by Dy Loveday
“Of course not. It’s just…” He rubbed his hands over his face. “He might have destroyed you.”
“I’m stronger than you think.”
He sighed and finally looked into her eyes. “I can see that.”
She softened, realizing what this was all about. She walked over to where he was sitting on a rococo stool in an open-walled bedroom. Sheer linen curtains waved in an incense-laden breeze.
“I was prepared to take the risk. Does it bother you so much?” Apprehension churned in her stomach and she wanted to groan in frustration. He needed to be honest with her, tell her he knew what she was capable of and accept it. Accept her. The ground beneath her feet felt unstable, too rocky for her to bridge the gap between them. He’d said he didn’t care what she was, but now she’d forced him into a corner. Despite her apprehension and Resh’s discomfort, they needed to have this out.
He took a drink from a wooden cup engraved with the familiar snake emblem celebrated by the Empire.
“You know by now that I love you more than my own life. I would die for you, no question. But it’s hard to accept that you take such risks.” He smacked the cup back onto the table next to his chair. “Once this is over, will you stay or go?” He reached out and put a finger on her lips. “Don’t tell me now. Tomorrow you might change your mind and I couldn’t live with that.”
She wanted to smack him over the head with the book he’d been reading when she’d come into the room.
“I’m not going to—” What was she saying? Had she really thought about the consequences of loving Resh? A human girl would ask questions, pump him for answers so it would all be made better, easier somehow. But she’d always been awkward with relationships, laughing things off rather than digging deep into the murky waters of emotion. What did she know about love—or commitment, for that matter? Her only friend was in a crystal and she couldn’t help her. Another woman might give advice, but she knew few here. An awkward silence opened up between them. Where would they live? In the Empire, or would he return to Earth with her? Would either of them really fit into the other’s home world? The questions piled up, a great moldering stack of them.
“What aren’t you going to do?” His voice was soft and he brushed her cheek with his fingers, trailing them down and cupping her jaw. A shiver rolled over her skin and she rubbed her face against his hand. “If you want me, there will be no keeping us apart. But we have to get rid of the Khereb first. And then there’s Besmelo. Just a few things to overcome.” His lips curved into a crooked version of his usual confident grin.
The wonderful scents of sandalwood incense and male sweat washed through her senses. He smelled like home. Who cared where they lived as long as he stayed with her, loved her like he said he did? The words stuck in her throat, even though they wanted to spill out in a torrent. She rubbed against his hand, enjoying the texture of his skin.
His face gentled. “Come here.”
She fell into his lap, throat taut with emotion. He kissed her neck and held her in his arms, rubbing her back in gentle circles.
Her body relaxed with relief. “In three hours, I’ll be twenty-five. Midnight, Empire time.”
He seemed to consider that. “Have you come across any further changes?”
“I guess. Depends on what you’d call this.” She pulled her hands out from inside the sleeves of her shirt. Her fingertips were elongated with elaborate taloned nails mimicking the claws of a demon. Black tattoos marked her arms along with raised white scars.
She heard a soft exhale near her ear and his hands halted, tracing the intricate marks adorning her arms. “I see what you mean.” There was a second of silence. “Is a forked tail emerging as well?”
She burst into laughter and turned, hitting him on the shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
His eyes were alight with humor but something dark dwelled inside the pupils. There was something odd about his tone. Was he so afraid for her?
Resh twisted the book with one hand so it faced them both on the table and she welcomed the distraction.
“My journal.” She ran her hands over the leather cover and the book opened, pages flipping silently. The book smelled ancient and stale, redolent with myrrh.
He tightened his grip on her waist. “Yes. Shall we take a look? Lord Seth will join us soon to try to help with war strategy. Clarice is also here.”
Maya brightened. “Can I see her?” Clarice was the closest thing she had to a maternal figure. Which went to show how hard up she was, because she’d only spent a few days in the older woman’s company. Still, the idea of seeing Clarice cheered her like nothing else.
