Arcadia Falls

by Kai Meyer

  Even before the hybrid brought the van to a halt, Rosa knew where they were. Mirella got out, went around to the back, and opened the tarpaulin. Although the sun was setting, Rosa was dazzled by the brightness after the dim light in the back of the van. There were several figures standing behind Mirella.

  Danai’s hooped skirt rustled as she pushed herself off the backseat and out into the open. A few minutes ago she had given them more injections in the lower leg. The itch was becoming a painful stinging and burning.

  “Get them out,” someone said.

  Men in expensive suits climbed up into the back of the van and unloaded Rosa and Alessandro like packages. They were laid down on warm asphalt; the sun had been shining on it not so long ago. Now it was half a fiery globe above rising ground, bathing the sky in streaks of violet and red.

  There were parapets to the right and left of the two-lane road. Beyond them lay the abyss where the lake had been, and mountains could be seen again only very far away. The wind blew keenly through the wire netting between the struts, pressing the men’s suits close to their bodies.

  The Giuliana dam.

  The road was a gray concrete bridge on the dam wall, more than a hundred and fifty yards above the valley floor. The van had stopped in the middle of this bridge. It was at least three hundred yards in both directions to the end of it, much too far for running away—even if their legs had not been tightly bound for hours on end. As it was, they’d probably find it difficult to stay on their feet.

  Rosa had assumed that they would be taken straight to the ruins of the village. The water dammed up in the lake had been drained, Alessandro had said. If the tomb of Lycaon was really here, as Mori’s papers seemed to show, then it must be exposed now. She was expecting some kind of archaic vault, pillared chambers with dusty reliefs on the walls. According to legend, the tomb was an architectural work of breathtaking size, and it had taken the labor of a whole nation decades to build it. As Rosa imagined it, whatever was left of it must rival the tombs of the pharaohs in the Valley of the Kings, and the jungle pyramids of the Mayans.

  Rosa could see that Alessandro had to struggle against the aftereffects of unconsciousness. She felt the same, even though the anesthetic had worn off. Maybe it was the sheer amount of the hybrid serum that Danai had injected into them.

  The men had laid her down on her side. When she tried to loosen her tight bonds, Danai stepped into her field of vision.

  “Stop that.” Thanassis’s daughter seemed nervous.

  “You’re trembling,” said Rosa. “A poor performance for a murderess of your caliber.”

  Danai did not reply. Instead, Mirella’s foot landed in Rosa’s side. The kick took her breath away for several moments as she gasped for air like someone drowning.

  There was a wolf-like growl, and then quiet words in a tone that brooked no dissent. “Get away from her, snake!”

  “Do as he says, Mirella,” Danai told the hybrid.

  Even doubled up and in pain all over her upper body, Rosa felt some satisfaction as Mirella hastily took a couple of steps back.

  The man who had spoken was behind her, somewhere near the van, and now she heard his footsteps on the road. But she was lying with her face to Alessandro and would never willingly have turned away from him.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked over her and up at the newcomer. Hatred blazed in his glance.

  “The serum?” asked the voice behind her.

  Danai, whose wide skirt was blown close to her circle of angular legs by the wind, sketched a bow. “I’ve been giving it to them every fifteen minutes, the last time just now. They can’t change shape.”

  “Undo their bonds except for their hands. And then stand them on their feet. This is unworthy of them.”

  Rosa had recognized the voice at once, although it now sounded clearer, and was no longer distorted by the intercom in prison. She had not been able to see his face there; a pane of mirrored glass had separated them.

  The men rolled her and Alessandro over. Someone cut the cords tying them up and then pulled the cords out from under their bodies. The bonds around their hands stayed, but their legs were free. The cord had bitten deep into her skin.

  One of the men pulled Rosa to her feet, and just as she had expected, her knees gave way again at once. She could feel nothing from her hips down; even the tingling was gone. Like the sting of the injections in her lower leg.

