Rebels of the Lamp, Book 1 Page 4
Parker turned red and started to stammer.
Cold, Reese thought, as the jocks escorted Parker up from his seat and quietly out of the cafeteria. Reese ate her lunch alone, and she finished the chapter in her book alone, and she checked the time on her phone. She still had five minutes before the bell. She picked up her book bag (black, of course, and covered with pins that infuriatingly did not annoy her mother) and walked out the back door to the alley behind the school.
She stopped at the Dumpster. Reese put both book-bag straps on her shoulders and pushed the lid open. There was Parker, covered in the remnants of today’s lunch. And yesterday’s lunch. And the day before’s lunch.
“Thank you,” said Parker.
“No problem. You know, you really should stay away from those guys.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Parker slipped on some pretty rancid old tomato sauce on the bottom of the Dumpster but righted himself before he fell over.
“I’m Reese.”
“Parker.”
He held out his hand, but Reese just eyed him warily.
“Do I smell that bad?” he asked.
“No. I’m just not sure if I should be friends with you or not.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t seem like you’re going to survive the week.”
Reese hoisted her bag and walked away. She hated to admit it, but her mother was right about one thing: boys were nothing but trouble.
B64110—VESIROTH’S JOURNAL, CIRCA 900 B.C.
The tastiest books are always the hardest to come by.
The really good ones are banned, and all are rare. What sellers I can find are slippery men who live in the shadows and are not to be trusted. I could slash their throats, I suppose, but why bother? They would just be replaced. There is an endless supply of scum in the world, and I can’t help but admire the survival instincts of the common rat.
I have rented a charmingly decrepit room in the city, and I toil alone until my eyes hurt from reading by the dim light of candles. I dress in rags, and when I go outside I cover my face with a filthy bandage so as not to show my scars. People avoid me. They assume I am a beggar, or worse.
They are right. I am worse.
My landlord pounds on my door and threatens to throw me out into the street. It might amuse me to summon a demon to drag him away, but there would be a mess, and the smell would linger for days. I take the prudent course and instead conjure a handful of silver coins. I pay him his rent and slam the door in his face. He walks away in a huff, with no idea how close to oblivion he has just come. There is a certain pleasure in living in ignorance.
In my centuries of study, I have learned many things. I have discovered magick that makes me powerful, and amulets that can be used as fierce weapons. I had practiced the arcane arts for only thirty years before I discovered the spell that would allow me to live forever. I am told that this knowledge is in the hands of only a select few sorcerers. I do not associate with my peers, although I know I walk among them. I feel no need to socialize with a group of magickal malcontents, all trying to outdo one another with tricks and amazements.
The key to immortality is mine, and yet I find it a trifling thing. War still rages around me. What good is eternal life if I cannot enforce my will on the world? Is a life never ending a gift or a curse?
I search always for the missing pieces that would complete the incantation at the back of Farrad’s book. This is the ultimate weapon. This is the key that will make me the world’s master.
The spell’s creators are shrouded in mystery. They are men discussed in hushed voices, wizards whose past deeds are known now only as myths and legends. According to the tales, they were the Elders, the first sorcerers who ever bridged the gap between our world and the Nexus. They pooled their wisdom and between them created the most powerful spell yet in existence. Why did they never cast their masterpiece? No one knows. There are theories that the Elders were afraid of the power that would be unleashed, and others that suggested a traitor among them turned the Elders against one another. Whatever the true history of the Elders, their most powerful magick is to this day unused.
Was Farrad one of the Elders? I fear I will never know. I have searched for him, but even with my resources I can find no trace. It is as if the man has vanished from the face of the earth.
No complete copy of the spell remains, but bits and pieces float through the world of the arcane and the occult. Through the years I have collected all but one piece of the lost spell. The last, missing fragment torments me. I know it is out there somewhere. It waits silently for me and me alone to find it.
I suppose there is no need to rush.
6
CAHILL UNIVERSITY WAS A SMALL school set on top of a large hill. The grounds were well-tended and the brick buildings were old. Classes were done for the day, but a few students sat on the grass and the low, stone walls reading, talking, and enjoying the fall weather that they knew would turn nasty in just a few weeks. A kid with dreadlocks played an acoustic guitar under a tree. The guy in the CU sweatshirt discussing politics with the pretty girl handing out flyers for an upcoming rally assumed that his jokes about Congress distinguished him as the kind of witty, sophisticated, well-read college man that babes found irresistible. In fact, the girl had little to no interest in him. She was obsessed with a guy in her intro business class who got drunk at parties and then burped the entire Pledge of Allegiance.
Uncle Kelsey parked the old truck in the university parking lot and got out along with Parker and Theo.
“I won’t be long, guys,” Uncle Kelsey said. “I just have to move some stuff in Hilliard Hall and stop by the administrative offices. They always have something for me to do over there. There’s a snack bar where you can do your homework. They make pretty good chocolate-chip scones. Theo can show you.”
He locked the truck.
