Part 24 (1/2)

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.”