Cahira’s face fell, overwhelmed by the urge to retreat.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to upset you,” David quickly said. “He was a cherished friend in the short amount of time I knew him. I know it pales in comparison to the time you two spent together, but I did think I’d be on this journey with him.”
She softened, but only slightly. “No need to apologize. I abandoned him a long time ago—it’s only fair that it be my turn to be abandoned.” Before he could disagree, she added, “I should probably inform you that I plan to bring him back. Don’t attempt to persuade me otherwise.”
David looked surprised. “But the realms are gone. Once a god dies, we cease to exist.”
“The hydra took him down to Tartarus with it,” she pointed out. “I’m certain he is there.”
“Will you be sending Lucius down there to retrieve him?” David half-joked, his voice light but his eyes weary.
“Ah, so you were told about their reconciliation,” Cahira deduced, recalling her first happening upon Morrigan and Lucius, wrapped in a passionate embrace.
David sighed, tossing his cigarette into the ocean. “Libraean insists he told me everything, but I’m not a fool. I know he omitted things to spare me heartache. He means well.”
“You are better off without her,” Cahira assured him. “When we arrive in Calais, it will give us all some well-deserved distance.”
“I gather you still haven’t forgiven her.”
“Why should I?” she scoffed. “I heard her speak to him before it happened, on the line that animals communicate—like telepathy except only beasts and shape shifting gods can use it,” she explained quickly. “Lucius offered to kill himself to take down the hydra, but Morrigan refused. Yet as soon as Dan offered to launch himself into the belly of the beast, she agreed without batting an eye. She selfishly chose her lover over mine.”
David looked dismayed at the revelation, resuming his absent gaze towards the dark horizon. He was quiet for a long pause, and Cahira wondered if she misspoke.
Eventually he turned to her, his handsome face melting with sadness. “We don’t know if Lucius’s death would have been enough. From what I remember, it takes the death of a wicked creature, and one with the power to open portals to send a creature to Tartarus. He might have been able to send himself there, but I don’t know how he would have brought the hydra down with him. As noble as Lucius wanted to be, it was another poor decision on his part. Perhaps Morrigan knew that—she is far more intelligent than given credit for.”
Cahira snorted. “Why are you sticking up for her? Didn’t she just break your heart?”
David looked down at his hands. Cahira noticed they were unlined, the unsettling reminder that he was not human sending a shiver across her skin.
“I cannot hate someone I once loved,” he told her. “That flame does not go out so easily. I don’t even hate Lucius, and he has ruined my life on more than one occasion.”
“I warned you once that love makes you weak,” Cahira playfully remarked.
He let out a small chuckle. “Then you are just as weak as I am.”
Cahira snorted, though he was right. She mirrored his stance, folding over the side of the ship beside him. Though it was seasonably cold, the ocean spray felt good on her face, like the kiss of snow. “I had finally gotten up the nerve to tell him, after far too many years.” She reached up to the nape of her neck and pulled her multi-colored braid forward to show him.
“Is that his hair braided with yours?”
She nodded sadly. “It was the only way I could show him how I felt, before the words could come. But then …” she trailed off, thinking of Paris. “It is what I will use to bring him back.”
She felt David’s eyes searching her face. “Do you really think you will be able to?” he asked.
“Dan did not die a regular death,” she explained. “There’s no telling that he died before the hydra was cast into Tartarus. He could have survived it—I turned him into the wolf right as he descended. His soul could be trapped down there right now, waiting for us to rescue him. I don’t think I could forgive myself if I don’t at least try to bring him back.”
David considered her words. “I’m not inclined to try and stop you, but how will you manage it? There aren’t many with the powers of resurrection, and even for those who do wield it, their targets often come back quite wrong.” He gave her a look that meant he was referring to himself.
“Isis’s blood runs in my veins, David,” she insisted, “and I will have Anubis and Lucius at my disposal.”
“Well, I’ll never argue with anyone sending Lucius away.”
The ship creaked, startling them. They turned to see Libraean, who managed to make his way up the stairs onto the deck. He lumbered over to where they stood with the mild limp that still lingered despite his restoration from being hunchbacked and hooved. As he grew closer, David straightened his posture, visibly concerned. “Libraean, what is it?”
