The Necromancer's Grimoire Page 29

  Nadira lowered her arms to her sides as the sky cleared over the ship and the thunder faded to low mumbling in the distance. The sea calmed to a glassy shimmer beneath the hull. A few minutes later, except for the soaking deck and the dead man who fell from the spars, there was little to show that a great storm had swept through the White Sea.

  The silence that followed was full of fear. The sailors facing her dropped to their knees and touched their foreheads to the deck, arms in front of them.

  Piri handed off the tiller to his second and approached her with long swinging steps. “She is not a God,” he shouted to his men, waving his arms at the sky. “There is but one God.”

  Nadira dropped her arms all the way to her sides. “I am not God,” she agreed.

  Piri stared hard at her and his mouth was set in a straight line, his lips pressed together. “Jiniri,” he said slowly and distinctly. “I want you off my ship!”

  Nadira looked around the ship at the torn canvas and the prostrate sailors. “Soon,” she assured him. “Very soon. But first…” She was interrupted by a cry from below decks.

  “What are you doing, jiniri?” Piri asked her tightly as they both turned toward the sound.

  DiMarco emerged from another hatch, his velvets dripping with sea water and his eyes wild. He stumbled toward Nadira and fell to his knees at her feet. He clutched her ankles and cried in Latin, “Save me, Madonna!”

  “She is not the mother of God either!” Piri shouted again in Latin, his exasperation was punctuated with a long sweep of his arm, encompassing the ship, the sky, and the sea. The sailors would not understand the Latin, but DiMarco’s distress and Piri’s anger was evident in any language.

  “Senore,” Nadira began. She bent to peel his fingers from her legs. “I have saved you, the storm is gone.”

  “But the storm inside me rages! He comes not for this ship but for my soul!”

  Nadira knelt so she was face to face with the frightened alchemist. She put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “He cannot take your soul,” she said as calmly as she could, hoping it was true.

  DiMarco’s eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the deck. Nadira leaned over him and loosened the ties around his neck, feeling under his beard for a pulse.

  “He is dead?” Piri went down on one knee beside her.

  “No. He has frightened himself into a stupor,” she answered with a sigh. “He believes his God is angry with him.”

  “Christians,” Piri snorted.

  Nadira made a face that agreed with him as she put a hand on the alchemist’s forehead. He was feverish. He had said that sea journeys did not agree with him. “I think he is ill,” she murmured. “We can get him into a hammock and…” she was interrupted by an icy breeze that blew past them and lifted her silks and fluttered Piri’s robes. The sailors cried out in unison.

  A dark swirling cloud formed over DiMarco’s chest. Piri’s eyes widened and his lips parted just enough to permit him to gasp, “Do something, jiniri.”

  Nadira drew back in surprise from the growing pillar of cloud rotating slowly over DiMarco’s body. She put her hand slowly toward it and felt the frigid presence of something from hell. With a sinking nausea she realized the necromancer could, indeed, take a man’s soul. He was sending a demon to reap DiMarco’s as they watched in horror.

  “Do not permit it,” Piri said to her. “Strike at him.”

  She glanced at the reis before turning back to the darkness before them. “I do not know how,” she breathed. “I do not know how.”

  She put her hands up and willed a skein of tendrils to shield the alchemist. Her defense crumbled into dust that puffed once and then dispersed. She realized she could protect the ship because her own safety was linked to the ship’s soundness, but this demon would suck the life from a man and she could do nothing. The evil presence in the cloud expanded as she completed this thought. It grew in strength and completely covered DiMarco’s body with a black oily smoke that stank of fish and offal.

  “Jiniri,” Piri whispered, “do something.”

  Nadira raised her hands, palms toward DiMarco’s chest and called, “I command you to stop!”

  She did not know what the sailors heard. They moaned and cried out to their God. She heard the necromancer inside her. You cannot stop me, woman.

