Luminary (Expanded Edition)

  Chapter 3: Hidden Realm

  No light could be seen in the distance in the corridor ahead; only a wash of mist and blackness was visible in that section of the realm. The uncertainty of what lay out there did not hamper Wicus’ steps as he rushed along the corridor between reality and the tangible. A realm hidden from the world of mankind by magic.

  Troubling thoughts scampering after him. Both exasperating and unsettling. Slapping the side of his head with his palm as if physically trying to evict the aggravating idea which plagued him. It didn’t help.

  “What’s going on with the safeguards?” he fumed, as random thoughts ricocheted across his mind, wishing they would go away, knowing full well they would not. Heart thundering in his chest, echoing the inner turmoil.

  "The Safeguards..." his voice rising sharply before breaking off as he tried to control his tone. He felt like screaming with frustration. That kind of behavior wouldn’t do. Paragons didn’t lose control.

  "They're supposed to prevent this! Oh the council is not... not going to be happy… not happy at all." His voice rang off the walls of the passageway.

  Waxine glided effortlessly in midair beside him. Bobbing smoothly over the crosscurrent created by their movement and her magic.

  Her three-foot-long power cord whipping along in front on them, its enchanted three-pronged Plug pointing the way as the corridor ahead responded to her unspoken commands; shimmering and shifting, turning form into nothingness and back into form again. Sending the scurrying pair right, left, even diagonally without revealing any obvious corners, leading them where they needed to go: the Council of Nine.

  It was light enough in the structure she created. The air clear and dry in the corridor immediately surrounding them. Their approach viewed by none. No other living entity moved inside or out of the passageway.

  Caught up in his own mental ramblings, Wicus didn’t stop to ponder the noiseless nature of the corridor or the reasons behind its existence. It offered protection enough for their destination that there were no challenges to their progress. No sentries posted at odd intervals monitoring or reporting on their approach.

  Tension created by his outbursts floated in the air around him. The breeze faintly crackled with it, like some restless electrical charge looking for a place to spark.

  He’d been seething for about an hour while she silently guided them through the secret passages which provided security around the chamber housing the Paragons' ruling body.

  He had yet to run out of steam.

  Waxine lifted her chin, casting a sideways glance at him with her metallic eyes. Finally she spoke, "They will intercede."

  He blinked.

  To Wicus -- her voice seemed to come out of nowhere, shocking him that he’d almost forgotten her presence. He had been so absorbed in this pressing dilemma.

  "They have to!" he exclaimed, "without it the alternative is too bleak," allowing more of his vexation out. Self-doubt surfacing. What if they didn’t?

  Wicus eyed the corridor with a hint of dubious incredulity, cutting his eyes sideways confirming that she was indeed at his side. His instincts kept him from revealing just how surprised he was. After feeling the initial shock traipse across his face, he once again resettled it into an inscrutable mask as he studied hers.

  For a fraction of a moment he ceased to recall why he was in an agitated state, such was the calming effect of Waxine's voice as it echoed in the chambers of the metal shafts which made up her body, like the tinkling of chimes.

  What had she said? he mused, feeling peaceful in that moment as one does around a cherished friend.

  Remembering. His distress quickly returned. He looked around the shifting passageway once again, saw nothing save the solid floor under his feet and the walls on either side of his party. He had the oddest feeling.

  Glancing briefly over his shoulder, there was nothing behind but the shapeless black where the previous bit of corridor had evaporated. A growing surreal sensation troubled him. Hounded him.

  Was he forgetting something else? Impossible, he thought with great arrogance. He was too good at his job, dutiful to all under his care. And yet, a primary and secondary soul mate for one girl were both dead.

  His thoughts instantly sobered.

  “What is happening in the world that both candidates had to die like that?” he muttered, beginning to feel anxious again. “What if the council doesn’t agree with my plans? I can’t have the girl go mateless.”

