Menace of the Black Magician

James Abraham Carter

The air was thick and still, carrying a faint, cloying scent Edward couldn’t place. When his eyes flickered open, the world solidified around him with a dizzying lurch. His last memory was the crisp, damp scent of English earth beneath his hiking boots, the gentle slope of a Cotswold hill under a sky the color of forget-me-nots. Now, a rough, unfamiliar fabric pressed against his cheek, and the silence was absolute, broken only by the steady thrum of his own heartbeat.

He lay on a narrow cot in a room that felt both ancient and alien. The walls were constructed from enormous, dark gray stones, seamlessly fitted without mortar, their surfaces as smooth as glass. There was no visible light source; yet, the space was bathed in a dim, pervasive luminescence that seemed to emanate from the stones themselves. Confusion and panic was a cold, constricting band around his chest. He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting, his mind a jumble of disjointed memories.

Then he saw it.

Against the far wall, on a stone slab that served as a table, stood a large, cylindrical glass jar. It pulsed faintly with the room’s internal light, and suspended within it, bobbing gently in a murky, yellowish fluid, was the unmistakable, horrifying remains of a man’s severed head. The eyes, though clouded and lifeless, seemed to stare directly at him. A terrified gasp burst from Edward’s throat, raw and involuntary. The world tilted. His stomach churned with revulsion and unspeakable dread. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. This was a nightmare of the most vivid, cruel kind.

His body, propelled by a primal fear, launched him towards the most obvious escape route: the heavy, iron-bound door. He gripped the cold metal handle, twisting, pulling, shoving with desperate, white-knuckled force. It didn't budge. Bolted. Locked. Immovable. Panic, cold and sharp, threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed his forehead against the unyielding wood, trying to regulate his ragged breaths, the image of the severed head burned behind his eyelids.

Slowly, agonizingly, he forced himself to breathe calmly. Blind panic wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had to think. With a desperate effort he regained some semblance of control. Intent on discovering where he was, he pushed away from the door and stumbled toward a narrow, barred window in the wall, half-hidden by a heavy, gray tapestry. For a moment, his fingers fumbled with the rough weave; then he jerked aside the hanging and peered out.

The sight that greeted him stole what little breath he had left. The sky was not blue. It wasn't gray, or cloudy, or even the inky black of night. It was a swirling, effervescent canvas of golden mist, stretching as far as the eye could see, luminous and utterly alien. Below him, the world dropped away in a dizzying vertical plane. He was in a high tower, perched precariously on the very crest of a jagged ridge of dark stone. And below, stretching out to the horizon in a riot of lush abundance, was a jungle of vibrant, mind-jarring florescent green. Plants with leaves like polished emeralds, vines like tangled cables of burnished copper, and flowers that pulsed with an inner, incandescent glow. The plants sang strange harmonies, tinkling softly like wind chimes in the still air.

For a moment, he thought he was mad. Truly, utterly, irrevocably insane. His mind, struggling to reconcile the impossible with the stark reality before him, wavered at the precipice of despair. He gripped the cold, unforgiving bars of the window, his knuckles white, the metal a painful pressure against his palm. The solidity of the bars, the chill of the wind, the metallic tang in the golden air – it was all too real. No hallucination could be this vivid, this complete. He was not mad. He was simply no longer on Earth.

The click of the door’s lock, loud and sharp in the oppressive quiet, tore him from the window. Edward spun around, his heart a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. Standing in the entrance, silhouetted by the strange luminescence of the corridor beyond, was a tall, imposing figure. The man was clad in a voluminous black robe, which shifted as he moved, revealing intricate, glowing crimson symbols that seemed to pulse with a malevolent inner light. His face, when he stepped fully into the room, was hawk-like, sharp and unyielding, framed by severe black hair. His dark eyes held an unnerving intensity.

"Edward Moore," the figure’s voice was deep, resonating like a struck gong, "I am Maganus the Black, master of the mystic arts. You are in my tower, in the world of Thothmon."

Edward could only stare, speechless. The language the man spoke wasn’t English, yet he understood it perfectly.

Maganus strode further into the room, his movements fluid and purposeful. "I understand your confusion, your disorientation. You were, as I recall, enjoying a rather quaint stroll through your delightful Cotswolds. My apologies for the somewhat abrupt transition." A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, touched his thin lips. "I have used my magic to bring you here, Mr. Moore. Not for idle curiosity, but for a very specific purpose."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Edward, assessing. "I am in need of your skills. Your world, in some ways, is far more advanced than mine. Specifically, in the intricate craft of metalworking. Technology that Thothmon lacks. I am constructing a device of great power, but it requires precision beyond the scope of local artisans. You, I believe, possess that skill." His eyes fixed on Edward, cold and unwavering. "Cooperate with me, apply your expertise to my project, and you shall be richly rewarded. More importantly, you shall be returned to your world, Intact."

