The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #6) (35 page)

Virginia blinked in surprise. “I’m not a queen.”

“Oh, you will be,” he said confidently. “So here’s what I suggest.”

S
cathach wandered the outskirts of Danu Talis wrapped in a white robe, her blazing red spiky hair hidden under a conical straw hat.

The streets were almost deserted. A few elderly men and women sat in darkened doorways and watched her hurry past. Tiny children in rags played on the unpaved streets and looked at her with wide curious eyes.

Scathach paused by a crumbling fountain and allowed a handful of the brackish water to dribble into her hand. She sipped cautiously; it tasted vaguely of salt and bitter soil. Looking around, she tried to get her bearings. Here, at the very edge of the city, neighborhoods that were little better than slums gradually gave way to bigger homes, and then, farther in, closer to the center of the city, she could see the pyramids, ziggurats and palaces of the nobility rising into the
sky. Beyond them, dominating everything, lay the Pyramid of the Sun.

Turning, shielding her eyes against the dipping sun, she looked into the west. The slanting light was blinding—Huitzilopochtli had deliberately timed the attack so that the sinking sun would help to conceal the arrival of the vimanas and fliers. But she saw them, vague dots against the sky. They would arrive soon.

A scratch of movement made her spin, hands falling to the weapons concealed beneath her white robe. A young girl with huge brown eyes that seemed far too big for her head was standing beside the fountain. She had a younger child firmly by the hand. They were barefoot and dressed in scraps of clothes that had probably never been white. The two children stared up at the Shadow. “Are you lost?” the girl asked.

Scathach looked down at the child. It was hard to tell her age—four or five, perhaps and the younger child was probably two. Crouching down, she looked at the girl, green eyes sparkling. “You know, I think I am. Maybe you can help.”

“Everyone has gone to the prison,” the girl said.

“Aten,” the boy added. He was sucking noisily on his thumb.

The girl nodded solemnly. “Everyone has gone to rescue Aten. He is in prison.”

“Bad men,” the boy said.

“The bad men put him there,” the girl said.

“Do you know which of these big buildings is the prison?” Scathach asked gently.

The girl nodded. Rising up on her toes, she pointed high into the sky. “Can’t see,” she said.

“Maybe if I lifted you …,” Scathach suggested.

“And my brother, too,” the girl said immediately.

“Of course.” Curling her arms under both children, the Shadow lifted them. The girl immediately put her arm around Scathach’s shoulder and brought her face close to her cheek. She pointed toward a sloping flat-roofed pyramid. “There. That’s the bad house.”

“Bad house,” her little brother said.

“Mama says if you’re bad, you’re taken to the bad house. Is that true?”

“Sometimes,” Scathach said. She bent, placing both children back on the ground, and then knelt before them. She ran her fingers through the girl’s hair. She wished she had something to give the child, but all she had—all she ever had—were the clothes on her back and the weapons at her side. “Would you like to tell me your names?” she asked.

“I’m Brigid and this is my brother Cermait. Mama calls him Milbel,” she added with a giggle.

“Honey mouth,” Scathach whispered. She recognized the names from her time in ancient Ireland and Scotland; she knew who the children were and knew also that they would survive the Fall of Danu Talis.

“Are you going to the bad house?” Brigid asked.

“Yes.” Scathach nodded. “There’s someone I have to see.”

“A bad person?”

“I don’t know yet. I am going to find out.”

Cermait tugged on Scathach’s robe and rattled off an incomprehensible sentence. “He wants to know if you are a bad person,” his sister translated.

“Sometimes,” she whispered. “But only to bad people.”

“Who are you?” Brigid asked.

“I am Scathach the Shadow.”

“N
o!” Billy screamed, the sound high-pitched and anguished.

The leaf-shaped blades came to glowing life as they spun through the air, slicing through the fog, trailing spirals of moisture in their wake.

The American saw Perenelle’s eyes widen in shock, and in that moment they both knew she could not escape the blades.

Time slowed.

Hel’s whip lashed out, but she was too far away and it missed.

Machiavelli shouted and flung a wave of gray-white aura after the spearheads, but it stopped short.

Nicholas Flamel roared, green light blazing from his hands, singeing the edges of the spears as they tumbled past.

