The Secret of the Emerald Sea (18 page)

Chapter Forty-Five

The afternoon was bathed in golden sunlight. Minerva’s skin warmed and her spirits rose in expectation as she took in the splendor of Delphi.

It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen on this earth
, Minerva thought in wonder.
I had almost forgotten the majesty of this place, as though the different worlds blend together here like paints on a canvas, bleeding one into another and creating different colors that could not otherwise exist.

Delphi was so close to the Sky Gods. The magic and truth of the universe was so strong in this place. She felt she could reach up and touch the Sunlit Cloud if she wanted to. She stood at the heart of the sacred realm, looking up at the mountains that flanked the ancient temple, admiring the endless stone steps that were pink and gray in the noonday sun. The sky was such a deep blue that it reminded her of Neptune’s azure eyes.

Minerva felt dizzy for a moment, as though the universe was upside-down, and so she sat down on one of the steps to steady herself. She closed her eyes for a moment, shutting out the sweeping beauty of Delphi.

So many have come here and left disappointed
, she thought as she took a drink from the small silver jug that she wore on a long leather cord about her waist
. In worse confusion than before they set out. I am the Goddess of Wisdom, but perhaps I too shall be denied understanding...

Determined once more, she opened her eyes wide, and looked around. The temple was deserted. No Oracle waited avidly to hear her case. She sat and prayed, meditating on Mount Parnassus and upon the clouds above. She began to count the steps of the temple, one by one, until she entered a sort of trance where she was halfway between one world and the other. Night was beginning to descend on the Delphi now, but she was unseeing, neither asleep nor awake. Her mind was turning in the air like a falcon, like a messenger bird desperate to fly home, to deliver its vital message.

* * * *

The Pythia had been there all along. But, until now, the Goddess of Wisdom had been unprepared for their meeting. The great oracle waited for Minerva. She needed the brilliant goddess to release her ties to Earth and even to the gods.

She waited until Minerva went deep inside her own spirit where the Pythia traveled. For the Pythia could not be touched, and she could not be seen...and yet she was there,
always
, waiting to be found, but only by some...

To those courageous souls who would risk madness to see the truth they sought, she would appear.

* * * *

Minerva saw the woman and cried out to her. Then, the Goddess of Wisdom walked across the temple floor to where the Pythia sat, and she bowed before her. Never before had the goddess bowed to anyone...but here, inside her spirit, she was but a disciple of the Oracle Pythia.

Minerva made out the shape of the mouth of the cave. This was where the Pythia sat so serenely, her eyes gazing into the distant twilight. She moved toward the sienna stones, turned almost black by the darkness of sundown. She heard the murmuring of the Oracle, and something else too...a
hissing
...that frightened her even as she continued to move forward into the blackness.

“Are you there?” Minerva whispered, but she knew not if she spoke aloud, or simply thought the words. It did not matter much which it really was.

“Oh, yes,” the Pythia answered. Minerva thought she could hear a smile in her voice. “I am always here, and I have always been here.” The hissing grew louder and Minerva looked down at the cold ground and spied a long, sleek serpent twisting about the oracle’s bare feet.

“Do not be afraid,” the Pythia said, “for the serpent senses fear, and he will not speak to me if you are afraid.”

Minerva caught her breath and stared down at the snake, and she attempted to do as she was told, meditating to calm her own spirit.

“Good, good,” the oracle murmured. “You are brave and wise. I think he shall talk to us now.”

The snake grew agitated, coiling itself around the feet of both the women, who stood close together. Minerva felt the icy flesh of the snake, like cold leather, against her sandals. She steeled herself, for how could a serpent harm a daughter of Jupiter?

“Don’t think like that!” the Pythia snapped. “He can harm you if he wishes. You are nothing to him, and his power transcends your position and status. He is not what he seems, goddess!”

The oracle reached down and stroked the snake lovingly, caressing its contours, chanting in a language Minerva could not understand.

“Yes, I am sorry,” Minerva said, chastened. “I am but another seeker, and I mean no harm or disrespect.”

“That is good,” the snake answered in the same language, but now Minerva could understand the words.

“We shall begin, then...be silent and wait, for time is short, and I see much danger... and I see war, a grand war with many victims and many heroes.”

The serpent twisted into a circle and went around and around, faster and faster, on the cold stone.

“The time is nigh,” the serpent continued. “The battle between the sky and the sea and the underworld is growing close. The girl and the boy are the keys, and they are in grave peril.”

