Lenina froze. ‘What?’
‘If he is worth nothing, you would have killed him for tribute. This man is clearly worth something to you. Enough that you chose to attack Zoë instead. He is family now, or close enough that his sacrifice is a true one. He will take your father’s place.’
Cold swept through Lenina’s body. She sagged in the arms of the restraining seekers. ‘You can’t do that.’
Zoë chose that moment to take her place on stage. She grinned, her stare triumphant and smug. Kneeling beside Kallisto, she held up her hand with the wrist exposed. ‘To serve the Great Master I’d gladly give all my blood.’
Colours swam before her eyes. The ground seemed to dip and pitch. ‘You tricked me.’ She found Darryl in the crowd. ‘You knew! This whole time you let me think I was doing the right thing. How could you?’
His head snapped up. ‘No—I didn’t—’
She looked away.
Shawn fell limp against the stone slab. He took a shuddering breath. ‘Guess you should have bitten me.’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’ As she spoke, Lenina heard her brother’s damning words from earlier that day.
She never meant for these things to happen.
A shove from the Seekers kept her moving. They guided her around the triangle of altars to the front of the blood red stage. There, in a smooth, seamless motion, they stepped away to give their places to a new cluster of god-touched, just as old, just as powerful and just as silent.
These also wore shendyt, but in place of jewellery, toughened leather armour stretched across their chests and backs. On their left hips, each figure wore a dagger made of steel, designed to mimic the Fang.
Soldiers.
The Seekers bringing Tristen dragged him up the steps to the stage. Zoë gave him a sympathetic glance before turning her back on him. Kallisto refused to acknowledge him at all.
Opposite the stage and beyond the triangle of altars, the god-touched guests gathered in a small knot. A brief scuffle ended when the figure in the black cloak took up position at the front of the crowd. Dead centre, the spot gave a perfect view of one end of the triangle, the point where Grace and Jordan’s heads met.
Lenina struggled against another wave of helplessness as she watched more god-touched approach to take their places. Many of them belonged to Kallisto’s household but the rest came from far away. As the wind changed and ruffled the grass she caught different scents that confirmed the fact; horses, sand, salt from the sea, spices and herbs, dogs, cats and a strange, musty scent that reminded her of snakes.
Smells from miles around gathered and placed in one space, all to witness her death.
The Soldiers closed in again.
A last effort to break free resulted in a split lip and dizzy head. These god-touched were far less gentle than the Seekers and crushed her arms and waist with tight grips as they dragged her to the centre of the triangle. They shackled her wrists, running thick chains down to the heavy rings set into a concrete slab beneath her feet. Her ankles received the same treatment, immobilising her in place.
Several seconds passed before the dizziness faded. By the time it did, the Soldiers were gone, moving to settle into place amongst the ring of onlookers including guests, Seekers and Watchers. The last of the Elders wore small metal pendants shaped like the eye of Horus. Not exactly correct, but the all-seeing nature of Set over his minions gave the symbolism sense.
Soft whimpers drifted from the first altar.
Lenina fought nausea as Grace struggled against her bindings. ‘Mum?’
‘What’s happening? What are they going to do?’
How could she possibly answer? The very thought of lying again made her throat dry. She glanced at Jordan, but he refused to look her way. He glared at the sky, occasionally flexing his wrists against the shackles. Two glistening tears shimmered on the side of his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘It’s okay, sweetie.’
‘No, it’s not—’
‘Your father will come for us. He told me not to worry.’
Lenina choked on a sob. ‘Mum. . .’ She gave up. The distant, almost dreamy look in her mother’s eye told her it was pointless. At least this way, maybe it wouldn’t hurt when they took the blood they required.
When the on-looking crowd of god-touched settled, Kallisto stepped to the end of the platform and began to speak. ‘My friends, thank you for coming. It pleases me to see your faces after so long. Many of you I’ve not seen for years. Majestics, Elders, Children, welcome to my home.’
A low murmur from the crowd.
