Ray is leading Walter out of the cave they entered, arm wrapped around his husband’s shoulders, supporting Walter’s weight. Walter is listing towards Ray, hand clasped to his neck. Blood stains his fingers. And Ray isn’t wearing his shirt; but when you look at his arms, you can see he’s carrying something wrapped in his shirt. Whatever he’s carrying has created black stains on the once white material.
Leaving the other cave is Grant, carrying a wooden box in both hands. His eyes are red and there are tears on his cheeks. He strides towards you and thrusts the box into your arms, letting go of it almost before you’ve grasped it. “I hope it was worth it,” he mutters.
The sting in your backside from the switch stops you from saying anything, even an admittance that you might be wrong about the dead staying dead. You take the box from Grant, able to feel the diseased heart contained within.
Ray approaches a little more slowly, eyes sweeping over you before focusing on the box Grant just gave you. “Do you know what’s in it?” he asks.
“Two hearts. Corrupted and diseased by a poisoned heart.” You pause, reconsidering your answer, and add, “Well, two halves of the same heart. It was cleaved in two.”
Walter is glancing back over his shoulder, towards the cave he and Ray came out of. “Why isn’t she coming out after us?” he mutters.
The memory of Dorian’s disappointment in you stings and you answer where you wouldn’t have before. “The land is pushing back. It’s containing the corruption, as much as it can. They’ll be in the caves for a short while, at least. Long enough to break the curse.” You hope.
“They?” Ray looks at you.
Grant speaks up in a low, quiet, deeply hurt voice. “Martin and Grant are in the other cave.”
Ray winces in sympathy, but it’s Walter who speaks up, still looking back over his shoulder towards the cave. “She’s the guardian of this land. Isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” you answer. “But I’m not sure she remembers who and what she was. All she probably knows right now is pain and suffering.” You place the wooden box on the ground and then take the wrapped shirt from Ray.
Carefully, you uncover the heart and place it on the grass. Then, you open the lid of the other box and take out the other heart, placing it on the ground next to the first.
Both hearts are charred and blackened, leaking pus that stains the grass and causes smoke to rise. You pause, take a moment to mentally prepare, and then place a palm on each of the hearts, ignoring the burn as the poison seeps into your palms. The hearts beat faintly; barely perceptible, but it’s still there.
You close your eyes and reach deep inside.
When you open your eyes again, stars surround you. A cloaked, hooded figure stands in front of you, head bowed and shoulders hunched as if weighed down by something heavy.
“Who are you?” you ask.
There’s no verbal response. Instead, there’s a glint of metal and the figure lunges at you, faster than the eye can see. A line of fire gashes across your cheek and you pull back, raising your hand as the knife flashes towards your face again. Instead, the blade slices across your wrist, drawing a thin line of blood. At the same time, the figure punches you in the cheek.
You duck into a fighting crouch and sweep the figure’s legs out from under them, but they turn the fall into a somersault and come at you again, driving you back with punches and kicks that come at you so fast, they drive you backwards. You try to block, but a lot of the blows and slashes with the knife break through your defences.
You drop to one knee as a low slash from the knife sweeps over your head. Your whole body is stinging from bruises and cuts.
This fighter is far better than you are. And it makes you wonder just who, or what, they are.
A kick to your face sends you toppling backwards and the figure comes down with you, their cowled face obscured from view. One hand holds your throat, nails digging into your skin, while the other stabs the dagger down.
The next moment, the figure is thrown backwards and you can breathe again. You roll onto your stomach, staring up in a daze as Dorian and the figure wrestle.
The knife has fallen and is within reach. You scoop it up and then lunge at Dorian and the struggling figure, stabbing the knife into their back.
The figure suddenly goes limp and drops. You wrap an arm around its neck and turn as a rush of air sounds from behind you.
“Let him go.”
The voice comes from a beam of bright white light. The voice belongs to someone you’ve not seen or heard from in many centuries; not since he first tasked you with the job of guardian.
“Ra.” His name leaves your lips like a curse.
“Let him go,” the voice orders.
“And allow you to send him somewhere else? To hurt others?” you demand.
“You have no idea what his job was.”
“I know innocent people have been killed and made to suffer,” you respond. “This has got out of hand. I give him to you, you lock him away in the deepest depths of Duat, or hell, or whatever his personal beliefs are. You lock him up and you throw away the key.”
“Done.”
That was easy. Too easy. You hesitate. “I want your word.”
“I give you my word.”
“And bring them back,” you say. “Everyone who died under the curse. Here and before it was moved. Give them another chance at life.”
“The energy from that will need to come from somewhere,” Ra answers.
Taking a chance, you release the spirit of corruption. You spread your arms out. “Then take it from me.”
Ra doesn’t voice an agreement, but a wave of weakness suddenly comes over you and you slump to your knees, panting, as a stream of golden energy is pulled from you.
When the stream fades, you’re too weak to stand. You blink and when your eyes open again, you find yourself back on the reservation. The heart is gone. Back to where it belongs. The caves are gone. And three men are hugging tightly where one of the caves stood. Martin, Grant and Paul.
When you try to stand, Dorian’s there to support you. You lean on him without shame, letting your head rest on his shoulder.
“I thought they would be gone,” Ray whispers.
“It’s a gift.” You force the words out, eyes half-closing, letting Dorian take your weight. “Don’t question it.”
“And the rest of the dead?” Walter asks.
You force your eyes open to focus on him. “Everyone who died under the curse has been brought back to life. So long as they don’t do something to get themselves killed again.”
“Do you want to come back to our house?” Walter asks. “You can rest. Eat. If guardians eat.”
That sounds like paradise to you right now, but you turn your face to Dorian, waiting for his decision. Accepting that you’re not the one to make those kinds of choices anymore.
“We’ll follow along behind you in our car,” Dorian says. He takes a firmer grip on you and leads you to the car. Opens the passenger door and settles you in. Buckles you up. Then walks round and gets in the driver’s side. Pauses and turns towards you with a serious look on his face. “I’m so proud of you for what you did in there.”
You manage an exhausted smile. “It feels much better making you proud of me than disappointed in me,” you admit.
Dorian raises your hand to his lips and kisses it, then leans forward and kisses your lips. “I love you,” he murmurs against your mouth.
“I love you too.” You smile, pressing back into the kiss with as much energy as you can muster. Then, you slump back.
“Sleep, Anubis,” Dorian murmurs. “You’ve more than earned the rest.”
He’s right. You close your eyes and as your partner starts driving, sleep overtakes you like an old friend.
The End