The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #6) (26 page)

“Enough!”

“But, it’s true,” Hel protested. “Her mother was so ugly—”

“You are a daughter of Echidna,” Mars said evenly. He
planted his sword point-first in the ground and rested his arms across the pommel. “We knew her. She was kin to us. Which makes you kin to us also.” He spread one arm. “I wonder if you are not fighting on the wrong side?”

The sphinx shook her beautiful human head. “I am on the right side. The winning side.”

“Dee is gone,” Mars said.

“I do not work for Dee,” the sphinx said quickly. “Dee is a fool, a dangerous fool. He attempted to betray us and was declared
utlaga
. No, I am working with Quetzalcoatl.”

“Be careful of him,” Odin advised. “He is not to be trusted.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He told me he could give me a proper human body.” She took a step forward, lion’s claws scratching on the stone. “Could he do that?”

“Probably,” Mars said.

“Could you?”

Mars shook his head.

“What about you, Odin, or you, Hel? Could you give me a human body?”

Hel shook her head, but the one-eyed Elder said, “I could not, but I know some people who could. I could take you to a Shadowrealm where we could grow you the most perfect body and implant your consciousness and memories into it.”

“Quetzalcoatl said he can morph this body to a new shape. Can he?” she demanded.

“Probably,” Odin said. “Who knows what that monster can do?”

“So why are you here?” Mars asked.

“I came here to guard our grotesque guests, and then stand watch over Perenelle Flamel. I was promised her memories as my fee.”

“Did she not escape?” Mars said with a savage grin.

“She eluded me. When I reach the mainland, I will make it my special duty to seek her out. I am hoping she will still be alive so I can kill her. I am also hoping she has enough of her aura left to resurrect herself, so that I can kill her again.”

“Better creatures than you have tried to kill her and failed,” Mars said.

“She is humani. And all humani are weak. She escaped last time because she was lucky.” The sphinx threw back her head and breathed deeply. “I will drain your auras and drink your memories,” she announced. “It will be a banquet indeed.”

“I’m going to make sure I think my foulest thoughts when you are draining me,” Hel promised. “I’m going to give you indigestion.”

As the sphinx stepped forward, the three Elders felt a sudden rush of warmth, and then all energy left them. All their minor wounds flared to agony, and more serious wounds reopened.

Mars stood in front of the other two and attempted to lift his sword, but it was a solid leaden weight. The air filled with the stink of burnt meat, and a shimmering purple-red mist started to steam off his flesh. Behind him, Odin’s gray aura gathered around him, and a bloodred miasma coiled off Hel’s mottled flesh. Ozone mingled with rotting fish and the stench of burnt meat.

“Smells like a barbecue,” the sphinx purred. “I’ve been on this island for months.” Her nails clicked as she continued toward them. “I came here because I was promised a feast. The memories and aura of the Sorceress were denied me. But you three—you more than make up for that disappointment.”

Mars fell to his knees, sword clattering across the stones, and Odin collapsed beside him, sprawled on the ground. Only Hel remained on her feet, and that was because she had dug her long nails deep into the wall to hold herself up. She was willing the sphinx to come a few steps closer so she could try to launch herself at the creature. Although the sphinx’s body was that of a lion, the head was a small fragile human being.

The sphinx stopped and cocked her head to one side. “Do you think you can do it, Elder? Do you think you have the strength to throw yourself at me? I don’t. I think I will take you first.” Delicate nostrils flared as she breathed deeply, and her long black snakelike tongue flickered in the air. “Your defiance will add a certain spice to the meal.”

Hel tried to lash out with her whip, but she could barely raise it off the ground; she knew she didn’t have the strength to send it cracking through the air.

“Brave,” the sphinx said. “But foolish, too. You are doomed, Elder. Only a miracle will save you now.”

“You know,” came a new voice, filling the hallway, “I’ve been called many things in my life. But I’ve never been called a miracle before.”

The sphinx spun around, hissing.

Standing alone in the center of the corridor was the American immortal Billy the Kid.

The sphinx took a step toward Billy. “It seems I was mistaken when I said I would take Hel first. It looks like I’ll be starting with an American first course. An appetizer.” Without warning, her hind legs bunched underneath her and she leapt the length of the corridor, claws extended, mouth gaping.

