Dark Sight

by T. G. Ayer

  Back in the room, she used the next hour to stretch, and perform a few martial arts routines. She refused to panic or become hysterical, even though it felt like the room was closing in on her. Even though she was terrified of what her captors wanted from her.

  Had it been rape, she’d have known by now.

  Sex-trade market, maybe? She’d have to wait to find out.

  But Allegra strongly suspected that her abduction had more to do with her mind than with her body.

  They’d captured Xales. More importantly, they’d known how to capture her boar familiar.

  That, in itself, told her that her captors wanted her for her power.

  And the fake hotel room was her prison.

  She didn’t want to dwell on how long she could remain in here. For all its hotel-like appearance, it was still uncomfortable and restrictive.

  Allegra had only just sat down to take a breath after exercising when the door clicked open, its soft hush confirming it had a pneumatic door; most likely one that didn’t take keys.

  Wonderful.

  Not that Allegra could pick a lock to save her life.

  A tall, dour-looking man entered the room, his lanky, almost emaciated, frame oddly corpse-like. His deep-set black eyes stared at her, unblinking, yet for a fleeting instant, Allegra could have sworn she’d seen a quickly hidden smile. A gloating smile of satisfaction.

  “I see you are up.”

  “Your perception skills are clearly outstanding,” said Allegra, giving him a cold glare.

  He stood beside the door and she figured she’d never make it to knock his lights out in time. He was smart.

  He ignored the insult.

  “You are being held at the headquarters of the Order of Hermes. We are a very exclusive brotherhood. I suggest you make good use of your last few days. I’d also recommend you take this time to access your gifts and reveal any prophecies that may be of use to the world. Very soon, you will no longer have that privilege.” He smiled openly now, and started to turn away.

  “Wait. What do you need me for? Why did you take me? And what did you do with my boar?”

  He didn’t answer, and in fact grinned wider at the mention of Xales. He was going to leave without giving her a response. Allegra decided he’d only come to unsettle her. Probably some kind of strange torture technique.

  She tried another tack. “Why would you want to die with the rest of the population of the planet?”

  He paused, studying her face through the crack in the door.

  “We only have a few weeks left.” Allegra spoke louder. “Three months at the most. And I can help prevent it. Help you and your family survive?”

  He’d opened the door a little wider and was looking at Allegra with such a cool expression that she couldn’t even fathom what he was thinking.

  Excellent poker face.

  She folded her arms. “I guess if you do kill me, then I should be satisfied knowing you doomed yourself by your own actions. Fair warning though, your death will be horribly painful. And not in the least quick.”

  He watched her now, his eyes widening, startled at her confidence in her words. Perhaps he knew she wasn’t lying, but he remained a little uncertain, beady black eyes shifting away from her face for the briefest second.

  “If you don’t believe me, then any fairly competent seer should be able to confirm what I’ve said. Or perhaps, speak to your government,” she suggested with a calm smile.

  He hovered in the doorway, still looking like he couldn’t decide whether to stay or go.

  Allegra shook her head, watching him coldly. “I suggest you do it fast?” She looked down at her wristwatch and drew what seemed like an appropriate number from the air. “Twenty-two days and counting.”

  This time he paled and took a quick step back. The door shushed closed, leaving Allegra in utter silence.

  Without the contentious presence of her captor, Allegra felt a little calmer. Still, she had nothing to do with her time and it made no sense to hurt herself by overdoing her exercises.

  She lay on the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling. It was time to ask for help.

  Allegra shut her eyes and concentrated, trying to regain the sense of peace she’d experienced when the voices of her ancestors had spoken to her.

  By now she was convinced the voices belonged to some of the previous Pythias who watched over her through the timeline.

  She’d grown accustomed to that particular myth all too easily. Possibly because she liked the idea that someone, somewhere was keeping an eye on her.

  Looking out for her.

  She lay there for almost thirty minutes until at last, when she was about to give up, she heard the first voice.

  “Dear child.” The voice from the beach echoed in her mind, and the sound of it trilled through Allegra’s blood.

  “Thank you for hearing my call,” whispered Allegra. “I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Allegra, child. Do not lose hope, but I must warn you that the situation is very dangerous. You must have courage. Fortitude. You must be resilient and resourceful too.”

  Before Allegra could ask her what she meant, the voice faded leaving her alone again.

  Frustrated, she got to her feet and began to pace again, going through everything she could recall, all the visions she’d had, everything she’d been told by the Pythias, everything she’d read in her research.

  The hours dragged, and though she had no idea what time it was, her body clock implied it was nighttime. A meal arrived, delivered by the corpse man, but Allegra didn’t trust the food - what if they drugged her again?

  She stared at the plate; a pasta dish, marinara she guessed.

  Then she laughed. What good was foresight if she didn’t use it? She wouldn't be able to tell if the food had been drugged, but she sure as Hades would be able to see if she ended up dead or unconscious after the meal.

  She touched the plate and slipped into a peaceful state.

