Roman lifted the iron bar and swung the door wide. The fire light revealed a man, lying on the ground. He was clothed in a long white robe.
Chief Bryant checked for a pulse. “He is alive.” He pulled the unconscious Dr. Frein up in a sitting position.
“Drugged. They knew I was coming.” She stared at the barefoot man. “They were waiting for me to perform the sacrificial ceremony. You were never meant to get out of Castle Zuoz alive.”
Roman took Dr. Frein’s other arm and helped drag him through the door and out into the main chamber. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Maybe not,” Chief Bryant said.
Light travelled slowly down the steps far above the chamber. Several lamps approached. The brown robes were coming.
“Is there another way out?” Roman asked.
“There is no other way out, but there is a way.” She stepped past them.
Roman and Chief Bryant followed, making their way past the wall of fire and back to the pit with Dr. Frein between them.
“What are you saying?” Roman asked.
She looked down into the fathomless darkness. “If I can call him, maybe I can direct him to his victims.”
“Is that how it works?” Chief Bryant asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Chief Bryant looked at Roman. “We could all be killed.”
Roman looked up toward the steps. The bobbing lights were already halfway down the steps. “We will all be killed if doesn’t work.”
“I have to try.” She went to the very edge of the pit. It was pitch black inside and the air coming from it was frigid.
Roman took her in his arms and kissed her. “What can I do?”
“Play the drums.” She kissed him hard. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I love you.” She turned back to the pit.
Roman motioned to Chief Bryant, who laid Dr. Frein down near a drum.
They started out slow. The unorganized, staccato beats expressed their frustration at not only being trapped underground waiting for the inevitable end as the brown robes approached, but also the necessity of having blind faith in a witch who had forgotten her powers. They both watched Amelie, hoping she remembered enough to pull it off.
She closed her eyes and swayed to and fro, feeding them the rhythm of Jacqueline’s dreams so that they played in unison.
It grew hot in the chamber and she shed the jacket, raising her hands above her head, weaving the ancient pattern to call the fire dragon into the world.
Isolde…
The ancestors gathered.
They flooded into her like a soothing tide washing over her soul, welcoming her.
She despised it and craved it. She despaired over their welcome and yet was desperate for it. She was ignorant and could not do this without them.
Even though she had forsaken her sisters so long ago, they were not even angry with her. They had known it was only a matter of time until she returned, and time for her sisters was relative. A century was but a day to them. She felt such warmth and love from her sisters. They were there from every age, from the beginning of time. She belonged with them and would not leave them ever again. She was High Priestess Isolde.
The ancient words tumbled from her in the many voices of her ancestors. As they sang with her, the wind picked up and she inhaled the smell of brimstone as her hair waved in the warm breeze.
A thunderous roar shook the chamber.
“Yes,” Isolde sighed.
Her sisters sang on, but the drums stopped. Someone called the name Amelie.
“Keep playing,” she demanded.
The drums began anew, and she raised her voice in song once again.
“The High Priestess!”
She turned. Brown robes surrounded the two men playing the drums. Both men watched her. She nodded in satisfaction as they attacked the drums, playing for their lives.
“Play.” She commanded the brown robes.
Without hesitation, the brown robes took their positions at drums around the chamber.
The air that blasted her face was hot now and Isolde and her sisters sang on joyously. The dragon’s roar was closer to the surface of the pit.
Fiery tentacles surfaced from the pit, clawing the air so that a haze swirled above her.
Two red eyes, as wide as drums, in the center of the fire searched the chamber, and found her.
The fire dragon rose above her. “Ahhhh…My Isolde,” the voice boomed throughout the chamber.
“Master,” she sighed in contentment. Her sisters took up the soft chant as like a snake charmer she danced. Although the confining garments she wore on her legs constricted her movement, she twirled in celebration.
He was a whirling firewall surrounding her. Flames licked her skin, caressed her hair. “What age is this?” he asked.
“One of knowledge. The people are a danger to themselves. I like it not,” she said dismissively.
“Isolde!” He picked her up and she laughed, falling backward onto the bed of flames as they flew around the chamber.
She could almost touch the vaulted ceiling and reveled in his joy at their reunion as he spun her around.
“Amelie!” The tall man below dressed in strange clothing was shouting at her.
She sat up on the bed of fire. Kneeling forward, she smiled, holding out her hand to the man as the Master flew around the chamber.
The man moved away from the drum and slowly walked toward the pit of fire as he stared into her eyes. The other man dressed like him ran forward and took his arm.
The tall man pushed the other one with such force that he fell back against the drums. His eyes never left hers as he continued toward the fiery pit.
He was beautiful and strong and would surely be a pleasing consort. For a moment, she hesitated to take his life for the Master, and he stopped, staring up at her. There was something about him…the fear of the other inside of her was strong, and then she knew. The tall one was loved. He was a Warrior of Light.
“Come,” she cajoled. The man started to walk again.
Chapter 13
Castle Zuoz, Graubünden, Switzerland – June 8, 1988
Amelie dragged her way back to the surface of consciousness and hung on, battling the High Priestess Isolde for control. Hot air blew all around her. She was far above the pit, riding the fire dragon, but she was unharmed.
