Minzkala Read online

  Six

  Leaving the Plane of Despair

  Fouad Maali, Human (Nebal)

  You ever feel like you just don’t belong? I’m not talking about a passing feeling that grabs you on a dark and rainy day just after someone is a little rude to you or perhaps your dog has died.

  I’m talking about: trace your life back as far as you can remember, and is there anywhere, even briefly, where you thought you really belonged? Or have you never fit in?

  You’re thinking I’m manic depressive, huh? That’s not it either. I enjoy life. I just can’t put my finger on things in life. At least not on my own life. What’s my purpose?

  So, I just sit back and take it all in. People, places, events. Life. And it works for me. Gives me that whole Demon Master aura I need to project in the spirit realm anyway.

  I’m living back in my hometown of Nebal. They call me Maali here. But my given name, and the one I go by when I’m on the road, is Fouad.

  And, like I sort of said before, I’m a Demon Master. Basically, that just means my brain works like the filthy dark creatures, somewhat. I know what they will instinctively do, and I know how to coax them into doing what I want them to do. It’s come in handy a few times. Would I ever imitate them? Absolutely not.

  Then there are spells. Words I use to invoke my power. They mainly just help me to focus, but at the same time, the sequence of words and the language makes my job easier. It’s almost like demons have been trained for the words.

  Now, everyone has these skills I’m talking about. It’s all just a matter of figuring out where your talents lie and using them. That, and being connected to the bigger picture of things—the origin of existence, the purpose in living, and the reason things happen, or potential reasons, anyway.

  Say you can make situations appear a certain way, put them in the best light possible, or make people believe they heard or saw something different from what they really did, and I say you may need to train as an Illusionist.

  You like to protect those you love? And do other people just naturally seem to follow you? Sounds like a Champion to me.

  Do you have a knack for making other people feel better, comforted? You might check out spirit healing or try on a Cleric’s shoes for a day.

  The key is to tune in to who you are. Listen to that little voice inside your head and follow your gut. Whoever designed intelligent beings meant for us to find our purpose. Which is why I’m stuck.

  I can’t understand why I’ve been back here in Nebal for the past year with nothing to do. It started out as a visit to family after I had completed some training with a Damark Shadow Master, a Skadowan from Vamei.

  I’d like to continue learning, maybe find an apprenticeship. That way, I could start to get the hands-on training I need. But the few wise, old Demon Masters left in the cities are members of the Damark Enclave and are conducting regular instruction courses.

  Most, however, don’t stick around. You see, for Demon Masters, it’s really hard not to get caught up in the whole I’ve got the power mentality.

  A senior master can totally rock the demon world. They set up lairs and build strong towers then stockpile them with demons galore, and voila! An entire fortress of subjects at your beckoned call.

  There are a few inconveniences with choosing this life. You can’t live within a half-day’s journey to any village or city because demons like to prowl around at night. And there’s a zero-tolerance policy. One demon attacks one villager and boom, the whole tower is taken out and you’re left homeless.

  We may see one of the seniors, I don’t know, once a month, once a year. I can barely survive one day without being around other people; sort of pushes that option off the table.

  And teaching bratty, arrogant youngsters isn’t what I call having a life, either. I don’t have the patience.

  There was a time when the seniors would open their towers to students like me, the ones who had completed all the training available in the cities. In an apprenticeship, we could live out in the world of demons to get more hands-on experience using our skills.

  But with the safety issues of the roads today, this set-up isn’t as feasible. After five deaths in two months’ time, the Damark Enclave closed the doors to apprenticeships.

  During the battle for the Agalago Harbor, or the Zemylan Battle, I got a little taste of what I might call a home. A buddy of mine and I got called from school in Vicete to help the Maralunians with the area surrounding the Harbor.

  Mank is a human from Rhalas, and a Cleric. Those are not two characteristics I’m used to having in the same mouthful as the word friend. But for some odd reason, we hit it off. He has a sister, too; Shelija, a Pyromancer. Now she’s more like my running crowd. Blow some stuff up kind of gal.

  We were stationed in the Saola Mountains about mid-way between the Harbor and the Skadowan city of Vamei. Talk about your dark and creepy characters. The Skadowans all wear shades until evening. They don’t talk much at all, and because I can’t see their eyes, I can’t make out what they might be thinking. For all I know, it could be how to dismember a Demon Master.

  That changed a little when I met Valkryiex, a Skadowan Bard assigned to our team in the mountains. If you haven’t had a set of drums pounding in the background while you fight, you’re missing out.

  The rhythm completely entranced me. I found this “war zone” to enter and fought like I’ve never fought before or since. Like a kinesthetic adrenaline rush.

  Yes, real world experience is what I crave now. I’m so ready to get out there and start taking on vile demon beings. Half of them are teamed up with the Legion and are better off dead. The other half need to be trained to aid the Maralunians.

  See? The place I think I belong doesn’t exist.

