Yeah, it's been a long wait, I know. But I was writing the final chapter, and wanted to make sure that it wraps everything up nicely, which I think it does. The next update should be in about a week - that'll give me plenty of time to edit.
Enjoy.
Disclaimer: (Insert standard disclaimer here.)
Chapter Twenty-One
Endgame
"This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper."
- T.S. Eliot
Thomas didn't know what exactly he was supposed to do, except for fight. Really, who exactly was he supposed to fight? It wasn't like he could go up and tap a demon on the shoulder and politely say, "Excuse me, would it be okay if I used my natural resilience against you until you exploded?"
But like Glen had said, he was a fighter by birth. He wouldn't shy away from the battle. He would fight, and fight well, and bring down as many demons as he could. After this battle, others would be able to look back and marvel at Thomas and his fighting spirit, and how he had brought down so many opponents.
He'd show all of them, Elliot included, that age didn't matter. Age was just a piece of information. A person's true character was independent from their age. He could help. He wasn't useless.
"Keep a steady eye," Glen advised him in a low voice. He grabbed Thomas's shoulder with his hand to reassure him. "We're going to fight eventually."
"I know," Thomas replied quietly. Glen, although he could be very feisty, wasn't bad at all. He acted like a father, or maybe even like a favorite uncle, to the members of the Resistance, but he never looked down on them. Sometimes he would make a scathing remark, but he never truly meant it. He knew what they were all capable of.
"Should be fun, eh?"
Thomas sighed. "At least you have more resilience than me."
"You can see demons, and you have resilience."
"I'd rather have your abilities now."
"Don't underestimate yourself," said Glen gruffly as his knuckles whitened on Thomas's shoulder. Demons were swirling around them; he was just waiting for an opportunity to engage in battle. "When you start to second-guess, you're already losing control."
"Sure," Thomas sighed. "Whatever you say."
Glen shook his head somberly. "There're two types of people in this world, Thomas: those who think they can and those who think they can't."
"Which group is right?" the boy found himself asking.
Glen offered him a pained smile. "They both are."
A blast took a portion of the wall behind them out, and the pub owner growled.
"Looks like we've got ourselves some fun."
He burst forward towards a large jaguar demon. The side of his trousers where Yachodam had hit him was still scorched, and he had a limp, but he had surprising speed. Thomas found himself staring uselessly in the older man's wake.
"Yes," he agreed quietly as he followed into the fray of the battle. "Fun."
Before he could even comprehend the situation, Glen and the jaguar had disappeared. The area was unrecognizable; time was traveling at an entirely different speed. Another second went by, and he felt something throw him to the ground, hard.
Two skeletons were standing over him, mocking him with their graceful movements. They cackled, and he tried to get to his feet, but he was knocked down again, and then they, too, vanished.
Warily, he braced himself with his hands and stood up. His footing was shaky, his vision blurred; his world was dancing around him. A blur of white came across his vision, and he stumbled out of the way just before one of the skeletons rocketed past gleefully.
"Ah, human!" it cried. "You dodged that one, you did! Not this one! Oh, not this one!"
He shook his head and stepped to the side again, although this time the skeleton clipped him in the shoulder. His vision was returning, but still he could only see one of his enemies. Thomas did not have to be a genius to realize that this was a bad sign.
Only moments later, he was thrown into the stone from behind amid peals of laughter.
"Funny human!" The other skeleton had returned. "You must be learning, for there is much learning to do!"
He whirled upwards, and threw his legs wildly into the air. He made brief contact with one of his adversaries but did no real damage, and before he knew what was happening one of them had disappeared again.
"Round and round we go, human!" said the visible skeleton, standing casually some distance away from him. It cringed, and as he watched, horrified, thick bones emerged from its back: wings. "Do humans like to fly? I wonder… Let's see!"
Thomas gave it no chance to take off, and instead took it by surprise by hurtling towards it and latching onto its bones with his bare hands. It growled and flung the two of them into the air, but he did not let go.
It cursed him under its breath. "Bad human! Your essence burns mine!"
Thomas clung to it even more determinedly. Maybe he would be able to hold on long enough…
"No, human! We shall see who dies first! Your time is running out!"
A bony hand grabbed his head and yanked him from the demon. Apparently, its ally had returned, creepy smile still in place. The skeleton he had held onto so desperately took hold of his head also, and he now hung only by his neck near the ceiling of the room, which was looking further and further from the floor. His neck burned, and he knew it wouldn't be long before his spine eventually broke or fractured.
"We tease you slowly," murmured one of the spirits to him lowly. "Death is coming. Do you not see your future?"
He stealthily groped the inside of his sweater for something, anything that could help him. His fingers made contact with something cold and smooth, and he smiled slightly.
"You smile!" The skeleton seemed delighted. "Do you see it yet?"
Grabbing one of the items in each hand, he outstretched his arms above him and chuckled weakly.
"Yes," he replied. "I do."
Bringing his arms crashing down on the demons, he crushed the Elemental Orbs in his hands and knew no more.
-
Morris Fischer did not know what to do, and this made him very irritated.
Nathaniel had been very plain in his instructions: go find Bartimaeus, send him along his way to help, and the job was done. Then he would probably be expected to fight, but would anyone notice if he hid from the battle?
With his luck, yes.
But the real problem was how to get to Bartimaeus. He was all the way across the room, across the battlefield. Morris had no resilience. He was vulnerable.
And so he did as he always did in tough situations: he charged ahead and improvised.
