Sian led us to the table and chairs arranged near the front of the room. I stood behind the middle chair, and Nik went for the chair on my right, Anapa the one on my left. Sian continued on to the far side of the room, where he took up a stance with his back to the wall, his hands clasped before him in what was very distinctly a guard pose. If I was stupid enough to attack the High Council, he was ready to shut that shit down in a heartbeat.
Before we could take our seats, the Netjer sitting in the chair to the left of the throne stood. At that point, sitting seemed kind of disrespectful. And for once, I was kind of trying to impress. Or at least play the part.
A live wire of tension, I shot Nik a sideways glance, wishing I could reach out and take his hand. But I wasn’t willing to give such a blatant display of weakness, so I kept my hand to myself, curling my fingers into a fist instead.
“Katarina Dubois,” the Netjer said, female from the sound of her voice, though much like with Sian, her short hair and elongated alien features made it difficult to tell. “You have been brought here to stand trial as a representative of your universe. Do you come here free of will and in good faith?”
To my ears, the sounds coming out of her mouth were complete and utter gibberish, but somehow my brain seemed to understand what she was saying. It was disorienting enough that it took me a few seconds of staring at her expectant face to remember that I was supposed to respond.
“Uh . . .” I licked my chapped lips, though my tongue was dry and sticky, making the action pretty much useless. “Yeah?” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I do . . . come here of free will and good faith.”
Ish. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
“Very well,” the Netjer said. “Let us begin.”
11
“Be seated,” the Netjer spokeswoman said.
I pulled out the chair directly in front of me, the chair legs screeching on the hardwood floor. The sound sliced through the silence in the room, making me cringe.
My cheeks lit on fire. “Sorry,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. I sat and ever-so-carefully scooted the chair in, managing to achieve minimal screeching. Nik sat on my right, Anapa on my left.
“Sian, please remove the do-not-disturb order on this construct,” the head Netjer said.
The sound of shuffling and whispers filled the room behind me. Dreading what I would find, I turned slightly in my seat, peeking over my shoulder. Behind me, the room seemed to have expanded, gaining a second and third level, like we were in a theater rather than a replica courtroom.
As soon as I saw just how many Netjer spectators this trial would have—a relative shit-ton—I turned right back around, fingernails digging into the underside of the seat of my chair. What was this—the Netjer version of Judge Judy?
My heart thudded in my chest, and I sank lower in my chair, wishing I could just disappear. But I couldn’t. It was pretty clear that all of these people—these Netjers—were here to see me. I could hear them whispering about me. I was a curiosity. An enigma. A novelty. I was a creature to them, not a person.
“To begin,” the Netjer spokeswoman said, addressing the crowd behind me, “I would like to thank the revered Anapa for doing the hard work and research required to create this construct. As you all know, any time the High Council assembles to determine the fate of a troubled universe, we try our hardest to ensure that the representative of the universe is treated justly and fairly. We are, above all other things, civilized and compassionate. Undue suffering is never an option.”
I leaned closer to Anapa and whispered into his ear. “How is it that I understand what she’s saying?” Because the only two languages I knew fluently were English and Middle Egyptian, and the sounds she was making sure as hell didn’t belong to either of those.
“I built a translation mechanism into the construct,” Anapa said, his voice barely audible.
I waited for him to say more, because his explanation was more or less gibberish to me, but when it was apparent that he was finished, I turned my attention back to the Netjer High Council. I supposed the how didn’t really matter, so long as I could understand the Netjers and they could understand me.
“And for the remainder of the trail,” the Netjer spokeswoman continued, “please keep your audio muted. Any disruptions will result in immediate expulsion from the construct. Absolutely no exceptions.” She settled a stern look on the spectators. “The Mother of All intends for this to be an exemplary case. The decision made here will set a precedent for all such cases regarding unbalanced mature universes going forward.”
Oh, shit. Back on earth, it usually wasn’t a good thing for the defendant when a judge decided to “make an example” of someone. I was already nervous, but now I was petrified.
“Those of you allowed admission to this trial should feel honored,” the Netjer spokeswoman said. “You are witnessing history in the making.” She lifted both hands, palms up, signifying for everyone else to stand as well. “Please rise for the Mother of All. May her justice be fair, her mercy deserved, and her wisdom received with an open heart.”
The door at the back of the courtroom creaked open, and I turned to see the new arrival. The Mother of All sounded like kind of a big deal. I’d yet to hear anybody refer to her by anything other than her title—Mother of All—which made me think she thought pretty damn highly of herself. I had the impression that she was in charge around here, even more so than the High Council. If the Netjers were gods to my people, it seemed that this “Mother of All” was god to them. I wasn’t sure what that made her to me. A mega-god? Or über-god? Or just big-G God?
For seconds, nobody passed through the open doorway. The audience of Netjers watched on, attention rapt and expectant.
I glanced at Anapa. He was so stiff and tense that he was visibly trembling.
Jesus. Who the hell was this chick?
