“Just as I had suspected he would. Which is why I waited until he had done so to pass the second assignment to Nakamura.”
These words thrust a cold spike into Deirdre’s heart. “Anders,” she said, licking her lips. “That first night you contacted me, you warned me that he was coming. What did you know about him?”
“Only what you soon knew yourself: that he was overly eager and less than truthful.”
She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket, touching the crumpled photo Sasha had taken. “I think he’s working for the Philosophers. At first I thought he was in league with the Scirathi, but now I know that the Philosophers used the sorcerers to get the gate from Crete. Which means Anders is working directly for them.”
Marius nodded. “I have long suspected that some among my cohort maintain special and secret contacts among the Seekers.”
“Like you’ve maintained me?”
“Just so,” he said and sipped his tea, as if he had not discerned the venom in her words. “That’s why secrecy was imperative in my dealings with you, Deirdre. I could not hide from the Philosophers the fact that you were in contact with one of us. But as long as you didn’t know which of us it was you were communicating with, then they couldn’t know either. And since Phoebe–and no doubt most if not all of the others–have such illicit helpers within the Seekers, none would dare press too hard to learn who you were in contact with, lest their own minions be exposed.”
“What a trusting bunch you are,” Deirdre said, making no effort to disguise the irony in her voice.
Marius laughed. “Oh, we’re a perfect family all right. We all loathe one another, and we’d each have murdered the others outright centuries ago if we were not all of us bound to one another.”
“Only now you have me to do your dirty work.”
He did not look at her, instead gazing out the window at the failing day. “They’re close, Deirdre. For centuries they’ve searched for the Philosopher’s Stone. They crave it above all else. And now it’s within their reach.”
“Immortality,” Deirdre breathed. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Philosopher’s Stoneis just a name alchemists give to a substance that can bestow perfection and immortality.”
“Yes, true immortality–like that possessed by the Sleeping Ones.” His lip curled in disgust. “Now, if we did not drink a sip of their blood at least once a decade, we would grow decrepit and die. Nor are we truly safe from death. Illness and age cannot harm us, but we might still be slain. However, the Sleeping Ones themselves are perfect. They do not decay, but remain ever beautiful. And when they are wounded, their golden bodies heal instantly. That’s what the others desire for themselves.”
“And you don’t?” Deirdre couldn’t keep her voice from edging into a sneer.
“No,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I don’t.”
There was no reason to believe him. He had shrouded himself in mystery for more than three years, manipulating her to suit his ends. All the same, she did believe him.
“You want to keep them from reaching it,” she said. “You want to stop them from getting to Eldh and finding what it was that made the Sleeping Ones immortal. From finding Orъ.”
The change was sudden. The smooth demeanor, the languid motions were gone. He slammed down his cup and clenched a fist, banging it on the arm of the chair. “They do not deserve it! They are fools and devils, and they are not worthy of everlasting life. No one on this Earth is. And if anyone could possibly be worthy of such a thing, then it was–”
He didn’t speak the name, but it sounded in her mind all the same. Alis.
After a long moment she spoke. “That was Travis’s sister’s name, you know. Alice. He loved her more than anything. She was only a girl when she died. He believed it was his fault. For the longest time, he didn’t forgive himself. Only then . . .” She smiled, thinking of Travis. “He did.”
Marius leaned back in the chair, the rage gone, those gold eyes haunted. “I know,” he said, his voice soft. “I know.”
Deirdre was no longer full of awe. Marius was a Philosopher; he was over three hundred years old. However, he was still a man, and after reading the journal she felt, at least in some small way, that she knew him.
“You’re still not telling me the whole truth about why you’ve kept your identity a secret,” she said, and she knew that once again it was her Wise Self speaking. “I can understand you needed to be certain none of the Philosophers knew which one of their number I was in contact with, but that wouldn’t have prevented you from letting me read that journal. I think by now you know I can keep a secret, and you could have given it to me without their knowledge. So why didn’t you tell me the truth about the Seekers sooner?”
His eyes were intent upon her. “But don’t you see? I couldn’t simply give you the answers to all these mysteries. You’re clever, Deirdre, and you have deep powers of intuition. I knew, if given just a few crumbs, you would discover the answers yourself. And in so doing, I hoped you would solve the mysteries I myself have not been able to answer all these years.”
Deirdre clutched the arms of her chair. “You mean just like the way you watched Alis Faraday, wondering if she would discover her otherworldly nature on her own?”
The words were sharp, and she could see how they stung him, but she did not soften her tone. “You’ve used me, Marius. You used me just like they used Alis–just like they used you. And it could have killed me. It nearly did, several times over. Only you still kept the truth from me. Why?” Her voice rose into a snarl. “What did you hope I’d learn?”
“The answer to everything.”
All the anger rushed out of her in a soft gasp. “ What?”
He learned forward in his chair, a fervent light in his gold eyes. “They’re waiting for something, Deirdre. The Sleeping Ones. For over three thousand years they’ve lain there in their stone sarcophagi in peaceful repose, their eyes shut, arms folded over their breasts, their skin as smooth as polished gold.”
As he spoke, it was as if she could see them reflected in his eyes. She leaned forward herself, her face drawing near his.
“Phoebe and the others, they believe the slumber of the Seven is eternal. But I don’t. I believe they’re simply waiting for the moment when they will awake. And I think that moment will soon come.”
“Perihelion,” Deirdre said, once again understanding when perhaps she shouldn’t. “You think they’re waiting for perihelion.”
An eager light illuminated his face. “Yes. For centuries I’ve studied the symbols written on the walls of the tomb where we found them. It was in their tomb that we found the clay tablet, the one whose photo I gave you. The others left the task of translating the symbols to me, for it had been my master’s work, and the rest of them were too bored by such a tedious chore. Through the tomb writings, I learned much of the story of the Sleeping Ones. And I rejoiced when what I learned was confirmed by your own reports, the ones in which you described the history of Morindu as told by the woman Vani. I knew my theory was correct–that the Sleeping Ones indeed came from the otherworld, and that they are waiting for a time when they can return.”
Deirdre tried to absorb this. Marius’s story made sense. The Seven of Orъ had been forced to flee Morindu after interring it beneath the desert sands; surely they had intended to return to their home someday. And now that day was coming. Perihelion approached; things long buried were coming to light. “But they don’t have to wait for perihelion to return to Morindu,” she said aloud. “They could use the arch–the gate.”