The Legend of the Rift (13 page)

I'
M NOT SURE
how Marco hit the floor first. But I was really glad he did. He may be all muscle, but he's way softer than a hard marble surface.

“Yeow, Brother Jack, that was your butt and my kidney!” Marco said, jumping to his feet with a tight grimace.

“Sorry!” I rolled off onto a carpet that was woven with threads of deep reds, greens, and blues—hunting scenes, woodland games, meetings in meadows. The fact that I could see this rug, and Marco's grimace, meant that somewhere on our way down, someone turned a light on.

As I looked around, I realized it wasn't just one light, but about two dozen fiery sconces, fancier and bigger than the ones above. I sat there, winded, catching my breath.
The view into the room was blocked by a big marble desk balanced on thick columns, but a foot or two away from me was a wooden ladder leading up the wall to an arched doorway above. Cass, Marco, Eloise, Torquin, and Brother Dimitrios were gathered there, looking down.

“You could have used ladder,” Torquin commented.

“Thanks for the suggestion,” I said.

My gaze rose further upward toward the ceiling, which was capped by an enormous dome, painted with an image of a goddess surrounded by women with long, flowing hair. The height of the room was freaky enough. The Amazon Café was a one-story building. It also very much did not have a dome.

“How did they light all those candles so fast?” Marco turned, rapping his fingers on the marble desk. “Whoa, glad my kidney didn't land on this hard thing—”

He froze in the middle of the sentence, looking over the desk.

I jumped to my feet. On the other wall of the room, a cavernous fireplace crackled. The flames rose at least three feet high, licking the sides of what looked like a pig, slowing turning on a spit. A horrible smell, like burning rubber and puke, made me suspect it was actually a vromaski.

Off to the side, cranking that spit, was Herostratus.

I elbowed Marco. “That's him,” I hissed. “That's the guy!”

The old man turned, and his face broke into a huge smile. “Ah, so good of you to . . .
drop in
!”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Herostratus exclaimed. “‘
Drop
in?' Haaaar-ha-ha-ha!” He threw his head back in a high-pitched, barking laugh.

Marco narrowed his eyes as he moved closer to the old man. “My, Grandpa, what orange eyes you have.”

He was right. The light flashing from the man's eyes were an unmistakable dull orange. “The color of fire,” Herostratus said.

“You . . .
you
were the cat!” I said.

He nodded. “They love me in that restaurant. Such nice people. Especially the Greeks.”

“Okay, Garfield,” Marco said, “tell us who the heck you are and what you're doing.”

The old guy stepped away from the fireplace, shambling a few steps toward us in his broken sandals, and bowed stiffly. “Humble Herostratus, at your service. And this”—he gestured with a grand flourish toward the roasting animal—“is Hog Warts.”

“Now that,” Marco said with a sneer, “is not funny.”

Herostratus shrugged. “That joke killed at the last boar sacrifice.” He glanced cautiously toward an arched doorway that led to a long hallway. “They cursed me—the Zons. Like them, I live for an eternity. But unlike them, I have
the power to shift shape into animal form. But it is for their pleasure only. For their amusement.”

“Who are the Zons?” I asked.

“They hunt me. They trap me all alone and slaughter me. You cannot imagine the pain of dying, only to be brought back to life—only to be killed again. And for what? Because of my personality. I am being punished for who I am, for what I enjoy—a little laughter, a little flash!” Herostratus moved closer. “Would you like to see me juggle three flaming willow branches?”

“You're the guy who set fire to the Temple of Artemis,” I said.

He looked fearfully over his shoulder. “Please. That name is not to be mentioned here!”

“Whoa, hang on, Thermostatus,” Marco said, “let's cut to the chase. We're here for a reason.”

“Yes, yes, the Loculus, isn't it?” Herostratus replied.

“You know?” I said.

Herostratus clapped his hands. “Of course! I have been waiting ages—literally—for you, young man.” He looked curiously at me. “Erm . . . your name?”

“Jack,” I said. “But how—?”

Herostratus spread his index and middle finger and pointed them downward in a lambda shape. “The mark! You have it.”

Instinctively I reached for the patch of white hair
shaped like an upside-down V at the back of my head. How did Herostratus know about the G7W mark? All of us had this. It was part of way the gene expressed itself. My hair had been shaved off when I first arrived on the island, but the mark had grown back. Professor Bhegad had called it a lambda, because it resembled the shape of the Greek
L
.

