by Darren Joy
The Aidari paused before elaborating, as River handed her a bowl of stew. Podral waved his away while Threadfin accepted strips of dried kale.
‘Over a thousand years ago,’ said Scatter, after taking a mouthful, ‘the Aidari served the magi whose leader was a high mage named Rasnal Nalrost. He was a living mage, you understand, a spectral mage. They used something called spectralic magic, very potent and dangerous.’
A breather mage? Threadfin began chewing the kale strips as he listened. A second type of magic wasn’t something he’d heard of. No one had.
‘Icarthian rule did not exist at the time,’ she continued, ‘and northern Adalalcas was made up of city states. Each had its own spectral, and many of these cities warred with one another. Minor empires were born and then died, all within decades, none with the power to sustain themselves. Constant raids by the Nephilim, and wars with the kingdoms of southern Adalalcas, prevented the city states from working together. That is, until Nalrost discovered the Spectrum.
‘In his search for knowledge and greater power, he probed and experimented, until he discovered a truth: there are hundreds of millions of other worlds, a few like this one, and many not. Soon after, he discovered the Spectrum of Existence didn’t just contain worlds, but other forms of reality no normal human mind could comprehend. Few ever considered Rasnal Nalrost normal.
‘He also, however, stumbled upon a threat to existence itself. He almost died because of it. Worlds were disappearing from the Spectrum, consumed by a nameless Darkness. What that evil is, we do not know, though we have long searched his ancient tomes for clues.
‘The spectral mage had devised a simple mathematical equation, which said that for millions of worlds there was one blueprint, of which all the others were mirrors. If this Darkness destroyed such a world, it would automatically destroy all its mirrors too. However, in his notes we discovered a hint that perhaps it wasn’t that simple. The blueprint world needed a Key to gain instant access to the mirror worlds. Without it, the Darkness would still destroy the Spectrum, but it would take eons. With the Key, perhaps decades, or less.
‘Now, Nalrost determined that our world is the blueprint for the entire Spectrum of Existence. It is the heart of the Spectrum. All realties converge here. He knew he could not do much, being mortal, his mage powers aside. We believe he encountered this enemy, and learned the hard way that spectralic magic, living magic, was no match.
‘By this time, he had made contact with otherworldly entities, who we now believe were angels. Nalrost believed he could save this world. By doing this, he would save existence itself.’
‘That’s a nice story,’ Threadfin commented, finishing off the last of the kale, licking his skeletal fingers. Through a shattered stone window, he spotted Wither just beyond the firelight passing by. It seemed to Threadfin’s eyes as though the scout vanished and reappeared at times. He blinked, reprimanding himself for being a fool. ‘But, none of it explains what you want with me, or how this helps me.’
‘Then listen up, lad,’ said Podral from where he sat on the statue’s face, eating his stew. The thick peeling branches of a birch had over time burst through the wall behind him, curling up and outwards with a fistful of yellow leaves. The stone head he sat on was dark green and brown with decades of moss. ‘This next bit’s gonna interest you.’
‘You seem better,’ said Threadfin frowning at his former minder, who seemed to be in a lot less pain and much brighter.
The man shrugged.
‘For over two decades,’ continued Scatter, ‘Nalrost devoted himself to this new goal, and created the first of the plagues. It was a desperate act he knew would cost the lives of millions, but one he hoped would save hundreds of thousands of worlds from extinction, perhaps millions.’
Threadfin felt his jaw drop open. ‘He created the plagues? A breather?’
‘You’re missing the point, lad,’ said Podral with a grin. ‘It was Nalrost who created the Plagueborn. He created you.’
Chapter 21
A Two-Headed Warghound
LIVIANA AVITUS WATCHED the fog recede to reveal a sky fractured by a thousand threads of colour. They wove and dodged, slicing towards the earth, like rainbow lightning. Spheres hung silent in the heavens, other worlds thin and distinct. The sky ruptured, pulled apart like ripping fabric, before broiling clouds obscured all.
