Sorcerer's Secret

by Scott Mebus

  “Don’t worry,” Rory reassured her. “I’ll hold on to you the whole time. You’ll never be alone.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Hex was finished with the canoe, and he and Rory dragged it to the river’s edge. Fritz climbed up into one pocket of Rory’s pants and Clarence took the other pocket.

  “I don’t like this,” the roach said, and Rory could hear the fear in his voice. He himself was just as frightened—this was the part of Adriaen’s story that had worried him most of all. How could he survive it? He thought of the sigil on his forehead. Maybe it would protect him. He hoped so. He just had to hand himself over to fate.

  They sat in the canoe, which Hex pushed into the river with his paddle. Immediately, the water took them, pulling them along quickly. The jagged walls of the cave flew by as the river carried them toward an increasingly louder roar. Rory glanced up, noticing the same arrow painted on the ceiling he’d seen on his last trip down this river, the arrow he now knew pointed the way to the cavern far below. The roaring drowned out everything as the waterfall came closer and closer. Bridget let out a cry, grabbing Rory with both hands. Rory clutched the sides of the canoe as he saw the blackness approach. He had just enough time to whisper a small prayer, and then the canoe hit the falls. He reached for his sister as they bounced over the side, and then they were flying out into the void before falling, falling, falling forever into the black nothingness below.

  23

  THE SACRIFICE

  Kieft’s army appeared as if from thin air.

  Soka was meeting with Chogan when a scout came running in with the news. The entire army had just shown up on the north end of the Great Lawn, standing on earthworks that came rising from the ground as the scout watched. It was a stunning display of Kieft’s magic and it left all of them shaken, Soka most of all. How could she fight that? She wasn’t her mother.

  With Tackapausha’s death, Buckongahelas had taken over the Munsee war preparations. Wampage stood apart, giving his advice but not taking charge. Soka asked him why while the others were busy with their plans.

  “I am not the future, here,” he told her. “That is Buckongahelas and you. I will leave the war plans to you. I have a different mission.”

  He would not elaborate, and Soka did not press him. She had enough to worry about.

  For one thing, Teddy Roosevelt was being impetuous again. He wanted to attack, right away, and surprise the enemy. “We need to bloody them,” he argued. “To show them we mean business. Take a few lives and the rest fall at our feet.”

  “No killing,” Buckongahelas said firmly. Roosevelt blinked in surprise.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There is nowhere else for us to go,” the Munsee war leader said. “This is our home. We cannot baptize our home in blood. How can we live in peace surrounded by people who remember all the lives we ended? How can we forgive them for the lives they took? If we descend into killing, we will never have peace.”

  “The sentiment is well and good, young man,” Teddy said. “But Kieft’s army isn’t going to just throw down their weapons and cry uncle!”

  “Kieft, that’s who matters,” Nicholas said. “We need to get to him and the rest will crumble.”

  “Good luck with that.” Simon snorted.

  “How will we keep them at bay while we try to get Kieft without Sooleawa?” Chogan asked, the round Munsee tanner still raw from Sooleawa’s death. “She was the difference.”

  Wampage glanced at Soka. “We have a worthy successor here in our midst.”

  Soka sighed, facing them as proudly as she could. “I will find a way,” she promised. “I am not my mother, but I will find a way.”

  She wished she felt as confident as she sounded. But she would find a way.

  Kieft stood with Tobias, staring out across the Great Lawn as the sun began to rise. His army milled about at his feet, uncertain about the battle ahead. He had certain spirits moving through the crowd, telling stories of Munsee atrocities, trying to keep the anger high. Soon the bloodlust would set in and they would need no encouragement. Soon the lockets would litter the field like shells on a beach, and he’d simply have to reach down and pick them up.

  “Look at them all,” he muttered to Tobias. “Sheep, waiting to be slaughtered. Have you decided which lockets you’d like for yourself?”

  “I have all I need hanging around my neck,” Tobias answered, his voice bored.

  “Right answer.” Kieft laughed. “That is how you survive, Tobias. You have everything you want already. But will you fight to keep it?”

