Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1)

by Starla Huchton

  Rachel’s eyes fluttered open, but she didn’t move. Silas knelt beside her and studied her face. “How are you feeling?”

  Her forehead wrinkled as she took stock of herself. “I think… I think I’m better,” she replied slowly. “What did you do?”

  Silas sat on the ground and leaned back on his hands. “Not a thing.”

  “What? What do you mean ‘not a thing’?”

  He bobbed his head at the bed. “This appears to be a medical facility. I moved you to the cot for comfort, but that was all. Whatever happened was activated by your presence, the same as the lights and power to the room.” He leaned forward and rubbed his face between his hands. “I don’t know what is different about you, but it is very, very powerful.”

  She wanted to tell him the story she heard at Zhuqing monastery, but until that moment, she wasn’t sure she fully believed it herself. Her ears buzzed and her skin tingled. Nothing felt real. She brought her right hand up to her face. The wounds from the sealed door were no more than crescent-shaped scars, one on the tip of each finger and the center of her palm. She sighed and let her arm fall back to her side. “I’m a far-removed descendant of the race that built this place. They were destroyed by magic; more specifically, by the ring the Brotherhood was after. It appears they needed me to get everything here working again, or at least to get them through the door. How did you work that out for yourself?”

  Silas shrugged. “When I couldn’t open this door, I reasoned there was a good chance you could, given what I witnessed earlier. As for the rest, it was pure luck. By moving you closer to the emergency light, it triggered the main power.” He glanced back to the door. “There seems to be an activation panel there, but I didn’t see it in the dark. I can’t claim a stroke of brilliance; it was all by chance.”

  Rachel sat up suddenly. “Silas, you don’t think all this will go unnoticed, do you?”

  He paled. “I… oh dear. I don’t think it will.”

  “We need to get out of here.” Rachel swung her legs onto the floor and stood, Silas joining her. She wobbled unsteadily, and he caught her before her knees buckled. Annoyed at her weakness, she growled quietly. Silas took a half step backwards at this.

  “Sorry.” She gave him an apologetic look. “It isn’t your fault. You’ve been nothing short of amazing. I’m not… It’s just… Damnation.” She sputtered, gave up entirely, and kissed him. After a lingering moment, she released her stunned companion. “Thank you.”

  Firmly on her feet, she headed for the door. A bit wobbly himself, Silas followed on her heels. Rachel pressed her ear to the entrance, listening for any outside noise. When none presented itself, she cracked the door open. Expecting darkness as she peered out, she was flabbergasted to find a hallway flooded with light. The door swung open and they stepped into a wholly unrecognizable environment.

  “Ah, so good of you to join us, Captain Sterling.” Brother Cross sneered smugly as he leaned against the wall next to the door. Brotherhood men lined the hall on either side of their hiding place. Unable to enter the room, they simply waited for their quarry to present themselves.

  Unarmed, Rachel and Silas had no choice but to surrender.

  Illumination was never such an inconvenience.

  Jiao, poised to strike, found herself in the middle of a cluster of five men when every light in the grand gallery flared to full brightness. Blunt weapons and knives flew at her as they caught sight of her. She rolled away as she sliced at their calves. Two men went down screaming, shattering all hope of continued stealth. Dashing around a corner, she narrowly missed a bullet aimed at her head. She scampered up to the pedestal ledge and hoisted herself out of sight. She laid on the edge, still, easing her breathing as much as she could. Below her, the three men who retained mobility cursed as they searched for their assailant. It seemed like an excellent time to return to the safety of Monsieur DuSalle’s little group.

  She dropped to the ground near the fallen, groaning men and dispatched them quickly. They couldn’t walk, but they could still fire a gun given the opportunity. She listened to the scattered chaos erupting in other areas and picked the nearest source of sound. Jiao ran, from one wall to the next, scanning for enemies as she proceeded.

  The place was transformed. Giant, vaulted ceilings housed colossal statues of anthropomorphic figures, gods holding representative items. Some stood on feet, others on hooves, and one on many tentacles. Every individual was different: from a lion-man holding a bolt of lightning as a staff, to a woman with the lower half of a squid holding a quill to her chest. They all had a queer, elongated quality, as though the sculptures were stretched somehow. Both the creations and their bases were carved of black granite. The floor looked to be bedrock, polished to a high shine, now streaked and splattered with blood in scattered patches.

  The first group she came upon was a group of Brotherhood men embattled with unseen foes beyond her line of sight. Within seconds, three more bowler hats fell to the ground; their owners in crumpled heaps next to them. A swift kick sent a pistol into the open area, a signal to her allies that their targets were no more.

  “What is the count, Princess?” Monsieur DuSalle called out to her.

  “Including these three?” She grinned as she emerged from around the corner. “Thirty-five.”

  He nodded. “Very good. Two more and you shall tie for first place.”

  She scowled, and cast a glance upwards. “I lost three when the lights came up. Most unfortunate.”

  “Indeed.” Danton chuckled. “There’s still time. We’ve nearly cleared the gallery. The main group should arrive…” he trailed off, listening. “Ah, I believe that is them now.”

