Darkness Unbound

by Zoe Forward

  Her chest constricted at the thought of Kane’s concern. God, she missed him. She said, “Not that I’m not thankful, but what’s going on? One minute I’m drunk in a bar, and the next I’m in a car that gets pushed off an overpass?”

  Christian’s voice lowered to that silky tone. “Calm down.”

  “Stop it. I know you’re doing some sort of strange mind-coercion thing. I need answers.”

  “All right, sorry. Yeah, Khyan and I had a little complication getting home last night. Hashishins ambushed us and summoned a daemon.” Christian shifted to get comfortable. “This is exactly the reason we’re relocating to Mexico. I hate those annoying Hashishin bastards.”

  “Really?” she asked skeptically. Khyan’s gaze caught hers in the rearview.

  Khyan nodded. “Yeah, really. The fuckers road blocked us on the overpass that leads to home. While Christian and I fought the daemon, Hashishins rammed the car with you in it off the overpass onto the Interstate. You got front ended, rear ended, and pretty much crunched. In fact, I’m shocked you survived.”

  “I can’t die.” Yet another lost death moment.

  “What does that mean? You’re human. You can die,” Christian said.

  Astrid slumped back into the seat. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve been injured by anything you can imagine over the past few years. Nothing will kill me. Is this a part of being a magus?”

  “Maybe once you’re actually inducted,” Christian said.

  “So it’s not normal. I figured that. Whatever. My life is a fun fest of weird.” The small blade in her right hand cut into her palm. She relaxed her grip.

  “Why don’t you chill,” Christian suggested. “We’ll be home soon.”

  She closed her eyes. Sleep hit instantly.

  Chapter Five

  Zannis massaged his forehead as he pushed to a sit. He peered into blinding brilliance.

  Light? He expected the darkest pit of the underworld where the spirit soul-eaters were to hack his soul on a daily basis.

  Lush farmed fields of green surrounded him for as far as he could see. A well-maintained dirt road stretched out behind him where he sat on the bank of an endless body of water. He shielded his eyes with a hand, squinting into the blazing sun’s hues of orange and red where it rested low on the horizon. For a moment he appreciated the sunset’s beauty.

  An enormous wooden ship moved on the turbulent green waters, nearing. A myriad of colors glittered from its bejeweled sides, deck, and mast—amethyst, emerald, jasper, turquoise, lazuli, and gold.

  As it neared, he fell to his knees in utter awe. The Mesektet Boat—the vessel that shunted the king of all gods, Amun-Ra, into and through the kingdom of Osiris. The father he’d never met could be upon that boat. As a magus, his eternal reincarnation dictated that he never be granted passage into the halls of Osiris’s afterlife, which meant he was not supposed to travel upon this vessel. But his situation had changed. Maybe he’d finally get the peace of death.

  Would he be invited aboard? Perhaps, the gods had already decided which duat or region of the underworld they would deposit him to start his journey toward Osiris’s halls. Seven regions existed, at least according to myth. Each had horrors and a challenge to be faced before he could pass on to the next level. Once he had passed through all seven levels, then he’d arrive at Osiris’s Kingdom. Heaven. Realistically, this boat was but a vehicle to channel him to his torture.

  The vessel halted close by as if a magikal anchor stopped it in its tracks. A tall deity appeared less than five feet in front of him. Zannis squinted into the being’s radiance to ascertain which god stood before him to judge. A striking multicolored wesekh adorned the deity’s otherwise naked chest. The tattoo upon the male’s left shoulder was an ankh, a T with a circle attached to the top. Identity mystery solved.

  Zannis’s knees hit the rough rocks of the road, but he was too awed to bow his head.

  “Zannis, son of Amun-Ra,” the god said, his voice booming inside Zannis’s head.

  How did he address this multi-named god? Zannis thought.

  The god chuckled. “I have gone by many names. Sheps, Lord of Khemennu, Khenti, Hab, Thoth, A’an. ’Tis your choice.”

  “My Lord Thoth, I am deeply honored. Where should I proceed to accept the fate that has been chosen for me?”

  “Ah, yes, your path. That certainly remains a conundrum, given the yet-to-be-fulfilled prophecy that requires you propagate, and the fact you are now in the Lower Realm, yet technically not dead.”

