Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Get up, lyri,” a familiar voice said urgently. “Quickly.”
Cli-click tick, cli-click tick.
The rhythm echoed that of the rain beating against the stone—quiet, and yet, it slipped under my skin, into my bones. When a violent roll of thunder wailed, all those little metallic gear ticks still cut though it all, as if bubbling up from within the earth.
I dragged myself back to consciousness. I sat up. Septimus was beside me, hand on my arm. I met his gaze for a split second.
“We meet once again, Vindica Ultis.”
Srana’s voice was melodic and tinny; all echo, like she was speaking through a series of pipes.
Septimus’s body slid in front of mine, his hand still on my arm, as she lowered to us, vaulting down from the sky between crumbling buildings and broken columns on long, spiderlike metal legs.
Beneath her, her automaton army stood in the streets, utterly still, in perfect gleaming lines of metal.
I turned around and drew in a sharp breath at the sight before me.
The fortress of Hegaella loomed over us.
I could see now that the light had not just been light, but flames—flames of white and gold, stretching up to the sky.
The walls still stood, though the windows had been broken, only a few pieces of colorful stained glass remaining, cradling vicious licks of white.
The roof had been ripped off, mostly. The tallest spire at the center of the building now stood in angry defiance, jagged and shattered.
I was grateful to see the flames. Grateful, as the first thought floated through my mind:
It must have burned them up.
I preferred that. For their bodies to be burned away in Shiket’s final retribution than to think they were still lying there, marked with the atrocities of their unfair deaths.
Septimus’s fingernails bit into my arm. He was still holding me—he still didn’t let go.
“What a pleasure, supposed chosen one,” she purred.
A laugh of tinny melodic bells, beautiful and jeering all at once, rang out behind her words.
Her metal limbs struck the ground and she examined us, body tick-tick-tick-ing as her neck stretched down, putting her face closer to us.
The polished copper reflected the flames so brightly that it was difficult to look at her.
“My, you have been busy, have you not?” she said. “First Shiket, and then Ix, and then Kajmar. How the columns of the White Pantheon crumble. But a broken thing is merely an opportunity for improvement. And I do so excel at that.”
Ti-ti-ti-ti, as the plate of her face arranged in some grotesque expression vaguely resembling a smile.
Her teeth were the blunt notches of gears, turning and turning.
And gods, it was difficult to look at her.
She seemed larger, somehow, than in our last meeting.
Brighter. Like all her metal was now lit from within.
Septimus had said that the power of the gods was communal. That each one we killed would make the others more powerful. The difference in Srana, two dead gods after our last meeting, was undeniable.
She lifted a hand, and at her command, two automatons seized me, pulling me from Septimus’s grip while more of their comrades held him back.
I barely managed to grab Zefiah and drag her with me.
Septimus’s hand clutched mine until the last possible moment, fighting frantically against the hold of his captors.
Little threads of blood reached after me, as if by instinct, as I was dragged away.
Srana’s soldiers threw me onto the steps of the temple. My body hit them hard, already sore and broken. Srana had now lowered herself to the ground, neck craned forward, the apertures of her eyes wide open and lens gleaming in the firelight. I could feel that heat now.
A ridge of broken earth separated the steps of the fortress from the rest of the city.
Misty light and streaks of gold rose from it, unfurling lazily into the sky.
Srana now straddled that gap, but the automatons had not followed me past it.
They hovered at the edge of the broken earth, leaning forward at an angle that no organic creature would have been able to mimic, their bladed limbs piercing the ripped earth.
Septimus was at the front, too, his arms blood-soaked where they held him. His eyes locked to me, unblinking.
I glanced down at Zefiah, swallowing a brief, fierce pang of regret that she was not there to help me. Then I forced myself to my feet. I made it a smooth, casual movement.
“Goddess. Such an honor.” I bowed my head in sarcastic deference.
Srana let out a cacophony of ticks and clinks that sounded something like a laugh.
“Indeed. I have been eager to repay you for the gift you left me the last time we met.” She gestured to her neck, then her torso.
I smirked in satisfaction at the marks there, a jagged scratch where Zefiah had struck her and another for Septimus’s blow with the spear.
“They suit you,” I said. “Very . . . organic.”
“They are hideous, just like all mortal imperfections.” Her legs expanded beneath her, lifting her closer.
“My siblings, though I love them so, can be such foolish, emotional creatures. But I am a logical being. My quarrel with you does not preclude me from recognizing that you have given me many gifts, supposed chosen one. You have put my poor siblings Ix and Kajmar out of their suffering. For the best, I suppose. They would have made many mistakes in their pursuit of greatness. They never did know when to stop. But you gave me their power. A boon I will use more wisely than they ever did. Completely in their honor, you see.”
“What a kind sister,” I deadpanned.
