The Necromancer sotinf-4

by Michael Scott

  “And Tammuz did it?” Saint-Germain sounded surprised.

  “He raised a few minor objections,” Palamedes rumbled, “until Will threatened him with some horrible fungus disease.” The Saracen Knight bowed. “Ladies: it is good to see you both.”

  “And you, Sir Knight,” Joan said.

  “Been a long time, Pally,” Scathach added with a smile.

  The knight made a pained face. “Please, don’t call me Pally. I hate that.”

  “I know.”

  The hooded man had remained seated on the rock, bright blue eyes watching each immortal in turn, absently running his index finger along the length of the hook that took the place of his left hand.

  William Shakespeare stepped forward, took off his black-framed glasses and wiped them on his sleeve. “I believe, sir, that we are due an explanation.”

  Although his mouth and nose were hidden by a scarf, the hooded man’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “And I believe I will tell you only what I think you need to know, and no more.”

  Palamedes’ hand moved and the broadsword strapped to his back appeared in his grip. “An explanation, and then you send us back to our own time.”

  The hooded man laughed. “Why, Sir Knight, you-none of you-can return home just yet.”

  Palamedes raised his sword and took a step forward.

  “Oh, don’t be stupid,” the man said almost impatiently. Palamedes’ sword suddenly turned into a length of wood, which quickly sprouted leaves. Vines immediately started to coil around the knight’s wrist and arm. He dropped the sword to the ground, where it was swallowed into the earth, leaving nothing more than a darkened patch in the dirt by his feet.

  “That was my favorite sword,” the Saracen Knight muttered.

  “This is my world,” the hooded man said. “I created it. I control it and everything in it.” He stretched his hook out over the water and moved it clockwise, and the pool instantly froze into a crackling sheet of ice. When he moved it counterclockwise, the ice transformed into foul-smelling bubbling lava. “And right now,” the man said, “you are here… which means that I control you.” His hand moved again and the lava turned back into crystal-clear water.

  Will Shakespeare stepped closer to the water’s edge, then stooped to scoop up a handful of the liquid. He paused before he brought it to his lips. “I take it that it is safe to drink.”

  “I can make it any flavor you like.”

  The Bard sipped the water. “You’re not going to kill us, are you?”

  “I am not.”

  Shakespeare straightened slowly and looked closely at the hooded man. He frowned: there was something almost familiar about him. “Have we met before?”

  The figure held up his left arm, tilting the hook so that it caught the sunlight. “If we had, I am sure you would have remembered this.”

  “Still, there is something about you…,” Shakespeare said, squinting hard at the man. “I feel I should know you.”

  The hooded man turned to Saint-Germain. “However, we have met before. It is good to see you again. You have prospered in the centuries since our last encounter.”

  “All thanks to you.” Saint-Germain stepped forward and bowed. “It has just occurred to me that this is all your doing. You planned this. In fact, I think you’ve been planning this for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” the man said, surprising the others. “For a very long time.”

  “Flamel said he met you when he was traveling across Europe looking for someone to translate the Codex.”

  The hooded man bowed. “I met him and Mistress Perenelle briefly.”

  “And you taught me how to master the Magic of Fire.”

  “It was necessary. If I had not taught you what I knew, then sooner or later your own Fire magic would have consumed you. I needed to keep you alive.”

  “I’m grateful,” Saint-Germain said.

  The hooded man looked at each of them in turn. “I have worked hard to keep all of you alive and in good health-even you, Scathach,” he added. “I have been waiting ten thousand years for this day to come.”

  “Ten thousand years?” Shakespeare asked.

  “Since the Fall of Danu Talis.”

  “You were on the island?” Scathach breathed.

  “Yes, I was. And so were you, Scathach, and you too, Palamedes, and you, Shakespeare and Saint-Germain and Joan. You were all there. You went to stand and fight with the original twins.”

  There was a long silence, when even the sounds of the landscape faded to stillness.

  Finally, Scathach shook her head. “That’s impossible. If I was on Danu Talis in the past, why don’t I remember?”

  “Because you’ve not been there yet,” he said simply. He slid off the rock and stood before them. He was slightly taller than Saint-Germain, though not as tall as Palamedes. “I’ve gathered you here to take you back to Danu Talis with me. The twins need warriors they can trust. Come now, there is little time to waste.”

  “Just like that?” Palamedes demanded. “You cannot expect us to travel into the past and fight just because you say so. Why should we fight for you?”

  “You are not fighting for me,” the hooded man said impatiently. “You are fighting for the continued existence of the human race. If you choose not to come, then Danu Talis will not sink and the creatures you know as humani will never rise to civilization. You have all in your differing ways been champions of the humani. It is time to champion their cause again.”

  “But we cannot go with you, not now,” Saint-Germain said. “We’ve got to get back to our own time.”

  Joan nodded. “What about Nicholas and Perenelle and the creatures on Alcatraz that Dee and Machiavelli are about to release into the city? We need to fight with the Flamels.”

  The hooded man shook his head. “If we fail and Danu Talis is not destroyed, then nothing else matters.”

  “A moment,” Shakespeare said. “You said Danu Talis has to fall.”

