by Kira Brady
Chapter 23
Grace paced nervously across the sundial on Kite Hill. Leif, Hart, Marks, and Thorsson stood to one side. The Gas Works rose from the base of the hill in brown cylindrical towers. The wide lawns had been dredged up rebuilding the plant, but the hill remained untouched.
Boatfuls of weapon-toting civilians disembarked onto the coal loading dock. Along the shore of Lake Union, humans set up camps. Canvas hospital tents dotted the far side, and Ishtar’s Maidens rolled bandages and prepared stretchers. A line of Drekar hovered at the edge of the tent. They waited reluctantly to get their blood drawn and fill vials for the fight ahead. There wouldn’t be enough healing blood, not in time.
More dragons landed, and the boats carrying their followers began to pull up on shore. Men with makeshift spears and armor joined the well-armed soldiers who had been in Norgard’s arsenal. Humans trickled in, ready to protect their homeland and their right to survive. Last time the Unraveling had come with no warning. This time they had the chance to take a stand, and the brave ones did.
The anti-supernaturalists had refused to participate until Edmund Marks ordered his Mark of Cain to show. “Forgiveness is a virtue,” he said. “Let Eden’s serpent stand on the side of Good.” Once the fighting arm committed, the civilians followed. They didn’t want to throw in their lot with the Drekar, but it was better than rule under Kingu.
Lake Union protected the battlefield on three sides. On the fourth, a row of trees marked the boundary of Gas Works Park. Behind it stood a parking lot, bordered by the bike path, the street, and a row of squat, empty buildings. Two dragons, Grettir and Joramund, dug a deep trench around the outside of the park.
Birgitta’s heathwitches set up their caldrons in a wide ring along the shore and out across the row of abandoned buildings in the back. Some of them climbed trees. Some sat on high stools. They wore blue cloaks with cat fur trim and planted their elm staffs into the dirt. A Dreki guarded each one. Getting both groups to work together had been a nightmare.
Birgitta supervised Grettir as he burned a line between each caldron, connecting them in a wide, wavy circle. The twisting line of charred earth cut through the grass and across asphalt. Birgitta followed him with a shaker of salt and a sprig of mistletoe.
The plan was to call Kingu. If he followed the pattern, he would send his army first, but he would want to take the Heart himself. The ragtag army of Drekar, humans, and Kivati would kill as many as they could until Kingu arrived. Once he crossed the summoning line into the circle, the witches would initiate their wards and trap him inside. If they were lucky, Kingu would possess a body and Grace could carve the banishing runes on the host’s skin with the Tablet shard. If they weren’t, Kingu would stay a wraith. The Kivati Thunderbirds would use their thunderbolts and Drekar their fire to drive Kingu, while Grace used the power of the Heart to force Kingu into a host. She’d then use the Tablet to slay the demigod.
It was a terrible plan. The Tablet hung like an anchor around her wrist. She didn’t know how to use it to kill a wraith. Theoretically, marking a host and banishing the wraith should work the same as it always did. Rudrick had used the Tablet as a knife during the initial ceremony to bring down the Gates. Maybe she should try that too. She could draw Aether through the cuneiform marks carved on its face just like she did with her bone knife, but she wasn’t sure what would happen next.
Still, it was the best plan they had.
But whom would she sacrifice? Whose body would be the vessel for killing Kingu? Grace didn’t want to send all these people into battle. It would be so much easier to run, but Kingu would never stop hunting her. Her city would be destroyed. Anyone who helped her along the way would be slaughtered. She would become the Tablet, leaving death in her wake.
Leif’s Gas Works, the key to his plan to show Jameson that Drekar could be a creative force, not only destructive, stood still. Sun breaks pushed through low clouds to glint off the finished towers. Complete, shining, waiting to take the city into a new gas-powered tomorrow, ready to light the world.
But no steam curled from the massive boilers, and none ever would.
Leif was surprisingly okay with that. He had more important things to take care of.
