By the time Saar joined the rush, Yameen stood well ahead, taking his place in an orderly row of similarly dressed men. Soldiers, common men, aristocrats and merchants, all stood shoulder to shoulder, facing south and a little west. Saar knew they looked towards the Ka’bah and the black stone at its centre hundreds of miles away.
In his mind’s eye he saw the temples of his home, the sandstone and limestone columns not unlike the white ones holding up the mosque. Instead of the blue and red paint and circular symbols, Saar saw depictions of Horus, Ra and Osiris. Sand tickled between his toes and the warmth of the desert sun brushed his bare legs.
Egyptian voices sang in beautiful harmony, overpowering the softer voices that spoke in Greek or Hebrew.
So beautiful and so distant. Gone, perhaps forever.
I shouldn’t be here.
He backed away, apologising as he bumped those on their way in. Half way to the doors, an out-thrust foot sent him tumbling to the floor. At once, dozens of people stopped to help him, catching him by the arms, brushing dust off his clothing.
Something sharp snagged his arm. Blood billowed through a clean slice on his sleeve. Florets of red blossomed on the white linen, spreading fast.
Twisting, wriggling, wrenching, he pulled away, desperate now to reach the safety outside the walls. To keep his blood from splashing the sacred floor.
‘Why do you rush, young soldier? Do you not wish to pray?’ The voice spoke from his left, calm and soft. Saar might have ignored it if not for the fact that it spoke a familiar tongue he never expected to hear again. Old Egyptian.
He spun around, groping for the sword that was no longer on his hip. Gaze darting to and fro, he scanned the crowd until he found the source, a short, scar-faced man draped in dark blue linen. The tips of sandals were visible beneath the hems of his billowing white trousers. A wrap of blue and white fabric covered his head in the style of Saar’s own turban.
‘Who are you?’ He spoke cautiously, forming the words of his home country with the care and deliberation of one out of practise.
‘You don’t recognise me? Shame. I had hoped to make more of an impact upon you.’
Saar clenched his fists. ‘I don’t know you, but I do know you have no respect for these people and their customs. Remove your shoes.’
‘These plebeian mongrels deserve no respect from me. They’re yet to earn it. Nor will they, should they continue to squabble over this land. Besides, I’m not here for them. I have a message for you, Saar.’ The man’s eyes flashed red.
#
Dust billowed up his nose. His eyes watered. The cut on his arm throbbed while both legs ached from running. But he dared not stop.
Saar sprinted away from the centre of the city, away from the buildings, a mixture of whole and damaged. Away from the mosque and the people gathered to pray. Away from the voice laughing and screaming his name.
He stopped a mile from the bulk of the city and clung to the rough trunk of a tree on the side of the road. A flock of sparrows burst from the branches, chirruping and trilling as they took to the sky. He watched them go, following their path back the way he had come.
Standing on the road, silent in the clouds of dust, the red-eyed man watched. His body had changed. So too had his voice. But those eyes . . . red and hot with knowledge and disdain. Never, if he lived another thousand years, would Saar forget those eyes and the damned creature to whom they belonged.
‘Kazemde . . .’
The figure grinned.
‘I killed you!’
Kazemde advanced at speed, seeming to glide over the dusty track. ‘You killed my body, but my ka lives on. I told you then how long I had walked the earth, do you think I did so in the same mangled husk?’
Saar’s gut churned. He gripped his stomach and fought the urge to heave. ‘What do you want?’
‘You thought you could simply take Set’s power? That I would not watch you?’
He swallowed. ‘But I give my tribute. Daily I pay it.’
‘And your children? What of them?’
For the first time since fleeing the temple, Saar remembered Yameen. He reached along the bond that linked their minds and found confusion there. Anger. Fear. He pressed down on the bond, hoping that the younger man would stay well away.
‘My children know what they must do.’
Kazemde smiled, sharp yellowed teeth showing between his dark lips. ‘And Mosi? Is it your will that he squanders blood that should be gifted to Set? Your will that he destroys those Set saw fit to bless?’
