The Warlock

by Michael Scott

  “I guessed,” Sophie said, looking away quickly and swallowing the bile at the back of her throat.

  “I made them rare just for you,” Prometheus said.

  “You remembered,” Hel rasped.

  “Well, if you recall, the last time we met, you were planning on eating me.”

  “I was going to cook you first.”

  Odin picked up a piece of sushi and a napkin. He disassembled the sushi, removing the curl of salmon and wrapping the remains of the rice in the napkin.

  Black Hawk nodded his thanks as he looked over the plate. “Is that spicy tuna?”

  Sophie nodded. “Looks like it.”

  “I’ll stick with the salmon. Spicy food disagrees with me.”

  Niten appeared with two more plates of sushi. “Freshly made,” he announced. “I cut some sashimi for you,” he said to Odin, and pointed to the neat slivers of white and red fish. “Albacore and salmon.” He looked at Black Hawk. “And cucumber and tuna rolls for you. No spices.”

  “You have a good memory.” Black Hawk smiled.

  “Of course.”

  Sophie looked at the two immortals. She still found the idea of the Swordsman and the Native American knowing one another astonishing. “How do you know one another?”

  “We met just over a hundred and thirty years ago,” Niten said.

  Black Hawk nodded in agreement. “Just after the Battle of Greasy Grass in 1876.”

  “What a day that was,” Niten murmured. “A day for warriors.”

  Sophie picked up one of the trays of meat and offered it to Hel. The Elder nodded gratefully and grabbed two burgers, one in each hand, before wrapping her tongue around a third. “We came through several leygates to get here,” she explained over a mouthful of barely cooked meat, spraying fragments everywhere. “And you know what that’s like—they make you ravenous.”

  Sophie drifted away from the group, heading into the house with the empty platter. She stopped at the doorway and glanced back and was immediately struck by how completely bizarre the scene was. There was Niten talking to Black Hawk; Mars Ultor and Prometheus were deep in conversation, while Odin and Hel were listening intently to Tsagaglalal. It seemed like any other backyard barbecue, with food and drink and the smells of cooking in the air. And yet some of these beings were more than ten thousand years old and far from human.

  “Maybe it’s a dream,” she said softly, “and I’m about to wake up.”

  “More like a nightmare,” a woman’s voice answered quietly. “And you’re not even dreaming.”

  Sophie spun around to find Nicholas and Perry standing in the doorway.

  “It is good to see you again, Sophie,” Nicholas said. “And Perenelle tells me I owe you a huge debt. You helped bring me back to life.”

  Sophie nodded, not entirely sure how to respond. “I was … glad to be able to help,” she said. She tilted her head behind her. “I was just thinking what an odd group this is. Odin and Hel are enemies, Prometheus and Mars haven’t spoken in thousands of years, and I had no idea Niten and Black Hawk knew one another.”

  “And what’s really odd,” Nicholas continued, “is that they are talking civilly and are not at one another’s throats.”

  “Why is that?” Sophie asked. She noted that Nicholas was wearing one of her father’s shirts and a pair of his cargo pants, while Perenelle was dressed in jeans that were just a little too short and a high-necked long-sleeved blouse that looked like her mother’s. She felt a vague wave of anger that her aunt—no, not her aunt, Tsagaglalal—had given away her parents’ clothes.

  Slowly the group became aware that Nicholas and Perenelle were standing at the kitchen door looking at them, and all conversation died away as they turned to face the Alchemyst and his wife. Nicholas accepted a glass of water from Perenelle and raised it in salute.

  “I have never believed in coincidences,” he said, stepping out into the garden. “So I am forced to think that you are all here for a reason.”

  Tsagaglalal stepped forward. “You are. And if you would all like to sit down, I will tell you the reason.”

  “So this extraordinary gathering was not accidental?” Prometheus asked.

