by Jean Murray
“Then you will die along with the rest of them.”
“Stop.” She reached out to him but he jerked back. None of the male she had seen in his eyes remained, only the monster. “Please, do not do this. Anuket would not want you to. Whatever Apep promised you is a lie. He will never let mother go.” The Lord of Darkness had wrapped his talons around her mother’s soul the moment Anuket took her own life. “We will find another way.”
“Do not make the same mistake as your mother. Some souls are not meant to be saved,” he growled and exploded into a cloud of black mist. Only the scent of sulfur and a dying soul remained.
Siya cursed. If she believed Menthu’s story, her entire life had been based on lies. The truth lay in the pit of her stomach, churning among the acid. The positive energy she had absorbed at the diner wilted, replaced by an inescapable dread.
The stench of evil wrapped her so tightly, she struggled to breathe and ripped off her coat. Black blood stained the location Menthu’s chest had pressed against her. The bitter scent burned her nostrils. Disgusted, she rolled it into a ball careful not to get it on herself. She could not risk leaving it in a dumpster for fear someone would dig it out. The evil tainting the blood would need to be destroyed by fire.
The cold air swept through her. She welcomed the distraction and numbing effect as she stared at the empty street. There had to be another explanation. It could not be true. The ache in her chest worsened with each breath of air.
“Mother!” she hollered, crippled by a pain she had not felt since her adolescence. Her futile call was left unanswered. Her mother would never ever hear her pleas.
Emptiness hallowed her chest. Siya tired of this life. Branded, isolated and hated. Yet, she would not let herself fall into darkness as her father had. She would beg to have her sentence executed according to Creation law before she would let that happen. The only reason she had not already was because of the younglings. They counted on her to keep them safe. Until she could find someone to take her place, she would continue to fight.
She shifted her long braid over her back. With forced effort she grabbed the to-go box sitting undisturbed on the curb and restarted her journey to the docks. She masked her energy and circled around several blocks to ensure Menthu had not followed her. Finally, she turned down the familiar street to the warehouse.
“Henry,” Siya called. A hunched gray figure grumbled while he dug through his shopping cart. The smell of whiskey drifted across the air. Henry pulled out a rumpled and stained sleeping bag. He arranged it next to a large sewer grate, billowing clouds of steam. With a brown paper bag clasped in one hand he sat down and patted the seat next to him.
“Fay has been busy baking.” She raised the white box, forcing the encounter with her father out of her head. Henry smiled from ear to ear, exposing his gray teeth. The man had a serious craving for sweets, which added to his wickedly bad breath. Siya cracked the container. “Pecan pie by the looks of it.” She sat next to him cross-legged, careful not to breathe his scent too deeply. In light of recent events, she needed information and Henry was a wealth of it, if you could decrypt most of his nonsensical ramblings.
He eyed the blade at her back and waist. “A gun would be easier to carry, but then again angels would carry swords.”
“I told you before, Henry. I am no angel.” Far from it.
He shrugged and eyed the container. “You gonna eat that?”
She handed him the box. Exhausted, she leaned her head against the brick building.
“You not cold?” he asked, gesturing to her coat clasped in her hand. When she did not answer he handed her the bottle wrapped in the paper bag. “Bad day?”
“The worst.” She grabbed his offer and cracked the lid off the fresh bottle of whiskey. He stabbed his fork into the pie while she took a big gulp of the dark liquid. It burned a path to her stomach and flushed her with warmth. He grunted his approval and shoved more pie into his mouth.
“How about yours?” Siya asked and wiped her mouth before taking another chug.
“Same old, same old.”
“Any new neighbors?” She met the man’s eyes.
“Maybe. Got more pie?”
“No.”
He snapped the empty container shut. A small crumb stuck to his stubbly salt and pepper beard. “Young kid ran through here earlier. Similar to the others, wearing clothes that looked like they shrunk. Not dressed for weather like this.” He waved his crooked finger into the air.
