Timeless (The Cartographer Book 3) (21 page)

“Thank you for bringing me here,” I said. “I never had a chance to say goodbye.”

Ajox turned to me and placed his hand on his chest. “As long as his memory remains alive, you will never have to say goodbye.”

I looked down and ran my hand along the surface of the tomb. It was built from a stone-like material and cool to the touch. Like corral, several tiny holes littered its surface. “Well then, this isn't goodbye, old friend.”

“We should get back to the others. There is a lot of work to be done,” Ajox said.

I nodded and followed him down the hall, but not before stopping and looking back one last time at the tomb. Perhaps it was just a trick of the lights, but when Satou's face rotated toward me, I would have sworn he was smiling.

Moro

Moro longed to have his daggers in his hands once again. Being cooped up in a cell aboard Calypso's flagship drove him to the brink of madness. He took no solace when he looked down at the guard on the floor as he lay twitching in a pool of his own blood. The severed leg of the bed stuck out from his neck at an awkward angle. He frowned and uttered a guttural growl. As the guard's death spasms subsided, Moro ran his hand over his face before yanking the crude weapon from his neck. Luckily, the bed had been mounted to the wall, so the missing leg went unnoticed by the guard. Moro had been able to keep the bed level by keeping his back to it and maintaining the illusion of still being bound at the wrists. The guard never knew what had hit him.

Moro muttered curses under his breath as he wiped the blood from the weapon, using the guard's jacket. He cursed the weapon itself and the pains in acquiring it. The bolts which secured it to the bed were fastened tight and the only way he could get it off was by using his brute strength, wiggling it at the weakened joint, which had worn thin over the years. Using such a weapon to kill a person was like an artist using a broom to paint a masterpiece. In the end, the project was done, but the results left a sour, unfulfilling taste in the mouth. He couldn't even scavenge a better weapon from his victim. All of the guards had been under strict orders to remain unarmed so he could not overpower them and use their weapons against them. He chuckled at the irony.

He stepped out of the cell and wrapped himself in the shadows from the dimly lit hall. They landed some time ago, so only a skeleton crew remained on board. As he moved cautiously through the halls, Moro was not surprised to discover the dead guard was the only one on duty at the time. Although Scribe gave him the tools to secure his release, he gave no instructions on what to do once he managed to escape. He didn't need to. Moro knew what he had to do—he needed to finish the job he had been given. The first order of business was getting off the ship unseen.

Clutching the iron bedpost, he set off toward the cargo bay. Although the ship was docked with nothing more than a skeleton crew aboard, he took no chances. With a quick burst of wind produced from his wings, he took flight and crawled along the ceiling. Silent and wrapped within the comforting blanket of shadow, he passed unaware crew members as they continued with their daily routines. When he reached the cargo bay, he was relieved to see it was devoid of crewmembers. The exit ramp had been deployed earlier, but remained open. Nothing stood between him and the world of Caelum.

Quietly, he descended to the floor and peered outside, making sure no guards stood nearby. Confident that the area was clear, Moro stepped outside. Beyond the long walkway and beautifully manicured courtyard with its bright-colored flowers and short cut grass stood the ancient stone Akropolis, home of the High Prince. His fist clenched tightly around the bed post. Calypso would be inside right now with his usual smug look and cocky demeanor. He longed to rip the look off of his face. With a newfound eagerness to finish the task, he took one step forward, but a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, freezing him in his tracks. Very few people in the universe were capable of catching Moro unaware and he tightened his grip on his makeshift weapon. A voice called out in a hushed tone—a familiar voice.

“The situation has changed,” the voice commanded.

Moro whirled around, bedpost in hand and came face-to-face with Scribe, holding the bowl helmet of Kale under one arm. “Don't you know it is bad karma to get between an assassin and his target?”

Scribe chuckled. “It may be bad karma to let you go through with it.”

Moro lowered his makeshift weapon and cocked an eyebrow, his red eyes filling with intrigue. “What do you mean?”

Scribe sighed. “I have just gathered some new information regarding Calypso's little coup. It seems he may not be the one pulling the strings after all.”

“Has Corvus come back from the dead?” Moro deadpanned, referring to the time traveling human leader of the Ascended who had been murdered by Calypso.

Scribe shook his head. “Not that I am aware of.” Scribe looked around nervously. “This place is not safe. We cannot linger here long.”

Moro looked down at the bedpost in his hand before tossing it aside like a piece of trash. He held out his hands. “Where the hell am I supposed to go? You can easily blend back in with the Council and ride this ship out of here. I just murdered a guard so they should be sounding the alarm any minute. Caelum is not safe for me.”

“Yeah, well that's where I come in,” a gruff voice said from behind.

Moro spun around, once again caught unaware. He hoped it was just the distraction from the news he just received and not an erosion of skills. A vaguely familiar human stood before him. He wore a Frisbee-sized disc on his wrist and a hoop earring in each ear, one of which he tugged on mindlessly. Moro recognized him as the man who temporarily took over the duties of Cartographer in Nathan's absence.

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Moro.

Sam frowned. “Nice to see you too.” He looked down at his wrist and used his index finger to punch at the navigational system. “Damn, I was hoping for more time,” he muttered before looking at Scribe. “According to my calculations, we have about five…six minutes tops.”

“Then it is time for you two to get out of here,” Scribe responded.

