Love Entwined (35 page)

They stayed close in the vast darkness. With the one lamp, the circle of light was small and did not reach beyond Amelie’s feet.

“Who are they?” Roman said, following her down the steps.

“Parasites. They kill to live.”

“You remember,” he said.

“They brought me here. Somehow.”

“Dr. Otto Von Haber was part of the Artisan project, wasn’t he?” Chief Bryant asked behind Roman.

“He was always there, taking care of Garamonde.” She heard the beat of the drums below.

“A year ago, you took a plane trip with the Garamondes and Dr. Von Haber,” Roman said. He stopped short on the steps as she turned to him.

“You were here again in February,” Chief Bryant watched her.

“No. I was holed up with Marketing at Penrods and the Sweet Life campaign—”

Roman shook his head. “The trip records say you were here for three weeks.”

The beat of the drums became louder.

“That’s impossible. I would have remembered that.”

“Not if you were drugged,” Chief Bryant said. “Or hypnotized.”

She looked from Roman to Chief Bryant, but had no words. They were right. She could have been here. She’d been so frustrated in February after having worked weeks on the Sweet Life sketches and coming up blank, no inspiration at all for the themes. Or had she just neglected the sketches while Isolde the High Priestess was sequestered here in the Swiss Alps for three weeks calling forth the fire dragon and killing innocent people?

The drums were so loud she covered her ears.

Roman took her by the shoulders. “Amelie, what language were you speaking with them?”

“It is a dead language. You will not find records of it. I thought I escaped, but she is in me.
Mon Dieu
, I am cursed—” She struggled to be free. Her foot slipped off the platform and Roman put an arm around her as her high heel fell over the side of the sheer wall.

He crushed her against him. Light receded as the lamp clattered down the steps.

Chief Bryant put a steadying hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Careful.”

Roman put his back to the wall, and for a moment, they were all still. They could not see each other in the darkness and the cold draft coming up to them from below made it seem like they were on the ledge of a tall building.

“Listen to me,” Roman said carefully. “You can end this.”

“Amelie, you’ve gotten us this far,” Chief Bryant urged.

“I’m fine now.” She kicked off her other shoe, sending it flying over the edge. “They’ve stopped.” She moved ahead of Roman, hugging the wall.

“Who’s stopped?” Roman asked.

“The drums.”

He took her hand. “No. Wait.”

“We’ve got to keep going,” she said. “They will kill you.”

“I know. I’m going first.” He moved ahead of her, holding onto her hand.

They were halfway down when the steps below them became visible. There was light coming from below.

“A fire.” Roman stopped. “The lamp must have shattered.”

“It’s all right. Keep going,” she said behind him.

At the bottom of the steps, the lamp lay on its side. A line of fire three feet high extended from it, going around the circumference of the vast underground space and casting an orange glow on the rough-hewn walls of the chamber. The fire reflected on the hundreds of golden vessels in the walls.

“My God. It really is true.” Chief Bryant turned to the wall and put his hand in a golden vessel. Rubies slipped through his fingers. “There are so many of them.”

Amelie looked at Roman.

“I had to tell him,” he answered the unspoken question. “Chief Bryant and his team needed to know what they were getting into, even if they didn’t believe me at first. Now they’re dead, and look where we are.”

“You’re right.” She glanced at Chief Bryant. “The jewels are washed in His blood. The jewels keep them alive.” She moved toward the center of the chamber where there was a huge pit surrounded by drums. She passed three large drums on the way to the pit and touched one of the skins. “We are here. This is where I was in February.”

The pit was empty now, dark and still. Cold air ruffled her hair. She buttoned the collar of her leather jacket. She was a foot away from the edge of the pit when Roman put an arm around her waist.

“That’s close enough.”

“It is so very deep.” Looking up into his eyes, she put her arm around his waist. “It goes all the way down.”

Something cracked under his foot. Roman bent and picked up broken eyeglasses.

“Dr. Frein’s.” Chief Bryant took them from his hand. “They killed him.”

