Baalat stepped around Istara's inert body, and ran her hands along the edges of the opening, avoiding the concerned looks of Istara's parents. She closed the portal and turned to face her consort just as he transformed into his true self: a man, entire, not the fantastical, hybrid creation of the imaginings of mortals.

He came after her, his grip on her shoulders hurting her. "Whatever you are doing," he said, harsh, "it stops now."

"You cannot stop this," Baalat said, meeting his gaze, steady. "None of us can."

His hold on her lessened. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated, uncertain how to begin. Comprehension flickered in his eyes. "The vision pool," he said, quiet. He let her go. "What have you kept from me?"

Moving to the cage with its imprisoned heart, she asked, "Have you never wondered what it must be like to live with uncertainty, to have limited time?" When he remained silent, she reached up, tracing the outline of his jaw, its contours as familiar as her own heartbeat. "Do you not wonder what it would be like to savor the sweetness of each passing, fleeting moment. To live."

He pushed her hand away. "I have not."

"We are relics," she continued, quiet. "Our era is long gone. Our existence is purposeless, meaningless. It is an eternity of nothing."

His jaw tightened, though a glimmer of agreement flickered in his eyes.

Trailing her fingers over the shifting outline of one of the golden tattoos on his chest--the image of a fractal--she continued, "I know you think of it. We all have."

"Perhaps I have," he said, dismissive, "but nothing can be done about it."

"You know that is not true."

He stared at her, taken aback. "The alternative is unthinkable."

"To me, it is not."

Taking her chin in his hand, he lifted her face up to his, his eyes dark. "To live is to die. I will not lose you. It would be unbearable to face immortality without you."

She sighed. "It seems I do not have a choice."

"I do," Horus answered, severe. "If Istara will not enter the portal, I will seal her in here until Sethi dies."

Uneasy, Baalat looked at Sethi's heart, bleeding still, beyond the barriers of reality. Horus followed her gaze. He cursed, causing the illusion of the walls to waver.

"Who is this mortal," he demanded, his hands clenching into fists, "that he is able transcend our boundaries?"

"One chosen by a power greater than us," Baalat whispered.

Horus paused. "The Creator?"

Baalat lifted her shoulders. "Who can say? The Creator abandoned us when we warred against men. Perhaps he has returned." She looked at the cage, its slats slick with blood. "This much I know: Sethi's sacrifice gave her the strength to overcome the pull of the portal, to overcome you. I have sensed another controlling his path, a power outside of us, but for what purpose I do not know. As for myself, the vision pool showed me a prophecy: since the beginning of time, Istara's destiny and mine have been bound together. She is meant to return, and it is I who must send her back." She looked back at Horus. "My love, I do not have a choice."

Horus stared at the beating heart. Baalat waited, letting him work it out. He turned to her, wary. "If you . . . "

Baalat looked away. "I have had eons to prepare myself for this."

He came to her, his breathing shallow. "When she dies, you will die."

She reached out to him. "We will still have time. Imagine the love we will make never knowing when I shall breathe my last."

Horus took her hand and ran his thumb over the back of her fingers. "I have loved you since before time existed, and will love you after it ends. It is our purpose to be together. You cannot break our bond."

She pressed his hand against her heart. "I must. It is my destiny. My love, let me go."

❃

The darkness diminished to a single point. Istara shuddered and opened her eyes. She sat up, disoriented. Illuminated by its blue flames, the stone chamber still surrounded her. Besider her, the opening to the immortal realm glimmered, faint, vaporous, her family gone. Baalat moved out from the shadows, Horus close behind her, his muscled arms crossed over his chest. Baalat's eyes caught hers.

Istara, you face a choice. To continue on to the immortal realm, or to return to the mortal one. But, before you decide, know the risk you will take.

If you decide to return, you will go back to a world fraught with pain and suffering. Without our presence, men have become fickle creatures, drawn to baubles and power, their hearts craven, changing upon a whim.

What you go back to today could change tomorrow, and you might find yourself regretting your choice to return, wishing you had remained here. So I ask you: do you still wish to return to a place where you may be forced to endure a life you will not be able to escape, except through death?

Istara looked at Sethi's heart, fresh blood pumping out with each beat. Her heart clenched anew at his sacrifice. She moved to her knees. "My Lady, I am willing to take the risk. My heart is yours to take. I beg you, let me go back to him."

