by Chris Fox
“Isis is weak,” Ra said, eyes glittering dangerously. “She makes foolish decisions of the heart. I use reason. The kind of logic you should understand, being a scientist.”
“Okay, then explain to me why you murdered the world? I had a conversation with Irakesh a few months back, but his reasons for so much death were shit,” Trevor said, recalling his former master’s argument that the Deathless were stewards not just of humanity, but also of nature. Keeping mankind in check also kept a natural balance, because otherwise man would do…exactly what man had done. Pollute the world and wipe out thousands of species.
“No doubt they were. My son is many things, but a wise orator is not one of them,” she gave back, smiling cruelly now. “Listen to my reasons, and judge for yourself. What if you knew that enemies far worse than the deathless were coming? What if the only way you could fight them was to breed an army of incredible size? There are seven Arks, Trevor. You’ve met the lords of two, and, if I understand it, your companion has become the lord of a third. The remaining four are not kind, nor are they inclined to share. I assure you their plans for humanity are far more abhorrent than mine. You heard what Hades had to say about Osiris, and he is not the worst of us.”
“So the ends justify the means then?” Trevor asked, clenching his fists.
“Of course they do,” Ra said, raising an eyebrow as if he were a foolish child. “Win. At any cost. Because if you lose nothing else matters. I have done as I have done to ensure that humanity has a future. If I took the timid path of Isis, there is every chance humanity would be obliterated, our entire race nothing but a memory of those who’d twist us to their own uses. You’ve never seen such enemies. Right now, I am the worst thing you have ever encountered, a monster in your eyes. Is this not so?”
Trevor had a difficult time answering that question. Ra was beautiful. Oh, there was savagery to that beauty, like a lioness, but she was breathtaking too. Something he could stare at all day, simply appreciating. “Yes, I do think you’re a monster, at least by my standards. Maybe these enemies exist, and maybe they’re worse than you. The thing is, when you fight a monster, you risk becoming one. In your case you’ve made too many compromises, too many concessions to win. I’m willing to bet that’s why you and Isis don’t see eye to eye.”
Ra began to laugh, a thick musical laughter. She smiled warmly at him. “Yes, I definitely like you, Trevor. Not a single one of my followers would have the courage to say something like that, but perhaps that is the kind of counsel I will need in the coming days. If that treacherous snake of a god Hades is telling the truth, Osiris is the gravest immediate threat. We must wrest the First Ark from him, but that is something I do not believe I can do without help. Especially since Sobek has stolen the Primary Access Key. Without it, my powers are limited.”
“So what do you plan to do?” he asked, more than a little grateful the topic had changed. He’d been treading on dangerous ground, and the last thing he wanted was to piss her off to the point where she killed him. He might not like what he’d become, but he was definitely attached to being alive. Well, un-alive, to be accurate.
“I’m unsure, a rare state for me. I need allies, but the only one who might possibly be of use would be Isis herself,” Ra said, brushing a lock of scarlet from her face. “Unfortunately, she is blind to the truth and does not see Osiris as a threat. He must be dealt with, so I will marshall my forces, and make for the First Ark. We will do our utmost to pry Osiris from its depths, and when we have dragged him into the light we will kill him.”
She made it sound so easy, but Trevor heard something he’d never expected from the seemingly implacable goddess: fear.
Chapter 49- France
“Set down there,” Isis commanded. Blair did as she asked, guiding the slipsail slowly into the valley. They were surrounded by high cliffs of bare white stone, broken by a smattering of green trees. More trees lined the valley floor, which had a wide, slow moving river flowing through it. The place was familiar, though Blair wasn’t sure why, since he’d never been to southern France.
The ship settled to a halt on a narrow ridge, about midway up one of the cliffs. He held his breath as it stopped, praying it wouldn’t tumble into the valley below. Several moments later, he finally released his link to the control obelisk. Isis and Liz had already passed through the ship’s skin to the rock below. Blair joined them, shifting as he did so. It was damn cold, more so than he’d have expected. Sometimes having fur was nice.
