The Sin of Moloch

by Andrew Gordinier

  “We need to clarify this now.” A young slender black woman stood up and spoke with a ringing voice. “Voting rights have been a pervasive issue in the United States and the world. We need to clarify it now, write it in stone, that we all have equal voting rights under this government.” There was thunderous applause of approval.

  “So students have a voting right? And what are their rights, if any, as mages?” Asked the man with the sharply trimmed beard.

  This opened a short but furious debate that settled on the voting age being set at 21. Students had an equal vote, and no one could be denied a right to vote based on race, religion, gender identity, or sexual orientation. Only full mages could hold positions in the government. The rights of students took longer, and many felt should have been put off since there were only a few students present. In the end, though, they were given rights that would have been considered exceptional under the old ways. Students now had a right to speak out at official meetings, could report abuses by their teachers, and most shockingly even request a new teacher. Conrad had pushed for the latter right, insisting that while some were brilliant mages, not all were good teachers.

  The idea that mages should follow the law of the land was presented by Conrad and was met by debate. Many argued that there was no reason basic laws of everyday people should apply to them when the laws of nature themselves were breakable. A very vocal group asserted that they had to behave in a civilized manner and that this was the best way to begin. When Conrad stepped forward and said, “Are we better than everyone else? Are we above their rights? Does the power we have give us the right to violate their right to life or liberty? To say that it does return us to the ways that brought about great acts of evil and destruction, our so-called Golden Age. We have power, raw power the likes of which could plunge the world into chaos, but what do we want? Do we want to be false gods, who rule by force and fear? Or do we want to be respected and enjoy the same rights as our fellow man? If we do not reach for a higher standard and control ourselves, then we are unworthy of the power we have.” There were no votes against the motion after that.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it is late, and the battery on my laptop is low,” Leonard announced with a smile. “We still have much work to do here, but I would suggest that we call it a night and pick up again tomorrow.”

  “At last!” Shouted a voice to one side. “A proposal that needs no argument or debate!” The first gathering was adjourned amid good-natured laughter. People stood and shook hands with each other, and as John watched, Leonard was approached by the man who had killed his mother. He couldn’t hear what was said, and couldn’t imagine words that could heal those wounds, but the two men shook hands with tears in their eyes.

  “I never thought this would happen.” Whispered Eric.

  “I know.” John whispered back.

  “Not only did I think your idea was going to get us all killed, I never imagined that these people could put aside their old hatreds.”

  “I wish I could take the credit, but Conrad is the one who did the work, he was the only one who could.”

  “I give you a lot of crap, kid. But, I kinda feel bad for you right now.”

  “Why?” John turned to Eric.

  “Whatever happens next, history probably won’t record you and me as more than Conrad’s loyal supporters. They’ll say that we believed in him and worked hard to make this happen, but that he was the visionary.” Eric’s voice had a world-weary tone to it, either despite or because of too much coffee.

  “I suppose.” John shrugged. “I don’t think I mind. I guess I just want to be left alone, left to figure out my life and be-“

  “Normal?!” Interjected Eric with a chuckle.

  “No, that was never for me, I guess. I just want to be happy and not live in fear.” Eric slapped John on the back in a friendly way.

  “Chasing the American dream, huh?”

  “I guess.” John felt very deflated suddenly.

  “We all gotta have something to work for. But, right now, I gotta go check in with the troops and set up for tomorrow.”

  “Take care.” John watched Eric walk away and suddenly felt very lonely.

  Chapter 12

  “So, tell me how things are going, John.” Dr. Gaston was seemed perfectly poised in her chair, holding her ever-present cup of coffee.

  “Good, I guess.”

  “Your nightmares are getting better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How are things with Radha?”

  “Good.”

  “School?”

  “Tough but good.”

  Dr. Gaston looked at John for a long moment before speaking. “John, why don’t you just tell me whats going on. Why keep it all a secret?”

  “I have too.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, besides the fact that no one will ever believe me. Talking about it all would either get me killed. People that trust me killed, or all of the above, depending on what I talked about. No matter what I talked about, you would be in danger too.” John paused. “Then, there are legal issues to consider and the possibility that you might try to have me committed.”

  “You make it sound like you work for the mob or something.”

  “That’s exactly what Radha thought when we first started dating.”

  “What did you do to set things, right?”

  “Tell her the truth, when it was safe to.”

  “It’s not safe to tell me the truth?”

  “No, I just explained that to you.”

  “It’s going to be difficult to continue therapy if you won’t talk to me.”

  John sighed and wished for a window to look out of. “The truth is I’m working with people in and out of the government, to help bring an end to a tradition of violence. I’m violating people’s trust by trying to learn secrets from a group that wants my friends to destroy themselves, and it would be a bonus to them if I died. Then on the side of it all, I’m secretly doing research that I’m sure no one would be happy about. I’ve seen some terrible things, caused a couple of terrible things, and… people have died.”

