A series of booms and crashes shook the tower. Yed looked up from the alembic he was polishing and lifted up his cloaked arm to shield it from falling dust. The shaking stopped, but the noises continued. The light of the fire flickered. Tapestries fluttered. Several of the elixirs in the cabinet bubbled and sloshed. The plants in the corner shriveled in their pots. The various creatures in cages along the ceiling yowled and scurried about. Parchment on the writing-desk curled.
Yed sighed. He wasn’t sure how much more this tower could take before not even the great wizard Maenar’s spells could keep it standing. Most of the fortress the tower had once overlooked had already been a crumbling ruin when Yed’s apprenticeship began, and he suspected now that the dilapidation could not entirely be ascribed to the building’s extreme age.
The crashes ceased, and almost at once Yed heard the heavy beams barring Maenar’s chamber slide off the braces and the complicated locking mechanism clink and unfurl. He picked up the rag and the small vial of polish that had tumbled over in the commotion and set about looking busy.
The ancient man appeared on the landing, breathing heavily. His lean form, aged beyond its natural years, trembled with emotion. The firelight fell on his long, angled face, revealing a flushed cheek, expansive beard, and a deep, dark eye that seemed to look everywhere and see nothing. He crossed the floor and seized Yed by the shoulders. Yed smothered any sign of fear as the crazed old man spat heaving breaths into his face.
“Yed!” Maenar shouted, in his oddly youthful, reedy voice. “Yed, I’ve trapped him!”
“Trapped who, master?”
“Tharvax! I’ve got him bound in my chambers right now! Come and see!”
Tharvax the Mutilator was a demon that Maenar had been attempting to conjure and subdue for the past eighty-six years. Supremely evil, and fiercely intelligent, Tharvax would be of nearly incalculable value to anyone who captured him. A demon of Tharvax’s power could reveal secrets that would progress Maenar’s magical studies by leaps and bounds, teach him new rituals and incantations, awaken senses and faculties which few humans possessed. He would leap instantly into the most exalted ranks of practicing wizards. He would surely convince the Imperium of Mystic Arts to readmit him into the Black Circle. Fame, glory, riches, the ear of kings, the love of the common folk, were at his gnarled fingertips. And his apprentice would enjoy…
But ah! Better to keep his hopes in check. Tharvax had feigned capture before, always as a part of a scheme to hurt or humiliate a wizard foolhardy enough to attempt it, including Maenar himself on two occasions Yed knew of. The triumphant wizard launched himself back up the splintery wooden staircase, and such was his agitation that Yed, though more than a full century younger than Maenar, struggled to keep pace.
The huge slab of a door, aged oak reinforced with rust-spotted strips of iron, had been left unlocked and unbraced. Yed knew it to weigh as much as a small horse, but it swung lightly open when Maenar waved in its direction. A riot of loose pages and overturned furniture met Yed’s sight, but the boy lacked the frame of reference to determine to what extent this was the aftermath of the titanic struggle with the demon (wizards in general, and Maenar very much in particular, tended to be slovenly). The wizard waded through the detritus, crumpling many important-looking notes. Above the study rose a circular platform, and above that the tower rose upward, so far up that the light from the torches along the walls could not illumine the ceiling. On the platform rested a stoppered jar made of angular crystal. Delicately engraved symbols covered its surface.
“See him, boy? I deployed my sigils most cunningly, if I do say so myself! The ones I drew on the walls funneled the bastard into this jar. Here – “ Maenar took one of the torches from the wall and held it up to the jar– “He’s making himself hard to see right now, but you can just make him out.”
The jar was quite small enough to be picked up and carried in one hand. “Master, is he really that size?” Yed asked.
“Properly speaking, he has no size at all,” answered Maenar. “His realm works a bit otherwise than ours. In our world he may cup the sun in one hand, or dance on a mote of dust, whichever suits him.” He waved the torch over the jug. “Now get a good look at him; I won’t be called a liar.”
