by Lucia Ashta
We walked across the garden slowly, but we soon reached the door inside. What waited for me there were the words I was ready to hear.
Chapter 11
Mordecai was expecting us. It was evident all over his face that he and Marcelo had reached some kind of decision. I couldn’t tell if I’d like the decision or not. Apprehension, excitement, and resignation were wrapped up into a stern, tight mouth.
“What is it?” I asked from the threshold of the study.
Sir Lancelot abandoned his usual post by the window to come to my shoulder. “Hello, Sir Lancelot.”
“Good day, Milady.”
I turned back to the old magician, whose expression grew more quizzical with every moment. “So? What is it?”
Mordecai flicked his gaze toward Marcelo. “We’ve decided it’s time.”
“Time for what exactly?” But I didn’t really need to hear his answer to understand what he meant or why his face was harboring so many conflicting emotions. It was time to face Count Washur. Mordecai was equally excited for the challenge and tormented at the danger it posed to everyone that he loved. He risked losing the only person alive that still felt like family to him, like a son. He’d already lost a brother and best friend.
Mordecai and Marcelo shared another look, and I said, “I see. Do you think we’re ready then?”
“My child, I can’t be certain that we’re ready. But perhaps we’re as ready as we’ll get. You can continue learning spells all day long. Yet it’s plainly clear that you don’t need spells to do your magic. And the advantage we originally thought we’d give you by allowing you to learn all that you could might not be sufficient to outweigh the potential harm that may be coming to your sister, and to Clarissa’s son.”
Another quick look shared with Marcelo. “At least, that’s what we’ve decided. Your magic is powerful enough now. If we wait longer, your magic may grow more powerful, and you may learn to control it better, which is certainly something of great importance. Yet the time we might have to wait for that to happen might not make enough of a difference in the end.
“Make no mistake, child. We’re talking about going to face what might be the most dangerous man alive today. There are likely more dangerous beings out there, but they ceased to be human long ago, and I hope we never meet a single one.
“If Count Washur captures any of us, he probably won’t kill us right away.”
“He won’t?”
“Well, he might. But I doubt it. He’ll probably want to make us suffer somehow, and I imagine that a mind like his spends countless hours exploring how to best inflict pain on others.”
I swallowed. Was Mordecai trying to scare me? If so, maybe he didn’t realize that I was scared enough already. I’d been doing everything in my power these last many weeks to avoid thinking about what it’d be like to face this self-appointed nemesis. Instead, I focused on freeing Gertrude, because I knew that if I thought about what Count Washur could do to me, to Gertrude, or to Marcelo, he’d have won the battle even before we showed up to fight it in person.
“And remember that he also has your sister there. He knows that he can get to you through her. That’s likely the only reason for her being there.”
“I remember.” My own lips were tightening, their fullness compressing into a line. “How could I possibly forget?” Another flash of amber human eyes in a furry auburn face swept across my vision.
“Mordecai, why are you trying to scare her like this?”
“I’m not trying to scare her, my son. I’m just trying to make sure she understands what we’re coming up against. She needs to make the choice fully aware of the perils.”
“Is it truly a choice? I don’t have a choice. I never did. I can’t leave Gertrude there with him.”
“Actually, child, you can. Marcelo and I discussed that possibility heavily.”
I huffed and began to interject, but Mordecai held up a hand to still me. “No, child. It’s something you should think about. We may all lose our lives trying to save Gertrude and Salazar. And they may still die, despite our efforts.”
“That well might be, but I cannot leave Gertrude there if there’s even the smallest chance that I might be able to help rescue her from that man.”
“It’s a small chance. Even with my centuries of experience, the chance may still be small. Darkness is a terrible thing to face, and that’s all Count Washur stands for.”
“Still, it’s a chance. And I want to take it.”
“Are you certain? You understand that your sister might die anyway, and that you might lose others you love in the process of attempting to save her? You understand that you might suffer terribly at his hands?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. I do. I understand. All of it. I don’t like it one bit. But I’ve made up my mind, and I’ll go alone if I have to. You need not come with me. I can take the risk by myself.” Saying this reminded me of the hide-and-seek game I played as a girl. I’d close my eyes and count to one hundred. Before preparing to search for my hidden sisters, I would say, Ready or not, here I come. This was just like that. Ready or not, here I come.
Mordecai’s laughter pulled me away from my distracted thoughts. What was so funny? What had I missed in my dreamy mind? Mother used to admonish me for drifting away in my thoughts when she didn’t think it was appropriate, which was always.
“My child, I wouldn’t think of letting you go alone to face Count Washur.” And suddenly Mordecai’s demeanor changed entirely. It was like he was another man, his dire expression replaced with, what? Enthusiasm? “Long life can be a blessing in many ways. But what else should I use the gift of long life that my wisdom has given me if not to right the wrongs of the world? Even if I should die in trying to thwart Count Washur, then it’ll not have been in vain. And especially if we succeed in stunting Count Washur’s power, then I’ll have left the world a better place than I found it. At my age, that’s a very important thing.
