Perfidia

We found ourselves nearly crushed in the center of a mob. I recognized the robes. Only I was tall enough to see over them, but it didn’t matter. I knew where we were.

It seemed like the middle of a trial, or something like one. Liv’s pencil was moving inside the red notebook as quickly as it could, trying to keep up with the words that were flying all around us.

“Perfidia. It’s Latin for ‘treason.’ They’re saying she’s going to be tried for treason.” Liv was pale, and I could barely hear her voice over the clamor of the crowd surrounding us.

“I know this place.” I recognized the tall windows with the heavy gold drapes, and the wood benches. Everything was the same—the thick noise of the crowd, the stone walls, the beamed ceiling that was so high that it seemed to go on forever. I held on to Lena’s hand, pushing my way to the front of the hall, directly under the empty wooden balcony. Liv and John threaded their way through the robed crowd behind me.

“Where’s Marian?” Lena was panicking. “And Uncle Macon? I can’t see anything over all these people.”

“I don’t like this,” Liv said quietly. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

I felt it, too.

We were standing in the center of the same crowded hall where I stood the first time I crossed through the Temporis Porta. But last time, it seemed like I was somewhere in medieval Europe, in a place from an illustration in the World History textbook we never seemed to crack at Jackson. The room was so big I’d thought it might be a ship or a cathedral. A place that transported you somewhere, whether it was across the sea or to the paradise the Sisters were always talking about.

Now it seemed different. I didn’t know where this place was, but even in their dark robes, the people—the Casters, Mortals, Keepers, or whatever they were—seemed like regular old people. The kind of people I knew something about. Because even though they were crowded on the glossy wooden bench that surrounded the perimeter of the room, they could’ve been sitting in the gym at Jackson, waiting for the Disciplinary Committee meeting to start. On the benches or the bleachers, these people were looking for the same thing. Drama.

Even worse, they were looking for blood. Someone to blame, and to punish.

It felt like the trial of the century, or a bunch of reporters waiting outside South Carolina’s Broad River Correctional Institution when someone from death row was about to get a lethal injection. The executions were covered by every TV station and newspaper. A few people showed up to protest, but they looked like they had been bused in for the day. Everyone else was hanging out, waiting to watch the spectacle. It wasn’t much different from the burning of the witches in The Crucible.

The crowd rushed forward, murmuring, just as I knew they would, and I heard the banging of a gavel. “Silentium.”

Something’s happening.

Lena grabbed my arm.

Liv pointed across the room. “I saw Macon. He’s over there.”

John looked around. “I don’t see Marian.”

Maybe she’s not here, Ethan.

She’s here.

She had to be, because I knew what was about to happen. I forced myself to look up to the balcony.

Look—

I pointed up at Marian, once again hooded and robed, once again tied at the wrists with a golden rope. She was standing on the balcony, high above the room, just as she had been the last time. The tall Keeper who had come to the archive was next to her.

The people around us were still whispering. I looked at Liv, who interpreted. “He’s the Council Keeper. He’s going to—” Liv’s eyes welled up. “It’s not a trial, Ethan. It’s a sentencing.”

I heard the Latin, but this time I didn’t try to understand. I knew what it meant before the Council Keeper repeated the words in English.

Marian would be found guilty of treason.

I listened without listening, my eyes locked on Marian’s face. “The Council of the Far Keep, which answers only to the Order of Things, to no man, creature, or power, Dark or Light, finds Marian of the Western Keep guilty of Treason.”

I remembered the first time I heard those words.

“These are the Consequences of her inaction. The Consequences shall be paid. The Keeper, though Mortal, will return to the Dark Fire from which all power comes.”

I might as well have been the one sentenced to death. Pain gutted my whole body. I watched as Marian’s hood was pulled from her shaved head. I stared into her eyes, surrounded by dark rings as if she had been hurt. I couldn’t tell if it was physical pain or mental or even Mortal. I imagined it was something worse.

I was the only one prepared for it. Liv broke down sobbing. Lena stumbled against me, and I held her up by the arm. Only John stood there, unfazed, his hands jammed into his pockets.

The Council Keeper’s voice echoed through the room again. “The Order is broken. Until the New Order comes forth, the Old Law must be upheld, and the Consequences paid.”

“All this courtroom drama. If I didn’t know you better, Angelus, I would think you were vying for a spot on cable television.” Macon’s voice carried over the crowd, but I couldn’t see him.

