by Jake Kerr
“Is Mister Ali already here?”
“Ali has been here for some time.” He pushed the door across from the entrance, stopping only when he saw I wasn’t following.
“Can we call for him?”
“No.” He continued walking, and I followed.
After the long walk from my room and then the standing still for a few minutes the pain in my hip returned, although it felt much better after the night’s rest. Still, it throbbed, so I took the cane in my left hand and used it for its lowliest purpose—assisting my walking.
The doorway opened to a massive corridor that must have been a hundred yards long. The flooring was shiny marble, lined on both sides by marble columns. The arched ceiling was thirty or so feet high, and the walls were covered with tapestries that featured everything from medieval battles to pastoral scenes. There were dozens and dozens of them the length of the corridor, and the only consistent thing was that they were all huge. There wasn’t a single window. It was very majestic and reminded me of how ancient Greek or Roman palaces were described in my favorite adventure novels. The effect was partially ruined by the lighting; in the place of torches, each column had multiple bare electric bulbs that were very bright and illuminated the room from floor to ceiling.
As I used the cane a tap echoed with each step throughout the cavernous room. Each tap of the cane on the marble filled me with wonderful memories of my grandfather and the ever-present background noise of his cane—our walks on my street, in the museum, and even the many trips from the Ziegfeld Theater to the Persian Garden. The tap, tap, tap accompanied us everywhere.
“What are you doing?” Master Behnam had stopped and looked alarmed as he stared at me with what almost looked like fear in his eyes. I asked him what he meant. “The staff. You are using it like a cane and… tapping it on the stone.”
“I injured my leg. I am using the cane for support.”
“Does it have to make such an infernal racket?” I raised the end of the cane and moved it toward Master Behnam’s face to show him that it was bound in brass and that I couldn’t do much about the noise. But as I raised the cane toward him, he flinched and backed up a step.
“It’s brass…” I said tentatively.
“Never mind,” he said in a strained voice. He turned and started again at a faster pace. I rushed to catch up, doing my best to be quiet, but the tap tap tap of the cane followed us as we walked.
Master Behnam didn’t say anything the rest of our journey down the long hall. At the end were two large bronze or brass doors that were at least ten feet high. They weren’t very shiny, and there wasn’t a doorknob or handle to be found. As I watched, Master Behnam walked up and put his right palm on the right door. After a moment the door swung open.
Before I could even glance through the crack of the opening door the sound of angry voices could be heard. Two men were arguing. I heard Mister Ali’s raised voice say, “This is foolish!” and then silence as the doors opened fully. Master Behnam walked through them, and I followed close behind. The transition from the long cavernous and marble hallway to the room it led to was mind boggling. I looked around and couldn’t believe what I saw—a small office that looked like it belonged to a detective in a police station.
“I’ve brought the boy, Cain.” Master Behnam moved to the side and I walked forward. Mister Ali was sitting in a wooden chair across from a sparse wooden desk. He had a kind smile on his face as he looked at me, but he remained quiet. There was an empty chair next to him, but what drew my attention was the man sitting behind the desk.
He had thin and straight dark hair that was was short, slicked back, and parted on the side. He looked like Howard Hughes, only without the mustache. Like the masters I had met, he was very thin, but while two of them were Persian, Cain was English. His face was square and angular, with an aquiline nose and pronounced brows and cheekbones. He smiled, but it wasn’t the bright smile of Mister Ali or the intimidating smile of my grandfather; it was a patronizing smile, one of amusement. He wore a grey suit that looked like it had just been pressed. His hands rested on the desk, and they twitched and moved in a way that was disconcerting.
It was the twitching that struck me more than anything. He appeared to have an odd neurological disorder, because his eyebrows, his eyes, his lips, and even his ears would twitch at odd moments. As if this weren’t enough, his body would jerk every so often, as well—a shoulder would suddenly shoot up, an arm elbow would strike outward.