Juan Manuel de Ayala reached for them, but they cut through him in an explosion of water droplets.

“No …” Billy the Kid staggered and would have fallen if Black Hawk had not caught him. “What have I done?” he gasped.

Time stopped.

And then a figure darted in front of the Sorceress, wrapping arms around her, enfolding her, protecting her.

The spearheads sliced through the cloak of black feathers in an explosion of cold fire. The force of the blow pushed the Crow Goddess into Perenelle’s arms, knocking her off balance and toward Nicholas. The Alchemyst grabbed both women, keeping them upright.

The Sorceress looked into the Crow Goddess’s red and yellow eyes. “Why?” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around the creature, holding her tight, feeling her start to shake. “Why?”

The Crow Goddess rested her chin on Perenelle’s shoulder. “You freed us,” she whispered, teeth chattering. “You released us from an eternity of suffering. In all the years of our long lives, that was the only kindness ever shown to us by a human. That is a gift worth repaying.”

“You saved me,” Perenelle said, voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, we did. It was the right thing to do.”

“And you have always done the right thing,” Perenelle realized with a start.

“We have … though the Morrigan, not so much.” The Elder’s voice grew weaker as she spoke. “Now, Sorceress, you have work to do. Do not let our sacrifice be in vain.”

The Sorceress stroked the creature’s short hair. “If we succeed here tonight, it will be because of you.”

The Crow Goddess was shaking so violently now that Perenelle could barely hold her. The Elder’s voice was changing, flickering between Macha’s and the Badb’s. “And do not think too badly of our younger sister. She was led astray.” She suddenly lifted her chin and looked into Perenelle’s eyes and the Sorceress saw that the once red and yellow eyes had turned solid black. The Morrigan had awakened. Her mouth opened, savage teeth inches from Perenelle’s throat.

Every instinct in the Sorceress told her to pull away, but she continued to hold the shivering creature.

And then the Morrigan’s mouth closed and her black eyes softened. “I hated you for what you did to me,” she breathed, “but no more. Thank you, Sorceress, for reuniting me with my sisters.” Her eyes started to flicker, black and red and yellow, but the colors were fading.

“I will remember you,” Perenelle promised. “All three of you: Macha, the Morrigan and the Badb.”

And then the Crow Goddess crumpled to black dust in the Sorceress’s arms. The only sound in the night was the noise of the metal spearheads clanging onto the stones.

Perenelle Flamel took Billy the Kid by the hands and pulled him up off the ground. The young immortal was shaking and his face was damp. She ran her palms across his cheeks, leaving black streaks of what was left of the Crow Goddess on his white flesh, then caught his chin in one hand and used the
edge of her shirt to wipe his cheeks. “Billy, do not reproach yourself. You did nothing wrong.”

“I could have killed you.”

“But you did not.”

“But I killed the Morrigan….”

“That was not just the Morrigan. That was Macha and the Badb, her sisters. They sacrificed themselves willingly. And at the end, the Morrigan awoke: I do not think she was unhappy. They died together, as one.”

“I reacted,” he whispered.

Perenelle’s fingers tightened on his chin, forcing him to look up. “We will grieve for the Crow Goddess later. Now we should honor her memory and destroy the monsters on the island.” She pressed the two spearheads back into his hand. “You’re going to need these. Come now, let us awaken Areop-Enap.”

Billy’s hand shot out and he grabbed the Sorceress’s arm. Wisps of his reddish aura coiled around his fingertips. “I swear I will protect you for all the days of your life,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you, Billy,” she said. “But my life is now measured in hours, not days.”

“I’ll still look after you,” he said quickly

Perenelle Flamel smiled. “I know you will.”

“I
t shouldn’t be on fire, should it?” William Shakespeare asked, leaning away from the curl of smoke leaking from the control panel.

“No, it should not.” Prometheus grunted. “So why don’t you do something useful and put it out?”

“How?” Shakespeare demanded. He started patting his body. “Do I look like I carry a fire extinguisher with me?”

