The Serpent in the Stone (The Gifted Series)

by Nicki Greenwood

  “Cameron was the best student I ever taught, excepting you girls. I know his family well.” He sighed. “I have to go back to England to see them about this. After that, I’ll be staying at Eurocon to take care of some business matters. I’m leaving you and Faith in charge here. Sara, be careful. I don’t want any more accidents.”

  “You aren’t coming back?”

  “As soon I’m able.” He took a step toward her, and she saw by his posture that he wanted to comfort her, but didn’t know quite how. For that, she loved him all the more.

  She studied the laces of her boots. The amulet weighed heavily around her neck. Her heart thumped, and she teetered on the point of telling him everything. “Lamb?”

  “Yes?”

  She lost her nerve under his somber, pale-blue gaze. “Have a safe trip,” she mumbled, then stepped around him to join the others.

  As she approached, Flintrop looked up from his position at the sieve box. “Hello.”

  The sympathy in his voice pricked at her. She remembered asking Flintrop if he was in love with her. He hadn’t answered, but he hadn’t needed to.

  Tilting her head, she gave him a critical look. He was handsome enough, the sort of man who could make grimy jeans and a T-shirt look appealing. Smart. Successful. Powerful.

  But cold. Distant in the way of a beautiful artifact, unreachable behind barriers of velvet rope and glass.

  Ian was different. Warm and real and immediate, and he set fires in her that no one else ever had—fires that burned well after the lovemaking ended. Was that why the look in his eyes this morning had made her ache so much?

  She sat down in front of the camp grill, where Dustin had started a pot of coffee. “Good morning.”

  Flintrop sat beside her. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I will be, as long as people stop asking me how I am.” She accepted a cup of coffee from Dustin when it finished brewing.

  “You know what happened to Cameron isn’t your fault, Sara. I made the decision to stay, too.”

  “I know.”

  Becky emerged from her tent wrapped in a blanket, looking pale. She sat on the other side of the grill, avoiding eye contact.

  Flintrop cleared his throat. “Becky? Do you need to talk?”

  The woman shook her head. Her gaze flicked everywhere but at them.

  “You sure?” Flintrop prompted.

  Sara ducked into her coffee mug until her hair swung forward to hide her face, then let loose her telepathy. Becky flushed red and murmured something about not feeling well, but Sara caught a fragment of her thoughts:

  What was I thinking? I can’t take that thing. I don’t want to do this.

  Startled, Sara blinked and raised her head. Not good. She took a huge gulp of coffee, then choked on it as it scalded its way down her throat.

  Flintrop pounded her on the back. She waved him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  “Between you choking on breakfast, Becky not feeling well, and Lamb leaving, I think we’re going to be on light duty today,” he muttered.

  “I said I’m fine. We’ll keep working.”

  He flashed a brief smile. “I remember when we were in Iceland, and you got the flu. You still wouldn’t stop working. Do you ever quit?”

  “There’s a lot to be said for persistence,” she told him, half listening, and half furtively studying Becky, who stayed silent.

  “That’s very true,” Flintrop said softly.

  Sara gave him a wary look and ducked into her coffee again. Right now, there just wasn’t enough room in her head and heart to sort out what to do with that.

  Faith exited her tent and started across the moor. Sara heaved an inward sigh of relief. She caught her sister’s gaze, and Faith gave an inconspicuous shake of her head. No further contact with Hakon, then. Sara downed the rest of her coffee, then poured herself another.

  Hard work helped turn her thoughts from Cameron’s death, and Becky’s unwitting admission of attempted theft. She threw herself into the labor, clearing her plot faster than any she’d done since arriving there. Still, each hour ticked by as though it were an eon. While she worked, she stole looks up the slope of the island toward Ian’s camp, wondering if he was thinking of her. All of her crew’s expressions of concern for her last night had not gone nearly as far as his silent embrace while she broke to pieces in her tent. Had he known that she needed, for once, to feel like she wasn’t alone?

  When midday break rolled around, Dustin called them to lunch. She didn’t realize she hadn’t moved until Faith grabbed her elbow. Sara jerked back to the present.