  “Of course. If the island is not destroyed, then there is no human history. The Elders will remain and the world you know will never have existed.”

  “But Nicholas and Perenelle…,” Joan began.

  “I am afraid that the Flamels and the twins are on their own. You cannot help them. But you can help fight for an entire species. If you do not, there really is no reason to worry about the Flamels-for they will not exist.”

  The group was silent for a moment, trying to piece together what the man was saying. Danu Talis hadn’t fallen yet because there had been no battle yet. And they themselves were the warriors who would fight the battle. A group brought together from the future to shape the events of the past.

  “What if we refuse?” Saint-Germain asked. “Can you send us back to our own world? To Paris, Sherwood Forest or San Francisco?”

  “No. It took an enormous expenditure of power to create this Pleistocene Shadowrealm; I have neither the power nor the ability to send you back to your own worlds. As soon as I leave the world, it will start to decay and die.”

  “So we really do not have much choice, then, do we,” Saint-Germain said.

  “There are always choices,” the hooded man said quietly. “Some are just harder to make than others. You can come with me and live, or stay here and die.”

  “Those are not great choices,” Palamedes said.

  “They are the only choices you have.”

  “And on Danu Talis, we must fight?” the knight asked.

  “Yes. You will fight-in the biggest battle you’ve ever fought.”

  Palamedes looked over at the Bard, and Shakespeare smiled and nodded. “I’ve always wanted to see a mythical land. I’ve got this idea for a play-all it needs is a setting…”

  “And I think I would like to see my birthplace before it sank,” Scatty said, a strange note of urgency in her voice. She looked even paler than usual.

  The hooded man’s eyes crinkled again. “Yes. And you might get to see your parents.”

&nbs
p; The Shadow took a step back, suddenly looking startled. That was exactly the thought that had been in her head.

  “I have a question,” Joan said quietly, and everyone turned to look at her. “What is your name? You know us-indeed, you seem very familiar with us-but we’ve no idea who you are.”

  The hooded man nodded. “I have had many names through the centuries, but the one I prefer is the one I was first called on Danu Talis: Marethyu.”

  Scathach gasped and the immortal humans turned to her. Joan laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “What does it mean?” She glanced over her shoulder at the hooded man.

  “Tell them,” he said to the Shadow.

  “In the language of Danu Talis, it means ‘death.’”

  WEDNESDAY, 6th June

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Sophie Newman knew the moment she awoke in the tiny cramped bedroom that something was wrong. There was a vague fluttering in the pit of her stomach and a dull ache at the back of her head, and she was painfully aware that her heart was pounding. Wrapping her arms tightly around her chest, she attempted to control her suddenly frantic breathing. What was happening to her: was this a panic attack? She’d never had one before, but her friend Elle in New York has them all the time. Sophie felt light-headed and just a little sick, and when she rolled out of bed and came to her feet, a wave of dizziness washed over her.

  Stepping out into the hallway, she stopped and listened carefully. The little guesthouse was quiet. And it felt empty. With her left hand brushing the wall, she walked down the corridor into the kitchen. The night outside had started to pale toward dawn. Perry had told her that Prometheus kept his Shadowrealm in synch with earth time and it had a regular cycle of day and night.

  The crystal skull sat in the center of the kitchen table.

  Last night, she’d watched the Flamels put their hands on it, allowing their auras to sink into it. The crystal had glowed dully, the hint of ice-white, the merest suggestion of pale green winking deep within its core, but nothing else had happened, and the effort had exhausted Nicholas.

  Sophie hurried past it. She didn’t see the crystal as it pulsed silver and the eye sockets darkened, filling with shadow. The light faded as she moved away from the table and walked to the couch, where Josh had spent the night.

  But the couch was empty.

  “Josh?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Maybe he was in the bathroom, or he’d probably gone up to the main house looking for food. Yet even as she was making excuses, she knew they weren’t true. When Josh had returned after learning the Magic of Fire from Prometheus, he had been ashen-faced, staggering with exhaustion. He’d fallen sound asleep the moment he’d crawled onto the couch.

  “Josh?” she called again. “Josh?”

  The fluttering in her stomach was worse now, like really bad indigestion, and her heart was racing so fast she was feeling breathless.

  “Josh!” Louder now. “Where are you?” If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. “Josh Newman, you come here right this minute!”

  She heard movement at the door and the handle turned. Spinning toward it, Sophie put her hands on her hips. “Just where have you-”

  The door swung open and Aoife stepped into the room, followed by Niten. The Japanese immortal carried two swords, one much longer than the other, while Aoife clutched a long ugly leaf-bladed knife.

  “It’s Josh,” Sophie began breathlessly. “He’s missing.”

  They split up without a word, Niten moving to the right, Aoife to the left. The guest cottage was tiny and they were back in the kitchen within moments. “No sign of a struggle,” Niten said calmly. “Looks like he just walked out.” He turned and disappeared back into the night, leaving Sophie alone with Aoife.

  “He’s gone,” Sophie whispered. “He’s gone.” It was all she could say as waves of panic began to wash over her.

  Aoife returned the knife to the sheath strapped to her leg. “Talk to me,” she said. “What happened?”