Minerva held herself silent, following the snake’s instructions...waiting and listening. The Great War was something all of the gods had discussed. It seemed inevitable that such a day should come. There was great hatred and competition between Jupiter and his brother, Pluto, and great dissent over the power that each world held, and which was greater.

“The girl has power, great power. She is the link between human and god...the purest link, and this gives her great power. She is the keystone, and she waits...with the son of another goddess, and she does not know what part she will play. Pluto knows of her, through Hecate, who saw the old witch you visited and claimed her soul.”

Pythia moaned. The snake was wrapped tightly around her legs now, and she seemed to be in pain. Soon, though, she fell silent again and began to speak, taking up where the serpent had left off.

“Hecate...is evil,” she said. “Hecate has set the Great War in motion, quite intentionally, and she will pay for this, perhaps. I cannot see the outcome.” The snake squeezed the oracle until she gasped with pain. “It is cloudy. It is not decided. Look to the forest by Lynnshire. Look to the skies at night.” The Pythia’s voice grew rough and choked, as though she could barely breathe. “Go not into the village, for there the witch waits, but you shall not know her until she comes for you.

“I see Death, end upon end, first the father, and then the son...if she succeeds...it is in her to succeed. Pluto pushes her forward, and he is so strong. Look to the skies, the skies at night, and you will have your answer. Do not take on the witch until you look into the night sky and see what you must see...it is too dangerous.”

The cave was suddenly flooded with a bright light, and Minerva lost consciousness. When she opened her eyes, the sun was rising over the Delphi, igniting the dawn sky. Minerva looked to the mouth of the cave where the clouds were streaked with pastel light, and then she glanced around her. Once again, she was completely alone.

She looked down at her forearm where two puncture marks marred her smooth flesh. The serpent had tasted her blood; she did not know when. She saw something else on her skin, a faint, almost invisible pattern in the shape of an ornate L. She stared at it, unable to make any sense of it as a symbol.
Lynnshire
? She wondered idly. Her head ached.

Minerva felt tired and unwell, and she fell into a deep sleep as the sun rose. Its heat warmed her frozen limbs. She slept until high noon, dreamless and at peace, and then she woke and made for the forest. No marks remained on her skin as she harnessed her power and prepared to travel through the worlds and across the skies. The bite marks were healed, if ever they were truly there at all. The L remained only as an image in her mind, something to think upon as she did her work.
Its puzzle will all come clear in time
, she knew
. If only I am wise enough to make it so
.

Chapter Forty-Six

Blake sat on a bench in the town square, talking to no one. The night was dark and rainy and cold. His eyes were almost swollen shut from crying, and his mother would not attend this meeting and hold his hand and soothe him. She was too consumed with grief to face the ordeal.

He avoided the eyes of the townspeople for he wondered in his heart if the same person who had shot him with an arrow on the night of the pageant had also destroyed his father. He remembered the way no one had seemed to notice the arrow strike his side and how there had been no wound, although he felt the tingling sensations still, sometimes intensely. He knew now that it was magic, black magic, and he trusted no one.

The formerly sweet and gentle boy narrowed his eyes as he listened to the petty constable explain the events of the day, and Blake felt disdain for the villagers who listened with wide eyes, greedy for all the details of his father’s demise. They seemed to revel in his family’s terrible misfortune.

He could not see Jane or the little tot anywhere, and he wondered where they were. Surely they had heard of the situation? He wished to see Jane’s face and to take comfort in her closeness. He had thought of going to her today, at the farmhouse, but he was too despondent to do it, and besides this, he found the little boy somewhat strange now. The way he would look into Blake’s eyes so probingly like a person much older. He seemed to stare into his soul. The young man wondered why he had not noticed this until now.

In his suspicion, he felt that no one was safe, perhaps not even the girl he loved. She, too, was involved in Tarot readings and all the rest of those dark arts, and he remembered the Death card and the way it had made him feel to look at it, the sense of doom that he had struggled to cast aside was simply a part of him now.

The meeting didn’t last long. The petty constable listened to the ravings of drunken servants and farmers, and to the worries of the decent, God-fearing folk who populated the town. There was little that could be done to persuade them that magic was not at play. The petty constable himself had no real explanation for what had occurred. As he himself did not...

The villagers tried to console Blake, walking over to where he stood, and murmuring the expected words. But they knew his wary eyes seemed to seek out suspects, and so they did not tarry with him. They left him be, knowing his merry, outgoing nature might be gone forever. Some of those who gave their condolences worked on the estate, and they fretted within his hearing that the young lord and his mother would leave Lynnshire forever. They would lose their jobs, which were so new, and their ability to feed their families.

