The Warlock

by Michael Scott

  “Nicely done,” Nicholas said. “Now make sure no one gets close.”

  Perenelle nodded.

  The Alchemyst looked at the Elder and the immortal. “Prometheus, Niten. It’s time.”

  The air suddenly filled with the sweet odor of green tea, and then the sharper smell of anise. A faint red glow formed around Prometheus’s hands and spiraled out along the length of his fishing rod. It crackled and sizzled and then dipped down along the fishing line and hissed into the water.

  Niten’s royal blue aura crept over his hands like a tattoo. It flowed up the length of the carbon-fiber fishing rod, discoloring it, and then dripped like ink down the fishing line to stain the water under the pier a deep navy.

  And the dark shape in the water suddenly changed direction.

  “The Lotan will be drawn to your auras,” Nicholas said. “It will taste them in the water the same way a shark smells blood. We need to get it close, as close as possible, but you will both have to be careful. We don’t want it consuming you.”

  “Here it comes,” Niten said. The whites of his eyes, his teeth and his tongue had turned blue.

  “Ready,” Prometheus said.

  Nicholas Flamel touched the green scarab he now wore around his neck and felt it grow warm in his hand. The spell was a simple one, something he had performed a thousand times before, though never on such a large scale.

  A red-skinned head broke the surface of the water … followed by a second … and a third … and then a fourth head, black and twice as large as the others appeared. Suddenly there were seven heads streaking toward them.

  “Let’s hope no one is filming this,” Niten murmured.

  “No one would believe it anyway.” Prometheus grinned. “Seven-headed monsters simply do not exist. If anyone saw it, they’d say it was Photoshopped.”

  “I can feel it,” Niten said. “It’s sucking the aura from me.”

  “Me too,” Prometheus agreed.

  “Let it come a little closer,” Nicholas muttered. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and their auras were tinged with his green.

  “Alchemyst.” Niten’s voice was strained.

  “Another few feet. Closer is better.”

  “Nicholas,” Perenelle said in alarm.

  The red and blue stains in the water were now flowing toward the creature like iron-filings pulled to a magnet. They watched as the Lotan’s long thick body rose higher in the water.

  “It’s going to jump!” Prometheus shouted. Niten gritted his teeth and said nothing.

  The Lotan sucked one last taste of their auras and then erupted straight up out of the water, rising on its tail, seven mouths gaping wide, hundreds of savage teeth ready to …

  Mint flooded the air, heavy, thick and cloying.

  There was a pop … followed by an explosion of green, red and blue that covered the three men in a mist of scented colors.

  Nicholas shot out his fist and caught a small blue-veined egg that dropped into the palm of his hand.

  Prometheus and Niten staggered back and slumped against the metal rails. They were both breathing heavily, and there were new lines on their faces. Strands of gray hair had sprouted in Niten’s dark eyebrows. Nicholas Flamel held up the small egg between thumb and forefinger. “Behold the Lotan,” he said.

  Prometheus gasped. “Impressive. What did you do?”

  “When your auras had drawn it in to the pier, I allowed it to ingest a little of my own aura. Once that was within its body, I used a simple Transmutation spell, converting one element into another. It is one of the basic principles of alchemy.” He grinned. “I returned the Lotan to its original form.”

  “An egg.” Prometheus looked surprised.

  “Where we all begin,” Flamel said. He tossed the blue-veined egg into the air … where a seagull snatched it, threw back its head and swallowed it whole.

  ust as she was told, Sophie changed into jeans, hiking boots and a red hooded fleece and then returned downstairs. She found Tsagaglalal in the kitchen, putting dishes into the dishwasher.

  “Is this okay?”

  Tsagaglalal looked her up and down. “Perfect for where you’re going.”

  “Is someone coming to pick me up?” Sophie asked.

  The old woman ignored the question. “There is a possibility,” Tsagaglalal said, “that I will never see you again.”

  Sophie looked at the old woman in shock. She opened her mouth to protest, but Tsagaglalal raised her hand and Sophie noticed that each of the woman’s fingertips was smooth—she had no fingerprints.