  Peering forward again, squinting -- trying to make out what was ahead in the inky darkness. Even with his unique vision, there was nothing to see in the nebulous blur. There were no boundaries to cross here, no authorities to appease. And yet his feet felt oddly leaden, like the odds were growing against him with each step. He needed to get council approval to put this situation to rights. Not just one member but all of them.

  Something was amiss in the human realm, something that should not be happening, he thought. Something that he would need to fix. He felt a pang of insecurity. Were his skills up to the task?

  The corridor was silent save for his footsteps and the faint swishing noise as Waxine’s power cord danced back and forth doing its work. Neither sound loud enough to drown out any other should someone come after them. None did.

  He increased his pace as a growing sense of dread urged him forward. It couldn't be much farther, he thought. Eager to get to his destination.

  "This is unprecedented…no one... never has anyone lost both a primary soul mate and a backup candidate before a meeting... this simply has to--" he stopped mid-sentence as the true ramifications hit him. Shock resurfacing.

  Now consciously understanding where the dread which felt like a brick in his stomach heralded. That realization accompanied by a shot of terror in his gut.

  “I’ll have to change an existing soul…already in human form. That’s the only option. A human who has met and lost his soul mate,” the words came out hoarsely, partly because he was afraid to voice them and partly because his mouth had suddenly gone dry. Uncertainty was in his mind as he glanced at Waxine. "It is a nasty business, a nasty, painful business indeed... retrofitting a soul... but maybe...."

  Another wave of doubt threatened to wash over him. That kind of work was not something he was used to. So many things could go wrong. He couldn’t worry about it right now. He had enough other things on his mind.

  Wicus fell silent, maintaining his frenzied stride, distracted. Not trusting his judgment about what the council would do, he was weighing his options. The girl deserves a shot at happiness.

  Waxine shifted closer to him.

  He glanced her way.

  Her metallic gaze was intent on his. She seemed to be assessing him. Did she doubt his ability to do this as much as he did?

  Wicus felt warm and flushed -- a byproduct of uneasiness more than activity. Not someone who enjoyed confrontations, he readied himself for what she might say. It was an automatic reflex. Despite her loyalty she could be awfully brutal.

  “Does that seem like the only prospect?” she asked a trifle cynically.

  Grimly nodding, he agreed.

  “I see no other possibility…A Paragon can only retrofit a soul that has been introduced to his or her mate…prior to that moment there are locks in place, locks which protect the person's soul from magical interference.”

  “What about creating a new one from scratch?”

  “Considering that one hasn’t even been started, she’d be decades older than the soul mate. Not the best formula for a cohesive relationship,” he said bluntly.

  “So it’s retrofitting or nothing.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, frowning. Allowing a note of worry in his tone, bracing himself for a visit with the council. It hadn’t been a good morning. It might not be a good afternoon either.

  Waxine clearly didn’t like it. “Hmmph,” she snorted. “I wonder if they’ll give us the evil eye when we get there. Some of them are right evil bastards.”


  “Waxine…” Wicus began.

  “Don’t Waxine me,” she cut him off in a slight huff. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Sanctimonious lawmakers.”

  Eyeing him, she continued, “Despite an epoch…watching you Paragons fulfill your duties…I’ve never observed this retrofitting that you seem to dread.”

  “It’s a nasty business. I don’t like the prospect of inflicting pain on a human,” he confessed.

  “I’ve been retrofitted …with Plug here…and it wasn't painful at all,” she announced.

  Responding to her words, Plug abandoned its duty as guide and turned toward Waxine. Its three-prongs transforming into a face grinning, before nodding in obvious agreement.

  Without the attachment's magical direction the corridor began to settle into a cohesive form and Wicus slammed into a wall that suddenly appeared right in front of him, face first. The elegant, charcoal gray cloak that covered his 6-foot-3-inch frame swayed noiselessly around his legs.

