“I know.” She’d thought about that. But Isis and Ma’at were both awake and aware, not a slumbering god as Set was reputed to be.
Khefar apparently had the same thought. “If Set is able to affect your dreams, and has created a physical manifestation of something that happened in your dream … do you think he’s awakened?”
“I—I think it’s possible.” Kira’s throat closed up as a sudden shiver of fear coursed through her. She almost gagged before managing to whisper, “I think he wants to regain his place of power, and I think the Lady of Shadows is helping him do it.”
Khefar stilled. Kira wondered if her expression matched his: the tightness about the mouth, the widening of the eyes, disturbed, worried, and trying not to show it. She shouldn’t tell him anything else. What she’d already shared was enough. The need to share her fears, her burden, strained her control. Khefar would understand. Surely he would.
Unless he took it as a sign that she was losing her grip on sanity and was on a fast track to Shadow.
“Kira?” He knelt before her on the cold stone floor, his hands wrapped around hers. “Talk to me.”
“The dream.” She licked her lips, staring down at his hands wrapped around hers. She started over. “Comstock was in the dream. We excavated the town of Nubt and we happened to uncover an intact was scepter. I was surprised when he told me to pick it up, to lift it out of the earth and bring it to Light. When I did, that’s when Set’s temple appeared in all its glory. He—Set—welcomed me as his daughter, said that I was born of thunder and lightning and belonged with him. Each time I refused, he stabbed me with the scepter, and more Chaos magic got injected into me.”
She dropped her gaze. “I know it’s there, the Shadow magic. Solis knew it was there, when we went behind the Veil in Cairo. She said it always will be, because I’m not human. One thing has changed in the dream: since I got that chest from Balm, the last two nights I’ve told Comstock that I was afraid to open the box because I didn’t want to find out my father was a Shadowling. He acted as if it would be no big deal, that I wouldn’t be any different than I was before I knew the truth. Maybe I won’t be different because I’ve already got Light and Shadow swirling inside me, but I don’t know that for sure. Ma’at could have removed it, but she didn’t. Why not? She had to know that Set was gunning for me.”
That was the part that scared her, the part she’d been afraid of voicing. Would Ma’at set her up to be taken by Set? Why?
“You can’t really believe that the Lady of Truth would allow such a thing,” Khefar said. “That’s crazy!”
“Is it? Isis might have good reason to stand against Set, but does Ma’at? ‘Truth is neither good nor evil. Truth simply is.’ Solis said that, and it makes a lot of sense. Truth is what it is. It’s what people do with the truth that’s the problem.”
“That doesn’t mean that Ma’at would serve you up to the god of Chaos like a holiday turkey!”
“I didn’t say she would do that,” Kira said, finally looking up. Indignation mixed with astonishment on Khefar’s face. Yeah, she couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth either. “But Ma’at is Truth.”
“And what does the Lady of Truth say to you?”
“Nothing. No warnings like with the Vessel of Nun. I haven’t asked directly about it during my prayers because … well, it’s only been dreams. I thought they were intensified nightmares, you know, some sort of post-traumatic stress manifestation from our time in the Between-Cairo. Has Isis said anything?”
“No.” His face reverted back to its usual grim lines. “No warnings about Set awakening. I would think if she would warn us about anything, it would be the return of the god who killed her husband. Perhaps your dreams are simply that, really vivid dreams.”
They both looked down at her bloodied bruise. Neither one of them believed Kira’s problem to be simply overactive lucid dreaming. She decided to follow that train of thought anyway. “If they are nothing but dreams, my subconscious is trying to tell me something.”
“Which is?” Khefar prompted.
“Either I need to go on a dig, or I need to find out my parentage.”
Her hand brushed the feather tattoo at her throat, the mark proclaiming her as the Hand of Ma’at, bestowed by the goddess herself. “If I claim to be Ma’at’s devotee, if I am truly to be the Hand of Truth, I have to face the truth, no matter how unsavory it is.”
