12.21.12: The Vessel (The Altunai Annals) Page 20

  Alex did as directed while Victoria turned her attention to her guest. “Good to see you again, Shep.”

  “And weird to see you, Victoria,” he returned as she made her way down the stairs. In the intervening time, she had redressed into fresh clothes. Thank God, because he wanted his mind on her words and not his eyes on her cleavage. “Or do I call you Sekhmet?”

  Her smile faltered. “So you’ve learned my dirty, little secret. Look, I’m sorry I got you involved in all this. I couldn’t have anticipated Dmitri’s interest in you. If he’s hurt you—”

  “Treated me rather nicely, actually,” Shep interrupted. “Except for the taking me prisoner and killing my friend part, he was a perfect host.”

  Victoria’s hand flew to her throat as her eyes trained to the floor. “I’m sorry about Hector. He was a good man. Unfortunately, Dmitri’s never developed my ability to skim life rather than chug it.” She was silent for a moment, before she took on an air of determination. “What else did he tell you?”

  “Enough for me to know that humanity is screwed.”

  Wide-eyed, she appeared to be shocked at his statement. “Why would you say that?”

  “Oh, really? Well, let’s just see ...” Shep reached out and took Victoria’s hand, bringing her palm to rest on his face. He remembered how Dmitri had been able to witness his memories through touch, and suspected she could do the same. He needed Victoria to see what just a few days of being mixed up in her world had forced him to endure: Hector’s dead eyes; the news about the body from the airplane; a room full of slaughtered soldiers; Alex tied to a chair and held captive; Shep downing drink after drink, trying to make it all make sense.

  “Is this the way you intend to save humanity from evil deities?” Shep barked at her. Victoria shuddered and leapt back as she withdrew her hand. “You and Dmitri are supposedly the superior beings, yet it seems all you do is kill and destroy. You’re telling me you’re the one that’s on our side? That you’re going to save us from them? How about you start by saving us from you?”

  “Sheppard!”

  It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Alex rebuked him as he entered the room with a wad of euros in his hand. His brother-in-law had made his allegiances known, and they rested with Victoria.

  The proxy turned to her now, offering words of dismissal and comfort. “Vick, he doesn’t understand what you’ve done for humanity, for everyone. What you’re trying to do.”

  “No, Alex, on the contrary.” Alex shrank back, disbelieving her consent to Shep’s assessment. “He’s right not to trust me. All I’ve done since I’ve met him is manipulate and deceive. He, who should have expected the most from me after what my existence has cost him.”

  “Vick?”

  A high-pitched huff came from her mouth. “But what does it matter? We don’t have the amulet. I thought I had it when we ported from London, but I can’t find it in my pockets. Everything I’ve done will have been in vain without it.” Her body fell in on itself as she shrank in to one of the chairs. “Shep’s right, Alex. We are so seriously screwed.”

  Shep fished through his pockets until he felt the smooth surface of the stone tied onto the golden chain. He couldn’t explain why he’d taken it from her clothing as she lay unconscious. Somehow, it made him feel at ease, rubbing the stone between his fingers. As he turned and held it out, he suddenly felt like a hypnotist from the way Alex and Victoria’s eyes tracked the object. With a grunt, he threw it toward Victoria who caught it without blinking.

  “There’s your damned amulet. Do whatever the hell you want with it. I hope it was worth killing so many innocent people for.”

  “What is it—”

  “Shh!” Victoria’s hand slapped over Alex’s mouth. “I can’t hear it when you talk.”

  Alex added, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “I can hear every word, just don’t know what the hell it means.”

  Shep said nothing. Nothing, because he was too busy listening. He didn’t understand how or why, but all of the sudden, overlapping and fervent whispers tugged at his ears.

  Victoria drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, straightening her frame. When she opened her eyes again, Shep took a step back. Gone were the jade discs that were simultaneously intriguing and frightening, replaced with pools of black that seemed to suck all warmth from his body. She began reciting in the foreign tongue that he recognized as the same she and Dmitri had used in London.

