Astarte's Wrath (2 page)

The sun pitches its heated rays across the Moon Gate. The ball of fire is covered by fast-moving rain clouds, but its warmth still touches my pale skin through the wispy, soft haze.

“Shields down!” Habi orders.

Our shields fall to our midsection.

“Weapons up!”

Our swords salute Khonsu—the Egyptian god of the moon. He’s engraved on the right pillar, and his dark eyes stare out from his falcon head at us as we pass through the Moon Gate. Sekhmet, our warrior goddess, is on the left. The lioness protects Egypt, and the Kythan serve her dogmatically.

Habi gives the order to take up our marching position again, and we fall into line. Dust kicks up around my sandal-covered feet, bathing me in the land. On my left, Lake Mareotis stretches the southern border of Alexandria, and to my right, the island of Pharos, with its enormous god-like structure—the Pharos Lighthouse.

We march leisurely like this for nearly an hour. The deeper we head into the western desert, the darker the sky becomes. It’s tinged red, as if the Narcolym Guardians have painted it with blood in celebration of the upcoming Sekhmet feast.

Crackling rents the desert air. The scent of scorched flesh stings my nose.

Flames soar against the dark skyline, illuminating the horizon just beyond a massive sand dune. The clank of armor and blades hits my ears.

Habi holds up a fisted hand and we stop. He sends two Shythe from the front line to scope out the battle. They hunker low as they scale the dune, clawing their way to the top.

My stomach tightens, and I adjust my grip on my shield, my sweat-slicked palms causing it to slip.

One of the scouts holds up his hand; five fingers splayed out. There are fifty Roman soldiers on the other side: one legion. With the twenty Narcolym already engaged in the skirmish, our combined numbers should deplete Octavian’s legion. That is, if this is the only ground attack.

What if Octavian has sent more troops from the east?

No one has gotten word from Heracleion or Canopus yet. Not since Cleopatra set sail for Actium to join her husband. The fight was upon us too soon. My stomach sinks. I send another prayer to Isis asking for Caesarion’s safety. If I’ve left him susceptible to an attack from the east, I’ll never forgive myself.

My thoughts are interrupted as Habi raises his khopesh, his curved blade catching the firelight. “Defend Egypt!” he roars.

The Shythe break formation and run full force up the dune.

Once I reach the top, my feet stop. I’m planted in place like a wilting lotus as my eyes take in the battle below. Brown-plumed helmets merge together in a sea of amber sand. The armor of the Roman soldiers flash gold and red, the Narcos’ Flame glinting off it like violent sun flares. Spears ignite mid-throw. Smoke billows up from scorched bodies strewn across the desert.

“Move!” Habi yells near my ear.

He slaps my shoulder, his hand already ablaze with radiant blue. Charge zings my skin, and I’m spurred into motion by the jolt. My knees unlock their hold. I follow Habi down the dune, the balls of my feet digging into the loose sand.

The clash of metal hitting metal rings out.

Before I reach for my weapon, I call forth my Charge, shifting into Kythan form. My arms illume blue, spreading from the tips of my fingers to my elbows. I feel my ears point, sliding through the loose wisps of my hair. My skin tingles with the shift.

A cry rips from my mouth as I lock gazes with a Roman. I bare my teeth at him, my lips curled back around my sharp canines. He’s on the cusp of the battle, and wavers hesitantly before raising the long blade of his spatha to meet my sword. A sneer mars his olive-toned face. I raise my shield and plow into him. Hooking his shield with my blade, I yank it out of his grasp. He’s knocked off balance, but rights himself quickly. He drives the point of his sword into my shield, and I’m thrust backward.

“Just wait, slave,” he bites out, swiping his sword before my face. A low, shrill whistle as it cleaves the air. I know some Latin, but he says this to me in Greek as it’s the common language in Alexandria. He grunts and lunges. “Jove’s reckoning is coming.”

