Post by hawksmoor on Jan 9, 2015 11:44:38 GMT -5
The Boom Tube opened sharply, flooding the dense, crimson cavern with sound, light and the rushing of air and dust.
The formerly narrow energy-tunnel, barely higher than Traci’s head, and causing Barda to stoop widened out into a huge, hollow expanse. The pair jumped out onto the ground, the tube closing abruptly behind them, unsettling the stifling and stale air around them. The walls, which twisted and turned at the whims of the Rust Red rocks around it, turned into an intricate and massive spiral descending down into darkness. Barda straightened up, and leant backwards sharply. Traci heard her vertebrae separate.
“Ew. Don’t you know that it gives you Arthritis?”
“I have researched this extensively, Traci,” Barda said, cracking her knuckles, “Bubbles of Nitrogen in the joints, being released make the snapping. It causes no lasting effects on the human body. You are wrong. Also, I am not a human being.”
Traci shrugged and put her hands against the rock face, feeling its contours.
“I’m Seventeen years old, I’m going to be wrong a lot in my life, why should this make any difference?” She snorted at the dust filling the air around them. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, aren’t we?”
“We are in central Australia, one of the strongholds of the Eternity Council,” Barda said. She touched Traci’s arm gently, “Please, we have a lot of achieve, and not very much time to do it. You must stay focused.”
Barda led Traci towards the spiral, the pair of them beginning their descent into darkness. The hand carved steps began to loom before them, at different heights, lengths and carved with different symbols. Some were painted in great strokes from fingers, others intricately created from tiny dots. The lamps around them began to light of their own according, each filled with different material, giving off colours Traci had never seen before. Some were filled with darkness, others luminous gas and water, while others burned with coloured flames.
“Old magic,” Traci said. The words fell over her like snow. She gripped her shoulder blades tightly, while Barda powered on ahead, removing her helmet, and letting her Raven hair fall over her shoulders. She was breathtakingly beautiful. The magic around her felt as though it were piling up, but like snow, when she attempted it grasp it, it melted away from her fingertips.
“Extremely old,” Barda said, “This magic was what the Second World was founded upon.”
Traci tilted her head to one side. Barda continued her march down the stairs.
“These worlds you keep talking about, giving them numbers and stuff? Why?”
“They are what you would refer to as cultural mythology, I suspect. Like the Gods of the Greeks, or the Hindus, but very much separate from them. Each World superseded the other, eventually destroying all traces of it. The First World was the birth of the New Gods, what my race is called by you Humans, and mortal things. The First Worlders, were beings of such great power and scale that their bodies were the fundamental building blocks of reality. Relitiva, the Gravitational Goddess provided us with the ability to stand upon the Earth, her huge indefinable mass birthing the fundamental forces which her siblings built upon, building matter, building the universe, the electromagnetic spectrum and much, much more. To me, this whole universe from my ability to speak to you, and to stand next to you, is because of the building blocks put in place by the marks left by the First World Gods.”
Traci looked at her as though she were insane.
“You’re kidding. You want me to believe that the universe was made by some fat lady, and that everything I am is because of that?”
Barda smirked a little.
“Believe what you want, Traci. I believe it, because it is the history of my ancestors, just as you may well believe that the Direction of One is the best band ever. Such as the first world ended, when the Second World began. They replaced their parents, and indeed, only fragments of these parents exist today…the tube we travelled through, that…that was the womb of Relitiva.”
“You’re making this up,” Traci said, “and its One Direction, and they’re not the best…”
“Perhaps,” Barda smiled, “but you must understand, perception of reality is as strong as reality itself with the forces we deal in. Magic is nothing more than another form of perception, as are Gods and forces of nature. They are all perceived through our biology and our minds. This is not natural to the Third world Gods, which is why they are targeting specific things on this planet.”
Traci waved her hands around a little, as though she were swatting away mist, or insects.
“So, and please stop me if the midget mortal girl is wrong, that woman who was intent of making me a little Traci jui earlier, she was from the Third World, right?”
“Correct,” Barda said.
“Man, I don’t, really, get this. Third World Gods have come back to break stuff. Why? Why now, you know?” Traci scratched her back slightly, brushing some of the dust from her hair.
“Because they can, Traci, because they are conceptual entities who grow from being perpetuated. They are like…what do you call them…the small things which make you ooze?”
“Virus’?” Traci asked.
“Yes, the Virus’s. They make you ooze because you are reacting to them in a very specific way, correct? Your body is screaming for you to make less ooze and remove the Virus because it does not belong. This is what the Third Worlders are doing, they no longer belong in this world, because the Fourth crushed them, but they remain, and are killing parts of the world to build themselves. Their homes.”
“Natch,” Traci said, clicking her fingers, “So, all of this is because the Third World Guys and Girls don’t want to be dead anymore? They want a place to be, and the only way to do that is to rip a hole in the face of the world, and bury themselves in it, like horrible little moles? And…I guess…the reason the Tower of Eternity blew up was also because of the Third World Gods, who were the ones who were fighting outside of the building before it fell on me, looking for a way into our world.”
