The Necromancer: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

by Scott, Michael

  Right now, however, she didn’t think she was going to be able to keep that promise.

  The Shadow had been in difficult situations before—trapped in Shadowrealms, facing fearsome odds, battling monsters, once even standing alone against an entire army—and yet she had never doubted that she would survive and make her way home. A Shadowrealm had both an entrance and an exit—all she had to do was to find that exit. Foes could be fought or tricked, defeated or won over.

  But this was different.

  There were enemies aplenty in this Pleistocene world—and none of them could be tricked or won over. Much of the flora was poisonous or inedible, and all of the fauna was hungry.

  And there were just too many of them.

  After their encounter with the saber-toothed tigers, Scathach and Joan had seen lions, huge bears and endless herds of bison. Vast deafening flocks of condors flapped across the skies. As night had fallen, they had spotted the first of the wolves, tall, long-legged creatures keeping pace with them in the high grass.

  “Wolves?” Joan asked

  “Dire Wolves,” Scathach corrected, “The ancestor of the modern wolf, and just as deadly. And for every one you see, there are at least a dozen that you don’t.”

  “I can see four.”

  “Well, then there’s a big pack out there watching us.”

  For the first time in her very long life, Scathach was beginning to consider that she might be in trouble. Real trouble. This was a situation in which not even her speed and special skills were useful. She tossed another rock into the darkness, heard it strike flesh and threw another in the direction she guessed the creature would run. A wolf barked in fright. “She shoots, she scores!” she whispered.

  They had been in this landscape for only a few hours and already they were attracting the attention of the big predators. Scathach had no doubt she could fight them off, and Joan was almost her equal in battle, but sooner or later one of them would be injured. And while they were both immortal, they were not invulnerable—if the injury was devastating enough, they would die. The slash of a tiger’s claw, a bite, even a scratch would quickly become infected. Her metabolism would help her heal … if she fed. The problem was, in this landscape, there was no one to feed off—except Joan … and she would never do that.

  Scathach’s vampire clan were not blood drinkers; they had other needs. And while she rarely—very rarely—needed to feed, sooner or later the hunger would come upon her. Joan too would need food; she was vegetarian, but who knew what was safe to eat in this time and place?

  The Shadow took a deep breath, drawing in the clean night air, and leaned back on outstretched arms to survey the landscape. Close by, a lion roared and something smaller squealed in alarm.

  She had lived longer than she’d ever imagined, seeing civilizations rise and fall and rise again. She had lived through the best and worst of humani history. In the course of her long life, she had made mistakes, and while it was not in her nature to apologize for what she had done, there were things she would have done differently. Her biggest regret was that she had trained Cuchulain; she had taken a boy and turned him into a warrior, and that had ultimately killed him. Maybe she should have found an Elder master to make him immortal beforehand. Funny, she hadn’t thought of Cuchulain in centuries; he was so inextricably entwined with memories of her sister, and those were painful memories.

  If she’d had her life to live again, she would never—ever—have fought with her twin. When her parents and brother ignored her, Aoife had always been there for her; Aoife had always loved her unconditionally.

  Drawing her knees up to her chest, Scathach wrapped her arms around her shins and rested her chin on her kneecaps. It had been a long time since she had thought about her sister. She wondered if Aoife was still on the earth. She thought so. Occasionally, she would hear rumors about a red-haired pale-skinned warrior, or she’d come across stories that confused her with Aoife, mingling and mixing their legends until sometimes even she could not tell them apart.

  Gazing across the landscape, Scatty realized that there was a very good chance she could die here. Whenever she thought about dying, she imagined it would be in a dramatic battle, something huge and glorious that would ensure that her name would be remembered for generations. She didn’t like the idea of dying in this lonely place, hunted down by prehistoric megafauna. A sudden thought made her sit up straight. She’d once been told that she would die in an exotic location. Well, it didn’t get much more exotic than the Pleistocene era, did it?

  Scathach tilted her face to the heavens. The sky was cloudless, the stars so bright and clear that they actually shed a little light on the ground. She started to look for the constellations. They had shifted in the heavens during the centuries she had lived on earth, but if she could find the polestar she should be able to find …

  The huge gray wolf leapt out of the darkness, savage jaws gaping, saliva matting its fur.

  Scatty dropped to her back and her legs shot out, catching the beast in the chest, lifting it high in the air and sending it sailing off into the night. There was a single yelp of surprise before it crashed into the grasses and then a snarl as it scrambled to its feet and trotted away.

  The Shadow remained on her back, staring at the night sky.

  There was something wrong with the stars.

  Rising slowly to her feet, she stepped outside the cave mouth to look across the arc of the heavens. An enormous swath of light that almost resembled the Milky Way washed across the sky, but there was something wrong with its overall shape. It should have been an arch—but this looked too straight. And no matter in which direction she looked, she could not find the polestar.

  “Where …,” she breathed.

  And then the moon rose huge and yellow in the east and climbed steadily into the heavens, shedding milk-white light across the landscape. The sky was so clear that individual craters were visible on the surface.

  A heartbeat later, the second moon rose.

