Never Forgotten

by Stacey Nash

  I hold her stare, even though that name feels like an insult.

  “You are.” She shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “No one believes the old stories, not even the council—”

  “My father believes and that’s why we’re doing this. Can you imagine,” I draw in a long breath of musty, stale air, “if he had any of the keys? What it would be like, what he’d be like?”

  A disaster for mankind, Collective and non-Collective alike, that’s what it would be like. Manvyke would think he was some sort of god—or ancient warlord—and demand to be treated as such, with an all bow down to me approach, no doubt.

  “Besides,” I say, “I believe too. I’ve seen the Tarlequin.”

  She looks at me like a fish out of water, all huge eyes and gaping mouth. I glance at the flooded tunnel; maybe there are fish here. The clear water reveals stepping stones just visible below the surface.

  “By the founders . . .”

  “Don’t worry, it’s safe,” I say. “The resistance has it.”

  She snaps her mouth closed and her eyes drop out of focus, like she’s turned inward. “So why are we here, underground in Alexandria?”

  “Don’t know. At the moment we’re chasing Nik and I’ve got no idea where he’s going. I’m still trying to piece it together.”

  My earlier thought about ancient powers niggles at the back of my mind. Like an ancient warlord.

  Cynnie jumps up and moves along the plank toward an unflooded floor up ahead. “Well, we’re in Alexandria, aren’t we? Collective myth says the three keys have the powers of—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I went to school too. A sword, a cloak and a shield.”

  “Aaaand . . . it says that one could protect the bearer at all costs, one could defend, and the other could conceal.” Her focus flits around the cavern as she bounds along the wooden plank, spinning around to face me when she reaches the end. I had no idea she’d be so into this.

  “The Tarlequin is the cloak, so we’re chasing the sword or the shield, maybe both,” I say.

  “No, it’s not.” Her hand rests on her hip. “The Tarlequin is the shield.”

  “It can’t be. Its power is invisibility—that’s as cloak-like as it comes.”

  Her brows scrunch together. “Are you sure? ’Cause myth says it’s the shield. It’s even in that thick old textbook, Collective Mythology.”

  “Well, when it was activated it threw—”

  “You saw it activated? No way!”

  “It threw,” I glower at her, “up a shield. I’ve never seen anything like it. That thing even blocked out sound.”

  “So you’re telling me its primary power is cloaking, but its secondary power is shielding.” She taps her chin. “Interesting.”

  “Not that it matters anyway. I need to figure out why Nik was here.” I shimmy past her, through the opening, eying the dog-headed thing as I pass. It’s kind of cool, a man with a dog’s head—the ancient Egyptians sure were inventive.

  “Well, it kind of does matter.” Her voice echoes off the stone. Nik better not be lurking around or he will have heard that. “If we can figure out which key he’s looking for. If that’s what he’s doing, then we’ve got a better chance of beating him to it.”

  “He threatened Mae.” I don’t know how the words tumble out of me without permission, but now that they have I may as well throw everything I’ve got in the ring. “She has the Tarlequin and he said he’s going after her.”

  Cynnie’s feet continue tapping the floor behind me, not even missing a beat. This girl is as good at hiding emotion as I am. She didn’t flinch at my confession. She steps off the board and right up next to me on the solid floor, the flooded part of the tunnel now behind us. I don’t want my brother anywhere near Mae or the Tarlequin, so with firm resolve, I say, “We have to beat him to this key, because if it’s the Torith—the sword—and she doesn’t see him coming . . .”

  “We’ll beat him.”

  Just like that; no hesitation, no plan, just we’ll do it.

  “So,” she says, “Where else has he been?”

  “A church in DC, Pella, and here.”

  “Pella in Jordan?”

  “Yeah.”

  We walk through what I quickly realize are catacombs, or maybe some other sort of ancient tombs. It’s also evident that they’re a tourist attraction, because electric light floods the passages and some sections are roped off. I count back the hours in my head, but I’ve no idea of the time difference between home and here. It must be after hours though, because the place is so empty.