Cahira was accosted by the creature’s pain, hearing the thoughts he made no attempt to shield. Another death, another broken heart. She winced as she watched David hurry alongside him to the cabins, unable to follow herself. There were too many creatures now with fresh pain and she wasn’t sure she could withstand the onslaught.
Cahira cursed under her breath and followed reluctantly. She lingered near the ladder, listening to the quiet sobs of the old liminal, his thoughts like whispers in her mind. I have long accepted being away from him and I knew the day would come again. I’m glad to have resolved things before he passed, but I will miss him so.
She couldn’t hear David’s thoughts, but his low voice rose up from the cabin. “He was a kind soul. He will be missed by all.”
Then it was quiet, as if the two men comforted each other. Their dynamic struck her as odd, the elderly man who played the father David never had, although in actuality, he was his son. She had a hard time envisioning the golden child that was Horus, written about in the mythology books she once feverishly read. Yet every so often, when the old liminal looked her way, she heard the call of a peregrine falcon and saw its reflection in his strong, blue eye.
Though she had to admit, it was no stranger than the tall, raven-haired woman sleeping nearby who turned out to be the one who raised her. Nothing about her life—or any of theirs—followed any sense of normalcy. They were cursed to look like the humans around them but forced to bear the heaviness of immortality, to know that, even though they seemed mortal, they couldn’t partake in simple human pleasures. Most of them did not eat real food, none of them could bear children, and many could not see the sun. And yet, they still fought for the preservation of Earth and man, though no human was the wiser and instead prayed to a God with no face and no name.
Her nose picked up the scent of fresh pine, sharp like in the winter woods. She stiffened as a cold breeze drifted across the part of her neck that her braided hair exposed, pulling the soft hairs to attention. She closed her eyes as the sob rose in her throat, for it suddenly felt like he held her, his warmth combating the winter chill.
“I just wish you were here,” she said softly to no one, or someone, and the response was snowflake kisses that landed on her eyelids and melted on her lips.
She licked them, brushing a hand across her eyes and clearing her throat before she descended the ladder, letting them know they’d arrived.
sandrine
Sandrine moved through the city, strategically hidden by shadow. The old French port was like any other, save for the remains of a medieval fortress that once stood at her shores, its obstinate, weathered sandstone withstanding years of pummeling ocean air and waves. The modern city was erected just beyond it, made up of tall hotels and offices with shops underneath, a central square, and several chateaus that bordered the outlying woods. The buildings closest to shore, however, were forced to work around the old feudal design, shabby buildings packed next to each other holding taverns intended for merchant sailors and rooms for quick board. It was here that the lower class lingered, the layout offering plenty of opportunities for one to go unnoticed. Slumbering beggars nestled in her crooks and crevices, while the occasional sordid rendezvous took place in her narrow alleys. Sandrine stumbled upon one such occurrence now, and patiently waited until the skinny girl scurried away with her meager earnings before she approached the filthy sailor buttoning up his trousers. She didn’t give him the opportunity to finish the slur he attempted to fling at her before she pushed his head so far to the side that his neck cracked, the bones breaking through the skin so she didn’t even have to bite to take her fill of his blood. She waited until she felt his heart stop before she released him, his body hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Satisfied, she dabbed her lips with the handkerchief kept in the back pocket of her trousers and exited the city towards a neglected edge of shore. She slipped her tired feet out of her boots as she approached the water, enjoying the icy waves that ran over her bare skin. She closed her eyes, wishing she still sailed. Though they had only just arrived, she longed to move along the rocking waves once more, leading her ship into the great black beyond under a cloudless night sky.
Her mind fluttered to Cahira, amusement pulling at the edges of her mouth. She’d hated sailing at first, a true earth witch with stubborn land-legs and a stomach that rebelled at the motion. But she transcended the obstacle over time—like she always did—and now shared Sandrine’s lust for adventure upon the sea.
Sandrine wondered how she was getting along with the others. She imagined it was only a matter of time before she joined her. If anyone knew how difficult it was to be a lone wolf amongst the crowd, it was Sandrine. It was the main reason she stood barefoot in the snow-crusted sand while the rest settled into their temporary lodging.