  Faith waited until the crew had moved off in search of food. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I... Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that. Is Ian all right? You’ve been staring up there all morning.”

  Sara felt her cheeks burn and blurted, “What’s with this ghost of yours? Did you talk to him?”

  Her sister raised a slender brow.

  “Never mind,” muttered Sara. “Becky did try to steal the amulet.”

  “Are you two eating, or not?” called Thomas.

  “We’ll talk later. At the inlet,” Faith murmured.

  Sara nodded understanding, and they went to join the others.

  ****

  Sara waded into the inlet up to the bottom of her shorts. The cool water washed around her legs, a relief after the sweat and toil of the dig site. She sank to her neck with a grateful sigh.

  Faith splashed in beside her. “Now that we have ten seconds where no one’s hovering, can I quietly panic about this Becky thing?”

  Sara followed her sister into the inlet until they were both waist-deep. “I heard her thinking this morning. She said, ‘I can’t take that thing,’ which pretty much tells me she was planning on stealing the amulet when she snuck into my tent.”

  “It can’t just be her, acting alone,” Faith said. “She couldn’t steal a paper clip.”

  “Faith, we can’t stay here for three weeks. I feel like a sitting duck. Even if I go to Mainland and have it dismantled, what are we going to do with the pieces?” Sara touched a hand to her T-shirt, where the amulet hung hidden underneath.

  Faith dunked into the water and came up dripping. “I need your help tonight.” Her sister’s golden-blond hair floated on the water’s surface. She pushed a sodden lock out of her eyes. “I’m going to try and read the dig wall.”

  “The whole wall? Are you insane?”

  “We have to know what happened here, and fast,” Faith explained. “Hakon told me about a sword, that we need it. I know it’s here somewhere. I think I can find it if I do this.”

  Sara hissed. “This dig site is over a thousand years old! You’ll never make it through a divination of the entire thing. You’ll pass out, or get lost in it, or worse!”

  “That’s where you come in. You’re my tie to the here and now. I need you to anchor me.”

  Sara swallowed back the anxious knot in her throat. What if she couldn’t get Faith back? She hunched in the water. “Are you sure there isn’t another way?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve checked? This is the only other thing I can think of, the fastest way we can find this sword before someone else uncovers it. Are you helping, or am I doing this alone?”

  Ian’s words came back to her. You’re not alone, Sara. A sudden, visceral pull in the direction of his camp filled her, and oh, how she wished his words were true. Aching, she dropped her gaze to the surface of the water. “I can’t let you try this by yourself.”

  Nodding, Faith said, “I’ll come get you at midnight. Everyone should be asleep by then.”

  “Faith, what if this Hakon is wrong?” Sara asked. “What if he’s misleading you?”

  “Even if he is, he knows something about that amulet. Right now, all we’ve got are old stories, and a couple of vague paragraphs in Beardsley. I have to believe this is going to work.”

  Sara wanted to feel as confident as her sister sounded, but an
ominous prickling at the base of her spine warned her it wouldn’t be as easy as she hoped.

  Chapter Twelve

  The sky clouded over soon after dark, obliterating all traces of the stars and the waning moon. Sara had put out her lantern an hour ago. One by one, the other lights in the crew tents had also winked out. She hovered in the doorway of her tent, peering at the sky with a mixture of gratitude and unease.

  Thunder growled. The rising wind battered against her body in fitful gusts and lashed her hair about her shoulders. The atmosphere bristled with the electric scent of oncoming lightning. A storm would keep the crew inside the shelter of their tents. No one would see them flitting about the dig site in such weather. She wished it would discourage Faith from this reckless plan.

  It wouldn’t.

  The restless drafts of air brought her snatches of Flintrop’s voice from inside his tent, then the sound faded, giving way to another boom of thunder. The first patter of rain sheeted across the moor, bringing Faith with it, bearing a shovel over her shoulder. Sara didn’t see her until she was almost close enough to touch. She grabbed her rain slicker, and followed her sister to the dig without a word.

