Tentyrian Legacy (16 page)

At Aristos’ suggestion, Daria offered extra
Tentyrian Guards for Damian’s use to help with anything he needed.
But Damian politely refused. He also refused anyone’s sympathy,
requesting no pity for his sake. Damian’s leadership of the two
Covens proceeded without incident. But since Karis’ death, he had
changed. The anger and grief that racked him so powerfully the
night of the fires was extinguished, but so was his spirit. No
comforting words from the mouths of his friends or the Council
seemed to move him. Daria prayed he would find happiness again. She
hoped they all would.

Fortunately, the Sanctum was thriving, and
since Hathor’s death, even Calix and Stavros showed the utmost
support for the four Luminaries and their ascension to power as the
Primary Rulers. Burying her face in Aristos’ chest, Daria let out a
sigh. She knew it was not enough, though. There were traitors in
their midst—and it would stop tonight.

“Tell me what you are feeling, Dar . . . I
wish the sun and moon that I could read your mind, but I can’t. You
must tell me,” Aristos said to her.

Daria stared into her husband’s face and the
warmth in his eyes. She had never known anything more precious,
with the exception of her little boy. She wanted to tell him about
her mother’s book with every fiber of her being, but her duty and
honor bound her to a higher calling.

It was that calling that drew her mind back
to the previous month. Hathor’s and Hita’s ashes and those of the
other victims who’d died in the fires were now part of the
Tentyrian earth. Their ashes blew away, as Daria and her people
watched and wept. Karis was too distraught to even attend. Instead
she remained at the Sanatorium, silent in her paralyzing grief.
Damian, meanwhile, stood in silence, watching his child’s body
engulf in fire. Daria remembered the white linen shrouds and
blankets of lotus blossoms that burned to the tune of Aquarius’
water hymn. The sandalwood pyres lit up the night and helped cover
the stench of burning flesh.

In the days of mourning that followed, Daria
and her sisters continued their interviews of all Tentyrians and
Egyptians in their community to find out what happened. They
started with the Council, who agreed to let Daria mind tap them.
Removing their mental blocks to let her in, they too seemed to want
to ferret out any traitors. However, all of the Council members
came up clean, as did all of the Tentyrians and the city’s people.
Daria started to worry she missed something. Their investigations
yielded nothing. There was no guilty party, no guilty conscience.
As Luminaries, they possessed some of the greatest powers. Yet it
all proved useless.

On the fourth day of the investigation, Daria
had gone to the Book of Hathor. When Daria had opened it, she’d
been surprised to find the Sanctum’s fail-safe key being used as a
bookmark. In the days prior, she and her sisters had gone through
all of their mother’s belongings in frantic search of it. Without
the key, it wasn’t safe to go to the Sanctum. Designed by Hathor,
her daughters, and Maximos, the key controlled access to the
Sanctum. Once locked with the key, a protective energy field was
activated, and no one could enter or exit the sacred place.

In order to initiate a lockdown from the
inside, the key was inserted into the center of the zodiac mosaic
in the Great Hall. After that, only the one with the key could
exit, while all others still inside would be trapped. The Sanctum
could also be locked and unlocked from the outside by inserting the
key into the grooves hidden in the rock wall of the escape exit
that led to the fjord. The key was one of a kind—it had been a
relief when Daria had found it.

Closing her hands around the cylindrical key,
Daria’s fingers had stroked the four small, elevated prongs running
along the sides as she’d turned her eyes to the pages it lay
between. Written in her mother’s elegant hand, it had read:

My Darlings,

If you are reading this, I am dead. Words
cannot express how sorry I am to leave you, but my time has come.
With every day that passes, I want you to know how much I love
you.

I wish I could tell you that the future
ahead is bright. It is not. When you were young, I would tell you
of flying machines and lifesaving surgeries. However, the future is
undoubtedly filled with pain, which cannot be prevented.

As the Luminaries, it is up to you to lead
our clan. To ensure that the Sanctum thrives and that the Covens
adhere to the Code. You already know this. However, what you don’t
know is whether we have traitors among us. We do. Who they are, I
don’t know. The web of treachery is too convoluted for me to
see.

In these last months, my gift of vision has
been failing me, coming and going in intermittent spurts. I am
dying, and no amount of help from the healers—even you,
Narcissa—will change that. The Luminaries have been destined to
rule together, to ensure that responsibility does not fall upon one
person’s shoulders. Power can be an intoxicating thing. It is only
when the four Luminaries are united that our people can remain as
such.

Keep your eyes trained on the Covens and
their leaders. You need to be prepared for the inevitable: the
destruction of the solidarity of our people. I don’t know when it
will come, but it will happen. Soon.

This notebook is filled with my visions:
warfare waged by some of the most horrendous weapons imaginable,
evil men and women who will rule only for their own benefit, but
also amazing feats to be accomplished by future generations.

I ask that you not try to change the course
of human history— except in one instance. Sadly, 2,064 years from
now, there will be an event so catastrophic that all of the human
race will be wiped out.

Some of our people will sadly be involved.
It is up to the Luminaries to prevent this. In this book you will
find all I know. Use my pictures and words to stop it.

Do not tell anyone of this book, with the
exception of Maximos. He is essential to our future. Keep it safe
with all the power you have. Should it fall into the wrong hands,
the results could be as dangerous as the event you need to stop. I
have described all I know of “the Event,” as I am calling it, along
with what I’ve seen of the future generations of Luminaries,
beginning on page 986. This is my last entry.

You may be asking yourselves how it is
possible for you to prevent something so far into the future. All I
ask is that you try. Blessed be.