‘Such a gathering of The Blood has not been seen since days when the Great Master walked among us. Then myself and the eleven other Chosen guided you with one voice, as one body. Though many of my brothers and sisters couldn’t be here today, I wish to welcome Hahn and Bomani to Red Fang’s UK chapter.’
Saar gave a gleeful twitch at the mention of each name, matching them to faces in the crowd.
Bomani grunted and twitched her shawl, her expression one of wild impatience. Opposite her, Hahn twisted at the hem of his grubby t-shirt and waved an unsteady hand.
‘Especial thanks are extended to Yameen, for he was the one blessed enough to hear the words of the prophecy from our father first hand.’
The man in the turban bowed deeply, his eyes alive with excitement. His face set off a spark in Lenina’s memory.
Hot, dry air. Broken buildings. Bare feet. Blood. Kazemde.
She shivered. ‘Yameen . . .’
The man bowed deeply and addressed the crowd in a voice still baring traces of his Arabic accent. ‘Honoured though I am that our father shared his vision with me, I’m further honoured to see it come to pass and know I played my part.’
Lenina yanked at her chains. ‘But what if you made a mistake? What if you heard it wrong?’
He shrugged. ‘You are here. The signs are given.’
Kallisto cleared her throat. ‘You see before you Lenina Miller, Kissed by Jason Emmet, childe of Tristen Blake.’
Bomani laughed, a rich, earthy sound. ‘Is that why you hold him there beaten and bloodied like a slave? Is that his thanks for finding your precious vessel?’
‘Tristen is a liar and a traitor,’ snapped Kallisto. ‘I will learn the full extent of his crimes and present him to our father for punishment. For now, his position here is to witness the true futility of rebellion against Red Fang.’
Hahn chuckled. His blue eyes twinkled. ‘Your favourite little pet bit back, did he?’
A faint tick started in Kallisto’s left eye. Again she cleared her throat. ‘Upon this girl’s face you see the Neeva, mark of the Great Master, once borne upon his thigh. This mark proclaims Lenina Miller as none other than the Vessel, the one foretold to return our father. You know the words.’
‘The Vessel will be marked with blood, by blood.’ The crowed murmured in a reverent monotone. ‘From blood comes all power. Born from one of The Blood, the Vessel will awaken Saar and guide his children to ultimate glory in the new world.’
Lenina pulled on the shackles. Painful, pointless, but the sound of many voices chanting in unison sent a terrifying shudder through her body. Saar was listening and he was excited. Eager. Ready to be free.
You’ll never get out, she promised the ancient creature. I’ll never let you go.
Kallisto continued. ‘As our father once spoke, so it shall be. Tonight is the night. We, his faithful, loyal children will be the first to greet him and reap the rewards of his return.’
Bomani snorted. ‘It is all very well that you call us here with this girl chained before you, but I know why many others refused your summons. You have brought false claims before, claiming possession of the Vessel when your desperation gave you the signs you desired. I see the girl. I see her face. But I also see werewolves, disgus
ting animals that have no place at a sacred ceremony such as this.’
Though her eyes narrowed, Kallisto’s voice remained level. ‘The Bright Moon Clan are under my control. They stand watch over us that we may not be disturbed.’
A low growl from somewhere near the back reminded Lenina of the wolves. She searched for them, but found only Luke, loitering near the stage. His eyes gleamed hot, molten gold and sharp fangs showed between his lips.
Bomani’s lip curled back in a horrid snarl. She muttered, a low string of some flowing African dialect. ‘Are your numbers so low here that you require moon worshipping puppies? Has the search finally touched your mind?’
Kallisto drew herself to her full height. At her side, Zoë growled and leapt off the stage. Only a quick gesture from her mistress stopped her diving at Bomani. ‘I am First.’ She paused to let the words sink in. ‘Father chose me above all of you and I do his work through any means necessary. If it were left to you we would still be searching. The wolves are a means to an end and will be dismissed once their purpose is served.’
