The Child Eater (25 page)

Dr. Reina stayed a few minutes more to discuss payment. It was steep, of course. After all, this was residential treatment they were talking about. But it wasn't as bad as Jack might have feared, and Reina said there would be no charge until Jack agreed there had been clear improvement. And if Jack wished, he could pay in installments for as long as two years. Jack thought how he would pay his whole life if this man could help his son.

After Dr. Reina left, Jack called Howard Porter. “That's wonderful,” Howard said. “I knew he could do something. I just knew it.”

“But Howard, we don't really know anything about him.”

There was a pause. Howard sounded confused when he said, “Yes, I guess that's true.” Then he seemed to brighten as he said, “I just have a hunch. This could be a real breakthrough.”

Jack promised to let him know as soon as there was news. He hung up and took a deep breath. Time to tell Simon.

Jack found his son in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over with a book about a lost land of pirates. Jack sat down next to him. “Simon,” he said, “what did you think of Doctor Reina?” Simon shrugged. “He wants to help you.” No answer. “He says he
can
help you.”

Simon whispered, “No one can help me.”

“That's not true. You're going to get better. I promise. And I think Doctor Reina's the one to do it.” He paused. “Monday,” he said finally. “He's going to pick you up and you're going to travel with him to his Institute.”

At last, Simon looked up. “No, Daddy,” he said, “please.
Please don't make me
.” He sounded six years old.

Jack hugged him. “He's going to help you.”

Simon struggled free. “No! You can't make me.”

“I can and I will. This is ridiculous. He says he can help you.”

“Please.” Simon clasped his hands, as if in prayer.

Jack stood up. “I'm in charge. It's my responsibility to make sure you get better, and that's what I'm doing. After dinner, we'll start packing.”

In the Times Before Time, Heaven belonged to the Angels and the Deep Darkness to the Rebels, who had tried and failed to seize power. In between lay the Earth, the World of Living and Dying, ruled by the Seven Guardians, who treated all mortals, male and female alike, as amusements, to help or hurt whenever it suited them. Each of the Guardians possessed a great Tree—or perhaps the Trees themselves were the original beings, and the Guardians simply branches that had gained the power to separate and move around and instigate events. The Trees all grew together in the Garden of Origins, at the center of the world. They were:

Of all these, the most important were Constancy and Variance, for they ruled the Sun and Moon, yet even their Guardians did as they wished, and human beings could count on nothing.

Joachim the Brilliant, also known as Joachim the Blessed (though others say the Blind, for the great mistake he made at the height of his success), sought to change the world. He knew he could not battle the Guardians, so he took a different road. He entered the Secret Woods and allied himself with an Outcast, a High Prince of the Kallistochoi. This became known as the Union of Above and Below. There has only ever been one such union. To attempt to repeat it is strictly forbidden. Those who have tried became known as the Uabi Heresy, and if any Uabi has succeeded, he or she has never revealed it. As to why a Kallistocha Prince would join with a human, no one really knows. Some say he took pity on wretched humanity. Others claim he saw in Joachim something more than human, as if a free Kallistocha secretly walked the Earth disguised as a man. Still others suggest the Prince wished to spite the Heavenly Victors who had stolen his body and imprisoned his head on a black pole, for he knew the Victors had given the Earth to the Guardians.

Out of this joining came the Tarot of Eternity.

Joachim had two disciples, Florian the Wise, and . . . Another. This other became the Hidden One, who is said to have buried his name under a Red Rock at the furthest reach of the world. Joachim allowed each of his disciples to create a Copy of the Tarot of Eternity, and together the three made the Great Journey. They pierced the curtain that hid the Creator from Her Creation. Florian and even the Other stood with bowed heads, afraid to look, but Joachim saw and spoke with Her, face to face. The Angels opposed him and said the Creator should cast him down with the Rebels. But Joachim insisted that he did not seek power for himself or any other human. Instead, he asked the Creator to change the world, not for his sake, or any other human, but for Herself, for only a world of laws and cycles could truly praise its Creator.

The Creator granted Joachim's plea. The world shifted and the Guardians diminished. Where once they had stood as towering beings impossible to look at, they became almost like children. The five Lesser Guardians left the Earth to move among the distant stars. We can still see them, sometimes visible, sometimes obscured, as the planets—Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. Some say that without their Guardians, the five Trees withered and died; others that the rulers
uprooted the Trees and planted them in the sky. The only ones left were Constancy and Variance, grown small now along with the Guardians who belonged to them. Many believe that the Guardians of Gold and Silver had secretly supported the humans and even hidden themselves behind the seat of the Creator to plead for Joachim against the Angels. Certainly the Sun and Moon have remained strong, while the Five have become small and faint.

