The Fire in Vengeance

by Sue Wilder

  Dinner was a cold meal. No fire since the tang of smoke could travel for miles in the scentless desert. The moon was bright when Christan entered the small tent and bent down to zip the thick sleeping bag up to Lexi’s throat. She reached out with a gentle stroke of power. He reached back, his fingers brushing the hair from her forehead.

  “You have taught me how to love,” he said. “Taught me, cara, even when it was a language I didn’t understand.”

  “Sei la mia vita,” she whispered, saying words she’d memorized to share with him. “Cuore mio. Lo scelgo te.”

  You are my life. My heart. I chose you.

  ✽✽✽

  In the morning, and after a breakfast that was also eaten cold, Lexi stood alone at the shadowed opening to Zal’s cave. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom until she could see paintings covering the walls, identifying the antelope, a crocodile, the curved, thick horn of the mouflon that reminded her of modern day big-horned sheep. And the scimitar oryx, with images decorating one entire wall.

  Evidence of Zal was everywhere, from shards of pottery to a brass votive and bits of metal. Lexi knelt in front of the blackened rocks of a hearth, looked upward to see the morning sky through the venting hole in the cave’s ceiling. The air was dry, but unlike the desert outside, there was a faint fragrance that lingered. The scent Gaia remembered from the Grandmother. Lexi now recognized it as the light, smudged scent of cypress drifting in the air.

  Lexi pressed her palms into the sand, then against the rough walls, until her fingers probed every corner and crevice, searching until the energy revealed itself: a woman moved with supple grace from hearth to wall. A bed sheltered in a corner, thick with animal skins, then blankets, robes, pillows in jewel colors, the changing scene fluttering in front of her like a movie projected into the night. Candles illuminated the walls. Then the shine of brass cooking pots, the deep blue on the one used for tea, emerald green on the cups used for drinking. The fire, dancing between angled pieces of wood. Nomads, interrupting their travels to share companionable meals. Faint memories of sizzling lamb, of the warm flat bread and hummus and dates. Male voices murmured in awe and respect. Zal was honored as a wise woman, a healer with mystical knowledge. Loved. Revered. Sometimes feared. Lexi looked up once and thought Zal stood there with a smile in her eyes.

  Returning outside, Lexi found her pack and removed the small items wrapped in a white cloth. There were twigs with spiky green needles; she’d gathered them from the ground at the ancient cypress grove, along with bits of bark. When she’d touched the trees, asking what she could do, the trees had whispered their answer. A smudging fire, using their branches for purity and remembrance, the trees said. For mourning.

  Lexi laid the offering on the blackened stones, squatting on her heels as she pulsed a soft curl of power to the shavings of bark. A red ember glowed and blue-gray smoke drifted up into the air.

  It was time, she thought. Time for Zal to reveal her secrets.

  ✽✽✽

  Christan stretched his long body on the rock and ignored the heat of a scorching sun, the grit in the air. The silence.

  He’d shifted into his favorite lion form. Predatory instincts were close to the surface and deserts such as this desert were his element, the place where wildness and ferocity ran free. Christan had always been a creature of war and understood, more than others, that there was little gain in prolonging a predetermined end. Most men recognized it. Those who didn’t never lived long enough for regret. Awareness, primal and unflinching, uncoiled within his mind, bringing heightened instincts and the edge of violence.

  Earlier that morning, when Christan had walked from the cave with Phillipe and before shifting into the cardinal predator, he had clarified one fact to the assassin: nothing was more important than Lexi. Not Zal’s cave. Not the information it might reveal. Not even the threat of The Two returning to the world. Lexi’s life was paramount. She trusted them, risked her life for them, allowed Kace to cut into her memory lines because Christan had wanted his enemy in Cyrene, and as a result, chaos was spreading around the world.

  But in this little corner of the desert, that chaos would not touch her.

