Shadows on the Aegean (53 page)

T
HE
P
YRAMID OF
D
AYS
rose high, visible for
henti
, its multicolored sides inscribed with the history of the empire, its golden top throbbing with the power of the sun. The
red, black, and white buildings of the palace contrasted against the dark soil and vibrant greenery. The nobles’ regatta sailed
beneath the graceful arches that spanned the lagoon between Aztlan and Kallistae, accepting the outpouring of flower petals
and praise as their due.

The procession entered the tunnel.

The ceremonies were begun.

The Ring of the Bull was not actually a ring, but rather a rectangle that ran the length of the palace. Complete with balconies
and overhangs, it seated more than three thousand people.

The men and women of the Decan Council were stripped to loincloths, save Nekros, who wore an all-concealing cloak that he
would discard when they moved from the sunlight. Their long hair was bound up and crowned with feathers, their bodies prepared
for burial from lustral baths. The table in the center of the room was empty, its surface inlaid with the decapod crab and
the emblems of Aztlan’s ten clans. There was neither head nor foot at the oblong table. Though
Hreesos
had ultimate power, in the Council chamber he was only another clan chieftain.

To the solemn march of drums, they walked in and took their places.

They followed the ritual of Becoming.

“I am the Clan of the Muse, Chieftain Atenis.”

“I am the Clan of the Stone, Chieftain Nekros.”

“I am the Clan of the Horn, Chieftain Sibylla.”

As they spoke, all placed their ruling trident on the table, so that the tines met in the center. Each wore the golden seal
of their clan, and male or female they wore the ritual dagger of Olimpi, given to them when they assumed the chieftainship,
in the understanding that they would sacrifice even themselves to prevent internal war.

“I am the Clan of the Vine, Chieftain Dion.”

“I am the Clan of the Wave, Chieftain Iason.”

“I am the Clan of the Flame, Chieftain Talos.”

Cheftu rose, ruler of the Scholomance. “I am the Clan of the Spiral, the Spiralmaster.”

The two religious orders representatives spoke. “I am the Cult of the Bull, the Minos.”

“I am the Cult of the Snake, the Kela-Ata.”

Hreesos
rose, laying down his triton with finality. He would not be present at this table again. “I am
Hreesos
Zelos, Clan Olimpi.”

Together they spoke the creed that was the foundation of Olimpi Aztlan.

For the benefit of all, the detriment of none,

No people, no property, shall break our bond,

We ten rule alone, yet reign as one.

Formed by fire and flood,

Ellenismos
our blood,

We live, rule, and die together

Aztlan
athanati!

While cheers filled the hall, serfs removed the table. Doors that had been closed were opened, forming a labyrinthine maze
of rooms and corridors in which the chieftains would seek the face of Apis. The ten men and women removed their heavy gold
pectorals and waited in silence.

Each chieftain was handed a noose and picked up his or her triton. Serfs came forward and removed the center prong, leaving
them with staves. Chloe put the coil of brightly colored braided flax over her shoulder and looked up. Thousands of people
watched from the balconies and lofts around the arena. They would remain there all day, throughout this ceremony and Phoebus’
Becoming Golden.

The noise of the crowd was a low hum in her ears as she listened for the rumble of the Apis bull, somewhere in the palace.
He was the bull they were to corner and tie.

Hreesos
stumbled, catching himself against the wall. The other chieftains frowned and whispered among themselves. As they waited,
Chloe knew palace serfs wove through the many hallways and rooms of the maze, clearing hallways and damping fires for the
ease of the chase. Cheftu seemed lost in another world; she had not seen him since she was declared the inheritor of Kela-Ileana;
she was not supposed to be with any other man.
If only I’d known that before
.

Hindsight really was twenty-twenty.

The serfs ran into the arena, handed
Hreesos
his stave, an indication the ritual was to begin.

