The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #6) (20 page)

“Please don’t do that,” Nicholas whispered.

“Come on in,” she called up, “the water’s frozen.”

“Yes. And we need to hurry,” the Alchemyst said, climbing over the side of the pier. “It’s not going to stay that way for long. The sea salt will eat away at it.” When he dropped onto the circle of ice, it tipped and rocked. Perenelle immediately stepped over to the other side, balancing it.

The couple stood together, side by side on the frozen patch of sea. All around them the water was still liquid. The Alchemyst rubbed his hands together, as if he was rolling a ball. The smell of mint was almost overpowering. He threw out his arm, casting his green aura in a ribbon that stretched about four feet ahead of them. The aura splashed onto the water and immediately hardened into a narrow ice bridge on
the surface of the sea. Hand in hand, the Alchemyst and the Sorceress stepped onto the crackling bridge.

When they reached the end of the bridge, Perenelle flung out her arm, and a shimmering six-foot length of white smoke formed on the surface of the sea, freezing it.

The couple pushed on in silence, creating stretches of the ice bridge bit by bit before them. Behind them, the salt seawater quickly reclaimed the frozen pathway. This close to the water, wrapped in the ever-thickening fog, they couldn’t see anything, and they had no idea how close they were to the shore. They knew they had moved out into the bay, because the waves were higher, solidifying into beautiful S-shaped patterns. But the surrounding seas were rougher and the ice paths survived for only seconds, barely enough time to allow them to race from one to the next.

Perenelle suddenly squeezed her husband’s hand. Without speaking, he nodded.

Something had splashed through the water off to their left. There was a second and then a third splash. And then, faintly, like the noise from tiny distant headphones, they heard what sounded like a zoo at feeding time and realized they were close to the island.

Nicholas threw down another path. They were just stepping onto it when a monster reared out of the fog.

And then a second and a third.

Nereids.

They surged out of the fog in flashes of wild green hair, ragged teeth and flashing claws, descending on the two figures on the melting strip of ice in the middle of San Francisco Bay.

T
he Nereid was huge.

Unlike her two green-haired companions, she was bald, and a long, ancient white scar and puckered indentations ran across one side of her face, leaving one eye a milky globe. Mouth open in a gargling scream, the scarred monster rose on her tail, arm raised, and jabbed a wickedly spiked stone trident directly toward Perenelle.

The Sorceress jerked backward and her feet went out from under her. She crashed onto the ice, which immediately split in two. Salt water poured in.

Nicholas flung a handful of green aura into the creature’s face. The seawater covering the Nereid froze in crackled sheets from her head, across her chest and stomach and down to her tail, turning her into a solid block of ice. The Alchemyst wrenched the trident out of the creature’s claws a moment before the weight of the ice flipped her, head over tail,
dragging her beneath the choppy waves. He jabbed the trident at a Nereid scrabbling to climb onto the ice. It floundered back into the water, tail thrashing.

Still lying on her back, Perenelle kicked out at the third creature, which was trying to drag her into the water. She sprayed slivers of ice into the Nereid’s eyes but it continued to crawl out of the sea, long nails digging into the ice path.

And then Nicholas splashed it with his aura. The Nereid instantly turned to a block of ice, but the weight of the creature snapped the path in two again, leaving Perenelle on a tiny rectangular section of fast-melting ice.

And the waters around them were coming alive with Nereids.

Pressing his hand to the scarab around his neck, Nicholas drew upon his reserves of strength. His splayed fingers sent thick streamers of green aura across the sea. Instantly a crystalline emerald carpet coated the surface of the water, trapping the Nereids beneath. They howled and hammered on the frozen surface.

Perenelle leapt off her tiny fragment of ice just before it melted. She landed on the green carpet and slid across the frozen sea. Nicholas stretched out the trident and she caught it, almost pulling him to the ground.

The frozen green carpet shattered and the sea around them boiled with the savage mermaids, waves frothing and foaming with green hair and fish tails.

