by Mark Anthony
Marius was pacing before the fire now, shaking his tawny hair like a lion’s mane. “I know all that. By why did you sing the song now? It’s those instincts of yours. You’ve made a connection, haven’t you?” He stopped, gripped the arms of her chair, and leaned down, his face inches from her own. He smelled sharp, like lightning. “What is it? What has your clever mind put together?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I—”
“You do know, Deirdre. What is it? What were you thinking?”
The words tumbled out of her. “The song—it’s just that in a way it’s like what you said about the catalyst. How in the end it’s the same, unchanged.”
He pushed away from the chair. “Sing it,” he said. “All of it.”
She was afraid she wouldn’t remember the words. Only they came to her lips easily, and she sang in a quavering voice:
“We live our lives a circle,
And wander where we can.
Then after fire and wonder,
We end where we began.
“I have traveled southward,
And in the south I wept.
Then I journeyed northward,
And laughter there I kept.
“Then for a time I lingered,
In eastern lands of light,
Until I moved on westward,
Alone in shadowed night.
“I was born of springtime,
In summer I grew strong.
But autumn dimmed my eyes,
To sleep the winter long.
“We live our lives a circle,
And wander where we can.
Then after fire and wonder,
We end where we began.”
The last verse faded into silence. Marius was pacing again, a fist clenched to his chest, murmuring the words of the song. At last he stopped, looking at her. “What does it mean?”
Understanding tickled in the back of her brain, but it fluttered out of reach every time she tried to grasp it. “I suppose it’s about beginnings, and about endings. And how maybe they’re the same thing.”
Only they wouldn’t be the same thing anymore, would they? Not if the rifts in the cosmos continued to grow. Not if scientists like Sara Voorhees were right, and the rifts signified the end of the universe—of all possible universes. Then there would be no ending or beginnings. There would be only . . . nothing. Didn’t the Philosophers understand? If the rifts kept growing, there would be no world left for them to dwell in as immortals.
But Marius had said they were blinded by their quest; they could think of nothing else. Or did they believe that by going to Eldh they could escape Earth and destruction? She shuddered and reached for her teacup, taking a sip to warm her, only it had gone cold.
Marius sank back into his chair. “I had hoped we’d have more time to try to understand what it is the Sleeping Ones are waiting for, what it is they mean to do. But perihelion comes, and it has brought the gate to light. The Philosophers mean to use it to travel to the otherworld. That’s why I led you here, Deirdre, why I let you read the journal. It’s why I’m speaking to you now, despite the peril. There’s no more use in secrecy. At this very moment, in London, the Philosophers await the delivery of seven crates that have been shipped from Crete. I think you can guess what those crates contain.”
She could. “How did they get the sarcophagi out of the archaeological site? It has to be guarded, and I can’t believe the authorities on Crete would simply let priceless artifacts be shipped out of the country.”
He gave her a scornful look. “Honestly, Deirdre, do you think such things are difficult for us? Our wealth and resources are beyond your imagining, amassed over centuries. And the Seekers are hardly the only servants of the Philosophers. We have contacts in nearly every government in the world—contacts who can be directed to do as we wish with a single letter, phone call, or electronic message. How do you think we’ve so easily arranged passports and new identities in the past?”
Deirdre shuddered. In that moment she remembered that he was a Philosopher. “And do they know how to operate the gate?”
“Yes, they do. That much they learned from their experiments with the folk at Greenfellow’s Tavern.”
His words made Deirdre sick. “How long?” she said.
“The crates are to arrive in London tomorrow. The location is here.”
He handed her a slip of paper. She stared as if he had handed her a kipper. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“You know what I want.”
Slowly she folded the paper, then stood and held it out to him. “I’m not your minion. If you want revenge against the Philosophers so badly, you can get it yourself.”
He drew himself up to his full height, towering over her, his face as beautiful and terrible as an angel’s. It was clear he wanted to rage at her. Instead he drew in a deep breath, then spoke in controlled words.
