The Magician

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

N icholas Flamel was sitting at the head of the kitchen table, both hands

wrapped around a steaming mug of soup. In front of him was a half-empty

bottle of Perrier, a tall glass and a plate piled high with thick-crust bread

and cheese. He looked up, nodded and smiled as Josh and Saint-Germain

followed Scathach into the room.

Sophie was sitting on one side of the table, facing Joan of Arc, and Josh

quickly slid into the seat beside his sister while Saint-Germain took the

seat alongside his wife. Only Scathach remained standing, leaning against the

sink behind the Alchemyst, staring out into the night. Josh noted that she

was still wearing the bandana she had cut from Flamel s loose black T-shirt.

Josh turned his attention to the Alchemyst. The man looked exhausted and old,

and there seemed to be a dusting of silver in his close-cropped hair that

hadn't been there earlier. His skin was also shockingly pale, emphasizing the

bruise-black circles beneath his eyes and the deep lines in his forehead. His

clothes were rumpled and speckled with rain, and there was a long muddy

streak on the sleeve of the jacket he d hung off the back of the wooden

chair. Water droplets sparkled on the worn leather.

No one spoke while the Alchemyst finished the soup and then broke off chunks

of the cheese and bread. He chewed slowly and methodically, then poured water

from the green bottle into the glass and drank in short sips. When he was

finished, he wiped his lips on a napkin and allowed himself a sigh of

satisfaction. Thank you. He nodded to Joan. That was perfect.

There is a larder full of food, Nicholas, she said, her gray eyes huge and

concerned. You really should have more than soup, bread and cheese.

It was enough, he said gently. Right now I need to rest, and I didn't want

to put a lot of food in my stomach. We shall have a big breakfast in the

morning. I ll even cook it myself.

I didn't know you could cook, Saint-Germain said.

He can t, Scathach muttered.

I thought eating cheese late at night gave you nightmares, Josh said. He

glanced at his watch. It s close to one in the morning.

Oh, I don't need cheese to see nightmares. I ve seen them in the flesh.

Nicholas smiled, though there was no humor in it. They re not so scary. He

looked from Josh to Sophie. You re safe and well?

The twins glanced at one another and nodded.

And rested?

They slept all day and most of the night, Joan said.

Good, Flamel nodded. You re going to need all your strength. And I like

the clothes. While Josh was dressed identically to Saint-Germain, Sophie was

wearing a heavy white cotton blouse and blue jeans with the ends turned up to

reveal ankle-high boots.

Joan gave them to me, Sophie explained.

Almost a perfect fit, the older woman said. We ll go through my wardrobe

shortly, get you some changes for the rest of your journey.

Sophie smiled her thanks.

Nicholas turned to Saint-Germain. The fireworks on the Eiffel Tower

yesterday: inspired, just inspired.

The count bowed. Thank you, Master, he said, looking tremendously pleased

with himself.

Joan s giggle was a low purr. He s been looking for an excuse to do

something like that for months. You should have seen the display he set off

in Hawaii when we were married. We waited until the sun went down; then

Francis lit up the sky for nearly an hour. It was so beautiful, though the

effort exhausted him for a week, she added with a grin.

Two spots of color touched the count s cheeks and he reached over to squeeze

his wife s hand. It was worth it to see the look on your face.

You hadn't mastered fire the last time we met, Nicholas said slowly. If I

recall, you had some little ability with it, but nothing like the power you

demonstrated yesterday. Who trained you?

I spent some time in India, in the lost city of Ophir, the count responded,

glancing quickly at the Alchemyst. They still remember you there. Did you

know they erected a statue to you and Perenelle in the main square?

I didn't. I promised Perenelle I d take her back there someday, Nicholas

said wistfully. But what has that got to do with your mastery of fire?

I met someone there someone who trained me, Saint-Germain said

enigmatically. Showed me how to use all the secret knowledge I d gleaned

from Prometheus

Stolen, Scathach corrected.

Well, he stole it first, Saint-Germain snapped.

Flamel s hand hit the table with enough force to rattle the bottle of water.

