Dagger Magic

"Hey, what are you doing?" he shouted, gesturing with his torch toward the man in the water. "Lorcan, where are you?"

O'Haverty did not answer, but the second monk glanced up at him with placid indifference. Only then did Scanlan realize that both men were holding odd-looking daggers with heavy, triple-edged blades, perhaps a foot long overall. The weapons looked dull and clumsy, hardly capable of inflicting much damage unless one were hit over the head with the pommel, but Scanlan found himself gripping his torch more tightly, wishing it were bigger, heavier. He had never heard of Hare Krishnas being other than peaceable and nonviolent, but there was something not right about these two. And where was O'Haverty?

Almost without realizing what he was doing, Scanlan began to back away from the nearer monk. As he did so, the one down on the beach thrust his dagger into his belt and jerked loose the anchor that was holding the boat in place, beginning to gather in the mooring line. His movement gave Scanlan a clearer look at the interior of the boat - and the crumpled splash of black and brighter orange lying in the stern, awash in a sea of crimson.

"Lorcan?" Scanlan whispered, the color draining from his face.

The monk in the water paid him no heed, merely continuing to coil the mooring line. The fog bank swallowed up the sun in that instant, and the temperature seemed to drop by at least twenty degrees.

Before Scanlan could summon the will to move, to do something, the monk on the ledge turned his impassive gaze back to the cave from which Scanlan had just emerged and clasped the hilt of his dagger between his palms, point downward. Then, as the thin lips began to move silently, the agile hands began rolling the hilt of the dagger between the palms, the black eyes quickly losing focus and rolling back in the hairless head. As Scanlan edged away from the man, trying to decide which one was the greater threat, the monk on the beach tossed the anchor into the bow of the boat and moved back amidships. His expression, as he turned his face toward Scanlan, was one of mild reproof.

"Curiosity can be very costly," he announced, in heavily accented English.

He must have done something to the boat's controls then, for the engines suddenly roared to life, the bow swung around, and the boat began heading away from the shore.

"Hey!" Scanlan shouted, starting to skitter down the ledge in pursuit.

Even as he said it, already aware that he had no chance of catching the retreating boat, the monk up on the ledge raised the point of his dagger toward the entrance to the cave, continuing to roll the hilt between his palms - and suddenly released the weapon.

It sprang from between his hands, launching itself through the air like a tiny guided missile to strike the top of the cave opening with explosive force. With a crack like a thunderclap, the rock above the opening gave way, raining down rubble to bury the passageway under a descending weight of earth. Within a matter of seconds, the cave mouth had vanished, erased under tons of broken stone.

The concussion staggered Scanlan to his knees. Now nearly to the beach, he scrambled up and wheeled around in time to see the strange dagger come flashing back to its owner's hand like a boomerang.

Scanlan's eyes flew wide in blank incredulity. Even as his mind groped in vain for a logical explanation for what he had just witnessed, he realized that the second monk now was rolling his dagger the same way the first had done - except that its point was directed right at Scanlan!

The sight made Scanlan's blood run cold. Backing off a few steps in horror, he turned to bolt for the imagined safety of a tumbled ridge of boulders, skirting close to the edge of the cliff-face. A lightning scramble up over the rocks took him some distance above the level of the beach. But before he could take shelter behind any of the outcroppings, the monk on the beach released his dagger.

Running for his life, Scanlan had no further warning before the blade thudded home between his shoulder blades, piercing to the hilt. The pain transfixed him as he screamed and staggered, his torch flying from his hand as he toppled forward into the sea. His head cracked against a rock enroute and he knew no more. Where he landed, the water for an instant was dyed crimson, but then the surf took command, dispelling the red as it rolled his body to and fro.