  “To the death,” Tobias snarled, and Kieft’s eyebrow lifted, surprised at Tobias’s emotion. He smiled; it was good to know the god cared about something. Kieft turned to his little group of gang members, led by Sly Jimmy, who were standing nearby, and gestured for them to approach.

  “You have your knives?” he asked them.

  “You bet,” Sly Jimmy said, smirking.

  “When the battle starts, I want you all to kill any god who falls.”

  “On our side, too?” Jimmy asked.

  “On either side,” Kieft stressed. He didn’t care which gods died, so long as they died. “The more gods you kill, the angrier and more fearful the other gods will get. You are my little angels of war. Once the battle begins, I want the blood to flow.”

  “What about the lockets?” one of the other gang members asked. “Can we keep ’em?”

  Kieft reached out and grabbed the gang boy’s neck, snapping it with a twist. The boy’s limp body fell to the ground as the others watched in silent horror.

  “Anyone else want to ask a stupid question?” he said quietly. “What do you do with the lockets?”

  Jimmy gulped. “We bring them to you.”

  “Good. Now go, ready yourselves for the fight.”

  Sly Jimmy and his boys ran off as quickly as they could, leaving the still body of their comrade on the ground at Kieft’s feet. Kieft stared across the field for a moment, watching the small figures run back and forth along the ramparts of Belvedere Castle. Excitement ran up his spine. After four hundred years, his day had finally arrived. The morning air had never smelled sweeter.

  Bridget’s eyes fluttered open. She was staring at the bottom of the canoe, where a small pool of water had gathered around her feet. She remembered falling, and clutching at her brother, but then everything went black. Had she passed out? Maybe her brain just couldn’t take all that falling and shut down for a while. Pretty smart, her brain.

  She could hear the sound of falling water nearby, and the canoe rocked gently in place, so she was floating in something. She rolled over, wincing at the paper hair that fluttered to the floor—that must have been some landing. Lying on her back, she looked up—and felt her breath catch in her chest.

  High above her, stretching out into the distance, twinkled the lights. They glowed from the very stone of the ceiling of this huge cavern they’d fallen into, like millions of veins of blue and green. The cavern itself seemed larger than her eyes could see. Sitting up, she could just make out the slope of the other side, far off into the distance. And beneath her, reflecting the sparkling blue and green like an ocean at sunset, was a large lake, softly shimmering. The water rocked them gently, after their violent landing. The hole they had fallen through opened up hundreds of feet above the lake, water flowing steadily down into the basin.

  A groan beside her brought her back to the moment. Rory was just coming to, sitting up slowly while rubbing the back of his head.

  “What happened?”

  “You passed out from the fall,” Hex said. The two-faced magician sat at the back of the canoe, watching them. “It was too much for your mortal brains to take.”

  “Even Fritz?” Bridget asked, looking around for the battle roach. She found him poking his way out of Rory’s pocket, pulling off his helmet while shaking his head to clear it.

  “Even me,” he said wryly. Clarence climbed
out of Rory’s other pocket to run up to his master, licking the roach in a rare sign of devotion. Fritz laughed, fending off the rodent. “I’m fine, boy. We’re all fine.”

  “So nobody remembers the fall?” Bridget asked.

  “No, I was awake,” Hex informed her. “I received no blessed relief from the plummet. It was because of me that our canoe wasn’t shattered. A quick spell righted it before it plunged into the lake.”

  “Of course, we only have your word for that,” Fritz pointed out. Hex merely shrugged. It really bothered Bridget that her brother had let this liar come along—she tried to watch him, but during the time they’d been knocked out, the sneak could have done anything.

  Rory turned to Bridget, his hand flying to his forehead. “Is it still there?” Bridget squinted, trying to see past the blue and green playing across his face. Phew—Soka’s mark still sat on Rory’s forehead. Hex could try to take credit for their survival all he wanted, but Bridget knew in the space where her heart used to be that it had been Soka’s skills that saved their lives.

