Force (An Alex Warren Novel)

by Logue, Shawna

  I told him where I lived, and gave some brief directions. He seemed sure of the way. The rest of the ride was in silence, though I noticed he opened his mouth a few times, as though to say something, but must have changed his mind, as he never spoke.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said, breaking the silence as I left the car. “See you tomorrow.”

  He nodded and reached to touch my hand, but drew back. I hesitated, wondering if he would say anything. When he didn’t, I closed the car door, and headed for my building. I heard him peel away behind me, and immediately wondered if I had offended him somehow. I sniffed my shirt. Nope, I still smelled a little bit like lavender. Shaking off my worries, I headed up to my flat.

  Maria had already been home, and had left again. She was out a lot these days, so I had come to expect this from her. I threw a frozen dinner into the microwave, and while I waited for it to cook, I put on my pajamas. I still had a thick stack of paperwork to read, and I had decided to do it tonight, on my own time, to make up for sleeping in this morning. I wanted a fresh slate tomorrow, especially as the day after that was a holiday.

  As I munched away on my dinner, I grabbed the packet Paul had given me that afternoon. I flipped it over to open it, but stopped, reading the caveat printed directly onto the manila envelope:

  CONFIDENTIAL

  The information contained within this envelope is highly sensitive, and is only available to Mobius, Inc employees. By breaking the seal on this package, you agree to uphold the highest standards of secrecy and privacy, and are bound by the promise that this information will not be shared with anyone besides Mobius, Inc. employees, unless given specific permission from the appropriate powers to do otherwise.

  I looked at the envelope again, wondering if I had perhaps been given the wrong package. I hadn’t, as my name was handwritten clearly on the top of the flap in Nic’s script. I looked for somewhere to sign acknowledgement of the warning, but there was none. What could be so confidential that they would trust a two-day old employee with such information? I shrugged, and broke the seal, ending up with a deep paper cut from the flap. I sucked on it while I continued to open the package.

  The stack I pulled out was not what I had expected. The top page simply read, “The History of Mobius, Inc.” I started reading, and it seemed to be the usual corporate bravado. The company was formed over fifty years ago, by a man named Nigel Fiamo. There was a small picture, and I could recognize Nic’s features in his face. Must be his father, or possibly grandfather. It talked a bit about core values, and company integrity for three pages, before concluding. There was a small Frequently Asked Questions area on the bottom of the last page, but I skimmed past it, feeling a bit bored from the reading. As I flipped over the last page of the handout and saw a new section. The paper was heavier in weight, and the font more pronounced than the previous section. This section read:

  The Real History of Mobius, Inc.

  I was intrigued. Hadn’t I just read that? I flipped the page over, and knew that this was definitely a different story.

  Chapter Seven

  The Real History of Mobius, Inc.

  In the latter part of the thirteenth century, a young man was living in a small town in France. Aside from his wife, he had no known family, but he was content in his life. He was not wealthy, but he was by no means poor.

  In the village he ran a small bookshop, where he employed several copyists and in turn gave himself a meager salary. It was at his bookshop where he eventually learned to write, and this fuelled a desire within him to study anything he could get his hands on. Through his studies, mostly volumes which passed through the humble bookshop, he became aware of the art of alchemy.

  At this time, alchemy was widely regarded as a “fad” among scholars and scientists alike. It was not taken seriously, and those who did prescribe to the ancient art were often lost in greed, desiring to practice alchemy only to seek the power to transmute items into gold. Ultimately, they failed in their quest, for alchemy was, and still is, a touchy science. One cannot actively look for what one wants, and this is why greed will never yield the results desired.

  The young man realized this, but was still intrigued by alchemy, researching as much as he could on the subject while maintaining his presence in the bookshop. One afternoon, after his copyists had retired for the evening, an older traveler entered his shop. Even though the young man knew almost everyone in the small village, he did not recognize the stranger. The stranger told the bookseller that he was in need of money, and had a manuscript to sell. Initially disdainful, the bookseller dismissed him, not interested in the ramblings of a poor old man, for that is what he took the stranger to be.

  The stranger looked up at him, and simply said, “Please,” handing the bookseller a large book. This book was not like the usual manuscripts that came through the shop. Instead of parchment, the pages were made of thin strips of bark, etched with text. The binding appeared to be copper, and also was etched with strange symbols that the bookseller recognized immediately as alchemical in nature. Though he knew he was in the presence of tome that was beyond his comprehension, he could feel the importance of such a discovery, so he offered the man five florins, much more than customary for this sort of transaction. The stranger accepted his offer with a nod, silently took his leave, and was never seen again.

  But this story is not about the stranger, it is about the bookseller, Nicolas.

  After the stranger exited the bookshop, Nicolas closed up early and eagerly went upstairs to his home, where he spent the rest of that night deciphering what he could of the text. When dawn broke through his window, he had barely made any progress. This did not dampen his spirit.

