by Chris Fox
Blair honed his will into a spike. It came easily now, even with the agony and exhaustion. He had almost no strength left, but Mother willing it would be enough.
“Because,” Blair rasped through his ruined throat, gaze locking with Irakesh. “I’m in your head.”
Then he struck, sliding past the deathless’s defenses with surprising ease.
41
Deceived
Irakesh was escorted into the throne room, a cavernous chamber in the very heart of the Ark. A narrow red carpet stretched the length of the chamber, four massive glow bulbs hovering above. Each blazed like a miniature sun, though their soft ivory light left shadows in the corners. None of the brightly clothed sycophants lining either side of the carpet were careless enough to let their booted feet touch the plush velvet. Doing so would have been a gross breach of etiquette, one they may not survive.
He strode boldly up that carpet, knowing he stood far above them all in position if not experience or age. It was a crowning moment, yet a disquieted part of his mind whispered that this was all somehow wrong. How was that possible? He was where he’d always been meant to be, the Ark of the Cradle. His mother, the goddess Ra herself, was resplendent in a bejeweled headdress and a shimmering white robe that plunged at the neckline. She lounged in opulence atop her golden throne on the raised dais. One bronzed leg was thrown carelessly over the side as she swirled the contents of her goblet. She surveyed the small army of cloaked sycophants, every last one scheming for a coveted rejuvenator when the Age of the Lion ended in a handful of weeks. She didn’t appear to have noticed Irakesh, though he knew that was an act. She’d sensed his approach hours ago, the moment he first reached her city.
“What merit could such a strike possibly possess?” Ra asked, her melodic voice sweet but eyes glittering hard like diamonds. They promised a swift but merciful death, should the answer displease her.
“What merit? We could overwhelm Isis now, right at the end. If nothing else, damage her Ark so that she cannot slumber away the millennia and live to fight us in the next age,” a bold-faced deathless explained, as if to a doddering idiot. His ill-chosen tone had likely signed his death warrant, though he seemed oblivious to his own mounting peril.
Unsurprising. Irakesh thought it a minor miracle that Khonsu had lived this long. Even his fashion sense was lacking. A tightly bound side-lock of black hair dangled down the side of his face. His silver robes had gone out of fashion when Isis had departed centuries ago, yet he’d stubbornly clung to them because of his love for the moon.
Khonsu plunged boldly ahead, hands clasped before him in something that was probably meant to be supplication. “You could assail her with lightning and death as a prelude to an assault, providing a distraction. The rest of your warriors could storm the central chamber and destroy the obelisks.”
“Galu, how old are you?” Ra called as if Khonsu hadn’t spoken. She turned towards the diminutive figure perched in a high backed chair a mere two steps below the throne. Irakesh almost never noticed the child, as was intended. She so cleverly faded into the background unless Ra brought attention to her as she had today.
“I have seen five cycles, most holy,” Galu said, voice so soft only their enhanced senses allowed them to perceive it. She gave a reverent nod, screening her face with dark curls that had no doubt taken her thralls hours to perfect. Her ivory robe was twin to Ra's.
“Why do I keep you in my company at all times, Galu?” Ra asked, placidly. Irakesh stopped, not yet wanting to be the subject of his mother’s attention. Khonsu was doomed and he didn’t want even a passing association with such an event.
“To ensure that any flaw a child could spot will be corrected before a plan is implemented,” the child answered, eyes low. She looked so tiny in that monster of a chair.
“Tell me, Galu, what flaws do you detect in Minister Khonsu’s plan?” she asked, eyes growing a malevolent green as her attention settled on the subject of her wrath.
“Such a strike has little chance of success,” Galu said, watching the minister as his long face purpled. Were it not for Ra's protection Irakesh was certain the fool would have attacked. It underscored how truly foolish the man was. “We have no knowledge regarding Isis’s defenses. Even if we did, such a strike would deplete our Ark, draining precious power. This power will be needed to preserve those of us who accompany Ra to the next age. If we use it now, we risk running out before we have arrived.”
“Such a gamble is unlikely to use a significant amount of—” Khonsu began, face twisted in rage.
