Scarlet From Gold (Book 3)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “She was my priestess Marco. I was closer to her than to anyone but you. Do it for her, do it for the world. Do this for me,” Ophiuchus was pleading now, not commanding, and as Marco turned to look at her, to assure her that he felt the motivation, the anger at the murderers, and the compassion for Iasco’s goodness, he was startled to see that the spirit was a young girl now, one who was pleading for a favor.

  He removed his hand from the linen, and knelt in front of the girl, his face nearly on the same plane with hers. “I will do this for you and for her and for myself. We will bring her back to life,” he promised.

  Ophiuchus metamorphosed before his eyes, growing older, and returning once again to the form of an attractive, mature woman. “I believe you will Marco. Now, let’s get going. Folence is waiting for us.”

  Marco stepped over to the granite slab and made it rise back to its place atop the tomb. He marveled at how simple the use of the power in his hand had become suddenly.

  “It’s because you’re here, on the island, and because you’re with her body,” Ophiuchus addressed his unspoken thought. “It won’t always be so easy to use the ability, unless you learn how.”

  She left him as she strode to the doorway and opened it wide, allowing Marco to push the cart with Iasco’s body out to the street. There was no one visible, as the inhabitants of the village stayed indoors, out of the sight of the spirit of their island, anxious to avoid incurring her displeasure any further.

  Together, the pair of them walked down to the harbor front without seeing a single person. When they reached the harbor a small ship was hosting considerable activity as its crew raced around it to prepare it for departure. A pair of guards stood at the dock-end of the gang plank, and they snapped to attention, tense and uneasy in the presence of the supernatural presence that was approaching them.

  “Is the ship ready?” Ophiuchus asked when she and Marco reached the gang plank.

  “Yes, your holiness,” one of the guards said nervously, refusing to look directly at either Ophiuchus or Marco.

  “Let’s go up Marco,” the spirit said, and she led Marco and his cart up to the deck of the ship. Several of the deckhands immediately left the ship as soon as the spirit came on board.

  “This is a nice ship,” Marco told the nervous captain who stood white-faced as she addressed them. “I didn’t know you cult had such luxuries.”

  “We don’t,” the spirit said softly.

  Marco looked at the spirit and then the captain, puzzled by the remark. “But I’m standing on it,” he protested.

  “It doesn’t belong to the temple,” the captain stuttered. “A wealthy noblewoman came here in her own yacht, and Lady Folence commandeered it for your use.”

  The spirit gave a soft little laugh. “It was most thoughtful of Folence to do that, and very kind of the noblewoman to agree.

  “I don’t know that she did agree; I don’t know if she knows yet,” the captain said. “We moved a little quickly to make sure we were prepared in time for your holiness,” she gave a nervous chuckle, watching the spirit carefully for approval.

  “Her sacrifice is appreciated,” Ophiuchus said. “Now Marco, we need to prepare Iasco for her journey,” the spirit laid her hands on Marco’s as he held the shrouded body, and he felt the spirit call upon the energy within his hand to initiate a transformation. The white linen developed a layer of additional cloth, which grew thick and heavy, then blossomed with a damask pattern of rich red and blue swirls. The cloth’s edges fused together, so that it was a single piece of material, a cocoon that contained the body of Iasco encapsulated within.

  “Take Marco down and show him which cabin to put the Lady Iasco in,” the spirit ordered the captain. “Then come back and show me which cabin shall be mine.”

  “My lady,” the captain said hesitantly, “there are only two cabins on this vessel.”

  “That sounds suitable,” Ophiuchus replied, “one for Iasco, and one for Marco and myself.”

  Marco coughed violently, as the captain turned red “Yes, your holiness.

  “This way, my lord,” she said to Marco, and led him down a steep set of stairs, as he carefully carried Iasco with him. He deposited the former leader of the Temple on a narrow bunk in a small cabin, then turned, anxious over Ophiuchus’s assertion that he was going to share a cabin with her.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the spirit told him moments later as she shut the door of the larger cabin that the two of them were to share.

