CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (70 page)

Behind them, there was a snap of rope and several men cried out a warning as something went wrong with one of the pulleys. A pop of cracking wood followed as soldiers rushed toward the lift to compensate for the mishap. It was the perfect distraction and D’Molay took full advantage of it, pulling Aavi behind him as he ran around the corner into the semi-darkness of the dungeon passage. Pressed against the wall, breathing quietly, they waited a moment to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. No one came, so they moved on.

Inside, sparsely spaced wall torches cut the darkness just enough to allow them to move slowly forward. D’Molay supposed Ares didn’t want to make it easy for escapees to navigate their way straight to the armory. They crept along like turtles, until Aavi sudden dashed ahead.

“I know where it is!”

She took off at a brisk pace, and though D’Molay preferred careful stealth speed might be to their advantage. He had no idea how much time they had to find the beast before some guard had the wits to catch them. Aavi’s sudden sureness had to be another confirmation that all they suspected about her connection to the beast must be true. Following quickly after her, he allowed himself to trust in that theory. They passed numerous smaller cells as Aavi dodged through a series of twists and turns, which D’Molay took care to memorize so they could find their way out. Her path was leading them deep into the center of the fortress. D’Molay smelled dampness and heard dripping water ahead of them.

“The pits. Don’t go into the pits,” a cracked voiced hissed in warning as they hurried by another nondescript barred doorway.

“Are we getting close?” D’Molay asked, his nerve beginning to waver. He didn’t care for caves or dark places. He’d had enough of that in Purgatory. Then Aavi stopped short, not needing to answer, for they had arrived.

D’Molay instinctively placed a hand on Aavi’s shoulder to keep her from rushing right up to the bars of the great cell in which the beast lay. It was hunkered down, licking a wound on its left flank. D’Molay momentarily thought it was unaware of them, but it became clear from the growling that passed through its suddenly bared teeth that the beast was conscious of its visitors. The patchy hair on its back quivered and rose to stand up like the fur on a startled cat’s tail. Aavi stepped back slightly, sheltering against D’Molay’s body.

“There it is,” he whispered. Aavi shivered as his breath teased her ear. “Do you recognize it?”

It was dark in the cell, hard to see the creature clearly; so Aavi instead sought to examine the glow of the energy inside it. She inhaled in surprise, causing D’Molay to pull her even closer. “I can’t see its color,” she said.

A second after words passed Aavi’s lips, the beast twisted to face them, scrambling up on its wounded legs and backing into a defensive position against the back wall of the cell. D’Molay’s eyes widened as a plaintive squeal, unmistakably of fear, issued from its blood-caked muzzle. He remembered how the creature had thrashed when he tried to project his thoughts of Aavi toward it. At the time, he interpreted its violence as an urge to do the girl harm. Now it was apparent that the opposite was true. The vicious monster which had ravaged the realms was abjectly terrified of Aavi.

Aavi pulled away from D’Molay and moved right up to the bars, wrapping her pale fingers around the stout columns of black iron. “Aavi, be careful!” he urged as she stood there.

The beast yowled. It shuffled sideways along the wall and cried again, louder this time. D’Molay began to worry that the noise would draw guards to investigate. However, that concern flew out of his head as he saw Aavi stick her arm through the bars and reach for the creature. Before D’Molay could react and pull her away, the beast lunged, head lowered like a charging bull. Astonishingly it stopped, head just inches away from Aavi’s outstretched fingertips. It remained there, frozen, docile, as if it were a stringed puppet awaiting tugs from the girl’s fingers to bring it to life. D’Molay wrinkled his nose at the odor of gore that hung in the air from its hot, moist breath. He wanted to beg Aavi to pull her hand out of the cage; but he stilled his tongue, fearing any distraction might break whatever spell-like advantage she had over the horror. Something was transpiring between them and D’Molay was too curious to try to stop it. The sound of the creature’s panting breath echoed in the close space of the passage. Aavi’s hand was only inches from razor-sharp teeth, yet her fingers were relaxed and steady.

Then just beyond the tip of her index finger, a diffuse beam of white light began to dance upon the beast’s head. It formed into a small dot just above and between its widely dilated eyes. Then, as quickly as that glimmer had begun, it vanished. The beast’s head began to cast right and left, up and down, as if it were trying to fall under the elusive white beam again.

“What’s happening? Have you remembered anything?” D’Molay asked, unable to keep quiet any longer. Even as he voiced his questions, he was looking over his shoulder and back down the black corridor, expecting trouble at any moment. “Do you need more time?”

Aavi pulled her hand from between the bars, turning toward D’Molay with a perplexed expression on her face. “I’ve never seen it before,” she said. “But . . . I think . . . ”

D’Molay was sure he heard footsteps and voices down the passage, but with all the twists and turns in the dungeon it was quite possible they were still safe from discovery. “What, Aavi? What?” he urged.

“I think it knows me, and I think something happened that changed it, and that’s why it looks different to me,” she added with more confidence.

“Well, that gives us plenty to think about,” D’Molay concluded. He had been hoping for a more definite resolution to the mystery, but decided that this was enough for the time being. Perhaps Aavi would remember more as time passed. “We’d better go before we’re missed.”

“Will it be alright?” she asked as D’Molay led her back the way they’d come. He paused at a left turn, checking first to make sure no one was there.

“Well enough, I suppose,” he said. “I don’t think it will get many visitors.”

“Wait.” Aavi pulled back on D’Molay’s arm, halting their progress. “I shouldn’t leave it yet. I’m supposed to . . . supposed to . . .” She stared at the ground, concentrating, trying to remember. Frustration at being unable to brought tears to her eyes. D’Molay spared her only a moment to think, because those noises he’d heard earlier were now definitely closing in.

