Shadows Before the Sun (31 page)

We fell in step again. Hank asked again if I’d called Leander. “Not yet. I want to make sure I can read the tome and do what Llyran did. If I can, then we’re all set and should do this as soon as possible. Pen’s meeting us at the henge.”

Sometimes, when it was sunny beyond the darkness, a little light would filter through, leaving the daytime looking like a dark, dark thunderstorm was approaching, but this morning it must’ve been cloudy and overcast because it was black as night outside.

The Grove had become a creepy place since the darkness had parked itself over the city, but now—knowing what I needed to do—it looked downright scary. The ever-present flashes of green snaked through the swirling mass overhead, and the city lights beyond the park bathed Oak Hill in light.

We veered off the main path and walked up the grassy hill to an exact replica of what Stonehenge looked like when it was completed in ancient times. The monoliths were colossal and seemed to grow higher as we went up the hill; they dwarfed us and everything around us.

Pen stood in the center of the henge, the tome spread out on the altar stone in front of him. As I stepped into the circle, a slight vibration of energy went through me. I came up next to the Druid and stared down at the ancient tome, one of the histories of Elysia.

The writing on the pages was a blending of early Elysian, a bridge between the language of the First Ones and the language of the Adonai, which then
evolved into the modern Elysian language used by most of the races of that world today. In other words, a bitch to read. There weren’t many people who could.

But I tried to remain optimistic. Llyran had figured it out. And Pen had been in possession of the tome since the battle on Helios Tower. He’d been studying it, trying to decipher the language and the commands Llyran had used to control the darkness.

“Here,” Pen said, passing me an amulet. “I’ve been wearing this to aid in the translation. It should work for you, too. Try it.”

I placed the amulet over my head, let it rest against my skin, and felt its heat snake into my body. It took a minute, but eventually, the words on the tome took shape, some of which I could understand, some of which I couldn’t. “It’s not working all the way.”

Damn it. This
had
to work. Why wasn’t it working?

“You read the stone tablet in Fiallan, right?” Hank reminded me. “How did you manage that, how did you understand the words?”

“I only read it; I never understood the words. I don’t know . . . this is different writing, though, so maybe . . . Before I used my power. Not anything big, but just . . . engaged it, I guess you could say.”

“Try using your power with the amulet,” Pen said.

Hank leaned closer to me, our shoulders touching. “Just be careful. Don’t draw too much. We’re not ready for war just yet.”

I wasn’t ready for war at all.

I centered myself, drew in a deep, even breath, and
closed my eyes, imagining a pinprick of light appearing in my core that worked like a magnet, pulling power from my cells and creating a small well of energy swirling inside me.

Then I opened my eyes. Words reshaped themselves through my vision much quicker than I expected and I understood some of what I saw. “It’s working,” I whispered.

I began flipping carefully through the old pages, until I found what I was looking for and what I knew now were the same words Llyran had read to manipulate the darkness.

If only I could test it first . . .

I released the energy, careful to bank it within my core rather than let it go outside of myself where Sachâth lived. “I need to call Leander.” I slid a glance at the two powerful beings staring down at me from lofty heights. “Are we ready to do this?”

They both nodded.

Goose bumps spread over my skin. “Sachâth won’t sense Ahkneri being this close?” I asked Pen.

“The agate has masked her power for thousands of years. There is a reason she chose that sarcophagus. The water adds a layer of insulation as well.” He crossed his arms over his chest and parked a weighty stare on me. “So what’s the plan, Detective?”

•    •    •

Thirty minutes and about a hundred
I can’t believe I’m doing this
mantras later, I stood in front of Hank.
Leander and Pen were over by the altar, arms folded over their chests, feet planted, eyeing each other suspiciously and curiously. They’d been at it for at least three minutes.

“All set, kiddo?” Hank asked, flicking the ends of my hair and smiling a crooked smile.

