The Return of the Rightful One: Part 3
“Do humans ever get tired of being so staggeringly wrong all the time?” Nyc’arra prodded one long finger into the right eye of the First Auhtula’s sarcophagus like it might double as a giant button that would free her from this disaster.
We’d been wandering the room, searching for a way out of the Tomb of the First Auhtula for the past ten minutes, all too aware of my crew’s imminent arrival and Lija most likely lurking outside–if we ever found a door that would let us out.
Nyc’arra poked the Auhtula’s other eyeball, just in case. As her escape methods grew more outlandish, she’d begun to intermittently throw out delightful little jibes about the intelligence of the entirety of the human race. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was nervous. “It’d be entertaining watching you fail so spectacularly, but the amount of damage your little brains can wreak is nigh on catastrophic at times.”
“You think this is bad? You should see the bullshit we do on purpose,” I said, closely surveying the gem-encrusted central fresco that depicted that first Auhtula at the height of her reign. She stood atop this very temple, shrouded in her crimson cloak and jeweled coronet, and held her staff–all of which glittered in the glow cast by the silver liquid. Though it was one of my favorite pieces in the temple, I was not-so-secretly hoping the temple would do one of its appearing/disappearing door acts with it.
Nyc’arra snorted. “Trust the temple. As though trusting a tool created by an iz’waij is a good idea!”
“Maybe it is,” I said with forced mildness. “Maybe the temple is protecting us from Lija until Azo’lah can get here. Did you ever think of that?”
“I did. The latter doesn’t comfort me as much as it does you.”
“You still don’t trust her?”
“After what she did to me,” Nyc’arra cut in, her words sharper than any zali’thir, “I think trust is asking a bit much, don’t you?”
I had no argument for that, so instead I said, “I should have known it was Lija! That underhanded asshole. I thought he was just a regular run-of-the-mill traitorous piece of–”
Nyc’arra laughed hollowly. “Is there a part of you that thinks Lija and Azo’lah might be working together? A part of me thinks that.”
“No. Azo’lah would never...” For some reason–a reason I did not have the energy to examine too closely in my current predicament–my voice cracked around the words. “What I’m saying is that I can’t believe that this asshole bureaucrat we’ve been forced to interact with on a regular basis has been the one we’ve been looking for the whole time!”
Nyc’arra grabbed my shoulder, turning me to face her. I blinked against the too-close light of the glowstick strapped to Nyc’arra’s wrist. She dropped her hand. “What do you know of this iz’waij?”
“Outside of what we learned in the garden, not much,” I admitted. “He’s a Councilor for Ty’uria, mostly advising on technological advancement… which makes a lot more sense now.”
Nyc’arra raised her eyebrows in a go on gesture, and I shrugged. She asked, “That’s all you know?”
Embarrassed heat flooded my cheeks. “How do we fix this? What’s your plan?”
“There are too many unknown variables. Is Shockley still alive? Are your friends actually on their way to help? What is the true identity of this iz’waij? To create a plan around the unverifiable information this temple,” Nyc’arra gestured mockingly at the walls and ceiling, “has been so kind to provide us with would be supremely unwise.”
“The temple didn’t provide the information. The temple provided the communication pathway to the people who gave us the information.”
Nyc’arra ignored my extremely valid correction. “The only facts we have are these: there is a murderous iz’waij roaming this structure, attempting to use their abilities to harness the power of this temple and kill you. My duty is to protect you. To do that, I must get you out of the temple.”
“What about Max?”
“I cannot risk your safety on a hope that he is still alive,” Nyc’arra spat, her jade eyes narrowing. “No matter how much I wish I could, I cannot. I must assume he is lost to us.”
“Nyc’arra–”
She strode forward, her long legs carrying her to me in less than three strides. “No. We cannot count on Shockley being alive. We cannot count on your crew. I know they will do their best, but there’s no guarantee they’ll reach us before Lija. And it’s uncertain, even if they do, that Azo’lah is…” Nyc’arra swallowed, “who you think she is. Even then, she may be outmatched.”
