Thomas blew a little on the cup before taking a sip. He expected the tea to be hot, but the liquid wasn’t even warm. It was incredibly refreshing and he felt a tingling sensation on his hands. He sipped a little bit more. A warm sensation enveloped him, and he watched as his skin took on a blue hue.
“How’s Elise?” Thomas asked. He had not seen her since Ormagra.
“She’ll be fine,” the Doctor said. “She’s in Ukiah with her parents, but she’ll be back in a week.” The Doctor sat on the side of the bed as Thomas took another sip of the tea. “We are pretty sure that Tasha escaped,” he said pulling out a tabloid from his coat. There was a picture of a huge whirlpool in the sea with the headlines: A HOLE IN THE OCEAN WILL DRY THE EARTH! And, THE DEVIL TAKES A SWIM!
“Ormagra has flooded,” the Doctor said. “Crab fishermen reported a whirlpool forming in the middle of the Bering Sea. There was a T.V. crew on one of the boats and they filmed a little of the whirlpool before it filled Ormagra and disappeared.”
Thomas opened the magazine. On the first page was a firsthand account from the fishing crew that saw the event.
“A bolt of black lightning came out from the sea,” the Doctor said paraphrasing the article. “A horrible shriek came from the center of the whirlpool and the devil flew out from it.”
“That has to be Tasha,” Thomas said sadly. “Or whatever she’s become.”
“King Seryaan himself sealed the portal from Maresha to Ormagra,” the Doctor continued. “Some secrets are better left alone.”
Thomas let the magazine fall on his lap. “It’s my fault Tasha went mad,” he said.
The Doctor patted his leg. “Tasha’s madness began more than five centuries ago. She probably caused the Earthquakes that destroyed her Cascadia kingdom in 1700. King Seryaan always suspected it had been her delving into Wraith Magic that caused it, but they could never prove it since she was the only survivor. She was looking for Ormagra since then.”
“I gave her the spell to awaken Ormagra,” Thomas told him.
“She used you, Thomas. And she used us to get to you. Only a Cypher could translate the spell without going slowly mad while trying. She waited three hundred years for you. You can’t blame yourself for what happened. She always craved power.” The Doctor patted his leg again, “I can read most minds, but I could only perceive little out of Tasha, and whenever I tried, she always hid her true intentions under layers of lies. Am I to blame for what she did?”
“Tony said that she probably used magic to have that special power over me,” Thomas confided. He had been infatuated with Tasha, and even after he’d seen what she’d become and known that she had used him, he still missed her eyes.
The Doctor sighed, “I would have felt it, Thomas,” he said. “It was real, at least on your part, and you shouldn’t feel ashamed about that either. That’s just how life works.” The Doctor sighed. “Tasha was always a special lady.”
Thomas straightened up in bed. Thanks to Seryaan’s medicine, the pain in his hands had disappeared and he took off the bandages. His wounds had completely healed. Even the ones that had required stitches – the surgical twine fell off from his hands as the newly-formed skin rejected it.
“What about my grandfather?” he asked. He had thought long and hard about his encounter with his grandpa and what he had told him about Guardians Inc. It was true that humans had abused nature and overexploited the planet, but it was also true that things were changing. Slowly, but getting better all the time. And if technology was the only thing that could save the planet from another extinction brought on by the Wraiths, he had to stay with the Guardians.
A world ruled by magic sounded beautiful. No old age, no sickness, but at what cost? Thomas doubted that all humans would share that Utopia. What would happen to the billions that magical creatures deemed needless or redundant? How many humans would the magical creatures feel were extra in their world?
It had happened before. Roughly one thousand years of dark ages were example enough for Thomas. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
No, he would find the Book of Concord.
He’d spoken with the Doctor about it while his wounds were bandaged but Doctor Franco had kept a respectful silence.
