The Magus felt weak and cold, despite the many woollen layers he kept upon his body and the roaring fire in the hearth beside him. The light of the flames painted his dining room in a dark orange tint and made every shadow in every crevice leap and dance about like sprites.
Outside, the sounds of carts pulled by horses could be heard through the closed door and windows. The smell of mud, rain and horse manure wafted their intrusive ways into the house. The only light within the room was the hearth, the lit candles that dotted around the room and the slivers of the afternoon sun cutting through the cracks between the windows and door.
Seated at an oak table that lay in the middle of the darkened room, the Magus hardly touched his lunch.
His clay plate held a roasted shin of lamb, peppered with herbs and spices and surrounded by boiled vegetables. The food had long since grown cold and was nearly uneaten. It was clear that the lunch would not be touched.
The Magus’s appetite was non-existent but he wished that he had one. His daughter Katherine was always a good cook. And it was such a dire shame that her food was wasted in such a way…
The Magus rubbed his face and noted the many wrinkles which his gnarled fingers touched around his forehead, eyes and cheeks. He could almost feel the years weathered and etched upon his visage. He had done so much with his life… He had lost count of the wondrous books he had studied.
Oh, he had travelled to many wondrous and exotic countries in the last four decades of his life. He had seen things no one could believe. But all of that experience and all of that wisdom had brought him here… Alone in a dusty house where he was left behind by the progression of time.
The Magus gently stroked the wooden handle of his lunch knife.
Katherine had already eaten her fill and was already out of their manor to resupply their foods from within the bustling markets of Mortlake. She had tidied the dining room, gave her silent and sullen father an embrace and left through their front door which was situated in the dining room.
The door’s location was useful in case of the occasional visitor coming in to seek council with the old Magus. They would just come into the dining room, settle by the oak table and recline as the Magus spoke with and lectured them.
But it was a long time since the Magus had any callers.
Of all of her good qualities - which were many - Katherine was deeply patient. As far as he could remember, Katherine had tried to engage her father in intellectual talks over the state of the country under a new monarchy and the new discoveries in the constellations and the New World. All of this to try and shake him loose of the depression that he was inevitably sinking into…
Katherine was a good woman to try and help him back to his former glory. Where he lead the way for earnest neophytes to follow in his footsteps and learn to be like him. To uncover the vast secrets of the universe and solve the dialects of ancient peoples past.
Dear God… Such subjects had once intrigued the Magus with gusto that rivalled the fire of any man. Those subjects were his passion. His zest for life. But no more… He was old and forgotten. And such passions held no more interest to him than a crushed ant.
He glanced up at the dust-covered books that lined the two shelves in the room. They were his prized possessions. He had many more than this small collection of literature, but they were stolen away from him. Stolen by paranoid fools and envious liars.
That was just one of the tragedies that befell the old man. The Magus believed that Life had taken absolutely everything from him. It had taken away his wife, his father, his mother, his fame and now his dignity. He laid the blame on the threshold of the world and the gods who rule it.
But what he didn’t see was that it was his obsession with knowledge that formed his path. It was his need to control which drove away his wife. His hubris to leave his family home to search for a better life and not return when he learnt of his parents’ failing health.
And his unfathomable arrogance. The Magus had counted himself as the leading pioneer of occult studies in England. Learned pupils and esteemed philosophers from miles around came to him. This praise fed the fuel of his prideful fire. He lorded his intellect over the masses and controlled their thoughts with his great claims of ascension and betterment. He truly believed that he was a higher form of life. That he was a god among men. He actually believed that he was answerable to nothing. That he could finally ascend to a state of higher existence and rule the stars with incomparable power. Which, to him, seemed only fair and true. He was born for greatness and he was certain that he would attain it with both clasping hands.
But not anymore.
What had happened months ago within that year had caused the Magus to fall into a dark pit where there was only one escape.
Years ago, rumours abounded in London that the Magus practiced dark demonic magic. This lead to many slurs and dirty looks for years and years. Of course this was mere drivel, the scared notions of the masses driven by hysteria.
The Magus’s willpower was made of tough leather and he had once shrugged off such abuse easily. But as he grew older and older, his skin became just as thin.
For weeks, he had listened to the lies and this only made his heart shrivel within him.
His face and eyes became sharpened against the viciousness of the world.
He was sick of it.
He hated the people with such enmity that he wished he possessed powers to kill them all. To wipe out the city. To clean the streets of all of the stupid, ignorant masses of crying babes, pregnant whores, idle men, idiotic monks and kowtowing courtiers.
