Throne of the Dead (Seraphim Revival Book 2)

by Jacob Holo

Tesset sniffled again. “Of course, silly. I still have tear ducts. See?” She lifted her blindfold and pointed.

  “Hmm. Ah, okay. Now I see them. Hard to spot with all the scar tissue.”

  Tesset smoothed out her blindfold. “Maybe I just don’t understand him. I know they shared a bond, but that was years ago. Why isn’t he over her yet? Don’t I mean anything to him?”

  “Look, I’ve known Seth for quite a while. We’ve been through a lot together. Good and bad. Mostly bad, now that I think about it, but I do know what kind of person he is. So, I know he cares for you. Deeply.”

  “Really?”

  “Trust me. With the crap we’ve been through together, you just stop caring about hiding things.”

  “But he still loves Quennin.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  Tesset sucked in a ragged breath.

  “Come on. Come over here.” Jack offered her a comforting shoulder, which she accepted. Tesset let all her frustration flow outward, weeping softly as Jack stroked her hair.

  “Why does he care for her so much?” she whispered into his shoulder.

  “They grew up together. He can’t change who he is.”

  Tesset slowly calmed down, but she stayed there with Jack for a few minutes. She could never be this open with anyone else. Not even Seth.

  “Quennin didn’t want to be rescued,” Tesset said. “She’s a traitor to Aktenzek.”

  “Maybe so, but the Renseki have already tried to kill her. We betrayed her first.”

  Chapter 12

  Genesis of the Eleven

  Quennin followed Veketon into his estate’s audience chamber within the Glorious Destiny. One by one, the dark room filled with shimmering holograms of the Original Eleven. There was a time when she would have been in awe of their presence and would have kowtowed to their every whim.

  Now, Quennin merely bowed her head in recognition of their arrival.

  “My colleagues,” Veketon said. “We have many important matters to discuss. Let us begin.”

  She stood in contemplative silence just behind Veketon, fiddling with the cuffs of her new clothes. They matched Veketon’s own attire, except the fields of white and black were inverted: a finely tailored black suit with waist, cuffs, and collar done in Veketon’s personal heraldry.

  She’d been officially named his protégé.

  Quennin’s mind wandered while the Eleven began their meeting, droning on about strategies and fleet deployments and future assaults on the Alliance. It all seemed distant and unimportant. She thought over all that had transpired, all that had brought her here.

  The glory and fulfillment of her days as a pilot. The pain and anguish of her injuries. The utter humiliation of her exile.

  Doubts and memories swirled within her mind, then settled on one image.

  She thought of Jack and of the look of disbelief on his face as she’d run him through.

  Do I regret my decision? Quennin thought. I can never go back, not anymore. Do I regret this course I have chosen?

  She reached out with her mind and gently caressed that great sea of chaos, waiting for her to dip into its fathomless power. Even without the slipsuit’s augmentation, she could sense its nearby power. That potential filled her with vigor and resolve.

  She would pilot a seraph again. Her life would hold meaning again. She no longer had to fear wasting away, old and useless. She no longer felt the urge to kill herself, to escape a meaningless existence. She had given her word to the Eleven and was now bound to their service. She had broken completely from the Aktenai.

  No! Quennin thought suddenly. They broke from me! They abandoned me! They threw me away!

  Quennin knew that greater trials stood before her. Jack was but the first. She would face others from her past, face and kill them or be killed by them. The Renseki… Zo and the others.

  And Seth, too…

  Quennin dwelt on Seth’s decision to bond with another woman. It made a cold sort of sense, and she felt the Choir behind his decision. They wanted pilots, more of them and stronger with each generation. Seth’s bloodline must have proven too tempting to let stagnate, especially with the death of their son.

  They must have coerced him. Somehow…

  The look on Seth face haunted her, filled her with anger: that look of fatherly pride at his new child.

  What did she want? Revenge?

  No. All I ever wanted was my life back, Quennin thought with finality. I wanted a purpose again. I wanted to be a pilot again. This is who I am, who I have always been. Without this I am nothing.

  Without this, I would rather be dead.

