The Divine and Deadly by Taylen Carver

Author:Taylen Carver [Carver, Taylen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stories Rule Press
Published: 2020-05-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BEN LOWERED THE BOOK HE was reading. It was in Greek. He had picked up a working vocabulary of Greek in record time, earning my envy. Now he was reading the language, too. “You’re heading out to Tusheti, then?” he asked. It wasn’t really a question. His tone implied that of course I would go.

“Are you joking? Of course not.” I sat down. “We have got too much to do here.”

Ben closed the book, not even leaving his finger in the pages to mark his place. “We’ve done everything we can, here. The next step is to wait for the translation of the incantation and directions, then follow them. I can do that without you.”

I wanted to be offended, but that would simply drive me toward Tusheti. So I rolled my eyes at him instead, tamping down the irritation he had deliberately tried to provoke. “You can’t do this by yourself.”

“Why not?” His tone was cool, but there was a touch of curiosity in his eyes.

“Because the whole incantation depends upon a group of people, one of every race at least, speaking the spell at the same time. You’re going to speak to strangers and coordinate that?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “We know at least one of each race, right at home. We don’t have to walk further than the hospital to find them.” He put the book on the little lattice table beside him. “What is really going on, Michael?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want to waste my time tilting at windmills.”

“I don’t think finding Patient Zero is irrelevant.”

“It won’t change anything. But this spell will. It is work that is right in front of me.”

“You have to do your duty. The King asked you to do this.”

That was true and it was the pebble that was irritating me. “I’ll ask Mendoza if that is still the King’s wish,” I said, truculent. Mendoza was the King’s private secretary—or at least, the secretary who was dealing with the ad hoc Spanish committee on matters of the Old Races.

“I don’t think asking will change the assignment,” Ben said. “The King wants to feel as though he’s doing something, too.”

“By sending me to the Caucasus?” I asked dryly. “I’ll ask,” I added. “I’m sure they won’t consider that necessary.”

“Okay,” Ben said and picked up his book once more.

The next morning, Naïma, who looked far too sleek and relaxed, in my opinion, announced that the translation was done. “As the spell must be spoken in Old Egyptian, I will write it out in Latin script, with a pronunciation guide,” she told Ben. “It must be spoken correctly.”

“Yes, I am aware of the requirements,” Ben said politely.

“You have used Old Egyptian, before?”

“Once or twice,” he said, with an off-hand tone. He was looking at the printed sheet she had handed out to everyone. He read aloud from the sheet. I didn’t know the language at all, so assumed it was Old Egyptian. It was a short sentence he spoke, full of dissonants and consonants, then he raised his brow at Naïma.

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