“Yes, I want vengeance. I have wanted it for centuries, and all the while I’ve been unable to so much as raise a finger against them, lest the blood in my veins burn me to ashes. I waited until I finally found a Seeker I believed could help me— I waited for you, Deirdre. But there’s another reason I’ve waited so long. You see, the more I studied the Sleeping Ones, the more I wondered at their purpose, and what would happen when perihelion came. And the more I came to believe that they must not be prevented from fulfilling that purpose, whatever it might be.”
Marius gave a rueful smile. “Perhaps it’s a result of my being a Seeker before a Philosopher, but the First Desideratum is ingrained in me: A Seeker shall not interfere with the actions of those of otherworldly nature. I still hold to that vow. And now, more than ever, I am certain that the Philosophers must not be allowed to interfere with the Sleeping Ones, or prevent them from doing what it is they seek to do when perihelion comes.” He picked up a piece of paper from the table with the teapot and held it out.
She glared at it, suspicious. “What is that?”
“It is the result of Paul Jacoby’s efforts at translating the writing on the stone arch. He achieved a major breakthrough yesterday when he . . . stumbled upon a lexicon of symbols from the tomb.”
“You mean when you gave it to him.”
He gave a dismissive wave and held the paper toward her. It was too dim in the hall, and her hand was shaking too badly, for her to read the words on the computer printout.
“What does it say?”
“Many things pertaining to the journey of the Sleeping Ones to Earth. But perhaps the most interesting are these two lines, written on the stones on either side of the keystone.”
He brought a tin lantern closer to her and pointed at the top of the page. There was a line of angular, alien symbols. Below was a translation in English: When the twins draw near, all shall come to nothing unless hope changes everything.
She looked up, her heart pounding. “ ‘When the twins draw near.’ It means Earth and Eldh, doesn’t it? Whatever the Sleeping Ones are waiting for, it’s related to perihelion. And to the rifts.” But what did that last part mean? How could simply hoping change anything?
He took the paper from her. “Do you see now? This is not about vengeance anymore. I still do not know what the Sleeping Ones intend to do, what transformation they seek. But I believe it is imperative they be allowed to complete it. The fate of two worlds may well depend on it. And what the Philosophers intend to do could destroy any chance of that happening. The Sleeping Ones came to this world for a purpose, Deirdre. They were never meant to be found. After all these centuries, that is the only thing I know for certain!”
His final words rose in volume, melding with a roll of thunder. Deirdre met his eyes. “How do I know I can trust you?”
He shrugged, his expression cold. “You can’t know. In the end, you can only believe.” He folded her fingers around the paper with the London address written on it. She gazed at her hand a long moment, then took the paper and slipped it into her pocket.
“Now what?�
� she said, meeting his golden eyes. “What should I do?”
Marius opened his mouth, but it was another voice that spoke: deep, gravelly, and familiar.
“I recommend you take a big step back.”
Both Deirdre and Marius turned their heads. A man stood at the far end of the front hall, in the opening that led to the foyer, his bulky form clad as always in a sleek designer suit. Deirdre staggered.
“Hello there, mate,” Anders said, and pointed his gun at her.
39.
Again thunder rattled the tall windows. Deirdre was so startled she took a step forward, an antelope drawn by fear toward the lion.
Anders tightened his big hand around the gun, holding it at arm’s length. “I need you to move away, Deirdre.”
As always, he pronounced her name DEER-dree. However, his voice was no longer preternaturally cheery. Instead it was sharp and grim, and his eyes had undergone their own transmutation from vivid blue to hard steel. A wave of regret crashed over Deirdre. Then the wave ebbed, draining away, leaving her cold. How long had he been there, just outside the hall, listening?
You have to assume he’s heard everything.
Which meant he knew who Marius was. Knew what he was.
“Come on, Deirdre,” he said, motioning with the gun. “You need to get out of the way. Now.”
“No,” she said, her own voice going hard. “Tell me what you’re doing here and how you followed me.”
