Fire that was cold
Ice that was hot.
The sensations rolled off the sword and flowed through his wrists up his arms and settled into his chest.
And with the warmth and the chill came the memories, terrible, terrifying memories of a time before the humani, of a time when the Elders ruled the earth, and then beyond, to the world of the Archons; and before them, to the Ancients; and back further, to the Time Before Time, when the Earthlords ruled.
Memories of the four great swords of power…
… of their creation…
… and their powers…
… and why they had been separated…
… and why they must never be brought together…
And the shocking realization that these were not weapons, these were more; much, much more.
“John!”
The Magician slowly turned his head to look at Dare, and whatever she saw in his face left her speechless. Something ancient and alien peered out through his eyes. She watched, frozen, as his hand rose, bringing the weapon up before his face.
Fire.
The stone sword blazed with white-hot fire.
Ice.
Ice crackled and formed on the blade and hilt.
Suddenly the sword shifted and separated, leaving him holding Clarent burning red-black in his left hand and Excalibur cracking with blue fire in his right.
“Where do you want to be, Virginia?” Dee’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Anywhere but here.”
The cucubuths were almost on top of them now, circling warily around the two swords. The ravens were laughing in Odin’s voice.
“Do you know where I want to be?” Dee asked. His arms described two enormous perfect circles-blazing red, crackling blue-in the air. The circles overlapped in the middle to create a long oval that shimmered like melting ice.
“John, you’re scaring me.”
“I want to go home,” Dee said. He stepped into the oval and vanished. Immediately, the fire started to die, the ice began to melt. The cucubuths howled and darted forward; the ravens screamed.
Closing her eyes, Virginia Dare threw herself into the burning melting oval…
… and opened them to the sun on her face. She breathed in warm salt-scented air and discovered that she was lying on grass, listening to the sound of traffic. Car horns blared, and it suddenly occurred to her that it was the most musical sound in the world. She sat up and looked around. Dee was sitting beside her. Excalibur and Clarent lay on the grass alongside him, a puddle of ice around one, scorched earth around its twin. “John, your hands…,” Virginia said in horror.
Dee lifted his hands. They were both burned black, the flesh raw and ugly, blisters already beginning to form. “A small price to pay.” He grimaced.
Virginia stood up and looked around. She could hear voices close by. There were trees all around her, and she could see the tops of nearby buildings. One, a tower, seemed familiar-very, very familiar. “John, what did you do? Where are we? Tell me this isn’t another Shadowrealm.”
“I suddenly realized what the swords could do,” Dee said quietly. “No, realized is the wrong word. I was told what the swords were capable of.” When he turned to look at Virginia, she noticed the tiny speckles of blue and red, like chips of ice and cinders, in his gray eyes. “The Elders created the Shadowrealms with the swords… but the Archons used them to fashion the leygates.”
“You created a leygate!” Virginia looked down at him, shocked. “Even for you, John, that is very impressive. And what about the cucubuths and the crows?”
“Trapped forever… unless Odin goes after his pets.”
“How did you get us here?” Virginia asked.
Dee’s smile grew pained. “I just saw where I wanted us to be-” He stopped suddenly and looked at his hands again. “You know, these are really starting to hurt…”
“Put some aloe vera on them,” Dare said automatically. “And where, exactly, are we?”
“Pioneer Park, San Francisco.” He turned his head to where Coit Tower rose above the treetops. “Five minutes from my home.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“S o there are four moons, and this is good news?” Joan of Arc stood at the cave mouth and looked at the four moons-one huge and yellow, another smaller and tinged sepia; the third was a bright green emerald, while the fourth was colorless. The slender Frenchwoman ran her fingers over her short boyish hair, flattening it. “There is so much that I do not know, and astronomy is not one of my strongest subjects, but even I know that the earth does not have four moons, has never had four moons.”
The moonlight turned Scatty’s red hair black and made her skin even paler than usual. Her eyes were silver mirrors. “Don’t you see what this means?” she said excitedly.
Joan shook her head.
“It means we’re in a Shadowrealm.”
Joan continued to look at her blankly, four pinpricks of moonlight reflected in her gray eyes. “So we’re not in the past.”
“No,” Scatty said, taking her friend’s hands in hers and squeezing tightly. “We’re not.”
“And that’s good?”
“If we were in the past, then we’d be stuck, with no way out. Or at least, I couldn’t think of any way out, other than someone coming through time to find us, and the chances of pinpointing us in time would have been astronomically small. The only way for us to get back to our own time would be by living maybe a million years.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Theoretically, yes. Elders and Next Generation can live incredibly long lives, but I’m not sure about the humani. Look at what happened to poor Gilgamesh after ten thousand years. I think the body can live on, but the mind breaks down under the weight of all the memories and experiences.”
“So if this is a Shadowrealm…,” Joan began.
“… then there must be a leygate,” Scatty finished delightedly.
“And how do we find it?” Joan asked.
Scathach’s smile faded. “I haven’t quite worked out that bit yet. But there’s got to be one around here somewhere.”
The Dire Wolves attacked at dawn.
