by Kira Brady
Corbette forced himself to relax. The Raven beat its wings inside his breast. He needed Lucia next to him, not worlds away. “Regardless, Lucia isn’t the immediate child of a crazed god. Tiamat’s heir will be a demigod with unimaginable power.”
“Maybe. There’s no way to know. So what are you going to do about Kai?”
“I’m more concerned if we can trust him. Tiamat must die and her child with her if we have any hope for a future.”
“I agree. Where is Lucia?”
Corbette stood. He paced the room, a nervous, uncontrolled gesture he’d always despised in other people. It showed his weakness, but he couldn’t help himself. From outside the room came the scrape and shuffle of supplies and people being moved through the cavernous, dangerous mine shafts. Inside, the single biodiesel lamp cast shadows across the walls. Illustrations of key Tiamat supporters, Kivati and Drekar and human alike, were pasted across the rough boards. A few had black lines across their faces—victories for the rebels, but Corbette couldn’t help thinking, More good men lost. Two long lists of names in tiny script took up the far wall. He was afraid to read them though he knew, if this were his battle station, what he would find. The men and women who’d bore those names were even now being welcomed by Lucia in another place, another window out of time.
He tapped the Scepter against his thigh. Was it worth it? All these names, all these innocent souls saved in exchange for just one? Once he would have given an unequivocal yes. He couldn’t bring himself to justify it anymore. Lucia. He would have given his own life a hundred times over for hers.
“So?” Grace prodded.
“The balance of the universe required a trade.”
“You didn’t . . . no, you wouldn’t. Lucia gave herself up for you, didn’t she?”
“It was supposed to be me,” he growled.
She nodded. They understood one another. There was more to this war than the fate of the universe. “The gods never play fair, do they?”
“Let’s hope they have more at stake in righting the universe than they let on. Tell me some good news.”
Her eyes took him in, from his scuffed boots to his wrinkled shirt missing buttons. “You have the Scepter.”
He waited a long moment for her to elaborate. Silence. “And that is the full extent of your plan?” He itched to lean across the table and snatch the maps up. This ragged excuse for an army called out to him to save, but he knew he had no standing here. In Grace’s eyes, he’d abandoned them. Five months was more than enough time to lose hope that he was ever coming back. Their trust must be earned.
Leaning both hands on the edge of the desk, she dug in until her fingers turned white. “You have the Scepter. That’s what you went for, isn’t it? That’s the only thing that can take away her Godhead and unmake her. She sent the clay man—”
“The Enkidu failed. Where is Tiamat holding your husband?”
Her bone knife appeared in her hand. She impaled it into the map straight through Kivati Hall. “The new seat of Babylon.” Her eyes shone with tears.
“We’ll get Asgard back.”
A sob met him.
“It’ll work out—”
“You can’t fucking make it so just because you want it!”
“No. I don’t have all the answers and I don’t have the power to mold the universe to my will. But I have faith, and I have hope, and I have a woman waiting for me in the Shining Land who won’t welcome me back with open arms if I fail in this mission.”
Grace raised both eyebrows. “One day, when Tiamat isn’t about to destroy the city, I gotta hear this story about you guys in the otherworld.”
Corbette smiled. Gods, he wished he were still back there. Even blind. Even totem and Aether-less. At least there he had Lucia. “Can you still get messages to Kai?”
“No. And you can’t use the Aether. She can sense it.”
Corbette sat again. “Let’s start at the beginning. Perhaps if we put our heads together, we can defeat Chaos once and for all.”
“And Lucia?”
“Once we defeat Tiamat, whether I’m dead or alive, I’m going back for her.”
Kai slipped through the magnolia trees in the grounds of the new Palace of Babylon, formerly known as Kivati Hall. He couldn’t think of the former. Couldn’t imagine Jace here, shaking his head at Kai’s surrender. Or worse, Jace—straight-as-an-arrow Jace—broken under Tiamat’s thumb. Kai had always been able to bend the truth, as he did now, hiding like a coward in the grounds. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of both hands. He hadn’t slept since the massacre of the rebel camp in Redmond.
