Wardens of Eternity

by Courtney Allison Moulton

  Kauket had relinquished her cobra form and when she saw me, she vanished in a flash of darkness. She reappeared in front of me, grabbing me by the throat and squeezing. Shadows erupted around her, darkening the world until all that seemed to remain in my vision was her mask of shining gold and its oddly pleasant, horrible expression. My lungs dragged for air, pain screaming through my oxygen-starved veins, and my face felt like a swelling balloon. The quickly numbing muscles of my neck told me it was about to break. She strangled me for so long, it felt like hours. I should’ve lost consciousness, I should’ve been dying. But I didn’t.

  “I bless you, Ziva, of the blood of queens,” Anubis had said to me. I was blessed by death.

  I lifted my hands, and Kauket’s gleaming eyes narrowed with interest, and then shot wide with surprise when I took her by her own throat. My neit spell filled Kauket’s gullet with water, bubbling up her esophagus and gushing out her mouth like a plugged drain. I was sure the spell wouldn’t drown her—the immortals had no need for air—but the agony was enough that Kauket released me. I crumpled to the ground and gasped for breath. I scrambled toward my fallen weapon.

  Kauket dropped her battle mask and I saw her face for the first time—horror and rage slashed across her visage. She gurgled violent threats, water continuing to spill from her mouth and soaking the front of her dress. Her spell lashed me across the face and whipped me aside. I gritted my teeth at the pain, and when I wheeled around to her, I slashed with the asaya. She jerked back, but the obsidian caught her across the forearm, splitting her flesh to the bone. Sparkling liquid gold flecked the air between us. I spun the staff and jammed one end into the side of her ribcage beneath her arm. She screamed as the obsidian buried deep in her body. I prayed I’d struck her heart. She swung, her fingers curled into claws, and I hopped back, falling onto my bottom. She grabbed hold of my asaya and jerked it from her body and snapped the wood in half before chucking it across the room.

  Kauket staggered forward and collapsed with a whimper. A trickle of gold blood leaked from her lips as she wilted heavily. Her body shuddered as her power fought the was blade’s magic, but it was futile. Kauket let out a strangled scream partly in pain, partly in rage, and vanished, leaving her voice echoing through the hall.

  CHAPTER

  11

  I whirled in a panic, searching the hall. “Sayer? Sayer!” I hadn’t seen him since Kauket charged after him. I hadn’t had his back like I was supposed to. Anger at myself was a physical pain in my chest.

  A slowly stirring form tangled up in a shattered buffet table attracted my attention. Sayer shoved silver-gilt ornaments and wood splinters off himself as he sat forward with a low groan. “I’m here,” he called.

  I rushed to him, held out my hand for him to take, and I helped him to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m all right, I’m all right,” he insisted.

  “Kauket is gone, but Cyrene told me to find you,” I explained. “She was injured.”

  “Take me to her.”

  I led him to where I’d left Cyrene and was relieved to find her still alive. Sayer knelt over her, inspecting her carefully.

  “She can’t breathe because her chest plate is crushed,” he said.

  I stared at him. “How could you know with only a look?”

  “I know,” he replied without looking at me. He placed one hand over Cyrene’s forehead and the other hovered above her sternum. I sat on the other side to observe with fascination.

  “Mother Isis,” he murmured as softly as though the goddess were standing beside him. “I invoke you and ask for the power to heal this mortal flesh. I invoke you and ask for the power to protect this mortal flesh from infection.”

  They were simple words, but as he activated his power, those words became magic. He raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. He whispered something in a voice too low for me to hear. Cyrene’s chest swelled and made a pop-crack noise. I marveled as a gash splitting her cheek stitched itself together with invisible thread and the seam melted into her skin. She took a great gulp of air and pulled herself forward.

  “Thank you,” she said, touching her face to inspect her healed wound.

  Sayer stood and helped her to her feet. Cyrene smoothed out her dress and hair. When she seemed satisfied she’d tidied her appearance, she drew another deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “How is the threat?” she asked, then looked past our heads.