“Almost,” a gravelly voice said from the darkness. Traci froze immediately. Instinctively she reached out with whatever magical abilities she possessed, only to find, that in the middle of the Australian outback, all she had were her own two hands.
A thickly bearded Australian Aboriginal man stepped from the darkness. He leaned heavily on a staff, supporting his weight with rake thin wrists, and wrinkled skin. Salt markings covered the majority of his body, with a large, stylised lightning bolt running from his left shoulder to his right hip, in jagged, white streaks. Deep grooves lined his face, and his brows, with bushy eyebrows, furrowed at the sight of them.
“I am, Diablo Blacksmith, head of the Council of Eternity,” he said. Barda bowed deeply, Diablo offered the same kind of greeting to her, or as best an approximation as he could.
“It has been many years, Diablo. I see that you have changed very little,” Barda said.
“Yes, I see that you are still as powerful and beautiful as you were. More so.”
Traci cocked her head, as Barda touched Diablo’s arm gently, and he cupped her face.
“Whoa. WHOA! Aren’t you married to that annoying Miracle guy?”
“I am,” Barda said, “But magic, and Gods, are beyond such things as time, Traci. Diablo and I…”
“Used to be fuck-buddies?” Traci questioned, sticking her tongue out.
“A term I am unused to hearing, and a tone I do not appreciate, young magician,” he said. He turned on his staff, the light in the room, turning with him. He led the way, down a corridor that didn’t exist.
“Your tone, Traci,” Barda said, touching her shoulder firmly, “If you do not watch it, then it will be all that remains of you. Do we understand each other? The world of magic is not constrained by mortal rules, nor is it constrained by paltry things like time.”
Traci gulped and nodded.
“You are the future of magic, Young Thirteen, but futures can be aborted,” Diablo said, “Futures come and go every second of every day. Time…it is not what you believe.”
He stopped, and turned to her, suddenly; his dark face was lit perfectly, and inches from her own. They stood in a huge central chamber, the size of a thousand cities, but as small as a tiny dot. Traci stumbled, dropping to a knee. The world span around her. Magic wasn’t a snowy day, it was an avalanche of icebergs.
“Welcome,” he said, “This is a place of learning.”
“I…” Traci said, pushing her hands against skyscrapers and dust motes respectively. “I feel sick.”
“Barda?” Diablo said, as he shuffled towards a huge stone throne, carved from the native, iron ore rich rocks of his home land. Around it lay the furs of Australia animals, animated by the magical forces that lived inside of him.
“I ask of you, to understand, and to bear with me, I am old, and…exposition is not something I am readily associated with,” Diablo continued, as Barda lifted Traci to her feet, “I have…we have…very little time.”
“I shall make this brief, and Barda can bring your questions to bear. I am Diablo Blacksmith, Magician of the Australian Dream-time, God Handler, and CEO of the Eternity Corporation which owned the Tower of Eternity. I fought the Third World God, Magog, and I died at his hands. I am now infected and the Third World, threatens to bury itself inside of my magic, my home.”
Traci clung to Barda as though she were a lift raft in a sea of roiling lava. Her eyes wide as she saw Magog, the huge, hulking figure of violence, drive his staff through the midsection of Diablo, and blast his body out of existence. An illusion which stung her to her very soul. She felt the building die again, and was over-come with emotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Died? Are you a Ghost?”
“Dream,” he corrected. He arched an eyebrow at Barda, “She knows no history. Realms. Are you sure?”
“As I could be,” Barda said, “I saw her fight with the ferocity of the City. She is an urban magician, Diablo, one of a Coven of new forms.”
“Bah,” Diablo waved his hand, “New forms? I have seen new forms rise and fall. I have dreamt of New Forms so often that there is truly nothing new in this world. Only rehashing. Reviewing old material. Reinvention. There is nothing new here.”
“Hey,” Traci said, righting herself, “I just fought a God of Violence on my own and survived it. I watched your building fall over and I survived that. I’ve been surviving using magic and myself for damn near five years, so you know what? You might think you’re some sort of magical god who can tell me what I can and can’t do, but guess what? You’re dead, and I, once again, have survived.”
Traci crossed her arms, stood unsteadily on her own two feet and stared hard at the Aboriginal man, who allowed a gap toothed smile to spread over his face.
“I like you,” he said, readjusting himself on his throne, “Not new, but…I like you.”
He ran a hand through his beard and gestured towards the far wall of the enourmously expanse of small that was the cave.
“You stand now, in the Underlands of My Magic. I dreamed this place into existence, this Dreamtime God factory in the Heart of my country. We sit within Uluru, listening to the drums of the Dreamtime, the skin of the Rainbow Serpent expanding and sloughing against reality, from beyond mythology, beyond magic. I dreamed this Magic, and here it is.”