It was a huge struggle to think of Azo’lah, destroyer of the Jol’pri Black Market Space Station, as outmatched by anyone. But, fuck, Nyc’arra had a point. Lija was clearly skilled. Unlike Azo’lah, who had avoided and suppressed using her technopathy with very few exceptions well into adulthood, it appeared as though he had a lifetime of practice. He had developed a skillset far beyond my wildest imaging, a skillset that let him access my implant without even needing to be touching it. Azo’lah was maybe our last true hope and, for the first time ever…
A small, fervent part of me hoped the last message was a trick, that Azo’lah was safe in the palace on Thal.
Oblivious to my mini-meltdown, Nycarra continued, “Our survival is up to us and us alone, so you will listen to me. Even if we had a way out of this damned room, this temple is too large and too unpredictable to attempt an escape without knowing the exact location of the iz’waij. So, we lure him here by removing this.” Her fingers gently grazed the coronet still situated atop my sweaty head. “He will no doubt use his abilities to enter, which will require him to open a door, however briefly. An escape route for you.”
“An escape route for us,” I amended.
Nyc’arra’s lips quirked up humorlessly. “Once out, you will put that silly crown back on and run to the ship. I will stay here and do what I was trained to.”
My stomach filled with lead. I had witnessed Destyrian Myax pull off some absolutely mind-bending feats, but what she was suggesting was a death sentence. “You’re going to face off with Lija, who is armed with an entire temple? Nyc’arra, he’s too powerful.”
“That’s for me to worry about. I only want you to think about getting out of here and back to the Qu’een. Matt programmed Thal into the autopilot controls before we left Destyr. All you’ll need to do is get her into the air. If landing is a concern, you can stop when you enter atmo, and they will tow you in.”
“Why are you so determined to do this?” I demanded, watching as Nyc’arra, who, with all her special Myax training, rarely betrayed any emotion she didn’t allow, let her eyes flick ever so slightly to the side. “What the fuck was the oath you swore to Fleetwood?”
I knew that she had come to some sort of agreement with Fleetwood that had resulted in her banishment being lifted if she accepted the position as my bodyguard, but it suddenly occurred to me that I had never asked the specifics. “Tell me, Nyc’arra.”
Nyc’arra breathed deeply. “In exchange for the lifting of my banishment and restoration of my honor, I swore to protect your life at the cost of my own until either the iz’waij was defeated or I was.”
She moved to turn away, reaching for her borrowed zali’thir. I grabbed her arm to stop her. “And if neither of those things happens?”
“My banishment is restored, permanently. And my family, once again, will not be allowed to leave the Destyrian system to prevent them from contacting me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “The Fulyiti knows, as someone who values it above all else, how much of an incentive family can be.”
“Why would you take that deal?” Because quite honestly, it seemed extremely not in Nyc’arra’s favor and uncharacteristically cruel of Fleetwood.
“Because, if I succeed, my banishment is lifted permanently, my station in the Myax order could be restored. I would not go back, but The Danger Zone’s criminal records on Destyr would be expunged, giving us the chance to put our skills to use…pseudo-legally.”
“What does that even mean?” I threw up my hands to keep her response at bay and continued. “Okay, you’ll explain it to me later. When we’re both out of this alive. I won’t leave you. I’ll bring back up. Azo’lah can hold things together long enough for us to get you out, if nothing else.” I tilted my chin expectantly.
Nyc’arra nodded and released my shoulders. “Give me a few moments to prepare.” She spun on her heel and studied the room, taking in every detail. Her long legs carried her around the silver-filled trenches as she muttered to herself, “Perhaps the liquid…no, too obvious. The sarcophagi. It’ll do–”
“Please, please try not to destroy the final resting place of the First Auhtula,” I begged, my nerves about Nyc’arra’s current plan turning into queasiness over the absolute destruction that would be wrought upon such a historically significant place when she and Lija faced one another.
“The first Auhtula would think nothing of her tomb being ruined in service of saving lives,” Nyc’arra said.
“Yeah, well,” I walked to the sarcophagus and patted the knee, “I’d rather not be the reason something so beautiful is no longer in the universe.”
“Then stay alive.” Nyc’arra directed me to the right of the double doors that led to the rest of the temple. “Stay there. The moment the doors open, hide behind one. Once the iz’waij is distracted, put the circlet on and run.”
“And what if he enters through one of the secret doors the temple likes to open randomly?” I asked.
Nyc’arra said, “We’ll deal with it if it happens. But going off the level of…theatrics thus far displayed, I doubt the iz’waij will give up the opportunity to make a grand entrance.”
