I’d been amazed, and then forgotten the moment I found out the kid’s powers had been artificially increased by the boss to mislead the Dark Ones and allow Egor to offer at least some resistance to the vampires.
And for me he’d become a personal failure—after all, I was the first one to discover he was an Other—and a good person, at least so far, and a future enemy in the eternal struggle between Good and Evil. The memory of his undecided destiny had remained buried somewhere deep under all the rest.
He could still become absolutely anyone. His future potential was indeterminate. An open book. A Book of Destiny.
He was the one who would stand in front of Svetlana when she picked up the piece of chalk. And he would do it gladly, once Gesar had explained what it was all about. A serious, logical explanation. The boss of the Night Watch, the leader of the Light Ones of Moscow, a great and ancient magician—he’d be able to explain everything clearly. Gesar would talk about correcting mistakes. And it would be the truth. Gesar would talk about the great future that would open up for Egor. And even that would be true! The Dark Ones could lodge a thousand protests, but the Inquisition would certainly take into account that the boy had initially suffered from their actions.
Svetlana would certainly be told that I was depressed by my failure with Egor. And that the main reason the boy had suffered was because the Watch had been busy saving her.
She wouldn’t even hesitate.
She’d accept everything she was told to do.
She’d pick up the piece of ordinary chalk that could be used to draw squares for hopscotch in the street or to write «2 + 2 = 4» on a school blackboard.
And she’d start shaping a destiny that hadn’t been defined yet.
What were they planning to make him into?
Who?
A chief, the leader of new parties and revolutions?
A prophet of religions that hadn’t been invented yet?
A thinker who would found a new school of social thought?
A musician, a poet, a writer, whose work would alter the consciousness of millions?
Just how many years into the future did the plan of the powers of Light extend?
The original essential nature of an Other could not be changed. Egor would always be a very weak magician, but thanks to the intervention of the Night Watch, he would be a Light Magician.
And in order to alter the destiny of the human world, you didn’t have to be an Other. It could even get in the way. It would be much better to have the support of the Watch while you led the human crowd that was so much in need of the happiness we had invented for it.
And he would lead them. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know where, but he would lead them. But that was when the Dark Ones would make their move. An assassin can be found for every president. And for every prophet there are a thousand interpreters to distort the essence of the religion, to replace the bright flame with the heat of the inquisitors’ pyres. The time came when every book was cast into the fire, when every symphony was reduced to a popular tune and played in all the drinking dens. A sound philosophical basis could be set in place under any vile nonsense.
No, we hadn’t learned a thing. Probably because we didn’t want to.
But at least I still had a bit of time in hand. And the right to make my move. My only move.
If only I knew what it was.
Should I appeal to Svetlana not to accept what Gesar said, not to get involved in higher magic, not to change anyone else’s destiny?
But why should she agree? Everything was being done correctly. Mistakes that had been made were being put right, a happy future was being created for a single individual and humanity as a whole. I was being relieved of the burden of the mistake I’d made. Svetlana was being relieved of the knowledge that her good fortune had been paid for by someone else’s tragedy. She was entering the ranks of the Great Sorceresses. What did my vague doubts mean compared to all that? And what were they really?
How much of them was genuine concern, and how much petty self-interest? Where was the Light, where was the Darkness?
«Hey, friend!»
The street trader who owned the stall I was standing in front of was staring at me. Not really an angry look, just a bit annoyed.
«You buying anything?»
«Do I look like an idiot?» I asked him.
«Sure you do. If you’re not buying, move on.»
From where he stood he was right. But I was in the mood to talk back.
«You don’t realize how lucky you are. I’m collecting a crowd for you, attracting customers.»
He was a colorful kind of character. Stocky, red-faced, with huge thick arms, rippling masses of fat and muscle. He sized me up, obviously didn’t see anything threatening, and got ready to make some caustic remark.
Then suddenly he smiled.
«Okay, if you’re collecting a crowd, put a bit more effort into it. Pretend to buy something. You can even pretend to pay me some money.»
This was a pleasant surprise.
I smiled back at him:
«Would you like me to buy something for real?»
«What would you do that for? This is garbage for the tourists.» The trader stopped smiling, but there was no tension or aggression left in his face. «This damn heat, I keep losing my temper. I wish it would rain.»
I looked up at the sky and shrugged. Something seemed to be changing. Something had shifted in the transparent blue dome of the heavenly oven.
«I think it’s going to,» I told him.
«Great.»
We nodded to each other and I walked away, slipping into the stream of people.
I didn’t know what to do, but I already knew where to go. And that was a good start.
Chapter 7
Our powers are borrowed to a large extent.
The Dark Ones draw theirs from the suffering of others. Things are a lot simpler for them. They don’t even have to cause people any pain. They can just wait. Just keep their eyes open and keep sipping away at people’s suffering, like drinking a cocktail through a straw.
We can do the same, only with one small difference. We can draw strength from people who are feeling good, when they’re happy. But there’s one little difficulty that makes the process easy for the Dark Ones and almost forbidden to us. Happiness and sorrow are not just two levels on a single scale of human emotions. If they were, there’d be no such thing as radiant sorrow or malicious joy. They’re two parallel processes, two equal currents of Power, which Others can feel and use.
When a Dark Magician drinks in someone’s pain, it only increases.
When a Light Magician takes someone’s joy, it decreases.
We can absorb power at any moment. But we very rarely allow ourselves to do it.
That day I decided that I was entitled.
I took a little bit from a couple locked in each other’s arms at the entrance to the metro. They were happy, very happy just then. But I could tell that the lovers were parting, and for a long time, and sadness would inevitably come to them anyway. I decided I had a right to do it. Their joy was bright and rich, like a bouquet of scarlet roses, proud and delicate.
I touched a child as he ran past—he was happy; he didn’t feel the oppressive heat; he was running to buy an ice cream. He would soon restore his power. It was as simple and pure as wild flowers. A bouquet of daisies that I gathered without hesitation.
I saw an old woman in a window. The shadow of death was already hovering over her, she could probably sense it herself. But she was still smiling. Her grandson had come around to see her that day. Probably only to check if his grandmother were still alive, or if the expensive apartment in the center of Moscow were free now. She understood that too, but she was still happy. I felt ashamed, unbearably ashamed, but I touched her and took a little Power. A fading orange and yellow bouquet of asters and autumn leaves…
I walked along just as I used to in my nightmares, when I handed out happiness to everyon
e on all sides, making sure no one went away without his share. But the trail I left behind me now was quite different. Slightly faded smiles, wrinkled foreheads, lips pressed together in doubt.
It was pretty easy to see where I’d been.
If I met a Day Watch patrol, they wouldn’t stop me.
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 naive 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 perso
n 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.
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.»
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