Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  With Lluava still weakened, Yena’s strength was proving to be a substantial threat. For the first time, the younger Incarn could not sense the presence of her goddess. Theri seemed to have abandoned her, leaving only an internal void. On the other hand, Lluava questioned whether Yena’s overpowering force was all her own, or if she was blessed with divine help. Regardless, the tigress was losing this battle.

  Returning to human forms, the pair continued to fight. Now, the contest was far less physical, as Lluava desperately tried to keep out of range of the whip. Her body bled from countless wounds, though thankfully none too large.

  Yena was unharmed but for a gash on her right arm from the tip of a Claw, which did not slow the high priestess down. Lluava knew this chamber would become her tomb if she could not escape. Hoisting herself onto the lip of the raised pool, she made for the door. If she could reach it, maybe she had a chance of escaping.

  Suddenly, multiple sharp pains stung her calf, and she fell. Slamming onto the ledge, Lluava almost rolled into the black water. She quickly turned and tried to loosen the whip that encircled her leg. Then she changed her mind, grabbed hold of the cords, and tugged hard. The Hackles slipped from Yena’s grip.

  Lluava was able to untangle herself. As she stood and locked eyes with the high priestess, the worst pain she had ever felt tore through her torso. Looking down, she saw a simple stone dagger embedded in her abdomen.

  Grabbing the hilt, she pulled out the crude blade and threw it to the floor. Fiery tendrils of pain attacked her body. Her hands were gloved in blood; she pressed them against her stomach to stanch the bleeding. The taste filled her mouth.

  Spitting red, she asked, “What of the prophecy?”

  Yena stood at a distance and did not move to pick up her weapon. “I pray that it can still come to pass with Issaura’s true Incarn. Yet with one of the Twelve dead…maybe this is not the pantheon’s second coming. Or maybe we were being tested and have proved unworthy of saving.”

  The priestess retrieved the stone dagger and placed it on a narrow shelf, carved into the wall with such subtlety that it was barely visible. At the same time, the image of Varren’s straining face came into Lluava’s mind. She had to warn him of what she had seen. If this was the last thing she did, let it be the one thing she could accomplish! She needed to save the king from the fate shown in the vision.

  Lluava stumbled along the narrow ledge toward the far end of the pool. When she reached it, Yena was already there. The priestess turned toward Lluava and seized her wrists as if trying to keep the wounded woman from falling backward.

  “Our people believe that when one dies, she or he is brought into Nott’s embrace. This is most fitting for you, for you have represented yourself as Nott’s daughter.” There was a long, reverent pause. “I wish you well as you enter Nott’s embrace.”

  With lightning speed, Yena shoved Lluava into the pool. Issaura’s Claws remained clutched in the priestess’s hands.

  The black water flooded around and over the dying woman, enveloping her body, penetrating every part of her being. She could not struggle. The thick, syrupy liquid weighed her down, pulling her toward the bottom.

  A bottom that did not exist, for in this surreal state, there was no sense of gravity, no discernible edge, just darkness. Unable to breathe, Lluava’s chest burned until she was forced to gasp and swallow mouthfuls of the liquid.

  Blackness encroached upon everything. It coated her eyes, flowed up her nostrils and into her mouth, filled her wounds and her lungs. It seemed to fuse with the very essence of her soul and consumed her final thought as her heart beat its last.

  Chapter 33

  The One

  The chamber was drenched in black.

  Inky droplets trickled down walls, dripped from the ceiling, and poured off of the form that slowly rose from the depths of the pool. As if braided through the platinum-blond hair, dark rivulets ran down her head. Out of her ears and eyes, the liquid drained.

  Suddenly, Lluava breathed. There was no coughing, no gasping for air; the black water in her lungs had been absorbed by, fused with, her very being. A slow, calm inhalation was followed by an equally languid exhalation.

  Shoulders emerged, followed by arms and torso. Wading to the pool’s edge, Lluava lifted herself from the black abyss. The pitter-patter of black water falling on stone was audible throughout the chamber. Added to the sound was the cascade of droplets that slid from her body.

