by Simon Hawke
“My apologies for the rather sudden and clandestine nature of this briefing,” he said, “but I’m sure you’ll understand that since this is a matter of national security, we had to take special precautions. No one even knows the President is in New York. Officially, she is still conducting budget meetings at Camp David.”
President Katherine O’Connor cordially shook hands with each of them and then settled down into a chair in a very businesslike manner. She crossed her slim, attractive legs and brushed a stray lock of her light brown hair back out of her face. “Please, everyone be seated,” she said. “Before we get started, I believe I smell some fresh-brewed coffee. Do you suppose I could impose on you for a cup?”
“Broom!” said Wyrdrune.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, already! Gevalt! Such noise! You’d think this was Grand Central Station. If that farshtinkener helicopter landed on my petunias, somebody’s going to hear about this, I’m telling you right now!”
“Oh, my goodness!” The President gaped as an ambulatory straw broom swept into the room, carrying a tray with coffee cups, a bowl of sugar, a creamer, and some spoons in its spindly, rubbery-looking arms. “What on earth is that?”
“A broom, Miss Hoity-Toity, what does it look like?” Broom replied. “And didn’t your mother ever teach you that it was rude to stare?”
Wyrdrune groaned and rolled his eyes. “Broom… you’re talking to the President.”
“President, Director, Chairman, Doctor, Lawyer, District Chief… we’ve got more titles waltzing in and out of here lately than the public library,” Broom replied, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “Use the coasters. President of what, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”
Wetterman cleared his throat slightly. “Of the United States,” he said softly.
Broom turned toward him and seemed to notice the grim-faced Secret Service agents for the first time. Then it turned back toward the President, who was watching with a bemused smile. “Oy! Me and my big mouth! I really stuck my bristles into it this time. I meant no offense, Madame President, truly. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“Of course,” the President replied. “No offense was taken. And I apologize for my inadvertent rudeness. You merely startled me, that’s all.”
“No, no, it was my fault entirely,” Broom said. “I’m such a putz, you should excuse the expression. How do you take your coffee, Madame President?”
“Black with sugar, please.”
“One lump or two?”
“Two.”
“There you are. And would you like some halvah, maybe? A nice prune danish?”
“No, thank you, just the coffee will be fine.”
“You’re sure? I could whip you up a nice cheese omelet. Some raisin toast, a bran muffin, perhaps?”
“No, thank you, really, this is fine.”
“You should eat something, really. Look at you, such a little thing, all skin and bones. Besides, you really shouldn’t drink coffee on an empty stomach—”
“Broom…” said Wyrdrune.
“All right, all right, so sue me because I care!” the Broom said, shuffling out of the room. “If the President gets acid stomach, don’t go blaming me!”
The President giggled. “I’ve never seen anything like that!” she said, delighted. “How does it talk?”
Wyrdrune sighed heavily. “I haven’t the faintest idea. It was one of my first spells when I was an undergraduate and I don’t recall exactly what I did. I animated it for my mother to help her around the house and being around her all the time resulted in Broom becoming imprinted with her personality. When she passed away, the lawyers brought it over and I’ve been stuck with it ever since.”
“Well, I think it’s rather charming,” said the President. “However, we really should get down to business. “ Her demeanor became serious as she glanced at Wetterman. “The director has briefed me on the general situation, but it sounded so incredible I wanted to hear it from you for myself. And, under the circumstances, since we all agreed that there would be absolutely no files on this situation, I felt it was important that we meet in person. “ She looked from Wyrdrune to Kira to Billy. “I must admit, you three are not quite what I expected.”
“You expected older, more experienced adepts,” said Wyrdrune.
“Frankly, yes. You seem very young for the nature of the task you’ve undertaken.”
“You make it sound as if we had a choice, Madame President,” said Kira. “We didn’t. We never chose the runestones. They chose us.”
“Why don’t you tell me about that?” asked the President.
“Well, I don’t know how much Director Wetterman has told you—” Wyrdrune began.
“Assume he hasn’t told me anything and start from the beginning,” said the President. “I’d like to hear it in your own words.”
Wyrdrune nodded. “Okay. But this could take a while.”
“Take all the time you need.”
Makepeace and the others listened quietly as they told the story of how it all began.
“I suppose it started for me when I was kicked out of the College of Sorcerers in Cambridge,” Wyrdrune said.
“Isn’t that where Merlin taught?” the President asked.
“Yes, he was my teacher,” Wyrdrune replied. “I guess you could say it all really started with him. When he awoke from the spell Morgan le Fay had placed him under some two thousand years ago and brought back magic to the world, he also unintentionally brought back something else. Of course, he didn’t know it at the time. Nobody did. But when magic once more started to proliferate throughout the world, it awoke the Dark Ones, who had been imprisoned in an underground cavern in the Euphrates Valley by the Council of the White. I’ll have to back up a good deal at this point.
