Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [66]
The woman fumbled in a zippered pocket, pulled out something. She flicked the light on it, snapped open a well-worn leather case, and exhibited an ID card. The light was so bright that I couldn’t read the card very well and she moved the light off the card again almost immediately. She was an agent of something, or at least that’s what I think the card read, but I wasn’t clear on what.
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve never heard of the people I work for,” she said. “We’re a very low-profile organization.”
“I have to go back,” Eliza said, her gaze going up the mountainside, straining to see her home through the darkness. “My father and mother and Father Saryon are there alone. And without the sword, they’re in danger.”
“They’d be in worse danger with the sword. There’s nothing you can do, Eliza,” said the woman quietly.
“How do you know my name?” Eliza regarded the woman with suspicion. “And Reuven’s. You knew his name, too.”
“Our agency has files on both of you. Don’t be upset. We have files on everyone. My name’s Scylla,” the woman continued.
CIA, I thought, or maybe Interpol. FBI or Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Some sort of government agency. It’s strange, for I had always been extremely cynical about the government, but as we stood in the darkness the thought that some immense and powerful organization was looking after us was rather comforting.
“Look, do we really have time for all this?” Scylla was saying. “You should take the sword to a place of safety.”
“Yes,” said Eliza. “A place of safety. That’s with my father. I’m going home.” She lifted the sword, or at least tried to lift it. It appeared heavier than ever.
Scylla gazed at Eliza, measuring her, perhaps; trying to determine if she was serious. A glance at Eliza’s pale, rigid, and resolute face could leave no doubt, as Scylla herself must have seen.
“Look, if you’re set on this, my air car’s not far back,” she said. “I’ll drive you there. It will be faster.”
Eliza was tempted. I don’t think she could have carried that sword another three feet, though she would have made the attempt until she dropped down on top of it. And she was desperate to reach her father and mother. I was desperate to reach Father Saryon. I nodded my head.
“Very well,” Eliza answered grudgingly.
Scylla gave me an approving clap on my shoulder that knocked me two or three paces back down the hillside. I had the feeling she had done that deliberately, to prove her strength, to intimidate us. She turned and left, running at an easy lope toward the highway, her flashlight guiding her steps.
Eliza and I stood alone in the darkness that was beginning to lighten. It was near dawn, I realized in amazement.
“We could leave, before she comes back,” Eliza said.
It was a statement of fact, nothing more. Yes, we could leave. But we wouldn’t. We were both too tired, the sword was too heavy, our fear and anxiety too great. We didn’t have long to wait. The air car appeared, a blot against the night.
The car soared over the wall, over the trees alongside the highway. It slid quiet as a whisper through the air toward us. When it was near us, Scylla lowered the car to the ground.
“Climb in,” she said, twisting around to open the back door.
We did so, bringing the Darksword with us. Settled in the backseat, Eliza placed the sword across both our knees and held on to it, to keep it from sliding off. I was uncomfortable, holding the sword. The touch of it was disquieting, unnerving, as if there were a leech on my skin, sucking out my blood. I had the feeling it was drawing something out of me, something that, before now, I wasn’t even aware I possessed. I wanted to be rid of the sword, yet I could not cast it off, not without losing Eliza’s trust and respect. If she could bear its incubus touch, then so could I, for her sake.
Scylla sent the air car into a steep climb and we