Maganus gestured toward the jar on the table with a long, elegant finger. Edward's gaze was involuntarily drawn to the severed head, a silent, chilling underscore to the Black Magician’s words. "This one," Maganus’s tone remained detached, almost academic, "was my first assistant. He proved… uncooperative. Or perhaps, merely incapable of delivering. His fate is a stark reminder of the cost of failure."

Edward’s breath hitched. Return to Earth? Reward? The words were hollow, considering the harsh reality of the head in the jar. He looked from the gruesome warning to the magician’s impassive face, a cold terror gripping him. He was trapped. Utterly and completely. He had no choice.

"I… I understand," Edward rasped, his voice hoarse. "I will cooperate."

A thin, satisfied smile touched Maganus’s lips. "Excellent. A wise decision, Mr. Moore. Come."

Maganus led him through winding, dimly lit corridors within the tower, the air growing progressively heavier, imbued with an arcane presence. Edward kept his gaze fixed ahead, trying not to look into the shadowed recesses, imagining forgotten horrors lurking in the gloom. Finally, they reached a large chamber, surprisingly well-lit by several glowing orbs suspended from the high ceiling. Edward’s jaw nearly dropped.

This was a workshop, but not one belonging to Thothmon. It was equipped with tools clearly plucked from Earth – lathes, milling machines and precision vernier calipers. All the machines were humming with a low, unfamiliar energy. It was surreal, almost comforting in its familiarity amidst the alien context. Against another wall was an alchemist’s laboratory, some of the glassware and chemicals recognizable to Edward from his high school science class.

"Here," Maganus gestured grandly at a large blueprint unfurled on a workbench. "This is what I require."

Edward stepped closer. The drawing depicted a large, disc-shaped object, intricate and complex, covered in strange symbols and what looked like conduits for some unknown energy. Its aerodynamic sleekness hinted at flight. "It's… some kind of aircraft?"

"Indeed," Maganus confirmed. "Once painstakingly manufactured by your hand, I shall imbue it with an animating force, a mystical energy that will enable it to fly. It is the key to my ultimate dominion and will be far swifter than the winged gryphon that I currently use as my steed." He turned to Edward, his eyes alight with a cold ambition. "Begin the work at once. Precision is paramount."

With a sudden, sharp movement, Maganus brought a small silver whistle to his lips and blew. The sound was high and piercing, echoing in the chamber. From a shadowed alcove, a creature padded silently into the room. It was roughly the size and shape of a large dog, but its body was covered in thick, interlocking bronze scales, and its eyes glowed with an unnerving, intelligent green light. Its claws, Edward noticed, were long and razor-sharp.

"This is the tower guardian and my pet," Maganus explained. "He will keep an eye on you while I am in my private chambers, exploring the cosmos using my powers of farsight. Do not attempt to escape, Mr. Moore. His loyalty is absolute, and his speed… remarkable."

With a final, imperious nod, Maganus swept from the room, leaving Edward alone with the silent, watchful guardian.

Edward stared at the blueprint, then at the array of Earth-provided tools, and finally at the guardian, which had settled in a corner, its malevolent green eyes fixed on him with unnerving intensity. There was no escape. Not yet. He began to work. The familiar hum of the machinery, the scent of metallic dust, the precise movements of his hands – it was a strange comfort amidst the terror. Hours melted away as he lost himself in the play of skill and concentration. He was a master of metal fabrication, and the disc slowly, steadily, took shape under his expert touch. Its surfaces became flawlessly smooth, and its intricate channels perfectly aligned.

By evening, as the golden sky-mist outside dimmed to blackness, the disc was complete. It lay gleaming on the workshop floor, a masterpiece of engineering, ready for Maganus to infuse it with his dark magic. The workshop was silent, and the tower guardian, seeking respite from its daylong vigilance, was curled up in its corner, its scaled chest rising and falling with deep, rhythmic breaths. Its green eyes were closed.

A desperate, fragile hope sparked within Edward. This was his chance. He moved quietly, his footsteps hushed on the stone floor, away from the sleeping beast. He made his way down a hallway, seeking a means of escape, for he was certain the Black Magician could not be trusted to keep his promises. As he passed a dimly lit side corridor, a faint noise reached his ears. Weeping. A soft, mournful sound that spoke of deep despair.

