The Rise of Magicks

by Nora Roberts

  “Oh yeah. I’m writing copy in my head right now.”

  Fallon continued to study Hargrove, who sat in his fine suit, his false medals glinting while he cradled his burned hand. No power in him, she thought. Only what he’d stolen, what he’d killed for, what he’d grasped.

  Now his hands were empty.

  “Why don’t you do your interview now. You might want to get some statements from the others. We’ll send a medic to treat the wounded.”

  “It’s more than they did for prisoners,” Duncan noted.

  “Yes. We’re more than they are.” She turned her back on Hargrove. “Communications?”

  “I’m with you.” Duncan took her hand.

  * * *

  The battle of D.C. waged from dawn to dusk. More than four thousand lost their lives and more than three thousand were wounded in the bloodiest day since the Doom.

  LFL forces freed more than two hundred prisoners, and their strike forces found and freed another fifty from secondary containments, and sixty more, primarily children, held in an underground section of what had been the National Gallery of Art.

  Resistance forces, numbering approximately fifteen hundred, joined with the LFL to defeat the government troops and the DUs.

  General Dennis Urla formally surrendered the city. He, James Hargrove, Dr. Terrance Carter, Commander Lawrence Otts, and other key figures in the city’s rule, along with two thousand enemy troops, were taken as prisoners of war.

  With her father, Fallon stood in a vault, stared with some wonder at the stacks of gold bars, of silver, the wink and glint of jewels set in more gold for adornment. Cases of diamonds, cold and white.

  “I wanted you to see,” she told him. “We found another, full of art, old masters. I recognized some from books. Duncan recognized more.”

  “Hoarding it all. Hargrove’s personal treasure house. He—or somebody—looted the museums. Maybe at first—give them the benefit—to protect, but this? Hoarding, and for what?”

  “He—and those like him—would still see this as wealth, and in wealth, power. The metal and stones can be useful, for engineering, building, mechanics, and in magicks. The art should be preserved. One day, it should be housed again, where people can see it, students can study it. It belongs to no one because it belongs to everyone.”

  Simon tapped a gold bar with a battle-stained finger. “There are some who’d kill for this. It doesn’t matter you can’t plant it, eat it, keep warm with it.”

  “Yeah. White kills for bigotry, for his wrathful god, but still draped Arlington in riches as he saw them. Hargrove kills for power and this. And this.” She gestured around the vault. “Because for him and those like him, those bars of metal can make one man a king, and the lack of them makes others slaves. That time is over.”

  * * *

  Arlys recorded all of it, with footage of the battle, of the condition of government prisoners and their rescue in her broadcast from the White House. She ended with a shot of the white standard flying through the battle smoke over the ruined city.

  With Fallon, she sat with Hargrove in his cell. With her camera on a tripod, she took notes.

  Though pale, he’d recovered some of his arrogance. “You’ve committed treason against the United States of America. You will hang for it. Our military and our allies will, I promise you, cut through you and wipe you off the face of this earth.”

  “Allies like Jeremiah White and his cult? Allies that stand by while you sign orders to torture, maim, kill? Orders directing children be locked away in the dark and half starved? You kept infants locked away, infants born after you forcibly impregnated women. Six infants in this, once the people’s house. And embryos, fetuses, found in jars in your laboratories here.

  “How many more people, children, infants, unborn are locked away by your orders?”

  “You’re not people. You’re not human.”

  “I bleed, I breathe, I think, I feel. I know right from wrong, light from dark. How many more, and where are their locations?”

  “I am the president of the United States! I am the commander in chief.”

  “Self-appointed following a military coup on what was left of the government and this city,” Arlys said briskly as she took her notes. “They weren’t much better than you.”

  “No,” Fallon agreed, “not much better. If we were like them, like you, like the Dark Uncanny you’ve both used and fought against, I would cut you down with a thought.”

  He paled at that, drew back. “White’s right about you. You’re from hell.”

