The Necromancer's Grimoire (36 page)

“It has all the answers, but it will not say them,” he told her.

She opened the book and let the pages fall where they may. An image of a nobleman in fancy dress looked back at her from a page near the center of the book.

William looked over her arm. “I haven't seen that one.”

“No,” she admitted. “I have looked through the whole book many times. The pictures always change.”

“I always thought I just missed a page when I saw a new one.” William touched the nobleman's elaborate hat. “Is this DiMarco when he was younger?”

“The text says this is Nicolas Flamel.”

“Oh.” William was silent for a moment. “Monsieur Conti admired him very much.”

“Yes.” Nadira stared at the man's knowing eyes. “Monsieur Flamel says to beware. The necromancer comes.” The light went out.

The ship rocked heavily to the side. Montrose in his hammock swung safely, but Nadira and William were thrown together to the deck and rolled against the bulkhead. The book flew from Nadira's hands and landed near the barrels of water lashed to the ribs of the ship. They saw the flash of lightning through the hatch and heard the crash of thunder. The ship trembled with the sound.

William scrambled on hands and knees to catch the book before the ship could roll to the other side and send the
Grimoire
skidding across the deck again. Nadira held on to the thick rope that secured the barrels. “I must go topside,” she shouted to him as she planted her feet against the roll. “This is not just a large wave or a squall.”

William had the book in his hands. “I didn't know the necromancer could create a storm,” he yelled back over the sound of smashing waves and creaking and groaning of the timbers.

“Nor did I, but he has.” Torrents of water poured through the open hatch and she heard the shouts of the sailors above as they rushed to shorten sail.

“You want to go up?” His raised voice was doubtful.

“You stay here with Robert and the
Grimoire
,” she ordered. “Remember. The necromancer cannot harm me as long as my likeness is on the third page. Is it?”

William flipped the pages. “Yes. You are still here.”

“Then I have nothing to fear.” She went hand over hand across the rolling deck and gripped the wooden ladder that led to the open hatch above her. She climbed with her head bowed to keep the blowing salt water from stinging her eyes. She came through the upper deck amidst sound and fury, holding to the ladder and raising her head carefully through the hatch. Lighting flashed so often the thunder was a continuous roar rather than punctuated rumbles. She held tightly with one hand as her other pushed her wet hair back over her forehead so she could see.

Piri Reis stood amidships, one hand on the main mast, the other waving first at one group of men, then at another. He shouted to be heard over the sound of the thunder and the gale screeching in the taut stays. His shouts were echoed by complicated whistles from his second. Men climbed the rigging, held to the cargo, and rushed to obey orders. Nadira ducked as one sailor leaped over her head on his way to the stern. Water continued to pour around her as waves broke against the sides of the ship. She had to hold with both hands to keep from being washed back down the ladder as foam and spray coursed across the deck, finding the hatches and pouring to the decks below.

Wind whipped her hair away from her eyes and then lashed them again. She looked up at the angry sky and roiling clouds pierced by the tops of the two masts and buffeted by the flapping sails. Men were taking in sail as fast as possible but still the ship surged and bucked on the waves, rising under her, then dropping so quickly she felt her heart in her mouth and lost her footing on the rungs of the ladder. The helmsman and a helper were hard on the rudder, trying to keep the bow pointed into the wind that changed direction with every gust. No. This was not a summer squall.

Nadira could feel the superstitious fear of the sailors and knew that many blamed her presence for this storm. She held tighter to the ladder as the ship rolled and the rail fell dangerously close to the foaming waves before rising up to the sky and dipping the opposite rail toward the angry sea. The violent motion knocked many men off their feet and shook them from the rigging. They hung there by their arms, kicking their feet until they could get a purchase on the ropes again. One man, unable to regain his footing, fell with a crack to the deck near her hands. His face turned toward her, mouth slack, eyes staring open. She braced her feet on the rung against the edges of the ladder and lifted one hand high over her head, holding tightly with the other. She closed her eyes and cast for the necromancer, feeling him in the clouds and wind and rain.