Not a Netjer, that much became all too clear when she finally entered the courtroom. And she certainly didn’t look like a human or a Nejeret or any other type of life-form I had ever seen in my life. She was generally humanoid shaped, like the rest of us, but there the resemblance ended.
The Mother of All was angelic and waiflike, her skin rigid and glittering like millions of cut diamonds, and her eyes shone with a deep, multifaceted violet that reminded me of amethysts. She wore a gossamer, multilayered gown that floated and fluttered around her as though she were underwater. Her long, straight hair seemed to be pure, spun silver, and it trailed behind her as she glided up the aisle to the front of the room.
As the Mother of All passed each row of benches, those gathered to watch the trial bowed their heads and covered their faces with their hands. When she reached our table, both Anapa and Nik did the same. But not me—all I could do was stare.
The Mother of All paused at the edge of our table, turning those amethyst eyes on me. “You are Katarina Dubois,” she said, her voice a chorus of whispers and sighs that nearly brought tears to my eyes with its beauty.
“I —” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m her—Katarina Dubois,” I finally managed to say, my voice sounding harsh and grating compared to hers.
The Mother of All scanned me, those amethyst eyes trailing down the length of my body, then right back up. “What a curious creature you are. How fascinating . . .” She studied me for a moment longer, then turned away without another word and continued on her way up to the raised dais to join the High Council.
Like everyone else had done, the members of the High Council bowed their heads and covered their faces with their hands as the Mother of All drew near. Only when she was seated in her throne did they uncover their faces.
The Netjer on her right, the one who’d been speaking earlier, raised her arms, palms down. “Be seated, all.”
I started to do what she said.
“Save for you, Katarina Dubois,” she added.
I froze halfway down to my seat.
“Come forward,” she said. “We wish to question you.”
I remained frozen for another second or two, working on getting my shit together internally before facing this panel of imposing figures. I’d dealt with a lot of higher-up Nejerets back on earth, but these people were on a whole other level. Now that I’d seen her, this Mother of All chick was like—I didn’t even know what. Greater than a Netjer, obviously. I’d been right about that. But what did that make her? What was she? What kind of a being surpassed a Netjer?
Isfet, I supposed, but she was hardly comparable to a Netjer; she was another thing entirely.
Ready as I ever would be, I scooted my chair back. The chair legs screeched on the hardwood floor once again. I cringed at the irritating sound but held in my apology this time. I made my way around the table, shooting a furtive glance first at Anapa, then at Nik. Their guarded expressions did nothing to soothe my jittery nerves.
With a deep breath, I turned away from them and made my way forward. I stopped in the center of the open space in front of the table, directly in front of the Mother of All. My hands felt awkward, like I hadn’t had them my entire life. I had no idea what to do with them, so I opted for stuffing them back into the pockets of my coat. The familiar feel of the velvet drawstring bag eased my anxious nerves, just a little.
I inhaled deeply, letting out the breath long and slow and only shaking a little. “What do you want to know?”
12
The High Council wanted to know pretty much everything, it turned out.
They asked me about me—about my childhood, about losing my mom, and about the role I’d played in averting the whole Re-Apep crisis that Lex had been integral to. They asked me about my people, both Nejerets and humans—about our history, our culture and traditions, our current civil war, and what I thought that struggle would mean for the future of Nejerets and humans alike. They asked me about things that seemed so irrelevant to all of this, like religion and technology and my day-to-day life. They asked me how humans were able to survive fully aware of their own mortality.
On and on, they asked me an endless stream of questions, each one seeming more nonsensical than the last. I was hungry and thirsty and tired, and I had to pee. My head throbbed, and my saliva was tacky from talking for so long without anything to drink. I actually wanted water, not bourbon or even Cherry Coke, which was pretty damn unusual for me.
“And when you enter your resting mode—sleep—you have experiences?” the Netjer on the far left asked. “Dreams, I believe they’re called?” If he already knew all of that, why was he asking me about it?
I combed my fingers through my hair, pausing at the base of my skull to rub the ache that was only settling in deeper. “Yeah . . . but why does this matter?” I blurted before I could stop myself. “What do sleep and dreams have to do with anything?” I moved my hand forward to rub my temple. “I thought this was supposed to be about my universe . . . about the imbalance and all that shi—stuff.”
Behind me, Anapa cleared his throat. It was a warning.
Leave it to me to lose my cool at a time like this. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, closing my eyes as I regathered my quickly fraying nerves. “Why am I here?” I asked, opening my eyes and turning my attention to the Mother of All. “Because it can’t be to ask me about things as inane as dreams.”
The Netjer sitting to the right of the Mother of All straightened in her chair. I was no expert at reading Netjer expressions, but my gut told me that she was pissed.
I suppressed a smirk—nervous habit.
A musical giggle filled the courtroom. It was coming from the Mother of All. It was the first sound she’d made since speaking to me when she’d first arrived.
I was so surprised that I took a step backward.
