فصل 24

Chapter 24

W-WHAT?” CALL GAPED. “Who are you? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it is the truth,” said the mage, holding the silver mask in his hand. “You are Constantine Madden. And if you look at me closely, you will know my name as well.” The mage was still kneeling at Call’s feet, his mouth beginning to twist into a bitter smile.

He’s insane, Call thought. He has to be. What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense.

But the familiarity of his face — Call had seen him before, at least in photographs.

“You’re Master Joseph,” Call said. “You taught the Enemy of Death.”

“I taught you,” said Master Joseph. “May I rise, Master?”

Call said nothing. I’m trapped, he thought. I’m trapped in here with an insane mage and a dead body.

Apparently taking this as permission, Master Joseph stood with some effort. “Drew said that your memories were gone, but I couldn’t believe it. I thought that when you saw me, when I told you the truth about yourself, you might recall something. No matter. You may not remember, but I assure you, Callum Hunt, the spark of life within you — the soul, if you will — all that animates the shell of your body belongs to Constantine Madden. The real Callum Hunt died as a mewling baby.” “This is crazy,” Call said. “Things like that, they don’t happen. You can’t just swap souls.” “True, I cannot,” said the mage. “But you can. If you will permit me, Master?” He held out his hand. After a moment, Call realized that he was asking for permission to take Call’s hand in his.

Call knew he shouldn’t touch Master Joseph. Much of magic was communicated through touch: touching elements, drawing their power through you. But even though what Master Joseph was saying was insane, there was something in it that pulled at Call, something his mind couldn’t let go of.

Slowly, he held out his hand, and Master Joseph took it, wrapping his wide, scarred fingers around Call’s smaller ones.

“See,” he whispered, and an electric jolt went through Call. His vision whitened, and all of a sudden, it was like he was seeing scenes projected onto a massive screen in front of him.

He saw two armies facing off against each other on a vast plain. It was a mage war — explosions of fire, arrows of ice, and gusts of gale-force wind hurtled among the fighters. Call saw familiar faces: a much younger Master Rufus, a teenage Master Lemuel, Tamara’s mother and father, and, riding a fire elemental at the head of them all, Verity Torres. Chaos magic spilled darkly from her outstretched hands as she hurtled across the field.

Master Joseph rose up, a heavy object in his hand. It glittered the color of copper — it looked like a copper claw, fingers outstretched like talons. He gathered a burst of wind magic and sent it sailing through the air. It buried itself in Verity’s throat.

She fell backward, blood ribboning through the air, and the fire elemental she had been riding howled and reared back. A bolt of lightning shot from its claws — it struck Master Joseph and he fell, his silver mask dislodging to show his face beneath.

“It’s not Constantine!” cried a hoarse voice. Alastair Hunt’s voice. “It’s Master Joseph!” The scene shifted. Master Joseph stood in a room made of scarlet marble. He was shouting at a group of cowering mages. “Where is he? I demand that you tell me what happened to him!” The heavy tread of feet came from the open door. The mages broke apart, creating an aisle down which marched four of the Chaos-ridden, carrying a body between them. The body of a young man with blond hair, a huge wound in his chest, his clothes soaked in blood. They set the body down at Joseph’s feet.

Master Joseph crumpled, taking the body of the young man in his arms. “Master,” he hissed. “Oh, my Master, death’s enemy …” The boy’s eyes opened. They were gray — Call had never seen Constantine Madden’s eyes before, never thought to ask what color they were. They were the same gray as Call’s. Gray and empty as a winter sky. His scarred face was slack, emotionless.

Master Joseph gasped. “What is this?” he demanded, turning to the other mages with fury on his face. “His body lives, if barely, but his soul — where is his soul?” The scene shifted again. Call was standing in a cave carved of ice. The walls were white, shifting in color where shadows touched them. The floor was scattered with bodies: mages lying crumpled, some with their eyes open, some in pools of frozen blood.

