The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (46 page)

Despite more screams and threats, Cassiopeia swung around and gawked at the three waiting Gryphons.

“GO, HEZEKIAH, GO!”

With a leap to the sky and wings beating their hardest, the trio did as told.

*****

From the top of the palace steps, Komnena looked down at the three Gryphons with a curious annoyance.

“Penelope has been stabbed many times by the Sapien prisoner,” Ahriman blurted.

“She is hurt badly!” Ahuram added.  “Along with the queen, princess, Cassiopeia, and prisoner, she is on her way.”

“
Stabbed?
” Komnena gasped.  Her goofy gaze all but vanished.  “But how?  Laigria was naked and in chains when you departed!”

“She is a sneaky brute,” Hezekiah groaned as he struggled to catch his breath from their hurried flight.  “No matter how maddening this all sounds, it has happened.  Queen Marseea, Komnena, we must speak to her.”

Amber colored eyes looked queerly at Hezekiah the moment he said this.  Komnena suddenly looked confused.  “You have medics, Hezekiah.  Perhaps Penthesilea can help as well, but as for Marseea ––”

“WHY DO YOU BICKER WITH US, HISTORIAN?” Ahriman barked as he swept his brown cloak to one side.  This one more than capable of doing something foolish, Hezekiah and Ahuram now struggled to hold him back.

Komnena took a few steps away from them and appeared as if ready to slam the massive Kauri wood palace doors shut.  And just as she was about to do so….

“Can a sorceress not be left in peace to drown out her sorrows in her spells?” called a stern voice behind Komnena.

Queen Marseea slowly made her way from the palace foyer and now stood in the entryway.  Aside from the brilliant crimson gem attached to the necklace cradled in her right hand, her black stola, blacker than brown hair, grey palla, and greyer eyes matched perfectly the morbid crisis on its way.

As if Marseea’s appearance beckoned them to do so, two sky chariots suddenly dropped from the gloomy sky and landed behind the trio of Gryphons.  Hezekiah swung around and watched as Judiascar and Zacharias unhitched themselves from their chariots.  More befitting the coming season a month away than late summer, cold rain began to fall.

With help from Ahriman, the Mermaid guards dragged Laigria out of the first chariot.  Cassiopeia leading these sentries and the swine, Evagoria followed just behind.  Those in the second chariot exited as well.  Blood seeping through the silk wrapped around her torso and trickling onto the avenue, Diedrika held Penelope – now shuddering uncontrollably – in her rippling arms as if she was a baby.

Hezekiah spun back around to face Marseea.  Overcast eyes the Grim now danced in the glassy reflection of met his begging stare.

“You can keep your sorrows, Good Queen – it’s the spells we need.”

What is a life worth?  Not just any life, but a life treasured by the one considered the most powerful in our world.  In a surly game played between Sapiens and Gryphons since winning their freedom centuries ago, they hoard the one element we mystics need to carry out the most extraordinary spells.  Is Penelope’s life worth more than all the ferrum ever found?  This queen desperate to steal their stash of the coveted metal that falls from the sky, Desdessandra’s prophecy hanging in the balance – you had best choose wisely, Diedrika.  Thank the gods you won’t.

– Marseea, Sapien Queen

– Late Summer, Year 4,254 KT
[45]

Marseea made her way outside, slowly descended the palace steps, and came alongside Penelope.  Diedrika still holding her, Marseea rubbed Penelope’s cheek with a single finger and looked upon her with pity.

“Help me.…”

To see Penelope in such pain was a sad sight, but necessary.

Marseea said nothing.  She withdrew a white pouch with red script embroidered on its side, dipped her hand in it, and proceeded to sprinkle enchanted dust of a bluish silver onto Penelope’s blood-soaked bandages.  Gleefully stunned at what she saw, but allowing only her eyes hidden from the others to show it, Marseea did this again with a second handful.

Still no dust turned to black – only grey!

Only when enchanted dust turned the color of the Grim were wounds beyond repair.  Marseea was nowhere near as good as Penthesilea at identifying injuries, but even she knew these were nothing more than very nasty flesh wounds.

Laigria had done well.  Very well.  Her reward rightly earned, Marseea would soon deliver it – just not yet.  Penelope was a bloodied mess who looked even worse because of the sloppy manner in which Mermaid medics had woven less than fresh silk around her wounds, but she would most likely live once patched up right and given the proper potions.

The gods did not simply smile upon her schemes on this grand day, they openly cheered for her success!

Marseea turned to Laigria.  With a few cautious steps, she now stood in front of her; a look of murderous satisfaction graced Laigria’s face.  Marseea threw the bound woman her sternest scowl, adjusted the sharpest ring on her right hand, and backhanded the wily wench across the face ––

A queen had to keep up appearances, after all!

A hurting howl and a streak of smeared blood to match the others already there, Laigria’s smug look vanished.  The gag having fallen off from the force of this strike, the two Mermaid guards quickly re-gagged her.

