All That Lives Must Die (70 page)

               84               

CYCLE OF VIOLENCE

Cornelius—once called Cronos, and later Chronos; the sole surviving Titan in the Middle Realms; Ph.D. from MIT with degrees in computer science, political engineering, and theoretical physics; and Professor Emeritus of Stanford University—sat in the lotus position staring into the depths of the program running on his tablet computer . . . traces of red and blue chaos that looked much like a butterfly in flight. He had missed the last Council meeting in order to implement the last lines of code. It had been worth the time and effort, though; it would give him a glimpse of their future.

Audrey would have called it “unscrambling a tangle in the weave of Fate.”

He called it meticulous programming and multivariate transcendental calculus.

He looked up, resting his old eyes, and taking in where he was (for sometimes he became so absorbed in the mathematics of the thing . . . that he forgot what precisely that “thing” was).

Had he a map he could have pointed to the Aegean Sea, between modern-day Greece and Turkey. A place once called Ieiunium Aequora or “Hungry Water” by Byzantine sailors for all the ships that entered the region vanished.

Today no such thing occurred. It was just another stretch of water among a million other stretches of similar waters . . . with a tiny rock of an island.

Millennia ago, however, that rock had been the high point of an archipelago upon which sat the grand city-state of Altium, grandest city of Atlantis. It had perched upon its hills like a bejeweled crown.

Under dark water, and accessible only through a submerged cavern guarded by beasts of mechanical construct, the city lay buried and sleeping.

In grottoes and forever in shadows were palaces, streets, gold-paved plazas, statues of heroes and gods and Titans and the mighty things that came before them; libraries with mountains of moldering scrolls; paintings that showed earthly paradises, battles among races that no longer lived, and portraits of the most beautiful men and women who ever existed—now all so faded, one could barely see a glimmer of their glory. It made him sad to think of how all was lost to Time.

Among this decaying splendor was the temple where Cornelius now sat, whose central domed chamber was held aloft by ivory mammoth tusks and columns of cracked crystal, and whose floors was paved with turquoise and lapis and jade.

This was the Chamber of Whispers, where Zeus had hatched his plan to overthrow the Titans.

Cornelius shifted on the uncomfortable stone bench, and rearranged the Dodger Stadium seat cushion he’d brought along with him.

Much better.

Within this chamber, holding the Council’s most precious secrets, was the Vault Eternal. The mad genius and master mechanic, Daedalus, had fashioned it to be impenetrable, with locks so intricate that even after a thousand years of study, Cornelius had only a hint of how it worked. To open it required three keys and three combinations simultaneously applied.

Proof against any thief.

One of the three keys was held by him.

Another key was held by Lucia, who had perched on the bench to his left.

She had toweled off from her recent swim through the entrance and had slipped into a set of ordinary sweats. Even in the gray cotton she looked elegant. Women had talents that eluded his scientific senses . . . and he appreciated that.

Lucia was wise, but always competing with the beauty of her younger sister, the ferocity of her older sister, and with herself (never quite perfect enough to live up to her impossible standards).

“
Narro, Audio, Perceptum
,” Lucia said, and rang her tiny silver bell. The tinkling echoed off the dome and was swallowed by the silence of this place. “I call this meeting of the Council of Elders for the League of Immortals to order.”

Gilbert sat opposite them. He glanced at his watch as if expecting someone to show (and indeed this was a possibility), but the deep worry on his face was something Cornelius had never seen on the Once King.

Kino sat on Cornelius’s right and wore black slacks and white shirt. He and Cornelius had come here together in Gilbert’s submersible. It had been a quiet, unpleasant journey.

Aaron stood apart from them, still dripping in his
EVERLAST
trunks, his chest hair plastered to his muscular chest.

Henry was missing.

In absentia also was Dallas—called before the Council by special summons. Her tardiness would no doubt be an excuse for Lucia to try to punish the girl.

No surprise, really, that neither had showed. It was not in their natures to respond to authority.

