“Not long after, there was a great earthquake which caused the sea to swallow the island of Atlantis up in its entirety so that it disappeared from the face of the Earth.”
The last part agreed with what Nosferatu had learned as a child, but the bit about the Greeks defeating the Airlia and their Atlantean human forces, he thought, wasn’t very likely. He checked that thought. If the battle had taken place during the Airlia civil war, then it was possible that the Greeks had had the assistance of Artad and his forces. Even the priests had known few details of the Great Civil War.
“You, stranger.” The old man startled Nosferatu by pointing directly at him. “What do you know of these things?”
“Why do ask me?” Nosferatu replied. “I have seen your kind before.”
Nosferatu felt a chill pass through his body. “What do you mean my kind?”
“Tall. White skin like the finest marble. And most important your eyes, my friend, they speak of having seen much, as did he to whom I talked.”
“Did this man, who you think is my kin, have a name?”
“He called himself a Shadow of Aspasia, whatever that might mean.”
Nosferatu remembered Kajilil speaking of the creature, a creation of Aspasia, the Airlia commander. “When did you speak with him?” “So you know him?” the old man asked in reply.
“I have heard of him, but I do not know him.”
“He was here two days ago. I have met him several times. We have had the most interesting conversations.”
Nosferatu felt the hope of the past few weeks collapse.
“So what do you know of Atlantis, my friend?” the old man pressed.
“Nothing,” Nosferatu muttered as he turned and slipped away into the darkness. He wandered the streets of Athens, wondering what he should do next. If Aspasia’s Shadow is here in Athens, who is in Egypt, in the Roads of Rostau? Where are the Gods?
He sensed more than saw the blade coming at him. Reacting, Nosferatu jumped to the side, the knife slicing the air where a split second ago his throat had been. The attacker followed through on the strike, wheeling, bringing the blade to bear once more. Nosferatu retreated, but his back hit the wall of a building and his attacker maneuvered to trap him.
“Who are you?” Nosferatu demanded, holding his hands up in front of himself in a defensive posture. He felt as if he were looking into a mirror — a tall man wrapped in a dark cloak with pale skin and red hair. The eyes, though, caught his attention. Red and elongated like a cat’s. “Aspasia’s Shadow?”
In reply the man thrust with the dagger. At the same moment there was a flash of metal coming down from the right, smoothly slicing through the man’s arm, severing it at the elbow. The hand holding the dagger fell to the stone street. Nosferatu watched with wide eyes as the sword cut back, piercing his attacker’s chest. The man collapsed to the ground as Nosferatu turned to face the wielder of the sword.
“I am Aspasia’s Shadow,” the man said. He wiped the blood off the sword, using the dead man’s cloak. “This is a One Who Waits.” Aspasia’s Shadow reached inside the dead man’s tunic and removed a small object from a chain around his neck. Nosferatu had seen such a shape before — the ka, two hands without a torso raised as in prayer. Aspasia’s Shadow put it inside a pocket and in turn pulled out a small glass vial filled with what appeared to be black sand. He unscrewed the lid, then shook the black powder over the body. Immediately the flesh began to disappear as if the sand were eating it. Within ten seconds there was only the empty clothing lying in the street.
Aspasia’s Shadow stood. “You are Nosferatu.”
It was not a question, so Nosferatu remained silent as Aspasia’s Shadow sheathed his sword.
“Come.” Aspasia’s Shadow did not bother to look over his shoulder as he headed down the alley. Nosferatu paused to retrieve the assassin’s dagger, then followed.
After a little way around the base of the Acropolis, Aspasia’s Shadow passed between two statues, literally into the base of the hill on which the Parthenon stood. Nosferatu followed him down worn stone steps. They paused at the bottom, where a wooden door made of scarred beams barred the way. Aspasia’s Shadow did something that Nosferatu couldn’t quite see and the door smoothly swung open.
The two entered and the door swung shut behind them. Nosferatu could see quite well in the dark, but he winced when Aspasia’s Shadow lit a lantern. Shading his eyes, he followed the other along a tunnel cut through the stone of the Acropolis.
“This tunnel was made by some of the first people who lived here,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, his first words in a while. “They must have put a fort on the top of this hill, then cut this tunnel as an escape route, or perhaps a way to get water. Who knows? It must have taken them many years. I imagine it took generations of these people chipping away at the stone with their simple tools. Humans are a most strange species. Most of the time their attention span is that of any animal, short. But then they do something like this. Most strange.”
They turned a corner and entered a chamber containing a table, some chairs, and a bed. Aspasia’s Shadow put the lantern on the table. He glanced at Nosferatu. “Does this hurt your eyes?” “Yes.”
Aspasia’s Shadow made no effort to turn the lamp down. He sat in a chair and leaned back, putting his boots up on the table. Nosferatu took the seat across from him, one hand on the dagger hidden under his cloak, the other shading his eyes.
“I should kill you for slaying Isis and Osiris,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “If I were true to the persona that was implanted in me so many years ago when I was made by Aspasia. It was Aspasia who left Isis and Osiris, his lieutenants, in charge in Egypt.” Aspasia’s Shadow sighed. “But much has happened in the years since then. I have walked this planet longer than you. And I assume you have slept some of those years in the tube — something I have done also on occasion. I have been reborn many, many times. My memory and my experience grow even as I switch from one body to the next.”
Nosferatu remained silent, his hand still on the dagger.
“I met Osiris and Isis and the other four several times. They always treated me with contempt because I was a Shadow, and human in form. When I heard Isis and Osiris had been killed I did not shed any tears.”
“Where did they go?” Nosferatu asked. “The four who lived?”
“Why do you want to know?” Aspasia’s Shadow did not wait for an answer. “Where is your love? Nekhbet, the one you stole from the Roads?”
Nosferatu remained silent. Aspasia’s Shadow laced his fingers together on his lap and regarded Nosferatu for several moments, as if pondering a problem. “She sleeps, doesn’t she? Or else you would be with her. And you seek something. Blood. Airlia blood. The human blood keeps you alive, allows you to maintain, but you need Airlia blood for her, don’t you?”
Nosferatu realized he was dealing with the only other being on the planet, besides the Gods, who had lived longer than he and had more experience. Plus, Aspasia’s Shadow had inherited Aspasia’s knowledge along with his own experience.
“Or more likely, you desire the Grail,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “Wouldn’t we all?” He sighed. “But the key to the Hall of Records, where it is kept, had been hidden well by the Watchers. Even I don’t know where it is now. Plus, I have had to put aside that temptation because activating the Grail would bring both Artad and Aspasia after me. It is the one thing that is forbidden even to me.”