Panic flickered at the edges of her mind, but she shoved it aside, because although this felt like every other time she had tried to summon a vision recently, this time she had something new to try: Lucius had given her a piece of notepaper he’d found sandwiched between two leaves of an ancient codex: notes on the vision-quest ceremony of an itza’at seer. The paper was modern, the pen blue ballpoint, the writing young and looping, and their best guess was that it had belonged to a girl who, at fifteen or sixteen, had just gotten the talent mark identifying her as an itza’at, and was embarking on a seer’s rigorous training. Though the spells were supposed to be memorized, never written down, this girl had sneaked notes.
Touching it, Anna pictured a dark-haired teen studying in the archive, sneaking furtive looks at her notes and, upon hearing the tread of adult footsteps, quickly hiding the paper. That was more imagination than vision, though. And with it, she sent a small inner plea: Please, gods, let it work for me.
She needed this. They all did.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, braced herself, and whispered, “Tas teen k’aas wayak.” It literally meant, “Bring me the nightmare.”
And for the first time in her life, the magic came on command.
A yellow glow flared around her—or maybe it was inside her, painting her corneas from within. It was the same color as the crystal skull, glittering and gleaming with patterns of light through a gemstone. She was somehow unsurprised to feel the hard bumps of the amulet clutched in one hand, though she didn’t remember reaching for it. Her heart hammered fast and furious, and she was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat that was equal parts flop and fear.
When nothing more happened, leaving her vision clouded with yellow, she sent a plea into the sky. Show me, she urged. Show me what they need to know. This was about the magi and the war, not about her. Never about her. Please, gods. Through lips that felt like they belonged to someone else, she said again, “Tas teen k’aas wayak.”
There was another, brighter flash, one that blanked her outer vision entirely, leaving her lost in a world of amber refractions. The world seemed to shift around her for a second, as if the entire space-time continuum had hiccuped. And then, incredibly, a voice emerged from the glowing yellow kaleidoscope—no, many voices, all speaking as one, saying in her mind, Return the Father to earth. His job there is not yet done.
Shock raced through her. “What?” This was no vision. It was a message from beyond the barrier!
But as quickly as it had come, the yellow light faded and then disappeared, leaving her sitting there with both hands—fully healed now, thanks to the magic—wrapped around the crystal skull.
Her mind raced. Whose father? Probably not her own, as that had been an unfamiliar voice, not that of her own ancestral nahwal. But what other father… Oh, gods. Her throat tightened as a possibility occurred, one so huge that it was terrifying.
There was one man who had been known by many as “Father”: the sole Nightkeeper mage to survive the first massacre. He had led the dozen or so surviving children out of Egypt along with the loyal servants that had saved the children’s lives—captured Sumerian slaves whom he later enspelled to create the winikin. When they arrived in their new home—Mesoamerica—he had codified the Nightkeepers’ way of life into the writs, and he had written down everything he knew about their history and, more important, the prophecies governing the end-time.
The Nightkeepers had existed for many millennia before his birth… but he had made them what they were today.
Anna stared up at the sky, heart lifting with joy. “Thank you,” she whispered.
It wasn’t a vision or a foretelling, but she had gotten exactly what she asked for: information that would help the magi. Because unless she was way off base, the Nightkeepers had just been charged with the First Father’s resurrection.
CHAPTER EIGHT
September 15
Six days to the equinox; three months and
six days to doomsday
Skywatch
“Team one is in position,” Cara said, just loud enough that her throat mike could transmit the info to the other three team leaders—Natalie, JT, and Lora—who would sound off when they reached their positions at strategic spots around the Nightkeepers’ training ground. The faux ruin was made of cement blocks, rebar, and concrete, but otherwise mimicked a Mayan ruin, complete with a huge central pyramid with interior chambers and booby traps, and smaller pyramids, temples, and dwellings set on causeways that radiated out from the pyramid. Splashes of paint bore witness to earlier training runs, while chunks of blasted cement and char marked the few times the magi had gone at it for real. Today was a mix of the two, part paintball, part real magic. And, gods willing, the winikin would pull it off.
