The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  “Neither can I,” answered Diego. He reached for the pamphlet in his pocket and unfolded it, diving into the glorious illustrations of the Rosetta Stone exhibit. Even in its fragmented state, the magnificent relic commandeered dominance over the pages. Housed in dark granodiorite, dusty white script flowed in distinct sections. Three written languages. One remarkable piece of history.

  Diego smiled to himself. They cleaned it up nicely, he thought as he recalled his 1799 Time Expedition through Egypt. The last time he saw the Rosetta Stone, it was being pulled out of the earth by French soldiers. Witnessing that incredible moment provided valuable historical context that simple museum brochures could never achieve.

  “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

  Diego glanced at Jonas who had joined him in admiring the pamphlet’s contents. “Absolutamente. It is fascinating to think we could not understand Egyptian hieroglyphics until this stone unlocked the secret.”

  Jonas nodded and crossed one leg over the other. “And I imagine the Tablet of Destinies will have much the same effect. It shall be a key unlocking a world beyond our current understanding.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Diego, may I ask you something?”

  “Si.”

  Jonas avoided eye contact. “Do you...do you ever miss Mexico?”

  Diego leaned his head back against the seat cushion and turned to study Jonas’ face, wondering what had fuelled his curiosity. “From time to time. I miss my mamá and my abuelita. I miss the heat of summertime and the warmth of the people. I miss the way the afternoon sun streams through the stained-glass windows of the Guadalajara Cathedral.” Diego hesitated, his gaze unfocused as he pictured his former home. “What I left behind is only one chapter in the story of my life. I can always revisit it. But right now, I am in the process of writing a new one.”

  “Beautifully said,” noted Jonas. “So, you do not regret coming to the United Kingdom?”

  “Why are you asking me this?”

  “Because,” Jonas exhaled, massaging his hands together as if that could help him better craft his thoughts. “Ah. It is nothing. Just a—a passing thought.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Jonas tried to smile but it fell flat. “You know me too well.”

  “Uh huh,” Diego replied and placed his hand on Jonas’ forearm. “I came with you to Ireland because I could not bear the thought of my story without you in it.”

  Jonas swallowed, tears brimming in his eyes.

  “Now, do not get all emotional on me, Señor van der Campe,” Diego joked, lightly shaking Jonas’ arm. “Then I will start crying and those old codgers playing cards will start crying, and that would be a rather awkward situation, so I would probably cry even more.”

  Jonas laughed. “Diego, sometimes you are utterly ludicrous, and I am quite fond of it.”

  “Bueno,” Diego said. He playfully shoved Jonas with his shoulder. “Because despite the happenings at the Royal Observatory, you are not getting rid of me that easily.”

  THE LONGING TO TELL him was so overwhelming, Jonas doubted he could put his introspection into anything comprehendible.

  With Diego’s previous sentiment absorbing deeper into his soul, he cleared his throat and tried his hardest.

  “Diego, can I be candid with you?”

  The young man’s features immediately fell into confusion. “Uh—isn’t that what we are doing?”

  “Well, yes,” Jonas responded. His attention faltered when the men playing cards wrapped up their game, collected their winnings, and issued farewells for the evening. A sense of relief at their departure slightly calmed his nerves, but he trudged onward. “This—this is different.”

  “Here you are acting strange again,” Diego responded with a smirk.

  “Dammit, Diego, just listen to me!” The insistence in his tone surprised even himself. “I have spent countless hours thinking of all the ways I’d be able to tactfully communicate this but every time, it just seems hopeless. Especially now that you are courting Stella.”

  Understanding sparked in Diego’s eyes—or was it panic?

  “After my hearing in September, after my sentence was given, the Council took me aside and insisted that we parted ways,” Jonas confided, not even daring to meet Diego’s eyes. “Not doing so jeopardised my status in the Third Order, not to mention every Quotidian law I had already defied. I couldn’t—I couldn’t risk going to prison. I couldn’t risk losing my role as part of the Magi. It would ruin me.”

