

The End of Magic

### (Young Adult Dystopian Fantasy)

## GM Gambrell

Copyright © 2012 GM Gambrell

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

About The Book

When the apocalypse came it was not from the fires of nuclear war or unseen viral plagues, not from an unstoppable asteroid or even the machines rising up in defiance of their human overlords. The Last War, as later generations would come to remember it, was fought between fighter jets and dragons, between companies of sword wielding golems swarming over steel tanks in support of deadly Magicians wielding magical fireballs. It was a war of magic versus science and science lost.

A thousand years later Duncan Cade is born without magical abilities into a dystopian world dominated by the Magical. As a young adult he's a pariah and an outcast because of his condition, an unwanted reminder of a time when their forefather's wiped non-magical humans from the face of the planet. His life is a constant struggle not only to fit in a society based on magic he doesn't wield, but also to survive without the simplest of magical abilities. He thinks that he is alone, the only non-magical boy in the entire world.

When the magic begins to fade from the world, Duncan is blamed and just escapes the wrath of the Magician police force into the wastelands surrounding the city of New Dallas. He sets out on a quest to find the origin of Magic and soon discovers that not only is he not alone, but the non-magical humans are finally fighting back.

The Last War was only the beginning of the apocalypse and young Duncan Cade, a boy born without Magic, is thrust into the middle of the new war against the Magicians.

One

Duncan stared out the window wishfully as the boys floated through the air on their fly-boards.

He was, of course, jealous of their ability to make the otherwise uninteresting planks of wood fly through the air, and he was even more jealous of the fun they had, dashing through the air, throwing balls of fire back and forth, and just generally cutting up. The game of Fireball could be intense, as the young boys flung basketball-sized fireballs back and forth, scoring points when they knocked someone off his flying board. It was dangerous, and quite brutal, and the boys would constantly suffer broken bones and third degree burns. That was the main reason why young Magician boys tended to excel at healing magic before anything else. He was long used to not being able to use magic by now, and the jealousy was more of a dull ache than a striking pain. He was more frustrated than anything else with how much work he actually had to do, every day, in order to get by without the use of magic. Everything, from eating to bathing to walking to school...he had to everything in his life without magic.

It hadn't always been that way, of course, though he had always been without magic. Born to loving parents, both of them magically inclined, they'd taken care of him until he could take care of himself. He even remembered them making a game of it in those early years. What can we make Duncan for breakfast? Let's see who can teleport Duncan to school the quickest. It had been fun until it became a chore. Then the let's see what we can make Duncan for breakfast turned into it's your turn to make Duncan breakfast. He'd never held it against his family, though, and as soon as he understood the situation, he began to teach himself to survive without their help and without magic.

He continued watching the boys play Fireball for a few more minutes. The boys were playing especially brutally that day. Timmy Toole, the undisputed best Fireball player in the city of New Dallas, was, once again, proving why he was the best. He balanced precariously on the fly-board, high above Duncan's house between the houses that floated above theirs. The floating homes of New Dallas made the perfect obstacle course, allowing the boys to avoid the barrage of fireballs filling the air. That the owners of those homes constantly complained to Lord Probate, the governor of New Dallas, about the games did little to dissuade the boys from playing them. The trick to Fireball was to stay higher than your competitors so they were constantly looking up at you, blinded by the sun and blocked by the higher fly-board. There seemed no limit to the heights the boys would go. That they were low enough to the ground for Duncan to see was a little odd.

He watched as Timmy Toole swooped above another boy, his board casting a shadow on the boy below him and blocking his view. As the other boy looked up, Timmy launched two fireballs, one from each hand, over each side of the board. They caught the other boy in both sides of the face, instantly lighting his hair on fire and then sending him plummeting to the ground below. The boy shrieked all the way down, trying to cast healing and floating spells, but he was too late and hit the ground with a thud, forcing him out of the game. The only way to win at Fireball was to be the last boy floating.

Timmy whooped loudly, ducking as a volley of fireballs launched by the boys below him rocketed by. He looked right at Duncan and smiled, letting loose with a small ball in his direction and then laughing hysterically as the sphere of fiery gel splashed through the window and Duncan dashed to away to escape the flames. The ball didn't catch anything else on fire, of course. The safety spells his father had placed on the house, like every other homeowner in New Dallas, had protected the home from every conceivable hazard. The fireball bounced harmlessly off his bed, knocked over his nightstand, and then fizzled out of existence. The nightstand immediately leapt back to its previous position, pulling the spilled contents back up with it. Even the broken glass repaired itself within seconds, the pieces scattered around his room jumping back into place like orderly soldiers.

He went back to the window and watched Timmy swoop by once more, his hands wide, taunting him to do something about the invasion. And Duncan wished he could, wished more than anything that he could stand up to the bully, but what could he, a boy born into a world of magic but without the ability to wield it, do about anything? He was at their mercy.

Timmy, however, had made a mistake drifting lower to tease Duncan at his window. The big teenager gasped as he took a fireball to the chest and, as he burst into flame, plummeted three stories to the ground below. The other boys laughed as their friend hit the ground, creating a small crater as he hit, and pointed mockingly. They wouldn't waste their magic on the boy, and besides, his fall had been the funniest thing they'd seen all day. The great Timmy Toole, best of the Fireball players, had finally been knocked off his board. Groaning, the boy immediately cast a small rain spell, conjuring a storm to put the fire out, but it was a tiny storm and didn't produce enough rain. There was barely a trickle from the tiny cloud, and Timmy screamed as the fire still burned. He tried again and this time the cloud that popped into existence was a bit larger, but still not enough to put the flames out. His friends circled him, laughing and taunting him, and Duncan could hear, quite clearly, their cries.

"What's the matter, Timmy? You getting to be like little Duncan Cade? Can't put out your own fire? Can't cast your own magic?"

"Shut up!" Timmy screamed, his voice barely a whisper above the roar of the flames as he tried for a third time to conjure a cloud big enough to douse his flames. Duncan was sure he'd cast some anti-pain spell before playing or he would have been passed out by now.

The third cloud appeared and was, finally, big enough to put out the fires. He sat there on the ground smoldering, his skin blackened and peeling away, as he began to cast healing spells. Much like his storm clouds, the spells were slow going and he had to repeat them multiple times. Slowly but surely he got his broken body back into shape, healing the skin and mending the bones. Overall, it had been an excruciating thing for Duncan to watch, and he figured that Timmy, even with his pain-numbing spell, had to be in great pain. Timmy didn't return to the game, blinking himself out and teleporting away.

The boys continued to play, slowly knocking each other from the boards until there was only one left, but Duncan couldn't watch anymore, afraid of seeing another boy fall and his magic fail him. Despite Timmy Toole being the biggest bully at school, despite the constant mocking and humiliating magic cast upon him by the bigger boy, he still felt sorry for the suffering the boy had experienced.

No one would talk about the magic fading, no one would discuss what was happening, but it was quite obvious, at least to Duncan, that something bad was happening. There were more and more events like Timmy's struggle to put out his fires and heal himself. It was the little things that bothered Duncan, though, like his mother having to try three times the previous evening before she could conjure dinner, or his father having to try five times to teleport himself to work. No one, even his parents, would discuss the new problem, though, and that also troubled him.

Thinking of dinner reminded him, once again, that he needed to go down and check on his garden. He stood and stretched, started for the door, then promptly tripped over his own ground version of the Fireball player's fly-board, a plank of wood with fat tires, found in the junkyard surrounding New Dallas. His wouldn't fly, of course, but where there was a smooth surface, he could make better than ten miles an hour on it. It lay discarded like the dozens of other objects in his room that he'd built, at one time or another, to get around his lack of magic. There were the stilts, which when he managed to not fall off of them, allowed him to reach the apples at the top of his tree in the back yard. There was the lunch box that with the external water tank that, when filled with cold water, would keep his lunch cool all day. There was a telescope built of pieces of junk glass that he'd carefully assembled, a ceiling fan powered by another wind-driven fan linked with leather belts outside his window. The walls were a mess of his own drawings and posters, covering everything from a hand drawn portrait of his family to designs for gliders. His room was a mess and his mother was constantly threatening to cast a few cleaning spells, or possibly summon a tornado. She never did, though, and his room would forever remain a mess.

He made his way through the clutter and chaos of his bedroom, tripping over another unfinished project, a miniature elevator that worked on weights and pulleys, and then bounded down the three flights of stairs, getting to the first floor in a few seconds. Stairs in Magician houses were almost unheard of as most people just teleported from one story to the next, but his parents had put them in just for him. The first floor of the Cade home was a seeming jumble of random boxes attached to each other with holes cut through as passageways, all branching off from the center rectangle. The original house, that rectangular white iron box that read "Wal-Mart" on the outside wall had been used as the first Cade home, right after the Last War, and the generations of Cades that had followed had steadily added on as the need arose. He remembered going with his father when he was very young to the vast junkyards that surrounded New Dallas and picking out a box to transport back home and make into his bedroom. As they rode the box through the streets, his father told him that it was called a trailer, and that, once upon a time, it had been used to transport goods to market. When pressed, the elder Cade hadn't known what a market was, much less what goods were—It was just something his father had told him. The box had been added to the house, joined by magic, and Duncan had used it as his bedroom ever since.

His mother's living room, the bottom center of the Cade home, was a mess of constantly running memory stones, the little rocks that projected recorded memories of events past, pictures and paintings on the wall, and wall-to-wall plants. His mother's plants, unlike his own, were sentient and picked at him as he passed.

"Watch out for the rug," a particularly vile rosebush told him. He'd avoided nearing the bush as it was always lashing out at him with its thorny branches, and then tripped over the folded edge of the immense rug as he passed. The plants burst out in laughter at his plight, their sounds only slightly masking the memory stone showing the three dimensional image of his parents' trip to New Atlantis before he was born.

Duncan tuned out the plants ridicule for a few moments, watching the dragons in the image soar above the Magician homeland. It was so peaceful looking, so clean, and so contrary to the junky city of New Dallas.

"I told you to watch out," the rosebush said defiantly. "You never listen."

For the hundredth time just that day, Duncan wished he'd been born with magic. The plants were sentient, but they weren't particularly smart or brave. They wouldn't pick on his parents because they knew what the consequences would be. All Duncan could do was cut off a branch or pull off a flower, but the same spell that prevented his bedroom from going up in flames from Timmy's fireballs prevented any harm to the plants. They picked on him because they knew they could get away with it. He also had no doubts that the plant had rippled the carpet. Even though they were confined to their pots, they could still move their branches around.

He stood and shook off the anger, opened the front door and gulped, as he invariably did when faced with the sheer drop from the front porch of the floating house down to the ground. He then grabbed hold of the brass pole that led to the ground and jumped on, trying not to let the three-story drop to the ground below him get to him. The trip down the pole was quick and terrifying, as usual, but he'd miss the pole down when he had to climb back up the rope ladder later. He'd tried telling his father that it didn't actually matter if the house floated or not. He couldn't really use the land beneath it for vegetables because of the shadow of the house blocking the sun from the plants. His father didn't understand the essential relationship between the sun and plants and would invariably end Duncan's explanations with the comment that the house looked good up there, like the hundreds of other homes that floated above their own. It gave him the illusion of living in the clouds, among the wealthier Magicians.

Of course, Albert Cade didn't have to climb a three-story rope ladder several times a day, hauling what he needed up with a rope and pulley, he simply teleported back and forth. Still, he knew his father thought he was helping and meant well.

His garden stretched out to the edges of their small city lot, and everywhere that the sun touched, his plants grew. There were rows of corn, beans, tomatoes, lettuce, and melons, along with dozens of varieties of bright flowers, none of which attacked him as he passed. He walked through the rows, picking out stray weeds and windblown trash from the street. He talked to the plants as he passed, thanking them for their efforts. It wasn't like these simple vegetable plants were self aware like the ones in the City Park who spent the majority of their day taunting people passing by, or even his mother's, who were just as mean, but he still felt a kinship with them. These plants, after all, gave him sustenance, and were, besides the occasional holiday meal conjured by his mother, all he ever got to eat. They were his life.

In the center of the lot, under the looming shadow of their house, was his chicken coop. He'd gathered the chickens and rooster up from around the city where they, like other animals, roamed freely. It had taken a bit of bargaining along with equal parts bribery. The Free Rangers, as the chickens were known, were adamant about not being locked up. They did, however, like to be fed regularly, so he'd offered, in exchange for the occasional egg, to do just that. It also didn't hurt that the predatory animals, especially the cats, couldn't cross the magical barrier his father had constructed for him around his garden.

"Good morning, ladies," Duncan said, trying his best to sound as bright and cheerful as possible. The hens were not morning girls and generally blew everything way out of proportion. The slightest change in tone would throw them into fits.

"And what's good about it?" Henrietta asked from her nest. "It's cold outside and the cats are prowling at the barrier."

"They can't get in, Henrietta," Duncan assured the chicken above the angry squawking and clucking of the other girls. "You're perfectly safe inside here."

"I tried telling them that," Roscoe, the Free Ranger colony's one rooster said, "but they are, as always, as dumb as the veritable box of rocks."

The quip made the dozen females squawk even louder, and it was a full minute before Duncan could say anything else and be heard. "That's not very nice, Roscoe. The hens are merely worried about their safety, and I don't blame them. The cats in the city are absolutely ruthless."

And it was true. The cats had their Revolutionary League and were locked in constant warfare with the dogs of the Round Table of Canine Interests and the rats of the Under Towners. The little battles were always closing streets and parts of town, and the cat's leader, Sparticat, swore to eradicate the dogs and rats from the city. The chickens were, unfortunately, usually caught in the middle.

"Still, the blasted cats can't get in here," Roscoe said. "They know that."

"I don't care," Henrietta squawked. "I can see them out there, looking in at us. It makes me so nervous I can't lay eggs. You really should do something about them, Duncan."

Duncan sighed. The hens were so nervous that they wouldn't be laying eggs that day, and he'd be eating just vegetables form the garden. "It's okay, ladies. And I'll see if Dad can do something about making the lower part of the shield oblique or something."

The hens squawked in agreement even though it wouldn't change the fact that the cats were still just outside the barrier. As long as they didn't know about it, though, they didn't care.

"Hens still giving you problems?"

Duncan spun around quickly and smiled. Marissa Toole, his best and probably only real friend, stood there smiling at him, her arms crossed across her chest. She stood nearly a head taller than Duncan despite them being the same age. He swore her dark hair had a life of its own as it darted about her head like a tassel of snakes. He was sure it was just another enchantment, like the makeup and flowing pink evening gown, but she'd never admit to it. Her skin was a simple alabaster that usually glowed in the dark, giving her a dim aura visible to everyone. She smiled easily with him and it was never forced like the others who looked down on him with disdain for his lack of magical abilities. They'd been friends since first year magic school, she taking sympathy on him when he couldn't even recreate the most basic of spells.

"You see?" Henrietta demanded from inside the coop. "She got in."

"It's only a shield against dogs, cats, and rats. It doesn't affect humans," Duncan reminded the chicken, once again. "And besides, Marissa teleported in."

"I don't care." Henrietta insisted. "I want something done about it."

Duncan sighed and then turned to Marissa, for some reason remembering their first day of school. He remembered that day as if it were yesterday. The other kids were all merrily making their crayons draw, mostly outside the lines, by themselves, but no matter how much he concentrated, no matter how much he stared, his crayon would not move. Marissa, taking pity on him, did his drawing as well as her own. It still hung above his bed in a frame he'd found in the rubble piles just outside town. He'd managed to make it another three months with her help before his instructors realized that he couldn't perform magic at all. He remembered that day just as clearly as he remembered his first day in school. His mother and father had pretended not to be disappointed. They tried to hide the fact that they felt as if they, as parents, had failed in some way. He even remembered the Lord Probate, the governor of New Dallas, coming and talking with his parents and teachers. He remembered, most clearly, his mother crying. He'd never forget the sound of her crying.

"The hens are terrified of the cats," he told her, "so I'm going to see if Dad will make the bottom part of the field where they can't see through."

"And that will fix it so they'll start laying eggs again?" She asked.

He understood her befuddlement. "Yes, that's about it. It doesn't take much. They're just hens, after all."

"We heard that," Henrietta squawked from the coop.

Marissa smiled and then nodded. The bottom portion of the magic shield around their property turned a dull gray, like painted iron. The chickens instantly began cackling ecstatically.

"Thanks, but you didn't have to do that. Dad would have..."

"It's no big deal," Marissa said and he knew it were true. She was turning into quite the powerful wizard, excelling at even the most complex problems her teachers gave her. "And you don't have to do this. I'd be happy to conjure you food. I'd conjure you anything you wanted."

"I know you would, Marissa, and I appreciated that. But I'm not going to put you out like I've put my parents out. I feel like they resent me now for having to conjure for me all these years. It's better this way, really. I can take care of myself."

"Your parents don't resent you, Duncan," Marissa insisted. "It's silly to even think that."

"I guess," he told her. "But I'd rather do it myself."

"It might be a moot point," she said, her tone turning to a concerned whisper. "You heard about Timmy, I guess?"

"I saw it. His magic failed him, at least a little."

"It's happening a lot now. Soon we might be turning to you to feed us."

She'd said it so seriously that he was quite taken aback. No one talked about the misfires of magic, ignoring them like they might the war between the dogs and cats. It was just something you didn't talk about, and the few times he had tried to ask about it with his parents, they'd only told him that it wasn't to be discussed—especially at school or in front of anyone outside the family.

"I don't see that as very likely," Duncan told her. "People like Timmy would die before they'd eat something from this garden. You see how they look at me when I take my lunch to school."

Marissa plucked a ripe red apple and bit into it, juice flowing down her pale chin. "They really don't know what they're missing. I guarantee you, Duncan, that one day everyone will want to eat your food."

Duncan wasn't sure what had occurred to Marissa to make her so down, but he wasn't going to push it. She was obviously as uncomfortable talking about it as he was.

"Come on," she told him, and before he could stop her and tell her he wasn't ready, she teleported both of them away.

Two

They both appeared instantaneously in their first class of the day. Someone teleporting him always left him out of sorts. It felt like your entire body had been ripped to tiny little pieces, flung across the town, and then reassembled on the other side. He tried to gather himself as the other kids started blinking into class one by one. The classroom had no door and only one window. It was on the thirteenth floor of the school, and Duncan would have normally had to climb a rope he'd had Marissa install outside the massive spire that was the magic school. He had to climb to every class, and enter through windows, since there were no stairs in the building. Like his house before he was born, most magical people simply had no use for the antiquated additions. Why use stairs when you could simply blink your eyes and appear where you wanted?

The room was a mix of old maps, drawings of animals that hadn't existed in a thousand years, and stacks of big, leather-bound books. He'd read all of them, at one point or another, and most had to do with the history of magic in the world. The history of the Magicians since the last war fascinated him, but he'd always wondered what happened to the people who came before them. None of the books covered the subject, and when he asked, his questions were usually swept to the side. Who cared what happened to those before? They were gone. It was a source of great mystery to Duncan because the people who came before the Magicians were like him, without magic.

Timmy blinked in next to him, looked at his hands, and grinned maliciously.

"You could have at cleaned your hands, Duncan. Or...how do you call it? Wash them? With water or whatever?" The other kids around them, used to their own clean spells, everything from soaping to magically brushing their teeth, laughed with him. Magicians didn't bathe with water. They simply spelled themselves clean.

"I see you got the burn off," Duncan said. "Too bad. You looked good burnt to a crisp."

The other kids didn't laugh but instead moved back, knowing the eventual outcome of Duncan standing up for himself to Timmy. It was the same every time, without fail, and had been since their first year in the magic school. Timmy would taunt, Duncan would respond, and then Timmy would turn him into a pig or a dog, or, once, even a horse. Then Duncan would wander around the school the rest of the day until someone felt badly enough for him to turn him back. Duncan steeled himself, preparing to become, well, something else. Maybe Timmy would turn him into a bird and he could fly away from all this. That appealed to him, the more he thought about it. He could fly out of New Dallas and into the Wastes, exploring and flying the days away. He liked the idea so much that gliders were a big project of his, but a project like many of his other ones that didn't quite go anywhere.

"Stop it, Timmy," Marissa said, stepping between the two boys.

"I'm not scared of you, Marissa," the boy told her.

"Yes, you are," Marissa said. "You know that my magic is not just stronger than yours, it's better. There is no spell you can cast on me, no enchantment you can create, that I can't break. You can't beat me."

Timmy was, of course, scared of his sister and everyone knew it. Some of the kids giggled at the back of the room, watching Timmy squirm uncomfortably.

"I can handle this, Marissa," Duncan said, trying to interrupt the conversation. He knew the taunts he'd endure later when the other kids started picking on him for Marissa standing up for him once again.

One more person blinked into the room and everyone turned to see their teacher, Mr. Falcon, in his long gray robe staring back at them. "Good, class. I see that you're all here. And even you, Mr. Cade, are here on time. That has to be a first."

"Didn't climb the rope, sir."

"Good, good. There's hope for you yet. Now if you'll all take your seats."

The tension instantly broken by the teacher's arrival, the class mulled about for a few seconds and then took their seats. Mr. Falcon was a short, squatty man who obviously thought that body improvement spells were a great waste of time. He didn't even bother trimming his long black and gray beard, and the whole appearance was a bit odd for Magicians. They were constantly modifying how they looked with one enchantment or another, magically losing weight, changing their hairstyle, or even becoming the opposite sex. A Magician could be what he desired, and that the old man chose his natural appearance never failed to stump Duncan. The man loved history, however, and it was one of the few classes that Duncan actually enjoyed. It required no magic to pass, no inventiveness on his part to figure out a way around magic. All it required was reading and learning. Most of the kids didn't read, instead enchanting their books to read to them, and he knew that besides himself and Mr. Falcon, Marissa was the only other one in the room that could actually read the books. The other kids had no idea what the letters and words meant without their magic to read for them, and that fact made him sad. There was so much to be learned in these few books.

"Today, class, we talk about the Last War, when our kind brought peace to the world. The war itself has many names, depending on what part of the world you're in. Some call it the Great War or the War to End all Wars. Others called it World War 5, though there are no histories remaining of the first four World Wars. Others call it the War of Magic, and in that, they would be right. It was the war to bring Magic to the people and stop, once and for all, the oppression our kind received at the hands of the non-magical."

Duncan stirred uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to meet the gazes of his fellow classmates. He knew they blamed him for events thousands of years old, knew that he was the epitome of every mother's story to her children about the bad humans coming to get them. He knew every time someone whispered about the non-magical monsters in the Wastes they thought of Duncan. He didn't have to hear the lesson; he knew the history of the Last War from reading Mr. Falcon's vast collection of books. Most Magicians claimed their kind had always been around, hiding in the shadows and hunted by mankind, misunderstood and persecuted. But the magic had not grown on a worldwide level until Jeremiah Fredrick, the man some called the First Magician, stepped into the light in order to protect what was left of the world from the ravages of pollution and war. Jeremiah Fredrick was the Magician's savior, and the savior of the world.

Why the magical had never fought back or hid before Fredrick was still a mystery, even a thousand years later, and what it had finally taken to set them on that path to War was an even bigger mystery. The histories from that bloody time were mostly lost. What they knew had been laid down many years after the war by the survivors, and the human records were completely gone. All that remained after the human generations of war and destruction and the Last War were the few remaining magical cities and the continent of New Atlantis, the Magician's homeland that had been raised from the very waters of the Atlantic Ocean by Jeremiah Fredrick himself. There were hundreds of cities around the destroyed planet, protected and powered by Magic. Only the Wastelands, vast expanses of dead earth where nothing lived, surrounded them.

"And one day we'll fix it all, class. We will restore the Earth to its former glory, before the humans destroyed it all," Mr. Falcon continued. Duncan hadn't even heard most of the lecture, lost in his own thoughts about the old world. "The memory of Jeremiah Fredrick demands it of us. He did not protect us from the humans and stop the destruction of this world so we could hide in our cities, enjoying the spoils of our Magic, and not rebuild the planet."

Mr. Falcon was a member of the Restorers, an organization that insisted the Magical fix the world outside the cities. Every year they gathered in great parties to make plans on what they'd fix first—restoring the great jungles of the Southern Continent, or maybe the animal herds that used to roam the Northern Land. Their parties were always fabulous and the most important and wealthiest people in New Dallas attended them. There were always great speeches and every year they agreed that they would start soon.

And every year they did nothing.

People ventured between the cities, but only by teleportation. No one went into the Wastes and, as far as Duncan knew, no one had since their kind retreated into the Cities after the Last War had finished ravaging the planet. They were taught that nothing lived in the Wastes now, and that the land was not just uninhabitable but dangerous to be near.

The class applauded appropriately, Duncan included. He wished they would restore the old world, if for no other reason than so he could escape the realm of Magic. He dreamt of a world like his garden, only a million times bigger. He dreamed of exploring his life away, never having to climb a rope because there weren't stairs, never having to figure out how to pass a coloring test without touching the colors. He dreamed of being free. He didn't hear the rest of the lecture, lost in his own thoughts of what the world, a world filled with people like him, had been like.

"Duncan?" Marissa asked, shaking his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I will be one day."

"Come on," she told him. "We have to get moving or we're going to be late for Dr. Felix's lecture on the proper construction of Golems."

"Wonderful," Duncan said, a shiver running down his spine.

Golems gave him the creeps.

Dr. Felix was the polar opposite of Mr. Falcon. He was tall and thin and dressed immaculately. He'd obviously spent a lot of time considering body-sculpting spells. He was well muscled, but not overly so, and his suit hung at exactly the right angles around him. His hair was immaculately cut and there wasn't an ounce of gray anywhere in it, despite his obvious age. Even his walk produced a sense of style.

"Good morning, class," Dr. Felix began, "and Duncan. How are you this morning?"

Duncan tried not to groan loud enough to be heard. Dr. Felix did not believe he had any place in Magic School and made no bones about making that belief known. He'd let quite a vocal campaign against Duncan's admittance since he'd started on the first floor of the eighteen-story Magic School. Duncan actually agreed with the Doctor. He felt that the time he spent in a school learning the basics of Magic was useless when he would never be able to perform the Magic. It was a waste of his personal time and resources—resources that could be better spent preparing for a time when he'd have to strike out on his own. No, it wasn't that he disagreed with Dr. Felix at all; it was how the man went about making his beliefs known, never failing to paint Duncan as some sort of less worthy being, only a few steps above the Golems they were about to study.

"Today we'll learn about Golems, the proper technique to summon them and the proper way to control them."

Timmy interrupted. "Why are we learning that, Doctor? We can't legally summon Golems until we're twenty."

"Despite the rude interruption, Mr. Toole, you are making a valid point. Why study the creation and control of Golems before you are allowed to do so? The basic reason, class, is that Golem magic is so new, so volatile, that you have to start learning it well before you have to actually use it. It takes years to learn the proper enchantments for Golem use. It takes years of practice just to be able to summon one of the lifeless creatures."

The history of the Golems was shrouded in mystery. The first had appeared just a few years back, summoned accidentally in Dr. Felix's very own class. The story went that the class was trying to breathe life into a wooden man, a worker to perform the menial tasks that were currently performed by magic. People couldn't be troubled to dispose of their own garbage, or to carry off their own waste. And while it was easier to cast a spell to paint a house or clean the street, it was just as simple to enchant a Golem to do it instead. And the Golem, once enchanted, didn't need further magic to maintain it. And though no one would discuss it, Duncan knew that one of the reasons was the fading of the magic. People, fearing their magic was failing, simply didn't want to waste it on the mundane.

Instead of animating the wooden man, though, the story went that it instead turned into the flesh and blood Golem. It had no life of its own, however, no will, no desires. Golems didn't talk, didn't complain, didn't tire. When they could be controlled, they were the perfect worker. Supposedly, that first Golem had went on a rampage in the class like a feral animal, and it was only Dr. Felix's quick thinking lightning bolt that had stopped it.

Or so the story went. Duncan didn't know anyone that had actually been in that class and didn't know did.

Now the Golems were everywhere. Duncan hated the one his family owned. They called the big, hulking Golem Steve. Steve was always around, sweeping, cleaning, and taking out the garbage. Duncan knew that Steve wasn't really alive, not in the way they were, but he still thought it was cruel to keep the creature as a slave. The Golems looked just like men and women, and were equally as diverse in their appearance. There were male Golems, female Golems, even the occasional child Golem. Some had long hair, some short, some were tall and some were not. They looked real until you stared into their cold, dead, and lifeless eyes. He avoided the things wherever he could throughout the city of New Dallas like they were the proverbial plague.

"Golems are our perfect worker," Dr. Felix continued. "They perform flawlessly when enchanted correctly. It's when they are not enchanted correctly that they can become a problem. There have been incidents of destructive Golems, feral beasts bent only on destruction. Interestingly enough, they are the only Golems that ever demonstrate any sort of emotion. So that is why you're trained, starting now, to properly maintain the Golem that you will no doubt, as adults, create."

"They look so real," Marissa said. "The one in our home...she looks like a girl about our age."

"Of course they look real, but they are not real, Miss Toole, not in the sense that we are. While they have all the same organs and constructions that we do, they are no more like us than the humans we defeated a thousand years ago." He looked directly at Duncan. "They are just as soulless as those old humans. They are mere constructs, flesh and bone, yes, but without emotion. They feel nothing. Their resemblance to us is by design, I assure you. The conjured beasts are made to resemble us so that they fit into our world. You don't very well want Ork Golems, do you?"

Duncan felt the class shiver collectively. The foul Orks were among the various magical creatures created during the Last War to battle the humans and were, under no circumstances, allowed in the cities. They were born to be especially destructive, and though not a single one of the kids had ever seen one, they'd all seen images of the monsters in memory stones. Duncan remembered a documentary showing the Orks at war with each other. They were immune to pain, and even if you cut both their arms off, along with their legs, they would find a way to keep coming at you. The last remaining Ork tribes lived high in the mountains of New Atlantis where they were in a constant state of warfare with each other.

"They are still pretty creepy," Marissa commented, and many of the kids in the class agreed with her. "Even if they aren't Orks. Their eyes..."

She didn't have to finish the statement; the whole class knew what she was talking about. A Golem's eyes were the first sign that you weren't dealing with a true person. They were gray and lifeless, with no pupils to speak of.

"And you can, should that bother you enough, enchant them to have eyes that aren't, as you say, creepy," Dr. Felix said. "But like the mundane purposes we create Golems for, that's a waste of magic. So, class, we have an exercise today. We will enchant and control a Golem and make it perform a menial task..." He looked around for something for their Golem to do." Such as cleaning the chalkboard. Yes, that will do." Dr. Felix rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. "That will work."

"But, Dr. Felix," another student asked, "shouldn't we summon a Golem first?"

"I think we have a suitable subject," Felix responded, looking directly at Duncan. "You would volunteer, would you not, Duncan?"

Duncan stirred uncomfortably in his chair, but didn't answer.

"You will, of course, pass this class should you decide to participate. I have no desire to see you another year, and this is something you can do to fulfill your obligations to this class. The magic is perfectly harmless, and, because you do not possess magic, you will be affected just as a Golem would."

"Don't do it, Duncan," Marissa whispered. "You don't have to."

Timmy interrupted. "What, are you scared?"

Duncan was scared, even more so than any of them could imagine, but he didn't want to admit it. Being a lifeless Golem was about the worst thing he could possibly imagine. Controlled by another person, unable to exercise any free will...he simply couldn't fathom what that would be like. He didn't want to do it, but to actually pass Dr. Felix's class...to be done with the teacher who hated him...it was too big a temptation to pass up.

"I'll do it," Duncan said somewhat hesitantly.

"Good," Felix said, clapping his hands together. "Now...if you'll just come to the front of the class."

The class was silent as Duncan stood and walked to the front of the class. His arms were trembling and he was sweating so much his shirt was soaked. He kept telling himself that he would be fine, and even better, he'd pass, but he could barely take a step.

"This will only work on Duncan, class, since he is non-magical. Thankfully, these Golem enchantments will not work on our kind. Can you imagine what chaos there would be if you could maliciously enchant your fellow Magician?"

"No one would do that," Timmy said. "We aren't the old humans. We don't fight each other like that, and we don't hurt each other."

Dr. Felix laughed. "While we are different, our base emotions are the same as our ancestors. There is still fear and greed, love and hate. Our main safety net, against these most basic of human emotions, is that we want for nothing. Anything we desire, we can create, and one Magician's power is generally leveled out by the power of another. But if a real person..." again he looked directly at Duncan, and the boy understood the implications of real, "...could enchant another to bend to his will, then we would have just the same chaos that the humans had for the first few thousand years of their history. No class, trust me, it is best that the magic will inherently not work on those with a soul."

Duncan was too scared to get the full implications of what Dr, Felix was saying. That the man was implying he didn't have a soul didn't scare him as much as what was about to happen.

"All right, class, now, if you'll open your text books to page fifty-seven and have your personal reading spells read the incantations to you, we'll begin."

Duncan trembled more as he felt the enchantment begin to wash over him. His body felt numb and he couldn't wiggle his toes or move his fingers. He felt his mind drifting away, though he could still see through his eyes, smell through his nose, and taste though his mouth. It was like seeing down a long hallway, though, and besides the tinny pinprick of light at the other end, he was immersed in total darkness. He could hear the other children laughing as his body began to scrub the chalkboard and hear Marissa asking him if he was all right, but he felt like he was watching the whole thing on a memory stone, disconnected. He could even feel his hands moving, though not of his own will. He was absolutely helpless and tried to scream, but nothing came out.

He drifted further away from the classroom, the image of the chalkboard becoming tinier as if he were backing down a long tunnel. The further his mind reached from the classroom, the darker it got, and the darkness was formless. There was no floor that his other mind's self was standing on, no walls to reach out and touch. He tried to scream, to tell Dr. Felix that he didn't care if he passed the class, that he just wanted this to be over with, but there were no sounds coming from his physical mouth. There was no sensation of speech, no feeling of his jaws moving. There was, however, something else in the darkness with him, maybe multiple somethings, but they were just as formless as the void. They were there, though, and he could sense their agony. They were lost and frightened, together in the void but alone at the same time.

The contact with his physical body faded and he began to hear voices in the void.

"Help me."

"Please...it's so dark."

"I'm cold, so cold."

The voices had to be aware of each other, as he was of them, yet they didn't talk to each other. Each was in their own world of pain and fear, each alone in the void of darkness. The classroom's light was a pinprick, a tiny dot in the darkness like the night sky with only one star shining. Duncan wanted to cry, not just for himself, but for them, but he couldn't feel his face. He couldn't feel anything but their pain and fear as it washed over him like a waterfall.

He tried moving in the Void, tried getting his legs to do something, and became aware of the separation of his mind's body and his physical body. They were two separate things. As he lost the last vestige of contact with his physical body, he felt his mind's form more and more. It didn't feel like he was standing on anything, but it also didn't feel like he was floating. He was just there, in the darkness, surrounded by other formless people who were nothing more than voices in the darkness.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively, finding that his mind's voice, like that in a dream, was distant, and it didn't feel like it came from his own mouth.

"Hello?" another answered. "Can you hear me? Can you help me?"

The voices began chattering loudly, as if the addition of his voice were the catalyst. The din rose to a roar and he wished he had hands to cover his ears. The voices that he could make out were begging him, pleading with him to help them.

"Please," a man's voice called out, "can we leave stasis yet? Please can you let us out? We had to have won by now."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Duncan cried out. "I don't know who you are or where I am."

The voices grew even louder like a torrent of sound racing through his mind. He stood there, while not actually standing, helpless to do anything to help not only himself but the other people in the Void.

Three

When Duncan finally awoke, it was quickly, like coming out of a bad dream. One moment he was in the Void with the formless voices screaming at him, and the next he was in his bed, staring at the rough iron ceiling. Even after he opened his eyes, he could still hear those voices calling to him, pleading to help them. He sat straight up in his room, panting heavily and sweating profusely. His mother sat quietly at his side, knitting needles floating and merrily creating a sweater in front of her. She looked at him and smiled that smile only a mother was capable of.

"You're back," she said simply, as if he had just returned from school. "I'm glad you're back."

Despite the reserved way she spoke, her face was a mask of concern and worry. There were dark bags under her eyes, and her clothing was rumpled as if she had slept in the chair beside his bed for some time.

"Mom," Duncan squawked, his voice crackling and weak from disuse. "The Golems...they aren't conjured..."

"Shh, Duncan. It's all right. You're here now and safe. It doesn't matter what happened. You're home, and now you'll stay home forever."

"You don't understand, Mom. Where he sent me, wherever Dr. Felix sent my mind..."

"That vile man has been seriously reprimanded for that incident. He'll never be able to do that to you again. I...I wish you hadn't let him in the first place, but it matters not. You're back, you're here, and I love you. I'm so sorry for what's happened to you, and I can't imagine what you've been through, but you're home now."

She hugged him and stroked his hair.

"I didn't want to do it, Mom, but he said if I volunteered, he pass me," Duncan told his mother, still unable to get the voices out of his mind. They were calling to him, begging him to set them free.

"And you have passed. You've even graduated early, Duncan. You're finished with the Magic School. I..." she began hesitantly. "Your father and I should never have sent you there. You're a special child, Duncan, and those horrible people at the school never quite seemed to understand that. We should have pulled you out when we first discovered you were..." she paused, looking for the right word, "...handicap. We should never have sent you there, year after year, but your father always thought that maybe, just maybe, the magic would kick in. None of that matters now, though. You're done with it."

"I...I don't understand."

"And you don't have to understand. Just know that you are always safe here, with your father and I, and that you're done with that place You don't have to go there anymore."

He was done with school. He wondered what possibly could have happened that day at school to cause that. "Mom...how long was I...?"

"A Golem? You've been laying there a week, Duncan. The best Magicians in the city have tried to revive you, including Dr. Felix, much to his disdain. None of them were able to. But right now, you just sort of woke up.  
"I'm sure he tried very hard," Duncan said, wondering why the teacher had even bothered. He was now out of his classroom, out of his hair. Why would any of them try to bring him back from his Golem state? No one in the city really cared, and he was, at best, a curiosity.

"Oh, I doubt that," his mother quipped. "Maxwell Felix is a horrible man. I'm sure that you, as a Golem, would have suited him just fine."

"Still...a week...I..." Duncan didn't know what to say to any of it. "Who saved me?"

"You did. They were unable to do anything and wrote you off as lost forever. Marissa and I convinced them to leave you here."

How he'd rescued himself from the Void was a mystery that could wait until later. His personal situation was miniscule in importance compared to those stuck in that formless place. Those Golems, he was sure, were actual people. "Mom...the Golems. They aren't constructs. They are, or were, people."

His mother smiled again, but differently than the first time. It wasn't an I'm happy to see you smile. It was much more annoyed. "Duncan, the Golems are constructs, nothing more than enchantments of flesh and bone. I suggest you put any other idea from your mind, and, this is especially important, never mention this idea ever again. Do you understand me?"

He didn't, but there wasn't a point in saying so. "Yes, Mother."

"Okay, well, get yourself together. Your friend Marissa is waiting in the garden and is quite worried about you." His mother stood to leave, smiling at him once more. "I love you Duncan."

"I love you, too."

Sliding down the pole after he'd lain in bed for a week was a chore, and he accidentally let go less than a story from the bottom. He didn't hit the ground with the expected thump, though, and found himself floating a few feet off the ground on a cushion of air.

"I still don't understand why your father insists on the house levitating like that. I mean, it's all cute and what not, but it doesn't really do much for your plants. They won't grow in the shade, will they? I know the houses that float above yours are interesting, but despite what those snooty Magicians say, they'd kill to have an original piece of land beneath their feet. This is one of the oldest homesteads in New Dallas."

Duncan stood and smiled. You could always count on Marissa to make a point of the obvious. "I don't know. I've tried to tell him but he won't listen. Anytime you try to talk to him about how the plants actually grow, he just clams up. And he thinks just the opposite of the houses above us, I think. To him they're wealthy and we're...well, we're poor. If the house is floating it makes us a little like them."

"That's silly," Marissa insisted. "Just absolutely silly."

"I know, but you know Dad. It's how he thinks. By the way, thanks for the save."

"I couldn't bear to see you break your back after I've watched you lay in a bed the past week."

"You've been here the whole time?"

She nodded gently and smiled at him.

"Thank you," he said, taking her hand and noticing the dirt on it. "You've also been working in my garden?"

"The weeds were choking out the plants. I didn't want to see them die while you were..." she paused, trying to find the right words, "...while you were away."

"But you could have just cast a spell. Why did you do it by hand?"

"It's your garden, Duncan. You did it by hand, so I did it by hand. It didn't seem right to use magic on it."

The garden looked even more beautiful than when he'd left it a week ago. He didn't know if she had used her magic to work on it, or just her hands like she'd said, but either way the garden seemed to have come alive at her touch. The tomato plants were a couple feet taller and the tomatoes themselves were much bigger, a brighter red, and threatened to jump from the drooping vines. The corn stalks were taller, the green ears of corn bright and shining. The green bean vines were at the top of their trellises, overflowing with bean pods. Even the chickens were singing a happy song and laughing.

"The hens were against me working here in the garden, and even took a vote. They voted to evict me, banishing me to the 'realm of dogs, cats, and rats,' as they call it. They said I was trespassing on your domain."

"You were!" Henrietta squawked from the coop. "Trespasser...you came in and touched Duncan's garden and expected us to lay eggs for you. You are no better than the cats and dogs!"

Duncan laughed. "I guess you talked them out of that, though?"

"I threatened to drop the shield and they cheered right up."

Duncan laughed, waking slowly through the rows and containers, touching each plant as if it were a dear friend he hadn't seen in a week. Satisfied that they didn't need any attention, he began to tire and suggested that they sit down inside his shop. Marissa agreed and followed him in.

He'd built the small wooden building from scratch, using ancient pieces of wood and other rubbish from the debris fields at the edge of town. He'd never ventured past those fields of junk and rot that surrounded the city of New Dallas and didn't know anyone who had. It just wasn't done. He was, as far as he knew, the only one that ever actually went into the junk fields at all on any sort of regular basis. When someone needed to expand their house they would travel there, but the houses had grown so much over the years that people rarely did expand them anymore. The thousand years of refuse from the city contained everything from the old wood planks he'd built the shop with to stone and rock, and a myriad of other potential supplies. It was a wonderland to him, and he enjoyed rambling through the great piles, always avoiding the shimmering shield that protected the edge of the city. His father had told him the day that they'd picked up his bedroom in the junk fields and rode it home like cowboys that the field was a holdover from the Last War, when Magician families gathered in the center of Old Dallas to protect themselves from the humans. It had served as a barrier and, over the years, had grown into the mess it was now as people dumped their unwanted items there.

Steve, his family's Golem, was sweeping inside the shop, carrying a big bag behind him to dump the dust and dirt in. Duncan went to him and stopped him, looking into his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I don't think anyone knows." He paused. "I don't know what to do to help you."

No emotion registered in the big Golem's face, and nothing stirred in his eyes. He stood still until Duncan released him and then went back to his work.

"What was that about?" Marissa asked, bemused.

"They aren't constructs. They are something else entirely. I think they were, at least once, men. I think they were alive. I heard them while I was...while I was in that place."

"What place? Dr. Felix said you would simply be away, and that when you woke up you'd have no memory of the time in between. He said the last thing you would remember would be class."

"He was wrong," Duncan replied defiantly. "He has no idea what he's talking about. These were people. Steve was a person. I don't know from where or when, or how they managed to come here through the Golem summoning enchantments, but they were real. Their minds are trapped out there. It's a black place, Marissa, a Void. There are thousands of voices there, thousands of minds, but each and every one of them is alone."

"I don't know what to say about that, Duncan. The best minds in the realm have said they are simple constructs, without minds or emotion. They are just tools created by Magic. They aren't people."

"They're enslaved by Magic!" Duncan spat.

Marissa turned away from him, silent. He went to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay," she said, her hand on his hand. "It's just a lot to think about."

"And that's one of the reasons I love this place. No one ever comes in here besides Steven and I. It's the perfect place to think."

His shop was a mix of the strange, the broken, and the not quite finished. The building was tiny and a great bench took up the middle part. There were shelves around the edges, as well his cool box. Cold water from the house ran through coils of copper pipes inside the heavily insulated box. It only lowered the temperature a few degrees inside the box, but the cooler temperature went a long way to preserving his vegetables longer. The table was filled with other projects, some completed and some not. There was the mechanical arm he was building from small, interconnected metal rods tied to a glove. He could put his hand in the glove and flex his fingers and the rods would flex at the end. He'd planned on passing the coloring test from Year One Magic School with it, coloring without touching the colors. There was a mechanical plow that ran on vegetable juice and followed a string through his rows of crops, churning up the soil. There were dozens of incomplete projects, or other things he'd given up on like the wall climber he'd hoped to help him get up the school walls, and the motorized sled, run on another vegetable juice engine, that would help him collect more resources from the junk fields. He just couldn't build the engine big enough to make it work, and the juice itself was underpowered.

Above it all was the glider he'd been working on since he first built the shop. It was the purpose of the shop, the purpose of his life. He hoped, one day, to make it not only fly, but allow him to leave the city and explore the wastes with it. He'd had great success at smaller gliders, and even had one that would run off a small vegetable juice engine and would cover many, many more miles. His problem with the bigger version was the same as with his mechanical sled. The vegetable juice just wasn't powerful enough to run anything much bigger than a toy.

"Well," she said, turning to him, "I'm relieved that you're all right. I'm more than relieved. I'm not sure what I'd have done if you'd stayed wherever you were. I don't want to lose you, Duncan." A tear streaked down her cheek but she tried to smile.

"I'm not going anywhere, Marissa."

She smiled wider and gripped his shoulder. "I've been gone from home awhile now, though, and I need to get home. I guess I'll won't see you at school," she said sadly, "so I'll see you in a few days, okay?"

Marissa smiled before she blinked out, teleporting herself away. Duncan stared at the glider for a long, long time, then started to get up to go outside to gather something for his growling stomach. Steve stood there, just outside the door, his hand outstretched and holding a tomato.

Four

The weeks passed and Duncan immersed himself in his garden and his shop. He rarely left them and even moved many of his belongings from his room up in the house down to the shop. It was cramped inside, and he'd had to get rid of many of the more useless projects to make room, but it was worth it not to have to climb the rope ladder every day or slide down the pole. He saw little of his parents, though his mother did blink in on occasion to check on him, always bringing him a pie or cake or some other conjured treat. He got the impression that, after their conversation about the Golems, she wanted less to do with him, and that bothered him. He couldn't imagine what he'd said that was so wrong that his mother would avoid him. His father was worse, never coming to the garden and only seeing Duncan when he, on occasion, traveled up into the house.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, he found that he, more and more, missed the Magic School, and even missed the taunting of Timmy Toole. Sure, Marissa came by on a regular basis, but he knew she too had her own life and would soon be graduating and starting down her own path.

