Chapter Twenty-Five
“Analiese!” Marek breaks through my trance. I clutch his hand, scrambling over the edge and into the freezing water.
Chaos rings out over the plaza, again. Screams echo against the buildings.
“Now what?” I search for Oyá.
Her hurricane knocks many of the beasts over, and it spins toward us. When it hits the fountain, water sprays up. A door opens under Oceanus and his chariot. I wade through the fountain beside Marek to the door, and we spill into a small chamber. Lifting up on my hands and knees, I’m a fish out of water, gulping for air. Marek rolls on his back, panting.
Oyá rushes in, and the door slams shut. Dim blue light comes on. It’s cold, and I’m dripping wet, shivering, my teeth clattering together.
Marek pushes himself up from the floor.
I’m breathing better now, so I stand.
“We must get somewhere warm,” Oyá says, and a panel in the floor opens as she approaches it.
I wrap my arms around myself to try to get warm. My legs are numb as I follow her down a long, narrow corridor. Marek’s wet shoes squish behind me.
“Those things…their faces were scary. Like animals.” My breath stutters over the words.
“They were Risen,” she says.
“We’ve seen a Risen before,” Marek answers. “He didn’t look anything like that guy out there.”
Oyá hesitates before she responds, “He must have been a newly Risen. The longer a Risen lives in their second life, the more evil and stronger they become.” She looks at me as she says her next bit. “They are controlled by the one who raised them from death. At first they have free will, but it is lost the more they develop into a beast, only doing what their Death Riser tells them to do. That is why the people weren’t killed by them. Just the ones who got in their way were injured. They were after you. I tried to determine who the Death Riser was, but there were dummy ones to throw me off. Killing the Death Riser terminates all of their Risen as well.”
Cain would’ve changed. I can’t imagine a meaner Cain, and even though he was a complete ass, I feel horrible for him. Shona did say he was once a kind person.
“Can a Risen be changed?” I ask. “You know, go back to the way they were when they were alive?”
“They are alive,” she looks back at me. “You mean back to how they were in their first life? Maybe.There is a tale about the favorite child of a god of death being able to restore life to how it once was. To make it right. But only if the person died before it was their time. Though it is only a rumor.”
How do rumors get started? Because there is a grain of truth in them. It doesn’t matter. I’m almost sure Cain is dead for good now.
We walk for what feels like two city blocks before going up a set of stairs.
Oyá brings us out of a half door in the back of a shoestring hallway. The walls are a soft yellow with white molding. Smells of lemon and fried food waft in the air. She leads us up a polished marble staircase that winds around and around until we reach the fourth floor. It’s an apartment building.
She unlocks the door and holds it open for us to enter. The apartment is pretty standard for a warrior woman.
“My home is yours. Please, you are to make yourselves comfortable.” She secures the four locks on the door and heads for a back room. “Just a moment.”
Marek and I stand there by the door, our wet clothes dripping on the floor.
I shiver. “How are we supposed to get comfortable? I’m freezing. And we’re too wet to sit on the furniture.”
“We can ask for some towels when she returns.” Marek steps behind me and repeatedly rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Better?”
His light caress is comforting. I’m not sure which goose bumps are from being cold and which are from his touch. I don’t even notice when my head leans back and rests on his shoulder. My eyes stay open. I’m afraid of the images I’ll see if I close them.
Oyá returns, carrying thick towels and what look like robes. “Here, dry off and put these on. We shall talk after you’ve finished. Bring me your wet clothes to dry.”
In her tiny bathroom, I peel off my wet clothes and slip on the terry cloth robe. I inspect my injuries. The bruises on the sides of my neck are purple now. The scratches on my arms, stomach, and back have stopped bleeding. I retrieve my pillbox from the pocket in my jacket, remove a pill, and pop it into my mouth. Cupping my hands, I catch water from the faucet and drink down the tablet.
I remove the rest of the things from my pockets and place them on the counter and gather up my wet clothes. When I come out, Oyá takes the soaking bundle, her eyes briefly going to my neck. She nods and heads to the back rooms.
The smell of something floral and spicy fills the apartment. I ease down the hallway the opposite direction as her, steadying myself with my hand on the wall.
Marek is on the sofa, already back from the bedroom and wearing a blue robe, a blanket draped over his lap. He sips something steaming from a big pink mug. I sit down beside him, and he covers my legs with the plush material.
He turns to face me and places a gentle hand on my shoulder as he inspects my neck. “I’m sorry that happened—” A rush of emotions choke off his words and his eyes gloss, his hand slipping away from me.
“I’m fine.” I stare at a colorful abstract painting of a tiger on the wall, trying not to cry.
Oyá strolls out from the kitchen and places another pink mug in front of me. “Tea. Drink. It will warm you.”
“Thank you.” I pick up the mug and take a sip. There are so many questions in my head, I’m not sure which one to ask first, so I just throw out the first one that comes to mind. “Are you a goddess?”
