A Wizard of the White Council

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Pardon?” said Arran. “You are the master of this house?”

  The stout man gave him a weird look. “This is my goddamn lot. Get off my lawn. I just had it treated.”

  “Certainly.” Arran stepped off the lawn and onto the gray stone path. “But might I ask you some questions? I am new to this…region.”

  “What do I look like, the tourist information board?”

  “Please.” Arran stepped forward and raised a hand. “A few questions, and I shall be on my way.”

  “Go to hell.” The man’s bloodshot eyes widened. “Oh, God. Oh, God, no.”

  Arran looked over his shoulder. “What?” He saw nothing but passing jeeps.

  “You’ve got a gun,” said the man, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Not again.” Arran scowled. “Are you people so frightened of the weapons you yourselves have wrought?”

  “You’ve come for the money, haven’t you?” said the man. His voice rose in a screech. “I told Eric I would pay him off in another week. Okay?”

  Arran raised his hands. “I want no money. I just want to ask…”

  “Here!” The man fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a small bundle of green paper, and threw it at Arran. “Here’s the down payment, all right? I mean, I just had some bad luck with the last couple of games. It’ll turn around. Tell Eric I’ll finishing paying him next week, after my next paycheck.” The man slammed the window shut and pulled the curtains.

  Arran muttered a string of curses. “Is everyone on this world a damned fool?” He scooped up the roll of green paper and examined it. Each one of the small sheets displayed a portrait of a fat-faced bearded man, a number of odd symbols, and strings of characters in an alphabet he did not recognize. “This doesn’t look like money.” He shrugged and tucked the roll into a pocket. Perhaps they were letters of credit. In any case, some of Earth’s currency would serve him well. His supplies would not last forever.

  He kept walking, trying to make some sense of everything he had seen.

  “A city of some sort,” he said, looking at the rows of houses, speeding jeeps, and smaller buildings that stabled the jeeps. Yet he had never seen a city such as this, with trees and grasses mixed among the houses and roads. Even the lords’ quarter of Carlisan had not possessed so much natural beauty. And how big was this city? Arran had walked for a half mile and seen nothing but houses. Where was the market square? Where did the inhabitants of this city buy their food?

  Arran sighed. He needed someone to give him answers. Yet every inhabitant of this city had responded to him first with contempt and then fear…

  An odd thought occurred to him, and glanced down at his guns. The people had only become frightened after seeing his guns. Why would they fear the guns? They had made them, after all. But perhaps it was taboo to carry weapons in public. Among the tribes of the Wastes, it was impolite for a man to enter another man’s home carrying weapons. And Arran had yet to see an armed man on Earth.

  He unloaded his guns, undid the belts, and tucked the holstered weapons into his pack. He left his Sacred Blade at his belt and Luthar’s over his shoulder. The swords had only garnered glances of amusement.

  Arran kept walking.

  A moment later he overtook a stooped old man walking down the gray path, a cane of brown metal in his hand. Wisps of white hair ringed his bald head, and a thousand wrinkles creased his face. A pair of lenses rested over his watery eyes, held in place by metal frames.

  Arran cleared his throat. “Sir? Might I ask you a few questions?”

  The old man glanced at him. “Yeah? If you want.” He squinted beneath his lenses. “You look like you’ve spent the last fifteen years sleeping under a tree.” His eyes took in the swords. “Or you’re going to one of those Renaissance fairs or something.”

  “Ah…no,” said Arran. “I have spent much time in the wild.”

  The old man grunted. “You foreign? I’ve heard a lot of accents in my day, and I don’t recognize yours.”

  Arran did not think it wise to tell the entire truth. “Yes. A far country. A long ways from here.”

  The old man pointed down the gray path. “You going this way?” Arran nodded. “Well, then, walk with me and I’ll answer your questions. I can’t be wasting time standing about on the sidewalk.”

  “Sidewalk?” said Arran. He looked down at the gray path Of course – it ran along the side of the black street.

