Cursed Sight

by T. G. Ayer

  Or so it feels.

  It takes only moments for Allegra to realize they are in the midst of summoning Apollo’s words.

  Back in the day, it was believed the word of the god Apollo was spoken through an Oracle. In more modern times, it was recognized that it wasn’t truly the voice of Apollo, but rather the Oracle’s own manifested power to access her visions.

  Now Cathenna rocks back and forth and Allegra senses she’d partaken of some kind of calming drug. The man who stands beside her leans close, whispering something in her ear. Cathenna nods and then speaks in a language that most certainly is not Ancient Greek or Latin.

  Frowning Allegra wonders what is going on. Until the man beside her begins to speak, as if he’s read the Oracle’s words. Allegra studies the man. She knows what he is; a translator of the ravings of an Oracle, the man who tells each supplicant what the Pythia has said while within the grasp of the visions.

  Minutes pass and the man speaks again, giving voice to what Cathenna has only mumbled. Allegra is still slowly settling into the dream and is yet to reach the point of understanding the language. But whatever the man has said, the gaggle seems satisfied.

  Cathenna’s mind seems adrift, and Allegra wonders if she’s taken some sort of hallucinogenic drug. Or perhaps even a calmative. She tries to focus on the gathered audience and notices the gaggle has risen from their benches and are being led away by the priestesses attending Cathenna.

  The translator steps over to Cathenna and helps her off the tripod chair. The Pythia’s head lolls and she takes a deep breath.

  “Can you stand on your own?” he asks her softly, his voice gentle as his gray eyebrows wobble.

  Allegra feels a pull of emotion as the Oracle gazes at her translator.

  So that’s how it is.

  The two are in some sort of relationship. The knowledge makes Allegra feel slightly voyeuristic. Cathenna nods and gives him a small smile. “I’m fine.” She isn’t really. Allegra can tell. From the feel of the scene and of Cathenna herself, Allegra has the sense that her current dream is placed much later along the timeline than the previous one.

  She’d come to an understanding of the whole concept of the vision—that it is no dream, but rather a visit to the past via the Pythia bloodline.

  Or something akin to that. It seems a more reasonable explanation than a mere dream. And should she believe such a wild theory, then it means there is a reason for her trip to the past.

  She just has to figure out what that reason is.

  Cathenna steadies herself and takes her translators arm, allowing him to lead her away from the Oracle’s room and out into the Naiskos, the true temple of Apollo within the complex.

  As Cathenna grows stronger on her feet, she lets the man’s arm go and sighs with relief. “I hate that herb.”

  “I know,” he murmurs, “But you must keep up the pretense. Nobody is to know that your visions are your own. Should they even discover that what you see is certainly not Apollo’s message, you would no doubt suffer the consequences.”

  Another sigh. “I know. It is just difficult. I may be getting too old for this.”

  He moves to rub her back and she lifts her hand to stop him. Again, Allegra feels a rush of love for this man, and frustration ripples through her that she doesn’t even know his name.

  Thrasius.

  Allegra hears the name as if it is a thought she’s had on her own, as if she’s read something aloud, and she is listening to the word echo within her mind.

  She frowns—or tries to, and fails because Cathenna isn’t frowning—and forces herself to remain calm and still. Is Cathenna communicating with her? If she is, then Allegra needed to pay closer attention.

  She just isn’t sure how to.

  Cathenna’s voice filters through to Allegra. “We must be careful Thrasius. The children . . .” Before Cathenna could continue, the gaggle descends upon the couple, all smiles. Following closely is a horde of revelers, drumming on small toubeleki and clanging on zill, the sharp sound made by the finger cymbals making Allegra flinch.

  The crowd pushes against them and Thrasius tries to guide Cathenna aside, but they and the gaggle of senators are shoved along with the horde. Cathenna stumbles, tripping up a couple of revelers. In the confusion, Allegra loses sight of Thrasius. She feels a wave of fear from Cathenna and tries to send the other Pythia good thoughts.

