Stygian

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Likewise, over the last year while he’d lived here, Sheba and her warriors had led small raiding parties against human caravans and small groups of human travelers—which was why he hadn’t protested the loss of Xyn’s armor overly much. He hadn’t really needed it to fight against their lesser skill.

  But this wasn’t a raiding party.

  It was an army. Heavily armed and well trained. Their golden armor shone like the sun in Apollymi’s pool all those years ago. It was near to blinding and was marked by a sun emblem. And they were cutting through Sheba’s warriors with a bitter ease that left him gaping.

  Until he saw his sister-in-law, whom Sheba had made her commander—she was under attack and about to go down. Too late, Urian remembered himself. His powers. Roaring, he summoned the strength of his grandfather Apollo and shot out an invisible sonic blast toward them.

  It knocked down the first wave of humans and gave Sheba’s warriors time to pull back and regroup. He caught his wife about her waist. “We need to retreat.”

  Her eyes flared indignantly. “Retreating is for cowards!”

  “Sheba! Open your eyes. We’re outnumbered twenty to one. Half your people are already dead.”

  “Never! I will not—” Her words were cut short as an arrow went through her throat.

  Stunned, Urian couldn’t move for a second as she gurgled on her own blood. Then as Urian went to shield her, two arrows penetrated his armor and sank into his chest.

  “Cut their heads off!” the humans cried. “Burn the demons’ bodies! Make sure nothing remains!”

  Another human was shouting to the soldiers. “Find the kids! Whatever you do! Hunt down all children! Round them up!”

  Tears of pain blinded him as more arrows rained down so thick, he could barely see the walls of their home. He didn’t even know where the archers were. All around, their people fell with screams and cries. Some with whimpers. He held on to Sheba and tried to summon his powers, but he was in too much pain.

  The best he could manage was to open a portal. If he could get them to Kalosis, his father could help them.

  But he was too weak even for that.

  The blue shimmering doorway began to fade as soon as he opened it.

  “Baba!” Urian gasped, trying to crawl toward it. If he could just make it to that …

  It vanished.

  Ni! He felt Sheba’s hand in his hair. Turning his head, he met her gaze.

  Blood trickled from the corners of her lips as she tried to smile. “My Uri,” she breathed. “So fair.” Then the light went out of her eyes.

  Two more arrows landed in his back and three in her body. She didn’t react at all.

  His soul screamed out in agony that she was dead.

  Furious and aching, he shouted and pulled her closer so that he could shield her. It made no sense and he knew that. She was already gone. Yet he didn’t want her hurt any worse than she already was. His Sheba was a vain woman. She would never want her beauty scarred, even in death.

  I failed her.

  Worse, he’d failed her people.

  At least I got my children to safety. He could die in peace knowing they were safe. Thank the gods he’d let them go when he had.

  And his brothers.

  He heard the humans running toward them. Stabbing and slicing as they came. Beheading any body that was lying on the ground to make sure they were all dead.

  “Over there! Get those!”

  Urian reached for his dagger, but his numb fingers were too weak to grasp the hilt.

  He felt the human grab his hair and lift his head to cut his throat. And there was nothing he could do to stop them. Nothing. He was too weak and numb to even protest.

  Suddenly, a light flashed in the hallway, blinding them. With it came a loud, fierce shriek that cut through the stone like thunder. It broke loose pieces of their masonry, bringing down sections of the wall.

  The humans ran for cover as a huge red dragon burst through the portal.

  Urian fell forward into a pool of his own blood as he felt his father stepping past him to let loose a blast of dragon’s breath upon them. Their enemies ran, screaming. More Daimons rushed through the portal to pursue them while his father transformed into his human body so that he could rush to Urian’s side.

  “What have you done, pido?”

  Urian blinked up at his father. “I failed her, Baba. I failed you.”