  “But I want you to know how proud I am of you. And your brother, too,” she added, “though I always guessed that he would choose a difficult path.” Tsagaglalal slipped her arm through Sophie’s and led her out into the garden. “I have watched over you from the day you were born. I held you in my arms when you were barely an hour old, and I looked into your eyes and I knew that with you—finally—the prophecy was about to come true.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Say what, and to whom?” Tsagaglalal cackled. “Would you have believed me if even one week ago I had suggested any of this?”

  Sophie shook her head.

  “I had waited ten thousand years for you to appear. I was prepared to bide my time. Another decade or so was not going to make that much difference. Now, you might think that your journey is coming to an end, but Sophie, I am afraid it is only just beginning. All you have learned, all you have experienced, was simply to prepare you for this next stage.”

  “Will I get to talk to Josh?”

  “Yes, I can guarantee that.”

  “When do I leave?”

  “Do you have the emerald tablet with you?”

  Sophie unzipped the fleece jacket’s pocket and pulled it out. She moved to hand it to Tsagaglalal, but the old woman shook her head. “It is solely for you. Were I to look upon it, I would find it indecipherable.”

  Sophie ran her hand over the smooth tablet once more. The words, pictograms and hieroglyphs she had read earlier had vanished and the surface was a smooth, cool mirror.

  “What do you see?” Tsagaglalal asked.

  “I see my reflection.”

  “Look deeper.”

  Smiling, Sophie stared into the glass. She saw her own reflection, the trees in the background, the roof of the house.…

  She saw Dee.

  She saw Virginia Dare, her flute to her lips, fingers working.

  The world shifted, twisted, turned, and Sophie realized she was looking through Josh’s eyes.

  She saw creatures stirring in their cells, stretching, awakening, claws appearing through bars.…

  The world spun again.

  And here was Mars, magnificent in his red armor, and Odin in gray and black, followed by Hel in bulky chain mail that made her even more beastlike, racing toward the creatures, weapons in their hands.…

  Shifting, moving.

  A cell door opened and a huge, hulking, bearlike beast appeared. Mars hammered it to the ground with a single blow.

  Josh was moving fast now, the jerking of his perspective upsetting Sophie’s stomach.

  … pulling open door after door, allowing monsters to surge out into the corridors, some of them so appalling to look upon it made her feel even sicker.

  A sphinx appeared, and instantly Mars, Odin and Hel backed away. One by one, all the monstrous creatures in the corridors fixed their attention on the three Elders.

  The monsters charged. And the Elders turned and fled down the corridor, pursued by an extraordinary collection of beasts.

  The world shifted and twisted uncomfortably. Looking through Josh’s eyes, Sophie saw something fall from Mars’s pocket. She recognized it as his jade tablet and she watched her brother …

  … darting forward, dodging the piles of animal droppings to retrieve it.

  And when he picked it up and stared into it, turning it over and over in his hands, his face was inches from hers. She saw the
changes then, saw the hard lines around his eyes, the cruel twist of his lips. The Josh she had known had never looked like this.

  “Oh, Josh,” Sophie gasped. “What have you done?”

  Josh Newman raced out into the recreation yard, breathing in great gulps of cold fresh air. “Everything is free on this floor.…”

  Dee and Dare were standing in the middle of the yard. The Magician had arranged two of the four Swords of Power in a reverse L shape on the ground. “Give me your swords,” he demanded.

  Josh immediately tossed him Durendal, but held on to Clarent, reluctant to hand over the blade.

  The Magician added the third sword to the pattern on the ground. Now only the left side of the square was open. Dee stretched out his hand.

  Josh felt Clarent throb in his fist.

  “Quickly!” Dee shrieked, and Josh realized that the immortal was terrified. “That was Mars and Odin and Hel. Sworn enemies one and all.”

  “They’ve obviously put aside their differences to hunt you down.” Virginia grinned.

  “You’re safe,” Josh said. “The last I saw, they were being chased down the corridor by the sphinx and the other beasts.”

