A Wizard of the White Council (2 page)

Ally shook her head. “No, I’m not lost. I just needed to drop some stuff off.” 

The old woman nodded. “If you’re looking for Dr. Wester, he’ll be in by ten. I tell him to take Saturdays off, but he never listens to me.” 

“He’s good at that,” said Ally. “But it’s no big deal. I just had to drop of these forms.” 

The old woman titled her head to the side, thick braid sliding against her vest. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you an exchange student? I can’t seem to place your accent.”

“What?” said Ally. “Accent? I don’t have an accent. At least, I don’t think I do.” 

The old woman nodded. “You do. It’s very subtle, but it’s there.” She tapped her lips with a callused finger. “I can’t quite place it. It sounds almost English one moment, then more Irish or Gaelic the next.” She chuckled. “Well, it’s hardly my business. Pardon the inquisitiveness of a curious old archaeologist.” 

Ally laughed. “That’s okay.” 

“I’m Heloise Francis, at your service,” said the old woman.

Ally blinked. “Dr. Francis? My dad talks about you all the time.” 

Dr. Francis smiled. “Should I be alarmed?”

“No, no. I’m Ally Wester.”

Dr. Francis smiled. “Well, well. So at last I get to meet Simon’s famous adoptive daughter. In fact, I thought you looked familiar. Simon has about fifteen photographs of you, his son, and Katrina in his office.” 

“And my dad talks about you a lot,” said Ally. “I had to help clean up my grandmother’s old house this summer.”

Dr. Francis smiled. “It’s such a lovely house, too. Still needs quite a bit of work, but I finally have room for all my books.” 

“It’s a big house,” said Ally. “You must have a lot of books.” 

“That I do,” said Dr. Francis. “I almost forgot. I left my hot plate on. Would you care for some tea?” 

Ally nodded. “Sure.”

“It really is a very nice house.” Dr. Francis opened her office door. Bookshelves lined all four walls, stuffed to overflowing with books and papers and notes. Stacks of still more books and notes covered the floor. Dr. Francis sat a desk buried beneath papers and fiddled with a hot plate on the windowsill. “Still, I wish I could figure out what makes that noise.”

“Noise?” Ally looked at the guest chair. It held a stack of thick books with Latin titles. 

“Oh, feel free to put that on the floor.” Ally obeyed and sat down. “That noise. Every now and again I hear the oddest clanging coming from the woods behind the house.” Ally shivered as she remembered her own odd experience in those woods. “I suspect there’s a sewer main running under the trees. It would be just like the city of Chicago to forget about one and let it back up…are you all right, dear? You’re shivering.”

Ally smiled. “I’m all right. The air conditioning’s just a little high in here.”

Dr. Francis looked at the ceiling. “It is at that. And they don’t turn it off until October. Then the heat stays on until the end of May.” She poured the tea into two small green cups. “Here you are.” 

“Thanks.” Ally took a sip. “That’s good!” 

Dr. Francis beamed. “Thank you, dear. I learned the recipe from an old Buddhist monk in New Delhi in exchange for an Urdu translation of the Septuagint.”

“Really? That’s quite a story.”

Dr. Francis chuckled. “Actually, I got the recipe off the back of a package of oatmeal a few years ago. But that’s a much more boring story, wouldn’t you say?”

Ally laughed and took another sip. “I suppose so.” 

“Pardon my asking again, but you were adopted, true?” said Dr. Francis.

Ally nodded. “That’s right.”

Dr. Francis thought that over. “Do you know if you were adopted from a foreign country?” 

Ally shrugged. “I…don’t think so.” Something shifted in her mind, some buried memory, and she pushed aside the sensation. “To tell the truth, I don’t really remember. I think my parents found my brother and me and took us in. They keep promising to tell us the real story someday, but they don’t like to talk about it.”

Dr. Francis nodded. “That’s understandable.”

Ally frowned. “Why is it understandable?”

Dr. Francis hesitated. “I seem to have talked myself into a corner.” She refilled her cup. “I myself know very little about the circumstances of your adoption. It was shortly after Simon and Katrina were engaged, and right after he completed his dissertation, I believe. Yes. It would have been just over ten years ago. Shortly after that both Simon and Katrina were hospitalized for some time.”

“What? How come?”

