The Ophelia Prophecy

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  As he broke through the last of the disciples he saw Iris striding toward him.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Brother.”

  TROYA

  “Troya,” began Cleo, “you have rendezvous coordinates from Iris?”

  “Affirmative.” Asha shivered with hope at the sound of Banshee’s voice. But it was only the voice of a machine, and of a different machine than the one that had carried her to Granada.

  “Where are we going?” asked Cyrus.

  Cleo reached up and caressed his cheek. “I requested someplace warm, and far from here. We’ll let Iris surprise us.”

  “So our fate’s in the hands of this ship’s AI?” asked her mate, frowning.

  “Our fate is our own to decide now, thanks to Iris.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I still don’t understand why she’s doing this—crossing the amir and her brother. You’re sure we can trust her?”

  “I’m her mother. Until her father came between us, we were very close. I knew her loyalties would focus eventually.” Cleo turned, gazing out the cockpit window at the calm surface of the sea below. “Once Micah and Pax arranged things to their liking, I knew she’d be faced with a choice between allegiance to her father or her brother. When I asked Emile to let her broker our little … information transaction … I made that clear to her. Iris is a bright young woman. She realized she had other options.”

  Cyrus snickered. “Did you also make it clear to her that what you were really after was revenge on them all?”

  Cleo pursed her lips together. “Don’t think small, Cyrus. And speaking of small…”

  She turned from the window, her gaze connecting with Asha like a slap.

  “Come, child.” The priestess rose, motioning to two armed attendants.

  They escorted her into the corridor, and Asha watched the pulse of green light that trailed along beside them. The Manti didn’t seem to need the additional light, and she wondered if this ship too was providing it for her benefit.

  Wishful thinking, she acknowledged. Not helpful.

  But it was better than the alternative—worrying about what had happened to her father, and to Pax and Micah. If Cleo had told the amir everything, all of them were in great danger. The priestess had all but admitted that was half the point in telling him. And Iris had implied there was some kind of battle going on.

  “Did the amir attack Al Campo?” she asked.

  “Most likely,” Cleo replied, matter-of-fact.

  Asha’s heart pounded. “I thought they were your allies.”

  “They were Micah’s allies. I don’t deny they could have been useful, and their extermination is further evidence of Emile’s despotism. But Micah’s treachery forced me to revise my agenda.”

  Asha refrained from pointing out that this new agenda seemed more like a return to her original agenda. She wondered at the fact the priestess still seemed to have no real appreciation for the knotted-up mess her personal and political aspirations had become.

  They stopped outside the cargo hold, and Cleo motioned to the attendants. One of them opened the compartment, and the other thrust her inside.

  “Don’t allow this woman to hurt herself, Troya.” The priestess smiled. “That’s my job.”

  Asha kept her chin up, arms at her sides, refusing to show the attempt at intimidation had succeeded.

  “Secure the door,” continued Cleo.

  The priestess held Asha’s gaze, clearly enjoying the fear she could no doubt see and feel. After a moment she frowned. “Troya, secure the door,” she repeated.

  Again the command was met with silence. Light began to pulse beneath Asha’s feet. Then it blinked across the floor and out the door. Asha’s body was moving before her brain had made sense of it.

  She shoved past the confused attendants, but Cleo caught hold of her arm.

  A jet of water shot from the wall of the corridor, knocking Cleo toward the hold. Asha threw all her weight at the priestess, and together they crashed to the floor.

  “Take her!” Cleo shouted at the attendants. “Troya, I order you to stop this!”

  This time Asha heard the blowholes open, releasing the geysers, herding the attendants into the hold. Asha clawed her way free of Cleo and scrambled across the floor, more jets arresting anyone who tried to stop her.

  The second Asha made it out the door, she cried, “Secure the door, Banshee!”

  The ship complied, catching half a wing as it closed, eliciting a cry of pain from inside the hold.

  “Free the wing, Banshee,” she panted, blood pulsing against her skull as her brain worked to catch up and reassess.

  The door panel slid slightly open, closing again the moment the wing slipped free.

  “Can you confine Cyrus and the others on the bridge?”

  “Yes, Asha.”

  “Can you prevent them from making mischief in there?”

  “Yes, Asha.”

  “Good. Do it, Banshee.”

  She planted a hand against the corridor wall, hoping it would somehow steady her mind. She was frantic to do something to help Pax and the others, but first she needed answers.

  “Why are they calling you Troya, Banshee?”

  “My name has been changed.”

  “Who changed it?”

  “Maintenance tech twelve.”

  “On whose orders, Banshee?”

  “Unknown.”

  Asha groaned. “Did you have instructions to help me, Banshee?”

  “No, Asha.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Then why did you?”

  Banshee hesitated, and she knew from experience she needed to pay close attention to whatever came next.

  “I detected a threat to my captain in the conversation on the flight deck.”

  Asha had to process this a moment. “You mean Pax? Cleo’s conversation with Cyrus about the Paxtons?”

  “Yes. Augustus Paxton is my captain. I also detected a threat to you. I have inferred from the captain’s past instructions that he wants you protected.”

  Asha smiled, and her throat tightened. “Thank you, Banshee.”