The crevasse between Blake and the villagers was growing with every passing second, and he had no wish to mend fences or to reassure. He, himself, had thought about going back to the city, perhaps to study. Anything to be rid of this wretched place.
Father
, he thought sadly
, I am sorry I failed you
.

The meeting was done now, and nothing much had been achieved. The crowd dispersed, but Blake stayed where he was. He was deep in thought, and also dreaded returning to his mother’s tears and misery.

Across the emptying square, a young lady with dark hair walked quickly toward him. He had never seen her before. She was dressed fine, as fine as he. Her navy blue cape was made of the finest serge wool, and as she came closer, he noticed her little ruby earrings that glittered in the dark.

She stared into his face, and her pale blue eyes were sympathetic and kind. She asked if she might sit with him for a moment, and her voice reminded him of the city and the ladies he had met there.
She is like me
, he thought, cheered to speak with someone who might understand him and where he came from. Jane had let him down by failing to stand by his side when he needed her the most. She had said that she loved him, but where was she in his hour of need?

“I am Lady Brandon,” she said, extending a gloved hand for him to shake.

“You may call me Liesel, if you wish,” she added, smiling.

“Lord Stirling,” he answered gravely, not inclined to give his first name. They sat in silence for a moment, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

She is not as beautiful as my Jane
, he thought, then chided himself, for what should looks matter? And besides, no one in the town was as beautiful as Jane.

“I am new to the village,” she said quietly after a few moments has passed.

* * * *

Liesel glanced over at the boy, so handsome and so desolate. He did indeed remind her of her own lost love. The other boy had not been so perfect to look at, but he had shared the same sensitive eyes and he had the same height and build. Her heart seemed to swell with love for him as she gazed at him, quite demurely, from under her smooth, dark bangs.

“Why have you come here?” he replied, only out of politeness, she thought. His voice was gruff from crying. “I have never seen you before.”

“I had some business here, an inheritance, and I thought I would come and make sure that everything was as it should be,” she said. “I have heard what happened to you, and I am terribly sorry.”

She watched his face as he glanced over at her. Her cheeks were rosy and full, her lips deep rose. She looked rich indeed, she was sure, and the rouge made her glow with vibrant health. Her weak chin was buried in a warm scarf, and she thought that her skin, at least, was clear and fine, although it lacked the pearly sheen of the girl she had seen in the crystal ball. Even in tears, the daughter of Neptune had seemed lit from within.

She sensed he wanted nothing but to be alone, but this was her chance, and she must take it! “I know how you must feel,” she said. “For I lost my father, too. That is why I am here. I, too, am in grieving, though it has been some time, and I no longer wear mourning.”

Blake also wore inky black...the color of death and black magic. She almost felt she could hear his heart break. He began to cry, as lonely and forlorn as a lost little child. Liesel grabbed his gloved hand and held it gently in her own. He let her hold his hand and comfort him, and they sat like that for a long time until it grew too cold to sit there any longer.

“I am sorry you lost your father. It is unbearable,” he muttered to her. He seemed embarrassed now by the way he had cried in front of her.

“Time will heal me, and you.” She smiled a little. “We must have faith in God’s plan for us.”

“Yes,” he muttered, his voice embroidered with bitterness. “God’s plan. I must confess, I have little faith in God any longer, for where was he when my father needed him?”

“I can understand you feelings,” she said, her voice soothing. “I am staying at the pub there. The Crown of Thorns...and I would like to see you again, and we can comfort each other... For we are of the same sort of people, I think, and perhaps we can be friends.”

Blake smiled weakly. “Thank you for offering, Lady Brandon,” he said, “but I’ve not much mind for company at the moment.”

“That may change,” she said, and she reached into her pocket and handed him a little package wrapped in a handkerchief. “This is a special loose tea,” she said, “from India. It will help you sleep, for it is filled with special herbs and good things to help you heal and rest. I always keep a little in my cloak, in case I need it.”

He took the handkerchief from her. He smelled the tea and some happiness lit up his face, just for a fleeting second. The leaves had a lavender scent. “This smells...familiar!” he whispered, and Liesel smiled.

My magic does not fail as of late
, she thought slyly.
The scent must
remind him of the girl. That will make things easier
.

He put the pouch in his pocket, muttered some thanks, and set off into the night without looking back.