by Casey Eanes
Seam sprinted for Luken and lifted him by the neck, siphoning his power and life through the Keys.
Grift brought up his rifle and held his breath. “Go to hell,” he whispered as the crosshairs fell on Seam. He squinted for focus and squeezed the trigger. The recoil of the shot let out a huge explosion and Seam’s head snapped back. The High King’s shoulder twisted as a round ripped through the side of his neck and bottom of his jaw. He tossed Luken to the side and his gaze locked quickly onto Grift's position. An orb of fire erupted around the High King and his eyes went black as midnight. The entire army of morels worked with one purpose as they swarmed after Grift.
Grift turned and sprinted, making his way for the large sanctuary doors. Wael will be there. He will know what to do. The thought rang hollow in his mind, but it was all he could hope for. Since the Serubs’ defeat of the Desolate, Grift had lost all hope of his own survival, or in stopping Seam’s progress toward the final mirror, but he had not expected Luken to fall so quickly under the High King’s power. A stoic spirit filled him and he resigned himself for his end. I go down fighting.
His heart hammered in his chest as he pushed open the ten-foot sanctuary doors, thanking Aleph that they opened for him. Inside he was nearly mobbed by a hundred monks in formation, bravely facing the door. In the candlelight, Grift could see that those in the sanctuary were uncommonly dressed. On their faces were intricately painted ash patterns, drawn and stylized to look like flames, their bright eyes like beacons in the dim light. So this is how the Alephian Order makes its last stand. Grift noticed that they were armed according to their custom, with ironwood staffs, bows, and maces, weapons that Grift knew would be no use against what was coming for them.
A voice rang out in the open chamber, and Grift turned his eyes up to the altar. “Grift Shepherd, I’m glad you survived this long.” There, upon the altar, stood Wael, no longer crumbled on the ground in prayer, but standing tall. The Mastermonk was decked from head to toe with a tight leather armor, and in the center of his chest plate of iron was the etched rune of Aleph. Wael’s face was clear of the ash that his brothers’ bore, except for the same stark rune that ran across the center of his forehead. His eyes and face were set like stone, and his countenance was like an impenetrable fortress. Next to his side was his companion, Rot, whose back was arched high, roaring with anger and agitation. Upon seeing Grift, the beast settled by his master's feet, though his one good eye kept its watch on the large wooden door.
“They are coming, Wael. The Desolate have been defeated by the Serubs, and Seam is coming.”
Wael nodded and placed his hand on the monstrous dog next to him. He looked out over the hundred monks that filled the last sacred place left in Preost. His voice rang over them like a hurricane, and Grift felt his heart ignite.
“My brothers, do not bar the door for our guest. Let him come into Aleph’s house so that he may meet his Lord and Master. Even in this darkness, Seam Panderean may reject his ways and turn again to the One who reigns in Aether.” The brothers shuffled in the darkness, eagerly awaiting what their leader would say next. The Mastermonk closed his eyes, his voice like a prayer sung in the gloom. “But if he will not turn and submit to our Lord, then we must stand. Stand for the One who holds this world in his hands, even in such dark times of violence. Stand for the One who keeps all those dead and alive in his thoughts, in his mind, in his presence.” Wael’s eyes opened wide, his face seeming to glow in the darkness. Grift felt an unexpected rush of wind through the dark hall, a warm, sweet smell filling the place with an odor of wildflowers. “Do you not feel Him, my friends? He is here, even now, to greet us. To call us back to our home and to greet our dear brother, Seam. To greet the Celestials who turned their back on him so long ago, the ones once locked away. Even now, Aleph calls to these lost ones, asking them to come back to Him to turn away from the hate and rage that consumes them. We are not alone here, my friends!”
The other monks began to agree, their lips moving with their own silent prayers, other whispering, “Selah.” Wael nodded in agreement with them and spoke once more.
“Now is the time. The time when we stand against the coming darkness that moves in our world. We may die today, and all of our Order as well. All of Candor may burn for a thousand years, and chaos may cover us all in the ruin. Yet as surely as Aleph is here with us, my friends, we are alive. We are alive in this place, in His presence, and we are alive in our death. From death comes life! So now...let us live.”
