Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) (15 page)

“May we help you find something?” a man sitting in a stall full of cuts of meat asked the second time the two strolled by, as Marco canvassed the market to find the alchemy items he thought he might need, as well as some food items for himself and Iasco to eat during the journey to and from the underworld.

“Is this your servant?” the man asked Ophiuchus doubtfully.  Though Marco was noticeably younger than the spirit’s appearance and less well dressed, the pair were holding hands in an intimate way.

“No, oh no, well maybe in some ways, but really, he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a husband in some time,” she scandalized the man by saying.

“I think I’ve bought enough for now,” Marco told Opi after they shopped a bit further.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.  I’ll have to ask one of the local spirits for directions,” the spirit answered.

“You don’t know where the gate is?” Marco asked incredulously, turning to face the spirit personage.

“I know it’s in this region.  Another spirit, Diotima, is from a holy spring near here, and she told me at the conclave that Persephone’s Gate was only a day away from her spring,” Ophiuchus explained.

“You spirits have conclaves?” Marco asked in surprise.  “Like the holy fathers of the church, or the alchemists?”

“We do, when a situation calls for it.  Our last conclave was to discuss this very adventure,” she added.

“Going to revive Iasco?” Marco asked.

“No, this battle against the latest resurrection of evil.  There is a recurring cycle; evil seeks to win over the world and dominate the lives of men and women.  Those of us who do not want our world to be dominated by evil band together as these sporadic eruptions of evil occur, and we decide who is best suited to fight the battles for our side, based on what we perceive evil is going to do.”

“And you were picked to fight the battle for the good spirits?” Marco asked.

“Me?  Heavens no!”  Ophiuchus exclaimed.  “We foresaw that Iasco would be our champion, and that she would have an unstoppable ally.

“And so we plotted and waited and maneuvered until the day Iasco was born,” the spirit said.

“Wait!  You had this conclave before Iasco was even born?” Marco asked, shocked.

“The conclave was, let’s see, five hundred years ago in your terms,” Opi told Marco with a gentle smile.   “Even Iasco isn’t that old.”

Marco gaped for a long moment.  “Five centuries ago you knew all this would happen?  You can see the future?  When will I ever be with Mirra?” he asked.

“We can’t see the future in such specific terms,” the spirit answered.  “Now, let’s find the way to Diotima’s spring, and then we can go on to Persephone’s Gate,” she instructed.

They received directions to the spring.  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d need it,” an old man sitting on a streetside bench answered Marco’s request for directions.

“What do you mean?” Marco asked, curious about the comment.

“Why, it’s a health and, uh, fertility spring of course.  I’m just surprised,” the man looked from Marco to Ophiuchus with a knowing grin that made Marco blush, and the pair quickly moved down the road towards the spring.

The spirit laughed gaily at Marco’s discomfort as they followed the street through the city and out into the countryside.   Their journey passed a graveyard, and Marco heard a quiet murmur in the air.  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“I hear the wind in the air, and the birds in the trees, and I hear the earth groaning in pain from the evil that walks upon it.  What do you hear?” Ophiuchus asked as they continued to walk.

“It’s a quiet whisper.  I’ve heard it before somewhere.  It’s gone now,” Marco answered.

Ophiuchus looked backwards, then nodded.  “You hear something that I cannot; it was from the graveyard.  It is the echo of the voices of the recently dead.  Because you have been in the underworld when their spirits were there, you can hear them.  If you listened very closely, you might even understand what they were saying.”

“I’d rather not,” Marco sighed.  The thought of hearing the murmured regrets and requests of the deceased promised him no joy.

They soon reached a grove of olive trees that the old man had mentioned, and turned to the left, and began climbing up a gentle valley among the hills beyond the grove; the path up the valley was evidently well-traveled, allowing Iasco’s cart to travel easily.  They stopped at a small pool of water, from which a bubbling stream issued and ran down the valley.

“Diotima!  Diotima, dear, it’s Ophiuchus and the Golden Hand,” the spirit called loudly.

The pool of water began to churn and bubble, and then a woman’s figure, one sculpted solely from water, rose out of the pool and strode across its surface to come to a stop at the edge of the bank, facing the two visitors.