She sighed, not having the energy to track down the youngling tonight. Dawn was breaking. She needed to get inside to rest. He would have to survive a little longer on his own. “Which way did he go?”
“Towards downtown.”
“Damn.” Siya never sensed him. Younglings were difficult to track. They had the ability to suppress their energy up to the point of their transition. After maturity their scent, unique to the god, was established and carried in the air. It was probably best the youth stay hidden. With her father in proximity, no one was safe.
She pushed up and brushed off her pants. “Thanks.”
“You don’t want to hear about the other one?” Henry asked and took a long draw on the bottle.
She looked over her shoulder. “Other one?”
Henry smiled again. “If you are an angel, then this one is the devil.”
“Excuse me?” Siya’s heart slammed in her chest. Had her father found the base? Fear tightened her gut.
“Huge bastard. Stupid too.” Henry laughed.
“What did he look like?”
“Idiot was taking a bath in that polluted water at the end of the dock.” Henry went to work crawling into his sleeping bag with the bottle tucked at his side. He mumbled to himself.
“Henry! What did he look like?” She grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
“Hey, knock that off. He was black, big and mean looking.” A shudder ran the length of the man’s body.
“Wounds? Mottled skin?”
“No! Don’t you listen? He was black, like coal. Didn’t have any food. Devil’s going to freeze.” Henry cackled and pulled the sleeping bag over his head. “Now, leave me be unless you have more pie.”
Siya stood and swept the street. “Shit.” Yanking her sword free, she sprinted down the dock, vaporized mid-step and reappeared in the center of the warehouse. The startled younglings sprang to their feet. Relief swept through her. They were safe. She didn’t stow her weapon but ran the perimeter searching for any scent that did not belong. Theris came running with his own blade in hand and barked out orders. The ranks scattered to their posts, armed in defense.
“Is everyone accounted for?” Siya scanned the area.
“Yes. What has happened?” His eyes narrowed on the healing cut to her lip and the coat she had still clasped in her hand.
“Get the roving patrols up and running. Fifteen minute intervals, I want reports. No one strays from base.”
Theris nodded and jogged off to give orders.
Only after she had searched every square inch of the building and the perimeter did she allow herself to retire to her office. She laid her sword on her desk and walked over to the fireplace. A soft knock announced her Second’s arrival.
“All posts are manned and the rotation schedule is set. I just need to inform them of the threat.” Theris pushed into the room. “What in duat is going on?’
She threw her coat in the fire. Black smoke billowed up the chimney. The rank smell of death filled the small office.
“Isis,” Theris cursed and covered his nose.
“We have a visitor. A scout, perhaps,” Siya replied. Theris did not need to know about Menthu’s appearance, not until she knew the full extent of her father’s plans. It was an unlikely coincidence Henry saw this other dark male within a short distance of her encounter with Menthu and so close to base.
“Creation?”
“Not their style.” No, there would have been more theatrics, especially if Bast was involved. Although dev
oted to the Mother Goddess, Bast was a manipulative bitch and would want to be center stage. Her exiler mark burned hotter with the thought of her former guardian.
Her father could be monitoring her movements. It might explain his ability to locate her near the diner. Creation or Menthu, Siya would see to the intruder’s end. She met her Second’s gaze. “I will not know until I hunt it and kill it.”
Chapter Five
Bomani shoved away loose boards and ducked inside his makeshift dwelling in the bowels of a condemned building. He failed to keep track of the goddess when she left the diner. He had skirted around the block, but he had to divert his course to avoid the human authorities. They had blocked off several streets. A body lay in the alley covered in a white sheet. Based on the heavy scent of blood in the air, the human was on his way to the gates of Aaru.
By the time he got back to the diner the lights were off and the goddess gone. He tracked her energy scent, a mix of lilacs and vanilla. She had doubled back in several locations. Either the goddess was being extremely careful, or she knew she was being followed. Either way, he’d wasted too much time following her false trails. The sun’s awakening derailed his hunt. He retreated to his current sleeping quarters, which were not far from his last location. His search would have to wait until nightfall.