A sudden explosion rocketed from behind the thick, timber door, and Grift shifted, turning his eyes back, pointing his rifle to what was coming. The door shuddered under the quaking force of what was behind it. Wael picked up his staff and looked upon his friends and toward the door.
“Let us greet this day, and greet those who want to enter this place. Let us greet them in the name of Aleph, the Lord on High, the One who will see us through. Steel your nerves, and know that this, this is our time. This is our time to stand, counted with the faithful. Counted with those who lived with love in their hearts. I am thankful to have been loved and to have loved each of you.”
Silence fell over the sanctuary as all eyes focused in on the two thick oak doors standing between Taluum’s final remnant and the jackal king. The doors swung open with a blast as a wall of black bodies pressed into the sanctuary, pausing a few feet from the first line of armed monks. Seam strolled in behind his morel army, taking his time to move toward the room’s center. His eyes were as black as ravens and his face was as pale as a corpse. Perspiration beaded on his brow, glistening in the dim candlelight, giving him the appearance of a king wearing a shimmering crown.
The sides of Seam’s lips curled in a smile as he gazed at Wael and then on Grift. “Ah, I will savor this moment. You continue to stand between me and my destiny? You both dare to oppose a god?”
Grift shook his head in disbelief. It was as if the shot he landed on Seam had not even touched him. His enemy’s face was miraculously whole; despite the bullet he had just seen pass through it.
“You are no god.” Wael lifted his staff to position and took a step forward, with Rot growling by his side. “And I will not stand by while you insult Aleph with your self-worship.”
Seam burst into laughter and flexed his arms out to the sides, motioning toward his army. “I command an infinite, loyal army, monk. What has your God done for you? Nothing! He has allowed me to destroy this putrid, self-righteous city and he will stand by as I kill you, too.”
The High King pulled back the long black cape hanging from his left shoulder and grasped the hilt of his obsidian sword. “I will be sure to enjoy this.”
The morel swarm sprung to life, leaping on the nearest monks. The once silent sanctuary erupted with the sounds of ironwood staffs cracking against bone, claws digging through flesh and screams that cried out for mercy. The monks moved with a graceful unity, every man and woman playing their part, dancing with a rhythm that undulated to an invisible music. Each movement was like a note in a vicious, rehearsed melody. The morels, however, moved with nothing short of brute force. As one monster fell, another moved in to replace it.
Grift motioned for Adley and the two sprinted for the opposite sides of the sanctuary. Grift lowered his rifle and opened fire on the morels swarming through the door. Adley followed suit, ripping off one round after another from the pistols she bore in each hand. Even with the extra firepower, morels continued to flow through the open door like a black river, leaping over the dead that began to pile in the opening.
Adley muttered a soft prayer as she reloaded. “Please forgive me, Aleph.” She fired a few more shots before reaching into her pack and pulling out a large explosive charge. She hurled the block of explosives toward the door, watching it skid within inches of nearest door frame. She fired twice but each shot was wide, ricocheting off the stone floor. Adley broke from the side of the room, sprinting closer for a better shot.
The morels continued to fight and claw, obli
vious to their downed kin. The swarm had one purpose and one direction; move forward. Wael, with Rot and his monks, continued to fight the horde. Grift’s attention was drawn from the sight of his rifle as he noticed Adley sprinting toward the incoming morel army. She lifted her pistol and fired at the floor. Three pops rang out, followed by an enormous explosion that rocked the entire room. A wall of flames spewed from the door, swallowing the incoming morels. Timber and stone were flung in every direction.
The room creaked and moaned, and the large doorframe snapped and crumbled in. Mammoth stones fell, blocking the door. Grift rushed into the scene trying to locate Adley, fearing the worst. Aleph...please. She was nowhere to be found until he spotted her, pinned beneath one of the fallen support beams against the far wall. She was scrambling to pull herself from the wreckage, wrenching at her pinned leg.
