The Copper Gauntlet Read online

  Drew.

  He remembered Drew’s body the last time he’d seen it, and the way Master Joseph had enchanted it to close up its wounds, even though Drew was already dead. His body looked healed now, even if his spirit was gone.

  He had grave goods, too, folded clothes and favorite games, a horse statuette and a photograph of him with one arm around a smiling Master Joseph and the other around someone else — someone who’d been cut out of the picture.

  Call was about to pick up the photo and take a closer look when he heard muffled and distant voices coming from below them.

  “Do you hear that?” he whispered, walking away from Drew’s body and down the hallway.

  Stairs receded into the gloom — they looked as though they’d been carved from solid rock, and it took Call a moment to realize that they must have been formed by magic.

  The time is closer than you think.

  Call crept down the steps. The others followed more cautiously. He reached the bottom stair and looked around the cavernous, shadowy room. The darkness down here was deeper, the glowing rocks set into the walls more spread out.

  And then he saw it. The final body — Constantine himself. He was lying on a slab of marble, arms crossed over his chest. He had dark brown hair and sharp features; he might have been handsome if it wasn’t for the livid burn marks that covered the right side of his face and disappeared down into his collar. They weren’t as bad as Call had imagined, though, hearing the story of the Enemy’s burned face and the mask he’d worn. Constantine mostly looked normal. Horribly normal. He could have been anyone walking down the street. Anyone at all.

  Call took a step closer. Stanley lurched along behind him.

  “What do you see?” Aaron whispered from farther up the stairs.

  “Shhhh,” Call whispered back, moving to Constantine’s body. “Stay there.” He could still hear voices coming through the walls. Whispering ghosts? His imagination? He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He couldn’t stop staring at the body. That’s me, he thought. That’s the face I grew up with first, before I became Callum Hunt.

  Dizziness flooded him. He stumbled back against the wall, into a shadowed nook, just as an unseen door slid back and Master Joseph entered the room, followed by Call’s father.

  Call’s heart thundered in his chest. They were too late to stop Alastair.

  MASTER JOSEPH LOOKED exactly as he had the last time Call had seen him: the same staff, the same uniform, and the same manic glint in his eye.

  “You have the Alkahest, good,” he said to Alastair. “I knew that we’d be better off working together. Really, we both want the same thing.”

  Alastair, on the other hand, looked exhausted. His clothes were dirty; he wore old jeans and a beat-up anorak. He had beard stubble on his chin. “We do not want the same thing. I just want my son back.”

  My son. For a second, when Call had first seen his father, he’d felt a rush of relief. A sense of familiarity. Now he felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He knew who his father wanted back, and it wasn’t him.

  Master Joseph’s gaze flickered toward the thick shadows where Call and Stanley stood. Call froze, trying to be as still as possible. He didn’t even want to breathe for fear that he’d be noticed. Aaron and the others must have sensed that something was wrong, since they stayed safe in the stairway. As usual, Stanley took Call’s lead and remained still as well.

  Alastair followed Master Joseph’s gaze to where Call and Stanley stood in the dim light. “Chaos-ridden. You shouldn’t just leave them around like that.”

  “Every tomb needs sentries,” Master Joseph said. Maybe it was normal to find random Chaos-ridden wandering around the tomb of Constantine Madden. Maybe he was just distracted by Alastair. “Your boy is dead. But he can rise again. You’ve raised Constantine, who was the greatest mage of our time, perhaps of any time, and who will be again. Once restored to his own body, he will be able to draw your son’s soul back into his body. If you’ve truly repaired the Alkahest, then all we need is Callum.”

  “I need a demonstration that the Alkahest won’t kill him outright,” Alastair said. “I told you I wouldn’t bring him to you unless I knew he’d be safe.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Master Joseph said. “I made sure Callum would be joining us.”

  Alastair took a step toward Master Joseph, and Call saw that Alastair was wearing the Alkahest on his left hand. It glittered as he moved his fingers, looking just like it had in the picture. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that he left the Magisterium looking for you, of course. Trying to save you from the wrath of the mages. I knew where he’d go, so I left him a trail to lead him straight to us. I even sent an escort to bring him safely here. I promise you, Alastair, I take great pains for his safety. He means far more to me than he does to you.”