  Quennin looked up, finally aware the heated argument taking place around her.

  “She will not have a vote on this council!” Dendolet said.

  “And why not?” Veketon asked calmly.

  “I should think it obvious! To think that this child,” Dendolet spat the word, “should have a say in our council is ludicrous!”

  What?

  Veketon sighed and rubbed his temple. “We originally numbered twelve. Why should there not be twelve again?”

  “And the twelfth was Vierj, or have you forgotten?” Dendolet snapped.

  “You insult her with comparisons to that failure.”

  “I do not trust her.”

  “And yet, when faced with the opportunity to escape, she remained true to her oath, just as I said she would.”

  “Perhaps she is only waiting for us to give her the prototype throne. Hmm? Perhaps she plans to take it back to Aktenzek as a monument to your misguided trust.”

  “Now you are being absurd.”

  A throne? Quennin thought. No mere seraph, but my own throne?

  “This discussion really doesn’t matter,” Veketon said. “I am the First. I hold the right to choose my protégé, and I have chosen Quennin.”

  “That right has not been exercised in twenty thousand years!”

  “A pointless argument. We’ve been dead the entire time.” He turned to Ziriken. “Make room for her in the circle.”

  The Eleventh glanced from Veketon to Dendolet and back. With a resigned shrug, he sidestepped out of her way.

  “Please take your place within our circle,” Veketon said.

  Quennin felt the weight of eleven gazes. A few were concerned, but most seemed intrigued by the open hostility between Veketon and Dendolet. Ziriken, for some reason, even had a hint of glee in his eyes.

  “I don’t feel I should,” she said quietly.

  “You have accepted my tutelage and will become one of us.”

  “But I don’t deserve this.”

  “Nonsense. I grant you nothing you have not earned,” Veketon said.

  Quennin noted the surprising warmth in his voice. This was not the first time he had addressed her in such tones.

  “Please.” Veketon motioned to the open spot.

  Reluctantly, Quennin stepped forward. She glanced around the circle again, the stares of these ancient intellects studying her, boring into her. What were they thinking? What would they do next?

  When she reached Ziriken the Eleventh, his almost manic smile caught her off guard.

  “Oh, what a pleasant change this is,” Ziriken said. “Someone now ranks lower than me.”

  “Shut up, Ziriken,” Dendolet breathed.

  “We will continue where we left off,” Veketon said. “Quennin shall not be left out of our council for any reason. I declare this as First.”

  “Very well,” Dendolet said. “I concede the point. For now.”

  “Excellent. Let us return to our battle plans. We must weaken the forces between us and Lunatic Ziggurat. I propose a feint operation, one designed to draw the majority of the Alliance fleet to a place of our choosing.”

  “The Alliance will not be shifted easily,” Balezuur said. “But we hold the advantage. They do not realize what it is they defend.”

  “Exactly!” Veketon said. “Which is why we shall attack the Homeland Gate in force.”


  Murmurs circulated amongst the Eleven, but all Quennin thought was: Lunatic Ziggurat? What are they talking about?

  “We shall hit the Homeland Gate with such ferocity that the Alliance will do anything to stop us,” Veketon said. “Let the fold engines within Zu’Rashik charge. Let the Alliance know of it. They will think we mean to secure the Homeland Gate with our fortress planet, and in so doing we will draw Aktenzek itself into the battle!”

  “And with Aktenzek gone, their forces will be split and weakened,” Balezuur said. “We will be able to slip through to Lunatic Ziggurat. I approve.”

  The other Eleven voiced their support one by one. Even Dendolet endorsed the plan, though without enthusiasm.

  Finally, they came to Quennin. All eyes turned to her.

  She leaned towards Veketon and whispered. “I really don’t understand what we’re talking about. What’s Lunatic Ziggurat?”

  Veketon smiled. “That can be remedied. Dendolet, I am sure you and the other can handle the fleet preparations. I should educate our new member on our council’s history.”

  “As you wish, First.” Dendolet flickered into nothingness. The other members vanished one by one, turning the room surprisingly dark without their holographic light.

