Crown of Doom and Light

by Jayde Brooks

  He has abandoned her.

  No. It is not true.

  It is true. She is alone now.

  “What am I without you, Prophet?” Eden said, watching him take the place next to Mkombozi. Agony filled her voice.

  There were no words to explain this loss. Not enough tears to cover it. Eden felt the physical pain of having her heart torn from her chest, her soul ripped from her core. All while his touch still lingered on her skin.

  “He has nothing to say to you, impostor. He was never yours. You were a substitute for the one he had longed for all these many years. You pretended to be me and he pretended to love you.”

  Mkombozi’s words cut into Eden, creating wounds so deep that they would never heal.

  I feel air in our lungs. Yes!

  Blood flooding our veins.

  Hush. The young one’s soul is dying.

  “You are ill-equipped to command my Omen,” Mkombozi shouted. “You are weak and pathetic, Reborn. And you certainly cannot wield the fullness of their powers. They were made for me and I will have them back.”

  Eden couldn’t take her eyes off of Prophet. He had convinced her that his love for her was real. He had saved her life so many times, even when he wasn’t trying. She was in love with him and with the hope of him, with the promise of him. And just the promise had been enough for her to keep Sakarabru and his Omen at bay. Eden had started this journey into this hell to save Rose. She’d failed. She’d pushed forward, believing that she should save humankind from Sakarabru’s Brood Army, and she had done that. But humankind could never recover, would never recover and go back to itself. So, in essence, she had failed.

  “Release them to me, Eden,” Mkombozi said, coming closer to her. Prophet followed close behind, ready to protect Mkombozi from any harm that Eden would do. “Relieve yourself of this burden. It was never yours. Khale and the Seer used you. They lied to you and they betrayed you. I know, because they did those things to me.”

  She was so beautiful, even more beautiful than she had been in Eden’s dreams. Of course he loved her. How could he not love Mkombozi? She had been the first. He had loved her, and betrothed himself to her, the moment he saw her.

  “Eden!” he shouted her name as the dark, menacing clouds weighed down in sky. “Let them go! Let them go before it’s too late!”

  Van Dureel watched the unfolding interaction between Mkombozi and the Reborn from a safe distance, but neither of them had yet attacked the other. The Guardian, true to his role in life, guarded Mkombozi like a giant gargoyle. If Van Dureel was going to get to Mkombozi, he was going to have to go through the big guy. Wind whipped through his hair as he weighed his options. Mkombozi didn’t have the power to crush his skull—yet. But if her plan played out, it would only be a matter of time before she did. Would she? That was the question of the day. Did it matter? Neither of them should live. That was the general consensus of the Theians.

  He and Mkombozi had shared a pretty memorable encounter the other night—memorable to him, at least. He probably could have loved her if she’d let him, but that Guardian of hers was planted firmly in her heart. Van Dureel was a filthy ptkah who’d only fed her, given her clothes, and provided shelter and transportation for her since she’d been here. So no big deal. Right?

  “What do you want us to do?” one of the older drones asked, standing beside him.

  The Reborn was emotionally crumbling.

  “Sort of a kamikaze thing,” he said, woefully. He looked at his drone. “You up for it?”

  The dude shrugged. “Die saving the world? There’s something poetic about it,” he said thoughtfully. “Shit, if I’m fast enough, she won’t even be able to see my head. Can’t blow it off if she can’t see it.”

  “Just distract her,” he told him. “Take others with you.”

  He nodded and left Van Dureel standing there alone, waiting and watching for Isis to do her part. Moments later, she did. She walked out to Mkombozi and Prophet and stood in a united front with the two of them. Prophet glanced at her, but quickly turned his attention back to the Reborn.

  The Phantom floated lightly across the sky in the form of a white cloud. He was hoping to go unnoticed, but the Reborn wasn’t falling for it, and that’s what set her off. Green eyes glowed. The white cloud turned to dust. Isis screamed. And the Reborn charged like a small bull toward the Guardian and Mkombozi, each readying their stance to take her on.