  “Hardly,” Tsagaglalal said. “My husband and Chronos predicted it ten millennia ago. In fact, Abraham gave me something to give to you.” She opened a cardboard box that was sitting on the table and removed some straw padding. “I have protected these emerald tablets with my life,” she said, and began to take out flat rectangular green stones and hand them around. “Prometheus, this is for you. Niten, this is yours.…”

  “What are they?” Sophie asked.

  “Letters from the past,” Tsagaglalal said. “My husband wrote them ten thousand years ago.”

  “And he knew all these people would be here?” Sophie asked incredulously.

  Tsagaglalal turned and nodded. “Indeed he did.” Then she pulled one final emerald tablet from the cardboard box and handed it to her. “And he knew that you too would be here, Sophie Newman.”

  ophie Newman looked at the emerald tablet. It was about four inches across and eight inches long, and the stone felt cool in her hands. Both sides were covered in thin, narrow writing unlike anything she had ever seen before: triangles, semicircles and slashes, vaguely mathematical-looking symbols and abstract dots. It was completely unintelligible.

  She turned the tablet over and ran her fingers across the smooth surface, tracing the horizontal lines of text. Wisps of her silver aura streaked across the tablet and she caught her breath. The writing flowed and shifted on the stone, forming and re-forming. She recognized cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphs, Aztec glyphs and Celtic Ogham, Chinese pictograms, Arabic swirls, then Greek and Norse Runes … and finally, English.

  It was a letter.

  I am Abraham of Danu Talis, sometimes called the Mage, and I send greetings to the Silver.

  There is much that I know about you. I know your name and age and I know you are female. I have followed your ancestors through ten thousand years. You are a remarkable young woman, the last of a line of equally remarkable women.

  You exist in a world that is incomprehensible to me, just as I occupy a time that you could not understand. But we are linked, you and I, by this tablet, which I have engraved with my own hands and which I am hoping that my own dear wife has presented to you.

  I am writing this sitting in a tower on the edge of the known world on the Isle of Danu Talis. History will give this island other names, but this is its first name, its real name. You should know that your world and my world are one and the same, though separated by millennia, and furthermore, you should be confident that at heart I want nothing but the best for both our worlds. Indeed, I have entrusted my beloved Tsagaglalal to carry this message to you across the ages. By the time you read it, she will have stood guardian and watched over your mother and your grandmother and every female in your clan since it began. And her brother will have done the same for the men.

  This you need to know: your world begins with the death of mine.

  But you should also know that there are time lines in which my world does not fall. And in those time lines, your world will never come into being, and other life-forms will rise up to control the planet.

  There are time lines in which dark forces take hold and control the Isle of Danu Talis, where the humani remain slaves until they are exterminated and replaced by a new breed.

  There are other time lines in which your world—your modern world, with all its shining metal and glass, with your terrifying weapons and wonders—falls to chaos and ancient night.

  And there are some threads of time in which your world simply does not exist. There is naught but dust and rocks where your planet and its moon now spin in space.

  I have always known that the fate of our worlds—yours and mine—is at the mercy of the actions of individuals. The actions of a single person can change the course of a world and create history.

  And you are one of those individu
als.

  You are powerful. A Silver—as powerful as I have ever seen. And you are brave, too. That much is clear.

  You have it within you to change history, but to do that you will have to trust me. That may be difficult, because I know you have never trusted anyone in your life except your twin, and my research has indicated that you and your twin are now separated. If it is any consolation, you will be reunited, albeit briefly. I am asking you to trust someone you have never met, writing to you from ten thousand years ago, living in a world beyond your comprehension. But if you trust me and do what must be done, and if you are successful, you will save the world. Not only my world and your world, but all the unseen Shadowrealms and everyone on them. Billions of sentient beings will owe you their lives.

  Fail, and those same billions will die.

  But I must tell you now that there will be a price for this success. You will pay dearly. Your heart will break a thousand times and you will learn to curse my name now and forevermore.

