The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (48 page)

From the eternal lair of the

damned, for the living forbidden,

Oh Hades!  Now enter our mortal

world, be no longer hidden,

And rise from the shadows that

bury the valley of souls in flame.”

For a single moment, all was silent.  Upon the next, a shearing that sounded as if their world was breaking into two pelted every ear in the room.  Evagoria threw her shaking hands over her own ears, pushed her head down, and beheld a frightening sight: A crack now tore through the length of the floor and a disgusting green ‘something’ that glowed as bright as the sun began to ooze through.

It was not liquid or smoke or anything Evagoria had ever seen before.  This ooze – smoky liquid or liquefied smoke, she could not decide which – now seeped upward through the chasm in the floor and then broke off into two separate streams.  One heading for each bed, the wispy form of five impossibly long fingers arched over and rested atop each bound being.

WAS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE?  Did the Grim now hold Penelope and Laigria in each greedy hand?

Laigria screamed in terror, Penelope cried out in anguish, and the witches focused on their magic while the rest of them focused on their dumfounded stares.  If their world really was breaking, it was quite the view.

The black pouch was next, but Marseea took great care as to where the dust from this one settled.  She carefully sprinkled it onto every exposed part of Laigria’s clammy body.  Evagoria noticed Penthesilea do the same to Penelope – especially in her wounds – with the enchanted dust from a gold pouch.  The two witches finally finished, Marseea shouted out the next spell:

“Well-earned ruin approaches,

a bed of flames to surround her scum,

Mellivoros prances at her feet

in the hope of what will come,

Fire of fury hot as the sun her

prison – obey my commands!

A destiny fulfilled, deserved

death at hand as justice demands,

Greedy fingers gripping her tight, lungs

draw their last breath, then turn numb.”

Flames shot upward and an inferno engulfed Laigria; they could all feel the searing heat, could see the orange and red that surrounded the bed, yet she did not catch fire.  She did, however, scream and wiggle wildly in her bindings as if these crackling flames were burning her alive.  Laigria bathed in fire and the Gryphons shielding their faces, Evagoria watched in shock as the Elysiakeia Codex now drifted toward Penthesilea with nothing beneath to hold it up.

“The spell, Penthesilea, the spell!” Marseea shouted over Laigria’s howls.

Penthesilea blinked her eyes and shook her head as if just awakened from a dream.  “Dump the water on top of her, Melanippe!” she told her sister.

Melanippe hurriedly snatched the first of six filled buckets and, one after the other, began to do so.

With one hand outstretched, Penthesilea somehow kept the water from the dumped buckets from falling to the floor – every drop now hovered just above Penelope’s writhing body.  Melanippe finished; with only the motions of the young witch’s fingers, this suspended water merged and then became thin and stretched out like a translucent veil.

Penthesilea raised her other hand.  Within moments, where they huddled turned shockingly cold and Evagoria could see speckles of frost begin to flow through the sheet of water.  Penthesilea now turned to the book of dark spells:

“Water bending to my will,

a soul worth saving entombed in ice,

For this one to live once more,

another will gladly pay the price,

Our plea to the master of passed

on souls spoken with frosted breath,

A Mermaid who has known

only life until now shrouded in death,

To return from the Underworld,

she must die not just once, but twice.”

Just as Penthesilea bid it to do, the thin sheet of water did indeed begin to turn to ice.  The sound it made in doing so beyond horrid, the scene Evagoria now gawked at was even more so.  Motionless, silent – dead as far as she could tell – Penelope lay encased in a tomb of crystallized blue ice dusted in glistening frost.  For the first time in her life, Evagoria watched tears stream down her great-grandmother’s still youthful looking face.  Just like the rest of them.

“The first mystics learned early on,” Cassiopeia said softly as she stared straight ahead, “that water blunted magic to the point it was near worthless, yet this one can do whatever she wishes with it.  To possess such power to twist and turn the precious liquid, we now know why the Witch Queen so favors Penthesilea.”  Cassiopeia turned to Evagoria and their swollen eyes met.  “She is a goddess in the shape of a woman who walks among mortals.”

Bolts of lightning flashed about the room.  Laigria engulfed in flame, their sweet Penelope encased in ice ––

How much more could Evagoria possibly see that her mind would continue to believe?

Penthesilea reading from the Elysiakeia once more, the answer was on its way:

“As mortals from above gawk

at these spells in eternal wonder,

The gracious Grim from below

chooses wisely his righteous plunder,

The time for action has now come! 

Further spells but mindless prattle,

Surely as the death rattle shakes –

I command it!  Commence battle!

The soul of the winner to live on,

the loser dragged ASUNDER!”

The fingers of liquid smoke cradling Laigria and Penelope suddenly took on a new form: that of ghastly ghouls in full armor.  One ghostly warrior hovering over the historian in shimmering gold, the other above the bound woman a wispy black; swords clashed into shields and deathly screams echoed about the chamber.

