by A. L. Knorr
Ninurta looked up and a rictus grin spread across his face. He moved to meet the edimmu, even as his will continued to drag in more Inconquo essence to power his assault upon the earth’s core. Another shudder shook the ziggurat.
Ninurta laughed as he batted the clutching cords of night away, but Daria was not satisfied to lash at him from a distance. Shrieking like a hellcat, she threw herself on him, fingers curling into claws as her mouth sprouted a nest of fangs. He punched forward, hitting her squarely in the chest. Despite this, her black claw fingers dug at his flesh, finding enough purchase to climb up his arm. Loosing a shrill war-cry, her human disguise sloughed off like an old garment as she scrambled up his body. The demigod roared like an enraged beast, gripping at her but only ever managing to pull great fistfuls of ichor away.
“Now, Ibby!” Daria cried before snapping her head forward and driving hooked fangs into Ninurta’s flesh. Many broke off with grinding cracks, but a handful pierced skin and notched into bones.
With a drunken start, I remembered she had placed something in my hand. I recognised the small clay cylinder, its entire length engraved in a spidery web of cuneiform: Daria’s phylactery.
Ninurta gripped Daria by the back of her head, wrenching her back. Teeth snapped, tumbling free or remaining lodged in his chest. In answer, she lashed out with tentacles of living darkness, dragging herself tight against his raw, exposed flesh. Her venom found no purchase in his alert and enraged psyche, but the physical darkness dug into him like meat hooks. So much metal had been taken that he couldn’t protect all of himself, not anymore.
“Ibby, please!” Daria screamed, pulling until her mangled body was nearly within his wounds.
Grief, exhaustion, and pain had thickened my thoughts, but her urgent words punched through. I remembered Pierre Gwaffu’s last terrible moments, the voice of Lamashtu, his terror, and then the fire. The fire.
My fingers closed around the construction of ancient clay, feeling it crumble even with a little pressure. Around me, I could feel the mounting power the demigod was driving deeper and harder. There was a trembling to the ground now, like a tuning fork ringing. Thousands of miles beneath my feet, the heart of the world trembled as it came under the grip of a monster. The time to act was almost gone.
Choking back a sob, I raised my ringed hand toward them, drawing the broken fragments of my armour and wings together. For an instant, as Ninurta’s hand began to crush her skull, Daria twisted to look at me, one part of her face still human.
“Thank you,” I gasped, and a smile formed on her face.
Then I crushed the phylactery.
The wild, hellish sounds of pig, donkey, lion, and dog crying out in unison rent the air. It seemed Lamashtu had been waiting. The announcing chorus filled the amphitheatre, spinning round and round, louder and louder until I dropped to my knees. I tried to cover both my ears, while I focused my will through the rings, launching the twisted metal scraps forward. Ninurta was a frenzy of twisting and struggling, but still Daria held on.
“Oh my darling Daria, what have you brought me at last?”
Even prepared for it, the Lamashtu’s voice turned my stomach and left me shivering.
Ninurta roared a wordless cry of defiance until the metal struck him and Daria, pinning them together.
“It took longer than I hoped, but immortality lets one be patient. Isn’t that right, little king?”
“You have no claim on me!” Ninurta screamed, real fear sharpening his booming voice. “I deny you, demon! I am the only god here!”
A laugh filled the amphitheatre, and the sound slithered up my spine and wrapped its barbed coils around my heart. The shadows streaming from Daria began to boil and Ninurta’s movements grew jerky, his supreme grace overruled by panic. His will turned against me, trying to free himself from the crushing embrace of the metal that caged him and Daria together. On my knees, I threw everything I had into holding him and thwarting his power. Spots filled my vision and hot blood ran from my nose.
“Fools!” the demigod screamed as the first blossom of green flames sprang to life. “You stupid, ignorant fools! I am king of kings, I AM—”
“MINE!”
