Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri)

by Teresa D'Amario

  “What do you want this time, Set?”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, smiling as he moved toward her. “I’m so happy you know who I am. This playing Ramose’s brother was getting quite tedious. You see, my dear, I need your help.”

  “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong woman if you think I’m going to help you,” she scoffed.

  “Me either.” Brianna stepped up beside Tamara, who sent the woman a grateful half smile.

  Set ignored the priestess and, instead, took a slow, threatening step toward Tamara. “Here you are, making me repeat myself again.” Menace dripped from the soft, malevolent voice. “The decision is made. It is simply a matter of the time and place.” He took another step, the smile on his face cold and bitter. “Should you follow my lead, I may let you live, at least for a time.” One long, white finger caressed her cheek, and Tamara suppressed a shiver. “Should you not,” he shrugged, “then I shall have the pleasure of killing you now instead of later. Either way will be a pleasure indeed.”

  Horror shivered through her. The smile he gave in return flashed with evil, his eyes glittering dark with desire. She took an involuntary step back, avoiding his ice-cold fingers. Something in the temperature was different than her Kha-Ib’s. This was dark and frightening. Suffocating. She struggled for a breath and realized it was increasingly difficult to remember the Amunkha of the dream. She focused on that image, letting it permeate and warm her soul.

  Brianna grabbed her hand in a show of support.

  Tamara glanced around the darkness. Her eyes had adjusted, and the pain had eased, and a little more light would help. With a wave of her hand, she lit the torches along the wall.

  Set jerked about, his eyes wide. She heard him utter what sounded like a curse, and then the fire went dark. He didn’t like fire?

  “There’ll be none of that,” he growled. Moving closer, he stalked his prey. Each step slow and wary. His eyes swung back and forth, looking for traps, aware she wasn’t as afraid as he expected.

  “First, I’m going to destroy Ramose. Like Osiris, he won’t stand a chance. Osiris’s weakness was his pride. Horus had his brashness. Ramose’s weakness is you, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes he has failed you.”

  She stepped back again, and he followed.

  “Did you know his job is to protect his people? He’s done an admirable job. I haven’t managed to kill a single one.” He didn’t look as though he admired Ramose’s skills. Set’s lips curled in disgust. Then they softened, like a memory crossed his mind.

  “But he neglected to protect humans from me. You see, my dear, he has no idea of how many women I have loved. Oh, yes.” He hissed. “Their bodies so delicate. And when I finish, when their screams fade away, they are so very beautiful. I release their souls so Anubis can escort them to the underworld. I can’t wait to share those stories with him.”

  Tamara glanced at Brianna, remembering what had happened the night before. “You think I’m stupid, Set? You can’t love anyone. You can’t even have sex. It’s why you wanted Darius so much.”

  The priestess beside her blanched and nodded. “She’s right. I don’t remember everything, but I know she’s right. You wanted me to find a way to heal your impotence. You’re lying.”

  His face darkened in fury. Power erupted from his palms. Brianna’s body jerked back, and she screamed as she slammed into the cold, stone wall. “You dare challenge me, human? I can break your bones as easy as papyrus stalks.”

  Brianna’s body dropped to the floor, where she rolled to her knees and moaned in pain, before collapsing.

  “Just like a man,” taunted Tamara. She needed him to give her an opening, and she would push until she found it. One thing was sure. She would not give him what he desired. Fear. “Always afraid of women.”

  Set whirled to face her. “I fear no one,” he roared. Evil eyes pinned her as if she was a butterfly on a collector’s board. She gave an involuntary step back.

  “Yesss,” he hissed, his voice returning to the silky slide of malevolence. “Run, little one. Run in terror. I will destroy you and doing so will destroy Ramose. Run to find your man. For he too will die this night.”

  Tamara took a deep breath, forcing the fear from her lungs. “Why do you want to punish him?”

  “Because I enjoy it.” He grinned and spun about, his arms open wide as if he dancing like a child. “He’s so fun to punish, don’t you think?” His voice held a childlike quality. It sent a shiver up her spine. “In fact,” his arm snaked out, yanking her to him, his breath in her ear as she turned to avoid him. “I’m going to give him a little taste of that defeat the instant he walks in. He will be able to feel your fear and your pain.”

