by S. S. Segran
“I’m a little weak on my Greek mythology if it goes past the basics,” Aari admitted. “I was more of an Ancient Rome kind of kid.”
Tegan stirred. “Mariah? You read a lot of stories. Anything related to what Kody said?”
Mariah shifted her brain’s gears into overdrive, sifting through every little bit of detail she could remember from thousands of pages she’d read over the years.
“’Riah?” Aari prompted after a minute.
She waved her hand at him in a shushing motion. “Quiet. I’m thinking.”
The others lapsed into silence, letting her mind work. She closed her eyes, seeing book covers fly past. She’d read a few novels about the subject, but none had delved deep into—
She bolted upright. “I think I remember something! It was years ago; there was this small book, like intermediate-level reading for kids, about the Twelve Labors of Hercules. The tenth labor was to capture the cattle of some monster. When Hercules completed the task, he smashed a mountain that supposedly connected the continents of Europe and Africa to make these two pillars as a memorial to his success. The Pillars of Hercules. There’s another version, maybe more, but they have the same name for it.”
“That’s neat,” Aari said, “but where exactly is it? Logically, it would be somewhere in the Mediterranean since that’s where the mythology . . .”
He let the sentence hang. Mariah followed his eyes to Victor, who was pinning up a familiar map onto the corkboard on the wall behind him. It still had the colored tacks lodged in it from a few months ago when they’d used it to track the beginnings of the virus pandemic. Mariah’s fingertips turned cold at the memory.
“In the mythology, you said a mountain supposedly connected Europe and Africa.” Victor tapped a point on the map between Morocco and Spain, where two small peaks on either countries’ outlines reached toward the other. There was barely a gap between them. “This is the only place on the map where the two continents get this close.”
“That makes sense,” Tegan said. “Look, past that area, it’s the Atlantic Ocean. A gigantic, wide open space that must have seemed too big to explore safely at the time. Realm of the Unknown, anyone?”
“I really miss the Internet,” Aari mumbled. “We could’ve confirmed all of this in a few seconds.”
“How are we supposed to tell if there are coves nearby?” Mariah asked.
Before anyone could answer, Kody called out, “Hi, guys! How was the walk?”
A “pfft” came from the floor below. “Eavesdropper,” Gareth accused, voice floating up the steps. “We tried to be quiet so we wouldn’t interrupt. Why do you have your abilities activated, mate?”
“For kicks. I do that sometimes.”
They waited until the twins emerged, Gareth carrying a bundled-up Anya in his arms, and Deverell similarly carrying Chief in his.
“What in the world,” Victor said, disbelief dripping from every word.
Deverell wiggled Chief adoringly, then put him down. “He saw Anya being chauffeured around after she got tired of playing in the snow and wanted the royal treatment, too.”
“Stop spoiling my dog. And watch that arm of yours. It’s still not fully healed from the Marauder bite.”
“Have you lot figured out the location of this mysterious homing device?” Gareth asked, helping Anya out of her coat.
“We think it’s near the Pillars of Hercules,” Tegan said.
His mouth formed an oval. “Isn’t that what they call the Rock of Gibraltar?”
“Maybe? I have no clue.”
“I think so! Wait here, let me go find something.”
As Gareth pelted down the stairs, Anya trotted around the table to Victor. He signed something at her and she signed back, grinning hugely. Mariah wished she knew what they were talking about. She’d never seen the language being used by anyone around her, but watching it now, she had a strong urge to learn.
Maybe once the world isn’t so crazy, she thought. Dare to dream, girl. Dare to dream.
Gareth returned a few minutes later, carrying a shoebox. “When I went backpacking across Europe with some friends a few years ago, I made it a point to collect pamphlets from the tours we went on.” He emptied the box onto the table. “Help me look for anything related to Spain or Gibraltar.”
The friends flipped through the brochures, sorting them into piles. Some were better kept than others, but at least they were all whole.
