The Witch's Lair

By Lincoln S. Farish

Even in this modern era there is magic, but it taints, corrupts, turning saints into power-mad monsters. It can not be stopped but it can be contained, sometimes. That is what the Poor Brothers of Gethsemane, AKA the Inquisitors, do. They fight monsters in the shadows, they contain the madness. Thaddeus the mighty and wicked warlock is gone, but not by the hands of The Inquisitors. Another, perhaps even more powerful magi is scheming, and the Brethren must stop him or her. But first they must make sure no one returns from the fight tainted, the dead are buried, and figure out how to find a ghost of a magi who can summon a Gut Ripper in the middle of a firefight and then disappear.
Sebastian is still tormented by the ghost of his murdered wife, still trying to honor his promise to her, but now there is another woman entering his mind, and his dreams have gotten even more disturbing.
The Master Hammer warned Sebastian he was walking a dark path when he agreed to be Malachi's apprentice. That dark path will take them from the deserts of Arizona, to the rotting inner core of Portland, to the Cascade Mountains, and deep under the earth.
Yes, Sebastian has fellow Inquisitors ready to assist, some friends since his earliest days in the Brethren, others newly met. Formidable warriors against the darkness, but is that enough to keep Sebastian safe, or sane, when he enters The Witch's Lair?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lincoln S. Farish
• Release date: Feb 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310286919

Lincoln S. Farish

A story teller that wove the real with the fantastic since he was a child, Lincoln is an Army Reservist who has had the pleasure of visiting the Middle East five times so far. He currently resides in the Commonwealth of Virginia with his lovely wife, and little girl. When not doing obscure jobs for the Government or shadowy corporations he works at honing his craft and defeating the neighborhood ninjas.

Book preview

Chapter 1

By noon, there had been three attempts to murder me. Not a normal day, to be sure, but also not that out of the ordinary for me. It is these little flashes of introspection, the realization that three attempts on my life are not unusual, that drive me to write down the events of my life while I still can.

It was my turn to drive, and route 20 was a twisty two lane road going through the Washington portion of the Cascade Mountains. Brother Malachi, for a change, was silent as he dozed, slumped in the passenger seat.

My eyes flicked around, checking the road, the near and far distances for traffic, the dash for speed, and then the GPS. Portland had been informative, but a bit futile as well. I was expecting that we'd arrive in the little town of Mazama in a few more minutes. From there it was a trip up into the woods. A cabin in the mountains was our last lead on Bertrand's whereabouts. If he wasn't here, we'd have to abandon our search and wait for bodies to start piling up. Again.

Deer, grunted Brother Malachi, pointing with his chin at a bit of open pasture we were approaching.

I glanced over and saw the herd. It looked to be a dozen or so in size. Most were grazing, while a buck had his head up, watching. Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe I was seeing things that were not there, but the buck's eyes flashed purple. It let off a scream I could hear over the car noise and charged right for us. The other deer scattered back up hill and into the trees. The charging deer was too close for me to try and turn around or even accelerate past it.

Don't let it in, said Brother Malachi as he sat up. It'll come right through the windshield.

On it, I shot back as my eyes darted back and forth between the deer and the road, making sure I didn't wreck. I had to time it and line the SUV up so that I smacked the deer with a corner or side. A head on crash, and Brother Malachi would be right – we'd have it sitting in our laps, thrashing around. Those antlers would slice and stab like knives.

We got closer, and it got larger as it arrowed for us. I dropped one hand down on the parking brake while I shifted the other to spin the wheel. Closer it came, and when its head dropped, I spun the wheel, hit the brakes, and pulled up on the emergency brake all at once.

The front of the SUV slewed away from the buck as it leaped for us. It hit the hood and slid off the other side, making the front dip. The SUV fishtailed a couple times as I stood on the brakes before it straightened out. I whipped my head back, looking at the buck as it struggled to stand and the SUV came to a shaky, shuddering stop. The deer had at least one leg broken and blood was visible on its face.

