by Zoë Archer
London exchanged glances with Bennett. It seemed even gods had difficulties with their families.
“For hundreds of years, my monument lay in pieces,” continued the giant. “Until, piece by piece, it was taken away upon the backs of nine hundred camels and melted down, lost to time. Everything gone, except my Eye, the Eye which held the terrible gift.”
“And if we find the Eye, we will have control over the waterborne fire,” said Bennett.
“It has been used before for such a purpose.”
Even though speaking with a partially buried giant was not precisely ordinary, London’s pulse sped up even further at the mention of the Source. It was precisely what the Blades sought to protect from the Heirs. “Where is the Eye?” she asked.
The Colossus’s sigh would have tipped London onto her backside had Bennett not been holding her. “I cannot show you where it is,” the giant said, mournful. “I have but one Eye to see it.”
London’s heart sank. Even this incarnation of the sun god could not help them in their quest.
“We shall be your eyes,” said Bennett. “We will find what you have lost. But without more information, our sight is just as hindered as yours. Tell us the first steps of our journey.”
The Colossus’s scowl was a terrible thing, yet Bennett didn’t seem to mind it overmuch. Oh, dear. Sometimes bravado wasn’t the best tactic to employ. Perhaps that was why the Blades included women in their ranks.
“If we find your Eye,” London said quickly, “then we can restore it to you. Will that not make it secure and keep it from the hands of wicked men?”
This appeared to mollify the Colossus. “You speak as a sage, Oracle’s Daughter. I shall tell you what I can, but, in turn, you must swear solemnly to return my Eye to me.”
“That was the plan all along,” muttered Bennett in English.
“You might’ve said so,” London hissed back. “We will swear,” she said louder in Greek, “as our hearts attest.”
The giant seemed appeased. “You will find the Eye in the Black Temple,” he said. “I know not where to find this Temple, alas. But you shall find it there. The Oracle’s Daughter and the Solver of Secrets must navigate the Temple together. The future of the earth is in both your hands.”
“And once we do all this?” London prompted. “Do we bring the Eye back to you?”
“No, this image you see before you is naught but an illusion. I belong to the sea, the sun, and the sky. To restore to me my Eye, the Solver of Secrets and the Oracle’s Daughter must take the light of the sun to a place on the sea floor that has never seen sunlight, and there, let the Eye rest. Only then shall my sight be restored.”
“Many thanks to you,” said Bennett, bowing.
“My thanks shall be yours if you succeed in this,” the Colossus thundered in reply. “But if you liberate the Eye and do not restore it to me, the consequences will be most dire. Mankind will have in its possession the means of destroying itself. And so it shall.”
With those booming words, the Colossus faded into air. All London saw before her now was the top of the cliff, dotted with grass swaying in the breeze. It seemed hard to believe that moments earlier, she had been speaking with an almost completely interred Colossus. Yet the vibrations in her body from the giant’s voice still resounded.
“That went well,” said Bennett. “All we have to do is find this Black Temple, get the Eye of the Colossus, and put it on the bottom of the sea.”
“It sounds very simple,” London said. “It sounds incredibly difficult.”
“A typical day for a Blade.” He smiled, and bent to kiss her. “By the way, I didn’t tell you how damn impressed I was by you coming up the side of the cliff. Like a Valkyrie soaring to heaven.”
She smiled against his mouth. “I had some help.”
“Don’t be modest. These trousers surely aren’t.” He ran his hands down her hips and cupped her bottom. “I could get used to this.”
“Kallas might want his trousers back.”
“To hell with him,” Bennett growled playfully.
They pressed close. London hoped Kallas and Athena could wait a little while longer.
A horrific shriek rent the air, as if the fabric between Heaven and Hell had been torn apart. London and Bennett were thrown to the ground, stealing their breath. His arms tightened on her to shield her from whatever had battered into them. Something clawed at his shoulder, and he grunted in pain.
More shrieks, chilling her to her marrow. London looked up from the shelter of Bennett’s embrace and shuddered. Maybe she had died, and now found herself in the underworld, for that was the only way she could explain what she saw.
