“Rubbish,” Margaret said.
Stuart lifted an impatient hand and continued. “Mr. Ogilvy removed an old book from his library shelf. It was covered in reptile skin and was large and cumbersome. He said the book predated the Magna Carta Libertatum by over a thousand years. Inside it spoke of powers, lands, and sorcery found nowhere in any book I’ve ever read or heard about.”
“Found nowhere because it’s fiction.”
Stuart continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “It also spoke of a date in the near future that would mark the beginning of the end of their kind. The Epoch Terminus he called it. It spoke of a terrible war in which sorcerers would all but destroy themselves. I asked him where he’d acquired this book. After swearing an oath that I wouldn’t share this with anyone but you, Ogilvy told me. He said he was part of a magical council very much like the parliament. His family has sat on this council for over a hundred generations. Ogilvy said that the book passes from father to son.”
“I asked him why none of this was common knowledge. He told me the unfaithful-the nonbelievers-pushed their magical kin and their beliefs away generations ago. They didn’t want any part of what they couldn’t understand. They were frightened of magic. They called it witchcraft, devilry, evil. The faithful, as they call themselves, were and continue to be chastised, outcast, and even murdered. History was and is being rewritten denying their very existence. A genocide of our own countrymen is happening as you and I converse. So now Mr. Ogilvy sits on both the parliament and his magical council in hopes of gaining a better understanding of the unfaithful, who now far outnumber those who believe.”
“And let me guess, he’s recruited you for his cause. Save the freaks. How can you believe in that nonsense? The government scientists have all but explained it away. All explainable scientific phenomena.”
“That’s exactly what I said. I wanted proof. If there truly was this magical world among our own, I wanted some evidence. Of course he knew I would ask, and he was well prepared. Behind a bookshelf was a hidden staircase, which spiraled deep into the bowels of the manor house. By torchlight we walked down the stone passage until we came to a massive room. He whispered an unfamiliar word and candles surrounding the room burst with flame. ‘Don’t worry!’ Ogilvy said. ‘That’s just the beginning.’ And indeed it was. Stuart sipped his tea.
“Waist-high stone troughs weaved this way and that through the room. Glowing liquids of every color flowed through the troughs. He encouraged me to step close to one that was flowing a particularly vibrant shade of purple. He raised his hands over the trough and again whispered an unfamiliar word. The liquid stopped flowing from left to right and began to flow toward the center of the trough where Ogilvy’s hands hovered. The liquid pooled there until it looked as if it would spill over the edges.
“Then it rose up out of the pool like icicles from the ground. He appeared to be siphoning it with his hands until each strand of liquid had delivered its contents into his palms. With another word and a wave of his hands, we were encased in the purple liquid. It was as if a shroud covered us. I reached my hand into the shroud, expecting it to be wet. No moisture did I feel. The energy, Margaret. I felt such energy. And then it happened.” “What happened?” Margaret asked, finding herself captivated to her own chagrin.
“We were gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean?” she asked.
“We no longer stood in the musty dungeon.”
“Then where were you?”
“Precisely my question. ‘Where are we?’ I asked. It was bright, warm, and pleasant. Only after the purple haze cleared could I begin to fathom our location. Behind us stood mountains higher than I’d ever set eyes upon. In front of us were grasslands as far as the eye could see. Grazing animals peppered the flatlands like leaves in autumn. I’d only read of places like that in books.
“Mr. Ogilvy said we were in Africa. I had to take him at his word, having never been there. Regardless of where we actually were, the fact was we’d gone somewhere. We’d traveled out of the dungeon by means I could not comprehend. We stayed for but a moment before he reached into his cloak, retrieved a small bag, and tossed its contents above us. Once again we were enshrouded in the purple mist. A moment later, we were back in his laboratory, as he calls it.”
“Impossible,” Margaret said with a hint of curiosity in her voice-or perhaps it was a hint of doubt.
