Recreated (36 page)

A moment later a gray, loose-limbed ghost, after having his gleaming heart unceremoniously shoved down his throat, was stuffed matter-of-factly into a bag slung across the robed reaper's shoulder. That was one thing the legends had gotten right. Reapers did wear black robes, long ones that fluttered in the hellish desert wind. They smelled of desperation and decay.

We remained quiet, ready to fight but hoping to be ignored. I watched the reaping with fascination and wondered what Dr. Hassan would think about this place. Asten and Ahmose stood nearby, weapons clenched in their hands, their breathing ringing in my ears.

Just when we were finally safe to flee, a ghost not too far away, one targeted by a reaper, began waving his hands in our direction and screaming, “Invaders!”

Throwing the seized ghost down as if he were a sack of discarded trash, the reaper turned and looked in our direction. The abandoned ghost, with one remaining leg stuck in the mire, frantically attempted to escape the confines of the field. He wasn't successful. Within the span of a few moments, another reaper appeared, grabbed hold of the struggling specter, and finished harvesting him, along with his heart.

The black-robed form watching us drifted closer and straightened his body out in the air. The horrible clacking began as he twisted his head one way and then another. His hood fell back from the motion, and I saw where the noise was coming from. It was the reaper's jaw.

From Tia I knew the creature was scenting us through the movement of its jawbone. When it opened its mouth, the tongue, a long black muscle, tasted the air. After it drew the organ back into its gaping maw, the jaw clacked a dozen or so times, as if it was chewing up our scent.

The creature looked more buglike than skeletal, but I could see how it might be mistaken for a skeleton. From a distance, the black-and-white patterns of its face slightly resembled a human skull, but the jaw was shaped differently, more like an ant or a wasp.

The clacking mouth wasn't moving up and down like a human jaw would but instead clapped together horizontally from either side. And it was a wide mouth, much bigger than a creature that size should have. The noise it made as it hovered above the ghosts reminded me of a swarm of hornets. Glowing eyes burned as it studied us.

After a tense moment, the buzzing noise ramped up several degrees and we noted several other reapers closing in on our location fast. Asten must've decided that fighting one off now would be better than waiting for a group to attack, so he loosed an arrow. The starlit diamond head found its target and sank into the neck of the reaper. An unholy screech filled the air, and then the creature floated slowly to the ground, roiling in its death throes.

More screeches rose as Asten loosed arrow after arrow. Soon they were close enough to reach by spear, and I threw one and then a second, managing to seriously wound one while killing the other. The creatures swelled in numbers and we were quickly surrounded, fighting hand to hand. I summoned my claws and slashed, continuing to kill. There was something cathartic about being in combat.

All the confusion I'd felt dissipated, and my mind emptied of its worries and errant emotions. Suddenly I found myself in control of my body. While fighting, my limbs moved seamlessly, instinctually. I drew upon the powers of the sphinx and my call was answered. Never before had Tia and I worked together in such a unified manner, and I relished the feeling. With a bare hand, I crushed the windpipe of one reaper while sinking my claws into the heart of another. There was no struggle. No dominance. No uncertainty. We were one, with a connection even stronger than we'd experienced on Cherty's boat.

The second wave of reapers approached, this time their stingers bared. I fought off my two attackers easily, but five flew down to surround Ahmose, who had been struck more than once with a reaper's short scythe. Blood colored the sleeve of his tunic. I smelled its sharp tang in the air, but I could tell his injury wasn't life-threatening.

I headed toward him, but then Asten was stung in the leg and I wavered. Without thinking, I went to Asten instead, using my claws to remove the stinger from the reaper's body. I then grabbed the reaper's robes and smacked his head against a rock until his body went limp. I longed to comfort Asten, but I heard Ahmose's cry and gritted my teeth.

Feeling like I had no other option left, I nocked one of the precious arrows of Isis, raised my bow, and aimed. The arrow sank deep into the shoulder of a reaper, but the creature responded in a very different manner to my arrows than it did to Asten's. Instead of screaming or falling when injured, the reaper immediately stopped fighting and came toward me, its injured arm hanging loosely by its side, the arrow still protruding from its body.

