When You Believe

by Jessica Barksdale Inclan

  But there was something else, a knowingness that went beyond the time they’d spent together. Miranda felt him even when he wasn’t there. She could almost read into his thoughts. And she’d thought she meant something to him, enough that he wouldn’t try to take back everything. Why had he left her all her memories? Or had he? Maybe that weird struggle of trying to hold on so tightly was really a story about her strength, her desire to keep part of him, no matter what. After all, if Sariel had had his way, she shouldn’t be able to remember a thing. She wanted to weep and laugh and call Sariel names she thought she’d saved for Jack, if and when he ever returned.

  What had she imagined? That suddenly her luck with men had changed? Hadn’t Jack and Brad and Vladimir taught her that she wasn’t worth the effort? No one had left her this quickly, though, and no one had ever vanished into thin air. Usually there were weeks of phone calls and visits to her apartment to pick up shirts and ties and shoes—and then there were months for Miranda to realize, again, that she was too quirky, too odd, too “creative” to have a true love.

  “All your goddamn words,” Brad had said the last time he’d left. “You’re not really living anything unless you know you can write about it.”

  But at least she had words. They never left.

  Walking into her office and sitting down at her desk, Miranda put her head in her hands, staring at the light coming in through the slits of her fingers. What exactly had happened tonight? He came to take her memories and then seemed to have a fit of some kind, the same kind he’d had that morning at the hospital. But he’d recovered too quickly for a fit. Was it a message? Maybe from that man, Brennus? Or from Felix? Whatever it was, it seemed to galvanize him, and he’d put her to sleep, ready to suck out the very best parts of their entire time together. He hadn’t, though, and she remembered. Now he was gone. Did that mean he was going to come back? And from where? Sariel said he’d been going East, but which East? East as in the Sierras? East Coast? East as in Asia? Eastern Europe? In his magic world, did East mean something different? Another planet? Another universe? Miranda sat up and turned on her computer, the hum of the motor echoing in the night room. Looking at the screen, she opened her word processing program and stared at the blank white page, her fingers on the keyboard, her eyes full of tears.

  I like you better because you are

  fallen, too much the lover

  of God, cast out from everything

  and everyone, just in time

  to find me, fallen as well.

  Miranda sighed, took her hands off the keyboard, and sat back. If the night had ended as she’d intended, she’d have awakened in the morning still angry at Sariel, Dan’s irises fresh in the coffee mug in the kitchen. A few days would pass, and then weeks, and maybe Sariel would begin to fade away. Maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to be able to be with Dan in the way he wanted. How could she arrange the metaphorical lobotomy that would keep her expectations and desires low? Writing, a mediocre but reliable relationship, a flat happiness. Life, as she didn’t know it, could go on.

  Right, she thought. I’ll trade Sariel for the perfect crease in Dan’s pants and his talent with a comma. I’ll somehow forget about Sariel’s eyes and laugh and body and magic. Just like that.

  Saving her document and then turning off her computer, Miranda hoped that maybe, as he had before, Sariel would come back, haunting her secretly. She was getting good at feeling him, though, and she’d be able to turn quickly, grab him tightly, force him to stay and stay and stay. Maybe that good-bye fell heavy only on her ear. Maybe he went to visit his other brother, Rufus. Maybe she’d totally imagined tonight’s visit, this being the only one that wasn’t true.

  She stood and turned off the light, walked out of the office, praying she’d be able to fall asleep, lulled into unconsciousness. After all she’d been through that day—Hawaii, Viv’s operation and the baby’s birth, Dan’s surprise date, Sariel’s more surprising visit—she thought she’d fall to the bed, asleep before she even managed to close her eyes. All she wanted was to figure out how to see him again; all she hoped for was one more chance to find out why they couldn’t be together. But she was clutching that hope so tightly, she knew she might kill it by morning.

  Chapter Seven

  Sariel pushed through the thick wooden doors of the pub, his robe billowing behind him, his face grim. Because of the power Quain’s thefts of the first and now the second plaque would give him, the meeting had been changed from the usual Council Hall to this pub, the locals suddenly sure The Bishop’s Finger was closed for the night, the vortex pushing them down the road to the warmth of The Quaggy Duck instead.

