Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) (19 page)

“I’ve never felt so much pain in my life,” he said.  “Thank you,” he told the two spirits.  He rested for several minutes, then opened his eyes and sat up.  He looked at the objects that lay about the site, and saw that there was no significant harm done to the materials he had prepared.

He stood awkwardly, looking down at his two bare legs, then shrugged.  He found a dry portion of strap for the water skin, and carried it and his sword down to the river, and refilled the skin.  He carried and returned it to its spot atop the tripod,

The next step would be delicate and difficult, he knew.  He crouched motionlessly for a long time studying the tripod and its position carefully, to make sure he knew what steps he would take.  He finally picked up two of the Echidna scales in one hand, then used his sword to poke a hole in the bottom of the water skin, so that a small dribble of water started to fall.

Carefully, he held one end of the scales as the water ran over them, then he scraped the edge of his blade back and forth over the surface of the scales, grating the rock-hard substance with the enchanted metal of his sword.

The water turned bright green as his blade scratched across the scale and carried small flakes of the monster’s fragment down into the bowl beneath the tripod, glowing with an unhealthy light.  Marco gingerly carried out his efforts until the bowl was three quarters full of the liquid.  He flicked the scales away, and pulled the appalling bowlful of transformed liquid away from the tripod.

“It should get easier after this,” Marco said.  He mixed the contents of the wooden bowl into the green water from Acheron, and used one of the legs of the no-longer-needed tripod to mix the liquid thoroughly.

“We might as well get you ready,” Marco said next, looking up at Iasco.

“What are you going to do to her?” Mitment asked, challengingly.

“To the spirit of Iasco?  Nothing,” Marco answered.  He picked up his sword and then knelt by the fabric wrapping that he had carried so far.  “But the body of Iasco?  I need to get it ready for what we’ll do next.”  He carefully slit the bottom of the fabric open, then pulled the sword up the length of the thick, floral material, opening it to reveal the shrouded figure inside.

As gently as he could – fully aware that there were two very watchful pairs of eyes observing him – Marco lifted Iasco’s body free, and then removed the linen shroud, laying bare the desiccated, wounded shell that Iasco’s soul had inhabited during her tenure on earth.  He stood up and backed away, as her spirit stepped over and knelt, to examine the body closely.

“No wonder I never had a date,” she said at last, trying to make light of the appearance of her body.

“Oh my lady, you are a great beauty,” Mitment said immediately.

“Thank you for your love, my dear,” Iasco smiled at her devoted guard.  “Well Marco, shall you finish what you’ve begun?” she asked.

Marco turned and carried over the two bowls and the sprig of flowers.  He carefully held the Gorgon’s blood mix above the River Acheron’s converted waters, and slowly poured the contents of the two together, making a fizzing, steaming liquid potion.

“Now, just one last ingredient, and it should be activated,” Marco said, holding the flowers above the bowl.  “Watch this,” he said, anticipating the reaction that was about to occur.  He began to twist and squeeze the small yellow flowers; within moments, a steady rain of tiny red seeds splattered onto the surface of the potion, and sank within the mixture, disappearing from view.

Marco jumped back, and waited.

Nothing happened.

Marco stepped closer to the mixture, and shook the flowers at the bowl, making a few random seeds fly into the mixture.

“What’s happening, Marco?” Iasco asked.

“He got it wrong,” Mitment said.  “He dragged us all the way here and put us through all this drama, and then he couldn’t even produce what he promised.

“But this was it, ‘the scarlet squeezed from gold’,” Marco protested.  “That’s the final ingredient the formula calls for.  It must be these red seeds.”

Mitment’s facial expression changed.

Cut your hand open!” she said loudly.

“Mitment, we won’t harm the boy because of this,” Iasco protested.

“We should, but we won’t for now,” the guard answered.  “But his hand – his blood – scarlet squeezed from gold – the gold of his hand.  If he bleeds from the golden hand, the red blood will be scarlet squeezed from gold!” she shouted.