You may only make such an offer while in the mortal realm, Baalat replied, and only when it is done to save another. There is now only one way for you to return: a god must pay the cost.

A finger of dread touched Istara. "And . . . what is the cost?" she asked, uncertain.

Baalat's gaze flicked to Horus. They shared a look, then his diurnal gaze tilted onto Istara, hard, cold and unblinking. Let that be my concern, Baalat answered, soft. Do you still wish to return?

"Only if I am certain no harm will come to you if I do," Istara countered, feeling Horus's stare boring into her, unnerving her.

Baalat smiled, a quiet, secret thing. No harm will come to me.

Istara hesitated. Baalat waited, patient. Sethi's heart bled, calling to her, drawing her back to him, irresistable. "Then I accept," she breathed.

Her eyes gentle, Baalat brought her fingers to Istara's brow and stroked it, her touch soothing, reassuring. Tendrils of light ignited inside the goddess's body, darting and swirling, surging toward her hand, alive. They slipped free and wove outward, wrapping around Istara's head, snaking around her body, binding her tight, a cocoon of light.

Horus cried out, falling to his knees, no longer a falcon-headed being, but a man, perfect, beautiful, strong. He begged Baalat to cease even as she wrapped her arms around Istara and drew her into her embrace, shuddering, her light leaving her, her immortal power draining away, returning Istara to the world of men.

Too late, Istara understood what was happening. She cried out, begging Baalat to stop. The chamber dimmed and faded away. A rushing sound filled her ears. Then: nothing. Darkness. And in the silence, the sound of a beating heart.

Istara returned, still pleading for Baalat to cease. Trapped inside a tight wrapping of blankets, she panicked, claustrophobia snapping at her. A pair of hands came to aid her. Strong and steady, they freed her, helped her to sit. A voice, low and reassuring, sought to soothe her. She opened her eyes. Painful white light blinded her. She cried out, retreating to the safety of darkness; the horrifying truth of what she had done closing in on her, shearing her in two, accusing, brutal. She shuddered, her mind splintering under the colossal weight of her debt. No. It was far too great a burden to bear. Riven by helplessness and regret, she succumbed to her grief and wept.

❃

Sethi gaped, incredulous, at Istara alive and grieving before him, her anguish tangible. He touched her shoulder. She flinched and pulled away, defensive. He sat back on his haunches, wary, a tremor of fear sliding through him. How could she be alive? Ity had declared her dead, had noted the time of her death in his journal.

He waited, watchful and silent, trying to find an explanation for what he should not be seeing. Perhaps he had died. He felt for his pulse. It beat steady and strong. Confounded, he stared at her, trying to make sense of her sudden return to existence. Perhaps Ity had been wrong. He had just begun to consider sending for the surgeon when she quieted. She lifted her head, opened her eyes, and looked right at him. He leaned toward her, slow, and waved his hand before her face. She did not respond. He blinked. She had returned blind. Cautious, he touched the back of her hand.

"Istara?"

She looked down, unseeing, at his fingers on her hand and hiccupped, soft. The innocent, ordinary sound of it reassuring. The tightness in his chest eased by a margin. Ity must have been mistaken.

"A terrible thing has happened, I have--" she fell silent, stricken.

"What has happened?" he coaxed, gentle. "Tell me."

She shook her head, her tears glimmering in the lamplight.

He looked down and inhaled, sharp. Her bandages were spotless. He pulled them away, dread circling him. Turning her hand over in his own, he ran his thumb over where she had been impaled, finding only healthy, unmarked skin.

"Your hand--" he breathed, stunned, disbelieving, "--there is not even a scar. You are whole again. How--?"

She raised her face to his, her dilated eyes unnerving him, and nodded at the bandages around her calves. He unwrapped them, cautious, apprehensive. The linens fell away. Istara touched her legs, searching for the puckered lines where the sewn flesh should have been. Her fingers stilled.

"She has renewed me, with her own living light."

Fresh tears slipped free. He tried again to touch her. This time, she succumbed. He kissed her brow, hushing her, fearful, uneasy, her words haunting him. An hour earlier, Ity had left to find his pallet. Alone, vanquished, Sethi had cradled Istara's broken body against his. She had died. And now she lived, whole again. She has renewed me. Hope kindled. Perhaps his sacrifice had been enough to save her. Not once, but twice.