“I’m pretty fucking scared right now, Hank.” A gazillion second thoughts ran through my head, along with every single thing that could go wrong. And I tried like mad
not
to imagine someone walking up to my front door, telling my kid I’d failed. I was gone. But the thought remained a shadow in the back of my mind.

Shit, shit, shit.

“It’s a good plan, Charlie. The oracle is never wrong. She wouldn’t have said those things if there wasn’t a way to kill it. She wouldn’t have written you that letter and led you down this path. We’ll win because we were meant to win.”

I frowned up at him, wondering if he really believed that or he was just saying it to boost my confidence. He cupped my face in his big hands, leaned down slowly, and kissed me gently. I grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer, trying to brand the feeling onto my soul. In case I didn’t make it, in case the only thing left of me was energy and memories.

Hank drew me into a hug, just holding me as tight as he could, and I knew he was doing the same as I was, committing me to memory. Just in case.

We stepped back at the same time. “Thank you.”
If I didn’t get to say it after, I was saying it now, so he knew how much this meant to me, this . . . standing by my side.

I took my place at the altar where I could read from the book. Pen walked to the largest trilithon, the center stone set in a horseshoe ring of five that stood within the circle. It was directly across from the altar stone, making Pen and me face-to-face over the distance. Hank and Leander took up places about ten feet away from each end of the altar stone, facing toward it.

Here we go.

Pen began first, feet braced apart, clasping his hands together in front of him and bowing his head as though at church. It was such a familiar stance; it took me by surprise. And then the familiarity ended. The intensity of the henge rose until pain flowed through my eardrums. It was like standing inside a heartbeat—Earth’s, to be exact. The center trilithon behind him began to glow and soon every monolith and capstone had taken on a soft gray light.

When the Druid lifted his head and opened his eyes, they were the same color as the stones.
And that’s why he’s called the Druid King,
my inner voice said in awe.

Next came Hank. I glanced over, heart pounding now. His eyes connected with mine. He closed his fist, and the shimmering golden light began like it had before. The lopsided grin he shot me said,
Yeah, I know it’s cool
. I smiled. Show-off. His grin widened. His
hand brightened. Light flooded through his veins, a beautiful web of primal golden power.

I turned to Leander, not really knowing what the hell he was going to do or what power he planned on using. Or, hell, maybe he’d just come to watch. He just stood there, arms folded, and cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at me. Whatever. Guess it was my turn.

Dear Lord, please get me through this.

According to the tome, once I read the words, I need do nothing more than use my intention to command the darkness. I drew on my power like I’d done before. The words took shape and I opened myself up, allowing my power to grow and brighten and consume me. Hot and cold stung my insides as everything came together, and then hummed with crystal clarity and unity.

I vibrated with energy. The symbols on my arm began their strange bluish glow.
Accept yourself. Make yourself whole. Make the shadow whole.
I was Charbydon, Elysian, Human, Divine. Not one or two, but all. It was time to accept every part of me and let go of the past and the fears, to stop clinging to my humanity and the shadows of my former self. The barriers I’d built had to come down.
This is who I am now. I accept it. I welcome it. I seize it by the fucking balls and bend it to my will.

I felt the break, the snap of final resistance giving way. I burned, but the burn felt good, strangely . . . right.

I know who I am now.

When I opened my mouth to issue my commands, there was enough force behind them that Sachâth would notice.

I tilted my head back, shouting the words into the sky. With intent, I commanded the darkness to move, to swirl like a hurricane. Bottle green flashes snaked like lightning through the undulating gray as its motion began to realign, slow and slumberous, a giant waking. I’d been inside that mass, courtesy of Llyran, and knew millions of tiny particles of raw energy were there for the taking.

Leander finally looked suitably impressed. But then his attention snapped off to the left. Fuck. Incoming. The sonic boom rent the air and shook the ground. Adrenaline pumped through my veins swift and strong.

I held on to the altar. Death was here.

