by Lee Isserow
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presents
The Knowledge
A Circle Novel
By
Lee Isserow
Copyright © 2017 Lee Isserow
All rights reserved.
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Other books in The Circle
Shadowmancer
Red Rain
The Freelancer series
The Spirit Box
The Roving Death
The Prince of Darkness
Spirited Words
Snake's Kin
1
No matter how many died
It was a whisper, nothing more. Not even a whisper of words, but of a notion. And yet that whispered notion was to sow the seeds of something that could turn the status quo on its head.
Not that any of those who heard the hushed tones knew that. All they knew was what the whisper imparted. That reality was not as they knew it. The natural order was 'order' in name only, that if they put the right intent behind their thoughts and motions, they could bend it to their will. They could become the masters of their own destiny. And they could manipulate reality to reflect their inner-most desires. But of course, those desires were no longer their own. The whispers had seen to that.
Its benevolence was marred by self-interest, as the benevolence of man often is. Not that the whisperer was a man in any capacity. . . but his brethren had birthed mankind, and if nothing else, it had that lineage in common with those it whispered to.
And soon, they would have so much more that united them. No matter how many died to make that possible.
2
A blanket of stars
The stars were brighter than Mark Shapiro had ever seen them, and that was the first clue that led him to realise he was not in the real world, but in a dream. Vast galaxies shone in the sky, no longer the desperate twinkles and winks of the waking world. They were brightly burning behemoths, a blanket of stars interconnected by the fates, bound by forces that no mortal man could hope to understand beyond giving them the terms of 'gravity', 'dark matter' and 'dark energy'.
In this place, Mark knew that these forces not only had names, but there was a logic to them. Rules of the universe that men such as he were never meant to know existed. Rules that could be broken. Broken in such a manner that―if he could believe the soft, and near silent voice that whispered in the back of his mind―he had witnessed with his own eyes time and time again.
But those memories were gone.
Or not gone, but taken.
He did not know by who, but that was no mere notion. He knew for certain the memories had been ripped from his skull, replaced, rewritten, to serve the will of some force that did not wish him to know that the world he lived in was a whole lot stranger than he―and so many others―believed it to be.
That irked him, the idea of being manipulated. But he would not let that distract him. The knowledge that his memories had been altered was going to fade as soon as he woke. The anger, however, would remain, getting greater and greater with every night that passed, every dream that came. However, the reason for the anger would dissipate as soon as he returned to the waking world.
Mark cast his mind in another direction, redirected his focus. He wanted to make the most of his time within this place of dreams―the Dream Realm―as the whispers called it. Because within this place beyond the the restrictions of his real life in the real world―the Natural World―the rules did not apply. And it was in this place that he could do wondrous things, he mused, he had only ever dreamed of.
Fire, for instance, was his to command. It obeyed his every whim, danced and weaved through the air as if it was just another limb that he operated. He could make it twist and turn, shape it and control the density and heat it would make, and with the change in temperature came a change in colour. He threw his hands into the air and created a rainbow serpent that arced across the sky. It pirouetted with the stars, engaged with their orbits and flow, as if they were partners in a grand choreography on a galactic scale.
It was not that he knew how he was able to control the fire. Not truly. It was not his understanding that gave him this gift within the Dream Realm. Not yet, at least. It was borrowed knowledge, lent to him by the whisper that had become a constant undercurrent in this place. Its voice rippled through him, its words vibrating in and around every cell of his being. It wanted him to play, and to learn by playing. It was encouraging him to have fun and push himself, in the hope that through play he would garner the tools it lay at his feet, to ultimately gain proficiency in all manner of reality manipulations, fire and beyond.
Because the whisper had plans for Mark Shapiro.
As it had for so many others.
And given how easy it had been to traverse its intent across the realms, it was confident that there was nothing anyone could do to get in its way.
3
Not for this moment,
but for the moment to come
LONDON, ENGLAND
Talika Rei was asleep, as she had been for close to eight hours. It was rare that Tali ever got a full night's sleep. Her role as lead operator for The Circle's tactical division meant that whenever there was any kind of operation in progress, she was the go-to for running that operation―and with that responsibility came all the perks of the job, including a mediocre salary, and an unhealthy amount of sleep deprivation.
She was mostly kept sane by an over-reliance on caffeine, and numerous healing glyphs that she applied to herself on a daily basis. And as soon as there was a moment of peace, where the world was not ending for just a split second, she attempted to recuperate from the days―and sometimes weeks―on her feet.
That routine had been the norm ever since she was recruited to The Circle. That was the norm for pretty much every operator and operative, working overtime and taking what little joy they could in knowing that they were responsible for saving their entire reality time and time again. Taking solace in the fact that once a crisis was over, they could be with their loved ones and finally relax, get to appreciate the beauty of the world they had rescued from the brink.