The plaintive groan of the bull echoed throughout the palace, the sound building into a massive roar that silenced the chattering
citizens. Chloe was petrified and electrified. They would stalk the bull through the labyrinth of rooms, and whoever noosed
it would receive a boon from
Hreesos
and the Clan Olimpi.

“Yazzo!”
he cried, and the chieftains ran into the winding darkness. The chanting of the crowd swept into the many chambers like a
flood, rising to the painted roof and falling down again. Each chieftain set out in a different direction, and Chloe took
the skinniest, darkest hallway. Surely it was too narrow for the bull?

Reminding herself that caution was the better part of valor, and surviving this was her goal, Chloe walked through the deserted
hallways. Unless she had a rifle she wasn’t going to deliberately seek out a creature with horns and an attitude. She’d
seen
bullfights!

She froze as a low rumble echoed through the hallways. Dear God, where could it be? Listening for anyone else—especially Cheftu—Chloe
wondered through how many rooms she was required to wander.

She guessed there were at least a hundred rooms in this wing. Divided by ten crazed Council members and one hungry bull. If
she tried just ten rooms, she would at least be doing her share. Did this incredibly long, dark hallway count? she wondered.
Glancing to her right, she saw a glow of light. Would the bull head toward the light or away? Cautiously she poked her head
into two rooms. Both were empty: no bull, no people.

She passed through the light well and into another hallway, more chambers. Chloe walked through at least six hallways before
she heard the bull again. Louder? Closer? The walls vibrated.

The acoustics are probably distorted, she assured herself, peeking into another half dozen rooms. Aztlantu interior design
was all or nothing, she decided. Either every square millimeter was covered with pattern and painting or the walls were plain
white, or red, or the shrieking yellow Dion called “saffron.”

Two more rooms before the next light well. Nothing in either. Nevertheless, the hair on the back of her neck began to rise,
and she walked forward slowly. Then she heard a scream, a terrible, agony-filled, high-pitched scream.

Chloe ran, through the light well and down another hallway, heading in the direction of the sobbing screams and another light
well. She stopped abruptly at the doorway. She could see nothing, her eyes were adjusting to the sudden brightness, but she
could hear panting. Slowly she canvased the chamber with her gaze. Wall, doorway, wall, painting—the gaze dropped down, and
Chloe felt her stomach heave.

Against the wall, beneath a painting of butterflies and lilies on the typical rock-strewn background, lay a body. The lower
half was covered in blood, the body angled so Chloe saw only a lot of dark hair.

Blood spattered the floor and wall, an abstract swirl across the many cubits of geometric symmetry. The only sound was heavy
breathing.

Feeling very much like the dense heroine who goes into the basement after the scary music begins playing, Chloe continued
her survey of the room.

And stopped.

A pair of rolling brown eyes watched her from not five cubits away. What had happened here? With peripheral vision, she kept
her eye on the body, hopefully unconscious and not dead. What had the bull done? The chieftain moaned, and the bull turned,
licking its bloodstained mouth.

Chloe’s mind went completely blank. Not one rational thought, but a host of instincts controlled her. She stood motionless,
gazing into the mad eyes of the bull. She’d seen bullfights in Spain. Movement incited the bull, as did color, right? Good
plan to wear a red loincloth. I should have just painted a damn target on my chest, she thought. Her heart pounded in her
ears, and she stayed still. Where could she go?

The bull stepped forward, and Chloe gritted her teeth, staying still. Bile filled her mouth and she swallowed it down, her
gaze fixed on the rolling eyes of the bull. Behind her, moving an inch at a time, she felt for the doorway. Was she close
enough to back through it? Was there a huge door she could close on the bull’s anger?

No. The doors had all been removed. Chloe swallowed, and the bull nudged closer. She could hear the whimpers of the victim,
possibly bleeding to death, but if she moved and the bull got her, they would both die. Hideously. Out of sympathy her knees
began to knock, and Chloe alternated locking each knee, trying to maintain control of her body.