Grace paced near him. He watched her shadow slide over the ripples in the textured concrete sundial. The glass marbles pressed into the decorated surface reminded him of children’s playthings. He had ordered a few Drekar to stay behind and guard the city’s children. If Kingu won, his people would see to their safe exodus south.
If Grace succeeded in defeating Kingu, he hoped he could convince her to stay with him.
“What’s taking them so long?” Grace demanded. “Corbette should have been here by now. I don’t see a single Kivati except Hart and his men. Corbette has to know what this means. You told him about the Heart, right?”
Leif watched the whitecaps blow away from the shore. A clear wind drove down from the north. Sven used to claim he rode that wind as he swept in to a bloody victory. Leif would have Sven’s victory, but not his methods. Still, all Leif’s avoidance had come down to this: an untried general on the brown plains of battle. His shirt stuck to his back. His hands didn’t shake, for which he was grateful. “Corbette’s not coming.”
“The note promised.”
“Who knows who sent it? It might be just a mind trick. He doesn’t care.”
“Doesn’t care about Tiamat rising from the dead? Doesn’t care about chaos’s reign?” Her voice rose until it was a low scream. He wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her, but he was fresh out of comforting words. He didn’t think he’d make it through this. As long as he could save her, it would be a fair price.
Her friend Hart, the Kivati Wolf, double-checked his rifle. He had brought five Kivati with him and set them up scouting the route Kingu’s army would take. The Kivati could communicate with each other through the flocks of crows that clung to the surrounding trees like gothic Christmas ornaments. “I brought who I could, but most are too loyal to come without Corbette’s order.”
Leif needed Corbette to give the order. Dragon fire wasn’t strong enough to herd Kingu on its own.
“You still have that Deadglass?” Hart asked Grace. “You should keep it here at the top. Best view on the field. I’ll order a crow in case you need to send a message.”
“Thanks.” She punched Hart’s arm. “Oscar would have wanted to be here.”
Hart chuckled. “Yeah, he didn’t like being out of the action, did he? Would have been helpful too. Maybe he coulda conned Kingu into possessing some schmuck. I don’t know how you’re gonna do it if he stays wraith.”
“Pray to your Lady that he doesn’t.” She pulled out the Tablet shard and ran her fingers over the sharp edge.
Hart pulled back. “Damn, but that was Oscar’s territory, wasn’t it? He had the Norse fates in his pocket. Maybe he’ll send us some of his luck from the other side.”
“Thanks for coming, Hart. Means a lot.”
“I’m not doing this for you, Reaper. No offense. This is for Kayla and the pup.”
“How do you know the baby’s totem will be Wolf? Maybe the Lady will bless her with wisdom and strength, like the Raven.” Grace’s eyes twinkled.
Hart snorted. Shaking his head, he took off down the hill to organize his small band of warriors.
“His wife is pregnant,” Grace explained to Leif. She kept her face carefully neutral.
“Ah.”
“She wanted to come, but he left her at Kivati Hall.”
Leif approved.
“Don’t you think she should be able to make her own decisions?”
Quicksand, Leif thought. “I think we protect those we love. Sometimes the action seems harsh, but the motive is love.” I will protect you with my dying breath.
He spotted Zetian flying in from the east. The silver dragon with golden horns soared over the towers and landed on the hill. She had ancient gold eyes and delicate gold whiskers. A splash of red decorated h
er throat. She Turned and hit the ground running. “Ishtar’s army is here.”
“How? I haven’t used the Heart.” Grace’s fingers tightened around the Tablet shard in her hand. “She’s still asleep.”
Leif brushed her hair away from her face. “Kingu would have to be blind to miss this much activity.” He swept a hand out to the massing soldiers and civilians. “I wish I could take this burden from you.”
“I wish a lot of things, but, hey. That’s life.”
“What do you wish?”
She looked him over. He wore a crimson military jacket with gold buttons that set off his hair brilliantly, shiny knee-high black boots, and a saber at his hip with a gold sash. Slightly piratical, but hella sexy. He made a statement, that was for sure. No one could miss who was in charge of this hoedown.