“No!” Grift’s scream ripped through the room with a force only dwarfed by the earlier explosion. He lifted his rifle and aimed for the only target that mattered to him: Seam. Grift held the trigger as he ran toward the High King. Spouts of blood popped all over the King’s chest as he stumbled backward. Grift collided with Seam, tackling him to the ground, pulling his battle knife from his belt. He lifted it overhead, ready to slam it through the jackal king’s skull when Seam’s hand grasped his throat.
The King’s eyes glistened and he smiled as he smacked Grift’s knife away with his free hand. His grasp was impossible, inhuman. Seam stood to his feet and lifted Grift in the air with one hand around his neck. Grift gasped for air as he pawed at Seam’s grasp.
“Surprised, Shepherd?” Seam’s smile grew wide as he clenched his fingers harder around Grift’s throat. “Did you not listen to me? Do you not recognize who I am?”
Grift spit in the young king’s face and gazed upward, muttering a quiet prayer. Seam shook him like a rag doll and screamed.
“Look at me, you insect.” Grift locked his eyes on the ceiling and a small smile crept over his lips as Seam spewed with fury. Seam hurled Grift across the room, smashing him against one of the wooden pillars lining the room. A loud crack rang out as Grift connected and his limp body slid to the ground. Two morels broke away from the fight and surged over Grift’s unconscious body. They snatched him from the floor and ripped him to his feet. Seam yanked his face up by his hair and placed his nose an inch from Grift’s. “I know exactly how I want to watch you die.” Seam motioned to the side of the room and the morels drug Grift from the fight.
Seam lost patience with his morels fighting the monk army and stepped into the fray, swinging his obsidian blade with deadly precision. He hacked away at the last few monks standing between him and Wael, bringing them down like felled saplings. Rot stood between his Master and Seam and lunged for the High King who batted his hand up, knocking the massive beast back as if Rot were nothing more than a pesky fly. Rot let out a weak whimper as he thudded against the cold, hard stone floor.
“Now.” Seam’s dark eyes were cold as he stared down Wael. “You will learn to bow to the one true deity in this place.”
Wael lifted his staff, ready for Seam’s attack, his face set in stone, determined. “I will never bow.”
Seam held out his black blade, taking a swipe at Wael who easily blocked the blow, only to turn and land a side-long kick to Seam’s chest. Wael made a spinning swing, slamming his staff into Seam’s forearm, knocking the king’s weapon to the floor. Seam opened his palm and let out a concussive blast that sent Wael tumbling head over heels.
The king snatched his sword from the ground and stalked forward, a scowl locked on his face. Wael took to the offensive, swinging his long staff from side to side, forcing Seam to block each successive advance. The two exchanged attacks until Wael landed a violent shot to Seam’s cheek with his staff, followed by another hammering swing into the back of his skull. Seam fell to one knee as Wael lifted his staff for another swing.
With one lightning quick strike, Seam threw his sword forward, running it through Wael’s gut. Wael let out a wheezing breath as he fell to his knees, gasping as the blade ran him through to the black blade’s hilt. Seam chuckled and stood back to his feet as the monk reached up, grasping at Seam’s black cloak.
“I told you that you would bow to me.” Seam ripped the blade free from Wael’s gut and kicked the monk onto his back. Seam stood over him and smirked as he shook his head. “I should have saved you for a slower death, but this is fitting.”
Seam looked up at the exposed rafters lining the sanctuary’s ceiling and then peered back down at Wael, grasping his face and shaking him as he spoke. “Look to your Aether now, you worthless monk. Say your final prayers. No one hears them because no one is there. Your faith...it is empty.” Seam threw Wael’s head back as the monk’s eyes grew faint.
“I am God.” Seam peered up again at the rafters and shouted. “Do you hear me!?” Seam stooped down and whispered into the monk’s ears tenderly. “I. Am. God.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Beads of sweat poured down Willyn’s brow and stung her eyes as she squinted through her visor display, trying to focus on the rolling dunes speeding by as she rocketed into Riht. The sands whipped around her like a dust storm, as a legion of Grogans followed her, their hearts set on waging war on the High King's city.