  And saw herself doing nothing other than walking up and down the room and talking to herself. Deeming the dish safe, Allegra consumed the meal, and drank the accompanying cup of lukewarm, way-too-sweet tea.

  Fatigued after an awful day, she lay on the bed, allowing her muscles to relax. But sleep wouldn’t come.

  There was nothing in her prison that encouraged peace.

  Chapter 32

  Lord Langcourt was furious.

  He glared out at the black night sky with such anger that his body vibrated and his fists clenched of their own accord.

  The plan had been simple enough. Capture the last Pythia, sacrifice her to Hermes, just as they’d been doing with all those young children in his monthly rituals, and be rewarded with yet more untold wealth.

  And as an added bonus, she would not be around to give away his plans and crimes to his enemies.

  Langcourt had put the extraction plan in place in the hopes of getting rid of the one obstacle to their greater plan.

  But unfortunately, she was still alive.

  Technically, he could remedy that easily enough. Just sacrifice the girl and be done with it. But, he’d encountered a problem he hadn’t expected.

  A deadly epidemic foretold by the Pythia, a foretelling that many influential people around the world were aware of, and believed.

  The elite members of his society were up in arms, divided down the middle into two factions. One that didn’t give a damn that the Pythia had such powers or that she could see the future, and the other that wanted to take advantage of that power.

  The latter group believed it shortsighted to kill her as she might be the only person to offer the world salvation. Especially if the epidemic was as bad as their sources had implied.

  Either way, both groups had insisted that Langcourt stay the woman’s execution until they could agree.

  And so his hands were tied. Foolishly, they had insisted on playing the waiting game with her.

  They seemed to think that if they kept
her under control until after the epidemic’s danger point had passed, it would afford them some form of safety.

  But Langcourt had his doubts about that plan. It was dangerous to keep such a high-profile prisoner right in the middle of Londinium, especially when hundreds of operatives from all around the world would be looking for her.

  Yes, they had the resources to keep her hidden. And yes, they even had strategically placed agents to keep them informed if official investigations got anywhere close to them.

  But Langcourt had learned long ago that spies existed everywhere. Had that not been the case, he would have been unable to infiltrate so many international organizations so easily.

  He slammed a fist into the wall beside the window frame, glad that it was made of stone despite his knuckles bearing the brunt of the impact. He enjoyed the feel of the pain as it coursed through his hand.

  Never let it be said that Lord Langcourt was afraid of pain.

  He glared out the window at the moonless sky and the sight of the dark night calmed him somewhat.

  A sacrificial ritual was scheduled for tonight. A special child had been selected for the Reaping.

  At only three years old, his age had made some of the members of the order a little reluctant to use him for the ritual.

  But Langcourt had been adamant.

  The child, despite his age, was extremely powerful. As the offspring of two extremely gifted telepaths, he’d been born with concentrated telepathic power.

  Such abilities would definitely have been encouraged and nurtured by his parents, something Langcourt had refused to allow. Better that the boy and his power be used for the Order’s purposes than for him to be out in the world, using such abominable abilities to learn secrets that should better remain buried.

  Langcourt rounded his desk and headed to the wood-paneled wall on his right. He’d installed a row of hidden floor-to-ceiling closets, built to resemble wall-paneling. A slight press of the door in the right place, and it opened with an almost imperceptible click.

  He liked to have secretive things like that around him, hiding places that nobody knew he had. A row of cloaks hung on a rail, different colored for different purposes.

  He withdrew a white cloak, the weave fine, the thread cashmere and llama. He swung it around his shoulders, knotting the thin silk ropes at his neck.

  Before leaving his office, he pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, shadowing his face. Although the pure white of his cloak would announce to anyone he passed who he was, Langcourt still enjoyed the fact that nobody could see his face. The cloak would act like a mask, allowing him to observe things that he usually wouldn’t.

  He’d noticed a long time ago that when people couldn't see one’s face, they tended to be more relaxed, revealing details one didn’t witness when holding a face-to-face conversation.

  He descended into the depths of the building, noting the change in air temperature and humidity as he walked down the three levels into the mansion’s ancient dungeons.

  For most of his prisoners, Lord Langcourt never made much of an effort, since they rarely lasted all that long.

  But he’d made a special effort for the Pythia. He wasn’t exactly sure why, perhaps he had been impressed by thousands of years of historical tradition. Perhaps he wanted to toy with her.

  So many people grew up listening to how powerful the Pythia was and what incredible skills she possessed. Langcourt could hardly blame himself for half-believing the stories. It was hard, sometimes, to change one’s unconscious biases.

  Now, he passed the prison cells and headed for the secret exit that led out into a thirty-acre piece of forested land.

  Heavily guarded, Langcourt’s land sat just on the edge of the city and was extremely private. Which made it the ideal location for the rituals. There were no surrounding buildings that overlooked his property. The Order required privacy to complete their deadly rituals, an absence of nosy neighbors who could bear witness to murder in the eyes of the law.

  Outside, Lord Langcourt walked onto the stage of a large amphitheater. Stone steps curved around the stage, providing sufficient seating for a full five hundred strong audience.

