Shatter War

by Dana Fredsti

“What of it?” Aretitus snapped. “You’ll find that I’m far from the only one—you and your precious bully-boys.”

  The three kept up their mutual threats all the way down the hallway, until they were out of earshot of the council chamber. Orestes watched them depart, a grim look haunting his brow. Once he was satisfied they were well and truly gone, he turned to his councilors.

  “Shall we wager how soon before the city erupts into civil war?” he ventured. “A day? An hour? Or are they rioting even now?” No one responded. It was far too plausible.

  “Prefect,” Hypatia said, “everyone in this room knows that Cyril’s words are not idle. Why do you not arrest him when he feels free to make his threats so blatantly—even in the very prefectural council chamber itself? He is dangerous, Orestes.”

  The prefect shook his head. “My lady, you don’t understand. Cyril is a Christian, like me.”

  “No, Prefect, not like you. There are some three hundred thousand people in this city. You extend justice, peace, and order to all of them, without regard. Bishop Cyril sees only those over whom he has power—all others are either his prospects, or his enemies. He knows that in my school, all are brothers—Christian, Jew, and Pagan alike. He hates that. He hates that I, a woman, am your trusted advisor. He hates mathematics, hates science, hates philosophy. He hates me, and all I stand for.”

  “You are right, of course,” Orestes allowed. “I only mean that I know this faith well, my lady. He is just as dangerous as a prisoner or a martyr. Perhaps more so. The truth is, I cannot stop him. He has the numbers. I no longer have the authority of the empire behind me. I only have the strength of what fighting men remain in our barracks.

  “Still, have courage,” he continued. “Their strength is considerable, and still ours to command. For the moment, let us concentrate on what is within our control. Magistrianos and Lady Hypatia, what report do you bring of this wonder from the heavens?”

  “I presume you were told of the fabulous gems our visitor gifted the emperor,” Calix replied. He gestured to the cavalry officer, who presented the gold tray laden with precious stones. “The palace artisans assure me they are all genuine.”

  Orestes nodded. “A fortnight ago, I should have been greatly impressed. Now I think I would prefer to see bags of grain.” He turned to Hypatia. “Tell me your impression of this János Mehta. Is he a god, or angel, or the Antichrist, or perhaps something else?”

  “His flying craft is truly a marvel, and he does appear to possess remarkable abilities I don’t yet fully understand. However…” She pursed her lips. “For all that, I think he is as mortal as us, and I do not trust him. You see, something else remarkable happened. His slave girl risked her life to warn us against her master. She said we must not trust him, not even let him come near us. Specifically, she urged me to keep him away from you, Prefect.”

  “Away from me?”

  “Indeed. Not even in the same room, she said. She was most emphatic on that point.”

  The councilors looked at one another in alarm.

  Calix frowned. “Sadly, I was not privy to that conversation before I already extended your usual courtesies to him, and invited him to visit you today.”

  Orestes waved his hand. “No matter. It would have been awkward to neglect such an invitation, in any case. What we must do now is decide what our next step will be.”

  One of the councilors stood. “Prefect, this person Mehta will be here in a matter of hours. What then? Will you turn him away, and hope that he takes no offense?”

  “You heard what the Lady Hypatia said, Councilor,” Calix replied. “We cannot risk the prefect.”

  “Then what are we to say to Mehta when he returns?” the councilor persisted. Before the magistrianos could respond, one of the Palace Guard entered and saluted, his face pale.

  “My Lord Prefect, the Phoenix-Ship has returned.”

  “To the hippodrome?”

  “No, my lord. It is outside. On the palace grounds.”

  * * *

  The ship covered nearly all of the palace gardens. Once again it lay poised in midair, perfectly still, suspended in uncanny, implacable silence. The Palace Guard stared at it uncertainly.

  No adoring crowds thronged around the vessel this time. They swarmed on the other side of the high palatial walls, hoping for another glimpse of the divine wonder—or the abomination, depending on which bystander was asked.

  Hypatia and Calix came out of the palace. They stood at a respectful distance, waiting for Mehta to make the next move.