  “Neutralized,” came Nasira’s voice. She appeared beside me, her mussed clothes and hair telltale signs of battle. “The second and third floors are clear.”

  “Mum?” Sayer asked.

  She nodded. “She’s fine.”

  “Ziva drove off Kauket alone,” Sayer declared.

  Both Nasira and Cyrene fixed their gazes on me. “Truly?” the priestess asked.

  “I couldn’t kill her,” I explained, realizing Sayer had seen my battle against the goddess.

  “You fought like a titan,” he said, his tone, to my surprise, a little muted.

  I stared at him, trying to understand why he seemed so sad as he praised me. I hadn’t done anything wrong. True, I wasn’t as experienced as the others and I’d have understood if he were surprised I could already hold my own. But I wanted more than anything to excel at what I was born to do as Medjai. Perhaps I misread his emotion.

  Cyrene and Nasira started toward the front of the mansion discussing the damages done. As they wandered away, I worried about who we’d lost tonight, if there’d been any casualties. I wondered about the woman I’d met earlier, Haya, and if she’d run into more trouble.

  “Ziva—you’re hurt.”

  “What?” I looked at Sayer with surprise and then down at myself, but I saw nothing obvious.

  He drew close behind me and gently lifted my hair away from my skin. I reached up, feeling gingerly with my fingertips, and found the back of my neck tender and sticky with blood.

  “A kriosphinx must’ve clawed me. How does it look?” I winced when I applied too much pressure. The magic in the kohl lining my eyes would heal my wounds more quickly than they naturally would.

  “Not bad,” he replied, his voice low and soft behind me. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “Is this a talent of yours—healing?” My body coiled tightly, tensely, in anticipation.

  “Yes,” he replied, his touch a whisper on my skin.

  “Your prayer to Isis . . . this is why you still have faith in the gods,” I said. “Why you never thought they abandoned us.” I trembled, and my nerves wouldn’t let me stop talking.

  His thumb brushed the exposed skin of my shoulder. “Ziva.”

  “You believe some of them are on our side, like Anubis? Not all of them want to hurt us.”

  “Ziva,” he repeated firmly, but gently. “Just relax.”

  He was all around me, everything I could smell or feel. His magic touched mine, an unfamiliar intimacy, a prickling warmth in the air just above my skin, like static. He smoothed one hand around the bend of my neck, but it calmed the fire in my wounds. His other hand pushed the rest of my hair aside, his fingertips gentle on me, and I realized with a thunderclap in my belly what would happen next. I’d seen him heal Cyrene.

  He lowered his head and exhaled, his breath warm and soft on the bend of my neck, and he pressed his lips to my bare skin. His kiss sent lightning zipping into my muscles and I inhaled when an ache rippled through me, low and deep. My chin raised, and my head tilted back. I breathed deeply as his magic coursed through me. A dense fog, like the kind that plumed after a hard rain, filled my mind.

  He repeated the prayer he’d said over Cyrene, including the last part I couldn’t hear earlier, his voice tender and breathy. “Mother Isis, this woman is mine and I ask that you take from me what she needs to be whole. Let your love be my love and may it heal as you heal.”

  The rest of me, from ears to toes, grew hot and quiet as a candle flame. This definitely wasn’t from the magic. There was
no possibility he missed the way my heart kicked up or the shaky, deep breaths I took in an effort to maintain my composure. I was desperate for him to continue. If he kissed me again, I would survive this agony.

  Then he let my hair fall and he drew away, leaving me blanketed in sudden cold. I shivered.

  “Thank you,” I said, stealing a glance at him from over my shoulder. A peculiar sensation had taken me; I felt intoxicated with whatever his kiss had pumped through my blood and I ached to be close to him, to feel him against me, before the buzz faded. I turned to face him, and he didn’t step away. He gazed down at me, his dark eyes heavy as they fell to my mouth. I parted my lips and inhaled, tasting his scent he was so close to me.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  It could be, I wanted to say, bleary with wanting him. He seemed a bit loopy himself, as though his energy were spent. Instead I asked, “So, when were you going to tell me you’re a healer?”

