The Children of Hamelin

by Danny Lasko

  They lead me down a wide hallway with thirty-foot ceilings and tall, magnificent windows that curve to a point lining each side. The whole palace—at least it appears to be a palace—is chasmic. So is the escort. The fire woman is flanked by six others on each side, all in black and silver.

  “Where am I going?”

  “To the Star Room.”

  “Is there food in there?”

  “No.”

  “Why am I going to the Star Room?”

  “To meet the Wizard King.”

  In the past two weeks, I’ve seen horses that could run faster than most vehicles, slept in a treetop fortress, survived an eight-hundred-foot drop onto concrete, steered a flying pirate ship, and seen the tides rage against me, but nothing comes close to what I see before me. This isn’t just a room. It’s a platform amidst the reaches of space. It’s an illusion—it has to be—but my reflexes take over, and I suck in as much air as my lungs will hold just to make sure I still can. Without a single seam or blemish, stars of all sizes and brightness dance in a crisp darkness, streaked with a pink and purple milky way. Planets circle a nearby sun. The third closest looks a lot like Earth. The fire woman shows me to a plain wooden seat in the middle of the vastness and gestures for me to sit. No more words. In here, it feels like they couldn’t be heard even if they tried. I like it. Almost like I’m floating.

  A comet spews across the blackness until it crosses behind a shadowed figure standing somewhere between me and a red planet. Enough light peeks around his frame to know that the shadow is robed, the same dark crimson as the fire woman. Beside him, another robed shadow. In fact, I count ten similar shadows circling me. Eleven once the fire woman fades into the stars, filling a gap between seven and eight.

  The Wizard High Council. Maybe the most powerful and dangerous collection of individuals ever together in the same room. And I don’t even have shoes on. This plan of mine just keeps getting stupider.

  I feel the tension mount. Hostile tension. The kind I used to feel facing every defense who saw me as their only obstacle between him and a better life.

  LEAPLEFT fireball misses you by two inches.

  I leap just in time to see the fire burn by me and ignite my chair into a burst of flames. My body aches and isn’t responding well, still shaking off the effects of Dalek’s influence. I scan the room and spot the ember glow of the fire woman’s hands.

  JUMPUP the wind blows you back into the wall knocks the wind out of you JUMPLEFT the wind blows you back into the wall JUMPRIGHT the wind blows you back into the wall LAYFLAT the wind blows by you.

  I fall to the floor and lie as flat as I can and feel a rush of wind erupt over me.

  “See beyond the moment,” says a voice, vaguely familiar. I ignore it because of the blue glow darting in the corner of my right eye.

  LEAPLEFT lightning bolt misses you.

  I follow my mind’s instructions and dive to the left, feeling the static electricity rake through the hair on my head. I roll and leap to my feet but don’t stay there very long because of the second bolt of electricity whomping through my right shoulder. The hit knocks me so hard that my head is still spinning when I pick it up off the ground.

  I didn’t see it coming.

  “See beyond the moment,” the voice says again. He’s taunting me. I’m up against eleven wizards, at least two of whom can throw things. They’re not trying to kill me. They could have done that from the moment I stepped into their shuttle. This is something else. Something more painful. I have some time.

  Each time I get up, I escape the first attack but am pummeled, either by a foot, a fist, or a fireball, with the second and now third follow-up attacks. They happen so quickly that I can’t flash forward fast enough. Each time, the voice says the same thing: “See beyond the moment.” I don’t know what he means. I’ve only ever been able to see fifteen seconds ahead and one action at a time.

  “Remember back to the battle with the wizard at the edge of the woods.” The new words from the voice startle me. “Remember the edge of the woods.”

  I do remember. The wizard I battled was fast. Almost too fast. And somehow he was watching some kind of feed from my eyes to his goggles. But my mind kept one step ahead of him. Because I knew more attacks were coming and quickly, I adjusted. I knock that into my mind and wait for a clue about what will happen next. Another blue light forming to my left. Lightning.

  LEAPRIGHT lightning missesLEAPFOWARD dodge second bolt ROLLLEFT dodge third bolt SPEARLIGHTNINGWIZARD knock him out.

