Shadows Before the Sun (32 page)

Shadows sliced and jabbed around Hank, but he was preternaturally quick. He would’ve made an awesome Disciple, I thought in a weird moment of observation. And then Pen was back in the fray, and the siren and the dragon faced off against Death as I kept my focus on the darkness.

If I could wound it again . . .

But then in a burst of clarity, I had another idea. I sent an order to the darkness. I’d strike a nonlethal blow, and the darkness would attach itself, ride with my power straight into Sachâth’s body. Hank’s power was already trying to fulfill its destructive purpose. With the Charbydon energy also inside . . . They’d blow Sachâth sky high. Hopefully.

A shadow pierced Hank’s thigh, through the front and straight out the back. He faltered, going down on one knee as another sliver rose up to take his head. Pen struck, using his tail to knock Hank out of the way. The shadow redirected, slicing through Pen’s wing. The roar that followed . . . I blanched, knowing Pen was seriously wounded.

Sweat rolled down my back as I gave everything I had to growing the divine power inside me and keeping the darkness attacking Sachâth. Hank forced himself up, but Sachâth was quick. It used its shadows like thin razor-sharp slivers and pierced Hank’s body in multiple places, pinning him into the grass.

No!

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

Enraged, Sachâth 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, fuck 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.”

Sachâth’s steps slowed. It turned its head away from me as though sensing something. Leander released me. And I swear to fucking God a knight walked into the circle. No, not a knight. A Disciple. “We must move quickly,” Leander said.

The Disciple intercepted Sachâth, 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 Sachâth 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. “Sachâth 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. Sachâth’s head whipped up. It was eager to meet me, to get the job done. I was its target, not the Disciple.

Sachâth 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 hell’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 Sachâth’s heart.

I fell to my knees, cushioned by the soft grass, and grabbed my side. But it was my hip that made my stomach turn; the shadow had hit bone . . .

Sachâth 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. Sachâth 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 Sachâth 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 Sachâth. 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.

Sachâth 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 Sachâth 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 shit 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 Sachâth 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 passed, I rolled from a sitting position to my front and belly crawled slowly over the grass 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 Sachâth’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 bastard. “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, Panopé 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. “Sexy as hell.”

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.”