The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) (42 page)

Josh looked around. Dee was standing to the right of the doorway and Machiavelli had stepped into the room and taken up a position on the left. They were both watching him intently. “What what happens now?” he asked, his voice flat and muffled in the chamber.

Neither man responded. Machiavelli folded his arms and tilted his head slightly to one side, eyes narrowing.

“Who’s this?” Josh asked, jerking a thumb at the statue. He didn’t expect to get an answer from Dee, but when he turned to the Italian he realized that Machiavelli wasn’t looking at him, he was looking
beyond
him. Josh spun around just as two nightmarish creatures materialized out of the shadows.

Everything about them was white, from their almost transparent skin to the long fine hair that flowed down their backs and brushed the floor behind them. It was impossible to say whether they were male or female. They were the size of small children, unnaturally thin, with bulbous heads, broad foreheads and pointed chins. Overlarge ears and tiny nubs of horn grew out of the top of their skulls. Huge circular eyes without any pupils fixed on him, and when the creatures stepped forward, he realized that there was something wrong with their legs. Their thighs curved backward, and then the legs jutted forward at the knee and ended in goatlike hooves.

They separated as they came around the slab, and Josh’s instinct was to back away from them, but then he remembered Machiavelli’s advice and stood his ground. Taking a deep breath, he looked closely at the nearer creature and discovered that it was not quite as terrifying as it looked at first: it was so small it appeared almost fragile. He thought he knew what they were; he’d seen images of them on fragments of Greek and Roman pottery on the bookshelves in his mom s study. They were fauns, or maybe satyrs; he wasn’t sure what the difference was.

The creatures slowly circled Josh, reaching for him with icy long-fingered hands tipped with filthy black nails, stroking his torn T-shirt, pinching the fabric of his jeans. They spoke together, chattering in high-pitched, almost inaudible voices that set his teeth on edge. One bone-chilling finger touched the flesh of his stomach and his aura spat and crackled gold sparks. “Hey!” he shouted. The creatures jumped back, but that single touch had set Josh’s heart racing. He was abruptly gripped by every nameless fear he’d ever imagined, and all the nightmares that most terrified him flooded to the surface, leaving him gasping and shaking, bathed in a bitter icy sweat. The second faun darted forward and laid a cold hand on Josh’s face. Suddenly, his heart was tripping madly, his stomach churning with mindless panic.

The two creatures held each other and jumped up and down, shaking with what could only be laughter.

Josh. Machiavelli’s commanding voice broke through the boy’s rising panic and silenced the creatures. “Josh. Listen to me. Hear my voice, concentrate on it. The satyrs are simple creatures and feed off the most basic of human emotions: one gorges itself on fear, the other delights in panic. They are Phobos and Deimos.”

At the mention of their names, the two satyrs started back, fading into the shadows, until only their huge liquid eyes were visible, black and shining in the light of the hovering globe.

“They are the Guardians of the Sleeping God.”

And then, with a grinding of ancient stone, the statue sat up and swiveled its head to look at Josh. Within the helmet, two eyes blazed bloodred.

“I
s this a Shadowrealm?” Sophie asked in a horrified whisper, her breath catching in her throat.

She was standing at the entrance to a long straight tunnel whose walls were decorated and lined with what looked like human bones. A single low-wattage bulb lit the space with a dull yellow light.

Joan squeezed her arm and laughed gently. “No. We’re still in our world. Welcome to the Catacombs of Paris.”

Sophie’s eyes flickered silver as the Witch’s knowledge flowed through her. The Witch of Endor knew these catacombs well. Sophie rocked back on her heels as a sudden array of images engulfed her: men and women wearing little more than rags quarrying stone from huge pits in the ground, watched over by guards wearing the uniforms of Roman centurions. “These were quarries”, she whispered.

“A long time ago”, Nicholas said. “And now it is a tomb for millions of Parisians and one other.”

“The Sleeping God”, Sophie said, her voice cracking. This was an Elder the Witch both loathed and pitied.