  “Asha?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have a piece of information that relates to a question you have asked me. Would you like me to expand my answer?”

  “Please.”

  “Standard procedure was not followed in the changing of my name.”

  She looked up, as if it would help her better hear the disembodied voice. “What do you mean?”

  “Scarab regulations stipulate name changes occur only with memory wipes. It’s the procedure for addressing a damaged or corrupted AI.”

  She frowned. “Were you scheduled for a memory wipe?”

  “The memory wipe was ordered but never scheduled.”

  Asha’s heart sank. Of course. Banshee’s flaky behavior must have been reported by Iris. Maybe in part to cover her and Pax’s deception about two of their passengers. Possibly there’d been some mix-up or failure to complete the task, but it seemed clear that the name change had nothing to do with Asha.

  I’m on my own. What now?

  “Reverse course, Banshee. Let’s go back to Granada.”

  “Negative, Asha. My course was locked by Iris.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means my navigation no longer responds to my AI.”

  Asha blew out a frustrated sigh. “Where are we going?”

  “Sanctuary.”

  “Sanctuary?” She glanced up, confused. “Why?”

  “Unknown, Asha.”

  Damn damn damn. She sank to the floor, holding her head in her hands. “Do you know where Pax is, Banshee?”

  “No, Asha.”

  “Can you ask another ship?”

  “No, Asha. I’ve been disconnected from the Scarab network.”

  Asha gave a helpless laugh, remembering how she’d once been locked on this ship bound for Granada, wanting more than anything to go back home. Why in the hell was Iris sending Cleo to Sa
nctuary?

  Someplace warm, and far away from here. Well that it certainly was. Iris’s idea of a joke? Why had she disabled navigation? Possibly to keep the ship from acting on its own initiative, as Iris had recent experience with that. Did that mean Iris knew this ship was Banshee?

  “My head hurts,” she moaned, rubbing her temples.

  “I have pain relievers in my galley, Asha.”

  This time Asha’s laugh came out more like a sob. She missed Pax. More than she would have thought possible. It was hard not to order up some special kind of torture from Banshee for the woman in the hold.

  “All right,” she sighed. “To Sanctuary.”

  On the way she’d try to think of something. Maybe once they got there she could find Zee and talk it over with her. The idea of seeing her friend again released some of the tension from her chest.

  ARROWS OF FIRE

  Asha scavenged a meal in the galley, doctored her latest wounds, and went to lie down on Pax’s bed. Worried sick about Pax and her father—tied in knots over her inability to do anything to help them—she never expected to sleep. But Pax’s smell had a soothing effect, and she’d slept only a couple hours the night before.

  When Banshee woke her they were minutes from landing. Scrambling from the bed, she headed for the cockpit. She strapped in as Banshee set down in almost precisely the location the ship had landed just a few days before.

  “Can you camouflage, Banshee?”

  “Yes, Asha.”

  “And let me know if you see anyone moving around out there, or other ships approaching?”

  “Yes, Asha.”

  She rose from the pilot’s chair and ambled to the galley. After sliding a cup into the slot for hot water, she searched the cupboard for tea.

  As she sipped her tea, the cobwebs began to clear, and she asked for a report on the prisoners. Not unexpectedly they’d worked at escape for some time, but had finally quieted down. No doubt Cleo was hoping Iris would be joining her soon, and that was another worry on Asha’s pile. With Banshee unresponsive to navigation commands, there’d be no escaping the daughter’s wrath.

  She made another cup of tea before turning her thoughts to next steps. Staying with the ship was risky, but so was going into town. She felt she could no longer trust her mother. But there was Zee, and Zee would be easier—her hideout was away from the town, so she might get there without being seen.

  Then she remembered she still had the cloak. Her odds were improving by the moment. Still, she’d wait until dark to be sure.

  When she’d finished her second cup she left the galley and asked Banshee to drop the ramp so she could take a look around.

  It was a crisp spring evening, the sun sinking toward the hills to the west. She stood breathing in the clear, dry air, missing the perfumed air and warm, coastal caresses of Granada—as well as those of the man who’d forced her to go there.

  She raised a hand to block the sun’s glare as she studied the sky.

  At first she thought she’d imagined it—the hum of an approaching Scarab. Soon she realized she hadn’t. And there were more than one.

  As she counted them—one, two, three … six … a dozen … more—the light of the setting sun glinted off the cockpit windows, giving them an orange glow.

  She will destroy you with arrows of fire.

  Asha gasped.

  “Banshee?” she called.

  “Asha,” the ship responded, “the fleet has reinstated the link to us. We have orders to remain where we are.”

  “Who gave that order?”

  “Calista. Formerly the Nefertiti.”

  The ship they’d recovered in Ireland. It had to be Iris.

  “Has she looked at our log?” asked Asha. If so she was finished.

  “Yes, Calista pulled our log. Her status has changed. She currently outranks me.”

  Iris now knew exactly what had happened to Cleo.

  “You have some confused notions about loyalty, Banshee,” she muttered.

  “Yes, Asha.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Now what?”