Audrey, however, had also failed to arrive . . . and she was never late or shirked her responsibilities once she accepted them. It was a dark omen.

“I suppose we have a quorum,” Gilbert admitted, and glanced again at his watch.

“Have we all seen Fiona’s e-mail?” Lucia asked.

They nodded. Cornelius opened the document on his computer.

Fiona’s e-mail was a pledge to help the Immortals defend themselves from “the looming threat of Infernal machinations and incursions into our world” as well as a plea to help her find new leadership to stop this threat.

“I’m enormously pleased with this development,” Lucia said. “Fiona has matured far beyond my expectations. We need to bring her onto the Council; perhaps some sort of internship?”

“She is a child still,” Gilbert protested.

“Hardly,” Aaron muttered. “She has fought and won a war in Hell! What more proof do you need for abilities?”

“Of her abilities?” Kino said. “None.” He made a sideways slash with his hand. “But she is barely a woman and in desperate need of our guidance.”

“Yes, guidance,” Lucia said. “Which brings me to the other matter, one our spies in the Lower Realms have brought to our attention. Eliot.”

Kino stood. “The boy is now a landed Infernal Lord who is also half Immortal. This is a disaster! His powers will grow beyond our measure, and his mind will warp until it is evil.”

Aaron shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Not Eliot.”

Gilbert looked uncomfortable between the two men, and he stood as well. “I do not wish to discuss Audrey’s children if she is not here.”

“There is no discussion necessary,” Lucia told them. She got to her feet, and her cheeks flushed. “This has already been decided, last year—for just such a contingency. You all put your mark to the document, even you, Gilbert! Do not evade responsibility when it becomes difficult.”

They stood in silence (save Cornelius, who remained seated in silence). They knew exactly what she was talking about.

Last year when they had proclaimed Fiona a young goddess and Eliot a hero within the League, the Council had feared this very thing: one or both of the children’s Infernal sides would call to them, and they would succumb to its temptations.

Each Council member had signed a Warrant of Death so action could be taken without delay. All that remained was for Lucia to fill in the date and the document became binding . . . and every one of the League’s members would be compelled to find and destroy Eliot.

Cornelius rubbed his hands to ease the arthritic ache within his bones.

In truth, his loyalties were conflicted, for he liked Eliot and Fiona. There were grandchildren to him . . . at least, that was how he had begun to think of them.

His own children were lost. Zeus had met his fate. No one had seen him since Ultima Thule, and Cornelius knew in his heart he was dead. Poseidon had taken his own life in a flash of light, and his ashes were now scattered across the seas he so loved. And Kino? The Lord of Death was so far from the child Cornelius had reared, he might as well be dead to him.

He sighed.

Violence was no stranger to
this
family. Cornelius’s children had plotted the genocide of Cornelius’s own primordial brothers and sisters. Oceans of blood had flowed that day. It had to be done, and Cornelius had chosen then to save the young members of his family by murdering the elder Titans.

Had not the same thing happened to him? Had he not killed his own father at the urging of his mother?
70

This time, however, something was different: it was not just his family—but the Infernals as well.

The fallen angels were insane and wielded far more power than the League. They were also alien and more evil than the primordial deities had ever been.

And where was the League’s leader this time to stop the gods’ petty disputes and rally them?

Cornelius’s gaze fell upon his computer and Fiona’s passionate e-mail.

Her, perhaps,
if
her great threat were removed.

Violence—why was that their solution to everything? Were not there other ways?

Yes . . . but none better to permanently solve problems. He had seen so much: He knew this was the unpleasant truth. Or was it
because
he had seen so much that he was blind to any alternatives?

“Open the vault,” Cornelius whispered. “Retrieve the Death Warrant for Eliot.”

The others looked at him.

“Why do you say this?” Gilbert demanded. “More coldhearted mathematics?”

“This is not based on calculation,” Cornelius replied, “but rather that Fiona’s brother among all the Immortals and Infernals has been her greatest ally . . . and is now her greatest vulnerability.”

Aaron looked as if he wanted to challenge this assertion, but he instead cupped his hand over his chin, thinking.