  The lightning bolt flies just as I leap out of its path, then forward to dodge a second bolt. I go right into my roll, putting me directly in front of the wizard with the electric hands. The fourth blue light forms. I use it as a target. I vault myself, leading with my shoulder, and hit the wizard square in the chest with it, knocking him down. I use the moment to roll to my feet and wait for the next sign of attack. Amazingly, the rest of the wizards have already restored the circle around me. As if to answer, a grizzly chuckle echoes in my ear.

  “Yes, beyond the moment,” it says. “Now see beyond the one.”

  I want to bask in my success. I’ve never seen more than one moment at a time before. Maybe this isn’t mockery or torture. Who is this voice, and why is he trying to make me better? I know these are questions I should be seriously thinking about, but right now I feel as if I just won the League Cup.

  That and I’m too tired to think. I shouldn’t be. I should be pumped. Ready to do it again. This isn’t natural tired. It’s forced tired. It feels as if I’m back in the shuttle with the fire woman, the animal girl, and Dalek.

  Dalek is here.

  But the more pressing matter is the fire woman lighting up. I have to take her out.

  DUCKANDROLLLEFT fire misses youJUMPANDGRABHOLDOFFIXTURE fire misses youSWINGANDKICKFIREWOMAN she is knocked unconcious.

  I obey but get only as far as jumping to find some kind of fixture hiding in the dark. As my feet leave the ground, I’m tackled by a grunting gorilla of a wizard. He pins me to the ground, allowing the sleeve of his black robe to wrap itself around my nose and mouth. He tightens it until I tear it off his arm so I can breathe again.

  The gorilla laughs and disappears into the circle again.

  “See beyond the one, Horatio.” The voice turns stern. I guess the pupil is disappointing the teacher. The best thing I could do right now is nothing. Just sit on the floor and refuse to keep playing this game. This manipulation is not for my benefit. Whatever I gain, they are bound to gain more, even if I don’t know what that is. I could thwart their big plans for me by simply doing nothing. But I won’t stop. Because the progress—the power—is intoxicating. And the voice knows it.

  I have to find Dalek. I want to keep going, but I’m getting slow, tired. And it’s his fault. I pull myself up and scan the room as fast as I can, but the robes make it difficult. There are five of the eleven who are taller than average. He has to be one of them. But which one?

  “See beyond the one,” he says again.

  I’m beginning to understand what the voice wants. It’s not about the opponent. It’s about the goal.

  RUNTOWARDFIREWOMAN LEAPANDTWIRL ROLLBACKWARDS BREAKCHAIR JUMPKICKTHROWCHAIRLEGSOUTHWEST SPIT LAYFLAT SWEEPKICK SWINGCHAIRLEGDOWN ROLL SLIDETOFARRIGHTCORNER CHARGEFIREWOMAN

  I run and leap into the air, timing my jump with the burst of flame shooting out from the woman’s hands. It’s a double attack, just as before. The gorilla’s body rushes into me, but the flash forward showed me what he’ll do. I use his own momentum to twirl us both around, throwing him between me and the fire. The gorilla screams as the thrown flame engulfs his back and hair until we twist in the air. I make sure his head is the first thing to hit the ground, knocking him out cold. Just doing the jump and twirl has exhausted me. I roll backwards and grab the charred frame of t
he plain wooden chair and bust it against the ground. Grabbing a loose leg, I jump up and kick the dark space in front of me, landing my foot against the soft chin of an attacking wizard before I chuck the chair leg past the face of the fire woman.

  “Missed!” she shouts immediately before the leg thumps against a hidden figure in the corner of the room. He lets out a groan before I hear the sound of his body crumble to the ground.

  I don’t miss. It’s part of my power.

  The fire woman lights up her hands. But I don’t focus on her. Instead, I spit at the nearest wizard, making sure that the mixture of saliva and phlegm plasters her face. She shrieks and releases a gale. The wind wizard. I lay flat, letting the wind and the fire meet. The force of the air drives the fire stream off course and ignites the robes of four of the remaining wizards, who scream and scramble. I sweep the wind wizard’s leg from under her, dropping her to the ground, and break one of her hands with a piece of burning broken chair.

