“In any case, I deciphered the symbol,” continues Elena. “An eye with a square pupil. The eye meant danger. And the square represented human beings and their cities. It was a warning, you see, written for avtomat and in our own language.”
“And how do you know it’s our language?” I ask.
Elena taps her chest.
“The symbols are the same as the ones written upon our hearts.”
Elena drops her gaze to her hands, delicate fingers wrapped around a bone-white teacup.
“I knew then there were friendly avtomat, and I set out to find them. You gave me the idea of how, Peter. Reading of your exploits, I saw how we so easily exceed human capability that our common deeds become legend. How many monarchs, heroes of battle, great philosophers…how many were like us?
“In the summer, I began to invite the greatest geniuses of humankind to visit the estate. I paid whatever price to attract people who were too smart, too prolific. All the living legends I met were human beings. But one man crumbled under the questioning of a rather precocious little girl. He was a great mathematician…and a fraud. Once I determined who his true collaborator was, it was only a matter of reaching out.”
Elena glances at Hypatia.
The writing desk is just over her shoulder, pushed against the wall and buried under sheathes of paper. Now I understand why this lone room has been preserved, though the rest of our estate lies in near ruin.
“You are very good with writing a letter, aren’t you darling?” I ask.
Elena smiles across the table at me, her teacup balanced before her lips, eyes bright.
“And so you joined her?” I ask Hypatia.
“We make a good team,” she says. “Your sister is truly brilliant, Peter.”
“And she is in danger, thanks to you. Tales of phantoms and sprites also often lead to one of our kind. My coachman seemed to believe the ghost of an orphaned little girl haunted these hallways, the dulcet tones of her harpsichord ringing out in the ruins, fey music performed for the wild beasts of the wood.”
Elena bows her head in embarrassment.
“Not so far from the truth,” says Hypatia, lip twitching in a small smile.
“And what revelation did Hypatia bring you, Elena?” I ask. “What essential message did she carry that you would risk your life so recklessly?”
Elena is silent for a long moment, regarding me coldly.
“To bring you your heart’s desire, Peter,” Hypatia says. “Elena stayed here on this estate out of true devotion to you. She risked everything, setting her mind to finding the one thing that could make you happy. And she convinced me to retrieve it. Yet all you seem to offer her in return is anger…and neglect.”
Elena puts a hand on Hypatia’s forearm. The woman visibly reins in her emotions, blue eyes shining. In the simple gesture I can see years of companionship. Hypatia considers me, speaking slowly now, choosing her words.
“Peter…we are a race of survivors. We live, and then forgetting—we live yet again. Sometimes, the consequences of the past follow us across many lives.”
From a satchel, Hypatia produces a golden handkerchief wrapped around something heavy and small. She places the item on the table, the silk softening the contours of the object.
This hidden thing exudes a familiarity I cannot place. The shape of it draws my eye. It calls to me silently, bids me to lift it. To protect it. My hands extend toward the silk almost of their own accord, and I force them back into my lap, clasping my fingers together to keep them in place.
“You know what this is. You can sense it,” says Hypatia, watching my face closely. “Indeed, it is yours, and we have brought it back to you.”
“No,” I say. “Elena is my only responsibility. My purpose is to protect my sister.”
Elena drops her teacup rattling onto the saucer.
“I am quite capable of protecting myself, Brother,” she says.
I push back from the table.
“We are exposed,” I say. “Our lives are at risk. We could have hidden here together safely—”
“And yet you saw fit to leave,” says Hypatia, swirling her tea. “These dalliances across India, the battles and the plunder and the glory of the king. Perhaps you thought it would…satisfy. But none of it means anything.”
Hypatia leans across the table, hands on either side of the hidden object resting between us. “It does not satisfy because those aren’t our wars. Our wars are fought far more viciously, for far longer, and in the shadows.”
“Open it,” says Elena. “Please, Peter.”
I stare at the shrouded outline of the thing for a long moment, feeling its draw. Then I lean over, take hold of the corners of the handkerchief, and pull them taut. The fabric lifts away in a golden square. On the table, I see a crescent ridge of metal.
The anima of a fallen avtomat.
“This is your fight, Peter,” says Elena. “Your purpose.”
I can almost remember this artifact. Something is so familiar about it. I gently scoop the relic up and feel its warmth in my hands. My eyes close and—
Elena is screaming over a chaos of yellow water and frothing mist. A waterfall is roaring—not a dragon after all. Her face pressed against my chest. The shadow of an arrow passes by my face. Please, please she is going to die. I am going to lose her—
“Peter? Peter?” says Elena, her hand on my shoulder. I blink, back in the parlor. Dropping the anima to the table, I wipe my hands on my chest. A sick fear crawls through my belly, nauseous remorse for a sin I cannot place.
“Who is it?” I ask, my eyes averted from the anima, voice barely audible.
Elena shares another look with Hypatia. She speaks, voice low and intense: “This is the anima of Huangdi, made by the progenitor race, Cosmic Ruler and founder of the first dynasty of China. Legends say the Yellow Emperor looked upon what he had made and decided the world was not ready for our kind. He chose to hibernate for a thousand years. But his consort, Leizu, mother of silkworms…betrayed him. As Huangdi lay down to sleep, she plucked his anima from his breast.”
“How did you find it?”
A tight smile appears on Hypatia’s face and she shares a look with Elena. “As I said, your sister and I make a good team. But that is a story for another time,” she says.
“Why bring it to me?”
“On that long-ago day, a loyal general stood and fought Leizu—seized the soul of his master and fled. Though his path was lost to the ages, agents of the tsardom found the body of this champion buried in a muddy riverbank.”
Elena puts a hand over mine, closing my fingers over the artifact.
“Favorini said our vessels were found in the East. He said he put us back together. But he never mentioned that we carried a third anima—the soul of a mighty ruler, missing its vessel.”
Elena holds my hands in hers now, the artifact a warm ember between us.
“Five thousand years, Peter,” she says. “The dawn of civilization. It has been five millennia since you fought the Worm Mother and saved your master’s soul.
“And now it is yours to save again.”
37