A Conspiracy of Alchemists Page 17

  “You know, you could try to find your father, if only you tried,” he said.

  Her hands stilled. “And how would I do that?”

  Marsh sat forward with his head held between his hands. “I know of a place close by where we could try to invoke your gift.” He spoke softly.

  She sighed. It was the kind of sigh that made her whole body heave. “Marsh, leave it off. It won’t work. And besides, why can’t you do a spell like the Alchemists did?” She put her hands on her hips. “Surely you must know a seeing spell or something that would find him. You are a powerful Warlock after all.”

  He ran his hand over his forehead. “I can’t.” His voice was barely audible.

  She frowned. “Why on earth not?”

  He looked away.

  “But I saw you blast the pirates,” she said.

  “There are reasons, I … I—” He closed his eyes. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

  She nodded. “Yes, always.”

  “You may never reveal this to another living soul. Our lives depend on it.”

  “Marsh, I give you my word. Besides, who would I tell?” She sat down in the seat next to him.

  “For many years now, the Council has forbidden Warlocks to use their power, except in the tiniest of amounts and only in emergencies.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because our magic has all but run out.”

  “What do you mean your magic has run out?” she said.

  He sighed. “As everyone knows, the Romans were the first powerful empire to choose science and logic over magic. Until they rose to power, the worlds of Shadow and Light were one, and creatures of both sides lived in relative harmony. The Greek epics tell the tales of these things. But the Romans caused great suffering and the creatures of Shadow eventually rose up against them. The balance between Light and Shadow is like a set of scales. If one side grows heavier than the other, the balance is upset and the world is thrown into chaos. After Rome fell, the Shadow grew so large and powerful that it threatened to extinguish the Light. Terrible wars were fought. Blood flowed like rivers until the most powerful of the Shadow entities were vanquished and the balance was restored. In order to ensure that this balance was maintained, the first Council of Warlocks split the world into Light and Shadow. Those with no magic chose the Light while the others remained in Shadow. For centuries the division has maintained the balance. But now, as the world’s knowledge of science and biology grows, so the ancient ways disappear to make space for this growth. The divide prevents the world from tipping into chaos, but as the Light grows, so those of us who still belong to the Shadow lose our powers and slowly drift to our doom. If things carry on this way, we will eventually be swallowed up by the Light and there will be no more magic left in the world.”

  “So it’s true, then? If I were to say that I don’t believe in fair—”

  He held up his hand to silence her. “Yes. As soon as you say the words, one of the small people blinks out of existence and dies.”

  She stared at him. “But the Council of Warlocks is one of the most powerful organizations in the world.”

  “That may have been so in years gone by, but for a long time we have been maintaining appearances, all the while conserving what little power we have left. Without a proper Oracle to help us, our power will disappear altogether. When that happens, the divide between Light and Shadow will collapse. The peace and order we have maintained for so long will be no more. There is no telling if anyone would survive such a catastrophe.” His eyes grew cloudy.

  “I don’t understand. There is so much spark out there. And the Alchemists seem to have enough magic, so why not use some of theirs?” she said.

  Marsh shook his head. “As the Shadow retreats, we all fight for the same few pockets of magic that are left in this world. The Alchemists are deeply irresponsible in their use of this magic.” He clenched his jaw at the thought. “The only exception is Spark. The electromancers chose the path of Light when the world divided. Their magic is blended with scientific process though. It is no longer organic and so to use electromancer magic will surely kill us.”

  “You must have used magic before. You are a Warlock,” she said.

  “Perhaps in years gone by. But it has been years since I yielded any proper power.” He looked despondent as he spoke

  “But there must be some way of stopping the world from plunging into chaos?”

  “There is,” he said. “You.”

  She blinked. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “But how?”

  “An Oracle is the guide. She navigates the layers of the universe and with this knowledge comes the gift of channeling and foresight. If you would imagine the world as multiple layers, like the pages in a book—the Oracle is the binding that holds it all together. There can be many Cybeles. Each generation, a few of them will ascend to the second stage of Pythia. But there can be only one Oracle in existence at a time. And she is a creature of immense power and importance. This is what the first Pythia did for the Warlocks. And in return they swore to care for and protect her and her daughters in all time to come.”

  “Hmm. All that still sounds rather dodgy to me,” Elle said. “Who is the Oracle at the moment?”

  “The Oracle who ascended after your mother died twenty years ago was no true Pythia. She has done her best to maintain the balance, but her attempts have been barely effective.”

  “And what sort of life would an Oracle have, once she becomes this person?”

  “Oracles were revered and cherished by our Order. Temples and sanctuaries were built in their honor, for their safety and comfort.”

  “But the Warlocks failed in their task. Delphi was abandoned and the women were killed or taken as slaves, scattered across the world. You said so yourself.”