It was his face that drew her. That square jaw and high forehead; stately nose and firm, wide mouth; those green eyes seducing her like a cobra. She’d fallen under his spell.
“Time,” she told him. “I want more time.” She turned before she could see the regret in his face and pulled Hart’s Deadglass out of her pocket. The air was alive with wraiths. They swooped and shimmered like some iridescent kaleidoscope. Waiting, she knew, to seize the fallen warriors and return them to the battlefield to fight for Kingu. She dropped the glass. “Where is Jameson? We can still do this thing.”
Marks stood to one side of Kite Hill in jeans and a bowling T-shirt. A leather bracelet cuff decorated his wrist. A little hipster, a lot out of place on a battlefield. He held no weapon but his snakeskin Bible. His presence spurred his followers to action, and there were lots of them.
Grace never thought she’d be glad to have a cultish noncombatant at her side in a fight.
“Time to pray,” he said. “We need a miracle.”
Longren in his black and purple scales flew in late. He Turned on the hill, took what looked like an original Roman legion helmet out of his bag, and waltzed up. “What did I miss?”
Leif clasped forearms with the older Dreki. “Longren, good to see you.”
“Would I miss this opportunity into Valhalla? Only the honored dead make it to Odin’s hall.”
Grace didn’t point out he had no soul. Only the souls of the dead made it to Valhalla. Maybe he hoped the gods would have pity on him and break the rules just this once.
Leif nodded. “May we meet there together.”
“Brunhilda, here I come.” Longren grinned. He tossed his hair and donned the helmet. “And look, I brought more meat for the feast.” He pointed to a boat with blue and yellow striped sails powering toward them. As they drew near, a roar went up from the boat. The young, hot guys wore gold-plated armor. Their matching helmets sported a red fringe.
Leif shook his head. “And here you had me convinced that you were all alone, old man.”
“Just a man alone with his cats, eh? I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve yet.”
“Good.”
Grace pointed to the line of aptrgangr in the distance. From Kite Hill, the neighborhood spread out before her. She tracked the first approach of the blue-tinged dead. “Jameson’s soldiers are here, but he and the mechanical suits Leif made aren’t.”
“Who needs them?” Longren said. “I’m here. Let’s get this party started.”
Zetian came to stand next to Leif. She had changed into a blood-red suit embroidered with dragons. In her hair bobbed two long pheasant feathers. A necklace of bones protected her throat. Together they made a pretty picture: a gorgeously inhuman couple splashed red across the grey sky. Hard, cold eyes. They lit the hilltop like a beacon fire warning the countryside; the invaders had arrived.
Zetian watched the humans assembling on the water’s edge. “It’s time, with or without Kivati and that fool Jameson. Who’d have thought that it would be the dragons who were mankind’s last hope?”
“It’s all of our last hope,” Grace snapped.
“No, little warrior.” Zetian turned her black gaze on Grace. “But I follow our Regent, and he chooses to make this our fight. I am not afraid of death. Only the transition.”
Thorsson raised his broadsword to the sky and screamed. It was a hell-raising noise, and the assembled warriors took it up until the low clouds echoed it back. Crows rose from the trees, cawing too. At least Corbette would watch this massacre. Let him live that guilt down too. He would watch his end march slowly toward him.
“Time to taunt Kingu,” Leif said. “We have what he wants and aren’t afraid to use it against him. Don’t be afraid. You are stronger than one cut-up goddess.”
Grace gave him a tight smile. The tension in her body zinged like a violin string about to snap. She had been on constant guard since learning of the Heart. Now that it came time to let it peek out and call a demigod, she was afraid.
“Don’t lose hope.” Leif gripped Grace’s shoulder. He pulled her in for a quick, desperate kiss. Here in front of Drekar and humans and aptrgangr alike, she kissed him back. She wanted to curl up in that kiss and shut out the world. But her passion was a dangerous thing.
The Heart woke and rattled at her iron cage.