  “I’ve been scanning the shores, searching for the treasure,” Hex was saying. Bridget peered into the distance, but she couldn’t see much beyond the sparkly water. Hex seemed to have a similar problem. “So far, I haven’t seen any trace,” he said, looking peeved.

  “Maybe it sank to the bottom of the lake,” Fritz offered. “After all, Kieft just sent it down in canoes, right? It’s just as safe under all this water as it would be on the shore.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Hex replied, dismissing Fritz’s words with a wave. “Kieft cares about his secrets too much. He’d make certain the treasure was retrievable. We just can’t see it.”

  “Should we paddle around?” Rory asked, glancing across the lake.

  “What about the monster?” Bridget cut in, since no one else was saying anything. “What are we going to do about that?”

  “I’ve seen no sign of a monster,” Hex said. “Maybe it’s no longer here.”

  “No, it’s here, somewhere, I can feel it,” Rory said firmly, and the urgency in his voice made Bridget shudder. “We should get out of the water.”

  “But in which direction?” Hex asked, gesturing to include the wide expanse around them.

  “Well, didn’t Kieft stick the treasure in canoes?” Bridget asked. “That’s what we think, right? So if they didn’t sink, then wouldn’t they float in the same direction we’re floating right now? You can’t argue with basic fourth-grade science!”

  “That’s the only science you know,” Rory teased her, though she could tell her brother agreed with her. Hex didn’t say anything, but he reached down to pull out a paddle that had been fastened to the bottom of the boat. He handed it to her.

  “You’re the only one who won’t get tired,” he said. Bridget made a face at him, but took the paddle and dipped it into the water, first on one side, then the other. They moved forward in the same direction they’d been floating, cutting through the still lake toward the shore. As they came nearer to the shore, Bridget could make out a white band of sand that she assumed was a beach. As they approached it, she gave a happy shout at the sight of some dark forms bobbing in the water.

  “There they are!” Fritz announced. He glanced up to Bridget with a proud look on his tiny face. “Good thinking!” Bridget was glad her paper skin didn’t allow her to blush.

  They pulled up alongside the canoes, which had drifted up against the beach. Hex was the first to hop out, sinking into the lake up to his knees. Without even glancing to see if the others were following, he splashed over to the canoes and began to paw through their contents.

  “Hey, wait for us!” Bridget cried, angry at the greedy exgod. But Hex ignored her, muttering as he tore through Kieft’s treasure. Rory jumped out of the boat and pulled it up onto the shore as Bridget reached out her hand to Fritz and Clarence. Holding them up high in her palm, she climbed out of the canoe onto the soft, white beach and, together with Rory, ran over to see what Hex had found.

  She counted a dozen canoes floating in the water, bouncing up against one another. Most of the canoes held boxes, many of which had split open, probably during the fall into the lake. Strange items spilled out—gold figurines and strange symbols and old books. She spied a dried-up little head rolling in the corner of one canoe, while another held a life-size gold statue of a pharaoh. Hex was mumbling to himself as he rummaged through the booty.

  “Egyptian, Sumerian, African, Tibetan, Incan, voodoo . . . look at all the cultures he’s stolen from! So much magic! This is amazing!”

  “No wonder he’s so powerful,” Fritz said, gazing into the canoes from his place on Bridget’s hand. “He took from everyone.”

  “Think of what I could learn,” Hex was saying, his eyes shining with greed.

  “What about the Munsee magic?” Rory reminded him sharply. “Do you see any sign of those parchment pages?”

  “Look for pages with the Munsee sigils,” Hex advised him, all the while digging through the ancient artifacts himself. Rory poked around, flipping through books and loose pages, trying to find signs he recognized.

  Bridget walked down to the canoes at the far end. She noticed Fritz wasn’t even glancing at the loot; his eyes scanned the lake. “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “We’re not alone down here, remember?” he reminded her. “The quicker we find whatever we’re supposed to and get out of here, the better.”

