Lilith sighed. “Is there really any difference whether this girl lives fifty years up there or five days down here, with arms or with tentacles? Is there really? She’ll die either way and history will forget she ever existed. At least this way, her life contributes to something larger. To knowledge. To the future.”
Omar rolled his eyes.
Was this really me? Did I put these thoughts in her head and these words in her mouth?
“When I first set out to learn about souls, and to invent immortality, as it were,” Omar said slowly. “I didn’t experiment on people. I didn’t even experiment on animals.”
“No, you experimented on yourself,” Lilith said. “And a noble effort it was, too. Fortunately, you managed to stumble upon exactly what you were looking for before you killed yourself, or devolved into some sort of hairy little beastie.”
Omar sighed. “You’re not listening.”
“I am listening. You’re just not saying anything I haven’t heard before, or thought of before. I’m not stupid, Bashir,” she said. “I’m not blinded by ambition or twisted by my immortal pride, or whatever it is you’re thinking right now.”
“I’m thinking that being physically tortured was less tortuous than listening to you justify torturing others,” he said. “Yes, you’re very clever, and yes, you’ve done remarkable things, and no, I don’t care about any of that. You’re a monster, living in a cave, making monsters.”
She stood up and leaned over him, her lovely face hovering just above his. “You made me first,” she whispered.
“I know,” he whispered back. “And I’m sorry.”
“Well, I’m not.” She pushed away from him and crossed the room to a table covered in mismatched plates and glasses of mostly fresh fruits and breads, and she began to pick and nibble at the stolen feast. “So tell me, old man, when exactly did you have this little change of heart? I know you were still making immortals up in Rus five hundred years ago, so it must have been later than that.”
“Actually,” Omar said, “it was only a few weeks ago. Those two immortals in Rus were… a mistake. A terrible mistake. I found them in Constantia this past winter, and they were, just, well, out of control. Koschei had become a butcher, and Yaga had some sort of breakdown. He just wanted to kill, and she just wanted to die.”
“So what happened to them?”
“I killed Koschei,” Omar said softly. “And Yaga killed herself.”
Lilith sighed. “So you made a mistake. Who hasn’t? We may be immortal, but we are still only human. I make mistakes all the time. It’s called learning. It’s also called science.”
“No, this isn’t science.” Omar stared up at the blank stone ceiling. “This isn’t even philosophy. This is just a handful of people who can’t die, making the world worse instead of better. Hurting people instead of helping people. I never wanted it to turn out this way. I never imagined it would turn out this way. But here we are.”
“I see. And since you’ve had this little crisis of faith, all of a month ago, the rest of us have to pay the price for your guilty conscience?” She paced back toward him with a crust of brown bread in her hand, and she broke off small pieces to nibble one by one. “Is that why you came back to Alexandria? To kill off your little cult of Osiris, and then to kill the immortal Aegyptians, too? Tell me. Were you planning to stab little Bastet in the chest or in the back?”
“Shut up.”
“Oh? So you weren’t planning to kill her? Who exactly were you planning to kill? Me, obviously. What about Gideon and Nadira?”
Omar tried to move his hand to rub his eyes, but the shackles kept his hand up above his head. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want to undo what I’ve done. Yes, I came to dismantle the temple and destroy the sun-steel. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to kill anyone in the process. Yes, I knew it might be necessary, but I still hoped otherwise.”
“And now?” she asked.
“Now?” Omar shrugged. “Now I’m chained to a table, and you have my seireiken, and unless you plan to kill me with it, I expect I’m going to be here for a very long time.”
Lilith glanced over at the sheathed sword leaning in the corner. Then she pranced gracefully over to it and swept it up in her arms and danced back to the table to present it to Omar. “Your sword, sir.”
He sighed.
“Oh, don’t be gloomy.” Lilith took the grip of the seireiken in one hand and the scabbard in the other, and gently slid them apart, revealing a small section of the blade. The charged sun-steel shone with a blinding white light, and tiny crackles of electric energy writhed across its surface. “Pretty.”