  She chuckles. “He’s chasing Alexander the Great. I don’t know where the church comes into it, but Alexandria and Pella are both cities the famous general had close ties with. When you think about it, kind of makes sense that he had a key.”

  I run my finger along the rough wall; no idea what type of stone it is, but it’s carved amazingly.

  “He amassed a lot of power in a short time—before he was thirty, I think. It’s the only answer for why he was so victorious.”

  I throw her a skeptical look. “It’s not the only answer. He could have just been a good general.”

  “Come on, Jax, it’s blatantly obvious.”

  “Okay then, going by your theory, he obviously lost the key and that’s why he lost his power.”

  “Well, nooooo . . .” She sighs and this time I actually toss a look over my shoulder. “He never lost power. Alexander died with his power intact. His death was kind of sudden.”

  “So someone offed him for it?”

  “Maybe. My memory’s a bit foggy there. We need to research.”

  “Finally, something you can’t pull out of the depths of your memory. How do you remember this shit, Cynnie?”

  “I dunno. Guess I just like history.”

  “So,” I say, “we need to look for rumors or myths that center on his power.”

  “Or not,” she says. “Nik’s already done the groundwork and he obviously thinks old Alex was a key bearer. We just need to figure out what happened to it next—after him—then we’ll be a step ahead of your brother.”

  We walk in silence for a while. Collective history was boring enough that I then didn’t bother to pay attention to world history, but she’s got a point about Alexander. Why would we be in tunnels, though, what could possibly be down here? As we move further up, holes honeycomb the walls; some square, some rectangular, others arched. A multitude of tiny rooms break off the main area. This place is huge.

  “Tombs,” Cynnie says. “I think we’re in the catacombs beneath the city.”

  “Is Alexander buried here?”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s buried here anymore.” She runs her hand along one of the cutout ledges.

  My mind wanders back to her—stepping away from everything she’s known. Given the choice, would I have been able to do the same thing? I’d like to think I would have, that I’d be with the resistance because I believed the Collective was wrong, not because I’d been placed here by my father. This girl walking in front of me, she’s courageous, that’s for sure. When I saved her from Nik I’m not sure how I managed to keep a level head and not slit his damn throat.

  Voices—really faint—buzz from an indecipherable direction. Cynnie stops, her gaze flicking to mine. She heard them too. “I don’t think we’ll find anything,” she says quietly. “This place is empty. There are no relics or anything; even the remains are long gone. Maybe we need to dig a little further into the history, so we can figure this out.”

  “There has to be something or Nik wouldn’t have come here.” I stride past, weaving through the narrowest corridors ever, casting quick glances over the tiny empty tombs. Each only big enough to hold a single body.

  We emerge into a large open area and a single sarcophagus, cut out of the same rock as the wall, dominates the center of the room.

  “Hey, look at this.” Cynnie points to an alcove set back from the entrance we just walked through. Huge columns tower from t
he floor to the ceiling and how in the hell they cut such magnificent art out of the rock itself is crazy. Was it the same way they carved the tunnels, the tombs and statues? Maybe the ancients had some kind of tech.

  The voices grow louder. At least three distinct people, none of them Nik, so we’ve still got time.

  This room doesn’t have the same Egyptian feel of the last one, instead it’s more Grecian. A bull, a sacred symbol of ancient Greece, stands on an altar with a winged god presiding over it and he looks Egyptian enough. The images are carved in relief, the background chipped away to reveal the picture.

  “This is just . . . wow,” Cynnie says. “Wow.”

  “Let’s go this way.” The twang of an English accent sounds like it comes from the very next room. I cast a quick glance at Cynnie who shrugs.

  And that, there . . . the image behind her. Some sort of snake, or maybe they’re dragons, coil on each side of the entrance we just came through. The strange thing is, each has two thin swords piercing its curled body and above them are round shields. Swords, shields . . . the only thing missing is the cloak. This could be a symbol . . . maybe. Or maybe I’m just clutching at straws.