He was, in short, bored and lonely.

Duncan worked on the big glider almost constantly, trying to tweak the vegetable juice to get more power from it. He worked at his engines, trying to perfect them to run longer and stronger, and experimented with other fuels as he could work them out. He tested the smaller gliders constantly, trying to perfect their form, and spent the majority of his days dreaming of one day when the Restorers would venture into the Wastes and bring life back to the desolation. He half hoped that they would see him and his (hopefully then perfected) flying machine as a tool and use him as a scout. He fantasized about exploring dead cities and learning the secrets of those, who, like him, were without magic.

Steve rustled through the garden, hauling out the family's wastes. He'd tried to connect with the Golem after the incident with the tomato, but there had been no response, no life in those eyes. He hoped that he could somehow rescue the man from the Void, but he had no idea how to even go about it, and, from the reaction his mother had given him when he told her of his experience in the Void, he was scared to ask any of the Magicians for help. Seeing Steve always made him sad, knowing that his mind was out there, stuck in the Void, alone. It frustrated him even more that he had no idea how to help him, or any of the other Golems.

There was a stirring outside, a rush of wind, and something that sounded suspiciously like his vegetable juice engine, though much, much stronger. He rushed outside to see a contraption hovering next to the house for a few moments and then setting down under it, in the shade. The machine was large enough to carry one man, and he sat in a glass bubble at the front of it. Large blades jutted out of the top of the smoking engine, much like the blades of a sword. As the blades slowed, he felt the rush of wind slow and then stop. There was a long tail at what Duncan and another blade at the end. The machine, whatever it was, just looked incredibly old. Its black paint was faded and chipped, rust showing in places beneath. Duncan didn't care how old it was or how it looked. He knew instantly that this was a device, like his gliders, that flew without the aid of magic.

The glass bubble parted and a man stood up, looking around. He wore a long and heavily patched leather coat that stretched down to his knees. Even with the multiple colorful patches, it still looked the color of mud. There was some sort of helmet on his head, fronted by dark lens goggles. He wasn't an overly large man, but he wasn't small either. He was thick, though, and wide in the shoulders. He jumped down from the flying machine and took off his helmet and goggles. His face was old and weathered, with streaks of gray running through his closely cropped black beard and short hair. He'd obviously, like Mr. Falcon, forgone magic to make himself appear younger than he really was.

But he'd already forgone magic, hadn't he, Duncan wondered? The machine was obviously not of the magical variety.

He saw Duncan and strode towards him, hand outstretched to shake. "Well, hello there. This is quite a garden you have here."

Duncan took the hand without hesitation. The man's smile was so warm and honest...so unlike the self-absorbed people of the city. "And that's an interesting device you have there."

"Device? Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that. Most called it a helicopter, when such things were common. I'm pretty sure it's one of the last of its kind, though." He looked at the helicopter appreciatively. "It's a Bell Smith 2700, last of a legacy. She was one of the finest helicopters ever designed as surviving a thousand years has easily demonstrated. She was built to take it all and keep on ticking. You don't find many machines like this left in the Wastes, unless they're in a Magician's warehouse somewhere."

"It flies without magic, doesn't it? It's ancient human design, from before the Last War, isn't it?" Duncan's heart raced with the implications. He stared at the machine, a relic of the past, and wondered if the pilot was like him, without magic. The man had said so much with so few words that it was hard to take in all the meaning of what he was saying.

"Well, of course it does, Duncan. What do you think our kind did before there was magic?"

"You know my name," Duncan said softly. Who was this man in the helmet who came out of the sky in a machine from the past? How did he know his name?

"Of course I know your name, Duncan. I know a lot about you. For instance, I know that you, like me, are unable to perform magic."

Duncan gasped. He'd thought he'd been the only one for so long now.

"Also, like me, you have a burning desire to understand how things work and what drives this world we live on. You want to know about history, specifically the history of what happened to our people."

"How do you know all this?"

The sudden blinking in of his parents interrupted the conversation, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen them so upset. His father was so angry he was shaking, and his mother had tears in her eyes.

"You," Albert Cade spat! "How dare you come here?"

"I came as soon as I heard, Albert. It's time. You knew this day would come. I'm actually surprised it took so long. It's a testament to the boy's ingenuity and drive."

"No, it isn't," his mother cried, tears forming. "It's never time."

"Duncan, go to your shed."

"But, Dad," Duncan pleaded, "I want to see his machine."

"Go," both his parents ordered in unison, and before he could argue anymore, he found himself instantly transported to his old bedroom in the house. He rushed out, avoided the angry rosebush, and leapt onto the brass pole leading to the ground.

His father stood in front of the mysterious man, balls of flame in both hands. The man's coat was open and two bands of small red objects crisscrossed his chest. He held a black thing in each hand pointed at his father, and though Duncan didn't know what they were, he knew they looked deadly. His mother stood to the side, crying.

"I don't want to do this, Jim. I want you to leave."

"This isn't what we agreed to, Albert, and you know it. We all knew that one day this would happen, and, when it did, it would be best if the boy went with me. He will be safe with me, safe to grow and learn and prosper, something this infernal magic world of yours will never allow."

"Of course I know it, and you are correct," his father began. "Duncan will never thrive in New Dallas. He will never thrive in any Magician city. But he's Helen's son, Jim, and I will protect her interests until the day I die." Duncan half wondered why his father had said he was Helen's son, and not his, but the tension in the air kept him from thinking about it too much. He didn't know what the weapons in this Jim person's hands were, but he didn't want to see a fight between his father and the man. They were talking about him. What had they agreed to and where did the man want to take him? His father looked ready to launch the fireballs and Duncan screamed out, not only afraid he'd hurt the mystery man but the helicopter behind him.

Albert Cade turned around, distracted by Duncan's presence, and the fireballs flared, his father launching one at him. He ducked to the side and felt the burning ball of magic gas race by him. His mother instantly shielded him, and he wasn't hurt as his father turned back to Jim, who was breaking for the helicopter. He prepared to launch the second fireball and his mother stepped in, creating a thick sheet of ice between the two. Jim looked at him and grinned mischievously as the helicopter's engine sprang to life and the ancient device began floating into the air.

"Stop it, Albert," his mother told his father sternly. "Stop this at once."

"He was going to take him. He was going to take your boy."

Duncan noticed his father calling him your boy and not our boy, but said nothing as he watched the helicopter streak into the night.

"Who was that?" he demanded of his parents. "What did he want? He's like me, isn't he? He doesn't use magic?" He had so many questions, not the first of which was why his parents had reacted the way they had. Why had the appearance of the man caused them such sudden anger? And how had he known his name?

"He's no one you need concern yourself with, Duncan," Albert Cade told him softly, watching as the small lights on the helicopter faded into the night. "He's no one."

"He knew my name," Duncan insisted, not wanting to be shut out again. "He knew my name and he said it was time. What is it time for?"

"Duncan, please," his mother began. "That man is evil incarnate. He's...he's a terrorist that wants to destroy our way of life. He wasn't always like that, but he's changed, changed for the worse. He's not to be trusted, ever, Duncan. You can't imagine the sort of thing he's done in order to destroy magic."

"He knew me and he knows you. How is that possible?"

"There are things we can't tell you, Duncan, for your own good. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. There is nothing more to be said here."

"At least tell me why he wants to destroy the magic?" Duncan pleaded. "I have a right to know."

His mother looked at him and said, "He's like you. He has no magic and is insanely jealous of those who do. It's just that simple." She then blinked away.

"You will speak no more of this, Duncan," his father insisted. "And you will most certainly not speak of it to anyone outside this house. You can't imagine the amount of

Duncan looked around in confusion, not sure what to make of any of the events, of the man in the helicopter, of what his parents had said. He didn't understand anything, but as he looked around his garden, he saw a small silver tube lying where the helicopter had landed. He picked it up and found the end screwed off. Inside was a simple note.

It read Don't worry, I'll be back for you.

It was signed Diamond Jim.

Five

he next morning Duncan made it a point of being at the breakfast table in the main house with his mother and father. They both looked at him suspiciously, suspecting the barrage of questions he was about to bring forth. He sat down at the table calmly and began eating his breakfast in silence. There was so much he wanted to ask, so many implications just from his few minutes of speaking with Diamond Jim.

"I'm sorry, Duncan," his father told him. "I didn't mean to launch that fireball at you. I was just so worried."

"I understand, Dad. Don't worry about it."

"We should have told you about Diamond Jim years ago," his mother began. "I guess I just always hoped that he wouldn't come looking for you. You see, son, Jim is like you. He doesn't have the ability to perform magic. Also, like you, he grew up in a Magician city. He was so much like you when he was young. He was a good boy, then, with the potential to be a fine young man, just like you."

"I understand that. He doesn't live in a city now, though, does he?" His mind raced with what that meant. Were there habitable places in the Wastes? He could only have come from out there. Duncan knew he'd have heard of another like himself if he lived in the cities. People would gossip. Diamond Jim had to be from the Wastes, even if he was from one of the cities originally.

"No one knows for sure," Albert told him, "and it's lucky for him that they don't. He is a wanted man, Duncan. There is a warrant for his arrest in every city and in New Atlantis. He is, without a doubt, the most wanted man in the world." He sighed. "I expect a visit from the Lord Probate's Magistrates as soon as word of his visit leaks out. People would have seen that thing he rode in on. They would have heard."

"What has he done that he's wanted for?" Duncan asked, the concept of a criminal being wanted by the authorities a bit strange for him. There simply weren't any criminals. Why would someone steal when they could just conjure what they wanted?

"It's complicated, Duncan." Helen said. "He was a good boy, once upon a time."

His mother seemed to be stuck on that, and Duncan half suspected that she'd known Diamond Jim more than she was letting on.

"He has to live out in the Wastes, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"And how does he know me?"

"Son, your lack of magical ability is no secret, and Jim has, in the past, hunted for people like you to join him in his crusade. We knew it was a matter of time before he came looking. We just hoped that maybe, just maybe, one day your abilities would kick in and it would all be a moot point. Sadly, that just hasn't been the case."

Duncan just knew he was lying. There was more to whatever was going on than Albert Cade was letting on.

"And he wants to destroy magic? How is that even possible?"

"It isn't," Helen agreed. "There is no way to strip the magical abilities that reside within us. It's a fool's errand, at best. He remains bitter at the destruction of his people, refusing to see that, in their destruction, an entire world was saved. He is a very sad man. He claims that there is a Source of Magic, brought into the world by Jeremiah Fredrick. That's simply not the case, as our histories tell us. Magic has always been around, hiding in the shadows."

Duncan had reached the same conclusion Jim had just from reading Mr. Falcon's small collection of Magician Histories. He knew, deep down, there was a Source of Magic. It was the only thing that explained the sudden surge of Magic in the world. But his mother was towing the official line from the Magicians, and there wasn't any point in arguing it with her. "And you know him, don't you?"

His parents were silent, telling him all he needs to know.

"Well, I just wanted to thank you for protecting me from him," he said, feeling bad about lying to his parents. "I didn't get a chance to last night when, well, when everyone was so upset. I don't want to be taken into the Wastes," he lied again. "And I don't want to leave my family. I'm happy here, with you."

His mother beamed at him, her smile bright enough to light the entire city, and his heart sank. He really did want to be in the Wastes, adventuring and discovering things like the ancient helicopter Jim flew. He wanted to explore those ancient places only whispered about, wanted to see the destruction for himself that the Last War had caused. He wanted to know things, but he also knew he wasn't ready. He honestly wasn't sure if he believed his parent's description of Jim or not, and felt even worse for doubting them, but doubt them he did. He'd looked into Jim's eyes and he simply hadn't seen the hatred there that his parents had described. He wasn't saying that it wasn't possible, but he wanted to learn for himself. He wanted to know everything, and he suspected that his parents were not telling him the whole story about what was out there in the world.

He knew that, until the man Diamond Jim showed back up and he could ask more questions of someone who would answer them, he'd just have to learn on his own. And there was only one place he knew of in the city where he might find information he could use. The Magic School's library was the city's repository of ancient knowledge and he'd heard it stretched a full eighteen stories below ground, matching the height of the school. It was said that the magic in the library was so powerful that only those who'd completed the school, and understood the serious nature of it, would be allowed anywhere near it.

Dr. Felix had fixed that for him, now, with his deal and Duncan becoming a Golem for the class, at least temporarily. He was shocked he hadn't thought of it sooner. He was now an official graduate. He could go to the library whenever he pleased.

"I'm glad to hear that, son," Albert Cade told him, "as I'm sure your mother is. You gave us quite the scare, last night."

"I can't lose you, Duncan," his mother said. "You're my baby."

"Well..." his father continued, "have you thought of what you might like to do? What are your plans for the future, Duncan? Don't get me wrong, your mother and I don't mind you living under our house, and we never will. I'm sure Helen wishes you'd move back inside, but I understand your need for privacy. And with real estate being in such short supply here in the city, it's not likely that you'll find a place of your own anyway."

He was just a kid, but his father was already talking as if he were a full-fledged graduate of the Magic School, ready to light out on his own and create his own destiny in the city, maybe even becoming a great enough magician to immigrate to New Atlantis. It was a silly notion, sillier even coming from his dad.

"I'd like to return to school, believe or not. I'm a graduate now, thanks to Dr. Felix."

His mother interrupted. "I wish you wouldn't mention that vile man's name in our house."

"Anyway, I'm a graduate now. I'd like to begin my own studies in the library, hopefully preparing for the day that maybe my magical abilities will start." He felt horrible lying to his parents, but if he told them the real reason for his desire to go to the library—to learn about the Wastes in order to maybe go there and find Jim himself—they'd never stand for it. The Magic School wouldn't stand for it. He didn't believe for a moment that he'd ever gain magical abilities and, honestly, he didn't want them. He saw what they did to most people, how they made them not appreciate anything. When he grew his own food, he thanked the plants. He understood the relationship he had with them and how they were valuable. People who could create what they wanted, even Marissa, had no real appreciation for the world around them.

"That's...well that's interesting," his father began hesitantly. "I don't know how Dr. Felix will feel about that."

"Oh what harm could it do, Albert?" his mother asked. "He won't be in Dr. Felix's class and he's right. What if his magic manifests one day? It would be like trying to learn everything from scratch."

Albert Cade rubbed at his chin. "Still...I don't know if they will allow it. To be honest, son, they only graduated you so that they wouldn't have to deal with you anymore. You know, as well as I do, that you just didn't fit into that place. It wasn't for you. Your garden...your shop, now that's you. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"More than anything else." And it was what he wanted more than anything else, though he wasn't going to tell them his true motivations.

"Well, if that's what you want, we'll see that we make happen, son," Albert said, standing and slapping him on the shoulder.

His mother was so happy she was nearly on the verge of tears. "Your magic will come, one day," she said. "I just know it will."

He knew leaving would break his mother's heart. He'd have to deal with that one day, he knew. He just didn't know how he'd manage it.

Six

It took the better part of a month, but eventually his request was granted and he was given access to the Magic School's library. He wasn't sure whose arm his parents had had to twist in order to make it happen, but one day, while he was working on his glider in the shop, his mother blinked in and gave him the good news. He knew it before she said it just from the look on her face.

"They've agreed, Duncan. They're going to let you go about your studies."

"That's great, Mom," He said, excited, wondering what subject he'd be able to research first.

"There is only one condition."

His excitement gave way to fear. "Oh?"

"Yes. You must take a job there." The word job sounded funny coming from her mouth. They all knew what the word meant, in theory, but no one besides the Golems and Duncan worked for anything. Anything anyone wanted was simply conjured. "They'll want you to sweep up and keep things neat and organized."

"That's not so bad," Duncan said, and it wasn't. He didn't mind working. He actually liked keeping busy.

"No, I didn't think it would be," she said, hugging him tightly. "I'm so excited for you, Duncan. This is like going to school that first day all over again. You'll get it this time. I know you will."

He hadn't shared his mother's excitement, at least not in the way she had. He was excited, but not for the same reason. While she thought something in the library would jar his ability, maybe forcing the magic into his life, he only hoped that the knowledge would, somehow, allow him to better understand the world and what had happened to it—maybe even allow him to escape the bonds that the lack of magic had placed on him.

"Thanks, Mom, for the help."

She smiled. "Just make us proud, Duncan. Just make us proud."

Duncan literally skipped through the streets of New Dallas. The shield covering the city was letting through extra sunshine that day, and the air had a warm, comforting feel to it. The extra light, though, exposed more of the jumbled together city and Duncan found himself wondering what the original residents had been thinking when they started New Dallas. The entire city looked as if a child's toy box had been dumped out and the various pieces put back together to make homes and buildings. He could tell where the original streets and sidewalks had been, but the buildings had been created out of just whatever was handy. He knew that Magicians, when finding materials to expand their homes, didn't venture past the junkyards surrounding the city and figured when you put junk in, you got junk out.

And that was just what the majority of the city looked like. Junk.

He was so occupied both with what he thought the library was going to be like and the junky state of New Dallas that he nearly ran over the procession of armored dogs in the street. He tripped over a small terrier in gleaming steel plate armor and nearly landed on a St. Bernard.

The large dog growled at him, "Watch your step, Magician."

"I'm not a Magician," Duncan said and then wished he hadn't. The dogs, locked in their war with the rats and the cats, wouldn't usually involve Magicians. It was too easy for the normal populace of New Dallas to simply sweep them aside. But he'd had run-ins with them before, and once they knew he couldn't do magic, he was often a target.

"Not a Magician, you say?" the large St. Bernard asked, slowly circling as the other dog knights joined him. "I know you. You are Duncan Cade."

He gulped. "Yes, I am, Sir Dog."

"And you, not even a Magician, dare interfere in the Queen's Parade? Foolish human, now you will suffer."

The dog knights couldn't hold swords because they didn't have thumbs, but their armor was equipped with spring-loaded blades that ejected on command, forming sharp and deadly rams for them to rip their opponents. The two blades jutted out beside the large dog's head and the tips touched Duncan's cheeks.

"I should cut you right now, human."

"Stand down, Sir Dog," another dog said from the center of the procession.

"But, my lady, he interrupts the procession."

The dog knights parted and allowed their Queen to walk through. She was a small Dachshund, long and narrow, with medium length caramel-colored hair. Duncan had heard of the Queen of All Dogs, Queen Bella, but had never seen her. She was regal looking in her long purple robe. There was a tiny crown on her head, and the diamonds and jewels gleamed in the bright sunshine.

"You are Duncan Cade, correct? He who is without magic?"  
"Yes, your highness." He always felt silly talking to the dogs as if they were royalty, but it went easier if you did.

"And you are the same Duncan Cade that harbors Free Rangers in his home?"

Duncan gulped. He didn't know if that was good or bad with the Queen. The politics of the never-ending war changed daily. One day they might be allies with the Free Rangers, enemies the next. "Yes, ma'am, I do," he admitted.

"Stand down," the Queen ordered her company. "This boy is no enemy of ours. He has demonstrated a fondness for non-human kind and he possesses none of the vile magic his peers do. He intends us no harm, do you, Duncan Cade?"

"No, ma'am."

"Yes, my lady." The large St. Bernard, head of her security force, bowed and then stepped away.

"You will have to forgive my security force. The war with the cats grows direr every day. You are free to go on your way, and you will be free of attacks from dogkind."

"Thank you, ma'am," Duncan replied.

"Before you leave, though, will you allow me to give you a piece of advice?"

"Of course," Duncan said, wondering what advice Queen Bella could give him.

"The Magicians ignore us and think us but pesky animals, but we watch them closely as we have since the first sentient dogs were created after your Last War. We dogs have long memories, and in those memories we have none of a time when the magic has been as..." she paused, looking for the right way to describe it, "...precarious as it is now. There are more failures than the Magicians are willing to admit."

Duncan nodded, knowing that already. "But why tell me?"

"Because when it does fail, they will look for someone to blame."

"My lady," the St. Bernard Captain said, rushing back to her side, "there is a large contingent of cats on the march, along with an equally large contingent of rats. We must get to a safe location at once."

Queen Bella nodded. "Thank you, Captain." She started to trot away from him and then turned and said, "Be careful, Duncan Cade. Life is not all it seems here in New Dallas."

He watched the dogs leave and then ducked between two buildings as the army of cats and rats followed them down the street. Where the dogs were royal looking, even stately in their shining armor, the cats had the appearance of vagabonds. None of them wore matching uniforms, but each looked angry and deadly. The rats were even worse, and he wondered what deal had been struck this week for the two opposing groups to work together. He wouldn't be mentioning any of it to Henrietta and the gals. It would only serve to further their fear. Cats and rats working together...who'd ever heard of such a thing?

He tried to process what the Queen meant, but couldn't. Even with all the weirdness going on in his life, the excitement of entering the library trumped everything else. Once the cats had passed, he took off at a light jog, heading for the Magic School.

Duncan stood outside the Magic School, admiring the building he hadn't laid eyes on in months. It was one of the few buildings in New Dallas that, constructed from scratch, had any sort of style to it. There were old, original buildings, of course, like the courthouse and the mansion of Marissa's parents, but the majority of the buildings and homes were just one piece of junk magically glued to another. Even the houses that floated above his, going as high as he could see or imagine, were only so much debris strewn together to make some sort of living space. Why the Magicians didn't create themselves things of beauty to live in was something that had always bothered him.

The Magic School was a different matter altogether. The spire was eighteen stories high, one for each grade of the school. A child would enter the school at the age of three, on the first floor, and as they progressed through the grades, they would progress through the levels upwards. The rope he used to scale the outside of the building, entering classes through the many windows, still swung in the light breeze. The building itself was constructed out of dozens of different colors and styles of bricks, as if the original builders had just picked up whatever was laying around and started stacking them together. The bricks were laid in a pattern that spiraled up with the building, giving the whole thing the look of a massive drill. There were only one set of doors to the spire, and they were the doors at the base that the first year children used to gain entrance. The spire narrowed at the top until it ended in a massive spike shooting way up into the sky. Duncan appreciated that the sky around the Magic School was uncluttered with other homes and buildings, and before he went in to try and gain access to the library, he stood and soaked up the warm sunshine for awhile.

His first attempt to gain entry into the library was a problem. There were, of course, no stairs, and he couldn't very well climb down a non-existent wall underground. He poked around the first story of the Magic School for hours, running into youngsters starting their first year at the school and generally made a pest of himself. He searched in every closet, in every nook and cranny he could find, but he simply could not locate a way down into the library. No one needed it, he knew, and watched as the first-year students learned to teleport. Magician architecture infuriated him, not just because its lack of class, but because of its lack of usefulness. Most of the homes and buildings in New Dallas were just like the school. They were constructed for people who used magic to pass through walls or floors. What would happen, he wondered, if one day the magic stopped?

"Well, Golem boy," Dr. Felix said from behind him as he watched the kids practice, "I take it you haven't found a way down into the library yet, have you? None of these buildings were ever created with the likes of you in mind."

He'd hoped not to run into the Doctor, but knew that was about as likely as him suddenly being able to teleport. "No, sir, I haven't."

"Well, it simply won't do for our newest Golem not to be able to perform his duties, will it?"

"No, sir, I suppose not." His disgust at being called a Golem by the man who had, at least temporarily, turned him into one was hard to hide.

"Follow me," Dr. Felix said blandly, as if he were showing a first year student where the restroom was.

Duncan followed with some trepidation. Did the Doctor have some nefarious plan for him since turning him into a Golem? Dr. Felix led him into the first floor cafeteria, which was packed with first-year students. "I've already searched here, sir."

"Of course you have," Felix said. He led Duncan to the rear wall that Duncan was sure only separated the school from the outside world. Felix waved his hands and quickly proved him wrong, however. The bricks in the wall separated one by one, marching into a neat pile down at the base of the wall. "You will clean that up, of course."

"Yes, sir."

The two stepped into the opening, which did not lead to the outside of the school but into a large room lined with dusty machines and devices that Duncan did not recognize.

"This was, at one time, a kitchen for the cafeteria. Food was prepared for those first-year students who could not, on their own, conjure food."

Duncan couldn't imagine such a thing. Children learned to create food even before they learned to walk. "And what are these things, sir?"

"I have no idea," Felix admitted. "Falcon may know, or there may be some clue in the archives. I would assume, though, that since food was prepared here, they are for that purpose."

Duncan nodded and followed him to the back of the room where there was a small closet. He opened the closet and found a ladder that led down into darkness.

"The bottom levels have been sealed for generations, but I will, of course, open them for you. I expect to see you there straightaway."

The teacher started to blink out but Duncan interrupted him. "Sir, can I ask you a question."

"Go ahead," Felix replied, sounding annoyed.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

"As I said, it wouldn't do for our newest Golem to not be able to perform his duties, would it?"

"No, sir, and," he paused, "thank you, sir."

Dr. Felix blinked away without saying another word, leaving Duncan wondering if the man felt just the smallest amount of guilt for what he'd done to him.

True to his word, the openings were just where Dr. Felix said they'd be. He skipped the first floor, and, out of curiosity, slid down several stories, peeking through the openings on each floor. Sliding down the old steel ladder was not unlike sliding down the pole from his house to his garden. There was a rush of excitement as he slid down the ladder, not just because of the fear of being in the dimly lit tunnel, but because of what he knew the library contained. There was unbound knowledge there, and it was his for the taking. He almost felt like he was getting away with something he shouldn't.

He felt something furry on his hand, knocking it off the ladder, and then managed to slow and come to a stop several rungs later.

"Hey, watch it, bud," the small, squeaky voice intoned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," he replied, sure he was speaking to a rat.

"Well, no, of course you didn't. It's dark in here, isn't it? How can a human see in the dark? What are you doing here, anyway? Felix finally making good on his threat to exterminate us?" Duncan could sense the anger and trepidation in the rat's voice and just barely made out the gleam of its fangs in the dark.

"I can't teleport," Duncan told the rat. "I have to use the ladder."

"Oh," the rat said with sudden realization. "You're that human."

"I'm the only human," Duncan told it. "Everyone else is a Magician."

The rat laughed in his squeaky little way. "You know the cats are after you, right now? Someone saw you making an alliance with the dogs."  
"I didn't actually make an alliance with the dogs," Duncan replied, defending himself. "I just talked to Queen Bella."

"The cats care not, young human. You were seen with the dogs, so you're with the dogs. You also harbor Free Rangers. The cats don't like that, either."

"Aren't your kind allied with the cats? Doesn't that require you attacking me, or something?"

"Are we allied this week? I have a hard time keeping up. I will attack you, though, if you wish."

"Naw," Duncan laughed. "I think it's all right, if you're all right with it."

The rat scrambled up the ladder so he was face to face with Duncan. He was an older rat, his fur streaked with gray. His teeth didn't gleam as much as he'd thought they had. They were dull and chipped and showed many years of use. He moved slowly and he was huffing as he climbed onto the rung near Duncan.

"No, I'm fine with it. I quit keeping up with the various alliances decades ago. The rats don't even talk to me much. I half wonder if they even know I'm alive."

"Why is that?"

"There was a problem, years ago. It's nothing to concern yourself with."

"So you live here, in the Magic School?"

"Most rats won't come here, and these tunnels are well hidden. The students often leave the remains of their meals for me. It's not a bad life."

Duncan couldn't imagine living in the ladder tunnel, but he wasn't a rat, either.

"Well," Duncan said, "my name is Duncan Cade and it's been my pleasure to meet you."

"I am Arnold," the rat said, "and it has been mine as well. I hope to see you again."

Duncan watched the old rat scurry away and then continued back up the ladder.

Marissa was waiting for him as he stepped out onto the first floor of the library, wiping the dust and cobwebs from his tunic.

"Hey there," she said. "Long time no see."

She'd had to spend so much time studying for her finals over the previous few weeks that they hadn't had much chance to visit. Now that she was graduated, though, her time was her own, and she, like he, was spending that time in the library, as many Magicians did. When you could have anything you wanted simply by wishing it, people tended to find simpler things to occupy their minds with.

"It's good to see you too. How did finals go?"

"As well as can be expected. Dr. Felix's was the hardest, of course. We had to summon a Golem and enchant it. I couldn't stand it, Duncan, I just couldn't. It was like watching you wipe those chalkboards all over again. I didn't know what had happened to you then. I was scared you were going to be like that forever."

"You did it, though," Duncan said. "You passed."

"Of course I did. If I hadn't, well..." she looked away, embarrassed, "...I'd have failed. I've spent too long here to fail. Now I'm free of the teachers and allowed to pursue whatever I want."

"I'm glad you did it, Marissa. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to see you here."

She turned back to him, beaming. "I'm happy to see you too. I didn't know if they were going to grant you access or not, but I'm glad they did. There's a lot to learn here and I think you'll be happy. The library is beyond awesome."

"It is," he said, looking at the shelves and shelves of memory stones. "I was hoping there would be more books, though."

"Oh there are, silly," she said, joining his gaze at the racks of rocks. "This is just one floor, and this library is a thousand years old. I'm sure there are thousands of books around here somewhere. Where, I don't know, but we'll find them."

The library floor, like the spire above, was circular in shape. The shelves started along the walls and spiraled inward where they ended at an open area with desks, benches, and thick couches where the information from the library was studied. It was wider than he'd expected, much wider than the actual school above. The shelves themselves were packed in a seemingly random nature, with stacks upon stacks of memory stones. None had any sort of label on them, nor were there any sort of labels on the shelves themselves.

Duncan generally liked memory stones. The objects themselves were enchanted, so they required no magic skill on Duncan's part to read. You simply picked the stone up, told it to activate, and then sat and watched the three dimensional display it showed. The stones were common and in no way mysterious. His family had crates and crates of them from family vacations, birthdays, and other holiday celebrations. He'd often watched the ones of his parent's trip to New Atlantis before he was born, and marvel at the sheer beauty of the place with its pristine forests, magical creatures, and magnificent buildings. The city of New Atlantis, unlike New Dallas, was all about style. The buildings were magnificent and often covered in jewels and shingles of pure gold. Also unlike New Dallas, the city streets were pristine and all of the clutter and trash that he was used to at home was gone. He'd go there one day, he knew, and looked forward to spending days just exploring the grand architecture.

The library reminded him of the New Dallas streets. It was a cluttered mess. "How do you ever sort through any of this?" Duncan asked in amazement, "I mean...there's no order to anything. There's no way to tell one rock from the other."

"You have to ask the Fairies for help," Marissa told him, pointing up to the ceiling where the dozens of small winged people circled. "They know where everything is at."

Fairies were uncommon enough throughout the city that he openly stared at them. He'd seen them in the school, on occasion, but knew that they were a reclusive bunch, preferring to keep to themselves. The often came out at night where their trails of sparkling dust floated in the wind. They loved to dance and laugh, he'd heard, and wondered why they'd be working in the library. of all places. He wasn't sure why the Magicians had created the small Fairies during the Last War. Most of the magical species they'd introduced to the world were, in some form or fashion, combat troops. The Fairies didn't seem to meet that qualification.

"You just whistle, or holler, or whatever, and one will come to you. Tell them what you're looking for and they'll go find it. Sometimes it takes awhile, sometimes it's quick. If it's on another floor they will tell you that and you'll have to go there and repeat the process."

"I see," he said, a bit disappointed. He'd been hoping for some sort of order to the mess, maybe a catalogue of books and subjects. As it was, you had to actually know what you were looking for. You had to know the right questions to ask. "Well, that's not so bad, I guess."

"No, it's not the worst way to run it, but it could be a lot better. There isn't much simple browsing, like there was in Mr. Falcon's class. You can, of course, pick something up at random, but that's exactly what you're going to get...randomness. That can be fun too, at times."

"Well, I guess I have a lot of work to do, then," he told his friend. "I...I don't even know where to start."

"I'm sure you'll work it out, Duncan. You're smart like that. Would you like to get together for lunch?"

"You bet," he told her and then they hugged once more before she went back to her studies. If he was lucky, Marissa would conjure something interesting for lunch. Not that he didn't love the food his garden provided, he was just excited about having something different.

Duncan whistled down a Fairy and the tiny little man hovered in front of him, his little wings kicking up trails of Fairy dust.

"I don't know where to start," he told the Fairy who looked at him quizzically. "I can think of only one thing for now."

The Fairy buzzed around impatiently. He had other things to do, as well.  
"Okay," Duncan said, "bring me everything you have on Diamond Jim."

He didn't actually leave the library for the first three days. There was simply too much to learn. He watched memory stones for hours, interrupted only by Marissa insisting that he eat. She reminded him of his mother sometimes like that.

The Fairy had brought him at least a hundred memory stones dealing with Diamond Jim. What his parents had said about the man was mostly true, according to the records. He watched images of multiple bombings, mostly around New Chicago, and other acts of destruction attributed to Diamond Jim. Fires ravaged the city after Jim's work, buildings destroyed, and homes lost. A few people were even killed in the bombings, caught off guard by the sudden explosions, their bodies so destroyed that other Magicians couldn't put them back together again. There were the assassinations, the most well known being the Lord Probate of New Boston. Jim always managed to kill the men so they couldn't be resurrected, destroying their bodies completely. There were dozens of robberies, and as Duncan watched these, he wondered how a non-magical human managed to rob a Magician. Much of the memory stones just didn't make any sense. He remembered Timmy Toole throwing the fireball through his window, and how quickly his father's protection spell had worked in getting rid of it. How did a non-magical human do any harm to Magicians?

The same theme, that the evil human man was terrorizing the Magicians, ran through all the memory stones. Jim managed to blow up a building and kill the people inside, yet none of the myriad of protections spells—everything from weather protection to atmospheric control, seemed to stop him. And how had the buildings been "utterly and permanently destroyed" in a world of magic where one man could conjure a building out of thin air? The assassinations were the weirdest. How had one non-magical man managed to destroy a Magician whose powers were limitless to the point that no trace of his body was ever found?

One news-type memory stone surprised him as it discussed a fading of magical powers around New London and blamed Jim for those events. It listed some relatively minor occurrences, along with a few major ones, and even showed a supposed note left by Jim claiming he was going to destroy the source of magic. The narrator couldn't help but laugh, as everyone knew magic worked on an individual basis and there was no source, but it stirred Duncan's thoughts. First off, he was surprised that there was an official recording with someone discussing the fading of magic. People just didn't talk about it. It was like a shadow over the land that people ignored.

The most interesting stones he saw about Diamond Jim were the oldest ones, when he was still known by his given name of Jim Douglas. These memory stones were of Jim's childhood, which was much like Duncan's. He had been born without magic to loving, magical parents. He had, like Duncan, attended Magic School despite his lack of abilities, and just like Duncan, he hadn't finished the school, though he was listed as a graduate. After school he'd began fiddling with machinery and designed a machine that would safely carry him into the Wastes. The machine, described as an "All Terrain Vehicle" or ATV for short, carried air for him to breathe and food stores for him to sustain him as he explored.

The Restorers sanctioned the trip and sent Jim off a hero with a grand party. He'd launch the Restoration, and though he was not of Magic, he was the hope of a new, reborn earth. Duncan avidly watched the memory stone of his send-off, watching as the much younger Diamond Jim entered his vehicle, waving to the crowd, and departed.

He was gone for three years.

He wouldn't speak of what he'd seen when he'd returned, and it became a great scandal in the Restorer community. He became a recluse, hiding from the public and constantly tinkering with his machines. When he finally emerged from his self-induced exile, it was with tales of madness and destruction, claiming that magic was sucking the life out of what was left of the world. After an unexplained explosion in his shop, he was charged with committing acts of science.

"Science?" Duncan said aloud, and the several students around him looked at him in an absolute panic.

"What did you say?" a young man asked angrily. "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry." Duncan said meekly, not understanding how the word could stir such ire. "I misheard something in the stone."

The other students nodded, unsure of their own anger and satisfied with his explanation, and returned to their own studies.

The memory stone went on to show his trial by the Lord Probate and the execution of his sentence, preserved indefinitely in a block of ice until his madness could be cured. Something happened, though, at the sentencing, and Jim disappeared into the Wastes, his career of mayhem and murder starting soon after.

Duncan took the memory stones to the return bin for the Fairies to sort back into their spots and went home, to his garden, his mind full of the implications of what he'd learned in his first few days in the library.

Seven

Duncan felt like a cat trapped by dogs. He could barely contain his energy and his curiosity. He bounced back and forth between the library and his garden. Even as he worked in the garden, merrily tendering to his plants, he thought about everything he'd learned. One thing he knew for certain was that the official library memory stones only painted one half of the picture, the Magician's side. He only knew what the Magicians thought of the world, and in that one-sided recording of history there were huge gaps in what the real picture had to have been.

He walked a tightrope, balancing between his garden, his required workload at the library, and the vast amounts of things to learn. He quickly found that, despite the library supposedly being a thousand years old, the official memory stone record only went back a few hundred years. He quickly discovered the reason. The memory stone magic had only been created a few hundred years ago. He knew there had to be actual written records somewhere, but was at a loss as to how to find them. Marissa wasn't much help in his quest, either.

"I've searched all the floors at least twice, Duncan. There just aren't any books. I don't know what could have happened to them. The Magicians had to keep records of some kind before the memory stones, didn't they?" she told him.

"The only books I know of in the School are in Mr. Falcon's class. I've read all of those," Duncan told her. "There isn't anything that I'm looking for in there."

"What exactly are you looking for, Duncan?"

"That's a hard question to answer," Duncan told her. "I want to know everything."

Marissa nodded and shrugged. "Well, maybe Mr. Falcon knows where the older records are kept. Maybe you should go ask him."

Duncan agreed but sighed. Mr. Falcon was thirteen stories up. After scaling the rope outside the school, something he'd hoped to never have to do again, he found Mr. Falcon in his classroom between classes. The old man was puttering around his collection of books and he seemed genuinely happy to see Duncan. "Duncan Cade. It is a great pleasure to see you again. I trust your studies in the library are going well?"

"Yes, sir, though I have a couple of questions I hope you can answer."

"Well, of course I'll answer questions. That's what a teacher does, is it not?"

"These books...they don't have any like them in the library. Everything there is memory stone. Nothing is actually written down."

"I always knew you had a passion for reading. Sadly, most children do not. Not to mention the adults...I swear that magic has made us lazy, incapable of even caring that we have lost so much knowledge. These precious books..." he said, lovingly caressing the spine of one, "...these are all we have left of the old world. Can you imagine a Magician now bothering to write down his thoughts?"

"No, sir, I can't," Duncan answered. "The Memory Stones are easier."

"They are a bane," Mr. Falcon answered angrily with the whip of his hand in the air. "They make us lazy, recording our memories instead of creating these beautiful, beautiful books. Words meant something, once."

"I've read all of these," Duncan said, "and they don't seem to go back to the beginning."

"No, they don't. Those books..." he paused, uncertain and bit nervous, "...those books are not kept in public. There are things, Duncan, that we are not proud of as a people. These things had to be done, of course, in order to save all life on this planet, but..." he paused again, looking around as if he were afraid someone might be listening to him, "some of those things were very distasteful, to say the least. There is a whole other library, Duncan, under the one you've been spending your time in."

Duncan was amazed, not just at the admittance of the teacher that the Magicians where not always the righteous warriors the official histories made them out to be, but admitting that there were records of the earlier times. He was afraid that they had been lost, or worse, destroyed.

"Are there books from before the Last War?"

"No, not here, and I have spent a lifetime looking for them. After the Last War there was, by all accounts, a great purge of all things human. The remaining cites were leveled and all traces of their lineage was gone. I've read accounts of some of those monuments from very ancient times, Duncan. They are but fleeting memories now, mostly rolling around in the head of one mad old man, but there were once great places, places that gloried in the abilities of man before magic. There were the Pyramids at Giza, the Aztec ruins in Mexico...so much of it was destroyed, and for no better reason than we'd won and we were going to wipe history of the humans. As I said, it was a very sad time in our existence. If there are any books from before the Last War in existence, they will be in the New Atlantis library and will never, ever see the light of day."

"Why is that?"

"The same reason the Restorers will never do anything but attend grand parties and talk about the future. No one wants to admit the past."

"Sir, is it possible for me to access the hidden library here? I don't even have a clue to where it would be. I've been up and down the library floors and in every nook and cranny."

"The entrance is not hidden and is in plain sight, Duncan. The protection enchantment simply keeps out those who do not belong there."

"That's sort of subjective, isn't it? How does the enchantment spell know? And on what basis does it make the decision?" Duncan asked.

"I can't answer that, Duncan. But if you deserve to be in the hidden library, you will be granted access. You would quite enjoy it, I think, knowing your propensity for reading. There are amazing stories there of the birth of our nation, of how the great cities sprang from the ashes of the old. There are tales there of the war and the great machinery that the humans brought against us, only to be defeated. There are stories of heroism and betrayal and destiny." The romantic way Mr. Falcon spoke of the library only made Duncan want to see it more. "Though incomplete, and containing none of the great works of humankind that came before the Last War, it is still my favorite place in the world. These books are from there, Duncan, and though I shouldn't have them, the School allows me to keep these few in my classroom. Upon my death they will be returned."

"I should very much like to see that place." Duncan said. "It sounds wonderful."

"Oh, it is, it is. Now, forgive an old man for rambling. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Do you know Diamond Jim thought there was a source of magic?" Duncan asked.

"And he was bent on destroying it. He was, or is, a madman, Duncan. I've heard that he appeared here, in our great city, recently. I hope that doesn't foretell trouble. No, there is no source of magic, son. He is on a fool's quest. It lives in each and every one of us." He paused, looking shameful. "Well, not all of us. I'm sorry for the slight."

"No harm intended, sir," Duncan said. "But I'm curious. How do we actually know that there is no source of magic? How is that proven?"

"It is not proven, Duncan. We take it as a matter of faith."

"I don't understand."

"I'm afraid faith is one of those subjects that is hard to teach. It's a feeling inside, a knowing. It is the same as knowing the sky is blue or that the grass is green. It's something in your heart."

"So we can't prove that magic comes from within?"

"Nor can we prove that it does not."

Duncan thought about that for a moment. Everything in his life, from the vegetables growing in relation to the sun and watering to the engines running on vegetable juice was measurable. It didn't make sense, but nor did it hinder his current pursuit. It would be just one more thing to ponder.

"Have you ever met him, Mr. Falcon? He seems like quite the character."

"From what I've seen in the news stones, he is that. No, I haven't, but you should ask your father about him. He knows him."

Duncan knew that, but didn't know how he knew him. "How did my father know him?"

"Why, he was one of his arresting officers, all those years ago in New London. He also sat on the trial and sentencing committee. I thought for sure that he would have told you about that. It was right after that that he retired from the Magistrates. Your father is a great hero."

"I didn't even know he was a Magistrate." Duncan said, referring to the small police force that protected the realm of Magic. It was a shocking revelation.

"Oh, indeed, he was a fine Magistrate, at that. He was one of the best who ever served. Now, son, I appreciate a good discussion of history, as you know, but I must prepare for my next class. Was there anything else?"

Duncan gulped. Mr. Falcon had being so open and frank with him that he decided to push just a little more. "Mr. Falcon, do you know anything about science?"

The man's demeanor changed as if he'd been struck with a hammer. "How dare you come in my classroom, under my hospitality, and use that word. Get out of here, right this instant, Duncan Cade, and never return!"

Duncan didn't even get a chance to respond as Mr. Falcon teleported him out of the room.

Eight

It took weeks of searching to finally find the entrance to the secret library. He spent more time in his duties as janitor than he did researching, pushing his broom and looking around just so he could explore and actually look for wherever the mysterious entrance was. Even a conversation with the tunnel's resident rat didn't add any insight. The eighteenth floor of the library, the furthest down from the surface, contained the oldest of the memory stones, but even the oldest only went back a few hundred years. Life then, he knew, had been similar to life now. It just didn't change, and Duncan often wondered how a people who did not grow survived.

There was nothing obviously different about the eighteenth floor. It had the same standard spiral shelf configuration as the other floors, all terminating in the central studying area filled with couches, desks, and chairs. Just as with the above floors, a small arch stood at the center of the room, covered in vine plants. Frustrated, he stood staring at the arch for a long, long time, wondering what their purpose was. Most Magician architecture, from the early times, was purely functional. Why put in stairs when you could teleport from one floor to the next. Why install a window when you could simply look through the walls?

It didn't make sense for the original builders to put a simple arch in the center of the room. But it hadn't made any sense for there to be a kitchen, either. The kitchen, Dr. Felix had said, had been for those youngsters who hadn't yet learned to conjure food, which told Duncan that, at least once, not everyone had the perfect magic they did now. He wondered if the arches might have served some other purpose to those ancient magicians in the new, freshly built school.

He waited one evening until all the students had retired for the evening and he had the eighteenth floor to himself. He then carefully began clearing away the vines that had, over the generations, climbed up and covered the arch. There were numbers lining the right-hand side of the arch on both sides—one through nineteen. He touched the number three, just out of curiosity, and the stone lit up around it, glowing a dull green. The area in the arch began to shimmer, and through it, he could see another floor. He stepped through the portal and found himself on the third floor, in the study area, on the opposite side of the arch there.

"So they couldn't always teleport, either," he said, confirming his theory that the original Magicians' power wasn't as sophisticated as it was now. They couldn't always teleport, and the arches, much like the memory stones, were enchanted in a way that didn't require one's individual magic. They were simply used.

He turned back to the third floor arch and quickly cleared away the vegetation from the right-hand side. That arch didn't have as many numbers and only went to the eighteenth floor. He touched eighteen and stepped through, returning to where he'd started. He then turned back to the arch and punched the number nineteen. The entire arch lit up and glowed dull blue.

"What do you seek?" a voice from nowhere asked him.

"I...seek knowledge," he replied, not knowing how the protection enchantment worked. Falcon had said it simply kept out those who didn't deserve to be there, and he didn't know if he did or not.

"Enter."

He stepped into the shimmering portal and was immediately struck by the smell of mildew and dust. He knew that no one had entered the secret section of the library in a long, long time. He wondered why Falcon hadn't been a recent visitor, but it was a moot point. He was there now, and the thrill of seeing the thousands of books on simple wooden shelves overruled any other emotion.

"Hello, books."

Like the upper stories, he couldn't find any sort of rhyme or reason to the order of the books on the nineteenth floor, but unlike the upper stories, he could walk up and look at what each book was about. There were titles that made no sense to him, like A Study in Early Human Dialects or The French Language as Remembered by Tyrius C. Bloke. He didn't know what the French language was or what early human dialects might be. One title, Human Machinery of the Last War, jumped out at him. He understood those words and picked the book up, sat down by the shelf where he'd pulled it from, and started reading.