  A single tear fell down his father’s cheek. “Nay, child. You stay with me and you haven’t failed me. You hear that? You’ll only fail me if you die.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Trates! Get Bethsheba and bring her body to Kalosis.” Then he picked Urian up and cradled him in his arms the way he’d done when Urian was a boy and he used to fall asleep in his father’s lap while he told him stories of the world before they’d been banished from daylight.

  Urian hated how much it comforted him to be coddled again. He was a grown man. Far too old for something like this. And yet … he wanted his father.

  More than that, he wanted his mother. For the pain in his heart was so great that he feared it would make it explode. In truth, he wished he were dead. That would be easier than living with the guilt of what had happened tonight.

  Knowing that he’d stood right there when Sheba had died and done nothing to protect her. Nothing to stop them from harming her. Why hadn’t he seen or heard the arrow in time to stop it? Why?

  Dear gods … how would he ever get that sight of her death out of his mind?

  How?

  Urian didn’t realize he was sobbing until his father had him back in Kalosis and they entered his father’s palace where Paris and Davyn were waiting.

  “Holy Apollymi, what happened?”

  His father didn’t answer Paris’s question. “I need you to go to Apollymi and tell her Urian’s near death. Beg her for assistance. Davyn, help me ready a bed for him.”

  He rushed to assist them.

  Without a word, Paris did as he was ordered.

  By the time they reached the bedroom, Urian was barely conscious. But he was still awake enough to know that this wasn’t over. “How will I live with this, Solren?”

  “The way we all live with tragedy and injustice, m’gios. One breath at a time until the day comes when you wake up and realize that the sick lump in your stomach has finally dissolved.”

  Urian winced at those words, which left him no comfort. “How long will that take?”

  His father paused. “I don’t know, Uri. I’ve been choking on mine since the hour I was born.”

  June 28, 9506 BC

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Urian swallowed hard at his father’s words. “She’s my wife, Solren. I owe her this honor.”

  Yet as he moved forward to light the pyre where Sheba’s washed and shrouded body had been placed and her eyes covered with coins, he stumbled. Paris and his father caught him.

  Grateful, Urian didn’t argue as they assisted him toward the tall structure that Apollymi had used her powers to build in the center courtyard, where the damned had once been tortured under the iron fist of the Atlantean god Misos.

  And perhaps they still were. He certainly felt like it tonight as he climbed up to do his final duty for Sheba. For he was emotionally wrecked. Physically weak. Gutted.

  Too young to be this tired and defeated.

  Tears filled his eyes as he saw the beautiful corpse of a once proud queen. Dressed in her white orichalcum armor, she appeared to be at peace finally.

  Dressed in white to honor and mourn her, Urian kissed the mavyllo—Apollymi’s sacred black rose—and placed it in Sheba’s hands, which held her sword. “You were ever a great and mighty warrior. A beautiful lady and an inspiration to us all. I shall miss your company every day I live without it.”

  With those words spoken, he climbed down. Then he and Paris and his wife’s two remaining bodyguards shot lit arrows up to set fire to her perch. Silent tears of guilt and anger fell as he watched the hungry flames take

root and spread over the structure.

  His father clapped him on the back and pulled him close. “We shall avenge her.”

  How? Rumors claimed it was Helios behind the attack. Yet another god out to end them. Which made sense given the armor he’d seen on their attackers.

  The only question was why? Sheba and her people had stayed out of Greek territory for the most part. There’d been no reason for a Greek god to strike against the Marzanni.

  It made no sense.

  Through his own pain, Urian heard his children crying. Pulling away from his father, he went to Geras and knelt by his side. The boy threw himself into Urian’s arms so that he could weep there. Urian closed his eyes and held him.

  “It’s all right, Geramou.”

  “What if they’d killed you, Baba!”

  He kissed the boy’s cheek. “Your baba doesn’t go down easy. It’ll take more than a Greek god to bring me low.”

  Nephele didn’t speak. She merely fisted her hands in his hair and held on to him as if afraid to let go.

  “Goodness, child. Why do you tremble so?”

  Still not a single sound from her.

  Worried about her, Urian let go of Geras so that he could stand and pull her closer. “Neph?”