“Get out of here?” asked Moro incredulously. “How do we plan on doing that?”

Sam leaped forward and wrapped Moro in a bear hug. Scribe retreated to the ship with a wave. “Goodbye Moro.”

Confused, Moro tried to poke at Sam before realizing his bedpost weapon was lying on the ground, several feet away. The air around them started to crackle with a sizzling sound similar to bacon frying on a hot griddle. Suddenly, the landscape in front of them split open, revealing nothing more than an empty, dark void. A strong vacuum pulled at Moro and it felt as if his skin would be torn from his body. “Wait—” he cried, but the words were lost within the vacuum. Sam was punching coordinates into the disk on his arm and Moro realized what was about to happen. He stopped flailing and welcomed Sam's bear hug with one of his own.

“Hold on and don't let go,” Sam cried through clenched teeth. The words were barely more than a whisper, but Moro understood.

A loud popping sound, like a cork from a new bottle of champagne, could be heard. They both vanished from the surface of Caelum before the air around the courtyard calmed, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.

From the dark recesses of the ship, Scribe stood at the entranceway and brooded, watching the area where Moro and Sam once stood. Two Defense Fleet soldiers patrolled the area near the location where Moro and Sam stood only minutes earlier. They tossed Scribe a polite nod before circling the path leading around the courtyard. His eyes drifted from their forms, fading in the distance, to the entrance of the Akropolis; a double thick wood door surrounded by the ancient diamond-shaped stone archway that tapered off near the roof. Inside those hallowed walls was Calypso, currently meeting with the other Council members on how to best replace the enigmatic Kale, also known as Scribe. What Calypso didn't realize was he knew what he had been planning. He was with Varooq and Hark-Kalech in the Council chambers right at that moment, formulating a plan to supplant him. War was coming to his doorstep, yet he focused his energy on replacing a Council member?
Why?

“Who is pulling your strings Calypso?” he muttered.

Gods and Demons

After leaving the gloom of the tombs, Ajox and I trekked back to the Imaginarium in silence. By the time we reached it, The Timeless were already trickling out of the place. Menjaro and Arcturus were having an animated discussion in a corner just outside the entrance. Arcturus held a two-headed hammer the size of a battleship over his shoulder. Strange runes were carved in the shaft and glowed with a faint bluish light. Menjaro, on the other hand, was unarmed, save for a rope, which lead to the harness of Liath, his trusty gorilla mount, who stood by watching the conversation with only mild interest. Vayne leaned against the wall smoking an obscenely long pipe. The smoke drifted past his helmet o'goggles (my nickname for it), where it stuck to several of the lenses, but it didn't seem to faze him. When he spotted me, he tossed me a mischievous smile.

“Where have you been hiding?” he chuffed.

“I have been kind of busy doing this whole 'saving the universe' thing,” I replied sarcastically.

He chuckled, but it died on his lips when he glanced behind me. His helmet rotated counter-clockwise and a new set of lenses took the place of the old ones. These were smaller with a green tint. I turned to see what troubled him and immediately regretted it.

Mortem strolled out of the building wearing a demonic smile, as if he had just been promised a fresh cache of souls. He turned his pale yellow eyes toward us and they glowed when he spotted me. A smile formed so slowly upon his dry, shadowy lips that they creaked, like a rusty hinge. It could have been my imagination, but for some reason, I doubted it. Vayne walked away from us toward Horus, who had just walked out of the building, leaving Ajox and I alone with him.

“Well, look what we have here,” Mortem cackled. “It is the Cartographer
himself,
gracing us with his presence.”

“You are a bit behind the times. Maybe you didn't hear the news, but I am not the Cartographer anymore,” I countered.

His eyes narrowed to mere slits as he studied me. “Hmm…are you sure about that?”

I was about to ask him what he meant by his statement when Embeth exited the building, looking noticeably pale. He glanced at Mortem sourly before turning his gaze on me. “I was hoping to catch you before
he
did.” Embeth spat the word out like a watermelon seed.

Mortem's eyes widened and he placed his hand over his heart. “I'm offended by your tone,” he uttered with feigned indignance.

Embeth turned to me. “Come on Nathan, let's get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Back to the ship,” he replied gruffly. “We need to go over some things before we arrive at our destination.”

We started towards the boat, but a voice called out behind us. I turned to see Grillick running toward us. “Wait one minute!”

Embeth stopped and stared at him with mild curiosity. “What is it now from you people?” he growled. “It's bad enough you forced me to concede to your plan.”

Grillick's lips formed a tight line underneath his forest of a beard. “Let's get one thing perfectly clear. This was
not
my plan. We are forced to utilize the hand we have been dealt.” His eyes drifted toward me and he leaned in to whisper. “To be honest, I would rather stick my head inside a discombobulator right about now than move forward with this plan, but we need to do what's necessary to achieve our goal.” He leaned back and glanced at Embeth. “You have my ship at your disposal with one condition.”

“What is that?” asked Embeth.

“I respectfully request that Nathan accompany me, for we have many things we need to discuss.”

Embeth tossed me a sour look and shrugged. “If that is what he wants, it makes no difference to me.”

I wanted to talk Lianne and continue our discussion from earlier, but I had to admit, there had been a place reserved in my heart for the technological enigmas the
Gordian Knot
offered. I was reluctant to admit I even enjoyed some of Grog's cooking as well. “Yes, I would like that,” I replied.