by Greg Chapman
“That is of no matter to you, Malik. I am King.”
“So when will you begin to act like it?” Malik said. “You don’t honestly believe Calea’s claims of a son, do you? She told me and I laughed in her face and left her in the dungeon. It is just another of her desperate attempts to usurp you Father—just like she has tried so many times before!”
Gavenko pulled Stephanie closer to him. “She smells of childbirth!” he said, a wild look in his golden eyes.
Malik looked to his sister, he could sense nothing but her terror. “You are insane Father—she is deceiving you and while you play the fool the devil gathers outside our city walls!”
“I will not risk a war now—not when there is a potential heir!”
“Father please—”
Gavenko looked to his son’s minions. “Seize Malik! Take him to the dungeons! There will be no battle here today!”
The men didn’t know who to obey, their shock leaving them paralysed. Malik stared at his sister.
“Tell him the truth Calea!” he said.
“Silence Malik!” the King said. “Guards—arrest him!”
“Ignore that order!” Malik said. “Calea, stop this or we will all die! The Skiift will tear us apart!”
Stephanie trembled with fear, her face shining wet with tears, eyes bloodshot from the blunt force trauma inflicted by her father. She shook her head no.
“Calea!”
“Guards arrest him now!” Gavenko ordered.
The minions came for Malik, but the King’s son was swift. His sword slashed the air, finding the throat of one soldier, his head hit the floor before the soldier even had a chance to blink. The sight of one of their own decapitated topped the rest in their tracks.
“Kill him!” Gavenko said.
“Stop this Father! Once and for all stop this madness!” Malik said.
Gavenko took Stephanie by the hair and thrust her to her knees. “She knows where the child is Malik, but she won’t tell me! The little whelp must be found!”
“There is no child, Father!” Malik protested. “Calea—tell him!”
Stephanie began to laugh, a deep-seated cackle she had concealed for a long time, but now she was letting it free.
“Do you see Father?” Malik said. “It’s a trick—a diversion from the very real threat outside. Can’t you see that?”
Gavenko pulled Stephanie’s head back to expose the pale flesh of her throat. From the back of his tunic, the King produced a long-bladed dagger and moved to bring it down.
“Tell me where he is you little bitch or I will end you!”
“Father don’t!” Malik burst towards the throne, his eyes fixed on his father’s blade. The steel came down in an arc of light, the point just inches from Stephanie’s neck. Malik caught his father’s hand at the last instant and with all his might, prevented the killing stroke.
Gavenko forgot his daughter and lashed out at Malik, attempting to claw at his son’s face. The younger Phagun was faster though and swerved his body to the side, circling behind his father and subduing him in a grapple hold. The soldiers moved in this time and would have attacked, if it weren’t for Stephanie’s piercing cry:
“He’s real Malik! I can prove it!”
“Stop your lying Calea!” Malik said, struggling to hold his father still, the King writhed like a headless snake.
“Gavenko’s right, Malik—we cannot go to war with the Skiift because we have to surrender,” Stephanie said, getting to her feet.
“Surrender?” Malik said, struggling to hold the King. “Have you gone mad too? We cannot surrender! We will not!”
“We have to make a bid for peace Malik. If we tell them about my son, I believe they will be willing to broker a deal!”
Malik shook his head, trying more than anything to shake away the nonsense he was hearing. “Lies! All lies! There is no child—you are just trying to take control again!”
Stephanie moved closer. Gavenko struggled even more, desperate to take hold of her—to kill her—and as Malik fought to quell his bloodlust, Stephanie continued to preach to them.
“My son will become the new King, Malik. Gavenko must step aside. Those are the only terms the Skiift will accept.”
“No!” Malik said and his father agreed, his own head shaking no. “Don’t be absurd!”
“We have to put our own needs aside, Malik,” his sister said. “We can all work together to make my son a better King—better than any of us could ever be!”
“This was your plot all along, wassn’t it—to take the throne?” Gavenko wheezed. “Sleep with a common Phagun…produce an heir…and then blackmail us into…surrender.”
