Dane sat on the edge of the launch and with one hand holding his mask in place fell backward into the warm water. He paused and checked, making sure everything was working correctly. He wished Rachel was here, but he knew the dolphin’s place was the Devil’s Sea gate. He looked down and slowly descended.
As he passed through one hundred feet, he could see the top of the pyramid. The little light that made it this deep reflected off the smooth black stone. Dane knew the Navy had been all over this area, using all the scientific techniques they had to get an idea of the composition of the pyramid. And he had been briefed on the way over from the carrier that the black stone had defeated all those attempts.
None had disturbed what was on the flat top of the pyramid though. Dane didn’t know if Foreman had ordered that out of respect for Sin Fen’s remains or because the CIA man feared that such an action would cause a reappearance of the Bermuda Triangle Gate. Dane shook his head as he descended. Foreman wouldn’t have given a damn about Sin Fen.
Dane slowed, then came to a halt standing on the top of the pyramid, several feet from a large, four foot high slab that was in the center. A Naga Staff was upright next to the slab. Dane hesitated.
He could feel Sin Fen, her essence. Part of her. And hanging around the essence, was a sense of power coming out of the pyramid.
Dane remembered his last view of Sin Fen as she lay in a human shaped depression on the slab as her skull changed form, from flesh, bone and blood to crystal, channeling the power of the pyramid against the blackness of the Bermuda Triangle Gate. Blue lightning streaking from the skull, penetrating and dissipating the gate.
Dane took a step forward, the fins on his feet almost tripping him. He realized he was over breathing, sucking in too much air. He stopped.
Mission.
He focused on that one word. Years of harsh training pushed aside the emotions.
Mission.
Dane stepped forward. He could see down into the depression in the center of the slab. No bones. Just a pure crystal skull lying at the top. Dane reached out and put his hand on the top of the Naga Staff. His fingers curled among the snake heads. His eyes peering through the mask at the skull, Dane twisted the staff.
With a solid click it turned.
Dane’s hand was tight on the Naga Staff, his body tense, but nothing happened. He pulled the staff out of the slot it was in, careful to keep the razor sharp edge away from his body. Then he leaned over and placed his free hand on the skull, fingers spread. A shock ran up his arm, but he didn’t let go.
Dane closed his eyes and visions flashed through his mind: a dirty street in Cambodia; monks praying in stone ruins; the mist of the Angkor Gate covering jungle; the towers of Angkor Wat;
Dane tucked the crystal skull in the crook of his arm and pushed off, heading for the surface.
CHAPTER 12
“There is someone we must meet.” Cyra spoke the words softly, the slight breeze coming off the water carrying them away so that only the King heard them.
Leonidas was standing on the high bank, peering out at the Gulf of Corinth. The army had stopped for the night and the air was full of the sound of an army encamping. They had made good time on the march so far and spirits were high.
“Who?”
“An oracle.”
“Why?”
“To find the right path.”
Leonidas laughed. “We know where we’re going. And this is the quickest track to Rhion.”
“It is not Rhion or Antirhon that concern me,” Cyra said. “I do not think we will have enough time to get to the Gates of Fire if we follow the—” she searched for the right word— “conventional path.”
“And this oracle will know a better way?”
“Yes.”
“And where is this oracle?”
Cyra pointed to the sea. “She is coming this evening. We must go out to meet her. She never sets foot on the mainland.”
Leonidas didn’t seem very enthused at the idea. “How do you know she will be out there?”
“I have had a vision.”
“Splendid.”
“I have arranged for a boat.” She nodded to the left and Leonidas saw a small craft with a man standing by.
“Couldn’t you have arranged for something larger?”
“You do not like the water?”
“You are an excellent seer,” Leonidas said. He tapped the armor on his chest “One cannot swim well with this. I do not understand those who make their living plying the water. A man must have firm ground under his feet.”
Cyra wrapped her cloak more tightly around her body. “Come, Lord. I think we will both want to hear what the Oracle has to say.”
“Which oracle is this?”
“She comes from Thera.”
Leonidas knew of that shattered island, south of Greece. He had heard tales from the few Spartans he knew who sailed. “It is said that island was smote by the gods. That only a fraction of what was once there remains.”
“It was once home to my people,” Cyra said as they negotiated the rocky track down to the shore.
“What happened?”
“The Shadow tried to destroy it.”
They arrived at the boat. Leonidas offered his arm, but Cyra ignored it and climbed on board. The King followed and the man shoved the boat into the water. He then jumped on board, sitting between two oars. Without a word he began pulling. Leonidas watched the gap between boat and shore widen.
“Left,” Cyra said softly and the oarsman shifted their direction.
Leonidas turned his attention to the water and noted a fine mist ahead. “How do you know where she is?”
“I sense her.”
They entered the mist and visibility was reduced to less than a thousand meters. Leonidas could no longer see the shore and he wondered how they would make it back.
“Hold here,” Cyra ordered and the oarsman pulled his blades out of the water. The boat slowly came to a halt. The surface of the water was perfectly smooth, undisturbed. Leonidas frowned, remembering the breeze on the shore.
There was no sound other than the drop by drop drip of water from the oars and even that ceased shortly.
Leonidas sat stiffly on the wooden seat. He wanted to stretch his legs out, but there was little room and Cyra was so still, her head cocked to the side as if listening, that he didn’t want to disturb her.
Cyra’s head straightened. “She comes.”
Leonidas looked into the mist, which, if anything, was growing thicker. He felt uneasy and at first attributed that to being on the water, but then he realized it was more than that. This fog reminded him of that which had been at Delphi.
“There is danger here,” he whispered to Cyra, his voice sounding harsh and loud.
“Yes. It follows the Oracle.”
Leonidas put his hand on the pommel of his sword. He didn’t fancy a fight with the unsteady platform of the boat under his feet.
Cyra lightly touched him on the shoulder. “There,” she pointed.
A boat slowly appeared, one unlike any that the Spartan King had ever seen. The first thing he noted was the up thrust prow, with an intricate carving at the tip. Leonidas squinted, making out the details: seven snake heads originating from one body. Then the rest of the boat came into view. It was long and sleek, very different from the short and stubby boats the Greeks and their neighbors favored. Six oars on each side swept into the water in unison, then rose out and came to a halt.
The boat glided smoothly through the water, slowing, until it stopped less than two feet from Leonidas and Cyra, an impressive feat of seamanship. Shields lined the side above the oar-holes and no one was visible.