  Then a third.

  And a fourth.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “He’s big,” Josh whispered in awe, glancing at Sophie. “I mean, really big.”

  She nodded, eyes fixed on the figure.

  Prometheus was huge. The Elder stood close to seven feet tall and looked like he weighed at least three hundred pounds—all of it muscle. There was not an ounce of fat on his body. His jeans were ragged, worn through at both knees and frayed at the hems; the logo on his T-shirt was so faded it was almost invisible, and his work boots were thickly encrusted with dried mud. Although his hair was a mass of tight red curls, his beard was streaked with gray and silver.

  “Uncle!” With a cry of delight, Aoife pushed open the car door and flung herself at the big man.

  “Aoife!” He caught her as if she weighed nothing and threw her into the air, both of them laughing.

  Josh suddenly felt himself smiling at the image of this ferocious-looking man grinning as he tossed Aoife—who seemed like a child in his arms—into the air. He had a sudden vivid memory of his own father throwing him high just like that when he was younger. He’d loved that feeling of flying.

  “My good girl.” Prometheus flung Aoife into the air again, even higher, and she squealed once more.

  “Don’t let me fall,” she gasped, beginning to hiccup.

  “Have I ever let you fall?” the Elder demanded, and Josh suddenly realized that he spoke English with a surprisingly strong Southern drawl.

  “Never,” she said breathlessly.

  “It’s been so long. Too long.” The big man caught Aoife, set her on the ground and stepped back, holding her at arm’s length as he took her in. “You’ve grown.…”

  “Not an inch since you last saw me,” she said quickly.

  “And when was that?” he wondered aloud.

  “Oh, not too long ago. Just over a hundred and twenty years, I think.” Aoife pushed her dark glasses onto her head and looked up into her uncle’s broad face.<
br />
  Josh immediately realized that their eyes were an identical shade of green.

  “The last time I saw you,” Aoife continued, “was when you and Niten came to my rescue when I got into trouble with the Nagas on Krakatoa.”

  Prometheus nodded and laughed. “Yes, yes, I remember!”

  “Krakatoa,” Josh breathed excitedly. “That’s where Mom and Dad were five years ago. That’s the island with the volcano …” He turned and looked into the back of the car, but no one was listening to him: Sophie, Nicholas and Perenelle were all staring at the Elder.

  The twins’ parents had spent an entire summer on the island when the twins were ten, and Josh had used the island and the photographs his mom and dad had taken as the basis for a school project two years ago. He knew that one of the biggest volcanic explosions ever recorded on earth had taken place on Krakatoa in the late nineteenth century … which was, he realized with a start, about one hundred and twenty years ago.

  “And how is your boyfriend, the Swordsman?” Prometheus boomed.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Aoife said quickly, bright spots of color appearing on her pale cheeks. “And he’s fine.”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  “Very recently.” Aoife turned as the driver’s door opened and Niten stepped out. With his hands flat against his thighs, the Japanese immortal bowed to the huge red-haired Elder.

  Prometheus matched his bow. “It is good to see you, old friend,” he said warmly.

  “And you, Firelord.”

  Josh looked around, suddenly realizing that the moment Prometheus had appeared by the side of the car, the mud figures had slipped away, disappearing back into the trees and tall grasses on either side of the narrow country road. He could see them between the leaves, blank faces toward the red-haired Elder like flowers turned toward the sun.

  Prometheus ducked his head to look into the back of the car. “So let’s see what other surprises are in here,” he said. “Is it a nice surprise …”

  Perenelle helped Nicholas out of the car.

  “… or a not-so-nice surprise?” he finished. Then, straightening to his full height, he took the Sorceress’s hand in his and bowed low over it. “I wish I could say that it is always a pleasure to see you, Mistress Flamel, but you and bad news travel hand in hand.”

  “I suppose that must make me the bad news.” Nicholas stretched out his hand, but Prometheus ignored it, gently embracing the Alchemyst, actually lifting his feet off the ground.

  “You are always bad news,” the Elder said lightly, smiling to take the sting from his words. His green eyes were troubled as he looked over the immortal. “And today is no different, I see. You have aged, Alchemyst.” He turned to look at the woman. “You are still as beautiful as ever.”

  “You always were a charming rogue, Prometheus, and no, you should never tell a woman she is looking old.” Perenelle smiled.

  “We are in trouble,” Nicholas admitted. “I will explain all later. But first, there are two people I would like you to meet.” Nicholas turned, and Josh suddenly realized that the Alchemyst was looking at him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the passenger door … and instantly felt a pressure in the air as if some unseen force was pushing him back.

  He caught the impression of a faint red halo around the Elder, but the moment he stepped out of the car, he saw the glow intensify until it looked as if the Elder was wrapped in red mist rippling just above his skin. Behind Prometheus, Josh could see Aoife’s gray aura rising like steam off her body. He took a step forward and his own aura bloomed around him. His head itched and he ran his fingers through his hair: crackling orange-scented sparks snapping under his flesh.