“No Father—she is lying!” Malik squeezed even tighter on his father’s throat. “Don’t listen to her!”
Stephanie smiled softly. “He’s partly right, brother. That was my plan, but I didn’t just mate with any old Phagun.”
Malik’s eyes widened. “Thomas!”
“Yes.”
“But, he’s no one—a freak!”
“No, he’s so much more than that. It took him some time to realise who he was, but now he knows—and he’s coming.”
Malik felt his father’s body becoming heavy in his arms and in a moment of fear, he let loose his grip. The King collapsed, unconscious. Once he was assured Gavenko was still breathing, Malik turned his attention—and his sword—to his sister.
“You will stop these lies now, do you hear me? There is no child!”
Stephanie offered him her arm. “Then taste me,” she said. “If you believe I am lying then you have nothing to fear. It’s the only way to know for certain if I am lying.”
Malik stared at the flesh of her arm and a moment later, moved to take hold of it with fierce claws. He bent down and sank his teeth into her and tasted her blood.
And what he tasted was the truth.
Re-Kul’s steely gaze could have brought down the gates of the Phagun city, but that would have been too merciful for the Phagus—what they deserved was to be crushed to dust and then swept away, forgotten by time.
All his life, Re-Kul had been afraid to destroy the Phagus and end the war, because he had been afraid that in doing so, he would destroy himself. He had never wanted war—he had fought long and hard with his own council rather than his true enemies, but that was until the dream.
After the dream, he realized how insignificant his quarrels had been, how petty. For decades he had wasted his time and his breath, trying to prevent something that had already been set in motion. Now, he was determined to follow that path to the very end.
A cry rose out from among his men behind him and Re-Kul turned to see one Skiift warrior pointing out into the darkness. White faces floated in the black, white chests, white eyes, skin defiled by the Great One’s word.
“At last,” Re-Kul muttered. “It begins.”
There were less than one hundred Stygma, but each one harnessed an immeasurable power. Re-Kul knew the battle would be great, devastating to all sides. Remnants of his dream, the first one Okin had granted him in centuries, came to mind. He saw the rotting flowers on the hill, blooming with degradation and he wasn’t afraid. In fact, he smiled. Everything was finally falling into place—destinies were aligning and as one human once said: to the victor go the spoils.
31
The sight of the two armies, converged face-to-face in the arid landscape of the under-city, left Niles Harper and Gerhard Vorn mute.
Where they had been searching for a way into Nero’s abode, they never expected to stumble across a battlefield. Immediately, the pair sought refuge behind an outcrop of boulders, literally dragging their hypnotised mercenary with them.
“Who the fuck are they?” Niles said, sweat thick on his upper lip.
Vorn scanned the red flesh of the Skiift and in turn, the dark robes of the Stygma.
“I’m not certain,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “The last time I was here—when I captured Nero—I witnessed an att
ack by a gigantic creature, but I see none of those beings here now. Still, I cannot believe there are so many strange creatures residing beneath the city.”
“Yeah well, I know about them now and I want a better look,” Niles said. “Let’s see if we can get closer—”
Vorn held him back. “No, Niles—we cannot reveal ourselves. We’re in the middle of something which we have no knowledge of—we should wait and watch what eventuates.”
Niles conceded, wiping the sweat from his upper lip. “Looks like they’re about to rumble. Those red guys are gonna nail the freaky ones in the robes—they outnumber them about ten to one.”
Vorn shook his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Niles—the monk creatures certainly look fearsome. Perhaps they have a hidden advantage?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Niles said. “My money’s on the red guys—whoever the hell they are.”
“Regardless, we should stay out of their way.”
Niles scratched at his hair, which was thick with grey dust. “Hold on—none of those guys look like Nero, so who are they?”
“I don’t know everything Niles—I’ve never encountered any creatures like them before, but again, I think we should steer clear of them. I suggest we postpone our endeavour and return at another time—”
Niles gripped Vorn’s cloak. “No, we’re doing this—got it? We’ll circle around and find another way in.”
