The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #6) (24 page)

“When in doubt, we follow our hearts. Words can be
false, images and sounds can be manipulated. But this …” He tapped his chest, over his heart. “This is always true.”

Sophie looked at him, eyes wide in surprise and admiration.

“Someone told me that,” he added quickly, a touch of red on his cheeks.

“Flamel?” she guessed.

“Dee.”

The sliding glass door opened and Isis and Osiris appeared. They were dressed in plain white ceramic armor and were each carrying two swords, one in each hand.

“They look like they just stepped out of
Star Wars
,” Josh muttered. He began to hum the Imperial March under his breath.

His sister bit her lip and tapped him with her pointed shoe to make him stop. Something told her that laughing wouldn’t go over well.

Isis and Osiris stopped before the children—Isis before Josh, Osiris in front of Sophie.

“You look magnificent,” Isis said. “You will make a wonderful impression.”

“You look like rulers,” Osiris agreed. “And every ruler needs a sword, a symbol of authority and power. And it is only right that the twins of legend should each have two swords—twin blades.”

Isis lifted the two swords she held. They were almost identical; the details on the leather-wrapped hilts differed in subtle ways. The swords were each about twenty inches long and were shaped from a single piece of glittering gray stone.
“Old these are, older than the Elders, the Archons or even the Ancients. It is said they were shaped by the Earthlords, but I doubt it: they worked in different materials. These swords have had many names down through the millennia, and have been worn by emperors and kings, carried by knights and simple warriors. But they have always been yours, Josh.” She held the two stone swords high and sun shimmered off the blades. “Here is Clarent, the Sword of Fire, and this is its twin, Excalibur, the Sword of Ice.” Isis moved around behind Josh as she spoke and slipped the two swords into the empty sheaths on his back: Clarent on the left, Excalibur on the right.

“And you Sophie, have Durendal, the Sword of Air, and Joyeuse, the Sword of Earth,” Osiris said, slipping the weapons into the empty silver sheaths on the girl’s back. “These are the weapons carried by the rulers of Danu Talis for generations. Now you have them.”

Isis and Osiris stepped back. “I have dreamt of this moment for millennia,” Isis whispered. “The moment when the twins of legend would stand before us in the armor of the Lords of Danu Talis.”

“Come now,” Osiris said, “let us go claim your birthright.”

H
e was Aten, Lord of Danu Talis.

Yesterday, he had ruled over the greatest empire ever to stretch across the earth.

Yesterday, he had been worshipped, honored and respected by millions of people: Great Elders, Elders, humankind and everything else, even the beasts and hybrids paid him homage. In his long life he had achieved so much, but uniting the peoples of the island empire and the world beyond had been one of his proudest achievements.

Yesterday, he had met Death.

And in that moment everything had changed.

He’d been betrayed by his mother and brother, accused of treachery, captured and cast into a cell deep below Tartarus, the fortress prison. There was a single cell on this level: a circular stone cage on a round island in the middle of a
bubbling lava pool. The only way on or off the island was via a stone bridge that it took three huge anpu to lift and set in place. The furnacelike air was almost unbreathable, filled with particles of burning stone and grit. Lava frothed against the edge of the island, splashing it with long streamers of molten rock. Aten had not been burned yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

Under normal circumstances, no prison would have been able to hold Aten. He was incalculably powerful and, as the Lord of Danu Talis, had studied in the great libraries all across the world and into the Shadowrealms. He had the largest collection of Archon and Ancient lore in existence and had conducted experiments that would have appalled his subjects and frightened even his closest friends.

Under normal circumstances, he would have shattered the bars, turned the lava to a velvet carpet and strode to freedom.

But these were not normal circumstances, and in truth, he had allowed it to happen. When Anubis, his brother, had come for him with the anpu guards, Aten could have destroyed them all, reducing them to dust motes. But he had not. He had surrendered and allowed himself to be taken and chained.

