Hekate's Shadowrealm before he left the car and strolled toward the hidden
opening. Senuhet, Bastet s servant, had left earlier, eagerly following his
mistress into the Shadowrealm, but Dee had not been quite so enthusiastic. It
was always a bad idea to be first into battle. The soldiers in the rear were
the ones who tended to survive. He was guessing that Hekate's guards had
massed just beyond the invisible wall, and he had no inclination to be first
through the opening. It didn't make him a coward, he reasoned; it just made
him careful, and being careful had kept him alive for many hundreds of years.
But he couldn t hang around out there forever; his inhuman masters would
expect to see him on the battlefield. The small man drew his
two-thousand-dollar leather coat tightly around his shoulders the moment
before he stepped into the opening, leaving behind the chill early-morning
air and stepping into
a battlefield.
There were bodies everywhere, and none of them were human.
The Morrigan s birds had changed when they entered Hekate's Shadowrealm: they
had become almost human though not entirely so. They were now tall and thin
like their mistress; their wings had stretched, becoming long and batlike,
connected to human-shaped bodies by translucent skin and tipped with deadly
claws. Their heads were still those of birds.
There were a few cats scattered among the field of feathers. They too had
become almost human when they stepped into the Shadowrealm, and like Bastet,
they had retained their cat heads. Their paws were a cross between human
hands and cat claws, tipped with curved, razor-sharp nails, and their bodies
were covered in a fine down of hair.
Looking around, Dee could see no sign that any of Hekate's guards had fallen
in battle, and was suddenly frightened: what did the goddess have guarding
her realm? He reached under his coat, pulled out the sword that had once been
called Excalibur and set off down the path to where the huge tree rose out of
the morning mist. The sunrise ran bloodred along the ancient black blade.
Birdmen, Scathach muttered, and then added a curse in the ancient Celtic
language of her youth. She hated birdmen; they gave her hives. She was
standing at the entrance to the Yggdrasill, watching the creatures appear out
of the forest. The mythologies of every race included stories of men who
turned into birds, or birds who transformed into half-human creatures. In her
long life Scatty had encountered many of the creatures and had once come
perilously close to death when she d fought a Sirin, an owl with the head of
a beautiful woman. Since that encounter, she d been allergic to bird
feathers. Already her skin was starting to itch and she could feel a sneeze
building at the back of her nose. The Morrigan s creatures moved awkwardly,
like hunched-over humans, dragging their knuckles on the ground. They were
poor warriors, but they often succeeded by sheer force of numbers.
Then Bastet s cat-people appeared. They moved slowly, stealthily, some
standing on two feet, but most moving on all fours. Here, Scatty knew, was
the basis of the great cat legends of Africa and India. Unlike the birds, the
cat-people were deadly fighters: they were lightning fast, and their claws
were capable of inflicting terrible damage. Scathach sneezed; she was also
allergic to cats.
The strange army came to a halt, perhaps awed by the incredible
building-sized tree or just confused by the sight of a single warrior
standing framed in the open doors. They milled about; then, as if driven by a
single command, they surged forward in a long ragged line.
The Warrior twisted her head from side to side and rolled her shoulders, and
then her two short swords appeared in her hands. She raised them above her
head in an
It was the signal the Torc Allta and the nathair had been waiting for.
Seemingly from nowhere, hundreds of the terrifying lizards hurtled out of the
sky, with the sun at their backs, and swooped over the advancing army. They
flew in great sweeping circles, their huge wings raising enormous plumes of
gritty dust that blinded and confused the birds and cats. Then the Torc
Allta, who had been lying concealed in the tall grass and behind the twisting
roots of the Yggdrasill, rose in the middle of the attackers. As Scatty
hurried back into the depths of the house, she realized how closely the
noises of the battle resembled feeding time at the San Francisco Zoo.
We re running out of time, Scathach yelled to Flamel as she raced into the
corridor.
How many? Nicholas asked grimly.
Too many, Scatty replied. She paused briefly and then added, The Torc
Allta and nathair will not be able to hold them for long.
And the Morrigan and Bastet?
I didn't see them. But you can be sure they re coming, and when they do
She left the sentence unfinished. With Hekate busy Awakening the twins,
nothing would be able to stand against the two Dark Elders.
They ll come, he said grimly.
Scatty stepped closer to Flamel. They had known each other for over three
hundred years, and although she was his senior by nearly two millennia, she
had come to regard him as the father she no longer remembered. Take the
twins and flee. I'll hold them here. I'll buy you as much time as possible.
The Alchemyst reached out and placed his hand on the Warrior s shoulder and
squeezed. A tiny pop of energy snapped between them and they both briefly
glowed. When he spoke, he unconsciously reverted to the French language of
his youth. No, we ll not do that. When we leave here, we go together. We
need the twins, Scatty not just you and me, but the entire world. I believe
that only they will be able to stand against the Dark Elders and keep them
from achieving their ultimate aim and reclaiming the earth.
Scatty looked over his shoulder into the gloomy chamber. You re asking a lot
of them. When are you going to tell them the whole truth? she asked.
In time , he began.
Time is something you do not have, Scatty murmured. you've started to age.
I can see it in your face, around your eyes, and there s more gray in your
hair.
Flamel nodded. I know. The immortality spell is breaking down. Perenelle and
I will begin to age a year for every day we go without the formulation for
immortality. We will be dead by the end of the month. But by then it will not
matter. If the Dark Elders succeed, the world of the humani will have already
ceased to exist.
Let s make sure that doesn't happen. Scatty turned her back on Flamel, then
sank to the ground, back straight, her legs folded, feet turned high on her
thighs in a full lotus position, arms outstretched, palms wrapped around the
