The Rise of the Goddess

33 | MARDUK'S SHIP

On the opposite side of the temple, the roar escalated as the ship lowered its bulk onto the expanse of the top tier. The engines cut out, abrupt. A chorus of harsh hisses filled the vacuum. Horus led Baalat through the colonnaded expanse of the deserted cupola to its opposite side, and took up position from behind one of the pillars. The ship sat against the scorched marble tier, confident, calm, like a patient spider awaiting the folly of its prey. From the undersides of the ship's wings, jets of steam hissed and pulsed. Intense heat rolled away from its bulk, washing over Horus, scorching waves of fire.

"I know this ship," Baalat whispered.

"As do I," muttered Horus. He gripped the hilt of his dagger, wishing he possessed something far more powerful than a mere blade, longing to level the field between him and the one his light had become. If only he had found the jihn, he could have used it against Sethi. Why had he wasted his time searching for more ships? He had been unfocused. The Creator had granted him a chance to find the jihn, and now, it was too late.

"There is something about that ship," Baalat said, easing out from behind the shelter of the column, curious, "something familiar. I can feel it."

Horus pulled Baalat back. "Have you lost your senses?" he demanded. "It's one of Marduk's ships," he continued, severe. He caught her look of bewilderment, her gaze straying back in the direction of the ship. He softened his tone. "My love, hunger has robbed you of reason. We are in grave danger. I beg you, stay behind me."

He eased around the pillar. The door slid open and the steps emerged from their casing, floating in midair. Movement came from within. One, no two, shadowed forms moved back and forth past the door. One edged toward the opening, his silhouette powerful: Sethi. In his hands, the nose of a massive weapon pointed toward the pillar where Horus and Baalat waited. He stepped down, arrogant, invincible. The weapon's metal glared in the light, blinding Horus. His eyes watering, he lifted his hand to shade his eyes, desperate to see.

"I know you're here," the one descending the steps called. A malevolent hum came from the weapon as it prepared to fire. "The sensors don't lie."

Horus blinked. That wasn't Sethi's voice. His heart thundered, bolting to life, riotous with unbridled hope. He glanced at Baalat, incredulous. She smiled back at him, soft.

"I knew I knew that ship," she whispered.

He kissed her brow, tender. He should have trusted her. Baalat was no fool.

"Teshub?" he called.

The weapon's hum cut out. Silence. Footsteps approached, slow, cautious. They stopped.

"Tell me something only you could know about me," Teshub said, low.

"You gave up your light to save a mortal," Horus answered, quiet. "As did I."

The silence deepened. Several more hisses of steam erupted from the ship, followed by dissonant clicks of cooling metal.

"Come out," Teshub said, his voice thick. "Let me see you."

Horus stepped out. Teshub stood only a few paces away, just as Horus remembered him from their reunion in the Etemen'anki. He wanted to go to him, to embrace him, his comrade, his friend, his oldest ally.

Teshub paled and took a step back. "Aren't you supposed to be . . . gone?" He glanced back at the open door of the ship, from where Arinna and Ahmen looked out. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he called. "Or have I lost my mind?"

Ahmen came down the steps, his eyes fixed on Horus. He came to him, slow, and sank to his knees. "Lord Horus," he breathed, reverent. "You live again."

A cry came from the ship. Horus turned. Arinna gazed at Baalat as she emerged from the other side of the pillar, out of view of Teshub and Ahmen.