Chapter 813

Stephen Strange had finally gotten what he wanted: admission to Kamar-Taj.

The official explanation was that his five-hour vigil outside the entrance had moved the Sorcerer Supreme so deeply that she had agreed to take him in.

Whether anyone involved actually believed that was another matter.

Stephen, for his part, was delighted.

Mordo took his responsibilities seriously. He not only escorted the new arrival inside and arranged a room for him, but also supplied him with Kamar-Taj’s Wi-Fi password.

They were sorcerers, not savages. Keeping up with modern technology was hardly beyond them.

Stephen stared at the password.

A mystical temple hidden away in the Himalayas having Wi-Fi was certainly an unexpected discovery. Unfortunately, his surprise quickly gave way to irritation.

His phone had been stolen.

What was he supposed to do with Wi-Fi? Browse the internet through sheer force of affection?

With that, the formalities surrounding his admission were complete. The Ancient One could finally begin teaching her new student.

She was a conscientious teacher, too. Stephen hadn’t paid a penny in tuition, offered an expensive gift, or slipped anyone a discreet envelope of cash. Nevertheless, early the following morning, she began teaching him in earnest.

Teachers like this were becoming increasingly rare.

"Magic uses a mysterious language that has existed since the dawn of civilization," the Ancient One explained. "The ancients called its expressions spells. If that sounds too mystical for your taste, think of them as programs."

She raised her hands and began weaving her fingers through the air, her movements smooth and precise.

"We draw energy from the infinite worlds around us, then use spells to shape it into something tangible. A shield, for example. Or a blade."

Light gathered between her hands, forming a shimmering shield that hovered in front of Stephen.

He watched, fascinated.

Then uncertainty crept across his face.

"Could I really do that with my hands?" he asked. "Right now, all I can manage is waving them around. How does someone go from being a complete beginner to a master?"

The Ancient One smiled.

"How did you learn to reconnect damaged nerves? How did you learn to restore a dislocated spine?"

"Practice," Stephen answered immediately. "Hard work, repeated year after year."

His confidence returned. He left the lesson looking considerably more optimistic about his future.

Nearby, Evenson had been sitting through the entire exchange.

He hadn’t paid much attention.

It wasn’t that he considered eavesdropping on another person’s lesson impolite. He simply had something far more important on his mind.

The problem with living for centuries, Evenson had realized, was that eventually you accumulated so much history that ordinary conversation became dangerous.

Mention some legendary figure in passing, and the Ancient One might casually announce that she’d once spent an afternoon debating philosophy with him. Then she’d explain that they’d disagreed, the argument had become heated, and she’d eventually kicked him into a moat.

That was precisely what had happened the previous evening, when she’d mentioned a lengthy conversation with a knight who had sought the Holy Grail.

Evenson had spent most of the night wondering which Arthurian legend she might have wandered into.

Had she greeted Sir Galahad as though he were a long-lost beloved, or had she simply been obsessed with getting her hands on some priceless piece of Grail-era relics?

Given her mastery of the Mirror Dimension, perhaps she’d been the sorceress who trapped a knight inside an enchanted castle.

The possibilities were endless.

Unfortunately, Evenson hadn’t managed to reach a conclusion. He’d slept terribly, and his investigation had achieved absolutely nothing.

Worse, he’d dragged Clea into the discussion.

"Do you think she spent the afternoon flirting with Sir Galahad?" he’d asked her. "Or perhaps trying to steal his holy relics?"

Clea had stared at him in disgust.

"Can you find something useful to occupy your mind for once? The Ancient One is wiser than either of us. She’s hardly some lovesick enchantress chasing knights around a castle."

She considered the possibilities for another moment.

"Besides, with her knowledge of alternate dimensions, she was obviously involved in the adventure at Castle Perilous."

Evenson had looked at her.

Clea had looked back.

Neither of them had come any closer to solving the mystery.

They’d wasted a perfectly good evening.

"Could the two of you pay attention to where you are?" the Ancient One asked.

She had finished her lesson and was now watching Evenson and Clea huddled together, whispering and apparently conducting a serious scholarly debate of their own.

The pair looked very much like two students exchanging gossip at the back of a university lecture hall.

Except that they were doing it in front of the lecturer.

And the lecturer was the Sorcerer Supreme.

