Matt blinked, and found himself standing before the long sarcophagus with Manara's limp form sagging in his arms. He brushed a soft kiss over her cool lips, and then laid her on top of the sarcophagus, praying with everything in him she wasn't already lost to him.
As he released Manara's body, she slumped against the smooth, cool stone and lay still, and Matt sucked in an involuntary breath, his gaze glued to her face. If only she would move or breathe or...
He jerked backwards on reflex as a light brighter than the sun suddenly engulfed the sarcophagus. It grew steadily brighter, pushing him back a step at a time with an almost physical force. Raising his arms to shield his eyes from the glare, Matt watched in horror as the light consumed Manara until he could no longer see her.
No! Gritting his teeth, Matt surged forward, struggling as if he battled a raging river for each step he took. His heart pounding like a trip hammer, he fought blindly to gain Manara's side. "Manara!"
"Halt where you stand." The suddenness of that authoritative command froze Matt in place for a moment as its ethereal power closed over him. "I am the Guardian of the Star Blade and Beloved Son of She Who Bestows Life. Step no further."
Matt glared into the light. "I don't give a damn who you are. I want Manara back. Now."
"You know this woman who comes in Her name?"
"Know her? I love her, dammit!" Matt bit out the words in frustration, his limbs feeling leaden and no longer under his control. He felt helpless and he despised the feeling. "Let me help her!"
As if pulled together by a magnet, the light suddenly condensed into the glowing, spectral form of a man in the splint mail and conical helm of ancient Sumeria.
"If you truly wish to aid this innocent, then you must do as I say. Power is not enough to win her freedom. Only belief will grant you victory. Within the third pillar of the Sun, there is a weapon against Chaos and Death. You bear the blood of Aermórnosa; wield the Blade in Her name, and all you seek shall be restored to you."
The figure stepped forward and before Matt could react, placed his hand to Matt's chest. A massive, painful jolt -- as if lightning struck him in the chest -- punched him and he staggered backward a step as the electric heat ran through him. After a moment of crippling pain, the sensation passed, leaving him feeling stronger, but different in ways that made him uncomfortable.
The third pillar of the Sun. Time is almost gone. A voice deep inside his mind urged him to move as the room slowly melded back into semi-darkness. Blinking rapidly, Matt refocused his eyes. The third pillar of the Sun? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Turning to scan the room, Matt's spirit sank. Nothing. No sun, anywhere...wait! Heart pounding hard in hope, Matt stepped closer to one of the pillars lining the room, his gaze fixed on the spot just behind the torch's flame. There was a symbol carved there, directly into the sandstone pillar. A crescent shape... a moon!
Striding rapidly across the room, he studied the opposite line of pillars. A hieroglyphic sun decorated each one. His pulse pounding, Matt found the pillar in the middle of the row -- third from both ends, and walked slowly around it, studying it. There was a slightly lighter patch about the length of a man's arm, just below the torch, and an indentation in the distinct shape of a man's left hand, right in its center.
Drawing a deep breath, Matt glanced toward Manara, then laid his hand over the indentation and pushed down. He nearly jumped away from the pillar completely as the ground beneath him suddenly shifted and a grinding noise filled the air. His jaw went slack as he watched the lighter shaded section begin to slowly move. There was machinery of sophistication beyond this temple's time at work here. Swallowing, he watched in awe as blue-white light spilled from the compartment, gleaming off the length of a jewel-hilted sword, embossed with a glittering golden star. The craftsmanship alone would have made it a priceless object and he briefly wished his mother, an authority on antiquities, could have seen this weapon. The metal gleamed as if lit from within and was unlike any he'd ever seen before. Along the walls of the compartment, carved letters and figures, like a cross between Greek and cuneiform, ran in long lines. He wondered what they said.
Cautiously, Matt reached for the weapon's hilt and as he grasped it, two worlds collided within him, causing him to stagger backward, gasping for air. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He could remember everything! The destruction of Ali-Antos and the flight from the Crophines Astenim, bearing the Star Blade away to safety from the Sodalitas Arachaena. And the woman who saved his life, century after century.
Sword in hand, he returned to Manara's side. His body hummed with newfound energy and his mind overflowed with memories and rituals in a language he never knew a word of before -- Sumerian. For the first time, he no longer feared Manara's power, or her death.
At her side, he held the shining Star Blade aloft between clasped hands and closed his eyes as he prayed.
"Blessed, my Mother, Who is the Star of Heaven, grant me Your power, so I might guide Your servant through Your sister's realm and return her to Your light."
Power surged through him in a bright white wave, nearly sending him to his knees. Slowly, he lowered the blade and reached to place one trembling hand on Manara's chest, laid against the soft, cool flesh between her breasts.
Matt pushed the energy from himself into Manara's body, watching the blue-white light play over her pallid features. He had no idea what he expected, but for the first time in his life, he believed with every breath in him that the power he found could heal her. For the first time in his life, he dared to believe he could redeem his failure.