“Silence,” Ra roared, rising from her throne and taking a step towards Khonsu. Gold flowed from her palm, coalescing into a long staff with a scarab head. A giant sapphire set in the middle of the beetle’s thorax pulsed with power. The sight of the legendary weapon invoked even more fear than Ra’s thunderous expression. Khonsu quailed before her, shrinking into his voluminous black cloak as if its shadowy folds could offer protection.
“I could burn you to ash in a heartbeat and none would so much as note your absence. Yet such is my disgust that I will not soil my hands with your filthy flesh. Instead, I name you anathema. You are no longer welcome at this court, Khonsu. In fact, any who participate in your death will be named a friend of the gods,” she said, robe swishing as she swayed forward. She swept down the stairs, past the frenzied mob that formed around poor Khonsu. The man’s screams were quickly choked off as they began to feed. Her gaze fell on Irakesh, turning his bowels to water. “Attend me, my son. I would walk the gardens.”
A silver shape lingered in the corner of his vision, but when Irakesh spun to face it directly, whatever he’d seen was gone. His eyes narrowed. Had it been a Ka-Ken spy? It wasn’t like their ancient enemies to make such a mistake. A Ka-Ken was never seen unless she wanted to be. So what had he just witnessed? Should he mention it to his mother? Surely if something were there, she’d have already detected it. She was the undisputed master of this place.
“Irakesh, did you not hear me?” Ra called, the faintest note of disapproval creeping into her voice. Irakesh hurried after, following her down a wide marble corridor that led to the terraced gardens along the outer edge of the Ark.
She glanced at him over a bare shoulder exposed by her robe. By design, of course. Ra had lost none of the allure that had led to her being declared the most beautiful woman in the world, her auburn locks flowing down perfect shoulders like a waterfall. Her face a pristine oval, eyes like glittering emeralds. Many deathless still harbored a very human lust for her, despite supposedly being removed from such mortal passions. She wielded that lust with the potent skill of one bred to manipulate. A skill he very much envied.
“My apologies, mother. I thought I saw something. I’m sure I must have been mistaken,” he said, inclining his head respectfully. He avoided looking directly at her. It was safer that way.
They strode down the corridor for several moments, a pair of seekers hanging respectfully back, but ready to spring into combat should a threat present itself. They were the very best death merchants in the entire Cradle and their reputation for lethality was well earned.
“Tell me what you saw, my son. You are my direct progeny and must learn to assert yourself, even with me,” Ra said, the rebuke delivered with a rare smile. She paused to face him. Now he had no choice but to meet her gaze. She arched a delicate auburn eyebrow. “Show me.”
“Very well,” Irakesh said, scanning his own memory for what he’d seen. “It was quite curious. It looked like a Ka-Dun, but vanished so suddenly it must have been a Ka-Ken.” He gestured to the hall ahead of them, concentrating as he drew the energy necessary to shape.
A wavering illusion appeared, a silver-furred werewolf with amber eyes. It was majestic and powerful, but not nearly so powerful as a female. The Ka-Dun’s face was maddeningly familiar, but Irakesh had no idea why. Where could he possibly know it from? He’d never even met a real Ka-Dun, though he’d been in a battle and seen one die. At a distance.
Something was dreadfully wrong. His mother would never show such a lack of composure, not even if Isis herself invaded. That wasn’t his mother. This might not even be the Ark of the Cradle. He could be a prisoner in his own mind, shepherded about by a clever Ka-Dun. But who? Or why? He would have answers.
Risen, aid me, Irakesh commanded. Are my senses being fooled?
There was no answer. That cinched it. His mind had been invaded. He could trust nothing. Not his senses, nor even his thoughts. He understood in that moment that he was being assaulted, but if he let it the Ka-Dun could redirect his attention and he’d once again be lost in the memory the bastard had conjured. He must act both swiftly and decisively.
“Show yourself, Ka-Dun. I am not your plaything and I will not be taken in by your games,” he roared, drawing his na-kopesh. Had that been at his side a moment ago? It hadn’t. The memory the Ka-Dun had chosen had occurred before his mother had awarded him the weapon.