  After their discussion, each had retreated to predetermined positions, both Christan and Phillipe, lost in thoughts of past enemies and bloody glory and the need to prevail. Christan’s eyes narrowed, now, as he studied the rose-colored rocks in the canyon below. He had known men were on their back trail for more than a day, as had Phillipe; they both expected it since this was the desert and scorpions hid beneath the rocks. These seemed to be ordinary scorpions, though. Dark tunics and pants marked them, as did the variety of weapons displayed upon their bodies—a mixture of old and new. They were soldiers in a war with no end, walking righteously through blood and pain, and the necessity to confront such ignorance exhausted Christan’s patience. The desire for self-destruction should be left to play out beneath the unrelenting sun, where they’d be the only victims, but honor required action, and were it not for honor, Christan might have turned his back and let them go. These were not just men walking through a nameless desert, though; they were a threat to her.

  The predator shifted on the rocks, his gaze narrowed down on the line of men. In the last twenty minutes, they’d separated into a stream of ants moving around a rock promontory instead of passing through the narrow gorge, avoiding an attack from the high ground.

  The enforcer opened the mental link to Phillipe.

  “There are at least ten following our back trail from the North, a mile from my location.”

  “I just sensed another group, half an hour before they get close to the cave.”

  “How did we miss that?”

  “We didn’t,” Phillipe said. “I only picked up on them a minute ago.”

  “Can you tell if there’s warrior energy?”

  Seconds passed before the assassin answered. “No, not with mine.”

  The lion straightened. The long, black-tipped tail swished with slow warning as the predator’s eyes focused on the group below. “A warrior walks with this group, heavily shielded.”

  “That suggests Calata, perhaps a recent addition or we would have sensed him before.”

  The lion stalked along the sharp ridgeline. Eyes dark as obsidian glittered in the sun. “Where is she now?” he asked.

  “Still in the cave. I’ll go to her.”

  “Remember your promise, assassin.”

  “On my word, enforcer.”

  Lexi sat cross-legged in the center of the cave. Around her, feathers of the mourning doves shimmered in gossamer light: lavender, peach, gray. An unexpected flash of pale vermillion beneath the wing. The images suggested birds in flight and were elusive, silent. Lexi cleared her mind of all emotion, smoothed a space in the sand and traced first the oryx, then the map, marking the corrected route.

  The air whooshed as the birds disappeared. The tang of cypress grew heavy in the air. Lexi followed her instincts and crawled on her hands and knees to the hearth. Sat back on her heels and studied the blackened stones, the glowing embers from the small fire that had flamed moments ago, then settled into a faint glow. Branches collected from the ancient grove remained a faded green and not wholly consumed, while fragrant smoke wafted in the dry air. An ivory shard was protruding from the ash, pristine despite the long passage of time, a fetish reminiscent of something Lexi had seen in an old book. It was carved into the shape of a woman. When Lexi touched it, she heard Zal’s voice.

  “Gaia.”

  “Yes, Grandmother?”

  “There is something you need to see.”

  ✽✽✽

  The village was made up of stone houses with wooden doors. Trees had been hacked back, and animal pens, woven with saplings between upright posts, stood destroyed beside the road. Green plants had disappeared, fragile blades tramped into the black mud that became fluid as she approached. Dark shapes flew into the air. Birds, she realized. And it was the birds, in the end, that still her heart. The s
creaming mass of black-winged carrion birds blotting out the sky.

  This was Four’s village. Her village. The place where the children would run toward them, their small hands and mouths thrown wide. Baby birds, she remembered thinking. Human children were as awkward as baby birds. As thin and fragile.

  “Apa.” Father, they would say, clinging to Four’s strong legs.

  “Ati.” Mother.

  And he would hold them in his arms, find such joy in the human children it amazed her unemotional heart. She’d wanted to feel that, too, wanted to share the warmth and love with him. Feel what he felt.

  Each step forward consumed a precious amount of time, time that never held meaning for an immortal being such as she. They had eons of time, from before time had been in human consciousness, but darkness was closing around her heart. Fear reached with bony fingers to drag her into the earth. It was a cold feeling that only mortals experienced. They called it death.

