The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  Ezra narrowed his eyes. “Like now?”

  The consul laughed but it did not reach his eyes. “You might think you’re clever, boy, but what you do not know is the level of danger you and your father are in right now.”

  “Yes, from you.”

  “No, not from me,” Consul Diederik said as if trying to restrain irritation. His white knuckles closed around his cane. “From others in my organisation. From treasure-seeking Quotidians. Even the Magi. You have stumbled upon the world stage if you like it or not. And now, all eyes are on you.”

  Ezra gulped but attempted to disguise his panic as stubborn confidence. “This is because of the Tablet of Destinies, isn’t it? An artifact that may or may not exist? That stupid translation that has everyone all worked up?”

  Diederik retreated behind his desk and settled comfortably into the leather chair. “And what do you know of the translation?”

  Ezra held his gaze but said nothing.

  “Come now, Ezra, do not make me force it out of you.”

  “I don’t know anything!” he yelled, a sting of frustration blinding him. “Whatever my parents knew was never passed to me. I’m just as much in the dark about this as you are.”

  The consul cocked his head, a grin twisting along his mouth. “My boy, I may not have the answers I’m looking for, but don’t for one second think I am in the dark.”

  Exhausted from their conversation, Ezra allowed his gaze to flutter toward the floor.

  “What do you know about the translation?”

  “All I know is that it somehow relates to the Tablet of Destinies,” Ezra caved with a shaky exhalation. “There’s something about a Roaming Lion and Babylon’s gates and immense power. That’s it. That’s all I know.”

  Consul Diederik leaned back in his chair, folding his hands atop his belly. He exchanged a humoured look with Symon before turning back to Ezra. “You are correct in that much. The translation is a guide, providing instructions on how to find the Tablet of Destinies. It speaks of a Roaming Lion—in this context, the person who will uncover the artifact and unlock its power. Unfortunately, we are missing some key information, information we were hoping your dear father would help us with.”

  A prickling sensation bloomed across Ezra’s palms and travelled up his arms. The weight of both Consul Diederik and Symon’s attention bore heavily upon him, so much so that he could barely breathe. He balled his fists, his nails digging into the skin.

  “And you are using me as bait to lure him in,” Ezra spat bitterly, a darkness returning to his expressions. “I am nothing but a bargaining chip.”

  “Ah, seems like the little brat is catching on,” Symon noted to Diederik. He threw back the rest of his liquor before depositing the glass on the beverage trolley.

  “Yes, I’m catching on that for some absurd reason, you think my father is going to willingly give up information about this Roaming Lion person,” Ezra fumed. “Even if he does know their identity, he will never tell you. He has fought hard so far to keep whatever secrets he knows quiet.”

  Consul Diederik shared another glance with Symon before regarding Ezra as if he were simultaneously astounded and amused by his outburst. Rising to his feet, the consul leisurely ventured to a picture window, observing the foggy London streets below.

  “You misunderstand me, Mr. Newport,” the consul said without even turning to address him. “The information I’m looking for has to do with the location of the artifact, not the identity of the Roaming Lion. According to the translation, the Roaming Lion is the key to finding the tablet because he has seen it before. ‘Locked within time, where Destinies are viewed,’ it’s all there, you see?”

  Ezra’s heart rammed against his ribs. “But I—I don’t—”

  “We do not need the identity of the Roaming Lion because we already know who he is,” Consul Diederik clarified. “And right now, Ibrahim Newport’s memories are more precious to us than all the treasure in the world.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Late Night Caller

  “All right, now, Oliver. I need you to pay close attention.” Jonas readied an orb of energy between his palms, sparking with vibrant intensity.

  “Why do you and Zaire always assume that’s the last thing I’m doing while training?” Oliver retorted, grimacing when he twisted too sharply at the waist.

  “Because the second a Magus breaks focus is the moment they open themselves up for attack,” said Jonas as he side stepped around the boy. “And right now, I sense your thoughts are everywhere but this cellar.”

