Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (28 page)

Danton took this to be a dismissal, bowed, and followed after the assistant. He had to admit he was impressed with Jiao’s masterful handling of her father. For sixteen, she was incredibly skilled in the art of manipulation, not to mention deadly with a number of weapons. At least, he heard as much from others. He was having trouble picturing the young woman slitting throats and gutting men. For someone so young, she was certainly well disciplined, to say nothing of her maturity and striking good looks.

He reprimanded himself for that last thought. She was young enough to be his daughter.

Danton sighed. The assistant was saying something to him. “What’s that? Oh, of course. The supply list…”

Thanks to Jiao’s artful engineering, everything they planned was proceeding on schedule. While men and supplies were arranged, the first mate made her way to the captain’s quarters. In Rachel’s absence, Iris was in charge; this was never in question. As such, she held a key to every room on the ship, including the intricate door to Rachel’s rooms. This was where she would work.

Darkness approached and soon the moon would crest the horizon. She stood at the bay windows and looked out across the water, watching an ever-growing number of lights reflect on the undulating tide. She took a deep, calming breath. Tonight would be the first time she attempted a large spell like this in a number of years. She mentally reviewed the
mudra
, hand signals, required for this chant. As she thought, she left the office area and entered Rachel’s sleeping quarters. On the nightstand next to her bed lay the small bouquet of althea flowers, birch, and celandine Mrs. Tweed gave Rachel. She hadn’t looked at it closely before, but now she saw the brilliance of the bundle. They were all used in herbal magic as a means of protection. It seemed the old woman was not as addled as she appeared to be. Iris replaced it on the table and leaned over the bed. Very carefully, she collected a few strands of hair left behind from a night’s sleep and returned to the desk. This was the last item she required for the evening’s workings.

After the ship was underway, Danton and Jiao joined her. The girl insisted on being present for the ritual, and as persistent as she was, Iris was unsuccessful in dissuading her. All of the girl’s hopes for training with one of the most respected spiritual teachers in the world had been utterly and decisively crushed with Jamyang’s death. At the recollection of this event, Iris forced away tears. Jiao was well disciplined and mature. Her working knowledge of the Arts wasn’t as in-depth as she would have preferred in a student, but everyone needed to start somewhere. This particular ritual was quite advanced, and, as such, Jiao would be observing only.

“Once we begin, you must not speak to me, or ask me questions,” Iris instructed. “If I can locate Rachel, I will give verbal commands, but you must not respond in kind. Understood?”

“Understood,” both Danton and Jiao replied. Danton squirmed. Clearly he had never witnessed Aether Manipulation in this manner before, and it appeared to unsettle him.

She continued. “Above all, do not, under
any
circumstances, cross the boundary after it’s in place. The consequences of that aren’t pretty.”

When they acknowledged her orders, she turned to the desk, facing the window. Looking out across the water, she inhaled and cleared her mind. Each breath released a worry, and they fell away like stones in a lake. Her hands, in practiced precision, formed the familiar shapes of the
mudra
. The words she whispered were audible only to the powers she called upon. She called into the aether with the ancient language of magic, channeling the power into a shimmering circle of green light. With her palms turned upwards, the light hovered inches above them. She lifted her hands and the circle floated higher, expanding until its circumference stretched from the window to several feet behind Iris. Light dripped from the hoop until it touched the floor, creating a wall of semi-opaque liquid luminescence. The barrier complete, Iris approached the altar desk and began the real work.

Uncomfortable as her chained position was, Rachel managed random fits of sleep. There was no way for her to mark day or night in this prison, and her sanity was suffering for it. It was during one of these addled sessions of sleep that the feeling came over her. It was familiar, like a well-worn dream. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead when her memory placed it: the dream of being watched by Mr. Mustache, the man she knew as Brother Mortimer Cross.

