Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  Taking a stiff step back, Apex said coldly, “Selene wants me now. I am to go to her.”

  Lluava did not watch him leave. As she turned away, she said, “I guess I really am meant to embody Issaura, the virgin goddess, in all ways.” Breaking down into a tear-filled bout of laughter, she felt all her emotions slowly drain away.

  When she collected herself, Lluava felt less burdened. This was good. She needed to be fully focused when she and Aquila broke into the royal armory. The nomad needed arrows. She would get him the best.

  Last night, they had made the decision to wait until morning. Unsure what challenges lay ahead, they knew they needed to be rested. Moreover, darkness, though protective in many ways, encouraged others to be hyperalert. Conducting a burglary in the light of day was unusual, though just as tricky to accomplish.

  After Lluava had practically bribed Aquila to put on the Endun outfit that had been left with their breakfast trays, she and the nomad were ready to go. Lluava noticed Aquila’s sneer as he looked down at his golden clothes.

  “They’re not that shiny,” Lluava declared.

  “They are of the barbarian material,” he countered as he readjusted Giahem’s Wings on his shoulder.

  Trying not to be insulted, Lluava pointed out, “Well, those ‘barbarian’ clothes will help you blend in with the Theriomorphs. They might sense that you are not one of us, but at least you look the part.” Raising a finger to shush Aquila’s rebuke, she continued, “Think about our goal. We can’t afford a mistake.”

  Lluava wondered if Yena’s choice of color for Aquila’s clothing was intentional. Was she trying to make him easier to spot? Few wore metallic shades. The only others she had seen were Yena and Apex. Or was she mocking the fact that he could wield the golden bow of Giahem?

  Peeking around a corner, she risked a look at the armory’s doors and quickly counted the guards: a half dozen. Stepping back out of sight, Lluava grumbled, “Rats. I was hoping there would be fewer.”

  “They are called vaults for a reason,” said Aquila.

  Was he trying to be humorous? Swallowing the rumble in her throat, Lluava knew this was no time to be funny. “We need a plan,” she said, stating the obvious. “There are six men, all armed. They will hurt us, but we must not kill them. If we do, Yena will surely imprison us. And lastly, these aren’t the vaults. That’s an old term for the treasury.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  Lluava was baffled by the nomad’s question. Tying his long auburn hair into a bun, Aquila said, “Your human friend, the woman in black—she said that the vaults had many arrows.”

  “I think she meant the armory,” countered Lluava. “The treasury would not hold weapons; it would store riches, gems, gold, and other prized possessions of the royal family. Unless the Mandrun line deemed a weapon to be of great value, they would store it in the armory. Six guards, and we have only Issaura’s Claws.” Rubbing her eyes, Lluava tried to think.

  As she studied her golden weapons, she recalled the day she had received them. Berkley, the elderly healer, tailor, and inventor at the southern training camps, had worked hard to have Issaura’s Claws removed from the royal treasury in order to bequeath them to her. If Issaura’s Claws had been considered a treasure, might not other weapons?

  “You know what?” Lluava asked. “I take it all back. You’re right, Aquila. We should be searching in the treasury.”

  With their new objective, the pair wound their way to the treasury’s entry. This time, there were only two guards. It appeared that riches were currently not as valuable as weapons.

  “Much better,” Lluava purred. As a third guard approached, she and Aquila ducked into an alcove and hid. The trio of Theriomorphs shared a brief conversation before all three rushed off in a different direction.

  “We’ve got to go now,” Lluava said excitedly.

  “Isn’t it a little odd?” Aquila questioned, always distrustful.

  “Yes,” Lluava acknowledged, “but it might be our only chance. Hurry.” She ran to the doors. They were locked. The young woman pulled several oddly shaped pieces of metal from her pockets. “Time to pick a lock.”

  Lluava had watched others do this but had never done it herself. She struggled for several tense minutes while Aquila stood watch. Finally, he pushed her aside and began working the lock himself. His meticulous manner was far too slow for her liking.

  “I think someone’s coming,” she said worriedly.

  There was a click, and the door swung inward. They were inside the treasury!

