“And why’s that?”
“Because it fell,” said Kell, rubbing the back of his neck where the pendant cords had snapped. “Lost to darkness. The first thing about magic that you have to understand, Lila, is that it is not inanimate. It is alive. Alive in a different way than you or I, but still very much alive.”
“Is that why it got angry?” she asked. “When I tried to get rid of it?”
Kell frowned. He’d never seen magic that alive.
“Nearly three centuries ago,” he said slowly, working out the math (it seemed further away, the effect of being so long referred to as simply “the past”), “the four worlds were twined together; magic and those who wielded it able to move between them with relative ease through any one of the many sources.”
“Sources?”
“Pools of immense natural power,” explained Kell. “Some small, discreet—a copse of trees in the Far East, a ravine on the Continent—others vast, like your Thames.”
“The Thames?” said Lila with a derisive snort. “A source of magic?”
“Perhaps the greatest source in the world,” said Kell. “Not that you’d know it here, but if you could see it as it is in my London…” Kell trailed off. “As I was saying, the doors between the worlds were open, and the four cities of London intermingled. But even with constant transference, they were not entirely equal in their power. If true magic were a fire, then Black London sat closest to the heat.” By this logic, White London stood second in strength, and Kell knew it must have, though he could not imagine it now. “It was believed that the power there not only ran strong in the blood, but pulsed like a second soul through everything. And at some point, it grew too strong and overthrew its host.
“The world sits in balance,” said Kell, “humanity in one hand, magic in the other. The two exist in every living thing, and in a perfect world, they maintain a kind of harmony, neither exceeding the other. But most worlds are not perfect. In Grey London—your London—humanity grew strong and magic weak. But in Black London, it was the other way around. The people there not only held magic in their bodies, they let magic into their minds, and it took them as its own, burning up their lives to fuel its power. They became vessels, conduits, for its will, and through them, it twisted whim into reality, blurring the lines, breaking them down, creating and destroying and corrupting everything.”
Lila said nothing, only listened and paced.
“It spread like a plague,” continued Kell, “and the other three remaining worlds retreated into themselves and locked their doors to prevent the spread of sickness.” He did not say that it had been Red London’s retreat, its sealing off of itself, that forced the other cities to follow, and left White London pinned between their closed doors and Black London’s seething magic. He did not say that the world caught between was forced to fight the darkness back alone. “With the sources restricted, and the doors locked, the remaining three cities were isolated and began to diverge, each becoming as they are now. But what became of Black London and the rest of its world, we can only guess. Magic requires a living host—it can thrive only where life does, too—so most assume that the plague burned through its hosts and eventually ran out of kindling, leaving only charred remains. None know for sure. Over time, Black London became a ghost story. A fairy tale. Told so many times that some don’t even think it real.”
“But the stone…?” said Lila, still pacing.
“The stone shouldn’t exist,” said Kell. “Once the doors were sealed, every relic from Black London was tracked down and destroyed as a precaution.”
“Obviously not every relic,” observed Lila.
Kell shook his head. “White London supposedly undertook the task with even more fervor than we did. You must understand, they feared the doors would not hold, feared the magic would break through and consume them. In their cleanse, they did not stop at objects and artifacts. They slit the throats of everyone they even suspected of possessing—of having come in contact with—Black London’s corrupted magic.” Kell brought his fingers to his blackened eye. “It is said that some mistook Antari’s marks for such corruption and dragged them from their houses in the night. An entire generation slaughtered before they realized that, without the doors, such magicians would be their only way of reaching out.” Kell’s hand fell away. “But no, obviously not every relic was destroyed.” He wondered if that was how it had been broken, if they’d tried, and failed and buried it, wondered if someone new had dug it up. “The stone shouldn’t exist and it can’t be allowed to exist. It’s—”
Lila stopped pacing. “Evil?”
Kell shook his head. “No,” he said. “It is Vitari. In a way, I suppose it is pure. But it is pure potential, pure power, pure magic.”