Shadows on the Aegean (40 page)

Nestor was sitting in the library, playing a set of pipes, when Cheftu awoke. Nestor set them down and rose to his feet. “Your
new clothing has arrived. Aztlantu clothing,” he said with emphasis.

Cheftu smiled grimly. His pressed white kilt was a stark contrast to the bright patterns that everyone, even the serfs, wore.
His wide Egyptian collar was unlike the necklaces and pendants the other men wore, and his headcloth covered hair that was
unfashionably short in contrast with the flowing locks of the Aztlantu men. Apparently the Spiralmaster needed to adapt more.

“When you are changed we will go dine. The rest of the Olimpi are returned, and it is time for you to meet them.”

After the elaborate toilette was completed, Cheftu followed Nestor silently through the corridors, light wells, and hallways.
Cheftu ignored the stares and whispers of those around him as they passed through a series of wide, busy chambers. The aroma
of cooked meat hung in the air, compounded by a mixture of perfumes, body odors, and fire.

He followed Nestor thoughtlessly. The western-angled sun shone in the light wells, and Cheftu realized the day was almost
gone. He was exhausted, lonely. He wanted to tell Chloe about his experiences today, whisper his wonder of what had happened
against her skin before he—Cheftu closed his eyes at the thought of Chloe; his thoughts alone were betrayals. A serf offered
a rhyton of sweet, peppery wine. He drank, then drank more, and still more.

Maybe he could drown his thoughts of green-eyed women. Living and dead.

C
HLOE, FOR THE FIRST TIME
since she’d heard Cheftu was alive and was here, was not thinking of him. A zigzag path rose before her, climbing to the
sprawling metropolis on the hills. She stared at Sibylla’s city in wonder. If she’d been in Crete, then where was she now?
Sailing to Naxos first had confused her even more.

Surely this was not Santorini?

Though it was a hike, they walked up the hill. Chloe felt her weary muscles screaming in protest and sweat gathering between
her waist cincher and skin. They turned onto a flatter pathway, and Chloe hissed.
This can’t be real. Has Disney taken over ancient times?
Dominating all was an enormous pyramid in a rainbow of colors with a flat top of gold. A pyramid? A
pyramid?

The Minoans didn’t have pyramids, of that she was certain. Well, as certain as modern archaeology was, she amended. Who, then,
were these people?

Behind the pyramid was a palace, or meeting hall, with acres of painted walls and columned corridors. To the east and west
of the pyramid were graceful gold-and-red temples, with pylons, columns, and flat roofs. A deep channel cut between the two
islands, a channel bridged by suspension bridges, and in the middle, the islands were attached by land. Her brain was in overdrive.
Where was this?

The walkway was steep and difficult to manage in sandals. Chloe stumbled, wondering how the Mariners, some barefoot, walked
with the security of mountain goats. Of course, Camille had been that way. She was almost roachlike in her ability to climb
anything.
Oh, Cammy; oh, Mom
, Chloe thought.
Y’all would sell your souls to see this now!

People bustled all around them, and Chloe just kept staring. Women were bare breasted and tightly corseted, with long black
hair flowing around them. They walked on high heels that looked almost like platform wedges from the 1970s.
So this is where European women got the ability to scale mountains in heels—their ancestors have been doing it for centuries!

The men were also corseted, with very short kilts and, again, long hair. Most everyone Chloe saw was young, fit, attractive.
Where were the elders?

They walked along, jostled by the citizens of this place, carrying market baskets, towing along children, bartering. It seemed
like almost any other city, except Chloe couldn’t stop staring at the multitudes of bare breasts and the men who ignored them.
Women nursed in the street, and the men just walked by.

And Muslims thought Westerners were wild.

Nearby, a woman approached, and the people stepped back. She was dressed the same as Chloe and everyone else, though she wore
far more jewelry and a cloak. As she swept past a group of men, teetering on her high heels, she slipped off the cloak, showing
a bit of shoulder. A Coil Dancer with very little style, Chloe thought through Sibylla’s perception. Two men followed the
woman, and all three entered one of the white-and-red-columned buildings.

Chloe entered the heart of the town, and the noise was deafening. Buildings, some four stories high, lined both sides of the
street, with occasional hanging balconies. Businesses with swinging signs were sprinkled in between the town houses. She glimpsed
narrow courtyards and blooming gardens. Up and down, up and down. Her legs were screaming with pain. She really should have
taken at least a week to train before coming here. Even slogging through mud—Don’t think about Naxos, she reminded herself.
You could do no more, not without bulldozers, EMT professionals, and antibiotics.

The final count on the rescue of Naxos had been thirty-five people. Thirty-five out of 23,000. The numbers alone shook Chloe,
but when she began attaching names and faces and belongings—corn-husk dolls, painted pottery, tools—it became overwhelming.

She’d failed.