The Doctor sighed. “Morgan’s decision to help the Warmaster is troubling, Thomas. But you can’t blame him for his weakness. He’s been given what other men can only dream about. He’s been tempted into the Warmaster’s service, like so many before him, but he has not been corrupted or he would have killed you in Ormagra.” The Doctor stood up from the bed. “He loves you, Thomas. He told you himself. He’ll come around. Just think that we are in a race for the Book of Concord and he’s on another team.”
Yes, Thomas thought, it would certainly be easier on him and he was confident that grandpa still loved him.
“He decoded the second clue,” Thomas told him. “When I entered the room the insects fell to the ground.”
The Doctor lifted his cane. “I don’t think that was ever a clue. It was probably set up by Tasha, by the way,” The Doctor pulled out a photocopy taken from an old manuscript and handed it to Thomas. “Was this the man that gave you the cloth in the library?”
The page was written in heavy black letters and showed a man just like the one that had given Thomas the title of the un-readable book. His arms were bound behind his back and what looked like an Arab warrior was standing over him with a sword drawn. The drawing was very faint and extremely old, but Thomas identified him immediately.
“Yes” he said returning the page. “That’s him.”
“Then it was her for sure, she had dealings with this creature before.” The Doctor said with a sigh, “I also believe that she was responsible for the attack on your house. The creatures that attacked you are attuned to Wraith Magic and the Warmaster has never delved into it. Not even during World War II.”
The Doctor stood up from the bed. “Tasha needed a lure to get both Cyphers at the same time into Ormagra. Either of you could have deciphered the spell and then she would have killed you both at the same time.” He walked toward the door. “I think that we’re still in the lead.” He smiled as he opened the door. “We just have to make sure we win this race.”
“How many signs do I have to decipher to find the book, Doctor?”
“Well,” the Doctor counted in his head, “it took twelve for Niccolo de Conti in 1444, but only five for Lucius Cornelius Sulla in 85 BC.” He smiled and tapped the ground with his cane. “So, I guess we’ll find out. Won’t we?” He closed the door.
Thomas finished the tea and picked up the book again. He knew that his grandfather loved him and deep inside he trusted him to do the right thing.
Shortly after, Killjoy entered the room. Thomas had asked Bolswaithe to call her. She was dressed in a heavy sweater and carried her ever-present coffee mug and metal pad. Only in her commorancy, and when they where training, would she show him her true self.
“You have something to ask,” Killjoy said sitting down on a chair by Thomas’s side. She was direct, as usual.
“Yes, Miss Khanna.” Thomas sat on the bed. “I’ve read a lot about your people. And how you can see the future.”
“And?” Killjoy took off her big sunglasses and sipped from her coffee.
“You knew this was going to happen since you read my palms in your office. Didn’t you?” Thomas asked. It wasn’t a question, more of an accusation. “You could have stopped my grandfather from being kidnapped.”
Killjoy didn’t move. “Like all seers, I only saw possibilities, and only about you.”
“But then you knew that I would end up here.”
“I knew that you might end up being a Guardian, yes,” she opened her eyes. “It was a possibility.”
Thomas extended his palms to her. “Can you see if I will be with my grandfather again?”
Killjoy centered her gaze on him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can’t help you.”
“You can’t or you won’
t?”
“My power, like that of all seers, emanates from the Oracle. It’s like stargazing – seeing a distant star through a telescope is safe. You can learn a little about it, study it, and before you found the first sign, I could read the possibilities before you. But now it would be like watching the sun with the naked eye. It would only burn me. I’m sorry, Thomas, but you are now linked to the Oracle, a force of nature no one understands.”
Thomas sat in silence for a long time, trying to assimilate what Killjoy had said. It was still unreal just how much his life had changed and how important everyone thought he was for the future.
“Thomas,” Killjoy said as she stood up to leave. “Unlike the past, the future doesn’t exist. It’s just possibilities. Our choices and actions write it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s all right,” she told him. “You will if you find the Book of Concord. That is your quest now.”
