The Necromancer sotinf-4

by Michael Scott

  Zephaniah was suddenly aware that her brother’s aura had changed color. It had become darker, almost ugly, and the bitter-sweet smell of anise had become sharp and sour.

  “Prometheus!” she shouted in alarm, but he could not hear her. She knew what was happening: his aura had started to consume him.

  The Elder’s aura was an inferno now, a solid pillar of fire stretching up to the apex of the pyramid, and Prometheus was almost invisible in the middle of the flames. Fire bounced off the ceiling and fell onto the carvings like burning rain. The heat was overwhelming, washing over the thousands of figures, burning away clay to reveal the flesh beneath.

  Zephaniah knew she needed to distract her brother, to disrupt his aura before the fire destroyed him. She desperately pushed her way through the statues. Some toppled and fell, and where the clay shells had not been touched by Prometheus’s aura, they shattered to dust when they hit the floor. When Zephaniah was close enough, she uncoiled the whip and lashed out at her brother, catching him around an outstretched arm. The metal and leather of the weapon instantly glowed bright red and started to burn. She pulled with all her might, and he staggered.

  Prometheus’s aura flickered, darkened, then blazed back even brighter. The smell of anise had turned unmistakably foul. Bitter.

  Jerking the burning whip free, Zephaniah lashed out again, this time catching him around the throat. Gripping the whip with both hands, she jerked hard and managed to tug Prometheus off balance. He staggered, and then his aura flickered and died as he folded to his knees.

  “Prometheus…” Zephaniah dropped to the ground, cradling her brother, ignoring the heat that burned her flesh and seared her clothes. He opened his green eyes and looked up at her.

  “What happened?” he mumbled.

  Zephaniah tore her gaze from her brother to look up. What had once been statues were now living beings. They crowded around, still and silent, and she realized to her horror that their once-formless faces had altered to take on a semblance of her brother’s features.

  “I think you’ve become a father,” she said in awe. “Little Brother, they all look like you.”

  “Oh dear.” He coughed. “Even the women?”

  “Especially the women,” Zephaniah said, closing her eyes.

  Sophie Newman opened her eyes and instantly recognized the face glaring in through the window at them. “Prometheus,” she breathed. “Little Brother.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The huge ravens Huginn and Muninn, each as big as a horse, fell toward Dee and Virginia Dare, razor-sharp talons splayed wide. Their instructions were clear: lift both of the immortals high into the air and, once they were over the Thames, drop the woman into the river as punishment for aiding the Magician.

  Dr. John Dee shoved Virginia to one side, sending her sliding across the frozen pool, her flute spinning from her hand. The Magician tried to run but lost his footing, his feet shooting out from under him. The fall saved his life.

  The two monstrous crows crashed into the ice, talons and beaks shattering the surface. Huginn disappeared under the water with a startled squawk, then reappeared a moment later in an explosion of glistening shards. Muninn slid across the slippery pool, scrambling to gain purchase.

  Dee staggered to his feet and stood swaying as the ice shattered all around him. He felt water soak into his expensive shoes and, with a surge of annoyance, stamped his foot down hard. The surface froze again, trapping Huginn partially under water and immobilizing Muninn’s feet.

  The howling of the cucubuths was closer now.

  Virginia Dare had clambered to her feet and retrieved her flute by the time Dee made his way across the frozen pool to her side. “Time to go,” he snapped.

  Muninn’s huge head jerked toward them, jabbing its spearlike beak as the immortals tried to get past. Dee reached under his coat and pulled out the sword. The weapon crackled, red-blue fire running along the stone blade as he waved it in the air before the huge bird. The raven jerked its head back and then its beak opened and closed.

  “Magician.”

  The voice that came from the bird was raw with disuse. It spoke in the ancient language of Danu Talis.