  Diego folded his arms, a scowl crossing his expressions. “You did not have to end it. I would have kept our secret.”

  “I did what I had to do. There is no argument about it,” Jonas stated. “But you must know—” He swallowed the constriction in his throat. “I had no idea that losing you in the process would ruin me even more. And that night at the Royal Observatory—I thought I was going to lose you for good. Surrender you to the stars, just like I had to do with Felix. One thought kept circling my mind the entire time, one dreadful little truth that I hadn’t the courage to face until now: After all this time, I never stopped caring about you. Not for a second.”

  Diego sucked in a sharp breath, stung by the admission.

  Jonas wiped his sweating palms on his trousers before continuing. “Every night you left to be with Stella, every love note you wrote her, every telegram you continue to send, all of that gnaws at me until there’s nothing left but a gaping void.”

  Diego remained silent.

  “I am sorry,” Jonas sighed, the sting of tears making its presence known. “I shouldn’t have—” He glanced up when Diego’s hand enclosed around his.

  “Perhaps this would not be so difficult in another world, another life,” Diego whispered. “But this is the world we live in. This is the life we endure.”

  Nodding through the pain, Jonas sniffed when Diego squeezed his hand.

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Diego said. “It might make me want to murder you in your sleep sometimes, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

  Jonas laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “I cannot imagine my story without you, either, Diego Montreal. I refuse to see it any other way.”

  A brokenness washed over Diego. It corrupted the sparkle in his eyes, dimming his aura until there was hardly any light at all. Bridging the space between them, Jonas placed his palm against the young man’s face and ran his thumb across the ridge of his cheekbone. The Adam’s apple bobbed in Diego’s throat. He closed his eyes, fighting emotion beginning its ascent to the surface.

  Jonas brushed his fingers across Diego’s forehead, pushing back his hair so he could properly see him. He shuddered, knowing he could so easily drown in those eyes. Every arc of gold in the earthy browns of his irises mesmerised him. In that moment, Jonas wanted nothing more than to take away whatever hurt lurked beneath, to protect him, to hold him close until morning light. By the time Jonas realised mere centimetres separated them, every quickened breath converged between their mouths like wind in a sandstorm. His heart erupted into a dangerous rhythm. His pulse pounded in his ears, edging ever closer—

  “No. I can’t,” Diego remarked, tearing away from Jonas as if his proximity scorched him. “I can’t. I—I am sorry.”

  The young man stood abruptly and without another word or even looking back, he fled the carriage.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Constantinople

  Ezra awoke to vigorous shaking of his shoulder.

  Squinting through the haze of sleep, Ezra rolled over in the train bunk and surveyed his father’s brilliant smile.

  “What, Baba?”

  “Come, canım. There is something you must see.”

  After tugging on a pair of trousers and a collared shirt, Ezra followed Ibrahim through the overnight rooms to the outlook carriage.

  Golden sunlight streamed through the wide windows. Several passengers sheltered from the glare behind newspapers or exquisite fans. Others sipped their morning coffee, enjoying the ever-chang
ing scenery.

  Ezra stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of a familiar city glimmering on the horizon.

  Constantinople.

  Nostalgia caught in his throat as he drew toward the window like a moth to flame. He sank into an empty seat cushion, his eyes hungrily scanning the city skyline.

  Home.

  “Looks just as beautiful as the day we left.”

  Ezra sighed, running his fingertips over the glass. “I miss it, Baba.”

  Ibrahim sat across from him. He smiled and gazed out into the dazzling daylight. “As do I.”

  “Will we ever go back? To live?”

  Ibrahim folded his hands together in contemplation. “Perhaps when everything settles down again, we will.”

  Ezra stared longingly at the magnificent mosques, the minarets of Hagia Sophia, and the cluster of buildings reaching toward the heavens. For so long, the Constantinople skyline had consisted of blurry images painted within his memory. Even now, its presence felt almost dreamlike. Being in such proximity to the city filled in every detail he had forgotten. But the most curious detail of them all was that the port city radiated a golden magic that Ezra had never noticed before, almost as if it were welcoming the group of Magi to its shores.

