The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Massimo? Alexi heard the clink of chains. They could never have held a serpent priest in chains alone.

  I felt you, Alexiiii. I felt your mind with herrrrrrsss.

  Alexi went very still.

  No use my friend! No use trying to hide! Massimo shrieked gleefully at him, and the sound was nothing human, nothing animal — something else. I felt you touching her! Ha ha ha! I could feeeel the way you —

  MASSIMO! Alexi backed out of the chamber, padding quietly down the hall, searching for a torch and some tinder. He could not go in there without knowing Massimo’s condition. What did they do to you?

  Massimo hissed, and the sound snaked out of the chamber, rustling along the stone walls of the lower-most level of the jackal’s palace.

  It is forbidden, you know. You KNOW it, Alexiiii. And now I know. Gotcha!

  Alexi returned, feeble light flickering out from the torch he’d lit. It slid into the black space of Massimo’s prison chamber as though it didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to know. Alexi didn’t want to know. His brother had never been particularly well hinged, but a lunatic?

  You don’t know anything, Massimo. You have been —

  Sweet mother of Christ.

  Once, Massimo had looked a little like Alexi — he too had long, dark hair and a lean face, but his eyes were dark too, and his body was thicker set. Or had been. Alexi tried to cover his mouth and couldn’t, could only breathe in the cloying, desperate taste of week-old blood and excrement.

  Massimo had been held unconscious, in magic-induced stasis, and surely that was how they had seized him in the first place, but some time between then and now they had obviously woken him up and tried to question him. His arms and legs were misshapen sausages of flesh and muscle, feet and hands at crooked angles, and his face and chest were thick with a dark, crusty layer of blood that they hadn’t even bothered to wash off.

  Why didn’t you heal.

  Massimo rolled glassy black eyes up at Alexi. A sedative. He broke them — Massimo meant his arms and legs — over and over and over again, every time an injection, never strong enough to heal, never wounded enough to die. His throat worked. But that’s not the worst, hoooo, no!

  Massimo cackled, and it sounded all wrong. It wasn’t just that his mind was gone.

  Massimo was young by the priesthood’s standards. Still a formidable power, as all serpent priests were, but young.

  They had taken his tongue.

  And it’s a good thing I don’t need it to tell them about you! Ha ha! I’m going to tell them, Alexi! I’m going to tell them all, and they’ll punish you for it, they’ll punish you for her, they’ll punish you for not coming for me sooner, they’ll —

  Alexi’s mind snapped out along the telepathic link that all serpent priests shared. He seized Massimo’s consciousness with deft mental fingers, and buried it in the swamp of his hind-brain. The crippled serpent priest fell silent, and Alexi set the torch down, and gently gathered his unconscious brother into his arms.

  It was an act of mercy, and one that only Alexi could undo. Perhaps, one day, they might even heal his body enough to wake him — if Alexi deemed it safe.

  But that, Alexi thought shakily as he carried Massimo up to the surface, would not be for quite some time.

  There was no funeral procession for Khai’s remains come dawn. His body was thrown from the southern rim of the palace roof, the direction that faced the great crater basin which the palace was built next to, and as the sun grew high and hot in the sky the vultures descended. As for Tarik, there was not enough of him left once Felani had finished with him to be thrown, and so his bones and hair and other messier things were scraped up and burned. Nobody mourned.

  But for Mata and Guillermo, whose bodies could not be sent back to their homeland, there was mourning — and a funeral pyre that burned a wound into the horizon to the west of the oasis.

  The column of black smoke was still visible almost thirty six hours later, when Emma stepped stiffly into the tent that had been set up for her near the palace. That morning, Olufemi was finally satisfied she was healed enough to be moved, and she was ridiculously grateful to be out of bed — despite the exhaustion of her first day of being up and about.

  She gave a start when she found Marco and Leah, Seshua’s jaguar guards, waiting for her, but Fern was there too, with Tarissa beside him. They both wore serious expressions and their heads were bent low; Emma had a good idea of what they’d been talking about, and she swallowed hard against rising grief. She hadn’t known Mata well and Guillermo had been a pain in the ass, but they’d both died needlessly, trying to protect her.