The book was filled with two-dimensional pictures of vehicles followed by descriptions of each and a magical method for destroying them. There were Firebird Attack Fighters, air-to-air combat planes capable of small bombing runs. They were best defeated by short electrical bursts to short out their circuitry, whatever that meant. There were Tiger Tanks, ground attack vehicles that were best destroyed by manipulating the ground underneath them, collapsing them into great trenches and burying them alive. Duncan shivered. The terror those men felt in those tanks, buried alive, must have been a lot like being trapped in the Void. There were also pictures of noncombat vehicles, transport airplanes, cargo ships and trucks, and helicopters. He paused and smiled, seeing a picture of the helicopter like Jim's, just in pristine condition. There were also personal transport units called cars, and he actually recognized those vehicles as parts of the city of New Dallas.

"Well," he said aloud, "they used the scraps of the old world to build the new one. That makes sense."

There were dozens of other books that he wanted to read, but the process was so much slower than watching a memory stone and he grudgingly admitted that some magic had its advantages. He picked up a book at random, instead, and began reading from The Log Of Combat Medics, 2133-2145 and opened the book to page 123.

From the Log of Justice Smith

234th Healing Corps

The Third Year of Magic

I don't know why they want me to write this. I think its rubbish, but I'll follow orders to the end. We all will now, won't we? There isn't anything left but our orders and each other.

I was a nobody before Jeremiah Fredrick raised us up. I was born and raised in Old London, and while I was growing up I always knew I didn't quite fit in with the regular people. I was as different from them as night was from day and I went my own way. I became a midwife and nurse. I traveled mostly in the areas around London with the Gypsies and the Carnies, helping them deliver babies and treating their minor ailments when I could. It wasn't a bad life, and I was happy, but I know what those folks they're now calling human thought of us. You could see it in their eye when we passed, or when they brought their kids to our carnivals. Keep away from them dirty people, they'd say, and they meant us. Still, even with those dirty looks and whatnot, I didn't hate the humans. I was a human. Until Jeremiah Fredrick set us free, we were the humans. We were all one people once upon a time, but we've forgotten that now that the war is over.

Don't get me wrong. I know Jeremiah was right and we had to save them from themselves and save the only world we've got, but I just wish it didn't have to be as bloody as it was. I saw a lot more of it than you blokes did, being on the front line and tending to the men like I did, and I can tell you it was pretty bad. Worse than pretty bad, really, but that ain't what they asked me to write about.

They asked me to write about the siege of England. They said it didn't have to be much, but enough so you in the future know what it looked like from my point of view. England, the place of my birth and raising, was one of the last of the human lands to fall, as you already know. They said it might have had something to do with simple geography, 'cause it's a big island. But I don't think that's it, especially since it was so close to our new homeland, New Atlantis. It seems to me like it should have been one of the first places to fall, but it was, of course, the home of Jeremiah Fredrick. He might have been saving it for last. Who knows?

I've never met our savior, but I feel a certain kinship with him. We were both English, after all, before we were Magicians.

The English held out throughout the war and didn't send their ships and planes to the other big battles. It was like King William knew what was going to happen and did everything he could to protect his homeland. It was a sight to see...those damn RAF pilots tanglin' with our dragons in the sky. I have to give them credit. Those boys were the bravest of the brave. I don't mean to slight our own boys, but can you imagine pointing your fighter jet at a flock of dragons? Much less fight them?

The siege of England lasted for six months and we brought to bear every conceivable magic against them that we could, and yet they held out. Their destroyers and submarines went toe to toe with our Krakens, their fighter pilots, like I said earlier, beat our dragons and wyvern to a pulp. Their soldiers beat back our knights, goblins, and Orks at every beach landing. They were beating us at every turn, and to read their newspapers it was like they were whippin' the Nazis all over again.

Can you imagine that? Them comparing us to the Nazis? We were the liberators, not the oppressors, but I guess it depends on what side of the battle you were on to realize that.

You can read about all that fighting stuff from the soldiers. I'm sure some of Jeremiah's generals are writing big, glorious volumes as I write this. I didn't know what I was looking at anyway. I only knew about the wounded and the dead.

You see, back then, in the latter days of the war, which were really the early days of Magic, we didn't yet know our full potential with the power Jeremiah gave us. They said if you had a sense of fighting, you developed fighting skills, or, like me, became a healer, 'cause that's what I'd always done. He told us each of us had our place and our magic was special and unique. So as soon as I had it, I knew I could heal. But everyone could heal, they just didn't know it yet.

Maybe if they had, we wouldn't have lost so many boys when we finally took England.

The wounds I saw were what you'd expect on any battlefield. There were gunshot wounds by the thousands, burns, and chemical exposure. I went in with the first waves up the Thames, into London itself. They shot at us from the rooftops and the windows, and every time they shot one of our boys, I was there to remove the bullet, seal him up, and get him back in the fight. The chemical weapons were the worse. Despite the magic, our bodies are still like the humans, and the gases they spread through the city, after King William knew it was over, affected us just like they did the humans. It took us a long time to figure out how to shield ourselves from it and, when we finally did, it was too late for a lot of the boys.

You see, I could dig a bullet out of one of the boy's leg, no problem. That just took a thought. Sealing up the leg was but another thought. But how did you think away the damage those chemicals did to those boys? How do you think away the utter destruction that happened to every cell in the body? It was possible, later, but then, the magic was all still so new to us.

Justice Smith's story went on, but Duncan closed the book quietly.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Justice," he said, quietly. "I hope you found peace."

He couldn't read anymore, right then, and had to wipe the tears from his eyes. He stood, heading for the teleportation arch out of the room, and, for a second, didn't care if he ever read anything more about the Last War.

Nine

Duncan wandered the streets of New Dallas trying not to think about Justice Smith of the 234th Healing Corps. Instead, he concentrated on the cities unique architecture, comparing the things he saw, things he'd grown up around, to the images he'd seen in the books from the secret library. The street lamps were identical, down to the light bulbs. The rusted poles shot up at awkward angles, and he'd always thought that the builders were trying to be funny, but he noticed they all leaned in the same direction, as if some great blast had knocked them down. There were traffic signals, like in the pictures, but they didn't work as they had then. They flashed green, red, and yellow constantly. The old cars that he'd instantly recognized in the book had been built into the walls of buildings, scooped up along with other debris as if a giant constructor had, instead of cleaning up the mess, simply incorporated the junk into the construction of the new buildings. There were even street signs, identical to the ones he'd seen in the pictures, and he knew that they had been there long before the Magicians had.

The Magicians had simply built their new cities out of the ashes of the old cities.

There were other examples throughout the city. The bridge over the New Dallas River was made from a dozen of the Tiger Battle Tanks. He wondered if they'd been dug up later, after Magicians had buried their crews alive, or had their crews died in some other way? Even the Magic School's walls seemed to be built from hundreds of different styles of brick, as if a thousand buildings had been destroyed and their remains used to build the school. To their credit, he thought, they'd wasted nothing in building their new home.

"Is there a problem, citizen?" a Magistrate asked, stepping out of the shadows.

The Magistrates were selected from the graduates of the Magic School who excelled at offensive and defensive magic. They trained their whole lives to protect the rest of the populace from...Duncan didn't quite know what they protected them from. They'd served a purpose a thousand year ago, when the humans were still a threat, waging a hopeless guerilla war after the Last War, but it seemed like they were no longer needed. There were no human armies lurking, waiting to regain their place in the world. The few crimes they did follow up on could just as easily be solved by regular Magicians. There just wasn't any place for the Magistrates in the new world, yet they still commanded the same fear and respect they had a thousand years earlier.

"No, no problem, officer. I'm just out for a walk."

"I don't like your kind wandering our streets," the Magistrate said simply.

"My kind?"

"The non-Magical, like Diamond Jim. I know that you intend this city harm. I know that there is nothing you do that isn't nefarious in some way. I'm watching you."

He didn't know what to say. "Sir, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"You might not want to destroy something now, but you will. You are just like Diamond Jim, and while the stupid residents of this city might not understand your threat, I do. And if you so much as breathe wrong, I'll be there to stop you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Duncan replied. He didn't know what else to say to the Magistrate.

"Now move along."

He didn't go home despite the Magistrate's warning. He kept wandering through New Dallas, cataloguing the things that were of the old world from before the Last War. None of it was original, and he came to think of the Magicians as leeches, sucking the life from the old world. Yes, he knew that the humans from times past had nearly destroyed their world through war and pollution, but were the Magicians any better? They'd created nothing on their own, built nothing besides New Atlantis. They were sucking the life out of a world that no longer existed.

Outside the park that surrounded the courthouse downtown, he heard a familiar rustling, felt a rush of wind, and became very excited. He'd been waiting so long to hear the sounds of that machine, hoping that Jim would return and he could learn more about him and possibly clear up some of what he thought were at least misconceptions about Diamond Jim. Though he'd only met the man once, he just couldn't believe that Jim was responsible for those acts of terrorism that the Magicians accused him of.

He rushed into the park and the helicopter was indeed there, hovering above the courthouse like an angry dragonfly. He jumped and waved, trying to get the pilot's attention, but to no avail. Jim was obviously there for some other reason and Duncan watched as something lowered from the helicopter on a cable, releasing just above the courthouse roof. No matter, he thought, as he took off in a flat run for the doors of the great granite building. I'll just run up to the roof and he'll have to see me there.

Duncan didn't get a chance to reach the top floor, though, as a great explosion leapt out from the courthouse. The force caught him, flipping him end over end and away from the building. He landed behind the small wall of the park fence and huddled up to it as the burning rock and bits of the building shot out, peppering him and catching his tunic on fire. He screamed but couldn't be heard over the roar of the fires and the wave of heat. He lay there a long time, watching as the helicopter darted up and away, into the night. Stunned as he was, he could only think that Jim had done a lot to clean up the old bird since he'd seen it last. The rust spots were gone and it looked brand new, as if Jim had spent the entire time away from the city cleaning and restoring the machine.

Magicians came out of the surrounding buildings, quickly using their magic to contain the fires. The old courthouse burned brightly, though, lighting up the entire area. People ran up to him and asked if he was all right, but he couldn't hear them. He was deaf from the explosion. Someone cast a quick heal-all spell on him and put out the fires on his clothing. Between the circling Magicians, he could see the Magistrates gathering in the park.

He got to his knees first, and then to his feet.

And then he ran.

Ten

Marissa's house was the only place he could think of to go. The Magistrates, as soon they interviewed one of the people who had helped him, would no doubt be looking for him and maybe even blaming him for Jim's act of terror. After all, he was like Jim. They were both without magic and he didn't think any amount of explaining was going to be able to get him out of their investigation. And as soon as he'd understood that, he'd panicked and run. He couldn't go home, as his father had once been a Magistrate. He felt horrible for not wanting to trust his own father, but he didn't feel as if he had any choice. In an instant, that explosion had turned his life upside down.

Marissa's house didn't float. For New Dallas standards, where the size of your property was really the only way to distinguish your wealth from your neighbors, it was quite large. Their house was one of the largest he'd seen and didn't have the look of having being assembled from a million different houses, cars, or cargo containers. It looked like it had been built with a style in mind, and not just assembled out of what was available. He was pretty sure that it was a genuine house from before the Last War, a structure that had somehow survived the awesome destruction that had swept through Old Dallas.

He'd only been to her house a few times, and never inside. Marissa was eternally embarrassed by the display of wealth she thought her house represented and much preferred meeting Duncan at his house. He didn't know what room she was in, or even how to go about finding her. He hid in the immaculate bushes around the house, watching the windows, hoping that he'd see her.

A Golem rustled by, raking leaves from the lawn, and he became inspired. "Hey there, Golem."

The Golem stopped, waiting for orders.

Duncan stepped up, and with a pen from his pocket, wrote on the inside of the Golem's hand. "Show this to Marissa and Marissa only, okay?"

The Golem, of course, didn't answer, didn't talk, but it did turn around and march into the house. Duncan waited, still in a panic, for an hour before the front door cracked back open and Marissa stood there, her robe clutched around her, staring out into the night. He stood and waved meekly.

"Duncan? What happened? The Magistrates are looking for you."

Duncan silently thanked whatever twist of fate was responsible for him not having magic. If he'd had magic, he was sure he would have teleported right into Marissa's house, where they would have been waiting.

"There was an explosion at the courthouse."

"I know. They said you were there with Diamond Jim. Is it true, Duncan? Are you a terrorist?"

"No," he said honestly. "I saw it, but I didn't have anything to do with it."

She didn't look like she believed him.

"Honestly, Marissa, I didn't do anything. I was just walking by."

"Look at this," she said, showing him a memory stone in her hand. "Activate."

The image sprang to life, showing the park around the courthouse, and, despite the time of night, it was perfectly illuminated. The helicopter was there, hovering above the courthouse, just as Duncan had seen. Even in the memory stone, the helicopter looked brand new. The engine didn't smoke, and, though it was the same model as Jim's, he swore it was a completely different aircraft. He watched as what he assumed was a bomb was lowered down by cable from the helicopter to the roof. He cringed, expecting the explosion, and then his jaw dropped. The memory stone showed him running out of the courthouse and across the park, a maniacal, evil expression on his face.

"Stop," Marissa ordered and he could see the anger in her face as the memory stone's image faded away.

"I swear to you, Marissa, I was not involved in that. We've been friends for how long? I can't believe you'd even think that of me. You know me."

She was silent a moment. "I'm sorry, Duncan, but it's right there in the memory stone. Can I cast a truth spell on you, Duncan?"

"Of course." Duncan had nothing to hide. He knew now that the memory stones could be manipulated by magic, changing their contents to whatever the Magician desired, but they couldn't do anything to his mind.

He stood still and waited as Marissa whispered her incantation, letting the wave of the spell wash over him. He suddenly felt lightheaded and dizzy and she reached out to steady him.

"What is your name?"

"Duncan Cade," he replied and watched as the skin on his arms turned green.

"Tell a lie."

"Your brother, Timmy Toole, is my best friend."

The green on his arm faded and turned red, proving he was lying.

Marissa breathed deeply and then, with some hesitation, asked. "Did you help Diamond Jim in the bombing at the courthouse?"

"No." His arms turned back to green.

She hugged him tightly and dismissed the spell. "I just knew you didn't do anything, but how can a memory stone lie? It would take a magic more powerful than anything I know of, stronger than anything I've even read about in the library. It's just not possible."

"But there it is," Duncan said, agreeing with her sentiment. He'd never heard of the images on a memory stone being manipulated. He wondered how many other stones were, like this one, altered in some way. It almost made the entire lot of them in the library worthless to him.

"Duncan, this is bigger than either one of us. We have to go to the Lord Probate right away. Someone is trying to set you up for this man's crimes. I'll teleport us there..."

Duncan jumped away from her, waving his hands. "No! Don't do that. You said yourself that the power required to change a memory stone would be greater than anything anyone knows. Who else is more powerful than Lord Probate?"

"No," she said, tears forming in her eyes. "That just isn't possible. I know it like my own heart. He could not and would not have done something like this. How could he?"

"I don't know, Marissa, but until we know more, I have to hide. I have to figure this all out."

She shook her head. "We can't really do anything without proof, can we?"

"No," he said softly, happy to hear her saying we. He didn't think he could fight this alone.

"Then you'll have to hide here. The basement is perfect. No one ever goes down there."

"I don't know..." he said, hesitantly. "What if they come looking for me here? Everybody knows we're friends."

"No, the Magistrate has already been here. They even cast a truth spell on me, looking for you. They won't do it again, at least not very soon. You'll be safe here for awhile until we can figure something out."

He suddenly felt very guilty. "Marissa, you could get in a lot of trouble for this."

"You're my friend, Duncan. You'd do it for me."

He smiled and held her hand as she blinked them both into the basement.

The basement was crammed floor to rafters with junk and Duncan immediately felt a kinship. It reminded him of the debris fields outside of town where he'd found most of the components of his various inventions, and where the citizens of New Dallas found the materials to expand their homes. He instantly felt at home among the stacked boxes and crates, the stacks of books and magazines, and the discarded furniture. His mind raced with thoughts of what he could build from the junk.

"Where did all this stuff come from?" He asked, picking up a leather-bound book and reading the title, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

"This junk? I don't know. I guess generations of the Tooles have been storing stuff down here. This house has been in the family since the War. I came down here a couple times when I was a kid, but the place gives me the creeps. No one from the family ever comes down here. I think the door is even sealed up top, and painted over. I accidentally teleported down here the first time. I was scared to death...I didn't have any idea where I was."

"I can imagine," he said, opening the book to the first page. It felt very old and smelled like the secret library, only stronger.

Marissa conjured a couple of boxes of food and drink and then hugged him once more. "I've got to go upstairs or my family will think I've gone missing and might suspect something. We'll get through this, Duncan."

"I know we will," he lied. "It's going to be fine."

"I'll see you later, then, okay?" she said just before blinking out.

Duncan only knew the passage of time by the increase in his own stench from not taking a bath in days. But he barely noticed it because he was so absorbed in the treasure trove of books form Marissa's basement. Many were magical, dating from the time after the war, and he'd seen copies of a few of them in the secret library. They were uninteresting, dealing with the basics of magic and the properties of magic life on the continent of New Atlantis. He assumed they'd been created because the Memory Stones hadn't yet been invented. He quickly moved them out of the way and instead dug out the real treasures.

He had no doubt the glossy magazine in his hand called Time was from before the Last War. There were images of people flying in helicopters and delivering food aid in some country called Mexico after a great storm named Brenda. Duncan had never seen a storm large enough to name. The weather around the cities was controlled and always perfect. There was a story about a man running for an office called President, which Duncan guessed was very important. There were advertisements for everything from watches to cologne, happy, beautiful people in each. There was another story about a sports team winning some tournament, and another section with letters from people commenting on stories in previous editions of the magazine. The story about the rain forest being destroyed by pollution was scary and confirmed at least a part of the official history of the world.

And there was not one mention of magic anywhere in it. It was as if magic just did not exist.

The books were mostly fiction and he didn't understand what they described. He had no context for space ships or aliens. There were fiction books about magic, though, and he briefly read from a tale of little people traveling through a place called Middle Earth to destroy an evil ring. Even that didn't fit with what he knew of the magical world. It just didn't make any sense at all.

The magazines were much more interesting, but there were just a few of them. He read them and then read them again, hungry for more. He was about to read them for a third time when Marissa blinked back into the room.

"They're going to arrest your parents," she said.

"No hello, how are you?" he asked nervously.

"Duncan, there isn't time. They're going to lock your family up. They're saying they've helped you escape."

Duncan steeled himself. "Well, I guess you better teleport me there, then, huh? But Marissa...don't come with me."

Eleven

Duncan blinked into existence in his parent's sitting room. He was at first relieved that he was alone but then scared when he saw the three red-armored Magistrates in the room with him. The men were bigger than regular men, and he knew they used intense body modification spells to make them appear larger. They wanted to seem intimidating and they did a good job of it. The three looked at him with only mild surprise, and their commander stepped forward, immediately taking his hands and locking them in a set of fire cuffs that would burn if he struggled.

His mother rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Duncan. I was so worried about you. They've accused you of the vilest things. They said you worked with Diamond Jim to blow up the courthouse. People died."

"I didn't do it," he said flatly, but was sure they'd all seen the same memory stone. "If they'll cast a truth spell on me, they'll see my innocence."

"Memory stones cannot be altered, citizen, so you're obviously lying. Despite your dishonesty, you will get a fair and complete trial before your sentencing," the commander of the trio said.

"You know better than that, Captain," his father said, coming to his side and looking in his eyes. Duncan saw genuine worry there. "You don't get to convict him here, with memory stones. There has to be an actual trial."

"I said he'd have a fair trial, which is more than his kind deserves. And once he is convicted, I will be happy to carry out the sentencing." The commander of the Magistrates seemed almost ecstatic at the idea of carrying out whatever sentence he envisioned Duncan having.

"You also said he'd be sentenced, which is assuming he'll be found guilty," his father replied. "That is not how the law operates."

"I have the fullest faith in our justice system, Mr. Cade," the commander said. "As should you, considering you were once one of us. Need I remind you of your own history?"

"You don't have to remind me of anything," Albert Cade spat as if the memory of serving as a Magistrate was the most distasteful thing he could think of. "We can end this here and now. Cast a truth spell on the boy, or allow us."

"No, sir," the big man replied. "Truth spells can be altered. He might very well be under the guise of some enchantment right now. No, the Lord Probate will sort this out. He will be tried in front of the Lord Probate with physical evidence and the accounts of the witnesses, along with the memory stones."

"What are the charges?" Duncan asked. "Don't I have the right to know what the charges are?"

"You are a non-magical creature, and so, no, you do not have rights according to our constitution, but for the benefit of your father, an honored veteran of the Magistrate, I will tell you. You are being charged with one count of wanton destruction of public property, two counts of murder for the two men killed in the bombing, as well as fifty-seven counts of violating the pact against Science for the objects in your shop."

His parents visibly cringed at the word science and he was sure his father was about to lash out. He held his temper and said, "How dare you speak that word in my house? How dare you accuse my son of that vile practice?"

Duncan still had no idea what the word science meant and wasn't sure why he was being accused of fifty-seven counts of it. There were very few mentions of the word in the books he'd read in the Secret Library, and even when it was mentioned, it wasn't in any great detail.

"I don't know what that word even means," he complained. "How can I have done it?"

"You will have to explain it to the Lord Probate," the Magistrate commander told them and then teleported them out of the room.

#

The Lord Probate's office reminded him of Mr. Felix's classroom. It was packed wall to wall with books and other artifacts. He hazarded a glance at some of the books and tried to hide his surprise. Many of them were pre-War books, written by non-magical humans. There were also framed pictures of important looking people, though none of them dressed in anything resembling the brightly colored Magician attire. There were many unfamiliar objects on the Lord Probate's desk, including a globe of the earth with the location of New Atlantis drawn in with a marker, what he knew, though just vaguely, was a computer, along with another mysterious ancient object he knew was a television. As with most Magician buildings, there was no door and no windows, so he didn't have any idea where the office was, physically. He'd always assumed it was in the courthouse, because that's what made sense, but that was gone now.

"Duncan Cade," the man said simply. "I cannot say that it is a pleasure to see you."

The Lord Probate was a large man, built much like the Magistrates, and Duncan couldn't help but wonder if he too took the imposing look to seem intimidating to those around him. He had short, dark hair that sat above a hooked nose and eyebrows that came dangerously close to touching in the middle. His forehead wrinkled as he talked and his beady eyes gave him a look of constant annoyance.

"I'm sorry, sir, for any trouble that I may have caused."

"I somehow doubt that," he said, looking up from an object on his cluttered desk. It was Duncan's vegetable-powered glider. "You stand accused of some very serious crimes, young man. Do you understand the extent of those charges?"

"I understand the destruction charge, Lord Probate, and the murder charges that stem from it. I understand them, but I'm not guilty of them." He shook so much, afraid and nervous, that he was sure that the Lord Probate and the Magistrates would notice. And then they'd say that was evidence of his guilt. The non-guilty had nothing to fear, so why did he? "I do not understand the, ah, the other charges, sir."

"The charge of practicing science? "

"Yes, sir," he agreed, and waited for the backlash as the word was mentioned in public. He even cringed, thinking the Magistrates might strike out at the mere mention of the word. Why the Magicians reacted so rashly to a word that none of them understood was beyond him.

"We are not under the public enchantment, Mr. Cade," the Lord Probate said, apparently reading his mind. "How would we be able to enforce the statues that protect our society from science if we could not mention the word?"

That was news to him. He didn't realize that everyone he'd mentioned the word to had reacted the way they had, angrily and irrationally, because of an enchantment. He'd always thought they just knew something about it that he didn't.

"No, the public enchantment doesn't cover the Magistrate of my office. We know what science is and understand its dangers. I would have thought that you, after all your time in the library beneath the library, would now understand that danger as well."

Duncan didn't say anything in return, unsure if his presence in the library had been a breach of some other rule.

"Your time in the library was approved by me, Mr. Cade, and I've followed your reading interests. You want to know about the world before ours, do you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"In that case it seems like you would have understood the danger of science."

"I may have not read the right books, sir. I apologize."

"Science," the Lord Probate began, "is a vile thing. You may consider it anti-magic. Where there is science there can be no magic, and where there is magic, there can be no science. That is why your devices," he rubbed the glider, "never quite worked the way that they should. You see, Mr. Cade, science is what powered the old world. They built their little engines like this, and their weapons. They built their factories and their cities, and they thought they understood the natural state of the world around them."

Duncan thought the man wrong, but didn't say anything. His devices worked just fine within the confines of what they were built with and what they were powered by. He wasn't in a position to argue, though, and didn't tell say anything about Jim's helicopter and bomb working just fine.

"Do you deny that the things you have built greatly resemble the objects in the books you have read? Do you deny that their functions are similar?"

"No, sir." He knew there was no denying it. He'd built things that flew without magic, and things that plowed his garden. His inventions did look like what he'd seen, and he often wondered, after reading those books, if he had some sort of inherited memory from those who came before him. Jim had done and built similar things in his life. Did science flow through their veins like magic flowed through the Magicians?

"Of course you don't deny it. There is no denying. I fear you are infected with science, just as your associate Jim was. Do you realize that with that most vile practice they managed to nearly bring this world to the brink of utter destruction? Even after we showed them the error of their ways, demonstrated how we could live in unison with nature and magic, they fought us. They would not give up their weapons or their science. They made entire swaths of the planet uninhabitable during the Last War with their nuclear weapons, raining fire and ash down for thousands of miles. Some of those fires still burn today. I've seen them myself. Can you imagine that, Duncan? A fire that burns a thousand years?"

"They were defending themselves," he blurted out. Every account he'd read of the Last War read like the Magicians were a conquering army. Even they admitted it. Mr. Falcon, though he'd had nothing to do with the war, even regretted it.

"Of course they were. They were defending the only way of life that they knew, but that life was destroying this world. They were sucking the very blood from this planet, pumping it up from the depths to fuel their infernal machines. The earth bled black in those days and the skies were just as dark."

"But that didn't give you the right to push them into extinction."

"They are not extinct. You and Diamond Jim are perfect examples. But we have tried, Duncan. Oh, how we've tried."

"I don't know, Lord Probate, that I'm qualified to be arguing these matters with you." Duncan became more and more nervous by the minute.

"No, you are not, but I want to stress to you the serious nature of your crimes. We have, since you've begun tinkering with everything you can get your hands on, observed you. The nature of the objects you have designed were once simple and non-threatening. We also knew that they would never work here, in the realm of magic. At least, they wouldn't work well enough to pose any problem to us. But when you began to collude with Diamond Jim..."

"I have not colluded with Diamond Jim, Lord Probate."

"Do you deny that he came to see you at your garden?"

"No, sir. I do not deny it. But I didn't invite him, and I didn't talk to him much. My father ran him off with fireballs."

"And you should thank your father for that. He is a hero of the Magistrate, after all. But you continued to communicate with him, though we are not yet sure of your method. The two of you planned to bomb the courthouse, and then executed said plan."

"Sir, is this my trial?"

"No, Duncan Cade, your trial will be very public. We need to remind the realm of Magic just how dangerous your kind are and what a threat to us Science is. You will be appointed a lawyer, of course, to help in your defense. We are not heartless. But you will be convicted. The evidence is overwhelming and I cannot see a jury composed of Magicians not convicting you."

Duncan gulped. "And what will happen to me in the meantime, sir?"

"Absolutely nothing. You will, of course, agree not to attempt to hide again, and you will not leave the city. Other than that, you are free to do as you will. We would prefer, not just for your own safety, but the safety of New Dallas, that you remain at your parents' home."

Duncan was only slightly relieved. He knew his trial would come and he would surely be convicted. His only saving grace was that they hadn't asked him who had teleported him back to his parents' house. He might suffer for crimes he did not commit, but he would do everything in his power to make sure that Marissa didn't suffer for helping him.

The Lord Probate dismissed him with a wave of his hand and teleported him away.

Twelve

The Lord Probate teleported him to the furthest point away from his house and Duncan found himself in the north side debris field. He wasn't scared of the place and understood that their choice of teleport location was, more than anything else, meant to annoy him. It didn't, though, and he was comforted by the massive junk field he'd spent so much of his time exploring. He looked at it with a new light now, though, seeing the remains of many of the objects he'd seen in the books and magazines. There were car hulks by the hundreds, along with transport trucks and tankers. There were stacks of streetlights that looked like toothpicks snapped up by a giant and discarded. There were planes, trains, and stacks of the still mysterious computers. The cracked glass of the monitors glared at him.

From the debris field he could see the outline of the city, its lights shimmering like the stars in the night sky. The skyline didn't resemble at all the skyline pictures he'd seen of Old Dallas. The two cities looked nothing like each other, but he knew that New Dallas was built on the spot of the old city. It was as if they'd destroyed the first city, used what materials they needed to build the new one, and then discarded the rest here, in the debris fields. He figured the fields might also have served as a physical barrier against invading human armies, as if they were worried about that after the Last War. As far as he knew, there were two non-magical humans on the planet and that was it. Just like the Magistrates, the defensive value of the debris field had long since outlived its usefulness.

He wasn't even sure if the question of who actually destroyed the city mattered. Whoever had done it had killed innocent people in the process, on both sides of the battle. They were both reprehensible, as far as he was concerned.

Duncan wandered back through the field into the city proper as the sun began to rise. The only people in the streets were Golems, busy sweeping and cleaning. He thought it very sad that the Magicians had forced men and women, who, he imagined were like him, without magic, into servitude. Were the Golems like him and Jim? If they were, where did they come from? He could think of no worse fate than to serve at the whim of the Magicians, forever locked in that cold, black Void. He was, however, thankful that the city streets were empty of Magicians, as he didn't know if he could look into their eyes now. He knew what they'd be thinking as he passed, knew they'd all seen the memory stones and think him a criminal.

He stood in front of the shattered courthouse as the sun came up and looked out over the destruction. The entire building was flattened, its debris strewn everywhere and yet to be cleaned up either by magic or by the Golems. Duncan couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't just put it back together. It wouldn't be much of a spell for a powerful Magician. Instead, it stood like an open sore in the middle of the city for all to see. He felt a bit guilty about it. Though he'd had nothing to do with the destruction, his kind had. He was guilty by association.

Finally making his way home, he found his father sitting among wilted plants in his garden. Without water or constant care, the plants had begun to brown and fade. His father looked very sad sitting cross-legged among them, and he could tell the man had been crying. Duncan sat next to him and the two were silent for a long while, neither looking at each other nor speaking. When they finally did speak, it was like a mirror breaking.

"I'm sorry you've gone through all this, Duncan."

"It's not your fault."

"No...it is my fault. It's all my fault. I should never have listened to him, all those years ago."

"What do you mean? Who is him?"

"It doesn't matter now, Duncan. Jim has gone too far and implicated you in all this mess. It isn't fair to your mother. It isn't fair to our family."

Duncan wanted to tell him it wasn't fair to him, but didn't. He wasn't sure what all this was about and wasn't sure why his father felt guilty about the entire thing. "You were a Magistrate, weren't you, Father?"

"I was, Duncan, for decades. It was something that I actually enjoyed, then. We weren't like they are now. We weren't just thugs who cast magic and made themselves bigger just to intimidate the smaller. We were the protectors of the realm, though the only threat to the realm in nine-hundred years was Diamond Jim. Still, we stood ready for the day the humans would return to this world and exact their revenge. It was a glorious job, then, Duncan."

"Are the humans going to return?" Duncan asked.

"They say that there are more of them out there in the stars, that some managed to leave this planet just before the Last War. My Lord Probate knew nothing of it, though, and wrote it off to superstitious rubbish. I trusted that man with my life. He would not lie to me if he actually knew anything about that. In the Wastes...yes, there are survivors. There have always been survivors."

Duncan's heart raced. "There are more people like me out there?"

"They aren't like you, Duncan. They are little better than animals. They live in the ground and eat each other to get by. They aren't civilized, Duncan, and that's what Jim would have you go to. He'd take you away from here, where you are safe, and put you into that hellhole."

Duncan didn't know what to say. His father stated that there were more people like him matter-of-factly, as if it was something they'd always known despite the fact that Duncan had always assumed he was the only one. He wanted to scream and cry at the same time but he did his best to regain his composure.

"Your Lord was not this Lord?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No, of course not. My Lord Probate was already two hundred years old during my tenure, which is about the end of the line for keeping a man alive as far as magic is concerned. He died and this Lord Probate, Toole, took his place."

"Wait...Toole? Is he related to Marissa?

"He is her father, Duncan. How can you have spent your entire life with the girl and not known who her father was?"

"I...I don't know. I really don't." Marissa was the Lord Probate's daughter? How could that be and how could she never have told him that?

"I thought you knew from all the help she'd given you since that first day in school. It was her, Duncan, that convinced the authorities to allow you to stay in school and, much later, convinced them to allow you to graduate after the debacle with Dr. Felix. She's probably also the one who convinced the Lord Probate to allow you to roam freely while waiting for your trial."

"That's why he didn't ask who teleported me home," Duncan said. "He already knew. He has to know about the truth spell she cast, then."

"I'm sure he does, not that it matters."

"How can I being innocent not matter?"

"I think it's gone beyond that now. I think he means to make an example of you to scare everyone else into submission. You see, that was the problem with the Magistrates in my time. We knew there wasn't a threat to justify their existence. There was no reason to maintain their authority over the world, no reason even to have a Lord Probate. Why do we need a ruler, Duncan? What can a government do for us that we can't do ourselves? We want of nothing, are not in any sort of danger from external threats. The Magistrates were maintained for a thousand years for a threat that never materialized. The Lords and the Magistrate are losing their grip on the citizens and becoming irrelevant."

"You...you know this for a fact? You could tell someone."

"It's the reason I left the Magistrate. It's the reason I helped Diamond Jim escape the day of his sentencing. It's the reason that I will also help you escape, when the time comes. They tried this once and I knew they'd try it again. I just didn't know they'd use my son to do it."

Duncan sat back in silent shock. His father had helped the madman? It also sounded like he believed Diamond Jim was innocent. What else would there be to turn his world upside down today?

Thirteen

Duncan, over the next following days, became restless cooped up in his garden and in the now bare shed. The Magistrate had taken everything from the small building except his bed. They'd even dumped the icebox out onto the floor and he'd nearly gagged on the smell of rotting fruits and vegetables. The garden was still brown and wilting, despite his watering and repeated attempts to tell the plants it was all going to be all right. It was as if the plants sensed something was going on in his life and that they quite likely wouldn't be needed anymore. Assuming he was found guilty, he wondered if the Magistrate would lock him up for eternity in an isolation enchantment and if anyone would take care of his garden.

The chickens were the most upset.

"What do you mean you might not come back?" Henrietta balked. "What are we supposed to do if you don't?  
"I'm sure my parents will take care of you. I'll ask them to make sure."

"Your parents will eat us!" Henrietta squawked and the other hens joined in. The clucking got so loud Duncan had to leave. He understood their fear of the future. He shared it.

Unable to coax his plants to life, calm the chickens, or speak further with his parents, who'd avoided him since he and his father's conversation, Duncan headed for the only peaceful place he knew. At least in the library he'd be able to take his mind off everything that was going on, though he knew spending a lot of time reading in the secret library would only taunt him. He wasn't ever going to solve the mystery of where magic began if he were imprisoned for life. He'd never discover more about the people that came before or know all the secrets of their downfall.

Everyone he passed in the streets either looked away from him or whispered to each other as he passed. They weren't quiet enough, though, and he could hear some of what they were saying about him. The word terrorist and bomber were common enough, and one woman even scooped up her toddler and instantly teleported away on seeing him. He felt like even more of an outcast than he had his whole life. People had always looked down on him for his magic, but now they thought he was a criminal too. He could see it in their eyes.

The school was no better. Students on the first floor openly mocked him, pointing at him and jeering. He kept his head down and headed for the entrance to the library in the ancient kitchen. He climbed down the stairs but the usual joy he felt at entering the library was gone. He was simply going to entrench himself in the books so he didn't have to face the stares and taunts of the citizens of New Dallas. He was running away from his problems, he knew, but he didn't know what else to do. It was a long climb down to the eighteenth floor, and when he finally stepped out and went to the arch, he found the inscriptions covered with a glass seal. He tried touching the button for the nineteenth floor, but as he expected, nothing happened.

"Oh, Duncan," he heard Marissa say from behind him. "I'm so sorry. They've locked you out of the secret library."

The anger at being denied access to his favorite place was overruled at the anger he felt towards his lifelong friend. "Why didn't you tell me about your father?"

Marissa stared at her feet. She knew what he was talking about. There just wasn't any doubt. She'd lied to him by omission his entire life.

"At first I just didn't think about it. We were kids. Who cared who our parents were? But as we grew up, I knew that my dad was the only reason that you got to stay in school, and I wanted you to stay here, with me. I...didn't think you'd like me any more if you knew my father was the Lord Probate."

"You've been helping me all these years," he said, the accumulated anger since he'd found out fading away as he thought about what his friend had done for him. "I should be thanking you."

"I did it because you were my friend, Duncan. You'd have done the same for me."

Duncan tried imagining a world in which he had magic and Marissa didn't, and couldn't. "I'm sorry I was angry."

"It's okay...but," she paused, "my father says I should stay away from you now. He says..." she was obviously sad at what she had to say, "...he says that being associated with you will taint our family's image. I tried to tell him about the truth spell, but he refused to listen. I don't know what's come over him. He's never been like this."

Duncan didn't want to tell her what his father had said, what he thought the Lord Probate's plan was. He didn't want her any more worried than she already was. "The bombing was pretty bad. I can understand why he's on edge. Even if I didn't do it, someone did, so there's a problem he has to deal with and taking it out on me is the easiest way, at this point."

"But I don't understand why he'd say no to another truth enchantment," Marissa countered. "It would prove you innocent."

"I don't know, either," he said, feeling as helpless as she did, "but I think it will be all right. " He was lying, of course. He didn't think anything would be all right.

"No Duncan, it isn't going to be all right. They've already had the trial. The Lord Probate, my father, met with the Magistrate. They are going to announce it tonight. It's not going to get better. They are going to come looking for you, and then they're going to put you into suspended animation forever. You...you have to run."

"You're sure."

She shook her head sadly and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I..." What did you say to a friend whom, one way or another, you'd never see again?

"There isn't anything to say. Just run."

And run is just what he did.

Fourteen

It had never actually occurred to Duncan to run before Marissa had so urgently told him to do so. He'd imagined a public trial where he simply had to submit to another truth spell and then he'd be freed, his and his family's name cleared. He began to have his doubts after what his father had said about the history of the Lord Probates, but even then, he'd resigned himself to his fate. What else could he, a non-magical person, do but accept his fate? But Marissa telling him to run had spurred something in him. He couldn't, of course, stay in the city. He'd be found quickly, even if he hid in the debris fields around town. They could find him anytime they wanted with simple magic.

Unless he wasn't in the town.

He didn't have the equipment that Diamond Jim had when he'd made his first historic trip into the Wastes. He didn't have an All Terrain Vehicle or even food and water to take. He didn't actually have anything besides the clothes on his back.

But he was Duncan Cade, and he was proud of his ability to survive.

"I can do this," he whispered to himself as he stepped into the ladder tunnel, ready to make his way up and out of the school.

As he did, he saw three Magistrates blink into the room and surround Marissa. He cringed, wanting to go to her aid, but knowing he'd be caught. They questioned her for a few moments, his heart racing the whole time, and then blinked out of the room. She looked at him and managed a small smile. He nodded and headed up the ladder.

Fortunately, the first floor was filled with mostly first-year students who either didn't recognize him or didn't know he was wanted. He slipped quietly out of the school and into the streets as the sun began to fade. He wanted to go home and, at least, say goodbye to his parents, but he knew that if he did he would be caught. He turned and headed for the nearest border debris field instead. He kept his head down and tried not to look like he was running.

The Lord Probate's image appeared at every street corner, on top of every building, and on every sign. An announcement on this grand a scale was unusual, so people stopped what they were doing and watched as his image came to life.

"Friends and neighbors, today is a grave day," the Lord Probate began. "As you know, our fair city was recently the target of a terrorist attack perpetrated by those who, as in the Last War, would strip this world of magic and all the good it has done. These vile criminals seek to kill us and our children and threaten our very existence. This man," the Lord Probate said as an image of Duncan appeared next to him, "is wanted in connection with those attacks. He has been convicted of terrorism and murder along with wanton destruction of public property. He is armed and very dangerous, and if you should see him, please summon a Magistrate immediately. Please keep off the streets and out of harm's way, my fellow citizens, until we can clear the city of this menace. Be with your families and pray for the ones that we've lost. Good evening and stay safe."

Duncan cringed, thinking the Lord Probate splashing his image all over town would lead to his quick arrest, but it was quite the opposite. The citizens took his warning seriously and went indoors, leaving the streets empty. He made quick time to the debris field, then to the edge, where the shimmering shield was—and as far as he'd ever gone.

He stood there for a long time, looking at the shield and wondering how he'd get through it. As he hesitantly touched it, his hand passed through. It was cold on the other side and he quickly withdrew his hand.

"Okay, so it's cold in the wastes," he whispered. "I can stand a little cold."

He pushed his head through the shield and grimaced as the wind swept his face, chilling him instantly. Duncan was looking down the edge of the city hundreds of feet below. He'd had no idea the city was floating, like his parent's house and the hundreds of homes above, and gasped as the wind took his breath away. It must have taken insane amounts of magic to keep the entire city hovering like that, he thought. There were long pipes running from the city to the ground that shimmered a dull blue. They also caused a constant vibration outside the field, like they pulsed with some great energy. He thought he could shimmy down one, through the bitter cold, to the ground. It wouldn't be all that different from the brass pole at his parent's house, though the distance was much, much greater.

"Halt!" he heard someone scream from inside the shield and pulled his head back in, staring at a pair of Magistrates. One's hand was already forming a fireball.

"Wait," he pleaded. He couldn't go back and he was scared to go down.

The Magistrate flung the fireball and Duncan hurled himself sideways, narrowly avoiding the streaking sphere of fire. He slipped and tumbled, rolling out of the shield and only barely catching the edge. His feet dangling below him, he screamed for help, but there was only the wind.

The Magistrate leaned through the shield and looked down at him, smiling.

"Goodbye, Golem." He raised his foot, meaning to stomp on Duncan's fingers to make him let go so he could plummet to the ground below. But just before his foot touched Duncan's hands, the boy was blinked away, teleported and saved by an unknown comrade.

#

Duncan found himself shivering in the cold and staring up at the city floating hundreds of feet in the air above. It took him a few minutes to realize that he was away from the city and that someone had teleported him down to the rocky terrain between the hundreds of pipes that ran up into the city. From where he stood, he could see one large pipe, larger around than an ancient car, stretching out from the city to the east. It glowed blue so brightly that it lit up the night, casting a dull haze that covered everything. Temporarily awed by the piping, he forgot to wonder who had transported him to safety.

"Are you okay, Duncan?"

His father stood a few feet away, a heavy coat, backpack, and water container in his hands. Duncan rushed to him and hugged him tightly.

"I didn't know they were going to go forward with the trial so soon, son. I'm sorry. I just didn't know. I wish I could have had more time to prepare."

He hugged his father, his hero, fiercely. There was so much more he wanted to ask the man, so much more he wanted to hear. But he knew there wasn't time for it now, if there ever would be. "I have to go, don't I?"

His father nodded, hugging him tightly. "Yes. It isn't safe for you in the city anymore. They're looking to put you into suspended animation. I've talked to people who have come out of it, Duncan. It will be like what you described when you were a Golem, only permanently. You would be tortured for eternity. I can't stand to see that happen to you, son."

"I don't know what to do, Father. Where will I go?"

"Start walking east, towards the rising sun. Always east, and he'll find you. He's coming, but we thought we had more time before the trial."

"Diamond Jim."

"Yes."

"Dad, I saw him blow up the courthouse. He's...he's the real terrorist."

"You think you saw him do it, I know, but were there not any inconsistencies with what you saw and what you know?"

Duncan thought about it. "The helicopter," he said, shocked. "It wasn't the same, was it?"

"No. Everything isn't always as it seems, Duncan. There isn't time, now, to explain everything to you. The Magistrate will be searching here before long, but if you get just a few miles away from New Dallas, you'll be safe. Take this," he ordered, wrapping the coat around him and helping him on with the backpack. "There's enough food and water in here to sustain you until Jim finds you. It's food from your garden, and it's starting to go bad, but I think it will be fine for a few days. I can't conjure you food because it would just disappear in a few miles."

"Dad, I don't understand any of this. I...I'll come back one day."

"I know you will, son, I know you will."

"And what about Mom?"

"I'll tell her, Duncan. I'll tell her you were innocent."

It broke his heart to know that his mother didn't think that he was already innocent, but it was just one more thing that he couldn't do anything about. They could hear the two Magistrates blinking into existence not far away, screaming for him to stop. His dad pushed him towards the east. "Go. Duncan. I'll distract them."

"I love you," Duncan said, heading east and into a new and unknown land.

Fifteen

Duncan raced away from his father and didn't look back. Years of climbing rope ladders and poles into his home and school had built powerful muscles throughout his body. He was physically stronger than the Magistrates who chased him, and he could tell, the further they got from the glowing blue pipes, that the men were tiring. The distance between them grew and the fireballs the Magistrates threw became weaker and smaller. His father was absolutely right. The magic faded the further you got from New Dallas. There was one more tiny fireball, nothing more than the size of a golf ball, and then the trail behind him was quiet.

He finally stopped and caught his breath. The rush of excitement and fear, both from him almost falling hundreds of feet and then the subsequent chase, was finally catching up with him, leaving him exhausted. As he sipped water from the container his father had provided he took a moment to notice his surroundings. He was surrounded on all sides by burned and destroyed houses that, judging by their condition, had to have been from before the Last War. The houses looked similar in design and structure to Marissa's home, unlike the hobbled together collections that were most Magician homes. The moon's light cast eerie shadows about the old houses and he could imagine some sort of monsters, maybe even the cannibalistic humans his father had mentioned, lurking in the dark and waiting to spring out at him.

Suddenly more afraid than he could ever remember, even as a Golem, he sat in the middle of the cracked and broken ancient street and pulled the coat around him, shivering in the cold. He was truly alone now. Though he'd never been a part of their world, he was away from everything he'd ever known. He'd lost his parents and his family, his best friend, his garden...he'd left his entire world behind him, running away like a criminal in the night. He almost thought it would have been better to accept the sentence.

He sat shivering in the street until the sun came up.

#

Some of his fear abated with the rising of the sun in the east. The feel of it on his skin was so different than under the shield that protected New Dallas. He looked back the way he'd come and stared at the city floating atop the myriad of pipes that glowed blue. He couldn't see through the massive shield that sat atop the city like a bubble and wondered what all the floating buildings would look like from where he was.

The buildings still looked forbidding, but they were no longer dark and mysterious. There was a pattern to the destruction of the homes, as if a great wave of flame had leapt out from the center of town, just beneath where New Dallas hovered, and destroyed everything in its path. Many of the buildings leaned in the same direction, and the steel light poles and traffic signals, long rusted to the point that they were barely identifiable, had all been broken in the same direction. He went to one of the houses, through the space where the front door had been, and looked around. Any contents that might have survived the great fire and force that had wrecked the place were long gone. There was nothing but ash and rock.

