The Sorceress (12 page)

“Yes, them. I knew that they were moving into an attack pattern by their body language. I knew that the center one would charge first and come at us straight on, while the other two would try to flank us. I knew if I could stop him, it might distract the others and give us a chance to escape.” Josh stopped suddenly, realizing what he was saying. “How did I know that?” he wondered aloud.

“Mars,” Sophie whispered. She nodded. “It has to have
come from the God of War.” The girl shuddered; she and her brother were changing. Then she shook her head slightly: they had already changed.

“Mars. I … I remember,” Josh whispered. “When he was Awakening me he said something at the end, something about giving me a gift that I might find useful in the days to come. And then he rested his hand on the top of my head and I felt this incredible heat flow through me.” He looked at his twin. “What did he give me? I don’t have any strange memories, like the ones the Witch gave you.”

“I think you should probably be grateful you don’t have his memories,” Sophie said quickly. “The Witch knew Mars and despised him. I would imagine most of his memories are foul. Josh, I think he’s given you his military knowledge.”

“He’s made me a warrior?” Even though the thought was creepy, Josh was unable to keep the note of delight from his voice.

“Maybe even something better,” Sophie said, her voice soft and distant, eyes flashing silver. “I think he’s made you a strategist.”

“And that’s good?” He sounded disappointed

Sophie nodded quickly. “Battles are won by men. Wars are won by strategists.”

“Who said that?” Josh asked, surprised.

“Mars did,” Sophie said, shaking her head to clear the sudden influx of memories. “Don’t you see? Mars was the ultimate strategist; he never lost a battle. It’s an amazing gift.”

“But why did he give it to me?” Josh asked the question Sophie was thinking.

Before she could answer, the door to the long metal hut suddenly creaked open and a figure in soiled mechanic’s overalls bustled down the steps. Small and slight, with stooped shoulders and a long oval face, the man blinked nearsightedly at the cab. He had a wispy mustache, and although the top of his head was bald, the hair over his ears and at the back of his head flowed down onto his shoulders.

“Palamedes?” he snapped, clearly irritated. “What is the meaning of this?” His English was crisp and precise, each word enunciated clearly. He saw the twins and stopped short. Pulling a pair of oversized black-framed glasses from a top pocket, he pushed them onto his face. “Who are these people?” And then he turned and spotted Nicholas Flamel at about the same time the Alchemyst saw him.

Both men reacted simultaneously.

“Flamel!” The small man shrieked. He turned and darted back toward the hut, scrambling and falling on the metal steps.

Nicholas grunted something in archaic French, tore open Josh’s backpack and wrenched Clarent from the cardboard map tube. Holding it in a tight two-handed grip, he swung it around his head, the edge of the blade keening and humming through the air. “Run,” he shouted to the twins, “run for your lives! It’s a trap!”

efore Sophie or Josh could react, Palamedes reared up behind the Alchemyst and his two huge hands locked onto Flamel’s shoulders. The two immortals’ auras blazed and crackled, the Alchemyst’s bright green mingling with the knight’s darker olive green. The acrid metal-and-rubber-tainted air of the car yard was suffused with the clean odor of mint and the spicy warmth of cloves. Flamel struggled to swing Clarent around, but the knight tightened his grip and pushed, driving the Alchemyst to his knees, fingers biting into the flesh, pinching nerves. The sword dropped from Flamel’s hand.

Sophie spread the fingers of her right hand wide and prepared to call up the element of fire, but Josh caught her arm and pulled it down. “No,” he said urgently, just as the pack of dogs boiled out from beneath the hut and swarmed around them. The animals moved in complete silence, lips bared to
reveal savage yellow teeth and lolling tongues that were forked like snakes’. “Don’t move,” he whispered, squeezing his twin’s hand. The dogs were close enough for him to see that their eyes were completely red, without a trace of white or pupil. Teeth clicked, and he felt wet lips brush against his fingers. The animals exuded a stale musty odor like rotting leaves. Although the dogs weren’t large, they were incredibly muscled—one bumped against Josh’s legs, knocking him forward into Sophie. The twins’ auras sparked and the dog pressing against Josh’s legs tumbled away, hair bristling.

“Enough!” Palamedes’ voice boomed and echoed across the car lot. “This is no trap.” The knight leaned over Nicholas, his huge hands still locked onto each shoulder, pushing him into the ground. “I may not be your ally, Alchemyst,” Palamedes rumbled, “but I am not your enemy. All I have left now is my honor, and I promised my friend Saint-Germain that I would take care of you. I’ll not betray that trust.”

Flamel tried to shake himself free, but Palamedes’ grip was unbreakable. The Alchemyst’s aura sparkled and flared, then suddenly fizzled out, and he slumped in exhaustion.

“Do you believe me?” Palamedes demanded.

Nicholas nodded. “I believe you—but, why is
he
here?” With a look of absolute disgust on his face, the Alchemyst raised his head to look at the small man cowering just inside the hut, peering around the corner of the door.

“He lives here,” Palamedes said simply.

“Here! But he’s—”

“My friend,” the knight said shortly. “Much has changed.” Loosening his grip, Palamedes caught Nicholas by both shoulders and heaved him to his feet. Spinning him around, the knight straightened his rumpled leather jacket; then he snapped a word in an incomprehensible language and the animals surging around the twins flowed back to the shelter of the hut.