Grabbing the sword, he made his way along the edges of the room, perilously close to the Archway. He could feel his bones shake as he passed it, and the blade turned cold in his hands. He shuddered and moved on, once more feeling warmth in his body. His blood was properly working once more, and he didn't need an explanation to know that the Archway was something terrible and powerful. The feeling of emptiness was all that he required.
He was not moving along very quickly, but he figured that anything worth doing was worth doing well, or in his case it was not worth losing a hand trying to go fetch the blasted djinni.
An unlucky mouler strayed across his path, and he didn't think twice about cutting it in half with the sword. As he moved along, Morris realized that he was already gaining a killer mentality, and it bothered him. He was no murderer. He solved murders. He prevented murders.
Oh, how ironic it was.
This fight was tearing them all apart from the inside, it was tearing apart the ties that bonded them together. Could they truly be victorious if they themselves were corrupted by this? Could they be victorious if the cause they labored for vanished from their sight somewhere along the way?
Was this cause even worth fighting for?
No one knew, he supposed. And maybe the answers weren't worth knowing. Maybe he didn't want to know the answers.
If only they all could see him now, reflective and somber. It'd probably send a few of them into shock.
Morris knew it was a very good thing that they could not see him now.
Another mouler lay in his path, and he only gave it one last glance before disposing of it, too. Was killing spirits truly murdering? Was it murder to protect yourself?
By British law, it was no crime to kill a spirit without a master. But then again, it was a crime to kill something that had not attacked the killer first.
The judicial system was royally screwed, he also decided, for as he had demonstrated, those two laws completely contradicted each other. They'd have to work on the laws when they were done with this "saving the world" business.
He stopped in his tracks. It seemed that all of his contemplation had made the time pass faster. That or it wasn't Bartimaeus lying in front of him, but some other spirit that had conveniently taken the guise of a red lion.
Although Morris doubted the latter, it was possible. Anything was possible.
"Hello, Morris," said the lion dully. "Having fun?"
At this point, Morris knew it was probably safe to say that the lion was indeed Bartimaeus.
"Yes, loads." He fingered the sword nervously. "And you?"
Bartimaeus managed to shrug from his position. "Eh, so-so. This fellow over here was somewhat annoying."
He gestured to a headless body next to him. Its hand was nailed to the ground with two rather bloody fangs, and only his extensive training and experience in the area kept Morris from vomiting right then and there.
"He is – was, rather – a mercenary," the djinni continued. "Very persistent little bugger, too, and those boots he has on are very bothersome. He also has this knack for getting injured but bouncing back from it easily, so I figured that I might as well take off his head and be done with it."
"Resilience?" Morris poked the body with his foot, just noticing that the head was laying a few meters away, and a silver disc coated with scarlet lay just beyond that.
"More than I've ever seen before," Bartimaeus replied. "I set him on fire before, a few years ago. I don't think that deterred him much, though."
The technician contorted his face into a rueful smile. "Somehow I think this may just stop him in his tracks."
"I hope so." The lion licked its paws nonchalantly. "And what're you here for?"
"Oh, that. Nathaniel sent me to tell you to be on your way and up those stairs to help him out. Seems that he's going to take on Makepeace. Wants to stop the trouble at its source, or something of the sort."
"He's alive?"
"And kicking," Morris confirmed. "Although he got hit pretty hard. Grade A, right at him."
"Stop trying to confuse me with your medical jargon," snapped Bartimaeus in return as he got to his feet. "So, he's alive, eh? That's good. It might've been disadvantageous to lose him so early on in the game."
The magician looked at him with distaste. "The game? This is just a game?"
"Yes." Bartimaeus was not apologetic; rather, he stood tall and proud. "That's all it ever is."
He cast no look backwards as he walked away, into the middle of it all and to what Morris knew would decide the fate of an entire world. If only he could, for just a few minutes, have Bartimaeus's courage, or ignorance of death if that's what it truly was. The resolve that he was unstoppable, invincible, for only a moment would be enough. He did not want to fight anymore. He just wished that the fighting would stop, that he could go back to his lowly job where everyone thought him odd and the pay wasn't very good at all. Morris was not a warrior. He was a coward, and he did not see the problem with this.
But was it possible for cowards to become warriors, if only fleetingly, in times of crisis?
Morris doubted it.
Yet then again, anything was possible.
Gripping Gladstone's sword tightly, he began a slow walk into the battle. No spirit noticed him, and he took in the sights of it all with awe.
Glen was battling a jaguar ferociously, and Jack was battling what looked like two imps nearby. The others were scattered about all over the area, and all were still standing. That, at least, was a good sign.
That is, until a loud explosion occurred high above his head, and one limp body fell to the ground somewhere ahead of him. Thomas. Elemental Orbs, from the look of it.
As Morris looked upwards, he noticed there were only particles now in the place that he had fallen from. He had taken out his adversary, but at what cost?
So much for the drinking. It didn't look like Thomas would even live to drink, legally or illegally.
Footsteps pounded near him, and he spun around anxiously.
"Hello, magician," came a low voice. A robed figure stood in front of him, a staff in its left hand. To Morris's chagrin, it looked eerily like the Grim Reaper. "Have you come to battle? Or do you seek to hide?"
"I don't think that's any of your business, thank you very much," Morris said icily.
"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But your fate is inextricably tied with the decision." It made a dramatic, sweeping movement with its free arm. "Do you run and hide, or do you stand your ground and battle?"