She shoved the sword back in and tossed it aside, letting it crash and clatter on the stone floor. “But I don’t want to kill you. I want to talk more.”
“Why Set and Nethys, and the others?” Omar asked. He had only glimpsed them briefly, in quick flashes of torchlight and starlight, as Nethys had carried him upside down, winging through the streets of Alexandria, and then hurling him down into the darkness of the undercity. And then there had been the chaos when the Indian woman showed up, dressed in her golden scales, and he had seen Horus and Isis, with their feathers and horns. “Why do this to them? They’ve never hurt you, have they? And they’re the few people in this world who understand what it means to be immortal. They could have been your friends, your family.”
Lilith shrugged. “I like them better as my servants. More predictable. And more helpful, too. But most of all, they don’t burn out or fall apart. Souls can be slippery things, and striking the perfect stability between the native soul, the invading soul, and the balancing agent can be so difficult sometimes. Using an immortal makes all of that so much easier.”
Omar shook his head slowly. “I’m so sorry, Lilith. I’m sorry for all of it. For you, and for them.” He paused. “What are you using for a balancing agent?”
“What’s this? Now you’re interested in my work?”
“I’m chained to a table with nothing to look at but a gray ceiling and your gorgeous eyes,” he said blandly. “So yes, I’m interested.”
She smiled. “I’ll show you.” She disappeared from his field of view for a few moments, though he could hear her in the next room, moving small metal and glass objects around so that they clinked and clicked softly together. And then she returned and leaned over him, and held up a small golden needle.
“A sun-steel needle?” He peered at it.
So small, so thin. Probably about the same weight as Wren’s ring.
“Exactly.” She rolled the tiny needle between her thumb and finger, letting it catch the light. “The needle draws out the aether from the animal’s blood, along with the soul I want. Careful timing allows me to control exactly how much the soul I take. And then I just insert the needle into the patient.” Lilith reached over and began rolling down his sleeve to expose his forearm. “Very simple, clean, and safe. Nothing left to chance. The placement of the needle and the size of the soul fragment allow me to target and limit the extent of the transformation.”
Omar eyed his bare arm and the needle in her hand. “I’d love to see your notes, if you have them handy. Your journal, perhaps?”
“Notes later. Demonstration first.” She smiled and leaned over him, brushing his lips lightly with her own. She whispered, “I still remember, you know. I remember what it was like to have you inside me, to hold you, to feel your flesh and your excitement inside my body. And now, I’m going to return the gesture.”
Omar’s eyes remained fixed on the needle hovering over his skin. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Oh, but I think it is.” She pinched his arm and slid the needle under his skin.
She did it so quickly and smoothly that there was no pain, only a brief moment of warmth, and then she stepped back to watch him. Omar stared at his arm, feeling the heat building inside his muscles and shaking his bones. A discoloration appeared where she inserted the needle, and it grew quickly, becoming a hard blac
k sheen with flecks of bright blue and green upon it.
“What is that? What did you do?” he asked, trying not to panic. But the fear was already spinning out of control in his belly and chest and it took all of his strength not to scream and beat his arms on the table, and try to shake the needle out of his flesh.
It’s inside me, it’s changing me, and you can’t take one soul out of another soul and I’m going to be a monster like Set and this is how it all ends, because I deserve it, to suffer this way, at the hands of my own creations, to be reduced to an animal, to be a thing, to be a…
“What’s happening?” he asked. His skin was still changing, becoming hard and smooth from his elbow up to his fingertips. The black armor was one continuous shell, with tiny gaps around his wrist and knuckles so he could still move them, somewhat.
“I’m honoring your Aegyptian heritage,” Lilith said. “A fascinating place, Aegyptus. A long history of powerful dynastic kings and warrior queens, the great kandaces of Aegyptus! I wish I could have met them. But there’s also your folklore, your religion. So colorful, so nuanced. Blending stories of family with images of nature.” She gently petted the shining black armor of his transformed arm.
