Immortal soldiers from the Sect of Sinum dragged John Pendergast to a sacrificial circle. In the jungles below, thousands of sect followers waited for king and master Ba'l Akil. Labat, Akil’s queen, squeezed the armrests of her throne with crushing force. The sight of John stirred bitter memories.
Goodbye Pendergast, she muttered. Rest in hell.
A cool note within the humidity signaled that ether flowed in the air. She raised her arms to thank Mother for the gift, swaying to music played by men beating bone mallets against human-hide drums. A meter away, the ba’latu harranum—Akil’s harem—mimicked Labat to amplify the crowd.
The stench of John’s wet death wafted through the courtyard, and Labat’s hunger prickled at the scent. She raked her fingers through her wolf Nasar's fur as the beast lay prone at her feet. Behind the courtyard, Akil’s massive palace made of obsidian and gold staggered. Within minutes, the entry doors parted to let him through. Cheers erupted at his appearance and Labat jolted from her throne, uttering—Master.
A hand clamped over hers and jerked her attention aside. She scowled at the skinny boy sitting in the gilded chair beside hers.
“What do you want?”
He stared with large dull eyes, replying with slow words since he was born stupid. A former slave like her, their captors once called him it, until she'd renamed him Zib after Akil's liberation.
“Sit, Sa-ee-ha.”
Saiha. Her scowled deepened. Only he and Akil could use that mortal name.
“Did you tell me to sit?”
Zib nodded. “Yes. You. Down.”
“I’m Queen of Sinum, child." She raised her chin, shoving her horned crown into place. "Lioness of Vangral and ruler of our faith Isten Dar, so named by Ba'l Akil. No one compares!”
“Yes,” said Zib. “Know.”
“Right. So don’t tell me what to do!”
Zib pointed at the sect authorities observing from the shadows, the figures in flowing white robes without faces. Cursed with partial humanity—a mongrel by Vangral's standards—she felt their empty stares searching her for error. Zib’s eyes flooded with the black void and he bared fangs he couldn’t retract. Labat settled as Akil continued.
“Faithful brood, I present an unrivaled gift this Harvest—the head of Admiral John Pendergast.” Akil halted, holding up a hand while glancing down at John. “No. Wrong. You’re not an admiral anymore, nor president of Silatem. Your eldest manages the hunters now, and I’ll take his head next.” A gust of wind, a sigh from Mother, rushed over the island. “You’ve become Union General, elected as leader of humanity. Global news feeds say I should be impressed, but I find that hard to do. You held the chair for less than a year.”
Akil listed John’s crimes. Labat confirmed each one. Hapiru, maridu, mar mat nakiri—traitor, liar, heathen!
“You won awards for our genocide while poisoning us with mortal diseases. Left unchecked, humanity will destroy this planet, but I won’t let that happen. I’ll obliterate you all first.”
Energy surged as the sect chanted—FOR THE GLORY. Labat’s fangs descended as Akil delivered John’s judgment.
“You’re sentenced to wander El-Akalut's gardens for eternity, where the void will mirror your pain one-thousand-fold. Galu ina libbi giru. No God can help you.”
He beckoned for his favored acolyte to approach, and the golden-skinned male hurried to the circle with Akil's scimitar. Sect musicians launched into Sinum’s death march as prayers swelled. Zib chanted like they were playing a game.
“Su sa ilutu—su sa kutu—su sa sutu!”
He who is divine. He who is mighty. He who rises.
Labat drifted from her throne.
Akil wrenched John from the ground and forced the man to kneel. The scimitar's edge pressed against John’s throat, and John remained silent, concealing his pain. He knew from his company's studies that they'd feed from his turmoil as much as his blood. Labat laughed at his abstinence. Useless. The sacrifice would proceed.
The swipe against John sprayed red, and metallic smells swallowed the courtyard. Physical melded with spiritual. Akil dragged John to each rune, drowning the marks in fluid, before extending the sword to Labat.
“Hiba. My lioness. Come." Labat glided to him, arching her small form in his tall presence. He boomed overhead, his words echoing. “Brothers and sisters, ahu wa ahatu. Your queen brought John to us with her cleverness. Exalt her!”
Cheers swelled as Akil released John into Labat’s grip. Her eyes blackened with the void. She summoned forces from the ether, easing John to the ground, and the sect fell to silence. No soothing trill of gryllidae serenaded the calm.
Labat threw her weight against the sword and shoved through John’s neck until his head fell. She dropped the scimitar and seized the prize, returning to Akil. She kneeled, waiting until he lay his hand between the decorated horns of her crown. He commanded her to rise.
“Stand.”
She stood.
He dabbed her face with John’s blood, and she nestled against his touch. The tribe chanted around them—HIBTI LABAT, HIBTI LABAT.
Beloved Labat.
Beloved.
Akil raised John’s head toward the twin moons before beckoning for his favorite acolyte to approach. His voice stirred through Labat's veins as he gave the acolyte his orders.
“Drive a spike through the skull and place it in the garden. Remove his eyelids so he can see and turn him toward El-Akalut. Let him worship the great tree.”
The acolyte bowed, accepting the head. “Yes, Master.”
Amid the sect's roaring praise, Akil and Labat returned to the palace, finding another prize waiting in his bedchambers. Sally Southland, a senior diplomat from John’s landing party, lay on the floor drained of blood. She'd once boasted fluency in Vangrali when John's party arrived and chattered at them in painful tongue. No more pleas for mercy came, not for herself nor her poor sons.
“A tremendous day, Ba’l.” Sally shook Akil’s hand with tears dotting her eyes. “Thanks for taking this stride with us. After one thousand years, we’ll find peace.”
“Nu-kan-ooh. Shaka-nooh. Oooh-ooh.” Labat mimicked Sally with a snort. “Awful. You’d never be able to vocalize celestial sounds.”
Sally stirred, and Akil moved to snap her neck. He paused when Labat touched his arm.
“Not yet.” Labat removed her dress, baring herself for Akil. “I want to hear her cry.”
Akil surveyed her naked form. “You’d wring blood from a stone.”
“True.”
He drank from Sally one last time and flung Labat to the bed. Labat tasted Sally in his kiss, and her heart moved with mortal rhythm when he bit her. In the moments where she belonged to Akil alone, she felt something like alive.
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