“Ah, our new Archmage!” Cain stated. He didn’t stand up. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned for me to sit in the chair next to Mister Ali. He then looked over my shoulder and said, “Thank you, Behnam. You may return to your post.” The Master didn’t say anything but turned and walked out the doorway. I noticed the massive doors closing behind him when Mister Ali finally spoke.
“You look wonderful, Tommy! You got enough rest, I hope?” His words came tumbling out, and the tone was a mixture of relief and happiness. I could see both Mister Ali and Cain, and the difference in their appearance was striking. Mister Ali was old, kind, and relaxed. Cain looked annoyed, pained even. It took me a moment before I realized that Cain was annoyed at Mister Ali, but Mister Ali couldn’t tell as he was looking at me.
I did my best to diffuse the current tension, which was perhaps still in the air from what they had been arguing about earlier. “Yes, Mister Ali! Everyone has been wonderful.” I turned to Cain. “And Mister Cain, thank you for helping me and for your hospitality.”
He waved a hand. “No thanks are necessary. You are the rightful Archmage, and we’ll do whatever we can to help you. And please just call me Cain. No ‘mister,’ no ‘sir,’ or anything like that.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied, which drew a sharp look from him. “Thank you, Cain.”
“Very good.” Cain stared at me and didn’t say anything else. The silence was awkward, and I noticed Mister Ali opening his mouth to speak when Cain abruptly said, “Shut up, Ali.”
I was a respectful young man, but I was also loyal to a fault, and while I understood that Cain was powerful and important, his treatment of Mister Ali angered me. I slammed the staff to the ground where it let out not a tap but a larger noise, like a small clap of thunder, and said, “You should treat Mister Ali with more respect. He is an Archmage, too, you know!”
Cain looked at me with wide eyes for a moment and then laughed loudly. “I don’t know what is more humorous, Ali. That this child is threatening me or that I should consider you an Archmage.”
Mister Ali’s face reddened, but before he could say anything, I blurted out, “He carried the staff to my grandfather. He is an Archmage.” Mister Ali looked at me and shook his head slightly. Cain also shook his head, but he rolled his eyes as he did it.
“Set the boy straight, Ali,” Cain said.
Mister Ali turned to Cain. I fully expected him to hit him or cast a spell at him or something. I wanted him to do so. Instead, Mister Ali replied, “Cain, I fully admit that I did not earn the Archmage title. I have yet to hear you admit the same.”
For the first time Cain’s entire body was still. Through gritted teeth he said, “Do you doubt my power, Ali? Even now?”
As the tension increased, Mister Ali looked more and more relaxed. He leaned back in his chair and replied, “I do not. It would be foolish to do so,” and after a pause for effect, he added, “but I do doubt your claim to a title that has been reserved for the bearer of the staff.”
Cain stared at Mister Ali for a moment and then leaned back and put his arms behind his head. “Your opinion does not matter.” Cain looked over to me, but before he could say anything I spoke.
To this day, I don’t know why I said what I did. It was not arrogance, certainly. Perhaps it was the opposite—a great humility in the face of what I knew my grandfather had accomplished as Archmage. But I do know that what I said was important, and while very foolish, it was my duty to say it. “I am the Archmage, and I will not allow you to us
e the title. I know my Grandfather would have objected and, therefore, so do I.”
It must have looked silly for such words to come from the mouth of a fourteen year old boy, but both Mister Ali and Cain had the stunned look on their faces as if they had taken my pronouncement very seriously indeed. Mister Ali spoke first. His voice was strained and he sounded frightened, “Tommy, it’s okay. It is but a title.”
Cain immediately added, “Yes, Tommy, it is but a title, but in my case the title actually means something. For you it means that your grandfather handed you a piece of wood.” Mister Ali stood up.
“This is going too far, Cain!”
“I agree, Ali. The boy clearly needs to learn a lesson.” Mister Ali blanched and reached for his curved knife. A man moved around from behind me and placed a hand on Mister Ali’s shoulder. Mister Ali froze. It was Master Behnam, whom I hadn’t even seen or heard re-enter the room.