  “When you needed one, I suppose,” he replied, giving me a half smile. Those same lips had been on me moments ago.

  “Sayer,” called a familiar voice. We parted and turned to watch the woman I’d met earlier approach. There was something about her attractive, narrow face and nose that made her feel less of a stranger, as though I’d met her before tonight, but I was certain I hadn’t.

  “Mum,” he replied, and my breath was lost from me.

  Haya smiled at me as though she weren’t battle-swept. “Hello again, Ziva.”

  I flushed with surprise and raised my hand for her to shake. “I seem to meet people at inopportune moments.”

  “Ready for everything, yeah?” Haya ignored my hand and embraced me in a warm hug, placing a delicate kiss on my cheek. “Welcome. It seems you’ve fit right in.”

  “I hope so,” I said, but I thought of the darker side to our mission, the one I witnessed in Nasira earlier today. “Sayer—Dr. Sweeney, remember? The British Museum?”

  His eyes widened as he recalled our new information. He relayed to her everything we’d learned from the stela and Sweeney. “One of the canopic jars is in London for further analysis. We need all four to get another step closer to the resurrection.”

  “This location is compromised anyway,” I added. “There’s a possibility Kauket doesn’t know the canopic jars’ locations, yet. When we retrieve the one contained in the British Museum, we can collect the jar we already have at the Pyramidion in Cairo.”

  “How are we supposed to retrieve the jar at the British Museum?” Haya asked, bemused.

  I looked at Sayer for assistance, but he remained quiet. “Steal it?” I suggested, knowing that sounded less than noble.

  “What other option do we have?” Sayer asked. “I don’t suppose they’ll simply give it to us.”

  “We’ll do what needs to be done,” Haya agreed. “I’ll speak to Cyrene and make arrangements. You two continue a sweep of every room on each floor. There could be more casualties. Pray Nephthys has protected us.”

  Of the fifteen or so Medjai in this house, three were dead. I’d never spoken a word to any of them or ever learned their names, and that drove their fates home for me. I’d been so caught up in learning all I could from Sayer and Nasira and moving forward with our mission to protect Nefertari that I’d forgotten about taking time for the rest of the Medjai. A persistent hollow ache of guilt lingered at the bow of my thoughts.

  Cyrene arranged passage for us on the first zeppelin airship out that evening, a voyage which would take us three days. We spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening packing our belongings. I loaded weapons and books in cases and boxes until we were all ready to go. The beautiful mansion, which had seen life again for the first time in so long, once again fell into the gloom of abandonment. I wondered whose voices would fill its halls next, whose children would explore the magnificent library, if any ever would again.

  We would be flying to England. On an airship. To England!

  The closest I’d ever been to a zeppelin in real life was hiking across Manhattan to its southernmost point at the harbor to watch them sail into the sky. Up until the last few years, airships had been considered only as the future of warfare. Now they were the singular most fashionable method of travel. Our Atlantic Airliners zeppelin was as long as any skyscraper was tall and made of gleaming metal. Its three levels boasted comfortable lodging and amenities, though the noisy engines and exhaust kept me off the balconies and inside where the air was recycled, but clean and warm.

  Nasira had been assigned as my cabinmate, something I was glad of. If we’d not booked our tickets so last minute, more of us could have had first class cabins, Cyrene had explained. She seemed terribly apologetic, but I wasn’t sure why she thought I minded. I didn’t plan on spending any time in my cabin anyway.

  We lay in our bunks that night, the room quiet, but I found sleep impossible to grasp. There seemed to be no getting used to the sensation of being in perpetual motion.

  “Nasira?” I whispered, unsure if she was still awake.

  “Hmm?” came her sleepy reply from the top bunk.

  “Is there . . . something wrong with me?”

  “What?” Her voice was a bit louder with her surprise.

