New Watch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  I suddenly realized that I was starting to respect Zabulon. He hadn’t abandoned his underage pupil to be torn to pieces by the Tiger. The Great Dark Magician had accepted the challenge of a combat that should have been his last.

  I heard strange sounds beside me, as if someone was being sick. I dragged my eyes away from the magical duel, and saw a thick old oak tree. There was a hole in the oak at about the level of my chest, and protruding from the hole were Erasmus Darwin’s legs. He ought to have been fourteen years old, but he seemed to be only the same height as Kesha, and he had only half as much bulk as the modern young Prophet. So the idea of historically increasing rates of development was clearly no myth after all.

  “He’s coming for us,” I heard suddenly in a barely audible whisper from the hollow tree. I took a step closer and leaned down towards Erasmus’s back. The illusion of the world around me was complete—I even caught a faint smell of sweat and fear coming from the boy. “The Executioner’s coming to make you talk, the Executioner’s coming to make you keep quiet . . .”

  Yes, that was right. They used to call him the Executioner then.

  “The Executioner needs blood, the Executioner needs flesh . . .” Erasmus muttered. “The Executioner will drink the blood, the Executioner will eat the flesh, the Executioner will take the soul . . . Not enough, not enough, not enough blood, flesh, souls . . . Never enough, never enough, never enough . . . the Executioner is falling asleep . . .”

  That night, separated from me by an abyss of time, was warm. But I was shivering violently.

  He was saying almost the same thing as Kesha!

  Only in different words . . . the words of his own time . . .

  “The Executioner will come, the Executioner will never stop, the Executioner doesn’t sleep, the Executioner is ready for work . . . Only a maiden, born through deception, the daughter of a Great Enchantress who has rejected her Power, the daughter of a Great Magician who has taken Power that is not his own, only a girl, a girl will be able to kill the Executioner . . . the girl Elpis, the daughter of deception, the girl Elpis, the Executioner’s sister . . .”

  Feeling as if I was about to black out, I noted that Erasmus had received a good classical education. In Greek, Elpis means the same as Nadezhda means in Russian: Hope.

  I had to leave. Turn away. Plug my ears. Not listen.

  But I couldn’t do it.

  And what good would it do anyway, when my daughter Nadya, the boy-Prophet Kesha, and the old witch Arina were there, like disembodied shadows beside me, listening to Erasmus’s mutterings?

  But not a single human being . . .

  “The Executioner is all the Power of the world,” Erasmus continued, making his confession to the tree. “The Executioner is all the magic of the world. The girl can kill the Executioner. The girl can kill magic. Kill the Executioner and you kill magic! Kill the Executioner and you kill magic . . .”

  But no, after all there was nothing really terrible happening. It was the same prophecy. The same one that Kesha had spoken. It hadn’t frightened the Tiger, so what was the meaning of this situation?

  It was a preamble.

  An introduction.

  A harbinger of the real prophecy.

  I flung my hands up and covered my ears. But the world around me was only an illusion, living according to its own laws, and I carried on hearing everything.

  First—Zabulon’s despairing cry. And then his strangled howl: “Mercy! I will leave, Executioner! Spare me!”

  If he ever learned that I had witnessed his shame I was done for. No treaties or obligations would ever stop Zabulon from thirsting for my death a hundred times more keenly than before . . .

  And then I heard Erasmus’s voice. Slower and more powerful. No longer a frightened boy’s voice, but the voice of a maturing man.

  “You, magician from a harsh northern country, who heard not what you should have heard at the proper time, but have come here as a disembodied shadow and learned what you did not wish to know . . . The Executioner will die and magic will quit our world. Your choice. Her Power. His fate. The Executioner will come and you will have to decide. But whatever you may decide, you will never know peace again.”

  “I’ve never known it anyway!” I shouted. I wanted to grab hold of Erasmus, drag him out of the hollow tree and lash him hard across the cheeks—to make him shut up. But I knew that my hands would pass straight through the Prophet’s body.

