Hand of the God

by Sonya Bateman

  So here I was — then, and now — flat on my aching back, staring at the vast spread of clear night sky like I’d never seen it before. And the heavens stared back at me, whispering eternity, telling me there had to be more than this. I felt so small, and at the same time utterly boundless. Like I could step into those stars and disappear from this life to a better one.

  And then I heard footsteps approaching.

  In the past, in my reality, those footsteps had belonged to Orville’s actual sons, Hodge and Morris. They’d dragged me back to camp and handed down a fresh beating, apparently for obeying Orville’s orders. But in the dream, only one man approached. A stranger.

  Still, I felt like I knew him somehow. He was Egyptian, with long, straight black hair that shone blue in the moonlight and kohl black ringing his amber-brown eyes. Dressed in robes as brown as the desert. Sandals on his feet, and a sword strapped to his back.

  I scrambled upright and faced him, my mind racing to recall the name Rex had told us. This had to be him, though I had no idea how I could dream so clearly about a man I’d never met, or even seen pictures of.

  “Yusef,” I finally said.

  He stopped six feet away from me, and his brow lifted slightly. “DeathSpeaker,” he said with a faint nod. “I thought I might find you close by. My soldiers advised me that you were coming.”

  So that had been recognition from the soldier on the road, and they’d warned the boss about us. Damn it. So much for the element of surprise.

  “I must admit I’m curious about something,” Yusef went on. “How could you know my name, when I am clearly not dead?”

  I decided not to answer that. He’d obviously sent people to kill Rex, and if they thought he was dead, I wasn’t going to dissuade them of the notion. They knew we were coming, but they didn’t know everything. And the more we could spring on them, the better.

  “Not very talkative, I see. Though I should have expected such resistance from one who’s given my lord so much … trouble.”

  “Your lord?” I spat. “I take it you mean Dante.”

  “I do, indeed.” He gave an odd little bow, almost courtly. “I am Yusef Tahirah, first paladin of the Order, loyal servant, and hand of the god. And you are Gideon Black, the DeathSpeaker, child of Lord Daoin Ciar’ Ansghar and Jessamyn Rose Hadley. Now we have been properly introduced.”

  Anger bubbled in my gut when my mother’s name left his lips, but I refused to let it show. Instead I said with a hefty dose of sarcasm, “Mind telling me what you’re doing here in my dream, Mister Hand of the God?”

  “That is simple enough to answer. It’s merely astral projection,” he said. “A feat all humans are capable of, though most never attempt to learn.”

  “Yeah. Like you’re human.”

  “Oh, I am perfectly human,” he said, smiling like we were best buddies. “At least, as near to perfection as one can become, aside from my lord. He is flawless.”

  I snorted in contempt. “So by perfect, you mean you’re insane,” I said. “I guess that’s one way to put it. Are you not allowed to speak Dante’s name because he’s so damned flawless, or what?”

  “I choose not to sully his name by forming it with my own imperfect tongue.” Yusef’s smile dropped away, and he took a step toward me. “Where are you hiding, Gideon Black? Your dreams obscure your location.”

  As he spoke, I felt something prodding through my head like invisible fingers. I gritted my teeth and focused everything on the clearest real image I could conjure: Taeral and I reclining on the rock under the moonlight, counting stars.

  “You are not there,” Yusef whispered. “We have searched that area. Now … where have you gone since then?” The pressure in my head increased until I thought my skull would split open, and then it vanished. “No matter. We will find you, sooner or later,” the man said. “For now, my lord wishes to speak with you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I figured what the hell, it was only a dream. So I’d go along with the nutjob and talk to not-really-Dante. “Fine. Have the big guy astral project his ass in here, then,” I said. “Apparently there’s plenty of room in my head.”

  Yusef smiled again, this time without the hey-we’re-pals façade. “You misunderstand me, DeathSpeaker,” he said. “My lord is already here.”