"Does it matter? It's not like you're going to let me run, anyway."
The spirit laughed. "That is where you are wrong. I am not as barbarian as my comrades. It is just murder to kill one who has not attacked you. My orders were to protect, not to destroy. And if you run, that is of no consequence to me. I will still protect, but you will be out of the picture."
Morris looked at it suspiciously. "So you're honestly giving me a choice?"
"Yes. Your destiny lies in your hands. Embrace it or throw it away: it is your choice."
He could run. He could run, and he wouldn't die. Well, not now. He could hide somewhere, somewhere safe, and never be heard from again, or at least not for a little while.
But could he betray his friends? Morris was not courageous, but it was not courage that bound him to them. It was understanding. Could he leave that behind?
"What the hell, I'm a gambling man," he responded, bracing the sword in front of him like an invitation to fight. "Show me what you've got, you morbid old bastard."
"So you embrace it." The spirit tapped its staff on the ground. "It is old tradition to know the name of your adversary before battle, as a respect. I am Immeritus, guardian of the lair. What is your title?"
Morris grinned. "Morris Fischer, lab technician. Also known as the guy who has to make sense of the shit that the CSI's bring in."
"So, Morris Fischer," Immeritus repeated. It nodded approvingly. "Let us do battle."
Its movements were graceful, almost dance-like, as it made its way towards him. He lashed out with his sword but its staff deflected it easily before knocking him upside the head and into the air.
His skull felt compressed, and all he could think of as he hit the ground was the staff. It must have been magical, or powerful, or just very hard, to have caused such pain to him. Immeritus took advantage of his lapse in concentration and leapt forward at him. He tried to move out of the way, but the staff came down on his leg, and he cried out in pain.
"Conceal your anguish!" commanded the spirit, almost angrily. "Never let your opponent see your weaknesses!"
It brought up its weapon again, preparing to strike, but Morris swung his sword upwards at it and it rolled out of the way. The move gave him enough time to gain his ground again, but Immeritus was shaking its head somberly.
"Already you have lost," it stated slowly. "You have not tried to cripple me, or destroy me. You have given me time to concentrate, and that will be your downfall."
"Er… what?"
It said nothing, and quickly Morris realized what it was doing. It was focusing, planning out one last move, and he could do nothing about it. He was almost ten meters away; it was not possible to reach it in time.
Think, Morris, think. Improvise.
His eyes narrowed into thin slits as he gripped the sword and looked to it.
Cut your losses.
He charged forward, sword dragging in the air behind him. The distance was decreasing rapidly, but it was too late. Immeritus was outstretching its hands, gathering its energy.
Cut your losses. Sacrifice a pawn for the king.
Just as a beam of energy began to form at its palms, he lunged at it with the sword. The sword cut right through it and it gasped in surprise, but the beam exploded in its hands around his arm, and he screamed in agony.
Morris fell to the ground, shrieking, and writhed on the stone wildly. Tears were streaming down his face, stinging his eyes, and what felt like fire was running up the arm he had wielded the sword with. When he finally gained the strength to open his eyelids, what he saw nearly made him pass out.
Where his hand had previously been, a stump was all that remained. It was a clean wound, blackened and scarlet, and blood dripped onto the cold stone.
Finally it all overtook him and he began to lose consciousness. Black enveloped around him, and he did not know what had happened, albeit for what he had seen in one last glance towards his adversary.
Immeritus and Gladstone's sword were no more.
-
When I had called this all a game, Morris had been surprised – angered, even. I did not mean it as an insult, but rather as a concession of our opponent's abilities at deception and manipulation. He was using us all in his plot, and Nathaniel was doing his best to counter it. It was a battle of strategy, of wit, and thus far it was a stalemate. Even such, it was a bit miraculous that Makepeace had not won already, and now it would be in our hands, on our terms.
I ascended the steps slowly, one by one, until finally a conversation came into earshot.
"No, Ms. Jones, you can't. I'm unstoppable now."
That would be Makepeace. Cocky little bugger.
"That is where we disagree. You're not unstoppable. At least, not yet."
And that would be Nat – from the sounds of it he had come from the opposite stairway. Seeing how the drama was high at the moment, I knew it was the perfect time to make my entrance.
"Yes, what he said!" I exclaimed, bursting onto the platform. I imagine Makepeace gave me an odd look, something akin to loathing and shock and maybe even ridicule. That cloak really was becoming an inconvenience to me – I only wished I could see him. Meanwhile, Kitty was staring at Nathaniel, a look of shock on her face. Happy shock, mind you. After all, she'd kissed the kid only minutes earlier. "Oh, sorry. Did I break the tension?"
"Djinn," Makepeace sighed. "And it was such a wonderful moment, also. No matter. I shall see to it that you are taken care of."
Someone, Makepeace probably, snapped his fingers and whistled loudly.
"Faquarl!"
Much to my annoyance, my old enemy – and ally – appeared in a puff of smoke, tentacles (well, on the seventh plane) and all. Useless dramatics.
"You called?" Irritation laced his voice.
"Busy Bartimaeus for the time-being." The blob that represented Makepeace gestured to Nathaniel and Kitty. "I must deal with these two little rascals."
"Yes, Master." I could tell it was straining him to address Makepeace as such, but it was best to suck up, just in case he did win. Swallow your pride, as they say.
I waved a paw at Faquarl congenially. "So, old friend, how's life treating you? Everything still intact, I see? None of your little suckers have gone missing."
