Essence brimmed within Heshtat’s soul as he examined it. Nine aspects, six of them still slumbering. One—the Khet—blazed bright with power, while the other two shone weakly in comparison; Jb and Sekhem—the Heart and the Power—both aspects awakened and ready to be used as he saw fit. It was a far cry from what he had once seen when examining his soul, but it would be enough.

  It had to be enough.

  He centred himself, pushing away his doubts and opening his eyes. His khopesh hung ready above his head, and he stepped forwards into a simple cut. Nemty’s power billowed out around him, guiding his movements as he threaded essence through spiritual pathways and channels carved in his soul, pushing a steady stream of the amorphous power down into the blade itself. It set ghostly flames to flickering across the midnight obsidian edge, and the air parted before it to reveal the lavender twilight of the Otherworld on the other side of the portal.

  He stepped aside and gestured his companions through, but as Harsiese leapt forwards, Heshtat caught a flash of movement by the gate. Neferu followed uncertainly after the Tomb Guard but Heshtat found his gaze caught by two figures scaling the wall a hundred yards past the gate, nearly out of sight. There was something incongruous about them, a weight to their existence in his spiritual sense. It drew his attention, and he watched as they slipped up over the wall. They were not uncontested, but they dealt with the trio of palace guards with brutal efficiency before a Tomb Guard spotted them and raced over.

  Heshtat was about to step through the portal himself, confident in the abilities of the tall woman with her sickle-sword and shield—Idib’s Tomb Guard were well regarded, after all, and Harsiese had proven steadfast beyond all his expectations—but something made him hesitate. There was a tickle in his senses, a fundamental wrongness to the shape of the world in that moment that made him unwilling to look away.

  He soon saw why. The Tomb Guard stood tall, her shield high and a snarl on her lips as tongues of whipping flames lashed out from her sword towards the two figures. Scarlet Feathers by his guess, based on their crimson scarves and flowing white robes. Rather than becoming snared and burned by the potent attack, the taller one dropped back behind her companion, who turned to the woman and… roared? Screamed?

  Something happened, though Heshtat wasn’t quite sure what it was. The shorter woman crouched, her neck bulging and mouth distending like a snake, and then a shockwave rippled the air in front of her. The Tomb Guard’s magic was obliterated, and she hunkered down behind her shield which glowed a pale green. Everything but that shield was dashed aside by the wave of power: the crenelations atop the wall were blasted away, the Tomb Guard’s lead leg folded upon itself, her sword arm was ripped clean off, and then the strange assassin was rising from her crouch and pouncing.

  Heshtat could hear nothing from this distance, but he saw the scrabbling hands, the way the arms rose and fell and how the assassin buried her face down to the Tomb Guard’s torso, the savage yank and rip as she pulled back up. The assassin was tearing the defender apart in animalistic fury. Hands and teeth rending and blood spraying. The taller assassin shouted something that somehow got through to the bestial woman, and both turned and leapt over the wall.

  Into the palace.

  Heshtat shivered. He’d not seen such wild savagery from humans in many years, and the thought of those two powerful assassins stalking the palace set his heart to galloping in his chest. He cursed. There was only one way to stop them now, and so he dove through the portal without a backwards glance.

  There was precious little time to waste.

  ***

  He was expecting cool purple light to greet him, but Heshtat found the Other in chaos when he emerged through the portal. Something grew in the distance—a storm of essence from the east bruising the twilight sky into a sickly yellow where the temple district lay. The palace before them rose gelid and grotesque above them, somehow suspended atop what looked to be hundreds of stone steps. And between them and the steps lay a moat, a dozen yards wide.

  None of it made sense, but that was how the Otherworld worked. A realm of pure emotion, of twisted logic and inverted sequence, where desire and intent shaped things as much as the laws of earth and sky shaped the Waking.

  People couldn’t inhabit the Waking and the Other simultaneously—exceptions excepted, of course—but there was such a harvest of souls pressing against the veil currently that the cityscape of Idib in the Otherworld still bore their outlines, faint shimmering silhouettes running this way and that. Heshtat shivered, and he noted his two companions respond similarly. It felt as if they walked through a city of ghosts. There was no time to dwell on it, no time to try to master their fear. They simply had to outrun it.

  Heshtat dropped from the rooftop he crouched on, landing a half dozen yards below and setting off at a fast lope. He heard his companions follow and squinted towards the moat they approached.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  The waters were frothing, churned by tremors from deeper underground that he could feel. Rhythmic pulsing. It came from the east and seemed to be growing louder. Strange, considering he couldn’t hear it. But the rumbling in his bones, the flutter of his heart and the stutter of the blood in his veins all seemed to point towards something coming.

  He winced, tearing his eyes away from the yellow stain spreading across the sky that had somehow drawn his gaze without him realising.

  “Over!” he shouted to his companions, and Harsiese stepped up to the moat.