That made Lenina search for Darryl. He stood in the shadows closer to the house, just beyond the ring of god-touched bodies. The dancing flames spread flickering shadows across his face.
Something about his body didn’t match what she remembered and it took only a moment to realise what. Broader shoulders. Increased height. Narrower waist. Long hair bristled down his neck and back while his fingers took on long, sharp points. Claws.
Yameen interrupted the standoff between Kallisto and Bomani. ‘The night wanes. Complete the ritual. If our father returns then your quarrels are moot.’
‘There is nothing to discuss. No “if.” Our father will rise tonight.’ Kallisto flung out her hand holding up Saar’s old knife. ‘Behold the Fang!’
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Even Bomani widened her eyes and cut a curious glance at Tristen.
Carrying the ancient weapon, Kallisto picked her way down the steps. Behind her came Zoë carrying the ancient stone bowl, with a scrap of cloth between her skin and the sides.
Lenina wrenched against the chains again. Her shoulders whined from the strain but nothing happened other than a faint creak from a ring set into the stone slab.
Kallisto entered the centre of the triangle and held up the dagger. ‘This blade belonged to Saar himself. Within the metal lives his blood of old and with it, he will come again. From blood comes all power! With the blood of the human family, we wash away the creature that was Lenina Miller and fill her ready body with our father’s spirit. We start with the blood of the mother.’
She turned and with a blur of speed, grabbed Grace’s nearest wrist. She slashed with the dagger, a single cut that brought blood welling to the surface.
‘No, no, please!’ Lenina heaved at the chains again, doubling her efforts when a ring on the left gave another encouraging creak. The metal began to bend.
Though Grace screamed and wrenched, Kallisto held her wrist out and squeezed until blood began to flow. Zoë brought the bowl close and let the crimson droplets splash into it.
Saar enjoyed every second and eased his way into control of Lenina’s body, turning her head so she had no choice but to look.
‘Please, stop it!’ she begged.
Kallisto ignored the outburst and tossed the bleeding wrist away from her before hurrying along the inside of the triangle. Her eyes shone. Every motion buzzed with excited energy.
‘Kallisto, please don’t. Leave them alone. I’ll let him go, I promise, just stop hurting them.’
Jordan shouted when he saw Kallisto coming, swearing and kicking his feet. He kept yelling as she slashed his wrist, though his cries quickly morphed into whimpers of fear and pain.
‘Blood of the brother . . .’
In their silent ring, the watching god-touched finally seemed to take interest. Many of them leaned forward. Some whispered amongst themselves, but every single one of them was blank eyed and watching intently. From Hahn, to Yameen, to Bomani on the near side, even the figure at the nearest point of the triangle with the low black hood.
‘Blood of the father,’ Kallisto continued.
A sharp gasp from Shawn.
Lenina squeezed her eyes shut. Her stomach was leaden, her head, fuzzy. Loud drumming filled her ears, three different beats each fighting to be heard above the others.
Kallisto returned to the centre, both hands wrapped about the stone bowl. Deep, red blood shimmered within it, thick and warm. The scent rising off the surface brought on a fierce rush of hunger. Lenina’s throat became abruptly dry and sore. Teasing mouthfuls from Zoë seemed nothing compared to the heavenly scent from that bowl.
The smug, knowing arch to Kallisto’s eyebrows told Lenina she was enjoying her predicament. With the bowl held in one hand, she used the knife to stir the mingled blood in slow circles, clockwise, then anti clockwise. ‘Blood of the mother, the brother, the father. Blood of our father mixed in as one. Set, we offer this blood to you and ask for one last blessing. Bring back our father. Bring back the man who proved himself worthy of your gift when no other could. Bring back Saar , son of Yafeu, and place him in this Vessel.’
Kallisto used the bloodied point of the dagger to scratch a crooked fang across Lenina’s chest.
She hissed and struggled, but the chains held fast. ‘Please . . .’
When done, Kallisto tucked the weapon into the waist of her shendyt and raised the bowl to Lenina’s lips. ‘Offer Set your tribute, Lenina.’
