by K J Morgan
"She's gone, Seth," Pete said, his voice broken.
"No."
"She's dead."
Seth clenched his teeth. "She can't die. I need to take her back."
"Back where?"
Seth ignored him, lifting Miranda in his arms as he rose to his feet. He glanced in the direction of the Gate, feeling sluggish and unfocused. The sight of her blood, her lifeless body, sent his heart reeling. The pain was difficult to accept, impossible to think through.
"Back where, Seth?" Pete repeated.
"Take Julie out of here. Get her to Reno. Go as far as you can."
"What about you?"
"You can't help me."
"Did you not just see what I did? I helped out a lot there, I think."
"You can't help me where I'm going."
Pete watched him for a moment. "You can't be serious."
"I know where she is. I saw her symbol in that chamber."
"Her what? That makes no sense."
Seth closed his eyes, lacking the will to argue.
"She's dead, Seth, one way or the other, right?" Pete asked. "There is no happy ending. Come on, you have to let her go. Let this go. You can't win against these people, these… whatever they are. You can't go back to the Gate."
"I can. I have to."
"Miranda is dead!" Pete shouted at him. "You think I want to believe it either? You think I want to believe any of this? We don't have a choice."
"You don't have a choice."
"Seth—"
"You're human."
Pete hesitated, narrowing his gaze.
"Get Julie out of here now," Seth insisted. "Don't send anyone after me. Don't send anyone into the Gate. You'll only get them killed. Do you understand?"
Pete watched him, speechless.
"Do you understand?" Seth repeated slowly.
Pete nodded, glowering at him through the dust.
Seth turned into the wind, the sand razing through his clothes as he carried Miranda in the direction of the Gate.
* * *
Seth walked through a dark world, a post-apocalyptic vision of neon and parched earth, the torturous wind ripping across the desert before him. The revelers had disappeared from the roads and open spaces, taking refuge from the storm in thumping party tents, their flapping canvas entrances sparkling with light.
He carried Miranda against the wind, ignoring the pain in his ribs and dull ache in his heart, hoping that answers he was about to find would be the ones he wanted. The towering entrance of the Rathvam camp appeared from the churn of dust ahead. The Divine Gate tent rose in the background, so large it seemed to block out the sky, the voices of a thousand souls trapped inside it.
Seth paused at the border of the camp, glancing over its dusty perimeter. The arena was empty, with no bright lights or barrel fires lit. There were no dancers, no DJs, just empty scaffolding and tents shuddering in the wind. Grimacing through the haze, he found the stairs and climbed them with effort.
Two hooded figures stood guard at the entrance to the Gate. They hesitated as he approached, exchanging weighted looks.
Seth didn't stop.
The guards stood aside, saying nothing as he walked into the quiet hum of the metal hallway.
He was expected.
Soft whispers followed him down the corridor, the glow of lantern light casting shadows along the shining grate ahead. One chamber had been left open, its golden light beckoning him to return, to bring Miranda back.
He carried her through the door, ignoring the bright luster of the walls and their glittering symbols, gently lowering her onto the surface of the altar. She lay lifelessly beneath him, her red hair spread across the gold, the white slip of her neck stained with blood.
He took a step back, dropping his gaze to the elegantly crafted altar underneath her. The truth whispered in soft songs from the walls as he stared at it, the symbols making a real and terrifying sense to him now. He placed his hand along the altar markings. The world seemed to slow to a stop around him, the sound of his breath echoing in a timeless void.
The symbols warmed under his touch, their shapes curling and circling under his fingertips. The feeling was electric. His breath quickened, a soft energy spreading its way through his veins, singing along his nerves.
He heard his name whispered from the walls.
"I need to find her," he told them softly, listening as the symbols replied, guiding his hand downward under the extended surface of the altar.
Seth ran his fingers along the underside of the altar slab, finding a curling metal latch. He pulled the latch and felt the altar release, its surface sliding back on finely crafted rails. The shadowed interior of the altar appeared beneath him, its fragile occupant exposed to the light.
He grimaced, leaning down over her. She was slender, her body wrapped tightly in fine linen and laid carefully on its back, as if she were an Egyptian queen sleeping out eternity.
Releasing a harsh breath through his teeth, Seth forced himself to reach down, his fingers prying loose the shroud covering her face. It tore easily, ripping away from its silent host, revealing a distorted, sunken expression and a bright swatch of red hair.
His fingers stilled.
He glanced at the version of Miranda lying on the altar's surface, her face serene and beautiful.
This was the Rathvam goddess.
Looking down at the shrouded figure hidden in the altar, he clenched his teeth, his heart sinking in his chest.
This was the real Miranda.
Seth dropped to his knees along the metal floor, destroyed by the sight of her. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers shaking.
The memory of the woman, her hungered touch and breathless words, merged with the image of the corpse in its golden crypt, its body cold for months, its sunken skin bearing the marks of murder.
He made a harsh, rasping sound, tears of anger turning the room into a hot blur before him. The smell of Miranda's blood coated his hands, weakening him, nauseating him.
"So now you understand," the Necromancer spoke from inside the chamber. "How pointless this struggle is between us."