“Where are we going?” he asked, looking around for any features of note. There was nothing about this place to suggest why they’d come here. No landmarks, and no structures of any kind. They were in the wilderness, the largely untouched south of France.
“To a sacred place,” Isis said, trotting up the trail. She moved quickly, and they struggled to keep up. Long minutes passed as they wound up a narrow trail. Isis eventually stopped, though Blair couldn’t see any particular reason why she should have. She turned to face them, a wide, childlike smile lighting up her features. “We have arrived. It is still here, by some miracle.”
“What is it?” Blair asked, stopping next to her. He followed her gaze to a hole in the ground, just barely large enough for an adult to crawl through.
“Is that a cave entrance?” Liz asked, teeth chattering as she rubbed her arms. She hadn’t chosen to shift, for some reason.
“Yes,” Isis said, kneeling next to it. “Let’s get inside and out of the wind. It will be warmer in there, particularly after we start a fire.”
She moved to a nearby bush and started breaking off small branches, then quickly gathered larger ones that had fallen from a neighboring tree. Her movements were quick and economical, as if she’d practiced them hundreds of times. When she’d finished she ducked into the cave entrance, shimmying through with surprising familiarity.
Liz gave a shrug, following her inside. Blair waited a moment longer, blinking a few times as he began considering where they were. He thought he knew why this place was familiar now. He’d seen a documentary about it. The Cave of Forgotten Dreams. If this was the same place, much of what the world knew about Cro-Magnon culture had originated here. Blair shifted back to human form, squeezing into the narrow opening.
“Isis,” he called, rising from a crouch just inside. His eyes began adjusting to the dim, but he could still barely make out anything. “Where are we, exactly?”
“This was my home, once,” Isis called back, her voice echoing from deeper in the cave. Liz was already disappearing into the gloom, so Blair followed. His vision was much sharper than it had been as a mortal, and the slight light from the cave entrance lit the place like day.
He slid down part of the cave floor, catching himself against a stalactite. This place couldn’t have been more different than the underworld. It was slick and damp, the sound of water dripping everywhere. Blair rose into a stooped crouch, inching past the low ceiling until he reached a place where he could stand. Liz and Isis stood before a wide wall. Both stared up at something painted there, and Blair’s jaw dropped when he saw what it was.
“My god. We’re in Chauvet. See those brown lines on the rock above? That’s a wooly rhinoceros. This place is even older than you, isn’t it?” he asked, moving closer to join them.
“It is,” Isis said, her tone reverent. “My tribe lived in the valley below. We hunted game when it was warm, and retreated here when the snows grew too fierce. I don’t know who painted those. They were created countless generations before my people. My grandmother taught me that they’d always been there.”
Blair was beyond shocked. It was one thing to understand how old Isis was, another to see proof. The cave paintings of Chauvet came primarily from two periods, one called the Gravettian, about twenty-six thousand years before the present. The other was thought to be older, perhaps as old as thirty-two thousand years.
“Most of the creatures drawn here are extinct now,” Blair said, leaning in close to study the art. A beast had
been captured there, the towering predator taller than a man even on four legs. “This one is a cave bear. I bet those must have been fierce.”
“Fierce enough, when we were mortals,” Isis said, giving a shrug. She turned to face him. “We never returned here after we changed. I wasn’t even sure it would still be here. But it is, and that gladdens me.”
“Do you think Ra will come here?” Liz said. She ran a hand along the stone, tracing a horse drawn from some black material.
“Definitely,” Isis said, giving a nod. Her smile vanished. “She and I were near-sisters, once upon a time. We made many fires here, shared many tales. She can feel the key Blair possesses, and as she gets closer she will track it to this location. It is my hope she will honor the sanctity of this place, and keep the peace.”
“That’s a lot of trust to put in an enemy,” Blair said, more than a little skeptical.
“Ra was and is honorable. We may not agree on much, but she can be trusted to keep her word if she gives it,” Isis said. She stood up and wiped her hands on her skirt. “I’ll set up a fire. You two see if you can scrounge up some game. We’ll likely be here for a day or two before Ra arrives.”
