Chapter 2
Dee fell back into a chair, sprawling himself out comfortably. His facial hair curved into a most pleasant grin as his head titled back.
He was home at last.
Here he was, back in England; his motherland. It was here he had the advantage and it was here he was strongest.
Across from him, on the other end of the parlor, Machiavelli was pouring a deep, golden champagne into a slender glass. He took up the glass and swirled the fizzing liquid, examining the thick fingers it left along the sides. With a satisfied grin, he took a sip.
It was pleasant in the cool castle parlor, filled with soft chairs and fine rugs, lined with rows and rows of old books. Some of which Machiavelli would pay a handsome price to have in his collection. One or two were even older than himself!
"Fine books." Machiavelli said, envying them as he wandered around the room. John Dee nodded and laced his fingers. "Priceless volumes one and all." He eyed his cohort, noticing the green in his eyes. He sighed and shook his head, bothered by Machiavelli's whole manner.
"They mean nothing to me." John Dee said. Machiavelli gave him a look of surprise, understanding it as an invitation to take what he wished. He immediately plucked a few juicy volumes from their dusty spots on the shelves and set them aside.
The door burst open and both looked up, alarmed. Paracelsus stumbled in and tore across the room to the drinks. Machiavelli had to practically dive out of the way to keep from being trampled by the stout man.
"It's only fifteen flights." Dee said, sipping from a glass of mineral water. Paracelsus chugged a glass of champagne and exhaled loudly. "Only, you say. This foul castle! I hope it sinks into the moat!"
"I'm glad you like it." Dee said, reluctantly rising from his seat. "It's one of my favorite locales." Paracelsus slumped down in a couch directly in front of the fireplace. He held his hands out to the warm flames and huffed. "It would be!"
Machivelli sat down on the arm of the couch, an evil smile curling his lips. "So, I take it you failed in taking the twins..."
"Or the last two pages of the Codex." Dee added bitterly, taking his place on the other side of the couch.
"I wouldn't be so cocky." Paracelsus growled. "I hear you two have made your own fair share of mistakes." Machiavelli and Dee exchanged uncomfortable glances and dropped the subject. "I was sure you would get them, too." Machiavelli then said, deciding to use honey instead of vinegar. "The train scheme seemed promising, seeing that Nicholas and the twins were weak."
"You would, wouldn't you?" Paracelsus said, glaring at the silver-haired Italian. "But, again, your mistakes have made a farce of everything."
Machiavelli shot up and glared down at the pudgy man. "My mistakes? It was your plan!" "Yeah and it was your plan to have your chauffeur take on The Warrior!" Paracelsus pointed out. Machiavelli smiled pleasantly, revealing his perfectly white teeth.
"I thought it was a good plan. It removed her from the equation." Paracelsus was next to stand, coming up to the Italian's face. "The only problem with your plan is that she's still alive!"
Machiavelli's face was like that of a stricken man. He stumbled back, as did Dee. "She's still alive?" Dee exclaimed. Paracelsus turned to him and gave a large nod. "In the flesh!"
Machiavelli shook his head, unable to believe what he had been told. "I was sure she was dead!" Paracelsus sat down and opened one of the books Machiavelli had picked for himself. From his coat he produced a pen and he started drawing on one of the blank pages at the beginning. "You didn't really think your little guppy was going to be a threat to the vampire..."
"Well, I..." Machiavelli stutttered, but stopped and withdrew, walking around the room to regain his composure. He looked enough like a fool for his comfort level. Paracelsus eyed Dee and raised an eyebrow. "So what do we do now, Englishman? Here we are on your turf, surely you have a plan?"
Dee nodded with a grin. "Indeed I do, my swollen Swiss friend. I've called in an old favor." Paracelsus, a little skeptical, gestured to him as if asking him to continue. Dee smirked coldly. "A Cerebus is waiting for them in the Chunnel. Not even The Shadow could face it and live."
Paracelsus threw his head back and scoffed, turning back to the book and colored with fervor. "A Cerebus! What a joke!" John Dee's eyes turned cold and his whole demeanor became threatening in that moment. Even though he was a short man, he was a dangerous one.
"You find it amusing?" Dee breathed. Paracelsus nodded as he continued to laugh. "I do!" "For what reason?" Paracelsus looked up at him and his smile broadened. "Add this to your equation: The Prince is with them."