It's suffering. Finish it, said Brother Malachi who was also looking through the rear window.

The engine strained and whined as I reversed back and struck the buck again. We bounced over it, and I stopped a few feet after that. It was unlikely to get back up. Tire prints were emblazoned on the carcass. A wisp of steam came up from the hood, and the check engine light came on.

I looked over to Brother Malachi, who was looking at the body. SUV's damaged.

He looked at me, glanced at the dash, and then back out the windows. We need to get out of here in case there's more or something else is watching.

I cranked the wheel, which was sluggish, eased around the body, and kept going to Mazama.

More steam billowed up from the hood as we went down the road. I kept our speed down to baby the engine. It didn't work. Right after we passed the Welcome to Mazama sign, the engine gave off a clunk and cut off.

Let's put it in that lot, said Brother Malachi, pointing through the windshield.

I gave up trying to get the SUV to start and looked out to the smallish parking lot he indicated much further down the road. I looked over at him questioningly. What's wrong with the side of the road?

It'll be good for us; we could use the exercise, he replied with a tight smile. There was another reason, but he was going to let me figure it out. We pushed the vehicle a good 100 yards down the road and into the parking lot. A few phone calls later, we headed out on foot into the woods.

We only got in a few miles, far enough that no one could hear our screams, when a Twig Fury stepped out from behind a tree and tackled me. A Twig Fury is exactly what it sounds like: five feet of angry sticks held together by a bitter, malevolent spirit bent on mayhem and death.

Even though I had my MP-5 at the low ready, the Twig Fury's appearance was so sudden I didn't have a chance to react before it knocked me down and landed on top of me. I had one arm bent at the elbow keeping its mouth away from my face while the other was trapped between us. Its eyes were the sickly purple-black of magic, and it snapped again and again at me. Fingers made from sticks wrapped around my blocking arm and squeezed while it tried to shove my arm out of the way.

Crap, I panted as the bones in my forearm shifted. Any tighter and they'd be broken. I tried to keep my blocking arm where it was to prevent being bitten while wiggling the other one loose. For a bunch of sticks and bits of wood, the creature must have weighed 300 pounds or more. My arm stayed trapped.

Bending one leg to get a good base to push off from the ground and arching my back to roll the creature off of me didn't work, it was too heavy to shift. My arm shook from the effort of trying to keep away from the Twig Fury, but I was losing. In a few more seconds, my arm would be wrenched away, and then it would chew off my face.

Brother Malachi stepped up, jammed his pistol into the side of its head, and pulled the trigger several times. The long suppressor on the end of his weapon kept the sound down. Instead of shots, they sounded more like a bunch of bear traps being sprung one after the other. One bullet must have hit the crystal that bound the spirit because the Twig Fury's mouth stopped its gnashing attempts and hung open. The glow faded from its eyes, and with a small puff of an explosion, the twigs blew apart.

I lay there panting for a second, trying to calm down and catch my breath now that the danger was over. I could only take small shallow breaths while the creature crushed me with its weight. I slowly sat up, and then rotated my arms at the elbow one at a time. My blocking arm was sore, but worked fine. The other had a nice scratch on it I'd have to clean later. I stayed there for another moment until I noticed the offered hand near my face. I grabbed it and stood. We continued on up the mountain until the ambush.

The western part of the Cascade Mountains in Washington was supposed to be moderate in temperature, in precipitation, and in size. All lies. I was cold. The late autumn, freezing rain had pelted us since we got out of the car, and the unnamed mountain we were on seemed to reach heaven. The only good part was this late in the year it was unlikely we'd meet anyone else. The bad part was we could get snowed in.

We had traded out walking point and reading the GPS every fifteen minutes. Walking point will wear you out as you search everything in front of you, making sure that that odd clump of bushes is just that, or there is nothing in the trees waiting to pounce once you get close enough. The navigator has it easier keeping the group pointed in the right direction and looking over his shoulder every few steps to make sure nothing's sneaking up on you from behind.

