“Not there?” The ragged king sat back on the floor and pressed both hands against his head, squeezing hard. “Ah, but you must forgive an old man. I have lived for … for a long time, too long, too, too long, and there is so much that I remember, and even more that I forget. I have memories and dreams and they get confused and wrapped up together. There are so many thoughts whirling around inside my head.” He winced, almost as if he were in pain, and when he spoke, there was nothing but the sadness of loss in his voice. “Sometimes it is hard to tell them apart, to know what really was and what I have only imagined.” He reached into his voluminous coats and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper held together with string. “I write things down,” he said quickly. “That’s how I remember.” He thumbed through the pages. There were scraps from notebooks, covers torn from paperbacks, bits of newspapers, restaurant menus and napkins, thick parchment, even scraps of hide and wafer-thin sheets of copper and bark. They had all been cut or torn to roughly the same size and they were covered in miniscule scratchy writing. He looked closely at each of the twins in turn. “Someday I’ll write about you, so that I’ll remember you.” He glared at Flamel. “And I’ll write about you, too, Alchemyst, so that I never forget you.”
Sophie suddenly blinked and the image before her fragmented as tears came to her eyes. Two perfect silver drops slid down her cheeks.
The king came slowly to his knees before her and then, gently, carefully, reached out to touch the silver liquid with his index finger. The tears twisted and curled like mercury across his fingernail. Concentrating fiercely, he rubbed the tears between forefinger and thumb. When he looked up, there were no signs of confusion in his eyes, no doubts on his face. “Do you know how long it has been since anyone has shed a tear for Gilgamesh the King?” His voice was strong and commanding, and there was the tiniest accent when he said his name and title. “Oh, but it was a lifetime ago, in that time before time, the time before history.” The silver droplet pooled in his palm and he closed his hand into a fist, holding the tear. “There was a girl then who shed silver tears, who wept for a prince of the land, who wept for me, and for the world she was about to destroy.” He looked up at Sophie, blue eyes huge and unblinking. “Girl, why do you weep for me?”
Unable to speak, Sophie shook her head. Josh put his arm around his sister.
“Tell me,” Gilgamesh insisted.
She swallowed hard and shook her head again.
“Please? I would like to know.”
Sophie drew in a deep shuddering breath, and when she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. “I have the Witch of Endor’s memories inside me. I spend all my time trying to keep thoughts away and ignore them … but here you are, trying to remember your own life, writing your thoughts down so that you don’t forget. I suddenly realized what it would be like not to know, not to remember.”
“Just so,” Gilgamesh agreed. “We humans are nothing more than the sum of our memories.” The king sat back against the door, legs stretched straight out in front of him. He looked at the bundled pages in his lap, then pulled out a tiny stub of a pencil and started writing.
The Alchemyst leaned forward, and for a moment, it looked as if he was about to put his hand on the king’s shoulder. Then he drew it back and asked gently, “What are you remembering now, Gilgamesh?”
The king pressed his index finger into the page, rubbing silver tears into the paper. “The day someone cared enough to shed a tear for me.”
nd of the road.” Palamedes hit the brakes and the cab skidded to a stop in front of the barn. A cloud of dust from the baked-hard earth plumed upward, billowing out around the windows. Gilgamesh immediately pushed open the door and stepped out into the still morning, turning his face to the sun and stretching his arms wide. The twins followed him, pulling the cheap sunglasses the Alchemyst had bought them from their pockets.
Flamel was the last to exit, and he turned to look at the knight, who’d made no move to turn off the engine or get out of the cab. “You’re not staying?”
“I’m going into the nearest village,” Palamedes said. “I’ll pick up some food and water and see if I can find out what’s going on.” The Saracen Knight allowed his eyes to drift toward the king and lowered his voice. “Be careful. You know how quickly he can turn.”
