The Emerald Atlas Read online

  “Ow,” Emma said.

  Kate was crushing her sister’s hand. She loosened her grip, whispered, “Sorry.”

  “Such devotion,” the Countess cooed, “but I see the truth.” She reached across the table and placed a finger on the base of Kate’s throat. “Abandoned by those dearest in the world. The wound hangs over you like a shadow. But I could make it go away. It would be so easy.…”

  She withdrew her hand; a wispy gray tendril clung to her fingertip. She seemed to be drawing it out of the center of Kate’s chest. As it pulled free, Kate gasped.

  “What did you …”

  “What have I done? My sweet little Kat, I’ve set you free! Oh, the weight you’ve had to bear! Can’t you feel how it’s worn you down, little by little, every day of your life? But it’s gone now, all the pain and hurt, all the fear; I’ve taken it away. Imagine living that way always.”

  She was right, Kate thought. It was as if she could breathe for the first time in years.

  “Say the word, and you’ll never feel it again.”

  The tendril drifted in the air, still clinging to her fingertip. Kate thought back to her mother leaning down, telling her to watch over her brother and sister, and though the memory was there, the feeling of her mother’s love, of that last kiss, was gone.

  “Give it back.”

  “Are you sure, mon ange? There’s a great deal of pain here.”

  “Give it back.” If holding on to that one moment meant a lifetime of pain, Kate would take it.

  The Countess shrugged and touched her chest. Kate felt the weight settle on her like a shroud.

  “Well, shall we take a look at what you’ve brought me?”

  The Secretary had been hovering a few feet away, both arms wrapped greedily around the book. Now he scurried forward and placed it in the Countess’s outstretched hands. She let out a small gasp as her fingers touched the emerald cover.

  She was clearly trying to control herself, but still her fingers trembled as she opened it and turned the pages. After a minute, and with obvious effort, she set the book aside.

  Kate heard her whisper, “Finally.”

  The Countess looked at the children, her eyes glowing brighter than ever. “Alors, mes enfants, would you like to know what it is you found?”

  The Countess began by saying that to understand where the book came from, the children first had to imagine an age long past when the worlds of magic and men were one, back before the magical world had begun to pull away and humankind had been made to forget—

  “Yeah,” Emma interrupted rudely. “We know all that.”

  “Well,” the Countess continued, her voice still soft and sweet, “the center of the magical world, the seat of the highest learning and power, was Alexandria. Or Rhakotis, as it was then known, where the great desert met the sea. The city was ruled by a council of wizards who traced their line back to the dim beginnings of the world. Their knowledge was ancient, primordial. Passed down from master to student for thousands of years. But powerful as they were, they saw their time was ending, that the age of humans was approaching, and they feared the day they would be forgotten.

  “You see”—and here the Countess smiled at Kate and Emma—“though wizards, they were also men. And like men throughout time, they could not imagine a world where they would cease to matter. So what did they do, these wise, foolish men? They wrote their secrets down, those things said at the birth of the universe, the words spoken aeons ago, in the darkness and the silence, to call everything into being, all so that they, through their knowledge, would endure.”

  The Countess laughed, but it was not the bright, gay laugh from before. The sound was hard, scornful. “Their ancestors had understood. Some things are too powerful to be controlled by any one person. For this reason, the knowledge had always been divided among the council, with none knowing exactly what the others possessed. In this way, there was safety. When it was proposed that the secrets be collected, there were voices that argued against it. Who said such power, gathered together in one place, was too dangerous, that perhaps it should be lost. But other voices won out, and thus the great magics were committed to simple paper.

  “They were not complete ignoramuses, to be sure. They built in protections. You’ve seen yourself that the leaves are blank. It would take a lifetime of magical study to read and understand a single page. In addition, they established an order of guardians whose sole mission it was to protect the Books.”

  “You mean,” Kate said, “there’s more than one?”

