Wardens of Eternity

by Courtney Allison Moulton

  “Why does everyone ignore me?” I asked.

  “Cyrene asked them to give you space,” Nasira replied. “She’s worried you’ll be overwhelmed.”

  “A little, I suppose,” I admitted.

  “If you approach anyone, they’ll talk to you,” she offered, her expression kind. “There aren’t many of us left. And you are family we’ve never met before. Family is an intimate thing. It’ll take some time for us all to adjust.”

  No one had ever called me family before. The word came with a promise of trust and friendship, togetherness and a place where I would belong. Every time someone said my real name, it felt as though my shackles had snapped apart and I was freed from my old measly life. Over and over again, the feeling of liberation struck me. I hoped it would never fade.

  The dining hall boasted a view of the overgrown garden through an entire wall of windows rising from the rose granite floor to the high, gilded gypsum ceiling. All of them were open and the morning air, carrying the sweet fragrances of flowering trees and bushes outside, gently blew the sheer, white curtains, which billowed like clouds. One very long table stretched down the center of the hall and was piled with silver and porcelain platters of food—more food than I’d ever seen in Lou’s bakery. My eyes couldn’t grow wide enough to take it all in. Seated Medjai chatted with each other over their plates, and the only familiar face among them looked up to smile at us.

  “Nasi, Ziva,” Sayer called, and waved us over.

  Nasira took the empty seat across from her brother, who had a plateful of toast covered in powdered sugar and syrup. I sat beside her and couldn’t peel my gaze away from all the food; I wanted to dig in right away.

  “How did you sleep?” Sayer asked me.

  Hunger raked its claws across the lining of my stomach. “Just fine, thank you. What are you eating there?”

  “French toast,” he replied. “It’s a bit more American than French, but it’s delicious.”

  Sayer lifted and offered the platter to me. I chose the three slices covered with the most powdered sugar and poured syrup over them. I cut a piece with silverware so shiny I could see my reflection. I closed my mouth around the modest bite.

  If I hadn’t been in public, I would have fallen flat to the floor.

  I loved French toast.

  The next pieces I cut were definitely too large, but I would’ve stuffed an entire slice in my mouth. The rich maple syrup, the delicate powdered sugar, warm cinnamon, the pillowy bread, and . . . something else.

  “What’s the bread cooked in?” I asked, rolling the mouthful around my tongue, now entirely indifferent to the idea of manners.

  “A mixture of eggs and milk, I think,” Nasira replied casually, as though this wasn’t the most important food ever. “You can make it lots of different ways, of course. I love it with baked apple slices.”

  I didn’t want to stuff myself just yet and I was already a bit full from the fruit in my room. I had to be strategic.

  I poured a glass of ice water, something that wouldn’t sit heavily. I spotted a dish of iced pastries plump with unknown filling and grabbed two. I took a bite out of one and savored the sweet and tart blackberry flavor. The second pastry was filled with apples and a pinch of cinnamon. If I remembered correctly, Lou sold pastries like this and called them scones, but I’d never had enough money to buy one. Between alternating bites of both, I caught Nasira’s bewildered stare. It was so clear she didn’t understand. Neither of my new friends could understand. Neither of them had ever wanted for anything.

  My eyes burned as I chewed another bite and I swallowed through a muffled sob. I wiped at a tear in the corner of my eye and took another bite.

  “Are . . . are you all right?” Sayer asked, his dark eyes wide, brow furrowed.

  I finished chewing and swallowed, rolling the last bit of blackberry around my tongue. “It’s just . . . so delicious!”

  He laughed, a deep and rich sound, and Nasira’s grin spread wide across her face. “We have plenty more where that came from!” she told me.