“Ahuram!  Ahriman!”  Marseea pointed to her left, but kept her eyes on Laigria, who now whimpered weakly.  “There is a cart around the corner of the repository.  Fetch it for Penelope.”

Ahuram and Ahriman quickly did as told.  Marseea walked back to where she had left Komnena, but stopped once on the second step.  She turned around and watched Diedrika and Evagoria help the guards set Penelope onto the retrieved cart.  Once Ahuram hitched himself up to it, Marseea then beckoned the five Gryphons and six Mermaids to follow her into the palace.

“To reach the eighth level,” Marseea called out as they entered the cavernous atrium, “we can take the ramps to the fourth floor of the repository and then from there ––”

“We are not here for the infirmary!” Diedrika shouted.  Everyone halted and Marseea spun around.  Even through bloodied hands, a dull glow from the angered queen’s palms was clearly visible.  “We have our own medics and did not come here for more.”

“If our infirmary and the care of an Arachna medic is not what you seek,” Marseea asked coyly, “then why have you come?”

“Hades cradles our sweet Penelope and the cold rushes in,” echoed a hidden voice from the shadows of the western columns that held up the atrium.  Cassiopeia now slithered forth and pointed at Laigria.  “Her soon to be murderer bound and still alive, we seek an exchange.  One soul to combat the other – victor remains in our realm, the vanquished passes through the Gates.”

Diedrika moved close.  The two current queens and Cassiopeia now formed a near perfect triangle.

“I tell you now, Cassiopeia,” Marseea returned with feigned gasps, “I have not the power to do such a thing.”

“That has not stopped other witches and wizards through the ages from trying.”

“And each failed every time!”

“Not
every
time.”  Cassiopeia wagged a single finger at Marseea as if she was a naughty child caught in a lie.

Marseea took in a deep breath and sighed.  “Nonetheless, what you are asking for … Desdessandra did this many centuries ago – once – but magic was different then, more powerful than it is today.”

“All these years you have allowed Komnena to tell our world you are the most gifted sorceress since Desdessandra, but now suddenly you are not?”

“I tell you, Diedrika, it cannot be done,” Marseea fibbed.  “Seeing as I am of no further use, I might as well return to my quarters and grieve for Penelope in ––”

With only the flick of her left wrist, Diedrika bronze-made a glimmering scimitar.

Despite the sharp, scraping echoes that the creation of this weapon made, despite the threat of a sharp blade so close to her, Marseea stood motionless.  She did not even flinch!

“Whether attached to the rest of you or not,” Diedrika growled, “those sultry eyes inside that pretty little head will watch us do all we can to save her.”

“You wouldn’t d ––”

Diedrika moved faster than a flash of lightning.  The blade now resting on Marseea’s chest, its tip was but a whisper from her throat.  She peeked down.  On its thick chain tucked beneath Diedrika’s blade, the Heart of Terra Australis glowed back.

Good, willful Mermaid
…
good.

“I have never begged another for anything – this is the best you are going to get.”  Each word Diedrika spoke trembled even more than the hand now holding the scimitar.  “
Please
do everything you can, try whatever it is you must, take whatever it is you desire to save our sweet Penelope.”

Marseea was as calm as an early morning fog.  She felt no fear, not even a smidge.  The Great Queen Diedrika pleading for help: It was all part of the plan.  A trickling of trust to help muddy the tidal waves of suspicion to come later, the time to make demands was now.

“Judiascar,” Marseea called slyly as Diedrika lowered her scimitar.  “Since the Gryphon Exodus, your kind has made great efforts to keep something very valuable away from us mystics.  Do you know of what I speak?”

“Yes.”

By that shocked look now stamped across Judiascar’s face, Marseea surmised that he had not expected her to pull him into this discussion.

“And how much of it do you have locked away behind the walls of your golden city?”  His beaked mouth agape, Marseea raised a single finger and nodded toward Penelope; cradled in Evagoria’s arms, she sobbed steadily.  “And I very much suggest you do not lie.”

Judiascar walked over to a large vase filled with fresh flowers atop a marble pedestal.  “I do not know the exact amount,” he tapped the vase with a single talon, then looked back at Marseea, “but the ferrum we have gathered over the centuries is enough
to fill at least three of these.”

“I want it, Judiascar,” Marseea said happily, greedily.  “
All of it.
  I have but a few handfuls – just enough for the spells Penelope needs – but no more.”

Before their world was ready to come crumbling down, Marseea needed to make a few protective wares unbreakable, unbendable, impossible to pierce.  Only ferrum in quantities of more than just a handful made it possible to enchant objects in such a way.

And the best part of it all?  Ferrum had NOTHING to do with the transfer of souls.

“It’s yours,” Diedrika said dryly.

Judiascar shot his queen an uneasy look, but finally nodded his head in agreement.

“Although we are not going to the infirmary,” Hezekiah said breathlessly, “I think it best I fetch a medic.  We have none here, and one would not hurt.”

Marseea cackled aloud at this as a burst of confidence coursed through her.  “Our poor Penelope on the edge of death, medics are of no use now.  She will be dead before you return, Hezekiah!  Like it or not,” her eyes grew wide, “all hope lies with me.”

