Love and World Eaters (2 page)

Fully awed now, she let the images wash over her for several minutes. Vignettes of love, hate, friendship... Countless moments, involving dozens of people... All of which revolved around the scraper in one way or another.

Finally, Aliah stepped away, drained yet coursing with excitement. It didn't make sense—she couldn't even swear she was awake—but if she could view one... two artifacts' histories... Then why not more? Her gaze turned to the other objects on the cart as she ripped off her remaining glove.

The ring remembered every proposal, every acceptance, and every rejection.

The vases recalled being gifted in love and thrown in anger.

And the weapons... The weapons recounted every savage swing and brutal impact. She didn't linger on them.

The memories were too jumbled to fully comprehend, filled with dialogue in too many languages she didn't speak and permeated by too many smells she didn't recognize... But as she sat in her chair to collect herself, Aliah thought she had at least one thing figured out: these scenes she was able to... see... were all emotionally charged in some way. It was as if every instance of human—or in some cases even animal—sentiment the objects had been exposed to was seared into their inanimate structures.

Which meant there were literally lifetimes of remembrances just on the shelves within ten feet of her. And in the museum as a whole... The possibilities were truly mind blowing. For some unfathomable reason, she suddenly had a unique insight, a historical perspective that could shed light on the myriad daily details people never bothered to record, an angle that—

That she couldn't explain having. That originated last week for no apparent reason when the bone bead came to life just long enough to break itself on—and in—her foot.

Standing up abruptly, Aliah reassumed her gloves, briskly tidied up her artifacts, and headed for the elevator with a pounding heart.

#

She had to wait until lunchtime before she could get the conversation lab to herself. It only meant standing around for five minutes—it was 11:55 when she got off the elevator—but it felt like an eternity. To keep from going nuts, Aliah occupied herself by thoroughly washing her hands and fabricating an alibi for why she'd be poking at priceless objects in the lab. The best she could come up with was printing off a few database spreadsheets so she could say she was trying to hunt down missing artifacts. It wasn't a great story, but some 3–5 percent of the collection was mislabeled or improperly shelved... so it was vaguely plausible.

When the noon rush began, Aliah did her best to watch the lab door inconspicuously and count the conservators as they exited. It wasn't hard; for once she was glad no one ever noticed her.

Terry was the last to leave. After the head conservator joined her clique-of-the-moment in the break room, Aliah steeled herself and slipped into the lab. She felt incredibly nervous, but it helped that she didn't have to overcome any locks; while getting into the larger anthropology wing took an electronic ID card, once you were in you had access to everything (except for the storage areas, which took a separate security swipe).

Of course, the open entry also meant she wouldn't have any warning if someone came into the lab before lunch was over. But that's why she had an airtight alibi, right? Right...

The bone bead was exactly where she'd seen it last. Thankfully—Aliah hadn't thought through what her plan would be if the bead had been moved. But it was on the same table... and that meant it was moment-of-truth time.

Biting her lip, Aliah looked around to make sure she was alone, turned back to the bead... and then looked around again. Cursing softly, she told herself to stop stalling, peeled off her right glove, and positioned the database sheets so her hand would be hidden from the door. Finally, with a shudder and a swallow, she reached out and touched the cylindrical bead again.

The same chaos of rape, murder, and crucifixion immediately assailed her. The images were stronger this time, though, lasting longer and hitting harder as Aliah made herself maintain contact. Other scenes started to filter in as well, memories of the young man pleading, yelling, taking a knife to himself...

There were too many images coming now. Too fast, too forcefully for her to process. Overwhelmed, Aliah tried to wrest control back from the bead by focusing on one scene. The murder seemed to have the most distinctive surroundings... With a supreme effort, she managed to pull the image into the foreground of her vision and push aside everything else.

... Between the folds of two enormous red curtains, a throng of people—European people—take their seats in a majestic theater. Most look jubilant, or drunk, or both, but a few seem ill at ease. Especially the dark-haired young man at the center of the scene. He stands at one edge of the stage with six other soldiers, spaced at even intervals around... the old man. Whose back is covered by a flowing white cloak.

Music sounds, and those in the audience that haven't found a spot yet hurry to do so. The curtains open, and two stunningly large horses pull a god-like statue on a cart past the soldiers and on to the stage. Eleven more statues follow, and after a pause, a thirteenth arrives that looks impressively like the old man.

Then the old man himself begins to stride into the spotlight, motioning to the soldiers that they should stay where they are. Alone, he walks slowly, proudly into the main theater, to a roar of approval...

... As the young man tenses. He pulls a dagger from its sheath with a bandaged hand. Switches the blade to his good hand. Uses the bandaged hand again to finger something around his neck—the bone bead, strung on a necklace—nods at another of the soldiers, and runs. Past the other four soldiers, on to the stage, and up behind the old man as the scene lurches forward with the wild sprint.

The crowd's noise changes from adulation to alarm, and the old man begins to turn, his white cloak billowing around him in a slow arc. Just as the young man closes, something flashes on the old man's chest. The young man pauses for a split-second, as if taken aback... But only for that split-second. Still in motion, he drives the dagger into the old man's neck.

Chaos erupts as the young man continues past his falling victim and through to the other side of the stage, the bead necklace banging against his chest with every stride. None of the audience members starting to climb onto the stage get within an arm's reach of him, but heavy footfalls from behind indicate the pursuit is close and growing in numbers.

