The first complaints came when they actually saw the lintel marked Hades. Chloe wiped her brow and led on. The starting point was the scariest, to her, anyway. Her arms braced on the ledge, her feet flailing for the shallow steps of the ladder, she stopped sweating only when she felt her toes touch, then grab.
After crawling a ways down, she coaxed the first few through the tunnel, then scampered farther below, listening to them talk to each other. Great, building teamwork! They passed the first level, then reached the second. Chloe stuck her head in the horizontal passageway, sniffed; wrong one. Down again. The trek was very recognizable now.
She wasn’t going to tell them about the chute. She’d just step and they’d follow.
There was another smell, though, beyond the scat, the torches, and the general sulfuric decay. A briny smell. They were approaching the chute and Chloe turned, telling them all to follow her, she knew what she was doing. Like good little recruits, they shook their heads. Chloe stepped into the chute, bringing her knees to her chest to try to control her slide.
Halfway down, water closed over her head, extinguishing her torch and stealing her breath. Uh-oh.
ATENIS FOUND CHEFTU AND NESTOR as they attempted to follow the large footprints through the ash. They’d quickly lost the trail and were searching in circles. Atenis said that Dion needed to see them both, that it was dire. Cheftu tried to refuse, but she said they needed a physician. Her gray gaze pleaded, and Cheftu reluctantly agreed.
They trailed her through Spiralmaster’s chambers and into the laboratory. Even before they reached the door, the stink forewarned the putrefaction within. Atenis opened the door and stepped back, allowing them to enter.
Cheftu looked at the room, his nose covered. It was foul; brown stains covered everything. Phoebus’ remains lay in the center of the room, crawling with minuscule white insects. Cheftu averted his gaze, looking toward Dion.
As Nestor caught sight of the dead Golden, the last vestige of boyishness vanished from his features. His eyes hardened as he took in the murder of his clan brother … and the feminine prints that were not completely obscured.
Ileana had killed Hreesos. Had she also burned Niko? How had he wound up in the sea? The two men had disappeared at the same time.
“Detain the mother-goddess,” Dion commanded the few remaining Mariners. “Bring her to me now, here.”
“Retrieve Irmentis from the Labyrinth,” Atenis said. “Leave her in the Megaron.”
Swallowing his distaste for rot, Cheftu knelt over the body of the king. Shards of glass were scattered around him in a radius, and the neck of a jug stuck out of his belly. A long sliver of glass protruded from his throat. Apparently even the immortality elixir couldn’t prevent death when the recipient had such grievous wounds. Cheftu had rarely seen so much blood.
What kind of woman could do this to her stepson? Her spouse?
“Niko lay here, I’d guess,” Dion said from across the room.
“Why do you say that?”
With a finger Dion touched a tuft of white blond hair affixed to the floor. Cheftu felt sick, dizzy, when he heard Ileana in the corridor. Nestor’s glance was sharp, and Cheftu and Dion stood straighter. Atenis stepped backward, into the shadows.
Ileana entered in on the arm of the Mariner. He was already charmed: despite the destruction of the palace, the Queen of Heaven was perfectly coiffed. Cheftu thought of his wife, filthy with sweat, blood, or volcanic ash; still her spirit, the beauty of her heart, shone through.
He spat at Ileana’s feet.
The room grew silent as she lifted peacock green eyes to him. “Foreigner, retract your insult or face the Labyrinth.”
“You are a foolish woman to make threats in the same room where your victim lies,” Nestor said. He moved away from Phoebus, and she saw the rotting corpse for the first time. Unlike most, she didn’t turn green, get sick, or faint. She stared with distaste and looked away. “Do you deny that you murdered him?”
“He was athanati, by his own declaration. How could I, or anyone, kill a god?”
“Perhaps with a broken jug neck, Ileana?” Cheftu asked. “The elixir granted Phoebus immortality while he still had blood. When he was wounded before, Irmentis gave of hers. When you attacked him, he drained of blood.”
“Stay out of this, foreigner.”
Dion stepped forward. For the first time Ileana looked fearful, just a little tightening around her eyes and mouth. “Could you not get pregnant, Ileana?”
“I already am, you fool,” she said haughtily. “The throne is mine, it always has been. It always will be.”
