Above her, the tiny white sun shuddered and wavered beyond the surface of the sea, and huge columns of white bubbles swaddled her as they fluttered up toward the air. But the sky was not blue. It was red. Everything was red, except for the hot white sun and white fish, and the white men on the boats above her. She bent her arms and legs, feeling the heat in her armored skin, feeling the angry swishing of her tail behind her, feeling the weight of her horns on her head.
What passed through her mind was not as complex as thought, and barely as coherent as emotion. It was instinct. Rage at the flying creature that had escaped, rage at the cold sea that dragged down her limbs, hunger for the countless flashing fishes around her, and a wild joy at being free.
The dragon is free.
Asha swam with powerful strokes, her golden arms and ruby claws biting into the sea and sending her slicing through the cold water. She crashed into a school of silvery fish and torn them to pieces with her blazing claws, and then she darted up toward the sun. She burst through the surface and flashed through the empty air to crash back down on the pebbled beach at the edge of the harbor in the shadow of the great lighthouse. She looked up at the strange mountain of flat stone and saw the bright flashing jewel at its summit, and she longed to destroy it.
“Asha!”
The sound was familiar. Asha turned and saw a small white figure running toward her. A girl.
A morsel.
“Asha!”
Asha roared and turned toward the girl. The golden woman hunched forward, tightening the dense muscles of her arms and legs, twisting inward and bearing down with all of her power, feeling herself wound for the spring, for the strike, for the kill. She crooked her scaled fingers and felt the scorching heat in her claws, longing to sink them deep into hot flesh, to feel the blood flowing, to see the steam rising, to taste the burnt meat.
“Asha!”
That sound again.
Sound.
Word.
Name.
Tiny nascent thoughts began to form in Asha’s mind.
Things have names. I have a name. The girl has a name.
She straightened up and relaxed her hands, letting them fall to her sides.
The girl is not food. The girl is Bastet.
Bastet ran across the street and onto the narrow stone path that led down the side of the huge jetty on which stood the lighthouse. She waved and shouted, “Asha! Are you all right?”
Asha inhaled and exhaled, and tasted the hot stench of her own breath.
The dragon is everywhere. I must bottle it again. I must take refuge in the mountains and the sea. I take refuge in the forests and the rivers.
I take refuge-
“Asha, behind you!”
Asha spun, only partly guided by her understanding of the girl’s words and still fueled by the dragon’s hunger, and she saw the huge bird-woman race down toward her from around the side of the lighthouse.
Enemy. Kill.
The dragon sprang into the air and sank her burning claws into the bird-thing’s flesh. As she clung to the screeching body, a tiny fleck of gold flew free of the creature’s neck and pinged against one of the dragon’s ruby claws and vanished in a hiss of smoke. Instantly, her prey began screaming, not squawking as a bird in fear but crying out in naked pain. The dragon and the bird fell to earth and slammed down onto the pebbled beach, and the dragon pulled its claws free and stalked away from the bird, circling it, staring at it. The bird writhed and gasped, shaking its huge wings and kicking feebly at the stones under its feet.
Then it lay still and gasping.
Then it died.
The dragon stared at the body.
And somewhere, a girl screamed.
Asha blinked. The world of red and white was gone and the world of blue and brown had returned. The cold spray of the ocean make her skin prickle and she shivered, wrapping her arms around her belly as her hair blew across her face. She stared down at the strange body at her feet. Nethys lay very still, except for the dark red blood glistening on her chest and neck, and the white feathers fluttering on her arms and around her face.
Bastet staggered forward and fell to her knees beside the body, her mouth open, her eyes wide. For a moment she didn’t breathe, didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound. But then it all came crashing out, and Bastet laid her head on her aunt’s belly and cried.
Asha tasted the salt spray on her lips.
I killed this woman. I murdered her, just like Set murdered Priya. I was out of control, and someone’s mother died. Anubis’s mother. This is my fault, and no one else’s. I’m no different from any of these other beasts now.
No, I am different.
I’m worse.
Set was being controlled by Lilith. He had no choice. But I had a choice. I chose to believe I could control this thing inside me. I chose to use it. I chose to unleash it.
And now this woman is dead. She died a slave. She died in agony. Because of me.
Just like him. Just like my beautiful love. My first. My fault.
Again.
Asha turned away as the tears spilled over her cheeks. She covered her mouth and felt her shoulder shaking. She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head. But the pain washed through her quickly this time, and she wiped her face and turned around, feeling even colder and more hollow than before.
Bastet was looking up at her, watching her.
“I’m sorry,” Asha said. “I’m so sorry.”
Bastet swallowed and nodded. She whispered, “We should send her on her way now. We need… we need wood. For the fire.”
Asha nodded back. “Yes.”
Together, they moved Nethys up away from the water’s edge and laid her on the sand in the shadow of the great lighthouse. Then they wandered apart to gather up bits of sun-bleached driftwood, which they spread under and over the body. When the pyre was ready, Asha looked at her hand, despairing at the thought up summoning up even one of the dragon’s claws, but Bastet stepped forward and brought out a little flint and striker from her pocket, and lit the fire.
They watched the flames rise and consume the winged woman, and when it was done the sea wind carried the ashes away. Then, hand in hand, they walked back along the strand around the base of the lighthouse and along the narrow streets to Jiro’s house and the ruins of his workshop. They found Taziri and Jiro sitting in the smith’s living room with a handful of tools and bits of machines scattered over the carpet between them. They looked up as the others entered.
“She’s dead,” Asha said softly.
Bastet sat down on a cushion beside Taziri and leaned against the Mazigh woman, who put her arms around the girl.
Jiro appeared unmoved by the announcement. “And the sun-steel?”
It took Asha a moment to understand his question, and then she remembered the reason for the entire tragic encounter, and she shrugged. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened to it.”
“It fell,” Bastet whispered. “Into the sea.”
The tall smith sighed and frowned. He gestured to the machine parts in front of him. “Then this is useless. I don’t have any more of the steel. I only kept that one rod.”
Bastet sniffed and said, “I know where you can find more.”
Asha sighed and shivered. “Set and Nethys. Both of Anubis’s parents, gone.”
“It’s not your fault,” Taziri said. “You didn’t cause this. You were just doing the best you could in a bad situation.”
“Isis is safe,” Bastet whispered. “We can still save her. And Horus, if we can find him.”
“Unless Anubis already found him,” Asha said. “I wonder where he is.”
“I’ll find him,” Bastet said. “I’ll tell you where to get the sun-steel, and then I’ll find him.”
Chapter 21
Anubis stood in the waist-deep grass at the top of the hill and tipped his head back to look at the noon sun. The light was blinding, but the heat was mild. He pushed his jackal’s mask back to the top of his head so he could feel the breeze on his face, and he smelled the soft scents of the flowers hidden all across the plain.