As I didn’t have a better suggestion, I walked to where she indicated. “I would like it noted, for the record, that this barely qualifies as a plan. And regardless, I hate it.”
Ignoring me, Nyc’arra positioned herself at the center of the room, unsheathing her dagger from her boot. She twirled one zali’thir in her other hand as though getting used to the feel of the weapon after having been so long denied its use. The troughs of silver liquid lent her an ethereal glow–in that moment, she was an avenging angel coming to wrought death and destruction upon all who would challenge her. “Remove the circlet.”
I removed it, allowing it to rest on the ground between my feet as I tightened the sloppy bun atop my head. If I was going to be running for my life through a temple that switched rooms at will, the last thing I needed was for my hair to fall into my eyes. After a long moment of silence, the temple contracted as though inhaling.
Lija’s voice cut through the calm as he taunted, “Ah, there you are.”
“Polo,” I whispered under my breath mockingly.
The passage of time was an ambiguous thing for me on the best of days. As wrapped up in my work as I got, whole days passed in what felt like a blink of an eye. While social events of only a few hours always seemed to make time move at the pace of molasses.
But now I understood the true meaning of time standing still. Waiting for Lija to bust through those doors took the passage of several lifetimes, all of which I watched in my mind’s eye. Adventures with my friends, exciting digs and projects across the universe, quiet moments with those I loved. Highs and lows, moments of extreme joy, and others of necessary growth. But I wanted it all. And so help me, alien Gods, I was going to have it.
“He’s near,” Nyc’arra said, her entire body flexing in preparation. “Brace yourself.”
The doors flew open, and I ducked on instinct, holding my hand out, so the door didn’t strike me in the face as it concealed me from view. I jammed the coronet back on my head.
Lija strode in as though walking on air, a smug smile stretching his thin lips. The crimson cloak of the first Auhtula flowed behind him. He spotted Nyc’arra standing in the center of the room. “You.”
Nyc’arra’s response was to fling her dagger directly at his head. Lija was pushed out of the way at the last moment by–
“Max!” My voice cracked on that single syllable. He looked like shit–cut and bruised, and his eyes bloodshot. His clothes were dirty and ripped, his soft curls sweat-dampened and sticking up every which way.
“Gretchen,” he said, the word clearly causing him a great effort. He swung towards my makeshift hiding place behind the door, Nyc’arra’s plan ruined by my outburst. I would’ve ruined it anyway. I may not have been in love with Shockley, but I did care about him and love him as a friend. I couldn’t leave him like this. “He’s got control of me, I don’t–” He cut off, his face going haunting blank.
It was as though Max’s brain and voice had betrayed him.
And judging by Lija’s smirk, it had. “That’s enough of that,” Lija said.
My heart sank like a stone. Lija was using his technopathic powers to control Shockley via his translator implant. This living nightmare had somehow gotten impossibly worse.
“Gretchen, go!” Nyc’arra commanded.
I shook my head once. Unmitigated rage coursed through my veins. I put the circlet back on my head. I was done running from this asshole. “You are such a piece of shit,” I told Lija. “I don’t know why you got the cloak or why you want me dead, but–”
“Don’t flatter yourself, human,” Lija cackled, the sound controlled and sharp, “none of this is about you. Wanting you dead is a happy byproduct of the larger picture. It is time for the House of Fuiq to be revealed for the pretenders they are and for someone with the true power of the Auhtulas of old to sit upon the throne.”
“Really? This about a run-of-the-mill power grab? How disappointingly unoriginal,” I said.
“Unoriginal?” Lija repeated. Without warning, Shockley lunged, his hands grabbing for my throat.
I darted backward, knowing that my friend was not in control of his own body. His brown eyes, usually so full of life, stared blankly at me as he swung a fist at my head.
I ducked, then ran.
“Is it so unoriginal to have your lover kill you against both of your wills?” Lija asked as Nyc’arra raced for him, her blades raised in attack. Lija dodged easily, the cloak swirling around him. “So unoriginal to not only be taking the Central continent–by the time Pola and I are done, we will control all of Destyr.”
I stumbled along the floor, almost landing in one of the silver trenches. Shockley’s hand grabbed me by the hip–a touch I was not unfamiliar with, but this time, I could feel his fingers twitching against the command that was forcing this violence.
