The Necromancer Part 12

Kukulkan waved his hand dismissively. "I was there. He did-we did-what was necessary. We made Egypt great." The Elder returned to his stone seat and silently faced Machiavelli. He was completely still, only the feathers on his tail shifting slightly in the warm breeze that wafted through the open door.

Machiavelli sat back in his chair and waited. He had infinite patience-he considered it one of his greatest strengths-so he knew he could outwait Kukulkan. Hasty words and hasty actions had destroyed many a plan. He wasn't sure he entirely believed the Elder. Machiavelli had done his own research: when his master, Aten-who was also known as Akhenaten-had ruled Egypt, he had been such a tyrant that later generations would refer to him simply as the Enemy. Machiavelli also knew that Akhenaten's son, Tutankhamen, had possessed a rare gold aura.

"What do I do with you, Italian?" the Elder said suddenly.

"Do with me?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"Do I?"

Kukulkan's feathered tail twitched and tapped impatiently on the floor.

"Mac," Billy whispered in alarm.

"Don't call me Mac. I hate that."

"Then don't irritate the all-powerful Elder," Billy muttered.

Kukulkan's face and coal black eyes betrayed no expression, nor was there any emotion in his voice when he spoke. "I am unsure whether you are arrogant, stupid or very clever."

"I am arrogant," Machiavelli said with a smile. "I have always known that. But I am very clever, too. I am also valuable"-he waved his hand to include all the rare treasures in the room-"and I can see that you appreciate valuable things."

Kukulkan's head dipped in acknowledgment. "I do. And a valuable tool should not be hastily put aside."

"I've been called a valuable tool before," Machiavelli said.

"By your master?"

"Aten has called me that on several occasions," Machiavelli agreed.

The Elder nodded in agreement. "Aten gave me many tools and many gifts," Kukulkan continued. "He taught me how to live, how to respect and how to love. There is much that I owe my brother; I have always been in his debt. And although he has not asked that your life be spared, I believe I will spare it, as a gift to him. A debt must always be honored."

Machiavelli bowed slightly. He swallowed a quick rush of anger. He knew he should be grateful that he was still alive, but something about the creature's reasoning bothered him. It was something he'd put aside and think about later; he had a rule never to allow anger to cloud his judgment. "I am grateful," he said simply.

"Me too," said Billy.

"Who said anything about sparing you!" Kukulkan snapped.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

"Old friend," Palamedes said carefully, "are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Saint-Germain nodded, his face the only lightness in the gloomy cab. "Of course I do." They had been driving north for more than two hours. They'd left the M1 and the M25 far behind and were now driving down a series of twisting country lanes.

The Saracen Knight shifted uncomfortably in the front seat. The occasional streetlight washed across his face, turning his eyes to liquid orange. "My master is unpredictable," he said eventually. "Dangerously so. His contempt for humani is absolute. He despises what they have done to the world he helped create."

"He liked you well enough to make you immortal," Saint-Germain said.

The big man grunted a bitter laugh. "My master does not like me. He made me immortal and condemned me to wander the Shadowrealms as punishment for an old, old crime." He waved a hand in the air. "We will talk of it someday, but not today." Palamedes turned off the road onto a narrow track. There were no streetlights, but the headlights picked out the gnarled trunks of ancient trees lining the road.

The faintest smell of burnt leaves filled the air, and Saint-Germain's bright blue eyes briefly turned red. "You know we have met before, your master and I?"

"I know," Palamedes said miserably. "He remembers. He is old now-old, old, old-but there are certain things he never forgets. And unfortunately, you are one of those."

"Will I be able to bargain with him, do you think?" the Frenchman asked.

"You can try. Will Shakespeare and I will stand with you."

"You do not have to do that," Saint-Germain said quickly. "That could be dangerous. Possibly even deadly," he added grimly.

"We will stand by your side," the knight said. "You have stood with Will and me often enough, you have saved our lives on more than one occasion. What would we be if we abandoned you when you needed us?"

Saint-Germain leaned forward to squeeze Palamedes' shoulder. "I am lucky to count you as a friend," he said simply.

"You are more than a friend to me," Palamedes answered. "My blood family is long dead. And when I lost my sweetheart to another man, I never thought I would have a family again. Then, one day, I realized that almost by accident, I was drawing a family around me, a new family: first Will, then you and my fellow knights. You are my family now. Once, I fought for my faith and my country; later, I fought for Arthur out of a sense of duty to him and loyalty to his cause. In all my years of battle, I never fought for one of my family. But tonight, I will stand by your side because you are my brother."

