In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  Here it was -- her home, and her doom. Manara's heart tripped as she studied the entrance. She was nearly there, nearly to the home she'd spent the last decade seeking, and suddenly she was uncertain. As much as she craved the temple's salvation, as much as she knew it must happen, she feared she wasn't strong enough to finish this fight she'd begun. She wasn't sure she could just walk away from the life she'd found.

  "What's wrong?" Matthew murmured near her ear.

  "I am... frightened," she admitted in a hushed voice, turning to look up at him.

  He squeezed her shoulder with a soft chuckle. "Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. Just proves you're human." He turned her to face him completely, his eyes full of gentle compassion. "You can do this, Manara. I have faith in you."

  Her heart soared at those softly spoken words. No one ever had faith in her before. Even her mother abandoned that as a lost cause. Though she knew she shouldn't let Matthew's words affect her, Manara's heart fluttered at the emotions in his eyes. Drawing a deep breath, she summoned all of the courage she possessed and smiled bravely up at him.

  "All right, Matthew. In we go."

  Matt followed Manara warily as she stepped through the archway and into the dim interior of the temple. Here and there, crumbled pieces of wall let in shafts of moonlight and their breathing misted on the frigid night air. Uneasily, Matt glanced around, feeling as if he'd entered a tomb. Broken pottery and crumbled statuary littered the floors, but little else remained. Any gold or silver the temple once possessed had been stripped away by fortune hunters in the century and a half since Sir Austen Henry Layard began his excavations of the site.

  In a massive enclosure at the building's center, Manara suddenly stopped, her breathing hushed as she excitedly whispered, "Is this not the most beautiful sight you have ever seen?"

  Matt glanced around the room, seeing only heaps of sandstone and marble. Then, as he watched in amazement, the scenery melted and shifted around him and he caught glimpses of a brightly lit hall, resplendent with flashes of gold, silver and precious jewels. Marble pillars and floors flowed into elaborately painted walls and cypress-timbered ceilings. An altar, overflowing with gold, grain and exotic fruits, shone from the room's center, only to disappear into a dark, cold-looking slab as the vision passed.

  "What the hell?"

  Manara laughed, her joy as free as a child's for the first time since he awakened in her tent in Syria. "This is a place of power. It still remembers its glory days before Ashurbanipal released the demon. That means we may yet be in time to save it! Come."

  On light feet, Manara crossed the altar room and knelt behind the altar. She ran her fingers along the underside of the slab until they encountered a hollowed-out hole just large enough for a single human digit. Pressing her finger into the hole, she rotated it a series of turns, and surprise jolted Matt as he heard deep clunking noises emanating from beneath the floor. Then, with a rumble, the altar began to slide forward.

  "How...?" Matt's voice faded in an awed whisper.

  "After his adoption by Ishtar, Sargon had a magnificent palace for his adopted mother erected on the site of his adoption. He was a master of hidden things, and devised a labyrinth beneath the palace to hide Ishtar's golden treasures from the greedy eyes of men. When Sargon died, Ishtar flew into a weeping rage for the son whose body proved more fragile than his soul. She destroyed the palace he built, entombing him at the center of his own labyrinth, where she decreed that only the worthy would be able to seek him out. After the temple was constructed on the site, only the High Priestess of Ishtar was permitted beneath the altar room."

  "Then the demon..."

  "Ashurbanipal's demon lives within the upper world as Urasat's servant and consort. But Ashurbanipal's pact awakened the demon that slumbered beneath the labyrinth as well, and Sargon has known no peace since that night. Legend says that only the pure heart of Ishtar's Poet-Priestess can restore peace to the Warrior-King's heart and rid the halls of evil."

  With that, Manara lowered herself gracefully through the opening in the floor and disappeared into the inky blackness below. The motion ran icy fingers down Matt's spine and he felt bereft, as if she had disappeared forever from his life in that instant. What the blazes did she mean about "the pure heart of Ishtar's Poet-Priestess" being the only way to reach Sargon's heart? Matt's jaw clenched and he scowled darkly. He'd be damned if he would step back now and let some ghost have her. Still scowling, Matt dropped down into the hole as well even as he heard footsteps echo in the emptiness of the altar room.

