Authors: Laura Powell
‘
The Holy One sees your crimes! You have silenced her voice! Stolen the oracle!
’
The snakes spilled on to the ground, writhed and hissed.
Cries . . . shrieks . . . Opis’s eyes, so steady and cold . . .
Finally the screen returned to blank.
‘You witnessed this disturbance?’ Lindy asked.
‘Yes. At the time, everyone thought he was a lunatic.’
‘And now?’
I shrugged. I felt uneasy. I was newly conscious of the invisible audience watching on their TV and computer screens. At least the studio lights meant I couldn’t see Aiden and Scarlet and the rest properly. ‘I don’t know who that man was, or his connection to the cult. But, in light of recent events, I’d say his accusations were justified.’
Lindy nodded. ‘I’ve been informed that the man’s name is Harry Soames and that he was once a senior Trinovantum Councillor.’
There was a long pause, although she kept smiling. Sweat prickled on the back of my neck. Something was wrong. I didn’t want to hear her next words. Behind the cosiness, her eyes were greedy, sharp.
‘I have also been told that he is your father.’
Marble, I told myself. You are made of marble. A vessel for the goddess, that is all. You can’t feel any of this.
‘How did you come by that information?’ By some miracle, my voice was steady.
‘The same source who told me that your mother was a priestess of the Cult of Artemis, who received an oracle before her untimely death.’
Lindy put a plump hand on my knee, with an expression of simpering concern. ‘I understand this must be a shock.’
I tried to reply. I was going to say something cutting yet dignified. Or maybe I was going to walk out. But the screen was a blizzard of static, and Lindy’s face was crackling and blurring too. My breaths came fast and shallow.
‘Aura? Aura, honey? Are you unwell?’
Her words came from very far away. The room and all the people in it were dissolving into pixels and points of light.
My head seethed, as if a nest of vipers was squirming in my skull. And through the hissing I heard a whisper: sensual, lingering.
The whisper brushed against my ear, along my skin and round my throat. Now it was a hiss, and the hiss had scales.
There was a snake coiled round my neck. It squeezed my throat, lovingly at first, then hard enough to crush the breath out of my body, the life out of my soul.
And, though I had no breath left to do it, I began to laugh.
The pressure round my throat lifted. I put out my arms and saw that they were covered in green-black scales. I’d shed my skin to reveal the serpent beneath. I laughed again, flickering my forked tongue, and slid on my belly along the dank earth of the underworld.
I was the Python.
I was the Pythia.
I spoke for the dead –
I woke up in the bar, laid out on a leather couch. Aiden was next to me, tapping away on a laptop.
‘You know,’ he said as I blinked at him woozily, ‘we really should stop meeting like this.’
‘How long have I been out?’
‘Over an hour. It’s not surprising – that was quite a performance.’
‘What . . . what did I say?’
‘You made this weird choking-laughing sound and said in the Game of Triumphs the Second Trump will send the Twelfth Trump swinging.’
I looked at him, confused. ‘Second and twelfth what?’
‘Apparently the Game of Triumphs is an old name for tarot cards. The second trump card in the deck is called the High Priestess, and the twelfth is called the Hanged Man. So it sounds like your card-playing goddess has predicted a death by hanging. Tomorrow.’
I rubbed my aching head. To the viewers at home, I was sure the oracle would have looked like a ratings-chasing stunt. After all, it wasn’t as if the prophecy was something people could act on. It was just another of the goddess’s games.
The worst of it was that I found it hard to care. Murder and mayhem was everywhere, yet right now all I could think about was my father. Alleged father. Alleged mother. Alleged oracle.
‘Does Lindy really know who my dad was? Or was she just stirring?’
Aiden grimaced. ‘Gutter journalism.’
‘Yes, but is it true?’
He grimaced again. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. When I challenged her afterwards, she said it was Noah who gave her the tip-off. I – I’m really sorry, Aura. That was one hell of an ambush.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said brusquely, digging my nails into my palms. The pain was steadying. ‘I already knew my mother was dead. As for the rest . . . well . . . it’s not like I ever expected my family to be one of the happily-ever-after kind.’
It used to be that a priestess who was caught with a man was buried alive. The rules weren’t so clear for modern times. I visualised some awful prison-style reformatory in the back of beyond. Then I remembered Lindy’s reference to ‘untimely death’, and felt another twist in my gut.
I got up and went to get a glass of water. In the mirror behind the bar, I could see that Chrystal’s handiwork was pretty much intact. My skin still had a moon-shiny sheen, my eyeliner was smudge-free. I realised I could hear music.
Thump, thud, thump.
‘Sounds like a party.’
‘Rick says it’s for the goddess. You should make an appearance before things get too out of hand.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that this is a great opportunity for you to get your message across in person. Show your face, speak to people, circulate. I can help with the introductions. And speak to Noah –’
‘I’ll come out later. I need to lie down in my room for a bit first.’
Aiden started to say something else, but I was out of the door and into the lift before he finished. I had no intention of going to my room; I just wanted to cross-examine Noah without Aiden to distract me. I was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly when he was around. Besides, this was something I needed to do for myself.
I walked through the angled glass-and-mirrored hall. Outside, three girls of about my age were riotously splashing about in the swimming pool. There was a DJ presiding over a sound system, and trestles of booze. The garden beyond was lit by flickering braziers and thronged with more laughing strangers. A line of people was dancing a conga across the lawn.
Rick Moodie broke free from the conga and stumbled towards me. His eyes were manic and bright. He was wearing a red leather waistcoat and ripped jeans splattered with black paint. ‘Honoured Ladyship! I prophesised your prophecy! I’m an oracle too!’ He gave a whoop. ‘Wham, bam, thank you,
ma’am
!’