  So you must choose. A thousand years before I wrote this tablet, I created the prophecy that ends with the words The two that are one must become the one that is all. One to save the world, one to destroy it.

  Which one are you, Sophie Newman?

  Which one are you?

  osh Newman looked at the pool of water at his feet. “Nothing’s happen—” he began … and then stopped—all the water in the rock pool had suddenly vanished. He could see the tiny green creature wriggling and twisting on the gritty beach like a fish out of water. Josh squinted; did it look a little plumper? The Lotan shuddered, scrabbling in the grit and dirty sand. And then Josh realized that it was growing, doubling and then redoubling in size with each twitch of its ever-elongating body.

  From a few inches in length to a foot long took a heartbeat.

  From twelve inches to three feet took another heartbeat.

  The resemblance to a skink was pronounced, but with each shuddering increase in size, it began to look more like a Komodo dragon. Long yellow forked tongues flickered in each of its seven mouths, and when it raised its heads toward the skies, its breath reeked of rancid meat and long-dead things from the bottom of the sea.

  The Lotan convulsed, doubled in size again, becoming six feet long …

  “We need to get out of here,” Billy said urgently. He and Virginia still held Dee between them. “Look at those teeth—a critter like that needs meat. And we’re the closest meal.”

  … trembling violently, bones popping, muscles cracking, skin stretching to become twelve feet …

  All seven heads fixed on the five humans, fourteen solid black eyes watching them unblinkingly. And then it lunged forward, a quick—almost shockingly swift—movement that halved the distance between them.

  “Move!” Billy yelled.

  “No!” Dee gasped.

  Josh watched in horror as the creature spasmed violently, growing to more than twenty-four feet long, almost the same length as one of the cable cars that ran in the city across the bay.

  “Just how big does this thing get?” Billy demanded.

  “Let’s slow this down.” Still holding on to the Magician, Virginia pulled out her flute with one hand and pressed it to her lips. The sound was too high for human hearing other than the faintest trembling on the air. A trio of seagulls flying overhead fell out of the sky, tumbling into the sea, but the Lotan was unaffected. It edged closer, and all seven mouths opened to reveal multiple rows of savage teeth. Thick strands of foul-smelling saliva dripped onto the rocks.

  Dee coughed out a laugh, and when he spoke his voice was a ragged whisper. “It is deaf. Your magic flute is useless.”

  “I gathered that,” Virginia muttered.

  The Lotan’s green skin rippled with colors, red and black waves surging up and down its body. Abruptly, all the colors flowed into the heads, turning each a different shade of crimson, except for the central head, which had grown almost twice as big as the others and was now solid black.

  Josh clenched and unclenched his fists and his golden auric gloves formed again and started to work their way up his arms, sheathing them in metal.

  The Lotan’s seven heads instantly fixed on the young man.

  “Josh,” Machiavelli said quietly, not taking his eyes off the Lotan. “I suggest you stop whatever you’re doing. Right now!”

  “I was shielding myself with my aura,” Josh began.

  Dee shook himself free of Dare and Billy. A little color had returned to the Magician’s ash-white face, but his eyes were still ringed with shadows, and he cradled his swollen left hand. He stepped toward the creature, which reared its heads as if it was about to strike, and then all its nostrils opened stickily and seven tongues tasted the air. Dee turned his back on the creature. “The Lotan feeds off more than flesh. It’s vampire-like—it will suck the aura from any living creature.” He looked at Machiavelli. “Are you brave enough to stretch out your arm?”

  “Brave enough, perhaps, but not so foolish,” Machiavelli said, eyes still fixed on the creature.

  Billy immediately stretched out his left arm and the air was touched with the earthy scent of red pepper. A reddish-purple gauze wrapped around the immortal’s hand.

  The Lotan shuddered, all the heads transferring their attention to him, tongues flickering. Billy suddenly grunted and staggered forward as his aura started to coil and stream away from his arm toward the creature. The yellow tongues lapped the gossamer red smoke from the air.

