Orb of the Ouroboros

James Abraham Carter

The old brass bell above the door of Colt’s Gun Shop jingled as James closed and locked it, a familiar sound that usually brought a sense of closure to the young man’s day. But tonight, the silence that followed was anything but comforting. It was a silence thick with unseen forces, a silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He’d been repairing an antique express rifle long after closing, a type of task that had always brought a certain sense of satisfaction. But tonight, his work was bereft of pleasure, overshadowed by a strange unease he couldn't shake, as if the very laws of Nature were being disturbed.

James shook his head. The explanation had to be more prosaic, surely. Perhaps the spate of recent mass shootings was making him feel this way. Gun sales had skyrocketed as frightened citizens sought a means of protecting themselves. But was this making society any safer? The nation was already awash with firearms, and yet the violence continued unabated. Could it be that he was part of the problem? James, his mind troubled by this disturbing thought, pocketed the key and began walking towards his Ford pickup, wondering if he should sell his father’s business, one which he had taken over when the old man had died several years ago, and try a different line of work.

The street was deserted, the usual city hum replaced by an unnerving quiet. A single streetlight flickered, then died, casting the surrounding space into an inky blackness that seemed to press in on him. It wasn't a normal darkness; it felt alive, heavy with a preternatural presence that made his heart pound. A cold dread washed over him, a primal instinct telling him he was not alone. His hand instinctively moved towards the automatic nestled in his shoulder holster, a reflex honed by years of living in a neighbourhood where trouble was as common as litter.

He turned, and his breath caught in his throat. Standing there, eerily bathed in the pale glow of the moon, were two figures that seemed torn from the pages of a book on ancient history. A man and a woman, with features and clothing that evoked the paintings of Pharaonic Egypt, their dark eyes unnerving in their intensity as they gazed upon him, as if he was the object of a desperate quest. He gasped, but before he could draw his weapon, the woman raised her hand. An eldritch beam of emerald radiance exploded from her palm, enveloping James in a strange, tingling light. He was instantly paralysed, his muscles refusing to obey his frantic commands.

The couple approached, their movements fluid and silent, their archaic habiliment, which left both half-naked, lending an air of unreality to what was happening. Without a word, the enigmatic woman plucked the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door. The man, as muscular as an Olympic weightlifter, picked James up as though he were a small child and carried him inside, placing him on the floor of his shop as if he were nothing more than an inanimate mannequin. Heart racing with fear, James struggled to comprehend what was happening. It was like a nightmare, but all too real despite the fantastic nature of events.

He saw the woman remove a gold ring from her finger. It took the form of an intricately worked ouroboros - a serpent biting its own tail. She began to chant in a musical language that was utterly alien to James’ ears, and again he felt that strange unease, as if the very fabric of reality was disarranged. The ring floated free of her hand, expanded until it was seven feet in diameter. The space within the shank began to shimmer with a preternatural glow. James realised with an unnerving mix of dawning horror and astonishment that an occult gateway to some other realm was being created.

Over the next few minutes, the silent, highly focused couple ransacked his shop, passing rifles, shotguns, ammunition, even his cleaning supplies through the glowing portal, which hung unsupported in the air. James watched, angry, frightened and powerless, as his livelihood vanished into the mysterious and unnerving aperture. When they had finished their plundering, the man again effortlessly lifted James, and to his abject horror he was carried towards the shimmering gateway.

Terror set upon James like a clawing tiger. He was going to follow his weapons into the terrifying unknown. He tried to struggle, to scream out his fear. But the only thing he could do was sweat in helpless dread. His powerful captor thrust him into the shimmering disc. Terrible sensations assailed the young man. It felt as if his body were being pulled in every direction in an insane kaleidoscope of indescribable feelings. His silent screams echoed in his own mind, then black unconsciousness enveloped his reeling brain in its smothering shroud.

**********

He awoke on a soft, ornate rug, the air thick with the smell of pungent incense and spicy herbs. The man and woman stood nearby, the stolen guns and ammunition stacked against one plastered wall. The setting was alien. The room he was in was illuminated by candlelight and decorated with peculiar interlocking geometrical frescoes - symbols of mystical potency that were delineated in bold primary colours. Gilded statues of fantastical gods with multiple heads and arms stood on plinths in various corners. Against one wall was a bench lined with equipment that would not have looked out of place in a medieval alchemist’s archaic laboratory. A nearby table groaned under the weight of huge leather-bound tomes written in strange angular hieroglyphics.

James sat up, eyes wide in terror and heart racing. He wildly looked at his body. He was uninjured, his athletic physique whole despite the horrific ordeal that he had been through. His panic subsided a little.