  Fern looked up and gave her a sunny smile to hide the pain in his mind. “How are the horses?”

  Emma shrugged, moving into the tent and kicking off her dusty sandals before settling herself on a pallet of thick blankets and cushions near Fern. The soothing scent of horse clung to her, but it was bittersweet. Tarissa silently rose and padded to the end of Emma’s pallet, where she curled up with her chin on her crossed arms, elbow brushing Emma’s foot. The maiden was still feeling the close call. All of them were. It made them touchy-feely.

  “I swear Sefu knows we’re leaving,” Emma said. She stretched out, trying to undo the knots of tension that twisted her abdomen.

  Fern’s smile hardened up a little around the eyes, and his glance flicked down her body. How are you feeling?

  She closed her eyes for a moment. I’m tired already. But nothing’s popped loose. There was a nasty scar beneath the comfy tank top she wore, and she felt as though a herd of elephants had tenderized her stomach and sternum, but all her internal organs were staying in their rightful places.

  What about you? She rolled onto her side and peered up at him. It still almost hurt to look at him, and she didn’t know why. There were dreams she could almost remember; dreams in which a goddess told her to live, gave her a reason, took her hand and led her back to the world. When she looked at Fern, those memories sang.

  He looked down at her with an expression on his face she couldn’t decipher. I’m fine. His mental voice held contentedness like rich spring sunshine, warm and infectious. Whatever had happened, Fern was surer than ever that all was well with the world — and that was fine with her.

  But his legs had been broken in several places, and though healed, he couldn’t move around too much. He’d insisted on going with her to Kahotep’s first public address as Pharaoh, and it had taxed him — which was why he had been in the tent folding clothes, instead of doing a last tour of the oasis with her.

  “Where are the others?” She knew where Felani and Rish were — outside the tent, where they’d taken up posts after escorting Emma back from visiting the horses. The two maidens had been exchanging guard duties with Marco and Leah for the day, depending on when Seshua needed to consult with his second and third in command.

  She glanced at Marco and Leah, who had their heads down over some heavy parchment documents. Apparently they were the details of all travel routes between the jackal oasis and the rest of Egypt, and the two guards had been poring over those documents every chance they got. Kahotep had wanted Seshua to feel totally comfortable with the newly forged alliance; no information would be denied him.

  “Telly and Red Sun are who-knows-where,” Fern answered. “They’ve been acting weird. Weirder than usual, anyhow.” Fern’s brow creased with a frown, his black gaze turning inward. “Might just be how Seshua and the guards are treating Telly — they didn’t really trust him before, but after the disappearing act he pulled in the palace…” Fern shook himself and met Emma’s eyes. “What about you?”

  Emma propped herself up on her elbows, matching Fern’s frown. “You mean do I believe his story?”

  Fern nodded. “Yeah.”

  She sighed. Telly was being seriously tight lipped about what happened when they were dealing with Khai and his creepy as fuck army of jackal zombies. He claimed to have been waylaid by a metaphysic
al side-effect of Khai’s necromancy spell; apparently Khai Khaldun had been siphoning power from Anubis in order to reanimate the long-dead jackal warriors of old, and Telly got trapped by the magic somehow.

  Kahotep confirmed part of Telly’s story; he had explained that the zombie jackals were actually soldiers who, in ancient times, had volunteered to be ritually sacrificed and interred within the walls of the palace to guard it — which, y’know, was messed up enough to begin with — and their souls were offered up to Anubis in exchange for the power to reawaken when needed. Kahotep and the rest of the jackals had thought the magic long lost, but obviously Khai Khaldun had uncovered it with Tarik’s help. The jackals were pretty sure the souls of the dead jackals were still at peace — the necromancy, after all, only brought the bodies back to life, and once Khai was dead, the power died too.

