RedFire
Chapter 4
“It was violent this time,” he heard a man whisper, the voice filled with dark concern.
“That’s because your gift is expanding, my dear Leo,” a softer, feminine voice answered. “As we’ve known for months now.”
Jax groaned against a hard surface, his bones feeling brittle and aged. His entire body ached, and for some unknown reason he couldn’t open his eyes. Whoever the bloody fools were, the ones talking over his prone form, they were being too damned loud.
“Quiet,” he managed to moan. Only it came out more guttural than intelligible.
A pair of small hands, firm ones, stroked the hair away from his brow. “There we go; you’re coming around.” The voice was feminine, solid and sure. Familiar somehow, he just couldn’t place why.
“Fuck . . . off,” he growled, his head exploding like a grenade.
“Now we know you’re truly all right,” the deep familiar voice countered. “Wake up, Spartan. We need to talk.”
Leonidas.
Jax rolled onto his side, grunting loudly, and had to squint against the glare of bright lights. Blinking, he re alized he wasn’t in the king’s castle anymore. This place was more of a low roofed English cottage, and he recognized it. But from where?
A pair of piercing blue eyes peered down into his, framed within an elfin female face. The vision quest was suddenly making much more sense.
“Oracle,” he greeted, struggling to sit up. He’d been laid out on her hardwood floor, sprawled as if he’d just spent ten days on a bender. He ought to know; he’d gotten pissed often enough recently.
“Here, let me help you up.” The king, squatting beside Jax, extended a hand. Jax took it and managed to sit straight up, although the room was spinning like a whirlwind.
“Are you responsible for this?” he asked his com mander with another groan. “Did you drug me with that bowl of wine?”
The Oracle laughed faintly. “I’m afraid it’s merely”—she hesitated, casting an oddly tender look at the king—“Leo’s gift. He’s growing much more powerful lately.”
“You give me too much credit, Oracle,” Leonidas replied, avoiding her eyes.
Wait—since when had their king been able to hear or see their Oracle?
Jax jabbed a finger in the Oracle’s direction. “Hey, now. I thought I’m the only one among our corps who can see you. So what’s up with Leonidas? Since when has he been in on your act?”
When neither of them answered his question, he glanced back and forth between them.
“Oh, I get it,” Jax said finally. “The whole ‘you’re the only one who can hear her’ thing has been a ruse all along. But to what purpose? I’m hardly indispens able, especially if you can hear and see her yourself, my king.”
Leonidas’s gaze flickered slightly, and he glanced away. “Not a ruse at all. It’s just . . .well, Jax, what you’ve been hearing about my gifts increasing, the murmurings among the cadre. It’s all true, but I don’t have much con trol. You saw what just happened when I tried to offer you a vision. And now look at you, half sick, shaking all over, transported to the Oracle’s home. Not much control at all. Clearly.” His king bowed his head, looking apologetic.
Jax was still more than slightly confused. “But what does this have to do with her?” Ajax gestured rudely toward the prophetess, who scrunched up her rhinestone pierced nose at him like any little sister might do. He was amazed she didn’t stick her tongue out at him.
“About a month ago I saw her for the first time,” his king began, rubbing a hand across his curling beard. “After all these years she appeared on the cliffs beside my castle. It was morning, and suddenly I glimpsed a woman.”
“Me.” The prophetess flashed an impish grin and made the rock ’n’ roll symbol with both hands. “Freaking A!”
Leonidas stared at her for a full five seconds—as if she were the strange twist of nature that Jax had long known her to be. Twisted and sexy—if you were into prophetess types, that was—and to Jax, she was more supernatural sister than sex siren. Leonidas, on the other hand, didn’t have so many centuries of familiarity with their muse. Her leather miniskirt and Gothic makeup and hair were probably revving his kingly engine right up.
“I can’t hear her prophesy.” Leo’s words were plain as he glanced across the room. Forced himself to look away was more like it, Jax figured.
“When I try to give him the words,” she explained, “I disappear. Well, at least to him. So it’s still all on you, Ajax. Sorry.” She gave a little shrug that said she really wasn’t sorry at all. “Cup of tea?” She bounced to her feet brightly, her leather getup crackling like fallen leaves.
She crossed the room to a sideboard, where a steam ing pot waited, and he realized for the first time that there were vivid blue streaks in her black hair.