"I am not so old yet, Bartimaeus," he replied dully. His present guise was an odd one: he appeared to be Simon Lovelace, actually. "Hopefully I shall live to see the day when they do fall off."
"I'm not so sure about that. I've seen it happen to old Urugul. Not pretty at all, let me tell you."
Faquarl was not impressed with my limitless expanse of knowledge. "Cut the chit-chat, Bartimaeus. I have an order to carry out. Move along before I must use force on you."
"Oh, save the big words," I said dryly, taking a few steps back and taunting him with my tail. "We both know that's just talk, but I'll move along anyway to spare the controversy."
"Good," he stated shortly. He did not seem to be in the mood for talking, even by his standards. If I wasn't careful he might try to pollute my mind with propaganda speaking of a spirit revolution.
I descended the steps carefully, Faquarl matching my strides to the left. My mind was already working at full speed – if I could just get past him, I could still help the two dolts. The only problem was the actual getting past him part.
"The boy," said Faquarl monotonously, "is he your master?"
"That idiot?" I jerked my head towards Nathaniel. "Sure is."
"Idiot?" asked the savvy old djinni. "I was under the impression that he had some talent to get this far. Makepeace is very precise in his movements; to even challenge him is a great achievement."
"Oh, I was just speaking generally," I replied. "Because as you know, all magicians are idiots. But he's probably one of the better ones. He might even be brilliant, compared to the rest of his lot."
"Hm." The man, Lovelace, picked at his teeth uninterestedly. "Have you served him before?"
I nodded. "Twice."
"Ouch."
"I don't get it. I annoy him out of his wits yet I've still become one of his personal favorites."
"Maybe he thinks you're efficient."
"Of course he does. That's just a given."
"Still as arrogant as ever," stated Faquarl, looking at me and shaking his head. "You know what they say: 'pride cometh before the fall.'"
I laughed bitterly. "It's already the end of the world as we know it, Faquarl. I'd say I'm pretty much falling as it is. Pride doesn't worry me much at the moment."
"You're getting lazy, Bartimaeus. You're overlooking weaknesses, due to your arrogance. Someday you'll meet your end, mark my words."
Although I had never really considered his advice of the utmost importance, seeing as he was insane, his words bothered me. I decided to change the subject instead of treading into uncomfortable territories.
"So… an Archway, eh? Why not a door?"
He gave me an odd glance. "You and I both know what that is, how it was made. You were there, and I did my research."
"Yes," I said darkly, "you're right. Ptolemy's Gate is not a foreign subject to me, and with your obsession with rebellion, it's only natural that you would have tried to learn all about it."
"You know me too well."
I clicked my paws on the ground anxiously. "I've only known you for hundreds of years. By the by, aren't you supposed to be destroying me or something of the sort?"
"No," he responded simply. The question did not perturb him in the least. "My orders were to keep you busy. I've kept you busy so far."
"And an excellent job you've done, old chum!" I exclaimed. "But if you would be so kind, I really should be going. I've wasted too much time here, and I think my master requires my service elsewhere."
"If you do attempt to leave, though, I will have to detain you. And neither of us want a fight, Bartimaeus."
"Oh, really? I've already dispatched of one old acquaintance today; why not make it two?"
"Don't be an idiot, Bartimaeus!" Faquarl's voice was distinct and sharp. "We both know that we're in no shape to fight each other! Look at us! All of this constant abuse and use has worn us down to the bone. I can barely even feel my essence anymore, and don't pretend that everything's okay when it isn't! How long will it be until your essence finally fails you? If we fought, it would only result in both of our deaths. Stop being foolish!"
I stopped in my tracks. Such an outburst from Faquarl was odd, but he'd been acting odd during our brief encounter. Could he have finally given up to the magicians, to slavery?
"Ah, you know me," I said, dismissing him briskly. "I think with my fists, not my head."
"It doesn't even matter anymore," he replied coldly.
"Er… what?"
He chuckled. "Do you not feel it? The air, the earth – they're contorting. Everything's changing."
Imagine my shock when I realized that he was correct. There was a tingling feeling in the air, and my essence felt blotchy, as if it weren't truly even there. I felt strong, invincible for once, almost as if I was home. A deep noise filled the room, as if a tempest had formed only meters away from us.
"I hope your master has a plan," he commented wryly, twisting his hands. "Makepeace has already initiated his."
I didn't answer him, for I was thinking the very same thing. Makepeace had obviously activated the Archway – the Gate. Something was happening.
"It's begun," Faquarl said.
"What has?"
He smirked.
"Like you said, Bartimaeus… the end of the world."
-
When Jack had been very young, too young to remember much, he had been sent to live with his uncle in the city. His uncle never spoke of why Jack had been sent off, and Jack never asked. It was the natural order of things.
Glen had always been there. He and Jack's uncle had been friends since their schoolyard days, and it never seemed odd to Jack that he would go into Glen's pub even though he could not yet ride a bike, let alone drink. The men in the bar were always very nice to him, or too drunk to notice him. He supposed that the long hours spent in the tavern had toughened him up, made him more of an individual. But that was just guesswork.
It was just like Glen to run headfirst into battle, straight at one of the more horrifying demons. It wasn't an act of pride – well, partially, but Glen was only trying to help. It was the best way he knew how to aid them. He'd want to face the largest ones, the most dangerous ones, if only to save the younger members from them.