  A middle-aged couple barrels into the chamber. Wide-brimmed hats and fanny packs give them away as tourists. The cameras hanging around their necks remind me of Mae. She’d probably enjoy photographing a place like this. She’s only snapped shots of nature—the ring, flowers, Ace—when I’ve been with her, but she did say she liked old buildings and this is older even than ancient.

  The woman smiles. “Hello. Would you mind taking a picture of my husband and I?”

  “Sure,” Cynnie says, holding her hand out. “How about standing in this impressive doorway?” She gestures to the place I’ve just been examining.

  The woman grins, passes her camera to Cynnie and grabs her husband’s arm, towing him along behind her. Meanwhile, Cynnie turns the camera over in her hands, pinching her brows together.

  “It’s a Polaroid,” the woman coos. “It will eject the photo at the bottom. I just had to have one when they released them a little while back. I wouldn’t expect a young lass like you to have seen one before.”

  Her husband shakes his head with a tiny smile.

  Several minutes later, the camera has spat out half a dozen pictures which I now hold between my fingers, trying not to let them touch one another as per instructions from the Brit.

  “Now let me take a picture of you two lovebirds,” the woman says.

  “We’re not—”

  Cynnie cuts me off with a glare. Doesn’t matter, I guess. As we walk toward the pillars, I notice something I missed earlier. Words etched into the stone under the snake on the left. I move closer. The serpent looks regal coiled on top of a square pillar and at the very base of that pillar words are etched in ancient Greek.

  “Cynnie . . .”

  “Come on, lovie, I haven’t got all day,” the woman says.

  “Sweetheart,” Cynnie says and I swing around so fast my neck kinks. “Be a dear and come over here for a happy snap. It’s so sweet of Janice to offer to take our picture. I’d sure love to have a memento, wouldn’t you?”

  Holy hell. She’s got to be kidding. I plaster on a fake smile and throw an arm over her shoulder. The flash near blinds me and even blinking doesn’t make my vision clear any quicker.

  The woman hands the blank photo to Cynnie.

  “Can we get on of that?” I point to the serpent.

  The woman’s face lights up, and before I can say thank you she’s snapped off a heap of shots. “Here you go, pet. Just keep them apart until they dry. Come on, my love.” She beckons her husband. “These catacombs aren’t going to wait for us.”

  They toddle off into another cave while Cynnie chuckles. “Pet, lovie?”

  I clench my jaw. “We’re out of here.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jax

  My stomach lurches then, bam, we land. As I let go of Cynnie’s hand something feels different—like someone is watching us. Sure enough, someone is. Harris sits on one of the upturned crates, his stare boring into me.

  “What are you doing?” he hisses.

  Frank’s still snoring where he was when we left. It doesn’t look like he’s moved a single muscle except maybe his jaw, which now hangs open.

  “Visiting the girlfriend,” Cynnie says. “Iretum is the quickest way to—”

  “Porting.” I correct her Collective term. “We went to see Mae.”

  His eyes narrow with a slight tip of his head.

  Cynnie drops my hand. “Let’s get some sleep, I’m beat.”

  Harris doesn’t move and his glare weighs on my shoulders as if I’m wearing a cloak made of guilt. I scrub a hand over the back of my neck and step off the port mat trying for nonchalant.

  “Why sneak around at night to do that?” Harris asks.

  “You think Frank would let us take a pair of bands in the day for something non urgent?” Cynnie’s fast, wish I could think on my feet like that.

  The clink of bottles rolling into one another spins my attention to Frank who rubs his eyes. It’s time for us to get out of here and now. As if she’s had the same thought, Cynnie scoots around the empty crate, bumping into Harris on the way. He grunts and tugs his foot in. “You stepped on my toes.”

  “What’s going on?” Frank springs up, looking around groggily.

  Harris is on his feet now, too, standing right next Cynnie.

  “I just walked Cynnie out to use the ladies and we noticed you were asleep.” Harris shakes his head. “Thought we’d better man the scanner for a bit, because we can’t leave it unattended and you obviously needed the rest. It’s not right that you have to stay up every night, Frank. We should put it on a roster.”