“Ophiuchus!  You’re in the flesh; you’ve traveled from your island!  It is so good to see you,” the watery figure looked from Ophiuchus to Marco.  “And this is the Golden Hand?”

“As was foretold,” Marco’s companion affirmed.

“And he’s still so young!” Diotima spoke as though Marco were not present.

“He’s been tested, and passed the Journey of Three Tests already,” Ophiuchus said encouragingly.

“Such a prodigy!  Iasco is lucky to have him as an ally,” Diotima said.

“Not always lucky, but lucky – more than lucky – to have him as her ally,” Ophiuchus agreed.  “This is Iasco currently,” she motioned to the body in the wagon.

The water spirit looked down at the fabric bag, then looked up, her eyes wide.  “You seem very calm under these circumstances.  Do you think the Golden Hand will carry out her mission without her?”

“No,” Ophiuchus answered, as Marco followed the astonishing conversation, trying to grasp what was implied and left unsaid.  “Marco and I are on our way to Persephone’s Gate.  We intend to go to the underworld and resurrect Iasco, then bring her back so that she can meet her destiny.

“Which is why we’re here.  Can you tell us how to find the Gate?” the spirit explained.

“It’s only a day away; go to the Ploutoneion Cave in Athens, and enter the third chamber on the right,”  Diotima directed.

“Come here, Golden Hand,” she said as she turned to face Marco.  “Step into my waters so that I may know you.”

Without looking at his companion, Marco released her hand to obey the water spirit.

“Give me your sword, Marco,” Ophiuchus directed him, as she immediately began to shrink and age.

Without knowing why the sword would matter, Marco pulled it from his scabbard and handed to her, then watched with surprise as she immediately evolved back to her glorious form.

“Marco, come,” Diotima reminded him.  He turned from Ophiuchus, and turned back to the other spirit in the small gathering.  With a moment of hesitation, Marco stepped into the pool, and felt the water pour over the tops of his boot, chilling his feet and ankles.

Diotima reached forth to him with her watery hands, and grasped his left hand.  The sensation sent shivers through Marco’s flesh, as the cool liquid firmly grasped him and pulled his hand up to her mouth.  She pursed her lips and bent over his hand, her eyes turned up alluringly to watch his reaction as she first kissed his index finger, then opened her mouth and slid the finger within the moist cavity.

Marco’s eye’s opened wide in a mixture of numerous emotions – astonishment, fear, pleasure.

Diotima raised her head, her eyes still on Marco’s face, and slid the finger out of her mouth, then lifted his hand up to his own face and pressed the finger between his own lips, inserting his finger within.

“Are you seducing my prodigy?” Ophiuchus asked in a tone that was half amused, half annoyed.

“There now Golden Hand, what do you have?” Diotima asked him.

He instinctively sucked on the finger, then coughed in astonishment, as he felt his finger tingle with energy, while a steady stream of water flowed into his mouth.

He pulled the finger out as Diotima released her grip on him.  “Water!  I drank water from my finger!”

“This is my gift to you,” the water spirit said.  “You will never thirst for water.  Whenever you need, the water of my spring – my body – will flow freely for you.  Use it sparingly, but do not hesitate to use it when in need.  It can bring health, as well as sooth thirst of course.”

“Thank you, my lady!” Marco said with sincere and unfeigned gratitude.  “In the underworld this will be valuable beyond words!”

“Diotima, that was well played,” Ophiuchus smiled.

“Not as valuable as your gift, but something that I believe can help,” Diotima said.  “Go now on your journey, and know that I will lend any help I am able to.  We all are with you,” she looked from Ophiuchus to Marco and back again, before she dissolved back into her spring-fed pool.

The pair of travelers left the spring and returned to the main road out of Andikara, and resumed traveling east, as the sun set behind them.  “Here you are Marco,” Opi placed his sword back in his scabbard as she placed her hand back atop his golden right hand.

“Why did holding my sword give you energy?” Marco asked, puzzled.

There was a moment of silence from his spirit companion.  “I didn’t realize that you didn’t know, but I suppose I’ve never told you.

“Your sword is very special,” she told him.

“I know!  It’s saved my life over and over and over,” Marco said.  “It knows how to fight – it does my fighting for me.”

