alone, or would he bring a platoon of Guides? As a precaution, she and Gwalcmai had split up. He had taken her
ka
and gone to another place, a backup in case Jobb had been corrupted.
Jobb closed the door behind him and faced her alone, his hands inside the sleeves of his robe, arms crossed on his chest. “It is as you said. The Airlia just use us.”
Donnchadh felt a surge of relief and took her hand off the dagger strapped to her side. She knew no Guide would be able to speak against the Airlia. Jobb reached up and removed the silver chain from underneath his hair. “I do not need that anymore. They only give access to the Master Guardian once. That is all that is needed.”
“Where have they assigned you?” Donnchadh asked as she took the chain.
“I work in the temple, overseeing the processing of tribute brought by the traders.”
“How much contact do you have with the Airlia?” Donnchadh asked.
“Very little. It takes many years to gain the rank to be close to them.”
“We have time. We’ll come back.”
Thirty years. A trip back to England. A regeneration. A return trip to Atlantis.
If Jobb was surprised at their youthful appearance when they met again, he didn’t indicate it when he entered his humble home and found them waiting for him. The years had not been kind to him. His hair was gone. His face was hard. His body was stooped with the weight of time. He moved slowly, his body riddled with arthritis. He had been used by the Airlia, and Donnchadh had no doubt his replacement was already in training.
The small room where his daughter had lived was still the same. Just a simple bed and bare walls. His garments were slightly different. Still a black robe with silver trim, but there was a series of red loops around his right sleeve, indicating higher rank.
“You have done well,” Donnchadh said as she mentally counted the loops.
“I have done as you told me to,” Jobb replied as he wearily sat on his bed after greeting them.
“You are the Director of Temple Operations for the high priests,” Donnchadh said. “A position of great trust and responsibility. With great access.”
“For a human,” Jobb said. “For a human who is supposed to be corrupted.”
“And the Airlia?” Gwalcmai asked. “How do they fare?”
Jobb looked at him. “Do you know of the black tubes?”
“Sleep and regeneration tubes?” Gwalcmai said. “The Airlia use—”
“No.” Jobb cut him off. “Do you know of the half-breeds they put in the black tubes and what they use them for?”
” ‘Half-breeds’?” Donnchadh repeated. Her face had gone even paler, if that were possible.
“Half-human, half-Airlia,” Jobb said. “There are royal consorts. Something no one other than the highest ranking of the corrupted know about. Human women who are taken as part of the tribute. Taken deep below the temple, where the Airlia live in their tunnels. And they are never seen again.”
“I know of such,” Donnchadh said sharply, earning her a surprised look from Gwalcmai.
“They are raised down there,” Jobb said. “By a special cadre of high priests. Men whose tongues have been cut out so they can never speak of the dark things they are a part of.” He fell silent, reluctant to speak further.
“Tell us what else you have learned,” Donnchadh said, changing the subject.
“As you told me so many years ago, they are not Gods,” Jobb finally said. “They are demons. They take their own offspring from the human consorts and put them in the black tubes. Then, once a month, they go down there and open the tubes. And drink the blood of these half-breeds. For pleasure.” He tapped his chest. “The high priests lie. They are programmed to lie. I wish sometimes I had been programmed. So I could deny the truth of what I have seen and heard, to myself, never mind the people we preach to and control for these creatures.” Jobb laughed, the bitter edge indicating no humor. “Even the Airlia are beginning
ka
and gone to another place, a backup in case Jobb had been corrupted.
Jobb closed the door behind him and faced her alone, his hands inside the sleeves of his robe, arms crossed on his chest. “It is as you said. The Airlia just use us.”
Donnchadh felt a surge of relief and took her hand off the dagger strapped to her side. She knew no Guide would be able to speak against the Airlia. Jobb reached up and removed the silver chain from underneath his hair. “I do not need that anymore. They only give access to the Master Guardian once. That is all that is needed.”
“Where have they assigned you?” Donnchadh asked as she took the chain.
“I work in the temple, overseeing the processing of tribute brought by the traders.”
“How much contact do you have with the Airlia?” Donnchadh asked.
“Very little. It takes many years to gain the rank to be close to them.”
“We have time. We’ll come back.”
Thirty years. A trip back to England. A regeneration. A return trip to Atlantis.
If Jobb was surprised at their youthful appearance when they met again, he didn’t indicate it when he entered his humble home and found them waiting for him. The years had not been kind to him. His hair was gone. His face was hard. His body was stooped with the weight of time. He moved slowly, his body riddled with arthritis. He had been used by the Airlia, and Donnchadh had no doubt his replacement was already in training.
The small room where his daughter had lived was still the same. Just a simple bed and bare walls. His garments were slightly different. Still a black robe with silver trim, but there was a series of red loops around his right sleeve, indicating higher rank.
“You have done well,” Donnchadh said as she mentally counted the loops.
“I have done as you told me to,” Jobb replied as he wearily sat on his bed after greeting them.
“You are the Director of Temple Operations for the high priests,” Donnchadh said. “A position of great trust and responsibility. With great access.”
“For a human,” Jobb said. “For a human who is supposed to be corrupted.”
“And the Airlia?” Gwalcmai asked. “How do they fare?”
Jobb looked at him. “Do you know of the black tubes?”
“Sleep and regeneration tubes?” Gwalcmai said. “The Airlia use—”
“No.” Jobb cut him off. “Do you know of the half-breeds they put in the black tubes and what they use them for?”
” ‘Half-breeds’?” Donnchadh repeated. Her face had gone even paler, if that were possible.
“Half-human, half-Airlia,” Jobb said. “There are royal consorts. Something no one other than the highest ranking of the corrupted know about. Human women who are taken as part of the tribute. Taken deep below the temple, where the Airlia live in their tunnels. And they are never seen again.”
“I know of such,” Donnchadh said sharply, earning her a surprised look from Gwalcmai.
“They are raised down there,” Jobb said. “By a special cadre of high priests. Men whose tongues have been cut out so they can never speak of the dark things they are a part of.” He fell silent, reluctant to speak further.
“Tell us what else you have learned,” Donnchadh said, changing the subject.
“As you told me so many years ago, they are not Gods,” Jobb finally said. “They are demons. They take their own offspring from the human consorts and put them in the black tubes. Then, once a month, they go down there and open the tubes. And drink the blood of these half-breeds. For pleasure.” He tapped his chest. “The high priests lie. They are programmed to lie. I wish sometimes I had been programmed. So I could deny the truth of what I have seen and heard, to myself, never mind the people we preach to and control for these creatures.” Jobb laughed, the bitter edge indicating no humor. “Even the Airlia are beginning
Similar Books