  Emma didn’t know what to believe about what Telly had said. He refused to speak any more of it, except to confirm what Emma already knew in her heart — the goddess Nephthys had affected a kind of possession, riding Emma, forcing magic into her to defeat Tarik and keep her body alive long enough for the others to get her to Olufemi. When Tarik put Fern into the same false coma he’d used on the kidnapped serpent priest — when Emma saw Fern lying as though dead — the rift it tore in her spirit allowed the dark goddess entrance. Telly had told her that Nephthys must have been searching for a way to break herself and her consort free of Khai’s spell for some time, hence Emma’s fainting attack and speaking in tongues in the abandoned temple.

  So yeah, Telly’s story made sense of a lot of things. But of course Seshua and the guards were suspicious of him. Even when Telly was being honest with you, it never really felt like he was telling the truth.

  Fern made a thoughtful noise, drawing Emma’s attention back to reality. Then again, he sent, a careful look on his face, he could be dealing with the fact that not only did you not need him to save you, you’ve also discovered the Pledge magic doesn’t need sex to bind it.

  For some reason that made her face turn hot. If it weren’t for Telly showing up when he did, we’d have had a whole lot more jackal zombies to fight off. The rest of us can’t wield lightning. She aimed her gaze at her feet, where Tarissa was seemingly asleep. And I don’t see why the Pledge magic makes any difference to anyone but Seshua. Not that I’ve been brave enough to have that conversation yet.

  Seshua knew, but she’d been avoiding him. Easy enough when she’d spent most of the past day and a half unconscious.

  Fern shrugged and went back to what he’d been doing, deftly folding Emma’s clothes and putting them back in her pack. Seshua wants power, that’s why he cares about you and your powers and the Pledge. But Telly…

  When Fern was silent so long Emma didn’t know if he was going to continue, she sat up and poked him in the arm. But Telly…?

  Fern met her eyes and then quickly looked away. Like he said when you two had that talk. He searched for you for as long as he can remember. To find you and keep you safe. But what if you don’t need him?

  A cold, sickening sensation that Emma couldn’t explain washed through her. Well if that’s how he feels then he’s being ridiculous. The only reason Alan hasn’t found me already is because of Telly’s protection.

  Fern made a contemplative sound of agreement, but before he could reply Emma lifted a hand, listening.

  No, not listening, she corrected herself. Sensing. Sensing Kahotep draw nearer, via the Pledge bond.

  There were murmurs from outside as the maidens greeted him, and then the curtains at the entrance rustled and Emma managed to pull herself into a standing position just as Kahotep came in. He saw Emma and his one spectacular eye glittered with good humor; he was still laughing about getting to wear an eye patch, and she didn’t need to be able to read his thoughts to know it. The patch suited him. His hair was braided away from his naked face, proudly displaying what might otherwise be seen as a disfigurement.

  He swept the curtains aside and Nathifa stepped in, and for a moment the warrior priestess locked gazes with Kahotep, and Emma knew he had forgotten anyone else was there. You didn’t need to be able to read his mind for that, either. Nathifa glowed, and her eyes were dark gemstones that flashed passion and contentment at her king — but there was something wary beneath it, some part of her that couldn’t believe he was hers, and not just because it was too good to be true.

  Emma cleared her throat. “They loved you guys at the public address this afternoon. Both of you.” Judging by the roar of the crowd when the couple had ascended the dais, the jackal kingdom was proud to have one of the last surviving priestesses of Nephthys as their queen — and honored to have a Pharaoh who had given his left eye in battle for the kingship.

  Kahotep looked up. “The people are happy to have their kingdom back. There will be many changes.” He looked at Nathifa and his fingers entwined with hers. “Our first daughter will unite the queenship with the sacred line of the priestesses of Nephthys,” he said softly.

  Nathifa swallowed as though trying to think of what to say, and Emma felt bad for her. She was obviously overwhelmed. The beautiful jackal woman tore her gaze from Kahotep and looked at Emma.

  “Without you, none of this would have been possible.” It wasn’t actually a thank you. But that was just fine. Emma shook her head and didn’t say what she wanted to say, couldn’t; that if Kahotep didn’t love Nathifa as much as he did, none of this would ever have been possible. She didn’t know why she thought that, only that she was certain.

