I’m too shocked to scream. Too shocked to do anything but absorb the pain of what feels like a thousand knives slicing me from my right shoulder blade to my left hip. I nearly fall off of the wooden bridge that crosses the river — would have, had Jia not caught me and pulled me to the safety of the stone on the other side.
I black out, but when I come to a moment later, I’m wavering on my feet, grey-uniformed people spread out to my left and right. As we’re forced into a shaky line, Jia grabs my hand in both of hers. She’s sobbing forcefully now, hard enough it shakes her chest. She tries to clap a hand over her mouth to stop the sound and stop drawing attention to us, but it doesn’t help.
She screams when the flash of the whip comes for her and drops onto her knees. I fall beside her, refusing to let go of her hand as her grip goes slack in mine.
“It’s alright, Jia,” I whisper hoarsely, but it’s a lie. It’s not alright. Anubis devours the souls of those who aren’t worthy to pass on into their next life.
The sound of laughter and rattling chains echoes across the cavern. The chain in Baal’s hand isn’t the only one present. There are other beings in here besides us grey-uniformed Sucere victims and the whip-wielding demons intent to torture us. As my gaze flits around, I notice that there are other species present — at least two, from the looks of it.
Slighter beings with charcoal-colored skin almost blend into the walls and stand in complete contrast to the creatures with blue-hued skin and white hair that falls in ratty knots to their waists. They aren’t like us — the fact that they aren’t bald or wearing uniforms all but confirms it. And they definitely aren’t like the demons. They look so different from us, from them, from each other, I wonder…I’m lost in wonder…I don’t know what to think.
I close my eyes and think of those hands, tracing that letter called jeem. Tracing my name. Spelling it for me for what might have been the very first time. How many times have I drawn it for myself since? And in how many languages? I am Egyptian, but I am the interpreter. It’s my job to find the weaknesses of the monsters containing us and liberate the captives. All the captives, regardless of their species, creed or color. They won’t die here because my name is Halima and I will not die here and I will bring them with me.
I will not die here. This is not Hell. Anubis can be defeated.
The thoughts settle the pain in my back, reducing it to a dull throb. Opening my eyes, I inhale in two jerks that rip at my lungs, that tear up my heart. But Jia’s hand is still in mine and I focus on it with everything I have as Baal finally stands from his throne. He makes his way down the line of people and, at every person, he nods to one of the four opposite corners of the chamber. On his command, that person is taken away and locked into chains that attach them to the other people crowded there.
There are a few exceptions.
Four women are pulled from the crowd and taken somewhere else. The first has a full, round figure and a rich brown skin tone. The second is very tall and thin. The third has my skin tone, but doesn’t look Egyptian or Middle Eastern — she could be South American, but I’m not sure from where I sit. The fourth is petite, but I don’t see her face or her name tag until she’s dragged too far enough away for me to identify anything about her. All I know is that all four women didn’t look bad, even bald and dripping wet and all I can hope is that they were not taken by the Devil for their beauty. Because even though I don’t know what beauty really is in this new world, I have other words in my vocabulary that are far more frightening. Words like power. Words like rape.
Jia gasps and, when I follow her gaze, I lock up, too. Baal has reached Kenya in the line and regards her now with greater consideration than even the four women he removed. Too much consideration. Kenya meets his gaze with a ferocity that terrifies me because it’s threatening and she’s our captain. She gave me my orders. Haddock had been prepared to leave me. For as long or short as it lasts, I owe her my life.
And then the Devil does something truly horrible. He smiles. He smiles and his teeth flash white against his face. His smile is beautiful and I’m sucked beyond the River Styx straight into Hades, by the man who holds the moniker himself.
“Memo lithan togo na. Memak haren higo no.” His voice is a rich rumble that makes my abdomen squeeze.
Jia says something next to me, but I can’t hear her. I’m concentrating, gears in my mind slowly coming to life as I recognize some of the words. Not all of them — not even half — but just two.
Lithan. Haren.
