There are no easy answers, Wood had said. James shook his head slowly, knowing that the professor was right. He drew a deep breath and plopped down onto the low wall that bordered the pool of the Octosphere. The great black orb turned hypnotically, rumbling faintly.
"Tell me, Octosphere," James said in a low voice, staring at the huge stone shape, "am I doing the wrong thing? Should I just leave well enough alone?"
The orb continued to turn, as if it didn't intend to answer such a vague question. Then, however, it began to slow. Cloudy letters swam up from the orb's murky depths. James leaned closer and squinted as the words formed, glowing dimly in the moonlight.
BETTER NOT TELL YOU NOW.
James frowned. He knew that the Octosphere was rumored never to give helpful answers, but it was always supposed to give a correct answer, no matter how indecipherable. He decided to try again, being more specific.
"All right," he said. "Will I make something awful happen by trying to help Petra?"
Immediately, the white words faded from the surface of the orb. It began to turn again, first slowly, and then faster so that water crept up the sides of the sphere, running back in trickling rivulets. Finally, after nearly a minute, the orb slowed again. Dim shapes swam deep within it, resolving slowly. James leaned close, watching the letters float to the surface, as if from a very deep, dark well.
YOU WILL NOT.
James read the words over several times and then breathed a long sigh of relief. Perhaps the legends about the Octosphere were wrong. After all, this was a clear answer, both helpful and straightforward. As long as it was true, then there was nothing to worry about. And according to Zane, the Octosphere's answers were always true, even if they weren't obvious.
James shuddered again, feeling a cool breeze ripple over the campus and shush in the nearby trees. He stood up again and continued on his way to Apollo Mansion, renewed in his mission even if he didn't know exactly what he was supposed to do next. Neither he, Ralph, nor Zane knew the location of the Nexus Curtain or the meaning of Magnussen's remaining riddle. Still, at least he could feel some confidence that they weren't going to ruin everything even if they did figure it all out.
In the darkness behind him, the glowing words began to drift slowly into the depths of the Octosphere and it began to turn again, slowly, resuming its low rumble. No one was there to see it, but the word 'You' remained visible for nearly a minute after the others had faded out, almost as if it had some special, secret emphasis.
After all, the Octosphere always told the truth. But it was never helpful.
On the third Saturday in April, James, Zane, and Ralph climbed their way to the library in the Tower of Art, ostensibly to do homework, but also in hopes of researching a new lead in the Roebitz riddle.
The library occupied the space immediately below the penthouse museum and took up the equivalent of three full floors with its dizzyingly tall bookshelves and rolling ladders, long polished tables decked with green Bankers Lamps, and overhanging balconies, stairways, and landings. High in the very center of the space, visible from nearly every angle, hung a monstrous crystal chandelier, its thousands of pendants winking rainbow prisms in the glinting candlelight.
Around this, somewhat unsettlingly, books of all sizes flew like bats, flapping their covers, their ribbon bookmarkers trailing behind them like kite tails. James had been to the library several times before he realized that the flying books were actually part of the library's shelving system. Loose tomes would occasionally soar up from the carts next to the front desk and circle the chandelier, almost as if it were a sort of roundabout. One at a time, the books would eventually swoop back down toward the leaning monolithic bookshelves, furl their covers with a soft thunk, and slip into place with their fellows.
James had a strange suspicion that part of the reason that the books spent so much time circling the chandelier was because they were (being magical books) very slightly alive and liked the hustle and bustle of what the librarian referred to as 'the sorting cloud'. The ripple of their pages and the gentle clap of their covers as the books circled the chandelier sounded vaguely like whispered speech and James couldn't help wondering if the books spent their time in the cloud trading gossipy stories about the students and teachers below.
Considering the way James sometimes treated his own library books, this was not a very comforting thought.
"This really seems like a long shot," Ralph whispered as they settled down to a table on the edge of one of the upper balconies. "I mean, fish eggs?"
"Roe," Zane replied, annoyed. "Fish eggs are called roe. Roe-bits? It's worth checking out, at least. Maybe Magnussen was really into aquariums or something. Maybe he hid the secret of the Nexus Curtain in some fish food and fed it to his pet catfish, which then had baby fish… and… er."
James pressed his lips together tentatively. "It's a long shot," he said, agreeing with Ralph.
"I don't see you two coming up with any genius brainstorms," Zane groused, pulling a huge picture book toward him. On the front of it was a moving photograph of the Loch Ness Monster snapping its prodigious jaws. The title was embossed in gold: 'MAGICAL FISH and MARINE LIFE OF THE WORLD'.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," James said, slipping out of his seat. "I need to find a book for my kettles and cauldrons Home Ec paper."
"Don't remind me," Ralph said, rolling his eyes. "I have to write a paragraph on the difference between cupcakes and muffins."
"You ought to be an expert on that," Zane said without looking up from his book. "You ate three of each at breakfast just this morning."
Ralph frowned. "It was research," he said a little defensively.
James worked his way back down the stairs to the main floor and then meandered through several rows of tall, crooked bookshelves. The highest levels seemed to totter precariously over him, their books threatening to spill from their shelves at the slightest provocation.
