Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  Tightening his two-handed grip, the Berserker hoisted her off the ground and tried to pull her apart. It felt like being tortured on a rack. The helpless animal kicked and slashed at the Berserker’s face. Her claws knocked off his helmet, sending it clattering to the ground. Lluava’s muscles and tendons were stretched taut. She could do little more than emit a high-pitched scream. No aid would come from her friends, who were engaged in desperate battles of their own.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Father shift into a giant walrus. The beast bellowed and stabbed at oncoming Raiders with his huge tusks, protecting the first group of his people as they slowly lurched upward on the overburdened lift.

  A sharp pain erupted in Lluava’s side as a muscle tore. Uselessly, she kicked out again. Every groove she carved in the Berserker’s chest bled unnoticed. She was being ripped apart in this monstrosity’s huge hands.

  Something stirred inside her; the goddess was waking. Was it time to release her? Looking into the bloodshot eyes of her would-be killer, she saw little humanity left unsuppressed by the drug. She was nothing more than a hindrance to his sole objective, slaughter. Suddenly his blue eyes glazed over.

  Before his lifeless hands dropped her, Lluava had only a moment to marvel at the handmade arrow shaft that had bored into the Berserker’s huge skull. She landed on her side and barely managed to scramble out of the way before the mammoth corpse collapsed. Two other arrows repelled attackers, allowing her a chance to regroup.

  Who was her savior? Lluava could not tell where the arrows came from. Archers atop the wall shot projectiles taken from the stockpiles in the royal armory; the arrows that had saved her were hand-cut, and tipped only with the hewn points of the wooden shafts.

  Her thanks would have to wait. More Raiders circled the tigress, attempting to stab her with their rapiers. They were five to her one, yet she knew they were all doomed. Did they?

  Color began to drain from Lluava’s vision; only crimson dared stand out against the blue-green-tinted world as that thing inside her, her second self, took over. She no longer had control of her body, yet she could still sense every inch of herself. Her mind acquired a surreal clarity, and she knew instantly what needed to be done to slay all who opposed her.

  As if manipulated by an invisible puppeteer, the tigress attacked. Her body moved fluidly; tooth and claw hit every mark. Lluava could visualize every action of those around her moments before they actually occurred. She countered them with ease. The Raiders were felled in a calculated order that was not of her design.

  With five corpses at her feet, Lluava turned to the rest of the battle. The second Berserker was dead, but the third, his clothing splattered with bits of brain and blood, continued to ravage the clansmen.

  The ring of defenders shrank as some were killed and others hoisted to safety. The lift was descending again, but far too slowly. Four rope ladders, made up of multiple smaller ones knotted end to end, now hung down from the parapets. Although those in Cronus were doing what they could to help, Lluava knew it wasn’t enough.

  On one of the wagons, Yamir and another clansman were busy. A few others of their clan distracted several attackers to give them time to complete their mysterious work. Close by, Derrick rabidly ripped into a Raider who kept striking the wolf with a dagger.

  Lluava ran in the direction of her lupine friend. Grabbing the foul-tasting Raider in her great maw by the back of his shoulder, she pulled the screaming man back into the woods. A clansman rushed up to assist Derrick to the lift, a trail of blood in their wake.

  Spitting out a mouthful of remains from the body on the ground in front of her, Lluava bounded to the final Berserker. He was pulling his mace out of what she assumed was an elder’s body. Void of emotion, the behemoth looked at her and grunted, “Theri.”

  Feeling no fear or anger or pain, the tigress vaulted forward, her gilded claws clashing with the spiked weapon. As before, she knew exactly when the Berserker would gasp his final, gurgling breath. She was oddly aware of everything around her; yet at the same time it seemed as if she and this gigantic enemy were the only living things that existed. Then it was over.

  As arrows flew down and various weapons whirred about them, Lluava continued her choreographed dance of destruction. Her white fur now tinted red, Lluava shook off the hellish droplets and moved to where she was needed next.