  “John-“

  “I’m not a bad guy. I keep trying to do the right things and make things right! I’m trying to figure out how this all works, but that’s a different danger. I can’t undo this, I can’t take back what’s happened, I would if I could.” John felt words and emotions tumbling out of him without control and forced himself to shut up and sit back in his chair.

  “Are you planning to hurt someone, John?”

  “No.” He never planned on it, but the world just had a way of putting him in those places.

  “Are you planning to hurt yourself?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll warn you if you start talking about something that I am ethically obligated to report.” Dr. Gaston sipped her coffee.

  “I’ll have to keep some secrets to protect you.”

  “Makeup names, change what you have to, but be honest about your feelings.”

  “My feelings?”

  “Yes, your feelings. Just now, I could see that you were breaking through to some of those feelings. I could see that you are clearly stressed out and feel threatened. You don’t seem so much paranoid as genuinely terrified.”

  “What about the fact that if I told you about it all, you would think I was totally fucking insane.”

  “Insanity is a legal term, not a clinical one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Besides, there is a principle in psychology. Your perspective is your reality. What you see and feel are real to you, no matter what I say.” Doctor Gaston smiled gently.

  “How about I stick to my feelings about things? I think my perspective could be a bit hard to relate to.”

  “We can work our way up to it.”

  John briefly wondered if any therapists were mages. Would that have made it safer or more dangerous? Either way, it seemed he was gonna have to walk his road carefully.

  “H
ello?” John woke from a dead sleep to answer the phone.

  “John? It’s Conrad. Did I wake you?”

  “No big deal. How’s the congress going?”

  “We missed you last night, but we’re getting a lot done. We should have a constitution ready for a final vote in another week or so.”

  “Conrad, that is amazing.”

  “I know, but we have a new problem.”

  “What happened?” John propped himself up on an elbow and started thinking about how long it would take him to get dressed.

  “We just got a message from the European Conclave, they are sending emissaries and a couple of Censors here.”

  “What? A Censor?” John was now wide awake.

  “No, plural, Censors.” John heard Conrad take a deep breath. “The wording of the message is clear if a bit long-winded. They want us to disband our alliances, they will reassign territories, and deal with renegades who had been living in secret.”

  “We can’t do that! Those people trusted us, they’ll get slaughtered.”

  “I have no intention of giving in to their demands. However, we are calling an emergency meeting to elect a president pro-temp to deal with things. People are scared, John. We need everyone there, a show of unity and trust.”

  “When and where?”

  “Day after tomorrow, same hotel in New York.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I know I can count on you, John.”

  “Conrad?”

  “Yes, John?”

  “Are we about to start a war, I mean with normal people, not just mages?”

  “I hope not, but history has a way of repeating it’s self.”

  “The European mages-“

  “Everyone fears threats from the unknown, especially when it concerns new and radical ideas. Fear and ignorance are sadly a great motivator for violence. We were lucky to get this far without violence.”

  “I…” John faltered, were they really pushing things as far over the edge as everyone seemed to suggest?

  “I hope the horrors of the last few wars are still fresh enough in everyone’s memories to prevent this. Mages didn’t even start those, but we didn’t stop them either. We’re going to do better this time.” Conrad was tired but sounded confident and determined.

  “I hope so.”

  “Don’t worry, John. No one wants a war.” Conrad hung up.

  John sat in his bed, the lights in his apartment were off, and the shades were drawn. So while it is never dark in Chicago, it would have been hard to walk through his small apartment without stubbing a toe or stepping on something. Yet, John could see the patterns of everything around him. He could see every detail of his bed linens, the wall across the room, and even the drifting composition of the air. John could see reality in a cold way that was difficult for him to express. Yet, he felt ignorant and isolated. They had been warned that there were influences at work beyond their line of sight. John had wrongly assumed this was either Augie’s group, Finley, or some political fallout from the usual international woes. It was Europe as a whole that had decided to send Censors in response to what was happening here. A clear statement that the new experiment was dangerous and threatened their traditions threatened their power. That it was enough of a threat to risk a war.

  John knew little about Censors, he had heard them mentioned from time to time, but everyone was too afraid to talk about them. He only knew that they were exceptionally powerful mages, perhaps the most powerful and that they were tasked with enforcing the rule of law as determined by tradition and Conclaves. An explanation that put a polite cover over the fact that they were killers, and now they were coming here to punish and enforce. Could they start a war on their own? Did they have enough political and economic ties to do something so bold and global?

  John rubbed his eyes and wished he could talk to Owen about this. He pictured Owen in his imagination sitting at the counter in his pawnshop, flanked by the ever-present book and ashtray, a cloud of smoke drifting gently away from him. What would Owen say? What bit of advice would he give John in the face of this storm? He had taught John so much. John was still learning some of the lessons, they would take years to ferment fully and take root, but they were there in him.

