Eye of the Moon

            The power of a god is mighty. But it always comes at a cost.

            The words radiated through Marc’s head as he held her, Zara’s eyes slowly closing. “No-no-no-no – Zara,” he pleaded. “Zara, stay with me. Don’t close your eyes.”

            By the time he’d come to, it had been too late. Harrow had been nowhere in sight, one jackal lying dead on the road as Zara had fought off the other, looking every bit the avatar of a warrior goddess despite not wearing the armour of Sekhmet. He’d managed to crawl out of the truck as the jackal struck her, launching his moon-daggers at it as it held her off the ground, claws wrapped around her throat. The only reason they hadn’t been shredding him into ribbons was because she’d taken the brunt of the attack, and lured them away. If Marc hadn’t been knocked out, he could’ve prevented this. He could’ve saved her.

            The memories of his childhood flooded forward as her eyes closed, threatening to send him spiralling, and he let out a shout of frustration. Khonshu appeared behind him, staff in hand. You must follow Harrow, the god commanded. He has the scarab.

            Marc whirled on him, finally unable to contain the rage brimming to the surface. “She saved my life,” he growled. “I will not leave her to die in the middle of the desert.”

            She cannot be saved without her armour, Khonshu reasoned, stalking towards him as he knelt on the ground. And we have no way of summoning it for her.

            “You can’t do anything?” Marc yelled, incredulous. “You’re a god, Khonshu. Do something!”

            Khonshu bristled, taking a step back, tilting his stupid bird-skull. It only aggravated Marc more.

            I am not her god, Khonshu replied, and he seemed genuinely taken aback. And she is not my avatar. I cannot save her.

            “So, what? She just dies?” Marc interrogated, his face twisting. “And we keep going like this never happened?”

            If that is what it takes to stop Harrow, Khonshu stated. Then, yes.

            “No…” Marc shook his head. “No, I’m not good with that.”

            Khonshu phased forward suddenly, looming over him. You don’t have a choice, Marc Spector. This is not a request.

            Marc didn’t flinch. “I’m done trading lives, Khonshu. What are you gonna do if I say no, anyway?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna find another avatar this late in the game?”

            Khonshu stepped back, shaking his skull, but for once the god of the moon had no answer. His words rang through Marc’s head, echoing as if through a cave. I am not her god. I am not her god, and she is not my avatar. The idea sprang into Marc’s mind, and he glared at Khonshu, his resolve turning to stone in his chest. “If you can’t help her, then I’ll find the one who can.” He gently placed Zara’s head on the ground, as carefully as possible. Then Marc stood, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Sekhmet! Sekhmet!”

            Are you insane? Khonshu reprimanded him, but Marc ignored him. You do not want to incur the wrath of this goddess. Marc, listen to me –

            “Sekhmet! Your avatar needs you!” But all his yelling was proving futile. The sun seemed to beat down on him harder, the road as empty as his hopes. The sands shifted beyond them, and Marc dropped to his knees again, bowing his head in despair. “She didn’t summon her armour to protect you,” he muttered, his bitterness for the goddess dripping from his voice. But his words were the only thing filling the empty air. No one was listening.

            The sands shifted again, the air around him getting impossibly hotter, the road heating beneath him as though on a burner. Golden light shimmered out of the corner of his eye and Marc raised his head, to see her standing before him. The great goddess towered above him, her golden eyes shining in the sunlight, her lioness-head looking down on him with an expression completely unreadable. Absently, Marc noticed that Khonshu was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the armour that had encompassed his body only moments ago.

            You called on me, Marc Spector. It wasn’t a question. Sekhmet was so radiant that Marc had to look away, his eyes unable to adjust to the sight of her. The goddess looked down at Zara. She has lost the scarab.

            “Saving me,” Marc admitted, and he felt her golden eyes boring into him. “She lost the scarab saving my life.”

            It seems you owe more than one life debt, Marc Spector. The goddess noted, her voice rigid. Perhaps you should be more careful which battles you choose to fight.

            Anger swelled in his chest, and he glared at her. “She didn’t summon her amour to protect you,” he snarled, not bothering to keep the accusation from his tone. “She would’ve been able to heal if she hadn’t kept your secret.”

            Sekhmet seemed to glow, and Marc forced himself not to avert his gaze. His eyes felt like they were on fire, the heat emanating from the goddess causing him to shudder. Sweat beaded on his skin, and for a moment he thought she might smite him to ash. Instead, she spoke.

Zara Fathi has the heart of a true warrior. It is why I chose her.

Marc shook his head. “You cannot let her die. She fought for you.”

Sekhmet considered him a moment, as though reading his every thought, before raising her hand above Zara. Red and gold strands materialised around her body, the red sun splaying across her chest. The golden ankh at its centre glowed, and Marc watched in awe as the wounds on her head slowly closed, her shallow breathing gradually returning to normal. Zara’s eyelids fluttered, and Marc cupped her head with his hands. “Hey,” he murmured, trying to rouse her. “Zara, wake up.”

