Charlie Madigan: Shadows Before The Sun Part 24

No!

In instant reaction, I threw everything I had at the creature. Sachath's head came up as my power slammed into its shoulder. A tendril of darkness shot through with my power, entering Sachath's wound like a rocket.

Enraged, Sachath released Hank and advanced, determined to kill me. It stumbled, but kept moving. It was being eaten from the inside out and yet it fought; its power staggering.

Well, f.u.c.k it. I was enraged, too.

It screamed at me and I screamed back, moving toward it. But arms enveloped me and lifted me off my feet. "No, Charlie. Don't." Leander.

"Get off me, you coward!"

"Coward." He laughed. "I'd like nothing better than to fight, but this kill belongs to another." He held me so tightly I couldn't breathe. "Just watch."

Sachath's steps slowed. It turned its head away from me as though sensing something. Leander released me. And I swear to f.u.c.king G.o.d a knight walked into the circle. No, not a knight. A Disciple. "We must move quickly," Leander said.

The Disciple intercepted Sachath, and what I'd seen in my vision was ten times more stunning in reality. The speed and precision was . . . unbelievable. "Charlie!" Leander hissed.

I turned as Leander shoved the lid off a long agate box. Power swamped me like a wave and continued on through the circle, dissipating as it went. A quick glance told me that Sachath felt it, too. It started for us, but the Disciple intercepted again.

Leander bent down and pulled a divine sword from the box. He was touching a divine sword, hand wrapped around the hilt, the blade pointing down. And he wasn't dying. I didn't have much time to digest that when he started for me, tossing me the blade. Heart in my throat, I caught it on instinct. Heat seared my skin and shot through my arm, my symbols flaring bright, so bright they were no longer blue but white. My power ignited, wrapping around the weapon, joining.

Leander grabbed me by both shoulders and turned me toward the battle. "Sachath is wounded. Get close. As soon as it falters, give the sword to the Disciple, he'll know what to do."

Hank was back up fighting, but he was wounded and his energy would soon wane. He'd used the Destruction Source Word. He wouldn't last long before he was completely depleted.

"Do it. Or we all die."

With each step, calm settled over me. Sachath's head whipped up. It was eager to meet me, to get the job done. I was its target, not the Disciple.

Sachath sent Hank flying. He crashed into one of the trilithons. The Disciple's head turned toward me, a golden flash in his eyes barely visible from the slit in his visor.

As I strode, I gathered momentum, using it to lift the heavy sword off the ground and on my last step, I swung with all my might.

Shadows blocked my strike. A sliver snaked out and pierced my side. The Disciple pressed. Just wound it, get it on the ground. I did my best, giving in to the strange sense of urging from my power. To fight. To move. Block. And strike. Like it knew how to dance this dance.

Shadows pierced me as I spun; one jabbed into my hip, the other into my shoulder. I screamed and swung out in a wide arc, slicing through its torso, and kept going until I was back around again, facing it and about to shove the sword into its gut, when the Disciple's armored hand clamped down on my wrist.

His eyes met mine through the visor. Hard. Unreadable. And yet calm, like he had long ago accepted his fate. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the sword.

He couldn't grab the sword or he'd die. What the h.e.l.l's he doing? But I already knew. He'd hold it long enough.

He shoved me back as a shadow pierced through his neck and came out the other side. The hand that held the sword began to burn, the armor turning red and hot. A deep bellow echoed from him as he hefted the sword, and spun, shoving the sword into Sachath's heart.

I fell to my knees, cus.h.i.+oned by the soft gra.s.s, and grabbed my side. But it was my hip that made my stomach turn; the shadow had hit bone . . .

Sachath didn't scream. In fact, it went eerily silent. Its writhing, deadly shadows stilled. The Disciple didn't let go of the sword. Let go.

Together, the Disciple and Death fell backward. Sachath landed on its back, the shadows evaporating, leaving behind the First One, the female I'd seen in Ahkneri's vision-the one who had killed the Sachath before her. The Disciple landed partway on top of her. His hand was already gone, along with half of his forearm, the divine power eating away at him. Despite the pain I knew he felt, he rose up and ripped his helmet off with his other hand.

Golden hair, long to his shoulders. He turned, nodded gravely to a point over my shoulder. Leander stood there, his face stony as he nodded back. He radiated power, emotion, even though there was none to be seen on his face.

The Disciple turned back to the First One. No one had to tell me. I knew now that he was her Disciple. That he'd been the one taken to safety by Ahkneri when the First One killed Sachath. And now he had his revenge.

He touched her face as she blinked up at him. His shoulder was gone now, eaten up by divine flame, and yet he didn't cry out, determined to see her, to make her see him. Jesus. My throat thickened.

