He looked over at the other tube in his cell. The woman caught his gaze and went to it, opening the top and waking the occupant by tapping the appropriate hexagon on the panel. Nekhbet sat up, blinking. He could see that Nekhbet was also wondering who this stranger was and what she knew of their situation. The woman came back over to him, waiting for an answer. He didn’t reply, waiting to see if she would tell him more. He had patience — if there was one thing three hundred years of imprisonment taught, it was that trait. “You won’t last much longer,” the woman finally continued. “You have no choice. If you do not act, you will eventually die. Each time they drain you, the percentage of their blood in you is reduced and the human percentage grows. Soon you will no longer be effective for their needs. Then they will take another human female and make your replacement. They may already have a child, like you were once, growing up, guarded closely on the surface, ready to come here and be placed in this tube and drained as needed. They are very good at planning for their own needs and pleasures.”
Nosferatu finally spoke. “How do you know this?”
“It is their way. They are not Gods, but creatures from”—the woman pointed up. “From among the stars. They use us — humans — and they use you, half of their blood, half human. It is hard for me to determine which is the worse of their sins. At least what they are doing to you is obvious. Their rule of the humans is more devious, pretending to be that which they aren’t.” The woman shrugged. “There is also the possibility that the Gods may decide to go into the long sleep as their brethren have done in other places, in which case they will kill you and the others they keep down here, as you will longer be needed.”
Nosferatu tried to grasp the concept, but it had been so long since he’d been on the surface he could barely remember the sun, never mind the stars. And how could one be from them? If the Airlia weren’t Gods, then what exactly were they? And what did that make him? And what was this long sleep she spoke of?
“Why do you want to help us?” Nekhbet asked. “You are human. We aren’t. We’re half like them.”
“Because you must hate them as much as I do and more than those above,” the woman replied. “Most humans”—she shook her head—“they are like sheep. Simply happy their harvest comes in and the Gods make all the decisions for them.”
Nekhbet’s lovely voice floated from across the chamber. “You cannot kill the Gods. They are immortal.”
Donnchadh pulled aside her robe, revealing six daggers tucked into her belt. “With these you can. They were made by the Gods themselves for use against each other.”
Nekhbet still wasn’t convinced. “Even if we kill the Gods, the priests will then slay us, won’t they?”
The woman glanced over her shoulder at Nekhbet. “Not if you are immortal.” Nosferatu was the first to grasp the significance. “The Grail?”
The woman nodded. “You kill the Gods. You go into the Black Sphinx and recover the Grail, which is hidden there, then partake as has been promised by the Gods since before the beginning of time. You become immortal.”
“Who are you?” Nosferatu demanded, trying to process all that she had said. “My name is Donnchadh. My partner”—she looked into the corridor at the warrior—“and I have fought the Gods in other places. That should be enough for you. Your enemy is our enemy.”
“Your enemies are our parents,” Nosferatu noted.
“One of your parents,” Donnchadh corrected, looking him in the eyes. “Your other parent was human, taken by an Airlia — the Gods — for their pleasure and to produce you so they can use you for their pleasure also. The Gods deserve neither your homage nor your respect. They will drain you and kill you without a second thought once they have a replacement ready or if they no longer desire the pleasure your blood brings them.”
“How can we do this which you propose?” Nosferatu demanded, rattling the chains that held the belt at his waist.
Donnchadh pulled out a three-foot-long piece of black metal. “Tonight. After the Ceremony of the Solstice. You can follow the Gods who oversee it from the ceremony to their hidden places along the Roads.” She pulled the metal rod out of her belt and placed the tip inside one of the links of chain that bound him. She raised an eyebrow. “Do you want your freedom?”
Nosferatu looked across the way at Nekhbet. Even if this woman lied, even if this was a trap, he didn’t care. If he could simply hold Nekhbet in his arms after more than a hundred years of yearning, it would be worth it. “Yes.”
Donnchadh twisted the rod and the link slowly gave, then popped open. She went to work on the other chains and within five minutes Nosferatu was free. He removed the straps around his arms and a red light flickered on the console but he ignored it. Grabbing the lid, he pulled himself out of the tube.
When his feet reached the ground, he took a tentative step and his legs buckled, tumbling him to the floor. Donnchadh was already at work on Nekhbet’s chains as Nosferatu struggled to his feet. The tube had worked his muscles, but his body was so unused to moving that he had to put a hand against the wall to steady himself. Driven by a force stronger than gravity he took a step. And then another. By this time, Nekhbet was free and the woman was helping her out of the tube. Nosferatu staggered across to Nekhbet and took her in his arms.
With the touch of her flesh against his, Nosferatu was transported from the stone chamber that had been his prison for centuries. He wrapped his arms tight around her slight frame as if their flesh and bones and blood would meld together and they would become one.
“Are you tired?” Nekhbet whispered.
“Not anymore.”
“You are weak, though.”
Nosferatu blinked as she offered her neck to him, the blood pulsing in the vein, the short tip of the shunt drawing him in. He knew he needed the energy, but from Nekhbet?
Her voice was a seductive whisper. “Take as they take, my love. You are the Eldest and must lead. You need the strength. I am younger. I can afford to give it to you. I want to give it to you. It will make us one as nothing else can. And you must lead us.”
He couldn’t stop. His lips curled around the shunt, the one-way valve opening at the touch of moist flesh on the outside. The first taste of blood was electrifying, a charge throughout his body that brought every nerve screaming alive as it coursed through his veins. Decades of exhaustion faded. Her blood, with its alien component, was so much more than the human blood he was fed each month.
The strange woman’s voice was an irritating buzz, trying to bring Nosferatu back to reality. “The ceremony has started above. You do not have much time to free the others and be ready.”
Nosferatu did not let go of Nekhbet. Minutes of touch could not compare to the centuries of longing from across the prison chamber. And the blood, the power he felt pouring into his body from Nekhbet, the pleasure. Is this what he gave to the Gods? He could almost understand why they kept him there. He forced his eyes open. He could see her neck so close, the skin white, the beat of the artery so slow now, her eyes closed. Startled, he released his lips and stepped back. Nekhbet staggered and would have fallen, but he caught her.
“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I took too much.”
Nekhbet shook her head, slowly opening her eyes, but the dark pupils had difficulty focusing. “It is all right. You need the strength.”
“If you do not act now, you will die,” Donnchadh pressed.
Nekhbet let go first, running a hand across Nosferatu’s face. “My love, we must do as she says. It is our only chance. We must free the others.”