After several turns, James finally found the reference section. Huge dusty volumes lined the shelves, bowing the wood under their accumulated weight. Finally, near the end of the aisle, James found what he was looking for. An entire section was devoted to an anthology of huge encyclopedias, all arranged by letter and subject. There appeared to be thousands of volumes in the collection, each cloth-bound in frayed beige, their spines nearly two feet tall. James craned his neck to see into the upper levels of the bookcase and then pulled one of the wheeled ladders toward him. The rungs squeaked as he began to climb.
He stopped halfway up the ladder and reached carefully for a particular volume. A huge embossed letter S decorated the top portion of the spine. Beneath this were the words 'SNYXPORIUM through SORDHISIUS'. Clutching the heavy book against his chest, James inched back down the ladder. He sat down cross-legged on the floor at the base of the ladder and cradled the huge volume on his knees. After a brief pause, he opened it.
The book smelled like mildew and dust, but its pages were thick and creamy-smooth, yellowed only slightly along the edges. Full-page illustrations filled the book alongside dense fields of small print.
Normally, of course, this was the sort of thing Rose would be assigned to do. As Zane had said, she really was like their very own personal research department. Some things, however, James had been reluctant to share even with his closest companions. The topic he was looking up now was one of those things. He began to riffle through the encyclopedia's pages as quietly as possible until he reached a particular heading, nearly halfway through. He stared down at the words, his lips pressed into a thin line.
SORCERESS: see Sorcerer, female.
Slowly, James turned back a page. Leaning slightly lower over the book, he began to read.
SORCERER:
Defined simplistically as a magical human male, a sorcerer should not be confused with a wizard. While both are primarily determined by their predisposition to spellwork, potion-making, and the use of magical objects, there is a marked difference in the fundamental source of those pow
ers. While witches and wizards draw upon magical resources within their own bodies (see: Intrinsic Magic), sorcerers collect their powers from external resources, such as growing things, kinetic energy reserves (oceans), or even the passage of time (see: Elemental Magic, types and uses). For this reason, sorcerers (or, in the Old Language, Sourcereurs) are potentially far more powerful than a typical witch or wizard depending on the residual magical resources of their surroundings. Similarly, where a typical magical individual's power is a constant, a sorcerer's power may be diminished to the point of abject weakness if he is cut off from those magical resources.
It is interesting to note, however, that in every recorded instance, a sorcerer only derives power from one type of extrinsic source. For instance, a sorcerer who draws his strength from growing things will find himself considerably weakened when placed within a desert environment. Theoretically, this is an example of the law of conservation of powers, which predicts that absolute power will always be prohibited within a balanced natural world.
Origins and Explanations:
While there are many theories regarding the origins of sorcerers, none have been conclusively proven. All such theories, however, can be broken up into two predominant categories: the Serendipitous and the Causational.
The Serendipitous theory states that a sorcerer is always created when a certain series of variable requirements are met. The most well-known Serendipitous theory is the "seventh son of a seventh son" premise, which merely states that any seventh male offspring of a wizard who is, himself, a seventh male offspring will, without exception, be a sorcerer. Other theories are far more complicated, suggesting deviations in times of the year, phases of the moon, ages and lineage of the parents, and even the number of windows in the room of the child's birth.
Adherents to the Causational theory, however, postulate a much different origin, owing itself not at all to randomly determined variables but to the balance of the magical world in general. In short, the Causational theory states that when the scales of the cosmos require a sorcerer (either to maintain balance or to destroy it), then a sorcerer will, out of sheer necessity, appear.
Notably, one variation of the Causational theory adds that there can never be only one sorcerer. In order for the polarities of destiny to remain in check (the theory claims) there must always be a duality: either no sorcerers whatsoever or two. This theory, however, like all the rest, has never been proven or disproven.
Historical Examples:
While any number of legendary sorcerers have appeared in the annals of history, there are very few documented cases of the existence of such individuals. The most well-known and verified instance is Merlinus Ambrosius, whose powers, mysterious origins, and legendary disappearance describe the very archetype of the classical sorcerer.
During his lifetime, he was known to conjure feats of such devastating natural ferocity, including (but not limited to) earthquakes, floods, typhoons, walking forests, and tidal waves, that he was by turns revered and/or vilified by all who knew of him. Since his time (approximately 935-980 AD) there has been no uncontested evidence of another living sorcerer.
Variations—Elves, Goblins, Sorceresses
While both elvenkind and goblinkind also derive their powers from extrinsic magical sources, they are not technically considered sorcerers (despite long-standing arguments by goblin leaders and species rights advocates). Since both goblins and elves can only contain the equivalent of any average magical person's power, they do not meet the 'Limitless Magical Expression requirement' (set forth by the Magical Defining Characteristics Census of 1177) for sorcerer status.
Contrariwise, there has existed a long-standing theory that claims that the existence of sorcerers implies, by logical necessity, the possibility of sorceresses—that is, a female whose source of power is extrinsic and who is capable of summoning limitless expressions of that extrinsic resource based upon its availability. Despite this, no irrefutable example of such a person has ever been verified.