She blinked to clear her vision. She wasn’t awake, though neither was she asleep. Her consciousness was there, and that place was very real. She scanned her surroundings. Looming skeletal bodies disrupted her view. They might’ve resembled trees, once. Creatures climbed through the branches. Beyond lay barren hills.
The fog retreated further to reveal six gigantic statues made of a white translucent stone. A dark shadow occupied each, as though they were cocoons. Thirty foot tall, the statues had wings and held blades or staffs. Perhaps it was the distortion of light, but the faces were deformed. They watched her with nightmarish stares, in judgement. The sound of grinding stone followed her as she moved beneath them.
Fissures appeared in the sculptures. An explosion of rock and dust followed and she threw up her arms to protect her face. Fragments ripped her clothing, scouring her skin, though it was not real flesh. The pain felt real, however.
In place of the statues were naked figures. Each stood fifteen feet tall. There were three males and three females, and dark filaments oozed from their bodies like black lava.
The six had their eyes shut. Their sable auras formed wings, which separated into black molten swathes wrapping each from neck to foot. Their faces unnerved her. Bony ridges jutted at odd angles. Then, their eyes opened. White orbs ribboned with black veins sought her out.
From between the figures stalked a hulking shape. The fog parted to reveal a massive gorgon with two heads. Standing, Liviana’s own didn’t reach its shoulder. She recognised those heads.
An invisible power forced her to her knees. Fear stabbed at her gut. ‘I have done what you ordered,’ she cried.
The two-headed gorgon halted. It sat back on its haunches, examining her while the six guardians watched. The left head spoke first. Its voice was a mixture of human and canine, punctuated by snarls. ‘This is Oblivion,’ it growled. Then it rose and padded closer. Drool dripped from both sets of jaws. ‘You are in our power here.’
Liviana felt its hot fetid breath on her face. ‘What do you want?’ She knew who it was. It tortured her dreams.
‘You are bound to us, forever, Andromeda.’
She winced. ‘I am, Liviana.’
‘You are nothing. A fragment of a more powerful soul, lost to time. We have done you a favour. The Fallen One, she is a part of you now.’
‘The deal was I would remain myself. I did not agree to her taking me over completely.’
‘You thought to make your own fate, when you took it. Treachery. So, we own your soul now, what there is of it, in compensation.’
Terror prevented her from responding as she trembled. She did not wish to lose herself to this Andromeda. Already, she felt her personality, her, self, changing. Her Awakening had occurred when she was twenty, but this was different. For the past two years, it was as if her angelic soul sought to eradicate her mortal one. They were supposed to have melded, become one. This was abnormal, dangerous. This is what the bastards want!
‘Did you know,’ one of the heads growled, ‘there is another like you? Ah, but of course you did. Yes, a neat arrangement, but hardly suited to our purpose. Astra’s designs, after all, were never ours.’
The gorgon’s muzzles were inches from her face. Her stomach churned from the stink of rotten meat. It knew of her actions, but its anger was not because of that. They encouraged infighting and competition, even treachery, but never failure. No, that, they did not like.
‘We have decided to let you set matters right. We’ve allowed you to capture the soul of Gog of Magog. Do not spurn our generosity. It is fortunate you failed to kill the female viral. She will serve as bait. Arra
ngements are in place to drive the male towards a city called, Byrsa. You will travel there, and await your own fate. If you want reward, you will need to take it. Think you that you can handle this?’
She would make Todralan grovel for mercy before grinding her beneath her heel. Of course, she wasn’t the problem. Liviana needed to capture the brother. ‘They protect both of them,’ she said, sweating. ‘They have help. I need time.’
‘Enough procrastination,’ the second head growled. ‘Because of your bungling, the male is free. He grows stronger, and the one advantage we have is that he doesn’t know it. We must have the Key.’
Liviana knew she was a piece on a board, and one sacrificed such, when the correct time arrived. Well, she had her own piece to sacrifice when it came to it. Pen Luthus had failed, after all, when he didn’t capture Threadfin Todralan. She could not die, not when the prize was this close. She shook her head. Wait, these were not her thoughts. Yes, she was losing herself.