  Call’s heart thundered in his chest. He thought of the letters — the latitude and longitude carefully sketched out in each one, the mention of the specific date of the meeting, a meeting happening in just enough time for them to make it. Call had thought he’d been lucky, that he’d been one step ahead of the adults. But he’d been playing right into Master Joseph’s hands.

  For a moment, Call lost his nerve. He was just a kid. His friends were just kids, even if one of them was the Makar. What if they were in over their heads? What if they couldn’t help?

  Alastair started speaking, and for a moment, Call couldn’t even focus.

  “I can assure you you’re wrong,” Alastair was saying. “Callum means far more to me than he ever will to you. Stay away from him. I don’t know if he’s the greatest mage of his generation or any of that — but he’s a good kid. No one has broken him the way you broke the Madden brothers. I remember them, Joseph, and I remember what you did to them.”

  Call felt an ache in his chest. Alastair didn’t sound like he hated Call, even though he’d come here to trade for a new son.

  “Stop waving the Alkahest around. You know that thing can’t hurt me,” Master Joseph said, raising his staff. “Much as I wish I had the ability to use chaos magic, I don’t, so there’s no point in threatening me with it. The only reason the Chaos-ridden listen to me is because Constantine commanded it.”

  “I’m not here to threaten you, Joseph,” Alastair said, taking a step toward the body of Constantine Madden.

  Master Joseph frowned. “All right. Enough. Give me the Alkahest. I’d like to reward you, but don’t think for a moment that I would hesitate to kill you if you resist me. Very convenient, dying in a tomb. Won’t have to go far to bury you.”

  Alastair took another careful step toward the body.

  Master Joseph raised his hand and a dozen thin cords of what looked like silver sprang out of the darkness. They wrapped around Alastair, binding him the way a spider binds a fly before feasting on it. Alastair yelled in pain, struggling to free his gauntleted hand.

  Call had to do something. “Stop!” he shouted. “Leave my father alone! Stanley, do something! Get him!”

  Both Master Joseph and Alastair stared as it became clear that they’d mistaken Call, standing at the bottom of the stairs, for one of the Chaos-ridden. Stanley began to lurch toward Master Joseph, but Call’s command had been so imprecise that he wasn’t sure what the Chaos-ridden might actually do. Master Joseph certainly didn’t seem worried; he was ignoring Stanley as if he wasn’t there.

  Instead, he began to smile.

  “We’re coming down,” Aaron whispered. Call turned his head without meaning to and saw Tamara, Jasper, and Aaron moving down the stairs. He motioned them back.

  “Ahhh, Callum, so glad you could make it,” said Master Joseph. “I see you brought friends, although I can’t quite see which ones. Is that loyal Makar with you? What a pleasant surprise.”

  Stanley had nearly reached where Master Joseph stood. We could win the war, Call thought. If I order Stanley to kill you, the war will be won.

  But would it? Could the war ever be won for the side
of good if the Enemy was still alive?

  “Call?” Alastair said, looking horrified. “Get out of here!”

  Tamara and Jasper stumbled down to the last step. They were both clearly astonished by the sight of the Enemy’s body and who was standing beside it. Aaron tried to get past them, but Tamara and Jasper moved to block him.

  “Let me through,” Aaron protested. He craned his neck to see what they were looking at.

  “Not a chance,” said Tamara in a harsh whisper. “Call’s father has the Alkahest. That thing could kill you.”

  “Dad’s right. You all need to leave,” Call said. “Get Aaron somewhere safe.”

  He could see the indecision on their faces, and he was torn, too — he didn’t want to put them in danger, but he also wasn’t sure he could be as brave without them.

  “Look,” Jasper exclaimed. Stanley had reached Master Joseph; he grabbed him by the wrists and tugged them behind his back, holding Master Joseph trapped.

  Master Joseph didn’t move; he was acting like it wasn’t happening. Like he wasn’t being held against his will. Like Call hadn’t just immobilized him. Instead, he just stared across the room, his intense eyes burning holes in Call.

