by Jean Murray
He fingered through his wet tangled mop, not caring if he tore it from his scalp. For the first time in his life his hair passed his ears. He stared at the blade on the wall rack, tempted to take it to the skin. Ignoring the urge, he hit the lights and shucked on the new set of clothes. The thick material hugged his body, much tighter than the warrior uniforms.
He arched his back and stretched his tight muscles. With nothing to eat and no exercise he had wasted away.
The distant sound of a closing door drew his attention. Muffled voices sounded in the outer office. The hairs on Bomani’s neck bristled. Sekhmet and a Creation.
“We discussed this before. My decision is final.”
“Damn it, we can leave in an hour before this explodes.”
“Where does it end?”
“You were set to leave. Now, you want to stay?”
“I will not run. Not now.”
“Is it because of him?”
The silence drew Bomani closer to the door separating the office from the sleeping quarters. Through the small crack he could see the Creation male on the other side of the desk and Sekhmet’s long braid trailing down her back.
The god advanced to the desk. “He is here illegally. You know this, and yet you invite him to stay here? Bast will come down on us for harboring him.”
“He has no place to go.”
“He can go back to the fucking underworld.”
“I am not budging on this.”
“Another gods' damn mouth we cannot feed.”
“I will not ask you to cut your portion,” she snapped.
“How can we trust him?”
“The same way we always have—we earn his trust first. And as far as Bast is concerned, I will deal with her, personally.” Her voice was low and icy. She turned slightly, enough that Bomani could see her profile.
He followed the curve of her arm to her wrist. The scarification tattoo had not been a figment of his delirium. Few warriors were skilled at carving the marks to ensure the tattoo remained raised before the skin healed. A warrior’s tattoo was sacred.
An oath of honor and brotherhood.
The male stepped forward mere inches from Sekhmet. Far too intimate for even a long standing friendship and brazenly inappropriate between Commander and a Second. A shot of jealousy rocketed through Bomani. Overcome by it, he snatched the handle and yanked open the door.
Sekhmet slipped away and turned towards Bomani. Her cool green eyes looked him up and down. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” Bomani snarled and glared at the god.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked with her eyebrows arched in mocking disapproval.
Bomani fisted his hands to prevent himself from yanking her away from the Creation god. His reaction was woefully unfitting but burned through his veins just the same.
“Theris, this is Bomani,” Siya said, appearing unfazed by his intrusion but positioning herself between him and her Second.
“You cannot be serious. For all we know Bast has sent him to spy on us,” Theris said with a scowl. “You are not welcome here.”
Bomani bared his sharp teeth, and a guttural growl rumbled in his throat. Centuries old hatred boiled to the surface.
“Enough!” Sekhmet widened her stance between them. Her shrewd gaze, sharp as daggers, bore into Bomani. “Any relationship with Bast would put the younglings at risk.”
Younglings? Bomani jerked his gaze to meet hers. Is that who she was searching for last night? How did the dark being fit into all of this?
One thing was clear, she knew the answer.
“This applies to everyone under my care,” she said, still staring at Bomani.
Bomani nodded, although he was not sure to what he was agreeing.
“Theris?” she asked without looking back.
“We need to get out of here.” Theris moved just behind her, again too close for Bomani’s liking. “His presence will bring the Pantheon to our doorstep.”
“Inventory our supplies. I want to know how far we can stretch them. Restock in anticipation of the senior younglings’ transitions. We are staying for now. If the situation changes, I will reassess our position. Is that clear?” She broke her eye contact with Bomani and turned to accept Theris’ acknowledgement. He hesitated.
Her voice softened. “Do what I ask, Theris.”
“Get rid of him.” Theris’ scathing glare settled on Bomani. The fair headed god turned and walked out the door, and the glass rattled with a slam.
Sekhmet sat back on the desk and folded her arms across her chest. “Well, that went well.” She stared at him with one eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile as if she knew something he did not.
“Do I amuse you?” he growled.
“On the contrary, I find you quite intriguing. A mystery, actually.”
Her pale green eyes watched him. He could see the calculations tabulating in her mind. Did she sense how much different he was from other warriors? As smart as she was, she would have him dissected in very little time, if she had not already.
She pushed off the desk and prowled towards him. Her hand came to rest on his chest over his legion brand. “I will let you in on a secret. Bast likes to play with her food before she eats it.”
“Your Second is right. I should leave,” he said with his last thread of decency.
She leaned into his chest, her eyes bright. “Just when we are starting to get to know each other?”
Isis. Heat rushed through his veins, followed by the delicious scent of lilacs and vanilla. The living energy penetrated his soul, lessening the ache in his chest. She grabbed his hand and tugged him back into her quarters. “You look like shit and we need to talk.”
Exhausted and pissed off, he capitulated by sitting on the edge of her bed. The dull ache in his head was regaining strength.
“You are different,” she said.
“I suppose I am.” Unsettled, he rose to his feet again. “Who is the Creation?” Bomani’s tone was nothing short of a growl.
“Theris is my Second.”
“I do not like him.” Bomani moved between her and the door.
“He is not for you to like or dislike. Theris has been with me for three millenniums.”