“I’ll meet you guys back here at seven. Try not to get in any trouble.”
He winked at Parker, and Theo rolled his eyes.
Uncle Kelsey went left. Theo hoisted his book bag and went right.
“Do you want to wait for me, please?” said Parker, running to catch up with his cousin.
Both kids were glad to get out of the truck. It didn’t have a backseat, so Parker and Theo and their book bags were crunched together with Uncle Kelsey in the front, and since Theo was barely talking to his cousin, the trip was awkward.
Parker caught Theo and they walked in silence. A Corvette drove by and Parker thought that he might as well try again.
He said, “Those are nice. A friend of mine in LA has one. We like to buzz up and down Hollywood Boulevard looking at girls. They have tons of power, but I like something a little more exotic, myself. I got to drive my buddy’s Ferrari once....”
“Will you please shut up?”
Parker stopped walking. Theo continued for a few steps before stopping and turning to face him.
“I was doing all right, you know,” Theo said. “Straight B’s. I made the baseball team. I’m not a starter, fine, but I’m on the team, and I’m this close to being able to hit the catcher from all the way out in left field, and people at school are actually starting to notice that I’m alive, but just when I finally, finally get something going for myself, you show up with all of your BS about Hollywood...”
“It’s not BS!” said Parker.
“...and you ruin everything!”
Parker had never seen Theo so angry. He was turning red.
“Why couldn’t you just stay in California?”
“I wanted to! You think I wanted to come live in Hick Town? I didn’t have a choice!”
“Oh, that’s right. A gang was out to get you.”
Parker closed his mouth. He knew that the gang thing was far-fetched. What could he do? At the time, he was on a roll.
“You cause problems, Parker. Everywhere you go.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah?
Do you remember the last time we were together?”
Parker did. Theo and his family had come to California to go to Disneyland when the kids were ten. They were all having a great time until Parker disappeared. Everyone was frantic looking for him, and his mom pulled in park security to join in the search. They eventually found him. He had sneaked into a cotton candy stand and had eaten so much of the stuff that he was rolling around in the bushes, clutching his stomach. They had to call it a day. Theo never even got to ride Space Mountain.
“Come on. That was years ago!” said Parker.
“And what about when we were nine and you pushed me off the roof?”
“I didn’t push you! You jumped!”
“I jumped because you said if I didn’t jump you would tell everyone I still wet the bed!”
“Okay, that was mean, and I never would have actually done that. Plus, it really wasn’t that high.”
“You always have to be in the spotlight. It always has to be The Parker Quarry Show.”
“It’s not my fault I’m charismatic!”
“Well, all I know is that my parents and I are happy living out here in the boondocks, and we don’t need you screwing things up for us the way you screwed up your family.”
That stung, worse than Parker ever would have thought. It brought up a lot of feelings that he simply didn’t want to deal with. It hurt. Parker stared at his cousin for a moment. Then he turned and made a beeline for the nearest building.
“The snack bar is this way,” Theo said.
As Parker walked, he took a key ring from his pocket and jingled it at Theo. “There must be something fun to do around here. It’s a college.”
Theo was stunned. “You stole my dad’s keys?”
“I borrowed your dad’s keys. I just want to do a little exploring.”
“You can’t do that! We’re supposed to go get scones!”
Even Theo knew that was lame. He thought for a second and blurted out the nuclear bomb of threats.
“I’ll tell my dad!”
Parker turned, ready to call his cousin’s bluff. “Come on, Theo,” he said with a grin. “No one likes a snitch.”
Parker walked away. After a moment of indecision, Theo rushed to join him.
B64190—VESIROTH’S JOURNAL, CIRCA 900 B.C.
Against all logic and contrary to my better judgment I have taken on an apprentice. Perhaps I am growing feebleminded in my advanced age. I am over three hundred years old, now. I think.
She calls herself Tarinn. She is a young girl, an orphan. She considers herself a sorceress. What she is is a pest.
She was sitting outside of my door. I assumed she was begging for food or money. She was not. She told me she was looking for the mighty wizard that people in the city spoke of in whispers. She wanted to learn. She offered me her services as a cook and an assistant. I pushed her aside gently, considering I could easily have turned her into, say, a centipede, and continued on my way.
She was there the next day. And the next. And the next.
Last week I needed a fresh eagle’s heart for a particularly delightful potion. I was in a rush. I had much to do. I always have much to do.
I stepped outside and Tarinn was, as always, there. Underfoot. In my way.
In my anger, I raised my hand to strike her, but when she gazed up at me, I paused. Everywhere I go, people turn their eyes from my ruined face. As if by instinct they seem to know I am a man best avoided. They fear and hate me. But this street urchin was not frightened! Her eyes were bright, and for a moment my mind was clouded by thoughts of my own daughters, dead now for centuries. I had assumed that I had banished all memories of my life as a farmer and a father, but now they came flooding back. After all this time, any feelings besides anger and ambition felt alien to me. Have I been so corrupted by the Nexus that I am no longer capable of feeling compassion?