Evenson turned toward her, looking mildly offended.

"That’s unfair. I was deliberately avoiding listening to your lesson. You’re teaching your student, and I’m an outsider. It would be rude of me to eavesdrop."

Of course, he wasn’t avoiding the lesson out of any particularly noble sense of restraint.

His magic simply worked on an entirely different principle from the Ancient One’s.

At its core, magic was about protecting yourself and overwhelming your enemies with enough destructive power that they stopped being a problem.

The Ancient One’s approach, with its elegant shields and conjured blades, certainly fit that philosophy.

It just wasn’t especially useful to Evenson.

When it came to offense, he had an assortment of destructive spells and curses. If those weren’t enough, he could summon demons to fight for him. And if an enemy managed to get close, he could bring out his fel-infused scythe and slice them into sushi.

Defense was equally straightforward. Demon Skin, Nether Protection, and his other defensive abilities covered his entire body, leaving few obvious openings for an enemy to exploit.

Why would he need to summon a small shield when he could reinforce his whole body?

And why bother conjuring a sword when he could use his scythe?

That would be like watching a demon lord throw away a perfectly good battle axe and challenge someone to a boxing match.

There were limits to how much unnecessary work Evenson was willing to do.

Meanwhile, Stephen had thrown himself into his studies.

Books became his constant companions. The library at Kamar-Taj was packed with texts covering magic, mysticism, and the structure of reality, and he devoured them with the same determination he’d once applied to medicine.

His reading naturally brought him into frequent contact with the library’s keeper, Walter Wong.

Stephen’s first impression of Walter was that he was unusually fat.

More than that, he looked swollen.

Years of medical practice had taught Stephen to distinguish excess body fat from edema and other forms of swelling. Walter might have been somewhat overweight to begin with, but something had clearly happened to him recently.

Perhaps he’d offended the wrong person and been beaten until his face had doubled in size.

Walter, for his part, was a stern man who rarely smiled. Whether it was because he was in a bad mood or simply because his personality had been carved from solid stone, Stephen couldn’t tell.

But as he finished borrowing his books, Stephen decided to make an effort.

A little humor could go a long way toward cheering someone up. Walter had the air of a man who could use a laugh.

Unfortunately, Stephen’s sense of humor was considerably better in his own estimation than it was in practice.

Walter dismantled his efforts without mercy.

"People used to laugh at your jokes because you paid their salaries," he said flatly. "They needed you to like them."

Stephen froze.

It was the sort of observation that could make even a surgeon regret remaining conscious.

Before he could come up with a response, a woman’s voice rang out from beyond the library doors.

"Walter! You can’t spend your entire life hiding among books. Come outside and work up a sweat with me!"

The moment Walter heard her, he burst into laughter.

Not a polite chuckle. Not the restrained amusement of someone trying to spare a socially awkward man his embarrassment.

He laughed so hard he nearly doubled over.

"That was hilarious!"

Before Stephen could process what was happening, Walter seized him by the belt.

"Keep going! Don’t stop! Tell me another one!"

Stephen stared at him.

"If you stop telling jokes, you can forget about borrowing books here again!"

What on earth had happened to this man’s sense of humor?

Stephen wondered whether Walter had suffered a head injury during the beating he’d apparently received. But Walter had him firmly in his grasp, and escaping was no longer an option.

So Stephen did what any desperate man would do.

He began rummaging through his memory for every joke he’d ever heard.

The jokes were terrible.

Walter, however, laughed at each one as though it were the funniest thing he’d heard in centuries. There was no sign of a forced smile or polite amusement. The man was genuinely having the time of his life.

Then the woman who had called from outside came running through the door.

Lily Grant was dressed in a way that made her difficult to categorize at a glance, and her movements carried the loose, casual confidence of someone who expected the entire world to make room for her.

Life at Kamar-Taj’s headquarters was never going to suit her. The quiet routines and endless meditation were enough to drive her mad.

She needed someone to spar with.

Unfortunately, most people at Kamar-Taj knew better than to volunteer. Apart from Walter, whose body had been hardened through years of punishing Iron Body training, few could withstand her enthusiasm for a proper fight.

That was why she had come looking for her favorite punching bag.

The library was normally the last place she wanted to visit, but Walter had a habit of hiding in there whenever she came looking for him.