  My tears weren’t for the food, they were for myself and I hated that. Knowing there were people in the world who ate meals like this every day and it was nothing to them. Sayer and Nasira treated me a bit like a cute new puppy they’d brought home, but I understood there wasn’t any malice in it and I forgave them. Perhaps I did act like an innocent animal, stuffing my face with more food than my belly could hold. If my dress had had pockets and no one had been looking, I would’ve shoved bagels into them for later, uncertain when I’d have another meal. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t convince myself I’d never need to hide food again. All this could be gone in an instant.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Nasira wasted no time, beginning my training immediately after breakfast. She led me into a room with wood paneled walls and a glossy, patterned wood floor. Black outfits hung on rolling metal racks, and many different pairs of boots sat in rows on the racks’ bottom shelves. Stacked around the room were locked leather cases.

  “A temporary armory, if you will,” she explained, as she sifted through the clothing. “Home is much more impressive.”

  “This is impressive enough,” I assured her.

  Nasira selected a shirt and slender pants—both black twill and very similar to her own—and handed them to me. “This is typical gear we wear during training and in the field.”

  “You’ll teach me how to use a stick like yours?” I asked, unable to hide my eagerness.

  “It’s called an asaya,” she explained.

  “Teach me how to use the asaya then.”

  “Well, we can’t do anything when you’re barely saddle-broken,” she said gently.

  Her words brewed sadness in my heart. “It’s so unfair that this should’ve been my life. Why would my parents take me away from our people? If the ka of a queen our people were sworn to protect was reborn within me, then what they did makes no sense. Cyrene said Nefertari’s resurrection would bring us a purpose again. Something to fight for.”

  She frowned and took a deep breath, hesitating, to think. “I believe our people would need more than a resurrected queen to give us purpose again.”

  I shook my head, confused at her vagueness. “What do you mean?”

  “The gods abandoned us, Ziva,” Nasira told me. “We worshiped them for millennia and they bound our tribe to serve Egyptian rulers, and then left us. Evil rises, we fight it, and wait until the next threat comes along. We’re nearly extinct. My guess is your parents didn’t think the Medjai are strong enough anymore. They thought they could protect you on their own.”

  “Protect me from what?”

  “The gods are gone, but they still exist,” she said. “The one whose magic made Nefertari’s resurrection possible—Set—didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. Nefertari made a deal with him and then didn’t give him whatever he was promised. He’ll do anything to stop her from getting what she wants: life. That same life essence that was reborn in you. As long as you are alive, her resurrection is possible.”

  “So, a god wants to kill me,” I realized with a darkening dread in the pit of my stomach.

  Nasira put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I promise I will train you to become the best of us, so you have the ability and skill to protect yourself.”

  I nodded, hardening my resolve. “Thank you.”

  Her spark returned. “Now hurry and change and I’ll get you started on becoming a real Medjai.”

  My equipment felt lighter than I’d expected, but only until I armed myself with the traditional stone weapons. When I was ready, I followed Nasira through a pair of French doors and outside to a flagstone path swallowed by overgrown hydrangeas and peonies. The massive blooms were so heavy they bowed over the stones and left even less room for us to find our way. We passed a granite fountain and rising from a moss-covered and rotted leaf-filled basin was a winged lion whose wide open mouth harbored spiders and fly carcasses rather than a cris
p stream of water. Beyond towering hedges, I could hear voices—occasional laughter and conversations I couldn’t make out—and Nasira took a left toward them through a red brick archway.

  Scattered across an expansive and recently mowed lawn were pairs of Medjai, many of them carrying wooden versions of Nasira’s asaya, practicing on each other and stuffed dummies wrapped in burlap canvas. Small groups jogged around the perimeter of the gardens to the inside of the tree line. All of them wore equipment like Nasira’s and mine. My boots were heavy, and my pants made me feel trapped.

  “The first thing we’ll do is get you fit,” Nasira told me, striding past the other Medjai as if they weren’t even there. “We don’t rely on magic alone, as you’ve seen, so you’ll need energy and strength to fight. We’ll get you started on endurance training and building muscle.”

