Spirit of the Dragon: A Story of Magic, a Witch, and the Third Reich Read online

  Spirit

  of the

  Dragon

  A Story of Magic,

  A Witch,

  And the Third Reich

  J Cameron Boyd

  Copyright © 2016 J Cameron Boyd

  If you enjoy this book, I would love to hear about it. Reviews help others find the books that they may be interested in.

  Click here to post your review.

  Many thanks, J CAMERON BOYD

  For a complete list of all the books

  by J Cameron Boyd

  including the book that started it all:

  Legacy of Lantis: The Prophecy

  Go to: jcboyd.com

  Our fantasies give us vampires, werewolves, and witches.

  Our mythologies give us gods, angels, and demons.

  Boyd gives us something far more plausible.

  Flight

  Nature:

  Gives us birds, bats, and insects with their perfect blend of wings, tails, and weight.

  Science:

  Gives us planes, helicopters, and balloons, with various innovations of lift and propulsion.

  Witchcraft:

  Gives us flying brooms and sticks enabling the witches and warlocks to levitate and attract.

  Magic:

  Gives us one very special form of flight. Unrivaled in every way, it gave the dragons the ability to soar like an eagle, maneuver like a humming bird, and speed through the air faster than nature, science, and witchcraft could ever imagine.

  Spirit of the Dragon

  In 1945, the European theater of World War II came to an end. As the Germans surrendered, the historians began typing out the official version of what actually happened. In their haste, they inadvertently mentioned the influence the occult played in this horrific event. Ever since then, they have been trying to take it back; downplaying what cannot be erased and denying the especially unbelievable testimonies.

  This tale is but one of the stories of how magic, the mental manipulation of energy, and witchcraft, the alteration of molecular combinations, changed who it was that was to write the official history of World War II.

  It all began with the rise of the Führer. Guided by his spiritual advisor, the Jewish occultist Erik Hanussen, the political balance of the entire world was thrown into chaos. And with that change came evil, horror, and men willing to do anything to fulfill their ambition.

  Among those men was the German general, Karl Haushofer. An accomplished tactician, philosopher, and occultist, the general was one of the rare humans who knew that humanity was not the only sentient race on the planet. He knew that living secretly amongst us are magicians (the immortal Lantians), aliens (the immortal Piretians) and the monsters (the feran and drakul). It was his knowledge of magic, however, that the Nazis were after when they asked Haushofer to find a way to make the Luftwaffe invincible.

  With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, General Haushofer set out to discover the secret of magical flight. All he had to do was to get back to the time when dragons ruled the planet. If he should succeed, the world would belong to the Führer.

  CHAPTER 1

  Year: 1925

  “Damn moon,” he cursed, pressing his foot harder against the floorboards.

  The Opel Laubfrosch strained to comply with the command. Even so, the car, commonly called the Tree Frog, seemed to do little more than creep past the tall, stately spruces and ghostly, gray beeches of the southern German forest.

  In truth, his anger was not at the car or the moon. Instead, it was at all the deplorable choices he had made that were conspiring to prevent him from helping his friend, Rudolf. The Frog’s top speed, combined with the full moon’s unwelcomed presence, merely exacerbated his foul mood.

  Raul Günter was a man of his word. Never mind that he wasn’t human as was Rudolf. Through the bond of teacher and student, he and Rudolf had become close friends, and he was now struggling to keep his word to his friend.

  “The world has not seen many people that have a heart as big as Rudolf,” Raul said as the rented, green convertible eased slowly around the curve. “And the man knows his magic. He still has so much to give the world ... I should have been there yesterday,” he moaned. Still, the speedometer’s needle didn’t budge beyond 72 kilometers per hour. “I would have, too, if I hadn’t felt the need to stick to that pointless oath,” he declared. “Keeping a low profile in this world hasn’t changed human history one little bit ... Nor has my involvement,” he reflected.

  Raul was a Lantian—the original sentient species of this planet. Out of necessity, back when human history began, he had killed his share of humans. Doing so had filled him with self-loathing, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. He had tried to resist the curse the gods had saddled his kind with, but in the end, the pain had been too overwhelming, and the need too strong.

  The gods had concocted a cure that had saved his kind from extinction after the war that had all but killed the planet, but it was an unstable cure that, as it needed to be regularly refreshed, quickly became a curse.

  The curse dragged on for centuries before a synthetic solution was discovered. By then, with the curse’s gift of immortality and its monthly need for human flesh, electing for synthetic flesh was an easy choice. All the Lantians, with few exceptions, chose to abstain from using humanity for their survival. It was a decision he would never regret, though he still carried the guilt and revulsion those early years had left him with.

  But to choose to live among humans as if he too were a human—had that made any difference? The suffering that resolution was now causing his friend came to mind to torment him, but to toss aside an oath that he had kept for centuries … he could not do that lightly.