  Instead she changed the subject. “I heard you’re exchanging people with Seshua. You don’t have to do that. But it is pretty wise.”

  Kahotep inclined his head. “I’m not just trying to appease your king, Emma. Guards of yours were slain at the hands of Khai’s warriors, guards whose duty it was to protect you. To do other than replace them from my own ranks would be a gross insult, especially since more must stay here until they are well enough to travel.”

  Emma frowned, trying not to think about those slain guards — but the thought that sprang to mind was hardly better. “What about Alexi and his priest?”

  Kahotep cocked his head slightly, his one eye fixing Emma with a soft and all too knowing look. “They plan to stay with Olufemi. The priest is in no condition to be moved so soon, and Olufemi wants to see what she can do for him before he is returned to his brothers in South America. Not to mention Alexi’s wounds are still healing.” Kahotep’s voice dropped. “I don’t believe Alexi has any intention of waking his brother until he is healed, and Khai and Tarik cannot be questioned, so we will never know exactly how they managed to capture him. But I cannot be sorry they are dead.”

  Emma shook her head and blinked against the feel of Fern’s mind brushing hers with comfort. “Nor can I.”

  But she wouldn’t be seeing Alexi before they left Egypt for good; no chance to say goodbye, to thank him for risking his life for hers, to see how his wounds were healing. It was probably just as well — he wouldn’t want her thanks anyway. At least they’d got what they came for, even if Massimo might never recover.

  Nathifa cleared her throat. “You are leaving tomorrow, then?”

  Emma looked at her, but Marco answered before she could. “At first light.”

  He sounded as though he couldn’t wait, and Emma couldn’t blame him. She’d found a friend in the jackal prince, and she was happy for him and Nathifa, but homesickness was a permanent ache in her chest and every time she looked toward the jackal palace she was reminded of what she had almost lost there — and who she had lost forever.

  41

  Emma slept through the entire plane ride home, exhausted from going all the way to Kharga on horseback — Kahotep was busy trying to reestablish transport routes without recourse to Khai’s contacts, and so there had been no bus to meet them at the desert camp where the Bedouin sometimes kept their horses. The entire herd that had originally traveled with Emma and her entourage was in fact “owned” by the jackals, but i
n exchange for tending them, the horsemen who had contact with the jackals were entitled to choose foals every season for their own herds. The horsemen who traveled with them to Kharga would be herding the horses back into the desert, close to the jackal’s oasis should they be needed.

  When Emma, sore and swaying, dismounted Sefu at Kharga and gave him a final pat and then walked away toward the bus that would take them to Luxor, the dappled gray stallion had screamed and screamed, trumpeting his indignation to the sky. Emma had been tired enough to cry, and she hid her face in Fern’s shoulder as they headed for the bus.

  Raul and Anton were waiting for them at Black Pine airfield. Anton didn’t seem capable of speaking, just stared at Emma with hard, hungry eyes and wrapped her in a crushing hug. Nobody said much of anything; from Luxor, Seshua had phoned ahead to let everyone at the ranch know they were coming home, and to bear the bad news of who wasn’t coming home.

  When she finally stumbled out of the truck as it came to a stop in the ranch’s gravel driveway, all the feeling came back to her numb limbs with a vengeance. She tried to stretch, relishing the warm sun on her face and the cool breeze and the smell of grass and pine and moisture — no sand, no limestone, and no palm trees. In a week or two, maybe she’d miss Egypt, but not now.

  She heard a door slam. She closed her eyes. Footsteps pounded toward her and then she was swept up in Ricky’s arms and squeezed against his bare chest until she couldn’t breathe, until she thought that the shudders racking his body would shake her apart.

  “Put her down!” Felani snapped. “She’s injured!” Ricky’s arms loosened and he pulled back, hands in her hair, on her face. His amber eyes were huge and bright.

  “I’m okay.” She looked over his shoulder, saw maidens pouring out of the house, their little faces stark and stiff. She wasn’t okay.

  Ricky clutched her to his chest again, breathing hard. She felt it catch.

  “You feel different,” he whispered against her hair.