The bracelets on his wrists and ankles and the chain wrapped around his waist were composed of iron surrounding a mercury core. Most Elders were allergic to iron, and those who had undergone the Change were especially susceptible to it. And the Change had been working on him for a
long time now. Unlike his brother and mother, who had become beastlike, Aten retained mostly human features but they had altered subtly: his skull, nose and jaw had elongated, his lips had thickened and his yellow eyes now had a pronounced slant.

Aten could feel the poison leeching into his skin, and it took all his strength and aura to try to counteract the fire coursing through his body. But his strength would not last much longer, and then the iron would overwhelm him. He would die in absolute agony. A smile curled his thick lips. Of course, he would probably be cast into the volcano before then.

A massive door clanged.

On the other side of the lava pool, a rectangle of white light appeared. Two irregular shapes moved into the doorway and stepped to one side, and then three huge anpu appeared. Aten stepped up to the bars, taking care not to touch them, and squinted across the dancing waves of heat shimmering off the red-black lava. His pupils went from circles to horizontal lines.

The anpu took up their positions and maneuvered the long narrow stone walkway out across the lava. It locked into position with a shudder that vibrated through the prison cell, and two figures set out across the narrow bridge: one a short man in the leather apron of a jailer, the other taller, wrapped in a white robe and wearing a straw hat.

Aten recognized the jailer, Dagon, first. He belonged to one of the water races from a nearby Shadowrealm. He wore large leather and crystal goggles to protect his bulbous eyes
from the heat. When he spoke, two rows of tiny ragged teeth were visible behind thin lips.

“Visitor for you, Lord Aten. Five minutes,” he said, then stepped away and turned to walk back across the bridge, leaving the second character alone at the cell.

“I am surprised you were able to bribe Dagon,” Aten said lightly. “The Fish Folk are considered incorruptible.”

“I did not bribe him,” Marethyu said. “I told him his future.”

“At least he has one.” Aten smiled without opening his lips.

“I told him that in ten thousand years’ time, he would find himself in a river battling an undefeatable warrior, and that he should say my name and she would free him.”

“And he believed you?” Aten asked, surprised.

“I am Death. I have no need to lie.”

“And did you tell the anpu their futures too?”

“They have none,” Marethyu said shortly. “But no, I did not.” The curve of a metal hook appeared beneath his white cloak. “It was far easier to ensorcel them. They are primitive creatures, and the spell will leave no trace.”

“Are you here to free me?” Aten asked.

“I can if you wish,” Marethyu said.

“But it is not part of your plan, is it?”

“No, it is not. But I can still free you if that is what you want.”

Aten ignored the question. “Tell me what is happening,” he said.

“As soon as the humans of Danu Talis heard that you had
been taken, they began to gather outside the prison and the Temple of the Sun. There have been some disturbances. There will be more,” he promised. “You are well loved.”

“I should have done more for them,” Aten muttered.

“You did enough. Your imprisonment has angered your subjects and your friends. Hekate has sent the People of the Tree to free you. They are led by Huitzilopochtli. They are not many, it is true, but they are enough, and it will encourage the people to rise up.”

“And if the people don’t?”

“They will,” Marethyu assured him. “I have given them a voice. Someone to speak for them. The only real variables are the twins. Where will they stand?”

“During times of turmoil, it is the nature of children to side with their parents,” Aten said.

“That would change if they were to discover that Isis and Osiris are not their parents,” Marethyu said.

“And they are being offered an empire,” Aten reminded him. “That is enough to tempt anyone.”

“But they are not just anyone. They are the twins of legend.”

“The boy will have the swords,” Aten whispered, “and that is dangerous.”

“The pyramid will dampen its powers,” Marethyu said quietly, and tapped the edge of his hook against the bars, cutting a chip from the stone.

“And the boy is strong?” Aten asked. An enormous bubble of lava popped, turning the air briefly unbreathable, and the Elder coughed.

“Stronger than he thinks. Also, he will be carrying Excalibur. The two swords tend to neutralize one another.”

“What happens now, Death?” Aten asked.

“The Ruling Council gathers. Every Elder that can walk or crawl is here. Bastet and Anubis are waiting, convinced that Anubis will be acknowledged as your successor. And Isis and Osiris are on the way with the twins.”