  “I pity you—and forgive me,” Erasmus said, and fell silent. The legs protruding from the hole in the tree twitched and went limp. He had clearly lost consciousness.

  As I stood there, I didn’t realize immediately that I was sobbing and tears were running down my cheeks. Zabulon was groaning somewhere close by. The Tiger walked up to the tree unhurriedly. He stood there, looking at the part of Erasmus that was visible. He was the same as in our time—young, with a genial, serene face. Only the clothes he was wearing were old-fashioned and terribly uncomfortable, to my way of thinking. The Tiger looked at Erasmus for a few seconds. Then he turned his head and looked at me. As if he could see me.

  And he smiled—sadly and understandingly.

  We were all still in the poses in which the prophecy had caught us. Me with my hand stretched out to the blazing chalice. Nadya huddled up against the fridge, Kesha valiantly protecting her with his body. Arina off at one side, giggling quietly and tramping her feet on the spot. Had the old witch really gone out of her mind?

  “Was that a prophecy?” asked Kesha.

  I didn’t answer. I touched my face—it was wet with tears. I looked down at my feet—they were covered in dust.

  Very slick. So had this not been simply an illusion, but something like a journey in time?

  “I think I said something like that too, only I’ve forgotten it . . .” Kesha added quietly. “But that was about the Tiger . . .”

  “The chip in the toy was too small,” I replied. “Not everything was recorded.”

  “I never did trust technology,” said Arina. And she cackled with laughter.

  “Daddy, am I going to have to fight someone?” Nadya asked. “And kill him?”

  I looked at Arina. The witch was as happy as if she had stuffed herself with her own witch’s toadstools in toad sauce.

  “What are you so delighted about?” I asked. “Do you realize what’s happened? We’ve heard the prophecy for which the Tiger killed Erasmus Darwin today.”

  “Killed him?” Arina asked, knitting her brows. But the smile remained on her face. “I’m sorry for the old alcoholic, I really am. But I’m glad that everything has been settled. Now we can get this over and done with, Anton! You and me—or rather, your daughter. But we’ll help. The Tiger will come and Nadya will destroy him.”

  “I think you didn’t hear the prophecy clearly,” I said. “It’s for me to decide. Do you understand?”

  I stepped towards my daughter and put my arms round her.

  “It’s for me to decide whether Nadya kills the Tiger.”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone,” Nadya said quickly. “Daddy, I don’t want to!”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have any choice anymore,” Arina said calmly. “The Executioner will die and magic will quit our world. It has been said! If we tell the prophecy to humans—it will come true.”

  “And what if we don’t tell them?” I asked.

  “Then the Tiger will come and kill all the Others who know the prophecy,” Arina said, smiling. “I’m ready. I’ll die anyway when the Twilight disappears, as you already know: ordinary people don’t live as long as I have.”

  “You’re the one to blame,” I said. “You’re involved in this somehow. You knew how to activate the prophecy, didn’t you? Had you known for a long time?”

  “I suspected,” Arina said calmly. “It’s basically an old witch’s method, to make a spell dependent on the destruction of some valuable item. Then you can hope it will only be used in a case of extreme need. But you were absolutely right, A
nton, I couldn’t have influenced your daughter. I couldn’t have enchanted an Absolute Enchantress. I had to make sure that she had no choice and you didn’t either.”

  “There’s always a choice,” said Nadya, slipping out from under my arm and giving Arina an angry look. “I won’t kill anyone! Not even if I get killed!”

  “But your daddy will be killed too,” Arina said. “And Kesha also, as it happens. Will you be able just to watch the Tiger kill them?”

  Nadya’s face fell.

  “So you couldn’t have influenced Nadya,” I said. “But what about Erasmus?”

  Arina lowered her eyes for a moment.

  “It was only curiosity . . . As you know, it killed the cat. And that old Irish drunkard, too.”

  “Why?”

  “To give you a nudge. Erasmus had foretold that you would hear his final prophecy. So he had to get in touch with you. And you had to panic. And make up your mind to destroy the chalice.”

