The Ophelia Prophecy

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  Sanctuary’s elders and the governing council had always emphasized the importance of resurrecting what had been lost. They’d all accepted it would be the work of lifetimes. The idea she might one day travel to a world where modern ways still existed had never entered her mind.

  And this world in particular, with its richness and vitality. Its whimsy, and its emphasis on pleasing the senses. She alternated between terrified and fascinated, sometimes within the same instant.

  Up to now she’d lived in the desert.

  She sank all the way into the water, and a murmur of pleasure vibrated through her. The silky warmth of it embraced and permeated her. A light, floral fragrance suffused the steam, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The sounds of the revelers outside made their way through the window, covered only by filmy curtains. Here in the tower the sounds were distant and indistinct, nothing to pull at her thoughts as she drifted along in the stream of sensation.

  * * *

  Pax’s hands were on her. Gliding from fingertips to forearm to elbow to shoulder. First one arm, then the other. Massaging. Rubbing. Working their way to her chest, circling her breasts, stroking her abdomen. Down her thigh, outside, then in …

  Her body arched under his hands, and she lifted her chin, wondering why he withheld his lips. His fingers came to her mouth, but still he wouldn’t kiss her. She parted her lips, waiting. He let her wait.

  “Pax…”

  * * *

  “Are you all right?” Asha started, opening her eyes. The attendant had stopped in the process of rubbing a sponge over one of her arms. “Is there anything you need?”

  Asha was grateful she was already flushed from the heat of the water. “I … No. Thank you.”

  Glancing behind the attendant, her gaze came to rest on Cleo in the doorway. “Here’s our Scarab flower,” said the priestess with a smile.

  Asha sat up, steam rising from her back and shoulders. The attendant held out a towel and she rose to her feet, wrapping it around her.

  Cleo glided into the room. Her head craned forward on her slender neck, tilting to one side like she was tracking prey. Asha noticed a cut on her face, running from below one temple to the corner of her lips. Another gash ran from the upper curve of her waist to her navel.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  * * *

  When Asha had dressed, Cleo took her to the top of the tower via a lift that shot up the shaft created by the spiral staircase. They emerged in a rooftop garden, and the priestess led her along a mosaic path to a shallow pool.

  Asha had given only a moment’s attention to the color-shifting fish and turtles when her eyes were drawn to the statue at the pool’s center. At its base was the inscription: “GREGOIRE. Beloved father. Abomination.” Cleo knelt beside the pool and gently stirred the water with her fingers. Then she drew them down her forehead and the bridge of her nose before kissing the tips.

  Asha found the complexity of Manti beliefs baffling. They both loved and reviled their creator—it was there carved in stone. And she had begun to sense this deep conflict extended to them as a race. Even proud Pax, who hated that he couldn’t control his own drives. The Manti’s unwillingness to let go of their humanness. The way they’d preserved the last of their parent race, along with their “pure” DNA.

  It made her think of the monster created centuries ago by author Mary Shelley. Asha’s father had forced his battered copy of Frankenstein on her when she was ten or eleven. Only now did she fully understand why.

  “What is your connection to the amir’s family?” asked Cleo, glancing up suddenly.

  Asha met the priestess’s gaze, willing her expression to remain neutral. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Let me explain then, child.”

  Cleo rose and moved toward her, and Asha backed slowly from the pool, scanning for a defensible position. Suddenly she felt a railing at her back. Fronds of some deliciously fragrant, creeping bush with clusters of small trumpet-shaped flowers plucked at her hair.

  The Manti woman came close, and over her shoulder Asha noticed her trio of attendants, plus Micah and two others. They stood waiting and watching on the opposite side of the pool.

  The priestess bent toward Asha, fingering the soft, gold fabric of the clinging tunic they’d given her in place of Pax’s mud-splattered shirt.

  “I can smell lies,” Cleo hissed, lifting Asha’s chin with her finger. “So don’t think of making up any more stories.”