Below, Roman was just feet away from the fiery pit. He wasn’t looking at the fire before him, but stared blankly up at her. He would walk right into the flames.
She pushed the High Priestess down into the recesses of her soul. Blinding pain pounded through her brain, nearly sending her under again. She gasped and choked on the hot air around her but it helped her to remain where she was, almost there, in her own mind.
Roman was approaching the edge of the pit.
She tried once more to rise above the High Priestess, clenching her teeth against the pain as she fought to regain control.
Free will.
The words were resentful, accusatory. The pressure in Amelie’s head receded, and then the High Priestess Isolde was gone.
For how long, Amelie did not know but she could not let the ancestors bring the High Priestess forward again. Even now, their disappointment in her was crippling, but they were sirens and could not be trusted.
Her fear grew as her sisters sang on in harmony, undeterred. It seemed they knew her better than she knew herself. She felt their patience as they waited for her to lose control again.
She focused on Roman. He stopped and swayed on his feet, and she prayed he did not pass out so close to the pit. Finally, he looked down and stumbled back, away from the edge. He looked toward the drums and ran to help Chief Bryant up from the ground. He said something to Chief Bryant, who motioned toward her.
“Amelie!” Roman shouted.
The fire dragon slowed and fixed red eyes on Roman who stood defiantly near the edge of the pit below them. The fire demon veered off in Roman’s
direction.
“I am fond of him, Master.” She was shaking inside, but kept her voice serene. “He is my consort.”
“What of Damek?” The fire rose around her. “Is he not a loyal servant? He has given you many daughters.”
She hesitated only briefly. Daughters. Were they all like her? There was so much she did not remember.
Hearing her consort’s name brought back many nights of celebration. She had loved him, once. He was her destiny, but he was evil. Roman was life.
“Damek is no more,” she said haughtily.
“He lives,” the fire dragon assured her. “You will find each other.”
“When?” She asked too quickly. Who was Lord Alsborough, formerly Damek? Who was he now? “I am not quite myself, yet, Master.”
“Patience, Isolde.” The fire dragon’s laughter shook the chamber. “That is the way of it.” He swung her around the chamber again and she covered her shriek with a laugh. The High Priestess would not be afraid. She would enjoy this show of affection.
She was getting dizzy and tried to think of something that would stop him from flying around the pit before she fell into Hell.
At that moment, one of the brown robes below came out from behind a drum and began walking toward Roman, who was still standing at the edge of the pit as if he could catch her if she fell.
The brown robe walked swiftly. Varuk’s hood fell off as he raised his hands toward Roman’s back.
“Master. See what I have for you.” She pointed toward Varuk and the other brown robes below. “They have forsaken you,” she proclaimed with disgust.
“Not worthy.” The fire dragon’s words rumbled throughout the chamber. He swooped down, soaring around the pit in a show of anger. When he came within a few feet of the ground, she jumped off the bed of fire.
Roman caught her as she stumbled onto the ground and dragged her behind a drum. He felt her skin, her pants which felt warm, but were not burned. She was unharmed. Unscarred. Perfect.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Roman pulled her to the stairs.
Chief Bryant was already dragging Dr. Frein up the steps.
The fire dragon opened its mouth and fiery blood spewed the brown robes as they scattered. The dragon roared, and caught Varuk in his mouth. Blood splattered the walls as the ancestors sang what sounded like an ancient hymnal. The tortured screams continued as the fire dragon caught another brown robe, and another, until the walls dripped blood.
“Look. The jewels are glowing.” Roman held onto her hand and picked up his pace.
Amelie hurried behind him. “They are ready now, infused with his blood,” she said in English. “Anyone who wears them will be the fire demon’s servant and live forever to do his will.”
“Master!” the last brown robe alive shouted. “He is a warrior.”
Halfway up the steps, Roman and Amelie turned.
The brown robe shook off his hood and came out from where he was hiding behind a drum.
Emil Garamonde spat on the ground and pointed toward Roman. “He is not worthy!”
“You are dead!” Roman shouted, taking the steps two at a time. He slipped down a few steps slick with blood and held onto the wall the rest of the way down. “They buried you!”
“He has a ring,” Amelie came down the steps behind him, but Chief Bryant reached the bottom step first.
“Stay here,” Chief Bryant said.
She ignored him. “The ring must have been buried with him.” Running forward, she took Roman’s arm. “He must be Damek. Lord Alsborough.”
Roman plowed into Emil as the fire dragon swooped over them, and they rolled on the ground toward the edge of the fiery pit.
Chief Bryant trained his gun on Emil as they fought, but could not get a clear shot.
Emil’s fist came up for a punch and Roman palmed it. He held Emil down with an elbow to the stomach and pulled the dragon ruby off his finger. Almost as an afterthought, Roman punched him in the eye. Emil moaned, covering his face.
Chief Bryant stood over them as Roman tore open Emil’s robe and stared at his smooth, unscarred chest. “He is whole again.”