Dr. Francis sighed. “Apparently there was some sort of home-invasion robbery.” She raised a gray eyebrow. “At my new house, no less. Your father had some cuts and bruises, but your mother suffered several broken bones, the loss of considerable blood, and needed several months of physical therapy. Thank heaven she was still on insurance from her old job.”

“Senator Wycliffe,” said Ally. “My parents used to work for Senator Wycliffe.” She remembered what Katrina had told her after the honors dinner. Katrina and Simon had used to work for Wycliffe. Had he sent thugs to hurt them? What if her adoption had something to do with Wycliffe? 

“Are you all right?” said Dr. Francis.

Ally blinked. “Yeah. I was just thinking. Wycliffe was still sort of a nobody when my parents worked for him, right?”

Dr. Francis sipped at her tea. “As much a nobody as a United States Senator can be. He was a billionaire back then, I believe.” 

“Yeah,” said Ally, “but he was just a Senator. Now he’s going to be vice president.” 

Dr. Francis sighed. “Depressing prospect, isn’t it? Almost every president for the last fifty years has been a millionaire.” She clucked her tongue. “Well, I must apologize. I shouldn’t have gone dredging into your past, digging up things that are none of my business.” She gave Ally a crooked grin. “Sins of an old archaeologist, I suppose.”

“It’s okay,” said Ally. “I’ve…thought about most of this stuff before, anyway.” But she had never suspected her adoption linked with Senator Wycliffe at all. 

“It’s just your accent. So very strange. I’ve never heard anything quite like it before, you know, and I’ve traveled on all of the continents except Antarctica.” She set down her tea cup. “Nothing to dig up there, you see.” 

Ally laughed. “I suppose not.” 

“So you’re a freshman, I assume?” Ally nodded. “How has your first week been?”

Ally thought of her former roommate. “Um…mixed.”

Dr. Francis laughed. “Very diplomatic.” She leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. The first year of college is almost always an ordeal. The Campus Life people don’t like to admit that, but it’s true. Away from home for the first time, new people, new influences, new ideas, all of that.” She smiled. “I’ve seen freshmen enter as conservative Christians and graduate as liberal atheists, and I’ve seen liberal atheists graduate as conservative Christians. A lot of people experience major changes in college.”

Ally nodded and finished her tea. “So now you’re going to give me advice.”

Dr. Francis looked surprised. “Oh?” 

Ally grinned. “You’ve just warned me of all the perils and pitfalls, and now you’re going to tell me how to avoid them, right?” 

Dr. Francis chuckled. “Your father always had a smart mouth. It seems you’ve inherited it. But I’ll give you advice anyway.” She rapped her knuckles on her desk. “College is all bunk.”

“All of it?” said Ally. 

“Exactly right. All of it. Every last bit of it. Don’t listen to all those people telling you to get out and plan your career and life right now. I’ve seen quite a few of these people, and they usually wind up divorced and embittered by thirty. Just do what you like. Me,” she waved a hand at her overloaded shelves, “I like digging through the ground looking for old stuff. Archaeology in a nutshell. Just do what you like, what you love. You probably won’t make a lot of money, but you’ll be happy.”

Ally handed her the empty tea cup. “What if you don’t know what you love?”

Dr. Francis put the tea cups away. “Then you’ll find out. You seem like a bright kid. You’ll figure out what you love to do. Or what you need to do. Sometimes they’re the one and the same.” 

Ally nodded. “I’d better get going. I have to be at work by nine.”

“Where do you work?” said Dr. Francis.

“Quinn’s Martial Arts Studio,” said Ally. “I’m an instructor.”

Dr. Francis lifted her eyebrows. “Instructor of what?”

“Tae kwon do and karate,” said Ally. “I have black belts in both.” 

Dr. Francis lifted her eyebrows. “Well, well. I’d caution you with my usual speech against walking alone across campus at night, but it seems you don’t need it. Take care, young lady. Perhaps we’ll speak again.” 

Ally nodded. “Maybe we will, since you are three doors down from my Dad’s office.” 

Dr. Francis grinned. “I am at that. Take care.”

Ally left. Her mind chased itself as she walked to the bus stop. Just what had been the circumstances of her adoption? Was that why her parents had panicked at the dinner with Senator Wycliffe? Unsettling memories threatened to break free of her subconscious. She pushed them aside, intending to ask Katrina and Simon when she saw them.