Only Scathach didn't jump. Enough! he barked, and for an instant, the

planes and angles of his face altered, cheekbones suddenly prominent, hinting

at the skull beneath the flesh. His almost colorless eyes visibly darkened,

turning gray, then brown and finally black. Resting his elbows on the table,

he rubbed his face with the palms of both hands and took a deep shuddering

breath. There was the faintest hint of mint in the air, but it was a sour

bitter odor. I m sorry. That was inexcusable. I should not have raised my

voice, he said quietly into the shocked silence that followed. When he took

his hands away from his face, his lips moved into a smile that did not quite

reach his eyes. He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on the

twins stunned faces. You must forgive me. I m tired now, so tired; I could

sleep for a week. Continue, Francis, please. Who trained you?

The Comte de Saint-Germain took a breath. He told me he said that I was

never to speak his name aloud, he finished in a rush.

Flamel placed his elbows on the table, wrapped the fingers of both hands

together and rested his chin on his knotted fists. He stared at the musician,

his face impassive. Who was it? he demanded firmly.

I gave him my word, Saint-Germain said miserably. It was one of the

conditions he imposed when he trained me. He said there was a power in words

and that certain names set up vibrations both in this world and the

Shadowrealms and attracted unwelcome attention.

Scathach stepped forward and rested her hand lightly on the Alchemyst s

shoulder. Nicholas, you know that is true. There are certain words that

should never be spoken, names that should never be used. Old things. Undead

things.

Nicholas nodded. If you gave this person your word, then you should not go

back on it, of course. But tell me he paused, not looking at the count this

mysterious person, how many hands did he have?

Saint-Germain sat back suddenly, and the shocked expression on his face

revealed the truth. How did you know? he whispered.

The Alchemyst s mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. In Spain, six hundred

years ago, I met a one-handed man who taught me some of the secrets of the

Codex. He too refused to speak his name aloud. Flamel suddenly looked at

Sophie, eyes wide and staring. You have within you the Witch s memories. If

a name comes to you now it would be better for all of us if you did not say

it aloud.

Sophie closed her mouth so quickly she bit the inside of her lip. She knew

the name of the person Flamel and Saint-Germain were talking about. She also

knew just who and what he was. And she had been just about to speak the name

aloud.

Flamel turned back to Saint-Germain. You know that Sophie s powers have been

Awakened. The Witch taught her the basics of the Magic of Air, and I am

determined that both she and Josh be trained in all the elemental magics as

quickly as possible. I know where there are masters of Earth and Water magic.

Only yesterday, I was thinking we might have to go in search of one of the

Elders associated with fire, Maui or Vulcan or even your old nemesis,

Prometheus himself. Now I m hoping that might not be necessary. He paused

for a breath. Do you think you could you teach Sophie the Magic of Fire?

Saint-Germain blinked in surprise. He folded his arms across his chest and

looked from the girl to the Alchemyst and started to shake his head. I m not

sure I could. I m not even sure I should .

Joan reached over and rested her right hand on the back of her husband s arm.

He turned to look at her and she nodded, almost imperceptibly. Her lips

didn't move, and yet everyone clearly heard her say, Francis, you must do

it.

The count didn't hesitate. I ll do it but is it wise? he asked, serious.

It is necessary, she said simply.

It ll be a lot for her to take in . He bowed to Sophie. Forgive me. I

didn't mean to talk about you as if you weren t here. He looked back at

Nicholas and added doubtfully, Sophie is still dealing with the Witch s

memories.

Not anymore. I attended to that. Joan s grip tightened on her husband s

arm. She turned her head to look at everyone sitting around the table,

finally stopping at Sophie. While Sophie slept, I spoke to her, helped her

sort the memories, categorize them, separate her own thoughts from the

Witch s. I do not think they will trouble her so much now.

Sophie was shocked. You got into my head while I was asleep?

Joan of Arc shook her head slightly. I didn't get into your mind I simply

talked to you, instructed you what to do and how to do it.

I saw you talking , Josh began, and then frowned. But Sophie was sound

asleep. She couldn't hear you.

She heard me, Joan said. She looked directly at Sophie and placed her left

hand flat on the table. A crackling silver haze appeared on her fingertips,

tiny speckles of light dancing from her flesh to bounce, like mercury

droplets, across the table toward the girl s hands, which were resting on the

polished wood. As they approached, Sophie s fingernails began to glow a muted

silver, and then suddenly, the points of light wrapped around her fingers.

