by T. G. Ayer
Memories surged up within his mind and he lashed out, slamming his fist into the side of a five-foot-tall urn, one of two flanking the window.
His knuckles smarted, skin splitting leaving a sharp trail of blood on the colorless stone. The urn wobbled on its base then tilted over. Langourt remained motionless as the urn began to tilt away from him, falling hard onto the ground, and shattering into hundreds of pieces.
His hand hurt but he would never admit it. Not to himself and more importantly not to anyone else.
He had a reputation to uphold. He’d never tell anyone of his failures.
Failure is weakness.
He took a deep breath and turned to stare at the giant book on his desk. Roquefort was slowly expanding the genealogy of the Pythias and Langcourt had to now find a way to slip in information the man could obviously never come by.
Langcourt went to a trunk beside the window. He’d escaped before the fire, taking with him a small number of important items. One of them being his extended research on the oracles and their descendants. He’d made it his life’s work to track them all, to know where they were and if ever their power came to fruition.
Now, he withdrew a fat leather-bound envelope and slid out a sheaf of yellowed papers. Taking a few, he inserted them into the pile sitting beside the book the genealogist was working on.
Roquefort would never know.
And all Langcourt needed to do was to remember to retrieve them from the pile before the man stored them away.
Straightening, he left the room, taking care to close and lock the door. Although he’d been given the run of the building by the high priest, Langcourt wasn’t about to hand out his trust to anyone, no matter how highly connected they were.
He headed down a long corridor and came to a large open space. It was dank and moldy, covered in moss and littered with dead roaches and the remains of small birds. Feathered corpses lay scattered on the floor, grayed and macabre, tiny rib cages exposed, reaching from within the swollen torsos like miniature fingers begging for mercy.
A fluttering from the high reaches of the room’s ceiling drew Langcourt’s gaze and he glared up into the shadows in disgust. Bats. He hated the creatures. The breed haunting the pyramid was particularly macabre; a bloodsucking creature that hunted out warm-blooded animals to partake of a meal of fresh blood. True fodder from which awful legends were born.
Langcourt took a path along the edges of the room, studying the items hanging upon rusted nailed driven deep into the stone. Masks of desiccated leather, some in such terrible repair they were almost falling apart, hung five to six feet apart, all staring out into the middle of the room as if eternally watching one single space.
The direction of their gazes all collided at one single point. A square stone altar, only a hands-breadth wide sat like a lonely monolith. Even from where he stood twenty feet away, Langcourt could make out the chips and scrapes created by a blade slamming into stone. He could imagine the sacrificial victim—willing or unwilling would not have mattered, of course—lying prone, awaiting the fall of the blade.
Langcourt smiled.
A much more hands-on method than the guillotines he’d seen come out of Frankia during the revolution against Roman rule.
Langcourt found it fascinating, this room filled with its terrible secrets, of death and sacrifice, of blood spilled, of the cries of the innocent.
And all while the death faces of twenty men stood watch.
Chapter 28
Max arranged a car for Celestra, which made Max wonder what type of service it was that would take her to her squatter-town hovel.
As soon as he put the phone down, Allegra asked him as much.
His response was a shrug. “Maybe that’s not really her home. Maybe it is, and McIvor doesn’t know?”
“Maybe it’s a bad idea to send her back there?” said Allegra. She was still pale from her gunshot wound, and then the strange stab wound she’d awakened with.
Max paused and beyond Allegra’s shoulder he saw Les’s spine stiffen. He frowned, still considering Allegra’s comment. “You could be right.” He shifted to the right to meet Les’s eyes. “Anything at home that you need?”
She shook her head, the bleakness in her gaze making his heart twist. He wished he could help her but there was a wall between them now, a wall defined by the hurt of the past.
Max shifted on his feet. “I think you should stay here.” When she didn’t respond he asked, “Do you have family or friends we should notify?”
Les looked up and met his gaze. “Not if I want to keep them safe.”
A chill trickled down Max’s spine, something in those words making him feel like he’d missed something.
Max nodded. “Probably for the best. I’ll arrange for an extra bed to be brought up.”
Les got to her feet and smoothed down the front of her skirt. “And who do you think you will be contacting to make such arrangements for you?” There was a small tilt to the corner of her lips as she spoke and she rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath. “It’s probably time I gave the impression I actually work here.”
She headed for the door then stopped and turned to looked at Allegra. “I hope you know-”
Allegra held up a hand. “I understand. There is no need for an apology.”
Les’s eyes glistened as she nodded and headed for the door. The door clicked shut behind her and Allegra turned to face Max. “It’s way past time to tell you about Delphi.”
Max nodded and took her elbow, leading her to a sofa near the window. A cool breeze soughed through the open windows and Allegra sighed.
“That first dream . . . I said I wasn’t sure what it was, if it was just a vision, or a dream. But this time I think it’s much more than a vision. I think I saw into the past. Or if not, then perhaps it’s a residual memory handed down through the generations of Pythias.”
“Perhaps,” Max murmured. “And perhaps you need to tell me what you saw?”
