Covenants: Anodize (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 9)

by Terra Whiteman

  Laith raised her brows, a peculiar look of amusement reached her eyes. “I won’t waste my time trying to convince you otherwise. Your shadow has consumed you completely. You’re a heretic—a defiler of this sacred place; another piece of unworthy junk corrupting Eschatis, too weak to perform the shadow work required of a true quantum resident.”

  “A lot of sticks and stones for someone trying not to waste their time.”

  “You think the suffering will end when Suzerain retakes control? How could it, with acolytes like you?”

  Sefedre hissed, throwing a loose rock. Laith side-stepped, avoiding its trajectory. “Leave me, witch. Nothing you say will stop the ritual. If you thought we’d fail, then you wouldn’t be bothering with me.”

  Laith frowned. “I’m bothering with you because I’m trying to make you see reason. Do the shadow work, become a wayfarer. Play by the rules, Six.”

  “You just want your power back. No one comes to the Shadow Witch for counsel anymore, do they?”

  “No one comes to me for counsel anymore because your assemblage has killed everyone.” When Sefedre didn’t respond, only closed her eyes and lowered her head, resuming communion with Suzerain, Laith sighed. “Good luck, Six. We’ll be seeing each other again soon.”

  The weight of the witch’s presence lifted from Sefedre’s shoulders, and they sagged in relief. Her relief was brief; frustration and anger nested in the center of her chest as Laith’s parting words replayed in her mind, expanding until her ribs and throat burned reticent.

  How many more of the assemblage would die before the ritual was complete? How many more totems would Sefedre watch flicker and fade out before she could finally know solace?

  She’d promised them.

  She was a liar.

  Her sadness and fury coalesced, and she broke communion to stare up at her master in contempt. “When will you come?!” she screamed, balling her hands into fists, feeling the warm throb of old wounds drawn in his name. “When will I fulfill your desires?! You said you would save us! We are dying!”

  And, for the first time since the ritual had begun, his soothing voice sounded off in her mind, leaving her awash in warm tingles that made everything better.

  ‘Death is an illusion, child. You suffer only because you will it. I will be there soon. Just a little more. Just a little more, and you’ll never feel anything again.’

  Sefedre’s tiny hands unclenched. The encumbrance faded from her coal-smudged eyes, and she reverently whispered a prayer in his name. She reopened the incision in her palm with a shard, shuddering at the fresh twinge of pain.

  The tallest totem in the circle was Suzerain’s, constructed of the bones of as many wayfarers as her assemblage could gather. Her master was right when he said death was an illusion—she could see the truth of his words in the soft viridescent glow of the bone pile as the totem leeched their quantum essences, spoon-feeding Suzerain back to health. If only the witch’s bones were among them; then he’d have been here already.

  Offering her own to help quicken the process, she pressed her hand to the totem, staining the bones with her blood. It was a paltry donation, more so a demonstration of her fealty, but it was just enough to intensify the glow.

  Sefedre knelt with her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes with a deluge of communion, continuing her surveillance of Eschatis through Suzerain’s ever-watchful eye.

  She honed in on the second pair of black-clad otherworldly trespassers, blindly following a pneuma-thread right to their perdition.

  X

  ZIRA

  “DO YOU THINK LAITH IS DEAD?”

  I didn’t answer Qaira’s question right away, finishing a field analysis of the new environs we’d stepped into once the forest cleared. Our time spent here had been relatively short, but already we knew better than to look forward to a sudden shift in scenery.

  I took vis-captures for our thread, the stream HUD showing synchronizations with every scholar except for Leid. Despite this, any attempt at calling to whoever was assigned as Sort went unanswered.

  “I don’t know,” I said, watching fleeting balls of green light, no bigger than coins, dance along the field like luciferous insects. I removed my visor, unable to see them anymore. I reactivated it, and there they were again. Interesting. “I hope not. By the way, the Court can’t hear us because they’re not attuned to the frequency here.”

  Qaira looked at me, surprised by the drive-by statement. “What?”

  “We can speak to each other telepathically because we have our headsets tuned to the rift’s frequency. They don’t. I’m not sure that anything we’re sending is even getting through.”

  “But I see it in the stream. Your vis-captures of the glow bugs are very pretty, by the way. Maybe you should capture the really creepy-looking monastery over there, too. You know, give them some context.”

  I frowned, ignoring his ridicule. “Did you include the frequency in the thread?” I’d searched already, but couldn’t find it.

  “No.”

  “Oh, perfect. Well now they’ll never be able to speak to us.”

  “Hindsight’s a bitch, eh?”

  I sighed at his lack of any contribution to our problem. “Do you know the frequency?”

  “Yes,” he said. “The signature’s reported on the lower left of your visor’s HUD.”

  “So, add it to the thread.”

  “What for? If you’re right, then they can’t see anything we’re throwing up there. It’ll all have to be decrypted when we get back.”

  “Do it anyway. I’m hoping Yahweh or Aela will have more sense than us and figure out how to recover it before then.”

  Qaira’s resonating signature in the user-list blinked repeatedly, signifying he was working in the stream. A moment later the active thread gained a violet embossing, notifying all users that it’d been updated. “There,” he said. “Can we go now?”

