Shadow Fall (34 page)

She nodded to Marit, who leaned on the scepter. Kira shrieked in agony.

The Lady of Shadows leaned closer. “Let me tell you something about Set’s staff of power. It doesn’t like Light magic. No, it doesn’t. In fact, it tends to increase the pain of anyone who carries Light magic. What that means, my darling, stubborn child, is that you will continue to suffer as long as you continue to fight.”

Myshael feigned a sympathetic expression. “Why do this to yourself? You can stop this, you know. You have the power. All you have to do is let go of Light and claim the Shadow part of your soul. Grip your father’s Shadowblade and call on its power. The
was
scepter will sense your Shadow magic. Only then will the torment stop. Only then will you be able to face Ammit and retrieve the souls you seem so intent on rescuing.”

“N-never!”

Myshael sighed. “Never is a mighty long time, dear girl. I can afford to wait. Somehow I don’t think
you
can.”

“I won’t,” Kira gasped. “I won’t turn my back on the Light!”

“Why not? Surely you can tell that it’s turned its back on you?”

Myshael took on the voice and appearance of a girl of seven, flitting about as she chanted in a singsong voice. “Where is Balm, the Lady of Light? Where is Ma’at, the Lady of Truth? Where are all those you call your friends? Oh that’s right, they all left you. Left you alone in your time of need. Some friends they turned out to be.”

Emotional pain swamped the physical agony, bringing tears to Kira’s eyes. She didn’t need Myshael’s reminder. Comstock was dead. Balm had been unreachable, ever since she’d had Lysander deliver the box of Ana’s mementos. Anansi, who’d helped Khefar and her repeatedly, had abruptly returned home, wherever that was. Wynne and Zoo were no longer her friends, Khefar had been separated from her, and Ma’at …

No. She refused to believe the goddess of Truth and Order would elevate her only to abandon her. This was a test, a very painful lesson that she had to learn. If she was truly to be a devotee of the goddess of Truth, she had to own up to her own truth. On her own terms.

She forced her eyes open. “I am the Hand of Ma’at,” she declared, wrapping her blood-slick hands around the scepter. Power and pain crashed inside her, bowing her back. Instead of fighting it, she inhaled it, letting it into her pores, her lungs, her being. “By Her grace am I here, and by Her grace will I remain. She is Truth. Truth is neither good nor bad, Light nor Shadow. Truth simply is.”

Confusion crossed Marit’s face. “She’s grinning. What in the name of Shadow is going on here?”

She put a boot to Kira’s shoulder, yanking the scepter free. Kira’s vision grayed, but she bit her tongue and held on. Too much depended on her making it through.

She called her power, the burning desire to know the truth. Everything else could wait. What she was, where her life was supposed to go, whom she’d have with her—all of that could wait. Nothing mattered more than uncovering this particular truth.

Her extrasense sparked inside her, blowing away all doubts and uncertainty. She reached out to the raw power still flowing from the
was
scepter. The magics connected, flowing back into her body, infusing her. Changing her.

Her right hand moved, sliding across her body to grip the handle of her Lightblade. Magic flared, blue-white, but sputtered against the overwhelming flow of Chaos pumping into her. Still, the Light was enough to afford her some distance from the pain, enough distance for her mind to think.

Move,
she willed her left hand. It flopped against her chest, slick with blood and burnt with Shadow magic.
You’ve got to reach the other blade.

Kira.
A voice whispered in her head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Khefar’s.
If Light and Darkness live inside you, own them. Claim them. Use them to kick some ass. Say the spell and show them all.

She had no idea what he was talking about, if it was actually Khefar who spoke to her. What spell was there that combined Light and Darkness?

Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she saw a papyrus scroll unfurl, saw the gilded inscriptions of the Book of the Dead. Strange, that out of the hundreds of spells in the scroll, the words of this one would come to her, clearly and easily.

Her fingers wrapped around the Shadowblade. With both daggers in her hands, she sucked in the power flooding through her. Using that power to charge both her blades and her will, she began to chant the spell for Giving Light and Darkness.