When the Three Masters returned, Joachim spent his time in contemplation, or perhaps in communion with the Splendor, the great beings known as the Hidden Mystery, for only their tracks show, like flashes of light. Joachim's withdrawal later became known as the Great Mistake, for had he stayed in the world, he might have stopped the Other before it was too late.

Florian used her Copy of the Tarot of Eternity to discover the Colors Beyond Light, the Music Beyond Sound. She found the Five Basic Spells and used them, in turn, to create the original Academy of Wizards. Before the Great Corruption, she allowed one of her disciples to create a Copy of a Copy. Many years later, this disciple, or a descendant, created a Copy of a Copy of a Copy. This was given away, or stolen, and it too vanished.

Florian found the Five, but the Other found the One: the Spell of Extension, buried deep in the world's soul. Some say the Guardian of Incitement revealed it to him during the Ascent, that the Guardian knew he could not stop them but came out to battle just so he could plant the discovery in the Other's mind. There is no way to know, for the Other became secretive, silent, almost as withdrawn as Joachim himself. Might Florian have stopped him if she'd realized what he was doing? Nobody knows. If she'd found out—and roused Joachim—maybe the two of them could have saved him.

The other made multiple copies of his Copy, for in fact it was the Tarot of Eternity itself that made the Spell of Extension possible. Not all of it, though possibly every piece plays a part, but one picture, one “card,” in particular. This card was called the Dancer, or the Flying Boy. The spell corrupts this picture, and thus all the others.

Only when it was too late did Joachim realize what had happened. Because of the Spell of Extension, he removed the original Tarot of Eternity from the world, and even though Florian's Copy remained pure, she too took her Copy to the Place Beyond Place. The Copy of a Copy,
however, remained, so that some record would survive beyond the distortions of the Spell, for those copies made to enact the Spell of Extension serve only one purpose—to drain the lives of children, destroy every part of them, so that the Corrupter might live forever. Because of this, and because his true name remains hidden, he became known as the Child Eater.

Some say the Child Eater will indeed live forever, unstoppable, devouring child after child, for after all, the Spell of Extension is a poison at the heart of the world. But some say that a single child will destroy him. The Child of Eternity.

For a long time, Matyas stood in the courtyard, holding his few possessions tightly in his arms. He realized he was breathing heavily but couldn't seem to stop. People walked past him, apprentices mostly, but also one or two Masters; some stared, but most hurried by. Finally, Matyas went to the library where he found Horekh in the first-floor arcade, a portfolio of ragged parchments spread out before him. He looked up expectantly, but when Matyas just stood on the other side of the table full of texts, he said, “Matyas? Do you need something?”

“I need a place,” Matyas said, and then, as if he was not sure he'd said it out loud, “I need a place. A room, rooms. Where I can sleep. And study.”

Horekh nodded. “Of course,” he said. Carefully he gathered up the parchment sheets and put them back inside their gray leather case. Matyas recognized it as a collection of accounts of journeys “in the body” supposedly made by Joachim to the realms of the planetary spheres, but most likely forgeries written some five hundred years after Joachim's death. “Come with me,” Horekh said.

Halfway across the courtyard, Matyas stopped when he realized they were headed toward the grand palace of the Masters' Residency. When Horekh appeared not to notice and kept on going, Matyas moved to
keep up with him. An apprentice was washing the thirty-two marble steps leading up to the door. He shrank away as Horekh and Matyas passed him. At the top, Matyas looked back at the young man, who kept his eyes down.

Inside the grand hallway, they moved quickly over the black and white tiled floor, past the gold and silver statues of the Armies of the Sun and Moon that some said were older than the Earth, but which Matyas knew were cast at the founding of the Academy, though possibly by
rohati
, builder-spirits summoned by Florian that were indeed far older than the world. Finally, they came to a small room where all the furniture was made of stone—slate, onyx, granite. A small, heavyset man stood with his back to them at a wide basalt table where he stared at a group of jade figurines of different shapes set in a grid of interlocking hexagons.

“Malchior,” Horekh said quietly, and the man turned around with a smile and then a slightly puzzled look when he saw Matyas. Malchior had thick black hair that made him look younger than his sixty-some years, while his low, thick body made him look like one of the wrestlers Matyas had seen compete at street markets. His robe was stiff and green and brown, so that it looked like it was formed of wood and dirt and vines. He'd come from overseas, Matyas knew, and still spoke with a thick accent, though Matyas suspected he did so deliberately, for the tones and sibilances only appeared to get harsher each time Matyas had overheard him in the library.

