The Strength of the Few by James Islington - 76

I RASP AWAKE, HACKING BURNING liquid from my lungs and gradually realising that I am naked, lying on something cold and hard. The pain in my chest and mouth has vanished from the rest of my body. I’ve been stripped. Scrubbed, judging from the lack of stinging against my skin. I’m sprawled not far from the edge of the underground canal, in sight of the massive wreckage of twisted, rusting metal and just out of reach of the nearest cloud of toxic mist.

“When you said ‘meet,’ you could have mentioned the work that entailed.”

I roll and prop myself up on an elbow. Netiqret is sitting a short distance away against the wall. Watching me wearily. Kiya stands a little farther along, the child’s gaze as absent as ever in the faint green light.

“You pulled me out?” Netiqret raises an eyebrow, the motion asking how the hells else I thought I’d ended up here, and I grunt. “Thanks.”

“It seemed safe to assume you weren’t planning to float all the way back out again.” She nods toward the pipes I used only days ago to escape the city.

I struggle into a seated position. “How long?”

“A few minutes. Maybe ten. I came as soon as I heard the screams, got here just in time to see you get spat out. What in the hells did you do up there?”

“I damaged the bridge. We need to go.” I’m on my feet, urgency replacing the energy that pain and tension have sapped. “My weapons?” A flash of panic as I realise they’re nowhere to be seen.

“You damaged the…” Netiqret trails off her repeating of my words. “What weapons?”

Vek . “A crook and a flail.”

“They don’t sound very useful,” notes Netiqret doubtfully. “They might be down there, I suppose.” She nods to where the nearest waterfall crashes into the canal from the darkness above.

Wonderful. “I’m going to need something to wear. Do you have anything nearby?”

Netiqret thinks, brow still furrowed. “Maybe five minutes away?”

“Then meet me back here in ten. I need those weapons, and we need to hurry.”

“So that you can kill Ka?”

I pause, and immediately know that it’s all the confirmation she needed. Not a wild guess, I suppose, given what she overheard of my questions to the Nomarch. We watch each other carefully. Netiqret never believed Ka was a god. She’s been working against the system he maintains for twenty years, trying to save her daughter.

“So that I can kill Ka,” I confirm.

Netiqret considers. Her gaze drifts to Kiya, and a sadness I’ve not seen in her before flashes in her eyes. “Ten minutes, Siamun.” She touches the iunctus’s shoulder lightly, and the two of them start walking.

I conceal my relief, and start down toward the green-lit water.

IT TAKES ME ALMOST THE full ten minutes to find the crook and flail. The crook was easily spotted, lying above one of the lines of green light. The flail had washed much farther down, dangerously close to the pipes, and I was about to give up, eyes searing, before I spotted the slightly darker shape against the shadows. Neither, thankfully, seem to have been damaged by the acidic water.

I’ve barely finished scraping the worst of the toxin from my skin again when Netiqret and Kiya emerge from the dim. The older woman winces as she sees me. “You’re dry?”

“Enough.”

She tosses fresh clothes at me and I shrug them on—smaller than I’d like, but they’ll do under the circumstances—and then hook the weapons on my belt. Netiqret watches with a frown. “You went back in for those ?”

“They’re stronger than they look.”

She gives a disbelieving snort. “What else do you need?”

“A priest to get me back into the Sanctum.” I could blast my way in, but that will draw the Gleaners before I reach the pyramid. I’ll have to face them eventually, but once I’m surrounded by the mutalis , my chances will at least be improved. Still low, but improved.

Netiqret examines me. Latent anger, still, in those hard brown eyes. But something else as well.

“Tell me how you got my name.”

I nod slowly. I’ve been thinking about this, too. About how we ended up together. There was never a chance of me succeeding in here, without having met her. “I told you the truth—a iunctus called Djedef said you helped him escape from the city. It’s all I know. Truly.”

“So he was sent to you.”

“He was sent by Ka. At least, that’s what we thought.”

Netiqret says nothing for a long moment, then nods. “Alright. When do we head for the Sanctum?”

“Now.” I stand, and start wrapping my face.

Netiqret grimaces, but accepts it without comment. The three of us begin making for the passage up to the east.

“Do you have a theory about Djedef, then?” My voice echoes as we cross the last of the culverts.

Netiqret glances at Kiya, then away.