  “So, what do you want to know?” said the old man. “You a reporter? You’d better not be a reporter. Every time someone dies or gets tore up in a car crash, the damn reporters are coming around and asking questions. How do I feel about this, or how do I feel about that.”

  “No,” said Arran. “I’m not a reporter, whatever that is. Just tell me. Where am I?”

  The old man raised a gray eyebrow. “You lost?”

  “Not entirely,” said Arran. “I know this is Earth.”

  “Goddamn!” The old man cackled with laughter. “This is Earth. Funniest thing I’ve heard all day. This is Earth!”

  Arran felt his stomach sink. “You mean this is not Earth?” Had he survived the perils of the Tower only to reach the wrong world?

  The watery eyes narrowed beneath their lenses. “You right in the head? Of course this is God’s own green Earth. What, you think you’re from Mars or something?”

  “No. I am not from Mars. I am…was from Carlisan.”

  The old man cackled. “Hell with it. You’re probably one of those smart-mouth young comedians with a hidden camera. So what’s your next question?”

  “What city is this?” said Arran. “Of what kingdom?”

  “Kingdom?” The cane’s tip scraped against the concrete. “This ain’t no goddamn kingdom. This is the United States of America. We fought a war to throw out that old tyrant King George. Course, that’s just what they teach in the schools.” He spat. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the CIA tried to assassinate old King George, that’s what started the war.”

  “I see,” said Arran. “So this nation is called the United States of America?” The old man nodded. “What is the name of this…city, then, if this is a city?”

  “Hell, you are lost. We’re in Cicero.”

  Arran nodded. “So this is the city of Cicero?”

  “Sort of. Cicero’s a suburb of Chicago.” Arran frowned. “You know, a suburb? A little city attached to a big city.”

  “Ah,” said Arran. He nodded. “So this is the city of Chicago in the United States of America.” The information was not much, but it was better than nothing.

  The old man’s brows creased in a deep frown. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re not pulling my chain?”

  “You have no chain to pull.”

  The old man shook his head. “You must not be right in the head. Are you sick? You lose your mind?”

  “No,” said Arran. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Two people, actually. A boy named Lithon Scepteris and an old man named Alastarius.”

  The old man grunted. “Never met either of them, so far as I remember.”

  “Then I will continue to look.”

  The sidewalk intercepted with a broad black road. The old man stopped, staring at metal pole topped with a glowing red light on the far side. The light looked like the burning eye of a winged demon, and Arran’s hand twitched toward his sword. The red light winked out and a green light lit up beneath it. The old man grunted and started across the road.

  “You a vet?” said the old man.

  “A vet?”

  “You know. A veteran.” His voice thickened. “My brother and me, we were in Vietnam together. I came back with a bullet through my knee.” Did the people of Earth fight wars amongst themselves with guns? “But my brother didn’t come back at all. I was lucky. A lot of guys got it worse than me. Never learned to deal with it.” He gave Arran a fixed glance. “You look like a vet, one of the guys who never learned to deal with it. Were you in Iraq or
Afghanistan?”

  Arran closed his eyes. “I do not know any of these places. But yes. I have been in war. More than I care to remember.”

  The old man grunted. “Here.” He handed another of the small green letters of credit to Arran. “Buy yourself something to eat. And a shower. You really could use it.”

  “What is this?” said Arran.

  “Twenty dollars,” said the old man. “You really are addled. You want to come with me? The hospitals are a joke, but there are places where they can help you.”

  “A dollar, you said,” said Arran. “What is a dollar?”

  “It’s…you know, a dollar. A hundred pennies. You buy stuff with it.”

  “So it is money,” said Arran. “Listen. I am not quite what you think I am. But thank you for the aid. And for the answers. It is more than anyone else has given me thus far.”

  The old man gave him a sad nod. “That’s how it is for us vets. We have to stick together.” He held out his hand, and Arran shook it. The old man shuffled down the sidewalk.

  It seemed the people of Earth had likewise suffered from the guns and bombs.

