Chapter Ten

Paris

She sits alone under the soft yellow porch light. Wrapped up in a green blanket, legs curled under her, and hands folded in her lap. Staring off into the now dark blue waves reflecting the pale white moonlight, she wishes things could stay this peaceful forever.

But soon she will leave this island for an indefinite amount of time and she will just have to believe that she will return in later years. She looks down at an intricately carved wooden box sitting on the low table beside her. Her mother told her to open it three days after she left and that would be tonight.

Paris is very hesitant to open it, she already knows what it holds, but to finally read Rimbaldi's words herself will make every thing feel so final and inescapable.

Finally, she unfolds her body and brings the box to her lap. Manipulating its geometry, she lifts the wooden lid and stares at the ancient looking papers held together by fraying string.

Gingerly untying the cords and unfolding the papers she begins to read and mouths the prophecies silently.

The woman here depicted will posses unseen marks. Signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works. Bind them with fury, a burning anger. Unless prevented, at vulgar cost this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.

Paris remembers the months she spent getting to know her sister. It's hard to reconcile these forceful words with Sydney's usual gentle character. But she also remembers seeing the drive and focus Sydney can have and she smiles. Sydney is now even more of a force to be reckoned with than she ever was before.

Flipping the page, she sees a picture of a middle-aged man in the lower right corner. She has never personally seen Sloane, but she's seen plenty of pictures and this looks just like him. Knowing about his obsession with Rambaldi, his knowledge of Rambaldi's works, and that he has this prophecy is unnerving.

The man here depicted will be the one to bear my burden. This is he who will find all the answers and fulfill my works. He is my heir and will make the greatest power ever known to mankind realized upon the earth.

It was confusing, why Rambaldi seemed to want something prevented and finished at the same time. Paris shook her head and turned to the final page. The fact that this was the one prophecy Irina had managed to hide from Sloane was the one thing that gave her cause any hope of succeeding. A sketch that was obviously her mother was in the lower right corner.

The mother here depicted is the one who will seek. Combine this woman with her daughter, and a way out may be accomplished. She is a strength and a weakness to my heir, he must beware. If she gains what she seeks, demise is sure.

Again, Paris wonders how Rambaldi can be so ambiguous. Whose demise isn't specified, but it makes sense to believe it is Sloane's. The last page is crowded with sketches and schematics and small sections of words. She reads the sentences next to the largest drawing first.

This is the key to all that could be. Only this will answer the questions of life and death forever.

The other words are just as cryptic.

All forty seven pages and forty seven vials must be assembled if Il Dire be wrought correctly. The key holds the answer, but you must ask the right question.

The beginning of this time will come when the woman's mind is unlocked, when the mother starts her final seeking, and will stay until my heir has made an end sure.

0

Paris closes the package back up and curls back up in the chair. The time of Rambaldi had begun and she had no more time to use in contemplating the things set so plainly in writing before her. These prophecies had been unleashed so uncertainly upon the universe, and she was there to help straighten them out. She stood up and went inside the house to pack a bag so she'd be ready whenever her signal came.

Irina

Sloane sits still, staring at her face in disbelief. He'd thought he was done dealing with her. He knew he was totally disregarding their meeting protocol, but then again, he doubted she expected him to.

"Hello," Irina purrs, "Expecting someone else?"

"I didn't know who to expect. What are you doing here yourself?" he asks, regaining control of his tongue.

"I could ask you the same thing. But never mind. I have an offer for you," she says, turning to face out into the night, but watching him from the corner of her eye as he resumes the proper contact role.

"What could you possibly have to offer me now that you couldn't before?"

"How many vials are you still looking for?" Irina sees him stiffen and knows she has fully grabbed his attention.

"You have them?"

"Not personally."

"Then you are wasting my time." he starts to get but her next words make him sit down again.

"I know who does."

"And you assume I want this information badly enough to give you something in return, am I right?"

Irina goes straight to her demand.

"I'd like to see Il Dire."

Sloane again disregards protocol and turns to narrow his eyes at her. He desperately needs to find the missing vials, but at the price of letting this woman near the masterpiece is just too high.

"You know that is not possible."

"But it would be if I also delivered to you Jack and Sydney, wouldn't it?"

Sloane looks at her with disbelief and distrust. He had just been putting plans together to bring Jack on board, and here he was on what looked like a silver platter. Sloane knew Irina had to have ulterior motives, but he'd never believed she'd use Jack and Sydney as bartering chips to realize them. Who was he to throw away such an opportunity? He didn't trust Irina, but he could use her and possible thwart whatever she was trying to do. The temptation was to great to resist. Sloane stands up and holds out his hand to Irina.

"Alright, it is a pleasure to do business with you again."

Irina shakes his hand and follows him to his waiting limo. Sitting in the backseat across from him, speeding off to who knows where, she smiles.