The Alchemyst moved the side mirror slightly, angling it to be able to see Gilgamesh and the twins exploring the barn. The building sat in the middle of the grassy field. Ancient and overgrown, the walls were constructed of thick black timbers and mud. The doors were of a more recent vintage, and he guessed that they’d probably been put up sometime in the nineteenth century. Now they both hung askew, the right door attached by only a single leather hinge. The bottoms of both doors were rotted to ragged splinters by weather and the gnawings of animals.
“The boy will be first inside,” Palamedes said, looking over the Alchemyst’s shoulder.
Flamel nodded silently in agreement.
“You need to be careful of him also,” Palamedes advised. “You need to separate him from the sword.”
Nicholas adjusted the mirror slightly. He saw Josh tug Clarent from its map tube and slip into the barn, followed a moment later by his twin and then the king. “He needed a weapon,” the Alchemyst said, “he needed something to protect himself with.”
“A shame it was that weapon. There are other swords. They are not quite so dangerous, not quite so … hungry as that one.”
“I’ll take it back when he learns one of the elemental magics,” Flamel said.
Palamedes grunted. “You’ll try. I doubt you’ll succeed.” He put the car in gear. “I’d best go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Are we safe here?” Flamel asked the knight, looking around. The field was surrounded by ancient twisted oaks; he could see no signs of nearby buildings or power lines. “Any chance of the owner turning up?”
“None at all,” Palamedes said with a grin. “Shakespeare owns it, and everything for miles around. He has properties all across England.” The knight tapped the satellite navigator stuck to his cracked windshield. “We have them all entered in here; that’s how I was able to get you to safety.”
Nicholas shook his head. “I never imagined Will as a property investor, but then I never imagined him as a car mechanic either.”
The knight nodded. “He was—and still is—an actor. He plays many roles. I know he started buying properties back in the sixteenth century, when he was writing. He always said he made more money from property than he did from his plays. But you don’t want to believe half of what he says; he can be a terrible liar.” Palamedes eased on the gas and turned the wheel, rolling the big black taxi around in a half circle, Flamel walking alongside the open window. “The barn is invisible from the road, and I’ll lock the gate after me.” The knight glanced sidelong at Flamel, then jerked his chin in the direction of the dilapidated structure. “Did you really try to kill the king the last time you met?”
Nicholas shook his head. “In spite of what you think of me, Sir Knight, I am not a killer. In 1945, Perenelle and I were working in Alamogordo, in New Mexico. It was, without doubt, the perfect job for an alchemyst. Even though our work was classified as above top-secret, Gilgamesh somehow discovered what we were planning.”
“And what were you planning?” Palamedes asked, confused.
“To detonate the first atomic bomb. Gilgamesh wanted to be standing underneath when it went off. He decided it was the only way he could truly die.”
The Saracen Knight’s broad face creased in sympathy. “What happened to him?” he asked softly.
“Perenelle had him locked up in an institution for his own protection. He spent ten years there before we thought it was safe enough to allow him to escape.”
Palamedes grunted. “No wonder he hates you,” he said. And before the Alchemyst could answer, the knight revved the engine and drove off in a plume of dust.
“No wonder indeed,” Nicholas murmured. He waited until t
he dust had settled and then he turned and headed for the barn. He was hoping Gilgamesh wouldn’t remember everything—especially the part about being locked up—until after he had taught the twins the third of the elemental magics. A thought hit him as he slid through the doorway of the barn: given the fractured state of his mind, would the king even remember the ancient Magic of Water?
osh walked cautiously through the barn, Clarent still and quiet in his hands, the tiny quartz crystals in the stone blade dull and lifeless. He inched along on the balls of his feet, suddenly struck by how acutely conscious he was of his surroundings. Though he knew he’d never been here before, and had thus far only had a quick glimpse of the interior, he also knew with absolute certainty that he could navigate the space with his eyes closed.