Palamedes leaned between the Elder and the immortal to rip away a smoking panel, and a tongue of fire shot out, singeing off his eyebrows. “Glad I’ve got no hair,” he said lightly. The flames died down and he peered inside as best he could. “It’s a mess,” he announced. The air filled with the scent of cloves, and a cloud of olive green dripped from his hand and washed over the fire, extinguishing it.

The vimana’s humming engine slowed to a whine.

Shakespeare looked up in alarm, and even Saint-Germain raised his head from his book.

“We’re fine,” Prometheus said as the engine resumed its high-pitched buzzing. “Some of these early vimanas can repair themselves.”

Joan peered through the empty porthole. The city was much closer now, a brown smear of slums and narrow streets giving way to broad avenues and golden terraces, the sparkling circles of canals and the spectacular profusion of assorted buildings. Directly ahead, rising like a solid gold mountain at the precise center of the vast city, was the Pyramid of the Sun. “Where will we land?” she asked.

“I’m going to bring us down on the square, as close to the pyramid as possible,” Prometheus answered. “We need to take up positions on the pyramid to defend the steps.”

Palamedes joined Joan by the window. “Lot of activity down there,” he murmured. “Lots of armor and weapons. We’ll be dropping right into a war zone.”

Joan nodded. “Prometheus, what about landing on top of the pyramid?” she suggested. “It’s flat.”

Palamedes’s teeth flashed in a white grin. “It’s also very sneaky. I like it.”

“Can you do it?” Joan asked.

“I’ll try.”

“What about defenses?” Will asked.

“There will be a handful of vimanas. Whatever survived the attack on the Tor Ri,” Palamedes said, “and some of the wealthier or older Elders will have their personal vimanas, but they’re not armed. Most of Huitzilopochtli’s fliers are going
to try to land in the square before the pyramid. If they can defeat the anpu guards, that will open up the bridges and allow the rest of the people to swarm across the canals. A few of our vimanas and fliers will land on the opposite side of the canals to support the population and engage any anpu there.”

“And what about Aten?” Palamedes asked. “Why aren’t we attacking the prison and freeing him?”

Prometheus shook his head. “Marethyu was very clear about that. He said that the prison could only be attacked by the people of Danu Talis. It had to be their victory or their defeat.”

“I know what he means,” Joan said. “If they can take the prison, it will show the rest of the population what they can achieve. A victory like that will ignite the entire city.”

A series of scattered sparks danced across the control panel. Shakespeare rubbed them out with his sleeve. “How soon before we land?”

“Soon,” Palamedes said. There was a crack and suddenly a rectangular panel fell out of the floor, allowing them to see into the outskirts of the city below. Bitter air whipped into the cabin.

“Not soon enough,” Shakespeare said, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

J
osh rotated his wrists and the edges of Excalibur and Clarent keened as they moved through the air.

“There is an easier way.” Sophie’s hand opened and closed and a ball of silver fire bloomed in her palm. “You really don’t have any idea who we are,” she said to the bear-headed men.

The silver ball sizzled, then fizzed and shrank before popping like a burst balloon.

“And you have no idea where you are,” the huge berserker said, grunting the words with effort. He pointed to the ceiling with the blade of his battle-ax. It was glowing a little brighter than before. “No aura power in the pyramid. The walls drink it.”

“How good are you with those?” Sophie asked Josh, nodding to the swords.

“Not great,” he confessed. “Usually, Clarent does all the
work for me.” He shook the sword in his left hand, but nothing happened.

“Whatever is absorbing our auric power must be draining the swords, too,” she said. Sophie pulled her two swords free. She was carrying Durendal, the Sword of Air and Joyeuse, the Sword of Earth. They just felt like heavy lumps of stone in her hands.

“Pretty toys,” the berserker said. “Four swords. Three of us. I will take two. My brothers will have one apiece.” He pointed to Josh with the black glass knife. “I will take yours.”

The big berserker standing immediately to the warrior’s left suddenly punched him in the shoulder. “I want that one.” He pointed to Clarent.

A dozen strategies flickered through Josh’s head and he knew he was accessing some of the knowledge Mars Ultor had filled him with. He risked a quick glance at his sister. “We need to play for time,” he whispered. “Isis and Osiris have to be back soon.” Then, loudly, he announced, “Clarent is a sword fit only for a leader. So, really, whoever’s the leader among you should have it.”