With All My Love, Mother

P.S. I am leaving you with the one and only
fail-safe key to the Sanctum. You’ll know when to use it.

The note had paralyzed Daria with fear. The
prophetic doom seemed inevitable. Doom for her clan and for the
human race. But rather than providing details on what they could do
right now to bring the traitors to justice, all they had were
instructions to stop an event more than two thousand years away. It
was unfathomable thinking that far ahead. Daria wasn’t even sure if
she wanted to live that long, or if she would.

Daria showed the book to her sisters and
Maximos. They were surprised by Hathor’s task, but they told no one
else of it, even Aristos, Alexander, and Claudius. They memorized
all their mother wrote and scoured the book for any information
that spoke to their present situation. There was nothing. Hathor
did not write about her own death, who the killer was, or give any
inclination as to who would be responsible for breaking up the
Tentyrian clan. All the Luminaries could do was rule fairly and
ensure they addressed the needs of their people.

“Daria, please tell me,” Aristos’ voice
brought Daria back to the present.

“I’m sorry, there is just so much going on in
my head and I can’t quite articulate it,” she said regretfully.

“It’s all right, I understand. What can I do
to help, though?” Aristos asked patiently.

“Has the escape tunnel from the nursery been
completed?”

“Yes, I spoke with Pello this afternoon. It
is ready. He has worked day and night to finish it, alone, just as
you requested.”

“Let’s pray the tunnel isn’t needed. It’s
time to ready ourselves, though. The Council will begin in an hour.
I hear Selene knocking. I hope she hasn’t been waiting long.”

Daria jumped from the bed quickly, wrapped a
loose cotton robe around her, and opened the door to the young
maid. Aristos quickly dressed in his ceremonial robe, leaving Daria
with a kiss so she could finish her preparations. He could tell she
was already deep in thought as he left her rubbing her temples,
while Selene busily dressed her hair.

Aristos wanted to do one last check on the
Guard and then see Ammon and Darrius. It was going to be a
challenge to get his son in the bath. As Aristos walked the
corridor, talking periodically to his men, he thought more about
Daria’s anxiety. He had never seen her so apprehensive. Since her
mother’s death, she had worked herself relentlessly to make sure
she lived up to expectations, along with her sisters. He rarely
even saw her except when she came to bed at dawn. But he knew
Daria’s concern wasn’t without cause—despite his attempts to ease
her fear. These were dangerous times, and tonight he needed to make
sure Ammon remembered.

Aristos opened the door to the nursery
corridor where all of the Luminary children slept with their
Guardians. It was filled with laughter. There in the playroom was
Darrius acting out his dogsled ride with a makeshift sleigh of a
chair and rope. On the chair sat Ceres holding two ends of the
“reins” while Darrius pulled her around the room from the rope
encircling his waist, which was tied to the front chair legs.
“Hurry doggy, hurry doggy!” Ceres ordered while Darrius barked and
crawled. Their twin cousins clapped their hands in delight on
Tale’s lap.

“Ah, Master Aristos, the children are having
fun, no?” said Ammon, who spied Aristos in the doorway.

“Yes, it certainly appears that way. How you
manage to keep up with this energy amazes me, Ammon,” replied
Aristos.

“I do what I can. Mistress Daria came by
earlier and instructed that all the children be ready at 2:00 a.m.
sharp. And to wait for her word before going down to the
feast.”

“Yes, I know the children will be
disappointed they must wait and won’t be able to play with the
other children before the feast, but we are taking extra
precautions. I want this door bolted. You should only unbolt it and
come down when the Luminaries or I say so. And Ammon, keep your
sword with you at all times. Tale and Nenet,” Aristos addressed the
other Guardians, “do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Aristos,” they replied as they
gathered closer to hear. “By now I’m sure you’ve noticed the
construction that has been happening behind this wall?” Aristos
asked as he strode across the playroom to the wall lined with books
and a six-foot-wide closet. The children remained oblivious to the
discussion. “Behind this closet is a passageway that leads down and
outside of the mountain. Should you need to escape, and you’ll know
when, I want you to go as quickly as possible. At the end of the
passageway is a door that leads outside to a channel cut into the
fjord. There are three small boats waiting with supplies. You are
each to take a boat with the children, leave, and not turn back. We
will find you when we can. Each of you took vows to protect our
children, and we will hold you to it.”

“Yes, of course,” said Ammon with sincerity.
“Your children are like our own.”

The two women nodded solemnly. Aristos knew
Darrius and his nieces and nephew were in good hands. He showed
them how to work the secret door and reviewed the warning signs
they were to look for.

Just then, the four Luminaries, Claudius, and
Alexander arrived, appearing in time to catch one final howl from
Darrius. Following a round of applause, the doting mothers and
fathers kissed their children and told them they would see them at
the feast. Departing the nursery in single file, Daria and Aristos
led the procession, followed by Phoebe and Claudius, Calypso and
Alexander, with Narcissa holding up the rear.

The women all wore stolas in sea green wool
with intricate scroll-work in crocus yellow. Gold metal belts
cinched the fine fabric tightly under their breasts. The only
jewelry worn was their zodiac necklaces. Their matching palla were
the same sea green, but unlike traditional palla most Tentyrian
women wore, these had hoods and were lined with ermine in honor of
the cold weather of their new home. The palla also had the zodiac
symbol emblazoned on the back in bright yellow. The Luminaries wore
fur-lined brown kidskin boots that laced to their knees, where just
a few inches above lay a blade carefully holstered and strapped to
each woman’s left thigh. Daria insisted they carry a weapon at all
times.