The familiar buzzing noise filled the air, the sound so powerful my skin tingled with the vibrations. The other reapers paused, watching the first, and one by one they followed him as he drifted to the ground by my feet. Gradually the sounds made sense and words took form.

“How may we serve the goddess?” said the injured reaper. Neither Asten nor Ahmose seemed to understand him.

“You can stop attacking us, for one thing,” I said, my claws still brandished in a threatening manner.

“We will let you pass,” another said.

“What will we tell the mistress?” an alarmed reaper asked his brothers. “Many have died!”

“She will know!” chimed another. “She will devour us!”

The reaper I'd just injured said, “We will distract her with double the number of hearts and attempt to hide our injuries and our dead.”

“She will discover us!” one lamented in despair.

“It matters not!” the first shouted. “The tears of the goddess call to us. If it means our death, then so be it.”

“Thank you,” I said. “My friend has been stung. Can you heal him?”

“Regrettably, we cannot,” the reaper said, his words buzzing in my mind. “But the salve from the mother tree in the Turquoise Forest can nullify the poison.”

“Yes,” another echoed, “if you reach it in time. He has only a few hours.”

“Hours?” I questioned, fear for Asten blooming in my chest. So far he showed no signs of poison, other than a slight limp and a sheen of sweat across his forehead.

“Head west,” one said. “Find the Fountain of the Jackals. The path underneath will show you the way to the trees.”

The reapers turned to go, but one hesitated. “We will hide your presence for as long as we dare from the Devourer, but her mind is sharp. She will discern our duplicity soon enough. It would be best for you to make haste.”

“Wait!” I cried before the last reaper rose. He hesitated, floating in the air above us. “After we heal Asten, we plan to attack the Devourer. Will you help us?”

The reaper stared down at me, his mandibles clacking softly as he considered my request. “You are brave fighters, but you are three, and she has the power of thousands at her disposal. We reapers are her votaries, sworn to her service. She will know if we dared to defy her. Once, a very long time ago, we served a goddess of a different sort, but we were tricked into aiding Chaos, and now we are here at the beck and call of the Mistress of the Dead. But we will always remember she who is our creator. She who was lost to us.”

He paused. “I will ask my brothers to deliberate upon your proposal. But know that the thing you speak of is very dangerous. We will likely all perish in the attempt, and she will wreak her vengeance upon our whole hive. If she kills our queen and our unborn, our species will perish.”

“But if we succeed, then you will no longer need to serve her,” I said.

“That is true.” The reaper tasted the air as he thought. “When you come to battle, let loose one of the goddess's arrows into the sky and we will see what we can do.”

“Thank you,” I said, and nodded my farewell.

As the reapers left, I approached Asten. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

“My leg is just a little numb at present. I believe I can walk on it with some help.”

I grimaced as I examined the wound. “Can you make some cloth, Ahmose?”

Within a few seconds, Ahmose created a stack of mummy-style bandages that neatly folded themselves into my hands. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked when he noticed my expression.

“Could you be a little bit more foreboding?” I asked, wrapping the bandages around Asten's leg. “These are mummy wrappings.”

Ahmose shrugged. “It's the first thing I thought of.”

I sighed. “I guess I can't blame you. When we get back to the real world, I'll have to take the two of you on a tour of all things modern, including hospitals with sterile supplies.”

“And food,” Asten added. “I should like to try more of the pastries Amon introduced me to.”

“You got it,” I said with a grin.

For a moment, I stood still, remembering how much Amon liked to feast, especially on the round discs filled with fruit. There were so many places I could introduce him to. So many new foods we could try together. Then Asten's next words pierced my tiny bubble of happiness.

“Sadly, we aren't going back with you,” he said. “You know that even if we defeat the Devourer, Ahmose, Amon, and I cannot return to your world. We aren't due to rise for another thousand years.”