I stared at him. ‘Did you actually hear what I said? About the Hanged Man, and the burial?’
‘Ah, but that’s the nature of artistic inspiration, ducky. Blood, sweat, tears. They say it’s always darkest before dawn.’ He did a little caper and grinned, waving his wrinkly little hands. ‘You’re me guest of honour tonight. You and Holy Artemis, here at me festival. Come and meet your followers. Give them your blessing, ducky. Have a dance. Even better – have a drink.’
He thrust a foaming glass of champagne in my hand and slung his arm round my shoulder. ‘We got something to celebrate, ain’t we? This here’s only the beginning. You and me, we’ll show ’em how it’s done. We’ll build a temple to be proud of, we’ll found a cult worth joining –’
Two girls drew him back into the conga line. He pranced away, spraying champagne into their shrieking mouths.
Scarlet was standing a short distance away. I thought she was going to pretend she hadn’t seen me, but I said her name before she could move off.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said stiffly. ‘Congratulations on the show. It was very . . . er . . . um . . .’
‘Who
are
all these people?’ I asked. ‘Where have they come from?’
‘A busload of groupies turned up half an hour ago. As for the rest – the TV crew and their mates, a bunch of locals. The catering team Chrystal called in.’
So much for keeping my location a secret. I downed the glass of champagne without tasting it.
‘I’m looking for Noah. Have you seen him?’
Scarlet seemed relieved I was moving on. She pointed to a clump of pampas grass. Noah was behind it, talking to Lindy Ryan. ‘Here’s the star of the show,’ he said as I marched over, and flashed his toothy grin.
‘Freak show, you mean,’ I said. ‘You set me up. Both of you.’
Lindy gave a forced laugh. ‘I was just doing my job, honey. You stick to yours.’ Her voice was uncertain, though, and she avoided my eye. She was frightened, I realised, as she backed away into the throng. Scarlet had been nervous of me too. It gave me a sour satisfaction.
‘Quite some wrap party, huh?’ said Noah, chomping at his cigar obliviously.
‘Our host says it’s a religious festival.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’ll have a few more converts after your TV debut. Swear to God, you gave me goose pimples. How d’you make your voice go like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘The disembodied effect. Very spooky, very cool. And that crazy laughter! Ventriloquism, am I right? Seriously, we should talk. You and Lindy have made all the major news channels. And you could go further, hit the big time. What you need –’
‘I need to talk about my father. Alleged father, that is.’
‘Ah.’ He sleeked back his hair. ‘OK. Sure.’
I waited. ‘Well?’
‘Well, after Mr Soames and his snakes stole the show at your festival, a pal of mine who’s in PR was interested in representing him. Professionally, you know. He was all set to go to the press on Mr Soames’s behalf – give his side of the story and so on. And it was a good story by all accounts. I mean, a sex scandal in the cult is bound to shift a lot of newsprint.’
‘So Mr Soames told your PR friend that he’d had a child with a priestess of Artemis?’
‘Right. He also claimed that his girlfriend had been in cahoots with the goddess. You know – a hotline to Mount Olympus, just like you.’ He winked broadly. ‘But before he could be persuaded to dish the dirt Mr Soames skipped bail and then came the coup. That’s when my pal decided it was time to start over somewhere else. Last I heard he was holed up with his second wife in the South of France.’
‘And what happened to my – to Mr Soames?’
‘No idea.’
I longed to take him by the shoulders and shake him until all his teeth fell out. ‘What about my mother? Do you know how she died?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart. Haven’t a clue.’
I bet Leto did, I thought. She’d known both my parents. My father, the man who meant trouble. My mother, who’d had a rebel spark. And an oracle too, allegedly . . . How much did Leto know, and how much had she concealed from me? I turned away from Noah, shoulders slumped.
It was easy to disappear, for the garden was even more confusing than the house. There were clipped hedges planted in zigzag lines, lawns set at strange angles and a maze of tiered paths. Brightly coloured lanterns hung from the trees; the woodland beyond was dark and rustling.
My head throbbed, while the smell of smoke and roasting meat from the barbecue turned my stomach. I kept rubbing my arms surreptitiously, to check for scales. Although the oracle was over, my feeling of foreboding was stronger than ever. I kept returning to the old proverbs:
Those whom the gods love die young.
And,
Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first send mad.
My mother had given a prophecy, and had a child. She was a priestess who broke her vows. Perhaps the goddess had chosen to destroy her.
Aiden had once described the oracle as a demonic possession. How much longer could I stay close to him, yet keep my demons at bay?
The Emergency Committee has dismissed recent demonstrations in London, Glasgow and Cardiff as the work of a few fringe radicals. It urges the public to support its efforts to restore order to Britain’s streets.
A number of the protests were in support of the ousted prime minister, Nicholas Riley. To avoid further disturbances, Riley is to be transferred from HM Prison Belmarsh to a secret location outside of London tonight.
BBC News
Back at the house, Crystal came out on to the terrace with a basket of animal masks with gilded snouts and sequined whiskers and began passing them out. Rick was wearing an antler headdress, which at least made him easy to spot, and so avoid. I was finding it increasingly hard to avoid attention myself. People had started to point and stare, though for the moment they were keeping a slightly nervous distance, as if I was an exotic animal that might bite.
I decided a mask would help. I saw one lying discarded on a flower bed, a grey wolfish creature made of papier mâché. I still felt uncomfortably exposed, however, and finally took refuge in a greenhouse.
I wasn’t left in peace for long.
‘The man throws his parties like he writes his music – no cliché unturned.’ Aiden was standing at the door, a gold leopard mask pushed back over his tawny hair. ‘Have you noticed that whenever people say they admire the pagans it’s just an excuse to get wasted in fancy dress?’