Curiosity and humanity overcame his fear. He crept closer, peering into the gloom. At the end of the corridor was a cell, its bars thick and strong. Inside, a young woman huddled against the far wall. Her hair was long and as black and glossy as a raven’s wing. Her skin was smooth and dusky, and her figure was superb. The girl's shoulders were shaking with piteous sobs. She was naked.

"Hello?" Edward whispered, his voice tentative.

Her head shot up, her eyes wide with terror, then a spark of something else – surprise, a flicker of hope. "Please," she whispered back, her voice raw, "Oh, please, help me."

Edward approached the bars cautiously. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"My name is Nadara," she choked out, tears still streaming down her face. "I was kidnapped. Maganus… he plans to sacrifice me." Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "My virgin blood… it is tinged with magic. He needs it… to make the device fly. The one you are building. He told me about it to torment me."

The words hit Edward like a physical blow. The disc. The machine he had just crafted with his own hands. It was to be powered by this innocent woman’s lifeblood. The horror was immediate, visceral. His stomach lurched, worse than when he’d seen the severed head. This wasn't just a threat to himself, but a monstrous evil.

"No," Edward breathed, his resolve hardening. "No, I won't let him. I will help you."

Nadara’s eyes widened further, a glimmer of desperate hope shining through her fear. "The lock… it is strong."

Edward didn't hesitate. "Wait here."

He raced back to the workshop, his mind alight with a furious energy. His eyes scanned the familiar tools and came to rest on the micro cutting torch. He grabbed it, along with its small gas cylinders and protective goggles, and hurried back to Nadara’s cell.

"Stand back and do not look at the blinding light this tool will make," he warned, his voice firm. The torch hissed to life, and a sudden, searing blue light filled the corridor. Sparks showered as the powerful flame bit into the ancient lock. It was slow, agonizing work; the metal spat sparks as if in protest. He was acutely aware of the time, of the danger.

The lock finally gave way; the severed metal clattered to the floor. Just as Edward swung the heavy cell door open, a low growl echoed from the main corridor. The tower guardian. The slight noise had disturbed it.

Edward spun, pushing Nadara behind him. The bronze beast was a blur of scales and fury, hurtling toward them, its green eyes glowing with malevolent intent. There was no time to think, no time to flee. Adrenaline surged through Edward. He held up the cutting torch like a weapon, its searing flame a desperate shield. The creature lunged, its sharp claws extended. Edward met the charge, swinging the torch in a wide arc, aiming for the creature’s head. The flame splattered against the bronze scales, and for a moment, the guardian recoiled with a snarl of pain.

But it was only a moment. The creature roared, a sound like thunder, and lunged again, faster this time. Edward dodged, twisting his body and thrusting the torch forward. This time, the flame found its eye, the only vulnerable spot on its scaled body. A high-pitched, metallic shriek tore through the air as the guardian’s flesh sizzled and bubbled. It thrashed violently, its powerful body slamming against the wall. Then it collapsed with a final, shuddering gasp, its bronze scales going dull, its remaining green eye fading to black.

"He will know," Nadara cried, her voice trembling but urgent. "Maganus will know. The guardian’s death will alert him!"

"What do we do?" Edward demanded, his own heart pounding with the aftermath of the fight.

"The disc! We must go to the flying disc! We can use it to escape!"

They didn't waste another second. Both raced back down the corridors, Nadara’s bare feet slapping softly on the stone floor, Edward clutching the now-extinguished torch. The main chamber seemed too far; the air heavy with impending doom.

They burst into the workshop. The disc gleamed on the floor, a beacon of hope. "Hurry!" Nadara urged, already scrambling onto its smooth surface. Edward followed, his eyes darting toward the corridor, expecting Maganus's arrival at any moment.

"Do you know how to activate it?" Edward asked, his voice strained.

“Yes,” she replied. “This is a world of wizardry. All of us have occult abilities to some degree. The Black Magician is the most powerful among us.”

Nadara’s eyes scanned the floor. She spotted a sharp shard of metal, likely a discarded off-cut from Edward’s work. Without hesitation, she picked it up and, with a grimace, pricked her index finger. A bead of dark, shimmering red blood welled up.

"An ancient incantation and my blood will bring the disc to life," she whispered, her focus absolute. She smeared the blood onto the central mechanism of the disc, the symbols Edward had so painstakingly forged. As her blood touched the metal, the sigils began to glow with a faint crimson light, mirroring the occult symbols on Maganus’s robe.

Just as Nadara opened her mouth to utter the incantation, the towering figure of Maganus appeared in the workshop doorway, his hawk-like face contorted in a mask of wild fury. He had seen the dead guardian, the open cell, and the fleeing couple in his scrying crystal.

