Keys to the Demon Prison (Page 20)

"I can see. I had heard rumors. Congratulations."

Seth frowned. Getting congratulated by the Sphinx was no compliment. "Tell me about the others."

"We have Mara and Berrigan. The others got away with the Translocator. We should have had all of you. Laura, the caretaker at Obsidian Waste, demolished a bridge and led a counterattack that stalled the pursuit."

Some of the tension went out of Seth. At least the others really had escaped. The mission was a success. He glanced around the room. There were no windows, and just a single door. Filmy veils hung from the ceiling. Tapestries and other hangings softened the walls. Rich rugs blanketed the floors. Cushions and pillows of various shape and size took the place of furniture, although Seth noticed a traditional desk in one comer, next to a divan. "Where are we?"

The Sphinx sat down on a cushion. He motioned to another cushion nearby. "Please have a seat."

Seth sat down. "No Foosball table?"

The Sphinx smiled. "I am glad to see you again. I’ve missed you."

"Didn’t you get my Christmas card? I drew it myself."

"A shadow charmer is not made every day," the Sphinx said, his demeanor growing serious. "You intrigue me as much as your sister does. I would like to have an honest conversation."

"How about an honest answer as to where we are?" Seth pressed.

The Sphinx studied him. "When masters play chess, there often comes a point, sometimes many moves before checkmate, when the outcome is decided. Sometimes the inevitable loser will resign. Sometimes the doomed participant will continue until the final move. But beyond that pivotal point, the drama is over."

"Is this your way of saying you’ve won?" Seth asked. "They’re not dumb enough to trade everything for me!"

"I am not yet claiming victory. Zzyzx is not yet open. I’m saying I am well beyond the point where my victory is certain."

Seth squirmed. "What you’re trying to do is a little more complicated than a game of chess."

"A lot more complicated."

"I think you’ll find we still have a few tricks up our sleeves." Seth hoped it was true.

"I’m sure you’re right. Underestimating an opponent can be lethal. Seth, I’m not trying to boast or to intimidate you. I am telling you that I am so confident of victory, and so certain that you will leave here only at my whim, that we can actually have an honest, open conversation. Ask me anything."

"Okay, for the third time, where are we?"

"We are in Eastern Turkey on a preserve called Living Mirage. At least, that is the closest English translation. Some have dubbed it the Grand Oasis. Your friends and family refer to it as the fifth secret preserve. I call it home."

Seth could not conceal his astonishment. "You live at the fifth preserve? The one nobody can find?"

"I have dwelled here for a long time."

"This is where the final artifact is hidden."

The Sphinx smiled. "It was the first artifact I recovered, many lifetimes ago."

Seth paled. "Then you have three. The Sands of Sanctity, the Oculus, and …"

"… the Font of Immortality."

"Is that how you’ve lived so long?"

"When we first met, you asked whether I was an actual sphinx. I am not the avatar of a sphinx. I am a human being who has prolonged his life through ownership of the Font of Immortality."

Seth regarded the Sphinx skeptically. "You’re also a huge liar. A master con artist. How do I know whether a word you just told me is true?"

"Deception has been an inseparable companion," the Sphinx conceded. "Strange. I have guarded these secrets for so long that it almost surprises me to have them disbelieved. But you’re right. We could be anywhere. I could be anyone, or anything. Keep in mind, I just healed you with the Sands of Sanctity. The Oculus rests on my desk, which is how I know nobody could possibly be overhearing this conversation. And the Font of Immortality is in this room as well, though I suppose you could dismiss it as an elaborate prop."

"Let’s see it," Seth said.

"Why not?" The Sphinx stood and walked to the desk. Seth followed, noticing the flawless, multifaceted crystal resting upon a cushion on the desktop, refracting light into little rainbows. The Oculus looked exactly how Kendra had described it.

The Sphinx pulled aside a tapestry, opened a hidden cupboard in the wall, and removed a tall object. Seth recognized the straight, pearly spiral of a unicorn horn, although this one was much longer than the horn he had recovered from the centaurs. The horn served as the long stem to an alabaster goblet, embellished with shimmering enamel. A sturdy base was attached to the other end.

"That’s the Font of Immortality?" Seth asked.

"I can’t prove it in the short term," the Sphinx replied, "but if you sip from this goblet once a week, you will stop aging."

"Is that a unicorn horn?" Seth asked.

"You’ve seen one before," the Sphinx recognized. "You needed it to enter Wyrmroost. What you handled was a first horn. This is the third and final horn of a unicorn." The Sphinx replaced the artifact in the cupboard and inclined his head toward the desk. "Unlike the Font, if you touch the Oculus, you will instantly experience its authenticity."

"I’ll take your word for it," Seth hedged.

"Sit," the Sphinx invited. "I did not mean to disturb your comfort." Seth complied. The Sphinx remained on his feet. "I can do no more to persuade you of my sincerity. It will be up to you to believe or disbelieve, as you choose. Understand, I have concealed myself for centuries. The only way to really keep a secret is to tell no one. But my identity, my life story, is no longer a secret. It is merely history. You will never escape here with this information. And if you did, it would not matter. I no longer have a motive to lie."

"How did you find this preserve?" Seth asked.

"I did not find Living Mirage. Living Mirage found me."

"Is that supposed to be a riddle?"

"As a child, I was brought here as a slave."

Seth frowned. "That’s horrible. Where were you from?"

"Ethiopia."

"The caretaker had slaves?"

The Sphinx started pacing. "This was long ago. Not all caretakers were good men like your grandfather. There were many slaves here. Through their labor, those who ran the preserve lived like kings. No, like tyrants. The preserve was deadly. Slaves were employed for many high-risk duties.

When they died, it was not considered a loss of life, just a depletion of resources."