“Well, maybe Lilith just likes them better,” Wren said.
“Or she trusts them less,” Asha said. “Maybe she keeps them close to keep them under control.”
At the next intersection, the trail of destruction, injuries, and shocked onlookers grew thin and Asha stood in the middle of the road with animals and people and machines jostling past her on every side as she looked and listened for her quarry.
Her dragon ear murmured with a thousand soul-sounds. Men and women, noisy children, tired and angry animals, and even the tall palm trees in the parks and the untended lots behind the older buildings. If she could hear the twinned soul of an immortal, or a hybrid creature, Asha couldn’t tell it from the noise of the crowd.
And then she heard the crash of glass shattering. It wasn’t the single sharp sound of a goblet hitting the ground. It was the ongoing screech and clatter of an enormous window, or a whole building of windows, all falling to the ground in a great flood of breaking, cracking, bursting, tinkling, and crunching.
“That way!” Gideon pointed and they all ran out of the intersection, shoving people and zebras and camels aside as they raced toward the shattering sounds, toward the looming façade of an ancient Mazdan Temple.
The building dominated the street, from its high walls capped in ornate geometric, angular ironworks to the soaring, slender white towers in each corner of the grounds, to the enormous golden dome of the central temple itself. Everything about the place was huge, and even though time had faded the paint and chipped away at the gold leaf and cracked the walls, the inner gardens were immaculately maintained and the walkways were carefully swept, and the brightly colored flags flapped smartly in the cool breeze.
But as Asha entered the gates and looked up at the temple, she saw the gaping holes of the windows, most with a few sharp teeth of glass still clinging to the edges of the frames. A window exploded outward on her left as a chair flew out through it, spraying the glass shards across the garden. Then the armored body of a soldier burst from a window on the right, high above the ground, and collapsed into splinters when it struck the earth below.
“I think this is the place,” Wren said.
Bastet emerged from a cloud of aether just in front of them, her hands up to stop them from going in, and she said, “It’s Isis. She’s completely out of control. I tried to talk to her, but…”
“I know. It’s all right,” Asha said. “We’ll handle it from here.”
“Please don’t hurt her!” Bastet grabbed Asha’s hand. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. This isn’t her. Please!”
Asha knelt down and pushed a lock of the girl’s black hair behind her ear. “I will do everything I can to save your aunt. I know this isn’t her fault. I know she’s a victim too. But you must understand that I may have to hurt her in order to stop her.”
“I know.” Bastet swallowed and nodded. “Go. Hurry.”
Asha led Gideon and Wren down the path to the front doors of the temple as another chair crashed through a window on the far side of the building.
“And Gideon!” Bastet called from the gates. “Please be careful!”
“I will!” the soldier called back with a grin. But when he turned back to Asha he wasn’t grinning. He looked at her with an ashen, resigned expression, and he said, “If we can’t save her, I’ll do it. I already killed Set. It’s better if the burden is mine to bear, all of it. They’re my family too, in a way.”
Asha opened the doors. “No one else is dying today.” And she went inside.
The temple floor was a tile mosaic, bordered in geometric patterns of repeating and interlocking squares and triangles that flowed elegantly around the room, and around the base of the pillars, and across the center of the floor. The tiles shone with candlelight, illuminating the bright whites and dark golds, and bloody reds and vibrant greens, making the floor come alive in the evening shadows. But scattered over that floor were hundreds of long wooden splinters and torn carpets and the sharp, bright pebbled remains of the shattered windows.
Asha slipped her bag off her shoulder and set it down just inside the door, and then moved deeper into the temple. She could hear Isis huffing, snorting, and moaning softly. Hoofs clomped and clattered on the tiled floor. And every few moments something wooden scraped across the floor, or cracked under some great weight, or smashed through a window.