  For now, I make my money working in the Mage’s tower. Well, in the Plane of Despair, but the portal to it is in the cellar of the Mage tower. I assist the seniors in taking groups out into the POD (that’s what we call it) so that they can experience the world of demons, tortured spirits, wraiths. You know, dark spirit-realm creatures.

  It doesn’t pay a whole lot; enough to cover my alchemy lessons and to have a decent night out on the town occasionally. As far as lodging, I have a bunk near the workshop in the cellar.

  Oh, and I can’t forget to tell you about Smelt. That’s what I named him, anyway. He’s my friend. He’s a baby fire drake. Some people have golden retrievers, I have a baby dragon.

  So, instead of sitting around thinking about my troubles, I’ve decided to go see my girlfriend, Havanna. It would be good for me and Smelt to get out of this cellar for a while.

  Havanna is seven years younger than I am, so it didn’t surprise me that she remembered me while I had absolutely no recollection of her when I moved back. She’s gorgeous and flirty, and she’s got a little kick to her personality.

  I met her in Teedo’s Tavern just down the street from the tower. She’s a cocktail waitress, works nights. We’ve been seeing each other for about four months now.

  Smelt doesn’t like her, though. But what does he know about good taste in women? His idea of a good date involves scaly skin, hot putrid breath and charbroiled filet mignon. Talk about ruining a steak.

  Havanna shares a room above the downtown shops with another waitress. I’ve never been there so early in the morning, but I figure since she had to work late last night, I’d surprise her today. Maybe take her to breakfast if she was awake.

  The streets were still pretty empty when I started out. Three kids playing near a door stoop grew widened eyes and ran inside yelling, “Mom, Dragon!” as Smelt and I passed by. Man, I love this pet.

  I made my way up the side stairs beside the bakery and listened to the door to make sure someone was awake inside. There’s a square window with bars on the door, and a semi-sheer curtain. I looked and could tell there were two people inside moving around.
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  I knocked once and checked the knob like I normally do. It was open. I pushed it forward and said, “Hey!” My voice trailed off from there, because what I saw put me in a state of shock.

  There was Havanna on the sofa sitting awfully close to some dude. He had his hand on her arm and they were laughing together before they looked up, surprised to see me… Havanna anyway. The guy had a ‘who is this guy?’ look on his face. She got up and looked distressed.

  “Maali…” she began to say.

  I held my hand up. “No need to explain.” I closed the door behind me and headed back to the Mage’s Tower. Hope this wasn’t indicative of how the rest of my day would go. Of course, I didn’t hear back from her after that. If there was any innocence to the situation, I would have.

  For weeks I wished I had never come home. Not just because of the Havanna situation, but for so much more. I could feel the life draining from me slowly with each passing day that brought no new purpose for my life. Everything seemed mundane, repetitious, meaningless.

  One day I was sitting in the workshop toying around with the chemicals. I was bored and frustrated when I went to scribbling on a piece of parchment—Why?! What am I supposed to do with my life? Where’s my purpose?!

  Just as soon as I had it written, Lignit, a senior DM, walked in and pulled up a chair to the alchemy table. I balled up the parchment and tossed it behind a box of vials. He handed me a letter and sat patiently as I opened it and read the words,

  Fouad Maali, Demon Master of Nebal:

  Allow me to take a moment to inform you that your skills in the field of Demon Mastery have been brought to the attention of the Minzkalans. We believe that such admirable courage and resourcefulness as you have shown in training and out in the field would be beneficial to the cause we now collectively face. With the Legion’s forces increasing their terroristic harm to the lands in Gael, we wish to gather together the most elite people from every class known to Maralune and raise a campaign to stomp out their presence once and for all.

  If our cause is deemed worthy in your eyes, we would request that you immediately depart Nebal and make your way to Vicete. After an initial briefing and training period, you will be informed of further action on your part.

  Sincerely,

  King Naethan

  “So, they want me to help them save the world?” I chuckled a little at the thought I let spill from my mouth. Us against the Legion? In what crazy world do they live?

  On the other hand, I could see more excitement in that than in sitting around Nebal nursing a broken heart and this boring life I have going.

  Lignit simply sat there and let me take it all in for a while. He took some of the chromadrium dust from a vial, about a dash into his palm, and poured it into the beaker I had clamped up.

  I wondered how in the world he knew where I was in the sequence of the potion I was making but didn’t get the chance to ask.

  “I will arrange for your passage to Vicete if you wish to go. I would say that I hate to lose such a great assistant, but this news brings me hope that once again we will be able to open the apprenticeships throughout the lands,” he said.

  I nodded carefully. He was right. It was because of that gruesome faction called the Legion that I was stuck in Nebal with menial work to do in the first place.

  And wasn’t I just thinking about how the Legion’s demons needed to be killed? How there were many others that could be trained to protect the Maralunians? This could indeed be my chance.

  “When would I leave?” I asked him.

  “I’ll have your horse ready in the morning. There will be a few more leaving Nebal for similar missions. Some will be traveling to Rhalas at the request of King Ederich. I would suggest you all travel in small groups; small enough to prevent too much attention while you travel, but large enough to defend yourselves along the way. You’ll meet the others in the courtyard in the morning.”