  Virginia Dare stopped at this sound, shocked. “I’ve seen some strange things in my time…”

  “Huginn and Muninn have the power of human speech,” Dee reminded her. He lifted the sword. The blade brightened as he brought it close to the bird’s head, the red-blue fire reflected in its huge eyes. “But I don’t think it’s the raven that is speaking to us now,” he added, catching the bird’s gaze, carefully inspecting the creature.

  “Magiker…”

  “No, this is something older, something foul,” Dee said quietly. He suddenly swung the sword and the heavy lock barring the entrance to the Traitor’s Gate pool fell away. “Odin, the ravens’ master, speaks.”

  “You cannot escape me. There is nowhere in this Shadowrealm where you can hide from me.”

  “I am sorry if I destroyed your Shadowrealm, but you can create another,” Dee began.

  “You killed the woman I loved.”

  Dee was about to turn away, but he stopped to look at the trapped raven. “I am sorry about that too. She was a warrior; she died bravely in battle.”

  “You know what it is like to lose a loved one, Majiker?”

  Surprised, Dee said honestly, “Yes, I know. I buried my wives and children. I watched them age, wither and die.”

  “I am going to destroy your world, Dee, before I destroy you. I will kill everything you hold dear.”

  “There is little I hold dear anymore.”

  “Not even this woman?”

  Dee suddenly lashed out at the bird, the tip of his blade slicing through a single black feather on its neck. “Don’t threaten me,” Dee snarled. “I defeated you before. I will do it again.” He held up the sword, moving it before the bird’s eyes. “And last time, I did not have this!”

  “It is as dangerous to you as it is to me,” Odin said through the bird’s mouth. Then there was a horrible coughing sound. It took Dee a few moments before he realized that Odin was laughing. “That is the sword that killed Hekate; I think it will be your downfall too, Magiker.”

  “Doctor, we need to go.” Virginia grasped his hand in hers and pulled him through the open gate into the smaller pool. “I hate to break up your chat, but we have company, lots of company, none of it friendly. And while they want you alive, the same rule does not apply to me.”

  The cucubuth howls were all around them, bouncing and echoing off the stones.

  “What do we do now?” Dare demanded. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

  “This,” Dee said, taking the sword and plunging it point-first into the frozen pool. Ice shattered, water steamed and hissed, and then the couple fell into the inky black depths.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “K illing me,” Billy the Kid said slowly, “or even trying to kill me, would be a mistake.” There was no humor in his voice now, and his accent had turned hard and clipped. “Lots of men have tried, and lots have failed.”

  Kukulkan wheezed a laugh. “I am not a man.”

  The immortal edged away from the Elder.

  “Billy,” Machiavelli said softly, a note of warning in his voice.

  Billy looked at the Italian and caught the hint of movement behind him. He turned to see the huge lynx standing in the doorway, its wide green eyes fixed on him.

  “This one,” Kukulkan said, pointing at the Italian, “I have chosen to keep alive. But why should I keep you alive?”

  “Have you forgotten that I rescued you, saved your life?”

  “And have you forgotten that I repaid that debt by making you immortal?”

  “I’ve done your dirty work ever since,” Billy said quickly.

  “And now you have embarrassed me before my fellow Elders. I assured them you would be perfect for this small task,” Kukulkan said. “And you failed me.”

  “Personally, I think
you failed me,” the American snapped, stepping away from the door. “You sent me out to perform a dangerous job without telling me what I was getting into.” Still moving slowly around the room, he stabbed a finger at the Elder. “You underestimated the Sorceress.”

  “You are not the first,” Machiavelli offered quickly. “Perenelle has chosen to live in her husband’s shadow, and yet I have always believed she was the cleverer of the two. There is so much about her that is unknown.”

  Kukulkan came slowly to his feet and glared at the Italian. “Do not speak again,” he hissed, “lest I change my mind and kill you too.” He turned to focus again on Billy. “I gave you three simple tasks: escort this man to the island, kill the Sorceress and free the beasts. You failed.”