“Max,” I gasped as he dragged me to him. His arms locked around my torso as I instinctively rammed my elbow backward. He grunted as I made contact with his side, but his hold on me did not loosen.
I looked up to see tears tracking down his utterly blank face.
“Max, it’s okay, I know it’s not you,” I whispered. His grip tightened further, and my breath came in smaller and smaller puffs. I stomped onto the instep of his boot futilely, and I knew this wouldn’t be okay. We had to figure a way out of this, and soon, otherwise, it may never be okay again.
“Pola? Pola!” Nyc’arra shrieked as Lija directed his power toward the temple. He yanked stones from the wall and ceiling, throwing them at her rapid-fire. Nyc’arra ducked and rolled out of the line of destruction, but I saw one of the stones clip her ankle. She grunted in pain. “You’re working with Pola, and you honestly think she’s going to let you keep any power for yourself?”
Another wave of stones fell and landed near me, a mess of wiring peeking out from inside. The entire temple was a piece of technology–that’s not only how it moved, but it was also how Lija was pulling it apart now.
“She has no choice,” Lija roared as a torrent of stones and dust rained down onto where Nyc’arra was crouched. “Pola does not have the power of the Ancients. I do! Pola was just a means to an end, once the House of Fuiq has fallen and I sit upon the throne–”
“The House of Fuiq won’t fall,” I cried, wrestling my way out of Shockley’s grip. I spun to pull a punch, but Mas caught my wrist before I made contact with his face. He yanked me viciously back in.
“Yes, it will,” Lija said as he flicked a lazy hand through the air sending a ripple through the reliefs. Shards of ruined, beautiful mosaic cut through the air, one of them slicing me clean across the cheek. “Kill her,” Lija said, his words as nonchalant as if he were commanding Shockley to pour a glass of water.
I clawed at Shockley’s hands, my nails drawing blood, as he yanked me closer for better leverage.
I thrashed in Max’s arms, my skull connecting with his cheek, but his hold did not loosen. Shockley moved an arm to my throat and squeezed. My breath hitched, and a stabbing pain lanced my lungs. Air, I needed air.
Nyc’arra screamed as she rushed Lija, her face contorted with terrifying rage.
The ground beneath us shook so violently Shockley and I fell to the ground. He lost his hold on the way down, and I rolled away, the circlet falling from my head. He attempted to catch me, the quaking floor impeding his progress. Heaving, I sought refuge behind the sarcophagus of the first Auhtula, her serene expression a beacon of hope. But as I crawled to her, just like the first time I saw her, her eyes opened and glowed. The silver liquid in the trenches pulsed with light.
The temple stilled, and a voice I had never heard before announced, “The Rightful One has come.”
The scuffle paused for a mere moment, all of us frozen by the voice’s absolute authority. It took me a moment to realize that the words had been spoken in Ancient Destyrian and seemed to come from the sarcophagus of the First Auhtula. Nyc’arra recovered quickly, grabbing Lija by the wrist and twisting him into her, framing his neck with crossed zali’thirs. The golden coronet atop the First Auhtula’s head flickered to life, scattering glyphs across Lija’s dark hair—almost like she was crowning him. I remembered, vividly, the time the first Auhtula had turned to bestow the same blessing on Azo’lah’s retreating back.
Lija let out a triumphant laugh. “I am the rightful one. This is my—”
He was cut off as the walls bled with Azo’lah’s heart-achingly familiar voice. “Myaxi, where are you?”
The temple shivered, gently this time, like it was holding itself back in anticipation or…like it was being caressed. I had the sudden mental image of Azo’lah touching the wall of the temple the first time we were here, the glyph-emblazoned walls flaring to life under her touch, and—
There. The walls were illuminating, ancient glyphs suddenly blazing with blue and amber fire, outlining the stone floor right up to the feet of the First Auhtula, who blinked. Wait, what?
“Gretchen!” Azo’lah’s voice thundered.
I had no idea how she would hear me, but I shouted, “We’re in the Tomb of the First Auhtula!”
The supposedly dead first Auhtula was lit up like a Christmas display the day after Thanksgiving and was moving. There was a whirring, creaking sound as the sarcophagus of the First Auhtula turned her head toward the First Myax. The sarcophagus was carved so that the women aged if you looked at them from different angles. With the younger side turned toward me, I was struck, not for the first time, by the familial resemblance between Azo’lah and her distant ancestor. “Rise, my ket’li,” came the same eerie voice that had announced the Rightful One’s return. It was made doubly eerie by the fact that it was coming out of the moving mouth of the First Auhtula’s sarcophagus. “The Rightful One calls for our aid.”
