by T. G. Ayer
The deaths of his family in darkest Alkebulan had been a massacre. Lord Alderman Langcourt, the name by which Langcourt and his family had gone by for the last 200 years since Claudius’ death, and his remaining sons must have stepped on the wrong toes when they’d entered the country in search of their prey.
Elephant hunting was well controlled by the chiefs within each region of Greater Alkebulan, and perhaps more so by the warrior tribes of the Southern half of the continent.
The chief of the local Zulu tribe, a terrifyingly violent people, who had welcomed the family Langcourt with a meal and performance that had given the young Severus chills. His father though had seemed unimpressed, almost dismissive as though he’d seen it all before and the sight had bored him.
As thrilled as Severus was with this incomparable gift his father had given him, the son did experience a moment or two or trepidation. Perhaps an odd pulsing in the gut that seemed to warn him that some of one’s wishes are not meant to be realized.
Their arrival at the port had proved most inauspicious, the ship being tossed about on the seas and almost smashed to smithereens on the rocky approach.
They’d docked at last, to the relief of the brothers who had all experienced an extended bout of seasickness. The elder Langcourt though had appeared immune to such things, standing at the port bow, staring off at the coastline, experiencing what Severus could only describe as an intense melancholy.
The two younger sons, Aquila and Julius, had been on their best behavior, though Severus had to wonder if the pair had somehow contributed to whatever had motivated the massacre.
At the port town, their overnight stay before the trek to the jungle had been filled with drunken carousing in the town, along with an incident with a pair of girls who worked at a local hotel. Severus had rounded-up the boys—who had remained boys in his mind even though centuries had passed—and paid the tavern master off.
The girls he could do nothing about and was only glad to have the caravan head out the next morning. The drive to the jungle’s borders had taken two days of difficult travel over rough terrain and sandy roads peppered with potholes that made for a journey far more nauseating than their recent sea journey.
Though surrounded by trees edged with thorns, and dense bushes, the family had felt safe enough, with the protection of the local tour company and two law officers. Their trip had proceeded much to Severus’ expectation—in that the tracking and shooting of his prized elephant had much resembled what his imagination had created for him over the years.
The result had been a grand kill, one which the tusks would have brought them an astronomical fee. But they’d never gotten to sell it. Not long after the elephant had gone down, and the photograph taken the photo of the four men and their kill, they’d left the site, leaving the tour company to take care of the carcass. The only thing they took with them were the tusks.
Likely the reason the Langcourts had met their end. They’d barely driven a mile away from the site of their kill, when they were beset by a band of warriors who emerged from the trees, dark-skinned, straight-backed, bare-chested. They’d stood in the path of the vehicles, forcing them to come to a stop, then gathered in a large circle, demanding the family along with their guides alight from their vehicles.
Severus had welcomed the opportunity to engage with a local tribe, his interest in anthropologic studying being quite serious at the time. But his desire to understand these people had gone unquenched as the leader in his headdress of feathers and his skirt of skins marched toward his father, raising his spear and slamming it upon his cow-hide shield.
With the guides urging them to remain calm, the Langcourts obeyed the instructions to walk deeper into the jungle, even while aware that the encroaching darkness could be filled with dangerous animals. They’d walked for what had seemed to be hours, though the truth of it Severus would never really know.
At last, they’d come to what appeared to be the border of a cemetery where the men were instructed to dig their own graves. Stunned, though with little choice, they obeyed, well aware that the tour guide and their translator had been taken away. Whether or not the pair would survive, Severus didn’t know and didn’t expect to ever find out.
With the graves dug, the chief began to sing out, and a car drove up moments later, one filled with rocks and driven by two masked men. Mildly curious as to the need for masks when the family was no doubt going to be killed, Severus considered who these strangers could be. Certainly not tribal from their clothing, but with the masks, he could not be sure. The men, along with half a dozen warriors had proceeded to offload the rocks.
It was only later that Severus understood the reasons for the rocks. With little warning, the warriors let loose a round of spears, then a second volley followed, the attackers uncaring of how many spears protruded from their bodies.
The family were all still alive after the brutal attack, and as he lay there on the handpicked soil, he watched as one of the masked men walked along, pouring a liquid first upon his brothers and then his father. The old man struggled, perhaps using the last of his strength, and managed to topple the jar from the masked man’s hand.
Though furious, the man retrieved the jar and emptied what had remained onto Severus, who’d been unable to resist and had shown not an iota of courage. The disappointment was clear in his father’s eyes.
A while later, Severus listened to the cries of his family, long after their bodies had been thrown into their respective graves, and then covered in alternating layers of soil and stones.
Lying there, time passed excruciating slowly, the pressure of the soil and stones seeming to flatten Severus hour by hour, day by day. He’d taken to counting the days by listening to the birds calling at sunrise, and the passing of an elephant herd as they made their way to and from every day.
In the end, Severus had kept track of the passing of time using nature’s cycles. At day ninety-seven, Julius had ceased his calling. Day one-hundred-and-sixteen marked the passing of Albinius.
