Harsh Gods (16 page)

The instant I passed through the doors, however, my disembodied sibling greeted me. It felt like the mental equivalent of being tackled by a Saint Bernard with separation anxiety.

Have his soldiers harried you?
Terael asked.
So long you were absent. I feared you had abandoned me.

His voice, eerie and atonal, rang urgently through my head—so loud that stars exploded in my vision. Images, emotions, and a spider web of lateral associations clung to his every word. The emotions were the worst, because an underlying note of naked panic shivered through everything. My heart sped with sympathetic adrenaline.

“Whose soldiers, Terael?” I said aloud. “I wouldn’t—”

He cut me off before I could match all the words to my completed thought. Anger, fear, and relief resounded in swift progression through my head.

You will help me then, my brother
, he said,
as I so often have helped you?
The agitated emotions of the resident Rephaim lent an added weight to the already suffocating air of the Shadowside.

I staggered forward, seeking to tear free of the currents swirling through the lobby. Decades’ worth of visitors had stamped a ghostly imprint of traffic both in and out of the main doors. I had to fight not to get caught in the undertow. A gleaming monolith of chrome and Lucite offered an island of calm amid the ceaseless motion. The main donation box. To Terael, this was the equivalent of an altar where worshippers left him sacrifice—though he tended to pout that it was no longer blood, but coin.

Pausing there, I clung for a moment to the structure—it had substance on both sides, looming even bigger on the Shadowside than in the mortal world. My vision started to tunnel—perhaps a consequence of Terael’s thundering intensity, or of getting my ass handed to me the night before. I couldn’t rightly tell.

The Rephaim hovered impatiently along the edges of my awareness. Waves of urgent anxiety continued bleeding off of him—nothing organized enough to interpret, but still stultifying.

“I got the memo,” I said. “Something’s wrong out there. Give me a minute to get to my office, then we can talk.”

Relief and a surge of gratitude—both good emotions, but they didn’t much help my pounding head.

He sent a herald within these walls, demanding that I serve or fall.

Insult mingled with his fear. I rushed through the museum’s halls with his colossal presence bearing down on me. My thoughts grew scattered as the effort to remain on the Shadowside eroded my already dwindling reserves.

“Who did?” I asked as I pelted along. “Who are we talking about, Terael?” I was afraid I already knew the answer. Finally, I reached the stairs that led to the basement—the elevator wasn’t exactly an option.

Our brother Terhuziel, the Thunderer of the Northern Hills. Has he yet to send his soldiers to threaten you with harm?

The blood sang in my ears.

“You know about Terhuziel?” I croaked.

Impatience and accusation slapped against me.

His emissary threatened me within these very walls! I waited and I waited, but you did not come.

There it was.

All this time, the problem had been building, and I wallowed at home, locked away. If I’d dragged my ass out of my self-pitying funk, managed to make it to work for even one day, I could have nipped this in the bud.

I must beg for your protection
, he continued,
diminished as I am. We will face his threat together and drive him from our land, will we not?

“Fuck me running,” I hissed.

Zaquiel?

The Name rang like plaintive music upon the air.

“I am
such
an idiot,” I snarled. Then I raced the rest of the way to my office to slam out of the Shadowside.

I emerged in a small, windowless room tucked away in a neglected corner of the museum’s basement. The walls were cinderblock, painted a dull, flat white. They were bare except for a corkboard I’d managed to stick in place with about twenty strips of double-sided tape.

Metal shelving ran the length of the back wall, providing just enough room for me to get in and out of the swivel chair parked at my desk. The desk itself took up most of the room, and I often wondered how the staffers had gotten the metal hulk through the solitary door.

Wadded up take-out wrappers still filled the little wire-mesh trash can, adding a slightly rancid scent to the air. Nearly a month of vacation and no one had touched the space—not even the janitors. Terael was maybe a little too enthusiastic about keeping this room a private sanctuary for me.

“Tell me about Terhuziel,” I said, leaning against the wall by the door. My head spun from the rushed re-entry. “Do you know why he’s here? What does he want?”