Yet, this was different. There was a warmth here, not a seething menace. She couldn’t see her, but Rachel knew Iris was with her. Tears sprang to her eyes. For once, she was exceedingly grateful for Iris’s gifts in Aether Manipulation. Her friend was alive and doing what she could to help. A tiny hope stirred to life. If they could find her, maybe there was some way to stop what seemed inevitable. Concentrating as hard as she could, Rachel focused on Iris in hopes of aiding her. She wished she knew if there was a way to pass information. Her suspicions of her current mode of transportation might help. Words seemed useless, so instead she tried mental pictures. Combining the consistently cool temperature with a tidbit she overheard a guard say, something about the straits and an uneven bottom, she reasoned she must be aboard a submarine. Though not unheard of, submarines were exceptionally rare. The Brotherhood must have nearly endless resources to possess a vessel of this caliber. The technology alone…

She shook herself. Her thoughts wandered too far. She panicked for a moment, wondering if this lapse would break contact with Iris. While she knew it wasn’t a permanent connection, the thought of prematurely losing the moment sickened her. The feeling was still there, however, and she relaxed. The sensation was so comforting Rachel soon drifted off into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

Iris rubbed her eyes blearily. It was nearly midnight when she concluded her workings. There was silence when the barrier came down, and she wondered if her audience hadn’t fallen asleep.

When she turned, stretching her arms high above her head, she found quite the opposite. Two raptly attentive pairs of eyes met her startled expression.

“Were you able to get a heading off of the information I gave you?” Iris asked as she cracked her stiff neck.

Danton stared at her. “You don’t recall what you said?”

Iris shook her head. “That is why your presence was required. My consciousness doesn’t retain the events that transpired, only the feeling of it. I utilize my connection to the aether to make contact with my intended target.”

Jiao threw herself forward into a prostrate position. “Please, will you teach me these ways? My Rinpoche is lost. Will you take his place?”

Iris balked. “T-teach you? Child, I am no replacement for our departed Rinpoche. There are many others who would suit you better.”

“That, I doubt.” Danton chuckled.

Iris whirled on him. “Explain yourself.”

He smiled and held up his hands defensively. “While perhaps others might be of higher learning, I doubt there is anyone who would be a better match for our precocious princess.” He slid up next to her and whispered, “and it is guaranteed protection from Yong Wu, to which end Rachel would approve.”

She shot him a hateful look and he backed off. “I may have been taught by Buddhist monks, but I do not share their endless patience. This is a horrible idea. Not to mention that her father would never, ever approve of such an arrangement. I have no intention of leaving this ship, and she would never get permission to stay.”

“Do not underestimate what I can get from my father,” Jiao inserted, now indignant rather than beseeching. “You didn’t think he would help with our plan, and yet here we are, fully armed with a fleet at our behest. If he grants his permission, will you agree to teach me?”

Iris grimaced. The girl had managed to trap her as easily as she had her own father. Not only was the request reasonable, but also, as Jamyang’s student, Iris felt responsible for continuing his legacy. She threw up her hands. “This isn’t the time to discuss such things. For all we know, whatever it is the Brotherhood is planning will see us all dead by the end of the week.”

“And do we know what that is, exactly?” Jiao, not privy to prior conversations on the matter, had little information on what they faced.

They turned to her, Iris realizing they would have to bring her in on all the details they left out during the planning.

“From what you said, Miss Singh, the party we’re tracking is in a submarine.” Danton sighed at her perplexed expression. “It was confusing at first. You spoke without complete sentences, only single words and phrases. Descriptions, mostly.” He looked to the small notebook in his hand and read, “Cold. Dark. Black steel. Creaking metal. Rocky straits. Engines.” He looked up again. “Combine all of this with a way to remain unseen by anyone, and there is only one conclusion. Submarine. Though one capable of such a journey is unheard of.”

“If they’re traveling underwater, we can assume that they don’t wish to be seen or tracked in any way. That much is obvious. However, there might be more to this than a desire for secrecy alone.” Jiao tapped her bottom lip with a carefully manicured finger. The gesture and pensive look on her face was out of place on someone so young. “Maybe they seek something below the waves?”

Iris looked to Danton with widening eyes. “You don’t suppose they’ve found some vestige of those ‘Gods of the Western Seas,’ do you? How would they even know where to look?”

