Chimera The Complete Duet

by Joseph Robert Lewis

  Anubis flinched at the high, piercing cry. But then he straightened up and started walking slowly toward his cousin. With a slight nod of his head, Anubis shifted his throat to send his voice out through the aether as well as the air, a trick he had learned ages ago when he played the God of Death for the people of Aegyptus. And so it was with a booming and deified whisper that he called out from behind his mask, “HORUS!”

  The single word shook the street and rattled the windows above them and made countless fleeing people stumble as they turned to see what giant could have possibly spoken with such power. The whisper was everywhere, vibrating the very bones of the earth like a titan’s dying breath.

  The falcon-creature threw down the streetlamp and stared up with his white-in-white eyes at Anubis. A cruel croaking sound ululated in his throat.

  “Horus.” Anubis held out his arms as if to embrace the monster before him, but he stopped walking well short. “You have to stop. I can’t let you hurt these people.”

  Horus hissed.

  “You aren’t yourself,” Anubis said. “And it isn’t your fault. And it isn’t fair. But that doesn’t matter. You have to stop. Or I will have to stop you.”

  Horus dashed forward and slashed down at the grim youth with five gray talons as vicious as daggers, but Anubis loosened his body into the aether, just a bit, and let the talons swipe cleanly through him without leaving a mark, without even knocking him back.

  “You can’t hurt me,” Anubis said quietly. “Can you even understand me?”

  Horus stepped back, flexing and curling his long talons into hideous, beastly fists. And his huge feathered head nodded once.

  Anubis narrowed his eyes. “I thought so. You can hear me, and understand me, but you can’t speak with that beak?”

  Horus shook his head once.

  “A pity. I went to see Father today. Our father. I asked him to help me, to help you.” Anubis paused. “You can see for yourself what his answer was.”

  Horus charged again, slashing left and right with both talons, screeching and hissing, but Anubis simply shifted apart and let the beast stumble about in a small cloud of aether.

  “Is Lilith’s hold over you so strong that you can’t even pause to listen to me for a moment?” Anubis asked from the side of the street.

  Horus glared at him with white-eyed rage.

  “Then come at me.” Anubis backed up closer to the brick wall of the house behind him, a wall already cracked and compromised by the monster’s rampaging earlier. “Strike me down, if you can. Kill me. Come here and kill me!”

  Horus arched his back and screamed his falcon cry at the uncaring stars, and he dashed away up the road in pursuit of the fleeing families through the burning pools of oil and the fallen walls of the houses.

  “No! No!” Anubis started to run after him, and then slipped into the aether, whisking up the street, and planting himself in the middle of the road again between Horus and the people of Alexandria.

  “Horus, stop!” He raised his staff, commanding the handful of souls trapped in the sun-steel rings to bring out their meager light, to set the staff head aglow, hoping to catch his cousin’s eye.

  Horus charged up the street, running light and swift on his bare feet, and when he reached Anubis, he thrust out one clawing talon to grasp the youth by the head, but his talon swept through empty aether and the creature ran on into the night.

  Anubis grimaced.

  I need Gideon’s blade, or Asha’s dragon. But there isn’t time to find them.

  He took a few running steps and slipped back into the aether with a light crack of his staff on the road, but this time instead of rushing ahead of Horus, he swept up into the cold night air above the city. He felt the world spread out around him and below him, opening up from the narrow confines of the city streets to the vast roofless expanse of the sky itself. On countless nights just like this one, he and Bastet had drifted high into the heavens to watch the stars, floating in eternity as aetheric clouds, wondering at the universe and all its hidden mysteries.

  Tonight he did not look up. He looked down at the dark streets and saw the flood of bodies running east along the crooked roads, and he saw the feathery speck driving those bodies onward. Anubis released the aether, letting his flesh become whole once more, and he began to fall.

  He fell with his feet together and legs held straight beneath him, plummeting like a spear hurled down from the moon itself. He raised his staff over his head and looked down once to be certain that his aim was true, and then he looked back up at the sky and closed his eyes.