Point taken.
She analyzed him with a mix of intrigue and suspicion. “Can I trust you, Bomani?”
“No.” If there was one thing she could count on, warriors were brutally honest and held nothing back, even if it was the wrong answer. He could not lie to her.
“You are a warrior,” she said with a chuckle. “So, what to do with you?”
“I would prefer to keep my head, if that is what you mean.”
“Can we agree that trust is earned, then?”
He scanned her face. Gods, who was this female? Menthu’s daughter? The enemy’s blood might run through her veins, but he saw none of the darkness in her eyes. “You are not what I expected,” he said instead of answering.
“That makes two of us.” Her gaze ran down the front of him.
Trust was a fragile thing, especially in his case. Few earned it and right now, they were running on borrowed time.
Sekhmet grabbed the flask off her dresser. “I am not going to fight you, Bomani, unless you put them at risk,” she said, gesturing towards the windows.
His gaze ran over her before glancing at the windows overlooking the lower warehouse. There were multiple energies floating in the air, most muted, others full strength. “The younglings, who are they?”
“Orphans.”
* * *
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the dresser. “Living on the street, uncared for, discarded.”
His stare came to rest on her face. The intensity in those caramel eyes flustered her. To distract herself from his attention, she opened the flask. “Please do not bother to hide your shock.”
“Sorry, it is just unexpected. I thought maybe they were yours,” he said with a smirk.
“Mine?” Siy
a snorted. If he was on the beach then he saw her naked. “I think we both know I do not carry any male’s mark.” His inability to maintain eye contact validated her hunch.
He cleared his throat. “I have no ill will against them.”
“And me?”
“That has yet to be determined.” His eyes raked over her.
“Glad we understand each other.” She smiled and held out the metal flask. “Khalfani would have headaches on occasion. He said this worked the best.”
His eyes brightened. “You knew him.”
“Yeah, I knew him. Fought with him.” Loved him.
Bomani rubbed his forehead, seemingly pained by her admission.
“Food, clothing and liquor. Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked and grasped the container. He tipped back his head and took a deep swallow. An audible sigh passed his liquor coated lips.
“I am a little more direct than that, warrior. If I wanted to seduce you, you would know it.” Despite her will to keep her heart closed to him, more of the darkness bled away from her soul. In spite of being disheveled with long unkempt hair, he was ruggedly handsome, comparable to any god. His features were sharper and more polished than most warriors with a firm square jaw, sharp cheekbones and full lips. The intensity in his eyes was both wild and dangerous. She assessed the tattoos climbing the thickness of his neck. This male had paid his dues.
“I do not doubt that,” he said with his brows arched over his bright gold eyes, if only for a moment before they tarnished black again. She imagined this was his baseline, relaxed and confident in his station. So, what made him leave?
He held out the flask.
The almost flirtatious banter thrilled her on a level she forgot existed between a male and female. She had a hard time drawing breath when he stood this close. Closer than any other male dared without invitation. The room felt smaller with him in it.
She pulled the flask from his hands, careful not to touch him. Hoping to squelch the quickening in her belly, she took a long hard drink. She exhaled and let the alcohol evaporate from her tongue. He tracked her movements with a light of curiosity and maybe even a little confusion. Was he expecting a monster?
She rubbed the base of her neck. The proof lied beneath her fingertips. The scarab mark was a stark reminder—she had no second chances.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
She shrugged and looked away, both shocked and angry. No one had ever asked her that question. After so many years, the pain was just background noise. Only when her thoughts strayed to her former life and those she lost did it burn with a coldness that would bring her to her knees.
Wanting room to breathe, she stepped back but knocked into the dresser. The lamp rocked on its base. She held out her hand. “It is fine.”
He frowned and his eyes deepened to the darkest black.
She should have known better than to lie to an Underworlder. As Commander, he would have overseen Horem prison, a place for those marked for death. A place she would see in time. “Nothing I cannot handle,” she added, hating the scrutiny in his eyes. She was a master at hiding her emotions, but in his presence she felt exposed and out of control.
He broke eye contact and stared at the flask she was crushing in her hands. She forced herself to relax and handed him the liquor. He returned to sit on the bed, giving her the space she desperately needed. She took a deep breath and exhaled away the sense of suffocation. After he swallowed, he eyed her. “The orphans. Where do they come from?”
“Honestly, I do not know. They are all Creation descendants. All male,” she said, compelled to share her story. Maybe then he would understand they needed to be protected and know she was not all bad as she was sure Bast painted her out to be.
Siya shook her head remembering the fifty she had saved so far. She always worried about the ones she failed to find. “Every move I find more. We have been in this city for six months. I have recovered over twenty. Almost double from the previous century. Some are living with humans or lost on the streets. It is not safe for them out there. Their powers awaken in less than two decades. No Creation god matures that fast. With no control or discipline, the younglings are a risk to themselves and humans.”
“Why do you think that is?” Bomani asked and leaned forward.
Oh, she had her theories. Many of them. Until now she believed the Creation Pantheon had degraded to the point of social disobedience and moral ruin. Correction, she still believed that, but after Haru’s meeting another theory was brewing in her mind. One solidifying her belief Apep had found a way to breach the human realm. The Mother Goddess has plans, Haru stated.
