A wall of white feathers crashed down into the ruined house, flapping and beating on the cracked stones and raising a storm of gray dust. Asha covered her mouth and nose with one arm while clawing her way to the side of the room with the other. The huge wings smacked her in the back and arms several times, but never hard enough to knock her off her feet, and she huddled against the wall, squinting through the swirling clouds of dust. But the wings kept beating the broken room with powerful strokes, and the dust didn’t settle and the feathers kept their owner hidden from view.
“Nethys!” Asha shouted over the swooping, swooshing noises of the wings and the flying dust. “Nethys, stop!”
But she didn’t stop. Nethys screamed a single word that sounded like “No!” and she raised her winged arms above her head in a great v-shaped salute. For a moment, the dust drifted apart, revealing the body of the immortal woman draped in a filthy, stained dress. Her face was thin with a small nose and thin lips and narrow eyes, making everything about her expression seem angry and cruel.
Asha pushed off the wall and straightened up, curling her ruby claws into a fist. “Nethys! Go back! Leave now! I don’t wish to hurt you!”
The Aegyptian woman looked at her for a moment, and then swept her feathered arms down in one great stroke, hurling herself into the air and across the room toward the work table beside Asha. Nethys landed with a crash, sweeping her massive wings once for balance and showering Asha with dust and tiny pebbles that clattered against her armored skin and the wall behind her like a hail storm.
Asha raised both arms to shield her face and through the narrow crack between her golden hands she saw Nethys hook her bare feet around the bar of sun-steel on the table, and leap into the air.
“No!” Asha dashed across the table and leapt after her. With the power of the golden dragon in her legs, she shot upwards and grabbed Nethys by the ankles as the immortal winged her way above the roofs. Asha grabbed the bar of sun-steel in one clawed hand and strained against the winged woman’s legs, but she couldn’t break Nethys’s hold on the bar.
The immortal Aegyptian beat the air with powerful strokes, and Asha had to cling with both hands to keep from being blown free as they both rose higher and higher above the houses, above the harbor, and soon above the bright sparkling waves of the Middle Sea. Each time Asha reached out for the bar of sun-steel, Nethys would twist and flap and shake, threatening to drop the golden woman into the water far below.
Asha glanced down once at the distant waves and felt a faint vertigo. She had been in many high places in her life. Fortress towers, royal pagodas, and even tiny shrines high in the mountains. But always with her feet flat on the ground. Now she hung in empty space, staring down past her useless, swinging legs, and felt the yawning void between herself and the world below. The emptiness of that space, the alien sensation of having nothing at all below her, sent a cold shudder down her spine.
In that moment, all traces of her self-righteous or vengeful anger evaporated and her dragon skin vanished, leaving her soft and brown and weak. Her calloused fingers slipped off Nethys’s ankles and Asha fell. At first, there was nothing, no sense of movement, and she almost thought she was floating on the breeze. Then the wind began to tear at her thin yellow sari and her long black hair, whipping upward and beating her face as she tumbled end over end toward the sea.
The air roared in her ears as her clothes and hair buffeted her skin. She caught one brief glimpse of Nethys high above her, already so high that she almost looked like a bird gliding among the clouds, and then she was gone, lost in the glare of the sun.
Asha saw the earth and the water tumbling upward to meet her, flashing blue and green and blue, over and over again. The sunlight shone on the waves, and the city appeared as a white blur of stone walls and dusty roads. Only the massive lighthouse had any real shape to her, and even it was distorted by the wind and her dizzying fall.
I’m going to die. The moment I hit the water, I will die. Like a turtle dropped by an eagle, I will crack open and be no more. In just a moment now.
She clawed at the air, trying to stop the spinning and tumbling, trying to focus on either the earth or the sky, but they went on flying round and round her.
The tiny specks became tiny boats, and they became larger still, crewed by ants, and then by men. The wrinkled sheet of the ocean resolved into waves and foam.
Here it is.
Now.