  The moment of impact was only a moment. A moment of pain and confusion. Anubis lay on the ground and knew that his legs were shattered, and his back was broken, and something was wrong with his chest and head, but he couldn’t move, or look, or speak. The pain and shock and dizzying sense of brokenness lasted for a brief eon as his mind refused to grasp anything, including the passage of time. But then the pain in his legs and back faded and he began breathing, and all the nauseating sensations swirling through his brain vanished.

  He was lying in the street on his side, breathing easily and feeling a bit refreshed from his brief sojourn into death. Anubis blinked and sat up, and found himself in the bottom of a small depression in the center of the street, and at his feet lay Horus. But already, the falcon-beast was twitching and wheezing, with one talon clawing at the ground.

  Anubis stood up.

  How many moments was that worth? How many paces did those people manage to run in the seconds when we were here at death’s threshold?

  He gazed down the road and saw the hundreds of men, women, and children still running into the distance. They were at the edge of the city already, having crossed the neighborhood and passed through the thin strip of old warehouses that stood between Alexandria and the eastern wilderness.

  Horus hissed, and pushed himself up to his feet. Anubis stepped a bit farther back and picked up his staff.

  “Remember, brother,” Anubis said. “I’m immortal too. I can’t fight you, but I can crush you into the earth as many times as needed to save those people. Let them go.”

  Horus screamed, took a half-hearted swipe at the youth’s face, and then took off in pursuit of his prey.

  Anubis sighed. “So be it.”

  For an hour, Horus chased the people of Alexandria out into the grassy fields through groves of date palms, and for an hour Anubis glided up into the sky and fell upon his half-brother, crushing him into the earth and leaving them both broken and stunned. After the third time, Anubis felt his will wavering. The threat of having to fall again, to feel his bones shattering, to feel his organs sliding, to feel all his senses and thoughts set on fire and spinning through a vat of acid as his sun-steel pendant slowly dragged all the bits and pieces of his body back into place… it slowed his steps and stooped his shoulders. But still, he carried on.

  After the fifth time, as Horus ran off into the darkness, Anubis sat in the grass rubbing his chest and massaging his eyes.

  What if I don’t come back one of these times? What if the sun-steel chooses this night to fail me? What if I’m left only half alive, trapped in that broken hell, unable to think, barely able to feel?

  Then Horus screamed, and Anubis rose to his feet, and set out again.

  After the eighth time, Anubis simply lay in the crater, staring dully at the grains of earth and the green stalks of grass right in front of his eyes. A single tear ran down the side of his nose, and his breathing was thin and rapid.

  Horus screamed in the night, and a dozen frightened people screamed back.

  Anubis lay very still, and held his breath.

  Four thousand years of life, and I have become a hail stone.

  He blinked.

  I fall from the sky, and I die, and then awaken to life, rising back into the sky again.

  He closed his mouth and inhaled through his nose.

  Only to fall again, and die. Again and again and again…

  Anu
bis moved his head and looked up at the stars out of the corner of his eye.

  Is this the paradise you’re waiting for, Father?

  He sat up slowly, clutching his head. There was no pain in his bones now, but there was something else in his mind, in his soul. A gnawing fear. A nameless terror. A thing that looked like death, but wasn’t death, because he couldn’t die.

  I am Anubis. I am Death.

  He stood up and clutched his staff in both hands.

  What is death?

  Horus screamed in the distance.

  Anubis exhaled and became one with the aether again, but he did not rise into the star-drenched heavens. He whisked through the grasses and the groves, and over the little hills and the tiny streams in the ditches until he found a group of several dozen people huddled in a copse of sycamores. As he stepped out of the aether, he heard them gasp at his masked face and he raised his hand to quiet them. And in his booming aether-whisper, he said, “Follow me.”

  He led them quietly through a low ditch where their heads could not be seen above the level of the tall grasses, and they followed the winding path of a tiny stream northward until a small wooden bridge appeared before them, spanning the ditch.