Her four teams had scattered from the designated drop point the moment the indicator light went green, indicating the start of the training run. Now, crouched in along the base of a dusty, irregular wall and wearing the urban desert camo of the modern human military, Cara and the seven other members of her team blended—she hoped—with the midafternoon shadows.
“Team three is in position,” JT reported. His voice was all business: clipped, efficient, precise, and with none of his off-duty ’tude. Cara didn’t know how much of his good behavior came from his days in the military and how much was Natalie’s doing, but so far, so good, and she was hoping against hope the other rebels would take his lead. Because there was more than just bragging rights riding on this particular training run.
Way more.
In the four days since Aaron’s funeral, there hadn’t been any more attacks. The mood inside the compound might’ve been better if there had been, though, because at least then there would’ve been an enemy to fight. Instead, the investigation had stalled and a few of the Nightkeepers—including the king himself—had been looking sideways at the winikin, as if thinking they knew more than they were telling. Not to mention that several of the winikin who had received their bloodline marks had become withdrawn, while others had gotten surly. Then there was Anna’s message indicating that the Nightkeepers were supposed to resurrect the First Father, who had been responsible for creating the winikin in the first place. Although Lucius and the brain trust hadn’t yet figured out how that was supposed to happen, the magi were acting like the Father’s return would be the answer to their prayers. And morale among the winikin had started seriously circling the bowl.
Fortunately, Dez—to give credit where due—had not only seen the problem, he’d come up with a damn good solution in the form of a Nightkeepers-versus-winikin training challenge: If the winikin—working in their own teams rather than the usual Nightkeeper-led groups—could infiltrate the Nightkeeper-guarded main pyramid, retrieve a hidden artifact, and get it to a designated rendezvous point for pickup, the king would think about making the winikin-only teams permanent.
It wasn’t a promise, but it had sure as heck fired up most of the winikin. As for the holdouts—Sebastian and several of his cronies—well, Cara and Zane were keeping a sharp eye on them.
Unfortunately, she also felt the need to keep a sharp eye on Zane too. She’d been getting a weird vibe off him over the past few days, and although she hadn’t expected things to be normal between them after what happened, this felt like something else. Or else she was projecting, trying to distract herself from the knowledge that Sven was still in the compound and didn’t show any signs of taking off. And when he wasn’t in her peripheral vision, Mac was.
“Team four is in position,” Lora reported. Her appointment as a team leader had gotten some grumbles after the way she froze up under fire the other day, but Zane was convinced that the responsibility would be the kick in the ass she needed to make her step up, and Cara had let him have that one.
“Team two is in the backup position,” Natalie’s voice said suddenly in her ear. “There are three heat signatures near the primary position, nothing on visual.”
“Copy that,” Cara said, forcing her
brain back on track.
The heat signatures meant either Alexis or Michael was there casting a cloaking shield, or Patience was using her talent of invisibility to hide the ambush. But as part of prepping for the “us versus them” training run, the winikin had pooled their observations on the magi, and they had come up with a few workarounds that could—maybe, hopefully—help even the playing field. The heat- and infrared-sensitive goggles they were wearing were just one of many tricks they had up their camo-colored sleeves.
Their sniper was another.
“Zane?” she said into her mike. “How does it look?”
All the way up at the ass end of the regular firing range, the ex-marine sharpshooter was nearly a half mile upwind of the proving grounds, well outside the regular battle zone and higher up than even the main pyramid. From there, his telescopic sights showed him almost all of the grid, and would—according to him, anyway—allow him to hit whatever he was aiming at even that far away, using specially designed paint-containing rounds.
“I’ve got a good view,” he answered. “There are two sentries on the ground level of the pyramid, watching the corners, and at least one, maybe two concealed in the temple at the top. There are two more on the tunnel entrance, and there’s a three-man patrol headed west along causeway B.”