‘To Hell with them all!’ he had snarled. ‘May they suffer bloody deaths at the hands of evil!’
It came to such a point that the Magus could not take it any longer and sought out to end the verbal assaults once and for all.
It was a dangerous decision. But he was determined to see it end by his own hand. So in 1603, he sent a letter to the new King and his recently formed Witch Hunters. Within his letter, he had detailed his desire to be subjected in immediate interrogation and tried for witchcraft with the hopes that he could be cleared from such foul slander.
He wrote that letter to challenge Fate and to challenge the state of the new century.
The Witch Hunters… He snorted a derisive laugh at the mere concept of it. A group of men formed to hunt down women who had grasped a mere fragment of knowledge in the sciences of medicine… And then crushing it under the boot of the fool king who dared thought that his right was greater than all… Even greater than his.
Back in his day, in his time as the great Occultist of Elizabeth’s reign, no one dared questioned him. Only the Queen had that right and he allowed her to do so only because he recognised a kindred spirit. This new king was no equal in any right.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Should they find him guilty, the Magus would resolve to stride into the halls of power himself and show them all exactly what he was capable of. And then no one - not the king, the Witch Hunters, the masses or God himself - would label him as a mere warlock.
After sending the much incensed letter, the Magus waited. And waited.
And no reply came.
None at all. There was no knock on the door. No troop of armed guards seeking to seize and haul him to the Tower of London.
The Magus was stunned.
Did they misplace the letter? Surely they didn’t. Surely they did not… ignore him?
But as the days dragged on and the old year welcomed the new, the Magus’s heart sank ever deeper with the weight of the horrific truth.
They had received the letter. They had read the letter. It was that they just did not care.
To them, he wasn’t the great Magus who had quelled the masses with his observations of the world. To them, he was just an old, feeble man who was half crazed with delusions of grandeur and wracked with a refusal to accept that his time of self-appointed power had come and gone.
The Magus was truly and utterly crushed by this. His life was truly not in his control. So much that he could not even orchestrate his own demise. He was not in command of his destiny. The Magus couldn’t bare to think that he was truly that weak. He wouldn’t dare think that all of his work, his teachings and passions, were all for nothing.
He could not even imagine the notion that he was just a man.
If this was all so, if he was to end his days alone and forgotten by a world that showed him no gratitude, then what was the point of even going on?
The Magus lifted his knife and placed it upon his skin. He knew that suicide was a cardinal sin and his soul would delivered to damnation. But he did not care. He had reached an end to life that refused to unveil the fruits of his hundreds of labours. His sacrifices were all for naught.
His mind wandered to poor Katherine.
The thought of her stayed his hand, if only for a moment. What would she do when she returned to find him dead like this?
The Magus shook his head.
She would be fine. She would move on and have a life actually worth living. She would no longer be doomed to dote upon a feeble old man who would create nothing to enrich her life.
His soul wished death and destruction upon the people whom he felt had wronged him. And wished that he had a chance to truly show the world exactly what he was capable of.
He pressed down the point of the blade upon his skin-
There came a rapping upon the front door. The Magus froze in his actions and turned to the sound.
The knocking came again. Seven taps. Dum, du-dum, dum, dum. Dum, dum.
The Magus slowly rose to his feet. His heart began beating in incremental speed. Had his letter been read? After all of this time? He reached out, twisted the key in the lock to click back the barring metal within and pulled open the door to meet his fate…
The heavy door swung on creaking rusted hinges and nails to reveal a gentleman of indiscriminate height and age standing upon the threshold of the Magus’s home. The gentleman was dressed in a crimson cape, with a black and golden shirt designed with moire cuffs. His eyes shone an unusually light blue and his smile was easy.
“Good afternoon, fine sir.” he announced at the Magus’s doorstep with a clear English accent that spoke of wealth and good education. “Are you the Magus that resides here in this delightful establishment?”
His mannerisms seemed so odd to the Magus. The gentleman waved his hand in a flourished bow that seemed highly irregular and quite extravagant. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I have heard wondrous tales about you.” he further added with that wide smile.
“Your flattery is appreciated.” The Magus replied with some trepidation. “What business do you have with me?”
The Gentleman smiled again and then looked over his shoulder at the people walking past them. “I believe it is a matter best talked indoors.”
The Magus nodded slowly. He knew the necessity of private discussions and made way for the man to walk in. “Please, come in.”