  “Oh Rudolf,” he said, looking up at the snow-capped peaks of the Swiss mountains before him, “there’s no way I’ll get there in time to ease anything. And for what; just so I could ease my own guilt?”

  The question came as the Lantian’s eyes turned to the heavens. Mockingly, the orb humans historically associate with their fantasized werewolves, stared back at him.

  “It wasn’t his fault!” he yelled at the orbiting rock that was now receiving the brunt of his bad mood. “He didn’t deserve any of this. Especially dying in the way he is now.”

  From the Tree Frog’s open cockpit, the Lantian magician watched as the planet’s satellite, looking like it was guilty of something dreadful, ducked behind a cloud.

  “You too, huh,” he commiserated, “You cannot be blamed. That full moon and werewolf nonsense that humans concocted … I, on the other hand …” He shook his head, feeling shame in the way he had associated with humans. He knew that in the beginning, he had been left with little choice. If only he could have found a way to deal with the pain. And now … “Now,” he said bitterly, “I have been just an average person who has contributed very little to the betterment of the world.”

  But then, there was Rudolf. Rudolf was his star pupil. He was an Austrian philosopher, author, social reformer, and architect. But as humans are wont to do, he became cause driven. His fight against Germany’s rising political tide was brave though foolhardy, but as the man put it, “Someone has to stand against them.” And stand he did, right up until the time they pushed back.

  His symptoms began with unexplained fatigue. When nothing worked to comfort this, including sorcery and potions, the gods were called. They too failed, leaving Raul but one option—an option he had promised his friend he would fulfill.

  As the weeks and months passed and no bad news had come, Raul Günter believed he had
time to take care of some things that needed tending.

  “If only I hadn’t been on the opposite side of the world when the call came!” the Lantian yelled, reminding himself of the pain his friend was enduring.

  Death by poison was horrible. But, as a rule, it came rather rapidly. What was used on his friend wasn’t rapid nor was it merely poison. It was some sort of undefined combination of spell and chemical that wore down the host over a period of months. The end was occurring in a crescendo of pain that blasted every nerve ending with heinous torment. The end, which all had fought against, began two days ago and by now …

  “By now I should have fulfilled my promise,” the magician lamented as he tried again for a little more speed from the Tree Frog. The engine whined, the wheels spun, and as if to help, the road flattened. The little, green car whined less but went no faster.

  ***

  Eons ago the Lantian swore he would never again do anything to impact humanity. To adhere to his vow, he pledged that he would always move about the world in the manner associated with the times. These times were quicker than ever before, and yet, no more than a crawl compared to what Raul was capable of.

  As the second, greatest magician the world had ever hosted, Raul Günter could surpass what most could only imagine. But, as he had for nearly forty thousand years, he continued his charade. In spite of his friend’s urgent need, he traveled as the humans traveled, using money rather than magic to facilitate his trip.

  Luck, at first, seemed to be on his side. The English aviator, John Alcock, was in New York planning another Atlantic crossing. With a few phone calls, as well as some well-greased palms, Raul soon found himself in Germany driving the infernally slow Opel.

  California to Germany in two days! A feat only magic could surpass. The problem was, Rudolf was on his last day. The pain of the tortured nerves, by now, would be unbearable. The seconds were ticking, and the snail-paced driving machine was still a good hundred miles from Rudolf’s death bed. It was a realization that had been creeping up on the magician from the moment he stepped down from Alcock’s plane.

  From England, he flew to Munich where he rented the Tree Frog. He was now in Switzerland having crossed the border less than an hour earlier.

  “Two to three hours more,” he shouted, pounding his frustration against the vehicle’s steering wheel.

  ***

  How long his fist banged on the wheel was lost to Günter. What he did remember was the steering wheel’s collapse. The Opel had been going up the mountain road for quite some time when the confounded thing simply fell apart; one half dropped onto his lap, and the other half lifted away from the column. That half he held in his hand as the little, green convertible veered right and flew off the mountain.

  A flurry of curses did little good.

  Only magic could right his error, and that didn’t happen until the Opel’s parabolic trajectory had it dropping almost perpendicular to the valley floor. With one last curse, the magician broke his vow. He conjured a multicolored tail of bright light that blasted the little vehicle straight up and over the mountains.

  “If I’m was going to use magic to keep from crashing, I’ll be damned if I’m going back to that infernal, circuitous route.” Still, Raul looked down at the mountain road with some misgivings. “Ah well. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of moving me through my stubbornness,” he sighed.

  Ten minutes later, the Opel’s wheels rolled on cobblestones as the magician, with soft words and subtle gestures, guided the little, green car through the streets of Dornach. The car, once again, slowed as it rumbled past lovely, four and five story, alpine-style buildings. Its speed, this time, was not out of a need for conformity. Raul had only been to Rudolf’s Austrian home one other time. The years had eroded Raul’s memory of the route and compelled the magician to slow the car until he could recognize the last turn. That done, he sped on to the house number that he, thankfully, did remember.

