Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (65 page)

Their future in Carthage appears bright, and will remain so for three years, until…

But wait. If you want to know more, and experience, together with Ariadne and Akenon, an adventure I’m sure will surprise you, I invite you to read the first pages of
Lord of Minds.
You’ll find them right here, at the end of this letter. I hope you enjoy them.

Marcos Chicot

P.S. At
www.marcoschicot.com
you’ll find some anecdotes about
Killing Pythagoras
and its characters which I haven’t included here because of limited space.

Finally, I’d like to remind you that at least 10% of what I earn from my books goes to organizations that help people with intellectual disabilities. I’d like to thank you here not only for reading my work, but for collaborating with me on some wonderful projects.

On my behalf and that of all the people we help in this way, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!

LORD OF MINDS

And I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the key of a bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand. And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the Devil, and Satan, and bound him a thousand years.

Revelation 20: 1—2

When the thousand years are over, Satan will be released from his prison.

Revelation 20: 7

PROLOGUE

I’m…alive!

He had not yet drawn breath, transfixed by the wonder of his own birth. The sudden awareness of the world overwhelmed his mind.

Alive…

Unexpectedly, he took a deep breath, an agonized gasp like a drowning man snatched from the black waters of death. An intense wave of pleasure and pain shot through every muscle in his body.

He opened his eyes, brought his hands to his face, and examined them in the warm, dim light.

Marvelous…

He turned his hands over slowly, fascinated, watching how they closed and opened again, and then looked down at the rest of his corporeal sheath.

He stood up with difficulty. His mind continued to unfold, adjusting to his return to time and space. The life force of his eternal rancor slowly filled him, and he savored its bitter taste. Desire for revenge howled within him like an enormous conflagration…but he was in no hurry.

He was immortal.

Men knew him by different names, but it didn’t matter what they called him. His dark heart held one vital desire: that all nations from the four corners of the earth fall at his feet and know him as their god.

Their only god
. Hatred pulled his lips back, revealing his teeth.
And my kingdom will endure forever and ever.

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, mentally taking the measure of his surroundings: stone walls, a table, a chair. He was alone in the room.

He exhaled slowly and filled his lungs once more, then held his breath, honing the abilities his corporeal form allowed him. After a few seconds, he suddenly unleashed the power of his mind, projecting it like a flash of lightning so that it simultaneously illuminated the rest of the rooms.

Around him, the temperature dropped abruptly.

He nodded slowly, grunting with satisfaction, and walked to the exit, showing no trace of his initial clumsiness. Within him, old hatred mingled with new, impregnating every fiber of his being with malevolent pleasure.

On the other side of the threshold was a man with his back to him, standing guard.

A mere mortal
, he thought with a mixture of indifference and contempt.

A cold smile spread over his face as he approached the guard from behind.

CHAPTER 1

Carthage, 507 B.C.

Ariadne of Croton, daughter of Pythagoras and wife of Akenon, held out her hand to take the parchment.

As she was about to touch it, her fingers recoiled as if they had grazed a red-hot iron. She held her breath. The messenger hadn’t said who it was from, and it was folded in such a way that concealed its contents unless the wax seal was broken. However, on the outside of the parchment, a powerful symbol jumped out at her.

The pentacle
.

She took the message, her eyes fixed on the five-pointed star, the sacred symbol whose esoteric significance was reserved for the chosen ones. The clouds that covered the sky above her burned with the crimson flames of sunset, tinting the world in a blood-red hue. In a reverie, Ariadne ran her fingers over the shape. The dark sense of foreboding that had been growing inside her writhed like a wild beast trying to escape its cage. With trembling hands, she turned the parchment over, broke the seal, and began to read.

Each word smote her heart as her eyes raced over the lines, anxious and fearful of reaching the end… When that terrible message ended, her breathing was no more than a faint thread.

The world around her began to fade, as if darkness were emerging from the parchment to devour her.

Just a few hours earlier, Ariadne had been getting ready to go with Akenon and little Sinuhe—her two-and-a-half-year-old son—for a leisurely walk around the aristocratic quarter of Carthage. She sat down on a low wool-upholstered bench, in front of a valuable cedar chest, placed her ivory comb on the chest and adjusted the diadem in her wavy, honey-colored hair. Then she picked up a hand mirror and looked at her reflection in the polished bronze surface. Even though she didn’t usually bother much about her appearance, she smiled in satisfaction.

There was nothing to suggest that when the sun set, an unthinkable horror would devastate their lives.

She held the mirror away from her, tilting it so it would reflect most of her body.

It’s more noticeable than with Sinuhe
, she thought, stroking the already noticeable curve of her four-month-old pregnancy.

A deep voice spoke behind her.

“You’re irresistible.”

Startled, Ariadne turned around. Akenon was leaning against the stone door frame, watching her with a teasing smile. He approached until he was standing behind her, brushed her hair delicately to one side, and nuzzled the nape of her neck, giving her a love bite that made her shiver. Akenon wrapped her in his strong arms and caressed her belly through the tunic.

“I love your curves when you’re pregnant,” he purred.

His hands began to wander upwards from Ariadne’s abdomen, and she pushed him away, laughing.

“Kush is waiting for us with Sinuhe.” She brandished the bronze mirror at him. “You’ll have to wait a few hours.”