  Her lips quivered, but she kept them pressed tightly together as she wound her fists in his cloak. Urian held her by his side, assuming she was merely upset like her brother over the fact that he’d been badly injured and that they’d barely escaped the raid.

  No one else spoke until after the fire began to burn low. And not until after the pyre had collapsed. Only then did Apollymi’s Charonte come in to finish the ceremony where Sheba’s remains would be gathered and taken to Apollymi’s sacred garden to be scattered in her orchard.

  The same garden and orchard where Xyn lived.

  He still hadn’t seen her and he was hurt that she hadn’t come for this. In truth, he’d expected her in the crowd. She’d always shown before whenever he needed her.

  Never had she failed him.

  Until today.

  But as he lost count of how many came up to him to share their condolences, she wasn’t among them. And it hurt so badly that it was almost unfathomable. Indeed, he felt gutted. And the faces of the others and their words were lost to his own grief as he mumbled what he hoped was an appropriate response.

  He remembered nothing really. Just the smell of pungent ash that stung his throat and burned his eyes. The hollow ache in his gut. And the deep stinging pain of a friend who couldn’t be bothered to put aside their spiteful words to check on him.

  “Come on, m’gios. You should rest.”

  This time, Urian didn’t protest when his father took him home.

  Paris was the first to ask the insensitive question everyone else had avoided around Urian. “Why didn’t Sheba decay like we do when we die?”

  Theo punched him in the arm. “God, you’re an asshole! Have some brains! Your brother’s in pain and you’d ask him that? Seriously? What is wrong with you?” He grimaced at Urian. “Say the word and I’ll beat his ass.”

  Urian sighed. “It’s okay. Truth is, I don’t know why they don’t. I think it’s because of Koshchei the Deathless. He’s a trickster god. Would make sense that he wants to play havoc with Apollo. That’s my theory anyway.”

  He entered his father’s home and drew up short at the sight of a group of his wife’s guards. A small remnant of those who’d survived their attack. “Small” being the operative word.

  So few had been left. A pathetic number, really.

  They immediately bowed to him.

  Urian frowned. “Why are you here, Kisha?”

  The tallest blonde came forward with a blue-tinted bottle. “We have nowhere else to go, Majesty. They’ve destroyed our home. Annihilated our people. You are still our king. We await your orders.”

  How weird … he hadn’t considered that they would look to him for leadership and guidance. Especially since Sheba had never treated him as anything more than a favored decoration.

  He glanced over to his father. For the first time in a long while, he felt like a child again. Like a lost little boy. A part of him wanted to ask his father what to do, if he should stay or go, but he curbed that petulant child and forced himself to meet his father like an equal.

  Urian knew what to do. Most of all, he knew what Sheba’s people needed.

  “Do I have your permission to bring our survivors here, Solren?”

  His father appeared offended by the question.

  So be it. Urian took the bottle. “We shall find a place to rebuild.”

  “Are you insane?” his father snapped. “Of course you can stay here! I glared at you because I couldn’t believe you thought you had to ask me for something that was a given. You know that you’re always welcomed in my home.”

  Oh. Now he felt even dumber than he had a moment ago. Shaking his head, Urian glanced back to Kisha. “Send for the others and we’ll see them settled.”

  “Thank you, Majesty.” With another bow, she and the others rose and quickly left.

  As soon as they were gone, his brothers and father stepped closer to examine his bottle.

  “What is it?”

  “Did they bring you blood?”

  Urian smiled wistfully at their curiosity as he remembered the first time Sheba had served it to him. “Sort of.” He uncorked it. “It’s blood mead. They also have sanguine wine. And yes, even Apollites can drink this. You’ll like it. Trust me.” He took a drink directly from the bottle, then passed it over to them.

  In the beginning, they were skittish, but once they tasted the wine, they had the same reaction he’d had the first time he’d tried it. Utter delight, followed by gluttony as no Apollite or Daimon had ever known such before. Normally whenever they tried to eat or drink anything other than each other’s blood, their bodies rejected it—courtesy of his grandfather Apollo.