  The door behind them burst open and Mars appeared. When he spotted Dee, he howled his terrifying war cry and raced toward him. He was carrying a broadsword as long as he was, and its tip dragged along the ground, striking sparks from the stones.

  “Sword, Josh!”

  The young man jerked Clarent free and tossed it to Dee, who deftly caught it and placed it at the open end of the long rectangle.

  The sudden movement knocked the emerald tablet out from Josh’s pocket and it fell to the ground.

  And then Dee poured his considerable aura into the four swords, bringing them, one by one, to blazing life.

  “Go, Sophie,” Tsagaglalal said.

  “Go? Go where?”

  “The tablet acts like a leygate mirror.” She tapped the image on the tablet. “Go there. Go to your brother.”

  “How?”

  “What did I tell you?” Tsagaglalal demanded.

  “Imagination and will.”

  “Do you want to be with your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than anything else in the world?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go.”

  And Sophie Newman gripped the edges of the tablet and the surface flooded silver, turning it into a perfect mirror …

  … and on Alcatraz, the emerald tablet on the ground became silver, and the air filled with the unmistakable odor of vanilla.

  “Soph?” Josh spun around in time to see his sister wink into existence behind him. He stared at her, dumbfounded.

  A hole appeared in the ground, a long rectangle, bounded on four sides by the burning swords, filled with nothing but shifting blackness, like thick bubbling tar.

  “Josh!” Dee yelled, and then leapt into the hole.

  Josh immediately turned toward Dee.

  “Don’t go!” Sophie pleaded.

  “Josh,” Virginia Dare called. She stepped, almost delicately, into the blackness after Dee and was instantly swallowed up.

  “I’ve got to go,” Josh said, turning to the hole in the ground. Already the fires blazing off the stone swords were beginning to die down.

  “No!”

  Josh put one foot into the inky blackness and Sophie caught his hand and attempted to pull him back. His face turned to an ugly mask as he struggled to wrench himself free. “I’m not coming back. I saw what they did to you.”

  “Josh, they tricked you. They’re using you.”

  “I’m not the one being used,” he snapped. “You need to open your eyes. The Flamels are using you. And they will use you up—just like they’ve done with everyone else.” He shook his head. “I’m going. Dee and Virginia need me. You don’t.”

  “I do,” she said. “I’m coming with you.” And instead of pulling away, she pushed, and they both tumbled into emptiness.

  There was no sensation of movement.

  There was nothing.

  The only fixed point in the emptiness was the warmth of her brother’s hand in hers.

  Sophie was blind, even though her eyes were wide open. There was nothing to hear, and when she screamed, no sound came out.

  And though it seemed to go on forever, she thought it might have lasted no more than a single heartbeat.

  There was a spot of light.

  Tiny.

  A pinprick directly ahead of them. Were they falling into it, or was it rushing toward them?

  She could see now.

  She saw Josh’s terrified face and knew it was the mirror of her own. He looked at her, and for an instant, he was her brother again, until his features hardened and he looked away. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

  The light swallowed them.

  Sensation returned, painful sight and agonizing sound, the feel of gravel and stones beneath their feet, the musky scents of animals, the taste of exotic perfumes in their mouths.

  Sophie opened her eyes. On the grass, crushed beneath her face, were flowers that had never grown on the earth she knew, tiny creations of spun glass and hardened resin.

  When she rolled over, she discovered that they had company. She nudged her twin. “You better wake up.”

  He cracked open one eye, groaned, and then, when the realization of what he’d just seen sank in, he jumped awake and sat bolt upright. “That’s a …”

  “… a flying saucer,” she said.

  “A vimana,” Dee breathed. “I never thought I’d see one in my lifetime.” He was kneeling on the grass, staring in awe at the object. Virginia Dare sat cross-legged beside him, her wooden flute held loosely in her hand.