James lowered the book and leaned slowly back, letting his head bump the bookshelf behind him. For several seconds, he merely stared up past the canyon of the leaning bookcases toward the books which flapped silently through the library's upper levels, winging toward their shelves.
It made perfect sense. That was the most dreadful part. The passage in the encyclopedia was like the center piece of a puzzle, the one that brought all the separate bits together and formed the full picture. As incredible as it seemed—as completely gut-wrenchingly unbelievable as it would appear to any sane observer—Petra Morganstern… was a sorceress.
James shook his head slowly, barely able to grasp the concept.
He remembered the first time he had met Petra, back on his first night at Hogwarts. Ted had introduced her to him along with the rest of the Gremlins. She had seemed merely pretty and smart then, the perfect foil for the brash insolence of the rest of the Gremlins. James had had classes with her throughout that year. In all honesty, he had begun, even then, to feel the faintest stirrings of romantic magnetism toward her. Most assuredly, there was something unique about her— something rare and slightly dark, both inspiring and solemn. Even so, how could this slight, smart girl—the one with the tendency to suck thoughtfully on the ends of her raven-dark hair and doodle dancing elves in the margins of her textbooks—how could that girl possibly be something so powerful, so rare, and so potentially frightening as a sorceress?
And yet, of course, James knew it was true. It had to be true. Everything pointed to it, from the mysteries surrounding her last day at Morganstern Farm to the amazing magic she seemed to perform without any wand to the strange silver thread that had appeared when she'd fallen from the back of the Gwyndemere—conjured by James, but drawn, apparently, from her own power.
Merlin, of course, was a sorcerer. Was that why he was so interested in Petra? Was that why he was worried about what she might do? Was she his equal? His opposite?
James shuddered, violently, and the encyclopedia nearly fell off his lap. Instinctively, he grabbed at it and then closed it with a soft thump.
For the first time, seriously, he wondered if Petra really had been involved in the attack on the Vault of Destinies. Thus far, James had been able to convince himself that it couldn't really have been her that he'd seen on that night coming out of the Archive alongside the creepy woman in the black robes. He'd convinced himself that it had to have been a trick—someone using Polyjuice Potion, for instance, or perhaps even a Visum-ineptio charm. But what if none of that was true? What if Petra really was in league with the mysterious dark woman, and had been lying all along about her innocence? Worse, what if the Morgan part of Petra's mind, the part influenced by the final shred of Lord Voldemort's soul, had broken free of the mental prison that Petra had erected for it—the black castle in her dreams—and had taken over somehow?
What if James, Ralph, and Zane succeeded in breaking through to the World Between the Worlds only to find irrefutable proof that it had been Petra (Morgan) who had broken into the Hall of Archives, cursed Mr. Henredon, and then stolen the crimson thread from the foreign dimension's Vault of Destinies? What then? Would the courts send Petra to wizarding prison?
Perhaps even worse, would they be unable to?
For one bright, horrible moment, James envisioned the dark-haired girl (Petra/Morgan) walking resolutely down the center of a broad road, peppered with green Killing Curses and yet unfazed, her brow lowered in cold fury, her eyes flashing black sparks and lightning crackling between her clawed fingertips.
She's not evil, he told himself resolutely. It was almost a mantra, an incantation. In his deepest heart, he both believed it utterly and doubted it hopelessly. The friction between the two warring convictions was nearly overwhelming, almost like a breaking heart.
"Petra's not evil," he whispered, his eyes wide and bright in the darkness of the library aisle. "She's just…" He cut himself off with a gasp, realizing what he was about to say. Suddenly, he felt v
ery cold, chilled nearly to the bone. This time, when the encyclopedia tried to slide off of his crossed legs, James let it. He barely even noticed.
She's not evil, he thought helplessly. She's just… misinformed.
Like Eve. Just misinformed.
"What's with you, James?" Zane asked the following Thursday as the three left Cursology class and made their way into a bright, warm afternoon.
James hefted his books and squinted into the sunlight. "Nothing. Why?"
"You've been all quiet lately," Zane pressed. "Even Ralph's noticed."
Ralph nodded. "S'true. You didn't even show up for Clutch magic practice the other day. I had to power the Gauntlet myself. Didn't go so well either."
Zane laughed and clapped Ralph on the shoulder. "That's 'cause you still haven't learned to rein in that Godzilla wand of yours. I hear the Gauntlet was running so fast that parts of it were a blur. Is that true?"
"The team sure didn't think it was funny," Ralph admitted, raking his fingers through his hair. "But it definitely sharpened their reflexes. I swear, at one point, it looked like Fiorello was in two places at once trying to evade one of those clockwork battering arms."
"I'm fine," James sighed, approaching the sprawling ruin of Roberts' burnt mansion. He plopped onto a broken wall and stared out along the sunlit mall. "I'm just annoyed that we haven't figured this last bit out yet. I mean, we can't keep the horseshoe hidden forever. Someone's going to sniff it out and then we'll be totally sunk."