Lamashtu’s exultant cry almost drowned out Ninurta and Daria’s screams as the crackling jade flames enshrouding them. Ninurta’s dying will thrust against me, not strong enough to free himself but strong enough to send him and Daria into the gaping hole in the floor. A blazing torch, their bodies indistinguishable amongst the flames…
Twenty-Two
An awful grinding sound warned that the stone floor beneath me was starting to crack and shift. I forced myself into a lurching run. The cracks expanded across the floor and into the tiered steps above. As I mounted the first step a seam widened with shocking suddenness, creating a chasm wide enough to swallow me whole.
My body burned and throbbed with exhaustion. The long, crumbling path to the top filled me with despair. I’d never make it. Why die any more tired than I already was? Wasn’t the battle won?
A shrill cry from above snapped me out of my morbid musing.
Two little girls had been thrown to a lower tier, which had now become an island. One look at their wide terrified eyes in their small terrified faces was all I needed.
“Get moving guardian!” I snarled as I pivoted and sprang back towards the pit that had swallowed Ninurta and Daria’s burning remains.
Skidding to a stop at the very edge, I forced myself not to think about the shards of stone I’d sent spiralling down into the dark. My brain screamed at me to leave it alone; it was done. Strained beyond all reason I licked parched, bloodied lips and reached down into the dark.
Screaming with the effort, although the sound was hoarse and tremulous, I drove my ringed fist skyward as a tendril of copper rose from the pit. The copper bowed at my feet and I leaped on as I widened the head into a platform wide enough to accommodate several people.
Another shuddering rumble shook the ziggurat. Stones tumbled down. With more screams from the Inconquo-blooded, I knew my time was short.
I bid the copper rise, fighting the static at the back of my mind I knew meant unconsciousness, and therefore death. I might die from the exertion, but I was getting those people out of here.
The copper disc reached the crumbling tier where the girls huddled as it began to come apart.
“Jump!” I beckoned them with outstretched arms.
The girls stared as they clutched each other, too terrified to move. I moved toward the edge of the disc and felt my hold wobble as I fought to keep the disc level.
“Please, jump!” I moved the disc as close as I dared under that splitting piece of stone. If a chunk of falling stone hit the disc, it would be the end.
Sobbing, one of the girls took a step forward, dragging her sister.
A spur of stone fell away less than a metre from them and they screamed, recoiling again.
“Please!” I locked eyes with the one who had taken the first step. “You can do it!”
Dark eyes, huge and terrified, met my gaze, and I willed with all I could that whatever blood we shared would let me reach her, touch her.
Jump. Jump and I won’t let you fall.
Her eyes still wide and teary, she nodded. With a whispered word to her sister they took one step, then another. More stone fell away and they cried out, but they inched toward the edge, almost there.
The ziggurat rumbled and the platform gave way as they leaped into the air.
---
I settled into a sitting position to conserve energy as we glided over the collapsing ziggurat. For all the joy at saving the two girls, I was holding on by threads.
The last works of Ninurta sank into the hungry, vengeful earth. Massive stones slid, and towering idols tottered before falling into the yawning pit that stretched out from the centre of the structure. What had been built in days to last for millennia vanished in seconds. When the dust settled there would be nothing but rubble, and perhaps an echo of
hubris.
I, an aspiring archaeologist, had a single thought as I bore witness to the fallout of Ninurta’s grand scheme: good riddance. The world had enough monuments to tyrants and madmen. Let time and antiquity forget him.
We drifted clear of the billowing dust cloud and sailed out over the plain of the valley. I smiled to see the people gathered below, so many Inconquo-blooded spared, though not all had made it. There was a pang in my heart, but I felt a little hand squeeze my shoulder.
I looked up into the eyes of the brave one and a smile spread across her smooth features.
“You’re right.” I squeezed her fingers gently. “It could have been much worse.”
Neither of the girls had spoken and I supposed there was a good chance neither spoke English, but somehow it didn’t matter. Not now, anyway. They seemed to understand me just fine.
The congregation of Inconquo-blooded was being watched over by the TNC security team, well-armed shepherds looking over a human flock, but I couldn’t see any of the Group of Winterthür agents.