“You see, at one time,” he continued, “long before recorded history began, there were two humanoid races—us and the Old Ones. At least, that’s what we call them. They looked very much like us—that is, like the way we do now—and they were magic users. It was more than simply knowledge, however. The ability was natural in them. It was how they had evolved, apparently. Now, as to whether they evolved on earth or came here from someplace else, that’s anybody’s guess, but either way, at the height of their civilization, we were still Neanderthals. And they used us much in the same way we use cattle. That is, they didn’t eat humans in the literal sense, but they did consume them. They had the ability to drain off human life force to empower their spells and to revitalize themselves.”
“You mean… like vampires?” asked the President.
“A good analogy,” said Wyrdrune, nodding. “They’re probably what inspired our legends about vampires, demons, shapechangers, and so forth.”
“Why hasn’t there been any fossil record of their existence?” asked one of the President’s aides.
“Because they’re immortal,” Wyrdrune said.
“You mean they can’t die?” one of the other aides asked.
“No, they can be killed,” said Wyrdrune, “but the wounds have to be immediately fatal, otherwise they will recover. They’re apparently immune to all known diseases and they’re capable of cellular regeneration, so effectively, they can live forever. In addition, they can extend their lives immeasurably or strengthen their powers by draining human life force. Or life force from each other. That’s assuming they don’t use it to empower their spells. As you probably know, a white adept uses his own life energy to empower his spells, which means there has to be a period of recovery— how long depends upon the spell. Cast enough high-energy-cost spells without allowing for sufficient time to recover and you inevitably shorten your life span. You could even age prematurely or die. A necromancer, on the other hand, uses someone else’s energy or life force to empower his spells, at no direct cost of energy to himself. The result is that a necromancer can become stronger more quickly than a white adept. But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.
“As we started to evolve,
” he continued, “the leaders of these Old Ones—they called themselves the Council of the White—came to realize that we were more than animalistic brutes and began to practice what they called ‘conservation of the human resource. ‘ In other words, they decided they would no longer drain humans to the point of death, but only use a portion of their life force, leaving them enough to allow for an eventual recovery. This marked the beginning of white magic. However, this didn’t set well with all of them, because it effectively placed a limitation on the amount of energy they could acquire, which in turn limited the spells they could cast.”
“Essentially, the principles of thaumaturgy or white magic and necromancy are the same,” said Billy. “The difference is one kills and one doesn’t. It’s also a difference of degree. Necromantic spells can be much more powerful. And some of the Old Ones were very competitive and didn’t want to give up that power. Or at least the ability to acquire it quickly. They rebelled against the Council and refused to abandon the practice of necromancy. They were called the Dark Ones.”
“In time, this schism led to war,” continued Wyrdrune. “A mage war. And it must have been really something. It wiped out most of them. It probably also accounts for why there isn’t any fossil record of their existence. Blast someone with a bolt of thaumaturgic energy that’s strong enough and you’ll completely vaporize him. No remains to leave a record. Not even a molecule.”
“Jesus,” said one of the aides softly.
“In the end, the Dark Ones lost,” said Wyrdrune, “and their leaders, those who had survived, were entombed in a deep pit in an underground cavern in what is now the Euphrates Valley, imprisoned by a spell that kept them in a sort of suspended animation. The keys to this spell were three enchanted runestones, an emerald, a sapphire, and a ruby, which were imbued with the life forces of the Council.”
“You mean they sacrificed their lives to keep these Dark Ones prisoner?” asked the President.
“Well, in a manner of speaking,” Wyrdrune replied. “The members of the Council were the most powerful adepts of their race. The magic we use today doesn’t even begin to approach what they were capable of doing. But at the same time…” he paused. “Well, I suppose you could say that they were very spiritual, but that doesn’t quite describe it. They had a very strict code of ethics and morality, to the point where it was almost like a religion to them. The war had terrible consequences. It almost wiped them all out and the Council felt responsible. I guess you could say that what they did was a punishment for the surviving Dark Ones and a penance for themselves. One that was supposed to last forever.”
“Only it didn’t,” said Kira.
“Let’s not get to that just yet,” said Wyrdrune. “So the Council members infused their life forces into these three enchanted runestones, animating them so that they became living gems, each one containing the life forces of several Council members. Physically, they died. But their spirits lived on in the stones. That is, all except one of them. That was the youngest member of the Council and his name was Gorlois. It was his responsibility to put the stones in place and seal the spell, and then close off the cavern. Afterward, he went out to live among the humans, passing as one of them, as did the others who had survived the war, because now they were greatly outnumbered and their strongest adepts were dead. Their society had fallen apart and they were being hunted.
“Gorlois eventually made his way to what is now England, where he took a human wife and had a son with her. That son was Merlin. Part human, part immortal. But Merlin’s mother was all human and all mortal. As she grew old, Gorlois left her and took another wife, with whom he had three daughters, also part human, part immortal. One of them, Morgana, became famous as the legendary sorceress, Morgan le Fay. Merlin never forgave his father for abandoning his mother, so he took revenge on him by helping a warlord named Uther Pendragon kill him. Uther took Gorlois’ human wife and had a son with her who grew up to become King Arthur. But the cycle of revenge continued. Morgana wanted revenge for the murder of her father, but Uther was already dead, so she set her sights on his son, Arthur, her half-brother, and on Merlin.”