“So we just wait for her, then what?” Liz asked, tone more harsh than Blair had heard her use with Isis. “We’re trapped, and if she attacks us we’re done.”
“I don’t know,” Isis said, eyeing Liz soberly. “It may be that we meet our end in this place. Fitting, as it is where it all began.”
Chapter 50- Heavy Price
Jordan slid down the cliffside, using the armor’s internal gyroscope to help keep his balance. He landed in a shower of rock sixty-three feet below the top of the cliff, on a narrow ledge with a few scrubby trees clinging to the white rock. Below, not more than a hundred feet distant, lay the ship he’d been pursuing ever since the storm. The hull had a silver sheen, despite the cloud cover. It appeared deserted, though it was possible the crew was below decks.
“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” he muttered, leaping to a ledge some forty feet below. Two more leaps and he was standing on the wide area where the ship had set down. Jordan expected his beast to make some comment, either about caution or rejoining his pack. Yet there was nothing. The trip here had been extremely lonely, highlighting just how dependent he’d grown on having that inner voice at his disposal. With the beast, he knew he was never truly alone, and that kept despair at bay when he was going through the worst of the things he’d had to endure. Where had it gone? The last time he’d spoken to it had been the day he’d donned the armor.
“Blair? Liz?” he bellowed, using the armor’s internal microphone to amplify his voice. It echoed off the surrounding cliffs, disturbing a smattering of crows who winged their way skyward. There was no other response. Jordan walked to the ship, unsure how to proceed. “Blair? It’s Jordan.”
Nothing. He walked a full circuit around the ship, which was featureless. Not a single rivet, bolt, or discernible means of entry. Jordan knelt next to it, peering under the ship to see if there was a hatch. Nothing. He activated the powerful light above his right shoulder, panning the beam slowly across the bottom of the ship.
Jordan was completely unprepared for his sudden flight. One moment he was kneeling there, the next he was soaring into the sky like a very ungainly bird. He twisted, facing the ship. A massive silver werewolf crouched there, amber eyes narrowed as she watched his flight. For a split second, Jordan thought he was seeing Bridget, then noticed this werewolf was larger. A terrifying memory of having his arms torn off leapt to mind, and he realized with a shudder that he’d just run afoul of the Mother. Again.
He gathered the suit’s armored legs underneath him, landing in a crouch. The heavy armor pulverized the rock, sending a spray of gravel shooting out. He kept his balance, though. “It’s me, Mother. Jordan. I’ve escaped from Ra.”
The Mother blinked twice, then slowly straightened. She stopped baring her fangs, and began walking toward him. Three paces later she was in human form, the shift happening all in a blur. She paused a few feet away, staring up at him. “You made enough noise to wake the slumbering dead. When I saw you, I feared the worst. What is that strange contraption you wear? I recognize it from your time among the house of Mohn, but this armor feels different. It smells…wrong.”
“Hades gave it to me,” Jordan said, walking back to the ship, though he kept his distance. No sense getting any closer to the Mother than he had to. “If it smells wrong, you can blame him and his friend Vulcan. You’re right that it’s very similar to Mohn’s X-11. I don’t know where Hades got the design, and honestly I don’t care. I just wanted to get away from Ra. She collared me. I’m still wearing that collar, but the armor seems to have muted its influence.”
“Collared?” Isis said, blinking. Then her mouth tightened. “That cruel bitch. She’s used one of the shi-dun.”
“Two,” Jordan corrected. “She used a second collar on Steve. So far as I know he’s still playing meek servant for Irakesh, and still spilling every secret he can to Ra. Anything he knew about you, or about us, she knows now too.”
The Mother’s scowl could have curdled milk.
“That cannot be helped. Steve will be dealt with in time,” the Mother said, stalking up to Jordan. He wasn’t quite as tall in the armor as he’d have been in wolf form, but she was still tiny beside him. She stretched out a hand and touched the armor, then closed her eyes. She was silent for a long moment before speaking. “It is as I feared. This armor is tainted. Dark iron was used in its forging. The suit you wear is demon-crafted.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jordan asked, genuinely alarmed.
