The Wizard of Time (Book 1) (36 page)
“Do we need to go through it again?” Teresa asked, licking honey from her fingers.
“Of course, of course,” Akikane said. “Each time we look at the puzzle, more pieces will begin to fit together.” He smiled at Gabriel as he took another bite of roasted apple.
“Right,” Gabriel said as he swallowed a chunk of apple. He had heard and recited the philosophy before. “Apollyon’s basic philosophy is that mages exist to rule over non-mages, and in particular to rule the whole of the Primary Continuum and use it for their glory. Or for his glory, since he wants to rule the mages. He seems influenced by the late 19th century German philosopher, Fredrick Nietzsche, and his idea of an Übermensch, or Over Man, or Super Man. Essentially, the strong are strong for a reason, and they should rule the weak. And the strongest should rule them all.”
“A bit of a condensation,” Rajan said.
“I thought I was supposed to be brief,” Gabriel said. “Apollyon believes he can become something that has never existed, someone more powerful than anyone in all of history.” Gabriel paused for a moment as he realized that thought was similar to something Vicaquirao had told him about himself. Gabriel was something that had never existed and was destined to become more powerful than anyone in or out of history. How was he similar to Apollyon? Was that what Vicaquirao had been hinting at? It was unsettling to consider.
He pushed the thought aside as he continued, hoping the others had not noticed his pause in speech. “Anyway, Apollyon believes that mages should unite under his leadership and rule the people of all the alternate realities and that they should break The Great Barrier in 2012 so they can rule the future. And I remember something now. Vicaquirao was reading a book by Nietzsche when he had me captive at that cabin. It may have been coincidence, but maybe not. Maybe Apollyon got his philosophy in part from Vicaquirao.”
“Or maybe that’s what the slippery devil wants us to think,” Sema said.
“Maybe,” Ohin said. “But good to know. This is why we go through it again and again.”
“Yes, yes,” Akikane said. “Little pieces that help reveal the whole.”
“Assuming we’re not seeing exactly what Vicaquirao wants us to see,” Ling said.
“Very possible, very possible,” Akikane said with his usual smile.
“Instructive for us,” Rajan said, “that Nietzsche also wrote
‘He who fights against monsters should see to it that he does not become a monster in the process. And when you stare persistently into an abyss, the abyss also stares into you.’
”
“I’ve seen the abyss,” Teresa said. “It’s overrated.”
“What else?” Sema asked, looking at Gabriel as she began a game of chess with Teresa.
“Apollyon wants to rule over the Grace Mages, as well,” Gabriel said, taking another piece of apple to cover the discomfort of the thought. “He believes that Grace Mages are essential to the balance of the universe, but they must be subservient to the Malignancy Mages, similar to Vicaquirao’s idea that dark and light must balance each other. Except Apollyon doesn’t believe in balance. He believes that balance creates stagnation, and that only from destruction can new creativity arise.”
“Bad complexity theory,” Teresa said, moving a white pawn. “Too much stability and structure, and your system is too rigid to allow creativity. You need just enough chaos to stay on the edge of creativity, but too much and everything falls apart. He’s not looking to create new levels of complexity, he looking to destroy and dominate what there is.”
“Exactly what I was going to say,” Gabriel said, grinning at Teresa.
“That raises the question then,” Rajan said, “do we need someone like Apollyon to add chaos to our system?”
“Not bloody likely,” Marcus said.
“There’s plenty of chaos in the Continuum without his help,” Ling said.
“Or the opposite question,” Gabriel said. The others looked at him quizzically.
“Just so, just so,” Akikane said, smiling at Gabriel again.
“What do you mean?” Sema asked.
“Is the Council too rigid, too stable, to be creative enough to defeat the Malignancy Mages?” Gabriel asked. It wasn’t a question he really wanted an answer to.
“Good question,” Ohin said.
“We’d better bloody well hope not,” Marcus said.
“But there’s a better question,” Teresa said.
“I didn’t want to ask it,” Gabriel said.
“What question?” Ling said.
“Are we too rigid to be creative enough to defeat Apollyon?” Gabriel said.
“Exactly, exactly,” Akikane said. “Can we use the chaos he causes to creatively defeat him?” Everyone was silent for a moment, their eyes meeting over the flames of the fire.
“I think we can,” Gabriel said. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed it, but he knew someone needed to say it and since he had posed the question, it seemed like his responsibility.
“Good answer, Gabriel,” Sema said with a nod of her head.
“And a good answer to end on,” Ohin said. “Who would like to entertain us tonight?”
“Oh, I’ve got something,” Marcus said, gently using his tongue to remove the honey from the tip of his knife. Every night they traded turns around the campfire, reciting poetry and telling stories. Ohin would play his wooden flute, and Rajan would do magic tricks. Not real magic, but tricks of sleight-of-hand. Teresa found it terribly amusing and ironic. She often entertained by doing wildly complicated mathematical computations in her head. Rajan usually protested that they had no way of knowing if she was giving the right answer or not, since she was the only math genius present. Teresa would chide Rajan that it wasn’t her fault he couldn’t count beyond ten without taking his shoes off.
“This evening,” Marcus began as he took a sip from a wineskin to clear his throat, “I thought we might enjoy a little Shakespeare. A little something to stir the hearts in the face of our obstacles. A little speech from Henry the Fifth, I’m sure you’ve heard once or twice.” Marcus stood before the fire and coughed once before he began to recite.
“If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.”