  Zannis glanced up sharply. He knew little of this so-called prophecy other than it had to do with his son, or at least Amun-Ra’s grandson. Whether it was he or Aneksi that bore the child remained unclear. Now that Thoth had confirmed he was the one destined to be a parent, what was this child was supposed to do?

  Thoth smiled. “We are to journey. For now.”

  With a flick of Thoth’s arm, Zannis stood upon the main deck of the ship. He asked, “Where are we? Which duat?” He circled a three-sixty in search of the god.

  Thoth materialized to his left. “We are in Ouranos.”

  The second duat of seven. Supposedly, this was a happy region whose inhabitants farmed.

  “We are headed to the next duat,” Thoth announced.

  The third region was not so beautiful. Creatures of his darkest nightmare awaited.

  ****

  Astrid cracked her eyelids. She quickly yanked the airplane window shutter closed. Low light…much better. She rested her head against the seat back while the world spun and her skull throbbed. At this point she was fed up with the head pains.

  Were they from the liquor binge or the hospital fiasco? Apparently the miraculous healer, Kira, couldn’t cure it. The healer must’ve done her thing since her ribs no longer ached.

  She massaged her forehead. Had she really faced Zannis? She struggled to piece together the few hazy images. Zannis’s deep drawl of her name ricocheted through her brain. Oh my, she had faced him. What had she said?

  The spinning in her brain climaxed with a stomach clench. Damn it, she was also tired of puking. She put a hand over her mouth and shot to a stand.

  “Bathroom’s that way.” Ashor pointed toward the rear of the jet with a you-better-make-it glower. She caught a few of the other guys grinning. An unfamiliar redheaded woman crinkled her forehead, concerned. The teenager, Cy, glanced up from his e-reader and cocked an eyebrow.

  Astrid pushed into the mini-bathroom and knelt in front of the metal toilet. Her stomach emptied several times and dry heaved until it hurt. When the digestive tract rebellion ceased, she washed her face and rinsed her mouth.

  When she stepped away from the sink, the world spun. She gripped a towel bar until the whirling stopped.

  One word materialized in her brain: married.

  After a clumsy ass plant to the floor, she wheezed to move air through her chest. Oh, God. Married. Hatred burned hot. Renewed betrayal cinched her chest so tight she gasped for air.

  She attempted to rationalize away the betrayal pain. Zannis no longer mattered to her. Right? He tried to murder her. They were history. She screamed mentally to herself: O-V-E-R! Do not give him this much power over you. “All right, moving on,” she said aloud, and pushed all the heartbreak and outrage into that too-crowded dark corner of her mind.

  She unfurled the hand still gripping the small knife given to her by Amun-Ra. Maybe she was supposed to push it into Zannis’s heart. No. She couldn’t. Although she might hate him, she didn’t want him dead. Just out of her life. Then, the pain of the past might disappear forever.

  She rotated Amun-Ra’s knife. Hieroglyphic-like markings decorated the blade, which seamlessly ended in a grip made of the same piece of metal. How had it stayed with her for so long? Unable to solve the mystery, she stood and draped it around her neck. The shower lured her with the promise of no longer smelling of vomit. After a functional shower in the cramped stall, she entered the main cabin.

  Seven massive guys sat cra
mmed into leather seats, along with one woman and one adolescent. Many of the guys focused on various portable electronics. Guess this was a magus-only field trip. No Kane. Disappointment lodged in her stomach. She longed for the comfort of his presence.

  Nate glanced up. “I didn’t peg you as a motion sickness girl.” He grinned and quirked an eyebrow.

  Astrid swung her gaze to his and glared.

  Nate’s eyes went wide. The grin vanished. He resumed focus on his laptop.

  A sloucher with shaved-smooth head and every prominent area pierced said in a thick Eastern European accent, “The pisser about that much drunk is no remembering what happened. You even remember being hauled out of the hospital? I’m V, by the way.”

  Astrid trapped Christian with her eyes. “I remember the hospital. The bar is a bit fuzzy. Would you say anything odd happened in the bar?”

  “I suppose it depends on your definition of odd,” Christian replied slowly. Gone was his infectious enthusiasm. In its place sat Mr. Serious.

  She sought out Khyan who shifted his gaze away. Wuss.