"Fools!" Maganus roared, his voice reverberating in the confines of the tower. Lightning, pure and white-hot, began to gather around his fingers as he summoned strange forces from the realm of eternal Platonic forms.

Nadara chanted words, ancient and powerful, potent with occult noesis. The disc trembled with a low hum that quickly escalated into a high-pitched whine. It lifted off the floor, emerald energy crackling from its underside.

A nimbus of raw power now surrounded the Black Magician’s hands. Edward desperately hurled the cutting torch at the occultist, spoiling his aim. Maganus’s lightning bolt struck the stone in front of them, blasting a chunk from the wall. The magical machine surged forward, swift and graceful, toward the large, open window of the workshop, an opening Edward now realized was deliberately designed for its departure.

Maganus roared again, launching another volley of lightning, but it was too late. The disc was already out the window, accelerating and carrying them into the night of Thothmon, its golden heavens now darkened to inky blackness in which a giant moon and glittering stars could be seen.

The wind whipped around them as the disc ascended, leaving the Tower of Maganus and its evil behind: a dark, receding spire against a sky filled with alien stars. Edward balanced precariously on the disc, feet spread wide, his heart pounding; the sheer unreality of the situation almost overwhelmed him with its surrealness.

"Maganus has terrorized my kingdom for many years," Nadara explained, her voice breathless but steady now that they were free. "With each passing year, he has grown bolder. Despite all precautions, he succeeded in kidnapping me, knowing that the blood of a royal virgin, when she turns eighteen, would prove useful in his sorcerous experiments. My father, King Osmond, will reward you beyond measure for my rescue."

They flew through the night, the singing jungle a strange, flowing tapestry of softly glowing color beneath them. A bond formed between the couple as they conversed. At first, it was just small talk to pass the time. But as their journey progressed, it deepened with every passing hour as they shared their hopes and dreams. Dawn came. The heavens began to glow with golden mist, banishing the night. The new day found the couple in each others arms, for in the darkness beneath the star-gemmed heavens, love and desire had blossomed. Nadara leaned against Edward, breathing heavily, her hand on his, pressing his fingers deep into her moist slit, relishing the orgasmic pleasure he gave her.

As the light grew, a magnificent city of elegant neoclassical architecture came into view, and in its heart rose an imposing palace of silvery stone. "My father's residence," Nadara cried excitedly, pointing. "He will be meeting with his ministers. We can fly directly into the throne room!" The girl looked at Edward’s shirt that she now wore and sobered. “We should really change into more appropriate attire, but the situation is urgent, and my father must be immediately informed of events. The Black Magician will no doubt seek swift revenge.”

The disc swooped low, its magical energy propelling them gracefully through an enormous, open-arched window of the building’s east wing. They glided smoothly into a vast, ornate throne room, where King Osmond, a regal figure with a long, braided beard, sat on a golden throne, surrounded by worried advisers discussing futile plans for the rescue of his daughter.

The ministers gasped, rising to their feet in shock. Quickly, they averted their gazes from the half-naked princess. But King Osmond’s eyes were fixed on Nadara, and an expression of profound joy transformed his previously grim countenance. "Nadara! My daughter! You are alive!" He rushed forward and flung his cape around her.

Nadara leaned into her father’s embrace, sobbing with relief. The king held her tightly, but as he did so, his eyes turned to Edward, and his expression hardened to one of unnerving ruthlessness.

“Are you responsible for the rescue of my daughter?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” answered Edward, puzzled by the sudden change in the king’s demeanor.

“Maganus will want revenge for this,” said Osmond. “He is a powerful magician whose abilities Lasamna, my court sorceress, cannot defend us against. I must protect my daughter. If I turn you over to him, he might be satisfied with that and spare my child.”

Edward stumbled back, speechless, his mind reeling. The king’s betrayal was the last thing that he had expected.

"Father," cried Nadara, just as shocked. “You cannot do this! Edward saved my life. Treachery is not what he deserves."

But King Osmond was in no mood to listen. He had lost his daughter once and had almost given up hope of ever seeing her again. Now that she had returned to him, alive and well, he was determined to protect her at all costs, even if that meant ruthlessly sacrificing an innocent man.

"Guards!” The king commanded, his face as hard and unyielding as iron. “Seize this man. Imprison him. He will be turned over to Maganus when he arrives."

Before Edward could protest further, two heavily armored guards seized him, their grips like iron. He was dragged unceremoniously from the throne room. His last sight of Nadara was her tearfully pleading with her father for his release.