  Oliver set his jaw in concentration, guiding the Celestial Lifeforce into his fingertips. “Well, of course they are! I cannot stop thinking about Ezra.”

  Aja, who had been waiting patiently for her sparring session, sank back against the couch in dejection and folded her arms. “Me too.”

  Jonas looked between his apprentices and allowed the magic to dissolve into the air. He motioned for Oliver to take a seat next to Aja. Crouching in front of them, Jonas rested his elbows against his knees and surveyed their downcast expressions. “I know you are concerned for our friend,” he started. The effort of keeping his voice steady was surprisingly harder than he anticipated. “But the Magi Administration is taking care of the situation.”

  “You know how you always tell us to trust our intuition?” Aja said. “Well, my intuition says that’s not good enough.”

  “Yeah, mine says the same,” Oliver replied. “But my intuition isn’t saying it. It’s shouting it.”

  Allowing his sightline to fall, Jonas sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I know, I know. But there is nothing we can do while we are under a No Travel Order. Is that clear?”

  His apprentices shared a disappointed look with one another before nodding in understanding.

  The wild swinging of Elysium’s red door shattered the stoic atmosphere. Visibly shaken, Zaire’s eyes communicated disbelief as he grasped the doorframe for support. “Mista Jonas! You’re gonna want to see this!”

  Jonas frowned in concern, standing to his full height. “What? Is someone trying to break into the shop again?”

  “No! No, it’s...” Zaire panted. “A man claiming to be Ezra’s father is here!”

  A shocked stillness overtook the room. Oliver and Aja gaped at Zaire. Even Jonas struggled to process the information and wondered if he had even heard him correctly in the first place.

  “Say again—Ezra’s father is here? In the Emporium?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay, the both of you stay put,” Jonas commanded his apprentices. “Neither of you move a muscle while I assess the situation first. Anyone could be up there trying to deceive us. Zaire?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Go fetch Kierra.”

  “On it,” he responded and dashed up the spiral staircase toward the second level.

  With his heart pounding in anticipation, Jonas followed suit. He barely registered the clanging of his own footfalls as he climbed toward the ground level of the building. Absolutely anyone—a member of the Legerdemain, a clever Watcher—could be waiting around the corner, and Jonas was not about to take chances with the visitor’s intentions. He reached into his pocket, withdrew his quartz crystal, and held it at the ready.

  A man with untidy dark hair stood with his back to Jonas, showing great interest in the crystal display case.

  “Good evening,” Jonas called out, cautiously approaching his guest. “What can I help you with, sir?”

  The man looked over his shoulder. His unkempt beard framed weathered skin and brown eyes. Fraying trousers and a tattered suit jacket hung upon his tall frame and his toes peeked out from a hole in his left shoe. The Middle Eastern gentleman appeared to be in his late thirties, but concern and exhaustion cut deep creases around his eyes, making him seem much older.

  “Greetings,” the man responded in a thick Turkish accent. “Are you Jonas? Jonas van der Campe?”

  “That depends. With whom am I speaking?” Jonas ask
ed, attempting to convey a calm exterior by placing his hands in his pockets. He gripped his crystal until the edges pressed into his palm.

  The man reached into his jacket.

  Jonas’ muscles twitched defensively. However, he relaxed as the man retrieved a calling card, much like the one Jonas had given Ezra after their first meeting.

  “My name is Ibrahim Newport,” responded the man, brandishing the card, “and if you are Jonas van der Campe, I desperately need your help.”

  Skirts rustling with intensity, Kierra rushed into the Emporium with Zaire at her heels. Once she reached Jonas, she made momentary eye contact with him before examining the stranger.

  “Mr. Newport, may I introduce you to my cousin, Miss Kierra McLarney,” Jonas replied, gesturing toward her. “I hope you understand that we take every precaution necessary these days, and that includes what is about to happen.”

  “Er, yes, of course,” Ibrahim said. He nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “While I am inclined to believe you are who you say you are, I will allow Kierra to be the judge of that,” Jonas stated, gently guiding her forward. “Kierra, would you kindly take a look inside this man’s memories?”