  The meeting was already in progress, but at Sariel’s entrance, the Armiger of the Croyant Council, Adalbert Baird, struck his gavel, and the talking stopped. Adalbert nodded, paused, and stared at Sariel, thinking straight at him, We couldn’t really begin until you were here. Sit, listen.

  “It’s true then,” Sariel said, pushing his hood back, staring at Adalbert, who sat with the other Council members at a long wooden table. Sariel glanced at the man sitting next to him, Cadeyrn Macara, giving him a terse nod. Like Sariel, Macara had once fallen under Kallisto’s and Quain’s mesmerizing spells, and between the two men was an understanding of how bad the situation could become if Quain were to obtain complete power.

  Adalbert nodded at Sariel, his long gray hair gleaming in the candlelight. The other Council members nodded as well, silent, waiting for Adalbert to say something.

  Finally, Adalbert put a hand to his chest, his wizened hand startlingly white against the rich hue of his purple silk robe. He cleared his throat, looking out toward the full room of sorciers and sorcieres in front of him.

  “Yes, what you’ve heard is true,” Adalbert said. “We’re sorry to have to message you so abruptly. Join us, Sariel.”

  Sariel nodded and sat down, turning to look at Rufus and then beyond him at Fabia, blonde and glittering in her midnight blue robe. Her quick smile and the concern in her face made Sariel suck in his breath and think of Miranda leaning over him, her eyes filled with worry as he took in the message about the second plaque. How he’d wanted to stay with Miranda, hold her close, promise her he’d be back soon. Holding her, touching her, feeling her, Sariel wanted to forget about the plaques, forget the urgent messages he’d received that day from the Council. How much easier to stay in the Moyenne world and live a Moyenne life. He could whisk her back home to Marin, put her on his bed, and make love to her. If he could forget who he was and what he had to do, they could just live together. They could just be.

  Instead, he’d put her to sleep and taken away the very memories he himself held tightly, the memories that had swirled around him from the first moment he met her. Now only Sariel would be able to remember what they’d done together, and that fact made it all pretend, fantasy, a wonderful dream, too soon over.

  But these protective measures were for her own good, her safety, as well as the safety of Moyenne and Croyant alike. Sariel sighed and, turning to look at the row behind him, he saw Fabia’s twin brother, Niall Fair, and next to him, Brennus, who nodded curtly. Rufus put a big hand on Sariel’s knee, squeezed tight, and then they all faced the Council.

  “His powers are almost total with the two plaques,” Lutalo Olona was saying. Sariel knew Lutalo from school. He had gone on to be an alchemical master, able to change any matter into something else with the fastest of magic. Unfortunately, he’d often practiced on schoolmates as he was developing his skills. Once he turned Sariel’s right toe into a frog. Lutalo had a wonderful laugh, and now as Sariel watched him speak, he could hear the laughter from all those years ago. “Frog!” Lutalo had said before falling to the floor. “It’s a toe frog!”

  But now Lutalo’s round, broad face was serious. His hair seemed serious, slicked back and neat. Even his black robe seemed serious. All of this was serious. This meeting wasn’t about Sariel losing Miranda. This was about the end of their world. About Quain tak
ing over. Sariel breathed in. He had to focus. He had to stop drifting off, thinking about Miranda, thinking about frogs. Rufus put his hand on Sariel’s knee again, thinking, It’s all right. Whatever you miss, I’ll take in.

  Thanks, bro, Sariel thought back. He blinked, stared at Lutalo, Adalbert, the Council. He had to get it together. He couldn’t think about Miranda.

  “Already, we’ve lost touch with two dozen Croyant, maybe more,” said Baris Fraser, another of Sariel’s old schoolmates. Baris stood up from the Council table, walking around it as he spoke, his orange robe matching the orange streaks in his hair. Orange streaks?

  Bro, thought Rufus.

  Sariel rubbed his forehead.

  Baris continued talking. “No one has heard from Phaedrus Mather for a couple of days. And he was in charge of the force protecting the second plaque.”

  “Yes,” Adalbert said, nodding. “It’s true. But we have people searching for him. It will be only a matter of time before he can give us a report.”

