Hekate’s hand found her belly as she shook her head. “I must tell you all of it, so that you understand what is at stake.”
David leaned back in the sick bed, allowing her to resume her tale.
“I told you of the Ancient Ones, but there is another soul whose history must be explained,” she began. She brushed back a stray lock of her burnt chestnut hair, the movement disturbing her long metal earrings and layers of necklaces, who clinked together in dissension. “There was one other god who managed to reincarnate right before Lucius halted the earth’s manifestation of divine souls. This creature was Horus, his memories lost just like each reincarnated god before and after him. His tale is laced with tragedy, for although his eye was returned to him by Isis, its removal served as a curse. It doomed him to roam the astral plane without ascending to the Upperrealms and if he did happen to reincarnate, he would not be anything like the beautiful man he once was, but a beast, plagued by deformities. He did eventually find his way back to earth, but his mortal life was spent roaming the world in confusion and isolation until the day he stumbled upon Set reborn as Lucius.
“It was only moments after Lucius had risen and was promptly abandoned by Isis, consumed by a thirst I’m sure you remember. With no one to guide him, he fell prey to his carnal instincts, tearing through dozens of animals in untamed savagery, including a boar. It transformed before he could strike, revealing he was actually a human being, one with a deeply crooked spine, the hooves of a boar, the wings of a bird, and the horns of a stag.”
“Libraean is Horus,” David said in amazement.
Hekate nodded. “The two creatures began to fight, drawing each other’s’ blood until Lucius finally drained Horus of his, leaving him for dead. Yet Horus had accidentally consumed some of Lucius’s blood during their battle, and was reanimated as a blood drinker. I believe Libraean revealed to you what transpired after that.”
“He told me that his humanity gradually returned and a frustrated Lucius abandoned him,” David relayed. “He longed for death, tying himself to a tree to await incineration by sunlight. An angel saved him before he burned.”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “He loved Lucius and his abandonment crushed him, pushing him to suicide. The angel who found him fell in love with him, deciding to enlist him into serving their cause. Gabriel told him their version of the beginning: that their “God of Light” cast out a rebellious angel named Lucifer and his traitorous minions from the heavenly realms, who were now Lucius and his daemons. Libraean believed this version of truth for many years, ignorant of his true history. His love for Gabriel kept him loyal to their cause for many years. It was not until the end of the Ancient Era, when Anubis petitioned the Christ to allow us to speak with him, did he learn of his true past. Its revelation shattered the bond between Libraean and Gabriel, and he now works with us, alongside the Council.”
David was quiet for a moment, his heart heavy for the tragic being, who was, incredibly enough, once his son. He struggled to grasp the notion that the two beings he had seen in the astral plane, the jackal headed Anubis and the Sphinx, Libraean, were actually both his children—his and Morrigan’s. The ache to be reunited with her surfaced again, but he swallowed it, intent on hearing the rest of Hekate’s story. “What does Lucius know about our past?” he asked her.
“Since his reincarnation was unnatural, he remembers more than the rest of you, but it is still choppy,” she replied. “He recalls bits of Egypt and Tartarus, but he has no idea who Morrigan or Daghda truly were. He’d forgotten Horus completely, even when they were companions.”
“His love for Morrigan never died,” David murmured in reflection.
For the first time, David saw a flash of emotion cross over Hekate’s eyes. “Interesting,” she commented with an impartial air.
He had little time to explore her eyes further, to try and pull out the thoughts he was blocked from, for they were interrupted by the sound of a man bounding down the stairs.
“Enough, Hekate,” Dragos demanded. “He needs to come with us.”
Hekate rose to her feet, putting her hands on her hips. “Look at him, Dragos, he is still covered in bandages. You want the Insurgence to appear weak?”
Dragos turned towards David and frowned, mirroring his twin sister’s stance. The way his brows furrowed confirmed the source of his paternity, sending a shudder up David’s spine.
“When will he be healed?” he asked her, frustration gnawing at his words.
Hekate softened her voice as she presented her appeal. “You must have patience brother. We almost lost him.”
Dragos approached the bedside, David observing eyes like polished hematite. He peered into them, hoping to catch a flutter of thought, but discovered he was shielded from them, just like his sister and Danulf. He was beginning to wonder if it was intentional amongst creatures to shield their thoughts by magical means.
“I apologize, Great David,” Dragos said half-heartedly.
David rose in alarm, the words pulling a distant memory from his past. He saw the grotesque daemons of Tartarus dancing in the inky pools of his eyes. “What did you say?”
Hekate inserted herself between them. “Your coming has been prophesied for decades, David, passed down from the first oracle who made her home here,” she explained quickly. “The Dacian tribes have referred to you by that name for longer than you know, as the man who would someday deliver them from the Dark Times.”
David heard her words, but could not shake the sensation of foreboding that had settled over him. He continued to keep his gaze locked on the scowling Dragos.
Hekate turned to her brother, her voice matching the tension of her body. “Please, Dragos, leave us. I will send for you when it is time.”
Dragos threw up his hands in exasperation, but retreated from her sick room.
She turned back to David. “My brother is not the most patient of men,” she attempted to explain.
“No matter,” David assured her.
The torches crackled in the silence of the cellar. Hekate offered him a tired smile as she gently squeezed his bandaged hand. “Rest now, David.”
She rose to extinguish the fire around them, submerging the room in delicious darkness. David closed his eyes, realizing how heavy his eyelids had been. Within moments, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 8
THE NIGHT WAR
Come,” a gruff voice rudely awoke him. “You have laid weak in bed for several days now and much happens in your absence. It is time to go.”
David’s eyes snapped open to see Danulf hovering above him, wearing his signature scowl with a torch in his hand. “Hekate is gathering herbs from her night garden. I decided to steal you away while I had the chance. She warned me against explaining things to you too soon, worrying about your health. Apparently, you had it rough learning the destiny bit. But we are talking about the first god that ever existed, are we not?”
“Dragos calls me the Great David,” he kept up the playful banter as he pushed off his blankets. He noticed several of his bandages had been removed, a few left behind to protect, what he assumed, were more extensive wounds. David was surprised how efficiently he’d been healed thus far.
“Well, I definitely will not be calling you that,” Danulf snorted in reply. He lent his hand, pulling David up from the bed.
It took him a moment to adjust to being upright, steadying his stance as Danulf observed. When the room ceased its nauseating spin, he gave him a nod. “I am ready.”
They climbed the stairwell, out through a trapdoor that Danulf concealed with a straw mat as soon as they had exited. David looked around the first floor to observe a house that appeared to belong to cunning folk, provisions and medicines on display for purchase, several chairs and tables set out to mend wounds and care for ailments. He surmised that the hidden floor from which they had emerged was intended for their less standard patients.
A strong breeze whistled through the cracks in the door, sharpening David’s senses. “There it is,” Danulf noticed. “I knew you longed for fresh air.”
He threw open the front door to reveal the accumulation of yet another snowstorm, the wind whistling as it drifted across the frozen ground. David relished for a moment the crisp, biting air before following Danulf down the street.
