The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars

by Sean M. Hogan

  The fire changed before Sharon’s eyes, playing tricks on her, forming into a man with a golden expressionless mask for a brief second before dying back with a hissing protest.

  “King Solomon’s masked crown was pure apathy set in gold and I could not think of a more fitting symbol for our culture back then.” Gabriel held out his palms, his furry pawed hands, bathing them in firelight. “I buried the boy with my own hands outside the city walls, in a peaceful spot under a fig tree. Not because I was any better or more enlightened than anyone else, but because I couldn’t bear to look at his corpse for one second longer. It was the first time my hands were stained with blood but it would not be the last.

  “After I washed my hands free of red I did something only a young man could do. I forsook my inheritance and all birthrights, bought whatever supplies I could with the few coins in my pockets, and headed out with nothing but the clothes on my back.

  “I decided to live with the very people I had exploited. I wanted to understand them. The people of the first great migration to Tuat. The dark-skin descendants of the ancient pharaohs and old gods. I wanted to experience their culture and religion, to learn their language and history. I wanted to walk in their shoes and understand the world through their eyes.”

  Sharon watched the flames dance in the reflection of Gabriel’s ice blue eyes. His eyes were that of a predator, a ferocious beast and killer, yet she saw only sadness mirrored back, crushing grief.

  “Unfortunately, there is only so much one can learn from lives that are snuffed out as quickly as candles,” said Gabriel. “Those of the second great migration had long since snuffed out their culture over the generations by the way of the whip, chain, and sword. We stole their very gods and replaced them with iron chains. Understand them? How could I? To them, at best, I was an oddity and, at worst, a bad omen that storm clouds always seemed to follow.

  “I would have left after just four years had I not met the woman I was to marry. Her eyes were dark as coal and her skin as bronze as any metal under the desert sun. She was named Amunet.” Gabriel took in a deep breath. “We had two daughters together, Aoh and Sadek, and, after the misery of the slums got the better of us, I returned to my old home and bought my family’s freedom. The abandonment of my inheritance was forgiven and brushed off as what it was: a foolish gesture of youth. It wasn’t long before I regretted that decision.”

  Sharon noticed Thorn nervously smooth out his moss beard and avert his gaze to the empty blackness of the forest.

  “I was away on an errand on behalf of my father when the bandits struck,” Gabriel continued. “I would later learn that they were hired in secret by King Solomon himself. My family had royal blood, you see. My father was a distant cousin of the king. And so, with no heirs to call his own, we posed a threat to the paranoid and childless despot. A rogue clan of bandits plundering the city provided him with the perfect cover for the assassination plot. When I returned through the burning gates I found my family strung up in the trees, dangling from their broken twisted necks. My daughters’ dresses torn...”

  Sharon sucked in her breath and cupped her mouth.

  Gabriel stopped, biting his lip. “What horrors they inflicted on them before murdering them, I can never speak aloud. I was driven mad with hate and grief. I sought to be united with my family in whatever afterlife awaited us. So, I found the fig tree I buried the slave boy under so long ago and sat down. I vowed never again to rise to my feet. Not for food or water. Till death found me. Three days later I was found. But not by death.”

  “Who?” asked Sharon.

  “A young man with charcoal black skin and eyes, wearing the white robes of a saint, offered me a cup of water. I, of course, refused. But then he made the water dance. He smiled and told me he was a humble pilgrim on a journey to discover the true path. The one answer to all questions—even mine. After I drank he told me his name. Simon.”

  ***

  Khaba and the Cloaked Man waded through the crowds of people. They pushed past them as if marching upstream against the currents of a river of lost souls and aimless wandering ghosts.

  Towering statues of forgotten gods with human bodies and animal heads lined the walls. The ceiling overhead was molded in pure gold and supported by four pillars of finely carved stone. Long, rectangular aquatic gardens with exotic plants framed the walkway.

  “I know this place,” said Khaba, trailing behind the Cloaked Man.