Malchior was the Steward, the Master who kept the Academy strong and rooted to the Earth. He rarely left the Residency except to go to the library. The first time Matyas saw him, Malchior had come to the library and ordered everyone to leave. To Matyas' surprise they obeyed, and it was only later that Matyas learned the Steward had come to perform the Spell of Anchoring in the tunnels underneath the deepest cellar. Done among the skulls and hands and preserved hearts of dead Masters, Anchoring was said to preserve the Academy's connection to the physical world. Without it, the library, the Residency, maybe even Veil's tower, might simply dissolve into light and then disappear, as if their very presence in the world was always an illusion. Matyas knew that some of the Masters considered this possibility a superstition, used to keep the apprentices in awe of their surroundings. And yet, when Malchior said, “Leave,” everyone left.

Horekh said, “Matyas needs rooms, Steward. I suspect he will not care so much about elaborate furniture but he will require shelves for books.” He smiled slightly. “Many books.”

Malchior looked confused for a minute, then said, “Yes, of course.” He walked to the door and said, “Please, Master. Follow me.” It took Matyas a moment to realize Malchior was talking to him and not Horekh, then he hurried to catch up.

Despite Horekh's suggestion of simplicity, the room Malchior took him to contained a four-poster bed of carved walnut, tapestries and paintings, a polished chest of drawers with gold handles, a wide walnut table inlaid with marble, four brass chairs that looked as uncomfortable as they were elaborate, and a life-size jade statue of a tiger sitting back like a dog waiting for instructions. Yellow brocade curtains framed a large window overlooking the courtyard. There was a single bookcase, ceiling-high and as wide as Matyas' arms stretched in both directions. Malchior said, “I hope this will suit you.”

Matyas nodded. “Yes, of course.” Then, a moment later, “No. No, take everything out.” He swept his arm around, as if Malchior might not have understood him. “Bring me a small bed. And a plain table. Wood but not carved. And more bookshelves.” He looked directly at Malchior. “Will you do that?”

“Yes, of course.”

Matyas had to struggle not to grin.
Of course
. As seriously as he could manage, he said, “Good. I will be in the library.” On his way out, he suddenly saw lights flicker around the bed canopy. The Splendor had come to welcome him, and for once he saw Malchior's calm face open with amazement. Now Matyas did allow himself a smile, but when he returned, hours later, to his now cell-like room, the lights were gone.

Matyas studied. He began before dawn and continued so late it sometimes felt as if one day ran into the next, and soon they overlapped each other and whole weeks became lost. At first he thought he would continue with Florian, or even the Child Eater, but he decided all that was a trap, a trick to keep him from his true subject: flying. The Spell of Extension was terrible, of course. He could understand the Creator's tears, and if he could have saved Rorin or brought him back, he would have grabbed the chance. But it was too late for Lahaylla's brother, and if Joachim himself could not have stopped his own disciple, how
could Matyas even think to attempt it? And besides, what did it all have to do with him?

Try how? What was he supposed to do? No, Matyas knew very well what he needed to study. Flying. Books, scrolls, letters, parchments soon overflowed the shelves Matyas had asked Malchior to provide for him. He found treatises on artificial wings, with details on what kind of feathers to use, and the best wax to avoid melting as one got closer to the Sun. Matyas thought these latter comments showed a misunderstanding of the Sun and its sphere so profound they revealed the authors' worthless ignorance. Others suggested bat wings as a model, with the warning that any wizard who used such wings must do so only at night, for the bright day would cause the leather wings to dry up and crack.

Matyas was slightly more impressed with the idea of shifting awareness directly into a bird, a hawk, for example, so that you felt the air as it soared and dived, saw through its finely honed eyes. Matyas could lean back and imagine himself as a hawk—
a dark and lonely hawk
—an idea so bright it made him dizzy. He could do this, he was sure of it. Only . . . the man he'd seen that night in the woods had flown and landed as himself. Not a hawk with a man's mind, not any kind of trick, but a true flying man. Matyas went back to his studies.

He took his meals alone, in his room or at the library: simple meals on plain dishes, brought by apprentices who were often older than he was, and who either looked at him with awe or refused to meet his eyes. Malchior invited him to dine at the Masters' table, and he tried it—once. The gold plates looked all wrong, there were too many utensils and it annoyed him that he didn't know just
what
he was eating. He listened around the room for something, any comment at all, that might interest him, but all they talked about, apparently, was politics and money.

He began to think about Veil, more and more, it seemed, as the weeks went by. At first it was with anger: anger at all the tricks she'd played on him, all the humiliations. Anger at her using him like a slave. Anger at her secrets. Most of all he just thought over and over how she
pretended to teach him but kept back the one thing, the only thing he really needed from her. Veil knew all the magic there was to know, whatever she pretended when he asked her. There was simply no question about that. She probably even knew the hidden name of the Child Eater (not that he cared about that). Flying existed, and so Veil had to know about it. When she said she didn't, she was lying.