“There isn’t time for that now, mate. You’ve got to listen to me.”
“No. You’ve lied to me.”
He flinched, and a husky note crept into his voice. “I know I have, mate. And I’m sorry about that, I really am. But if you’ve ever cared one whit about me—and I think you have—then I need you to do this for me. I need you to step aside.”
“Don’t do it, honey,” a smooth voice said behind her. “He’s trying to trick you.”
Fresh shock sizzled through Deirdre as lightning flickered outside the windows. She jerked her head around. Standing in a narrow opening Deirdre had not seen before was a tall, dusky-skinned woman clad in a turtleneck sweater and tweed slacks.
“Sasha,” Deirdre said, her mind trying to comprehend what was happening. Sasha’s presence was an incongruity, like a polar bear in a desert.
Sasha took a step forward, and a door swung shut behind her, melding with the dark wood paneling. It was a servant’s entrance, designed to be invisible.
“Stop right there, Sasha,” Anders growled, taking a step forward, gun before him. So it was not at Deirdre or Marius that Anders had been aiming the weapon.
Sasha did as he commanded, resting her hands on her slender hips. She kept her dark eyes on Deirdre. “Everything he’s told you is a lie, Deirdre. It’s just like you suspected. Since that day we chatted, I’ve checked out the story he gave you, and it doesn’t match up with the facts I was able to uncover. Anders is not what he says he is. I went to talk to you, and that’s when I saw him rummaging through your desk and snapped his picture. Since then, I’ve been tailing him.”
“That’s not true!” Anders tried to get a bead on her with the gun, but Deirdre was still in the way.
“As a matter of fact, it is,” Sasha said coolly. “Go on, Deirdre. Ask him yourself. See if he can look you in the face and deny it.”
Deirdre glanced at Marius, but he only gazed at her, silent. She turned, looking at Anders. “Did you tell me the truth about why you joined the Seekers? Did you tell me about the truth about your gun? Did you tell me that you had gone through my desk, my papers?”
Again he grimaced, but Deirdre didn’t fool herself into thinking it was because he regretted what he had done. He was chagrined that he had been caught, that was all.
“See, Deirdre?” Sasha cooed, taking another step forward. “He can’t deny it, because it’s all true.”
“Please, mate,” Anders said, adjusting his grip on the gun. “Step aside. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Deirdre couldn’t say the same. “Do something,” she said softly to Marius. “Stop him. I know you can.”
He raised a golden eyebrow. “Are you certain?”
“Yes!” she hissed.
“Very well, then.” He raised a hand.
“No!” Anders shouted, stretching out his arm.
Deirdre tensed, waiting for the fatal sound of a gunshot, but it never came. Anders continued to stand rigid, teeth bared, the muscles of his jaw bulging, his fingers tight around the gun. She kept her eyes on him; he did not move, not even to blink.
It was just like Marius had described in the journal, when Adalbrecht had rescued him in Advocate’s Close. She looked at Marius as he lowered his hand. For a second green sparks shone in his gold eyes, then they faded. He took a staggering step back, and his face was suddenly ashen.
“Thanks, darling,” Sasha purred, sauntering forward. “I had wondered how I was going to get rid of the big lug. How nice of you to do it for me.”
Deirdre shook her head. What was Sasha talking about?
“I see,” Marius breathed, his expression thoughtful.
And Sasha pulled a small pistol from the pocket of her slacks, aiming it directly at Marius’s heart.
Deirdre’s knees went weak, and if she had not gripped the back of the chair she had been sitting in earlier, she would have fallen. A feeling beyond words came over her. It was not pain, not exactly. Nor was it horror. It was as if a hole had opened up inside her—a void in which nothing existed, like the rifts in the heavens.
Sasha clucked her tongue. “Really, Deirdre, after all you’ve been through, I expected you to put up more of a fight than that. You’re not quite the legend you’ve been made out to be.” Her dark gaze flicked toward Marius. “But then, I suppose legends never are.”