  “Well, one down, two to go. That ain’t so bad!” Billy said. Then he suddenly lunged toward the shelf that held the Elder’s collection of ancient artifacts and grabbed the jade club studded with volcanic glass. It was a Macuahuitl, an Aztec sword. As he lifted the club, the black obsidian shards sparkled in the afternoon light.

  “How dare you raise a weapon in my presence.” Kukulkan’s head suddenly jutted forward and an unnaturally long black forked tongue flickered toward the outlaw.

  But instead of pulling away, Billy took a step toward the Elder, slashing out with the Macuahuitl. The razor-sharp glass whistled as it cut through the air. Kukulkan immediately sucked his tongue back in and then coughed and gagged, choking on it. The Macuahuitl had missed it by inches.

  “Do that again and I’ll cut it off!” Billy yelled. “I know you’ll grow a new one, but I bet it’ll hurt.”

  The huge lynx padded silently toward the American, its jaws opening to reveal savage teeth.

  “And you better tell your kitty cat to step outside,” the American added, without looking away from the Elder. He tilted the Macuahuitl and sent sparkles of reflected light around the room, shining it into the cat’s eyes.

  The lynx stopped and fixed its narrow head on the Elder; then it turned and moved silently from the room.

  “You have made an enemy of me,” Kukulkan said.

  “Well, I’m not feeling too friendly toward you right now either. You were talking about killing me,” Billy reminded him. “That can upset a man.”

  “Am I the only adult here?” Machiavelli said suddenly. He had not moved from the chair and had watched the Elder with fascination: he was behaving like a spoiled child. “Enough of this nonsense; we are supposed to be on the same side.”

  “No humani threatens me…,” Kukulkan began.

  “And no one-Elder, immortal, human or monster-threatens me,” Billy said.

  “OK, we’ve established that neither of you likes to be threatened,” Machiavelli said mildly, “so let us now return to the business at hand. It seems to me,” he continued quickly, looking at each of them in turn, forcing them to focus on him, “that we have all disappointed someone or other. However, we have an opportunity to make amends.” He looked at the Feathered Serpent evenly. “We are grateful-both of us-to still be alive. We know we’ve failed; now let us see how we can make amends.”

  “I didn’t f-” Billy began, but a look from the Italian silenced him.

  “We are aware that our failure reflects poorly on you,” Machiavelli said, deliberately accepting blame in an attempt to calm Kukulkan. “But who else is aware that Billy and I have failed?” The Italian knew that if he could keep the Elder thinking and talking, then there was a chance he could resolve this situation.

  Kukulkan returned to his curved stone stool. “You mean other Elders?”

  The Italian nodded.

  “No one else; I am sure the news has not even percolated through to the Shadowrealms yet. Well, reasonably sure,” he added, “though there may be spies in the city that I do not know about.”

  Billy the Kid returned to stand behind Machiavelli. “Do you people trust anyone?”

  “No,” Kukulkan said simply.

  “So if Billy and I were to return to Alcatraz, awaken the army and set it loose on the city, then our mission would be considered a success. And no one would be the wiser.”

  Kukulkan thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “That is true.”

  Machiavelli spread his arms wide. “And no one would need to know about our failure… and you would be spared any embarrassment.”

  “You were also tasked with killing Perenelle, and she has escaped,” the Elder reminded him. “How do you intend to find her?”

  “I will not need to.” Machiavelli’s smile turned icy. “I know the Flamels. I have spent centuries studying them-especially the woman.” Almost unconsciously, he rubbed his left hand, which bore a faint pattern of white scars, the reminders of their last encounter. “I can almost guarantee you that they will return to the island to try to stop us. It is their nature, and all men and women are slaves to their nature.”

  Kukulkan’s feathered tail beat a gentle tattoo on the floor as he considered the idea. “Are you confident that you can defeat the Alchemyst and the Sorceress if they come back to Alcatraz?”