A beast of impossible hideousness, it would be branded upon London’s mind for all eternity. Over eight feet tall, the creature vaguely resembled a human, but its skin glistened a jaundiced yellow, its eyes two glowing embers, fangs protruding from its slavering mouth. The beast had two legs and six arms, each hand and foot tipped with shredding talons. It beat the air with scaled wings, bathing London and Bennett with the smell of sulphur and carrion. The stench nearly made London gag.
Thomas Fraser stood, gloating, not ten feet from London and Bennett, with the creature hovering behind him. He brandished a wicked knife in one hand, its blade jagged and curved, a pistol in the other. Two brutish mercenaries flanked him, the barrels of their rifles pointed in her and Bennett’s direction.
Fraser smirked. “London, you’ve made your father very cross.”
Chapter 16
Depths and Heights
London’s mind spun frantically as she and Bennett rose to their feet. Even if the way to the rope wasn’t blocked by Fraser and that awful, hovering thing, she and Bennett would not be able to climb down from the cliff fast enough. The winged beast would be on them in moments, shredding them to pieces with its fangs and claws. And Fraser and his mercenaries had guns—Bennett had one revolver. Ten feet separated London and Bennett from Fraser and his men. Too far to grab their guns, too near to evade their bullets.
Quickly, she glanced around the top of the cliff to see what other options they might have. Nothing. The top of the cliff was a barren expanse of weeds, barely thirty feet across. It offered no cover anywhere.
But she was cover.
London stepped in front of Bennett, shielding him from the barrel of Fraser’s revolver. Fraser’s eyes widened, and Bennett swore.
“Get the hell out of the way,” Bennett growled. He moved to shove her aside, but the mercenaries raised their rifles higher in threat, pinning him in place.
“My father wants me alive,” London said to Fraser. “You have to go through me.”
Fraser scowled. “Stupid whore,” he spat. He leapt to the side, attempting to go around her so he could put a bullet in Bennett. London shuffled to block him, but, when Fraser suddenly cursed in shock and frustration, she glanced behind her and started.
Bennett was gone.
For a moment, everyone standing atop the cliff stared in frozen amazement. It was as if Bennett simply disappeared into nothingness. London’s pulse hammered. Had he fallen off the other side of the cliff? Not caring about the guns trained on her, she ran to the cliff’s edge and looked down. All she saw was more sheer rock plummeting into the sea. Where was he?
She turned around, just in time to see Bennett, revolver in hand, rucksack still on his back, spring up over the rim of the cliff close to where Fraser and the mercenaries stood. She realized he had been hanging from the edge on his fingertips, moving to flank Fraser without being seen by anyone, herself included. Her heart ricocheted in mingled relief and fear as he landed in a crouch. Before the other men could react, Bennett shot, hitting the mercenary standing farthest from him. The man cried out as he fell, a circle of red widening in the center of his chest. As the mercenary crumpled, his finger instinctively tightened on the trigger of his rifle and fired a round. Straight at the winged beast.
With a roar, the creature reared away. One of its
wings slapped Fraser, knocking him down so that he rolled almost over the edge. The knife dropped from his hand as he scrabbled in the dirt. London tried to grab the knife, but the beast’s flapping wings kept her at bay.
Over the shrieks of the beast and the buffeting wind, London heard the sounds of men grunting in pain and exertion. She saw Bennett grappling with the remaining mercenary, both gripping the rifle, digging their heels into the ground as they fought. The mercenary shoved at the butt of the rifle, trying to plow it into Bennett’s ribs. Bennett shoved back, landing an elbow right in the thug’s face. Dazed, the man’s grip on the rifle loosened slightly. Bennett grabbed the rifle and slammed the side of the barrel into the mercenary’s head.
The mercenary stumbled, then pitched over the edge of the cliff. London winced, hearing his prolonged scream as he plummeted over a hundred feet to his death. But it was better that he should fall than Bennett.
