How could she prevent such a catastrophe? She had believed for a long time that she could save Ash from himself. She no longer entertained such hubris. He was long gone, so far past sanity that there could be no drawing him back. Not by any power that she possessed. And she was not so sure, anymore, that she even wanted to.
She had known of all the terrible things he had done, but it seemed that seeing really is believing. Not until she had seen him ready to murder Jack with his own hands, had she seen the truth. The truth that she had not wanted to see. Had it been anyone but Jack, it might have taken her even longer to see.
She had been so wrapped up in Ash that Jack had seemed to fade into the background. But he had always been there, she understood now, in Ashtoreth’s face. Every time she saw him, it was Jack she was really seeing. Like looking in a mirror and seeing your own face. She had recognised him in his reflection, but it was not him. Odd how meeting Ash had finally helped her to truly see Jack. She had never been able to see him when she had been looking directly at him. Like her own face, she had only been able to see him in his mirror image.
And Jack. He had not understood. She had seen the pain of betrayal on his face. If she could only get back to him, he would understand. She would make him understand. But how was she ever to get back? Ash would certainly never let her go and the only other person who knew the secret of this place was apparently Jack himself. And if he was foolish enough to return here for her, Ash would kill him instantly.
How had he figured it out anyway? Oh, Jack was clever, very clever to have found his way in here. But … clever enough to figure out a way to come back now, without being caught? Well, if he wasn’t, Mum and Dad would think of something. They wouldn’t just leave her here. Even if Jack told them that she had chosen to come. Dad would never believe it anyway.
‘… And what do you suppose is the greatest power in the world?’ Ash broke through her thoughts.
She forced herself to attend to the question. What on earth had he been talking about anyway?
‘Er, it’s the Djinn isn’t it?’ she said, giving him a hopeful smile.
‘Hah! You might think so,’ he said. ‘Many do. But even a Djinn whose power is not dependent on a master is not as powerful as I will soon be. I have found the oldest and greatest power ever to reside on this Earth.’ He smiled. ‘Can you really not guess what it is?’
Iffie though he was talking metaphorically now, and, given his obsession … ‘God?’ she said.
‘I can hardly take the power of God himself for my own now can I?’ he laughed. ‘No, I was talking about an Earthly power. The oldest power. It has survived to this day although few know it. They are the eldest. They walked the Earth before human life was even thought of, and their later brethren cannot come close to matching their power and majesty. There were seven, so I sent out seven warriors – six have returned. One would have done.’
Now Iffie knew what he was talking about. ‘The conclave of Cetus?’ she gasped. ‘Dragons!’
‘Six dragons,’ he affirmed. ‘The first, the eldest, the most powerful dragons in history.’
‘Such noble creatures,’ he continued. ‘They were from a time before sin existed.’
He adopted his lecturing tone and began to declaim. ‘Before the time of men, was the time of the dragons. There were seven at the beginning living all over the world. The father of those dragons was Cetus, one of the dragons of Joppa, the other was unnamed, and no one knows what became of him. It is ridiculous rumour to suggest that he was killed by a man. No mortal man has ever had that power. Cetus was of the sea, the greatest power this world had ever seen.
‘The dragon called the Tararque was different from his brothers. They say he has six legs the head of a lion the paws of a bear and a scaly body with a barbed tail.
‘And in the West there were four dragons known only as the Drakon in Greek and Draco in roman the British refer to it as the Drake. If they ever had names they have been long forgotten. These dragons have the characteristics that many of the typical fantasy dragons do. They have four taloned feet, a pair of wings that are like that of a bat. Their heads have a crest and a beard underneath their chin. Some have horns or antlers. They have tough scales; their stomachs are like that of crocodiles. It is said that the blood of these western dragons have powerful healing properties and the blood also allows the understanding of other languages. It is also said that these brother dragons have a gem in their head known as the Draconce or Dragon-stone it is a brilliant red it is said to have curative powers.
‘And then there were the eastern dragons. Chinese dragons play with a ball of light known as the sacred pearl; this is thought to be the source of the dragon’s power. Chinese dragons have the power to polymorph (change their shape). The father of these is a dragon named Chiao, who is the supreme Dragon of the earth.’ He stopped abruptly he seemed to have finished his lecture for now, so Iffie ventured a question.
‘And … and they still exist?’
‘Oh, yes, and I shall be immortal, as they were, until their power was stripped from them.’
‘How…?’
‘These,’ Ashtoreth took from his robes what was unmistakable to Iffie as an Athame. ‘I’m not above stealing a good idea,’ he said. ‘Demons make these, and a demon is merely a corrupted angel. I forged these in the place where my mother once forged her ring … She never realised that I knew about that. But …’ He shrugged. ‘Servants talk.’ he looked at her, his eyes shining.
‘That’s amazing,’ she said, as she was evidently meant to.
‘And he’s going to use this power to kill my family. I’ve got to find a way to stop him’.
* * *
When Tamar heard about Iffie she hit the roof, and in her case, this was not a metaphor. Denny had to bring her down quite carefully. She was so angry that she completely missed the point at first. At last – Ashtoreth had been found. Of course, this opened up a whole new set of problems – such as what to do with him.
