SORCERER OF FIRE
An Empty Flat Near London,
Earlier That Evening
Magus the Black stood before a stone hearth, staring blankly into the glowing embers of a flame that heated the room to an uncomfortable degree. Flanking him were two massive beasts, keeping diligent watch, their red eyes darting about the room as drool dripped from their long, vicious fangs. Outside, there was a loud clap of thunder as a storm began to rage.
In the corner of the small flat, lying prone on a dirty cot, was the prisoner, who was now barely recognizable after suffering so through her resistance. She was quiet after her long battle, but this hardly pleased Magus the Black.
Tendrils of inky smoke curled and twisted about the sorcerer’s dark cloak like irritated cobras, reflecting his own frustrations. The flame in the hearth flickered and danced, casting an eerie glow over Magus’s hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and blister-scarred skin. Thin lips pulled pensively over a double row of small, sharply pointed teeth, and two narrow streams of light gray smoke trailed out of his angular nose.
He had thought that the woman was stronger and would withstand the suffering. He’d been quite disappointed to find that she was weaker than she appeared. He growled low in his throat and the beasts eyed him nervously. He paid them no heed while his mind sifted through all that the woman had told him … and all that she hadn’t.
Suddenly, the beasts sniffed the air and growled like their master, their black greasy hackles rising as they both eyed the door. There was a knock and then the door to the flat opened. The beasts continued to growl and a quivering male voice said in his native German, “Master? You’ve sent for me?”
Magus turned and noted the slight flinch from the man in the doorway as their eyes met. The sorcerer’s lips curled slightly. He liked invoking fear. Before speaking, Magus held up his hands in a command to settle the beasts, and they ceased their growling at once and lay down on the stone hearth but continued to watch the man in the doorway intently.
“The woman has revealed that she left the babe in an open field somewhere near the village of Dover,” the sorcerer said, also speaking German, in a voice that was high-pitched and coarse like fine-grade sandpaper. “She believes a horseman she spied from the woods might have rescued the child. Take one of my pets, find the horseman, and bring the child to me—alive.”
The man in the doorway glanced nervously at the tortured figure on the bed. “Dover is a large village, master, and there would be many residents who might own horses. Can she tell you anything more about the location of the field or the horseman?”
Magus turned back to the hearth and did not answer for a long moment. Finally, he said, “She can tell us nothing more, Dieter. Ever.”
“I see,” said his servant quietly. After a pause he added, “I shall leave for the village immediately and look for the boy.”
Magus turned back to Dieter. “It is a girl child you search for, Van Schuft.”
“A girl?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure …?” Dieter began, but then caught himself. “What I mean, master,” he said, quivering even more, “is that the prophecy states we should search for a boy child.”
Magus rounded on his servant, flames licking the edges of his cape as a choking sulfur stench filled the flat. “You dare question me?” he spat.
“No!” said Dieter quickly. “Of course not! I only meant … It’s just … I’m merely pointing out that …”
Magus glowered at the frightened man trembling in fear across the room. “I am aware that the prophecy names a boy,” he rasped in his awful voice. “It would not be the first time the Oracle has sent us in the wrong direction. The woman was clear. The child she bore was a girl.”
“Yes, master,” said Dieter, bowing low as he attempted to back out of the room as quickly as possible.
“And, Dieter,” said Magus.
“Yes, master?”
“Send your wife in to clean up this mess. The stench from that cot displeases me.”
“As you wish, master,” said Dieter, and he made a hasty retreat.
When Dieter had bowed his way out of sight, Magus eyed his she-beast. “Go,” he said, and the hellhound jumped to his bidding. “Kill the horseman, Medea,” he said to the four-footed fiend, “but bring me the child alive. I shall want to assess if she is the One before I kill her.”
To that the she-beast gave an almost imperceptible nod, then trotted out the door.
THE BOX
The White Cliffs of Dover, Eight Years Later,
August 1938
“Which tunnel do you like, Theo?” Ian asked, pointing to the crude map he’d made of all the tunnels he and Theo had discovered since they’d started exploring the cliffs outside their orphanage.
“It’s your birthday, Ian,” Theo said loudly above the noise of the wind coming off the water. “You choose.”
“Right,” he said, hurrying down the small path leading toward the cliffs and the sea. He stopped at one rocky out-cropping and climbed up a boulder to have a look at the landscape.
The White Cliffs of Dover soared majestically some three hundred and fifty feet above the turbulent waters of the Strait of Dover—the narrowest section of the English Channel separating England from continental Europe.
The terrain at the top of the cliffs was often battered by fierce winds that swept in off the sea, making the vegetation lean over on itself and the rocks and boulders look pock-marked. To the west, at the base of the cliffs, was the port of Dover, where ships from neighboring countries such as France, Belgium, and the Netherlands docked. Ian and Theo would often watch the large ships come into port and unload their cargo of people and goods, and they would talk about the places they’d go when they were old enough to book passage and explore the world.
A kilometer behind Ian was the domineering facade of Castle Dover, a monstrous structure that stood sentry in its regal pose as it surveyed the surrounding countryside and offered the best views of the sea and the coastline of France.