Allegra smiled weakly and proceeded to outline her vision, following her awakening within Cathenna’s drug-induced haze, to the sense of her affection for her translator.
At the mention of the translator Max’s gut had tightened. There was so much he had to tell Allegra, but her visions were giving her that information without the need for his intervention.
All well and good, but would Allegra understand his omissions?
He steeled his emotions as she continued, detailing her recognition of the gathering of senators including the Langcourt-doppelganger, and lastly the realization that Thrasius and Cathenna had in fact been married. With children.
Max’s stunned expression only reflected Allegra’s own reaction to the vision.
But there was an almost tangible horror in his heart, one he was certain reflected clearly upon his face as she described the murder of the Pythia Cathenna, and the identity of her killer.
He listened to Allegra voice the truth behind who Max himself was and found it hurt deeply that he’d never been able to bring himself to tell her the truth.
He’d lain the blame at Aurelia’s feet. She’d cautioned him against being hasty, tried her best to convince him that whatever his emotions told him, he’d need to be patient more than anything.
Her belief was oracles, whether Pythia or seers, were not immune to the darkness. “Even oracles can be bad people,” she’d said in her matter-of-fact tone. “You would have to be certain you can trust her. And not just certain. You will need to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was true to her destiny, true to her bloodline.”
Max had countered with the wisdom of an eighteen-year-old boy. “What if I don’t care for her?”
Aurelia had laughed. “My boy, I’m afraid it does not work that way.” She hadn’t elaborated, and had just sat there smiling at him, her rheumy eyes glistening in the sun. At the time he’d wondered what she meant, had questioned her assertion that he had no choice.
How could he have no choice of his own
fate?
Max wanted to laugh at the memory of the naive boy he’d once been.
Choice had been something to hold tight to his heart, to revel in the possession of it as if it were a sword to wield against the world itself.
How little had he known of what fate had in store?
Choice had played no role in his pursuit of Aurelia’s successor, in his persistence of tracking the charlatan seer of Las Suertes. He’d been hell bent on proving to Aurelia that she was wrong.
He’d believed he had. Until the day he’d met Allegra on the beach below her home.
Emotion had flooded him. Admiration for her spirit and her independence. Amusement at how alike she was to Aurelia, her wit and her sharp tongue.
Shock when Xales had appeared and had almost impaled Max.
Joy when Max had confirmed who Allegra was.
And just now she’d spoken Thrasius’ name as if his existence was entirely acceptable. But Max had to remind himself that Allegra would have had no way to know that Thrasius and Cathenna would have been destined to be a mated pair. That fate and the stars, that destiny and tradition had conspired to bring them together.
Max knew his face had revealed his shock but Allegra seemed not to have noticed, seemed so engrossed in her retelling that she barely registered his reaction.
Thrasius, the fated father. Aurelia has spoken of him, used him as an example of the total, devoted loyalty of the Immunis to his Pythia. Could Max be as devoted to Allegra as his predecessor had been?
And the fate that had befallen Cathenna and her mate weighed heavily on Max. He shook his head. Had he grown so weak in his time away from FAPA duty that the persecution and murder of two people who’d died almost two millennia ago could affect him so all-encompassingly?
He’d been so deep within his thoughts that it took him a while to realize Allegra was waiting for him to respond to something she’d said. She regarded him with a suspicious look, and he shifted his gaze. He was all too aware that Allegra knew him well enough to tell he was lying to her about something
She stared at him and he turned away, looking out at the view of the city.
When the silence fell, Max’s thoughts went back to Langcourt’s doppelgänger. Was there some connection between Langcourt and his murderous forefather? Both the men certainly seemed to have borne a hatred for Pythias. A fact that made Langcourt a potential threat to Allegra’s life.
And one that could verify that Langcourt was digging deeper into Allegra’s origins. A truth Max was not about to allow Langcourt to get his hands on.
That was a secret Aurelia had insisted be revealed to Allegra and Allegra alone.
Max turned to meet Allegra’s gaze. “We need to prepare to leave as soon as possible.”
“I’m just a little worried about leaving Qusqu without finding out more about the killings and the destruction of the city.” Allegra’s face was shadowed and Max could see her fatigue in the dark hollows beneath her eyes.
“I understand but you can’t keep getting visions while you are this weak. You’re still relatively new to seeing, and the traveling to the past—or whatever that was—is taking its toll on you. A dead Pythia sees no visions.”
Allegra let out a short laugh, her eyes sparkling for a moment. “You think you’re funny?”
“I know I am.” He headed over to her and helped her to her feet, the action reminding himself of his attendance to Aurelia in her frailer times. “I’m taking you to bed so come quietly. Or I will carry you.”
Allegra merely grunted while Max felt his head heat up as he registered his words.
He’d very much like to take Allegra to bed, but the time and the place seemed out of reach. He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever get to opportunity to make up for the Aulus debacle.
As he drew Allegra back to the room and waited as she climbed in, Max’s mind was leaning toward things far less sedate than putting Allegra to bed. He imagined bare legs entangled with the sheets, glistening with sweat in the aftermath of lovemaking in the heat of the day.
Max swallowed and shoved the thoughts out of his head as he drew the covers over Allegra’s leg.