Josh glanced down at the sword on the ground and wondered if he was fast enough to reach it. He looked up and found Palamedes’ deep brown eyes watching him. The knight smiled with a flash of white teeth and dipped down to pluck Clarent from the mud. “I’ve not seen this for a long time,” the knight said softly, his accent thickening, hinting again at his Middle Eastern origins. The moment he touched it, his aura bloomed into life around him, and for an instant he was sheathed in a long hauberk of black chain mail, complete with a close-fitting hood that covered his arms to his fingertips and finished low on his thighs. Each link of the chain mail winked with tiny reflections. As his aura faded, Clarent’s stone blade shimmered red-black, like oil on water, and a sound, like the wind through long grass, sighed across the blade.

“No!” The dark stone blade winked bloodred again, and Palamedes drew in a deep shuddering breath and suddenly dropped the sword, a sheen of sweat on his dark skin. The weapon stuck point-first in the muddy ground, swaying to and fro. The mud immediately hardened in a circle around
the tip of the sword, dried and then split and cracked. Palamedes rubbed his hands briskly together, then brushed them against his trousers. “I thought it was Excal—” He rounded on Flamel. “What are you doing with this … thing? You must know what it is?”

The Alchemyst nodded. “I’ve kept it safe for centuries.”

“You kept it!” The knight clenched his hands into huge fists. Veins popped out along his forearms and appeared on his neck. “If you knew what it was, why didn’t you destroy it?”

“It is older than humanity,” Flamel said quietly, “even older than the Elders or Danu Talis. How could I destroy it?”

“It’s loathsome,” Palamedes snapped. “You know what it did?”

“It was a tool; nothing more. It was used by evil people.”

Palamedes started to shake his head.

“We needed it to escape,” the Alchemyst said firmly. “And remember, without it, the Nidhogg would still be alive and rampaging through Paris.”

Josh stepped forward, pulled the sword from the ground and wiped the muddy tip of the blade on the edge of his shoe. There was the briefest hint of oranges in the air, but the smell was bitter and faintly sour. The moment the boy touched the hilt, a wash of emotions and images hit him:

Palamedes, the Saracen Knight, at the head of a dozen knights in armor and chain mail. They were battered, their armor scarred and broken, weapons chipped, shields dented. They were fighting their way through an army of primitive-looking beastlike men, trying to get to a small hill where a single
warrior in golden armor desperately battled against creatures that were a terrible cross between men and animals.

Palamedes shouting a warning as a huge creature rose up behind the lone warrior, a creature that was shaped like a man but had the curling horns of a stag on its head. The horned man raised a short stone sword and the warrior in gold fell.

Palamedes standing over the fallen warrior, gently removing the sword Excalibur from his hand.

Palamedes racing through a marshy swampland, pursuing the staglike creature. Beasts came at him—boarmen and bearmen, wolfmen and goatmen—but he cut through them with Excalibur, the sword blazing, leaving arcs of cold blue light in the air.

Palamedes standing at the bottom of an impossibly sheer cliff, watching the horned man climb effortlessly to the top.

And at the top, the creature turning and holding aloft the sword he’d used to kill the king. It dripped and steamed with crimson-black smoke. And it was almost a mirror of the sword in the Saracen Knight’s hand.

Josh drew in a deep shuddering breath as the images faded. The horned man had been holding Clarent, Excalibur’s twin. Opening his eyes, he looked at the weapon, and in that instant, he knew why Palamedes had snatched up the blade. The two swords were almost identical; there were only minor differences in the hilts. The Saracen Knight had assumed the stone sword was Excalibur. Concentrating fiercely on the gray blade, Josh tried to focus on what he’d just seen—the warrior in the golden armor. Had that been …?

A stale unwashed smell assaulted Josh’s nose and he
turned to find the bald man they’d glimpsed earlier standing close to him, squinting shortsightedly behind his thick black-rimmed glasses. His eyes were a pale washed-out blue. And he stank. Josh coughed and took a step back, eyes watering. “Man, you could use a bath!”

“Josh!” Sophie said, shocked.

“I do not believe in bathing,” the man said in his clipped accent, the voice completely at odds with his appearance. “It damages the natural oils in the body. Dirt is healthy.”

The small man moved from Josh to Sophie and looked her up and down. Josh noticed that his sister blinked hard and wrinkled her nose. Then she clamped her mouth tightly shut and stepped back.

“See what I mean?” Josh said. “He needs a bath.” He brushed dirt off the sword blade and took a step closer to his sister. The man looked harmless, but Josh could tell that something about him angered—or was it frightened?—the Alchemyst.

“Yeah.” Sophie tried not to breathe in through her nose. The stench from the man was indescribable: a mixture of stale body odor, unwashed clothes and rank hair.

“I will wager you are twins,” the man asked, looking from one to the other. He nodded, answering his own question. “Twins.” He reached out with filthy fingers to touch Sophie’s hair, but she slapped his hand away. Her aura sparked and the stench around the man briefly intensified.

“Don’t touch me!”

Flamel stepped between the man in the mechanic’s overalls
and the twins. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I thought you were dead.”

The man smiled, revealing shockingly bad teeth. “I’m as dead as you are, Alchemyst. Though I am better known.”

“You two have obviously met before,” Josh said.

“I’ve known this”—Nicholas hesitated, lines and wrinkles creasing his face—“this person since he was a boy. In fact, I once had high hopes for him.”

“Would someone like to tell us who this is?” Josh demanded, looking from the Alchemyst to Palamedes and back again, waiting for an answer.

“He was my apprentice, until he betrayed me,” Flamel snapped, almost spitting the words. “He became John Dee’s right hand.”

The twins immediately backed away from the man, and Josh’s grip tightened on the sword.