  Leaping from the car as it rolled up to the three-story home, Raul raced up the stairs and was pounding on the door when the car crashed to a stop. The sound of metal ramming into stone was ignored for, just then, the front door opened.

  Standing in the doorway was a squat, older lady. Her look of shock as she flinched back from the sound of the car’s impact quickly turned to one of recognition. She stepped aside to let Raul in.

  “How is he?” Raul asked as he walked across the threshold.

  “Mr. Günter, he no good,” the woman replied in broken German.

  “Rosa, it's good you called.” He smiled just enough to put the woman at ease. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “You good man, Mr. Günter,” she said, fighting back her tears.

  Emulating the age he was pretending to be with a stiff gate and slight wobble, Raul Günter walked past Rudolf’s housekeeper. Stopping in the foyer, he asked, “Is he in his room?”

  The housekeeper could only nod.

  “I’ll see myself up. Oh, and Rosa, if you wouldn’t mind, I could use a spot of tea.”

  The woman forced a smile, closed and latched the front door, and headed down the hall. As she disappeared, the magician broke for the staircase taking the steps two at a time.

  Opening his favorite pupil’s bedroom door, the old man took a deep breath and walked in. On the bed before him lay the Austrian mystic—friend to humanity and enemy of Germany’s National Socialist party—Rudolf Steiner.

  “I told you the Nazis would have their way,” the old man bellowed.

  “Master,” Steiner smiled. “Rosa should have told me. I would have greeted you properly.”

  “Your smile is proper enough for me,” Raul said fondly.

  “It does go against the moment,” Steiner weakly added and sunk back into the mattress. “It has gone as you predicted.”

  “Pain?”

  The man looked down for a moment before murmuring, “It’s not as bad as my impatience to have it over with. The magic they added to the poison forces my body to continue to refuse the inevitable.”

  “If it’s any consolation, those responsible will soon follow you.”

  “By then it won’t matter.”

  “So it won’t,” Raul agreed. “Still, there is the matter of all those who will be forced to take part.”

  “You hold to your prediction?”

  “That’s the second reason for my visit.”

  “The first?”

  “To offer you an expedited journey.”

  “You are a good friend,” Steiner smiled.

  “As are you,” the old man affirmed. “If only you were a better student.”

  “I had to see if I could stop the Nazis.”

  “I find no fault in that. It’s your choice of apprentices that riles me. I taught you better.”

  “Karl Haushofer and Erik Hannussen are exceptional,” Rudolf softly insisted.

  “Talent should never be valued above disposition. The fact that they now mingle with the likes of Himmler, and I hear Karl has taken Hess on as a student, is proof of their unworthiness.”

  “I admit they both are capable of the spell the poison was laced with. But there’s no way to tell with certainty who did this to me.”

  “That knowing will come with the survivor. It is certain there will be a confrontation. The kind of power they seek cannot be shared.”

  “Nor should it be obtained,” the dying man croaked.

  As they spoke, Raul glanced about the room. The furnishings were simple, the bed small, and the drapes were drawn. The room had soft, flowing lines. The doorway was rounded at the top with the look of having been shaped and smoothed by hand. The nightstand and bookshelves were made of thick boards from which the bark had been removed by hand and then polished, leaving the rich, natural shape.

  But even the gracefulness of the room could not dispel Raul gloominess. The reason for his coming and the news he brought weighed too heavily upon him. Under the circumstances, Raul was loath to talk to Rudolf about the subject, but he nee
ded the man’s input.

  “I agree, and that goes with the second reason I am here,” the magician began. “If the one who murdered you can access time, there will be no stopping him. Already, one or both seek magic from the past.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “An ancient tomb in southern Ecuador, thought to be securely hidden, has been robbed.”

  “Near Vilcabamba?”

  “You remember?” Raul smiled.

  “The staging ground for the Ancients’ return, I believe you called it.”

  “Indeed, it is where I first saw the light of this time.”

  “But Raul, how can you be sure either man was involved?”

  “The sense that is the greatest assurance one can have,” the magician frowned.

  “Are you certain your instinct isn’t tainted by prejudice?”

  “My dear boy, why do you defend them so?”

  “I suppose I don’t want to admit I was wrong about them.” Rudolf smiled wistfully.

  With that truth, the two old friends addressed Raul’s second reason for coming. If Hanussen or Haushofer had been involved, where would they have taken the books they stole?

  “I would think they would want to keep them close by. Which means that there is but one logical location—Berlin,” Steiner said.

  Raul nodded his agreement.

  The conclusion was reached by two of the world’s most powerful beings—one human and the other not so human. Unfortunately for the world, one of them was dying.

  Still, Raul lingered, asking question after question about his friend’s two wayward disciples. When the questions dried up, they switched not to the primary reason the old man was visiting but to speculation about the place where Rudolf would next call home.

  They both knew they were dragging their feet. But that is what old friends do when faced with the undesirable.