The Twilight Watch (40 page)

'By the Dark and the Light . . .' said Kostya, looking into the
open pages. He could see something there that I couldn't. 'Om . . .
Mrigankandata gauri . . .Auchitya dkhvani . . .By my will . . .Moksha
gauri . . .'

The voice of the book – I had no doubt that it was the book
that was making that sound – became louder. It drowned out
Kostya's voice and the words of the spell – both the Russian ones
and the other, ancient ones in which the
Fuaran
was written.

Kostya raised his voice, as if he was trying to shout down the
book.

I could only make out his last word – 'om' again.

The singing broke off on a sharp, dissonant note.

Behind me Las swore and asked:

'What was that?'

'The sound of the ocean,' Kostya laughed. He bent down, picked
up the briefcase and put the book and the flask in it. 'An entire
ocean of new possibilities.'

I swung round, already knowing what I would see. I half closed
my eyes, catching the shadow of my own eyelashes with my pupils.

I looked at Las through the Twilight.

The aura of an uninitiated Other was quite distinct. Welcome
to our happy family . . .

'That's how it works on people,' said Kostya. There were beads
of sweat clinging to his forehead, but he looked pleased. 'So there
you go.'

'Then what is it you
do
want?' I asked.

'I want to be an Other among Others,' said Kostya. 'I want all
this division to stop . . . Light Ones and Dark Ones, Others and
people, magicians and vampires. They're all going to be Others,
get it? Everyone in the world.'

I laughed.

'Kostya . . . you spent two or three minutes on just one person.
How's your maths?'

'There could have been two hundred people standing here,' said
Kostya, 'and they would all have become Others. There could have
been ten thousand. The spell works on everybody in my field of
vision.'

'Even so . . .'

'In an hour and a half the next crew of the International Space
Station takes off from the Baikonur cosmodrome,' said Kostya. 'I
think the space tourist from Germany is going to let me take his
place.'

I was silent for a second, trying to make sense of what he had
said.

'I'll sit quietly by the window and gaze at the Earth,' said Kostya.
'The way a space tourist is supposed to do. I'll look at the Earth,
spread the blood from the flask on the paper and whisper the
spells. And way down below the people will become Others. All
the people – do you understand? From the infants in their cradles
to the old folks in their rocking chairs.'

He looked genuinely alive now, and absolutely sincere. His eyes
were blazing – not with vampire Power, but with undiluted human
passion.

'You used to dream about that yourself, didn't you, Anton? That
there wouldn't be any more ordinary people. That everyone would
be equal.'

'I used to dream that all the people would be Others,' I said.
'Not that there wouldn't be any more people.'

Kostya frowned.

'Drop that! That's nothing but verbal gymnastics . . . Anton, we
have a chance to make the world a better place. Fuaran couldn't
have done it – in her time there were no space ships. Gesar and
Zabulon can't do it – they haven't got the book. But we can –
we can! I don't want any power, understand that! I want equality!
Freedom!'

'Happiness for everyone, a free handout?' I asked. 'With no one
left short-changed and resentful?'

He didn't understand.

'Yes, happiness for everyone. The Earth for Others. And no more
grievances and resentment. Anton, I want you with me. Join me.'

'What a wonderful idea!' I exclaimed, looking into his eyes.
'Brilliant, Kostya!'

I'd never been good at lying. And deceiving a vampire is almost
impossible. But Kostya evidently very much wanted me to agree.

He smiled. And relaxed.

And at that instant I raised my hands and struck out at him
with the 'grey prayer'.

It was nothing like the blow I had struck in the train. The Power
was seething inside me, streaming from the tips of my fingers –
and it kept coming, on and on. How can you tell if you're a good
conductor of electricity until they switch on the current?

The spell was visible even in the human world. Looping grey
coils sprang from my fingers, twining themselves round Kostya,
clutching and wrenching at him, enveloping him in a writhing
cocoon. What happened in the Twilight was incredible – the world
was filled with a seething blizzard of grey that made the usual
mist seem colourful. The thought came to me that if there were
any ordinary registered vampires within a radius of several kilometres,
they wouldn't be feeling too great either. They'd be swept
away and dematerialised by the ricochet from the spells . . .