I scrambled back from the animated sarcophagus without looking where I was going. My hand slipped into one of the trenches of the luminous silver liquid. I had a brief flash, like a memory of something that hadn’t yet happened. Of Azo’lah, pressing me against the railing of her boat before closing our considerable height gap to press a warm, fond kiss to my mouth…
I yanked my foot out of the trench and tripped forward. Right to the feet of the First Auhtula and her Myax, who were standing, unfolding themselves from their elaborately carved seats like they had been casually waiting 9,000 years to move.
This was, apparently, finally strange enough for Nyc’arra and Lija to notice what was happening.
“Who you seek is with us, Rightful One,” the first Auhtula’s voice echoed through the walls the same way Azo’lah had.
“I’m not seeking anyone!” Lija gasped, scrabbling with clawed fingers at the arm locked across his windpipe.
“You're not the Rightful One, dumbass,” Shockley said as he regained his feet. Apparently, being choked broke Lija’s concentration long enough to release his hold on Shockley. “Azo’lah’s a direct descendant of the First Auhtula and a technopath strong enough to bring down a space station. Plus, she damn near blew this place up the first time we were here. The temple knows Mommy’s home.”
I snorted a little hysterically, both at his phrasing and the grudging admiration in Shockley’s tone for Azo’lah.
Lija jerked in Nyc’arra’s grip, his elbow connecting with her stomach. With both hands occupied, she was unable to defend herself from the blow and lost her hold long enough that Lija was able to thrust one hand out toward Shockley. Shockley jerked, his eyes glazing, and he started toward me.
I sank into a fighting stance, ready to defend myself if necessary, but suddenly, a tall figure was between us. For a wild moment, I thought Azo’lah had come. But it was the First Myax’s sarcophagus, quietly whining like an overheating laptop. It hit me all at once that they weren’t alive. Just like the temple, they were ancient, technological defense systems–androids programmed to respond to a specific call.
Shockley lunged to attack, but the First Myax grabbed his arm, twisting him in her grip, kicking his leg out from beneath him, and then stepping on it with the full force of her stone leg. There was a horrible cracking sound. Shockley howled in agony, reaching for his calf, which was bent at an unnatural angle.
“Max!” Nyc’arra shouted, already running toward him, Lija forgotten in the face of her teammates’ scream. There was a rushing sound as a wave of silver liquid swept across the chamber from the trench behind me. It missed me completely but crashed into Shockley. The liquid enveloped him and, with the speed and ferocity of the Killer Qu’een, dragged him across the chamber. He fell into the opposite trench and disappeared.
“Shockley!” I sprinted to the trench, sliding painfully to my knees as I thrust my hands into the liquid, trying to find him. I felt nothing but the strange, cool texture of the liquid. The liquid rose in a wave, crashing over me. It filled my nose, knocking me onto my back. I turned, spluttering, to see Lija looking at the silver liquid with a revelatory expression and knew he had doused me. Shit. If it was the same liquid that had been in the temple of Delto on the witches’ planet of Huxor, it was part technology. Azo’lah had been able to control it, so it made sense that Lija could too.
Nyc’arra pulled me to my feet and moved in front of me. “The l-liquid, it’s tech—” I tried to warn her around my coughs.
Lija held a hand out toward the sarcophagus of the First Myax, who had been moving toward us, along with her love. She froze, her glowing amber-blue eyes blinked slowly. And then she sank into a crouch, a position I recognized as a pre-attack pose from all of the times I’d witnessed Azo’lah do it.
“They’re very impressive,” Lija murmured in that infuriating, gloating tone he always used. “But they’re still technology and I am more powerful than any security protocol that was put in place.”
“Care to test that theory?” My heart leaped. There, framed in the door was Azo’lah, clad in her familiar, navy Myax uniform. On her gleaming silver hair rested a familiar crown of seven fractal gems like fallen stars–the coronet of the first Auhtula. And in her right hand, the staff gleamed sleek and silver.
“Did you seriously take artifacts out of their environmentally controlled storage?” I blurted stupidly. Azo’lah grinned at me, like the beaten, drowned rat look I was currently sporting was the best thing she’d ever seen.