You may be twin to Josh, but we are sisters, you and I. We are Silver. I

know what it is like to hear voices inside my head; I know what it is like to

see the impossible, to know the unknowable. Joan looked first at Josh and

then at the Alchemyst. While Sophie slept, I spoke directly to her

unconscious mind. I taught her how to control the Witch s memories, how to

ignore the voices, to shut out the images. I taught her how to protect

herself.

Sophie raised her head slowly, eyes wide with surprise. That s what s

different! she said, both shocked and amazed. I can t hear the voices

anymore. She looked at her twin. They started when the Witch poured her

knowledge into me. There were thousands of them, shouting and whispering in

languages I almost understood. It s quiet now.

They re still there, Joan explained. They will always be there. But now

you will be able to call upon them when you need to, to use their knowledge.

I also started the process of teaching you how to control your aura.

But how could you while she was asleep? Josh pressed. He even found the

thought of it incredibly disturbing.

Only the conscious mind sleeps the unconscious is always aware.

What do you mean, control my aura? Sophie asked, confused. I thought it

was just this silver-colored electrical field around my body.

Joan shrugged, an elegant movement of her shoulders. Your aura is as

powerful as your imagination. You can shape it, meld it, fashion it to your

will. She held out her left hand. That s how I can do this. A metal glove

from a suit of armor clicked into existence around her flesh. Each rivet was

perfectly formed, and the back of the fingers was even dappled with rust.

Try it, she suggested.

Sophie held out her hand and looked hard at it.

Visualize the glove, Joan suggested. See it in your imagination.

A tiny silver thimble appeared on Sophie s little finger, then winked out of

existence.

Well, a little more practice, maybe, Joan admitted. She glanced sidelong at

Saint-Germain and then looked at the Alchemyst. Let me work with Sophie for

a couple of hours, teach her a little more about controlling and shaping her

aura, before Francis starts to teach her the Magic of Fire.

This Fire magic. Is it dangerous? Josh demanded, looking around the room.

He still vividly remembered what had happened to his sister when Hekate had

Awakened her she could have died. And the more he d learned about the Witch

of Endor, he d realized Sophie could have died learning Air magic as well.

When no one answered him, he turned to look at Saint-Germain. Is it

dangerous?

Yes, the musician said simply. Very.

Josh shook his head. Then I don't want

Sophie reached out to squeeze her brother s arm. He looked down: the hand

that gripped his arm was wrapped in a chain-mail glove. Josh, I have to do

this.

No, you don't.

I do.

Josh looked into his sister s face. It was set in the stubborn mask he knew

so well. Finally, he turned away, saying nothing. He didn't want his sister

learning any more magic not only was it dangerous but it would also distance

her even further from him.

Joan turned to Flamel. And now, Nicholas, you must rest.

The Alchemyst nodded. I will.

We were expecting you back a long time ago, Scathach said. I was thinking

I d have to go out in search of you.

The butterfly led me here hours ago, Nicholas said tiredly, voice muffled

with exhaustion. Once I knew where you were, I wanted to wait for night to

fall before approaching the house, just in case it is under observation.

Machiavelli doesn t even know this house exists, Saint-Germain said

confidently.

Perenelle taught me a simple cloaking spell a long time ago, but it only

works when it s raining it uses water droplets to refract light around the

user, Flamel explained. I decided to wait until nightfall to increase my

chances of remaining unseen.

What did you do for the day? Sophie asked.

I wandered around the city, looking for some of my old haunts.

Surely most are gone? Joan said.

Most. Not all. Flamel reached down and lifted an object wrapped in

newspaper from the floor. It made a solid thump when he dropped it on the

table. The house in Montmorency is still there.

I should have guessed you d visit Montmorency, Scathach said with a sad

smile. She looked at the twins and explained, It is the house where Nicholas

and Perenelle lived in the fifteenth century. We spent some happy times

there.

Very happy, Flamel agreed.

And it s still there? Sophie asked, amazed.

One of the oldest houses in Paris, Flamel said proudly.

What else did you do? Saint-Germain asked.

Nicholas shrugged. Visited the Mus e de Cluny. It s not every day you get to

see your own gravestone. I guess it s comforting to know that people still

remember me the real me.

Joan smiled. There is a street named after you, Nicholas: the Rue Flamel.