“New look for you, Goth Girl?”
She beamed, pouring tea for all three of them. “I’m in Delphi, England,” she explained, her accent taking on a decidedly British clip. “Thought I’d do my best to fit in.”
“Darling, you never blend in anywhere you go.” Ajax laughed, watching her. “And there’s no such place as Delphi, England, anyway.”
“There is when I’m involved. And for what it’s worth, Leo was behind the teleportation, not me.”
Leo? Well, aren’t the two of them getting awfully chummy.
“Thank you, sir.” Jax gave a mock bow in his king’s direction. “Good job, I suppose. At least I’m only lightly scrambled.”
“Sorry, old friend. It wasn’t my intention.” Leonidas inclined his head respectfully. “As I said, I don’t have the proper control over my abilities these days.”
“Curious. Your powers are increasing for no particu lar reason?” Jax addressed the question to his king, but his gaze was squared on the Oracle. Something about the whole situation was just . . . off.
Neither of them answered. Yes, curious indeed. He glanced at Leonidas.
“Warfare conditions have been changing very rapidly.” The king pierced him with a hard gaze. “The time for rebellion is over, dear Ajax. The time to fight is now.”
The Oracle had transported Leonidas back to his castle, leaving Ajax alone with her for the prophesy ing, which always veered into the personal and intimate realm. Thank the gods for our king’s gentler and more sensitive side, he thought, grateful for the leader’s will ing absence as the Oracle placed warm stones on Jax’s open palms. The two of them sat facing each other in front of her fire, knee to-knee in cross-legged style. With a quick waving of her hands, her outfit had been trans formed to something much more casual. Now she wore a Sex Pistols T-shirt and ripped up blue jeans—still with the blue hair and black lipstick, though.
She hadn’t yet begun, and spoke softly to him as she laid the healing stones upon his palms and wrists. “Tell me what your king said while you were alone.” Her voice was soft and commanding, hypnotic—even her speech patterns became ancient as she spoke to him in Greek. She placed her palms atop his open ones, squeezing the stones between their hands, creating a shared mystic connection.
His eyes drifted shut. “That he’s found three dead hawks on his property in the past month,” Jax murmured. “The last one right on his doorstep. He believes it a sign that darkness is coming to the hawk protectors . . . to our corps.”
“He is correct. You should trust him more.”
“I trust him with my very soul. I followed him into this abyss of an immortal life.”
She made a chiding sound. “Your king loves you most of all—more than the others who walk with him and serve him.”
“I know.” Jax kept his eyes closed, nodding.
“He worries for your soul of late.”
“I . . . I don’t want that.” Guilt put a stranglehold on him. “I’ve only been . . .” Begging to be set free from my duties. Aching to die and pass to the next realm. Exhausted from battle.
“You’ve been wandering for far, far too long. And your king has gazed into the coming darkness. This is why he fears for your soul.”
Jax shivered at her words as she continued in a trance like voice. “It is an honor that the gods chose you as my receiver. It may be a burden, but they have blessed you. The Highest God, the one true, He honors you. These are His words, not mine. I do not listen to angels, to the winds . . . I listen for holy words, and so far you are the only one among the Spartans who has been deemed worthy to hear them. You are their guide, even more than I.”
For a brief moment, his concentration wavered. Did she just say “Highest God”? She couldn’t possibly mean Ares, so who—
His thoughts were interrupted as the Oracle continued in a firm tone, “Ajax Petrakos, a dire fate approaches . . . a dire . . . fate.” Abruptly she stopped, releasing a high keening sound. Jax’s eyes flew open, and she jerked backward, jackknifing against the floor. Her entire body became racked with terrible paroxysms.
“Oracle! What’s wrong?” He lunged for her, the warm stones flying across the floor. He shook her shoulders, but she kept on shuddering, shaking. Her blue eyes rolled straight back in her head.
This was totally unlike the woman, and damn it, he was scared. “Please,” he begged, pinning her against the floor with both hands in an effort to stop her convulsions. “Stop this! I’m right here . . . tell me how I can help you!” He would have used her name if he knew it, but he’d never been given that privilege. None of them had. “Please, I want to help you. Just tell me how.”
She finally stilled, lying on the floor, gasping for breath. Reaching for him, she bunched handfuls of his sweater within her hands, pulling him closer. This woman had always been strangely like a sister to him, and he felt her current pain like a spear through his gut.