He seeks to conquer as always he has done
, Terael responded bleakly.

“I need details, Terael.”

Maneuvering by touch past the desk, I dropped into the swivel chair, then felt around for my little gooseneck lamp, flipping it on so I could see. The overheads could stay off for now. Terael had his space so well protected, I probably could have flipped on every bank of fluorescents up and down the hall without eliciting the least bit of curiosity from security, but there was no point in pushing my luck.

“How do I stop him?” I asked. “
Can
I stop him? You guys have weaknesses, right?”

Terael dithered in the space, likely debating how much he should share. I ground my teeth, waiting. The clock on my desk read seven twenty-three. How late would the hospital stay open?

“Terael, I don’t have time for a debate. There’s this girl, Halley. He’s been after her for weeks. Last night he sent his goons to abduct her right out of her house. I need—”

He didn’t even let me finish. His presence closed on me like a fist, seeking to pluck an image of Halley straight from my brain.

Girl? Untouched? Pure? Show me.
Stinging with emotion, the words were whip-cracks in my mind. I slammed up all my shields.

“Hey—back off,” I snapped. “We’ve got rules about you digging around in my head without permission.”

It would be faster.
It was almost a whine.

Despite the protestation, though, he retreated far enough to respect my boundaries, fretting the air like a storm front. Waves of anxiety pulsed from him, palpable even through my shields. An answering throb started up in my temples. Terael could be a literal pain when he got in a mood. Small wonder Lil avoided the museum.

I miss the days when you allowed me speech directly, my brother. Formless, my thoughts do not wed easily to so human a mind. Let me be made manifest within you.

The words dragged the air, so dense with layers of meaning they would take me weeks to unpack. Terael clearly expected me to get it all in one go. Wheedling, he pawed my shields like a toddler begging for sweets—except this was a toddler whose presence blanketed the room.

“Take it down a notch, Terael. I already took a beating once this week,” I said, digging for the Advil I kept in my desk. Three pills left. I swallowed them dry.

And I stood threatened in the sanctum of my temple
, he shot back. The wounded fury radiating from his words elicited a wince.
We both seek to rebuff him, do we not? Give me space so I may see this girl and the soldiers sent to claim her.

“I don’t know what you’re asking,” I replied. “You’re already a voice inside my head.”

I am more than just a voice, as well you know, my brother.

“No. I don’t,” I snapped. “My brain doesn’t work right any more, and I’m sick of telling people that.”

The Rephaim churned the air with impatience.

“I’m not being willfully dense, Terael.” Aggravation made me nearly yell it.

Bounded by the architecture of your mind, my thoughts will be… easier
, he said.
To bear. To understand.

That would be nice for a change.
I kept the thought to myself.

“You’re going to have to spell it out, Terael—and be specific.”

Will you allow me this?

“Allow you what?” I snapped.

To be specific.

Something in his tone rang oddly. It set my hackles up—and I was already pretty close to high alert. Picking at the blotter on my desk, I glanced again at the clock. Seven thirty.
Fuck.
“Will it make this conversation go any faster?”

Much.

“Fine, then,” I relented. “Get on with it.”

In answer, he flooded my head with pictures. Rooms and halls built from memories. How to pace the perimeter, walls to set the boundaries. Brick and stone and steel, crafted all from thought. The entire layout unfolded in an instant. It was a blueprint for a mental construct, what Giordano Bruno had called a “Theater of Memory.”

This.

I dug a palm against my temple. Images still swam behind my eyes as the data unspooled. “Ow!”

You said I could.

“I did,” I admitted, feeling like an idiot. “How the hell will that help Halley?”

When you send your thoughts to me, you show me what you think, yet not always what you have seen.
I started to object, but he bulled right over me.
You have said it yourself. Your mind is hobbled and you no longer understand things as once you did, my brother. Yet details linger unrecognized within your halls of memory. If I can see as you have seen, I may help you comprehend.