“You can punish me for it later,” she smirked.
A voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Shockley’s inappropriately whispered, “Mommy.”
Azo’lah’s eyes tracked Lija as she moved into the room. The First Myax’s stone-faceded sarcophagi turned her eerily glowing eyes on Azo’lah even as the first Auhtula moved to stand c beside her. The first Auhtala’s glowing crown reflected in Azo’lah’s navy eyes like flint sparking.
“Nyc’arra,” Azo’lah said, her voice tight. She didn’t take her gaze off of Lija, but her tone was tight with an emotion I’d never heard before. “I’m asking you, in honor of the fond times we shared, to get Gretchen out of here.” Azo’lah spun the first Auhtula’s staff, which seemed to thrum to life under her hand. The illuminated glyphs lining the room pulsed, like they were mimicking Azo’lah’s heartbeat.
Nyc’arra grabbed my arm, but Lija was already running right at us. It was so brazenly unexpected of him that I froze for a moment, just long enough that I missed the animated sarcophagus of the First Myax coming at us from the opposite side. It took a moment to realize that Lija was as good as his word and he had already figured out a way to hack into the sarcophagus of the First Myax and was in control of it.
Nyc’arra’s reflexes saved her as she blocked the descending stone arm with her crossed zali’thirs. I turned, blocking out the grating scrape of metal on stone, trying to intercept Lija, but he had too much momentum, catching me around my waist and taking me to the floor. My training with Milyna was clearly paying off, for I managed to roll us, so that I was straddling him, my fist instinctively aiming for the high bones of his cheek. He didn’t even try to block the punch. Instead, he let out a cry somewhere between pained and triumphant as my fist collided with his face. His hands came up, as though to slap me in retaliation, but instead reached past my face and curled around the circlet perched on my head.
He threw it, with one hand pressing his whole hand against my face. I knocked his hand out of the way, following it up with another punch to his already bruising cheekbone, realizing mid-motion that it was already too late. He had knocked the protective circlet off, and now he had touched my–
Agony, like the night of the assassination attempt flared through my body. I was twitching, screaming, the stone floor scraping my exposed skin raw as I writhed uncontrollably. Lija pushed himself up into a kneeling position, his palms on the ground as the temple rumbled. He looked at me, vicious triumph in his eyes. My vision blurred. Azo’lah was running toward me–
“Get him!” I panted, trying to shift to my knees as Lija sprinted toward an escape through the door of the burial chamber. Nyc’arra wrapped an arm around me, helping me stand on wobbling legs.
Azo’lah turned, probably to check on whether I was alright. And it was at this moment that everything really went to shit.
Azo’lah paused, face twisted into horror as she screamed, “Look out!” Nyc’arra spun a second too late to find the First Myax had snuck up on us in our distraction. One arm still around my waist, Nyc’arra used her free forearm to block, but she was still wielding her borrowed zali’thirs and the blow drove the fine stiletto point right into Nyc’arra’s own shoulder. She knocked me away with her injured arm, howling as the motion shredded the muscle against the embedded blade. The First Myax slammed one stone first into Nyc’arra’s injured arm and then knocked her leg out from under her. Nyc’arra valiantly tried to regain her footing, but there was a new rising wave of silver.
“No!” Azo’lah cried, trying to send up her own wall of the gleaming liquid to protect Nyc’arra, but she was too late. With achoked-offf scream, Nyc’arra, like Shockley, was swept into the silver trenches and vanished.
I slid across the stone to the trench, peering down into it, knowing that it was already too late. Whatever this liquid was, whatever strange combination of magic and technology, Nyc’arra was gone.
I reached out, hearing too late the grind of shifting stone. Arms like steel traps wrapped around me. I dug my elbow back–a stupid mistake. I had forgotten about the First Myax and had just driven my elbow into her unyielding gut.
“Fuck,” I twisted, but the statue's arms only wrapped tighter around me, holding me off the floor, immobile. My right arm was free, the left pinned down by my side. That hardly did me any good as, even with my improved strength from training, I was no match for my current captor. I had always had a fondness for the story of the First Auhtula and her Myax, but in this moment, that fondness was rapidly dwindling. “Go!” I shouted when Azo’lah hesitated. And then, she was off, running after Lija, who was trying to make it through the elaborate doors of the tomb.