  “Don’t worry, but don’t flatter yourself too greatly Marco,” Ophiuchus said. “We will stay very close together from now on.” The ship gave a sudden lurch, and then began to sway ever so slightly.

  “As we move away from the island, my powers weaken considerably,” she told Marco. “I am the spirit of the island; it is the source of my power, the place where my life energy is focused. I cannot leave it under ordinary circumstances.”

  “But you were in Compostela,” Marco protested.

  “Where was I in Compostela, Marco?” the spirit asked. “I was in the most holy part of the most holy place, one of the three greatest foci of spirituality and faith in all the lands. It was possible for me to exert myself for a short time there.

  “And in the Lion City, the first time we met? I was able to remain there perhaps thirty seconds,” she added.

  “But you, and that marvelous hand, you have changed all of that. If I can call upon the energy of your hand, I will be able to remain with you as your partner for a long time, over a great distance. I may have to physically hold your hand to be able to maintain my existence so far from home, we will see. But you and I are going to stay very close to one another,” she told him. “And if the crew and others choose to believe that you are my consort, that is of little consequence compared to the fate that hangs in the balance.

  “Or did you plan to truly become my consort? Is that what you thought was going to happen? Were you anticipating the joy of supernatural fulfillment?” she gave Marco an arch look that made him blush madly in confusion.

  “Oh youngster!” she laughed, and reached out to tousle his hair. “We will not seek to test the boundaries of propriety, unless,” she looked at him speculatively for a moment, then shook her head.

  “Why don’t you go up to the deck and ask the captain about when meals will be served? You need to know such things,” she told him.

  “I will,” Marco said obediently. He was anxious to get out of the cabin and clear his mind. He fled through the door and went up into the breezy air on deck, where the crew was steering the yacht out of the harbor.

  “Where shall we set sail for, my lord?” the captain asked him as soon as she saw him.

  “I don’t know,” Marco admitted. “I’ll have to go ask the spirit.

  “When will meals be served?” he asked. “And where is the head?”

  The captain deferentially took Marco on a quick tour and discussed the meals, then returned to the deck, while Marco returned to Ophiuchus.

  “The captain wants to know where we’re going,” Marco said, suddenly feeling surprisingly comfortable in the company of the supernatural being. He would have to be the interlocutor between the crew and Ophiuchus, given the crew’s fear and awe.

  “Tell the captain we’re going to Andikara, in the Gulf of Corint,” she answered. “Is there anywhere else you want to go?”

  “Me?” Marco asked. “Lots of places I wish I was going, but I think this is the place I have to go.”

  “Well put,” she told him. “And Marco, I know my name is a mouthful for your tongue to turn. You may call me Opi if it makes it easier for you. You can’t keep calling me ‘your worship’ or ‘my lady’ or any other formal title, considering we’ll be sleeping together for a while.”

  Marco again fled from the cabin, missing the mocking grin that spread across Ophiuchus’s face, and he told the captain where to set the course for.

  “Will there be markets, or large cities along our way?” Ma
rco asked when he returned to the cabin. He was careful to avoid making any reference to name or title or spiritual role of his companion, for fear of the next conversation he might be subjected to.

  “We’ll pass through a few market towns,” Ophiuchus confirmed. “Do you need something?”

  “I need to acquire a flower for the formula to revive Iasco,” Marco answered. “We have the Echidna scales and we have the gorgon’s blood. We need ‘the scarlet squeezed from gold’ and I’m pretty sure that is from the flower Savior’s Rays, a pretty little yellow flower that has red seeds. It’s the only thing I could figure out would meet the definition that the formula calls for.”

  “We’ll see,” the spirit answered.

  Chapter 11 – Athens

  The voyage from the Isle of Ophiuchus to the Gulf of Corint lasted for several days, during which Marco observed the extraordinary manner in which the spirit decreased in vitality as the distance from the isle increased. She grew older in appearance, except for when she physically held Marco’s hand, and the two of them took to holding hands constantly during the later stages of the journey. They slept together, and after the second night, Marco grew comfortable with the arrangement.