Asha closed her eyes.
Death.
The dragon in her breast roared.
Asha arched her back in midair as a horrible burning sensation lashed across her skin from head to toe and she caught a brief glimpse of her skin shining with gold before her body struck the water. She crashed into the sea as immovable and as unfeeling as a stone, smashing through the surface with arms and legs outstretched, feeling almost nothing of the transition from air to water. Instantly the world was dark and cold, but muted and muffled as though she were locked inside a prison with thick stone walls, far from the light and heat of the sun, trapped in frigid shadows.
Above her, the tiny white sun shuddered and wavered beyond the surface of the sea, and huge columns of white bubbles swaddled her as they fluttered up toward the air. But the sky was not blue. It was red. Everything was red, except for the hot white sun and white fish, and the white men on the boats above her. She bent her arms and legs, feeling the heat in her armored skin, feeling the angry swishing of her tail behind her, feeling the weight of her horns on her head.
What passed through her mind was not as complex as thought, and barely as coherent as emotion. It was instinct. Rage at the flying creature that had escaped, rage at the cold sea that dragged down her limbs, hunger for the countless flashing fishes around her, and a wild joy at being free.
The dragon is free.
Asha swam with powerful strokes, her golden arms and ruby claws biting into the sea and sending her slicing through the cold water. She crashed into a school of silvery fish and torn them to pieces with her blazing claws, and then she darted up toward the sun. She burst through the surface and flashed through the empty air to crash back down on the pebbled beach at the edge of the harbor in the shadow of the great lighthouse. She looked up at the strange mountain of flat stone and saw the bright flashing jewel at its summit, and she longed to destroy it.
“Asha!”
The sound was familiar. Asha turned and saw a small white figure running toward her. A girl.
A morsel.
“Asha!”
Asha roared and turned toward the girl. The golden woman hunched forward, tightening the dense muscles of her arms and legs, twisting inward and bearing down with all of her power, feeling herself wound for the spring, for the strike, for the kill. She crooked her scaled fingers and felt the scorching heat in her claws, longing to sink them deep into hot flesh, to feel the blood flowing, to see the steam rising, to taste the burnt meat.
“Asha!”
That sound again.
Sound.
Word.
Name.
Tiny nascent thoughts began to form in Asha’s mind.
Things have names. I have a name. The girl has a name.
She straightened up and relaxed her hands, letting them fall to her sides.
The girl is not food. The girl is Bastet.
Bastet ran across the street and onto the narrow stone path that led down the side of the huge jetty on which stood the lighthouse. She waved and shouted, “Asha! Are you all right?”
Asha inhaled and exhaled, and tasted the hot stench of her own breath.
The dragon is everywhere. I must bottle it again. I must take refuge in the mountains and the sea. I take refuge in the forests and the rivers.
I take refuge—
“Asha, behind you!”
Asha spun, only partly guided by her understanding of the girl’s words and still fueled by the dragon’s hunger, and she saw the huge bird-woman race down toward her from around the side of the lighthouse.
Enemy. Kill.
The dragon sprang into the air and sank her burning claws into the bird-thing’s flesh. As she clung to the screeching body, a tiny fleck of gold flew free of the creature’s neck and pinged against one of the dragon’s ruby claws and vanished in a hiss of smoke. Instantly, her prey began screaming, not squawking as a bird in fear but crying out in naked pain. The dragon and the bird fell to earth and slammed down onto the pebbled beach, and the dragon pulled its claws free and stalked away from the bird, circling it, staring at it. The bird writhed and gasped, shaking its huge wings and kicking feebly at the stones under its feet.
Then it lay still and gasping.
Then it died.
The dragon stared at the body.
And somewhere, a girl screamed.
Asha blinked. The world of red and white was gone and the world of blue and brown had returned. The cold spray of the ocean make her skin prickle and she shivered, wrapping her arms around her belly as her hair blew across her face. She stared down at the strange body at her feet. Nethys lay very still, except for the dark red blood glistening on her chest and neck, and the white feathers fluttering on her arms and around her face.