“Listen carefully, Jax. The swirling darkness surrounds your warrior band. A trial comes . . . couched in fire. There is a crown of death about your head. The Highest God calls upon you to fight the ancient evil, the demonic force that stormed the Hot Gates. Your old nemesis stands ready, but you will go alone. You will fight upon the Savannah plain. The warrant comes, a death notice has been given, and when you begin your venture there, the answers will come at last. Oglethorpe upon the square, a circle of light, angels all around you.”
And then, just as quickly, she snapped right back to her usual self. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, working to put her spiky hair back in place. “Wow! That was a big one, wasn’t it?” She laughed, becoming totally modern, and they might as well have been discussing the latest episode of Dr. Who.
He gave her shoulder a shake. “Woman, you scared the piss out of me.”
“With what I said?”
“With the way you acted. You’ve never done that before.”
She gave him a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Heavy times ahead, dear soldier. But you are strong enough to face them down.”
“Did you just tell me there’s a death warrant on our heads? From the Djinn demons?”
She shrugged, rising to her feet. “I only speak the words I’m given.”
He rose with her. “Well, you aren’t right. We can’t ever be killed—remember?” He gave her a playful rap on the side of the head. “We’re immortals? Hullo? No killing in immortality.”
Although he argued the point, deep down he knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. An endless life didn’t precisely translate to being unable to die. There were certain prescriptions, methods the demons knew how to use. I could finally be free. Finally pass into Elysium and see my sons. He wrestled the thought aside, seduced despite himself into the idea of meeting the Persian Djinn in battle once again.
The Oracle moved toward the sideboard, where the tea sat steaming, and he followed her, refusing to back down despite her abrupt change in mood. “You mentioned the savanna plain,” he said. “I hate working in Africa . . . last time I was there, I came upon a particu larly nasty variety of demon, the Bori. Nasty. Nas-tee, I’m telling you.”
She began pouring herself another cup of tea and glanced sideways at him. “You silly Spartan, I’m not talking about Africa—which is quite lovely, by the way. Savannah, Georgia. That’s where you’re going. Ready to travel?”
“What in Zeus’s name is in Georgia, of all places?”
She smiled at him, that mysterious little grin that he’d come to know meant she was sitting on something big. But then the grin slipped, and her lips turned down slightly, almost as if she’d just remembered some intense worry.
Ajax clasped her arm. “Oracle, there’s something else. You said something about a Highest God. What did you mean? You’ve never said anything like that before.”
A flicker of worry passed across her eyes and she shook her head. “The rules for our interaction remain in place. No explanations or speculations on my part. You know those rules, Ajax.”
“The rules remain in place, which is why you need to discuss this with me!” he insisted, in a soft but forceful tone. “I know you weren’t referring to Ares when you said that, which I would say is breaking a pretty signifi cant rule. As your receiver, I need to know where these prophecies are coming from. You owe that to me.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor for a long moment, and at first he wondered if she would respond at all. Then, in a subdued tone, she began. “I work against Ares when I can because I no longer trust him . . . or his interests regarding you Spartans, who are so dear to my heart.”
Ajax coudn’t help but laugh. “And you’ve only figured out his fickle nature in recent times? Dearest Oracle, Ares only follows his own changing desires, nothing more.”
The Oracle sighed and continued. “You know your self, Ajax, that as times passes—thousands upon thousands of years of time—we find that certain truths begin to crumble, and some assumptions reveal themselves to be just that . . . assumptions.”
Ajax knitted his brow in confusion, but nodded for her to continue. Her voice grew much lower. “There is a Higher God, a Nameless One, who stands above every god at Olympus. I can’t tell you how I know this. But if He identified Himself in some way through my proph ecy to you, then I suppose He wants to make Himself known, make His power known,” she said quietly. “That is why, when He chooses to speak through me, I give you His words, no one else’s.”
Ajax stared silently at the Oracle, perplexed, but he could not shake the feeling that some part of him had already known what she just told him. He opened his mouth to respond, but the Oracle waved him off.
“Enough of this,” she said brightly. “I won’t say a word more. Are you ready for me to send you to Savannah?”