  “Quain is swallowing up their power, atom by atom,” Brennus said, standing up from his chair in the row behind Sariel. “We need to do something this time. We can’t let him get away again. Just two years ago he was in our grasp, and we couldn’t figure out how to keep him tied down. We could have had him. If it weren’t for Macara—”

  “Let’s not live in the past. We have had our opportunities, and this is no different. We have a chance now. His power is not complete,” Adalbert said. “Without the third plaque, he is strong, but not invincible. Yes, we’ve lost many good people. Sadly, this is what we expect each time one of us rises up, wants what he cannot have.”

  The room was silent. While there had been skirmishes over the years with Quain and before him with other sorciers and sorcieres who wanted to wrest power from the Council, most in this room were likely thinking back to the Battle of Jacob’s Well. There, a sorcier named Cathal led an army of followers against Council troops, all of them fighting for the plaques. Adalbert had fought there, as had Brennus. These tired warriors knew what the Croyant world was up against. But this time, unlike the last, the betrayer already had two plaques, so most of the power was his.

  Because the Plaques de la Pensee were never kept together, kept far apart for safety reasons, Sariel had only seen the first. It had been twenty-four years ago, but he could still feel the vibrant energy in the purple stone, the ancient writing on it making sense to him, even though he’d only been ten years old. He had tugged on Zosime’s arm, asking her to explain what the plaque could do.

  “The stone is condensed thought. Forged energy,” she had said, holding his hand as they stood with a group of Croyant at a special viewing of the plaque in the Cave of Cruzado. Next to him, Rufus held Felix still as Zosime explained more. “Many people believe if the plaques are put together, each arranged in a perfect balance with its sister, that all their combined energy and thought can create.”

  Sariel had been young, so he ignored the main question in his mind, pushing past his mother’s strange declaration that Many people believe. But not all.

  “What do they create?” he’d asked instead.

  Zosime stroked his hair, sighing. “Life. The materials that our lives are built from. Earth, air, fire.”

  “Who put them here?” Sariel had gone on, hearing his own voice echo in the cave. “Who made them? If they made life, where did they come from? And if there wasn’t life before the plaques, how could they have been made? Who was alive before life? I don’t get it.”

  Zosime turned to him, smiling, and said, “Clearly, it runs in the family. You are just like your father. An agnostic to your very core.”

  “Tell me, Mom,” Sariel had said, but then the tour guide pressed them on, a surge of Croyant behind them wanting a turn to see. As they walked out of the cave, Zosime held his hand, turning to him, her eyes wide. “You might not believe, Sariel. But don’t forget. In the right hands, energy is balanced and even. In the wrong, the plaques can destroy.”

  Now, Sariel closed his eyes. He believed now. He wasn’t ten anymore. Two plaques. Two in Quain’s control. Everything he’d been afraid to tell Miranda was coming true. They were all in danger, Croyant and Moyenne. Miranda was in danger. Miranda. He could still taste her, feel her under his hands, hear her laughter.

  Rufus nudged him, thinking, I know you are trying, but think about her later, lad. After this is all over, you can work it out. We need you here. Even with all of us here, the vortex around the building won’t last for more than six hours.

  I’m sorry, Sariel thought back, trying to keep track of what people were saying.

  “What will he do if he gets the third plaque?” said someone in the audience. “What’s his plan?”

  Adalbert paused, a hand on his beard. He cleared his throat. “I imagine that Quain will recreate our society as he wants to see it. Certainly there will be no Council, no governing body. I imagine he will not want to live the way we have with Moyenne. He won’t want to keep magic in the background. He won’t allow Moyenne politics to create cities, states, countries. He will want their resources, their power, their infrastructure. He will create a two-tiered world, slave and master. But he will pick those to be masters of the Moyenne. If he does obtain the third plaque, those who survive the ensuing battle will have to accept his way of life. Our spies have picked up that much at least. If he’s successful a third time, he’ll have the power to eliminate whatever he sees fit to. And he and his consort can begin anew.”

  “We have to get to him before he gets to the third plaque,” Berk said loudly.

  “For goodness’ sake! Smart thinking. Wish I’d come up with it,” Nala Nagode, a Council member, said, even as other Council members banged their gavels for silence. “Get Quain. Good idea.”