  The sound of many feet approached. The first wave hurried past, kicking at the corpses of felled Brotherhood men as they went. Iris came into view, Eddie by her side.

  “There you are.” She set her hands on her hips, giving her the appearance of a mother scolding misbehaving children. “Well, at least you aren’t dead.” She shook her head. “I trust you’ve had your fun and will follow my orders from now on, Miss Wu?”

  Jiao sunk down sheepishly. “Yes, Mistress.”

  “What’s the situation?” She looked at Danton.

  “They went down a hallway at the back,” Jiao interrupted. “At least one hundred men, maybe more, plus whoever remains here.”

  Iris raised an eyebrow, and Jiao backed down. “And the lights?”

  Danton shrugged. “Not us, and nothing we saw.”

  Iris sighed. “It looks as though the element of surprise is no longer with us.”

  “I imagine the gunfire guarantees that, oui.” He removed a pistol from the holster strapped to his chest and checked the chamber. When Jiao looked back at the first mate, she brandished two Derringers of her own and seemed impatient to be off.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Monsieur DuSalle.” She gave him a grim smile.

  With a nod, they set off. Within a minute they caught up to their small army gathering at the back of the gallery.

  “Which way?” Iris asked.

  Jiao pointed at the largest of the hallways, a great gold mosaic curving above it with the bend in the archway. Each tile reflected light at specific angles, creating tonal differences that resulted in a subtle image. They were characters of some sort, but the language was a mystery to Jiao. She had a wistful moment of longing for knowledge.

  Instead of a rallying battle cry, the first mate fixed her gaze on the corridor before them and stepped forward. “Gentlemen, Miss Wu, let us retrieve our captain.”

  At the sound of gunfire, their pace down the hallway quickened. Rachel grinned, but didn’t say a word. Her head still throbbed, despite the infirmary’s help, and she knew a smart comment would earn her a punch, slap, or something equally uncomfortable. There was no definitive proof that this skirmish was Iris and the crew of the Antigone’s Wrath staging a rescue, but she doubted it could be anything else.

  They wound their way down hallway after hallway
, changing direction whenever the sounds of battle drew too close. Finally, they arrived at a grand set of wooden double doors. Inlaid gold reflected the fire from the torches mounted on the walls before the lights came up. A guard broke off to open the right-hand door, admitting them to the room within.

  A grand gathering space unfolded before them. Stone tiles shone dimly in the artificial yellow-orange light. As they emerged from the line of pillars on their side of the room, dozens of men watched. Rachel noted their haughty looks, but paid them no mind. If she were going to die, she would do it with her head held high.

  Her resolve faltered as they turned towards the front. Piles of parts and broken things clustered around the edges of the hall. At the head, a black platform held three ebony chairs, the center one taller than the two to the sides. Cloaked figures sat in each of these seats, unmoving. More disturbing than these still creatures, however, was the large metal box that commanded all her attention. It sat on the floor in front of the platform in the center of a large mosaic pattern. The floor was inlaid with mother of pearl tiles in the shape of a twenty-foot wide, eight-pointed star. Lines of gold outlined the edges and inner circle. She ripped her eyes away from it to stare at Silas in horror. “You actually built it? Why? Why would you risk that?”

  Silas clenched his fists and glared back at her. “What else would you have had me do? Refuse? They’d only have killed me and found another to build it.”

  “I would rather die than know I was responsible for the disaster that thing is sure to unleash,” she growled. “You’re a coward.”

  “All the better for us.” Brother Cross spun around and drew his hand back to strike her. “Be quiet!”

  “Brother Cross…” A young man’s voice stayed his hand. All eyes shot to the platform. “You’d do well to remember your orders.”

  Rachel flashed Mortimer a smug smile, but kept any further comments to herself. The muscles in his jaw clenched in anger. It would be wise not to press her luck any further.

  “Approach,” the figure spoke again.

  A jab to her spine sent Rachel lurching forward, and it was all she could do to keep from falling on her face. She shot an irritated look over her shoulder before proceeding. Carefully avoiding the outer edges of the star, the men ushered Rachel and Silas around the left side of the open space, coming to a stop near the dais. The seated figure nearest them stood. As he turned towards them, he pushed back his hood. Rachel balked. Here was a man with the face of one no more than twenty, yet he had a head of hair as silver as the buckles on her boots. Stranger still were his eyes, metallic gray irises surrounding his pupils. When his gaze caught hers, the corners of his mouth turned up, but it was not the sort of smile to grant comfort. She looked away, deeply disturbed by the thing lurking behind his stare.

  “We have been waiting a very, very long time for this moment, my Brothers!” He lifted his hands and a single cheer went up from the shadows and the groups of gathered followers brave enough to remain in view. Pillars flanked the sides of the room, obscuring the farthest walls in darkness. She couldn’t see them, but Rachel could feel their cowardice. Ironic that those who brought this into being couldn’t own their triumph.

  “At last, we will emerge from secrecy to take our place as masters of the True Power in this world. Order will be restored. Morality will prevail. All shall be united under one crest and none shall challenge our righteousness!”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes as another victory cheer echoed around her and the speech continued. The hubris of these Brothers was nearly comical. She did wonder, however, if the function of the Machine didn’t give them cause for conceit. A quick glance at Silas gave her pause. He looked nervous, but why? Having built this contraption, he most likely knew its purpose. There was something else, though. What more didn’t she know?