“And don’t forget, Washur took Albacus from me. I dare not believe that he actually took his soul to fuel his immortality, because if that’s true, I couldn’t stand it. I hope that it was a lie he told to torture me.
“I intend to avenge my brother. But not in the way of true vengeance. I intend to make Albacus’ death mean something. If he died so we’d rid the world of some of its darkness, then it will have been a worthy sacrifice.
“I’d never let you go alone. I’ve been preparing for a quest as important as this all my life.”
The old magician approached me, and placed an old hand on the shoulder Sir Lancelot left empty. “I’m with you, all the way. You won’t face this challenge alone. I just wanted to make sure you fully understood the weight of your decision.”
I nodded. I felt Marcelo’s hand gingerly across the small of my back. I turned toward him. “And you? You don’t need to come along if you don’t want to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Where else would I want to be but at your side?”
I nodded again, sudden emotion collecting in my throat.
“Now that all’s settled, we have lots to do. Let’s get busy.”
Chapter 12
It turned out that I was right, and Mordecai had been a very busy bee while Marcelo and I left him alone in the mornings. He’d been deep in research and conspiratorial whispers with Sir Lancelot. Now, Sir Lancelot did surprise me. I hadn’t imagined he’d be a part of any secret endeavor. He talked too much to keep any secret—or so I thought.
Although, in reality, none of it was a conspiracy or a secret. Mordecai and Sir Lancelot spent their time trying to figure out the why of a man like Count Washur. It was a crucial question. The reason for a way of being might also contain a weakness.
“It didn’t go quite as well as we’d hoped,” Mordecai said. “Take a seat.”
Marcelo and I sat side by side on the settee, and Sir Lancelot perched on the seat next to Mordecai, thus endorsing the researched conclusions. “Sir Lancelot and I read thousands of pages, maybe hundr
eds of thousands, a very great amount anyway, anything that might contain a reference to Count Washur. Since we know he’s over five hundred years old, there was much material to cover, especially since we aren’t completely certain where he comes from. We have lots of theories about lots of things, and few certainties. Still, it’s better than going in blind.
“While Sir Lancelot researched—something he’s quite brilliant at—I wrote letter after letter to old magician friends and acquaintances. I requested the consultation of records. Even though the weeks we’ve been here haven’t given me much time to receive responses, they’ve been steadily coming in. I’ve had to use a little magic to speed up the process. If not, we’d never get this done in the time we’ve had.”
I looked to Marcelo. Did he know about this? He shrugged noncommittally. I guess he must have. Carlton would have made him aware of large amounts of correspondence for a guest of the house. I was quickly realizing that I’d been blind to so much going on around me. The dreamer. I could be in the middle of something obvious to everyone else and remain happily oblivious.
“We found a record of an early Christian church that was burned beyond legibility in a fire that claimed the original church building a couple of centuries ago. But,” and Mordecai interjected his trademark smile, the secret of his youthful vitality despite his apparent age, “with a little magic,” he swirled his hand in the air with a flourish, “we were able to make out the text.
“Thankfully, Sir Lancelot’s Latin is exquisite. It made our job much easier. It appears that Count Washur was born to the second Count Washur in the fourteenth-century, in the Castle of Washur. The castle was already built then, although it was much smaller. It’s mostly the current Count Washur that made it the building we see today. Which means, as a side note, he likely added on to the building with defense and offense in mind. It might hold as many secrets as Irele Castle.
“We aren’t certain that this church record refers to the current Count Washur, but we believe it’s the most likely conclusion. It’d make him the right age, if we are to believe he’s as old as he says he is. And I think he’s probably telling the truth on this. It’s quite incredible that he’s figured out how to prolong his life this long. He’s proud of that.”
My face must have revealed revulsion, because Mordecai said, “Yes, I agree with you, Clara, how he goes about extending his life is particularly despicable, yet it’s incredibly advanced, dark magic. I know of no one else that has lived as long as he has. I’ve met a few other magicians along the way that figured out varying ways to extend their lives, but none is still living as far as I know, and none was as good as Washur appears to be.”
“Why does Count Washur look so much younger than you and Albacus?” There was no real polite way to ask the question, yet I’d been curious about it for a while.
Mordecai’s lips turned up slightly amid a weathered and wrinkled face. But then he didn’t answer me. I shouldn’t have mentioned Albacus, I realized too late.
“Mordecai, I’m sorry, I just was—“
“No, no, child. It’s fine. It’s perfectly reasonable for you to be curious and try to understand things, especially when your magical education has been, how shall we say it, less than optimal.
“The reason is simple, actually. Albacus and I didn’t discover the way to prolong life until our bodies had already reached an advanced age in average human years. Well, I suppose that’s not precisely accurate. We discovered a way to prolong life when we were much younger, not much older than middle age. But the only way we knew to do it then was by feeding off other human beings, much like Washur and Mirvela do.
“Neither my brother nor I would do that to another person, so we continued aging. It was only once I turned eighty-eight, which would have made my brother eighty-nine, that we came upon another way to extend life, one that didn’t harm anyone else. Our aging ceased at that time. The spell we engineered didn’t reverse the aging in the body, or the mind,” Mordecai paused to tap a finger against his temple, although his mind seemed to be in perfect working order. “But it did stop any further degeneration.”