‘I’ll kill him,’ she snarled through gritted teeth. She grabbed a sword (part of Denny’s old collection) off the wall. ‘Slowly,’ she added viciously.
‘You can’t,’ said Cindy coming into the room.
Tamar turned. ‘Look, I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ she said. ‘I understand how you must feel but…’
‘No,’ said Cindy. ‘I mean you literally can’t. At least not with that.’ she indicated the sword. ‘He’s part angel. His flesh is incorruptible. No blade will pierce him. Not even yours,’ she said to Denny.
‘But the Athame will cut through anything,’ said Denny.
‘Not him,’ Cindy assured him.
‘Damn,’ said Denny. ‘I was kind of counting on being able to draw his power without killing him.’
‘Really?’ said Tamar sounding surprised.
‘Oh I wasn’t being merciful,’ he said. ‘Death would be merciful in comparison to that. At least for him.’
‘Isn’t there any way round it?’ asked Tamar.
‘You can’t ask her that,’ said Denny. ‘It’s not fair.’
But Cindy answered. ‘It’s okay. I never really had much hope that you would be able to show mercy in the end. The only way is if he is no longer pure. Why do you think I kept him locked away from the world for so long?’
‘Pure?’ said Denny. ‘You mean like … as long as he hasn’t … um …’
‘Right as long as he hasn’t “um”,’ said Cindy.
‘So he’s immortal?’ asked Tamar.
‘No, no, he will not live forever. He’s the exact opposite of you in that respect. He will grow old and die eventually, but he cannot die an unnatural death.’
‘How do we know he hasn’t – “ummed”?’ said Jack who was pretty certain that he had. Or would have soon.’
‘He knows as well as anyone what would happen,’ said Cindy. ‘Why would he risk it? He won’t, not yet anyway.’
‘Do impure thoughts count as corruption?’ said Jack. ‘Bec
ause if they do I reckon we’ve got him.’
Cindy did not think so. Neither did anyone else. At least, they were not about to risk their lives on the possibility.
Because that was the other problem. What was this mysterious power that he had mentioned to Jack before he made his standard villain’s exit?
‘Are you sure he wasn’t bluffing?’ said Tamar.
‘I know he wasn’t,’ said Jack. ‘He looked so … so … satisfied with himself. I could just tell. Besides, I saw the guys who were going to make the “sacrifice”. They thought I was him.’
‘You know, the sooner we go in after him the better,’ said Tamar. ‘Before he takes on this power would be best. But even if it’s too late for that, learning to use a new power takes time. I should know. We can tackle him while he’s still finding his feet. Better than later on, when he’s had some practice.’
‘And do what, exactly?’ said Denny. ‘If we can’t kill him … wait a minute, if we can’t kill him, why did he run? What was he afraid of?’
‘It wasn’t fear,’ said Cindy. ‘At least, not for his skin – so to speak. He knew that if he couldn’t die at your hands, neither could you die at his. Not then. He didn’t have the power. But now, who knows.’
‘So, he had a plan. He ran because there was no point in hanging around?’ said Tamar.
‘He always was horribly logical,’ said Cindy. ‘Like a machine.’
‘Well, it’s a pity he wasn’t programmed better,’ said Jack nastily.
Cindy flinched.
‘Jack,’ said Denny sternly. ‘You can take us to Ashtoreth’s palace?’ he ended surprisingly. Jack had been expecting a reprimand.
‘Yes, but you have to sort of … let me.’
‘Let you?’
‘I’ll have to sort of … kind of … But not exactly… er, take over your minds.
Just for a minute,’ he continued hurriedly, ‘and there’s really nothing sinister about it. It’s not like mind control … well it is, but … you see, you have to see the world the way I do. I have to show you.’
‘Where exactly is this place?’ said Tamar.
‘It’s a realm of the imagination.’ said Jack. ‘Down at the old warehouse on Culiver Street.’ he pointed at Cindy. ‘She imagined that the old warehouse was a huge palace and because she was a god at the time she made it real. Gods understand the power of belief better than any other beings – the power of sustainable creation. Zeus created a palace on the top of mount Olympus. Odin … well you get the idea. When you go up there, there’s no palace that you can find. It’s not really there. But the gods lived there anyway. I’m sorry I can see it better than I can explain it.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Denny. ‘I think I get the general idea. How do you know all this anyway?’
‘I … someone told me – well showed me,’ said Jack awkwardly. ‘He doesn’t want to be involved, I promised I wouldn’t say. He could get into trouble or something.’
From this, everyone jumped to the same conclusion; that it was Clive he was talking about.
‘I’ve seen Olympus,’ said Tamar inconsequentially. ‘And we’ve all seen Valhalla.’
‘And now Iffie’s seen … what did you call it anyway?’ said Jack to Cindy.
‘It has no name,’ said Cindy. ‘Naming it would have been dangerous – made it too real. A thing with a name has an existence. And anything that has an existence requires a file. You would have been able to find it in the mainframe. The home of the Olympians has no name. Only those taken there by the gods can enter. Valhalla is accessible to anyone because it has a name.’
