Silently, the men position the black powder charges around the mirror. I recall grandfather’s stories about the ill-fated fleets that dared to attack our island, their ships burned by the heat of the sun, the men on board screaming as the sun scorched their flesh.
I look to the east across the empty water. I focus the gaze of the falcon, and the Ra appears before me, the long column of ships trailing into the distance. I bring out a light and shine it toward them, toward their farseekers aimed at the tower, awaiting my signal.
From the distance, a speck of light no brighter than a firefly flickers back in answer. The ships fan out slowly, forming a crescent surrounding the island as they prepare for the assault.
The men finish arranging the charges, a trail of black powder leading away from the central platform to the side of the tower. We anchor our ropes to the wall. I move to the edge of the tower and point at the domed structure below.
“We start at the palace. Spare those that do not resist. Kill those that oppose you,” I say. “Find your prince.”
Horemheb strikes the fire starter and touches it to the black power. A sizzling trail of sparks rushes for the center platform.
“Now,” I command. As one, twenty men leap over the wall. The ground rushes at us as we glide down our ropes along the side of the tower.
The silence of the night is shattered by the deafening explosion above us only seconds before we slow our descent and reach the ground. My feet touch the soil of my home for the first time in seven decades.
Atlantis!
Familiar smells fill my nostrils, and memories from a past life awaken. The grand square leading to the royal palace and the magnificent statues lining its sides, the marketplace, filled with daring performers in their motley costumes—
I shake off the memories, and we turn to the palace.
We race for the outer gates, and the first wave of our enemies rushes out to meet us; a dozen soldiers, their blades drawn. Horemheb shouts a command, and each man sinks to one knee and fires his crossbow, leaving twelve enemies dead. Our company is back to full sprint before the dead men’s bodies hit the ground.
My men form a ring around me as we burst into the courtyard and speed for the inner gates. Surprise is on our side. Our enemies are confused. Most are cut down by the deadly bolts from our crossbows before they can get near us.
Without warning, arrows begin falling on us.
“Phalanx!” Horemheb’s command cuts through the night.
Instantly, the ring tightens, and the men lift their round shields from their backs to protect us against the arrows. Our shields tight, we continue on for the entrance of the palace, almost out of reach of the falling arrows.
A deafening sound splits my ears. I am thrown to the ground. My ears ring as I lay face down, stunned and blinded. I shake my head, trying to see through the haze.
Slowly my vision returns. I turn to my side. The men who guarded my left flank are gone, their mangled bodies strewn across the marble grounds of the courtyard. Their shields and bodies protected me from the force of the explosion.
Black powder? But Thoth—
Strong hands lift me to my feet. I look into Horemheb’s face, marred with dirt and blood, but his eyes burn fiercer than ever. Four of my men cover us with their shields as we back up toward the gate.
The door flies open, and ten islanders pour out like angry ants, steel in hand. Horemheb leaps forward and pulls his swords in a single motion. The long, curved blades slice through two breastplates as though they had been made of silk instead of steel, and two men collapse, lifeless. Eight guards remain against my finest warrior. The islanders lie dead on the ground before I take another breath as the men at my back continue to shield me against the onslaught of the arrows.
“My Lord!” One of the men’s voices rings out. He points to the far end of the square and the dozens of soldiers rushing at us.
Horemheb scans them then turns to me. “You must get inside.” His voice is steady. “Find your son!”
Before I can reply, he and the other four men speed off toward the approaching horde. I hesitate for an instant then turn and rush through the gate.
As I stand inside, I struggle to recall my grandfather’s words and remember his drawings. Ahead of me, a stairway leads to the throne room. I turn to my right—the stairs leading deep below the castle.
I slow when I reach the stairs. My breathing is labored, and my vision narrows to a pinprick. I grasp at the wall for support, the marble cold beneath my hand. I take a deep breath before turning into the dark stairway. The shadows flicker on the walls as I descend along the curving stone staircase.