  The vimana descended, filling the air with a subsonic buzzing, and then the top opened and a couple appeared. They were wearing white ceramic armor, etched with patterns and hieroglyphs that almost resembled Roman letters. They were tall and slender, with deeply tanned skin that stood out in stark contrast against their armor. The woman’s hair was close cropped, whereas the man’s skull was smooth shaven, and their eyes were a brilliant blue.

  Dee crouched on the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible. “Masters,” he said. “Forgive me.”

  The couple ignored him. They were staring at the twins.

  “Sophie,” the man said.

  “Josh,” the woman added.

  “Mom … Dad,” the twins said simultaneously.

  The couple bowed. “In this place we are called Isis and Osiris. Welcome to Danu Talis, children. Welcome home.”

  End of Book Five

  AUTHOR’S NOTE ON

  VIMANAS AND FLIGHT

  Like everything else in this series, the vimanas have their roots in mythology, specifically in the ancient mythological texts of India. In the epic Sanskrit poem The Mahabharata, which is at least twenty-five hundred years old, there is a detailed description of a vimana that was twelve cubits in circumference, with four strong wheels. (A cubit was a unit of measurement from the tip of the elbow to the tip of the middle finger.) The most famous vimana in Indian lore is the Pushpaka vimana—the flying chariot of the god Kubera. It was described as looking like a “bright cloud.”

  Although flying chariots, wheels and carpets are described in myths and legends from across the world, the details in Indian epic poems are both specific and extraordinary. In another epic Sanskrit poem, The Ramayana (also first written down around twenty-five hundred years ago), vimanas are common. The poem contains accounts of gods and heroes fighting aerial battles with other vimana and attacking cities. Lengths, heights and weights of the craft are even given.

  There were many variations of the four basic types of vimana—Rukma, Sundara, Tripura and Sakuna—and descriptions of the craft differ. Some are wooden, and some are made from a mysterious red and white metal; some are triangular, with three wheels, while others are circular or oval; some are described as three stories tall.

  Of co
urse, none of this is proof that there were aircraft in the ancient past, but it is an indication that from the very beginning, mankind has always looked to the skies.

  The dream of flight is woven through history and goes back much further than one might think. It is generally accepted that the Wright brothers took to the air in December 1903 in the first controlled and powered heavier-than-air craft. But the latest research suggests that this could be wrong. Hiram Maxim got off the ground briefly in 1894 with a craft weighing 7,000 pounds, and Samuel Langley sent an unmanned craft airborne for 3,300 feet in 1896.

  Throughout the nineteenth century, gliders and balloons rose into the skies over America, Europe, India and South Africa. There are reports from 1895, for example, that a craft designed by Shivkar Bapuji Talpade flew in Bombay, and the wonderfully named Goodman Household flew a glider for just under three hundred feet in Natal, South Africa, in 1871. But the first recorded heavier-than-air powered flight took place in England in 1848, when John Stringfellow managed to get a ten-foot monoplane off the ground. It was steam powered.

  If the nineteenth century was the era of the glider, then the eighteenth century belonged to the balloon. Experiments in flight culminated when Etienne Montgolfier took to the air in the winter of 1783 in a spectacularly decorated 75-foot-tall, 50-foot-diameter hot-air balloon.

  Back further in history, Leonardo da Vinci famously created designs for what is clearly a prototype helicopter. His notebooks are also full of designs for flying machines, gliders and artificial wings. In his diary for the year 1483, he drew up the design for the first parachute. (On June 26, 2000, a replica of this parachute, made using only the tools, fabrics and materials that would have been available to da Vinci, successfully brought a man to earth from a height of ten thousand feet.)

  Back further still, in the ninth century, there is an account of the great Berber inventor and poet Abbas Ibn Firnas strapping wings on his back and gliding. And five hundred years before that, the Chinese were describing flying craft made of bamboo and leather.

  As we move back in time, into that space where history and mythology blend, we find many mentions of flying vehicles. Flying is commonplace in mythology. Most of the gods can fly, usually without any additional help. But in some ancient traditions, the gods fly with the aid of wings, and these images appear on rock carvings and temple paintings all across the world. However, in myth and legend, there are also accounts of artificial means of flight and flying craft.