But by the time Ally had arrived at the studio, she had forgotten about it.

Chapter 2 - The New World

Anno Domini 2012

Arran fell face-first across the ground. 

He spat out dirt and leapt to his feet, his Sacred Blade flashing in the sunlight as he spun to face the open door. The children of the void pursued him across the gallery, their maddened whispers pulling at his mind. Arran yelled, gripped his sword’s hilt in both hands, and prepared to take their charge. 

Then the door swung shut. 

The runes carved on the black marble flashed with emerald light, and the whispers howled in frustrated rage before going silent. The door shimmered, grew translucent, and then faded into nothingness. Arran stood frozen for a long time, his sword trembling in his hands, his heart roaring in his chest. 

At last he lowered his sword and stepped forward, reaching for where the door had been. Grass rustled beneath his boots, and his hand brushed empty air. He swung his sword in slow arcs. 

It met no resistance. 

“Gods,” muttered Arran. The door had vanished without a trace. “It looks like I’m here to stay.” He took a few more steps and began to laugh. “I made it.” He looked at the small clearing and the trees and laughed harder. “I made it, I made it, gods above, this is Earth.” He fell to one knee and leaned on his sword’s crosspiece, the laughter shaking his body. After some time, he regained control of himself, slid his Sacred Blade into its scabbard, and climbed to his feet. The trees and the grass were a welcome change after the wastes of the Crimson Plain and the stone corridors of the Tower. The air felt hot and muggy, and carried a strange smoky smell. But at least it did not smell of death, as the Crimson Plain had.

Strange. He had always thought of Earth as a world of fire and smoke and torment, a dungeon where slaves toiled in hellish foundries to produce guns and bombs and liquid fire. But these woods were little different than the forests of Carlisan and Rindl. Perhaps the guns and the bombs and the jeeps came from another part of Earth. 

“So this is Earth.” He looked around the woods. “Now what?”

He had been so focused on reaching Earth for so long that had never given any thought to what he would do if he reached Earth. It had seemed impossible that he would even survive the journey across the High Kingdoms and through the Tower. What was he going to do now? He was alone and lost on a strange world. Arran walked to a nearby tree and sat down, his back against the trunk, and began to think. 

His stomach growled, and he pulled a piece of jerky from his pack and ate it. After the long sojourn through the Tower, even the dry meat tasted good. He took a long draw from his water skin, the leather smooth and worn against his fingers. The water skin had been Siduri’s. She had taken it with her when she had left the Hold of Clan Hadazer to show him the way to the Oracle of Time. Arran had found it among her scattered possessions after Khan-Mar-Dan killed her. 

He grimaced and hooked the skin back to his pack. “Find Alastarius on Earth.” His doubts faded beneath the resolution that had driven him across and the High Kingdoms and through the Tower. 

He had gotten to Earth. Now he just needed to find Alastarius. It might take him years. But he would find the Wizard. Then perhaps he would have some answers. 

He stood and surveyed the small meadow and the surrounding woods. This place would make a good campsite, but he needed to first scout the surrounding area. He glimpsed a half-overgrown path leading into the woods. It seemed as good as any other direction. He paused long enough to reload his guns and set off for the path.

The trees ended at the base of a low hill. A white house perched on top of the hill, standing beside a smaller building. The house was large, perhaps the home of a lord or a wealthy merchant. Maybe the inhabitants could provide him with information. He strode up to the house. A path of gray stone led from the smaller building, intersecting with a road of black stone. Arran climbed up the steps to the back porch, the boards thumping beneath his boots. A pair of strange-looking chairs, constructed of metal tubes and interwoven straps, stood around a white metal table. Arran knocked on the back door and waited. No one came. He walked to one of the windows and peered inside. Bookshelves lined the walls of a large room, holding hundreds, perhaps even thousands of books. Arran had never seen so many books gathered in one place. But the house looked deserted. Perhaps it had been abandoned, or perhaps the inhabitants had left. 

Arran frowned as he walked up the broad path of gray stone to the black street. Had he arrived in a sparsely populated region of Earth? It would not help his search…

He froze as he reached the road of black stone, his eyes wide. Jeeps lined both sides of the road of black stone, gleaming in the sun. Tarrager’s jeep had been green and boxy, but these jeeps were sleek and lean, looking like strange molded sculptures. And they were painted many different colors. Arran saw blue jeeps, red jeeps, gray jeeps, black jeeps, and even a jeep painted bright pink. He counted at least fifty. Was this place a stronghold for Marugon’s associates on Earth? Or did other people on Earth own these jeep machines? 