She pressed her lips shut.
Pinned to the ground, surrounded by enemies, Lenina heard her brother sobbing, calling for his mother over and over. Grace made no sound. Her injured arm hung limp over the side of the altar while her eyes stared out at nothing. Only the gentle motion of her chest and the occasional slow blink gave any hint she was alive at all.
Kallisto ground her teeth. ‘You will make this tribute, or I will kill your family one by one. Their deaths will last hours. Then my Soldiers will pin you down and I shall pour this blood down your throat. Drink.’
The blood touched her lips. Still warm. The coppery smell wafted up, hit her nostrils and despite herself, Lenina began to salivate. So good, like all the sweet treats of the world rolled together and left in one place. She wanted it. So much. ‘Please . . . I can’t.’
Kallisto clicked her fingers.
From beyond the third altar Zoë loomed into view. She tucked one hand beneath Shawn’s left elbow and slammed her fist into his forearm. The crack of shattering bone reached Lenina even over the sound of his screams. As she opened her mouth to cry out, Kallisto tipped the bowl against her lips.
Blood washed in.
Chapter Twenty
The mix of blood went down as smooth as milk and honey.
Lenina found herself smacking her lips and leaning after the bowl for another taste. When Kallisto pulled it away, a disappointed whine left her lips.
The smaller god-touched smiled and stepped back. ‘It is done. The tribute is given. I ask now that Set accepts this gift and channel it into his chosen soldier.’ With that, she stepped away, out of the triangle of altars and to a space she forced in the middle of the ragged circle. She dropped to one knee. Placed her right hand over her heart. The left she thrust above her head, a fist with the wrist turned up and pointed towards the sky. The blood stained bowl she left on the grass.
The others, after a pause, joined her in the strange salute.
In her mind’s eye Lenina saw others performing a similar salute, kneeling before her on a grassy plain. Some wore armour, many did not, but all gazed at her with a mixture of awe and blind devotion shining in their eyes. At her side stood a dark haired man of middling height, wearing a stiff military uniform of blue and white.
He spoke, a soft flutter of French, and in the midsts of that memory
, Lenina knew who he was.
Before the name could leave her lips, Saar returned.
He did it gently, taking his time over filling her body as though he knew there was no escape. He chuckled and flooded one arm, then the other. Then her legs.
He heaved, snapping the chains attached to her wrists as though they were matchsticks. A sharp kick shattered the links binding her ankles.
Free, at last, yet more trapped than ever before.
She’d failed. All the fighting, all the loss, for nothing. A great chasm opened within her, a yawning void into which her hope slowly slipped. Nick had died for nothing. Her father, for nothing. Jordan and her mother lay close by, soon to die without ever understanding why.
Hot tears trickled down Lenina’s cheeks. She gazed helplessly at her family. At Shawn.
The cage in her mind melted like ice under summer sun. Saar sauntered through and filled her utterly, pressing down on her senses until suffocation seemed inevitable. His pleasure was vast, his satisfaction deep.
Lenina’s consciousness slipped further and further back until even the sensation of cool metal about her wrists and ankles seemed distant.
Saar growled.
Her mind.
She started. Her heart quickened.
Kallisto lifted her head. ‘Father? Is it you?’
‘No, still me.’
Kallisto’s eyes widened with fury. ‘No—’
‘He’s there, I feel him.’ Lenina strained to lift her hands but Saar’s grip held. ‘He’s stuck.’
‘It can’t be—I did everything as I should.’ Kallisto marched back into the altar triangle and grasped Lenina’s chin in one slender hand. ‘It is you,’ she murmured, after staring deep into her eyes. ‘But he’s there. I feel him in the air. My father is nearer than he has been for 200 years and you are still in my way.’ She slapped Lenina then stepped back, wringing her hands.
Saar gave a low growl.
Bomani shook her head. Her snort of disgust carried over the low murmur of confused voices. ‘You disappoint me, Kallisto.’
Walking The Razor's Edge Page 16