I block his attack with my shield, then send a bolt of Charge into his weapon. It careens with his mid-flight, a flash of white-blue crackling energy. He trembles, shocked into silence. I swipe his legs. He falls back, my sword already coming down toward his head—but a blast of sand stings my eyes. I stumble and my khopesh slashes the ground instead. He rolls and comes up with his hands blocking the rising winds.

“Fall back!” another Roman orders.

My foe picks up his sword and follows the retreating soldiers. Before I can question if it was our forces that intimidated them, the swell coming off the red land intensifies, lifting strands of my hair. The sand attacks my skin, biting.

Hunkering low, I bring up my shield to guard against the whirlwind of sand. It pelts the metal like hail. I peek above the scooped top and see the other Kythan doing the same.
Where in the heavens did a sandstorm come from this time of year?

A crack of thunder splinters the air in answer.

Beyond the haze of swirling sand, shadowed figures emerge.

Their eyes and arms are lit up—blinding silver-white. Draped in black flowing linen, their pale skin stands out, striking, like pearls rising out of the Nile.

I’m trying to count . . . twenty, maybe . . . when they raise their glowing hands, and the sand stops its cyclone. Silence hums. Slowly, I stand, the other guardians moving into defense formation near me. The air is thick with sand as it hovers—motionless—mid-air.

I turn and meet Habi’s wide, glowing eyes. “What in Mother Isis—?”

“I don’t know, Star.” He shakes his head. “Back!”

We start to move backward as our new foes step forward, their hands sweeping the air. They arc their arms, and the sand rains down with a thunderous
crash
.

We’re covered in darkness.

Chapter Two

G
asping for air, I
push through the sand. It’s in my mouth, nose, lungs. I cough, and it scrapes my chest and throat as my airway is cleared.

The sound of clanking and shouting reaches my ears.

“Arms!” Habi shouts, and I’m pulled up by a hand.

I regain my footing just as the Roman legion launches another attack. But this time, our new enemies in black are with them.

We form a line, our shields walling us in. The shouts come louder. We’re hit with the full impact of their attack as they slam into our resistance. We’re pressed back, and our defense is breached. I fall but take with me one of my black-clad foes. She lands on top of me, and I’m blinded by the radiant glow of her arms.

Struggling to push her off, I squint and thrust my knee into her stomach. With an “oomph,” she releases her hold. I scramble to my feet. Sword in hand I reach down, seeking my shield, but it’s lost in the surrounding chaos.

The white illuminated girl in black stares me down, her lips stretching to reveal mirrored, elongated canines. She’s Kythan . . . like us, only . . .
how
? Where did they come from? And how can they control the land?

She lowers her head and levels her eyes, a grin creeping up the side of her face. “I’m Candra,” she says, her voice light, like a melody, her words spoken in the Egyptian tongue of my ancestors. “But that is only my given Roman name. Soon, I will be known as Subina, my
chosen
Egyptian name.” She lifts her chin. “What do you go by, sister?”

I hike my eyebrows, dumbfounded by her arrogance—enough to halt fighting in the middle of a battle to introduce herself. “Astarte. But we’re not sisters,” I say in Egyptian, and grip the hilt of my khopesh tighter.

She cocks her head. “Astarte,” she repeats slowly. “Greek or Egyptian? A name’s origin is very important.”

“Not to me.” I glance around at the battle, at the devastation, and raise my sword. “Enough talk. Come at me,
sister
.”

She laughs. “What? You don’t trust me? We are sisters. We’re the Leymak to your Shythe—the dark to your light. We’re designed by the same magics, only stronger and better. We control the aether. You won’t defeat us, so join us, and be freed of your binds.”

I laugh. “Free?” Taking a determined step toward her, I nod my head at the ink marking her neck. “You are no more free than any slave here or in Rome. Who made you? How did you come into existence?”

A low growl rumbles from her throat. “You’ll regret your ignorance here today.”

I raise my defenses, surprised by how quickly her assured demeanor is riled.