The Sorceress pointed off to the left. “The island is this
way.” She snatched the spear from her husband’s hand and swung it at a razor-toothed Nereid that launched itself out of the water. The creature squealed as the stone blades sheared off a hank of green hair; then it hit the ice on its back and spun back into the waves. Perenelle jabbed at another. The creature flipped head over tail in an attempt to get away from the weapon, but Perenelle caught it a glancing blow across the side of the head. The Sorceress swung the trident again. It hummed with raw power, leaving the stench of fish in the air behind it, and she suddenly remembered where she’d seen it before: in the tunnels beneath Alcatraz in the hands of the Old Man of the Sea.

“This is Nereus’s trident,” she called to Nicholas. “I wonder how he came to lose it.”

“Not voluntarily, I’ll wager.” Her husband grunted. With his hand pressed to the scarab on his chest, he focused on creating another length of the ice bridge, but he was weakening fast. The ice was thinner, cracking even as they ran across it. “I can’t do this much longer.”

“We’re nearly there,” Perenelle shouted over the thrashing creatures in the sea around them. Although she was trying to save the remainder of her aura, she knew they had little choice if they were to survive. She recalled a little spell she’d learned from Saint-Germain—something effective that wouldn’t take too much power. Thick liquid leaked from her palms and soaked into the gray stone trident, turning it a deep red, then a dark, almost blackish blue. The Sorceress plunged the trident into the waves and the color leaked into
the water like oil. She churned the spear, sending twists of ink out into the sea.
“Ignis,”
she whispered.

The sea popped alight, pale blue-red flames dancing across the surface of the water, illuminating a scattering of seaweed-covered rocks. Directly above the rocks was a low rust-streaked wall topped by a metal fence. Looming over the fence, surrounded by trees and bristling cacti, was a huge flaking wooden sign:

With the last of his strength Nicholas threw his aura over the stones and watched it freeze into a series of crude steps. Then he held out his hand to his wife and helped her over the slippery stones. The trident’s blade sheered through the fence and the couple crawled on all fours up to a damp and narrow footpath beneath the sign. They collapsed, rolled over onto their backs and looked up at the flaking sign.

“Welcome to Alcatraz,” the Alchemyst said. Exhausted and shaken, they climbed to their feet and collapsed once more onto a wooden bench. In previous years, tourists would have seated themselves on the very same benches to look out across at the city and bridge. The couple sat for a moment, catching their breath, and then Nicholas turned to look at his wife. The fog gave her face an almost unearthly appearance,
making it even more beautiful than usual. “I’ve just realized something,” he said in archaic French.

Perenelle nodded. “I know.”

“We’re not going to get off this island alive, are we?”

“No, we’re not.”

H
ekate, the Goddess with Three Faces, sat in the throne room of the living tree.

The room was surprisingly small, little more than a round antechamber scooped out of the Yggdrasill. The chamber had been waxed and polished to a mirrorlike sheen, and a stunted gnarled branch had been shaped and worked into an ornate throne. The walls were bare, and the only item in the room was a white candle as thick and as tall as an adult human, positioned to the right of the throne. The warm yellow flame was protected by an enormous crystal globe. The top was open, and an almost invisible trail of black smoke had left a perfect circle on the ceiling above.

Prometheus stood to the left of the throne, arms folded across his massive chest. Scathach had taken up a position beside the door, with her back to the wall. Palamedes mirrored her position on the opposite side of the door.
Shakespeare stood by the window, mouth agape as he looked down into the heart of the tree. He was scribbling shorthand notes on a scrap of yellowed paper with the chewed stump of a pencil. Hand in hand, Joan and Saint-Germain stood before the throne and looked at the Elder.

Hekate had aged with the day.

Her Change was unique: she was a young girl in the morning who slowly turned into a mature woman in the afternoon and rapidly aged into an old woman as the day wore on. The ancient woman was laid to sleep in a long, narrow, hollowed root of the Yggdrasill, and with the dawn she was young again. The young girl who awoke in the morning had no knowledge of the woman she had been the previous day, and the old woman she became in the evening forgot all that had transpired during the hours of sunlight. Only the mature woman, who ruled during the afternoon hours, when the sun rode high in the sky, had complete knowledge and comprehension of the other aspects of herself. She was inextricably linked to the tree, and the tree was older than the Shadowrealm, its origins long lost in the mists of history. Many believed that it was sentient.