He opened his hand, a multi-coloured flame burning in his palm. His hand tremored for a moment, and he closed his eyes. Traci could see his knuckles growing white as he gripped his staff.
“I did not dream Gods,” he said, looking at Barda. She nodded to him. “I could not dream such beauty. Of Gods, you know, yes?”
Traci half nodded. She watched Diablo carefully.
“I know what Barda told me. That Gods are real, and they’re good at punching things and looking hot while doing it.”
Diablo nodded sagely. He released his staff, and touched his chest gingerly. His legs appeared to be growing smaller, the flesh around them sagging and the muscle in them slowly trickling away.
“You know of the First of Worlds, which built on all others and I am sure you understand the second, which built upon that, but the third world? That is a realm of concept and emotion. A turbulent world which when given form threatened to destroy our universe. Fortunately…I was not alive to see that time, and have only ever experienced the Fourth, and Barda…”
“Ew.”
“They built this world, in some respects, and with it, the geography which goes with it. I did not dream countries, rather, countries dreamed me. This country, dreamed me. A sleeping monolith of dirt and animals. Countries provide their own form of power and magic to their magicians. Cultural magic, environmental magic. This is the domain of the Council of Shazam, a Coven of Geographic Shaman. We deal with magic in this form, in its multitude of forms, and its currency. We tamed it, we hold it and it informs our own vision of ourselves.”
He nodded sagely, casting a light on the wall behind him. Miles of hand painted artwork told thousands of stories, Traci noticed a few towards the bottom, of a man, who resembled Diablo, walking between trees, and into cities, pulling the mass of Australia behind him. She saw a man with a bear skin made of Clouds, flowing around his head, and a woman who was as huge as a mountain, holding Britain in her arms.
“The Tower was our stronghold. Our together place, where we met to administer our judgements and our decisions,” Diablo said.
“You kept a lot of books there, didn’t you? A lot of artefacts and a lot of magic,” Traci asked.
“We kept all books there, all written and drawn records of our combined time together. Those records are destroyed. We have only individual places of power now. Places where we record things the way we remember it, not how it actually was. The war of time plays martyr with perception, Traci. Remember.”
He winced, and for a moment, she thought she saw his face change colour. Barda took a step forward towards him, but he brushed her away with a gesture.
The ways and means to tame the wild magic’s are cast now only in our memories, in our experiences. Traci…” Diablo got to his feet and shuffled down towards her. She could see now, the open wound in his chest, weeping rainbows, and animal fur. She gagged at the smell of it, and could see a shimmering world of beyond inside of him.
“Diablo,” Barda said, carefully touching his shoulder. He shrugged and took her hand gently.
“She must learn, and there is so much. Traci, the Tower was destroyed and the magic contained within thrown across the world. Fragments of the Tower, are out of sync with reality, but will land soon. They will take root in the countries of the world, providing powerful transformations for those who find those fragments. Those who will become the new Council of Shazam.”
“And You?” Traci asked.
“I am not without my replacement,” he said carefully. He squeezed Barda’s hand.
“I task you, Traci, you with your Coven of Modern Magicians and Witches, to safe guard these new forms. These new types of magic will evolve and transform, these Third World Gods will try to destroy and consume it all, to bend it to their will, just as they felled the Tower and absorbed its place in the world. He…”
Diablo stumbled, the form in his chest twisting into a horned, and grinning face. White teeth spread like butter over a craggy, blue rock like face. Curling golden horns hooked around where ears should sit, and stared, inanimate at Traci and Barda.
“Gog is amongst us,” Diablo said, sitting on the ground slowly.
“I speak no more of magic, now I speak of Elementals. These forms of Gods, from the Third world, their power sits in the old ways. Elements of Fire and Water, Earth and Wind…these are the elements they use, burn and consume. Nature is their industry, their fuel, and they will burn it to the very ground to exist in this world…but there are elementals beyond those.”
“There are?”
“Elementals of a modern world. Do you believe only magic evolves, Traci? That nature is exempt from evolution? It IS evolution. Elementals of a modern era have evolved, and after finishing me..” Diablo coughed into his hand. Blue spatters of blood which resembled the shape of the face in his chest, “Magog travelled to Britain to stamp on the face of the Refuse Elemental, Mr. Combustible.”
“Stupid name,” Barda said.
“Yes, it is, but somehow, more representative of his element than “The Garbage Thing” or “The Heap”. Still, I am a man of a singular title.” Diablo, sitting down heavily, laid his staff at his feet. Traci noticed that, in tiny, intricate dots of paint, lightning bolts and symbols of Australia were painted on its surface.
“These Elementals are part of the key to stopping these Gods. You, Traci, you hold the key magic in your hands – The Wild magic of this century. Please, do not allow any other to take it from you, or your Coven. With Barda, you have access to the power of Gods, and the rest of the Council know of you…they know your face, your aura and your power. Please…do not let the Elementals slip through your grasp. “
“I won’t but…Diablo, I don’t know where to start with this? Where do you find an elemental?”
