by Sue Wilder
✽✽✽
The Valley of Cypresses existed in an eroded landscape that spread through several small valleys. The last rains, Semi said, were in November but it rained so rarely no one knew for sure. The trees bore little resemblance to the cypress known to the Etruscans. This grove had been harmed by grazing stock and nomadic herders looking for firewood, and the gnarled trunks were malformed by centuries of drought, looking like odd candelabra reaching toward an empty sky. New trees sprouted near the roots of the old, but as many died as survived, and soon this ancient grove, thousands of years old, would be nothing more than memory.
Lexi paused at every tree she passed, though, placed her palms against the rough trunks and listened to their stories, felt their energies. Two had loved these trees, and they spoke of endless heat and unexpected snow storms, of Zal, coming to sit in their shade while she drew images in the sand. How, after the spring and the autumn rains, the valley floor bloomed with oleanders, reminding the immortal of a distant, Mediterranean home.
Lexi bent her head and whispered, “She was here.”
“Can you find her memories, cara?”
“Only those of the trees. They’re in mourning.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Phillipe said, glancing at the scattered group setting up camp near a guelta. The area was littered with animal dung, and an alternative location was littered with stone. Christan bypassed both and found a sheltered area beneath a cliff where he set up their camp. They were close enough to enjoy the evening around the fire, share the food Amma prepared, skewered lamb chunks and root vegetables. That night, after the tea ceremony, with the addition of coffee and hot milk to ward off the chill, Christan came to Lexi’s tent flap and stepped inside.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand. They slipped outside, whispered words as he led her through the shadows. The moon was rising over a distant rock formation, shimmering in brilliant amber and illuminating the desert sand. Christan led her around the rocks and through a twisted path to the top of the plateau where he paused, then shifted into a magnificent creature of the night. She watched him lope around, scenting the air until he was satisfied. When he returned, he was a man again, and he tugged her against his side.
“It’s safe,” he said. “No creature in sight.”
“Other than you,” Lexi teased as her fingers slid down to find him.
“No.” Christan inhaled deeply, pulled her questing hand aside. “Not yet. I want you to shift.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Here. Now.”
“I can’t.” The idea terrified her.
“Don’t think.” Christan dragged his warm hands down her spine. “Close your eyes and breathe. Imagine yourself in another form.”
His voice soothed the fear, and he was here, proving something to her that had once seemed so important she had been willing to leave him because he'd refused. A blunt finger pressed against Lexi’s eyelids, slid over the curve of her cheek to the hollow of her throat. Warmth followed, tugging every bone and muscle into a thousand silver pieces before reassembling them again into something filled with magic and mystery.
As Lexi peered out through different eyes, she saw Christan’s smiling face. His comforting hands were smoothing over her, keeping her immobile. There were sharp claws instead of fingers, a sleek mink colored pelt and delicate ears that were ultra-sensitive to the sounds of the night. The shift of sand grains. The tiny tumble of rock. The moment was so transient Lexi wasn’t sure it was real before she was back in her human form.
Christan held her close to his heart. Her pulse was pounding and he welcomed every bit of her glorious energy as it flowed into his veins. Lexi had shifted into the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, her exotic body lithe and supple. She’d taken the form of the panther, black and secretive as the night, with the faint swirls of spots visible in the moonlight.
She was the mirror of his soul. And she was not yet Justice, with wings of power spreading from her back. She was safe.
They were both safe.
CHAPTER 30
Early the following morning, the first cave on their itinerary came into view, and moments later three tourists entered reverently: the anthropologist, and the two Canadian students. The girls wandered from one end of the cave to the other, fascinated by the faded but beautiful rock paintings of red antelopes, the thick-horned mouflon, even something that looked like a crocodile. After being warned not to touch the rock art, the students took notes while Millie set up a battered box camera on a tripod, fiddled with a light meter and adjusted the lens before pretending to take photographs. After working for five minutes, Millie discussed her reasons for leaving the group—a special permit, Millie added with regret as she packed the camera into its case. She had been granted permission to enter an unexplored site, a permission obtained with great effort by her academic institution. Only Millie and her husband would be allowed to proceed, as the Algerian government feared exploitation before the cave could be secured. The ascetic following the path of a French hermit would leave with them but planned to separate off after the second day.
Questions were asked, of course, but Millie shrugged, dismissing the curiosity, then walked back into the sun while the Canadians began taking photos of their own. Christan was discussing something with Semi, both men concentrating, and when finished, Semi removed two long-range rifles from the depths of the supply packs. Christan handed one to Phillipe, slid the other over his shoulder so it rested against his back. Lexi helped to fill three backpacks with food and water, and after a brief wave, they left the Canadians with the Tuareg guide and followed a different track.
No one noticed that she left the cameras behind.
Christan took the lead. Phillipe walked beside Lexi, and she smiled at her ability to maintain the relentless pace. Stamina had increased, due, Lexi supposed, to the benefits of the connection to Christan and the added power provided by Three. There was a moment when Lexi paused and looked back along the curving track to the lower valley below. The sky was clean and blue. In the distance, a dull green marked the cypress grove.