  “Yes. The wizards created three great books, which they named the Books of Beginning. And they buried them in a secret vault far below the city.”

  “So what happened?” Emma asked petulantly, as if she didn’t care, though Kate could see she was hanging on every word.

  The Countess shrugged. “What happens to every great civilization. Convinced they were the most enlightened society on earth, they grew decadent and soft. The council of magicians fought among themselves and fell apart. They had been right, you see: the age of magic was waning. Finally, the city was overrun by Alexander, the first great human warlord. He burned it to the ground. And when the ashes were sifted, the Books had disappeared.

  “Everything now becomes conjecture. Some believe Alexander took the Books with him, that they remained in his possession till his death, when they were stolen by his chief magician. Others believe that the order of guardians created by the wizards spirited the Books away before the siege, splitting them up and hiding them in the far corners of the earth. Others think that in the confusion of the city’s fall, the Books were stolen by those who had no conception of their importance, and they were passed from hand to hand through the ages. If someone did chance upon their nature, they made use of the Books’ power in the crudest, simplest way, as you three did when you traveled back through time. Of course, there were always rumors that this or that book had come to light, but none were ever proven. As far as I know, no one can honestly claim to have seen one of the Books of Beginning since Alexander marched into Rhakotis more than two thousand years ago. That is, until now.”

  She laid her hand lightly on the cover of the book.

  For a few moments, no one spoke. Kate wanted badly to say, “And so what?” It didn’t matter to her that the book was written by a bunch of wizards a long time ago. She just needed it to get her brother and sister home.

  Then Michael said, “So now will you do it?”

  Kate looked at him. He seemed to have grown paler as they sat there, and he was visibly sweating. His glasses kept slipping down his nose.

  “I mean, you’ve got it now, right? So you’ll do what you promised?” His voice was pleading.

  “What’s he talking about?” Emma demanded.

  “It’s very simple, my dear,” the Countess said. “I wished you and your sister to return with the book. So I made your brother an offer. In return, he agreed to lure you here and turn you over to me.”

  Emma snorted. “You think we’re gonna believe that? You got him under some spell is all.”

  “I’m afraid not. Your brother helped me of his own free will.”

  The Countess said this as if she were stating no more than plain fact. Kate felt a stab of ice at her heart.

  Emma seemed to sense it as well for she pushed back, harder than ever. “No, that’s not true! Michael’d never do that! Not to us! Would you, Michael?”

  She looked at him, imploring. But Michael just stared down at the table.

  “Tell them, Michael,” the Countess said, her voice low but firm. “Tell your sisters.”

  Kate held her breath. No, she thought, please. Let him be under a spell.

  Very quietly, Michael said, “It’s true.”

  “No!” Emma grabbed him by the shoulder and began to shake him roughly. “No! You’re under some spell! I know it! You gotta be! You wouldn’t do that to us!”

  “Don’t be too harsh with him, my dear,” the Countess said. “I looked int
o his heart and saw the thing he desired most. He couldn’t resist.”

  Emma was crying. Large tears tumbled down her cheeks.

  “Shut up! You’re lying! There’s nothing you could give him that’d make him betray us! He’s our brother! You don’t know anything! You’re just an evil witch is all! You—”

  “Emma—” Kate said.

  “No!” Emma cried. “He’d never—he—” She broke off, burying her head in Kate’s shoulder, sobbing. “He’s our brother. He’d never … he’d never …”

  “The poor thing,” the Countess cooed. “She’s actually quite fragile, isn’t she?”

  Kate glared at her. Her fear had vanished. Her whole body was suddenly consumed with a white-hot rage. She wanted to leap over the table and scream at the Countess, tell her how year after year, orphanage after orphanage, with nothing, not even a bed to call her own, Emma had never given up. She’d always fought. Because she knew, wherever they went, her brother and sister would be there. They were her family, the one sure thing in her life. And now the Countess had taken that away.