The woman offered him a small, apologetic smile. “Forgive us for our actions, James Colt. I am Neftar, and this is my brother, Sekem.” Her voice, though speaking the odd musical language he had heard before, now somehow translated into clear English within his head. “We desperately need your help.”

With considerable effort, James managed to get a grip on his reeling brain. The situation was fantastic, impossible; yet here he was undeniably in some other occult realm. He could feel it in the very air - strange forces, potent yet invisible were all around him. He considered drawing his automatic and forcing these people to return him to Earth. But the voice of prudent caution made him stay his hand. He was dealing with people who, astounding as it was, could actually wield potent magic. But why did they need him? In his eyes he was nothing special - just your average Joe.

The young man slowly stood, mastering as best he could his fear of the unknown, and his anger at the theft of his guns and being kidnapped. “Where am I, and why do you need my help?” He managed to calmly ask.

Neftar’s expression was earnest. “I sense and understand your fear and anger, James Colt, but we had no other choice in acting as we did. Not all aspects of my magic work well in your temporal universe. The only way to communicate with you, for each of us to understand the other, was to bring you to my realm. You are in my city, Thebsuna, on the orb of Ebsu, my world, which is separated from yours by the dimensions of the multiverse. My people are under the oppression of Re, the usurper - a cruel sorcerer. He came from Lethdis, a land of mystery far to the West, several years ago, and by wiles and charms ingratiated himself into the royal court.

"However, his mask of friendship was just a cunning ruse which hid his true ambitions. About a month ago he murdered my widowed father, King Taztos, to gain possession of the Sigil of Samias, a magical object of great potency created by a remote ancestor of mine. With the power of the Sigil augmenting his own dark magic, Re has manufactured dozens of iron warriors - occult simulacra - to enforce his tyrannical rule.” She gestured towards the stacked guns. “Using divination and other magical arts in my quest for a means of destroying the tyrant, I discovered your world. I have learnt something of the power of these weapons through observation, but I do not know everything. We need your knowledge of their manufacture, and your experience in their use to defeat our cruel oppressor.”

Sekem, her brother, nodded in sincere agreement. “Re’s sorcery is very powerful now that he possesses the Sigil of Samias, far stronger than the magic of my sister, who is acknowledged as a master of the art. However, we believe the tyrant’s thaumaturgy is no match for your firearms. They are from another realm, and therefore immune to his sorcerous defences. With more of these weapons, a rebellion will succeed.”

Before James could fully process this incredible revelation, the door to the chamber was violently struck. With a mighty crack, an iron fist punched through solid hardwood as if it were just cardboard. Splinters flew like darts. The trio jumped in fright. Sekem shouted a warning, drawing the curved dagger at his waist. “Re’s occult minions have found us, discovered our secret hiding place! James Colt, prepare to use your weapons!”

James grimly drew his automatic. More thunderous blows hammered the door. The terrific onslaught tore the panel from its hinges and hurled it to the floor. Three hulking metallic figures burst swiftly into the room, their movement fleet and fluid despite being cast from solid iron. James gasped in fright at the sight of the sorcerer's fearful simulacra.

Neftar's voice, calm and decisive despite the danger, rang out as the iron monsters rushed towards them, their razor-sharp claws extended, ready to brutally tear the trio limb-from-limb in an orgy of unbridled destruction. "Shoot the gemstones,” she cried. “That's where Re's power, which animates his foul creations, lies."

Fighting down his panic, James aimed carefully. The gun roared like an angry beast. Hot lead flew. Gemstones shattered, and two of the three simulacra collapsed in a crashing heap of inanimate metal. But before he could aim again, the third was upon him in a wild rush. James desperately leapt aside. The horror tore past like an express train. It crashed into the table, sending grimoires flying. Spinning about the iron monster pounced. The automatic thundered. The thing tumbled at James’ feet, mere inches away from tearing out his throat.

The young man shakily wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked at the iron monster. It was a gaunt skeletoid parody of the human form, with a glowing crimson gemstone, now shattered, embedded in its forehead. It was a thing of absolute horror far more powerful than any warrior of flesh and blood could ever be, invulnerable to both swords and arrows.

Neftar spoke. Her voice, tinged with urgency, focused his eyes upon her person and his jittery mind upon her words. “Re is now aware of the plot we make against him. His occult vision has penetrated my eldritch camouflage. I cannot send you home, at least not now, James Colt. The magic of the ring that took us to your world and brought us back to mine has been depleted. Your only hope of survival is to join us in our desperate fight against the evil tyrant. Re will expect us to flee now that we have been discovered. But if we do the unexpected and attack immediately, we might take him by surprise.”

