Fallen (19 page)

However, the further we walked toward the
interior the more the décor changed. We found wide corridors
displaying ancient sandstone blocks, bearing Egyptian
hieroglyphics. Moreover, many of the figures that I had seen within
books and museums came alive with familiarity. What I had been told
were jackal-headed gods and masks now appeared to be ancestors of
the Lycans.

I wanted to examine these artifacts more
closely, but our escorts herded us on. When we finally stopped, it
was because our way happened to be barred by a set of large golden
doors. Again, jackal-headed figures were prominent in the
embellishments found on them.

I was beating myself up inside trying to
figure out who this was supposed to represent. I knew it was an
idol god of some sort. I wanted to ask Oliver, but this was no time
for a lesson on ancient Egyptian deities. My father would have
known, and remembering our lessons together caused me to miss
him.

As the golden doors were opened by two
keepers on the other side, I suddenly remembered. The room beyond
was absolutely massive, continuing in the theme of ancient Egypt.
Statues of the jackal-headed god, twenty feet high, lined both
sides of the room, towering above us. Sandstone, marble and gold
filled the room with wonders from a world long dead.

I had stepped back in time.

Warriors stood by the Lycan king dressed in
golden breastplates and wraps that hung to their knees. I had
barely registered the form of dress our escorts were wearing until
now. Their uniforms were of a much plainer sort, clearly meant to
betray very little of the culture that they originated from.

Upon a golden throne in the midst of the
room sat the king himself. We came to stand before him in all his
royal splendor, and I said what came to my mind first.

“Anubis.”

Oliver and Charlotte turned to me, perhaps
startled that I had said anything at all. Honestly, I was a bit
startled myself that I had spoken. I had truly not meant to do so.
Nevertheless, the appearance of their king had startled me.

He was the spitting image of the
Jackal-headed god worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. Perhaps the
difference between the wolf and the jackal in the artwork had been
of little importance. Maybe the archaeologists had simply been
misinformed.

Still, here he was. His coat was smooth and
nearer to brown than gray. His frame sleek and muscular; power
without the menace I had seen in his warriors earlier.

Despite the surprise on my companion’s
faces, the king actually seemed to be amused in his wolfish way.
“What do you know of Anubis, young one?” he asked.

Now, I didn’t really want to speak, but
Oliver’s furtive glance left me with little choice. You make your
own bed, as they say.

“Your Majesty,” I began, “my father taught
me that Anubis was one of the many deities worshipped by the
ancient Egyptians. If I’m not mistaken, he was considered to be the
Lord of the Dead.”

We all waited for the king’s response. After
a moment’s pause, he rose to his feet. His appearance changed
quickly—the wolf absorbed and replaced by the form of a man. With
his olive skin and regal bearing, he looked just like one of the
pharaohs of old.

“Are you Anubis, Majesty?” I asked, unable
to contain the question any longer.

“I am not Anubis,” he said. “However, I am
descended from him. You see, young one, Anubis was one of the
Fallen. He only took the form of a canine. His descendants possess
this same characteristic.”

“Where is he now?”

“I do not know, neither does it matter,” he
said in a rich, deep voice. “We are all that is left of Egypt’s
glory. We once ruled over an empire like no other, an empire that
is still talked about with wonder. But the Lycans are all that is
left of that wonder.”

He strode down the half dozen steps
separating us to take Oliver by the hand. Our Lycan escort fell
away upon his approach, perhaps fearing the report of their conduct
that Oliver might deliver unto their king. He was a handsome man,
but would have been totally out of place in today’s society. He was
quite proud of his culture, even if it had long ago passed away
from the world. Imagining him in a proper suit was nearly
impossible.

“Lycean, this is Brody West,” Oliver said by
way of introduction.

King Lycean did not offer to shake my hand.
However, he did at least acknowledge me with a friendly nod of the
head.

“You are a curious fellow, Brody,” he said.
“You are welcome within my kingdom.”