  I exhaled. “With my magic. I keep thinking about the way you looked at me that night in Manhattan, after I fought Kauket that first time.”

  “Oh, please don’t take that personally,” she insisted. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Sometimes, I suppose, I react or say things before I think.”

  That comforted me a little, but unease continued to squirm through me. “I only used the incantations you taught me to stop her.”

  “My brother was right,” she said. “You were brilliant. The way you used magic—it was unprecedented. Not in a bad way. I’m trying to find a way to explain how I felt. Surprised, yes, but not scared. No, that’s not the right word. Hmm. You were creative. You struck a goddess with a bolt of lightning. And Sayer told me you tried to drown her with a neit spell from the inside out.”

  “Well, I knew it wouldn’t drown her,” I corrected. “I needed to make her let me go.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone using that incantation the way you did,” she continued. “You have a gift, Ziva. A frightening one, only because you are better and stronger than anyone expected you to be. Don’t apologize for your talent. Those who are weaker than you will shrink from you, but do not shrink with them. Don’t you dare.”

  Something swelled within me. I did not think of myself as humble, nor did I think of myself as prideful. I wanted to be practical, to have my head in the game and not in the clouds.

  “Thank you, Nasi,” I said. “Will you continue training with me? Three days is a long time to waste on this ship, so I want to make the most of it.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “You know you can ask anyone for help. Don’t be shy. The others have a high opinion of you. They’ll be willing to offer whatever they can to help you get even better. That’s what family does. We’re a team.”

  “You talk to people about me?” I asked, surprised and a little nervous.

  “People like you, Ziva. So does my mother. She’s heard a lot about you, especially from listening to my brother and me. Sayer does not need Nefertari when he has you for a queen. The way he talks about you . . . I’m convinced he’d go to war for you.”

  “War seems to be the direction we’re headed in,” I said and suddenly felt more tired than ever before.

  Nasira paused before replying. “This mission is thousands of years in the making. We were, by chance or fate, meant to carry it out. Perhaps we’re the only ones who can see it done. You and I must be who we are for a great purpose.”

  I wanted to ask what exactly she meant by that, but I suspected I already knew. She was willing to do anything to achieve what she needed to.

  Was I as well?

  The next day Nasira worked with me on focusing my magic. Afterward, I enjoyed a self-guided tour of the zeppelin and found it quite opulently
decorated in the common areas. We were permitted to enter some of the first-class lounges—though I did see some misbehaving children escorted out of the tea room—but our tickets didn’t let us into the grand dining hall. I didn’t see much of Cyrene at all, who’d secured a first-class ticket for herself and spent most of her time in her cabin. Nasira told me her mother was in charge of working out our plan to retrieve the canopic jar at the British Museum, and so I assumed Haya and Cyrene were collaborating.

  I headed out to the promenade deck to soak in some of the sun pouring through the floor to ceiling windows. I paused to watch the endless, calm expanse of the Atlantic Ocean before finding a bench overlooking an interior deck upon which a group of children kicked a ball between them, laughing and screaming with joy. The game was one we’d played at the orphanage I’d grown up in, and I smiled to myself thinking about how we’d all run up and down the streets after our chores were through. I thought of Jean, her sweet smile and her books, and I felt a heaviness in my heart, unsure I’d ever see her again.

  “Good afternoon.”

  I looked up with surprise to find Cyrene approaching. “Hello,” I replied.

  “May I sit with you?”

  “Of course.”

  She came forward, seating herself with one leg crossed over the other, her body turned slightly toward me, her smiling features shaded beneath her wide-brimmed hat. Her body was lithe and athletic, much like Nasira’s, and the cream-colored pantsuit, cinched at her waist, was more casual than my coral day dress. I loved how fashionable and feminine she was on top of being so powerfully fierce in battle. No one told her she had to be one or the other.

  “I’ve heard great things about your quickly growing skills,” she said, her smiling lips painted a deep cherry red. “It’s been exciting to watch you grow as Medjai.”