The Magician: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel: Book One of the Rogue Portal Series (19 page)

              Connor was being sarcastic and was pushing the envelope on what he thought Rumsfeld would take from him, but he didn't care. Adrenaline was pounding so hard he couldn't even think straight, his hands were shaking, his feet were strong, and his eyes were trained on Rumsfeld.

              "I'm just in administration, really," he dodged.

              "Oh come off it, Rumsfeld. What do you do?"

              A pause. Another glance toward the Sands.

              "I'm a catalyst."

              "For what?"

              "For lots of things. My job is to pull strings. Make things happen. Set things in motion for the best possible outcome?"

              "Best possible outcome for who?"

              "Everyone in the Void."

              "According to you, maybe."

              "Perhaps."

              "So you make things happen, huh? You pull the strings, make the winds shift, and send people in completely different directions?"

              "To simplify it, yes. But that's all."

              Connor thought for a moment, and then a new wave of anger washed over him as yet another realization hit him.

              "You did it."

              "Did what?"

              "You started everything. You're the reason my mother ever got cancer in the first place! You started all of this! Maybe you even put the Portal in my parents' antiques, hmm?"

              Rumsfeld shifted uncomfortably.

              "Perhaps I did. Then what?"

              Connor leapt across the room toward Rumsfeld, hands outreached ready to strike, and felt himself fly backwards and hit a wall with such force that he couldn't feel his spine for a moment or two. 

              "Don't be so rash!" shouted Rumsfeld.

              "Don't tell me what to be. You're not the one that grew up without a father! You know nothing of that kind of loss!"

              "And how would you know anything about me?"

              Rumsfeld picked Connor up off the ground with one swooping motion and planted him against a bookcase, boring into his eyes, jutting his chin in defiance.

              "I know all I need to know about you!" Connor said through gritted teeth, and he spit in Rumsfeld's face.

              Rumsfeld backed away, lowering Connor to the ground, and wiped the spit off his eye. Turning his back he walked calmly over to the desk and waved a hand at it. A crystal ball appeared on the cherry surface.

              "You want to know what happened so badly, Lovey? Then go ahead and take a look."

              "I want to hear it from you."

              "At this point you should take what you can get."

              Rumsfeld stepped away from the desk and the crystal ball, took several slow steps across the room, away from Connor. Away from the crystal ball. He walked with the beleaguered steps of a man weighed down by years of guilt and the involuntary acquirement of a heavy mask. A role? An illusion? Connor couldn't decide. But he didn't have time to trust Rumsfeld. That much he knew.

              Connor could think of a million reasons not to look into the crystal ball. But he also had one very good reason
to
look; it was the only option he had with the promise of answers attached to it. And so, he took cautious but confident steps toward the desk, and looked into the crystal orb.

              At first he saw nothing. The crystal was clear and seemed to glow slightly from within. He could see the cherry wood through the ball, and parts of the grain were magnified to a beautiful level of precision. After a few moments, Connor was about ready to give up and tell Rumsfeld to keep his stupid crystal ball and give him he answers himself.

              But then an image emerged. It was faint at first, barely discernible. Slowly it began to unfold into a fully formed image, the visage of Rumsfeld and the raven woman - Queen, as Rumsfeld had called her - standing together at the very desk where Connor was watching the scene unfold.

              As was typical, Rumsfeld and Eleanor were arguing. No sound accompanied the images coming from the crystal, but body language was enough to get the point across. Eleanor glowered at Rumsfeld, and he in turn spoke quickly, flailing his arms in the air in a manner less controlled than anything Connor had ever seen from him. Eleanor flipped her wrist and an hourglass appeared, just like the small hourglasses lining the walls in the Celestarium.

              The crystal ball, seeming to know who was watching the scene, zoomed in on the name inscribed on the hourglass like a camera doing a close-up in a movie.
Julia Galveston
. Eleanor smiled wickedly as she passed the hourglass to Rumsfeld, who continued to argue his case.

              Finally, Eleanor flicked her hand toward him, and he seemed to be pinned against his chair. Whether she was choking him without physical force or had put some sort of curse on him Connor wasn't sure, but he was very sure of what he saw next.

              Rumsfeld, returning to his normal state, hunched his shoulders like a man defeated and took the hourglass. Removing the top, he poured out nearly all the sand that was left in the top compartment, casting the sparkling white powder onto the desk before him in a pile. Replacing the cover, he made a stirring motion in the air with his hand, then swished it backwards toward the Sands. The pile of sand in front of him followed his lead, swirling like a small tornado of diamonds, and then flew in a straight line toward the Sands, up toward the top, and in.

              The image faded, and the glass returned to its original state.

              Connor was shaking with fury, his heart pounding acid blood through his veins, his eyes threatening to allow rivers of tears to spill over at any moment, his breathing quickened like someone who had been running for a long time.

              "You!" It was all he could utter.

              Rumsfeld, who had been standing silently, twirling his golden staff absentmindedly while Connor had been gazing into the glass, lifted his head with great slowness, and turned around to face Connor. His face was lined with a sorrow that Connor had not yet seen from him, and he couldn't deny its sincerity. But he also didn't care.

              Rumsfeld didn't answer. Just waited.

              "You ruined my entire family. You DID kick everything into motion! You ARE the reason my mother ever had cancer!"

              "I am the reason for that much, yes."