  After quietly closing the door behind them, they breathed more comfortably.

  The massive collection that filled most of the large vault was an impressive sight, yet there seemed to be no actual organization to the place. In some sections, all the items clearly had been arranged with care. Jewelry hung on specialized stands; garments made of silk and other expensive materials were folded in neat stacks. In other areas, gold coins and gemstones were simply heaped in large piles. Rolled tapestries were in one corner, while a score or more crowns adorned the heads of manikins positioned near a line of extraordinary handcrafted furniture.

  Picking up a coin, Aquila inspected the face of a deceased monarch. Then, tossing it back on the heap, he asked, “Do you see any arrows?”

  “There’s so much stuff. If any are here, who knows where they would be?”

  Carefully working their way to the back of the room, the pair searched behind old shields, around the bases of life-sized sculptures, under ornate carpets. Soon, a strange pedestal caught Lluava’s attention. On top was a one-of-a-kind rest for a missing item. Suddenly realizing what it was for, she slipped off Issaura’s Claws and placed them onto the molded forms. The weapons stood erect, the sickle-shaped claws facing each other.

  Aquila was clambering over a pile of coins. His movements caused a jade vase to slide down next to Lluava. Retrieving the Claws, she followed the nomad as he made his way to another pedestal, upon which rested a golden quiver with matching arrows.

  Aquila pulled out one of the sharp projectiles. It was made of a single material, a material that matched his bow. He nocked it, pulled back the bow, and aimed at the ceiling. As soon as the two objects touched, beautiful designs manifested on the bow as well as the projectile’s shaft. Runes formed on the arrow as well. Lluava knew what they said before she read them aloud: “The Talons of Giahem.”

  “Well done.” A voice fractured the amazing moment. “You’ve found them already.”

  Aquila instantly aimed the bow at the robed man. He was about to shoot when Lluava called out, “Wait.”

  Pulling down his hood, Hyrax regarded the pair expectantly. He raised his hands in feigned defense. “I am glad that Giahem’s Talons have found a fitting owner.”

  Aquila eyed Hyrax suspiciously, and with good reason. Lluava knew the former councilman was a Guardian. He had manipulated the Incarn to follow their supposed destinies. He sided with Yena and thus was an enemy of Varren.

  Hyrax smiled innocently. The two white stripes running down his pointed black beard seemed to have widened since the last time Lluava saw him. White hair had even begun to sprout down the center of his scalp, yet his face looked the same.

  “You knew we would come for Giahem’s Talons,” said Lluava as she tested her grip on the Claws. Why hadn’t she noticed his distinctive perfume earlier? Then she realized that he wasn’t wearing any; instead, the musk of badger was present. “You told the guards to leave. Why didn’t you just give us the quiver? Why didn’t you unlock the door?”

  “There is a path that must be taken when dealing with the gifts of the gods. This is the way it was meant to be.”

  Lluava did not like that response. She might be the Incarn of Issaura, but she was also Lluava Kargen, a Theriomorph from the town of Rivendale, soldier for the Elysian Army, former military partner to the rightful king. She was so much more than a toy for her goddess.

  “I do wonder how you discovered the Talons’ where
abouts so quickly,” said Hyrax, who continued to look kindly on the defensive pair. “You were told they were here. It wasn’t Varren, for he never cared to dally among his family’s spoils. He probably does not even know of the arrows’ existence. Was it Regin? He always watched over the Talons with such interest.”

  “No,” responded Lluava; she would not give Holly away. Nodding to Aquila, the pair lowered their weapons and headed for the treasury doors.

  Motionless, Hyrax watched them pass. “I must warn you that the Obsidian Guards are not your friends, Lluava. They will kill a Theriomorph without a second thought, even you.”

  Lluava continued to zigzag through the chaos of the vault. Her neck hairs prickled at the Guardian’s comments, but she refused to play his game. Hyrax continued, “All nomadic people were ordered killed upon entry into Elysia. The Obsidian Guard has never failed before, yet this nomad was allowed to live. Do you want to know why?”