Diablo hissed through his teeth and looked up at Barda, who nodded silently, before touching Traci’s forehead.
“For Godsakes, Girl, use this.”
“What?” Traci asked, looking up at the giant woman.
“You’re overcome with what is happening before you, I understand that. You are standing inside a Dream Time Engine, face to face with a God of Magic, and a Goddess of Violence…”
“and beauty…” Diablo added.
“Yes, that goes without saying,” Barda said, “Think, Traci. For Godsakes, Think.”
Traci bunched up her eyes and then slapped herself in the forehead.
“OH! Obviously, because, yeah, I am so dense today. Where do you find an elemental? Where do you find trees? In the forest. In their…element, yeah?”
She looked to Diablo and Barda for their reactions.
“Yes, in their element. I must make it clear to you though, Traci, while the Refuse is a powerful elemental force, it is not the key player to be addressed in this conflict. There are many modern realms which have elemental protectors, but only one is in a position where its new Avatar is to be born soon.”
“Diablo has a task for you, Traci,” Barda said. She stepped past the girl, moving for the first time. She sat down next to Diablo, cupping his bearded face in her hands. It seemed to calm the movements of the creature within him, but he was dissolving quickly.
“You must go to London, Traci. There is a special woman there,” Diablo said, his eyes flicking from Traci, to adoring Barda. The face in his chest twisted in anger, tiny impressions of fists manifested themselves over the salt markings of Diablo’s chest. His breathing became more erratic.
“London? How do I get to London from here?”
“These tunnels, Traci. These tunnels will take you to the cities of Australia. From there, I believe you have ways and means to make your own way?”
“Wait, you’re just going to fob me off when something is coming?”
“Traci. Barda. Gog is coming to lay waste to this machine,” he said, closing his eyes, eyelids heavier than he’d ever felt before, “Uluru is set to become a rock once more, solid and impervious. Please…do not allow him to take this strong hold as he has taken our tower.”
“But…”
“Do not argue with me, Traci Thirteen, or with my last breath I will curse you and destroy your family, your magic and your life. I am Shazam, I am Diablo Blacksmith and I will not be trifled with and ignored like some common mortal imbecile!”
Barda gripped his wrists tightly, whispering calming noises to him.
“Nobody wants to leave this world, Diablo,” she whispered. Traci looked away.
“She calls herself the Knight, Traci. Her name is Beryl, and she saw an Elemental die. What she doesn’t realise…” Diablo coughed, the sound of thunder growing outside the rock.
“What?” Traci asked.
“You must go,” Barda said suddenly, getting to her feet and moving away from Diablo.
“Barda, what doesn’t this Beryl girl realise?”
“Traci, do not make me ask again,” Barda said. Diablo fell backwards, his body twisting and snapping back and forth violently.
“Barda!” Traci yelled, balling her fists up, “Tell me what she doesn’t know!”
“I do not know, Child,” Barda said quietly, unhooking her staff from her belt, “I do not know, and if you do not leave immediately, no-one will ever find out.”
Diablo’s body inverted itself into a spire of flesh and bone, from within that collection of gristle, a form produced itself, tentatively at first. A huge Golden hand, three times the size of Barda already. She hit it with her staff, and it twitched. Not hurt. Confused.
“GO, you little fool! GO!”
The hand flexed and shot out, a golden forearm attached to it. It rammed Barda into the far wall, smashing the paintings of human magical history on top of her, in thousands of tonnes of rock. Traci retched, and stumbled forwards.
“God.God.God.” She turned on her heels and ran for the nearest tunnel. Behind her she could hear the scraping of something pulling itself through, and laughing, a sound of a thousand animals dying.
“Gog…Gog is come,” it rumbled, “Gog is good.”
“Gog, should be dead,” Barda said, before her words trailed off into nothing.
Eyes full of tears, Traci ran. Fuelled by nothing more than human biology, she ran with nothing coursing through her veins by adrenaline and anger. Hot air blasted at her heels, with dust roiling around her, thrown out by the creature which pursued her down the tunnel.
She allowed herself a glance back, a monster, a hundred foot high, crawled on its hands and knees. Purple, craggy face, with brilliant golden horns, and teeth of ivory tombstones. It’s huge, yellow eye focused on her for a single, brilliant moment.
“Thirteeennn,” it hissed, “Gog loves you.”
A smack of hot air and the honk of a horn told her she’d reached the end of the tunnel. The street before her led out into the main drag of Freemantle, Perth. The Cappuccino strip started a few hundred feet down the road, and she stood outside a Boost Smoothie restaurant.
She picked up herself and ran again, running down to the beach front and running into the ocean until she was suspended in water up to her chest. She plunged her face into the salty water and screamed, as loudly as she could, washing the crimson dust from her body and hair.
Taking a moment, she slowly walked from the water, pushing some soaking hair from her eyes, repeating the mantra slowly, and clearly.