Call knew where he was. The Cold Massacre. He closed his eyes, but it made no difference — he could still see, since the images were inside his mind. He watched Master Joseph pick his way among the murdered, stopping here and there to turn over a body and stare at its face. After a few moments, Call realized what he was doing. He was examining the dead children, not touching the adults. At last, he stopped and stared, and Call saw what he was looking at. Not a body at all, but a set of words, carved into the ice.

KILL THE CHILD

Again, the scenes shifted, and now they were fluttering by fast, like leaves in a breeze: Master Joseph in one town or city after another, searching, always searching, examining the birth records in a hospital, property records, any possible lead … Master Joseph standing on the concrete of a playground, watching a group of boys threatening a smaller boy. Suddenly, the ground underfoot shook and trembled, a huge crack splitting the playground nearly in half. As the bullies ran off, the smaller boy on the ground levered himself up, gazing around with a bewildered look. Call recognized himself. Skinny, dark-haired, with gray eyes just like Constantine’s, his bad leg twisted beneath him.

He felt Master Joseph begin to smile….

Call came back to reality with a shock, as if he had slammed into his body from a great height. He staggered back, yanking his hand out of Master Joseph’s. “No,” he choked. “No, I don’t understand….” “Oh, I think you do,” said the mage. “I think you understand very well, Callum Hunt.” “Stop that,” Call said. “Stop calling me Callum Hunt like that — it’s creepy. My name is Call.” “No, it’s not,” said Master Joseph. “That’s the name that belongs to that body, that shell you wear. A name that you will discard when you are ready, just as you will discard that body and enter Constantine’s.” Call threw up his hands. “I can’t do that! And do you know why? Because Constantine Madden is still around. I really, really don’t understand how I can be this person that’s out leading armies and raising chaos elementals and making giant wolves with freaky eyes when that person already exists and is SOMEBODY ELSE!” Call was shouting, but his voice sounded pleading, even to his own ears. He just wanted all this to stop. He couldn’t help hearing the horrible echo of his father’s words again and again.

Call, you must listen to me. You don’t know what you are.

“Still around?” Master Joseph said with a bitter smile. “Oh, the Assembly and the Magisterium believe that Constantine is still actively engaged with the world, because that is what we wished them to believe. But who has seen him? Who has spoken to him since the Cold Massacre?” “People have seen him …” Call began. “He’s met with the Assembly! He signed the Treaty.” “Masked,” said Master Joseph, holding up the silver mask he had been wearing when Call had first seen him. “I impersonated him at the battle with Verity Torres; I knew I could do it again. The Enemy has remained hidden since the Cold Massacre, and when he absolutely had to show himself, I went in his place. But Constantine himself? He was mortally wounded twelve years ago, in the cave where Sarah Hunt and so many others died. But as he felt the life ebbing from him, he used what he had already learned — the method of moving one soul to another body — to save himself. Just like he was able to take a piece of chaos and place it inside the Chaos-ridden, he took his own soul and placed it inside the optimal vessel at hand. You.” “But I was never at the Cold Massacre. I was born in a hospital. My leg —” “A lie told to you by Alastair Hunt. Your leg was shattered when Sarah Hunt dropped you onto the ice,” said Master Joseph. “She knew what had happened. The soul of her child had been forced out, and the soul of Constantine Madden took its place. Her child had become the Enemy.” Call heard a roaring in his ears. “My mother wouldn’t —”

“Your mother?” sneered Master Joseph. “Sarah Hunt was only the mother of the shell that contains you. Even she knew it. She didn’t have the strength to do it herself, but she left a message. A message for those who would come upon the battlefield after she was dead.” “The words in the ice,” Call whispered. He felt dizzy and sick.

“Kill the child,” said Master Joseph, with a cruel satisfaction. “She scratched it into the ice with the tip of that knife you carry. It was her last act in this world.” Call felt as if he were about to throw up. He reached behind him for the edge of a table and leaned back against it, breathing hard.