James, with an effort, mastered his nerves and carefully considered her words. Before, he had been thinking only of himself. But now, after encountering the dreadful simulacra, it was clear that Neftar and Sekem needed all the help they could get. He still was not happy about being dragged into this situation. However, it seemed that fate, or perhaps destiny had decided he was to be more than just a firearms dealer. The young man sensed the change within him. Like it or not, the multiverse had cast him in a different role, and he was now involved in these people’s desperate fight for freedom.

“I will help you,” he resolutely said as he holstered his automatic. James picked up three lever-action shotguns from the stack, loaded them and then showed Neftar and Sekem how to use the weapons, explaining their workings and their limitations in swift, concise language.

Thus armed, and with bandoliers of additional ammunition, they left the cellar of the abandoned building and stepped onto the street. It was night, and in the dark James felt more intensely the tingling of the occult forces that permeated this strange reality. Three amethyst moons rode the starry heavens, their soft purple light illuminating the sleeping city of whitewashed mud brick buildings and broad palm-tree lined avenues. In the distance were temples - stepped pyramids of pale limestone that glinted in the darkness - each level dedicated to the many deities of Thebsuna’s complex pantheon.

Cautioning silence, Neftar stealthily led the way through a maze of back streets towards the palace of the tyrannical sorcerer. The tramp of iron feet suddenly rang out in the darkness. Hearts pounding, the trio raced into a narrow alley. They crouched nervously in the claustrophobic darkness, barely evading more animated horrors bound for their former hiding place.

“They’re gone,” announced Neftar in a whisper after the tramp of metallic feet had faded. “Re’s iron minions are searching for us. I’m using a new spell to hide our presence. But we must press on before the sorcerer penetrates that also.”

Like cats they stalked through the night. Their goal neared. Again, the frightening tread of iron rang on cobblestones. The breathless trio waited in the shadows, tense and jittery, their presence further obscured by Neftar’s cloaking magic. After what seemed an age, the squad of animated horrors passed on by. The crunching of iron feet sparkling on stone faded, and the nervous trio were able to resume their fraught journey.

Finally, after what seemed an age of sweat-drenched tension, they reached the palace. Peering cautiously out from the mouth of a shadowed laneway, James saw that the building was not some mediaeval stone citadel, but a towering edifice of gleaming brass and black iron that reeked of the dark energies which had recently been used to create it. The entrance to the palace was heavily guarded, cordoned off by the tyrants' sorcerous creations of animated metal.

“Neftar, can you use your magic to distract the simlicarum?” softly enquired James.

“I dare not,” replied the girl. “I have already used much of my powers to conceal us from them, and their evil master. I must conserve what remains of my occult strength for the forthcoming battle with Re. We’ll have to rush them and rely on the power of our guns.”

The trio readied themselves for the conflict. Holding fast to their courage, they exploded from concealment and dashed madly towards the entrance to the palace. A hoard of simulacra rushed to meet them. The pounding of their iron feet on the flagstones was like a storm of thunder. Shotguns blazed in a roaring response. Occult gemstones shattered under the rain of hammering buckshot. Iron statues, bereft of their animating force, crashed inert upon the ground. Their magical crystals, proof against arrows and sword strokes, were no match for modern weapons.

Racing through the imposing entrance, the trio desperately fought their way through courtyards and corridors, their shots ringing out against the silence of the night as they ran a gauntlet of death and terror. An iron monster rushed at James, leaping wildly at him from a passageway. He sent a blast of buckshot into its horrid skull-like face. It went down. Another took its place. Neftar’s gun roared. It, too, crashed to the floor, and the panting, sweat-streaked trio burst into the grand hall. Here, Re stood waiting. The man was tall and thin. His robe was as black as night and covered in complex mandalas that glowed with occult power. About his neck was an emerald pendant engraved with mystic symbols - the Sigil of Samias. His eyes, set in his vulpine face, blazed with contempt and arrogant defiance.

Neftar, her ammunition expended, cast aside the useless shotgun. She fearlessly walked forward, her hands glowing with crackling lightning, determination stamped upon her face. “Re, killer of my father, betrayer of his trust, your murderous reign of terror ends tonight!"

Re laughed, his voice a grating rasp. “Foolish girl, do you think you can stand against me? Do you really think your weak magic or your puny guns can defeat me? With the Sigil of Samias I am the master of occult forces you could only dream of wielding.”