I reached my hand down to her, and in an act of kindness of which I would not have believed myself capable, I pulled her from the gutter.
I made her an offer. Lodging and food, for her help with my experiments and study. She jumped at the chance and actually attempted to embrace me. I pushed her away, my mind clear once more. Tarinn is not my daughter. She is simply a tool in service to my goals. I will send her to do my chores, so I can more fully devote my mind to unlocking the treasures the Nexus still keeps at bay.
She thinks she will learn my secrets. She is mistaken. I will teach her worthless tricks and keep my true plans hidden. When she is no longer of use, I will destroy her or turn her back to the streets from which she came.
Maybe she will end up a centipede, after all.
7
PARKER PICKED A BUILDING AT random and strolled in like he owned the place. Years of experience had taught him that was the key to getting into places he didn’t belong: act like you were supposed to be there.
Theo followed him. “Parker! Cut it out! We’re going to get in trouble!”
“We’re not going to get in trouble.”
It was an anthropology building, or maybe archeology. Parker knew there was a difference between the two things, but he didn’t know what that difference was.
All he knew was that if he was looking for something interesting, and he was, he had come to the right place. The hallway was lined with exhibits of old pottery and tools. Parker knew the good stuff was around somewhere.
He stopped outside an office door and got out his keys.
As he worked, Theo started to sweat. “Stop it.”
“I just want to take a peek inside.”
“I’m serious, Parker. My dad could lose his job.”
Parker found the right key. He slid it into the lock and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder.
“We won’t get caught. It’ll be okay, I swear. You’re allowed to have a little fun. Theo, if you’re this wound up at twelve, you’ll be dead of a heart attack before you hit twenty. You have to learn how to enjoy life.”
Theo thought this over. Finally, he nodded. He didn’t really need his cousin’s approval, but he didn’t want Parker to think he was a wuss, either. The door opened and the kids stepped into the office.
“See, this,” said Parker, “this is what I’m talking about.”
Professor Ellison’s office was a wonderland of fantastic stuff. The shelves lining the walls were overloaded with skulls, dusty weapons, and weird relics. The professor’s desk was buried under teetering piles of unread mail and unopened boxes. No one had sat there for weeks.
Parker went right to the good stuff.
“Egypt, South America, Africa...There’s stuff here from everywhere,” he said, checking out a tiki idol almost as tall as he was.
Theo stayed by the door.
“Okay, Parker, you’ve had a look around. Can we please leave now, please?”
“Come on, buddy, hoist up your skirt and live a little. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Theo walked tentatively into the room. With the utmost respect for someone else’s personal property, he looked over some ancient scrolls and a mad tangle of necklaces that seemed to be made out of gold and teeth. He shuddered at a dead monkey floating eerily in a jar of yellow formaldehyde.
“Creepy,” he said.
Parker hefted a brass dagger and gasped when he saw a row of what could only be genuine shrunken heads. He got face-to-face with one. It was the size of a baseball. Its skin was jet-black, and its eyes and mouth were sewn shut.
“Too cool,” he said. “Do you think anyone would notice if something went missing?”
“Yes!” Theo said, flicking the tag on a stuffed monkey. “It’s all cataloged! Don’t take anything!”
“I won’t,” Parker said.
Theo glared at him.
“I won’t! I swear. Sheesh.”
Parker put the dagger down and wandered over to a series of newspaper articles and Web site printouts taped to a wall. Some were torn and yellowed with age. Some were brand-new. He read the headlines aloud.
Theo wasn’t listening. He had found a door to another room and was checking to see if it was locked. It wasn’t.
Parker squinted at an article featuring a grainy photo. It was a picture of a man holding some kind of a large metal cylinder. The photo had been crossed out with a red marker.
“‘Tanzanian Miners Make Unusual Discovery.’”
Parker reached for the clipping. Just before his fingers touched it, he stopped. There were voices coming from outside the office door.
B65810—VESIROTH’S JOURNAL, CIRCA 900 B.C.
Tarinn has been with me for fifteen years now. The time slips away like rain sloshing down a gutter.
She has grown to be a capable and determined woman, and she has surprised me by earning my grudging respect. She is not my equal, naturally, but she studies for long hours and she has learned much. Perhaps someday she will be something more than worthless.
For the first time in hundreds of years, I have a source of true companionship. Against my will, I find myself somehow drawn into discussions with her of the nature of the Nexus, and we argue over our differing views of the power the Nexus affords. Tarinn grows increasingly convinced that overexposure to the Nexus erodes the soul, and that magick used in anger will lead to one’s own destruction. What does she know about anger? She is naïve. Perhaps when she has lived as long as I have, her thinking will be more clear.
Always I search for the conclusion to Farrad’s spell. Always it eludes me. This failure is beginning to affect my usually pleasant disposition.
8
PARKER AND THEO BOTH FROZE. Then, with the reflexes of twelve-year-old boys caught someplace they shouldn’t be, they both scrambled into the office’s back room.