  I hadn’t considered how weak and frail I must’ve looked to the other Medjai. I may have stood several inches taller than Nasira, but her body was strong, and her curves were something to aspire to. She looked healthy. I looked like a skinny stray.

  Nasira rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and I noticed for the first time the tattoos traveling from her wrist to the inside of her elbow: small symbols scattered about and some geometric shapes linked together to form a chain. Her gaze followed mine to her arm. “Are you looking at these?” she asked and held her arms out straight, underside up to give me full view.

  “I’m sorry for staring,” I said. “I’ve seen photographs of women tattooed like this in books, but never in real life. They are beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “This means strength, these are suns and stars, and the triangles are saddle stirrups because I love to ride. I got my first mark when I was twelve.”

  My surprise could not be hidden. “That’s incredible.”

  Her expression turned a little shadowed and wistful. “Outside our tribe, you don’t see these markings much anymore. Too many outsiders have come to our lands, too many who believe what we do isn’t beautiful, even if the tattoos make us feel beautiful. The world is changing. For the better? Worse? Who could say? But it is changing us. We’re disappearing.”

  After a few wistful moments, Nasira found her spark once again. “Anyway, every morning before breakfast, I run laps around the grounds and I’d like you to join me—but you don’t have to right away. I don’t want to sound like I’m pressuring you. You can do anything you’d like at your own pace.”

  “No, no,” I insisted. “I want this. Whatever you have to teach me, I’ll take it.”

  She smiled, huge and bright. “That’s what I love to hear. Let’s start with a little warm-up and stretches. Every day I will teach you proper form for hand-to-hand combat and we will work up to tahtib.”

  “Tahtib?”

  “Traditional stick-fighting with the asaya,” she clarified. “We Medjai have combined it with our magic to create a very effective style of fighting.”

  That sounded very intriguing. “So, I’ll learn more spells?”

  She laughed. “You’ll learn more spells.”

  I didn’t realize how sore my body was until I hobbled toward my room after dinner. Nasira had promised stretches would keep me from getting hurt, but she’d overestimated my current condition. I said nothing to her, though, because I didn’t want her to go easier on me tomorrow. I wanted to get strong, and she would guide me there.

  In the armory, I changed out of the gear and back into the dress. The clothes weren’t mine and Nasira hadn’t mentioned what to do with them, so I placed them in a basket filled with wrinkled, worn shirts and pants needing to be laundered. After I finished, I headed to my room. There were plenty of Medjai still up and about since the hour wasn’t terribly late, but I was exhausted and every muscle I used, even to walk, burned in protest.

  My room was dark, quiet, and blissfully empty of anyone else. For the first time since living on my own, I was happy to be alone. The workout drained me, and being around so many people and exposure to so much wild newness had taken anything left. My body was done for the day.

  I moved to the nightstand to switch on a lamp. I found a notebook and pen, and on the first page I jotted down every spell I’d learned today and its effect. Studying this list every morning while I dressed myself and every evening while I prepared for bed would help me learn fast. And application of course. Every chance I’d get, I would practice until my gifts became second nature.

  A shadow moved into the soft light pouring through my open window. The sheer drapes billowed in the night breeze, revealing a dark form. I sucked in a breath as I realized something else was here with me.

  Cool moonlight settled on the back of an enormous black jackal wearing a jeweled gold collar. Its blue topaz eyes burned like star fire and its oil-black coat was short and glossy, taut over a sleek body rippling with powerful muscle. My breath loosed in a rush and my hands raised, my fingertips sparking on instinct.

  The jackal exploded in a flash of shadows and eerie pale light. My taw spell shot into it but fizzled in the air with no effect. A young man appeared, with dark hair and bronze skin that seemed to glow from the inside, almost like a lampshade. Though my mind prepared for a fight, my heart pulled in the opposite direction. I felt no fear—only an unexplainable featherlight sense of peace.