  “You never told me what your Gift is,” Ibrahim spoke in genuine interest. “Jonas told me about your impressive shield during an attack by the Legerdemain Brotherhood, but I did not hear any other specifics.”

  Ezra’s attention departed from the glorious view. “At the time, I didn’t know, either. But after I was taken from Belfast, I experienced something...” He paused, not knowing how to adequately describe the miraculous event. “Er, well, I—I moved parts of a building to reconfigure it into a new layout.”

  Ibrahim could not supress his wide smile. “Ah, an Architect! I should have known. Very impressive.”

  Ezra tried to smile but it fell short of his father’s excitement. “What were yours and Anne’s powers? Before the Magi Administration took them away, that is.”

  The man’s expressions transformed from proud to sentimental. “Mm. Well, I could control weather phenomena. I could conjure sunshine, rain, wind...anything. But your anne could communicate with animals.”

  “What?” Ezra sputtered. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” Ibrahim chuckled at the enthusiasm in his response. “Leyla worked for the Magi Administration for many years in the Department of Transmissions. During her tenure, the Magi Courier Service consisted almost entirely of birds, instructed by Leyla to carry messages to Chapters across the world. While she would work with ravens and pigeons, she preferred her favourite avian creature: owls.”

  Ezra’s unblinking stare made his father laugh.

  “That is peculiar.”

  “No more peculiar than rearranging the interior of a building,” Ibrahim answered.

  “Do you miss them?”

  “Miss what, son?”

  “Your powers.”

  Ibrahim opened his mouth to respond but stitched his lips back together and redirected his focus beyond the window. A contemplation brewed behind his expressions, lost in the blur of scenery whirring past. “Every day. But Leyla and I knew the risks. I knowingly went against the rules, and the Administration had every right to enforce them.”

  “But you did that for the good of the world,” Ezra continued. “Shouldn’t that selfless nature be rewarded?”

  “By Allah, perhaps. But the Magi are quite curious in that regard,” said Ibrahim. “While my efforts were premeditated, their reasons for those rules outweighed my actions. I do not regret what I did, nor do I harbour any ill will toward the Administration. They are not bad people for taking away my Gifts.”

  Ezra considered his words, not knowing how close to hold them.

  “In fact, it is my fervent hope that you will go through formal training to become part of the Third Order," Ibrahim said. “Jonas would be an excellent teacher for you.”

  Their conversation disintegrated into silence. Ezra fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, not daring to look his father in the eyes. After everything they had been through on the account of the Magi or their sorcerous counterparts, why would he willingly open his life to that world? One step across the threshold had erased his mother’s life as well as all concepts of his former reality. Of course, he wanted to help the Magi in their quest to stop the Legerdemain Brotherhood. But that was where he drew the line. After the doors were closed, after the Magi were safe, Ezra hoped to take one step back. Away from the pain. The grief.

  Far from the Great Unknown.

  Now reunited with his father, a normal existence sparked just beyond his fingertips.

  “I—I don’t know if I want to, Baba.”

  “And why is that?”

  Ezra ran his thumb over the edge of the seat cushion. “Why would I do something to further put myself in danger?”

  “My son, the moment you were born, you entered a life destined for danger,” Ibrahim replied, a frank seriousness deepening the lines around his mouth. “Even if you decide not to train, you are still putting yourself at risk. A Magus without affiliation is a Magus in desperate limbo with the Universe.”

  Ezra allowed his eyes to wander beyond the window. “I know.”

  “Whatever you decide, I will put my full support behind you,” said his father. “But what a blessing it would be to see you shine amongst the shadows of this life.”

  Another glimmer of hope saturated the space around them with beautiful optimism. But Ezra never quite gathered his thoughts for the ear-splitting call of the train screamed over the clattering of the tracks.

  “Ah, we must be close,” Ibrahim noted. “You had better gather your things; this is our station.”