  The labyrinth was lit with rush torches, which surprised Matt, and felt colder than the grave. Ahead, he could see Manara's shadow, his pistol still gripped in her hand. Swiftly, he dug out a roll of twine from his BDU shirt pocket and tied it to the brass ring just below the trap opening. The last thing he wanted was to get lost in this godforsaken place. Then, following the sound of Manara's hurried footsteps and the flash of her shadow, he started down the narrow passageway. As he went, he had the distinct sensation of eyes on him, and it chilled his soul. He could hear the echo of booted feet dropping from the temple above into the passageway, then the mutter of voices, too indistinct to make out the words. Briefly, he hoped they belonged to his men and not the terrorists. Then, he blocked everything out except Manara's flickering trail. Nothing else mattered, because nothing else would ever matter again if he lost her.

  Before long, Matt found himself in a large chamber full of gilded pillars. At the far end rested a long, gleaming sarcophagus carved of solid alabaster. Looking at it, Matt recalled Manara's tale of Ishtar's adopted son and knew this had to be the tomb of the man Manara called Sargon.

  The woman stood before the sarcophagus with her head bowed as if in supplicant prayer. He could hear her breath trembling in the stillness and knew she was crying. What the hell?

  A snuffling sound, like a large creature lumbering about, startled Matt out of his confusion and snapped his gaze to the left, where a large shadow caught his eye. No, it was a man, he realized with surprise as the shadow lengthened and separated into distinct limbs. He swallowed hard, aware it was no ordinary man, as glowing golden eyes peered from the darkness, intent upon the oblivious form of Manara. Matt's breath halted and his heart heaved in dread as he realized this could only be the demon Manara mentioned. Silently, he closed his hands tighter around his M-16 and eased it up, praying the demon hadn't yet noticed him, and squeezed off a short burst.

  The sound echoed deafeningly in the quiet room as the rounds struck the shadowy figure right between its glowing eyes, sending it flying backward with a howl of surprise. Matt waited tensely for the glowing eyes to reappear. When they didn't after several moments, he breathed a sigh of relief, though he had to admit he was surprised it was so easy. Manara made it sound like the damned thing was indestructible. It appeared, however, that evil and chaos weren't as bulletproof as Manara claimed.

  Matt's next breath froze in his lungs as taloned hands closed around his throat with bone-crushing strength. His feet lifted from the ground and he stared down into the ghastly, disfigured face of Ra'id al-Mawsil. Yet, Matt realized hazily, it wasn't al-Mawsil. It wasn't even a man. Fear froze his heart in that moment as he stared into the face of all humanity's evil.

  "You thought to kill me," the voice that rolled from the creature's lips was deep and quiet, like the rumble of shifting earth, yet echoed in the stillness like a gunshot. "Puny mortal! I shall crush the life from your bones!"

  "No." The voice issuing that simple command was one Matt recognized, but the ring of absolute authority in it was unfamiliar to his ears. Manara stepped bravely forward, her eyes as hard and dark as obsidian as she stared fearlessly into the face of evil. Matt, his lungs bursting with the need to draw air, could only marvel at her courage, and fear for her life. She was beautiful, fearless and compassionate, and he loved her more than life. He struggled uselessly against the demon's grip, intent on saving Manara from her own foolish ploy. She paid him no at
tention whatsoever, her gaze fixed with deadly calm on the demon. "You are the prisoner here, chained by my words and will. You will obey me. Now, release him."

  The demon laughed, the sound grating with the screams of the damned and the creak of the gates of Hell itself.

  "Who are you to command me, little girl? I am the Destroyer of Nations, Conqueror of Worlds, Emissary of Ereshkigal and Hunter of Men. And you," it continued mockingly even as it released one of its thick hands from Matt's neck, "are disturbing me."

  Matt twisted in the demon's grasp, wrenching himself free. Dropping to the ground, he drew gasping breaths, filling his lungs with air, and watched in horror as Manara stood unflinching before the demon's growing wrath.

  "Manara," he croaked in warning and then cried out in horror as the demon's hand flew toward her as if to swat her like an insect. Without thought of his own safety, Matt threw himself toward her, tackling her to the floor just as the demon's hand struck, hitting empty air in their wake.