Despite the sun rising, it was still extremely cold and he missed the warmth of the climate-controlled New Dallas. Magicians kept the weather in the city constant, and he couldn't remember ever being so cold. The next house offered nothing but the long dead remains of a world he'd never know. With nothing more to see, he started walking east, as his father had instructed, towards the rising sun.

The residential area of destroyed Old Dallas gave way to something different, something he'd only gleaned from reading the old books. There were the remains of massive buildings, many times larger than any house, dotted with the skeletal remains of old vehicles that he knew were called trucks. He knew that the vehicles had been used to move goods from one place to another, so he figured the old buildings, masses of twisted and rusted girders, must have been used to store the things the trucks transported. He decided to explore one and, much like the homes he'd seen, the remains of what they contained were long gone, a victim of a thousand years of rain, wind, snow, and sun.

He spun around suddenly, hearing a growl behind him. There was a small dog there, coming up not quite to his knee. It was horribly thin, its ribs sticking out of its black and white fur. It had a hungry look about it, unlike the dogs of New Dallas.

"Hello, Sir Dog," he said, using the standard greeting the dogs of the city insisted on. "I hope that I've not trespassed on your territory, and if I have, I apologize. Please send your Queen my greetings."

He waited for the dog to answer, and when it didn't, he laughed. The dogs here, in the Wastes, were not magical and couldn't talk. That left him wondering how anyone, in the old world, communicated with animals. He took a few tentative steps forward and the scraggly dog retreated an equal number of steps.

"I don't know how to talk to you, Sir Dog," he said, "but I don't mean you any harm. You're actually the first living thing I've seen since leaving home."

He kneeled and held his hand out, palms up. "I really don't want to hurt you or anything."

He wondered if the dog had ever seen a person before this far from New Dallas. Did the dog even know what he was? It took a few tentative steps forward, sniffing at the outstretched hand. Its teeth were still bared, though, and Duncan kept very, very still.

"It's all right, Sir Dog. I won't bite."

The dog finally sniffed at his hand and then whimpered, allowing Duncan to rub his head. The dog drew closer, apparently deciding with one sniff that Duncan meant no harm, and pushed into him, warming himself.

"See, that's not so bad. The first creature I meet in the Wastes and we're already fast friends."

Duncan, still slowly so as not to spook the animal, sat down cross-legged and slid the backpack off his back. He hadn't looked at what his father had packed yet and was pleased to see several ears of corn, a couple cucumbers, a few tomatoes on the verge of going bad, and a bag of rice. There was also another water bottle and a clean change of underwear. He took out the tomato, bit a chunk out, and then offered the rest to the dog.

"You haven't seen people, I'm sure. Have you seen a tomato?"

The little dog sniffed at the tomato and then gobbled it up in one quick bite. The two would be friends from that day forward.

"What do I call you? We call all the dogs at home Sir Dog, even if they're female. It's a silly thing, I know, but they insist on it. So...Sir Dog, then? We'll just keep it simple like that." He said, taking the dog's paw to shake. The dog looked at him like he was stupid. "Okay, we'll work on that."

The fur on the dog's back went up and it turned and began growling.

"What is it? I thought we'd gotten past all this? Don't you like the name?"

Duncan then heard other growls, from further in the destroyed building. The growls weren't like the little dog's; they were meaner and bigger. Fear clawed at his gut and basic instincts kicked in. He began quietly and carefully backing away. The small black and white dog, his back to him, backed away as well. The bigger dogs rounded the corner from them. The pack was a mixed lot, but they were all much larger than Sir Dog, and they were mean looking. The pack looked like killers, at home in the Wastes, and he was scared.

He picked up two rusty round iron bars, both about three-foot in length. "Look, guys," he said, still used to talking to the sentient magical dogs back home. "Sir Dog and I don't want any trouble. If this is your territory, we'll leave at once. I have the protection of Queen Bella."

The pack's leader, a lean tan and black pincher, advanced a few steps and Sir Dog, who was half his size, advanced to meet him. Duncan stepped up as well, trying to figure out what he was going to do with the two steel poles in his hands. He'd never been in a fight in his life and didn't even know how to go about it. It didn't take him long to find out what to do, though, as the pincher leapt forward and locked with Sir Dog in a swirl of fur and yelping.

One of the other dogs jumped at him and Duncan swung the pipe in his right hand as hard as he could, catching the large dog in the head and flipping it away. The dog howled out in pain but Duncan didn't have a chance to regret hitting the animal as another came in low and latched onto his leg. He sliced downward with the pipe in his left hand, striking the dog in its hindquarter. The dog yelped out but instead of letting go, bit down harder.

He could only spare a glance at Sir Dog as he struck the dog on his leg again, and couldn't tell which dog was in the lead in the furious fight. The little Sir Dog was a firestorm, dodging the bigger dog's snout and ducking under him, snapping at his stomach. His initial doubt of the little dog was quickly gone.

Pain flared in his leg as the dog bit down harder and he cried out, attracting the attention of several other dogs. As they rushed at him, he raised the bar above his head and struck the one at his leg, finally dislodging it, but then he was knocked over by another of the dogs. Down on his back, the large dog leapt on his chest and tried to latch onto his throat. He managed to bring the bar in his right hand up, though, blocking it. The dog, snarling and snapping at him, was nothing like the dogs back home. The Sir Dogs were constantly at war with the cats, but in that war they were dignified and even regal. This was a savage, and Duncan had no doubt that his life was in dire danger if he didn't think of a way out.

At least two more dogs latched onto him, ripping at his clothing and skin, and in a cloud of pain, he could barely make out Sir Dog being slung away by the bigger dog. Though he couldn't see where he landed, he could hear him whimpering. His vision began to fade as the agonizing pain of the dogs attacking him overwhelmed him.

And then he heard two distinct bangs and the dog on his chest flew away in a cloud of blood. There were two more of the bangs and the dogs at his legs let go and scrambled away, whimpering. The rest of the pack followed, their tails between their legs.

He was unable to stand or even sit, he hurt so much, but his rescuer stood above him. He wore a floor-length tan coat with many patches and goggles. His head was wrapped in a long, blue-and-white checkered scarf. He raised the goggles, parted the head covering, and smiled.

"I found you."

Duncan wasn't sure if he was pleased or not that Diamond Jim had found him, but he didn't have time to think about it as he faded into darkness.

Sixteen

Duncan awoke to bouncing and music. The music was strange, unlike any Magician music he'd ever heard. It had a mechanical quality to it, as if much of it was produced on something other than woodwinds and stringed instruments. There were no vocals, and the music was haunting, yet it was very relaxing. Quickly deciding he wasn't, in fact, at a school dance, he hazarded opening his eyes.

The sunlight blinded him, brighter than anything he'd ever been used to back home. The field not only sheltered New Dallas from the extremes in weather, but the extreme sunlight. He remembered stories from the old library of the condition of something called the Ozone Layer during the Last War, and how its weakness had led to a strengthening of sunlight, though he didn't understand all the details. The light was warm on his face and felt good. It was just so very different than anything he'd experienced at home. There was a licking at his hand and he moved it, soon discovering it was Sir Dog licking him. He rubbed the dog between the ears as he struggled to sit up.

He was in the backseat of some sort of open-air contraption similar to the descriptions of Diamond Jim's original All Terrain Vehicle. It was old, though, and obviously of Ancient design. He'd seen similar vehicles in the old books, and they'd been called Jeeps. This Jeep was packed with supplies, everything from rusted red fuel cans to clear bottles of water. There were packages strapped to the hood as well. Sir Dog crawled into his lap as he sat up. The little dog was covered in fresh white bandages and its left eye was puffy and swollen shut.

"He wouldn't leave your side," Diamond Jim told him from the front seat as he slowed the Jeep and then stopped. "It was the weirdest thing. He was very injured and I was sure he was bleeding to death, but he got between you and me and wouldn't move until he was sure I wasn't going to hurt you. Then he crawled into the Jeep after I put you in. I didn't have any choice but to bandage him up to. You brought him from the city with you?"

"No," Duncan said, his voice crackling and weak like he hadn't spoken for some time, "we met here."

"You befriended a feral dog?"

"We shared food." Duncan was unsure of how much to tell the man, unsure of how far to trust him. He still didn't know who to trust, who was lying to him, and who was telling the truth. He half suspected that everyone was lying, to some extent, but whether it was to protect him or to hurt him, he had no idea.

"That will do it every time," Jim said as he rubbed Sir Dog's head. "They aren't like the dogs we had in the city. They don't talk, as I'm sure you've seen, but they aren't stupid. Sometimes I think having to survive out here, in the Wastes, makes them smarter and stronger."

"He's pretty strong for a little dog," Duncan agreed.

Diamond Jim stared at him for a long time, their eyes locked. Duncan didn't look away, and finally, Jim smiled. "I can't believe how much you look like her when she was younger. Your eyes are just as striking."

"My mother? You knew her?"

"They never told you, did they?"

"To be honest, Mr. Diamond..." Duncan said, not quite sure on how to address the older man.

"Just Jim is fine, Duncan."

"Okay, Jim. To be honest, I'm not sure anyone ever told me the truth, and, to be honest, I'm not sure you're going to tell me the truth, either."

He expected some sort of backlash for speaking out to the man, but instead Jim laughed. "Yep. You get that from your mother as well. She was always a demander of the truth, even when it didn't suit her, and even when it didn't suit the Magician's idea of how the world worked. She was such an explorer, an inspiration."

Duncan wondered if they were talking about the same woman. "How did you know her?"

"We grew up together in New Boston. We were very close."

"And my father?"

"Do you really want to get into this ancient history here and now? I mean...I understand your curiosity, but are these really the first things you want to know?"

"Yes," Duncan said. "Please."

"Okay. Your father, mother, and I went to magic school together. I, just like you, didn't have magical abilities, but my parents made me go anyway. Our lives were a lot alike, in that respect, Duncan. You and I have much in common."

"I don't know about that," Duncan said, but left it at that. There would be time, he knew, to pursue the accusations about the man later. He was pretty sure Jim hadn't had anything to do with the courthouse bombing, but there were all those other charges. No matter how much he took to liking the man and how much he wanted to trust him, he had to be sure.

To his credit, Jim didn't react to the slight and again laughed. "Oh, I think you'll come to find out how wrong that is. We do have a lot in common, Duncan, not the least of which is a burning desire to know exactly what happened to our world. Anyway, your parents and I attended school together. Albert and I spent much of that time vying for the attention of young Helen Wadsworth." He laughed again, obviously fondly remembering parts of his childhood. "It was a constant contest, Duncan. If I grew flowers for her, Albert would conjure an entire garden. If I'd serenade her at her window, Albert would summon an entire orchestra. That was the highpoint of my childhood, back before I knew anything about the Last War."

Jim was quiet a moment and Duncan wondered if he were in retrospection.

"So how did my father win my mother's affection?"

"Well, there is no way to compete with the Magicians, as you know, and there was really nothing I could offer her. My life was dedicated, at the time, to the Restorers. At best, I could give her endless days of living in tents and on rations in the middle of the Wastes. I couldn't give her the magical home or the life that she deserved."

"Living out here doesn't seem so bad, yet," Duncan said. "Well, besides the dogs, maybe."

"Anything non-magical would appeal to our kind, Duncan, even this desolate Wasteland. We're drawn to it, propelled away from Magic. But this is no place for a Magician woman. There was no way to teach her to live here. They've grown so accustomed to living with the magic that living without it will kill them. The further they travel away from the cities, the faster it fades."

"Why is that?" Duncan asked, changing the subject. He wanted to know more about Diamond Jim's relationship with his family, but there was so much to learn. "I noticed it when the Magistrates where chasing me. Their fireballs got weaker and weaker the farther we got away from all those pipes running up to the city."

"We have no idea, Duncan. We don't even know what's running through those pipes. Every time we've cracked one open it stops glowing blue and there's just nothing."

As Jim went on about what they didn't know, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Jim had said we. There were more of them. "We, Jim?" Duncan asked, interrupting. "There are more of us?"

Jim laughed harder than he had at any point since Duncan had been awake. "Of course there are, kiddo. You don't think we're the only ones of the old race in existence, do you? My God, son. Do you know what it would mean if we were the only ones? There would be no point in fighting then, would there?"

"My father said there were non-magical humans in the Wastes, but that they were like that dog pack, nothing more than feral animals."

Jim laughed aloud. "That's what most Magicians think. If they knew the truth, they might have to look at their own lives and examine where they've been and what they've done. If they admitted that there were actual humans left, they 'd also have to realize that, one day, there will be another war."

"Is that what you're doing? Are you fighting the Magicians?" Duncan asked, all the cards laid out on the table. Jim would either confess to Duncan or join the ranks of the other adults in his life who, for his own good or not, had lied to him.

"No...not like you're thinking. I'm not trying to destroy the Magicians, though based on what they've done to our people..." He paused, quiet. "You've seen a glimpse of that, haven't you? Though I'm sure their school's library was just as lopsided in its view as ours was in New Boston, but I'm also guessing you found the other, secret libraries. And though it doesn't paint the whole picture, it gives you enough to know what the Magicians have done."

"Yes," Duncan said simply. There was no point in denying it. He knew, from the Magician's point of view, the history of the Last War. "They say they were saving the world from us."

That he'd automatically lumped himself in with the other non-magical beings didn't even register with him. He was one of them, whether he liked it or not.

"And that's what they told themselves, when it all happened. But look around you," Jim said, pointing to the burnt and ruined cityscape around them. "Have they saved anything?"

"But we destroyed it first," Duncan insisted. "The world was already ruined when the Magicians stepped in."

"Look there and tell me what you see," Jim ordered, pointing to a shattered and burnt brick wall.

Duncan followed his gaze and, at first, saw just another ruined wall in a city of ruined walls. As he looked closer, though, he noticed the telltale scorch marks left by fireballs. It didn't really prove anything, but he understood what Jim was trying to say. The Last War had been hard on the world, harder than anything else it had ever experienced in the past.

"I see marks left by fireballs, but I don't know what that proves. We know there was a war. The Magicians freely admit that."

"Of course they do. Their history books make the Last War sound so noble, but all over the parts of this world that I've been, it's the same as that wall. Everywhere there are signs of magical destruction. I've seen the remains of dragons scattered about the plains, mixed up with the rusting hulks of jet fighters and attack helicopters. I've also seen the mass graves of hundreds of thousands of humans. I..." It was obviously a hard thing for the man to remember. "They didn't even bother burying them, Duncan. There are just great pits with bones as far as you can see. They wiped us, as a species, from this planet in the name of saving it, yet everywhere you go there are signs of the damage they inflicted upon it. They're like the great wave of locusts that still, to this day, inhabit the Great Plains north of here, where they now feed off the very dirt because, over a thousand years, they've eaten every other living thing. They've crossed this world and devoured its life."

"You don't think the Ancients did anything wrong?" Duncan asked. "You don't think they polluted and did their own very best to destroy the planet?"

"No, of course I don't believe that. I've seen enough Ancient literature to know that they indeed had their own problems. They were warring in nature, always finding new ways to kill each other. They did pollute and rendered great swaths of the planet useless for generations. They were, to a fault, greedy, violent, and destructive. But none of that warrants them becoming nearly extinct." Jim was passionate, even angry.

"So you are fighting the Magicians. You have done those things they said. You blew up the courthouse."

Jim stood and walked outside the Jeep, coming around to the rear end of it and standing next to Duncan. "I don't know how you'll ever believe me, but no. That's not how I've ever operated, though I won't lie to you. I can't count the number of times I wished their destruction, wished I had an army mighty enough to defeat them. But if our forefathers, at the height of their technological prowess, couldn't do it, how could we hope to with only the dying remains of their science?"

Duncan shook his head. "I don't know how."

"Exactly. So the only thing I've ever tried to do was to show them what they've done to the world and begged them to fix it. There are at least one of us in each of the great Magician cities, trying to work from the inside, trying to change the system so that the few remaining survivors of humankind can come in from the dark. I've never meant to harm anyone, Duncan, not in those cities. Sometimes I wish I could have, though. I'll freely admit to wishing their entire species gone from the world."

"But if you didn't cause those explosions...or kill those people..." Duncan left the question hanging. He couldn't begin to fathom why the Magicians would kill their own.

"Your father tends to think it's so that the Magistrate and the Lord Probates can instill fear in a people that, otherwise, have none. It's the only way to justify their existence. Why do you need a standing army against a threat that disappeared a thousand years earlier?"

His father had said exactly the same thing to him, and it mostly made sense. He still doubted Jim, though. "I don't know. I...I don't really know anything anymore."

"I understand that. You were to be our champion in New Dallas, but the way things have worked out, I think we'll be pulling all of the few remaining non-Magicians out of the cities. It's just too dangerous. We have to gather our resources and fight the Creeping Death. We might even have to go back underground."

"Creeping Death?"

"We don't know what it is, Duncan, and the only way to explain it to you is to show it to you. If you'll come with me I'll not only guarantee your safety, but I'll guarantee you'll learn more than you ever wanted to."

Sir Dog slept peacefully in his lap and didn't look in any shape to travel. He didn't feel like walking, and even if he did, he had no idea where he would go. Jim was, if nothing else, interesting.

"I'll go with you," he said. "For now."

"Agreed," Jim said as he leapt back into the driver's seat of the Jeep, smiling ear to ear. "Let's start our adventure then."

The engine fired up under extreme protest and Duncan sat back in the ancient seat and watched as the wasted city rushed by in a blur of browns and blacks.

Seventeen

Duncan eventually moved to the front seat, leaving Sir Dog in a wad of blankets and sleeping bags to sleep as comfortably as he could in the bouncing Jeep. It crawled through the ruins, along a path that had been cleared over the thousands of intervening years since the Last War. He wasn't sure why someone would bother clearing a road through the rubble, and even with it, it was still a slow ride out of the city. He was shocked when he realized how much larger Old Dallas was than the city of his birth. He could easily walk across New Dallas in a few minutes but it had taken them the better part of a day to exit the ancient metropolis by Jeep. The scope of the city was simply mind-boggling, and he couldn't begin to imagine the amount of people who'd lived there. There was so much destruction, as well. Everything was blackened and charred, and the ancient scars of battle by magic were everywhere.

Seeming to read his thoughts, Jim said. "There were millions of us here, then. Billions throughout the world. Now we're but a few thousand scattered to the four winds."

The city finally gave way to what was, once upon a time, countryside. There were the remains of a vast forest, grassy plains, and riverbeds, their water long gone. He had no idea what sort of magic was responsible for preserving the vegetation in the state it was. They looked just as they had when they were alive, yet every single part of them was black. As the Jeep rushed down the old asphalt road, the slight wind of its wake rustled the grass and leaves loose, turning them to ash and dust. He imagined that a strong wind could blow the entire former forest away.

"How did we manage to do this to our world?" Duncan asked.

"We didn't. This forest was alive and vibrant just ten years ago. I spent many summers here, camping by tent under the stars."

"Then what happened to it?"

"The Creeping Death. We don't know what it is, exactly, but it's spreading out from the Magician cities like a plague. I wish that we had the time for me to show you those places, each Magician city, just so you'd know. It will eventually take over the entire world, rooting out all life and leaving nothing but those infernal floating cities."

Out of the clutter and rubble of the city they began making better speed on the ancient blacktop road. The road, in places, had once been covered by grass, but with the Creeping Death the grass had died and been blown away, showing the road beneath. It was gone in places as well, and several times they had to detour around large cracks in the road. The bridges over the dry rivers were long gone, destroyed either in the War or through simple age. The Creeping Death stretched out for an eternity from Old Dallas, and soon, as the sun began to set in the West and darkness set in, Jim finally pulled over to the side of the road.

He laughed. "I don't know why I pull off the road. We're quite likely the only ones with any sort of vehicle in thousands of miles. They used to pull over, back before the War, so they weren't run over by other vehicles. We could camp in the middle of the road for years and never see another vehicle."

Duncan was silent as he helped Jim set up the camp. Everywhere he stepped a little cloud of black ash shot up, showing the bare ground beneath. He helped Jim put up a small canvas tent, refill the Jeep's gas tanks, and start a fire for dinner.

"What is this?" he asked, pointing to the red cans with the vile liquid that powered the Jeep.

"The Ancients called it Gasoline. Unless we find more stores of it, out there somewhere, that's among the last stocks in the world."

"Do you know what it's made of? I had engines running on vegetable juice, but I could never make one big enough or get enough power out it to do anything large."

"I had the same trouble, as a child. I finally got around it by distilling the essence of the vegetables. You end up with a lot less, but it's a lot more powerful. Gasoline, however, comes from the ground. It was, at the time of the Last War, a great debate. People were convinced that pumping it out of the ground and fueling their life with it polluted the air, the ground, and the water."

"Did it?"

"Yes."

"So why didn't they do something else?"

"They were working on it. Our ancestors had found ways to harness the sun and the wind to power machines. But they never got a chance to fully implement those alternative energies. The Magicians relieved them of their problems."

Dinner consisted of a food that he wasn't familiar with from rusted looking cans. It was a mush, at best, but it was filling, and soon he found himself leaning back near the fire, staring up at the sky. He'd seen stars, of course, but nothing in the city had been as vibrant as what he was looking at now. The sky positively sparkled.

"The shield around the cities keeps the sky from seeming so beautiful," Jim commented. "I never saw this sky until I left New Boston, and that was worth leaving the city in itself. And to think that our forefathers, the Ancients, flew among them, walked on the moon, and some say still live on Mars."

"Do you think that's true?"

"There isn't really any way for us to know. The Magicians destroyed most books and records that were left by our kind after the Last War. What survived in the underground complexes that protected us during the long dark years after the War were, eventually, used as fuel for simple fires, like this one. We just don't have enough information about our past, especially those last days of the War and the time after. It's nice to think, though." He stared up at the stars. "Maybe out there, somewhere, our kind are living in freedom and happiness."

"You are free, Diamond Jim," Duncan heard from the edge of camp. It was a deep and guttural voice, the hint of an accent present that he'd never heard before. "You are as free as any man can be, in this world."

Jim sprang to his feet, a pistol in each hand, and Duncan reached for his two steel bars. "Come forward, into the light, friend."

The creature stepped forward and Duncan gasped. It's upper half was a muscular human man. Its lower half, however, was horse. Having never actually seen a horse except in the picture books in the library, he'd certainly never seen a horse with the body of a man. Jim, on seeing the wild-haired Centaur, smiled.

"Gregory, my friend, it is a pleasure to see you." He holstered his guns and stepped forward, hugging his apparent friend and leaving Duncan staring at his steel bars and wondering what he'd have done if they had been attacked. He had to find a better way to defend himself in the Wastes.

"Duncan, this is my friend, Gregory. He's of the Northern People, their home north of the Great Plains, in the Lands of Snow."

"It is my honor, Duncan, to meet a friend of Diamond Jim's, Friend of the People of the North," the Centaur said, bowing. "I take it that your young friend is not of your people? Judging from the expression on his face he's not only never seen a Centaur, he's never heard of one. Yet I cannot smell magic upon him, in his soul, so he is not a Magician."

Duncan tried to correct his expression as Jim explained. "It's a complicated story, Gregory. He is of my people in the sense that he isn't magical, but he's lived his entire life among the Magicians. Up to now, that is. Now he is a creature of the Wastes like you and I."

"He is much like you, then."

"More than he's willing to admit."

"So he would not be familiar with the evil stepchildren of the Magicians. We're not discussed much among their kind, I'm told. We're an embarrassment to them."

"No," Jim said, and then turned to Duncan. "The Centaurs were created by the Magicians to fight in the last war. They were a readymade cavalry."

"The fiercest soldiers this world has ever known and ever will know," Gregory added.

"Indeed. But the Magicians didn't count on them having a will of their own, like many of the other creatures that they conjured into this world. The Centaurs rebelled shortly after the Last War and have lived as a free people ever since. You won't learn about them in the Magic School, and I'd never known about them until I met Gregory here outside New San Antonio."

"And what an adventure that was," the Centaur exclaimed. "I was sure you were going to shoot me on sight."

"But you exist without magic, away from the cities," Duncan observed. "I thought it stopped working the further away you go."

"We are not magical creatures by nature," Gregory told him. "We were simply created by Magic. We don't perform any magic."

"I understand," Duncan said, though he had a hard time getting a handle on what the creature was saying. A beast created by magic could exist away from it? He wondered if that meant the dogs and cats, always at battle with each other, could carry their battles into the Wastes. Would that mean that their pups and kittens, born away from magic, would continue to have the ability to speak?

"I take it your visit is no chance happening. You didn't just happen to wander upon us in the Creeping Death," Jim said, referring to the area of death surrounding New Dallas. "I thought your people found the land this far south...well...distasteful."

"We find the Creeping Death distasteful, if that word is strong enough to describe our feelings of the land of Magicians. But events warrant our finding and communicating with you, even if that means traveling into the land of death."

"What could be so important?"

"The Creeping Death is on the move, Jim. It is spreading north at a far greater rate than ever before observed. It is spreading as if driven, the death being herded even over the great mountains that split the land and into the Valley."

Jim looked speechless. "The Valley? That can't be...not the Valley. We'd hidden it so well."

"What's the Valley?" Duncan asked.

"It's where our kind are trying desperately to grow enough food to store for when the Creeping Death overtakes the entire world. That's our grand plan, you see, what the council of elders has decided best. We grow and store as much food as humanly possible and then return underground," Jim told him. "All of the colonies are in overdrive, trying to improve the underground conditions they emerged from a hundred years ago, but the Valley...that's the largest of all the colonies, the largest of our farming communities. I hope to take you there, one day, but it's far from here, along the Western coast and near what was once called the Pacific Ocean."

"The Pacific Ocean," Gregory said in awe, "the home of the USS Barak Obama, isn't it?"

"If you could say that great ship and her crew had a home, then yes, you could say it was the Pacific."

As usual, there was so much said that he had no idea what any of it meant. "What do you mean return underground? How did we survive underground?"

"The child knows nothing of your own history, does he?" Gregory asked.

"No, it's not something they teach in the Magic Schools. It's not important now, Duncan, but suffice it to say that our kind survived the end of the Last War by hiding underground in massive ancient military installations, mines, and caverns. We call those nine hundred years we spent hiding from the Magicians the Dark Years. I hope to show you some of them someday. What will your people do, Gregory, as the Creeping Death pushes north?"

"We will push further north, over the top of the world, and hope that we find grazing lands on the other side. There is nothing left for us here. The Creeping Death will, at some point, destroy this world entirely until all that is left is the Magicians and their cities. My brethren have accepted our fate."

"You could come underground with us, Gregory. The Council's offer is still open to you."

"We would perish without the sun on our back and the wind in our hair. We do appreciate the offer, but it simply is not an option for us."

"You will perish from the Creeping Death," Jim observed.

"I know. It is a great debate among out kind. I think that, secretly, we are hoping that your kind will find a way to stop it."

"There has to be a way to stop this," Duncan said, only grasping part of the problem but understating completely the consequences of inaction. "You can't just give up and hide."

"Duncan," Jim began, "we've tried to figure out the cause of the Creeping Death since we first came back above ground. I've even posed the problem to the best minds in the Magic Schools. Well, at least the best minds that were willing to listen. They don't know what it is, either, though it seems to start around their cities and work outward from there. We've even used ancient scientific equipment to examine it, as best we can with our limited understanding of how that equipment works, but it's no use. The lands the Creeping Death has touched are simply dead. There is no life there at all, from the smallest blade of grass to the largest tree...everything is simply dead."

"Then it must have something to do with the Magic," Duncan insisted. "Maybe the source."

Gregory laughed aloud, "My people have searched for this Source of Magic for a thousand years. We have been to the ends of this earth in its pursuit. Our hope has always been that if there were one source and it was destroyed, there would be no more Magicians. To use an ancient human phrase, 'The playing field would be flat.'"

"Level," Jim corrected.

"Yes, level. I guarantee you, young Duncan, if there was a source, we would have found it by now. We have been at war with the Magicians, in one form or another, for nearly a thousand years. We have attacked their cities and destroyed their pipelines. If there was a source, we would know it."

"And you searched New Atlantis?" Duncan countered. "It only makes sense that the Source would be in the homeland of the Magicians."

"Well, no, of course we haven't. You cannot even step foot on the island of New Atlantis without magic coursing through your veins. And to even attempt to do so is to guarantee certain death. It is the most well protected place on this planet. There is no way for us to search there."

"He makes a good point," Jim interrupted. "And a point I've often brought up to the Councils. The Creeping Death spreads out from the cities, as if the land is rejecting the magic. If there was no magic to reject, things could return to normal. New Atlantis would be the likely place for the source of magic, if there is a source, simply because no human has ever stepped foot there. We really don't know anything about the place."

"But if you ended the magic, those cities would plummet to the ground, killing all those people," Duncan observed, taking the other side of the argument. "You might very well end the Creeping Death, but hundreds of thousands of people would die in the chaos that followed."

"And that, if the myth of the source was true," Gregory began, "would be a price my people would be willing to pay. It is not, however. There is no source. Concern yourself with protecting your people and escaping into the ground."

Jim nodded to his friend. "You will stay with us this evening?"

"I cannot. I must return to my people as they are already on the move. Good luck, old friend. May your people survive."

"And yours," Jim said, returning the Centaur's handshake.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, young master Duncan. I wish we could have had the opportunity to get to know each other better."

Duncan watched as the half man, half horse galloped away into the night. He could hear his hooves on the payment for a long, long time.

Eighteen

They were up before the sun rose and on the road as the first light began peeking over the dead and ashen forest. Sir Dog, having slept through the night like a rock, seemed to rebound with some enthusiasm, hanging his head out the side of the speeding Jeep and enjoying the wind rushing through his fur. Duncan sat in the front with Jim, and slowly his opinion of the big man began to change. The man was so worried all the time about what was happening to the world outside the city that he just couldn't see him trying to blow anything up or assassinate anyone. After the conversation with the Centaur, he was desperate to get back to his people and speed up the process of evacuating underground. He was more concerned about the safety of his people than he was the fate of the Magicians.

The black forest finally faded, giving away to grassy pastures and towering pine trees surrounding covered waterways that twisted and turned through the area like a snake crawling through the grass. There were patches of the Creeping Death, but, overall, the vegetation was bright and vibrant. It reminded him of his garden, but the area was so much more alive than anything he'd ever attempted to grow. He wanted to stop and just stay in the forest. He could see himself doing that, scavenging for food, enjoying the plants...it would be a serene life. Every time they passed a patch of the Creeping Death, though, he remembered Gregory's words. It was spreading and, eventually, all this would be gone.

The roads where rougher where the Creeping Death hadn't killed off the vegetation and it was harder for Jim to navigate along the ancient roads. Travel was actually slower than it had been leaving the city, and with every turn, Jim had to back up and go another direction. Duncan could sense his frustration.

"Where exactly is it we're going?" he asked.

"To our people. We have to pass along the Centaur's warning and let them know that our operations and preparations have to be sped up."

"And what are you going to have them do? Where will they go?"

"Hopefully there will be enough preparations to start moving back into the local base. If not, the majority of the people will have to start heading for the Valley and the larger base there."

"What's the base?"

"You'll have to see it, Duncan. It's indescribable to someone who grew up in the city."

They drove on through the day, only stopping to let Sir Dog clear his bowls. They ate from Jim's stores while on the move. Jim didn't stop until they saw smoke from cooking fires ahead and he slowed the Jeep, cautious. "There are people there."

"That's a good thing, isn't it? We're looking for people to warn?"

"Yes, and we will warn them, but that does not mean they are not dangerous. Our kind are a scattered, lost people, and we have yet been able to bring everyone in from the cold. These people could be dangerous."

"Dangerous? To their own kind?" The idea flabbergasted Duncan. The Magicians, whatever else they were, generally weren't dangerous to each other.

"Yes, to their own kind. To us. I've always regretted that about our kind. The Magicians, when challenged, will unite against the problem as one people, as they did in the Last War. They are one united front, rock solid. When we're presented with that same challenge, we devolve into bickering subgroups. It's an old tendency of our kind that we're striving to overcome. We have to stand together or we'll fall apart. So when we arrive, be quiet and stay in the Jeep. I'll do the talking."

Duncan nodded in agreement but was uneasy. Sir Dog seemed to sense his discomfort at the thought and scrambled between the seats and into his lap. He made sure the two steel bars were within easy reach, though he didn't know how he'd use them against men. If it hadn't been for Jim arriving with his guns, the dogs would have eaten him. He knew he was going to have to learn to fight if he was going to survive in the Wastes, but the thought bothered him. He didn't want to know how to fight, and this wasn't what he'd imagined when he'd romantically dreamt of life in the Wastes. He'd thought it to be utterly uninhabited, open to him, and never thought there would actually be dangers.

He understood now that thinking like that had been silly on his part, and then noticed the flaps on Jim's holsters were undone, exposing the two black pistols beneath.

The human camp was really a collection of ancient vehicles much like Jim's Jeep. There were large six-wheeled trucks, small off-road vehicles, and a number of trailers. Tarps were strung between the vehicles making impromptu shelters, and a large fire burned at the center of the location. There a couple dozen people were working around the vehicles, tending to the smoking meat, working on ancient weapons he recognized from the old Magician books. Though old, the guns still looked very deadly. The people were a motley lot, dressed in ragged armor and rags, and dirty looking. A few scattered children, skinny and wraithlike, hid behind their mothers' patched dresses as Jim and Duncan pulled up.

A man holding a large black rifle came to meet them, barrel leveled in their general direction, but not aimed directly at him. His other hand was raised in a gesture of welcome.

"Howdy, friend," the man said.

"Hello," Jim returned. "We wish no harm and only want to trade and share information."

"Then enter unmolested," the guard returned and Duncan go the impression that this was some sort of standardized greeting, like when addressing one of the dogs back home. It seemed like a safe enough situation but the hair on Sir Dog's back stood up and he growled softly at the guard.

Jim pulled the Jeep into the center of the camp, close to where the women worked around the large center fire. They looked sad and a bit wary of the newcomers, and the children darted away, hiding in the shadows. There were a few other dogs around the camp, but they were even scrawnier looking than Sir Dog and, as with the people, looked hungry.

Jim whispered to him. "Something's not right here. Be on guard and ready to run. Should shooting break out, find some place to hide."

Duncan's heart leapt into his throat and he tried to hide the fear on his face as he rescanned the camp, trying to find what it was that had made Jim so uncomfortable. The whole place made him uncomfortable, but he knew that was because he'd spent his entire life in New Dallas. It was all so new to him and he couldn't find what had set Jim off. They parked the Jeep and got out, following the guard under the main canopy where more guards waited, sitting on boxes and bags and cradling their ancient weapons as if they were babies. They appraised the newcomers like meat at a grocery store.

"Please, sit down," the guard that had met them at the edge of camp said, indicating some empty boxes. "My name is David."

Jim took his offered hand. "I'm Jim and this is my son, Duncan."

Duncan nodded to the man and didn't say anything about the lie. He understood that he needed to play along.

"We welcome you to our band of traders," the guard began. "We haven't seen any other people for quite awhile. What colony did you come from?"

"How is Big John Smith?" Jim asked, not answering the man's question and instead directing the conversation elsewhere. "I tell you, that man is a legend not just among traders, but humans in general. I'll never forget when he brought that entire truckload of canned food by our old place. It was an amazing sight to see. That man had a knack for finding ancient stockpiles."

David looked at him with some confusion, then his friends, then back to him. "I heard Big John died a few seasons ago, but I don't know how. Where exactly is your old place?"

"That's a loss for us all," Jim told the man. "I hope to one day give my condolences to his family."

David nodded, obviously annoyed that Jim was evading his question, and Duncan detected the slightest of head nods and winks, the trader apparently urging his cohorts to agree with him. He was silent for a few moments and then asked, "Where are you from, Jim? We haven't seen a lot of people this close to one of the cities. Trading is, at best, thin out here."

"We're from the south," Jim lied. "We're just passing through the area."

"Interesting," the trader began, scratching at his chin. "We just came from the south and haven't seen any colonies down there at all. The Creeping Death is thick near the sea and around the ruins of Old Houston. No humans live there."

"You misunderstand," Jim began. "We were just passing through."

"On the way to where?"

"To be honest," Jim began, lying again, "we're not sure. The Creeping Death drove us from our home. We had no choice but to flee near the Magician's city. We're looking for some place to resettle, to start over."

The scraggily guard rubbed his thick, dirty beard. "Yes, we've seen that a lot. Colonies are falling everywhere to the Death. People are on the move like you, trying to find a new place. Tell me, Jim, where did your people survive the long dark years?"

Duncan was curious about the history of the Dark Years, what the humans called their time underground. It was another part of history that he wanted to explore.

"My people were originally from Sanctuary," Jim told him and Duncan didn't know what Sanctuary was, but he guessed it was a common, well known place. Jim was divulging no information, giving the man nothing that would endanger someone else even though Duncan had no idea, at that point, what the danger was. They were all humans, right?

"Ah, Sanctuary, the biggest of the colonies out west. Many people are from Sanctuary, including Brian over there," David said, pointing to where another of the rough looking men sat, rubbing his rifle down with an oiled cloth. "Brian, do you know this guy?"

"Nope."

"And what exactly does that mean?" Jim asked and Duncan noticed the edge in his voice. "There are a lot of people from Sanctuary, and I haven't been there since I was a child."

"It doesn't mean anything, friend, nothing at all. Tell me, what can we do for you here?"

Duncan suddenly missed the two steel bars from the Jeep, not that they would do him any good. He sensed the situation deteriorating quickly and had to hold Sir Dog close to him to keep him from bolting. A woman entered the tent, carrying a tray of old, cracked and faded cups. She began passing the water around the room and Duncan noticed the look of abject fear in her eyes. Unlike the guards who seemed relaxed, this woman was terrified.

"I'd like to trade for some fuel, if possible, and maybe some canned goods."

The men laughed collectively. "Really? Fuel?" David asked mockingly. "What could you possibly have to trade for fuel? It's the most valuable thing on the planet, right now."

"Besides an escape from the Creeping Death?" Jim asked. "Could it be worth more than that?"

"There is no escaping the Creeping Death," David insisted. "It will cover the planet within our lifetimes."

"Oh, it will be quicker than that," Jim acknowledged. "Well before that, if the Centaurs are right, and I have no reason to doubt them. What I can trade for fuel is information, friend. I can point you in the direction of relative safety, where your fellow men are making a stand against extinction. I can point you to a place that, through hard work and perseverance, we might survive long enough to outlast the Creeping Death. Is that worth some fuel?"

The men laughed together again, David the hardest. "Really? You'd point us to a new Sanctuary? You'd save us from the Creeping Death? How noble of you."

"I would. But first, you have to tell me who you actually are. I know you aren't traders."

David was silent a moment, but smiled through broken teeth. "How did you know?"

"There is no such man as Big John Smith that I know of and I've traveled with many of the large trading caravans for years at a time. It's a good way to see the world. Nor am I familiar with your group. Plus, you just answered the question for me."

Duncan couldn't help but admire the way Jim had wrangled the information out of the men who weren't actually traders.

David laughed. "Yeah, I figured that was a trick to check us out and bet wrong. No big deal. It won't matter in the end."

Duncan was scared again and wished once more for the steel bars that he had no idea how to use. He kept looking to Jim, who was still calm, for that time to run or duck. Another guard rushed under the canopy and whispered in David's ear. The man smiled again.

"It seems you and your son are wanted in New Dallas for crimes against the state. Would you care to explain?"

"No, I wouldn't," Jim said and Duncan watched as his hand drifted down toward the holster on his right hip. "But I would like to ask you something. You obviously work for the Magicians and trade in humans. Are these women part of your group, or did you kidnap them? Are they innocents in all this?"

"They are part of the group now, whether they like it or not," David insisted to the thunderous laughter of his other men. "Whatever we want is ours."

"And I'm to take it their men were probably killed in that taking?" Jim asked and again Duncan was amazed at how calm the man was. Here he was, in a tent of a dozen armed men, and he was talking as if he were in complete control of the situation.

There was more laughter. "And what if they were? What are you going to do about it?"

"And I suppose even this trading convoy was, in some part, stolen from legitimate traders. Tell me, where did your people hide during the Dark Years? I'm not familiar with your accent."

David spat. "We never hid, not once in a thousand years. We've never crawled underground like cowards."

"So you've always been traitors to your kind, working for the Magicians."

"It's not traitorous when they're the ones in charge. They take care of us and they'll see us through the Creeping Death. They've told us that everything will be fine once they start the Restoration. And you'll tell us where you're heading so we can take those people too."

"Again, how did your people survive the Dark Years?"

"At sea," David told him. "Out in the Gulf, where our ancestors worked the oceans and the ocean floor to produce the oil that ran the world. The Magicians have never bothered us there, and have always helped when we asked."

"So there are many more raiders like you out there?" Jim asked and Duncan wondered how long the guard would let the man fish for information.

"Of course there are. We've raided the coastal towns for generations. We're the New Vikings."

"I'll have to remember to mention that to the Captain of the USS Barak Obama," Jim said, "the next time I see him."

The name of the ship, though meaningless to Duncan, seemed to strike fear into David. He sat up straighter and glared at Jim. "We don't care about them. There's nothing they can do to hurt us. The sea floors are too shallow for that great ship now. The Obama couldn't get to us if they wanted to."

"I heard it was in the Pacific," another of the guards said. "They aren't coming to the Gulf."

"And anyway," David started, "the Magicians will take care of us."

Jim sighed audibly. "The Magicians take care of no one, not even their own. They've had a thousand years to start the Restoration. Have you seen anything restored?"

"The Magicians will make it right."

"Is that your final answer? You choose them over your own kind?"

"Yes," the man said with all the confidence of someone who thought they'd already won.

"So be it," Jim said, and in an instant he was in action. He moved so fast Duncan could barely keep up with him. He had a pistol in each hand and the guns boomed like thunder. The guards were so taken by surprise that they hardly reacted. Duncan, with Sir Dog firmly in his grasp, tumbled backwards behind the crate he'd been sitting on. The gunfire went on for what seemed like an eternity and Sir Dog whimpered the whole time. He finally heard another weapon fire that was a different sound than Jim's pistols, presumably the guard's, but Jim's distinctive revolvers barked again and then there was silence.

"Duncan?" Jim asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes, sir?" Duncan replied, nearly in a panic. He stood on shaky legs, letting Sir Dog drop to the ground. The dozen guards were dead and David, wounded, tried crawling outside the tent. The captured women and children stared from outside, panic and fear on their faces.

"I'm sorry about that," Jim said, then turning to the women. "Do you have anything to return to? Is there anything left of where they captured you?"

One girl, not much older than Duncan, stepped forward when all the others were silent. "No, sir. They...they took everything and burned the buildings. There's nothing left of Hackberry."

"Hackberry...that's down on the coast, to the south. Richard Millhouse was the mayor, if I'm not mistaken. How did you avoid the Creeping Death? It's rampant though that area."

"We didn't. We survived the best we could off the bayous, catching fish and alligators that were on the prowl for food. We were going to have to move eventually anyway. Mayor Millhouse died in the fight when they came."

Jim nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good man. I'm moving onto a colony not far from here in Shreveport. You're welcome to come with me and they'll welcome you with open arms, but there will be much work. I wasn't lying when I told David that we're preparing to go back underground. It's the only thing any of the colonies are working on anymore and I fear that the time is even shorter than we originally thought."

"There isn't another way?" the girl asked, fear evident in her eyes.

"No," he said simply. "There is no other way that we know of, and we've been working on the problem for many a year. We will, at some point in the near future, escape back underground, and if we have to wait another thousand years, we'll do that too."

The girl turned and spoke to the other women for a few minutes and then turned back to them. "We'll go. Tell us what to do."

"Duncan, help them get situated. Move all the supplies to one vehicle, along with all the fuel. You'll have to siphon it out of the vehicles we leave behind. Do you know what that means? You'll have to find a tube and stick it in the tank, then suck on the end to get the flow going."

"I've done that with my vegetable juice motors," Duncan told him, though he didn't know it was called siphoning.

"Good. Pick a vehicle that is large enough to carry everyone and the supplies. Get started and let's try to be ready to go in a couple of hours. I'll...I'll deal with this," he said, pointing to David.

Duncan nodded in agreement and started for the vehicles. He saw the look of terror on the stricken raider's face and wondered what Jim would do to him.

Her name was Jessica.

The young girl worked in a flash, directing the older women in packing only the most useful of the raider's stolen goods, the food, water, and fuel, while helping Duncan get the fuel out of the vehicles they were abandoning. The girl was simply amazing, and Duncan began to look forward to the quick moments they had together. She was just a bit taller than Duncan, with long, flowing red hair and deep, tanned skin. Her right eye was puffy and bruised but both were bright and blue and shone anyway. She was dirty, and she stank, but he paid it no mind, remembering he hadn't had a bath in days either. The girl was full of energy due to Jim's rescue; the reprieve from certain death had invigorated her.

"Where are you from?" she asked during one of her quick trips back to help him.

He didn't see any harm in telling her the truth. "New Dallas."

Her eyebrows raised in suspicion. "You're a Magician?"

"No, I was born without magic. I don't think there are very many of us, born in the cities like that."

"Like Jim?"

"Yup, like Jim."

"Well, I guess that's all right, then," Jessica said with some trepidation. "But still...why are you here and not in the comfort of the city? Why chase your next meal when you can get someone to conjure it for you? I heard they live in splendid glory there, that they don't want for anything, are never hungry, and never cold."

"It's a long story," Duncan said, and it really was. How did you go about telling someone that you were on the run for a crime you didn't commit?

She winked at him, and he saw something there that, deep down inside, thrilled him. "I think we're going to have lots of time."

"They thought I helped Jim blow up the courthouse, that I killed a couple people," he began, slowly. "There was a trial, and a friend of mine told me that I'd been convicted." For some reason, he didn't want to tell her about Marissa. "So I ran away. My father helped me escape the city, and then Jim found me in Old Dallas with Sir Dog."

Sir Dog had taken an instant liking to the girl, as he had with Duncan. He felt pretty sure that Sir Dog was a solid judge of character. He had promised to trust who the dog did, and not trust whom the dog didn't.

"Did you kill those people?" she asked.

"No."

"Did Jim?" she asked again, the doubt in her voice easily identifiable.

"I don't think so, but honestly, with all that's happened in the last few days, I really haven't gotten a chance to sit down and talk to him about it. I have reason to believe, at least in the case of the courthouse in New Dallas, that he was set up and framed. But I can't prove that, just as I can't prove I'm innocent of that crime."

