The Warlock (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5) (38 page)

Suddenly there was a pop and a panel rose from the floor. Icy water flooded in around Joan’s feet. “We are leaking!”

“Up!” the Saracen Knight yelled. “We need to go up before we become too heavy to rise.”

“In a minute,” Prometheus said. He nodded to the screen at his feet. Two red dots were approaching fast.

“How did they get behind us?” Saint-Germain asked.

“Below us,” Prometheus corrected him. “And they didn’t. We’ve awakened something from the depths.”

“You did that deliberately,” Scathach accused the Elder, “that’s why you churned up the water.”

“Whatever it is, it’s closing fast … very fast.…” Palamedes pointed to the screen. “And more coming.”

“I can see something outside—moving in the water,”
Saint-Germain said urgently. “Something …” He stopped, temporarily speechless. “Big … with teeth … lots of teeth.”

Prometheus hit the controls and the Rukma surged upward. It exploded out of the water, followed by two enormous sharklike creatures. The first smashed into two of the circling vimanas, sending them spinning into the lake, while the second actually bit into the third craft, almost snapping it in two, and dragged it down.

Three more of the monstrous creatures broke the surface, teeth gnashing. “Sharks,” Scathach said.

“Megalodons,” Prometheus announced, pulling the Rukma higher and higher, little fountains of water spilling from the leaks in its sides.

“They were at least thirty feet long!” Scathach said.

“I know,” replied the Elder. “They must have been babies.”

here are those who will tell you,” Tsagaglalal began, “that the Magic of Fire or Water or even Air is the most powerful magic of all. Some would disagree—would say that the Magic of Earth surpasses all others. They are wrong.”

Sophie was still sitting with her back to the apple tree, the palms of her hands flat against the grass.

Tsagaglalal sighed. “In truth,” the old woman continued, “I think all magics are equal and identical. A lifetime of study has led me to believe that they are all the same.”

“But the elements,” Sophie pressed, “air, water, fire and earth are different.”

Tsagaglalal nodded. “But the same forces control those elements. The energy you use to control fire is the same energy you use to shape water and mold air.” She patted the ground. “And the earth, too. That energy comes from within: it is the power of your aura.”

The garden filled with the odor of jasmine, and Tsagaglalal rubbed the palm of her hand across the earth. A speckling of brightly colored daisies appeared. “Now, was that earth magic?” she asked.

Sophie was a bit unsure, but she nodded. “Yes …”

Tsagaglalal smiled. “Are you sure? Why not water magic? These plants need water to survive. Or maybe it was air magic—they need oxygen, too, don’t they?”

“And fire?” Sophie asked with a little smile.

“They do need warmth to grow,” Tsagaglalal said.

“I’m confused. What’s the Magic of Earth, then? Are you saying that there’s no such thing?”

“No. I’m saying that there is no such thing as the individual magics. There should be no differentiation between earth, air, fire and water. And why stop at those four classifications? Why isn’t there wood magic or silk magic, or fish magic?”

Sophie looked at her blankly.

“Let me tell you the secret that was revealed to me by my husband.” The old woman leaned closer, enveloping Sophie in the sweet aroma of her aura. “There is no such thing as magic. It is a word. A silly, foolish, overused word. There is only your aura … or the Chinese have a better word for it: qi. A life force. An energy. This is the energy that flows within you. It can be shaped, molded, directed.” She plucked a single blade of grass and held it up between thumb and forefinger. “What do you see?” she asked.

“A blade of grass.”

“What else?”

“It’s … green,” Sophie said hesitantly.

“Look again. Look deeper. Deeper,” Tsagaglalal commanded.

Sophie stared at the waving blade of grass, noting the faint pattern that ran along the underside, the pointed tip turning brown.…

“Use your aura, Sophie. Look at the grass.”

Sophie allowed her aura to wrap around one forefinger like the finger of a silver glove.

“Look into it,” Tsagaglalal urged. “See it.”

Sophie touched the blade of grass … and instantly she saw …

… the structure of the grass, growing huge, unfolding like an entire garden … the outer layer peeling back to reveal veins and threads beneath … and then these dissolved to reveal the cells … and within them the molecules … and beyond those the atoms …

Suddenly she felt as if she was falling, but was it up or down? Was she flying into space, or dropping deeper …

… into planet-sized protons … and neutrons and electrons like whirling moons … and even smaller still, the quarks and leptons surging like comets …

“I cannot teach you earth magic,” Tsagaglalal said. Her voice sounded distant, but suddenly Sophie was surging back toward the sound, seeing everything in reverse, minuscule becoming tiny, tiny growing to small … until she was looking at the blade of grass again. For a moment it seemed as big as a skyscraper, and then Tsagaglalal pulled it away from the girl’s face and it returned to its normal size.