  The man who had put her on her feet was holding her under the armpits from behind, as if she were a puppet. Two men grabbed Alessandro, who stared at them grimly, as if he would go for their throats with nothing but his teeth. She was turned around, and now stood beside him.

  The sunset behind their backs bathed everything in fiery red; the sunglasses of the men and women assembled on the road, their faces, gleaming with expectation, even the men’s black suits and the expensive skirt suits worn by the women looked as if they had been dipped in blood. There were forty or fifty of them. Rosa knew many by sight, among them two of her distant cousins from Milan—undoubtedly they were the ones who had pulled the strings of the plot against her. Rosa thought it only appropriate that she couldn’t even remember their names. They were sisters, granddaughters of Costanza’s cousin. And Lamias, of course.

  The Hungry Man was not standing directly behind her, as she had thought until now, but some way off. More evidence of the power of his voice. There was something incantatory, intoxicating about it, and now that she could see him she understood why some of the Arcadians took him for the real Lycaon, not the cunning, manipulative imitator that he really was.

  “Welcome.” He stepped out of the shadow of the van and came slowly toward Alessandro and Rosa. “I regret that you have been mistreated.” There was a pale glint in his eyes, the look of a wolf at night; he glanced at Mirella, who was standing a little way to one side, and she shrank nervously. Danai moved a step away from her ally, as if afraid that the stigma might rub off on her.

  The Hungry Man—whose real name was not forgotten, although it had been of no importance for a long time—had scarcely changed since the only photograph of him had been taken. At that time he had looked like a cross between Jesus of Nazareth and the leader of a student revolt. He still wore his hair down to his shoulders, and his full beard was neatly trimmed. He had already gone gray at the temples in the photograph, taken at the time of his arrest thirty years ago. She would have thought he was in his late forties rather than almost seventy. It was as if his prison cell had preserved his body.

  She had expected a raving madman, a kind of high priest in flowing robes. She had been very much mistaken, which showed that the reality of the Arcadian dynasties was still alien to her.

  He wore a black pinstriped suit, a white shirt with a silk tie, and a knee-length coat. If it hadn’t been for the long hair, he might have been mistaken for a businessman about to launch into a PowerPoint presentation.

  He gave Rosa an almost courteous smile. Then he went to Alessandro, who reared up in the grip of his guards and bared his teeth.

  “So you are young Carnevare. We have not had the pleasure of meeting before.”

  “Correct,” said Alessandro. “We have a lot to catch up on.” And with that, he thrust his head forward with all his might, trying to tear free from the men and snapping at his adversary’s throat, like a predator who had forgotten that he was imprisoned in a human body.

  For a moment the Hungry Man was taken by surprise and had to step back. He was in no serious danger, but it could not have escaped anyone’s notice that the attack had caught him unawares.

  Rosa ought to have feared for Alessandro, but she felt only pride, and her own readiness to die with him.

  Mirella, standing a few yards away, let out a serpentine hiss at Alessandro. Rosa thought the hybrid had never looked so reptilian before, with her pocked skin in the red light of sunset, the blazing fury in her eyes, and the tension in her body.

  The growl of a very old, very angry wolf came from the th
roat of the Hungry Man. He spun around, and even as he moved forward his features altered. His head changed shape in the blink of an eye, while his body remained human, as if he did not want to ruin his suit.

  Maybe Mirella saw him coming, but if so it was the last thing she ever saw. His jaws snapped and severed her neck with a single bite. A jet of blood splattered him while the hybrid was still standing upright. His hands seized her upper arms and flung her against the parapet with great force. She fell back, lifeless, and disappeared into the depths below. The abyss swallowed up even the sound of her impact on the valley floor.

  The Hungry Man turned around and was instantly human again. His mouth was smeared with blood, even more so his white shirt, but he ignored both, smiled again, and went over to Danai. She seemed uneasy beneath his gaze, and her legs moved up and down under her hooped skirt.

  “She was no part of our agreement,” the Hungry Man told her, very calm again, very matter-of-fact.