  A final pronouncement interrupted her wandering thoughts. “Evinco, in toto, cum cor et sententia unum!” The silver-haired man’s fist punched the air. When the last of the cries of solidarity quieted, he sat and the figure to the far right stood in his place. Silence descended. A few moments passed before Rachel heard the chanting. It was the spell that would awaken the beast.

  As the intonation grew louder, the gold outlines of the star brightened, but the glow never penetrated more than a few feet above the floor. It hung like a fog over the ground, swirling inwards towards the metal box. Rumbling vibrations rattled the room as the Machine drew in the conjured power. The cloaked man continued the recitation, the power and volume building and culminating in a vortex at the center of the star. Green light spun about the box and whipped up a scathing wind. The rumbling grew into a roar. Now screaming the spell, the man’s words disappeared in the tornado of light and sound.

  Panic threatened to overtake her. She glanced back to Silas, desperately searching his face for some sign that he had a plan or anything that might help them. He met her worried look with one of his own and stepped close to her, taking her arm, their guards too enthralled with the magic on display to notice the movement.

  “Tell me you’ve done something to correct this situation,” she said in his ear.

  He shot her a look from the corner of his eye. Before he could reply, all sound was sucked from the room and the air went still. They froze. A deep, low hum pulsed, imperceptibly at first, then grew to a physical reverberation. It rattled her lungs with every breath she took, and the heavy smell of grease coated her nostrils. When her eyes rested on the Brotherhood’s contraption, sick dread filled her stomach.

  The Machine lived.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Machine

  Progress through the hallways was slower than through the open space of the gallery. Here, the enemy created bottlenecks and barricades. Brotherhood thugs hid in every open doorway and shadow. Iris found her sealed vials of potions in her harness came in very handy. When the green ones smashed against walls and floors, they released mixtures of chemicals that incapacitated anyone who breathed in the fumes. But she had to be judicious in the use of these weapons. The distance to their final destination was indeterminable.

  The hall. She was absolutely sure that was where Rachel would be. If her dreams ever foretold anything, this detail was certain. Although the knot of apprehension in her belly grew tighter with each step forward, turning back was not an option. When the last smoke bomb cleared and the guards in front of the final set of double doors dropped, her heart sprang into her throat. Beyond this portal was the thing that haunted her nightmares. Swept up in the heat of battle, she didn’t notice the feeling that made her skin crawl until now. Strange magic oozed out from under the door. She couldn’t see it, but she desperately wanted to run. Without realizing it, she backed away, only stopping when Eddie’s hand touched her arm.

  “Miss Singh?” His eyes searched her face.

  Iris trembled. There was still time to run, to avoid the scene from her nocturnal terrors. Couldn’t Rachel and the others defeat the remaining forces on their own? Perhaps it was her own presence that guaranteed the horrific visions.

  She shook herself and scowled at the entrance. These were the thoughts of a coward. Her oldest friend in the world was in the next room with the greatest evil Iris ever felt. If there was a time to act, it was now.

  At that moment, Jiao skidded through the passageway behind Iris. The girl looked an absolute wreck. Her normally sleek hair flew out at odd angles from the high bun on her head and dirt and scorch marks marred her long tunic. Although she panted from the extended period of exertion, her eyes were clear and bright. She lowered her weapons when she saw Iris, Eddie, and the five other men standing there. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but her look of excitement morphed into a mixture of disgust and fear as she looked around them at the doors.

  “What…” She recoiled a step. “What is this place?”

  “The enemy and its weapon lie just beyond these doors. What you sense is only a fraction of what is in store.” She approached the girl and pulled her
aside. Iris lowered her voice. “This is not your fight. It would be better for you to retreat while you can.”

  “While I appreciate your concern, I do not hide from yáoxiè,” Jiao spat out the Chinese word. “I am not too young to see the importance of this battle. Today, I do not fight because I do not like to lose: I fight because there is more at stake than my own pride. I hear your warning, but I will not leave fate in the hands of others when I can help guide it.”

  Iris straightened, regarding Jiao thoughtfully. If the girl was to get hurt in any way and the rest of them somehow managed to survive, Yong Wu’s revenge would be swift and painful. For a moment, she debated having the girl bound and forced back to the safety of the Antigone’s Wrath. However, she would likely escape, appearing again at the most inopportune moment possible. And, truth be told, she had very valid reasons for wanting to stay. If the situation were reversed, Iris would feel the same way. She gave a nod. “In that case, I suggest you take a moment to prepare yourself. You will need all of your strength to face this.”

  As she turned away, more men poured from one end of the passageway. Danton emerged from a hall on the right, assisting a wounded man. Iris approached and helped prop him against a wall off to one side.

  “Casualties?” Iris asked as she examined the injury in the man’s thigh. He was lucky and the bullet missed the large artery.

  “Two of ten,” he answered. “Few losses compared to my personal body count of fifty-eight.”

  Iris gave him a quizzical look, then realized he directed the comment to Jiao.