“Of course. I’ll send Pia. In the meantime, let’s see what we can find. I’ve been given command of the Milites Order. There are hundreds of Khereb burning towns across the Empire. We have the right number of races to evoke a high ritual—a Circle of Eight—if the witches agree to join us. We’ll also need to identify your genetic pool so you may participate.”
He didn’t have to say it. She could read the meaning behind his words. If they didn’t find a superior force, Resh would try to keep Tau safe and lead his Order into battle. He might live longer than the average human, but unlike her, he was still mortal.
* * * *
Clarice extracted some of Maya’s blood with a steel needle that appeared to have survived a medieval torture chamber, bringing to mind oubliettes and poor hygiene. Strangely enough, the needle didn’t hurt when it pierced her skin. Pia flew off with the sample for the healers to work over. Above their heads thunder rolled and lightning split the air, showcasing the Khereb flying above Tau, tossing fireballs at the shield that shuddered and cracked like an eggshell.
“Find Lord Seth and bring him to the temple of Hecate,” Resh said. Gaai looked at Maya as if seeking her response. She nodded and the bird lifted off through the pillars, becoming one with the darkness. Resh blinked in surprise.
Maya wanted to tell the bird to attach to someone else, but guessed Gaai would take it as an insult. She sighed, wondering when she’d earned the raven’s regard. One of them would have to change and, given the raven’s obstinate nature, she guessed it would be her.
Maya and Resh left the bedroom, followed by Clarice, who carried the cloth-wrapped grimoire. They moved quickly between open-air pavilions. The sound of chatter and haunting music becoming louder as they walked along a narrow dirt path into an open courtyard surrounded by moss-draped trees. Blue and green frankincense curled from hammered incense burners dangling from the tree branches.
“Stay together.” Resh placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as they maneuvered through the crowded grounds of Tau. Maya could feel his heart beating through his thin shirt. It thudded slowly and she wondered if he controlled the rhythm, did it to keep her calm because he knew she felt strange, a newcomer even among mixed races. The witches smelled of sweat and body odors, clearly separated by their wild hair, unkempt looks, and bare feet from the formally attired, tattooed warlocks. Upright hybrid jackals covered in fur carried silver trays and served beverages in tall, narrow goblets. Several other creatures, feral smelling and wild, better suited to old legends and mythical stories, mingled in small groups, watchful and awkward, as out of place as Maya.
Delicate dryads with long pointed ears leaned against the leafy trees, their hair wound high with embroidered bands, staring with brilliant green eyes. Some sat high in the old oak boughs, their bare legs swinging, chanting and patting the trunks as if appeasing a fractious child. Below lurked several muscular warriors who appeared spellbound until Resh clicked his fingers, calling them back to life. They looked about wildly as if horrified, and stepped into the surrounding forest, vanishing from view.
Coven members wore thin skirts tied at the waist, and even the older men and women left their midriffs bare, ignoring everyone but their own kind. A huge bonfire smoked in the middle of the clearing surrounded by long tables set with ice-white cloth and food that no one sat down to ea
t. Tension filled the air as if everyone waited for a performance to start. Maya guessed the actors had just entered the stage and she blanched at the high expectations.
If they failed, tonight many of these creatures would die. The pressure weighed on her shoulders, making her feel small and useless.
Perspiration clung to her face and rolled between her shoulder blades. Although the conversation didn’t change, her neck prickled as hundreds of eyes followed their progress across the compound. It was uncomfortable, especially when one witch reached out and stroked Maya’s hair.
Clarice shook her head and the witch withdrew. “Don’t be fearful,” she murmured. “They’re curious and hopeful.”
“Intrusive,” muttered Resh.
Maya shuddered. “Don’t insult them,” she said, pinching Resh’s arm. Despite the Khereb, the mood between the races felt restless as if the tiniest spark would ignite a fight.
He flicked her an incredulous look that said he couldn’t believe she called the kettle black.
Esmonda broke from a group of warlocks and joined them, face set in a familiar scowl. “Finally, she says something sensible.” She watched the witches with disinterest, but her sharp voice sent a clear message. Silence opened up in the clearing, thick and tense, but brother and sister ignored it and walked side by side through the throng.