  By the time Harris is halfway through his speech, Frank’s nodding and I’m suspicious. Why the hell did Harris cover for us?

  “Oh, and Jax here,” Harris says, “got worried when he woke up and Cynnie was gone, so he came looking for her. We’ve been sitting here for,” he spins his wrist over and narrows a peek at his watch, “at least an hour, wouldn’t you say, guys?”

  Cynnie nods so vigorously her curls bounce against her shoulder. “Yeah, about that.”

  Harris doesn’t look in my direction again, just starts walking away. And damn it, I’ve let him down, betrayed the only friend I had here—if I can call him that.

  Frank readjusts his collar, then looks down, also refusing to meet my eyes. “Thanks.”

  I blow out a breath and Cynnie tips her chin toward the back of the warehouse. She’s right, Frank’s embarrassed and we need to leave him to his own thoughts.

  I turn to leave and I’ll be damned if Johnny isn’t hunched in the corner like a hobo, thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes trained right on me. The dude chills my spine with unease, so I move a little closer to Cynnie. Better sleep light tonight.

  After we slip into our swags, it’s a long while before sleep comes. My thoughts overflow with catacombs, ancient warlords, and Johnny’s shifty eyes. I finally start to doze off to the sound of people waking and shuffling about.

  ~*~

  When I wake Cynnie’s still asleep, so I shift onto my back and wait. Today, we’ve got the day off from scanner duty. A luxury that only happens once a fortnight, or so I’m told, since I haven’t been here for a full rotation yet. It’s a good thing too, as it means we should be able to find a quiet corner and figure out what clue Nik’s chasing.

  Cynnie stretches her arms above her head and yawns. What’s with people that make noises when they yawn? You suck air in, hold it, and let it back out. No noise needed. The sound Cynnie made was almost like a squeak.

  I link my fingers together and slide them under my head. It could take a while for her to wake. When she finally glances my way, I say, “Day off, what do you want to do?”

  “Great.” She noisy yawns again and sits up. “Is there a library around here?”

  “And here I th
ought you’d want to do something special.”

  She punches my arm then climbs up and tugs on the ancient denim jacket Harris procured from wherever he got her some clothes.

  We make our way to the kitchen where Harris already sits staring into a bowl of some kind of cereal, a dark cap hiding his expression. A badge in its center holds some sort of symbol, nerdy I’ll bet. Cynnie makes toast for herself and sits next to him, seems like the breakfast is more interesting than her though because he never takes his eyes off it.

  “Is there a town library?” I ask him.

  Harris doesn’t speak or make eye contact with either of us.

  “Sounds like fun.” The bounce in Cynnie’s voice doesn’t match the troubled look she passes me.

  The rest of our breakfast proceeds in silence, with me and Cynnie trading glances while Harris tries to pretend we don’t exist. The tension in the air is palpable and ripples under my skin, so when Johnny walks into the room with his shifty eyes I can’t cope. I shove my chair back, shoot Cynnie a look that says, we’re leaving, and walk out of the kitchen. Not stopping or turning back until I reach the swinging door that leads out of the warehouse and then it’s only to make sure she’s with me. She is. Cynnie’s different today, her head held slightly higher and she’s walking like she’s got a purpose. Telling her about the keys was definitely the right choice.

  I hold the plywood board back for her to duck through the old window. Then I slip out behind her and shove my hand into my jacket pocket, my fingers curling around the keys for my motorbike. Heading toward it, I turn around at Cynnie’s harrumph. “That? That’s your ride?” she asks.

  “Yep. Sure is.”

  “What is it?”

  I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “Better than a transport. No glass walls to stop the wind from blowing against you and—”

  Footsteps sound behind us and I spin around, my hand darting to the inside of my jacket and closing around my clarinium blade. It’s not Johnny though. Harris strides across the parking lot, his arms crossed over his chest and his attention locked on Cynnie.

  “Why the library?”