“You tell me?” She walked forward, willing to give up her breathing room for any information. “My intelligence is limited. I only see what is happening on the ground. Any information you can give will help.”
He frowned and looked away.
She knelt down before him. “I know you do not trust me, Bomani. Understand, I am not asking you to betray your code. I just need to prepare for what is coming. To protect them.”
“What have you seen?” he asked and closed the space between them.
Her chest tightened again, but she forced a breath. Could she trust him? She had already allowed him in too deep. She did not have it in her to kill him. Gods, no. Not after what happened with Khalfani.
“We found a huge reven nest. Thousands. All dead, permanently this time. The curse has been broken. Some humans believe the plague heralds the end of days,” she said.
“What do you believe?”
She hesitated. Talk of plagues, curses and the Dark Lord was the surest way to lose his trust. He would think her crazed. “I was there, Bomani. The decades before the ancient war. Famine, earthquakes, plague, wars ran the rivers red with blood. I can tell you with certainty, the reven curse is only the beginning. Apep will rise once more and all will parish.”
He appeared neither shocked nor surprised, only sad. “The leader of it all,” he whispered.
“Excuse me?”
“You are not the first to tell me.” He shook his head and refocused on her. “The curse has ended because the one responsible is dead.”
“Who?” she asked with disbelief.
“Kepi.”
“Someone actually ended that miserable whore’s life.” She laughed, genuinely pleased with the news.
“You knew her?”
“Who did not know her?” she scoffed. “My security detail found her in the warrior base camp. The odjit was sandwiched between two warriors, not to mention the line out the tent. Not a week after I banished her, she was back.”
“Kepi did not do the Underworld any favors. My family has suffered dearly because of her.” His voice became distant again and he leaned back. The color of his skin turned ashen.
Family? Is that what warriors were calling the legions these days? To her knowledge warriors were solitary from birth. They had no mates, let alone families. Their sole purpose was to the legion and their Lord. Regardless, Bomani’s pain was real, resonating in her chest like a loud drum. Siya reached out, but stopped short of touching him. “I am sorry. Truly.”
He rolled his head to the side and looked at her. The sorrow in his black gaze cut through her. Although he did not speak a word, the story of his presence here began to take form. Needing to know one thing, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Tell me, has your Lord taken a wife?”
Bomani pressed his lips together in a thin line. He remained silent, but he did not need to answer. She only needed to look at his face. “The demi-gods exist,” she said and stood up on shaking legs. Gods, Haru had spoken the truth. “The Mother Goddess has seen the coming of the end.”
Siya grabbed the full liter of whiskey from the top of her dresser. Ignoring the half empty flask, she cracked the new bottle and tore the paper seal. “I think we are going to need this,” she mumbled and sat down next to him.
“What do you mean by the end?” he asked, his eyes half hooded as if he strugg
led to keep them open.
Her eyes drifted to the wall safe where a sacred text given to her by the Mother Goddess lay hidden for safekeeping. One of three honed of black leather with a large gold buckle, holding the contents of creation and some of the most powerful demotic spells within its black pages. She never knew the location of the other two, nor did she want to know. The final days would come soon enough.
“Have you ever wondered how we came into being? Before the Pantheons?”
“Never gave it much thought,” he replied, his eyes now closed.
“There were only two in the beginning. A male and female, the god of the earth and the goddess of the sky. They gave birth to four offspring, your Lord, Asar, being one of those children.”
“Asar?” His tired gaze drifted to her.
“Does it surprise you to know your Lord once ruled the human realm before there was an Underworld? Sadly, his reign did not last long.” Siya paused, remembering how Haru had captivated her with this very story at a young age. She had always wanted to meet Asar, the Underworld god who had become a legend above all other gods.
She would one day, but not the way she had envisioned as a young goddess.
“Asar was murdered by his brother, Set, in a rage of jealousy. Without breath or beating heart, Asar survived in a realm no one knew existed. He became Lord over the Underworld and Afterlife, caretaker and judge of the dead. For his crimes Set was banished to ferry the dead to the gates of the afterlife. He will forever gaze upon Asar’s realm, but never pass. Never know paradise. The Council is all about irony.” She sighed, knowing the fact all too well.
“What does Apep have to do with Asar?” Bomani’s tone hardened.
“No one knows for certain when and where Apep appeared, but some believe he was conjured early in the creation of the world. He was rumored to have influenced Set’s betrayal. Either way, Apep preyed upon the world when the sun extinguished in the horizon. Each night he and his army of siravants ventured out, raping and pillaging everything in their path, creating chaos and devastation. After centuries of unrest, the Council sanctioned the destruction of Apep once and for all. Shortly after the first battle and heavy loss of life, the Council discovered Apep could not be destroyed by force alone. The gods needed to call upon all the elemental forces of nature and magic to weaken him. They could not do this without the gods of death being at their side. Asar had seen the corruption and unnecessary deaths flooding his gates. He agreed to join the Creation Pantheon to trap Apep between the two worlds. Duat was created, a realm between life and death. A nether region empty and barren, except for the very outer rims.”