Part 13 (2/2)

Prometheus took a last glance over his shoulder before turning back to his sister. ”No, it's this way. The library should be at the end of this street.”

The two Elders had been traveling for ten days now and were both exhausted, but at last their goal was in sight.

The first part of their journey had been relatively straightforward. Leaving Danu Talis, they had traveled across the world, jumping from leygate to leygate, moving east to west, following the setting sun, until they reached the place where, legend had it, the Earthlords, Ancients and Archons had fought in the Time Before Time. Nothing grew in this devastated place, and intense heat had turned the earth to s.h.i.+ning gla.s.s. The cataclysmic battle had upset the earth's magnetic forces so that even the ley lines no longer functioned properly. None of those who had jumped through the final leygate-a perfectly circular hole in a cliff face-had returned; their screams still echoed through the gates even though centuries had pa.s.sed.

Zephaniah and Prometheus continued south on foot. The same forces that had upset the ley lines also sucked away at their auras, leaving them both weak and practically powerless. It had taken Prometheus-a Master of Fire-three attempts before he'd been able to raise a feeble flame to heat some water. Their auras had strengthened the farther they had moved away from the last leygate, but when they'd entered the forest that ringed the Nameless City, their auras had faded again.

Zephaniah was exhausted. It was an extraordinary feeling, one she had not experienced in hundreds of years. The bone-dry desert around the leygate quickly followed by the rank humidity of the jungle had destroyed her leather-and-metal clothes, and her indestructible boots had proven not so indestructible. Having no access to her aura had been a terrifying revelation. To have to rely on her unenhanced senses was like being deaf and blind, and even her sense of taste was limited, so that everything tasted the same-either sweet or salty. Now she could only smell the strongest-and usually the foulest-of odors. The sooner they got what they were looking for and left the Nameless City, the happier she would be. But Abraham's instructions had been clear: she was not to return without the records from the library. There was one particular book he needed to complete the creation of the Codex.

Initially, Zephaniah had contemplated making the journey on her own: she was both strong and fast, and her auric powers were incredible. However, her friend Hekate had begged her to bring someone with her, and surprisingly, Abraham had agreed to let her. She had been even more surprised when he had suggested her younger brother, the fearsome warrior-sage Prometheus.

”I'm glad you came with me,” she said suddenly. ”I'm not sure I would have liked to make this journey on my own.”

”I have to look out for my sister,” the warrior said with a grin. Then the smile faded. ”But I do know what you mean... There is something about this place... something wrong. No wonder our people abandoned it.”

”I wonder why they never gave it a name,” she said. ”On the charts it is simply known as the City and Abraham called it the Nameless City.” The pair continued down the middle of the broad street, following mysterious metal grooves cut into the primeval black stones. Although the age of the city could be measured in millennia, no metal had rusted, and while the gla.s.s walls were scratched and scored by the forest, not a single pane was broken.

”Here, I think...,” Prometheus said. He stopped outside an enormous stepped-gla.s.s pyramid. The entire front of the building was covered in intricate spirals and whorls. Just looking at them made him dizzy. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head. ”Check the map.”

Zephaniah pulled the map from the metal tube; she held it up, comparing the symbols etched into the gla.s.s above the door with the pattern on the skin. They matched. ”This is the library,” she said, craning her neck to look at the top of the pyramid. It was topped with a cap of solid gold. ”The proportions are wrong,” she said suddenly, stepping back to look at the doors. ”The handles are set too high and the doors are unusually tall.”

Prometheus nodded. ”And the steps are too shallow,” he said.

”This city was not built for creatures like us,” Zephaniah added.

”But for whom... or for what?” he wondered.

”The Ancients?” Zephaniah suggested.

”Not them: they resembled us to some degree. Legend has it that this city was created for the Earthlords.”

”What did they look like?”

Prometheus shrugged. ”No one knows. None survived the last battle, and all record of them was erased from history.” Pulling two short double-headed axes from his belt, he stepped up to the door of opaque black gla.s.s and pushed hard, expecting it to be stiff with age.

It swung silently open.

Prometheus quickly stepped inside and put his back to the wall, waiting until his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Zephaniah remained outside and pulled a coiled metal whip from around her waist. If there was anything inside, she didn't want to get in her brother's way, and it was her duty to protect him.

”I'm not sure this is the right place...” Prometheus's voice echoed. ”There are no books here, just statues. Hundreds-no, thousands of them.”