Gideon moved gracefully into the inner prayer chamber, the vast hall that made up most of the temple beneath its great dome, and he crept softly in a sideways fashion, his hands held low so that he might release his seireiken at a moment’s notice. Wren tiptoed along behind him, her arms crossed over her belly to hold her jangling silver bracelets silent.
Asha strode past them both, her sandals slapping loudly on the tiles, and grinding sharply on the broken glass. “Isis! Come out here! Isis!”
She saw the look of surprise on Gideon’s face, but said nothing to him.
A deep bellowing cry answered her from the back of the temple, and Isis stepped out from behind a marble pillar into the light of the candles. The immortal’s hoofs stomped like stone weights slamming into a muddy field, and her bovine legs pumped and moved like steam-driven pistons on a Mazigh engine, but above the waist she was a woman. Still soft flesh, still a slender waist and arms and neck. There was something smooth and willowy about her human body compared to the unnatural stampeding power of her transformed legs. Her stained and ripped dress still covered her from the shoulders to below her knees, though it was torn from the waist down to let her monstrous legs move about freely.
“Isis?” Asha stood in the center of the huge, echoing chamber, surrounded by debris, holding out her empty hands. “Can you understand me? My name is Asha. I’m a friend. I’m a healer. I’ve come to help you. Can you understand me, Isis?”
The immortal woman grimaced and stomped a bit farther around the pillar, and kicked a half-broken chair across the room into a brazier of several dozen candles, knocking them to the floor and dousing half of them. Isis placed her hand on the pillar, and moaned. Her face was half hidden by her stringy black hair, which fell neatly to her jaw line in dirty locks, and her white pupil-less eyes stared out through those locks at Asha. Atop her head rose the horns, two great curving steer horns raised like deadly dancers, petrified back to back, waiting for some otherworldly music to bring them to life.
“Isis?” Asha took a few steps toward her. “Isis, I know you’re tired. I know you’re in pain. I can see it. I can hear it. Look at me, I’m like you.” She pulled the hair back to reveal her right ear, the ear that burned with the dragon’s venom, the ear covered in golden scales.
Isis said nothing. Slowly, she moved to place her back against the pillar and she reached up with both hands to touch the curving marble, tilting her face up toward the high golden dome of the temple, her horns tapping gently on the pillar behind her.
“What do you see, Isis?” Asha glanced up. “The ceiling, the sky? Tell me what you need, if you can. I want to help you and your son. I’m going to heal you and free you from Lilith.”
Hearing that name, Isis snapped her eyes down to glare at Asha, and the steer-woman screamed a deep bellowing scream as though a thousand mother beasts were all crying out together for their lost children, screaming in pain and rage. Isis crouched upon her massive hoofed legs, and she leapt at Asha.
In the brief span of time between when Isis jumped and when she reached Asha, the healer raised her hands and thought of all the innocent children, all the families, all the young lovers who might die that night if this creature escaped into the city again. Her arms tightened and burned as her skin swelled and hardened into golden scales, transforming her into pillar of bronze in the center of the temple. Isis came crashing down upon her, and Asha grabbed the dark iron hoofs out of the air and slammed the woman down to the floor.
“Stay down, Isis!”
But the immortal kicked and flailed her powerful legs, and shot free of Asha’s grip, sending her hurtling a
cross the floor and into the base of a pillar. Asha fell back in the opposite direction, though she hardly felt the fall through her dragon armor. She scrambled back to her feet and dashed toward the fallen Isis, hoping to tackle her and hold her down before she could rise again.
A blast of cold air struck Asha in the side and sent her stumbling across the room, but she kept her footing and turned to see Wren striding out into the grand prayer chamber. The pale northern girl with her flaming red hair held both of her arms out, one hand pointed at Asha and the other pointed at Isis.
“I have her,” Wren said. She moved her hand away from Asha to point it at Isis as well. Her silver bracelets were shivering and singing on her wrists, and the white aether mist was flowing up from the floor over her body and then racing down her arms like a rushing waterfall, blasting Isis against the base of the pillar.