  “Dohm merka’at faknai inbratu. Ankh Tawy in gerikorbatum. It’s time. It’s telling us, it’s time.”

  “Us?” Alex asked.

  “We have to make our way to Ankh Tawy,” Victoria clarified as she slipped on some shoes she’d removed from a cedar chest at the edge of the room. “Shep’s coming too.”

  “Me?”

  Alex was just as flabbergasted. “Shep?”

  “Yes, Shep.” Striding forward, she slipped the amulet into her pocket and grinned at the good doctor. “My poor, poor, Sheppard Smyth. I’ve wanted to tell you since Veracruz. I still want to tell you now, but if you know, and if the others see it in your head, it puts you in too much danger. I know this is asking a lot, but please, trust me. Come with me now, and everything will make sense soon.”

  “Fuck you” was his witty reply. “I’ve had enough of this hocus pocus, apocalypse cultist, speaking in tongues hoo-haa. I’m going home, and, Alex, if you had any sense you’d come too. I’m going back to Boston.”

  “Christine died in your place, Shep.”

  Well, that stopped him cold. “What?”

  “Christine died in your place,” she repeated. “Now, mind you, I never would have allowed Dmitri to kill you, but he didn’t know that. Neither did Christine. She gave her life in protection of you.”

  “But Alex just said ...” Oh, here came the darn headache again. “Alex said she was murdered.”

  “Yes, because if she hadn’t died, you would have,” she conferred. “Please, Shep, come with me, don’t fight it. If you trust me now, I’ll ...” Her brow furrowed. “I’ll prove that your theory about Cleopatra was right.”

  “Proof?”

  “Undeniable proof.”

  Shep shifted, lurching to the right, studying the sincerity of her face. “Is it here? Is it the scroll?”

  “Sadly, the scroll didn’t survive the Thames. But yes, the proof is in this very room.”

  It seemed too convenient, and he was more than a little incredulous. “I want it in advance. Then I’ll agree to go with you.”

  Victoria bit her lip in frustration. After a pause, she turned back to Shep and palmed his face. “Agreed. I just hope your grasp of Latin is as good as your Egyptian. So, you want to know what really happened to Cleopatra?”

  He nodded vigorously. Victoria’s clutch tightened, and a shooting ache raced into his head. Shep’s brain overloaded. The images were vividly clear, the smells so pungent that he felt lightheaded from the fog of incense. He was seeing through Victoria’s eyes; he knew this from the experience with Dmitri. Still, there was a sort of removal of self, almost like he was in her head as she spoke, interacting with her thoughts, rather than just reliving the echo of her memories.

  The last thing his own eyes saw and his own ears heard was Victoria’s mouth forming her darkest confession yet.

  “Truth is, Shep, I killed her.”

  08.12.30 BCE

  Chapter 26

  Victoria sat, studying the goblet of wine in her hand, as a scowl greeted her across the way. At once, Shep understood just how talented the great Roman sculptors had been; the man at whom Victoria thought unspoken jibs and insults looked like his statue animated and painted with the colors of life. His eyes studied Victoria’s every feature.

  “Do you think I’ve had it poisoned?” he asked with a snicker.


  Victoria leaned forward and smirked. In one fell swoop, she raised the goblet to her lips and downed the entirety of its contents.

  “Oh, I know you have, Octavian,” she returned, smacking her palette. “Cyanide, I would wager. Enough to kill a man, should I have been a man. Sadly for you, I’m immune from its effects.”

  She let the goblet fall, the metal clang on the floor alerting the guards standing outside. They rushed the room, their spears at the ready. With a wave of his hand, Octavian calmed them.

  “She will not harm me,” he assured. With reluctance, his protectors lowered their spears, but hung close behind. “You would find no fault in my efforts,” he added to Victoria.

  “Indeed, Caesar, I would be insulted if you had attempted anything less.”

  Reluctantly, he sank into his chair. “You’ve not told me your name.”