“Is your keffiyeh too loose?” Phillipe asked as she tried to adjust the blue material.
“I can never get it wrapped right.”
He made quick work of it, his hands competent as he tilted her head forward, wrapped the final twist and tucked the ends against her nape. Lexi reached out and brushed her fingers across his hand before he drew away.
“I shifted last night.”
“Christan told me.”
“I wasn’t it.”
“I’m glad” He smiled slightly. “Do you wish to do it again?”
“No, but it’s nice to know I could do it in a pinch.”
Phillipe urged her along the path, his long-legged gait steady, and Lexi stretched to match his pace. Her attention was on Christan, though, as he walked ahead of them, moving with predatory grace while every instinct focused on the surrounding landscape. The rifle slung across his broad back glinted a sharp blue in the sunlight and a memory flashed in her mind, of Christan in another time with a sword instead of the modern weapon, walking away from her and toward war.
“Do you have any sense of Two?” Phillipe asked after a short while.
“I get faint traces of her,” Lexi answered. “But there are other impressions. Nomads, bandits. It’s fascinating and alarming at the same time, hard to separate her energy from the clutter.”
“I knew her.” Phillipe smiled. “Two was an intellectual. She enjoyed being alone with her thoughts, as did I, then we’d sit beside the fire and argue late into the night. The world was different then, more volatile, but this was a good place for her, surrounded by the cypress trees.” He looked toward the horizon. “Did you know that many thousands of years ago, the land was lush all the way to the Mediterranean? I wonder what she’d think of this desert now.”
“Gaia loved her,” Lexi said. “She was the Grandmother, with so many stories and a kind heart. I remember that a
bout her.”
“She must have enjoyed you, too.”
“I’d hate to think she only came to make me memorize her drawings.”
“She wanted you to learn, but she wouldn’t have continued to visit if she hadn’t been fond of the child.”
“Christan told me about the idea of the Culsans.”
Phillipe nodded. “The Culsans was considered male, and his female counterpart was known as Culśu. Gods with two faces to see everything. One guarded the doorway to the living, the other to the netherworld.”
“He also told me that when Three talked about the blood bond, about creating a weapon that could wield both justice and vengeance, she meant that I was justice, and Christan was vengeance.”
Phillipe nodded again, his pace slowing. Lexi stopped walking and turned to Phillipe.
“Do you know?” she asked
“If Three knew what Two was doing with that blood bond?” He shook his head. “When she spoke of needing justice and vengeance she was thinking in human terms. Humans have empathy, Lexi, where immortals do not. She wanted the two of you working together, taking the right actions for the right reasons. She was as shocked as we all were to discover there might be magic powerful enough to summon The Two.”
“And is there that kind of magic, Phillipe?”
The academic stared at their back trail, watching a small dust devil rise in the sky. “Zal was a powerful alchemist and not always clear in her thinking toward the end.”
“Then it’s possible.”
“Possible, but not probable. Three is correct when she argues that The Two are beyond immortal control.” Phillipe looked back. “Why are you worried, now, in this place? What do you sense?”
Lexi focused on the horizon. Perhaps memories rising from the earth were causing this tremor of insecurity, the image of Zal, sitting beneath the ancient mourning trees and rocking with a loss so great it shattered the centuries. But those feelings were from another time, from Two. They held no connection to this time, to this life and yet, they smothered Lexi like a shroud, as if magic crouched, waiting to consume her completely, and take Christan with her.
“It’s nothing, really,” she said, starting to walk again. “I think memories of Zal are affecting me.”
Phillipe squeezed Lexi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you feel so overwhelmed,” he said.
He led her around a rough outcropping of rock. Christan stood at the top of the ridge, gesturing toward a dark opening carved in the rocks. Another cave. Lexi walked toward it, placed her hands on the hot stone. When the earth revealed its secrets, Lexi turned and shook her head.
They hiked for several more hours, visited large caves and small, those nearly closed off by rock-fall or filled with the discarded refuse from modern nomads. Nothing resonated. There were only a few whispers, yes, Zal stopped here, yes, Zal passed this way. The rocks grew more distended, misshapen by erosion, sun and wind. Purple smudged the distant horizon. Sunlight beat down with such intensity Lexi pulled the edge of her headdress until it covered most of her eyes. Late in the afternoon, Christan led her toward a sheltered cutback deep beneath the rock. Lexi sat down on the sand, tipped her head back, and sighed.
“Are you tired, cara?” Christan asked as he squatted beside her, holding out a bottle of water. His hand caught the deep bronze of the sun, and Lexi couldn’t help it, she flashed a rueful smile.
“Why don’t you just say it?”
“What?”
“I told you so.” She sipped the tepid water. “There’s nothing here.”
Christan’s expression was indulgent. “Two was reclusive. She was grieving and wanting vengeance.” He tucked a wisp of blond hair beneath the blue keffiyeh, took the empty bottle and tucked it back in his pack. “Two would not have made it easy, cara. But if she left something for you to find, then I know you will find it.”
