Authors: Jack J. Lee
“It’d be easier to magically transport ammo from one location to another. We could cache ammo in one location and magically call it to another. The mechanism behind transportation is non-intuitive, but it takes less energy to transfer through the aether than to try to create ammo out of thin air. It works on the basis of quantum entanglement.”
He peered up at me to see if I knew what he was talking about. When a subatomic particle like a photon is split into two equal photons of opposite polarity, they are ‘entangled’—what happens to one photon is inexplicably replicated by the other. In 1993 Charles Bennet and others proposed the idea of teleporting light using this process. In 1997, a group from Innsbruck proved that this could be done; this experiment had been repeated successfully multiple times. Theoretically any subatomic particle could be teleported. A science fiction author once said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
[4]
It looks like he was right.
I nodded to show him I understood, and went off topic. “How about the ability to shoot silently?”
“A magical suppressor?” Aidan got up and paced back and forth behind his desk as he thought. “Yes, that would work, but again conservation of energy applies. Converting sound to heat is easy. Speaking off the cuff without any calculations, firearms get hot anyway after firing multiple rounds. Your weapon could get really hot, maybe to the point of you requiring heatproof gloves. The sound suppression would only work while the projectile was still in the barrel, so it wouldn’t be completely silent. The decibel level would depend on the size and shape of the projectile, and whether or not it was supersonic in flight.”
“Could we sink the heat into the bullet?”
Aidan beamed at me. He clearly liked intelligent questions. “Lead has a pretty low melting point. If we did that, there’s a chance that it could soften the lead sufficiently to smear it in the rifling, fouling the barrel and diminishing accuracy.”
I flashed a quick grin, “I’m thinking about a shotgun.”
Aidan guffawed, “Faith, wouldn’t that be a sight to see, a silenced shotgun shooting molten lead shot. What kind of shotgun are you thinking of?”
“You have internet access? I can show you.” Aidan sat again, pulled a laptop out of one his desk drawers and turned it on. “Look up Military Police Systems AA-12 Assault Combat Shotgun.”
He muttered quietly to himself as he used two fingers to slowly type in a Google search. He then started reading out loud, “The AA-12 has a pistol grip and shoulder stock and feeds from a detachable ten round box magazine, or a twenty or thirty-two-round ammunition drum, attains a rate-of-fire of up to three hundred rounds-per-minute and has almost no muzzle climb and a dampened recoil effect. The operation is via a simple blowback mechanism. To reduce recoil, the firing pin is built into the bolt, causing the firing pin to extend and ignite the round prior to bolt closure. The long recoil system allows the bolt to travel back further than most weapon systems decreasing the perceived recoil. The AA-12 comes with a muzzle extension that allows it to be pressed firmly against an object, like a door, and still be fired.” He whistled. “That’s some shotgun. I can see why you’d prefer one over a sword.
“I’m embarrassed. I cannot believe I haven’t thought of a magic firearm before now.”
Aidan had mentioned he’d been an armorer for over six hundred years. Over time, it’s easy to develop routines and patterns of thought. Guns came into common use a hundred and fifty years ago. To him, guns must still be new-fangled. After hundreds of years in the same career, I could see how hard it would be to think outside the box. It was easy to tell that when it came to magic weapons, he thought he was hot shit; I sensed rightfully so. Any expert who was open to an amateur’s idea was someone I could respect.
From what B had said, most paladins started training from a very young age. It’s hard to break patterns of thought that have been ingrained since childhood. If I’d been training with a sword and shield since I was a kid, it was possible I wouldn’t want a gun.
I could tell his mind was still focused on my shotgun when he distractedly asked, “What are you thinking about the shield? Do you want to turn it into a breastplate?”
There’s always a risk with unarmed combat. Every time you punch or kick, there’s a chance you will hurt yourself more than the person you hit. A boxer’s fracture is so common it has its own name. Martial artists routinely get stress fractures on their feet, and broken toes are a common occurrence in tournaments. “Can the shield be turned into leather boots?” And if so, would they still provide the same protection?”
