He stirred now, opened his eyes. Turned his head to look up as the line of light expanded. The light was not bright but it seemed to him a Niagara of blinding radiance. He squinted into it. Gasped the fresh air. A milkshake in the desert. He gasped and gasped it, his stomach rolling over with its unaccustomed richness. Exquisite. The pain in his head, the aching throughout his body: it was all exquisite, it was exquisite life, the promise of this exquisite life forever.

His shoulders began to shake as he started crying harder, with joy this time. He peered up into the cascade of light. It seemed to separate like swimmers in a water ballet, it seemed to bloom like flowers, changing from a downpour to a spreading canopy of streaming beams.

And there—at the center of those rays—there was Iago.

It was difficult for Bernard to distinguish between the surge of passionate pleasure that went through him at the opening of his tomb, and the powerful, bewildering warmth he felt upon finally seeing that face. The long, dark hair framed features chiseled in brutal planes and angles. But the eyes were as cool and smoky as the voice had been, relaxed, even witty. The smile was gently welcoming.

This was his father.

“Now you’ll see,” Iago said, the voice washing down with the radiant light. “With me, above all else, you will never be ashamed of who you are.”

Bernard tried to nod. “Love …” he almost whispered. But his eyes sank closed, and he fainted.

18

When Bernard looked again, Iago was gone. Another face had replaced his.

The scarred man leaned over the side of the sarcophagus. His piggy eyes were bright under the tawny, sharply cut hair. His disfigured mouth was disfigured even further by a grin. He wrinkled his nose comically.

“Phwor! Who’s made a mess, then? All right, lad. Come on, up you go. Let’s get you spruced and lovely for the road.”

He reached down and grabbed Bernard’s slack arm. Oofing and urring, he worked the young man’s body up into a half-sitting position. With each fresh jolt of motion, Bernard felt a zig-zagging bolt of green lightning lance through him, nerve-end to nerve-end, top to toe. His head fell to one side, and he felt as if it had fallen on a bed of nails. He clutched at the scarred man’s thick, muscular shoulders for support.

“There you go. Easy now,” the scarred man said.