And one named in honor of Perenelle, too. But somehow, I don't think that s

the real reason you visited the museum, is it? She said shrewdly, You never

struck me as a sentimental man.

The Alchemyst smiled. Well, not the only reason, he admitted. He reached

into his jacket pocket and plucked out a narrow cylindrical tube. Everyone

around the table leaned forward. Even Scatty stepped in to look at it.

Unscrewing both ends, Flamel removed and unrolled a length of rustling

parchment. Nearly six hundred years ago, I hid this within my tombstone,

little thinking that I would ever need to use it. He spread the thick yellow

parchment on the table. Drawn in red ink faded to the color of rust was an

oval with a circle inside it, surrounded by three lines forming a rough

triangle.

Josh leaned over. I ve seen something like that before. He frowned. isn't

there something like that on the dollar bill?

Ignore what it looks like, Flamel said. It s drawn this way to disguise

its true meaning.

What is it? Josh asked.

It s a map, Sophie said suddenly.

Yes, it s a map, Nicholas agreed. But how did you know? The Witch of Endor

never saw this .

No, it has nothing to do with the Witch, Sophie smiled. She leaned across

the table, her head brushing her brother s. She pointed to the top right-hand

corner of the parchment, where a tiny, barely visible cross was etched in red

ink. This definitely looks like an N, she said, pointing to the top of the

cross, and this is an S.

North and south. Josh nodded in quick agreement. Genius, Soph! He looked

at Nicholas. It s a map.

The Alchemyst nodded. Very good. It s a map of all the ley lines in Europe.

Towns and cities, even borders might change beyond all recognition, but the

ley lines remain the same. He held up the square. This is our passport out

of Europe and back to America.

Let s hope we get a chance to use it, Scatty muttered.

Josh touched the edge of the newspaper-wrapped bundle that sat in the center

of the table. And what s this?

Nicholas furled the parchment back into the tube and slipped it into his

jacket pocket. Then he began to unwrap layers of newspaper from the object on

the table. Perenelle and I were in Spain close to the end of the fourteenth

century when the one-handed man revealed the first secret of the Codex, he

said, speaking to no one in particular, his French accent now pronounced.

The first secret? Josh asked.

you've seen the text it changes but it changes in a strict mathematical

sequence. It s not random. The changes are linked to the movements of the

stars and planets, the phases of the moon.

Like a calendar? Josh said.

Flamel nodded. Just like a calendar. Once we had learned that code sequence,

we knew we could finally return to Paris. It would take us a lifetime several

lifetimes to translate the book, but at least we had learned where to start.

So I changed some stones into diamonds, and some flat pieces of shale into

gold, and we started out on the long journey back to Paris. By then, of

course, we had come to the attention of the Dark Elders, and Bacon, Dee s

foul predecessor, was closing in. Rather than take a direct route into

France, we kept to the back roads and avoided the usual passes across the

mountains, which we knew would be watched. However, winter arrived early that

year I believe the Dark Elders had something to do with it and we found

ourselves cut off in Andorra. And that is where I found this . He touched

the object on the table.

Josh looked at his sister, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Andorra? he

mouthed; she was much better at geography than he was.

One of the smallest countries in the world, she explained in a whisper, in

the Pyrenees between Spain and France.

Flamel unwrapped more paper. Before I died, I hid this object deep within

the stone over the lintel of the house on the Rue de Montmorency. I never

thought I would need it again.

Within? Josh asked, confused. Did you say you hid it within?

Within. I changed the molecular structure of the granite, pushed this into

the block of stone and then returned the lintel to its original solid state.

Simple transmutation: like pushing a nut into a tub of ice cream. The final

sheet of newspaper tore as he pulled it away.

It s a sword, Josh whispered in awe, looking at the short narrow weapon

nestled on the paper-strewn table. He guessed it was about twenty inches

long, its simple cross hilt wrapped in strips of stained dark leather. The

blade seemed to be made of a sparkling gray metal. No, not metal. A stone

sword, he said aloud, frowning. It reminded him of something almost as if he

had seen it before.

