The Age of Ra

for me, yes. And that's something. That's an inspiration to us all.''

''You glib bast-''

''Second of all, Dave, the situation isn't nearly as bleak as it looks to you.''

''It couldn't look much bleaker, frankly.''

''But there are certain things you don't know. Things which make all the difference.''

''Oh yes? Such as?''

''I don't have to tell you. You'll find out soon enough.''

''I think you fucking should tell me, as a matter of fact. Because right now, Steven, the only hope I can see of any of us getting through this alive is to surrender. Give up while we still can. Unless you've got something pretty damn amazing up your sleeve, I'd recommend that we do just that. And if you don't want to follow that recommendation, I can make you.''

''Oh yes, big brother?'' said Steven with scorn. ''Really? Make me how? What are you going to do if I don't, run to Mum and Dad and tell on me?''

''Beat the living shit out of you, for starters.''

''I'm so scared.''

''You should be.''

''What's got into you, Dave? Something's eating at you. What is it? Don't you trust me any more?''

''I'm not sure I ever did.''

''Then why, can I ask, have you come all this way with me? Helped me at every turn? If you've never trusted me, why have you stuck by my side ever since I beat you hollow at senet?''

''Because,'' David replied, ''I thought you needed me. And because these Freegyptians have such faith in you. And because, I don't know, but… I fell for it.''

''For…?''

''Your vision. Of a god-free world. It was… attractive.''

''It still is.''

''No, I think not,'' David said, shaking his head. ''Not any more. The gods use us. They don't care about us. We're nothing more than a convenient power source to them, like batteries in a radio.''

''Which is exactly what I've been saying.''

''But. We can live with them. We just don't have to live for them. We can get on with being who we are, without compromising in any way to them. The gods pay little attention to us. We can return the favour.''

''We all just turn our backs on them? Not going to happen.''

''Maybe we can't collectively. Individually, though…''

''So that's it?'' Steven cocked his head in an inquisitive fashion. ''That's Dave's great change of heart? 'I give up. I'm not taking sides any longer. Leave me out of this.'''

''More or less. I can do it. And you could too. Standing against the gods is just as bad as kowtowing. It validates them. Surrender now. Call it quits.''

Steven laughed. ''If only it were that easy.''

''If not for your own sake, then for all of these people, your followers, what's left of them. They don't have to die here today. It would be senseless if they did.''

''Their job is to hold this city,'' said Steven. ''That's all they have to do. For as long as possible…'' A rattle of gunfire from a nearby emplacement served as punctuation, placing an ellipsis at the end of Steven's words.

''While the Nephs lay siege, and then the Setics come in and polish us off? Steven, I'll say it again, in case you didn't get it the first time. What's to be gained? What is the point?''

''You simply cannot understand, Dave. But that's not your fault. You're too limited in your outlook. You always were. You'll never see the bigger picture the way I do.''

This was said so smugly, so patronisingly, David was enraged. How dare Steven — his little brother! — how dare he talk to him like that? Four years his junior, and acting as if he had a lifetime of experience over him. This little brat who had come along and intruded on his firstborn, only-child existence, whom he'd done his best to accommodate, whom he'd defended and protected and (as it turned out, in vain) mourned bitterly, whom he'd opened up to about Zafirah only to have this act of confiding abused and thrown back in his teeth…

Nothing changed. Lightbringer or not, Steven was still the same snotty, ungrateful little sod he had always been.

The urge to punch him was strong. Almost overwhelming. Smack him in the face with a blow that was freighted with years of feelings of injustice and aggrievement. It would be all Steven deserved and more.

Instead, softly, almost to his own surprise, David said, ''Take the mask off.''

Steven cupped hand to ear, an impression of someone mishearing.

''The mask. Take it off. I need to see your face.''

''No way, Dave. I can't show you.''

''I need to look you in the eye. See who you are.''

''You know who I am.''

''But not who you've become. Come on. It isn't much to ask.''

''It's more than you realise.''

''The mask is your advantage over me. It allows you to hide everything from me, while I can't hide anything from you. We need to be equals. Take the mask off.''

''Can't it at least wait?'' said Steven. ''Please. Give me a day or two, then I'll happily do it.''

''No. I've waited long enough. Now.''

''It's not a pretty sight.''

''Don't care.''

''Dave, this isn't something I can just-''

David lunged, catching his brother off-guard. He got a hand to the side of the mask, gripping a fold of fabric. Steven tried to wrestle him off. David held fast. Steven pummelled his forearm, yelling at him to let go, not to do this, not now. David began to tug the mask upwards. Steven wrenched his head away, to counteract the move.

There was a rending sound. David staggered back with a scrap of the mask in his hand.

Steven screeched in frustration and clamped a hand over the section of his face that was now exposed by a jagged hole in the mask — his left cheek.

But too late. A fraction of a second too late.

David had glimpsed what lay there, and Steven knew it.

The burned skin, the scarring…

Had a shape.

Formed a pattern.

Was a picture.

Seared into the skin of Steven's face: an image. One David recognised. It was well known. The emblem of one of the gods. It wasn't an exact representation, but close enough. As close as one could expect from puckered scar tissue.

''You. Fucking. Twat!'' Steven snarled. ''What have you done?''

''No,'' said David, numb. ''You. What have you done, Steven?''

33. Revelation

Steven led David to the old storehouse that was now the Lightbringer's war room. They could be alone there. He covered the side of his face with a hand the whole way, in case anyone saw.

In the storehouse, he slumped into a folding chair. David remained standing. There was silence for a while, broken only by the sporadic percussion beats of the battle going on outside. Steven sat with his head bowed, his back bent. Finally he straightened up and, seizing the top of the mask with one hand, pulled it off in a single, decisive movement.