The Magician's Freedom

Note: this story contains sensitive subjects such as the mention of illegal substances and death.

Blood rushed through his cheeks, the cold biting at James' face. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, hunched, and looked up at the dingy windows of his home. Dark bundles of clouds rolled overhead, echoing the state of his mind. James fiddled anxiously with the pendant his mother had given him when he was just a child. How had he gotten into this mess?

Just a week ago James had been walking down a street, heading to The Warlock's Den; where he loved to rellish in the act of becoming a different person, a different character in the games he liked to play. Strutting confidently into the dimly lit bar, he had ordered his usual; whiskey, no water, no ice, just sharp and hot. James had then plunked himself onto a worn leather sofa, his coat strewn over the side, his limbs at leisure. Melting out of the shadows came the women; slinking to his side, crooning into his ears, their dark, alien-like eyes glinting, their lips like bloody slugs. James told them stories; stories of his character's adventures, filled with courage and dignity, while men with dark demeanours glared across the room at him, at the women on his lap. Never had James thought that one would find out his involvement in illegal trades of magical substances. Not while he had been in this business for years, never once slipping the truth. He was a magician of course, what could possibly go wrong now?

Yet, with the women like cats purring at his sides, the whiskey warm in his veins and clouding his thoughts, everything did go wrong. Suddenly, standing above James, like a wall between him and his intimacy with freedom, was the 'sheriff of the magical realms', glaring down at him beneath the brim of his hood, the sheriff's badge gleaming at his chest.

"James Fontaine?" His voice was like stone.

The alcohol in Jameses body turned to ice, his thoughts abruptly clear as day, swirling furiously. He reached for his neck, the pendant. "Yes... sir?"

"I'm Sheriff Jackson. You'll have to come with me, Mr Fontaine, you've been suspected with illegal trade of magical substances." The women at James's hips seemed to melt away, their luminous eyes cast down. Everything inside of him went still, except for the wild beating of his heart. On the outside James stayed composed.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir, you must've got the wrong magician," he said, feeling utterly stupid, although knowing this was his only chance to get out of this danger.

"I believe you've been in the business of trading the illegal magical substance called Somnus, which is most commonly used to leave people unconscious with just a touch of the liquid. Now, if you'd come with me, Mr Fontaine, I'm to take you to the Crime Centre for Magicians, where we'll ask you a few questions," Sheriff Jackson said, his shoulders stiff, ready.

At the exact mention of his business in the illegal trade of Somnus, James's body broke into a cold sweat. "I'm sorry Sheriff Jackson, I - I don't know what you're talking about. I am not involved in such a thi-," he began frantically, before, without warning, Sheriff Jackson brought a weapon out and down upon James's head, knocking him out cold.

James woke up with a blaring headache and a rolling stomach, in a starkly white room, a cross between a hospital room and a cell. His two least favourite places on Earth. The walls were bare and the only furniture in the sparse room was a table and a set of chairs, in one of them which James was slumped, chained to the table top in front of him. A large window was set into the wall that looked out into an equally white hall, and a plain door sat to the right of the window. James groaned, the brightness of the white walls poking at his headache, intensifying it. He leant over and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the table. Despite how horrible he felt, questions shot through his mind. How had the sheriff found out about his illegal trading? Who had reported James as a suspect of the illegal business? How did they find out? Had he blurbed a little too much while he was out drinking? And what would he tell his m-

"Mr Fontaine." James looked up, surprised to realise he hadn't heard the door open. Sheriff Jackson stood at the door, a woman behind and two men who seemed to be there to secure the room. Sheriff Jackson and the woman stepped forward, the woman sat and the sheriff stood, the two men took their place beside James. "This is Detective Rogers," Sheriff Jackson said, gesturing to the woman at the table, who nodded coldly at James. "She's here to ask you a few questions about your current involvement with this illegal business in trading magical substances. I'm here to supervise, and these two gentlemen are here simply for your safety and ours."

James said nothing. Detective Rogers looked up at the sheriff, who nodded. "So, Mr Fontaine, I understand that you are indeed in this illegal business of trade?" she asked, placing a notepad on the table, staring imperiously at James.

Again, James said nothing. He wanted to keep silent about the matter for as long as possible, though he didn't need to try hard, as he already seemed frozen to the spot, unable to talk, unwilling. James saw a flash of annoyance in the Detective's eye, but she remained calm. "How long have you been in this situation, Mr Fontaine?"