A belch erupted from behind us, echoing loudly in the room. Marco and I spun around to see Torquin leading the others down the ladder. “Sorry. Calamari,” Torquin explained.

“By Adonis's curls!” Herostratus blurted out, pointing at Marco and then at Cass. “You have the mark also . . . and you! Oh, the Zons will be absolutely thrilliated. Oh, dear eyes, do not fall out of this head! I have been despairing to see even one of you—but now
three
! Oh!” He cast another nervous glance toward the hallway. “We have a few minutes. You must be hungry. Calamari are such miserably small things. Sit, sit. The only way to properly eat a vromaski is
en flambé
. Flames rising to the ceiling—”

“STRATO!” bellowed a deep voice from the hallway.

Herostratus jumped. “Strato is my . . . how do you say it—nickname Hm. Yes. Hrmmph. YES, MY ALL-POWERFUL, ALL-KNOWING, WISE, AND BEAUTIFUL HIPPO?”

Cass groaned.
“Hippo?”

Clomping noises resounded from the hallway, and we all instinctively backed away. From the top of the arch, a face peeked down at us. Her eyes were a deep brown, her hair jet-black and pulled back with a tightly tied string. I figured it was a woman standing on stilts or on the bed of some kind of vehicle. But when she fully emerged, she was on her own two legs. Which were themselves almost as tall as I was.

She strode in, her thick hair bouncing against her back like an animal pelt. Her feet were the length of my forearms, shod in sandals whose crisscrossing straps wrapped upward to her knees. As she set down a shield against the wall, a saber clattered against her leather tunic. She wore a black leather belt threaded with deep pouches, out of which peeked blowpipes, bows, and darts. Across her shoulder was a quiver strung over a thick, embroidered silk sash.

“Awesome,” Marco murmured.

“Can't be,” Dimitrios rasped.

“Let's go,” Eloise squeaked.

“Beautiful,” Torquin grunted.

“I am
Maximo
!” the woman growled at Herostratus. “
Maximo
, not
Hippo
. When will you ever get that right? I sound nothing like that clumsy, lazy, bulbous-nosed lizard!”

Immediately after saying that, Maximo cocked her head to one side like a nervous tic. A spear came ripping out of the tunnel behind her, inches from her ear, its point slicing
through the air and thudding into the center of Herostratus's chest.

We all jumped back. Eloise screamed. Marco rushed toward the old man as he fell to the carpet.

“H
OW COULD YOU
do that?” Marco cried out, looking up at Maximo. “Just because he called you—”

“Pkaaaaach!”
Herostratus let out a cough and lurched upward from the floor, yanking the spear from his chest.

I have never heard Marco shriek so loud. He scrambled away on all fours. The rest of us were pretty freaked, too.

Herostratus threw the spear into the fireplace, his tunic unstained by even a drop of blood. “Great gods, that hurts!” he said. “You see? They do this all the time. Kill, back to life. Kill, back to life. They love tormenting me!”

Maximo burst out laughing. Now more enormous people were emerging from behind her—all women, all dressed in warrior garb, all at least eight or nine feet tall. Their
shoulders were the width of bookshelves, their voices deep, their legs as sturdy as tree trunks. One of them slapped Maximo on the back, scowling at her over a nose as big as a softball. “You may mock me, but you must admit I am a good shot,” she growled.

“You are full of surprises, Hippo,” Maximo said.

“A barrel of laughs,” Herostratus murmured.

Detouring to the roasting vromaski, Hippo ripped off one of its legs and began gnawing on it like an ice-cream cone.

“Welcome to the set of
Seven Brides for Torquin
,” Marco muttered.

Torquin was staring, mesmerized, and I realized it was the first time I ever saw him look
upward
at another person.

“Psssst . . . psssst!”
Herostratus hissed from the floor, where he had fallen to his knees, bowing low to the ground. As he signaled for us to do the same, Hippo walked to within an inch of his face and let the steaming fat from the roasted vromaski leg drip onto her massive, dirt-encrusted toes. “Dinner, Strato,” she said. “Come and get it.”

“Lick the feet! Lick the feet! Lick the feet!” the others cried out rhythmically.

I turned away from the sight and waited till the cheering was over.

“That is so disgusting,” Eloise mumbled.