  He grabbed her hair, forcing her head back as he inhaled deeply at her neck. She shivered in revulsion as his tongue trailed up her neck. “The time is very near.” His malicious laughter echoed in the chamber as she struggled to escape his iron grip. “Once I have dispensed with Ramose, I will have the privilege of finishing you off myself.”

  Inwardly, she struggled for control. She would not let fear get the better of her; she would not give him that satisfaction. Second by second, the fear receded.

  He glared at her her through narrowed eyes. “What, no more terror? That is truly a shame.” He circled her. “But it’s no bother. Your Kha-Ib can still enjoy the music of your screams.”

  He pulled a dagger from the sheath at his waist; the curve of the blade lay cold and hard against her cheek. “First, you will simply whimper, fear coming alive in your heart.” He trailed the blade down her throat. “Then, there will be the staccato of music as you cry out with the first icy cold slash of the blade.”

  Despite her best efforts, a cold, clammy claw of terror wrapped itself around her heart. She breathed slowly, in and out, refusing to give in. She understood now. Fear was his food. If she gave in, they would all die, even Amunkha.

  “Then, there will be a crescendo, the most beautiful of music, as you realize your death is nearly upon you.” His eyes closed, a blissful expression on his face, as if listening to the sounds in his head. “An opera fit for a god.”

  “You are no god!” The words sounded much stronger than she felt. “You may claim to be Set, but you are no god.”

  His eyebrow rose, surprised at her vehemence. “And you are no Isis.” He hissed the name, his voice riddled with fury. “When I destroy Ramose, it will be his end. No woman will bring him back to life. You will not be able to simply put back the pieces. I will destroy him completely, before your eyes. No matter what you believe, the outcome will be the same.”

  Sharp steel pressed against her leg, then Set dragged the blade of his curved dagger from her knee to her thigh. Her jeans vibrated with the tip as it traced the crotch, then up to the button. She gasped as the button tumbled to the floor, pinging against the stone floor.

  “What is wrong, my sweet? Not so sure of yourself now?” He taunted her, his voice as hard and sharp as the blade of his dagger. “Because, my dear, I intend to savor every scent, every sound of your terror.” He inhaled again, sniffing from her breast to her ear, and he closed his eyes, savoring her smell the way a wine connoisseur scents a wine before testing.

  Tamara struck. She forced the heat away from her body fast and hot, right into the handle of his blade. He cursed when the dagger clattered to the hard limestone bricks.

  Without releasing her hair, he looked at his hand, already red from the burn. He muttered again, this time in a language she didn’t understand. Warily eyeing her, he put his hand out, the blade jumped from the floor to his palm.

  “You think your puny powers can stop me?” His voice was ice. “You are sadly mistaken.” Evil promise echoed in his words. He stepped back, thrusting her away from him. An unseen force slammed into her body, and she crashed against the wall behind her, the impact forcing the air from her lungs. Her head cracked against the stone surface. Blackness threatened her vision, and she shook her head. She tried to st
ep forward, but the force blocked her.

  “What do you really want, Set? Surely you haven’t waited for centuries just for me to arrive.” She forced the words out with bravado and lifted her chin.

  “Why, my dear, I am Set. God of Chaos, Slayer of Apep. I am your worst nightmare.” His voice began as a whisper, escalating as he took a step toward her. With arms opened as though to embrace the entire room, he spun, a wicked smile upon his lips. “I want what is mine. I want the world.” The walls shook with his evil declaration. “I will have total dominion. I will have Osiris’s throne.”

  “Let me go.” She kept her voice icy cold and full of control. Despite her words, the tug of fear crawled up her spine, closing her throat, and threatened the last threads of her control. She fought to remind herself Amunkha was in there somewhere, fighting to help her.

