Sorcerer's Secret (44 page)

The truth burst into their hearts full-blown, into every last member of Kieft's army, and as one their weapons fell to the ground as they felt the truth wash over them. Kieft had never planned to let any of them live. He had no desire to share power with anyone. His fondest wish—the driving force behind this entire war—was to stand over the dry, empty husks of every god and spirit in Mannahatta, every last locket hanging from his neck. Then he would be the last god, the only god, and everything would be his. He would not even have to pay homage to the Lady—Rory showed them the body of Minuit, still alive after all these centuries, and gave them the truth about Kieft's crimes. Every spirit and god on the battlefield gasped at the implications—Kieft was mortal, and thus not bound by the Agreement. He could, and would, watch laughing as the mortals descended into anarchy and madness, abandoned by their gods forever. Kieft would drink and eat of their despair, until they had nothing left, until only death could stop the pain. And finally, with everything rotten and dead around him, Kieft would leave, and make his way to the next city, and it would start all over again.

As Kieft himself stood by, helpless, his true feelings—his hunger, his disdain, his terrifying ambition—flowed into his army. And one by one, they shrank into themselves, dropping their weapons, backing away from the fight, and surrendering without protest. A cheer went up all over the battle-torn Great Lawn as the enemy fell apart, unable to bear the sight of their leader's true face. The attackers around Rory receded—leaving Rory and his friends alone to face down Kieft, who stood shaking with fury as his army melted away.

“You are spineless fools,” Kieft yelled after his retreating army. “This is not the truth. This is a lie. He's lying to you! The Munsees are the ones coming to take your lives, your place in the natural order of things. I am offering you power, divinity, everything you ever wanted! We cannot turn back now or the savages win!” At that moment he noticed that his captains, his great allies, were joining in the retreat. They turned their backs on him and left him to his fate. The First Adviser had never looked so . . . powerless.

He turned to Rory, who stood swaying on his feet from his exertions, and Kieft's vast anger focused on the boy before him. “I don't need magic to hurt you, boy. I don't need an army. I only need one thing.” He pulled out a large, glittering knife, and Rory's heart leaped with fear. “Your victory will be ashes in your mouth,” Kieft shouted, and threw the knife into Rory's heart.

Rory gasped, but then realized he felt no pain. He glanced down. It wasn't his heart, after all. Instead, it was his father who had acted when everyone else stood frozen, stepping in front of his son and taking the blade meant for Rory's heart into his own.

Henry stumbled, falling back into Rory's arms, driving the boy to his knees.

“Dad!” Bridget cried, throwing herself at his side, the ashes from her charred face falling like tears on her father's mortally wounded chest. Henry Hudson stared up at his children, the fear, the self-loathing, the haunted pain gone from his eyes. He smiled, strong and sure in his final moments.

Kieft began to laugh. “What a poor excuse for a trick, Henry! You cannot die! You have betrayed the Lady and she will punish you forever. You cannot pretend otherwise!”

“She . . .” Henry began to cough, blood bubbling up on his lips. Bridget cried her ashen tears even harder as Rory held his father close. Henry tried again. “The Lady . . . she has forgiven me. She told me, when she sent me up here with you, that I have earned her forgiveness. But I told her I didn't care.” He coughed again, and Rory wiped the blood away from his mouth with his sleeve. “I don't need her forgiveness. I need . . . I need my children's. Because I am so, so sorry. So, so sorry.” He repeated it again, each time it grew fainter.

“Stop playing games, Henry!” Kieft's voice was less sure now. Fear began to color the edges.

“I forgive you, Daddy!” Bridget cried, clutching her father's body. “Please don't leave me! I love you! I forgive you!”

Henry began to smile and his eyes closed. His time was running out. Rory opened his mouth . . . and at first nothing came out. He felt the anger bubble inside him—all the years he'd hated his father, all the years he'd blamed him for his mother's tired eyes and weary life—all that anger screamed to the surface . . . and then softly drifted away. All that remained was pain, but a good pain. A sorrowful, gnawing, heartbroken, clean pain. His father was dying—and Rory loved him.

“I forgive you, too,” he whispered in his father's ear. “I love you.”

At first he thought it was too late, that his father had gone to his death believing his son never loved him. But then Henry smiled, whispering weakly, “Thank you . . .” And then he was gone.

“No!” The cry came not from Rory or Bridget, but from Kieft. They turned to see the black-eyed man, destroyer of gods and would-be ruler of Mannahatta, running around the top of the hill like a crazy person, clutching at the lockets around his neck as he desperately tried to pull them free.

“What's he doing?” Nicholas asked.

“He's no longer immortal now that Henry is dead,” Fritz said, a smile creeping across his face. “And mortals cannot wear the lockets of the gods. That power was never meant for them. He stole a few centuries' worth of godhood, but now he has to pay for what he took.”

Kieft's clawing grew frantic as he fell to his knees. Smoke, dirty and gray, began to ooze from his neck, until they could barely see him. A stench drifted their way, of disease and dead flesh, and Kieft's cries grew strangled and soft. He fell back, his body seeming to just fall apart like wet, moldy paper, as if he'd been decomposing for centuries. His cries weakened until they could hear him no more. The twitching of his limbs slowed, and then ceased completely, and then they could no longer pick out the shape of his body. It collapsed in on itself, with a sigh, and when the smoke finally cleared, the only parts of Kieft that remained were the hundreds of gold lockets piled up where his neck used to be. The black-eyed man himself was gone, swallowed up by the green earth.