“This has always been your problem, Ali. You are too quick to anger and too slow to understand. Now you will sit down.” Benham pressed down with his arm, and Mister Ali slid down into his chair, staring at Cain the whole time. Cain had the look of someone dealing with an unruly child.
He turned to me. “Now, Archmage, do you see the glass of water on my desk?” I glanced down and there was a tall glass of water, with beads of condensation, sitting right in front of me. I could have sworn it wasn’t there when we came in. In fact, I could have sworn it hadn’t been there a moment earlier. I nodded. “Good. Now pick it up and throw the water at Mister Ali.” Cain smiled.
I picked up the glass. It was very cold and slippery from the condensation. I looked at Mister Ali and paused. Cain noticed my hesitation and interjected, “Or throw it at Behnam. Throw it at me for all I care. Just throw the water at something.”
I tossed the water toward Master Behnam, and it hit him full in the face. The top of his suit was soaked in water, and water dripped from the tip of his nose and chin. He looked at me, but did no more than blink. I looked back at Cain. “What was that for?”
“What was what for?” Cain asked back. For some reason the glass was no longer in my hand. I looked around, and it was nowhere to be seen. As I glanced around I noticed Master Behnam, and he looked completely normal. There wasn’t a drop of water on him. I looked back at Cain, who waved his hand in dismissal.
“If you stop at the glass, it is but a parlor trick, common to any traveling magician of any repute. But add more senses to the illusion, and it becomes significantly more difficult.” Cain suddenly motioned toward me. He had a glass in his own hand and tossed the contents at me. I shielded my eyes with my hand, but it did little good. I was drenched with water. It dripped from my hair and clothing.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I said to Cain, as I patted my wet uniform shirt.
“Do what?” And the moment Cain said the words, I realized I was completely dry.
I stared at Cain, but he still wasn’t smiling. “Motion, multiple senses, maintaining the illusion over time, even removing the illusion—all of those things are immensely difficult. Something as simple as throwing water at someone is a master-level illusion.” I nodded, starting to understand Cain’s power.
“There is more.” Cain leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and his hands folded in front of him. He looked me in the eye. “I am going to hold up my index finger. Flames will burn from its end. I will not be burned, and you will know very clearly that it is but an illusion. I will reach forward and touch your arm with this flame. It will catch your sleeve on fire, and you will know that this is but an illusion, as well. To make it clear this is an illusion, I will have the flames spread down your sleeve toward your wrist in a straight line. It will look completely unreal, and your mind will clearly see it is an illusion. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “You are going to create the illusion of fire and try to apply it to my sleeve.”
“Try,” Cain chuckled. “Yes, I guess I’ll do my best.” He laughed again. “Your job is very simple, Archmage. All you have to do is see through my illusion. It is unreal, after all. So watch me,” he paused, “try, while you feel no pain and know that you aren’t really on fire.” Cain leaned back.
“I understand,” I replied.
“Sorry, but I don’t think you do or you would be taking this much more seriously. I will not repeat this again: This is an illusion. I am telling you it is an illusion. You know this is an illusion. I want you to see through this illusion, and I want you to see the reality and not the illusion.” Cain held up his forefinger, and a three inch flame flickered above it. “Do you understand?”
I looked over at Mister Ali. His jaw was clenched, but he said nothing. Master Behnam still held him tight. “I do.”
Cain leaned forward and touched my sleeve near my elbow. It immediately caught on fire, and I could smell the fibers burning. I could feel the heat on my arm. The flames moved down my arm toward my wrist in a perfect circle. It looked impossible, but I barely noticed—the heat became intensely painful. The fabric charred, and I could see my skin burning. I could feel my skin burning. The pain was horrible. I tried to focus and just think that this was an illusion. It didn’t work. I started to wave my arm to put out the flame, but that only made it worse. Despite the pain, I stared at the flame and focused on the knowledge that it wasn’t real, but it again did no good. I cried out in pain, my arm burning, and the smell of charred flesh entering my nose. Tears poured down my face and just when I thought I was about to faint, I was sitting in my chair swinging my arm in the air with no flames, no pain, and no smell.
