of mine who came up with the idea. ‘Arglebub the Terrible. You may have heard of him. One of his triumphs, I always think. But that doesn’t mean we have to eat it!’

They sat and waited while the pizza was prepared. Gabmar was still trying to make sense of his surroundings. ‘You’ve been here before? You come here often?’ he asked. ‘How do you stand it?’

‘Oh, it’s not so bad when you get used to it,’ smiled the demon. ‘And it certainly has its compensations. Like I said, we could have ended up somewhere much worse than this. I think I might even enjoy living here.’

The food arrived and they began to eat. And Arkathar was right; Gabmar did enjoy it. The tall paper cup of black effervescent liquid served with it was enormous, and almost unbearably sweet. But somehow addictive. Before he knew it he’d finished the cup and found himself wanting more.

‘Finished?’ asked Arkathar. Gabmar had given up; he’d decided to let the demon make all the moves. He was out of his depth. And strangely, despite all he believed and had learnt about demons, he was beginning to enjoy Arkathar’s company.

‘Okay, now we go out and enjoy ourselves.’ They got up and went out to the street again. There had been no problem with Arkathar’s debit card, whatever that was. The pimply young man had accepted it without comment or even raising his multiply pierced eyebrows.

They walked along the sidewalk until Arkathar spotted an approaching taxi in the gathering early evening gloom. He hailed it and they climbed in. The passenger who was already there suddenly found a reason to get out and hurriedly paid the driver; with a tip much greater than he had intended to give. Arkathar smiled – devilishly.

The taxi delivered them to a building with garish neon lights outside. The Crypt, it was called. A large ugly man; what was with this place – did everybody have spots all over their faces? - stood outside, inspecting the people lined up outside, rejecting most, allowing a very small number inside. They were all dressed in black. Their hair was black. Their faces were starkly white. The women all wore black lipstick, black eye-shadow. As did many of the men. Fully half the girls were generously proportioned; the other half looked as though they’d been starving for weeks, perhaps for years. The men were as thin as the starving women. Arkathar smiled broadly at the man at the door, showing a wide row of sharply pointed teeth, and he immediately stood aside. Later, the man found himself wondering what had just happened. He simply couldn’t remember the last few minutes.

Inside it was dark, with pulsing music, full of people jammed together. Gabmar could barely see. At one end of the room was a brightly lit bar with a crowd of people clustered before it even more closely than in the rest of the room. Arkathar glided effortlessly to the front, snapped his fingers and came back with two glasses in his hands. ‘Cocktails,’ he said. ‘You must try these. One of the great features of here and now.’ He led Gabmar to a table which miraculously was suddenly empty. They sat. Gabmar tried the cocktail. It was delicious. ‘There’s all kinds of cocktails. We can try them all, but not straight away. Now to find some company. This is a goth hangout. They all think they’re vampires. It’s priceless. But the girls are much better here than the pretty-pretty ones at the hipster clubs. More adventurous, not afraid of a little evil.’

He gazed around, then stood up and smiled. Every female eye was suddenly upon him. He oozed cool, masculinity. He gestured to three of the women, who immediately pushed their way over to him, jostling each other as they approached the table. ‘That’s me set for the night,’ he said to Gabmar. Now for you. One good thing, you stand out like a beacon in that white outfit. There’ll be plenty of these girls who’ll want to convert you to the Dark Side.’ His gaze swept around the room. ‘Oh, even better. There’s someone I know.’ He beckoned, and a dangerously beautiful woman in the crowd suddenly smiled with recognition. She pushed away the man she’d been talking to and made a bee-line towards their table, the crowds parting as she went.

‘Necrolia!’ he cried expansively. ‘Wonderful to see you!’

‘Darling Arkathar!’ she responded. ‘I didn’t know you were here!’ She looked at Gabmar, her eyes appraising. ‘Who’s your pale friend?’

‘Necrolia, meet Gabmar, my newest friend. Gabmar, Necrolia, perhaps my oldest friend.’ He smiled as if at a private joke, and Necrolia smiled back as one sharing it.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You could say that.’

‘Necrolia’s different,’ said Arkathar. ‘Among all these people who believe they’re vampires, or want to be vampires, she’s the only one in this place who is a vampire.’

Necrolia smiled broadly, revealing for the first time a pair of long sharp fangs. Gabmar was enchanted. He had never seen a woman so beautiful. He had been celibate all his adult life. There had once been a girl, when he was young . . . but she had preferred someone else, someone bigger and louder, less studious. He had given that up when he had become a wizard.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked, clumsily.

‘No thanks,’ she smiled. ‘I don’t drink . . . cocktails.’

‘Anything else you’d like to drink?’ asked Arkathar, looking around the room. ‘See anything you like?’

‘No darling. I had something before I came. Or someone, I should say.’

The evening passed quickly. Gabmar had more cocktails. He was feeling very good. Clever, witty. Necrolia watched him, smiling. Arkathar was getting along famously with all three girls, though they didn’t seem to be fond of each other, each trying to elbow her way into Arkathar’s sole attention.

Finally Arkathar stood up. ‘Time to leave, I think. I have a place nearby. Who’s coming?’ The girls stood up quickly, clustered around him. All of them, apparently. Necrolia smiled again at Gabmar. ‘Shall we go too?’ she purred. ‘Oh, definitely,’ replied Gabmar, with what he hoped was a rogueish smile.

The taxi was crowded. Necrolia was pushed tightly against him. She didn’t seem to mind it at all.

‘Home, sweet home!’ cried Arkathar. ‘Anybody fancy another drink? No? Then this way, girls. Gabmar, there’s another room just down the hall.’

He found himself in the bedroom with Necrolia, not sure what to do. But she was.

He woke in the morning, feeling like a new man. Necrolia was gone. He went out into the living room. Arkathar was there drinking coffee. The girls were gone too. ‘Necrolia had to go,’ he said. ‘She has to be elsewhere before sunrise. Somewhere dark. But she was very taken with you. She’ll be back this evening. I think you’ve made a conquest. She didn’t even bite you, though I think she intends to soon. Welcome to your new life.’