She found she could gather bright tendrils and feed them from the lightning the necromancer was generating. She sent the tendrils first to the rudder because she could feel the exhaustion of the helmsman straining against the power of the sea. Piri was making his way aft, hand to hand across the surging deck to take the tiller from the sagging helmsman. She sent a surge of energy to him and used her tendrils to help him steady the ship.

When the deck became level long enough for her to move, she pulled herself from the hatch and rolled to her feet, hands in the air to fling her cords to the sails and through her feet to the keel. The ship ground to a halt, though the sea and sky continued to roil and thunder around it. Her hair lifted from her shoulders and flew about her head as her body crackled with the energy of the lightning and her powerful tendrils that held the ship steady against the necromancer's fury. She had been a dragon. She knew how strong she could be.

The ship was still, though the wind and water blew against her. One by one the sailors climbed down from the rigging and stared at her. Piri held the tiller in his hands, his shoulders and thighs trembled with the strain of holding the lever against the powerful swells.

Nadira could feel their fear and agitation. She would deal with that later. Now she cast about for the necromancer and felt his grudging admiration for her ability to counter his attack. She heard him in the wind.
This is just a taste.
She knew there would be more.

Nadira lowered her arms to her sides as the sky cleared over the ship and the thunder faded to low mumbling in the distance. The sea calmed to a glassy shimmer beneath the hull. A few minutes later, except for the soaking deck and the dead man who fell from the spars, there was little to show that a great storm had swept through the White Sea.

The silence that followed was full of fear. The sailors facing her dropped to their knees and touched their foreheads to the deck, arms in front of them.

Piri handed off the tiller to his second and approached her with long swinging steps. “She is not a God,” he shouted to his men, waving his arms at the sky. “There is but one God.”

Nadira dropped her arms all the way to her sides. “I am not God,” she agreed.

Piri stared hard at her and his mouth was set in a straight line, his lips pressed together. “
Jiniri
,” he said slowly and distinctly. “I want you off my ship!”

Nadira looked around the ship at the torn canvas and the prostrate sailors. “Soon,” she assured him. “Very soon. But first…” She was interrupted by a cry from below decks.

“What are you doing,
jiniri
?” Piri asked her tightly as they both turned toward the sound.

DiMarco emerged from another hatch, his velvets dripping with sea water and his eyes wild. He stumbled toward Nadira and fell to his knees at her feet. He clutched her ankles and cried in Latin, “Save me, Madonna!”

“She is not the mother of God either!” Piri shouted again in Latin, his exasperation was punctuated with a long sweep of his arm, encompassing the ship, the sky, and the sea. The sailors would not understand the Latin, but DiMarco's distress and Piri's anger was evident in any language.

“Senore,” Nadira began. She bent to peel his fingers from her legs. “I have saved you, the storm is gone.”

“But the storm inside me rages! He comes not for this ship but for my soul!”

Nadira knelt so she was face to face with the frightened alchemist. She put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “He cannot take your soul,” she said as calmly as she could, hoping it was true.

DiMarco's eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the deck. Nadira leaned over him and loosened the ties around his neck, feeling under his beard for a pulse.

“He is dead?” Piri went down on one knee beside her.

“No. He has frightened himself into a stupor,” she answered with a sigh. “He believes his God is angry with him.”

“Christians,” Piri snorted.

Nadira made a face that agreed with him as she put a hand on the alchemist's forehead. He was feverish. He had said that sea journeys did not agree with him. “I think he is ill,” she murmured. “We can get him into a hammock and…” she was interrupted by an icy breeze that blew past them and lifted her silks and fluttered Piri's robes. The sailors cried out in unison.

A dark swirling cloud formed over DiMarco's chest. Piri's eyes widened and his lips parted just enough to permit him to gasp, “Do something,
jiniri
.”