The elder Langcourt breathed his last at day two-hundred-and-forty-one, much of that time spent voicing his disappointment in his second son, praising the successes of Claudius and claiming Severus was far too much like his mother.
Those ravings soon turned nonsensical and faded away leaving the disappointing coward of a second son to count down until nine-hundred-and-twenty days. After that he’d lost count, growing more and more delirious as time passed.
His release from his stone and sand prison had come as a surprise, a complete accident by the looks of it. A group of people passed by one night, the language they spoke making Severus guess at Frankia, which in the end had been the irony of all ironies.
He’d called out and kept calling until they’d heard his voice and followed it to the grave. The good samaritans had proceeded to dig a filthy, emaciated Severus out of his grave, and had expressed horror at his predicament. They had helped him clean up, given him food, water, and a change of clothing. They had even provided Severus with weapons and a vehicle, although those were not due to their kind generosity.
Severus left the secluded spot, along with the bodies of the three hunters, stripped naked and laid bare for the circling vultures, and drove himself back to the port where he discovered, much to his horror, that he’d been buried in that pit for fourteen years.
Which he’d only found out because he’d gone looking for the tour company who’d sold his family out, only to find they closed for business eight years prior.
In a daze, Severus boarded a vessel up the west coast of Alkebulan to the hideaway island the family had held for almost three millennia.
Home to Akída.
Langcourt blinked as he became aware again of his study and of where he was, the memories of being buried for so many years seeming to overwhelm him for a moment. But it didn’t take long for him to return to his train of thought, and to his suspicion that someone who worked for him was responsible.
His fingers cu
rled into a fist and before he knew it, he’d punched a hole in the wall, cracking the paintwork and sending a shower of plaster and pale yellow flakes to the lush Anatolian carpet.
Langcourt considered that for a moment, his mind flickering with thoughts of possible traitors within his midst. He’d been most careful through his long lifetime, cultivating relationships with people, mutually beneficial partnerships with only one caveat. Very few of his contacts knew who he was, and almost none had ever set eyes on Langcourt’s face.
Seconds later, the door was flung open, a breathless Roquefort skidding to a stop on the threshold, staring around the room, eyes rounded.
Roquefort.
The now ruined man—skin on his face tight and shriveled, half his hair burnt off—had been with Langcourt for most of his mission to kill the Pythia Allegra. The man who’d once attempted to counsel Langcourt against such a murderous choice.
“Was it you?” Severus hollered, anger darkening his vision as he rounded on the man who’d stepped into the study and approached his master, concern in his gaze as he stared at the wall and then at Langcourt's bloodied first.
“Me, my lord?” Roquefort asked, frowning now.
Lancourt lashed out, fingers encircling the man’s throat. “I want the truth. Was it you who gave them the information?”
“No, sir. I swear it was not me.”
Langcourt shook the man hard then raised him off the ground, yelling, “I want the truth. Did you or did you not tip off the Pythia or her team?”
The man struggled in Langcourt’s grip. “No,” he squawked, his eyes bulging as he tried to shake his head. Roquefort gasped, but Langcourt didn’t release the pressure.
But the man’s terror was real as Lancourt stared into Roquefort’s eyes. But even as he came to the conclusion that his assistant was loyal and true, Langcourt heard the clicking beneath his fingers and watched as the man’s eyes rolled and slumped heavily against the death-grip.
Langcourt let go of the man and watched him crumple to the floor, lifeless.
He’d killed Roquefort, but the man had been innocent.
Taking a deep breath, Langcourt strode from the room, a pulsing of regret of the loss of the man. It meant the menial tasks would have to shift back to Langcourt himself.
At least until he could obtain a suitable replacement.
Chapter 36
The land beneath Allegra’s feet shook so violently that she staggered, unable to keep upright. She lost her footing, and fell to the ground so hard she was surprised that she hadn’t broken anything.
There she sat and stared around her, both terrified and aware, knowing what this dream meant. Wherever this place was, Langcourt was playing his game, drawing her to him. And now all she had to do was identify where in the world she was.
She forced herself to get to her feet and scanned her surroundings. Straight ahead of her and about two miles down the hill was a narrow channel, and across a low lying strip of land. To the right, all Allegra saw was ocean in the distance, and to the left, the river widened to a bay that appeared almost as a lake, then disappeared in the distance.
A few yards to Allegra’s left, was a chasm that emitted a rush of smoke, a rift that began to widen the longer the ground shook. Below the hill and along the river’s edge, was a small city, but unless Allegra went down into the streets, there was little chance of her identifying any landmarks. And two miles was a long way away, even if she tried to get there on foot.
Even so, the entire town had begun to shift, undulating at the surface as the land began to shake, as though the very ground had turned to liquid. Allegra gasped, knowing the city itself had little chance.
As she struggled to stay upright, a group of people rushed past, racing to get down the hillside to safety, discarding bicycles and prams as they fled, while the chasm ripped open and widened, following in their wake.
She wanted to yell at them to stop, to stay away from the city, to keep away from the chasm, but it was too late.