Asha moved back to the center of the room to stand near Wren and watch her bend the endless aether currents to her will.
This is girl is like no other in all the world. There’s no end to what she might do with this power. And she’s still so young. In time, who know what she’ll learn to do?
“What now, Wren?” Asha asked quietly.
Isis kicked and roared, struggling to kick and claw her way out of the aether tide, but the mist held her firmly in place.
“I don’t know,” Wren said. “I can’t tell where the sun-steel needles are inside her, and I can’t do anything about Lilith’s hold over her. All I can do is hold her still.”
“For how long?”
“A while.” Wren smiled a little. “I can do this sort of thing for a long time, if there’s enough aether. And it’s only going to get colder for the next few hours, so the aether will grow thicker and rise from the earth more easily. What should I do with her?”
Asha frowned and looked at Gideon.
The soldier paced slowly toward them, his gauntlet swinging forgotten at his side, and he shrugged as he said, “We’ll need to lock her up until we can find a way to undo this, and restore her. But, well, just look at the floor.”
Asha looked down and in the meager light of the remaining candles, she looked over the broken and shattered remains of the furniture, and under them, she saw the shallow but wide craters where Isis had stomped her hoofs on the ancient tile and stone floor.
“I have no idea what sort of prison we’ll need to hold someone as strong as her,” Gideon said.
“A normal one will do,” Asha replied. “Just as soon as I sedate her.”
She walked back toward the door of the temple and felt her scales melting away, leaving her feeling a bit colder and thinner and smaller. To the side of the door she found her medicine bag in the shadows and brought it back to the others. Then she swept a space clean on the floor and sat down.
“What are you doing?” Wren asked, her arms still held out straight in front of her, her bracelets still humming and singing quietly to each other.
“Making a sedative.” Asha glanced over at the struggling creature trapped in the aether flood. “A very strong sedative. Gideon, I could use some light.”
The soldier came and sat beside her, unlocked his seireiken, and slid a fraction of the blade out of the gauntlet, letting its piercing white light illuminate Asha’s supplies.
Then she began taking out her paper envelopes, copper tubes, and clay jars filled with seeds, leaves, bark, and dried animal glands and she arranged them neatly in front of her. She took out her mortar and pestle, and a clean bowl, and a clean needle, and she set to work.
“What is all that?” Wren asked, glancing down out of the corner of her eye.
“This is…” Asha smiled sadly. “This is me. Asha, without the dragon. A little bag of old seeds and leaves.” She began measuring out her ingredients and tapping them lightly into the mortar, and then set to grinding them down together into a powder.
“I used to study herbs, too,” Wren said. “Gudrun taught me when I was younger. And my friend Katja too. But since I left home, I’ve just been studying aether-craft. I really don’t know much about southern plants.”
“If you want to learn, I could teach you.” Asha frowned down at her working hands.
Why did I say that?
“I would, some day. Thank you,” Wren said. “Who was your teacher?”
Asha pressed her lips together tightly for a moment. “Just some people in Ming. Have you been to Ming?”
“I’ve never even heard of Ming,” Wren said. “Is it a nice place?”
“It’s a place.” Asha tapped a few clinging motes of powder from her pestle and set it aside. She uncorked one of her copper tubes and poured out its contents into the mortar.
“Water?” Wren asked.
“Oil,” Asha said. “Eel oil. It’s good for carrying powders into the bloodstream.” She dipped her steel needle in the mixture and held it up. A thick bead of dark reddish amber gleamed on the needle. “See?”
“But you can’t get close to use it,” Wren said, nodding at Isis. “If I stop the aether, she’ll get up, but if I don’t stop, you can’t go over there. Sorry.”
“No, that’s all right,” Asha said, as she studied the sedative curing on her needle. “I don’t need to get close. In fact, I’ve had to do this before.”
“Do what?” Gideon asked.