I was back on point, picking my way forward when the forest got quiet. I snapped my MP-5 up to my shoulder and peered through the sights, my trigger finger curling inwards when I saw them as they emerged a little bit ahead of our direction of travel. The size of an angry Rottweiler, they had claws, long lapin-like ears, and hopped on furry padded feet. Jagged teeth framed open mouths, and they had black amethyst colored eyes.

Five of them in a row sprang forth from a small gully and, without emitting a sound, attacked. The bear trap like claps from my suppressed MP-5 seemed to echo in the stillness as I let off a three round burst at the one in my sights. As I swung my MP-5 to aim at the next monster, I took a step to the left. Brother Malachi would be stepping to the right to break up the group, preventing them from swarming one of us. The move also helped make sure we didn't get in each other's sight picture and take an accidental bullet.

The one I'd shot twisted, like a dog trying to catch its own tail as I fired on the next one. The bullet smack was almost as loud as the MP-5 clacks, but more of a bat striking a baseball sound. To get away from the pain, the creature leapt to one side and blundered into the next one in line, knocking both of them off their feet. I took and extra half second to make sure I was lined up properly as the third one got back to its feet. Its head became a mist of blood and brains. A quick second glance at each body confirmed that none were getting back up.

I turned at the waist to the right to look for more targets and to make sure Brother Malachi was okay. He was turning towards me, and we lowered out weapons at the same time. He pointed at me and made a circling motion with one finger, telling me to keep watch. I nodded and began to make a circuit.

Brother Malachi shrugged off his backpack, and pulled out his first aid kit. One of the creatures must have gotten in a swipe. By the time I'd walked around once, he had his pants down, exposing a bloody thigh.

I pivoted around in a circle. The woods appeared calm. Of course, they had seemed that way five minutes ago, and then we were under attack. The occasional squirrel moved about looking for food, and birds chirped and sang their songs. The forest going quiet will warn you of danger, sometimes.

Brother Malachi grunted a little as he finished applying the bandage to his leg. It's tough to give yourself first aid. I would have wrapped him up myself but someone had to stand guard in case of a second wave of attackers.

I resumed walking our perimeter and, seeing the opportunity, punted the head of one of the creatures into a tree where it hit with a splat, as it was already starting to liquefy. As I continued keeping watch and walking around in a circle, paying close attention on the direction we were going, I would stop to pick up our brass, and even a few of our flattened lead and silver bullets as I kept watch. The bullets we used weren't solid silver, as that was too expensive, and chewed up a weapon's barrel over time.

Regular bullets only enraged magical creatures. Our bullets were lead, jacketed in silver, and then copper. The silver put down the monsters, the copper reduced wear on our weapons, and the lead was cheap. Didn't mean the rounds were free, however. We're allotted so many per quarter – any more than that comes out of our small stipend. The Brethren say it's to promote fire discipline. I say they're being cheap.

Like most everyone else in our order, I pick up all the brass and ammo I can to turn in for reuse and to reduce the bite to my budget. We carried MP-5s and Glocks, both chambered for 9mm. Yes, I know it's a hated round in the US by some, but it is the most common round in the world. Since my order is global, the attempt is made to standardize as much as possible. If I have to go to India or Belarus tomorrow, I can travel light and use the weapons and gear they have there rather than having to bring my own baggage train and Sherpas to move it along. Logistics matter – ask any general.

What are these things called? I asked in a quiet voice keeping watch.

Hell if I know. Call them Devil Bunnies if you like.

The words caught me by surprise, both the admission that he didn't know and the silliness of the proposed name. Brother Malachi had been an Inquisitor a long time and traveled all over the world. In my mind, there was little he didn't know.

I looked down at the melting bodies, creatures summoned to our world reverted back into ooze when they died, and grinned. It was probably an apt name.