  “As you should,” replied the Cloaked Man. “This is the birthright you were denied. The divine destiny he denied you.”

  “The Sun Pharaoh’s throne room,” gasped Khaba.

  They reached two huge golden doors as they pushed past the gathering servants, nobles, and guards.

  Suddenly, a roar echoed. Everyone focused their eyes on the front entrance.

  Khaba looked on as a past version of himself burst through the doors.

  People screamed and the guards rushed over, blocking the young lizard king’s path.

  “Simon,” the young Khaba shouted, pushing against the guards’ spears. “Why? Tell me why?”

  A man cast in shadow, sitting on a throne of solid gold, peered down at the young Khaba. His golden armor and helm shined in the beams of sunlight pouring in through the windows, reflecting all the unbridled glory and pride of the Angel of Light before his fall from grace.

  “Those are the words of a child, Khaba,” said Simon, sitting still as the carved gods themselves. “I have neither the time nor the patience to educate you on the realities of this world.”

  “Bastard,” the young Khaba growled out.

  “Why do you glare at me with such a face?” asked Simon, halfheartedly glancing at the young Khaba’s gnashing reptilian teeth. “Did I not grant your wish? Was it not you who came before me and demanded that I let your people go? So they may die as free men?”

  “Murder,” the young Khaba yelled. “You marched them to their graves.”

  Simon’s eyes grew cold. “Then I fulfilled my promise.”

  The young Khaba threw his hands up and a sandstorm burst in through the doors and windows of the palace, knocking the people to their knees. The guards were brushed aside like rag dolls in a tornado.

  The Cloaked Man stared on, motionless, while the real Khaba pointlessly shielded his eyes against the phantom sand that ripped through them.

  Simon finally rose to his feet, the sand twisting around him, inches from his skin, threatening to engulf him at any second.

  “Simon.” The young Khaba drew his ax. “Draw your sword or I will strike you down like the dog you are.”

  Simon’s gaze remained steadfast. “Why don’t you show your true face, lizard king? Or are you so eager to kill me that you would throw your own humanity away?”

  “Whatever was once human in me has long since rotted away with the pig-runs along the River of Crying. This is my true face now, a living symbol of your sins that I will bear with pride as I rip you from your throne.”

  “Sad, for one so strong to have given up.”

  “I never gave up.” The young Khaba stretched out his hand. The sand followed suit, forming a huge hand in the middle of the throne room. “My dreams... our dreams are still hidden within my heart. It’s only now do I understand the Oracle’s words. There can only be one path, only one truth, only one god of this world.” He reached for Simon and so did the giant hand of sand. “That is my answer.” The hand of sand grabbed hold of Simon, wrapping its fingers around his body and squeezing, mirroring the young Khaba’s clenching fist like his own shadow. “This is the end for you, Slave-king.”

  Simon remained calm, stretching his arm out from between the cracks of the sand fingers. He conjured water up and into his palm from the surrounding garden ponds. The small fluctuating blob of formless liquid twisted and swirled around in his hand and formed into the shape of a beating human heart. He clamped his fist around the liquid heart and squeezed.

  The young Khaba grasped his chest, clawing at his bare
left breast. He collapsed and the hand of sand fell with him, sprinkling to the floor in clumps of lifeless ordinary desert sand.

  “What is... happening to... I can’t move...” The young Khaba crawled along the floor like a blind beggar.

  “Have you forgotten, Khaba?” asked Simon. “I am the god of sea. All water is subject to my command. Even the very water in your blood.” He descended the steps of his throne. “Ridiculous. Someone of your limited understanding could never find the true answer.” He stopped before the young Khaba, standing over him and peering down at him with a god’s indifference. “I am the morning star. The alpha and omega. I am Pharaoh.” He tilted his hand, letting the heart of water spill, soaking the young Khaba’s head. “And you are just sand drifting with the desert wind.”

  The real Khaba turned from the spectacle before him and faced the Cloaked Man. “I’ve seen enough—take me back.”