“Maybe they'll let you take a tiny, well-deserved vacation?” I ventured. “Maybe for a hundred years or so?”

“It is doubtful, Lily,” Ahmose said. “We have never in our long centuries of existence been granted a reprieve.”

“We'll have to do something to change that. But first things first. We need to save Asten and then Amon. Can you find a path to the Fountain of the Jackals, Ahmose?”

“I believe so.”

He let go of Asten's arm and I took it, offering my support as he tried to stay upright on his injured leg. Ahmose raised his arms in the air to chant a spell, then clapped his hands together.

The entire valley began to shake.

“What's happening?” I cried.

“I don't know!” shouted Asten, stumbling against me. We clung to each other as the cliffs surrounding us rumbled, ready to crush us beneath them.

A crevice opened in the mountain at the end of the valley, dust and rocks showering down into the dark space inside. Ahmose had cleaved the mountain in two. When the quaking was finished, the three of us stared at the newly made gap that led up and out of the valley.

Within the hour we were at the gap, and it quickly became obvious that Asten was going to struggle to climb the rocky terrain. “You should leave me behind,” he said after we came to a stop, the two of us panting with exertion. Ahmose was scouting the best places to climb, finding the spots that were the most stable while we rested. Still, Asten was exhibiting signs of strain and we had a long, long way to go.

“We're not leaving you behind,” I said. “It won't happen.”

“Time is of the essence. You must save Amon. Surely the world is more important than I am. I'm not even a chosen vessel. I'm just a human who was swept up in this.”

“And what do you call me?” I asked. “I didn't exactly set out to become what I am now. We do it to save the ones we love, and I consider you a part of that group.”

“Do you?” he asked. His eyes lit on my face, studying me as if seeking the answer to his question.

“Do I what?” I answered softly.

He didn't clarify but lifted his hand to my cheek and brushed away a smudge of dirt. I pressed my hand against his, willing him to feel the touch. He gave me a sweet smile that told me he could indeed feel it. The hurt I'd felt before, though I still didn't fully understand its cause, melted away with his smile. Asten leaned closer and my breath caught, my heart fluttering in my chest as the air around us became thick.

Ahmose called out, “Just a little farther and you can go airborne, Asten!” He slid back down to us and the intimate moment passed. “The pull of the Mires of Despair weakens about fifteen feet up,” he said. “Once we get you there, it should go much easier for us.”

I felt pleased that we were going to make it. We'd save him. But then, why did the Mires of Despair still tug at my heart? I mused on that until we reached the point where Asten was able to take flight.

A moment later, Ahmose reached for me and pulled me into his arms. The three of us floated up and over the side of the cliff. We remained airborne, passing rocky terrain littered with pulsating mounds of dirt that surely housed monstrous beasts we didn't want to meet. Jagged peaks pierced the sky, casting ominous shadows.

There was no sun and yet there was just enough light to see by. Unlike dawn, there was no promise of brightness and hope, nothing to look forward to. We knew only misery awaited us. All was dusk. Twilight. But it was ugly and devoid of stars. It was as if we stood on the edge of a desperate horror, waiting for the monsters that hid under the bed to feel comfortable enough with our presence to reveal themselves.

The haunted air of expectation that kept me feeling jittery was echoed in the landscape. Even with enhanced vision I could only see so far. Dark caves and pockets, hidden dens and craggy overlooks were everywhere, each one potentially hiding something or someone bent on our destruction. Tingles lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. I was sure we were being watched. Followed.

To distract myself, I asked Ahmose about the reapers. “Why didn't they turn to dust like the ghosts?”

“They're like you,” he replied.

“Like me? What do you mean?”

“They are living. When they die, it is their first death. Their bodies are buried here and their souls are judged. The ghosts die a second and final death.”

“And that could happen to you? Turning to dust, I mean?”

“It could, but the Devourer will keep Amon alive as long as possible,” he said, assuming I was thinking of Amon. “His heart can power her for a long time.”