  Arran watched the old veteran go, and then resumed his exploration.

  Chapter 3 - Regent

  Anno Domini 2012

  “Right. Um. So…right. Where was I?” The instructor, a young grad student in jeans and a ragged t-shirt, paged through the notes piled on the lectern. Ally rolled her eyes. “Now…uh…the science of the art of appreciating music. Music is, uh, an art. So is listening to music, too. But it’s a science...ah…also. A precise one. Like making a clock that…um…makes noise.” He turned a page and managed to spill his notes all over the front of the lecture hall. “Oh…damn, damn it.” Those few students still paying attention laughed. The instructor squatted and began scooping up his notes.

  Ally made up her mind to drop the class.

  She suppressed a yawn, fighting her heavy eyelids. She had stayed up too late last night finishing an assignment. The second week of school and she already had homework.

  She wondered how Mary was doing. Mary had found part-time work at a bookstore. At Katrina’s recommendation, Mary had gone to a tech school for systems administration. Granted, Mary didn’t know anything about computers beyond solitaire and Facebook, but maybe she would learn.

  The grad student restarted his lecture, and Ally gave up trying to stay awake. She closed her eyes and began to doze.

  Images flashed through Ally’s mind, one after another.

  She lay bleeding in a courtyard of cold stone, flames rising up all around her. Pain shot through her body in agonizing waves. A winged nightmare of shadow and wickedness landed above her, iron claws reaching for her…

  Ally groaned and shifted in her seat.

  She stood on a dead plain of gray stone and dust. A colossal tower of black stone loomed over the plain like a citadel of nightmares. An old warrior walked besides her, two swords hanging from his hip, a small boy riding in his shoulder harness.

  The image changed.

  Ally ran, clutching the boy in her arms. Legions of demons chased them through a vast vaulted corridor. A door of black stone loomed before her. Fear hammered in her heart. She had to reach the door…

  The dream blurred.

  Now she stood in a kitchen. Katrina and Simon sat at the table, Katrina younger and Simon thinner than she remembered. A grim-faced man in a suit stood over the table, leaning on a long black staff. Ally could not take her eyes from that staff. Power crackled just beneath the black wood, and words of white fire crawled up its length.

  The kitchen door exploded. The man whirled, raising his staff. A great dark beast leapt through the door, claws digging grooves in the linoleum…

  Ally gasped and jerked awake, sweat beading on her face. The students had begun to file out of the lecture hall.

  Ally had slept through class.

  She climbed out of her seat, dug a drop form from her backpack, and walked to the podium. A long line of students had formed up by the desk. The instructor scribbled signature after signature. Ally joined the line.

  She reached the instructor and put the form before him. “My reason for leaving is…”

  The instructor scribbled a signature on her form and handed it back to her without looking up.

  Ally went on her way.

  At least had gotten out of class ten minutes early. That meant she had time to get to the administration building, drop off her form, and eat lunch before her next class. Though the necessity the drop form annoyed her. It was 2012, for God’s sake. Couldn’t the university let her do this over the Internet?

  She wove her way through crowded sidewalks of the University of Constantina’s campus. Students on bicycles zigzagged through the press, sometimes darting over the lawn. A male student on a battered red moped that looked as if it had been manufactured around 1973 chugged past. Ally crossed the street, hurried up the front steps to the expensive-looking administration building, and went inside. University employees in suits and polo shirts walked through the corridors of the administration building, many of them tapping on iPads in a self-important fashion. A long line of students stood at the door to the registrar’s office. Ally sighed, got in line, and waited.

  Fifteen minutes later she got to the head of the line. A young woman with a severe ponytail in a black business suit sat at a computer terminal. Her nametag proclaimed that her name was Suzie and she worked for the registrar’s office. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” said Ally. She handed over her drop form. “I’d like to hand this in, please.”

  Suzie took the form and laughed. “Oh, yes. Him. I used to date him, you know.”

  “You did?” said Ally. “I’m sorry.”