  She saw the animals first. The stone cotes where the wild doves were caged for their eggs. Nothing had been spared. Fire burned around the pens and it was not just animal forms curled and blackened in the ash. Old men lay upon the ground. There were a few women, and then the smaller lumps and her heart began to bleed.

  Carnage. Destruction. And to what end?

  But she knew.

  This was Four’s land, the place where he retreated after delivering his decision to Six. It was the place with the sacred cypress grove within sight of the sea. The place where they had become lovers in the human way, succumbing to the transformative power that fascinated immortals for so long.

  The place they called home.

  Her mind was numbed by the silence. The ground beneath her feet lay wounded, ripped open and running red with the blood of men. Her soul reached out to him… a presence lost in the wind.

  She found his body at the bottom of the hill. Tenderly, she fetched clean water and washed the blood and mud from his skin. She closed his eyes, placed gold coins to light his way, gathered the sweet herbs and laid them against his quiet heart, beneath his still hands. She wrapped him in white linen pulled from the air, then built the pyre with cypress trees, high on the hill where the view stretched to the blue sea, to the white clouds and the far, far horizon. She transported him there, step by aching step, her hand gripping the small white fetish carved as proof of love. She touched him until she could touch no more. Poured the oil. Watched the flames take flight.

  She sang the lamentation until the clouds wept.

  Until the sky broke apart into a thousand pieces.

  She sang until Justice swept like a bloody tide across the land.

  And Vengeance reared its head and roared.

  CHAPTER 31

  Philippe was shaking her.

  Lexi struggled to reorient itself, her fingers clenched around the small fetish, the unresolved grief so intense she struggled to breathe. She grabbed Phillipe’s arm with her free hand, searching for his reassuring presence. Calm energy flowed through her skin to her veins, slowing her racing heart until she could focus on what he was saying.

  “Put this on,” he instructed as he slid the straps of her backpack up her arms. “We need to leave.”

  “Christan?”

  “Busy.”

  “Who?” Lexi stood then crouched low. Phillipe was moving toward the cave opening and she followed him. Their campsite had been dismantled as if they’d never been there, and Lexi pushed the small fetish into the pocket of her cargo pants as the immortal disappeared through a cleft in the rocks.

  “We were followed?” she asked again, speaking close to his back as she climbed the path behind him.

  “Or bad timing. Either way the end result is the same.”

  “You’re telling me they’re armed.”

  “No one comes into this desert unarmed.”

  “When will Christan be here?”

  “When he’s done,” replied Phillipe as he urged her along.

  The assassin climbed swiftly, reaching the level plateau above the cave and extending his hand to pull her to his side. Lexi realized they were in an open bowl surrounded on three sides by jagged rocks. There was no way to clearly see the horizon.

  “This doesn’t feel comfortable,” she said, looking into Phillipe’s steady silver eyes.

  “It provides you with cover and me with room to move.”

  “You expect me to hide?”

  “I expect you to be smart, Lexi. You’re the priority.”

  “All of us are the priority,” she said carefully, guessing secret agreements had already been made and wanting an agreement of her own.

  The assassin smiled. “Who do you trust to fight?”

  “Okay.” Lexi nodded. “I’ll be smart about it.”

  Phillipe surveyed the area and then pushed her behind a jagged boulder. It was shoulder height, with a dip on the top edge. He pulled the rifle from his shoulder and handed it to her.

  “You never taught me how to shoot,” Lexi pointed out as her hands dipped beneath the unexpected weight.

  “You brace this end hard against your shoulder,” Phillipe said. “This notch is the sight. Right now, all you need to do is point and shoot if they come too close.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Where you won’t see me.”

  “Do they know we’re here?”

  “Probably.”

  “Warriors?”

  “Someone masked their energy.”

  Lexi nodded again, reached out telepathically. “No more talking.”