The words took Saint-Germain's breath away, and he suddenly felt his throat burning and tears p.r.i.c.kling his eyes. It took him several moments before he knew his voice would be steady enough to reply. "I was an only child," he said. "I always wanted a brother."

"Well, now you have two."

The cab swung into an empty car park, the sweeping headlights picking up a disheveled figure perched like a bird on a wooden picnic table. "Will," Saint-Germain said delightedly. He pushed the door open even before the car had fully stopped and hopped out. Shakespeare stepped off the table and the two men looked at one another for a moment; then each bowed deeply-though the Bard's bow was more restrained than Saint-Germain's dramatic flourish.

Shakespeare's pale eyes were troubled as he looked at his friend. "Welcome to Sherwood Forest." He shivered and added, "I hate this place."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

"Welcome to Point Reyes," Niten said.

Sophie and Josh looked out of the car windows. They could see nothing. Although there had been brilliant sunshine in Sausalito and for most of the journey up the 101 and the Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, tendrils of mist had started to appear shortly after they drove through Inverness. Then, with shocking suddenness, a thick opaque fog had rolled in off the sea, blanketing the landscape in salt-tinged clouds.

Josh hit the b.u.t.ton that rolled down his window. The air that swept into the car was cold, but he put his head out and attempted to peer into the gloom.

"Close the window," Aoife snapped. "I'm freezing."

"You're a ten-thousand-year-old vampire," Sophie said with a grin, amused by the creature's reaction. "You're not supposed to feel the cold."

"I hate this damp," Aoife grumbled. "That's why I've always preferred warm climates."

Perenelle stirred. Nicholas was dozing with his head on her shoulder. "I thought your race were impervious to the weather."

"Some might be," Aoife said. "I'm not." She held up her arm and pushed back her sleeve. Her pale flesh was dappled with goose b.u.mps. "Why do you think Scathach and I left Scotland and never went back? We couldn't stand the rain."

Josh pulled his head in and hit the switch that raised the window. Beads of cold moisture sparkled in his hair. Looking at Niten, he pointed to the thick fog billowing against the windshield. "Don't you think you should slow down?" he said nervously. "I can't even see the road-how can you tell where we're going?"

Niten's eyes didn't move, but a trace of a smile curled his lips. "I do not need my eyes to tell me where I'm going."

"I have no idea what that means," Josh said. "Is it like some sort of ninja trick?"

Niten shot Josh a warning look. "Whatever you do, don't mention-"

It was too late. In the backseat Aoife stirred. "Ninjas," she spat. "Why is everyone obsessed with ninjas? They were never that good. And they were cowards, sneaking around in their black pajamas, stabbing their victims with poisoned darts. I hate ninjas-they have no honor."

"Scathach said she tried training them, but they were never that good," Sophie added.

"She should have stayed well away from them," Aoife snapped. "They were her students until they thought they had learned all her secrets-then they tried to kill her." She grunted a laugh. "That was a mistake," she added grimly.

"What happened?" Josh asked, but Aoife had turned her face to the window, eyes blank and distant. He looked at the driver. "What happened?" he asked again. He was curious; he'd always thought ninjas were cool, and here was a chance to learn about them from someone who had actually seen and fought them.

"You do not want to know," Niten murmured. "When Scathach was finished with them, Aoife insisted on hunting down the few survivors." The small man pointed through the windshield, changing the subject. "What do you see?"

"Fog," Josh said.

"Look again," Niten urged.

Josh stared hard. Inches beyond the hood of the car, the road disappeared into a shifting wall of wet gray cloud. "There's nothing to see," he said finally, struggling to understand what the j.a.panese immortal was getting at.

"There is always something to see, if you only know how to look," Niten suggested. He raised his head slightly, pointing with his chin. "Look on either side of the road, see how the fog shifts and coils; now look directly ahead and see how it moves."

Josh squinted out through the gla.s.s and suddenly noticed something strange. "It seems to be moving quicker in front of us than it does on either side."

"The heat coming off the road keeps the fog in motion," Niten said. "There is no reflected heat coming off the soil and stones on our sides, so the fog is still."

"So that's how you keep the car on the road." He nodded, impressed.

Niten smiled. "Well, that and the white line running down the middle."

Perenelle leaned forward and breathed deeply. "But this is no ordinary fog is it?"

Aoife blinked and then she slowly and deliberately turned to look at the Sorceress. "No, it is not natural. He knows we're coming. Any moment now, we will shift..."

Even as she was speaking, the smooth hiss of tires on concrete changed to rattling grit.

"... from this world into his Shadowrealm."