Seeing spirits with the naked eye was a wizard’s skill, and it was one that Yed, to his shame, had no particular aptitude for, even considering the preliminary stage of his magical education. He could barely do any better than an untrained peasant, who only ever saw them by accident out of the corner of their eyes, and usually dismissed them as a trick of the light or a scrap of fleeting daydream. “Master,” he began, “I’ve…”
“Look, fool!” said Maenar with sudden vitriol. “He’s floating in there plain as day!”
Yed took a deep breath and tried to remember the tricks to catching sight of a spirit. The nature of the material that made up a spirit’s body was such that, the more you focused, the less you could see it. One had to quiet one’s thoughts, let the eyeballs drift off into the middle distance, and allow the shape to trace itself directly onto the brain. It took practice, rather like a musician training his ear. And it definitely did not lend itself to being performed under stress. Yed’s throat grew dry as he felt the annoyance radiate off the wizard.
Suddenly, a shimmering form flashed before Yed. He blinked and it vanished, but its impression remained, silhouetted on his retina. Yed tried to pull the image back, but it was like trying to fall back into a pleasant dream once awakened. He steadied his breathing and kept his eyes fixed on the jar. And the form began to emerge once again. Soon he could see the demon, not perfectly, but consistently.
And what a sight it was! The demon seemed to be made of flesh and bone, but some strange type of it that seemed malleable, able to flow like water and drift like smoke, and it fluttered like a flag caught in a wind. Yed caught facial features - double-slit nostrils like a serpent’s, the twittering mouthparts of an insect, and a variable number of beady eyes like black stones – that refused to stay in the same place in relation to each other. The demon had uncountable limbs whirling about; some had more fingers than others, some were powerful and back-jointed like the haunches of some beast of burden, others segmented like those of a crab, some featured feathers or webbed digits, and some bore no relation to any animal Yed knew about. A flower of anxiety unfurled within Yed’s bowels. He knew he was looking at something human beings were not meant to see. His body began to shake, his mental discipline wavered, and the demon began to vanish.
Yed finally moved his gaze from the jar to face Maenar. “Master,” Yed began, “do all demons look like this?”
“Somewhat,” answered the wizard. “He’s agitated right now, so he’s twisting himself about. A fish on the hook, that’s what it puts me in mind of. Only fishes tire themselves out after a few minutes; Tharvax could do that for ten thousand years. Fortunately, he ought to see sense much sooner. Then we talk terms of fealty.”
“You really mean to take him into your service?”
“Well, I certainly can’t let him go now! Some lesser demons can be cowed by a show of strength, but Tharvax here is one of Hell’s own bannerlords. By now he’s probably invented twenty new forms of torture to use on me the moment he gets the chance. He’ll be free, if ever, once we’ve signed a contract that guarantees non-retribution - and a few concessions to make it worth the trouble of catching him.”
“What are you planning to have him do?”
“Oh, many things, many things indeed…” the wizard trailed off.
Yed changed the subject. “How do you talk to him?”
Maenar chuckled, snuffed and ran his finger along his prominent cheekbone in a knowing fashion. “Well, demon, what are you waiting for?” Maenar grinned, pulling the stopper out of the jar. “Favor my apprentice with your mellifluous voice.”
Yed trembled to see the jar open. “It can wait, master. I don’t want to make him angrier.”
“His feelings are irrelevant, Yed!” Maenar shouted. “He is under my power and he will do as he is told!”
Maenar pointed toward one of the sigils inscribed on the jar and it flared momentarily as if traced in fire. Yed saw eddies of frantic movement inside.
“Ho ho! That got his attention!” Maenar boasted. “D’you see that one I just lit up?” he asked, taking Yed by the shoulder and leaning close. “I combined the radicals most cunningly… crafting new sigils is a highly technical process… you see, it’s not just the elements in themselves, but their arrangement and their proximity to others…the whole is more than the sum of its parts.”
“And what does that one do?”
“Have you ever had a white- hot wire run into the space between your arse and bollocks, and threaded upward until it pushes out of your eye?” Maenar asked conversationally.
“No, master!” Yed said, horrified.