  Machiavelli bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. He knew he’d won. “The Flamels are weak and aging fast. There is a sphinx on the island that will drain their powers, and I can use some of the creatures already there to help me.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, forcing the Elder to lean forward as well. It was a trick he had learned half a millennium previously. “Any help you could give us would, of course, be gratefully appreciated.”

  Kukulkan nodded. “Of course. Yes, I can help.” His smile revealed his black forked tongue. Running his fingers through his white beard, he added, “there are some creatures I can call upon to assist you.”

  “And what about me?” Billy asked softly.

  “Go with the Italian,” Kukulkan snapped. “Maybe he can teach you some manners.”

  “So you’re not going to try to kill me today…,” Billy teased.

  “Billy!” Machiavelli glared at the American, who was in danger of irritating the Elder again.

  “Not today,” Kukulkan whispered, “but someday, yes. I have a long memory and I’ll not forget what you did here.” The Elder stood and padded to the door, then stopped and turned his head at an impossible angle to look back at the American. “You can put the Macuahuitl back where you found it. And be careful with it; it is older than the humani.” With that he turned and strode out toward the field of tall grass. The lynx fell into step alongside.

  Billy patted Machiavelli’s shoulder. “Well, I think that went really well, don’t you?”

  The Italian stood and brushed off his ruined suit. “There is a lot I could teach you about negotiation.”

  “I never negotiate,” Billy said firmly.

  “A word of advice, my young friend: it is always a mistake to anger an Elder. All he said was that he was not going to kill you today.”

  “Well, since we’re in the advice business, let me trade you some,” Billy said. He returned the Macuahuitl to its shelf, tilting it so the sunshine sparkled off the black glass and sent prismatic rainbows across the gloomy room. “An old gunslinger once told me that you never draw a gun unless you intend to use it, and you never -ever -tell someone you are going to draw your gun. You just do it.” He smiled, revealing his prominent front teeth. “It’s a big mistake to tell someone what you are going to do to them… they might decide to do it to you first.” He turned to look at Kukulkan’s retreating figure. “When all this is done and dusted, he and I will have a little conversation, a serious conversation…”

  Machiavelli bowed. “I like how you think.” He walked outside, blinking in the sunlight. “Now, how do we get back to the island?”

  Billy held up his cell phone. “I’ll call Black Hawk.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be surprised to find us both still alive.”

  The American immortal shook his head. “Probably not. Black Hawk knows I’m impossible to kill. He’s tried it often enough.” He stopped as a
sudden thought struck him. “What happens if your master dies? Do you lose your immortality?”

  Machiavelli shook his head. “No, you remain immortal. There is no one to command you… and no one to revoke your immortality.”

  “That’s interesting.” Billy’s cold blue eyes followed the Elder until he had disappeared into the grass. “Have you ever thought about killing your master?”

  “Never,” Machiavelli said.

  “Why not?” Billy asked.

  “In case there comes a day when I want my immortality removed, a day when I want to age and die.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “D idn’t you set a couple of your plays in forests just like this?” Saint-Germain asked lightly.

  “Only the comedies,” William Shakespeare said in a hoarse whisper, “and my forests were populated by gentler creatures; this is an evil place.”

  Palamedes stopped suddenly and both Francis and William bumped into him. “Will you two be quiet?” he whispered. “You’re making as much noise as a herd of elephants. And trust me, there are certain things in this forest that even I do not want to wake up.”

  “It makes no odds,” Saint-Germain murmured. “I’m sure they know we’re here. They knew from the moment we left the car.”

  “Oh, they know we’re here. We’re being followed,” Shakespeare added.

  The two immortals turned to look at him. Although the forest was pitch black, their enhanced senses allowed them to see in surprising detail, though without color. Palamedes looked at Saint-Germain, who shook his head slightly; neither had been aware that they were being followed.

  Shakespeare pushed his large glasses up his nose with his forefinger and smiled, quickly covering his teeth with his hand. “Right now, we are being observed by a forest spirit, female, short, dark-skinned, pretty, wearing an outfit which I presume is colored Lincoln green.”