Asha snapped her wrist and the needle flew across the room, striking Isis squarely in the chest. The immortal moaned softly, but her feet continued to kick feebly at the floor. Asha reached for a second needle and dipped it in her mortar.
“How did you do that?” Gideon stared at Isis. “I mean, that wind should have thrown the needle aside, unless you have some secret… dragon aiming… skill thing.”
“Aether can’t affect solid objects,” Asha and Wren said in unison, and they gave each other a sudden glance.
“Aether can only affect a soul,” Wren said slowly, a curious smile tickling her cheek. “So I can move living creatures, or even ghosts, but not regular objects. I can’t even move sun-steel, even though it drinks aether like a berserker drinks mead.”
“Oh.” Gideon gave her a curious look, and shrugged.
“Now then. Time to sleep.” Asha checked her second needle, and then flung it across the room where it struck Isis in the belly. The immortal woman kicked wearily one last time and slumped to the floor.
Wren lowered her arms and the aether tide vanished as a few last wisps of vapor faded back into the ground. She rubbed her shoulders and blew out a long, loud sigh. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? What’s next?”
Asha began packing up her supplies and looked at Gideon. “We’ll need someplace safe to keep Isis. Then we’ll get some sleep, and in the morning, we’ll go looking for the others.”
Chapter 15
Panic
Anubis walked slowly down the dark and deserted streets of Alexandria, listening to the familiar sounds of the ancient city cleaning up after supper, laughing over coffee, and preparing for bed. Here and there he found men smoking in the street and chatting quietly, or he passed some lone fellow still trudging home after a very long day, but mostly, he was alone.
This quarter of the city is quiet. Either the immortals aren’t here, or they’re still hiding, and waiting. Perhaps they’re even sleeping. I wonder if they dream.
The youth walked on, his slender staff marking every other stride on the dusty pavement, the rings at the top of his staff clinking softly as the pole struck the ground. As the hour grew later, he met fewer faces in the street, and the lights in the houses grew dimmer and farther apart, until he was left in pale, naked moonlight under a small date palm in a small park surrounded by homes full of families. The park was one of his familiar haunts where he and Bastet would watch the children play, and occasionally pull them out of the path of a huge sivathera or a rushing steam carriage when the little ones wandered into the road.
Maybe they already found a way back into the undercity. Maybe they doubled back to the fountain. Maybe we should ha
ve left someone there to…
He turned sharply and listened. Something was shrieking. Someone was shouting. And the two sounds were coming from the same voice.
Horus.
The falcon-cries of the transformed immortal echoed across the sleeping city, and a moment later Anubis heard other sounds. The crackling of falling stone and masonry. The sharp booms of rifles firing. And the screams of people. Lots of people.
With a weary grimace, Anubis took the black jackal’s mask from his belt and placed it over his face, and then he cracked his staff on the street and burst into a living cloud of aether. He traveled the aetheric currents, stronger and faster than any wind, and when he heard the cries raging all around him, he snapped back into the real world, stepping lightly from nowhere into the middle of a living hell.
It was another neighborhood, just like the one he had left a moment ago, but here there were streetlamps lying in the road, their spilled oil burning in bright puddles of fire. The corners of houses had been smashed and crushed, and chunks of broken bricks lay on the ground, leaving the damaged homes to continue cracking and crumbling around their wounds.
And the people.
The people were pouring out of their houses, shouting and crying, and all running up the lane in the same direction, all looking over their shoulders in terror as they clutched their children or other bundles of precious things. A handful of soldiers were grabbing the people and rushing them away, pushing them and shouting at them. Anubis turned to see what they were all fleeing from.
Horus stood in the middle of the street, a massive and powerful figure, his muscular arms and legs painted gold by the roaring fires in the street. He held above his feathered head another of the broken streetlamps clutched in his scaled talon-hands, and he opened his beaked mouth to shriek at the stars.
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