Sorcerer's Secret (41 page)

“Are you the Fortune Teller, too?” Rory asked, a suspicion forming in his brain.

“No,” the woman said, laughing softly. “But she and I walk in the same direction.”

“She sent us down here,” Rory continued. “She told me how to get here and what to do.”

“And you have performed admirably.” His mother's face smiled. “You are my champion after all. All the Lights were born to be my champions.”

“Why?” Rory asked. “I can't really do anything.”

“You see the truth,” the woman replied. “That is the currency I value. You take my truth and disperse it among your people. All of you have heeded my call, though you did not know it. It is not an easy thing, as your father can tell you.”

“Do we have to speak of this?” their dad asked, his voice miserable.

“Of course,” the woman replied. “I think it is time for your story to be told.”

“But I wouldn't know where to begin!” their father protested.

“You can begin with your name,” the woman instructed him.

“It's Henry, right?” Rory asked, suddenly feeling bad for the man. The woman shook her head.

“Your full name, Henry.”

Henry took a deep breath and turned to face his children.

“My name is Henry Hudson.”

Rory felt the world roll as he staggered back.

“The Henry Hudson?” he asked, astounded.

“Yes,the Henry Hudson,” Henry said, sighing.

“So you are a god,” Bridget whispered.

“No, I'm not,” Henry replied. “I'm mortal and have been for over four hundred and thirty years. Because of this woman, here.” He nodded to the woman who wore their mother's face.

“What happened?” Rory asked, glancing at her placid face. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Hex was staring at Henry, his face a mixture of awe and fear.

“I guess I should begin at the beginning,” Henry Hudson said. “I was a proud man, when I was young. I did not like listening to others, I went my own way against the council of those wiser than I, and I never asked for anyone's opinion but my own. My employers hired me to find the way to the West Indies, and I became obsessed with that one purpose. I knew that the way to the Orient lay across the western sea, the mighty Atlantic. I had already tried to go east north of Russia, but I barely survived the voyage. The New World would be the answer, I knew it in my bones. Verrazano, who I believe you've met, wrote of a large river north of Virginia. I thought for sure it would lead me through the continent and out into the Pacific. The Dutch believed in my theory, so they gave me the Halve Maen to prove it. I took on a crew that included my young son and we set sail for the New World.

“I can still remember the day I set eyes on the river that would later bear my name. So wide and deep—I was certain it would lead me to the fabled riches of the East. I didn't even bother to stop on the small island I sailed by on my way upriver, the island the natives called Mannahatta. But soon my hopes were dashed as the river grew narrow and shallow and eventually petered out completely. I sailed back downriver in poor spirits, not sure what to do next.

“It was then that I decided to make landfall on the long island at the head of the bay. One of the sachems we'd met upriver had spoken of great magic to be found there, and I wanted to see it for myself. I wasn't a big believer in magic, but I'd do anything if I thought it might help me get what I wanted. I disembarked and traveled into the island, looking for the magic.

“At first I found nothing but some friendly members of the local tribe—the Munsee. I ate and slept in their company, enjoying their hospitality and their tales. They had a medicine woman, her name was Alsoomse, who was truly a great woman—one of the most powerful magicians I have ever met. She told me that my presence was requested. By whom she would not say. I followed her to a glade, where I came face-to-face with the wife I'd left behind! But it was not her: it was the Lady we are sitting with now, who had taken my wife's form. She wished to see me, to ask a favor. She asked that I not tell anyone about her island, or the land around it. She wished to keep the newcomers away as long as possible. If I agreed to do that, she would give me a rune of protection, which would help me in my journeys. I agreed. Why would I tell anyone about her land? I didn't care about the New World. I wanted to get to the Far East. It was an easy promise to make.

“I went back to my ship, told my crew to keep quiet about Mannahatta in return for a healthy amount of gold supplied by the Lady, and we sailed back to Europe.