  “Yes. We lost Delphi, but we have always cared for women we find who have the gift. Your mother was very gifted, but unfortunately she was murdered by those who would see us obliterated.” Marsh took her hand before she could say anything. “Abercrombie and his Alchemists are but the tip of the dragon’s tail. The situation is far more complicated and perilous than you could ever imagine. We are hanging on by the thinnest of threads. You must take up your gift and use it. You must.”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  “If you ascend, you will be in control of your abilities. You will be able to control what happens. If you do not … well, there are many out there who would seek to get hold of an untrained Cybele before she has had the chance to complete the metamorphosis to Pythia. These are desperate times. The Council will not hesitate to do what is necessary to get what it wants.” He looked into her eyes, “Elle, convincing you to complete the metamorphosis on your own terms is the only way I know to keep you safe.”

  A slow-ticking clock at the end of the room punctuated the silence that stretched between them like an ellipsis

  “Marsh, you don’t honestly think that I am going to swallow all this wibble about magical women who rule the world? In fact, I seem to recall you being rather against the whole idea of women’s suffrage. So why should I believe you?”

  “Elle, this is different. This runs so much deeper than a few well-meaning ladies waving placards. Surely you can sense within you something of the legacy the women in your bloodline have left from within?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but its simply not rational.”

  “Are you honestly telling me that you feel nothing?”

  Elle rubbed the back of her neck wearily. He wasn’t going to let the matter go and she was not about to start admitting to all the odd things that had been happening. There was no way she was going to do that.

  She sighed. “Very well, you win. But only by erosion. What would I have to do? To be a Pythia, I mean?”

  He squeezed her hand again. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I will go with you. But only to prove that you are wrong abou
t me.” She picked up her new floor-length cloak with the hood from the coat stand.

  “Oh, I think you might surprise yourself.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” she said, as he led the way.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Where are we going?” Elle asked under her breath.

  “Cemetery Island,” he murmured. “Look grief-stricken. I told the boatman that you wanted to visit the grave of your long-lost relatives.”

  “Oh,” she said, bowing her head.

  Outside, the sky had turned gray. The air smelled damp and salty in the midday gloom. Elle looked up at the clouds. It looked like rain.

  The boatman watched them from the corner of his eye as he stoked the coal furnace and boiler that powered the boat. It started puttering more vigorously, and with a lurch, it started ploughing through the gray water.

  “He doesn’t look happy,” Elle whispered.

  “The Venetians don’t like strangers poking around their dead. Now, keep your head down and pretend you’re grieving.”

  She sat with her head bowed for the rest of the journey. Marsh handed her his handkerchief and she held it to her face. Inside the hood of her cloak she closed her eyes and inhaled his sandalwood smell. Her mind was reeling with all he had told her in the library. It was almost too much to take in at once. But the one thing that gnawed at her was the fact that he knew about the dream, but clearly the dream had meant nothing to him. His only interest was the Oracle and saving the Shadow. The little bit of hope inside her evaporated. She cursed herself for being so shallow. She should be worrying about her father and about the world coming to an end instead of gawping at this man like a mooncalf.

  She felt the boatman’s gaze fixed on her and she stared back. He averted his eyes. The dull ache inside her hurt like grief. Perhaps it showed.

  After what felt like ages, they neared a stone jetty that jutted out into the sea. The boat bumped against it with a gentle thud, and the boatman doused the engine. He muttered something in guttural Italian and gestured for them to disembark.

  Marsh had a word with the man and after a few more coins were exchanged, the fellow seemed content to wait. He drew his hat down over his face and settled down on the seat.

  Marsh helped Elle out of the boat. He put his arm around her as they stepped out onto the jetty.

  “I can manage, you know,” she said.

  “I know, but you are supposed to be a grief-stricken, remember?” He started walking up the gravel path that led to the cemetery. In the distance, the cloisters of the church and monastery on the island came into view.

  “The monks here are allies the Council,.” They passed a group of novices on the gravel path.

  “I thought the Shadow and the Church were enemies.”

  He laughed. “We are. But we also have a mutual understanding.”

  She studied the crumbling edifice of the monastery. These buildings were ancient. The pink stone was veined with gray damp, like a wedge of old cheese.

  “The monks have protected our sanctuary here, along with their own, for a very long time.”

  “This used to be a Warlock sanctuary?”

  He nodded. “And a monastery. The place only became a cemetery because Emperor Napoleon ordered it during the wars.” Another group of brown-robed monks approached them on the path. A few of them inclined their heads at Marsh as they passed.

  “Let me guess, Venice was founded by Warlocks.”

  “The Phoenicians actually, but there were Warlocks among them.” They stepped through a pink-tinged archway and the stone cloisters rose up around them.

  Elle looked around. “Won’t they mind?”

  Marsh shook his head. “They are used to Warlocks visiting here from time to time.”

  “But how do they know you’ are a Warlock?”

  “Only a select group of Warlocks and the monks know of this place. And the monks control who enters and leaves. Look around you. It’s a small island. There is nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.”

  “Hmm,” Elle said. The corridor became progressively less opulent as they walked. She noticed that the stone walls and floor were worn shiny with age.