The young man dashes through the theater's private passages and out its rear entrance to find two horses patiently waiting for him across the street, tied to a post with knots that look ready to give at the slightest provocation. The young man hurtles toward the closer horse, and—

Trips on a root. Tumbles face-first, and scrambles to pull himself upright. But not fast enough to avoid the spear whose blade suddenly protrudes from his chest and clatters against his necklace. Gasping, he manages to turn himself over as the blood pouring from his wound begins to obscure the scene. His killer—the other soldier he'd nodded to—is barely visible through the shrinking vantage as the man wrenches out the spear for a second blow.

Then everything fades, first to red, then to black...

... Aliah pulled her hand from the bead in a daze, trembling from the vicarious emotions coursing through her. She'd never experienced anything that intense ... But she still wasn't any wiser as to what it all meant. Who was the young man? Who was the old man he'd killed? And why—

Why was the splinter visible just below the surface of her right palm?

Aliah stared in horror at it for a second before instinctively trying to brush it off with her other hand. The splinter remained where it was for another moment, though, before
swimming
away again, deep enough into her arm that she couldn't see it anymore.

Aliah realized she was panting, and did her best to get her breathing under control. At least she hadn't cried out this time; she was still alone. No one was coming to test the alibi now lying useless on the floor (where at some point, she'd dropped the database sheets). But if she hadn't known better—and come to think of it she really didn't—Aliah would have said the splinter had been trying to reconnect with the bone bead. Migrated from her foot or wherever it had been hiding in her body to... say hello? Did it miss its larger self?

And more importantly: what did it want from her?

#

Aliah spent the rest of lunch researching the bone bead as thoroughly as possible... while trying not to worry too much about the damage its splinter might be doing as it wandered around her veins and arteries.

She started with the database, thinking it made sense to work from the most modern records on down. Entering the object number inked onto the bead's less attractive side—the one without the carvings—brought up a discouragingly scanty file, however. It was as “bare-bones” as the records got, Aliah thought to herself with a weak smile. No picture, very little description, and a brief conservator's note that the bead was believed to be “Greek in origin; possible animal sacrifice remnant.” There was also an uncertain sounding suggestion that the inscription translated to “Justice.”

The old, hardcopy ledgers used before everything went digital weren't much more helpful. Apparently the bead had been acquired in 1894, and that year's ledgers—the museum's first—were as short on details as they were brittle. But they did at least narrow the bead's provenance to “possibly Macedonian.”

The last source Aliah had time to consult before lunch ended and the department swung back into motion was the bead's lot file. This had paper copies of every document related to the batch of artifacts the bead had come in with... Donation letters, receipts, labels from past exhibits... Lots of general information, but nothing specifically useful. Although it was interesting to know the bead had been inducted as one of the thousands of leftover artifacts from the 1893 World Columbian Exposition used to found the museum... Interesting, but not particularly meaningful.

As lunch ended, Aliah headed to Anthropology's main room feeling helpless. She'd learned a little, but not enough to have any idea what was really going on. And she had no clue how to close the information gap now that she knew the bead's files were so thread-bare. Maybe—

She stopped short when she realized what Mary and Brianna—the two Chattiest Cathies in the department—were carrying as they gabbed: a large poster board from the World Eaters exhibition, with the caption “History's greatest whodunit: the murder of Philip II, Alexander the Great's father.” Below the title was a scene vaguely similar to what she'd witnessed less than an hour ago.

No fucking way.

#

The other major discovery of the afternoon was that touching any object, “artifact” or not, could now set off a surge of unwanted memories. Things that hadn't been around for very long—like pens or coffee mugs—usually didn't have much more than indistinct flickers to relate, but enough stuff wanted to communicate vivid, emotional remembrances that Aliah took to wearing fresh gloves at all times to stay sane. It seemed like she was getting more sensitive, as if viewing the extended assassination scene had opened the floodgates for whatever this... ability... was. At least her clothes hadn't shared in any traumatic incidents, she thought wryly during one of her calmer moments. Because then she'd be fighting the urge to strip naked with every second... And no one wanted that.

But feeling collected enough to be self-deprecating was the exception rather than the rule: most of Aliah's remaining shift was one big panicky haze, as she tried to do enough work to get by without risking another invasive flashback.

Eventually, after what seemed like a three day wait, the clocks read 4:30 and people started filing out. Aliah wasn't the first to leave, but she was close to it. And she was the only one still wearing gloves, the blue disposable kind this time (with a box of back-ups in her bag). It would look weird on the train... But for once she didn't care what strangers might think of her. Her only objective right now was to get home... Get home and think.

It took her awhile to focus when she finally made it to her apartment, though. A sort of depressed inertia set in as soon as Aliah closed her door and shut out the world for the day. But after twenty minutes of trying not to touch anything in her
own home
, she forced herself to get in front of the computer and start learning everything she could about Philip II... Especially how he died.

Four hours later, after browsing literally hundreds of online articles and speculations, she had a basic story, a host of theories... and far more conflicting information and confusing names than she knew what to do with. So to help get things straight in her head, Aliah did her best to summarize the essentials in her own words:

THE CONTEXT: With his victory at the battle of Chaeronea in 338 BCE, Philip II of Macedon cemented his kingdom's hegemony over the rest of Greece securely enough that he could begin turning his eyes east towards Persia. Two years later, he set this next expansion in motion by sending his most trusted generals into Asia Minor with an advance force of 10,000 troops. But before he could follow with the rest of his army, Philip was assassinated by Pausanias of Orestis, a member of his own bodyguard. Alexander the III, Philip's son by his third wife Olympias, seized the throne amidst the ensuing turmoil. And after consolidating his Greek holdings, he picked up his father's plans of conquest and pushed them farther than Philip had ever dreamed: through not just Persia, but Egypt and India over the span of a legendary ten years. History would later acknowledge these exploits by immortalizing him as “Alexander the Great.” The name may never have been earned, however, if his father hadn't been killed when he was.