And a kilometer behind Castle Dover was the much smaller structure of Delphi Keep, the residence of the Earl of Kent until Castle Dover had been built about five hundred years later. The keep had been turned into an orphanage by the current Earl of Kent, who held that an eight-hundred-year-old fortress that had withstood assault from foreign invaders for centuries could surely hold up against the thirty-odd children who ran, roughhoused, and played within its halls and called it home.
To the rest of the world, Dover was fairly small, but it was the only home Ian, Theo, and many of the other orphans had ever known.
Ian in particular loved this little patch of England because it offered him such opportunity for adventure. There were the keep and Castle Dover with their many nooks and crannies, the port at the base of the cliffs, the quaint village, and of course the rugged terrain where he now stood, which was host to an abundance of hidden tunnels and secret passageways carved out of the soft, chalky limestone that provided the white cliffs with their beauty and their name.
But at the moment Ian wasn’t thinking about the majesty of the cliffs or the port below. His attention was focused on his map as he turned atop the boulder and considered the terrain against the markers he’d carefully documented. Theo was standing at the giant rock’s base, looking up at him with mild curiosity. “Have you decided yet?” she asked him.
“I think we should check this area,” he said, jumping down from his perch and indicating a rather blank section on his map. “You never know when we’ll find that one tunnel that might contain a bit of treasure,” he added enthusiastically.
Like most boys his age, Ian loved the idea of exploration and hidden treasure. He often fantasized about discovering some gem or historical relic within one of the many tunnels he and Theo explored. His dream was to find something of value so that he could sell it and use the proceeds to help secure his and Theo’s futures once they left the orphanage. At the very least he considered these unde
rground jaunts to be good training for the day when he became a real explorer, traveling the globe in search of lost civilizations and hidden treasure. This had been Ian’s life’s ambition since he was seven and read the book Treasure Island.
To that end, he and Theo had spent many happy hours belowground, tracing the steps of villagers and warriors from the Middle Ages who had first dug out and even lived in the chalky space under the earth.
Most of the tunnels wound their way through the top part of the cliffs. Some led to caves that opened up to the strait; others led all the way into Castle Dover, through the host of secret entrances in the mighty structure. Still others came to a dead end and offered little in the way of entertainment.
As Ian walked, he traced on his map some of the branches of tunnels he’d already explored. Theo caught up to him and looked over his elbow. “This tunnel,” he said, pointing to one particularly broad vein. “We never did go down the south fork of that one. I bet there’s a secret outlet, and I bet it’s somewhere close to here.”
“You’ve always had a knack for ferreting out secret entrances,” she said. “So I’ll go along with that.”
The pair continued to walk, and Ian used a staff he’d crafted to poke holes in the soft earth. They were not far from the edge of the cliffs, and the wind swirled the grass around them. Luckily, it was a lovely, warm day, so the wind didn’t bite as it usually did when they were this close to the sea.
While Ian paused again to get his bearings, Theo looked southeast across the strait and said, “Look, Ian. We can see clear to Calais.”
Ian glanced up at the French city, which was just visible. “Yeah, no fog or mist to get in the way today.”
“Someday I’d like to go to France,” she said wistfully.
Ian laughed. “Good ol’ Theo. Always wanting to be someplace other than where she is.” But just as he turned to smile at his sister, Ian’s staff pushed right through the scrub and slipped out of his hand, disappearing under the grass. He heard it clank a moment later. “Theo!” he said excitedly as he knelt down and began to pull at the scrub. “I think we’ve got something!”
Theo came to crouch beside him as he tore at the place where his staff had disappeared, and sure enough a hole barely half a meter wide opened up in the ground before them. “Here’s the torch,” Theo said, handing Ian the flash-light so that he could look inside.
Ian leaned down and pushed his arm and his head into the hole to shine the light about. Quickly, he pulled them out and with a brilliant smile announced, “We’ve hit the jackpot!”
“Another tunnel?”
“Yes!” he said. “And you wouldn’t believe the size of it! There’s plenty of room once we widen this hole. Come on, help me find a rock and we’ll get to work.”
The pair found some stones and began to pound out a larger hole. The rock underneath the scrub was made of white lime—chalk—and was extremely soft. In no time they’d managed to widen the hole enough for Ian to squirm through. “You’ll have an easy time of it, at least,” he said, looking at his much smaller companion.
Theo smiled brightly at him and moved to the entrance. “I’ll go first,” she said. “That way I can pull you in if you get stuck.”
Before Ian could stop her, Theo had slipped easily down into the tunnel. He poked his head in after her, and as he handed over the torch, he said, “Next time let me go first to make sure it’s safe, all right?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s perfectly safe. Now come on. We’re wasting time.”
Ian pulled his head out of the hole and had a moment of uncertainty about whether to go in headfirst or feetfirst, but he finally decided headfirst might be best. The hole wasn’t quite as wide as he’d hoped, and Theo had to pull on his arms a few times before he made it through and landed inelegantly on the chalky floor.
“Here’s your staff,” Theo said after he’d dusted off his trousers.