Deirdre shuddered. Marius had lauded her, telling her that her instincts were deep and powerful. But that was laughable. Her instincts had been wrong. Dead wrong.
Only that’s not true, Deirdre. You wanted to trust Anders despite everything that had happened. Deep down, you believed in him, but your stupid brain convinced you otherwise. It was Sasha he was aiming the gun at, not you or Marius. He was trying to make you get out of the way so he could shoot her.
Only Deirdre had stopped him.
Another crash of thunder shook the windows. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” Sasha said, moving closer, gun resting easily in her slender hand.
Deirdre cast a glance at Marius. Couldn’t he . . . ?
He shook his head. “I do not have the strength to perform another spell,” he said, understanding what she had wanted him to do. “The first took far more out of me than usual. And I am not at my full power. It has been over a decade since I’ve journeyed to Crete.”
Sasha’s deep red lips parted in a grin. “She told me that was the case. Everyone else had returned to Knossos, to renew their strength in preparation for what’s to come. But not you. That’s one reason she’s been suspicious of you, Marius.”
“Phoebe,” he said softly.
Sasha shrugged. “Names aren’t important.”
“So she hasn’t revealed herself to you,” Marius said. “I wonder what else she has failed to reveal.”
Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’m hardly going to start doubting my benefactor now. Not after she’s been so very kind to me. I know whom to trust, Marius, unlike poor Deirdre here. It seems the little shaman has lost her magic vision.” Her lips curled in a sneer. “Assuming she ever had it, of course.”
Those words stung, but Deirdre welcomed the pain, letting it fill the emptiness inside her. “So you’ve been working for the Philosophers all this time,” Deirdre said. “I suppose you were the one who gave Travis’s photo to the sorcerers and told them where to find him.”
Sasha pantomimed a yawn. “Of course I did. Shall I confess everything, Deirdre? Isn’t that what a good villain does at the end—gloats over her victory? But really, what’s the point? It’s not as if you’ll be around for long to lament
it.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose I could throw you a morsel for old time’s sake. Yes, I communicated the desires of the Philosophers to the sorcerers. I told them where to find Wilder, and even mapped out the location in the Charterhouse for them, so they could open a gate there. The Philosophers didn’t want Wilder to interfere with their plans. They wanted to get him out of the way, and the sorcerers were all too easily used to that end. There—happy now?”
Deirdre’s mind raced. How long would the spell Marius placed on Anders last? She had to say something to buy them more time. “What if the Scirathi turn on you?”
“Not bloody likely,” Sasha said with a laugh, “seeing as they’re all dead. The Philosophers gave the few of them that were left little gold vials of blood. The sorcerers gobbled it up like the greedy things they are. Too bad for them it was tainted with something nasty. The sorcerers curled up like poor dead spiders.”
Deirdre tried to cast another surreptitious look at Anders. He still wasn’t moving. “How did you get that photo of Anders? Did you fake it?”
“I didn’t need to, Deirdre. It was a wonderful stroke of luck, catching him in the act of going through your things.”
“So what you said about Anders was true,” Deirdre said, her gut clenching.
Sasha gave a satisfied smirk. “Every word of it, darling. Anders has lied to you about who he is from day one. He’s been keeping tabs on you, never letting you get too far out of his sight, the loyal, pathetic git. He followed you up here to protect you.”
That didn’t make sense. “To protect me?”
Now Sasha’s expression edged into a look of disgust. “Everyone’s always saying what a brilliant Seeker you are, Deirdre, but no offense, you seem a bit thick to me. Maybe they’re right; maybe you’re good at spotting the footprints in the dirt. Problem is, you don’t notice the elephant walking by. Why do you think Nakamura assigned a former security guard to be your partner, then let him keep his gun? It’s been Anders’s job all along to protect Nakamura’s precious star agent. Only the lovable lump has failed, hasn’t he?” The gun moved from Marius to Deirdre.