  As the distance grew longer, and Opi – as he did come to call her – turned into the fragile, elderly lady he had seen in the Lion City, he even felt protective of her, ready to reach out to touch her at any sign of stress.

  She never appeared in front of the crew members without holding hands, so that they would only see her as a vital, energetic spirit. The crew concluded that the immortal spirit and the mortal man were deeply in love, and they wondered at the astonishing possibility that the spirit of their island, the entity that had kept the island free of men for centuries, would display such passion. They treated Marco with more respect and courtesy than any group of women from the Isle of Ophiuchus ever had before.

  The ship entered the narrow opening of the Golf of Corint, the beginning of the phase of the trip when Marco and the spirit prepared to disembark, and undertake the overland portion of their journey. When the ship finally pulled into the port of Andikara, Marco pushed Iasco’s cart down to the dock, then carried the dead priestess down and laid her on the cart before returning to escort Ophiuchus off the ship.

  “Thank you captain, and please thank the owner of the ship for her generosity,” the spirit said as they prepared to leave.

  “Should we stay in port and wait for you?” the captain asked of Ophiuchus, though she only looked at Marco as she spoke.

  “We don’t know when or if we’ll use this port again, so there’s no need for you wait here for us, captain,” the spirit of the island in the west responded. “Safe travels to you and your crew, and give my regards to Lady Folence.”

  With that the two left the ship hand in hand, and watched as the women of the crew immediately prepared to depart.

  “They seem in a hurry to leave. They didn’t even take any port leave,” Opi observed.

  “I think that a supernatural being as a passenger disturbed them,” Marco answered. He looked around the dock. “We’ll need to get directions to the closest market so that I can try to find some Savior’s Rays flowers to complete the formula for Iasco,” he glanced at the woven bundle that carried the remains of the woman.

  They started to move along the dock, and Marco asked a stevedore where the closest market was. With those directions in hand, they started moving through the city streets, away from the bustle of the port towards the calmer areas where retail and residential uses predominated the building purposes.

  “These will do nicely,” Marco told a young girl selling flowers at a stall in the market place they visited. He laid the bundle of stalks, leaves, and blossoms atop Iasco, then turned to Opi. “I’m done with that; I’d like to buy a few other things and then I’ll be ready to go to Persephone’s Gate.”

  They browsed among the stalls, a handsome young man and a beautiful woman, holding hands and pushing a small cart around the market square as Marco selected a few pieces of simple equipment that he believed would prove useful for his upcoming effort to revive Iasco. They were two strangers who had not been seen among the regular shoppers in the city market before, and they drew attention. Marco was dressed in his travel-worn clothes, while Ophiuchus appeared fresh and regally outfitted.

  “May we help you find something?” a man sitting in a stall full of cuts of meat asked the second time the two strolled by, as Marco canvassed the market to find the alchemy items he thought he might need, as well as some food items for himself and Iasco to eat during the journey to and from the underworld.

  “Is this your servant?” the man asked Ophiuchus doubtfully. Though Marco was noticeably younger than the spirit’s appearance and less well dressed, the pair were holding hands in an intimate way.

  “No, oh no, well maybe in some ways, but really, he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a husband in some time,” she scandalized the man by saying.

  “I think I’ve bought enough for now,” Marco told Opi after they shopped a bit further.

  “Where do we go from here?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask one of the local spirits for directions,” the spirit answered.

  “You don’t know where the gate is?” Marco asked incredulously, turning to face the spirit personage.

  “I know it’s in this region. Another spirit, Diotima, is from a holy spring near here, and she told me at the conclave that Persephone’s Gate was only a day away from her spring,” Ophiuchus explained.

  “You spirits have conclaves?” Marco asked in surprise. “Like the holy fathers of the church, or the alchemists?”