  “Aaagh!” the Guardian cried out as Isis stuck him with her blade, not once, but twice. He turned and backhanded her, sending the Theian flying a hundred yards through the air. Of course Mkombozi was confused. Her ally had become her enemy in an instant. Heads started to explode around the Reborn. Van Dureel had to hurry. Both had to die, but he could only get to one. He was on Mkombozi in less than a second, his fangs clamped down hard on her shoulder, his hands wrapped tightly around her throat.

  Did she know that it was Van Dureel?

  “Filthy ptkah!” she growled, reaching over her shoulder and grabbing him by the back of the head. With all ease, she flipped him over her shoulder. For a moment he got to stare into her lovely face one last time. And then the Guardian’s ugly mug came into view, ruining an absolutely wonderful image. The heel of his boot was the last thing that Van Dureel saw before the world he’d desperately wanted to save went pitch black.

  “Give me my Omen before it is too late,” Mkombozi yelled. “You do not have to let them destroy this world or these humans. I can stop them. I can control them. But you must give them to me now, Eden.”

  A violent wind whipped Mkombozi’s hair across her face, a wind nearly strong enough to force the Ancient and Prophet off their feet. A quiet calm began to envelop Eden. It was strange to feel so peaceful at a time when lightning streaked viciously across the sky and the sound of glass shattering, from the home she’d shared with Prophet, flew through the air. She didn’t have to see their home crumbling to know that it was. But what use did she have for it without him? Eden envisioned the ground beneath opening up and swallowing it whole. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was their voices that came through her. “We are made to rule. There is no other purpose for us to serve. You will know, you will all know us as your god. And you will bow.”

  She was a puppet on a string.

  Thank you, young one.

  We honor you and your courage.

  But good riddance, human.

  “She’s not going to do it,” Prophet said, striking out against the elements and forging a path to Eden.

  “Tukufu,” Mkombozi called out to him. “What are you doing?”

  “She’ll die before she releases them to you.”

  “Stop her,” Mkombozi said. “Make her release my Omen.”

  Eden cast her gaze upon him and smiled as he drew closer. “There he is,” she smiled. “The bane of our existence delivering himself to us as a gift.”

  Eden’s blade seemed to come out of nowhere as she slashed at him repeatedly, slicing through his arms, chest and face until blood poured from him. When he was close enough, she thrust it through his belly. He was relentless in his approach, determination churning in those silver pools of his eyes. He caught Eden by the wrist just as she was about to drive the kpinga through his heart, leaned in close, and said through gritted teeth, “Let her have them and be done with this.”

  Eden gathered together every ounce of strength she had left to push the Omen aside and speak to him herself. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for you. You were everything to me.”

  “Let them go,” he demanded. “Let her have them, Eden. Save us. Save—us.”

  “I can’t,” she struggled to say with tears streaming down her face. “They have me.”

  “Not yet they don’t. Save us, Eden. Let them go.”

  “They—won’t.”

  Prophet’s message held deeper meaning than just words. There was something in the way he held her, in the way he looked into her eyes.

  “Kill him!” the Omen s
aid in her head.

  “This is our last chance,” Prophet said, his lips grazing her ear. “Baby girl, please! Just—let go.”

  “Tukufu, hurry!” Mkombozi shouted.

  “One last fight, Eden,” he said pressing his lips to her ear. “One last time, baby.”

  They were strangling her, crushing her, destroying what was left of her. In her mind’s eye, Eden could see what they were doing to her essence, her soul, pummeling and kicking until there was hardly life left in it at all.

  “Together, Eden,” he whispered.

  She fell limp in his arms and suddenly, she saw him with the Omen. The Guardian fought against all three Omen, hoisting one above his head and withstanding punches from the other two as he bent the one over his head, breaking its spine. It screamed.

  “Get up, Eden!”

  The warrior Omen plunged the kpinga into him over and over again, laughing and dancing in his blood. The other hit him with her fists across the face and chest until he dropped to one knee.

  “Eden,” he yelled. “Get the fuck up!”