“It can turn into whatever material you want. Your two paladin gifts are not actually material. They are a miniscule part of Jehovah’s will made manifest. Think of them as a hologram you can touch. I’ve never heard of a paladin wanting boots, but magic boots are common. There’s no reason why the shield couldn’t be turned into a pair of boots but…What spell would you like? You can keep the once a week healing or there’s long-striding, high jumping, walking on water, light stepping—that’s not leaving tracks or making noise when you walk—and wall climbing. I’m sorry, but there is not enough available energy to power flying footgear. You can only choose one spell, and the boots will only protect what they cover. If you give up the shield, you’ll lose a lot of protection.”
I’d done fine without a shield my entire life. I was okay with the downsides of not getting one. The ability to heal myself could certainly be useful, but now that I had access to magic, I asked about something I’ve wanted to do since I saw my first movie action hero run up a wall. “Tell me more about wall climbing.”
“The name says it all.” He grinned and used the fingers of his right hand on his other palm to demonstrate. “You can go up walls with the boots and as long as the surface is strong enough to bear your weight, they will hold you upside down from a ceiling. I suggest boots that come up to just below the knee and are so snugly fit they can only be put on or taken off by magic. You can put them on by calling them to you and take them off by sending them back into storage.
“It’s an interesting coincidence you want boots. The Redcaps wear iron boots and use iron spears. Even the spear shafts are made out of iron. They use a style of fighting called Speachóireacht. Gaelic dancing and their martial art have the same roots; both use straight legged, powerful kicks. I’m assuming you want to use your boots as weapons, too?”
I nodded.
“The material of the boots is indestructible but if they are made to look like leather, they will flex and give like leather. If you kicked an iron breast plate, your boot would be fine but your toes inside the boot could be crushed. We would want a protective cap in the toes, at the heels, and over your shin…” Aidan got lost in his head for a few seconds and then noticeably focused back on me. His face was serious. “Victor, we don’t have much time. If we wait past this afternoon, there’s a good chance Tim, I, and the other three will lose the ability to make conscious choices and be forced to battle the Redcaps. Are you sure you don’t want the sword and shield as is? I promise you these are most amazing weapons.”
I’m a loner by nature. I don’t like explaining myself to others. I liked Aidan but it was going to be a problem if he kept on trying to second guess me. I tried to keep my tone reasonable as I replied, “Aidan, I understand the need for speed. I’m sure if I knew how to use either one of these things, I’d be jumping up and down with joy. If I’m going into a life or death fight, I need weapons I trust. I know shotguns and I’ve been using my feet as weapons for years.”
Mini-Santa sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. “I’m sorry, but to make your shotgun and your boots work, I’m going to have to spend a couple hours researching and making calculations. Remember, you only get one opportunity to change your gifts. You are sure these are what you want?” He looked at me anxiously, like his life depended on my answer.
I made direct eye contact with him. “I’m positive.”
Aidan looked up to the ceiling. He looked like he was complaining to Jehovah. It seemed to make him feel better. He had a resigned smile on his face when he turned his gaze back to me “I am going to have Tim come down and answer the rest of your questions. You also must learn two spells as soon as possible. He can help you with those, too. I’ll show you to his office. We don’t have much time.”
Aidan escorted me to an office a couple doors down and asked me to wait. I considered looking at the previous paladin’s journal but I decided I’d be better off researching Redcaps. I used my phone to surf the web. According to a Gaelic/Celtic mythology website, they were commonly called the fae, elves, or fairies. Like Aidan said, they wore woolen caps soaked in human blood, used iron spears and wore iron shoes. They apparently looked like ugly, little old men. It was frustrating not knowing if I could trust this site. I decided to look at as many different references as possible.
