Chapter 26
After bathing and changing into khaki pants and an olive short-sleeve button-up, I decide to do some reconnaissance around the stronghold. If I’m going to be stuck here until I decide to join the order—which could be tomorrow or never—then I should at least know where things are.
Before I can walk more than a few paces from my room, though, I run into Anders. Seeing him now, I realize I lost him the moment I entered the great hall that first day. Besides fraternizing with Cec, where has he been all this time?
I recall what Cec said, about rumors of him being a spy. I’ll keep a watchful eye on him, but I still think the rumors are unfounded.
He smiles genuinely when he sees me, his dark blonde hair falling across his light blue eyes. “Miss Hawkins, I’m glad our paths crossed.”
I return the smile. “I think you’re the only one in this place who’s glad to see me.”
“Besides Bes and Cec, of course.”
I laugh. “That changes from hour to hour.”
He smiles kindly. “Truthfully, though, I’ve been hoping to run into you.”
I cock my head to the side, waiting for him to continue.
He lowers his voice. “I found something on The Amulet of Amun in the Archives that I think you might find… interesting.”
I bristle. I’ve felt naked without the amulet since being forced to hand it over to Ansaldo earlier this morning.
I didn’t even get to ask Ansaldo anything about it at the meeting I called this morning; I was so wrapped up in what I learned about my nonna and my mother that, even when I handed it over to him, I didn’t think to ask about it.
Not that Anders would have any idea of my inner turmoil, but it’s a sore spot nonetheless.
“Unfortunately, I’m no longer in possession of it.”
He nods. “I know. Ansaldo brought it to the archivist on duty earlier to lock it up. But I said I thought it should be photographed to capture the unique stone.”
I shrug. “And…”
“And…” He lowers his voice. “I think I’ve found where the incantation to activate it is kept.”
My eyes widen. “That’s real?” I hoped it would be, but some part of me thought I’d never find out the truth.
He nods. “As real as everything else about this place.”
As much as I hate myself for it, I pause.
What am I getting myself into? Besides the blood oath, it still hasn’t been proven to me that magic is real.
This could solidify it. A small part of me remembers what realization I came to when I first began to consider the possibility of its power: that, if I’m able to activate it, I can become invisible and find a way to escape.
However, Bes’s warning about being tortured by the God Men once they found me negates that.
As much as I want to be free of this place and go back home, I can’t spend my life being invisible.
Or, at the very least, I would have to disappear without a trace.
I could never see my nonna again; I couldn’t live with myself if my selfish decision got her into trouble. I have to give up that gambit.
And… I don’t want to leave Bes or Cec if I don’t have to.
At this point, only my curiosity remains. And it’s plenty.
“Fair enough; I’m in.” I hold out my hand. “Lead the way.”
I drag my sore muscles along the corridors of the underground castle beside Anders, a pressing headache growing between my eyes.
I need water. I pull my hair from its braid and leave it loose and wavy along my back.
My hair is heavy enough it doesn’t make much of a difference, but at least it’s not pulling at my scalp.
We pass by the empty great hall in the direction of where I first came in, not running into another soul.
Where is everyone? Perhaps taking a rest before dinner, like I should be.
I couldn’t sleep now, even if I wanted to.
Sparring with Bes awoke something inside me, and now Anders’s discovery has lit my mind up like I drank five cups of espresso.
Am I truly about to find out what the Amulet of Amun can do? And, if Anders can unlock its magic like he claims, does that mean magic exists beyond these walls, and has for thousands of years? How many inanimate objects are simply waiting for the correct incantation to bring them to life?
One step at a time.
I have no idea where we’re going until we’re nearly there. I should’ve paid more attention to the order of the tapestries when I first came to this place.
Up the sets of steps I hurried down when I arrived, we enter the medieval lobby. Holding less opulence than before, the foyer doesn’t interest me the way it did yesterday; it’s the dim passageway that calls to me now. Which is exactly where Anders leads us.
Standing before its threshold, the darkness inside deepens, threatening to swallow me whole. That hollowness I felt when I first saw it sweeps back, leaving me shivering. This place… I can’t exactly explain it, but it reeks of death. Death that calls to me like a siren song.