Kostya went down on one knee. He shuddered, trying to break
free, but the 'grey prayer' was sucking Power out of him faster
than he could work his spells.

'Hell's bells!' Las exclaimed in delight behind me.

Never had so much Power passed through me.

Something strange was happening to the world around me. The
plane on the runway faded and became a colourless stone monolith.
The sky faded to a dull white shroud hanging low above the
ground. My ears seemed to be blocked with cotton wool.

The Twilight seemed to be breaking through into our world . . .

But I couldn't stop. I could sense that if I eased up on the pressure
for even a second, Kostya would break free and strike back.
Strike so hard, there'd be no pieces left to pick up . . . it would
be me, not Kostya, smeared across the concrete apron . . .

He raised his head and looked at me. Not in fury, more in melancholic
bewilderment. He parted his hands very, very slowly . . .

Could he really have any reserves of power left?

A transparent, bluish triangular prism took shape in the air
around Kostya. It severed the grey threads of the spell, spun round
and shrank to a tiny point. Then disappeared.

Taking the vampire with it.

Kostya had got away, through a portal.

The Power was still raging inside me. The Power of a thousand
Others, transmitted to me by Gesar and Zabulon, a boundless flood
of Power, seeking a use, a point of application. Human Power that
came to me at third hand . . .

Enough . . .

I brought my palms together, crumpling the grey threads into
a heavy ball.

Enough . . .

There was no enemy here any more.

Enough . . .

Magicians duel by fencing, not by flailing with clumsy clubs.

Enough
.

Kostya had proved more skilful.

I was trembling violently, but I stopped myself. The sky took
on a blue colour again, the plane on the runway picked up speed.

Kostya had gone.

Had he turned and run?

No, simply gone. I'd never heard of vampires capable of creating
a direct portal. And it looked like the Higher Ones hadn't expected
Kostya to pull an incredible stunt like that either.

He'd come to the airport, knowing that everyone would start
thinking about planes and helicopters and relax, sure that there was
still some time left. A vampire could be intercepted in mid-air, you
could send up the jet fighters, you could hit him with a missile.

But he'd had the direct portal ready in advance. An hour and
a half before the launch – he wouldn't have had time to get there
by plane! And they wouldn't have let a plane anywhere near
Baikonur – whatever they might be like now, the air defence forces
still existed. That was why he'd been able to make the jump, even
under pressure from the 'grey prayer' – the spell for the portal had
been hanging there, ready for use, like the combat spells of a field
operations magician.

That meant he hadn't believed I would go over to his side. Or
at least he'd had serious doubts. But it had been important to him,
very important, to defeat me, not by pure Power – what could
Power prove, when he was a Higher Vampire, and I was a second-grade
magician, even if pumped full of borrowed Power? The most
complete and convincing victory is when your opponent admits
that you're right. And surrenders without a fight. Accepts your
banner as his own.

I'd been really stupid. I'd thought of him as being either a friend
or an enemy. But he was neither. All he'd wanted to do was prove
that he was right. I just happened to be the target he'd chosen
for that. No longer a friend, not yet an enemy. Simply the bearer
of a different truth.

'Did he teleport?' Las asked.

'What?' I swung round and looked at him. 'Well . . . something
of the sort. He opened a portal. How did you know?'

'I saw something that looked like that in a computer game . . .'
Las said uncertainly. Then he added indignantly: 'A lot like that,
in fact!'

'People aren't the only ones who can design games . . .' I
explained. 'Yes, he got away. He's gone to Baikonur. He wants to
take the German space tourist's place . . .'

'I heard,' said Las. 'What an idiot
.
'

'Do you know why he's an idiot?' I asked.

Las snorted.

'If all people become magicians . . . Today they insult you on
the trolley bus, tomorrow they'll incinerate you on the spot. Today
they scratch their neighbour's door with a nail if they don't like
him, or write an anonymous letter to the tax office, but tomorrow
they'll hex him or suck all his blood out. A monkey on a motorbike
is only good in a circus, not on the city streets . . . Especially
if the monkey's got a machine gun.'

