“How did you even discover the map?”
“Strange, really. I had just finished one of the volumes and set it on my night table. The next morning it was gone. At first I thought someone had stolen it until I found it back on the bookshelf in the exact spot from which I had taken it. Thinking perhaps I had sleepwalked or been in a partial daze when I returned it, I thought nothing more of it. I picked another volume from the shelf and read it over the course of several days. Again I set it on my night table after completing it, and again the next morning I found it returned to its former location. Perplexed, I decided to take two books from the shelf and read them simultaneously just to see what would happen. As I made for the stairs one of the books flew from my hands and onto the shelf. I pulled it off the shelf again and stepped toward the stairs once more and once more the book returned itself to the shelf. Perplexed, I took three books. This time two of the three leapt from my grasp and back on the shelf. While experimenting with the number and duration the books were off the shelf, I noticed writing appeared in a space where I had removed the books. By the time I was able to make out anything, the books had always returned to their former locations. Out of frustration I dumped the bookcase.”
“So it was exactly your inability to manage your emotions that led to this discovery. Ironic,” Luno said with a chuckle.
— 17 -
October 1895, Ireland
Twelve-year-old James and his mother stood along the water beneath stone cliffs that wrapped the coastline in either direction. Just in front of them stood a cluster of hexagonal stones that stretched out into the calm sea. Margaret stepped out onto the rocks, nearly every stone was perfectly hewn. James couldn’t help but marvel at the site. Margaret stood over one of the few poorly hewn stones, extended her hands and said, “Harlandu.” The sides of the stone beneath her hands began to fall away in tiny grains. James surveyed the area as she continued her work. Off in the distance James saw a large set of hexagonal stone cut right into the cliff side. They stretched dozens of feet up the cliff.
“Who did those?” asked James.
Margaret stopped what she was doing and looked toward where James was pointing.
“While he’ll never admit to it, it is said that Akil himself made that set when he was but a child. He even gave it a name, the organ.
James could see why he had called it that. The hexagonal sections of stone were grouped so tightly, they resembled massive organ pipes he’d seen in churches.
“I want you to try now, James.”
“I don’t want to try.”
“Remember your lessons. Less than a month ago you were more than proficient at this exercise.”
James exhaled in defiance yet began to move over a stone that had not been cut. Slowly, he extended his hands, lamenting the fact that carving these stones had become a rite of passage for young sorcerers.
“ Harlandu,” he said. A few flecks of stone fell from the side of the stone but nothing more. Exasperated, James lowered his hands without looking up at his mother, whose face he was sure was full of disappointment.
All at once he felt threatened. He turned, but it was too late as he was struck by an invisible incantation that sent him onto the uneven stone surface. Immediately, Margaret was at his side.
“James,” she said, lifting his head from the ground and inspecting where it had caught the corner of a stone. James had a faraway look in his eyes.
“James,” Margaret said again more sternly.
She could hear him whispering. She leaned her ear closer to his mouth.
“Speak up, child,” she said.
She listened again. She knew words were coming, but she could not make them out.
Margaret held out her hand and said, “ Sendatu.” A blue mist fell from her palm and gathered around James’s head wound. In less than a minute, James took a deep breath and refocused his eyes on his mother. Tears began rolling down his face.
“I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t even defend myself.”
“It will come back. We must be patient,” said Margaret.
She sat him up, and after a moment, helped him to his feet. Together they walked to a set of steps carved into the rock. A raven flew overhead cawing in the humid salty air and causing both of them to freeze. Margaret pushed James against the cliff face and signaled him to stay put. She readied her bow and nocked an arrow. Cautiously, she ascended the stairs.
Just as she reached the top a cloaked figure stepped in front of her.
“Show yourself or you will die at the tip of my enchanted arrow,” she said, bow drawn.
The figure immediately displayed his empty hands then slowly pulled the hood away. It was Tabitha Ogilvy. Margaret immediately lowered her arrow.
“He wants to meet with you,” she said urgently.
“Who?” Margaret asked.
“Alvaro.”
“Is it a trap?”
“Most likely.”
“What’s going on?” James asked, lowering his short-sword as he mounted the last of the steps.
Downtown London, Kensington Gardens
The crowds meandered by, enjoying the unusually pleasant weather. Margaret moved with the crowd toward her destination at the opposite end of the park. Once she’d reached the fountain, she paused, looking around for any sign of Alvaro. She had wanted to meet him among a crowd, hoping it would give him pause should he be tempted to try something. He had agreed to all of her stipulations, which made her nervous, yet somehow intrigued her even though he was most likely responsible for her husband’s death. She felt that he was desperate to tell her something. For the first time since she learned of her son’s prophetic rise, she felt in control.
“Madame Stuart,” Alvaro said.
She turned quickly, surprised by his sudden appearance. Nobody would dare use magic so publicly. It made her very uncomfortable that he was able to sneak up on her despite her training. She looked into his eyes for some sign of guilt or information she could use to implicate him in the death of the man she had grown to love not once, but twice. To Margret’s dismay, his expression was sad. He looked truly anguished. Margaret knew better.
“Let us walk, shall we?” he asked, pointing along the main path.
They began walking.
“I would first like to offer my condolences. I’ve heard a great many things about your husband. He was converted was he not?”
“Yes,” Margaret replied.
“Fascinating. Few believed any convert could harness such power.”
“What do you know of my husband’s death?” Margaret asked.
“You are quite direct, are you not? Very well. There is a powerful sorcerer who believes your son is the Anointed One, written of in the ancient texts by the first seer. They believe he will bring a stop to the Epoch Terminus. He came to your husband not long after your son was born. He and another man named Ogilvy were the first to introduce your husband to our world. To train him in our ways.”
“Akil?”
“Yes, Akil. Some say he is the most powerful sorcerer alive. I don’t doubt he would disagree. But that man is the epitome of arrogance. Above all else, Akil desires power. At the height of his power, Akil began searching for the Anointed One. When he found James, he knew immediately that the boy was special. Not only did he meet all