  Kierra approached the individual claiming to be Ibrahim. “I apologise, sir, but this may cause some distress,” she warned.

  Hesitantly, the late-night caller nodded in consent.

  The young woman extended her hand and held it over the man’s forehead.

  Jonas watched intently as his cousin closed her eyes and began her work. Kierra’s furrowed eyebrows accompanied the man’s pained facial features, which only grew in magnitude over the next few seconds. Jonas grimaced when the scene became exceedingly uncomfortable, especially when the stranger struggled to hold back tears of anguish. He deflected his attention toward Zaire, who returned Jonas’ silent wonderings.

  Kierra withdrew her hand, breaking the connection. Her eyes grew wide as she stumbled backward in amazement.

  “He...he is indeed Ibrahim Newport,” she whispered in disbelief.

  Completely bewildered, Jonas cleared his throat and held out his hand in greeting. “Anything you need, Mr. Newport, I would be more than happy to assist.”

  Ibrahim shook Jonas’ hand and brushed away the remnants of emotion. “Thank you, Mr. van der Campe. I’ve run out of options and am afraid you might be my very last hope.”

  HE SAT BEFORE THEM, a broken mirage shrouded in steam from recently brewed tea.

  After all this time, he lived.

  Jonas perched atop the armrest of the couch, watching in astonished silence as Ibrahim Newport sipped his beverage. An hour had passed since Kierra confirmed his identity, yet a profusion of thoughts, questions, and harsh emotions battered Jonas’ internal reasoning.

  And, judging by the dumbfounded looks on everyone’s faces, the entirety of the Irish Chapter could wholeheartedly relate.

  “Mr. Newport, this might sound somewhat crass, but I must know: Why now? Why did it take so long for you to seek us out?” Jonas asked.

  Ibrahim stared into the depths of his cup. “I wanted to come sooner. I did. But after the train wreck, after the murder of my wife, I knew I needed to stay hidden for as long as possible. But now,” he paused, meeting the eyes of his company. “Now, the future of our society rests on a cliff’s edge.”

  Jonas exchanged a baffled look with his cousin when the man paused to wipe tears from his cheeks.

  ‘My son has been taken, and it is all my fault.”

  “You said our society,” Jonas emphasised. “The Magi Administration told us you and your late wife had your licenses revoked. Not to mention your connection to the Universe was severed.”

  The ashy remnants of a once vicious blaze stirred in the man’s eyes. “That does not mean I turned my back on the Magi.”

  “Well, as my boss so often says, you had better start at the beginning, Mr. Newport,” Diego insisted. “We have got all day with literally nowhere to go.”

  Ibrahim clutched his teacup. “By now, you will have seen the papers talking about a Babylonian cuneiform artifact’s translation. I’m sure you think it is innocent enough, but—”

  “We already know it has to do with the Tablet of Destinies,” Diego interrupted. “And we already know that the Legerdemain Brotherhood is after you because of it.”

  Zaire elbowed him in the ribs. “Let him speak, kid.”

  “You are correct on all accounts,” Ibrahim said without batting an eye. “But do you know why?”

  Silence reigned over the Elysium common room. Diego looked as if he wanted to open his mouth again but a stern glance from Zaire made him freeze mid-breath.

  “From the moment I was born, my Seer mother had recurring dreams of a lion cub roaming the wilderness,” Ibrahim explained, pausing only to take a sip of tea. “While her visions did not give clarity as to its importance, she knew inherently that the lion represented me. She would often call me ‘Roaming Lion’ throughout my childhood. Even on her deathbed, her last words were ‘May Allah bless the wandering path of the Roaming Lion.’ It was not until I began working for the Magi Administration after Ezra was born that I fully understood what that meant.”

  “The translation speaks of you,” Jonas concluded. For some reason, hearing the words spoken out loud sent goosebumps over his arms. Next to him, Aja and Oliver whispered to each other at the revelation.

  “There is a room—a massive vault within Magi Headquarters—where the Administration keeps all records of prophetic texts, dreams, and visions,” Ibrahim continued. “You might know it as the off-limits wing just down from the historical vaults.”