  “No, but you? I see the dark in you, the human dark, the dark with no power but force and cruelty. Your time’s done.” She rose. “You don’t have to tell me where you hold prisoners. There are other ways to find them.”

  “Torture. Black magicks.”

  He believed that, she realized. Believed every word of his own lies. “You’re alive. Your hand’s been given medical attention. You’ll be humanely treated. But you’ll never know freedom again. I don’t want your death. It’s enough to know that you’ll be here, under this dead city, for the rest of your life.”

  “I have a couple more questions. Mr. Hargrove,” Arlys began.

  “I am the president commander!”

  “There is some dispute over that, but as president you’d swear to uphold the Constitution. Isn’t it a violation of the Constitution, of basic human rights, of all decency, to forcibly impregnate females detained and contained for experimental purposes?”

  “They’re not human! Freaks! Abominations!”

  “You consider the half-starved children I recorded being released from what’s essentially a dungeon abominations?” Arlys crossed her legs, settled in. “Let’s talk about abominations.”

  Fallon left him to Arlys—skilled hands, she knew. She left the others who’d followed him, taken his orders, ignored their humanity in the glass cages and walked back into the lab area.

  Mallick waited for her.

  Her heart lifted. “I’m so glad to see you. Glad to see you unharmed.”

  “You have the city. Even the crows have deserted it. It was once a seat of power. Will it be yours?”

  “No. Those like Hargrove destroyed its light. It’ll never shine again. Now, it’s a prison. We’ll secure it, hold it, but there’s no center here.”

  “I agree.”

  “The issue will be feeding, housing, securing, treating medical needs for the prisoners. My last report numbered them at four thousand. We can’t hold that many here, not humanely.”

  “I have a thought on that. I should say Duncan and I had a mutual thought.”

  “I’d like to hear it. Not here.” She looked around at the remnants of torture. “I want air and movement. Let’s go out to the base. I’m more comfortable with a military base, even if it was the enemy’s.”

  As they walked upstairs, through the building, she watched her people securing areas, transferring supplies, taking more up to what would serve as a temporary infirmary for those not seriously wounded.

  “I’m told you’ve ordered anything of real historical value to be preserved and secured.”

  “We have some with knowledge helping categorize,” she confirmed. “This house, this city, the country, the world? It won’t ever be what it was. Still, we need to value history, and art, and remember.”

  “You learned well.”

  “You taught well.”

  She walked outside with him into the cold, breezy night. Much of the base had joined the rubble—she’d destroyed some of it herself. But it could and would be rebuilt, as needed.

  “You’ll station some here.”

  “Yeah. Straight shot to New York. Soon, Mallick. We have the momentum. And we’ll have more weapons, more troops. I only heard part of Arlys’s broadcast earlier, but that will bring more to us.”

  “And more against you.”

  “It’s time to dig them out.”

  “You hope for one in particular.”

  She lo
oked out into the night. “Two. Not just Petra. Her mother along with her. In my heart, in my belly, I yearn for it.”

  He let out a sigh that had his breath expelling in a cloud. “Such yearnings dim the light.”

  “Do they?” Didn’t her shield hang on her back to defend, her sword wait at her side to strike? “Inside me I feel they’re the way through to the black, the very absence of light that crouches and watches. Is it because I want it to be, or because it is? I don’t know.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “They bring death, madness, pain, grief. While they exist, that won’t stop. Petra and Allegra won’t stop until I stop them.” She shook it off. “But it won’t be today. What we stopped today is part of them, but only part. Your idea?”

  “Duncan and I discussed the problem of prisoners. The numbers—and how those numbers will increase. How much of our troops, resources are involved in keeping them.”

  “We can hardly eliminate them.”

  “There are places, islands. Remote, all but inaccessible to non-magickals. Places with natural resources. Food, materials to build shelters. Land that could be farmed and grazed.”

  “Island prisons.”