“Aavi, we can come back, but right now we have to go,” he said firmly. “We can talk to the healers and priests back in the guest quarters. I bet they know ways to bring memories back.” D’Molay was making this up on the fly, and hoped Aavi was too upset to realize it was baseless speculation crafted to get her moving. It seemed to work, as his next step forward brought her along. Yet she was silent as they crept through the passages, and D’Molay felt self-conscious as he wondered if she was judging his convenient tale about the Greeks’ ability to retrieve lost memories. He focused on navigating the corridors, pushing the nag of guilt aside. In the City of the Gods, one’s psyche was probed all the time. From the guardians at the gate to bored gods with mind-skimming powers, no one’s private thoughts were entirely secure.
 
He had gotten used to that fact, but was irritated with himself to feel shame over Aavi possibly doing such a thing. He had nothing of importance to hide, did he?

They made it safely at the end of the hall at the bottom of the ramp in the armory. There were now fewer soldiers at work. The job of hauling the great weapons up and out had been completed despite the threatened collapse of the mechanical lift. The men still employed in the room were busy making repairs to the pulleys. Encountering no challenges, they soon made it safely back to their room.

“Ah. Food.”

D’Molay fell upon a fresh plate of bread and meat that had been left for them. He was surprised at how hungry the short expedition had made him. Aavi perched on the edge of the bed, watching him, no doubt eager to put his plan of asking help from the healers and priests into action.

Less enthused about the prospect, D’Molay began to eat a bit more slowly. His mind was already turning on another problem: finding a safe place to hide Aavi should the fort fall.

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Lamasthu lounged in the tall grass miles upriver from the fortress, caressing the earth and stirring the water with her frilled fingers. Beneath both, in their depths, lay her elemental pets. They were anxious to rise to feed on the gathering buffet of Greeks, Mayans, and exotic Egyptian delicacies. However, her monsters could not emerge until she called them, and Lamasthu wisely chose to delay that moment until the battle was pitched. In the meantime, she relaxed, daydreaming about blood frenzy and conserving her strength.

A great shadow passed quickly over the sun-drenched riverbank, drawing her eyes skyward. Small-winged serpents flew laboriously, conveying a platform full of Quetzalcoatl’s mortal warriors toward the fortress. The raft had slipped from its covering cloudbank and the Mayans slapped at the dragons with their spears to herd them back into hiding. This navigational mistake was going to cost Quetzalcoatl. The raft had been spotted and flyers loyal to Zeus were heading right toward it. Lamasthu laughed with glee as she watched a hero on a winged horse try to get in close enough to sever one of the raft’s tow lines. Mayan archers had him in their sights, but a forceful wind god turned up to impede the speed of the dragons and prevent the archers’ arrows from flying with any accuracy. Then a group of harpies caught up with the raft and seized its bottom, shaking it with all their might in the hopes of dislodging some of the men. Lamasthu doubted those fierce females had any interest in defending Ares’ fortress. They were merely opportunists who thrived on chaos. She actually had a soft spot for harpies. They struck her as delightfully vicious and interesting. She cheered for them as they succeeded in causing a feathered warrior to fall, diving after him to rip his body into pieces before he even hit the ground.

When the raft had passed out of sight, Lamasthu grew bored with waiting. Where was Set’s army? She wondered if they had met an effective resistance while crossing the Celtic realm. As she considered this, she felt a rumble pulse through the ground. A vibration, the echo of thousands of pounding feet, signaled the arrival of the Egyptians. Lamasthu stood, looking to the west, where a huge cloud of dust was advancing toward the plain. Above her, another being also noticed this.

“Zephyrus!” Eros yelled into the cloudbank. “Something else is coming!”

Eros had remained on the outskirts of the action, although he had darted in to save a hero who had been knocked from his flying horse and snatched several arrows from the air before they could pierce their targets. This relative inactivity had allowed him to be the first to see the other army approaching.

Zephyrus burst out of a cloud and changed from airy force to human guise. He was wearing a stolen Mayan headdress and a broad smile on his face. “I touched a dragon!” he boasted.

“Good for you.” Eros hoped he would shut up about it now. “But we’ve got something else to look at.” He motioned toward the moving mass far below them. “There’s another army.”

“Another? Well, let’s see it, then go tell ‘em at the fort. I could use some ale!”

Eros, for once, was grateful for his friend’s unquenchable thirst. He wanted nothing more than to be safely ensconced within the fortress walls where he could relax in the sure protection of Ares. They flew toward the new army, but remained high enough to spy without being seen.

“What are those things? Dogs?” Zephyrus pointed toward hundreds of packs of four-legged furred creatures with toothy muzzles.

“Jackals. Zeus used to keep some in his menagerie.” Eros felt his heart sink as the units seemed to follow one upon the other endlessly. Zephyrus goggled at the acres of anthropomorphic troops.

“Are those crocodiles on their heads?” he asked.

“Those are their heads,” Eros corrected. “You count them and the jackals. I’ll count the chariots and the regular foot troops. Hurry!”

Thus, the two Greek spies were busily engaged and saw nothing when Lamasthu’s chthonic berserkers responded to her call. From the river mud and the grassy banks, malformed children of destruction crawled and oozed toward their mother, cooing hellishly in response to Lamasthu’s song of summoning. Like a catalog of plagues, abominations of every size and shape gathered round her in an adoring circle, ready to serve and receive the reward of her approval.