“Washur must have figured out that he could take the life essence of people’s souls to prolong his own when he was much younger. Unless, he’s figured out a way to reverse the aging that had already taken place, which is certainly possible. Neither my brother nor I were ever too concerned about that, and didn’t look into it much. Now I wonder why we didn’t. It might be nice to be in a young body again.”
Mordecai stared at a painting on the opposite wall, of a young girl, one of Marcelo’s ancestors no doubt, but it didn’t look like Mordecai even saw it. A beat passed, then two, and then he turned to the table next to him, littered with books and parchments. He lifted book covers and moved parchments, looking for a scrap to scribble on. His mind was already working on the problem.
“Um, Mordecai?”
He looked up, as if surprised to see Marcelo and me looking at him. “Yes, child?”
“You were sharing your conclusions about Count Washur,” Marcelo prompted.
“Oh yes, yes.”
“But wait. How did you and Albacus prolong your lives in a way that didn’t steal life essence from anyone else?”
“Well, that’s quite a complicated little problem we worked out—“
“That will have to wait for another time,” Marcelo said. “Remember, Clara, there’s urgency to our discussion. It’s unlikely that Count Washur is sitting around reminiscing.”
Count Washur, Right. Why did he always show up when things were getting good? Finally I had a chance at finding out about really intriguing magic, and it was demoted to reminiscing.
“Mordecai, you were telling us how you and Sir Lancelot might have found Count Washur’s birth records.”
“Yes, my son. I think we did. Like I was saying, it’d make him the right age. And it would make sense for other reasons also. Count Washur (his name is actually Richard John) had, from what I can tell, a normal family life for some time. He had a wife and two sons. The three of them died when his sons were ten and eight. We don’t know how they died, but we did find the death records at that same church that was the parish for the Washur region. Count Washur survived.
“Without knowing exactly what happened, I can only infer that it must’ve been some tragedy, illness, or accident. This would have been sufficient to drive an unstable man to madness, darkness, or both, especially if he loved them. This is really what I was looking for, something that would help us understand why he might have become the man he is today. It’s not exact by any means, but I think it’s as good as we’ll get for now. Sir Lancelot looked everywhere we could think of. There probably are no more records or indications of the beginnings of Washur’s dark magic for us to find. I hope this will lend us some sort of advantage when we face him. It’s always powerful to know the man instead of the magician.”
I was trying hard not to feel sorry for Count Washur. I could almost understand why he might have become the man he was. But was there ever any excuse for killing others with abandon, and worse, stealing their eternal souls?
“After that, we found hardly anything about him for almost a full century. Then he began to appear, just hints of him. In correspondence among magicians, there were references to a powerful magician, in the general area of Washur. The records don’t reveal much, only that the magical world was becoming aware of him. We weren’t able to cull any information about his type of magic, just that he was good at it.
“Then, after his normal lifetime would have passed, significant references about him started showing up, although almost all of them were unaware that he was living more than he should under ordinary circumstances. The more time passed, the worse the comments became, until eventually they were ones of fear. There was a dark magician in the east that was murdering other magicians.
“It’s possible that not all of the references we discovered were about Washur, since most of them didn’t identify him by name. St
ill, I think it’s safe to assume that they refer to him. The descriptions fit perfectly: a man of pale face and hair that could instill terror just by looking into your eyes. It sounds right.
“Around the middle of the fifteenth century, we began to find references to Washur in letters between non-magical people. They spoke of a terrible monster that was as pale as the moonlight and only came out at night. As is the way with people that aren’t aware of magic, they made Washur out to be a terrifying legend. He was a monster who would eat children alive and then disappear into the dark of night. They called him a wraith, and we even found one letter that postulated that he was Dracula himself.
“Of course, there’s no evidence of what the common people thought of him, since most of them don’t read or write, but I’m certain they feared him. The servant class is even more apt to believe unfounded legends than the aristocracy, and the aristocracy will believe almost any wild tale.
“So, after all our work, this is what we learned. And it’s not much different than what we already knew. Washur is a terrifying man that takes life to extend his own.”
“But now we know that the tragedy that catapulted him into becoming who he is was the loss of his wife and children,” Marcelo said.
“Yes, I believe so. He may have been normal before, or he may not have been. Either way, once his family died, we can presume under tragic circumstances, he might have found solace in the study of magic, or maybe he sought the way to seek revenge through magic, or maybe he used magic as a way to forget. We have no way of knowing. At some point, he was exposed to dark magic, and like your father,” Mordecai said to Marcelo, “the lure of the almost-limitless power of the dark must have seduced him.
“Dark magic is like quicksand. You think you can explore it just a little bit and get out, but you can’t. Once you get started, it sucks you in so that even if you want to get loose you can’t, and it consumes you. Even though Washur lives, and he’s lived longer even than me, he’s only a shell of man, filled with darkness where another human being would be filled with the spark of life.