Michael Scott - The Necromancer

“Abraham believes the world will end…,” the slight red-haired woman with the huge round green eyes said.

Prometheus laughed. “He’s been promising that for centuries. If he says it long enough, then one day he’ll be right.”

Even though they were alone in the vast city, Zephaniah lowered her voice. “He has entered into an alliance with Chronos…”

Prometheus’s face twisted in disgust.

“I believe the Master of Time has given him a date for the end of the world.”

“I would not trust that old monster as far as I could throw him.”

Zephaniah smiled at the sudden image. Her brother, Prometheus, was immensely strong, and Chronos was tiny. Rolling up the map, she stuck it into the metal tube she wore strapped across her back. “This way?” she asked.

Prometheus took a last glance over his shoulder before turning back to his sister. “No, it’s this way. The library should be at the end of this street.”

The two Elders had been traveling for ten days now and were both exhausted, but at last their goal was in sight.

The first part of their journey had been relatively straightforward. Leaving Danu Talis, they had traveled across the world, jumping from leygate to leygate, moving east to west, following the setting sun, until they reached the place where, legend had it, the Earthlords, Ancients and Archons had fought in the Time Before Time. Nothing grew in this devastated place, and intense heat had turned the earth to shining glass. The cataclysmic battle had upset the earth’s magnetic forces so that even the ley lines no longer functioned properly. None of those who had jumped through the final leygate-a perfectly circular hole in a cliff face-had returned; their screams still echoed through the gates even though centuries had passed.

Zephaniah and Prometheus continued south on foot. The same forces that had upset the ley lines also sucked away at their auras, leaving them both weak and practically powerless. It had taken Prometheus-a Master of Fire-three attempts before he’d been able to raise a feeble flame to heat some water. Their auras had strengthened the farther they had moved away from the last leygate, but when they’d entered the forest that ringed the Nameless City, their auras had faded again.

Zephaniah was exhausted. It was an extraordinary feeling, one she had not experienced in hundreds of years. The bone-dry desert around the leygate quickly followed by the rank humidity of the jungle had destroyed her leather-and-metal clothes, and her indestructible boots had proven not so indestructible. Having no access to her aura had been a terrifying revelation. To have to rely on her unenhanced senses was like being deaf and blind, and even her sense of taste was limited, so that everything tasted the same-either sweet or salty. Now she could only smell the strongest-and usually the foulest-of odors. The sooner they got what they were looking for and left the Nameless City, the happier she would be. But Abraham’s instructions had been clear: she was not to return without the records from the library. There was one particular book he needed to complete the creation of the Codex.

Initially, Zephaniah had contemplated making the journey on her own: she was both strong and fast, and her auric powers were incredible. However, her friend Hekate had begged her to bring someone with her, and surprisingly, Abraham had agreed to let her. She had been even more surprised when he had suggested her younger brother, the fearsome warrior-sage Prometheus.

“I’m glad you came with me,” she said suddenly. “I’m not sure I would have liked to make this journey on my own.”

“I have to look out for my sister,” the warrior said with a grin. Then the smile faded. “But I do know what you mean… There is something about this place… something wrong. No wonder our people abandoned it.”

“I wonder why they never gave it a name,” she said. “On the charts it is simply known as the City and Abraham called it the Nameless City.” The pair continued down the middle of the broad street, following mysterious metal grooves cut into the primeval black stones. Although the age of the city could be measured in millennia, no metal had rusted, and while the glass walls were scratched and scored by the forest, not a single pane was broken.

“Here, I think…,” Prometheus said. He stopped outside an enormous stepped-glass pyramid. The entire front of the building was covered in intricate spirals and whorls. Just looking at them made him dizzy. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head. “Check the map.”

Zephaniah pulled the map from the metal tube; she held it up, comparing the symbols etched into the glass above the door with the pattern on the skin. They matched. “This is the library,” she said, craning her neck to look at the top of the pyramid. It was topped with a cap of solid gold. “The proportions are wrong,” she said suddenly, stepping back to look at the doors. “The handles are set too high and the doors are unusually tall.”

Prometheus nodded. “And the steps are too shallow,” he said.

“This city was not built for creatures like us,” Zephaniah added.

“But for whom… or for what?” he wondered.

“The Ancients?” Zephaniah suggested.

“Not them: they resembled us to some degree. Legend has it that this city was created for the Earthlords.”

“What did they look like?”

Prometheus shrugged. “No one knows. None survived the last battle, and all record of them was erased from history.” Pulling two short double-headed axes from his belt, he stepped up to the door of opaque black glass and pushed hard, expecting it to be stiff with age.

It swung silently open.

Prometheus quickly stepped inside and put his back to the wall, waiting until his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Zephaniah remained outside and pulled a coiled metal whip from around her waist. If there was anything inside, she didn’t want to get in her brother’s way, and it was her duty to protect him.

“I’m not sure this is the right place…” Prometheus’s voice echoed. “There are no books here, just statues. Hundreds-no, thousands of them.”

A flicker of movement at the edge of the forest caught Zephaniah’s attention. A branch had shifted slightly, moving against the wind rather than with it.

“I think we’ve got company,” she said quietly. And then her nostrils flared as she caught the distinctive smell of anise, the odor of her brother’s aura. “Prometheus?”

“Statues,” he repeated, his voice growing fainter as he moved away from the door

“Prometheus…”

“They look like they’re made of clay…”

The smell of anise was stronger now, and when she glanced over her shoulder, Zephaniah caught the dull red glow of her brother’s aura from within the darkened building. But how was that possible? For the past few days neither of them had been able to bring their auras alight. Gripping the whip tightly in her right hand, she backed in through the open door, then turned… and stopped in horror.

Prometheus was standing in the middle of an enormous room. His axes had fallen to the ground and his arms were stretched straight out, his head thrown back. His aura was ablaze, streamers of fire coiling off his skin, his hair and beard crackling with static. Liquid fire puddled around his feet, and his outstretched fingers and thumbs spat tiny lightning bolts. His eyes burned like red-hot coals.

And he was surrounded by statues.

Intricately beautiful, delicately carved from clay, they ranged in color from deep black to palest white. And while their bodies were perfectly sculpted, their faces remained unfinished, little more than vague ovals, without eyes, ears, nose or mouth. Male and female stood side by side in identical positions, tall, elegant and otherworldly. They looked not unlike the Elders or even the legendary Archons, but were obviously different from those races.