The Ophelia Prophecy (20 page)

In one way it was a blow to Rebelión—the high visibility of the temple made it easier to evangelize. The structure itself was a work of art—the city’s crowning architectural achievement—and that alone attracted plenty of curious visitors.

But the movement had been started via computer network, and much of their recruiting was still managed that way. They also believed public acknowledgment that the Alhambra perceived them as a threat would help more than hurt their cause.

“Does the amir reject religion?” Asha asked as they stepped off the lift.

“He claims to,” replied Micah. “But also the amir’s no fool. He knows the religious aspects of Rebelión serve in part to distract from our political goals. It’s much easier to make religious converts than political ones.”

A group rounded the elevator shaft, and Micah exchanged a few words with them about staggering departures and which exits to use. She had dropped her original notion that Micah was no more than a disciple or acolyte. He was in possession of what seemed like a lot of sensitive information, and Cleo relied on him a great deal.

When the others had gone, he continued, “In our view the amir is the head of his
own
religion. He expects us to worship science. The geneticists have become his demigods. Any beliefs that counter his are viewed as a threat to his power over the city.”

He led her into the secondary tower where she’d first encountered Cleo. The chamber was deserted. They crossed to the curtained corridor, then passed through the entrance to the tunnel.

“Wait for me by the stairway,” he instructed. “I need to seal the door.”

She stepped into the close, dark space and gripped the handrail, thinking.

“I’m confused about something,” she told him as he joined her. “Gregoire, your creator—
he
was a geneticist. Why is there a statue of him on your roof?”

“It’s not science we revile, actually. It’s the way the amir is using it. We believe the purpose of science is to gain a better understanding of the natural world. To better our condition, and make our lives easier. Those applications of science furthered humanity, and they have furthered our civilization as well. But when science is turned to serve greedy gods—profit, conflict, domination—that’s where it falls from grace, unraveling all the good it’s done in the process.”

Asha nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. But I still don’t see where Gregoire fits into all this.”

He started down the stairs, and she followed. “We are his legacy, and we are grateful for our existence. He was a genius—a biology-flavored Einstein. And he was an artist as well. His work on our species began with a sense of wonder. With an exploration of what was possible. For that reason we still consider our genesis to be pure.
Holy
.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “But he grew proud of his creations, and pride twisted into arrogance. In the end he transformed from creator to destroyer.”

She rubbed her lips together, thinking over that last statement. “Are you saying it was true about the virus? The design
was
stolen from his lab?”

“There’s no question. Careful records were kept. It was the beginning of a revolution, after all.”

“Was Rebelión Sagrada opposed to the destruction of humanity?”

“Rebelión didn’t exist back then, but yes, we believe it was wrong. But as I said before, humanity’s offenses were grave. Relocating the transgenics like that…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Dropping them off in the most war-torn spot on the planet and leaving them to kill or be killed—that was a crime against nature if ever there was one.”

Asha shuddered. She knew all this, but the ugly part humanity had played had been downplayed throughout her education. Throughout her
life
. No one talked about the forced migration. The Trail of Terror, her father had called it, referencing the forced migration of native peoples from the southern to the central United States.

“It’s ironic we owe our triumph to that genetic marker,” he said.

She frowned, remembering Pax had mentioned this once. “Why is the genetic marker significant?”

Micah’s brows lifted. “Do you know why it was used?”

She shook her head. “I know it was required for all transgenics.”

“Yes, all the ones in the licensed labs, anyway. It was meant to be a safeguard.”

“From what?”

“The governments believed they could use it to wipe out the scientists’ creations if necessary. Instead, Gregoire used it to target humanity.”

The silence of the underground pressed in around them as she absorbed this.
Humanity engineered its own downfall
. Her father had said it many times. She wondered if he’d known how true it was.

As they walked through the passage that led to Debajo, she asked, “What is it Rebelión wants?”