  "What is this thing?" Matt muttered as he pulled Manara toward the shelter of the pillars at the chamber's far side, while the demon howled in rage.

  "Urasat the Galla. He is a creature of ancient evil. Legend does not even say how old, just that Ereshkigal fashioned him from the barren earth of Arulla to avenge Her, and that he wandered in the deep desert eons before man took his first breath," Manara returned quietly, studying the creature intently. "Apparently, that is not entirely true."

  "No shit. So if this thing's been here for all this time, why does it look like al-Mawsil?"

  "Because he is Ra'id, after a fashion. He is a galla, and as such may take the form of anything he devours. My brother has the bloodline of the temple and he offered himself as Urasat's host. Urasat merged with him, which will permit the demon to leave the labyrinth." Her gaze never wavered from the creature as she spoke. "The only way to keep Urasay from getting loose is to keep distracting him until he can be destroyed."

  "Great." Matt snorted. "More wasted bullets." He brought his gun up. "Oh, well..."

  "No!" Manara hissed, slapping the gun's barrel down with the palm of her hand. "You cannot kill him with weapons of war. Evil begets evil. The people of Nineveh tried to kill Urasat millennia ago, and look what happened to the city."

  "All right, then. What to you propose we--" Gunfire cut off the rest of Matt's question, and his stomach lurched in dread. He recognized the cadence of M-16 automatic fire only too well. Pete and Trevor!

  A low growl echoed in the chamber. Even as Matt leapt from hiding, he knew it was too late. A flash of fiery light illuminated Trevor Watkins' terrified face for a split second before striking him full in the chest, flinging him back into a pillar with earthshaking force. The black man crumpled to the tiled floor, his chest still glowing dully even as Urasat reached to swat Talladay away, sending him sprawling headfirst into a stone wall.

  Rage boiled over in Matt and he flung himself toward the demon with a howl of bloodthirsty revenge. The monster spun, its face contorting in mockery as it lifted one hand toward Matt.

  "Nooooo!" The cry from Manara was followed by the hurtle of a body into the space between Matt and the demon as the world burst into flames.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Matt came around to low sounds of pain and shallow, labored breathing. There was a warm weight draped across half his body and, in a rush, the events prior to his passing out returned. He shouldn't be alive, but in the last instant, Manara took the blast meant for him. Panic clutching his heart, he sat up, shifting Manara's head against his chest, his gaze scanning the darkness for the glowing gold of continuing threat. There was nothing. An eerie feeling trickled along his spine. Where had the demon gone? He refused to accept that it'd just decided to leave them alone. He looked closer at their surroundings and surprise jolted through him. The flames on the torches didn't so much as flicker and the shadows weren't moving. Everything had a surreal quality, as if they'd stepped into an alternate reality, where none of the rules of nature and physics he knew so well applied. Just what the hell was going on around here?

  My heart to make yours whole, my life to give you life. My blood to love and serve your cause.

  The words echoed in his head, an oath of fealty from a time long past. With it came flashing images of a woman draped in rich fabrics and dripping with golden jewelry, kneeling in homage. If only he had a clue what it meant.

  A moan, low and full of pain, snapped his attention back to the present. Manara! His gaze shifted quickly to the woman in his arms, and panic closed off his throat for a long moment as he stared at her too-pale skin and slack features.

  "Manara," he rasped, cradling her close as he stroked her head and face lightly. She was still breathing, thank God, but her shallow, labored breaths were far from reassuring. "Oh, God, Manara. Why did you do it?"

  "Matthew..." Her voice was faint, barely more than an exhaled breath. "Y-you...must..."

  "Shh," he soothed, kissing her brow lightly. "Don't talk, now. Save your strength."

  "You... must... believe..." she managed, groping blindly for his hand. "Promise... me..."

  Turning his hand into hers, he squeezed it gently. "Shh. I promise. Just rest, sweetheart. I promise everything will be okay."

  "No." Manara's entire body shuddered with the force of that single word. Whatever she had to say, she found it extremely important. Afraid she would agitate herself into cardiac arrest in this fragile state, Matt soothed her gently.