“Are you kidding?” one of the presidential aides said. “This stuff is right out of the storybooks!”
“Be quiet, Daniel,” said the President. She nodded to Wyrdrune. “Go on.”
“It is right out of the storybooks,” said Wyrdrune. “A lot of legends happen to be based on historical events. But in this one, the truth is stranger than the fiction. Morgana seduced Arthur and had a son with him whom she named Modred. Then she had one of her pupils, a girl named N’imue, seduce Merlin and slip him a mickey, after which Morgana placed Merlin under an enchantment, imprisoning him inside the trunk of an oak tree. Modred never really had a chance. He was raised to hate his father. You all probably know the story. According to the legend, they met on the field of battle and Arthur killed Modred, but was mortally wounded in the process. Except Modred didn’t really die. If he had been an ordinary human, he probably would have died, but he recovered and lived a long life. A very long life.”
“I’ll take it from here,” said Angelo, “since I’m the one who’s got his memories. “ He sighed. “Boy, I’ll tell you, this sure feels weird. It’s almost as if I’m talking about myself. Except I’m not, exactly. The thing is, you could probably make a good case for Modred not being entirely sane. He’d dispute that, of course; that’s simply my opinion and I’m no psychiatrist, but the fact is his mother had him so completely twisted around he didn’t know what the hell he was. He figured it out eventually, though he didn’t have the whole story, but imagine what it must’ve been like for him. He’d killed his own father and he’d sustained what should have been fatal wounds, except they healed. And he just kept on living. Never even got sick a day in his life. All around him, people lived out normal life spans, grew older, and eventually died, and he just kept on looking the same, aging at a fraction of the normal human rate.
“Anyway, I’ll cut to the chase,” Angelo said. “He survived for the next two thousand years, moving around a lot and using different names and becoming fabulously wealthy in the process. You can save up a lot of dough in that kind of time, even if you’re not exactly thrifty. And Modred wasn’t. He also wasn’t very particular about how he made his money. Basically, he was a mercenary. He did a lot of other things, but he kept coming back to that. He was good at it. And he had a lot of hate stored up. And all that time, he had to keep ducking his mother, who was obsessed with finding him. He wanted no part of her, but she just wouldn’t let go. And it went on for years. Centuries.”
“Whatever became of her?” asked the President.
“She was killed by a necromancer,” Wyrdrune replied.
“In the line of duty, I might add,” said Angelo. “She was an ITC agent when she bought the farm.”
“She worked for the Commission?” said McClellan with astonishment.
“As Special Agent Faye Morgan,” Angelo replied.
“Faye Morgan,” McClellan repeated. “Morgan le Fay. “ He snorted. “Incredible.”
“I’ll pick up from here,” said Billy, “since this is where Merlin comes in. Cut to about seventy-five years ago. The height of the Collapse. Merlin wakes up from the spell Morgana put him under and the Second Thaumaturgic Age officially begins. You all know the story. He started in England, with a small college in the Midlands, and eventually his programs spread throughout the world, turning out adepts who in turn trained others. Eventually, he came to the States and founded the College of Sorcerers in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Wyrdrune studied with him. But before that, bis prize pupil was Rashid al’ Hassan.”
He saw everyone nod with recognition and continued. “He attained the rank of mage, one of only five people in the world to do so, and returned to his native country, where he sponsored archaeological research, using his abilities to discover many ancient treasures. One day, he detected unusual trace emanations in a certain location in the Euphrates Val
ley and he sponsored a dig under his personal supervision to investigate. You can guess what he found. He removed the runestones and became possessed by the Dark Ones, who were weakened from their long confinement and not yet strong enough to escape. But they were strong enough to seize control of his mind. However, while they were firming their hold on him, he lost control of the stones and they wound up being taken to New York, along with a lot of the other artifacts, to be auctioned off.”
“And that’s where we came in,” said Kira. “At the time, I was making my living as a cat burglar.”
The President raised her eyebrows.
“I suppose I could say I wasn’t proud of it,” continued Kira, “but the truth is that I was. I was pretty good, if I say so myself. I had things pretty well set up. I’d case a job, pull off the heist, and then have the goods fenced in a day or two, often before the owners even found out they were missing. I had my act down pat and I stuck to what I knew. Except this one time, when I read about the auction at Christie’s and found out about the stones. I’d never tried pulling off a job like that before, a snatch-and-grab, it wasn’t my style, but for some reason, I just had to have them. Only it seems somebody else had the same idea. “ She looked at Wyrdrune and smiled.
“My turn again,” he said. “I was living in a small railroad flat on Fourth Street. I’d been kicked out of school for practicing magic without a license. There was a little accident… well, the details aren’t important. But I’d come back to New York and I was kicking around, trying to figure out what to do with my life now that I’d thoroughly screwed it up. I read about the auction in the paper, too. And I didn’t know why, but I became seized with an irresistible compulsion to steal the stones. Kira and I hit the auction at the same time and all hell broke loose, but we did manage to get away with the stones. We figured we’d fence them, split the take, and then dissolve the partnership, except things didn’t work out that way.”