  There were no theatrics this time. A ramp extended down silently as the hatch opened without music or tricks of light. When Mehta stepped out, he had exchanged his elaborate divine Caesar garb for a simple black high-collared uniform of an unfamiliar style, with a slim satchel slung over one shoulder. Striding slowly down the ramp, he stopped a few paces from Hypatia and Calix.

  “I had hoped your prefect would be here to greet me personally,” he said, his voice no longer supernaturally resonant. “Did he change his mind?”

  Now that they were close enough, Hypatia suddenly saw just how unearthly the man’s eyes were, dark violet and yet, strangely scintillating—almost effervescent… A sudden terror struck her. Were they already standing too close to the man? What powers did he have?

  “Our prefect would surely send his regrets, Lord Mehta,” Calix said with a small bow. “Unexpected developments outside the city required his attention, but I am authorized to relay any message you wish to give him.”

  Mehta nodded. “Very good. Please relay this message.” In one smooth motion, he drew a small metal device from his uniform and pointed it at Calix. A thunderous boom and a flash of fire slammed Calix backward with a fine spray of blood. He was dead when he hit the ground, a ragged red hole glistening in his chest.

  Hypatia screamed.

  The nearest guards raised their javelins. They were dead in two blinks of an eye as Mehta blasted them with two more thunderbolts, then aimed the weapon at Hypatia. The rest of the guard froze, as did she. Hypatia stood, horrified, staring into the abyss of his preternatural eyes.

  “Tell your prefect I have also changed my mind,” he said. The ramp retracted, pulling him back inside.

  The massive ship lifted away again.

  29

  The Temple of Sobek-Ra, Shedyet, Egypt

  Seven days after the Event

  Cam shook his head, confused, in pain, and yet pleasantly surprised that he had not been chewed up by a dragon. His right arm was a throbbing, wet red mess, though even as he watched the lines of eye-shaped bite marks were stitched closed by the tiny silver threads of Merlin’s magic.

  He felt around the floor of the pool with his foot until he found his sword and retrieved it.

  “Cam! Are you okay?”

  Looking up, he saw Amber leaning over the edge of the courtyard above. Grinning, he held up his rapidly healing arm, and his enchanted blade.

  “I’m well,” he called. “Is there anyone left to fight?”

  She smiled in relief and shook her head. “I think the croc pretty much took care of things up here.”

  He nodded, and glanced around. The mummified victims were still in their wraps, struggling like butterflies trapped in their cocoons. Cam went over to the nearest. The person flinched at his touch, but relaxed when Cam started cutting away the restraints. He began with the linens on the face, unwrapping the throat and mouth so the prisoner could breathe easier.

  “Merciful Amun-Ra…”

  Cam was surprised to see a live Nubian in the flesh. When his eyes were freed, the black man seemed just as amazed to see pale skin—especially when Cam spoke in flawless ancient Egyptian.

  “Be of good heart,” he said. “I’ll have you free soon.”

  “Are they… all dead?”

  “Dragon and captors alike.”

  “May Ammit the Soul-Eater devour their hearts in the afterlife,” the man said, strength returning to his voice. “I’m in your debt, s
tranger.”

  “It was my honor.”

  “You must tell me your name.”

  “I’m Camtargarus, and she,” he nodded toward upward, “is Amber. We are from beyond the great middle sea.”

  “I am Kha-Hotep of Thebes, captain of the riverboat Star of the Dawn,” the Nubian said. “My vessel was seized, and I and my crew captured.”

  While they spoke, Cam freed the captain’s arms. Together they made short work of the rest. Beneath the wrappings the captain wore only a simple white cotton kilt. He had markings painted on the skin of his chest and arms, now hopelessly smeared. Then both men waded over to help free the other captive, still squirming helplessly while trying to keep from going under the water’s surface.

  “Be still and we will help you,” Cam said. As soon as he and Kha-Hotep laid hands on the figure, however, he began thrashing all over again, and none of their reassurances eased his panic. Cam finally bear-hugged him and Kha-Hotep unwound the bandages from the man’s head… revealing huge, long-lashed brown eyes almost mad with fear. He was a she—a dark-haired, dusky-skinned young woman about the same age as Amber.