  “I have many, sire. Your father-by-law called me as does the queen: Sekhmet.”

  Octavian chuckled, sitting back in his chair and raising his own goblet to his mouth. “Yes, he spoke of you. Consort of the queen, he said.”

  “Rumors grow like reeds in Rome; so thick in width, thin in branch, and poorly rooted in earth.”

  Octavian’s eyebrow arched. “Not true, then? It would be quite the scandal, if it was. So, they call you Sekhmet, just as they call the queen, the New Isis. Is it not heretical in this land to take on the name of a goddess?”

  “No more so than to take on the title of Caesar.”

  She saw his fingers twitch impulsively toward a dagger tied at his waist, though his tone remained as aloof and amused as it had been. “But I am Caesar, a son of divinity.”

  “As I am the goddess, such that we can speak as equals.” Victoria rose to her feet, holding herself in sanctity before him. “I have been in the nature of my divinity for many a year. Perhaps Caesar does not know of my deeds. I have protected the house of Pharaoh since before the great Sphinx rose from the desert. I have guarded my house against Hatti and Scythians, Persians and Philistines. I am the Eye of Ra. One who declares the house of Ptolemy an enemy contends with me as well. But take leisure in this: I desire not to be thine enemy. I would ask only that the terms of defeat be amiable to my interests.”

  “You dare assume you are in a position to demand terms. I have slain others for lesser insolence.”

  Victoria glared. “Set your men upon me, if you deem it wise. I warn you that they would find my blade twice as deadly and thrice as swift, Caesar. Nonetheless, I need not a weapon, I can kill you with one touch.” Her fingers fanned the air.

  “Sire?” One of the guards at least took her seriously. His grip tightened on his weapon.

  “Patience, Decimus. What could a mere woman do with just the stroke of her hand against Caesar?”

  “Funny, Antony once asked that regarding Cleopatra.”

  Shep felt a flutter of anticipation, a rise of ire within him, within Victoria. She did not so much leap as soar to the soldier, her hands clutching him about the wrist. In an instant, she had his life. As his body surrendered to the stone floor, a rush consumed her. Shep shared it intimately. If he had ever shot cocaine, he had a feeling this is just the way it would have felt.

  Octavian’s hand was on his short sword when she turned back to him. All his gusto evaporated. His glossy eyes were wide and terror-stricken.

  Victoria extended a finger, pointing squarely at the Roman. “Think me not the fool. My eyes see both without and within. Tell me, what are your intentions for the queen?”

  A few moments passed in silence, in which the goddess’s eyes never wavered from Octavian’s.

  “Ah, you intend to present her in chains to Rome, do you?” she snickered at last. The look of surprise on Octavian’s face, the incredulous confusion when she spoke aloud his thoughts, was almost amusing. “Surely, Caesar will know that a woman of her prestige, loved not only by Marc Antony, but also treasured by your father, and bearer of children of both stocks, would turn a tender heart if rendered like a dog unto the Senate. Yes, I see your conflict as well. It is also not in your interest to kill her. Strike down a woman of such regal repose who has already acquiesced her power to you, and you’ll be seen as a ruthless barbarian. Worse than Scythian, really. And that is what you fear, is it not? You are among that lot of men who seeks legacy. You seek to act in a manner begetting praise for your intelligence and metered compassion, not as a wolf from whose jaw the entrails of his enemy still glisten as he sings their lesser praises.”

  “How do you come to know this?” Octavian gasped. “Even my generals know not ...”

  Victoria extended one, lovely, ring-bearing finger and tapped it to Octavian’s temple. He flinched, but remained otherwise motionless. “You really are quite an interesting mortal, Octavian. In another life, I might have wished to have been your ally.”

  She turned and meandered through the room, taking note of its fineries. This had once been Cleopatra’s private chamber, and she detested Octavian’s presence.

