Ammon's response, Zephysus shifted in his chair and coughed.
“The one to Uruk -” Zephysus began slowly, “why?”
“Ask the question you really mean to ask.”
“Isn't Uruk - well, won't the people there be angry?” asked Zephysus gingerly.
“It holds the root of this story. It will be a place of reckoning.” Ammon's form swirled, but his gaze was firm.
“Not Gobekli?” Gobekli was the temple structure not far from Uruk. Zephysus winced as he thought of the things associated with the place – the special nemeton for those with mixed blood and most especially the first students to attend. Cain and Abel.
“The two are one in the same for the purposes of this story,” said Ammon with a smirk.
“I suppose.” Zephysus looked away.
“Summon four servants,” said Ammon, moving onto the next task.
“Couldn't one take care of it well enough?” asked Zephysus confused. Surely Aries would miss four servants being used to satisfy the whims of his poet.
“Summon four.” Ammon swirled. Zephysus thought he heard a door open and slam shut nearby. Obediently, he rang a small silver bell with a plain wooden handle. Immediately a servant of the tower appeared facing Zephysus, several feet in front of Ammon's apparition. Zephysus swallowed.
“May I be of assistance?” asked the man with a bow.
“I need four servants to run errands for me.”
“Surely -”
“I need four. I will give each their instructions.”
“Yes, of course.” The man's brow furrowed, but he disappeared with a jump through space and time nonetheless. While they waited, Ammon spoke.
“Once they leave you will have little time.”
“Little time?”
“You must leave this place immediately. Jump to your birthplace. You should be safe there.” Zephysus was going to ask Ammon more, but in an instant the air moved and he knew he could not. It was then that four relatively young Otherworlders appeared before the poet, and once again, several feet in front of Ammon's apparition.
“Yes, thank you for your promptness,” said Zephysus nervously as he rolled the first piece of parchment. With a flick of his finger, he melted a bit of wax and sealed the thing. Nodding to the first man, he held the scroll out to him. “Please take this to the nemeton in the northern isles.” The man took the scroll, nodded, and disappeared.
The poet rolled the second copy, which he quickly sealed and held out to the second young person, a woman.
“Please take this to the nemeton on the southwestern mountain,” rasped Zephysus. The woman looked at him as her hands closed on the scroll but only nodded. Then she was gone. He did the same with the third scroll, sending that young woman to the hidden eastern nemeton. And then he turned to the final servant with the fourth scroll.
“Sir, where should I deliver mine?” asked the man politely.
“Take this to the nemeton at Uruk.” The man's brows raised slightly as it was so important a school. He knew, as Zephysus did, that any document sent to Uruk must be important. The poet smiled tightly, for the servant did not know just how important a document this was.
“Yes sir.” His hands closed on the parchment, and he too disappeared, never seeing the likeness of Ammon swirling behind him.
When the fourth servant was gone, Zephysus let out a gusty sigh and stared at Ammon. The poet sat there for some time, waiting for Ammon to give him further instruction, or hint his task was complete.
“Well?” Zephysus asked in irritation.
“Look sharp! You must leave!” barked Ammon. Zephysus stared at the apparition but it began to lose its form.
“What are you talking about?” The thin man looked about the room.
“You signed those, did you not?” asked the dissipating Ammon.
“Yes, of course.” Poets signed all their work. It had been out of habit rather than a real need to be recognized as the writer of the prophecy.
“Then you signed your own death warrant.” Zephysus' eyes went wide. “Leave! Now!”
“No!” he gasped. The doorway flooded with guards bearing the standard of Atum, all pointing long very sharp weapons at him. But why? Had it been long enough? How long had he been sitting? How long did it take for word to spread about what he'd written?
Goodbye my friend. We will meet again.
“What?” whispered the poet as his frightened eyes flicked from one hardened soldier to the next.
We know each other well.
“We do?” Just then Atum strolled through the door, his cloak swirling behind him in a regal wake, his eyes filled with fire.
My soul is not the only one that returns.
“What?” Atum pulled his sword from the scabbard.
We've met before. The warlord's face twisted into a snarl.
“We have?” he asked.
“What is he talking about?” Zephysus heard the nearest soldier mutter to another.