Jack engaged an imp, which had taken on the guise of a kitten, all the while keeping an eye on his old friend. Glen knew what he was doing, and had a gun with silver bullets if worst came to worst. He'd be fine.
The imp lunged at him and he dodged to the side easily. It was no real challenge, yet resilience wasn't his strong suit, so it was safer to fight a weaker demon. He flicked his knife out from his boot and waved it at the kitten menacingly. It mewed in response.
He could hear the grunts of his comrades all around – Elliot had just let out a rather primitive roar, but that was just like Elliot. All bark, no bite.
The imp jumped into the air, and he rolled to the side. It bounced off of the ground and back onto its feet, only to be met by his trainer. It went flying, at least ten meters or so, and for once he was glad that his uncle had forced him to play football as a youngster. He supposed he was a bit morbid in his enjoyment of sending a cute little kitten sailing into the air, but it was pretty funny. And that damned imp deserved it.
The jaguar Glen was fighting growled, and the old man growled back. Jack grinned. That was Glen for you. Show the bastards what they showed you. Give them a taste of their own medicine. Shove their own medicine down their throats.
The imp was now scurrying back towards him, and he rolled his eyes as he heard its whimpers. Pathetic. Did it not have pride?
"Come on, you arse," he called out teasingly. "Show me what you're made of!"
It leapt into the air, and he slashed at it with his knife. It cried out and fell to the ground. He had not made direct contact with it, and had merely sliced off a few hairs on the tip of its tail. What a coward.
He shot forward with his knife once more, but the kitten jumped to the side. Twirling around, he hurled his knife at it, and it embedded itself into the imp's body.
"There we go!" he said approvingly. The imp gulped. "Serves you right for being such a scaredy-cat. Pun intended."
He retrieved his blade from the imp's body and watched as it disintegrated into nothing. It was a job well done, all in all. He'd taken no hits at all from the demon. Perfect.
"Oy, Joel!" he called out. "Try to top that one! I defeated it without even getting hit!"
"What were you fighting, a mouler?" came the droning reply from across the room.
"Of course not! An imp!"
"Sure you were," said Joel as he ducked a Detonation.
Jack laughed and whipped around, only to stop in his tracks.
Glen was fighting ferociously, of course, and was shooting his gun at the jaguar. It dodged the bullets, though, and as it drew closer a look of hopelessness came upon the Scot's face. He threw down the gun and began pummeling it with his fists, but it was of no use. Within seconds, the demon had impaled him with a claw through his chest.
All Jack remembered was that it took Glen an eternity to fall.
He rushed forward automatically towards his old companion. The jaguar loped lazily to the side, very pleased with its victory, cooing sweetly in Jack's ears. A pool of blood surrounded Glen, but Jack knelt right in it, not caring about the inherent messiness. He cradled the bush of gray and red in his hands and felt his eyes get hot and salty – Glen couldn't have lost, not now, not ever.
"Go," Glen said weakly. "Go."
Jack shook his head furiously, trying to apply pressure to the wound. It had gone straight through him though, and he could not heal it. "No, I'm staying."
"Go!" Glen sounded very weak now. Jack doubted he would speak again.
"No," he whispered. "We're all in this together, right? All for one and one for all."
Glen's eyes began to glass over and he felt warm tears stream down his cheeks. Whipping around, he faced the jaguar, which was slowly approaching him.
"You won't take me," he said firmly. "Not yet."
"Out of the way, human." The demon laughed. "I have other business."
"NO!" Jack threw his body forward, knife erect in front of him, but the beast knocked him to the side with minimal effort.
"Weakling. Do not try to fight me."
He struggled to stand, but he was knocked down again. Slick teeth sank into his shoulders, and claws scraped at his back. It was over. He had lost.
"Sleep, human. Sleep."
He pulled himself over to Glen's body, bleeding profusely, as the jaguar shifted behind him. Covering the man's torso with his arm, he lay his head on the ground wearily.
"I'm sorry, Glen," he whispered. "I tried. I really did."
With that, life began to slip away from him, and the darkness came to him all of a sudden.
He could still hear the jaguar's cackles as death crept upon him.
-
"Busy Bartimaeus for the time-being. I must deal with these two little rascals."
"Yes, Master." Faquarl moved to the side, and began conversing quietly with Bartimaeus. Makepeace sighed.
"At least they're out of the way now," he muttered. His eyes flashed menacingly. "Destiny can now be fulfilled, between humans, as it ought to be. Spirits have no part in this."
"Why not?" Kitty said fiercely, next to Nathaniel. "Are they not good enough?"
The playwright laughed. "So young, so foolish. Ms. Jones, you probably don't realize the wickedness of demons, but as I was raised as a magician, I am fully aware of their evil craft. And I am sure Nathaniel has been educated in this respect."
Nathaniel didn't look at Kitty – he knew he'd do something stupid if he did. It was true, he had been raised to hate demons, and the event in Underwood's office when he was six was prominent in his mind.
"I was," he replied slowly. "But I don't think it's right. After all, commoners are raised to think that Gladstone was god-like when he certainly wasn't. In fact, all of us were."
"I suspected that you might already be rebelling against your fate." Makepeace looked at him regretfully. "We could have been a great team, you and I. But you're too caught up in your foolish ideals to realize that none of it really matters. One group is meant to conquer. It is just the natural order of things. And what better group to rule than magicians? We are the only group capable of such."
"You're wrong," Nathaniel said hoarsely. "Dead wrong."