Azo’lah tapped the staff of the first Auhtula on the floor, and the doors slid closed, trapping him. He turned, throwing his arm out toward the First Auhtula, clearly trying to use his powers to take over her too. The sarcophagus’ glowing eyes turned to Lija, and she began to move toward Azo’lah.
“Command override,” the First Auhtula said in her quietly authoritative tone. “Harm to the Rightful One is not permitted. Assumption of compromise or incapacitation.” Something else followed in her lyrical ancient Destyrian that eluded my rudimentary understanding of the spoken form of the language. I would have hazarded “dispersal” or “swinging dance” and “pattern” had I not been too preoccupied trying to squirm out of the First Myax’s immovable grip.
There was a high-pitched whirring whine, like an old fan that someone had suddenly kicked into high gear against its will. It seemed to be coming from within the walls. The illuminated glyphs pulsed slowly.
Azo’lah lunged at Lija, striking out at him with the staff, power surging through it. It hit the cloak that Lija had draped over his back, the warm steel-colored threads woven through it catching the light. Azo’lah struck again with the staff. Lija threw the cloak over his arm and the physical blow caught his arm, but the technopathic powerup behind it had no effect.
As he turned, Lija’s boot caught the silver circlet. He tripped, and Azo’lah threw her hand toward the silver liquid in the trenches. The viscous liquid lashed out quickly, like a coiled serpent that had been waiting for her summons to strike. Clearly she had intended to rope Lija’s foot, drag him towards her but it stopped inches from Lija who laughed, once again darting out Azo’lah’s range. Why couldn’t… but then–the circlet of the First Myax had protected me from technopathic attacks. Why wouldn’t the most powerful ancient technopath have a garment that did the same in her possession?
“The cloak!” I yelled, attempting to be heard over the steadily increasing whine of the temple, the buzzing of it sending the room vibrating. “It protects against technopathic attacks. So does the circlet!” I could feel it, almost before I saw her do it. Azo’lah lifted the fractal crown of ket’li crystals from her head and threw it, like a frisbee, directly at me.
I caught it, the motion pulling uncomfortably on my bruised ribs. A tingling warmth ran through me, like my whole body was a limb that had been asleep and now circulation was returning in an almost heady rush. I didn’t realize what was happening, as I was too transfixed by Azo’lah kicking the First Myax’s circlet up from the floor and pressing it onto her forehead, evening out the fighting field.
My implant sparked with a bolt of static electricity and I panicked, worried that somehow, Lija was attacking me again. But then a message flashed across my mind. Myaxi.
Azo’lah? I returned, grateful that everyone was too distracted to witness my embarrassing gasp-sob of relief at the familiarity of the technopathic connection. The crown–it's tied to the temple. It's linked to the temple, it can control it, and everything in it.
I wasn’t quite sure what Azo’lah wanted, but it didn’t seem like a good time to ask. Lija was sprinting across the shaking floor tiles, darting in and out of Azo’lah’s reach like he was trying to tire her out. And then he was next to me, his hand on my arm.
“Come one step closer and I will paint the room with her brains,” Lija panted. “Undo the security protocols and hand over control of the temple to me. Make me the Rightful One.”
Azo’lah stopped, the staff held out in front of her defensively. “I can’t,” Azo’lah said tightly, her eyes shifted to me. “It responds to me because of my unique technopathic signature. It’s programmed to recognize the descendants of the First Auhtula based on her own signature, so you must be of her direct bloodline. It only responds to my signature. Or those who have been touched by it.”
And it clicked. Exactly what she wanted. She had used her connection with the crown to reactivate our own. I gripped the crown tight in my hand and touched the arm of the First Myax. “First Myax, let me go,” I commanded the sarcophagus in Ancient Destyrian. It might not have been the wisest wording choice as the stone arms dropped and I did too. But Lija had forgotten to let go of my arm and as I fell the few feet to the floor, already preparing to crouch, I dragged him with me, throwing him off balance.
He stumbled, and fell on his back, yanking me on top of him. The crown of the First Auhtula clattered out of my grasp. I reached for his throat. Clearly thinking I was going to strangle him, he placed his hands anywhere they could go. I felt my implant sparking, the telltale twitch in my muscles. But even though my fingers fumbled, I was quick enough before the blinding pain started. And I was being lifted off of him, Lija’s attack soothed by Azo’lah’s presence, her arm strong around me. Lija skittered backwards, but Azo’lah stepped forward as he did, her foot trapping the cloak that I had loosened. Lija’s protection was gone.