I chewed my cheeks, debating an answer. He framed a pretty argument, but I still felt leery. Letting him that deep into my mind—how was I supposed to keep any secrets? There were things I loathed to share, like what happened outside of Lake View.

My reservations were clear enough. He was keen to put my mind at ease, which only made me warier.

The boundaries are yours to set. This is not a new thing, brother.

“First you’ve mentioned it since I came back,” I grumbled. Suspicion clung thickly to the words.

I had no need before. This helps us both
, he insisted.

Pushing back in the swivel chair, I cracked my neck to relieve the tension that clawed at the base of my skull. The vertebrae crackled like bubble-wrap.

“If I agree to do this, I’m not swearing to anything, right?” I ventured. “I’ve had it up to here with oaths.”

You and I stood in armies opposed more often than we stood as allies in the distant past. Yet no oaths were sworn to grant you access to my temple. If I can welcome to my halls a zealot judge who smashed the idols of my brethren together with the war-crazed Gibburim, then you can deign to lease me space within your mind so we may more clearly speak.

That was an interesting chunk of information. In my notes, the Gibburim bore the sobriquet of “Violent Ones,” but beyond that, I knew next to nothing about the tribe. I filed a mental note to ask Terael about them later. For now, the clock was ticking.

“This is a one-time deal,” I cautioned. “I’ll make this space in my head like you showed, but don’t assume you can waltz in like you own the place whenever the mood strikes.”

I accept your terms, Zaquiel.

As he intoned my Name, spectral sounds of wind and distant music tinkled through the little office. Not quite spectral—the breeze stirred my hair, blowing long strands back from my forehead.

Dammit.
That sure as hell felt like an oath. At least I’d set terms that wouldn’t fuck me—I hoped.

Too late to change it now
, I thought.

I await you
, Terael pronounced. He didn’t even try to sound patient.

So I began with the girl’s room. I’d show him that little corner of the world inside my head, and if nothing heinous occurred, we’d go from there.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, I slowly released it. Closing my eyes, I started running through mnemonic exercises to bring up all the details with photographic clarity. I had clear recall of individual elements, but putting them together in a mental construct, that was going to be tricky.

I felt worn pretty thin.

But when did that ever stop me?

Laying my head on the desk, I pulled all of my focus inward. As Terael had shown me, I set a perimeter and erected the walls. Once I’d started the process, I settled into it with a practiced familiarity.

Terael had been truthful on at least one point—I’d done this before.

The space took shape around me, each detail coming easier than the last. I added the worn carpet, the picture window with its patterned drapes, the ceiling fan that hung unused over the center of the room. Then I pictured Halley—wild hair, Disney Princess nightshirt and all. I placed the girl on the hospital bed, the Tinker Bell lamp on the table, Father Frank’s broken rocking chair in the corner. On the floor, the groaning vagrant. Billowing curtain. Broken glass. I left out Roarke and his partner.

I put myself in the room so I could inspect all the elements. Bending to the wounded homeless man, I peeled back the blood-caked fabric of his shirt. I called up the three Luwian characters, imagining how they looked scored into his flesh with slashes of gleaming crimson. One was kind of a double-u. The next might have been the head of a bull. Before I fully shaped the Name, I felt a hand settle on my shoulder.

“Leave that part out.”

Terael stood behind me.

He had golden hair and golden eyes—and even golden skin. Not shiny metallic gold, but the warm, golden brown of the tiger eye gemstone, with deeper browns as undertones. That struck me as odd, because I had seen his statue on display in the museum. It wasn’t cast from gold or even carved from a gem, but shaped from dark and worn basalt.

It looked nothing like the slender youth standing before me.

He moved like flesh and he breathed like flesh but everything about him shimmered with the reticulated striations of the gemstone. Tall and long-limbed like all my brethren, he was slimmer than most. His flesh and features held an adolescent softness—boyhood not yet tempered to man. His thick, shimmering hair fell softly to his shoulders, darker by a shade than his warm and glinting skin. The aureate gleam of his extravagant curls matched the color of the two broad wings that spread behind him, rustling faintly with a sound like sand scouring against marble.