Lithan…
Lithan lithan lithan. It sounds like the old English word for travel. That word later evolved to laedan in the fourteenth century, which meant to guide and later found its heart in the English word leader. Leader. Is that what he’s calling Kenya now?
How he knows she’s a leader is beyond my comprehension as is the fact that, even though most of these words are not anything I’ve heard before, some of these words are most definitely rooted in English and Spanish and others, Arabic. Fascinating. Meanwhile, much of the grammar seems to be Amharic. Incredible.
“Ero, ellama merimerikeganma,” another of the giants shouts. I don’t understand any of the words, but my focus attaches itself to the first. Ero.
Ero. Ero Ero Ero.
He has a name and it’s not Baal, not Azazel, not Hades. And if he has a name, that means he’s just a creature, just an animal like the rest of us. He can bleed. He can be gutted.
Ero, the animal, looks back at the woman tied to his throne. He gives an order that prompts another barbarian to release her. Grabbing Kenya violently by the back of the neck, he throws her towards the throne and snaps his fingers.
A single spear is tossed onto the ground and lands directly between Kenya and the other women. Instincts I know not to ignore tell me that this is Leanna, our general, and that Ero has identified the two highest ranking officers left among our people. But what is his plan? Why did he release Leanna and why is he giving them a weapon?
“Fugcha,” he orders and I gasp.
“What is it?” Jia says. “Halima, what is it?”
“He wants them to fight,” I whisper back.
Kenya is first to move. She lunges for the spear, but she doesn’t attack Leanna. She lunges for Ero. Leanna moves a split second later and gathers the loose end of her chain, no longer attached to the loop on Ero’s throne. She spins it around her head like a propellor and wields it like a flail at the same time that Kenya feints and thrusts up at Ero’s stomach.
He doesn’t move until the last second. Until just an inkling of hope trickles in that these two warriors might be able to beat him.
But they don’t.
He’s weaponless, but I guess he is the weapon. He stands two heads taller than Kenya and one of his hands could easily wrap all the way around her throat. He catches the chain when it comes at him and even though the tail end smashes into his shoulder and a strip of red appears beneath it, he doesn’t even flinch.
At the same time, his other hand catches the spear just beneath the tip, stopping its path inches from his ribbed abdomen. His limbs move in perfect sync, his gaze half distracted, as if there are other things he needs to do today and this is hardly a priority.
The Devil-worshipping demons around the cave laugh, though it takes me a moment to identify it as such. Laughter. Typically a term used to describe joyous sounds, sounds of mirth. But this could sound not be farther from it. This is a terrible sound, one that reaches into chests and snuffs out all tendrils of hope and happiness like plucking dandelions.
He grins and starts to laugh that demonic laughter and I feel my soul whither a little, retreating deeper into my body where it will be safe even though safety is only an illusion here. While he laughs, Kenya and Leanna try to retract their weapons, try to attack, try to free themselves in any way, but they’re stuck and he’s laughing and they’re all laughing and Jia’s shaking so badly at my side that our sweaty, sticky palms remain locked together through fear alone — maybe adrenaline, too.
Ero rips back on his left arm and Leanna, unwilling to relinquish her weapon, goes flying. She hits the stone ground just twenty feet in front of me and, when she rolls onto her side, I see that her back is covered in brutal welts and slashes. Her shirt is shredded bloody. How many times did he whip her?
Tears well in my eyes as I look towards the monster, rage making me sweat even more. My heart thumps like a boot to the chest. I wish I could kill him. I will. But I’m not ready yet. He drags Kenya in towards him and catches her by the throat when she falls. He lifts her by the neck and tosses the spear over his shoulder absently where it’s caught by a younger male warrior. He tosses her onto the ground next to Leanna.
“Tekaroella haremu.” Haremu? Like Harem? The thought jolts and I feel words of protest surge up into my mouth as two female demons lead Leanna and Kenya away, but then I remember… Don’t give yourself away. They cannot know what languages you speak. I cage angry, violent words behind my teeth.