“Now get-” The doorbell chimed and Max gritted his teeth. “Now who can that be?”
Allegra didn’t respond, her eyelashes fluttering as her lids began to close. Exhausted was a good description.
He left her and hurried to answer the door, more than surprised to see the ambassador’s wife giving him a worried smile.
“Hello, Commander,” she said as she sailed into the apartment. She looked around, then faced Max. “How is the Pythia feeling? I must apologize for not coming to see her earlier. I’m afraid I was detained unexpectedly.”
“We understand, Elana. It’s no matter. The Pythia has been resting.”
“Ah yes, she does need her rest. I’m glad Celestra has been in attendance.”
Max nodded. “Yes. She’s been most helpful. I’m not sure we could manage without her.”
Elana nodded and Max said, “I’ll see if she is awake.” He hurried back inside the room to check on Allegra who now appeared to be half awake. Still he didn’t want to disturb her, especially not now when it looked like exhaustion was building up for her.
He turned on his heel to inform Elana that the Pythia was not taking visitors only to see the ambassador’s wife had entered the room two feet behind him. She ignored Max and sailed to the side of the bed.
“Oh, my Lady. You do look dreadful,” she said, her tone sharp as she met Max’s eyes. “Have you been taking care of her? The doctor did say she needed rest.”
Max, was at first taken aback at her question, but then was focused on her comment regarding the doctor. Had the ambassador asked the doctor to report in on Allegra’s condition?
Max bristled. So much for doctor-patient-confidentiality.
“Elana, I assure you they’ve been taking very good care of me,” Allegra said softly. There was a tiny hint of irritation in her tone but Max couldn’t tell if it was due to being disturbed when she was almost asleep, or if she’d registered the criticism in the woman’s voice and words.
“I’m so glad of it,” Elana said, reaching out to pat Allegra’s hand.
Before Max could stop her, Elana’s bare skin made full contact with Allegra’s hand.
Allegra flinched and Max knew she was gone.
Chapter 29
Drifting to sleep, Allegra felt encased within a warm ball of comfort. Voices in the distance tried to penetrate the fog of her sleep but she wanted to avoid it.
She’d almost succeeded when she felt someone touch her hand.
She flinched but it was too late.
The lethargy of impending sleep disappeared and Allegra was thrust into a room filled with darkness and a wet cold that penetrated to her bones.
She tried to look around her but saw nothing but darkness. As her gaze flitted left and right she caught flashes of images but was unable to focus.
Disoriented for a bit, it took a few seconds for Allegra to realize she was encased within some sort of mask. Light entered the darkness in two eye-slits and Allegra concentrated on looking through them, hoping to understand where she was. Or rather, where Elana McIvor was.
This was a vision of Elana’s future after all.
One that did not bode well considering she was being held captive, blinded by a hood, unable to move.
Allegra concentrated on the eye-holes focusing on the scene beyond the hood. And her blood ran cold.
She caught flashes of images, people walking back and forth, tall men and women in headdresses, chests bared and oiled. Firelight flickered beyond what Allegra was able to see, the light dancing and reflecting against long iron-tipped spears.
Allegra gasped.
The spears struck a chord within her because she recognized them instantly. The same ancient, hand-carved metal spear-heads that had pierced right through ambassador McIvor’s skull.
Her assumption was only verified as she
caught sight of McIvor, kneeling on the floor, hands bound, eyes wide as she stared around in shock and terror.
Allegra stilled as she realized where she—or Elana—was. At the scene of the ambassador’s murder.
McIvor shuddered, the fear drawing a sheen of perspiration to his forehead. “Wait,” he yelled. “You can’t do this to me.”
“Of course we can. You swore your loyalty. You promised your life in payment for any form of betrayal.”
“I didn’t betray anyone. I’m loyal. I swear. I am. I’m loyal,” McIvor sputtered as his voice rose and then cracked. His terror was clear, almost tangible.
He met Elana’s gaze and shook his head. “Why?” he yelled out, pain filling his voice. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked.
There was an odd note of grief in his voice that made Allegra pause, but she brushed it off. He looked like he was traumatized and she assumed he knew what was coming.
Allegra felt sick to her stomach. She knew exactly what was coming for him and she was glad he didn’t know.
Allegra gazed at the scene out of Elana’s eyes filled with pity for the woman. Held captive and forced to watch her husband’s murder, she would likely be traumatized for life.
Not unlike seeing blood on one’s hands for months after you’re responsible for someone’s death.
Allegra shook off the thought and concentrated on the scene in front of her. Beyond the ambassador was a set of stairs leading to a dais of sorts, upon which was a large stone altar. A tall, thin man in a terrifying mask and headdress stood beside the altar, chanting words she did not—and was glad to not—understand.
Allegra’s heart thudded against her ribs and she tried to call out. She knew all too well that the nature of the vision was just that; a view to something she really was not a part of. And yet her terror at what was going to happen spurred her to at least try.
The priest on the dais reached into the shadows and withdraw a long staff, tipped with a hand-hewn metal spear, its point so sharp it may as well have been a dagger.
