Soul Unbound (Key to the Cursed Book 3) (4 page)

Siya cursed. If she believed Menthu’s story, her
entire life had been based on lies. The truth lay in the pit of her stomach,
churning among the acid. The positive energy she had absorbed at the diner
wilted, replaced by an inescapable dread.

The stench of evil wrapped her so tightly, she
struggled to breathe and ripped off her coat. Black blood stained the location
Menthu’s chest had pressed against her. The bitter scent burned her nostrils.
Disgusted, she rolled it into a ball careful not to get it on herself. She
could not risk leaving it in a dumpster for fear someone would dig it out. The
evil tainting the blood would need to be destroyed by fire.

The cold air swept through her. She welcomed the
distraction and numbing effect as she stared at the empty street. There had to
be another explanation. It could not be true. The ache in her chest worsened
with each breath of air.

“Mother!” she hollered, crippled by a pain she had
not felt since her adolescence. Her futile call was left unanswered. Her mother
would never ever hear her pleas.

Emptiness hallowed her chest. Siya tired of this
life. Branded, isolated and hated. Yet, she would not let herself fall into
darkness as her father had. She would beg to have her sentence executed
according to Creation law before she would let that happen. The only reason she
had not already was because of the younglings. They counted on her to keep them
safe. Until she could find someone to take her place, she would continue to
fight.

She shifted her long braid over her back. With
forced effort she grabbed the to-go box sitting undisturbed on the curb and restarted
her journey to the docks. She masked her energy and circled around several
blocks to ensure Menthu had not followed her. Finally, she turned down the familiar
street to the warehouse.

“Henry,” Siya called. A hunched gray figure
grumbled while he dug through his shopping cart. The smell of whiskey drifted
across the air. Henry pulled out a rumpled and stained sleeping bag. He
arranged it next to a large sewer grate, billowing clouds of steam. With a
brown paper bag clasped in one hand he sat down and patted the seat next to
him.

“Fay has been busy baking.” She raised the white
box, forcing the encounter with her father out of her head. Henry smiled from
ear to ear, exposing his gray teeth. The man had a serious craving for sweets,
which added to his wickedly bad breath. Siya cracked the container. “Pecan pie
by the looks of it.” She sat next to him cross-legged, careful not to breathe
his scent too deeply. In light of recent events, she needed information and
Henry was a wealth of it, if you could decrypt most of his nonsensical
ramblings.

He eyed the blade at her back and waist. “A gun
would be easier to carry, but then again angels
would
carry swords.”

“I told you before, Henry. I am no angel.” Far
from it.

He shrugged and eyed the container. “You gonna eat
that?”

She handed him the box. Exhausted, she leaned her
head against the brick building.

“You not cold?” he asked, gesturing to her coat
clasped in her hand. When she did not answer he handed her the bottle wrapped
in the paper bag. “Bad day?”

“The worst.” She grabbed his offer and cracked the
lid off the fresh bottle of whiskey. He stabbed his fork into the pie while she
took a big gulp of the dark liquid. It burned a path to her stomach and flushed
her with warmth. He grunted his approval and shoved more pie into his mouth.

“How about yours?” Siya asked and wiped her mouth
before taking another chug.

“Same old, same old.”

“Any new neighbors?” She met the man’s eyes.

“Maybe. Got more pie?”

“No.”

He snapped the empty container shut. A small crumb
stuck to his stubbly salt and pepper beard. “Young kid ran through here
earlier. Similar to the others, wearing clothes that looked like they shrunk.
Not dressed for weather like this.” He waved his crooked finger into the air.

She sighed, not having the energy to track down
the youngling tonight. Dawn was breaking. She needed to get inside to rest. He
would have to survive a little longer on his own. “Which way did he go?”

“Towards downtown.”

“Damn.” Siya never sensed him. Younglings were
difficult to track. They had the ability to suppress their energy up to the
point of their transition. After maturity their scent, unique to the god, was
established and carried in the air. It was probably best the youth stay hidden.
With her father in proximity, no one was safe.

She pushed up and brushed off her pants. “Thanks.”

“You don’t want to hear about the other one?”
Henry asked and took a long draw on the bottle.

She looked over her shoulder. “Other one?”