  “I needed her help,” began Danai in a small voice, “but I’m sorry if—”

  “Hush,” he said softly, licked the blood from his lips, and gently touched Danai’s cheek with his fingertips. “You are one of us now, Danai Thanassis. Go over to your new brothers and sisters.”

  He made an inviting gesture in the direction of a group of men and women standing on the edge of the crowd, outsiders even among their own kind. Representatives of the Arachnida dynasty.

  Hesitantly, Danai stepped forward. She seemed to be expecting an attack from the Hungry Man with every move she made. But he let her pass and watched until she had reached the Arachnida. She would certainly not have expected her acceptance into the clan to be so unceremonious and unwelcoming. If this was her reward for betraying the hybrids, it might be dawning on her that the deal had not been as good as she had hoped. The others looked at her with dislike, particularly for her hooped skirt. But before they could express their disapproval, the Hungry Man set them straight.

  “Danai Thanassis is one of you now,” he said sharply, “and you will treat her like a true daughter of your clan.”

  The oldest Arachnid, a white-haired, spindly, thin old man with a high forehead and tiny eyes, bowed to the Hungry Man, then went up to Danai, took her hand as if he had just invited her to dance with him, and offered her a place at his side. Some of the other Arachnida flinched away, but their clan leader let out a hiss that sounded like spitting, not like words or animal noises.

  Rosa fought against the grip of the man guarding her. She was getting some feeling back in her limbs, but she couldn’t even contemplate running away, particularly as she could see roadblocks at both ends of the bridge over the dam. They had just passed one of them in the van. The parked cars of the capi also stood there.

  “You’re all falling for a farce,” cried Alessandro, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “A dusty old ritual that means nothing today. It’s not going to bring old Arcadia back. This is the twenty-first century. Our families have had enough to do maintaining the influence of Cosa Nostra for the last hundred years. And now you want to revive something that ended thousands of years ago?”

  His words were carefully chosen and meant as much for the heads of the clans as for the Hungry Man. All eyes were turned to him, and he seemed to know that this would be his only chance to address them all. One of the men holding him made a move as if to silence him, but the Hungry Man shook his head.

  “Alessandro Carnevare is a highborn member of the Panthera,” he said. Mirella’s blood gleamed like war paint on his face. “Let him speak openly.”

  Alessandro shook off his guards. Swaying slightly, but staying on his feet through his own efforts, he stood with his back to the two men, who themselves were capi of two clans from Trapani. There were no mere henchmen at this place; everyone who had been invited to the renewal of the concordat either held a leading position, or was a close relative of the head of a family.

  Now Alessandro seemed to be intentionally looking past the Hungry Man, as if he stood before the others as their equal, not someone who needed permission to speak. “We have all fought to maintain the values of Cosa Nostra and the honor of our one great family,” he cried. “It is what rules our lives, our everyday occupations—all that means something to us—and not a handful of legends from a time of which we know nothing. Cosa Nostra has always distinguished itself by keeping up appearances to outsiders. That’s what has made our families strong, that’s why organizations all over the world envy us. Are you going to risk all this? And for what? What do you want to be in the future—men and women with large fortunes and the prospect of adding to them even more? Or a pack of wild beasts who sooner or later will be hunted down and killed? Our ancestors were burnt at the stake, crucified, tortured in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Is that what you want back? Sicily, Italy, Europe—they are no longer lands held by assorted barbarians as they were in the days of the real Lycaon.” Here he looked at the Hungry Man again and added, “The only Lycaon.”