He heard chains jingling. Arran turned, his hand dropping to a gun.

His jaw dropped at the bizarre sight.

A fat woman in middle age walked along a path of gray stone that paralleled the black road. She wore short pants that only reached to her knees, bright white shoes, and a shirt that left her arms and a large fraction of her chest bare. Pale white fat jiggled with every step. Why was the woman walking about in her undergarments? Even the whores in Marugon’s camps wore more clothing. A small gray-furred dog trotted before the woman, a chain leash around its neck. The woman held the dog’s chain, humming to herself as she walked. 

“Pardon,” said Arran as the woman approached. She slowed and gave him a scornful look. 

“What are you supposed to be, the Unabomber?” she said. “Halloween’s not till next month, buddy.”

“The…Unabomber?” said Arran. What in hell was a Halloween? “I do not know what that is. But I would…”

Her nose wrinkled. “When was the last time you had a shower? Oh my God, you smell like you’ve been living in the woods for the last five years.”

“Closer to ten,” said Arran. “But I have just arrived at this…place, and I would like to ask some questions…” 

“Oh my God.” The woman’s ruddy face paled, her eyes fixed on the holsters at his belt. “Oh my God. You’ve got a gun.” 

“I do,” said Arran. “I would just like…”

“You’ve got two guns!” she said, her voice rising to a terrified squeal. “And a freaking sword!” 

“A what sword?” said Arran, confused. “I just want…”

“I don’t have any money!” babbled the woman. “My husband doesn’t let me take any money with me when I leave the house because I sometimes spend it all! I just wanted to take an afternoon walk…” 

Arran spread his hands. “Listen. I mean no harm. I want to ask…”

“Don’t you touch me!” said the woman. “My dog will maul you good. Pepper!” She jerked the dog’s chain. The pathetic little dog growled at Arran, showing its teeth.

“That dog could not maul a mouse,” said Arran. “But that doesn’t matter. I just…”

“Don’t you touch me!” Her voice rose to a shriek. 

Arran’s temper flared. “Damnation, woman, can I ask you…”

She screamed. “Run, Pepper, run!” She managed a waddling sprint down the gray path, the dog running behind her and barking. 

Arran stared after her, annoyance and amusement battling in his head. This must be a wealthy area of Earth, perhaps home to some nobles or prosperous merchants. The woman looked as if she had never gone hungry a day in her life. And that ridiculous dog had no other use other than as a toy for the wealthy. 

“What is a Halloween?” Arran shook his head and continued down the gray path.

###

Jeeps buzzed up and down the black street.

Arran stood on a green lawn and watched the jeeps, shaking his head in wonder. He had started counting jeeps after his encounter with the half-clothed fat woman and her small dog. After five minutes and three hundred and ninety-six jeeps, he gave up. Countless more jeeps drove or stood parked on the black streets. Arran had seen no horses or mules, and very few people walking. He supposed it made sense. If the people of Earth had such ready access to the wondrous jeeps, why should they bother with walking or riding?

“Hey! Get the hell off my lawn!” Arran looked at the house behind him. A stout man wearing a ragged white shirt stood in the front door, his puffy face twisted with anger. 

“Pardon?” said Arran. “You are the master of this house?”

The stout man gave him a weird look. “This is my goddamn lot. Get off my lawn. I just had it treated.” 

“Certainly.” Arran stepped off the lawn and onto the gray stone path. “But might I ask you some questions? I am new to this…region.” 

“What do I look like, the tourist information board?”

“Please.” Arran stepped forward and raised a hand. “A few questions, and I shall be on my way.”

“Go to hell.” The man’s bloodshot eyes widened. “Oh, God. Oh, God, no.”

Arran looked over his shoulder. “What?” He saw nothing but passing jeeps.

“You’ve got a gun,” said the man, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

“Not again.” Arran scowled. “Are you people so frightened of the weapons you yourselves have wrought?” 

“You’ve come for the money, haven’t you?” said the man. His voice rose in a screech. “I told Eric I would pay him off in another week. Okay?”