Before I could get any further, Tim Hardy entered the room, grabbed at my hand and started speaking at machine gun speed. “Mr. Paladin, I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re here! I was certain the last of the Salt Lake Brotherhood would die today! Oh my God…”
I interrupted before he could go on any further. “Tim, let’s pretend I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s the Brotherhood?’
He looked taken aback. He took a few seconds and said, “Anyone who performs enough magic takes the Hero’s Oath.” He looked apologetic, “Otherwise known as the Hero’s Curse. Develop angelic powers and you are automatically enrolled in the Oath Brotherhood. We’re organized in different chapters based on the cities where we live. When the previous paladin died last August, there were over a hundred of us. After he was killed, the Brotherhood had to take over his responsibilities until a new paladin arrived.
“People who are fascinated by magic are almost never athletic. Our best fighters weren’t very good. The Brotherhood’s been able to keep Salt Lake City safe, but we’ve been losing members right and left. There are just five of us left.”
“Is that because you’re the best fighters?”
Tim’s face twisted like he was about to start crying, “I don’t know how good Master Aidan is at fighting. I know he’s over a thousand years old and anyone who has lived that long has to have some skills, but Sidhe are, to a large degree, fixed in their natures and leprechauns have never been known for their fighting skills. They’re known for being great at running and hiding. He’s our armorer. We all knew we needed his skills. I’m his apprentice so I was allowed to stay back as well. I’ve never actually had to fight as an Oath Brother.” He motioned toward his body and gave a crooked smile, “And as you can see, I look like a lover, not a fighter. Believe it or not, the three other remaining Brothers are even less warlike than I am. They’re three Carmelite Nuns in their late seventies and early eighties. The nuns know how to heal, and that’s about it. In the past, their main job was to help orient new Brotherhood members.
“God works in mysterious ways, Mr. Paladin. We knew sooner or later we’d get a new paladin and the people of Salt Lake City would stay protected, but He also likes martyrs. He’s collected quite a few of us this last year.”
I hadn’t been in a good mood before, and dealing with Tim wasn’t helping. I was afraid if I asked the wrong question, he would break down and start weeping. “Um, Aidan wanted you to teach me something?”
He blew his nose in a tissue he pulled from his pocket and visibly pulled himself together. “Oh yes, I’ve been told you haven’t had any training at all in magic. That’s amazing, considering the amount of power you emanate. The first thing you need is a surge protector—a protective field that stops a backwash of energy from burning out all your synapses if a spell goes wrong.” He pulled out an iPad, opened up a document and passed it over to me. “You need to memorize this incantation. Your will and intent is the most important part of any spell. It’s almost impossible to have the right focus if you don’t know the cantrip by heart.”
“So why is it in Latin?”
“It’s dangerous to cast spells in your native tongue or any language that doesn’t take a conscious effort to use; otherwise a random thought—or if you are powerful enough, a dream—could result in a spell. You can use any language you want; Latin is the most common spell casting language.”
I don’t know how to speak Latin. Anyone who spends enough time reading nonfiction learns a few phrases and a couple hundred words. I kind of got the gist of what the spell was supposed to do. “Tim is there any reason why I can’t use Pig Latin to cast spells?”
“Uh, did you just say Pig Latin? Okay, um, yeah I guess.”
Tim looked so incredulous, I couldn’t help but smile, “Why don’t you write down a translation of this spell in English, so I can say it in Pig Latin.”
He reluctantly took the iPad back. He slowly poked away on the tablet, and kept looking at me every few seconds like he thought I was crazy. Finally, he handed it back.
“So, do I have to wave my hands, sprinkle magic pixie dust, burn incense, or find a few dried toads?”
He ignored my sarcasm and gave me a straight answer, “Magic users create elaborate rituals to focus their minds. Beginners use all the tricks; perfectly memorized incantations, hand gestures, and various ingredients. If you don’t know the true basis of magic, there’s a placebo benefit to thinking that each phrase, movement, or herb has specific power or meaning—but they really don’t.