  He spent the next twenty-seven years dedicated to the book, running the bookshop by day, and deciphering the text whenever the store was closed. He slept, but it was often a restless, dreamless sleep. His wife, Pernelle, remained devoted to him, recognizing the importance of his undertaking. She stayed faithful and strong at his side, bringing him dinner in his study, and helping him to bed when it got too late. She was the only one who knew of the book’s existence, aside from Nicolas and the strange man who had sold it.

  At times, Nicolas would travel, mostly to Spain and Greece, always taking the book with him. He sought audiences with famous scholars to gain insight on what he had found. He never showed anyone the book, only select pieces which he had carefully copied onto parchment, so that no one would be aware of the books’ existence.

  In his travels, he learned what the book actually was. He had always been aware that it was alchemical in nature, or at least part of it was, but there were large sections written in a language he didn’t understand. One scholar he visited recognized some of symbols he was trying to decipher as ancient Hebrew, but he did not have enough knowledge to decipher them. The scholar mentioned the name of an old man who lived in the next town who had once been an expert on Hebrew and may be able to help. Nicolas found the house, but the old man refused to meet with him. Reluctantly, Nicolas showed the old man the book; the moment the old man saw the cover, he knew immediately what it was, and took Nicolas inside his tiny house.

  The man told Nicolas that what he held was a book that many believed lost to time. It had once belonged to a great sage, Abraham the Jew, a wanderer who collected the knowledge of the relationships between all things on this earth. This book contained that knowledge, and though the book was said to have been lost centuries ago, the man, and many others believe that it passes among those who are destined for it.

  The old man helped Nicolas decipher his findings, swearing to never reveal the book’s existence. Perhaps the man had hoped that the two of them would discover the secret to extend his life, but two months after Nicolas arrived, the man passed away, pages away from finishing the translation.

  Returning back to Pernelle in France, Nicolas felt confident that could complete the final pages on his own. Within a few weeks he had finished, but he took another year of studying what
he had found before he realized his good fortune.

  The book told him many things, including the precise calculation for transmuting any metal into gold. He was careful not to abuse this knowledge, and after gradually building his fortune, he passed on all he could to those in need. He built hospitals and funded orphanages, and no one ever asked how the humble bookseller acquired his money.

  According to history, Nicolas Flamel died happy and old. His wife Pernelle remained with him until the very end. His grave lies in a cemetery in Saint Jacques la Boucherie, in France. However, this is not the truth.

  Nicolas knew there was a part of the book he had not yet explored. A section near the back contained two maps, both leading him to the location of what it referred to as the Philosopher’s Stone. Many foolish men had sought this legendary stone, as it was said to produce the Elixir of Life. Nicolas had an advantage, however, having the maps in his possession. He found the stone almost immediately, as the maps pointed him directly to it.

  Despite possessing the power of the Philosopher’s Stone, he did not use it right away. He knew that Elixir of Life does not grant immortality in the sense that it freezes you in your current age. It does, however, grant youth. A draught from the elixir is painful, and often takes several days to fully transform your body. The more one drinks, the younger one becomes, but aging is often quicker, gaining twenty years in appearance for ten years of living. Nicolas waited until he was very old, and along with Pernelle, they moved away from France to start a new life.

  Nicolas and his wife have lived on since then. Nicolas has devoted his life to studying all things alchemical, and had gained mastery over the powers of transmutation. They move around the world, staying long enough to make a difference, but never becoming well known enough to be remembered once they move on. They have gone by many names, none of which you will have heard of, except one.

  Nicolas discovered many other things in his travels, most which are generally ignored by the public. In over 700 years, the two Flamels have encountered people and creatures which, were the general populous aware existed, they would think themselves crazy. Many of these magical beings can not only sense, but are drawn to the power of the Stone, and most agree that it is important it remains a secret. However, there are a few who disagree, and they have dedicated themselves to obtaining the stone for their own uses.

  Nigel Fiamo established Mobius, Inc. over fifty years ago as a way to dedicate a permanent structure around protecting the stone. The company itself, originally just a front, has manifested several different departments, most notably the legal team, which handle disputes that everyday lawyers couldn’t fathom. Their most recent win helped establish the legal owners of Stonehenge, and assuredly, it does not belong to the British government, as the general public believes.

  When Nigel Fiamo grew too old to continue operating Mobius, he retired, and his son took over, having just returned from lengthy travels abroad, or so the story goes. In reality, Nigel became Nic, and the cycle started over.

  I stopped reading then. Was I seriously meant to believe this? That I worked for some mystical shaman, who defied age, and possessed the most powerful piece of rock known to man? And what were these “magical creatures” the story referred to? I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I jumped. I hadn’t heard Maria come home. “Oh, nothing. Just some work stuff,” I said, sheepishly, but I realized she was already looking over my shoulder. I glanced down quickly to hide what I had been reading, perhaps out of reflex from the stern warning, but I saw that the paper had gone blank. Was I going crazy? Had I just made that story up in my head?

  Maria looked at the blank paper, and then looked at me, confusion in her eyes. She clearly thought I was nuts as well. Not caring to ask more, she rolled her eyes, mumbling, “That’s Alex for ya,” and walked into the kitchen.