Kush was the servant who looked after little Sinuhe. The Egyptian army had made him a slave two decades ago, during one of their many skirmishes with the peoples of the south, to whom the Egyptians referred as Kush. The slave had been given the same name in mockery of his people, as if to say all of them were slaves of Egypt. Shortly after he was sold, however, Egypt had fallen under the yoke of the Persian Empire, whereas the kingdom of Kush still had its freedom. Maybe because of that, Kush wore his name proudly, and had never mentioned another.

“Very well,” Akenon answered Ariadne, removing his hands and making a face of suffering resignation. “I’ll go see if…”

“Mama!”

Sinuhe careened across the cement floor, bumping into Ariadne’s leg and hugging it tightly. He raised his head and lifted his arms to her with an imploring look in his green eyes.

Overflowing with maternal love, Ariadne picked him up with some difficulty.

“Come here… Oof, this little man is heavy! Soon you’ll be the one picking me up.” She tickled him and Sinuhe laughed, hiding his face in his mother’s neck.

Akenon watched the scene in silence, suddenly becoming aware of the foolish grin pasted on his face. He tried to hide it, surprised at how his life had changed in such a short time. Up to the age of forty-five, he had led a relatively solitary existence and had never been in a relationship for longer than a few months. He had spent his entire life as an investigator, first as a police officer in Egypt and then as a private eye in Carthage, making a comfortable living, but never able to save enough to take more than a couple months off work.

Everything changed three years ago
, he mused.

After an investigation he had undertaken in Magna Graecia for the philosopher Pythagoras he had returned to Carthage, accompanied by the philosopher’s elder daughter Ariadne. A few months later he had married her, and they had had a son. The ship that brought them to Carthage also carried the gold he had obtained from that investigation: more than they could spend over several lifetimes.

Though I nearly didn’t make it back
. Akenon unconsciously traced the crooked line of his nose with a finger. During that investigation in Magna Graecia, he had been locked up and beaten within an inch of his life. Fortunately, the long-term effects had been limited to his somewhat crooked nose and some scars on his face and neck that weren’t too noticeable.

Ariadne put Sinuhe down.

“Let me have a good look at you.” She stood back from her son. “Turn around.”

Sinuhe giggled, embarrassed, as he turned. He was wearing a new tunic of pleated white linen similar to Akenon’s, in the fashion followed by noble Carthaginians, although his only reached his knees.

There’s no denying they’re father and son
, thought Ariadne. In that tunic, Sinuhe was a miniature version of Akenon. The same bronze skin, the same curly black hair—even many of his gestures were a childish echo of Akenon’s. The only striking difference was his eyes, which were the deep green of Ariadne’s.

“You haven’t got your sandals on!” she suddenly exclaimed.

“Like
Kuch
,” replied Sinuhe in his baby voice, nodding determinedly.

“But Kush’s feet are hard.” Ariadne leaned over Sinuhe, her hands on her hips. “You know you have to put on your sandals if you want to go out.”

Sinuhe frowned and made a comical face of concentration. He didn’t want to put them on, but neither did he want his parents to leave him behind.

He made a quick decision.

“Kuch,” he shouted, running out, “I have to put on my sandals.”

Five minutes later, they left their house.

As she strolled beside Akenon, Ariadne glanced behind her. Little Sinuhe lagged a few yards behind, Kush by his side, watching the ground for something interesting to pick up. The Kushite was around forty, six and a half feet tall, with jet-black skin that contrasted with his large, blue eyes. He was barefoot and wore a loincloth, according to the custom among slaves and the lower classes in Carthage. He was watching Sinuhe with his usual relaxed expression, his mouth slightly open, showing his limited intelligence, though he was kind-hearted and always ready with a smile. He could understand the Carthaginian language, though his ability to speak it was rudimentary. Still, his previous owner had recommended him as a caregiver for small children. He had told them he thought Kush had been separated from an infant of his own when he was made a slave at least twenty years earlier. “Maybe that’s why he always cared for my children as if they were his own,” he had added. “But my children have left home now, and since then, Kush has withered like a plant without water.”

Ariadne looked forward, but immediately turned around again. A strange sense of unease had just constricted her throat, and she paused, struggling to catch her breath. Her little boy was still walking beside Kush. She looked further behind, at the two-story house that had been their home for the past two years. The foundations and pilasters were made of limestone from the Carthaginian quarries. The brick walls were whitewashed, and a pretty balustrade ran round the edge of the roof. The building looked solid, something which Ariadne usually found reassuring. However, she felt anxious now as she observed the house and its surroundings.

“What’s happening?” she wondered.

It had been a long time since she had felt a similar sensation. She was Pythagoras’ daughter and had reached the level of master in the Pythagorean School. Her natural abilities, combined with the advanced mathematical and spiritual teachings she had received from her father, had finely honed her perception, allowing her to penetrate beyond ordinary people’s facial expressions and know their true natures—or know if they were lying. She had also inherited from Pythagoras the ability to foresee certain events. During her previous pregnancy, she had noticed that this skill had become sharper, and with this one she felt even more intuitive, as if reality and the present were a page in a book and she was allowed to lift the corner and catch a glimpse of what was written on the next page.

After a moment’s hesitation, she continued walking.

“Is something wrong?” asked Akenon.

I’m afraid there is
, thought Ariadne, but she shook her head in silence, and kept walking, a worried look on her face.

End of excerpt from Lord of Minds