“And if I don’t find it?” he asked. “What then?”
“Then the world will change.” She took another sip from her coffee. “And we’ll do our best to change with it.”
He had asked her to come and visit for reassurance or understanding, and all Killjoy had done was put more pressure on him. The last time a Cypher had failed to find the Book of Concord the Roman Empire fell and the Dark Ages had engulfed humanity. He felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
“There is something more isn’t it?” she asked.
“When I struck grandpa,” he told her, “something happened between the two of us. In our heads, I mean.”
Killjoy approached the bed. “Tell me.” She pierced him with her clear brown eyes.
Thomas suddenly realized that what he had felt wasn’t a sign or something the Oracle or the other Cyphers had left for him because he could talk about it. He explained the feelings and the sounds to Killjoy, the darkness and the muffled voices.
She sat down in silence, meditating about what Thomas had said. After a couple of minutes, she opened her eyes and stood. “I think that these visions were memories,” she said shaking her head.
“Whose memories?”
“Pursuing these visions only brings heartache,” she warned.
“I need to know.” The vision haunted him since leaving Ormagra.
Killjoy bit her lip, but she knew that he wouldn’t drop it until she spoke. “It was a message, Thomas. A glimpse into someone else’s life.” She walked toward the door.
“But whose life?” Thomas urged. He couldn’t stand being left with another question.
Killjoy stopped at the door. Before she put on her heavy glasses, he saw the strain in her face, the conflict she felt about telling him more.
“Please,” he pleaded and she paused.
“Someone close…” she said and lifted a hand before he could ask more. She drew in a deep breath. “Close both to you and your grandfather. More than that, I cannot say, and that is the truth.”
She walked out closing the door behind her, and leaving Thomas to ponder what she had meant. A message? A glimpse into someone’s life? Someone close to both him and gramps?
He brought the vision back. Of all the things he recalled, only one made sense. The sounds being heard from underwater.
He froze, his stomach clenched. His parents had disappeared at sea. Could it be that it was the last memory of his father? The moment of his death?
It couldn’t be. There had been fear, followed by happiness, and he doubted drowning ended with happiness.
A flame of hope was kindled. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he’d lived and seen things that he couldn’t imagine existed two months before. If he could believe in limitless rooms, doors opening anywhere around the world and Magic, why couldn’t he believe that his parents were alive?
And that somehow he would find them.
Bolswaithe entered the room and found Thomas smiling from ear to ear.
“Mr. Della Francesca and Henri are waiting for you on the lawn, Thomas.” Bolswaithe was carrying the picnic basket. “Tony said that it’s Thai food today. Should I tell them to begin without you?”
“No,” Thomas said as he jumped from the bed. “Go ahead, I’m coming.” Bolswaithe smiled too, and closed the door.
Thomas was sure now that the robot was learning to be human – another thing to be glad about.
He remembered his first day at Guardians Inc. “It’s just a little adventure,” his grandfather had told him when they entered the mansion grounds, and just two months later, he had learned and experienced more than in his first sixteen years combined.
How much more would he learn?
“Yeah, Gramps,” Thomas said aloud. “It’s just a little adventure.”
He put on his bracelet, Thai food and the world were waiting for him.
Or maybe not.
Tony busted through the door and threw a bundle of personal armor at him.
“Breakfast is canceled,” Tony said. “Five minutes, front door.”
Thomas checked the vest Tony had given him—it was made of interlocking plates and scales of a grey and very light plastic composite. “What’s going on?” he asked. Tony was lingering by the door, leaning against the wall.
“We think it’s a sign.” Tony smiled. “In Africa, come on!” he screamed then disappeared down the corridor.
While trying to decide which piece of armor to put on first, Thomas pressed a button on the shoulder of the suit, and after a whooshing sound, the scales lost cohesion and the whole suit fell apart, its individual scales strewn all over the floor.
Thomas sighed.
Maybe being the Cypher wasn’t going to be so little of an adventure after all.
