by Laura Powell
There was a snake coiled round my neck. It squeezed my throat, lovingly at first, then hard enough to crush the breath out of my body, the life out of my soul.
And, though I had no breath left to do it, I began to laugh.
The pressure round my throat lifted. I put out my arms and saw that they were covered in green-black scales. I’d shed my skin to reveal the serpent beneath. I laughed again, flickering my forked tongue, and slid on my belly along the dank earth of the underworld.
I was the Python.
I was the Pythia.
I spoke for the dead –
I woke up in the bar, laid out on a leather couch. Aiden was next to me, tapping away on a laptop.
‘You know,’ he said as I blinked at him woozily, ‘we really should stop meeting like this.’
‘How long have I been out?’
‘Over an hour. It’s not surprising – that was quite a performance.’
‘What . . . what did I say?’
‘You made this weird choking-laughing sound and said in the Game of Triumphs the Second Trump will send the Twelfth Trump swinging.’
I looked at him, confused. ‘Second and twelfth what?’
‘Apparently the Game of Triumphs is an old name for tarot cards. The second trump card in the deck is called the High Priestess, and the twelfth is called the Hanged Man. So it sounds like your card-playing goddess has predicted a death by hanging. Tomorrow.’
I rubbed my aching head. To the viewers at home, I was sure the oracle would have looked like a ratings-chasing stunt. After all, it wasn’t as if the prophecy was something people could act on. It was just another of the goddess’s games.
The worst of it was that I found it hard to care. Murder and mayhem was everywhere, yet right now all I could think about was my father. Alleged father. Alleged mother. Alleged oracle.
‘Does Lindy really know who my dad was? Or was she just stirring?’
Aiden grimaced. ‘Gutter journalism.’
‘Yes, but is it true?’
He grimaced again. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. When I challenged her afterwards, she said it was Noah who gave her the tip-off. I – I’m really sorry, Aura. That was one hell of an ambush.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said brusquely, digging my nails into my palms. The pain was steadying. ‘I already knew my mother was dead. As for the rest . . . well . . . it’s not like I ever expected my family to be one of the happily-ever-after kind.’
It used to be that a priestess who was caught with a man was buried alive. The rules weren’t so clear for modern times. I visualised some awful prison-style reformatory in the back of beyond. Then I remembered Lindy’s reference to ‘untimely death’, and felt another twist in my gut.
I got up and went to get a glass of water. In the mirror behind the bar, I could see that Chrystal’s handiwork was pretty much intact. My skin still had a moon-shiny sheen, my eyeliner was smudge-free. I realised I could hear music. Thump, thud, thump.
‘Sounds like a party.’
‘Rick says it’s for the goddess. You should make an appearance before things get too out of hand.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that this is a great opportunity for you to get your message across in person. Show your face, speak to people, circulate. I can help with the introductions. And speak to Noah –’
‘I’ll come out later. I need to lie down in my room for a bit first.’
Aiden started to say something else, but I was out of the door and into the lift before he finished. I had no intention of going to my room; I just wanted to cross-examine Noah without Aiden to distract me. I was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly when he was around. Besides, this was something I needed to do for myself.
I walked through the angled glass-and-mirrored hall. Outside, three girls of about my age were riotously splashing about in the swimming pool. There was a DJ presiding over a sound system, and trestles of booze. The garden beyond was lit by flickering braziers and thronged with more laughing strangers. A line of people was dancing a conga across the lawn.
Rick Moodie broke free from the conga and stumbled towards me. His eyes were manic and bright. He was wearing a red leather waistcoat and ripped jeans splattered with black paint. ‘Honoured Ladyship! I prophesised your prophecy! I’m an oracle too!’ He gave a whoop. ‘Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am!’
I stared at him. ‘Did you actually hear what I said? About the Hanged Man, and the burial?’
‘Ah, but that’s the nature of artistic inspiration, ducky. Blood, sweat, tears. They say it’s always darkest before dawn.’ He did a little caper and grinned, waving his wrinkly little hands. ‘You’re me guest of honour tonight. You and Holy Artemis, here at me festival. Come and meet your followers. Give them your blessing, ducky. Have a dance. Even better – have a drink.’