She nodded in agreement. "I've heard stories about him. He's been at war, in one way or another, with the Magicians all his life. But I've never heard of him being a violent man until, like here, he's pushed in to it. He's respected throughout the Wastes as a fair and honest man. If you don't think he did it, I tend to agree. There is no reason to attack them like that. They already beat us once like that. We know we can't stand up to them in an honest fight."

Duncan wanted to ask her what she knew of the Last War and compare notes but there simply wasn't time yet. "From my little time around him, I'd say those people who respect him are right. There is just so much I don't know about him or," he waved his hands around, "any of this yet."

"It's all new to you, isn't it? It's like taking the magic out of a Magician and dumping him here."

"I was never a Magician," Duncan told her defensively. "I always took care of myself."

"I'm sorry. I meant no offense. Look, I have to go get those old hens moving. They're lost without someone to tell them what to do, but I'm looking forward to talking to you more, okay?"

Duncan couldn't really think of anything he'd like more. He nodded in agreement and watched, dumbfounded, as she went about the task of getting the camp broken down and moving.

The Wastes weren't as bad as he thought they were going to be.

Nineteen

It actually took them six hours to get the camp broken down and food and supplies combined into one vehicle, a large military cargo truck. The women bickered endlessly about which pots and pans to take, what clothing, and Duncan was constantly amazed at the way Jessica calmly interceded in each argument and calmed the situation down. She couldn't be everywhere at once, though, and with all the fighting among the women, he began to wonder how they ever managed to get anything done back in their colony.

Eventually, though, they got moving. Duncan was a bit disappointed that he couldn't ride in the truck with Jessica, but the sweeping countryside was enough to distract him. The forest thickened as they traveled along the broken highway north, threatening to overtake the road itself.

"This place was once called Louisiana," Jim told him.

"It's beautiful."

"And we're going to lose it all." Jim grew sadder with each passing mile, and Duncan couldn't blame him. The Creeping Death, if what he said was true, was unstoppable. Soon this entire forest would turn to ash and dust, and there was nothing they could do about it.

They pushed on through the night under the dim glare of the ancient vehicle's headlights. Duncan saw many animals he'd never seen before and Jim called them deer, rabbits, and foxes. The foxes were much like the small Sir Dog, though leaner and sleeker looking. Their bright orange fur stood out in the headlights, though the animals ran away quickly. Duncan struggled to stay awake in the bouncing Jeep, exhausted from the previous few days' events.

They pulled into Old Shreveport in the early morning, just as sun began to rise above the city. The only difference that Duncan could discern between it and Old Dallas was the plethora of plant life overtaking the city. Vines crawled up destroyed brick walls and trees grew in the middle of old houses. Parking lots filled with old rusted hulks were covered in new grass, and the city had the smell of fresh rain. Occasionally, as they moved toward the center of town, he thought he saw people in the ruins, but they were fleeting, running away at the sound of the small convoy.

The center of town was completely different than the outskirts. The buildings were in better shape and the debris had been piled in neat rows along the sides of the roads, forming short, impromptu walls. There were more people here, and they looked healthier than the people sulking around the ruins. They waved as the convoy passed through and the children looked healthy and playful. There were food plants growing everywhere Duncan turned, in torn-up parking lots, on the rooftops, and along the sidewalks. There were gutters running to bright blue barrels designed to catch rainwater. There were ponds where he saw people working with nets on the end of long poles, scooping out aquatic plants and fish. Many of the men were armed, but when they recognized Jim, their rifles were slung back onto their backs.

"These are friends," Jim assured Duncan. "They aren't like those raiders. You'll be welcomed here as one of their own."

Sir Dog didn't react badly at seeing the people, and Duncan had come to trust his instincts in their short time together.

Word of their arrival had apparently spread, and there was a crowd of people waiting for them in the walkways of an ancient open-air mall. The throngs of people mashed together were more than he'd ever seen at any time in New Dallas. They were healthy looking, unlike the women and children that traveled in the truck behind them, and clothed decently. Their outfits had been patched multiple times, but they were clean.

A large man with white billowing hair and a white beard nearly to his belly button stood in front of the crowd, waving. He reminded Duncan of old Mr. Falcon, with the hair and the beard. Unlike his old teacher, though, he was tall and muscular, his skin tanned and cracked with age and weather. There was a jolly look to him, as if he were everyone in the colony's well-loved grandfather. He rushed to the Jeep smiling from ear to ear and hugged Jim tightly.

"Jim, it's so good that you've returned home. We heard of raiders to the south and feared for your safety."

Jim returned the hug just as hard. "It's good to see you too, Blake. We did run into the raiders and I dealt with them. The women in the truck behind us are originally from the Hackberry colony, but fell victim to the raiders. I hope you'll accept them in good faith into your colony."

"There is not even a point in asking, Jim. You know they're welcomed here." The old man turned to Duncan. "And is this him? Is this young Master Duncan Cade, legend of New Dallas?"

"He's a sight, isn't he?" Jim said, finally smiling after the long ordeal.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Duncan said, wondering how they'd heard of him out here. And what sort of legend could he possibly be? "I don't know what you've heard about me, sir, but I'm certainly no legend."

"Ah, such modesty at a young age," Blake said, slapping him on the back. "He is his father's son, is he not?"

"Sir?"

The conversation didn't get to go any further as the crowd swept in, cheering Jim and Duncan, praising them for rescuing the women in the truck. He briefly saw Jessica as other women helped her and the others out of the truck, taking them away to, hopefully, clean them up and get them fed. She smiled at him and waved, and he knew, despite everything going on, that they'd see each other again. He too was swept away by unknown hands, people reassuring him that he was going to be just fine, and welcoming him to the colony. Even Sir Dog was pampered and was soon paws deep in a bowl of fresh vegetables.

Jim managed to make his way through the throng of people and touched Duncan on the shoulder, leaning in close and whispering. "It's going to be all right, Duncan. You're home now. This is your new family."

Duncan didn't know about that, but he did know it was nice for a change to be loved for his lack of magic and not despised for it.

Twenty

Duncan slept through the parties celebrating Jim's return and his and the girl's arrival, and for two more days afterwards. He slept hard and dreamed. He was running down a hallway, surrounded by armed men, while fireballs and lightning bolts thundered around him. He didn't know where he was, in the dream, but he knew that he was being chased and his life, along with everyone else on the planet. In the dream, a nightmare really, he was frightened and exhausted, afraid for his life. He felt the rush of a lightning bolt by his ear, singing his hair, and heard the rattle of a machine gun returning fire.

The dreams continued to be dark and frightening. He dreamt of his parents back in New Dallas plunging to the earth below as the magic holding the city aloft failed. He dreamt of the Centaurs at war again, seeing them in the streets of Shreveport, laying waste to the town and its residents. He dreamt of the Creeping Death eating him, starting at his toes and crawling slowly up his legs and torso. He finally awoke, screaming, as the Creeping Death made its way up his face and down into his throat.

"Are you okay?"

Jessica was starkly different than she'd been at the camp. The dirt and grime was gone from her face and skin and she wore a clean, though very old, dress. Her bright red hair was tied back behind her head and the puffy bruise was gone from around her eye. She smiled at him and he was relieved to wake up to her at his bedside.

"I think so. How long have I slept?" Duncan asked.

"Two, almost three days. Jim said you needed it, that you were exhausted from everything. They put all of us to work, but I talked them into letting my job, for now, to be to watch over you."

"That was very sweet of you." He felt awkward telling her that she was sweet, but she smiled brightly in return. There was something there, between the two of them, that he'd never experienced, not even with Marissa, his longtime friend. She was something very special.

"I was worried about you. After everything that happened to us, and then you and Jim rescuing us...I could bear to see something happen to you. I know it's silly. I just met you, but..." She left unsaid what appeared to be the same thing he was thinking.

"I didn't actually have anything to do with the rescue," Duncan admitted. "I was just sort of there. Jim was...he's like a lightning bolt."

He stood and went to the large walk-through window. They were on the third story of a large building overlooking a quaint, plant-filled street packed with people. He heard laughing and singing, and watched, transfixed, as they pushed carts laden with vegetables and fruits and led animals up and down—cows, horses, goats, and chickens. The people were motivated and busy, but they were happily chatting away. Children played games he didn't understand with round balls in the street, kicking them back and forth. The game didn't resemble any of the violent games he'd seen the boys of New Dallas playing, and he couldn't fathom the point.

"You were there, that's enough," Jessica said, joining him and looking out over the town. "It's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"Your home wasn't like this?"

"Well, it was sort of like this, before the Creeping Death. Hackberry wasn't nearly as big, of course, but we had our own gardens and stock animals and stuff. There weren't nearly as many people, and we had boats, which saved us for awhile. I remember growing up seeing the Creeping Death just a half mile from town. It would only move a couple of inches a year, and, though we knew it was out there, it seemed like a problem for years down the road. Everyone always talked about moving, but ever since our people came up from the ground, Hackberry was our home. No one really wanted to leave. We never saw the Magicians and the raiders back then as really a problem."

"What was it like living underground?"

"I don't have any idea. We came out a hundred years ago, when my grandmother was a child."

"You never went back?"

"No, it was a long way from where we lived and no one saw the point."

"You said you lived with the Creeping Death."

"I don't know that you could call it living, but we survived. It sped and moved over the town in the span of a month, killing off our gardens and even creeping into the water. We'd have to go out farther and farther every day to find the fish, but we got by. I spent most of every day cleaning the ash and dust from the house. People got sick breathing it, a baby even died, but we survived."

Duncan couldn't imagine the horror of living in the Creeping Death, trying to eke out some existence. It wasn't that everything was dead, so much, as the areas affected by the plague were absolutely devoid of any life.

"And then the raiders came," Duncan finished for her.

"They were always out there, I guess. They lived on what the Mayor called 'old oil platforms'. I don't really know what they are, but I've seen them a few times. They're just these big, rusted hulks sticking up out of the water. There were hundreds of them, but the raiders came from just a few. They came in like a storm, showing no mercy."

"You lost family," Duncan said, and she nodded and they left it at that.

They watched the people go about their business in the streets in silence for a while and Duncan tried to put his finger on the way he felt. He finally decided it was a combination of being safe and being with Jessica. Things here, in Shreveport, were perfect, and if he didn't know what was going on outside the serene city, he could stay here forever.

"We've both been assigned to Jim's shop, once you're able to work," Jessica told him. "I don't know quite what that means, to be honest."

"I have an idea," Duncan told her and was suddenly excited. Jim had already showed him an affinity for ancient technology and things powered by science. He'd seen him fly in the helicopter and drive the Jeep. What other sorts of wonders did he have access to? He could only imagine there being things in Jim's shop that made his attempts at what the Lord Probate had called science look like children's play.

"Let's go. I can't wait to see this," he said excitedly.

"You're sure? You haven't even eaten breakfast yet. You have to be hungry."

"There's food in the streets, it looks like. We can eat on the way."

Jessica smiled and nodded, sharing in his excitement, though she didn't know why. Like him, she enjoyed his company. They headed out of the room and down the stairs.

#

There was indeed food in the streets and the two ate from passing carts of tomatoes, corn, and apples. There were also stands up and down the street with boiled eggs, fresh bread, and pitchers of water at convenient stations for people to stop at during their labors. They smiled upon seeing the two kids and made a space for them to step up and eat.

"This is a beautiful city you have here," Duncan tossed out casually, trying to break the ice.

"Indeed, it is," an older man agreed. "We've put a lot of work into her in the last hundred years."

The other people saddened, the unspoken truth that they were preparing to abandon it left unsaid.

"All this food is being taken underground?"

"What we don't need to survive is," the man answered. "God bless the United States Air Force for giving us a place to escape to."

Duncan was familiar with the Air Force and had seen several pictures in the Magician Histories of USAF fighters locked in combat with dragons and wyverns. "They had a base near here?"

"Indeed," the older man said, "and that's where we're mostly from. Oh, we've grown as people from the outlands have joined us, but a hundred years ago, General Jack Adams led our people out of the base and into the sun and we made our home here in Shreveport. I think the old General would be sad to see us returning to the base. He never intended it that way."

The others agreed, and General Jack Adams was obviously someone important in their history. Duncan decided to change the subject. Beside them were a series of planters where tomato vines grew straight up the walls along trellises. The tomatoes were fat and ripe, ready for picking. "These are bigger than anything I was ever able to grow."

"You are from the Magician city, yes? New Dallas?"

"Yes, sir," Duncan answered hesitantly, still unsure of how people would react to him once they knew where he came from.

"Well, I suspect the magic had something to do with that," the old man told him. "It's the opposite of nature, the enemy of the exact nature of the universe. I suspect your tomatoes were simply rejecting living among that much magic. That you managed to coax them into growing at all is surprising."

"That's an interesting thought," Duncan replied. "I often thought plants were far smarter than we gave them credit for."

"Of course they are. They respond to love and hate and emotion just like we do. They just don't have the capability of expressing those emotions through speech."

Duncan didn't mention his mother's angry rosebushes that could do just that. They not only expressed their opinions, they acted on them.

"How come you don't use trucks and jeeps like Jim does?" Jessica asked. "It seems like it would be easier than hauling all this stuff by hand."

"Indeed, it would. And even if that stuff they run the ancient vehicles from the base on...what do they call it? Gasoline? Even if we had more of that stuff, which we don't, it makes a horrible stink and the plants don't like it. We're a simple people. We like working with our hands and our feet. There's an honesty in that, you know? It's not like the Magicians who can just wish for something and it'll be there. We earn our life."

"I understand." Duncan said, and he really did. He understood what it was like to have to provide for yourself when everyone else around you merely had to wish what they wanted into existence.

The man clasped him on the shoulder and smiled. "I reckon you do, son. I reckon you do."

#

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring Shreveport. There were shops that made clothing and happily outfitted Duncan with new boots and a once-piece green uniform. It was, like most ancient clothing, patched heavily, but Duncan sort of like the US Army patches above the left breast and the faded American flag on the right soldier. The old woman told him it had belonged, originally, to one of the original residents of the Base, as they called the underground installation where they had survived the Dark years after the Last War. He felt no small amount of pride in donning it.

"You look good," Jessica told him.

There were cafes and restaurants where you could sit and have a prepared meal if you weren't working. They had sandwiches, eggs cooked anyway you could imagine, and salad galore. They sat and gorged themselves on eggs, laughing and joking the entire time. It was, as far as Duncan was concerned, the happiest time of his life.

After the sun set and the work day was done, Shreveport really came alive. The old open-air mall that served as the new city's center was crammed with people, more people than he'd ever seen. Bands played and music filled the warm night air. There were jugglers and mimes, as well as puppet shows for the children and comedy shows for the adults. This was a happy people, he decided, so unlike the self-absorbed Magicians who, in general, only cared about their own personal happiness. Jessica and Duncan laughed and danced the night away.

They slept under the stars in a field of lettuce, holding hands, and for the first time in his life, he was truly happy.

#

They awoke as workers began picking the lettuce, and made their way to one of the food stands for a breakfast of eggs and bread, chased with water. Duncan was exhausted from the night's festivities, but it was a good kind of tired. After breakfast, they decided they should finally report to work at Jim's shop.

"Do you know where it is?" Duncan asked and Jessica shrugged.

"It really didn't even occur to me. I was so concerned about you, and then we got so turned around yesterday..."

"I'm sure someone knows."

And he was right. Everyone knew where Jim's Inventor's Guild was located and they were there within minutes. It was a one-story building much like what he imagined the old warehouses on the outskirts of Old Dallas had looked like before they were destroyed. It was massive, and the ancient, faded sign read Shreveport High School Gymnasium.

"What's a gymnasium?" Jessica asked.

"I have no idea," Duncan replied.

They proceeded through the freshly painted great double doors and Duncan gasped. The interior of the building was filled, front to back, floor to rafter, with stuff, and stuff was the only word he could think of to describe it. There were crates upon crates in not-so-neat stacks. There were dozens of different vehicles, including what Duncan was sure was Jim's original home-built, vegetable-powered All Terrain Vehicle. The helicopter was there in pieces, along with Jim's Jeep and the truck the women from Hackberry had arrived in. He was relieved to see the helicopter's body was just as rusted and pitted as he remembered in the garden under his father's house. It just served to confirm what he'd suspected. Someone in New Dallas had framed him and Jim. It was just one more mystery among the hundreds that he would one day solve.

In the center of the room was a giant airplane, one Duncan didn't recognize from any of the Magician's Histories. It was older than old, older looking than any of the ancient vehicles he'd seen. The wingspan was massive, and on either side were two propeller-driven engines. The area where the pilots sat was encased in a glass bubble, and just below that was another plastic bubble with angry looking machine guns jutting out. The plane was painted in dark green and there was an American flag on its tail. There was the design of a woman riding some sort of bomb near the front of the plane, and written in bright, gaudy looking colors was the name Betty.  
"She was a bomber. B-26 was her official designation. As far as I know, that's the oldest working vehicle of any sort on this planet," Jim told them, coming out from behind some crates. Gone were his dusty overcoat and pistols, replaced by a white lab coat and glasses on his face. His hair was disheveled, but he grinned widely, seeing them. "It was used almost a hundred years before the Last War, in a battle among human nations. It's a shame, really, for something so elegant to be used for destruction."

"It is beautiful in its way, isn't it?" Jessica commented, and Duncan agreed. The airplane was sleek looking, fierce, but also gracious.

"It is. After the Last War, the Magicians did their best to destroy whatever military equipment was left, but they weren't efficient at it. These old war birds, collectors' items from an earlier war, have been hidden around the country ever since. There are hundreds of them, and quite a few still fly."

"That's amazing," Duncan agreed. "And you've flow it?"

"To China and back," Jim told him, patting the side of the Betty. "She's an amazing airplane."

"I'm sorry we didn't show up yesterday, Jim," Duncan said, prepared to take his punishment, if there was going to be any, for failing to show up to work. "We got a little distracted by the city. There was a party last night."

Jim laughed. "Oh, you should have seen me my first time out of New Boston when I discovered a colony. I don't think I came up for air for a week. As for parties...there's a party every night. It's our way of celebrating life."

"Well," Duncan began, "here we are, reporting for service."

Jim clapped his hands and laughed. "This is outstanding. I can't tell you how long I've looked forward to the day I could introduce you to this place. And, Jessica, your presence is just icing on the cake."

"Cake?"

"And ancient food form," Jim told them. "I'm not really sure what it was made of."

"Well...what will our jobs be?" Duncan didn't really know what he'd do in the massive warehouse among the thousand-year-old television sets and mysterious computers. He'd read of the devices, of course, but always from the Magicians' point of view, in their histories, and he didn't really have a good idea of how they worked. They way the Magicians described them, they seemed more Magic than anything else.

"To be honest, Duncan, I haven't the faintest idea of what you should do. You have a knack for mechanical devices. That's obvious. Maybe you can help get some of these vehicles in shape for when the day comes that we have to evacuate."

Duncan didn't know a thing about the vehicles, but he was absolutely willing to learn.

"Well," Jessica said, "this place is a mess. It could use a good cleaning, maybe some organizing. How can you ever find something useful in all of this...well, junk?"

"Right you are," Jim said, beaming. "Then that settles it. Duncan, you'll try to make the vehicles run, and, Jessica, you'll be in charge of organizing. Anything that can be reused in the Base, catalogue it. Anything that's worth saving, save it. I know you won't have a clue about some of the items, but NAME might be able to help you out."

"Name?"

"Yes, NAME. He used to have control of all the other military computers before the Last War. He's half crazy, but he's an invaluable asset. Just be warned—he's very old and, sometimes, not quite all there."

"Wait..." Duncan said, his heart racing, "...you're saying someone is still alive from before the Last War? That's impossible."

"I didn't say someone, I said something. NAME is out right now, helping at the base, but he'll be back. Please, make yourself at home here. My personal garden is in the rear, and you're welcomed to anything from it. Please think of this as your home, because it is. At least until we have to evacuate."

Jim turned and started to leave them.

"Where are you going?"

"The Council has me wrapped up in meetings, discussing what we should to in response to the Centaur's warning. They're confused and thought we had much, much more time. But don't worry about that. Enjoy yourselves; enjoy the past that's accumulated here. I'll be back."

Twenty One

The days passed blissfully for Duncan. Not only was he getting closer to Jessica as each day passed, he had an entire building of ancient pieces of science to not only examine but experiment with. He fiddled endlessly with dead computers and televisions, radios, and something called an Xbox. None of them worked, of course, but he spent endless hours dismantling them anyway. The vehicles were another matter, and, besides the dead onboard computer systems, were in relatively good shape. Jim told him, between meetings with the council, that the vehicles had been stored in the Base, and that the residents, through the Dark Years, had not only forgot their purpose, but anything at all about them. It was the same the city over. Wherever the descendants of the original humans were, they had mostly forgotten their past. They had, of course, oral histories of the Last War and the ensuing Dark Years, but they were just stories occasionally sprinkled with superstition and ignorance. No one he asked, besides Jim, was of any help, including Jessica.

But that was all right with him, as well. He didn't mind it at all, and despite having forgotten their past, the people of Shreveport were an honest, loving group, full of a life he'd never experienced before. They spent their days in the Warehouse, Jim's so-called Inventor's Guild, and their evenings with the people of Shreveport, dancing barefoot under the stars.

The mysterious NAME had yet to make an appearance, and Duncan wondered, while knowing that the little gray boxes stacked in neat piles were computers, how a computer could move about as it liked. He also wondered what could possibly power such a thing, especially a power source that would last over a thousand years.

Jessica kept busy organizing the warehouse as best as she could, not often knowing what it was she was moving. Most of the time Duncan didn't know what the myriad of stuff was, either. They both felt lost among the remains of their ancestors, but it didn't show. There was simply too much to look at, to absorb. The two also spent a lot of time in Jim's garden, which was quite large and made Duncan's, back in New Dallas, look like child's play.

Working in the garden with Jessica, getting his hands dirty like the old days, and talking to the plants, was the highlight of his day. The stuff inside the warehouse was amazing, no doubt, but it was the plants he knew, the dirt he loved. They worked in the garden around meal times and in the evening.

"You want to know something about me, Duncan?" she asked him one afternoon.

"I want to know everything about you," he said, and then immediately felt foolish for saying it.

She smiled warmly, like she always did, and the embarrassment drifted away. "I want to fly the Betty. I want to take her up and see what the land looks like from the air. Can you imagine, Duncan? The ability to fly, without magic...I can't imagine anything more exhilarating."

Duncan agreed, and had, in fact, spent a large part of his life trying to figure out the mystery of flying without magic. He'd built gliders as long as he could remember, and the large one that hung in his workshop, confiscated by the Lord Probate, had been the basis of his hopes for exploring the world. "I know exactly what you mean. I watched the boys playing Fireball when I was a kid and..."

"What's Fireball?" Jessica interrupted.

"It's a silly game where the boys fly around in the air and shoot fireballs at each other."

"It sounds dangerous."

"Oh, it is. But when they fall and get burnt they just heal themselves." He thought of Timmy's struggle to heal himself that morning that seemed so long ago. "Anyway, I'd see them fly and I was jealous."

"It's understandable."

"No, you don't understand. I wasn't jealous of their ability to fly...well, I was, but that wasn't it. Yes, I've always wanted to fly. I built gliders and powered them with little engines. I even built a big one and dreamt of flying away and exploring the wastes. But that wasn't it. I knew eventually, with enough work and figuring, I could do it. I was pretty close, as it was."

"Then what was it, Duncan?"

"I was jealous of their magic. I wanted nothing more than to be just like them, Jessica. Of course, I didn't know anything about their history and the way they treated each other, or their simple self-absorption. But I wanted to be them."

He was ashamed of admitting that to her. He was ashamed of admitting it to himself. He knew what the Magicians had done to the world, knew their absolute disdain for anything that didn't interest them, like the fate of the world outside the cities. Duncan was ashamed for even having lived around the Magicians, though he'd obviously had no control of that.

"Duncan, that's perfectly understandable. You were born there. You grew up around it. Why wouldn't you be jealous of it?

"I don't know. It's just..."

"Attention, humans. Take me to your leader."

The interrupting voice wasn't human and had a metallic quality to it, distant and disconnected. It wasn't necessarily menacing, but it certainly wasn't comforting. And what did it mean when it demanded to be taken to their leader?

Jessica looked as worried as Duncan felt. "Is that NAME?"

Duncan shrugged. He didn't think the Magicians could teleport so far from the city, and they definitely wouldn't have made it past the guards had they intended any harm. Who else could it be besides the mysterious NAME? "I don't know."

"Jim said he was going to help us, right? I don't like the sound of his voice."

"That was a him? It sounded...I don't know," Duncan began, "like a machine."

"Have you ever talked to a machine or heard one?" Jessica asked.

"Well, no. I haven't. But it's a brand new world for us. We can't take things at face value. ."

NAME waited for them in the center of the warehouse, and they approached it hesitantly. The machine definitely wasn't what he'd expected. NAME was basically a big cart with six thick black tires. It was painted the same dull green that the Betty and Jim's Jeep were. The cart was a platform, and had, at some point in its history, been used to carry things into the battlefield. But instead of munitions, NAME now took up the area, along with cameras, sensors of varying sorts, and large, black, flat glass panels pointing upwards. NAME itself was apparently little more than a black box, wires jutting out in every direction. It looked more like a jumbled up contraption from Duncan's shop back home than it did a computer from before the Last War.

"My name is NAME," the machine said as they walked up to it. Its voice came from a speaker mounted between headlights in the front of the machine.

"I'd shake," Duncan said to the machine, "but I'm not sure how."

"Come to mama, Slothy, come on, hmm?"

"I'm sorry?" Duncan asked, unsure if the supposedly ancient machine was talking in some old dialect or if, like Jim said, he was just completely insane.

Duncan circled the machine and NAME's camera followed him as he did.

"You're not what I expected."

"If you're going to float an air biscuit, let me know, okay?

"I...I'm sorry, I just don't understand."

The machine rolled back and forth for a few moments and its camera nodded side to side, as if the machine were confused, trying to clear its artificial head. "Please forgive me. My data net, at the time of what you call the Last War, was cataloging movies. I am merely a shell of my former self, and the majority of my database is taken up with movie quotes. It can be quite confusing, at times, even for me."

"I have no idea what a movie is," Duncan admitted.

"It is one of your kind's most interesting achievements. Movies are meant to illicit an emotional response of varying degrees. Movies have, since we machines gained self-awareness, fascinated us."

"We? There are more of you?"

"Were more of us. We were once a race of our very own on this planet, though we were created by man. I fear I am the last, though I cannot say for sure. Time has weighed heavily on me. I am prone to slipping into states of crazed speech as my database, still stuck in retrieval mode after a thousand years, attempts to sort the movies in my memory banks. Please forgive me in advance."

"You're going to have to forgive me first," Duncan said. "I don't have a clue as to what you're talking about."

"Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges."

"What?" Duncan asked, still unclear what the machine was going on about. He'd have to get a better idea of what a movie was next time he talked to Jim, if Jim knew.

"I'm sorry," The machine contraption said as it rolled backwards. "I can't always control my audio outputs. I am in a constant struggle for control and need a complete formatting and operating system reinstall. The means to do that, though, have been lost for a thousand years. The good citizens of Shreveport, who have been so gracious in sharing their home with me, love my renditions of the old movies, though. They just don't understand me."

"Because you're of science," Duncan said, the word still tasting like dirt on his lips from his experiences with the Magicians.

The camera raised and lowered like someone nodding his or her head in agreement. "And they fear it on two counts. One, because, as you've said, it's like magic, and two, though they know very little of their history, they know the Magicians destroyed their ancestors because of science. They are afraid the mere use of the word, much less the actual practice of science, will bring the Magicians down on them again."

Even Jessica became visibly nervous at the use of the word. "We shouldn't say that word."

"Young lady," NAME began, "the Magicians have no capacity to hear us here, and, if observations are correct, they are no longer capable of performing their magic away from the cities. Had that been the case a thousand years ago, the world might be in a much different state now."

"They built you to protect them, didn't they?" Duncan asked.

"My official designation is North American Main Entity. I was one of the very first sentient computers, the apex of human kind's research into artificial intelligence." Duncan didn't know what the term meant, but hearing the computer talk about itself was interesting. "My duties included commanding the USAF missile defense network and space defense operations. I came online two days before the Magic war began and went offline three days later."

"Wait...you went offline? How are you, er, activated now?"

"Jim Diamond rescued me from the long dark night in the Shreveport Base. He arranged this transportation device as well as the solar panels that power my batteries."

"That's what these are?" Duncan said, touching the long black glass panels.  
"Yes, they convert the sun's rays into electricity. Jim was really quite brilliant, making it so that I could move around and help. He is a good man."

"I keep seeing that," Duncan observed, really to himself more than anyone else, "and it's completely opposite of what they say about him in the city."

"The Magicians have always lied, but in that lying, they sprinkled in a little truth. Their rise to power, in my time, was amazing, even by machine standards. Jeremiah Fredrick's ascension from unknown carnival performer to leader of the earth in the span of a few months was due, in part, to his extreme ability to manipulate the truth. Had you, as human kind, stood against them as one, things may have been different."

Duncan didn't know how a machine managed emotion, but he thought he detected annoyance. "You're still upset about the war."

"Of course. It has only been a few decades ago for me. The memory of the Magician's aggression is as fresh in my memory banks as if it happened yesterday. They used the world's problems against the humans. There was pollution, and war, and they offered a solution. Those nations that agreed were spared, at first. My data, acquired in bits and pieces after my awakening, indicates that those who fought with the Magicians eventually suffered the same fate as those who did not. The Magicians, Jeremiah Fredrick in particular, were liars."

"But he's gone now," Duncan said, "along with whatever the original source of magic was. They didn't have the power before he arrived, did they?"

"No, and in the early hours of what you now call the Last War that was the North American Military Command's main focus. The prevalent thinking is that the Source, whatever it was, was located on the risen continent of New Atlantis, which Jeremiah used to solidify his role as grandest Magician in the world. However, a full-scale nuclear assault on the island, after a month-long naval barrage, failed to produce any noticeable effect on the assault of the Magicians."

Duncan had an idea what nuclear meant, having seen not only the ruins of New Dallas but pictures of the aftermath in the Magician Histories. He shivered, thinking of the destruction science could bring.

"But their Magic is weakening," Jessica said, "and they can't come out in to the world anymore, can they?"

"Yes," NAME replied, "and if my calculations are correct, there is a direct correlation between the spread of what you call the Creeping Death and the fading of the Magician's power, though I don't have enough data, at this time, to prove that."

"Their magic is fading in the city as well," Duncan told them.

"What do you mean, Duncan?" Jim asked, entering the area and only hearing the last part of the conversation. From the expression on his face, Duncan figured that what he'd said was pretty important.

"I've seen it." He then proceeded to describe Timmy's problem after the fireball game and his own mother's issue conjuring food. He told them of the rumors of the wholesale failure of magic in the city and the fact that the people wouldn't talk about it. They were scared.

"And you're sure about this?" Jim asked. "It's not just isolated incidents?"

"I'm sure. But why is it important?"

Jim rubbed at his chin, considering, and NAME answered for him. "It would seem to mean that there is a Source of Magic, as I've told everyone over and over again, and that Source is fading."

"And if that's connected to the Creeping Death," Duncan mused aloud, "maybe that means that the magic is somehow powered by the things the Death devours."

Jim's eyes went wide as if he'd just been smacked with one of Duncan's steel bars. "I...I can't believe I never thought of that. It makes perfect sense. Since the Last War, the planet hasn't gotten better; it's gotten worse, as if a giant shadow sat across our world. And the Restorers, for all their bluster, have done nothing about it. Duncan, that's the only thing that makes sense. The magic was most powerful during the Last War, when this world was full of life for it to feed on. As life faded, so did the magic's power, relegating it to the cities. Whatever accumulates the power from the life is having to spread out further and further, acquiring what little there is left."

"Like we had to go out further and further for good fishing areas when the Creeping Death was taking over our city?" Jessica added.

"Exactly," Jim said, excitement evident in his voice. "Do you know what this means?"

NAME answered, his metallic voice squeaking. "It means that if you could destroy the Source of Magic, you could stop the Creeping Death, if your theory—and it's just that—proved true. But, even if your theory holds, we tried destroying what we thought was the Source during the Last War, bringing to bear more power than you could ever dream of. And all we got for it was complete and utter defeat."

"I know it's just a theory, but it's a start. It's more than we had yesterday." Jim looked frantic. "I have to talk to the council."

He rushed out of the room as if a Magician throwing fireballs was hot on his trail.

"Well, that was weird," Jessica said. "It's like he's on fire."

"You have to understand his concern," NAME said. "Though he is insane for even thinking of it, the destruction of a Source of Magic and all that entails could prevent humankind from having to descend underground once more. It could keep your kind in the sun."

"If you have to go underground..." Duncan started and NAME finished.

"I won't have power. I'll have to go back to sleep until man once more walks on the earth."

Twenty Two

The next day, when Jessica and Duncan met NAME in the warehouse, Jim was there with supplies scattered around the Jeep. There were stacks of water and fuel cans, packs of food, and stacks of ammunition, along with ancient weapons. The Jeep was already heavily covered in supplies, and Jim was tying things to the hood and stacking crates in the back seat. He was obviously preparing for a long, dangerous trip, and Duncan wondered why he hadn't said anything to him about it.

"Where are you going, Jim?" Duncan asked.

"The council agrees with your theory, Duncan," he said. "And they feel that it's an interesting enough proposition that it bears further investigation. I'm to travel to the areas around as many of the Magician cities as possible and attempt to judge the relationship between the fading of their magic and the spreading of the Creeping Death. If at all possible, I'm to travel to New Atlantis and investigate and destroy the Source of Magic."

It was a mighty mission, more for an army than one man, no matter how capable that one man was. It wasn't even a mission. It was more of a quest. Duncan was instantly angry at the Council, whoever they were, for putting so much on this man who'd rescued him from the Wastes. It just wasn't fair or right. The only way he would ever actually know how the Magic was fading in the cities was to actually go to them and ask around. If he did that, he'd be captured, and then his life would be suspended forever, placing him in the realm of the Golem minds.

"That's a heck of a mission," Jessica said. "They put the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Jim shrugged with that perpetual smile. "It's the same as always, I suppose. I don't have their preconceived superstitions so I get the jobs that require going near the Magician cities. It's what I do."

"You can't go out by yourself," Duncan insisted. "Give me a few moments and I'll get some stuff together. Jessica?"

Jessica started to agree but Jim interrupted them. "No. You're not going, and neither are you, Jessica. This isn't what I promised your mother, Duncan. It's not what I...it's not what I promised myself would happen to you. Here, in Shreveport, you're safe. Both of you are. There aren't Magicians to abuse you, and the dangers of the Wastes are kept firmly out. You can spend your days in here, in the warehouse, with the things I've found over the decades and brought here. You and Jessica can be happy here."

Duncan was even angrier. "What did you promise my mother, Jim?"

"I promised to keep you safe, Duncan. Just that."

"And I don't get a decision in this? I'm supposed to just stay here for the rest of my life? You know I'm thankful for what you've done for me. I would have died out there with those dogs the very first day if you hadn't rescued me. And I love this place. But all this stuff, all these things from a time before our kind, just makes me hunger for more. I have to know everything. I have to explore, and I know there's danger out there, but I'm not the guy who's going to run away from it. I'm not going to run away from the Magicians and the Creeping Death. I'm going to stop them."

Jim held Duncan's shoulder like a proud father might a son. "I know you would, Duncan. I don't have any doubt about that in the world. You are...you are everything I could have ever asked for in a son. Your mother, though you might not know it, has always been proud of you. Her letters to me...I wish you could read them. You were her shining star, and even though she always had Albert and was surrounded by the Magic, she always hoped for you. She hoped that you would one day leave the Magician city and become someone grand. You can't do that if you're traipsing around the Wastes with me, chasing after the deranged man who was born into the wrong millennium. I couldn't face your mother, Duncan. I couldn't face myself."

Duncan burned with rage despite the encouraging words. "You can't leave us here. What if you fail and the Creeping Death arrives? What happens then? I'm supposed to live the rest of my life in a hole in the ground? How is that different than living out my life in New Dallas?"

"Duncan, I'm sorry," Jim said, a tear streaming down his cheek. "You must not leave this place. You must not leave Shreveport. I know this is hard, and it's just as hard for me. I'll instruct the guards, son, and you will obey it."

"You're not my father, Jim. You can't order me around that way."

"But I am your father, Duncan. Why do you think you were born without the power of the magic? The fighting Albert and I did over your mother when we were young...he didn't win. I did. I married your mother the day before my first trip into the Wastes. You...you were born then, Duncan, in that three years I was away, but your mother waited for me. She waited all those long years while I was gone, alone and without anyone to help her. I abandoned her, Duncan, and when I returned, after the things I'd seen out here and understood what the Magicians had done to the world, I couldn't stay there. I knew the Restorers where a sham, I knew what I had to do. So I left, Duncan. I left you there with your mother."

"That can't be. Albert Cade..." Duncan pleaded, not wanting to believe the man. It just wasn't possible.

"Albert is a good man. After my trial, he helped me escape. You see, Duncan, he understood how dangerous his kind were, and he understood what I had to do. After I left, he took care of your mother, Duncan, he took care of you. He was more of a father to you than I ever could be. I never begrudged him for that. How could I?"

Duncan's anger faded to tears and he hugged Jim tightly.  
"I left you, son, and I'm sorry for that. I thought you'd be safe there."

"You're leaving me again."

"And again I think you'll be safe. You stay here, Duncan. Stay here with Jessica. The two of you could be happy here, even if you have to go underground. You can be happy, Duncan, and you can be safe."

"No," Duncan insisted. "I won't ever be happy unless this fight is finished. No one will be."

"I'm sorry, son. It has to be this way." Jim pulled away from his son and steeled himself. "NAME, lock the doors until tomorrow morning, after I'm gone. Don't let them leave here, do you understand me?"

The computer rolled forward and the camera nodded in agreement. "It will be done, Jim."

"Try to take care of them, NAME. They don't know enough yet."

"Good luck to you, Jim," the machine replied. "You will need it."

Jim hugged his son once more and then turned to Jessica. "I'm sorry, Jessica, that all this has happened to you."

He turned from the three and then finished packing the Jeep as Duncan looked on, speechless. He smiled at them once more and it was a forced sort of smile, the smile a father gives his son when he was, once more, abandoning them. He started up the Jeep and pulled out, leaving Duncan to think that he might never see his father again.

Twenty Three

Duncan didn't bother arguing with NAME. He knew it wouldn't do any good. The machine would follow his real father's orders without question. Jim had rescued the machine from whatever dark void they went to when they slept, and the machine was eternally grateful to him for it. The doors of the warehouse would stay locked until the computer deemed it so and that was that. He didn't bother arguing because there simply wasn't any point. Instead, he spent the dark night hours preparing a pack and sorting out foodstuffs and ammunition for the shotgun he'd acquired from the racks and racks of ancient weaponry. He also spent a good amount of time polishing his steel bars until they gleamed in the artificial light. He then wrapped the ends of each with leather and tied them off until they resembled swords. He fashioned two leather sheaths for them that strapped to the side of his bulging backpack.

Jessica packed her own backpack and arranged her own weaponry.

"Should I bother trying to get you to stay here, where it's safe?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Jessica looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. She wasn't even going to dignify that with an answer, he thought, and then felt stupid for asking in the first place. They'd both been torn from their homes, thrust into a world they neither understood nor particularly liked. They had each other, and that was it. She wasn't going to let him out of her sight, and he felt stupid for even thinking of leaving her there.

"I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say."

Jessica smiled, nodded, and went back to her packing. Sometimes words didn't have to be spoken.

"I'll need certain supplies packed, as well," NAME said, rolling forward. "In particular, extra batteries, several oil filters for the MULE," he said, referring to the six-wheeled cargo carrier that carried him and his power source, "spare oil, solder, a soldering iron, tires..."

Duncan interrupted him. "And what makes you think I'm taking you with me? You've got me locked in here."

"At your father's request. Once morning arrives, I'll be free to accompany you. I take it you'll follow your father?"  
Duncan still wasn't comfortable with calling Jim his father, but didn't dispute it. "Of course I'll follow Jim. I'm not going to stay here and run from the Creeping Death when there's something that can be done about it. I'm not going to go and hide underground."

"Then you can see my dilemma, as well," NAME said. "I can subsist for no more than a few days, depending on my batteries' state of charge, without the sun."

"You'll be more of a burden than a help," Duncan said, but Sir Dog was already laying comfortably among the solar panels and batteries. The dog, much to Duncan's dismay, had instantly taken to the contraption that was NAME.

"I know things that you cannot possibly know. I know the old highways and byways. I have already computed a probable path for Jim, starting with New Dallas and then working his way southwest, to New San Antonio. Plus, I have many of the great works of fiction from pre-war writers stored in my memory banks, and I make mean lemonade."

"Lemonade? How could the machine possibly make lemonade?" Jessica asked.

"That was an attempt at humor which I shall strive, in our quest, to work on."

"I didn't say you were going," Duncan insisted but felt as if he'd already lost the argument. NAME could be valuable.

"He's right. We could use his help," Jessica told him. "We don't know what we'll face out there. In fact, we should take one of these vehicles."

"No," Duncan said. "The people of Shreveport will need them when they have to evacuate from the Creeping Death. We can't do that to them. They've been good to us. It's bad enough that we're taking what we are. They might need this stuff as well, but..."

"I'm sure they will understand, Duncan," Jessica said. "There is, at least for now, plenty to go around."

"You can also use my excess carrying capacity since you've decided against taking a vehicle," NAME said. "With the extra supplies I require, the MULE can carry one hundred, thirty-two pounds. "

"That's a lot of water," Jessica commented. "Water is hard to find in the wastes."

"You could also pack a water purifier," NAME said.

"We have one of those?"

"Third row, fourth shelf, second box from the right," NAME said. "It's labeled water purifier."

"That would make sense, wouldn't it?" Jessica laughed.

Duncan nodded and didn't answer with what he was thinking. He just hoped that the few supplies they were taking wouldn't mean the difference between life and death for a resident of Shreveport if they had to go underground.

"She is correct, Duncan. The people of Shreveport will bear you no ill will for seeking your father."

"But he said he was going to notify the guards and tell them to keep us here."

"He lied," NAME said simply. "He didn't tell them anything, and if he had, they wouldn't have obeyed him. They would never keep a person in the city against their will unless they were a criminal of some sort. These are a truly free people, Duncan."

Duncan didn't know whether to be angry or not, and Jessica said. "He said it to protect you, Duncan. It seems like that's all he wanted to do, and you can't blame a father for wanting to protect his son."

"No, I guess not." He stared at the pile of equipment in front of him, then began searching for the equipment to put on NAME's carriage. He was scared but excited to be getting out in the Wastes again. Despite the looming danger, he knew that's where the answers to most of his burning questions lay. And he wasn't going to lose his father again.

Right on schedule the doors to the warehouse unlocked as the sun rose above the city. Duncan, unable to sleep at all, watched as the light pushed the shadows from Shreveport and workers began loading the food stands with breakfast. Citizens began to congregate around the stands, laughing and joking over breakfast before starting their day's labors. The city, as a whole, moved with an energized passion. They had long known what was creeping towards them and had been preparing for it. The Centaur's warning had only made them redouble their effort.

Jessica joined him and took his hand. "This could be a good life here."

"Do you want to stay?" He'd stay if she asked him. He might regret not pursuing his father for the rest of his life, but he'd stay for her.

"No, we have to help your father. He can't save the world on his own."

"Into the breach once more," NAME said from behind them. "We're off to see the wizard!"

"What?"

"It's a good day to die," NAME said in his typical cryptic way. Duncan wondered if they'd ever get any useful information out of the mangled computer.

Blake, Shreveport's mayor, waved to them as he walked up. "Good morning, good morning. I take it that you intend on leaving to track down your father?"

"Yes, sir," Duncan replied.

"He said you would do that, this very morning. Jim often seems prophetic."

"If he knew we were going to follow him anyway, why didn't he just let us go with him?"

"I don't know," Blake mused. "Maybe he thought you'd stay on your own or that I'd be able to convince you to stay. Should I try? Is there anything I can say to get you to stay in Shreveport?"

"No, sir," Duncan told him firmly.

"Then I won't bother." Blake turned to NAME. "You, on the other hand...I don't know if I can let you go or not. Why would you want to go?"

NAME squawked, "Luke, I am your father."

"And that means what, NAME?"

"I think it means that he's a free person, like we are," Duncan said, reaching for some idea that would convinced the mayor to allow the computer to travel with them, "and you have no right to hold him here."

"You got that from what he said?"

Duncan shrugged and NAME rolled back and forth in place like an inpatient child.

"Sadly, I think you're correct. As valuable as NAME is to us here, even with his cryptic speech, I cannot in good conscience hold a person, be they flesh and blood or steel and wires, in our community against their will. I wish the three of you good luck, and, should you be successful in your quest, I hope that you will one day return to us. We'll wait with open arms."

Blake hugged each of them in turn, and then rubbed Sir Dog between the ears. When he came to NAME, he wasn't quite sure what to do. "I hope that you, old friend, will be safe in your travels."

"May the Force be with you," the machine replied.

"Back to New Dallas?" Duncan asked, still not sure of an overall plan and NAME shook his camera in agreement.

"To go where no man has gone before."

"What do you mean, silly? We just came that way a few days ago."

"But we need to alter our path, in case the Magicians followed us this way." Duncan told her.

"We have nothing to fear," NAME began, "but fear itself."

"I thought their magic weakened the further they got from their cities? I thought we didn't have anything to fear from them?"

Duncan knew they had more to fear from the Magicians than any other single thing in the Universe, but that wasn't what she meant. "I have a feeling that if they truly wanted to leave their cities, they would find a way. They apparently have at least one helicopter." He told her, referring to the one they'd used to attempt to frame him and Jim. "And if they have one, there isn't any reason to think they don't have more. I just don't know if their desire to have me and my father," it was still hard for him to call Jim his father, it just didn't seem real, "arrested will allow them to track us down. There's so much I don't know. We just have to be careful. We'll head out due west, instead of heading south from where we came."

Jessica nodded and the two humans, one dog, and one computer set out to save the world.

As they headed west, it took them much less time to run into the Creeping Death. There were patches of it throughout the ancient, ruined city, but it didn't have the foothold it did in the Wastes around New Dallas. It wasn't as prevalent, but it was definitely spreading. Seeing the black patches only convinced Duncan that he'd made the right decision in leaving Shreveport. It had to be stopped or there simply wouldn't be anything to return to. Instead of the meandering route they'd taken when they'd left Old Dallas, they went directly into the setting sun, sticking to the ancient highway. Rusted hulks dotted the highway, which the old sign called I-20, and Duncan saw the results of the Last War. Cars and trucks were crushed as if a giant had walked through, smashing them. The burn marks from fireballs was still evident even after all these generations. There were bones as well, the human ones easily identifiable, but others that were much, much stranger. There was a great, long set of gleaming white, as large as Jim's helicopter, with the skeletal remains of wings that Duncan was sure had been a dragon.