“Go to London. Find Beryl. Kill Gog.”
The formerly narrow energy-tunnel, barely higher than Traci’s head, and causing Barda to stoop widened out into a huge, hollow expanse. The pair jumped out onto the ground, the tube closing abruptly behind them, unsettling the stifling and stale air around them. The walls, which twisted and turned at the whims of the Rust Red rocks around it, turned into an intricate and massive spiral descending down into darkness. Barda straightened up, and leant backwards sharply. Traci heard her vertebrae separate.
“Ew. Don’t you know that it gives you Arthritis?”
“I have researched this extensively, Traci,” Barda said, cracking her knuckles, “Bubbles of Nitrogen in the joints, being released make the snapping. It causes no lasting effects on the human body. You are wrong. Also, I am not a human being.”
Traci shrugged and put her hands against the rock face, feeling its contours.
“I’m Seventeen years old, I’m going to be wrong a lot in my life, why should this make any difference?” She snorted at the dust filling the air around them. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, aren’t we?”
“We are in central Australia, one of the strongholds of the Eternity Council,” Barda said. She touched Traci’s arm gently, “Please, we have a lot of achieve, and not very much time to do it. You must stay focused.”
Barda led Traci towards the spiral, the pair of them beginning their descent into darkness. The hand carved steps began to loom before them, at different heights, lengths and carved with different symbols. Some were painted in great strokes from fingers, others intricately created from tiny dots. The lamps around them began to light of their own according, each filled with different material, giving off colours Traci had never seen before. Some were filled with darkness, others luminous gas and water, while others burned with coloured flames.
“Old magic,” Traci said. The words fell over her like snow. She gripped her shoulder blades tightly, while Barda powered on ahead, removing her helmet, and letting her Raven hair fall over her shoulders. She was breathtakingly beautiful. The magic around her felt as though it were piling up, but like snow, when she attempted it grasp it, it melted away from her fingertips.
“Extremely old,” Barda said, “This magic was what the Second World was founded upon.”
Traci tilted her head to one side. Barda continued her march down the stairs.
“These worlds you keep talking about, giving them numbers and stuff? Why?”
“They are what you would refer to as cultural mythology, I suspect. Like the Gods of the Greeks, or the Hindus, but very much separate from them. Each World superseded the other, eventually destroying all traces of it. The First World was the birth of the New Gods, what my race is called by you Humans, and mortal things. The First Worlders, were beings of such great power and scale that their bodies were the fundamental building blocks of reality. Relitiva, the Gravitational Goddess provided us with the ability to stand upon the Earth, her huge indefinable mass birthing the fundamental forces which her siblings built upon, building matter, building the universe, the electromagnetic spectrum and much, much more. To me, this whole universe from my ability to speak to you, and to stand next to you, is because of the building blocks put in place by the marks left by the First World Gods.”
Traci looked at her as though she were insane.
“You’re kidding. You want me to believe that the universe was made by some fat lady, and that everything I am is because of that?”
Barda smirked a little.
“Believe what you want, Traci. I believe it, because it is the history of my ancestors, just as you may well believe that the Direction of One is the best band ever. Such as the first world ended, when the Second World began. They replaced their parents, and indeed, only fragments of these parents exist today…the tube we travelled through, that…that was the womb of Relitiva.”
“You’re making this up,” Traci said, “and its One Direction, and they’re not the best…”
“Perhaps,” Barda smiled, “but you must understand, perception of reality is as strong as reality itself with the forces we deal in. Magic is nothing more than another form of perception, as are Gods and forces of nature. They are all perceived through our biology and our minds. This is not natural to the Third world Gods, which is why they are targeting specific things on this planet.”
Traci waved her hands around a little, as though she were swatting away mist, or insects.
“So, and please stop me if the midget mortal girl is wrong, that woman who was intent of making me a little Traci jui earlier, she was from the Third World, right?”
“Correct,” Barda said.
“Man, I don’t, really, get this. Third World Gods have come back to break stuff. Why? Why now, you know?” Traci scratched her back slightly, brushing some of the dust from her hair.
“Because they can, Traci, because they are conceptual entities who grow from being perpetuated. They are like…what do you call them…the small things which make you ooze?”
“Virus’?” Traci asked.
“Yes, the Virus’s. They make you ooze because you are reacting to them in a very specific way, correct? Your body is screaming for you to make less ooze and remove the Virus because it does not belong. This is what the Third Worlders are doing, they no longer belong in this world, because the Fourth crushed them, but they remain, and are killing parts of the world to build themselves. Their homes.”
“Natch,” Traci said, clicking her fingers, “So, all of this is because the Third World Guys and Girls don’t want to be dead anymore? They want a place to be, and the only way to do that is to rip a hole in the face of the world, and bury themselves in it, like horrible little moles? And…I guess…the reason the Tower of Eternity blew up was also because of the Third World Gods, who were the ones who were fighting outside of the building before it fell on me, looking for a way into our world.”