Sekhmet stood so that she was behind him, her words drifting over his shoulder. Heed my warning, Marc Spector. You must learn to choose your wars more wisely, lest it cost you everything you hold dear.

And then she was gone.

* * * 

There was nothing quite like getting the shit kicked out of you in the middle of the desert.

Zara had been in some fights. Hell, she’d been in more than she could count – but this was different. If it weren’t for the armour she now felt encapsulating her body, she’d probably be dead.

At least the view was nice. Marc was kneeling next to her as she opened her eyes, his face gradually coming into focus as the pounding in her head faded away. He smiled at her as she woke – Marc Spector actually smiled – his hand still cradling her head. “Thought you weren’t coming back for a second there.”

She chuckled a little, wincing as pain shot through her ribcage. Apparently she wasn’t quite healed yet. “And leave you to mess this up? No way,” she joked. “You’d be lost without me.”

He was silent, and Zara could swear she heard the cogs turning in his head. Finally, he spoke. “Steven’s glad you’re okay.”

Only Steven? Zara nodded slightly, hoping that the blush she felt heating her cheeks would be mistaken for sunburn. She painstakingly sat up, Marc not letting go of her until she was fully upright. His hand grazed her bare arm, and she cursed the goosebumps that rose in its wake. “I’m glad he’s still there to pull you into line.”

Marc laughed – actually laughed – and Zara felt like she was hearing it for the first time. Perhaps she was. “He says you were doing a fairly good job of that for him.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Marc was quiet for a moment, as if mulling over his thoughts. “You had the scarab. You could’ve left me.”

Zara met his gaze, unflinching. “I know.”

“But you didn’t.”

She merely smiled. “I know.”

Good, you’re awake. The booming voice filled the air around them, Khonshu appearing in front of them. I was beginning to worry that Sekhmet would need a replacement.

Out of the corner of her eye, Zara saw Marc glare at the god. He exhaled. “We lost the scarab.”

Oh, I’m well aware of that, Khonshu stated, his voice dripping with condescension. But now, we must compensate for that error with a plan.

“It’s going to take a lot more than brute force to stop Harrow. We need tactics.” Zara stated. “There must be a way around this.”

“Well, what about the other gods?” Marc raised his hands, directing his question straight at Khonshu. “Are they just gonna stand by and allow somebody to release Ammit?”

Zara leaned back on her hands, considering. “The Ennead has gathered to make important decisions in the past. Could you call an audience? Have him tried?”

“What, as a criminal?” Marc queried. Zara nodded.

To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath. Khonshu paced, seeming almost…anxious. They have already banished me. I do not have much sway.

“Their wrath?” Marc pushed his curls out of his eyes, deep in thought. “Why – what’s the worst that could happen?”

Khonshu was solemn. Anger them enough, and they’ll imprison me in stone.

Marc shook his head, throwing a glance at Zara. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

Khonshu bristled. See how you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armour.

“We don’t have time for this,” Zara interjected, slowly rising to her feet. Marc followed, arms out, as if preparing to steady her. “We need to do something before he finds Ammit.”

They both looked at Khonshu expectantly, and the god finally relented. Fine. But our case against Harrow must be indisputable, Khonshu stated, turning to Marc. We have no room for error.

“Then don’t make one,” Zara responded. “I can attend as Sekhmet’s representative.”

“Harrow’s seen your face,” Marc pointed out. “He’ll recognise you, and sell you out.”

Zara considered for a moment. “He hasn’t seen my armour, and the mask covers most of my face. If I take my hair out, too – ” she added, tugging on her braid. “ – I’m willing to bet he won’t recognise me.”

She ran her hands through her dark strands, shaking them loose. Marc watched her for a moment, before averting his eyes, shaking his head as if shaking off thoughts. He turned to Khonshu. “Can you do it?”

Khonshu sighed dramatically, raising his staff. He disappeared into thin air, fading upward into the sky. At first, nothing happened. Then the air seemed to cool, the sky darkening as if someone were pulling a cover over the dome of the world. Zara looked up in astonishment, completely unable to take her eyes off the sky. The moon crept across the endless expanse until it covered the sun – transforming into a disk of deep night haloed by golden light. Khonshu reappeared, but Zara glanced at Marc, staring in awe at the moon. The wind rustled his hair, his dark eyes somehow iridescent as the day fell into night. The moon finally stopped in front of the sun, as though the two were embracing. Two opposing forces, and the event which brought them together.

“What are you doing?” Marc breathed.

Khonshu lowered his staff. His voice was gravelly as he spoke.

Sending the gods a signal they can’t ignore.