  She took that as a what-happened-last-night-stays-last-night. “When does this plane ride end?”

  “‘Bout an hour,” Ashor replied without breaking his attention on an e-reader.

  “Where are we headed?” she asked.

  “Egypt,” Ashor said, looking up. “You shouldn’t be nauseated from drinking or injuries. Kira said she took care of that. Do you have motion sickness or something?”

  “Or something.” She had no clue why she was nauseated. Maybe it had to do with using the portal-opening energy.

  “You and Christian…did you…and now you’re pregnant?” Nate asked.

  Ashor’s eyes widened as if that possibility hadn’t crossed his mind. His silent stare asked if it was possible.

  “Seriously?” Astrid asked. She slammed her eyelids closed and pressed a finger against each eyeball as she slid into her seat.

  “We didn’t!” Christian sputtered.

  The tall blond, Eric, laughed hard. “You’ve obviously never gotten a woman in trouble, Nate. Takes far longer than twenty-four hours before morning sickness sets in.”

  “You would be the pro, Eric,” Nate grumbled.

  Eric smiled broadly. “You’re just jealous of my little ones.”

  “Anyone got an ibuprofen?” Astrid rested her head against the seatback.

  “Meds don’t work on the boys,” said the auburn-haired woman from her seat beside the gigantic Arabic-looking guy. “You’d be lucky to find anything tame in their bags. Javen might have some turbocharged pot or meth. He’s piloting.” Astrid recognized the Arabic guy from a strange confrontation in Costa Rica two weeks ago—back when she thought these guys were behind a series of child abductions. How wrong she’d been on that assumption.

  “If it’d help my head, I’ll take it,” Astrid replied.

  “No. Not until you’re inducted do you get to try any sort of high potency shit,” Christian declared. “You’re not allowed to get drunk or take anything that might mess up your head.”

  Astrid challenged, “Why not?”

  Christian stared unsmiling, daring her to make him vocalize the why.

  The redhead woman intro-ed, “I’m Shay. So, what exactly happened last night before the hospital incident that has Khyan and Christian so uptight, yet tight-lipped?”

  “Christian got me drunk. I don’t remember. You sure you didn’t get me pregnant, Christian?”

  “Oh, hell no. We didn’t and even if we did and word gets back to Dr. Kira that I…without protection…fuck, no.” Christian gulped down an entire bloody Mary. He rapidly poured himself a tall glass of brown liquor, which he swallowed in three gulps.

  Astrid bit her lip against a smile.

  Shay asked Khyan, “What exactly happened? Did Christian sleep with her? Come on, Khyan. You’re usually all over crazy shit, and then bragging about it.”

  “They did not sleep together.” Khyan’s eyes met those of the Arabic guy next to Shay.

  The Arab’s dark brows drew upward. “Something that bad, eh?”

  Shay wrapped her arms around the massive Arabic guy who shot her a gaze hot enough to melt the clothes right off her body. Shay intro-ed, “Astrid, this is Dakar, Khyan’s brother. Dakar is the sane one of the two.” Shay pointed at Khyan. “Don’t you dare give me that look. You’re still in the penalty box for being an irresponsible asshole. If you hadn’t been playing games while fighting that daemon, then Dakar wouldn’t have gotten knifed and—”

  “I handled the situation,” Dakar interrupted. Shay and Dakar stared at each other for a few silent moments. Shay smiled. Dakar pulled her in for a deep kiss.

  “If you’re not one of them, Shay, do you have an aspirin or something?” Astrid asked.

  Shay pulled away from Dakar. “I might.” She rummaged through a backpack. “Nope, sorry.”

  “Why do you get to come for this ride?” Astrid asked Shay.

  “Dakar and I are getting married today. Finally. It’s been many centuries in the making.” Shay smiled in a dreamy way that dislodged Astrid’s long-buried desire to find that kind of love.

  Astrid’s mind slid to Zannis. She thought she’d found it, but then it turned disastrous. Make that disastrous times a million. She shoved envy and yearning back into their cage. Love, kids, stability...that wasn’t her destiny.

  Astrid cleared the lump in her throat. “These magi guys can marry? I thought they were immortal or something. Who wants to be married to a wrinkly old woman?” Astrid pinched the bridge of her nose, praying for the spinning in her mind to cease.