  She was weak, but he was here. He was with her. Eden forced herself up to her feet, came up behind the warrior Omen and grabbed the kpinga from her hand then ran it through her neck. She pulled it out quickly, spun low and fast, and stabbed it into the thigh of the one punching him.

  He was on all fours. “Get these gotdamn things out of you!”

  Eden was confused as to how to do it. “I—I don’t—”

  He looked up at her, his face covered in blood. “You know what to do, Eden! She’s here! You know what to do!”

  She didn’t know, but he was dying. If she didn’t hurry, Prophet they would kill him.

  Eden suddenly found herself lying face up on the ground staring up at the darkened sky, flashing with streaks of lightening. She rolled her head slightly to the left and saw him lying next to her covered in blood.

  “Get this shit over with,” he muttered. “I’m tired.”

  Eden sat up in time to see Mkombozi striding toward the two of them. “You cannot have him! You cannot have my Omen, impostor!”

  The Omen belonged to Mkombozi, the true and original Redeemer. Eden had bonded with them and now they wanted out.

  Eden struggled to get to her feet. “So get out,” she murmured.

  She didn’t want them anymore. Eden didn’t need them.

  Let us go!

  Young one!

  Yes!

  She imagined spitting these things out like bad pills, shooting them off like cannonballs. Eden had the power to blow off heads with a thought, to tear open the ground by willing it to happen. Surely, she could rid her body of these fucking Omen.

  “Get out of me,” she commanded using every ounce of willpower that she had left.

  A ball of concentrated energy swelled in her chest. Heat radiated from every inch of her body. Prophet rolled away from her. The force built inside her until she felt as if she would explode. She opened her mouth to scream as she met her own death—finally. It sounded as if a train was passing close by. The rumbling started at the ground under her feet and quaked through her body, shaking her violently until she felt as if her bones were breaking. Eden spread her arms wide, reared back her head, and desperately tried to take in air. Her lungs burned for it. Her heart stopped beating. Her legs gave way underneath her and she fell to the ground, limp and empty, staring up at a black sky devoid of any flicker of light.

  One by one, she felt the Omen leaving her body, each with its own unique sensation, radiance, sound, and even flavor. It was simple, really. Release. Let go. She had been holding on to them. She had believed that it was the other way around, but it never was.

  “Yes!” she could hear Mkombozi shouting, over and over again. “Too long! I have waited too long.”

  With each release, Eden felt lighter, weaker, more sorrowful. And she felt relieved of the heavy burden of the Omen, who had become such an integral part of who she was. Eden felt naked as they left her. Raw. Vulnerable.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  “Say it, Eden,” Prophet told her. “Hurry and say it. The spell. You know it.”

  To his shock and disbelief, Eden had released the Omen. He didn’t believe she’d do it. So much had been demanded of this young woman. And she had risen to the occasion each and every time, but she wasn’t finished. He crawled over to Eden, as she dropped to her knees. Prophet forced himself up onto his.

  Could she even hear him? This was it!

  The Omen whirred through the air, sounding like missiles, finding their target in Mkombozi, the Redeemer they had actually been made for. She was the biological daughter of Khale and the Demon. She shared DNA with those damn Theians. Prophet had no idea what would happen once the transition was complete. Could Mkombozi control them as she had said, or would they take her over and swallow her whole the way they had threatened to do before Khale had destroyed her four thousand years ago?

  “Eden, the Spell of Dissolution. You have to say it now!” he demanded, holding her in his arms.

  Eden’s lips began to flutter. Her voice was barely audible.

  “Louder, sweetheart,” he begged her. “Make her hear you.”

  The thought occurred to him that it was too late. Eden was too weak to even hold her head up. He’d asked too much of her, they all had, and finally, she had nothing left.

  “Breath is Ara/Rest—rest in Ara and sleep in her—arms/The altar calls her/Ara whispers and promises rest, Beloved/Peace beyond peace/My Beloved. Redeemer.”

  She said it once. It didn’t work.