Remaining silent, James held Detective Roger's gaze, who started to look impatient. For the next half an hour, the detective and sheriff tried to force answers out of James, using tactical distractions, emotional play and verbal abuse to try and crack him open. However, after another half hour of hopeless questioning, Detective Roger and Sheriff Jackson gave up, deciding to try again tomorrow. The two men at James's side led him out of the room and down the endless hall and into a small bare prison cell, where they slammed the door on him, leaving him alone. James walked over to the narrow bed and collapsed onto it, exhausted, forlorn. Regardless of his worries and grief, he fell asleep almost instantly.

Several hours later, James awoke in the dark, his hand clutched around his necklace, the edges of the star cutting painfully into his palm. Cool sweat coated his forehead. He worried about his time away from the business, the things he would face if he didn't get back soon. How would he pay for the medication... His thoughts went to his mother, the pendant suddenly like ice under his touch. His mother. James sat up, gasping for control. He had to get out, to his mother. Frantically he clawed at the walls, inspecting the lock on the door, touching the windowsill feverishly. Nothing, no way to get out.

Tears pricking at his eyes, James sat on the bed, his hand at his throat. Slowly, he reached to his neck and unclasped the pendant, holding it in his palm like it bore a soul. Tears fell onto the pendant, silvery and precious. James looked down into his palm, his vision blurred. Then, through the fog of his grief, like a hope that had always been there, the pendant glimmered in a place where it was usually just worn brass. James went still, wiping his eyes, squinting down. And there, at the seam of the star, at the crook of a point, words shimmered in bright gold, as if they had been there all along. Aperi me humilitati tuae, et invenies quod debes scire, which translated to 'open me at your low, and you will find what you need to know'. James immediately placed his fingernails into the seam of the pendant and pried it open. It opened with a click and a tiny leather pouch jumped out into his lap. James took it into his hands and opened the drawstring, dumping the contents into his left palm. A fine blue powder piled up in the valleys of his hand, so fine, it sparkled like glitter. In an instant James knew what it was, his magician's mind connecting the pieces. Abiit, the fine, rare powder that could transport anyone to the very place that they think of, with a sprinkle of it over their head.

Hands shaking, James knew exactly what he needed to do. He stood, clasped the pendant back around his neck, threw the powder over his head and closed his eyes.

The very next moment James stood on the cobblestones in front of his home, the stinging wind penetrating his thin tunic. How had he gotten into this mess?

Without hesitation, James strode through the door and up the stairs to his mother's room. He pushed the door open and looked down at the bed. There his mother lay, pale and frail, her skin stretched over the delicate bones of her face, her papery eye lids closed.

"Mother?" James asked softly, knealing down at her side.

She opened her eyes and looked at her son with bleachy blue irises, concern tugging at her eyebrows. "Son? Where were you? You were gone so long, are you alright?"

"I'm alright, Ma," James said, stroking his mother's cheek. "But there's something I need to tell you..."

"Go ahead son, say what you need to say," she said, her voice croaky but strong. She took James's hand in hers.

"I've been in the trading Somnus illegally to pay for your medication, for your illness, Ma," James confessed, soft sobs beginning to shake his body. "It pays very well, so it was the only way I could buy your medication on a regular basis. I was caught this evening and taken to the Crime Centre for Magicians, questioned."

James told his mother the remainder of the story, being in the cell, discovering the pendant's secret.

His mother smiled. "I knew you'd need the Abiit one day."

James smiled through his tears. "You saved me, mother, I am eternally grateful." His smile faded. "But what am I going to do now? I won't be able to go back into business; I've been caught, I'm probably wanted by the sheriffs at the Centre. Oh mother! How am I to get your medica-"

"Stop, son," his mother held up a bony hand and stroked his face. A single tear ran down the map of her cheek. "I'm dying. There's nothing you can do anymore, the medication won't be much of a help any longer. I feel it, I'm going soon."

James gasped out in pain, his heart aching. An endless stream of tears flowed down his skin and onto his mother. "No.... Ma, there must be something I c - can do... I won't let you go, I can't."

His mother's eyes were wide and full of mourn. "There's nothing you can do, son, there's nothing I want you to do. There's nothing I want you to do except for loving me and holding my hand until I die. Will you promise me you'll do that, James, my beautiful son?"

James had no words; he simply sobbed and nodded. Like a little child he clambered into the bed and lay beside his mother, nestling into the crook of her neck, clutching her hand to his heart. The two of them lay as they were for hours, until the room turned gold with the morning sun and James's mother spoke for the last time;

"You're free, my son."

The End