Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

What if Octavian has sent more troops from the east?

No one has gotten word from Heracleion or Canopus yet. Not since Cleopatra set sail for Actium to join her husband. The fight was upon us too soon. My stomach sinks. I send another prayer to Isis asking for Caesarion’s safety. If I’ve left him susceptible to an attack from the east, I’ll never forgive myself.

My thoughts are interrupted as Habi raises his khopesh, his curved blade catching the firelight. “Defend Egypt!” he roars.

The Shythe break formation and run full force up the dune.

Once I reach the top, my feet stop. I’m planted in place like a wilting lotus as my eyes take in the battle below. Brown-plumed helmets merge together in a sea of amber sand. The armor of the Roman soldiers flash gold and red, the Narcos’ Flame glinting off it like violent sun flares. Spears ignite mid-throw. Smoke billows up from scorched bodies strewn across the desert.

“Move!” Habi yells near my ear.

He slaps my shoulder, his hand already ablaze with radiant blue. Charge zings my skin, and I’m spurred into motion by the jolt. My knees unlock their hold. I follow Habi down the dune, the balls of my feet digging into the loose sand.

The clash of metal hitting metal rings out.

Before I reach for my weapon, I call forth my Charge, shifting into Kythan form. My arms illume blue, spreading from the tips of my fingers to my elbows. I feel my ears point, sliding through the loose wisps of my hair. My skin tingles with the shift.

A cry rips from my mouth as I lock gazes with a Roman. I bare my teeth at him, my lips curled back around my sharp canines. He’s on the cusp of the battle, and wavers hesitantly before raising the long blade of his spatha to meet my sword. A sneer mars his olive-toned face. I raise my shield and plow into him. Hooking his shield with my blade, I yank it out of his grasp. He’s knocked off balance, but rights himself quickly. He drives the point of his sword into my shield, and I’m thrust backward.

“Just wait, slave,” he bites out, swiping his sword before my face. A low, shrill whistle as it cleaves the air. I know some Latin, but he says this to me in Greek as it’s the common language in Alexandria. He grunts and lunges. “Jove’s reckoning is coming.”

I block his attack with my shield, then send a bolt of Charge into his weapon. It careens with his mid-flight, a flash of white-blue crackling energy. He trembles, shocked into silence. I swipe his legs. He falls back, my sword already coming down toward his head—but a blast of sand stings my eyes. I stumble and my khopesh slashes the ground instead. He rolls and comes up with his hands blocking the rising winds.

“Fall back!” another Roman orders.

My foe picks up his sword and follows the retreating soldiers. Before I can question if it was our forces that intimidated them, the swell coming off the red land intensifies, lifting strands of my hair. The sand attacks my skin, biting.

Hunkering low, I bring up my shield to guard against the whirlwind of sand. It pelts the metal like hail. I peek above the scooped top and see the other Kythan doing the same. Where in the heavens did a sandstorm come from this time of year?

A crack of thunder splinters the air in answer.

Beyond the haze of swirling sand, shadowed figures emerge.

Their eyes and arms are lit up—blinding silver-white. Draped in black flowing linen, their pale skin stands out, striking, like pearls rising out of the Nile.

I’m trying to count . . . twenty, maybe . . . when they raise their glowing hands, and the sand stops its cyclone. Silence hums. Slowly, I stand, the other guardians moving into defense formation near me. The air is thick with sand as it hovers—motionless—mid-air.

I turn and meet Habi’s wide, glowing eyes. “What in Mother Isis—?”

“I don’t know, Star.” He shakes his head. “Back!”

We start to move backward as our new foes step forward, their hands sweeping the air. They arc their arms, and the sand rains down with a thunderous crash.

We’re covered in darkness.

Chapter Two

Gasping for air, I push through the sand. It’s in my mouth, nose, lungs. I cough, and it scrapes my chest and throat as my airway is cleared.

The sound of clanking and shouting reaches my ears.

“Arms!” Habi shouts, and I’m pulled up by a hand.

I regain my footing just as the Roman legion launches another attack. But this time, our new enemies in black are with them.

We form a line, our shields walling us in. The shouts come louder. We’re hit with the full impact of their attack as they slam into our resistance. We’re pressed back, and our defense is breached. I fall but take with me one of my black-clad foes. She lands on top of me, and I’m blinded by the radiant glow of her arms.

Struggling to push her off, I squint and thrust my knee into her stomach. With an “oomph,” she releases her hold. I scramble to my feet. Sword in hand I reach down, seeking my shield, but it’s lost in the surrounding chaos.