He frowned at his current accommodations. The cold damp cement chilled him, but not a sliver of light penetrated the small square footage. The few rats that shared the room scattered out of the small holes in the walls.
He crouched against the hard biting stone and laid his head in his hands. Bast could appear any minute and kick his ass back to the Underworld. The thought of facing his father, let alone Kendra and his brother, Bakari, churned his stomach. He had to buy more time. If he resumed the hunt, he would have some information for when Bast came calling.
His entire body ached. As of late, pain had been his sole companion. A very annoying friend. He closed his eyes and focused his attention away from the pang of hunger in his gut. Where were the days when he would go without food for weeks? Fighting for the last scrap of leftovers on the warrior table. From the moment of his birth, nothing had come easy. Not without pain, blood and agony.
Those days were but fading memories. He had grown too accustomed to the privileges of leadership and the loneliness that came with it. Stuck in a rut, he became restless. Unsettled with the feeling he was missing something. Kendra had filled the void with warmth and kindness, however briefly. His hope vanished along with her. His own stupidity to blame. Bomani had underestimated his brother, never believing Bakari worthy enough to win Kendra’s heart. Yet, he did.
Bakari had lived a life of luxury and privilege while Bomani slaved away in the warrior camp. The day of Bomani’s commissioning to Commander, the rivalry began. One born of blood, one of seed, they could not be any more different. Honor meant nothing to his brother to the point he had betrayed their own father. Bomani did not grieve when Bakari was kidnapped by the enemy. In fact, he thanked the gods for the blessing to be rid of his treacherous sibling.
However, the good fortune did not last long enough as Bakari returned and threatened to uproot everything Bomani had worked to gain. Kendra most of all. Vowing to protect her from Bakari at all cost, Bomani had become the monster, he claimed his brother to be. A monster willing to kill to keep her. He rubbed at the throb in his temple, refusing to think of it further. Agony and bitterness were all too plentiful. The shame too much to bear. He hung his head, willing sleep to overtake him. Time passed without respite, but finally darkness draped over his eyes and Bomani drifted to sleep. It was neither restful nor regenerative, but cursed by ancient dreams.
Bomani shielded his eyes against the bright sun high on the horizon. He had never laid eyes on the orange ball, lest he lose his eye sight. He surveyed the field full of tents. Creation banners waved high atop white canopies. He turned to find a sea of black and gold shelters with the Underworld crest embroidered on flags waving in the breeze. Warriors were scattered on the open grass, sleeping, sharpening their blades or recovering from their wounds. The smell of blood circulated in the air. Dressed wounds were visible on all the warriors sitting around a small fire. Fatigue dulled the gold glow of their eyes.
A time of war.
A war Bomani had never been a part of.
The pounding of hooves in the distance rumbled beneath his feet. Bomani whipped around. The warriors now stood at his side. Even the Creation’s soldiers exited their tents to investigate. White stallions raced in formation across the horizon. At the point of the formation white and gold flags bobbed in cadence to the horses’ gallops. One black stallion draped in red with his master on his back led the charge, like the head of a spear slicing through flesh. Suspicion whispered through Bomani’s mind. Voices of his ancestors. Only one Creation god was permitted to wear the color of blood and death.
Bomani jerked awake before the answer came to light. The ache in his head burned with intensity. He hated the phantom memories. As a fledgling they had been unbearable and often indistinguishable from reality. Flashes of incoherent scenes, never quite fitting together. Memories—not his, but his predecessor’s. At first he had tried to piece together the story, but eventually he had given up. The memories of his ancestors became less and less over the years. He had not had one in over a century. One of many reasons this dream was even more disturbing.
Why after all this time?