Josh frowned. Was it his imagination or was the fog clearing? He was turning to ask Sophie when, in the s.p.a.ce of a single heartbeat, it vanished altogether, revealing a lush pastoral landscape that swept down to a distant blue sea. The road was now little more than a dirt track, lined on either side with fruit trees, only neither the trees nor the fruits they bore were at all familiar. He looked over the back of the seat at his sister and raised an eyebrow. Where are we? he mouthed.

She shook her head. Safe.

He was about to ask her how she knew, but he saw the way her eyes darted toward Aoife and understood instinctively that Sophie didn't want Scathach's twin to know the extent of her knowledge.

The landscape looked similar-very similar-to his own world, but there were subtle differences. The trees were just a little larger, the gra.s.s taller and all the colors sharper and brighter. He leaned forward and looked up into the sky. It was a bright eggsh.e.l.l blue streaked with white clouds, but he could see no sign of the sun. He ducked his head to get a better look out the windshield, then searched the sky. "There's no sun," he whispered in awe.

"That's because this is the realm of Prometheus," Nicholas answered from the backseat. "We're underground, in the Shadowrealm once known as Hades." He coughed, the sound wet in his chest, and sat back again.

"Everything you see around you is an illusion-remember that," Perenelle finished.

"Hades...," Josh began, voice rising in alarm. A flicker of movement distracted him and he turned to look out his window. The car was now creeping along the dirt road, and he saw a figure step out from between the trees on one side. It was followed by a second and a third, and suddenly a long line of vaguely human-looking beings lined the narrow track. They appeared unformed, ill-shaped, with heads too large or one arm longer than the other, big feet on thin legs, hands with too many fingers. The faces were almost blank, with just slight impressions where a mouth or eyes would normally be, and they were all bald and had no ears or noses. As the car drew close, Josh saw that their deep brown skin was cracked and seamed with countless wrinkles... like dried mud. "They're Golems," Josh whispered in horror, remembering the mud men who had accompanied Dee when he'd attacked the shop.

"Not Golems...," Sophie murmured. Memories were tumbling through her head; images had started to flicker, dark, terrifying thoughts of an ancient nameless city. "No, not Golems..."

"Not Golems," Aoife snapped, twisting in her seat to look at him. "Do not even mention them in the same breath. Golems are mere shadows of these creatures. These are the last remnants of the First People."

"The First People?" Josh shook his head. "I've never heard of them."

"You haven't?" Aoife asked incredulously. She looked at Nicholas, Perenelle and Sophie before turning back to Josh. "You do know that my uncle Prometheus created the original humani out of mud?"

The idea was so ridiculous that Josh started to laugh, and then he realized that no one else in the car was even smiling. He looked at his sister and saw her nod slightly. "The First People."

"He made humans out of mud? That... But that's just..."

"We've seen mud and wax people this week," Sophie quickly reminded him.

"I know, but they were artificial creations, animated by the power of Dee's and Machiavelli's auras. I can-sort of-understand that." He looked at the misshapen figures lining the road and turned back to Aoife. "But you're saying that Prometheus created the human race!"

Aoife looked directly at Josh as she spoke. "My uncle appears in the mythology of many races. He has many names, but the story is the same: Prometheus created the first humani out of mud using an ancient technology that was so advanced it seemed magical. Some of the other Elders created beasts, but Prometheus went one step further. A step too far, for many. That was the reason the Elders hated him and banished him, and why he was sentenced to a long drawn-out death in the Hades Shadowrealm."

Josh twisted around to look at the humanlike figures standing unmoving by the sides of the road. A sudden thought struck him and he twisted in his seat to look at the four people in the back. "So if he helped create the first humani," he said hopefully, "then that means he'll help us?"

Aoife's laughter was ugly.

"What's so funny?" Sophie demanded.

The warrior's grin revealed her vampire teeth. "My uncle gave the humani life and taught them the Magic of Fire... but they abandoned him. They have always abandoned and betrayed him. Even your friend Saint-Germain," she said, and abruptly caught Sophie's arm, twisting it to expose the tattoo on her wrist. "First he befriended my uncle, and then he stole the secret of fire." She shook her head. "Prometheus has no time for the humani. He despises them."

Josh looked back out the window at the creatures, which had begun to crowd ever closer to the car. "So what are these First People doing here?"

"They are the Shadowrealms' guardians." Aoife grinned. "And they are hungry. Always hungry."

The car suddenly jerked, then sputtered and died.

"I guess I don't want to know what they eat," Josh muttered.

"No, you don't," his sister said.