“How does it feel to be the prey for once, Irakesh?” a voice said from behind him. He spun to face the intruder. Recognition brought a flood of memory. Blair. He’d been about to kill the Ka-Dun just before the clever fool had broken into his mind to prevent his own death.
“You’re more resourceful than I ever would have imagined. I have never faced a more worthy opponent and I will not underestimate you again,” Irakesh said, sheathing his weapon. It would do him no good here. “You’ve managed to stave off your own death, but don’t think you’ve won. I have training, Ka-Dun. I can push you from my mind.”
“Maybe, but I’ve already rifled through your memories,” Blair said, lopsided grin spreading across that smug face. “I can see where you’re going. I even know how you intend to get there. That and so many other things. You think you’re so superior, but your world is gone. Mine is still here and I know it better than you ever will.”
“Perhaps, but your friend Trevor knows it just as well,” Irakesh gave back. He smiled when pain entered Blair’s gaze. “Yes, you begin to understand. Your friend is my thrall now. He does my bidding. Even while we wrestle within my mind he is killing your friend Steve. He will kill Jordan and Bridget as well before he is finished. You may have learned a few scraps of memory, but they will avail you nothing.”
“We’ll see about that,” Blair said, coy smile emerging. He stepped towards Irakesh. “You took something that didn’t belong to you and I intend to get it back. That key belongs to the Mother. I’m not going to allow you to set up your own little empire. Seeing your memories, I’m not sure your mother will look too kindly on it either. Sounds like you might be doomed no matter what you do.”
Rage thundered through Irakesh, largely because Blair was right. If Irakesh pulled this off, he’d be a rival and his mother would treat him as such. If he failed, she would do nothing to help him. At best she’d be indifferent, at worst an implacable enemy. For the first time since waking he doubted his choices.
“You’ve overstayed your welcome, Ka-Dun. Let me show you what a disciplined mind can do,” he growled, closing his eyes. He envisioned his mother’s garden, where he’d spent countless hours as a child. Then he envisioned the wall around it, impossibly tall to his young eyes. He focused everything on that wall, leveraging the years of training as he strengthened his defenses.
This was the first step, pushing Blair out of his innermost thoughts. It seemed to have worked, unless the Ka-Dun was far more powerful than he’d assumed. Now he must awaken to his current surroundings. When he did so time would be critical. He’d wasted too much time here. It was time to flee, time to take the others and go. He’d send a whisperer to each of them, then they’d be on their way.
It would mean creating an illusion far more complex, far larger than any he’d ever done. Yet he must. He would. Irakesh opened his eyes, suddenly back in the hangar bay. He melted into the shadows even as Blair gave a half-hearted swipe in his direction.
42
Fear & Loathing in Panama
Jordan clawed his way back to consciousness, staggering to his feet as he took in his surroundings. He’d never had a migraine, but he imagined the blinding agony must be something like this. He raised a hand to his temple, unsure how it might help but desperately needing the pain to stop. A bright corona surrounded his vision. He staggered to his feet, peering groggily around.
The dead cluttered the dimly lit room. It reeked of gunpowder, blood, and the sickly rot of a thousand zombies left to ferment in this hangar. Underlying it all was the sharp smell of gasoline and the plasticky smell he’d always associated with large office buildings. Nothing moved near him, either through luck or the intervention of the others. Most of the zombies were down, though clusters still prowled the spaces between the planes in search of food. They hadn’t noticed him as of yet. The ones nearest him were shuffling towards a very loud fight taking place forty or fifty yards away.
Two massive werewolves brawled, growling and snapping as they circled each other. He recognized Liz quickly enough, but the blond werewolf she grappled with was new. It reminded him of Cyntia, but she was larger than Liz, whereas Cyntia had been noticeably smaller. So who was it, how had she gotten here, and why the hell was she fighting against them?