A red glow centered around Manara's heart and began to throb. It was dull, like the hot coals of a fire and pulsed slowly, growing brighter as it spread through her chest. Suddenly, her chest heaved and she drew in a deep breath, even as the glow turned bright blue. Like a flash of lightning, it burst around her -- a radiant star born in the darkness. The powerful flash lifted her upright from the sarcophagus and a voice not completely Manara's echoed from the sandstone walls.
"I am the Servant of She Who is the Bestower of Life and Death, Guardian of the Sacred Unification and Heart of the World. I am she who is the Speaker of the Goddess of Babylonia and Assyria, the Watcher of Empires and the Mother of Conquerors. I am the captor, not the captive. I command you to come forth, Urasat of Ereshkigal. Now."
Matt's gaze jerked from the glowing spectacle before him as he heard a low, guttural growl. The demon, its eyes glowing dimly, lumbered reluctantly toward them, looking for the world as if someone had thrown chains on it. Matt tensed as it drew near, the sword lifted, prepared to move swiftly to defend Manara if the thing should attack.
It stopped before Manara and its head bowed as it fell to its knees with a reverberating thud. Understanding flashed through Matt. This was a world of opposites and only the antithesis of evil could control a creature born of the bowels of whatever underworld it served. Manara's innocence, when combined with her ancient bloodline and faith, gave her a power over Urasat no other person on Earth could hope to achieve. Her sacrifice, for Matt's sake, gave her the power to bind the demon's evil and command its obedience.
"You have defied My will," The voice issuing from Manara's lips dripped with disapproval. "As you lived in slumber, by My grace, so will you pay for your defiance in oblivion."
Her eyes turned to Matt, and the heat he saw there staggered him. "Matthew."
The blue-white light of the weapon grew to blinding proportions even as Matt heard the demon howl with a rage no mortal fury could match as soon as Manara's attention shifted. God. Suddenly, he realized why Manara was kept apart from men all her life. To command Urasat's complete obedience, she had to be pure. Only... He swallowed hard as he remembered the times they made love and his gaze fixed on Urasat. If that demon came anywhere near her...
The demon flew forward suddenly, talons raised to deliver the blow that would free it, and Matt's instinct to protect kicked in. Without a thought to his own safety, he
stepped forward and swung the blade in a wide arc. The impact of metal biting into flesh sent Matt stumbling backward in surprise even as Urasat screamed in pain, the sword still buried in his side. Like a wildfire, the light of the sword consumed the demon, leaving nothing but a scream in its wake. Then, the light dimmed as Manara's feet settled back to the floor and the lifeless body of Ra'id al-Mawsil crumpled to the ground.
Manara blinked, feeling a power unlike any she ever possessed swirling within her heart and soul. She was changed, and knew the power within her now -- as much as the death-sleep she endured -- was responsible for the difference in her. She was strong and whole; but, more importantly, she was free. With her sacrifice, her destiny was fulfilled and now her future was unwritten, her own to choose. A new sense of purpose -- to live -- rose within her, and she felt powerful from that life.
Manara shuddered as she recalled the odd dreams of the sleep she underwent. She dreamed of a man in the raiment of ancient Sumerian royalty, with strong features and very familiar eyes. Eyes as deep and muddy as the mighty Tigris. Manara's brow furrowed. She'd watched the man's flight from a doomed island, with the Star Blade -- a sword of awesome power -- girded to his waist. That blade drew Ishtar's attention and a destiny of greatness to the man who bore it. A man named Sargon.
After he was mortally wounded, he brought the sword home to the catacombs that hid Ishtar's treasures and there buried it within the very stone of the labyrinth. Only when his spirit was reborn would he be capable of recalling the sword's location. And, even trapped in her own death, Manara grieved Sargon's passing with a fierceness she had not thought herself capable of.
"Manara?" The tentative sound of Matthew's voice drew her from her thoughts and sadness engulfed her as her gaze fell first on Ra'id's motionless body. Her anger at his actions faded in her death-sleep, leaving only pity and regret in its wake. She was saddened by the awareness that Ra'id had been as cheated as she. They could have been the closest of siblings, had Fate not conspired to make them the deadliest of enemies. Had Ra'id's father not poisoned his mind -- had Hassan al-Mawsil not been consumed by his need for vengeance against the woman he once loved -- her brother would not have come to this end. If only Ra'id took the time to listen and learn, he might have ended up very differently. At very least, he would not have ended up with the Star Blade sticking from him...
The sword!
As her gaze focused on the uniquely forged blade, glowing with bright, blue-white light, a cry of joy bubbled up and overflowed and she turned, flinging herself into Matthew's arms. He really was Sargon reborn! Just as the prophecies proclaimed, she was reborn as well, and free to love him.
Matthew crushed her tightly against himself, tears of joy tracing his cheeks to dampen her hair, and she felt whole and strong, to know how deep his love was. He believed her lost to him and yet, for her sake, he stepped beyond his past and freed her.
