The Call of Eternity

75 | LET IT BE ME

"Istara," a voice said, low, urgent, coming from a vast distance. "Can you hear me? Please. She's so cold. We have nothing--" Pain sliced into her arms, hot. Spears of fire. She cried out, willing herself to scream. Nothing more than a whimper came out, weak as a kitten's mewl.

Hands, she realized, warm, and rough with calluses moved over her skin, massaging her back to life. The pain moved to her legs, her feet, then her hands until her whole body roared with the agony of its awakening, the cold fleeing, her blood stirring, slow, delivering her into a realm of exquisite pain.

"We have to do it. Thoth must leave," the voice belonging to the hands working over her body said, determined. She caught the scent of leather, the memory of it old, familiar, tugging at the edges of her silenced mind. Images flitted: a wriggling puppy licking her face; letters; a blade across her palm; blood dripping into a silver bowl, black in the moonlight; a torn shift embroidered with flowers and bees; a battle, a warrior falling, crying out her name. Urhi-Teshub. Her thoughts, slow, heavy, cluttered together, fogging anew, obstructing her way. No. Urhi-Teshub was dead. It was a dream, a hallucination, a wishful fantasy. She was dying with Baalat, locked in a cage of blue light; forever lost to Sethi, transformed into a god.

"We have a dagger," the phantom voice of Urhi-Teshub continued, "there is no point in waiting. You saw the forest around the crater erupt into flames, an inferno, for no reason at all. We have to think of the people. How many more lives will you sacrifice by delaying?"

"No," another voice said, firm, stubborn. "We wait, just a little longer. He might return."

"And Arinna?" Urhi-Teshub asked, his hands working harder against Istara's flesh, hurting her. "How much longer does she have?"

No answer came. Into the heavy silence, Istara's awareness ascended, the shattered fragments of her thoughts and senses aligning, holding, understanding coming to her. A flicker of hope swelled in her breast, a nestling. Somehow, the others had managed to escape the Etemen'anki. She opened her eyes, slow, her head aching, bruised with cold. Urhi-Teshub knelt beside her, bloodstained and filthy with dust, his eyes on his hands as he massaged her arm, rough, soldier-style. Behind him, within the narrow confines of a small ship, Arinna lay silent and still, cradled in Teshub's arms, a deep wound in her scalp, dried blood staining her hair, skin and gown. Further down, Thoth helped Baalat to sit.

"There now," Thoth said, gentle, as she sat, pale and trembling, her lips bloodless. "We have you. It's over. Teshub has turned out to be quite useful after all. He figured out how to blast that dreadful cube to bits."

"Istara," Urhi-Teshub said, his eyes finding hers. The corners of his lips turned up, just a fraction, softening the severe planes of his jaw. "Can you sit?" he asked, quiet.

She nodded and he eased her up, sitting down beside her, his thigh against hers, his arm going around her shoulder, pulling her against him. His heat blasted into her, breaching her damp gown. She bit her lip, enduring the rippling prickles cascading through her limbs, the piercings of thousands of hot, sharp needles. From just inside the door into the front of the ship, Ahmen nodded at her, grim, as filthy and bloody as the others. The old Egyptian man who had arrived with Sethi and Ahmen half-turned in one of the seats by the panel of lights. He regarded her, steady, calm, quiet.

"Sethi is not coming back," Baalat said to Teshub, suppressing a shiver. "He belongs to Marduk now."

"Then it is decided," Urhi-Teshub stood up, abrupt. Istara huddled into herself, shivering, cold without his heat. He held out his hand to Ahmen. "Your dagger."

Ahmen pulled a blade from a scabbard strapped to his thigh. Saying nothing, he handed it to Urhi-Teshub, respect darkening his eyes.

"Teshub," Urhi-Teshub said, turning to face the once-god, "it is time." With his free hand, he worked at the ties of his leather tunic and unlaced them. He shrugged out of it and dropped it on the floor. Dust billowed up from it. He lifted the dagger and positioned it over his linen tunic, aiming at his heart, his jaw tight, bracing for the pain.

Istara caught her breath. She came to her feet, pain slicing through her soles, blades of fire, and reached out to him, trembling. "Urhi-Teshub, please--"

He looked at Istara, his eyes hard, courageous, regal. "I do this for my people," he said, a true king, "for Tanu-Hepa--and for you."

