Sky Pirates (38 page)

“We need to go through there,” Elle said. She gestured at the dark entrance from which the cloud of bats spewed out a few moments before.

“Man, I hate bats,” Dashwood said.

“We need to hurry,” Elle said.

They rounded the corner and walked along another corridor.

Almost there …

Silver light spilled over the ruins, beaming down between the arches and columns as the moon rose up over the edge of the treetops. Elle turned off her spark lamp, for it was no longer needed, and stared in amazement.

The end of the corridor was awash with soft, white light. And there, on a large block of solid sandstone, was a carving of a beautiful young woman smiling serenely. Unlike the myriad of other carvings, this
apsara
stood on her own. The light spilled over the curves of her body as she posed elegantly as an ancient courtier mid-dance.

Her high breasts and narrow waist were perfectly proportioned. Even her delicate belly button could be seen carefully etched into the stone. From the waist down, the
apsara
was dressed in a gilded
sampot
made from the finest silk. Her upper arms and ankles were adorned with finely wrought cuffs and bangles. Around her neck was a wide, flat collar of gold filigree, worked into an intricate pattern that spread out across her chest and shoulders. Around her wrists were rows of large pearls.

Her long hair, spreading out behind her in thick, lustrous waves, was dressed with fine jewels and flowers. On her head rested a conical headdress that pointed up to the sky. It too was made of gold and encrusted with jewels.

As Elle approached, the features of the carving appeared to move slightly.

In the back of her mind a thousand other
apsaras
were all whispering at the same time in great excitement.

She’s here … She’s here … Go to her now … Go to her before it’s too late …

Elle stopped before the carving, unsure what to do next.

With the delicate scrape of stone upon stone, the
apsara
inclined her head slightly. Her arms moved from their dancing pose into the
sampeah:
palms pressed together as if in prayer, the traditional greeting of the Khmer people.

“Joom Reab Sou.”
The carving spoke the words of greeting. Her voice was soft and gentle, and the words washed over Elle like the sound of rain upon a roof.

Gingerly, Elle lifted her injured arm out of its sling and pressed her palms together in the way Hari had shown her.
“Joom Reab Sou,”
she said, returning the greeting with the highest amount of respect she could.

The carving smiled, apparently pleased with this.

Elle smiled back, but kept her head bowed. Inside her chest, her heart was thumping hard against her ribs. She had found the queen of the
apsaras
.

Slowly, the
apsara
lowered her hands from the greeting pose and brought them round in a perfect arc so that one was over her midriff, palm facing inward with the fingers extended; the other she raised up to shoulder height with the palm out and the fingers extended far back. She cocked her head at Elle in a pose that was impossibly graceful. A moment in dance, frozen for eternity.

“Who is it that seeks me out?” the
apsara
said.

“Me,” Elle said. “I have come from very far to speak with you, oh, Great One,” she added, just in case.

“And what is it that you seek?”

“I wish to ask you for answers. I am told you can tell me what I most ardently wish to know,” Elle said.

The
apsara
turned her blank eyes to Elle. The stone was so finely polished that the spheres of her eyes glowed like opals in the moonlight. “Those who have questions do not always wish to hear the answers. Those who have the answers often wish they did not know the questions.”

“That may be so,” Elle said. “But my question is a simple one. It is a question I have carried with me for a very long time.”

The
apsara
stilled for a few moments as she contemplated Elle’s answer. “And you are sure that you wish to know this?” she said after a while.

“I am,” Elle said.

“Everything has its price. We all end where we begin,” the
apsara
said. Her gaze snapped to Elle’s face. “What is the price you pay?”

Elle pulled her compass out of her pocket and placed it at the feet of the
aspara
as an offering. “This is all I have,” she said.

The
apsara
stared at her. “I sense much turmoil within you. Answers may bring more strife than peace.”

“I have come a very long way and I have battled against so many odds to be here. I am ready. Please, I need to know how to bring him back,” Elle said.