“You have seen what shapes us, one and all. Even I, who was created out of dust and animated by Prometheus’s aura, have the same structure deep within me.”

Sophie’s head was spinning and she pressed her hands to her temples. Just when she thought she’d seen everything, she was hit with something new, and it was too much to take in.

“If you want to do water magic, you shape the hydrogen and oxygen atoms with your imagination and then impose your will on it.” Tsagaglalal leaned forward and caught Sophie’s hands in hers. “Magic is nothing more than imagination. Look down,” she commanded.

Sophie looked at the ground between her outstretched legs.

“Visualize the earth covered in blue flowers.…”

Sophie started to shake her head, but Tsagaglalal squeezed her fingers painfully. “Do it.”

The girl struggled to create the image of the blue flowers in her head.

Two tiny bluebells appeared.

“Excellent,” Tsagaglalal said. “Now do it again. See them clearly. Visualize them. Imagine them into existence.”

Sophie focused. She knew what bluebells looked like. She could see them clearly in her mind’s eye.

“Now imagine the grass turning to bluebells. Change it in your head … force it to change …
believe
it will change. You have to believe, Sophie Newman. You will need to believe, to survive.”

Sophie nodded. She firmly believed the grass was now covered with bluebells.

And when she opened her eyes, it was.

Tsagaglalal clapped her hands in delight. “See. All you had to do was have faith.”

“But is it earth magic?” Sophie asked.

“That is the secret of
all
magic. If you can imagine it, if you can see it clearly, and if your aura, your qi, is strong enough, then you will achieve it.”

Tsagaglalal attempted to stand. Sophie got easily to her feet and helped the old woman up. “Now why don’t you run on up to the house and get changed. Put on heavy jeans and hiking boots and wear something warm.”

“Where am I going?”

“To see your brother,” Tsagaglalal said.

Nothing sounded better to Sophie at that moment. She kissed her aunt quickly on the cheek before darting off through the garden.

“And I don’t think it is going to be a happy reunion,” Tsagaglalal murmured.

rometheus pointed directly ahead to a shining crystal tower rising out of the sea. “That’s where we’re headed.”

Palamedes twisted to look at the vimana fleet trailing behind them. The enemy ships had grown more cautious since they’d lost the three craft to the megalodons and had hung back, obviously content to trail the Rukma to its destination.

“The tower is under attack,” Scathach said, leaning forward in her seat to get a better view.

A larger triangular Rukma vimana hovered over the tower. Long ropes trailed from the Rukma down to a platform close to the top of the tower, where a single armored warrior with a sword and battle-ax guarded an open door against a dozen howling anpu, which slashed at him with serrated spears and deadly kopesh. At least ten anpu lay sprawled around him, and in a flurry of steel, he sent another staggering off the platform into the crashing waters below. And while his weapons
were dark with anpu blood, his own gray armor was cracked and broken, bright with red blood. An anpu appeared in the Rukma vimana’s door and fired a tonbogiri down at the warrior. He ducked and the metal balls struck blue sparks where they hit the crystal wall, and the ground around the warrior was streaked with pitted white scars.

“Now,
there
is a warrior,” Palamedes said in admiration.

“None finer,” Prometheus agreed. “Hang on, old friend,” he said softly, “we’re coming.”

A huge anpu with an enormous curved sword slashed at the warrior in gray, catching him on the side of the head, knocking his helmet off and sending it spinning into the air.

It took a moment for the immortal humans in the Rukma to recognize him. They had only ever known him as old and ragged, lost and crazed, but here he was in all his glory—it was Gilgamesh the King, howling with laughter, teeth bared and bloody as he fought against impossible odds. More anpu rappelled out of the hovering Rukma.

Scathach pulled herself out of her chair. “Get us down there!”

“I’m doing my best,” Prometheus muttered.

Behind him the vimana fleet closed in.

“Get us close and I’ll jump,” the Shadow said. She pulled her two short swords from the sheaths on her back.

“No,” the Saracen Knight said. He pointed to the hovering Rukma. “Get on top of it. We’ll go down by the same ropes.”

Shakespeare unclipped his restraints. “I am no warrior,” he said to Prometheus. “But you are. Show me what to do, and I will attempt to hold this carriage in place.”

Prometheus brought their Rukma in almost directly on top of the one hovering over the tower. Even before he had it properly positioned, Scathach had popped open the door and dropped the ten feet onto the second craft. She hit it hard and rolled to her feet. The anpu sniper poked its head out of the opening, wondering what the noise was, and Scathach caught it by the throat, lifted it bodily out of the craft and flung it into the air. It shrieked as it fell into the sea.