He compartmentalized the question. Priorities must be dealt with. He’d been incapacitated for an indeterminate amount of time. Someone had used the shadows to perform a close-range execution-style headshot. That meant either a female werewolf or a deathless. He seriously doubted Irakesh would stoop to using a gun, but that was probably more likely than yon female werewolf having used a gun instead of her perfectly lethal claws. A third possibility existed. There might be another deathless or another werewolf. He just didn’t have enough data to know.
Jordan scanned the ground around him, eventually locating his weapon. He picked the rifle up, checking the scope and dropping the slide back to ensure a round was chambered. He dropped to one knee, sighting down the scope at the werewolves. Neither seemed aware of him as he tried to align the crosshairs over the blond female.
It was incredibly difficult with them rolling around. The blonde seized Liz, slamming her face into the concrete in a spray of blood and broken teeth. He used the split second to align the crosshairs with the blonde’s face, then squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked, kicking against his shoulder with incredible force as a deafening boom tore through the hangar. A gout of flame left the muzzle, hurling the bullet towards his intended target.
It never hit. A figure blurred into view about midway between him and his target, a familiar man with red—almost orange—hair and a sea of freckles. As ginger as they came. His eyes were horrible pools of green and his teeth razored fangs, every bit a deathless. He ripped a hunk of metal from the wing of a neighboring aircraft, somehow managing to interpose it between the bullet and the blond werewolf. It impacted with a hollow ringing like some giant gong, knocking Trevor back a step.
“I haven’t enjoyed anything since I was turned,” Trevor said, casually tossing the improvised shield to the concrete with a clatter. He took several unhurried steps towards Jordan, hand falling to a holstered weapon at his side. Jordan wasn’t sure what caliber it was, but he’d guess .45. A heavy round used for taking a man off his feet, perfect for a deathless as it could slow prey. “Not until now, anyway. I’m glad you didn’t die when I shot you in the head. I want you to see my face when I kill you. To know my name. You blew up my fucking house in San Diego; do you remember that? You tried to kill my sister. It’s time for some payback.”
His grin was unnerving, but Jordan refused to be cowed. He considered what he knew about his opponent. Trevor Gregg, Liz’s brother and the man who’d accurately predicated the solar event that had forever changed the world. The man who’d held open the jaws of Mohn’s ambush back in San Diego, then led his friends all the way to the Ark where they’d stopped his team and woken
the Mother. In a way Trevor was his antithesis, more so now that he was deathless.
“When I came after you before, I was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons,” Jordan said, tossing his rifle to the concrete as he unlimbered his claws. "Now I’m doing the right thing for the right reasons. You’ve become a goddamn monster, Trevor, and I’m going to put you down like one.”
“You’re going to try,” Trevor hissed, eyes flaring even as he faded from sight. Damn but Jordan hated the whole shadow walking thing everyone but him seemed capable of doing. It put him on the defensive, allowing Trevor to make the first move. To strike on his terms. That almost guaranteed he’d lose. So what could he do about it? Jordan blurred, zipping across the concrete and weaving between the few straggling zombies still on their feet. He rolled under an aircraft, coming up in a crouch on the far side. Nothing he’d just done would shake Trevor, but keeping on the move would make it harder for his opponent until he could come up with a way to even the odds.
In the distance Liz continued her fight with the blond female, apparently getting the worst of the exchange. One of her eyes was swollen shut and she was missing teeth on her right side. Her chest heaved from exertion, each swing coming a bit slower than the one before. He wasn’t going to find help in that quarter. Hell, she was the one who needed help.
He felt rather than saw a shape materialize behind him. Jordan rolled to his right, a sharp crack sounding as a bullet hummed through the space he’d just occupied. It punched into the concrete, sending up a spray of fragments that drew a line of pain down his cheek. That wasn’t a .45. It was too deep, too powerful. What the hell kind of rounds was he using? No wonder he’d gone down so hard when Trevor had first shot him.
Trevor was gone again, melting into the shadows with that awful grin plastered on a too-white face. Jordan moved again, this time rolling to the left and coming up in a crouch. He sprinted low across the hangar floor towards a Cessna on the far side. This wasn’t going at all well and he wasn’t sure how to turn it around. Normally his response in a tactical cluster fuck like this would be to flee. If only that were an option.