the stone, then turned her hand over and allowed the raw power to pour from
her palm and seep into the granite. The stone turned soft and soapy and then
melted like candle wax. Thick globs of liquid rock fell away and disappeared
into the darkness below.
I ve been dead a long time; I thought I d seen wonders, but I ve never seen
anything like that, de Ayala said in awe.
A Scythian mage taught me the spell in return for saving his life. It s
quite simple, really, she said. She leaned over the hole and then jerked
back, eyes watering. Oh my: it stinks!
The ghost of Juan Manuel de Ayala hovered directly over the hole. He turned
and smiled, showing his perfect teeth again. I can't smell anything.
Trust me, be glad you cannot, Perenelle muttered, shaking her head; ghosts
often had a peculiar sense of humor. The tunnel reeked of rotting fish and
ancient seaweed, of rancid bird and bat droppings, of pulped wood and rusting
metal. There was another scent also, bitter and acrid, almost like vinegar.
Bending down, she tore a strip off the bottom of her dress and wrapped it
around her nose and mouth as a crude mask.
There is a ladder of sorts, de Ayala said, but be careful, I m sure it s
rusted through. He suddenly glanced up. The birds have reached the southern
end of the island. And something else. Something evil. I can feel it.
The Morrigan. Perenelle leaned over the hole and snapped her fingers. A
slender feather of soft white light peeled off her fingertips and drifted
down the hole, disappearing into the gloom below, shedding a flickering milky
light on the streaked and dripping walls. The light had also revealed the
narrow ladder, which turned out to be little more than spikes driven at
irregular angles into the wall. The spikes, each no longer than four inches,
were thick with rust and dripping moisture. Leaning over, she caught the
first spike and tugged hard. It seemed solid enough.
Perenelle twisted around and slid one leg into the opening. Her foot found
one of the spikes and immediately slipped off. Drawing her leg back out of
the hole, she tugged off her sandals and tucked them into her belt. She could
hear the flapping of birds thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of
them drawing closer. She knew her tiny expenditure of power to melt the stone
and light up the interior of the tunnel would have alerted the Morrigan to
her position. She had only moments before the birds arrived .
Perenelle put her leg into the shaft again, her bare foot touching the spike.
It was cold and slimy beneath her skin, but at least she was able to get a
better grip. Grasping handfuls of tough grass, she lowered herself, her foot
finding another spike, and then she reached down and caught a spike in her
left hand. She winced. It felt disgusting, squelching beneath her fingers.
And then she smiled; how she d changed. When she was a girl, growing up in
Quimper in France all those years ago, she d gone paddling in rock pools,
picking and eating raw shellfish. She d wandered barefoot through streets
that were ankle deep in mud and filth.
Testing each step, Perenelle climbed down the length of the shaft. At one
point a spike broke away beneath her foot and went clanging into the
darkness. It seemed to fall for a long time. She lay back against the foul
wall, feeling the damp soak through her thin summer dress. Holding on
desperately, she sought another spike. She felt the metal nail in her hand
shift, and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought it was going to pull free
of the wall. But it held.
A close call. I thought you were going to be joining me, the ghost of de
Ayala said, materializing out of the gloom directly before her face.
I m not that easy to kill, Perenelle said grimly, continuing to climb down.
Though it would be funny if, having survived decades of concentrated attacks
from Dee and his Dark Elders, I was to die in a fall. She looked at the
vague shape of the face before her. What s happening up there? She jerked
her head in the direction of the opening of the shaft, visible only because
of the wisps of gray fog that curled and dribbled into it.
The island is covered with birds, de Ayala said. Perhaps a hundred
thousand of them; they are perched on every available surface. The Crow
Goddess has gone into the heart of the prison, no doubt in search of the
sphinx.
We don't have much time, Perenelle warned. She took another step and her
foot sank up to the ankle in thick gooey mud. She had reached the bottom of
the shaft. The mud was icy cold, and she could feel the chill seeping into
her bones. Something crawled over her toes. Which way?
De Ayala s arm appeared, ghostly white, directly in front of her, pointing to
the left. She realized that she was standing at the mouth of a tall, roughly
hewn tunnel that sloped gently downward. De Ayala s ghostly luminescence lit
up the coating of spiders webs that sheathed the walls. They were so thick
that it looked as if the walls were painted silver.
I cannot go any farther, the ghost said, his voice rasping around the
walls. Dee has placed incredibly powerful warding spells and sigils in the
tunnel; I cannot get past. The cell you are looking for is about ten paces
ahead and on your left-hand side.
Although Perenelle was reluctant to use her magic, she knew she had no
choice. She was certainly not going to wander into a tunnel in
pitch-darkness. She snapped her fingers and a globe of white fire winked to
life over her right shoulder. It shed a soft opalescent glow over the tunnel,
picking out each spider s web in intricate detail. The webs stretched in a
thick curtain right across the opening. She could see webs woven on top of
webs and wondered how many spiders were down here.
Perenelle stepped forward, the light moving with her, and she suddenly saw
the first of the Wards and protections Dee had placed along the tunnel. A
series of tall metal-tipped wooden spears had been implanted deep in the
muddy floor. The flat metal head of each spear was painted with an ancient
symbol of power, a square hieroglyph that would have been familiar to the
ancient Maya peoples of Central America. She could see at least a dozen
spears, each painted with a different symbol. She knew that individually the
symbols were meaningless, but together they set up an incredibly powerful
zigzagging network of raw power that crisscrossed the corridor with invisible
beams of black light. It reminded her of the complicated laser alarms banks
used. The power had no effect on humans all she could feel was a dull buzzing
and a tension at the back of her neck but it was an impenetrable barrier to
any of the Elder Race, the Next Generation and the Creatures of the Were.
Even de Ayala, a ghost, was affected by the barrier.
Perenelle recognized some of the symbols on the spearheads; she had seen them
in the Codex and etched onto the walls of the ruins at Palenque in Mexico.