La’a. No. Nein. Ayi. Bu. Non. Net. I close my eyes, reach for a language that feels distant to me, settling on Turkish, then begin counting to a hundred. Bir, iki, üç, dört, beş, altı… Very quietly, I hear a soft, shaky voice whisper, “Hana, du, se, ne, daseos…” I’m counting out loud and now Jia’s counting with me in Korean. I quickly make the switch. “Yug, ilgob, yeodeolb…”
She laughs lightly and frantically under her breath and squeezes my hand so hard I think she might break my tender bones. Then I’m sure of it when I feel a shadow — a hot, enormous shadow — fall over us. I open my eyes and look up.
A wall of bronze is the first thing I see. It’s covered in light brown and pink scars that are reflective and silvery. They cover every inch of him. Some thin and fresh. Some old and thick and badly healed. The thickest one starts at his lowest rib and travels down, disappearing into his black pants. They’re woven fibers, but I can’t tell beyond that what material they are, just that they’re stained. Is that Leanna’s blood? Kenya’s?
He has three tattoos covering his stomach. Huge overlapping triangles that point down. One stretches from his nipples to his belly button, the next bisects that and stretches further down, the next meets over his bellybutton where the first one ends and extends so far down it’s swallowed by his pants.
He’s twice my height. That’s all I can think when I first look up at him. I’m wrong — at least, I hope I am — but it’s still what hits me first. And even though I hate him, his size alone gives me pause, makes me shiver, makes me want to lay all my secrets bare so that I don’t have to be punished by him when he figures out that I’m here for a rebellion.
And for revenge.
I pull my lips into my mouth and bite down on them. As I do, I notice a downward flicker of his. His mouth is large, almost comically so, and a dark, delirious pink. The wells of his eyes cast dark shadows across his cheeks, which are high and cut like shards of the black and green stones glimmering in the cave walls around us. Like his heavy eyelashes, his hair is inky black and falls down to his swollen shoulders. Tangled and raging, his curls rush like the River Styx. You are not Charon. You are Ero. You can be defeated.
Jia was shaking before, but now my own tremors are all I can feel as I finally force myself to meet his gaze, only to find that he’s not looking at me. He’s not looking at Jia either, but at our locked hands. I shake so badly that it pulls Jia further towards me. Without warning, the disturbed look Ero wore fades and he drops onto his haunches.
His shadow falls over me, blocking out the gold light filtering down from above. The scent of blood and sweat and salt perfume his skin. He smells like War itself. I want to close my eyes, but I’m riveted to the motion of his bloody knuckles as he produces a dagger from the belt at his waist. Short, it has a leather handle and a blackened blade.
He shouts an order that I can’t interpret and a demon approaches with a torch in her hands. Ero takes the dagger to the open flame, movements deliberate and slow as he waits for it to glow bright red.
“Oreyo yasibalu yaruella?” He chuckles and I hate the sound. It’s lovely and all I can think of is Lucifer. Lucifer was an angel once.
He brings his knife closer and closer and Jia and I both cringe away from the heat radiating out of the glowing steel, but in order to escape it we’d have to release each other’s hands and we don’t. It isn’t one of us, or the other, but both. We don’t know each other, but we don’t let go.
Ero’s mouth twitches, but this isn’t a male to make false promises. He brings the blade in, closer and closer, until it touches the insides of both of our wrists at the same time. The sight of it burning my flesh comes before the sensation of pain and my fingers lock when I should have spent those precious second trying to pry them open.
My brain lurches, but are slow to fire or maybe it’s just that the pain in my back makes this fresh agony hard to feel. Jia screams and collapses forward, but she doesn’t let go either. She still doesn’t. And I still don’t let go, not even as the smell of burning flesh wafts up to greet me. It clashes with the scent of the blue goop still clinging to my uniform, which reeks of antiseptic, but also with the stranger scents lingering beneath the blood and sweat and salt on his skin.
Woozy, I waver and strangely, I think that he smells like war, yes, but he also smells like Anubis. Just like Hades would in my dreams. He smells like minerals and grass and metal, like salt and like sea. He reeks of survival, of regret, of a paradise lost. He smells like an angel that fell. He smells like ruin.
