Forgotten in Darkness

by Zoe Forward

  Ashor massaged circles on Kira’s back, mumbling low.

  Dakar waited, unwilling to release Julie’s hand until he received confirmation she would survive on her own.

  A gigantic blond appeared in the doorway, black scimitar blade drawn. The pasty terror on his face reminded Dakar of how many times he’d seen a fellow magus watch their woman walk the path into the next life. This was the death moment, when he’d heard a man’s mind turns into a medley of picture flashes, rushing to show you everything and nothing in a few seconds. He hadn’t been there since Shaiani always toasted his ass first. Maybe in that sense he’d been lucky.

  Without a glance or a word to anyone, the blond rushed the bed.

  He took the strangely silent baby into his arms. The baby complained once, granted him a lopsided smile, and conked out when he cradled him against a shoulder. He laid his palm against Julie’s cheek. And then his power ramped down about a hundred degrees. He blew out a long breath, reassured she lived. Reassured his death wasn’t imminent. When he looked up, his gaze narrowed on Dakar. “What the hell did you do to her?”

  “Back off, Eric,” Ashor ordered. “You should kiss Dakar’s ass for saving them.”

  “Snake attack,” Dakar said. “Their poison is much more powerful than in the past. The vipers also acted peculiar—much more interested in attacking her than me.”

  “Assassin spies,” Ashor grumbled. “This is the first time we’ve had any since we moved here. Hashishins have found us.”

  Eric said, “Thanks, I guess. Couldn’t you have gotten to her before they messed her up, though?” He shook Julie gently. “Come on, baby, wake up.”

  Julie opened her eyes and smiled up at Eric. “Is he okay?”

  Eric tickled the baby’s nose. The baby barely awoke to bat away Eric’s hand. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

  Julie squeezed Dakar’s hand. “Can I let go now?”

  Dakar needed the doctor’s approval. His vision of Kira went triple count, then double, and back to solo. You haven’t got long before this poison knocks you out. He slurred out, “Is ssshe out of danger?”

  “Yes. I got rid of the poison and healed the bite.” Kira squinted at him in a healer assessment stare he knew well.

  Dakar released and stepped away from the bed, stumbling slightly before regaining balance. He staggered toward the exit, desperate to be free of this room.

  “Stop,” Kira grabbed his forearm. “How many times did it get you?”

  “I—” He teetered, stabilizing himself on the door frame before finishing. “—will be fine.”

  “You’ve got two bites. Damn it. Why do you guys always have to be the suffer-in-silence types?” She clamped down on his arm and sent her healing power into him. Within seconds, he felt the lacerating pain disappear. The spinning sensation persisted in his brain, though.

  Kira released, staggered away to lean over a small metal waste bin, and dry heaved.

  Ashor announced, “That’s enough for one day, Kira.” He scowled at Dakar.

  “I did not request she do that.” He slammed out of the room and stomped toward the exit. Time to leave. To find Shaiani.

  With one hand on the front doorknob, guilt hit so hard he gasped to move air through his chest. Honor demanded he not desert his duty. And the other guys… Obviously, they were in shitty shape with no magus of memory to guide them. But he knew well what lay in store for him. More daemon battles. More moronic Hashishins or whatever noddy dark-magik organization attacked in this time. He no longer wanted this life. He’d done it for so long that he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t slicing off the head of some daemon he’d slayed more than a dozen times before and knew by name. Beyond that, he didn’t want to watch more friends die gruesome deaths, and then not remember him when reincarnated. It hurt enough that Ethan didn’t remember.

  He used to think the others were blessed not to remember when reincarnated. Well, except for the Ethan of the past and the spell keeper magus who did not appear to be reincarned yet. Those two had complete memory of past lives. Being granted a blank slate with each life sounded good. But a few reincarnations later, he realized he wouldn’t want to flounder for decades with out-of-control powers.