N
icholas was the first to move, walking up to the lockets and sifting through them with his toe. Rory and Bridget watched from their father's side as Alexa and Lincoln joined him. Simon took a step forward, before letting out a cry. Reaching up to his neck, he lifted his locket, which melted through his fingers.

“I'm free!” Simon whispered, his voice a mixture of relief and regret. “I guess I threw one plate too many. Oh well. Who wants to be a stupid god, anyway? Too much work!” He ran over to the other Rattle Watchers, leaving the crumbling remains of his fleeting godhood behind in the grass.

Alexa stood next to Nicholas as he leaned over to poke through the lockets. “You can take one,” she said hesitantly. “You'd be a better god than most. They would finally take you seriously. They'd listen to you. You could make a difference.”

Nicholas pondered for a second, then straightened up, standing tall. “It's over,” he told her, then brought his heel down on the lockets, grinding them into dust.

R
ory and Bridget sat on either side of body of the father they'd just started getting to know. The Rattle Watch and Soka walked up behind them, and Soka put her arm around Rory's shoulders.

“Come away,” she whispered. “It's over.”

But then something strange began to happen. The wind picked up, throwing dirt into their eyes. When they could see again, Henry Hudson stood before them, looking shocked.

“Am I dead?” he asked. Rory and Bridget could only nod. “Then what is this?”

Nicholas stepped forward. “What is around your neck?” Henry looked down and lifted a gold locket. Rory's mouth dropped open.

“You're a god!”

“Well, it makes sense, if you think about it,” Alexa mused. “Henry Hudson's name is on everything. If anyone is remembered, it's you, sir.”

“I guess I'll be around a little longer than I thought,” Henry said, smiling. He opened his arms and took his children in, where they should always have been.

A
bonfire burned merrily in the middle of the Munsee village as the victorious army celebrated the survival of their beloved city. Munsees and gods sang together while battle roaches and children of the gods swapped tales of their valor in battle. Kieft's army had melted away, disappearing back into Mannahatta, and while some advocated searching them out to punish them, the Council of Twelve declared that there was to be no retribution. They would begin this new era of friendship with the Munsees with a general amnesty so that their joined future could begin with peace.

Rory sat on a small hill overlooking the celebration. Bridget had put on a robe to cover her burned body, but she was laughing and describing her battle with the Albino Alligator to a group of children of the gods led by Jane van Cortlandt, who looked at her with shining eyes as if Bridget were a god herself. Bridget pulled out her sword and waved it around at the imaginary monster.

“It was bigger than a house!” she declared, glorying in the dropped jaws surrounding her. “But I saw the fear in its eyes when it realized it was up against Malibu Death Barbie!”

Rory smiled. Bridget deserved the glory. Nearby, Fritz sat next to his wife, Liv, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched the festivities. Earlier, Fritz had taken Rory and Bridget aside, holding back tears.

“I couldn't be prouder of you if I were your own dad,” he said, choking up. Bawling, Bridget bent over and tried to hug him, though putting her arms around an inch-long insect wasn't easy. Rory settled for some heartfelt thanks.

“Thank you for being there for me, Fritz,” he said, a tear running down his cheek. “I needed that more than you'll ever know.” Fritz had to ride away before he got too emotional.

Rory scanned the party, catching a familiar face here and there. Soka's brother, Tammand, stood in a far corner, David de Vries by his side. Rory heard that they'd sailed up the Hudson on the HMS Jersey, stopping a British warship from firing on the battle in the park. He was glad Tammand had been able to redeem himself. It was a relief to put their enmity behind them. Tammand noticed Rory watching him and glared at him. Okay, mostly behind them.

Rory spied Wampage standing uncomfortably in a group of Munsees led by an animated Chogan. Rory knew it would take some time for Wampage to feel comfortable among his people again. Chogan said something to the group, slapping Wampage on the back as they all doubled over with laughter. Rory thought he saw a hint of a smile on Wampage's face. Maybe it wouldn't take as long as he feared. The solitary warrior deserved to go home again. He'd waited so long.

Rory's father walked by, looking a little shell-shocked as Walt Whitman led him around, introducing the newest god to all the gods and spirits. Henry caught his son's eye as he passed, smiling at him and shrugging. Rory smiled back, still not sure what to make of his newly returned dad. That was one change that would take some getting used to. His dad was a god . . . As Bridget had already mentioned at least five times, there could be advantages to that . . .

Rory glanced over at a group of gods that included Peter Stuyvesant, Alexander Hamilton, and a wounded Teddy Roosevelt, his arm in a sling. Nicholas stood in their midst, looking overwhelmed.

“I say, old boys,” Roosevelt was declaiming. “There should be a place for a chap like Nicholas in the council! To represent those nongods, as it were.”

“I don't know if that's such a good idea,” Hamilton Fish began, but Peter Stuyvesant cut him off.

“It's a damned fine idea!” he announced. “And it's about time! It's true this city has gone to the dogs since my day, but you have to move with the times, or so they tell me. And there is no one better suited than my own blood! You'd be fools not to appoint him, even if he is an opinionated do-gooder!”