“Almost,” a gravelly voice said from the darkness. Traci froze immediately. Instinctively she reached out with whatever magical abilities she possessed, only to find, that in the middle of the Australian outback, all she had were her own two hands.
A thickly bearded Australian Aboriginal man stepped from the darkness. He leaned heavily on a staff, supporting his weight with rake thin wrists, and wrinkled skin. Salt markings covered the majority of his body, with a large, stylised lightning bolt running from his left shoulder to his right hip, in jagged, white streaks. Deep grooves lined his face, and his brows, with bushy eyebrows, furrowed at the sight of them.
“I am, Diablo Blacksmith, head of the Council of Eternity,” he said. Barda bowed deeply, Diablo offered the same kind of greeting to her, or as best an approximation as he could.
“It has been many years, Diablo. I see that you have changed very little,” Barda said.
“Yes, I see that you are still as powerful and beautiful as you were. More so.”
Traci cocked her head, as Barda touched Diablo’s arm gently, and he cupped her face.
“Whoa. WHOA! Aren’t you married to that annoying Miracle guy?”
“I am,” Barda said, “But magic, and Gods, are beyond such things as time, Traci. Diablo and I…”
“Used to be fuck-buddies?” Traci questioned, sticking her tongue out.
“A term I am unused to hearing, and a tone I do not appreciate, young magician,” he said. He turned on his staff, the light in the room, turning with him. He led the way, down a corridor that didn’t exist.
“Your tone, Traci,” Barda said, touching her shoulder firmly, “If you do not watch it, then it will be all that remains of you. Do we understand each other? The world of magic is not constrained by mortal rules, nor is it constrained by paltry things like time.”
Traci gulped and nodded.
“You are the future of magic, Young Thirteen, but futures can be aborted,” Diablo said, “Futures come and go every second of every day. Time…it is not what you believe.”
He stopped, and turned to her, suddenly; his dark face was lit perfectly, and inches from her own. They stood in a huge central chamber, the size of a thousand cities, but as small as a tiny dot. Traci stumbled, dropping to a knee. The world span around her. Magic wasn’t a snowy day, it was an avalanche of icebergs.
“Welcome,” he said, “This is a place of learning.”
“I…” Traci said, pushing her hands against skyscrapers and dust motes respectively. “I feel sick.”
“Barda?” Diablo said, as he shuffled towards a huge stone throne, carved from the native, iron ore rich rocks of his home land. Around it lay the furs of Australia animals, animated by the magical forces that lived inside of him.
“I ask of you, to understand, and to bear with me, I am old, and…exposition is not something I am readily associated with,” Diablo continued, as Barda lifted Traci to her feet, “I have…we have…very little time.”
“I shall make this brief, and Barda can bring your questions to bear. I am Diablo Blacksmith, Magician of the Australian Dream-time, God Handler, and CEO of the Eternity Corporation which owned the Tower of Eternity. I fought the Third World God, Magog, and I died at his hands. I am now infected and the Third World, threatens to bury itself inside of my magic, my home.”
Traci clung to Barda as though she were a lift raft in a sea of roiling lava. Her eyes wide as she saw Magog, the huge, hulking figure of violence, drive his staff through the midsection of Diablo, and blast his body out of existence. An illusion which stung her to her very soul. She felt the building die again, and was over-come with emotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Died? Are you a Ghost?”
“Dream,” he corrected. He arched an eyebrow at Barda, “She knows no history. Realms. Are you sure?”
“As I could be,” Barda said, “I saw her fight with the ferocity of the City. She is an urban magician, Diablo, one of a Coven of new forms.”
“Bah,” Diablo waved his hand, “New forms? I have seen new forms rise and fall. I have dreamt of New Forms so often that there is truly nothing new in this world. Only rehashing. Reviewing old material. Reinvention. There is nothing new here.”
“Hey,” Traci said, righting herself, “I just fought a God of Violence on my own and survived it. I watched your building fall over and I survived that. I’ve been surviving using magic and myself for damn near five years, so you know what? You might think you’re some sort of magical god who can tell me what I can and can’t do, but guess what? You’re dead, and I, once again, have survived.”
Traci crossed her arms, stood unsteadily on her own two feet and stared hard at the Aboriginal man, who allowed a gap toothed smile to spread over his face.
“I like you,” he said, readjusting himself on his throne, “Not new, but…I like you.”
He ran a hand through his beard and gestured towards the far wall of the enourmously expanse of small that was the cave.
“You stand now, in the Underlands of My Magic. I dreamed this place into existence, this Dreamtime God factory in the Heart of my country. We sit within Uluru, listening to the drums of the Dreamtime, the skin of the Rainbow Serpent expanding and sloughing against reality, from beyond mythology, beyond magic. I dreamed this Magic, and here it is.”
He opened his hand, a multi-coloured flame burning in his palm. His hand tremored for a moment, and he closed his eyes. Traci could see his knuckles growing white as he gripped his staff.