My breathing steadies when I reach the bottom. A long hallway stretches before me. To my left, a dozen spears wait in a wooden rack, lined up like soldiers eager for battle. To my right, a thick door, wide open. Inside the room a long table and chairs, toppled over on their backs, witnesses to the frantic scurry of the guards rushing out to the battle.
I continue along the hallway. I hear the noise an instant before the thick reinforced door opens at the far end. The three guards talk in loud, agitated voices then fall silent when they see me.
For a long second, nobody moves. Then one man rushes forward, his eyes wild, a scream escaping his lips. An instant later, another follows, his sword in his hand.
I stand my ground as the first guard charges me, his mouth twisted in a snarl. The dagger flashes in my hand only an instant before it flies through the air. It strikes true and buries itself to the hilt in the first man’s chest.
The second guard stumbles, trying to avoid his slain companion. His attack turns careless, his sword thrust uncontrolled. I glide aside and let his momentum carry him forward. My hands lock around his head, and I twist it as he rushes past me. He collapses at my feet. I turn to the third man.
His glance darts between his dead companions and me. He approaches warily, the point of his sword aimed at my eyes. With his other hand, he draws a dagger.
My sword remains sheathed on my back as he lunges at me, his strikes fast but controlled, determined not to make the same mistake as the other men. He cannot know that his fastest movements are but a slow lumbering to me. I control my aggression, letting my fury fuel it rather than consume it as I avoid his strikes. He continues to attack relentlessly, like an avalanche made of flesh.
Soon, his chest begins to heave, his exhaustion forcing him to hesitate for an instant. I move into him before he can swing again, my advance lightning fast. I grip his sword hand, twisting the weapon out of his hand and whirl, holding the sword at the level of his neck.
His helmet hits the stone and rolls noisily into the corridor. His body slumps to the ground. I step over it and continue to the door. I drop his sword as I pass his helmet, his lifeless eyes staring at me from inside it.
I pass through the thick door and onto a large platform. The smell of blood, excrement, and rotten flesh hits my nose at the instant the horrific scene strikes my eyes.
My mind is sent reeling, unable to comprehend the evil before me. Beneath me, countless cages stretch out row after row. My body grows rigid when I grasp the full extent of the depravity.
Hybrids… My kin…
My legs begin to tremble as I pore over their forms, naked and ravaged. Their bodies are chained onto metal cots, and thick rubber lines pierce their skin, draining their lifeblood into metal containers.
I sink to my knees, unable to breathe—
My head jerks forward and stars burst in my eyes. The pain explodes in my skull an instant before everything goes dark.
“Who are you?” A voice in the darkness.
Pain. Sharp. Tearing. I scream. I cannot move. I writhe against the chains. My chest heaves in shuddering breaths. My body fights to control the agony.
Slowly, I focus. A face, dark-skinned and angular, glistening with sweat. The pupils in his ice-blue eyes flare as they burn into me.
“Who are you?” he asks again and raises my own dagger, its
black obsidian blade stained red with my blood.
Then I remember. The pain in my body pales at the rage spawned by the memory. My face twists into a snarl as I strain once more against the iron shackles. The sound that escapes my lips is that of a wounded animal.
A gloved fist shoots out and strikes my jaw like a steel mace. My vision blurs, and I taste blood. I struggle to focus once again.
“What have you done to my kin?” My voice is a growl.
“Your kin?” His expression shifts as recognition fills his face.
“You,” he says. “You came back.” The sound of his laughter is more menacing than the dagger a hand’s width from my eyes. “I should have known. The eyes. Little Horus, who fled the island with his traitorous grandfather, returns at last.”
“Who… who are you?” I ask.
“You truly do not know, do you?”
I remain silent, my jaw tight.
His posture stiffens, and he glares at me for several heartbeats, chin held high.
