Darkanoss
This is where the story of the Phoenix War begins.
Of course, it’s not just one story. Countless lives were intertwined in the events that were about to transpire. I could spend a lifetime writing and never be able to tell everyone’s stories, nor do justice to the tragedies so many people suffered. My role in these events may have been significant, but it’s still just one story among many. I will never be able to make up for the guilt that plagues me to have made it through all this alive, even though so many innocent people were not so lucky. I only hope that by telling my story, I can relieve myself of some of the pain I’ve carried with me all these years.
It started with the exodus. The wizards and witches who supported Trackwell had left Salem en masse for an unknown destination. The Aurors later suspected there was a hidden message in Trackwell’s broadcasts, something intended only for those who agreed with his beliefs. There are so many mysteries surrounding how Trackwell did what he did – how he managed to hide his activities for so long, how the magical authorities were never able to find him. His elusiveness only contributed to his mythic status among his followers. They saw him as the successor of Lord Voldemort, the great wizard liberator. Wizards and witches traveled from across the country to pledge allegiance to him.
Among Trackwell’s followers were numerous children of the Rebirth Generation. His sermons appealed to their adversity, the prejudice and alienation they felt as wizard kids in a muggle world. He promised them a home, promised them the power to overcome their tormentors. He told them to leave their parents and join him in Salem. And they did. Not many of them, but enough to be significant. Among these children were Nick Varennikov and his subordinates from John Proctor. Nick left John Proctor in February 2011, and while the school was decidedly more peaceful without him there, the silence only left an uneasy feeling. Soon, the magic teachers departed too, and were hastily replaced by local members of the wizard community. When the first (and last) school year ended in May, a large portion of the wizards and witches who had once worked and studied there had simply vanished.
The wizarding community of Salem knew that something bad was coming. There was enough evidence from the Aurors to suspect that Trackwell and his followers were up to no good. While their whereabouts were unknown, there was a sharp uptick in unexplained wizard violence against muggles across Salem. It became unsafe to travel at night. The once peaceful and harmonious town was caught in the shadow of dread. Yet despite the warnings of the wizarding community, the muggles went about their regular business, oblivious to what was coming. Hannah Sweet, a member of the Magical Congress, and Angel Carson, a muggle community leader, posted warnings across the city for muggle residents, yet these warnings were largely ignored or not taken seriously – which would prove to be a fatal mistake.
We knew that Trackwell was coming. But we could not have imagined the scale of his plans. While the wizard families in Salem scurried to prepare, Trackwell’s followers were gathering in secret in the plains to the north, performing strange rituals. The bodies of animals were found mutilated in the fields. Kidnappings were reported across the city. The weather worsened, storms and floods occurring at an abnormal frequency. People reported sightings of strange creatures in the woods. Hikers were found dead, their souls drained from their bodies. Rumors were spreading, rumors of what would come.
My parents took these threats very seriously. I owe my life to their caution. For months, they aided Angel Carson and Congresswoman Sweet in their efforts to safeguard the people of Salem. An emergency safehouse was constructed in the town of Lynnville to the south, where families could evacuate in the event of large-scale violence. The wizards and witches of Salem worked together to set up an alert system that would warn everyone if trouble befell the city. My parents made sure to never leave the house at the same time, so that one of them would always be at home to protect me and my baby sister. They didn’t like me going out, so I ended up spending long hours in the living room with Clea, playing inane toddler games while my mother or father watched vigilantly from the next room over.
Though they did everything they could to protect us children, the community of Salem knew that there was a chance of us needing to defend ourselves if the violence reached our doorstep. So every week beginning in May, Mom or Dad would drive me down to a farmhouse between Salem and Lynnville, where we met with a group of other Reborn kids and were taught self-defense spells. The teachers cycled between different members of the Salem wizard community, from Aurors to parents to magical government workers. It was different kids each time, too, since our schedule changed each week. My lessons were always on Fridays, but the time of day ranged from eight in the morning to nine at night. I imagine they did this for safety reasons, but for the first month I usually just thought it was annoying. But I always liked learning new magic, and I did sometimes get to train with some of my friends, which made the lessons more enjoyable. A few times I went with Peter or Jared, and one time, I had the surprise of running into Silas Darrow, my former classmate from Summerroot School.