  He wore the cloak on formal occasions and when visiting the council. It matched his tunic and trousers perfectly. The garment was snug across his arms and torso, secured in place both at mid-chest and at the waist by black leather straps and buckles. Black boots clung to his calves. The same non-embellished attire was favored by most soul minders.

  Wicus stepped back, uninjured. His features and hair snapped back into place like a rubber doll. He relaxed the crease on his forehead while jutting his jaw forward in a surprised grimace. Thank goodness he was a Paragon.

  The race of super immortals were aptly named. His kind were ageless beings who secretly worked their magic behind the scenes. While his body reacted to solid objects like rubber, he appeared for all intents and purposes like a human man, albeit, a rather stubborn one.

  Snorting at the ridiculousness of the situation, his mood lightened.

  She smiled at him.

  Sensing her appraisal, Wicus patted the buckle over his chest, glancing down to make sure it was unharmed. Hand smoothing the fabric of the tunic. Evaluating it by touch. His attire was simple but elegant. Always concerned with quality, he took special care in his appearance. Everything in place, his scrutiny returned to his companion.

  “Don’t worry…you’re simply perfection. Like always.…just beautiful. It’s a pity your kind are hidden from the human world,” Waxine observed.

  The beautiful Paragon grunted his disagreement.

  Although the accident was plainly an unintentional slight, he gave Waxine his full attention. Noting the pesky Plug's misplaced gaze was the cause of the mishap, Wicus raised an eyebrow, an involuntary smirk on his lips.

  “You’re calmer at least,” Waxine quipped.

  “You’re right, the closer we get to the council chamber, the calmer I feel,” he admitted. “Perhaps hitting the wall knocked some sense back into me.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked again.

  Wicus’ initial anxiety was beginning to recede, replaced by his natural resourcefulness. If retrofitting were approved -- and it would have to be, he’d need to come up with a list of new candidates. Outlining a game plan in his head.

  Waxine grinned at him, raising her eyebrows in an unspoken question which seemed to say, Ready to continue?

  He nodded.

  Flicking the power cord-- the corridor once again shimmered.

  Wicus made a point of looking where he was going before resuming the hectic pace, recalling her announcement with uncanny accuracy as he did so.

  "It’s not the same, Waxine. You were never... human. At least... you have never mentioned that you were... am I missing something?"

  Curious, he glanced at her.

  "Humph," the candelabra huffed with evident disdain.

  "Elusive as ever I see."

  Wicus never delved much into his enchanted companion's past. It wasn’t allowed. Stubborn Luminary. That said, he accepted her for who she was.

  What little he did know was fascinating; Waxine was crafted in Denmark into a beautiful eight-socketed candelabra in the tenth century, during the time when immortals hid among the Vikings. A wizard -- grievously injured in a battle with one of them -- accidentally deposited some of his power onto Waxine.

  She came to life. Joined the race of Luminaries, as it were. Her past prior to that was murky. If she had any memories of her non-enchanted self, she never spoke of them.

  "Still unwilling to share how you came to be in the hands of that immortal oaf in Iceland?”

  Waxine snorted. It wasn’t a dainty sound. A small line formed between her delicate metallic brows as she clearly concentrated on ignoring him.

  Wicus stifled a chuckle, raising a knuckle to his lips to hide a smile. He was well acquainted with her stubborn nature. It would freeze her tongue when she didn't want to reveal something about herself. Not her face.

  She continued whipping around her appendage. Plug didn’t look at him either, maintaining its focus on the magical passageway. There were no more unfortunate delays or corridor crashes.

  Wicus knew that the candelabra had passed from the possession of one immortal to another until she was placed on a spot on the edge of reality. She was there only for an instant. Faster than a spring breeze, he’d reached through the veil into the visible world and taken custody. Her hulking owner Marsden never saw what happened.

  Something about her had captivated him completely, he felt an instant, deep connection and knew she belonged here. After all, Paragons used magic in their daily duties. It was fitting that Wicus had an enchanted being at his side. He wasn't the only one with a Luminary companion.