  Another big difference separated him from the other magi. The others would eventually Turn or go insane from the kem-seki’s push on the mind after exposure one too many times to the corrosive evil of daemons, if they didn’t meet their senariai first. But not him. Daemon energy didn’t burn out his soul completely like it did the others. He would get close to Turning, but would not. He had lived on that edge of crazy most of his existence. He blamed the curse. Centuries ago, he realized daemons couldn’t kill him—a little secret he kept to himself.

  Someone slammed through a door down the hall. Duty pushed at his brain as the vows he’d made numerous times to the gods replayed in his mind. The goddess’s deception had sentenced him to over two hundred years in hell. Didn’t that duplicity negate his vows? And grant him freedom from all of this? Even so, he didn’t know anything other than this life. He wasn’t made for anything other than this. And he sure as hell couldn’t negotiate well in the modern world alone. He was trapped. Damn it.

  And he’d forgotten about Ethan. He’d know what to do. Time for Ethan to wake up.

  Chapter Ten

  Dakar found Ethan affixing a modified leather-and-metal sphairai to each arm. He opened and closed his fists, testing. Guess some things didn’t change, even with all the modern weaponry he was sure they had available. They had all picked up the habit of wearing these modified mid-forearm gloves in days when Greece dominated the world. Greeks used a bulkier version of them for boxing. As magi, they used them to protect one of the few exposed areas daemons like to hit—the wrists. Each of them designed a different version. All kept the fingers exposed. Some liked spikes, blades, studs, or plain leather on the wrists. He and Ethan had always preferred blades. He smiled, noting the small blades dotting Ethan’s wrist like dorsal fins.

  Ethan stopped mid-motion when he met Dakar’s gaze. He peeled off the sphairai and threw them on his bed next to a leather coat.

  “New sphairai?” Dakar asked.

  “Yeah. They’re a little stiff.”

  “Find any more vipers out there?”

  “Just one. Sliced it to bits. I hate those fuckers.” He half smiled. “You ready to tell me why you’ve been giving me the hairy eyeball since we picked you up? Decide yet if you’re going to hug me or fuck me?”

  “I am damn sure not planning the latter. The only one I know with a man-interest is our precog, who I don’t see reincarnated right now. But I would never discount Charm-boy.”

  Ethan laughed. “Yeah, Christian’s a slut. Even so, he seems to like his bed warmers to be female. So, what’s up?”

  Dakar touched the goatee that matched Ethan’s. “Ethan…Damn.” Dakar closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to say this.

  “Lay it out there, man. If I screwed you over in a previous life and you’d like to beat the shit out of me, or something worse, we’ll figure it out. But to give you fair warning, I’m not going down without a fight.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” Dakar stared hard at Ethan, trying to decide if this was the right thing to do. After a few seconds he said, “You’re supposed to remember the past. We’re brothers or were, back in the beginning. Twins.”

  “What?” Ethan stumbled backwards to sit on the bed. “Brother? I’ve never had any immediate family in this life—orphan. Guess that explains why I have this sense of...something around you. Couldn’t define what it was.”

  “Clearly we don’t look alike anymore, but we do have the capability to remember.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t remember any previous lives. I thought all magi had no memory when reborn and that was one of the gifts of death.”

  “Who would want to forget? Three magi have the gift of memory. Well, four, but there’s no way the gods will give Draggon a second chance at this life
. They couldn’t control him like they can us, and hated it.”

  “There’s an eleventh magus?”

  “Yeah, what a story. The gods made a bit of a mistake with that one. Hell, what am I saying? In a few minutes you will remember.”

  “What if my senariai was killed? I’m not sure I’d want to remember that.”

  “Memory comes with good and bad.”

  Ethan’s look was all hope. “I’ve got one? You knew her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, where the hell is she? I’ve been here over half a century.”

  Dakar shrugged. “No one but the gods know their plans when it comes to senariai. You don’t have your bochnori. That’s why you can’t remember anything.”

  “My what?”

  “I suspect you sent it to protect your lady after I soul-locked on Djoser to ensure him a permanent sojourn in the Middle Realm. You fought Djoser’s brother at that time, who must have killed you. With your bochnori, you can usually execute a daemon with both hands tied behind your back and your legs hobbled, although I do wish you would avoid that particular method.”

