Charlie Madigan: Shadows Before The Sun Part 16

A hand on my arm pulled my attention back to the Circe. Arethusa had me and was leaning over, peering at the symbols on my arm, which had begun to glow brightly. I jerked against her. "Get off me."

Rage clouded my thinking. I wanted to kill her, right then and there. I was pretty sure I would, but Sachath lurked in the back of my mind. While I might be able to kill one, the other two would have me at their mercy if Death came and knocked me out.

"We must learn more of this power, sisters," she said. "If not through the tablet, then through the human."

"Not going to happen," I ground out, pulling back, but she was stronger than she looked.

I tried to push my power back down, but Calliadne reached over the altar and grabbed my other arm. "Yes, let's see what happens."

"Stop it!" I managed to pull free and slugged Arethusa in the jaw. "You don't know what you're doing!" Their hands dug deeply into my arms. Power continued to fill me, fueled by my panic. Ephyra stepped in the center of her sisters and smirked. They were going to make me use it. I didn't see any way out of it, but I knew one thing: I sure as h.e.l.l would take someone down with me. Collateral damage-they should've thought of that before they pushed me.

Ephyra placed one hand on Arethusa's shoulder and her other on Calliadne's, making a link between the four of us. Heat surged through both of my arms. I screamed, gasping as their power slid into me.

I squeezed my eyelids closed and gave myself up to the divine. It was so eager that it lashed out immediately. I heard myself scream again but was lost in the pain of their power being pushed back from my body.

My eyes popped open as a strange sort of calm took over. My hand curled around Arethusa's arm and I directed everything I had into that hand, into doing exactly what she had done to me, but a thousandfold. From my shoulder to my fingertip, my arm burned cold and hot and deadly.

"You wanted my power?" Light breached my fingertips. "Here. I hope you choke on it."

And then it arced out of me with the force of a rocket, burning electric as it went into Arethusa, and shoving me backward. I hit the ground and saw stars, but quickly scrambled to my feet to defend myself.

A high-pitched keening erupted in the chamber, rebounding off the walls, and making me cover my ears. After several seconds, the volume dropped enough to allow me to raise my head.

Holy s.h.i.+t.

A bluish white light-what came from me-ate its way slowly through Arethusa's chest. Direct hit. Her sisters were pulling at her, chanting, using their power to try and save her, and screaming.

G.o.d, the screaming.

Hank faced the wall, had a fistful of chain, and was trying to pull it free of the stone, using one foot braced on the wall for better leverage.

I have to help him. Before Sachath gets here. Before I'm completely screwed.

I made for Hank, but Ephyra's head snapped up. The light in her eyes was maniacal. I got two steps before she threw out her hand and shouted one word.

Stop.

Instantly I was rooted to the floor, held there by her word. I pushed against it, knowing my power was greater than hers, knowing I had to figure out how to f.u.c.king gather it again and use it. Through the adrenaline haze and the sound of my own wild pulse pounding through my ears like a ritual drum, images and language scattered across my brain. Ancient things. Words that echoed in my head.

My skin tingled with power, and I latched on to that sensation. Growing it, fanning the embers left over from before. I wasn't as empty as I thought.

I gave everything I had to push through the force of Ephyra's word. A scream built from somewhere deep inside of me, burgeoning, growing, trembling along with the rest of me as I gave all my strength and power. The sound burst from me and I fell forward onto my hands and knees, gasping.

Oh s.h.i.+t. I'd done it.

Startled, I glanced up and met the shocked eyes of the two Circe. Arethusa was gone, burned up. Dead. And I had just broken through Ephyra's power word.

The siren with the whip gaped from the Circe to me, unable to move or process what he was seeing.

And then the entire chamber shook. Small rocks came loose from the cave ceiling high above, pinging the floor and splas.h.i.+ng into the pools. A whine like an inbound missile filled the s.p.a.ce and the sonic boom rocked me onto my a.s.s just as the wall around Hank's chain cracked and shattered with his strength.

Too late. Death has come, I thought, scrambling to my feet just as shadows crept quickly into the cave like a coming storm, gathering me up.

He was free.

b.i.t.c.hes would pay.

One already had. Arethusa was dead. And the two who were about to die faced him along with the whip master who had moved behind them. Only it was too late; he was already there, s.n.a.t.c.hing Calliadne by the throat, spinning her in his arms so that her back was against him, bracing his elbow on her shoulder, and grabbing her head, twisting her neck until he heard the sickening, satisfying crunch of her spine snapping in two.

A second, two at the most. And it was done.

With a gathering of strength and a growl, he wrenched her head from her body. Blood, warm and thick, ran over his hands and forearms as the rest of her slid down to a pile at his feet-the only thing now lying between him and his next target.

Ephyra's face had drained of all color. He lifted the head of her sister, holding it out to her, making her see what he was capable of, what he was good at.

And then he started laughing. It was too easy. And he'd wanted them to suffer as he had suffered.