I
n a windowless chamber, deep beneath the Yggdrasill, Hekate, now an ancient and withered woman, lay down in a long coffinlike network of tree roots and folded her arms across her chest, left hand on right shoulder, right palm on left shoulder. The entire tree shuddered and sighed; then the roots coiled around her, embracing her.

“Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,” William Shakespeare murmured, “the dear repose for limbs with travel tired.”

“She is the tree,” Scathach said. “Indivisible from it, inextricable, entwined with it. If one dies, the other goes too.”

“That will never happen,” Huitzilopochtli said confidently, urging his companions out of the windowless circular sleep chamber. “The Yggdrasill has endured for millennia. It will always survive. And so too will the goddess.”

Scathach’s pointed teeth bit her lip. Less than a week ago
she had watched the Yggdrasill—admittedly a smaller version—fall. She had seen the death of Hekate. But that would not happen for ten thousand years.

Prometheus was waiting outside the door. He was dressed from head to foot in ornate red armor, and a massive red-bladed sword was strapped to his back, the hilt projecting above his left shoulder. Behind him stood a troop of Torc Allta, the wereboars created by Hekate. Two of the huge creatures took up positions outside Hekate’s bedchamber. Their bodies were those of enormous muscular humans, but their faces were porcine, with flattened noses and jutting tusks. Their eyes—bright blue—were human.

“The Torc Allta will watch over her while she sleeps. None will get close,” Prometheus said.

“Will they fight with us?” Scathach asked. “They would be more than a match for the anpu.”

“No, the Torc Allta are loyal only to Hekate,” Prometheus said. “And it is better that humankind stand together for the final battle.” He turned to Huitzilopochtli. “It’s time.”

Without another word, the two Elders set off down the long twisting corridor.

“Wait!” Scathach called. She raced after them, leaving Shakespeare, Palamedes, Joan and Saint-Germain to bring up the rear.

More heavily armored Torc Allta appeared out of the shadows and crowded around the root-covered entrance to the inner cave. The creatures did not speak, but suddenly weapons were visible in the dull green light.

“I think they want us to move on,” Palamedes muttered.

“I didn’t know you spoke Torc Allta,” William Shakespeare said, a touch of awe in his voice.

Palamedes shook his head. “For a bright man, you can be very stupid sometimes. When someone—man or beast—bares his teeth and produces a dagger as long as his arm, that’s a clue.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” Will muttered.

Palamedes raised his voice. “We need to get out of here now. The two people who know us and can vouch for us—Huitzilopochtli and Prometheus—have left, and our red-furred friends are looking a little agitated. And with those tusks, I doubt they’re vegetarian.”

The four immortals hurried to catch up to the others.

“What’s the plan?” Scathach asked, falling into step with the two Elders.

“Plan? We will lead the People of the Tree into Danu Talis,” Prometheus said. “We will free Aten and overthrow the Elders.”

“Just like that?” she asked in astonishment. “I thought you two were great warriors.”

“It is simple and effective,” Huitzilopochtli said.

“And we have the advantage that it’s a new stratagem,” Prometheus continued. “The humans have never risen up before.”

The wooden corridor opened onto an enormous staircase leading up into the body of the tree. The steps were shaped
out of gnarled roots, polished smooth and glassy by the passage of centuries, and each one was a different height, width and length.

Prometheus took the stairs at a run, and Huitzilopochtli and Scathach jogged along, staying one step below. “If humankind have never risen up before, then how can you be sure they will do it now?” Scathach demanded.

“They worship Aten,” Huitzilopochtli answered. “For generations, the humans were enslaved by the Elders. When Aten came to power, he formally recognized them as an intelligent species and granted them the rights of citizens of Danu Talis.”

“Many of the Elders resisted, but none dared move against Aten,” Prometheus added. “Until now, that is. Bastet must have been planning this for centuries.”

“But are you sure humankind will rise when you appear?” Scathach insisted.

“I have been told that they will,” Prometheus said coolly.

“Who told you …,” she began, and then shook her head. “No, don’t tell me. Let me guess: a hooded man with a hook for a left hand.”