  “Stop it, Billy!” Machiavelli said.

  The American tried to lower his arm. “I can’t,” he gasped. His aura had deepened in color, the stream clearly visible in the air as it flowed toward the lizard. The veins on the back of Billy’s outstretched hand were pronounced, and he hissed in pain as his fingernails turned red, then purple, before changing to black, cracking and falling off.

  Josh immediately stepped in front of Billy and cracked the flat of his hand across his face. The immortal grunted in surprise. Josh caught the front of his shirt and used a tae kwan do standing leg sweep to bring Billy to his knees. The immortal hit the stones with bruising force and his aura instantly faded.

  “Oh man, that hurt. I think you just busted my kneecap,” Billy grumbled. He stretched out his hand and Josh hauled him to his feet. “Never thought I’d thank someone for hurting me, but thanks. I owe you—and I never forget my debts.” He flexed his left hand. It was pale, shot through with veins and broken blood vessels and the ovals where his fingernails had fallen off oozed a clear liquid. “That really stings,” he muttered.

  “That was a stupid thing to do,” Virginia snapped.

  “Stupid is my middle name.” Billy grinned.

  “This is the beast you’re going to unleash on the city?” Machiavelli said quietly. “A flesh eater, an aura drinker?”

  “The first of many beasts,” Dee said with a laugh that turned into a gurgling cough and doubled him over. “Let it prowl through the streets and feast for a while. You have the spells: awaken the monsters in the cells and send them into the city.”

  “And then what?” Machiavelli asked.

  “Our work here is through.” Dee spread his arms wide. “We have done as we were ordered to do by our respective masters. You can return on the next flight to Paris … well, maybe not the next flight, I’m not sure the airport will be operating much longer.” He pointed back toward the cellblock with his chin. “I saw some wyverns inside. Perhaps you should send them to the airport.” He laughed again.

  “And what about you, Doctor?” Machiavelli asked. “What happens to you when the Elders return?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “I think I would like to know,” the Italian said icily. His lips moved in a smile that didn’t come close to his eyes. “We are in this together.”

  Dee folded his arms across his chest and the huge Lotan crept closer to him. The long tongues flickered up and down his back and ruffled his hair. He absently brushed them away. “I am considering my
options,” he said finally. “But first, let us send this beastie on its way.…”

  “No,” Billy and Machiavelli said simultaneously.

  “No?” Dee looked confused. “Ah, I see. You think we should awaken some of the creatures and send them all in together?” He nodded. “We could bring them ashore at a couple of places, a multipronged attack.”

  Billy the Kid shook his head. “We’ve been thinking.…”

  “You shouldn’t strain yourself,” Dee quipped.

  Billy’s face turned hard. “Your smart mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

  “Perhaps,” Dee said, “but not by you.”

  “Enough,” Machiavelli yelled. “What my impulsive young friend is trying to say is that we have decided the monsters should not be released into the city.”

  Dee blinked in surprise.

  “It wouldn’t be right,” Billy said.

  “Not right?” The Magician started to laugh. “Is this some sort of joke?” He looked at Virginia. “It’s a joke, right?”

  Dare shook her head slightly. “I don’t think so,” she said, moving slowly away from the Italian and American immortals.

  Billy shifted his body, half turning so that he could watch both Dee and Dare at once.

  “Why are you doing this, John?” Machiavelli asked. “It gains you nothing.”

  “It buys me time, Niccolò,” Dee said. “Our Elder masters expect the creatures to be released into the city, and we must not disappoint them.”

  “Or they might come to investigate,” Machiavelli said slowly. “And find you here …”

  “Just so,” Dee agreed. “Let them watch the city from their Shadowrealms and rub their hands in glee at the destruction.”

  “So it’s a distraction?” Billy the Kid spat. “Just a distraction!”

  Dee grinned. “Like a stage magician’s card trick. They’ll be focused on the city and they’ll not bother me here.”