  “Daeni ‘adhahb!” she shouted. Kha-Hotep could only look at her in confused dismay, but Cam’s linguistic implants kicked in instantly, translating her Arabic. Let me go! He released his hold and switched to her language, speaking gently.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “We’re rescuing you!”

  Kha-Hotep finished uncovering the young woman’s head. She began to shudder and weep.

  “Alhamdulillah, ar Rahman, ar Rahim!” she cried again and again. All praise and thanks to Allah, the all Merciful, the all Compassionate! As they unpeeled her wrappings she grew more agitated, and covered her breasts. Like the captain she had been scantily-dressed, with no more than a cloth wrap around her hips. She, too, had smeared lines of hieroglyphs painted down her torso.

  Once they had managed to wrest the stubborn tangles of linen clinging to her torso and legs, the shaken woman quickly pulled away and trudged through the water to the stone wall, raising her arms up to Amber.

  “Help me, help me please,” she pleaded in Arabic, her voice quivering. Amber reached down and pulled her up out of the pool. As soon as she was over its stone lip, the young Arab woman grabbed her around the neck and buried her face against Amber’s chest as she sobbed.

  One after another, the two men helped each other out of the pool and then sat on the flagstones, panting, drenched and exhausted from their ordeal, but happy to be alive. Kha-Hotep gave Cam a brief, weary smile and extended his hand. Cam returned a smile of his own and the two clasped forearms.

  * * *

  Amber did her best to calm the girl down. Slowly she grew quieter, until Amber thought she might have fallen asleep. Then the girl stirred again, rising with a deep exhalation of breath. She sat up and sniffled, covering her chest with one arm and self-consciously pulling back the hair from her eyes.

  “I need clothes,” she said quietly in Arabic. Cam looked around for his poncho, cast aside on the flagstones, and brought it to her. Avoiding his eyes, she thanked him and slipped it over her head. Even that little bit of clothing seemed to help ease her anxiety. She took her first real look at her new companions.

  “Are you Americans?” she asked them in English.

  “I am,” Amber replied, startled by the question. “Are you, too? Where are you from? When are you from?”

  “I live here,” the girl said. “I mean, I’m from Cairo. My name’s Leila. Leila Suleiman.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Amber Richardson. I’m from San Diego.”

  “It’s in Atlantis,” Cam added helpfully.

  “What?” Amber laughed. “No, it’s in California. This is Cam, and he’s from—well, he’s from the U.K.” She turned to the Nubian, who looked both puzzled and intrigued by the exchange.

  “And this is Kha-Hotep. He’s Egyptian too.” She switched quickly to ancient Egyptian and made introductions to the captain. He gave Leila a graceful salute and a bow of his head. She nodded shyly, eyes cast down, then turned to Amber again.

  “What language are you two speaking?” she asked. “And what did you mean, ‘when’ am I from?”

  Amber hesitated, wondering how to best explain the Event. As if on cue, Kha-Hotep suddenly turned to Cam.

  “I fear my younger brother and the rest of my crew are lost,” he said, both fear and hope clear in his expression. “But I have to go to see for myself if they are still being held below.”

  “Of course,” Cam replied. “Let me go with you.” They arose, and Cam went over to where Amber’s crossbow lay, returning it to her. “Will you two be alright if we search below?” he asked. Amber raised her weapon and smiled in reply.

  Considering the horrible massacre that had just occurred, the courtyard had far less gore than she would have expected. Thanks to the prehistoric crocodile, there were no bodies, only streaks of blood here and there and a variety of dropped items—broken spear hafts, musical instruments, jackal masks, and a few scattered khopesh sickle-swords.

  Poking through some debris, Cam found a wet bundle and held it up for Amber.

  “Here.”

  “My backpack!” She ran over, delighted. It was covered in reptile drool, and giant teeth had left a rip in one of the straps, but otherwise looked intact. A quick press of a button revealed that her phone could still power up—its waterproof case had done its job. “Omigod, thank you, Cam!” She threw her arms around him in a soggy hug, which he returned with enthusiasm.