Arran raised his hands. “I want no money. I just want to ask…”

“Here!” The man fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a small bundle of green paper, and threw it at Arran. “Here’s the down payment, all right? I mean, I just had some bad luck with the last couple of games. It’ll turn around. Tell Eric I’ll finishing paying him next week, after my next paycheck.” The man slammed the window shut and pulled the curtains.

Arran muttered a string of curses. “Is everyone on this world a damned fool?” He scooped up the roll of green paper and examined it. Each one of the small sheets displayed a portrait of a fat-faced bearded man, a number of odd symbols, and strings of characters in an alphabet he did not recognize. “This doesn’t look like money.” He shrugged and tucked the roll into a pocket. Perhaps they were letters of credit. In any case, some of Earth’s currency would serve him well. His supplies would not last forever. 

He kept walking, trying to make some sense of everything he had seen.

“A city of some sort,” he said, looking at the rows of houses, speeding jeeps, and smaller buildings that stabled the jeeps. Yet he had never seen a city such as this, with trees and grasses mixed among the houses and roads. Even the lords’ quarter of Carlisan had not possessed so much natural beauty. And how big was this city? Arran had walked for a half mile and seen nothing but houses. Where was the market square? Where did the inhabitants of this city buy their food? 

Arran sighed. He needed someone to give him answers. Yet every inhabitant of this city had responded to him first with contempt and then fear…

An odd thought occurred to him, and glanced down at his guns. The people had only become frightened after seeing his guns. Why would they fear the guns? They had made them, after all. But perhaps it was taboo to carry weapons in public. Among the tribes of the Wastes, it was impolite for a man to enter another man’s home carrying weapons. And Arran had yet to see an armed man on Earth. 

He unloaded his guns, undid the belts, and tucked the holstered weapons into his pack. He left his Sacred Blade at his belt and Luthar’s over his shoulder. The swords had only garnered glances of amusement.

Arran kept walking.

A moment later he overtook a stooped old man walking down the gray path, a cane of brown metal in his hand. Wisps of white hair ringed his bald head, and a thousand wrinkles creased his face. A pair of lenses rested over his watery eyes, held in place by metal frames. 

Arran cleared his throat. “Sir? Might I ask you a few questions?”

The old man glanced at him. “Yeah? If you want.” He squinted beneath his lenses. “You look like you’ve spent the last fifteen years sleeping under a tree.” His eyes took in the swords. “Or you’re going to one of those Renaissance fairs or something.”

“Ah…no,” said Arran. “I have spent much time in the wild.”

The old man grunted. “You foreign? I’ve heard a lot of accents in my day, and I don’t recognize yours.”

Arran did not think it wise to tell the entire truth. “Yes. A far country. A long ways from here.” 

The old man pointed down the gray path. “You going this way?” Arran nodded. “Well, then, walk with me and I’ll answer your questions. I can’t be wasting time standing about on the sidewalk.”

“Sidewalk?” said Arran. He looked down at the gray path Of course – it ran along the side of the black street.

“So, what do you want to know?” said the old man. “You a reporter? You’d better not be a reporter. Every time someone dies or gets tore up in a car crash, the damn reporters are coming around and asking questions. How do I feel about this, or how do I feel about that.”

“No,” said Arran. “I’m not a reporter, whatever that is. Just tell me. Where am I?”

The old man raised a gray eyebrow. “You lost?”

“Not entirely,” said Arran. “I know this is Earth.” 

“Goddamn!” The old man cackled with laughter. “This is Earth. Funniest thing I’ve heard all day. This is Earth!”

Arran felt his stomach sink. “You mean this is not Earth?” Had he survived the perils of the Tower only to reach the wrong world? 

The watery eyes narrowed beneath their lenses. “You right in the head? Of course this is God’s own green Earth. What, you think you’re from Mars or something?”

“No. I am not from Mars. I am…was from Carlisan.”

The old man cackled. “Hell with it. You’re probably one of those smart-mouth young comedians with a hidden camera. So what’s your next question?”

“What city is this?” said Arran. “Of what kingdom?”

“Kingdom?” The cane’s tip scraped against the concrete. “This ain’t no goddamn kingdom. This is the United States of America. We fought a war to throw out that old tyrant King George. Course, that’s just what they teach in the schools.” He spat. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the CIA tried to assassinate old King George, that’s what started the war.”