The Gentleman tapped his buckled shoes, which made the odd sound of hooves on stone, as he strode inside. The Magus closed his door and locked it as the Gentleman looked around in an appraisal of the manor with a raised eyebrow and an expression that spoke of reserved judgements.
“Modest quarters.” he noted politely. “Not what I had expected from one as venerated as you.”
“Well,” the Magus shrugged as he retook his seat at the table and gestured for the Gentleman to do the same. “When you get to the age that I have reached, finery will not hold much interest to you in the end… What I have is what I can use and need… Nothing else matters to me now…”
“Ah. But I would have to disagree there. I, for one, love decadent homes and gilded furniture. Nothing better than those things to highlight one’s deep appreciation for life.”
The Magus leant back with a small smile born from understanding of his newest visitor.
“So, that is your ploy, hmm? You come to learn of my secrets just to make riches? Turn mere stone to gold? Water to wine, yes?”
The Gentleman threw back his head and laughed. Despite the soft smile and genial visage, it was a hard laugh. Each cackled syllable was like an ax biting into wood.
“Hardly! What do I need tricks and illusions for? I’d hire a trickster for such jovial means. I have deep interest to the true meaning and true sources of power. I am no exploiter of intelligent men, dear sir.”
The Magus upturned his hand with a half shrug. “Apologies. I have lived a life where I have been fooled, lied to and shamed by those seeking to make menial wealth with world-changing powers… I refused them, it would have been a waste of my time and a greater waste of power.”
The Gentleman leant forward with a gleam in his turquoise eyes.
“Truly understandable. I understand exactly what you mean. The masses can be such petty and idiotic creatures. They do not deserve to even smell the scent of magic…”
The Gentleman rubbed his clipped and tidy beard.
“Allow me to confide, good sir… My belief is that Power is only powerful when it is used properly. Give Power to a weakling, what would he do with it? Sprout wings and fly? Turn rain into pieces of gold for a day? Pitiful, vain notions… Now, give Power to a strong man, a wise man, an intelligent man… What would you say that he would do with it?”
“He could change the world.” The Magus rubbed his eyes, as he felt water rise under his eyelids.“I could have changed the world.” His voice croaked and his throat swelled against the sob that threatened to upset his equilibrium.
The Gentleman was an observant one. “You seem troubled by that thought.”
The Magus raised his hand and looked at it.
“Observe my hand, good sir. Once it was strong. It held the books of worthy minds that could upset the order of kingdoms. Once, its fingers clasped the hands of royalty and men of wealth and influence. This hand opened the doors to societies that only a few have the privilege of entering. But now… Now, it is ragged, shaking and brittle. I could take a hammer to it and it would shatter into a hundred pieces. Time has done that to me. I have lived all these years and I have barely scratched the surface of the knowledge and understanding I sought for. Now, knowing that I approach my end, I despair that my time upon this Earth has been wasted. I shall pass on without changing so much as a single leaf in springtime…”
The Gentleman smiled with a shake of his head. “No. I do not believe that it has been wasted.”
“What do you mean?”
The Gentleman looked outside. His eyes seemed to glaze over. “I believe that your work shall live on after you die. Look upon the works of Socrates and Plato… They live on, do they not? Great men. Their teaching influence the ways we all think, yes? What of the Romans while we are talking of the Grecian philosophers? Cicero! Seneca! They have laid the groundwork that has led to the time that we both stand in. And I believe that after we are gone from the world, others shall take the reins of the earth’s progress and drive it to even greater heights of success and ingenuity. I am sure you shall arrive at the same end. We are all here for a reason: to change the world. My existence has that reason; it is one which I serve dutifully. It is up to us to have the courage to realise that reason. With courage. But also with true Power. ”
The Gentleman’s eyes lost that lacquer when they turned to lock the Magus with a stare. That stare seemed to freeze the Magus’ heart for the briefest of moments.
“The same goes for you.” he concluded with no smile.
The Magus’s eyes lit up. At long last, he had met a man who perhaps understood him. Whom he could have a conversation that would not feel like a trial of fire. “Tell me friend, do you believe in the Hermetic Texts?”
The Gentleman smiled. “Oh yes. I do. That is a ripping yarn about the ways of the universe.”
The Magus leant forward, now eager and confident of this man’s genuine intentions. “So, you accept that there is a universe? That we orbit the Sun, home to the God Above All?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you a fellow Scryer? A Seeker of magiks?”
The Gentleman shook his head. “No. I am far more than that.”
“Then tell me, who are you? What is your name?”
The Gentleman turned to face the Magus and smiled plainly. “My name is Lucifer.”
