Gi does.
My Thisavros connection is still there. I am doing nothing to make it present. It swells around me, comforts me, bolsters me. Urges me on.
Casey.
I must succeed. I must return to Casey.
“You think Pyrkagia will accept you?” Gallus says. His words are hurled, but he lacks the energy to yell them now. They are said through gritted teeth. Equally as unforgiving, but not quite as spectacular.
I continue to parry, offering a strike when the opportunity presents itself, but I have nothing to say to him. He is nothing to me.
“You think your little whore will be accepted as Basilissa?” he snarls.
I had expected the slur, but even so, it stings.
I miss a strike, then rally. But he has seen the dent in my armour.
“She is Gi,” he snarls. “And not even born that way. She’s an Alchemist bastard, and no Pyrkagia in their right mind will accept an Alchemist as Queen.”
He strikes out fast and hard; his strength renewed in sight of my momentary wavering. But I have regained my balance. I scent scorched earth and sweet vegetation. Gi does not fuel me, but it certainly steadies.
I block a particularly harsh blow, having to use two hands to hold the sword in place. The Rigas moves closer, his face scant inches from mine, the gold of his eyes blazing.
“I hear the Gi even abused her,” he whispers. “Fucked her up completely.”
I bare my teeth at him.
“I wonder if she will be as sweet to taste as Melita was,” he muses.
I want to close my eyes. Close my ears to his hatred.
I hold his golden gaze with one as equally molten.
“Melita called your name,” he says softly. “Cried out for you to save her. You can’t save a soul. Hell, you can’t even save yourself, son.”
“I am no son of yours,” I say. And the relief of knowing that truth fuels me.
I punch him in the side with my free fist and swipe out with my sword as he staggers away.
“It’s like that, is it?” he sneers. “So be it, whelp.”
He raises his sword, but the movement is as quick as lightning; not long enough for me to take advantage of his lack of guard.
In the next instant, a dagger flies from his free hand as his sword arm strikes.
I twist. The dagger skips across my upper arm, drawing blood and making me suck in a breath. But the move has placed me in the path of his sword, and the blow is met. The blade slices through my thigh; a puncture that comes perilously close to an artery.
Gallus twists the blade, sinks it in further, and then yells with the effort required to yank it away.
A large portion of flesh goes with it. I stagger. Fall to one knee. Pant for breath. But before the King can spin back around and deliver the death blow, I roll out of the way.
Coming to my feet, I force myself not to feel the pain. Not to give in to the weakness now invading my left side. I present my sword arm and strongest profile to him. And I wait.
I can not strike out; my leg would collapse beneath me if I shift on it now. I stand only because I place my weight on my right side. But I present a tall figure. Waiting.
I suck in air through my teeth and ignore the sweat that beads my brow and watch the man before me as he realises he has the upper hand at last.
He coughs out a laugh as he tries to get his rapid breathing under control. He even goes so far as to lean over his sword, using it as a crutch. If I could move without falling over, I could end this. He is toying with me. Making a show of my weakness. Dragging out the inevitable.
He wipes his face, flicks the sweat away. Slides his blade through the hem of his shirt, removing my blood. He stares at the metal glinting in the moonlight. Checks his reflection in it. Smiles.
Then points the tip of his sword toward me.
“Any last words you wish me to convey to your Thisavros?” he asks.
I say nothing. He will never face Casey.
“So be it,” he says and walks towards me.
He takes his time. He saunters, really. I want to tell him he is cruel and twisted. He will never be accepted into Elysium. Aetheros will make him pay.
But I don't waste my breath. He does not deserve it. Nor would he heed my warnings. For him, it is too late.
I steady myself. Lower my sword as if I am resigned to my fate.
Pyrkagia surrounds me. Gi soothes me. The thought of Casey and the baby fill me with such love and longing, I think I might float away.
He sees something in my face. He hesitates.
And then I breathe in the Elements. Suck in the Stoicheio that stands around this crater. Thank Aetheros for the gift of such beautiful magic. For his benefaction. For making us this way.
For we are all Athanatos. All Ekemetalleftis. Some of us just live longer than others. And some of us are able to touch and taste.
But all of us are blessed by our god.
Gallus Petroupolos strikes without warning. I don't bother to lift my sword up to block. As he moves in for the death blow, I simply let him get close enough.
And when his sword cleaves my flesh, I swing my blade.
It is sharp. It is precise. It is the eternal edge of Aether. And unlike the man before me, I have gone for his neck.
Pyrkagia’s former Rigas is arrogant and forgetful. He has forgotten the old ways and is too sure of his win. Of his superior place.
His sword pierces my heart. It is agony multiplied. He begins to withdraw it, intending, no doubt, to decapitate. He assumes I am beaten. He assumes his words have laid the way. He assumes I have nothing left to live for.
I have Casey and the baby. I have a world balanced. I have everything to live for, and I will fight with my dying breath to ensure its safety.
My blade is sharp and it is precise.
His head rolls before my heart stops beating.
But then, I am Athanatos, and a silent heart will not kill me.