Omar felt his flesh becoming weak and thin inside that armor, barely capable of flexing or twitching. He looked away, staring up at the ceiling, trying to think of anything other than his arm, trying to imagine that he had no right arm at all, never had, and that there was nothing to feel or be afraid of.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“The soul of a scarab,” she said, smiling. “You see? I’ve studied. The scarab beetle is immortal, giving birth to itself from its magic little balls of dung, or something. Well, I didn’t study very hard. Your ancestors had silly beliefs. It’s just a beetle.”
Omar felt his stomach churning like a bowl of cold slush, and he shivered as the first trickles of sweat began to creep down the sides of his face. He wanted to vomit and run and die all at once just to escape the feelings in his own flesh.
Is this what Wren feels? It can’t be. She’s never mentioned anything like this before. Her ears never make her sick. Maybe humans are more compatible with foxes than with beetles. Or maybe… maybe that shred of my soul inside her doesn’t just keep the transformation from spreading. Maybe it helps her to feel stable, to feel normal.
Lucky girl.
“Everything all right?” Lilith asked.
Omar just looked at her, not trusting his voice. He didn’t want to gasp or squeak, or cry, and he could feel his body on the verge of betraying what little dignity he had left.
“You’ll be fine.” She patted his beetle arm, sending sickening vibrations through his shoulder and chest. “I’ll just give you a little time alone to think about your new life here with me, and to think about whether you want to tell me about your little red-haired friend. I’ll be just around the corner, polishing my needles.”
She gave him one last, lingering look filled with a strange muddle of inviting desire and vicious hatred, and then she left.
And Omar turned his head away from her and away from his arm.
Dear Lord, I am sorry for everything I have done, and I will suffer whatever I have to suffer for it. But don’t bring Wren into this. Don’t let me betray her. Don’t make her another victim in this.
Please.
Omar shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, and waited.
Chapter 17
Brothers
Anubis stood beneath the endless sea of stars and listened to the rippling of the savanna grasses in the spring breeze. It was a warm night, one that hinted at the promise of far warmer summer nights in the months to come. The plains were alive with the distant growls of hunting cats and the cries of birds and the creaking of insects. Leopards, grass owls, and locusts sang together, heedless of each other, mindful only of the hunt.
“I’ve known for years, you know,” Anubis said. He turned slowly to look down the grassy slope at the falcon-headed youth. “Maybe I’ve always known that Osiris was my father. But I’ve never spoken of it. And why would I? We’re forever. We’re eternal. What is family to a person who is four thousand years old? Little more than a distant memory of devotion, really. An echo of love. A whisper of shared blood. I don’t know anymore.”
Horus glared up with his blank white eyes and hissed.
“That’s not the point.” Anubis returned his gaze to the heavens. “The point is that long ago, before we were gods, before were immortal, we were just people. My mother wanted a baby, and her husband didn’t, or couldn’t. So she went to her sister’s husband, and she found her heart’s desire in his bed.”
Was it loving? Did they speak of it before hand, or afterwards? Or was it a shameful deed, one done in shadows and silence, and in haste?
Did Isis know what they were doing? Did she suggest the union, or watch it, or even join in that evening’s bliss?
“I understand that part,” Anubis said. “I understand that desire, and that decision. Right or wrong, I understand it. I don’t need to know any more about that night, except that it was my mother’s choice. She wanted me, and that is all that truly matters.”
Horus let out a small noise that was part croak and part shriek, and then he started slowly climbing the steep hillside.