  Of course . . . the monster. Bridget had almost forgotten in the excitement over the treasure. She ran to the last canoe, which held the strangest cargo—a long metal box, sealed up. Another wooden box sat at its foot, and this box had broken open, spilling out what looked like a rolled-up poster. Placing Fritz and Clarence into the canoe, she picked up the roll, feeling rough canvas, and unrolled it. She shouted in alarm, dropping the canvas into the canoe as she fell back into the sand.

  “Bridget, be quiet!” Fritz hissed as Rory and Hex came running over. “You’ll attract the wrong kind of attention!”

  “It was staring at me!” she cried. “Right at me!”

  Hex grabbed the canvas and unrolled it. His brow furrowed in perplexity at what he saw. “I don’t understand how this can be.” He showed the others the painting, for it was a painting. A portrait, of a narrow-faced man with large ears and a big, bushy beard. It looked like any portrait, except for the eyes. They seemed to pop out as if someone were standing right behind the painting, looking through. The eyes were alive.

  “This is a god portrait,” Hex said, confused. “This should be up in the Portrait Room. It looks familiar . . . I didn’t know you could take those portraits off the wall, especially when the god was still alive, as this one obviously is.”

  Bridget could see a name written small in the corner of the painting. She leaned in and read it aloud. “Peter Minuit.” She glanced up in confusion. “But he’s dead!”

  “I know,” Hex said, looking like he wished he could drop the thing. “I’ve seen this before! But the portrait I saw, the one hanging in the Portrait Room, has dead eyes. That’s how everyone knew he was gone.”

  “It looks like he isn’t gone, after all,” Fritz said. “Kieft must have switched the portraits.”

  “But why?” Rory asked. “To get the gods to make the Agreement with the land? To make it seem like the newcomers were fading away?”

  “They were fading away,” Hex replied. “It wasn’t only Minuit. Many of the gods grew weak and the mortals from whom they sprang were dying out as well. No, this wasn’t about the Agreement, I bet. This was something else. Could he have . . . no, not even Kieft would dare that.” He glanced at the large, metal box. “Or would he?” Hex stepped over to the box, running his hands along the smooth metal surface.

  “What are you thinking?” Rory asked uncertainly. “What’s in the box?”

  Hex didn’t reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to chant. After a moment the box began to glow softly until finally, the top popped open
. Hex’s jaw dropped at what he saw.

  “I don’t believe it . . .”

  Bridget ran over to Hex’s side, and her jaw joined Hex’s on the floor. Inside the box lay the body of a man, senseless but still breathing. He was dressed in old Dutch clothing, and his beard was matted and dirty. Bridget recognized him right away, given that she’d just been staring at his portrait.

  “What is Peter Minuit’s body doing in a box among Kieft’s treasure?” Fritz asked. “I don’t understand.”

  Rory bent over the body and lifted the chain around its neck up to take a good look at the locket. Bridget shuddered—it was like fooling with a corpse and she didn’t like it. Rory turned and showed them the necklace—half the gold locket was gone.

  “Do you think Kieft took it?”

  “I don’t know how he could,” Hex said. “That’s supposed to be impossible.”

  They stood there, staring at the body, wondering what it could mean, until finally Hex turned away. “We’ve got to grab as much stuff as we can and get out of here before that creature of yours shows up,” he said, walking back to the other canoes. Rory ran to his side.

  “No! We’re only supposed to take one thing away. And that’s gonna be the spell to save my mom!”

  “I made no such promises,” Hex said, picking up a small idol. Rory grabbed it out of his hands and threw it back into the canoe.

  “I promised!” he said. “If you want to bring any magic out with you, you better start memorizing some spells.”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that, you little brat!” Hex yelled, his voice echoing across the lake. Fritz hissed at him to quiet down, but the fallen god ignored the roach. “I told you I would help you in return for magic to humble Kieft, and I will take that magic! You have no right to keep me from my spoils!”

  “That wasn’t the deal,” Rory began, but Hex cut him off.

  “I don’t care about your deal!” he shouted.

  “Shut up!” Fritz told them. “Do you hear that?”