Seth looked up to see him standing there, his pale eyes lit with amusement, his white hair glowing in the lantern light. There had been no warning, no sound of him entering the room.
He had simply appeared.
"Your strength can hold her here," the Necromancer continued, "because you are her protector, the only one with the power to keep her whole, especially in this frail human form. But there are limits, even for you."
He stepped forward, his gaze dropping to the image of Miranda on the altar. "You can wake her from sleep and restore her soul, but you can do nothing for her body. It lies here, under my control, and it ties her spirit not only to its delicate human form, but also to its human death, its human weakness."
Seth glared at him. "That's the prayer you use to shut her down. You bring her back to the point of her own death, because her body is still here, imprisoned with her name marked directly above it. The pain you inflicted is always with her."
"Always."
"You're a sadistic son of a bitch."
"The spell allows her to be controlled," the Necromancer replied, his voice smooth. "She pursued me relentlessly, a brave champion of mankind. I am certainly a sadist and more, but I killed and preserved her like this to satisfy your lust, not my own."
Seth narrowed his gaze, feeling a blind rage take hold. He pushed to his feet and swung at the figure in front of him, his knuckles connecting with bone. The Necromancer's head snapped back, his body reeling.
Seth hit him again and kept hitting, the strikes solid enough to drop most men immediately. His anger tore loose, fathomless and unquenchable, the violence he was capable of suddenly more than he cared to control.
The Necromancer lurched against the wall, taking each punch with a hiss of breath. Catching one of Seth's fists with a flash of unnatural strength, he lashed back, delivering a crushing hit to Seth's cracked ribs.
<
br /> Seth staggered against the altar, wheezing.
"Foolish," the Necromancer rebuked harshly. "Whatever damage you do to me is quickly healed. You, however, are still human and I cannot be the one to kill you. No one can spill your blood without being forever damned for it."
Seth clenched his teeth, pulling a strained breath.
"You still do not remember," the Necromancer mused, moving to stand above Miranda's bloodied ghost. "The power you once had here, over the Goddess of War, over all of them."
Passing his hand slowly over the image on the altar, the Necromancer restored Miranda's ghost to perfection. Her wounds disappeared, her ivory skin glowing to soft purity, the waves her hair brightening around the delicate curve of her cheek.
Seth grimaced, finding it harder to breathe. His chest was growing heavier, the pain more acute.
"One of your lungs has been punctured," the Necromancer said without looking up. "It will fill with blood."
Seth winced, having already figured that part out.
"Fortunately, there is still time."
"Time for what?"
The Necromancer pushed the crypt closed and backed away from the still image of Miranda on its surface. "We will leave her to her peace. She will only interfere if we wake her now."
"She'll try to save my life, you mean."
The Necromancer looked at Seth, a cold confirmation in his eyes. "You would spare her that, I think."
Seth dropped his gaze, supposing that he would.
A figure appeared in the doorway behind the Necromancer, the outline of a warrior with a golden mask. Seth released a pained breath, his body shuddering with the hard ache in his chest. He slid one arm around his waist to steady himself, trying desperately to focus.
The Necromancer stepped back, gesturing toward the armored figure in the hallway. "Come," he said calmly. "Your destiny awaits you."
* * *
Miranda woke to the sound of the wind. She blinked, pressing her lips together in confusion. The sand of the playa stretched out before her, its vast emptiness shimmering in the heat. The sky above was blue, the wind soft. The mountains in the distance appeared parched, their gentle slopes folded like soft leather under the sun. It was the same desolation, the same banishment.
"Seth," she murmured, pushing up from the dry silt.
He had attacked the Khagan, trying to protect her.
Now he was alone.
"Seth," she said desperately, rising to her feet.
Thin voices whispered on the breeze, their words mingling as they swirled past her. They spoke her name in rich tones of emotion, calling her a goddess and a guardian. The Rathvam.
She shook her head. "Where is Seth?"
They responded softly, telling her that he was in the Gate. He was home. She merely had to understand. She had to see.
Miranda turned in the direction they beckoned.
A golden tower appeared from the sunlight behind her, its arched entrances and cloistered balconies lustrous in the heat, its ringed center catching light and shadow like the facets of a crystal.
It was an earlier version of the Gate, she realized, something smaller and more elegant, without the dark steel corridors and heavy locks. This version was open and luminous, its lack of complexity seeming far more powerful, as if crafted with greater skill.
Miranda walked toward it and paused at the entrance, reaching out to touch the metal with her fingers. It was bright, like true gold, but seemed lighter and more porous, as if made from some kind of metal she had never seen before. Peering inside, she could see corridors formed from the same material. Every surface was adorned with thousands of Rathvam symbols, their curves and lines glittering in the light, their whispers slipping into the gentle current of the wind.
She shook her head. "Where is Seth?"
Rathvam words swirled around her, begging patience. They had sought her here. They had shown her this version of the Gate for a reason.
They were trying to help her understand.
"Understand what?" she asked.
The world around her changed.
The open sky above morphed into a cavernous ceiling of rock. Moist walls formed around her, dripping with pale stalactite teeth and shining pools of black water. She was in a cave.