She could smell the bull, a smell that reminded her of Cheftu’s lab. Strange to smell it on a live bull, but what did she
know? She’d never been around beef while it was still on the hoof! The bull finally glanced down, edging sideways, its head
cocked as though it were hard of hearing.

A groan came from the chieftain on the floor, and the bull made a strange hissing noise, stepping even closer to Chloe. She
took another step back, bringing herself even with the doorway. Was it narrow enough to prevent the bull from chasing her?

She had never realized how big a bull was. A deep freezer was positively petite in comparison. The bull shuffled forward,
and Chloe knew if she stepped back farther, it would have her trapped. She would never make it completely across the room
without being trampled. The bull made a small bleating sound and licked her arm.

Licked?

Chloe was frozen, watching the long tongue sweep against her bare arm a half dozen times. Then the bull turned slowly, lurching
into another hallway.

Chloe sagged against the wall, giving in to her knees for a moment, then she ran to the victim. Blood spread in a radius around
a woman. Chloe brushed hair away from the victim’s face. Selena—oh no, not Selena! She was bleeding from several different
wounds, and Chloe wondered if Selena had been gored or bitten. Did bulls bite? For that matter, did they lick? Chloe knew
nothing about livestock, but she would have sworn cattle were herbivores. This was the strangest-acting bull she’d ever heard
of.

Blood was pumping from Selena like a hose on high. Could Chloe fashion a tourniquet? After ripping off a length of her already
short loincloth, Chloe attempted to tie off the woman’s leg. Knotting tightly above Selena’s knee, Chloe tied the blood-soaked
cloth elaborately, hoping it would help. Selena was unconscious, but she was still breathing.

Sounds from the other rooms filtered back to her. The bull. Shouting. Selena needed medical attention. Where was Cheftu? Chloe
rose to her feet, uncertain where to go. Terrified, she followed the map she had in her head, moving through doorway after
doorway, a brilliantly patterned maze where she was a rat in search of cheese. Finally she emerged in the arena.

She looked up, stunned at how late it was. The sun had long since passed its zenith, and many of the citizens were gone, presumably
resting. She looked for a serf, a chieftain, anyone! A man’s triumphant cry sent her racing into the opposite side of the
labyrinth.

When her eyes adjusted she saw Chieftain Talos leading the bull. The noose was around its horns, and he was using his stave
to prod it forward. In the arena a chorus of serfs announced that the competition was complete. Some of the chieftains ran
through, ignoring her calls. Where was Cheftu?
Hreesos
entered, limping slightly, and Chloe ran to him, halting him with her hand on his chest.

His blue eyes narrowed on her. “Someone was hurt,” she said.

Hreesos
removed her hand, his grip firm around her wrist. “Who?”

She hesitated an eyeblink. “The Kela-Ata.”

He snapped his fingers, summoning serfs. “How badly?”

“She … is bleeding horribly.”

The Golden Bull crossed his arms over his chest. Blond hair matted his torso and arms, and his long hair was stuck to his
neck and back with sweat. “This is why we all have lustral baths before the ceremony. She is ready to begin her journey.”

“Nay! She is not dead, not yet.”

Hreesos
took her by the shoulders and moved her aside. “You know the laws, Sibylla. Any chieftain who cannot freely take his or her
seat at the Council table—”

“Must defer to the inheritor. But she is not—”

“If she cannot walk, then she is dead as clan chieftain.”
Hreesos
walked by her. “Into the arena, Chieftain, or you shall be declared likewise.”

Chloe was tempted to flip him off and go after the broken body of the Kela-Ata. She grabbed a serf and told him to find Selena,
bring a Kela-Tenata, and get her healed. Zelos glared at her, and Chloe followed him into the arena.

The high priest Minos, his bull-head mask pulled over his head and shoulders, giving him the appearance of a Minotaur, stood
next to the real bull, still bloodstained and standing strangely off-balance. On the other side Talos stood at attention,
his graying hair blowing in the afternoon breeze.