“Not by Phoebus, though, eee? You raped Niko—stole his psyche and his seed.”
She laughed. “Unlike you, Dion, I needn’t persuade men to my bed.”
He slapped her, and Cheftu felt his cheeks redden. She deserved justice, but could he stand and watch her receive it?
With a motion that was seductive and repulsive, she licked blood from the corner of her mouth. “Do you feel like a real man now, Dion, instead of a misshapen woman?”
Nestor caught Dion’s hand before he struck her again. With a stern look he stepped to Ileana. “Break a jug for me, Dion,” he said. “You also, Spiralmaster.”
“How sweet, you think to avenge Phoebus. Do you not realize that if he were not dead, you would still be nothing but an errand boy?”
Nestor’s blue eyes were icy. “Many vows have been made to destroy you, Ileana. It was Phoebus’ fondest wish. In his own way, he is bringing it about. As my first official duty, I will avenge the death of Phoebus Apollo, lately Hreesos. Release her,” he instructed the Mariners. “Leave this floor and do not return to it. Ever. You are released from clan and commission.”
“Why, my master?”
“Aztlan is falling. Flee for your lives,” Dion said.
The men saluted, and the five people listened to their footsteps racing up the stairwell. Ileana looked from one man to the next. Cheftu could feel her probing his mind, searching for a weakness. “Shall we make up now?” she said to Nestor, running a finger down his chest. Apparently she thought he was the weakest link. “I can serve you, while your Spiralmaster serves me and Dion can finally learn the … whorls in the Spiralmaster’s shell,” she said with a laugh that was pure harlotry.
Nestor stopped her finger by breaking it.
Ileana screamed, cradling the wounded digit to her bare, heaving breast. “How dare you?”
Atenis stepped from the shadows. For once she stood tall, proud, an unknown elegance in her profile and demeanor. “You murdered Nestor’s mother, Phoebus’ mother, Dion’s mother, your own mother, and two generations of the Kela-Ata, eee, Ileana? You threw Irmentis and Sibylla in the Labyrinth. Then you killed my clan brother, your husband, Phoebus.”
“You can prove nothing!” Ileana hissed.
“Why did you harm Niko?” Dion interjected.
“You didn’t even bathe him, did you?” Atenis asked.
“Atenis, my dear child,” Ileana said, cradling her hand while sweat pebbled her upper lip.
“That is the most ironic part, is it not?” Atenis said with a sad smile. “I am not your dear child, nor is Irmentis. You have no maternal heart, Ileana.”
“No heart at all,” Dion muttered.
“I did not rear you to speak like this to me!” Ileana hissed.
“You did not rear me at all, Ileana. You avoided all your children, giving yourself and your affections to your lovers instead, yet hating Zelos for seeking the same surcease.”
Cheftu watched the older woman’s face pale. His glance shifted to Atenis, and he blanched when he saw the tool in her hand. Mon Dieu! She stepped closer to Ileana. “Do you recognize this, Ileana?”
The woman was still reserved, but her eyes were dark with fear. “Nay, I have not seen it before.”
“Then you claim you don’t know how it cuts? What it cuts?”
Cheftu and Nestor exchanged glances. To what was Atenis referring? Dion wat
ched fixedly. Somewhere above them a hound howled. Ileana began to shake visibly.
“You know the greatest of your crimes, Ileana. Murder is not it. Stealing love, dreams, hopes, ambitions, these are all your product, but not what you will die for,” Atenis said.
Everyone was silent, watching the Queen of Heaven. “What then?” she asked, a hint of hauteur still in her tone.
“Every person you killed you destroyed for eternity. You murdered them unbathed, you sent their psyches into oblivion. For that heinous crime, you will die.”
“Slowly,” Dion interjected. “Languorously.” He cocked his head. “I hear Irmentis.”
Ileana dropped all pretenses. “Not Irmentis, Atenis. For whatever love you have borne me—”
“I hate you,” Atenis said quietly. “What you took from me I might never have used. Marriage and childbearing are not my interests; even were I whole they would not be. But you broke Irmentis’ heart and turned her into a wild thing. You wounded Phoebus beyond bearing, a pothos love that ate away at him, his perceptions, his dreams. Then you murdered him with no hope of an afterlife.”