Machiavelli, who was taking a drink in hopes of drowning his shock, only choked on the champagne. His glass shattered on the floor as he coughed and gagged, clutching at his throat. The other two didn't seem to notice him. Dee, shocked, stared at the coloring Swiss astrologer.
"The Prince?" He asked before looking over his shoulder, as if expecting the being in question to enter the room. Paracelsus nodded, giggling like a little boy. "Yes! He was there, as strong as ever!" Dee slammed his fist down on the couch. "The Shadow and The Prince?" "Makes our jobs more interesting doesn't it?" Paracelsus asked, very much enjoying their discomfort.
Machiavelli, now composed, slumped down in a chair and ran his hands down his face. "Wonderful. Just wonderful. Just what we need." Paracelsus's laugh echoed in the room and he started stomping his feet.
"What is it? Your giddiness is getting on my nerves." Dee said flatly. Paracelsus looked up from the book and pointed his pen at Dee. "You should watch your tone; I called in an old favor as well. One you and your Italian friend might find interesting."
Dee settled beside Paracelsus, eyeing him. "What?" Machiavelli came up from behind, listening intently. Paracelsus held open the book so the two of them could see what he had drawn.
It depicted four horsemen, running abreast to the left of the book, each wielding a different weapon. One held a sword aloft, his mouth agape in a battle cry. The next held a scale in his hand; one side was heavier than the other despite the fact nothing was being weighed. The third aimed a bow straight ahead, his aim flawless. The last was a skeleton wielding a scythe.
Dee and Machiavelli stared at each other, faces pale in fright. "The Aquilon?" Machiavelli said breathlessly. A breeze stirred the fire and both gasped. A chilling smile wrinkled Paracelsus's face.
"The Four Horsemen."
--
Sophie stood transfixed by the flashes of reflected light. The harsh and rapid sound of steel hitting steel filled the forest in an endless rhythm.
Scatty, eager to see if Mikhal was "like he used to be" challenged him to a spar. As the tired travelers watched in awe, the Warrior and the Prince clashed; showcasing their astonishing skill.
"Not bad!" Scatty said, parrying a couple of strong thrusts to the stomach. "Not bad at all!" "I'm glad you think so." Mikhal said, surrounded by glowing arcs of liquid light.
Josh was absolutely enthralled by the spectacle. His eyes moved with the swords, rolling with each slash and shifting with each jab; a smile never left his face. He's watched The Matrix -- all three movies -- and he's been an avid Star Wars fan. Sophie, on the other hand, wasn't as interested in such movies, saying they were too "macho and violent". She couldn't truly appreciate the pure skill of fighting like he did or enjoy it as he did watching Scatty and Mikhal fight before him.
Nicholas was laying propped up by a nearby tree with his hands folded neatly on his chest. He seemed to be asleep, unaffected by the endless ringing and grunts from the nearby combatants. Sophie only tore her eyes from the fight to look at him. She had noticed that he was sleeping a lot lately and seemed very weak.
She went over and settled down beside the alchemyst. He grunted and looked at her over the rim of his glasses. Being his only pair, he neglected to do anything about the crack in the left lens. "Oh, Sophie." He murmured before shifting into a more comfortable position. "Sorry if I disturbed you." Sophie said. With a shake of his head, Nicholas exhaled 'no' a few times before closing his eyes once more.
"You seem kind of tired." Sophie said, staring at him. Nicholas pulled open a reddened lid and stared at her for a moment. "Do I? I don't mean to." He then closed his eyes again. "Is anything wrong?" She asked, feeling concerned seeing Nicholas so drained.
"What would make you think anything is wrong?" Nicholas asked. Sophie smiled at the irony of his words. Nicholas heaved a tired sigh and shrugged his shoulders, itching a spot he didn't bother to reach. "The years are catching up with me." He said. "And there's still much that needs to be done."
"Like what?" Sophie inquired, turning over so she lay on her side, facing Nicholas. "Finding a way to get to England and find Gilgamesh; staying out of trouble; safely training Josh and yourself -- among other things."
Sophie felt dazed by the complications of the problems outlined for her. Though she knew these problems, hearing it from someone as old as Nicholas, she felt worn down. The answers seemed so distant and the solutions too hard to find. She frowned, thinking to herself: and there are other things as well?
"Yes, there are."