“You’re ready to open the box?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” she admitted, “but I think it’s time. I’ve been hounding Balm for clues for years. I can’t back down now that I’ve got them.”
Bracing her hands on her knees, she stood. “Would you mind getting me another tank top? I should at least try to be somewhat presentable when I see my mother for the first time.”
Fifteen minutes later, Kira sat on her couch, staring at the chest. The box seemed to be carved out of wood that had turned gray with age and sea spray, rough-hewn as if by a moderately skilled hand. Yet Kira had seen enough ancient artifacts to know the wood had been carved by a loving hand.
Kira breathed in deep and out slowly, pushing the mundane away. The Veil of Reality slid aside. Everything about her danced with the various colors of magic: the orange-red glow of the alarm system enhanced with her own aura, the soft golden-white sheen of antiques scattered about the cavernous room, and the bright blue glow that shrouded the opening to the lower level.
She turned her attention back to the box. With her extrasense fully engaged, she could clearly see the magic surrounding the box. Sigils were etched into the side panels—some sort of ancient cuneiform she hadn’t seen before but that hinted at Sumerian—glowing violet neon. That must have been the charm that prevented anyone else from opening the chest. With the kind of people she and Balm had to contend with, a puzzle lock would have been too simple.
Her hands shook as she raised them to open the box. She paused, clenching and unclenching her hands to relieve the sudden pressure filling her, tightening her muscles. It’s not Pandora’s box. You can do this. You can handle this.
After a few more breaths to steady herself, Kira carefully pried open the lid. A bright flash of purple light swamped the room as the sigils extinguished themselves. Not knowing what to expect, she was disappointed when nothing happened, no assault of Balm’s thoughts or Lysander’s memories, or impressions of whoever had carved the chest. She placed the lid to the right of the chest and took her first look inside her past.
A sheet of handmade paper, folded in half, lay atop an ornately decorated golden box that would have done an Egyptian queen proud. She picked up the forceps she’d snagged from her worktable, carefully grasped the note, then set it on the lint-free cloth she’d spread on the coffee table. If she had to guess, she would say that the note had been written by Balm. Probably some sort of admonition concerning the contents of the box, or a chastisement of how headstrong Kira was.
She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, telling herself she wasn’t wimping out. Making every attempt at preserving everything in the state she’d found it was part of her archaeologist’s training. If she treated the act of opening the box and examining what it contained as cataloguing an artifact and not discovering her own past, the trembling that randomly shook her subsided.
The box inside the driftwood chest was covered in gold, carved and intricately inlaid with sparkling jewels. The inner box looked to measure roughly the length and width of a sheet of letter-sized paper. Judging by the outer container, the inner box stood maybe seven inches high. Whatever mementos Balm had of Kira’s mother, Balm had obviously considered them more precious than Kira had believed.
Making sure no part of her skin touched the outer box, Kira reached inside and lifted the case out. It wasn’t heavy. Not a secret cache of ancient gold coins, then. Nothing else lay beneath the jewel-encrusted box.
Kira stared down at the table, reviewing the items arranged before her. Curiosity screamed at her to open the sh
immering box immediately, but she resisted. After all this time, years of not knowing, she would finally know something about her birth mother. She’d finally be able to peek inside her mother’s mind, to experience the thoughts and emotions, to discover why her mother had decided to entrust her to Balm instead of her birth family.
Silence pressed in on her, thick with anticipation. Her gaze fell onto the folded note. She tried to reach out to her foster mother, sending a simple Hello? along their psychic communication link. Balm, are you there? What’s going on?
No answer. I’m opening the box now. Is there nothing you want to say to me?
Again no response. Kira didn’t know whether to feel relieved or upset. Either Balm was incapacitated in some way, involved in extremely high-level Gilead business, or ignoring Kira. There had been times on Santa Costa when Kira had gone days without hearing or seeing anything from the leader of the Gilead Commission. There was nothing new about Balm’s lack of communication. Kira had also returned the favor, giving her foster mother the silent treatment for days at a time. And yet …
She remembered Lysander’s anxious demeanor, his urgent desire to return to Balm quickly. Something was going on. Or the Gilead leader wanted to prevent Kira from pumping Balm’s assistant for information.
