4

Inside Kamar-Taj, The Ancient One consulted with some of her fellow Masters of the mystic arts. The debate was calm, but clearly the group had strong opinions.

Many came seeking Kamar-Taj. Few found it. Even fewer were worth learning its secrets...and even fewer of those were worthy of the teaching she could offer. That was why she wished to consult—there was often wisdom in other perspectives. But now the conversation was over. “Thank you, Masters,” she said as they vanished through portals back to their homes away from Kamar-Taj. She could feel Mordo watching her. “You think I’m wrong to cast him out?”

“Five hours later, he’s still on your doorstep,” Mordo said. “There’s a strength to him.”

“Stubbornness, arrogance, ambition...” The Ancient One stood at a pedestal. A small instrument set atop it gave her a view of the different planes of reality, projected as a fiery globe above her. “I’ve seen it all before.”

Mordo knew what she was thinking. “He reminds you of Kaecilius?”

“I cannot lead another gifted student to power, only to lose him to the darkness,” The Ancient One said.

“You didn’t lose me,” Mordo pointed out. “I wanted the power to defeat my enemies. You gave me the power to defeat my demons. And to live within the natural law.”

“We never lose our demons, Mordo. We only learn to live above them.”

He understood the warning in her words. As soon as one started to believe demons were defeated, one stopped looking for them. He decided to change the subject. “Kaecilius still has the stolen pages. If he deciphers them, he could bring ruin upon us all. There may be dark days ahead. Perhaps...Kamar-Taj could use a man like Strange.”

“Don’t shut me out,” Strange begged. “I have nowhere else to go.” He said it over and over, and no one answered. Eventually, he sank down and sat, back to the door. He was done.

Just then, the door opened and Mordo hauled him inside. Strange scrambled to his feet. “Thank you,” he said, on the verge of tears. Without a word, Mordo led him through the temple to a room. It was dim and small, but clean, and Strange felt something he wasn’t used to feeling: gratitude. “Thank you,” he said again, not just to be polite. The Ancient One’s vision had shaken something loose in him. He was seeing things he had never seen before. He had hope.

“Bed,” Mordo said as he lit a stick of incense to freshen up the room’s musty air. “Rest. Meditate...if you can. The Ancient One will send for you.”

He handed Strange a slip of paper with the word Shamballa written on it.

“Uh, what’s this? My mantra?”

“The Wi-Fi password,” Mordo said from the door. He cracked a smile, just barely. “We’re not savages.”

Wi-Fi, Strange thought. He could contact Christine, tell her what he had seen. Looking at the watch she had given him when they were together, he turned it over. It was all he had left from the day he’d left New York. It was all he had left from his time with her. On the back was her inscription: TIME WILL TELL HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU.

He set the watch down. Time, he thought. He wanted to talk to her, but for one of the few times in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say. He was still thinking about it when The Ancient One called for him and began his studies.

“The language of the mystic arts is as old as civilization,” she began. They were kneeling, facing each other in her study. “The sorcerers of antiquity called the use of this language spells. But if that word offends your modern sensibilities, you can call it a program.” With a gesture she drew a line of energy in the air, bright-orange and sparking. The line rotated, opening into a circle. She flicked her wrist and a square appeared around the circle, then smaller circles in its corners. “The source code that shapes reality. We harness energy drawn from other dimensions of the Multiverse, to cast spells, conjure shields and weapons to make magic.” The center circle began to turn, as if the entire figure was not just a symbol but a magical machine of some kind. With a small push, she made the floating symbol expand into three dimensions, bulging toward Strange. He watched, astonished. Then she let it fall away.

“But...even if my fingers could do that, my hands would just be waving in the air. I mean, how do I get from here to there?”

“How did you get to reattach severed nerves, and put a human spine back together bone by bone?”

“Study and practice. Years of it.”

From her look he understood that he had just answered his own question. Study and practice, Strange thought. He could do that.

The first thing she did was turn him loose in Kamar-Taj’s library. Strange read what she suggested, and that led him to other books. When he had finished one armload, he brought them back to the library and got more. The second time he made the trip, a blocky Asian man stood at a reading table near the library entrance. Behind him was another door, magically guarded. Strange didn’t know what was on the other side, but he hoped to find out soon.

“Hey,” he said, and set the books down.

The librarian—that’s what Strange figured he must be—looked up. “Mister Strange,” he said.

That was weird, how everyone knew him here even though he didn’t know any of them. “Uh...Stephen, please. And you are?”

“Wong.”

“Wong,” Strange repeated. “Just Wong?” Wong did not look impressed at his joke. Strange tried another single-named person. “Or...Aristotle.” Still no reaction.

Wong waited for Strange to run out of steam. Then he turned his attention to the books. “ The Book of the Invisible Sun . Astronomia Nova. Codex Imperium. Key of Solomon . You finished all of this?”

“Yup,” Strange said. He was a fast reader, and a fast learner.

After another long, considering look, Wong said, “Come with me.”

Strange followed him into another part of the library. “This section is for Masters only. But at my discretion, others may use it.” He pulled a book from the shelf. “We should start with Maxim’s Primer . How is your Sanskrit?”

“I’m fluent in online translators.”

Wong handed him the book. “Read it. Classical Sanskrit.”

Strange saw a row of books high on the wall. Each had a sigil on the cover that glowed with power. “What are those?”

“The Ancient One’s private collection.”

“So they’re forbidden?”

“No knowledge in Kamar-Taj is forbidden. Only certain practices. Those books are far too advanced for anyone other than the Sorcerer Supreme.”

Strange went to the books and opened one. He did not understand the alphabet it was written in, let alone the language. It had fallen open to a gap where he could see pages torn out. “This one’s got pages missing.”

“That’s The Book of Cagliostro . The study of time. One of the rituals was stolen by a former Master. A Zealot called Kaecilius. Just after he strung up the former librarian and relieved him of his head.” Wong paused for that to sink in. Then he took another book from a nearby shelf. “I’m now the guardian of these books. So if a volume from this collection should be stolen again, I’d know it. And you’d be dead before you ever left the compound.” His point made, he handed the book to Strange.

“What if it’s just overdue? You know? Any...late fees I should know about? Maybe, perhaps, um...” He gave up. “You know, people used to think that I was funny.”

Still completely deadpan, Wong said, “Did they work for you?”

Ouch, Strange thought. “All right.” He gathered up the stack of books Wong had chosen for him. “Well, it’s been lovely talking to you—thank you for the books and for the horrifying story and for the threat upon my life.”

Kaecilius and his Zealots stood in the sanctuary of a London cathedral. He unfolded a leather case containing the pages he had taken from The Book of Cagliostro and selected one showing an ominous rune. He and the Zealots all had the same rune on their foreheads now, a symbol of their devotion to their task. “Now we receive the power to destroy the one who betrayed us,” Kaecilius said as he set the page on the floor. He drew the rune in the air above it, blood-red and pulsing. “The one who betrays the world.”

When he had completed the rune, he and the Zealots chanted the ritual, repeating the phrase of power that would draw the dark being whose rune they watched, and tell him they were devoted to him. Across the barrier between his world and the Dark Dimension, Kaecilius felt a response. Power flowed through him, and the floor around the page began to fold itself into a mystical pattern. He looked up and swept his arms through gestures he had learned from The Ancient One—gestures that he would soon use to destroy her. The cathedral’s walls and stained-glass windows folded and twisted into new shapes, strange geometries no human had ever seen. Yes, Kaecilius thought. The ritual was working. Dormammu had heard their call for aid, and answered.