  Asha jerked her chin free—and felt one of the Manti’s spikes press against her throat.

  “I told your people I needed protection from a Scarab captain that had taken me,” she said, matching the priestess’s challenging tone. “That was the truth.”

  “You lied to my people about the man who was with you,” insisted Cleo. “Why?”

  Asha fought a strong impulse to ask what had happened to Pax. Chances were good he was in less peril than she was right now.

  “I wasn’t interested in having a discussion about him,” Asha explained. “I wanted your people to help me get away.”

  Cleo’s head angled to one side as she studied Asha. “What are the amir’s children doing in the lower city?”

  Asha paused, holding the priestess’s gaze. “Move that spike away from my neck, and I’ll tell you.”

  Cleo frowned, but she straightened and released her.

  “There was another captive,” said Asha, fighting the urge to rub her stinging throat. “Someone they wanted to save from the genetics lab. They wanted to hide him in the lower city.”

  “Why?”

  Asha shook her head. “The decision was made very quickly, right before we landed. It wasn’t explained to me.” She was pretty sure she comprehended the “why” of it well enough, but nothing in her answer to the priestess was a lie. She didn’t want to sidetrack the discussion by explaining Carrick right now.

  “What about you? Why were you with them?”

  Asha gripped the railing behind her, steadying herself. She needed to turn this around somehow. She’d hoped to make allies of Rebelión Sagrada. Without help, Pax was sure to catch up to her before she could find Al Campo. Cleo’s line of questioning had given her an idea.

  But she wasn’t sure she could go through with it.

  “What were you doing with the Paxtons?” Cleo repeated, raising her wings. The twin, dark spirals glared down at her in threat.

  “Why are you so interested in the amir’s family?” She stepped away from the railing.

  Cleo raised her arm again, and Asha gasped as she felt the spike pricking the first layer of skin at her throat. The dribble of blood tickled as it slid over her collarbone.

  The priestess gave her a frigid smile. “If you’d prefer this conversation not come to a rapid, unpleasant conclusion—”

  “I’d prefer we dispense with the interrogation,” said Asha, clenching her fists. “I want your help, and I have access to something you want. If you help me, you can have it.”

  The priestess’s thin lips twisted in a dubious smirk. “And what is that, child?”

  “I can give you the amir’s son.”

  The satisfaction of the surprise in Cleo’s face was little consolation to Asha’s heart, which writhed in protest over what she had just done. It didn’t care that Pax was the only bargaining chip she had.

  “What do you mean?” asked the priestess, her wings dropping back to a neutral position.

  “Just what I said.” Asha reached up and closed her hand over the priestess’s, guiding it away from her throat. “I can give you the amir’s son. And I will, if you get me inside Al Campo.”

  She didn’t feel nearly as confident as she sounded. She’d do almost anything to recover her father, but turn Pax over to his enemies? She reminded herself Pax had brought her here against her will. She wasn’t sure she should overlook that fact, even knowing it had been her goal all along. He was still her enemy. An enemy to her and her father, and all the others in Al Campo.<
br />
  So why was she second-guessing?

  Cleo narrowed her eyes. “What makes you think—”

  “Priestess!” one of the attendants suddenly called across the garden.

  “Not now,” replied Cleo, eyes locked on Asha.

  “Priestess,” persisted the speaker, “a messenger’s come from Debajo. There’s buzz in the streets about a raid on the temple.”

  Asha groaned. Pax hadn’t wasted any time. He and Iris had broken rules. Lied to their father, and allowed two of their captives to escape. She’d hoped their awkward position might buy her some time. But the timing could hardly be coincidental.

  Cleo hesitated, her gaze drifting to the view of the city on the other side of the railing.

  “It’s just another rumor,” the priestess muttered. But she didn’t sound convinced.