  I started to clean up my table as he rose to leave. Letters like this spurred us all into action. It was one of the most basic things you learn in any craft. When a command is given, it is followed by immediate affirmative response. Any questions or concerns could be ironed out later.

  I went by my parents’ house to tell them where I would be going, then stayed up late getting my things together, both there and back at the tower. I left Smelt behind, although my mother insisted, I find a suitable place for him outside the house.

  I opened some wine so that I could fall asleep easier. By the time I laid down, I still had so much going through my head, but the wine took effect and I slowly drifted off just around midnight.

  The next morning, while fog still lifted from the city streets, we gathered in the courtyard of the Mage tower. It was the northernmost training site and we would all head out from there.

  At first there were just a few Pyromancers, Illusionists, and Demon Masters, but after a while, Champions and Clerics began to arrive. They had us separated into two groups—those going to Rhalas and those heading to the cities surrounding the Mourtaire Forest, where Minzkala lies.

  In the end, I had only one travel partner. He was a Champion by the name of Welkin. It didn’t really concern me too much to have just the two of us. I had my potions for any healing we would need. And during the night hours, the only beasts we might encounter would be demons, my specialty.

  As far as Trolls or Gremits, Welkin could probably handle a small company of the vermin by himself, and I could help with some of my spells that are equally effective on flesh beasts.

  Lignit came over to see me off. “There were two more called from Nebal, but they are currently elsewhere and will get their summons there. When you get to Khala, you can look for them. The roads will only get worse from there on, so it would be wise to find a couple more if you can.”

  He almost turned to leave when he looked back at me again, this time intently drawn to my eyes. “And Fouad, you’re about to find your purpose.”

  Seven

  Opportunaty

  Majaswraero, Imperial Elf

  “I swear, Majaswraero,” I said to myself as the fish hook sunk deep into my thumb. It was a doting phrase that came to mind telling me, “Look what you’ve done now.”

  I normally heard it from my mother. But when she wasn’t around, I often found myself saying it, and remembering her.

  No one ever called me by my given name except in formalized introductions or when I had done something foolish (the fish hook fit perfectly into the latter category).

  Turk was the usual, a nickname imposed on me when I traveled as a toddler to the city of Minzkala with my mother and her sister. The Ancients, as they are called, stumbled over my given name and decided to call me Turk, from Turcaesh, our island home in the Southern Gaemic Ocean. It’s grown on me.

  I caught a couple of fish that morning and headed back home to cook them for my morning meal. Put that with a few cakes and I wouldn’t have to eat again until evening.

  Basalt and Obsidian served as a foundation for my house, set in the foothills of an extinct volcanic chain on the island. Instead of building wide along the ground, I’ve chosen to build tall, following the side of the hill. Each level has an opened porch with sliding glass walls to overlook the island shores in the distance.

  I have a gem lab on the second level where I tinker with fragments of stones, shells and bone to make jewelry. Then once a month, I send them to the market in the Port of Nebal.

  I have a good friend there who places them on his stand and sends me back the coins he collects. Minus his share, of course, which is probably about twenty percent more than what we’d agreed on, but I’d do the same if I were in his shoes.

  After eating, I went down to the dock carrying my load of volcanic rock and the few gemstones we had collected.

  Our village is a small mining community and I’m in charge of transporting of our goods. I ma
de a weekly journey to the dock using a large cart pulled by Kale, my workhorse. It takes about half a day to get there.

  While I was on the road, the sky started to darken, like a storm might be coming our way. I could smell the rain in the air as I fished in the creek that morning, but nothing ever fell.

  South of the docks, the sky was especially dark. Probably the epicenter of the system moving through. And then…it hit.

  A strange feeling overcame me, telling me something was wrong. I rarely had these sorts of feelings, and even when I did, they never amounted to me hearing of someone’s death or of a major war beginning or anything like that. Ever since the trip to Minzkala, I would randomly get these “messages” about situations. I could normally tell who was involved and where it was happening. It was like being called by someone, a cry for help.

  But this one was pretty intense. I felt heavy all of the sudden and I tried to focus to find the cause, one that seemed a million miles away. My vision blurred and I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Immediately I thought of my mother and my aunt. Could the Minzkalans be in danger?

  I decided to pick up the pace. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary while passing through the narrow streets of the village near the docks. There were, however, two elders standing on the second balcony of the Inn. They disappeared into a set of double doors. The feeling in my gut intensified. Maybe it was the way they glanced at me. I decided to stop at the Inn on my way back to speak with the elders to make sure there wasn’t something I was missing.

  As I got closer to the shore, I could see enormous dark clouds looming over the ocean waters. They covered the entire eastern horizon. It was definitely a big storm, probably a hurricane system. From the way it was traveling, it would miss our island; however, we might get a good thunderstorm and some high winds moving through. Hurricanes normally strike the coastal regions of the islands that lie north and east of ours. This one looked like it was heading to Maralune.