The Magician

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

B ones, Josh said numbly, looking up and down the tunnel.

The wall directly before him was created from hundreds of stained-yellow and

bleached-white skulls. Dee strode down the corridor and his sphere of light

sent shadows dancing and twitching, making it appear as if the empty eye

sockets were moving, following him.

Josh had grown up with bones; he knew they were nothing to be frightened of.

His father s study was full of skeletons. As children, both he and Sophie had

played in museum storerooms full of skeletal remains, but they had all been

animal and dinosaur bones. Josh had even helped piece together the tailbone

of a raptor that had gone on display in the American Museum of Natural

History. But these bones these were these were

Are these all human bones? he whispered.

Yes, Machiavelli said softly, his voice now touched with a trace of his

Italian accent. There are the remains of at least six million bodies down

here. Maybe more. The catacombs were originally huge limestone quarries. He

jerked his thumb upward. The same limestone used to build the city. Paris is

built over a warren of tunnels.

How did they get down here? Josh s voice trembled. He coughed, wrapped his

arms tightly around his body and tried to look nonchalant, as if he weren t

completely terrified. They look ancient; how long have they been here?

A couple of hundred years only, Machiavelli said, surprising him. By the

end of the eighteenth century, the graveyards of Paris were overflowing. I

was in the city then, he added, mouth twisting in disgust. I d never seen

anything like it. There were so many dead in the city that the graveyards

were often just huge mounds of piled earth with bones visible in them. Paris

might have been one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but it was

also the foulest. Worse than London and that s saying something! He laughed,

and the sound echoed and reechoed off the bone walls and was distorted into

something hideous. The stink was indescribable, and there truly were rats as

big as dogs. Disease was rife and outbreaks of plague were common. Finally,

it was recognized that the overflowing graveyards must have something to do

with the contagion. So it was decided to empty the graveyards and move the

remains down into the empty quarries.

Trying not to think about the fact that he was surrounded by the bones of

people who had most likely died from some terrible disease, Josh focused on

the walls. Who made the patterns? he asked, pointing to a particularly

ornate sunburst design that had been created using human bones of various

length to represent the sunbeams.

Machiavelli shrugged. Who knows? Someone who wished to honor the dead,

perhaps; someone trying to make sense out of what must have been incredible

chaos. Humans are always looking to make order out of chaos, he added

softly.

Josh looked at him. You call them us, humans. He turned to look for Dee,

but the Magician had almost reached the end of the corridor and was out of

earshot. Dee calls us humani.

don't confuse me with Dee, Machiavelli said with an icy smile.

Josh was confused. Who was the more powerful here Dee or Machiavelli? He d

thought it was the Magician, but he was beginning to suspect that the Italian

was much more in control. Scathach told us you were more dangerous and more

cunning than Dee, he said, thinking aloud.

Machiavelli s smile turned to a delighted grin. That s the nicest thing

she's ever said about me.

Is it true? Are you more dangerous than Dee?

Machiavelli took a moment to consider. Then he smiled and the faintest hint

of serpent filled the tunnel. Absolutely.

Hurry; this way, Dr. Dee called back, voice flattened by the narrow walls

and low ceiling. He turned and headed off down the bone-lined tunnel, taking

the light with him. Josh was tempted to run after him, unwilling to be alone

in the utter darkness, but then Machiavelli snapped his fingers and an

elegant candle-thin flame of gray-white light appeared in the palm of his

hand.

Not all the tunnels are like this, Machiavelli continued, indicating the

neatly set bones in the walls, the regular shapes and patterns. Some of the

small tunnels are simply piled high with assorted bits and pieces.

They rounded a curve in the tunnel and found Dee waiting for them, tapping

his foot impatiently. He turned and marched away without saying a word.

Josh concentrated on Dee s back and the globe of light bobbing over his

shoulder as they wound deeper and deeper into the catacombs; doing that

helped him to ignore the walls that seemed to be closing in with every step.