But the absence of a head for Gallus Petroupolos portents his grave.
Chapter Twenty
And With You
It takes two days for my heart to start beating again. In that time, I am guarded by my closest allies. I wake to Isadora’s scowling face.
“You stabbed me,” she growls.
“I took a sword to the heart,” I say, as if it is a competition.
“Not from me, but I have every intention of correcting that fact.”
“What are you complaining about?” I grouse. “You, at least, didn't feel a thing. Strynchos Toxifera given in enough quantities can paralyse the recipient…”
“Victim.”
“…so completely they do not feel any pain.”
“You. Stabbed. Me.”
I do not think it is the act that Isadora objects to, but rather the thought at the time of my betrayal. I understand how she feels. Melita betrayed me. Twice. My father, the man who I thought was my father, betrayed me repeatedly since I was old enough to hold a sword and made him have to fight to win our clashes.
“Pyrkagia?” I manage to say.
“Eagerly awaiting their King,” Isadora offers.
“Will this be before or after you seek your revenge?” I enquire.
“Before. I have every intention of striking when you least expect it. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for years to come and then…bam! I’ll stab you through the heart.”
“Somehow I don't think that’s how a loyal subject behaves.”
“Who said I was loyal?” she demands.
But we both know she has not left my side in two days.
She helps me sit up. I’m still weak. But I’m alive. And then she pulls a satellite phone out of her pocket and hands it to me. I stare at the phone for a second and then look at Isadora’s face.
“She’s been a pain in arse,” she grumbles. “Demanding updates every half hour. As if I didn't have enough on my hands nursing you.”
“Then why didn’t you give the phone to Aktor or Nico?” I ask.
&
nbsp; She glares at me and then gets up and leaves the room.
I notice it’s the room I was in when Pisces had been my nursemaid. I shudder. Despite Isadora’s prickly side, I’d gladly take her wiping my brow over the Nero monster any day.
I stare down at the satellite phone. A part of me simply wants to go there. To go directly to the Amazon and hold Casey and never let her go again. But there will be much to accomplish in Pyrkagia before I can be permanently at my Thisavros’ side. I still have to deal with the Council. With Mikkos in particular. With my mother; the woman who raised me but whose blood does not flow in my veins.
The thought unsettles me.
I dial Casey’s satellite phone and wait to hear her sweet voice. The line clicks, I hear yelling and screaming in the background. I am on my feet in an instant, the room spinning hazily around me, my thigh aching, my chest hurting for more than one reason.
“Casey!” I shout.
“No!” I hear her yelling. “That one stays. Chop the other one down! Are you freaking insane? That took me three days to grow. It’s not going anywhere for at least another day.”
“Casey?” I say at a more reasonable volume.
“Theo! Oh my God! Theo, you’re awake.”
“And you sound like you’re in a battle. What in Aetheros’ name is going on over there?”
“Oh, that,” she says, laughing. “That’s a negotiation. These freaking Gi want to cut down every tree I regrow and make treehouses. I guess I’m a little protective of my babies.”
I smile and slowly lower myself back to the bed.
“Nothing wrong with that,” I say.
“How are you?” she asks, the sounds of axes chopping and people yelling diminishes; she must be walking away.
“Good, Oraia,” I say. “I am good. And you and the baby?”
“Missing you,” she whispers.
“I will visit soon, I promise. But there is much to get in order here first.”
“I know. I know. I just…”
“For eternity, Cassandra.
“Always,” she says.
We talk of nothing and everything and then eventually we have to say our farewells as one of the Gi starts hacking a tree Casey has not yet stopped thinking of as her baby.
I tuck the satellite phone away and walk out into the main room.
Aktor is at the fire pit, Sonya beside him. Nico is talking to Hippolytos on a sofa that hadn’t been here when I was last conscious. Pisces is playing a game of cards with Isadora; the sight so surprising that for a moment I am speechless. It is Noah who approaches, the rest of my family too busy living to see me.
“Your Majesty,” he says and bows low.
“Alchemist,” I offer, but there is no longer any sting to the name. I have changed. The battle with Gallus has changed me. We are all Ekmetalleftis in a way.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asks.
I place a hand on my chest, over my heart. Where the former Rigas stabbed me. But I do not feel the remembered pain. I feel only the love I have for my people. For Casey.
“I feel great,” I say.
Noah smiles and then walks away.
Aktor leaves the stew in the capable hands of Sonya then, and walks towards me with such a look of pride on his face.
He bows. I scoff. Tears are forming in both of our eyes as we embrace.
“I am so proud of you, son,” he says.
I force myself to release the man who has cared for me as a father should and take a step back to look down at his wizened features. He looks younger, though. As if the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders.
“There is still much to do,” I tell him.
“The Council has been detained; including the former Queen,” he advises. “The Alchemists offered their camp as neutral ground for their imprisonment. They await your instructions.”
“We are working with the Alchemists now?” I ask.
Aktor smiles serenely at me. “They do have effective chains,” he says.
I grin back at him and then let the smile fade.
“This will require a delicate hand,” I muse.