The barn was warm and close, heavy with the scent of old hay and dry grass. Unseen creatures rustled in corners, doves cooed in the rafters and Josh could clearly hear a drone from a large wasps’ nest built high in a corner. A stream of insects moved in and out of the nest. Farm machinery had been stored here and abandoned; Josh thought he recognized an old-fashioned plow, and the squat remains of a tractor, its knobbly tires rotted to black strips. Every scrap of metal was covered in thick brown-red rust. Wooden crates and empty barrels lay scattered around, and a crude workbench—nothing more than two strips of wood resting on concrete blocks—had been constructed up against one wall. The planks had warped and curled up at both ends. The frame of a black bicycle was tucked under the bench, almost invisible behind a heavy covering of grass and nettles.
“This place hasn’t been used in years,” Josh said. He was standing in the center of the barn, turning in a complete circle as he spoke. He drove Clarent into the dirt floor between his feet and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s safe.”
Gilgamesh wandered around the space, slowly peeling off layers of clothing, letting them fall on the ground behind him. Beneath all the coats and fleeces he was wearing the remains of what had once been a smart suit. The pinstripe jacket was greasy with wear, and the matching trousers had thin knees and a shiny seat. The king wore a grubby collarless shirt underneath the coat. The ragged remains of a knitted scarf wound around his neck. “I like places like this,” he announced.
“I like old places too,” Josh said, “but what’s to like about a place like this?”
The king spread his arms wide. “What do you see?”
Josh made a face. “Junk. Rusted tractor, broken plow, old bike.”
“Ah … but I see a tractor that was once used to till these fields. I see the plow it once pulled. I see a bicycle carefully placed out of harm’s way under a table.”
Josh slowly turned again, looking at the items once more.
“And I see these things and I wonder at the life of the person who so carefully stored the precious tractor and plow in the barn out of the weather, and placed their bike under a homemade table.”
“Why do you wonder?” Josh asked. “Why is it even important?”
“Because someone has to remember,” Gilgamesh snapped, suddenly irritated. “Someone has to remember the human who rode the bike and drove the tractor, the person who tilled the fields, who was born and lived and died, who loved and laughed and cried, the person who shivered in the cold and sweated in the sun.” He walked around the barn again, touching each item, until his palms were red with rust. “It is only when no one remembers that you are truly lost. That is the true death.”
“Then you will always be remembered, Gilgamesh,” Sophie said quietly. She was sitting on an overturned barrel, watching the king carefully. “The Epic of Gilgamesh is still in print today.”
The king stopped, his head tilted to one side, considering. “I suppose that is true.” He grinned and wiped his hands on his trousers, leaving red streaks on the stained cloth. “I read it once. Didn’t like it. Only some of it is true, and they missed the good parts.”
Flamel pushed the barn door closed, shutting out the sunlight. “You could write your own version,” he offered. “Tell your story, the true story.”
The king laughed, the booming sound setting the doves flapping from the rafters. “And who would believe me, eh, Alchemyst? If I were to put down half of what I know, I would be locked up ….” His voice trailed away and his eyes clouded.
Nicholas quickly stepped forward and bowed deeply, an old-fashioned courtly movement. He knew he had to take control of the situation before Gilgamesh began to remember too much. “Majesty, will you keep your promise and teach the twins the Magic of Water?”
Still staring at Flamel, the king slowly nodded. “I will do that.”
Flamel straightened, but not before the twins had seen the look of triumph on his narrow face. “Sophie has been trained in Air and Fire. Josh has no training, so he has no idea what to expect,” he warned.
Josh stepped forward. “Just tell me what to do,” he said eagerly, eyes bright with excitement. He grinned at his twin. “We’ll start becoming real twins again,” he announced.
Sophie smiled. “This isn’t a competition.”
“Maybe not for you!”
Gilgamesh picked up a barrel and set it on the ground next to Sophie. “Come sit by your sister.”
“What do you want me to do?” Flamel asked, leaning back against the door, his hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans.
“Say nothing and do nothing except stay out of my way,” Gilgamesh snapped. He looked over at the Alchemyst, his blue eyes blazing. “And when this is over, you and I will have a little talk … about the decade I was incarcerated. We’re due a reckoning.”
Nicholas Flamel nodded, his face expressionless. “This process,” he said. “Will it activate the twins’ auras?”