  “Dendolet didn’t seem happy with your decision,” Quennin said once they were alone.

  Veketon waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll get over it.” He linked with the audience chamber’s hologram emitters.

  The room flashed alive with color. Vast and limitless space surrounded the pair. A distant blue speck appeared, growing closer and coming into focus. The image slowed, then finally stopped with the planet filling the space in front of them: a beautiful swirl of crisp blue oceans, white cloud whorls, and verdant continents.

  Veketon pointed. “We hid an ancient machine below the surface, placed there before the Exile.” The planet spun suddenly, then stopped. A red X appeared within a large gulf. “We’ll need to activate the mechanism if we are to return to Lunatic Ziggurat.”

  “Why here of all places? Why this planet?”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of forgotten history between the Aktenai and this world, make no mistake. Recent events are merely the latest chapter. Once here, I’ll use the portal lance to open the way to Lunatic Ziggurat.”

  The images flickered, changing and focusing. Quennin gasped.

  “Yes, Vierj was here as well,” Veketon said. “This is Lunatic Ziggurat.”

  Orange fire surrounded her. A great tower of brass appeared, infinite in both directions, viewed through clouds of flame and ash. Quennin found the scale difficult to judge. Nothing was present for comparison to the infinite brass tower. Its skin shone from the endless skies of fire. Gothic structures sprouted everywhere, and as the image came closer, Quennin could finally judge the scale.

  “How far across is it?”

  “Close to one hundred kilometers, on average.” Veketon shrugged. “We think. None of us ever reached the top or bottom, if it even has one. We don’t know who or what built it, but we claimed a section as our own and constructed our laboratories there. This is the birthplace of Vierj and our last stronghold in our war against the Keepers. When all hope of victory had faded, we sealed it away to safeguard its secrets.”

  Quennin shook her head. “But the Keepers… There wasn’t a war. The Aktenai were exiled for creating the Bane.”

  Veketon grinned wryly. “Don’t put too much stock in the official histories. I wrote many of them, after all.”

  Quennin looked at the immense brass tower, feeling small and childish. With such a quick statement, Veketon had erased an entire childhood of teachings and beliefs. Quennin recalled rhymes and songs, cheerful ones about the Keepers, sinister ones about the Bane and the Exile, hopeful ones about the Great Mission.

  Except, it was all a lie. All of it.

  “There’s so much I don’t understand,” Quennin said.

  “Where would you like me to start?”

  “At the beginning?”

  “The beginning… yes, very well. The beginning it is. You have a right to know.”

  The images changed. Red and orange vanished, replaced with endless blue skies stretching in every direction. All around them, vast islands floated serenely, their surfaces covered with great shining cities and lush lands.

  Veketon sighed as if reminiscing. “The Homeland. The beginning. Thirty thousand years ago, I was born.”

  “Thirty thousand?”

  Veketon only smiled. “You did say the beginning, did you not?”

  “Yes, but… you were ten thousand years old when you died?”

  “Indeed. Rather cruel of life to snuff me out in my prime.”

  “Your prime?”

  “Time flows differently in the Homeland,” Veketon said. “Physical laws are similar, but time is the great difference. Time in this universe is the ultimate force, unstoppable, unrelenting. It can destroy anything and anyone. In the Homeland, time is merely a tool, wielded as one might wield fire in this universe, burning hot and fast, or cooling and even stopping.

  “So, as I said, I was born. The beginning. About five hundred years later I became a Seeker, serving a specialized branch of the Keepers.”

  “You were originally a Keeper?”

  “In a sense. All of us except Vierj were originally Seekers. We functioned as explorers, passing through the many Gates leading out of the Homeland, charting unknown realms, bringing back fantastic wonders and stories of strange places. I had a bit of wanderlust in my youth.”

  “When you were five hundred years old.” Quennin shook her head, her mind numbed by these strange concepts.

  “Young and reckless, what can I say,” Veketon said as if it were such an ordinary thing. “Now, over the course of thousands of years, a change began to come over the Seekers. Proximity to the Gates had a profound effect on us. Everyone in the Homeland possesses some talent, but ours grew phenomenally. In the shadow of the Gates, we became stronger, our skills maturing over millennia.