A jagged shroud of gray hovered over the henge and then floated down, coming together into form as it landed on solid feet. A solid being. Like I’d seen in Ahkneri’s dream. I swallowed, using my intent to summon the darkness, to draw it together and build its energy, bringing those tiny sandlike particles together over the henge.

Make the shadow whole.

Together, together. But not by your hand.

It stood between me and Pen, blocking the Druid King from my sight. The altar I stood behind created a barrier, but that was just an illusion in my head—nothing was going to keep Sachâth from advancing, altar or not.

No longer needing the book, I closed it slowly. All I had to use now was my focus and intention. I backed
away from the altar. It advanced. My hair stirred. I wanted to look up, but didn’t. I shoved away the images from the vision and pulled the darkness down, imagining it as a sliver, a thread pulled from the swirling mass above.

Sachâth spoke and the force, the power behind it, sent me back two steps. Oh, yeah, it was definitely going to strike. There was no confusion, no curiosity, or frustration in its ancient tone this time.

I backed away as it strode forward. It jumped onto the altar and when it did, I yelled, “Now!”

With everything I had, every bit of will I possessed, I commanded the darkness into Sachâth, imagining it shooting forward like a rocket, the mass above forcing it down, sending all those particles of energy into the blow. At the same time, Pen stepped back and the trilithon swallowed him whole; the only thing I could see was his outline, which brightened, and then the staggering power of Mother Earth shot out from him/the stone and hit Sachâth from behind as the darkness hit its chest.

An eerie scream popped my ears.

It floated up and onto the altar, intending to step down and continue on its driven path to assassinate me. But it was hit by an arc of brilliant gold. Sachâth’s shadows wreathed like snakes around its body. The female face elongated, eyes going hollow, mouth turning black, then gray, then translucent.

My arm went hot. My power wanted out. It pushed at me, begging, needing to fight. It craved battle on a
level that felt inherent.
No.
I couldn’t strike the blow or I’d
become
Sachâth. Didn’t matter that I had no weapon; my arm
was
the weapon.

The three primal powers snaked over Sachâth, battering against the Creator’s divine power. The creature writhed and screamed, but it wasn’t dying.

Panic cracked my focus. I glanced at Leander. Or where he’d once stood.

Leander was gone.

What the fuck?

My heart hammered until it was all I heard. Power pulsed through me. I had to regain focus. Calm down. I looked up at the darkness, struck by how angry and alive it seemed, how a huge arm of it had reached down and curled around Sachâth, pushing at it, trying to get inside.
More. Fill it up. Tear it apart.

Hank’s power glowed from the center of Sachâth’s chest, like a bright flame trying to eat its way inside, trying to destroy. And yet it was getting nowhere.

My arm lifted on instinct. I forced it back down. Goddammit. But I remembered. I could wound it, take out its legs, and weaken it. I renewed my command on the darkness and then zeroed in on the creature.
Yes, strike,
my power urged, compelling me, building until my arm went completely numb. I lifted my hand and blasted the fucker.

It hit Sachâth in the ankles and split the altar stone with a booming crack. The creature buckled and fell in a shower of divine light. Its screams filled my head. Oh yeah, it was wounded.

As if sensing weakness, Pen, now in dragon form, shot from the blinding light of the stone. His large black body came at Sachâth talons first, his muscled legs outstretched, talons curved like razor-sharp scythes. He slammed into the creature, claws sinking deep into the chest. The force sent them tumbling. It was quick and vicious. Sachâth’s shadows snapped and stabbed and constricted. Pen bit and ravaged with fangs and talons. Hank surged forward as Sachâth righted itself, floating above the ground. Pen went tumbling across the grass and struck one of the outer monoliths. The glow in the center trilithon went weaker, but power surged through the other stones and brightened where Pen had landed, filling him up again. The dragon’s eyes popped open. He righted himself, crouched, and let out an angry roar.