“In your words that is what I am,” she says. “My people call us orishas.”
Marek places his mug on the coffee table. “How do you have magic? I thought it was taken away from all gods and goddesses.”
She lowers the mug from her mouth. “It was. Ages ago. Our power was put into a talisman.”
Marek stares off at something across the room.
I can’t tell what he’s looking at, maybe nothing, maybe everything. I stop trying to guess.
“Right,” I interject. “And that talisman was broken into six pieces. Hidden away.”
“Your ears have heard the story?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But you—you made those swords appear and rode a hurricane. Last I checked, that’s magic. And we’ve seen another god with power.”
She puts down her mug and leans back against the cushions. “The rumor is that someone has recovered two pieces of the Divinities Keep. They’re called Parzalis. As each piece is put together, the gods and goddesses whose powers are held within those parts receive some of their powers back. When it is whole again, our magic will be returned to all of us.”
“So your power was in those two pieces? Those Parzalises.”
“That is correct,” Oyá says.
Marek snaps out of his trance on whatever it was across the room. “How did whoever it was recover them? Why didn’t the keepers of those pieces prevent it?”
“All the gods have been searching for Keepers since the birth of the talisman. A god we haven’t been able to identify has gotten lucky as of late.” She gives Marek a quick glance before continuing, “When they find one, the god kills the Keeper, then follows the progeny on their quest to moving their piece of the talisman and steals it. And, usually, another murder follows.”
“Why even move the Parzalis if it’s safely hidden?” My frustration is evident in the tone of my voice.
The pain throughout my body is subsiding.
Oyá just smiles and shakes her head as if I didn’t give my comment much thought. ”When one passes from this world to the next, we take our memories with us. Adam carried the location of where he hid your family’s Parzalis with him. There are creatures in the between place who steal these memories and bring them back to the god or goddess they are loyal to. You mortals believe that from death to what you call Heaven happens in a blink of an eye. But in reality, it takes many night skies for the spirit to arrive in the next life.”
Oyá pauses, picks up her mug, and takes a long sip. She places the cup back on the table, her eyes landing on Marek. “That is why you must move what your family has promised to protect. For its location is compromised. It is my assumption that you have not but a fortnight before a creature makes it to this realm with its whereabouts.”
“Fortnight?” Marek asks.
“It is about two of your weeks,” she says.
Marek and I don’t say anything, and the silence stretches on for longer than what’s comfortable. I’m not exactly sure what to think. It’s like glimpsing in the rearview mirror, watching my perceived reality growing smaller. It doesn’t seem possible that we’ve only been in Rome for a few days. It feels like a lifetime.
I remember what both Sid and Ares mentioned, and I decide I need clarity. “I was told that there’s a war between gods going on. What are they fighting over?”
She puckers her lips before answering.“Wars are usually fueled by different beliefs. One side wants to return to the days when gods and goddesses were worshipped. The other is fighting to leave things as they are. Then there are those who haven’t decided one way or the other.”
Brows pushing together, Marek leans forward. “What god or goddess wouldn’t want power?”
“There is always an imbalance where power is concerned,” she says. “Less powerful immortals would be dominated by more powerful ones like in the days of old.”
“That makes sense,” I say, downing the rest of the tea and placing the mug on the table. I feel good. I rub my arm, noticing the deep tears in my skin have healed and are only red marks now.
What did she put in that tea?
“Why did you leave your homeland?” Marek asks.
“Gods and goddesses,” she says, “or divinities, if you will, sense the magic pulsing over Rome. It draws us to it.”
An extended sigh releases from me. “What’s this energy everyone keeps talking about?”
Her eyes hold mine for a quick pause. “No one knows. All I know is it’s coming from you two. I sensed it. That’s how I found you today. In ancient text, this seducing energy is the sign that the war between gods is here. More immortals will arrive in Rome before the week is out.”
“It’s an immortal convention.” Marek snickers, resting his hand on mine. It’s his way to remind me I’m not alone.
I don’t find the amusement in his statement. I’m too worried. My brain is too cluttered with information and questions.
I gather up the nerve to ask, “Which side did you choose?”
“Neither choice will affect my people. They have remained faithful to us, and we will not treat them any differently should our powers be fully restored. But when it comes down to it, I will join the side with the morals that match my own.”
Oyá tosses her throw blanket aside and stands. “Your clothes should be dry shortly. Then you must go. It is best to keep to yourselves. Do not travel with others, especially those with powers.” She stares down at Marek. “Finish your task. Hide your Parzalis.”
When I was younger and didn’t know how to swim, I would hold on to the edge of the pool, going hand over hand around it, watching Dalton and our friends play Marco Polo. I’d taken lessons, but still, I was scared to venture out into the middle. Dad tricked me. Brought me out to the deep end and said before letting go, “You’ll either sink or swim, kiddo. Which is it going to be?”
That’s precisely what Oyá is doing. Dropping us in the middle of the vast city of Rome and seeing if we’ll sink or swim.