He thrust a foaming glass of champagne in my hand and slung his arm round my shoulder. ‘We got something to celebrate, ain’t we? This here’s only the beginning. You and me, we’ll show ’em how it’s done. We’ll build a temple to be proud of, we’ll found a cult worth joining –’
Two girls drew him back into the conga line. He pranced away, spraying champagne into their shrieking mouths.
Scarlet was standing a short distance away. I thought she was going to pretend she hadn’t seen me, but I said her name before she could move off.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said stiffly. ‘Congratulations on the show. It was very . . . er . . . um . . .’
‘Who are all these people?’ I asked. ‘Where have they come from?’
‘A busload of groupies turned up half an hour ago. As for the rest – the TV crew and their mates, a bunch of locals. The catering team Chrystal called in.’
So much for keeping my location a secret. I downed the glass of champagne without tasting it.
‘I’m looking for Noah. Have you seen him?’
Scarlet seemed relieved I was moving on. She pointed to a clump of pampas grass. Noah was behind it, talking to Lindy Ryan. ‘Here’s the star of the show,’ he said as I marched over, and flashed his toothy grin.
‘Freak show, you mean,’ I said. ‘You set me up. Both of you.’
Lindy gave a forced laugh. ‘I was just doing my job, honey. You stick to yours.’ Her voice was uncertain, though, and she avoided my eye. She was frightened, I realised, as she backed away into the throng. Scarlet had been nervous of me too. It gave me a sour satisfaction.
‘Quite some wrap party, huh?’ said Noah, chomping at his cigar obliviously.
‘Our host says it’s a religious festival.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’ll have a few more converts after your TV debut. Swear to God, you gave me goose pimples. How d’you make your voice go like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘The disembodied effect. Very spooky, very cool. And that crazy laughter! Ventriloquism, am I right? Seriously, we should talk. You and Lindy have made all the major news channels. And you could go further, hit the big time. What you need –’
‘I need to talk about my father. Alleged father, that is.’
‘Ah.’ He sleeked back his hair. ‘OK. Sure.’
I waited. ‘Well?’
‘Well, after Mr Soames and his snakes stole the show at your festival, a pal of mine who’s in PR was interested in representing him. Professionally, you know. He was all set to go to the press on Mr Soames’s behalf – give his side of the story and so on. And it was a good story by all accounts. I mean, a sex scandal in the cult is bound to shift a lot of newsprint.’
‘So Mr Soames told your PR friend that he’d had a child with a priestess of Artemis?’
‘Right. He also claimed that his girlfriend had been in cahoots with the goddess. You know – a hotline to Mount Olympus, just like you.’ He winked broadly. ‘But before he could be persuaded to dish the dirt Mr Soames skipped bail and then came the coup. That’s when my pal decided it was time to start over somewhere else. Last I heard he was holed up with his
second wife in the South of France.’
‘And what happened to my – to Mr Soames?’
‘No idea.’
I longed to take him by the shoulders and shake him until all his teeth fell out. ‘What about my mother? Do you know how she died?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart. Haven’t a clue.’
I bet Leto did, I thought. She’d known both my parents. My father, the man who meant trouble. My mother, who’d had a rebel spark. And an oracle too, allegedly . . . How much did Leto know, and how much had she concealed from me? I turned away from Noah, shoulders slumped.
It was easy to disappear, for the garden was even more confusing than the house. There were clipped hedges planted in zigzag lines, lawns set at strange angles and a maze of tiered paths. Brightly coloured lanterns hung from the trees; the woodland beyond was dark and rustling.
My head throbbed, while the smell of smoke and roasting meat from the barbecue turned my stomach. I kept rubbing my arms surreptitiously, to check for scales. Although the oracle was over, my feeling of foreboding was stronger than ever. I kept returning to the old proverbs: Those whom the gods love die young. And, Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first send mad.
My mother had given a prophecy, and had a child. She was a priestess who broke her vows. Perhaps the goddess had chosen to destroy her.