“Silas?” I said as I walked out onto the training field, which was really just a repurposed cow pasture. “Is that you?”
Silas looked at me and grinned. He had changed quite a bit since I’d last seen him four years ago. His rugged brown hair went down to his shoulders, and his body had grown taller and lankier. He was wearing a sleeveless white undershirt that did not suit him at all.
“Alan! Uh, hey, man.” His tone was awkward, but I could tell he was happy to see me.
“Yeah, uh... good to see you.” My words were sincere, but my boyish pride made it embarrassing to say.
Silas nodded. “You too.”
We stood quietly for a few moments, not looking at each other. There were a lot of reasons why it was hard to speak. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy to see Silas again, but these circumstances were undesirable, to say the least. The wizards and witches of Salem were teaching their children to protect themselves. While at the time it was only thought of as a precaution, the implications were clear. There was a chance that we would have to fight, maybe even for our lives.
It was frightening. I was only twelve years old. My life up to that point had been relatively easy, and lethal violence always seemed so distant as to be almost fictional. The idea of the city I’d grown up in suddenly becoming unsafe was something I still hadn’t fully processed. It all felt unreal, like were all just following along with the adults as they acted out some elaborate game. There was no way Salem would ever come under attack, not really. That was what I believed, until the very last minute.
That day, Silas, the other children, and I were trained in the use of the Patronus Charm. This was once considered one of the most complex and difficult spells a wizard could perform, even at the adult level. But the Rebirth Generation had changed this. While still very difficult, we were an unprecedented generation whose powers exceeded those of most adult wizards. The Patronus Charm was an essential defense against all manner of Dark Arts. Thus, the adults decided to try and teach it to us.
But even with our Reborn powers, the Patronus Charm proved extremely difficult to master. The charm demanded a happy memory, happy thoughts and feelings, to give the Patronus shape. But I couldn’t think happy thoughts. All of my pleasant childhood memories were from Summerroot School, a time that felt so far removed from this dark and ominous present. I couldn’t think about those pleasant springtime afternoons hiking through the forests with Sam. All I could think about was Donovan Trackwell, and how long it would be until we were no longer safe.
“Expecto Patronum!” I heard Silas yell. A silvery glow emitted from the tip of his wand, but otherwise there were no results. The same was true of the rest of us. I could hardly muster a spark.
Silas glanced at me. “So, uh... how you been?”
I shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“That’s good.”
Another silence elapsed, broken only by the sounds of the other kids’ unsuccessful Patronuses. We made a few more attempts at the behest of our instructor, to no avail.
“Do you still live in Summerroot?” I asked him a few moments later.
Silas nodded. “I travel sometimes with my dad. But yeah, I’m usually there. He teaches me magic, and I have a muggle home tutor for the other stuff.”
“How is the school?” I found myself asking.
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not the same as it was when we went there. I left the year after you did. The same teachers are there, but there aren’t as many kids anymore.” Silas moved on quickly, as if he didn’t want to stay on that topic. “What about you? You still homeschooled?”
I shook my head. “I went to John Proctor.”
His eyes widened. “My dad says there were a lot of Death Eaters there.”
I stared at Silas incredulously. “Death Eaters?”
Silas tilted his head. “Well, the Aurors are technically calling them neo-Death Eaters. Trackwell sees himself as Voldemort’s successor, so he’s started calling his followers Death Eaters, the way he did.”
I felt my fingers tighten on my arm. I focused on my spellcasting, pointing my wand up at the overcast summer sky. “They’re not Death Eaters. Voldemort is dead. Trackwell is crazy.”
“Well, no arguments here. They’re nuts. The wizards and witches joining him, I mean.”
I lowered my wand and gazed at the grass. “Do you know... why? Why do they all listen to him?”
Silas sighed. “People are afraid. That’s what my dad says. Fear controls everything they do. That fear turns into hatred. They blame the muggles for the problems they have. And, well, they’re not entirely wrong, I guess. But Salem is supposed to be different. I guess that’s not true anymore.”