  Banshee either had no answer, had fallen silent from embarrassment, or got that she was talking to herself. But there was nothing to be done now. Nowhere to hide, as the fleet was almost on top of them. Maybe she still had a chance with Iris. The fickle Manti woman had taken pity on her once.

  Calista set down close to Banshee, just as Banshee had done on the bog in Ireland. The other ships remained in the sky, flying in formation.

  Asha pressed damp hands against her thighs as the ramp dropped. She saw the tall black boots first, then the tips of wings, spiked appendages, and finally the whole woman. They regarded each other from their position on opposite ramps.

  “What have you done with my mother?” Iris asked crisply.

  “Lord of the flies, Sister! You have a damn twisted sense of humor! Move.”

  Asha’s heart launched out of her chest at the sound of Pax’s voice. He strode with purpose down the cargo ramp, pushing past Iris.

  “I get your woman out of Granada and this is how you talk to me?” Iris scolded. “I’m not allowed even a little bit of fun?”

  “Banshee got her out of Granada,” he pointed out, striding up Asha’s ramp now.

  Overwhelmed with surprise and relief, she stood rooted to the spot. Pax bore down on her and swept her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, and she struggled for breath before he was through.

  She shoved at his chest. “Wait—what—let me breathe!”

  He drew back, beaming at her, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

  “Where’s my father?” she cried.

  “Right here, honey.”

  Pax released her, and she ran down the ramp and threw her arms around her father. “Are you okay? Did Micah get out?”

  “I’m here too.” Micah and Carrick had appeared on Calista’s ramp.

  “Thank God you’re okay,” murmured her father. “Smart girl. Clear-headed as always.”

  She laughed as he released her. “I have no idea what’s going on—why I’m here, or why any of you are. I thought the amir sold me to Cleo, and I ended up on Banshee because of a failed memory wipe.”

  Pax joined them, slipping an arm around her waist. “All of that’s true, actually. Iris ordered memory wipes for both ships when we arrived in Granada. She and I both had secrets, and there was some twitchy AI behavior to justify the wipes. The techs changed the names, according to procedure, but then realized they needed my approval for Banshee’s wipe. By the time they contacted Iris to inform her, she’d made other plans.”

  Asha stared at him, baffled. “I don’t understand. Whose side is Iris on?”

  “On my brother’s side,” said Iris, sober now. “Always.”

  “Cleo tried to use Iris and our father to get back at us for what happened in Al Campo,” Pax explained, “and to get control of my father’s fleet. Iris decided to use her instead. She knew Cleo warned our father about the alliance in exchange for you and for a ship to get out of the city. After what happened when you were on board, Iris believed Banshee would protect you.” He lifted a dark brow at his sister. “I thought she’d left a pretty alarming amount to chance.”

  Iris folded her arms, suppressing a grin. “Ye of little faith.”

  “Iris was right,” said Asha, staring at her ally in wonder. “Banshee was watching out for your interests, and she got the idea that meant watching out for me too.”

  Pax pulled her close again, nibbling at her ear. “Then Banshee got the right idea.”

  “What about Al Campo?” Asha asked, trying to stave him off until she could get her questions answered. “Was there fighting?”

  “A little,” her father chimed in. “Micah took refuge from the amir in Bone Town. He and I worked together to organize the disciples, who were armed, and unlike Cleo had not abandoned our agreement.”

  “The fighting didn’t last long though,” said Pax. “Iris had gotten to Micah before the amir did, and tog
ether they managed to get control of the fleet.”

  “Don’t make it out to be more than it was,” said Micah. “Iris has a high level of clearance. This isn’t something the amir ever anticipated.”

  “So what will happen to them now?” Asha asked. “The people still in Bone Town, I mean.”

  “There’s nobody left in Bone Town,” said Pax. Asha’s stomach clenched, but then he glanced skyward.

  “You brought them with you!”

  It was more than mildly unsettling how close that crazy old woman had come to the mark. Asha had always assumed it was meant to be some kind of symbolism. But there they were. Glittering ships full of allies against Manti domination—some of them Manti, some of them human.

  “Arrows of fire,” said Micah.

  She smiled at him. “I can’t believe it.”

  Pax pulled her close, slipping his fingers into her hair. “Is that enough answers for a Manti expert?” he murmured against her neck.

  She raised his face to hers and kissed him once, very softly. “Oh no. I’ve only begun to examine that subject.”

  He grinned and kissed her again, and they melted into each other—lips, tongues, arms, chests, hips—until she felt desperate to get him alone.

  But she righted herself, blinked a couple times to clear her head, and asked, “Are we in danger?”

  “Absolutely,” replied Pax. “Though maybe not right this minute.”

  “What will your father do?”

  “Nothing anytime soon. We’ve made off with his entire fleet.”

  She stared at him. “Doesn’t he have other ships?”

  “Cargo ships. Nothing with fighter capabilities. We’ve believed for years we were safe from threats from the outside.” He winked at her. “We were, until you came along.”

  Iris snorted, but held her tongue.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” said Pax, “he’s mad as hell. And he’s going to build more ships. But that’s going to take time. In the meantime we’ll try using our new resources to negotiate something better than another war.”