Howling rose across the hills. Shapes crested the horizon. They disappeared into hidden valleys before emerging atop the next hill. The howling, interrupted by faint growls, grew louder. Figures of women rode the beasts, women with wings. The Fallen had many divisions called Rifts, but the harpies were the most vicious. She watched them approach, and knew there would be no mercy.
She glanced at the broken Shathra. The huge guardians strode forth. Wings of black flame unfurled, their bloodied eyes locked on their prey.
‘Your Rift remains yours for now,’ said the voice from both jaws,’ and Liviana knew this warning was not for her, but for Andromeda. ‘Fail us again, and the gorgons will taste your blood along with this mortal’s. If we don’t let the Titans have you.’
Liviana stared at the Titans looming over her, the greatest Rift within the Fallen. Little of their angelic selves remained. She shuddered at the thought of being gifted to them. Death was a more attractive alternative. She would have her reward. She could still save a part of the Spectrum, and have her slice of power. These weren’t her thoughts.
No, she thought at Andromeda, knowing the Fallen One heard her. Not yet. I will resist you right to the end. This was not the deal.
As though it heard her, the two bestial heads of Cerberus, guardian of Hell’s Teeth, howled with laughter.
‘WAIT, WAIT A MINUTE,’ Threadfin mumbled, as he tried to process the news, ‘a breather created us?’ Knowing the breather had been a mage was irrelevant. The history of virals, their origins, had always been a mystery, even to themselves. ‘What happened to the spectral magi? Why aren’t there any left?’ She’s making it up, he thought. She has to be.
‘Most of them were destroyed in the act of creating your kind,’ said Scatter in a patient tone, ‘some willingly and many not, for it took over a hundred to complete the ritual. For a thousand years thereafter, plagues swept across the lands, the greatest spell this world had ever seen, and the most devastating. There—’
‘But,’ Threadfin interrupted, ‘the final plagues ended sixty-odd years ago. I was born twenty-six years ago.’ The black birth, folks had called it. Strange, how the rumours had been right all along.
‘The plagues have been fewer and more sporadic for the past hundred years. The spell is fading. Most have been minor outbreaks. Just dozens affected. Around twenty-eight years ago, there was such an outbreak in the borderlands. It affected several of the Ewsannec tribes and lasted two years. It was small and went unnoticed. Your father was in Lame at that time, with your mother. We don’t know how, but she became infected. She did recover after several months.’
And lived on, thought Threadfin sadly, until my birth killed her.
‘With the magi gone,’ Scatter continued, ‘we served the virals instead. After a time, your ancestor Matrod Ral, the first imperator, amalgamated the city states into the first true empire, the beginnings of what we know as the imperium.’
‘How many of you are there?’
‘I would rather not say, but we have people everywhere and in every major city of Adalalcas.’
‘Hang on,’ said Threadfin, ‘you said the plagues occurred a thousand years ago when Nalrost lived, but that can’t be.’ History taught that the first of the plagues had begun two hundred years ago.
Podral shook his head. ‘Exemplar lies, lad,’ he said with a grimace. ‘All mention of what happened was struck from the official histories and anyone who knew of it. What little we know was passed down in secret.’
Threadfin picked at a maggot borrowing into his cheek. The oil Tezcat had gotten him had worked, sort of. He had no more natron left. ‘So, no one knows what really happened?’ he asked in a whisper, not certain he wanted to know either.
‘Her name was Antipa,’ said Podral, as he set down his empty bowl and moved to the edge of the moss-covered nose. His face looked misshapen in the flickering shadows cast by the fire. ‘Some say she had another name, but no one remembers. She was the imperator’s granddaughter. All we know is, she attempted to take power, and failed.
‘The plagues were a high price, but our ancestors were willing to pay it, to save the world. Unlike now, they tolerated the undead in their midst.’
‘I never heard of her.’
‘And you never would’ve. The official histories make little mention of her, only to say the imperial exemplars led the fight against the undead, during her bid for the throne.
‘Many of the exemplars and their followers died too, since virals weren’t defenceless, and that’s how the first clots formed. Soon after, the whole world turned on them.’
‘None of the undead survived, did they?’ asked Threadfin. Podral stared at his boots, and Scatter offered him a sad smile. Well, he thought, that’s that then. I guess I am the last.