The Mother of All raised her hand, her fingers covering her mouth. “Oh, my dear, you are an amusing creature,” she said, following up with another achingly beautiful laugh. “Tell me, Katarina Dubois—as the most powerful being in your universe, why do you think it should be allowed to continue on?”
My lips parted, and I sucked in a breath to answer, but I found that I didn’t really know what to say. Which was why I was pretty damn grateful when the Mother of All raised her glittering hand, telling me to stop before I’d even started.
“You must understand,” she said, “from our perspective, your universe is completely out of control, and it only seems to be getting worse. Ma’at has been left out of balance for far too long. If we allow your universe, a festering wound in the web of all that is, to continue on its current path, it will, in time, infect this universe, the hub of all that is. And through this universe, all other universes will be infected.” She fell quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. “You, Katarina Dubois, are here to help us decide whether or not your universe can be saved . . . and whether or not it is even worthwhile to try. Is there a way for your universe to course correct, returning stability to Ma’at, or will it continue to spiral out of control, no matter what?”
Numbly, I shook my head. How was I supposed to know that? I’d done what I could to bring balance back to my universe, but despite my best efforts, the song of Ma’at hadn’t been doing so hot lately. Much as I hated to admit it, the Netjers kind of had a point. My universe was out of control.
“So, please, tell me,” the Mother of All continued, “how do you, the most powerful being in your universe, plan to fix it?” All humor from her giggle fit earlier was gone, and the intensity sparkling in her gemstone eyes froze any and all wise-ass retorts on my tongue.
I was left with nothing but the honest truth. “I don’t know,” I said. I considered telling her that even though I didn’t know how to save my universe, I knew someone who could—Isfet—but despite being weakened and weary, some deep-rooted instinct told me to keep my mouth shut about her.
“I see,” the Mother of All said. “Thank you for your honesty, my dear. Is there anything else you would like to tell us before we adjourn to discuss the matter privately?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
“Very well,” she said. “Please return to your seat.”
I did, eagerly. I was surprised to find a tall glass bottle of fancy spring water on the table in front of my seat. Anapa must have slipped out at some point during the hours-long questioning and retrieved it from my universe. I hoped he’d brought some food while he was at it.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to him, reaching for the bottle. I was thirsty to the point of it being nearly all I could think about.
The Netjer to the right of the Mother of All stood. “This concludes the interrogation portion of the trial. Please—”
“Actually,” the Mother of All said, her voice quieter than the Netjer’s but its potency drowning out the Netjer’s voice.
The Netjer’s mouth hung open comically for a moment before she snapped it shut.
“There is one other I would like to hear from regarding this matter,” the Mother of All said. Her intense stare was focused on me, but it shifted slightly to my right. To Nik.
“Come forward,” she said, and her next word nearly stopped my heart. “Re.”
13
I forgot all about my thirst and the bottle of water on the table. I turned my head to look at the man sitting beside me so slowly that I could feel the individual muscles and tendons in my neck working. My lips parted, but I couldn’t come up with any words to say. I was too stunned.
The corners of his mouth lifted into a faint, hesitant smile that I thought was an attempt at an apology, and I watched, horrified, as the pale blue bled out of his irises, giving way to a moonstone iridescence. His tattoos faded away, the piercings in his lips and eyebrow vanished, and his facial features elongated a little but didn’t change all that much. He still looked eerily similar to Nik. Similar but off—how Nik might look if he were a Netjer—making this man’s resemblance to the man I was bonded to haunting.
My mind was in a state of shock, my thoughts stumbling around, bumping into one another, trying to make sense of everything.
Failing to make sense of anything.
Nik was Re. Not Re possessing Nik. Nik the man—being—wasn’t Nik at all. At least, not my Nik. Did that mean that my Nik—the real Nik—was still back in my universe? Did that mean the man I’d been around for the past gods-knew-how-many hours—the man I’d cuddled with and confided in—had been Re all along?
Puzzle pieces started to fall into place, bringing things I’d dismissed as unimportant to light. Nik’s behavior had been strange ever since entering this universe. Nik, the real Nik, was prone to moments of unexpected oddness, but his recent behavior went way beyond the norm. I’d chalked it up to the weird situation, but as it turned out, the cause was way more extreme than that—he wasn’t acting like Nik because he wasn’t Nik at all.
And then there was the headache; I’d thought it was my body reacting to severe hunger and dehydration, but I now recognized the pain in my skull as an early symptom of bonding withdrawals. Because Nik wasn’t here at all—he never had been—and I had no soul-deep connection to the being impersonating him. To Re.
Fear sprouted in my chest. The need to get back to my universe was more urgent than ever. If I remained here for too long, the withdrawals would kill me. And back home, they would kill Nik—the real Nik—too.
But why would Re do this? Why would he pretend to be Nik for so long? Why hadn’t he revealed who he really was as soon as we arrived in this universe? That was the whole point of the farce, after all—he’d been pretending to be Nik back in Rome just to get me here, right?
I felt a spike of white-hot anger and clenched my jaw, my fingers digging into my thighs painfully.
Judgement (Kat Dubois Chronicles Book 5) Page 7