Saar stiffened. ‘How do you know—’
‘I know all, Saar. I read your blood.’ Kazemde held up his hand to show a small dagger hidden against his palm. Red stained his skin.
Saar grasped his injured arm.
‘Blood is power, Saar. Did you not remember?’
A flash of anger made Saar bold. He slapped his chest. ‘My blood is power. That is what you told me. Speak your message and be gone.’
Kazemde chuckled, a rough, barking sound like a jackal. ‘Once you were a vessel for Set’s great power, now you waste the gift on petty squabbles over land that has little or no significance to you. I thought you were destined for greatness, but you are weak. You let your city die. You let strangers kill your queen.’
The words pierced like a spear, jabbing his insides and twisting. ‘No . . . I tried. But Mosi— he led Octavian’s men against me. He tried to kill me.’
‘He did kill you. When you rose from the sands with that hole in your heart, you were a new man. A weak man.’
He snarled. The colours of the road brightened before him, while the scents of sweat, burning and unwashed linen flooded his nostrils. His fangs extended. ‘I am not weak.’
‘And yet you allow Mosi to destroy Set’s warriors. He tried to kill you once, in direct opposition of Set’s will. He will do so again.’ Kazemde put his hands on Saar’s shoulders. His touch pulsed with warmth, grainy against the skin. His breath carried the scent of home. Saar breathed it in and blinked away tears.
‘Mosi will not harm me.’ Even as he spoke, Saar remembered their last meeting. The sad determination in his lover’s eyes. Growling, he twisted away from Kazemde’s grip. The moment he did, the sense of loss and misery faded to be replaced once more by burning anger.
Kazemde grinned. ‘If you believe it, may you find it so. But the truth remains that he is a danger to you and an affront to our master. He uses god-given gifts to steal from Set and that is not acceptable. You must stop him. The power is yours, so too is the responsibility.’
‘What must I do?’
‘Set requires his tribute.’
‘I told you, I have already given—’
‘I cannot believe you are so naive, Saar. Your tribute is not simply in the giving of blood, but in marking others to do the same. You must have felt your powers increase with each new person you bless. In Alexandria the gifts were too new but now, with so many new children you must feel that their strength feeds into yours. For each new child they create, you are honoured by Set.’
Saar gaped. ‘Then Mosi . . .’
‘He weakens you with every warrior he kills and will cripple you unless stopped. I told you, Saar, that the blood is power: from blood all power comes.’ Kazemde whipped his turban off his head. Cascades of dark curly hair tumbled down, much like Saar’s own but longer and thicker. Through it extended the points of two rectangular ears. ‘The blood is power. Your blood is power.’ Claws sprang from Kazemde’s fingertips and he used the sharp protrusions to shred the clothes from his body.
And instant later Kazemde he stood before Saar naked but for bristling black fur and a feral grin. A grin that elongated to accommodate the muzzle morphing from his human face. The point of a long, forked tail swished between his legs. ‘Time remains,’ he muttered, voice dissolved into a low growl. ‘Lead your children to greatness. You are Set’s chosen vessel in this new world. Your blood is power.’
‘I’ll not hurt Mosi.’ Saar
balled his hands into fists.
‘Then see how long you survive. Set is not known for his patience.’ As he finished his transformation, Kazemde leapt through the air, crashing into Saar’s body and driving him to the ground.
#
When he next opened his eyes, Saar groaned and groped through the dark. Several seconds passed before his sight adjusted to the gloom.
Yameen sat beside him, his forehead slashed with lines of worry. ‘My lord? You’re awake?’
‘What happened?’ He struggled into a sitting position.
‘You left the mosque. There was blood. I felt the fear in you but our link was broken. Many hours passed before I could find you.’
Memory returned in a skin-tingling rush. Saar clutched Yameen’s clothes. ‘Kazemde—where is he?’