  “Well, it’s complicated. Each one is matched to one woman by the gods. They call her a senariai. Once we have our souls united, we get to live as long as him. Not sure on the aging part, but I sure hope I don’t turn old and wrinkly.”

  Dakar kissed her. Shay blushed.

  Astrid closed her eyes, her heart aching for things that weren’t to be for her. “Who exactly are we meeting in Egypt?” she asked to everyone in general.

  Ashor answered, “Our liaison goddess, Ma’at. She will induct you.”

  Oh, joy joy. How would this goddess react when she said no to being inducted?

  ****

  The Siawa Oasis. After an eerie trek through relief-decorated tunnels lit only by flashlights, they emerged into an open chamber that reminded Astrid of a Pueblo Indian kiva. Large, round, and underground with a musty odor. Ashor lit a few strategically placed sconces.

  “You guys stay here,” Ashor ordered, parking Astrid and Shay near the doorway. “You too Cy. I’m not sure…maybe in a few years when you’re older—”

  “Why did you bring me along? Did you feel sorry for the cripple?” The teenager flashed an irritated scowl. His hands clenched and unclenched on his crutches.

  “You’re one of us, even if you’re not a full magus. Yet.” Concern transformed to frustration on Ashor’s face.

  With an irritated snort, Cy dropped his crutches to the sandy floor. “I remember more about this shit than you will ever learn in your one lifetime. I don’t need to observe one of these Ma’at reunions as some sort of learning exercise. I remember what happens. If you brought me just in case you needed a spell, then you could’ve left me alone in fucking peace with a cell phone.” He slid to a sit near the doorway, and massaged the amputated remnant of his left leg. Then he closed his eyes and pretended sleep.

  “You’re acting like a hormonal juvie—”

  “In case you hadn’t notice, I am a trapped in a goddamned teenage body,” Cy spat.

  Color highlighted Ashor’s cheeks. He pivoted and led the other guys in kneeling along the periphery of a giant triangle symbol whose edges were composed of crossing curved sword blades. That same symbol she recalled was tattooed on Zannis’s spectacular chest. Stop thinking about him.

  Astrid leaned against the wall while a jackhammer danced on her brain. She hoped she wouldn’t be required to join in the Buddhist monk imp
ersonation like the other guys—the bended knee chant. Her ears popped. She scrunched her nose to alleviate sinus pressure. Her teeth hurt, and the pain in her brain worsened to the point she fell to her knees.

  Suddenly, the pressure ceased. A shimmering woman in a long white robe-dress appeared. As a reality TV addict who loved clothing design shows, Astrid appreciated the draping of the garment, which ranked in the exquisite to perfect category. The gown hugged the goddess’s curves in just the right places to be suggestive, but not blatant. The garment’s color accented her tan skin and long dark hair, which fell unbound to her mid-back. Copious jeweled gold armbands jingled as she moved.

  The goddess’s heavily kohled eyes ensnared Astrid. “Ah, my newest recruit. I have not had the pleasure of a new soul in a very long time. Yours was a tough negotiation. I thought you would make an interesting addition, but your father was...” She paused as if struggling for the perfect word. “Protective.”

  “You talked to Bill Scarre?” Astrid asked.

  “That human was not your father. I speak of Seth. You thought black-headed William Scarre gave you blond hair?”

  “Who’s Seth?” she asked.

  Collective groans echoed from the guys.

  Christian mouthed: Shut up. And did a lip zipper pantomime.

  The goddess chuckled. “He will not be pleased you do not recognize his name. Seth is a god, not a human.”

  “My father was a god?” Right.

  Ma’at clasped Astrid’s hand. Astrid tugged for freedom without success.

  A floaty sensation spread throughout her body. Her headache miraculously disappeared. She didn’t register a peep of the words tumbling out of the deity’s mouth. But she acutely phased into listening when the goddess said, “Then there is your ability, but you already know about that one. You have an advantage over the others to already have some practice. There is always more to learn.”

  Ma’at smiled mysteriously and turned to the others. “She will bring forth the destroyer who can wield the Sword of Neith.”

  Astrid yanked her arm free. Oh, hell no. “I refuse to volunteer for this, if your sole purpose in recruiting me is to bring him here. If you want him here, then release him from wherever you put him.”