“Thank you, Majesty,” I replied with a
slight bow. “I look forward to learning more about the Lycans and
your culture.”

Lycean’s gaze then fell upon Charlotte. She
had been watching him all this time with an intensity that betrayed
a long history of hatred between the Breed and Lycans. He turned
back to me unexpectedly.

“I think that is a wonderful idea, Brody,”
he said. “In fact, my daughter Sophia would be happy to escort you
through the gates of our wonderful city, Tidus.”

The king indicated another golden doorway to
our right where a young girl near my age stood waiting. She was
wearing a traditional sand colored, Egyptian-styled dress with the
customary ornamentation. Her wavy hair fell over her shoulders dark
as a raven’s wing. She was exquisitely beautiful, and her eyes were
fixed on me.

“Now, is as good a time as any to see how we
Lycans really live,” Lycean said.

“But I thought we had already come through
the city,” I said.

“Not at all, young man,” Lycean said. “Our
true heritage is preserved in Tidus. The village you saw is merely
what we allow others to see of us. There is so much more.”

I looked to Oliver for assurance. He smiled
at me, patting my shoulder. “Go ahead, Brody. I’ll catch up.”

I nodded and then walked toward the young
princess, Sophia, waiting by the golden doors. She smiled very
faintly, deferring her eyes a little as I drew near. The doors
opened to us as she gestured for me to enter. I held back my smile,
attempting to seem very serious.

“Thank you, Princess,” I said as we walked
through together, leaving Oliver and Charlotte in the company of
Lycean and his Lycan warriors.

King Lycean waited for Brody and his
daughter to pass through the golden doors into one of the royal
anterooms. From there they would proceed down to the gate corridor
and the city of Tidus beyond. Oliver had been to Tidus many times
and felt completely at ease concerning Brody’s safety. However, the
current situation within the throne room was a different
matter.

“I do not recall giving you permission to
bring one of
them
to my realm,” Lycean said to Oliver.

“She is my friend and a valuable ally,”
Oliver attempted to explain.

“The Breed are not
my
friends,
neither are they
my
allies,” Lycean said.

Standing nearby, Kron gave Oliver a sly
smirk. He was enjoying this immensely after their little showdown
on the moors.

“She reeks of her brother’s stench,” Lycean
continued. He turned to Charlotte then. “Oh, yes, I know exactly
who you are: the spawn of Hageddon and sister of Sinister.”

Charlotte ground her teeth at the
accusation. Lycean was right, of course. She was descended from the
angel, Hageddon the Breed King, as was Tiberius her father and
Sinister her brother. But that didn’t mean she followed after their
ways.

“Charlotte has been nothing if not loyal to
me and our cause.”

“Your cause, Oliver?” Lycean said. “I care
little about what happens to mortals.”

“A war on mankind will draw Heavenly fire
upon us all,” Oliver countered.

“As you’ve said many times. But we still
prefer to distance ourselves from the conflict. It is only our long
friendship and the debt I owe you that has caused me to offer my
help at all.” Lycean glanced at Charlotte again. “I did not expect
you to abuse our relationship by bringing the enemy within my
camp.”

Oliver did not immediately answer. He knew
the prejudice between the Breed and the Lycans too well to believe
that his words would overcome it in a day. In fact, he had spent
many days in the attempt before now, and very little had changed.
Still, the fact that he and Charlotte were alive did testify to
some progress.

“Lycean, I apologize for offending you,”
Oliver said. “It was not intentional. Please understand, I had
little choice with Breed warriors swarming through my home in
London. Charlotte brought the boy to me, saving him from her own
kind. She fought bravely, side by side with your warriors, against
her brother and the Breed. Knowing you to be a gracious king, I had
hoped you would take those details into consideration.”

Lycean did not immediately answer. Charlotte
watched him suspiciously. Oliver maintained a penitent if hopeful
expression. When the king spoke again, he was noticeably less
agitated.