Cl-cl-cl, as her head cocked. “I am kind,” she said earnestly. “I am benevolent in my greatest virtue: wastelessness.”
With a violent fwp, pain shot through my shoulders. I drew in a sharp breath, but bit down hard on my cry of pain. Srana’s scalpel arms lifted me up.
“The last time we met,” she said, “I saw how I might create greatness molded from your imperfect mortal flesh. I see your greatness shining even brighter now. To kill one god is impressive. To kill three?”
Ti-ti-ti-i-i-ick, as her eyes expanded, as if peering into my inner workings. “Now that is more than merely intriguing.”
I looked forward to adding one more to my count. I might—might—be able to manage a strike with Zefiah, who still dangled in my grip, but I wasn’t stupid enough to try that method again. I needed a god-forged weapon to kill her. Ideally one of her own.
I eyed the automatons holding Septimus back. His gaze was unblinking. Furious. And yet, haughty, too. Like he knew what we were going to do to Srana, and he looked forward to watching me make that final blow.
I looked forward to it, too, but I wish I shared his confidence in the path there.
“You’d like to use me,” I said to Srana. “How convenient. It turns out I can be bought.”
It worked for Ix and Kajmar, didn’t it?
She merely laughed. “Bought? You overestimate your leverage.”
“You have not yet butchered me, goddess. I must have leverage.”
“No,” she purred, her copper body humming with pleasure. “You have a task. This is the final gift you have given me, and you did not even realize it.”
Another arm extended from her back, gesturing to the fortress.
“Do you understand what power resides in the death site of a god?” she said.
“Let alone one as strong as Shiket. Such power locked within these walls. Your resistance, mortal, saved me from making a shameful mistake. If I had disassembled you then, then I would have missed the opportunity to use your true potential for what you will become.”
I was not feeling especially good about where this was going.
“You’re so long-winded, goddess,” I said sweetly. “Get to the point.”
“Let us not insult each other’s intelligence. You know what resides inside Shiket’s fortress. I knew one day you would return for it. And I am here because I intend to claim it, with your help.” With whirrs and ticks, her face split, literally, into a smile. “What a lovely vessel you shall make.”
I glanced down at Septimus. His smirk was gone.
I looked over my shoulder, at the burning fortress. And then at Septimus again. At the automatons holding him back, hanging over the edge of the crack. And then, at last, at Srana.
Now I understood.
“You’re here for the power left behind by Shiket’s remains,” I said. “But you can’t claim it yourself.”
Because it was Shiket’s power alone, particularly potent because she had ended in such a rage. Of course the power of her death throes would be poison to her siblings.
“That’s convenient,” I said. “Because I can enter. Let’s make a deal.”
“I already told you, supposed chosen one,” Srana said. “You overestimate your leverage. I need only your flesh. Not your cooperation.”
Fwip, as a blade extended from her free, spiderlike leg.
Oh, fucking hell. We were not doing this again. Took me long enough to heal from having my arm nearly hacked off the first time.
Septimus now strained fiercely against his captors, shaking his head with increasing urgency. As if he knew what I was considering.
But I made my decision in a split second. Like I often did, it was with little thought at all.
I managed to swing Zefiah, bringing her down on Srana’s fragile, delicate arm with as much force as my awkward angle could manage.
CRACK.
The sky split with a fresh streak of lightning. Metal clashed against metal.
I was falling, falling, then hit the ground in a heap. I rolled, grabbing Zefiah, and didn’t stop to look back.
If I needed Shiket’s remains, then fine. I’d get them on my own and use them before Srana could.
I set my sight on the looming doors in front of me, flames pouring from within them, and I was running. Running so fast and so frantically that I was nearly up the steps by the time I heard Srana’s chuckle.
“Very well,” she said. “I suppose we can do this the more difficult way.”
Only then, did I think to myself, Well, shit. Maybe this was a mistake after all.
I dove up the steps and through the grand open entryway. I cringed as I ran into the flames. I suspected that they wouldn’t burn me, but I wasn’t completely sure. When I crossed the threshold, a shock of heat ran over my skin, but thankfully, nothing more.
Only once I crossed the threshold did I whirl around to see Srana lowering her face to peer through the doors at me.
But I looked past her—to Septimus, who stared at me with an abject horror that made my gut clench. It was almost as terrifying as Srana’s smug, pleased smile.
“You can run from me,” Srana said. “But I have my ways of following. I am, after all, the goddess of resourcefulness.”
“Kyrene, wait!” Septimus shouted. Spirals of blood burst from the wounds that the automatons had opened in his arms, pushing them away as he dove for the steps.
The door slammed shut with a deafening bang.
The hairs stood on my arms. My heart throbbed faster and faster. As if some part of me knew what I was going to see.
Tick-tick-tick-tick—
Slowly, I turned.
A wall of living corpses stood before me.