“I have but moments, and there is much that must remain unspoken,” the white-haired woman on the throne said. “I’m aging fast, and in a few minutes, I may not even know who you are.” Her teeth flashed white against her dark face in a smile, but no one laughed. They knew she wasn’t joking.

“Events are moving to a conclusion,” she said quickly, looking from face to face. “I do not know who most of you are—though your coming was foretold by Abraham, and that
is good enough for me. The Mage told me that humani from the Time to Come would arrive to stand with us, to fight for the survival of my world and the future of theirs.” Rainbow colors shimmered iridescent, flowing up the length of her dress. “We live in dangerous times. I have been told, though I do not fully comprehend it, that in this particular time stream there exists an opportunity to shape the future and remake everything. It sounds remarkable, outrageous, even, but then, we live in the age of the extraordinary. It appears that others are attempting to reshape the future to their particular needs. Abraham and Chronos have assured me that if those others succeed, then untold billions of lives will simply cease.” She shook her head. “I will not allow it.”

“So you are preparing for war,” Scathach said. “We saw the troops mustering.”

“Not a war. A rescue mission. Though I fear it will not end well.” The aging woman turned to look at Prometheus. “Is all in readiness?”

“Yes, my lady.” The Elder nodded. “We await your command.”

The first wrinkles had appeared on Hekate’s face: creases on her high forehead, almost invisible against her black skin. She frowned and the lines deepened. “Do you know the greatest gift a parent can give to a child?” she asked, looking around the room.

No one answered.

“Independence. To allow them go out into the world and make their own decisions, travel their own paths. We Elders inherited a paradise from the Archons and the Great Elders.
We have not treated it well, and it is clear to everyone with eyes to see that this world is doomed if we continue as we are. And we will continue—there is no appetite for change. Do you know the greatest mistake a parent can make?” she asked.

No one moved.

The Elder looked around the room again. “Have any of you children?” she asked.

William Shakespeare stepped back from the window. “I had. Two girls and a boy,” he said proudly.

“You are the storyteller, the Bard?”

Shakespeare nodded. “I was once. A long time ago.”

“Tell me, then, storyteller—what is the greatest mistake a parent can make?” she asked.

“To believe that your children will be just like you.”

Hekate nodded. “The world is changing. It belongs to the next generation.” She reached out and rested a hand on Prometheus’s arm “It belongs to humankind. But there are Elders led by Isis and Osiris or those who follow Bastet who cannot conceive of a world they do not rule. So they have schemed to remain in control. They will destroy us. All of us—Elder and humans alike. And that I will not allow.” The rapidly aging woman stood. “Earlier today, just as I grew into this form, I learned that Bastet and Anubis have moved against Aten. The end must be very close indeed. It is time.”

The faintest vibration trembled along the height of the Yggdrasill, a buzzing that shivered up through the thick wood. The candle flame danced. Prometheus immediately leaned over, lifted the glass globe and extinguished the flame between thumb and forefinger.

Hekate dipped her head and held up her right hand. “Listen,” she whispered.

“Will, what’s happening out there?” Palamedes called.

“The lights are going out,” the Bard whispered, looking into the empty heart of the tree. “Leaves are falling like snow.”

One by one, all the lights in the World Tree winked out. Voices stilled.

The creaking, cracking, and sighing of the Yggdrasill were clearly audible.

“She is in pain,” Hekate whispered.

A second vibration rattled through the tree.

“Earthquake,” Scathach whispered. She felt it tremble up her spine.

“They have become increasingly regular in the last few days,” Prometheus said. He made no move to relight the candle. “Also in the last few days, Elders—and even some Great Elders—have returned from their Shadowrealms and congregated in the Earth Shadowrealm. It has been many centuries since so much power was gathered together in one place.”