A Conspiracy of Alchemists
Page 12
The world tilted and moved. Elle felt the gaze of a hundred prying eyes. She covered her face as the howls and cries drained her of all warmth. She felt Marsh tug at her. “This way.”
She felt a slight shift.
“You can open your eyes now.”
She looked about. The scenery had changed. They were drifting on the ice-still water of a pond. The ice was so cold that it was solid and liquid at the same time. It crackled and flickered as they moved over it. Around her everything was frozen and crusted with ice. Black trees clawed at the nothing above them. Their branches were shrouded in lace-fine crystals. She shivered and her teeth started chattering. The only thing alive was Marsh, next to her. Marsh and the shrieks of those searching for her that echoed far in the distance.
“This is what it must feel like to go mad.”
“Some people do go mad from forays into the netherworlds. Some find they can never fully leave, and they never wake up. Some become too afraid to sleep. If the body doesn’t sleep, the mind descends into madness and dies.”
“That’s reassuring. But how did I get here? I definitely don’t remember volunteering for the journey.”
“People like us are drawn here naturally. Often it happens quite spontaneously.”
“People like us?”
She felt him look down at her. “People with gifts.”
“I don’t have any gifts. And I would like to go home now. I don’t like this place. It’s eerie.”
“We are both dreaming, Elle. The only way to find your way back is to take control of things from within you. We go where you take us.”
This is not real. This is not real, she thought to herself.
They drifted along until the shrieks in the distance died down. The icy pond turned into a stream. The ice melted and trickled down the riverbank and into the stream. Trees and vines in the most extraordinary shades of green, blue and purple burst forth from the sides of the river. Everything was shrouded in golden light and exotic color. Large white orchids wove into being and unfurled their fragrant petals. Bright humming birds fluttered between the blooms. A warm breeze wafted the rich perfume of the flowers over them.
“Oh, look.” A blue butterfly landed on her arm. It flexed its wings and then fluttered off. She felt herself grow warm and she stretched as life returned to her limbs.
Marsh murmured something, but she was too drowsy to hear. She felt his arms tighten around her as the world tilted again and the river disappeared in a burst of luminescent shrieks.
She braced herself and buried her face in Marsh’s shoulder. In contrast with their evanescent surroundings, he felt warm and real. The skin of his neck was deliciously silky. Unable to resist the temptation, she ran the tip of her nose against it, savoring the sandalwood scented closeness of him. “I’m scared,” she said against his throat. “And you shouldn’t be here. I don’t trust you, Mr. Marsh. Not one bit.” She shook her head slowly.
Marsh rested his chin in her hair. “We are safe here. I think they are searching for you in the wrong place. Look.” He pointed off into the distance. The tendrils were squirming around in the black distance beyond. “They are looking for you inside your darkest fears.”
“And where are we right now?”
He chuckled. “You have hidden us inside your deepest desires. And there’s no denying that you are a woman with most ardent desires. Even though you hide it very well under that impervious exterior of yours. You should just let go and allow yourself to be. You’ would be so much happier, you know.”
She leaned back a little to face him. “How dare you poke around my most private thoughts without as much as a care for my honor and virtue? If you are to intrude like this, then you should be made to show me yours. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”
It was his turn to look embarrassed. “The inside of my soul is as black as night, Miss Chance. It’s … it’s been many years since I’ve allowed myself to desire anything.” He spoke softly.
“I don’t believe that for one moment,” she said. “We are not progressing one bit further until you show me.”
She felt the balls of his thumbs run across the edge of her jaw, caressing her chin. She could feel her resistance melting … along with all the reasons why she shouldn’t be provoking him.
He smiled a slow smile. “There’s no hiding what I really want in this place,” he said. “I’ve wanted to do this since I laid eyes on you.” With a gentle movement, he lifted her face to his and kissed her.
Oh, blast, he’s right. And I do want him. How annoying. Those were the last few logical thoughts that fluttered out of her brain as a wave of desire took her.
The touch of his mouth sent a jolt of sensation through her. It was so intense that it struck deep into the marrow of her bones. Around them, the river turned into a copper-colored meadow and golden light washed over them.
She melted into him like flame-softened wax, until they were both no more than an abstract of lips and faces, skin and hands. Bodies touching, intertwined, they drifted weightlessly through the shimmering aether. She felt him trace the outline of her and she arched herself into him in response, aching to be one with him.
Clouds of tiny bright-colored flowers gathered round them. They filled the air with their musky perfume. Light refracted and wrapped around them like rich jeweled cloaks. Inside the pool of light they were all that existed. He moved against her with an urgency that could not be mistaken and she felt herself open up as she surrendered herself to him.
He hesitated. She felt him move away from her slightly, and they parted. The light dimmed to nothing.
“Not like this, not with them watching for us.” His voice was strange, heavy-thick. She reached out for him, her burnt-umber hair draped over her slender-pale limbs. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“If I don’t stop this now, I doubt that I will be able to,” he murmured. His eyes were dark with wanting.