  I roll and slide to the far right corner of the room, dodging fireballs as I go. I can feel the heat on my neck and feet. I reach the corner, and my hand grabs hold of a dark blue synthetic grip formed to look like ancient carved stone. I feel the warm wash of the guard as the starlight glistens off the silver medal blade. My sword.

  I charge the fire woman, her flame dissipating against the electric guard as I swipe it away. I leap at her, grabbing the front of her robes and riding her body down to the ground. I point the tip of my blade between her smiling eyes. She isn’t scared in the slightest. She’s older than I’d have thought. More beautiful than I’d have thought.

  “Bravo, Horatio. Bravo.” I whip my head around to see one of the few wizards still standing step forward out of place. The lights brighten a bit, which allows me a glimpse of the room, where it begins, where it ends. “Even faster than I had hoped,” he says. “Miriam, see to the others. Mister Gaph, would you kindly relent, please? I assure you, Serefina is of no threat to you.”

  “I don’t mind if he stays,” she says.

  I turn back to her. She’s still smiling. More than smiling. I back off, allowing her to stand, but she doesn’t.

  “Serefina, please,” says the voice.

  “Wait,” she says, breathing in the air above her. “Wait for the feeling of him to fade.”

  The circle and the room are as they were, with the exception of Dalek, still crumpled in a heap in the corner, now a bit more visible. Miriam must be a healer. None of the wizard council seems even winded, let alone beaten and burned. I, on the other hand, finally notice the sting of scorches on my neck, face, and arms. Not to mention the aches in my back courtesy of the gorilla.

  “You saw beyond the moment, Horatio,” says the voice, whom I now understand is the Wizard King, once I’m sitting in a new wooden chair identical to the original. “You saw beyond the one. You even saw hidden dangers and unseen treasures.” He nods to my sword. “You have done more with your talents in a single hour with me as your teacher than in the seventeen years under the supervision of those who profess to be experts at such things.”

  A shorter wizard steps forward. She pulls her hands away from her robe, opens them and reaches up toward me. Her soft brown eyes glisten against the starlight. I give her my hand, which she cups in hers. I feel my strength return. The pain in my burned skin subsides, and the fatigue from Dalek’s power flees. My whole being has been restored. Miriam smiles and returns to her place in the circle. Serefina, the fire woman, has found her way back, too, making the circle once again complete.

  No one says a word. I try to flash forward, but I can’t. Because I don’t know what I want. And that makes me nervous. I think back to the attacks on us. The West Coast, the hoverbikes, my granddad in the Rim. My mother. Just to remind myself who it is I’m dealing with. Who I’m dealing with? They just enhanced my power beyond anything I’ve ever imagined it could become, and they did it in less than an hour. That’s who I’m dealing with!

  They’re waiting for me to make the next move, but I still don’t trust them. I insult each of them in my mind. Multiple times. But I can’t even see an eyebrow rise. I start to think about made-up plans about the Children attacking and bringing down the wizards. Again, no response. Either they are stone cold with no emotion, or there isn’t a mind reader among them. That gives me some room to breathe. Still, I only know for sure there’s a fire starter, a lightning wizard, a brute, a wind wizard, a healer, and that’s all. What do the others do?

  “I will find a way or create one,” says the Wizard King, holding my sword and running his fingers along the inscription. I look down to my own hands to see them empty, my eyes wide with disbelief, which brings a few chuckles from the circle. I search each one of them, looking for the thief before I see, slightly out of breath and slightly shaking, a tall, thin wizard standing two places down from their king. A jumper. Just like Tarra Sterling. But I didn’t see it coming. I let my guard down. And now I have no weapon.

  “You have certainly lived by those words.”

  So that’s what the inscription on the sword means. I try not to show that I never knew. Instead, I watch the Wizard King’s face as he studies the sword as though he’s seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

  “Forgive me, Horatio,” he says, looking up. “I thought it best to show you we had your interests in mind first before introducing ourselves, though I am sure you have, in general, concluded who we are.”