With a flurry of strikes, the righteous ghost smashed its icy sword into the fiery sword of the wicked one.  The weapons protecting Laigria soon dispatched, the gold ghoul raised its weapon high.  Just as this sword came slicing down, Evagoria watched in stunned disbelief as Marseea withdrew her bejeweled dagger, sprung to her right, and thrust it straight into Laigria’s chest.  One last squeal, one final sharp scream from her lost soul the vanquished ghoul failed to protect – the fires around the dead woman and the glowing green that had made up the fingers of the Grim faded away.

Only the victorious form of the gold ghoul remained.  Its task complete, it drifted toward the Elysiakeia somehow back on its pedestal and ever so slowly sunk into its golden plates.  Once the ghoul vanished, the light that shined from the book disappeared as well.

Complete darkness lasted for but a moment.  The torches suddenly relit – Evagoria had no idea how – everyone hurriedly gathered around Penelope’s icy funerary wrapping.  Aside for Queen Marseea, of course.  Soaked in sweat, she strutted toward them and now stood at Evagoria’s left side.  After pushing wisps of wayward hair behind an ear, Marseea wiped her right hand on her robes.  A white pouch with gold script withdrawn with the other hand, she poured some of its contents into her palm.  Taking in a deep breath, she blew dust that looked like glittering drops of blood across the still encased body.  Without the aid of the Elysiakeia, she spoke the shortest spell next:

“Safe in the Grim’s grip lies a crippled,

blackened soul beyond repair,

The time has now come!  Rise living

Mermaid from the depths of despair!”

For many moments, Evagoria watched everyone around Penelope hold his or her collective breath.

“Is she … is she ––”

With a bloodcurdling scream from inside it, the frosted tomb shattered and Penelope sprang up.  Although still coated in blood, her heaving chest and sharp gasps made it obvious that Penelope was no longer on the Grim’s doorstep.  She was even more blue than grey.

With a thankful gasp, Diedrika wrapped both arms around the bewildered historian from behind and wept into hair still coated in ice.  Hezekiah then rubbed his beak against Penelope’s hand until she finally returned his touch with a rub of his mane.

Penthesilea appeared shocked that their spells had actually worked, but not Queen Marseea.  Just the opposite, in fact.  If any creature to come before them had ever wielded a grin as smug, Evagoria had never seen or heard of it.

“As you were so eager to do earlier, Hezekiah,” Marseea paused until he peeked up at her, “the time has come to fetch that medic.”

*****

The medic retrieved, the bright yellow Arachna surveyed Penelope’s wounds.  Alongside the Gryphon prince and king, Evagoria and Diedrika watched from afar as this medic began to apply fresh silk to Penelope’s still bleeding stab wounds.  As if dying of thirst, one after the other, Penelope eagerly gulped down both clear colored potions given to her by Penthesilea.

Although her mind begged them not to, Evagoria’s eyes soon wandered to the other bed.  Queen Marseea prancing toward her, Evagoria did what she could to wipe the troubled look off her face, but could not turn away from the dead woman.  The handle of Marseea’s finely crafted dagger still stuck out from Laigria’s unmoving chest.

“By that look and your stare, I take it you do not agree with my methods?”

Evagoria sucked in a deep breath.  Now facing each other, hardened greys embedded themselves into her with the weight of hooks the size of ship anchors.  Evagoria tried to hold in her words, but could not keep them from spilling out of her mouth:

“You killed her, Headmistress.”

A look Evagoria had never seen before made a mad dash from one side of Queen Marseea’s face to the other.  This stern look, thin lips, and a sinister sparkle in her right eye made it obvious that such a bold accusation annoyed her.

“Once dragged behind the walls of Atagartis, would death not have been her fate anyway?”  Marseea now moved her unfeeling gaze from Evagoria to Diedrika.

“Not immediately, but most likely, eventually,” her Queen Mother answered with nary a hint of emotion.

Her chin raised, Marseea again focused on Evagoria.  The Heart of Terra Australis hanging from its thick gold chain glistened atop her chest.

“Label me an ‘Executioner’ if you wish,” she declared coldly, “but as of
this
day I have yet to earn that title you dare not let slip past your lips.”

Marseea began to march off, but then stopped and turned at the waist.  Evagoria could only see her right eye, but this was almost too much; as if this eye was a torch, Evagoria’s birthmark burned.

“Nightmares that slay your every happy thought, wicked talons scratching yet one more cruel intention into your belly with each new moon – always watching, always waiting … they are coming.  All have seen what has already passed, but only I can see what is yet to be: You will earn the title of ‘Murderer’ long before me, Evagoria –
Gift
from Poseidon.  And many, including those you hold most dear, will die because of it.”

With a haughty twirl of her cloak, the Witch Queen departed.