Where there is ruin, there is hope for treasure.
The thought collides with the pain and pushes it back. Reduces it to rubble. A voice whispers those words in my head and I know that voice. I know it. Father. Father said that. He was repeating the words of a poet he loved and that poet was called…was callled…I stretch for memory, but come up short.
“Where there is ruin, there is hope for treasure.” I hear the words out loud, but this time in my own voice.
“Woga eh?” He rumbles, but I don’t answer or let myself be shocked by the nearness of his voice and his overwhelmingly sad presence.
Instead, I close my eyes and I let tears leak down my cheeks and I cry for him, for this Anubis, this devil lost at sea.
I cry for this place with its ruined soul and I repeat words that come to me, “My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that, and I intend to end up there.” It’s the same poet…something…something Jalal…el…something. He was my father’s favorite.
“Woga eh?” I open my eyes to see his chiseled face, his brow furrowed.
He must not like what he sees in mine because he bares his teeth at me like an animal, lips peeling back in rage. He yanks the brand away from my skin and Jia’s and a surge of breath rushes into my lungs along with the first taste of pain.
“Kedejiniliste?” His intonation tilts up in a question. I don’t understand the word, but I know he wants me to repeat what I’ve said.
I open my mouth, but as I look up at him and meet his bitter gaze, the words catch in my throat. I shake my head.
Khara. Khara khara khara. I know immediately that I made the wrong choice. It’s in his eyes. They’re storm cloud grey, reflective of the color of the steel he returns to my arm, but my arm alone.
“Just let go,” Jia whimpers, pained, but still trying for me.
But I don’t let go. I don’t speak or answer her or him, but I refuse to let go, just like I refuse to look down and see my skin burning. I just focus on the feeling of Jia’s soft hand in mine.
The mistake of my open defiance gets more grim the longer I stare into his eyes. A vein pulses across his forehead. The muscles twitch in his steely neck. His jaw sets and he presses his brand more fully below the wound he already made just below my elbow crease. Harder and harder and harder…
My eyelids flutter. He repeats his question, but I don’t. And it no longer has anything to do with the fact that the pain has blotted out the memory of the poem, making it impossible for me to recite, a
nd everything to do with the fact that another word creeps front and center, past thoughts of mother and father, past thoughts of ha and jeem, past thoughts of language and who I am or what, and settles calmly in the center of my being.
Together. A reminder that Jia’s hand is in mine and even though memories have forsaken me for all the value that they had, there are new memories to be made, new foundations to fight from. I am not here alone.
We’re here together.
And if I’m wrong and he is Anubis of this new world, it will be together that our hearts are weighed.
We’ll find a way.
“Together,” I whisper. “Hamkke,” I repeat in Korean.
Jia’s hand squeezes mine harder and through the scent of burning flesh and the pain that threatens to eclipse all else, I hear her whisper, Hamkke back.
“Kedejiniliste?” He snarls between his teeth.
But my head is foggy. Reality starts a lazy retreat and I rock back onto my heels and let my head fall back as I continue to endure. I endure until the pain gets so overwhelming, I don’t feel it anymore. Dizzy, I open my eyes and in Amharic — the closest language to his that I can come up with without further study — I whisper, “Anidi laye.”
Together.
His nostrils flare and his storm cloud eyes glaze over with fear disguised as violence and they are the last thing I see before the dam breaks and the pain trickles in and drowns me.
___________________
Continue reading…
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All Books by Elizabeth
Xiveri Mates: SciFi Alien and Shifter Romance
Taken to Voraxia, Book 1 (Miari and Raku)
Taken to Nobu, Book 2 (Kiki and Va’Raku)
Taken to Sasor, Book 3 (Mian and Neheyuu)
Taken to Heimo, Book 4 (Svera and Krisxox)
Taken to Kor, Book 5 (Deena and Rhork)
Taken to Lemora, Book 6 (Essmira and Raingar)
Taken by the Pikosa Warlord, Book 7 (Halima and Ero)
Taken to Lemora Page 27