  Hating herself for doing so, Lluava stopped. Hyrax had baited a hook, and she was compelled to bite. The Guardian, noting her interest, added, “You said that the nomad was already in possession of Giahem’s Wings. For that, he was kept alive, in accordance with one of the Obsidian Guards’ most critical directives.”

  As Hyrax reached into his robes, Lluava prepared to strike out, but it was Aquila’s harsh accent that said, “Not fast, beast-man.” Giahem’s Wings were trained upon the Guardian’s every move.

  At a respectfully slow speed, Hyrax produced a yellowed scroll and handed it to Lluava. With Aquila watching Hyrax, she unfurled the ancient parchment.

  “As you can see,” Hyrax began, “this scroll contains the original addendum that King Hammond issued to the members of the Obsidian Guard. Examining paragraph three of the seventh section, you will note that the king assigned a specific task to the Guard. They were to unite the full set of religious weapons of the Theriomorph race. Now, if you—”

  “I can read,” said Lluava tersely, cutting him off. Too soon, unfortunately. Skimming down the scroll, she tried to understand what was written. The Code of Shadows used archaic rhetoric and a formulaic style; it seemed almost as if it were an entirely different language. Such phrases as “most valuable mission,” “essential secrecy,” and “never to repeat what is known” were interspersed with others: “weapon of unfathomable power,” “knowledge to control must be retained,” “to be wielded by dominant authority for the welfare of humankind.” However, three words stood out: “twelve runed artifacts.”

  Disappointed in herself, Lluava lowered the scroll. “I don’t understand what this is saying.”

  Though Hyrax certainly was aware that Lluava lacked knowledge of political rhetoric, he did not mock her. “Essentially, Regin had to keep the nomad alive. As an Obsidian Guard, it is his duty to gather all knowledge about the gods’ weapons. During the Landon Wars, several of these were removed from the city temples of their respective gods and confiscated by the Mandrun line.”

  Lluava remembered that each Theriomorph city acted under the command of a ruire, their ruler, and the high priestess of their temple. Each city had a patron god or goddess. Twelve Theriomorph cities, twelve gods, and twelve weapons. Lluava listened intently to the Guardian’s lecture.

  “King Hammond understood that each weapon possessed great power, although the form of that power might forever be unknown. He wanted to gather all twelve weapons, believing that their united abilities would solidify the Mandrun rule over Elysia. The Obsidian Guard’s mission, in part, was to fulfill this task.

  “That is the true reason King Hammond decreed equality between the races. He thought that once the Theriomorphs accepted that they were citizens of his Elysia, they would produce the rest of the hidden relics. But the gods’ weapons had been scattered, and Theriomorphs were never more than second-class citizens.”

  Hyrax took back the scroll and tucked it into his robe. “You see, the Obsidian Guard has never looked upon a Theriomorph in earnest friendship. But the Guard will do whatever it takes to discover and keep track of the gods’ weapons. Now, that includes those who can wield them. The Guard will ensure that the Mandrun line controls the greatest weapon of all time, a unit comprising Incarn who will fight at the king’s bidding for whatever purpose the crowned ruler deems fitting. I fear, Lluava, that you have been played once again.”

  Chapter 20

  Rhadamanthus of Old

  You must never trust humans.”

  Hyrax’s last words resounded in the vault.

  Lluava countered confidently, “You’re wrong.” Her tone masked her growing trepidation. Even if the Guardian’s words were in any way true, surely Holly had become her friend. They had been through too much, shared too much, especially sweet June. Holly had not only helped Lluava in the past but had also told her where to find Giahem’s Talons. She was not merely manipulating Lluava into trusting the Guard, unless that was part of a larger plan—one that united arrows with bow and Aquila with the golden weapons.

  But what if Holly really had played her, just as the High Council and the Guardians had? Needing to prove him wrong, Lluava said, “Varren would never use the Incarn as some massive weapon of war. He didn’t even know we existed until recently. If he had been informed of his ancestor’s plans, he would have revoked that addendum.”

  “This knowledge is only passed on when a new king is crowned. Special precautions were taken this time.”

  “What precautions?” Lluava asked just as Hyrax continued.