  Waxine had helped with his more difficult cases.

  "I thought you were worried about more pressing matters at the moment," she interjected, effectively turning the conversation away from her.

  Wicus gaped at her profile for a moment, closed his mouth and nodded mutely. His throat suddenly dry again. It occurred to him that he should have had a good stiff drink before undertaking this errand.

  His thoughts immediately returned to Emily Wren, the 23-year-old college student in Georgia without a soul mate. Talk about difficult, this case was going to be a doozy. Yet he was determined that she would get her chance at happiness.

  “Emily deserves a soul mate like every human does. The Yoke Accords of Tusome guarantee it….I’m not going to be sidetracked by another human war.” Shaking his head in regret, "I should have been watching them both like a hawk... maybe I could have prevented all of this," Wicus groaned. If he’d been more diligent perhaps they wouldn’t be dead.

  A vision of their fallen bodies haunted him. Blood seeping through the fabric of each one’s uniform as the soldier lay immobile on the ground. The breeze took no notice of either passing, blowing dirt and other earthly sediment over each prostrate man.

  Waxine sighed, faintly shaking her head in clear disagreement making the flames over all eight invisible candles tremble. Her brow wrinkled and her eyes turned thoughtful. She pursed her lips and paused before speaking as if choosing her words carefully.

  "Don’t be stupid! Do you really think you could do that? With all the souls under your care....there aren't enough hours in the day. You have millions of people in your region alone. How can you keep track of two of them when they go off to war on the other side of the world?" asked Waxine logically.

  "I feel like I should have been more prepared or something," he whined.

  Wicus hunched his shoulders not so much in defeat as frustration. He blew out a breath through his lips. Failure wasn’t an emotion he was comfortable with. He hated it when something messed up his carefully laid plans. It rankled him that the deaths had occurred. Was he missing something? Self-doubt resurfacing in his mind.

  "You cannot interfere with the lives of humans."

  "Interfering in the lives of people is what I do...all of the time...IT’S MY JOB," he added emphatically, pulling his eyebrows upward. His job was making sure that assigned soul mates met.

/>   "You know that's not what I mean... You cannot change their fates... if someone is destined to die on a battlefield, you cannot stop it. You're a Paragon... not God," she eyed him, countenance slightly sardonic. “Work is the only thing really important to you…Wicus.”

  He snorted lightly but stopped short of contradicting her.

  “Problems from another damn war,” he muttered under his breath after a moment.

  The wars of man had caused every alteration that existed in the Paragons' laws. The original pairing of soul mates culminated in a wedding, resulting in the perfect kind of love...releasing magic into the world. That edict ended a century ago. Nowadays soul minders like Wicus were only responsible for bringing people together.

  The chance meeting, the unexpected turn of events, the remarkable concurrence of circumstances -- all of which were actually carefully planned to set two souls on the path to lasting happiness.

  To advance mankind, magic was constantly needed, as a result souls were mated on a regular basis. There existed a very intricate plan. Every soul mate had a primary and a backup, who in turn had two soul mates as well.

  Every person except Emily Wren, at least not anymore.

  “Great things are expected from the girl, leastwise according to the mystical report passed to me from the seer. She claims that Emily’s unusual magic will be quite beneficial.”

  “Did the seer give you any specifics?”

  Shaking his head, No. He grimaced. The report had been astonishingly short on details.

  As they drew closer to the council chamber, Wicus felt a change in the atmosphere as if some other kind of desperation lingered in the air. Was that the cause of the nagging feeling? he pondered.

  "It doesn't make sense that both of her soul mates were killed... at the same time... in the same battle. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be allowed."

  "Quite a coincidence, don't you think...that both died today,” the candelabra observed, a pensive expression on her metallic features.

  Her words stopped him short.

  "It can't be a coincidence," he breathed, feeling vaguely alarmed. Coincidence was the hallmark of Paragons.