  Strange, she thought, as she sensed herself moving. Everything felt new, yet oddly familiar. The bizarre sensation was reminiscent of being caught between the realms of sleep and wakefulness. All her exhaustion, hunger, and pain had dissipated, leaving a sense of fulfillment. Dreamlike, everything about her was brighter, more defined. Or maybe more like the clarity of wakefulness after a long sleep.

  The shallow carving of the raven by the door seemed to shimmer. Moving closer, Lluava reached out to trace the design. The arm that rose was hers, yet as the black liquid slid off, golden stripes were exposed on her olive-hued flesh.

  Examining her body, she discovered that her entire form displayed golden stripes. Tiger’s stripes. Returning to the pool, she looked at her reflection in the rippling surface. This was her face, her slitted green eyes, her lips exposing the tips of fangs. Her skin revealed more of those golden ribbons. This was her face—the face of Theri’s Incarn.

  As Lluava left the chamber, a vision crept into the back of her mind, a dream borne on black wings. Blurred at first, it gradually took shape, and she recognized the Grand Hall. Ammit was beating Varren, whose hands were tied behind his back. One ear bled from an uppercut; an eyebrow dripped scarlet over his bruised face. Receiving a kick to his stomach, Varren crumpled into a ball on the marble floor. Ammit shifted into a snapping crocodile. He was going to kill the king. Yet before he could attack, Apex intervened for the young sovereign’s sake…

  Swiftly yet calmly, Lluava moved through the city before that dream fled her mind. The vision had been sent to her, just as all her dreams had been sent for the past year. A gift from a goddess not her own. A chance to see things in a way that others could not. This understanding came to her as naturally as that first breath out of the black water.

  Upheaval.

  The capital exuded a restlessness, a partially metamorphosed version of panic. The undercurrent of Cronus’s emotions soured on her tongue like turned milk. Humans and Theriomorphs were at odds, neither able to conceive of the possibility of unification. The heart of the kingdom was faltering, dying. Yet Lluava was not deterred. They would all listen to her soon enough, that she knew. There was an order to be followed. Certain steps to be taken.

  When she entered the Grand Hall, everyone was where they should be: four pawns in place. Apex stood next to Varren, while Ammit faced them angrily, his yellowed teeth protruding over scaly lips. Perched on the central throne, the high priestess stared down. On her face was a mixture of shock and fear.

  “You can’t—” she began, rising. The others turned to look at Lluava as well. Yena’s voice shook. “You died.”

  “I died…” Lluava mused over those words. “Yes. So the prophecy could be fulfilled.”

  “No. No. No,” Yena countered, not daring to leave her vantage point. “You were not the one. The child. The offspring of Issaura’s and Ullr’s love. Our savior—”

  Lluava looked tenderly at the priestess. “Leading them into this light is the one birthed from Issaura’s life’s blood. I was the representation of Issaura on earth. From my life’s blood, the blood I spilled, the life I cast away, I was able to be reborn. It was my life’s blood that enabled me to become the Incarn of Theri. I am part of her, as she will forever be part of me. United for eternity.”

  Although aware of the awestruck expressions on the others’ faces, Lluava focused on Yena. “Do you understand now?” she asked serenely.

  The high priestess radiated uncertainty. Her eyes grew wide. Blinking away tears, she asked, “What about the other
prophecy? The part where the Incarn allow the gods to undo past wrongs? Selene—”

  “That has been happening all along.” Lluava answered Yena’s questions with her new-found knowledge. “Think of your sacred texts. Luka had an opportunity to turn against me. However, he assisted me by creating the illusion that Apex was under Selene’s control and loyal to you. This offset the slight when Shennue trapped Issaura in the unbreakable net after she failed to reciprocate his affections. His Incarn has more tests to come.

  “Apex,” said Lluava, looking at the huntsman, “did not allow himself to be seduced by Selene. Thus, Ullr did not fall victim to Suada. You chose to encourage me toward my destiny, reversing the animosity between Crocotta and Theri. Selene was the only one who forsook her true purpose. She chose the wrong path, wished me ill, and paid for it with Suada’s mortal life.”