“ETA five minutes, men.” Willyn engaged her weapon systems as she spoke, flicking red and blue switches on her controls into place. “We’re going to come in hot. We leave victorious or in a casket.”
A chorus of cries boomed over the datalink feed, ready for battle. “Die for the Sar, die for glory. All honor to die for our land!”
Willyn flipped up her visor and wiped at the sweat burning her eyes. She toggled her visor view over her face. Bright red displays hovered in her field of vision, highlighting the known targets that were swiftly approaching. Zenith was not without defenses. Her navigation and radar system was picking up high readings of infantry units, as well as several outfits of rooks and titans. So many soldiers… Her mind recoiled, her brain swarming with the memories of morels, the shambling nightmares that Seam could wield like puppets. What you’re seeing are morels...not just soldiers. She slid the glass pane back over her eyes. “Report in, men.”
Her units radioed in, their voices steady.
“Dragon Leader, here. We’re ready for the fight, my Sar.”
“Cobra unit. All present and accounted for.”
“Rhino. Tech is steady.”
“Badger unit reporting in and ready. Let’s give ‘em hell. Make that son of a—”
Willyn stifled a laugh as Lion unit cut through the feed.
“Lion unit to your right, Commander. Ready for the assault.”
“Wolf is right behind you, Willyn. We move on your word.”
Willyn’s heart slammed in her chest, but despite her nerves she smiled. A strange clarity began to settle in as she glanced down at her screen, confirming her army’s numbers. One hundred and fifty rooks ran point. Behind them were all that were left of the Groganlands titans: fifty gigantic war machines moving fast but still two miles behind her first wave. “Titan leaders, report!” Willyn barked out.
As her titan commanders checked in and reported their numbers, Willyn smiled. If it comes down to it, this...is a good way to die. Memories washed over her of blazing into Lotte after Grift Shepherd with a squadron of rooks. I wish I had known the truth… Her thoughts dissipated as the tip of the Spire pierced the desert horizon, rising from the sandy landscape like a black shard of obsidian glass. It looked as if the entire structure had been hammered into the earth, lodged into the very heart of the barren desert.
Willyn swallowed, her nerves causing her to tremble. Focus, Willyn. She called out to her men, her voice roaring over the coms. “Units spread out! Dragon and Cobra unit, swing north. We’ve got readings of fortifications up ahead. Artillery! Let’s take them out.”
“Aye, commander.” Sixty rooks broke from the pack and headed for the north.
Willyn stared
at the navigation map, her mind moving through the strategy that was second nature to her. “Badger and Rhino unit, take the south. You will flank on my command.” As the second wave broke away, she spoke and lowered her helmet’s screen. “Wolf and Lion units, you are with me. Ready the new tech. Morel units are reading dead ahead. All units, you’ve been given your coordinates and your orders. May our deaths be remembered!”
All the units spoke, their voices filling the datalink coms. “May our deaths be remembered!”
Willyn closed her eyes and flicked a small silver button on her rook. “The first wave of Dominion forces is just over the hill. Deploy the tech, men! We’re ready for whatever they throw at us!” The armor of her machine shifted in an instant, producing a covering of fine, razor-tipped quills that hummed with electricity. It had taken three nights of constant work, but each rook had been fitted with the experimental morel armor that had long been used to help protect the Baggers on their railcars. “It's time we feast on the jackal king!”
An eager voice crackled over the datalink, the coordinates indicating it was coming from Rhuddenhall. “Is he there, Willyn?” The pain in Rander’s voice was obvious. She knew it was killing him to stay in Rhuddenhall, but she needed his leadership in case she never came back.
“No intel on Seam’s coordinates now, Rander. Last we heard, he was headed for Preost. All coms are going dark for now. We hit our target in less than five minutes.”
Willyn muttered a prayer as the Spire grew before her, piercing the sky with each mile her forces traversed.
Arakiel and Nyx stood in an ocean of new morels under the shadow of the Spire. More than twenty thousand empty eyes and blank stares were fixed on their new masters, each and every body a puppet waiting on its master to pull the strings. Soon they would all be marched into a bloody war. Nyx fidgeted as she focused her mind on mastering the collective.