Hezekiah threw Marseea a suspicious stare, but she ignored it.  After a deep breath, she then turned to Komnena.

“Still, I cannot even attempt to do this by myself,” Marseea said slowly.  “We need another.”  A look of death hovered over the porcelain historian as if she knew what her queen would say next.  “We need Penthesilea.”

“No, my queen,
no
,” Komnena begged.  Tears swelled in her eyes.  “She is not ready for such spells.  Still so young and … and ––”

“And will soon be the greatest wielder of magic,” Marseea cut in sharply, “who walks our world!  Since Penthesilea could mouth her first spell eight decades ago, I have taught her without fail, have never once demanded payment.  I never said, however, that debt would not accrue in return for my efforts.

“Payment is now demanded, but that which is owed is not gold, nor silver, nor anything as worthless as these.  Our favorite young witch’s debt is something only she can gift: a day.  A day when magic tricks for play end and the burdens of sorcery begin, when purposeful work calls her name like a howling wind in the coldest dark.  She owes this payment to not only me, Komnena, but to us all.  For our dear Penthesilea,
today
is the day when her debt comes due.”

Komnena now shook wildly.

Marseea moved close to her companion and lowered her voice.  “To be a sorceress is to do what others cannot.  Your daughter a much greater mystic than you give her credit for … bring her to me, Komnena.  Bring me Penthesilea.”

Many pairs of pleading eyes now met a single pair of soaked ones.  Komnena threw her head into her hands, heaved a heavy sob, and then pulled her drenched hands away.  No one in the mood to pity her, with an angered sigh, Komnena marched off.

The reasons behind such a reaction were many, but one was above all others.  What Cassiopeia suggested Marseea could do and Diedrika so eagerly desired were not just any spells – far from it.  These were spells of which light could not pierce, of which even the hottest flame could not thaw.  The first mystics learned early on that the most powerful magic was the darkest magic: quite simply, witchcraft at its rawest.  History littered with the rotting bodies of great mystics from every age the proof, nothing in their world could tempt a gifted young sorceress like dark magic.  Kept far away from such power her whole life, Penthesilea was about to be buried in it.

And she would LOVE it!

Marseea watched as Diedrika hurried over to Penelope as fast as her slithering tail could take her.  Penelope cried softly as her queen stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.  Whenever she tried to speak, Diedrika would lay a single finger over Penelope’s greying lips and whisper kind words to her.

“Inside the chambers where Penthesilea and I brew our potions and test unproven spells is where we will perform the exchange.  These interconnected halls safe from prying eyes are on the fifth level.  A complex incantation I have tried only once long ago and remember little of – we will need the Elysiakeia Codex housed there to guide us.”

“The gods will curse you for this, Marseea!” Laigria screamed upon hearing mention of this book of dark magic.  Struggling on and off since dragged into the palace, she had finally spit the gag out of her mouth.  “The Grim will blacken your soul!”

This outburst all part of the act, the time had come to abandon Laigria on the stage.

Marseea stepped close.  “Don’t you worry about me, wretch – they already have!”  She then pulled the wench’s grimy hair tight, and leaned in even closer.  “And as far as your soul is concerned,” she whispered through gritted teeth, “I
am
the Grim!”  With a wicked smile, Marseea released from her hand the clump of nasty, matted hair.

Eyes that had shown until this moment a false fear suddenly realized their deal was off.  Laigria’s face turned ashen and her bottom jaw dropped as if it had careened off a cliff.

“No, no … NO!  NOT FAIR!  NOT PART OF THE ––”

Already prepared, Marseea pitched enchanted dust straight into Laigria’s mouth.  She then whispered a quick spell before those loose lips could reveal their bargain.

The writhing woman soon to be sacrificed choked and coughed, but could speak no more.  Her tongue might still have been warm, but Marseea’s hex had frozen it in place.  Tears streamed down Laigria’s face.  After a flurry of deep breaths, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.  Echoes of this first scream still pounding away at their ears, she screamed in terror again.

“Guards!” Diedrika yelled.  “SHUT …  HER … UP!”

After the guards delivered a trio of punches to Laigria’s gut, they again set the gag over her mouth and retied it.  She could now only squeal as they dragged her through the repository.

Marseea in the lead, Ahuram pulled Penelope’s cart as the other Mermaids and Gryphons followed.  The weeping wretch and her guards brought up the rear.

The gaggle of creatures quickly reaching the fifth level, Marseea suddenly stopped at a hall that appeared to have no end.  Those she led halted as well. The next step forward would be to enter pure darkness.  On the edge of where the dark began, Marseea shuddered from the cold awaiting her next step.  Two last torches on the wall to each side of her, she pulled each from its holder, and returned to the middle of the hall.  It was time for Marseea to speak the spell that would blaze their path forward:

“Twin torches in hand, bold mischief

in mind, frigid darkness in sight,

Flames thrust upon the floor, turn cold

into warmth, pitch black into light.”