“Gosh, you’ve been everywhere,” Mariah said. “Montenegro, Russia, Belarus, Portugal, Estonia . . . hey, Malta!” She held up a tan-colored pamphlet, beaming with pride. “My mom’s side of the family is from here.”
“You’re half Maltese!” Gareth said. “That’s quite neat. Malta was one of my favorite places to visit. Remind me to tell you a really funny story that happened there sometime.”
“Found it!” Kody hoisted his prize in victory. “The Rock of Gibraltar. And look at that, a picture of a monument that even has ‘The Pillars of Hercules’ written on it. Alright, let’s see what we have here. Blah, blah, blah . . . the promontories that flank the entrance to the Straits of Gibraltar were called the Pillars of Heracles by the ancients. Boom, there we go.”
“Doesn’t that mean the Rock is just one of the Pillars, on the European side?” Aari asked. “What about the African one? A cove there might be where the boat capsized.”
Kody raised a finger, signaling for silence, and read on. “The northern Pillar was known by the ancient Romans as Calpe Mons. The identity of the southern Pillar, however, has long been disputed. Many believe Abila Mons is either Jebel Musa in Morocco or Monte Hacho in—”
“Calpe Mons!” Mariah exclaimed, realizing belatedly that she recognized the name. “Isn’t that what the boy wrote in his journal?”
“Mons Calpe, yes,” Victor said.
Aari looked at the world chart thoughtfully. “We wouldn’t happen to have a close-up map of that area, would we? To see what coves there are, and which one the boat might have sunk in.”
Victor shrugged. “The journal said it was right by the Pillar, in a large cove. Then again, it’s from the perspective of a kid and everything’s huge when you’re small.”
“Then there’s only one place that fits that description,” Gareth said. “I think we’ve found our next stop.”
“Uh, no,” Deverell cut in. Mariah hadn’t even notice he that he’d disappeared until he came back up the stairs. “They have, but we’re staying put. We just got radioed by a Sentry in Marseille and another in Naples. The League is blind without phones and the internet, so we need to run comms between the telepaths and non-telepaths. I won’t be able to do this alone.”
Gareth turned to the others apologetically. “Duty calls. But at least you have a place to start looking—Gibraltar!”
“Which is great!” Mariah said. “But we’ll have to scan the seafloor. That’s a lot of area to cover. You wouldn’t happen to have some diving gear around, would you?”
“Don’t have that on hand,” Victor said, “but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
He strode from the meeting table, out of sight, then returned with his utility jacket on and a hunting rifle, whistling for Chief. The wolfdog came padding from the kitchen where he’d gone to lie near the stove.
“Where are you going?” Kody asked.
“To hunt something for dinner. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Best to have a good meal tonight.”
The friends wished him luck as he left. Tegan rapped her knuckles on the table. “We should hit the hay early, make sure we get some solid hours of sleep in.” She inclined her head at Mariah. “How are you feeling?”
“The two days of rest and nonstop rytèrni were really good for me,” Mariah assured her. “I’m ready to go. And you know what, guys?”
“What?” Aari asked.
She smiled. “We got a lead. I think this Christmas is turning out to be okay after all.”
Well, this is a new approach, Jag tho
ught, taking in what he could see of the luxurious office from where he was bound to a sturdy chair. The gel-like helmet made his scalp itch, but with his hands restrained, there was no way to scratch it. Instead, his eyes roamed his surroundings as he tried to distract himself with all the artifacts and knickknacks that lined staggered shelves on almost every wall, each with a shiny little descriptive plaque hanging from its edge. Clay tablets from the Persian Empire; pottery from Chinese dynasties long gone; ceramic figures of Mayan origin depicting twins; pistols from the American Civil War . . .
From across the opulent maple desk, Mokun watched Jag with a gimlet eye. To one side of the desk, a clear crystal globe with the likeness of Earth reflected the warm overhead lights.
Jag scrunched his face. “Listen, this . . . that’s just uncomfortable. What you’re doing. Please don’t stare at me like I’m some kind of test subject.”
“You seem intrigued with my collection.”
