Jobb tried to speak, but his voice cracked. Gwalcmai gave him a flask of water and Jobb drank for several seconds before giving it back. “I will never serve them. They did not help me in my time of need. What kind of Gods are they? They say they are here to help us, but when I asked, there was no help.”
Donnchadh glanced up at Gwalcmai, who met her gaze and nodded very slightly. She took a deep breath, then spoke, knowing she had to lie in order to achieve a higher goal. “It is worse than you imagine. Do you think it was just coincidence that she grew ill four days before you were to be inducted into the ranks of the high priests?”
“What are you saying?” Jobb demanded.
“The Airlia Gods do not care about humans except that we serve them. You have spent many years in preparation to serve. Your daughter would have stood in the way of that. That is why there is the rule against high priests or Guides having family. They are to serve only the Airlia, with no distractions.”
The Airlia did not pick stupid humans to become high priests. Jobb connected what she had said within seconds.
“You are saying they killed her?”
“Not the Airlia directly, but the high priests who serve them. They killed her twice,” Donnchadh said. “First by making her ill. Second by refusing to treat her.”
Gwalcmai reached down and slid his hands under the dead girl’s body. “I will take her and make sure she is buried.”
Jobb blinked. “Why?”
“So you may have vengeance,” Donnchadh said. She went to the wall and retrieved the red robe of the level-four supplicant. “When they come, you must have this on and tell them you are ready to fulfill your duty. Any other action and they will kill you.”
“But”—Jobb tried to think it through—“once they take me into the palace and I touch the golden pyramid, I will be theirs.”
Donnchadh reached into her pack and pulled out a thin silver chain. She slipped it around the top of Jobb’s head, hiding it under his hair. “This will stop the golden pyramid from affecting your brain.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From the Airlia,” Donnchadh said.
“How can that be? Everything is guarded tightly in the temple. Only the high priests have access.”
“And soon you will have access,” Donnchadh said.
“But how did you get this?” Jobb asked.
“You would not understand if I told you,” Donnchadh said.
“Who are you?” Jobb demanded,
“I am like you,” Donnchadh said. “I am the enemy of the Airlia. I can help you get vengeance for your daughter. I too lost a child to them.”
“They are not Gods, are they?” Jobb asked, staring at the body that Gwalcmai gently held.
“No.”
“I always feared that. Even in training. Even in the temple. It is what none of us would speak of, even when we thought we were alone and could not be overheard. It was easier to believe. And we feared the high priests and Guides. Any word of dissent or heresy would be dealt with on the X-cross. I saw one of my fellows suffer that fate for asking too many questions of a high priest.”
“It was easier in the short run to believe,” Donnchadh said. “But we are concerned about the long-term outcome of all of this. We need your help.”
Jobb got to his feet and walked over to the wall. He took the robe and slipped it over his head. Then he went to Gwalcmai and leaned forward, kissing the cold child in the warrior’s arms on the forehead. “They should have saved her,” he whispered. “They will pay for that.”
Three weeks later Jobb came back to the house. He wore the white robe with silver fringe that indicated he was a high priest. Around his neck was a silver medallion with the image of the eye within the triangle, the access keythat allowed him into most places inside the temple and palace.
Donnchadh had spent the three weeks anxiously awaiting his return. The silver chain was a device her people had discovered inside the mothership on their planet, in a tray near the Master Guardian. Her fellow scientists said it was used by technicians who serviced the alien computer, allowing them to be in contact with it without having the mental field affect them. It had never been tried by a human, so they did not know if Jobb was still free or a Guide as he came through the door. Would he be alone, or would he bring a platoon of Guides? As a precaution, she and Gwalcmai had split up. He had taken her ka and gone to another place, a backup in case Jobb had been corrupted.
Jobb closed the door behind him and faced her alone, his hands inside the sleeves of his robe, arms crossed on his chest. “It is as you said. The Airlia just use us.”
Donnchadh felt a surge of relief and took her hand off the dagger strapped to her side. She knew no Guide would be able to speak against the Airlia. Jobb reached up and removed the silver chain from underneath his hair. “I do not need that anymore. They only give access to the Master Guardian once. That is all that is needed.”
“Where have they assigned you?” Donnchadh asked as she took the chain.
“I work in the temple, overseeing the processing of tribute brought by the traders.”
“How much contact do you have with the Airlia?” Donnchadh asked.
“Very little. It takes many years to gain the rank to be close to them.”
“We have time. We’ll come back.”
Thirty years. A trip back to England. A regeneration. A return trip to Atlantis.
If Jobb was surprised at their youthful appearance when they met again, he didn’t indicate it when he entered his humble home and found them waiting for him. The years had not been kind to him. His hair was gone. His face was hard. His body was stooped with the weight of time. He moved slowly, his body riddled with arthritis. He had been used by the Airlia, and Donnchadh had no doubt his replacement was already in training.
The small room where his daughter had lived was still the same. Just a simple bed and bare walls. His garments were slightly different. Still a black robe with silver trim, but there was a series of red loops around his right sleeve, indicating higher rank.
“You have done well,” Donnchadh said as she mentally counted the loops.
“I have done as you told me to,” Jobb replied as he wearily sat on his bed after greeting them.
“You are the Director of Temple Operations for the high priests,” Donnchadh said. “A position of great trust and responsibility. With great access.”
“For a human,” Jobb said. “For a human who is supposed to be corrupted.”
“And the Airlia?” Gwalcmai asked. “How do they fare?”
Jobb looked at him. “Do you know of the black tubes?”
“Sleep and regeneration tubes?” Gwalcmai said. “The Airlia use—”
“No.” Jobb cut him off. “Do you know of the half-breeds they put in the black tubes and what they use them for?”
“ ‘Half-breeds’?” Donnchadh repeated. Her face had gone even paler, if that were possible.
“Half-human, half-Airlia,” Jobb said. “There are royal consorts. Something no one other than the highest ranking of the corrupted know about. Human women who are taken as part of the tribute. Taken deep below the temple, where the Airlia live in their tunnels. And they are never seen again.”
“I know of such,” Donnchadh said sharply, earning her a surprised look from Gwalcmai.
“They are raised down there,” Jobb said. “By a special cadre of high priests. Men whose tongues have been cut out so they can never speak of the dark things they are a part of.” He fell silent, reluctant to speak further.
“Tell us what else you have learned,” Donnchadh said, changing the subject.
“As you told me so many years ago, they are not Gods,” Jobb finally said. “They are demons. They take their own offspring from the human consorts and put them in the black tubes. Then, once a month, they go down there and open the tubes. And drink the blood of these half-breeds. For pleasure.” He tapped his chest. “The high priests lie. They are programmed to lie. I wish sometimes I had been programmed. So I could deny the truth of what I have seen and heard, to myself, never mind the people we preach to and control for these creatures.” Jobb laughed, the bitter edge indicating no humor. “Even the Airlia are beginning to believe their own lies.”