She tried to speak, but he placed his finger gently onto her lips. “Don’t say it. I don’t want you to get hurt. It wouldn’t be right.”
They held one another as they listened for noises in the silence for a while. “It sounds like they’ve gone,” she said.
“I should go too.” She felt herself float away from him in the dark-nothing. Suddenly she was very alone.
“Marsh …” Her whisper echoed in the dark.
“I am here,” he said. “You must go back to your own dreams now. Think about where you came from. Who you are …” His voice echoed in the darkness … and then, only silence.
She drifted for a while, wondering what to do next. The dark-silence seemed very calm around her. She thought about her room and felt herself shift. Her bed appeared below her and she felt herself sink down into her body. The last thing she sensed was the weight of the bed covers before ordinary sleep took her.
CHAPTER 20
The next morning, Marsh tapped on the panel door as Elle was putting the last pins into her hair.
“May I come in?” he asked. He was freshly shaved and his shirt collar looked crisp. “Did you sleep well?” She felt a ripple of energy surge though her as she caught the scent of sandalwood that rose up from his cheeks as he brushed by her.
“Like a log,” she lied. “All that flying tires one out.” She did her best to appear nonchalant. Last night’s dream had felt so real, but it was still only a dream. And there was no way she was going to allow this man to think that she was infatuated with him. The mortification she would have to endure if he found out would be too much to bear. Fatigue and spending so much time in close quarters with this man was starting to do strange things to her and she needed to be careful for nothing good would come of it. Of that at least, she was sure.
There was a knock at the door, and Marsh let in a waiter with a tray covered in silver cloches. The man set about serving up breakfast for them on the balcony.
Elle sat down in one of the wicker chairs and took in a deep breath of salty air. The view of the morni
ng sea was breathtaking. She decided that Nice was definitely one of her favorite places. It was such a pity she wasn’t visiting under more pleasant circumstances.
She studied Marsh from under her lashes, but he simply cracked open his boiled egg and dipped a piece of croissant into it seemingly oblivious to their night-time adventure. “I think we should stick to the coastline. Head east,” he said.
Elle took a sip of orange juice. It was freshly squeezed and tart on her tongue. She nodded. “That should make navigating easier. And we won’t have to worry about mountain ranges that way. I have no idea how high the ’copter can go, and I’m not so sure I want to risk it.”
“Do you think the machine could run on seawater?”
She chewed her croissant. “Hmm. Now, that’s an idea, but no. I think the salt might build up in the chambers and cause the engine to malfunction. Perhaps not the best idea to test while in mid-air.”
Below them, Nice came to life as tradesmen and shopkeepers set up for the day. In the harbor, the last few fishing boats were unloading the night’s catch for the women who were waiting with sharp knives to scale and gut fish ready for market. Elle watched a group of seagulls squawk and fight for the best position to pick scraps, while a few scrawny harbor cats looked on. A church bell tolled and in some strange way the sound resonated within her. She closed her eyes. It was going to be nice day … but a storm was brewing somewhere in the distance. She could feel the urgency of it in her bones.
“What is it?” Marsh said. He seemed concerned.
She turned her face to the sun and smiled. “Nothing. Everything.” She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. Everything feels wrong and right at the same time. I can’t explain it.”
He said nothing, but Elle noticed the slight look of worry that crossed his brow as he peered out over the sea, but she refrained from saying anything, for sometimes it was better to just let the moment be.
After breakfast, they climbed the stairs up onto the roof. Curious hotel staff had gathered and they all stood gawping at the gyrocopter. The porter, suddenly elevated in status, proudly loaded their bags into the hold.
The concierge stepped forward and shook Marsh’s hand.
“Thank you for including our hotel in this historic flight,” he said. “And we have something for your charming wife too.” He handed Elle a posy made up of roses and lilacs.
Marsh took the concierge aside. “This is actually more of a test -flight.” He tapped the side of his nose. “We would be grateful if you could keep the matter quiet, if you know what I mean. When we have the official launch, we shall make sure that we mention the test flights and the people who generously helped us on our way.”
Marsh handed the man a substantial tip. The concierge’s eyes lit up. “Well, then we wish you bon chance till then.”
Elle busied herself with checking the water tanks. She was rather grateful to note that the hotel staff had filled them up overnight in accordance with the instructions she had given them before she went to bed. She had been dreading the task of lugging water up onto the roof.
They boarded the gyrocopter amid cheers and waving handkerchiefs from the hotel staff. She started the reactor and after a few minutes, the engine shuddered to life.
Elle executed her newly invented lift-off maneuver and steered the ’copter off the roof. She hadn’t bargained for the sudden drop though, and the machine dipped dangerously before taking flight.
Marsh went white as the ’copter dipped and then swooped through the fresh morning air, along the famous Bay of Angels that the city of Nice nestled against, before turning east to Monaco and Italy beyond.
They stopped somewhere around Genoa, near a farmhouse with a well. The farmer’s wife stared at them somewhat suspiciously from her kitchen door as the ’copter descended upon the farmyard, sending chickens and geese running for cover. After a bit of charm from Marsh and a few coins, she agreed to let them use her well to fill the water tanks.