  “What exactly is this thing I’m supposed to have?”

  “Have you wondered why all the others have these unique abilities that help them fight and you have nothing?”

  “Yep. I can understand the daemons’ language, but that’s not very helpful. It’d be nice not to get pulverized every time I face a daemon.”

  “I don’t even want to imagine how many times you’ve died or had the crap kicked out of you because of your bochnori’s absence.” Dakar unbuttoned his shirt to bare his chest. He commanded the living tattoo move to the forefront and enlarged beneath the Scimitar mark. It morphed into a sphinx and then a bird. It bowed at Ethan and then blinked its single eye at him.

  Ethan stared in fascination. “That thing seems familiar, but not.”

  “You’re the bochnori-nyot. That means you command the king of the moving marks. Yours commands them all.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Hold out your hand palm up.”

  Ethan did as directed.

  “Now repeat after me. As the bochnori-nyot, I command Bahri to return to me.”

  Ethan opened his mouth to speak the words, but stopped. “Wait a minute. If it’s protecting my senariai, won’t this take that protection away from her?”

  Dakar shrugged, anxious to get this over with.

  Ethan closed his palm. “I’m not sure I want it back, then.”

  “You can send it back to her. Maybe your bochnori will even tell you where to find her, if she’s alive in this time.”

  Ethan immediately held out his hand palm up and uttered the command. Nothing happened for a full minute as he sat on the bed. He frowned. “You yanking my chain?”

  “Don’t move your hand. Give it time. It’s been dormant or stuck to her for who knows how long.”

  A wind whistled inside the room. Foreign energy thrummed through both of them. Dakar grinned at the wild-eyed anxiety that Ethan tried to mask by running a hand through his hair. He relished the novelty of his brother’s unease.

  Ethan jumped when a blue tattoo in the shape of a hawk slithered up his naked forearm. “What now?”

  “Ask Bahri to inform you, but remember, when you do you’re in for one hell of a headache.”

  “Do I have to say it out loud or think it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You two are one and yet not. Just ask it to inform you.”

  Ethan closed his eyes and fell back on the bed. He lay there occasionally twitching while his facial expression beneath closed lids changed rapidly in response to memories. Dakar empathized with the information piling into Ethan’s mind. The memories were exhilarating, yet overwhelming. Dakar sat heavily on a wooden chest that rested at the foot of the bed, waiting for the moment when his brother would remember him.

  He reflected on the few bonds he’d developed over the years. His brother was the only positive constant in his millennia of existence. The only one he could depend on. The others died and came back memory deficient. The only woman with the power to give him peace was always at war with him. His deity-father repeatedly screwed the two of them. But never his brother.

  Ethan sat up about fifteen minutes later. His eyes glittered with memory when they met Dakar’s.

  Dakar asked, “Khyan?”

  He shot upright, grabbed Dakar’s hand to drag him to a standing position, and clasped him tight. “Dakarai.” He pulled away and scanned Dakar. “It has been a long time. You look like shit.”

  “Same to you.”

  “They all know me as Ethan, but I prefer the old name.” He ran a hand over his goatee. “Two centuries on the other side…How did you escape?”

  “No idea. One minute I was there and the next I was here.”

  “That means the gods are up to their bullshit again, doesn’t it?”

  “Probably.”

  “I tried to follow you there. To get you out. Ma’at wouldn’t let me. Like you, she deceived me. Djoser’s half-brother, Hunefer, killed me after…” Khyan paled, falling back to sit on the bed. He whispered, “Hashishins attacked the Belgian estate while we chased down Hunefer. They stabbed Dalila, but the akhrian was with you guys. Remember, we split to get the two daemons? And you know back then fast transport was a fairytale. The goddess told me to send my bochnori to Dalila, to hold her to this world until the akhrian could return. While I fought Hunefer, I felt her die. I tried to soul-lock with the daemon and get to you, but the goddess prevented it. I died. Without Bahri, I couldn’t remember jack shit when I came back. Couldn’t recall that I had to get you out of there.”