  The ring of wagons separating the Raiders and the clansmen suddenly burst into a scorching wall of flame. Yamir! He had created a line of defense. Another load of refugees neared the top of the wall, but there were still too many clansmen waiting to ascend. As the battle inched closer to the circle of fire, Raiders began to shoot crossbow bolts at the lift’s ropes. One hit its mark and snapped a few cords.

  Defenders atop the wall continued their counter-fire. A Raider with a crossbow was struck down next to Lluava. She somehow knew to move in a strange, unpredictable pattern as another wave of arrows struck the battlefield. No projectile touched her.

  The Raiders were quickly outnumbering the remaining clansmen. The enemy archers began to shoot at those riding the lifts. One bolt hit a far deadlier mark, and the rope holding one corner of the platform snapped. Those on the lift clung to any hold they could find as the device struggled to hoist them to safety. Several unlucky ones fell off as the platform shifted to an angle. Far too high, they died at the feet of their kin.

  Panic.

  The truce between clans was broken; the men at the base of the lift began fighting one another to clamber up one of the rope ladders. A Tri-Gill stabbed a Razor Back. A member of the Saw Tooth Clan grabbed the leg of a Silver Tongue above him on a ladder, causing the man to fall. The enemy used the disarray to their advantage and easily targeted the terrified clansmen.

  The warriors on the field retreated in wild disorder. Many risked horrid burns as they ran through the flames to reach the ladders. Above them, the survivors on the lift scrambled off with the assistance of the Outlanders.

  As Lluava charged a Raider attempting to rearm his crossbow, screams erupted at the wall. One of the ladders had come apart at its knotted connections. The remaining ladders appeared secure, for the moment.

  The tigress took down a marauder by slashing at his thick-bearded throat. He would not shoot another helpless victim. Nearby, a second Raider took aim at her. Before he could draw his bow, he collapsed from one of those makeshift arrows. This time, Lluava saw the shooter—Aquila.

  As soon as she spotted him, a strange understanding took over. In the final moments before Lluava was released from her connection with the goddess, she knew she had to protect him.

  “Head to the ladders!” Lluava shouted at the nomad as her vision and senses abruptly returned to normal. “We need to get to safety.”

  “How?” questioned Aquila as he loosed several more shots. His targets collapsed in unnatural heaps. “The fire is too big.”

  He was right. The wall of flames crackled threateningly. Lluava could feel the intense heat even at this distance. Behind them, more Raiders were emerging from the forest.

  “Climb onto my back,” she said, crouching low.

  With her living cargo clinging to her fur, Lluava loped along the line of fire. Ahead, she spotted an abandoned wagon whose axle had broken, leaving it dipping down at the front. It was the lowest point and their best bet for entry.

  Getting a running start, the tigress leaped into the flames. Her rear paws had to spring off the front of the wagon to make sure they landed clear of the trailing sparks. Her scorched feet stung. Blisters would appear on her pads before long. Fortunately, Aquila was unhurt, though he slapped at an ember burning a tiny hole in his shorts.

  The crowd of clansmen was packed close together. Everyone was at odds and fighting for the chance to clamber to safety. Father was still on the ground in his dual form. His tusks were tipped with the blood of Raiders. Seeing Lluava, he bellowed, “Let Theri through! Let the Incarn pass!”

  Despite their palpable fear, the throng moved
aside to allow the blood-smeared tigress and her companion to pass. At the base of a ladder, a man from a clan Lluava could not identify refused to give up his spot in line. Lluava would have been patient, but a second figure punched the man first, so hard that he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

  Cursing, the second man spat at the collapsed party. “She is our savior!”

  Without hesitating, Lluava shifted to human form. “Aquila, you go first.”

  Quick as a monkey, he began to climb. Lluava followed, inches below his heels.

  The sounds of crackling erupted as one of the burning wagons collapsed in upon itself, while another’s timber began to fall outward. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that the Raiders were using these gaps in the fire line as entry points, hacking their way into the inner circle.

  Father defended his people mightily; however, the flood of opponents was too great.

  “No!” Lluava screamed, as a Raider thrust his lance into the clan leader’s side. In spite of the wound, Father drove his tusk deep into the enemy’s chest. Unable to remove the corpse, Father bellowed his death cry as he was butchered by a swarm of seafaring men.