“What if she follows him as she ever has?” Cornelius continued. “But this time to the other side? Or worse, what if Eliot becomes so twisted that he . . .”

Cornelius didn’t need to finish that thought. They had all seen brothers and sisters among their ranks murder one another.

“Very well,” Lucia said. “Kino? Cornelius?” She strode to the vault door, slender key already in her hand.

Kino joined her, and Cornelius fumbled out a key ring from his pocket.

Amid the keys to his VW bug, the trailer he lived in, post office box, and pool room, was the one required: the worn metal cylinder with vein-like ridges (more circuitry than mechanical lock).

He walked to the hinge portion of the vault door and found a proper keyhole.

Lucia and Kino held their keys. “On three,” Lucia said. “One, two—three.”

They inserted their keys.

Cornelius then dialed in the combination, sliding tiles encrusted with ancient symbols into the proper alignment.

As he did this a series of clanks and clacks and mechanical ratchetings vibrated within the vault door . . . but there was also a grinding noise that he’d never before heard.

Lucia’s brows scrunched together at the noise as well.

Kino pulled on the door, his muscles tensing as tons of metal swung on a perfectly balanced hinge. He entered the vault chamber.

Cornelius peered through. Within were rows of sealed, spirit-filled Ming vases; jars of blue fluid containing floating brains, a lockbox kept for The King’s Men whose extra-dimensional spaces were best left forever sealed, Leonardo da Vinci’s one true notebook . . . and similar, dangerous and fascinating objects.

Kino grabbed two alabaster scroll tubes and marched out.

Lucia hovered near Kino’s side, looking childlike next to his great height. Kino unstoppered the containers and shook out their contents—one for him and one for Lucia.

As they unrolled them Kino’s dark features turned pale, and Lucia’s face flushed deeper and twisted in outrage.

She held up the document for all of them to see: it was not the vellum Warrant of Death they had put in there for safekeeping, but rather a rolled-up
New York Times
crossword section.

“Where are they?” she demanded.

“The vault is impervious to force,” Kino said. “Proof against any thief.”

Cornelius approached. He took the newspaper crossword and held at arm’s length, squinting.

“Thirty seven across reads: fastest bird,” he said. “That would be a peregrine falcon.” Cornelius noted and recited the penned-in answer:
“P-E-A-R-A-G-R-I-N.”

Only one among them had the talent to enter the vault without the keys. And only one spelled so poorly . . . even when he was sober.

“Proof against any thief,” Lucia screeched, “but not
foolproof
. I want Henry found. I want him dragged in front of this Council!”

Cornelius slowly shook his head and took his seat. One might as well try to bottle the four winds.

He saw that his computer simulation was almost done. Good. Objective analysis would be most welcome at this point.

“We must draw new warrants,” Kino suggested.

“No,” Aaron told him. “I will not debate this without Audrey present.”

“You will do as this Council tells you,” Lucia said.

This was a mistake. Push Aaron, and he pushed back. Push him a second time—and he was likely to push hard enough to end the matter.

Aaron’s hands curled into fists, but then he relaxed and gazed at them all. He smiled—turned, and strode from the temple.

“If you leave in the middle of a session,” Lucia told him, “I will remove you from this Council.”

“Remove this.” Without turning to face her, Aaron held up his hand and made a gesture most ancient.

“So be it,” she murmured. “We shall vote in a new member to replace him.”

“Maybe,” Gilbert told her. “But we’re done for today. We no longer have a quorum.”

Lucia sighed with frustration.

A ping sounded from Cornelius’s computer tablet. His simulation to predict which side would prevail in a conflict with the Infernals ended.

The result flashed at the bottom of the screen: zero divided by zero. That was an unbounded result, one in which there is never enough information to define a true value as it bobbled between all values between zero and infinite.

There had been no programmatic error.

So what did it mean?

Dread congealed within Cornelius as he feared this meant that
neither
side would prevail. That only ashes and the primordial chaos would remain when they were done.