“In the beginning it was about opening people’s eyes in hopes our next leader wouldn’t be so tight with DAB-lab. But Emile Paxton and his family are here to stay. Democratic elections were voted down.” Micah shook his head. “More irony.”

But Asha had snagged on another point, something else Pax had mentioned but never explained. “What is DAB-lab?”

“Sustainable Transgenics. Unauthorized reproduction is forbidden for us. DAB-lab—the ‘design a baby’ lab—looks at the parents and calculates how insect or how human their offspring will be. Matches that might result in loss of higher brain function, for example, or an excess of insect-like characteristics, are rejected.”

“I can see how that sort of constraint would be … troubling. But Pax—the amir’s son, I mean—he told me without continuing infusion of human DNA your species would eventually devolve completely.”

Micah was shaking his head before she finished. “There is some evidence of that, but the research you refer to was authored by DAB-lab, and they’ve refused requests for independent review of their data. We suspect the need for such tight controls is completely exaggerated. Without them, the population would self-regulate. No one—including Augustus Paxton—is going to marry or reproduce with a creature more animal than human. It’s all about power. The geneticists, and the amir through them, are playing God with our evolution.
They
are deciding our genetic destiny.”

These sounded like reasonable conclusions, and it reminded her of something Pax had said about the Manti not managing things much better than humans. One thing she could
not
imagine was Pax letting scientists choose his mate. Considering who his father was, he wasn’t likely to have a choice about that. She wondered whether he’d be required to mate with someone more Manti—someone like Cleo.

“Do you know what Cleo wants with the amir’s son?” she asked him. “It seems like interfering with the ruling family is only going to escalate things.”

Asha felt pretty confident at this point she’d picked the side most aligned with her interests, but she had serious doubts about their ability to prevail. Almost as serious as her doubts that she’d be able to stomach upholding her end of the bargain with Cleo.

“I have more access to the priestess than most disciples enjoy,” he replied, confirming what she’d suspected. “But it’s not something she’s discussed with me. I’d guess escalation is exactly what she’s looking for. Besides political and philosophical differences, I think there’s some bad blood.” He stopped just short of the stairway up to Debajo. “Did you know that Paxton’s sister is Cleo’s daughter?”

*   *   *

After Iris was gone, Pax held his position on the roof, thinking about the look that had passed between his sister and the priest, and the way she’d touched his arm. She must be aware she was setting herself up for pain. The amir would never give his permission for an alliance between his daughter and a mudgrubber priest with wolf DNA. It was exactly the sort of thing his father had founded DAB-lab to prevent.

But he had no business judging Iris when he was busy positioning himself for the same sort of trouble. The geneticists wouldn’t make any argument against pure human DNA—though because Pax’s mother was also human, they might argue it was going too far the other way—but politically it was impossible.

And then there was the fact she never stayed around long enough for him to figure out what he actually wanted from her.

He intended to stand by Iris as best he could, even if it did turn out she was foolish enough to think she could have Carrick. Pax was the amir’s oldest child, next in line for governing Granada, and he knew where his loyalties lay. But growing up in the Alhambra had been lonely. His sister had been his only playmate. The only friend he could trust. There wasn’t much that could divide him from her.

“Why is she so scared of that place?” asked Carrick.

Pax looked at him. “You mean the temple?”

“I could feel it in her. It wasn’t the fear of walking into a fight. Your sister doesn’t have that.”

Don’t I know it
. “Something bad happened to us here. The woman who leads these people tried to manipulate us once. Tried to use us against our father.” Not knowing how much Iris would want revealed, he tried to leave it at that.

But the priest was perceptive. “It was a betrayal? She was important to Iris?”

“Yes,” Pax acknowledged.

“What about you?”

Pax sighed. “I believed Rebelión Sagrada was asking important questions, and I was interested in mending the rift between the priestess and my father. But all that’s out of the question now.” Yes, out of the question after his sister’s mother used his greatest vulnerability to try to trap him.

“Those entrusted with championing faith often become faith’s worst enemies,” replied Carrick.