“Call me Odysseus,” I mumble.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
Following Anders inside, few torches light the way, making it almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of me. Luckily, the floor remains fairly even, and my hand on the icy stone wall keeps me steady.
The air grows colder and quieter the further we go. Yet, I’m determined to find what’s drawing me down here. I’ve never felt this before—this pull. I’m not being driven by my instincts or my world-renowned perception this time. It’s something else. Something more primal.
We round a corner and torchlight bursts from within.
I gasp as we pass through the threshold into a rounded stone chamber, alight with fire.
Half-moon shelves carved into the stone pock the surface, a marble jar placed inside nearly every single one of them.
Each jar carries a large embedded jewel in its face that reflects the flickering flames.
A sensation of belonging brushes along my skin like a soft spring breeze, sinking deep into my bones.
A thing profound and ancient exists here. I can’t help feeling as if I’m a part of it.
My gaze falls to the center of the room, where a black marble statue nearly twice my size looms; I head there first, hoping to make sense of this place.
Dressed neck-to-toe in hand-carved robes, the young man’s soft locks of hair almost completely hide his eyes.
Though not enough to obscure his strong Roman nose, or the laurel wreath atop his head.
When I reach him, my line of sight directly hits his stomach.
I nearly stomp on the sprigs of yellow wildflowers strewn around his base, left in all stages of decay. They smell musty but familiar. Rue, I think—Nonna grows the herb in our garden. Merely thinking of her again triggers both anger and pain at her betrayal.
I remember her telling me in a moment of wistful longing about its origin, steeped in ancient Italian magic.
Each branch is divided into three stems, representing the three forms of the Roman goddess Diana: Diana as the huntress, Luna as the moon, and Hecate of the underworld.
Someone must bring these down here from the surface.
Something scribbled on the block of marble catches my eye. I crouch down to read the lilting script: IN IGNE ET IN MORTE SUMUS PURI.
‘In fire and in death, we are pure,’ if I’m translating my Latin correctly. I peer up at the statue’s unyielding face. Where the hell am I?
Standing, I shiver, thinking I should’ve brought a jacket. Or that I shouldn’t be here—
Anders and I are no longer alone.
A figure dressed in red slinks out from behind the statue. Heart in my throat, I reach for my switchblade inside my pocket.
“I mean you no harm,” the woman purrs in a slight Indian accent, though I can’t pinpoint if it’s north or south. “I only wanted to introduce myself.”
I take stock of her. Her wavy ebony hair is pulled back from her scalp into a tight braid, the bottom nearly reaching her slim hips.
Outlined delicately with black eyeliner, her eyes are dark like Bes’s—though they lack his spark.
The side of her nose shimmers, the sparkle of a gold stud protruding there.
This leads to even more small-hooped gold earrings looped along both ears.
Golden bracelets glow around her left upper arm, a leather cuff bound to the right wrist.
Her faded red saree is fashioned in what I believe to be the Dhoti style: it’s draped over one shoulder and exposes the other, where I notice black fabric binding her chest underneath.
The fabric of the saree is then pulled across her waist and looped beneath and around her legs to create the appearance of pants, which are cut off right below her knees.
She shifts impatiently in her gilded sandals.
All I can think is: she looks like a warrior.
Not only in her garb, but in the way she holds herself, the determination in her set gaze.
In fact, she reminds me very much of a painting I once saw of Velu Nachiyar, Queen of Sivaganga and the first woman to rebel against the British for the freedom of her people.
I wouldn’t be surprised if this woman had the same insubordinate streak in her.
Anders clears his throat. “Ah Kali, good to see you. Have you met Miss Amelia Hawkins?”
Kali, Kali… where do I know that name?
The woman, Kali, holds out her hand. “Vanakkam.”
She respects me, I think. Interesting.
I press my palm to hers. “Vanakkam.”
Anders’s voice grows somber. “Visiting your brother?”
Kali’s nostrils flare slightly. “Taking down his picture.”
“Has it been a month already?”
“It has.”
He bows his head and his shoulders slump. “And there’s been no sign of him?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, tapping her long fingers on her ribs. “I have mourned him. That is all I have to say.”
“Fair enough.” Anders waves me on. “Come on, Miss Hawkins, this way.”
I pause. “Give me a moment?”
Anders smiles sadly before pulling his attention from me to survey the walls around us.