“So he is known in your time also?”

“I know of him. And I know that the Elders will not give up without a fight,” she added.

“We know,” Prometheus said. “We want peace, but we are prepared for war.”

“In my experience, when you turn up at someone’s gate with an army behind you, there is always war,” Scathach said grimly.

Huitzilopochtli glanced over at her. “But if we do not move now, then we doom the humans to an eternity of servitude. Or worse. My sister, Bastet, has been advocating the eradication of the entire human race and replacing it with the anpu or some other Were clan. If she can put Anubis in power, then nothing will stand in her way. She will control Danu Talis.”

“Why are you doing this, Huitzilopochtli?” Scathach asked.

“Because it is the right thing to do.” He shook his head slowly. “Abraham and Marethyu showed us the future,” he added, “and the world without humankind is not a pretty one. Not all Elders are monsters. We are not many, but we are powerful, and we will do whatever we can to save the world.”

“And if you cannot save the world?” Scathach asked.

“Then we will save as much of the human race as we can.”

“And we are here to help you,” the Shadow said.

“Why?” Huitzilopochtli demanded. “This is not your fight.”

“You are mistaken. This is more than just our fight. This is our future.”

“You would think,” William Shakespeare wheezed, pressing his left hand to his side, “that a place as sophisticated as this would have an escalator.” He slowed to a stop and leaned forward, arms and hands straight on the wooden steps in front of him.

Palamedes waved Joan and Saint-Germain on and
stopped. He sat down on the step and waited for the Bard to catch his breath. “We’re nearly there.”

“This place will be the death of me,” Shakespeare muttered.

The Saracen Knight reached out a hand. Shakespeare took it and Palamedes hauled him upright. “But this is wonderful research, Will. I’ve seen you making notes. Think of the play you’ll get out of it!”

“No one would believe me. I am serious, old friend, I fear I will die here.” He climbed up a step.

The Knight stopped and looked at the Bard, who was one step above him. Their faces were level. “Death comes to all of us. And you and I, we’ve lived way beyond our allotted span of years. We should have few regrets.”

“What’s done is done,” Shakespeare agreed.

“And we are here for a reason,” Palamedes added.

“You know this for certain?”

“Marethyu would not have brought us back here if we did not have roles to play.” Something shifted behind the knight’s dark eyes and the Bard reached out to take hold of his friend’s arm.

“What are you not telling me?”

“You are as observant as ever,” the knight said.

“Tell me,” Will insisted.

“The emerald tablet Tsagaglalal gave me earlier …” He stopped and shook his head. “Was it only earlier today? It seems so long ago.”

The Bard nodded. At the impromptu garden party in San Francisco, Tsagaglalal had presented everyone with an
emerald tablet. Each tablet contained a personal message from Abraham the Mage.

“What did it say?” Shakespeare asked urgently.

“It showed me scenes from my past, of battles fought, some won, some lost. It showed me the last battle, when the Once and Future King fell and I briefly claimed Excalibur. And it showed me standing over you,” he finished in a rush.

“Tell me!”

“I saw the death of us, Bard. The death of all of us.” He glanced up to where Saint-Germain and Joan were patiently waiting at the top of the steps. “I saw Scathach and Joan of Arc, bloodied and filthy, standing back to back on the steps of a pyramid surrounded by huge dog-headed monsters. I saw Saint-Germain raining fire down from the skies. I saw Prometheus and Tsagaglalal facing off against a swarming army of monsters….”

“And us?” Will asked. “What of us?”

“We were on the steps of a huge pyramid, overrun by monsters. You were lying at my feet and I was holding a lion-headed eagle at arm’s length.”

The Bard’s bright blue eyes twinkled. “Well, then it ends well.”

The Saracen Knight blinked in surprise. “Which part of what I’ve just described suggests a good ending? There is death and destruction in our immediate future.”

“But we are all together. And if we die—you or I, Scathach, Joan or Saint-Germain—then we will not die alone. We will die in the company of our friends, our family.”

Palamedes nodded slowly. “I always imagined I would die alone, on some foreign battlefield, my body unmourned and unclaimed.”

“And we’re not dead yet,” Shakespeare said. “You did not see me dead, did you?”