  “What would Owen say?” John asked his empty apartment.

  There was no answer from his apartment or the memory that John had conjured. Just a silence that suggested careful contemplation and wisdom of events that John did not possess. He communed with the silence in his apartment for a time, sitting quietly, trying to unravel what he should do. It never occurred to John not to act, not to rush headlong into events before it was time. It was a concept that he had seen, but not learned, and maturity had not yet dulled the impatience of his youth. So he misunderstood the silence, grew impatient and hungry. It was clear he wasn’t going to get any more sleep. On a whim, John decided to get dressed and have a very early breakfast at his favorite diner down the street.

  Chapter 13

  Sitting in a corner booth, far from the door, with his back to the wall, John felt like a mobster. He sipped his coffee and waited for the waitress to clear his empty plates. She was taking her time, John was the only customer, and she looked exhausted. John didn’t mind waiting, he felt better with a full belly, and the mobster illusion gave him a false sense of control and mastery that he was enjoying. John realized he may be able to work magic and twist patterns, but there was something to the magic of hot food and decent coffee that could not be imitated.

  The door opened, and he heard his waitress utter a weak but heartfelt greeting, John looked up to see Finley standing at the counter. He smiled at the waitress, casually pointed at John, and walked over with a smile on his face. John felt a deep hatred for the man.

  “You’re up early!” Finley stripped off his coat in a fluid motion and sat down uninvited.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” John wanted to say something rude and amusing, but the coffee had not yet worked its full miracle on him.

  “I had the same problem. I hear a Censor is coming to the States!” Finley clicked his tongue and shook his head gently. “You lads are in trouble.”

  “You heard wrong. More than one Censor is coming, along with an emissary of a European Conclave.” John doubted the news was really secret but was impressed that Finley already knew, and wondered how he knew.

  “More than one?” Finley flipped over an empty coffee mug and waved to the waitress to get her sleepy attention. “That hasn’t happened in a hundred years. Last time they did that was during your Civil war, but that was at the request of an American Conclave.” Finley and John fell silent while the waitress poured hot water for Finley, who pulled a tea bag from his coat and dropped it in the mug. “I know it’s rude to bring my own tea, but I’m particular about what I drink.”

  “Of course you are. I’m sure that having those Censors running around during the Civil war lowered the body count.” John said sarcastically.

  “Who knows? It’s nothing to do with my happy self, though, and everything to do with you and your upstart colonies. I don’t blame you though, all the killing gets boring after a while. Don’t you agree?” Finley winked at John with a smile on his face.

  “Screw you.”

  “I was hoping we could talk longer before we got to base insults.”

  “No, I guess us colonists are just doomed to be uncivilized.”

  “Look, I know I came on strong, and I’m sorry. This is getting serious. If the Censors wipe you out, they’ll take all the artifacts they can find, and I’ll have to find another Primer.”

  “You won’t be able to pick over my corpse? I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No, really. You’d like why I want it. Especially considering your side project.”

  “My what?”

  “I know what you have Deanna working on, I like it, I wish I could help. But, maths were never my strong suit.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

 
“Sure. I’m already an Archmage-“

  “A what? Are you just making crap up now?”

  “No, it’s the title we use back home for people like you and I, for people who have crossed the barrier and have access to more profound knowledge and power. It usually takes a Primer, but it can be done with a lot of study and practice. I know you ‘Americans’ don’t like titles but really, it helps sort out the rabble.”

  “We’re both Archmages, so what?” John was starting to feel the coffee’s full effects and was watching Finley closely as he sipped his tea.

  “So I don’t need the Primer for that, I already told you there was a code hidden in it.”

  “Yeah, a code that a bunch of gifted mages who can spot almost any pattern a mile away have missed for how many hundreds of years?”

  “I know it’s impressive!”

  “It’s crap, and you know it!”

  “No, it’s a place.”

  “What?”

  “I think the code is directions to a lost library, or at the very least to one of the earliest libraries.”

  “You just said we’re already archmages, why the hell do you need some lost library?” John sipped more coffee and realized there was something about the way Finley looked that caught his attention.

  “I’m looking for histories, I want to know where this came from. If possible, I want to know who the first mage was and how they learned magic. Haven’t you ever wondered where it got started?”

  “I guess not.” John suddenly felt foolish for thinking that he had been the only one looking for answers.

  “If we knew where it came from, it would lend a great deal to your own project.”

  “It might.” John found himself distantly considering giving the Primer to Finley, if not outright helping him. There was still something that bothered him, though, something about Finley’s pattern.

  “We could change the way we see our history, get a better idea of how and why it decayed to such a violent state.” Finley clearly sensed John’s change of heart.

  “What good would it do? What would it do to change the fact that there is about to be a slaughter?” John felt like a hypocrite, given the nature of his own research.