“No. Not without me.” She walked back toward the steps and around the fallen lamp. “They would not waste his life force.”

There was about five feet of space between the cave wall and the fire. She walked around the pit toward the far corner, and they followed.

The wooden door set in the wall was barred.

Roman lifted the iron bar and swung the door wide. The fire light revealed a man, lying on the ground. He was clothed in a long white robe.

Chief Bryant checked for a pulse. “He is alive.” He pulled the unconscious Dr. Frein up in a sitting position.

“Drugged. They knew I was coming.” She stared at the barefoot man. “They were waiting for me to perform the sacrificial ceremony. You were never meant to get out of Castle Zuoz alive.”

Roman took Dr. Frein’s other arm and helped drag him through the door and out into the main chamber. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Maybe not,” Chief Bryant said.

Light travelled slowly down the steps far above the chamber. Several lamps approached. The brown robes were coming.

“Is there another way out?” Roman asked.

“There is no other way out, but there is a way.” She stepped past them.

Roman and Chief Bryant followed, making their way past the wall of fire and back to the pit with Dr. Frein between them.

“What are you saying?” Roman asked.

She looked down into the fathomless darkness. “If I can call him, maybe I can direct him to his victims.”

“Is that how it works?” Chief Bryant asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

Chief Bryant looked at Roman. “We could all be killed.”

Roman looked up toward the steps. The bobbing lights were already halfway down the steps. “We
will
all be killed if doesn’t work.”

“I have to try.” She went to the very edge of the pit. It was pitch black inside and the air coming from it was frigid.

Roman took her in his arms and kissed her. “What can I do?”

“Play the drums.” She kissed him hard. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I love you.” She turned back to the pit.

Roman motioned to Chief Bryant, who laid Dr. Frein down near a drum.

They started out slow. The unorganized, staccato beats expressed their frustration at not only being trapped underground waiting for the inevitable end as the brown robes approached, but also the necessity of having blind faith in a witch who had forgotten her powers. They both watched Amelie, hoping she remembered enough to pull it off.

She closed her eyes and swayed to and fro, feeding them the rhythm of Jacqueline’s dreams so that they played in unison.

It grew hot in the chamber and she shed the jacket, raising her hands above her head, weaving the ancient pattern to call the fire dragon into the world.

Isolde…

The ancestors gathered.

They flooded into her like a soothing tide washing over her soul, welcoming her.

She despised it and craved it. She despaired over their welcome and yet was desperate for it. She was ignorant and could not do this without them.

Even though she had forsaken her sisters so long ago, they were not even angry with her. They had known it was only a matter of time until she returned, and time for her sisters was relative. A century was but a day to them. She felt such warmth and love from her sisters. They were there from every age, from the beginning of time. She belonged with them and would not leave them ever again. She was High Priestess Isolde.

The ancient words tumbled from her in the many voices of her ancestors. As they sang with her, the wind picked up and she inhaled the smell of brimstone as her hair waved in the warm breeze.

A thunderous roar shook the chamber.

“Yes,” Isolde sighed.

Her sisters sang on, but the drums stopped. Someone called the name Amelie.

“Keep playing,” she demanded.

The drums began anew, and she raised her voice in song once again.

“The High Priestess!”

She turned. Brown robes surrounded the two men playing the drums. Both men watched her. She nodded in satisfaction as they attacked the drums, playing for their lives.

“Play.” She commanded the brown robes.

Without hesitation, the brown robes took their positions at drums around the chamber.

The air that blasted her face was hot now and Isolde and her sisters sang on joyously. The dragon’s roar was closer to the surface of the pit.

Fiery tentacles surfaced from the pit, clawing the air so that a haze swirled above her.

Two red eyes, as wide as drums, in the center of the fire searched the chamber, and found her.

The fire dragon rose above her. “Ahhhh…My Isolde,” the voice boomed throughout the chamber.

“Master,” she sighed in contentment. Her sisters took up the soft chant as like a snake charmer she danced. Although the confining garments she wore on her legs constricted her movement, she twirled in celebration.