They passed a growing number of magical creatures filtering into the gathering from the thin paths between the trees. Pia flew between Clarice and Maya, dropping a small scroll into the scryer’s hands. The raven skated onto Resh’s shoulder and they continued, following a trail that led away from the music, the smells of incense and sweat receding as the walked toward a shrine. Wood creaked beneath Maya’s feet as she passed a gateway inscribed with symbols. She trod the ancient boards into the dark temple. She’d seen symbols like that before, on the old stelae she’d drawn when she was a teenager. Weathered but intricate stylized depictions of animals, men, and women intertwined with scrollwork.
Clarice walked to the middle of the apsidal room to the inner sanctum and lit a flat burner shaped like a snake. It flared to life, casting the temple in a clear white light and flashing off the hilt of Resh’s sword. Above their heads, someone had painted blue-white galaxies, yellow constellations, and red globe clusters. In the center of a darker group of red-white clouds, a winged serpent with the head of Anubis swooped in endless circles.
Clarice placed the grimoire on a wooden lectern and it thrummed to life, pages flipping wildly. Fog drifted out of the book, pouring down the lectern across the wooden boards, covering their feet in wraithlike tentacles.
Muffled thunder echoed overhead and Maya grasped the hard edge of the plinth.
“The Khereb have arrived,” Resh said.
Maya jolted and looked up in alarm, but the ceiling disguised what was happening in the sky.
Resh shifted next to her as the book opened, revealing a woman. She loped beneath tall, shadowy buildings and a dark sky. The setting might be Earth, but Maya couldn’t be sure. The time period seemed off. The woman wore a scowl on her face and dark hollows circled greenish-yellow eyes that were oddly feline. The page turned and another image appeared. A younger woman with pale yellow eyes crouched beneath a straggly tree, dragging herbs from the ground and placing them in a leather pouch tied across her chest. A naked skeletal figure flew into the tree and the woman straightened. The page flipped again.
“My sisters,” Maya said, recognizing the eyes.
“Yes.” A soft voice came from next to her. Clarice held her hand above the grimoire pulling currents of magic from the parchment, a look of concentration on her face.
Resh swore. “Show us the path of the high ritual,” he said. The pages flipped.
Footsteps on the boards heralded the arrival of a dark-haired man wearing armor. Resh introduced him as Lord Seth. After hearing about the Governor Lord of Nephthys, Maya expected a much older man. Instead Lord Seth was middle-aged, square-faced with dark, coffee-colored skin. Across his shoulder he wore his broadsword. He greeted Resh like an old friend and congratulated him on his new office, but watched Maya warily, giving her a small nod in acknowledgment.
The fog parted to reveal Indira as if unwilling to touch the drifting figure or her odor of sweat and death. Her pointed toes drifted several inches above the ground. She wore a low-slung skirt and long beaded necklaces, her skin leathery and brown.
Oxyhiayal joined them in the circle around the grimoire.
Indira’s thick eyebrow rose in a sharp question. “A Circle of Eight, the finest composite number for the highest of rituals: warlock, mage, dryad, witch, sorceress, demigod, demon, and pyschopomp.”
“Who’s the demon?” Maya asked.
Indira smiled, showing black stumps, and seized Maya’s chin with her fingers, covering her in the smell of rot and death. “We might have exorcised a demon, but your warrior carries its characteristic force and always will. That cannot be undone. Promise you’ll lead my coven and I’ll join the ritual.”
Maya pulled away and stared at Resh, as horror dawned. “Did you willingly accept possession from Molokh in hopes of this?”
He shuffled under her glare. “The truth. It was the bargain by which he allowed my release. I kept it under control, and knew the witches would remove the primary. Besmelo agreed to the compact.”
She wanted to hit him and it must have showed because he made an impatient sound. He’d known something inhabited his body while they’d been intimate. And he must have known he’d be altered by the possession. She just might kill him herself. Damn the warrior. He was always plotting and planning, trying to keep a step ahead of the game. One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile as if he could read her thoughts and she glared, furious.