London tried to run to Bennett. The creature, hovering above, its wings beating, dove at her, talons outstretched. London darted away.
“Don’t kill her, idiot,” snarled Fraser as he struggled to his feet.
The beast pulled back with a snarl. Whatever control Fraser had over the creature, it chafed at its restraints.
“Contain her!” Fraser barked.
It lunged at her, trying to herd her, and she dodged from side to side, protecting herself with her arms flung overhead. Waves of stench poured off of the creature, causing London’s eyes to tear and her throat to close. Whatever unholy beast the Heirs had summoned, she could not imagine anything more foul. She felt its claws clutch at her, tearing the back of her shirtwaist, gouging into her skin. Her flesh burned.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Fraser face off against Bennett. Both men had their revolvers drawn, pointed at each other. A stalemate. She didn’t doubt Bennett was an excellent shot. She’d seen the proof. But she could not let Fraser have even an opportunity to test his own marksmanship. Not against Bennett.
As the winged creature reared up, trying to corral her, London darted toward Fraser. His focus solely on Bennett, he didn’t see her run at him. Summoning every remaining ounce of strength, she kicked Fraser’s hand, knocking it high. He kept his grip on his revolver, but, when he squeezed the trigger in reaction, the shot went wide.
“Bitch!” he yelped.
And then London was flying. Over the side of the cliff.
Bennett’s arms wrapped around her like steel cables as they fell together through the air. Her stomach pitched up into her throat, her eyes filled with the pitiless blue sky as she watched the edge of the cliff grow smaller over Bennett’s shoulder. A thought flashed through her mind—was Bennett so determined to keep them from the Heirs that he’d prefer suicide to capture?
“Hold tight to me!” Bennett shouted above the rushing wind.
She clutched at him like a lifeline. He fumbled for a moment at the side of the pack, then tugged hard on a dangling strap. The back panel of the pack flew off, and, with a metallic jangle, lengths of connected brass pipes unfolded then snapped into outstretched position. Silk fabric was strung between the pipes. As the fabric caught the air, it tautened with a snap.
Their freefall descent immediately slowed. London, clinging to Bennett like a vine, glanced around as they glided down in wide circles. She saw the caique far below them, and, close by, the Heirs’ ship, belching smoke. Gunfire popped faintly as rounds volleyed between the caique and the steamship.
Wings. Bennett had fixed wings strapped to his back like an improvised angel. They caught the wind and held like a gliding hawk. The sensation of flight swirled through her as she held fast to Bennett’s lean, powerful body. She felt as though Eros himself whisked her away to his lair, borne aloft on silken wings, sea and sky a spinning kaleidoscope.
“Catullus Graves?” she asked, astonished beyond imagining.
A corner of Bennett’s mouth turned up as he nodded. His smile died when the shrieks of the winged creature pierced the air.
The beast swooped close, claws outstretched. Bennett held London with one arm and used the other to fire his revolver at the creature. It snarled, flapping backwards out of the path of the bullet, then dove at them again. Bennett shot again, this time clipping the tip of the monster’s wing. Black blood splattered into the sky as the creature bellowed in wounded outrage.
“What the hell is that?” London shouted.
“Rakshasa,” Bennett said, grim. “Hindu demon. Chernock’s controlling him. Hang on.”
She and Bennett swooped lower and flew over the deck of the Heirs’ steamship. Men scattered on all sides, throwing themselves to the deck as they shouted in alarm. One man tried to grab London’s ankle as she and Bennett sailed overhead, but she kicked the man’s hands away. Bennett nodded in approval. She was getting quite good with her kicks.
No time for self-congratulations. The demon sped after them, close at their heels. Bennett tugged on the straps at his shoulders, altering their path. London’s breath stopped when she saw that he guided them into a collision course with one of the steamship’s sidewheels.
Just before they slammed into the sidewheel, Bennett pulled on the straps again and they climbed up, over the metal wheel. The demon hadn’t a moment to realize what happened before it bashed into the sidewheel. Its screams and the sounds of crumpling wood and metal filled the air.
