Eye of the Tempest (23 page)

Overwhelmed by sensations, I pulled away from Blondie, sitting up. I discovered I was straddling her, my shirt rucked up nearly to my neck from where I’d been pressing myself against her. She had her hands on my ass, and didn’t look too upset about the contact.

“I’m sorry,” I said, throwing my leg over her so that I was sitting on the ground instead of on top of her. “That was intense.”

“I’ve lived a long time,” was her only reply, her lips twitching in a little smirk as she sat up and then reached for her shirt and pulled it back on.

“Still, I shouldn’t have… Did we make out?”

“Well… sort of,” she said, winking at me. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell. Unless you want me to. And it was just because of the tats… People sometimes have strong reactions.”

“They’re…” I began, reaching out my fingers to stroke over a little bit of tattoo tracing out of Blondie’s sleeve. But I stopped myself. “Amazing,” I finished.

“And chicks dig ’em,” she quipped.

“No, seriously,” I insisted, trying to worm past her defenses. I’d been immersed in her, nearly literally, and I knew she wasn’t merely the lovable rogue she pretended to be. All thoughts of mistrusting Blondie fled. “They’re amazing. And you’re amazing. The life you’ve lived… and then to do what you did, with the tattoos. To include those particular memories. So clever.” I wasn’t quite up to full brain power, all my blood and attention having been spread out to other areas.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself,” she said, sitting forward and kissing me boldly on the lips. For a second, I responded, still wrapped up in her memories and the feel of her against me.

But then I drew back. Anyan was still inside that damned dog, hopefully. And now was not the time.

“I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I realized I meant it as I said it.

“Not feeling the ‘another woman’ thing?” she asked.

“Um, no. That’s definitely not it,” I admitted. “But there’s Anyan. And there’s…” I motioned toward the glyph in my best Vanna White impression.

“Mmm, yes. There is that. As for Anyan… maybe he likes to share.” With that, Blondie turned back to our mirrored mystery.

Sharing is caring!
chimed my libido. I stored that thought away to ponder later. And by ponder, I meant fantasize. But for right now…

“ ’Kay, we still have to touch this thing,” Blondie said.

“Agreed,” I said, going along with her change of subject. “Who wants to do it?”

Blondie pursed her lips and scratched at her tattooed neck. For a second, I itched to touch those tats one more time…

Instead, I sighed. “I’ll do it.”

It made sense. She was stronger than me, and she was the only one who could beat Phaedra to become the champion. If anyone was expendable, it was me.

My fingers trembling, I reached toward the sigil. Blondie watched me, a small smile on her lips as if she’d won something.

“If it does turn me into a seal,” I warned her smug expression, “I’m coming after you. Slowly, and ponderously, but I am coming after you.”

She grinned in reply, and I reached forward. Then we both jumped away as the glyph flared with my finger’s brief contact. For a second, it glowed as if lit by the sun. My heart was pounding in my chest and I knew I was grinning maniacally in sheer panic… only to watch as nothing happened and the glyph went cold and dead before us. So I reached forward again, to touch the sigil once more… And again it flared, power flooding the cavern. This time I was ready for it, however, and I kept my hand where it was.

Only the sigil
still
faded, despite my holding my fingers in place. It did the same thing when I touched it again, and again—flaring to life, but then dying.

“Okay,” Blondie said. “It liked the touch. But then it must want you to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. But it’s as though it gets bored when you stand there.”

I started pressing random places on the sigil, but everywhere I touched just made it do the exact same thing—flare, and then go out. Meanwhile, it never stopped changing shape, each sinuous form flowing into the next, led by that line’s serpentlike head…

Led by the head
… my brain echoed as a chill ran down my spine. Concentrating on the sigil I watched as it morphed, trying to get a bead on what I wanted…

Darting my hand forward, I touched exactly what I’d wanted to touch—the head of the snake. My body jolted as I made contact and the sigil flared again, but this time a thrill of power arced through my body.

“That’s it,” I said. “It’s the sigil… it wants us to…”

“What?” Blondie said, as if urging me on. I flicked my eyes at the tone of her voice. “Wants us to what?”

Frankly, I wasn’t sure, so I reached out my fingers to try to touch that snaking serpent’s head again. The sigil flared; I felt the same shock. But this time I tried to keep pace with it. As long as I did so, the sigil continued to flare, and power continued to surge up my arm. There was just one problem…

“Shit! It’s too fast!” I kicked the wall in frustration. “Motherfucker!”

“Here, let me,” Blondie said, taking my forearm in a firm grip.

Then she started to move my arm. Her own movements were quick and sure and confident. In fact, they were very confident.

A little too confident
, I thought.

Her grip strong on my arm, Blondie piloted my hand like she was Helen Keller reading Braille. There was nothing hesitant about her movements, and my heart sank.

I trusted her
, I thought, fearing once again that my trust had been for naught.
But what about everything I saw in her tattoos?
I questioned. I felt like I’d seen into her soul, and it was a good one.

She
does
know more than she’s telling us
, I thought.
But that doesn’t mean she’s evil
. With that, I squashed down my doubts and just went with her movements. I had to ride this bronco to the end and see where it took me.

Meanwhile, my Blondie-guided fingers flew across the sigil as the light grew brighter and brighter. But I was touching only the right side of the mirror, totally avoiding the left. Finally, it settled into half of an ornate shape that would have looked a bit like a stylized Celtic version of a Christmas wreath, had the other side been filled in. Meanwhile, the glow increased, and for a very uncomfortable moment I was reminded of the light right before the crystal cave’s glyph exploded. Just as my heart really started to pound in fear, Blondie completed exactly half, and the sigil went supernova as the Original’s free hand shot forward to grab mine.

