Page 21 of Immortals and Ink

The note struck again, and suddenly, he was standing on the polished floor of the temple of Poseidon. The altar was three paces in front of him, humming with the same resonance as the sea outside the temple doors.

The priest on his right was saying something about an offering. The priest on his left was laying a hand gently on Alexis's shoulder. The air smelled of green-blue salt water and incense, and of the strange, heated scent orichalcum gave off when keyed to a ritual.

He was a boy. He was terrified. He was in love. The altar stone, shimmering red and swirling gold, was the most beautiful object he had ever seen. He had no idea that all the beauty around him would be lost under ash and salt. He was simply alive in the altar's sound.

"Alexis!" Arslan was holding the casket in both hands. "I have it. We need to move."

The altar stone still called to him, and he whimpered as the memories tried to drag him back.

Arslan's free hand came up and gripped Alexis by the back of the neck, grounding him so he didn't faint.

"Alexis. Come back. We are in a crypt. The casket is closed. Breathe. Look at my face."

Alexis focused on Arslan's eyes, and the sound of the tolling grew softer. Alexis breathed, and warmth began to seep back into his limbs.

"I have you," Arslan said firmly. "I need you to walk with me out of this crypt, up to the nave, and out to the street. I'll carry the casket. You don't need to touch it until we are safe. Do you understand me?"

"Y-Yes," Alexis stammered, his lips not wanting to form the words properly.

"Good. Now walk."

The plaster and stone moved back into place at Arslan's command. With a flick of his fingers, the bad painting rose slowly off the floor and reattached itself to the wall.

Alexis sent a touch of his own magic toward it, and the paint on the halo shifted a little as it returned, the nose adjusted, and the leper gained a new countenance. Arslan didn't mention it, only offered him an arm to lean on as they made for the stairs.

CHAPTER NINE

Above ground, they passed the old monk, who didn't look up from his sweeping but wished them a good evening all the same.

By the time they stepped out into the night air and the garden around the church, Alexis was breathing normally again. He was aware of his hands and of the cobblestones under his boots and of the faint pale stars over the domes. He wasn't crying, which surprised him, but he knew the tears would come later. They always did.

They walked back through the streets towards the water and the boat that would take them across the Horn to Galata. They had only just begun to near the docks when an arrow flew past their heads.

Alexis's body had been taught by a weapons-master that a magician who couldn’t hear an arrow was going to die. He flung out his arm, caught Arslan in the chest, and shoved him behind a pile of crates before he had fully registered the sound.

"Stay down!" he commanded.

Alexis risked a look around the wooden crates and fishing nets. The arrow had come from the rooftop of a warehouse, which meant whoever had shot at them had known they would come back for their boat.

Another arrow whistled, and Alexis ducked. The arrow struck the crate behind him. It had a black shaft and fletching, but the feathers were tipped in red. Arslan swore and pulled the arrow out.

"Friend of yours?" Alexis asked.

"Not exactly. More like a complicated acquaintance."

"How dangerous are they?"

Arslan ran a finger over the fletching. "He could have killed us with the first arrow but chose not to."

Alexis took that in. "He is shooting to spook us?"

"Or to slow us down and make us drop what we are carrying, or to see us run for the fun of it. Hard to tell what his motivations are."

"Charming."

"He is very charming, and that's part of the problem."

A third arrow whistled overhead and struck higher, near where his head would have been if he had stood up.