  “Have you now?” asked the Cloaked Man. “I suppose you’re right. Enough of the past. After all, it’s the future you fight for.”

  The wind changed color and raged around them, engulfing them.

  “And it’s Sharon you desire.” The Cloaked Man’s dark voice echoed in the fading throne room.

  The crowds dissolved like phantoms caught in the morning light.

  ***

  Gabriel poked the fire. “It wasn’t long before there were three of us, united and refocused on one common goal, Peace. Khaba, Simon, and I trudged through the desert, searching for an answer to this cruel, barbarous world. We became brothers. Forged together in tragedy.

  “Simon was convinced we were special. Gods reincarnated in human form. Each gifted with the power over the very elements of nature. But in order to fully bring out our powers, we would have to awaken our dreaming eyes. And to do that we would need a Mirror Guardian.

  “It was here, in the Sacred Forest, did we find Tuat’s Mirror Guardian and her master, the Oracle. We began our spiritual training under their guidance and wisdom, eventually going through the same journey as you, Sharon.”

  Everyone looked her way.

  Sharon, her cheeks flushing bright red, slowly raised her hand and awkwardly waved at her new audience of tree-sprites. “Hi.”

  “We drank from the waters of the Tree of Life and entered the Dreamtime in an effort to master our spiritual bodies. It was there that I met you—angelic wings and all—standing atop a great mountain of ice.”

  “Me?” She pointed to herself and extended her wings with a little flap.

  Gabriel nodded. “You blew a golden trumpet and ushered in the sun—in the form of a blazing eye—and shattered the mountain of ice.”

  The blazing eye, she remembered, the crow’s golden eye.

  “You offered me a single lily-white flower as I sat under the Tree of Life. I smelled the flower and awakened my dreaming eye. I became the god you see before you, the wolf of heaven.

  “After Simon and Khaba did the same we set out into the world and sought to unite it under our rule. And with our newfound powers, no one could stand in our way, not even the mighty King Solomon and his knights. Death came quickly to those who opposed us and when Solomon was finally slain, we achieved our dream. Or so we thought.

  “It soon became apparent that uniting a world of many different cultures, races, and creeds was far more complicated than overthrowing tyrannical regimes. Strife and bloodshed continued despite our best efforts at peace. It wasn’t long before their differences became ours.

  “Three kings became two too many and a power struggle erupted between us. After all, power corrupts and divine power breeds corruption befitting a devil. We divided Tuat amongst ourselves, giving rise to the three kingdoms. But my aim was never kingship—it was revenge.”

  Sharon tucked her wings and leaned forward.

  “Only fools believe time heals all wounds. My wounds were as deep as they had ever been. Three nights before King Solomon’s fall I found the bandits who murdered my family. Fitting that it was a full moon that night—a hunter’s moon. I was clouded by hate. Enraged beyond all measure and reason. I became a monster, a true wolf.”

  He clenched his hands into trembling fists. “By the time I snapped back to my senses, their camp was burning and my claws were stained with blood. Only piles of burnt corpses remained.”

  “Good,” said Sharon. “They deserved what they got.”

  “No!” Gabriel shook his head. “All life is precious. No one deserves to have their life stolen from them.”

  “That depends on the person and what they’ve done,” she fired back. “You had every right to—”

  “To do what?” shouted Gabriel. “Murder women and children in their beds?”

  Sharon’s mouth widened as she recoiled.

  Gabriel paused a moment to regain his composure. “That’s right, Sharon. I am a murderer of children. Even bandits have families. Those bandits weren’t bloodthirsty savages. They were people, living breathing human beings like you and me. Hatred blinded me from that truth.”

  “But you said so yourself—you weren’t in the right state of mind,” she said.