  “Ones more easily supervised, again remotely. Provide them with basic tools, materials. Their life would be what they make of it.”

  “Saving us from using troops and medicals to guard and treat, resources to feed and clothe. Do you have locations in mind?”

  “I do.”

  “I’d like to see them. If we do this, we should start with prisoners we feel are capable of living without locks and walls to hold them. Travis and other empaths could help select the first we placed. Some will have families, Mallick.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then they and their families can be given the choice.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “God, if we can relocate even a few hundred for now, it would relieve some of the strain.”

  “Some will swear allegiance to you.”

  “And some will mean it. Those who do increase our number. How many were forced to fight? How many didn’t know what they did in there? How many pretended not to know? And how many knew and deemed it good? We’ll find out.”

  She studied him then, realized he looked tired, a little worn around the eyes. “I need to go to Arlington, see the rescues, the troops, then home. New Hope. Eighty-two I led from New Hope this morning won’t go home again. Some of them had families.”

  “They’ll be mourned and honored.”

  “They will. Does Duncan know the islands you have in mind?”

  “I showed him.”

  “All right, he can show me. You go back to the cottage.”

  Surprise crossed his face, followed quickly by annoyance. “I don’t believe my usefulness ends this day.”

  “No, and because it doesn’t, because I need you, go home, Mallick. One week. It’s what my father calls R and R. Take a week, tend the bees, drink wine by the fire. Then come back to me.”

  “And you, girl, do you take a week for bees and wine?”

  “I’m damn well going to take a day or two. A week for you, old man.” Before he could evade it, she wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll need your guidance, your strength. Please, take a week.”

  He touched a hand to her hair. “Then take the two days.”

  “Deal. Starting tomorrow. Now I need to find Colin, take him back to Arlington. Should I have someone bring your horse?”

  “I can get my own horse. Bright blessings on you, Fallon Swift.”

  “And on you, Mallick of Wales.”

  He flashed away, and she went inside.

  She found not only Colin but Flynn and Starr in the Residence, divvying up cups and plates. And with Flynn, standing close to his side, a wolf.

  Not yet full grown, she noted, a smoky gray with gold eyes that shifted to her, watched.

  “Flynn.”

  He turned, teacups in his hands, bruises on his left cheek, dried blood on his right.

  “He came to me only yesterday,” he told her. “He walked out of the wood, and waited for me.” Flynn set the cups down, laid a hand on the wolf’s head. “He’s from Lupa. I can feel it. One of the sons of his sons, blood of his blood.”

  “Yes, and he’s yours. His name?”

  “He’s Blaidd.”

  “Wolf in Welsh.”

  Beside Flynn, Starr, who rarely smiled at all, grinned. “Mallick sent him. Flynn felt it. Mallick sent him on the path to Flynn.”

  “I want to tell him I’m grateful. There wasn’t time in the battle.”

  “I’ve sent him to his cottage for a week. I wanted him to rest a few days.”

  Satisfied, Flynn reached for more plates. “I’ll detour there on my way back to base.”

  “I need you in New Hope now. Who can take your command?”

  Flynn looked at Starr.

  “Do you want it?” Fallon asked her, and at Starr’s nod, said, “The command’s yours. And with it I hope to send you a hundred resistance fighters.”

  “Then you really are going to need all these fancy dishes,” Colin commented. “You’d better find something to use to carry them. Mick’s called for some of the cooking stuff. He wants to set up a secondary camp.”

  “You’ve seen Mick?” Another breath of relief. “He’s okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s good. We’re going to need some of the sheets and shit for Arlington if we’re going to handle the rescues for now.”

  “Let’s get what you need and go. I want to see all the commanders in New Hope tomorrow—” She broke off, remembering she made a deal. “No, in two days. Flynn, can you pass the word? And let my parents know I’ll be home either tomorrow or the day after?”

  She gathered sheets—and towels—with Colin.