Cheftu watched as Atenis stepped away from the wall. A marble lustral bath filled with water sat in the midst of the bloodshed. Nestor and Dion advanced on Ileana.
“Dion, don’t let her—”
Ileana’s words were cut off as she was submerged in the bath. Cheftu stood immobile until they brought her up, panting and drenched.
“I told you your death would be savored.”
Cheftu listened to the silence following Dion’s words. Ileana’s makeup was running, her hair stuck to her scalp. She was trembling, her broken finger apparently forgotten. They helped her stand and then moved away.
“Shall we go, Ileana? Your death awaits you.” Atenis said.
The Queen of Heaven took a reluctant step forward, then bolted, running out the door and down the corridor. Neither Atenis nor Dion moved, they just listened to her flight. “She is getting away!” Nestor cried.
Atenis turned around, her gaze bleak. “Justice will be served. Irmentis and her dogs are free.” A rumble stirred above them, showering down a faint coating of plaster. “Ileana will pay.”
“I cannot watch this,” Cheftu said, starting toward the door. Dion and Nestor caught his arms. In the silence, Cheftu looked up. Irmentis stood in the doorway, bloodstained and grimy, her nails thick, her hair knotted; she seemed the embodiment of hell. Atenis embraced her sister. Cheftu saw the blade, the wicked hooked blade, pass from hand to hand. Irmentis flinched and asked softly, “This is it?”
“Aye, my little one,” Atenis said. “The very same. I saved it for you. This is your battle to win.”
Dogs barked in some distant part of the palace, and a low human scream floated above it. Cheftu twisted against his captors’ grips. What were they going to do? Irmentis tucked the blade in the waist of her tunic and left.
“What justice is this?” Cheftu asked quietly. “How can murder be the least of her crimes? Why did you give her a chance at eternity?”
“Ileana broke hearts, foreigner,” Dion said. “She took them, whole and beating, out of a trusted person’s chest. The individual was condemned to go through the rest of life with a gaping, fatal wound that would never be healed.” He turned the full fury of his dark gaze on Cheftu. “Tell me, Spiralmaster, is it better to wound and poison an entire existence or to just eliminate it?”
Cheftu bowed his head. What right had he to judge?
“Ileana will taste a little of the physical pain she put Irmentis through,” Dion said. “It will only be the physical, but I think it will be all Ileana can experience. After death she will face judgment at the hands of the gods for her deeds. Our loved ones are skia, but Ileana will pay for eternity.”
“Justice is served,” Atenis said.
CHLOE BROKE THROUGH TO THE SURFACE, gasping for air, floundering in the rough water. It took her a moment to get her sense of direction, and then she realized what was wrong. The water was almost to the top of the cavern! The island was sinking! Or was the water rising?
My God, she’d brought these people down to die! With a deep breath she dove down, feeling around for the people. One by one she lifted them to the surface, then plunged again. When she found them all she popped up. “Everyone,” she wheezed, “have their partners?”
“Where are the boats?” someone asked.
Bloody good question. “They are tied beneath us. The water is rising. You do not have the time to wait for them. Swim out of here.”
Sputtering and arguments she cut short by banging her hand on the ceiling of the cavern. The water had risen while they were talking! “Grab some debris and float out of here. There is no other way. You have no time. Swim out of the channel, head for the outside of Kallistae. There is a harbor in Prostatevo. Go!”
She didn’t wait to see if they listened; she’d seen a few snag the boards that were floating around. Cheftu was still on the sinking island. She wasn’t sure who was rescuing whom, or for what, or where, but she knew God did not demand they commit suicide. With a deep breath she sank below water level, feeling around for the chute. Touching the sides, she let the water push her up until she was in the air again. The water level was rising.
On feet that needed no guidance going around through the maze, she ran, then climbed up the ladder, hauled herself over the ledge, and ran for the next set of stairs.
And I thought training camp was a bitch.
THOSE REMAINING FACED EACH OTHER.
Dion. Nestor. Atenis. Cheftu. Vena and the little boy she had rescued.
There were two ways off the island. The air sail, still untested with the weight of two, and a diving mask. One.