  A rush of gratitude fills Allegra and just as she begins to smile, fierce hot pain flares at the back of her ribs. Cathenna stills as she crouches, curving her body against the stampede feet.

  Allegra tries to look around but she is limited to what Cathenna is looking at. Allegra focuses, finding her vision directed at a pair of sandaled feet a few yards to her left. Cathenna glances upward and as Allegra’s vision fades she catches sight of two significant things.

  A thin stiletto-bladed knife still glistening red with blood.

  And the face of a man so familiar to Allegra that her stomach twists with the urge to throw up.

  When blackness takes her, Cathenna whispers in her ear, “Beware, my child. Do not make the mistakes I have. He will come for you.”

  And then the darkness intensifies, becoming so opaque and so filled with nothing that Allegra screams out in terror.

  And as she sinks into oblivion, the face of one man shimmers in her mind.

  The High Priest of the Society of Hermes.

  The ancestor of the eminent Lord Langcourt’s has murdered the Pythia Cathenna.

  And there is nothing Allegra can do about it.

  Chapter 23

  Allegra woke up in agony, her low moans drawing Max’s attention from outside her room.

  He came running, barreling into the room, his face twisted in fear. “You’re awake,” he said, his eyes wide and empty. There were dark circles accenting his pale, almost gray skin, and she realized he must have been worried.

  But she couldn’t spend any further time thinking about what Max felt because she was more focused on the fierce stabbing pain in her back.

  “He stabbed me,” she groaned as she moaned, then tried to clutch her back. The location of the pain made it difficult and she realized the killer had been smart.

  “What? Who?” Max stared around the room, frantically searching the corners, the window and even spun on his heel to scan the bathroom.

  “No . . . not here,” she whispered.

  She watched the pieces slip into place as Max understood what she meant. But before he could say a word a new voice echoed around the room. “Allegra? You’re awake. Oh, thank Apollo.” Celestra breezed into the room, hurrying to Allegra’s side as Max rounded the bed to check her back.

  Allegra couldn’t respond to the other woman, the pain from Cathenna’s knife wound still filling her back and chest, and only worsening as Max probed her ribs with his fingers.

  “What’s wrong?” Celestra’s voice held a note of fear as she studied the agonized expression on Allegra’s face

  Allegra inhaled slowly, and turned to look at Max whose expression was one of stunned confusion. He held out his fingers, showing the stained tips to Allegra.

  Despite the pain she wriggled into a seated position and stared at his fingers. “But it was just a dream.”

  He wiggled his fingers. “Clearly not. We need to get you seen to.”

  Allegra shook her head.

  “If you are bleeding then the wound could be dangerous.”

  “How much blood?”

  Max bent to inspect her back, lifting her night shirt to study what Allegra assumed was a knife wound. He grunted then dropped the hem and sat back.

  “That is odd.”

  “What’s odd?” both Allegra and Celestra asked in unison.

  “There is no wound. Just blood staining your skin.”

  “That is weird.” Allegra wasn’t sure how to deal with that. “Nothing very small, near invisible?”

  Max shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Allegra sat back against t
he pillows, trying to figure out what had just happened. Celestra stood beside the bed, her confused expression echoing what Allegra was feeling.

  Allegra looked up at the other woman, unsmiling. She just couldn’t muster the energy to fake a smile. “I’m sorry, Celestra. Things must be a little strange for you.”

  Celestra shrugged. “It’s okay. I expect strange when it comes to people who can see the future.” She smiled. “And it’s Les.”

  “Les?” Allegra found herself lost for a moment.

  “Call me Les. I’ve always found Celestra a bit of a mouthful.”

  Allegra let out a soft laugh. “Sorry. Brain’s a little fuzzy right now.” She glanced up at Max wondering if she should be mentioning anything in Celestra’s—Les’s—presence. Max appeared noncommittal, not even giving Allegra the courtesy of a nod.