  A crossbow bolt grazed Lluava’s thigh before shattering against the stone wall. Above her, Aquila shouted, “Move, she-tiger!”

  Fighting back the burning tears, Lluava hoisted herself over the parapet and collapsed onto its walkway. She could hear the screams of those still trapped at the base of the wall. Male and female, young and old—corralled like sheep, they stood no chance.

  “They’re on the ladders!” cried an Outlander as he shot his longbow. Next to him, Aquila took aim with his strung sapling.

  “Cut them down! All of them!”

  Lluava recognized the stoic, rumbling voice of Ammit. The tall man with leathery skin stared down at the chaos, his wide mouth pursed. Two Outlanders followed his command immediately and brought axes to the top of the ladders.

  “Stop!” Lluava shouted as she hobbled behind them, but it was too late. Looking through an embrasure, she saw everything in what felt like slow motion. The rope ladders were severed. The ascending climbers’ faces were struck with fear as they fell into the inferno. Their drawn-out screams grew silent. Those still alive at the base of the wall lost hope.

  “Murderer!” Lluava shouted as she turned on Ammit. The man made no move as she approached. “You killed them all!” she cried out in hysterical sobs. “Somebody, lower the lift! Lower the lift!”

  No one moved.

  “It is done,” Ammit said, turning to look at her. He calmly clasped his hands behind his back.

  Shaking with rage, Lluava wanted nothing more than to attack the man before her. Instead, she said, “There were so many more we could have saved! You have condemned them to death!”

  Ammit simply replied, “The enemy were climbing the ladders. They could not be permitted to reach the top.”

  Taking a ragged breath, Lluava implored, “They’re all going to die.”

  “They were already dead,” came a voice from behind her.

  Lluava turned slowly and beheld High Priestess Yena. She was dressed in a silver Endun bodysuit. Her cropped gray hair shone bright against polished skin of the blackest hue. Yena’s all-but-white irises looked kindly at Lluava, as a mother does when about to teach her daughter a difficult lesson. The priestess’s thick, smoky voice continued, “You were warned of this. Yet you did not listen. They died because of you.”

  Chapter 17

  The Jackal in the Room

  Sinking to her knees, Lluava struggled to understand. She heard her own ragged breath but not the hysterical shouts and barked orders. Tears blurred her vision, and she couldn’t focus. She was unaware of the figures strapping large, lidded vessels onto the damaged lift. Nor did she notice the Outlanders restraining Aquila at Ammit’s command. She barely registered the lift plummeting to the ground when the ropes were severed.

  The colossal booming of explosions and a towering column of fire blasting to the top of the wall jarred Lluava to her senses. The screams from below were silenced.

  Yena contemplated the billowing smoke. “I am merciful.”

  Lluava was unable to say or do anything. Her body felt frozen as she watched the high priestess turn and leave. Until Ammit ordered, “Throw the human over the wall.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” said Lluava quietly. Rising on shaky legs, she limped over to the Theriomorphs who struggled to restrain Aquila. She positioned one of Issaura’s Claws under a restrainer’s jaw.

  “Release him.”

  Nearby, Ammit stared at her, his face emotionless. “Humans are not allowed inside New Rhadamanthus.”

  “He is an exception,” hissed Lluava as she pressed the Claw into the man’s flesh. Beads of blood dripped down the golden weapon. The restrainer stiffened.

  “There are no exceptions.”

  “The high priestess will want the nomad alive. Where is she?”

  Yena had already left for the castle. Something had to be done to save Aquila. Growling at Ammit, Lluava threatened, “Kill him now, and you will deal with her repercussions.”

  The young woman waited in deadly seriousness, daring anyone to doubt her. The priestess was too far away to be easily summoned. If Lluava’s claim was true, Aquila could not be killed at the wall.

  “High Priestess Yena will want him alive, I assure you.”

  “Take the human to the Judgment Hall,” Ammit ordered, then spoke directly to Lluava. “The high priestess will decide his fate.”