"You might be right," Makepeace admitted off-handedly, to his surprise. "I don't like calling myself a magician anymore. It's too demeaning. I've risen far above that already; now I am surely something entirely different. I do not know what I am, but you are right. Magicians aren't meant to rule. I am."
"You're sick, you know that?" Kitty's voice was hot with anger.
"All lies in the eyes of the beholder, Ms. Jones," said Makepeace. "Do you not see how I have already taught you in the natural balance? I've known this all along, that magicians were never meant to rule. I just wanted to make sure you got the point. Aren't you somewhat happy? Those you hate will no longer reign over this world."
Nathaniel watched with interest as Kitty glared at her nemesis fiercely. "I don't hate magicians."
"Just some of them, eh?" Makepeace sneered. "Well, I'm sorry, doll, but life doesn't always let you pick-and-choose. You've got to figure it out for yourself, as I have done. I've done it all, so brilliantly, too, if I do say so myself. I've discovered the Trinity."
Nathaniel's eyes widened suspiciously. What was the old man talking about now? "The Trinity?"
"The Trinity." Makepeace fingered the Amulet absentmindedly. "The three groups: the magicians, the commoners, and the demons. The three groups, united to serve to the greater cause, the greater being."
"As in you," Kitty spat.
"I was not always sure of it, I confess. But now it seems evident that I am the greater cause. I am life, death, and everything that makes up this universe. I have discovered the secrets of existence, and thus I have become the Alpha and the Omega."
"Maybe you're right." Nathaniel stared ahead with grim determination – as insane as Makepeace was, he had alluded to several facts that Nathaniel did accept. "There is a greater cause, isn't there? There are secrets of existence, of life and death. There is an Alpha, an Omega, but you're not it."
Makepeace looked at him with distaste. "Youth. In your arrogance you have refused to accept the truth."
"If this is all that is true, then maybe I just don't believe the truth."
"And thus it is evident that you will meet your downfall shortly, for when you do not embrace the truth, you embrace nothing."
Nathaniel smirked. "Who says I have to embrace anything to succeed?"
"I do," Makepeace responded, flapping the Cloak around him. "And I am all that matters. As I have already said, I am life and death. I am existence."
"You're wrong," Kitty said, her voice shockingly resolute. The firmness in her voice made Nathaniel shiver, and for a brief moment, he felt strong again. "You're never right."
"Ms. Jones, I am right. Are you blinded by your insolence? I have figured out everything, I have almost transcended mortality. You cannot challenge me."
"I don't get how you did it," Nathaniel said suddenly. Makepeace looked at him quizzically. "How you manipulated everything, everyone. It doesn't add up."
"Oh, it was easy." Crashes could be heard behind them. "It was all too simple to convince Duvall that Lovelace was a bit too eager for Duvall's sake, so, as you may have heard, Duvall blocked his ascension up the ladder. I helped plant the seed of revolution in Lovelace. It was nothing too difficult."
"And the glass pentacle? The golem? It was all your idea?"
Makepeace rapped his fingers on the railing impatiently. "Of course, stupid boy! Creativity is my forte, after all. Do you really think Lovelace could have come up with something such as that on his own? Who do you think prompted Duvall to use the golem's eye from Lovelace's collection? It was all my idea, nitwit!" He breathed out sharply. "Sorry, there. Almost lost my cool."
Suddenly, something struck Nathaniel – an idea. "Was the person sacrificed a magician or commoner?"
"Magician. A prince, I believe."
"But this Trinity… only two of the factions are represented."
"Of course!" Makepeace exclaimed. "Only two factions needed to be represented! One faction from the Other Place, one faction from this world. Thus, the two worlds were connected. But what you fail to realize is that the Trinity is ambiguous; it cannot be defined."
Kitty's eyes narrowed. "Ambiguous?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?" the man snapped. It was obvious that he was getting anxious. "The Trinity applies to many things – three is, after all, a magically powerful number. In fact, there is another proposed Trinity that could have helped this Archway become even more powerful."
"What?" Nathaniel asked curiously.
"The Trinity of the three worlds of existence."
"But…" Nathaniel trailed off. Nothing made any sense anymore. "There are only two worlds!"
"That is what your books tell you!" Makepeace hopped up from the railing and began pacing around the platform, his shoes making an annoying, tapping noise as they hit the stone. "Those are the two physically proven worlds of existence, but some – many, actually – believe there is a third. The world of those that have surmounted life itself."
"As in… the land of the dead?"
"Heaven?" Kitty said, eyes distant and far.
"And Hell, too, if that's what you believe," Makepeace replied. "It's the land of the dead, and the divine. It's the land of the omnipotent – but more importantly, it's the land of balance. If our world and the Other Place were the only two that existed, one of them should eventually overpower the other, destroy it. This other world – Heaven, Hell, or what philosophers refer to it as, Endworld – keeps everything balanced. Well, more like all of the worlds keep each other balanced. Each has its distinct characteristics and powers; it's a system of checks and balances."
"When one side grows too strong the other two join to keep it in check," Nathaniel stated bluntly. Strangely, it all made sense. He'd never really contemplated the existence of Heaven, only that he believed to some degree that it did exist. "One can never become more powerful than the other two."
"Exactly." Makepeace shook his head and sighed sadly. "If only there had been a way to integrate Endworld into the Archway. Imagine the power! But it is rather difficult to capture those that are no longer confined to mortality, so I guess I can forgive the architects for this missed opportunity."
