“Mankind has always built his cities on riverbanks and sea-coasts.”
The river opened out to a vast ocean. The sun streaked across the sky, moving almost too fast to see as time raced by.
“Water has been his highway …”
Boats moved on the water, canoes first, then rowboats, then ships with banks of sails, and finally vast oceanliners and supertankers.
“… his larder …”
A flotilla of fishing boats pulled huge nets from the ocean.
“… and his doom.”
The ocean, huge and churning, the color of a bruise, battered an isolated coastal village. It swamped boats, swept away bridges, leaving devastation in its wake.
“Nothing stands against the power of water ….”
A vast wall of water rolled down a modern city street, flooding homes, washing away cars.
Suddenly, Josh was soaring upward, the earth falling away beneath him, and the king’s voice faded to a whisper, like the hiss of surf on sand.
“It was water which brought life to the earth. Water which very nearly destroyed it.”
Josh looked down at the blue planet. This was the world he recognized. He saw the shapes of continents and countries, the sweep of North and South America, the curl of Africa. But then he suddenly realized that there was something wrong with the outlines of the land. They weren’t the way he remembered them from his geography class. They seemed larger, less clearly defined. The Gulf of Mexico looked smaller, the Gulf of California was missing entirely and the Caribbean was definitely smaller. He couldn’t see the distinctive shape of Italy in the Mediterranean, and the islands of Ireland and Britain were one misshapen lump.
And as he watched, the blue of the sea began to seep over the land, drowning it, flooding it ….
He fell toward the water, into the blue.
And Gilgamesh blinked and looked away.
And then both twins woke.
rancis, the Comte de Saint-Germain, turned in the driver’s seat to look over his shoulder at Scathach. “And you cannot see it?”
Scathach leaned forward between Saint-Germain and Joan, who was sitting in the passenger seat, and stared through the windshield. Directly in front of her was the ruined fa¸ade of the great cathedral of Notre Dame. The world-famous gargoyles and grotesques that had decorated the front of the ancient building now lay in heaped rubble on the parvis. Groups of academics from across France, surrounded by volunteers and students, milled around in front of the cathedral, attempting to put the shattered pieces of stone back together again. All of the larger lumps of stone had little numbered stickers on them.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
Saint-Germain rested both hands on the steering wheel of the black Renault and raised his sharp chin, pointing it toward the center of the rock-strewn square. “Can you not see a faint golden pillar of light?”
Scathach squinted her grass green eyes, turned her head from side to side, searching, then finally said, “No.”
The count looked at his wife.
“No,” Joan of Arc said.
“It’s there,” Saint-Germain insisted.
“I’ve no doubts about that,” Scathach said quickly. “I just cannot see it.”
“But I can,” Saint-Germain mused aloud. “Now, that’s a mystery,” he said delightedly. “I just assumed everyone could see it.”
Joan reached out, clamped iron-hard fingers over her husband’s arm and squeezed tightly enough to silence him. “You can puzzle it out later, dear. Right now we need to go.”
“Oh, absolutely.” The count brushed his long black hair off his forehead and then pointed to the center of the square. “Two ley lines connect the West Coast of America to Paris. Both are incredibly ancient, and one—this one, in fact—circumnavigates the globe, linking together all the primeval places of power.” He tilted the rearview mirror to look at Scathach. “When you, Nicholas and the twins arrived, you came in on the line that ends at the Sacré-Coeur basilica in Montmartre. Theoretically, it should not have worked, but obviously the Witch of Endor was powerful enough to activate it.”
“Francis,” Joan warned, “we don’t have time for a history lesson.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Well, the other line, the much more powerful ley line, is here at Point Zero outside Notre Dame in the center of the city.”
“Point Zero?” Scathach asked.
“Point Zero,” the count repeated, pointing toward the cathedral. “The very heart of Paris; this place has been special for millennia. This is the place from which all distances to Paris are measured.”
“I’ve often wondered why this particular spot was chosen,” Joan said. “It wasn’t some accident or random choice, then?”
“Hardly. Humans have worshipped here since before the Romans arrived. They have always been drawn to this place and the others like it. Perhaps, deep down in their DNA, people remembered that there was a leygate here. There are Point Zeros or Kilometer Zeros in just about every capital city in the world. And there are nearly always leygates nearby. There was a time when I used them to travel the globe.”
Joan looked at her husband. Although they had known one another for centuries, they had only recently married, and she realized that there was still much she didn’t know about him. She pointed toward the cathedral. “What do you see?”
“I see a golden column of light shining up into the heavens.”
Joan squinted out into the early-afternoon sunlight, but she saw nothing. Her eye was caught by a flash of bright red over her shoulder as Scathach also shook her head. “These columns: are they always gold?” she asked.
“Not always: they are either gold or silver. On my travels into the Far East, I saw silver spires. Once, before he lost the ability to see clearly, I believe that ancient man would have been able to identify leygates by simply looking to the skies to find the nearest gold or silver shaft of light.” He turned to look at Scathach. “Can the Elders see leygates?”