“Your Mortal levity defiles this sacred space, Macon Ravenwood.”

“My Mortal levity, Angelus, is something you cannot understand. And I warned you, Angelus, that I would not stand for this.”

The Council Keeper shouted over the crowd. “You have no power here.”

“You have no business finding a Mortal guilty of treason against the Order.”

“The Keeper is of both worlds. The Keeper knew the price. The Keeper chose to allow the destruction of the Order,” he answered.

“The Keeper is a Mortal. Her name is Marian Ashcroft. She has already been sentenced to death, like every Mortal. In forty or fifty years, she will face that sentence. It is the Mortal way.”

“This is not your matter to speak of.” The Council Keeper’s voice was rising, and the spectators were getting restless.

“Angelus, she is weak. She has no powers, no way to protect herself. You cannot punish a wet child for the rain.”

“I do not understand.”

“ ‘The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.’ ” Macon was quoting Harper Lee. I never knew any of Marian’s quotes, but I remembered that one from reading To Kill a Mockingbird in English class last year. And from my mom.

John’s head was bent toward Liv’s, and they were whispering about something. When he noticed me watching them, he stopped. “This is crap,” he said.

For once I agreed with him. “But we can’t stop it.”

“Why not?”

There was no way he would understand. “I know how it ends. They’ve found her guilty of treason. She’s going to be sent back to the Dark Fire, or whatever happens after that. There’s nothing we can do,” I said miserably. “I was here before.”

“Yeah? I wasn’t.” John stepped forward, clapping dramatically. The whole room went dead silent. He squeezed Lena’s shoulder as he passed. “Well, doesn’t this suck?” John shoved his way to the front of the hall, where Macon was standing. I could finally see him. John held up his hand, like he was waiting for Macon to give him a high-five. “Nice try, old man.”

Macon was surprised but held up his hand. His cuff was pulled down a little too far, as though his shirt was too long.

What’s going on, L?

I have no idea.

Lena’s hair started to curl. I smelled a faint trace of smoke in the air.

L, what are you doing?

I think you mean what is he doing?

John wove slowly toward the Council Keeper, who was holding Marian on the balcony. “I’m starting to think you’re not really listening to this fine former Incubus brother of mine.” He jumped up onto the pew, shoving a robed man out of his way.

“You’re out of line, spawn of Abraham. And do not think The Caster Chronicles have been kind to you, Breedling.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’ve been kind. Since when are people kind to me? I’m a jerk. On the other hand, you’re kind of a jerk, too.” John jumped up above the pew, barely catching the bottom of the wooden balcony. His black boots swung back and forth in the air.

The massive gold drapes behind us exploded into flames.

John kicked a bald, tattooed man in the head. I recognized the tattoo. It was the mark of a Dark Caster.

Now John had climbed up onto the wooden balcony, above us all. He put one arm around Marian, the other around the Council Keeper. “Angelus, that’s your name, right? Man, who came up with that one? Here’s the thing. My friend Lena over there, she’s a Natural.” There was a murmuring around us, and I saw the crowd part around Lena as they backed a few feet away.

“Why don’t you show them?” Lena smiled at him, and the drapes closest to the altar caught fire. The whole room was beginning to fill with smoke.

“And Macon Ravenwood, he’s—messed up. Okay, I don’t really know what he is. It’s a long story. There’s this ball, and this fire, and some bad, bad Casters…. But you’ve probably read all about that, haven’t you?” John snapped. “In your little Caster spy book.”

Between Marian and Angelus, I didn’t know who looked more surprised.

“Anyway, back to Macon. Powerful guy. He likes to do this trick—come on, don’t be shy.” Macon closed his eyes, and a green glow flared above him. The crowd tried to rush back toward the walls, but there was too much smoke.

“Which leaves me. I’m not a Natural.” John nodded in Macon’s direction. “I’m not whatever he is either.” John grinned. “But the thing about me is, I’ve touched both of them. So now I can do whatever they can do. It’s kinda my thing. Bet you don’t have a Caster like that in your little book, do you?” As the Keeper tried to pull away, John yanked him even closer. “So, Angelus. Let’s go for a spin and see what a strange guy like you can do.”

The Keeper was furious and backed away, holding up his hand, fingers pointed at John. John imitated him, exactly.

There was a flash of light, like lightning—

We were all standing back on the other side of the Temporis Porta.

Even Marian.