Scathach and Joan beat them off easily, sending them howling into the thick mist lying heavily across the landscape.
A single lion prowled around the foot of the cave shortly afterward, but Scatty pelted it with rocks until it scrambled out of range.
The giant short-faced bear appeared next.
The two women watched it approach, loping on all fours, its head thrown back to sniff the air. The creature was huge.
“It has to weigh at least twenty-five hundred pounds,” Scatty said, loosening her short swords and checking her nunchaku, “and I’ll wager it probably stands close to eleven feet tall when it’s up on two legs.”
“I don’t want to have to kill it,” Joan said.
“Trust me, it’s not going to share your reservations about killing.” She pointed with her folded nunchaku. “It’s looking at us now and thinking: breakfast.”
Joan shook her head firmly and pushed her sword into its sheath, then slung it across her shoulders.
Scatty sighed. “If we don’t kill it, it will kill us.”
Joan shook her head firmly. “I’ll not kill it.”
“Can I remind you that you once led an army?”
“That was a long time ago. I will defend myself, but I will not kill an innocent creature.”
“Is that why you became a vegetarian?”
Joan shook her head. “No,” she laughed. “Shortly after Nicholas gave me your blood, I discovered that I really hated the taste of meat.”
The bear paused at the bottom of the incline and looked up at them. Then it reared up on its hind legs, threw its head back and growled.
Scatty revised her original assessment of the beast’s height. “Twelve feet tall.” She examined the creature critically. “I could take him.”
“Look at those claws,” Joan said. “
One swipe will take your head off. And I know you can do many things, but growing a new head is not one of them.”
They ran for most of the morning, moving easily across lush waving grassland. Now that they knew this was a Shadowrealm, the tiny inconsistencies in the world became obvious. The breeze only blew from the south and always smelled of lemons, there were no insects in the air and although the sun rose in the east and climbed into the heavens, it seemed to remain at its highest point for far too long.
“It’s as if someone created-or re-created-the Pleistocene era from memory,” Scatty said.
“Well, they got the animals right,” Joan said, in French. Although she kept herself fit and in condition, she thought they’d run the equivalent of a marathon so far, and there was no end in sight. She had a stitch in her side and her calves were beginning to cramp. She was also conscious of the blisters starting to form inside her boots. “I’m going to need to rest soon,” she said. “I need some water.”
Scatty pointed to the right. “There’s a stream down there.”
Joan could see nothing. “How can you tell?”
“Look down,” the Shadow said, pointing. The earth at their feet was impressed with scores of hoof and claw tracks, all leading off to the right.
“If there’s a watering hole down there, then we’re sure to find something drinking there…,” Joan began.
“How thirsty are you?”
“Very.”
Scathach slipped both nunchaku out of their sheaths and turned to the right, following the animal trail. “Let’s get you that drink. And I promise not to kill anything that doesn’t try to kill me first.”
The trail dipped down into a hollow, and the grass, which had been waist high, now grew to their shoulders. It hissed and rasped together noisily. The air was filled with the rich cloying odor of life and growth. Without the cool lemon-scented wind on their faces, the temperature immediately rose.
Scathach held up her hand and Joan stopped and immediately turned to look behind them. The Shadow stood with the back of her head against her friend’s. “Be careful,” she said, using the French language of Joan’s youth. “Something’s wrong here.”
Joan nodded. “We cannot see through the grass, our sense of smell has been overwhelmed, even our hearing is impaired. Coincidence?” she wondered.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Scatty answered. Pushing her nunchaku back into their holders, she pulled out her matched short swords. “Something is wrong here,” she repeated, “very, very wrong.”
They moved forward carefully, conscious that with limited vision, hearing and even smell, they were at a disadvantage. Anything could be hiding in the tall grasses.
“Snakes,” Joan said suddenly.
Scatty jumped and spun around. “Where?”
“Nowhere. I’ve just realized we haven’t seen any since we arrived. Yet this place should be filled with them. Especially here, in this grassland; it’s the ideal environment.”
They took another half-dozen steps and the grass suddenly ended. Directly ahead of them lay a sparkling blue pool, the perfectly still water reflecting streaks of unmoving white clouds in the sky above.
And sitting on the boulder by the side of the river was a man wrapped in a long hooded leather cloak. He turned his head to look at them, and they saw that the bottom half of his face was concealed by a scarf, leaving visible only a pair of bright blue eyes.
“Scathach the Shadow and Joan of Arc. Where have you been? I have been waiting for you for such a long time. Welcome to my world.” The hooded man stood, and as he spread his arms wide, they saw the curved metal hook that took the place of his left hand.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Sophie opened her eyes and Josh’s face swam into view. She watched the relief wash over his features. His blue eyes were suddenly magnified by tears.
“Hi, sis,” he whispered, but there was a tremble in his voice, and he coughed and tried again. “Hi, sis. How do you feel?”