With that somber note, both of us fell silent again. We never did manage to conjure a Patronus that day. No happy thoughts would come to us. All we had was dread.
A few weeks after that lesson, my parents took me and my sister to a secret gathering of at the house of Angel Carson, in southeastern Salem. I didn’t fully understand what was going on at the time. It seemed like an ordinary suburban house, but when we reached the door, we were screened by an Auror before being allowed to pass through. The meeting took place in the house’s large basement, and consisted of dozens of wizards and muggles in Salem’s community, united against Trackwell’s agenda. I was told to sit near the back of the room with my sister in my lap, while my mom and dad discussed important things with the other adults. I remember seeing Jared and Zoe there, but we didn’t say anything to each other. We sat on opposite sides of the room and listened quietly while our parents spoke.
“The muggle government isn’t taking the threat seriously,” said Angel Carson. She was a young and passionate woman, with the aura of an older sister. “I’ve sent several letters to the Salem Police Department asking them to assist us, but they say they can’t act without concrete evidence of a threat.”
“We have evidence,” said a bearded muggle irately. “They just won’t listen because it’s coming from wizards. The police will only act when it’s too late.”
“Unfortunately true,” said Congresswoman Sweet. The aging woman’s face was lined with wrinkles, but her expression was strong and firm. “Which means we must be the ones to act on behalf of the people of Salem. There is no telling what Trackwell plans, but the likelihood of systematic violence is high. We need to make sure the families are safe and secure in Lynnville when that happens.”
“We can’t protect everyone, though!” the bearded man insisted. “Even with the early warning system, most muggle families are going to ignore us.”
“As long as we can get them to stay in their homes, then at least they’ll be safer than if they were on the streets,” said Angel Carson.
“We have intel that Trackwell’s gatherings north of the city are growing more frequent,” said a scruffy-looking man I recognized as Silas’s Auror father, though I didn’t see Silas; he was probably at home with his mother. “We’re still not sure where his followers are hiding, but there’s no question that he’ll make a move pretty soon. I’m guessing within the week.”
My stomach turned into a knot when I heard that. My little sister, oblivious to the tension in the room, toyed with my hair and giggled when she made it into a braid.
“We must do everything we can,” insisted Jared’s mother, a serene-looking blonde woman. “Nothing matters more than making sure the children and their families are protected.”
“Without a strong response to Trackwell, that’s not going to happen,” said Carson.
“We have a few Aurors on standby, but it’s not going to be enough,” said my father. “Can we get more?”
Congresswoman Sweet shook her head. “I’ve tried. I was able to have a few sent here, but I’m a politician, not a police chief. The Department of Aurors is reluctant to dispatch personnel against Trackwell.”
“No luck on my end, either,” said Silas’s dad. “I’m not a high enough paygrade. I’ve sent a request to my superior in Salt Lake City, but I doubt anyone will be here in time to help.”
“So we’re on our own,” said my father solemnly.
“We are not helpless,” insisted Sweet. “The farthest thing from it. We are Salem. We must defend our home, even if it means sacrificing our lives in the process.”
“But what about the children?” my mother asked under her breath. “Can they really be expected to fight? Even with the Rebirth Generation...”
“We may not have a choice, Mia,” said Sweet. “Trackwell’s attack could occur at any moment. The children must be able to defend themselves. That is why we are training them.”
It was obvious they were trying to keep their voices down so that we wouldn’t hear, but they were doing a poor job of it. I exchanged glances with Jared and Zoe from across the room, but none of us spoke a word.
“At any rate, the priority is having the emergency alert system ready,” said Carson. “As long as we can respond quickly, then maybe...”
It was at that moment that the old radio in the corner of the room suddenly came to life. The device was not plugged in, and seemed to have no other power source, yet it crackled and sputtered with such intensity that the entire room froze to look at it. My heart began beating three times faster at the sound. The radio whined and moaned, and then a soft voice came through it.
“I would like to tell you about Limbo.”
I knew that voice. From the pale looks on everyone’s faces, I could tell they all knew too. The dozens of muggles and wizards in the room all stared at the radio as Donovan Trackwell spoke to us.