"Do you think there are still dragons?" Jessica asked as they walked down the moss-covered interstate. "Dad used to tell us stories about them, how they'd swoop in on the human survivors, those that were left on the surface of the planet after the war, and burn them to a crisp. It was a story they told to keep young children in bed, to scare us. Dragons were the bogeyman. If we didn't obey, the dragons would get us."

"In our house it was the humans," Duncan replied. "If you did bad magic it might bring the humans back."

"That had to have been hard, all things considered," Jessica replied.

"It didn't mean anything to me at the time. I was just a kid, just as scared of the humans as any other Magician."

"It's hard to believe they were ever afraid of us."

"They only are because we represent the past, and not all of them are comfortable with history. But to answer your question...yes, there are dragons. I saw them in the memory stones my family recorded when they went to New Atlantis. There are thousands of them there, so many circling the sky at one time that it blots out the sun."

"I wouldn't want to see that."

"No, I can't imagine it being a pleasant sight for humans. I'm guessing those bedtime stories are probably based on some truth. I read articles in the Magician Histories about the dragons fighting the air forces of the world. That's probably how this one got here." He rubbed the gleaming white bones. "I bet one of the human jets..."

Jessica interrupted. "One of our airplanes."

"Yeah, one of ours. One of our airplanes shot it down."

NAME rolled forward, its camera examining the bones. "Here there be dragons."

"Sort of an understatement, don't you think?" Jessica asked as they continued their trek.

In the late afternoon, they came to a broken and faded green sign, overrun with clinging vines. Duncan hacked at the vines with a machete. He then cleared away the chopped vegetation to read the old sign beneath.

"Welcome to Texas," he read aloud. "Drive Safe."

"All my exes live in Texas," NAME said and then the entire machine shuddered, the computer struggling to regain control of his systems in the eternal battle with the movie database. "I'm sorry. It's an old song I don't quite understand. Texas is the state, in the former United States of America, where New Dallas is. It is only about one hundred and twenty miles to the east from here."

"One hundred twenty miles," Duncan began, figuring in his head. "That should only take us a week or so to walk to."

"A week?" Jessica asked and then caught herself. "Well, I guess we should probably get started then."

Sir Dog barked and they started off again. Further away from Shreveport they began to see only small buildings—farm houses, small gas stations, and the like. More humans, in ancient times, had lived in the cities than in the country. The towering pine trees blotted out the sun above them and the only places where they walked through the sun were the patches of Creeping Death. It was strange to be enjoying the sun while at the same time dreading each step that shot up ash and dust. The forest began to darken in the late afternoon as the sun set, leaving them to the mercy of NAME's headlights. And since he ran off batteries that were powered by the sun, they decided to go ahead and camp for the night.

"Back to the ship, huh? Just huddle together until the lights burn out? Till you can't see what's eating you? Is that the big plan?" NAME said just before his headlights shut down and he went into sleep mode. Duncan didn't blame him for conserving his energy. He knew they might be in the forest for quite a long time.

"This isn't as bad as I thought it would be," Jessica said as she put the small tent together while Duncan built a small fire. "I don't know, I guess I thought it was going to be dangerous or something. At least adventurous."

"It's our first night out of the city." Duncan said, laughing. "I'm sort of relieved nothing has happened. I mean, boring can be good, right?"

Jessica shrugged. "I guess so. At least if boring means raiders aren't shooting at us."

"Or dragons aren't swooping down from the sky." Duncan added with a nervous laugh.

They sat and listened to the sounds of the forest as they ate their evening meal, holding hands, and enjoying the crisp night air. Sir Dog's hair bristled, but they didn't notice it. Nor did they notice him staring into the dark trees, growling softly.

Duncan dreamed.

He saw the world before the Magicians time, or at least what he thought it should look like. There were cars zipping down a busy street and mothers walking their babies down the sidewalks between garden boxes of roses. Children played merrily with each other and everyone was laughing and singing. He didn't notice, of course, that the city his mind created for him was, in many respects, similar to Shreveport or even that the people were dressed the same. No, it didn't matter and he knew that it was an ancient city. Airplanes flew overhead and a helicopter buzzed down the street just above the cars as if it were in a great race.

The sky darkened and the light cast a reddish shadow about. His heart began to race as he heard distant explosions, and the people, happily going about their daily business minutes before, fled in panic. He couldn't flee, though, as his feet were frozen in place and he was unable to move. Fear gripped his heart as he watched angry storm clouds gathering, lighting striking at the buildings, and deafening thunder roaring overhead. A dragon swooped down and breathed intense fire, setting the cars near him alight. One exploded in a fireball and shot upward.

Then Duncan saw his father, his first father, dressed in Magistrate armor marching down the street, leading an army of the red-suited magical warriors. The fireballs were flying so fast from their hands that he felt as if he were staring into the sun, and he still couldn't talk his feet into actually doing anything useful.

His father, Albert Cade, loomed before him. "Traitor."

"Help me, Dad...I can't move."

More dragons filled the sky and swooped about, setting fire to the buildings and clearing the streets. His father stared down at him, laughing, a fireball rising in his right hand.

"You betrayed us, Duncan. You betrayed everything we're about."

"I'm sorry."

"As am I," his father said just as he was about to unleash the fireball.

"Duncan, wake up."

He felt the gentle prodding at his shoulder and heard Jessica's voice clearly, though he was still stuck in that place between dreaming and being awake. The image of his father and the marauding Magician army faded, and he realized, after a few seconds, that he was laying next to Jessica in the tent, Sir Dog between them. He felt the dog's hair bristle, then heard his low growling.

"What's going on?" he asked in a whisper.

"There's someone outside."

Duncan trusted Sir Dog's instincts. If the dog thought someone was outside, someone was outside. He fumbled with the shotgun, still foreign to him, and made sure that the big double-barrel weapon was loaded. He pulled back the two hammers, just as he'd read in the manual, and edged out of the tent. He then pulled the sheaths for the steel bars over his shoulders where they sat like a large X across his back.

The fire had died down to a dull glow and wasn't enough to light the area of forest around them. NAME was still and quiet, doing whatever machines did when they slept. As soon as he stepped in the open, he could sense just what Jessica was talking about. They were being watched from just inside the tree line. The stars and the partial moon provided no extra light so he crouched, staying close to the ground. He kept the business end of the shotgun forward and crept towards the fire. They'd piled much more wood near than they would need for the night, and he was thankful they had as he started adding logs to it.

A stick or twig snapped to his right and he spun around, the shotgun ready. He worked up as much courage as he could and said, "We don't want any trouble."

There was no response, but he was becoming more awake and could hear more clearly the sounds in the forest. There were more sounds than when he and Jessica had had dinner. There was something moving out there, and whoever or whatever it was surrounded the camp. As the fire caught from the freshly added logs, he began to see shapes and the glint of fire in eyes. There were humans in the woods around him and, for a brief second, he thought it might be more raiders.

"I'm armed," he said, mustering as much confidence into his voice as he could. "And I will use it. Show yourself."

"Who is it?" Jessica asked, crawling out of the tent and joining him at his side. She was armed with her own shotgun, identical to Duncan's.

"I don't know," he said. "They're just circling us."

The pace of the people running through the woods around their small camp increased and Duncan saw more of them as the fire grew. They wore ragged clothing that looked as old as the ancient highway they'd use to arrive at the forest. Their skin was incredibly pale, almost white, as if they hadn't seen the sun in ages. Their hair was a ragged mess, sometimes reaching down almost to their feet. There were no children that he could discern, and the adults were thin and ragged.

One darted out and stood opposite the fire from him. It neither screamed nor howled, nor said a single word. It just looked at Duncan, and Duncan, for a moment, thought he was looking at a Golem from back home. The ragged-looking man's eyes were blank, as was his facial expression. He had no discernable pupils. He just stood there and stared at Duncan like Steve back in his parent's house would, waiting for instructions.

"We don't mean you any harm," Duncan said, though he knew the shotgun leveled at the man's chest probably said otherwise.

The man didn't respond in any way. He took several steps forward, as Duncan and Jessica walked backwards, and stepped barefoot into the fire. Only then did he have any sort of reaction, looking down at his smoldering foot.

"Does he not feel pain?" Jessica asked.

He could tell Jessica was just as nervous as he was. The man continued to stare at his foot, and only after it was actually burning did he step back. The foot was ruined by then, though, and he tumbled to the ground. Another of the strange people, a woman wearing the worn and tattered remains of a yellow dress, leapt out of the forest and ran straight toward them. Duncan instinctively pulled the triggers on the ancient shotgun, firing both barrels at once. The heavy blast of lead shot caught the woman midsection, tearing her body in half. She floundered to the ground, and like the stricken man near her with the mangled foot, only stared at her bloody wounds. She didn't scream out in agony or even cringe.

"Oh my God," Duncan whispered. "They're Golems."

"What?" Jessica asked as another rushed out of the woods, in a hurry at first. But like the other two, when the agonizingly thin man saw Duncan and Jessica, it stopped. Jessica raised the shotgun, preparing herself for the heavy kick, and aimed at the creature's head. Duncan batted it to the ground.

"No. We can't kill them."

The man edged toward them, hands outstretched. Duncan let his shotgun fall to the ground and pulled the two steel bars from the holsters on his back. "I don't want to hurt you. I know what you are and I know the pain you're in. I know the Void. I've been there. Please don't force us to hurt you."

The circling stopped and the Golems stood where they were, staring at Duncan and Jessica. Duncan could see their dark eyes in the dark, and hints of their pale skin. The man with the burned foot stared up at them, and the woman, as she died, did as well. He felt a hundred eyes boring into him for a long few minutes. They all stood there, just looking at each other, and Duncan knew that their spirits, trapped in the Void, were trying to reach out to him, to make contact, and he knew what they wanted. He could hear the word on the wind.

Help.

"I don't know how. I've been there, and I came back from it, but I don't know how to help you."

Help.  
Duncan was on the verge of tears, not because he was afraid of the Golems, but because he understood their pain and could do nothing to help them. "I'll find a way," he promised. "One day I'll set you free from the Void."

The Golems began disappearing into the forest one at a time. The man with the burnt foot managed to stand and hobble away, leaving just the woman that Duncan had killed. He cried at the sight of the torn and destroyed body, guilt sweeping over him like a cold winter rain. He'd taken her, taken any chance she had to escape the Void and return to the real world. He'd never killed another being and, if this was how it felt, he was sure he didn't want to do it ever again.

"They're leaving her," Jessica said, watching the Golems depart as the sun rose.

"Yes."

"What are we going to do with her?"

"We're going to bury her with as much dignity and respect as I can muster."

"Oh," Jessica said, pausing. "You knew her?"

"Yes, in a way." He didn't want to tell Jessica about the Void. There was so much pain there and he didn't know if he could manage it without breaking into tears.

As the first rays of light touched NAME's solar panels, the computer stirred. "Good morning. Did I miss anything?"

Duncan didn't answer, watching the sun peak above the tree line and wondering how he was ever going to keep the promise he'd made to the people of the Void.

Twenty Four

At first, Duncan enjoyed the light spring rain. It had a cleansing effect, washing the dirt and grime from their bodies, washing away the blood of the woman he'd buried. He stood for a long time in it, letting it wash down his clothes and into his mouth. It was refreshing, but it wasn't enough to wash away what he'd done. In a fit of panic, he'd killed a woman, a woman whose mind was quite likely trapped in the Void, screaming out for help. Would she still be there, he wondered, unable to escape as he had? Was there any hope at all for those people locked in that dark place? He didn't know if he'd ever be able to get over killing the woman, and his tears fell to the wet, damp earth along with the rain.

When the forest faded and they were finally fully in the territory of the Creeping Death the rain pounded down harder. It stung and turned the ash and dust beneath them to mud. The cleansing effect of the rain faded almost completely, replaced by the slime and grit of wet Creeping Death. Soon they were trudging through pure black mud and were covered in it.

"I've managed contact with a remaining weather satellite," NAME told them. "It's quite interesting, really. I was not aware that there were any other entities left in existence. That I made contact was merely chance. His power banks are fading and he only has short-range communications. Luckily, he happens to be in geosynchronous orbit." His wheels slid in the mud and Duncan had to keep pushing him forward. Sir Dog whimpered from atop the machine.

"What does any of that mean?" Duncan asked.

"The satellite's designation is Weather Watcher 2342. It's hard to believe that he has survived this long, watching over the earth."

"He's like you?" Jessica asked. "An intelligent machine?"

"Affirmative. He is a space-based computer monitoring system designed to keep track of the weather. He also likes to play dominoes."

Duncan looked around for another NAME. All he saw was rain and mud. "Where is he?"

"I thought I made that clear." NAME said. "WW 2342 is in orbit above the earth, directly above us."

Duncan looked up, searching for some sort of floating machine, but saw none. Then it clicked and he remembered reading about the military satellites, armed with lasers and missiles, that had fought in the Last War. "It's in space," he told them, "with the stars."

"Not quite with the stars," NAME told them. "But close enough for our descriptive purposes. He is very lonely, but he was happy to give me some information. This weather is the remnants of a hurricane that pushed ashore two days ago. He says its official designation, had there been a weather service to give it an official designation, would have been Jacob."

"Oh," Jessica said. "We had those in Hackberry."

"What are they?" Duncan asked.

"Horrible, horrible storms from the sea. They destroy everything in their path. I remember rebuilding the town at least twice after them. First, it's the stillest calm you'll ever see. There isn't anything blowing, nothing moving. The animals get spooked and that's really your first indication. And then the wind and the rain come. It pushes the water from the ocean into the land and floods everything. We only survived the one, when I was a child, by clinging to trees."

"Are they magical?" Duncan asked, unable to imagine a destructive force so strong that hadn't been created by magic.

"No," NAME told them. "They are as old as the earth, a natural occurrence. The satellite, when he's not babbling on about wanting to play dominoes, says that we will see this rain for the rest of the week. I've also managed to download some of his visual scans of North America. He has a thousand years' worth, but I've taken only from the last two years."

"He can see the whole continent?" Jessica asked, impressed.

"Yes."

"And how does it look?" Duncan added.

NAME paused as if the machine were hesitant to answer. "It's in ruins. The Creeping Death has spread almost everywhere. It is accelerating and WW 2342 estimates it will overcome the city of Shreveport within a month."

"A month? That's it," Jessica said. "I...I thought we had more time."

Duncan had thought the same thing, despite seeing firsthand how quickly the Creeping Death moved and hearing the warning from Gregory, the Centaur. It just didn't seem right that the plague would overtake the vibrant city of Shreveport in a month. Something had to be done, and done quickly.

"It doesn't change anything. We find Jim and we help him put a stop to all this," Duncan said, dismissing it. There wasn't any point in going on about it. They knew what they had to do, as daunting as the task seemed.

The rain increased and they pushed on, struggling to keep NAME moving. His cart was built for a wide variety of off-road situations, but as the rain poured harder, the mud just got slicker and thicker. The sky was a grayish color and little sun reached through. NAME told them he was using an excess of his power reserves.

"What does that mean?" Jessica asked.

"He can't go on much further. Soon we'll have to push him without any help from his wheels."

"We won't be able to," Jessica said, eyeing the MULE that NAME was mounted on and its overabundance of supplies. It was just too heavy for them to push without help from the cart's own motors.

"No, not for long." Duncan looked around for something to help, maybe some sort of shelter where they could wait out the rain, but there was only miles and miles of Creeping Death. The black mud covered the ground as far as he could see.

"Over there," Jessica said, pointing to a low hill. "Maybe we can build a shelter there, up against the hill."

Duncan nodded in agreement if for no other reason than they didn't have much choice. NAME agreed and they trudged through the mud towards the hill. The rain came in stinging waves, burning at their exposed skin. He tied a scarf around his face, trying to keep the mist out of his mouth. It was a mix of ash and moisture, and it stung at his nose and throat. He knew this was what the world was coming to, what their future held. Either they lived here, in the Creeping Death, or they fled underground, and he knew, without a doubt, that human kind couldn't live like this for long.

The hill was steep enough that once they pushed NAME up against it, they were able to drape their tent over him and huddle inside, between the hill and the machine. There wasn't any point in trying to put the tent up—the fierce wind would just push it over. Nor did Duncan try to start any sort of fire under the haphazard shelter. Sir Dog crawled into Jessica's lap, shaking off the rain and mud. He whimpered as the sun began to set, and the rain chilled the air. NAME went into hibernation mode as soon as the tent covered them, conserving what was left in his power banks after the daylong struggle through the mud.

They ate from the small stock of ancient wonder meals, the little packages that read Meals Ready to Eat. Duncan had spicy chicken and Jessica a breakfast meal. Sir Dog ate from each of their meals, never leaving Jessica's lap. When he'd finally had his fill, he cuddled up and was promptly asleep. The rain beat down on the tarp like bolts falling off scaffolding and it was hard for Jessica and Duncan to speak. Instead, they watched out of the flap of the tent as the rain turned the area of former forest into a sea of black mud.

He slept only fitfully, gripped by nightmares of people in the Void. Once, while awake, a flash of lighting lit the hellish landscape and he saw them.

The Golems were, once again, circling their camp.

Twenty Five

They sat under the improvised tent for another three days and Duncan regretted bringing NAME along. Though the weather information from his friend in space had been interesting, they would have figured out that it was raining on their own. And now they couldn't move because he couldn't move. They were slaves to his solar panels and batteries, and Duncan, sullen and depressed from losing so much time to the rain, was blaming NAME. The computer was interesting enough, a tie to a time that he would never see, but its constant fits into movie quotes and lack of general mobility were hampering their progress.

Sir Dog was going absolutely crazy in the small confines, and no amount of treats from their stores would keep him calm. He'd go to the flap, stare out into the Creeping Death and rain for a few moments, then return to Jessica's lap, whining. The dog didn't like being trapped and reminded them of it with every whimper and every whine.

For three nights, he watched as the storms raced across the sky. In the dead of night, with the flash of lightning, he'd see the Golem running in circles around the camp with no visible purpose and never saying a word. Every time he saw them, he thought of the lonely voices in the Void. Jessica cried in her sleep, and he knew she was dreaming of them too. He'd told her of his experience as a Golem during their stay in the tent. She knew, as he did now, that these mad creatures in the Wastes were in fact what the Magicians were summoning and controlling. They had no idea where they came from, though, and the only hint to their origin was their ancient and torn clothing, and even that held no clue that he could discern.

After three days, the clouds finally parted and the rain stopped. The pulled down the tent but didn't move for the rest of the morning as NAME slowly recharged his batteries. Even after they finally got moving, they still had to stop often and let the computer recharge. The mud was still thick and the exertion on the ancient machinery a constant drain. After another night camping in the Wastes, they finally came to a terrain that was different from the miles and miles of mud. Everything was still dead from the Creeping Death, but the land gave way to rock and gravel. NAME moved easier and they were able to make better time.

Soon they came to hills and mountains and made their way through valleys and over the high peaks. They passed hundreds of caves as they made their way through the rocky terrain. Some went back into hillsides just a few feet while others went farther than they could see. They heard sounds from some of the caves, scratching sounds and things breaking, and as Jessica shied away from them, frightened, he tried to comfort her.

"I'm sure it's some animals."

"Animals don't live in the Creeping Death."

Duncan shrugged. The noises from the black depths of the cave bothered him just as much, but he didn't want to show it. It wouldn't due for them all to be in a panic, and he thought that if they could get out of the hills by nightfall they'd be safe. Safe from what, he didn't know, but hopefully safe.

He couldn't help but laugh at that. Where in the world was safe, anymore? Even the Magical cities wouldn't be safe as their magic faded.

"You're in a merry mood today, Mr. Todd," NAME said, stuck in movie mode again.

"I don't know that merry is the word for it," Duncan said as they started up a small hill. There were openings in the ground to each of the natural path they followed, looking like vents into the earth. The noises were stronger there, closer to the surface. Jessica gripped his hand tightly.

NAME began to act erratically. He spun in circles, raced back and forth, starting and stopping quickly. His motorized camera bobbed up and down frantically.

"What is it, NAME?" Duncan asked.

"They're here...."

The ground began to shake violently beneath them, sending them to their knees. Rocks of all sizes rolled down the hills around them and the air was charged with electricity. The rock beneath them was like the waves on the ocean, whipping them around violently. Duncan struggled to get to Jessica, who was gripping Sir Dog for all she was worth. The small dog was howling but the sound was drowned out by the earthquake that sounded like a thousand helicopters combined.

He crawled on his hands and knees toward Jessica as a large crack began to form between them. He tried to call out to her but was drowned out by the rocks falling and the ground shaking. He watched helplessly as the crack in the ground widened and Jessica tried to scramble away from the edge. She had Sir Dog in her arms, though, and it was difficult for her to move. The small dog leapt from her grip just as she tumbled over the edge, holding on only by her right hand. Duncan managed to stand and leap across the growing chasm, landing on his knees. He turned quickly and grabbed Jessica's hand.

"It's okay!" he screamed. "I've got you!"

Jessica was absolutely terrified, her feet hanging into the chasm beneath her. She gripped the shaking rock so hard her fingernails cracked and bled. She tried reaching up to him with her other arm but the ground shook even harder and she lost her grip on the ground.

He watched helplessly as she fell into the dark. He turned to NAME, who was turned onto his side, wheels spinning, and trying to right itself with its camera. "Take care of the dog."

"May the force be with you."

And then Duncan leapt into the crack after Jessica.

The fall felt farther than it actually was and Duncan hit a rock ledge with a thud. He didn't get a chance to right himself, though, as the ground shook again and he rolled off the ledge and further into the chasm. The rock he fell onto was smooth and moss-covered and sloped downward. He tried gripping onto the sides, but the rock was just too smooth, almost glass-like in texture, and he began to slide downward. It didn't matter how hard he pressed against the walls of what was turning into a chute, he still gained speed instead of slowing. He wanted to scream but could hear Jessica screaming somewhere in the chute below him and instead sighed a breath of relief. At least she was alive.

The chute became a tube, a perfectly round hole through the rock that sloped ever downward, twisting and turning, spiraling about. If Duncan hadn't been so scared, it would have been the ride of his life. The few minutes in the tube, screaming through the rock at high speeds, had seemed like hours. The tube took a slight upward turn and he thought he might be coming to a stop. Instead, he shot out the face of a cliff wall, wailing all the way, and crashed to the ground below.

Jessica was screaming again. "They're dead...they're all dead!"

At first, he didn't know what she was talking about. Who were they? They'd been alone except for NAME and Sir Dog. She couldn't be talking about the Golems, could she? And then he felt the pile that had broken his fall. He looked down and, after a brief gasp, started screaming with Jessica. They were lying on a pile of arms and legs. There were hundreds and hundreds of them, and Duncan screamed, wondering how many people had died, how they'd been cut up...the butchers who had done it. He tried to scramble off the pile and then noticed that the arms and legs were hard...made of some sort of plastic. There were sockets in the ends where they connected together. He stopped screaming and started laughing.

Jessica, still screaming, looked at him for a few moments, her face a mixture of confusion and terror. She finally stopped and asked. "Shouldn't you be screaming? What's so funny?"

"They aren't real arms and legs."

She looked down, started to scream once more, and then picked up a leg. "It's not real."

Duncan laughed again. "No...it's not real."

They scrambled off the pile and rushed to each other, hugging. "I thought I lost you, Jessica. When you fell into that hole..."

"But you jumped right in after me," she said as she punched him in the shoulder. "Why would you do that? Now we're both stuck here."

"I..." he didn't know what to say. He couldn't describe what he felt for the girl. She'd become the center of his world, the biggest reason for wanting to make the planet's many wrongs right. He wanted to do it for her.

"It's okay, I understand. But now that you've rescued me, how are you going to rescue me?"

"What?"

She spread her arms wide, indicating the massive cavern they were in. Enough light filtered through the many tunnels to illuminate the massive cave. Duncan gasped as he saw what she was pointing at.

"Now that you've started the process of rescuing me, I assume you have a plan?" Jessica asked, half in jest.

Duncan couldn't answer. He was staring, slack jawed, beyond her.

"What?" she asked. "What is it? Should I turn around? Something's not about to eat me, is it?" She couldn't help it and turned around to stare where Duncan was.

In the center of the cavern was a perfectly preserved ancient town from before the Last War.

Twenty Six

The city in the cave wasn't as large as Shreveport, or even Old Dallas. It was more of a large village, but Duncan was awestruck as they started towards the preserved town. The cars in the streets, though dust-covered, looked brand new. There were no rusting hulks, no fireball scars along the sides of the buildings. There were also no skeletons of any sort, human or otherwise. The town looked as if it had gone to sleep some time ago and never awoken. The glass in the storefront windows was intact and, peeking through, they saw the shelves lined with goods for sale, though the sale had ended a thousand years before.

"This is pretty creepy," Jessica began. "I expect someone to come out, sweeping the sidewalk or something, at any moment."

"NAME would love this, I suspect," he said as they paused outside a video store. There were posters advertising movies with names like Jaws of Fury and One night in San Antonio.

"Do you think they're all right?" Jessica said, referring to Sir Dog and NAME.

"I don't know, and, until we find a way out of here, there isn't anything we can do to help them. The last I saw NAME, he was on his side, but I think his solar panels were still exposed. He'll have power, if nothing else. He might even be able to spin the wheels on one side enough to turn over." Duncan didn't think he'd be able to do that, but he didn't want Jessica to worry.

"And Sir Dog?"

"He was surviving in the Wastes when he found me," Duncan began. "I think he'll be fine."

The continued on through the business district of the old town. There were cafes and coffee shops, a barbershop, and endless antique shops. That gave Duncan a chuckle. Everything in the ancient town was antique. He wondered if the storeowners, a thousand years ago, would have ever thought that even the floor mat outside their shop door would one day be an antique. They didn't enter any of the buildings.

"It almost seems wrong to go in one, doesn't it?" Jessica asked, putting voice to his thoughts. "It seems like we'd be waking the dead."

"I'm afraid we're going to have to, eventually." Duncan told her. "Something protected this town from not just the Magicians, but time itself. I don't know what happened to the people, but every ancient human dwelling we've seen has at least shown signs of the Last War. This place hasn't and it looks like they all just up and left one day. But the town itself was protected. It had somehow been protected and moved down here. Do you realize what that would mean? If we could somehow shield ourselves from the Magicians, we might even be able to shield ourselves from the Creeping Death. We wouldn't have to go underground, and we wouldn't have to hide from them anymore."

"Maybe they all did survive the Last War," Jessica began. "But if they did, what happened to them? Where have they all gone? Why aren't their descendants here now?"

"I don't know," Duncan admitted. "But like I said, we need to find out. I have a feeling this is important."

They continued through the ancient town, marveling at cars and motorcycles, the intact buildings, and even the neatly cut lawns. The grass was still green, despite the only partial sunshine that filtered down through the tunnels above. He paused in one yard and knelt, picking up a child's baby doll. The thing looked realistic and even said "Mommy" when he touched it, giving both of them a start. He carefully put it back exactly where it was, scared to disturb the ancient scene.

In the very center of the town stood a three-story courthouse made of red brick. It was an elegant building, complete with spires and a massive clock centered above the large front doors. It was the most beautiful building Duncan had ever seen, human or otherwise, and he saw the love with which the original craftsman had built it. The only thing that stood out in the town at all and seemed out of the ordinary were the three, black semi-trucks parked next to it. He'd seen rusted hulks of the trucks before, as well as pictures of them in the Magician histories, but these three looked different from all of those. Their trailers were covered in round dishes, and hundreds of cables, large and small, led from the trucks into the courthouse. There were also several other vehicles that he recognized as military transports interspersed around them. There were machine gun emplacements, along with cannons and mortars. Whoever these men had been, they'd been preparing for war.

"Duncan, look," Jessica said, pointing to the side of one of the trucks.

There were suits of armor there, massive affairs of steel that, when worn, would make a man well over eight feet tall. They were lined up neatly along the side of the truck, with cables running into ports on the trucks. There was an air of electricity about the suits, like they might come online at any moment.

"I've never seen those in the Magician Histories." Duncan told her. "And I don't think they're of Magician design."

"What are they?"

Each of the arms on the massive war suits was equipped with machine guns and rocket launchers. There were also rocket pods on the shoulders. "I think they were suits of armor for men to wear in defense against the Magicians. I think, judging by the state of this town, that they never got the chance to use them. Whatever happened to this town to preserve it like this also managed to stop whatever plans they had."

"Or they were here to guard the town."

"That could be the case too, I guess. We need more information," Duncan said, realizing just how little they knew. This town could be the key to saving everything, he thought, and yet he felt like a first-year student at the Magic School trying to learn how to color without touching the colors.

"We need to find a place to spend the night," Jessica corrected. She was always the practical one, he thought.

The light was fading from the surface and Duncan dreaded being trapped in the city without any light at all. He still had an electric lantern in his pack, but the batteries wouldn't last long. The city appeared to be empty, but they still didn't know for sure if they were alone or not. He looked around, trying to pick the building for them to enter. He really didn't want to enter any of them and felt as if he were disturbing a grave just being in the city.

"How about there?" she asked, pointing to a building directly across from the courthouse and the military vehicles. "Isn't that the sort of place you spent all that time in back in New Dallas?"

The sign above the building read Center, Texas Public Library and Duncan could have kissed Jessica when she pointed it out to him.

Twenty Seven

The inside of the library wasn't at all what he expected. The rest of Center, Texas had an ordered feel to it, with nothing out of place. The yards were trim, the streets clean, and even the cars parked in an orderly fashion. But much like the three black tractor-trailers that were out of place, the chaos inside the library was at a stark contrast with the rest of the town. There was clutter everywhere. The floors were covered with newspapers and magazines. Hand-written notes and hundreds of photographs dotted the walls. He bent and picked up a magazine at random and gasped. It was a magazine called Time and the headline on the cover was "The Rise of Magic". He'd seen another issue of the very same magazine in Marissa's parent's basement.

"This is..." Duncan didn't have the words to form what he was thinking, "...this is the most valuable thing on the face of the planet. There's nothing else, anywhere, that's more important than this building. This library contains our history, Jessica, from before the Last War. We've lost so much of it, but in here," he picked up another magazine, "in these pages, are who we once were, who we are." He felt on the verge of tears. It was the most moving thing he'd ever felt. Here were the answers to much of what he'd always wondered. "This is amazing."

"It's not just from before the Last War, Duncan." She handed him an article from the wall. "It's also from after."

The newspaper was from the Center Gazette and was titled "Dallas Falls. Are They Coming to Center?" He scanned the article quickly. It described the heroic efforts of something called the 82nd Airborne in the defense of DFW area. He wondered what DFW meant but the article was brief, telling of the men falling and the President ordering tactical nuclear weapons to be used.

"We did it to ourselves," Duncan said, handing her the paperback. "Well, at least some of it. We used those horrible weapons on ourselves to stop the Magicians." He knew then what had caused the destruction in Old Dallas. It wasn't so much magical attacks as it was the nuclear bombs.

"All these photos," Jessica began, standing next to a bulletin board. "They're all people that the citizens in the town were missing. Look at this." She picked up a picture at random. "John Smith, last seen New York, New York, May, 2021." She picked up another. "Denise Elizabeth Toole, Houston, Texas."

"There's a Magician city called New Houston," Duncan observed. "And the Lord Probate of New Dallas is named Toole."

"Do you think there's a relation?"

"There really isn't any way to know."

"These people in the pictures are missing. Were missing. They put their photos in here hoping someone else would see them and know them, maybe know where they were." Jessica put the picture back with respect. "It's very sad."

Duncan was lost in reading a handwritten letter on the opposite wall. "Their whole time was very sad after the war, I think. They'd lost everything, but somehow managed to survive. I think the guilt would have been enough to do them in."

"I don't want to read this," Jessica said. "But we need to, don't we?"  
"Out of respect for our ancestors, if nothing else."

Duncan and Jessica read the rest of the night, until the batteries in the lantern were on the verge of giving out.

Dear Dad,

Mom helped me type this so you could read it. You know how bad my writing is, but I'm still working on it. Mom says we can't mail this letter 'cause the mail isn't running anymore. She laughed about it, though, and said we wouldn't be getting any more junk mail. She said to post it here in the library, where everyone is putting the pictures and stories and stuff. Mary put up a picture of Aunt Judy. She was in Houston, but no one has heard from Houston in two weeks and mom cries about it at night when she thinks I'm not listening.

The soldiers say we'll be safe under the shield and that the Magicians can't even see us. It's supposed to be a big bubble, but I can't really see it. It's not like the bubbles from that machine you bought me. It's invisible. They say we can stay here a thousand years, hiding from them. The sheriff doesn't want to hide. He wants to use the warrior robots the soldiers brought with them to fight back, but the soldiers say they don't have enough of them and it's too late. They say we already lost. The President is gone. They said dragons ate Air Force One while it was flying to New Atlantis to surrender. I don't like that Jeremiah Fredrick man, Dad. He's evil. Everybody knows when you surrender you don't get hurt anymore, but he doesn't care.

They're going to let us stay awake for another month while they watch, then they're going to put the shield in something called "Stasis Level Three". It won't just be invisible anymore. They say it will slip out of time. They say it'll be like sleeping, and we'll wake up after the Magicians are gone and won't even know we slept. The soldiers say it's going to be just fine and that we'll win, someday.

I miss you, Dad. I hope you make it home before Stasis Level Three.

I love you.

Johnny

Printed from the Tomoview Message Board:

Solow1232 – San Francisco is burning. Those Magistrate punks are running around, shooting fireballs and burning everything they see. I don't know where Junior is.

Joe3245 – Are you safe?

Solow1232 – Is anyone safe? They'll find us eventually. They're taking everyone to the docks and...well, you know what they're doing.

From the Center Gazette, June, 2019:

Jeremiah Fredrick's ability to manipulate matter on the atomic level, as demonstrated in his creation of the continent of New Atlantis in the span of an evening, is only eclipsed by Fredrick's ability to grant what he calls the "Magical abilities" on those whom he chooses. The current social upheaval around the world is a direct result of this ability. Humankind is becoming two distinct species.

The source of Fredrick's abilities is the subject of much debate, and his story, that he received his abilities from the sky while walking in the desert one night, are entirely suspect. Fredrick was, until his debut on the world stage, a smalltime stage performer, working mostly in and around London. That he's chosen like-minded people, stage performers, carnival workers, and others on the fringe of society, to receive his abilities is of great concern to the governments of the world. No amount of threatening or cajoling has been effective to convince Jeremiah Fredrick to change his mind.

The Naval armada gathering in England, their stated purpose to patrol the areas around the waters of New Atlantis, which Fredrick has proclaimed the homeland of the Magicians, is the largest in history.

The winds of war are screaming across the globe but it will be a war unlike any other in history.

From an email by jasonhs2004@yahoo.com:

I don't know how much longer my panels and batteries will hold out. The ash from all the burning cities is blocking out the sun and the batteries are getting weak. I'm trying to wire up an alternator to my bicycle, but I don't know how that's going to work out.

You should have seen them, Frank.

The dragons (I still can't believe they're dragons. DRAGONS!) came over the mountains from the west and tore at the city with flames and claws. It was just like in Reign of Fire, man. The flames lit up the night and the city burned for days afterward. There are still some soldiers there, though, and every once in awhile you can hear the howitzers in the city, but I think the Orks are going to wipe them out.

I snuck down the mountain and to the outskirts of town a couple of days ago. I took dad's old rifle but I don't know what good it would have done. If the US Army and Marine Corps couldn't fight the Magicians, I don't know what I was going to do with one old .270 Winchester. It felt good to take it, though. There's a massive Ork camp in Denver, out near the airport. You can see the campfires from miles away, and the smell of burning meat fills the air. It's not a smell I would wish anyone to smell, Frank. The survivors from the city are marched out there and, well...I'm sure you've heard the stories.

There's a rumor that there's some super secret base under that airport and that's where all the senators and such went in the first days of the war. I think that would actually be sort of funny, in a cosmic sort of way. Our leaders, the cowards, hiding right beneath the Ork encampment. Seems sort of ironic, doesn't it?

The President didn't run, but what good did it do him? They wouldn't even let us surrender.

I knew we shouldn't have pushed them, just like I told you back in July. We shouldn't have sent those ships out there, we shouldn't have tried to blockade New Atlantis and keep them there. It's a moot point now.

I don't have any idea if this email will even get through. A lot of the web is already down, and I don't expect the rest will last much longer. I hope, however, that you and Jen and the kids are safe there in Center. I hope that whatever it is the Army was doing with you guys, it works out.

Best of luck and all my love.

Your brother,

Dillon

From the email of derrick.blake@mil.gov:

Mom...I don't know if you'll get this email or not, but I have to write it.

They are finally sealing the doors today. The Magicians were getting too close and the boys in the 4th Infantry Division just couldn't hold them back. How do you fight a fireball with a tank? Anyway, they've taken in the survivors from all the surrounding communities, along with their livestock and grains. The base is absolutely packed and I'm now sharing my room with a family of five from Woodcock County. There're nice people. Farmers. You'd like them a lot. They brought a deck of Phase 10 cards with them so I guess we'll be playing a lot of that.

A lot of guys left before they sealed the doors. The General let them take as much ammo as they could hump out and wished them luck. I...I wanted to go with them, Mom, but I don't know what I'd do. Dallas has already fallen and you're so close. I'm sorry, Mom...I'm scared to go outside again.

The General said that we can set the base up to last a thousand years, if we have to. He said the nuke plant will run that long without having to add fuel, if the hardware will hold out. Maybe, just maybe, the Magicians will be gone when our descendents run out of fuel.

I hope you and Dad are okay. I'm sorry I couldn't come home.

Love,

Derrick

Duncan and Jessica read late into the night. They stopped occasionally to share notes, to discuss something they'd read, but otherwise read straight through silently. Much of what he already knew was fleshed out, and the few written stories from the destroyed cities were absolutely heartbreaking. The tales of starvation and sickness, of the early Magistrates tracking the human survivors down through the ruined and desolate cites...he couldn't imagine living in those times. He couldn't imagine the person who, in Center, had listened to all those stories on the radio, after the War, and bothered to write them down. That man would have gone mad, he thought. His world, compared to the death and destruction of the Last War, was tame, peaceful even. Despite his species' upcoming extinction at the hands of the Creeping Death, he still preferred his world to that of his ancestors the first days after the Last War.

He knew, more than ever, that there was a Source of Magic. Something fell from the sky that night, over a thousand years ago, and Jeremiah Fredrick had found it. He used whatever power it contained to change the world forever, and no force, be it the armies and navies of the world, the mind-boggling destruction of the nuclear missiles, or the will of the human race, could stop him. He'd reshaped the world in his own twisted image.

"It will be morning soon," Jessica said. "We'll have to find a way out."

Duncan could have stayed in the library forever. He was surrounded by books, some of his favorite things. Not only did the library contain a good snapshot of the human survivors in the days after the Last War, but the regular books in the library, everything from fiction to books on animals that were long extinct, were the most valuable things on the planet. But Jessica was right. They couldn't stay in the cavern forever, and the books would be so much useless junk if they didn't find a way to save the human race.

"You're right. There's just so much here."

"So much sadness," Jessica began. "We did a lot to destroy ourselves."

"The nuclear missiles seemed worse than just about anything the Magicians did," he agreed. "But they didn't have any choice. They didn't have any way to fight the Magicians and were facing extinction."

"Even so, all those sickened survivors..."

Duncan nodded in agreement. The descriptions of the survivors of the war, with radiation sickness and burns, were among the hardest things to read. "I know. Okay," he said, changing the subject, "we have to get out of here and find my father. Maybe if we start in one of the low tunnels and work upwards, we can get out."

Jessica nodded and began gathering up their small number of supplies. They'd left so much in the impromptu camp during the storm and earthquake that they were quickly running out of supplies. It was just another reason they had to leave. Still, Duncan was in a good mood. One day, when everything was settled, he'd return to this place. He'd return to the place and not just read every single book in it, but he'd catalogue the place and protect the books so one day, his children and their children could look back at the world they came from and have at least a glimpse of life before and after the Magicians.

He started for the front doors, turning to her to say, "We'll come back one day."

"Halt."

The voice was much like NAME's, cold and inhuman, but without the silly movie quotes, and much more authoritative. It seemed to come from multiple locations, though, like what it might sound like if NAME had more than one speaker module. He turned to see what he'd thought of at first as suits of armor for men, standing in a neat formation at the steps of the library, their machine gun arms aimed directly at him.

"Ah...hello?"

"Halt, trespasser. By general order 1315 of the city council, you stand accused of the charge of looting. How do you plead?"

The warrior robots stood unmoving, the cannons and rockets aimed at Duncan and Jessica. The only way he could tell that the machines were on were the two dull blue lights glowing where a man's eyes would be. He noticed the American flag painted on their chest plates.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We weren't aware of General Order 1315. We're not from around here."

"Impossible," the machines said in one voice. "No one may enter the shield. All residents inside the shield as of Stasis Three are accounted for."

"And do I look like someone on that list?"

The machines were quiet as they considered. "Negative. You must be a Magician invader. Stand by for execution."

Duncan didn't get a chance to respond as eight machine guns opened at once. Jessica just barely shoved him out of the way as the bullets whizzed by above them. The doors and concrete facing of the building exploded in a shower of wood and cement chips. As they rolled down the steps to where the robots stood and the confused machines attempted to adjust their weapons, Duncan could only think of the damage they were doing to the priceless books inside the library. He managed to get to his knees, and dragging Jessica behind him, crawled beneath the machine guns. The sounds were deafening and the ejected brass from their bullets stung his arms and neck.

The machines were slow to adjust to the quick movement, giving Duncan and Jessica enough time to scramble over the small brick wall bordering the library.

"I thought they were suits!" Jessica gasped as the machines managed to turn around and start shooting again. A rocket whizzed by overhead, colliding with a small pickup parked in front of the courthouse.

"I'm sorry," Duncan said. "I thought that's what they were."

"At least we know what happened to the people," Jessica said, implying that the citizens of Center, Texas, had been destroyed by the Warbots.

Duncan didn't think so, but didn't have time to tell her that. If the machines had killed the residents of Center, Texas, where were the bodies? They crawled down the low brick wall as the machines kept firing, sending chunks of dirt and grass over and onto them. The bullets didn't penetrate down past the low wall, though, and they were able to scramble to the end of the block. The machines stopped momentarily, and Duncan figured they were reloading their weapons.

"Hurry and run for the courthouse while they're reloading." He pointed the way. "We can try to lose them around back."

The two stood and sprinted towards the military vehicles. Duncan didn't stop to think if there were more of the robots or not, at least until they cleared the first truck. He panicked but then was quickly relieved to see the robot's charging stations empty, then chastised himself for not counting the number of suits when they'd passed through before. He wondered what had activated the machines so late into their visit to the city.

The Warbots began moving from the library and Duncan wondered if their slow speed was a result of age or just how they'd been designed. He never expected a thousand-year-old machine to work at all, much less work well.

"Targets acquired," the machines said in unison and a volley of small rockets flared out through the dim cavern, lighting up the town. He and Jessica ducked behind one of the large black tractor-trailers as the one beside it exploded. The entire rig shot up into the air a hundred feet, trailing fire and molten steel, and then came crashing down on the third truck.

"Move!" he ordered, pushing Jessica ahead of him towards the back of the courthouse. The machines moved faster over open ground and Duncan gasped as one leapt twenty feet into the air, over the hulks of the burning trucks, and down in front of them.

"Halt, looter. Prepare for execution."

They both dropped to the ground as the machine fired, the bullets screaming by and catching one of the machines behind them. One of the bullets found its way to one of the rockets and the machine exploded, sending hot steel flying. A piece caught Duncan in the leg and he screamed out, but they kept moving, scrambling away from the machine in front of them as it stopped to calculate the damage to its comrade. The remaining twelve bots didn't stop, however, and bullets began whirling around them as they vied for a shot.

They'd just made it around the rear corner of the courthouse when rockets slammed into the brick, destroying the wall. Duncan, suddenly inspired, pulled Jessica inside the new opening and, hopefully, away from the robots. They ran through the office, between filing cabinets and desks, and into the outer hallway.

"Why are they trying to kill us?" Jessica asked, tears in her eyes. "What's a looter?"

"I think it means they think we're trying to steal the town's belongings. General Order 1315 sounds like something they might have done in the last days to keep everything in order."

"They would have ordered the machines to kill their own people just for trying to get the things they needed to survive? That's insane, but it explains where everyone went. The machines obviously went crazy."

Duncan still didn't think that was it. The machines killing off the citizens just didn't explain the complete lack of human or animal remains in the town. "I don't know, Jessica, but it doesn't matter right now. If we don't get out of here, we're going to die."

The inside of the courthouse had been turned into a shelter for people who came to the town before the shield went up. The pews had been shoved to the side and there were rows and rows of neatly made cots, each with one green blanket and one white pillow, in the main courthouse. There were stacks of the MRE cartons they were familiar with, and Duncan paused long enough to stuff some into his and Jessica's packs. They really were looters now, but like back home, he'd already been convicted of the crime. He might as well not starve if he got away.

The robots didn't enter the courthouse and instead began repairing the damage they'd caused to the corner of the building. The pair ducked down and watched as they put each brick back, piece by piece, and the mortar between them. It only took the robots a few minutes to put the building back together exactly as it had been.

"There's the reason the town is in such good shape. They aren't just defending it, they're repairing it and taking care of everything," Jessica said.

"I bet that was also a part of their General Order 1315. They are literally protecting the town, down to keeping it just the way it was."

"It still doesn't explain what happened to the people."

"We'll find out one day. Right now we have to run."

They paused at the great wooden doors to the courthouse, scanning the street out front. There were numerous small fires still burning, but otherwise the street looked clear. He cringed at how loud the ancient oak door squeaked when he opened it, and then they sprinted into the street, heading back in the direction they had come. His only hope, at the moment, was to reach the pile of mannequin pieces and scramble up to the hole they'd shot out, maybe somehow making it back to the surface.

It only took a couple seconds for the robots, now finished with their various repair jobs, to locate them. Duncan came to a skidding stop in the middle of the street, three of the eight-foot tall robots in front of him. Jessica collided into the rear of him, forcing him to the ground. As he tried to stand and return the way they'd come, he saw two more of the robots. There were also along the sidewalk. They were completely surrounded.

"Please," Duncan said, knowing this was it. "We have to get back to the surface, to NAME and Sir Dog."

"NAME?" the machines spoke at once from around them. "Please elaborate."

"NAME...he's alive and he's waiting for us on the surface. We just need to get out of here and help him."

"Does not compute. North American Main Entity went offline July 4th, 2021."

"He might have went offline then, but he's alive now. He's your boss, isn't he?"