Leif knew he chanced the Heart’s wrath with that kiss, but he couldn’t march into death without it. Jokes with Longren aside, Leif knew there was no afterlife for him. There was no shining world beyond, no pearly gates. No gates of any kind. The Drekar could fly from this place and live many more years until Kingu’s god-reign caught up with them. Who knew if it would be tomorrow or ten years from now? But he would not flee, even if this were to be his last stand. He would choose to die like a warrior on this blood-soaked earth protecting Grace. He was immortal, but not unkillable. She wouldn’t leave her people and abandon her city to Kingu’s horde. Her people had become his people. He could no more flee than the beach could abandon the tide.
Who would have thought that the scientist would become the first berserker to rush the battlefield? He didn’t believe in some preordained destiny, but he knew that every moment of his life had brought him to this point. He had found Grace. He wouldn’t change a thing.
Thorsson’s roar ended, and Leif seized that moment of silence to rally his troops. “Seattleites!” he called. The line of soldiers shouted in support. He waited a beat to be heard. “Whether you were born here or are far from your homeland, you stand here today a united front. You stand with your brothers. With your sisters. Putting aside your differences of blood or race to fight for your right to survive. To thrive. To live free from tyranny and oppression. To raise your families in peace and pursue your passions.
“Whatever gods you pray to, beseech them now. If Kingu wins, he will take everything we have struggled for and yearned for and turn it to ash. We cannot let him win. Stand with me, knowing as you do so that the glory of the gods does not lie in dying, but in squeezing every last drop of happiness from this life. We fight now for that right for our children and grandchildren. So that they may dream and thrive and create in a world free of war, free of persecution.” Leif hefted his sword and welcomed the weight down through his arm. “Death comes to us all, but I would rather die in a blaze of glory fighting for my fellow man than wither beneath an unjust dictator because I was afraid to act when I had the chance. This is our chance. This is our last symphony. Join me, brothers, sisters, in taking our fight to the very gates of heaven!”
A cheer rose up from the masses.
“Rock on,” Grace said.
“Ja!” Thorsson showed all his teeth. He beamed.
It looked like they might have a chance. Kingu’s army tottered forward in an unordered mass.
The first round of aptrgangr hit the trench on the far side of the tree line. Leif closed his eyes for a brief moment. Oil from the Gas Works soaked the dirt at their feet. Grettir stood ready at one edge, Joramund at the other. Leif opened his eyes again and gave the signal. They blew fire into either end of the trench, and a wall of flames shot up in a ten-foot ribbon, burning the bodies of the dead who marched through. The aptrgan
gr screamed, but more came to replace them. Dragons flew over the field and finished off those who made it through. So far, so good.
“Where is that idiot Jameson?” Grace swore.
The soldiers behind Leif rallied as the wall of flames died down. Behind the first wave of aptrgangr stood ten giant metal suits of armor. Steam puffed from the tails and fire belched from the fingers. And in their midst stood Jameson. The gold brocade on his admiral’s uniform shown like the gold of the suits. His brown hair lay perfectly combed beneath his tricorn hat. His hand rested on his ceremonial sword. He stood at attention, confidence radiating from his steel-straight shoulders, arrogance evident in his blind regard to the aptrgangr creeping up at his back. His eyes trained on the top of the hill.
A cry went up: the admiral had finally arrived with the mechanical suits. The wave of men at the base of the hill took that as a signal to attack. Jameson had already led the first charge and moved the battle line off the hill.
“He’s on the wrong side,” Grace said.
“Finally,” Marks said. “See? A miracle, just when we needed it. Forward, people of God. Send those demons back to hell!”
“No,” Grace said. “He’s on the wrong side.”
Leif watched the wave of soldiers reach the mechanical suits. He was too late to stop the rush toward them. Too late to raise the warning, to order them back.
The suits turned on the men.
Leif watched in horror as his inventions worked perfectly. The fingers shot flame and sleeping gas. The metal shields withstood swords, bullets and dragon fire. It was a massacre.
The line of soldiers tried to turn back. Like a wave on the beach withdrawing, it crashed back into the wave behind it. Red bled into the brown field. Fire caught the dead grass.
And more aptrgangr arrived behind his inventions and caught the men escaping on the far side.