“It’s by divine intervention or luck that we have the required number of races around the grimoire right now.” Lord Seth interrupted the tense moment. “Artemis is with us.”
“Hecate, warrior.” Indira reached across, but Lord Seth withdrew and wiped his hand as if contaminated.
“Cultic affiliations aside, if a god observes this, it’s playing it safe so as not to incur the notice of the pantheon,” said Lord Seth. “Balkaith has fallen and Tau is under siege, but the Milites Order won the battle in Nephthys. The Khereb regroup to the south. We don’t have much time before darkness floods the realm. We need to find a solution fast.”
An image floated in Maya’s mind. “I’d like to show you something,” she said, following intuition more than anything else.
Resh nodded, arrested from watching the grimoire’s turning pages by the serious note in her voice.
“For years I thought I was mad, dissociating at odd moments. Jane made me see a therapist who told me it was trauma; he said it would be with me for the rest of my life.” The matter-of-fact words still irked her. “It’s why I used so many of Jhara’s spells, to get through a day without falling apart. But there’s an interesting side benefit to dissociating. It could prove useful.” She shrugged in embarrassment, the focus of all their attention. She no longer struggled with the restless feeling, the itchiness in her bones. Being with Resh softened it, dulled the edges. She no longer searched for spells or alcohol to settle the violence thrumming beneath her skin.
“What’s the advantage?” asked Esmonda, frowning.
Maya swept aside other thoughts and focused on taking shallow breaths, stepped back into a quiet place in her mind. She imagined light flooding her body, secreting from her skin, and an intense feeling of vitality bloomed, filling her with amber luminescence. Her body brimmed with color and it overflowed, conjured into reality. The emission interacted with the oxygen in the air, buzzing slightly and falling to the floor as mist. Resh and Clarice stared in surprise at the fog secreting from her skin. Evil or not, this was something she knew how to do. The illumination changed the temperature in the air, creating icy clouds of vapor between them. Resh reached out to touch her arm and she felt the ping of electricity clinging between them
before she pulled away.
“I’m not sure what it will do to you,” Maya said, but it came from a great distance, her voice muffled and low. Thunder rumbled above as her double reappeared several feet away, releasing more mist. He shook his head as if clearing his ears.
“Quite a trick,” he said, making an effort to remain calm but his eyes gave him away, shining like pewter.
“Indeed,” said Clarice. She smiled in admiration as Maya drifted back to herself, the light and mist receding. “When a predator is near, you create a perfect copy of yourself.”
“Have you heard of another creature that can do this?” Resh’s drawl thickened.
“I’ve never heard of one that can convert light or transform themselves. Even breeding programs…” Clarice looked up at Resh, whose brows had drawn together in a frown.
Maya stiffened. “What? Don’t protect me; spill.”
Resh’s pupils were dilated, making his eyes dark. “It appears you’ve been especially engineered by Molokh. Manufactured to resist plague and genetic disorders, survive holocausts and avoid extinction.”
“He’s hidden specific qualities in your genetic makeup,” murmured Indira. “Your mind-body split enables you to cross realms, while your art recreates genetic imagination, recreating worlds.”
“My early incarnation in Mesopotamia gave your ancestors the grimoire, helped them sacrifice children to increase Molokh’s power,” Maya said. “Perhaps every time I’m born, my goal is to make him stronger.”
“Powers that wouldn’t show up as a genome in the average test result. Not a magical creature in the eyes of scientists on Earth. Hiding like a chameleon in your cells,” Oxyhiayal said. “When we first came out on Earth, the humans murdered thousands of magi. It resulted in the war and culminated in the death of millions. Molokh must have predicted the resultant paranoia and disguised the genetic marker for transmogrification.”
“While her art gives voice to genetic memory,” reminded Indira.
No wonder Besmelo despised her, wanted her to return to the Abyss. She couldn’t be reincarnated if held behind the Gates of Mithra. An unsettled feeling washed over her. The spirit considered her an abomination against nature. In making the covenant between the realms, he’d tried to stop future trouble.