  “I willingly let the beast take control. A sin I can never hope to atone for. I tell you this, Sharon, so you may learn from my mistakes. When you hate someone, they become less than human in your eyes. They become monsters. Because it is impossible to hate another fellow being. Another person like you with feelings, hopes, dreams, and fears. So, they must change. Your eyes must be clouded. Until we open our eyes, Sharon, we will never see the world as it truly is. We must see not with the eyes of man but through heaven’s eyes.”

  Sharon’s mind drifted to her father. The thought of forgiving him sickened her. Never.

  “Do you understand now, Sharon?” he asked. “The eyes you use to judge yourself are clouded. You’re not a coward. Not in my eyes.”

  “I guess.” Sharon averted her gaze.

  Daylight broke free of the mountains. The morning sun peeked over the horizon.

  “I don’t guess, I know. There’s greatness inside of you. I can see it. And soon, you will too.” Gabriel rose to his feet and doused the fire with a large gourd of water. The flames died with a hissing cloud of soot and ash. “Come, Sharon, it’s time you were introduced to our Mirror Guardian.”

  ***

  A sounder of puzzled pig-runs had gathered around Khaba as he stood still and quiet.

  “Khaba, lord Khaba, answer me,” shouted Dew-paw, waving his hands across Khaba’s blank expression.

  Khaba grabbed Dew-paw’s hand. “Stop that.”

  He sighed a breath of relief. “Thank goodness. I thought we lost you. You blanked out for a few minutes.”

  “I’m fine,” said Khaba.

  The Cloaked Man raised his hand and pressed his palm against the Pyramid of Life, activating the invisible barrier wall with a flash of blue. Sharon’s reflection rippled into focus then split in two as a doorway opened up in the Pyramid of Life.

  Khaba stepped forward almost as if in a trance.

  Tusk-raw rushed over to his king’s side. “My Lord, give me but a day and I’ll have the whole army ready to march on—”

  “No.” Khaba dismissed him with a wave. “Gabriel controls these lands. Marching an army any farther into the Sacred Forest would be seen as an invading force and met with hostility.”

  “But now that we have you with us, what do we have to fear?”

  “Much,” he answered. “Look to the trees…” He pointed to the canopies. “That’s where they will rain arrows down on us from all sides. You forget, here in the forest, the tree-sprites have the tactical advantage. No, I will go alone with Dew-paw. Take the rest of the warriors and head home.” He stepped on through the doorway to the other side with Dew-paw trailing reluctantly behind. “I don’t understand,” he said, stopping and glancing back over his shoulder at the Cloaked Man. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Because we share the same goal.” The astral projection of the Cloaked Man faded. “The destruc
tion of mankind.”

  Khaba ground his teeth. “I will make him watch. Before I cut out his heart, I will make Simon watch the humans march.”

  ***

  A bright light shined through the darkness of the forest.

  Sharon lost all the breath in her lungs as a unicorn stepped out and stalked toward her.

  The unicorn’s pure white fur and silver mane sparkled in the morning light. Its spiraled horn and eyes shined as golden as a pharaoh’s death mask. The unicorn raised its head and glanced at Sharon, Gabriel, and the tree-sprites gathered behind them.

  She shielded her eyes from the intense light, glancing away. When she looked back, there was no longer a unicorn standing before her but a tall elegant woman. Her hair long and silver, her eyes golden, and her white ears more horse-like than human. Around her neck hung a silver necklace with a single blue crystal.

  “Who are you?” Sharon asked, forcing the words out.

  The woman with silver hair smiled. “I am the Mirror Guardian of Tuat, Keeper of the Sacred Forest, and spiritual adviser to the tree-sprites and fairies. But among friends, I am simply known as Sofiel.”

  “Sharon...” She glanced back at her wings. “The Cloaked Man in my dream said—”

  “Did you see his face?” Sofiel cut her short, her gentle expression died and was replaced with a dreadful focus.

  “Why?” Sharon asked. “You know who he is?”

  Sofiel placed her hands on Sharon’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “This is very important, Sharon. Was the man in your dreams wearing a skull mask?”

  CHAPTER 23

  The Banshee

  JULY 14, 1789