That he didn’t possess the power to teleport on his own had always been terribly annoying, now more than ever, when his cohorts seemed hell-bent on poofing him to and fro. It would take half an hour if he winged it, but it was more than doable.
She reached for his hands, ready to send him across the world, but he thrust his chest out in defiance. “I’ve got it covered, thanks.”
He started to disrobe in preparation for flight, but she waved him off. “Bah. No time for all that. I’m just going to send you.” She raised her arms in a shooing motion, her voice like tinkling wind chimes. “So sorry. Too bad. The need is now. I will do my best to make sure Leoni das understands the stakes . . . so long as I don’t disappear while telling him.”
He grabbed one of her thin, pale arms. “Wait! I want to ask you about Shayanna Angel,” he blurted. “I had a vision of her. . . . Leonidas gave it to me back at his castle.”
She only smiled, already fading from his vision. “No time at all—you must go.”
“First tell me about Shay! I need to—”
He never got to finish. All at once he was hurtling through a massive tunnel of wind. Time and space met as one, transporting him from England, across the At lantic, right to his new battleground: Savannah, Georgia, USA.
After Jax vanished, the Oracle sank into the love seat, all energy gone. The prophesying had taken more than the usual toll on her. His questions afterward had been even more draining; their interactions always wore her out. She should be able to warn them all, in easy words, plain ones. That she wasn’t allowed to do so seemed entirely unfair.
For a brief moment she thought of Leo, of his beau tiful, quiet strength. Without meaning to, she placed a palm over her chest. Oh, please, gods, protect the king from this coming darkness. She cared dearly for Jax as well, but now that Leonidas could finally see her, after aeons of her wishing and hoping that he would . . . she simply couldn’t lose him. Not before they’d even been given a chance to be together.
That was, if he even felt something for her. He’d only just met her, whereas she had watched him, loved him, wanted him for more than a thousand years.
She didn’t know which god had finally granted her freedom from that hellish prison, the stony place where she had been forever doomed to love the king from a distance, but she would take what fate offered.
A knock on her front door startled her. It wasn’t ex actly as if she received visitors here in her strange home in North Hampshire. An ancient writ declared that this small hamlet had once been called Delphi. That was good enough for her in terms of a British residence.
She cracked open the door cautiously, peering out, and a seven-foot-tall golden god draped himself against the doorjamb. This was the very last thing she needed.
“You going to let me in? Or is he still here, your lover man?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you may come in, yes.” She opened the door and Ares breezed past her, golden hair flowing down his back. Cocky, arrogant god, she thought with a scowl.
Their relationship had deteriorated centuries ago; if he hadn’t originally included her in his arrangement with the Spartans, she was fairly sure he would have removed her from their lives long before now. As it was, unless he wanted to violate the terms of his own agreement, the god was stuck with her—as she was with him.
“Oh, how very quaint,” he said, noticing the cups of tea. “You’ve been entertaining.” He sniffed of the air about them. “And Spartans, how glorious. I can only surmise that this would be the two warriors who are capable of seeing you—Ajax and Leonidas.”
She folded her arms across her chest and said only, “What do you want, Ares?”
He tossed back his head in laughter, the draped cloak that covered his near-nakedness falling open to reveal his fantastically muscled chest. “Ah, so I struck a chord. You are mooning, as ever, after good King Leonidas.”
“Jealousy does not become you, my lord.”
He grabbed her by the hair, taking her roughly into his arms. Pressing his mouth against her ear, he murmured, “You warned them, didn’t you? Don’t tell me that you didn’t.”
“I speak the words the gods give me. It’s the least I can do.”
“I am a god.” His tone boiled with fury, and he snapped her head against his chest. “I am their god, their master—not you.”
“I know what you have planned.”
“You’ve no idea,” he snarled.
“Your boredom promises to bring great pain to many. So I listened to the other gods, my lord, and allowed them to speak through me. The Highest God of all.”
“Oh, him,” he growled in distaste.
“He can command you in a breath, so I’d be careful, Ares.”
“I’m not bored,” he drawled. “There just isn’t enough war anymore—not the sort of epic spiritual battles, fire raining down from heaven, that sort of thing. There’s been a stalemate between the Djinn and the Spartans for too long.”
“So you’re forcing your hand, bringing the conflict to a crisis?”
He slid his cape about her shoulders, covering them as one. “Like you said, prophetess . . . it’s the least I could do.”
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