She lifted her hand, smiled, and cupped his cheek, and then the fire consumed his neck and head, and he was gone as her hand flopped to the ground and her head fell to the side.

Time seemed to pause for that one unbelievable moment. And then her body jerked, arcing as power shot from her, screaming out and exploding. It hit me before I could blink.

I came awake to a blurry vision looming above me. My throat was so dry it was hard to work my mouth, to speak. A hand smacked my cheek, none too gently.

Leander's face came into focus.

He moved away and I watched as he retrieved the sword lying by the broken altar stone and took it back to the agate box. With extreme effort, I rolled to my side, took a breather, and then sat up, my back against a chunk of broken stone. Hank. Where was Hank?

I found him not far from me on his back. He groaned and let out a soft curse.

Leander knelt down and slid the lid into place. As soon as he did, a vacuum of . . . normalcy fell over the henge.

Done.

Sachath was gone. A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of me.

Leander hefted the box, which had to weigh a couple hundred pounds, onto his shoulder, balancing it with one hand. He approached, stopping at my feet. "Nice work, Detective. You and your friends have done what the Archons could not."

"How?" How was it even possible that we had done it, and they-some of the most powerful beings ever created-hadn't?

"Because they never had that kind of backup before. There were no Druid Kings, no henges, no powerful sirens back then who could wound Sachath or hold it off long enough to allow a Disciple to strike a suicide blow. You don't think they tried?" He shrugged and said simply, "We had to wait until such a time came . . ."

"We?"

He waved the question away. "We. The world. All of us with a stake in the future. But this day, this day we won, and my brother had his revenge."

"Your brother. He was your brother."

Leander paused. "Brother. Son. Father. Don't seek to know my world, Charlie Madigan. You won't like what you find."

"His revenge cost him his life."

"His revenge set Asaria free."

"He loved her."

Leander shrugged. "That, too. You woke him by reading the tablet. Your power led him here to take his revenge. It was his to take, not mine."

"What are you, Leander? Disciple or First One?"

His mouth dipped down. "We'll have to work on your listening skills."

"You touched the sword."

"I did. Try not to let it keep you up at night."

Hank's groan drew our attention as he pulled himself to a sitting position, plowed his fingers through his hair, and then surveyed the scene. "We actually pulled it off," he said, amazed.

"You and your siren will be seeing more of me," Leander said to me. "Plenty of time to beat your brains out over who and what I am. Remember what I told you in Fiallan, Charlie? The s.h.i.+t storm is coming. And suddenly here I am with a divine being and the only siren in existence who can wield two of the most powerful Source Words ever created. The question is, what I am going to do with you?" He regarded us with cunning in his golden eyes. "I'll be in touch."

He walked away.

"I'm not the only divine being around, you know," I called after him. "And Sachath is gone . . ."

Leander spun around, his face dark. "You'd better pray Ahkneri never rises, for if she does I will end her once and for all."

With that he turned and strode out of the fallen henge.

Too exhausted to think about Leander's words, I let my head fall against the rock behind me and closed my eyes. After a time had pa.s.sed, I rolled from a sitting position to my front and belly crawled slowly over the gra.s.s to where Hank sat, one leg out, one drawn up with his arms resting over his knee. His head hung low. His side was bleeding badly and his thigh was drenched in blood.

I collapsed next to him, struggling to catch my breath before rolling onto my back and scooting up to sit. Several nymphs stood outside the henge, all with pale, stunned faces. And that's when it registered. "Holy cow." The henge was down. Every stone but one had fallen outward, blown out by the force of Sachath's death.

The only stone that remained standing was the middle trilithon. And it still glowed a faint, strange gray . . . For a moment it seemed to brighten and then dim as a shadow filled it and Pen stepped out.

He strode over until his foot was inches from mine and glared down at us. "I thought you were wounded," I said.

He rolled his eyes, then one eyebrow arched. "Druid King."

I laughed through the pain. Arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d. "Sorry about your henge," I said, glancing around.

"They can be raised." He stared at the broken altar stone, then at me. He held out his hand, and for a moment I thought he was offering to help me up, but he said, "My amulet."

Hank reached over, lifted it from my neck, and tossed it to Pen. "I'm keeping the tome," Pen told us. "You have one more week to figure out who murdered Killian. I'm tired of waiting." With that he strode out of the circle and the nymphs turned and followed him.

Hank looked at the trilithon in envy, and I knew he was thinking about how easily Pen had healed. "Guess it's good to be king, huh?" he said, gruffly.