“Thanks,” he answered, then looked around the large cavern where he and Theo had landed. Unlike many of the other tunnels, where he’d had to duck his head to explore, this cavern held plenty of room for him to stand up to his full height. Theo bounced the beam of the torch off the walls, and the pair simply stood there for a few beats, amazed that such a large room existed just belowground.
“Do you think this could be a natural cavern?” Theo asked.
Ian reached forward and guided her hand upward so that the beam shone on the ceiling. There were distinct grooves above their heads. “No,” he said. “See that? This was man-made.”
The beam of the torch moved off the ceiling and onto one of the far walls, revealing what looked like large Greek lettering tattooed on the rock. “I’d say you were right,” Theo answered.
Ian walked over and touched the black letters. “This is fantastic!” he said breathily “Theo, come here and have a look.”
But instead of coming over to him, she said, “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he asked, turning to look at her.
Theo cocked her head, listening. “I don’t know, exactly. But I swear I heard something down there,” she answered, pointing the beam to the tunnel leading out of the large cavern.
“Well, let’s go have a look, then,” Ian said, his enthusiasm building. Not much caused Ian fear or trepidation.
But Theo held his arm, stopping him. “I don’t like it,” she whispered, and Ian caught sight of goose pimples forming along her arm. “I’ve got an awful feeling about exploring this tunnel.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said gently, giving her hand a pat. “We’re probably the only living creatures to be in this tunnel for centuries. Come on, you can stay behind me if it will make you feel better.” And with that he lifted the torch out of her hand and marched forward into the tunnel.
When he didn’t hear her following him, Ian turned and added resolutely, “If you’re that scared, then you can stay here or aboveground if you like, but I’m going to see where this tunnel leads.”
Theo frowned uneasily, and her eyes drifted up to the hole they’d just come through. Ian waited patiently for her to make up her mind, and after a moment she walked stiffly over to him and said, “Very well.”
“That’s my girl.” He grinned, ruffling her hair before leading the way out from the cavern. The tunnel they moved into was narrow and roughly carved out. It also curved and twisted, and Ian held his torch in one hand as they walked so that he could glance at his compass in the other. At some points the path veered sharply east, then straightened out and turned back west, which he found fascinating, as most of the other tunnels they’d explored in the cliffs were fairly straightforward, with forks or branches where a new direction was chosen.
Theo broke the silence. “This isn’t like the other tunnels. The walls of the others were much smoother and they always took us in a straight line,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.
“Yeah,” said Ian, still staring at his compass. “Which means this one must be older. We could really be in a lost tunnel!”
Just then, Theo stopped abruptly and gave a hard tug on Ian’s shirt. “What’s that smell?”
Ian stopped, but the narrowness of the tunnel prevented him from comfortably turning around to face her. “I don’t smell anything,” he said, taking several whiffs.
Theo hadn’t let go of his shirt, and Ian noticed that her voice was shaky as she said, “I swear I caught the scent of something awful. Ian, I really don’t like this place.”
“Aw, Theo.” Ian tugged himself forward out of her grasp. “You’re just claustrophobic. Take some deep breaths and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. It’ll pass in a bit.”
Slowly, the pair moved ahead and came to a sharp corner. When they rounded it, they stopped short. “Whoa,” Ian breathed. They had arrived in a second large cavern. On the far side of the space was another narrow tunnel, the counter-part to the one they’d just come through.
But Ian wasn’t interested in the opposite tunnel just yet. Fo
r now, the cavern captured his full attention. “Gaw blimey!” he exclaimed as he moved the beam of the torch along the walls, which were covered with what looked like the same ancient Greek script they had seen in the first room. “Would you look at that, Theo?” he said, fascinated.
But when he glanced at her, she didn’t appear to share his enthusiasm. Instead, Theo stood pensively in the cavern’s entryway with a fearful look on her face. “I really don’t like this place,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the tunnel on the far side of the room.
But Ian was too distracted by the cavern to worry about her. He continued to bob the beam of the torch all about the cavern when suddenly something on the ground reflected the light.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed, racing across the large space to stand above a shiny metallic object. “Theo!” he called as he dropped to his knees. In front of him, half buried in the chalky floor of the cavern, lay a small silver box with ornate engravings. “It’s real treasure!”
He heard Theo come over to him, but when he glanced up at her, he noticed that her eyes were still warily darting to the tunnel leading deeper into the cliffs. “Can you get it out?” she asked him.
Ian set his compass down and tried to get his fingers around the edges of the box, but it was firmly planted in the ground. Thinking fast, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss Army knife. He opened the largest blade. “This could be an ancient artifact,” he said smartly as he chipped away at the chalk, careful to avoid scratching the silver box. “It’s best not to disturb it too much. We don’t want to damage it.”
Just then there was a distinct noise from somewhere deep within the tunnel opposite. It was lower and more menacing than a dog’s growl but had the same animal cadence. The noise made Ian pause and catch his breath. “What was that?” he whispered, his senses immediately alert.
“That’s what I heard earlier,” Theo whispered back, her hand gripping his shoulder. “And there! Do you smell that?”
Ian did smell something. It was a foul scent, a mixture of sulfur and something worse, like rotting meat. “Some animal’s died down here,” he said, but a moment later the growl echoed through their cavern again.