“I worked in the Nomarch, before I had Kiya. Every child in Duat is eventually tested in the temple and I knew why, knew what might be asked of me from the day she was born. I didn’t think it would matter. It was meant to be a great honour, and so when the priests came, I convinced myself it was alright. I convinced Kiya it was alright. I let them take her. Even knowing what would happen. Even knowing what she would go through.” Staring straight ahead, jaw set, eyes fixed. Old hatred in her voice, directed inward. “I told her it was alright, and I let them take her.”

Kiya walks beside her. Listless. Listening but not reacting.

“I got a message about a year after, through a iunctus who had been controlled just like you can control them. He knew all about Kiya. He said that she was being prepared for one of the surrogate systems, but if I was willing to kill a priest, and make it look like a natural death, I could get her back before she was fully integrated. They would give me a house, and a way to move through the city without being seen, so that she would be safe.”

“And you did it?”

Her glance drips disdain, though I’m not sure whether it’s for the question or herself. “What mother wouldn’t?”

We start into the dark tunnel leading away from the canal. There’s silence for a time, and then she continues. “When the iunctus brought Kiya, he said she could never be the same, because the Nomarch itself would have to restore her. She’d been commanded to obey me but she was still linked to the Nomarch, and if she ever tried to manipulate it, tried to do more than gather information from the connection, it would… reclaim her.”

My brow furrows as we walk the narrow passageway. “So you became a mesektet ?”

“I tried to find another way to save her.” Not particularly defensive or apologetic, just stating the fact of it. “I learned everything I could about the Nomarch from Kiya, but in the end I realised that I needed whoever had gotten her out: If they could control iunctii then with the right access, maybe they could control the Nomarch itself. I had no way of contacting them, though, so I needed information. Favours. Access to the sort of people who might have heard things.”

“But you didn’t find them?”

“Only hints and whispers, until you showed up.”

I exhale, nodding. She’s right. It’s more than a coincidence that we met. Still. “Twenty years is a long time to lay a plan like this.”

“Not so long if you’re trying to kill a god, I imagine,” she observes quietly.

We walk on, the conversation turning my thoughts toward what’s ahead. Though I have known its necessity for a long time now, it makes the concept of it no less dark to me. No less repugnant.

“How do you do it, Netiqret?” I ask suddenly. “How do you prepare yourself to kill someone?”

She cocks her head to the side. Seems about to answer, then glances at Kiya and considers a second longer. “I don’t. It’s different every time—sometimes violent, sometimes peaceful. Sometimes fought and sometimes welcomed. You would be astonished at how many times it turns out people have hired me to kill themselves, wishing to remain young and virile for the Field of Reeds without obviously violating Ka’s law against suicide. Imagining it will be one way or another only invites surprises.”

The end of the tunnel appears up ahead. “Doesn’t it… get to you? Affect you?”

She gives a rueful smile. Shrugs. “When you were a child, did you ever cry because you’d scraped your knee and saw you were bleeding?”

“Of course.”

“But now?”

I process the meaning behind her words in silence, then, “It’s not the same thing.”

She touches glyphs around the entrance in practiced order. “It’s not so different, either.”

The streets near Ka’s temple are packed and weighted with the grumbling of shocked murmurs as we emerge. Crowds gathered in frightened clumps, the occasional individual threading their way through the throng with evident urgency, though I have no idea where they could possibly be going. Nobody bats an eye as we emerge; almost every head is turned away, toward the Infernis.

Netiqret falters to a halt as she sees what everyone else is seeing, caution forgotten.

I join her and, even expecting the sight, still gape.

A haze of black dust still hangs like a dirty fog over the space where the bridge once was. The lines of emerald light have all but vanished from the river below, the small amount of illumination peeking through highlighting hundreds of misshapen bodies, drifting, as far as the eye can see. Gleaners are hovering all along the river, the gathered crowds shifting and stumbling whenever one of the monsters floats near.

“ ‘Damaged it,’ you said,” whispers Netiqret, unable to drag her eyes from the sight. “ How? ”

I don’t answer but when she finally looks at me, and her gaze slides to the crook and flail at my belt, I nod.

“Alright.” She’s dazed, turning back to take in the enormity of the devastation for a few more seconds. “Alright.”

Despite the overflowing streets, it doesn’t take us long to reach the temple, the few Overseers among the crowds easily avoided. As we come in sight of the three massive white stone statues guarding the entrance, though, my heart drops.

The obsidian doors between them are shut, guarded by a dozen black-clothed forms. A pocket of cautious space surrounds them, despite the crush elsewhere.