“Well, that’s something like what this one does,” Maenar said, pride shimmering out of his voice. “You see, he’s not just bound up in the jar. He has ways of getting out of that. I’ve also run him through, Yed, I’ve made a sort of extraplanar garotte, and I’ve pierced his body with it in many places. He’s like a pig on a spit. Even if he could get out, he’d tear himself apart in the process.”
The wizard yelled into the jar. “Demon! I demand you address a few words to my apprentice!”
Though Yed could tell, from the fleeting wisps he was able to see, that the captured spirit was thrashing about more furiously than ever, there was no sound in the room but the soft draft from the window.
“That shitten rat! Doesn’t know when he’s beaten.” Maenar waved his hand over the jar, lighting several sigils up. Yed winced to imagine what tortures the demon was undergoing. “Let’s let this naughty boy think things over a bit.”
“Did he speak?”
“Oh, you’ll know when he does. A demon’s voice is not mistaken for anything else.”
Maenar casually picked up the jar and ushered Yed out of the chamber, waving the massive door shut behind him. Yed glanced at his master nervously. “May he just be carried around like that?” he asked.
Maenar sharpened his normally scattered gaze into a glare of almost unbearable acuity. “D’you think I would be careless with my life’s prize, you ass? I’ve been preparing this jar for weeks. It’s shatter-proof, impenetrable by magic, and has other protections you wouldn’t understand.”
“But master…” Yed whined vaguely. There was no pointing out the obvious – that Tharvax had escaped his grasp before. “Ought you not to draw up your contract now?”
Maenar scoffed. “Did he look ready to negotiate to you? Besides, magical contracts take much time, and my strength is at an ebb. I need a restorative.” With that, he trotted down the stairs and over to the cabinet where the wine was kept. “What d’you say, Yed? Join me for a toast?”
Yed nodded, hardly believing his ears. His master had thus far strictly forbidden Yed to touch any strong drink, stressing the necessity of keeping his brain in shape for studies. Maenar fetched a jug and poured two goblets of fir-green wine, shoving one into Yed’s hand.
“To the great wizard Maenar, who subdued one of the nastiest fiends alive!” He almost drank, then paused. “And to his apprentice, whose privilege it is to taste his master’s glory, and perhaps one day, to equal him!”
Yed smiled. “To Master Maenar!” he shouted, and sipped at his goblet. Maenar, who had already taken the whole goblet at a draught, pushed the bottom of Yed’s goblet up so that he might do the same.
The drink began to work at once. Yed’s stomach seemed to be glowing like a coal, and a cozy heat spread upwards and outwards. Yed smiled at his master, feeling more hopeful than he had in ages. The wizard poured them both refills.
“So, boy,” asked the wizard, “what ought we to ask of the demon?”
Yed chanced himself another sip before he spoke. “Whatever you’d like, master,” he answered.
The wizard let his eyes roam the room. “What would you ask, in my place?”
Yed took a large swallow. “I don’t know, master. Whatever you’d want.”
“And what would that be?”
“I couldn’t presume to…”
“Don’t be a cock, boy. Am I such an odd creature you can’t even begin to guess what drives me? I want to be rich! I want to move out of this abominable ruin and into a splendid manor! I want a seat in the Black Circle! I want my name in books and songs! That’s what drives the wizard – desire! That’s what magic even is: concentrated hunger, will - wanting. The wizard is one who wants more strongly than other men – who wants so strongly, his wanting breaks the chains of natural law!”
Maenar paused. “Does it surprise you to hear me say this? Did you think me a high-minded academic? What drove you to it?”
Yed blushed at the personal question. “Honestly, master, magic seemed like the best option for me. My family are coopers. I showed some talent at hearth-spells, and this seemed better than pounding strips of hot metal for the rest of my life.”
“Well, whatever your reasons, I have taken you on as an apprentice, which means we are of a kind. And don’t think I’ll keep this boon to myself. The master must have a free hand with his fortune.”
“Thank you, master.”
“So let me turn my original question around. What would you like out of the demon?”
Yed had to confess he’d no answer in mind.
