Night Watch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  And even if any Light Ones saw what was happening, they wouldn’t say anything.

  I was doing what I thought was necessary. What I believed I had a right to do. Borrowing. Stealing. And the way I used the Power I’d taken would seal my destiny.

  Either I’d pay back all my debts in full.

  Or the Twilight would open its arms to embrace me.

  When a Light Magician starts drawing Power from humans, he’s gambling everything on a single throw of the dice. And the usual balancing of accounts between the actions of the two Watches didn’t apply.

  Not only did the amount of Good that was done have to exceed the amount of Evil I had caused; I would have to be certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’d paid everything back in full.

  The lovers, the children, the old people. The group drinking beer by the statue. I’d been afraid their happiness might turn out to be a sham, but it was genuine, and I took their Power.

  Forgive me.

  I could apologize to every one of them three times over. I could pay for what I’d taken. But I wouldn’t really mean it.

  I was simply fighting for my love. In the first place. And only after that for you, the humans for whom this new happiness was being prepared.

  But what if I was really doing that as well?

  What if, every time you fought for your love, you were fighting for the whole world?

  For the whole world—not against the whole world.

  Power!

  Power.

  Power?

  I gathered it in crumbs, sometimes gently, sometimes in crude haste, to prevent my hand from trembling and my eyes from looking away in shame, as I took almost all there was.

  Maybe happiness was a rare experience anyway for this young guy?

  I didn’t know.

  Power!

  Maybe without this smile, this woman would lose someone’s love?

  Power.

  Maybe tomorrow this strong man with the ironic smile would die!

  Power.

  The amulets in my pockets wouldn’t be of any use. There wasn’t going to be a fight. The “top form” the boss had mentioned wouldn’t help me either. That wouldn’t be enough. And the right to carry out a second-level intervention that Zabulon had granted me so generously was a trap. There wasn’t a shred of doubt about that. He’d framed his own girlfriend, drawn the lines of probability together so that we’d meet, and then handed me his deadly gift with a mournful expression on his face. I couldn’t see far enough into the future to be sure the Good I did would never become Evil.

  But if you have no weapon—accept one, even from the hands of your enemy.

  Power!

  Power.

  Power!

  If I’d still been connected with Gesar by the slim thread that maintains contact between a young magician and his mentor, he would have sensed what was happening a long time ago. Sensed the energy building up inside me, the massive energy I’d gathered for some unknown purpose.

  What would he have done?

  It made no sense to try to stop a magician who had started down this path.

  I was walking in the direction of the Economic Exhibition metro station. I knew where it was all going to happen. Coincidences aren’t coincidences when they’re controlled by higher magicians. The absurd “house on stilts,” the matchbox standing on its end—that was where Zabulon had lost the battle for Svetlana; that was where Gesar had unmasked the Light Magician he’d placed in the Inquisition, teaching Svetlana a lesson in the process.

  The focus of Power for the whole complex maneuver.

  For the third time.

  I didn’t feel like eating or drinking at all, but I stopped once, bought a coffee and drank it. It was tasteless, as if the last drop of caffeine had been filtered out of it. People started making way for me, even though I was walking in the ordinary world. The magical tension around me was rising.

  There was no way I could conceal my approach.

  But I didn’t want to creep up on them anyway.

  A pregnant young woman was walking along the sidewalk cautiously. I shuddered when I saw that she was smiling. And I almost turned away when I realized that her unborn child was smiling too in its own safe little world.

  Their Power was like pale-pink peonies—a large blossom and round bud that hadn’t unfolded yet.

  I had to gather what I found along my way.

  With no hesitation or pity.

  There was something happening in the world around me too.

  The heat seemed to have got stronger. In a single desperate surge.

  The Dark and the Light Magicians must have had good reason to spend all those days trying to disperse the heat. Something was going to happen. I stopped and looked up at the sky through the twilight.

  Subtle, twisted coils of swirling air.