  “Biggest mistake I ever made,” said Suzie. She typed on her keyboard. “Let me just verify this in the system and you can go on your way.” She worked on the computer for a few moments and then frowned at the screen.

  “Something wrong?” said Ally.

  “You are a student here, right?” said Suzie.

  Ally nodded. “Yeah. I’m a freshman.”

  “Okay.” She typed for a while more. “Um…sure you’re a student here?”

  Ally gave her a weird look. “I just came from his class, didn’t I?”

  “Right,” said Suzie. She gave Ally a suspicious look. “You’re not showing up in the system.”

  “Did you spell my name right?” said Ally. “It’s Ally Wester.”

  “Is Ally a nickname?” said Suzie.

  “No, it’s my name,” said Ally. “Ally Wester.”

  Suzie typed some more. “I’m sorry. You’re not showing up.”

  “Why not?” said Ally. “I mean, I’ve got a schedule, I’ve got a dorm room, I’ve got an ID card, I’m taking classes, I have the meal plan, why am I not in the computer?”

  Suzie picked up a phone. “I’m going to have to call tech support.”

  Ally sighed and waited.

  A portly man in jeans and a flannel shirt entered ten minutes later. He walked around the counter, looked at the computer terminal, and grunted. “Problem?”

  “Yeah,” said Suzie. “Her record’s not coming up in the database software.”

  The IT guy grunted again. “You sure the monitor’s on?”

  Suzie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure the monitor’s on.”

  “Okay. You typed the name correctly? It looks kind of complicated.”

  Suzie glared at him. “I typed the name right, okay? There’s something wrong with the computer.”

  The IT guy grunted. “All right. Let me look at this.” He typed for a few minutes, grunting to himself. “Here we are.” He squinted over his thick glasses. “Ally Wester?”

  “Yes,” said Suzie, sighing in irritation. “The name on the form.”

  The IT guy emitted yet another grunt. “Here we go. Someone deleted her records.”

  “What?” said Ally. “Why would someone delete my records?”

  Th
e IT guy muttered something. “Let’s see who performed the deletion before I restore the records from the backup.” He tapped a few keys. “Ah…um…this is interesting.”

  “Interesting?” said Ally, craning her neck to see the screen. “Why is it interesting?”

  “Unauthorized network access at three AM Saturday morning,” said the IT guy. He scratched at his flannel collar. “That’s…um…not good.”

  “So someone hacked into the network Saturday morning to get at my records?” said Ally.

  The IT guy shrugged. “To delete them, I guess.”

  “Why?” said Ally. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “How should I know?” said the tech man, still typing. “Do I look like Sherlock Holmes?”

  “No,” said Suzie, rolling her eyes. “You really don’t.”

  “It’s weird, though,” said the IT guy. “Hackers usually try to get at the financial stuff, or professors’ hard drives for test answers. No one ever tries to delete their records.” He gave Ally the evil eye. “Unless you wanted to delete some test scores or something.”

  Ally rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, sure, that’s it. I hacked into the network to delete my test scores. That’d be quite a trick, because I’ve only been here a week and haven’t taken any tests yet!” The IT guy swallowed and glanced at the monitor. “Uh…your records do confirm that you’ve been here for only a week. So I guess you’re cleared of suspicion.”

  Ally scowled. “Yes, the records must be correct, because they’re so secure, right?”

  “Um.” The IT guy licked his lips. “Um…I’ll head back to the office, let the network guy know about this.” He beat a hasty retreat out of the registrar’s office.

  “What an ass,” said the Suzie. “Tech guys and music guys. They’re all asses.”

  “Sure,” said Ally. “Could you process my form now?”

  Suzie nodded and began typing. “It should work now…there we go. You’ve officially dropped Music Appreciation.”

  Ally smiled. “Thank God.”

  Suzie put the drop form into a metal basket. “We might have to call you later. I think having your records intentionally erased is a federal offense.” She shrugged. “The tech guys will probably pass it off as a system hiccup.”