Lija ran. I dipped down to take the cloak with trembling fingers. No, that was the floor, the floor was shaking fervently. The ringing that hadn’t stopped when Lija attacked me was the whining hum reaching a fever pitch.
Azo’lah struck the floor with the staff and the temple flared so brightly that I was left with the afterimage of the tomb for a second before we were plunged into absolute darkness. There was a single spark of light in the dark before the temple illuminated again. I blinked against the glare, seeing Lija’s prone body crumpled at the feet of the First Auhtula for a just a moment before the room tilted violently. Azo’lah reached for me as I stumbled. There was a plopping sound, and I realized that Lija had slid into the silver trench.
Azo’lah grabbed my hand as the room pitched again, vibrating so hard that my teeth chattered as we bolted toward the giant doors that led to the rest of the temple. Azo’lah crossed the threshold, me scurrying to keep up. But the room pitched again and I fell backwards, and away from her.
“Gretchen!” she screamed, trying to move towards me but the door slammed shut. Walling me off. The temple bucked and I fell sideways, my fingers desperately scrabbling against the floor, but I was unable to find purchase as the room tilted one last time. I slid into the trench of silver liquid, the unforgiving edge of stone slamming into my ribs. I wasn’t sure if I blacked out or was hallucinating from the pain, but I took one last instinctive gulp of air before I was dragged under.
I landed hard on my back, my body ricocheting off the ground with the force of my landing. I didn’t even have the energy to yelp in pain, instead, all of the air in my lungs pushed out of my mouth in a ragged, choking cough.
“Azo–Azo’lah?” I hacked, rolling onto my side. My eyes were too heavy to open. If I was still alive, that meant the temple hadn’t crumbled to a million pieces, and Azo’lah would come back for me. I reached blindly for her and my aching fingers grasped something soft. Not the hard temple floor.
It was grass.
I pushed my eyes open and found myself in the center of the Palace Gardens on Thal, not the Tomb of the first Auhtula on Vas Roya. I was torn between bone-deep relief at being home and gut-churning confusion. How the fuck was I here?
Was I dreaming? My battered body told me I was very much awake.
I pushed up into a seated position as a group of Myax sprinted full-tilt into the gardens. At the head of the group was a very familiar face. I felt tears gather in my eyes. Safe. I was finally safe.
“Fleetwood, thank God,” I gasped as my friend and the Myax with her skidded to a halt and surrounded me. “What is going on? How did I get here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Fleetwood returned, her voice unyielding. It also had the vaguely British accent that indicated she was speaking Destyrian. She gestured to the Myax at her side, then to me. “Bind her wrists. We will take her to the Auhtula at once.”
“Yes, Kezira Myax.” The Destyrian who towered over me on my right yanked me roughly to my feet.
“Ouch, shit, Fleetwood–” I stammered, the unknown Myax’s words finally processing in my sluggish brain. Kezira Myax. Not Fulyiti Kezira. I turned to Fleetwood and took in the details of her. The face I knew so well held not a trace of gold eyeliner or glitter eyeshadow. Her signature space buns did not sit atop her head, instead, her wild tresses were tamed into a simple braid down her back. And she wore the navy uniform of a Myax.
What the actual fuck?
I asked, “Fleetwood, why are you dressed like that? What’s going on?” I looked down to where my wrists were being bound together. “Am I–am I under arrest?”
“I am Kezira Myax, I know not who Fleetwood is. And do not act ignorant, Dangerous One,” Fleetwood replied coolly. “You know what you and your ship of deviants did. You are not welcome on this planet, let alone on these palace grounds.”
Had I really hit my head so hard that I had broken reality? Was the time-space continuum currently offline, and this was the error code I was receiving?
My brain was not big enough to process this fast enough. I needed Chester.
“Fleetwood, get Chester,” I began.
“Enough,” she snapped, glaring at me in a way that was not only intimidating but heart-breaking. Whoever this Fleetwood was, she was not my Fleetwood.
“Come, Dangerous One,” Fleetwood said, and I was shoved into motion by one of the hovering Myax. “I think First Myax Nyc’arra and Auhtula Azo’lah will be very interested in speaking with you.”