  Kha-Hotep picked up one of the fallen swords, then he and Cam went inside the temple while Amber rejoined Leila, still clutching the backpack like a teddy bear. Leila stared at her.

  “Can you tell me what has happened?”

  Amber hesitated. “Well, it might be easier to explain if you tell me how you got here, maybe what happened to you recently.”

  Leila nodded. “I was out driving with three of my cousins—it was late, maybe ten at night, and I’d dozed off in the backseat. They all started shouting, and I woke up, and everything was too bright. Suddenly it was broad daylight and the highway ahead of us had just… disappeared.

  “Yassin slammed on the brakes, but it was already too late. We drove off the edge into a lake that shouldn’t have been there. There was black water all around the car. I saw Yassin and Ramy in the front seat smash into the windshield.” She swallowed heavily. “Neither had their seat belts on. I… I think they both died instantly.

  “My other cousin Heba and I tried to open the doors, but they wouldn’t open, and the car kept sinking deeper. Then the back windshield just exploded, and water came rushing in. I managed to get out through the broken window and swim to the surface. I didn’t see Heba, so I ducked under the water, looking for her, but all I could see were two big red eyes below in the dark and I…” She swallowed again.

  “I swam to shore, hoping maybe Heba had already made it there. But she hadn’t. And then I realized the red eyes I’d seen were just the brake lights of the car. How could I have been so stupid? I was going to swim back out and try to find her, but then I saw… I saw crocodiles, at least half a dozen, all swimming toward where the car had sunk.”

  She gave a great, shuddering sigh.

  “I ran then. I didn’t even know where I was going. I was in a daze… all I could do was keep running, keep following the shoreline. I don’t know how long I stumbled along until I finally passed out. When I woke up, I was locked in a cell, where I was until today when they…” She shook again at the thought of what had almost been her fate.

  “This place,” she finally continued. “All these people dressed up in ancient clothing—I mean, that’s what I thought then—that all of them were just wearing costumes. But it’s not a hoax or a movie set, is it?”

  Amber shook her head.

  “Do you know what’s happened?”

  “Let me ask you one thing before I tell you what I know.” Amber leaned in. “What was the d
ate of your car crash?”

  “It was exactly a week ago today.”

  “But what was the date?”

  “January sixteenth.”

  “And the year?”

  Leila looked at her sharply. “Nineteen ninety-one…”

  “Okay.” Amber gave a long exhale before continuing, “I know this is going to be a lot to take in, but here goes. We call it the Event.”

  * * *

  “…and when it happened, it was as if these murals were broken into pieces,” Cam explained as he and Kha-Hotep proceeded down the subterranean halls, the bas-reliefs on the walls flickering by the light of their commandeered oil lamps.

  “And a new mural created from the fragments of many, old and new alike,” Kha-Hotep added, finishing the thought.

  Cam nodded. “You have it—but the sorcerer warned us that the new mural is in danger of falling apart unless we go to his lair at the ends of the earth, and break the spell there.”

  “An incredible tale, but it explains much,” Kha-Hotep said. “I am at your service, as is my ship, if we can find it again.”

  * * *

  “…and so now we have to go back to the laboratory in Antarctica to stop whatever’s causing the temporal fracturing and turn everything back to normal, before the aftershocks destroy the rest of the timeline.” Amber paused. “I know it sounds totally insane.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Leila said. “So you’re not even born yet?”

  * * *

  The two men found Kha-Hotep’s belongings in a small storeroom attached to the embalming chamber—and the necklace that had belonged to his brother, Enkati.

  “Our father gave it to him,” Kha-Hotep said softly.

  They went through the rest of the temple’s lower level, scouring the cells in search of survivors. All were empty. Kha-Hotep became increasingly taciturn, and Cam honored his silence. He knew how the man felt, having lost his best friend—a friend as close as a brother—right before the Event. There was nothing more to be said about the captain’s lost brother and crew. Idle talk and careless words would only sting like buzzing flies in his ears, and burn like salt on a wound.