"I love you," he whispered, before his lips found hers in a drugging kiss and Manara's heart and head spun simultaneously with joy. Pressing against him, she offered her lips and her heart, with a trust she thought never to know. With Matthew's love, her destiny was finally complete.
Epilogue
Burn Cleary, Ireland
One Year later
"Don't be givin' me that look, Matt. You look like a man on his way to a funeral!" Peter Talladay's sharp admonition was laced with self-mocking humor, causing a smile to twitch at Matt's lips.
"Sorry, Pete. I just keep--"
"Blamin' yourself for somethin' that wasn't your fault," Talladay finished quietly. He tapped the frame of his wheelchair and then swung it toward the bedroom window. "Isn't that a wonderful view? Never thought I'd see grass that green again," he murmured as he stared out at the rolling Irish fields. "It's been a year, Matt. When do you get to stop floggin' yourself over it?"
Matt sighed wearily, slumping down in one of the room's high-backed Victorian chairs. Sinead Talladay always had a penchant for the unusual. Her son shared that trait, Matt decided with a touch of humor.
"I don't know." A wry smile twisted on his face, then. "Manara says I have issues with guilt."
Talladay chuckled, his gaze still on the grass beyond his window. "That's a smart lass you've got."
"Are you sure you're all right, here?"
Talladay frowned over at him. "Are you askin' me if I'm happy bein' home in Ireland, or if I miss bein' a walkin' man?"
Matt glanced away, unable to bring himself to look into Peter's face. The trauma to the other man's spine from the demon's attack in Iraq left Pete partially paralyzed from the waist down. Though he regained some movement over the past twelve months, it was painful enough to watch, Matt couldn't begin to imagine what Peter felt. The doctors gave up hope of more, even if Manara hadn't yet.
"Ach, leave it go, lad," Talladay whispered, wheeling away from the window. "It pains me some still when the weather's bad, but I bless my lucky stars I'm alive today. I'm content with my lot, Matt, so don't go feelin' sorry for me." He glanced back toward the window where storm clouds brewed on the horizon. "Any word on Trevor, yet?"
Matt's head shook. "No change since I was at Bethesda last month. The doctors are keeping us updated daily, through Julia, at Prometheus' headquarters. They're going to pull the plug next month if he doesn't come around. His sister's already signed the paperwork." He flinched away from the memory of Trevor's hollow-looking face. "She said she doesn't want him to suffer anymore. She told them to pull the plug soon."
"Which is what I have said all along," a soft, feminine voice spoke from the doorway, drawing the attention of both men. Manara moved gracefully to Matt's side, placing one slim hand on his shoulder. "Trevor will not be well with machines." She gave Talladay a warm smile. "How are you today, Peter?"
He beamed at her with his patent Irish charm. "Ah, lass, your lasses do wonders for the soul as well as this poor broken body."
Manara laughed, then shot Matt a look ripe with love as he rose and faced her. "Beloved, there is a man downstairs to see you."
Matt nodded. He expected a diplomatic envoy who'd accompany them back to Iraq. "That would be Jeremy Banks. He can wait. How are you feeling?"
Manara laughed softly and shot Talladay a mischievous look. "Your commander is enjoying ladling himself with guilt over both of our conditions, Peter!"
The Irishman laughed heartily, eyeing Manara's burgeoning middle speculatively. "I'd say he's had a great deal more to do with yours than mine, lass."
Matt slipped an arm around his bride of ten months and muttered against her ear, "Are you hell-bent on embarrassing me, woman?"
She only laughed, giving him a gentle nudge toward the door. "Go on. Do not keep Mr. Banks waiting. He is a busy man."
As he turned away, Matt caught her gaze, silently mouthing the words at the center of his universe.
I adore you.
Manara's eyes filled with tears and her hands moved to rest against her swollen body where their child grew, a heartbeat away from hers. She didn't say a word, but her tremulous smile was all the answer Matt needed. An act of treachery threw them together, but it took a bond of love to unite their two souls across the breadth of time, and to him, that was the greatest miracle of all.
Peter Talladay gave up hope of ever getting back the life he knew.
Can one woman determined to hate mercenaries be the answer to his prayers?
Find out, as the story continues in...
Project Prometheus, Book Two: Hope of Heaven
About Esther Mitchell
Esther Mitchell has a lifelong connection with the written word. With educational backgrounds in mythology, the paranormal, forensics and anthropology, her interests steered her into writing Suspense, often with a paranormal or mythological motif. Her early love of Romance also helped develop her writing into the area of fiction she embraces today.
She has been a published author for over twenty years, with several series to her credit, including Science Fiction, Fantasy
and Paranormal, all with Suspense and Romance elements. Readers and reviewers alike have dubbed her work "exciting" and "edge of your seat."
You can find out more about Esther Mitchell at
www.esthermitchell.com
or connect with her directly through her Facebook page at
http://www.facebook.com/authoresthermitchell
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