  Sophie shook her head. “When I woke up, I felt…” She pressed both hands to her stomach as she searched for the words.

  “Empty,” Aoife suggested.

  Sophie looked at the red-haired warrior. “Yes,” she breathed, suddenly able to identify the feeling. “I feel empty. I’ve never felt that way before.”

  Aoife nodded, her pale face expressionless.

  Niten opened the door and spoke quickly to the warrior in Japanese, then turned and raced away.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Sophie was starting to feel breathless with terror again. “What’s happened to my brother?” she asked. Static curled through her hair, and tendrils of her silver aura smoked off her skin. She began to shake, and Aoife stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. When Aoife spoke, her voice echoed inside Sophie’s head, and even though she used the ancient Irish tongue of her youth, Sophie understood every word. “Breathe deeply, calm yourself… You need to be in control now. For your sake. For Josh’s sake.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I can’t. You don’t know what it feels like…”

  “Yes,” Aoife said in a fierce whisper. “Yes. I do.”

  And when Sophie looked up, she found the warrior’s green eyes sparkling and bright with tears. “I lost my own twin,” Aoife said. “I know exactly how you’re feeling.”

  Sophie nodded. She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “What did Niten tell you just now?” she asked.

  “He said the car is missing.”

  Before Sophie could ask anything else, the door opened and Perenelle stepped into the cottage, followed by Nicholas and Prometheus, making the small room seem even tinier. Niten came last, but he remained in the open doorway, facing out into the night.

  “Gone?” Nicholas snapped in French.

  “Missing,” Aoife agreed.

  “Was he taken?” Perenelle asked.

  “Nothing can get into this Shadowrealm without my knowledge,” Prometheus said.

  Perenelle went to Sophie and opened her arms, but the girl made no move to close the distance. She remained with the warrior. The Sorceress took a step back and allowed her arms to drop to her sides. “So he went of his own accord?” she asked.

  “There are no signs of a struggle,” Niten said from the doorway. “And only one set of footprints heading down the valley toward the car.”

  “But the car was dead,” Nicholas answered, “the battery drained.”

  Prometheus folded his arms across his massive chest. “Yes, but the boy has learned the Magic of Fire. All that raw energy is coursing through his aura right now. He could easily have sparked the car to life.”

  “Where did he go?” Sophie asked. “I don’t understand. He wouldn’t have just left without telling me.” She looked at Prometheus. “Maybe something here took him? Maybe those mud people?”

  Prometheus shook his head. “The First People will not approach the house. I agree with Perenelle: he went of his own accord.”

  “But where has he gone?” Sophie asked again. “Home?” She shook her head. She had never, in all her life, been so confused or felt so lost. “He wouldn’t have left me.”

  “Why is he gone, is the better question,” Aoife said.

  But Perenelle shook her head. “No, the real question is, who called him? I wonder…,” she began, then stopped. The Sorceress turned and made her way to the kitchen table. Sitting down, she held her hands on either side of the crystal skull, not touching it, and looked over at Sophie. Her lips were drawn into a thin, almost bitter smile. “Perhaps you will lend us your aura now.”

  “Why?” Sophie whispered, completely confused.

  “So we can try to see your brother. See if he’s gone of his own accord or if he’s been kidnapped.”

  Aoife rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “If you possess my grandmother’s memories, then you know just how dangerous the skull is, Sophie.” She lowered her voice. “While you’re looking into the skull, it is looking into you. Stare t
oo long into its crystal depths and you can-quite literally-lose your mind. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes I do,” Sophie said simply. She looked into the vampire’s eyes. “You said yourself that you would do everything in your power to get Scathach back…”

  Aoife started to nod.

  “I’ll do the same for Josh.”

  The warrior stared at her, and then she pulled out a chair. “That I truly understand. Sit. I will stand guard over you.” For an instant the hard lines of her face softened, and she was the image of her sister.

  “Go raibh maith agat,” Sophie whispered in Irish, a language she had never learned. “Thank you.” She looked into the warrior’s face.

  Aoife nodded. “Scathach would have done the same,” she murmured.

  “Put your hands on the crystal skull,” Perenelle commanded.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Josh knew it was a dream, nothing more than a particularly vivid dream.

  He dreamt that he was driving Niten’s black limousine north along Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. It was still night overhead, though the sky to his right was already starting to lighten.

  It was one of those dreams that were perfect in every detail. Sometimes he dreamt in black-and-white and without sound, but this was in color, and he could even smell the polished leather interior of the car and the vaguely floral scent from some hidden air conditioner. He sniffed. There was another odor too: the smell of burning plastic. A curl of gray smoke drifted past his eyes and he looked down. At first he thought he was wearing red-gold gloves; then he realized that his hands were glowing hot and actually melting into the steering wheel. As he pulled them away, threads of sticky rubber and plastic, like chewing gum, stretched from the wheel.

  It wasn’t a scary dream. It was just… odd.

  He wondered where he was going.

  “Think of your brother,” Perenelle commanded.

  Sophie took a deep breath and rested both hands on the skull. Instantly the crystal turned a rich metallic silver, making it appear as if it had been carved out of metal.