              "Why? Why did you do it? Why did it mean so much to you to make my mother sick, knowing what would happen. Knowing Eleanor and what she'd do? Knowing it could only end in death?"

              "Because of the one thing you accused me of doing that I
didn't
do."

              Connor was tired of games.

              "And WHAT would THAT be?"

              "You accused me of planting the Portal in your parents' antique collection. I did no such thing. They were in possession of it long before I emptied your mother's hourglass."

              He spoke with calm, reserve. His eyes were heavy, but his body was calm, and his voice was measured and did not waver.

              "So what?" Connor asked.

              "Oh, come now. You're smarter than that. Why did I bring you here? Why did I start everything? You've nearly answered your own question."

              Suddenly the pieces fell together and the sinister plan was painted before Connor like a twisted jigsaw puzzle.

              "This!" Connor said, holding up the pocket watch, fixing his gaze on Rumsfeld.

              He nodded.

              "You wanted this! This Portal is the reason my family is dead?!"

              "That Portal is so much more than you know, Galveston. The whole realm depends on it. But it's outside of our realm. It's with you. And the fact that you even exist makes it more," he paused, looking at the ceiling for the right word, "complicated."

              "I don't care what this thing is, it can't possibly be a good enough reason to kill for."

              "Hah! Much more, it's a good enough reason even to die for."

              "Be my guest."

              Rumsfeld dissolved into laughter that echoed through the Celestarium like a demonic foreshadow.

              "I'm afraid that would defeat my entire point," he said.

              "What about the others? Did their families die because of the Portal, too?"

              Rumsfeld shrugged. "In a way."

              "Enough with your cryptic games! Yes or no!"

              "What is it with people in your realm? Yes or no, up or down, back or forward. You have no understanding of how complicated and infinite things really are."

              "I'm tired of this game."

              Rumsfeld made eye contact with him and didn't break it. Slowly he began to take steps toward Connor, methodically, systematically, designed to cause Connor to step backwards. But he didn't. He wasn't going to retreat. Not now, not here. Not for Rumsfeld.

              "You can end the game right now, Connor."

              "Oh yeah?" His tone was decidedly bitter.

              "Indeed. Just hand over the portal. That's all you have to do. Give it to me now, and you'll be free from ever having to deal with me, or Eleanor, or anyone from this realm again."

              "Oh sure. Just hand over this portal to the one person who wants it, the one person who shouldn't have it, the one person who ruined my life and the lives of so many others, and everything will be just fine. Is that what you want me to believe?"

              "Oh come on, love, certainly you don't want to keep going on like this. Never knowing when something from another realm is going to pop up a disrupt your life. Never knowing what's going to happen next. Always wondering when someone around you is going to disappear or die. I don't believe for a moment that that's what you want for your life. And why should anyone in this realm matter to you? After all, your people are in your realm. And isn't it time they all got some peace?"

              "The only peace we will ever have is when we have answers and justice. And giving this portal to you is not going to accomplish either task. I'm not that stupid, and I don't think you believe I am. I don't know what you're trying to pull, Rumsfeld, but it's not going to work. If you want this portal you're going to have to fight a lot harder than that. Because if it's truly worth dying for, then the only way
you'll
ever get is over
my
dead body."

              Connor said the last part of that speech with confidence and anger and a good bit of resentment. But he didn't feel very confident about it. Because part of him felt that in order for anything to happen with the portal, it would come down to his life. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that. After all, whatever this portal was, whatever it did or contained it, he had seen its power already. He had seen its power to protect him, and he'd seen its power over other people in this realm they called the Void. And he had a feeling that he'd only begun to see the real power of the portal.

              But whatever doubt he had, he wasn't about to show Rumsfeld. It was important that he remained resolute and sure, not only for his own life, and not even for his friends' lives, but if what other messengers had told him was true, for the lives of a great many more people in realms beyond his own.

              Rumsfeld became infuriated almost in an instant. The calm demeanor vanished and cracked to reveal a deranged man on the edge. It was as though the peaceful stained-glass of the cathedral had shattered, and the storm outside was raging through. The sanctuary had been disrupted. The calm had been broken. Rumsfeld stalked over to Connor and pinned him against the wall closest by him. He must've crossed the distance of five feet in a single swooping step. He became irate, screaming into Connor's face.

              "If you had any idea what you were dealing with, who you were dealing with, you would hand over the portal without asking any other questions. Because you would know that you didn't
want
to know the answer to any of them. If you're smart as I think you are, you'll hand over that portal right this instant. But if you want to play hero, then I have given you far too much credit!"

              "I couldn't care less what you think of me! If you want to think I'm a fool them go ahead and think I'm a fool, but I told you before that you're not getting this portal unless you take my life first. I may not know what I'm dealing with, but I know that this portal is powerful, and I know that I don't want anyone like you to have that kind of power."

              "Hand it over!"

              "Never!"

              Rumsfeld took Connor by the shoulders and threw him across the room. He skidded across the table, and he could feel the impression of the crystal ball against his back. It shattered to the ground and released a howling noise that sounded like a thousand wolves going after a single prey. Connor righted himself as quickly as he could, and took several steps back from the desk as he watched the contents of the crystal ball, which had been invisible up until this point, swirl through the room like a crimson tornado. For the first time since Connor had first become acquainted with him, Rumsfeld exhibited a look of sheer terror. A thunderous noise took over the room, and the crimson tornado began to take the shape of a dragon.