The Celestial Conspiracies

by Talhi Briones

  There were more grunts all around. There was a herd, upset by the storm, and it was closing in on them. They would completely crush the felucca.

  “Iram—”

  The hippopotamus charged. Soromeh screamed and let go of the net, swimming away frantically. The waves and the pull of the floating basket made everything harder, but she didn’t stop until the grunts couldn’t be heard through the wind.

  She turned. The felucca was barely visible through the sheets of sand. She could see Iram’s silhouette, holding onto the sail, trying to control the boat.

  A dozen territorial hippos stood between them.

  “Iram!”

  His gaze found her. He gestured to keep going, pointing north. He was telling her to flee.

  A hippo turned around.

  Iram got even more frantic. He kept gesturing, begging her. He pointed to his own chest, then the shore. He pointed at her again, then north.

  “No,” she whimpered.

  The basket floated at her side. The child was crying.

  Her heart was crushed. She saw Iram maneuvering to attract the hippos towards the shore. He was protecting her. He was leaving her.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered. “Misha, I don’t know what to do!”

  A large shape appeared through the sand, something bigger than the hippos. The royal hunting ship was getting closer.

  She frowned and swallowed her fears.

  “They won’t get us,” she promised the child. “They won’t have either of us, my son.”

  She removed her scarf, wet and heavy, and started swimming. The sand made breathing difficult. She had lost her sandals in the turbulent waters. The wind and the waves grew stronger.

  She swam until she could not see the ship anymore, until her arms tired out. She stopped and floated for a moment. The shore was barely visible, but she could see the faint outline of trees. A plantation.

  “I think we’re out of the city,” she breathed.

  She looked downstream and found no naval patrols blocking her way. She sighed in relief.

  “We can swim to the shore. Hide in a plantation. Maybe Cicero would help to find Iram and Damon—”

  A terrifying sound shook the air. The waves grew higher. Soromeh turned around to see a mass approaching through the storm.

  It wasn’t the royal ship.

  It was something as huge as a mountain, and it was walking towards her.

  Chapter 21

  The Eye of the Storm

  It was a creature like nothing she had ever seen before. It walked on the river floor, each of its four legs as thick as the palace columns. It had the body of an elephant, covered in long woolen fur, but instead of a head, it had the torso of a gigantic man, with strong arms and an enormous belly. It wore the skull of an animal over its head, with long tusks that curved at the surface of the water and climbed back up, ending in deadly sharp points. In its massive hands, it held a club carved out of an entire tree.

  It lifted the club and pointed it directly at Soromeh.

  She screamed and swam with all her strength. The waves, higher and higher, crashed against her face. She could hear it walk, every step bringing it closer, blocking the wind.

  “Ci… Cicero!” she called, spitting water.

  He appeared in a silver flash, holding Aïden by the arm. He shouted in surprise when he saw the creature. Aïden hissed in pure terror and tried to escape Hermes’s grip.

  “Release me! That’s Behemoth!”

  “It’s the scribe,” realized Hermes with growing horror. “Aïden, help the princess. I’ll slow him down.”

  “Let me go!” yelled Aïden.

  He pulled her close to his face. “We have a deal, demon.”

  She threw a panicked glance at Behemoth’s approaching mass and tried to escape again, with no success. She whined and nodded.

  “Bring them to the shore!” he ordered and flew off.

  Aïden dug her lower claws around Soromeh’s waist and started beating her wings but could not lift them from the water.

  “Please, fly faster!” begged Soromeh.

  “You’re too heavy, human!” she snapped. “Let the larva go!”

  “Never!”

  Aïden tried again to lift them but failed. She groaned and started pulling towards the shore.

  * * *

  Hermes flew to the massive demon and hovered in front of his face. There were no visible eyes through the sockets of the mastodon skull.

  “Behemoth!” he shouted through the wind.

  “Don’t get in my way, Olympian,” growled Behemoth in a voice so loud it shook the air itself. “This does not concern your people.”

  “If you’re back in your demon form, your human body must have died! You’re not allowed to interfere anymore! The law forbids it!”

  “I do not care about the laws made by other clans.”

  “Your punishment will be terrible!”

  “There are worse things, Olympian. Leave, before I force you to.”

  Hermes summoned his scepter in a silver flash. “Princess Soromeh is under my protection.”

  He pointed it at Behemoth and concentrated. The air between them started to shimmer. The demon pressed against the barrier and laughed.

  “You won’t hold for long, Olympian. Don’t you know who I am? I am the cupbearer, guardian of Hell’s cellars. I am abundance and surplus. I have ransacked entire countries to create feasts more glorious than you can dream of, and killed thousands to fill my brothers’ cups with blood. I am the only one who ever came close to removing Lucifer from his throne of ice.”