“I can appreciate your willingness to fight
against your own kind,” he began with Charlotte.

Charlotte interrupted him. “I am not
fighting against my people—only those who are following Black.”

Oliver waited for the inevitable eruption of
Lycean’s temper, but the king managed to keep it in check.

Lycean stepped nearer to her. “Your tongue
may kindle a fire that you are unable to extinguish, young woman,”
he said. “Testing my patience would be unwise.”

Charlotte looked as though she might speak
again, but she glanced at Oliver. Seeing his expression, she
thought better of it.

“As I was saying,” Lycean continued, “I can
appreciate where your allegiance now lies. However, I am the ruler
of a proud people. And they do not want you here. They would
tolerate even less you being allowed to enter into our sacred city
of Tidus. And since that is where we must go, you have few options
available here.”

Oliver started to make his own suggestion,
but Charlotte interrupted him. “I’ll go back to London,” she said.
When Oliver began to protest, she added, “I can keep an eye on what
Black and my brother are doing. We can meet up later, after you’ve
conducted your business here.”

Oliver smiled. “Are you sure? I don’t want
to put you in any danger. Black may believe that we perished in the
fire. If they find you in London, they will know that Brody is
alive also.”

“The boy will be safe in Tidus,” Lycean
assured them.

“He’s right,” Charlotte said. “Besides, I
doubt very much that Black would simply assume we were killed so
easily. I think he expects more from you than that.”

Oliver nodded. He had already considered
that to be likely. Black would not be outsmarted by a simple escape
through a portal. But that also meant he would have his minions
watching for them to reappear in London.

“Please be careful,” Oliver said. “I’ll send
you to my house in Yorkshire. It has not been compromised.”

Charlotte and Lycean regarded one another a
final time before the passing of Oliver’s hand sent her through one
of his portals to Yorkshire. She disappeared completely from the
king’s throne room with a mere shimmer, like ripples on the surface
of a pond. Hopefully, she would not be discovered. However, like it
or not, Black would still be searching for the boy.

There was a war raging for control of
London, but Black had diverted his energies to finding the boy. He
had to find out why Brody was so important to the angel. And he was
running out of time.

The House of Commons lay below Black’s high
perch where he was seated upon an ornamental chandelier in order to
watch the spectacle about to take place. His presence did not
interfere with the light fixture in any way, neither did he
currently possess any mass that might cause it to sway or fall. He
was simply present in spiritual form, enjoying the political
wrangling as one might enjoy a day at the park.

Black absolutely adored politicians—all the
lying and cheating, the lust for power and the scandals. He enjoyed
the wonderful irony of it all. The best men for the jobs were
entirely unelectable, while the worst men pandered to the general
populace and were ushered in with flying colors.

Today’s election, of sorts, would be far
more dramatic—at least for the politicians involved below. In the
House of Lords it would be the same. A coup of London’s power base
was underway.

Sinister’s Breed stood watch so that none
might manage to escape. But this was merely a technicality. The
dolls rarely lost anyone they were sent for, though a few citizens
had been more trouble than they were worth. A second attempt had
been all that was necessary to collect them in the end.

Of course, some of these politicians had
already been taken previous to this session. They sat in their
seats making no political arguments among the other wranglers.
Dolls were not humans. They were purely creations of spiritual
power. Some might even call it magic, but that definition left too
much to be desired.

Black savored the moment as long as he could
stand. The tension in the room from the mortals alone was palpable.
As it began to wane, Black called to his creations. He spoke words
that no mortal tongue had ever uttered in a language that had
originated in the heavenly realm.

“
Se bli estueri,”
he whispered.

The dolls heeded the call of their master to
bind with those mortals whom they had been linked to in their
manufacture. For over a year, Sinister’s boys, as well as other
groups, had been taking personal belongs from anyone and everyone
they came across throughout the city. These personal affects had
then been incorporated into the dolls once they were fashioned in
the various sweatshops Black had established around London.