“Come along, warrior,” she’d said with those lips that were Zetian’s and those eyes that were purely ancient evil. Naively, he’d followed, realizing too late the subject of her journey. The crow he’d sent didn’t have enough time to warn them. No time to stop her. Nothing he could do but watch. The Lady have mercy on his thrice-damned soul. Jace would have died long before this. Small comfort that Jace wasn’t here to suffer, that Jace wasn’t here to fix this, because it couldn’t be fixed. At least the Enkidu was dead. Small consolation, when she’d vented her wrath on the innocents who’d fled. All those men and women he’d helped to escape. And now the hope of the resistance—Asgard—was locked in the basement cells.
Good thing Kai had spent some time in his youth acquainting himself with the cells down there. He pulled out his knife and pushed through the bushes to the thick limestone blocks of the building’s foundation. He hoped Asgard was in Kai’s old cell. The stucco between the blocks had never been repaired. It was still gouged out in the thin place in the wall where the renovations for the conservatory had cut up the ancient building footprint. This part of the wall had been fixed during Corbette’s father’s time, and Halian never cared much for spending money on something no one would see. This secret spot was all old brick. He found the spot and scraped off a bit of paint with his knife. Yup, exactly how he remembered it. He tapped the brick three times with the hilt of his dagger and waited. Eventually, he heard an answering tap. Please let it be Asgard. The brick started to jiggle as the inhabitant pushed from the inside. As soon as Kai had a bit of space, he squeezed his fingertips around the brick and pulled. It required a little leverage with the blade of his knife to remove the moss and mold that had gathered in the cracks. Finally the brick slipped out. He gave a silent apology to his brother. Jace had whittled this hole to pass him food during one of his teenage imprisonments. Kai had promised to seal it back up, but he’d never gotten around to it.
“Regent?” Kai asked.
“Did Grace escape?”
Of course, the first thing the man would want to know. “Yes. Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Sorry, stupid question.” The Drekar’s magic blood would heal every wound Tiamat’s guards inflicted on him. He could be tortured for eternity and never kick it. “You’ve got three days.” Until the execution.
“Will she use my death to fuel a spell? Make another clay man?”
“Maybe. She’s closed me off from her plans. She’s beginning to not trust me.”
Asgard was silent for a beat. “You should leave.”
He would to save his own life, but, “I can’t.” Another beat. “You can’t save the baby.”
“If Grace could exorcize Tiamat, then Zetian—”
“She’s not Zetian anymore. Let her go.”
Kai smacked one fist against the brick and leaned his head against it. “I can’t leave them.”
“Listen to me, Thunderbird. Zetian is a female Dreki. She has no soul. Tiamat’s soul is all that’s nourishing the fledgling in her womb.”
“Fuck it. There’s got to be some way.”
“There is only one. You know of my bond with Grace.”
“Hell, no.” Kai drew back from the wall. Rumor had it that Grace had bonded her soul to Asgard, so that they shared it, one soul, two bodies. When one died, the other went too. Asgard had given up his immortality for her,
but she’d given him something more precious—the ability to pass with her through the Gates into the Land of the Dead. Kai would rather die than share one of his souls with a soul-sucker. He didn’t think Zetian and the baby deserved to die, but to be trapped with her for eternity? No. “Why would you want Zetian to get a soul anyway? Didn’t she try to kill your woman? You should be asking for her blood—”
“So you’ve seen pure evil in her and still won’t leave? I won’t argue with you. I can’t think of a worse punishment than being trapped in your own body with Tiamat at the tiller. Zetian was no angel, but far be it from me to damn someone else. I’ll leave her judgment to Freya.”
Kai tugged on the bandoleer across his chest. “What do you need? You have three days. Dawn at the public square.” If the rebels were going to make their move, that was the best time for it. He knew Asgard understood.
“I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll try to come again.”
“Kai . . . thank you.”