“I don't know, the guy is loony. Did you hear what the scroll said?!” replied his neighbor.
You had another name.
“Yeah. Completely out of his mind!”
“I did?” His eyes widened as they narrowed on the steel before him.
I'll see you soon, Raziel.
With a great roar, Atum plunged the sword through Zephysus' heart. The poet's jaw dropped and he looked down at the hilt sticking out of his chest.
“You killed me!” he whispered, his eyes turning back to his attacker.
“Some voices must be silenced,” growled Atum.
“Why?” the poet rasped as he collapsed to his knees. The soldiers stood by silently.
“Your fiction might be misinterpreted to be reality. My father isn't coming back – nor is my mother! That's impossible!” Atum's face contorted in pain, “You lied!”
“I can't lie. I'm not human,” he rasped. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you everything.” With the effort, Zephysus sagged.
“The point is mute!” said Atum harshly, his fingers wrapping around his sword's grip. Zephysus' eyes closed. His breathing slowed “Now you never will,” whispered Atum as he drew his blade from the thin man's chest. The poet's body fell, a pool of crimson blood forming below his petite form. His lungs let out their last gasp.
Atum's breath tore from his lips in great savage gusts. He sneered as he peered down at Zephysus' limp body.
“There must be other copies. Find them. Destroy them. Kill whoever saw the parchment's contents!” he bellowed at his men. As one, they disappeared, leaving the youngest child of Ammon and Lilith alone with his prey. Casually, Atum cleaned his blade on a clean portion of Zephysus' tunic. No longer coated in red, he sheathed the blade and strode to the window.
“What a ridiculous piece of fiction!” spat the warlord as he looked out at the blue sky and flower covered fields. “How can the Otherworld be healed without being completely cleansed of such foolish thoughts?!”
A light zephyr blew through the man's copper hair, sending shivers down his spine. Suddenly anxious, he glanced back at the poet's dead body.
“Cleansing. The only way.”
The zephyr was joined by others, sending Atum with quick steps away from the window, down the steps and out of the tower. The whole walk back to the residential part of Aries' fort, Atum kept checking his shoulder. He couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. But that was impossible! No one knew he'd gone to the poet's tower. No one knew about the scrolls except the poet and those who'd taken them to their destinations. Did they?
A colder wind blew across Atum, though the rest of the hall seemed still.
A cold wind at my back... the words came unbidden to his mind.
“What?”
Twists and turns from now through forever. Atum's eyes widened.
“Zephysus?” he whispered in horror.
A plague on you, while the world hears truth...
There was no doubt of whose voice spoke in his head.
“I'm
found out,” he swallowed. In the distance he heard the heavy racing steps of guards. Someone must have sent word. Someone must have seen the poet's body lying in a pool of his own blood. Should he run? Should he fight? Did it even matter? Why didn't Zephysus run?
Dividing the children still further!
“Damn you Zephysus!” whispered the warlord as Aries men came into view.
“Atum! Don't move!” roared Aries himself, pointing a longsword at Atum's head.
“They've been read.” said Atum with eerie certainty. The soldiers surrounded Ammon's youngest son as he held up his hands.
Then the air went still.
About the Author
Alexis Donkin lives in California with her family and her real life familiar. She has lived many places and studied many things. She hikes, paints, sings, and dances when she's not writing.
Novels by Alexis Donkin
The Brothers
Khloe Alwell is about to turn sixteen, find her first real friends, fall in love, learn that every legend is true, discover her parents are living a lie, and one more thing. She's not human. Follow Khloe as she struggles to understand her place in the Otherworld, deals with the worst and best of boys, and finds out just how similar people can be, supernatural powers or not.
Lovers and Rivals
Khloe had her world turned upside down when she discovered the Otherworld and her heritage within it. Now her family stands in the middle of the ancient and violent division between Seelie and Sidhe. Khloe must struggle to learn the ways of her father's court, deal with heartbroken boys, navigate a strange relationship with her weapons instructor, and come to terms with her destiny.
Lilith and Ammon
Over millennia, Lilith and Ammon's story was distorted. Fact became legend. Legend became myth. Many pieces remained locked in the