He tossed the head aside, staring at the last remaining Circe, his bloodl.u.s.t nowhere near fulfilled-he was just getting warmed up.

"Run," he told her, letting her see the intention in his eyes, the gleam of antic.i.p.ation that he felt all the way to his toes.

Her eyes flashed fire. The whip master grabbed her arm. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the tablet and they fled.

The hunt was on.

Calm settled over him. He walked toward the pa.s.sageway where Ephyra had disappeared, stopping for a moment to look over his shoulder at the gray shadows swirling above, holding Charlie immobile in their grip. Then he continued walking.

Nothing mattered now but the kill.

Nothing.

Pressure squeezed my neck, but I wouldn't exactly describe it as a hand. All around me darkness floated. Directly in front of me, it began to condense, slowly forming a dark, featureless face with ghostly eyes.

That had never happened before.

I tried to swallow but couldn't. I could barely move enough to look down, far below me, to the altar. Hank stood there, paused at the pa.s.sageway, staring over his shoulder. Staring at me.

And then he turned and walked away.

He just walked away.

Sachath spoke then, and I nearly wet my gown, the voice reverberating through me so heavy and powerful that everything went a little squirrely. It sounded like a hundred voices all speaking at once. It made the Circe look like amateurs, and I was glad I couldn't understand the words.

I struggled, tried to grab at the pressure on my neck, but there was nothing solid to hit or kick or grab on to. Pressure built in my face. My pulse went into overdrive, and I knew I couldn't keep this up for much longer.

The blackness around the white eyes began to form into finer features-still dark and difficult to see, but there was a real face there, coming together until finally it resembled a female, but still wrapped in shadow. I stopped struggling. All around the face, the shadows moved and swirled like tentacles. One whipped toward me, striking me on the cheek, drawing blood, blood that was taken to the dark mouth and tasted.

Its brow furrowed deep and angry and frustrated. The pressure on my neck increased. It leaned in and spoke in a very p.i.s.sed off voice before throwing me down and retreating into a swirl of vanis.h.i.+ng gray.

I braced for impact, for my body to break against stone.

But I slapped against water instead, hitting one of the pools, and drawing in a shocked gasp that filled my lungs with seawater. I sank to the glittering bottom as everything went black.

Emma.

Her face appeared so clearly in the blackness. But it was different, she was different. Older. Gorgeous. The sun was like a halo behind her, making the red in her brown hair turn to fire and gold. It was down, long, like mine used to be, and it moved in the breeze, and she laughed, dimples slicing into smooth cheeks, eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with happiness and serenity, a confidence that wasn't there now. Wasn't there yet.

Love. Profound love. So perfect and pure, it made my soul hurt. It pierced my heart and demanded I acknowledge its significance.

The golden light behind Emma's form s.h.i.+mmered, growing until it blinded everything and in this light another form took shape. Female shape, hair moving as though underwater and glinting like sunlight on the sea. I felt a smile, more than I saw one. Felt kindness and acceptance.

I saw myself reaching out, but didn't feel the movement, only knowing that I was supposed to open my hand. It was enveloped in golden warmth. Two pearls were pressed into my palm. They were the size of marbles, and heavy. The inscription on the jewels glowed.

I gazed in dreamlike wonder at what rested in my hand. I remembered the dancers at the banquet, the story . . . I knew what I held.

Yes, a voice entered my mind, a beautiful voice filled with kindness and love and power. And I knew this could only be Panope, the Witch of the Sea, the mother to the siren race. But how? Laughter filled my head, sweet and ethereal, and I wondered if I was gone.

No, you're not dead, human. The only way I could reach you was here, in the sea. The Circe have imprisoned me.

Imprisoned?

They have kept my power locked in their sanctum. They had so much promise. They took the gift of my vision and twisted it, became too powerful, too unworthy . . .

I glanced down at the Source Words in my hand. The Adonai never stole them. It was my voice. You took them back.

It was long before the Circe were born, but yes. My children were not ready for them.

And now they are? And why was she giving them to me? I wasn't a siren. I wasn't preprogrammed to read or wield the words inscribed on the pearls. And why two of them?

They are but two of the three words I took back. And there is one who is ready to wield them. Hank? But . . . To wield words of Creation and Destruction one must understand the weight of that power, the sacrifice, and the responsibility. The corruption power can bring. Only now is he ready for such gifts.

But how? I found myself asking. He could only wield one of them . . . right?

When the families of Elekti and Kairos combined through marriage, the children inherited the innate power to wield not one but two Source Words. Destruction, originally intended for the Elekti, and Creation, intended for Kairos. Nierian was one of only a few children born to this marriage before the Circe struck and destroyed the house forever. Give him the jewels. With them, the Circe's power will end as it should have ended long ago and I will be free. We all will be free.

I hesitated. Unsure of why, but knowing that no one gave something for nothing. It just didn't work that way. And if it did . . .