“But I did not keep my promise. In my effort to drum up more money for another expedition, I began to brag about the new lands I'd already discovered. Anything to be able to sail after my obsession again. My crew likewise told everyone about the beautiful river and its surrounding land. We all proved faithless. I have sailed on the ghost shop Halve Maen, and I know that they have paid for their sins as I have paid. But at the time, I got what I wanted: another ship at my disposal. But at what cost? I did not care. I was going to sail to the West Indies if it killed me.

“This time I went for a northern route, above what is now Canada. I thought the eternal sunshine of the arctic summers would melt the ice away, leaving me with a clear passage to the East. I was wrong.

“We soon discovered that the long days of the northern summers did not lead to melted ice. In fact, ice surrounded us at every turn. The voyage was arduous and long, and soon my crew began to grumble as food became hard to find. I pushed on, however, partly because of my obsession, and partly because the rune on my forehead protected me. I did not fear the way I should have. So I kept pushing and pushing, right up until the day my crew mutinied, placing me and my most loyal sailors onto an ice floe and sailing back toward England.

“And there I should have died, but for this damn rune on my forehead. Instead I had to watch my men die, one by one, and something in me broke. I washed the rune from my skin, ready to follow my men into death. But still I did not die! Months passed, and though I should have perished, I continued living. When that ice floe floated to the mainland, I began to walk. I trekked across the tundra, down through the forests of Canada, all the way to the mighty river.

“At long last, I reached the island. I marched into the very forest where I'd met the Lady, shouting for her to come to me. Instead, Alsoomse found me. She bore a message from the Lady. I was to follow the path down to her garden, where we would meet.

“I followed the path, which led to a raging underground river, which in turn carried me down to the underground lake. Then the creature attacked. I had never seen an alligator before, so I didn't know that was what it was, but it terrified me. I started throwing things at it, trying to drive it away, and without thinking, I tossed a bundle of letters I carried from my wife into its hungry mouth. It swallowed the last link between me and my beloved family, and then it disappeared back into the lake.

“Overcome, I fell to the beach and sobbed. Eventually, I spied the cave in the wall, and I staggered down the tunnel to this very garden, where the Lady was waiting. She still wore my wife's face, and I could not bear to look at her. I collapsed, refusing to meet her gaze. She did not care. She was relentless. I had broken my promise, she told me. The Europeans were coming, and they'd be here within the century. I begged her for death, to end my guilt, but she refused. Instead, she told me that I was cursed to remain alive through the long years, to witness what my faithlessness had wrought. I would suffer until the day I could redeem myself. Which I soon found myself unable to do.

“Eventually, the Dutch arrived to colonize, and soon after came Willem Kieft. One day he discovered me in the woods, and recognizing that I was special in some way, he captured me. He tortured me, using methods I cannot bear to relate, and found, to his delight, that I could not die. So he pushed me well past the point of death, over and over, using all the black arts he'd mastered over the years, until I broke again, this time so completely that I could not cross him if I tried. The memory of the agony he inflicted on me was too great. He owned me, completely.

“Through me he learned about Mannahatta. He forced me to show it all to him, and then he went one step further. He hunted down Alsoomse, and captured her. He forced her to tell him every secret she knew, until finally she died, passing beyond the spirit world to someplace I will never see. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn't. He was too strong. And with Alsoomse's magic, he was more powerful than ever.

“Now that he had the Munsees' magical secrets, he wanted them gone so that only he would know them. He began to make up lies about the Munsees, preparing for a slaughter. I wanted to expose Kieft, but in the end I couldn't do it. I was too frightened of the pain to speak. And the Munsees died for my weakness.

“Kieft was finally arrested, of course. But on the night before he was to be sent back to Amsterdam, he came to me. He wanted one last thing from me—my immortality. Using some black art I am glad not to know, he ripped out a tiny piece of my spirit, sending it deep inside himself. The pain was beyond belief. And from that moment on we were bonded. So long as I lived, he would live. And I could not die. So he could not die.

“The next day he sailed away to Amsterdam, and when I heard that the ship had sunk, I felt no peace. For I knew he wasn't dead. And, sure enough fifty years later, he returned, disguised, and he sought me out. He had a new plan, you see. He noticed all the gods that were popping up. Verrazano, Minuit, Van der Donck. He wanted their power. I don't know how he managed it, but somehow he made a spell, using Munsee magic he'd ripped from poor Alsoomse, to create a knife. This wasn't the same kind of knife he later made, though it was an early prototype. This knife could do one thing—it could steal the power of a god.

