A Wizard of the White Council (12 page)

“One thing,” said Schzeran. “How are we going to explain this to the boss?” 

“Kurkov’s preoccupied,” said Krastiny. “Why do you think we’ve had so much time for poker lately? I doubt he’ll need anyone killed for at least a few weeks.”

“All right,” said Schzeran. He and Bronsky rose. “What will you do?”

“Me?” said Krastiny. “I will look at yearbooks. After all, how many red-headed female honors students can one city have? Quite a few, possibly, but not all that many.”

Schzeran grinned. “Let’s get started, then. God. Five million!” He and Bronsky left. 

Krastiny sighed and gathered up the deck. He no longer wanted anything to do with Marugon and his dark magic. 

The sooner this business was over, the better. 

Chapter 10 - Who I Really Am

Anno Domini 2012

Arran stepped off the bus and walked through the crowds, swinging his sheathed Sacred Blade like a cane. A marked chill hung in the air, and dead leaves lay across the sidewalk, crinkling beneath his boots. People walked past, huddled in their coats. The chill did not bother Arran. He had spent nights in far colder places. 

He stopped across the street from the coffeehouse and took a deep breath. 

His guess had been correct.

He watched Ally Wester as she walked towards the coffeehouse’s door. Her red hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a jacket and trousers of blue denim. A backpack hung over her shoulder, bouncing against her back with every step she took. He watched as she opened the door and disappeared into the coffeehouse.

Arran had asked Dr. Francis about her, and Dr. Francis claimed to have never met Ally Wester. Arran had let it pass without comment. He had been sure Dr. Francis was lying, despite all the aid she had given him. No doubt she wanted to protect Ally from harm. Arran could not fault the old woman for that, but he needed more information. His investigation at Wycliffe’s warehouse complex had only brought him more questions. He needed to talk with Ally Wester. 

She knew something of what he sought, he was sure of it. 

Arran crossed the street, making sure his gun was concealed beneath his coat. Dr. Francis had told him that the rulers of the United States had laws against carrying weapons. Besides, Arran did not want to frighten Ally Wester. He had frightened her enough during their previous meeting.

He pushed open the coffeehouse’s door. Most of the tables and booths stood empty, and a lone clerk stood at the counter, reading a newspaper. Ally sat alone at a booth in the corner. Several books lay open on her table, alongside numerous pages of handwritten notes. 

Arran took a deep breath and walked over.

Ally frowned, looked up at him, and her face went still.

“Greetings,” said Arran. 

Ally licked her lips. “I…ah…I thought I might see you again.” 

“I wish to apologize,” said Arran. “I caused you some distress. That was not my intent.” 

Ally shook her head. “No, no. It’s nothing. You just…you just startled me, that’s all.” Her eyes strayed to his Sacred Blade. “And you asked all those questions.”

“I offended your friend,” said Arran.

Ally grinned, the shadows fleeing her face. “Mary? She’s just…very protective. She thinks she owes me. She’s a good friend.” 

“A loyal friend is a rare gift,” said Arran, remembering Siduri. “Very rare, indeed.” He paused. “May I sit?” 

Ally shrugged. “If you want.” 

Arran sat across from her and leaned his sword against the wall. She watched him, face calm, but her dark eyes followed his every movement. His very presence must unnerve her. “I would not trouble you, but I have no other choice.”

“What do you mean?”

Arran leaned closer. “I am looking for two people, I told you that the night we met. I think you might know where at least one of them is.” 

Ally began putting her books and her notes into her backpack. “Why?” She was getting ready to leave.

“How old are you?” he said.

She gave him a look. “Nineteen. Not that it’s any of your business.” She shoved the books into her pack and zipped it up. 

“Wait. Wait!” Arran raised a hand. “Just listen to me. Please.” She watched him with an icy, fearful stare. “You would have been about nine or ten years of age when you came to this country, is that not so?”

Ally flinched. “Does this have a point?” She began to rise.

“It does,” said Arran. “Nine or ten. That is when you were taken in as a ward, is it not?” 

A look of dawning horror came over her face. “You mean adopted?”

“Yes. That is the word here. Adopted. That’s when you were adopted, isn’t it?” 

Ally sat back down. “How the hell do you know that?” 

“It’s obvious, if one knows where to look,” said Arran. “You have a slight accent. And you recognized me.” She shook her head. “Then I at least seemed familiar to you. And deny it all you wish, but you recognized my sword.” He tapped his Sacred Blade. “There are only two swords like this in the United States, perhaps even this world, and I have both of them in my possession. So what do I think? I think you are not native to the United States. You must have come from my nation, from Carlisan, or from one of the other High Kingdoms. Is that not so?” 