Bastet staggered forward and fell to her knees beside the body, her mouth open, her eyes wide. For a moment she didn’t breathe, didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound. But then it all came crashing out, and Bastet laid her head on her aunt’s belly and cried.
Asha tasted the salt spray on her lips.
I killed this woman. I murdered her, just like Set murdered Priya. I was out of control, and someone’s mother died. Anubis’s mother. This is my fault, and no one else’s. I’m no different from any of these other beasts now.
No, I am different.
I’m worse.
Set was being controlled by Lilith. He had no choice. But I had a choice. I chose to believe I could control this thing inside me. I chose to use it. I chose to unleash it.
And now this woman is dead. She died a slave. She died in agony. Because of me.
Just like him. Just like my beautiful love. My first. My fault.
Again.
Asha turned away as the tears spilled over her cheeks. She covered her mouth and felt her shoulder shaking. She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head. But the pain washed through her quickly this time, and she wiped her face and turned around, feeling even colder and more hollow than before.
Bastet was looking up at her, watching her.
“I’m sorry,” Asha said. “I’m so sorry.”
Bastet swallowed and nodded. She whispered, “We should send her on her way now. We need… we need wood. For the fire.”
Asha nodded back. “Yes.”
Together, they moved Nethys up away from the water’s edge and laid her on the sand in the shadow of the great lighthouse. Then they wandered apart to gather up bits of sun-bleached driftwood, which they spread under and over the body. When the pyre was ready, Asha looked at her hand, despairing at the thought up summoning up even one of the dragon’s claws, but Bastet stepped forward and brought out a little flint and striker from her pocket, and lit the fire.
They watched the flames rise and consume the winged woman, and when it was done the sea wind carried the ashes away. Then, hand in hand, they walked back along the strand around the base of the lighthouse and along the narrow streets to Jiro’s house and the ruins of his workshop. They found Taziri and Jiro sitting in the smith’s living room with a handful of tools and bits of machines scattered over the carpet between them. They looked up as the others entered.
“She’s dead,” Asha said softly.
Bastet sat down on a cushion beside Taziri and leaned against the Mazigh woman, who put her arms around the girl.
Jiro appeared unmoved by the announcement. “And the sun-steel?”
It took Asha a moment to understand his question, and then she remembered the reason for the entire tragic encounter, and she shrugged. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened to it.”
“It fell,” Bastet whispered. “Into the sea.”
The tall smith sighed and frowned. He gestured to the machine parts in front of him. “Then this is useless. I don’t have any more of the steel. I only kept that one rod.”
Bastet sniffed and said, “I know where you can find more.”
Asha sighed and shivered. “Set and Nethys. Both of Anubis’s parents, gone.”
“It’s not your fault,” Taziri said. “You didn’t cause this. You were just doing the best you could in a bad situation.”
“Isis is safe,” Bastet whispered. “We can still save her. And Horus, if we can find him.”
“Unless Anubis already found him,” Asha said. “I wonder where he is.”
“I’ll find him,” Bastet said. “I’ll tell you where to get the sun-steel, and then I’ll find him.”
Chapter 21
Death
Anubis stood in the waist-deep grass at the top of the hill and tipped his head back to look at the noon sun. The light was blinding, but the heat was mild. He pushed his jackal’s mask back to the top of his head so he could feel the breeze on his face, and he smelled the soft scents of the flowers hidden all across the plain.
“This isn’t who I want to be,” he said softly. “This isn’t what I want to do, not to myself, and not to you.” He turned and looked down.
Horus lay flat on his back with his brother’s staff impaled through his chest, piercing his heart. The immortal’s wound oozed bright red blood all across his chest and the ground. It had been oozing for hours, soaking the earth.
Anubis sighed. “I don’t feel any better. I don’t feel any different at all. Or perhaps I feel diminished. Smaller. Fouler.” He looked at Horus again.
