And it had dragged him to the ground.
Thinking of his collapse burned his cheeks even now. It was pathetic. He was Ereshkigal’s Messenger. In his veins ran the strength of demigods, the very last echoes of the blood of the Abgal: seven sages created by Enki, the god of knowledge. An extraordinary family legacy.
A legacy gifted to a stuttering, trembling mess of a human. The man who could barely stay on his feet as he went to do his goddess’s bidding. Who lay awake at night, so sick with worry that he would screw all this up. Not strong enough. His mother might as well have been lying with him some nights, her voice so clear in his head. If that serum were used on him, what might they see? He was not certain what he feared most: that they would see his weakness, his fear, or the hint of a monster. A monster who had allowed the torture of the single human he called friend, and who wasn’t sure that, for some time at least, he hadn’t enjoyed the power play.
Tamas straightened, adjusting the button-up shirt he’d chosen, and continued his walk down the hallway. The grand arching doors to the level eleven chamber were visible up ahead. He cleared his throat. ‘Any word on the location of the gallu?’
The back of his skull ached not just from the incident with Blake. A headache had plagued him since he’d advised Ereshkigal of Azrael’s disappearance. It was impossible to gauge the goddess’s emotion; it was a little like communicating with a voice-command system, but suffice to say, she was not pleased at the loss. He didn’t need another reason to despise Kira. The list was long. She was a bully, careless, irresponsible. Reckless with her freedom. Trivial. Coarse and irreverent.
All things he’d envied to begin with. Jealous of her utter nothingness.
‘No, sir. They are still en route to Melgrove,’ Nari informed him, keeping a discreet distance. ‘Another hour until touchdown.’
‘And you’ve still not been able to reach the accommodations?’
Reuben shook his head. ‘The number goes direct to voicemail.’
A goddess in his head, alien technology at hand, and Tamas could not find a way to reach the manager of a rundown holiday park. He sucked in a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled, giving his heart a chance to stop pounding.
Chances were Ereshkigal already saw his truth. Already knew the words that would bubble out of him. That he lusted for and feared, in equal measure, what lay ahead. He’d been promised that the full power of the Abgal would be reborn within him should he bring the soul of Dumuzi to her. That Enki himself would reward Tamas by restoring the bloodline of the sages to its full glory. Thoughts of that grand prize kept him awake at night.
Be careful what you wish for, so the saying went. And he’d never understood it so well.
Tamas gestured to the men standing guard at the heavy, imposing doors. No eye contact. As protocol dictated. But right now, as the interior door swung open and the blast of the Waters met him, Tamas had the oddest fleeting desire. He wished it was the janitor standing before him. Too inquisitive, too invasive of personal space, too eager to chat with the messed up boy who might be about to disappear altogether.
He strode past the men and into the chamber. The air was heavy, clogging his airways. They were all there. All the Syranians to the right, standing to attention behind their captain. Cym included, and Eron. The most elegant, and by far the prettiest of all the Syranians. Something beautiful to look at in the drabness of the Facility. He’d filled more than a few of Tamas’s fantasies, until he’d slept with Kira.
Tamas gestured for his escort to stop.
‘Here will be fine.’ His entire body shook. Sweat beaded on his lip. The starched collar of his favourite dot-patterned shirt clung too tightly to his neck.
Nari looked as if she might say something. A ‘good luck’ or a ‘be careful’, perhaps. It would have made him sweat with the intimacy of it, but it would have been nice just the same. No one else in here was going to wish him anything but to get the job done. Nari gave him a deep nod and then walked away. Reuben went a little further, giving a very brief salute. Then he, too, was turning his back and walking away. Tamas searched for a sign of Blake, scanning the huge chamber. Sound echoed against the dark upper curves, playing around the stalactites that dotted the roof, hanging like enormous blades, ready to strike them all down.
Four smart-rig mini cranes were positioned around the perimeter of the Tier. They were yellow and red, the only splashes of bright colour amongst the stark-white rock and dull concrete flooring of level eleven. Each crane sat like a crab on four braced legs, a tractor tyre beneath the core hub. A thick curved steel arm held a completed carapace. Four lifeless human constructs dangled from thick wire rigging, each as different as humans were in actuality. Varying sexes – two female forms, two male – and skin shades. Blake stood by the male on the farthest side of the Tier, a laptop in her hand connected by wires to the monitoring unit at the head of the crane. The stark white of her skin seemed to glow with the reflection of the Waters. The body that hung before her dwarfed her small frame, like a football player before a child. It was the same for the three others. Azrael’s slender physique, the refined beauty of it, was missing in these designs. The Four were bulky and imposing. Like the bouncers at the clubs Tamas