  The cold black cloud disintegrated with the sound of a sharp clap. DiMarco arched his back once and then lay still. Piri leaned over him, one hand on his shoulder and a finger to the old man’s throat. He turned his dark eyes on her and she read both disquiet and distrust. He pulled back his hands and placed them both on his knees. “Why did you not save him when he begged you, jiniri?”

  Tears welled up unbidden and spilled over her cheeks and fell to the already sodden deck. She wiped at them and shook her head. “Because I am not his God,” she told him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Below decks Montrose opened his eyes. His face was white and haggard. There were lines at the corners of his eyes that had not been there three days ago. She squeezed his arm.

  “Robert.” After DiMarco’s death Nadira had crawled into the baron’s hammock and stayed there, arm across his chest, alert for cold black wisps of cloud. She was exhausted from her anxious vigil, but elated to see the blue eyes open.

  He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes touched her all over. “I feel terrible. I do not want to do that again,” he said.

  She nodded. “And you won’t if you keep your hands out of my books.”

  “It will be a long time before I touch a book again,” he shuddered.

  “Tell me what happened,” she asked him. “Did you kill the dragon?”

  His brow furrowed. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you know about the dragon.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured, “But I would know what happened. Tell me.”

  He shook his head. “I did not kill it. But neither did it kill me. We both dropped to the grass, exhausted. A sheepdog licked my face and I found myself here.”

  She let her breath out slowly. “Food and drink, my lord, then we land.”

  “I am famished. I imagine I missed supper.”

  She smiled sadly. With a push and a tug she climbed out of the hammock and steadied it for him so he could swing his long legs out of the rope net. “You have missed six meals. I will be surprised if you can walk.” She nodded as he went to his knees on the deck. “See?” She helped him lurch to his feet as the ship swayed. “Hold to the bulkhead then sit here. William brings you some food.”

  “Six meals?”

  “Three days. We anchor tonight and land with the tide in the morning.”

  “Good God.”

  “Indeed,” she straightened his tunic and loosened his belt. She glanced up with flashing eyes as she untied the laces at his throat. “Do not touch my books again.”

  “I will not touch them again.” He shook his head. “The sheepdog told me…” he stopped, realizing how insane that sounded.

  She put her hands on her hips and spread her feet to stay upright as the ship rocked. “What did he tell you?”

  Montrose grimaced. “He told me that the next time I wanted to prove my courage to you, I needed to…” he paused and she watched the struggle on his face. “He said ‘All action is not courage.’ He said, ‘sometimes the greatest strength is in what we refrain from doing.’” He looked up at her. “But he would not say what I must refrain from doing. When I asked him he just barked at me.”

  Nadira opened her mouth to tell him, but as she began to form the words she felt the dragon’s teeth bite her body. She had learned her lesson. She tightened her lips and turned away. “The wisdom of dogs,” she muttered. She fumbled with their baggage that lay stowed near the hammocks. “I have a fresh tunic for you. Put it on.”

  He pulled his shirt out of his belt and tugged it over his head, then reached for the one she held out for him.

  William came down the ladder with a bowl under his arm. He handed it
to Montrose.

  “I am pleased to see you back with us, my lord.”

  Montrose nodded as he shoveled the food into his mouth, using his fingers as a spoon. Nadira took William’s arm and led him to the ladder. “DiMarco?” she asked.

  “The reis insisted on burial at sea before he would order the sails to be set. He said he would not tolerate the corpse on his ship. He said it was cursed.” William would not meet her eyes. The Grimoire had told him what happened on deck. The image of Nicolas Flamel was gone.

  Nadira closed her eyes and then said, “Kemal Reis gave me the name of his friend and a letter of introduction. We will stay there in his house while I search for the priestess. You will write letters for my lord Montrose. We must try to find the rest of the Templars. Two are in Venice. Where is Reginald?”

  William touched the Grimoire with a gesture that was becoming very familiar. “I will find him.”

  “I know you will. When you do, write to him and tell him about the recovered relics, but hint of it only.”