  "What is it?" he asked as he studied her dilated eyes. Her respiration grew fainter by the minute, and her pupils were huge. "What's wrong?"

  "You...must..." She shuddered, struggling to draw another breath, "believe... something... beyond... death. Only... way... to... help... me."

  Her body stiffened in his arms and her hand clutched his spasmodically, before she went completely limp, a sigh of surrender breaking from her lips. Matt's heart froze in terror. He heard that sound before.

  "No! Manara!" He shook her, her limp body flopping like a rag doll in his arms. She was still, all color drained from her face, and her chest was no longer moving with the effort of breathing. She looked asleep, but Matt knew better than that.

  Numbness set over him. What had he done? He failed this courageous, innocent woman, that's what. He promised to protect her and failed. Tears, abandoned so long ago, blurred his vision at the thought of never seeing her smile again or hearing her angelic laughter. They overflowed at the thought this was the last time he would hold her in his arms. He wasted so much time on arguments and distrust, and now he regretted every moment of wasted time.

  The clunk of metal against stone reverberated in the stillness as his Beretta slipped from her limp hand. Matt stared at it despondently. He'd killed her, as surely as if he used that damned weapon on her. She took a blast meant for him. His hand shook as he scooped up the cold gun. He should use it, now. Take himself out of the picture.

  His life was worth less than nothing without Manara. He failed his men by not alerting them, but a quick glance showed Peter propped against the wall beside Trevor's inert body. Pete, at least, was alive. Matt could survive the possible failure of a loss, but not Manara's. The thought of living without Manara was one he couldn't take. He'd vowed he would give his life for her, but he sacrificed her for vengeance instead. Then, as he stared down at the weapon, Manara's last words tickled the edge of his memory.

  Believe in something beyond death.

  Matt closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath to steady his thundering heart. There wasn't anything beyond death. At least, he never believed, before.

  His head shook as he fought impressions, the haunting images of a crumbling city and burning skies that plagued his dreams in childhood. When had he lost his ability to dream, to believe? The answer came readily enough. Rachel. Since the day she tore his young life apart, he'd believed death was darkness, oblivion; but he knew Manara still believed in more. She believed in so much he lost all those years ago. She believed in ghost
s and demons, and in the power of dreams. She believed in love even when he ran from the truth.

  Matt swallowed hard, aware of how much he'd changed in the months since he first met Manara's dark eyes across Sidon's busy dock. He loved her, and in loving her, the rules that once kept him alive no longer applied. Staring down into Manara's pale, still features, Matt knew he would, that he could, believe in anything if it brought her back to him.

  Eyes closed tightly, he fought for the faith to restore her, and a long-suppressed memory washed over him.

  He stared out the helo's window at the ocean frothing so far below, enthralled by its movement.

  "Look, Matt," his father lifted one hand from the cyclic, grinning as he pointed toward the swelling waves off to port side. "There's Atlantis."

  "I can't see it. Where is it, huh, Dad?" He strained his five-year-old neck as far as it would go, trying to see the city his mother talked about so often. "Can we land and say hi?"

  "'Fraid not, sport," John Raleigh said cheerfully, reaching out to ruffle Matt's hair. "Atlantis sank a long time ago."

  Matt sank back, disheartened. "Why?"

  "No one knows, but," his father grinned widely, winking, "your mom sure intends to find out."

  Matt gasped, and pain stabbed his heart as the loss he never allowed himself to feel before hit him square in the chest. Reaching out to steady himself as his world tilted, his hand caught the edge of the sarcophagus and vision blotted out memory.

  He awakened to hazy memories of a great battle and a sense of time slipping away from him. Glancing at the young woman sprawled, unbreathing, on the floor, he frowned. His power was broken as long as she remained in the demon's grasp. Her sacrifice restored his ancient memories of Ali-Antos, but only the purity of her heart could restore his power and memory. These millennia of sleep fogged his mind and drained his power. He had beaten Chaos here in this labyrinth, locked it away beneath the ground. But some fool had released it. Now, he must conquer Death as well or he could never conquer Ereshkigal's demon again. This innocent's soul was immortal, but not her body, and the thin tether of her etemmu to her body already slipped away. He had to act quickly, restore her etemmu to her body or she would be lost forever and the world with her.