“But then came all the rest. You were raised by our father, Osiris, and I was raised by Set, who must have known or at least suspected that I was not his,” Anubis said. He turned and began walking along the crest of the hill, still gazing up at the stars. “The vicious beatings, the drunken slurs against me and my mother, the senseless damage to our home. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t fear him. I feared the sound of his voice and the sight of his face. I even feared the thought that he might be nearby, standing somewhere close, just out of sight. So I stayed away as much as I dared. I played in the street, and I hid in the alleys, and sometimes I didn’t come home for days. I didn’t even have the courage to stay for my mother’s sake. And I saw what he had done to her, afterwards. There were always signs. But our so-called grandfather never saw the signs, never saw the shadow behind the light. All that he could see were Osiris and Set, two clever men who could help him in his search for answers, his obsession with sun-steel. So he made them both immortal, not because they deserved it but because it was convenient to him. And you and I, and our mothers, and little Bastet were all brought along with them, swept up in the wake of their great deeds like sea foam.”
Horus reached the top of the hill and cried his falcon cry up to the stars. Out in the grasslands, a strange silence stretched across the land as even the locusts fell quiet in fear.
Anubis turned and looked up into the hideous white eyes of his brother. “Does it help? Screaming like that? I can only imagine what you’re thinking and feeling, with your flesh so mangled, with your perceptions distorted, and your will subjugated. I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything to deserve this.”
Horus glared down at him for a moment, and then swung his deadly talons at Anubis’s head. But instead of dissolving into the aether, Anubis raised his staff and caught the talons just before they struck him.
“But then, life is so rarely fair, and we mere humans so rarely get what we deserve.” Anubis slipped into the aether and emerged behind the falcon-man, and cracked him over the head with his staff. When Horus shrieked and spun around, Anubis was already gliding around him through the mist, and he struck the beast in the head again from behind, and again, and again. Horus turned and turned, and screamed and swung his talons, but he was always too slow, and with one last strike Anubis sent him sprawling to his hands and knees with a dark splash of red across the feathers on the back of his skull.
“It wasn’t fair when Set terrorized me and my mother,” Anubis said. “It wasn’t fair when Set was made immortal, despite his crimes. And it wasn’t fair when I had to see you smiling and laughing, and playing and studying with your father. Our father.”
He brought the butt of his staff straig
ht down on Horus’s back and the beast fell flat on his chest.
“This is an old story. A common story. Fate and luck, violence and shame, and hate.” Anubis walked in a slow circle around his wheezing brother. “There is nothing special about this. Fathers and sons, and brothers. It’s common. It should be beneath us. Beneath me. And yet, here we are.”
He kicked Horus in the head.
“Born to the same father, born to sisters more alike than two blades of grass.” Anubis stopped walking and sighed. “But I lived in terror and misery, burning with rage and shame every waking hour of my life. And all the while, you played and laughed and loved right in front of me. Because Osiris married Isis instead of Nethys. And now I have to live with the memory of it, forever. It’s not your fault, Horus. You didn’t do this. I know that. And yet I hate you all the same. I think I hate you more than Set, actually. He was a monster, something dark and foul. It was easy to respect myself even as I hated him, because I knew I was better than him. But you? You were everything I wanted to be. You had everything I wanted to have. And most damning of all, you had no idea what happened to me. You didn’t just live in joy. You lived in innocence. Yes, I think that’s it. That’s what I hate so much about you. Your innocence. You escaped all the pain and darkness of my life by a twist of chance, and you never even knew it, never knew how lucky you were, never felt any gratitude for what you had. Maybe if you had known what my life was like back then, if you had ever felt a moment’s thankfulness for what you had, if you had ever let a shred of that darkness into your heart so you could understand what you really had, then I wouldn’t hate you. But no. You were perfect and pure, and you lived in paradise. And now, four thousand years later, you’re a deformed monster and I still hate you.”
Anubis swung his staff down again, and Horus snatched it out of the air and yanked it out of his hands, throwing Anubis off his feet and sending him tumbling down the hillside. The world spun around and around, earth and sky and earth, and he wrapped his arms around his head and waited for it to stop. When he hit the ground at the bottom of the hill, Anubis stood up slowly, trying to control his breathing and focus on the distant, dark horizon to overcome the whirling vertigo spinning through his brain.
Chimera The Complete Duet Page 39