A flicker of movement at the edge of the forest caught Zephaniah's attention. A branch had s.h.i.+fted slightly, moving against the wind rather than with it.

”I think we've got company,” she said quietly. And then her nostrils flared as she caught the distinctive smell of anise, the odor of her brother's aura. ”Prometheus?”

”Statues,” he repeated, his voice growing fainter as he moved away from the door ”Prometheus...”

”They look like they're made of clay...”

The smell of anise was stronger now, and when she glanced over her shoulder, Zephaniah caught the dull red glow of her brother's aura from within the darkened building. But how was that possible? For the past few days neither of them had been able to bring their auras alight. Gripping the whip tightly in her right hand, she backed in through the open door, then turned... and stopped in horror.

Prometheus was standing in the middle of an enormous room. His axes had fallen to the ground and his arms were stretched straight out, his head thrown back. His aura was ablaze, streamers of fire coiling off his skin, his hair and beard crackling with static. Liquid fire puddled around his feet, and his outstretched fingers and thumbs spat tiny lightning bolts. His eyes burned like red-hot coals.

And he was surrounded by statues.

Intricately beautiful, delicately carved from clay, they ranged in color from deep black to palest white. And while their bodies were perfectly sculpted, their faces remained unfinished, little more than vague ovals, without eyes, ears, nose or mouth. Male and female stood side by side in identical positions, tall, elegant and otherworldly. They looked not unlike the Elders or even the legendary Archons, but were obviously different from those races.

And every inch of their carved clay bodies was covered in the same spiraling script that decorated the front of the building.

Prometheus's burning aura washed over the closest statues, red sparks running across the designs, crimson fire crawling along the archaic writing, bringing the lines of curling text to life.

”Prometheus...,” Zephaniah whispered.

Then the statue closest to Prometheus, a statuesque female, moved. A sliver of hardened clay fell away and shattered on the ground, revealing dark flesh beneath. Behind the Elder a second statue, a male, s.h.i.+fted slightly, and more clay fell away to expose rich golden skin.

”Little Brother...”

The Elder's fiery aura blazed higher, leaping from statue to statue, igniting the script with threads of fire. Crackling b.a.l.l.s of it dripped off Prometheus's skin like sweat and rolled along the floor. When they reached a statue, they hissed and surged, and lines of flame crawled up the clay, igniting the writing. When all the writing was burning and the statue was bright with fire, the figure moved, hardened clay cascading off its body to shatter on the floor.

Zephaniah was suddenly aware that her brother's aura had changed color. It had become darker, almost ugly, and the bitter-sweet smell of anise had become sharp and sour.

”Prometheus!” she shouted in alarm, but he could not hear her. She knew what was happening: his aura had started to consume him.

The Elder's aura was an inferno now, a solid pillar of fire stretching up to the apex of the pyramid, and Prometheus was almost invisible in the middle of the flames. Fire bounced off the ceiling and fell onto the carvings like burning rain. The heat was overwhelming, was.h.i.+ng over the thousands of figures, burning away clay to reveal the flesh beneath.

Zephaniah knew she needed to distract her brother, to disrupt his aura before the fire destroyed him. She desperately pushed her way through the statues. Some toppled and fell, and where the clay sh.e.l.ls had not been touched by Prometheus's aura, they shattered to dust when they hit the floor. When Zephaniah was close enough, she uncoiled the whip and lashed out at her brother, catching him around an outstretched arm. The metal and leather of the weapon instantly glowed bright red and started to burn. She pulled with all her might, and he staggered.

Prometheus's aura flickered, darkened, then blazed back even brighter. The smell of anise had turned unmistakably foul. Bitter.

Jerking the burning whip free, Zephaniah lashed out again, this time catching him around the throat. Gripping the whip with both hands, she jerked hard and managed to tug Prometheus off balance. He staggered, and then his aura flickered and died as he folded to his knees.

”Prometheus...” Zephaniah dropped to the ground, cradling her brother, ignoring the heat that burned her flesh and seared her clothes. He opened his green eyes and looked up at her.

”What happened?” he mumbled.

Zephaniah tore her gaze from her brother to look up. What had once been statues were now living beings. They crowded around, still and silent, and she realized to her horror that their once-formless faces had altered to take on a semblance of her brother's features.

”I think you've become a father,” she said in awe. ”Little Brother, they all look like you.”

”Oh dear.” He coughed. ”Even the women?”

”Especially the women,” Zephaniah said, closing her eyes.

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