“The soul of Callum Hunt is dead,” said Joseph. “Forced from your body, that soul shriveled up and died. Constantine Madden’s soul has taken root and grown, newborn and intact. Since then, his followers have labored to make it seem like he wasn’t gone from the world, so that you would be safe. Protected. So that you would have time to mature. So that you would live.” Call wants to live. That was what Call had, jokingly, added to the Cinquain in his mind; now it didn’t seem like a joke. Now, in horror, he wondered just how true it was. Had he wanted to live so much that he’d stolen another person’s life? Could that have really been him?

“I don’t remember anything about being Constantine Madden,” Call whispered. “I’ve only ever been me —” “Constantine always knew he could die,” said Joseph. “It was his greatest fear, death. He tried again and again to bring back his brother, but he could never recover his brother’s soul, all that made Jericho who he was. He resolved to do whatever it took to remain alive. All this time, we have waited, Call, for you to be old enough. And here you are, nearly ready. Soon, the war will begin again in earnest … and this time we are sure to win.” Master Joseph’s eyes were shining with something that seemed a lot like madness.

“I don’t see why you think I’d ever be on your side,” Call said. “You took Aaron —” “Yes,” said Joseph, “but we wanted you.”

“So you went through all that effort, the kidnapping, just to get me here to — what? To tell me all this? Why not tell me before? Why not grab me before I even ever went to the Magisterium?” “Because we thought you knew,” Master Joseph ground out. “I thought you were lying low on purpose — allowing your mind and body to grow so that you might once again become the formidable foe to the Assembly that you were before. I did not approach you because I assumed that if you wished to be approached, you would have contacted me.” Call laughed bitterly. “So you didn’t come near me because you didn’t want to blow my cover, and all that time, I didn’t even know I had a cover? That’s freaking hilarious.” “I see nothing amusing about it.” Master Joseph didn’t change expression. “It is fortunate that my son — that Drew was able to ascertain that you had no idea who you really are, or you might have inadvertently given yourself away.” Call stared at Master Joseph. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked abruptly.

“Kill you? I’ve been waiting for you,” Joseph said. “All these many years.” “Well, your whole stupid plan has been for nothing, then,” Call said. “I am going to go back and tell Master Rufus who I really am. I am going to tell everyone at the Magisterium that my father was right, and that they should have listened to him. And I’m going to stop you.” Master Joseph smiled, shaking his head. “I think I know you a little better than that, in any guise. You’ll go back and you’ll finish your Iron Year, and when you return for your Copper Year, we’ll talk again.” “No, we won’t.” Call felt childish and small, the weight of the horror overwhelming him. “I’ll tell them —” “Tell them what you are? They’ll bind your magic.”

“They won’t —”

“They will,” said Master Joseph. “If they don’t kill you. They’ll bind your magic and they’ll send you away to a father who knows now, for certain, that he is not your father.” Call swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought, until this moment, what Alastair’s reaction would be to this revelation. His father, who had begged Rufus to bind his magic … just in case.

“You’ll lose your friends. Do you really think they’d let you close to their precious Makar, knowing who you are? They will raise Aaron Stewart to be your enemy. That’s what they’ve been looking for all this time. That’s what Aaron is. He is not your companion. He is your destruction.” “Aaron’s my friend,” Call said, in a hopeless sort of voice. He could hear how he sounded, but he couldn’t stop it.

“As you say, Call.” Master Joseph had the serene look of a man who knew better. “It seems your friend has some choices ahead of him. As do you.” “I choose,” said Call. “I choose to go back to the Magisterium and tell them the truth.” Joseph smiled a glittering smile. “Do you?” he said. “It is easy enough to stand here and throw your defiance at me. I would have expected nothing less from Constantine Madden. You were always defiant. But when it comes down to the wire, when the choice must be made, will you really give up everything that matters to you for the sake of an abstract ideal you only partly understand?” Call shook his head. “But I’d have to give it up anyway. You’re not exactly going to let me go back to the Magisterium.” “Of course I am,” Master Joseph said.