  Food and drink made them violently ill.

  Not this. Somehow, Sheba’s brewers had found a way to mix the right proportions so that their bodies would accept the drink, just as if they’d never been cursed.

  It was wonderful to finally have some form of variety to their diets.

  All of a sudden, they heard a loud commotion outside, punctuated by angry shouting and a lot of threats of bodily harm to anyone who didn’t withdraw immediately. Fury darkened his father’s eyes, but Urian recognized the deep cadence of that unmistakable baritone. “Wait!”

  Urian teleported outside in time to see the massive beast of a warrior about to take the heads off the three Daimons who were dumb enough to confront him because they assumed this belligerent newcomer was a trelos in their midst.

  Not that Urian blamed them. Given his rage and demeanor, it would be a natural assumption.

  But this was no trelos.

  He was something a whole lot deadlier.

  Almost seven feet tall, with golden-blond hair, he made a fierce sight. His muscled shoulders would be wide enough on their own, but covered with armor and war-matted furs, those shoulders promised a crushing blow to anyone who angered this beast of a man. And it was only part of the reason why he’d been termed the Widowmaker.

  Well that, and the two massive double-headed axes strapped to his back that he was not only a master of using, but way too quick to make use of.

  And usually for no other reason than he was mildly perturbed.

  Curling his lips, the Widowmaker headed for the first Daimon who neared him.

  “Ruyn!” Urian shouted. “Halt!”

  He hesitated as if he still wanted a piece of the one who’d annoyed him, then turned slowly to face Urian. “Where’s my sister?”

  Urian flinched at the pain-filled question and hated that he had to be the one to gut the man who loved his sister dearly. Choking on his guilt, he closed the distance between them. “I’m sorry.”

  The agony that haunted those steel-blue eyes was searing. Of all the people in the world, Ruyn had loved Sheba more than anyone. She was all the family he had.

  Throwing his head back, he let loose a thunderous, pain-filled roar.

  One that caused several of their men to rush forward.

  Urian held his hand up to stop them. Then he shook his head. “I should have sent word to you. Again, I’m so sorry.”

  Before he could respond, they were joined by his father, who eyed Ruyn suspiciously. “Who is this?”

  “Sheba’s half brother Ruyn.” Urian had barely spoken those words before Apollymi appeared in her full Destroyer form. Black on black, with her red eyes glowing. Hurricane-force winds swept through the whole of Kalosis, knocking most of them to the ground and sending bodies flying.

  Stryker caught Urian to keep him from being harmed and anchored them to the side of a building with his powers.

  But what stunned and shocked Urian most was a sight he’d never seen before. Faster than anyone could blink, Ruyn manifested a long wooden staff that he planted in the ground at his feet. At the top was a silver hand holding an oblong ball that opened to reveal a large green eye.

  From an indefinable source, a low-pitched cry built to a shrill war cry that drove the goddess back. More than that, it forced all the Charonte with her to their knees. A bright orange light shot out from the center of the eye, in all directions. It glowed as bright as a sun and it caused the Daimons and Apollites to shrink away in total fear.

  Only then did Ruyn lift it over his head so that he could scan them all.

  He turned a slow circle, as if looking through the crowd for someone who might attack him. Once he was satisfied that everyone was quelled, he turned back toward Apollymi.

  She was once again pale and frigid in her appearance.

  “I come in peace, Apollymi.”

  Urian arched a brow at the strange way he pronounced her name. It sounded more like “Apple-me,” instead of their way, “Uh-PAUL-low-may.”

  She sneered at him. “Yet you dare to ground my Charonte? What kind of peace is that?”

  Ruyn offered her a charming grin. “I’m the son of a demon, am I not?”

  Her look turned to ice. “You are indeed. And every bit as worthless and treacherous.”

  His humor died instantly as hatred settled across his face and turned his features to stone. “There is no need to be insulting. You and my father were allies once.”

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