'You think the monkeys are in the majority?' I asked.

'We're all monkeys.'

'You're headed for the Watch,' I muttered. 'Hang on, I'll ask for
advice.'

'What Watch?' Las asked cautiously. 'Thanks, but I'm no magician,
thank God!'

I closed my eyes and listened. Silence.

'Gesar!'

Silence.

'Gesar! Teacher!'

'We were in conference, Anton.'

In mind conversations, there are no inflections of the voice. But
even so . . . even so I thought I could detect a hint of weariness
in Gesar's words.

'He went to Baikonur. The
Fuaran
really works. He wants to
turn everybody on the planet into Others.'

I stopped, because I realised Gesar already knew. He'd seen and
heard everything that happened – through my eyes and ears, or
by using some other magical method, it wasn't important how.

'You have to stop him, Anton. Go after him and stop him.'

'And you?'

'We're keeping the channel open, Anton. Supplying you with
Power. Do you know how many Others provided Power for the
"grey prayer"?'

'I can imagine.'

'Anton, I can't handle him. Zabulon can't handle him. Or
Svetlana. The only thing we can do now is feed Power to you.
We're drawing it from all the Others in Moscow. If necessary, we'll
start taking it directly from people. There's no time to regroup
and use different magicians as channels. You have to stop Kostya
. . . with our help. The alternative is a nuclear strike at Baikonur.'

'I won't be able to open a direct portal, Gesar.'

'Yes you will. The portal still hasn't closed completely, you need
to find the opening and reactivate it.'

'Gesar, don't overestimate me. Even with your Power, I'm still
a second-grade magician!'

'Anton, use your head. You were standing in front of Saushkin
when he recited the spell. You're not second-grade any more.'

'Then what am I?'

'There's only one grade above first – Higher Magician. Enough
talking, get after him!'

'But how am I going to defeat him?'

'Any way you like.'

I opened my eyes.

Las was standing before me and waving his hand in front of
my face.

'Oh! Still alive!' he said, delighted. 'So what is this Watch? And
do you mean to say I'm a magician too now?'

'Almost.' I took a step forward.

This was where Kostya had been standing . . . he fell . . . parted
his hands . . . the portal appeared.

In the human world – nothing.

Just the wind blowing, the crumpled cellophane cover from a
pack of cigarettes rustling over the concrete . . .

In the Twilight – nothing.

Grey gloom, stone monoliths instead of buildings, the rustling
tendrils of the blue moss . . .

In the second level of the Twilight.

Dense, leaden mist . . . a dead, spectral light from behind heavy
clouds . . . a small blue spark where the portal had been . . .

I reached out my hand –
in the human world,
in the first level of the Twilight,
in the second level of the Twilight . . .

I caught the fading blue spark in my fingers.

Wait. Don't go out. Here's Power for you – a raging torrent of
energy, rupturing the boundary between worlds. Streaming from
my fingers in drops of fire – onto the fading embers . . .

Grow, unfold, creep out into the bright light of day – there's
work for you to do! I sense the trace left by the one who opened
the portal. I see how he did it. I can follow his path.

And I don't need any incantations – all those formulae in
obscure ancient languages – just as the witch Arina didn't need
them when she brewed her potions, just as Gesar and Svetlana
don't need them.

So this is what it's like to be a Higher Magician

Not to learn formulae off by heart, but to feel the movement
of Power.

How incredible . . . and simple.

It wasn't a matter of new abilities, of a fireball with increased casualty
capability or a more powerful 'freeze'. If he's pumped full of
Power from outside or has accumulated a large reserve of his own,
an ordinary magician can lash out hard enough to make a Higher
Magician feel it. It was a matter of freedom. Like the difference
between even the most talented swimmer and the laziest dolphin.

How difficult it must have been for Svetlana to live with me,
forgetting about her Power, her freedom. This wasn't just the difference
between strength and weakness – it was the difference between
a healthy person and an invalid.