“I did not dream Gods,” he said, looking at Barda. She nodded to him. “I could not dream such beauty. Of Gods, you know, yes?”
Traci half nodded. She watched Diablo carefully.
“I know what Barda told me. That Gods are real, and they’re good at punching things and looking hot while doing it.”
Diablo nodded sagely. He released his staff, and touched his chest gingerly. His legs appeared to be growing smaller, the flesh around them sagging and the muscle in them slowly trickling away.
“You know of the First of Worlds, which built on all others and I am sure you understand the second, which built upon that, but the third world? That is a realm of concept and emotion. A turbulent world which when given form threatened to destroy our universe. Fortunately…I was not alive to see that time, and have only ever experienced the Fourth, and Barda…”
“Ew.”
“They built this world, in some respects, and with it, the geography which goes with it. I did not dream countries, rather, countries dreamed me. This country, dreamed me. A sleeping monolith of dirt and animals. Countries provide their own form of power and magic to their magicians. Cultural magic, environmental magic. This is the domain of the Council of Shazam, a Coven of Geographic Shaman. We deal with magic in this form, in its multitude of forms, and its currency. We tamed it, we hold it and it informs our own vision of ourselves.”
He nodded sagely, casting a light on the wall behind him. Miles of hand painted artwork told thousands of stories, Traci noticed a few towards the bottom, of a man, who resembled Diablo, walking between trees, and into cities, pulling the mass of Australia behind him. She saw a man with a bear skin made of Clouds, flowing around his head, and a woman who was as huge as a mountain, holding Britain in her arms.
“The Tower was our stronghold. Our together place, where we met to administer our judgements and our decisions,” Diablo said.
“You kept a lot of books there, didn’t you? A lot of artefacts and a lot of magic,” Traci asked.
“We kept all books there, all written and drawn records of our combined time together. Those records are destroyed. We have only individual places of power now. Places where we record things the way we remember it, not how it actually was. The war of time plays martyr with perception, Traci. Remember.”
He winced, and for a moment, she thought she saw his face change colour. Barda took a step forward towards him, but he brushed her away with a gesture.
The ways and means to tame the wild magic’s are cast now only in our memories, in our experiences. Traci…” Diablo got to his feet and shuffled down towards her. She could see now, the open wound in his chest, weeping rainbows, and animal fur. She gagged at the smell of it, and could see a shimmering world of beyond inside of him.
“Diablo,” Barda said, carefully touching his shoulder. He shrugged and took her hand gently.
“She must learn, and there is so much. Traci, the Tower was destroyed and the magic contained within thrown across the world. Fragments of the Tower, are out of sync with reality, but will land soon. They will take root in the countries of the world, providing powerful transformations for those who find those fragments. Those who will become the new Council of Shazam.”
“And You?” Traci asked.
“I am not without my replacement,” he said carefully. He squeezed Barda’s hand.
“I task you, Traci, you with your Coven of Modern Magicians and Witches, to safe guard these new forms. These new types of magic will evolve and transform, these Third World Gods will try to destroy and consume it all, to bend it to their will, just as they felled the Tower and absorbed its place in the world. He…”
Diablo stumbled, the form in his chest twisting into a horned, and grinning face. White teeth spread like butter over a craggy, blue rock like face. Curling golden horns hooked around where ears should sit, and stared, inanimate at Traci and Barda.
“Gog is amongst us,” Diablo said, sitting on the ground slowly.
“I speak no more of magic, now I speak of Elementals. These forms of Gods, from the Third world, their power sits in the old ways. Elements of Fire and Water, Earth and Wind…these are the elements they use, burn and consume. Nature is their industry, their fuel, and they will burn it to the very ground to exist in this world…but there are elementals beyond those.”
“There are?”
“Elementals of a modern world. Do you believe only magic evolves, Traci? That nature is exempt from evolution? It IS evolution. Elementals of a modern era have evolved, and after finishing me..” Diablo coughed into his hand. Blue spatters of blood which resembled the shape of the face in his chest, “Magog travelled to Britain to stamp on the face of the Refuse Elemental, Mr. Combustible.”
“Stupid name,” Barda said.
“Yes, it is, but somehow, more representative of his element than “The Garbage Thing” or “The Heap”. Still, I am a man of a singular title.” Diablo, sitting down heavily, laid his staff at his feet. Traci noticed that, in tiny, intricate dots of paint, lightning bolts and symbols of Australia were painted on its surface.
“These Elementals are part of the key to stopping these Gods. You, Traci, you hold the key magic in your hands – The Wild magic of this century. Please, do not allow any other to take it from you, or your Coven. With Barda, you have access to the power of Gods, and the rest of the Council know of you…they know your face, your aura and your power. Please…do not let the Elementals slip through your grasp. “
“I won’t but…Diablo, I don’t know where to start with this? Where do you find an elemental?”
