My eyes widen as I take in this surprising news.
The Oracle of Delphi—that’s what I am?
What would that role even entail?
Blinking back the tears burning in my eyes, my heart folds in on itself. I’m so close—I could have it all. A life, a love of my own. I could finally age and die— But if I don’t regain my gifts fully, I can’t help Blake and I may lose my chance with him altogether. Hell, maybe I already have.
Chewing on my lip, I flip back and forth between my decision.
This is not the way I like to make decisions—impetuously, impulsively. Not anymore. But what choice do I have?
“I accept,” I say, the words stinging my tongue as they tumble out.
I can’t believe I’m throwing it all away—but there’s no other option. A new sense of purpose—of direction emboldens my being. If I can unlock my memories and the rest of my abilities, I’ll be able to see everything more clearly. I’ll be able to help Blake—and help the girls.
Suddenly, from the center of the room, the same style of pedestal from my memory rises from the ground. This time, instead of a golden bowl of water, the large bowl in the center is pounded silver; reminiscent of the way moonlight pools along the water’s edge.
Jasmine and rose continue permeating the air and while I see no one, I sense the power and presence of the Goddess.
“You have performed powerful magic, Pythia. More potent than you realize. The water from my river will return to you that which you’ve forgotten and lift any blockages to the memories they shield back. Be ready for the deluge. It will give rise to a power you perhaps didn’t realize you were holding at bay,” Mnemosyne says, her words echoing within and around me.
Swallowing down my trepidation, I nod. “I understand and I’m ready.”
“Drink, and it shall be done,” Mnemosyne’s voice is like music on the wind as it tinkles with its own air of magic.
Stepping forward to the pedestal, I take a deep breath and peer within. The water ripples gently around the edge of the bowl and my mind flashes back to the last memory I was gifted. To think it all comes full circle. I was here, crying out to the universe, to Apollo and Mnemosyne, to take my memories as I wished away the despair I felt for losing Anastasios.
And now, I’m right back where I started, desperate to have everything returned so I can save his reincarnated soul.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed I’d be here. Especially since reincarnation never seemed plausible since I never received any insights it was—
Holy shit—that’s another way this spell affected what I could see.
Shaking away the mild revelation, I cup my hands, dipping them in the cool, clear water and raising the liquid to my lips. I drink in the power and energy from the Mnemosyne River—or at least a small offering gifted to me by the Goddess herself. I allow it to wash away all the blockages I’ve placed upon myself—knowing full well there’s no turning back now.
I will live my life eternally and in the servitude of Apollo—for whatever that means.
It also means I will watch Blake live, grow old, and die—if I’m lucky.
When nothing happens from the first sips, I dip my hands in again, and continue to consume as much of the water as I can bear. I’m acutely aware of the clarity and cleanliness in the motion this time around—there’s no blood on my hands, no tears. But the same fierce determination stirs inside my belly.
Without warning, the cavern itself rumbles—the walls and ground both quake with the energy of Mnemosyne’s magic. Stones unhinge from their hiding places along the walls and ceiling, crashing to the floor around me. From behind me, deep crevasses eek across the wall where I carved Mnemosyne’s mark, fracturing the stone and forcing slabs of rock to slam to the ground; annihilating the symbol and any power it possessed.
An outburst of energy explodes from the stone slabs and I’m thrown forward in the momentum. Swirls of purple, blue, and white streaks circle around me, unbinding me from the pull of Mnemosyne’s mark. Dropping to my knees, I steady myself on the floor, my fingertips digging into the rock and dirt beneath me as I’m suddenly overcome by the urge to heave. Just like before, I clutch at my stomach, doubling over as whatever magic imbued in the water releases its torrent within me.
Memories flood into my awareness, bursting through and inundating all of my senses—every single one. All of my experiences; sight, sound, taste, smell, touch—I recall every glance, every embrace, every stolen moment with Anastasios. There was a reason I lost my entire first twenty-four years—he was there, with me, every step of the way. He and I were inseparable from the moment we could crawl, walk, and talk. There wasn’t a moment where Anastasios wasn’t somehow intertwined with my life and it was clear, even to the Gods, how intertwined our souls were.
As small children, we would play down at the Gulf of Corinth, carving small boats in the driftwood and racing them together. We would sneak out at night, playing in the moonlight and telling each other ghost stories. Then, when adolescence followed us, we would sit by the same water’s edge, watching the sunset through stolen kisses. I remember the smell of his skin as his lips lingered on mine and the way he always tasted like grapes.
I close my eyes and touch my lips.
His eyes were the same color as they are now—a deep, passionate brown with more flecks of colors hidden in the intricacies of his irises.
When I was tapped to become one of Apollo’s priestesses—we didn’t know I would become his sole prophetic vessel. Neither of us knew I would become immortal—not at first. But as this news arose, Anastasios was there with me when it rocked my world. He held me and kissed my forehead as I swore to Apollo, then and there, that I would never serve a master who would be so cruel. I didn’t want the burden of being alone forever, but Anastasios promised me he would remain by my side in whatever way he could—even if it meant we could never really be together.