Not a serf, a Mariner, or a Scholomancer could be found. Bodies lay in heaps, the stench of burnt and rotting flesh mingling into a tang Cheftu feared he would never purge from his nostrils. A bowl of chilled water was passing from hand to hand as the Olimpi prepared for the possibility of death. Quickly and quietly they bathed and blessed each other with Kalo taxidi.
The waters of Therio Sea were rising. Chloe was … he hoped to God she was safe, far away, and he thanked le bon Dieu for the chance to kiss her that last time. He dared not hope for more; it was time for him to be honorable.
“Cheftu and I should have the air sail,” Dion said, wiping water from his eyes. “We are men of science, of courage. We can lead those who regroup in Prostatevo.”
“You just want your lover with you,” Vena cried.
“I am not his lover,” Cheftu said through gritted teeth. “The women and child should go.”
“Cast lots,” Atenis said, offering Cheftu the bowl of water. He dabbed a cross, his protection, on his forehead and set the bowl down. He didn’t need to check his belongings. He wore a kilt and belt, nothing more. Atenis had gathered the bloodstained disk pieces and placed them in a bag slung over her shoulders.
Nestor was watching Vena cuddle the little boy named Akilez, his wet head pressed against her breasts. Cheftu supposed they should anoint Nestor as the Golden Bull, but as there was no longer an Aztlan empire, there seemed no reason.
“Use these stones,” Dion said, tossing them from his pouch.
Two oblongs fell into the dim light, one black and one white. Hebrew was scratched all over them, lined with gold on the inside of the letters. It was not possible, yet it made such sense, it was so logical! Toss them, he heard whispered in his mind. Cheftu licked his suddenly dry lips. “What language is that?” He knew, but he had to be certain.
“Ancient Aztlantu. Before the Olimpi.”
Cheftu seized the stones, then tossed them, his words coming out in a rush of French. “Is Chloe well?”
The letters for the Hebrew “yes” flickered in the light as the stones turned in the air.
“What is this?” Nestor asked.
“Give them back!” Dion cried.
“Will we be together?” Cheftu asked, throwing them again.
“Y-o-u-r-
d-e-c-i-s-i-o-n.”
Cheftu steadied the rush of blood in his veins. His decision, his choice. He could be with Chloe if he decided. She was safe, the most important thing.
“Nestor, Vena, and the child should take the air sail. She is lighter, and they can, um, repopulate if needed,” Cheftu said. “Atenis, you are familiar with the diving gear, you go alone. Dion can swim.”
“What about you?” Dion asked.
“We cannot leave you,” Atenis said.
“He will not be alone,” a voice said from behind them.
Cheftu wanted to laugh with joy as Chloe walked in. Vena covered her nose, Dion snorted, and Atenis and Nestor smiled. Cheftu pulled her into his arms and kissed her, tasting the brine, the sweat, the blood. “The island is sinking,” she said. “We need to go.”
They turned around, Nestor and Vena were already strapping on the wings of the air sail. “Until my eyes hold you again,” Nestor shouted. “In Prostatevo!” They ran off the edge of the portico and fell. Dion, Atenis, Chloe, and Cheftu ran to the ledge and looked down. Nestor and Vena were floating low, but floating. The white rectangle began to move southward. Barring another eruption, they had a good chance.
Atenis kissed Chloe’s cheeks. “My eyes will not hold you again; I go to the mainland. Be well, oracle.”
“I’m not—”
“You are not Sibylla, but you are an oracle, more than you know,” she said. Holding her pouch of broken ari-kat stones, she walked out of the room.
Chloe turned to Dion. “Don’t let us keep you.”
Dion met Cheftu’s gaze over her head. Cheftu braced himself, memories of that night flickering through his mind. The shock he felt when Dion kissed him. Then his horror as the dark chieftain confessed a love for Cheftu that Dion claimed surpassed the love a man and woman could know. A love of gripping passion, a unity of spirits, a camaraderie of minds. Cheftu’s disgust had submerged into a grudging sympathy. Dion had shared impulses and desires that turned Cheftu’s stomach, but he understood the man’s need to reveal them.
Shadows on the Aegean Page 47