Sometimes he stood in the courtyard and stared up at the tower, shaking with clenched fists as if he could will her to appear in the window so that he could bring down lightning on her. Or maybe he would turn her into a toad, the way Medun had almost changed him all that time ago. He didn't notice how everyone fled the courtyard at such moments. He saw only the tower, with its empty window.

And then, slowly, something terrible happened. He began to miss her. At first it was just twinges, a flash of a thought quickly drowned in a fresh wave of rage. After some weeks, however, he could no longer deny it. He tried to tell himself it was only her books, the shelves that opened into chambers that opened into tunnels and caves, all of them crammed with words. And along with the books there were all the wondrous objects, some of which he could bring to life to watch them work, or dance, or do strange things he could never quite understand. Finally, however, he simply had to admit it. It was not just her books he missed, but Veil herself.

He missed seeing her in her narrow rocker, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes far, far away. He missed the odd things she would say, or the way she stared at a single page for over an hour and then go through the next twenty in less than a minute. He even missed cooking for her, the simple vegetable stews he prepared in her iron pots. And he missed brushing her hair. In recent months she had not asked him very often, but he always remembered that moment when he'd run the plain brush down her hair and unleashed a flood of letters.

And yet these thoughts and memories also fueled his anger. After all her mistreatment of him, he still longed to see her? Had she cast a spell on him, did she control his thoughts, his feelings? Now when he stared at her tower, it was with a mix of longing, rage and fear.

As for Veil herself, the old woman became even more reclusive than before. Sometimes people would indeed see her standing in her window. It appeared to happen, or so people said, when Matyas was walking below, but if so he never noticed, and no one dared to tell him. At
rare moments, she ventured out to dart across the courtyard on some unknown errand as quickly as possible, like some woods animal crossing a road. Once she even showed up at a council meeting and sat at the back, as small and quiet as a child. Matyas wasn't there, he never attended such things.

In his confusion of feelings around her, Matyas sometimes wondered how she lived without her slave to bring her water and food and lay a fire for the cold nights. There was no sign she'd found any new street boy. He pretended to himself that his concern was sarcastic, a derisory thought on how she'd treated him. And yet . . . One afternoon, drinking tea with Horekh, Matyas asked in as casual a manner as he could how Veil sustained herself. To his surprise, Horekh smiled and shook his head. “Ah, Matyas,” he said, “don't you know the three forbidden questions? What is the name of the Creator's older sister? Where was your mother before the Creation of the world? And most difficult of all, what does Veil eat?”

“But I have seen her eat—ordinary food. I spent years cooking for her.”

Horekh sipped his tea, brewed with the leaves of an ancient plant that “opened the warehouses of the mind,” as an old saying had it. Horekh said, “As inspired and well taught as you are, there are times . . . Do you really think Veil needed your rice and cabbage?”

“Then why would she—?”

“Perhaps she wanted you to feel comfortable. After all,
you
needed to eat.”

That night, Matyas spent a long time thinking about Veil, remembering the times he'd seen her eat and the times she'd simply nodded when he'd told her dinner was ready and continued her study.

One time he caught sight of her in her window. Maybe it was the influence of that disturbing conversation with Horekh, but it looked to him that she had grown thinner. So much for
that
idea, he thought. Of
course
she needed to eat, the same as anyone. The same as him. But as he continued to stare, he thought how it was not skinny so much as . . . He frowned. Her
substance
had grown thinner. Light shone through her, as through a translucent painting of an old woman. Was it the light of day or from some other world?

That was the next to last time he saw her. The final time came a few weeks later. He'd been thinking about her more and more, sometimes unable to sleep or even study. He tried to go without food or water, just
to see if it was in fact possible, but could not last more than a week. It was all a trick, he decided, it had to be, though if someone had asked him just
what
was a trick, he might not have been able to answer.

He passed the winter like this, with a kind of pressure slowly building through the cold and snow. At times he found himself wondering if she was warm enough. The Residency and the library were both supplied via grates from large fires in the cellars, but Veil's tower had no such luxury. As far as Matyas knew, no one was bringing her wood from the pile just outside the Gate of Light. That had been one of his jobs, of course, and no one had replaced him. Then he would get angry all over again that he even cared. If she didn't need to eat, maybe she wouldn't freeze, either. Or maybe she knew some spell to warm the tower. But if that was so, why did she send him down into the courtyard to pile wood in his arms and stagger back up the stairs?