Aiden had once described the oracle as a demonic possession. How much longer could I stay close to him, yet keep my demons at bay?
Chapter 16
The Emergency Committee has dismissed recent demonstrations in London, Glasgow and Cardiff as the work of a few fringe radicals. It urges the public to support its efforts to restore order to Britain’s streets.
A number of the protests were in support of the ousted prime minister, Nicholas Riley. To avoid further disturbances, Riley is to be transferred from HM Prison Belmarsh to a secret location outside of London tonight.
BBC News
Back at the house, Crystal came out on to the terrace with a basket of animal masks with gilded snouts and sequined whiskers and began passing them out. Rick was wearing an antler headdress, which at least made him easy to spot, and so avoid. I was finding it increasingly hard to avoid attention myself. People had started to point and stare, though for the moment they were keeping a slightly nervous distance, as if I was an exotic animal that might bite.
I decided a mask would help. I saw one lying discarded on a flower bed, a grey wolfish creature made of papier mâché. I still felt uncomfortably exposed, however, and finally took refuge in a greenhouse.
I wasn’t left in peace for long.
‘The man throws his parties like he writes his music – no cliché unturned.’ Aiden was standing at the door, a gold leopard mask pushed back over his tawny hair. ‘Have you noticed that whenever people say they admire the pagans it’s just an excuse to get wasted in fancy dress?’
He looked more relaxed than I’d seen for a while. I realised I’d missed his mocking smile. Although it made my stomach flutter, I tried to keep my tone light-hearted too. ‘Rick has got his gods confused. Artemis isn’t exactly famous for her partying. It’s Dionysus who was the crazy hedonist.’
‘Maybe you should consider a change of cult. Why are you hiding anyway? This is all in your honour.’
I went to join him at the doorway of the greenhouse and surveyed the scene. It was a long way from the drinks receptions at the High Priestess’s residence. Everyone looked as if they were on some kind of high, many were in various states of undress and the music was loud enough to make your ears bleed. ‘They’re Rick Moodie’s groupies, not mine.’
‘Only some of them. Most of the people here watched your TV interview and then came to find you. Word’s got out – there are more arriving all the time.’
‘Great. I bet the Civil Guard won’t be far behind.’
‘So maybe it’s time to stop hiding. This could be your chance. Yes, some people are here just to have a good time. But others want inspiration. Leadership. They want to believe in you.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Do you believe in me?’
‘In every way.’ Aiden’s smile wasn’t mocking any more. ‘Even if you weren’t the oracle, I’d want you to be a part of this. I’d still want you with me. Do you understand?’
I didn’t know how to answer. Maybe I didn’t need to. I just looked back at him, shivers running up and down my spine.
‘You’re a girl worth believing in, Aura. You’re worth fighting for.’
We had been talking loudly, to hear ourselves over the music. Abruptly, it cut out. With a clash of cymbals, and a raucous shout, Rick called the revellers to follow him. There was a white-painted gazebo on top of a small hill in the centre of the garden. He sprang up the steps and under the arches, banging the cymbals and skipped about as his guests milled below. Crystal and Seraphina, both very unsteady on their feet, waved flaming torches to either side. They looked like a couple of cut-price priestesses in flowing white dresses, flowers stuck in their hair. Scarlet watched, arms folded and expression inscrutable, from the side.
‘Welcome, my friends,’ Rick bellowed, raising his hands to the heavens. ‘Welcome to the Holy Feast of the Goddess of the Moon!’
He plunged into slurred ramblings about his muse, the moon and why the goddess had marked us all for greatness. His audience shuffled restlessly.
I still felt light-headed, but it was more than the disorientating effects of the oracle. I’d left the tangle of fears about death and madness behind, and was buzzing with different emotions. Emotions that I found it hard to separate from the champagne and the lights swinging in the trees . . . And Aiden, smiling and sardonic at my side. Aiden, who believed in me. Who didn’t just think I was a Cause or a Project or whatever else Scarlet had said.
He was right: these people were here for me and Artemis, not some has-been rock star. It was time for me to take charge. It was time for me to prove that, yes, I was someone worth fighting for.