  “The peoples of the Homeland watched us closely. Fear spread of our power, but also awe and admiration. I, together with ten of my fellow Seekers, gained tremendous fame and prestige. We found Lunatic Ziggurat around this time and constructed a base for ourselves away from the prejudices of our peers. From there, we thought ourselves free to study this change coming over us. This is about, oh, twenty-one thousand years ago.” Veketon shrugged. “In the frame of reference of this realm, at least. As I said, time is a bit of a variable in this discussion.”

  The image changed again. Flames materialized around them. In the distance, Quennin saw Lunatic Ziggurat, its silhouette veiled by billowed firestorms. Closer, she saw a great eye of brass, lidless and hollowed out. The view fell in on the eye’s giant open iris, giving a tremendous sense of scale. Hundreds of little dots buzzed angrily about, meeting and clashing with flashes of light.

  Quennin realized she was looking at seraphs in battle. Perhaps some ancient precursor to the seraphs? Or were they something else entirely?

  “Vierj’s birth triggered a civil war between the Seekers and the Keepers. The Keepers attacked us at Lunatic Ziggurat. We drove this first assault back and then launched a counterattack on the Keepers and the Homeland.

  Veketon took a deep frustrated breath.

  The image changed back to the Homeland and its infinite sky and floating continents. But this time white fire burned across those exquisite cities, and explosions scarred its once beautiful fields. The skies buzzed with flight and combat and death.

  “The war lasted for a very long time, leaving the Homeland drenched in blood. Vierj’s birth had pushed our enemies over the edge. In her, they saw a power too terrible and a conscience too evil to let live, and in that, perhaps, they were right. Regardless, Vierj’s abilities had not yet matured. She was powerful, but not invincible.

  “In the end, our forces were defeated by the Keepers and were exiled here, to this universe. Myself, the rest of the Origina
l Eleven, Vierj, and our followers the Aktenai. We were sent here to die, to be destroyed by the torrential flow of time in this place. The Homeland Gate was sealed, and a Keeper guard set on the far side. Unlike us, the Keepers never developed a way to permanently destroy a Gate, and so a way back still exists.”

  The Homeland vanished, replaced with the cold blackness of space. A world came into view, green and lush with vast oceans and the gentle white of sweeping cloud systems.

  “We founded the world called Ittenrashik. Many of the Aktenai died, but the Keepers underestimated our resolve. We adapted, living horribly short lives, but continuing on nonetheless. The strongest of us, like me, Dendolet, and the others, were powerful enough that time could only chip away at us. However, it was, and please forgive the expression, only a matter of time before we would die.”

  Again the view changed, showing a great battle in space over Ittenrashik.

  “Vierj did not wait that long. While we and the Aktenai worked to build a new world for ourselves, Vierj’s powers matured. She grew incredibly powerful, even by the standards of the Homeland. We were strong, but she was invincible. She demanded we open the Gate back to the Homeland and allow her to return. We refused.

  “Vierj blamed us for her exile. Like a petulant child, she would have smashed the Homeland, reducing it to cinders and slaughtering everything in her sight. That has never been our goal. Conquest, not genocide. Vierj did not agree.”

  Veketon motioned to the battle as it reached its crescendo, his voice growing soft. “I died in this battle… there. That one. She killed the Original Eleven and then… she did this to Ittenrashik.”

  A disc formed near the planet, a pure fathomless black that made space seem alive with color. It grew, widening, stretching out and curving downward to envelop the whole planet. First a continent fell into darkness, then the entire hemisphere, and finally the black shroud sealed off the entire world.

  The ends touched for the briefest of moments, then vanished. The black shroud disappeared, but what remained was not the lush planet from a second ago. That single instant in time dried up the planet’s oceans, killed all life on the surface, and froze its atmosphere solid. Millions of years of harsh entropy in an accelerated time axis without a sun had mercilessly cooled the planet, killing every last inhabitant.