“Then let it be so,” the
apsara
said. She moved her arms again, slowly rotating her wrists so that her fingers extended in a curve. “Then I call upon the moon goddess to set me free so that I may help those in need.”

There was a deep rumble—the sound of fine stone scraping on stone. The air around them fizzed with aether. The wind picked up, as if a sudden storm had blown through, but outside their small circle of light, the jungle was deathly still.

The rumbling increased, and in one graceful movement the
apsara
stepped free from the stone. She stood on one leg with her back impossibly straight, the other leg pulled up with her knee in line with her hips, perfectly poised. She drew her elbows up into right angles.

Elle heard Dashwood’s sharp intake of breath. Like Elle, he couldn’t help but stand in awe as he took in the astonishing beauty of the stone maiden before them. Somewhere in the background, she could hear the ghostly sound of a Khmer ballet in progress. The soft tinkle of instruments—echoes of music played long ago.

The
apsara
shifted position. She placed both feet on the ground and held out her hand.

“Please. I must see inside you.”

Elle took a deep breath and extended her good hand. She felt the cool stone of the
apsara
’s palm against her
own as they touched. Elle felt a surge of energy rush through her, the ancient power of the Oracle rising up and filling the space around them.

The
apsara
’s eyes widened in surprise as their energies fused. Elle felt her tense and try to pull away, but the bond had already been sealed.

The
apsara
’s face drew into an expression of complete horror. “Too much!” she exclaimed. “Too many! I cannot—” She leaned back, trying desperately to free her hand, but it was no use.

Elle felt the surge intensify and she too tried to drag her hand out of the
apsara
’s grasp, but she was just as powerless as her companion. She felt her eyes roll in their sockets and she threw her head back as thousands of questions—all the questions ever asked of the Oracle, hidden somewhere deep within her—gushed out and spilled over to the
apsara
.

No!
Elle thought as the realization of what was happening dawned on her. Vivienne had been right. She should not have come here.

The
apsara
screamed in pain. Her supersonic screech caused the bats that were flying around them to squeak as they darted about in the sky above them.

Faster and faster the questions flowed, some in foreign languages so old that time had forgotten them; others were new. Elle recognized glimpses of women with red hair, all of them dressed in dark blue robes. They stood and watched in disapproving silence, watching as their collective energy spilled forth through Elle.

The flow of questions was too much for the
apsara
to bear and she started to vibrate violently, her beautiful face frozen in an expression of surprise and horror.

A deep rumble rose up from the stone around them. It made the floor and pillars of the temple shake.

In what looked like an act of supreme effort, the
apsara
dragged her arm back, pulling Elle’s face so close to hers that they were almost touching.

“You can bring him back. The power to do so is within you,” the
apsara
whispered.

Then there was a brief moment of perfect silence. It was as if a sudden and complete vacuum had been left behind where all the questions had been. And then, in a bright flash of light, the
apsara
exploded into a shower of gravel.

The white light went out and everything was silent.

Elle fell to her knees and slumped forward. The gravel on the floor dug painfully into her knees and the palms of her hands.

“What just happened?” Dashwood said, kicking some of the
apsara
gravel off his boot.

“The worst thing that could have,” Elle said. “I destroyed her. Just like I destroy everything I touch. I should be taken from this place and locked up in a dark cave, somewhere where I can do no more harm.” She rested her face in her good hand: a gesture of defeat, despair and utter exhaustion.

From the shadows came the soft echoes of someone laughing.

“Brava!” a man said.

Elle looked up to see none other than Patrice Chevalier.

He stepped into a shaft of moonlight. “Well done, Eleanor. You never cease to amaze me, did you know that?”

“Patrice,” Elle said with a detached coolness. “I see that a life of evil has been good for you.”

He gestured to the fine linen suit he was wearing. “As a matter of fact, it has,” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” Dashwood said, reaching for his pistols.

“Not so fast, Captain,” Patrice said. He pulled a flare
out of his pocket and lit it with his flint cigar lighter. The flare lit in a blaze of bright orange before it launched into the sky, where it hovered casting an astringent light over them.

