Scoundrel

by Zoë Archer

  London never knew the Aegean could possess so many mysteries. Before setting off on her voyage to Greece, she had extensively studied maps, read accounts, in Greek and other languages. The sea itself was not so large. It surrounded where civilizations had been born, where learning and thought had reached their apotheosis. Sailors such as Kallas had navigated the deep azure waters for millennia. Everything there was to be known about the Aegean had been set down in writing and song. The human mind encompassed all.

  She should have realized by now that the human mind, the constructs of man, barely brushed at the edges of worlds and ideas epic and limitless in scope. Even something as traversed as a merchant-crossed sea could hold secrets.

  On no map and in no written account had London seen reference to what the Nereids and Colossus called the Black Temple. And yet, there it was, an island just off the portside bow. It grew larger as the caique approached, larger and undeniable.

  “Have you ever seen such a place?” she asked Bennett, standing beside her at the rail.

  “Never,” he answered. “And I’ve seen a lot.”

  It took a sail once around the circumference of the island to determine its shape and size. It formed a parenthesis in the water, with a shallow bay, and a high craggy peak on its westernmost point. Huge, ancient plane trees and bits of scrub dotted the curved hills. The geography itself was not especially remarkable, but what the island contained just inland, beyond its eastern bay, made London’s breath catch in wonderment.

  The ruins of an amphitheater, carved from darkest stone. Seats had been hewn from the hillside, rising up above and around a semicircular area that had, at one point, contained dancers and a chorus. The remains of the stage sat directly behind the orchestra, so that the audience, when watching a performance, would have the beach and sea as backdrop.

  In Athens, London had seen the ruins of the Theater of Dionysus and been suitably impressed by its age and consequence—even if most of the theater was lost to time. It had been the theater of the capital, the birthplace of drama, a white marble edifice that glowed in the noontime sun, yet one would have to draw heavily upon the powers of imagination to fully envision the scene.

  Somehow, on this tiny island in an obscure pocket of the Aegean, a theater of black stone stood in almost pristine condition, barely touched by the destructive influence of time. Almost as strange, no other buildings or signs of previous life marked the island, as though only the theater needed sustaining and everything else, even shelter, was unnecessary.

  This strange place was known to few, or the long dead. Now she and her friends and the man she loved were added to that company. Would the knowledge of the Black Temple die with them, as well? And, if so, how soon?

  She would not think of death now, or the Heirs at their back. See this now, she told herself. Live this moment.

  They quickly anchored the boat off the beach. London, Bennett, and Athena waded to shore for reconnaissance.

  Standing in the orchestra of the theater, London felt the powerful hum of something otherworldly resonating through her. What the origin of that intense sensation might be, she could not tell. As she scoured the amphitheater for writings she might need to translate, Bennett bounded up and down the tiers of seats with an alluring, muscular virility, searching for any other clues that might direct them.

  “Why would this be called the Black Temple?” London asked Athena.

  The witch turned from her examination of the stones lining the orchestra. “The first theaters were temples to the god Dionysus,” she explained. “His worshippers performed songs and dances in his honor, and those evolved into dramatic performances. Yet I do not know why a theater such as this one, obviously not dedicated to Dionysus, exists all alone out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Athena’s words were precise, but her gaze was far and pensive. London initially ascribed her friend’s uncharacteristic behavior to the exceptionally energetic night spent with the captain. But that morning, upon rising, Athena told London and Bennett about the lament of the Nereids that had pierced her sleep. The revelation had sickened everyone on the caique.

  However, Athena had grown even more abstracted since the island of the Black Temple was sighted. And, now that they were on land, actually standing in the midst of the theater, London had never seen the witch so preoccupied.

  “Are you all right?” London asked.

  The witch’s eyes were dark, darker than night, and glittering. “I can feel it. The magic of this place. The power. It would claim me, if I let it.”

  Of course Athena would feel magic more strongly than London. She had steadily been using her magical abilities with much more frequency than she ever had before. Now her senses were alive with it, turning her into a perfect conduit for a Source. Surely the Eye of the Colossus, the Source sought by everyone, had to be here.

  Bennett joined them in the orchestra. “The Nereids said the Eye could be found in the temple beneath the temple. But I can’t find anything that might lead us below. Not a doorway or crevice.”

  “Perhaps there’s another way below,” London said. “I saw a sea cave in the cliffs to the west of the beach.”

  A slow smile spread across Bennett’s face as he followed the path her mind took. She saw in his face the same respect and consideration he gave to Athena, to anyone, man or woman. Though, she admitted, his expression when looking at London had a much more carnal undertone. It seemed, in truth, that one fed the other. And she had once despaired that any man could find her use of her mind to be at all enticing.

  Oh, God, or gods, or goddesses, please let them make it through this mission. If anything happened to Bennett, she would find herself utterly destroyed.

  “It’s mostly submerged,” London noted. “One couldn’t wade or sail through it.”

  “Which would make sense,” Athena said, “if one was trying to find a secure place for something powerful.”

  Bennett took London’s hand, his eyes vivid and bright in the sun. “Looks like we’re going to get wet again.”