Think we're busted? I asked. Minions are expendable, but there are times they are connected to the Witch or Warlock as an early warning signal. Most Witches are cowards and will send out minions to keep them aware of danger, and fight for them while they run for cover. Sadly it works, and we have to start all over again trying to find the twisted soul we are hunting before more people die.

Doubt it. These looked like low level constructs, expendable. Either way we need to go on and find out where they are hiding.

I nodded to myself in agreement. It made sense and I wasn't about to question his judgment. After all, he'd saved me after the botched mission in New England.

Hearing movement, I glanced at Brother Malachi to make sure everything was fine.

He winced as he tested his weight on his leg as he stood up. I should be okay if we don't have to run much, he said, dropping to one knee to pick up his gear.

Good. Means I can escape the bear without sprinting.

Huh? A puzzled look came upon his face.

I felt my sly smile as I said, You know the old saying: I don't have to out run the bear, just you.

He paused his rummaging. Knew I picked the wrong monk to train.

And if it was me, especially after the ball games last night? The Red Sox had won again while the Cubs continued their streak of moral victories.

I keep telling you I'm a hockey fan, he grumbled as he finished packing away his gear. Born in Chicago to a Cubs loving family, Brother Malachi publically insisted that he was a hockey fan to avoid the shame of their non-winning tendencies. However, using my skills as an Inquisitor, I asked the right questions and had discovered out the truth on the long drive from Arizona to Portland. Brother Malachi, an Inquisitor Plenipotentiary and living legend, was a Cubs fan. I admired him even more for it. I also teased him about it, but carefully. For all of my training, he could fold me in half and stuff me into his rucksack if he were so inclined.

Ready? He slung his backpack over his shoulder.

I nodded and continued uphill using the faint trail we had found earlier.

Chapter 2

I wasn't always an Inquisitor. I had a normal life as a research chemist, spending my days looking for new alloys to develop for a metallurgical firm. Married, we were expecting our first child. That all changed when I found an old alchemy book. I used to collect them in hope of finding some new process, and for the thrill of cracking their codes and secrets. I thought it was harmless fun, but it turned out to be my introduction into the world of Witches and magic. What I thought was just the ramblings of a mercury damaged mind was a grimoire, a tome of spells and forbidden knowledge. Witches would kill to obtain them, and one did.

She had found out about the book and sent her minion to collect it. My wife was killed, our house set on fire and I was the most likely suspect. My in-laws, hurt by the loss of their daughter, turned on me and publically screamed my guilt. I was tried in the press despite lacking a motive.

To keep me from being killed in jail while I awaited trial, my lawyer had me sent to a psychiatric hospital for observation. One night, I had a visitor who explained some things to me and offered me a choice: stay and die or come with him and become a monk dedicated to fighting evil and monsters which roamed the dark corners of the world.

I took the vows. I was trained and on my first solo mission, things went bad. I was captured, tortured, and rescued, but at a cost. The bishop needed a scapegoat for failure and usurpation of his authority. My lack of guilt was an unimportant detail. I was shocked to find out that there are politics, even among monks. We may try to be holy and above such things, but we're human, some more than others.

I was sent away from my monastery, torn from all my friends and family in this new, strange life for additional training. My actions in Providence had attracted the attention of an Inquisitor Plenipotentiary, Brother Malachi, who was able improve my life. I ended up training with the Hammers, the shock troops of the Inquisition. I had barely completed my training when we were called into action. Thaddeus, the Warlock who had tortured me, was back, and other Witches wanted something from him. The Witches fought amongst themselves, and we finished off the rest, resulting in the death of Thaddeus. What I had thought was the end of the story was just another chapter.

We'd defeated Thaddeus, but someone else had tipped the scales in our favor and then disappeared. Our new mission was to find this Warlock, capture him before he did any more killing, find out why he'd intervened, and give him a chance at redemption. He wouldn't take it. None of them ever did. Defiant to the end, proud of what they had done to innocents, they slaughtered and sacrificed with less remorse than a hungry five year old given a package of gummy bears.

Flames