Marco grabbed his sword without hesitation, his hopes resurrected by Mitment’s suggestion, and he sliced the palm of his right hand, then dropped the sword and squeezed his right hand with his left as he held the open palm over the bowl of liquid.  A steady shower of blood dripped downward, and as soon as it struck the surface of the bowl, there was an unearthly screaming sound that was produced all around them, while the liquid in the bowl began to expand, becoming neither liquid not gas, but something between.

“Marco!” Iasco said, her eyes wide.  “I feel something happening!”

Marco stooped down and picked up the bowl, feeling the expanding contents touch his flesh with a grasping, greedy texture that made him want to scream, but he turned and poured the growing mass along the length of Iasco’s body, then poured the last dregs of the bowl upon her face, into her mouth.

The spirit screamed, and suddenly moved against its will, scooting across the surface of the cavern floor like a toy on a string being pulled by a child.  The body began to turn warm colors, red and yellow, and moisture flowed back into the dry flesh, making it regain a healthy appearance.  The stab wounds, and other, smaller injuries, healed themselves, and within moments, the body looked like it belonged to a woman in the prime of life.

Just as it reached that point, Iasco’s spirit was drawn down into it.

There was a clap of thunder, and a flash of lightening in the underworld chamber, and then the two separated entities – body and soul – were one together once again.  The eyes fluttered open, and Iasco looked up at Marco, who was staring down in astonishment.

“What’s the matter?  Haven’t you ever seen a naked woman before?” she asked.

Chapter 14 – Departure from the Underworld

“Oh my Lord and Savior!  This is incredible!” Iasco said as she sat upright.  “Did you bring any clothes for me?” she asked.

Marco continued to simply stare at her in astonishment, as his head barely shook a negative response.  He had truly done the impossible – he had achieved possibly the most challenging accomplishment that alchemy could aspire to.

“Here,” Iasco said.  She grabbed Marco and squeezed him tight in a hug that was an assertion of her return to life, a long, drawn-out embrace in which she pressed her renewed physical presence against Marco, a tangible bit of evidence that his efforts had succeeded.  And then she pulled his face to hers and gave him the kiss she had threatened to give.  It was only a momentary peck, yet Marco had a brief taste of her essence, a fresh, evergreen sensation that was both taste and smell and indescribably vibrant.

Marco wrapped his own arms around Iasco – tentatively for the first few moments, then tightly.  He was astonished, overwhelmed with the reality of the situation.  Something that had been a goal, a theoretical outcome, had actually come to pass.  And what had once been a corpse was now once again a living, breathing human being.

“I didn’t bring a dress,” Marco answered at last.

“My stars!” Mitment finally gasped.  “My lady!  You are flesh and blood again!

“Marco, you have done something that I never believed was possible,” she came as close to praising Marco as she was able.

“We can make do for the time being with the fabric that you carried my body in,” Iasco said as she continued to hold Marco in her tight grasp.

She released the hug at last, then looked over at Mitment.  “Would you ever have believed it?  This is a sign; we will not only fight the great battle that is to come, but we are going to win!” she exulted.

“I wish that I could be there again with you, my lady,” Mitment said.  “I don’t know what battle you face, but I would give my life – again! – to be there to fight for you.”

“Mitment, if I can take you with me, I will!” Iasco declared.  “If I have you and Marco by my side, how can we possibly lose this battle?”

“How would that be possible, my lady?” Mitment asked, with hope in her eyes, as she looked from the lady to Marco.

“We’ll see, Mitment,” Iasco answered vaguely.

She stalked over to the fabric that Marco had slit open.  “Give me your sword, Golden Hand,” she said to Marco.

“That was the name the spirits called me!” Marco exclaimed, as he stepped over and handed his weapon to the newly revived lady.

“It is how history will remember you,” Iasco told him as she cut three holes in the fabric, a neck hole and two arm holes.  “I might have wished that you hadn’t been so enthusiastic in your work earlier,” she said as she slipped the bag over her head, the gaping slit in the front revealing a great deal of her torso.  “But we’ll adapt,” she said.

She pointed at Marco’s pants, lying on the ground still damp with the torturous water that had been spilled upon them.  A beam of red energy issued from her finger and struck the pants, making a cloud of steam rise up.

“There, you may put them on now,” Iasco told Marco.  “They’re dry.”

“How do you propose we return to the land of the living?” she asked.  “What are our options?”

