Prologue - The Day The Magic Died
Somewhere in the Amazon Basin, nestling between Manaus and Leticia, is a slab of shiny, black stone with a smiling photo on it. Beneath the happy face are the words:
Wyatt Matthew Halliwell
RIP
2003-2026
Beloved Brother
Beloved Son
Saved the world – more than once.
A month after this stone was erected, a man stood, gazing at it. He was young and not dressed for the jungle. His black clothes reflected his mood more than his surroundings. His face was like the man in the photo's, but sharper.
He read the words on the memorial stone, although he needn't have bothered as he knew them by heart. They had caused him much trouble. He had insisted that the last line be included. His sister had said that it was disrespectful;
'It's not right. It's like putting Wyatt Halliwell. Blessed - cursed too.'
'No. It's acknowledging what he was to the world. What he died for.'
'You're wrong. He didn't die to be a hero, he died for his family.'
'Well then I guess he died in vain because look at us now.'
Their mother said nothing. That was the biggest weight the family carried. The siblings' bickering, the father's constant working could all be handled. In the face of the unthinkable, they had reverted to type but Piper's silence was unknown. Piper's silence reminded everybody of what they had lost.
The body standing in front of the memorial shivered into hundreds of little lights and Chris Halliwell orbed away. Moments later, a second man appeared in the same spot. This one didn't arrive by magic but by foot. He had bare feet, raw and blistered much like the rest of his body. He stopped, surprised by the memorial and squinted to read it. He could not make out the words but something about this sudden burst of humanity, of civilisation amidst the wilderness moved him and he sat and cradled himself in front of the grave.