“I know what you’ll say, Balm,” she said aloud, needing to break the oppressive quiet. “You’ll ask me what is the importance of wanting to experience the knowledge instead of just knowing, why what you told me wasn’t enough.”
She flexed her hands, gripping the edge of the table. “It’s not about what knowing will or won’t do, or what I’ll do with what I learn. It’s about truth. My whole life has been about uncovering truth. I will prove myself worthy of being the Hand of Ma’at. The Hand of Truth. I can do nothing less than pursue and uncover truth, no matter how deep in the shadows it lies.”
She picked up the thick sheet of handmade paper, unfolded it. Balm’s bold strokes only filled part of the sheet. “I had hoped to be with you for this, but I cannot. I’ve sent your mother’s locket to you. She wore it always, and then gave it to me. I now give it to you. Perhaps you will find what it is you seek. When you are ready, come to me.”
Balm hadn’t signed it, but she didn’t need to. No one else could chastise and infuriate and bestow permission all at once like the eternal head of the Gilead Commission. Kira knew Balm wasn’t happy that she hadn’t traveled to Santa Costa with her after wrapping up Bernie’s affairs in London. Kira had still been reeling from her trip behind the Veil and meeting the other Balm, and finding out that Balm had known her mother all along without telling Kira. Going to Santa Costa before processing all of that would have been a big mistake.
With the surgical gloves still firmly in place, Kira lifted the hinged lid of the inlaid box. A stack of letters lay inside, the edges of some envelopes yellowed with age. Kira recognized Balm’s bold scrawl in the letters addressed to Ana Guamayo in a town she’d never heard of in the West African nation of Benin. Other letters were addressed to Serena Balm in flowing script.
Balm knew Kira’s mother.
Kira had known that, of course, since Balm had shared the information in one of their dream walks. What she hadn’t realized was how well Balm knew her birth mother. Apparently very well, and for years, according to some of the time stamps on the envelopes.
A glittering object caught her eye. A gold locket rested in the bottom of the decorated box. The locket looked almost like a Tibetan prayer box, with filigree on each side of the inch-long box and a tiny hinged lid.
This locket had belonged to her mother. All she had to do was take off the surgical gloves, then cup the pendant in the palm of her hand. She was seconds away from finally knowing her mother. And perhaps the identity of her father.
Before she could change her mind, Kira stripped off the gloves and picked up the pendant.
Chap†er 12
Sensations bombarded Kira with gale-force strength, scouring away her sense of self. She grimly held on as her world compressed, turned inside out, and seemed to fold in on itself. This horrible wrenching sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt before during a reading, a sensation that threatened to strip away her extrasense.
Finally, as blackness danced along the edges of her vision, she pushed through the magical vortex to the other side. She found herself falling upward, arms flailing, landing on damp, rocky black earth.
Was this what Balm had experienced before sending the chest? Kira couldn’t imagine the head of the Gilead Commission going anywhere that would cause her to soil her expensive clothing, not to mention leave her psychically vulnerable. Unless this wasn’t a rewind of Balm’s last moment with the pendant, but something else, somewhere else.
Kira’s gaze traveled the room, though room was a generous designation. It was more like a chamber carved from basalt, the volcanic rock emitting a subtle sheen of magic. Dank, dark, lit only by a sliver of moonlight and the ambient magic, there was no way that this depressing chamber would be high on anyone’s must-see list.
A shadow detached itself from the gloom deeper in the chamber. Kira had an impression of a feminine form, a fall of hair as the magical lighting increased. “Balm?”
As soon as she uttered Balm’s name, Kira realized her mistake. The young woman had a passing resemblance to Balm, like a reflection on a shop window as the bus whizzes by. Instead of soft brown eyes that flashed to blue, the stranger’s eyes were completely golden yellow with fleeting flashes of black.