  “We do, when a situation calls for it. Our last conclave was to discuss this very adventure,” she added.

  “Going to revive Iasco?” Marco asked.

  “No, this battle against the latest resurrection of evil. There is a recurring cycle; evil seeks to win over the world and dominate the lives of men and women. Those of us who do not want our world to be dominated by evil band together as these sporadic eruptions of evil occur, and we decide who is best suited to fight the battles for our side, based on what we perceive evil is going to do.”

  “And you were picked to fight the battle for the good spirits?” Marco asked.

  “Me? Heavens no!” Ophiuchus exclaimed. “We foresaw that Iasco would be our champion, and that she would have an unstoppable ally.

  “And so we plotted and waited and maneuvered until the day Iasco was born,” the spirit said.

  “Wait! You had this conclave before Iasco was even born?” Marco asked, shocked.

  “The conclave was, let’s see, five hundred years ago in your terms,” Opi told Marco with a gentle smile. “Even Iasco isn’t that old.”

  Marco gaped for a long moment. “Five centuries ago you knew all this would happen? You can see the future? When will I ever be with Mirra?” he asked.

  “We can’t see the future in such specific terms,” the spirit answered. “Now, let’s find the way to Diotima’s spring, and then we can go on to Persephone’s Gate,” she instructed.

  They received directions to the spring. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d need it,” an old man sitting on a streetside bench answered Marco’s request for directions.

  “What do you mean?” Marco asked, curious about the comment.

  “Why, it’s a health and, uh, fertility spring of course. I’m just surprised,” the man looked from Marco to Ophiuchus with a knowing grin that made Marco blush, and the pair quickly moved down the road towards the spring.

  The spirit laughed gaily at Marco’s discomfort as they followed the street through the city and out into the countryside. Their journey passed a graveyard, and Marco heard a quiet murmur in the air. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  “I hear the wind in the air, and the birds in the trees, and I hear the earth groaning in pain from the evil that walks upon it. What do you hear?” Ophiuchus asked as they continued to walk.


  “It’s a quiet whisper. I’ve heard it before somewhere. It’s gone now,” Marco answered.

  Ophiuchus looked backwards, then nodded. “You hear something that I cannot; it was from the graveyard. It is the echo of the voices of the recently dead. Because you have been in the underworld when their spirits were there, you can hear them. If you listened very closely, you might even understand what they were saying.”

  “I’d rather not,” Marco sighed. The thought of hearing the murmured regrets and requests of the deceased promised him no joy.

  They soon reached a grove of olive trees that the old man had mentioned, and turned to the left, and began climbing up a gentle valley among the hills beyond the grove; the path up the valley was evidently well-traveled, allowing Iasco’s cart to travel easily. They stopped at a small pool of water, from which a bubbling stream issued and ran down the valley.

  “Diotima! Diotima, dear, it’s Ophiuchus and the Golden Hand,” the spirit called loudly.

  The pool of water began to churn and bubble, and then a woman’s figure, one sculpted solely from water, rose out of the pool and strode across its surface to come to a stop at the edge of the bank, facing the two visitors.

  “Ophiuchus! You’re in the flesh; you’ve traveled from your island! It is so good to see you,” the watery figure looked from Ophiuchus to Marco. “And this is the Golden Hand?”

  “As was foretold,” Marco’s companion affirmed.

  “And he’s still so young!” Diotima spoke as though Marco were not present.

  “He’s been tested, and passed the Journey of Three Tests already,” Ophiuchus said encouragingly.

  “Such a prodigy! Iasco is lucky to have him as an ally,” Diotima said.

  “Not always lucky, but lucky – more than lucky – to have him as her ally,” Ophiuchus agreed. “This is Iasco currently,” she motioned to the body in the wagon.

  The water spirit looked down at the fabric bag, then looked up, her eyes wide. “You seem very calm under these circumstances. Do you think the Golden Hand will carry out her mission without her?”