  Phillipe touched her shoulder, then disappeared behind another boulder, moving so quickly she had difficulty tracking him before he melted into the shadows.

  ✽✽✽

  The line of mercenaries moved cautiously. Each took the time to walk where loose rocks wouldn’t shift, but rocks shifted anyway, helped along by immortal power. A tiny landslide began to filter down from the top of the steep gorge they’d had no other recourse but to traverse. Sand led the way, followed quickly by rocks and then a boulder large enough to crush the lower leg of one unfortunate man. As the unlucky victim screamed, alarm spread rapidly. Men looked around, bunching together before their leader shouted, using a rough Algerian dialect Christan didn’t recognize. The men separated again.

  The wounded man was left behind, still screaming, bleeding out beneath the hot sun. Christan killed him with a flick of power, considered it a mercy as he stripped away the weapons, then shifted back into the lion, vaulting over several boulders to the high ground. His tail flicked slowly back and forth as he considered the options. Another straggler lagged behind, aiming an automatic rifle toward the back trail and shooting wildly. It took less than two minutes to break the man’s neck and destroy his weapons. The enforcer hadn’t bothered with stealth that time. The time for finesse had passed.

  ✽✽✽

  “Hide yourself,” Phillipe ordered as a shout echoed in the distance, followed by sporadic gunfire.

  “They’re here?”

  “Close.”

  “How close.”

  “About twenty feet from you.”

  A man was walking into the sunlight. He was dressed in black, his face obscured behind a wrapped headdress, but the swagger in his body language was clear. The mercenary paraded around and stopped near Lexi’s hiding place. She wondered if he spoke English, heard the answer a moment later.

  “Come out.” The mercenary waved a rifle in a show of aggression. “Out of rocks.”

  “Don’t answer!” Phillipe’s assassin’s voice was emphatic. Lexi thought the telepathy was… sweet. “When I tell you, move to your left, toward that cleft.”

  The mercenary was fingering a curved knife pushed beneath a black web belt around his waist. The blade glinted in the sun. His black trousers were stuffed into the top of his boots and his weight shifted as if he was a venomous snake ready to strike.

  “Come out,” he ordered again, his voice guttural and cold, and Lexi thought briefly about Luca lea
ding her through the night, the hood dropping over her head and a similar guttural voice speaking roughly as her world had turned to black. An acrid tang of body odor intensified when the man suddenly lifted his arm. With aggressive hand gestures, he took on the appearance of an orchestra conductor directing men into place.

  Lexi searched the rocks, watching for some slight movement. The air grew tense and grains of sand began to shift as if caught in a non-existent breeze. And fear was suddenly there.

  She heard the faint sound first. Then a wooden club slammed against her shoulder, catching the breath in her throat on the wave of pain. The rifle fell and she curled inward while a man dropped down, crab-like, from a higher position. When his arm lifted to deliver a second blow, Lexi threw out a wave of telekinetic power, not caring about the accuracy. The club smashed into her hand while rocks splintered and the faceless attacker rolled to the sand near her feet.

  At the same instant, Phillipe exploded from his position, closing both hands around the man’s head; with a violent pop, the body fell back, lifeless. Shouts erupted. Men rushed into the sunlight, weapons draped across their chests. Phillipe turned to meet them.

  Lexi cradled her throbbing hand, tried to move toward the cleft in the rocks. Someone gripped her hair, tearing the strands from her scalp. Lexi uncurled her wounded hand. Earth energies pushed outward and sand swirled in an ocher storm, but the man holding her hair only choked, spewing spittle across her face. She realized it was the man who had stood in the center of the sand, directing men after she refused to come out of the rocks. The man with the curved knife thrust in his belt.

  The chaos increased. Men were dying by Phillipe’s hand while rough voices shouted terrifying words. The man’s grip in her hair did not relent and he continued to twist her head, yanking backward to expose her throat. Lexi kicked, connected with a knee. The man holding her relaxed his fingers enough for Lexi to stagger a step away.