  Annoyed, she shifted to move her feet toward the edge of the bed. When Les gave her a questioning glance, Allegra said, “You’re willing to fetch me a bedpan—or a diaper—I need to pee.” She raised an eyebrow.

  Les chuckled making Allegra smile. At least Les had a sense of humor. Allegra got to her feet slowly and walked to the bathroom under her own steam.

  She’d been terrified to touch . . . Les—she was going to have to get used to the new name. She wasn’t ready for another vision. Not right now.

  In the bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Although hard to accept, she had to face the fact that her time spent with Cathenna was no vision. It was no dream, or anything summoned by fatigue, stress or drugs.

  Allegra reached out and placed her fingers on the mirror. She’d traveled back in time. As unlikely as it sounded it was true. And she’d experienced Cathenna’s death first hand.

  And she’d been unable to do anything about it.

  Guilt threatened to drown Allegra, to take all the breath from her lungs and leave her with nothing.

  She gripped the porcelain of the washbasin, and clenched her eyes shut. There, against the screen of her eyelids she saw the face of Cathenna’s killer. A face that looked exactly like Lord Langcourt, High Priest of the Order of Hermes.

  Langcourt’s ancestor had murdered a Pythia. It was no wonder that Langcourt wished to continue the tradition.

  Allegra let out a soft groan; partly from pain, partly from frustration but mostly from grief. She’d felt an inexplicable affection for Cathenna, a woman she’d connected with over the space of centuries.

  That fact made no sense at all, and yet it made total sense to Allegra given that she was still suffering the pain from the deadly wound inflicted upon her by Langcourt’s forefather.

  She needed to speak to Max about the details, about Thrasius, Cathenna’s husband and about the Pythia’s horrible death.

  Straightening, Allegra pushed her hair from her face and inhaled deeply, shoving against the pain in her back. She had to get past it. She refused to let it control her, to be debilitated by her reaction to the whole experience.

  Come what may she planned to do something about Cathenna’s murder. She wasn’t sure if Pythias had always been complacent, or if they’d had their own ways to protect against, and investigate such horrific crimes against their order, but having no knowledge or education on the subject, she was going to have to take the matter into her own hands.

  Allegra used the washbasin to support her weight as she turned and moved to the door. Inside the room, Max was pacing while Les remade the bed.

  Allegra walked to the closet.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Max’s voice was sharp.

  Allegra glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t waste time wallowing in misery and injury. There are things I need to do.”

  “Would you at least rest for a minute? Whatever it is you need to do can surely wait until you have rested a bit. We can get you what you need.”

  Allegra stopped and turned, taking in Max’s haggard expression, the coarse stubble on his chin, Les’s disheveled hair and creased dress. The sight of her two rumpled nurses gave Allegra pause.

  Surely if they could sacrifice their own time and energy on her, she could at least take a small breath. Cathenna’s killer was dead, but his descendant was alive and while he still drew breath she wasn’t about to allow him to get away with his attempt to kill Allegra herself.

  With a small nod she returned to the bad and sank onto the mattress.

  She lifted her hands as Les drew the covers over her lap. As she relaxed her hands, her forearm bumped into Les’s wrist and the room twisted and disappeared.

  Chapter 24

  When Allegra opened her eyes she’d expected to see the hovel in which she’d first found Les’s body. Instead she found herself staring at a red-and-creme marble floor where a drop of dark red blood glistened in the pale moonlight streaming into the room through a trio of floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Pale curtains billowed inward, color stripped in the light of the moon. A frigid breeze invaded the room, bringing with it a chill enough to turn Allegra’s bones to ice.

  Outside, the sky was heavy with dark clouds swollen with rain. The clouds clustered together leaving oddly shaped gaps through which the fragmented moonlight shone so brightly it hurt to look at.

  Allegra straightened and focused on the floor before her again, her attention on the glistening drop of blood. Slightly oval in shape it had a tiny outward point to one edge, indicating its owner had been moving in the direction of a room across the living area in front of Allegra.