“Yeah. History’s cool, I guess, but that’s more Aari’s thing.”
Approval glinted in Mokun’s gaze. He waved a hand at the artifacts surrounding them. “I collected all of this myself.”
“So you’ve got lots of money. Good for you.”
“Jag. I’ve lived for a very, very long time. And I collected these myself.”
Jag’s brows knitted. Then his eyes snapped wide open. “Oh.” Despite himself, his curiosity was piqued. “You said before that you’d met a lot of important people in the past.”
“If they lived between 490 B.C. and now, chances are I did interact with a number of them in some capacity.”
“People like . . . Socrates and Plato, let’s say?”
Mokun folded his hands on the desk, a faraway look in his eyes. “I spent time tracing my ancestral lineage, and part of it took me to Greece. Had a few conversations with those two. Shared a few good laughs with Socrates as well, but Plato was a wet blanket. There was a fellow, on the other hand . . .” Mokun seemed to be trying to suppress a grin. “I appreciated some of his antics, if only because they annoyed Plato. Diogenes, if I remember his name correctly.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Jag. “Huh. I think Kody did a presentation on him back in school.”
And he would be over the moon if he heard all this, he thought. Homesickness burrowed deep into him. Aari, too.
“What about . . . Alexander the Great?” he asked.
“A visionary who became too paranoid. He occasionally heeded my words, but after bouts of drinking he would sometimes toss my advice aside.”
“Cleopatra?”
“A brilliant woman with sharp intellect, if rather high-nosed about her herself. She was ambitious, and I preferred not injecting my counsel too much, especially after she got married to Mark Antony. In some aspects, Reyor reminds me of her.”
“Mark Antony—so you knew Julius Caesar too?”
“No, but I did send a letter once.” Mokun made a disappointed motion of his hand. “Didn’t amount to anything.”
Jag looked around the room. A mini portrait of Abraham Lincoln stood propped on one of the shelves. “And him?”
“We crossed paths only once. Most people I’d met before the current age would remark about my tattoos. Lincoln merely spared them a curious glance, touched the brim of that famed hat of his, and asked if I was well. I liked that.”
Despite knowing how old Mokun was, the surreal nature of the situation didn’t coalesce until now. Jag had to use every ounce of his self-discipline not to leave his mouth hanging. “Who else did you get to meet?”
“Far, far too many to list.”
“I can’t believe this. This shouldn’t even be possible.”
“And yet, it is.”
Jag sat in silence, soaking it all in. “Who do you wish you’d met but couldn’t?”
Mokun looked wistful. “Genghis Khan. Nero. Washington. Jesus of Nazareth. Eleanor—the first queen of France. Muhammad. Tolstoy. Bahá’u’lláh. Again, far too many to list. If only mankind had devised faster modes of transportation sooner, I might have been able to meet them all.” A contemplative air crossed his face. “There were certainly good people amongst those I encountered. But many were seduced by the prospect of more wealth, more power. And, sadly, they outnumbered the good ones. Either that, or they poisoned the good ones with twisted words and notions. I did what I could to help humanity stay the course. Alas, I was but one person.”
“And now you’ve hit the big red reset button,” Jag said. “All that, for nothing.”
That seemed to sting the old man a little; his cheeks tautened for a few moments before relaxing. “There may be hope yet. That is why I wanted to speak with you this evening. No prodding, no blood-drawing or CAT scans.”
“I did wonder about the lack of sedatives in my system today.”
“Jag, I’m asking you to bring your friends in.”
Jag recoiled. “Like hell! I’m not dragging my friends—my family—into this. You have me, and that’s all you’re gonna get.”
Mokun scrutinized him, saying nothing.
A minute later, a now-familiar husky voice came from the office door as it opened. “Mentor, we have—” The voice paused, picking up an ice-cold cadence. “What is he doing here?”
Jag didn’t care to turn and face Reyor. Not that he could, the way he was bound to the chair.
Mokun raised his head in greeting. “I am speaking with him.”
“Why is there no security stationed here? I would think you’d know better than this.”