  Before I could ask which nonexistent dream rock Dante was hiding behind, Yusef’s eyes closed and his face twisted in pain. I blinked, and his features … changed. His face broadened slightly, his forehead sloped a little more. His skin paled several shades, and his eyes went from clear brown to piercing, sapphire blue.

  I glimpsed ages in those eyes. And death.

  “Finally,” the thing that wasn’t Yusef anymore said, and he sounded different too. Where Yusef spoke with a faint, cultured Middle Eastern accent, this voice was flat, devoid of inflection. Colder than stone. “So, you are the DeathSpeaker. You do not appear to be the deadly, unstoppable scourge that my followers have described.”

  From him, I got the distinct impression of a man speaking to a bug who’d inconveniently splattered its guts on his windshield.

  “You must be Dante,” I said. “Funny, you don’t look like a flawless, indestructible god.”

  He laughed. The sound held about as much amusement as a pile of corpses. “The god of humanity, perhaps, if I must assume a title that your limited mind can grasp. I simply am.”

  “Really. How god-like of you,” I drawled. “Listen, Dante. I’m not interested in having a chat with you, okay? I’ve only got one thing to say. When I find you, I’m going to kill you.”

  I expected him to laugh again, but he didn’t. “I would be disappointed, if I possessed the capacity to feel such an insignificant emotion,” he said. “You must be aware that is not possible. However, I can offer you the opportunity to survive, if you join my fold willingly.”

  My brain actually shut down for a moment while I tried to process the sheer amount of brass weighing down this asshole’s balls. “Join you?” I finally spit out. “And your little puppet said you were flawless. In my dictionary, that’s not a synonym for idiot, but what do I know? Maybe that’s what it means in Crazytown, or whatever planet you’re from.”

  His frigid expression didn’t change. “I assume you are refusing my offer.”

  “Ding-ding-ding! We have a winner,” I said. “Now get the hell out of my dream, god-boy. We’re not buying any cult memberships or murder bibles today.”

  Instead of leaving, Yusef-Dante reached back and drew The Sword, which definitely deserved the capital letters my brain pronounced it with.

  Fragarach was massive, with a jagged double-edged blade that curved back at the top and formed a pointed hook. The dulled gray metal glinted in the moonlight, and it almost seemed to sing as it cut the air. It was definitely cold iron — I could feel it burrowing into me, making me nauseous even from here.

  He pointed the sword at me. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Let us find out whether it is true that if you die in a dream, you die in real life.”

  “Why not? I don’t have any pressing appointments, other than killing your altar boy and taking your sword.” I yanked the moonstone pendant from my neck. “Calhaiom’nae solaas geahlí.”

  Even in the dream, the spell did its work, transforming the stone shard into a glowing blue-white sword. I grinned and drew the weapon back. “How about you test the dream-dying theory first?” I said, and lunged at him.

  He flicked the cold iron sword in an almost lazy motion. The blade met mine and shattered it into a spray of blue sparks that fell to the ground and solidified, forming crystal flecks and fragments.

  He’d actually broken the moonstone.

  For the first time since he’d possessed Yusef, Dante cracked a smile. “Your turn, DeathSpeaker,” he said as he surged forward and ran the wicked blade through my gut.

  I woke up in the tunnel, screaming.

  And the front of my shirt was soaked with blood.

  Chapter 17

  It w
as just a scratch. And by scratch, I meant a three-inch gash that was practically deep enough to put my fist in. But it sure as hell felt like some asshole had run me through with a cold iron sword.

  My scream woke everyone and brought Chester and Rex rushing back. Taeral started healing me without question, but I knew I’d have to explain what happened.

  So when he stopped, with my guts still burning thanks to the poison, I told them about the dream that wasn’t — at least, from the point where Yusef came in.

  “The moonstone,” I blurted after I finished the part about the swordfight. I grabbed the leather cord and yanked it from my shirt, breathing a sigh of relief when the crystal emerged intact. Still, something wasn’t right. I stared closer at it and made out a thin black shadow caught in the shard. “Oh, shit,” I breathed. “De’àrsahd.”