  Allegra wanted to look away but she knew if she didn’t commit it all to memory she wouldn’t remember.

  Without realizing it she began to describe everything around her out loud, hoping it would remain in her memory long enough for her to remember when she came back to consciousness.

  She followed in the wake of the droplets, hoping they would lead her to something that made sense. Through the room Allegra moved, studying the marble floors and the trail of droplets as it led her all the way to the bathroom.

  At the threshold Allegra paused, her foot almost flattening a little blue stuffed bear. Its beady little pink eyes stared back at her but she barely paid it any attention.

  She was focused on finding Les—because she’d assumed this would be a vision of Celestra’s future considering the other woman had been the one to touch Allegra’s bare skin.

  But everything was different and Allegra had a strong suspicion that the dream was something else. Could it be a vision like the one she’d had of Cathenna, traveling all the way back two thousand years?

  Allegra studied the room, comfortable that everything was as modern as it ought to be.

  She shook her head sharply—or perhaps she only imagined doing it—and focused on the empty room.

  The clouds had shifted, and a blanket of darkness had fallen almost instantly upon the room, but Allegra’s eyes didn’t require adjusting to the change in the light.

  On the marble tiles of the bathroom floor ran a trail of droplets, leading Allegra through and into the bedroom beyond.

  And Allegra came to a sudden halt, her legs turning to stone, refusing to move any closer.

  Here too the windows had been flung wide open, the curtains gusting, billowing inside, almost obscuring the woman who lay half inside and half on the balcony.

  She lay deathly still, her white satin gown spread out almost as if she was in flight. One arm lay on the floor beside her head, so innocently, as if she lay there asleep, resting inches from her face, fingers curled and half opened.

  The other hand lay at her side, a long shard of glass within her grip. Blood coated her fingers, her tight grip having bitten down so hard on the jagged shards, drawing blood enough to coat the tiles beneath her hand.

  Allegra forced her body to move, forced her consciousness to live this vision through. It was only a vision. Only a glimpse into the future.

  It’s not real.

  Allegra shifted closer to the body, angling just so, hoping to identify the woman as someone other than Les. Ha
d she not know the woman so well, not spent so much time with her in the last few days, she could have easily not recognized her.

  But she did know her.

  Despite the swollen flesh around both her eyes, the bloody broken skin on her cheekbones and the torn lips.

  Les lay dead on the floor at Allegra’s feet.

  Her head lay at an odd angle and one more step to Allegra’s right and her eyes widened. Celestra’s neck was a gaping, bloody mess. Someone had slit her throat open, the amount of blood—now obsidian stains in the light of a heartless moon—confirming it as the death blow.

  They’d beaten her within an inch of her life, and then slit her throat.

  This wasn’t supposed to have happened. They’d warned Les, she’d listened, agreed to go back to the States. So why was she still dead in the future?

  Allegra took a breath and found her vision fading. Just before she closed her eyes her fading gaze fell on a small object lying beside Celestra’s bloodied hand.

  A small pink blue-eyed toy bear drenched in blood.

  Chapter 25

  Allegra blinked, regaining her senses as the room came into focus. Her heart raced, only slowing when she recognized her room at the embassy. She pushed herself to sit up and stared around her, her attention focusing first on Max and then the shadow of Les’s form in her peripheral vision.

  She tilted her chin to meet Max’s gaze and he moved to sit at her side, setting a writing pad and pencil onto the mattress beside him. His spine was rigid, his features tight and dark.

  “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice a rumbling baritone, far deeper than his normal speaking voice.

  Allegra frowned. “What’s the matter? Did something happen while I was asleep?”

  He shook his head and shifted closer, placing his hand on her forehead. She swatted his fingers away. “I’m not sick, Max.”

  “I don’t expect you to be. I just want to be sure, okay. So relax.” His tone was firm, a little too sharp if you asked Allegra. Scowling she submitted while he checked her temperature, the blood vessels in her eyes and her heart rate.