Interlude
The First Alert
Cheyenne Mountain Directorate
North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD)
June 14th, 12:01 a.m.
Lt. Dupont tapped gently on his computer screen. He looked around at his colleagues expecting to see someone smiling at him, relishing the joke that they were playing on him, but the night shift crew was all immersed in their own work.
Ever since NORAD had consolidated its operations in Peterson Air Force Base near Colorado Springs, the famous complex built deep into the Cheyenne Mountains had become just a secondary operation. A backup, kept in “warm standby” should the need arise. Its personnel was trained to the highest standards, and considered their tour of duty more like a custodian job rather than a real frontline. A step to take before moving on to more important posts.
Dupont reclined in his seat and crinkled his brow. He was unsure if he should call attention to his station since nobody else appeared to see the blip on their screens. No alarms had been sounded, and he was hesitant to call the top brass. They all knew very well that Colonel Jessup, the man in charge of Cheyenne Mountain, was easily angered, had a reputation for being arbitrary and deeply resented his current post.
Dupont let out a loud “Mhmmmm” for his neighbors to hear.
Thankfully, Lt. Ayala bit. She stood up from her station and walked toward him. She had more time under her belt at Cheyenne Mountain than any of the other operators, and she always displayed a little “maternal instinct” around them. The ways she wore her Air Force Uniform, always impeccable, clean and pressed, reinforced that image. “What’s up?” she asked.
“That’s up,” Dupont said as he pointed at the screen. The blip was hovering in place over the North Pole.
She leaned her elbow on the top of the monitor and smirked. “He’s six months early,” she said.
“Or six months late…” Dupont answered.
“Oh no, I was here last Christmas, he’s early.”
Since 1955, every December 24th – thanks to a call from a little girl and a quick reaction by the then commanding officer Col. Harry Shoup –NORAD turns its satellites, high-powered radars, and jet fighters to track the journey of Santa Claus around the world to keep thousands of children and families informed o
f his whereabouts, especially if its time to go to bed and lay out cookies for him.
But not in June. Never in June.
Lt. Ayala feverishly typed and entered commands on the keyboard. The tag, SANTA 1, remained onscreen.
“Well?” Dupont was thankful that someone else was now aware of his little problem.
Ayala picked up the phone and called maintenance. “Clicker? Ayala here. Can you come? We are tracking Santa 1 on NWS… Sure… No, only one… Thanks.” She hung up the phone and turned to Dupont. “He’s coming up, don’t worry. I’m sure it’s just a glitch.” She tapped his desk with her fingers.
“Who’s Clicker?” Dupont had never even heard the name.
“Lead maintenance tech,” Ayala said. “He’s a legend around here. Some say that he’s been here since before the 50’s. That he actually dug some of the base himself.”
“So he’s old?”
“I guess,” she hunched her shoulders. “He looks nasty and smells worse, but he’s actually very nice. Whatever your bleep is, he’ll fix it.”
“Why Clicker?” Dupont asked reclining back in his chair. SANTA 1 began to slowly drift south on his screen.
Instead of answering, Ayala cupped a hand behind her ear motioning for him to listen.
The faintest click-clack was coming from the hallway. It became louder as Clicker approached the command center. The smell of moist earth also grew in intensity, filling the room as Clicker made his entrance.
“So?” Clicker asked in a heavy, raspy voice. “What’s the problem?” He was short, about four-and-a-half feet tall, but stocky. A big head over broad shoulders and a squat body. A bulbous nose dominated his deeply wrinkled face, which was covered by a thick white-streaked beard tied in a ponytail. His coarse hair was also tied in a ponytail and the baseball cap he wore seemed ready to burst at the seams. His Air Force overalls were dirty – stained brown at the knees and elbows – and a large leather utility belt was strapped around his waist. Numerous pliers, hammers, screwdrivers, and other tools hung from the belt and a large backpack was strapped on his back.
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