Kai fisted his hand above the hole in the brick. “She’ll come for you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The edge of dawn was a slice of soft gray across the horizon. Corbette motioned to the warriors behind him, and they moved as one across the open street to the shelter of the next shell of skyscraper. This was the last line of broken city before the clearing, where Tiamat’s gardens sprouted up from terraces of porcelain and glass mosaic tiles, and palms grew to the hanging baskets overflowing with purple, green, and white. He could sense the trapped souls left to fester in the baskets. Gods, if Lucia were here, she would have stopped to free them, but he couldn’t ruin his element of surprise. Babylon Square lay two hundred meters into the greenery. A patio on the edge of the crater, just above the crashing sea, the square sported a raised dais in the center surrounded by fountains carved with dragons and scorpion men. The green boulevard lay quiet as a sleeping python. Though Kivati earth workers had managed to coax abundant plant life from the cold, ashen ground, no birds sang in the leafy branches.
Corbette and the Kivati with him couldn’t rely on the sight of bird guides. The Drekar and humans might be used to this arrangement, but without his spies, Corbette felt blind again. His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. He missed the soft hand leading him through the darkness.
They’d taken all the rebel warriors with them from the mines, all except ten who guarded the children and injured. Corbette had argued, at first, that the women should stay back too, but Grace had given him a look all too close to one he’d seen from Lucia, and he knew he was being an old-fashioned ass.
“We have every right to fight for our freedom,” Grace had said. “This is our home, too. Our blood is just as good as yours to be spilled for the privilege of calling it ours.”
She’d made him ashamed, because what reason did he have for holding her or Lucia back like a delicate hothouse orchid? Just this overdriving need to protect what was his. Even though half the warriors who crept to the brink through the fog with him were not of his blood, he’d still marked them as his. He led them to their deaths; their lives were in his keeping. It was a lot of responsibility to risk so many for the good of the whole, but he’d never had a problem making hard decisions before.
Faith, the Spider Queen would say.
Faith, Lucia whispered to his soul. The Lady wouldn’t have sent him back with the Scepter if all hope were lost. They had a good chance to defeat Tiamat if they could catch her unawares.
Grace led a contingent on the other side of the road. Her black and gray worn fatigues blended with the concrete jungle but not the green one. She wore a stripe of black paint beneath her eyes and a sour expression. Corbette waved two fingers, and the tattered rebel army slipped into the green. They had no supplies or fancy uniforms, but each had a weapon and the clear knowledge that this was their only shot. By the time the sun rose over the mountains, either Tiamat would be dead, or they would.
The path was clear until the bricks of the boulevard. Tiamat had ordered the public execution to show her subjects the price of disloyalty, but in a last bid of quiet rebellion, many had stayed home. A long procession announced the affair with great solemnity. Drums, followed by a long line of lords and ladies of the Kivati. Their faces were pinched white as they waited for their former enemy, the Drekar Regent, to die. Tiamat, mother of all dragons, wasn’t merciful to one of her children. The threat was very real to those who’d placed their marker in her camp. She left no room for forgiveness. Next came the slaves in two long lines down the side of the brick. They lined up along the edge of the square to watch.
Then Leif, dragged in chains by two of his own—Thorsson and Grettir. He’d been stripped to the waist. His pale skin showed no marks, but his eyes were haunted, the irises slit. At the dais, Leif turned his eyes on the western line of the distant Olympics, his back to the shimmering edge of dawn. Behind him strode Kai, forced—or volunteered?—to be the master of ceremonies, his face black as his formal dress. On his face Corbette recognized a singular determination, the iron jaw that came from doing the right thing no matter the personal cost. No sign was left of the reckless young Thunderbird who’d defied his liege and stolen countless hearts. Corbette had been guilty of thinking the wrong brother had died, but Jace Raiden would never have pulled this off. As long as Kai’s loyalties were still intact, he’d survived longer by Tiamat’s side than any of the rest could have. But was he still Corbette’s man?
Behind him came the Drekar, an uneasy bunch about to watch their Regent’s demise. At the end of the procession, slaves carried a golden litter fit to convey a queen. The small box of the carriage was big enough for Tiamat to lounge comfortably. The sides were closed. Twelve slaves, oiled up with nothing but golden armbands and loincloths, carried the litter on their shoulders by long poles. They set it down in front of the dais. The red curtains were drawn tight against the night. Corbette couldn’t see inside, but he guessed Tiamat lay there watching her handiwork.