  He waves a hand, and the lights brighten the room enough to make out the faces of the circle, even in the shadows of their hoods.

  “We are the Grand Wizard Council, a body of government instituted not long after the first Children crossed the Looking Glass into this world, and we have been watching you for a very long time.”

  My eyes grow wide. I can’t help it.

  “Ah, I’m sorry. You’re already falling behind. It doesn’t matter now in the slightest, for you have come to us at last. I knew you would. Did I not say he would?” the King asks, turning to his council. “Ah, yes, credit where credit is due. I did have help. One of us kept watch until he knew you better than you knew yourself. Until he knew what you would do in any scenario. And without exception, even when I didn’t agree with him, he was right. Thank you, William.”

  William steps forward from the line of wizards and uncovers his face. A face I know. A face I’ve trusted up until a week ago. A face I want to knock clean off his head.

  “Hey, kid,” smiles Billy Jack. “Good to see you.”

  “Ah, yes, William. He has come a long way since I laid my own eyes on him at the reception.”

  Reception? I fall back into my memory, scanning through the faces of that evening at the Lily Rust Theater, trying to remember the one before me. But there were so many, and here he stands robed and in shadow. It’s impossible to tell.

  “No, you wouldn’t recognize me looking like this.”

  A light fades up on the Wizard King as he pulls back his hood to reveal a full head of light brown hair and a thin beard that edges along his jawline. The pink tie is missing, but the shimmering gray eyes of Anton Boxrud, the owner of the California Magic, stare into mine just as they did the first night I arrived in Revolution.

  “Let me tell you something, Gaph. I’ve been waiting years for the day you became eligible for the draft. Years I’ve been waiting,” he says in the same high-pitched, high-energy speech pattern that barraged me the night of the party.

  “I threw each season, becoming irrelevant in the eyes of the world, waiting in the cellar of the League standings until it was you who would be the first pick in the draft. My pick. Built a new stadium, a work of art right on the new coast. You and your remarkable gifts were going to come and play for me.

  “But then came that damnable call,” Boxrud continues, his voice changing back to his slow, deep, measured cadence. Then everything else abou
t him changes, too. The hair on his head shortens and blackens. The thin-line beard detaches at the temples and gathers at his chin, forming a small clump of hair just under his lower lip. The shape of his face thins; his cheekbones rise. His neck stretches. In fact, all of him stretches and hardens, his body becoming younger, more fit. Only his old gray eyes stay the same. Boxrud has just changed from a soft, middle-aged man to something else entirely. He smiles, like a cat that has caught its mouse.

  “So I instructed our Synarch officials to, shall we say, make you an offer you could not refuse. Hence the early invitation to play for the League. For someone who can see the future, Horatio Gaph, it took you far too long to see the light.”

  “What do you want from me?” I ask, finally.

  “Ah! He speaks. I began to wonder,” says Boxrud, his smile growing along with the volume of his voice. “And of course, the first thing that falls from his lips is a request to help.”

  I open my mouth to correct him. But I’m not sure I know he’s wrong. Is that what I’m doing? I need to be better at this or he’s going to sweep me into whatever plans he has. But I can’t shake this driving desire to know more.

  “Seems as though everyone wants something from you. Since you first showed any promise, the very hopes of an entire district were placed on your shoulders. And now an entire world. Two worlds, some would have you believe. What I find more fascinating is how much you are willing to give. But let us be clear on the matter,” states Boxrud, stepping toward me. “You came to us. So, Horatio Gaph, I posit a new and far more appropriate question, which is this: what do you want from us?”

  I hesitate. This is ridiculous. How do I know I’m not dealing with the devil?

  “I could guess if you’d like,” offers Anton Boxrud, circling around me, almost playfully. I can’t get a read on him. First he seems overly obsessed with my progress and then talks to me as if I’m a little kid. I could just run. But even if I got out of the room, out of the castle, onto the island, I have nowhere to go.