Usually, she had to call several times before he’d emerge. Sometimes he pretended not to hear her at all.

Today, however, she’d barely called his name once before a tremendous roar of laughter erupted from inside.

Lily had been confused.

Had Walter discovered some ancient martial arts manual hidden in the library? Had he suddenly achieved enlightenment, mastered some impossible technique, and broken through a bottleneck that had held him back for years?

Had he finally become strong enough to stop being afraid of her?

She rushed inside, ready to find out.

Instead, she found Walter holding a man hostage while laughing himself breathless at his jokes.

Lily took one look at the scene and felt a chill run down her spine.

Oh, no.

Had she hit Walter too hard during their last sparring session? Had that finishing move of hers finally scrambled his brain?

If so, she’d have to be careful next time.

"Master Lily!" Walter gasped, clutching his stomach. He seemed to have only just remembered that she was there. "I’d love to come with you, but I have something important to take care of. Why don’t I find you when I’m finished?"

Lily regarded him suspiciously.

Walter voluntarily coming to find her?

That was almost as unbelievable as Walter willingly volunteering to be her punching bag.

"Fine, if you were listening to a radio drama, I could understand," she said. "But listening to jokes counts as important business now?"

Walter’s eyes shifted.

Radio drama?

An idea began to form.

He quickly pointed at Stephen.

"You know this man. He’s here to borrow books. The Ancient One specifically told me not to delay him."

"Oh?"

Lily glanced at Stephen, then at the books in his hands.

Her expression immediately turned suspicious.

"Hasn’t he already finished borrowing them?"

Walter’s smile faltered.

"No! I mean—yes! He’s returning them. I haven’t picked out his next batch yet!"

Lily narrowed her eyes.

"Is that so?"

She looked Stephen up and down.

So this was the man who would one day be expected to serve as the public face of Kamar-Taj’s next generation of sorcerers.

He would eventually be an important figure, one who couldn’t afford to be casually injured every time he crossed paths with her.

Very well. She could restrain herself.

Stephen, meanwhile, was growing increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

He recognized her from the day he’d first arrived at Kamar-Taj. She had been sitting on a prominent chair carved with a tiger-headed demon, radiating the sort of confidence that suggested she was accustomed to being the most dangerous person in any room.

He’d assumed she was a formidable sorceress.

Now she was looking at him as though she were evaluating a new piece of training equipment.

"Listen," Lily said, stepping forward and tapping him twice on the chest. "You need to study hard. And since I’m an experienced practitioner, let me give you a little advice."

She folded her arms.

"If you want to master advanced magic, you need a body as tough as steel. We can’t spend all day hiding in libraries and reading dusty books. What really matters is what you can do when someone stands in front of you."

Her smile widened.

"When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll be happy to give you a few pointers."

Walter caught her wrist.

"Please, have mercy!"

The words came out in the old monastic dialect that he and Lily used when they didn’t want outsiders to understand them. Stephen watched their exchange, unable to make sense of a single word.

Walter tightened his grip.

"He’s barely capable of using his hands right now! If you spar with him, he’ll be completely helpless from head to toe by the end of the week!"

"Don’t worry!"

Lily pulled her wrist free with a dismissive flick.

"My senior disciple, Victor Sterling, has a family remedy that can repair just about any injury. The recipe came from an old alchemist, and it’s been passed down for generations. Whether you damage a hand, a leg, or something else entirely, one application will have you right as rain."

Walter’s expression changed.

He shot her a sharp look and raised a finger to his lips.

Quiet!

Lily immediately realized her mistake.

Her eyes darted toward Stephen.

The doctor still hadn’t joined Kamar-Taj in any meaningful sense. Until he had accepted its teachings and responsibilities, they couldn’t simply restore his hands and let him walk away. He needed to make that decision for himself.

Fortunately, Stephen looked thoroughly bewildered. Whatever he thought of their conversation, he clearly hadn’t understood its contents.

The two exchanged a quick glance and moved on.

Sometimes, a foreign language was one of the most effective weapons available.

After they left, Walter hurried into the back of the library and rummaged through a storage cabinet until he found an old radio.

He switched it on.

A lively old vaudeville tune crackled through the speakers.

Walter listened for a moment, then nodded to himself.

He’d discovered a new passion.