  Was there something else going on? Does Emily have an enemy in this realm? Some plot against this particular human? Something he’d not seen? It didn’t make sense.

  Wicus searched his memory... he was very dedicated to duty. It had taken him years to get into the soul minder brotherhood and it was a job he took seriously.

  Distracted as he was, it was some seconds before he noticed they weren’t going anywhere. Blinking, he came back to the present staring at Waxine straight on.

  She had stopped, her attachment ceased its undulations. Grinning at him, her metallic eyes were earnest as she said in a sing-song tone, "We're here."

  The corridor vanished as quickly as the vapor it was constructed from, the lingering amorphous blackness in front of them quickly retreated, easing into a cohesive shape that towered overhead and down to the newly formed floor revealing a pair of intricately carved, eternal, redwood doors that stretched 15-feet-high.

  Standing perfectly still he took a couple of deep breaths, not that he was winded from the journey. Being a Paragon, he wasn’t bothered by the exertion. The breaths were a way to steady himself for the discussion to come. The council had to see things his way. What if they didn’t? The nagging doubt persisted.

  Emily Wren deserves a soul mate.

  Soothed by the breathing and his brief lull in movement, he took the time to straighten his tunic and cloak, running a hand through his curls, patting them down assuring that they were in place. He paused, passing his hand across his chin and the corners of his lips in thought. The grooming gesture did little to erase the abiding doubt from his mind. Would the council approve the retrofitting?

  Waxine interrupted his conjectures with eerie precision.

  “You will persuade them. You’ll see. They’ll agree with you about what needs to be done... Or we’ll go rogue and do it behind their backs.”

  Wicus was appropriately scandalized. His companion was proposing something close to treason right outside the chamber doors.

  “No I won’t...nor will you,” he said primly.

  “You always do right by the souls under your care.”

  “Not against council orders.”

  “Then they’d better agree,” she scoffed, “...or you’ll have to turn me in.”

  Wicus flinched slightly. Pursing his lips together in objection. He was too loyal to do anything like that and she knew it. Momentary dislike replacing anxiety. Flaring his nostrils at her in defiance.

  She didn’t bother to press her case. Her gaze shifted to the massive doors.

  Wicus eyed the entrance too, imposing as it was.

  Images of his ancestors, the Beings of Light, as they were called--- with their red, yellow and blue eyes of flame, gazed back at the pair. Etched panels illustrating other images were interlaced through the carvings; one depicting a hand holding an archer's bow; another showing a hand reaching up from the earth pointing to a glowing orb that was shining bright like the sun, a golden circular mark surrounded the wrist; while a third image showed a glowing triangle that seemed to melt into the earth.

  Some Paragons theorized that the symbol of the archer was the basis of the Cupid myth in the human world. While the hand reaching for the sun symbolized Paragons reaching through the veil into the human realm to perform their duties. Each bore a mark, a golden scar around at least one wrist. The image of the glowing triangle sinking into the earth was believed to symbolize the release of magic.

  Plug, its duty over, wrapped quietly and snugly around Waxine's base as Wicus glanced at the Latin inscription above the doors:

  "Deferens animam, et concepit, venenatis in mundo," he spoke the words aloud with reverence. Proud of his people and the work they did. It was noble.

  "Bringing soul mates together and magic into the world," Waxine translated.

  From where he was standing, Wicus pondered less than a second closing his eyes, focusing his thoughts. Rummaging through his brain for the suitable enchantment.

  The temperature at the entrance was slightly cooler than it had been in the corridor. Again he felt that nagging sense of urgency. The air fairly sizzled with it, like misplaced static electricity after sliding over a carpet in one’s socks.

  Wicus wiggled his toes in his boots, grounding himself.

  Opening his eyes, he reached out with his mind and watched as an invisible hand materialized in the space in front of the massive double doors, made a fist and magically knocked.

  Emily Wren will get a soul mate.