Sophie covered her mouth, realizing she had voiced her thoughts. Nicholas gave a weary smile, staring at her. "Merely having Mikhal here is a sign of more things to come, Sophie. There's an old saying among the circles of immortals: Mikhal makes prophets of beggers."
"What does that mean?" Sophie asked, intrigued. Anything she could learn about Mikhal was welcomed in her mind. The echoes from her nightmare still swirled in her head.
The alchemyst coughed, catching it in a fist. "Mikhal, you see, is not like other Second Generation Elders. He's what's called a Twilight Elder: one with powers like First Generation Elders, but none of the weakness." Nicholas's head rolled toward her and he gave a smile. "Sadly, Twilight Elders seem to entice Fate to shorten their lives compared to other Elders of any generation."
Sophie bit her lip, feeling her heart ache in sadness. Poor Mikhal, to know that he would die with no chance of avoiding it. He was almost...like a mortal; he was almost like her. "But what does that have to do with making prophets of beggars?"
"Well." Nicholas grunted, closing his eyes once more. "Mikhal never appears without a reason, and he even evokes happenings by appearing. Like a black hole, his very presence bends time and space. Even a beggar would know, seeing him, that something epic was about to come to pass."
Sophie thought about his words; the weight of his words were not to be taken lightly. After all that she had seen and witnessed, she knew not to doubt the alchemyst when he said something was amiss. Turning to Mikhal, she also knew by looking at him that he was nothing ordinary -- even in this extraordinary world she and Josh found themselves in.
"Could you tell me a little more?" Sophie asked, staring at Mikhal and Scatty who were still going at it. "It's not my place to delve into another's history too thoroughly." Nicholas murmured. Sophie looked back at him. "Oh, c'mon." She was shocked to find the alchemyst had fallen asleep. He snored softly, his eyes rolled lazily inside his lids.
Sophie smiled and got up and returned to the others. She sat beside Josh, who's eyes were a light shade of pink. Sophie eyed him and touched his shoulder. "Josh! Blink!" Josh did and he shook his head, turning to his sister. "Oh! Hey, Soph." Sophie shook her head in exasperation, shifting her attention back to the fighters.
Suddenly, Sophie found herself staring in her reflection. A blade, which she recognized as Scatty's, was buried in the ground before her, swaying to and fro. Beyond it, she could see Mikhal and Scatty standing still. Scatty stood rigidly, staring down at Mikhal's blade, which tickled her throat. Mikhal was smiling evilly, his eyes flashing as though the dance of blades was still going on around him.
Mikhal lowered the blade and sheathed it. "Astounding." He said, reverting to his usual calm demeanor. Scatty rubbed at her neck, smiling nervously. "I'm not one for using hyperbole, but I must say: that was brilliant! I've never seen you this good, Mikhal. You are at your best."
"Well, thank you Scatty." Mikhal said as he went to retrieve her sword. He pulled it out of the ground, with the pommel held between two fingers, and he tossed it over to Scatty, who caught it deftly. "You haven't been slacking. I recognized the moves I taught you. Well done."
"Yeah, well I recognized that elbow shot to the chin I taught you." Scatty said, rubbing her chin. Mikhal mimicked her. "I'm glad you decided to return the favor." "You taught Scatty to fight with swords?" Sophie asked. Scatty threw a hand at Mikhal, acting as though it were an obvious answer. "He taught everyone how to fight with the sword. He invented the art!"
"Like Scatty was the one who invented what would be Martial Arts." Joan added. Sophie's mouth dropped. Mikhal looked away, seemingly not comfortable with the conversation. "Well, I didn't invent the sword. It was when I beheld one of the Elemental swords I tried to mimic it, forging swords and creating swordsmanship."
"It was what turned the tide!" Scatty said. Mikhal eyed her. "It was the invention of the trumpet. Music was already there, you just needed something to harvest it." Scatty screwed her lips, no longer pushing the issue.
Mikhal's eyebrow rose and he looked down, realizing Josh was standing before him. Josh's eyes were wide -- as was his smile. "Yes?" Mikhal said. "Can you teach me that?" Josh asked. Mikhal smiled and nodded. "I believe so. After all, you're going to need all the help you can get." Scatty shook her head and approached. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mikhal. Josh has potential, but I don't believe he's ready for that level of training."