  The cave peered up, a dark crescent, above the water. They had raised the caique’s anchor and sailed as close to the entrance of the cave as possible. No way to know how far back the cave went or its height. From what Bennett could tell, there was just enough room for someone swimming through to bob up for air, but not much else. He wished he could scout the cave first before London went down there. The idea of sending her someplace unknown and uncertain maddened him. But time was short, and the Colossus had been clear in its instructions that both Bennett and London had to go to the Black Temple to find the Eye.

  So it was with no small measure of trepidation that he and London readied the water-tight packs. The dry bags were of heavily waxed cotton, double-lined, and he packed his with a revolver, cartridges, the Compass, two of Catullus’s illuminating cylinders, and a set of clothes, including his boots. A cumbersome load, but he was a strong swimmer. London packed her bag with trousers, a shirtwaist and her boots, a much smaller burden, but they hadn’t tested her swimming ability in such arduous territory. Streams and ponds were not as challenging as the cave would likely be. She might not have the strength needed for the upcoming task.

  He’d carry her on his back if he had to. Doubts about protecting her never entered his mind.

  Athena came forward, her palms cupped. “These might be needed for your journey.”

  He and London peered into the bowl of her hands. Two fish scales gleamed there.

  “You may find,” the witch said, “in your swim through the cave, that air is scarce. I have placed an enchantment on these scales. One is for your journey out. The other for your return. To activate the spell, just cast a scale into the water.”

  Bennett picked up one of the scales. It seemed a perfectly ordinary fish scale, but he’d not question Athena’s spell casting. Ever since the mission had begun, weeks ago, the witch’s use of her powers increased dramatically, and with that usage, came growth in strength—even if she
held back from the larger spells. As he examined the scale, Athena wrapped the other in a small parchment envelope and tucked it into his pack.

  When he moved to cast the scale into the water, Athena cried, “Wait! The spell’s life is brief. Do not put it in the sea until you are completely ready to swim, and swim speedily.”

  One way to assure that they would swim as fast as possible was to reduce drag, which meant swimming naked. Bennett, never shy, shucked his clothes quickly, but London, blushing, performed her task with a bit more slowness. Kallas politely averted his gaze. Bennett was tempted to watch and linger on the sight of her bare skin in the sunlight, but there would be time for that later. He hoped.

  Only when London had slipped on the straps of her pack and slid into the water did Kallas turn back. Bennett also lowered himself into the water after donning his pack. At least the sea was warm and gentle, lapping in calm waves. They both tread water as Athena, standing at the rail, asked, “Are you set?”

  “Almost,” Bennett said. “Just be ready and be careful, both of you,” he added, looking from Athena to Kallas and back again. “The Heirs are coming.”

  “That has not escaped me,” Athena said gravely.

  “Looking forward to pounding them against the rocks like octopi,” Kallas said.

  Good enough for Bennett. He glanced at London, treading water beside him. Her face, now impossibly beautiful to him, was set with determination and also—this is what he truly adored—illuminated with excitement at the prospect of an adventure. “Ready?” he asked her.

  She smiled in response. He swam closer to her, then kissed her.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I know,” she answered.

  He grinned, then turned back to Athena. “Now.”

  Athena dropped the scale into the water. Almost at once, it grew, glowing, until it took the form of a fish. Bennett was an amateur angler, but he’d never seen a fish like this one before. It was the size of his hand, but emitted a bright golden radiance like a tiny, swimming sun.

  “Through the cavern,” Athena commanded the fish. It immediately darted toward the entrance of the cave. “Go! Hurry!” she shouted at Bennett and London. “You must stay with the fish or else you will not be able to breathe in the water.”

  Bennett and London swam in pursuit, he at the lead. They quickly breached the mouth of the cave. Inside, it was much darker and close, the roof of the cave sometimes only just missing Bennett’s head when he rose up for breath. Damp, sea-carved rock loomed all around them. Light receded completely, so that the only illumination came from the incandescent fish. Then even the small headroom disappeared as the cave dipped lower, the passage entirely filled with water.

  They paused just before the airway vanished, just able to tilt their heads to the side to draw breath.

  “What do we do?” London asked.

  “Go forward.”

  “But we don’t know how far this goes, or if there’s any air.”

  He wished he could tell her to turn back, but that choice wasn’t available. “Stay with the fish. Athena said it would be all right.”

  There wasn’t time to discuss it further. The fish, and its glow, headed away from them. They each took a final inhalation—maybe their last—before swimming in pursuit.

  The cave stretched and twisted forward, its jagged walls lit only by the light radiating from the fish. Visibility was limited to a few feet. Everything else was utterly black. The water cooled as the cavern wound deeper into solid rock. He felt as though he were swimming into the underworld, shadows thick on every side, nowhere to surface.

  Bennett swam as quickly as he could, but always careful to stay with London. She wasn’t far behind, her strength having grown over the weeks, and though the closeness of the cavern walls seemed to intimidate her a little, she never hesitated moving forward.

  Soon, his lungs burned. He felt the roof of the cavern for even the smallest pocket of air. Nothing. London struggled. He fought, but it was undeniable. They could hold their breath no longer.