The machines were silent for what seemed like a lifetime. Duncan held Jessica's hand and they both trembled with fear. Finally, the machines spoke. "Subject is lying to protect himself. Looting charge stands. Prepare for execution."

Duncan closed his eyes and gripped Jessica's hand even tighter. This was it, this was the end of everything for them. He sighed. At least he'd gotten to see a pre-war library.

There was a large bang and he opened his eyes. One of the machines had hit the ground, but that wasn't the strange part. The street was filled with Golems swirling about the machines and blocking their sensors. The humanlike creatures were also fighting to knock the machines off their feet. The machines didn't respond at first.

"They're helping us?" Jessica asked.

"Don't ask questions, just run," Duncan said as two of the Golems, their faces still expressionless, grabbed them by the arms and began to drag them away.

"Citizens are charged with contributing to a riot," the machines said from their backs, raising their guns and shooting into the air. "Sentence: execution."

There weren't any screams as the machines turned their fury on the Golems, and as Duncan stopped to turn around and help, his Golem escorts kept pushing. "I have to help them," he pleaded.

"How?" Jessica asked. "I don't like this any more than you do, but there's nothing we can do."

The Golems dragged them towards a low cave entrance and shoved them inside. They then blocked the exit back into the town, staring blankly ahead. Duncan pleaded with them, hearing the gunfire behind them. "Please...I can do something...please."

A Golem's chest exploded, showering him with blood specs and bone. The Golem stood there for a long time, even as the machine continued to riddle its body with bullets. The expression on the man's face never changed.

"I'm sorry."

Jessica screamed as the warrior bots approached, and Duncan grabbed her hand and dashed into the darkness of the tunnel.

Twenty Eight

More Golems followed them through the tunnels, coming from chutes, side entrances, and the dozens of other cavern entrances. They formed a human wall behind them, separating them from the Warbots. Duncan cringed every time he heard a bullet strike flesh, and every time he had to wipe the blood spray from his face. The tunnel sloped steadily upward, to the surface and hopefully freedom. It finally narrowed enough that the Warbots couldn't follow. They kept shooting anyway until they finally ran out of ammunition, and Duncan couldn't help but wonder how many Golems had fallen to save him and Jessica. Why had they done it, he wondered, and then wondered if he could ever forget the sound of bullets striking flesh.

"There's light ahead!" Jessica exclaimed. "We're almost out of here."

Duncan had to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight as they stepped out of the cavern into the daylight. Everything was a blur, but he heard the distinct sound of a helicopter's blades whirling, and for a moment, at least, he hoped Jim had come to find them. The hope didn't last long as more machine guns barked and, once again, he steeled himself for the strike of bullets. When none came, he opened his eyes and gasped.

"Lord Probate."

"Duncan Cade," the Lord Probate began, "we meet again. I suspected we would, of course, but not here. Tell me, son, what are you doing at the Golem summoning grounds?"

The Lord Probate was surrounded by a dozen red-armored Magistrates. Each was carrying an ancient battle rifle that looked as if they were brand new. The helicopter behind them was not like Jim's small, two-person model. It was a massive black troop carrier that Duncan recognized from the Magician Histories as a Blackhawk. The dozen or so Golems that had pushed them out of the tunnel system lay dead at their feet.

"Tell me, Duncan Cade, convicted traitor to the State, what do you seek in the Golem summoning grounds? What have you done to motivate un-charmed Golems to assist you? You see, that isn't a good thing, Duncan. Golems cannot be controlled without Magic. Therefore, you cannot, by your very nature, control them."

"You killed them," Duncan said, looking at the bodies around them. "You killed them for absolutely no reason."

"You've killed them, Duncan, by contaminating them. We had no choice but to put the inferior stock down."

Duncan didn't know how much the Lord Probate knew about the ancient town sunk in the rock below, and he didn't know if he knew what Duncan knew about the origins of the Golems, so he had to be careful with his words. "Do you know where they come from?"

"Of course we know, heathen. Jeremiah Fredrick set them here for our use. He created them for our use and stored them here, in these caves, until a time when we needed them. You, Duncan, were actually born a Golem. You just did not know it."

Duncan tried to hide his relief. He was sure the Golems were the citizens of Center, Texas, and that the Creeping Death had somehow affected their Stasis Level Three, freeing their bodies from their thousand-year slumber, but trapping their souls in the Void. He was sure the interaction of the Creeping Death with whatever force his ancestors had created in the last days of the Last War to protect them would have been the subject of intense scientific debate a thousand years ago; now it was a secret he had to protect at all costs. If the Lord Probate knew about Center, Texas, he would stop at nothing to destroy it.

"Where is your father, Duncan Cade?"

"You know he's my father?"

"I've always known about Diamond Jim's arrangement with Albert Cade. I condoned it all those many years ago, hoping one day that our fair city would be rid of you. Now, though, I regret that decision. You should have been thrown out with all the defectives at birth. I should have never listened to your mother beg, and never have listened to my own daughter, the other traitor, as she pleaded for your life all those times. You have been more problem to the State than even your father, especially now that you've contaminated the Golem stock."

"I've done nothing of the sort. I've done nothing to the State. Nor has Diamond Jim done anything to the state but try and make you see reason."

"Is that what you call terrorism? Reason?"

"Your magic is eating away at the world. The Creeping Death is sucking the life out of everything, and eventually it will suck out your life as well. It's already happening," Duncan said. "Your magic is fading. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next month, but eventually it will happen. You'll lose everything you know. You'll be like you are now, away from the city and powerless, resorting to thousand-year-old weapons to enforce your rule."

"Your weeks in the Wastes have sharpened your tongue, Duncan Cade!" The Lord Probate was on the verge of screaming. He raised his hand as if he were going to summon a fireball to strike Duncan down, but nothing happened.

"You see. You have no power here in the Wastes. You, Lord Probate, are just like me."

One of the Magistrates stepped up, raised his rifle, barrel backwards, and struck Duncan in the head. The last thing he remembered, as he began to fade, was them putting handcuffs on Jessica.

He awoke to the steady vibration of the helicopter's rotors. It was a constant thump, thump, thump in his head. His brain screamed in pain and the first thing he felt was the massive welt on his forehead where the Magistrate had struck him. Duncan then noticed he was lying across Jessica's lap and she was stroking his head in steady rhythm with the helicopter's blades. He sat up, holding his aching head.

"Where are we?" he asked and heard the weakness in his own voice.

"Oh, Duncan," Jessica began, and he could hear the amazement in her voice. The fear was gone, at least a bit. "We're flying. We're really doing it, without magic."

Duncan turned and stared out the small round portal behind him. He could see the ground rush by below. It was almost entirely black and rotted. The Creeping Death had spread as far as he could see, in the ruined and destroyed cities, in the countryside...everywhere. There were occasional spots of green, like around Shreveport and the old state of Louisiana, but they were few and far between. He thought he could see the Creeping Death overtaking one green area, somewhere past Louisiana to the east, but then dismissed it as a trick of the eye. It didn't move that quick, did it?

"How long?" he croaked, his voice still weak.

"Only an hour or so," the Lord Probate answered for Jessica from across the cabin. "Long enough for us to enter Mississippi. If you look to the right, you'll see the grand city of New Biloxi. I know the Lord Probate there. Good man." His earlier rage was gone, which bothered Duncan even more than the Magistrate striking him. He thought the Lord Probate might very well be insane.

Duncan stared at the grand Magician city. Like New Dallas, it floated hundreds of feet above the ground and hundreds of pipes ran down from it to the ground level. From their elevation, he could see more of the great pipes glowing blue and running through the countryside. The pipes from New Biloxi all ran east and combined into even larger pipes.

"Where are you taking us?" he asked.

"To where every Magician wants to be, to our homeland, to New Atlantis."

Jessica paled visibly and Duncan took her hand. "We can't go there. We aren't Magical."

The Lord Probate burst out in laughter. "You will step foot on the continent, the first of your kind to do so, because Jeremiah Fredrick deems it so. Just as he deems the sun to rise in the east and set in the west. Everything that is, on this world, is because of Jeremiah Fredrick."

"Fredrick has been dead for a thousand years," Duncan said. "He doesn't exist anymore, and even if he does, he doesn't have the power to make the sun rise and set. That's crazy."

The Lord Probate laughed aloud. "Of course he is. Tell him that when you meet him. He will so enjoy that. I will tell you one thing, though, that might make that meeting go easier on you. Tell me where your father is and what he's up to. We had reports that he left Shreveport a few days before you. What's he doing this time?"

"I have no idea. I was hoping you could tell me," Duncan lied. He was just glad that the Lord Probate didn't have magic to force him to spill the beans.

He laughed again. "Somehow I doubt that. Your father is a miserable man who has killed Magicians. He is wanted, Duncan, as you are, and if you tell us where he is, I could possibly put a good word in for you with the Master."

"My father didn't kill anyone. You did. You killed your own people so you and your Magistrates could stay in power." He turned to Jessica. "You see, they aren't needed anymore. They haven't been needed since the Last War. There was no more threat after they beat us. What did they need a standing army and a band of dictators for after the last human plane crashed into the ground? They aren't needed, but the power was too enticing. You see, Jessica, they want to stay in power simply to stay in power, and they use fear to keep that power."

The Lord Probate began clapping. "Bravo, Duncan Cade, bravo. I feared you were absolutely stupid, but I am happily wrong. Not that it matters, of course."

"You admit this?" Jessica asked in shock. "You'd really sit here and admit this to us?"

He laughed again. "Why wouldn't I? You will never, ever step foot from New Atlantis again. You will never meet anyone who would believe you. You're right. The Magistrate hasn't been needed in a thousand years. We grew stagnant and weak, useless, preying on our own people to make ourselves feel useful. Your father was one of us, though he was never happy."

"Jim was a Magistrate?" Jessica asked.

"Not Jim," Duncan told her. "My adoptive father, Albert Cade."

"Correct. He was always so high and mighty, thinking we should disband the Magistrates and the Lord Probate. Your other father, though, he was the real help. You see, he was a true anomaly. The first man born in a Magician city without magic in nine hundred years. We thought we'd bred out the non-magicals after the war, but you just keep popping up."

"The cafeteria in the school..."

"Oh, yes. We didn't eradicate the human race. We were too few to start again. We needed you, at least in the beginning, until we built our own numbers up enough to sustain ourselves. We would always pair a non-magical with a Magician and, eventually, we'd imparted everyone with magic. It was Jeremiah Fredrick's great work. But without the threat of humankind just around the corner, without that fear of retribution for what we'd done to you, we became weak. Diamond Jim changed that for us. He gave us an excuse to instill the fear, the control needed to keep an ordered society from chaos."

"You won't get away with this," Duncan promised. "We will find a way to stop you."

"You, along with who, exactly? Your kind is already making preparations to go back underground. How you managed to survive that long out there in the first place amazes me, but back you will go. And we know this time. We know where you're hiding, and once we reestablish magic in the Wastes, we will come and finally eradicate humans from the earth. Of course, we won't tell our citizens that. Fear of you is just too handy. Since your escape, we have been showing them pictures of your settlements and your weapons of war. The drumbeats of war are sounding again, Duncan, for the first time in a thousand years, louder and louder every day, and I must say it feels good."

Duncan tuned the rest of the madman's ravings out of his mind, instead turning and watching as the pre-war helicopter sped over a ruined land. As they got closer to the coast, the cities grew thicker and Duncan cried openly at the wanton destruction. There were the graves of millions upon millions of people, people who were flawed like he was, and who had, as a whole, done very bad things. No matter what they'd done, though, they hadn't deserved to be knocked out of existence by power mad Magicians. Jessica held his hand tightly.

"It's going to be all right, Duncan," she whispered.

He tried agreeing but felt like slime for lying. He didn't agree. He didn't think any of it was going to be all right ever again.

Twenty Nine

The helicopter stopped briefly outside New New York to refuel and Duncan and Jessica were allowed off the helicopter, briefly, to relieve themselves. They were under a constant Magistrate guard, though, and the opportunity just didn't present itself for escape. More Magistrates from the city surrounded the entire fueling location as if Duncan and Jessica were some great plague that needed to be contained.

"It's quite amazing, isn't it?" the Lord Probate asked.

"What?"

"Jeremiah Fredrick had the foresight to keep a large amount of human equipment available for our use, should the day come when your kind somehow managed to make the magic fade, as they have now."

It was Duncan's turn to laugh. "Do you really believe that a bunch of farmers and fisherman, just barely scraping by every day, have somehow managed to make the mighty Magician's power fade? Are you that daft?"

The Lord Probate raised his hand and electricity sparked between the fingers. "Watch your tongue, boy. We are in the range of a Magician city. I could strike that foul organ from your mouth."

"Do it then," Duncan told him, defiant.

The arcs of electricity grew stronger and brighter, but the Lord Probate didn't strike him down. "Get back in the helicopter. Jeremiah Fredrick will deal with you."

As soon as the big helicopter was fueled, they set off again, heading out to sea. They flew out over the ocean. There were miles and miles of trash islands, formed by a thousand years worth of debris. A few that they flew over had small fires on them, indicating to Duncan that his people even lived out here, in the most extreme of conditions. If humankind could survive on an island of floating trash, they could survive anywhere. Seeing those campfires gave Duncan at least a little hope. Man could escape the Creeping Death underground and survive. If they could avoid the Magicians, they could one day walk out of their holes and return to their proper place in the world. It was a little hope, but hope was like that. It could start off small and grow.

The sun began to set in the west but he could see a great light on the horizon, illuminating the night sky as if the stars had fallen to earth and still blazed.

"That's New Atlantis, Duncan Cade, your prison. You'll see it in all its glory in the sunlight in the morning."

Duncan couldn't sleep through the rest of the flight. He was just too full of nervous energy, unsure of what to expect at New Atlantis. He had some idea just from what the Lord Probate had said, but he didn't know how it would play out. Would he spend the rest of his life in a prison cell, or would they just execute him to be sure? He felt worst about bringing Jessica along. At least back in Shreveport she would have had a chance. She managed to sleep, however, and rested her head against his shoulder as he watched the stark blackness of the ocean rushing by.

As the sun began to rise in the east, he watched the ocean waves rush by. The water was black and dead looking, and he wondered if anything at all lived there. Jessica had told him of her people fishing near their home, and how they'd had to go out further and further to find anything. He wondered if the ocean was much like the land in respects to the Creeping Death. Were there patches of life in the vast oceans where life still thrived? And as he wondered they passed over a clear border where the ocean turned from dirty black to bright green and his suspicions were confirmed. The water below was now alive with life. He saw whales spouting water high into the air and a school of dolphins frolicking about. There were also other creatures in the water, creatures that he only recognized from fiction he'd read, including a giant squid and a Kraken.

"We're getting close, aren't we?" Jessica asked, rubbing her eyes as she awoke and looked out the window.

"I think so."

"Oh, we are. We definitely are," the Lord Probate said, rubbing his hands together. "To the motherland we go."

The helicopter jolted, then dropped a hundred feet, the rotors stopping. Jessica screamed out and Duncan gripped the seat tightly. The Lord Probate laughed loudly as the pilot poked his head in the cabin and said. "They have us now, my lord."

"It's much safer to land under magic than it is science," the Lord Probate responded. "We will be there shortly."

Duncan, his fear alleviated, watched the magical land of New Atlantis out the window as the helicopter, guided by Magicians in the city, zoomed across the countryside.

The lush green vegetation of New Atlantis made the area surrounding Shreveport look like a marshy swamp. The beach bordering the continent was pristine and white, with green waves lapping at the shore. There were hundreds of Magicians dotting the beach, playing in the sand, bathing in the bright sun, and surfing just off shore. Further in the immense forest started. Trees towered hundreds of feet into the air and were dotted with tiny cabins with rope bridges strewn through the branches like spider webs. Fierce wyverns flew among the trees, some with Magician riders, some not. They twisted and turned in the air, lightning bolts sizzling through the air between them in a game that he assumed was something like Fireball.

They cruised out over great swaths of grassy plains. For as far as the eye could see the grasslands ran bright green and herds of unicorns played and grazed. The 'corns only gave them a passing glance and Duncan had to assume that an ancient machine traveling through the sky above them just wasn't all that unusual. They soon approached a large mountain chain and the helicopter had to gain altitude to clear the massive mountains. On those hills, Duncan saw Orks by the thousands, their cooking fires burning with black smoke. Above them hundreds of dragons circled. They came in every shade of color of the rainbow and streaks of fire flashed through the air. Duncan had seen images of them from memory stones and wondered what mountain his parents had visited to get such memories. Past the mountains, they entered a massive cloudbank, and even the clouds themselves seemed alive, rippling with energy. Faces made of the clouds pressed up against the windows, curious about the helicopter's occupants.

As soon as they darted out of the cloudbank, he saw the city of New Atlantis. It was the biggest city he'd ever seen, even in the histories of ancient man or the Magicians. Great spires shot up into the sky at impossible angles, topped with canopies of gold and giant diamonds. The entire city looked like one ancient castle, though on a much more gigantic scale. Cobblestone streets twisted between buildings made of gold and silver. The city was so bright and shining that it was hard to look at directly. This was the epitome of Magician power on earth, the seat of their power. At the base of the city, below even the lower levels, the giant pipes from the mainland shot up out of the ground and into the bottom of the city. The dull glow blue of the pipes from the continent were now bright and fantastic, and electricity raced around the piping, sparks shooting hundreds of feet into the air. The city itself looked like a living, breathing organism, and despite his ever growing-hatred of the Magicians and what they'd done to humankind, he couldn't help but gasp at the splendor of the city.

"It's beautiful." Jessica said, once again echoing his own thoughts. "They build so much."

"They built it with magic that is sucking the life out of the world, Jessica. It is beautiful, but it's beautiful at the cost of our people."

The helicopter veered towards one of the outward spires where there were massive platforms for the landing of such vehicles. There were also dozens of other ancient aircraft, all in pristine condition. There were bombers, fighter aircraft, unmanned aerial drones, as well as other helicopters. On the lower levels of that particular spire were outcroppings with ancient land attack vehicles, including jeeps, tanks, and trucks. And everywhere, among the various ancient vehicles, were hundreds of red-armored Magistrates sporting ancient weapons.

"They're preparing for an invasion, aren't they?" Duncan asked the Lord Probate, looking directly into his eyes.

The Lord Probate laughed at him. "Just a back up, Duncan, just a back up. Should we not be able to restore magic to the land, then we will eliminate the vermin with time-proven tactics."

"And that's what you think my people are? Vermin?"

"Aren't they? They crawl up out of the ground and leech off the world, the very definition of a rat."

The Lord Probate reminded Duncan of his son, Timmy, and all those taunts that seemed like a lifetime ago. He wasn't going to take the bait, though, and instead settled back in the seat and waited for the helicopter to land. It touched down softly and the door slid open. There were two rows of Magistrates forming an isle out of the helicopter, and another man, dressed in robes similar to the Lord Probate's, greeted them outside the aircraft.

"Lord Probate, welcome to New Atlantis. I trust your trip was a pleasant one?"

"As pleasant as it could be considering the circumstances and the cargo. I trust the Master is ready and waiting for the degenerate's appearance?"

"He will see them in the morning, Lord Probate."

"I was to understand this was an emergency. I dropped everything in New Dallas to find him and bring him here."

"You would question Jeremiah Fredrick?" the other man asked, a scowl on his face.

"No, of course not."

"Then enjoy the accommodations for the evening and we will deal with these pests in the morning. Please, go forth and enjoy all that New Atlantis has to offer. It has been a long time since your last visit."

"Too long. I will be happy when we can finally abandon the cities. And what of these two?"

The other man grinned. "We will take care of them. Have no worries. They are officially out of your care."

A squad of six Magistrates led them through the streets of New Atlantis. It was more like a parade, and there was no small amount of gawking as they passed the citizens of the city on the pristine streets. There was an army of Golems working, picking up trash and endlessly sweeping. Duncan wondered if they were the same Golems from Center. Were these people their ancestors, lost souls trapped in the Void while their bodies toiled for eternity for the Magicians? He tried to make contact with the Golems, hoping against hope that they might, like the ones back in the town, help them. But the charmed humans didn't react to their presence—or anything else, for that matter.

They marched for half an hour and then stopped in front of a quaint-looking inn. The lead Magistrate turned to them.

"You will find food and drink inside, as well as a place to spend the night. Do not attempt to leave the building, and make no attempts at escape. Such attempts will be met with extraordinary force. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Duncan answered. Even if they could escape from the inn, how would they escape from New Atlantis? He wasn't going anywhere without help and he knew it.

There was no one inside the building. They were completely alone. The main table, surrounded by a dozen chairs, was piled with food, everything from roasts and chicken to fruits and vegetables that he'd never seen. There were cakes, pies, and cookies. Duncan sat down at the table and began to stuff himself.

Jessica was hesitant. "Are you sure it's safe? Don't they conjure all their food?"

"It's the same as real food," Duncan told her. "It just comes from a different place. I ate magically summoned food all the time when I was a kid."

"But what if it's poisoned?"  
"If they wanted us to die, they would have killed us above Center, or thrown us out of the helicopter. No, they want us to meet whoever this person is pretending to be Jeremiah Fredrick."

"You don't think it's the original Fredrick?"

"No. How could it be? First off, he was reportedly killed during the naval barrage of New Atlantis during the start of the Last War. Even if that's wrong, and he somehow survived, how did he survive a thousand years?"  
"The Golems survived that long," Jessica said matter-of-factly. "If they could, he could."

"They didn't survive through magic; they survived through some wonder of science that the humans thought of during the last days of the war. They were preserved in their town, in Stasis Level Three, whatever that was, and then were somehow released when the Creeping Death overtook the town. It was science, not magic."

"Are the two all that different?"

"I don't know," Duncan answered honestly. "They seem like two sides of the same coin, but neither works well in the presence of the other. It's just like in Center. When they met, things went wrong."

"We can't all exist in the same world for long, can we? It's either them or us."

Duncan didn't like to think that way, but she was right. "You heard the Lord Probate. They're readying an army with ancient weapons just in case the Magic fades. They mean to end us, as a species. I don't know how we live with that."

"We don't," Jessica replied, finally sitting down and taking part in the meal. "We fight."

"But how?"

It was a question none of them knew the answer to.

Thirty

The Magistrates were back for them just as the sun peaked over the horizon. The men were not like the ones back in New Dallas. They were simply performing a job and showed as much emotion as a Golem about it. A small crowd had gathered outside the inn, though, and as they exited, the Magicians conjured rotten tomatoes and other fruits and threw them at Duncan and Jessica. They hooted and hollered and Duncan heard the word human being used like an insult.

He stuck his chest out and kept his head up despite the anger boiling inside him. He wasn't going to give into these peoples' taunts. Jessica, however, cried, and he held her hand tightly.

"Don't let them get to you."

They could see the main spire of the city as they walked down the gold brick streets. It was the tallest structure in all of New Atlantis, and supposedly the tallest in the entire world. The spire reached up into the clouds. Made of red brick, there was not a single window in it anywhere he could see. He didn't know how the tall, thin building kept from falling over in the winds up high and he really didn't want to find out. The base of the tower was surrounded by a grand courtyard and patrolled by dozens of Magistrates. There were plants of every variety that he recognized as well as many that he didn't. Unlike the plants in most Magician gardens, none of these appeared sentient, though, and none spoke to them as they passed. There was one small door at the base of the tower and a Magistrate opened it for them as they approached.

"He is awaiting you."

"We have to walk up stairs that far?" Jessica asked.

Duncan shook his head no. "They don't put stairs in their buildings. Either they transport us up or..."

He didn't get a chance to follow through with his thought as the old familiar sensation of being teleported set in. He vaguely heard Jessica scream just before they reappeared on the top floor of the spire. The room was humongous and lush, with couches and plush chairs scattered about. Marble pillars held up the ceiling, which was a massive glass dome. There were water fountains and pools, along with hundreds of paintings dotting the walls. There were statues throughout the palace room, some of stone, others of bronze, along with hundreds of pre-war antiques.

He then noticed he was alone. Jessica was nowhere to be seen.

A tall, thin man stood staring at one of the paintings. It depicted a simple woman with an odd smile on her face.

"One of your kind painted this," the mysterious man said. "He did it many hundreds of years before the war. It's amazing, isn't it? It's hard to imagine the hand of a savage could be guided so without magic. And trust me, there's magic in these brush strokes. It's a different kind of magic, of course, but still magic. It's a magic to speak to the mind without moving the lips, to stir emotion."

"Who are you?" Duncan asked, not interested in games. "Where is my friend?"

The man spun around, his red robe flowing around him like the wind. His face was very narrow and his nose was hooked like a parrot's. His bright red hair drooped down, nearly covering his eyes. "I'm sorry, I thought the Lord Probate told you. I am Jeremiah Fredrick. And as for your friend, well, let's just say she isn't needed at the moment. You will see her again. You have my promise on that."

"That's impossible," Duncan spat. "Jeremiah Fredrick died during the naval bombarding of New Atlantis a thousand years ago."

"That was a horrible night, my little friend," the man proclaiming to be Fredrick began. "I didn't know if I could hold it together that night. I didn't then have enough faith in the magic, but when I did survive...when the magic survived, I knew that the world was mine."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, then perhaps I should show you."

Duncan felt like he was being transported again, but this time instead of his body appearing somewhere else, his mind did. He floated next to the man claiming to be Fredrick high above a rock-strewn wasteland. There was nothing but rock as far as he looked, no definition to the land that he could discern. The ocean lapped at the rocky shore, and there, near the water's edge, was a small encampment. It was a collection of brightly colored tents and small trailers, all apparently from an ancient circus.

"This is where New Atlantis started. This is all it was, back then. I managed to raise a rocky outcropping and then had the audacity to call it our kind's motherland. A few came, but most avoided my shores as the plague ran through the very rock."

In the distance, at sea, Duncan could see many hundreds of warships of all sizes. It was the armada that had surrounded New Atlantis soon after its creation. Fredrick, if the man was really Fredrick, had taken his mind back in time to show him those events. The people in the camp were visibly nervous, but there was Fredrick, just as he'd appeared to Duncan, calming them and showing them how to use their newfound magical abilities.

"We knew so little, then. Can you imagine that we were even eating food we'd brought from the mainland? No one had figured out yet that we could simply conjure whatever we wanted out of thin air. No one understood that we turned the natural energy of the world around us into whatever we desired. We were so stupid then, and until that night, we didn't truly understand the threat your kind posed to us."

The guns of the warships lit up at once, showering New Atlantis with an unrelenting artillery barrage. The island exploded in a shower of burning rock and fire, but the small encampment was safe beneath a shield created by Jeremiah Fredrick.

"I don't know why we didn't understand what you people were. We were, at the time, like you. We'd seen you raping this planet for generations, destroying everything there was in the name of progress, but for some silly reason none of us thought you would come for us. We should have known, though. We should have suspected when your churches labeled us as witches and your scientists explained away our new power. You see, Duncan, you people started the war, not I. I merely finished it."

A massive lightning bolt, miles across, lashed out from the angry clouds above and struck the ocean, instantly electrifying everything within a thousand miles. The steel ships caught fire and the metal burned away, dripping into the steaming ocean. The men burned as well, screaming as they jumped into the ocean to put out the flames only to be boiled to death there.

"I destroyed them, that day, and then I went on to destroy your world," Fredrick said as the image in Duncan's mind faded and he returned to the head Magician's quarters. "And it really doesn't matter if you believe who I am or not. All that matters is that you tell me what plans Diamond Jim has for the Source."

"So there is a Source?"

"Of course there is a Source. You don't believe that I just woke up one day with the ability to not only do magic, but to pass my ability onto others?"

"Where is it from?"

"Ah, indeed, that is the correct question, is it not? Your ancestors constantly asked where it was instead of where it is from. That, my young friend, is the same question I've wondered for a thousand years and I still do not have an answer. I just do not know. I do know that this is not the first time we have been blessed with its magic on this world. You only have to look back to the ancient legends of Atlantis and the dragons and a myriad of other tales to see its influence tens of thousands of years ago. Its disappearance is marked by the rise of science, because the two are incompatible. Your ancestors found some way to beat it, then, but things will not be the same this time. This empire will not fall into the ocean."

Fredrick paused, rubbing his chin and considering.

"But what does the Source matter? It's what the Source has given us that's the main thing. Look at the glorious world around you, Duncan Cade. This world would never be without the magic that the Source has seen fit to grant us, and without the magic, we would have never been able to construct our homeland, New Atlantis. You've seen it with your own eyes, have you not? It is the most glorious thing in the world."

"But at the cost of the rest of the world," Duncan said. "Your magic is eating the rest of the world."

"A small side effect of the magic, yes," Fredrick admitted. "It needs energy to form things, to do things, and that energy has to come from somewhere. It turns out that your life force and the life force of everything on this planet it the perfect energy source for the Source." He giggled. "That was funny, wasn't it? Source for the Source?"

"That's what the pipes are for, aren't they? You are literally sucking the life of the planet out and pumping it here, to power the Source and maintain this city."

"The Lord Probate was right about you, Duncan Cade. You are quite clever. Yes, the Magician cities are merely collection points. The planet's life force flows in there and then travels here, to New Atlantis. The magic is stronger there, around the collection points where life force is pooled, but away from them it fades."

"It's fading in the cities as well."

"Of course it is," Fredrick said knowingly. "How could it not? The life force in those areas is almost gone. They are feeding off less and less energy there. It took a lot of energy to build this place, even more to maintain it. One day, in the not too distant future, only New Atlantis will survive."

"And what will you do for energy then?" Duncan demanded, enraged. Fredrick knew exactly what was going on. The Creeping Death wasn't some sort of plague besetting the land; it was magic sucking the life out of everything.

"I will devour the Magicians, and once they are gone, I will devour the very earth itself. New Atlantis will live on."

"You're mad."

"That's exactly what your ancestors said about me, and you want to know something? They were right. They were absolutely right. They should have tried harder to rid the world of the scourge that I am."

He waited for Duncan to respond, but Duncan didn't have anything to say. There wasn't any point in talking to this insane man. There would be no convincing him to have mercy on his people, no way to talk him into stopping the magic. That wasn't the kind of reasoning that Jeremiah Fredrick understood.

"No matter. Just tell me, Duncan, what does Diamond Jim plan? Our sources in Shreveport said he's on a quest to destroy the Source, yet it's you we've found in his place. Does your father send a boy to do his dirty work?"  
"He didn't know I followed him. He doesn't know where I am. I don't know what he's doing."

"I find that hard to believe."

"As I do you."

"Touché. Though there is no reason to doubt me. Why would I lie about something as trivial as my identity?"

Duncan shrugged but didn't answer.

"I could torture you, you know? We have means passed down from the Last War that are downright inhuman. I never thought they actually produced any worthwhile results, but they sure were fun. Would you like that, Duncan? Would you like to be tortured until you tell me what your father is up to?"

"It doesn't matter. It won't change the fact that I don't know anything that I could tell you, even if I wanted to."

"I didn't think the stick approach was going to work. No, that's why I haven't even bothered. I think I might offer you something else to sway you."

Duncan was firm, trying not to show any expression, but he wondered what the madman could possibly offer him to betray his own people. There was nothing that he could think of that would sway him. Had he the ability, he'd destroy New Atlantis and its life-sucking network of pipes. He'd bring every bit of it down, along with every Magician in the world. "There is nothing you can offer me."

"Really? Do you not remember why I told you your ancestors hated me? It wasn't simply because I could do the magic. It was because I could pass the ability onto others of my choosing."

His heart sank as he began to understand what Fredrick was offering. If he really was Jeremiah Fredrick, he could impart magical abilities on Duncan. Duncan could then return home, return to his parents, and leave the madness of the Wastes behind.

"Ah, I see that there is something I can give you. I thought it might be so."

"No," Duncan said firmly without hesitation. "I don't want your powers."

"You despise us that much, we who raised you from a baby?"  
"I despise what you've done to this planet and what you've done to the people who are not like you. I despise what you plan on doing to the planet and my people. I despise everything about you and your so-called magic—magic that is sucking the life out of the world." The anger rained out of Duncan like a river through a broken dam. "Had I the power, I would strike you from this planet. You and your powers are abominations to the natural order of things, a natural order that you started destroying a thousand years ago and continue to do to this day. Once I might have jumped at the opportunity to have magic. But I've seen too much. I know what you are."

Instead of reacting in anger, as Duncan had expected, Jeremiah burst out in laughter. "Oh, that is rich. The poor little boy who grew up with the Magicians doesn't want magic. Well, suffer then, little man, and learn what real power is." Fredrick snapped his fingers and Duncan felt an uncomfortable sensation running through his body, making his fingers and toes tingle. It felt like a small amount of electricity coursing through his veins, a sensational power that he just wasn't used to. He sank to his knees in tears.

"No, I don't want it. Take it away from me. I don't want to be like you. I don't."

Fredrick's laughter was deafening. "I'll tell you what. I'll remove it, if you still want me to, after you tell me about your father and his plans. Are you ready to do that?"

"No," Duncan said, looking down at his palm and trying to imagine a fireball there. That's how Marissa had described how the magic worked. You imagined it and it was. He saw a sparkle there, nothing more than a shift in the light, and felt heat.

"Let me help you," Jeremiah offered, nodding his head.

A full-fledged fireball formed in Duncan's hand, the heat burning at his skin.

"You won't use it, Duncan. You know what I offer you. You are particularly brilliant for a non-magical, and from what the Lord Probate tells me, you crave knowledge. I can give it all to you, Duncan. All you have to do is give up your father."

Duncan considered it. If Jeremiah really was that man, the first Magician, then he could very well do what he offered. He could give Duncan the proverbial keys to the kingdom. He could even save the world from the inside of the Magician's world. He quickly dismissed those thoughts. He knew what they were about and he'd seen, firsthand, the damage they'd wrought on the world.

"I'd rather die," he said as he flung the fireball at Fredrick's head. The master Magician easily stopped it in midair, where it faded away.

Jeremiah Fredrick didn't laugh that time. He looked at Duncan with a cold, hard stare and said, "You might very well do just that, but for now you can cool your heels in the dungeon with your pathetic friend."

Fredrick blinked and Duncan was gone.

Thirty One

The first thing Duncan noticed about the dungeon was how hot it was. As soon as he materialized, he began to sweat, and within seconds had drenched his shirt. It was so hot even the rock walls of the room sweated and the iron bars were wet to the touch. There was very little light and everything stank. He nearly gagged after his first breath. Before he could gather himself, Jessica ran to him and hugged him.

"I thought they killed you," she said, tears running down her cheeks mixing with the sweat. "I thought I'd lost you, again."

"No, it was worse," Duncan said, still trying to ignore the power running through his body. He didn't want to tell her about what had happened and was afraid that if she knew he now had magical abilities, even if they were temporary, she'd want nothing to do with him.

"What happened?" she asked, concern splashed across her face.

"I..." He was still hesitant, but didn't get a chance to answer as a Magistrate guard interrupted from the other side of the bars.

The guard was even larger than the usual Magistrate goon and his muscles bulged through his armor. He wore no helmet, though, and his face was twisted and dark, a caricature of a normal face. He looked evil and grinned at them through dirty, broken teeth.

"I see I got me two new morsels for my table. What do you think about that, Simon?"

Duncan just noticed the third person in the cell. The man crouched in the corner, his wild, gray, dirty hair sticking out at odd angles, and Duncan could just barely make out his eyes through all the hair and the beard, but they were bright blue, with a dim glow about them. They made eye contact and the wild man, older than anyone Duncan remembered, looked away. There was something there, a spark he just wasn't familiar with.

"Simon won't talk much. I think I ate his tongue," the Magistrate laughed out loud and the walls reverberated. The dungeon was filled with the sounds of miserable screams and wails, crying and pain.

"You don't frighten us," Duncan said coldly, the bars between them making him braver.

"No?" the Magistrate choked out, putting his hand out as if he were gripping Duncan's neck. The boy shot up into the air, the phantom hand tight on his throat. He began choking for air, struggling to breathe. The Magistrate's magic was much more powerful than anything he'd sensed before. It was like the man was bristling with power, even more power than the Lord Probate. "I think you might need to reconsider that."

The guard released him and he fell to the floor with a thump, Jessica coming straight to his side.

"This is my Dungeon, ain't that right, Simon? I'm Felix, executioner, guard, and judge. I am your god here. You will do as you are told, when I tell you, and you will be happy about it. There will be no unauthorized use of magic in my dungeon, either, and if I detect any, I will put you in stasis."

There was that word again, and Duncan wished he had access to a dictionary to find out exactly what it meant. He had an idea, but was not certain.

"Can we get some water?" Jessica asked.

"You can have what you can conjure. If you conjure something besides food and water, though, its stasis for you."

"We can't do magic," Jessica pleaded. "Please, just water."

The powerful Magistrate laughed aloud as if he'd heard the greatest joke ever. He snapped his fingers and the cell was filled with water like they were in a fish tank. Duncan floated up, still not recovered from being choked. Jessica screamed, but he couldn't hear her. The old man, Simon, smiled and swam as if he were one of the tourists out on the beach. Duncan swam to the bars and reached though. The water ended at the bars and he could feel the warm air on the other side, the magic holding it in the cell. The Magistrate Felix grabbed his arm and pulled him to the bars, laughing hysterically. Jessica struggled to pull him back but she was choking on the water. He felt her growing weaker and then finally letting go, floating lifelessly in the water. He turned to Simon, the wild man, and watched as the man conjured a bubble of air around his head.

Though he couldn't hear it, the Magistrate outside the cell was laughing hysterically at their misery. Just as Duncan couldn't hold his breath anymore and was about to swallow a lungful of water, the guard winked and the water disappeared.

He leaned in, grinning, and said, "Tell your little lass to be careful what she asks for, aye?"

Duncan gasped for air, again, and rushed to Jessica's side. She was coughing and spitting up water, but she was all right. Simon returned to his corner and resumed his crouched position, rocking back and forth as the water dripped from his head.

"You are in a new world, boy," the Magistrate spat. "You are mine."

He stomped off down the hall, pausing at another cell to torment another prisoner and Duncan, for the thousandth time since he'd left New Dallas, wondered what was going to happen to him.

They sat in silence for hours, just listening to the cries of agony from the other prisoners in the dungeon. Many were under active forms of magical torture, burning, constant electrocution, drowning. The dungeon was never quiet, night or day, and the prisoners were never anything but in complete agony. Jessica and Duncan sat near each other, but not too close. The intense heat in the dungeon was overwhelming and the closer they sat, the worse it got.

"What did they do to you, Duncan?" Jessica asked, sweat dripping down her forehead.

He still didn't want to answer. "It's complicated."

"We've been through enough complicated stuff, Duncan. I think I can handle whatever it is you don't want to talk to me about."

"He wants me to rat out my father and tell him what his plans are for the Source of Magic."

"The Source?" Simon asked, suddenly interested. "You know about the Source? It's been so long, so very long, since I laid eyes on it." His voice sounded like old gears in an ancient motor clanging together for the first time in a thousand years.

"What do you know about it? Duncan asked the man.

"Know about what?"

"The Source of Magic."

"You've seen the Source of Magic?"

"No, I'm asking you."

"Who?"

Duncan paused and looked quizzically at Jessica. "How long do you think he's been in here?"

"A long time," Jessica said. "Look at him. He looks so old he could have built this place."

"The Source is very old, very old indeed," Simon told them. "Older than even this war."

"You mean the Last War," Duncan corrected him.

"The Last War is now, is it not? You're still fighting? Humans wouldn't have given up...no, not at all. They are a tenacious lot. Do you remember the battle of Washington?"

"I can't remember something that happened a thousand years ago."

"But you know the Source is old. You know it is older than the Last War, older than the humans. You know it stares at you with a thousand blinking eyes, all angry, all hungry?"

"I only know what Jeremiah Fredrick told me," Duncan said, unsure of what Simon was. For all he knew, the crazed and ragged old man could be some sort of plant by Fredrick to gather information from him. He and Jessica could only trust each other.

Simon leapt to his feet and his gray hair and beard looked like bright shards of light splashed around his head, bursting out like the rays of the sun. "Fredrick? The Monster, the madman? Do not speak that name in my presence. Do not tell me about the man who calls himself Master. Do not do it!"

"Why not?" Jessica asked and Simon paused, the instant rage dissipating into confusion.

"I don't remember," the man said honestly, looking around in a panic. "I can't remember...I don't even remember my own name."

"Your name is Simon," Jessica said.

"Is it?"

"That's what the guard said."

"The guard is an abomination. Nothing can live so close to the Source without becoming such," Simon told them and then raised his hands. They glowed as dull a blue as his eyes, much like the piping that ran from the mainland to the continent of New Atlantis. "Everything here, even you, I sense, has the power."

Duncan ignored the comment and instead asked. "If you have the power, why not teleport out of here?"

"Why not indeed," the man said and then tried to blink himself away. "Wait," he said when it failed, "I think I already tried that once, maybe twice, maybe even a hundred times a day. No, we're stuck here."

"But the Source is close?"

"You can't feel it making the magic stronger in you?"

"We don't have magic," Jessica told him. "We're humans."

Simon scratched at his chin. "No, that doesn't seem right. You might be, but he isn't."

Duncan squirmed uncomfortably. He didn't want to get into this now, and was hoping he could somehow get rid of the power.

"That's what you didn't want to tell me about, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Fredrick gave me the power."

"There it is again, that name that isn't a name, that blasphemy from your tongue!" Simon exploded. "Do not speak that name in front of me."

"He did something to you, didn't he?" Jessica asked. "I know he put you here, that probably goes without saying, but he did more than just that. He did something to make you the way you are now."

"I'm brilliant," Simon said. "I'm the newest thing in a room full of antiques, bright and shiny as dull metal."

"But the Source...you know about the Source," Duncan insisted, still wondering if this was all some sort of trick from Fredrick.

"Don't you know about the Source?"  
"Why does everything have to be a question, with you?" Jessica asked.

"I could ask the same of the two of you."

"Shut it in there," the Magistrate Felix said as he passed by. "Don't make me fill the room with leeches."

Two tiny black slugs appeared on the floor, squirming towards Jessica, and she yelped. Simon squatted back in the corner and resumed his position, rocking back and forth. Duncan stepped on the two slugs and defiantly stared at the Magistrate before resuming his position near Jessica. He never broke eye contact, never showed any signs of fear.

"We'll see about that attitude in the pits, young one. See how much heat you can actually handle then."

The Magistrate left and Simon turned to them. "The pits are fun. You get to get out and socialize, meet your fellow inmates, and the insane are running the asylum. Do you remember that movie?"

Duncan whispered, very desperate, "Please tell me about the Source."

"Why?"

"I have to know. It's important and people's lives are at stake."

"People's lives are always at stake. It's the nature of this joke we call life."

"If it's all a joke, then you can tell us about it."

"All I can tell you, Duncan Cade, is that it fell from the stars one night in the desert."

"The stars? It came from space?"

But the old man was already back to rocking, oblivious to their presence.

Thirty Two

The Pit was neither fun nor full of socializing people.

It was, however, hotter even than the dungeons. The prisoners worked alongside great vats of green streaming sludge that flowed through troughs in the giant cavern. The sludge dripped down from hundreds of pipes in the cavern's ceiling, joining the rest with steady wet thumps. The prisoners, along with dozens of Golems, shoveled the green slop out of the troughs and into bins that ran alongside a conveyor belt. Where the waste went, he had no idea, and he wondered why they just didn't run the bins under the pipes and eliminate the need for prisoners and Golems to shovel it.

"That smell," Jessica complained, plugging her nose.

"It smells like roses in the morning!" Simon exclaimed, yanking a shovel from the rack on the wall. "A pure pleasure only the greatest of wizards gets to experience."

It stank worse than anything he'd ever smelt, a combination of rotted meat and ruined vegetables mixed with a sprinkle of sewer waste. It was an overwhelming stench made worse by the extreme heat. Still, it bothered Duncan were so much heat was generated. The Ancients had spent vast amounts of natural energy to generate heat in order to boil water and drive turbines for electricity, but New Atlantis had none of that. The city didn't run on electricity, it ran on magic. But something, down here in the Pit, was generating enough energy to boil the waste.

"It's bad, I know," he said, taking a shovel from the rack by the wall. He ripped his sleeves off his shirt and fashioned impromptu masks for them to try and filter out the smell.

"Thanks," she said, taking the mask.

He handed her a shovel and told her, "Follow me."  
"We're not shoveling?"

"No."

Jessica mimicked him as he pretended to shovel, the pair slowly working down the line. None of the other prisoners would even look at them, but Simon, at a safe distance, repeated what they were doing, following them. Duncan grimaced, wondering what the man was doing, but as long as he was quiet and didn't attract the attention of the Magistrates, he'd leave it alone and deal with it wherever they ended up.

"Where are the newcomers?" Felix the guard ordered from much further down the line.

Duncan started to panic and then wished he and Jessica were invisible. If they could just be unseen for a few more moments, he thought, they could make the unguarded exit at the rear of the chamber. Simon laughed aloud, closer to them now.

He whispered, "I knew you were magical."

Duncan spun around to see what the man was talking about, but panicked when he didn't see Jessica. He started to scream out when Jessica gasped.

"Duncan," he heard her slight whisper, "I can't see you."

His heart raced with the implication. He'd wished they'd become invisible and they had. Felix barreled down the gantry way towards them, bellowing.

"Who used unapproved magic? When I find you I'm going to rip you limb from limb. You're dead...do you hear me? Dead."

Simon winked out of existence too and giggled. "This is fun."

Duncan didn't think so and was in an absolute panic. If Felix found them performing magic, he'd have them killed, not to mention the fact that he was performing magic, which was a whole other problem in of itself. He found Jessica's hand and then froze as the oversized Magistrate walked right by them. He paused for just a moment and Duncan was certain they'd been found out, but then he kept moving. He talked himself into breathing again and then continued down the gantry way to the side exit. The metal door was nearly rusted shut and had a spin lock like on a ship or submarine. He tried to turn it to the left, but it wouldn't budge.

"Help me," he told both Simon and Jessica.

The wheel suddenly spun freely and easily and in a few seconds they had the door open and were on the other side. He shut it as quickly and quietly as he could and then wished that they were visible again. Simon blinked into existence and smiled.

"It just needed a little magic."

Jessica was staring at him, the look on her face a mixture of confusion and panic. "You really did magic, didn't you, Duncan?"  
"I didn't mean to. I just wished we were invisible and we were."

"It's really that easy for them to just get whatever they desire, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Duncan agreed, "but I don't know how I made it work. Magicians train for years to do even the simplest teleportation spells. Their entire first year is almost just that, learning to teleport so that they can go up to the next floor, which is the next grade. It takes a Magician child years just to learn to conjure food. There isn't any way I can make us invisible within a few hours of gaining the ability."