That night, Christan was asleep beside her when the dream came, and in the morning, Lexi knew where they had to go. It wasn’t far. They walked deep into the Tassili, past a squat gray tree shaped like a tilted umbrella. The sun splashed across the rocks in shades of lavender and orange, and by late afternoon they were circling another sandstone pillar that was thick and heavy at the top. Two walls of gray-veined rock rose on either side of a twisting path. Ahead was a dark opening.
Recognition curled beneath Lexi’s skin and she wanted to enter, to walk right in as if it were her own home, but she held back, waiting for the invitation.
The earth roused itself beneath her feet.
“Gaia,” it said on the wind, “you are welcome here.”
✽✽✽
That same evening, the Calata member known as One entered her secure communications room with a flourish of black silk. Red-soled shoes flashed, reminding her enemies of the blood through which she had walked over the centuries. Her hair was down around her shoulders but there was nothing flirtatious about her expression. Video monitors marched across the wall in neat rows, all of them glowing with images.
The demand for a meeting had been sent out, and every Calata member responded. In centuries past, they teleported to a single location, but technology provided convenience without exposure to unseen enemies. Little trust existed between powerful beings who had known, schemed against, and threatened each other since the beginning of their existence. When the balance of power remained equal the Calata was happy. But this dissension alarmed them, signaling an imbalance in the power they unwillingly shared, and the Calata was not happy.
Six was the first to speak, pointing at Three as if she stood in the room instead of thousands of miles away. “This chaos comes from your boy genius—his fingerprints are all over it.”
“Ethan is here in Seattle,” Three answered back, “trying to discover how you directed my container ship into a typhoon. A crew of ten is in jeopardy as we speak.”
“Your fake missing? Two of my tankers sailed into Tartous and the Russians gave the oil to the damn Syrians!”
“Then why don’t you accuse Five since he controls Syria?”
Three’s outrage was clear while the thuggish-looking Five shouted denials from somewhere deep in his territory, and the streaming, electronic argument continued for five minutes before One intervened.
“Where is Seven, Caitryn?” the Calata member demanded, glancing at the tall woman visible on another monitor. “Still on his walkabout? Did you even try to contact him?”
Caitryn lounged against a desk in what looked like a formal office, her hands braced on either side of her hips. She was dressed in a designer suit that made the most of her unimpressive figure while dark russet hair brushed against her cheekbones. The arrogance in her posture came from centuries functioning as Seven’s primary advisor.
“I’ve been in contact with Riodhr,” she said, mentioning Seven’s enforcer. “Seven refuses to respond to the Calata’s, and I quote, ‘petty arguing that has gone on for centuries.’ I am here in his stead.”
“Only to listen, Caitryn?” Three interjected. “You have nothing to add? You’ve been quite opinionated in the past.”
Caitryn shrugged, a gesture the Calata understood quite well, and Three demanded, “Were any of your computer systems under attack?”
“No,” Caitryn answered smoothly.
“I find that quite remarkable.”
“We have excellent protection, Three, I see to it myself.”
“Or perhaps Seven is the one behind these attacks.”
Caitryn didn’t hold back her smile. “A better answer is that Ethan is not as competent as you think.”
“You are not Calata,” One warned Caitryn, “nor will you ever be. Do not presume to speak with Seven’s voice.”
The woman stiffened at the rebuke, walked behind the desk, clicked the keyboard on a small computer to bring it to life. “I appreciate your accommodation, One. I’ve handled Seven’s business dealings for centuries and I adopted my usual manner. My apologies.”
The woman appeared to be typing out a brief
message, and the arguments continued with shouting and accusations. Speculation ran rampant. Denials became forceful. Agreements were forged, information promised, all disingenuous before the Calata returned to their respective corners. It was the Calata way, and in the end, resolution remained elusive.
But the chaos was sufficient. No one seemed to notice three tourists who had separated from the group and walked on their own, deep into the Tassili, lost in the emptiness of the Sahara.
✽✽✽
It was late, and after a short climb through the rocks, Lexi lost sight of Zal’s cave and began the twisted hike to the top of the cliff, where she could watch another of the Sahara’s legendary sunsets. The rusted orange sun was so brilliant she closed her eyelids until all that remained was the curve of pink light between her lashes. The sun shimmered, fought a last battle with the bands of purple clouds, then retreated over the horizon, leaving the colors of the evening in control. Tranquility rose with the moon, throwing the landscape into otherworldliness, and then the evening air became so disorienting even the sands were quiet, the voices from a long-dead past refusing to speak. Massifs in the distance reached up from a plateau that seemed to stretch to infinity, a sea of sand, rippling from rose to lavender, and Lexi pulled the blue keffiyeh tight against her face, slowly returning to their campsite.
The decision had been made not to enter Zal’s cave until the full light of morning. It had been a long, exhausting day, and Lexi was looking forward to a quiet evening. The cave itself was sheltered within the high cliffs, with a sandy, level area clear of rocks. There was a guelta nearby, remarkably clear and fresh. Water shimmered in the small depression, reflecting the last light of lavender and orange from high streaking clouds while Phillipe set up the tent. Christan had disappeared, scouting the terrain, and once again, when he returned, the assassin and the enforcer would sleep under the stars and take turns guarding Lexi throughout the night.