Chapter 34 Samson
SAMSON
Such is the tragedy of gods. They are not aware of their own mortality.
—from the diaries of Priestess Nomu of the Fire Order
This was a kind of pain that had no name.
Samson’s chest heaved, fire lacerating down his ribs. He crashed to the ground, writhing, screaming, clutching his chest as the token slipped from his hand.
The others were shouting, but Samson could not hear, a roar rising in his ears as something cold and sharp slid between the notches in his spine. Not again.
Panic closed his throat. He had the sensation of being squeezed, like a lemon, wrung and wrung until he had no more juice to give.
Fire, he tried to say, but no sound came out of his mouth. He needed fire. Warmth. Couldn’t they hear?
His vision swam. He was no longer in the courtyard of the king, but back in the dark, dank tunnels, the walls wet and alive around him.
The darkness laughed in a voice painfully familiar. He cried, kicked, and then he was hurtling through nothingness, the wind tearing at his face, the laughter rising—only to smash into the ground.
Around him, ore glittered like the stars untouched. A long and silver object snaked across the chamber. At its center, a fire burned.
Black.
Smokeless.
He tried to run. Instinct told him that if he looked into the black fire, if he so much as saw the face that lay ruined within, it would ruin him.
The stones and gems around him trembled as the great silver snake reared its head, and the Great Serpent looked upon him.
“Son of sea,” She sang.
The fire, he wanted to warn Her. Look out for the fire!
But it was rising, forming into a figure with unnaturally long, terrible black limbs.
It struck the side of the god. The Great Serpent hissed, roiling back, and the figure was not a figure, but a bird, a Phoenix, and it gave a great cry worth eons of grief and rage as it dove for the Serpent’s throat.
Stop! he cried. Stop!
But the gods would not listen, and the shadows did not care. They rose around him. Swallowed him, and he was drowning again. Hands clutched his throat and gold eyes laughed above him.
For a moment, he could see nothing. Then the lights rushed back, and he felt arms pulling him up and up. A familiar face.
Elena shook him, and he could see her lips shape his name, but he couldn’t hear her voice.
Help me, he pleaded. A bone-deep chill slithered through his body.
Help me, please! But his voice caught in his throat.
He clawed his neck, his torso, wishing for heat, for warmth, but his Agni would not come.
There was only the piercing cold. Only a wide, gaping hole, and the waiting darkness beyond.