Sophie drew in a slow deep breath as she thought about his question. She felt… actually, she felt fine. More than fine; she felt great -alert, strong and clearheaded. Sitting up, she looked around. She’d been lying on a narrow couch in a tiny cramped room that looked like it had been decorated sometime in the 1960s. The walls were covered in a hideous brown wallpaper inscribed with black and red circles that matched the curtains and the brown linoleum on the floor. A bright red plastic cloth covered a small kitchen table, and only two of the four chairs matched. The room was gloomy and smelled stale and unused, and the only light came from a cobwebbed lamp on a table in the corner. “I’m good,” she said, standing up and turning to look out the windows. She was surprised to discover that night had fallen and automatically looked at her wrist, but her watch was missing. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Over four hours…”
“Four hours! What time it is?” she wondered. The last thing she remembered was looking at Prometheus…
Josh handed Sophie her watch, which he’d been holding in his hand. “I was using yours. The battery in mine is dead,” he explained. “It’s just after eight now.” He looked closely at his sister. “Are you sure you’re OK? When I heard the Witch’s voice coming out of your mouth, I thought she’d finally taken you over completely.”
“Don’t worry, Josh. That’s not going to happen,” Sophie said gently. She laughed at his astonished expression. “Nicholas was wrong. Perenelle told me that the Witch’s memories can never take over mine.”
“And you believe her?” Josh said cautiously. He was watching his sister closely. If he half closed his eyes, he thought he could see the faintest hint of her silver aura-and was it his imagination, or was it tinged with just the faintest hint of brown… the color of the Witch of Endor’s?
“Yes. I believe her,” Sophie said.
Josh shook his head. “Soph, be careful. I don’t think we should trust either of them. And the more I learn about Mrs. Flamel, the less I trust her.”
Sophie felt a vague twinge of annoyance at her brother’s caution. Yes, Nicholas was not to be trusted; they’d discovered that he’d kept information from them. But with the Witch of Endor’s memories and knowledge swirling inside her, surely she’d know if Perenelle was lying to her. “Perry was apprenticed to Dora for something like ten years. She said that if the Witch had wanted to take over my thoughts, she could have just done it when she Awakened me.” Sophie smiled at her brother again. “So we were worried about nothing: Nicholas was wrong. I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”
Josh blinked, confused. That didn’t sound right; when Nicholas had been talking to them in London about the power of the Witch’s memories, he’d sounded so sure that he’d even sounded a little frightened himself. “So… tell me, what exactly did Perenelle say?” he asked.
“She told me…” Sophie frowned, trying to remember the exact words. “She said that Nicholas had told us what he believed to be true, and then she added that he was often wrong. She said he makes mistakes. Her exact words were ‘Nicholas is often wrong.’”
“Often wrong?” Josh repeated. “Wow… that’s something-especially coming from his wife.” He sat back in the couch his sister had vacated and tried to absorb this new piece of information. “Can we believe her?”
Sophie shrugged. “I do,” she said simply, then looked quickly at her brother, reading the expression in his eyes. “But you don’t.”
“Why should I?” he asked. “I know you like Perenelle, but don’t let that influence you. I liked Nicholas-really, I did-but once I discovered that he’d been lying to us and that he’d put us in danger, I knew I could never trust him again.”
“That was Nicholas… not Perenelle. She was a prisoner on Alcatraz.”
Josh shook his head in frustration. “Sis, remember, it’s the Flamels-both of them-who’ve been collecting twins for centuries. And we both saw that Perenelle seems to be in charge. I think she’s as guilty as he is. I just don’t trust her.”
“Were you always this suspicious?” Sophie asked.
“This last week has made me think twice about everything and everyone,” Josh said. “What was it Scatty said to us on the very first day: follow your hearts, trust no one…”
“… except each other,” Sophie finished. “I remember.”
“And I’m right to be suspicious. I was right about Nicholas from the very beginning.”
“Yes, you were. But we know so much more now. And I know all that the Witch knows, so that has to give us an advantage. And I know that the Witch trusted Perenelle, so I do too. But Josh, listen to me-if we’re going to survive, we have to learn to trust people.”
“But which people?” he asked, watching her closely, trying to keep his temper in check. Why couldn’t she see that the Flamels were dangerous? “Who do we trust? Nicholas and Perenelle? They’ve both lied to us. Scathach? Even her own sister told us that she’s a liar. Saint-Germain? We know he’s a thief. And Soph, these are supposed to be the good guys. Then there’s Dee, who everyone says is insane, and Machiavelli, who is… well, I don’t know what he is, but I sort of liked him. He was the only one who was straight with me.”
“And don’t forget Gilgamesh,” Sophie added with a small sad smile.
“Well, I liked him, too, but he was crazy,” he reminded her.
“I’m not so sure about that.” Sophie wandered around the room, running her fingertips over the plastic chairs, the Formica tabletop and the squat rectangular box that was the radio. She turned the dial and the radio hissed static that was touched with just the hint of voices. She clicked it off, leaned back against a bulky cream-colored Prestcold fridge and looked at her brother. “Now that I know the Witch’s memories are safe and can’t hurt me, I’ve been trying to remember everything she knew about Gilgamesh… but there are big blanks.”
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