“Wait here.” Netiqret continues striding toward them, Kiya in tow, even as she utters the terse command.

I do as she says, watching pensively as she approaches the nearest Overseer without hesitation, stopping in front of it with arms crossed, her shoulder-length black bob swaying. No sign of the fear that must surely be clambering through her, face-to-face with one of the creatures she’s been hiding from for decades. Hard not to feel a pinch of begrudging respect for the woman, despite her choices.

The exchange is brief, and clearly not positive. Netiqret is outwardly calm as she walks back, but I know her well enough now to see the agitation in her eyes.

“The temple has been evacuated and sealed. No one is allowed in.” She ushers us over to the opposite side of the street, out of the way of the worst of the milling, distracted throng. “Not even the priests.”

Vek . I touch the crook at my side, heart heavy. I still have to try.

Netiqret sees the motion, and shakes her head.

“Those things over the river would be here in less than a minute. You won’t make it.”

“No choice. If they’re not over the river, they’re guarding the pyramid.”

A lull, as we regard the massive, sealed obsidian doors and the Overseers in front of them. Something seems to suddenly go out of Netiqret. She sits on the wall nearby. Still watching the temple. “When do you give up, Siamun?”

I frown at her tone. No longer her crisp, brusque self. A real heaviness to the words. “I’m not giving up.”

“No. Not you.” She finally turns to me and her eyes are tired and full of grief. “When do you give up on saving the ones you love?”

My gaze goes from her to Kiya, standing obediently off to the side.

My heart twists with horror and hope all at once. I open my mouth to tell her that it’s time, that she’s gone, that if Kiya can help then we have to take this chance. But the words don’t come. I think of Cari. Trying to breathe life back into her. Knowing she was dead, knowing they were coming for me, and still I tried. Again, and again, and again . Because leaving her behind felt impossible. Because living with the fear of having given up too soon was worse than death, and it wasn’t even close.

“When we can live with the regret,” I eventually say softly.

She meets my gaze, and I think she sees her pain reflected somewhere in my own because she nods in recognition, just slightly.

“I think some part of me knew I couldn’t bring her all the way back.” Her eyes glisten. “I just wanted her to know I was sorry.”

“And now?”

She smiles tightly. “Now I have to make sure no one else ever has to feel this.”

She turns away before I can offer any effort at comfort. “Kiya,” she calls.

Kiya comes to stand obediently in front of her mother.

Netiqret crouches, so that her face is level with the girl’s. Smooths back the carefully braided hair that loops in front of her face, and locks eyes with her.

“Kiya, I need you to do something.” Her voice shakes. Cracks. “One last thing. But…”

She chokes, turns away before gathering herself.

“But if you’re in there, if any part of you is in there, I want you to know I wish I’d been better. Braver.” There are tears leaking down her cheeks now, streaking the carefully painted black kohl around her eyes. “I didn’t… I shouldn’t have let them take you. I should never have let them take you.”

She embraces the girl in a tight, fierce hug.

Kiya, as always, doesn’t react.

“Kiya,” Netiqret murmurs after a few seconds. Still holding her. Stroking her hair. “If you were to connect to the Nomarch and get Siamun access to the temple. Stop it from paying attention to him. How long do you think it would be before it notices you interfering?”

Kiya’s eyes flash dark.

“Nomarch resources are at usage capacity. Perhaps an hour.”

Netiqret glances at me, and I nod. More than I could have hoped for.

“Alright. I want you to connect, and give Siamun here access to the temple. Keep the Nomarch from spotting him for as long as you can.” She kisses her on the forehead, one last time. “Please.”

She steps back. Face pale.

A pause, and then Kiya—her faraway look still firmly in place—moves forward and whispers in her mother’s ear. Netiqret nods. Smiles a tearful smile at her.

Kiya’s eyes roll back into her head, and she crumples.

There’s a little cry from Netiqret, and she catches her daughter before she can hit the ground. Hugs her limp form tight. Head bowed. The crowds in the street, not even feet away, don’t turn. Still transfixed by the wreckage of the bridge to Neter-khertet, and the monsters that now scour its ruin.

“It’s done,” Netiqret whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.

I watch for a moment. Feel like I should say something, but I know there isn’t anything I can, not that will help. I clasp her shoulder briefly, then start to walk away.

“Siamun.”

I turn. She hasn’t moved, still facing the other way. Daughter cradled in her arms.

“Make it matter.”

I nod, unseen, at her back.

Head for the temple doors.