James and Sekem swiftly raised their guns to blast the cocky foe to bloody ruin. Re grinned evilly. He’d also raised his hands, but more swiftly than his enemies. A black ray sprang forth from both his palms. Neftar quickly cast a spell. A glowing shield materialised in front of her. It deflected the stabbing beam, but she wasn’t fast enough to stop the second ray. James and Sekem were caught in the sweeping beam, which penetrated the half-formed shield Neftar had cast before them. Both men fell in screaming agony to the floor.

Neftar cursed the sorcerer. Her magic violently clashed with his as they engaged in fierce combat. In an instant the room was filled with a deadly web of hissing emerald rays of occult energy and crimson lightning bolts of supernatural power. The palace shook with the thunder of colliding preternatural forces. The air shimmered with eldritch power that snapped and hissed like writhing serpents. James struggled through his debilitating pain. He levered himself up upon an elbow. Even from a distance he could tell Neftar was losing. Re’s magic was too strong. It blazed with eye-watering intensity. A nimbus of scintillating radiance surrounded his body in an armour of occult light. His bolt of terrific unearthly force struck Neftar’s shield. It vanished in a booming actinic spray of hissing sparks and crackling discharges. The girl tumbled to the floor with a cry of pain and stabbing fear, utterly defenceless.

More simulacra surged into the room, responding to the sorcerer’s psychic summons. James gasped in horror, but not from the sight of the iron monsters. Re’s hands glowed crimson with destructive power. Grinning sadistically, he raised both arms in preparation to cast balls of blazing death upon the helpless girl. The young man jerked up his shotgun as the iron monsters charged him. He squeezed the trigger with a desperate prayer. The weapon roared, kicked violently against his shoulder. Buckshot tore into the sorcerer before he could react. Re fell, the gaping wound in his chest spewing blood. The simulacra rushing towards James were almost upon him when they crashed to the floor. Their source of animation had ended with the sorcerer’s demise.

The silence that followed was eerie. James helped Sekem to his feet. Neither man was badly hurt. Neftar’s shield hadn’t stopped the occult ray, but it had considerably weakened what would have otherwise been a fatal dose of supernatural radiation.

Both men stared at the tyrant's bloody corpse. The full import of events came upon James. He’d just killed a sorcerer, a thought that would have been laughable only hours ago. The young man turned his gaze from the sobering sight of the mutilated body, sickened by what he had had to do, for he was not a ruthless cold-blooded killer. Neftar was staring at him with a look of gratitude in her large dark eyes, her hand going to the minor burn on her cheek she had sustained during her desperate battle with Re.

“You have saved me, James Colt,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “And Thebsuna, also. Your actions have brought Re’s awful reign of terror to an end.”

“Killing is indeed a horrible thing,” added Sekem solemnly as he placed a comforting hand on James’ shoulder. “But in this case it was both necessary and justifiable. My beloved sister would be dead if it were not for you.”

Neftar hugged him, and he began to feel better.

**********

Three months had passed. It was early morning and James, who had just awoken, lay in an ornate bed whose artfully carved siderails and legs took the form of elongated cat-like creatures. Neftar had rewarded him handsomely for having saved her and her people, and he was now living in a wing of the palace. But it wasn’t Re’s, for that had slowly evaporated like subliming dry ice. With the sorcerer’s death, his magical creations had dissipated like wind-blown smoke, his occult powers no longer present to sustain their existence.

The palace in which James currently resided was that of Taztos, the former king - Neftar’s deceased father. It was a much smaller and more elegant sandstone building of graceful arches, slender columns, flowering courtyard gardens and bubbling fountains. There was a lightness to it, a soothing contrast to the sorcerer’s domineering abode. Neftar, having regained the Sigil of Samias, was now queen and, quite shockingly, Sekem her consort, for marriage between fraternal twins was considered sacred. Scandalous though it was by Earth standards, James realised this was an entirely different world with vastly divergent beliefs, attitudes and traditions; and so not wishing to offend those whom he had come to consider his friends, he hid the disquiet that their incestuous union caused him.

He turned and gazed at Tinmit, the young and attractive woman sleeping next to him, his appreciative eyes tracing her lissom nudity. Neftar had assigned her to him, not as a slave (thankfully, slavery was illegal in Thebsuna), but as a free servant. After several months of getting to know each other they had fallen in love, and now Tinmit eagerly shared his bed.

James smiled, realising that this was not the end but the beginning of his adventure. He had traded mundanity for a world of occult power and tyrannical sorcerers, and for the first time in a long while, he felt truly alive. He would stay, he realised, not only because of Tinmit, but because this was a far better life than selling death-dealing guns to frightened people. He was helping Neftar and Sekem build a new, just and prosperous Thebsuna. There was nothing holding him to the world of his birth, for not only had he found love, but also a new and better purpose in this strange and dangerous but fascinating realm.

The End