“It is the state between alive and dead. Its mist inverts perspectives, demands that we dispel our illusions about life and death. There are beings which walk the line between. The Dementors, neither dead nor alive. The phoenix, eternally reborn from its ashes...”
Trackwell’s voice was like frostbite, so cold it made my limbs tremble. What was it about that calm voice that commanded so much power? Like the whisper of a god, or a devil, it could not be ignored. This was not one of his usual sermons, for wizards’ ears only. It was a broadcast directed at all of Salem.
“The ancient wizards had a word for this Limbo. ‘Darkanoss.’ A corruption of our word ‘darkness.’ The dark represents sleep, the awakening from the dream of life. I have seen in my dreams the destiny of wizardkind. Our destiny to return to our righteous place, as masters of this illusory world.”
My ears were ringing. It was becoming hard to think straight. Murmurs had begun to stir around the room, but all were silenced when Trackwell spoke again.
“Tomorrow we will rise. The first step of the deliverance. To those who support the cause of liberation... join us. Salem will be ours. Per omnia saecula. Goodnight.”
Then the radio died, and the room was left in dead silence.
* * *
The following day – July 20, 2011 – was the day of the Death Eaters’ attack.
I awoke on that hot and sunny Wednesday morning on the couch in Angel Carson’s house. After the meeting had concluded, most of the wizards and muggles had hastily returned to their homes, but my parents had stayed late to continue the discussion. My sister and I ended up sleeping at that house overnight. I don’t remember when I fell asleep, only that I stayed up deep into the hours of the night listening to the faint voices in the basement, the echoes of Trackwell’s warning ringing in my mind.
The following morning, I awoke at around 8 AM to the sensation of my father shaking my arm. “Alan, wake up. We need to get moving.”
As we drove back to our house, Mom and Dad told me a simplified version of what was going on. As a result of Trackwell’s broadcast, the citywide emergency alert system had been activated. We didn’t know what was about to happen, but the number one priority was making sure as many people as possible got to the safehouse in Lynnville. They told me that I was old enough to help.
When we got back to our house, we only stayed for a few minutes. I changed out of my clothes and into a different outfit – a pair of jeans and a large blue hoodie with the word CALIFORNIA on it, a souvenir from a road trip we’d taken when I was ten. I had been reluctant to wear it due to the heat, but Mom told me to put on something warm “just in case.” When I was done changing, I hurried back downstairs to where Mom and Dad were waiting, and we walked outside to the driveway.
“Clea and I will drive to the safehouse,” said Mom. “I don’t feel safe apparating with her. Alan, sweetie, you’re gonna go with your dad. Some of the other muggle families need help getting from the city to the safehouse. Your friend Peter and his folks will meet you at Riverfront Park.”
“We’ll apparate there, and then I’ll apparate his parents to Lynnville,” said Dad.
“Will you be safe?” I asked Mom worriedly.
She gave me a reassuring hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Of course I will. You just be careful, okay? I want you to meet us at the safehouse as soon as possible.”
I nodded, and tried my best to put on a brave face. “Okay, Mom.”
She gave me another long, tight hug. Her breathing seemed rough, but she collected herself as she pulled away from me. “Okay.” She nodded at Dad, and then reached down to pick up Clea from the ground and walk to her black van.
“Bubby, bye!” Clea called back to me.
I didn’t smile back at her. Mom put her in her car seat, and then got into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the driveway. Dad didn’t give me any time to watch the car recede down the road. He stepped closer to me, and put a hand on my arm. “Ready?”
I took a deep breath. My heart was racing with anxiety, but I nodded. “Ready.”
Dad twisted his heel. The world suddenly turned to a blur in front of us, and I felt like I was being pulled through a tight tunnel, weaving and curving through space. It wasn’t the first time I had apparated; though it was adult-level magic, I had learned to apparate short distances on my own, though I still wasn’t capable of such long-range travel as Dad and Mom. Patches of light and darkness ran past my eyes, which themselves felt like they were being peeled back, melting like an abstract painting. The only thing that kept my body in place was my arm, which was still firmly locked around Dad’s.