  “Take this road back to the city,” he told them. “You’ll be safe now. Go quickly. I will find the others and bring them to you.”

  The people pressed in against him, their faces stained with dust and tears, but he slipped away into the aether, ignoring their words of thanks and praise. He found two more groups hiding in the hills, and he led them north to the road. Once he saw Horus striding in their direction, and Anubis flitted away to the far side of the field and led the monster south, away from the people.

  It took another two hours to find the rest of the stragglers, people hiding in ones and twos in ditches and up trees, some too terrified to follow Anubis on foot, so he took them in his arms and carried them across the fields to the road. And each time Horus came too close, Anubis would slip across to the south and lead his half-brother farther out into the wilderness.

  At last he stood on the little bridge over the ditch, and paused. The last refugee, a young woman with a miraculously sleeping infant in her arms, stood beside him.

  “Thank you,” she was saying. Her arms shook and her wide eyes still stared out across the savanna for some sign of the beast. “You saved me. You saved us all, Lord Anubis.”

  “No one should suffer for the sins of another,” he said softly, not in his terrifying God of Death voice, but in his own small human voice.

  “Please come back with us,” the woman said. “Please, let us honor you for your labors and your mercy, Lord Anubis.”

  At first he didn’t hear her. And then the words penetrated. He focused on her and said, “If you want to honor me, love your child. But do not worship me. Forget you ever saw me.” He stepped off the bridge and started walking through the tall grass.

  The woman called to him, “Why won’t you come back with us? Where are you going?”

  And he said to her, “There is still one person left to save.”

  Anubis inhaled, struck his staff on the earth, and fell into the aether once more and let the currents carry him across the plains to the south until he found a familiar shape and heard a familiar cry, and he emerged back into the real world. Horus stood less than an arm’s length away, a monstrous falcon with nightmare eyes and vicious steel talons and a cruel bronze beak, all hovering over the slender black youth.

  “It’s time, brother,” Anubis said. “It’s time you and I had a talk.”

  Chapter 16

  Torment

  Omar lay on the table, trying to shift his back and shoulders and hips to get comfortable, but the straps and chains kept chafing and digging into his flesh. The room was well-lit with flaming torches set into braziers at regular intervals along the walls, and there was also a warm breeze blowing through the chamber from the stairwells and the hole in the ceiling, although an unpleasant fecal odor sometimes tickled his nostrils. Omar tried again to rest his arms and legs more naturally, but the thick iron shackles bent him at every angle.

  “I’m not entirely comfortable,” he said.

  “So you keep saying,” Lilith replied. She walked over to the table, looking exactly as he remembered her from nearly two thousand years ago. He recalled the night he first saw her as she danced for the prince of Damascus, her arms weaving through the air like serpents, her hips shivering beneath a belt of jangling gold coins, her lovely features half-hidden by a thin golden veil. And unlike Gideon and Nadira, she had remained precisely the same through all the long years. She still wore the elegant flowing silks and the shining trinkets around her neck, and the bright stones in her long black hair. The only thing missing was the veil, and a primitive corner of Omar’s mind considered it a wonderful improvement.

  She was gorgeous, not in the way that a fresh young girl is pretty but in the way that a woman in her prime is beautiful, both soft and strong, powerful yet delicate, caring and cruel, dominating yet inviting, a thousand contradictions and more that he didn’t have the words to express. And two thousand years ago, he hadn’t bothered with many words.

  “Oh, you know how much I like to be the center of attention,” Omar said as he pulled on his chains.

  Back then, he had spent only a single stolen hour with her in a shadowed alcove of the palace. He hadn’t dared to linger, or to return, because the prince of Damascus was not nearly as apathetic or as gullible as a man of his wealth ought to have been. But there had been other meetings, walks in the garden and in the gallery, evenings at the supper table, long rides through the orchards with the prince and his other companions. They were all meetings in which there was more talking than looking, and no touching at all, and he had grown more and more impressed with her as she surprised him over and over again with her knowledge of the world, of politics and science, of art and history, and of the human mind and spirit. Looking back, he often liked to think that she had seduced him a second time, although he doubted whether that was really true. He had wanted to be seduced, and that was cheating.