  He smiled, triumph in his eyes. He must have sensed her fear. His voice changed, soft and inviting, a deep hunger entered his eyes, her body froze. “I have followers, my dear. They await my sacrifice. But never fear. They won’t be the ones to kill you. That is for me and only for me.” He ran the blade of his dagger over her skin, the sharp tip just grazing her ear as the curved edge cupped her chin. The blade was really beginning to piss her off. He was taunting her. He might have followers, but she knew he had no intention of saving her for sacrifice. That was Brianna’s position. If he had his way, Tamara wouldn’t live past this hour.

  “No one else will touch your beautiful skin. For years,” his voice just a whisper, “I have dreamed of this day. The day I’d find the perfect sacrifice. The only one who’s will and strength matches my own.” His mouth came down on hers, and, as he tried to kiss her, she bit his tongue.

  He slapped her hard, her head cracked against the wall, falling into the arms of the Apophis statue. The sound of stone on stone grated against her ears, and, before she could move, cold, hard arms wrapped about her waist. The statue had come to life.

  “It is time for you to learn who is in control. I have been patient with you, but my patience wears thin.” He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, and the cold blade of the dagger sliced along the collar of her blouse, leaving a trickle of blood. She hissed in pain.

  He hooked the blade into the neckline, ripped down hard, her shirt opening to her waist. He let loose of the dagger, but it didn’t fall. Instead, it hovered in midair just inches from her eye, threatening its evil intent. Distracted, she didn’t see his hands move, but she didn’t miss the sudden twist of his wrist as he cruelly twisted one nipple.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The earth beneath Tamara’s feet shuddered as though it too felt her pain. The statue holding her dropped its arms, and she toppled to one side, while Set fell toward the other. Ice crackled inward along the stone walls, reaching like cold fingers, searching. Tamara knew what it searched for.

  Her.

  It was Ramose, and he was pissed. His anger burned inside her like a living dragon, but, instead of flames, ice ran through his veins.

  He strode in, alone, dressed all in black. Tamara didn’t recognize the material of his clothing. The heavy threads appeared to be as much armor as cloth.

  Then, just like in her vision, the Apophis statue again moved, raising its arm, throwing the spear straight at Ramose’s heart.

  Tamara screamed, seeing her greatest fear coming to life before her eyes.

  But Ramose was ready. He snatched the spear from midair and broke it over his knee in one motion.

  “Is that all you have, Amunkha? If so, it’s time for you to die.”

  Tamara dragged herself to her feet, pulling the now conscious Brianna with her.

  Set held out his hand and mumbled a word she couldn’t understand. One of the two swords on the wall flew across the room, the grip dropping into his hand. He grinned, crouching in eagerness for a fight. “At last, Ramose. I’ve been waiting for you to join the party.”

  “Waiting for your death, you mean,” Ramose growled. He held out his hand, and the second sword shot across the room slamming into his outstretched palm. In an instant, ice crystallized over the surface.

  Damn. If he fought like that, the cold would weaken the blade. One hard hit, and it would shatter.

  Tamara moved backward and then slid along the wall toward Ramose.

  “How sweet,” said Set, his voice filled with icy venom. “The two of you together. Ramose, your love is brilliant in every way. Except in this.”

  Set/Amunkha charged, his blade dancing through the darkened air. Tamara jerked back as Ramose moved on the defense. Metal against metal shimmered in the night. The ice crackled over the hilt of the sword, moving to the fuller section of the blade. She had to do something now, or the metal would shatter. Tamara’s fingers rolled and twisted until heat built in the room. Then, just like she’d done when playing softball in high school, she pitched the flames straight for Ramose’s blade.

  Both men jerked backward in surprise as the steel edge erupted in bright red and orange flames. Ramose’s gaze met her eyes, and he nodded, understanding. Before Amunkha/Set could recover, Ramose charged.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ramose slammed his blade hard against his brother’s. There would be no finesse this day. Only death. Only pain. He tried to ignore the thoughts as he fought. Tamara stood, her hand over her lips as though fighting the urge to scream. Yet, inside, he felt her calm.

  She’d lit his blade afire, and he charged forward, amazed to see his brother backpedaling. Could it be? Could Amunkha be afraid of fire? That would certainly explain his quick departure the last time they met.