  “If this is true, you, and no other, are the savior of our race.”

  “It is true,” Lluava began. “I have risen in order to protect our people from destruction.”

  Descending the dais, Yena stood in front of Lluava in awe, sensing changes both great and small in her counterpart. The high priestess sank to her knees and placed an ebony hand over her heart. “Blessed be the will of the gods.”

  “I hold no ill will toward you,” Lluava acknowledged earnestly. “You did only what you believed was right.”

  “And I will continue to do so,” noted Yena, her throaty voice rumbling. She summoned her attendant, who had shifted back to human form. “Ammit, find the ruire and bring him here. Also, send a healer to deal with young Mandrun. I sense he will not die this night.”

  Yena retrieved Issaura’s Claws from the throne. “These belong to you,” she said as she handed Lluava the golden weapons.

  Having accomplished her goal, Lluava moved toward Varren, who still lay on the floor. Severing his bindings with her Claws, she helped him to his feet. The young king’s clear blue eyes stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Behind him, Apex did the same.

  The men’s emotions muddled the air. There was confusion, uncertainty, and more than a little fear. Focusing on Varren, Lluava sensed his pain and inquired, “Can you stand on your own?”

  “Yes,” he said. He seemed to want to say something else, but whatever it was, he held back. He ran his thumb over a stripe of gold on the back of Lluava’s hand, then lowered his hand to his side. She felt a tingling sensation come and go with the touch.

  “You’re so strong,” Apex said, still too hesitant to approach. “So powerful. I can feel it, even from here.”

  Behind them, Yena explained, “She is one with her goddess. More connected than either of us. In time, may we all be so unified. For now, Lluava is blessed over all other Incarn.”

  “Do not be afraid,” Lluava told them, although there was a hollowness in her voice. “I am as I should be. Now, it is time to change the course of the war. Now is the time to end it.”

  Lluava was not bothered by the three sets of eyes trained on her. Why shouldn’t they wonder about her transformation? She looked obviously different. Her movements were different as well, and even the way she talked had changed. It was logical that they would need time to process the alteration that had occurred.

  In truth, all her personal opinions, prior emotions, previous connections with these people had been washed away by the black water. They were still important to her, but the bonds had been diluted.

  Lluava knew that someone was headed their way several minutes before the door heaved open, allowing the healer to enter, a Theriomorph she did not recognize. Already well informed, the older man began inspecting Varren’s extensive injuries. After giving him a dose of Idun, the healer applied salves and poultices to the wounds.

  Save an occasional moan from Elysia’s king, the Grand Hall was silent. When the doors reopened, Thoth approached with Ammit. Bowing to Yena, the ruire inquired, “Why have I been summoned?”

  He was understandably worried about the large number of Elysian soldiers that had accompanied Varren and were now inside the city. Suddenly, he looked at Lluava and took a step back.

  Yena spoke. “It seems you have answered your own question. I need you to tell the entire Theriomorph citizenry that we are supporting the Incarn of Theri and will follow her to the war front.”

  “Is she—?” Thoth was unable to take his eyes off Lluava’s golden markings.

  “She is.”

  They would observe her command. No matter what she ordered, it would be done. In battle, her word would be obeyed. Such was the nature of things.

  Thoth bowed before Lluava, a bit stiff from his recent injuries. She cocked her head at the gesture, finding it curious.

  “What is your command?” the ruire asked.

  “Summon every leader, from clan chiefs to those who oversee the Warrior Caste, and bring them to the Lesser Hall. Invite the Guardians to attend as well.”

  “As you wish,” consented Thoth before leaving to fulfill his duty.

  Ammit, standing nearby, nodded toward Varren. “And what of Mandrun’s humans?”

  Varren spoke out. “We will back Lluava as well.”