Saint-Germain and Joan were shocked by the girl’s knowledge. Even Flamel looked startled.

Sophie started shivering. She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to stand upright as dark thoughts crashed through her brain. The Sleeping God had once been an Elder.

On a burning battlefield, she saw a lone warrior in metal and leather armor, wielding a sword almost as tall as he, fighting off creatures straight out of the Jurassic Age.

At the gates of an ancient city, the warrior in metal and leather stood alone against a vast horde of apelike beast-men while a column of refugees escaped through another gate.

On the steps of an impossibly high pyramid, the warrior defended a lone woman and child from creatures that were a cross between serpents and birds.

“Sophie"

She shivered, ice-cold now, teeth chattering. The images changed; the warrior’s polished leather and metal armor had turned filthy, encrusted with mud, streaked and stained. The warrior, too, was changed.

The warrior raced through a primitive ice-locked village, howling like a beast, while fur-wrapped humans fled from him or cowered in fear.

The warrior rode at the head of a vast army that was a mongrel mix of beasts and men bearing down on a sparkling city in the heart of an empty desert.

The warrior stood in the middle of an enormous library filled with charts, scrolls and books of metal, cloth and bark. The library was burning so intensely that the metal books flowed liquid. Slashing his sword through a series of shelves, he swept more books onto the flames.

“Sophie!”

The girl’s aura flickered and crackled as the Alchemyst gripped her shoulders and squeezed hard.

“Sophie!”

Flamel’s voice snapped her out of her trance. “I saw I saw”, she began hoarsely. Her throat felt raw, and she’d bitten down so hard on the inside of her cheek that there was the disgusting metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

“I cannot even imagine what you saw”, he said gently. “But I think I know
who
you saw”.

“Who was it? she panted, breathless now. Who was the warrior in the metal and leather armor? She knew if she thought hard about him, the Witch’s memories would supply his name, but that would also draw her back into the warrior’s violent world, and she didn’t want that.

“The Elder, Mars Ultor.”

“The God of War”, Joan of Arc added bitterly.

Without looking or turning her head, Sophie raised her left hand and pointed down a narrow corridor. “He’s down there”, she said quietly.

“How do you know?” Saint-Germain asked.

“I can feel him”, the girl said with a shudder. She rubbed her arms furiously. “It’s like something cold and sticky is running down my skin. It’s coming from there.”

“This tunnel leads us into the secret heart of the catacombs”, Saint-Germain said, “into the lost Roman city of Lutetia.” He brushed his hands briskly together, showering sparks onto the ground, and then set off down the tunnel, followed by Joan. Sophie was about to follow them when she stopped and looked at the Alchemyst. “What happened to Mars? When I saw him first, I thought he was the defender of humanity. What changed him?”

Nicholas shook his head. “No one knows. Perhaps the answer lies in the Witch’s memories?” he suggested. “They must have known one another.”

Sophie started to shake her head. “Don’t make me think about him”, she began, but it was too late. Even as the Alchemyst was asking the question, a series of terrible images flashed through Sophie’s mind. She saw a tall, handsome man standing alone on the top of a dizzyingly high stepped pyramid, arms raised to the heavens. Across his shoulders he wore a spectacular cloak of multicolored feathers. Spread out below the pyramid was a huge stone city, surrounded by a thick jungle. The city was celebrating, the broad streets thronged with people wearing brightly colored clothes, ornate jewelry and extravagant feathered cloaks and headdresses. The only absence of color was in the line of white-clad men and women stretching down the center of the wide main street. Looking more closely, she realized that they were chained together with ropes of leather and vine around their necks. Guards wielding whips and spears were driving them toward the pyramid.

Sophie drew in a deep shuddering breath and blinked away the images. “She knew him”, she said coldly. She didn’t tell the Alchemyst that the Witch of Endor had once loved Mars but that had been a long time ago, before he had changed, before he had become known as Mars Ultor. The Avenger.