He noticed as he walked along that some of the bones lining the tunnel had

dates scratched on them, centuries-old graffiti, and he was conscious too

that the only footsteps in the thick layer of dust on the floor were the

imprints of Dee s small feet. These tunnels had not been used in a very long

time.

Do people ever come down here? he asked Machiavelli, making conversation

just for the sake of hearing a sound in the oppressive silence.

Yes. Portions of the catacombs are open to the public, Machiavelli said,

holding his hand high, the thin flame picking out the ornate patterns of

bones set in the walls, dancing shadows bringing them to flickering life.

But there are many kilometers of catacombs beneath the city, and vast tracts

of it have not been mapped. Exploring those tunnels is dangerous and illegal,

of course, but people still do it. Those people are called cataphiles.

There s even a special police unit, the cataflics, that patrols these

tunnels. Machiavelli waved an arm at the surrounding walls, the flame

dancing wildly but not extinguishing. But we ll run into neither group down

here. This area is completely unknown. We are deep below the city now, in one

of the very first quarries excavated many centuries ago.

Deep below the city, Josh repeated slowly. He hunched his shoulders,

imagining he could actually feel the weight of Paris over his head, the many

tons of earth, concrete and steel pressing down on him. Claustrophobia

threatened to overwhelm him, and he felt as if the walls were throbbing,

pulsing. His throat was dry, his lips cracked, and his tongue felt too big in

his mouth. I think, he whispered to Machiavelli, I think I d like to head

back up to the surface now, if that s OK.

The Italian blinked in genuine surprise. No, Josh, no, it s not OK.

Machiavelli reached out and squeezed Josh s shoulder and the boy felt a rush

of warmth flow through his body. His aura crackled, and the close air in the

tunnel was touched with the scent of orange and the rank odor of snake. It s

too late for that, Machiavelli said gently. He lowered his voice to a

whisper. We ve gone too deep there s no turning back. You will leave these

catacombs Awakened or

Or what? Josh asked, when he realized, with a growing sense of horror, how

the Italian was going to finish the sentence.

Or you will not leave them at all, Machiavelli said simply.

They rounded a curve and started down a long arrow-straight tunnel. The walls

here were even more ornately decorated in bone but with strange square

patterns that Josh almost recognized. They were similar to drawings he d seen

in his father s study and looked like Maya or Aztec glyphs; but what were

Meso-American hieroglyphs doing in the Catacombs of Paris?

Dee was waiting for them at the end of the tunnel. His gray eyes sparkled in

the reflected light, which also lent his skin an unhealthy glow. When he

spoke, his English accent had thickened, and the words tumbled so quickly it

was difficult to comprehend what he was saying. Josh couldn't tell if the

Magician was excited or nervous, and that made him even more afraid.

This is now a momentous day for you, boy, a momentous day. For not only will

your powers be Awakened, but you will also meet one of the few Elders who is

still remembered by humanity. It is a great honor. He clapped his hands

together. Ducking his head, he raised his hand, bringing up the globe of

light, and revealed two tall arched columns of bones that had been shaped to

form a doorframe. Beyond the opening, there was utter blackness. Stepping

back, he directed, You first.

Josh hesitated and Machiavelli caught his arm and squeezed tightly. When he

spoke, his voice was low and urgent. Whatever happens, you must not show

fear, and do not panic. Your life, your very sanity, depends on it. Do you

understand?

No fear, no panic, Josh repeated. He was starting to hyperventilate. No

fear, no panic.

Go now. Machiavelli released the boy s arm and pushed him forward toward

Dee and the bone doorway. Have your powers Awakened, he said, and I hope

it will be worth it.

Something in Machiavelli s voice made Josh look back. There was a look almost

of pity on the Italian s face, and Josh stopped. Dee looked at him, gray eyes

glittering, lips twisted in an ugly smile. He raised his eyebrows. don't you

want to be Awakened?

And Josh really had only one answer to that.

Glancing back at Machiavelli again, he half raised a hand in farewell, took a

deep breath and stepped through the arched doorway into the pitch-black.