“I—I don't think we belong here!”
Brother Dimitrios said.
“Perhaps we can leave now, Ms. Maximo?”

“Strato, where are your manners?” bellowed Maximo. “Are you not going to get up and introduce us to your guests?”

“Jack and Marco,” I said. “And Cass, Eloise, Torquin, and Brother Dimitrios.”

Shaking in his robe, Brother Dimitrios was now saying prayers under his breath in Greek. “Well . . . a Hellene?” Maximo said. “Perhaps we should be speaking your language?”

“English is . . . f-f-fine,” Dimitrios said, holding on to the ladder as if he were either going to keel over or try to run away.

Herostratus was standing now, a thin line of vromaski grease across his lips. “Jack and friends, it is my great pleasure to introduce the strongest, the largest, the longest lasting, the most beautiful and durable, exalted and all-powerful . . .” He cupped his hands to his mouth and let out a fake trumpet fanfare. “The Zons!”

Maximo bowed low from the waist. “Until we become better acquainted, Amazons will do.”

“I am dreaming, tell me I am dreaming,” Dimitrios said, pinching his own arm repeatedly.

Eloise smacked him. “That's real. And so are they.”

“Do you not know who the Amazons were?” Dimitrios said. “They were not human. They were the woman warrior
tribe of Ancient Greece—dedicated to Artemis, goddess of the hunt, known for their skills at killing.
They had the bravery and cunning to attack Hercules himself!
”

“Yes, well, we all make mistakes,” Maximo said with a sigh.

Cass nodded. “The name of the café upstairs . . . the company on Herostratus's card. You've been here all along. Your name has stayed alive.”

“We protect our brand.” Maximo turned to the others. “Soldiers! What do we do with visitors?”

The women stepped forward, one by one, introducing themselves. After the first one shook my hand, I thought my fingers would come off with it. So I just waved hi to the rest of them. Myrto . . . Pitane . . . Priene . . . Anaea . . . Ephesos . . . Lysippe . . . Their skin color ranged from peach white to dark brown, and although they were thickly muscled, they moved like dancers, with smoothness and grace.

They seemed happy to see us. Weirdly happy.

“Um . . . guys?” I finally said. “Do you know why we're here?”

Maximo chuckled, which began a ripple effect of laughter around the room. “Do you assume that because we are physically powerful we do not possess adequate brain resources?”

“I get that all the time,” Marco said.

“All of you, sit,” Maximo commanded. A pair of
enormous hands pushed me downward to the carpet. “You would like to pursue the gift of the Atlantean. The Loculus. Yes?”

Marco, Cass, Eloise, and I exchanged a wary look. “Yes,” I said.

“Massarym told us you would come someday, of course. We just didn't think it would take this long.” Maximo gestured to the open door overhead. “Do you have others in the antechamber, perhaps? I see three of you carry the mark, but it will be to your advantage to have a female.”

“I'm going to get the mark in four years, when I'm thirteen,” Eloise announced. “But I might dye it.”

“Ah, well, we shall see, but until then you are still just a child.” Maximo turned, clapping her hands. “Sisters! Phase two begins! The feast!”

A couple of the Amazons bounded into the tunnel, laughing and chattering. A moment later they emerged with cloths, bronze bowls, and plates. Herostratus put on a pair of thick animal-hide gloves and removed the vromaski from the flames. Even roasted with savory spices, the beast smelled awful. As he began slicing it, his knife blade broke. “Hmm, this one may be a bit gamy,” he said.

I hated the confusion. The noise. The chattering. The smell. I hated that we were about to eat the inedible with a bunch of loonies while Aly was lost and suffering.

This was enough.

“Stop!” I finally shouted. “We're not here to eat! Please, we do not have time. Our quest is urgent. If you have the Loculus, we need it—now!”

The Amazons fell silent. They all looked at Maximo.

“Very well, then,” their leader said, snapping her fingers. “Clear the feast from the carpet and proceed to phase three.”

With a murmur of voices, the Amazons tossed their bowls against the walls and kicked aside the supplies on the floor. Chewing messily on the remains of their dinners, they spread around out the edges of the thick carpet. When Maximo snapped her fingers again, they dug their hands under the borders and lifted upward.

Before we could do a thing, the carpet rose around us and closed at the top, and we were in total, smothering darkness.