An hour had passed. Edward languished in a damp, cold dungeon cell, the air thick with the smell of mildew and metaphorical despair. His thoughts were more bitter than wormwood. He had saved a princess, risked his life, and now he was imprisoned because of a betrayal he hadn’t foreseen. He was helpless once more, and to make matters worse, he was separated from the woman with whom he had fallen deeply in love.

The rusty creak of his cell door brought him jolting upright. Nadara stood there, her face etched with fear, a rich gown now covering her. She held a heavy iron key in her hand.

"Edward, you must flee!" she whispered urgently, her eyes wide. "Maganus has arrived on his winged griffon! As I feared, he demands vengeance for your slaying of the guardian and the theft of the disc. I … I couldn’t convince my father to free you. He is going through with his ruthless plan to turn you over to the Black Magician in the hope of saving me."

Edward stared at her, a cold rage replacing his despair. Maganus! He had been a pawn in the heinous magician’s vile machinations, and now he was to be further victimized. No. Not this time. A deep, unshakable resolve settled within him. He was tired of being a plaything for evil, of fleeing like a frightened rabbit.

"No," Edward said, his voice quiet but firm. "I won't run, I won't abandon you, woman I love, come what may. The menace of the Black Magician ends now. I will confront the fiend and put an end to his tyranny. He won’t be satisfied with just me; he’ll want you, too. I won’t let that happen."

Nadara’s eyes widened with fear for him. “Oh, Edward, no,” she gasped, clutching him. "How can you defeat him? He is the most powerful magician in the land! I’ll come with you. We’ll flee together."

Edward gently pushed her away. “No,” he steadfastly replied. “I don’t want you to be hunted like an animal, forever on the run from his vengeance. I have a plan," he continued, moving toward the open cell door. Edward paused, reaching into his boot. Inside, hidden, was the single-shot pistol he had secretly fashioned in Maganus’s workshop, using Earth tools, while the propellant for the cartridge had been manufactured with compounds from the Black Magician’s alchemical laboratory. The weapon was crude, hastily made, and its effectiveness was uncertain. For these reasons, it was an option of last resort that he had previously hesitated to employ.

As they stepped out of the cell, the heavy thud of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. Edward tensed. The final confrontation was fast approaching. His future and that of Nadara, their love and happiness, were all riding on his proficiency and the cold lump of steel in his hand. King Osmond, his face grim, appeared, followed closely by Maganus the Black, his eyes glowing with an unholy light and his dark robes billowing around him.

"There he is!" Maganus snarled, his hawk-like face contorted in a sneer of dark triumph. "The thief! The murderer of my pet!" He raised his hands. Lightening was already crackling between his fingertips, now aimed directly at Edward.

"Edward, look out!" Nadara screamed.

Edward didn't hesitate. He dove, rolling sideways; the occult fire seared the stone where he had stood seconds before. Simultaneously, his hand flew up, gripping the crude pistol. He aimed, a single, unwavering focus in the chaos, at Maganus’s chest.

There was a sharp, concussive crack as the pistol fired. The dungeon filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. The single lead bullet, forged with Earth science and Edward’s skill, shot true. It struck Maganus the Black squarely in the chest.

The glowing crimson symbols on his robe flickered violently, then winked out. Maganus gasped, a look of shocked disbelief on his face, his eyes wide. The lightning dissipated from his fingertips, and he crumpled to the ground, a lifeless heap of black cloth and cooling flesh. Death had finally laid its grim, inescapable hand upon him.

A stunned silence descended upon the dungeon. King Osmond stared, first at the smoking pistol in Edward’s hand, then at the lifeless form of the Black Magician. The fiend who had plagued his kingdom for years had been felled by billowing smoke and thunder more potent than all his sorcery.

Slowly, the king’s expression shifted, from shock to dawning realization, then to profound relief and gratitude. He had made a grave mistake. This man, this stranger, had saved his daughter, and now his entire kingdom.

"You… you have saved us," King Osmond said, his voice hoarse with emotion and awe. He looked at Edward, then at Nadara, and a slow, benevolent smile spread across his face. "My kingdom owes you a debt it can never repay, Edward Moore. But I can offer you the greatest honor a king can bestow." He extended a hand toward Nadara, then to Edward. "You have proven your courage, your honor, and your loyalty to my daughter. She has told me that you love each other, and so I reward you with her hand in marriage."

Edward, still reeling from the sudden, violent end to Maganus, could only stare. From a Cotswold hill to a golden sky, from a severed head to a royal wedding. His life, in the span of a single, unbelievable day, had been irrevocably transformed. He looked at Nadara, who smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that promised an entirely new, extraordinary future.

The End