“But I can’t even see where we’re supposed to go, Niles—there’s no entrance—” Then Vorn saw them, in the shadows behind the red army, two gates, at least one hundred feet high, carved out of the stone wall. “Wait—there!”
Niles looked and grimaced. “Shit, the red guys are blocking the way in—it must be their city or castle—”
Abruptly, the ground shook, a cascading tremble that rang in their ears and made their teeth chatter. The gates were opening, thick stone rolling apart ever so slowly on enormous hinges. From between the gap in the doors, figures raced out: ten, then twenty, fifty and more, filing out, their bodies gleaming with bronze chest armour. Even from the distance they were at, Niles and Vorn could clearly make out the pale flesh of Nero’s kin.
“That’s them!” Niles said. “That’s Nero’s guys!”
“Keep your voice down Niles or we’ll be discovered.”
The Phagun soldiers stood shoulder-to-shoulder, taloned fists clasped tight around the hilts of their short swords.
“Three armies? Holy shit!” Niles said. “This is going to be a bloodbath!”
Vorn turned to him, nervous fear in his eyes. “We should leave Niles—it’s too dangerous to be here.”
“No frigging way! I want a piece of one of Nero’s guys—shit I’ll take another one of them alive if I have to!”
“What for?”
“You said it yourself, Vorn—their skin makes them live longer—who wouldn’t want that?”
“No Niles, you can’t—”
Niles suddenly pulled his pistol. “I can and I will. You’ll do this, or I’ll personally send you to Hell!”
“What do you honestly expect me to do?”
Niles motioned to Bryce, who sat huddled on the ground, drooling into the dust.
“Wake him up. Get him to go in there and get me some of their hide.” Vorn tried to pull away, but Niles gripped his cloak again and thrust the barrel of the pistol to his throat. “Wake him up and order him to go in there!”
“He’ll be slaughtered—”
“Then we’ll wait for the fighting to begin. They won’t even notice he’s there. You can guide him, can’t you?”
Vorn stared at the gun in Niles’ hand, felt the coldness of its steel upon his Adam’s apple. “This is madness, Niles!”
“No, this is business and making money is my business,” He cocked the gun. “Last chance Vorn.”
“Alright, alright! Just put the gun away!”
Niles kept the weapon trained on him. “Not until you finish the job! Now wake him up!”
Vorn turned to Bryce and saw another soul about to be sacrificed for his own personal gain. “This one will be on your head Niles, I promise you that.”
“Fine, whatever—just do it!”
The Phagun minions stood on guard outside the Sederunt gates, waiting for the order to attack or defend. Re-Kul could see the fear in them, their golden eyes gone lacklustre, their stance tight, sweat running down their bare arms. They knew it would be a slaughter, yet still they did their duty—the Skiift leader had to congratulate them for that. Shal-Ekh and his monks on the other hand displayed no such emotions, no fear or apprehension, just blank faces in the dark. The prophet bowed reverently to Re-Kul before running his eyes over the three armies.
“We have quite a gathering, Re-Kul,” Shal-Ekh said in his monotone timbre.
Re-Kul gnashed his teeth. “It’s enough for a battle.”
Shal-Ekh nodded again. Behind him his monks kept their heads low, the blackness of their robes half-concealing them.
“What do you intend to do Shal-Ekh?” Re-Kul said.
“We have our path to follow—”
“As do we,” Re-Kul said. “And we are ready to walk it.”
“I see that in you, Re-Kul,” the prophet smiled. “It is good to see you trying to take control of your fate.”
“I have always been in control—”
Shal-Ekh’s head swayed in gentle refusal. “You know that is not true, Re-Kul. You have been deceiving yourself, blinded by what is standing right in front of you.”
“Which is what?”
Shal-Ekh outstretched his hands. “The word of the Great One—Okin has been calling to you for so long now, but you have always been too stubborn to listen.”