  “Well, you have my undivided attention now,” Lilith said. She moved around the table, her clothing and jewels a delicate cascade of blue waves and silver flashes, like a school of sharks circling a corpse. “I’m still waiting to hear about Ysland and your pretty little friend with the red hair. I’m told she somehow managed to push all of my lovelies back down into the tunnels, all by herself, with a wave of her hands.” Lilith nodded to the far side of the room where there stood a young woman in a torn brown dress, and from her shoulders hung two sickly white tentacles that gleamed wetly in the torchlight.

  “It’s true,” the woman slurred through her labored breathing. She teetered slightly on her feet as though drunk or on the edge of exhaustion. She held her long serpentine arms away from her body, and whenever one of her tentacles gently brushed her leg, she shivered and looked ill. “She was far away, but she pushed us with the wind.”

  Omar shrugged. “It sounds to me that your lovelies, as you call them, have a bit of a balance problem, if they can be knocked down by the wind. Of course, if this one here is anything to judge by, I’d say they have more than a few problems. Maybe one day you’ll have your technique perfected, but not yet. Not nearly. I wish you’d put them back the way you found them, and let the poor things go.”

  “What are you saying?” Lilith pouted and said in a mockingly childish tone, “There’s nothing wrong with my darlings. They’re each exactly what I created them to be. You didn’t think I would be foolish enough to create some sort of master race of perfect children, did you? Poor old Bashir! You should know better. They’re not meant to be perfect people. Only perfect servants.”

  “Oh, I see.” Omar gave up pulling on the chains and trying to lie comfortably on the shackles. “So that’s what you’ve been doing for the past two thousand years? Designing the perfect handmaiden, with scales and feathers?”

  Lilith’s expressi
on hardened from petulant child to cruel mistress. “For the past two thousand years, I have been doing precisely what you asked me to do. Studying the art of soul-breaking. That was the agreement, the price of my immortality. Or have you forgotten?”

  “Oh no, I haven’t forgotten,” Omar said. “I just wish you had. Nadira and Gideon walked away, you know. You should have as well. There’s nothing to find at the end of these paths. Sun-steel, aether, and soul-breaking. It doesn’t lead to revelations or salvation. Just pain and suffering, and regrets. So many regrets.”

  “No regrets,” Lilith said. “Just look around. I’m a queen here, the mistress of hundreds of lives and fates, a shaper of flesh as well as spirit.”

  “You live in a cave,” he observed. “A very big cave, I’ll grant you, but a cave nonetheless. Why are you down here in the dark? The Aegyptians came down here to escape from public life, and frankly I thought they went about it the wrong way, but it was their choice. But now you’re here too. Underground. In the dark.”

  “Don’t be thick,” she said. “I don’t care about palaces and treasures anymore. I care about my work, something you taught me, as I recall. And this is the ideal place for me to carry on. Plenty of aether, a source of unrefined sun-steel, and an endless supply of live raw materials.” She cast a cruel smile at the young woman with the tentacle-arms.

  “To what end?” Omar closed his eyes and rested his head back on the hard edges of the straps and buckles around his neck. “I mean, what’s the point? In a hundred years, or a thousand, what are you hoping to accomplish with all this? Where is it all going?”

  “I don’t know,” Lilith said. She sat down sideways in a large wooden chair beside him and draped her legs over the arm. “I really don’t. Knowledge for its own sake, I suppose. What is possible? What’s waiting for us? It’s a mystery, and I enjoy mysteries.”

  “Knowledge is all well and good, but using it to torture these people is not at all well or good,” Omar said. “If you can’t learn without hurting people, then you shouldn’t be learning.”