The Gate sat in place before her, its cloistered balconies shining with firelight. It had been hidden here. It had been protected and sheltered here.
Miranda pressed her lips together. A memory, one of the collective memories of the Gate.
Human figures in medieval armor began to appear around her, some standing guard, others walking along a narrow staircase that had been cut in the rock, the light from their torches dancing across the still water of the pools.
The smell of blood wafted in the air.
She grimaced, cutting her gaze to the darkness beyond the glow of the torches, sighting bodies lying in abstract piles, pale limbs and hollow expressions caught in lifeless decay. She stared at them in horror, slow to tear her gaze away as two armored figures walked into the light beside her, their attention fixed on the walls of the Gate.
"It is not enough to simply take it," the first one said, his voice chillingly familiar. He removed his helmet, allowing the thick white braid of his hair to fall loose over one shoulder. His pale eyes narrowed on the Gate, his words clipped and accented when he spoke. "He is not some lowly priest. He will not negotiate with us. You must act now."
Necromancer. Miranda retreated a step, aware that it was a memory, but startled all the same.
"I must offer terms, Asmud," the other man said evenly, his voice also familiar. "You know that."
"Those rules apply to humans."
"They apply to kings and I will not make lesser of myself to suit your impatience. The man will yield, or not. It makes little difference now."
"He is not a man," the Necromancer insisted. "He guards a treasure beyond human imagining. He was expressly chosen for this purpose. If you underestimate him, you will fail."
"You forget yourself," the other figure warned. "I've listened to your fables all my life and loved them well enough, but your teachings have no authority here." Reaching up, the speaker removed his helmet, revealing a strong profile and sweat-dampened knot of long blonde hair. His features were stark and Nordic, but his armor and adornments were clearly Eastern in influence.
"Khagan," Miranda whispered.
"My 'fables' have always been offered for your own protection, my lord," the Necromancer argued tightly. "He is not a human adversary."
"He looks human enough." The Khagan gestured at his guards.
Miranda turned in the direction he indicated, catching sight of a man being dragged toward them by his arms, his dark head bowed.
He appeared to be in too much pain to resist his captors, enduring their rough hold as they pulled him across the stone steps and dumped him front of the Khagan. He fell to his knees, pulling a hard breath through his teeth, the thick black strands of his hair veiling his eyes.
"It is over," the Khagan told him. "We are in possession of this artifact now. No one else needs to die. I can offer you terms, conditional upon your surrender. Submit to our demands and you will be spared."
The man looked up at him, his hair falling back from his face. His eyes narrowed, their beautiful hazel color darkening with anger.
Miranda caught her breath, staring at him in shock. "Seth."
It was him. The same face, the same man, though the Seth she knew appeared to have no memory of this.
"Seth," she whispered. "Who are you?"
Chapter Eighteen
Seth collapsed on the floor grate as they released him. He closed his arms protectively over his ribs. Drawing a difficult breath, he glared into the shadows. The chamber around him was small and dark, lit by the glow of a solitary lantern.
"The Gate grows stronger with each goddess we awaken," the Necromancer said. "There are only two left now, which means that your role in the Enlightenment will shortly become
critical. Pain will help you to remember."
"You're gonna torture me now? Kick me a few more times in the ribs?"
"There are many kinds of torture."
Seth glared at the black outline above him, searching for the meaning behind the words. The Necromancer turned and melted into the darkness, taking his soldier with him. The chamber's metal door screeched shut, followed by the sound of heavy locks sliding into place.
Seth felt his chest heave, forcing a wet, rasping cough, the pain excruciating. He seized fitfully, enduring the hard shudder of his body and the desperate pull in his lungs. Its grip eased in merciless degrees, allowing him to draw a shallow breath. Sinking back against the floor grate, he pressed his head to the metal and closed his eyes.
"Seth?" a woman spoke from the darkness. "God, Seth."
He winced, recognizing the voice. "Cil?"
She began to cry, a horrible, wrenching noise in the close confines of the chamber. He opened his eyes, seeking her in the shadows beyond the glow of the lantern. She was barely visible, a sliver of her slender body cast in the flicker of candlelight.
He rolled onto his side and pushed up with difficulty, ignoring the pain as he swayed to his feet. Walking was strenuous and dizzying, but he found her.
She was huddled against the wall, clothed in her torn silver bra and tight shorts, her hands tied behind her back with thin rope. Her dark hair was damp, falling in front of her eyes in shining strands. Her body trembled.
He knelt beside her, putting his hand on her back. She jumped, sucking in a sharp breath.
"I'm here," he said. "Just me, okay?"
She made a pained noise, looking away from him as he yanked the rope knots around her wrists free. Her hands came apart and she leaned forward against her knees, hiding her face from him.
"Where are you hurt?" he asked.
"I'm not."
"Cil."
"I'm not." She shook her head. "I'm not hurt."
"I saw him draw blood."
"He did everything," she said through her teeth. "He did things a nice guy like you wouldn't dream of and I enjoyed every minute of it. Don't you understand? That's the worst part."
He watched her for moment, not knowing whether to believe her or not. Touching her hair, he brushed it gently back from her face, grimacing at her pallor.