  Large Grecian columns bracketed the top levels of the amphitheater, harking to a more ancient era. It was the only time that Langcourt had allowed himself the frivolity of building a structure which resembled ancient Greek and Roman architecture. Mostly he stuck to French Renaissance and early Brittanic.

  As he took his place center-stage, he turned to scan the left-hand corner of the platform. There, in a small half-walled cubicle, the Pythia was in place as he’d commanded, two guards flanking her. It would be particularly enjoyable to watch her expression during the evening’s sacrificial ritual.

  He had a slight suspicion that she wouldn’t be too happy with it.

  And somehow that knowledge excited him.

  A low drumbeat echoed around the amphitheater as it began to fill with cloaked acolytes. The dark night hung like a black ceiling above them, low and heavy. The disciples took their seats in complete silence, only the sound of fabric swishing and feet scuffing the stone echoing toward Langcourt as he waited patiently.

  Two guards brought the sacrifice in and led him to stand beside the Oracle. Langcourt hid a smile. The Seer’s eyes had gone from the boy to the sacrificial table, widening in horror.

  Carved in the shape of a rectangular basin, the white stone was dotted with holes, providing drainage to the bath below.

  A faucet, embedded into the table’s base, made the job of extracting the sacrificial liquid easier. Beside the sacrificial table there sat a very short, narrow trestle.

  Covered in a black velvet cloth, it bore a small collection of items, among them a single gleaming dagger, a small bronze bowl and a golden goblet. The seer required no explanation as to what was going to happen. Even the child appeared to understand, though his telepathy had probably helped fill in the blanks.

  Given his ability, he would no doubt have already seen some of it through Langcourt’s mind, not to mention the minds of his guards.

  The drumbeat increased its pace, kicking the drama factor up a notch. From the expression on the Pythia’s face, Langcourt knew that her heartbeat would be rising too, urged on by her fear and the music.

  There was a beautiful power in music, the way it could agitate or calm a listener.

  And now, the seer was powerless to do anything but watch. Langcourt had given the guards strict orders for her to be chained using a special set of bronze shackles.

  He’d been working on its development over the last decade, initially intending it for Aurelia. But the old woman had faded faster than he’d expected, and in the end, he hadn’t needed to stop her himself.

  A pity though, that his quest would have to continue. He felt a little sorry for the new Oracle. From what he’d seen, the girl was clueless, naive, and far too spineless to ever become as powerful as was predicted.

  She barely knew the extent of her powers, even now after having been trained by that agent. Langcourt was glad he’d been able to take her so efficiently.

  And right now, he enjoyed a distinct pleasure in the horror in her eyes as she stared from the sacrificial table to the angelic little boy sitting beside her.

  She’d see him, with his silky blond hair, cut short just below his ears, the little fringe beneath which peeked two great blue eyes, the tiny pixie nose and the little mouth. She’d see an adorable child, not the danger that Langcourt himself saw.

  Though young, the abomination was far too intelligent for his own good. One of the reasons Langcourt wanted to get rid of him. A gifted child, showing so much intelligence at such a young age, was a genuine concern.

  Combine such intelligence with his telepathic abilities, and a desire to help innocents, and you were guaranteed trouble.

  Langcourt had made it his life’s work to ensure that no abomination of any sort would have an overly-strong influence on the world.

  The time h
ad come to eliminate one of those influences altogether.

  And tonight, he would rid the world of what might well have turned into destruction for them all.

  Before he began the ceremony proper, Langcourt beckoned one of his acolytes. When the young man hurried over, Langcourt whispered in his ear. “Make sure that the Seer’s guards hold onto her tightly. I suspect she might struggle and attempt to save the child.”

  Langcourt smiled as he turned to face the acolytes, who had by now filled all the levels of the amphitheater.

  The girl could struggle all she wanted. There was only one end in sight for her.

  She too would have to die soon.

  Chapter 33

  After bearing witness to the sacrifice tonight, the new Pythia could not be allowed to live. Langcourt’s cowardly associates would be forced to agree soon enough.

  He addressed the members of the society in the ritual words. “We are gathered here beneath the dark night. We come together to give thanks to the universe. We are fulfilling a divine purpose in cleansing the world of abominations. No abomination shall be allowed to live. Now, or ever.”

  A ripple of murmurs ran through the audience as the acolytes of the Order of Hermes whispered agreement and encouragement to their High Priest. They were an extremely passionate lot, and Langcourt was glad they’d followed him with minimal fuss.

  Until recently, both recruitment and maintenance of the membership had been simple enough. The members supported each other socially and financially, and the reward for joining their number lay in plum appointments, rich sinecures, guaranteed wealth and protection from the law.

  But now, the prospect of the end of the world, of a pandemic that would wipe humanity off the planet, would frighten anyone. Langcourt hoped he’d be able to retain control of them for as long as was necessary, and for that very reason had refrained from revealing their impending doom.

  Lord Langcourt lifted his hands to the dark sky and began to chant, singing in his low, deep voice the words of the Order’s blessings.