“He then set out to trap a god—Peter Minuit must have been the first one he happened upon. The gods had a tenuous grip on the spirit world at this point, and Kieft knew no one would miss Minuit, who was no match for Kieft's magic. He sliced that poor Minuit's locket in two and placed it around his own neck. It didn't make him a god, but it gave him the appearance of one. His own power easily helped maintain the illusion. He hid Minuit's body away and switched the god's portrait in the Portrait Room, covering all the bases.

“So now Kieft had joined the ranks of the gods, but it would mean nothing if the newcomers faded from Mannahatta. He knew from my tale that the Lady had not wanted the Europeans to come. He realized that the land needed to be appeased. The newcomer gods needed to prove they would respect the land. So he came up with the idea of a compact, an Agreement with the land. He forced me to lead him and Van der Donck down to this very garden. Secretly, I was sure we would all be destroyed by the Lady. But I was mistaken.”

“Though Kieft's intentions might have been foul,” the woman said, interrupting Henry's story, “I could tell that the others truly wished to honor me. They wanted to be a part of Mannahatta, just as the Munsees did centuries earlier. The Agreement itself was nobly offered, proving that the newcomers deserved to be remembered by me. Of course, if Kieft had sacrificed Adriaen as he'd planned, I would not have made any agreement. But I knew by then that the newcomers should be allowed the chance to make an honest pact, so I arranged for Adriaen to survive.”

“An honest pact?” Henry said, shaking his head. “There was nothing honest about Kieft. You thought you were neutralizing him by taking his magic away, as his sacrifice, but he'd already removed it himself. He'd stuck it in my head! He simply took it back from me—painfully I might add—when we returned to the surface. I not only made sure Kieft lived forever, but I helped him become a god and I made sure he held on to all his magic. Plus, now all the gods were tied to rules that he himself did not have to follow! He wasn't a god, not really, so he could go anywhere, and more importantly, kill anyone he pleased.

“Of course, he still hadn't worked out how to kill a god. The Munsees could do it, but he couldn't. It took him a few centuries, but he finally figured it out. And the day of reckoning is at hand.

“So now you understand my shame. This is all my fault. If I had kept my word in the first place, I would have long passed on and none of this would be happening. Instead, war is breaking out and Kieft is threatening the very fabric of Mannahatta. All because I was too weak.”

“But the time has come for the redemption you were promised,” the woman told him. “Kieft is collecting godhoods, gathering all the power up for himself. If he has his way, he will be the only divine figure left in all of Mannahatta. I will not let that happen. Rory, I have something I must ask of you. Expose Kieft for what he is—a liar, a thief, and most certainly not a god. Minuit's body will be proof. You must hurry, the fighting has already begun.”

“Why will they listen to me?” Rory asked, still reeling from the story he'd just heard. “I'm just a mortal.”

“You carry the power of the Sachem's Belt inside you,” the woman told him. “That belt was created by Alsoomse herself. Use it to make them believe you.”

Rory took a deep breath. He could do this. Kieft was going down, and Rory would be the one to see that he did. No matter what.

S
oka's mind hovered over the battlefield as she did her best to save her people. The animals had come at her call, and they were doing significant damage. But too many good spirits and gods were being overwhelmed by their enemies—she'd seen more than a few fall. The battle right outside Turtle Pond was especially fierce, with Nicholas Stuyvesant and Buckongahelas fearlessly leading their men into close combat with Kieft's soldiers. Toward the outskirts of the battlefield, Soka spied bodies upon bodies, strewn about like sticks, and to her horror, shadows crawled among them. Looking closer, she realized that the gang boys were methodically moving from body to body, taking their lockets. Sometimes a god still breathed, at which point a knife would flash and the god's life would be ended on the spot. To Soka's horror, she saw these cowardly murderers killing gods on their own side, as well as hers. It didn't matter to the gang boys—they just wanted the lockets.