  The first Omen hit Mkombozi like a bolt of lightning in the center of her chest, nearly knocking her on her back, but it held her in place, simultaneously pushing and pulling against her at once. Breath was lost to her when the next Omen assaulted her, its power surging through her like lava, burning her from the inside, her arteries swelling and glowing like embers. The final Omen squeezed her throat shut. Mkombozi felt as if she were being split in two, literally torn apart, the agony so overwhelming that she desperately wished for death.

  Beloved! She called to him with her mind. Tukufu, I need you! Help me! Save me!

  She waited. Where was he? Why did he not come to her? She raised her head slowly, straining every muscle for even the slightest movement, and saw him on the ground hovering over the impostor. Whispering to her? Touching her—holding her in his arms.

  Redeemer.

  A voice came to her. It came from inside her.

  Where were you?

  How did you come to leave us?

  Laughter in unison.

  We are back.

  Omen? Yes. They spoke to her. Memories of their voices had haunted her for so long, but now they were here, inside.

  “I have missed you all,” she forced herself to say out loud.

  Mkombozi trembled from the agony of them, and the beauty. She was full again, complete. Alive.

  Aaaaaah!

  She held us. She stopped us.

  But we are full in you.

  “Yes,” Mkombozi murmured, passionately.

  The sensation of them was magical and mesmerizing.

  We are him.

  Still.

  He is not dead.

  We are still Sakarabru.

  In her mind’s eye, Sakarabru’s face began to come into view. Long, golden waves of hair fell past his shoulders. Mystical green eyes shone like beacons. His handsome, angular face was too beautiful to ignore.

  You failed him before, Redeemer.

  Honor him now.

  Your father.

  “My father. Yes.”

  He had told her once that she was more like him than she wanted to believe. She had scoffed at him, cursed him for making such a terrible remark, but deep down she knew that he was right. His nature was to rule. Her nature was to rule. It was all that mattered.

  Mkombozi shrieked as the power filled her. Prophet had no idea what the Omen would do to her or if she could hold them back like she’d sa
id. It didn’t matter. Mkombozi in possession of the Omen was the end of them all.

  “You’ve got to do this, Eden, before it’s too late,” he said gravely.

  Prophet put his arm around Eden, who had slumped in his arms, and raised her to an upright position so that she could see for herself what was happening.

  Eden grimaced, grasped for air, and cried out in pain.

  “She’s got them, Eden. I don’t know what they’re doing to her. You do. Stop her. Stop them.”

  “Tukufu!” she heard Mkombozi yell. “Liar! You cursed betrayer!”

  “B-B-Breath is Ara/Rest—rest in Ara.” Eden spoke loud enough this time, for her voice to carry through the tumultuous air, but it pained her to do it.

  “Stop it!” Mkombozi cried out.

  Mkombozi let loose a powerful burst of energy, directing it toward Prophet and Eden in a fiery ball. Prophet called forth his wings, wrapped them around Eden, and braced the both of them. The force knocked the two of them back near the crevice where the house had been.

  “Don’t stop, Eden!” he said, breathless, upon impact. “Keep going!”

  Eden continued reciting the spell, even louder this time. “ . . . and sleep in her—arms/The altar calls her/Ara whispers and promises rest.”

  Prophet grimaced when he tried to get up. He’d been impaled on a metal rod protruding from the debris of one of the buildings. He immediately looked to Eden to see if she was injured. Eden jerked away from him, struggled to standing and began boldly walking back toward Mkombozi.

  “Eden!” he called after her, freeing himself. “No!”

  Eden marched on, determined, and started over again, reciting the Spell of Disollution. “Breath is Ara/Rest—rest in Ara and sleep in her arms.”

  “How dare you,” Mkombozi growled, glaring hatefully at Eden. “You impostor. You weak and helpless human girl.”

  Eden was relentless in her approach, reciting the spell with such authority, such presence, that the power behind it was unquestionable. “The altar calls her/Ara whispers.”

  Mkombozi’s chest heaved and a surge of energy began to form in front of her again. “We are sick of you, young one. We are done with you.”