Allegra cried, holding back a rush of tears as she looked away. Swallowing hard, she spotted one of the prams and staggered over to it, then crouched beside it, hoping there would be something the family had left behind. All she could see was a company logo, LusiMoro, but nothing else.
Despondent, Allegra got to her feet, unable to look away from the seaside where the city had now vanished into the earth, an open chasm the only thing left, the river surging into its depths like a waterfall.
And she felt the vision beginning to fade.
Allegra lifted her head, feeling the tight muscles in her neck complain loudly. Perspiration covered her skin and she was glad she’d been lying to the side of Lydia’s Codex.
Blinking, Allegra glanced down at the words that had come straight from the woman’s heart, feeling again a pang of pain for the suffering the woman had gone through.
Allegra stared down at the words, a paragraph of sadness in which the Pythia Lydia described her longing for her sons, boys who she’d loved and lost before they had even reached their fifth year.
She read the the names of the little boys, all siblings for the hidden Pythia Kassandra.
Then Allegra shook her head and got to her feet. There was work to be done. And knowing Langcourt, Allegra didn’t have much time.
She prayed fervently that the name on the pram would help them identify the town. Prayed for something, anything that would help them save those innocent people.
And end this war with Langcourt once and for all.
Chapter 37
Allegra was standing on the stone balcony overlooking the valley below the Pythia’s estate, waiting as Max prepared his plan.
She held back a smile as Athena glanced at her and rolled her eyes. Max was rather serious about the whole plan, but Allegra supposed she would humor him.
At last, Max straightened, and looked up at the two woman, a scowl ruining his beautiful features.
Allegra knew they made a strange picture, sitting on the balcony in dark glasses and brightly colored sundresses, the sun blazing down on them. They looked like the most unlikely two women to be involved in a mission to eliminate a notorious killer.
To make matters worse, both women were sipping an unusual drink which the Pythian delegate from Roma had delivered, a bright blue concoction that claimed to be a prosecco.
Interesting, even if a little too sweet for Allegra’s taste. Athena, on the other hand, had knocked back a few already, and if Allegra didn’t watch her ,the demigod would be wasted in no time.
Max cleared his throat. “So LusiMoro is a company that manufactures baby goods, it’s based in Lusitania, which helps us narrow down the country at least.
“What about the description of the bay and the narrow channel with the ocean on the right?” asked Allegra, shaking her foot as anxiety began to built slowly.
“That description has fit only one town that sits in an area known for seismic activity.”
Max handed Allegra a map, and she nodded. “Lusitania, Gallaeci? That definitely looks like the land mass. I was on a higher elevation though, so that would be around here?” Allegra pointed to an area where the green graduated from dark to light to indicate elevation. She tapped the blue label of Nerthallasus. “This would be the ocean I saw.”
Athena downed the remainder of her blue bubbles and clapped her hands, rising to her feet. “So it’s off to Gallaeci?”
Max pursed his lips and then nodded. He glanced over at Allegra. “God of the Oceans? You got a number for him?”
Athena choked with laughter while Allegra rolled her eyes. “No. I don’t believe satellite phones work well when submerged.” She smirked, then said, “But I think I may have a way to contact him.”
“Going for a swim?” asked Max, giving Allegra a suggestive look.
Athena groaned and walked off the balcony. “That’s my cue. You two need to get a room. I can’t believe I’d prefer Mara’s company right now.” And with that the demigod disappeared into t
he villa.
Max chuckled. “It’s so easy to poke fun at her.”
“You shouldn’t take advantage of it. The jaguar does have a dangerous set of claws. And teeth.” Allegra got to her feet, leaving her glass on the table before heading inside. On the threshold, she looked back at Max. “I won’t be long. How much time do you think we have?”
“I don’t think time really matters. Langcourt has set everything in motion already, or you wouldn’t have had the dream. But the point was to draw you out—which he would have catered for if he plans on lying in wait for you—so whether we get there now or in three days it doesn’t matter.”
“What if it does matter, and he initiates the earthquake if I don’t get there in time?”
Max didn’t reply, and Allegra left him to his silence. She passed Les on her way to the lake, the woman waving at her from her archery practice. Over the last few weeks, Les had progressed through the training, proving both to Max and herself that her training in the military had remained within her core.
The team had left her to it, Max and Athena observing the woman’s progress every so often. Allegra had suggested they take her along on the mission to Bali, but Max had insisted she wasn’t ready.
Now, Allegra didn’t bring it up with Max, deciding he would bring Les on when he was good and ready.
Allegra returned Les’s greeting and made her way beyond the villa and down to the lake, hoping that her hunch would pay off.
Water was water, whether salt or fresh. Hopefully Neptune didn’t have a problem with that.
Chapter 38
The team arrived in Lusitania in the early morning, and was greeted by a squall, the sky gray and dull, and hammering the earth with intermittent storms.
“Perfect weather for climbing unfamiliar mountains,” muttered Athena as she laced up her boots while everyone grabbed their bags to get off the plane.