  Sparks on the horizon.

  Gloom in the southeast.

  A glowing nimbus round the needle of the Ostankino television tower.

  It was going to be a strange night.

  I touched a little girl running by and took the naïve joy she felt because her father had come home sober. Like snapping off a briar branch, prickly and fragile.

  Forgive me.

  It was almost eleven o’clock when I reached the “house on stilts.”

  The last person I touched was a drunken factory worker, slumped against the wall in the alley. The same alley where I’d killed a Dark One for the first time. He was barely even conscious. But happy.

  I took his Power too. A dusty, trampled stem of coarse plantain, a crude, dirty-brown candle.

  That was Power too.

  As I crossed the road, I realized I wasn’t alone. I summoned my shadow and withdrew into the Twilight world.

  The building was cordoned off.

  It was the strangest cordon I’d ever seen. Dark Ones and Light Ones jumbled up together. I spotted Semyon and nodded to him. He gave me a calm, slightly reproachful look. Tiger Cub, Bear, Ilya, Ignat . . .

  When had they been summoned? While I was wandering around the city, gathering Power? Sorry about that vacation, guys.

  And the Dark Ones. Even Alisa was there. The witch was a terrible sight: Her face looked like a paper mask that had been crumpled and straightened out again. It looked as if Zabulon hadn’t been lying when he told me she’d be punished. Alisher was standing beside Alisa, and when I caught his eye, I could tell the two of them would clash in mortal combat. Maybe not now. But someday.

  I stepped through the ring.

  “This is a restricted zone,” said Alisher.

  “This is a restricted zone,” echoed Alisa.

  “I have a right to enter.”

  I had enough Power in me to enter without permission. Only the Great Magicians could stop me now, but they weren’t there.

  They didn’t try to stop me. Someone, either Gesar or Zabulon, or maybe both, must have ordered them just to warn me.

  “Good luck,” I heard someone whisper behind me. I swung round and caught Tiger Cub’s eye. I nodded.

  The entrance hall was empty. And the house had gone quiet, like the time when the immense inferno vortex was spinning over Svetlana’s head: the Evil that she had summoned against herself.

  I walked on through the gray gloom. The floor echoed hollowly under my feet. In the Twilight world even the ground responded to magic; even the shades of human buildings did.

  The trapdoor to the roof was open. Nobody was trying to put any obstacles in my way. The trouble was I didn’t know if I really ought to be pleased about that.

  I emerged from the Twilight. I couldn’t see any point in it. Not now.

  I started climbing the ladder.

  The first person I saw was Maxim.

  He looked quite different from the way he had before, the spontaneous Light Magician, the Maverick who had killed minions of the Darkness for years. Maybe they’d done something to him. Or maybe he’d just changed. There are some people who make ideal executioners.
<
br />   Maxim had been lucky. He’d become an executioner. An Inquisitor. Standing above the Light and the Darkness, serving everybody—and nobody. He had his arms crossed on his chest and his head slightly lowered. Something about him reminded me of Zabulon, the first time I’d seen him. And something reminded me of Gesar. When I appeared, Maxim raised his head slightly and cast a casual glance at me. Then he lowered his gaze.

  So I really was allowed in on the whole show.

  Zabulon was standing at one side, wrapped in a light raincoat. He took no notice of my arrival. He’d known I’d be there anyway.

  Gesar, Svetlana, and Egor were standing together. They gave me a much livelier reception.

  “So you came after all?” the boss asked.

  I nodded and looked at Svetlana. She was wearing a long white dress and her hair was hanging loose. She had a small, glittering box made of white morocco leather in her hand. It looked as if it was meant for a brooch or a medallion.

  “Anton, you know then?” Egor shouted.

  If anybody there was happy, he was. Perfectly happy.

  “Yes, I know,” I answered. I walked up to him and ruffled his hair.

  His Power was like a yellow dandelion.

  Now I felt like I’d collected all I could.