  “There is no need for this, Callum,” said Master Joseph. “Constantine, I am your most devoted servant.”

  “I heard what you said to my father,” Call told him. “And I’m not Constantine.”

  “And you heard what your father said to me. What he was prepared to do. Your only true home is here, with me.”

  Call moved to where his father stood. Alastair, the copper gauntlet firmly on his hand, was still struggling against the cords that bound him. He flinched away when he saw Call coming toward him. “Call!” he barked. “Stay away from me!”

  Call hesitated. Was his father afraid? Did he hate Call?

  “We’ll untie him,” Tamara murmured, as she and Jasper slipped away and went to Alastair.

  “You should do as Call says. Leave!” shouted Alastair, as Tamara bent down to inspect the silver cord that bound him. It was magical and knotless. Call hoped she’d know how to undo it, because he didn’t have the first idea. “Take him out with you! None of you are safe here, Call least of all.”

  “You mean Aaron least of all. Give us the Alkahest,” said Jasper, relentlessly practical. “Give it to us and we can all leave together.” He put a hand on Tamara’s arm. “Don’t free him until he gives it to us.”

  Master Joseph’s focus remained on Call. “Did you think it was funny?” he asked. “The head of Verity Torres? The riddles? You were the one who came up with the design of this place, of the entrance. Of course, it wasn’t going to be her head back then, but it’s quite a funny improvisation, don’t you think?”

  Call didn’t feel like laughing. He’d been so sure that it was a good thing he could figure out some of the riddles. But apparently he was good at these riddles because he was a guy who thought severed heads were hilarious.

  “Just give Jasper the Alkahest, Dad,” Callum yelled, losing patience with all of this.

  But Alastair turned his head away as if he didn’t want to look at Call. He was clutching the Alkahest to his body, wrenching himself away when Tamara tried to touch him. “Leave me with it!” he shouted. “Get yourself away from here! Take Call and the Makar with you!”

  Aaron had moved to stand beside the body of Constantine Madden and was staring down at it, stricken. Call limped toward him; he could imagine what Aaron was thinking: that these were the hands that had killed Verity Torres, that had slain a thousand mages. The hands of a Makar, like Aaron’s own.

  “The Enemy died thirteen years ago,” Aaron said flatly. “How can he look like he isn’t dead at all? How can they all look like this?”

  “You think this is a mere tomb,” said Joseph.

  “It sure looks like one,” said Call. “What with all the bodies and all.”

  “This was your ultimate stronghold against death,” Master Joseph continued. “Here is where you taught yourself to use the void to preserve bodies, suspended, unliving but unchanging. Here you preserved your brother’s body for the day you would raise him again. Here I used the same magic to preserve your body —”

  “It’s not my body!” Call shouted. “What is it going to take for you to give up? I don’t remember anything! I’ve never seen this place before! I’m not who you want me to be, and I won’t ever turn into him!”

  Master Joseph smiled, wide. “It took me years to help you perfect your magic, back at the Magisterium. When we worked alone with chaos, together. Behind your master’s back. You used to get frustrated and shout at me just like this. I’m not what you want me to be. That’s what you said to me then. Once we put your soul back into your body, I believe you’ll remember more. Maybe this life will be the one that seems like a dream.” He tried to move forward, but Stanley hauled him back. “But even if you never remember, you can’t change your nature, Constantine.”

  “Don’t call him that,” said Aaron, in a voice like ice. “People change all the time. And this is sick. This whole thing is sick. Constantine Madden put his soul into Call’s body; fine, no one can change that. Leave Call alone. Let the dead stay dead.”

  Master Joseph’s face twisted. “Spoken as someone who has suffered no true loss.”

  Aaron whirled. He was as Call had seen him only a few times before, no longer Aaron. He was the Makar, the wielder of chaos. His palms began to blacken. “I know plenty about loss,” he said. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know about Constan — about Call,” said Joseph. “Don’t you want your mother back, Call? Don’t you want her to live again?”

  “Don’t you dare talk about Sarah!” It was Alastair. Either he’d torn away the metal ropes or Tamara and Jasper had freed him. Either way, he was still wearing the Alkahest.

