Marius shook his head. “I don’t think they’re waiting just to return home. From what I deciphered in the tomb, I believe that when the worlds draw near enough the Sleeping Ones will awaken.”
“And then what will they do?”
“My master believed they sought some sort of transmutation.”
“You mean like alchemy?”
“Yes, like alchemy in a way. I believe the Sleeping Ones seek to transmute something. Only what it is, and what they wish to transform it into, the tomb writings did not tell me. Nor did the symbols indicate what catalyst the Seven will use to bring about the transformation.”
Deirdre had studied alchemy in her first days as a Seeker; given the origins of the order, it was something of a prerequisite. She thought back to everything she had learned. “The catalyst–that’s something that permits a base substance to be evolved into a state of perfection. Except the catalyst itself isn’t changed by the transformation. It’s like the–”
“Like the fabled Philosopher’s Stone, yes. The catalyst is that which will grant the Philosophers true and perfect immortality. But in so doing, the catalyst itself will remain unchanged.”
Deirdre considered this. Orъ’s blood could cause transformation; a single drop had changed Travis into a sorcerer. Only how much of it had the Seven of Orъ drunk? Surely they had consumed great quantities. What transformations might be worked with it? For some reason, she found herself murmuring the final words to a song. “ ‘Then after fire and wonder, we end where we began.”
Marius stood up. “What’s that?”
She looked up. “It’s a song that originated on the otherworld. A copy of it was found among James Sarsin’s–”
“Yes, yes, I know the song. I’ve read it many times over.” His gaze seemed to cut her like a gold knife. “But why do you sing it now?”
The back of her neck prickled. Her subconscious had made a connection, one her conscious mind had not yet grasped. What was it? She leaned back in the chair, thinking aloud. “It was the phrase fire and wonderthat made me stumble onto that computer file. The girl in black–Child Samanda–told me to seek them as I journeyed. So once I received Echelon 7 clearance, I performed a search on those words, and a file came up, an archive from the year you died.” She winced. “Or became a Philosopher, I suppose. Only the file was deleted before I could read it.” She glanced up at him. “So what was in that file?”
“My final report as a Seeker,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Everything it contained was in the journal, and more.”
She nodded. No wonder the Philosophers had not wanted her to read it. “Paul Jacoby was able to translate the words fire and wonderon the stone arch. That reminded me of the missing file, and it was studying the name of the file that led me to you, and to this place.”
Marius was pacing before the fire now, shaking his tawny hair like a lion’s mane. “I know all that. By why did you sing the song now? It’s those instincts of yours. You’ve made a connection, haven’t you?” He stopped, gripped the arms of her chair, and leaned down, his face inches from her own. He smelled sharp, like lightning. “What is it? What has your clever mind put together?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I–”
“You doknow, Deirdre. What is it? What were you thinking?”
The words tumbled out of her. “The song–it’s just that in a way it’s like what you said about the catalyst. How in the end it’s the same, unchanged.”
He pushed away from the chair. “Sing it,” he said. “All of it.”
She was afraid she wouldn’t remember the words. Only they came to her lips easily, and she sang in a quavering voice:
“We live our lives a circle,
And wander where we can.
Then after fire and wonder,
We end where we began.
“I have traveled southward,
And in the south I wept.
Then I journeyed northward,
And laughter there I kept.
“Then for a time I lingered,
In eastern lands of light,
Until I moved on westward,
Alone in shadowed night.
“I was born of springtime,
In summer I grew strong.
But autumn dimmed my eyes,
To sleep the winter long.
“We live our lives a circle,
And wander where we can.
Then after fire and wonder,
We end where we began.”
The last verse faded into silence. Marius was pacing again, a fist clenched to his chest, murmuring the words of the song. At last he stopped, looking at her. “What does it mean?”
Understanding tickled in the back of her brain, but it fluttered out of reach every time she tried to grasp it. “I suppose it’s about beginnings, and about endings. And how maybe they’re the same thing.”
Only they wouldn’t be the same thing anymore, would they? Not if the rifts in the cosmos continued to grow. Not if scientists like Sara Voorhees were right, and the rifts signified the end of the universe–of all possible universes. Then there would be no ending or beginnings. There would be only . . . nothing. Didn’t the Philosophers understand? If the rifts kept growing, there would be no world left for them to dwell in as immortals.
But Marius had said they were blinded by their quest; they could think of nothing else. Or did they believe that by going to Eldh they could escape Earth and destruction? She shuddered and reached for her teacup, taking a sip to warm her, only it had gone cold.
Marius sank back into his chair. “I had hoped we’d have more time to try to understand what it is the Sleeping Ones are waiting for, what it is they mean to do. But perihelion comes, and it has brought the gate to light. The Philosophers mean to use it to travel to the otherworld. That’s why I led you here, Deirdre, why I let you read the journal. It’s why I’m speaking to you now, despite the peril. There’s no more use in secrecy. At this very moment, in London, the Philosophers await the delivery of seven crates that have been shipped from Crete. I think you can guess what those crates contain.”
She could. “How did they get the sarcophagi out of the archaeological site? It has to be guarded, and I can’t believe the authorities on Crete would simply let priceless artifacts be shipped out of the country.”
He gave her a scornful look. “Honestly, Deirdre, do you think such things are difficult for us? Our wealth and resources are beyond your imagining, amassed over centuries. And the Seekers are hardly the only servants of the Philosophers. We have contacts in nearly every government in the world–contacts who can be directed to do as we wish with a single letter, phone call, or electronic message. How do you think we’ve so easily arranged passports and new identities in the past?”
Deirdre shuddered. In that moment she remembered that he was a Philosopher. “And do they know how to operate the gate?”
“Yes, they do. That much they learned from their experiments with the folk at Greenfellow’s Tavern.”