Chapter 22

A cool breeze that wafted in through an open window made Astraea shiver, and, wrapping her arms around her bare shoulders, she wondered if she was dead. She sat up, and walked over to a mirror. She didn't see her own reflection, but instead, a different face looked back at her, one that wore a beautiful yet melancholy expression.

The woman's eyes surveyed her skin. When she ran a comb through her long black hair, her body oscillated, and the satin gown that she wore clung to the curvature of her body. It was when she looked to her right hand that Astraea espied that unique and strange mark, was this the same girl that she'd dreamt about in the Red Chimera? The woman threw on a blouse, and, taking her pelisse, she headed outside.

The kingdom Astraea saw was unknown to her; she gazed around as the woman hurried along the narrow city streets. She thought the people looked sad. It was as if an ill omen lingered in the air, oppressing them.

They arrived at a marvellous building where statues stood on all sides; stained glass windows depicted scenarios of battle and religion. The lady didn't pause, and instead darted across the threshold. Her little feet scurried along to a great wooden door. Beyond which, was the parliament where ministers in white gowns debated a singular topic – war. The king seated upon a golden throne wore a countenance weighed down by worry; the senate had a desperate air.

Moros said, "The coming battle is inevitable."

"Nonsense, the only war that we shall fight is one that we ourselves bring about," a political opponent countered.

The chamber was split along party lines.

Moros continued, "Our scouts report that Damascus has moved 20,000 persons from Tarasch to Karpov," the council drew a collective breath. "What is in Karpov?" Moros answered his own rhetoric, "Factories."

The senate was silent while Moros continued, "Is the emigration of such a large workforce likely to be on peaceful ventures, or is it something far more likely, something far more sinister? Is it not true, that they build, in secret, machines of war?"

He seated to an erupting chamber, parchments waved furiously.

"What of Tartarus?" Palioxis asked, "Are the rumours true?"

Some cried yes, others no.

A backbencher cried euphorically, "They will build a Prometheus Cannon."

The red king rested his head in his hands because the debate continued as it had for weeks, and it brought him no closer to solving the problems that threatened his people.

Proteus, a youthful and vigorous minister seized the floor, "What does the Republic of Nartha say about this?"

"They worry about Asgard. Magus deposits have been located on the border, many claim them as their own," Apollo replied.

"The Republic of Nartha fights over magus in the north, Damascus hordes its strength, Tartarus develops prototype cannons, and in recent years we have seen a proliferation in anti-magus bombs," Proteus paused allowing these words to digest. "These are but the issues on our doorstep, who knows what else is developing further afar, in Ithaca for example." He looked at the vexed faces surrounding him. "We know only that year after year, the situation has deteriorated. A continuation of events, will lead to war."

War, the woman shuddered at this word. Lowering her head in despair she knew - though she did not wish for it – that war was inevitable.

The lady took her leave of parliament, and, as she walked away, she felt the sun setting, ushering in the night.

With a plaintive air she walked through the city streets, she passed over cobbled paths and muddy avenues. Her mind was a fever, but the walk calmed her. At length she stopped before a house on a secluded lane. It was a cottage with a thatched roof. A warmth radiated in her breast. She went directly to the rear, and walked through the open gate.

Three people sat in chairs, reclining in the dusk before a fire. They were in direct contrast to the girl: free from melancholy. They were enjoying the evening and one another's company, that was all. Two were elderly, a man and a woman. Perceiving the mother Astraea could readily see whence the lady - who she was forced to observe - had received her beauty. The other was a girl of similar age to the main actor in these scenes, radiant also. She advanced with outstretched arms, "Sister, it's lovely to see you."

The hole fear had made in her heart was filled with joy and happiness, gayety pervaded heart and soul. She replied, "Priya, it's nice to see you." A smile broke across the lady's countenance as she turned to her parents, "Mama, papa."

Her mother said, "This is such a surprise, you have been so terribly busy of late."

"I am sorry, but there is much being discussed on the council."

"It's an unusual amount of meetings they hold of late. The senate is supposed to meet for no more than a few hours every other day, now they meet all day every day." The woman's father was astute. "What's going on Arethusa?"

Arethusa, Astraea thought, so she was in the body of that little girl again, though now she was a woman of about 20. Astraea recognised the gentle features of Priya, the younger sister whom Arethusa had saved from the dragon in the forest.

"Papa, please, I don't wish to discuss it, I wish only to see those I love, and to forget all else." The answer served only to add fuel to the fire, but upon perceiving his daughter's exhaustion he let the issue lie.

The family thus spoke of Priya's studies at the local arts academy, how her mother's cooking and gardening abilities were becoming famous amongst the peoples of Arcadia, and how her father was enjoying his well-earned retirement.

The day passed, and, while Priya and her mother attended to chores in the kitchen, Arethusa's father took her gently by the arm, and led her before the fire in the main parlour of the house.

"What is it papa?"

"Arethusa," her father paused not because he could not find the words but rather he was concerned about how they might be received, "sometimes you carry too great a burden." He smiled with a warmth that father's do when they look upon their daughters. "It doesn't have to be so, you're young, the youngest ever councillor."

Arethusa lamented, "Papa!"

"Yet even for you, my daughter of whom I am so terribly proud, it is too much."