  Asha followed her gaze and saw the Alhambra on the hill opposite the tower. Washed in colored light emitted by the Manti towers, the palace was eerily beautiful, like a dream city. Like warrior fairies had invaded the ancient fortress. In the valley between she could see Banshee still resting on the landing pad, and the ground they’d crossed to reach the lower city.

  “Your disciples attacked the amir’s son,” she reminded Cleo. She suspected this raid had more to do with her than the confrontation in the alley. But regardless, Pax was coming, and she had to go. “What do you think they’ll do to you for that?”

  She tensed as Cleo turned, but the priestess only blinked at her. Until now she’d not been aware the Manti woman had eyelids. “You’re offering Augustus Paxton in exchange for safe passage into Al Campo?”

  Asha swallowed. “I am.”

  “Why should I trust that you can deliver him?”

  “Because he wants to mate with me.” There was no hiding the flash of heat and color that accompanied this confession, but it had been necessary. Instinct told Asha this was an explanation the priestess would buy. And it didn’t require her to give away any of her secrets.

  Cleo gave her a knowing smile. “Their fatal flaw. But I know the amir, and I know his son.” Her gaze drifted over Asha’s body. “You’re small and soft. I’d have believed you if you told me he wanted to eat you.” Her laughter was light, and incongruent with the darkness in her expression. “But if he’d wanted to mate with you, he would have. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “I recall you saying you’d know if I lied.”

  The reply came in a low, dangerous tone. “Humor me.”

  Asha glanced over the priestess’s shoulder at the others. “Ask Micah what he interrupted in the alley.”

  Asha held her breath while Cleo scrutinized her. Finally the priestess laughed. “We have an agreement. You’re not so soft on the inside, are you, my dear? I may mate with you myself.”

  If I don’t eat you first—she could almost read the thought in the priestess’s face. The Manti woman reveled in toying with her prey; that much was clear enough.

  Cleo stepped back, turning to the others, and Asha took her first full breath since arriving on the roof.

  “Get the remaining disciples into the tunnels,” she ordered. “Our timeline for completing relocation has been adjusted.”

  BLOOD AND FAITH

  “It didn’t work, Pax,” said Iris.

  From the rooftop of a nearby house they could watch the temple entrance, and they could see into a handful of the tower windows. There’d been no movement of any kind, other than the occasional whisper of the lift moving up and down the central shaft. It didn’t make sense. There were more than a hundred people living in the temple. Or at least there had been the last time he was inside.

  Iris was right; so far it hadn’t worked. Why? He had little doubt the message had made it into the temple. He’d waited in the shadows near the entrance to Debajo, stopping the first man headed into the tavern to warn of the impending raid. The connection between the temple and Debajo was a well-known fact. For good measure Iris and Carrick had started the same rumor circulating in the streets.

  It should have flushed them out. There should at least be some sign of panic or confusion. Regardless of whether the rumor had been believed, there should be some sign of life.

  “Something’s not right,” he murmured, scanning the dark windows. “It’s too quiet in there.”

  “We’ve done all we can, Pax.” Iris’s tone was somber. Resolved. “We can’t stay here.”

  He couldn’t expect more from his sister. Asha was his folly, and Iris had indulged him for longer than he had a right to expect.

  “Go home,” he said. “Tell Father a story that won’t alarm him. Tell him…” Pax thought, and remembered something Iris had said when they found Asha. “Tell him my head is clouded with mating, and that I’m carousing in the city.”

  Iris frowned, dubious. “That’s not like you, Pax.”

  “He understands about the pull of a mate. Ridicule me. Make jokes about it.” Pax gave her an affectionate smile. “Just be yourself and he won’t be suspicious.”

  The teasing did nothing to soften the worry lines stamped across her broad forehead. “What about Carrick?”

  Pax glanced at the priest, whose eyes moved between them, betraying no emotion. The man was a statue—until someone made him angry. If it weren’t for the fact he owed his sister, he’d turn Carrick loose in the city to fend for himself. While the display in the alley made it clear Carrick had begun to feel protective of Iris, Pax had no idea if this loyalty extended to him. Babysitting his sister’s volatile pet was a complication he didn’t need right now.