  He ran at Call.

  In that heart-stopping moment, Call knew he was going to die. He remembered the chains his dad had readied in the basement of his own house, remembered the words that Master Joseph had shown to Call, carved in the ice by his own mother’s hands with the same blade that Alastair had thrown at him: KILL THE CHILD.

  Finally, thirteen years later, Alastair was going to do it.

  Call didn’t move. If his own father really hated him this much, if Alastair was prepared to end his life, then maybe he really was too much of a monster to live. Maybe he should die.

  Everything slowed down around Call: Aaron, Tamara, and Jasper running toward him but too far away to reach him in time, Master Joseph struggling and shouting in the Chaos-ridden’s grasp.

  “Let go of me, I command you,” Call heard Master Joseph say — and to Call’s numb shock, Stanley released him. The old mage darted toward Call, throwing himself on top of Call to protect him from his own father. Call’s knees buckled and he went to the ground, Master Joseph pinning him down.

  But Alastair didn’t pause. He ran past Call and Master Joseph and straight to the preserved body of the Enemy of Death. There, he stopped. “Joseph, did you really think you could tempt me to betray my own son? As soon as I got your messages about trying to put his soul inside this villain’s corpse, I knew what I had to do.” With that, he raised the Alkahest, gleaming and beautiful in the dim light, and brought it down hard, slamming his metal-clad hand over Constantine Madden’s heart.

  Master Joseph screamed, pushing off Call, who coughed and rolled to his knees, staring.

  Light shone from underneath the skin of the Enemy of Death — and where it shone, the body around it began to blacken, as from fire. Alastair howled with pain as the Alkahest turned scarlet with heat. He was screaming as his hand pulled free, covered all over with red burns.

  “Dad!” Call staggered to his feet. The room was full of a burning stink and smoke that stung his eyes.

  “No! NO!” Master Joseph cried out, picking up his staff and flinging himself toward Constantine’s body. He yanked the Alkahest free, yelling in pain as his hand closed o
n the hot metal. Still, he didn’t drop it. Instead, he swung his staff and magic exploded from it, surrounding the Enemy, trying to halt the force that was devouring Constantine’s body. Energy crackled in the room as he cast his preservation spell again and again.

  Call limped forward and then stopped, overcome by a wave of dizziness. The edges of his vision were starting to turn dark. What’s happening to me? he thought as he slid down to his knees. He felt no pain, but his body was shaking, as though he was being destroyed along with Constantine.

  “Run, Call!” Alastair shouted, clutching his burned arm. “Get away from the tomb!”

  “I — can’t,” Call gasped, and then there were figures around him, Aaron and Tamara and Jasper, and someone was trying to help him to his feet but his legs wouldn’t work. “Go,” he whispered. “Go without me.”

  “Never.” A hand gripped his arm and he realized it was Aaron’s.

  “What’s happening to him?” Jasper’s frightened whisper was drowned out by Master Joseph’s cries; Constantine Madden’s chest was collapsing inward, like a balloon with the air sucked out of it.

  “Seize the Makar and his friends!” Master Joseph shouted at Stanley. “Kill everyone but Callum!”

  The Chaos-ridden began to lurch toward them. Call heard Tamara’s frightened cry and felt her arms around him; all of them were trying to pull him toward the steps, but he was dead weight. He slid from their grasp and hit the floor in front of the steps.

  Then everything seemed to vanish, the voices of Call’s friends fading into silence. All he could do was try to keep breathing as a roiling darkness rose in front of his eyes, a pure blackness he had seen before only when it had come from Aaron’s hands, the lightless darkness of the void. Chaos filled him, his thoughts shredded by it, his responses overwhelmed by the power expanding inside of him.

  Slowly breath ebbed back into Call’s body. He raised his head, his face wet.

  The room was in chaos. Stanley had obeyed Master Joseph’s command and attacked Call’s friends. He loomed over Tamara, who was backing away, summoning fire. She threw it, but it only seemed to singe the Chaos-ridden. It left a burned scorch along Stanley’s chest, but he barely seemed to notice.