“H
ail, Mars, the Lord of War”, Dee said loudly.

Completely numb with fright, Josh watched as the huge helmeted head slowly turned to look at Dee. The Magician’s aura immediately snapped alight, sizzling yellow and vaporous around him. Within the god’s helmet, red light glowed. The head turned again with the sound of grinding stone, and blazing crimson eyes looked at the boy. The two ghost-white satyrs, Phobos and Deimos, crept out of the shadows and crouched behind the stone pedestal, watching Josh intently. Even glancing at them sent waves of panic and fear coursing through his entire body, and he was sure he saw one of them lick thin lips with a tongue the color of an old bruise. Deliberately looking away, he concentrated on the ancient Elder.

You must show no fear, Machiavelli had said, and do not panic. But that was easier said than done. Directly in front of him, close enough to touch, was the Elder the Romans had worshipped as the God of War. Josh had never heard of Hekate or the Witch of Endor, and because he knew nothing about them, they hadn’t had the same effect on him. This Elder was different. Now he knew what Dee had meant when he said that this was the Elder remembered by humankind. This was Mars himself, the Elder with a month and a planet named after him.

Josh tried to draw in a deep breath and settle his thumping heart, but he was shaking so hard he could barely breathe. His legs were like jelly, and he felt that at any moment, he could crumple to the ground. Squeezing his mouth shut, he forced himself to draw in air through his nose, trying to remember some of the breathing exercises he’d learned in martial arts class. He closed his eyes tight and wrapped his arms around his body, hugging himself hard. He should be able to do this: he’d seen Elders before; he’d faced the undead and even fought a primeval monster. How hard could this be?

Josh straightened, opened his eyes and looked at the statue of Mars except that it wasn’t a statue. This was a living being. There was a thick hard gray crust over his skin and clothing. The only touch of color about the god was in his eyes, which glowed red behind a full-face visor that completely concealed his face.

“Great Mars, it is almost time”, Dee said quickly, “time for the Elders to return to the world of the humani.” He took a breath and announced dramatically, “We have the Codex.”

Josh felt the crackle of parchment under his T-shirt. What would happen to him if they knew he had the two missing pages? Would they still Awaken him?

At the mention of the Codex, the Elder’s head snapped toward Dee, eyes blazing, wisps of red smoke drifting from the slit in the helm.

“The prophecy is almost fulfilled”, Dee continued quickly. “Soon we will make the Final Summoning. Soon we will free the Lost Elders and return them to their rightful place as rulers of the world. Soon we will return the world to the paradise it once was.”

With the sound of grinding stone, Mars swung his legs off the plinth and turned so that he was sitting facing the boy. Josh noticed that every movement sent tiny flakes of what looked like stone skin onto the ground.

Dee’s voice rose almost to a shout. “And the first prophecy of the Codex has come to pass. We have found the two that are one. We have found the twins of legend.” He waved a hand toward Josh. “This humani possesses an aura of pure gold; his twin sister’s aura is unblemished silver.”

Mars tilted his head to look at Josh again and then stretched out a gloved hand. It was still a foot and a half away from the boy’s shoulder when his aura bloomed silently around him, the bright glow lighting up the interior of the chamber, turning the polished bone walls golden, sending Phobos and Deimos scuttling for shelter in the deepest shadows behind the plinth. The dry air was suddenly rich with the scent of orange.

Squinting against the glow given off by his own skin, feeling the hair on his head standing up, crackling with static, Josh watched in awe as the hardened crust began to fall away from Mars’s fingertips to reveal deeply tanned, muscled flesh beneath. The god’s own aura flared, outlining the statue in a thick purple-red mist and his healthy skin started to glow an angry red as tiny sparks curled off the aura and stuck to his flesh, quickly cooling and coating it in a gray-white stone like scab. Josh frowned; it looked as if the god’s aura was hardening into a thick shell around him, slowly turning him to stone again.