“Well, think it over, to be sure,” said Maenar. “Your studies are not yet advanced enough to make much use of him. However, demons of his rank command all manner of vassals. Lesser demons, sprites, monsters…he can call them to your service, if I command it. Some of them even have…pleasing forms.”
Yed tried to sip his wine thoughtfully. Maenar’s eye twinkled. “Yes, I thought that might get your attention. You are growing into a man’s appetites, are you not, Yed? It was about your age that I had my first willing maid.”
Yed said nothing. “Just say the word, Yed,” Maenar continued, “and you can have a different woman every night for the rest of your life. Two, three a night. Women who will do anything you please.”
“Thank you, but…” Yed struggled to put his thoughts into words. “I’d want to try it on a real woman first. What if the spirit doesn’t like how I do it?”
“Who gives a bugger what she likes? You’d be master of her. Hell’s bells, you’d better grow a taste for authority soon.”
The two sat in silence for a while. Maenar poured himself more wine, got up and sat on the same seat as Yed, a short distance away.
“I’d impress on you,” Maenar mumbled, “to take your connubial pleasures where you can find them. The life of a wizard has its burdens. What we do – it changes us. And the mundane can pick up on it. It clings to you like a strange odor, and they get one whiff of it and their hackles raise. Most are simply repelled. Far better than those who are drawn to us out of some sense of the exotic; the reality always turns out to be more than they can bear. Our ways are not their ways. You’ll be lucky if you marry, and you’ll be even luckier if your wife doesn’t end up swinging from a beam. We’re a rare breed, and a solitary one.”
Maenar slid closer to the boy and began stroking his hair. “You need to recognize this, Yed. We are not built to marry. Any wizard who tries it is a fool. To confide, to trust, to bond are the things we give up to learn our secrets. The only human breast to offer you any refuge is one with the same burdens. It’s a special – “ here he grabbed the back of Yed’s head– “sacred brotherhood. Part of being a wizard is taking our scraps of comfort with each other. Because only we understand. We’re of a kind. We’re,” Maenar pulled Yed into a tight embrace, “we’re all we have.”
Yed spied the robes twitching in Maenar’s lap and knew what would soon ensue. The sticklike fingers tightened on Yed’s shoulders and Maenar moved to press his body against his. Yed’s stomach, full of wine, lurched. Tightening his grip even further, Maenar slowly began moving his body up and down, rubbing the bunched-up area of his robes against Yed’s body, as he whispered soothing fragments into Yed’s ear, following his habit when he got in this mood.
Yed wiped his mind clean. Thanks to the wine, it was easier than usual. It cushioned his mind like packed straw. He had never, despite Maenar’s entreaties, been able to generate any sort of taste for this, finding it far easier to pretend it was happening to someone else that just happened to be sitting where he was. Doubtless it was something you had to practice. Maybe one day, it would just click into place.
Just like what had happened tonight with his spirit-sight, Yed realized. So, encouraged by this success, Yed tried to open his heart to the pleasure that his master had many times promised. He shifted himself on the couch to lie underneath Maenar. He moved his lower body so that the wizard could find a favorable angle to grind against. He inched his pelvis forward and back, matching Maenar’s movements. Maenar was grasping onto Yed’s shoulder with one hand, and with his other fumbling with the sash of his robes. Yed shuffled out of his breeches and mechanically closed his thighs around Maenar’s dangling cock.
The wizard held himself up on two shaky arms as he thrusted. His long beard enveloped Yed’s face, completely obscuring Yed’s vision. There was a sour, bilious odor inside the smothering cage, but Yed could not tell whether it was his own wine breath, Maenar’s, or some wine dregs the slob had spilled on himself. He wanted to ignore the smell, but he had already resolved to sit firmly inside himself, hunting through his every sensation for one ember of pleasure to kindle. He felt only friction.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, the wizard, in a surge of energy, pulled his cock from from between Yed’s thighs, and flipped Yed over on the couch. Before Yed had a chance to react there was a stabbing pain. Maenar had jabbed a crooked, sharp-nailed finger into his arsehole, all the way up to the knuckle, and was now rotating it. All Yed’s drunkenness disappeared. Everything touching him scraped and burned. This was nearly unprecedented. Usually the old wizard’s cock could not get hard enough to even attempt what was now on his mind.