  “You think you can best me in a show of magick?” The words came from his brother’s mouth, but, for the first time, Ramose realized the man before him could not be Amunkha. The sound echoed and hissed like a thousand serpents.

  It’s Set, the real God of Chaos. He heard the soft feminine voice in his mind. Amunkha is still in there, Ramose. If we can get him immobilized, I might be able to save him.

  Ramose shook his head. He didn’t have time to immobilize the creature. He had to kill him. He charged, their blades engaging, ready for the kill. “It’s time for this to end,” he growled.

  “I so agree,” said the man he’d once thought was his brother. The man stepped back and dropped his sword point to the floor. “I’ve had enough of these games. You will help me achieve the greatest of my goals. What more can a brother want?”

  Ramose stopped, struggling to slow his breathing and his heart. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Why, Ramose, your pain will be the one thing which destroys your brother. He will die. And, with him gone, I shall have the power I need to reclaim my throne.”

  Set grinned, an evil, sliding type of grin which sent shivers of foreboding down Ramose’s spine. Strawberry blonde hair hung in the air as the man spun. A ball of energy exploded from his fingers, flying through the air toward Tamara.

  “No,” shouted Ramose. He threw himself forward, knowing he would be too late.

  “No,” screamed a feminine voice. The priestess he’d left chained in this same room the night before lunged forward, shoving Tamara to the side.

  The ball slammed into her belly. She screamed, her head thrust back, her eyes filled with the black shadow of the chaotic power. Her body shook and trembled, and her eyes widened. Dark lines of pain drew across her face as Ramose watched in horror at what so easily could have been Tamara.

  Then, as if unable to contain the energy another second longer, she exploded outward, the power a dark hole in its intensity. At last, the power collapsed, leaving only the echoes of her screams.

  And, then, there were only the soft echo of breath sounds.

  Breathy sounds of those left living.

  Ramose growled, and, using his power, he sent ice shards raining down upon Set. In an instant, the man-god had installed a shield of some sort, the ice bouncing off as though nothing more than light snow. Well, if ice wouldn’t do the trick, perhaps
snow was exactly what he needed.

  He let the power of cold surge through his veins. Above Set, he let it swirl and eddy until a huge vortex formed. Snow fell in masses. In seconds, foot upon foot of snow dropped its heaviness upon the man, covering his body in a blanket of white.

  Amunkha’s body collapsed. Ramose poured more energy into the forming cloud, and more snow collapsed downward. Then, with a quick thought, he imprisoned the man in large blocks of snow and ice, like the igloo he’d created for Tamara, but with much heavier consequences.

  The room quieted. Tamara’s sobs were all that remained. Ramose turned toward her. His Kha-Ib held the remnants of the priestess’s clothing.

  He pulled her to her feet. “Shhh. There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “She wasn’t evil,” she cried. “She would never have done on her own what she did last night. He made her do it.”

  Tamara’s pain sliced into his heart. “I know.” He drew her close into his arms, holding her as she sobbed.

  “She saved my life.”

  “And we will remember her for that.” He owed the woman a great debt. He would find a way to repay it. Somehow. Somewhere.

  An explosion of sound vibrated from across the room, and they both turned. Set erupted from his cocoon of ice, shards flying everywhere. Snow powdering at his feet.

  Soft, evil laughter filled the room. “So you thought to imprison me, dear brother,” he said.

  “You fool,” screamed Tamara. She jerked herself from Ramose’s arms and stormed toward Set. Her grief disappeared beneath a fierce cloak of rage. “You would even kill your own priestess.” She emphasized every word with a fireball thrown at Set. He stepped back, cringing from her fury. “You have no right to the throne of Osiris. You are evil incarnate.”

  Tamara stormed toward the man who’d once been his brother. Ball after ball of flame slammed into the man/god until he’d backed against the stone.

  “Stop your slut, Ramose,” he heard Set shriek. “Before I destroy her as well.”

  Ramose drew to a halt at the man’s words. He cocked his head in wonder. He had disappeared before when Tamara had thrown fire at him, and, now, he was on the retreat. “You can’t, can you? Fire is your enemy.”