“I am Set, the First of My Name. Rightful Heir and Sovereign Ruler of the Island Kingdom of Atlantis.”
A bitter chill sweeps through me at the sudden recognition. I stare at him, stunned at the hatred spilling from his unblinking eyes.
“Where is my son?” My voice trembles. “Why are you doing this?”
“Your grandfather kept so much from you, young Horus. Thoth, the Scribe.” His words mock me as his scorn builds. “Did Thoth tell you what truly happened that night, the night you and he abandoned the island?”
“You slaughtered our families!” I growl and lunge at him against the chains, my teeth bared.
“Your grandfather condemned every Purean man, woman and child you left behind on this forsaken island.” The hatred in his face is complete. “The men he infected at the harbor. The disease never stopped. It continues to ravage us every day. Only the blood of the Hybrids can keep us alive. Those of your kind we did not kill, we bred to harvest their blood.”
He stops, his gaze distant and voice strangely calm, before he speaks again. “What a sad irony that the Pure Ones’ sole recourse to escape certain death is to pollute their own bodies with Hybrid blood.”
Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me, my mind unable to grasp the words I hear. My shoulders slump and numbness blankets my body.
“Release my people, Set. Release them, and I shall reveal to you how to stop this illness, end this suffering, once and for all time. A cure, devised from my blood—”
“We shall have your blood,” he says, his voice low. “We shall have all of it, Horus. We shall drain you—as we have drained your son.”
Dread creeps down my spine like the legs of a sun spider, her delicate feet descending on my skin until I'm frozen to the ground. “What have you done with him?”
“He was harvested, yet he was young and the power of his blood limited. He tried to be brave, but his tears flowed when his young body failed.”
Burning rage hisses through my body, yet I cannot speak. I cannot move. Each of his words fuels my silent fury, pounding into me like wave after ferocious wave.
“His mother’s blood made him weak,” he continues. “But you, Horus, the Falcon. What powerful Hybrid spirit courses through those angry veins!”
He appraises me, his slow smile filling my throat with bile.
“We shall breed you. We shall tear every half-blood cell from your body and harvest it.” His gaze is pure evil as he lifts the dagger to my eyes.
My howl of rage is terrifying. I do not feel the blade as it pierces my left eye, and half of my vision perishes, never to return. Somewhere, I hear the high-pitched scream of a falcon. He pulls out the dagger and holds it to my right eye.
“Remember my face, Horus, son of Isis and Osiris. For it shall be the last image engrained in your half-breed mind.”
I am Horus.
Son of Isis and Osiris.
I shall know—
Explosions shake the building.
Bells ring loudly in alarm.
Our fleet has arrived. The sea assault has begun.
Set’s face betrays his shock. My shackles fall as two metal crossbows bolts strike the chains. The men behind Set fall to the ground, their hearts pierced with bolts.
I tear my dagger from his grip. His face contorts in surprise, then pain, as the tip of my blade enters his nape and emerges from his throat, just below his chin.
I pull him to me and twist the blade then wrench it out. I feel the warmth of his blood as it pours down my naked chest, mixing with my own. His eyes bulge, and he reaches up with his hands, trying to stem the tide of blood as his life spills from him.
Finally, I break the deadly embrace, and he collapses at my feet.
Slowly, I lift my head. Horemheb stands before me, his face a mask of terror.
“My Lord, your eye!” He moves toward me then stops as I raise my hand commanding him to stay.
My blood is on fire, yet there is no pain. There is no rage. There is… nothing. I stand, a statue, a blood-soaked dagger in my hand.
“My Lord! I must tend to your wound!”
My voice is calm as I sense the blood from my empty eye socket flowing down my cheek.
“Kill them all.” I hear my own voice. “Every man, woman, and child.”
“My Lord…” Horemheb’s face pales.