  “He can stay with me until I find Asha. Then we’ll find a safe place for him.”

  “What’s worth all this, Brother?” There was an edge of pleading in her voice he’d never heard before. She was worried about him. She should be. “That woman has run from you every chance she got.”

  Pax shook his head. “I don’t have time to explain that, Iris. I’m still working it out for myself.”

  “Can you at least promise me it’s not about sex? Or some possessive, male bullshit?”

  He frowned at her. “Seriously?”

  The truth would have bothered Iris more. Asha, along with everything that had happened since he met her, had triggered a deep disturbance in his belief system. His father had taught him that preservation of the Manti came first, even if it meant ignoring troubling questions. Pax had struggled with that lesson his whole life. In his mind Asha had come to represent that struggle, and he needed her help to sort it out.

  What he hadn’t quite acknowledged was that she clearly had her own agenda, and when he learned what it was they might find themselves staring at each other across an impassable divide.

  “Go on,” he said to Iris. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “What will you do?” she asked.

  “Only thing I can do at this point.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t. I’d go with you if I could.”

  Pax hated the idea of it almost more than she did. “I’d never ask you to go in there.” I once vowed I’d never go there again myself.

  * * *

  Asha was assigned to Micah for safekeeping, and after Cleo and her attendants had left the roof, the two of them took the next lift down to the street level.

  She expressed her confusion about what was happening, and Micah explained that the temple had long been expecting a less-than-friendly visit from the amir and his forces. They’d gradually been moving the disciples to a new location.

  In one way it was a blow to Rebelión—the high visibility of the temple made it easier to evangelize. The structure itself was a work of art—the city’s crowning architectural achievement—and that alone attracted plenty of curious visitors.

  But the movement had been started via computer network, and much of their recruiting was still managed that way. They also believed public acknowledgment that the Alhambra perceived them as a threat would help more than hurt their cause.

  “Does the amir reject religion?” Asha
asked as they stepped off the lift.

  “He claims to,” replied Micah. “But also the amir’s no fool. He knows the religious aspects of Rebelión serve in part to distract from our political goals. It’s much easier to make religious converts than political ones.”

  A group rounded the elevator shaft, and Micah exchanged a few words with them about staggering departures and which exits to use. She had dropped her original notion that Micah was no more than a disciple or acolyte. He was in possession of what seemed like a lot of sensitive information, and Cleo relied on him a great deal.

  When the others had gone, he continued, “In our view the amir is the head of his own religion. He expects us to worship science. The geneticists have become his demigods. Any beliefs that counter his are viewed as a threat to his power over the city.”

  He led her into the secondary tower where she’d first encountered Cleo. The chamber was deserted. They crossed to the curtained corridor, then passed through the entrance to the tunnel.

  “Wait for me by the stairway,” he instructed. “I need to seal the door.”

  She stepped into the close, dark space and gripped the handrail, thinking.

  “I’m confused about something,” she told him as he joined her. “Gregoire, your creator—he was a geneticist. Why is there a statue of him on your roof?”

  “It’s not science we revile, actually. It’s the way the amir is using it. We believe the purpose of science is to gain a better understanding of the natural world. To better our condition, and make our lives easier. Those applications of science furthered humanity, and they have furthered our civilization as well. But when science is turned to serve greedy gods—profit, conflict, domination—that’s where it falls from grace, unraveling all the good it’s done in the process.”

  Asha nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. But I still don’t see where Gregoire fits into all this.”

  He started down the stairs, and she followed. “We are his legacy, and we are grateful for our existence. He was a genius—a biology-flavored Einstein. And he was an artist as well. His work on our species began with a sense of wonder. With an exploration of what was possible. For that reason we still consider our genesis to be pure. Holy.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “But he grew proud of his creations, and pride twisted into arrogance. In the end he transformed from creator to destroyer.”