Ally stared at nothing for a long time. “I…I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t remember anything that happened before I was ten or eleven. I don’t remember getting adopted.” Her voice began to shake. “So what if I came from your country? What does it matter? People here adopt orphans from other countries all the time. That’s…that’s probably what happened with me. Why should you even care?”

“Because,” said Arran. “It is as I have told you. I am looking for two people from my nation.”

Ally raised her eyebrows. “And am I one of them?”

Arran shook his head. “No, I am not looking for you. But I think you know the people I am looking for.”

“Then who are you looking for?” said Ally.

“Master Alastarius of the White Council.” Ally’s face twitched at the name. “Do you know of him?” 

“Before you mentioned that name the other night, I’ve never heard it before in my life.” 

Arran doubted that, but chose not to press it. Perhaps she had heard it in her childhood and since forgotten. “Very well. The other one I seek, then. Lithon Scepteris, of Carlisan…”

He did not finish the sentence. Ally jerked as if he had struck her. “Who?” 

Arran watched her. “Lithon Scepteris, of Carlisan.” He felt a rising excitement. She recognized the name. “You know him?”

“Who?” Her voice croaked. “Who is he? Why did you want to find him?”

“Lithon Scepteris is the rightful King of Carlisan,” said Arran. “I told you what Lord Marugon did to the High Kingdoms. The head of my Order, Sir Liam Mastere,” she flinched again, “saw the inevitable. It had been foretold that one day Lithon would defeat Marugon. So Sir Liam rescued Lithon from the fall of Carlisan.” Arran still remembered that awful day, the blood, the scream, the Scepteris Palace ripping apart in a titanic fireball. “Sir Liam knew that Marugon would never think to look for Lithon in the United States. He brought Lithon here, but perished in the attempt. I remained behind, in the High Kingdoms, fighting Marugon’s soldiers. Eventually I was wounded and near death. A woman named Siduri saved me. She was killed, but before she died, she told me to find Alastarius here. So here I have come, looking for Alastarius.” 

“Alastarius.” Ally shivered. “That name. Who is he?” 

“He was the Master of the White Council…a respected leader of my nation,” said Arran. He bit back a grimace, remembering the havoc Alastarius’s Prophecy had played on his life. 

Sir Liam had died for that Prophecy. Siduri had died for that Prophecy. 

“No,” said Ally, leaning forward. Some strange mixture of fear and foresight crossed her face. “Who was he really?”

Arran stared back. “He…was a Wizard.” He waited for Ally to laugh. She did not. “So do you know Lithon Scepteris?”

“I…I might,” said Ally. 

“Can you take me to him?” said Arran. 

“No,” said Ally. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know why you want to see him. You are…you are…” She shook her head. “Something terrible happened to me and Lithon. I don’t remember, but I know it happened. Something awful. We were safe here on Earth,” she frowned, “in Chicago, I mean. And now you want to find him.”

“I do not mean you any ill!” said Arran. “I spent a year protecting Lithon when he was a small child. I sacrificed a great deal so that he could be raised in safety here. I mean him no ill. What must I do to convince you?”

“You’re not telling me the truth,” said Ally.

“I most certainly…”

“No,” said Ally, “about yourself. About everything. I see it in your face. This is what you can do, Arran Belphon. You’ll tell me everything. Don’t leave a damned word out. I’ll know if you do. I know you think I won’t believe it. I don’t care. Tell me.”

Arran blinked, chilled. It was as if she had read his mind. “Very well. I…”

“I have to go,” said Ally. She stood.

“Wait!” said Arran, leaping to his feet. “I will tell you everything, I swear.” 

Ally grimaced. “It’s not that. I have to go to work. Look. I come here often. I’ll be back tomorrow around five o’clock. You can tell me then.”

Arran stared at her. He had come so close. Now she would disappear out the door…

Ally leaned forward. “I promise. I will come back. I…I want to know as much as you do, I think.”

Arran scowled. “Very well. Tomorrow night. I will be here.”