  “Yes.”

  “And…”

  He looked at her expectantly. She realized she was giving orders. She glanced at Montrose. He had obeyed every order she gave him from the moment he opened his eyes.

  “Nadira?” William prompted.

  “Keep an eye on the baron. He will not be himself for some time.”

  “I remember.”

  “That is all. I go above to reassure the reis.” He nodded and joined Montrose.

  She climbed toward the light. Piri was busy with his men. Sails were being lowered and the ship was turned into the wind to slow it. The seamanship necessary to bring it in gracefully with the tide required exquisite skill and years of experience. She watched him give his orders in Turkish, watched the men respond quickly and efficiently. His eyes touched on her on one of the long visual sweeps he made as he checked every detail of his rigging.

  He walked towards her and stopped many paces away. He rubbed the short beard on his chin and his eyes were wary. “Sultana,” he said. It was obvious he did not wish to come any closer.

  “Piri Reis, I wish to thank you for this voyage. I will leave you soon, in peace and safe from harm.”

  It was obvious he wanted her gone as soon as possible. He gave her a polite bow. She tipped her head in acknowledgement. A sailor called out to him and he turned away from her. She said to his back, “Tell Kemaleddin Reis I will return. Tell him.” Piri nodded once and left her alone at the rail.

  Now, she turned and looked at the craggy rocks and high cliffs of Attica, to find the priestess.

  The ship anchored in the small harbor and they disembarked on a warm day full of sunshine and the raucous noise of the seabirds wheeling above them. The sailors hurried them along, eager to get the jiniri off their ship and onto Greek soil. Piri Reis did not leave his ship, nor did he return Nadira’s polite wave from the rowboat. He turned his back and shouted something to the men in the rigging and Nadira turned to face the shore. The priestess lives here. Somewhere. Her eyes swept the gentle waves where they lapped the land.

  The town of Eleusis rose from the sea with low stucco buildings and wide streets of crushed stone. Busy men loaded and unloaded small boats that were pulled up on the pebbly shore and carried bundles on their shoulders up the steep bluffs to the market. Nadira wrinkled her nose at the hint of fish, but this small harbor town was free from Istanbul’s strong smell of congestion and authority. Eleusis smelled freshly of promise.

  The business of their lodging was settled with little trouble. Their host was a man who owned many houses in Attica. He led the small group up the bluffs from the harbor to a modest villa perched on a rise that faced the sea. Montrose paid four longshoremen to carry the wounded Templars up the steep hill in slings made of sailcloth, exactly as Richard had been carried by Massey’s men. Nadira shook those images from her mind as she followed them. The landlord opened the house for them.

  Later she waited in the walled garden while her rooms were readied and the servants dispersed to obtain food and wine for the new tenants. William was gone to the small market in Eleusis to get his writing materials and Montrose went with him to scout the area. Kemal Reis had given them an enormous amount of money. She sighed. He wants to be sure I return to heal his soul.

  She spent her time casting out for the priestess. She held the Grimoire in her lap, turning the pages. William had been reluctant to let it go, but had placed it in her hands with a loving caress of its cover.

  She looked down at it now. The cover was worn and soiled in places. The very center contained a painted drawing of a circle within circles and a seven pointed star. Strange symbols were written within this circle. She wondered if it were some kind of geometry. The necromancer had been correct when he criticized her education. She had not spent years studying with a teacher. She did not know what the symbols meant or how they were to be used.

  The priestess is to be my teacher. Where are you?

  She opened the book. On the third page her likeness stared back at her with steely-eyed determination. The next page was a philosophy lesson. She flipped again. Here were the figures and words of Pythagoras. Several pages of mathematics. No more images of men.

  The most worn and supple pages were those that contained a single symbol, a long and unintelligible string of letters and then words that described a place. She suspected each page was a portal. When she touched the pages they shimmered. Why do you not speak to me when I ask?