Arethusa could stand no more and endeavoured to make her exit, but her father blocked her retreat, and continued in sympathetic tones.

"I worry because I'm your father. I beg you, don't let this burden take a hold of you."

Arethusa smiled politely and responded as she must, "Yes father," but inside she believed that she had outgrown him, that his counsel was no longer best practice; she gave her love to her family, and returned to her own chambers.

***

Astraea awoke; she lay in bed, recovering from the injuries that had almost claimed her life. She went to her bedroom door, and, still trying to shake the dream from her memory, she overheard the conversation of the 85th.

"That's the second time we've met him, and he's slipped away."

It was the first time Astraea had heard Eros agitated.

"We have no idea where he'll strike next."

"Let's look at his pattern," suggested Typhon. "His ally attacked the forest, and uncovered Uroborus; he acts in Lemuria, and takes an old king's treasure, now Kafka's jewel, why?"

The room was silent.

Skoll said, "Either he is a collector of antiquities, or he is conducting researches for some scheme, which mustn't be good: a man who wears a mask, and acts in secret doesn't do so for honourable purposes."

"What scheme can he have?" Sabriel said, herself still wounded.

No-one could answer this. Eros for his part was terribly vexed; this in turn occasioned his deep frustration. He knew nothing of his enemy, he knew even less of his designs. The knight had reached a dead end in his investigations.

"I put it to him that he'd collected two stones, and when I pressed him further he lashed out. It was because we were close to the matter," Eros said. "He spoke of a sorceress, he said Kafka's jewel was hers, what if the mad king's treasure was also hers?"

Typhon bent forward, "Go on," he said.

"What if there's a third stone? And that he seeks it next."

Sabriel said, "Then we have a chance to catch up with him."

The ambiance came to life, a glimmer of hope flickered in the minds of the 85th.

"The problem is, none of us know anything about these stones, nor any sorceress," Skoll replied.

"Then we find someone who knows what he knows," Eros said firmly.

Astraea had waited, and listened long enough. She exited her room, descended the stairs and came before the coterie. Eros rose from his chair wearing a concerned expression, "Are you okay?" He asked.

"I am fine," Astraea looked uncomfortable, "I wish only for some fresh air. You know how I adore my walks in the evening," she forced a smile.

"Let one of us go with you," Eros was worried because the woman had almost died. "It might not be safe here."

Astraea insisted, "I'm fine, I shan't go far."

Eros didn't like the idea, but he eventually succumbed to Astraea's wishes. Limping alone through the dark streets, she took out her crystal. She held her side where it still hurt. The jade didn't know how long she had been unconscious, surely she was late for her report. "My Lord," she said when his face appeared in the gem's hue.

"Astraea," Sutekh replied - redirecting his attention from something, "I didn't see you at the temple, nor have I heard from you in days. I was worried." The villain didn't know that - when seeking to destroy Eros - he had almost killed Astraea. Upon the stage he'd looked for her amongst the group, but he couldn't see her. Had he known he would never have detonated that solar flare.

"I am fine," she said, "I've been delayed these past few days, please excuse my reticence."

The esoteric lord espied the way the woman carried herself, "You're injured?"

Astraea felt this soon was to be a repetition of the conversation she'd just had with Eros, "It's nothing."

Sutekh sensed Astraea's desire to let the subject lie, and changed his line of inquiry, "What news of our Hyperion friends?"

"They're confused as to what now is to be done." She looked around the dark streets, "However, they know you covet the stones, though they know not of them they will seek out someone who does."

"Then we're safe, no other save the vita obscura know, and they would not reveal a second secret in light of Eros's recent failure." Sutekh ruminated for a moment before an uncomfortable thought, like a pin-prick jutted into his mind, "There is only Daoine Maithe."

"Who?"

"An old fool, but if they were to gain an audience," Sutekh's voice trailed off, his mind raced, he fell into a reverie. When he appeared satisfied he returned to the crystal's hue, silently gazing upon Astraea's visage. Sutekh saw her brow furrowed, "Is something the matter?"

Astraea, tired of dodging questions, desirous of ridding herself of a burden, apprised Lord Sutekh of her dreams. "They are becoming more frequent, I don't know what they are, or what they mean. They burden me for when I sleep, I no longer rest."

"I'll look into the matter. I will make the demons go away."

Astraea mustered a smile, and returned to the lodge.

***

Sutekh wasn't alone in his study, as might have been supposed, because he was in the company of three hooded figures. Sutekh himself sat behind a grand wooden desk while one of the robed malices held a book from a nearby shelf. Another paced along the carpeted floor, and the third - who led the others - came before him.

"We are pleased with your progress," this was a demon; the intonation of its voice could only have originated in Hell. "You have done well Lord Sutekh."

Sutekh was benevolent throughout, accepting their praise, yet he seemed cautious of his visitors, so much so, that one might aptly describe him as being weary of them.

"You have two of the sorceress's stones and Uroboros--"

Sutekh interjected, "But."

"But, you have not dealt with the Hyperions, and you haven't control over your feelings with regards to Astraea."

Sutekh responded to the challenge, "I am in control."

"Be well to remember the fate that awaits you should you fail."

The demons vanished into thin air; Sutekh clenched his fist, and banged it upon his wooden desk.