The Quest (46 page)

I said to them, “Just do me a favor, all of you, and stop calling Catherine Divine my sister, because she’s not. Not anymore.” I didn’t know if that would help me very much in dealing with the idea of killing Cat, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

They nodded understandingly, and we finished our dessert.

“Master Howell,” said Havel as we stood from the table, “the Historian wishes to speak with you again.”

“Right now?” I asked. “I thought he meant in a few days, before we left this place.”

“He wishes to speak with you alone this time, but I am to escort all of you to the waiting room.”

We looked at each other. Terry and James shrugged. Whatever the Historian wanted with me, I would find out soon enough.

Havel quietly escorted us back to the waiting room, where he asked the rest of my team to wait with him. Ushering me into the Historian’s office, Havel shut the doors behind me.

The Historian was sitting in his armchair at the end of the low table. I quietly sat down on the sofa and faced him.

“Welcome back, Adrian,” the Historian said good-naturedly, showing his missing front teeth as he smiled. “I can see a little sugar did you good.”

I wondered why he didn’t speak telepathically like Alia always did when she was alone with me, but then I heard the Historian’s voice in my head say,
“I am quite capable of speaking telepathically, Adrian. Even to crowds when needs demand.”
Then he continued with his mouth, “But I like to speak aloud.”

“So do I,” I replied evenly, hoping that he would take the hint and stop reading my mind.

“You are wondering why I have asked you back here,” said the Historian. “It is for several reasons. First, I wish to apologize for what happened to your family as a result of me giving Ralph Henderson your surname. Know that I never bore you ill will, Adrian. I deal in information. I do not write the history.”

Nothing personal,
I thought wryly.
I get it.

If the Historian heard my thoughts, he didn’t show it. Instead, he said calmly, “I had offered to let you stay in this mountain for a few more days only because I had expected you to take much longer to come to your inevitable decision, or conclusion if that is what you prefer to call it. But even I sometimes misread people. Since your mind is already made up, there is little reason to keep you from departing this very day.”

I could think of several reasons. We had no equipment, no food or water, and no strategy for breaking through the Angels waiting for us outside. I imagined that by now there were enough Seraphim out there for them to all hold hands and make a big circle around the Historian’s mountain.

“You need not worry about the Angels, Adrian,” said the Historian. “It is my intention to allow you safe passage through them and back to your part of the world.”

I stared at him incredulously. “You’re going to help us?”

“Know that I would never have supplied the Guardians with your family name had they not been so desperate, but things are worse than ever now. This is the least reparation I can make to you for my mistake.”

“But I thought…”

“That I am neutral?” the Historian asked in an amused tone. “Just as many people incorrectly believe me to be some kind of oracle, many assume that I have taken a vow of neutrality. I have not. Such a vow would be impossible to keep. As you should know by now from your own failed attempts, there is no such thing as neutral. Existence alone negates the possibility. I merely dislike meddling in the natural course of events as long as some semblance of equilibrium is maintained.”

“But it’s not!” I argued, forgetting my manners again. “And your information changes the course of this war all the time!”

“I am well aware of the self-contradictory nature of my lifestyle!” the Historian snapped back. Then he shrugged, saying in a quieter tone, “That is what eccentric is supposed to mean. Believe me, if I used my powers, I would do much more damage than I would with my knowledge. I will not fight for you, Adrian. For you or the Guardians or the Angels or anyone else. Just this once, however, I will help you slip through the blockade.”

“Thank you,” I said stiffly.

“But I want something in return.”

I looked at him apprehensively. “What?”

“That you will see your mission to its bitter end or perish in the attempt.”

“I was planning on doing that anyway,” I said evenly.

The Historian smiled diabolically. “But now you must promise
me,
Adrian, and there is no breaking a promise with the Historian.”

“So Terry told me,” I said. Then I asked carefully, “But why are you so interested in this, Mr. Historian?”