  There had been something I wanted to say for a while, but feared what might happen once I did. “I can’t see Leid’s trail anymore.”

  I heard him sigh. “I guess it’s my turn.”

  And that was what I’d been afraid of. “Um, I don’t know. Anything manifested from your subconscious will be a hundred times worse than mine.”

  Incoming argument, probably.

  Qaira was always touchy whenever it came to his mental state, which dually supported the probable lack of its stability.

  He scowled. “You can drop the act now, Zira. We know you’re just as bat-shit crazy as I am.”

  I crouched, conflicted, once again ignoring Qaira’s inflammatory response.

  Absorbing a shard consequently put my shadow on display to this world. The thought of having to once again endure anything even remotely similar to what had happened back at the waystation was harrowing, but if the options were between Qaira’s shadow and mine, then—;

  “I’ll go again. You can take the next time,” I decided.

  Qaira shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Still crouched, I snatched a loose pebble from the ground with a grimace. “Get that marble ready.”

  The second consumption wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. We’d been ready this time, and I’d taken the marble as soon as the shard soaked into my hand. The seizure didn’t occur, and the trail reappeared. I called it Leid’s trail, yet there was a good chance that it had nothing to do with Leid at all.

  Across the open field were the ruins of a once-grandiose town, now left to rot. Beyond the town was a decaying wall, surrounding a large edifice that resembled a monastery. Qaira had called it creepy. That’d been an understatement, for once.

  “Does this scenery look familiar to you?” I asked.

  “No, I thought it was your doing.”

  I shook my head, and we shared a grave look. If not ours, then someone else’s. “The trail leads there.”

  “Of course it fucking does,” muttered Qaira. “Why wouldn’t it avoid the death chapel? That’d be too easy.”

 
I shot him a sidelong glance. “Have you even considered it isn’t leading us to Leid?”

  “Yeah, a few times now. I guess we’ll find out.” Qaira’s eyes narrowed on our destination, his lip curling into a snarl. “Enough talk. Let’s go.”

  I lingered at the top of the hill, watching his determined march toward the town. With some reticence I found myself envious of his idiotic bravery. Then again I’d never been a ‘soldier’ in the truest sense of the word. I knew I’d make a terrible one, too.

  “What’s the fucking hold up?” called Qaira, waving his hands from the bottom of the incline.

  I sighed, releasing any aforementioned envy I’d had, and then followed him toward certain death.

  *

  Once we reached the town, it became clear this was a dark memory of war. Remnants of mortars, craters in the road from other incendiary devices, and numerous char marks on houses—some burnt down, entirely reduced to ash—all punctuated the scenery to create a very macabre atmosphere of brown and gray-washed despair.

  “I can’t wait to meet the person living here,” said Qaira, stepping through a giant crevice in the stone wall, probably caused by a battering ram. The architecture didn’t signify a progressive culture. Neither of us recognized anything, which was a good indication that wherever or whatever this place had once been never consigned with the Court of Enigmus. Maybe none of this had ever existed at all—the resident simply had a good, albeit twisted, imagination.

  “If we’re lucky, it’s a wayfarer.”

  “If so, they need to work on their shadow a little more.”

  I stepped through after him. “Agreed.”

  Before us lay a winding staircase, spiraling up a thousand feet to a handle-less double door that looked to have been constructed for giants. The staircase’s support seemed less than sturdy, and as if on cue, a group of pebbles tumbled down the eroded stone foundation from somewhere above. In this desecrated courtyard the glowing green orbs were abundant, forcing me to forego the visor to avoid distraction. Qaira and I surveyed the vicinity, our skepticism mutual.

  “The trail leads up there?” asked Qaira, eyes raised grimly to the giant door.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, we should probably stop and talk about this.”

  I lifted a brow. “You’re the one who wanted to follow it. I was all for going the other way.”

  “It’s the only thing offering us a direction,” argued Qaira, though the resolve behind his eyes had started to wane.

  “So… what are we discussing, then?” I crossed my arms, about to lean on the wall but quickly thought better of it, not wanting my weight to be what finally brought everything down. “Obviously you want to keep going.”

  “I don’t, I really don’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, pensive. “But what else do we do? Wander aimlessly?”

  I studied Qaira. The uncertainty in his demeanor didn’t suit him. “If you want my support, you’ve got it. No need to stand here and argue your point.”

  He hesitated. “No counterargument, then?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Okay, then. I was kind of hoping you’d convince me otherwise.”

  I scoffed, taking the lead this time. “To quote the philosophers, ‘The only way to go is up.’”

  Qaira watched me climb the first series of steps, incredulous. “Which philosopher was that?”

  “I don’t know; ask Adrial. He’s always saying it.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s applicable here.”

  We gingerly scaled the staircase, sidestepping cracks or anything that crumbled under our boots. At one point a misstep was unavoidable, and I nearly tumbled off a one hundred and fifty-foot incline. Qaira caught the collar of my coat right before that happened, muttering a quick ‘Fuck this’ before unleashing his wings. I barely had enough time to regain my footing before he clutched my wrist and we both surged upward, reaching the summit in a matter of seconds.