  Then, turning to the heads of the families again, he went on. “In those days it was easy for the Arcadians to hide behind popular superstition. Those like us were feared, and other people didn’t have the courage to strike back with all their might. But now? If we behave like brute beasts again, how long will it be before there are attempts to eliminate us all? You all know how hard the law is coming down on our business deals. We’ve survived because we had something to offer our adversaries. Bribery and conspiracy have kept Cosa Nostra going. You’ve all brought your influence to bear on members of the government; you’ve invited judges and public prosecutors to your villas to keep them on your side. But business deals like that, however illegal, are not the same as mass murder. Do you really want to hunt like predators again, tearing ordinary humans to pieces? How are you going to keep that secret? And how are you going to make friends of our enemies? They may let you buy their silence as long as it’s all about real estate, or arms deals, or drugs. But they’ll turn on you if you hunt down their children outside their schools and shed blood in the streets. How are you going to pacify them then? With a chunk of raw meat on their plates?”

  Some uneasiness was aroused in the assembled ranks of the Arcadians, but no one was saying anything against the Hungry Man yet, let alone rejecting his proposals.

  The old Arachnid beside who Danai, looking lost and uncertain of herself, was still standing, slowly shook his head. “Fine words, my boy. But only words, that’s all. Arcadia didn’t fall because our ancestors were afraid of bureaucrats. Arcadia was the victim of megalomania on the part of the Panthera and the Lamias—and because they tried to outdo each other.”

  He earned disapproval for that from the Carnevare and Alcantara camps—all those who had handed Rosa and Alessandro over to die.

  The Arachnid made a dismissive gesture. “In the old days, anyway, the Arcadians brought peace, and that’s why we’re here. To renew our alliance and show the Hungry Man our respect. The new Arcadia will combine the best of both epochs, the determination of Lycaon and the power of the united dynasties. And so I say, the sacrifice goes forward. If Cosa Nostra is going to survive, it must draw on the power of Arcadia. All will come full circle for a new beginning.”

  “And you say that I speak empty words?” Alessandro glared belligerently at him. He had finally overcome the side effects of the anesthetic. “Haven’t you understood anything?”

  Attacking them head-on like that was a mistake. Rosa knew it, and so certainly did he. The Hungry Man’s smile showed that this was the moment he had been waiting for. He had never met Alessandro, but he must have heard of him. Of his skill with words—and his weakness, which was to press on too fast and overshoot his target.

  Alessandro was not to be deterred. “You want to renew the concordat beside Lycaon’s tomb. But instead we’re standing up here. Nothing from those ancient times still exists, not even a heap of stones. Arcadia has fallen to dust.” He was playing a game of Russian roulette, and it could go wrong. But they
had nothing left to lose.

  The Hungry Man signaled to the guards behind Rosa and Alessandro and, before they could resist, syringes plunged into their arms again. Then the reincarnated Lycaon went up to the parapet and beckoned them over to him.

  “Come with me.”

  Rosa and Alessandro exchanged a glance, then followed him. Their guards stayed close behind, but did not touch them again.

  The rail over the parapet was cold when Rosa placed both hands on it. She felt dizzy, perhaps because of the overdose of serum. Looking down into the abyss made it even worse.

  They were a hundred and fifty yards above the rock of the valley floor. Rosa had been here once before, with Zoe, almost five months ago. Then, the glittering surface of the lake had stretched away beneath them to the steep mountain slopes. Today, there was only a channel of water trickling along a winding path through a desert of dark stone. The sun had now disappeared behind the crest of the hills. Darkness seemed to rise from the crevices in the rock.

  The ruins of the village of Giuliana lay at the foot of the huge wall of the dam. It crouched in the shadow of that concrete wall, a collection of low-built houses. A few roofs had fallen in under the pressure of the water, but many were still intact. Roads and paths could be made out, and a few metal skeletons of tractors and other agricultural machinery that had been left behind. From up here it all looked pitch-black, as if the whole valley were covered with tar. A smell like dead fish wafted up from the abyss.

  “My father drowned this valley so that no one could misuse the tomb for the purposes of a new concordat,” said Alessandro quietly, as if proving that not all the baron did had been bad. Rosa felt for the parapet with her hand.

  The Hungry Man looked away from the derelict buildings in the valley and glanced sideways at them. “Is that what you really think? That he and Cesare built the dam for that purpose?” He sounded almost pitying.