From that day forward, he would become a master of stand-up comedy.

Stephen’s own progress, unfortunately, was less encouraging.

He had spent considerable time reading and studying magic, and his mind was filling with new knowledge. But knowing how magic worked and actually casting it were two very different things.

During a subsequent lesson on portal magic, the other students produced stable, functional gateways with relative ease.

Stephen produced something that looked like a damp firework struggling to ignite.

The sparks sputtered. The spell collapsed. Nothing resembling a usable portal appeared.

He was mortified.

Naturally, he blamed his hands.

His fingers had been severely damaged, and he was convinced that his inability to perform the necessary gestures was holding him back.

Then the Ancient One summoned Master Hamir.

Hamir stepped forward and casually rolled up his sleeve, revealing a left arm that ended at the wrist.

The man had no hand at all.

Yet he proceeded to perform magic with astonishing precision, his movements and gestures demonstrating a control that Stephen couldn’t begin to imitate.

Stephen fell silent.

It was difficult to keep blaming his hands when a man with fewer hands could perform the very spells he was struggling to learn.

The Ancient One watched him absorb the lesson.

"Sometimes, you must learn to work with the current rather than fight against it," she advised.

Then she took him to the summit of the Himalayas.

And left him there.

Stephen stared at the empty space where she had been standing a moment earlier.

The wind howled around him. Snow stretched across the surrounding peaks, and the air was thin enough to make breathing an effort.

His task was simple.

Open a portal and return to Kamar-Taj.

Evenson, who had witnessed the entire affair, shook his head as he watched from a distance.

"I envy your teaching methods," he told the Ancient One. "Learning to go with the flow, is it? If I’d followed that advice when I was learning magic, I probably would’ve flowed straight into my own grave."

He glanced toward Stephen, who was now attempting to remember everything he’d learned about portals.

"Still, is dumping students in remote locations your only technique for teaching them how to open gateways?"

The Ancient One smiled.

"Clea doesn’t need to go through this."

She glanced toward Lily, who was practicing against a wooden training post some distance away.

"I reserve this method for students who need a little extra encouragement."

Lily shuddered.

For a moment, she was no longer looking at the training post. She was remembering a particularly miserable day in the Sahara Desert.

She resumed striking the wood with renewed vigor.

Evenson looked back at the Ancient One.

"Stephen hasn’t even been here for a month. Isn’t this a little rushed?"

He paused.

"Did something happen?"

The Ancient One’s expression darkened.

"Dormammu."

She waited until she was certain no one else was nearby before continuing.

"I can feel it. Kaecilius has succeeded in establishing a connection to the Dark Dimension. He has already received power from Dormammu."

Her gaze drifted toward the distant mountains.

"Stephen doesn’t have the luxury of spending years learning at a comfortable pace. We may not have that much time."

"Kaecilius."

Evenson practically spat the name.

He rarely hated anyone with genuine conviction. Even Habbas, the bastard who’d once stolen money from him to buy dog food, hadn’t managed to earn more than a moderate amount of resentment.

Kaecilius was different.

He had gravely injured Clea.

That made the matter personal.

"We could change the plan," Evenson said. "I could summon a powerful demon to test Stephen, or I could do it myself. There’s no need to wait for Kaecilius to make a move."

He looked directly at the Ancient One.

"So where is that bastard? Tell me where he is, and I’ll go kill him right now."

"Will you calm down?" Clea demanded, grabbing his arm.

The look she gave him suggested that his impatience was every bit as irritating as his usual sarcasm.

"He stabbed me twice and nearly killed me. You don’t get to steal my revenge just because you’re angry on my behalf."

She turned toward the Ancient One.

"Speaking of which, where is Kaecilius these days?"

Dark energy began to coil around her body. Shadows gathered at her feet and climbed her limbs until her entire figure was wreathed in black.

She had entered her shadow form.

"I’ve encountered a few problems with my latest research," Clea explained pleasantly. "I urgently need someone to help me test a few theories."

Her smile was almost sweet.

"Preferably someone who won’t survive the experiment unless I want him to."

Evenson looked at her.

Then he looked at the Ancient One.

For once, he decided to let Clea have the first opportunity to murder their mutual enemy.

After all, he was a reasonable man.

And he could always kill Kaecilius afterward.