Josh glared at Scatty and turned back to Mikhal, hands clasped and held over his head. "Please! I need to know how to do that!" Mikhal's face was expressionless, leaving poor Josh only to wonder what he was thinking. "I don't think..."
"Oh, please!" Josh said, falling before him. "I must learn from the Grand Master of Swordsmen!" Mikhal smiled and looked up at Scatty. "The way humans use words and the drama they put into them always amused me."
"Josh, get up." Sophie said as she walked over, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "You're embarrassing yourself!" "Sophie! I'm serious! I need to do this!" Josh protested from the ground. Sophie quickened her pace, but Mikhal raised his hand in Sophie's direction, indicating for her to stop, which she did immediately. There was a mysterious look in Mikhal's eyes. Even Scatty seemed concerned. "You are serious." He muttered. Josh nodded in confirmation, eyes determined.
"Mikhal." Scatty said, as if warning him. Mikhal's eyes did not leave Josh as he began to speak. His voice was soft, and coming from emotionless lips it seemed like he was speaking from a dream. "You wish to be a Warrior?"
"Yes." Josh said.
"Do you believe you have the will to be one?"
"Yes!" Josh pressed.
"We'll find out."
Scatty came to Mikhal's side, turning him by the shoulder so they faced. "Mikhal! Don't you dare! It's too dangerous!" "What?" Sophie demanded. She was frightened by Scatty's reaction; she wasn't afraid of anything. "What's too dangerous?"
Mikhal's eyes narrowed determinedly. "Scatty, this needs to be done. You know as well as I do that of the two, Josh is the most inexperienced."
"Hey!" Josh said, his joy turning into anger.
"All the more reason!" Scatty pressed.
Joan came over, taking Sophie the shoulders, a physical show of support. Looking up at the Maid of Orleans, Sophie could see the same emotions she was feeling in those almond eyes. "What is this about?" She demanded softly.
Mikhal turned to her, and even she flinched seeing his eyes. His pupils almost seemed to pull the sapphire around them into their depths. "I plan to pass my knowledge of the sword to Josh."
Sophie's breath caught in her throat and she clutched at her heart; it felt as though it would stop. Joan's grip on her shoulders tightened and her eyes widened. "Mikhal! He's too young!"
"As Sophie was too young to know the secret arts of Fire and Wind?" Mikhal refuted. Joan bit her lip and looked down. Mikhal continued, staring at her. "Josh knows neither yet, and he needs a power of his own."
"Even if he survived..." Joan said. She looked back up at him"...Would he be disciplined enough to know how to use it? When to use it?" Mikhal stared down at Josh. "He will because I will tutor him. He will have the heart of a Warrior when I'm finished with him."
Josh swallowed hard, suddenly rethinking his ambitions. Having seen what the Witch had done to Sophie to teach her the Magic of Wind, he wasn't sure he would want to experience such a thing as well.
"I don't think it's a good idea." Scatty said. "Nothing would change my mind. Your art is something different, Mikhal. Your knowledge is extensive and the power of the sword might be too great."
Mikhal looked at the faces around him, finally resting on Josh's. "Let the boy decide." He said. Josh's face turned pale at this. Mikhal's hand floated up. "Rise." Josh mechanically regained his feet. "This choice is yours alone. I offer my knowledge to you, but I cannot accept it for you." Josh stared at him, thinking for a length. He opened his mouth to speak and Sophie pulled out of Joan's hold and ran over to her brother.
"Josh! Think about what you are doing!" She pleaded. "I don't like the sound of this." "But..." Josh said, looking at her. "...You did this too...I was a afraid what would happen to you..." Josh muttered. Sophie gasped, suddenly having an insight to her brother's innermost thoughts. So this is how he felt: witnessing the frightening metamorphosis of his sister through Awakening, learning the arts of both Fire and Wind, and becoming almost a demigod.
"I'm sorry, Josh." Sophie sobbed softly. She held tight to her twin's shirt. "I'm sorry I put you through that." Josh looked down at her. His hand came up and touched her arm. "Sophie. I want to do this. I want to like be you. I want to be able to help, not watch anymore."
Sophie looked up at him and stared into his eyes. After feeling what he had felt for the last month, she understood what he meant. She released him and backed away, bowing her head. "Do what you must, Josh."
Josh looked up at Mikhal. He nodded and puffed out his chest. "I'll do it. Teach me." Mikhal nodded slowly. "Then we'll start immediately."