  “All you needed to do after that was make sure Nadya got home in time,” I said, nodding. “And not alone—so that I would feel responsibility for someone else’s child as well. I won’t even ask if Anna Tikhonovna’s illness was a coincidence.”

  “At our age, Anton, your health gets so frail!” Arina exclaimed. “Well, I’m sorry! Forgive an old witch! You understand it’s not for myself! It’s for a higher goal!”

  “What goal?”

  “To put an end to all this! No more feeding the Twilight! No more paying for our Power with human suffering!”

  “Arina, you don’t even know if that prophecy is active—and what it really said! Maybe all those disasters have already overtaken our country and they’re over now!”

  Arina shrugged and said in a firm voice: “Even so. What we do is repugnant in the sight of God. And if we can put an end to it, then we must.”

  I suddenly felt a pricking in the tips of my fingers. A sharp sensation, just for a second.

  The sentry spells around our building had been triggered, the spells that had been cast a long, long time ago by Gesar and—as I now realized—by Zabulon. The spells guarding the Absolute Enchantress. The Enchantress that the Great Ones were holding in reserve as a Doomsday weapon.

  I looked out of the window. And saw the Tiger walking towards our building from a side street.

  It was very easy to see him—he wasn’t trying to hide, he wasn’t trying to walk round the defenses or remove them. He was simply breaking through them—probably in exactly the same way as he had broken through the defenses of our office when he came for Kesha. The Tiger looked like a man cast out of white-hot metal. As he walked along, a firestorm raged around him. Branches of trees burst into flames. Parked cars overturned with their alarms screeching. A stray tomcat driven crazy by what was happening started dashing about in front of the advancing Tiger, as if it couldn’t decide which way to run.

  Cats see on all levels of the Twilight. Maybe right then it was seeing something inconceivable even for a cat that could follow the stealthy movements of werewolves in the night and observe the flights of witches in the twilight sky.

  The Tiger stopped, facing the cat. Leaned down and stroked it. Then walked on.

  The cat instantly forgot about its panic, sat down in the middle of the courtyard, and started licking itself.

  And the Tiger moved on towards our entrance.

  “Daddy, I’m afraid,” Nadya told me. She and Kesha were standing at the window, watching the Tiger.

  “You have to hit him,” Arina said hastily. “Just hit him. With pure energy. A Press. But with all your strength! Do you understand?”

  A bolt of lightning from the sky struck the Tiger. It was good that there were clouds in the sky: people would at least find some kind of explanation for themselves . . .

  The Tiger froze at the center of a crater of smoking, shattered asphalt. He shook his head. Clambered out. And walked on.

  “Daddy, your phone . . . it’s ringing . . .” said Nadya.

  I slapped at my pockets and took out my mobile. Without taking my eyes off the Tiger, I said: “Yes, Gesar.”

  “What are you up to now!” the boss howled.

  “I’m sorry, I was duped. I . . . I’ve found out Erasmus’s prophecy.”

  Gesar swore.

  “Open a portal, boss,” I told him. “I just need a little bit of time to decide what to do . . .”

  “I can’t open a portal,” Gesar said in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry, Anton. But . . . it’s as if the Twilight has gone absolutely crazy. I can’t do anything.”

  “But what should we do?” I asked. “Erasmus’s prophecy . . .”

  “No, don’t tell me,” Gesar interrupted. “Don’t do that! Although . . . no. If everything’s the way I was afraid it would be . . .”

  “It probably is,” I said, pressing up against the glass to see the Tiger opening the door of our stairwell. Something glinted down there too and the floor shuddered under my feet. But I was under no illusions about the Tiger being vulnerable to Gesar’s and Zabulon’s traps.

  “You have to decide for yourself, Anton,” Gesar said eventually. And I sensed how his voice had changed. How old it had become. Ancient. I would have called it an Old Testament voice if Gesar had had even the slightest connection with Christianity. “You have more right to do that than I do.”

  “Why? Because I’m more of a human being?” I asked.

  The seconds still left to me were ticking away, but I couldn’t make a decision. And it was very important for me to hear Gesar’s answer.