Scathach shrugged. “I have no idea,” she said dismissively. “I cannot, and before you ask, I’ve never heard of any Next Generation who was able to see them either.” The young-looking woman settled a black backpack onto her shoulders, then pulled a wide black bandana down over her forehead, completely concealing all traces of her red hair. Her matching short swords were wrapped up in a rolled blanket tied across the top of the backpack. “So what do we do?”
The count looked at his watch. “This gate will activate at precisely one-forty-nine p.m., which is solar noon over Paris—that’s the time the sun is at its zenith.”
“I know what solar noon means,” Scatty muttered.
“Walk straight up to Point Zero and stand there. Set into the cobblestones you will find a circle surrounding a miniature sunburst. The circle is divided into two parts. Make sure both of you have one foot in each section. I’ll do the rest,” Saint-Germain said. “Once the gate is active, I can send you on your way.”
“And the gendarmes?” Joan asked, pulling on a matching backpack. She carried her sword in a thick tube that had once held a camera tripod.
“I’ll take care of them, too.” Francis grinned, revealing his crooked teeth. “Stay in the car until you see the police talking to me, then move. And no matter what happens, don’t stop until you reach Point Zero. Then wait.”
“What then?” Scatty demanded. She hated using leygates. They always made her feel seasick.
The count shrugged. “Well, if everything goes according to plan, you will instantaneously arrive on the West Coast of America.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Scatty asked in alarm as Saint-Germain climbed out of the car. “What happens if it doesn’t go as planned: where do we end up then?”
“Who knows?” Francis threw up his hands. “The gates are solar-or lunar-powered, depending on the direction they run. I suppose there is always the possibility that if something went wrong, you could emerge in the heart of the sun or on the dark side of the moon. This line runs
east to west, so it is a sun line,” he added, then smiled. “You’ll be fine. He drew Joan into his arms, held her tight, then kissed her lightly on both cheeks and whispered in her ear. Then he twisted around in the seat to look at the Warrior Maid. “Stay safe. Get Perenelle off the island and contact me. I’ll come and get you.” The count climbed out of the car, shoved both hands in the pockets of his long black leather coat and sauntered over to the nearest gendarme.
Joan turned to look at her friend. “You’ve got that look about you,” she said.
“What look?” Scatty asked innocently, green eyes glittering.
“I call it your battle face. I first saw it the day you rescued me from the fire. Something happens to your face, it becomes … sharper.” She reached back and ran a finger along Scathach’s cheek. It was as if the flesh had tightened on her bones, clearly defining the skull beneath. Her freckles stood out on her pale skin like drops of blood.
“It’s my vampire heritage.” The Shadow grinned, long teeth savage in her mouth. “It happens to my clan when we are excited. Some of the blood drinkers cannot control the change and it alters them utterly, making them monsters.”
“You’re excited to be going into battle?” Joan asked quietly.
Scatty nodded, happy. “I’m excited to be rescuing our dearest friend.”
“It will not be easy. She is trapped on an island full of monsters.”
“What about them? You are the legendary Jeanne d’Arc, and I am the Shadow. What can stand against us?”
“A sphinx?” Joan suggested.
“They’re not so tough,” Scatty said lightly. “I fought the sphinx and her appalling mother before.”
“Who won?” Joan asked, biting back a smile.
“Who do you think?” Scatty began, then corrected herself. “Well, actually, I ran away ….”
itting with their backs against the wall of the barn, legs stretched out in front of them, the twins watched Nicholas and Gilgamesh arguing outside. The Alchemyst was standing still and silent; the king was gesticulating wildly.
“What language are they speaking?” Josh asked. “Sounds almost familiar.”
“Hebrew,” Sophie said without thinking.
Josh nodded. He settled himself more comfortably against the wall. “You know, I thought …,” he began slowly, struggling to find the words through a blanket of exhaustion. “I thought it would be more …” He shrugged. “I don’t know. More spectacular.”
“You saw what I saw,” Sophie said with a tired smile. “You don’t call that spectacular?”
He shrugged again. “It was interesting. But I don’t feel any different. I thought … I don’t know, I thought that after learning one of the magics, I’d feel … stronger, maybe. And how do we even use this Water magic?” he asked, holding both hands straight out in front of him. “Do we do something with our auras and think about water? Should we practice?”
“Instinct. You’ll know what to do when the time is right.” Sophie reached out and pushed her brother’s hands down. “You can’t use your aura,” she reminded him, “it will reveal our location. This is the third of the elemental magics I’ve learned,” she said, “and you’re right, it’s not spectacular, but neither were the others. I didn’t feel any stronger or faster or anything like that when I learned Air or Fire. But I do feel …” She paused, looking for the right word. “Different.”
“Different?” He looked at his twin. “You don’t look different, except when your eyes turn silver. Then you’re scary.”
Sophie nodded. She knew what he meant; she had seen her brother’s eyes turn to flat gold discs and it had been terrifying. Leaning her head back against the smooth wood, she closed her eyes. “Do you remember when you had the cast taken off your arm last year?”
Josh grunted. “Never forget it.” He’d broken his arm in a bad tackle the previous summer and had spent three months in a cast.