Nadira drew back in surprise from the growing pillar of cloud rotating slowly over DiMarco's body. She put her hand slowly toward it and felt the frigid presence of something from hell. With a sinking nausea she realized the necromancer could, indeed, take a man's soul. He was sending a demon to reap DiMarco's as they watched in horror.

“Do not permit it,” Piri said to her. “Strike at him.”

She glanced at the
reis
before turning back to the darkness before them. “I do not know how,” she breathed. “I do not know how.”

She put her hands up and willed a skein of tendrils to shield the alchemist. Her defense crumbled into dust that puffed once and then dispersed. She realized she could protect the ship because her own safety was linked to the ship's soundness, but this demon would suck the life from a man and she could do nothing. The evil presence in the cloud expanded as she completed this thought. It grew in strength and completely covered DiMarco's body with a black oily smoke that stank of fish and offal.

“
Jiniri
,” Piri whispered, “do something.”

Nadira raised her hands, palms toward DiMarco's chest and called, “I command you to stop!”

She did not know what the sailors heard. They moaned and cried out to their God. She heard the necromancer inside her.
You cannot stop me, woman.

The cold black cloud disintegrated with the sound of a sharp clap. DiMarco arched his back once and then lay still. Piri leaned over him, one hand on his shoulder and a finger to the old man's throat. He turned his dark eyes on her and she read both disquiet and distrust. He pulled back his hands and placed them both on his knees. “Why did you not save him when he begged you,
jiniri
?”

Tears welled up unbidden and spilled over her cheeks and fell to the already sodden deck. She wiped at them and shook her head. “Because I am not his God,” she told him.

Below decks Montrose opened his eyes. His face was white and haggard. There were lines at the corners of his eyes that had not been there three days ago. She squeezed his arm.

“Robert.” After DiMarco's death Nadira had crawled into the baron's hammock and stayed there, arm across his chest, alert for cold black wisps of cloud. She was exhausted from her anxious vigil, but elated to see the blue eyes open.

He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes touched her all over. “I feel terrible. I do not want to do that again,” he said.

She nodded. “And you won't if you keep your hands out of my books.”

“It will be a long time before I touch a book again,” he shuddered.

“Tell me what happened,” she asked him. “Did you kill the dragon?”

His brow furrowed. “I suppose I shouldn't ask how you know about the dragon.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, “But I would know what happened. Tell me.”

He shook his head. “I did not kill it. But neither did it kill me. We both dropped to the grass, exhausted. A sheepdog licked my face and I found myself here.”

She let her breath out slowly. “Food and drink, my lord, then we land.”

“I am famished. I imagine I missed supper.”

She smiled sadly. With a push and a tug she climbed out of the hammock and steadied it for him so he could swing his long legs out of the rope net. “You have missed six meals. I will be surprised if you can walk.” She nodded as he went to his knees on the deck. “See?” She helped him lurch to his feet as the ship swayed. “Hold to the bulkhead then sit here. William brings you some food.”

“Six meals?”

“Three days. We anchor tonight and land with the tide in the morning.”

“Good God.”

“Indeed,” she straightened his tunic and loosened his belt. She glanced up with flashing eyes as she untied the laces at his throat. “Do not touch my books again.”

“I will not touch them again.” He shook his head. “The sheepdog told me…” he stopped, realizing how insane that sounded.

She put her hands on her hips and spread her feet to stay upright as the ship rocked. “What did he tell you?”

Montrose grimaced. “He told me that the next time I wanted to prove my courage to you, I needed to…” he paused and she watched the struggle on his face. “He said ‘All action is not courage.' He said, ‘sometimes the greatest strength is in what we refrain from doing.'” He looked up at her. “But he would not say what I must refrain from doing. When I asked him he just barked at me.”

Nadira opened her mouth to tell him, but as she began to form the words she felt the dragon's teeth bite her body. She had learned her lesson. She tightened her lips and turned away. “The wisdom of dogs,” she muttered. She fumbled with their baggage that lay stowed near the hammocks. “I have a fresh tunic for you. Put it on.”