She glanced at her wrist display to confirm the positions of her teammates, which were marked on a topo map with tiny locator dots. But although the locators and other toys were nice, it was almost time to turn them off, along with the radios and other electronics, in order to simulate the conditions they would be facing during an actual battle, when the barrier flux would often knock out all electronic communications.
Just as she had the thought, an orange flare hissed up into the sky trailing ochre smoke, signaling that they were two minutes to the hard threshold of the pretend equinox and its communications blackout.
Her stomach knotted and sweat suddenly slicked the grip she held on her machine gun. Don’t freak; you’ve done this before, and for real. She had been out with five different ops teams. She had killed xombis, gunned down makol, and seen blood and ichor fly. Always before, though, she had been on a Nightkeeper-led team, safe behind a magical shield and with someone else giving the orders. Now she was in charge. There was nobody looking out for her, nobody making sure she didn’t screw this up. And that was a hell of a thing.
All too aware of the seven others crouched behind her—Sebastian, Kels, Foohey, Rinna, DD, Nance, and Tooky, all depending on her to get them through this and kick some Nightkeeper ass—she blew out a breath and concentrated on not letting her nerves show.
“Radios off,” she said quietly into her mike. “Stick to the plan if you can; do your best if you can’t. And gods be with us.” She removed her earpiece, then dropped it in her pocket, conscious of the others doing the same behind her. And although the mike and earbud still pinched awkwardly sometimes, she felt naked without them on. Turning back to her teammates, she made herself wink. “It’s almost go time.”
Sebastian glowered, but that was no surprise. A couple of the others, though, exhaled softly and nodded.
Then a red flare went up, signaling the start of the battle.
And the fight was on.
The world accelerated to a blur as Cara burst from behind the wall and pounded toward the target with the others right on her heels. The afternoon sun seemed to slam down on her, heating her to broil within seconds and coating her with sweat, but she didn’t care. Her strides lengthened; her feet flew as she hit the pyramid and headed up the blocky central staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
She was peripherally aware of the pop-pop-popping sounds that burst from the other positions as her teams engaged the enemy, drawing their attention away from the back of the ruin. She hoped.
“On your right!” Sebastian snapped, just as a black-clad figure whipped around the step-sided corner, firing as he came. She spun and threw herself to the side while her brain registered Nate Blackhawk’s formidable bulk.
Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack! Blackhawk opened fire and red paint splattered on DD’s chest and Tooky’s lower body, but then the remaining teammates opened fire. Within seconds, Nate was covered in winikin blue, dead by paintball rules. He looked down at himself, shocked. I’m a mage, his expression seemed to say. A winikin can’t shoot a mage.
But they could, and had. And the kill had a hot ball of emotion—part elation, part horror—jamming Cara’s throat and making it hard to breathe.
The three casualties all sat where they’d been hit. Blackhawk had to wait for ten minutes before he rejoined the fight, mimicking the way most of the Nightkeepers’ enemies could regenerate. The winikin, on the other hand, were out.
For them, dead was dead.
“Go!” Tooky waved them off. “Kick ass!”
Heart pounding, Cara bolted the rest of the way up the pyramid, leading the charge. Just as she hit the top, she heard a zzzt-thwack followed by a curse, and Lucius reeled out of the boxy temple that crowned the pyramid, clutching his blue-splattered heart. After a couple of soap opera–worthy gasps, he subsided to the stone flat and “died” with a last wheeze of “good luck” in Cara’s direction.
She sent a quick thumbs-up toward Zane’s position, and then slipped quietly into the temple with the others behind her.
At the center of the covered space a dark opening led to stairs leading down into the belly of the pyramid, to the inner tomb where the artifact was being hidden. Instead of bolting straight down, though, she boosted herself up through a hole in the ceiling and onto the roof, which gave her a vantage over the proving grounds.