  The book answered her immediately, If answers are merely given, they will fall upon stony ground. They may lie there until they dry up and blow away. The stony ground must be cultivated, the soil sifted and fertilized. When the answer touches the prepared garden of your mind, it will grow into wordless meaning and comprehension. You will own the answers.

  She inhaled slowly. As I suspected. I am not ready.

  Get to work. She waits for you.

  Nadira sat up straighter and pinched the pages of the book. “Where?” she insisted. “How can I find her?”

  Garreth will find her.

  Nadira closed the book and put her hand on the cover. Garreth. Alisdair. Where are they? She closed her eyes. On a ship. Thedra bought passage for them with the carpets. She cannot be taking them home. Nadira sent tendrils out. They were no longer hiding; they felt safe enough this far from Istanbul to travel openly.

  She touched Alisdair and felt his infatuation with his new lover. He was completely besotted. Thedra had turned him inside out, as she suspected. She could get no tendril into his thoughts, for his great emotion manifested as a shimmering cloud that had no room for any thought but that of his woman.

  She saw her friend dance for him, her veils floated with her movements and then one by one she pulled them from her body and discarded them, draping them over his trembling thighs until he was covered with the flimsy fabric and she danced free from any covering. She saw him reach out and grab for her hips as she twirled past him. Nadira laughed to herself and closed the door on his thoughts.

  But Garreth worried. He kept throwing his thoughts back to Istanbul. He thought she and Montrose and William were still there behind the thick walls.

  She put a tendril into his heart and prodded him until he placed a heavy hand over his chest. Yes. Here I am, Garreth. His pale blue eyes widened. We are in West Attica. It is a part of Greece.

  The big blond man turned to Alisdair and she felt his helplessness. There was no way for him to communicate such a complex idea. He might pantomime, and she had often heard Alisdair ask him yes or no questions until they understood each other, but this would not work this time. Garreth did not know where West Attica was. Nadira was certain Thedra was taking them back to her country. She narrowed her eyes in concentration. Athens. Thedra was taking them to Athens.

  Garreth moved closer to his friend and touched his arm. Alisdair turned from the rail. She watched as Garreth pointed to his chest, then back east to Istanbul, then forward to the west. Alisdair frowned. Gar
reth tried again, this time flattening his palm in front of him at about her height, then grasped his own long blond braid like he would cut it off. Alisdair’s eyes widened in comprehension.

  Tell him, now, the Grimoire prompted.

  She planted the suggestion in his head that they not stop at Athens, but round the peninsula and come to the port city of Eleusis. She tried to put this idea in Thedra’s mind, but her mind was only on her tall spotted man. Thedra stood at his elbow and watched the waves, willing the sun to go down that she might entwine herself in his arms again.

  Ah, love. Nadira rolled her eyes. Please. There is work to do.

  “Nadira.”

  She looked up. Montrose had entered the garden. His arms beckoned. She stood and put herself in them, feeling his warmth and strength. She sighed. Very well. A time for work and a time for love.

  She hugged him, remembering the long vigil on the ship. He seemed to have recovered without harm, but she could not be sure. She looked up and asked him, “You have tasted the Hermetica. I wonder what abilities will remain with you. Can you feel the thoughts of others? Can you hear mine?”

  He shook his head, “No. But now I know some things without being told. But they seem minor. For example, I know what will be served for supper tonight.” He shrugged. “I suppose that can be useful.”

  “It means you are hungry. The ability to know is linked to your thoughts. You will forever know where your next meal is coming from.” She thought for a moment. “You will probably be able to determine a horse’s soundness by touching it, and you will always find the best campsites and know the next day’s weather.”

  He blinked, thinking about this. She lay her cheek against his chest. “You have earned these abilities through the endpapers.” She released him as William entered the garden.

  Montrose seated himself on a wooden bench near the wall. William greeted him with a nod and handed Nadira a piece of flatbread. He gave one to Montrose and sat down to eat his own.