I touched my arm, but it felt entirely normal. My shirt was unharmed, and I wiped the tears from my face with it. I looked up, and Cain had a pistol pointed at me. When he noticed he had my attention, he turned it in his hand and held it toward me, handle-first. I took it and held it in my hand. “Why are you giving me this?”
“It is an illusion. Examine it closely. Not a single part of that gun exists. The bullets, the handle, the trigger—they are all part of your mind right now.” I looked over the gun, and every single part looked and felt real. “Now shoot me with it.”
I knew this was a test, and I knew that Cain would never put himself in jeopardy, so I turned the pistol to Cain and shot him right in the chest. The recoil of the shot knocked my arm into the air, and the sound of the shot rang in my ears. I could smell the gunpowder. Of course nothing happened to Cain. He sat in his chair with a big smile on his face. “You seemed a bit too enthusiastic in doing that.” The gun in my hand was a little warmer and smoke came out of the barrel.
“Now here is the final exam for this short lesson I have given you. I want you to ponder the answer when you leave, and then when you come back we can perhaps be more productive. Do you understand?” I nodded, intimidated and awestruck.
“Here is your question: What do you think would happen if you took that gun in your hand, the one that is a pure illusion and doesn’t exist, the one that had absolutely no effect when you fired it at me, and you shot yourself?”
My immediate instinct was to say that nothing would happen. It was entirely an illusion, but part of me was certain that was wrong. I thought back to the pain I felt from the flames on my arm, and I answered emphatically, “I would die.”
Cain nodded gravely. “Yes, Archmage. If you were to take that non-existent gun in your hand and shoot yourself with its nonexistent bullets, you would die.” Before my eyes and with no warning the gun turned into a bunch of wildflowers.
Cain stood up. “Behnam, please remove the enchantment on Mister Ali and escort the two of them back to their quarters.”
Master Behnam let go of Mister Ali’s shoulder, and he slumped in his chair before pulling himself back up. He looked exhausted and was taking long and labored breaths. He must have noticed the alarm on my face, because he held up his hand and said, “It’s… okay… Tommy. Just give… me a second.”
I stood up and gave Mister Ali my arm. He used it for support to pu
ll himself up. He looked back at Cain with what looked like hate in his eyes. “We will talk again, Cain.”
“Of course,” Cain replied, holding out his hands palms up.
As I turned to look for the huge double doors, I realized they were gone. We were in a small office with a standard wooden door. Master Behnam reached for the knob, opened it, and suddenly it was a double door pushing outward into the great hallway. We exited and must have looked a sorry sight. I was limping on my leg and using the cane, while Mister Ali had trouble keeping the strength to walk more than a few steps at a time. Master Behnam was silent behind us, offering no help.
As we limped down that long hallway I thought about Cain’s final question. The implication was so obvious that it filled me with awe and dread. Cain’s illusions were useless against him, but they could affect and even kill others. With the complexity of Cain’s illusions it became frighteningly clear just how powerful he was. It was almost as if he could warp reality.
The cane tapped alongside me, echoing off the ceiling and floor, but it didn’t provide me with any connection to the might of my grandfather. I felt defeated. In the face of such powerful illusions, the power of the staff seemed minor in comparison. I was nothing more than a streetlight. I had entered the hallway thinking that I was the Archmage and Cain was the pretender. I exited wondering if perhaps the opposite were true.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A BETRAYAL
Master Behnam left us at the door, and when we got to the bottom of the steps, Mister Ali stopped, leaned over, and took several deep breaths. They didn’t happen often, but it was at moments like this where I was reminded that Mister Ali was quite old. I would never have described him as frail, but he sometimes looked it. I asked him if he was okay, and he nodded and replied, “I’m fine, Tommy. I just need some rest.” He looked over to me and then patted me on the back. “We have much to talk about.”