Kai tied Leif to the dais in the center of the square. Once the stage was set, the Thunderbird motioned for the drums to stop. “The High Goddess of Babylon, Tiamat, Primordial Chaos, Empress of the New World, hereby declares the traitor Leif Asgard, son of Fafnir, Drekar and former Regent to the crown, no longer worthy of his immortality or the love of his divine mother. He has colluded with the enemy, killed members of the goddess’s royal guard, and plotted against her life and health. He is hereby sentenced to death by beheading, ending his mortal and immortal life. How do you plead?”
Leif rattled his chains as he tried to straighten. He was chained on his knees in front of a large block of cedar. Torches lit the corners of the dais and cast his face in pale, ghostly planes. “I renounce Tiamat’s right to the Living World. She is no goddess of mine.”
Corbette expected a tantrum from the litter, but none came. The gentry shifted. Buckner was there clutching the arm of his willowy mate, Lady Acacia, who held a sleepy blond toddler in her arms. The portly Coyote Spickard leaned on a cane. His leg had been taken in a Drekar raid. More of Corbette’s people, each one with a reason to stay behind in the reach of the mad goddess, were there. Corbette studied the faces in the dim light. He didn’t see the hatred and anger he’d expected as they stared at the doomed Drekar leader. Only weariness. Only fear.
A couple hundred downcast souls waited in the predawn. Kai pushed Asgard’s head onto the chopping block. A hush settled, marred only by the wind ringing the bells that hung throughout the gardens. Kai picked up an ax.
Corbette rose out of the bushes with the loud caw of the Raven slicing through the air. He held the Scepter tightly in his grip. His warriors poured in on either side, birds shooting into the air to dive-bomb from the sky, the fleet-footed Changing mid-leap. The guards fought back. The slaves gave a halfhearted defense, more from fear of the monsters charging them than loyalty to Tiamat.
Changing, Corbette now held the Scepter with Raven talons. He flew over the skirmish to the da
is and ripped the ax from Kai’s hands with his free claw. He Changed to man, pocketed the Scepter, and hefted the ax in his hands. Kai stood back. He made no move to repossess his weapon. Corbette swung the blade and chopped through Asgard’s restraints.
The Dreki jumped to his feet. “It’s a trap. Get out! Go. Go!”
Chapter Twenty
Corbette looked back across the skirmish to see most of the crowd waiting patiently while the guards fought off the attack. On the far side, a Thunderbird ripped off the silk curtains of the litter. Empty. Crows rushed it, and the gilt-covered wood toppled, breaking against the stony ground. A cloud of ash spilled into the air. Expanding, it engulfed the Crows, blinding them. The warrior-birds shrieked. The odor of singed feathers filled the square.
“Warriors, stand your ground!” he ordered. “Guard the civilian retreat!” Spinning, he caught sight of Kai watching something in the distance. He followed his gaze to a massive storm cloud bubbling through the sky toward them. Lightning crackled and lit the cloud’s interior. Inside flew fifteen creatures he’d never seen before: leathery wings of a bat, sculpted silver-skinned torso of a man, and ink-black legs of a giant squid.
“Storm demons,” Asgard said. “Children of her second pantheon. Get our people out of here.”
In the center of the storm cloud flew Tiamat in Zetian’s dragon form. A smaller dragon, she had red wings, three horns, and whiskers of gold. Her normally silver scales glowed blue with condensed Aether. Thunderbolts crackled from her long spiked tail. The boom of the thunder rolled in her voice, a cackle that hit the backs of his knees and threatened to melt the strength right from his bones.
Corbette motioned for the rebels to fall back, but the civilians, slaves, and guards descended into chaos. Some of the Kivati in the square ran. Some just stood there and watched death roll in. Tiamat’s loyal men still fought his warriors. “Grab the vulnerable and get out!” he yelled. He seized the Aether and snapped it through every connection they had, alpha to pack, pulling the strings to the fabric of their twined souls. “Move! Now!” They staggered. A few were jolted out of their shock and ran, but others were too old or young or sick to get out of the way and were mowed down by the crowd. Corbette watched a clump of human slaves stampede toward Buckner and his family. His wife clutched the toddler as the baby screamed, her face hidden in the child’s hair. Buckner tried to block the crowd with his body.