It was Master Rufus who stepped forward to speak. “You must give us time,” he called. “We have to contact the Panopticon.”
Alex was grinning savagely. Call could only imagine the pleasure he was getting out of ordering around his old teachers. “Get a tornado phone out here in five minutes, or I’ll toast a tot.”
Master Rockmaple turned and plunged into the Magisterium.
“Call and Tamara,” Alex said, turning his star-blackened gaze to them. His face looked like parchment behind which brilliant black light was burning. “What a great reunion!” He threw his head back and laughed.
“You should have stayed in the void,” Call shouted as he concentrated on pulling the air away from the chaos fire eating away at the trees. But no matter how he pulled, the flames didn’t so much as flicker. They weren’t like regular fire, fed on air. Call wasn’t sure what they fed on, but as his magic flowed toward them, he felt neither heat nor light. If the opposite of chaos was soul, then he feared the fire fed on the substance of the world itself.
He couldn’t put out the fire that way, but he was a Makar. He should be able to control it. He sent his power toward the licking flames of chaos, concentrating on stopping its spread. It seemed like it was working — the fire began to ebb, burning itself out with nothing more to feed on.
“And you should have never been born,” Alex told him, looking delighted to do so. “You are a parody of all that the Enemy of Death was, you flimsy imitation.”
“He’s a Devoured,” Tamara said quietly to Call. “That’s kind of like being an elemental. You could control a chaos elemental, right?”
Good idea, Aaron thought.
Call smiled with vengeful hope. If he could control Alex, he would be hard-pressed not to make him do something stupid and humiliating — after, of course, setting down the Iron Year kids. He reached out again, this time not toward the fire itself but toward Alex —
— only to hit what felt like a wall of sticky nothing. He felt his power being pulled toward Alex and yanked it back with what felt like physical force. Whatever Alex had become, he was too powerful for Call to control.
Master Rockmaple raced back through the Mission Gate with Master North and Mr. Rajavi — who had apparently not made it off the grounds of the Magisterium. Master North carried a tornado phone.
Tamara looked over at her father. He gave her a quick glance in return but didn’t speak to her, which was probably the right move. Better for Alex not to be reminded of their relationship. Better for Alex not to think of a new way to hurt one of them.
“We can’t really give in to this,” Master North was saying. Then he spotted the kids hanging from the claws of the dragon, both of them looking increasingly panicked, increasingly sure they were going to be fed to chaos.
“For now,” Mr. Rajavi said, activating the tornado phone.
On the other end was a guard at the Panopticon. Call recognized the uniform with a shudder.
“We need you to get Anastasia Tarquin and prepare her for release. But bring her here first. We need to see her and that she is all right as she is set free,” Mr. Rajavi said.
“Anastasia Tarquin?” demanded the guard, stunned. “On whose authority?”
“On behalf of the Assembly, which I speak for,” Mr. Rajavi said as the guard seemed to slowly realize both who he was talking to and the confusion of what was happening in the background. He paled and ran off.
Up on his dragon, Alex smiled, smug. The dragon opened its claws and the girl slipped, her scream carrying to them. The dragon caught her again, as though she were a ball and it was playing a game. Her screams went on and on.
“Stop!” cried Mr. Rajavi. “We’re giving you what you want! Only return the children —”
“Sure, I’ll send them back — lightly seared,” said Alex, laughing. It occurred to Call that this was what Alex had always wanted to be. This was what he’d always thought the Enemy of Death was supposed to be like: this maniacal, howling horror.
“The children are innocent,” said Master Rufus. “They have done nothing to you. Take me.”
“Drew was innocent,” snarled Alex. Call struggled not to point out that this wasn’t in the least bit true. He didn’t think it would be helpful. “You murdered him, all of you. You are the teachers of lies!”
“He’s going to freak out,” Tamara whispered, her face pale. “We have to do something —”
“She’s here!” called Master North. Through the swirling air of the tornado phone, they could see Anastasia in the baggy uniform of a Panopticon prisoner, being led out the front door of the jail by two burly guards. She was blinking but clearly unharmed.
Alex made a growling noise. “Set her free!”
The guards stepped aside, and Anastasia looked around in stunned amazement. It was clear she had no idea what was going on. Her voice was audible, barely, through the phone. “What’s happening? Who’s there?”
“Let the children go!” called Rufus.
Alex smiled unpleasantly. “Hmmm. Should I really?”
“You’d better!” Tamara yelled. “Everyone knows what Anastasia looks like and everyone knows she’s a traitor. If you don’t get to her first, any passing mage might grab her and throw her back in prison, or worse!”
Alex bared his teeth. The whole crowd tensed — and the dragon reared forward and swooped, opening its claws. The two Iron Years tumbled free, hurtling toward the ground and then slowing just before they hit. They both sat up, to Call’s relief. Axel was holding his arm, though, and Call supposed that the Masters hadn’t been able to cushion him enough.
Master Rockmaple ran toward the children. Alex’s dragon reared back, letting out a puff of black fire. “You will not follow me,” Alex said, and thrust out his hand.
Darkness poured from it. Call remembered his dream again. A whole city torn apart by chaos.
The darkness began to form a whirling void, like a black, sucking funnel. As it spread toward the Magisterium, it sucked in leaves and stones. It seared the ground as it passed.
It was closest to Master Rockmaple, because he had run to grab the children. He raised his hands, and fire blazed between them. With a stern look, he hurled fire toward the chaos —
And the black wave surged forward and enveloped him. With a howl, he was dragged into the void.
He was gone.
People were screaming again, turning to run back into the Magisterium, but the press of bodies created a blockage at the gates. They were trapping themselves outside. It was going to be a massacre.
Call thrust his own hand out, reaching down inside himself. The counterweight to chaos is the soul. He knew the soul tap, how to find the energy of his own life-force, and he reached for it heedlessly, ignoring the almost physical pain as he drew on it.
Use me! Aaron called. Use my energy, too!
Call only shook his head. His hair whipped on the wind from the chaos void. Tamara was yanking on his arm, trying to get him to back away. He bent his fingers slightly, the way he had in his dream —
The void began to fragment, coming apart in pieces like black glass shattering.
But darkness was all around Call and he felt himself falling.