“I’ve used three entries,” Marco reflected.  “The way that passes through the Echidna’s lair comes out on Arima.  I don’t think we want to go that way.  “The way I came in to find you was through Persephone’s Gate.  That way out leads through Athens, and your enemy’s soldiers control the city now, with sorcerers.  And the last way out is through Station Island,” he recounted.

“Which is in the middle of nowhere,” Mitment pointed out.

“And they tend to be amazed at the notion of people returning from the land of the dead,” Marco added, recalling his own first arrival there.

“It will be the best choice,” Iasco said.  “We will go to Station Island, and arrange passage from there.  We’ll need to return to the Isle of Ophiuchus, and then we’ll decide how we go on the offensive to protect our way of life.

“You said you passed through Clovis, Marco?” she asked.  “If only there were still an arch-king over the lands of the old empire, to unite us and wield an army on our behalf.  Instead,” she motioned for Marco to pick up his belongings, “instead, we will have to fight them with stealth and cunning and a loose and unpredictable alliance, instead of power.”

Marco gathered his scattered items together, and placed them all in his bag.

“May I have a drink, Golden Hand?” Iasco asked.

Marco gave a half grin, then held his finger in front of her mouth, and let her sip the refreshing spring water that seeped forth.  “I’m not sure which hand better deserves to be considered golden at this moment,” Iasco said as she pulled her mouth away from Marco’s hand.

“Now, let’s go talk to Charon about making our escape from here.”

Iasco began walking along the river bank, towards the ferry landing, with Mitment and Marco following after.  They reached the dock as Charon’s ferry glided to a stop beside it and disgorged its small crowd of passengers.

“Well, I see our unusual visitor has returned for some reason,” the ferryman said as he looked past Iasco to Marco.

“We need to leave,” Iasco spoke immediately.  “We have obligations among the living, duties that the powers have laid upon us.”

“The duties of the living are of no concern down here,” Charon answered.  “I merely provide a means for the dead to come to the underworld as they move towards their final destination.”

“The duties of the living are of utmost importance to us though,” Iasco said.  “Either take us across the river, or we will return through other means.  And I want to take Mitment with me,” she added, drawing a gasp from Marco, and a cheer from the guard.

“She may not go.  There is no departure for the dead,” Charon answered firmly, then turned his back on them as he sent his boat back out across the waters of the river.

“I thought that would be your answer.  But I see a place for her at my side, and so I will make other arrangements,” Iasco said.  She stepped back off the dock and motioned for Marco and Mitment to join her on the river bank, and they followed her without question as she strode purposefully away from the ferry dock.

“Give me your hand, Golden Hand,” she commanded.

Marco obediently lifted his right hand towards her, and watched as she grabbed it.

He felt his hand tingle, and then it glowed beneath the small, slender fingers that held it.

Iasco closed her eyes, and raised her other hand, then waved it in a sweeping arch outward, away from her body.  At her feet, a wide ribbon of translucent substance arose from the ground at an angle, and arched upward, out over the river bank.  It grew outward, stretching across and over the deadly waters of the river, then began to descend as it passed above the center of the river channel, and came to a halt on the far side of the river.

“Let us go on,” Iasco released Marco’s hand and motioned towards the bridge.

“That’s for us?” Marco asked.  “Will it hold us?”

“Yes, now move along; let’s go.  You too, Mitment,” she added.

“Me, my lady?  I’m dead!” Mitment’s voice rose in shock.

“I’ll find a place for you among the living, my friend.  Your loyalty is beyond question, so I claim you as my personal bodyguard.  Now, get moving,” Iasco motioned.

“Stop all of you!  This is forbidden!” Charon exclaimed.  He moved his oar, and his boat veered from its path, to head towards the mystical bridge that Iasco had constructed.

“Move quickly!”  Iasco called, and the three of them started to run over the bridge.  Charon raised his oar, and pointed it at the bridge.  “Your passage is forbidden,” he said, and a black beam of energy emerged from the oar and struck the bridge.  The structure shivered, and Marco lost his footing as he started to run down the slope towards the opposite side of the river.  He rolled forward, and got back to his feet, as the bridge shivered again.