Then, with a resounding crack, the apparition ended. My head was still spinning, but I managed to get my bearings and look around. The scenery around us had changed. A wide river flowed slowly to our right, and to our left was an array of medium-sized office buildings, the modest cityscape of downtown Salem. In front of us was a large park, with a mazy playground and some benches nearby. This was Riverfront Park, nearly ten miles from my house. Under normal circumstances, this place would be bustling with people of every shape and size, the sound of music and voices coming from every direction. But despite the cloudless summer weather, the park was completely vacant. All I could hear was the river.
Dad led me to the opposite side of the park, where a large awning covered an area often used for conventions and farmers’ markets. We sat down on a bench under the awning, and waited for what felt like hours, though it was probably only about thirty minutes. I wanted to ask Dad how long we would be waiting here, or when Peter and his family would arrive. But he spent almost the whole time on the phone, calling different people across Salem to check the status of the evacuations. I overheard that most of the wizard families had made it to Lynnville and that an anti-apparition jinx had been set up around the safehouse, but that muggle families were still generally ignoring the warnings.
The minutes continued to slip by. I often think back on those final moments, the last calm before the storm, when the impending threat to Salem still didn’t feel real. The sun was still shining. I could hear birds chirping in the trees, cars driving across a nearby bridge, the faint creaking of a swingset as it rocked in the afternoon breeze. I gazed over at a footbridge that led across the river, one that I had crossed a few times while walking with Mom and Dad. Everything still felt so normal.
A little after 12:40 PM, I heard hurried footsteps coming down a row of stairs behind us which led up to the surface streets. When I turned around, I saw Peter reaching the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a brown hoodie and a striped shirt, his blond bangs hanging in front of his glasses. Behind him were his parents, both of whom were pale in the face. Dad hung up his phone immediately to greet them.
“Thank you, Jim,” said Peter’s dad, shaking his hand. “We weren’t able to get a ride. It’s crazy out there.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dad responded reassuringly. “We’re happy to help.”
Peter and I exchanged glances and a nod, but otherwise remained silent. Dad looked at us. “Boys, listen carefully. I can’t apparate all of you to Lynnville at once. You two are Reborn, and you know how to defend yourselves. I’m going to take Peter’s parents there first, and I’ll come back for you as soon as they’re at the safehouse. It won’t take more than ten minutes. Stay safe, and stay out of sight. Understand?”
I could tell that Peter was as nervous as I was. Both of us were feeling a little sick. Nevertheless, we nodded obediently at my dad’s command.
That was when we heard it.
The sound echoed through the entire city. It was hard to tell what it was at first. It sounded like television static, or a broken loudspeaker malfunctioning. It was a piercing noise, yet also deep like an earthquake, and seemed to shake the entire city. I felt like I could hear it in my head.
It was Donovan Trackwell’s voice.
“I would like to tell you about freedom.”
I couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. It was only several moments later that I realized it was Dad’s phone. But not just the phone. Every mechanical device, from car radios to P.A. systems, was broadcasting Trackwell’s voice. He had hijacked every communications medium, tuned them to his signal.
“Thirteen years ago, my predecessor died in the pursuit of freedom. Freedom from the tyranny of the muggle world. His mistake was not his weakness, but his fear. He was consumed by the fear of death. But he did not understand death as I do. Death is simply another side of life. The Limbo mirror. Darkanoss.”
Peter and I instinctively clutched our wands. His parents held each other in fear. Dad grimaced.
“Today, I will avenge Lord Voldemort. I do so without fear of death, for death is merely another state of being, an illusion I have overcome. I am Darkanoss. Rise, my followers. Let our deliverance begin.”
Suddenly, there was a deafening blast of thunder, and the bright July skies darkened. Silvery-gold clouds began to move in from all directions, obfuscating the sun and casting an enormous shadow over the city. Lightning flashed again, and cold wind swept through the vacant park. In the distance, I heard hundreds of cracking sounds, like countless whips tearing through the chilly air. Moments later, the city was alight with the sound of spells firing, the echoes of curses and jinxes reverberating through the streets.
“The Battle of Salem has started, kids,” said Dad, staring into the dark sky. “Let’s get you out of here.”