He surged to his feet, uncomfortable in his own skin. Agitated, he needed to move. Maneuvering around the rubble he headed for the exit. The rays of light filtered in through the cracks in the concrete. Searing his eyes as well as his skin, the burn worsened with each step. Despite the threat he breached the upper warehouse. The chains hanging from the ceiling rustled with the wind whistling through the broken windows overhead.
Bomani shrunk back to the shadows. His survival instincts warred with the unbearable draw to go, where?
Pain speared through his skull and buckled his knees. He grasped his head and bellowed. Pigeons burst into the air. Stray feathers floated lazily down to the dirt floor. The pull on his chest grew. His skin burned on the inside, even the unexposed areas.
Was Asar calling him home?
He was surprised his father had not come and demanded his return to Aaru. Born of the Underworld Lord’s blood, Bomani was forever linked to his creator. Yet, Asar would not call him this way.
Bomani staggered to his feet. Nightfall was still too far away, but when it did come—gods help him.
He would find the exiled goddess.
Chapter Six
Theris stared at the door Siya slammed in his face. His goddess had withdrawn from him in the last few weeks. Now, she was keeping secrets. He had known her too long not to pick up on the level of anxiety through her usual unreadable disposition. Something or someone had spooked her. A scout would not raise this level of alarm in his Commander.
Unsettled, he swung his gaze to the lower level of the warehouse. He glared at the now sleeping younglings. Too gods damn many. They were the local receptacle for bastard children. He had commanded the fiercest of soldiers. Now he was relegated to nursemaid, babysitting hormone laden younglings.
He stalked to the holding garage. The smell of hay choked his senses. Apparently, he was a stable boy as well. He snagged a bale in one hand and feed in the other. Another fucking mouth to feed. This mouth he would delight in putting down—permanently. Ignoring the snorts and hoof stomping, he walked up the length of the steel girders of the paddock.
He lifted the empty feed container out with a long steel pole. Red eyes bore into him from the dark stable. Smoke curled out of the edges of flaring nostrils.
“What are you looking at,” Theris hissed. He hated the beast. The stallion slashed at the steel gate with its hooves. “The feeling’s mutual.” He glared at the horse, being very mindful of his proximity. He had been bitten more times than he would like. “Not getting through these, asshole.”
The stallion charged and slammed its chest into the barrier. The metal groaned under the stress. Theris jerked back. The horse whinnied in satisfaction. Damn equine was almost sentient.
Flames shimmered along his fingertips. He would like nothing more than to slit the horse’s throat and burn it to ash. Until that time came, Theris thrust his fist between the gaps of metal and slammed into the tender underside of the horse. An audible snap announced the crack of several ribs. He shook his hand as his own bone buckled. Damn things were near indestructible and healed incredibly fast. “Next time I will poison your grain,” Theris snarled at the beast. The horse bucked its back hooves against the gate and popped one of the latches.
“Damn it.” Theris lurched to slam the pin back into the hinge before the horse got any more bright ideas.
“I will take care of it.” Siya strode through the door and grabbed the feed bags. “Run some water, I will take these in.”
The horse whinnied and stomped on its front legs. Siya opened the gate and closed it behind her. Sealed in with the steed, she hung the hay and feed bag on the wall. “Water.” She gestured with her hand over the top girder.
“It seems more agitated, today.” Theris looped the hose through the slats and cranked the faucet’s handle. Her light green eyes met his. He held her stare for a moment before looking away. “As do you.”
“We need to prepare to leave.”
Theris tilted his head. He had been asking to leave for three months now. He had no love for this city. Siya had spent more time on the streets and less time at the warehouse, leaving him stuck to watch over their growing horde. Not to mention, he had not lain with her in over a month. Anytime he touched her now she pulled away. He had worn her down over the years until her own need consumed her, but she would never allow him to mark her.
Heat flared along his skin. He had given everything up in the hopes he would mate with her. If he could not be General, then he would have her for his own. Nothing stood in his way of getting what he wanted. With one exception, Siya’s weakness for unwanted trash.