His head shot up, and his eyes glimmered with confidence. "But after this, I shall discover the secrets of Endworld. I've already discovered the secrets of our world and the Other Place; I'm already divine. It's only a matter of time before I find the final strain, the final connection."
Nathaniel did not hear all of what he had said, for his eyes were following Kitty. She was moving stealthily towards Makepeace, who had finally stopped pacing. A knife was gripped tightly in her hand. If only she could inch a little closer…
"It will be marvelous," he whispered, with glassy eyes. The Amulet shone on his neck brightly, and Nathaniel remembered with relief that it only shielded against magical attacks. "Truly a glorious day!"
She was so close now… only a meter away… the knife was raised…
Without warning, a deep roar much like that of a hurricane filled the room. Kitty twitched; Makepeace jumped forward, his eyes rolling upwards in his head. A slight glow began to surround him: hints of red and violet, with blacks spots here and there. He laughed, but it was not his voice. It sounded demonic, as if the devil himself had risen from the marble.
"Demon, human," shouted the seemingly possessed man with a voice like thunder, "consecrate this land! Let the barrier be ripped open, let the wound bleed – let the spirits flood this world, let the blood of the Other Place scourge the cradle of humanity!"
"Oh, bloody hell," Kitty groaned as she ducked close to Nathaniel. Wind was howling all about them, and at this moment he knew that the Archway's activation had begun.
Nathaniel swore loudly. "The bastard! What're we to do now? It's too late to just kill him and hope that the bond will be broken! The activation's already begun!"
He felt her nudge closer as an imp flew overhead, screeching for mercy. He did not protest her closeness. Rather, it made him feel secure, strong.
"It's simple, right?" She was not panicking. Her voice was firm and unwavering. "We go after the Archway."
"Easier said than done." Nathaniel meant it, but he found it was very hard to argue with her for some odd reason. Thus, his words lacked much conviction.
"Nobody said it was going to be easy," she agreed. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked at Makepeace thoughtfully. He silently wondered how she could keep her elegance no matter the situation, without trying. She looked nothing like a commoner, if her clothing hadn't betrayed her. She carried herself with a predisposed serenity, and he secretly envied her.
"I forgot to say that I'm glad you made it through that shot from the vulture," she said, not looking at him. Surprisingly, her voice lost a little of its strength. "And thanks. I would've been done for if you wouldn't have… you know, taken the blunt of it."
"Don't mention it." He cracked a smile. "You deserved it."
"I thought you were dead," she stated quickly. Her voice had raised an octave, and she coughed. "I was pretty shocked when you showed up here, you know, as I'm sure you could tell. But really… I'm – I'm happy that you're not – you know, dead." She cleared her throat. "How..?"
"Morris broke into the medical bay of the vaults below us," Nathaniel responded. Her sudden weakness caught him off-guard, and he, too, felt his voice swerving out of control. "Found a Resuscitator and revived me. Glen and Jack helped, too. I need to thank them. And most importantly, he brought me this… the Staff of Gladstone."
It was smoother than he remembered it, and as his fingers traced it he felt his energy returning. This was the weapon that William Gladstone himself had used to shape an entire empire – with it, Nathaniel could surely save that empire.
Of course, he'd need some help. But he had Kitty, and Bartimaeus, and the rest of them.
He had all the help he needed.
"Watch my back," he muttered to Kitty. He stopped in his tracks, knowing there was one last thing that needed to be done. He turned back. "And just in case… I wanted you to know that – that no matter what happens, you're in my good books. We're all fugitives now, after all."
She smiled. "Well, you're not so horrible either, Nathaniel."
He stood for a few seconds, just looking at her, before turning away and continuing down the steps. She followed behind him, to his relief. Her presence comforted him, and he knew that he couldn't do this without her. They were a team.
As he rounded the corner, the Archway came in view. It stood, tall and foreboding, with thick gusts of wind swirling around it. Bolts of electricity crackled in the air. One hit the Staff, only to be absorbed.
Nathaniel took in a deep breath, going over the orders in his head. He was interrupted by Kitty, though.
"We've got trouble," she called hurriedly. He glanced backwards.
"You bet you've got trouble." Quentin Makepeace faced them with a manic grin. His voice had not reverted to its normal state, and instead his demonic tone remained. "Don't even try to hit me with that," he said, noticing that Nathaniel had raised the Staff. "You know that the Amulet will just absorb it. And besides, you only have a matter of moments before its activation is complete, and my demon army comes to this world."
"Kitty," stated Nathaniel through gritted teeth, "give me a few seconds. I'll take care of the Archway."
She nodded. "You got it."
He turned back to the Arch, full of silent hope that Kitty could hold off Makepeace for just a few seconds. Makepeace's growls could be heard behind him, and then a thud followed by a grunt. Kitty had most likely just kicked him onto his back.
Leaning forward, he aimed the staff at the center jewel: Makepeace had said it was the source of power for the weapon. Mumbled words, words of protection, came out of his mouth. As he said them, he realized what he'd already knew.
This wouldn't work. The Staff wasn't strong enough.
He needed extra strength, extra firepower. He needed a source of strength powerful enough to give the Staff just that extra boost it needed.
"Hurry up!" The shout was Kitty's. "I can't hold him for much longer, Nathaniel!"
His eyes snapped wide.
Nathaniel.
A source of strength.
As he finished the last protective clause, he knew what he must do. The Staff was gaining its energy and preparing to fire, but at the last second, one last word came out of his mouth.
"Nathaniel!"