Pax raised an eyebrow. He was beginning to understand why the man was so interesting to Iris. “Are you a believer yourself?” he asked.

“I lost my faith a long time ago.”

“Those people back in Beck’s camp, they all called you ‘Father.’”

Carrick’s lips curled in a tired smile. The smile of a man who’d been flipped on his back like a turtle and had come to accept he was at the world’s mercy. “People need something to give them hope, don’t they?”

Gazing again at the fanciful spike, Pax said, “I’d call sentiment like that a truer mark of a holy man than faith.”

The priest let that pass without comment, and after a moment Pax asked, “You had no idea, did you? That you weren’t fully human.”

“I never knew my father. There were things I could do that others couldn’t, and my mother always said I was just like him. But she made me pretend I was just like everyone else. She begged me to go into the priesthood. Maybe she thought it would cleanse me.”

“Maybe she thought it would protect you. Maybe it did.”

The priest’s gaze drifted back to the temple. “My whole life I thought she was touched. ‘Fey,’ they used to call it. She could see things other people couldn’t. She seemed so open to everything. So vulnerable. All this time I thought I was protecting
her
.”

“I’m sorry you lost her.” The priest’s mother had been one of the casualties in the wasp attack, succumbing to the smoke in the burning building.

“I’m not.” Pax glanced up at the flat statement.

“She’d never been more than a dozen kilometers from her village,” continued Carrick. “It would have broken my heart for her to die here, alone and afraid.”

Pax thought about his own mother, dying surrounded by luxuries she cared nothing for, and servants who were also prison guards. Placated like a child with pretty things, as if she’d forget everyone she loved had been taken from her.

The temple’s exterior lights dimmed. Silent as the grave in there.

“Listen,” said Pax. The priest met his gaze. “I bear you no ill will. Iris is right—you don’t belong in a cell in the genetics lab. But I can’t force you to stay with me, and I don’t want a knife in the back. If you’re planning to run, run now. I won’t come after you. I can’t speak for Iris.”

Carrick studied him. “You’re going after
Asha
.”

The man might as
well
have knifed him in the back. There was nothing Pax hated more than a hypocrite. With every passing moment it became harder to deny that’s what he had become.

“I don’t want to hurt Asha. I just want to…” To
what
? “I just want to talk to her. And the people she’s gone to for protection—I don’t trust them.”

The priest’s gaze drifted to the street below, deserted now as the hour had grown late. “Iris told me the truth about what I am,” he said. “She helped me escape. I owe her for that. When I’ve repaid that debt, I’ll look to what comes next.”

Pax breathed in relief he hadn’t expected to feel. “All right, then. Let’s go find out what magic they’ve used to empty that temple.”

*   *   *

“Iris’s mother!” Asha thought she must have misunderstood. The Manti woman hardly seemed old enough to have a child Iris’s age. But then her features were so alien it was hard to be sure. “Is Cleo married to Pax’s father?”

“No. But they used to be on friendlier terms.”

Much
friendlier. She struggled with the image of the Manti priestess as mother to
anyone
.

“From an ideological standpoint I’d say the rift was inevitable,” continued Micah. “That plus the fact they’re the most powerful figures in the city. My understanding is the amir’s son expended considerable time and energy playing diplomat between them. But something went wrong—some scandal. The rumor is he tried to seduce her.”

Pax seduce Iris’s
mother
? It didn’t seem possible. And yet … she’d seen him overtaken by lust. An image of Pax in Cleo’s chains rose unbidden. She banished it, but it left a sour feeling in her stomach.

Noticing they’d turned out of the corridor between the temple and Debajo, she asked, “Where are we going? Where are the others?”

“Ahead of us in the tunnels,” replied Micah. “We’ll see them soon.”

He moved close to one of the walls of the passage, where there had once been another of the arched openings—possibly an intersecting tunnel, now blocked by fallen rock and dirt. He raised his hand, passing it in front of the opening.