“I am she who donned the white-bright fringed cloak of Nun, which gives light in darkness, which unites the two companion goddesses who are in my body by means of the great magic which is on my mouth.”

Thunder rumbled; Set was angry. He rose to his feet, gesturing toward her as he issued a command. Kira didn’t understand the words, but she definitely understood his intent. He wanted her stopped.

She made it to her knees. Marit shrieked in anger as she swung the staff at Kira. Kira caught it between the crossed blades of her daggers. Magic broke like lightning through the room, slamming into the ground, the walls, everything. Marit shrieked as the power struck her, her entire body stiffening before falling to the ground.

Kira grinned through her pain, then continued the spell, the words ringing from her in a voice not her own. “My fallen enemy who was with me in the valley of Abydos will not be raised up, and I am content.”

She used her foot to knock the
was
scepter away from Marit’s still body, then picked it up, juggling blades and staff. She lifted it up as high overhead as she could, then shoved it down, burying the forked end into the stone floor. The entire chamber rocked and rumbled as a ball of bright-green power, her power, welled up like a mushroom cloud. “I have brought darkness by means of my power. I have separated Set from the houses of the Above. I am the Woman Who Lightens Darkness, I have come to lighten the darkness and it is bright.”

Kira held on to the staff for support and the ball of power filled the room, blinding her. Slowly the light faded, showing that the false Hall of Judgment was empty. No Marit, no Set, no Lady of Shadows.

The
was
scepter stood rooted in the center of the room, now a blackened, charcoal-crusted stick. Her khopesh lay on the ground halfway between the empty throne and the Scales of Truth. Had they always been there?

She tottered over to the khopesh and fell to her knees beside it. She still had to find Ammit, find the heart scarabs, before her strength gave out. If she couldn’t restore the people who were in comas, giving in to Shadow would be for nothing.

With her extrasense glowing a steady fern green, Kira sheathed both blades and picked up the khopesh. The sickle-sword immediately suffused with her magic, making her light-headed. Or maybe that was the blood loss.

She tried to stand, but seemed to have difficulty making her legs obey. She couldn’t feel her left arm at all anymore; it was a miracle that she’d been able to sheath the Shadowblade. If the real Ammit was around somewhere, she’d be in serious trouble. Hell, she was in serious trouble anyway, taking so much raw Shadow magic into her system.

The very thing she’d feared, she’d become. It wasn’t a question of how far she’d Fallen. The true question was: would she be able to fight off the Shadow part of her nature long enough to face the Ammit construct and save the innocents?

Magic and anger burned through her. Marit was a sadistic bitch, but it was her own fault for allowing the Shadow Adept to jump her. She could only hope that she lived long enough to have a proper showdown.

She half-crawled, half-dragged herself back over to the scepter. She didn’t want to touch it again, but she preferred to die on her feet than flat on her back. It seemed to take ages, yet she managed to use the
was
scepter and the khopesh as lopsided makeshift crutches to gain her feet.

Breathing hard, she stared up at the ceiling, trying to marshal the strength to move, to do the last bit that needed to be done. “Okay, so I know I had to come through that part alone. I get it, I really do. But I could use some help. So if you guys are listening, I think now would be a good time to send the cavalry.”

K
hefar ran around the sarcophagus and through the doorway, his heart in his throat. The Dagger of Kheferatum reacted violently. He looked around for another threat, only to realize it emanated from the other side of the door.

Before the squad stuck a C-4 charge on the fake stone lintel, the frame glowed bright emerald green and dissolved. Khefar leapt through the doorway, the Special Response Team following.

They were in the Hall of Judgment, but not the one he’d seen in his vision when he’d died. This one looked as if it had been turned into a war zone. Scorch marks marred the walls and area before the raised throne. Dark splotches like brushstrokes dotted the floor, splotches Khefar realized were blood. Kira stood in the center of the room, the khopesh hanging limply in her right hand. She held on to a blackened
was
scepter with her left, slumped against it as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. The sleeves of her shirt were gone, and her left hand looked as charred as the staff.

Mother of All.
“Kira!”

He started to run to her, but his dagger throbbed with warning. “Kira, look at me.”