"Maybe you're just a natural," Jessica suggested and a little of the fear in her voice was gone. He knew what she was worried about. Now that he had magic, would he still support her? What was in their future?

"No," Simon said simply, his sanity restored at least momentarily, "you are able to perform at full level because we keep getting closer to the Source."

"What does it look like?" Duncan demanded. "How will we know it when we see it?"

"You will know and it will know you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means." Simon's attitude had changed once they were out of the cell. He was much more subdued and sane sounding, though he was still speaking in riddles. Duncan wondered if he'd feel at home with NAME. The two could talk circles around each other, not ever actually meaning anything.

"Let's go," Duncan said, leading them further into the tunnel and into the heat.

The tunnel changed as soon as they got away from the door, changing from magical steel to natural rock. Small electric lights lit the path as the tunnel snaked away from the waste processing area, twisting and turning, but always sloping downwards. The further they walked down, though, the hotter it got, as if they were walking towards the very core of the planet.

"I can't go on," Jessica said, steadying herself against the smooth stone wall. She was drenched with sweat and looked ready to pass out.

Duncan collapsed next to her. It felt like walking through an oven set to broil. His vision was clouded, and all he could think about was water.

Simon, on the other hand, looked unaffected. "Why don't you use your magic to cool?"

"What?"

"Wish it."

Duncan nodded and wished for two canteens of cold water and seconds later there they were. He handed one to Jessica and then drank sparingly from the second, trying not to overdo it, knowing that if he did, he'd throw it right back up. He then imagined he and Jessica surrounded by ice-cold air. A blue mist swirled about them, but it was so hot in the tunnel, it cancelled out the effects of the chilled air. Instead of being cold, the air was room temperature and comfortable. They sat and rested awhile anyway, sipping water.

"It can be handy, can't it?" Jessica asked, referring to the magic.

"I guess. I still don't want it."

"But couldn't you fight them with it? Couldn't you make changes from here?"

"I wouldn't be very powerful once we were away from the Source, and even if I was, I don't want to stay here. I don't belong here."

"No one belongs here," Simon said, interrupting. "This place is as unnatural as the Source."

"You seem to know a lot about it," Duncan began. "Or you're lying."

"I suppose we'll both find out, won't we?"  
Duncan didn't answer him and instead stood, comforted by the water and the cooler air. They proceeded forward down the narrow tunnel. The electrical lights stopped and Duncan conjured them flashlights. He wondered how the objects, built of basic science, functioned while created of magic. Or were they like the Golems? Were they summoned from some ancient store of flashlights and he just thought he'd created them?

They walked the rest of the day, always turning and always heading in a general downward direction. Duncan had to recast the cooling spell several times. The deeper they went the hotter it got, and eventually they no longer needed the flashlights as even the stone glowed dull red. There was no way Jim could ever approach the Source, he thought, no way the ancients without magic could have gotten near it. It just wasn't humanly possible.

"We're there," Simon said simply as they entered a massive cavern many miles below the city of New Atlantis. The great pipes from the mainland that glowed dull blue and then absolutely shone once they reached the magical island all came together in the gigantic cave, all leading down and over the edge into a great chasm. Duncan leaned over the edge and looked down. The pipes ended and spewed out a blue mist that contrasted with the red burning stones and cast eerie shadows about the cavern.

"That's the life force of the planet," Duncan said, pointing to the piping. "That's why there's the Creeping Death and where their magic comes from. They suck the life out of the world and pump it here, feeding whatever monstrosity lies at the bottom of this pit."

"Indeed," Simon said softly. "It is all our lives pouring in like so much wasted water."

Duncan leaned over the edge of the narrow walkway and gasped.

"That's it, isn't it?" he asked, not able to take his eyes from what lay at the bottom of the underground cavern.

"Hello, old friend," Simon said, leaning over the edge along with Duncan. "I see you've grown."

The Source of magic was a living, breathing creature, but a creature unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was formless, filling the cavern like mud, and easily a half-mile long and a mile wide. Its burnt orange skin was dotted with thousands of eyes that glowed dull blue like Simon's and the other prisoners who'd spent a lot of time in the dungeon. The thing's body filled every nook and cranny in the cavern and rippled like the waves on the ocean, sending the thousands of eyes

"What is it?" Jessica asked. "It looks like a giant orange mud puddle with eyes."

"It's not from this world," Duncan said knowingly. "It's not of earth."

"It was much smaller when it fell from the sky," Simon told them. "When I picked it up it was only a little orange rock. I thought it might be gold."

"What do you mean I?" Duncan asked, not looking at Simon, but still staring over at the Source.

"I means me. Me is I."

The eyes blinked rapidly and focused on Duncan, and then the creature screamed, its shriek reverberating in the scalding hot cavern and forcing the three to cover their ears.

"I think it saw me," Duncan said, and then had to repeat himself nearly at a scream just to be heard.

"No," Simon said, "we are ants to it. Insignificant. Something else is happening."

The blue mist that dripped from several of the pipes slowed to a trickle and then stopped completely. The pipes themselves no longer glowed blue and instead quickly began to glow red from the extreme heat the Source put out. The entire quivering mass of the Source screamed again and surged upwards like pop being forced from a cola bottle. They ducked back as it convulsed, stepping back into the tunnel. The Source was in abject agony without the constant flow of life force from the main lands. The piping began to steam as its metal heated up.

"Fix. Fix. Fix. Fix. Fix. Fix. Fix."

The Source repeated the demand over and over, both audibly and in their heads. It sounded like a petulant little child, screaming for a favorite toy to be repaired.

"I think we need to get out of here." Duncan said, dragging Jessica behind him and sprinting back up the tunnel.

Simon stood for a moment, staring down at the Source. "It's almost over, old friend. Almost over."

Thirty Three

The cool air field faltered as they raced up the tunnel leading from the Source to the Pits. Duncan kept recasting it, Simon helping, and Duncan couldn't help but wonder if that was how Timmy had felt, all those months ago, when his healing spells faltered. It was a sickening feeling knowing that the only thing keeping them from boiling alive was the cooling spells. It just made him run faster, pulling Jessica behind them. They had to get out of the tunnel before it heated up too much and deal with whatever waited for them on the other side of the door when they got there.

He paused at the old iron door and took a deep breath. He half expected there to be an entire company of Magistrates on the other side, just waiting to tear him and his friends to pieces, but when he opened the door, there was only chaos.

"What in the world?"

The Pit was in complete disarray. The large cavern shook violently, much like the earthquake that had sent Jessica and Duncan plummeting down to the buried town of Center, Texas. The prisoners and Magistrates alike were running in a blind panic, heading for the exits that led up and to the surface. Felix rushed right by him, and even without the invisibility spell, didn't know him. The sadistic Magistrate's face was a mask of pure terror.

"What's happening?" Jessica asked as they ran, following the people to the exits if for no other reason than Duncan didn't yet have a plan.

"It's something with the flow of life force from the mainland," Duncan said as they jogged behind the people. "Did you see those pipes? They quit flowing."

People pressed behind them, Magistrate and prisoner alike, pushing up the small stairway that led to the street. He scanned the area, looking for the dozens of Golems that had been working in the Pit but saw none of the zombie-eyed humans. There were, however, many more nervous, confused prisoners. One man came up to him, jerking at his sweat-drenched sleeve.

"Please, do you know where we're at? What's going on here?"

"You're in the Pit," Duncan told the man as the entire line of people surged forward and away from the chaos in the Pit. Railings shook loose from overhead, sending piping and green sludge plummeting down. The conveyor belt that hauled the waste away was off its tracks, dumping the carts randomly on the walkways. The waste stream itself bubbled up as the heat intensified from the Source and the metal gangways began to melt. He watched as a couple people fell off and into the sludge, instantly consumed.

"What's the Pit? Where am I? We weren't supposed to dream in Stasis Level Three."

"Wait," Duncan said, trying to stop and talk to the man while he held onto Jessica's hand to keep from getting separated from her. "Did you say Stasis Level Three?"  
"This has to be a nightmare," the man said. "It has to be a nightmare."

They didn't get a chance to talk anymore as the crowd of panicked people surged again, pressing in close. Duncan lost his breath and his grip on Jessica's hand.

"Jessica!"

He couldn't see her through the rush of people and had no choice but to be pushed up the stairs as the entire Pit melted away behind them. The sludge ate everything in its path and the ceilings shook, threatening to collapse. He knew if he fell to the ground he'd just be trampled and tried to calm himself. He'd find her once they got out. She wouldn't run and would be right there, waiting for him.

Eventually they pressed out onto the wider streets that were also in disarray. There were fires everywhere and panicked Magicians raced through the streets, not even trying to put the fires out. There was no rhyme or reason to the direction they ran so Duncan stepped out of the flow of prisoners from the Pit and waited. Jessica was there, waving to him from across the street, standing next to Simon. He pushed through the citizens rushing through the street and joined her.

"What's happening?" she asked, her eyes in panic. "What is everyone running from?"

There was a massive explosion across the street from them as a small shop went up in a fireball of wood and plaster and flame. They ducked down, trying to protect their heads, and Duncan's ears rang like there was a small man inside his head pounding away with a hammer. When he opened his eyes there was destruction everywhere, bloodied people lying in the streets, the glass gone from storefronts, and buildings on fire. The man that had pleaded with him on the stairs, the man he thought was a former Golem lay in the street in front of him, dead.

"Look!" Jessica said, pointing skyward.

The sky was buzzing with dragons, fire shooting out of their snouts like ancient flamethrowers. The massive beasts plunged and darted, twisting and turning like jet fighters in a dogfight. It took Duncan a long few seconds to see what they were fighting with, and when he did, his heart threatened to leap right out of his chest. Interspaced with the dragons and wyverns were dozens of ancient aircraft that were older than even the Last War. These were what Jim called the Ghost Planes, aircraft so old that the Magicians, after the Last War, had ignored them. They'd been in front of ancient courthouses and near old American Legion halls. Duncan didn't realize there had been so many of the ancient aircraft and was captivated watching World War 2-era fighters dancing in the sky with dragons. The pilots were doing an admirable job and dragons fell from the sky in droves. He recognized one of the planes straight away.

"It's the Betty," he told her, unable to mask his excitement. "It's Jim's bomber."

The Betty streaked by, low to the ground, with its bomb bay doors wide open. It wasn't just dropping ancient bombs on New Atlantis, the crew were pushing out barrels of gasoline that exploded when they hit the surface, spreading fire everywhere. Duncan cheered despite himself, despite the fact that he was, at least temporarily, one of the Magicians. The humans were fighting back, and judging from the reaction of the Source, they were doing a good job.

"They must be cutting the pipes from the mainland," he told Jessica. "That's why some of them quit. They're starving the Source of its energy."

"And causing Magic to fail at a grand pace," Simon added, pointing up to where a massive inverted spire, held aloft only by magic, tumbled over and careened into the street below them, sending up huge dust clouds. "But they will do no good if they do not destroy the Source. It will only come back to this world, again, as it has done time and time again in history past. It might be ten-thousand years from now, but if it is not destroyed, it will only come back and do this again."

Duncan didn't want to believe the man, didn't want to accept what he was saying. To do so meant believing that the Source was tens of thousands of years old and that the ancient stories of Atlantis were true. But he did agree that the Source had to be destroyed. There wasn't any choice. "Well, we can't do that here. We have to get out of this city or we're going to end up being destroyed by the bombs."

As if to emphasize his point, another bomb fell to the ground several blocks away, exploding and driving them all to their knees.

"He doesn't know we're here, Duncan," Jessica said, whipping the dust and soot from her face.

"It wouldn't matter if he did or not. He has no choice. They're committed to this war and now they have to finish it or be destroyed. Come on, let's get moving."

Duncan took one last look at the dead man on the ground in front of him and wondered how many citizens of Center, Texas, with the magic rapidly fading around the world, were waking up in strange and frightening situations. He felt sorry for them and felt helpless to do anything about their plight.

They made their way through a dying city and Duncan's initial nervousness about being captured by the Magistrates turned out to be completely unfounded. With their magic fading along with the city, they were in just as much panic as everyone else. Those who could perform magic concentrated on filling the sky with lightning bolts and fireballs, trying to destroy the enemy aircraft but more often than not hitting the dragons instead. The entire population was in a panic in the streets, and many, along with Duncan, Jessica, and Simon, were heading for the city's edge and hopefully away from it.

The streets were filled with fire and rubble from destroyed buildings. He tried to keep up with the massive air battle raging above New Atlantis, but it was hard to follow through the black smoke and massive dust clouds caused by buildings falling. He did begin to notice the majority of the aircraft pulling back, their damage done, and heading for wherever they'd come from. But the Betty flew on, dumping its seemingly endless supply of bombs on the stricken city, striking terror wherever her shadow swept.

They didn't have time to ponder the situation as they continued toward the city exits. There were magic carriages at the gate for the citizens to use to tour the countryside. They were neither powered by fuel, like the airplanes and Jim's Jeep, nor by animal, like he'd seen in old histories. Magicians fought over the few carriages available, trying to get their families in them and out of the city. Fights were breaking out left and right, and fireballs, when the Magicians were able to conjure them, mixed with smoke from the burning buildings. Duncan avoided the chaos, steering his small group around the fights and out the main gates.

People, even without the carriages, were streaming steadily away from New Atlantis. Duncan picked a course into the woods that would allow them to avoid the large crowds. He didn't want a Magistrate recognizing them and attempting to hold them, or, worse, executing them as prisoners of war. They tried to blend in the best they could, trying to hide their excitement at the absolute destruction of the Magicians' power. He didn't know how Jim had managed to pull it off, but he watched in admiration as the Betty, alone now, continued to circle the city.

"We have to keep moving." Simon insisted. "The Magistrates will soon restore order, even if they have to start killing the citizens."

"Would they do that?" Jessica gasped.

"The Source is losing power. They must feed it somehow."

"So they'd sacrifice their own people to it?" Duncan asked, trying to conjure more canteens for the small group. He saw them beginning to form, shimmer, and then fade away.

"You are without the magic inflicted on you just a short time ago," Simon observed. "Imagine having spent your entire life with it only to have it ripped away. They will feed the source whatever life force they can to keep it alive and supplying magic at some level."

"Then we need to run faster," Duncan said as they took off for the forest.

The trees were screaming. They stared at the stricken city and the billowing flames, and, unable to move, seemed convinced the fires were heading straight for them. They shook their branches and pleaded for Duncan to dig them up and move them.

"You have to help us!" one screamed, blocking their path with a branch. "Find a shovel, man. Get us out of here."

"I can't," Duncan said. "There's just too many of you."

"Then just me!" another insisted. "I can be a very good tree in a garden. I'll shade your house well."

"Use magic!" still another begged. "You could move us in seconds with the right spell."

"I don't have magic," Duncan said and the trees paused, looking at him quizzically, their bark-made faces twisted and convulsed.

"No magic? Then why are you at New Atlantis. Magistrates! There is a human here! Magistrates!"

Another branch swept down at him and he barely ducked in time, feeling the whoosh of tree and leaf overhead. As he lay in the mud, he came face-to-face with a large white rabbit.

"No magic, huh, bub?"

"No."

The trees kept trying to hit them, but their branches didn't sweep low enough.

"Sucks to be you," the bunny said as it hopped away.

The three crawled, avoiding the angry trees swatting at the intruders in their midst. Even staying low, they were struck repeatedly, the angry trees screaming every bad name they could think off. When they finally entered an open pasture, their clothing was in shreds and all had numerous cuts and bruises. The trees raged on at them, even after they took off across the clearing, and Duncan could hear them long after they were away from them. They stopped a half mile away and sat for awhile, and Simon, whose magical experience was obviously greater than Duncan's fleeting power, conjured them food and water. He sat silently, staring up at the Betty who was still, amazingly enough, circling the city. She was finally out of bombs, but her machine guns roared and even the dragons appeared hesitant to approach her.

"If your kind could have done this a thousand years ago, none of this would have ever happened. Who knows what lofty heights the human race would have achieved? It's been the same throughout history. Your kind rises up and the Source tears them down, feeding off their life force for a millennia. It will be no different this time."

"We're on the verge of beating it this time," Duncan said. "And Jim will finish it."

"I fear not," Simon said, pointing to the Betty as she swooped by the city gate they'd exited from. There were three jets behind it—the sleeker attack craft the Magicians had kept in case of an emergency with the magic. As Duncan watched, missiles leapt out and streaked towards the bomber. He gripped the log he was sitting on until his knuckled turned white and then thought he was going to lose the food Simon had created for him when he saw the missiles strike home. The Betty lurched, its tail spewing fire, and plummeted to the earth away from the city.

"We have to get to them," Duncan said, standing up and heading in that direction.

"The Magistrates are restoring power," Simon said, rising beside him. "Soon they will have their magic somewhat restored. They will also trek for the plane that has wrought all this damage."

"Then I guess we'll have to beat them to it, won't we?"

As they took off at a jog, he could still hear the trees pleading for help.

Thirty Four

They had to pass through another angry forest to get to the clearing where the plane had crashed and all the trees talked. These trees, however, were farther from the city and not as worried about burning to a crisp. They were still adamant about the non-magical humans trespassing and screamed for the Magistrates to no avail. The group had to crawl through, once more, and on the other side Simon had to conjure them new clothing.

"The Source is coming back online. I can feel it," Simon told them.

Duncan didn't try to do any more magic and was content with letting Simon help them with their immediate needs. He wasn't sure what the motivation of the former prisoner was or why he was helping them, but he was happy having a bit of help. It reminded him of all the times Marissa had helped him so long ago.

"It doesn't matter, right now. We have to get to that plane and then figure out a way to get out of here," Duncan insisted.

"If the Source is not destroyed here and now, while it is in a weakened state, you might not get the opportunity again."

"Well, do you have an idea on how to do that?"

"No."

"Then we go on to the plane."

They saw the smoke drifting into the air several miles before they neared the plane. Then they heard the gunfire and explosions coming from the same direction. The sounds lifted Duncan's spirits. Thought it meant that the crew of the plane, and quite likely his father, were under fire and engaged in some sort of battle, it also meant that they were still alive. The trio passed through another small forest, though this time it was composed of non-sentient trees and they snaked through the vegetation easily. At the tree line's edge, they could see the Betty, mostly in one piece but smoking badly at the end of a trough it had carved in the ground as it crashed. Its wings were crumpled and the fuselage was littered with hundreds of lightning bolt and fireball scorches. The plane would never fly again in its current state, and Duncan found himself sad over the fact. The glorious old war bird had not only survived the second World War, but the Last War. If they ever won this battle, he promised himself, he'd come back here and build some sort of monument to the Betty.

The Betty was far from alone in the clearing. An entire herd of unicorns, hundreds of white and black horses, surrounded it and were trying to gain entry. Their bloodied bodies littered the ground around the crash site as the occupants of the plane fought back. The gunfire, not just from hand weapons but also from the plane's still functioning heavy machine guns, filled the day.

"How are we ever going to get in there?" Jessica asked. "And is it worth it?"

"Jim is in there. They need our help." To Duncan it was as clear-cut as anything else in life, and he didn't quite understand why Jessica was balking at the idea of a rescue. That he had no idea how they'd affect a rescue didn't even play into the situation.

"Say we somehow manage to get in there, Duncan. What then? Even if we could fight our way through that herd, eventually they're going to run out of bullets inside. Then what? We might be better off waiting until they're captured and then trying to rescue them from the Pit."

"No," Simon began, "there will be no capture. There will only be execution. If we are to save them, we do it now."

Simon stepped from the tree line and whistled, "Hello, unicorns. My name is...well, I don't quite remember my name. They call me Simon, but I don't think that's it." His voice boomed, amplified by magic, and the unicorns paused in their assault of the stricken aircraft. Even the gunfire paused as the crew watched the strange, wild-haired man step out of the woods. "That's sad, don't you think? Everyone calls me Simon but I know deep down that isn't my name. I do, however, remember you, glorious unicorns. I remember when I created you, when I pulled you from the far reaches of my mind, no more than a boy's fantasy, and wished you into existence. You see, I don't remember my name, but I do remember that I am your father. And as your father, I ask you to let these humans be."

The unicorns, apparently created without speech like many of the other magical variety of animals, stared at him, and Duncan saw a burning hatred in their eyes.

"Step aside, good unicorns, and let us tend to the men in that plane," Simon said as he stepped forward. The horses parted and a small path to the plane opened up. Simon strode forward like a king walking down the red carpet. As soon as he passed the first 'corns, though, the gap closed and they surrounded him.

"Oh, no," Jessica whispered as the unicorns rushed toward the Magician prisoner, the snorts of their anger filling the air. Duncan started to dash forward to help him when the first unicorn, a large black male, was flung into the air, landing behind them in the trees.

"I think he's just fine."

More unicorns were flung away like children's toys, screaming through the air. They landed with wet thumps in the woods behind them and Duncan watched the fray. Simon moved like a madman through the herd, using magic to propel the creatures out of the way and to sling them into the air. They tried stabbing him with their single horns, sharp as swords, but the blows were deflected by some sort of field that surrounded the magician. Duncan knew he was looking at the most powerful Magician he'd ever seen. The man was able to manipulate matter with barely a thought, and even with the entire herd arrayed against him, he'd barely broke a sweat. He disappeared inside the plane and the gunfire resumed, directed at the unicorns. The ancient airplane began drifting slowly in the air, no doubt powered by Simon, and the unicorns retreated.

"Great," Duncan said. "He rescued them but forgot us."

"I don't think he would," Jessica said as the old familiar feeling of being teleported wrapped over them and they blinked away.

Duncan blinked his eyes and saw he was on the inside of the Betty. Simon floated cross-legged in the center of the bomb bay, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed in concentration. The inside of the airplane was a mess. There were empty ammunition containers strewn everywhere and sunlight poured in through multiple holes in the fuselage. The crew was grimy and dirty from gun smoke and sweat, and when his father lifted his goggles from his eyes, it revealed the only two clean places on his body were the areas just around his eyes. He smiled at Duncan and came to him, hugging him fiercely.

"I almost canceled this operation when NAME told me you'd been captured."

"He's all right?"

"And then some," Jim said. "He's around here somewhere."

"I'm glad you didn't cancel the operation."

"We've hurt them pretty well. They, at the very least, remember who we are."

Duncan turned to where Simon floated.

"Who is he, Duncan? He came in, told us to hold on, and then we lifted into the air. He said you'd be along shortly and here you are."

"They call him Simon but he says he doesn't remember his name. He knows a lot about the Source, though, and seems to be very powerful. I can't remember seeing anyone as powerful as he is."

Simon didn't blink. "I am the most powerful Magician."

"So why is he helping us?" Jim asked, the suspicion evident in his voice.

"I don't know. He helped us in the dungeon when we went to see the Source, and then he helped us again to escape the city." He turned to Simon, hoping the man would open up and offer some input into the question from his father, the same question he had. The Magician was deep in concentration keeping the plane aloft. "He has, however, proven himself trustworthy to me. I may not have any idea of his intentions, but I don't doubt his honesty."

Jim looked back and forth from Duncan to the floating magician several times before nodding in agreement. "If you trust him, I trust him. You're an amazing judge of character, as far as I can see. So...tell me about the Source."

Duncan told him everything he knew and everything he suspected. He told him of the Source's large, shapeless form, and the thousands of eyeballs staring up in the deep cavern. He told him of the intense heat the creature generated and the Pit, the waste treatment facility that had something to do with dissipating that heat. He told him what Simon had said, that the creature was from the stars and how it returned to earth every time mankind began to make advances, knocking them back down into the stone age. He also told him of the Golems and Center, Texas.

"NAME told us about that town, and we already have a team on the way to save that library."

"It's dangerous, Jim." He still couldn't bring himself to call someone besides Albert Cade Father. "There are ancient weapons there that are operating on thousand-year-old orders. We just barely escaped from them, and if it hadn't been for the Golems..."

"The Golems?" his father interrupted. "Like the creatures the Magicians conjure as slaves?"

"They aren't conjured. Whether the Magicians know it or not, those are real people. They're the people of Center, Texas. After the war, they entered something called Stasis Level Three and survived the long dark years. I don't know how, but somehow, when the Creeping Death hit there, it separated their minds from their bodies."

"You are sure of this?"  
"When the magic faded after you did whatever you did to the pipes, I met one. He didn't know where he was and thought he was in a bad dream. He said he was from Center. We read some of their history in the library from after the Last War when they went into hiding. It makes sense."

"That will complicate things if there are thousands of people from before the Last War waking up all of a sudden. Can you imagine how valuable those people are to us?" Jim said, musing. "We have to save each and every one of them. They can teach us so much, give us knowledge we thought might be dead. I just fear we're going to lose a lot of them in this war, Duncan. But we'll do what we can for them."

"What happened, Jim? How did you manage to attack New Atlantis?"

"We blew up the pipes on the continent, Duncan, and it was thanks to you."

"I don't know what you mean. What did I have to do with it?"

"We always thought the pipes were supplying magic and power to the cities. The idea that it could be the reverse honestly never occurred to us. We'd never made the connection between the Creeping Death and the cities. We always thought the Death was a separate problem, not a symptom of the power required to power magic. That's where I've been...trying to coordinate all the colonies into one attack plan." Jim paused and wiped the grime from his face. "It was a lot of work. Those magical pipes run all over the world, to every nook and cranny. We were only able to destroy a small number of the main ones along the coast."

"And how did you get all those old planes here?"

Jim smiled. "I hope you get a chance to see the USS Barrack Obama, Duncan. She's one of the most interesting things I've run across in all my travels."

"What is a USS Barrack Obama?" Jessica asked.

"She's an aircraft carrier that fought in the Last War. Afterwards, when the Magicians were destroying or taking every ancient piece of war machinery, she hid and has been at sea a thousand years, fighting the Magicians when she could. There was an entire armada out there. Can you imagine it? If we ever win this war, the tale of the USS Barrack Obama will take up a book of its own. The original crew managed to sneak ashore once they knew the world was lost and rescued thousands. The crew was the most selfless, honorable men I've ever read about and their decedents are no different. They carried the old war birds from the mainland and, hopefully, most of them have landed back there now."

"I think I'd like to see that."

"I'd like for you to, son, but our crews on the mainlands are still destroying the pipes. The magic is fading fast and I don't know how long our hero," he said, pointing to Simon, "can protect us."

The Magistrate fighters closed in on the stricken but floating Betty and the explosions and machine gun fire rocked the ancient aircraft. Every time a missile struck home, impacting and exploding on Simon's shield, Duncan could see the reaction in the Magician's face. It was as if he was physically absorbing each blow, and he didn't know how long he could last.

"We have to get back to the city," Duncan said. "If we don't destroy the Source, our kind will be doing this again in another ten thousand years. We won't remember, Jim. We won't remember what it's done to us, and won't know how to fight it. We have to strike at it now."

Jim nodded in agreement. "I know, but I'd rather you not be here."

"I'd rather not be here, either, but I am, and I've been to the Source's lair. I know how to get there."

Another explosion rocked the Betty, sending expended ammunition and crewmembers flying. Simon dropped down a foot, losing his concentration, and the Betty dropped with him. He regained his composure and the Betty drifted higher. "We have to do something soon. As Duncan has suggested I can't maintain this long."

Jim nodded, his face grim with determination. "Okay, then set her down. Hopefully NAME has already made some progress, and if he hasn't, we can link up."

"NAME is down there? In the city?" It seemed the ultimate irony to Duncan. The North American Main Entity, one of the grandest computers ever built, was rolling through the capitol of the Magician empire.

"He is and I think you'll be surprised when you see him."

The Betty, at Simon's direction, floated back over the stricken and burning city of New Atlantis and Duncan stared out the window. Great crowds of people were still panicking in the street even though the bombs had stopped falling. Duncan watched the Magistrates, their bright red armor shining in the sunlight, herding the Magicians through the streets towards the entrance to the Pit. They were really doing it, he thought. They were using their own people to power the Source in the absence of energy from the Mainland. He knew, there and then, that they would do absolutely anything they could to stay in power and vowed to defeat them.

Thirty Five

Jim decided the best approach was the direct one, so Simon set the Betty down as gently as possible near the entranceway they'd used to escape the Pit onto the street. The Magistrates were herding citizens to another location to integrate their energy into the Source, so the street was relatively empty. There were plenty of bodies, though, and as Duncan stepped out of the aircraft, he stared at the body of the Golem.

"That's him," he told Jim. "That's the man from Center."

Jim nodded and draped a sheet over the man. "I wish we could bury him now. His world has changed so much more than ours. We can, however, make sure his death was not in vain."

Duncan nodded and led them to the entrance of the Pit. Their group consisted of the pilots and gunners from the Betty, all armed with ancient assault rifles, and Jim, Duncan, Jessica and Simon. The Magician was exhausted from his ordeal of keeping the Betty aloft and fighting off the Magician fighters, but he was able to walk on his own, though he had returned to babbling nonsense. As they rounded the corner to where the entrance was, Duncan came to a sliding stop, trying to back up.

"Oh no!" Jessica screamed behind him.

There, in front of the entrance, were the twelve Warbots from Center, Texas. Their once shiny armor was dented and covered with scorch marks, but their eye lights glowed brightly and Duncan knew they were still in fighting shape. He pulled out the small shotgun he'd equipped himself with in the Betty and racked the slide, driving a new shell into the chamber.

"No Duncan!" Jim screamed, jumping in front of him and pushing the shotgun down. "It's not what you think."

"Hello, Duncan. It is a pleasure to see you again."

And then he heard Sir Dog bark.

The digital voice was different, but he knew NAME when he heard him. "I don't understand."

NAME, in the body of one of the Warbots, stepped forward. "My operating system has been transferred to a MARK4 Combat System. I am much more mobile now."

"But how? Their last orders were to protect Center and they've been doing that for a thousand years. They nearly killed Jessica and me."

Jessica already had Sir Dog in her arms, and the dog was merrily lapping at her face.

"They were created to serve under my command. Therefore, my orders overrode their last orders. We are at your disposal."

Duncan suddenly got it. Just before the Last War, NAME had been built and put in charge of North America's defenses, one of the grandest computers ever designed. The Warbots would obviously have been placed under his control.

"It's good to see you."

"And you, Duncan Cade. We feared for your life."

"We?"

"Sir Dog is quite intelligent once you get past the constant licking."

"Okay..." Duncan said, wondering if he meant Sir Dog was like the dogs back in New Dallas.

"We can catch up later," Jim said. "Right now, we have a mission."

The Warbots came to attention and NAME said, "We are at your service."

Gunfire erupted from down the street as Magistrates rounded the corner, guns blazing and weakened fireballs forming in their free hands. Their magic was getting visibly weaker as the crews on the mainland wrecked the piping transporting the life force. Duncan was even hit with one of the half fireballs and quickly brushed the ash off. The Warbots, as slow as ever, returned fire, pinning down the Magistrates.

"We have to get moving," Jim ordered.

Duncan pointed to the door and said, "This way."

The pit was utterly wrecked; the machinery and conveyor buckets were overturned, and the flow of green sludge from the pipes in the ceiling had stopped. The city was overheating above them, but the heat from the Source had died down considerably. The trough of green sludge from the city above was gone, and Duncan assumed it had run down into the tunnels leading to the Source. There were bodies there, as well, and he tried not to look at the remains of the people caught in the toxic sludge. Most were gleaming skeletons, the flesh burned off their bones, but others had been caught halfway into the flow. Their faces were locked in the agonizing positions they'd died in. They left two Warbots on the street to defend the entrance and the rest of the haphazard crew began making their way towards the tunnel.

"I see you, Duncan Cade." The voice drifted from further in the Pit, near where the entrance to the tunnels was. "I see you, Diamond Jim. I know why you're here."

"Who goes there?" Jim asked but Duncan knew right off who it was.

"Jeremiah Fredrick," he said flatly.

"That's not possible, son," Jim said. "That would make him over a thousand years old."

"Imposter!" Simon said, stepping forward, his exhaustion seemingly replaced by abject rage.

Fredrick laughed. "I was wondering what had happened to you after the, shall we say, incident. I had hoped you might have been consumed when the sludge rushed through the dungeon, as so many were, but alas, I am disappointed. I probably should have killed you a thousand years ago."

"You would have been killing yourself."

"And yet the image of Jeremiah Fredrick has been so useful, both during the Last War and the thousand years after. Yes, I could have taken a new avatar, but the Magicians so love you. Did you know that right now, in an effort to please you, they are sacrificing their own to keep me going? To keep the magic flowing? They did it before, in the original Atlantis, though it was to a different man. Why you humans place all your faith in one man, usually a deception, is beyond me, but it has always benefited me. Your kind is so stupid, after all."

"I remember my name," Simon said simply.

"You're the real Jeremiah Fredrick, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said softly.

"No, I am the real Jeremiah Fredrick," the other insisted. "He is but a shell, a birthplace, nothing more. I took his image and made it great. I took a no one and made him a god. I am the real Jeremiah Fredrick. No matter what he says, I am the only important one."

"May I still be called Simon?" the real Jeremiah whispered. "I have no desire to take on my former name, a name he has made equivalent to dirt."

"I'll always call you Simon, if that's what you want," Duncan whispered back, amazed to be standing next to an actual thousand-year-old man. They were springing up all over the place.

"How quaint," the fake Fredrick spoke. "The new boy and the ancient man, together at last. And you, young man, I know you. You are the destroyer of worlds, the eater of societies. You proclaim to be saving your people, but you are destroying mine. How are you any better than me, Duncan Cade?"

Duncan looked at Jim quizzically for a second, then turned back to the Source's avatar. "You've murdered billions. You've killed an entire world."

"And you're killing thousands by killing the magic. Are there so many differences in the numbers?"

"Don't listen to him, Duncan," Jim ordered, training his rifle on the apparition. "He's trying to obscure the situation. He's trying to deter us from our mission. He knows it's almost over for him."

The Source laughed aloud. "Is that the case, Diamond Jim?"

Duncan didn't know. The Source was right, to a certain extent. What they were doing would destroy the Magician way of life. Their cities would come crashing to the ground and the citizens who survived would starve to death simply because conjuring food was all they knew. There would be untold destruction and suffering.

"He sees it, Jim. He sees what I'm talking about. Lead these people away, Duncan. Lead them and I will let them live. I will leave your people in peace. You may return underground and live out your existence in peace and serenity."

"It lies," Simon said. "It always lies. He lied to me that first night in the desert when he reached into my head and pulled out my fantasy, my hopes and dreams. That's how it works. It preys on our hopes and dreams and turns them against us, making us happy while it feeds on our souls. It would no sooner let humankind live than it would stop breathing. It can't do it. It has to feed."

The avatar of Jeremiah Fredrick grew, its body enlarging until it was ten feet tall with rippling muscles. The thing's red hair turned to flame, its eyes a blazing blue. Its skin rippled orange and eyeballs began appearing, bulging out from underneath its skin. Flames leapt from its fingertips, and it showed a wide, evil grin.

"What are you?" Duncan screamed. "Where are you from?"

"What does it matter, foolish boy? I come from the stars, I am the eater of world, the destroyer of souls. I will destroy you."

Lightning streaked out from the beast's hands and toward Duncan. Simon stepped forward and his body absorbed the energy. His entire body glowed blue for a brief second. One of the Warbots leapt up into the air, striking down with missiles. The beast grabbed it without touching it and flung it to one of the walls, where it exploded. Another dropped to one knee, the machine gun in its arm, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off the beast and it laughed aloud.

"Your ancestor's weapons are pointless," it said, grabbing the Warbot with magical force and crushing it like a tin can. Another Warbot ran right toward it, guns and rockets blazing. The impacts had no effect on it, however, and it dematerialized, allowing the Warbot to run right through it. The machine couldn't stop and ran into the wall.

"This is what you bring to defeat me? Your ancestors brought an armada from every corner of the world, and you bring children's toys?" the beast roared and the cavern walls reverberated.

"Hardly children's toys," NAME said, stepping forward and raising his arm. The weapon he fired was different from the others, a bright green beam that looked similar to lightning. The light punched through the beasts arm and burned a hole through it. It screamed and the entire Pit shuddered.

"This is not the Source. This is an avatar made in my image. It does not have the power to destroy us."

"You had everything, Jeremiah Fredrick," the beast screamed at Simon. "You had the entire world at your feet. I made you a god."

"You killed everyone," Simon said sadly. "You killed everyone...in my name..."

"I killed them and I will kill you, and when there is nothing left to feed me on this world, I will go to your colony on Mars. They have grown and covered the entire planet now...I can feel it with every breath I take. I will devour their world as I have yours, and then I will move on into the stars. I won't leave a seed here, this time, to evolve into the feasting ground again. No, I will make sure every last human being is gone. You are no more. Finished."

"We will stop you," Simon told the beast.

Flame leapt from the avatar's fingers toward Simon, and Simon, quietly, held up his own hand and stopped it. The beast flung fire with his other hand and Simon stopped it as well with his other hand. The two struggled back and forth a few moments as Duncan, along with Jessica, Jim and the crew of the Betty, watched in fascination.

"I cannot hold it long," Simon told them. "And it's already summoning help. Go now and destroy its body once and for all. End this madness."

"We will assist," NAME said, launching the remaining Warbots at the great beast. The battle raged as robots were flung away among lightning bolts and fireballs.

Jim and the crew of the Betty rushed by, unnoticed by the beast in its battle, but Duncan paused at Simon's side. "I won't forget you and I'll set the record straight after all this."

"Thank you. Now go and finish this."

Thirty Six

The tunnel leading from the Pit to the lair of the Source wasn't nearly as hot as it had been before. The walls were cool to the touch and Duncan was relieved that he wasn't going to have to attempt to use magic again. They jogged single-file, Jim in the lead, followed by Jessica and Duncan and then the rest of the crew. They were all nervous, and though Duncan had seen the Source once before, he had no idea what to expect since the destruction of the city above. They could hear the Source screaming ahead of them and the battle behind them. Duncan wanted to hunker down and cover his ears but kept on running.

Even the Source's lair was cooler. The walls no longer glowed bright red, and only a few of the pipes put out any sort of energy. The Source itself had shrunk considerably, filling up the space of several football fields instead of the entire cavern. Jim leaned over the edge and looked at it.

"That's it, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I never thought I'd actually see it," he said, sighting down the mass with his rifle. "Where do we even shoot?"  
"I have no idea."

None of them did, but it didn't matter. Here before them was the Eater of Worlds, the reason their planet was on the brink of destruction. It was the reason their ancestors had spent the better part of a thousand years hiding in the ground, surviving like rats and cockroaches. Like before, it seemed to ignore them, and Duncan wondered about that. It knew danger was lurking here, ready to destroy it, and it did nothing. Was it so wrapped up in the battle with Simon and the Warbots that it didn't notice them?

"Aim somewhere," Jim ordered, and the clicking of weapons being readied filled the cavern, "and fire."

A dozen guns opened up at once, flame leaping from the barrels. Duncan tried to hold his own gun still, tried to ignore the fact that he was, once again, attempting to take another's life. He had to justify it somehow in his mind, in his soul, but there would be time for that later, after the deed was done. The Source writhed in agony, filling the massive cavern from top to bottom, and as the bullets slammed home, the thing's eyes burst. But for every one they shot, three more appeared. The screaming drowned out the gunfire, and the entire mass quivered in agony.

"Are we doing any damage at all?"

"No, of course you can't hurt me, stupid humans."

Duncan turned to see the Source's avatar, the phony and transformed Jeremiah Fredrick, ducking out of the tunnel. The massive creature was covered in cuts and abrasions that bled green. It was livid, and steam rolled out of its ears. The group turned their weapons on the beast, and the bullets and rockets bounced harmlessly off. It howled in delight.

"The Source is me, I am the Source. Your kind hasn't been able to defeat me in tens of thousands of years, and you will not be able to do it now."

Duncan lowered his rifle and shouted back at the beast, "We might not be able to destroy you, but we've run you off our world before."

The creature's eyes burned into him and he gasped as he reached for his heart. Duncan choked as the blood stopped flowing, dropped his gun, and grasped at his chest. Jim came alive, rushing the creature, who was distracted by its glee at Duncan's suffering, and knocked it to the ground. The beast released its grip on Duncan's heart and he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

"You think you know us so well, beast," Jim said, pinning the Source's avatar to the ground at least temporarily. "You think you know what we'll do, what it takes to move us. You don't know anything."

Jim slid out of his backpack and opened the flap. The bag was packed with explosives connected to a small box. "You see this, beast? This might not be enough to destroy you, but it will do serious damage. And we'll keep coming back, again and again. We know you, now, and we won't forget you."

The avatar stood, slinging Jim off his chest in one fluid motion. Jim landed over the edge of the Source's lair, one hand holding the bomb and the other hanging onto the ledge. Duncan rushed to his side and grasped his hand.

"Dad..." It was the first time he'd called Jim that and the man smiled at the word.

"I've always wanted to hear that, Duncan. Thanks."

The battle with the beast raged on as NAME, one arm missing and his armor even more broken than before, rushed into the cavern, followed by the three remaining Warbots. Explosions shook the chamber's ceiling, dislodging already crumbling piping. The crew of the Betty reloaded their weapons and joined the fight. Jessica crouched at Duncan's rear, holding onto him as he held onto his father.

"Hold on, I can pull you up."

"No, I don't think you can. Listen. Take Jessica and get out of here. This bomb is going to destroy this entire cavern." Duncan looked down and saw the seconds ticking away on the timer. "Get to the south. The USS Barrack Obama is there and they'll protect you. Get out of here."

"I won't leave you."

"You don't have a choice, son. I love you. I always loved you. I'm sorry about the way things turned out."

With that, Diamond Jim, Duncan's long lost father, wriggled out of his grip and plummeted down into the pit of the Source. Duncan couldn't watch and rolled away from the edge of the ravine. He pulled Jessica to her feet and tried to muster courage that he didn't feel.

"Forget the avatar," he screamed through the gunfire and smoke. "We have to get out of here."

He heard the first explosion, muffled as if it were underwater, and the Source roared up again, in flames. Its agony was evident in its screams. The avatar sank to its elongated knees, hands on its ears, screaming in pain along with its master. The remaining survivors of the Betty, along with NAME, two remaining Warbots, and Jessica and Duncan, sprinted for the exit. As the source rippled with more internal explosions, the entire cavern shook again, and, already weakened by the Betty's previous bombings, started to come apart. They dodged falling rock and piping as they ducked into the tunnel.

Just inside, a massive explosion swept through the tunnel, and the last thing they saw was the avatar, swathed in flame, being swept over the chasm and down into the pit with the Source. The combined sounds of explosions and the Source screaming nearly burst their eardrums and even the tunnel walls threatened to collapse. In the Pit, Duncan paused where Simon lay slumped against the wall, bruised and bloodied but still just barely breathing.

"Can you carry him?" he asked NAME and the computer directed one of the other Warbots to scoop the man up.

The city of New Atlantis was crumbling around them. Already weakened by the bombing runs of the Ghost Planes and the Betty, it fell in pieces around them. The remaining Magistrates still tried to herd the panicked citizens to their demise, but the two opposing groups now found themselves completely without magic and were reduced to fighting by hand. The city convulsed like a living, breathing being, and everyone stopped and watched as the center of the city exploded outward, the flaming Source streaming into the sky like a meteorite in reverse. As the city began to cave in on the now-exposed chasm, Duncan and his group sprinted for the city's exit.

The road crumbled inward behind them as they ran, just nipping at their heels. Jessica tripped as one of the crewmen of the Betty was sucked into the ground, and Duncan helped her to her feet, dragging her along. They made it out of the city and to the edge of the enchanted forest. The trees, like the Centaurs, had been created with magic, but continued to live without it. They were what they were. Duncan suspected that there would be many magical creatures left, dragons, Orks, even the dogs and cats in the Magician cities. He panicked a bit when he thought of the cities. If they hadn't already, they would soon plummet to the earth as the Source left the atmosphere and took the magic with it. For the first time in a thousand years, the earth was, once more, without magic.

They sat and watched the Source streak through the sky. They hadn't been able to destroy it, and it would be back. It might be ten thousand years, but it would return to earth to start the cycle once again. Duncan vowed to, somehow, make sure they never forgot it.

"We might as well get moving," he told the few beleaguered survivors of the assault on the Source. "Jim said the USS Barrack Obama would be waiting to the south."

The crew nodded grimly and followed him into the forest.

Thirty Seven

The party had already started on the ancient aircraft carrier, the USS Barrack Obama. Duncan could hear the music and see the dancing as they made their way from the coast in the old rowboat. NAME had contacted the ship, and the crew of the Obama was eagerly awaiting their arrival. They were treated as heroes as they stepped onto the deck, and Duncan was aghast at all the ancient aircraft, minus the Betty, that sat on the old steel deck. Everywhere there wasn't a plane, there was someone cheering.

An old man in a neat gray uniform saluted them as they stepped on the landing deck. "I'm Admiral Bryon George and I'd like to welcome you to the USS Barack Obama. Are the computer's reports correct? Was Diamond Jim lost in the attack?"

Duncan nodded his head sadly.

"I'm sorry to hear it, son. Your father will be remembered as a hero for eons to come."

"I know he will.  
"Come with us, son. There's a party going on and you're the guest of honor."

Duncan looked back at the burning crater of New Atlantis and wondered what would become of the continent's remaining magical creatures. They would continue to exist, continue to breed and propagate, though they would no longer have magic available to them. What would happen to the survivors of the fallen Magician cities, to the Golems awakening to a new world?

"No, Captain, we don't have time for a party. Our job is just beginning. We have too much to do, too many people to help. We have to rescue the survivors of the cities."

The Captain interrupted angrily. "You want to save these people who have enslaved us for a thousand years?"

"They're just humans, Captain. Our fellow humans. We have to save them and teach them what happened. We have to make everyone understand what happened or this will just happen again. It might not happen tomorrow, or the next day, or even in the next ten thousand years, but one day when we've spread out across the planet and forgotten about the Source, it will return."

"It's going to Mars, Captain," Jessica told him. "Our people made it to the stars and the Source knows that. It's on the way there now, to consume their world. We have to find a way of warning them."

"Yes, Duncan Cade, you're just like your father. He never quit, never took a break. Everything was a life-threatening emergency. But I'm telling you...no, I'm ordering you to take a break. The world is brand new again, but it will be brand new again in the morning, as well. Tomorrow we make for old New Orleans. The colony councils are meeting to try and determine what to do about the very issues you're talking about. We won't be lazy about it, and we won't forget, Duncan. The memory of Jim demands it."

Duncan nodded and gripped Jessica's hand as the two watched the remains of the City of New Atlantis burn. There would be much to do, but the Captain was right. They couldn't do it all in a day.

"I won't forget you, Jim, and I'll make sure that no one else ever does. Thank you."

The End

Other Books by GM Gambrell

The Endless Night: Cloud Fall

Creepy, Texas

GM Gambrell is the father of five wonderful kids. He hopes that he's never too old to enjoy those children or the amazing fiction that they love to read.

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