  He set me down roughly, and I rolled before recovering into a crouch. Qaira’s wings folded against his back, but he’d opted to keep them out. A good call, as me might need them again, judging by the height and breadth of this place.

  “Why didn’t we do that at the beginning?” I asked, rubbing my tender wrist. I appreciated Qaira’s attempt not to drop me, but he’d gone a little overboard on the insurance.

  “Because doing that just cost me more energy than I’ve used since we arrived here,” he said, irritated. “Beating that augur to death with the teapot, included.”

  “Do you need a marble?”

  “No, not yet.” He sized up the door as the chiming chorus grew louder. “How do we open it?”

  Right before his inquiry, I’d noticed the bronze lever beside the door, at least fifty feet above us. I nodded to it, and he followed my gaze.

  He cast me a look that was a mix of curiosity and concern. Qaira needn’t explain it. I’d already considered the size a person would have to be in order to use that contraption. The lever itself was as big as us.

  Without a word he spread his wings and lifted off, perching on the lever like an overgrown bird of prey. It didn’t move under his weight. With a quizzical frown he dropped and hung from it, wings shifting in a reverse arch to apply more downward force.

  That worked; a rumble beneath my boots told me so. The doors began to slowly open inward, however the moment Qaira dropped back to the ground the doors swung shut quickly enough that their collision shook the ground. In the distance something cracked, the subsequent sound of boulders hitting the ground created a thunderous echo around us.

  “Well shit,” he growled.

  “I’ll push it open,” I said, starting toward it. Qaira grabbed my arm, stopping me.

  “No, that’s too much energy expenditure. I’ve already used enough of my own that I’ll need a marble soon. Let me do it.”

  I gave him a doubtful look. He was Vel’Haru, yes, but only a babe when it came to tenure. Tenure in the Court was directly proportional to strength acquired, and I was the closest thing to a noble that our pool of guardians had. “You can’t move something that big.”

  “You’re right, I can’t.” And then he stepped to the ledge. “One second.”

  With that, he dove from the staircase.

  I counted thirty seconds before Qaira returned, pulling a flat chunk of stone ten times the size of him; the muscles of his neck bulging with strain, wings viciously clapping the air to keep at his ascent. He took a quick breather after setting the stone slab down in front of me, perspiration trickling from his temples.

  I looked to the stone, then at the lever, silently commending his wits.

  There was no discussion of the plan. We were on the same wavelength now. Through another labored breath he flew back to the lever and pulled downward. I lifted the stone slab to its side, rolling it toward the expanding doorway. Once through, I set the slab on the center of the threshold.

  “Tell me when!” I heard him shout, his voice shaking with exhaustion.

  There were quite a few risks this plan posed, most of them affixed to fatal consequences. Having observed both the speed and force of the doors closing once the lever was released, there was a possibility that even this huge rock couldn’t hold it open.

  And because of that I stood on the slab, shaking out my arms in preparation. Qaira’s insistence of energy conservation be damned. “Go for it.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling the whoosh of the doors’ momentum before hearing it. I flinched as they hit the slab with a BANG that rattled my brain and left a painful ringing in my ears. The slab had held, barely. The massive doors had battered away most of its left and right sides, leaving me teetering on the tiny sliver still left in one piece.

  And then Qaira hit me like a speeding bullet, knocking the wind right out of my lungs. I was airborne for an uncomfortably long period of time before colliding with the ground; head over feet, feet over head, I slid to a stop on my back, staring up at the eminent, vaulted ceilin
g in a daze.

  “Are you hurt?” demanded Qaira, at my side a second later. He seemed more angry than concerned. “Because I sure as fuck am. What were you doing there?”

  “Insurance,” I said, rising with a wince.

  He paused, realizing my intentions. He must have then moved on to the revelation that I was willing to get chopped in half so that he could make it across, because his anger melted into a troubled frown. Shifting uncomfortably, Qaira wiped away the blood from his mouth. Fortunately I was not bleeding, though I may have cracked a rib. “Why would you do that?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “Don’t be a hero.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What should I be thanking you for?” he snapped. “The rock held. I hauled that fucking thing all the way up here to save you the energy, and then you went and did that.”

  I clenched and unclenched a fist. “Keep the marble. You hit like a lesser.”

  “Oh, don’t be a cunt.” He grinned malevolently, presenting a row of blood-tinged teeth. I was tempted to smash them out of his head, but refrained so as not to jeopardize the mission.

  The tension dissipated once we moved to inspect our surroundings. A gentle hum tickled my skin. I felt electrified; anodized. I’d been wrong in my previous assumption that this civilization was primitive. The technology wasn’t primitive, but so completely foreign that I hadn’t recognized it until now.

  The glowing orbs that swarmed the monastery—which wasn’t actually a monastery at all—represented a kind of conductivity, or current, generating power to this place. What kind of power, neither of us knew, as the only type of energy we’d visually encountered before were the signature, confetti-like waves of the multiversal electromagnetic spectrum. They varied from universe to universe, but particles were always particles. These were glowing balls of light floating around, never seeming to interact or abate. But they hummed—produced a current with which our own resonance interwove.