He was a whirling firewall surrounding her. Flames licked her skin, caressed her hair. “What age is this?” he asked.

“One of knowledge. The people are a danger to themselves. I like it not,” she said dismissively.

“Isolde!” He picked her up and she laughed, falling backward onto the bed of flames as they flew around the chamber.

She could almost touch the vaulted ceiling and reveled in his joy at their reunion as he spun her around.

“Amelie!” The tall man below dressed in strange clothing was shouting at her.

She sat up on the bed of fire. Kneeling forward, she smiled, holding out her hand to the man as the Master flew around the chamber.

The man moved away from the drum and slowly walked toward the pit of fire as he stared into her eyes. The other man dressed like him ran forward and took his arm.

The tall man pushed the other one with such force that he fell back against the drums. His eyes never left hers as he continued toward the fiery pit.

He was beautiful and strong and would surely be a pleasing consort. For a moment, she hesitated to take his life for the Master, and he stopped, staring up at her. There was something about him…the fear of the other inside of her was strong, and then she knew. The tall one was loved. He was a Warrior of Light.

“Come,” she cajoled. The man started to walk again.

Castle Zuoz, Graubünden, Switzerland – June 8, 1988

Amelie dragged her way back to the surface of consciousness and hung on, battling the High Priestess Isolde for control. Hot air blew all around her. She was far above the pit, riding the fire dragon, but she was unharmed.

Below, Roman was just feet away from the fiery pit. He wasn’t looking at the fire before him, but stared blankly up at her. He would walk right into the flames.

She pushed the High Priestess down into the recesses of her soul. Blinding pain pounded through her brain, nearly sending her under again. She gasped and choked on the hot air around her but it helped her to remain where she was, almost there, in her own mind.

Roman was approaching the edge of the pit.

She tried once more to rise above the High Priestess, clenching her teeth against the pain as she fought to regain control.

Free will.

The words were resentful, accusatory. The pressure in Amelie’s head receded, and then the High Priestess Isolde was gone.

For how long, Amelie did not know but she could not let the ancestors bring the High Priestess forward again. Even now, their disappointment in her was crippling, but they were sirens and could not be trusted.

Her fear grew as her sisters sang on in harmony, undeterred. It seemed they knew her better than she knew herself. She felt their patience as they waited for her to lose control again.

She focused on Roman. He stopped and swayed on his feet, and she prayed he did not pass out so close to the pit. Finally, he looked down and stumbled back, away from the edge. He looked toward the drums and ran to help Chief Bryant up from the ground. He said something to Chief Bryant, who motioned toward her.

“Amelie!” Roman shouted.

The fire dragon slowed and fixed red eyes on Roman who stood defiantly near the edge of the pit below them. The fire demon veered off in Roman’s direction.

“I am fond of him, Master.” She was shaking inside, but kept her voice serene. “He is my consort.”

“What of Damek?” The fire rose around her. “Is he not a loyal servant? He has given you many daughters.”

She hesitated only briefly. Daughters. Were they all like her? There was so much she did not remember.

Hearing her consort’s name brought back many nights of celebration. She had loved him, once. He was her destiny, but he was evil. Roman was life.

“Damek is no more,” she said haughtily.

“He lives,” the fire dragon assured her. “You will find each other.”

“When?” She asked too quickly. Who was Lord Alsborough, formerly Damek? Who was he now? “I am not quite myself, yet, Master.”

“Patience, Isolde.” The fire dragon’s laughter shook the chamber. “That is the way of it.” He swung her around the chamber again and she covered her shriek with a laugh. The High Priestess would not be afraid. She would enjoy this show of affection.

She was getting dizzy and tried to think of something that would stop him from flying around the pit before she fell into Hell.

At that moment, one of the brown robes below came out from behind a drum and began walking toward Roman, who was still standing at the edge of the pit as if he could catch her if she fell.

The brown robe walked swiftly. Varuk’s hood fell off as he raised his hands toward Roman’s back.