Ally gave him a tight, brittle smile. “I’ll see you then, I suppose.” She walked across the room and vanished through the door. Arran waited for a moment, then followed her. He stepped outside and paused in the doorway, leaning back to remain unseen. Ally stood at an intersection a block away, waiting for the light to change. Arran considered following her. He could track her with no great difficulty. Perhaps he could follow her home…

Ally crossed the street, but not before she looked over her shoulder and right at him. Somehow, she would know if he tried to follow her. He sighed and walked towards the corner bus stop. It seemed he had no other choice but to return and gain her trust. He sat on the bench and waited, his eyes flicking over the passing traffic. A young man with an earring and black hair stepped out from the coffeehouse. A wild-bearded man with a steel-headed cane crossed the street and strode up to the younger man. The young man looked at Arran, blinked, and looked away again. The two men conferred for a few minutes and then walked away.

Both men were carrying guns. He could see it in the way they carried themselves.

And they were going in the same direction that Ally had gone. Were they stalkers of some sort? He remembered the look the younger man had given him. No, the two men were bodyguards. It seemed his guess about someone keeping watch over Ally had been correct. Arran watched as they climbed into a gray van and drove away. 

Had they been watching him the entire time? 

Perhaps it was for the best that he had not chosen to track Ally Wester.

###

Arran returned to the coffeehouse the next day. 

Ally waited for him, as she had promised. 

So began to tell her everything. 

He described the war with the Black Council, the great battle at Castamar, and the destruction of the Warlocks, all save Marugon. He expected her to mock him and scorn his tale. The people of Earth believed in neither Wizards nor Warlocks. They did not know about the Tower of Endless Worlds.

Yet Ally did not interrupt, save to ask an occasional question. Sometimes she grew very pale. Sometimes she began to shake. It was eight o’clock by the time Arran told of Marugon’s return from Earth. Ally stood to go, but promised to return to hear the rest of his story.

She returned the next night, and the next night, and the next night, and Arran told her more. 

###

Dr. Krastiny sat alone in the conference room. 

Yearbooks covered the table, their pages festooned with yellow sticky notes. He paged through the color photographs of 2012’s graduating seniors. Young faces, bright and eager, stared up at him. One picture in particular held his attention, a dark-eyed girl with hair the color of flame. 

“Ally Wester,” he murmured, reading the caption.

Bronsky had visited numerous high school principals over the last few weeks in his reporter’s guise, interviewing them about their most admirable students. Schzeran had taken the names Bronsky found and run them through the school system’s database. He had retrieved the records with ease, save for a particular female student mentioned by one Dr. Burton. This mysterious Ally Wester had no records in the school’s database. Schzeran had broken into the school district’s headquarters to locate paper copies of the records.

He had found nothing. 

Someone had taken great care to erase her records. No wonder Wycliffe’s searches had found nothing. But Krastiny had spent a great deal of time tracking down people who wanted to remain unfound. High schools had yearbooks. No matter how efficient Ally Wester’s unseen guardians, they could not purge every 2012 yearbook. So Krastiny had obtained the 2012 yearbook from Dr. Burton’s school. He knew it had been an unlikely lead. But his instincts had known better. 

And now here was a dark-eyed girl with flame-red hair, a girl that matched Lord Marugon’s description. Here was a girl with missing official records, missing records that had stymied Senator Wycliffe’s searchers. 

And there was one other detail that blinked red in Krastiny’s mind.

He remembered a visit to the United States some years back. Wycliffe had introduced him to his speechwriter, a nervous-looking man named Simon Wester. Krastiny closed his eyes, working through the memories. Marugon had arrived that very night from the other world. A few days later that vile corpse creature had appeared, the dark spirit in the shape of a black lion. The next morning Marugon claimed to have killed Lithon Scepteris, the deposed child king of a nation on his world, though six of his winged demons had been killed in the process. 

Krastiny picked up his smartphone, dialed a number, and lifted it to his ear. 

Someone picked up. “Hacker.”

Krastiny rolled his eyes. Schzeran had a penchant for the overdramatic. “This is the Professor. I want you to look something up for me. Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping’s database. See if there’s a file for a man named Simon Wester.” 

“Roger that. Give me a few minutes.” Krastiny waited, listening to the rapid clicking of laptop keys. “Ah, here we go. Yeah. Simon Wester. Old record, metadata says it hasn’t been accessed for years.”

Something clicked in Krastiny’s brain. “When did he quit Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping?”

Schzeran told him. 

Krastiny smiled. 

Simon Wester had quit a few weeks after the appearance of the dark spirit. There were too many coincidences. The erased records, the girl matching Marugon’s description, the former speechwriter who had quit. Marugon had hinted that Lithon Scepteris had companions.