She advances and I bring up my sword, ready to run the unarmed girl through—but she vanishes. Just as my blade reaches for her, she blinks out, wisps of black mist fading away where she once was.

A blast hits my back. It knocks the air from my lungs, and a fire spreads over my skin. I suck in a labored breath and reach behind, grasping at my burning skin. Only there is no fire. The burn is mystical, and my body aches from the impact.

I turn in circles. Bringing my sword up, I try to hear her location—feel her presence. Candra appears before me in a flash. I slice the air and skim her arm. She roars and sends a white beam into my stomach. The pain is immediate—searing.

As she blinks out again, I cradle my stomach, trying to lessen the pain as I heal. My eyes scan the battle. Everywhere guardians are wielding their swords, Flame, and Charge against these mystic Leymak. But to no end, and the Romans attack full on, their blades inflicting damage as the guardians struggle to fight an unseen enemy.

Join us, sister, and become your own master.

The voice echoes in my mind. I spin, searching for my foe. She’s vanished. Gone. And she speaks through the spirit realm; the aether. I’ve never known anyone to do so. Not even the sorcerers.

A Roman attacks me from behind, and I dodge his blow. I beat him back toward the Narcos circling a cluster of soldiers, while keeping my senses open for an attack from Candra. The Narcos stomp down and ignite their Flame. The fire swims along the sand, forming a ring around the trapped Romans.

“Force the soldiers behind your Flame!” I shout, then seek Habi among the madness.

The Narcos chase the Roman soldiers farther out with snaking rivers of Flame. I move toward the center of the skirmish, to where Habi is facing off with one of the Leymak. I ram into the black-clad Leymak and send him spiraling into Habi’s Charge. Habi traps him there, and I drive my blade into the Leymak’s back.

He whirls, his silvery irises ablaze. “You sentence yourself to death, Shythe.” Then he fades. He doesn’t fall to the earth. He doesn’t bleed. He evaporates into the dark mist.

I blink.

Habi turns his weapon on a Roman charging him from the side.

Sweat drips into my eyes, and I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead. The battle is muted in my ears, dull and distant. My mind whirls.
How can we defeat them?

A blast of sand takes me down. Its stinging grains needle my skin. Clawing my way through the churning sand, I latch on to a thought. I look down at my hands—hands that have made countless beads and vases using Charge.

“Habi!” I shout.

His head snaps my way, his khopesh held high. Blood and sand smear his porcelain features, and his sharp teeth are bared, ready for another attack. He’s our general, but he’s trusted my plans during battle before.

I scramble to my feet, pulling my sheer tunic up. I rip a strip of material from the hem and wipe the sand from my eyes as I flank his back. “We need to drive the Romans and these Leymak behind their sandstorm. We can trap them.”

“But not defeat them,” Habi says, his voice low, defeated.

“No. Not today.”

Our eyes meet, and the gleam of his blue irises intensifies. He understands my plan.

“It may give us enough time to retreat,” I say.

He nods, and we begin to fight our way into the fray. Habi orders the Narcos to advance on the Romans at full attack. The only thing that seems to slow the Leymak is our Charge. They combat Flame easily, but the energy in our power is closer to theirs of the aether. The Shythe spread out, throwing coils of blue lightning at the Leymak.

The Leymak soon realize our tactic, and form a line before the Roman legion. They’re going to take us out in one move.

Habi orders the Shythe to the front of our forces, then shouts, “Hold!”

Sheathing my sword, I prepare for their attack. My hands fist by my thighs. I douse my Charge as I await the command.

For good measure, the Narcos send a stream of Flame along the ground. It blazes its way across the desert, rounding on the Romans and forcing them closer to the Leymak.

Then, the white-illuminated abominations look to the sky. They raise their hands, calling forth their silvery power. I glance to either side of me, taking in the apprehensive faces of the Kythan Guardians. I spark my Charge.

The Leymak open their arms wide, and a vaporous, swirling vortex appears before each of their bodies. The ground rumbles. The wind picks up, lifting the sand from the desert.