The Historian frowned. “Do not try to hide your thoughts with words,” he chided. “You are wondering whether I was telling the truth when I told you that I do not know Catherine’s whereabouts.”

Nodding, I said, “You told me that you were tracking all five master bloodlines carefully, and that the only one you lost was mine. That means you knew about the Harrow family all along. You knew who the Angels’ second master controller was back when the Guardians were looking for her. You knew that it was Angelina Harrow. You probably even knew exactly where she was living.”

“I did know,” the Historian confirmed in a casual tone, “but I was disinclined to provide the Guardians with that information at the time because the balance of power had not yet tilted so far as to merit such direct hints. I was hoping for the Guardians to solve that mystery on their own.” The Historian grinned widely, adding, “And in the end, thanks in great part to you, they did.”

The only part I had played in the Guardians discovering the identity of the Angels’ second master was that of being shot, caught, tortured and blinded by the God-slayers. The Historian didn’t need to make it sound like an accomplishment. I scowled at him.

“It is true that I denied the Guardians information,” admitted the Historian, “but you are talking about a time when the balance of power still seemed recoverable. That was then and this is now.”

“You really don’t know?” I asked.

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Fine,” I said. “But please answer my word question too. Why are you interested in this? What are you after?”

“Equilibrium, Adrian,” replied the Historian. “I have watched this pointless conflict for seven centuries, which is a long time, even for me. Before the schism, the Guardian Angels were the bringers of peace and understanding for humanity. Now they are so busy killing each other that they are no different from power-hungry humans.” The Historian paused once, sighing quietly before asking me, “Do you know how many psionics there are in the world today?”

I shook my head.

“Just over a quarter of a million,” the Historian informed me. “Mostly found in Europe, Western Asia and now the New World. Two hundred and fifty thousand psionics, Adrian. Does that sound like very many to you?”

“Well, sure,” I said unthinkingly.

“There are more then seven billion people on this planet,” countered the Historian. “Seven billion people, and neither the Guardians nor the Angels of today will follow the old code. They cannot be permitted to rule humanity. You will kill the Angel master and restore the anarchy that will keep these wayward psionics in their place.”

I asked, “If you’re not sworn to neutrality, why don’t you do something about it yourself?”

“I
am
doing something,” replied the Historian. “I am helping you.”

“I’m hardly your best bet, Mr. Historian,” I scoffed. “If I fail, would you have the Angels win? Have them rule over this world forever?”

“It is not my place to choose the planet’s future. I merely nudge it along as I see fit. Besides, there is no such thing as forever. Don’t assume that any one person is capable of making a deep dent in the history of our world. You and Catherine are but one very small chapter.”

I looked at the Historian defiantly. “If I succeed, it’ll make a dent.”

“Perhaps, young Adrian. History will tell,” said the Historian, shrugging. “Speaking of which, in addition to your vow to never stray from your chosen path, you must promise me one more thing. Once you have dealt with Catherine Divine, you must allow your bloodline to end with you.”

“I was planning on doing that too,” I said. “Knowing what I know now, there’s no way I’m ever having kids.”

The Historian grinned mischievously. “So I trust you will make no more mistakes like the one you made with Laila Brown?”

“That is none of your business!” I said embarrassedly, and then muttered, “I should never have let you read my history.”

The Historian chuckled. “I am a collector of stories, Adrian. I have seen many histories, and that little chapter of yours is not particularly unique. However, I must admit that I found other parts of your life quite intriguing, and I wish to know how your story ends. I shall be watching your progress with considerable interest.”

I fought off the urge to call him a nosy bastard, and said instead, “Kill Catherine. End the bloodline. Is that all you ask in return for safe passage out of these mountains?”

“Do not agree to these terms lightly, for I will hold you to your promise,” warned the Historian. “It is not too late to reconsider. Who knows? With companions like yours, you may yet break through the Angels without my help.”