‘There is no one here but us, my lord.’ Yameen gently pulled the fingers away from his clothes and held them. ‘Who is Kazemde?’
Saar jerked away. Stood. ‘No one you need concern yourself with.’ He brushed road dust off his body and used the gesture to check his clothing for rips or signs of blood.
Kazemde’s final attack lingered in his mind; the great weight of his borrowed body, the musk of his fur, the stench of his breath. Saar gnawed his thumbnail as he looked back along the road towards the city.
Small points of light filled the darkness, like dozens of fireflies dancing through the air. He knew they were fires, he could smell them, but the sight of even something as normal as that sent a chill through his body.
‘We must leave.’
Yameen gave a cry of dismay. ‘But this is my home.’
Saar flashed his fangs at the younger god-touched. ‘I gave you new life when yours was gone. You will follow me.’
‘What happened to you?’ Yameen lowered his voice, staring deep into Saar’s eyes. ‘Why did you run? Did this Kazemde say we must leave the land we have so recently won?’ His lips tightened. ‘What is the vessel?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You spoke in your sleep. It is the only reason I knew you still lived. You spoke of blood and a vessel. “Blood is power,” you said. What does that mean?’
Saar closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, following the lines of power to his other god-touched children. They answered one by one, many of them hundreds of miles away but all of them bound to respond. All but one.
The space Mosi once occupied in his mind was blocked, as if behind a spill of broken rocks. Saar shoved and pushed at the barricade but his lover’s mind remained locked to him. Except for one detail.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and shuffled on the sand until his body faced west. ‘It means that we have many miles to cover.’
Chapter Sixteen
Darryl opened the door to the room, sniffing delicately. His eyes widened and he whistled low through his teeth as he followed the trail of blood. ‘Tough one, aren’t you?’
Shoving passed him, Lenina stomped into the room without speaking.
Inside Luke looked up from his study of the ground outside. He opened his mouth, but hesitated when he saw Darryl. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’
‘Damn right I did. Tristen is out of the way and Kallisto knows what a slimy piece of work he is. I’m happy.’
Luke left the window with a slow step. He didn’t stomp, or growl but Lenina felt his anger. The energy panned off his body in prickling waves, stroking against her bare skin like coarse fur. It seemed to fill her mouth and clog her throat, damming up speech.
‘If you have something to say . . .’ Darryl spread his hands.
‘No. Nothing to say.’ Luke left the room without looking back, but the echo of his rage lingered.
Darryl closed the door, grinning. ‘Well . . . that went alright.’
She sighed. ‘You’re so clueless. I almost pity you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘While you were off playing suck-up to Kallisto, Luke has been telling everyone you’re too stupid and weak to lead. He’s even told Kallisto you’re hiding things.’
The smile died. ‘He wouldn’t.’
‘No? Whatever it is you’re doing, he hates it so much that he’s creeping about behind your back to stop it.’
Darryl tugged the collar of his jacket, pulling the sides close to his neck. ‘Pack business is pack business. Stay out of it. All you need to know is that we did our bit to help.’
‘Who?’ She snorted. ‘You think Saar will remember you when I’m gone? If Kallisto is anything to go by, his attitude will be worse. You’re not even offerings to Set, you’re . . . dogs to be kicked when you misbehave.’
His eyes glossed over to burnished gold. ‘The Bright Moon Clan will not be used. We ain’t nobody’s slaves, understand? This is for the good of the pack.’
‘Who are you trying to convince?’
Long seconds he stared at her, whole body humming with pent up desire to move. When he eventually backed off, it was to rake his hands through his hair and glare at the opposite wall. His fingers shook, breath reduced to low, barely there panting. For the first time he looked . . . worried. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘Darryl—’
‘Shut up.’ He paced, long, heavy-footed strides from one side of the room to the other. Each time he reached a wall, he punched it before continuing. Soon, red smears marred the wallpaper.
