"If you're going to kill me," Call said, "go ahead. Do it."
The mage raised his staff - and flung it aside. He dropped to his knees, his head bent, his whole posture one of supplication, as if he were begging Call for mercy. "Master, my Master," he rasped. "Forgive me. I did not see."
Call stared in confusion. What did he mean?
"This is a test. A test of my loyalty and commitment." The Enemy took a ragged breath. It was clear that he was barely controlling himself through sheer force of will. "If you, my Master, decreed that Drew must die, then his death must be to a greater purpose." The words seemed sliced out of his throat, as if it pained him to speak them. "Now I, too, have a personal stake in our quest. My Master is wise. As always, he is wise."
"What?" Call said, his voice trembling. "I don't understand. Your Master? Aren't you the Enemy of Death?"
To Call's utter shock, the mage raised his hands and drew off the silver mask, baring the face beneath it. It was a scarred face, an old, lined, weathered face. It was a strangely familiar face, but it was not the face of Constantine Madden.
"No, Callum Hunt. I am not the Enemy of Death," he said. "You are."
W-WHAT?" CALL GAPED. "Who are you? Why are you telling me this?"
"Because it is the truth," said the mage, holding the silver mask in his hand. "You are Constantine Madden. And if you look at me closely, you will know my name as well."
The mage was still kneeling at Call's feet, his mouth beginning to twist into a bitter smile.
He's insane, Call thought. He has to be. What he's saying doesn't make any sense.
But the familiarity of his face - Call had seen him before, at least in photographs.
"You're Master Joseph," Call said. "You taught the Enemy of Death."
"I taught you," said Master Joseph. "May I rise, Master?"
Call said nothing. I'm trapped, he thought. I'm trapped in here with an insane mage and a dead body.
Apparently taking this as permission, Master Joseph stood with some effort. "Drew said that your memories were gone, but I couldn't believe it. I thought that when you saw me, when I told you the truth about yourself, you might recall something. No matter. You may not remember, but I assure you, Callum Hunt, the spark of life within you - the soul, if you will - all that animates the shell of your body belongs to Constantine Madden. The real Callum Hunt died as a mewling baby."
"This is crazy," Call said. "Things like that, they don't happen. You can't just swap souls."
"True, I cannot," said the mage. "But you can. If you will permit me, Master?"
He held out his hand. After a moment, Call realized that he was asking for permission to take Call's hand in his.
Call knew he shouldn't touch Master Joseph. Much of magic was communicated through touch: touching elements, drawing their power through you. But even though what Master Joseph was saying was insane, there was something in it that pulled at Call, something his mind couldn't let go of.
Slowly, he held out his hand, and Master Joseph took it, wrapping his wide, scarred fingers around Call's smaller ones.
"See," he whispered, and an electric jolt went through Call. His vision whitened, and all of a sudden, it was like he was seeing scenes projected onto a massive screen in front of him.
He saw two armies facing off against each other on a vast plain. It was a mage war - explosions of fire, arrows of ice, and gusts of gale-force wind hurtled among the fighters. Call saw familiar faces: a much younger Master Rufus, a teenage Master Lemuel, Tamara's mother and father, and, riding a fire elemental at the head of them all, Verity Torres. Chaos magic spilled darkly from her outstretched hands as she hurtled across the field.
Master Joseph rose up, a heavy object in his hand. It glittered the color of copper - it looked like a copper claw, fingers outstretched like talons. He gathered a burst of wind magic and sent it sailing through the air. It buried itself in Verity's throat.
She fell backward, blood ribboning through the air, and the fire elemental she had been riding howled and reared back. A bolt of lightning shot from its claws - it struck Master Joseph and he fell, his silver mask dislodging to show his face beneath.
"It's not Constantine!" cried a hoarse voice. Alastair Hunt's voice. "It's Master Joseph!"
The scene shifted. Master Joseph stood in a room made of scarlet marble. He was shouting at a group of cowering mages. "Where is he? I demand that you tell me what happened to him!"