  “You’re okay?” she asked him.

  “A to the okay. Hell of a fight, Fal. Some of them ran like rabbits at the end of it. I had a couple of DUs homing in on me. I’ve got a couple of witches to thank for that block.”

  He stopped, grinned. “We took fucking D.C. Who’s president now?”

  “Still not you.” And, taking his hand, took them to Arlington.

  Fallon toured the houses where they relocated rescues. Volunteers and soldiers had hauled in extra beds, cots, mattresses. In kitchens, more volunteers made soups, teas while medicals treated injuries.

  In one large family room, Fallon counted twenty-five beds. Some slept, some ate, others simply sat huddled under blankets.

  The air—she could breathe it—tasted of their fatigue, confusion, fears, hopes. Volunteers moved through, offering tea, soup, and sometimes just a hand to hold.

  She saw Travis sitting with a woman. Long gray hair, withered face. Murmuring to her as he draped a blanket over her shoulders. Nearby, Hannah tucked in two children together. They clung to each other.

  Travis rose and, clipboard in hand, wound his way through the beds to come to her.

  “I’m working on getting names, ages, abilities, whatever I can. Stories. It’s … it’s so fucked-up. It’s beyond fucked-up.”

  Feeling his fury, she put a hand on his shoulder. “They’re safe now. We’ll take care of them.”

  “How do they get through it? The woman I just talked to? Susan Grant. Empath, like me. She was a teacher, lost everyone in the Doom. She got out of Dallas with a small group—a couple of her students with them—and ended up in east Tennessee, where they decided to settle. She started a little school. She said she never explored her other powers because they spooked her. She just wanted to teach, you know?”

  “How long has she been in containment?”

  “She’s not sure. Five or six years, she thinks. Government forces swept in—night raid. She thinks some got away. They used electric shock therapy on her, Fallon. Put her in isolation—sensory depravation. And she thinks they did some kind of brain surgery. She can’t remember. But after, if she tried to feel, to get a sense of someone, she’d get a blinding headache. They took what she was, and made it p
ain.”

  “They won’t touch her again.”

  “How many more?” he demanded. “How many more like her, like the rest we got out today? Jesus, can’t you hear them screaming?”

  She did the only thing she could think of. She pulled him into her, pushed calm into him. “You need a break.”

  “They didn’t get one. Sorry.” Breathing deep, struggling to settle, he drew back. “It’s getting to me. Some of them can’t even remember their names until I push in deep enough to find them. The bastards did everything they could to erase them. To make them nothing.”

  He drew in another breath. “Yeah, you’re right. I need a break or I’m not going to be able to help. I’ll take a walk, get some air.”

  “Good.”

  “While I’m at it, I’ll pass what I’ve got up the chain for the records. I’ll be back.”

  “You could use some sleep.”

  With eyes full of feelings, he looked around the room. “None of us are going to get much sleep tonight. I’ll be back.”

  When he went out, Hannah came over.

  “I didn’t want to interrupt. He’s taking on a lot. These rescues, they’re just so full.” Fatigue leached her face of color, compassion glowed under it as she pressed a hand to her heart. “You know what I mean? And Travis can’t help but take it in. Did you talk him into calling it a night?”

  “No, but he’s taking a break. What about you?”

  “I’m going to bunk down here. We’re stationing medics in every rescue area tonight.”

  “Where are the babies, the rest of the kids?”

  Hannah took her arm, drew her a little farther away. “Rachel and your mother took them back to New Hope. Nobody knows who the babies belong to. Some of the women remember being pregnant, but they don’t remember giving birth. They’d take them into the lab, from what we’re piecing together, put them under. We need to go through the medical records.”

  “We have them.”

  “Not all of the women came back. And not all of them were at term when they were taken away. Fallon, I always knew, but … I guess some part of me wouldn’t believe anyone, anyone could do what’s being done. Now I know it’s worse than what I thought I knew.”