He joined Apollo’s guard—just so he could protect the Temple and all of the priestesses inside—but everyone knew he was really there for me.
He was strong, and capable, and loyal like that. There was no one else—not a single soul I could ever have imagined myself with. Even Apollo himself took second place to the love I felt for Anastasios.
But the day my sister took him from me—
Iphitheme.
My eyes widen with newfound enlightenment as the memory returns.
He didn’t die of natural causes. It wasn’t the natural course, or the plan Apollo had laid out. Instead, it was my sister—a priestess in my inner sanctum who took matters into her own hands. How could he have seen her betrayal coming when he swore an oath to protect her?
The jealousy lingering in her gorgeous blue eyes cripples my heart to see it again in my mind’s eye and tears pool behind my eyelids before streaming down my cheeks. My heart shatters all over again, forcing me to double over and place my head against the ground as I give in to the potency of the memories and the fallout from their revelations.
As the cognizance takes hold, it demolishes any sense of tranquility or self-assuredness I had; replacing it with doubt, agony, envy, anger, and grief at all I’ve lost. At the betrayal of it all.
The recollection of my sister and her actions rips me apart. Long gone; Iphitheme’s body is now nothing more than a dusty memory of the legacy of the Temple of Apollo. I wish more than anything I could confront her and ask her to take it all back.
Her motivations become clear as the discovery unfolds in tandem with my gifts. She didn’t want Anastasios to soil the reputation of purity for the Oracle of Delphi. She feared for the sanctity of the priestesses—and all that she worked so hard for.
But in her actions, in her fear—she destroyed it all. Both the Oracle and the priestesshood’s venerableness, not to mention, the Temple of Apollo—everything. After what she did, it all crumbled and fell apart because the Pythia was no longer operable. Not when the Oracle up and vanished.
I up a
nd vanished.
When the memories bring me back to my starting point, the energy begins to slow down, and the revelations cease. The pain and heaviness of the past bears no weight now—not when Anastasios soul is alive and well in Blake.
I have to find him—
Kneeling, I place my hands on my thighs and straighten my back. I’m no good to anyone—not Blake, not the girls—if I’m a big puddle of mess on the floor. I force the memories inside to go into deeper waters. To calm themselves by burying them in an undercurrent so I can bring the matters at hand to the surface.
Blinking back my tears, I wipe them away with the back of my hand and take a deep, cleansing breath.
“Diana, you would not have been given these gifts if you weren’t capable of bearing their weight,” I say aloud, shaking away the inundation of emotions and images. “It’s time you stop hiding and start doing what you’re put on this damn Earth to do.”
Without skipping another beat, my resolve hardens, and I place my hands on the cavern floor, knowing I will need grounding. The space rumbles, jostling pebbles and loose stones free—this time not from Mnemosyne, but from the power and magic residing within me as I unleash my gifts.
I will find Blake before time is up.
White hot energy shoots from my fingertips as I splay them wide. Suddenly, my vision blanks out entirely and I’m consumed in a field of perception of only the color white. Though I’m acutely aware of my surroundings, my vision sees and senses the white light as if it’s the only thing that really matters—as if all particles, atoms, subatomic particles—everything exists solely in the clarity of the light.
My thoughts drift to Blake and my vision abruptly and instantaneously shifts.
My awareness spreads out, concurrently searching for Blake and the girls at the same time. Memories weren’t the only thing unlocked by releasing Mnemosyne’s symbol—the power driven by Apollo unleashes itself and I see through the lens of Godlike eyes as his prophetic vision is left unhindered and coursing through me.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Blake is alive but bound by gunpoint further in the cave. Interestingly enough, he’s not far from where the girls are being held. Rocking back on my feet, the worries, reasoning, and thoughts of everyone in the vicinity meander into my mind as if beckoned by a lover’s hand.
“Told you it was him,” a man says.
Beside him, another man snickers—
My mouth drops open in surprise. The men who have the girls also have Blake.
I take another breath, digging deeper into the minds and memories of the two men.
One of them had been sent ahead to scout the area and radio back when tourists had left. But he had spotted Blake and acted. The grungy old man from the blue cabin back home had a surveillance system installed in his house and they had our faces. Each of them were on alert for being followed—just in case.
I dive deeper, allowing my senses to truly dig in and listen—
“There—all tied up and secure,” the first man says, wiping his hands across his green shirt. His lips curve into a sneer.
“That’s great. Really. What in the hell are we supposed to do with this asshole?” the second man says, kicking at Blake’s limp body as it rests on the ground.
Blake’s mind is blank—clearly not conscious enough to tap into yet. But his energy signature is alive and well.
“I dunno—but I couldn’t just leave him out there. As soon as I spotted him, I knew I had to act. You know what happened with the little girl back in the States. He and that bitch stole her right out from under us. Who knows what the hell he was planning to do.”
“What if he’s got backup, moron? Or maybe he’s been tagged with some sort of GPS locator. You coulda led the police right to us for all you know,” he spits. “We gotta distance ourselves from him and quick. Start rounding up the girls.”