‘You couldn’t have told us all this before?’ said Denny impatiently.
‘What difference could it make?’ asked Cindy in a perplexed tone.
Denny took Cindy by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. ‘Give it a name now,’ he told her.
Cindy’s eyes widened. ‘Oh!’ she said in shock.
~ Chapter Seventeen ~
It really was a magnificent dress, Iffie had to admit. But it just was not her. And she felt horribly exposed without her heavy makeup and several tons of jewellery. But Ash had insisted.
Iffie could feel the resentment burning away inside her. This was his idea of a relationship, was it? ‘He tells me what to do, and I do it?’
The truth was, although she knew she was a pretty girl, she did not feel that she had inherited her mother’s singular beauty, and her way of dealing with this was to cover her face up as much as possible, so that it was quite hard to tell what she really looked like. For all anyone knew, she might look like anything underneath – even her mother. It was a “look” rather than a natural appearance. She glanced in the large mirror at her naked face and saw quite a lot of her father’s features looking back at her. His eyes for sure, and his razor like cheekbones, but her mother’s dark hair and brows. The effect was striking but not beautiful, she thought. She looked like a million other girls, unlike Tamar, who looked like no other girls anywhere.
But what the mirror did not show her was that, in her own way, she looked like no other girl anywhere either. The fire behind the eyes, the shifting colours within that changed like a stormy sky with each different thought. Hypnotic eyes. Denny’s eyes. (And he had never seen his own face as others saw it either. Never understood that when people looked at him, they did not see the thin, pale unshaven face, all they saw was his eyes.) And the faint blush under the skin that made her look as if she were lit by an inner glow. That same glow that she saw in her mother’s face, but never in her own.
The best of both of them; that was what people saw in her, and what she would never be able to see in herself.
She stared at her reflection with dissatisfaction; it was worse than just a lack of her usual armour against the world. Her hair was scraped back into a demure pilgrim style, and the dress, although lovely, was white. A terrible colour on her she felt. She looked like that princess in that movie who lived a long time ago in a galaxy far far away. “Liar” or something like that.
Well, that was appropriate anyway.
* * *
It was not going to be a big ceremony or anything, far from it. Ash wanted to keep this pretty quiet for some reason. Perhaps the purloining of power from ancient dragons did not quite fit in with the image he wanted to project to his followers. But she was to be there. Ash needed an audience it seemed, even if it was just an audience of one. Why else would he be making such a big deal about this?
It was pretty horrible. Six fools all just lined up to die. No need for Athames here. Apparently the power would just pass to Ash naturally, as the power he had bestowed on them earlier passed back to him.
Iffie was unsure how this would work. That the power he had given them himself would return to him when they died made sense. But the power of the dragons resided in the Athames surely?’
Could another Athame take her father’s power, for example? Did that power reside within him or the Athame or both?
She had always understood that if he lost the Athame he would lose his power also. But … he owned the Athame, and, therefore, its power.
‘All that is yours, surrender to me,’ Ashtoreth was saying.
‘All that is ours we surrender to you,’ parroted the men.
And then each man stabbed himself with his Athame. And in a blinding flash of revelation, Iffie understood. It was damnably clever, in a horribly twisted sort of way. She was sure she never would have thought of it.
The power had nowhere else to go but back into Ashtoreth. It could not go into the Athame – it was already there, and it could not go into the man using it – he was using it on himself. It could only follow the direction of the only other power transfer taking place within these men as they died – and that was back to Ashtoreth. The path of least resistance.
The only change in Ashtoreth was a beatific expression that Iffie found particularly nauseating under the circumstances. There was no thunderclap, no flash of light, nothing.
>
‘I hope you’re happy with yourself, you murdering bastard,’ she thought, bending down to look at the dead men on the floor as Ashtoreth stretched his limbs luxuriously. The poor things, they may have done terrible things, but he was ultimately responsible. For their deaths too. She hoped they would be forgiven and go to Heaven, after all. She would pray for them. No one else would. This man for example, she lifted his head, he looked as if he might have been quite nice (under different circumstances).
‘What are you doing there?’ asked Ashtoreth suspiciously.
‘Praying for them,’ she said truthfully. What did he fear she was doing, she wondered.
‘Of course,’ he said indifferently. They were nothing to him now.
‘Monster,’ she thought.
Then the change in him became apparent as he spread his wings. They were no longer the white, fluffy wings of an angel but the bat like wings of a dragon. Iffie took an involuntary step backwards, just in time, as Ashtoreth blew out a stream of fire from his open mouth.
He put a hand over his mouth and gave an embarrassed giggle as if he had just burped. ‘Oops! Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t singe you did I?’
‘No,’ she said coldly. ‘I’m fine. The tapestry is on fire, though,’ she added, stalking swiftly from the room.
She ripped off the hated dress, pulled down her hair and changed into her customary black rags. She was just thrusting her fingers angrily into her rings as Ashtoreth entered without knocking.
She turned as he came in and gave him such a look as would have stopped most men in their tracks.
Rise Of The Nephilim (The Tamar Black Saga) Page 20