Henry smiled again. “If you are an angel, then
this one is the devil.”

“Excuse me?” Siya’s heart slammed in her chest.
Had her father found the base? Fear tightened her gut.

“Huge bastard. Stupid too.” Henry laughed.

“What did he look like?”

“Idiot was taking a bath in that polluted water at
the end of the dock.” Henry went to work crawling into his sleeping bag with
the bottle tucked at his side. He mumbled to himself.

“Henry! What did he look like?” She grabbed his
shoulder and shook him.

“Hey, knock that off. He was black, big and mean
looking.” A shudder ran the length of the man’s body.

“Wounds? Mottled skin?”

“No! Don’t you listen? He was black, like coal.
Didn’t have any food. Devil’s going to freeze.” Henry cackled and pulled the
sleeping bag over his head. “Now, leave me be unless you have more pie.”

Siya stood and swept the street. “Shit.” Yanking
her sword free, she sprinted down the dock, vaporized mid-step and reappeared
in the center of the warehouse. The startled younglings sprang to their feet.
Relief swept through her. They were safe. She didn’t stow her weapon but ran
the perimeter searching for any scent that did not belong. Theris came running
with his own blade in hand and barked out orders. The ranks scattered to their
posts, armed in defense.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Siya scanned the
area.

“Yes. What has happened?” His eyes narrowed on the
healing cut to her lip and the coat she had still clasped in her hand.

“Get the roving patrols up and running. Fifteen
minute intervals, I want reports. No one strays from base.”

Theris nodded and jogged off to give orders.

Only after she had searched every square inch of
the building and the perimeter did she allow herself to retire to her office.
She laid her sword on her desk and walked over to the fireplace. A soft knock
announced her Second’s arrival.

“All posts are manned and the rotation schedule is
set. I just need to inform them of the threat.” Theris pushed into the room.
“What in
duat
is going on?’

She threw her coat in the fire. Black smoke
billowed up the chimney. The rank smell of death filled the small office.

“
Isis
,” Theris cursed and covered his nose.

“We have a visitor. A scout, perhaps,” Siya
replied. Theris did not need to know about Menthu’s appearance, not until she
knew the full extent of her father’s plans. It was an unlikely coincidence Henry
saw this other dark male within a short distance of her encounter with Menthu
and so close to base.

“Creation?”

“Not their style.” No, there would have been more
theatrics, especially if Bast was involved. Although devoted to the Mother
Goddess, Bast was a manipulative bitch and would want to be center stage. Her
exiler mark burned hotter with the thought of her former guardian.

Her father could be monitoring her movements. It
might explain his ability to locate her near the diner. Creation or Menthu, Siya
would see to the intruder’s end. She met her Second’s gaze. “I will not know
until I hunt it and kill it.”

Bomani shoved away loose boards and ducked inside
his makeshift dwelling in the bowels of a condemned building. He failed to keep
track of the goddess when she left the diner. He had skirted around the block,
but he had to divert his course to avoid the human authorities. They had
blocked off several streets. A body lay in the alley covered in a white sheet.
Based on the heavy scent of blood in the air, the human was on his way to the
gates of Aaru.

By the time he got back to the diner the lights
were off and the goddess gone. He tracked her energy scent, a mix of lilacs and
vanilla. She had doubled back in several locations. Either the goddess was
being extremely careful, or she knew she was being followed. Either way, he’d
wasted too much time following her false trails. The sun’s awakening derailed
his hunt. He retreated to his current sleeping quarters, which were not far
from his last location. His search would have to wait until nightfall.

He frowned at his current accommodations. The cold
damp cement chilled him, but not a sliver of light penetrated the small square
footage. The few rats that shared the room scattered out of the small holes in
the walls.

He crouched against the hard biting stone and laid
his head in his hands. Bast could appear any minute and kick his ass back to
the Underworld. The thought of facing his father, let alone Kendra and his
brother, Bakari, churned his stomach. He had to buy more time. If he resumed
the hunt, he would have some information for when Bast came calling.

His entire body ached. As of late, pain had been
his sole companion. A very annoying friend. He closed his eyes and focused his
attention away from the pang of hunger in his gut. Where were the days when he
would go without food for weeks? Fighting for the last scrap of leftovers on
the warrior table. From the moment of his birth, nothing had come easy. Not
without pain, blood and agony.