Marsh wandered up with a basket over his arm. “Buona sera.” He gave her one of his little smiles.
“Why am I not surprised about the fact that you speak Italian,” Elle said.
“Actually, I speak the universal language of point and hand over money, but the method has worked and I have managed to procure lunch.”
Elle opened the basket and peered inside. The farmer’s wife had given them a loaf of freshly baked bread, a crock of olives and some deliciously garlicky soft cheese in a jar.
“I think she said we could have these as long as we promised to be on our way as soon as possible. I don’t think she’s very impressed with our machine,” he said drily.
Elle made tea with hot water from the little samovar attached to the engine. The gyrocopter had a smaller version of the one she had on board the Water Lily. No flight was complete without a cup of tea.
They sat on a low wall under an olive tree and looked out over the Genoese bay while they drank their tea and ate their lunch. The sea shimmered blue in the distance. White crests whipped up by the wind frosted the choppy surf.
“This is so beautiful.” She turned her face into the fragrant brininess of the breeze.
“Hmm.” Marsh looked out across the water, deep in thought.
“What’s wrong?” Elle immediately felt foolish for asking.
He looked down at his hands. “Elle, we need to talk about yesterday. But before we do, I need you to promise to try to listen to me and not to get angry.”
“Speak away,” she said. She had hoped that yesterday would blow over. That they had moved on. And she had no intention of showing him how much he had upset her.
“You need to tell me exactly what you know about your mother.”
She went very still.
“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important,” he said.
The suspicion that had been growing in the back of mind reared up again. He knew something. Perhaps even more than her father did. And she would have to give him some answers if she wanted to know what it was. She sighed with resignation. “My mother ran off after I was born. I think I was about two years old when it happened, so I don’t remember her. She left us to join a cult. And the cult killed her. They say she died in a zealot’s frenzy. My father was disgraced and humiliated by the scandal. I don’t think he’s ever really recovered. And that is all there is to tell.” She tossed an olive pip over the edge of the cliff.
Marsh was very still next to her.
She turned to him. “So now you know our terrible family secret. Is that shocking enough for you? Was it what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?” She wiped at her face angrily where the wind was whipping her hair into her cheek.
“I knew your mother. And that is not how it happened.”
“My mother died years ago. You must have been a child when she died.”
He looked away. “I was not a child when it happened.”
She had run out of olive stones, so she picked up a pebble and threw it off the cliff. “How is that even possible?”
“I am a Warlock I was younger than I am now, but once a Warlock comes into his power, he ages slowly. We live about ten times as long as ordinary men.”
She looked at him with surprise, not sure what to say.
“I remember her. I remember your mother very well. Vivienne was an amazing woman. She was Pythia.”
“Who on earth is Pythia?”
“Cybele, Pythia, the Oracle. All are manifestations of the same woman. Just like the larva, the pupa and the butterfly are the same. The Oracle is a woman of immense power and importance, but first you must become Cybele, then Pythia and when the time is right, you will become the Oracle as is your destiny. There is much you need to learn about what it means to follow this path.”
She turned to him. “So my mother’s death does have something to do with all of this, doesn’t it?”
“I think so. But there is more, which is why I need to meet with my Brothers of the Council. They will know what to do.”
“It’s not like that. Not like you think. There is so much that you don’t understand. Hopefully, you will in time.”
She met his gaze. “Oh no, you don’t. No more hints of mystery and half-truths. I told you my secret; now you are going to have to tell me yours. And I am not going to fly another foot unless you tell me what has happened to my father. And it’s a long walk to Venice from here if the map is anything to go by.” Elle folded her arms. “I have a right to know what this is all about, Marsh. Damn it, I am risking life and limb here too.”
Marsh gripped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. “You are right. You do have the right to know.”
She stared at him. “Well, out with it, then.”
He sighed. “I strongly suspect that you have inherited your mother’s gift. I felt it in you, in the motor on the first night we met. I think Patrice chose you to fly for us because he wanted me to meet you. I think he sensed that you were special, which is why he’s kept an eye on you all these years. Your abilities and your father’s disappearance are somehow linked to the carmot, but I don’t know how or why.”
She looked away. “I am nothing like my mother.”
He took her hand. “I am sorry I’ve upset you, but there is a very strong chance that you might be the next Oracle. And you are untrained, and vulnerable to about a million things you don’t even have the slightest notion about. It is the sworn duty of my Order to guard and train the Oracle. It has been for centuries.”
“What utter nonsense.” She pulled her hand away. “Don’t you think I would have known if I possessed these special powers? And if you are right, then is it not your precious Council that took my mother away? Is it not because of Warlocks and the Shadow realm that she is dead?”
Marsh looked sad. “Elle, I am a Warlock. I cannot change who I am any more than you can. I’m sorry you feel that way, but you are wrong about me. I hope that you will come to see that I am only trying to help you. And I hope this happens before it’s too late.”