Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (62 page)

As his shrill voice rose higher, her death seemed a foregone verdict. For the first time since she and Glas had escaped Albion, she felt all hope was lost.

A shallow, silver bowl filled with water was placed on a stand before the high priest.

“Only the gods know what is true or not, and they speak through me. I will see their truth revealed in the reflection of the water.”

A large brazier of incense and herbs was placed to one side. A priest lit the incense and a dense fog of smoke rose above the
Rab-kohanim’s
head. He put on a mask, a grotesque grinning mask, to shield himself from the god’s terrible visage and, bowing in prayer, summoned the Carthaginian sacred beings by name: Hammon and Tanit, Melqart and Astarte, Eschmoun.

The room was still. A mass of faces stared at Sabrann.

Panic spread and turned her arms and legs heavy. Her knees felt weak. She must choose someone and see into his life. On that, her own life depended. Whom should she choose? She turned to the Admiral; she would choose him! Surely he would help her. With a small movement he shook his head no and turned away. Her heart sank. In the end, he completely abandoned her.

And not Hero—betrayer of all her secrets. Perhaps Akmu; he was a true friend. She looked around, but could not find him, or Isis; they had both disappeared. She turned in every direction seeking guidance.

She stood alone. The cold of the stone floor rose up through her bare feet until it clutched at her heart.

She grasped her amulet and closed her eyes.
Help me!
A face floated before her as though in answer to her desperation. Glas! She saw him clearly as his eyes met hers, his white-blond hair puffed out. He spoke one word and then his face disappeared.

How could he! That was no help. Terrified, she gripped the Matrones amulet tighter and begged to see him again. But he was gone. She saw nothing more, and then she heard a voice she loved.

“
It must be so. He has seen beyond you and knows the way. Choose that one, Carenta, and it will be the right path.”
Maigrid. Beloved Maigrid!

“It is the way to escape from this room. Any other path brings your death. Glas knows the right path to follow. Mind him.”

Through his grinning mask, the
Rab-Kohanim
watched her with his snake eyes.

Sabrann’s heart thumped fast in fear at Maigrid’s words. But Maigrid always knew best.
Use your gift!
Sabrann had called to her when she was in the slave hut, beaten and hurt. And that saved her life.

It was the worst choice. Her legs shook as she turned to face the
Rab-Kohanim.

“I choose the queen.”

There was a rush of voices. The priest knelt in front of the queen and whispered something. Sabrann closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, setting her guard around the center of her being. Long ago, Lord Cathbad had taught her how to make safe the part of her that must never be lost. If she was guarded well, perhaps she could see one thing in the queen’s life that even the priest could not deny. It was the only hope for her and Glas.

She looked at the queen, now seated on a bronze throne studded with red carbuncle gems. The queen beckoned. Elissa-Maris had no smile on her face. Sabrann stood in front of her and averted her eyes from the queen’s face. She was too close. In her mind, she raised her warrior’s shield and drew a shallow breath. She moved a little closer on stone-cold feet. She must do it. Her hand shook as she raised her arm.

With a tentative reach, she placed a hand on the queen’s dark, curled hair. At first, it felt soft and cool. Then she felt a plume of heat rising and knew there was no escape. One hand pressed the bronze Matrones amulet tight against her skin. She prayed that they would protect her against the coming tide.
Save me.

Her vision blurred. Then, clearing, she saw it coming. From a giant swell, the wave of Elissa-Maris’s life rose and engulfed Sabrann. All the brittle pieces of that spoiled life swirled around Sabrann. Deep in the heart of the wave, she glimpsed a young child beating some small creature with a rock, and even earlier, a child of three or so, watching a ritual mating as priestly hands caressed her in every intimate place. Willful and licentious, envy ruled her life. She saw Maris’s sister, Ayzebaal, dying from drinking a special posset Maris had made.

As the wave crested, a glimpse of Admiral Himilco’s face flashed by with a young woman holding a baby! The wave changed color; blue water became dark violet, and then turned a raging crimson and brilliant orange. Like a violent sunset—like fire! The young woman and the baby were standing above a fire. The Admiral’s mouth opened in a silent cry. A priest took the baby and threw it into the fire! Then, crying, the young woman jumped into the inferno. And Elissa-Maris watched, smiling, as they died.

The heat from the fire grew till it scorched Sabrann’s vision. She felt the red wave climbing, engulfing her body. She was burning! The fire leapt up through her arms, into her hands. The queen’s hair burst into flames! Sabrann cried out and fell to the floor.

Voices screamed all around her. The black eyes stared at Sabrann in rage; the queen’s mouth opened into an enormous round aperture as she shrieked for help. The priests grabbed the
Rab-Kohanim’s
silver bowl of water, the water that had
not
shown him the truth of the gods, and poured it over the queen’s flaming head.