She lifted her head. Dread knotted his gut. Through the blood, sweat, and dirt that smudged her face, her eyes glowed a fierce, bright yellow. “Khefar.” Her voice dragged from her in chunks. “How did you get here?”

“Don’t worry about that.” He waved the others back, took another step toward her, forcing himself to stay calm. “I need you to let go of that staff.”

She looked at the scepter as if surprised to find herself holding it. “I can’t. If I do, I’ll fall.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“Promise?”

He sheathed his blade, held his arms out. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Grimacing with effort, she pushed herself away from the blackened staff.

He caught her before she collapsed, lowering her carefully to the floor. Blood ran from a wound beneath her left collarbone, running down her bare arm and burned hand to stain the floor beneath her. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

Fury burned inside him as he quickly checked her for other injuries. “He did it, didn’t he? Set stabbed you with that
was
scepter.”

She blinked, her eyes now a brilliant hazel green and tarnished with pain. “No. Marit did, while Set and Myshael watched.”

She’d faced all three of them alone? He dug into a pocket of the tactical vest and found several gauze bandages and tape. He unzipped her vest enough to quickly dress the wound and wrap her left hand. “Can you stand? We need to get you out of here!”

“No.” She gripped his vest with her good hand. “Haven’t found the scarabs yet. Need to find them, or it was for nothing.”

“What was?” he asked, trying to keep her talking. She sounded irrational, and that worried him. They probably needed her extrasense to fix the heart scarabs and save each exhibit visitor, but she couldn’t last much longer without real medical attention.

“It happened like my dreams. ’Cept this time I won.” Her breath shuddered. “And lost.”

Her head rolled, her gaze going to the scepter still embedded in the floor. “Need to destroy it,” she whispered. “Will you do it?”

“With pleasure.” He rose, unsheathing the Dagger of Kheferatum.

“Sir.” Commander Jenkins stepped up to him. “We should take the artifact back to Gilead.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

“It’s obviously a powerful weapon. Protocol states that any weapons recovered from hybrids are to be confiscated immediately.”

Khefar grit his teeth. “I don’t work for Gilead, so to hell with your protocol! Kira says destroy it, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Bale stepped forward. “The Eternal Man wants to destroy the weapon that harmed his woman. I don’t see a problem with that, do you?”

Jenkins looked from one to the other. A soft curse fell from his lips as he looked at Kira. “No, don’t see any problems here. We’ll go do a security sweep.”

“Good.” Khefar swung his blade at the charred staff. It was like striking an iron bar. The impact reverberated up his arm, numbing it. He tightened his grip, holding the blade against the staff. The burnt surface glowed yellow white. A sudden whoosh of air and the staff disintegrated into a shower of golden sparks.

Khefar quickly sheathed his blade, returning to Kira. “It’s gone.”

“Thanks. I’m ready now.”

He got his arms beneath her, cursing softly when she gasped. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Better make it quick, then.”

He was a gentle as he could be, but Kira still let out a short, sharp shriek as he pulled her upright. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered into her hair, holding her close. “Sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”

“You’re here now. And you will help me.”

“Chaser Solomon?”

They turned as one of the squad members approached. Kira stepped back from him, trying to project that she wasn’t using the khopesh as a cane to keep her upright. “Yeah?”

“The commanders say they’ve found an Ammit statue, and it’s got a jar of scarabs at its feet,” she said.

“Great. Make sure no one touches it. It’s bound to have some sort of protective spell on it. We’re right behind you.”

The guard hesitated. “Can I help?”

Kira grimaced. “No, you can’t, but thank you for the offer.”

Khefar thrust his shoulder beneath Kira’s right arm, wrapping his arm securely around her waist. He would have rather carried her, but she’d retaliate by shooting him when she recuperated. As soon as she finished with the scarabs, though, he’d carry her out. She could kick and scream until she passed out from the pain.

The rest of the squad and the banaranjans were crowded into the far corner of the room, on the other side of the massive set of scales. They shuffled aside to reveal the closest he ever wanted to come to Ammit the Devourer: a four-foot-tall statue of the demoness.