Aten shook his head. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that meeting.”

“I think you’ll get your wish.” Marethyu smiled. “The first order of business is your trial. It will be left to the new ruler—Anubis or the twins—to carry out your execution.”

“My brother will have no problems with that.” He raised a brow. “I wonder how he’ll react to the appearance of the twins?”

“Not well, I would imagine. And Bastet will be livid!”

M
ist swirled and the Spartoi closed in on the defenseless Niten. Lightning fast, one lashed out at him, catching him a blow on the thigh, and he fell to the bridge with a grunt of pain. He lay flat on his back, looked up at the lizardlike creatures and realized that he was going to die. The immortal felt just the vaguest pang of regret: he had always wanted to die in his beloved Japan. And he had made Aoife promise that if he fell in some foreign country or Shadowrealm, she would bring his body back to Reigando in the southwest of his country. But Aoife was gone. He would never be able to fulfill his promise to rescue her. And he would never rest in his home soil.

“We will kill you slowly,” one of the creatures said, in his young boy’s voice. He stepped up to the immortal and looked down, jaws gaping, ropes of evil-smelling saliva dangling from his teeth.

At that moment a Toyota Prius sailed out of the foggy night and crushed two of the creatures against the bridge. The entire metal structure shook and rang like a bell.

The Spartoi looming over Niten spun in surprise. The immortal pressed his back to the bridge and kicked upward with all his might. Both feet caught the creature beneath the chin. Its jaws closed with a click and it dropped its club, hissing in pain. Niten caught the weapon before it struck the ground and slammed it down on the creature’s toes. The Spartoi screamed like a boiling kettle as it hopped on one foot. Niten brought the club down on the other foot and heard something crunch. The creature keeled over, its screams now so high-pitched, they were inaudible.

A second car, an ancient VW Bug, bounced across the bridge, spraying sparks, and crashed into two more Spartoi.

Prometheus appeared out of the night, a massive long sword held before him in a two-handed grip. Two of the crocodile creatures darted toward him and the enormous blade keened through the air. One Spartoi lifted its shield. The sword rang off it in a detonation of sparks, driving the creature to the ground. The second tried to block the blow with its club. The sword ripped the club from its hands and sent it sailing over the side of the bridge into the water far below. Weaponless, both creatures scrambled back into the fog.

The Elder took up a position over the fallen immortal. “Are you hurt?”

“Give me a moment. Let me heal.” Niten climbed slowly to his feet. The air around him shimmered blue and the fog
was touched with the odor of green tea. Niten’s aura thickened around his waist and in the center of his chest, coating his wounds. “All I need now is a couple of days’ bed rest and I’ll be fine.” He scooped up his fallen short sword.

“No chance of that.” Prometheus grinned. “Let’s get back down the bridge. I’ve got all the cars in place. We can’t let any of the Spartoi slip through.”

Niten limped after the Elder. “Thank you,” he said. “You saved my life.”

“And before this night is out, I have no doubt you will save mine.” Prometheus smiled again.

“I thought you weren’t a warrior,” Niten said.

“I’m not,” Prometheus answered. “But I’ve fought my share of battles.”

“I think I killed one,” Niten murmured. “And the first car you threw got two more.”

“Are they dead?”

“Not sure. But a car did fall on them. The VW took out another two, and I busted another one’s toes. That’s if they have toes,” he added.

“The two I got with the VW—did you see them get up?” Prometheus asked.

“I saw the car hit them—you wouldn’t think a crocodile’s face could show surprise, but you’d be wrong! They went down under it, but they were swallowed up by the fog. They’re probably dead,” he said.

At that moment, the distinctive hood of the VW spun out of the fog like a lethal Frisbee.

Niten’s short sword flashed up and sliced through the
thin metal as if it were made of tinfoil, and the hood spun away in two pieces—one to the left and one to the right. “Maybe they’re not dead,” he muttered.

Prometheus had constructed a deep V of cars across the bridge. The cars had been turned on their sides and were piled two high, with the wheels facing inward. At the bottom of the V was an opening just wide enough for one man.