They continued walking. The Mariner’s fast pace made her sweat, even in the cool air. They turned and twisted, each street
a snare for the senses. Brightly colored buildings painted in the now familiar shades of goldenrod, crimson, and black, shouts
of children, neighing of donkeys, and cries of women; food, a dozen different aromas rising on the air to mingle with the
perfumes and herbs of the people around them.

Daphne was chaos, as crowded as any modern city. As they walked under two overhanging balconies, Chloe watched the women string
a laundry line, gossiping as they completed their afternoon chores. Seated outside at a ground-level door, a young girl with
an elaborate tattoo beat grain with a pestle. She’s a young bride, Chloe realized.

They left the residential section and began walking down. Chloe caught glimpses of the mountain before them. The reflected
sunlight from the gold-topped pyramid—unbelievable that there was a pyramid at all—obscured the rest of the hill.

The populace was becoming rarefied. Chloe saw more and more traveling chairs, more serfs tagging along, as they approached
Aztlan Island proper. They reached the edge of the lagoon that encircled the mountain, and Chloe saw a suspension bridge before
them, hanging 1,200 feet above the indigo sea. Holding on to the railings, people were crossing. Oh, my God, Chloe thought.
I really don’t want to do this!

Normally she didn’t mind heights. But this, this was a long, surprisingly narrow bridge. And the fall was straight … she couldn’t
look. “How many people fall off here annually?” she asked Thom.

He scoffed with all the arrogance of adolescence. “Only those who are fool enough to stand in the way. Go forward, my mistress.”
Sibylla had done this a hundred times, a thousand. It was safe, and only a short distance. To her left she could see the land
bridge, a wider, olive-and grape-covered pathway. Why didn’t they take that?

“My mistress?” Thom inquired. “Is anything the matter?”

Other than I’m not your mistress and this bridge is scarier than anything in any amusement park, no, Chloe thought. Stiffening
her spine, she stepped forward. The bridge felt mostly solid though how it could be before the invention of concrete and steel,
she didn’t know. Don’t ask, just walk, she told herself. Look to the opposite side, and for God’s sake, do
not
look down!

She focused on the back of the stranger in front of her, taking one step at a time, her other hand sliding in a stranglehold
along the railing. Shouts rang out ahead of her, and Chloe feared the worst.

Two kids, apparently playing chase, ran past her, shoving Chloe against the railing. She reached out to catch herself. Screams
filled her ears as her foot slid, hanging a thousand feet over churning waters. She felt hands trying to help her up, and
she was vaguely aware of people around her, but Chloe couldn’t move her gaze from her dirty foot in its ankle-tie sandal,
suspended in space.

A hand grasped her waist, her wrist, easing her up. Focus on the end and do not look away, she hissed at herself. Her grasp
on Thom’s arm was white knuckled. Then they were safe on land again. Aztlan Island, Sibylla’s home, she thought. Within her,
Sibylla stirred. But the oracle was contributing less and less…. Chloe guessed that her raids on the woman’s memory were depleting
her. What had happened to the rest of Sibylla, the part that was out at a virtual cocktail party when Chloe commandeered her
body? Had she been left in the cave?

As they progressed toward the sprawling multihued palace, Chloe had to remind herself to turn when she heard Sibylla’s name
called. Men, women, mostly her clanspeople, called out greetings. She watched from the corner of her eye while listening to
an elaborate tale about cows that weren’t eating and had lost their coordination. Chloe saw that gorgeous man, Dion, approach
her.

After another effusive salutation and thorough once-over he gave the blushing Thom, Chloe found herself invited to a feast.
A feast to meet the new Spiralmaster.

Giddiness bubbled inside Chloe. Scarlett O’Hara’s “tomorrow” had never sounded so good.

Chloe woke up in a white-shrouded room.
Not again
. Not another white room that could be anywhere in any time. Quickly she checked: same long hair. She’d gone to bed early
last night
hoping
the day would get here faster.

Wherever
here
was. She wasn’t so sure she knew anymore.

Cheftu was on this island somewhere; she didn’t want to miss him.

Her room was spacious with many windows. Heart pounding from those few terrorizing seconds when she feared she’d returned
to her own time, she slipped out from under the soft sheets and ran to the window. The view of the pyramid, the sea, the connecting
island, was spectacular. Stunning and completely foreign.

This place couldn’t be Minoan, which left her with few known cultural choices.

She was looking directly down onto another building with the same flat roof and red pillars. Lush vines covered the grounds
and hung from the many squared doorways that connected this building to others. Chloe turned at the sound of someone entering
the room.

“A bath, please,” she responded to the serf’s request. The sunlight was just now falling onto the buildings. Such an incredible
shade of light, Chloe thought. She was definitely in Greece. The light was utterly unforgettable. But where? How did this
relate to her world? Did it matter? Cheftu was here, at least. Heart in her throat, Chloe turned toward the room.

The serf had stepped into an alcove, and the sound of rushing water filled the room. A bathroom? Chloe poked her head in,
bug-eyed in astonishment.
Running water?
These people had running water? “My mistress, what temperature?”