As Gabriel listened to Marcus reciting the words, playing out the part of Henry the Fifth inspiring his troops, his thoughts turned back to Apollyon, as they always did. The Malignant True Mage was likely placing the copies of himself at different moments in history where the great atrocities that took place would give him more combined power than any mage had ever held. Linked together, he and his army of copies might hold sufficient power to break through The Great Barrier of Probability that kept Time Mages from moving any further into the future than October 28, 2012 CE.
He had probably created several dozen copies already. How could they defeat dozens of versions of Apollyon linked together through time?
One at a time
, he thought to himself.
Slowly, slowly
, as Akikane was fond of saying about his training. And how far could that training take him? And how fast? And as he gained mastery of all six magics, and as he gained more power than any mage had held before, would that power tempt him the way it so obviously tempted Apollyon? He had to hope not, but how could he know?
He was on a path to becoming something he might not even recognize as himself when he was finished. How could he remain true to who he was? He knew he would not truly know until it was too late to change what he had become. Gabriel returned his attention to Marcus, hoping to forget his questions for a few moments.
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.”
Those seated around the campfire burst into applause as Marcus finished reciting.
The bald man blushed and bowed slightly.
“Wonderful,” Sema said as Marcus sat beside her.
“It’s the words, not the man who speaks them,” Marcus said, grabbing the wineskin and taking a quick swig.
“It’s the man who speaks them that gives them life,” Sema corrected.
“Thank you,” Marcus said, patting Sema’s hand. “Who’s next?” he asked as he turned to the others around the fire.
“Flute, flute, flute,” Teresa began to chant as she clapped her hands. Rajan copied her first and the others quickly joined in, even Akikane. Gabriel noticed that it was Ohin’s turn to seem embarrassed as he pulled his wooded flute from his leather satchel and settled in to play.
“Any requests?” Ohin said, licking his lips as he settled the mouthpiece on them.
“
The Girl I Left Behind Me
,” Marcus called.
“Maybe we can convince Ling to sing,” Rajan said, poking Ling.
“I hardly know the words,” Ling demurred.
“Balderdash,” Marcus said. “You never forget anything. You’re like an elephant without a trunk.”
“Isn’t she though?” Teresa teased.
“Oh, all right,” Ling said, clearing her throat as Ohin began the tune. Ling waited for the intro and then began to sing in a voice so sweet and lush that it had taken Gabriel completely by surprise the first time he had heard it weeks ago. There were many things that he had imagined Ling being able to do, but singing Irish folk songs was not one of them.
“I’m lonesome since I crossed the hill,
And o’er the moorland sedgy
Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,
Since parting with my Betsey
I seek for one as fair and gay,
But find none to remind me
How sweet the hours I passed away,
With the girl I left behind me.”
By the second verse, Marcus had joined her, his resonant baritone balancing Ling’s clear soprano. Soon the others joined in, and Gabriel added his voice, stumbling over the words he only vaguely remembered from when Marcus had taught them the lyrics the week before. He laughed and looked up at the stars glittering in the night sky above. He wished this moment would last, but he knew they would soon be asleep, each taking turns with the watch, waking in the morning to observe yet another battle, searching again for the moment where Apollyon was breaking the Continuum to serve his vile plans. But there under the stars, sitting around the campfire with his friends and teammates, he laughed and sang and tried not to think.
The morning brought battle.
It was a battle much like the others Gabriel had witnessed: violent, bloody, and loud, filled with the cries of men and horses and even elephants, in combat and in death. This one was the Battle of Gaugamela against Darius III of Persia in October of 331 BCE, in what would eventually be known as northern Iraq in Gabriel’s time. Darius III had aligned his archers, cavalry, war chariots, infantry, and elephants against Alexander’s smaller number of cavalry and infantry, the Persian king holding the advantage in numbers by nearly two to one.
However, Alexander was nothing if not a brilliant battlefield strategist. Darius III lined his forces up along the battlefield, taking the central position, as was Persian tradition for the king. Meanwhile, Alexander broke his force into two units, allowing him to attack the Persian line at two points, eventually breaking through it and causing the Persian forces to flee, King Darius III among the first to leave the battlefield in haste. The battle lasted only a couple of hours. Far less than other battles Gabriel had seen.
Gabriel and the rest of the team watched the battle and the aftermath from a safe distance on a nearby hill, lying close to the ground and viewing the action through binoculars. Ling had assured Gabriel, as wild as it sounded, that she could have used the force of gravity to bend the light coming from the battlefield in much the way the lenses of the binoculars did, and allow them to see it all with great precision. But that sort of magic would have drawn attention from Apollyon if he showed himself, so the team made do with traditional optics.
Teresa had come up with the ingenious notion of taking black nylon stockings and stretching them over the lens of the binoculars to keep them from reflecting light to anyone on the battlefield. Stretched tight, they only slightly hindered the resolution of an image at a distance. The stockings didn’t eliminate the glare completely, but reduced it enough to make daytime observation a little more clandestine, particularly when the sun was low and shading the lens with one’s hand was no longer possible.
They observed the battlefield all day, through the fighting and well afterward. Ohin and Akikane were both of the opinion that Apollyon would likely wait until after a battle to seize all of the negative imprints generated by the fighting to use in creating the magic that would hide the bifurcations he was making to copy himself. While the magic would hide the bifurcations at a distance in time, Ohin felt certain that if they were physically close enough when Apollyon created his new branches of reality, he, Gabriel and Akikane would be able to sense it. So, they continued to watch as Alexander’s troops took prisoners and camped as night fell, waiting for something to happen, waiting for one of the True Mages or the Time Mage to sense something.
The watching centered mostly on Apollyon himself, on the soldier Cyril, as he was known then. They took turns keeping him under surveillance, making sure there were at least two pairs of eyes on him at all times.