“On the one hand it means the armor is far more powerful than the simple steel used by Mohn to make its weaponry,” Isis said, folding her arms as she stared up at him. “On the other, it means your armor has a primitive consciousness. It is neither alive, nor dead precisely. That consciousness is linked to something greater, a master you might say.”
“Wait, the armor is alive?” Jordan said, struggling to keep up. “Alive how? It’s just a piece of metal.”
“Dark iron is imbued with the blood of a potent master,” Isis explained, clearly disgusted. “A god will shed his own blood during the forging. This creates a link between him and anything created from the metal. Such creations are always powerful, but come with an awful price. They were first created by Set, used during his long war with Osiris. If Hades has spoken truly, which I still doubt, then my husband has now adopted the same methods as his treacherous brother. That gives him a tremendous advantage in the coming battle.”
“How so?” Jordan asked.
“You are, in essence, wearing a part of the armor’s creator,” the Mother explained. “I do not know the extent of the influence that will grant, as you are a Ka-Dun. During our own age, those who wore armor or used weapons crafted from blood iron often fell under the influence of the item’s creator. They could be made to kill their family. Turn on their liege. For this reason its use was banned by most Ark lords. Set was the exception, but when he was finally overthrown we thought all knowledge of dark iron had passed from the world. That is why I find the idea that Osiris might have adopted its use so troubling.”
“Well, that’s just fucking lovely,” Jordan said, clenching an armored fist. “So my options are remove the armor and be controlled by the collar, or leave the armor on and worry that Osiris can seize control of my body at a critical moment. What the fuck do I even do with that?”
“Take heart. Taint takes time. Months, even for those of weak will. Someone with strong will can resist for years,” the Mother said, giving a sympathetic sigh. “Why don’t we start by removing the armor? Then I will see what can be done with the collar. Perhaps we can remove both. It will be difficult, but the shi-dun were crafted by Ptah. I know his work well and might be able to find a weakness.”
“All right,” Jordan said, through gritted teeth. He moved his thumb and forefinger in a very unnat
ural motion. It had been purposely chosen because it was something you’d never do on accident. That motion triggered the exit sequence. The armor would power down, and he’d be able to remove it.
Or that was what should have happened anyway. The HUD stayed lit. He tried the gesture again. Nothing. Jordan roared in anger, slamming a metal fist into the side of the cliff. Shards of rock flaked away from the impact. “I can’t. The armor won’t deactivate.”
“Clever. Clever and incredibly devious,” the Mother said, eyes narrowing. “I suspect once the armor has been donned it can only be removed by its creator. Such a measure makes you effectively a slave.”
“A short lived one,” Jordan countered, trying to calm his breathing. He wanted to kill something. Hell, he wanted to kill everything. “I can’t eat with this thing on. Sooner or later I’ll starve.”
“That’s unlikely,” the Mother said, shaking her head slowly. The motion tossed her silver hair over her shoulder, exposing a pale neck. Jordan longed to wrap a gauntleted hand around that neck. “The armor will keep you alive. It works much like sunsteel. It will absorb energy from the sun, and use that energy to sustain you. Unless we can get you to an Ark where I can experiment on the armor, you are trapped. Permanently.”
Jordan closed his eyes, hanging his head. This was too much to bear, but with the armor he couldn’t even end it. Even suicide was denied him.
So Jordan opened his eyes. He met Isis’s gaze. “Then I’m going to make Osiris regret making me into a weapon. I’m going to kill that fucker, and I’m going to do it slowly.”
Chapter 51- Dragons
“Sir,” Benson said, bursting into the room. Her heart was thundering, the blood pulsing through her neck in a way that pulled Mark’s attention from the ancient book. It took immense will to force his eyes up to her face, but he could still feel her heartbeat. She seemed to sense something, expression growing uncertain. “I apologize for the sudden interruption, it’s just that—”