“Yes. There are still those who support the mad king.” We have a name for my uncle, it seems. “There will have to be trials. And they can only occur after your coronation. Isadora and Nico have been organising that, so we can proceed as soon as you are strong enough.”
“I am healthy.” I do not wish to delay accepting the crown. Pyrkagia needs to recover, and this will take time, but more importantly, I need to be with Casey. And I can only achieve that when I have dealt with my responsibilities here in New Zealand.
It chafes. I want so much to leave, right now. To use the Aeras and their lightning before they go back to Machu Picchu. To have them take us all to the Amazon.
But I can not. Pyrkagia must come first. I am Rigas. My people must be cared for. My own needs must wait.
For this I will need patience. A steady hand and warm heart. Forgiveness may be essential but it will also not be absolute. I won’t have a member of the former Council near my Thisavros and baby. And as much as integration is the way of the future for our kind, Queen Leda and her cronies must be banished; segregated.
I may be a benevolent King but I will not be a weak one.
No one will harm my family ever again.
I nod my head to Aktor. He nods his head back gravely.
We have work to do. It will take time. Months maybe. But we will recover. We will recreate ourselves in the old ways. And we will do it with the Aeras and the Nero and the Gi. We’ll even work with the Alchemists.
Because balance must be maintained. And I will do everything in my formidable power to ensure that it is.
For Casey and the baby.
For everyone.
I am Aether’s sword; my blade is sharp and it is precise. I am the eternal edge of Aether and no one and no thing shall be free of my justice.
“May Aetheros be with you,” I murmur to no one and everyone.
And with you, I hear my god say.
Epilogue
For This
Five Years Later
I walk into the lounge and barely miss getting hit by a lightning bolt. I duck just in time, swearing profusely. I hear a giggle from behind the couch.
“Alessandro!” I growl.
A vine curls around my ankle, growing up between the wooden floorboards of our home. Little white flowers blossom along its length as it wraps itself around my lower leg. I stare at it and scowl.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
All I receive is a high pitched giggle in reply, and then the vine tugs.
I go tumbling onto the couch cushions and scrabble to gain my balance. The vine only grips me harder. I mutter another curse and flare Pyrkagia. The vine disintegrates.
“No fair, Daddy,” a little voice says.
Then promptly the flames are doused in water.
“Come here, you little monster,” I growl, laughing.
He climbs over the sofa and falls with a soft plop onto my stomach. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight.
“What have I told you about using your Stoicheio in the house?” I ask, nuzzling his neck with raspberries.
He squeals and squirms, a wind whips through the lounge, on it the sweet scent of Gi. The curtains catch on fire.
“Alessandro!” I shout, jumping up from the couch and rushing towards them. I wave my hand, and the flames snuff out. Left behind is a clump of charred material. My son slowly walks over and stands at my side. We both stare at the mess forlornly.
“Mummy’s gonna be mad,” he says.
“Yes,” I agree.
“Should we run away?”
“No,” I say. “She’d find us.”
“Not if we hide.”
“Your mother has a knack for finding lost things.”
I stare out of the window at our village which is fast becoming a town. Trees grow between houses, some of them within the buildings t
hemselves. Leaves rustle, and the birds sing. All around us is the Amazon, regrown and magnificent. Living in harmony with over sixty Gi and seventy Pykargia, a collection of Nero and Aeras and Alchemists, and now, at last count, one hundred human beings.
I look down at my son and grin widely.
“We can replace them,” I say. “Before she gets home.”
He brightens, his bottom lip slipping free of his teeth.
“Really?” he says.
“Absolutely. I am a king. I can make things happen.”
“Like curtains?” my son asks.
“Yes,” I say, bemused. “Just like curtains.”
I pat him on the rump and tell him to go play. He squeals as he runs from the room. Outside, I hear Marcus calling his name. Within seconds, a group has gathered to play soccer, every one of them wanting Alessandro on their team. A scuffle breaks out. Marcus and Nico argue over which side my son should play on. Alessandro stops the fighting simply by stealing the ball away. Everyone scrambles to tackle him.
I laugh to myself as I start to take the burnt curtains down. I’ve just managed the last hook when Cassandra walks in.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I look over my shoulder and smile at my Thisavros. I can not help it. She looks radiant. Pregnancy suits her. And this one I will not miss. Not even a single day.
I throw the curtain out the window and turn to face her, then start stalking closer.
“Oh, no,” she says, laughing. “You’ve got that look in your eye. I want answers. What did you do to my curtains?”
I chase her around the couch and into the dining room. We stand either side of the long table. Casey’s panting, I’m laughing.
“What curtains?” I say.
“The curtains you just threw out the window. They looked charred.”
“Nonsense. You’re seeing things.”
I move to the side. She mirrors me. We circle the table.
“Did Alessandro use his Stoicheio in the house again?” she asks.
I have a choice. I could confess my son’s sins to his mother and thereby teach him a valuable lesson. Or I could protect him for just a few more years. He has time enough to become a man. And there are many good men here to teach him.
The Eternal Edge Of Aether Page 10
