Whisper was acting funny, like she was nervous about something. Whisper picked a path toward the fields and set out, so Faye followed along. The trees along the trail were old and gnarled. They were missing their leaves now, but Faye could only imagine that in the summertime they would make for nice shade. She waited until the others were out of earshot. “What’s wrong?”
It was like Whisper didn’t want to look at her. She just kept her eyes on the path. “Have you heard of Anand Sivaram?”
“That’s an odd name.”
“He was from India. They say that he was one of the greatest Actives that has ever lived. Before he died, some said that he might have even been like unto the Chairman. They had other names for him too. The Mad Traveler, Warlock, the Spellbound…”
“A Traveler? Well, huh. There aren’t very many of us. Sorry, Whisper. I haven’t had time to learn much history yet.”
“Not many know of this history. It is a secret.” Whisper kicked a stone across the lane. “They do not speak of him, lest someone else would be prideful enough to delude themselves into thinking that they could succeed where even one as brilliant as Sivaram had fallen. They are scared that his form of evil could begin anew.”
“He sounds bad.”
“Oh, yes. Very. The man that raised me knows more about the Warlock than anyone else alive. Jacques Montand had to study him in order to catch him. About his strengths, his weaknesses… his curse…”
Faye was intrigued. “What curse?”
“A terrible spell, one that he created himself and carved into his own body. Awful beyond imagining. He tried to grow stronger than any man ought to, and it ruined him. It twisted his mind until he did unspeakable things.” Whisper stopped in the middle of the lane and wiped her eyes. Was she crying?
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine…” Whisper was lying. Faye put one hand on her arm, but Whisper jerked away. “No.” She began walking again. “Warlock was a vulture. A carrion feeder. And when that wasn’t enough, he became a predator. He killed hundreds, perhaps thousands. Men. Women. Children. Always needing more, and at a rapidly increasing rate. If he hadn’t been stopped, it would only have gotten worse.”
“Why are you telling me about this?”
“Because Jacques told me that the Warlock did not start out as a monster. He was once a kind man, motivated by pure intentions.” Whisper still had her back to her, but Faye could see that she’d extended one hand. A tiny ball of fire appeared in her open palm. She held it there, floating just above her skin. “He was innocent too, once.” Whisper laughed bitterly. “So naive. Like unto the children that he massacred.”
Faye was growing concerned. “I don’t understand.”
Whisper was letting the fire curl between her fingers. It moved like a snake as it curled around Whisper’s bare forearm. Her head was down, and Faye could see that she was shaking. “I always promised myself that if I had the opportunity to stop someone like the Warlock, I would do so without hesitation.”
“Of course you would. That’s the right thing to do. Heck, I’ve killed oodles of evil folks.”
“But what about before he turned evil? What about before he had turned to spilling innocent blood? Wouldn’t I be a fool if I lacked the courage to strike down a child if I knew that child would someday become a monster?”
“Of course not.” Now Faye was just confused. “Not unless your Power is telling the future… Because how would you know?”
Whisper straightened up and sniffed. The fire snake curled around her hands froze.
“I’m not one for all that philosophy and stuff some folks like to quote so they seem smart and all, but come on. I mean, you’re talking about a person, not gophers or rattlesnakes. This one’s easy. I mean, if you killed a kid just ’cause of what the kid might turn into, then you wouldn’t be any better than this Warlock fellow and all his massacring. Then who’s the real bad guy?”
Whisper stood still for a real long time. Faye hadn’t known that fire could just be still like that, but then it just sort of drifted away and disappeared into thin air. Whisper still didn’t turn around though.
Somebody shouted her name. They needed to get ready. “Sounds like we better get going.”
Whisper finally turned. “I’ll be along.” Her makeup was running. She had been crying.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Not really.” Whisper gave her a sad smile. “But I will be eventually.”
Faye just shrugged. “You can be really weird sometimes, I swear. Let’s go.”
Chapter 18
When I began my career, I was told that there was no longer a need for stage magicians in a world with real magic. Yet I knew, as everyone knows, that the easiest way to attract a crowd is to let it be known that at a given time and a given place someone is going to attempt something that in the event of failure will mean sudden death. That’s what attracts us to the man who paints the flagstaff on the tall building, or to the “human fly” who scales the walls of the same building. Bury a Fade alive and there is no wonderment when he escapes, because nothing can hold a Fade. Bury a normal man, such as myself, and the crowds will gather to see if I may die. That, my friends, is showmanship.
Mason Island
Lights could be seen down both sides of the Potomac, but the island was only a blacker shadow on the river ahead. Luckily for them, it was a particularly dark night, moonless and cloudy. It smelled like rain. Their oars dipped quietly as Toru steered their tiny boat toward the island. Twenty feet behind, the water could be heard lapping gently against the second rowboat.
Sullivan was in the front, bullpup BAR pointed in the general direction of the island. There was a Maxim sound silencer screwed onto the muzzle. If a sentry spotted them, he’d need to shoot them down before the alarm could be raised. “Ian?”
Their Summoner was at the back of the boat, listening intently. “Molly doesn’t see anybody close to the shore,” Ian whispered. “I’ll have her go further south.”
He’d learned in the Great War that spirits were good scouts, but they often missed things. They weren’t that smart and could be easily distracted. Just because Molly didn’t see any guards… didn’t mean there weren’t any there. He went back to scanning the shore.
The first boat carried him, Dan, Ian, and Toru. The second held Diamond and his three knights. All of them had smeared grease on their faces and were dressed in dark, rugged clothing, from Sullivan’s beat-up dock worker’s coat and skull cap to Ian’s brown getup that was straight out of a safari outfitter’s catalog. Everyone was armed with a long gun, extra ammo, a sidearm, and other gear. Under Sullivan’s coat were three canvas BAR gunner’s belts improvised into a sort of crossed bandoleer, one over each shoulder, roped to the one around his waist, and each one was weighed down with spare magazines. That load was nothing compared to the Iron Guard though. He’d lost track of how many weapons Toru had thrown on, including that absurd spiked club riding on his back. He just hoped the Brute wasn’t overestimating how much stamina he would have once the nullifiers blocked his Power.
The island was closer now. Toru lifted the oars from the water and they all listened. Crickets and frogs, and the water lapping against a felled tree, but nothing that suggested they were drifting into an ambush.
It was cold, and even the brief ride in the rowboat had coated them with a fine mist that left their clothing damp. Moving through the forest, even if it was walking into a fight, would be a welcome relief, because at least it would generate some heat. The bottom of their boat thumped against something unseen, and the noise made Sullivan flinch. The frogs fell silent. They drifted for a moment, waiting… Then the frogs began croaking again.
Toru stowed the oars and rolled silently over the side. He entered the water without hardly making a splash. It was shallow here, barely coming up to Toru’s waist. Sullivan tossed the Iron Guard a rope and he pulled them forward until the boat was stuck in the mud. Toru tied the rope to a tree while the other three climbed out.