Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [60]
Septimus thought of Marcia and he knew what she would say. He thought of Beetle and he really wasn’t sure what he would say. And then he thought of Alther. Suddenly Septimus had the oddest feeling that Alther was sitting right next to him. He turned and thought he saw a momentary flash of purple, a suggestion of a white beard. Then it was gone, leaving Septimus with the certain knowledge that he would never see Alther again unless he said, “The Alchemie way.”
Marcellus smiled with relief. He had been extremely worried at the thought of Septimus venturing into the Darke in the customary just think good thoughts and it will be all right Wizard style. The old Alchemist was also just a little triumphant. He had, for the moment, won his Apprentice back.
“Very wise,” Marcellus said. “Now you stop being a chicken and embark on your first conscious step into the Darke. Septimus, you understand that this is only to be taken if you truly wish to do it. Do you?”
Septimus nodded.
“Then say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you want to do this. Say ‘I do.’”
Septimus hesitated. Marcellus waited.
There was a long pause. Septimus had the heady sensation of being about to step over a threshold that even Marcia had not crossed.
“I do,” he said.
As though someone had thrown a switch, all the candles in the chamber went out. The temperature plummeted.
Septimus gasped.
“We must not be afraid of the Darke.” Marcellus’s voice came through the fumes of extinguished candles. Septimus heard the Alchemist click his fingers. At once the candles burst back into flame, but the chamber remained cold— so cold that Septimus could see clouds of breath misting the air.
Marcellus now had Septimus’s full attention. “Apprentice, your first step is to choose a name to use when you are dealing with the Darke. Wizards—if they venture this far—usually reverse their whole name, but they do not realize how dangerous this is. You will never be free of the Darke if you do this, you can always be Found. We Alchemists know better. We take the last three letters from our name and reverse them. I suggest you do that.”
“S—U—M,” Septimus said.
Marcellus smiled. “Sum: I am. Very good. If you have to use your name, this is what you say. It is close enough to pass for the truth, but not true enough for you to be Found. Now we get to the reason we are here: Apprentice, do you wish to take on the Darke Disguise?”
Septimus nodded.
“Say it,” prompted Marcellus. “I cannot take you through these steps on a mere nod of the head. I must be clear that you wish to proceed.”
“I do,” said Septimus, his voice trembling a little.
“Very well. Apprentice, place the tinderbox over your heart, like so . . .”
Septimus held the tinderbox over his heart. It sent a stab of cold right through him like a dagger of ice.
Marcellus continued his instructions. “Keep your hand stone still—no more fidgeting. Good. Now repeat these words after me.”
And so the old Alchemist began, using Reverse words that Septimus had never heard before, words that he suspected Marcia too had never heard. They chilled him more than the icy press of the tinderbox, more than the freezing air inside the chamber. By the time Septimus had spoken the last words—“I dnammoc siht ot eb: draug sum”—his teeth were chattering with cold.
“Open the box,” said Marcellus.
At first Septimus thought the tinderbox was empty. All he could see was the dull gray metal of the insides, and yet when he looked closely he was not sure that it was metal that he was seeing. It looked misty, as though something was there and yet not there. Tentatively, as though something might bite, he put his finger into the box. His finger told him that there was indeed something in the tinderbox—something soft and delicate.
“You have found it.” Marcellus looked pleased. “Or rather, it has found