  He pushed again. The barrier bent slightly.

  Hermes doubled his efforts. “Lucifer can’t be happy about that,” he said through his teeth.

  “He hates me like he fears me. I know too much. But you are curious, Olympian. You spent many days looking through my library. I can give you the information you want.”

  Hermes threw a quick glance behind him. Aïden and Soromeh were minuscule, among the waves.

  “I am older than you think, Olympian. And I remember everything. Don’t you want to know where Celestials come from? Don’t you want to know Lucifer’s secrets?”

  Hermes’s hands shook. The barrier flickered. Behemoth raised the club, ready to strike.

  Then, in a flash of white light, three angels surged from the storm and crashed into him.

  Hermes let out a delighted laugh and regained control of the barrier.

  Behemoth had taken a single step back but was now ready to fight. He swung at the air, trying to bat the angels as if they were nothing but annoying flies. He almost hit Dewei, who avoided the club at the last moment.

  Dewei regained control and flew up, slashing the leathery skin of the wide belly. The sword barely left a scratch. Behemoth swatted him off, annoyed. His massive hand slammed on Dewei’s wing, snapping it with a loud noise. The angel screamed and fell to the water.

  Silas had used this moment of inattention to drop Harouk on the demon’s head and went to distract him further by flying in front of him, avoiding his hits.

  Harouk slid from the skull to the demon’s shoulder and stabbed down, but the skin was too thick, and Behemoth barely noticed.

  Silas was hit and crashed on the waves.

  Harouk went back to the skull and stepped on a tusk, grabbing onto an eye-socket. He stabbed the dark hole with his sword and hit flesh.

  Behemoth’s yell was loud enough to shake the trees on both sides of the river.

  Harouk pressed further, burying the sword to the hilt.

  And then Behemoth’s screams slowly became laughter.

  “This pain is nothing, angel. My eye will recover. You’re merely slowing me down.”

  Harouk howled in rage, his wings sparking with energy. He focused on the lightning inside of him, channeled every last bit of energy he had left, and sent it through the sword into Behemoth’s eye.

  The demon screamed and wavered.

  “No, th
at won’t be enough, angel,” Behemoth panted.

  He grabbed Harouk by the wing and threw him into the storm.

  Behemoth turned back to the barrier. There was black blood gushing from the eye socket, staining the ivory bone. Hermes was, once again, facing him alone.

  “Leave,” said the demon.

  Hermes’s arms were shaking. “No. I can’t let you through.”

  Behemoth stepped forward and pushed against the barrier. Hermes grit his teeth.

  “I can break this. And then I can break you,” said the demon. “But you are not my enemy. I’m giving you one last chance to flee.”

  Hermes concentrated on maintaining the barrier. It was an extension of his own energy, and thus he could feel the waves of demonic force pushing against it. He could also feel the chaotic Netcheroo energy of the storm.

  There was something else, at the edge of his perception, growing closer, distracting him.

  For the first time since his arrival in Egypt, he shivered with cold.

  There was frost growing on the surface of the Nile.

  “No,” realized Behemoth, trembling. “No!”

  The frost became ice and stretched all around them. Behemoth tried to step away, but his waist was frozen in place.

  “No!” howled the demon. “Olympian, please, help me! Bring me the human girl! Her child is the only one left, and my contract will be fulfilled! I won’t kill her, I swear, I just need the child!”

  The ice stretched towards the shores. The waves froze in place. Behemoth fought back, but the ice grew to envelope his arms.

  “I’ll give you power,” he begged. “I’ll make you the king of Olympus! Please, help me!”

  He was overtaken by the ice, his hand still stretched towards Hermes in supplication.

  A moment of silence. Even the storm seemed to calm momentarily.

  Then, from one moment to another, Behemoth vanished. There was no sound, no light, just a wave of pure cold.

  Hermes shivered in fear. Nothing had ever felt like this.

  The ice reformed over the gaping hole left by Behemoth. A small, dark silhouette walked towards Hermes.

  Hermes landed, still keeping the barrier between them. “Halt!”

  It was an angel. Hermes saw the burned clothes and wings and the scarred skin. And yet, that strange face had familiar eyes.

  “Lady Naími?”

  She said nothing. Hermes laughed, relieved. Now that she was closer, he could see the similarities. He slightly lowered his scepter.

  “They did find you! Oh, I’m so glad you’re back. We need your help! Your angels were defeated, and the little princess is somewhere in the water, over there,” he said, pointing behind him. “She’ll be so happy to—”

  Suddenly, the metal of his scepter became too cold to bear. He yelped and dropped it.