  Kate tasted salt and realized she was crying too. She wiped her tears and looked at the beautiful, violet-eyed creature across the table and made a silent promise that if she ever got the chance, she would kill her for what she’d done.

  “Tell them what I offered you,” the Countess said.

  Michael was crying and his voice hiccuped when he spoke. “She said she’d … find them.”

  “What’re you talking about?!” Emma whirled on him, still crying, but furious now. “Huh?!” She started hitting him. Michael didn’t fight back or defend himself. “Find some stupid dwarf?! I hate you!”

  But Kate suddenly understood. “She promised she’d find Mom and Dad.”

  Emma stopped, one hand still balled into a fist. She was stunned, wild-eyed.

  “Why,” Kate pleaded, “why would you—”

  “Because”—Michael looked up, his face a mess of tears, his nose running freely—“what if they’re not coming back?”

  And that was it. The thing none of them had ever said. Even the air seemed to sense it and grow still. Then Kate imagined herself shouting at Michael, telling him he was wrong: she was the one their mother had promised, not him; she knew. She saw Emma staring at her with huge eyes, begging her to say something. But Michael—who for a moment had looked as shocked as his sisters—was already barreling on.

  “You say they are, but what if they’re not? It’s been ten years! She can find them! She promised she would!” He turned to the Countess, tears still streaming down his face. “Do it. You’ve got the book now. You said you’d do it when you had the book. Find our mom and dad. Please. Do it.”

  The Countess reached out and caressed Michael’s hair. “My sweet boy, I wish I could. But you see, I don’t have the book.”

  She nodded to where it lay on the table.

  “What—what’s happening to it?” Kate said.

  The edges were becoming fuzzy and indistinct. It was as if the book was slightly out of focus.

  “A funny thing about the universe, my dear Kat: it respects individuality. A person or object may truly exist only once in a given moment. Multiple versions are verboten. That day you left Michael at the dam and returned to your time, there must have been a second or two when you saw yourselves. Do you remember how it felt?”

  Kate did. There in the underground room, watching herself and Emma and Michael, she’d felt a huge force pressing down on her. Then, the moment their other selves disappeared, it lifted.

  “Now, magic can bend those rules,” the Countess said, “especially magic as powerful as contained in the book. For a brief period, two copies can be made to exist at once. But sooner or later, the universe asserts itself. Ever since you arrived here, the other copy of this book, the one that already exists in this time, has been exerting its dominance.”

  The book was growing more and more faint. Kate felt panic rising in her.

  “Do something!”

  “I wish I could. Regrettably, even I can’t change the laws of nature. Though I am grateful. I was about to give up. Two years I’ve been in this backwater, seemingly no closer to attaining my goal. But the fact that you found the book in this house, that tells me I am close. Take a good look now.”

  Then, before their eyes, the book faded away and vanished.

  There was a cracking in the sky, and a cold wind blew across the patio. A storm was coming in.

  “But”—Kate couldn’t stop herself—“how will we get home?”

  “My dear,” the Countess said, her eyes shining in the candlelight, “you are home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wolves

  Two Screechers appeared and yanked Kate, Emma, and Michael out of their chairs as a wall of rain swept toward the house. Kate could hear Michael protesting, shouting pleas to the Countess.

  They were dragged along candlelit hallways, the Secretary scrambling to keep up. Emma clawed at the hand gripping her arm, yelling at the creature to let go. The Screecher responded by throwing her over his shoulder, but Emma just continued to pound, albeit futilely, at its back. Kate knew there was only one place they could be heading.

  They stopped at a set of double doors, and the Secretary pulled out a ring of keys.

  “Wait—” Kate began, but the doors opened and they were thrown inside. The lock snapped into place behind them, and Kate heard the Secretary’s high-pitched giggle fading away down the hall.

  The room was silent and utterly, completely dark. Outside, rain hammered on the roof.