“I wouldn’t have believed it had it not happened to me,” Stuart replied.
“Perhaps the purple liquid contained some type of drug. He drugged you, and you thought you’d left the dungeon, but in reality, you didn’t travel at all.”
“One of the many reasons why I married you my dear Margaret is that your mind is as sharp as a blade. Once I gained my footing in the dungeon-err, laboratory-and my head stopped spinning, I suggested the same thing. Ogilvy then asked me if I believed in God, and when I said I did, he asked if I had ever seen God. As you know, I have not, and when I shared this information with Ogilvy, he asked, ‘Then what makes you believe?’”
“I told him that a nonbeliever could be shown undeniable evidence that God exists and still deny his existence. Eventually, I said that faith is required. A smile crossed Ogilvy’s face, and he said, ‘So what you’re saying is that you could show me unquestionable proof of God’s existence, and if I still want to deny him, I could. However, if I were to allow for a small measure of faith then everything would fall into place. Allow yourself, Mr. Stuart, to consider the possibility that magic does indeed exist and magic will become apparent every day of your life.’
“I couldn’t help but marvel at the parallels. We left the laboratory, and I spent another day with Mr. Ogilvy. We discussed nothing but faith, as they call it, and how the faithful were being shunned from normal society. They were being looked at as outcasts, as diseased. Magic folk are peaceful. Never in the history of the written word have the faithful ever engaged the unfaithful in open combat. It is against their laws to kill another.
“I left with a promise from Mr. Ogilvy that he would come calling so A knock at the front door interrupted Stuart’s recounting. Nigel hurried by the open doorway toward the hall. Both Margaret and Stuart listened as the large front door groaned open then closed with a bang. A quiet conversation was followed by footsteps until Nigel was standing at the doorway.
“He is here,” said Nigel with a nervous expression. Stuart moved toward the entryway.
“May I introduce… Akil Karanis.”
Nigel stepped aside as a tall, lean man moved in from the hallway. What hair remained on his head was cropped close to his bronze skin. He wore a long goatee, which was all white but for a few strands of grey. His pleasant expression was accentuated by the bright blue of the three-piece suit he was wearing. Margaret had never seen something so bright-or so ridiculous.
Stuart exchanged greetings in some bowing manner that Margaret could only see from behind and thought only added to the absurdity of the situation. Stuart welcomed the tall man into the room and offered him his seat behind the desk. Akil declined and stepped over to greet Margaret.
“My sincere apologies. How rude!” Stuart said realizing his omission. “Margaret, this is Akil Karanis,” he said, sweat now beading on his forehead.
Akil extended his hand. Margaret, being ever stubborn remained seated and only looked at the man as he attempted to greet her. Stuart stepped forward to reprimand his wife for her impropriety and Akil raised a silencing hand.
“I imagine the conversation that preceded my entry has left you in a state of enthrallment only to be out- done by what is to follow and therefore excuse your absence of social grace,” Akil said with a smile.
Margaret couldn’t tell if she was being insulted or compliment so she simply remained seated and said nothing. She was glad to have someone to interrupt her husband’s nonsensical storytelling. Stuart rounded the desk and sat while Akil leaned slightly against the bookshelf and looked at Stuart.
“Where was I?” Stuart asked. “Yes, of course. Sure enough after another meeting of parliament the following winter, Mr. Ogilvy approached me again. He said there would be a gathering that very night of the magical council and he would like me to attend. I agreed. Ogilvy took me into the basement of the parliament building away from unfaithful eyes. Once again he removed the marble-size bag from his cloak and encased us in what he called transporting powder.”
“An instant later we stood upon a grassy plateau in yet another land with which I was unfamiliar. Ruins of an ancient civilization stood nearby. Below us were mountains and valleys surrounded by clouds. Imagine being above the clouds, looking down on them. It was almost as if we were hovering above the earth.”
“Perhaps it would be best if I took it from here,” interrupted Akil.