The falcon-headed youth lay gasping on the ground as he had been all morning. He made no motion with his scaled hands or white eyes to indicate what he might be thinking.
“Are you a beast? Am I a killer? No.” Anubis sauntered away, then turned and slowly paced back again. “We’re men who were never allowed to become men. Never allowed to reach our primes, forever confined to our youths, full of passion and foolishness. And look at us now!”
Anubis gripped his staff and watched a bit more blood pump up from his brother’s chest. “I’m going to let you up now. We’re done. It’s over, all of it. Go back to your mistress in the undercity. A merry band of heroes will be along soon to save you, I have no doubt.”
He pulled his staff out of Horus’s chest and stepped back. One last wave of blood poured out of the wound and then the skin began to knit itself closed again, bit by bit. Within moments, Horus was breathing easily and he sat up, and slowly rose to his feet.
“Go now, brother,” Anubis said. “Forgive me as I have forgiven you. Go home and wait to be saved—”
The monster struck with lightning speed, burying his talon-hands into his brother’s chest and throat. Anubis choked on his own blood and fell to his knees as his hands and feet went cold. The staff was wrenched from his grip, and then the ironwood shaft exploded through his chest. The God of Death toppled over to the ground, lying on his side with half the length of his staff before him and the other half behind. In a vague and muddled fashion, he could feel his flesh trying to close around the wound, trying to making him whole again, and failing. He could feel his heart beating weakly against the weapon splitting his ribs. He tried to speak, but he had no breath.
Between the cold in his limbs, the pain in his chest, and the blood pouring out through his chest and back, he was barely conscious when Horus bent down and tore the golden pendant from his neck, and stalked away across the plains.
Anubis slipped into the darkness, and dreamed that half his body was on fire and half was frozen in ice.
Light and pain returned at regular intervals. As he lay on the ground, Anubis felt his mind returning from oblivion to his body, from dreams to the brief but harsh reality of his heart struggling to beat in his chest, the blood struggling to travel through his veins, the air
struggling to flow through his lungs. He would see a bit of grass and sky and blood, and then he would convulse and slip away again.
Over and over, he slid back and forth between the bright, bloody plains and the dark, bloody dreams where he hid in the shadows from the fire and the ice that scorched his flesh and screamed at him in many voices. Each time that he emerged into the daylight world, a small corner of his mind would remember who he was and where he was, and why. And he would dare to hope that this time the pain would end, this time he would breathe deep and sit up and feel the sun on his face. But each time, he only had a fleeting moment on that bright shore, gasping and shaking, before the dark tide pulled him back under into the recesses of madness.
There was one inconsistency that he could see but not understand in his shattered mind. Each time he returned to reality, the sky would look slightly different, slightly dimmer and redder, and it felt slightly cooler. And during those scant moments of life, he wondered if the world itself was dying, and if perhaps he might awaken sometime to find it as dark and dead as his nightmares.
He was in his fiery, icy hell when a great and terrible force ripped him outward, tearing him up from the depths of pain and confusion and darkness into the bright world of the grasslands one last time. He blinked up at a sky painted violet and slate blue, with tiny white specks beyond the thin white clouds. A red, tear-stained face leaned over him, a girl’s face.
Bastet.
In her hand he saw his own staff painted in dark blood, and all across his chest he saw more of the same glistening on his skin, congealing in his clothing, weighing him down. He could see the huge wound in his chest as well, a ragged hole that was slowly shrinking.
“Bastet?” he croaked.
“Shh.” She stroked his face. “Just wait. It’ll all be over in a moment. Just rest. You’ll be fine in just a minute. Everything’s going to be fine now.”
He nodded and laid his head back to watch the stars and wait for the throbbing, pulsing waves of pain in his chest to subside. But the stars grew dim, winking out one by one, and the throbbing pain faded away, and the sounds of the crickets in the grass fell silent, and…
Chimera The Complete Duet Page 42