She put herself between them and the fire dragon. “Master,” she said in the ancient language. “This warrior is ours now.” She touched Roman’s shoulder. “He follows our commands. But this one,” She gestured in Emil’s direction. “I thought he was Damek who had returned to me.”
“He is not Damek,” the fire dragon roared.
Amelie braced herself against the shaking ground. “He defiled me!” she screamed, walking slowly backward toward the edge of the pit. “The warrior saved me from him.”
The fire dragon swooped down and plucked Emil up from beneath Roman.
Roman rolled out of the way, knocking into Chief Bryant as the fire dragon soared above the pit, chomping on Emil, who wailed.
Amelie stood at the edge of the pit and closed her eyes.
Her sisters knew what she was about to do and they were fighting her. They continued their killing hymnal in a singsong voice.
She raised her hands and they were forced to cease their chant, and wait for the next command.
She swayed to the drumbeat in her mind, where silken veils swirled around High Priestess Isolde, who danced to the frenzied beat eons ago. The words came to her.
“First of the Blood, return. Return for an age, Master. Return.”
A few of her sisters obediently took up the chant, but too many of them remained silent. Their anger came in black waves behind her closed eyelids and she felt pressure, a weight on her chest.
Would they disobey her? She did not know if they would take control and entice the fire dragon into more killing or help Isolde rise to the surface again…
Were they not bound to her, the living High Priestess? Their age was over. They did not rule anymore. She was their host, they must obey, she thought.
She chanted the ancient language louder, desperately shouting now, silently praying for Roman and Chief Bryant’s lives if the ancestors did not heed her command.
“First of the Blood, return. Return for an age, Master. Return.”
The black anger lightened as more of her sisters joined the chant. Their voices grew louder in the chamber until the pressure lifted away from her chest, and she knew that for all their resistance they were bound to obey her every command. They were all with her now and she shook with the power behind the command.
With a triumphant roar, the fire dragon swallowed Emil and swooped down into the pit, soaring down, down, into the depths of the earth. The fire in the pit retreated with the dragon.
Roman and Chief Bryant ran to the edge of the pit, watching the light fade.
The fire dragon’s roar was distant and no longer shook the chamber, and then it was gone.
She stared into the black hole as one by one her sisters departed, leaving her weaker, more human. Their goodbyes were sorrowful. For all their earlier frustration with her, they were loath to leave now. There was so much they could accomplish in this weak age of man and had already begun to use technology against him, they intimated with each farewell caress. As an Artisan, she was born to the jewels. Her choice of trade in this life had been no accident. She was one of them and their kind was superior. With her help, they would rule the world again. With the blood jewels.
“Il Dragone,” Amelie murmured, falling forward into blackness.
Chapter 14
Graubünden, Switzerland – June 12, 1988
“Amelie.” Roman squeezed her hand.
She opened her eyes slowly, sensing so much light around her.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed. A hospital bed. The room was as white and sterile as her old office at Penrods.
“There you are.” He bent and kissed her. “You know, you spend more time sleeping with that creative mind of yours than you do with me. Should I be jealous?”
“Where am I? What about Castle Zuoz?”
“Shhh.” He glanced over his shoulder as a
nurse came in the room to examine her. He stood by the window with a view of the snow-covered Alps and waited until the nurse left.
“We don’t have much time. The doctor will be in next, and I don’t think he likes me.” He returned to the bedside. “He’s calling it mental exhaustion. Too much excitement after waking from the coma. Blames me for it.”
“Castle Zuoz—”
“Death by wrecking ball, blood rubies and all. I’ve arranged it.”
“How?”
“I bought Castle Zuoz from Garamonde’s estate.”
“When did you have time to do that?” At his look, she asked warily, “How long have I been out this time?”
“Long enough for Dr. Frein to be cared for and discharged. Four days.”
Roman stopped talking and nodded to the doctor as he came in. The doctor returned the nod, just barely.
“Ms. Laurent, good to have you with us again. I want you to remain here for a few days. On bed rest.” The doctor glanced at Roman. “I hear you’ve flown to France, England, New York and now here, all in a matter of weeks. The party at the castle must have sent you over the edge. We’ll run a few tests and then we will see about letting you go home.”
She kept quiet through another examination. After a few questions, the doctor made notes in her chart, and left.
“Party?” she asked.
Roman smiled at the doctor’s back as he closed the room door behind him. “He thinks I’ve corrupted you. There must have been a party going on if I was invited to the castle and you passed out from exhaustion. Oh, and he heard that there was so much noise coming from the castle that it shook the hills.”
She tried to sit up, and he put a hand on her shoulder.
“Stay down, or the good doctor may try to convince you to get a restraining order against me. A dead girlfriend, a dead ex-business rival, his girlfriend, Terrence…and now Michel Garamonde. I guess my reputation precedes me. Thank God, we had the presence of mind to hide the bodies of Chief Bryant’s men in the sacrificial chamber before authorities stormed the castle. They’ve since been flown home on the jet. Chief Bryant called in a favor to avoid the circus this could have turned into. He told the families the men died in the line of duty.”
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