  The stone glowed, but it was weakened. And the light only threw the jagged crack through the center of the crystal into sharp relief.

  “He’s cracked the master stone,” Taeral said hoarsely. “How is this possible?”

  I shook my head and deactivated the pendant. “Astral projection, apparently.”

  “No, it has to be more than that.” Calla was crouched beside me, holding my hand in both of hers. “My team did studies on astral projection and dreaming. None of the subjects could even enter other people’s dreams, let alone affect them.”

  “Your team of what, exactly?” Rex said, giving her a sharp look. “Since when does the NSA study how to break into people’s heads? Christ, it’s bad enough you people listen to all our calls and read our texts.”

  “Never mind. That’s not important,” I said. “The important thing is that Dante’s actually here. Sort of. And if we kill Yusef while Dante’s wearing him like a people suit, maybe we take out the big guy too. Or at least weaken him.”

  Taeral frowned. “Gideon, we’ve no idea how this … possession works.”

  “Yeah, and did you miss the part where he ripped your guts out in a dream, and made you bleed for real?” Sadie, who’d been standing behind Taeral, started to pace in short, frustrated arcs. “I don’t think we’re ready for this,” she said. “For this Yusef guy, maybe. But not Dante.”

  I came close to shouting at her. After all, she was the one who’d been gung-ho about ripping a chunk out of Milus Dei’s ass, and now we were close enough to taste those bastards. But even through my rage, uneasiness wrapped me like a shroud. If Dante could do that much damage through a proxy who was physically miles away, how much worse would he be in person — or rather, in the person of Yusef?

  If we lost anyone, I’d never be able to forgive myself. Even if it was Rex.

  “Maybe there’s another way to do this,” I finally said. “I mean, Dante did ask me to join him. If I say yes—”

  “Absolutely not,” Taeral said.

  I looked at him. “We have to get that sword before they can make more.”

  “Aye, we do. Milus Dei cannot be permitted to retain Fragarach, or to recreate the weapon,” he said. “But I’ll not allow you to sacrifice yourself in the process.”

  “Allow me?” I said on a tide of rising anger. “I don’t need your permission, Taeral. If it’s the only way to stop them—”

  “It is not the only way. We proceed as planned.”

  “Our plan didn’t include a guy who can rip people open without being anywhere near them!” I stood, clenched my teeth and forced a calming breath. “You know, I really don’t get you,” I said. “You’re the one who said we have to proceed with caution. Now that we have some more information, and it’s not good news, you won’t even consider an alternative?”

  He glared at me. “I will not consider handing you over to the very people I’ve tried to protect you from since the day you were born.”

  “Of course not. You handed me over to the Valentines instead.”

  The instant the words left my mouth, I wanted to drop dead from shame.

  Not even in my deepest subconscious did I blame Taeral for my childhood, for switching my newborn self with the sickly infant that Orville’s wife had just delivered — he’d saved my life, and damn near lost his in the process. And he’d rescued me again when Milus Dei tracked me down as an adult, restoring my real identity and helping me shape my life as a half-Fae and the DeathSpeaker. Not to mention the countless times since that my dumb, stubborn ass would’ve died without him.

  But I’d said it, and there was no way to un-ring this particular bell.

  Taeral flinched once and went still as a stone. He said nothing, but I could see the pain in his eyes. It hurt me to look at him — and I knew what he was feeling was a thousand times worse. He’d always blamed himself for leaving me with the Valentines, once he’d learned what kind of monsters they were. No matter how many times I insisted it wasn’t his fault.

  This time I’d confirmed it, even though I didn’t mean a single word I said. And it was killing him.

  Sadie touched his arm, and he jerked away fast. “I believe I will take the next watch,” he grated, turning on a heel to march stiffly toward the rear tunnel.

  Everyone watched him go. When he’d vanished into the darkness, Sadie whirled on me, her lip curled into a snarl. “I’ve never wanted to hit someone named Gideon more than I do right now,” she said in thick tones. “How could you do that to him?”