  Neferu eyed the water wearily though, its deep sapphire hue lightened by the small waves that formed on its surface as it sloshed about. “I can’t make that jump,” she said quietly. “And there’s no way I’m swimming in that.”

  Heshtat thought that an entirely sensible thing to say, no matter that they stood in a nightmare realm of hungry monsters and strange magic. “We’ll throw you,” he said, gesturing for Harsiese to join him.

  Neferu tried to protest, but soon enough they were lined up at the edge of the moat, backs to the water, facing her. She looked pale, hair sticking to her forehead in sweat and an anxious pinch to her lips.

  “Trust us,” Heshtat reassured her. “We are stronger than we look.”

  Still she dallied, precious seconds slipping away as she teetered on the edge of a decision.

  “Hey, look at me, Neferu.” Heshtat held her nervous gaze as it tried to skitter aside to the danger and magic and threat all around them. “They need us.” He gestured to the wraiths that milled around them, rendered incorporeal in this realm but somehow still present, even in the faintest manner. “There is only one way this ends—Cleosiris needs the Eye. Help me get it to her and we can stop this madness and save these people. I do not know what you have been searching for in your many careers, but here and now, you have the chance to make a difference.”

  She rolled her shoulder and looked set to move but then sagged at the last moment. “I… I can’t. The fear…”

  “Is no match for purpose,” Heshtat said, proclaiming the words with the truth of his soul. His statement hung in the air, his voice reverberating with the essence laced within.

  Her eyes widened. She took a breath. And then Heshtat saw her face set into firm lines, her gaze hardening, slipping from his own to rest somewhere over his shoulder. “Fuckfuckfuck!” she swore, and then burst into a sprint.

  She leapt at them, and Heshtat and Harsiese both crouched, cupping their hands low for her to land in. One foot each, they straightened and heaved, catapulting her over their shoulders and high into the air. She did not stop her cursing the entire way, a screeching comet that blasted through the heavens above the moat, landing in an ungainly heap on the other side.

  She rolled over and over before coming to a stop against the first stone step with a heavy thump. They held their breaths as she lay there. A heartbeat. Two. Then she heaved in a shuddering breath and began to claw her way to her feet, raising a shaking arm to show them she was okay. Heshtat laughed, clasping hands with Harsiese in joy, before they both took a runup.

  They cleared the moat in moments, skidding to a halt next to the shaken woman, who let out a breathy laugh.

  “Didn’t have to make it look so easy,” she grumbled, drawing forth smiles from them in response.

  Heshtat let the brief moment of levity fuel him, then started up the steps at a steady pace. “I do not know how this strange topography will affect things in the Waking, but I believe the moat corresponds to the palace wall.”

  “How do you know?” Neferu gasped out behind him as she pushed herself hard to keep up. She lacked both the physical enhancement of Heshtat’s cultivation of Khet and the spiritual might that filled Harsiese in the Otherworld through his cultivation of Sah. She was still an awakened of three aspects though, so she was far beyond mortal means and could move quickly despite the steep gradient of the many steps.

  “I do not. But the Other is not a literal reflection of the Waking—it is a realm unto itself— but they do take inspiration from one another. The palace wall acts as a barrier, and this moat does the same. There is a… conceptual similarity there. Here, this should be far enough.”

  Heshtat came to a stop roughly halfway up the massive staircase, letting his breathing even itself out as he turned to survey the city from on high. It spread out below them; the grand avenue that ran from the palace outwards, splitting the inner districts down the middle before reaching the outer wall and dispersing into the outer districts beyond. The temple district to the east was illuminated by a spreading golden glow from above as the realm seemed to twist and groan, but Heshtat forced it from his mind and gathered his strength as Neferu gasped her way to his level.

  Harsiese was already there, of course, steady and dependable. Heshtat once more thanked Cleo for her foresight in sending him, though he would have been more comforted to know she was protected by him now rather than alone.

  His soul ached from the many rapid changes it had undergone in such a short span of time. It was not normal to awaken aspects so close to one another—most took years of careful study and preparation. No, that wasn’t true. Most never awakened an aspect to begin with, and most of those who did only advanced the one. To awaken three aspects and advance one to the acolyte stage in only a single month was likely unprecedented. It was hard to know for sure since cultivators were notoriously secretive with their exact powers, but he’d certainly never heard of such a pace even when he had been training beside prodigies in two great empires.

  He let the distracting thoughts slip away, knowing it was nothing more than an attempt at distraction, his mind’s way of trying to keep him from expending energy he had precious little of left. But his will was iron, his duty imminent.

  Focus.

  He breathed out, held his desire for the realm to part before him, and slashed out with his khopesh. A yawning portal opened, though it was smaller this time, and fading with every moment.

  “Go!” he wheezed out, struggling for breath as his very soul shivered from the strain.

  They needed no further urging though, Neferu and Harsiese diving through the breach. Heshtat stumbled in after them, catching a final glimpse of the roiling yellow clouds gathering above the temple district. He could only hope Ahhotep had a plan for that, because Heshtat sure as the seven hells didn’t.