Call jolted back, slamming his elbow painfully into the wall behind him. “What?” “Oh, my Master,” the older mage breathed. “Don’t you see —”

He never finished his sentence. With an enormous crash, the roof tore itself apart. Call barely had time to look up before everything overhead seemed to explode in a shower of splintered wood and concrete. He heard Master Joseph’s hoarse shout, just before a mountain of rubble poured down between them, obscuring the mage from view. The ground buckled under Call, who fell sideways, throwing out his arm to pin a squirming, panicked Havoc.

Everything shook for another moment, and Call buried his face in the wolf’s fur, trying not to choke on the thick, swirling dust. Maybe the world was ending. Maybe Master Joseph’s allies had decided to blow the whole place up. He didn’t know, and he almost didn’t care.

“Call?” Through the ringing in his ears, Call heard the familiar voice. Tamara. He rolled over, one hand still gripped in Havoc’s fur, and saw what had ripped the building apart.

The huge sign that read MOUNTAIN BOWLING had plunged through the roof, slicing the building in half like an axe plunging through a concrete block. Aaron was crouching on top of the sign as if he had ridden it down through the air, Tamara behind him. The sign was sparking and hissing where electrical wires had been severed and bent.

Aaron sprang off the sign and ran across the floor to Call, bending down to grab his arm. “Call, come on!” In disbelief, Call scrambled up, letting Aaron haul him to his feet. Havoc gave a whine and jumped up, planting his front paws on Aaron’s waist.

“Aaron!” Tamara yelled. She was pointing behind them. Call spun around and peered down through the clouds of dust and rubble. There was no sign of Master Joseph.

But that didn’t mean they were alone. Call turned back to Aaron.

“Chaos-ridden,” Call said grimly. The hallway was full of them, marching over the rubble, their gait eerily regular, their roiling eyes burning like fires.

“Come on!” Aaron turned and sprinted toward the sign, jumping up onto it and reaching back to haul Call up after him. The sign was still attached to its base: The main part of it had crashed through the building at an angle, like a spoon that had fallen into a pot and was leaning against the side. Tamara was already running up over the words MOUNTAIN BOWLING, Havoc at her heels. Call started to limp after her, when he realized Aaron wasn’t following. He whirled around, sparks springing up from the wires at his feet.

The room below them was rapidly filling with Chaos-ridden, who were methodically making their way over to the sign. Several of them were already climbing onto it. Aaron stood a few feet above them, looking down.

Tamara had already made it far enough up the sign to drop onto the roof. “Come on!” he heard her shout as she realized they hadn’t followed her — and that she had no way to get back up onto the sign. “Call! Aaron!” But Aaron wasn’t moving. He was balanced on the sign as if it were a surfboard, the expression on his face grim. His hair was white with powdered concrete, his gray uniform torn and bloody. Slowly, he raised his hand, and for the first time, Call saw not just Aaron his friend, but the Makar, the chaos magician, someone who could be as powerful one day as the Enemy of Death.

Someone who would be the Enemy’s enemy.

His enemy.

Darkness spread from Aaron’s hand like a bolt of black lightning: It shot forward, wrapping the Chaos-ridden in shadowy tendrils. As the darkness touched them, the lights in their eyes went out, and they slid to the ground, limp and unresisting.

That’s what they’ve been looking for all this time. Your destruction. That’s what Aaron is.

“Aaron!” Call shouted, sliding down the sign toward him. Aaron didn’t turn, didn’t even seem to hear him. He stood where he was, black light exploding from his hand, searing a path across the sky. He looked terrifying. “Aaron,” Call gasped, and tripped over a knot of torn wires. Excruciating pain shot through his leg as his body twisted and he fell, knocking Aaron to the ground, half pinning the other boy under him. The black light vanished as Aaron’s back hit the metal of the sign, his hands jammed between himself and Call.