Diablo hissed through his teeth and looked up at Barda, who nodded silently, before touching Traci’s forehead.
“For Godsakes, Girl, use this.”
“What?” Traci asked, looking up at the giant woman.
“You’re overcome with what is happening before you, I understand that. You are standing inside a Dream Time Engine, face to face with a God of Magic, and a Goddess of Violence…”
“and beauty…” Diablo added.
“Yes, that goes without saying,” Barda said, “Think, Traci. For Godsakes, Think.”
Traci bunched up her eyes and then slapped herself in the forehead.
“OH! Obviously, because, yeah, I am so dense today. Where do you find an elemental? Where do you find trees? In the forest. In their…element, yeah?”
She looked to Diablo and Barda for their reactions.
“Yes, in their element. I must make it clear to you though, Traci, while the Refuse is a powerful elemental force, it is not the key player to be addressed in this conflict. There are many modern realms which have elemental protectors, but only one is in a position where its new Avatar is to be born soon.”
“Diablo has a task for you, Traci,” Barda said. She stepped past the girl, moving for the first time. She sat down next to Diablo, cupping his bearded face in her hands. It seemed to calm the movements of the creature within him, but he was dissolving quickly.
“You must go to London, Traci. There is a special woman there,” Diablo said, his eyes flicking from Traci, to adoring Barda. The face in his chest twisted in anger, tiny impressions of fists manifested themselves over the salt markings of Diablo’s chest. His breathing became more erratic.
“London? How do I get to London from here?”
“These tunnels, Traci. These tunnels will take you to the cities of Australia. From there, I believe you have ways and means to make your own way?”
“Wait, you’re just going to fob me off when something is coming?”
“Traci. Barda. Gog is coming to lay waste to this machine,” he said, closing his eyes, eyelids heavier than he’d ever felt before, “Uluru is set to become a rock once more, solid and impervious. Please…do not allow him to take this strong hold as he has taken our tower.”
“But…”
“Do not argue with me, Traci Thirteen, or with my last breath I will curse you and destroy your family, your magic and your life. I am Shazam, I am Diablo Blacksmith and I will not be trifled with and ignored like some common mortal imbecile!”
Barda gripped his wrists tightly, whispering calming noises to him.
“Nobody wants to leave this world, Diablo,” she whispered. Traci looked away.
“She calls herself the Knight, Traci. Her name is Beryl, and she saw an Elemental die. What she doesn’t realise…” Diablo coughed, the sound of thunder growing outside the rock.
“What?” Traci asked.
“You must go,” Barda said suddenly, getting to her feet and moving away from Diablo.
“Barda, what doesn’t this Beryl girl realise?”
“Traci, do not make me ask again,” Barda said. Diablo fell backwards, his body twisting and snapping back and forth violently.
“Barda!” Traci yelled, balling her fists up, “Tell me what she doesn’t know!”
“I do not know, Child,” Barda said quietly, unhooking her staff from her belt, “I do not know, and if you do not leave immediately, no-one will ever find out.”
Diablo’s body inverted itself into a spire of flesh and bone, from within that collection of gristle, a form produced itself, tentatively at first. A huge Golden hand, three times the size of Barda already. She hit it with her staff, and it twitched. Not hurt. Confused.
“GO, you little fool! GO!”
The hand flexed and shot out, a golden forearm attached to it. It rammed Barda into the far wall, smashing the paintings of human magical history on top of her, in thousands of tonnes of rock. Traci retched, and stumbled forwards.
“God.God.God.” She turned on her heels and ran for the nearest tunnel. Behind her she could hear the scraping of something pulling itself through, and laughing, a sound of a thousand animals dying.
“Gog…Gog is come,” it rumbled, “Gog is good.”
“Gog, should be dead,” Barda said, before her words trailed off into nothing.
Eyes full of tears, Traci ran. Fuelled by nothing more than human biology, she ran with nothing coursing through her veins by adrenaline and anger. Hot air blasted at her heels, with dust roiling around her, thrown out by the creature which pursued her down the tunnel.
She allowed herself a glance back, a monster, a hundred foot high, crawled on its hands and knees. Purple, craggy face, with brilliant golden horns, and teeth of ivory tombstones. It’s huge, yellow eye focused on her for a single, brilliant moment.
“Thirteeennn,” it hissed, “Gog loves you.”
A smack of hot air and the honk of a horn told her she’d reached the end of the tunnel. The street before her led out into the main drag of Freemantle, Perth. The Cappuccino strip started a few hundred feet down the road, and she stood outside a Boost Smoothie restaurant.
She picked up herself and ran again, running down to the beach front and running into the ocean until she was suspended in water up to her chest. She plunged her face into the salty water and screamed, as loudly as she could, washing the crimson dust from her body and hair.
Taking a moment, she slowly walked from the water, pushing some soaking hair from her eyes, repeating the mantra slowly, and clearly.
“Go to London. Find Beryl. Kill Gog.”