  “How was your day?” I asked, knowing that this would make her easily forget about what had just happened. As expected, she sprang into an excited conversation, retelling every little event that happened to her. She loved talking about herself, but would never do it unless you asked her to. It was like giving her a present when you did. I only half-listened to her, adding a few nods and an “oh yeah?” where appropriate.

  As she spoke, I glanced back at the papers I had been reading, and saw that the text had returned, clear as before. I shook my head, unable to figure out what was real anymore, as I stacked the papers up and slid them back into the envelope, which easily resealed itself with the slightest pressure on the flap. Maria was still talking, so I listened until she was done, then politely made an excuse about being tired, and went to bed. She didn’t seem to mind my early departure, as she had become accustomed to this routine.

  I was sure to set an alarm this time, and after brushing my teeth and getting into my jammies, I climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  My sleep was restless. I was sure I dreamed, but when I awoke, I couldn’t remember what about. It was still dark outside. I checked my clock. My alarm wasn’t set to go off for another hour. I had awoken too abruptly to be able to fall back asleep, so I decided not to fight it and to get up.

  When I arrived downtown, I was still too early to even be “early” for work. The dim morning light was just starting to peek through the buildings, so I wandered down to my favorite bench along the harbour to catch the rest of the sunrise. This was one of my favorite parts of winter: late sunrises.

  The harbour looked different in the pale grey light. It must be because there are no people, I thought. But something else was different too. The translucent rope that had kept infiltrating my vision a few days earlier was there again, as bright as ever, and directly in my vision. I rubbed my eyes, making a mental note of my latest bout of crazy, but the rope didn’t disappear. Closing my eyes, I braced for the headache to come, but it after a minute or so I realized it hadn’t. As I slowly reopened my eyes, a part of me told me that this strange cord gently floating in the air in front of me was, in fact, real.

  I did not go to my usual bench along the pier. Instead I found the closest one to me, never taking my eyes of the mysterious blue light. Now that I had decided it did exist, a part of me was afraid it would disappear.

  The cord was about ten feet away from where I sat, and if I stood up, it was at eye level. I wasn’t sure what I was doing watching it. I studied its movement: the slow, rhythmic waving which I first attributed to the lightly blowing breeze, I could now hear matched precisely with the sound of the gently breaking waves.

  Part of me was frozen to the seat, while another part of me longed to touch it. The part of me that had been fighting to stay seated lost to my curious side, on the argument that as no one was around, so at least I wouldn’t look foolish.

  If I hadn’t been thinking about touching the light, I’m not sure what happened next would have happened at all. The cord pinched directly in front of me, and tugged slightly toward me. Startled, I jumped back. It had responded exactly how it should have if I had actually touched it.

  But I hadn’t. I was still at least five feet away. The rope had sprung back the second I jumped away, rebounding a few times as though it were elastic before then returning to its calm billowing.

  I could taste something metallic in my mouth, and at first I thought I must have bit my tongue, but after testing with my fingers, I couldn’t see any blood. The taste was strange, but not unpleasant. As the taste began to fade, I could feel a renewed sense of energy. Had I been the running type, I would have gone for one. My muscles yearned to move, but I was still frozen in the shock of what I had seen.

  A man walked by then, and I noticed the cord seemed to avoid him, contorting so as not to touch him. My muscles began to relax, and I sat back down on the bench. I wanted to look away from the blue light, but I couldn’t. It was too beautiful. And confusing. I wanted to know what it was I was seeing, or if I really was crazy, but for some reason, I was sure
this wasn’t a question of sanity.

  The clock chimed the hour, awaking me from my trance. Had I really been sitting here almost half an hour? I looked around and noticed that the harbour had gotten busier, full of people making their way to work. I decided to head to work, no longer worried about being too early. Maybe it would make up for yesterday. As I headed up the worn steps that led from the boardwalk, I glanced back at my light and smiled. It was still there, and no one seemed to notice it.

  Entering the lobby of Mobius, I waved to Bob, thinking that this would become habit if I wasn’t careful. I boarded the elevator, and as it rose I thought I saw a familiar glint inside of Bob’s ribcage. It was the same blue colour as I had seen in the harbour, but there was something dark inside it. I couldn’t quite make it out, as the elevator reached my floor before I could get a better look.

  I looked for Paul, but he hadn’t arrived yet. It wasn’t until I sat down at my desk before I remembered I was to be working in the library today. Would Casper would be in this early? I might as well give it a shot, seeing as I have nothing else to do. Besides, I was in such a good mood now; I couldn’t help but feel eager to get started.

  I felt my excitement increase as I exited the elevator and approached the massive, ornate doors. I didn’t know if I should head right in, so I knocked. The door opened almost immediately, held open by a smiling Casper.

  “You’re early!” he beamed. I felt myself smile back. “Come on in! You don’t need to knock though, for future reference.” He gave me a funny look. “You look like you’re in a good mood this morning,” he noted.