She scanned the scene, confirming that her teams were all in their places. But her stomach knotted when she saw shadows moving on the far side of the low, blocky building very near where Natalie’s and JT’s groups would meet up for the next stage of plan A. Worse, four more black-clad Nightkeeper warriors were closing in; they disappeared behind a long, low temple just as Lora and the others reached it from the far side.
Oh, shit. Cara’s heart thudded against her ribs as she suddenly realized she was in a hell of a situation. If she gave the signal and the others broke cover on schedule, they were dead. They might be dead either way, if she didn’t warn them there was trouble coming. But that warning would draw attention to her team. Worse, she shouldn’t go with plan B when there were so many enemy fighters right near the pyramid. The others would scatter to relative safety, but she and her team would have a hell of a time making it back to the rendezvous point with the artifact.
So now what? Her breath thinned as it came down to a brutal, bloodthirsty choice: She could go with plan B and potentially save lives… or she could go with plan A and potentially win the game. The girl she had been when she first came to Skywatch never would’ve considered it an option—she had been raised to nurture, was programmed to reach out and help. But the leader she had become knew that the stakes were high, and the ones they would face over the next few months would be even higher.
And part of being in charge was knowing when to make sacrifices.
Her hands shook as she pulled a high-powered LED flashlight from her pocket, pointed it toward the firing range, and flashed the signal. Then she sent a small prayer skyward. Please, gods, don’t let me screw this up.
As if in answer, a brilliant yellow flare arced in the sky: It was Zane’s signal to the others to let rip with plan A. And once it was fired off, there was no going back. She had made her sacrifice; now it was up to her to make sure it counted.
Pulse drumming, she dropped back down to the temple floor and motioned for the others to follow. “Quietly,” she warned in a nearly soundless whisper.
Cool darkness closed around her as she moved down the stairs, and she switched to night vision, which made the outside world seem suddenly very far away. She tried not to imagine the firefight outside, yet at the same time wouldn’t let herself blunt the sharp edges by brushing it off as just a game. This could be r
eal, she thought as she led the way across a slick landing to a second set of stairs. It could all be real.
Zzzt-pop! A miniexplosion flashed, momentarily blinding her. She fell back into Sebastian and caromed off the wall as foxfire booby traps flared to life all around them, further overloading the night vision. She ripped down her goggles, brought up her weapon, and signaled for her teammates to follow her, taking high and low positions.
She went low, came around the corner to find Alexis crouched and waiting, and opened fire just as a spell detonated around her. She lived; Alexis “died,” and looked surprised as hell doing it.
Cara didn’t stop to gloat, just waved her teammates past. “Move!” she barked. And they moved.
The next few minutes were a blur of gunfire and magical explosions, and a dizzy high-speed weave through labyrinthine tunnels to the inner chamber. “Grenade!” she snapped, and stepped back as Sebastian lobbed his own personal contribution to their armaments—a paint-filled grenade that atomized the spray so finely that it could penetrate a mage’s shield spell. There was a sharp crack followed by a vicious curse in Michael’s voice.
Another blur of activity followed, fragmented with image memories that burned their way into her retinas: Michael coated from head to toe in blue paint; the surprise—and perhaps reluctant admiration—on his face when she darted in and grabbed the paint-slicked pottery figure that was their goal. Then they were running through the tunnel leading out. She saw blue-splashed bodies, though she didn’t know who had cleared the way, didn’t hear any more pop-popping of paintball fire. But as she burst out into the sunlight and the coast was clear ahead, all she could think was that she had the statue—she freaking had it!—and they were going to win. She was going to win, and everyone would know it.
Triumph flashed through her, bright, shiny, and unfamiliar. The Nightkeepers would see that she could make decisions under fire, that the winikin would obey her and they could fight on their own. She would be a hero. More important, the winikin would have a reason to follow her now. Maybe this was what Zane had been talking about that night: the moment when the balance would tip and the last of the holdouts would accept her. And Sven would see that she could handle— Shit, it didn’t matter what he saw or didn’t see. He was just another mage.
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