But even as he was speaking, Joan and Saint-Germain scrambled away from the

table, the woman s chair falling over in her eagerness to get away from the

blade. Behind Flamel, Scathach hissed like a cat, vampire teeth appearing as

she opened her mouth, and when she spoke, her voice was shaking, her accent

thick and barbaric. She sounded almost angry or afraid. Nicholas, she said

very slowly, what are you doing with that filthy thing?

The Alchemyst ignored her. He looked at Josh and Sophie, who had remained

sitting at the table, shocked motionless by the reaction of the others,

unsure what was happening. There are four great swords of power, Flamel

said urgently, each one linked to the elements: Earth, Air, Fire and Water.

It is said that they predate even the oldest of the Elder Races. The swords

have had many names through the ages: Excalibur and Joyeuse, Mistelteinn and

Curtana, Durendal and Tyrfing. The last time one was used as a weapon in the

world of men was when Charlemagne, the Holy Roman Emperor, carried Joyeuse

into battle.

This is Joyeuse? Josh whispered. His sister might be good at geography, but

he knew history, and Charlemagne had always fascinated him.

Scathach s laugh was a bitter snarl. Joyeuse is a thing of beauty. This this

is an abomination.

Flamel touched the sword s hilt and the tiny crystals in the stone sparkled

with green light. This is not Joyeuse, though it is true that it once

belonged to Charlemagne. I also believe the emperor himself hid this blade in

Andorra sometime in the ninth century.

It s just like Excalibur, Josh said, suddenly realizing why the stone sword

was so familiar. He looked at his sister. Dee had Excalibur; he used it to

destroy the World Tree.

Excalibur is the Sword of Ice, Flamel continued. This is its twin blade:

Clarent, the Sword of Fire. It is the only weapon that can stand against

Excalibur.

It is a cursed blade, Scathach said firmly. I ll not touch it.

Nor I, Joan said quickly, and Saint-Germain nodded in agreement.

I m not asking any of you to carry it or wield it, Nicholas snapped. He

spun the weapon on the table until the hilt touched the boy s fingers and

then he looked at each of them in turn. We know Dee and Machiavelli are

coming. Josh is the only one amongst us without the ability to protect

himself. Until his powers are Awakened, he is going to need a weapon. I want

him to have Clarent.

Nicholas! Scathach cried, horrified. What are you thinking. He s an

untrained humani

with a solid gold aura, Flamel said coldly. And I am determined to keep

him safe. He pushed the sword into Josh s fingers. This is yours. Take it.

Josh leaned forward and felt the two pages from the Codex press against his

skin in their cloth bag. This would be the second gift the Alchemyst had

given him in as many days. Part of him wanted to accept the gifts at face

value to trust him and to believe that Flamel liked him and trusted him in

turn. And yet, and yet even after the conversation they d had in the street,

somewhere at the back of his mind, Josh couldn't forget what Dee had said by

the fountain in Ojai: that half of everything Flamel said was a lie, and the

other half wasn't entirely truthful either. He deliberately looked away from

the sword and looked into Flamel s pale eyes. The Alchemyst was staring at

him, his face an expressionless mask. So what was the Alchemyst up to? Josh

wondered. What game was he playing? More of Dee s words popped into his head.

He is now, and has always been, a liar, a charlatan, and a crook.

Don't you want it? Nicholas asked. Take it. He pushed the hilt right into

Josh s grip.

Almost against his will, Josh s fingers closed over the smooth

leather-wrapped hilt of the stone sword. He lifted it though it was short, it

was surprisingly heavy and turned it over in his hands. I ve never handled a

sword in my life, he said. I don't know how .

Scathach will show you the basics, Flamel said, not looking at the Shadow,

but turning the simple statement into a command. How to carry it, simple

thrust and parry. Try and avoid stabbing yourself with it, he added.

Josh suddenly realized that he was grinning widely and tried to wipe away the

smile, but it was difficult: the sword felt amazing in his hand. He moved his

wrist and the sword twitched. Then he looked at Scatty, Francis and Joan and

saw how their eyes were fixed on the blade, following its every movement, and

his smile faded. What s wrong with the sword? he demanded. Why are you so

scared of it?

Sophie put her hand on her brother s arm, her eyes sparkling silver with the

Witch s knowledge. Clarent, she said, is an evil, accursed weapon,

sometimes called the Coward s Blade. This is the sword Mordred used to kill

his uncle, King Arthur.