The Historian had spoken gravely, but I found it difficult to take his words too seriously. Promising the Historian what I had already promised myself seemed a small price to pay if it meant my team could avoid running the gauntlet a second time.

The Historian frowned. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I don’t know you, Adrian, because I do. I know you at least as well as you think you know yourself. Where you are about to go will test the very limits of your resolve. If I am to bend my principles and use my power to help you, then I will not see you turn away from your path. Do you understand me?”

I did.

“Then consider yourself under oath, as I most definitely shall too,” said the Historian.

“Will that be all, Mr. Historian?” I asked.

“That is absolutely all I could ever ask of you, Adrian Howell.”

I felt a touch of ironic sorrow in the Historian’s tone when he said that, and I felt compelled to ask him, “If you could ask anything of me, what would you ask?”

“I already have your vow!” snapped the Historian. “You have nothing more that I want.”

“But you must want something,” I insisted. “Even if it’s not mine to give, there must be something aside from
equilibrium.
What is it you really want, Mr. Historian? What do you want for yourself?”

“I have been alive for more than three thousand years,” the Historian said stubbornly. “I have had plenty of time to get everything I could possibly wish for!”

“But there
is
something, isn’t there?” I pressed, encouraged by the slight irregularity in the Historian’s power flow.

Suddenly the Historian sighed heavily. “So subtly you exact your revenge for my meddling,” he muttered, his power fading almost to nothing. “Fine, Adrian, I will tell you what I want. Have you ever been in love?”

“You know I have.”

The Historian nodded sadly. “Then in but sixteen years, you have already lived more fully than I ever will. What do I want? I want my teeth to grow in. I want my feet to touch the floor when I sit in this chair. I want to be free of this ridiculous child and feel for myself what it’s like to truly love a woman. I wish to have a family, and to someday die of old age. For all of my powers, I am incapable of these most basic functions that define us as people. That is why I collect stories and histories, Adrian. They are all that I can have.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “I wish I could help you.”

“Thank you,” said the Historian, shaking his head, “but there is little hope I will ever get what I truly want in this life. That is one of the few things you and I have in common.”

Before I could think of a reply to that, the double doors opened and Havel ushered the rest of my team into the office.

“It is time for you to leave,” announced the Historian, hopping down from his chair. “Right now.”

Terry looked aghast. “We at least need our mountain gear back, Mr. Historian.”

“It’s alright,” I said to her as I stood up from the sofa. “He agreed to help us get past the Angels.”

Terry’s jaw dropped even lower. “What did you promise him, Adrian?!”

“Nothing I probably won’t regret,” I replied. “But it’s okay, Terry. I know what I’m doing.”

“That’ll be a first!” Terry huffed loudly, but she seemed relieved nonetheless.

Looking around at us, the Historian said, “You will leave this place with nothing but the clothes on your backs. Where you go from there is your business, except for Adrian, who is now bound to his quest.”

The Historian stepped up to Terry, saying in a solemn tone, “Teresa Henderson, you are a great warrior and I honor your dedication to your cause, and to Adrian. He will need your very best for this, and then some.”

Terry nodded, carefully shaking the Historian’s hand.

The Historian shook James’s hand next. “James Turner, what an adventure this must have been for you. Your next one will not be nearly as easy, and I do hope you are up to it.”

“I hope so, too,” said James.

The Historian gave him a wink. “Your combat instructor thinks more highly of you than she is willing to admit.”

Then the Historian turned to Ed Regis. “Major Edward Regis, you would have been the first Wolf to ever enter this mountain. I hope your decision leads you to a better life, or at least an honorable death.”

“Which do you think it’ll be?” asked Ed Regis.

The Historian grinned. “History will tell.”

Ed Regis crouched and shook his hand.

The Historian turned to me again. “Adrian Howell… It would be meaningless to wish you good luck, but I sincerely hope that you find it in you to see this through. I honestly do not know where Randal and Catherine are, but you might find that information in the hands of those closer to this war. For now, learn to expect the unexpected.”