The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,55
wish I had never followed those clues found in Homer’s Odyssey and discovered the entrance to Tartarus, where hid the Great Enemy of the poet’s time, the blight that brought three kingdoms to fiery ruin. But I did find it, and in my excitement to return home, I brought back a barrel of what we believed to be Medea’s Oil, as fiery proof of my discovery. But at that time, I had not dared to venture any deeper than the threshold into Tartarus, as I had too few men and my supplies were running low.
Upon returning home, I told my tale, and we four brothers constructed the Storm Atlas, fueled it with Medea’s Oil, and protected it with the Key of Daedalus. But only I was allowed to possess the beams of the Ship-Star, the three tools necessary to unlock the one true course amidst the map’s many false paths. It was you, my brother Ahmad, who rightfully warned that only I should know the location of Tartarus, lest our enemies torture it out of those who stayed behind at the House of Wisdom.
Praise be to Allah for whispering such wisdom into Ahmad’s ear.
Ten mighty dhows left our shores a year ago, ready to reap what could be found—but only one of those ships ever escaped Tartarus, and it will be my grave. I will keep this vigil beside the Storm Atlas until my last breath. For there is another reason I fear to take hammer to our greatest achievement. If what resides in the deepest bowels of Tartarus—those monstrous Titans—ever escape, the Storm Atlas may hold the only hope for the world. To that end, I will hold the keys to that salvation closest to my heart.
Still, a question plagues me: How long will the world be safe?
That unknown terrifies me more than any fiery demon.
Elena read through the last several pages, which were predominantly an expression of affection for the brothers who had been left behind, along with a litany of regret. She began to skim through the rest, but before she could reach the end, voices rose from behind the door. Lost in the story, she had not heard anyone approach her cell.
Gasping, she grabbed both books from the table and struggled to tuck them into her pants. As she did so, something fell out of the spine of Hunayn’s journal. The objects struck and clinked against the stone floor. She dropped to a knee and discovered a trio of four-inch-long nails made of bronze. One end of each bore a tiny flag inscribed with a letter in Arabic.
What are these—
The bar on the door scraped behind her.
With her heart pounding harder, she snatched the bronze nails from the floor and pocketed them as she stood.
The door opened behind her with a complaint of old hinges. A familiar figure strode in. From the dark shade of the Daughter of Moses’s features and the flash in her eyes, Elena could tell that something must have gone wrong overnight. The woman waved Elena brusquely forward, then immediately turned on her heels and headed back out.
“Eajluu,” she ordered in Arabic. “Come with me.”
Elena hurried after her, drawing two armed men in her wake. “Where are we going?”
The woman refused to look at her. “To teach you the first of many lessons.”
From her captor’s hard tone, she was not marching Elena to some classroom or even to the dark library upstairs. In fact, they remained on this dungeon level.
As they crossed down a cavernous hall, Elena kept one hand in her pocket. She palmed the ancient bronze trinkets, keeping them from tapping against one another, fearing they would be heard.
Then out of the darkness ahead, a scream echoed.
She froze, but one of the guards prodded her with the muzzle of his rifle. She stumbled along, fearing the worst.
They’re going to torture me.
At the end of the hall, they reached a double set of doors flanked by fresh torches, the flames dancing high. The Daughter of Moses pounded a fist, and the door was promptly opened.
The woman forced Elena inside. More fiery brands lit the stone chamber ahead. The heat was intense, the air smoky. To one side stood a bronze brazier atop a tripod, its basin aglow with ruddy coals from which the leather handles of branding irons protruded.
The heavy-browed giant who had accompanied them from Greenland returned to the brazier with a glowing iron and shoved its hot tip back into the coals.