Shadows Before the Sun

scream erupted in my head as light burst from the body. It happened so fast, like a vicious blur, and it was done. The First One was dead, dropped to the ground, discarded.

Shit. My heart pounded as his Disciple roared with fury, attacking with a passion and speed that was incredible to witness. He rolled, coming up with the First One’s severed arm still gripping the sword. He shoved it into Sachâth’s side. A spine-chilling screech filled the plateau as the creature stumbled back. I held my breath. It was wounded. It could be wounded.

A shadow lashed out and decapitated the Disciple. The helmet rolled, skipping over rocks before coming to a stop several feet from the battle.

Ahkneri and the other female lunged at the wounded Sachâth, pressing the advantage. Ahkneri closed in and they fought with such pace, it was like watching a battle on fast forward. The two Disciples rotated in; Ahkneri’s Disciple took over and was stabbed clean through the armpit as he lifted his sword arm. The shadow came out through his opposite shoulder blade. His sword clattered to the ground. The shadow withdrew and the Disciple crumpled to the red ground.

The other female First One rotated in and delivered a vengeful blow, her blade sinking straight into Sachâth’s heart.

Ahkneri screamed, “No!”

I knew it was a killing blow.

Sachâth looked down in surprise and then its face became more animated, more humanlike. Emotion poured into its eyes as its shadows reached out and pulled the First One close. “Forgive me, sister,” it said before darkness threaded its way from the wound, wrapped around her sword, covering her hand and then scurrying up her arm, covering her like a horde of insects.

The female’s Disciple went berserk, hacking at Sachâth, attacking, trying to save her, but he was tossed like a rag doll. He landed forty feet away, the crash of his armor loud in the sudden quiet.

Ahkneri lowered her sword and began backing up.

That is why we cannot kill it. Strike a deathblow, and you become Death. It’s a fail-safe. To ensure there is only one outcome—the total annihilation of my kind. When the last one of us is dead, Sachâth will return to the Creator.

Ahkneri’s black wings shot out as she moved slowly away from Sachâth. Then she turned in my direction, and ran. Supernaturally fast. Arms pumping. Face determined and haunted. She took flight, shooting past me, the tip of her wing passing through my shoulder, heading for the Disciple who’d been thrown.

He was flat on his back, but jerked suddenly and woke swinging, as if from a nightmare, a broken cry on his lips. He struggled to his feet, jerked the helmet from his head, and flung it, roaring his pain to the sky. His golden hair was damp with sweat and blood, and his power and grief were so raw that his cry seemed to rip the air apart. And for a moment, I thought I was looking at Leander, but then Ahkneri’s wings swept in, blocking him from view. She grabbed him and flew away.

The scene retreated as though I was being pulled away along with Ahkneri and the Disciple.

I returned to the cave, swaying slightly at the sudden disorientation, and having to grab on to the sarcophagus for support. Pen’s dragon head lifted. He watched me with solemn eyes as I bent over and tried to get my wild pulse under control.

I felt like I’d been in battle myself for how shaken I was and how hard my heart pounded. Ahkneri had allowed me to see something of great significance. All of it brutal and unbelievable. All of it needing a moment to sink in, which I took.

That was the last battle ever fought with Sachâth. You can kill the creature, Charlie, but you will take its place if you do. You will become Death. Sachâth can only be killed with a divine weapon. No one but us can wield them. And yet, you strike the blow, and you take its place. Another fail- safe.

I thought for a long moment. What about someone else, can someone other than a First One kill Sachâth?

As you saw, the Disciple delivered a blow with a divine sword that wounded the creature. Had he held the sword, however, it would’ve killed him. There were times in battle when Disciples attempted to slay the creature with our weapons . . . suicide, they knew, but just one moment was all we’d need, just one killing blow that did not come from our hand . . . and yet that blow never came. We tried everything, coordinated attacks, launching our weapons from afar, but our weapons are an extension of us. Struck by hand or afar, the killing blow still kills the weapon’s owner and another Sachâth rises. If another were to use my sword and kill the creature, I’d still become Death, wherever I was.

What about using a sword from a First One already gone? I asked. Sachâth would die, and there’d be no First One to change into Death.

It was a thought that worked better in theory. No one can wield our swords, Charlie. And most, even if they could for a few minutes, did not have the strength to defeat Sachâth in that short period of time.

What about other races, I went on, their powers, can they harm it?

We fought Sachâth at a time when other races were in their infancy. There are primal powers perhaps strong enough, but Sachâth is . . . perfect.

Anything else you can tell me?

Sachâth will only attack one of my kind, unless it is provoked, then it will defend itself. But it is not programmed to seek out and kill others. Just us. That is all I know . . .

“Thank you,” I said, hand flat on the sarcophagus.

That incredible being I’d just seen fighting her heart out was lying beneath the lid. I shook my head. It wasn’t right. Ahkneri was good, not some evil being cast to Earth like in our biblical stories.

I have accepted my lot. You are . . . like us, but . . . different. You wear your weapon on the inside. You are the weapon. But you will still become Death should you strike the blow that ends the current Sachâth. Even now, your power calls to it. You grow stronger every day. Soon it will hunt; your power will be a beacon, a lure it cannot resist. If you run now . . .

I can’t run. I had a life. A family. A child. I couldn’t leave her. Just the thought of it was like a kick in the gut. Leaving Emma and running was no different than if I died trying to defeat Sachâth. Either way I was out of her life for good. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to uproot her and drag her all over the world while Mommy slept in a fucking stone coffin.

I, too, had a child, a family . . .

Well, it’s not right. It’s not fair, I told Ahkneri sadly. I have to face it, or sooner or later I’m dead anyway. And I’d do it on my terms, and hopefully with a little help from my friends.

The emotion I got from the ancient being was patient understanding. No doubt, she’d felt the same as I did at one time. She’d been there, tried that, and look where she ended up.

I straightened, not allowing myself to think like I was defeated before the battle had even begun. If Sandra thought there was a way, then I had to think the same.

And one thing I knew for sure—the oracle was never wrong.

* * *

I sat at Pen’s kitchen table, nursing my beer as he grabbed his second one from the fridge and bit off the cap. He spit the cap into the nearby trash can, parked his hip on the edge of the counter, and then took a long, deep swig. Since he was no stranger to the truth about the First Ones, I confided in him about Sachâth, the details of my vision, and Alessandra’s prophecy. He might have embraced some of our modern ways, but Pen was old. Rumor was he’d once been worshipped as a Celtic god. He was a Druid, too. And he was intimately acquainted with the arcane and with Nwyvre.

“Nwyvre is a primal power source,” he said, picking up where our conversation left off. “The Creator didn’t create Earth, or Elysia and Charbydon for that matter. They were already there; they exist outside of divine influence. The Creator simply made the First Ones and then seeded the worlds with their offspring. The Adonai, the nobles, and humans all descended from the Creator’s divine children, but the rest of us, we rose directly from our home; we evolved on our own, albeit much later. Interesting thing,” he said, eyes going narrow and thoughtful, “you