  They walked along the dig wall until they came to the edge of the new fault. “Right here,” Faith said, setting her shovel down. “This is where you found the skull, isn’t it? It’s as good a place as any.”

  With her belly churning, Sara sat cross-legged on one of the large, flat stones. Rainwater had already soaked to her skin in spite of the slicker. “How do we do this?”

  Faith sat opposite her, mirroring her position. “I’m going to lay one hand on this wall, and you’re going to hold my other. Give me ten minutes. If I pass out, or don’t come out of it, I want you to pull me off the wall. Don’t let go of me, no matter what.”

  Sara held her breath and gripped Faith’s hand in response. “Be careful.”

  Faith smiled. The first flash of lighting arced across the sky and illuminated her eyes as they melted into silver. “See you soon.” She laid her other hand flat against the wall, and fell into silence.

  Sara began to count off seconds. The chill of the storm started seeping into her bones. Water trickled down the back of her neck. Ten, eleven, twelve...

  Seconds lengthened into minutes, and still her sister gave no sign of coming out of her trance. Sara counted on.

  Just past seven minutes, Faith shuddered, and her hand went slack in Sara’s. Sara shot off the wall and yanked on her sister’s hand. Slick with rain, Faith’s hand slipped out of her own. “No. No!” She threw her arms around Faith’s waist and pulled her bodily off the wall. They tumbled to the sodden ground. Sara snatched up Faith’s hand and squeezed. When that didn’t work, she slapped Faith’s cheek. “Wake up. Faith! Wake up!” Still nothing. Sara shook her by the shoulders. Rain hissed around them.

  Faith’s features contorted into a scowl. Her eyes fluttered open to blink against the downpour.

  “Oh, thank God!” Sara gasped out. She fell back with a moan of relief.

  Shielding her face from the rain, Faith heaved herself into a sitting position. “Thanks for the pull.”

  “I lost my grip,” said Sara. “I thought I wouldn’t get you back.”

  “You let go? I still felt a buzzing. I thought it was you.”

  “Where’s the sword?”

  Faith shook herself out of her post-vision haze. She swept a hand across her face in a futile effort to clear it of rainwater, and they got to their feet. “There, under the opposite corner. Help me clear away the wall stones.” She brought her shovel to the area she’d indicated, then dropped it to grasp the top stone. She gave it a heave. It dropped with a thud to the earth beside the wall. “We have to hurry. I’m almost out of energy.”

  Sara nudged her sister. “I’ll do it. Watch the tents for me.”

  Faith stepped aside and shielded her eyes against the rain, looking in the direction of the tents. Lightning speared the heavens, followed by another angry roar of thunder. The storm was almost on top of them. “Not that I can see much in this,” she said. “Make it quick. If a tent blows down, they’ll come out to fix it.”

  Sara concentrated on the stones at the corner of the wall, shivering as her power flowed in. She held out a hand and took a few steps back. The top layers of stone trembled and shifted. She focused harder. Her breath quickened, and even in the chilly rain, she began to sweat with exertion. Her heartbeat thudded against her ribs. The weight of the stones resisted her. She pushed again, gritting her teeth. The stones gave way at last, and toppled off the wall.

  Just four more layers. Sara stepped back to make more room. Mud sucked at her feet. She shook her head, flinging locks of dripping hair off her forehead, and started again.

  This was going to be a long night.

  Ten full minutes passed before the next three layers of stone gave way, tumbling on top of the others. Sara exhaled, and her shoulders slumped. “I’m just about tapped. That’s all I can manage.”

  Faith knelt in the mud. “You got the worst of it. We’ll do the rest by hand.” She seized one of the stones and hurled it aside.

  Dropping beside her, Sara bent to the task. The storm whipped the rain, stinging, into their faces while they worked. Lightning and thunder continued their fierce argument overhead.

  When they pulled the last of the stones away, Faith took up her shovel and began digging while Sara kept watch. The way the wind howled, she worried that someone’s tent would fall victim to its fury.

  A little more than a meter down, the shovel thunked against something solid. “I hope that’s a sword, and not bedrock,” Faith said. “Have you got enough left to help me lift this thing out?”