The king tilted his head to one side, thinking. “Possibly. Why?”
“Their auras would act as a beacon. Who knows what they will attract.”
Gilgamesh nodded. “Let me see what I can do. There are different ways to teach.” The king sank cross-legged onto the floor in front of the twins and briskly rubbed his hands together. “Now, where do we begin?” he said.
Josh suddenly realized that they were surrendering themselves to a mad vagrant who sometimes forgot his own name. How was this man going to remember age-old magic? What would happen if he forgot the process halfway through? “Have you done this before?” he asked, growing increasingly worried.
The king reached out and took Sophie’s right hand and Josh’s left hand and looked at them seriously. “Just once. And that didn’t end well.”
“What happened?” Josh attempted to pull his hand away from the immortal’s, but Gilgamesh gripped it tightly, his flesh as rough as tree bark.
“He flooded the world. Now, close your eyes,” the king commanded.
Sophie immediately shut her eyes, but Josh kept his open. He stared at the king. The man turned to look at him, and suddenly his bright unblinking blue eyes seemed huge in his head and Josh felt a nauseating twist of vertigo. He felt as if he were falling forward … and down … and rising up all at once. He squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the sickening sensations, but he could still see the king’s huge blue eyes burning into his retina, growing larger and larger, white threads starting to twist and curl across them. They reminded him of … of … of … clouds.
Gilgamesh’s voice boomed. “Now, think of …”
ater.”
Josh opened his eyes.
A huge blue planet floated in space. White clouds swirled across its surface; ice glittered at its poles.
And then he was falling, plunging toward the planet, hurtling toward the bright blue seas. Strong and commanding, Gilgamesh’s voice boomed and roared around him, rising and falling like the waves of the ocean.
“It is said that the Magic of Air or Fire or even Earth is the most powerful magic of all. But that is wrong. The Magic of Water surpasses all others, for water is both the lifegiver and the deathbringer.”
Mute, unable to move, to even tur
n his head, Josh fell through the clouds and watched as the world grew larger, vast landmasses appearing, though there was none that he recognized. He raced toward a red speck on the horizon, the clouds dark and thick above it, flying high over churning grass green seas.
Volcanoes. A dozen stretched along a ragged coastline, huge monsters belching fire and molten rock into the atmosphere. The seas roared and foamed around the red-hot rock.
“Water can extinguish fire. Even lava from the molten heart of the planet cannot stand against it.”
When the lava hit the pounding seas, it cooled in a detonation of smoke. A steaming black landscape of congealed magma appeared out of the waves.
Josh was soaring again, the only sound the heartbeat-like throb of the king’s voice, powerful yet soothing, like the crash of waves on a distant shore. The boy rose high over the ring of fire, heading east, toward a dawn. Clouds gathered beneath him; wisps giving way to fluffy balls that thickened into clumps and then blossomed into an expanse of roiling storm clouds.
“Without water, there is no life ….”
Josh fell through the clouds. Lightning flashed silently around him, and torrential rain washed down onto lush green primordial forests, where impossibly tall trees and enormous ferns covered the earth.
The landscape changed again, images flickering faster and faster. He soared across a desert wasteland where vast dunes undulated in every direction. A single spot of color drew him down, down, down toward an oasis, vibrant green trees clustered around a sparkling pool.
“Mankind can survive with little food but cannot survive without water.”
Josh rose and dropped down onto a mighty river cutting through high ragged hills. Dotted along its curved banks were tiny habitations, lit by fires sparking in the gloom. Racing low along the length of the river, he was aware that time was speeding up. Decades, then centuries, passed with each heartbeat. Storms lashed across the mountains, weathering them, softening them, wearing them down. Straw huts changed to mud, to wood, to stone; then clusters of stone houses appeared, a wall wrapped around them; a castle appeared and crumbled, to be replaced by a larger village, then a low town of wood and stone; then a city grew, polished marble and glass windows winking in the light before it transformed into a modern-day metropolis of glass and metal.