Kira’s hand immediately dropped to her Lightblade—or rather, where her Lightblade would have been if she’d been in her own dreamwalk. “You’re not Balm.”
“Took you long enough,” the woman said. “What gave it away?”
Kira pushed through the fear, reaching for sarcasm in self-defense. “Balm doesn’t look like a petulant teen whose parents took her phone privileges.”
“Then you should realize how dangerous and unpredictable a teenaged girl can be,” the young woman said, the temperature in the chamber dropping rapidly as she floated closer. “After all, you were barely a teen when you hurt your sister. You were still a teen when you got your handler Nico killed. And you certainly acted like a headstrong teen when you ran off by yourself and ended up killing all those people.”
“Shut up!” Yellow tinged Kira’s vision. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Don’t I?” She spun in a circle, a little girl playing. “Am I not Myshael, the Lady of Shadows? Does not the darkness belong to me?”
She spun to a stop in front of Kira, her eyes completely black. “Enig was my child. You do remember him, do you not? You gave him your power twice.”
“I never gave him my power,” Kira shot back. “He took it from me. He took Nico from me. He took my Lightblade from me.”
“He couldn’t take what you weren’t willing to give,” the young girl said in a lilting voice. “You wanted so much to be normal, even as you knew deep in your heart that you are not human and have never been. You wanted to be free of your power, and for what? To be like those sacks of flesh who have no idea of their potential? You needed to learn the error of your thinking. I was happy to teach it to you.”
“You?” Kira stumbled back a step. “You sent Enig after me? You interfered in my life?”
“Really, there’s no need to sound so shocked,” Myshael said, clucking her tongue. “Balm’s been interfering in your life since before you were born. But I suspect you’ll find that out soon enough.”
Kira put her hands to her head, trying to grasp the revelations she’d heard. The Lady of Shadows had blatantly admitted to meddling in Kira’s life. Kira knew Balm had attempted to direct her path several times, but to know that the head of Gilead had tried her hand at being a puppet master since before Kira’s birth was almost too much.
She stared at the female embodiment of Shadow, the very thing she’d been trained to destroy. She couldn’t trust the Lady’s word. Heck, she didn’t trust
Balm most of the time. “Where is Balm? Why isn’t she here?”
Myshael smiled, an angelic child if not for the glowing yellow eyes and razor-sharp teeth that nearly split her face in half. “The Lady of Light can’t help you now. She’s doing all she can to help herself.”
Anger and fear grappled in Kira’s belly. “What the hell did you do to Balm?”
“Do not lay Balm’s actions at my feet. I merely capitalized on the situation that presented itself. How’s your wound, by the way?”
Kira’s hand drifted to her shoulder. “How do you know about that?”
Myshael changed form again, back to a teenager. “Set is my child. And so are you.”
Horror iced Kira’s back. “You are not my mother. My mother’s name is Ana.”
The young woman’s eyes burned citrine. “Is a mother one who incubates or one who educates and shapes? I did not carry you in my womb, Kira Solomon, but make no mistake—I definitely had a hand in creating you.”
The chamber’s chill air pressed down on Kira, seeping into her bones. “What do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I want joint custody.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Balm has had her time with you. Now I will have mine. Some of the best Lightchasers are former Shadowchasers.”
“Lightchasers? You have Lightchasers?”
Myshael gave a long-suffering sigh. “Balm’s curriculum has been woefully half-assed, I see. Tell me, Kira Solomon: what is Universal Balance?”
“I’m not playing your game.”
“I do enjoy games, especially when people are my playthings,” Myshael replied. “But in this, I expect an answer. Or is Gilead’s vaunted Shadowchaser training unable to live up to its own hype?”
Kira folded her arms. “Balance drives the Universe. Matter and antimatter. Good and evil. Action and reaction. Love and hate.”
Shadow Fall Page 12