  “If everything had gone smoothly, Varren would never have known about the Incarn.”

  Repeating her earlier question, Lluava asked again, “What precautions?”

  “We were able to manage the kingdom and the king himself through the help of your fellow Incarn, Selene.”

  “You made her control Varren?” Lluava questioned, clearly shocked.

  “We simply placed the idea before her. She did the rest.”

  “Then you’re no different from the Obsidian Guard,” snarled Lluava.

  Hyrax nodded knowingly. “I do not blame you for feeling that way. Regardless, the Guardians have always done what was best for the Theriomorph race.”

  “What you thought was best.” Lluava realized that the Guardians would not help defeat the Raiders in order to protect the kingdom of Elysia and return Varren to the throne. They were interested only in the Theriomorph people. Yet they had failed to protect their precious race. “Are you not ashamed for the deaths on your hands? Theriomorph deaths? If you influenced Selene, and she instigated the butchery of the clans, then you are responsible for all those lost lives.”

  “Gods work in mysterious ways, and so do we,” responded Hyrax calmly. “I will admit that King Varren’s decree shocked us as well, but it sparked a fire that incited the clans to join together to overthrow human rule once and for all. They might not have joined us otherwise. Regardless, the Theriomorph race is now united.”

  Hyrax paused thoughtfully. “I will not try to make you see it my way. In time, you will understand. However, I must inform you of an invitation from High Priestess Yena. She wants to share something with you and wishes you to meet with her in her quarters tonight.”

  If everyone around her was playing some invisible game, she would join in. At least now she was more aware. “Where are the high priestess’s quarters?”

  “She has taken up residence in a house near the temple.”

  This was a surprise. Lluava had fully expected Yena to have claimed the royal quarters as her own. In a strange way, she found she respected the priestess’s choice. Lluava nodded as she and Aquila left Hyrax to his own devices.

  “Will you go to the she-beast?” Aquila inquired.

  Guessing his real question, Lluava responded, “You can’t come with me.”

  He did not argue. However, he spent the rest of the day near the balcony doors, occasionally scratching Onyx’s feathered head. At sunset, as Lluava left to meet Yena, he said softly, “May the Twelve watch over you.”

>   ***

  The temple was an enormous structure with a columned, wraparound porch. Rising many stories higher than the surrounding buildings, it seemed to dare the saturated clouds to stroke its peaked roof. Ornate doors on a raised platform were reached by a great number of steps, each twice as high as those for daily use. When she saw Yena waiting outside a newer structure adjacent to the temple grounds that had once housed the human priest, she was thankful. At least she wouldn’t have to climb up the steep steps.

  “You knew I would come,” Lluava said. Once again, she felt the restraint of her own personal fate.

  Smiling pleasantly, Yena’s timeless features glowed in the waning daylight. “Follow me, please,” the high priestess said in her throaty voice. She turned and led the way to the temple.

  Lluava had always been loath to enter a human church. Yet this had been a Theriomorph temple before Varren’s ancestors arrived. It was also the only Theriomorph building left standing after the humans conquered the city that became Cronus. The other buildings had been leveled, their stone and wood repurposed to help construct the castle. The only other structures Lluava had seen like this one were the temple in Leucrocotta and the temple in Therial, which had been turned into a church. Clearly, her ancestors had been architecturally brilliant.

  Yena led her through the two outer chambers into the back, where only an empty marble pedestal for a Theriomorph statue remained. Following Lluava’s line of sight, the high priestess inquired, “Do you know the patron god that once ruled over this city?”

  Shrugging, Lluava noted the vast size of the three-foot high base that measured ten feet on each side. “It couldn’t be Crocotta, for hers is in the Verta Mountains.”

  “That leaves ten options.”

  “Eleven.”

  “Ten.”

  As Yena waved her forward, Lluava said, “I thought all the gods had patron cities.”

  “The entire pantheon had their own places of worship, but one god was never permitted either a temple or a city.” Yena’s fingers traced the mortar at the back of the room. As she did so, a dark crack seemed to fracture a large section. The priestess gave a slight push, and the door swung backward into darkness.