  I couldn’t blame her. Hell, I wanted to hit me. “Not that it matters, but I didn’t mean it. At all.” I stepped toward her, holding my arms out loosely. “Go ahead, if you want to. I deserve a lot worse.”

  Sadie’s eyes filled with tears. “I won’t. But only because you said that,” she whispered, glancing in the direction Taeral had gone. “Damn it, I can’t even go after him. He’s not going to listen to anyone right now.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I closed my eyes. “Anybody else want to take a swing?”

  I waited a few minutes. When I got no takers, I heaved a shuddering breath and lowered my arms. “I’ll go take the other watch, then,” I said, and headed down the tunnel in the opposite direction.

  Unfortunately, no matter how far away I went, I’d still have to put up with myself.

  Chapter 18

  Somehow the night passed. I barely slept, and not because I wanted to avoid a rerun dream of Dante-with-sword. At this point I’d gladly let that freakshow of a false god run me through again. It wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as what I’d done to my brother, and myself.

  The next morning Taeral refused to even look at me, much less speak to me. In fact, no one had much to say. We packed up camp, such as it was, around seven and headed deeper into the old silver mine. Five more miles, give or take, until we found out what was waiting at the other end.

  We all expected a lot of guys with a lot of guns. No one wanted to say that out loud, though.

  The first hour went by in silence. I was at the front of the line with Calla just behind me and off to the side, while Chester and Rex walked in tandem after us. Sadie hovered some distance away from them as close as she dared to Taeral, who hung back to bare minimum shouting length and shuffled forward with his gaze on the ground.

  Someone tapped my shoulder, and I glanced back into Chester’s worried face. “What’s up?” I said without breaking stride.

  “Er. Mind if I talk to you?” He flashed a sidelong glance at Calla. “Sort of alone? It’s kind of … you know. Sensitive.”

  Calla looked ready to object, but I patted her arm and lifted a wan smile. “It’s okay, as long as you don’t mind,” I said. I had a feeling he wanted to discuss something less than manly, like the fact that he was probably scared shitless — same as the rest of us — and he didn’t want anyone of the female persuasion to hear it.

  She smirked. “Fine. Have your little boy talk, then,” she said, kissing the corner of my mouth before she fell back next to Rex. At least I knew this version of ‘fine’ was indulgent instead of pissed.

  Chester and I picked up the pace, pulling ahead enough that a quiet discussion wo
uldn’t be overheard. And then he surprised me by talking about something completely unexpected.

  “I, uh … well, you know me. I’m not much of a people person. Relationships aren’t my thing, really,” he began, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. “But I like you, and I like your brother. You’re both good men. Er, you know. Fae. So I thought maybe I could give you some advice from an old man?”

  I blinked a few times. “Okay, sure.”

  “Right. Here goes.” He took a deep breath. “You’re kind of an idiot.”

  His blunt statement startled a laugh from me. “Yeah, I already knew that,” I said. “Good talk, I guess.”

  “I’m not done.” Chester pursed his lips, and his eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “I had a brother once, you know,” he said. “Died about ten years ago. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He flapped a hand. “Thanks, but that ain’t the point. Here’s what I’m trying to say.” He shook his head as a fond, absent smile crossed his lips. “I’ve fought with plenty of women, enemy soldiers, strangers in bars, even my best friends,” he said. “Got bruised and bloodied, had my feelings hurt a time or two. But nobody, and I mean nobody, ever hurt me as bad as Charlie could. Charlie … that’s my brother. Mean old son of a bitch, he was.”

  “You know, this really isn’t helping,” I said. “You’re kind of just rubbing it in.”

  “Hang on now,” he said, holding a finger in the air. “Yeah, Charlie could draw blood with a handful of well-placed words. But he also had my back when it counted. Just like I had his. When my wife died after I got back from the war, he left his own family two states away and moved in with me for three goddamned weeks, making sure I ate and showered and put clothes on every day, and generally didn’t grieve myself into the ground next to her.” He paused with tears standing in his eyes.

  When he didn’t go on, I gripped his shoulder gently. “You okay, Chester?”