  Suddenly, there was a scrambling, a scuffling, someone grunting in pain. Emma had found Michael and thrown herself on him.

  “Emma, stop it!” With difficulty, Kate pulled her sister away, getting an elbow in the cheek in the process.

  “I hate you!” Emma yelled. “I wish you were dead! You’re not my brother!”

  “No!” Kate put her face against her sister’s. Emma’s cheek was wet with tears. “Don’t ever say that! You hear me? Don’t ever say that!”

  Emma let herself go limp and Kate held her as she sobbed. Michael was sniffling on the floor. Kate knew she should go to him and comfort him, tell him she understood why he’d done it, but she couldn’t bring herself to, not yet.

  There was a thud a few feet away. Emma stopped crying. None of them moved. They stared into the dark, listening.

  “Where are we?” Emma whispered.

  In answer, the night sky ignited, and for a flickering instant, white light flashed across the room. Kate stifled a cry. Fifty children were standing there, staring at them. Kate could see the rows of beds, the shadows from the barred windows stretching across the floor. Then thunder shook the house, and once again, there was darkness.

  A voice said, “Who’s got the light?”

  A scratch, the flare of a match, and then a lamp glowed at the back of the room.

  “Give it here,” the voice said, and the small globe of light passed from hand to hand, illuminating one pale face after another, till it stopped at the speaker.

  “You,” Emma said.

  Stephen McClattery stepped toward them, bringing the lamp near their faces. He studied them for a long moment, then said, “Hold ’em.”

  A flowing mass of children swarmed around them.

  “Wait!” Kate cried as her arms were pinned at her sides. “What’re you doing?”

  “He’s with the Countess.” Stephen pointed at Michael. “We seen him.”

  “So what?” Emma said, kicking at the children trying to hold her. “We’re not!”

  “He’s your brother, ain’t he? You’re probably all in it together.”

  Kate saw that most of the children were young, no more than six or seven, their faces half savage with fear and excitement.

  “He’s a traitor,” Stephen said. “He’s helping her.”

  “No!” Kate said. “He made a mistake! That’s all!”

  “Still makes him a traitor. Quiet now. We
gotta talk.”

  Turning away from Kate, he began whispering to four or five boys and girls, all about his age. Kate had been in enough orphanages to see children this way before. Left alone, they formed their own laws. Their own societies. The secret, she knew, was not to show fear. Show fear, and they’d tear you apart.

  Stephen McClattery turned back around.

  “We decided. We’re gonna hang him.”

  “What?!”

  Stephen nodded seriously. “That’s what you do with traitors. I read it in a book.”

  Apparently, that was good enough for the other children. They started chanting, “Hang ’im! Hang ’im!”

  “Somebody get a rope!” Stephen McClattery said.

  “We ain’t got no rope!” a voice called out.

  “You could tear up some sheets,” Emma said. “Then tie ’em all together!”

  “Emma!”

  Emma looked at Kate and shrugged, unconcerned.

  “Thanks,” Stephen McClattery said. “You three, tear them sheets.”

  Three boys stripped the sheets off a couple of beds and began trying to rip them into strips.

  “You can’t hang him!” Kate was still being held by half a dozen hands, and to talk to Stephen, she had to yell across the room. She was trying not to panic. She knew it would only feed their tempers. The mob had taken the children over. “He made a mistake! Everyone makes mistakes!”

  “What about this?” A girl ran forward with a velvet rope she’d pulled off one of the curtains.

  “Yeah, that’ll work,” Stephen said, and with surprising deftness, he quickly fashioned it into a noose. “Bring ’im here! And you three stop messin’ with them sheets!”

  Michael was carried forward so that he and Stephen stood in the middle of the crowd of children.

  “Hey, wait …” Emma was starting to look nervous.

  “You been found guilty fair and square of being a traitor,” Stephen said. “You got any last words?”

  Michael was crying. He mumbled something under his breath.

  “What’s that?”