Tali was relishing that beauty in the same way she always did―in sleep. Copious and deep sleep. Which is why the whisper that rippled through her head was most unwelcome, to say the least. She tried her best to ignore it, to stay in the moment, rapt in the beauty and majesty of the Dream Realm. But it was not to be. The whispers swiftly realised that she was not going to wake as they so wished, and muttered her true name under their breath, using the innate control that came with such an action to pull her eyelids wide apart and force her into waking.
She tried to resist their will, to force her eyes shut, to return to sleep―and when that did not work, she grabbed hold of the pillow beneath her partner's head, tugged it sharply and put it over her own face in an attempt to block out the light and return to slumber.
The whispers did not take kindly to this, and used their control once again. Tali's arm shot through the air and threw her pillow to the other side of the room.
“Fine!” she grunted. “I'm awake! What the bloody bastard bollocks do you want?”
“There is a situation,” the voice whispered in her periphery. Three voices, all speaking at the same time, with the same inflection.
“Can't someone else deal with it? It's my day off. . .”
“This is a situation that requires your involvement, and the involvement of your partner.”
“There are hundreds of bloody operatives and operators, just get―”
“It requires you. Not for this moment, but for the moment to come.”<
br />
Tali glared at the ceiling, hoping that Three could infer just how annoyed she was at their constantly cryptic meandering manipulations. They were one―three―of the most powerful magickians in the damn world, and yet they never spoke plainly.
Their foresight meant that they knew when cataclysmic events were on the horizon, but their methodology of restricting information―which was intended to limit the variables of change in their precognition―was mostly infuriating.
“Gods dammit. . .” she huffed. ”We'll be there soon as we find some clothes.”
“They are in the dryer,” Three whispered. “Shana did laundry last night.”
Tali glared at middle distance, and put great effort into imparting just how annoyed she was that Three had spent any effort to know that.
“And you're out of milk.”
The call ended before Tali could unleash a verbal tirade of expletives at Three, and the words served as a curse-laden alarm to wake Shana from her slumber.
The amazon turned with sleepy eyes to Tali, and raised an eyebrow at the sweary utterance.
“Three?” she asked, with a chuckle.
Tali nodded.
“It is not your day off?”
She nodded once again.
Shana glanced around as she realised that her head was a good six inches lower than Tali's, resting on the mattress rather than a pillow. She sat up and looked around the room until she caught sight of it, and manifested a mystical rope to lasso the pillow, whip it through the air back towards the bed, and placed it under her head. “How bad did they say it was going to be?”
“Didn't.”
Shana locked eyes with Tali. She knew all too well that Three had a tendency to let operators know just how catastrophic an impending event was going to be. The fact that they didn't give an indication could mean only one thing―that Three didn't know for sure whether the forthcoming world-altering event could actually be averted. . .
4
Shoot first
EPICENTRE, THE CIRCLE
As he sat in his gleaming white office, in a chair that was formed specifically for the ergonomics of his spine, Isaiah Faith stared out through a wall of solid glass at the Epicentre. A handful of operatives and operators milled around, all of them third or fourth tier in the hierarchy of experience, backup teams for times like these―when it It was quiet. When the world wasn't at peril.
Although he knew he should take the time to relish the calm, it put him on edge, the notion of a quiet day. It felt like the calm that was an indication of the storm to come, especially given that this was the twenty third of such days, where there was barely a blip of nefarious magickal activity reported. As such, it was against his better judgement to allow his first and second tier of employees to recuperate. His predecessor would have never been so lenient.
“They're magickians, for god's sake!” he would have barked. “Just glyph the hell up and quit whining!”
A part of Isaiah Faith, an infinitesimally small part, was ashamed to admit how glad he was that Comstock was dead. But given how to rest of The Circle had reacted to their former superior having been ripped apart at the molecular level, he did not give that tiny voice any volume to impact the daily decisions that lay with him. He was determined to be a better leader than Comstock―not only because he was not clinically insane and over come with a lust for power―but because he figured himself a better person, with better strategic insight.
And that was why the twenty third day of peace at The Circle was putting him on edge. Twenty three was a number of magickal significance. Not that many still put faith in such things, for there were many numbers of magickal significance, from five to seven to seventeen to thirty three, and so on. But twenty three held significance for Faith. He had been born on the second of March―two and three―and was the fifth child in his family to be born on that day―five being the sum of two and three―although he had never had any proof one way or the other, twenty three had felt as though it were some kind of harbinger for him.
His eyes darted across the Epicentre, as a door on the far side of the grand circular room opened. There were no inbound operatives as far as he knew, certainly no shift changes for at least another three hours, and he rose to his feet, finding himself compelled by the curiosity.