“Gods of the Western Seas?” Jiao asked. “West of where, exactly?”

“If we’re tracking Rachel, we don’t really need to know West of where.” Iris sighed tiredly. “Danton, was I able to get enough information to get a proper heading or not?”

He handed his tablet of notes to Iris, a smirk on his face. “I should think so.”

She took one look at the paper and blanched. “Brunei? That’s barely a few hours journey from here. And from there?” She looked back to the paper. “Northeast. Could we stop them?”

Danton shook his head. “Even if we knew their exact location, we have no way of forcing them to the surface. The only thing we can do is follow and find a way to board them when they stop.”

Iris yawned and stretched again. “Let us hope that’s not too soon. I must rest before attempting contact again. Keep us moving northeast, but not too quickly. We must stay as close as possible without alerting them.”

She moved to leave, but Jiao stopped her. “If you please, who are these ‘Gods of the Western Seas’?”

Wearily, Iris looked to Danton. “If you would be so kind, please regale Miss Wu with the story so far before you retire for the evening?”

Danton nodded, but Iris didn’t stay a moment more. Both her body and mind were exhausted. The passageway blurred in front of her tired eyes as she made her way to her own cabin. When at last she reached her quarters, Iris barely managed to shut the door before collapsing on her bed.

Silas studied the picture in the manual through the magnification lens on his goggles. This component was especially tricky. He read the translated text again. A change could be made here, but only if he was very, very accurate with the soldering iron. He double-checked his calculations. The slight adjustment in gear rotation would alter the power flow enough that the interior mechanism would overheat and fuse together slowly, rendering it useless.

The only problem was that the effect would take time once the Machine started running, and he didn’t know how long it would need. This device had never been built before, let alone been tested. For all he knew, the thing wouldn’t do what he thought it was intended to do anyway. The most he could hope for was that these parts were so unique no others could be manufactured accurately enough to replace the originals. As that might not be the case, he resolved to make tiny changes to the instructions as soon as the ever-present watch on him lifted. Even a few seconds would be enough time to make the marks needed. Changing a one to a four would bring the necessary result. That was the Achilles’ heel in these painfully specific designs; the margin for error was zero.

Silas glanced up at the guard with the irritated look on his face. “Be a dear and hand me that ruler, would you?”

The guard looked down at the workbench to his right at the measuring tool. As he did so, Silas took the opportunity to make two subtle marks in the original manuscript and put the pen to one side. It took some time to figure out the proper ratio, but he found by mixing a strong tea with ink, the effect was the same as the aged text he worked from. A stroke here, a period there, and where once it had 501, it now read 50.4. The differences were minor, but unless one was aware of the modifications, they weren’t noticeable. He would make identical changes to the translated text at the next opportunity.

The guard dropped the ruler on the workbench with a clatter. Silas returned the rude gesture with a patient smile. “Thank you, my good man,” he said over his teacup. He frowned at it after a small sip. It was cold.

Darkness. The faint scent of lit torches nearby. Footsteps. She was walking, but where? It was cold and damp and smelled of the sea. Gradually, the hall emptied into a large room lined with columns. From the light of the torches mounted on the pillars, the inlaid stone tiles glinted grimly underneath centuries of dust. She should be afraid, but she didn’t know why until her eyes rested on the pulsing metal box. It squatted in the center of an eight-pointed star, like a summoned demon waiting for orders to strike. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t breathe. The Machine. Malice radiated from it and wrapped around her neck. That force pulled her forward even as she tried desperately to flee back into the darkness. Her arms reached for it. She had to stop it. Heat rolled towards her. She tried to run at it, to kick it, smash it to bits, but it held her at a distance. It forced her to her knees and she crawled. Hotter still, waves of pain crashed over her. The closer she came, the more it burned. And burned… her face… her hands. The ends of her hair caught fire and smoldered their way to her scalp. Another few inches. The skin on her outstretched fingers blistered and blackened. She tried to blink away flakes of burning flesh but her charred eyelids refused to move. Nearly there. In a last attempt, she threw herself forward into the metallic inferno…