I ran up the slope and grabbed the microphone off Rick. He did a bleary double take. ‘Honoured Worshipfulness!’
I wore the wolf-mask on my head, like a crown. My silk dress swished around my ankles, the body shimmer sparkled on my face and throat and arms. A lot of the guests were preoccupied with their drinks and each other. But the ones gathering at the front were gazing up at me with a hopeful, hungry sort of look. They were quiet and ready to listen. Many were holding up camera phones.
My voice rang out, loud and confident.
‘I am Aura. I am the Oracle of Artemis. I am your oracle – the one the cult and the Emergency Committee want to hide from you. Don’t listen to their lies. Don’t believe their promises. Artemis sees them for what they are: tyrants and traitors.’
It was hard to speak over the whoops and cheers. But my voice rose above it all. This time, it wasn’t the goddess speaking. This was me.
‘If you want to protect the true oracle, if you care about the freedom of our country, don’t let them get away with this. Strike, protest, disrupt. Malcolm Greeve is going to the temple for a private oracle this week – let’s show him what we think of him, and his friends’ fake prophecies. It’s time to reclaim our temple, and our streets.’
I had everyone’s attention now. Their roars of support were deafening.
‘The world is watching, and so is the goddess. I’ll be with you. Artemis will be with you. Together –’
There was another clash of the cymbals. Rick had pushed in front of me, grinning manically. ‘Viva la revolución!’
‘Revolution! Revolution!’ the crowd bellowed back.
‘All hail the Queen of Beasts!’ he cried. ‘Let us revel in her darkness! Let us dance in her light!’ He flung back his head and began to howl. ‘Let the wild hunt begin!’ The music was back with a thrash of metal and drums.
People began to leap and run around the garden, barking like dogs and pretending to blow horns. Aiden was at my side, but I hardly heard what he said. I backed into the gazebo, s
uddenly frightened by the horde of people crowding the hill.
Many still wore masks; those with bare faces had a frenzied gleam in their eyes. I glimpsed Lindy Ryan, her dress half pulled off her shoulders, hair wild, stumbling about and laughing hysterically. I felt a tremble of hysteria too.
‘Come on,’ said Aiden in my ear. ‘Let’s get away from all this.’
He ushered me away from the crowd and towards the gate in the wrought-iron fence that separated the garden from the wood. I hung back, but not for long. This time the darkness of the wood was inviting, the air cool and full of whisperings.
The lights from the house glowed behind a web of leaves. The trees were black, the sky bronze. The party’s thumping music and muffled shrieks seemed to belong to another world. My head was spinning and my skin prickled; I didn’t know if it was excitement or dread. Somehow it seemed that this was where I’d been meant to be from the start of everything. That this place, this person, this moment had always been waiting for me.
Aiden and I stood facing each other. We hadn’t hurried, yet both of us were out of breath.
‘Everyone’s gone mad,’ I said. ‘Maybe the spirit of Dionysus is here after all.’
‘It’s just us. Only us.’
He meant that the craziness of the party was all too human. But I wanted him to mean something else. That the two of us were alone together and no one was watching, not even a god.
I took a step closer. So did he. His face was shadow-dappled, his eyes greener than the leaves.
I would allow myself to touch him. Just the once. I reached up and traced the strong arch of his brows, the curve of his cheek, the hollows of his neck. His skin was warm bronze. I let my hand fall, and stepped back. Never again.
‘Aura . . .’
‘I can’t,’ I whispered. ‘I mustn’t. The goddess –’
‘I understand, but you have to listen.’ Aiden moved closer, his voice urgent yet coaxing. ‘I know you have a gift – call it second sight or an extra-developed sixth sense. Hell, maybe it’s even down to a rip in the space–time continuum. But the only reason you see Artemis in your visions is because that’s what you expect to see. Your whole life’s been built around her mythology, and so that’s what your brain uses to make sense of the experience. The goddess can’t actually hurt you. She can’t hurt anyone. Otherwise, why are Opis and Lionel still strutting around the temple?’