Bennett piloted them to the caique, skimming them over the waves like a gull, the Heirs’ ship at their backs. He landed in a run. He slid the wings’ straps from his shoulders as London continued to cleave to him. Her feet touched the deck of the caique for the first time in what felt like days.
“All right?” asked Bennett, wrapping his arms around her. His gaze on her face was fierce and protective.
She couldn’t stop her giddy laugh. “I’d like to do that again, under better circumstances.”
He started, grinned, then buried his face in her hair. She couldn’t tell if the shaking came from him or her, but they couldn’t part from each other, not even when Kallas and Athena came running up, both holding rifles and chattering with excitement.
“Graves truly is another Daedalus,” Kallas exclaimed.
“We had no way to warn you.” Athena, slightly less exultant, was all information. “The Heirs concealed their ship until it was already on us. Kallas and I held them off as best we could. And then Chernock summoned that rakshasa.” She glanced over with a sneer at the steamship, where the demon still lay in the twisted wreckage of the sidewheel. Men ran about the deck of the ship with buckets and equipment as a trickle of smoke leaked from the smokestacks on the disabled ship. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Think so,” panted Bennett, who still held London. She wasn’t eager to let him go, either.
“Then let’s hoist anchor,” said Kallas.
“Release my daughter,” a very familiar voice said, icy cold. “Or I’ll put a bullet in the witch.”
Everyone’s heads turned to see London’s father standing on the deck of the caique, a revolver pointed at Athena. London had never seen her father as he was now, darkest fury twisting his distinguished features into a grotesque mask. It was like witnessing a demonic possession. London fought the urge to cower in Bennett’s arms.
“Do it!” her father barked, when Bennett continued to hold London. Her father pulled back the revolver’s hammer. Athena blanched while Kallas swore.
Bennett, seeing no other choice, slowly let his arms fall away from London, but he continued to stand behind her, his body pressed to hers.
“Come with me, London. I have a rowboat.” Her father tipped his head starboard. “I’ll take you away from these people, get you safe again.”
Swallowing hard, London stepped away from Bennett. She heard his sharp intake of breath, like a man cut.
London would not let herself look back. She held her father’s gaze as she walked closer to him. “I’m staying, Father.”
She thought she heard a breath of relief from B
ennett, but the sound was too low for her to know for certain.
London waited for her father to shout or rage, but he merely looked grimly determined, as though he expected her answer. “No, you are not. It’s all right, London,” he said, placating. “I understand. You aren’t thinking clearly. Your emotions have led you astray. You are even wearing trousers.” He grimaced. “The London I raised would never wear such indecent clothing.”
“I haven’t—”
But her father plowed on, unheeding. “It’s not your fault. You’re only a woman. Easily beguiled by your sensitive nature. That’s why we men need women like you. To ensure we have hearts as well as minds. Day knew this. He preyed upon you, seduced you.” Her father sent Bennett a vicious glare before returning his gaze to her. “You couldn’t help yourself.”
Frustration began to replace fear. Her father wasn’t listening.
“Father, no,” she said. “Bennett didn’t seduce or beguile me. He told me the truth. He was the first man to ever tell me the truth.”
“Filled your head with nonsense!”
“It wasn’t nonsense,” she returned, determined to keep her voice level. Any sign of passion or emotion would only be read as female hysteria. “I learned about you, about the Heirs. And the more I heard, the more I realized that what you are doing is wrong. One country should not determine the fate of the entire world. One race of people is not superior to all others. And to enslave magic for your cause is immoral.”
When her father had no answer, she stepped closer. Confusion swam in his eyes. He seemed much older, all of a sudden. It was strange that here, now, on the deck of the caique, in a far stretch of sea thousands of miles from home, London saw him now not as her father, but as a man. Fallible, vulnerable. Human. She wished, suddenly, fervently, that she might convince her father of the Blades’ cause, that he might leave the Heirs so that she and he could repair the tatters of their familial bond.