Lenina thought again of the conversation she overheard on the stairs. Of her growing certainty that Luke was the one to fear. ‘Why not let him take over?’
He stopped mid-stride, whirling to glare at her. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Luke. It’s clear you don’t want to be in charge, so let him do it.’
‘That greasy, long-nosed cretin? He’s no leader.’
‘And you are?’
‘I’m doing my best.’
When the pacing resumed, Lenina followed him, falling in step so she could keep talking. ‘Why are you here, Darryl? What’s made you so desperate?’
He stopped again, shoving her away. ‘I ain’t desperate and I don’t need a shrink.’
‘How did it happen?’
He raised his hands skyward. ‘Do you ever stop talking?’
‘How did you get bitten?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Hit a nerve, did I?’ Smug pleasure brought a smile to her lips.
‘I was never bitten,’ he snapped. ‘True werewolves are born with the ability to change. Birds fly, fish swim, werewolves shift their form.’
The smile faded. ‘I thought—’
‘We were like you? Tired, blood-thirsty, religious zealots with a human base? We’re more than you. Always have been. Our power is our right, not some supernatural plaything on loan.’
Lenina backed off but Darryl kept coming. He edged her all the way to the bed until she tumbled on to it, lying on her back as he loomed above her.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t—’
‘Think? Know? Understand? You’re as self-absorbed as the rest of them.’ Spittle flew from his mouth. ‘Listen to me girlie, and understand. We ain’t puppies. We ain’t pets. We ain’t slaves and we sure as hell ain’t planning to sit around with our thumbs in our arses while you lot get stronger. Once the Grandfathers see what I’ve been telling them, everything’s going to change.’
She wiped a spot of spit from her cheek. ‘You hate them as much as I do.’
‘I hate all of you.’ He hammered the message home with a glare. When he returned to pacing, the air sang with the double punches he aimed at the walls.
Lenina dragged herself up the bed and lay just before the pillows. Soft sheets stroked her cheeks. A moment later, Shawn touched her arm. She jumped, spinning to face him.
‘You okay?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
To their right, Darryl completed another circuit of pacing. His knuckles gleamed with wet, red bl
ood. He growled when he saw them looking and angled himself towards the window. Twitching aside the curtains he glared out at the gardens below.
Without the sound of his foot-falls, the air felt still and stale.
Lenina bit her lip and stared at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to save everyone.’
‘Maybe you can’t.’
‘But Jordan . . . Mum. Dad’s already gone . . . I can’t let them die to bring back Saar. If only you could understand. He’s evil. Tyrannical—’
‘Don’t you mean “was”?’
‘He might be locked away in my head, but he’s there. I can feel him. And I remember all the horrible things he did. He was a monster.’
Shawn reached for his nose, probably to adjust his missing glasses. ‘He was. You’re not.’ He patted the mattress. ‘Get some sleep. You look exhausted.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You’re no good to anybody weak and tired. How’s your leg?’
Until that moment she’d completely forgotten the terrible wound in her thigh. She twisted, easing at one edge of the makeshift bandage. ‘I’ll be fine.’
The very thought of sleep made her limbs leaden. Her eyelids fluttered. Exhaustion, fear and anger drained what little reserves she had left. Constant attacks from Saar didn’t help.
A dull but persistent ache began to spread across her chest.
‘Perhaps I could close my eyes for a second—’
The ache abruptly blossomed into a flower of pain centred above her heart. She shrieked, back bowing off the bed as red-hot daggers of agony sliced through her body.
‘Lenina?’
She opened her mouth. A scream came out. Another. Then another.
‘What’s going on?’
Her fingers clawed the sheets, bunching them into tight wads before releasing, over and over. She flopped to her side, gasping. Sweat rained down her forehead.
Shawn knelt beside her. ‘Hey! Hey, wolf-guy!’
Red mist fanned across Lenina’s vision. Through it she saw Darryl, climbing on to the bed and pinning her shoulders down. ‘What happened?’
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