Talika and Shana stepped across the threshold and came to a stop fairly swiftly. They scanned the room, taking in the unfamiliar faces.
“I do not recognise any of these people. . .” Shana muttered. “Might we have accidentally stepped into an alternate dimension?”
Tali scoffed. “If only. These are the support staff, newbies take the reins when there's no real work for the big guns.”
“Do I have to say it?”
“Say what?”
“There does not appear to be a reason for us to be here. . .”
“Tali!” Faith barked, as he strode out of his office with heavy, loud footsteps that seemed to echo around the entire room. “What are you doing here on your day off?”
She could feel the eyes of the entire support staff shoot in her direction. “Three called me in,” she sighed, “said there was a crisis or something.”
Faith stopped in mid stride and shot glances around the room. “What crisis? Has anyone heard anything? Why hasn't it been reported?!”
There was no response from the staff, their eyes dropped to the ground to avoid Faith's stares, which were practically burning into their skulls.
“Someone bloody answer me!”
An operative at the desk the Tali usually sat at raised his hand. He cleared his throat, and spoke in a sheepish tone that was barely audible.
“I've got something. . . but. . . It didn't seem important. . .“
Faith whipped around on the spot and marched up to the operative. “What the bloody hell is 'it'?”” His unblinking gaze seared into the young man's fragile demeanour, caused a tremor to ripple across his body and a thick and frantic sweat to pour from his brow.
“I. . . well, it's just. . . a bank robbery. . . didn't seem like―”
“Why is a bank robbery coming to us?!” Faith grunted.
“Well. . . it's. . .”
Tali slipped behind the desk next to the sweating operative, and quickly scanned through his documentation.
“Perps are using magick,” she summarised. “We picked up a blip of a conjured spark that knocked out the cameras, then GCHQ picked up chatter of a call to emergency services, saying a guy had a flamethrower that also shot ice. . . and light. . . and darkness. . .”
“I'm half-tempted to let the police handle it. . . CO19 should be able to deal with one magickian.”
“CO. . .19?” the sweaty operative asked.
“Mundane firearms unit,” Tali explained. “Proudly living by the motto 'shoot first, traumatise bystanders, oh wait should we have asked questions?'”
“That's enough lip, Tali,” Faith grumbled. “Have some respect for our mundane colleagues.”
“Are they colleagues now? Is it standard practice to wipe our colleagues' minds?”
“Belligerence is not an admirable quality.”
“I admire it,” Shana chuckled. “Find it truly adorable.”
Faith's gaze darted from one woman to the other. “I can't put into words just how much I'd really like to fire you. . .”
Tali's irreverent response was drowned out by the sound of a door across the room bursting open, and frantic footsteps clacking across the Epicentre towards them.
“Where's the fire?” Raven asked, as she came to a stop in front of Tali's desk, and glyphed herself to catch her breath.
“Fire?” Faith grunted.
“Three said there was a fire, and water and light and you needed me―”
“Am I the only bloody one that Three doesn't talk to when there's a bloody crisis going on?!”
“Did you send them a birthday card?” Tali asked, as she shooed the newbie operative away from her workstation. “They take that kind of thing real per
sonal.”
“If you're back on the clock, there'll be no more lip from you, Miss Rei.”
“Yessir!” she jumped on the spot and landed with a mocking salute.
“And Raven, aren't you still on leave?”
“Doc gave me a clean bill of health a week back. . .”
Faith raised an eyebrow. She had been on leave after her last operation went awry, resulting in a mesmerisation and her magicks being temporarily sapped―not to mention the fact that she socked him straight through a wall. . . But if she had been deemed fit for active duty, who was he to disagree. He sighed and decided not to press the matter further, turning back to Tali. “Get me intel on who's in the bank, and why Three is putting this on our radar. . . This all seems like it's a little below our purview, a bloody bank job of all things. . . he does know our mandate is more apocalyptic in nature, right? Because this seems like―”
The air crackled with electricity for a fraction of a second, before a blinding light shone out across the Epicentre. In the blink of an eye it was there, and then it was gone―as were Shana and Raven.
Faith scanned the room for signs of them, his glower settling on Tali.
“Did Three just teleport them to the scene?! What the bloody hell did he do that for? We haven't got the slightest bloody bit of intel!”
“To be honest? Could just be to make the point that they really don't like it when you use the incorrect pronoun. . .”
5
Cloud of darkness
BROMLEY, LONDON
Light glared out of the windows of the First National Bank on Bromley Common for barely a split-second. It likely would have gone unnoticed by most mundanes. But anyone of a magickal disposition would have known exactly what it heralded.