  There were startled murmurs at her harsh sarcasm, a laugh, quickly silenced, and Adalbert struck his gavel again.

  “She’s out of line,” whispered Rufus.

  “Someone needs to be,” Sariel said, approving of Nala’s dark glare at Berk and then Adalbert, the anger in her eyes. He hoped Nala would be involved in whatever Adalbert had in mind for him. She was smart and strong, and she had the best ability to ward off spells that Sariel had ever seen. Once, with a thought and the tiniest flick of her finger, he’d seen her push away a sortilege du emprisonnement just like that when everyone else around her, including Sariel, was stopped, trapped by invisible manacles, and thrown to the ground.

  “Of course, we must get Quain in our control,” Akasma Saintonge said. She was a tall, imposing sorciere, who had sat on the Council for forty years. “How is the obvious question.”

  Adalbert shook his head. “Even with all the protection we’ve given the third plaque, I fear Quain will find a way. After what happened with the first, we thought the other two were safe. So you are right, Berk, we need to get to him first. But we have to work his ultimate weakness. We’ve banished him, taken his lands, his rights, but now we need to take the thing he loves almost as much as he loves power.”

  As the Council argued, Sariel felt as if he’d been hit with a hundred messages, his chest flattened, empty of air. Kallisto. Did Quain love Kallisto? Or did he just need her? In all the times he’d felt Kallisto’s thoughts since she’d betrayed him, he’d never felt anything close to love flit through her mind. Sariel didn’t think she could love, really. So if there were love in this equation, it would have to be Quain for her, but it seemed improbable somehow. Both of them wanted power and had found each other in order to get it. He thought he should stand up and say something, tell them that Kallisto wasn’t the way in, but Sariel could hear and feel and almost taste the Council’s need to find Kallisto, steal her away from Quain, taking his mind off his mission long enough to capture him. Long enough to kill him.

  A sickening, sweaty memory of Kallisto and her long brown hair and black eyes came to him. There she was, beautiful, naked, on top of him, working her magic, elevating them over the bed, chanting in his ear as they m
oved together in the air. Every night seemed like this, long, languid, full of spices. She wrapped her perfect, sleek body not only around his body but his mind. When Sariel did magic, he tasted her, smelled her, touched her. When he moved through the gray, she was by his side. When he listened into the world for voices, hers was the only one he could find. She told him stories, using her voice like a body part to excite him, rouse him, taunt him. After a while, he didn’t want or need anyone but her. Kallisto was all he thought, felt, touched. Kallisto was everything.

  Sariel would have done anything for her, to her, with her. If Rufus hadn’t intervened, almost killing himself in the process, Sariel would have gone with her to Quain despite his hatred of the man, cutting himself off from everything he loved and believed in.

  Rufus clamped his hand back on his knee, and Sariel closed his eyes.

  She was bad. She was horrible. But she’s not part of you anymore, Rufus thought.

  Yes, thought Sariel. You’re right.

  You know what’s going to happen. .

  I do.

  Rufus kept his hand on his leg, and Sariel tried to breathe, watching the Council talk. He knew exactly what they were going to do. Adalbert would send him to find her because Sariel knew her best and because that was his job. There was no other choice.

  Rufus kept his own feelings about Kallisto blocked from Sariel, protecting him even now. Just as he had two years ago. Sariel breathed out, glad his brother was here. Rufus was the only one who knew the entire story, the only other person who’d been in the room that night with Kallisto. Not even Zosime or Felix knew exactly how Rufus had saved him.

  Sariel quieted his heart and felt his brother’s strong hand. Minutes passed, and for the first time since Sariel arrived at the meeting, he was able to focus. He was here because these were his people, and searching for those who would harm them was his job. He was here because at one time he was close to Kallisto. At one time. Not now. Not anymore. Never again. Rufus took his hand away, and Sariel nodded, finally able to listen to the back-and-forth between the Council members. Nala stood up, gesturing; Adalbert agreed. Baris and Lutalo made motions; Akasma warned against acting too rashly, too quickly. Brennus argued for swift, total retaliation. It went on and on, though Sariel knew that at any moment they would turn to him, tell him what he should do. And he would say yes. Like the Council, he had no choice.