“Master, it hurts,” he whimpered.
“It wouldn’t hurt so much if you would apply yourself!” Maenar roared. “You’re holding out on me.”
Yed struggled. “I didn’t know you were going to do that. I wasn’t ready.”
“You’d never be ready, if you had your way. Liar. Tease. You haven’t understood a word I’ve said to you. But I’ll make you understand.” The wizard crooked his finger inside Yed’s arsehole.
Suddenly, Yed felt more fingers than just the wizard’s: hundreds of poking pressures over every inch of skin, a solid, pulsing sheet of fingers. The air in the room seemed to squeeze itself into a narrow cylinder. Yed’s eyes felt like they were being pushed into the back of his head. His airway shrank. He wondered if Maenar had put a spell on him. A sound reached Yed’s ears from both ends of the sonic spectrum at once, and there was a low rumble and a crispy hiss that somehow mixed into one noise.
It was, indeed, not mistakable for anything else. The wizard had prepared the jar so thoroughly, yet had neglected to scratch a sigil on the jar that would silence the demon’s voice.
The dread spirit had a message for Yed. The message crawled all over Yed’s skin. It rattled his back teeth. It tumbled down his airway and sloshed the contents of his stomach. The caged animals in the room were all screeching in alarm, but the wizard was too crazed to notice. Yed intuitively understood that the demon was speaking only to him. He heard no words, yet meaning bubbled into his mind. Still choking, Yed gathered every scrap of his will and leaped away. The wizard’s finger tore cruelly on its way out, but Yed did not flinch. The wizard spat and gibbered with rage. Yed ran over to the table where the wizard had laid the jar.
“What sort of pathetic threat is this, you insolent monkey!” the wizard seethed. “The jar is unbreakable, I’ve already told you! Now get back over here before I use magic to hollow that hole out!”
The demon’s voice rattled Yed’s head, manhandled his organs, and ironed something terrible onto his brain. Yed found his longest fingernail and scratched one of the sigils with all his might. The nail tore and bled, and half of it came off the knuckle.
The scratch on the jar was shallow, ragged – but it was enough to interrupt the current of magic, and the whole sigil was neutralized. The stopper flew out of the jar and destroyed some brass instruments along the far wall.
Tharvax the Mutilator soon filled the room, and Yed did not have to exercise any of his former effort to see the horrible being warp his fluid body around and surround a very small, frightened old man with his cock out. Limbs split off from limbs, like tree branches, and Yed saw each one sharpening itself to the gleaming blade of a sword, until the demon was a living mass of blades, and before Maenar could utter any incantation in his defense, the blades blurred in frantic yet precise motion. The wizard screeched as his skin parted from his flesh in thin, neat strips. Blood rose in a mist, naked veins swelled, a skinless jaw hung in a silent scream, peeled eyeballs rolled helplessly.
Finally, two arms with many-jointed fingers several feet long erupted from among the blades, grasped the flayed carcass, and crushed it like paper. Yed felt blood and viscera, hot on his brow, on his bare legs. The amorphous mass was roughly stuffed inside and the jar stopperd again. Yed noted that, beyond all reason, the blood-spattered jar rocked on the table – the crushed body was not being allowed to die.
Yed stood, breathless, dripping, as Tharvax the Mutilator bowed low in gratitude for Yed’s service. The otherworldly, indescribable form seemed to glow from within, to cast the material world around it in gauzy, dirty shadow, and just looking at it, Yed felt as if he were falling out of the sky, the mere sight bringing permanent derangement, inexpungible revelation. Once again the mouthless voice stampeded into Yed’s head, and he was given to understand that there were fantastic rewards due to him.
-- Tyler Peterson (@type___e on X and Bluesky) is a writer and data entry clerk from Iowa. His short fiction has appeared in Misery Tourism, Expat, Back Patio, and others.