  His mouth opened. Seawater flooded his mouth and down his throat. He choked, gagged, and then—

  Breathed.

  Incredible. Unbelievable. But true. He felt the water in him, even in his lungs, but breathed easy as if standing on the shore rather than swimming deep below the surface of the sea.

  The same for London. Dawning awareness and amazement filled her face as she, too, discovered she could breathe underwater.

  They shared smiles of commingled wonder and excitement. He never believed he could play the role of merman, and yet, here he was, and London, as well, both swimming, both breathing. And they had Athena’s magic to thank for it.

  But not for long. The glow of the fish dimmed as the creature swam ahead. They would have to keep pace, otherwise they’d both drown. And even if they stayed with the fish, Athena said the spell had a short duration. It might not last long enough to see them find air.

  Onward they pressed. The cavern narrowed so that they could no longer swim side by side. His arms began to tire. Would they never see the end of this damned cave?

  Then the cavern abruptly widened. An overhead surface appeared, its flat expanse a blessed relief. The glow from the fish illuminated what looked like a small rise.

  Bennett broke the surface, London immediately after. He found the bottom of the cavern and stood. Before either he or London could look around, they both bent over, retching up saltwater, until their bodies were empty.

  “All right?” he gasped when he could speak.

  “Don’t feel good, exactly,” she choked, “but I’ll get by.”

  He rubbed her back as she coughed up a bit more water. She soon straightened and glanced around, the space weakly illuminated by the fish swimming in the waters of the grotto.

  “What is this place?” she asked, voice hushed and raw.

  “The Black Temple.”

  The light from the fish winked out, thrusting them into complete darkness.

  London froze. She heard Bennett rustling through his pack, then small metallic chiming. After what felt like hours of blindness, he activated one of Catullus Graves’s illuminating devices. Bennett took her hand, and together they waded out of the water. Both dressed quickly in the chill of the cavern. He strapped on his revolver while she wrung out her hair. Each of them brandished the illuminating devices to assess their surroundings, moving slowly deeper into the cave.

  “Stay close,” Bennett cautioned. His voice echoed hollowly in the arches of the cavern. “Nothing the ancients love more than booby traps.”

  She nodded, glancing around apprehensively.

  In the greenish glow, the large cavern was numinous, chthonian, dissolving into shadows. London half-believed she and Bennett had swam to the very entrance of Hades. A temple had been carved directly from the cave’s black rocks—a mixture of classical Greek columns and older, rawer shapes suggesting creatures emerging from the inky stone.

  None of this unsettled her as much as the palpable power charging the air. Even though they were deep within the heart of the island, the atmosphere of the cavern danced with energy. It infused her body, the filaments of her mind, until she thought she might fly apart. Or grow to the size of a giant and conquer the globe. No wonder men killed for such magic. Untempered, the power could engulf and overwhelm, seduce the unwary.

  “It’s here,” she said. “The Source.” She shuddered.

  “Makes my teeth feel like Roman candles.”

  She stopped walking. “Bennett—”

  “I see it.”

  A pool, twenty feet across, had been carved from the rock. Set in regular intervals all around the pool’s rim were eight bronze handles, wide enough to need two hands. What arrested London and Bennett’s attention was not the work of man, but rather the object propped up on a mound in the center of the pool.

  “The Eye of the Colossus,” London breathed.

  The Eye took the light of the illuminating devices, absorbi
ng it, to cast the light out again with a potent radiance. Nearly two feet from corner to corner, almond-shaped, the Eye stared at them, unblinking, penetrative, as if seeing London and Bennett with the cutting wisdom of eternity. She felt herself diminish into almost nothing before its unyielding stare.

  This was the object that men would kill to possess, men like her father and the Heirs. Empires could be forged and destroyed by harnessing its power. The knowledge sent icy fire flaring through her.

  “Do you ever get used to this?” London asked, waving her hand toward the Eye.

  “If I did, then I’d know I was dead.”

  After walking around the perimeter of the pool, she saw that the Eye was flat, hammered bronze with a slight curve, and leather straps and a bronze handle attached to its back.

  “Someone could wield it like a shield,” Bennett murmured.

  London edged to the lip of the pool, holding her illumination aloft. What she saw cheered her. Perhaps this would not be so difficult, after all. “The water isn’t deep. We could wade in and grab the Eye.” She moved to do just that.

  He darted forward and hauled her back, his grip an iron band on her arm.

  “Remember,” he said, voice tight, “the ancients are always crafty bastards.”

  Taking up a loose pebble, he dropped it into the pool. London jumped back with a gasp. The water roiled furiously around the pebble, a seething cauldron. Had she stepped into the pool, her flesh would have been scalded, falling away from her bones as she watched.

  “It didn’t look like it was boiling hot,” she said weakly.

  “The water’s gone past that point.” A thin smile cracked his somber face. “Too bad Catullus isn’t here. He’d soil himself for a chance to study the phenomenon.”

  “Maybe it would be better if Graves was here.” London, still skittish from her close call, stared balefully across the pool to the unreachable Source. “He could figure out a way to get to the Eye.”