  “Ah, yes,” Jonas replied. “I am familiar. As part of my Magi Master training, I spent many hours reading the texts of Balasi in those vaults.”

  Ibrahim nodded. “I worked as a nightguard alongside my good friend Taylan, protecting the secrets within.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Diego said, throwing up a hand to keep the conversation from progressing. “At the impenetrable fortress that is Magi Headquarters? How on earth would anyone even get in and succeed in accessing the vaults in the first place?”

  “The Administration was quite clear when I was hired that I wasn’t necessarily protecting it from outside threats,” Ibrahim answered. “Believe it or not, the highest areas of concern were internal threats.”

  “Mm. That doesn’t surprise me,” Jonas noted. “So, you made sure no one made it past those gates. But something tells me you didn’t keep everyone out.”

  “No, I did not,” Ibrahim sighed. “A heist occurred one night while Taylan and I were on duty.”

  A chill rushed down Jonas’ spine.

  “And I was the one who led it.”

  “Pardon me?” Jonas almost toppled off the couch in utter astonishment.

  Ibrahim cringed when the reticence had become deafening. “Taylan’s wife, Kiraz, worked as a Knowledge Keeper and mentioned a prophetic text having to do with a ‘Roaming Lion.’ Intrigue got the best of me, so I arranged for Taylan to cover me while I infiltrated the vaults during our shift. I found the prophecy easily enough but when I read its contents, I was shocked. According to the text, this Roaming Lion was meant to uncover an artifact of great and terrible power: The Tablet of Destinies.”

  “But the Magi Gendarmerie arrested you before you could do much else?” Oliver theorised.

  “No. They had no idea,” Ibrahim replied. “As I looked further into the text, I realised just how dangerous this Tablet of Destinies could be for our world. Even though the text claims the Roaming Lion would one day assist the Kings—the Magi—with the magic, something still did not resonate well in my soul. So, I made it my duty to wipe any mention of it from the earth in hopes that I could take the secret to my grave. Throw away the key, as it were. And that would be the end of it.

  “In the days following, Taylan and I devised a fool proof plan: We would break into the vaults again to destroy any record of the prophecy. But we had to co
ver our tracks—especially from Time Manipulators—so together, we invented something called a ‘Time Blemish’ to erase history at the very moment we set fire to the prophecy.”

  Diego blanched a sickly white. “A—a Time Blemish? You created those?”

  Ibrahim stared at the young man a moment before nodding. “I assume you’re familiar with them?”

  “Too familiar,” Diego replied, “but only at the hands of the Legerdemain Brotherhood.”

  “I figured it was a matter of time before they confiscated it for their own uses,” said Ibrahim with a disappointed sigh. “Ultimately, I succeeded. I destroyed the prophecy and any trace that it had even existed. Or so I thought. However, it wasn’t long until the Magi Council discovered I’d tampered with the vaults and not only fired me and my wife but took our licenses and magic as well.”

  “That is extremely harsh,” noted Kierra.

  “Well, it would not be the first time they’ve been known to be harsh,” Jonas said, sharing a knowing look with Diego.

  “Well, I suppose if a prophecy says you will one day assist them with that power, no Magi would be very happy about that,” Ibrahim replied.

  “Did the Magi Administration ever find out which prophecy you tampered with?” Annabelle questioned.

  “Not to my knowledge,” Mr. Newport responded. “If they knew, they didn’t let on.”

  “So, when the recent cuneiform translation spoke of the very prophecy you tried to destroy, you wanted to do anything you could to stop the publication,” Jonas gathered.

  Ibrahim bowed his head. “Indeed. But I failed. And now, the Legerdemain Brotherhood knows. Just days after the translation went to press, a team of Dark Watchers combed through our borough looking for us. I did the only thing I knew how to do: Pick up everything and move my family to safety. But I failed at that, too. My wife is dead, and my son has been taken by Consul van der Campe and Deputy Consul Bellinor.”