  The barrier got covered in frost and exploded in a thousand pieces.

  “What—who are you?” asked Hermes, his voice wavering in cold and in fear.

  He tried to fly off, but his sandals were frozen to the surface.

  The frost covered him entirely.

  The angel walked on.

  * * *

  Soromeh and Aïden had managed to find an awkward yet regular rhythm and slowly made their way through the waves. The Nile was wide, and they were still far from the shore.

  “Aïden!” called Soromeh, breathless. “Can you still hear him?”

  “The larva still wails,” snapped Aïden. “If it stops, I’ll tell you!”

  Soromeh was near exhaustion. Her clothes and hair were heavy with water. The basket floated, but the strap dug into her neck, making it hard to breathe. Aïden’s claws dug into her sides.

  There was also the fear. She couldn’t give in, had to keep going despite the pure terror caused by the beast behind her.

  But she kept swimming, for the child was still alive.

  Her muscles were tired, and the cold slowly seeped inside of them. She couldn’t feel her toes and would soon lose control of her fingers.

  “Stop making that noise!” said Aïden. “I can’t go faster!”

  Soromeh realized her teeth were chattering. “I—I can’t stop.”

  She had never felt so cold in her life. It was like a bite that dug into her bones, made the muscles want to sleep and die.

  Aïden looked back and hissed in terror.

  “No! The cold! The ice! He’s here!”

  She dropped Soromeh and flew off.

  Soromeh called her name, begged her, but Aïden didn’t come back.

  Soromeh looked back, squinting against the sand. She couldn’t see either the creature or Hermes. She was alone, in the middle of the Nile, caught in a sandstorm, the cold slowly taking hold of her limbs.

  She started swimming again, slowly. She could barely keep her head out of the water. The basket floated, but she couldn’t hear anything through the wind.

  Her hand hit something solid. She bit her lip in pain and kept going. It happened again and again, until she couldn’t advance more. The Nile was covered in something pale and solid that was closing in on her.

  She placed her hands on it and immediately took them back, as if it had burned her palms. But the feeling was cold.

  Soromeh bit back her fear, placed the basket on top of the white surface, and pushed herself up, crawling on her stomach, trying to get a grip. The cold seeped through her wet clothes and forced her to stand. She slipped, fell onto a knee, and yelled in pain.

  She took a moment to get her bearings.

  The surface was uniform and stretched to the limits of her vision. She could see small clouds of condensation form with her breath. Her hair, wet and heavy, was slowly being covered in frost crystals.

  She grabbed the basket, undid the thin leather straps with her numb fingers, and lifted the cover. The child was still alive, but barely awake. He was wet and cold, his skin tinted blue.

  Soromeh removed him from the basket and pressed him against her chest to transfer the little warmth she had left. She rubbed his hands and feet, breathed warm air on his face. He was too weak to cry, too weak to keep his eyes open. Soromeh knew, in the deepest part of herself, that if she allowed him to sleep, he would never wake up again.

  She got back on her feet, slowly, on shaking legs, the child’s face against her chest to protect him from the sand. She took a step, then another, towards the shore. She fell on her knees again, got back up, and walked some more. Her feet, bare and wet, burned with the cold.

  A shape appeared through the storm. She saw the wings and screamed in relief. It was an angel, walking towards her.

  “Please, help me! I know you’re not allowed to, but please, just once, save this child! Bring him to the shore. He’s freezing!”

  The angel came closer, and Soromeh saw her face.

  “Na… Naími?” she said, her voice shaking. “You—you were—you have to help me! The baby! He—”

  The angel stretched out her arms, and Soromeh almost burst into tears. She gave her the child and felt ready to pass out.

  The angel kept the child at arm’s length, staring at it with a sneer of disdain.

  “So many hopes on such a small thing,” she said. “It could die at any moment.”

  The angel opened her hands, and the child disappeared in a flash of white light.

  Soromeh yelled in horror. “No! Where is he? Naími, where is the child?”

  The angel ignored her. A sword made of ice appeared in her hand. She pointed it at Soromeh.

  The princess stepped away, slipped, and fell on her back.

  “Naími, what are you doing?”

  There was a clamor of trumpets. The sky above the eastern shore lit up in a blinding white light. The shape of hundreds of angels appeared through the storm. At their head was Michael, pointing his flaming sword at them.

  “Terathel!” he roared over the wind. “Drop your weapon!”

  She burst into laughter and pointed the tip of her sword to Soromeh’s stomach. Th
e princess whined in fear and tried to crawl back. The angel rested a foot on her tunic and kept her in place.