“Leave me alone!” Aaron shouted. He looked out of his mind, as though maybe he’d even forgotten who Call and Tamara were in his rage. He twisted under Call, trying to get his hands free. “I need to — I need to —” “You need to stop,” Call said, grabbing Aaron by the front of his uniform. “Aaron, you can’t do this without a counterweight. You’ll die.” “It doesn’t matter,” Aaron said, struggling to get away from Call.

Call wouldn’t let him go. “Tamara’s waiting. We can’t leave her. You have to. Come on. You have to.” Slowly, Aaron’s breathing calmed, his eyes focusing on Call. Behind him, more Chaos-ridden were creeping toward them, crawling over the bodies of their dead companions, their eyes coruscating in the dark.

“Okay,” Call said, easing himself off Aaron, pushing himself to stand upright on his aching leg. “Okay, Aaron.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.” Aaron hesitated — then reached his hand up and let Call haul him to his feet. Call let go and turned, started to climb the sign again. This time Aaron followed him. They scrambled high enough to drop down beside Tamara and Havoc on the roof. Call felt the impact of hitting the asphalt tiles through his legs, all the way to his teeth.

Tamara nodded in relief at seeing them, but her face was tight — the Chaos-ridden were still behind them. She spun and was already running for the edge of the sloped roof and another leap — this one onto a Dumpster. Call staggered after her.

Down he went, over the side of the building, his heart drumming half with fear of what was chasing them and half with a fear that no amount of running could escape. His feet slammed down on the metal lid of the Dumpster and he fell to his knees, his legs feeling as though they were made of bags of sand, heavy and numb and not quite solid. He managed to roll his way off the edge and stayed upright by leaning against the metal side, trying to catch his breath.

A second later, he heard Aaron drop down next to him. “You okay?” Aaron asked, and Call felt a wave of relief even in the middle of everything else — Aaron sounded like Aaron again.

There was the sound of clattering metal. Call and Aaron spun to see that Tamara had sent the Dumpster rolling away from the buildings. The Chaos-ridden, with nothing to jump down onto, were milling around at the edge of the roof above.

“I — I’m fine.” Call glanced from Aaron to Tamara, both of whom were looking at him with identical expressions of concern. “I can’t believe you came back for me,” Call added. He felt dizzy and sick and was sure that if he took a single step farther, he was going to fall again. He thought about telling them that they ought to leave him and run, but he didn’t want to be left behind.

“Of course we did,” Aaron said, frowning. “I mean, you and Tamara came all this way to get me, didn’t you? Why wouldn’t we do the same thing for you?” “You matter, Call,” Tamara said.

Call wanted to say that saving Aaron was different, except he couldn’t quite work out how to explain why. His head was spinning. “Well, it was pretty amazing — what you did with the sign.” Tamara and Aaron glanced at each other quickly.

“That wasn’t what we were trying to do,” Tamara admitted. “We were trying to get to the top of it to signal the Magisterium. The earth magic got a little out of hand and — well. Uh, it worked out, right? And that’s the important thing.” Call nodded. That was the important thing.

“Thanks for what you did up there, too,” Aaron said, putting his hand on Call’s shoulder and patting it awkwardly. “I was so angry — if you hadn’t stopped me using the chaos magic, I don’t know what would have —” “Oh, for goodness sake. Why do boys always have to talk about their feelings all the time? It’s so gross,” Tamara interrupted. “There are still Chaos-ridden trying to come after us!” She pointed up to where bright, pinwheeling eyes peered down at them from the darkness on the rooftop. “Come on, enough, we’ve got to get out of here.” She started walking, her long dark braids swinging behind her. Steeling himself for the endless walk back to the Magisterium, Call pushed himself away from the wall and took a single excruciating step before passing out cold. He wasn’t even awake long enough to feel his head strike the ground.