"Yeah. No doubt." I stared up at what little darkness remained. Powerful stuff, that. "You going to crash like you did last time?" I asked Hank. Using power words sapped sirens of strength and energy, causing them to fall into sleep, a deep sleep while their bodies recuperated from the intensive drain.

The limp hand hanging over his knee turned, so that the brand on his palm was visible. He stared at it a long time.

"Probably," he answered. "Last time I used one of the Source Words, Panope gave me back all the energy it took to use it, or at least I think she did. But using it feels different than the normal words we use."

"Different how?"

He scrubbed a hand down his face, and then stared off into nothing. "I don't know. More natural, easier in some ways . . . It's part of me like my regular power never was."

"Well," I said thoughtfully, "Source Words are supposed to be innate to specific sirens, so maybe that's why. It's part of your makeup, your niche. Destruction and Creation are your things. Which"-I slid him a pained smile-"is hot, by the way. I think you should create me a vacation."

Hank chuckled. "I'll work on it. That whole divine being thing is pretty hot, too. And you with a sword?" He rubbed his chest and grinned. "s.e.xy as h.e.l.l."

I rolled my eyes. But talking like this helped distract from the pain, made it bearable.

"You gonna be okay while I'm out?" he asked.

I was about to answer him, but then it struck me and struck me hard. What we'd done . . . "We did it, Hank. It's over."

He smiled down at me, the crooked smile of his that made my chest feel light, yet tight at the same time. Then he leaned over and kissed my forehead. "We sure did, angel face."

I laughed, wincing as the movement jarred my side. "Ha. I draw the line at any and all divinity jokes."

"Aw, c'mon. I was just getting started."

"You know what else?" I said, filled with happiness.

"What?"

"I can bring back the sun."

22.

THREE DAYS LATER . . .

"If you want to live long enough to see the light of day, then you'd better unhand the snickerdoodles." Rex glared at me.

I grinned with my mouth full, chewing-and savoring every bite of-the snickerdoodles Rex had made for our picnic at Stone Mountain. I swallowed. "Since I happen to be the one bringing the light, I think I'll live."

The happiness and sense of wholeness I felt was still a bit of a novelty. Hank was back. Sachath was dead. The darkness overhead was about to be lifted. And I'd come into my divine powers. They weren't exactly the same as the First Ones', but they were close enough, and I was more certain than ever I had the sylphs to thank for bringing my powers together and making the transition easier. That day I'd been buried under the ground, embraced by the earth, I knew something had happened . . .

Rex spread out the second picnic blanket on a flat area of granite while Hank played Frisbee with Emma, Brim, and Amanda. Apparently, all Hank had needed was three days of rest and he was back to his old, insanely beautiful self. Though if he didn't stop making "halo" and "angel" jokes, I was going to hurt him. But he was mine-another novelty I was still getting used to. He wanted a relations.h.i.+p, no matter how fast or slow I wanted to take it. He was here for the long haul; I knew that without him ever having to say a word.

Aaron and Bryn sat on the other blanket talking with Marti and t.i.tus, who were now officially a couple. t.i.tus was still in the process of identifying the properties of the liquid found in Leander's cylinder. His goal was to reproduce it and then put it through a series of tests before trying it on the ash addicts. It was a slow process since the substance was off-world and unknown to our scientists. But if all went well, then maybe, just maybe, we might have a viable cure in the days or weeks to come.

While Rex wasn't looking, I stole another snickerdoodle and popped it into my mouth as Liz, Sian, and the chief emerged from the trail and out onto the ma.s.sive rocky landscape of the mountain. Since the darkness had spread itself over the city, the Summit Skyride, which offered a cable car ride to the top of Stone Mountain, had cut their hours of operation in half. Still, people liked to come up here to get a closer look at the darkness or to see the city lights of Atlanta in the distance.

I gave them a wave, thinking for the hundredth time how I could strangle Rex for telling everyone what I was about to do and then turning it into a family outing. I'd wanted to come to Stone Mountain because it was high, about eight hundred feet or so, and got me close to the darkness without, say, standing on top of a skysc.r.a.per-been there, done that, and wasn't doing it again. The ma.s.sive exposed piece of granite was a prime spot to watch today's success or failure.

I still had control of the darkness. It was mine until I released it. I stood, wiped my hands on my jeans, and got ready to start the show. Hank came up behind me. "You ready to do this thing, angel cake?"

I turned and glared up at him. But it didn't last long because the blinding, bad-boy grin he gave me struck me like a gale-force wind. His irises s.h.i.+fted into topaz blue. He leaned down close, his nose nearly brus.h.i.+ng mine. "Tonight. My place. Bring the d.a.m.ned jewels."

The breath left me. It took me a moment to find my voice, one that meant to say something insanely witty, but all I said was, "What about the gown?"