“Where the hell are we?” I asked, coughing on the wet air surrounding us. Thick mist walled us in, seemingly as solid as the cavern in which we’d just been standing.

“Beats me,” Blondie said, her eyes squinting as she tried to peer through the murk.

But before I could ask any more stupid questions, or some of the very
not
-stupid questions I needed to ask Blondie, the mist before us parted like the curtains of a stage, revealing four translucent figures.

They looked like ghosts, or like fake holograms in movies. There was no attempt to make them seem “real,” and yet I had no doubt that the four people had once existed.

“Melichor,” Blondie spat, pointing at the tall, imperiously bearded man standing on the far left. “An Alfar king famous for his power and his lack of emotion.” Despite being pointed at and discussed like a villain in a movie, Melichor gave no indication he could hear us.

“Tatiana, his consort,” Blondie said, pointing at the woman of medium height and build standing next to the cruel king. “Equally powerful, but her cruelty took the form of expedience. She’d do anything to win.”

I couldn’t help but think of Orin and Morrigan.
Some things never change
.

“Beside them are their respective second-in-commands: Glynda, a woman whom you never wanted to cross. She hid her passion for cruelty behind a mask of steel. And Straif. Not too bright, but insanely strong, he’d do his mistress’s bidding no matter what she asked of him.”

“And these are all Alfar?” I whispered, waiting for the illusions to move, or blast us into oblivion, or something. But nothing happened.

“Ancient Alfar. From just after the Schism.”

“You mean just after the different factions were created?”

“Yes.”

“And what I saw in your tattoo… Before that they were like you?”

“Yes. Before that, there were only us. Hence the title ‘Original.’ ”

“But how did they change? What was the Schism, exactly?” I asked, feeling like I’d learned more substantive information about my new world in this past day than I had in the past six months.

She looked down at me, her face curiously blank. “You’ll touch that tattoo soon enough, babydoll,” she said, as her fingers found what looked like a large bull’s horn right below her left ear. “But for now, let’s figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, confident I could ask what I needed to ask since we’d been standing there gabbing and so far absolutely nothing had happened. “We need to talk.”

“Again?” Blondie asked.

“Again,” I said, diving right into the truth. “The way you traced over that glyph… you knew what it was supposed to be, didn’t you?”

Blondie paused. “Um… I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” she began.

I interrupted her with a frustrated sigh. “That’s the second time you’ve said that,” I said, testily. “I was really starting to feel like I knew you, and now this. How can I trust you if you hide things from me? And why do I sound like I’m the love interest in a bad made-for-TV movie?”

“I know,” Blondie said. “And I’m sorry. I’m not used to working with other people.”

“It isn’t hard,” I interrupted her, huffily. “
You
tell
us
what you know about the problem, and then we all conquer it together. Rather than doling out information like dog treats. Now, what is it you didn’t tell me
this
time?”

“There’s not a lot. It’s just that I know the glyph.” With that she stopped, as if my curiosity would be satisfied with such a total nonanswer.

“So
how
do you know the glyph?” I prompted.

“It’s common?” she asked. I just stared. “It’s complicated,” Blondie said, eventually. “But I swear to you, it’s not that I’m hiding something that puts you in danger. I have a source.”

“So, who is it?” I asked.

“It’s someone I can’t talk about. Someone very old. Someone I’m not supposed to have contact with.”

I frowned. “Why? Is it like a double agent?”

After a pause, Blondie nodded. “In a way, yes. You could definitely say that… a double agent.”

I wasn’t entirely satisfied, but at the same time I kept remembering touching her tattoos. I
trusted
her, damn it. I felt I’d seen what she was made of. And I also really liked her.

I want to trust her
, I realized.
For better or worse, I want her to be a friend
.

So instead of arguing, or pursuing more answers, I merely nodded.

Blondie smiled at me, clearly relieved. But I shook my finger at her.

“You had better be telling me everything. I’m sick of being one step behind you. If there’s something I need to know, I wanna know now.”

“I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

I nodded my head, accepting her apology. Then, as one, we turned back toward the silent, ghostlike figures. Blondie took my hand, again, and together we stepped forward. As if we’d flipped a switch, the four figures before us started to move.

There was no sound, but there didn’t need to be. The mist behind the huge statues took shape to create a translucent, sinister landscape. Behind the figures, swirls of mist came together to become a giant beast, which looked like the love child of an angler fish and a giant squid. Tentacles and teeth and weird dangling eyes were everywhere as the monster churned in front of us, a writhing mass of fog-hued flesh.

Calmly, majestically, the translucent figures of the long-dead Alfar confronted the beast, and we watched as they bested it after what had to be a vastly abridged version of a fight. While the creature, lashing and gyrating, fought what looked like itself, the Alfar calmly dispatched spell after spell. Eventually, one of the ghosts laid down, obviously slain in the battle, but it was done in the same way one lays down to begin doing crunches at the gym. Shortly thereafter, the creature also stopped moving, as if its strings had been cut. It slowly settled to earth, but its tentacles were wrapped around a glowing sphere, as if it were dragging the sphere down with it to its grave. The Alfar tried to wrest the sphere away from the creature’s limbs, but to no avail. Eventually, they gave up and used their combined power to bury the creature and its sphere in the sea, before covering it all up with land. Upon this natural prison, they set locks… the very sigils we’d found here and beneath Gus’s house. We watched as four sigils floated up into the air above where the creature was bested, and then flew down to nestle in various places on an otherwise unreconizable landscape that appeared under them. Then the four Alfar figures turned to face us, again, raising their arms with their palms facing outward.