  “Because I have wronged you very badly and I’m tired of feeling guilty.”

  “What is it about today? Everybody keeps apologizing to me,” I said, and broke off the connection.

  I looked at Arina. The witch kept glancing warily at the hallway and then looking back greedily at me.

  “What have you decided, Anton? There’s no more time.”

  “There’s always time,” I said, and held out my hand.

  The Minoan Sphere shot out from under the shoe locker like a bullet and landed softly in my hand. Oho, it was really heavy!

  And then the doorbell rang!

  He was being very proper today, our Executioner-Tiger!

  “Nadya, Kesha, hold on tight to me!” I ordered. The children clung to me and I put my arms round them, just to be sure.

  “You bastard!” Arina squealed, and leapt at me.

  How could I activate the Sphere? Probably just wish: the energy was pumped into it beforehand, and the route too, probably . . .

  I squeezed the cold little marble sphere in my palm and wished, wished desperately, to be as far away from there as possible.

  And at that very second Arina grabbed my shoulder so tightly that it hurt.

  Chapter 8

  WITH A PORTAL, YOU SIMPLY STEP THROUGH IT. AND YOU GET the illusion of being in total control of what’s happening, even of being personally involved in it all. Lift a foot . . . take a step . . . stick your head out in a different place. Drag everything else through . . . half in Moscow, half in the Seychelles, and no problems . . . except that it’s all a bit creepy.

  The Dark Ones’ paths through the lower levels of the Twilight are hard and dangerous. I don’t really know why—after all, no one lives there—but a couple of times I’ve seen Dark Ones emerge from journeys like that battered and bleeding. I don’t know, maybe they do battle with their own internal phantoms down there.

  But the Minoan Sphere dragged us through space unceremoniously, in one single mighty jerk of power. It wasn’t painful, or disgusting; no one was sick or even felt queasy. But it did leave an unpleasant kind of sensation behind, as if just for a moment I had been Gulliver in Brobdingnag, a living toy in the hands of giants.

  By and large and on the whole, I liked airplanes better.

  We couldn’t keep our feet at the end of the journey. I tumbled over onto Arina, and Nadya landed on Kesha. I got up and offered the witch my hand without saying a word.

  �
��Ah, you saucy thing!” Arina exclaimed skittishly as she got up. “Whatever happens, a man only ever has one thing on his mind!”

  I really did like her, after all. Despite her witchy nature . . .

  Beside me Nadya had already jumped off Kesha, her entire manner demonstrating that she would rather have fallen into a heap of rubbish than land on some boy or other.

  But overall, no one was actually hurt.

  “Daddy, where are we?” asked Nadya.

  I looked round.

  A little wooden-walled house with one room. Walls covered with wallpaper that had faded with age. Furnished with a table and a couple of chairs, a sideboard, an iron bedstead with little nickel balls on the headboard—the kind that used to be all the fashion in the 1930s—a ponderous ancient television, bookshelves . . . but almost no books.

  That was right, the Inquisition had taken them all away when it cleaned out Arina’s home.

  It was strange that they hadn’t burnt the house down.

  I said so out loud.

  “Strange that the Inquisition didn’t burn the house. I thought that was standard procedure for a fugitive witch’s home.”

  “They set fire to it. Only it’s not that easy to burn my house,” Arina replied, straightening her dress. “This is my land. The village I come from used to stand here. I was born here and apparently I’ll die here. Burn the house, do whatever you like to it—it will just spring back up out of the ground.”

  I believed her.

  The house had a well-lived-in feel to it. Apparently Arina must have made her base here, wisely deciding that no one would bother to check the site of her burnt-out home. There was an open packet of cheap sweets on the table, and in the sideboard a carton of milk and half a loaf of white bread, carefully wrapped in a clean rag.

  “But they carried off all the books,” Arina sighed. “I’ve begun restoring my library little by little, but I don’t know myself what for. After all, I won’t have time to finish the job.”

  I stepped towards the bookshelves and touched the spine of one of the books.