There is always a cost. I give Nierian a curse as much as a gift, but it is his choice, if he chooses to bear it or not. Now, you must leave the water. Leave now.

15.

I came awake, hacking and heaving salt water. My upper half was splayed on the stone floor of the cave, my lower half still in the pool. I was freezing, shaking, and for a while too weak to pull myself the rest of the way out. When I finally did manage it, I collapsed.

Once my breathing returned to normal and some of the shaking stopped, I pushed up to a sitting position.

Oh.

Ten feet in front of me lay Calliadne's head. The physical response to that sight was instant, and my stomach scrunched up tightly. I winced, turning away only to see a thin red line going down the cracks and dips in the floor. I followed it back to the source where her body lay next to the altar. It was a gruesome sight, but even so I felt an enormous amount of satisfaction for Sandra. Next to the body was a pile of ash that had once been Arethusa.

Hank was gone. Ephyra was gone. The siren with the whip was gone. And so was the tablet.

The chamber was quiet except for the ever constant sound of the waves flowing into and out of the cave. And then it hit me. The sea. Panope. Holy s.h.i.+t. Holding my breath, I opened my palm. They were there. They were real. The Source Words of Creation and Destruction lay nestled in the palm of my hand.

Heart pounding, I picked one up to examine the softly glowing inscription wrapped around in a spiral. G.o.d, it was beautiful and mesmerizing, and I felt a little like Frodo Baggins looking at the Ring of Power.

You're losing it, Charlie.

Sandra would've had a good laugh at me for that random thought. But Sandra would never laugh again. A hardness settled over me then, a tight, steely resolve. I pushed to my feet, wringing out as much of the gown as I could with one hand, and then headed for the pa.s.sageway.

With every step I took, I grew weaker. Once I made it to the room with the three doors, I had to sit on the same bench that Sandra had pointed out before she died.

Blood was splattered on the wall across from me. One of the guards lay in a heap on the floor. Sirens could live for hundreds of years, as long as they didn't face a trauma too intense to heal from. Decapitation, fire, the heart being ripped from their body, or-like the siren on the ground-the skull being bashed into a stone wall until the brain was damaged and exposed.

If I thought Hank had sounded insane before, I knew now he was consumed. Some might take the opportunity to run away and escape. But others like Hank didn't think about their own lives-only about defeating the evil or die trying.

I turned away from the scene, knowing I should feel something, have some reaction to the blood and small clumps of brain matter stuck to the wall, but the sight barely even turned my stomach. The physical drain had crept into my mind and dulled everything, even my reaction to Hank's b.l.o.o.d.y rampage. But I had the Source Words. With them we had a fighting chance. I had to keep going.

That last surge of strength that always got me through, that always enabled me to shove everything else aside, felt so out of reach. Two of the Circe were dead. One by me, one by Hank. He was clearly on the warpath, but was his rage enough? Not if Ephyra made it back to the grid. If she drew upon the power of the Malakim, we were toast.

"I'm not done yet." I kept one hand on the wall to support myself as I stood. There was no fight left in me, but if I was going to c.r.a.p out, then I'd do it after giving Hank the Source Words at least.

The hallway that led to the Circe's inner chamber was empty and quiet save for my movement and breathing. The Circe had been so sure of their power, so set in their ways and secrets that now their lack of protection worked against them.

The sanctum door was wide open. Two bodies lay over the threshold. I stepped over them, sliding in their blood. My feet were bare, the soles leaving b.l.o.o.d.y prints as I edged around the vast room.

Power pulsated strong and loud, mingling with the eerie echo of chanting. Ephyra stood in front of the strange gla.s.sy statue, which I realized was a cage imprisoning the deity and her power. The bridges were gone. The last Circe was completely out of reach, and was glowing with gold radiance.

Hank faced off with his tormentor, the siren with the whip, as Ephyra watched. They circled each other as I continued to edge my way around the room. The smaller room off the main chamber came into view and beyond it the pedestal with Sandra's head. I froze. Her eyes were open and glowing green. Her voice was the source of the eerie chanting, her mouth moving fast and possessed, spouting off strange lines and rhymes, increasing in magnitude. The power was so thick in the air that I wondered if it had set the oracle off.

The sound of the whip made me flinch. The siren arced it over his head and aimed for Hank. No longer shackled to a wall, Hank could move. And he was fast, just rolling out of the barb's touch. A crack filled the room and then the whip sailed again, this time Hank didn't dodge, but spun, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the barb. It sliced his hand, but he held on, using his other hand to grab the leather and yank the whip from the siren.

The siren advanced, but Hank was ready. They met in a brief but brutal hand-to-hand, Hank never letting go of the whip and finally wrapping it around the siren's waist. With a hand on each end, Hank pulled, using all of his brute force. The whip tightened around the siren until it cut into him, severing him to the spine. Hank shoved him off the chasm ledge as his body broke in two pieces.

And Ephyra watched the entire thing. She never lifted a finger to help the siren, and she didn't seem surprised or upset that her last defender was dead.