Sabrann looked up, and the whole room was full of crying, horrified people. The
Rab-Kohanim
grabbed Sabrann by her arms, shaking her in great wrath, shouting at her from behind the grotesque, grinning mask. Then he threw her down, his fingers blistered and singed by the heat that still flowed in Sabrann’s body.

She lay sprawled before the burning queen, too weak to get up. She raised her head and looked up. This was the end. There was no way out of this room. The
Rab-kohanim
was never going to let her go anyhow. And now the fire. That had never happened before.

They would kill her.

The
Rab-kohanim
babbled on behind his grotesque mask.

“You tried to kill the queen! For that you must die.”

The queen’s guards loomed above Sabrann, swords drawn, waiting for the sign from the queen. The chief priest staggered to the queen’s throne.

“She is a demon, and the gods are angry. First we must make peace with the gods,” he rasped. “The fire is a sign. Send them a life to atone. Her blood! A sacrifice. Her!”

With a rough movement the queen stood, her face contorted and ugly.

Her body swayed. Someone wrapped a linen cloth around her burnt hair and rivulets of ash-colored water dripped down her face, onto her gold-embroidered gown. Long lines of watery soot spread like black veins down her arms.

“Yes,” she shrieked. “A sacrifice to the gods. She will die by fire, as she tried to kill me.”

CHAPTER 41

The guards surrounded her with spears and prodded Sabrann back to the same room as before. Her fingers were red and blistered, her hands and arms burned, the small hairs on her arms frizzled and blackened like the soft under-feathers of a chicken readied to roast.

Fire! The tongue of the gods. It had not come from her. The queen was priestess of something dark and foul. Sabrann knew she had only opened a door and touched the force that was the life of Elissa-Maris. Hatred, fear, and all manner of evil acts lived within the queen. When freed, they burst into flames.

It was the force of demons from the underworld, where dark spirits and even darker gods constantly sought ways up into the bright world of the Mothers, the shining world of green and sky blue and yellow, where all things beautiful lived under the golden warmth of the sun.

Cathbad had taught her that the strength of the unseen, hidden deep beneath the earth and under the water was great; and offerings—gold, iron, swords and armor, sometimes a person’s life—were buried to placate those forces.

Anything to keep the dark spirits away.

Sabrann knew no one in Carthage would believe it was not through her will that this happened. Now she was cursed, condemned to die by the same fire that burned in the queen. Alone in her desolation, she lay down in a far corner of the room—abandoned.

Twenty-one days passed. Time moved slowly, the transit of light in the high window her only marker; she drew a line in the soft dirt for each one. The queen’s astrologers had set the day for the sacrifice, when all the stars were in the right places and the moon waned. When, they said, the demon girl would be weakest. She looked at her fire-scarred arms; her heart pounded with fear at the thought of being burned alive.

It would happen today.

There was a sound at the door; the bolt unlatched. One of the guards appeared, a dark-skinned Carthaginian, fear showing in his eyes. He threw an empty chamber pot into the room and then slammed the door shut. Why did they think she would have need of the pot? A cup of water and some crumbs were all she had eaten in days. Far beyond hunger, she felt faint and drifted in and out of waking dreams.

Today it would end.

But if her charred bones were all that was left, someone would know she had been here. With her finger in the sandy dirt, she formed the letters Hero had taught her: S A B R A N N.

Footprints marked the sand, some smaller than the rest—Akmu-en-Swnw’s. He came to her last night at dusk, with Isis as his servant, and Lord Gisco, who made the frightened guard open the door.

“Young maid, how can I help?” Weak and frightened, she sobbed in Akmu’s arms. Lord Gisco patted her arm and watched with a frown.

“Glas,” she cried. “You said you knew where he was. Find him. Take care of him. He has no one else.”

“I promise,” Akmu said, and touched the image of Sekhmet he wore around his neck. His promise on the heart of the goddess Sekhmet was as good as a god’s. He placed one of his special amulets around her neck, a small gold ankh—the symbol of life.

“It will be your guardian. So you will always live.” His amulet rested against her heart, next to the Matrones.

She knew what it meant to be a guardian. Every day since the massacre, she had been guardian for Glas, prayed for his safety, even killed for him. Now it was over and she had not failed him. He would be safe although she wondered what blessed Akmu would do with a crippled boy. Train him to be his helper? Or take him to sea and let Glas learn from the carpenter? Still on this side of life, she did not know. When she was in the Otherworld, would she see back into Glas’s life? She hoped so.

Her heart ached, not with fear, but with love. He was part of her, and she did not want to give him up. Their bond was different than any she had ever known. She grasped her amulets and prayed.

Courage! Be brave.
Unbidden, the words echoed throughout her body. Deep in her heart, she felt another part of her soul watching, always watching. A spirit she thought. She had felt it many times before, even long ago when she was still a small child. If only Maigrid were alive, she would ask her how that could be. Souls were old; that she knew from Lord Cathbad. Was this part of her that had lived before? From somewhere else?

It did not matter. Tonight would bring the end of this life.