“After you have killed every one, burn them and scatter their ashes into the ocean. Burn every building on this island, then bring down what is left. Destroy every brick, every stone, every cup. Destroy every trace of them. If it takes you a decade to tear down this cursed island, it shall be done. When the ships turn back east, barren land shall be at our back.”
Horemheb’s eyes are pure terror. “My Lord—”
“You will obey!” My scream carries through the night as the suffering overwhelms me, and I slip into the tender arms of oblivion.
19 Outside of Cairo
Tasha’s skin tingled under William Drake’s finger as he lazily followed a bead of sweat along her back before it dripped into the silk sheet. Her skin glistened as she laid next to him, her breathing finally beginning to slow down. He lifted a matted strand of auburn hair from her damp neck and leaned into her ear.
“What happened on that plane?” he asked.
Tasha tensed for an instant before she drew in a deep breath and turned around languidly, eyeing Drake through heavy lids.
His gaze rested on her face—cool, unblinking, unreadable. She waited, knowing the value of both silence and patience, until finally he sighed. “Those two have proven to be more resourceful than anticipated—and more aggravating.”
She exhaled slowly.
“I’m done playing games,” he continued. “Do whatever it takes. Get me the artifact.”
“And the kids?” she asked.
“Whatever it takes,” he repeated.
She nodded. “I will prepare a team.”
“I want you there. As backup.”
“As you wish,” she replied.
He slowly wound her long hair around his hand and gently pulled her toward him.
“Do not let me down,” he said quietly.
Clay stood wordlessly in the biosafety laboratory of the World Health Organization, a dazed look on his face. His mouth was a thin line as he set down the last HEPA filter at the table in front of him, having checked them all for the third time. He looked at the five air filters, his mind still refusing to accept the results. It wasn’t only Kade Morgan’s filter that had been tampered with. All but one had been compromised. He picked up the working filter and clenched it in his fist. He glanced to the suit from which he extracted it and focused on the name stitched on the white fabric: Edward Wallace.
Paul stirred at the sound of a buzz. Working to blink the sleep from his eyes, he noticed the flashing red light of his cell phone beckoning him an arm’s length away. He reached to the coffee table and brought the phone to his face. Struggling to focus on the display, he read the message from Clay.<
br />
FOUR FILTERS BUGGERED, INCLUDING KADE MORGAN’S. ONLY ONE FILTER STILL WORKING: EDWARD WALLACE. WASN’T HE THE BLOKE THAT DIED??
“I’ll be damned,” Paul muttered drowsily and sat up, trying to make sense of the message. “Alyssa…”
His voice trailed into silence when he realized he was alone. He glanced at his watch: 4:09 a.m.
A dismal suspicion stirred in his chest. Paul held his breath and looked toward the corner of the room. The bag with the LIDAR and VR gear was gone. His stomach sank.
You didn’t…
He got up and rushed out of the room. A faint line of light under another door broke through the darkness.
“Alyssa?” he repeated, quietly knocking on the door. No answer. He knocked again, louder.
“Alyssa! You in there?” He pounded on the door, alarm creeping into his voice. He pushed down the knob only to find the door locked from the inside. “Open up!” Weighing his options for a heartbeat, he backed up half a step and put all his weight behind him as he slammed his shoulder into the door.
He grunted as the door crashed open, and he staggered into Alyssa’s bedroom—and froze at the sight of her body lying lifelessly on the floor.
The gray Tesla rolled noiselessly to a stop across from the El Maadi building. Tasha studied the elaborate, horseshoe-shaped driveway of the luxury apartment complex through the driver’s side window then brought the com to her lips. “I’m in position,” she said. “You’re clear to move in.”
“Copy.” The simple reply came through the earbud when she spotted a white Mercedes Benz pulling up to the entrance.
“Hold,” she said.
She watched a man step out of the rear passenger door and walk inside the building. Moments later, the car slowly cruised to the far end of the portico before the driver got out and lit a cigarette.
Heir of Ra (Blood of Ra Book One) Page 16