A cold wind echoed through the ruins of stone, moaning through tree branches, and Threadfin shuddered. Not from the cold. He didn’t get cold.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said, ‘surely the exemplars knew what Nalrost had discovered. If I understand this, it wasn’t a secret? I mean, anyone important knew, right? Else, why would anyone have tolerated virals up to that point? Didn’t they understand they were dooming themselves?’
Perhaps a dozen starlings chittered and buzzed in the trees surrounding the ruins. Threadfin thought it might’ve been a pleasant place, if not for the story they told within its walls.
Podral laid his head back to rest against a stone cheek. ‘No real way of knowing now.’
Their conversation ended, and despite Threadfin’s protests, the lessons continued for another hour. Scatter never quit badgering him, or at least, that was how he saw it.
‘I am bloody concentrating,’ he snapped for the fifth time. ‘If I concentrate any harder there’ll be black ribbons shooting out my nose.’
‘I’d love to see that,’ laughed Podral, ignoring Scatter’s frown. ‘You don’t need to know what it looks like,’ he went on. ‘You’ll know it when you see it.’
‘What sort of gibberish is that?’
‘You did it once, back in Lame. Now, that I don’t want to see again. Still having the nightmares, you know.’
‘Thanks,’ Threadfin muttered, ‘for the vote of confidence.’
‘Enough talk,’ said Scatter. ‘What happened before was instinctual. This time you must control it, or it will control you. Your power will not simply obey. You must force it to your will.’
‘How can you know anything about this? What qualifies you to teach me?’
‘Aidari have studied the ancient tomes of Nalrost, for centuries, passing down whatever lost knowledge we rediscovered. Viralic and spectralic power are not identical, but the principles are.’
There was a dark mist, millimetres from Threadfin’s eyes. As he stared at it, it dissolved. ‘I heard of others who had talents greater than mine.’ Even Tezcat had been stronger. ‘What I do, it’s nothing, a useless ability. You’re wasting your time.’
The Hatavan woman turned to glare at Podral. ‘He learned nothing all these years? I had ho
ped you had exaggerated.’
Podral picked at his fingernails with a small dagger, quite intent on his work. He cursed as he drew blood, sucking the offended thumb. All the while, he did not look up. ‘He’s a quick learner, Scats. I’ve faith in him, I do.’
‘We no longer have the time.’
Pole appeared intent on gouging out the tiniest speck of dirt from his nails, while sucking a finger. ‘Things didn’t work out as planned.’ He mumbled under his breath. The dagger worked furiously as he started paring his nails. If he keeps that up, thought Threadfin, he’ll have no fingers left.
‘And that is why we must start from the beginning,’ sighed Scatter.
‘In that case,’ said Threadfin. ‘How about telling me about what is happening in Icarthya? Where’s my sister?’
‘Angels above, he’s thick,’ Lorn said, causing him to turn and scowl. She sat on a large slanted stone, which looked part of the statue Pole sat on. A weatherworn hand? It was hard to tell. Legs crossed, she held a bowl of half-eaten stew, tapping the back of her wooden spoon against her lips. Her blue eyes beneath her dark fringe were chips of ice as she glowered at him. ‘You certain we got the right one, Scats?’
‘Lorn,’ said the Hatavan in a controlled manner, ‘as you may have noticed, is the sceptic of our little group. Don’t let her bother you. She’s not as mean spirited as she seems, just conflicted.’
‘Huh,’ grunted Lorn. ‘Just like our dear scatter-brain here isn’t as sweet as she seems. She’ll try to get you killed, like the rest of us. Isn’t that right, boss? Won’t get me though, never me, promise you that.’
‘That’s enough of your tripe, girl,’ growled Podral, still worrying at his fingers. ‘Pay her no mind, lad. The girl’s touched.’
Lorn snickered. ‘Not by you I haven’t been, and never will.’
‘Only because you’re not highborn enough for him, and not married,’ noted River, who stood nearby with her thin arms folded, watching the birds. She rarely spoke, and Threadfin often forgot she was there.