I brought the copper disc down near a knot of the watchful soldiers … and immediately blacked out.
Water, cold and insistently wet, brought me back around. Squinting into the dusky sky, I saw Stewart kneeling over me. His face bore the biggest smile I’d ever seen on any person, and it was such a rare sight on his dour face it took a second to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming.
“The girls, the twins?”
“Safe, they’re safe,” Stewart said, his smile not budging an inch. “Turns out their pa was taken too and was all too happy to have ’em back. Just had to put a cherry on top, didn’t you?”
“Something’s wrong with your face, Sarge.”
“You did it, lass!” He chuckled, and, in another unprecedented move, scooped me up into a fierce hug. “Can’t believe it myself, and I dinna ken how, but you did it!”
Crushed against his barrel chest, I couldn’t respond, but when he finally released me enough to let me breathe, I gave him a wry smile.
“You had no confidence in your guardian angel, eh?” I chuckled, fighting back a cough. Despite the shower of water, my mouth felt dry as bone, and my chest ached.
Stewart laughed and, with a casual display of strength, dragged me up to my unsteady feet. He kept one arm around me and with the other he handed me a canteen.
“Well...” The old Scot looked sheepish. “I always thought being a cynic was part of the job, I suppose.”
“Until today?”
“Aye.” He gave my shoulder a shake. “Until today. It’s not every day some wee lass calls off armageddon, ya ken?”
“I ken.” I took another large swig from the canteen.
“Ibukun!”
A voice, hoarse and desperate, called behind me, the name sticking in my heart. Only one living person in all the world said my name like that.
“Ya binti!” Uncle Iry cried as I whirled, searching for him. “Ya habibti!”
Jogging up the line of soldiers was Bordeaux, Uncle Iry cradled in his strong arms. Uncle Iry, thinner and more worn than ever, had his eyes fixed on me, one emaciated arm stretching towards me.
The canteen fell from my grip, and I tore away from Stewart so fast I nearly pulled him over. My legs were still unsteady, each step trembling up my body to make my teeth rattle. Twice I stumbled, fingers brushing the earth as I fought to stay upright.
“A’am!”
I reached Bordeaux as he slowed and lowered Uncle Iry to the ground.
“Oh, a’am,” I sobbed as I wrapped my arms around him.
His arms slid around me, so frail and light, the grip of an old man.
“Ibby,” he said, cheeks shining with tears. “I knew you would come. I knew you would save us.”
My heart, despite the pain, loss, and the aftershocks of terror, felt only an aching relief. Victory had cost more than I’d ever imagined. In time it would all come crashing back and I’d have to process and heal. But for now: I was alive, the world was still spinning, and for the first time since their founding the Inconquo could live free of Ninurta’s shadow.
That was something to smile about, no matter what lay ahead.
“It is over now?” Uncle Iry asked softly, his face tired and worry-lined. “We are safe?”
I looked down at him and smiled, wiping tears from his grizzled cheeks.
“Better than that, a’am,” I whispered, drawing him so close, I wasn’t sure I would ever let him go. “We’re free.”
Epilogue
Rapping my knuckles on Jody Marks’ office door, she responded a moment later with her usual, “Come.”
Opening the door, I almost ran into Stewart’s back.
“I’ll contact our asset in Tripoli and begin to make the arrangements,” Stewart said before snapping off a salute and turning around.
Stepping aside before he marched over me, I smiled and nodded as he left. The crusty sergeant’s expression didn’t change as his eye fell on me, but he did tip me a wink.
“Ms Bashir.”
“Sargeant.” I touched my forehead as he passed and shut the door behind him.
Crossing to the chair in front of Marks’ desk, I sat down and waited expectantly. She took off the glasses she was wearing, folded them and set them aside.
“How is the move going?” she asked. “Holloway Road, wasn’t it?”
