Spellcaster series #5: The Sage

Of Djinn and Man

Sam

For many years, I had learnt to master the dark arts of Synto and it had all come down to this. The death of Alana was not a difficult choice to make, despite what my twin brother pitied me for. Nonetheless, it would all be worth it. I could always find myself another mistress. My son's early death? Just his carelessness that could be reversed.

The power of the dark arts was limitless.

As a child I learnt my family's secret to success—control. Both my parents were servants to the Fallen One until they perished in the hands of the Sages. Granduncle Sir William Embers, I recalled, was most embarrassed that he thought it was wise to disown his only sister. She was always second-best, in the eyes of her parents, that she taught her son and daughter-in-law the beauty which was dark magic. From there they discovered many secrets that pure magic could not conjure.

But as I turned nineteen, I realised that they had only merely scratched the surface. Knowledge was vast and I constantly hungered. That was when I chanced upon an older gentleman who taught me more than my grandmother could even dream of—rearing a djinn. He was a mysterious man with a family secret...but I never cared to ask. All I wanted was his knowledge.

Haernith, on the other hand, was not an easy djinn to control.

I raised the porcelain to my lips and sipped its hot liquid. I could see her standing in between the trees in the dark. Her wet hair sticking to her face but the sight of her eyes escaped me. Her relentless efforts, I admitted, piqued my interest exceedingly. In the shadows, she stood as still as a ghost. Was this the haunting of a grieving woman or a vengeful spirit? Either way, I would simply wait and see. I sipped my tea.

A movement in the reflection of the window. Haernith, in the vessel of a young woman, dragged a body across the floor and tossed it onto my carpet. I sighed.

"I just had it cleaned," I grumbled before taking another sip.

A glance of Haernith's black eyes and horns in the reflection as he moved. I turned around to face his female human vessel and raised an eyebrow.

"You told me to bring him back," he shrugged, gesturing loosely at the corpse.

I looked down on the body at my feet. His skin was almost blue.

"Didn't I ask you not to kill him?" I asked, somewhat annoyed that this djinn could not listen to a simple instruction. "I need all three Sages alive for the public sacrifice, for heaven's sake."

Haernith narrowed his eyes at me. Then he strode towards the body and stomped on his ribs. Tristan opened his eyes and took in a lungful of air before coughing aggressively, his body curling and trembling as he did.

"Does that look dead to you?" The djinn asked, eyes on me, unamused. "You humans are so dense."

I took a step back as I watched Tristan shiver with his arms wrapped around his torso. His breath was visible.

"There is cold energy inside him," Haernith explained, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

"Good. Now leave us," I ordered. He narrowed his eyes on me one more time before turning to the door. I turned back to Tristan.

He gripped his sleeve with pale, bluish fingers. I pulled up a chair and sat in it, crossing my legs. I held the tea cup in one hand while resting my cheekbone on the other, elbow on the arm rest. I watched him get trapped in the dark energy that had wrapped itself around his aura. He quivered on my carpet—no warmth could reach him.

"Would you like some hot tea, dear cousin? My maid Cassandra makes the best ones," I offered, raising the cup in my hand.

His eyes flickered to me, nostrils flaring. His teeth, behind blanche lips, were clenched. I took a sip and placed the cup back in its saucer. Tristan did not lift his green-eyed gaze from me.