“What did you say when the cast was cut off?”
Josh unconsciously raised his left hand, turning it in a half circle, closing his fingers into a fist. The cast had been incredibly irritating; there were so many things he just couldn’t do with it, including tying his shoelaces. “I said I felt like me again.”
“That’s how I feel.” Sophie opened her eyes and looked at her brother. “With every magic I learn, I feel more and more complete. It’s as if parts of me have been missing all my life and now I’m becoming whole again, piece by piece.”
Josh tried a laugh, but it came out sounding shaky. “I guess by the time you learn the last magic you won’t need me anymore.”
Sophie reached out and squeezed her brother’s arm. “Don’t be silly. You’re my twin. We are the two that are one.”
“The one that is all,” he finished.
“I wonder what it means,” Sophie whispered.
“I have a feeling we’ll find out—whether we want to or not,” Josh said.
aint-Germain was a rock star, famous throughout Europe, and the young police officer recognized him immediately. He came forward, snapped a quick salute and then pulled off his leather glove as the count stretched out his hand. Behind the smoked glass in the car the two women—Next Generation and human immortal—watched as Francis shook the man’s hand and then deftly turned him so that he was facing away from the road.
“Let’s go.” Joan eased open the car door and slipped out into the warm afternoon air. A heartbeat later, Scathach joined her, gently pressing her door closed behind her. Side by side the two young-looking women walked toward the cathedral. They passed close enough to Francis and the gendarme to hear part of the conversation.
“… a disgrace, a national tragedy. I was thinking I should have a concert to raise money for the repair of the cathedral ….”
“I’d go,” the gendarme said immediately.
“I would insist on free entrance for our brave police, ambulance and fire officers, of course.”
Joan and Scathach slipped under the flapping police tape and started to step through the piles of stone. Much of the rubble was dust, but some of the larger fragments still retained ghostly images of the figures they’d been before the twins had unleashed their elemental magic. Scatty saw traces of claws and beaks, sweeping horns and curling tails. A stone ball lay alongside a weathered hand. She glanced at Joan and both women turned to look at the front of the cathedral. The devastation was incredible: huge chunks of the building were missing, scraped or torn off, and portions looked as if it had been attacked by a wrecking ball.
“In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it,” Scathach murmured, “and that was only with two powers.”
“And only one twin had those powers,” Joan reminded her.
“Can you imagine what would happen if they possessed all the elemental magics?”
“They would have the power to destroy the world or remake it,” Joan said.
“And that’s the prophecy,” Scathach said simply.
“Hey, you! You two. Stop there!”
The voice came from directly ahead of them.
“Stop. Stop right there.” The second voice came from behind them.
“Keep going,” Scatty muttered.
Joan glanced over her shoulder to see the young police officer attempting to extricate himself from Francis’s viselike grip. Suddenly, the count released him and the man tumbled to the ground. In attempting to help him to his feet, Francis stepped on the hem of his long black coat, stumbled and fell on top of the man, pinning him down.
“You two. You don’t belong here.” A shaven-headed, shaggy-bearded middle-aged academic jumped to his feet before them. He’d been lying on the ground, piecing together tiny fragments of an eagle’s wing. He came forward, waving a clipboard in their faces. “You are trampling over priceless historical artifacts.”
“I’m not sure we could damage them any further if we tried.” Without breaking stride, Scatty snatched the plastic clipboard from the man’s grasp and tore it in two as easily as if
it were a sheet of paper. She tossed the pieces at his feet. The man looked at what had been his clipboard lying on the ground, then turned and ran off, shouting.
“Very subtle, very discreet,” Joan said.
“Very effective,” Scatty said, and strode onto Point Zero.
Point Zero was in the middle of the square. Set into the cobbles was a circle of flat gray stone, divided into four parts. In the center was a circle of brighter stone with a sunburst design cut into it. The sunburst had eight arms radiating from its middle, though two were worn smooth by the passage of countless feet and rubbing fingers. The words Point Zero Des Routes De France were cut into the outer stones. There was plenty of space for Scathach and Joan to stand within the circle back to back, a foot on each section. “What happens …,” Scathach began.
ow?” Scathach finished.
Then she squeezed her eyes shut, pressed one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth and collapsed to her knees. Scathach felt the world tilt and fought the urge to throw up, until she suddenly realized she was kneeling on soft earth. With her eyes still tightly shut, she patted the ground and felt long grass beneath her fingers. Then strong arms pulled her to her feet and cool hands cupped her face. Scathach opened her eyes to find Joan’s face inches from her own. There was a smile on the Frenchwoman’s elegant mouth.
“How do you feel?” Joan asked in French.
“Seasick.”
“You’ll live,” Joan laughed. “I used to tell my troops that if they could still feel pain, they were alive.”
“I bet they loved you,” Scatty grumbled.
“Actually, they all did,” Joan said.
“So we didn’t fall into the sun.” Scathach straightened and looked around. “We made it,” she sighed. “Oh, it’s good to be back home.”
The Sorceress Page 30