I nodded. I’d signed the lease for a new flat in Islington since my old place with Jackie wasn’t going to be big enough for four. It was a little premature, since it was too soon after Jackie’s surgery for her to come home, but I wanted to be all set up and ready by the time the private facility TNC had paid for gave her the okay to come home.
“Good.” I crossed one leg over the other. “Marcus has healed enough to be able to handle some of the heavy lifting and Uncle Iry has been keeping us fed while we get organized.”
“I hear that reports from Ms Davies’ physical therapists are positive?”
My heart buoyed and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “They won’t make promises, but I can tell they have high hopes for her.”
“Splendid.” Marks tapped her fingers on the desk.
“You didn’t call me in here in the middle of my holiday to discuss Jackie’s health or ask about our new flat, so…” I gestured for her to get on with it.
She cleared her throat. “Quite right. You’ll recall from an earlier conversation that TNC has a project we’re setting up to execute in North Africa.”
“I remember.”
“Libya, to be precise. In the Acacus.”
My brows arched with interest. “Land of the Tashwinat Mummy. Interesting.”
Marks snapped her fingers, pointed at me and grinned. “That. That right there is why you’re right for this job.”
I cocked my head. “Sorry?”
“You’ve studied archaeology. You already know about sub-Saharan finds. How are your acting skills?”
“Uh…”
“You are perfect to convincingly play the part of an archaeologist, as a cover, while forwarding an agenda to facilitate the awakening of a supernatural we would then recruit.”
I blinked at her, bemused.
She went on, ignoring my look of confusion. “You’re a young woman, she’s a young woman. You’re an archaeologist, she’s an aspiring archaeologist.” Marks was speaking quickly, her eyes glittering with excitement. Whatever she was babbling about, she was all enthusiasm.
“Slow down. I never graduated, and who are we talking about?”
Marks tented her fingers on a file folder I hadn’t yet noticed. “You must sign the agreement and accept the job before I can reveal the her identity.” She then nodded at a front corner of her desk where a small tablet sat.
Annoyed, I leaned over and grabbed the device. Waking up the screen revealed a single document, a contract entitled Project Tempest. I skimmed it and looked back up at Marks before reading off a few lines.
“Project prep starts in two weeks,
should be wrapped up before the end of summer, involves a trip to Canada, and the Tadrart Acacus via Tripoli and Alawenat.”
My pulse quickened at the thought of visiting the Sahara. I’d laid the dreams of a career as an archaeologist aside after Inconquo abilities took over my life, but I still thought about it and missed it at times.
Marks shifted forward. “Imperative to the success of the plan is maintaining the appearance of a true archaeological dig…”
I looked up at Marks. “The appearance of an archaeology dig? Not a real one?”
“Everything will be as authentic as we can make it. We’ve even hired a genuine Field Director with excellent experience. There will only be one person on staff who is not aware that the dig is a front.”
My jaw dropped. “All this effort to trick one person? Why?”
“It’s for her own good, trust me. Well? Do you want in?” Her eyes gleamed with a kind of hunger. Her excitement was catching.
“Will it involve combat?”
Marks’ smile faded. “Uh, not a lot, no. Perhaps a little faked danger with the local tribes. If it’s more soldiering you’re looking for, I might have something in Russia, but…”
I put up a hand. “No! No, you misunderstand. I don’t want combat. I’ve had enough of it for now, thanks. Digging in the desert sounds like just the ticket.”
She straightened. “So… you’re in?”
At a glance, the project looked perfect. No combat, a visit to North Africa, an archaeological dig. I’d still have two weeks to get settled in our new flat, and I wouldn’t be gone all that long, plus I didn’t get paid if I didn’t work, so…”
I nodded at Marks. “Hand me your stylus.”
Her grin sparkled. “Great.”
She waited while I signed the contract, then took the tablet and slipped it into a desk drawer.
Leaning forward, I took the folder as she slid it across the desk. Opening it revealed a dossier on a tanned young woman with dark hair and pale grey eyes. She looked barely out of her teens.
“Petra Kara,” I read aloud. “Canadian. Nineteen. Orphan.”