  “I can try. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

  They scraped out handfuls of mud and tossed it away, fighting against a slide of earth and rainwater that filled the hole almost as fast as they emptied it. Sara’s fingers brushed the pitted surface of weathered wood. “I’ve got it. Quick, help me find the edges and lift.”

  Together, they managed to heft one end of a long wooden box from the hole. Sara struggled to levitate it while Faith hauled on the other end. The wet earth dragged at the box, sapping the last of Sara’s power. She pulled harder. “I didn’t get this far to quit now,” she snarled.

  The box gave way at last with a squelch of mud. She and Faith fell back, and the box landed on top of them. Panting, they clambered to their feet and raised the box up onto their shoulders.

  “Your tent, quick. It’s closest,” said Faith, taking the lead while Sara stumbled along behind her.

  They reached the shelter of Sara’s tent, and ducked inside as another volley of lightning snapped. Sara zipped shut the tent flap while her sister set the box on the table. She went to the lantern and turned it on as high as she dared, just enough to see. Any higher, and it would attract the notice of other crew members.

  Standing over the table, they examined the dig site’s third find: a battered oak box, splitting with decay. Judging from how long it had lain hidden in the peat, Sara couldn’t believe it had survived. She touched the amulet hidden under her sodden shirt and wondered if, as with the necklace, there might be a reason it hadn’t aged faster.

  Fragments of cloth stuck to the brass hinges and lock. The box must have been wrapped in an oilcloth before being laid in its resting place. She traced her fingers over the lid, and felt regular, shallow depressions where carved runework had worn to near illegibility. The archaeologist in her screamed for a tape measure and notebook. “I hate to open this thing without cataloguing it.”

  Faith gaped at her. “Put this in writing? Are you nuts?”

  “I know, I know. Let’s just open it before I lose the nerve.”

  Faith picked up her shovel and smashed it against the lock. The soft brass split in two and fell to the table. “Hakon, I hope you know what you’re doing.” She opened the latch and lifted the box’s lid.

  Inside rested a cloth bundle. Touching it
, Sara felt a greasy residue. She’d been right about the oilcloth; whale or seal fat, maybe. “How is this not decomposed? All of it should be rotted away after a thousand years in the ground.” She lifted the bundle out. Faith set the empty box on the tent floor.

  Sara laid the bundle on the table, then unwrapped it, holding her breath. She turned back the final corner of canvas. She and Faith gasped in unison.

  It gleamed, even in the diffuse light of a low lantern. The sword blade reached almost three feet. In utter defiance of its age, it bore a mirror shine. The hilt’s grip sparkled with inlaid brass and copper bands. The pommel bore another inset of copper. Then Sara noticed the gently curving guards at the base of the hilt. “Serpent heads,” whispered Faith.

  Sara brushed her fingers along the hand guard.

  The amulet sizzled under her shirt. With a yelp, she snatched her hand back and grappled with the necklace, pulling it out and holding it away from her body. “It burned me!”

  Brows aloft, Faith laid one hand on the sword and, ignoring Sara’s objection, touched a finger to the amulet. Hissing, she took her hands away from both objects. “Not burning...buzzing. That’s what I felt when I was searching for the sword and holding your hand. I felt it through you. They’re connected somehow.”

  Sara pulled the neck of her shirt down. Her skin bore no burn marks. “You handle the sword. I’m not touching it again.”

  “It’s almost angry,” Faith murmured. “I’ve never felt an object express emotion before.” She folded the canvas back over the sword, then picked the bundle up. “I need to take this back to my tent and try to reach Hakon. With any luck, he’ll tell us what to do with it now that we have it.” She bent and placed the wrapped sword back in its box.

  “What about the hole at the dig? Someone’s bound to notice in the morning and start guessing.”

  Faith frowned and shoved the box under her sister’s cot. “We’ll have to refill it.”

  “I used almost everything I had. There’s no way I can rebuild that wall.”

  Retrieving her shovel, Faith unzipped Sara’s tent door. “Then we’ll make it look like it collapsed. Grab a shovel.”