“The sword became that way when you carried it through the amniotic vat in the bowels of my island; it was endowed with its extraordinary abilities.  Those abilities are a part of my powers, given to the sword so that it can protect you.  In a sense, I have been by your side ever since the sword was empowered using my own energy,” she told him.

“You’ve done that for me?” Marco asked.  “Do you need your powers back?  Would you be stronger?”

“I don’t need the powers as badly as you need the sword,” Ophiuchus said.  “You continue on, and remember that even when you can’t see me, a part of me will be with you, to help you be the champion I need.”

“The champion you need to revive the champion you really need?” Marco asked, remembering the bits of the conversation he had heard between the two spirits.

“Perhaps, but I need you, and I am honored to have someone like you rise up for us – all of us – Marco,” she answered gently, and her hand squeezed his.  “Let us look for a place to spend the night,” she suggested as they entered a small city.

“I don’t have much money left for a room at the inn,” Marco pointed out.

“You’ll have enough for a night or two, and that’s all you need,” Ophiuchus told him.  “Where we’re going, they don’t charge rent,” she chuckled.

“Will that be two rooms?” the lady at the desk asked as they entered the only inn in the settlement five minutes later.

“No, just one.  We’re newlyweds and I don’t want to be separated from my new husband.  See the collar I put on him?” Opi playfully fingered the golden torq that Marco wore.  “I won’t even let go of his hand,” she raised the intertwined fingers they held.

The desk clerk quietly harrumphed, making Opi grin even more.  “If you ever feel you need medical help, please go to the closest cult temple and tell them that you were sent by Marco and Ophiuchus,” the spirit told the clerk, feeling a need to make up for the teasing she had inflicted.

They spent the night in a cozy bedroom on the ground floor, Iasco’s cart jammed into the space between the bed and the wall.  Ophiuchus laid in the bed, her hand touching Marco’s, not truly sleeping, as her consciousness remained ever awake, and a part of her still maintained awareness of activities taking place back on her island.

“How are my friends doing?” Marco asked her as they lay still.  “Do you know?”

The spirit closed her eyes and didn’t answer; Marco wondered if he had asked something wrong.

“They are well,” Ophiuchus answered.  “The ones on the island of the merpeople are happy.  They have made friends with the merfolks, and of course, with each other.

“How is Pesino?” Marco asked.  He had particularly wanted to know about the former mermaid when he had asked.

“She is adjusting.  She is doing well,” Opi told him.  “She loves the one she is with,” the spirit added.  “They are living together.

“And the other ones who went on the quest with you, they made it out of the underworld, and are also staying in the same city of men,” she told him.  “It takes effort to look at such things when I am so far from home.”

“Thank you,” Marco told her.  He would not strain her further by asking how Mirra was doing, though he longed to know.

The spirit awoke Marco early the next morning, shortly after sunrise.

“We should be on our way, my friend,” the spirit told him.  “We will arrive at the Ploutoneion Cave today, and I’m anxious to discover,” she stopped her sentence.

“Discover what?” Marco asked sleepily.

“We will see Golden Hand, we will see,” she ended the conversation, and they arose from bed.  They were out of the inn before any of the staff but the cooks were awake, and they started traveling towards the great city of Athens.  By early afternoon they had passed over the well-traveled up-and-down road that led to Athens, and entered the gates of the city, passing through under the watchful eyes of a score of grim-faced guards in black and red uniforms.

Ophiuchus’s grip on Marco tightened.  “Those are the same soldiers as the ones who killed Iasco!” she hissed to Marco.  “I can feel it.  The city has been occupied by the forces of evil.  We must be careful.”

They walked along a main boulevard until they stood in the center of the city, looking up at the Acropolis.

“It’s extraordinary,” Marco said softly.

“The Great Father has worn many faces in the old times when he inspired different cultures in different ways,” Ophiuchus answered.  “But then he changed the rules and sent his son.”  She smiled softly for a moment.

“Let’s have lunch, shall we?” Ophiuchus squeezed Marco’s hand.  She was staring at a well-regarded restaurant.

“I don’t think we can afford much there,” Marco answered.

“Let’s just go inside, and see if any music is playing,” the spirit answered with a wistful expression.