  “My God—”

  “Goddess.” Victoria was quick to correct. When she reached the mantle of the fire, she turned, resting one arm on the hearth’s head. “Allow me to be frank, Octavian. Great as I am, I know that I cannot take on the might of Rome. Your father and comrade are dead. No doubt you seek retribution. You may kill her, but as your own thoughts reveal, either of your choices hold in it a fault. I wish to suggest to you a third path.”

  His grin confirmed his interests.

  “Take her to Rome, but not in chains. Let her walk among the people dethroned. Let her be humiliated in the eyes of the citizenry as no more than a tramp who only maintained power by bedding the Roman seat. I will take her children away from Egypt, and return them to Rome and to the house of your sister, as is your desire. Then, after some time, you will render Cleopatra back unto me. I will take her into seclusion, and she will be no more a threat to you than the blowing of the wind.”

  “I fail to see, Goddess,” he ground the title like a curse word between his teeth, “how this lies in your interest. Your country falls, your ruler disgraced. Your civilization dies.”

  “All this is already done.” She shrugged. “I only seek to keep her and her issue on this side of the afterlife. I care not for her gallant aspirations.”

  “And why not simply strike me down and be off with her?” His eyes moved to the body of the soldier on the ground nearby. “It seems you could deliver me to my grave at your leisure.”

  “I have my own reasons, and ask nothing more of it. Your death at this moment would benefit me little.”

  Standing, Octavian crossed his arms over his chest and rolled on the balls of his feet. He mused the idea. “You will grant me two concessions.”

  She gave a slight bow of her head. The movement seemed mocking, given her general contempt evidenced in her other graces. “Yes, Caesar?”

  “You will be the appointed guardian of the children of Marc Antony and Cleopatra. You shall care for them under the watch of my sister, Antony’s true widow, in Rome. Caesarian, however, you will render unto me in one week’s time.”

  “For what purpose, Caesar?”

  He nearly spat at her. “For assurance, Sekhmet. Surely you do not think the queen will yield at this moment if she believes any of her children will come to harm from it.”

  “You will have his head?”

  “Is it not my due?” Octavian sneered, knowing she could not deny the need of the ruse. “Nothing comes for nothing, Sekhmet. You can have the life of your Cleopatra, if I can have the life of her Caesar. Now, if you wish to see through this accord, go unto your queen and seek her surrender. I will await word.”

  -Ψ-

  Shep felt his brain slam into the back of his head, and swore a pickaxe had it in for his eyeballs. The scene in their conjoined minds shifted. Now
he saw himself in an opulent burial chamber—he had been in enough of them to recognize the set up—looking at the floor. As Victoria’s eyes raised, they were greeted by the misunderstanding stare of three women. Two were dressed similarly to each other, braided wigs upon their heads and the finest white, linen kalisiris around their bodies. Between them sat the third, a woman who looked as though she had just surfaced from death’s door. And yet, she was ... magnanimous. Cleopatra was one of those rare women whose features did not stun the eye; none of her contemporaries noted her as a beauty. However, she was also a woman in whose company one could not help but be turned to that opinion from the manner of her carriage. Even at thirty-nine, she still boasted of a confident manner and noble air. As she met eyes with Victoria, she flew from her chair and fell into the slender arms of the goddess.

  “You came back,” she cried into Victoria’s chest.

  Smoothing down her hair, Victoria drew the queen to her bosom. “Now, my fig, I told you I would return. Just because I was upset did not mean I had renounced you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cleopatra wept. “How did you ... Does Octavian know you’re here?”

  They walked toward the dais where, oddly enough for a mausoleum, a throne sat. Nearby, a wooden-framed bed covered in gold leaf held baskets overflowing with gold, gems, and silver, and complimented larger baskets filled similarly about the floor. Cleo had thought well her plan. Octavian may have kept her prisoner, but Cleopatra had brought all her treasury into confinement with her. It wouldn’t take but a few vats of oil and a torch to melt it all into a pool of nothingness.

  Victoria nodded. “I have spoken with him.”

  The queen’s face fell. “And?”