Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
It feels like something’s about to happen.
My breath leaves my entire body when I see six figures in armor of golds, reds, and black, carrying weapons as they start to walk across the rocky ground, and as they walk, arms come out of the water and reach for them.
One is bigger than the rest.
His golden helmet is quite literally a crown of sun, and he is carrying the same spear I’ve seen in the warehouse.
The rest keep moving while he stops in the middle. I feel like I’m supposed to go to him, but I don’t know why.
I stay rooted in place as the rest of them walk all the way to the beach beneath the cliffs.
I look over the cliff’s edge, nearly spilling my mug of wine, and blink. Nothing is there, as though the imposing group in crazy looking cosplay just disappeared into a cave.
And yet the one figure remains.
He starts walking, and the red bridge of rocks begins to disappear, getting swallowed by the sea in waves ten times taller than him. And he walks on. It’s like the Nile Delta receded it’s so massive.
I’m frozen.
Unable to move.
Wind swirls around me, whipping my hair. It hits my body so hard that the bell on my anklet starts to ring like it’s gone feral.
When the figure finally makes it to the beach, all traces of red are gone and the sea crashes in one last fury of ice before peacefully settling back into place.
He looks up, but I’m uncertain if he sees me.
I hide behind the rock, then after a few minutes risk a peek over the top.
Nothing is there.
“Where’d he go?” I frown then look back over at the tree only to see a golden boot of armor step next to my foot, the one with the anklet that holds the bell.
I’m afraid of a lot of things: storms, lightning, thunder. But anything else just feels foreign, numb. Right now, though, I’m petrified as I slowly look up the golden armor across the being’s calves, as it goes up his thick thighs to his belt, where a very dangerous and old-appearing black sword resides. His chest is massive, and his helmet is quite literally the sun.
All I see are his eyes.
Familiar eyes.
He presses his hands over his head and slices them through the air between us; it’s Cyrus in front of me.
I nearly swallow my tongue. What the hell was in that wine I drank?
I barely breathe as he leans down and tilts my chin toward him and chuckles. It’s not warm, it’s not happy, it’s like watching death laugh at me. “Are you ready to truly research now?”
“I’ve been researching, and why were you wearing a costume?”
I don’t want to know the answer, but I have to use the word costume so none of it seems real.
All fake.
Cyrus stands and folds his massive arms over his chest. “Lock her up.”
The mug drops out of my hand as a man wearing red and black armor approaches. He looks formidable.
He also looks like the man in The Book of the Dead.
And Cyrus’s armor. It’s also shown in that book.
I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands.
“So now you see,” Cyrus says. “There is only one reason for your existence, one reason for you to be here. Your death.”
“This makes no sense,” I say under my breath while my heart slams against my chest. “None of it.”
“And yet, it’s your reality,” he says. “I normally wait at least a few weeks, I keep tally marks on my tree to count the screams of torture, but you, you won’t listen, you won’t believe. I bet you wouldn’t even worship or sacrifice like the others willingly did, like your brother did.”
“Jake!” I jump to my feet. “Where is he?”
“Safe. Secure.” He grins. “I’ll let him go if you sign another contract.”
I shake my head. “No. No contracts. What the hell sort of trafficking thing do you have going on here?”
Someone else appears in full black armor, he’s carrying a dagger in his hand, and I know immediately it’s Enki. “It’s been prepared, Cyrus.”
“First,” Cyrus says with a cavalier grin, “we’ll make you shine like a star in the sky and then, slowly, your blood will drip, until there’s nothing left. In the meantime, you can write.”
“What?” I’m so terrified and confused I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel anything. I can only hear the bell.
“Transcribe, really.”
“What exactly am I transcribing?” And why am I still asking questions when I should be running? But he would catch me, I know that. So I ask questions to stall.
He tosses a book in front of me, it’s black, dirty, covered in red stains that look like blood. “The Book of the Dead, your current obsession.”
I don’t pick it up, I just stare down at it, and its bell-shaped lock that perfectly matches the one on my ankle.