Genevieve looked at her and smiled. Acutely aware she didn’t have to go on, but at the same time wanting to. “It’s where I left a previous life behind in a place where no-one gets a second chance. Every time I kill with this blade, I want to remember the world I left behind, so that I make sure never to return, despite the urge.” Genevieve sheathed the blade and turned to face her. “So, what’s the story about your eyes?”
“There’s nothing quite so secretive. Fact is, I have no idea. I’ve always had purple eyes. They call it Alexandria’s Genesis, but most doctors still debate if the condition is real or not. It’s not a rare form of albinism, as most people would have guessed. I don’t have any trouble seeing in the bright sunlight. I never got to meet my parents, so I don’t know where they came from.” She laughed. “And if I’m immortal, I have a long time to find out.”
“Okay, then how did you know about the legend?”
“There’s several different versions of them scattered throughout the internet. Mostly completely false, but several refer to the Six Hundred who were turned immortal in ancient Egypt. As we’ve all seen before, the most compelling legends have just the tiniest bit of truth to them.”
“At least enough truth to scare the hell out of the natives here.”
“We’re not afraid of you,” Nayram said, in perfect English. “We worship you for what you will one day do for our people.”
“You called me the savior, but you don’t have a clue what I save your people from. What makes you so certain I’m the one you’re looking for? What makes all of your people so certain? I could have been anyone. I was wearing sunglasses until the very end. Already, the children had gathered.”
“The children were testing you.”
“How?”
Nayram said, “We all knew you were one of them — the Six Hundred. But we couldn’t be sure whether you’d been refused by heaven or hell. The children’s shrieks would have forced an evil God to attack. But you stood there and graced them with your kind smile.”
“But why me? What made me stand out, so that your entire town should take note?”
“There’s a painting I’d like you to see. It’s on the way out. Come, I will show it to you. It’s been here a very long time. Everyone knows about the image.”
“What’s the painting of?”
“It depicts two women approaching from the air, upon a beast with wings that spun faster than the eyes could see. They came here, searching for something. We provide them with refreshments, and they leave us, so that one of the women may go on to become the savior. That woman had the purple eyes of the Six Hundred, so you see, you are her.”
“I don’t see,” Elise said. “Your people must have surely seen helicopters before?”
“Yes. But this painting was done in 1562 by an old man who had taken refuge from the worst sand storm in the history of Bilma. He said his name was Nostradamus, and that this woman here, would save the future from a catastrophic event.”
Nayram stopped and they looked at the image painted on the stone wall. It depicted two women climbing out of a helicopter. One was barely visible beneath her indigo robes — she wore a darkened shadow over her robe, like a halo of evil, while the other one glowed like pure goodness. The good woman had her tesirnest tied in such a way that it exposed her face. It was beautiful. With obvious Eurasian ancestry, the face was a blend of cultures. Silky dark hair, high cheek bones, and exotic purple eyes that were rich in intelligence and kindness. The sort of facial features and artistic hyperbole, created by an ancient people to depict a fictional Goddess of unimaginable beauty.
Genevieve was the first to gasp — because the woman in the painting was identical to Elise. Below the painting was a series of numbers carved into the stone. Chiseled out of the soft stone by hand nearly four hundred years ago, the numbers showed today’s date. “If you’re the savior with the white halo, what does that make me?”
Elise studied the darkened haze that shadowed the image of Genevieve. It could have been anyone, but everything else about the painting suggested it was her and Genevieve arriving from the helicopter. It was hard not to be frightened of the image Nostradamus had painted of her friend.
“The savior’s friend and one hell of a protector when one needs it and right now, I think the future needs all the help it can get.” Elise smiled. It was reassuring, without being patronizing. “All right, we’ve seen enough. If the future is so certain I need to save lives, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t start with saving Sam and Tom.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Adebowale heard the roaring sound of water fighting its way through the tunnel toward him. Driven by millions upon millions of pounds of pressure from above, the torrent charged through the narrow passages and warrens with the energy of a tsunami. Compared to the approaching onslaught, Adebowale’s massive and athletic structure appeared weak and fragile. There was nowhere to run. Even though he was given a ten minute head start, the water would reach him well before he could ever escape. There was nothing for it, and yet he tried to run.
He always did.
Every time it was exactly the same. He felt the burning sensation in his legs and arms as the release of adrenaline stimulated his fight or flight response. He’d played college football in the US as a quarterback and despite his massive frame was capable of moving quickly when he wanted to. He felt as the tendons of his calves, designed for short bursts and sprints, propelled him like a racecar. It felt good. Like maybe this time he would make it.
The pitch of the churning water increased and he imagined his death at any moment. Despite his speed, he felt he was running through mud. With each movement, his legs were being slowed as though an invisible coil was restraining them.
Ahead, the passage split into two directions. Left and right. Adebowale chose left. Somehow it felt correct. The narrow tunnel had a distinct incline to it, which meant he was gaining elevation. He’d made the right choice! The only way to outrun the water, was to rise above it.
The tunnel appeared dark ahead. The dim lights which lined the passageway looked like they’d suddenly been cut off. He continued running at full speed in a way that only an athlete could and then he stopped. Directly in front of him, a large cave-in had blocked his progression.
He’d run out of places to escape! He turned and watched as the water raced towards him with lethal finality. In an instant, and like last time, Adebowale realized he’d been here before. And like every other time the water struck him with such force, he lost consciousness before his mind could even register the sensation of the cold water on his skin.
He woke up, struggling to breathe. His chest pounding, and his lungs stung. Sweat dripped from his blood-drained skin. Adebowale looked up at the sun. The pain lasted longer than usual this time. He still was having difficulty breathing and his tongue felt dry and cracked. His right shoulder throbbed. Something’s not right. The water should have killed him. There was no reason for him to have pain in his left shoulder.
Adebowale gasped.
He’d had another dream. He consciously forced himself to take in a deep breath and open his eyes. Everything was still dark. It could have been night time, but he felt the heat burning at his skin. No. It wasn’t night time. His vision had become severely blurred.
Something wanted to take him away from this world. He turned his palms outward in supplication. The death he feared for so many years he now longed to receive.