He drew the third symbol even as the shadows of the akhs began to swirl faster around him. Mencheres shifted position to make the symbols circle him, the pain that caused almost making him convulse. He forced it back and slowly drew the fourth symbol. Each had to be precise; an error would null ify the ritual and condemn him. The silver in his heart felt like it began to grow tentacles, trying to destroy him with its own terrible will. He gritted his teeth, concentrating on the lines of the next symbol he drew.
Seven more left before he was finished.
That pain continued to burn inside him in merciless waves. As the akh shadows increased their swirling dance around him, they lost their vaporous appearance to form hazy, manlike shapes, mouths opened in what looked to be snarls. Vlad muttered something, but Mencheres didn't listen. He was too focused on keeping his hand steady as thunderbolts of pain wracked his body. The longer the silver was in his heart, the more it would break him down, shattering either his ability to draw or compelling him to end it early by snatching the blade from his chest. This ritual wasn't designed for the wielder to succeed. It was meant for failure, which was why Patra never used it against him when she sought to kill him through magic.
Six more symbols left. By the gods, he was only halfway there. He'd never finish in time.
Mencheres kept drawing regardless, his vision almost hazy from the all-encompassing pain and the swirls of akhs around him. They solidified with every passing moment as they continued to feed off his pain. When they were solid, they would feed off his flesh. It wouldn't be long now.
A seizure nearly sprawled Mencheres into the carefully drawn symbols before him. His hand shot out, stopping his momentum, but coming within centimeters of smearing one of those symbols. He closed his eyes, taking precious seconds to try to force the pain back into something manageable, but it only continued to spread. His eyes snapped open in growing dread. The more he concentrated on ignoring the pain, the more it grew, as did the akhs, who now clearly resembled people instead of formless shapes.
"Kira will be dead by sunrise if you do not finish this, " Vlad urged, sounding almost hoarse in his agitation.
Mencheres focused all his attention on drawing the eighth symbol, letting the pain flow freely through his body. It shook him, rustling the blade, sending more agonizing spurts through his limbs, but the only thing he concentrated on was keeping his hand steady. His whole body began to shudder, the suffering building to an intensity that made him wish for death so the pain would cease. He would only need one rogue tremor to jostle that blade too forcefully. One smear in a symbol for it to all end. It's inevitable, the darkness whispered seductively. Why should he suffer trying to stave off something that could not be overcome?
Kira. Dead by sunrise.
He fought to keep his vision and his hand steady. Growls came from the akhs now, growing louder as they sensed their victory approaching. Mencheres forced himself not to look at them but to finish drawing the ninth symbol. Those growls grew louder, wisps of their fingers brushing him as the circle they flew around tightened further still. He didn't look up. He kept drawing even as the pain inside him grew to where all he wanted was to twist that blade in his chest to free himself from it.
"Hurry . . ." Vlad grated out.
Mencheres's hand wavered, and his vision clouded as he began to draw the tenth symbol. The akhs stroked him now, their hands flicking his back, arms, and shoulders, trying to get to the blade. He hunched forward as much as he dared, the searing anguish from that movement making his vision disappear completely for a moment. He forced himself to keep drawing, using his memory to form the lines, until very faintly, he could see again. His vision was narrowed to only the smallest space, but in that space, he could draw the eleventh symbol.
Fangs sank into his back, tearing at his flesh. He gave a hoarse shout. The akhs were solid enough that they had begun to feast.
He ignored the teeth slashing at him as finished the eleventh symbol. Then, using all of his strength to keep them away from the blade in his heart, Mencheres began to draw the last symbol. Agony exploded in him, darkness swam in his vision, and his hand shook while the akhs tore at him, but he kept drawing. Kira's face flashed in his mind, her full mouth parted in a smile. He focused on that with his last conscious thoughts.
Let the akhs devour him. Let the blade slip too deeply in his chest. Let the darkness of Duat come. He would still not stop drawing the symbol that led to Kira's safety.
A great roar filled his ears as Mencheres drew the final lines of the symbol. Then the blackness did claim him, drowning out that roar inside the eternal veil of darkness.
Chapter 32
Mencheres sat inside the circle, the knife still in his chest, the symbols finished around him, and the cup still in his hand. All of that was the same, yet he knew he was not on the same plane of existence anymore. The lack of pain was his first indicator. The utter void around the circle, absent of everything except piercing darkness, was the next.
Then the circle was pierced when a slim boat floated through. A tall figure stood at the helm, with the body and face of a man, yet the horns of a ram curled out from his head.
Mencheres bowed as much as the knife protruding from his chest would allow.
"Ferryman," he said. "Lord of Duat."
When Mencheres straightened, Aken reached out and plucked the knife from his chest as if it were a bloom off the ground. The huge horns neared Mencheres's head as Aken then bent to lick the blade. All the while, Aken's yellow eyes burned into his.
"You have paid your blood coin to summon me, Cainenite. What do you seek?" It had been thousands of years since Mencheres had been referred to as a Cainenite, but the god of the underworld probably wasn't familiar with how that word had been replaced with the more current one: "vampire." After all, thousands of years were a mere pittance of time to the gods.
Mencheres bowed again. "I seek another Cainenite named Kira. She rose from my blood and her essence remains in me still. Use my blood to find her, and tell me where she is."
"Give me your name," the ferryman commanded.
Names held power. Aken would bind their agreement with his. "Menkaure," he replied, using the one he'd been born with.
The ferryman gave him a toothless grin that looked more like the open maw of the grave. Again, he licked the knife that still had some of Mencheres's blood coated on it.
"She is far from here," Aken stated. That smile widened. "It will take time to reach her." The sun had been high in the sky when he began this ritual, but he still might not have enough time. If Radje and Kira were located on opposite sides of the world, he would not have time to reach them both. Mencheres didn't trust anyone else to secure Kira, either.