  Sighing, Ezra stole another glance at the splendour of his former home before disappearing toward the sleeping rooms.

  THEY CRAFTED THEIR steps and moved amongst the night.

  The sun sank below the western horizon, yet Constantinople still buzzed in contagious wonder. Now that they had deposited their luggage at the Istanbul Hotel, their steps were lighter, more urgent. Ibrahim led the way, explaining their timing meant everything upon their approach. Halfway between Akşam and Yatsı—mostly to avoid the crowds attending for worship—the crew would wait in the Hagia Sophia while Ezra would guide Ibrahim and Jonas into the depths of the Basilica Cisterns. Diego was assigned to keep watch at the mouth of the passage, ensuring no unfriendly eyes strayed in their direction.

  The nine of them navigated on foot toward the Hagia Sophia, but to Ezra, every footfall was a nostalgic journey through his childhood. Every detail, preserved within time, beckoned a past that did not seem so far away. Fragrant food in the marketplaces tantalized his nostrils. City dwellers waved to each other across alleys, chirping enthusiastic greetings. Fresh laundry draped over clothes lines served as veins that branched from one building to another, billowing in the evening breeze.

  Despite the beauty around him, traipsing back into the world he had buried within his memories issued a terror he could not put into words. Yet, a lingering resonance of the Shahmaran strengthened him, even as the domes of the mosque came into sight:

  “Sweet boy, you have survived more daunting things than this. You can do it again.”

  Feet aching and nerves prickling with anticipation, Ezra and the others found themselves in the expansive courtyard of the Hagia Sophia. Orange lamplight inset within the central arch was partially obscured by the flanking supports. The minarets flickered like candles in the wind. While darkness threatened to consume the city, energetic life radiated from the structure, singing of something ancient. Something secret. Something lurking beneath the shadows of its grandeur. A wistful sigh mingled with the breeze as Ezra surveyed the grand mosque.

  He had missed it so much it hurt.

  “All right, everyone, you know the plan,” Jonas stated, rattling Ezra from his internal musings. “This is where we part. Rendezvous within the Hagia Sophia at twenty-one
hundred. Not a second longer, otherwise Zaire and Kierra will come after us. Does everyone understand?”

  Murmurs of agreement and sharp nods made their way around his company.

  “God be with y’all,” Zaire said, giving Jonas’ shoulder a reassuring pat.

  “Good luck,” Aja whispered to Ezra. She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out. Her eyes flitted away. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

  But as both groups made for their assigned posts, Ezra had a harrowing feeling they would need more than luck to make it through the night.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Enter the Cave of the Shahmaran

  Guided by the radiant orb of fire in Jonas’ palms, Ezra, Ibrahim, and Diego moved amongst the foliage toward the mouth of the Basilica Cisterns. When they had reached the wooden shed, Ezra found himself clinging to his father’s arm.

  “Son, it is going to be all right,” said Ibrahim, lifting Ezra’s chin toward him. “Besides your mother—may she rest in Allah’s arms—you are the bravest person I know.”

  His words still did not squelch the fear. It was as if at any moment, Ezra would be shaken right off his feet, swallowed by the earth in one gulp.

  “Your father is right,” Jonas replied, putting his hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “And we will be with you the entire time.”

  “Be careful down there,” Diego instructed them. He stationed himself at the entrance, retrieving his crystal wand out of his back pocket for a source of light. “I will be here if you need anything.”

  After a firm nod in Diego’s direction, Jonas led Ezra and Ibrahim beneath the surface of the earth. The boundaries of light from his hands rippled outward, illuminating a sloping, rocky trail snaking deeper into the cisterns. Beyond this, the scene plummeted into the unknown.

  And so did Ezra’s heart.

  The closer they inched toward the heart of the Basilica Cisterns, the more a mouldy dampness permeated the air. Something familiar buzzed within Ezra’s brain, something timeworn and foreboding. With every step, a pulsating energy sparked the atmosphere. The throbbing power circulated amongst their surroundings, following the curves of the ornate ceiling arches.