Light blossomed as Dee followed him, and the boy discovered that he was

standing in a vast circular chamber that seemed to be carved entirely out of

one enormous bone the smoothly curved walls, the polished yellow ceiling,

even the parchment-colored floor were the same shade and texture as the

bone-filled walls outside.

Dee put his hand on the small of Josh s back and urged him forward. Josh took

two steps and stopped. The past few days had taught him to expect

surprises wonders, creatures and monsters: but this, this was disappointing.

The chamber was empty except for a long rectangular raised stone plinth in

the center of the room. Dee s globe of light bobbed over the platform,

harshly illuminating every carved detail. Lying flat on the top of a pitted

slab of limestone was a huge statue of a man in ancient-looking metal and

leather armor, gauntleted hands wrapped around the thick hilt of a broadsword

that was at least six feet long. Rising up on his toes, Josh could see that

the statue s head was covered in a helmet that completely concealed the face.

Josh looked around. Dee was standing to the right of the doorway and

Machiavelli had stepped into the room and taken up a position on the left.

They were both watching him intently. What what happens now? he asked, his

voice flat and muffled in the chamber.

Neither man responded. Machiavelli folded his arms and tilted his head

slightly to one side, eyes narrowing.

Who s this? Josh asked, jerking a thumb at the statue. He didn't expect to

get an answer from Dee, but when he turned to the Italian he realized that

Machiavelli wasn't looking at him, he was looking beyond him. Josh spun

around just as two nightmarish creatures materialized out of the shadows.

Everything about them was white, from their almost transparent skin to the

long fine hair that flowed down their backs and brushed the floor behind

them. It was impossible to say whether they were male or female. They were

the size of small children, unnaturally thin, with bulbous heads, broad

foreheads and pointed chins. Overlarge ears and tiny nubs of horn grew out of

the top of their skulls. Huge circular eyes without any pupils fixed on him,

and when the creatures stepped forward, he realized that there was something

wrong with their legs. Their thighs curved backward, and then the legs jutted

forward at the knee and ended in goatlike hooves.

They separated as they came around the slab, and Josh s instinct was to back

away from them, but then he remembered Machiavelli s advice and stood his

ground. Taking a deep breath, he looked closely at the nearer creature and

discovered that it was not quite as terrifying as it looked at first: it was

so small it appeared almost fragile. He thought he knew what they were; he d

seen images of them on fragments of Greek and Roman pottery on the

bookshelves in his mom s study. They were fauns, or maybe satyrs; he wasn't

sure what the difference was.

The creatures slowly circled Josh, reaching for him with icy long-fingered

hands tipped with filthy black nails, stroking his torn T-shirt, pinching the

fabric of his jeans. They spoke together, chattering in high-pitched, almost

inaudible voices that set his teeth on edge. One bone-chilling finger touched

the flesh of his stomach and his aura spat and crackled gold sparks. Hey!

he shouted. The creatures jumped back, but that single touch had set Josh s

heart racing. He was abruptly gripped by every nameless fear he d ever

imagined, and all the nightmares that most terrified him flooded to the

surface, leaving him gasping and shaking, bathed in a bitter icy sweat. The

second faun darted forward and laid a cold hand on Josh s face. Suddenly, his

heart was tripping madly, his stomach churning with mindless panic.

The two creatures held each other and jumped up and down, shaking with what

could only be laughter.

Josh. Machiavelli s commanding voice broke through the boy s rising panic

and silenced the creatures. Josh. Listen to me. Hear my voice, concentrate

on it. The satyrs are simple creatures and feed off the most basic of human

emotions: one gorges itself on fear, the other delights in panic. They are

Phobos and Deimos.

At the mention of their names, the two satyrs started back, fading into the

shadows, until only their huge liquid eyes were visible, black and shining in

the light of the hovering globe.

They are the Guardians of the Sleeping God.

And then, with a grinding of ancient stone, the statue sat up and swiveled

its head to look at Josh. Within the helmet, two eyes blazed bloodred.