Those days were but fading memories. He had grown
too accustomed to the privileges of leadership and the loneliness that came
with it. Stuck in a rut, he became restless. Unsettled with the feeling he was
missing something. Kendra had filled the void with warmth and kindness, however
briefly. His hope vanished along with her. His own stupidity to blame. Bomani
had underestimated his brother, never believing Bakari worthy enough to win
Kendra’s heart. Yet, he did.

Bakari had lived a life of luxury and privilege
while Bomani slaved away in the warrior camp. The day of Bomani’s commissioning
to Commander, the rivalry began. One born of blood, one of seed, they could not
be any more different. Honor meant nothing to his brother to the point he had
betrayed their own father. Bomani did not grieve when Bakari was kidnapped by
the enemy. In fact, he thanked the gods for the blessing to be rid of his
treacherous sibling.

However, the good fortune did not last long enough
as Bakari returned and threatened to uproot everything Bomani had worked to
gain. Kendra most of all. Vowing to protect her from Bakari at all cost, Bomani
had become the monster, he claimed his brother to be. A monster willing to kill
to keep her. He rubbed at the throb in his temple, refusing to think of it
further. Agony and bitterness were all too plentiful. The shame too much to
bear. He hung his head, willing sleep to overtake him. Time passed without
respite, but finally darkness draped over his eyes and Bomani drifted to sleep.
It was neither restful nor regenerative, but cursed by ancient dreams.

Bomani shielded his eyes against the bright sun
high on the horizon. He had never laid eyes on the orange ball, lest he lose
his eye sight. He surveyed the field full of tents. Creation banners waved high
atop white canopies. He turned to find a sea of black and gold shelters with
the Underworld crest embroidered on flags waving in the breeze. Warriors were
scattered on the open grass, sleeping, sharpening their blades or recovering
from their wounds. The smell of blood circulated in the air. Dressed wounds
were visible on all the warriors sitting around a small fire. Fatigue dulled
the gold glow of their eyes.

A time of war.

A war Bomani had never been a part of.

The pounding of hooves in the distance rumbled
beneath his feet. Bomani whipped around. The warriors now stood at his side.
Even the Creation’s soldiers exited their tents to investigate. White stallions
raced in formation across the horizon. At the point of the formation white and
gold flags bobbed in cadence to the horses’ gallops. One black stallion draped
in red with his master on his back led the charge, like the head of a spear
slicing through flesh. Suspicion whispered through Bomani’s mind. Voices of his
ancestors. Only one Creation god was permitted to wear the color of blood and
death.

Bomani jerked awake before the answer came to
light. The ache in his head burned with intensity. He hated the phantom
memories. As a fledgling they had been unbearable and often indistinguishable
from reality. Flashes of incoherent scenes, never quite fitting together.
Memories—not his, but his predecessor’s. At first he had tried to piece
together the story, but eventually he had given up. The memories of his
ancestors became less and less over the years. He had not had one in over a
century. One of many reasons this dream was even more disturbing.

Why after all this time?

He surged to his feet, uncomfortable in his own
skin. Agitated, he needed to move. Maneuvering around the rubble he headed for
the exit. The rays of light filtered in through the cracks in the concrete. Searing
his eyes as well as his skin, the burn worsened with each step. Despite the
threat he breached the upper warehouse. The chains hanging from the ceiling
rustled with the wind whistling through the broken windows overhead.

Bomani shrunk back to the shadows. His survival
instincts warred with the unbearable draw to go, where?

Pain speared through his skull and buckled his
knees. He grasped his head and bellowed. Pigeons burst into the air. Stray
feathers floated lazily down to the dirt floor. The pull on his chest grew. His
skin burned on the inside, even the unexposed areas.

Was Asar calling him home?

He was surprised his father had not come and
demanded his return to Aaru. Born of the Underworld Lord’s blood, Bomani was
forever linked to his creator. Yet, Asar would not call him this way.

Bomani staggered to his feet. Nightfall was still
too far away, but when it did come—gods help him.

He would find the exiled goddess
.