“He has the newest version of Dr. Nate’s helmet on, so he cannot access his abilities. And as an additional measure, I had the guards double the dosage of suppressants in his breakfast and lunch. I was not born yesterday, Reyor. Not to mention, I can most certainly deal with him swiftly should he attempt anything.”
There was a beat of silence. “I need to speak with you. Privately.”
Mokun stood up, his plush chair rolling back. “Please excuse me, Jag.”
He led Reyor into an adjacent room and she closed the French doors behind them. Jag couldn’t twist around to get a look but, reflected in the crystal globe on the desk, he could make out their tiny, distorted shapes as they spoke. Mokun stood with his arms folded, unmoving. Reyor gesticulated, and even in the reflection Jag could tell she was working to contain herself. He suspected it was a confrontation, but about what?
When Reyor emerged a few minutes later, she spared him not a glance. She strode out of the office, leaving Mokun to retake his seat. He looked about the same as he did when he’d left, but Jag sensed something was off.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
To his surprise, Mokun faced him with concern in his eyes. “Jag. I need you to say yes.”
“What?”
“Say yes, that you will convince your friends to turn themselves over to me.”
“I already gave you my answer.”
Mokun ran a hand through his full head of white hair, the lines around his mouth tautening. “Over the course of the past three weeks, our scientists have been looking hard at your blood and tissue samples. They weren’t able to identify anything out of the ordinary, or anything that resembles the fundamental biological constituent of my people that would explain your abilities, hence your continued trips to the lab. We were intrigued when a couple of strange markers in your DNA turned up, but even that hasn’t led to anything conclusive.”
Jag raised his eyebrows wearily. “Okay. And?”
“It has been frustrating, to say the least. The drills I put you through in the circus, nothing came of the data. However, a brilliant young mind in our lab—one of our Stewards, as a matter of fact—has discovered something very interesting that was brought to my attention this morning. She looked into a place where none of her more experienced colleagues had ventured: your mitochondria. More specifically, the mitochondrial DNA. You know what a mitochondrion is, yes?”
Considering that this was the one thing that had been drilled int
o every school-going kid’s head, Jag had to stop himself from blurting the answer. As calmly as he could, he replied, “It’s the powerhouse of the cell.”
“Mmh, close enough. As the energy factory, the mitochondria are present in every cell of your body except for a few, like the red blood cell, and they power your physical and mental capabilities. Yours, it seems, have developed to the point where they allow you to access the same abilities my people have. With this surplus of energy in its purest form, your body has become the perfect vessel to conceal these potential abilities, even ones granted from the novasphere.”
“The Elders did say we’re evolving.”
Mokun leaned forward and swiped at the crystal globe with a finger, sending it into a smooth spin. “At that point I could only take your word for it. Now, finally, I have tangible proof.”
“Well, what now that you and Reyor know about it? Can I go? Are you going to stop all this?”
“Reyor doesn’t know. Not yet.”
“Uh, why?”
“That is not something you need to concern yourself with.”
Jag’s temper flared. As much as he wanted to unleash a barrage of choice words, he bit his tongue. Mokun glanced at him, searching his eyes. He must have seen the fury there because he smiled thinly. “Despite knowing this about you now, I’m still looking at just one person. I need your friends to come in so we can replicate our tests and find out for certain. That is why I cannot do anything yet.”
Jag could barely hear his thoughts over the rush of blood in his ears. He fought viciously against his restraints before sinking back with a helpless roar. “What’s the point? You’re already massacring people everywhere!”
Mokun’s expression softened slightly. “Understand, Jag, that I am the architect of all that you see, all that you are fighting against. I have my reasons for doing so, for guiding Reyor along, for everything. You know this already. With a word from me, I can bring it all to a halt. For me to do that, though, I need confirmation that the Elders didn’t choose you simply because you are freaks of nature, as Reyor alleges, and that they were desperate for saviors; but because there really is something in you that makes you special, that makes you the fulfilment of the prophecy the Elders claim you to be.”