  Adding to the young king’s pronouncement, Lluava said, “The heads of Varren’s military factions are also invited to the meeting.”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Yena. “Ammit, release those you have captured.”

  “Ammit,” Lluava clarified. “Release all your Elysian prisoners from Tartarus. Every one.”

  Inclining his head, Ammit left.

  Lluava addressed those who remained. “We will meet in one hour to discuss the war’s end.”

  Yena, Apex, and the healer filed out, though a little reluctantly. Only the human remained.

  “Lluava.” Varren looked deeply at her, his eyes searching hers.

  “What is it you are looking for?”

  “You.”

  Reaching out, Varren touched her cheek. Again, a strange tingling caused Lluava’s heartbeat to quicken, while she sensed his doing the same. Pulling back, the human closed his eyes and breathed out very slowly. “You are still here.”

  As soon as he stepped away, the emotional connection lessened, and that new detachment filled the void. Lluava followed him out of the Grand Hall to the now empty corridor, where sconces flickered. Once again, she sensed other presences approaching.

  She spoke with certainty. “Your Shadows are here.” Turning around, she added, “You don’t have to hide, Holly.”

  The female guard stepped into the light. Then the entire corridor was filled with the black-clothed figures.

  “Varren will be fine,” Lluava told them. “He has made peace with the Outlanders. We are to fight the Raiders together.”

  “Is this your wish?” Holly asked the king.

  “This is my command,” Varren affirmed. Looking at Lluava once more, he invited Holly, “Come. Help me find the others.”

  Like animated darkness, the Obsidian Guard followed Varren down the hall, leaving Lluava alone.

  The question now was what to do for the next hour. Sleep was not a necessity. Lluava did not consider returning to her former chambers, for they were no longer hers, not really. She would not need food for a while. Besides, others needed nourishment more than she.

  Choosing instead to wander the corridors, she leisurely strolled about the castle. Everything was so familiar, yet so foreign. This sensation was strange but not unpleasing. As the time drew near to meet with the others, she recognized two approaching figures: Hyrax, followed by Rosalyn. The pair halted rather abruptly.

  They must think I look strange, Lluava thought with a smile. She said, “You are wanted in the Lesser Hall, Hyrax.”

  “Lluava, what happened?” Rosalyn quickly asked. At the same time, Hyrax said, “You look—”

  “All in good time,” said Lluava. “For now, I must ask Hyrax to come with me.”

  There was a moment of hesitation before the Guardian stepped to her side. As they turned to leave, Rosalyn bl
urted, “There is a woman around our age with hair like yours. She trapped me in the tower.”

  “Maruny,” Lluava stated.

  “I do not know what she is called, but she discovered my signal and blocked my exit. Even in my dual form, I could not get out the window. If Councilman Hyrax had not heard my cries…”

  “I must thank you, Hyrax, for saving this woman.”

  “Anything for you,” the Guardian said as he continued to stare at Lluava’s golden-striped flesh.

  Rosalyn, shaken up and motivated by fear, asked, “Did they…did they make it?”

  Lluava looked kindly at the raven-haired woman. “Varren and his commanders are gathering in the Lesser Hall as we speak.” Glancing at the former councilman, she continued, “That is why your presence is needed, Hyrax.”

  “And Talos?”

  “I do not know his current whereabouts, but I am certain he is inside Cronus.” Somehow, Lluava could sense Talos’s presence still on this plane of existence. “Go and find him.”

  Rosalyn did not have to be told twice. She ran past the pair to search for her husband.

  Next to Lluava, Hyrax remarked, “So, you have finally come into your own.”

  “It seems I have.”

  “I always knew you were the one.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter 34

  Siege

  Lluava cocked her head and listened. A loud blast erupted somewhere far above. Hyrax had heard it as well, for he was looking at the ceiling.

  Another rumble caused the walls to tremble ever so slightly. If one had not been paying attention, the minute shifting would have gone unnoticed. Lluava knew exactly what the cause was. She had heard this sound before. A low growl clawed its way up her throat. “Let’s head to the Lesser Hall. There is much to discuss.”