The heavy tread of feet came from the open door. The mages broke apart, creating an aisle down which marched four of the Chaos-ridden, carrying a body between them. The body of a young man with blond hair, a huge wound in his chest, his clothes soaked in blood. They set the body down at Joseph's feet.
Master Joseph crumpled, taking the body of the young man in his arms. "Master," he hissed. "Oh, my Master, death's enemy … "
The boy's eyes opened. They were gray - Call had never seen Constantine Madden's eyes before, never thought to ask what color they were. They were the same gray as Call's. Gray and empty as a winter sky. His scarred face was slack, emotionless.
Master Joseph gasped. "What is this?" he demanded, turning to the other mages with fury on his face. "His body lives, if barely, but his soul - where is his soul?"
The scene shifted again. Call was standing in a cave carved of ice. The walls were white, shifting in color where shadows touched them. The floor was scattered with bodies: mages lying crumpled, some with their eyes open, some in pools of frozen blood.
Call knew where he was. The Cold Massacre. He closed his eyes, but it made no difference - he could still see, since the images were inside his mind. He watched Master Joseph pick his way among the murdered, stopping here and there to turn over a body and stare at its face. After a few moments, Call realized what he was doing. He was examining the dead children, not touching the adults. At last, he stopped and stared, and Call saw what he was looking at. Not a body at all, but a set of words, carved into the ice.
KILL THE CHILD
Again, the scenes shifted, and now they were fluttering by fast, like leaves in a breeze: Master Joseph in one town or city after another, searching, always searching, examining the birth records in a hospital, property records, any possible lead …
Master Joseph standing on the concrete of a playground, watching a group of boys threatening a smaller boy. Suddenly, the ground underfoot shook and trembled, a huge crack splitting the playground nearly in half. As the bullies ran off, the smaller boy on the ground levered himself up, gazing around with a bewildered look. Call recognized himself. Skinny, dark-haired, with gray eyes just like Constantine's, his bad leg twisted beneath him.
He felt Master Joseph begin to smile … .
Call came back to reality with a shock, as if he had slammed into his body from a great height. He staggered back, yanking his hand out of Master Joseph's. "No," he choked. "No, I don't understand … ."
"Oh, I think you do," said the mage. "I think you understand very well, Callum Hunt."
"Stop that," Call said. "Stop calling me Callum Hunt like that - it's creepy. My name is Call."
"No, it's not," said Master Joseph. "That's the name that belongs to that body, that shell you wear. A name that you will discard when you are ready, just as you will discard that body and enter Constantine's."
Call threw up his hands. "I can't do that! And do you know why? Because Constantine Madden is still around. I really, really don't understand how I can be this person that's out leading armies and raising chaos elementals and making giant wolves with freaky eyes when that person already exists and is SOMEBODY ELSE!" Call was shouting, but his voice sounded pleading, even to his own ears. He just wanted all this to stop. He couldn't help hearing the horrible echo of his father's words again and again.
Call, you must listen to me. You don't know what you are.
"Still around?" Master Joseph said with a bitter smile. "Oh, the Assembly and the Magisterium believe that Constantine is still actively engaged with the world, because that is what we wished them to believe. But who has seen him? Who has spoken to him since the Cold Massacre?"
"People have seen him … " Call began. "He's met with the Assembly! He signed the Treaty."
"Masked," said Master Joseph, holding up the silver mask he had been wearing when Call had first seen him. "I impersonated him at the battle with Verity Torres; I knew I could do it again. The Enemy has remained hidden since the Cold Massacre, and when he absolutely had to show himself, I went in his place. But Constantine himself? He was mortally wounded twelve years ago, in the cave where Sarah Hunt and so many others died. But as he felt the life ebbing from him, he used what he had already learned - the method of moving one soul to another body - to save himself. Just like he was able to take a piece of chaos and place it inside the Chaos-ridden, he took his own soul and placed it inside the optimal vessel at hand. You."