  Lluava chose not to look over the wall during the prolonged trek to the stairs; she knew the sight would haunt her forever. Moving slowly on her blistered feet, she agonized, wondering how in the seven hells she could convince the high priestess to give Aquila amnesty. Her leverage was gone; Giahem’s Wings had been left in Father’s wagon. If the bow survived the fire, it would surely be seized by the Raiders.

  By the time they arrived at the castle, she still had not come up with a solution. Aquila never looked at her. This was good, for she was certain her face would alert him to the futility of his situation.

  The Judgment Hall was the renamed Grand Hall, the former royal throne room. Entering, Lluava half expected to see Varren seated upon the tall, ornate chair. But a new ruling power held Cronus, and Yena was its head.

  From her vantage point on the dais, the high priestess watched them enter. The chamber’s raised seating had once held the stern faces of the High Council in life and their rotting corpses in death. Now, a new panel of judges waited. Robed in black and sporting their gruesome obsidian masks, the Guardians, like evil effigies, rigidly observed those entering.

  Yet this mattered little to Lluava, for it was those perched on the minor thrones to either side of Yena who drew her attention. The Incarn had replaced the royal family. The twins, Luka and Selene, exchanged a knowing glance, while Apex appeared unconcerned.

  Apex was alive!

  Lluava had always hoped this was true, but his final, echoing cry to her in Tartarus’s cavern had sounded like his last. But he was alive and even looked well. Everything was the same: the stubble on his face, his dark hair that gleamed like copper in the sunlight, his fierce golden eyes flecked with red. He was alive. And seated next to Selene.

  A low rumble began in Lluava’s throat. Selene, the seductress, appeared more desirable than ever. Her gown dipped so low that her two perfect blessings almost broke free of the laced bodice. Her coppery skin complemented the rouge on her lips and the gemstones tucked into her luscious locks.

  Lluava wanted to snap those slender shoulders, choke the woman with the silver teardrop necklace nestled above her breasts. There had been a time when Lluava was embarrassed by her unfeminine body and yearned to look more like Selene. Now, she was proud of her own sinewy form, her power and strength. She was a warrior and looked nothing like the epitome of feminine beauty—but she had no need to use trickery and enchantments to force men to love her.

  Ammit knelt at the
base of the dais and began to speak. His words were lost to Lluava’s ears as she continued to stare at Apex. He was constantly glancing at Selene, and the pair would lock eyes for a drawn-out moment. Lluava instantly recognized what was occurring: Apex was under Selene’s spell.

  Anger flamed up within Lluava, but this time it was tinged with jealousy. Why did Selene covet the men she loved? Wait—did she actually love Apex? That would be impossible if she were still in love with Varren. Or could someone actually love two people at the same time? Regardless, Lluava was certain Selene knew what she was doing. This seduction was meant to hurt Lluava, and it was succeeding.

  “What have you to say, Lluava?”

  Blinking, Lluava looked at Yena, who was patiently waiting for her response.

  “C…Can you repeat the question?”

  “Why is the human’s life of value?”

  “Because,” Lluava fumbled, “he was in possession of Giahem’s Wings.”

  Yena looked sharply over at Aquila, who was being forced to kneel, then back at Lluava. “Where is Giahem’s Wings?”

  Lluava felt a bead of sweat roll down her face. Aquila’s life would be determined by her answer, and the answer was not what Yena wanted to hear. “It is—”

  “Here!” Yamir’s voice rang out from the back of the room. Lifting up the golden weapon, the clansman was allowed to approach the base of the dais to deposit the bow.

  Moving fluidly, Yena descended the steps to pick up the weapon. As she inspected it, Yamir took a moment to gather himself. From his tear-streaked face, Lluava knew he had seen what had happened to Father and the others who lost their lives at the wall.

  “Lluava was storing the bow in one of our wagons. I saw it as I was rigging them to burn and knew it was important.” He gazed at Issaura’s Claws. “I made sure that it reached the top of the wall.”

  The twins leaned down to get a better look. Pale and gangly, Luka appeared nothing like his adopted sister. His dark hair was speckled with white. Both watched intently as Yena attempted to pull back the golden string, to no avail. She handed it to Ammit, but the strong, muscular man could not budge the gleaming twine.