Sarwat Chadda: Dark Goddess

“On patrol with Gwaine.”

“Get him now.”

A few minutes later Arthur and Gwaine entered. Arthur nodded at Billi as he unbuttoned his coat. “Tell me,” he said. Billi put the potted plant on the table. “Vasilisa did this.” Arthur touched the large green leaves and plucked a flower. He handed it to Gwaine.

“It was just a bunch of twigs ten minutes ago,” Billi added.

“Vasilisa, I want you to hold this.” Arthur grabbed a wilted African violet from the windowsill and put it on Vasilisa’s lap.

The leaves began to perk up. The stalks lengthened and the leaves swelled, then buds grew, blossoming into velvety lavender flowers.

The room was filled with a thick musty scent-far more powerful than the flowers could have generated. It was like someone had opened a door into a greenhouse. All the other potted plants were in full bloom too, scattering color over the kitchen.

It had taken a dozen seconds. Vasilisa lowered her hands and looked around at the knights.

“That’s amazing,” said Mordred as an ivy plant spread over the floor.

A flower hissed. It turned black and burst into flames.

Within seconds, half a dozen of the flowers had combusted, and Vasilisa screamed. Billi kicked the flowerpot off the girl’s lap, and it smashed on the floor. The soil bubbled and spat as smoke rose from the burning bush. Billi grabbed Vasilisa, and Mordred ran to the sink as the fire alarm went off. He soaked a hand towel.

The kitchen filled up with smoke as they put the flames out.

“What the hell happened?” Gwaine asked. The alarm shrieked in the background.

Arthur looked at the floor. The heat had melted the linoleum, which smelled poisonous. He stepped on a still-smoldering flower, grinding it to ash under his boot.

“Get Elaine,” he said.

Elaine didn’t waste any time racing over. The kitchen still stank of molten plastic and burned foliage, so they crowded into the study, next door to the now-sleeping Vasilisa. Gwaine waited by the window, nervously checking outside every few minutes. Billi was on the old sofa, and Arthur came down after returning Vasilisa to her bed.

Elaine rubbed her eyes as she settled into an armchair in the corner. In the gloomy lamplight, her sunken features looked just this side of zombie.

“I spoke to her before she went to sleep,” started Arthur. “Looks like elementalism runs in the family. Her granny used to do the same-make flowers grow and fruit appear out of season.” He frowned as he gazed at them. “Vasilisa never really considered it strange. It was just what her family did. It seems they were white witches. The grandmother apparently knew all the tales about Baba Yaga.”

Gwaine spoke. “You think the gran knew Baba Yaga was real?”

“Yes, but Vasilisa just assumed they were stories.” Elaine smiled to herself. “I’d like to meet this grandmother. She sounds interesting.”

“What about the other stuff? The fire?” asked Billi.

Elaine sighed. “Judging by tonight I’d say Vasilisa’s psychic powers include fire-starting, pyrokinetics. And elementalism. Not a great combination.”

“Explain.” Arthur took a cigarette from Elaine’s packet and lit up. This was the first he’d had in three months. Despite his coolness, tonight’s events must have shocked him too.

“Vasilisa’s in sympathy with the natural environment.”

“What’s that mean? In sympathy ?” asked Gwaine. Of all the Templars, he was least comfortable with Elaine and the occult knowledge she brought to the Order. He thought she was only one short step from being a witch.

“What happens to her affects the natural world. She could eat an ice cream and then cover the garden with frost. Conversely, she could draw heat from a hot summer’s day and use it to cook sausages in her bare hands,” said Elaine, as though she were explaining something blindingly obvious. “It’s simple Newtonian physics. Every action has an opposite and equal reaction. In this case it’s psychic energy being transferred from Vasilisa into the living environment and back again. But she’s too inexperienced to control it. The flowers were a victim of that.”

“Great. She’ll be handy if we’re ever attacked by demonic daffodils,” said Gwaine.

Elaine ignored Gwaine’s not-quite-veiled insult. “I brought this.” She took out a necklace from her pocket. It was a thin strip of leather strung with silver plaques.

Billi recognized them. Kay had used them when he’d tried to contact the spirit realms. “Maqlu?”

The ancient talismans had been found in an archaeological dig in Iraq, on the site of the ancient city of Nineveh. They were a defense against psychic intrusion.

“Someone might try to possess Vasilisa?” Gwaine asked.

“Just to be sure. Vasilisa has no control over her powers. She can’t defend herself. It’s possible another psychic, someone with telepathy, could access her mind and manipulate her, albeit temporarily.” Elaine handed the necklace to Billi. “Put this on her when she wakes up. Tell her that she can’t take it off, understand?”

Billi inspected the plaques, with their minute cuneiform letters-spells carefully carved onto each. “You mean someone like Baba Yaga?”

Elaine nodded. “If she’s been consuming other psychics over the centuries, her telepathic powers would be awesome. She’d be an elementalist, spirit-talker, the whole package. It also means she’d be totally insane. That amount of action in one head cannot be healthy. I don’t want her in Vasilisa’s mind, even for a minute.”

“Then the next step is obvious,” said Arthur.

“Jerusalem it is,” agreed Elaine.

“Wait,” Billi interrupted. “What’s to stop the Polenitsy from just heading out to Jerusalem and kidnapping Vasilisa there?”

Elaine smiled. “Oh, the Holy City has guardians of its own. Guardians who even the Polenitsy might hesitate to cross.”

“Like who?”

Elaine hesitated and shot a wary glance at Arthur. He nodded, but even then Elaine paused. Eventually she spoke. “Jerusalem is under the control of the Assassins.”

“Cool.” Who didn’t know about the Assassins? The Templars and the Assassins hada secret alliance, going back to the Crusades. The two orders had traded knowledge, allies, and enemies. Most of the occult lore the Templars studied was originally gleaned from the Islamic sect of killer mystics. “What are they like?”

Elaine shrugged. “Never met one. They operate through a network of middlemen. The Assassins are sleepers. It’ll be someone close, a business ally, a best friend you’ve known for years. Then one day they get the signal. You only meet an Assassin once in your life. At the very end.”

“And that’s where we’re sending Vasilisa?” Billi asked.

“The Assassins and the Templars have an agreement,” said Arthur. “The Treaty of Alamut allows us to train among the fakirs and holy men of Jerusalem. The Oracle will be as safe there as anywhere.”

Not Vasilisa anymore, but the Oracle.

“I had some friends in Whitechapel make this, just in case.” Arthur took a fake passport out from his desk drawer and tossed it to Elaine. “Take her to Jerusalem.”

THE NEXT AFTERNOON BILLI WATCHED VASILISA build a snowman. Middle Temple Gardens was pretty to the snowfall. The office workers stayed indoors, so Vasilisa had spent most of the afternoon rolling a misshapen ball to form the bottom of a snowman, and was now rolling a second ball for the head.

Elaine had been keeping a wary eye out, as had Lance and Bors. They weren’t going to let the Oracle out of their sight.

“C’mon, Billi!”

She’s happy . Vasilisa patted the small boulder of snow, trying to keep it in shape. Her hair stuck out from under a woolen bobble hat, and her bare hands were pink, but she didn’t care.