While the words of command had been barely above a whisper, he shouted his name loudly for all to hear. He was willing it to be strong, to come through.
A scarlet orb of light appeared a few centimeters above the top of the Staff.
"Nathaniel," he repeated softly, more to himself than to the tool.
A blade of energy, scythe-like in appearance, shot out from the tip of Gladstone's Staff. Nathaniel braced himself against the backfire; his trainers scraped the ground noisily. The scythe grew closer to the Archway. It cut through the wind, through the electricity.
Like lightning, it struck directly on the jewel.
The wind stopped. Demons and humans alike halted their battles. No more energy emanated from the Archway. Everything grew dark.
Without prior warning, a great, invisible force pushed outward from the Archway. There was a deafening roar, and the Arch glowed. Light trickled out from cracks in the stone. Nathaniel watched this all wearily from his position leaning against the Staff.
One last crack appeared, right through the middle of the jewel.
The Archway burst.
And then the whole world came crashing down around him.
-
Kitty saw it clearly. Even Makepeace had stopped in his tracks.
The Archway of Anubis, Ptolemy's Gate, broke into a million little pieces, light glimmering from its core. A thick cut was in its place where the barriers between two worlds had been severed. In a few moments, it shut, and all hell broke loose.
Nathaniel fell limp onto the stone floor. Her heart leapt up into her throat… he couldn't be dead, not again…
Behind her, Makepeace shrieked.
She spun around, only to see him clutching at his face and moaning. His voice seemed to have mixed between regularity and its demon-like form.
"No," he was crying, "no! It can't have ripped… Do not take me! I have no bond! I have no bond! I have no –"
Another shriek. His vertebrae had cracked, much like a car backfiring. An aura of green surrounded him, and finally he collided with the cold stone of the floor. Blood was oozing from his mouth; he was quite dead.
But that was didn't matter to Kitty. She had other things to worry about.
Where the Archway had stood, river-like seams in the floor were making their way across the room, slithering to a central point in the middle of the stone. Kitty stared in disbelief, before shivering in realization.
With another crack, a large hole appeared in the middle of the floor.
The hole was widening rapidly, out to the edge of the seams. Nathaniel was only meters away – beneath the hole in this floor, holes had successively appeared in the same spot on the floors below. It was a chasm all the way to the bottom of the Tower, and Nathaniel would fall into it.
She did not waste time. Sprinting across, she took a leap over a particularly wide breach in the stone and rolled on her back. Nathaniel was close now, but so was the chasm. She crawled forward frantically; he was slipping.
With great effort, she lunged forward and reached out her hand, grabbing desperately. She grabbed onto Nathaniel's wrist, and felt herself wrench forward towards the hole. She grabbed at a splinter of rock, but it was weak. She'd only have seconds before it broke.
Kitty stretched out as far as she could and wrapped her ankles around one of the pillars holding the platform up, the platform on which she had confronted Makepeace. More secure, she grimaced in pain: her arm was burning with the strain of it all.
"Bartimaeus," she yelled desperately. "Bartimaeus!"
"A bit busy!" The djinni was busy dodging the frantic outpour of spirits away from the chasm. Ducking and weaving, he finally arrived at her foot. "Need some help? It's a good thing that Faquarl made his exit as soon as Makepeace died. Apparently, these moulers weren't summoned by him, so they weren't dismissed by his death. Interesting."
"Help me!"
Bartimaeus made forward as if to help, but he stopped all of a sudden.
"It's gone," he said distractedly. He looked away, into space. "The bond that kept me here. It's gone."
All around, the moulers were disappearing. Bartimaeus's words appeared to be true.
"Nat must've broken it when he destroyed the Gate during its activation." Bartimaeus smiled slightly. "I don't have to stay here anymore. I'm free. The bonds of summoning are no more. The Gate destroyed it. Ptolemy destroyed it, just as he'd promised to."
Kitty winced as she slid slightly towards the hole. There was a pop, and she groaned: her arm had broken from the weight of Nathaniel.
"Bartimaeus," she whimpered. "Please. Stay. Help… we need you."
The djinni looked at her with an odd expression. He was contemplating – his eyes were wistful. He was leaving.
Then he grinned.
"Ah, what the hell," he said, reaching his head through the hole and grabbing onto Nathaniel with his teeth. The lion pulled, and Nathaniel landed awkwardly onto the ground. "You all broke my bonds. It's the least I can do."
Kitty sighed and closed her eyes, finding that at the moment, she did not care if the bonds of summoning had been broken. Nathaniel was safe. Bartimaeus had stayed. Makepeace was dead. The day was saved.
She had survived the end of the world.
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: Really the chapter I've been waiting to write since this fic started. Yes, I know, I'm a tricky little devil - I hinted to character deaths when really there were only three, and none of the Trio died. The incident with Morris's hand has been foreshadowed since Chapter 18, and is even foreshadowed early on in his part: "He was not moving along very quickly, but he figured that anything worth doing was worth doing well, or in his case it was not worth losing a hand trying to go fetch the blasted djinni."
Just an example.
But the ending isn't sunshine and roses, definitely not. There are loose ends that have yet to be tied up (Bartimaeus still hasn't explained what happened with Ptolemy) and such.
And of course, how everyone deals with this new revelation: the liberation of the spirits.
Next Chapter: Kingdom Come
"'We're not promising you anything either, Mr. Devereaux. We can only ask you...'
The lights flickered again and the curtains were thrown open.
'Are you ready?'"