  “Full to the brim?” asked Gesar. “Anton, what are you planning to do?”

  I didn’t answer. Something was bothering me. There was something wrong here.

  That was it! Why wasn’t Olga there?

  Had the final briefing already been given? Did Svetlana already know what she had to do?

  “A piece of chalk,” I said. “A little piece of chalk, pointed at both ends. You can use it to write on anything. In a Book of Destiny, for instance. Cross out old lines, write in new ones.”

  “Anton, you’re not going to tell us anything we don’t already know,” the boss said calmly.

  “Has permission been given?” I asked.

  Gesar looked at Maxim. As if he could feel the glance, the Inquisitor raised his head and said in a hollow voice:

  “Permission has been given.”

  “The Day Watch wishes to object,” Zabulon said in a dull voice.

  “Denied,” Maxim replied indifferently and lowered his head back onto his chest.

  “If a Great Sorceress picks up the chalk,” I said, “every line in the Book of Destiny will take a particle of her soul. And return it to her, changed. You can only change a person’s destiny by giving away your own soul.”

  “I know,” said Sveta. She smiled. “I’m sorry, Anton. I think this is the right thing to do. It will be good for everyone.”

  There was a brief glint of concern in Egor’s eyes. He’d sensed something was wrong here.

  “Anton, you’re a warrior of the Watch,” said Gesar. “If you have objections, you may speak.”

  Objections? To what? To Egor becoming a Light Magician instead of a Dark one? To an attempt, even if it was bound to fail, to bring Good to humans? To Svetlana becoming a Great Sorceress?

  Even at the cost of sacrificing everything human she still had inside her.

  “There’s nothing I wish to say,” I said.

  Did I imagine it, or was there a glint of surprise in Gesar’s eyes?

  It was hard to tell what the Higher Magician was really thinking.

  “Let’s begin,” he said. “Svetlana, you know what you have to do.”

  “I do,” she said, looking at me. I moved a few steps away from her. So did Gesar. Now there were just the two of them standing together—Svetlana and Egor. Both equally anxious. Equally tense. I looked across at Zabulon; he was waiting. Svetlana opened the little box—the click of the catch sounded like a gunshot—and slowly took out the piece of chalk, almost as if she didn’t want to. It was tiny. Had it really been worn down so much by the Light’s attempts to alter the destiny of the world over the millennia?

  Gesar sighed.

  Svetlana squatted down and began drawing a circle around herself and the boy.

  I had nothing to say. I didn’t know what to do.

  I’d collected so much Power that it was bursting out of me.

  I had the right to do Good.

  There was just one little thing missing—I didn’t understand exactly how.

  The wind stirred. Timidly, cautiously. Then it faded away.

  I looked up and shuddered. Something was happening. Here, in the human world, the sky was covered with clouds. I hadn’t even noticed them appear.

  Svetlana finished drawing the circle and stood up.

  I tried glancing at her through the Twilight and immediately turned away. She seemed to be holding a red-hot coal in her hand. Was she feeling any pain?

  “There’s a storm approaching,” Zabulon said from one side. “A real storm, the kind we haven’t had for a long time now.”

  He laughed.

  Nobody paid any attention to what he said. Except perhaps the wind—it started blowing more evenly, growing stronger. I looked down at the street; everything was calm. Svetlana was tracing the chalk through the air as if she were drawing something only she could see. A square outline with some design inside it.

  Egor gave a quiet groan and threw his head back. I took half a step forward and stopped. I couldn’t get across the barrier. And there was no point anyway.

  When you don’t know what to do, don’t trust anything. Not your cool head, not your pure heart, not your hot hands.

  “Anton!”

  I looked at the boss. Gesar seemed worried.

  “That’s not just a storm, Anton. It’s a hurricane. People will be killed.”

  “The Dark Ones?” I asked simply.

  “No, the elements.”

  “Maybe you overdid it slightly with the concentration of Power?” I asked. The boss ignored the jibe.