  Khyan paused, staring into the horizon. “The goddess made it easier for herself. By locking you over there, once I died and came back memory deficient, she wouldn’t have to explain to the others or me why you were gone. And why we couldn’t get you back. For years, I have been a shell. I had nothing but seichim and the ability to understand daemons. It’s a bloody miracle I have not been killed more often. I guess this is proof that I’m a superior fighter.”

  “Or lucky,” Dakar mumbled.

  Khyan’s tone turned solemn. “I would never have given up on you. Eventually I would’ve found a way to get you out. I swear it on my soul.”

  Dakar couldn’t breathe. The pieces fell into place within his mind. He’d assumed his brother hadn’t tried or gave up. He forced a shrug.

  “Shit. You thought I’d given up.” Khyan removed a knife from his side table and dragged it across his palm. He grabbed Dakar’s hand and slashed lightly across the palm. Dakar jerked, shocked.

  Khyan clasped their hands together and chanted a spell of binding. Power flowed through both of them to their clasped hands. Their bochnori moved down to their hands, each transforming into a symbol of rope. Then Khyan intoned, “Brothers, bound. Let the bochnori keep us informed. Should one of us die without our bochnori or we lose our bochnori, then let the other’s be able to provide memory.” He let go of Dakar’s hand and marched into the adjoining bathroom. He returned with a washcloth and threw it at Dakar.

  Khyan cursed low to himself. “The goddess has screwed with us more than she should’ve. I’ll do whatever you need to make this right.”

  Dakar smiled, feeling grounded for the first time since he’d re-entered the world. “It is good to have you back. However, I am finally the better looking of the two of us.”

  “Bullshit. You might be a bit taller, but I’ve got this fantastic hair. No more weird streaks.” He laughed as he ran a hand through his thick, brown hair.

  “Give it a couple of years. You won’t avoid them that easily. They’ll make an appearance. It’s the price we pay for the bochnori. So, did you find out if Dalila is here?”

  “Bahri won’t tell me. Against the rules, he says. Fucker.”

  Softly Dakar said, “I will help you find her.”

  “As I’ll help you get through another cycle with her.” Venom laced his tone.


  “It’s not her fault.”

  “She is the reason I lose you every single time.”

  ****

  Dakar entered the foyer with Khyan hot on his tail. Kira muttered hurriedly to Ashor. The couple glanced up. Both stared at Dakar.

  Dakar’s heart rate picked up, anticipating fate was about to dish out a new dollop of shit.

  Kira gazed in silent evaluation at the two men before saying, “Ethan, what’d you do different? You’re…I can’t put my finger on it. Your aura is glowing.”

  Khyan smiled elusively. He clapped a hand on Dakar’s back before he swung on his leather coat. “Where are we off to, Ashor?”

  “Lafayette, Louisiana,” Ashor replied without breaking eye contact with Dakar.

  Khyan turned to stare at Dakar too. Since no one spoke, Khyan finally asked, “Is Dakar’s fly open or something?”

  “I have a fly somewhere?”

  “Zipper. Pants fastening,” Khyan said.

  Dakar checked. Looked good. He shrugged.

  Ashor cleared his throat and then glanced to Kira.

  Kira said, “Are you still interested in that woman from the hospital in South America?”

  Dakar’s blood pounded in his ears. Yep, another gut-punch from fate. He masked the tumult racing within. “Possibly.”

  Kira smiled triumphantly. “My cousin, Markus, just got hired by her advisor to go find her. She’s headed to Asheville. That’s the Hashishin’s new home base. I don’t know what she’s doing there, but if her trip has anything to do with Hashishins, then she’s about to get into some major trouble.”

  Khyan sucked at his lips while subjecting Dakar to a head-to-toe. “You need some fight clothes. Come.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Brant chose a coffeehouse in downtown Asheville located in the lower floor of a historic building. Parking had been a bitch. Approaching, she spied him sitting on a wrought-iron chair on the sidewalk. Anxiety settled like lead in her stomach.

  Get past it, she told herself. She needed answers.