"Cease," Teshub commanded, harsh. He looked down at his consort, anguish cutting a swathe through him. "I am not yet ready to follow after Horus."

"I am." Baalat rose, unsteady, and moved around the heap of weapons piled on the floor. She put her hand on the dagger, staying Urhi-Teshub. "But this cannot be my decision alone." She turned and looked at Istara. "Are you ready to join your consort as his equal?" she asked, low.

"I--" Istara faltered. She sank back onto the divan, but instead of the claws of fear, a shiver of wonder. So this was how it was to be. She had thought her journey over, failed, finished. Yet here, at the last heartbeat, the reason for her journey, unleashed, beautiful, perfect. She was meant to be with Sethi, a goddess. His consort. Her body thrummed at the thought. She looked up and met Baalat's gaze. "Yes," she breathed, purpose colliding with her heart, awakening after a bitter drought of silence. By dying and connecting with Baalat's light, she would become a goddess, just as Sethi had become a god. She was the key required to open the portal so Thoth could leave. She would save the world after all. Tanu-Hepa, Edarru, Nesu, Nefertari, Weremkhet, and Sehetep would be safe. She could face the pain to come if it meant they would survive.

"Istara," Urhi-Teshub said, broken. "No. Let it be me."

"It is not your time," Baalat said, soft, glancing at Teshub, watching them, stricken. "You will still be immortal, though not a god. She belongs to Sethi, and has done since the beginning of time. You must accept it." She placed her fingers against his on the dagger's hilt, gentle. He pulled away, resisting her.

"Is this what you truly desire?" he asked, moving to Istara, kneeling before her. "You saw what will happen. Let me suffer the transition and take the journey in your stead. I am willing. I beg you, do not deny me this."

"I must," Istara answered, quiet, determined, coming to her feet. Her husband rose with her, his eyes locked on hers, heartbroken, his chest rising and falling, ragged. "Everything has come to this, to what comes after," she whispered, catching the old man at the front of the ship watching her, keen, sharp, approval glittering in his green eyes.

"My love," Urhi-Teshub said, cupping the side of her face in his hand. "Is there nothing I can say which will change your mind?"

In answer, Istara placed her hand over his, enclosing her fingers over his around the dagger's hilt. She tugged on his hand, bringing the dagger's tip to her breast.

Urhi-Teshub shuddered, a sob, deep, anguished. "Please," he said, a tear slipping free, tracking through the dust on his cheek.

"Just like when we were bound," she said, soft, courage surrounding her, purpose bolstering her. "I will not take my eyes from yours."

He pulled the dagger away and kissed her, passionate, fierce. "I love you," he said against her mouth. Another sob wracked his body, and she tasted his tears on her lips, salty, hot. "I will never stop loving you. Never."

He pulled back, his arm coming around her, holding her steady. A flash of metal and a thud against her breast. Pain slammed into her, cold, sharp, precise. The surgeon in her recognized Urhi-Teshub had aimed true. A killing blow. Her heart stuttered, severed from its tracings. It fluttered, helpless, the wings of a dying bird. She kept her eyes on Urhi-Teshub's--his, intense, possessive, protective. She staggered. The blade shifted within her, the pain exquisite, brutal, cruel. His arm tightened against her, holding her steady.

"My brave love," he whispered through his tears, their tracks staining his face, grief gathering around him, dark, heavy, oppressive.

She drew a shuddering breath, sending burning arcs of fire slicing through her, spreading from her breast to her extremities. Her vision dimmed, and the sensation of her blood's slick heat against her skin faded. Soon, there was only Urhi-Teshub--his eyes holding hers, his whispered words slipping beyond the reach of her ears--and the endless brilliance of pure, white light descending, enclosing them.

"Thank you," she breathed as the weight of her body slid away, the distance between them widening as she succumbed to the call of the light. Anguished, Urhi-Teshub pulled the dagger free and clutched her blood-soaked, lifeless body against his. Her name moved on his lips, broken, lost, silenced. The light flared, and the King of Hatti and his dead queen vanished, absorbed by an endless, relentless horizon of white.