  “Anton, what level of magical intervention are you allowed?”

  Ah, of course, he knew about my deal with Zabulon.

  “Second.”

  “You can stop the hurricane,” said Gesar. A simple statement of fact. “Reduce it to no more than a cloudburst. You’ve collected enough Power.”

  The wind sprang up again. And this time it wasn’t going to stop. It tore and tugged at us, as if it had decided to blow us all off the roof. The rain started lashing down.

  “It looks like your last chance,” the boss added. “But then, it’s up to you.”

  The defensive shield sprang up around him with a glassy, tinkling sound. It was as if Gesar had suddenly been covered with a soft cellophane bag. It was the first time I’d seen a magician use such defensive measures against the ordinary excesses of the elements.

  Svetlana continued drawing the Book of Destiny, with her dress billowing out around her. Egor didn’t move a muscle, as if he were crucified on an invisible cross. Maybe he couldn’t see or understand what was going on. What happens to someone when his old destiny is taken away and he still hasn’t been given a new one?

  “Gesar, the typhoon you’re about to unleash will make this storm look like nothing,” I shouted.

  The wind almost drowned out my words.

  “That’s inevitable,” Gesar replied. He seemed to be speaking in a whisper, but every word was perfectly clear. “It’s already happening.”

  The Book of Destiny had become visible even in the human world. Of course, Svetlana hadn’t been drawing it in the literal sense of the word; she’d been extracting it from the deepest levels of the Twilight. Making a copy, so that any changes she made in it would be reflected in the original. The Book of Destiny looked like a model, a replica, made out of fiery threads of flame hanging motionless in the air. The raindrops sizzled when they touched it.

  And now Svetlana would start changing Egor’s destiny.

  And later, decades later, Egor would change the destiny of the world.

  As always, trying to shift it toward the Good.

  And, as always, failing.

  I staggered. In a single instant, completely without warnin
g, the strong wind had become a hurricane. The scene around me was incredible. I saw cars stop on the avenue up close against the curb—as far away as possible from the trees. A huge billboard collapsed onto an intersection without a single sound—the roaring of the wind completely drowned out the crash. A few little figures made a belated dash for the buildings, as if they hoped to find shelter by the walls.

  Svetlana stopped. The red-hot coal was still glowing in her hand.

  “Anton!”

  I could hardly make out what she was saying.

  “Anton, what should I do? Tell me, Anton, should I do this?”

  The chalk circle was protecting her but not completely—the clothes were still being torn off her body—but at least it allowed her to stay on her feet.

  Everything else seemed to have disappeared. I looked at her, and at the glowing piece of chalk, already poised to change another person’s destiny. Svetlana was waiting for an answer, but I had nothing to say to her. Because I didn’t know the answer either.

  I lifted my arms up toward the raging heavens. I saw the spectral blossoms of Power in my hands.

  “Can you handle it?” Zabulon asked sympathetically. “The storm’s quite wild already.”

  Even through the clamor of the hurricane, I could hear his voice as clearly as the boss’s.

  Gesar sighed.

  I opened my hands and turned the palms toward the sky—the sky where there were no stars, the sky full of dark, roiling clouds, torrents of rain, flashes of lightning.

  It was one of the simplest spells. Almost the first one everybody was taught.

  Remoralization.

  Without any limiting conditions.

  “Don’t do that!” Gesar shouted. “Don’t you dare!”

  In one swift movement he dashed across to shield Svetlana and Egor from me. As if that could stop the spell. There was nothing that could stop it now.

  A ray of light that human beings couldn’t see shot out of my open hands. It was the scraps that I’d gathered so mercilessly from all those people. The scarlet flame of roses, the pale-pink of peonies, the yellow glow of asters, white daisies, and almost black orchids.

  Zabulon laughed quietly behind my back.

  Svetlana stood there, holding the chalk poised over the Book of Destiny.

  Egor was frozen in front of her, with his arms flung out.