  “Another Gold,” Prometheus said sadly. Then his eyes hardened as he looked at the Flamels. “I thought we agreed after the last time—”

  “Not just another Gold,” Nicholas interrupted, “the Gold.” He pointed at Josh. “Look at him closely, Prometheus. Look at this aura. He is the gold twin of legend. He is Awakened, and has learned Water magic from Gilgamesh. Now he needs to know Fire.”

  “And you expect me to train him?”

  “Please. We don’t have much time.”

  “Absolutely not,” Prometheus snapped. “I told you after the last one that I would never train a humani again.”

  Shocked and puzzled, Josh was turning to Nicholas when he felt a cold chill run across his back. He turned around just as Sophie climbed out of the car.

  The tingling had begun the moment she had seen Prometheus’s huge head peering into the car. It was like a thousand pins and needles racing through her body, beginning in her fingers and toes, rushing up into her skull. And with the tingling came the surge of memories.

  … a red-haired boy on a cliff, a tentacled monster rising out of the raging sea …

  … the boy, now a young man in exotic silver armor, wielding a flaming red sword against a host of armored warriors …

  … the same young man raining balls of fire down on a distant fleet of sparkling metal ships …

  … the man, older now, walking away from the Nameless City, followed by thousands—tens of thousands—of newly created humani …

  … the man, older still, terribly wounded and chained to a rock on a poisonous Shadowrealm, being attacked by savage birdlike creatures …

  The moment her foot touched the ground, Sophie’s aura blossomed around her, instantly hardening and solidifying into a suit of exotic-looking silver armor that encased her body. A smooth oval helmet completely covered her head, the eye openings protected with green glass, and although the gloves on her fingers were metal, they were as flexible as leather.

  “Do you recognize this armor?” Sophie’s voice echoed slightly inside the helmet, giving it an otherworldly quality. The armor was a perfect copy of the suit Prometheus had worn as a young man.

  Prometheus took a step back, his skin now the color of chalk. Aoife reached for her uncle’s hand.

  “Do you remember when you made a suit like this for me out of your own aura? To keep me safe, you said.” The smell of vanilla was strong in the air, and then it was touched by another odor: the crisp scent of burning leaves. A slender thread of brown now dappled the silver metal, making it resemble leopard skin.

  Shaking his head, Prometheus backed away. Sparks had gathered in his red hair and beard. Shimmering crimson armor started to form over his chest and shoulders. “Who are you?” he asked in the lost language of Danu Talis.

  “I am Sophie Newman,” she replied in the same language before slipping back into English. “And I have a message from your sister.”

  Prometheus’s aura blazed bloodred, and a suit of armor like the one Sophie wore shaped around his body. The two metal suits—one red, one silver—sparkled, leaking threads of colored aura into the air. “My sister is dead to me,” Prometheus boomed, his voice amplified inside his helm. “She betrayed me … she betrayed all of us.”

  Sophie’s armor paled, becoming transparent and crystalline, revealing the girl beneath. Her eyes were solid silver, like mirrors in her face. “She did what was necessary,” she said. Suddenly her aura completely vanished, streaming up and away from her flesh in silver globules, and when she spoke, it was in the cracked and aged voice of the Witch of Endor. “Little Brother, I did what I had to do, and I did it for you. You spent your life protecting me and you paid a terrible price. And yes, I went with Chronos and I sacrificed my eyes to him, but I did it so that I could see the shifting threads of time, and so that I could always watch over you and keep you safe.”

  “Zephaniah …,” Prometheus whispered. His auric armor flowed down his body and puddled around his feet before sinking into the ground. Bright green grass speckled with tiny alpine flowers appeared all around him.

  Sophie turned to the Elder. “The world will end,” she continued in the Witch’s voice. “This I have seen in every thread of time … all but one. In one there is a chance, a very slender chance, of survival. Do you remember wh
en you and I fought for the newly created humani, Little Brother?”

  Speechless with shock, Prometheus could only nod.

  “Now it is time for another brother and sister to do the same. And they need your help, Little Brother.”

  Prometheus started to shake his head. His green eyes were huge with fiery tears. “Please, do not ask me …”

  There was anger in the Witch’s voice. “Your aura sparked the humani to life. You are their father, and like every father, you have a responsibility to your family. If you refuse, then you doom the humani to destruction.” Sophie started to sway on her feet and Josh raced in to grab her. Threads of his gold aura wrapped around her, hissing, crackling and spitting when they touched her flesh. She shuddered, and when she opened her eyes, they were bright blue again. Her lids fluttered, and she blinked hard as she looked from Prometheus to Josh. “Do not disappoint me. I have always been so proud of my Little Brother,” she breathed before she lapsed into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “I hate leygates!” Virginia Dare screamed as they plunged into the icy water.

  “Now you tell me!” Dee shouted.

  They fell, down, down, down … and then suddenly there was no water around them, only complete and utter darkness.

  “And I particularly hate the falling ones.…” Virginia’s voice sounded dull and muted, as if she was talking in a tiny space. “I’m not keen on the jumping ones either.”

  Dr. John Dee tried to orient himself, but in the blackness, he was unsure which way was up and which was down.