I don’t actively go searching for personal details and yet they come to me freely. The man with the dirty green shirt and gung-ho attitude’s name is Peter Johnson; a completely ordinary name for someone so vile, and he didn’t want to be on this mission in the first place. At least, not after Blake and I got involved. But his boss wouldn’t let him out of the deal—someone by the name of Lester Lewis. The other man goes by Brady, but his real name is Ralph Anderson—and not even Peter or Lester’s aware of this sleight of hand.
The white light takes form and almost as if a virtual map loads in my mind, the fastest route appears to where they all are. Leaving the present behind, I cast my mind into the future, trying to see the possible outcomes and uncover my best way in.
I could go raging in there, but without Blake, my scope is limited. I don’t have a gun or anything to apprehend them—that was Blake’s play. It’s his area of expertise, not mine.
Stealth it is—
I’ll need to get to Blake without the men seeing me. Then, I need to get him back up and operational, so he can do his part of the job. Together, we can overtake them and get the girls. Easy peasy.
Easing myself to a stand, I sigh in relief. This will all be over soon.
Blake and I will have a lot to discuss. I can’t keep all of this from him—he’ll have to know.
Following my inner compass and the pathway of light in my mind, I walk the cavern pathways. It’s an odd sort of sensation—almost like sleepwalking—as I’m guided closer to where Blake and the girls are being held. In an ironic twist of fate—Ralph Anderson, or Brady, was right. Blake has been tagged, just not with a GPS locator the way they know it.
From where I am, the tunnels leading deeper aren’t entirely walkable. Some require strength and skill to climb up, over, or through narrow passage ways. I’ve never been one to overly love spelunking, because the thought of getting lost in the pitch black—or worse, trapped without a way out. Even my abilities, at least in the past, have had their weaknesses and that was enough to instill caution. Yet, now there’s never a moment where those thoughts arise and give me pause. I know exactly how to get to where I need to be and the most efficient way to do it.
I’m surprised by the way my awareness is vaster than it was before; encompassing movements, thoughts, and placements all in real time and without much effort at all. Before, I had to truly focus to get the information I really wanted, all while sifting out the details just causing noise—all of that is gone now.
I place my tiny flashlight between my teeth, climbing up and into a narrow passageway, as I begin the next leg of my journey. The space is tight, forcing me to crawl on my stomach for a good distance. This isn’t the only way to Blake’s location, but it’s by far the fastest and right now, I’d rather be faster and ensure Blake’s safety, than take my time to protect my own.
A source of water must be nearby because I can sense its stagnation and feel its vibration. The dank air in the cavern begins to close in, flooding my lungs with the memories of long past. Not much in this space has changed over the millennia.
Nearing the end of the narrow tunnel, I scrape my knee against the side of the rocky wall as I push myself forward—rushing. The rough surface shreds through the fabric on my jeans and though I don’t even have to look at it, I already know it’s drawn blood.
“Dammit,” I curse, biting my lip to keep myself quiet.
Sound echoes in these enclosed spaces and alerting the men I’m coming is the last thing I want to do.
Finally, I reach the end of the crawlspace and I clamber through the opening; flopping out onto the dusty cavern floor. Beside me, a small pool of water glimmers in the low light as I release my flashlight and let it fall to the ground.
The way the light hits the liquid and bounces around the enclosed space instantly reminds me of some of Blake’s drawings and paintings and I know why. Pulling up short, I hunch back onto my heels and take a look around. This pocket between the crawlspace and the next tunnel can’t be any larger than four hundred and fifty square feet, and yet, I’d remember it anywhere.
It’s wher
e I found Anastasios’ body.
Chapter 19
DREAD AND DESPAIR overtake me, and I’m suddenly consumed in the memory of what was. As much as I try to push it under, the stone left to the side—it’s the one smattered in his blood, even if it now looks like it’s simply covered in rust. I flashback to the way I found his crumbled body as he took his last breath in my arms. I hear his final labored words when he told me who did this to him.
My shoulder and knee throb, my own blood trickling down my leg—but I don’t make a move.
Instead, my mind twists to my confrontation of Iphitheme.
She didn’t even try to deny it—as though murder was a completely acceptable action for a priestess of Apollo to take. I watched the way her eyes glinted like cold steel and I cried out to Apollo for refusing to let me see this fate before it took place. I cursed his name. I cursed everything about him—I cursed Iphitheme—I cursed this eternal existence.
A vision captures my attention, pulling me from the past and hurtling me into the near future—
“He’s nothin’ but trouble. We need to get rid of him before he fucks up this whole operation. I’m telling ya, this whole thing stinks,” Brady—also known as Ralph—says. He garnishes his handgun, pointing it at Blake’s head.
Blake sits up taller, his arms bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. His eyes widen slightly, but his mind is wielding through scenarios faster than I can keep up.
“What in the hell is he gonna do bound and gagged, Brady? We ain’t gotta be killers,” Peter says, throwing a look of disgust.
My stomach lurches—as if murder is the greater of the two evils when they consider child prostitution and kidnapping.
“Maybe you ain’t—”
The sound of the gun loading a bullet into the chamber snaps me from the vision and I’m on my feet running.
The Chronicles of the 8th Dimension - Limited Edition Box Set (4 Books): A Supernatural Thriller Box Set Page 24