“We chose not to adhere to your ways, Shal-Ekh. If Okin wanted us to live in harmony, then he never would have let the Lepers come into being—they’re abominations.”
“No, Re-Kul, the Lepers are symbols—don’t you see? They’re our frailties, our faults, that is all. It was Okin trying to send us a sign.”
“A sign of what?” Re-Kul said, his frustration rising.
“That we must work together as three tribes—not with one ruling over the rest.”
Re-Kul snarled. “You and your riddles. Okin and his dreams. I say it should end! I say that the time has come to decide who rules this kingdom!”
Shal-Ekh cocked his head at the Phagun minions. “And what of Gavenko—does he have a say in all of this?”
“He is weak—not fit to rule over his own people, let alone an entire kingdom.”
“And you believe you are, Re-Kul?”
“Perhaps—”
Shal-Ekh opened his robe, his skin stark in the cold black air. Re-Kul stared at the words carved on the surface and the scar that ran the length of his torso.
“Then why wait until now to decide that you are a leader?” the prophet said. “Was it your dream—sent by Okin—that persuaded you?”
“No—”
“Again you deceive yourself, refusing to accept this is all a part of his plan.”
Re-Kul pointed a clawed finger at the Stygma leader. “I do not refuse to accept it, but I still have a choice. I can choose to follow the path or walk another!”
“Then what is your choice?”
Re-Kul dropped his hand. “‘I…to fight!”
“Do you believe you can win?”
“Your over-confidence will be your downfall Shal-Ekh!”
“I am not over-confident, Re-Kul. I simply know what will come to pass because I have seen it.”
“Enough of your damned prophecies! That’s been your weakness all these years Shal-Ekh, that you hide behind his word! You’ve never stepped into battle against any of us for one hundred years! You’re all cowards hiding behind a false god!”
Rage cracked Shal-Ekh’s face, his solemnity suddenly shattered. “False god?! False god?! How can you deny him when you are what you are? You think that simply because you cannot see or feel him that he does not exist? You only
deny yourself of his word Re-Kul, but now you know the time has come to end this meaningless war because you have dreamed of it! Open your soul to his word Re-Kul and all this bloodshed can be avoided.”
Re-Kul felt Shal-Ekh’s words like they were a molten hot blade being thrust into his heart. The prophet knew him well, but still he could never know his choice until he aired it.
“What do you truly hope to achieve here prophet?”
“I hope to achieve nothing, but what Okin desires,” he said. “As you know, we have our paths, you have yours—the Phagus too—but Okin is the only one who can determine those paths.”
“But we have the power to refuse—he is not here to tell me what to do!”
Shal-Ekh smiled. “Not yet, but very soon.”
Re-Kul’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
“Okin is coming and you will be able to make your choice to his face.”
“Impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible!”
Shal-Ekh tossed away his robes, the black cloth fluttering away to be lost in the dark. His monks stood straight and stripped off their own garments. The one hundred Stygma stood like statues, ancient and cracked. Re-Kul took a step back as the prophet stared him down.
“My path begins now, Re-Kul—what of yours?”
Shal-Ekh’s chest split, the scar from groin to throat tearing apart like moist paper. A hissing noise escaped, like a fetid whisper and the smell of eternal death flooded Re-Kul’s nostrils. In his head for an instant, the flowers were opening on the hill, but in reality, Shal-Ekh and his monks were revealing themselves in the tomb of the under-city.
The skin of the Stygma prophet’s chest kept cracking and popping, as the scar spread wider and wider. Re-Kul gazed inside the desiccated wound, deep inside Shal-Ekh’s insides—he was hollowed out, sustained only by darkness—or so it seemed.
A pale blue light stirred within the confines of Shal-Ekh’s carapace-like body and it grew in intensity. In turn, Shal-Ekh’s shell continued to come apart, as if making way for the swelling of the light. Eventually, the prophet’s body peeled in half, the left and right sides of his upper body wilting like dying flower petals.
“The flowers on the hill…” Re-Kul whispered.