  They reached a set of steps. Marsh lifted a spark lantern off one of the walls and lit it. He turned and placed his hand on the smooth stones that framed a small wooden door. The wall rumbled softly as he opened the door.

  “In here. Whenever you are ready.” He bent down to avoid hitting his head on the low doorpost and disappeared into the dark room. She could see the light from the lantern fight with the shadows inside.

  She looked at the door and her breath quickened. A gentle pressure settled inside her chest. Something beyond the door radiated out at her like tendrils. They curled around her, drawing her into it.

  She took a deep breath. If this was the only way to find her father, then this was what she would have to do. Saving the world could come later.

  She stepped through the door and blinked in the gloom. She was standing in a small circular room. The walls were built from rough-hewn stone that had later been carved in places in intricate detail. A row of little windows circled the roof, allowing for light to shine in. But it was the floor that made Elle stop and stare. Under her feet was the most exquisite mosaic she had ever seen. Thousands of precious stones, gold and silver were laid to form the image of a woman and a large snake in an elaborate embrace.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Marsh said softly.

  “It is,” she breathed. “Those look like real rubies and sapphires?” Her fingers strayed to the bracelet still stuck around her wrist. “The picture—what does it mean?”

  “It is the legend of Pythia.”

  “The same as the text we found?”

  He nodded. “The very same. At your feet is the first Cybele. She is daughter of Gaia—Mother of all. Gaia is the one on to the right.”

  Elle looked at the figures at her feet. They were dressed in classic Grecian robes.

  “The story continues in the pictures around the edge. Look there. One day Gaia met Python, the snake-god. She was very beautiful and Python fell in love with her. As a token of his love, he gave her the gift of sight and the gift to reach into the layers of the universe to bring harmony and peace. Out of their love, a daughter was born. But Gaia was jealous of her daughter and fought with Python. The arguments became so violent that Gaia left Python, taking her daughter Cybele with her. But Cybele loved her father and she was angry with her mother for taking her away from him. So, when Cybele grew into a woman, she changed her name to Pythia to spite her mother. Pythia means ‘of Python.’ She did it so she could remember her father’s name until she joined him in the afterworld one day. And Python, in recognition of his daughter’s loyalty to him, gave her the same gift of sight as her mother. He also gave her the ability to hold the universe together.” He paused. “That is Pythia’s greatest gift: Wisdom and the ability to hold the world and everything in it together.”

  Elle shrugged. “Strange story. I’m still confused though. What’s the difference between Cybele and Pythia?”

  “A woman with the gift is called Cybele until she undergoes the transformation. Once this happens, she forgoes all of her other names to become Pythia. Pythia is the Oracle until the day she departs for the underworld.”

  They studied the mosaic in silence. The women in it had long hair that flowed over their shoulders and down past their waists.

  “So what do I do?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest. I’ve not had the privilege to witness Pythia speaking in situ in my lifetime. I was an apprentice when your mother left to be with your father.” He gestured at the floor. “I think perhaps you should stand in the middle of this floor and see what happens.”

  “Very well, but I had better take my boots off. The floor looks so delicate. I’d hate to damage it.” She bent over and pulled off her boots and stockings.

  CHAPTER 28

  Marsh watched Elle step onto the mosaic. They stared at one another for
a few tense moments. Nothing happened.

  Elle spread out her arms and let them drop to her sides. “See. Nothing,” she said. “I told you, I wasn’t your girl.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I knew nothing would happe—”

  Her eyes rolled back in her head, her knees buckled and she sank to the floor.

  Marsh started. “Elle!” He stepped forward to help her, but a wall of pure energy met him. Fearing that he might harm her, he drew back.

  “Elle,” he said. “Elle, can you hear me?”

  She stirred and sat up. It was a strange type of sitting up, almost as if her spine moved her into an upright position all on its own, without help from her arms and legs. She opened her eyes.

  Marsh gasped. The whites of her eyes had gone very white and the irises were dark, almost black. They reminded him of the eyes he had seen on the murals and vases of ancient Greece.

  “Who seeks the counsel of Pythia?” Her voice sounded different. It resonated against the walls.

  “I do, honorable one,” Marsh said, frantically trying to recall the ritual words.

  “And what is it which you seek to know, Warlock?”

  Fear gripped him. He needed to ask the question carefully. Oracles were notorious for their cryptic and strange answers. They also had the tendency to stop answering whenever they felt like it. He decided to start with the most important question first.

  “We seek the whereabouts of the man known as Professor Charles Chance. We need to know where to find him.”

  Elle’s head rolled back. The hood of her cloak had slipped and her hair had worked its way loose. The auburn waves spilled down over her shoulders. She remained like that, with her head tilted back, for a few long moments.

  Suddenly her head jerked back up and she stared straight at him. Marsh felt a tremor of awe laced with fear shoot through him. Legends of how frightening Oracles could be were not far wrong. He felt as if he was looking into the eyes of the wisdom of ages itself. And he was terrified.

  “The man you seek is in the city of Constantine. The tracks that the iron beast follows to the City is fraught with shadow. You will find him among the lords of the dead of the forests.”