  “What are you?” I demanded.

  His almond-shaped eyes burning inhumanly beneath heavy lashes, he dipped his head and smiled, brightening his dark, almost mythic beauty. A strong, but handsome nose divided his face and his lips were carefully carved, jaw angled squarely.

  “I have many forms and many names,” he replied, his voice a soothing lull. “Lord of the Necropolis, Prince of Mourning, Protector of the Dead. Anepu. I am best known as Anubis.”

  Anubis. A god. I froze. Nasira had said nothing about what to do when meeting one face to face, that they could and would take physical form. Was he in a physical form or an apparition? Did I bow? Was he a threat and should I have run? I opted for the most neutral choice. I asked an entirely relative question: “Are you here to kill me?”

  The edges of his lips cracked into a smile. “I’m happy to report I’m not.” When I stayed silent, he held out a hand and asked, “And you are?”

  “I have a feeling you already know who I am,” I said.

  His smile spread. “My intent was to be polite. It’s wonderful to meet you, Ziva. I come peacefully, I assure you.”

  “I was under the impression that the gods turned their backs on us,” I remarked, watching the door at the edge of my vision. If I set the canopied bed ablaze with a khet spell, the distraction might allow me a chance to escape.

  “I am a protector of pharaoh and you are royalty,” he replied, “born from unquiet stars, the last heir of one of the greatest dynasties the world has ever seen. Consider me at your service.”

  “Because you have to, or because you want to?” I interrogated. “I’ve been cared for by people who did it because it was their job and I haven’t been terribly impressed.”

  He blinked with surprise and his smile grew incredulous. “I have free will and I’m not duty-bound to anyone. You intrigue me, Ziva Mereniset. The way you’ve survived alone, something I am sorry for. It must be terrible to be alone.”

  “I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me,” I told him.

  “I did not come to the mortal world to tell you I pity you,” he said. “My intent was to offer you my favor. Everyone must pick a side, mustn’t they?”

  “I’ve always been out for myself before now,” I replied. “This is the first time I’ve ever had a side. What does your favor entail, exactly? Protection from the kriosphinxes?”

  “Ask of me anything within my power,” he said.

  I crossed my arms. “That’s vague.”

  His gaze narrowed. “My power is vast but has its limitations.”

  “Then I’d like to make my first request,” I told him.

  His brow barely raised. “Yes?”

 
“If you are who—what—you say you are, then you’re my only hope,” I began. “Are my parents alive?”

  His smile faded and something very human passed over his face—regret. “No,” he said, his voice quiet and sympathetic. “They are not. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  My loss? The punch in my belly surprised me. I hadn’t known them. They meant hardly anything to me. I’d been an orphan from the very first memory I had . . . but now it felt real. An ember of hope had always glowed deep within me and in mere moments, that ember was smothered. As I went dark inside, I wondered what had happened to them. If they’d taken me away to protect me, had they been killed by whoever—whatever—they’d protected me from? Had they died for me?

  My entire life seemed to crumble then and there, the belief that my parents had abandoned me having been the keystone to everything I knew. It was all in ruins now. Shame came over me and I didn’t know how or where or to whom to direct my emotions, so they turned inward. The anger I felt at myself for having hated my mother and father sometimes felt like slowly rising water, building up all around me. Soon I would drown, and I knew I would, and that made it so much worse. How could I take back everything terrible I had said or thought about them? How could I say how sorry I was? They were gone, and I was here. They were gone so I could be here.

  Anubis closed his eyes, the sudden absence of that blue topaz fire startling, and the muscles beneath the skin of his jaw clenched. He tilted his head and his hands balled into fists.

  I studied him, and my alarm by his sudden vulnerability pulled me from my own torment. “Is something wrong?”

  “This world never sleeps, never suspends,” he said, his voice strained. “Sometimes I struggle to focus in the mortal world. There are so many human souls—living, dying. It’s a constant roar.”