At the sight of the flare, four black dreadnoughts rose up from the jungle and floated forward with a deadly and ominous precision.

“Storm riders,” Dashwood breathed, as they watched black ropes appear beneath the ships and snaking down to the ground. The ropes were soon filled with the ominous shapes of the storm riders as they rappelled to the rooftops of the temple.

“I don’t know what your game is, mister, but I’d turn around and go back to where you came from,” Dashwood said and took aim.

“Elle, please call him off, will you?” Patrice said. “At the moment, I am the only thing between you and these savages.” He gestured to the storm riders. “And they are terribly fond of me. If anything was to happen to me, you would be torn limb from limb in seconds.” Patrice pulled his own pistol from his coat pocket and aimed it at Elle. “Now lower your guns or she dies.”

Slowly Dashwood lowered his pistols, but he did not put them away.

“So it was you that sent the pirates?” Elle said.

Patrice shrugged. “Who else?”

“What are you doing here, Patrice? This is none of your business,” Elle said.

“Oh, I think you will find that it is,” Patrice said.

“What do you want? Speak quickly. I don’t have time for this,” Elle said.

“Ah,” Patrice tutted. “Still looking for your husband, little dove? The one who abandoned you to die while he frolicked in the Shadow realm?”

“You keep quiet!” Elle bellowed.

“Now, now.” Patrice shook his head. “There is no
need to go off into a rage like that. I am only speaking the truth, you know.”

“You know nothing!” Elle said. “Nothing at all.”

Patrice laughed. “Oh, Eleanor, I have missed that fire. I really have.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Dashwood spoke through gritted teeth, “but I think you should leave us alone. This is none of your business.”

Patrice swiveled round to face him. “Really? I think I know more about this than you do. In fact, it is you who is mistaken. Has she told you
all
her secrets?” Patrice sneered. “I would wager she did not. That little harlot has used you and now she will cast you aside just like she does with all men.”

“I’ll break your neck with my bare hands!” Dashwood lunged at Patrice, but he ducked out the way, laughing at the captain all the while.

“Logan, don’t!” Elle said. “Please, this is my fight.”

Dashwood stared at her for a long moment and then slowly stood back, scowling at Patrice, his eyes filled with a hatred that spoke of the extreme violence that he held in check.

“Good boy,” Patrice said to Dashwood. Then he started laughing. “You know they’re here, don’t you?” he said to Elle. “In fact, they’re watching from the shadows as we speak.”

“You are lying,” Elle said.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Patrice said. “You see, I now control the barrier between the two realms. And I’m the Grand Master of the Council of Warlocks, so it’s all in my hands now.”

“We’ll see about that,” Elle said. She rose to face him.

“Well, yes, I do still need a little Oracle to ensure the whole thing remains stable. Which brings me conveniently to the reason for my visit.” He paused for a moment. “As you so emotively put it a few moments ago,
you do belong chained up in a dark cave where you can’t harm anyone, and I have come to make that so.”

Elle felt the air slide out of her lungs as she stared at Patrice.

Patrice narrowed his eyes. “Oh yes. You have been running about causing trouble for far too long, what with that stupid husband of yours indulging your every whim. How many more people will have to die before you finally accept your fate, Eleanor?”

Elle looked away. Patrice had hit a nerve—many nerves—and as much as she hated to admit it, his words were starting to ring true.

“See, you agree with me. I can tell. Oh yes, I think that the time has come for me to collect you, little Oracle, and bring you to the place where you belong.”

The hound lay down in the shadows of the roots of a cassia tree. He hung his heads, still feeling sick and weary from the hunt. In all the thousands of years he had been alive, he had never felt like this before.

The iron blade between his shoulders was wedged in firmly, and no amount of scratching or rubbing could remove it. He had tried, but scraping against the stump of a tree only drove the blade in deeper. And inside him were bullets of iron. They burned and hissed, dissolving his insides until they were nothing but black slime, but yet he held on.