A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  After all, it wasn’t just a princess they sought to save. Not even the humans, though she’d learned to love them, and Yana most of all.

  It was existence itself.

  Chapter 27

  Ghost Hunters

  THREADFIN RAN, HEEDLESS of pitfalls. The moon gave enough light for his eyes, but folds in the earth hid pockets of pitch blackness. Healing was difficult for a viral, broken bones the worst, but he didn’t care. If they caught him, it would be the least of his problems. Tunic and cloak clung to him, sodden and uncomfortable. The night closed in, reaching for him with grasping fingers. Once or twice, he stumbled, and that was when the night closed. Though his body escaped its touch, his shadow, which fled alongside him, didn’t.

  Blackness enveloped him like a claustrophobic shroud. He wanted to hide and realised his powers obeyed his wishes. He thought of being free, of being untouched, imagined it in his mind.

  The shroud receded.

  He halted, leaning against a tree, his body protesting. Mine is a dark soul, he thought. He’d known he was Plagueborn, but not that he had such dark power within him. His touch drained life. At least, it did if he attempted anything worthwhile. He was dangerous. How much control could he master over this magic? For now, he had no desire to experiment. Scatter’s lessons, he realised, had been too few. She’d been right. He wasn’t ready.

  It was raining hard, but a low fog crept between trees and jagged stumps. He’d entered a partially depopulated area of birch and elm, untouched forest further in. This close to the city, farmers cut back the woodland in places, such metropolises nothing more than voracious beasts.

  His body felt weak, bones creaking, and his skin felt tight, stretched, and ripped in places. His power gave him this half-life, but his body was still rotting. He turned and stared back the way he came. The night was silent with no sign of pursuit. To his right was a line of hills, and the city below them. Placing a hand against an elm, he steadied himself. Having escaped Lame, he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of another city. The last one had been a prison and he wondered if this one wouldn’t prove worse. He needed a mount, a fast one, and the city garrison was the one place he was going to get it. Stealing was his speciality, or well, at least he was some way good at it.

  Shadows gathered to him of their own accord. No, he didn’t control it yet. Whether the shadow of a tree, a mouse, or the shade of a crow, they all converged on him, the life of their owners drained. His own, visible in the sporadic moonlight, bulged and joined with these others. It held his shape, pulsating a hair’s breadth from his grey hide. His shadow fed on the life of the forest. He felt warmth and vigour enter his bones, though it sickened him. It obeys me, he thought, when it suits. Imagining his magic having a will of its own, frightened him.

  Coils of blackness clung to his skin, pulsing with life. On impulse, he examined his hands, his body, and saw through himself. He wasn’t invisible, but it was like looking through tinted warped glass. Scatter had suggested he could enter other worlds. He was starting to believe.

  Glancing up, he spotted something within the fog and rain. Within an untouched part of the forest, a wan shape stumbled between the trees. Strangling thorns and tall ferns hampered his view, but it looked like a man. The trees were silent but for the odd creak and the pat patter of raindrops on leaves.

  It was a disjointed movement, at walking pace. The exaggerated steps suggested running. It was as if the figure moved through a slower time. As he watched, he felt sick. His legs grew leaden, and he leaned against the elm for support. What he saw was a distorted reflection through the fog and rain. Never had his visions presented this way, and somehow, he knew, this time it wasn’t of the future. If he wasn’t insane, it meant he was standing at a border between worlds. He wondered what it would take to cross over. No, I’m not ready for that.

  The ethereal figure didn’t slow or speed up, but kept the same monotonous pace. Behind it, also moving in a fragmented fashion was a woman. With a twist of his shrivelled gut, he recognised Shakti, the old healer. A ghastly host followed.

  The ghosts yelled in silence, mouths wide in a yawning gesture. They fled something. Some of them spotted him and Shakti’s eyes widened. She moved slower as though time was coming to a halt.

  Others appeared in the background, but their forms were fainter. The slow rush came closer.

  Threadfin knew he was looking at the full dead. Scatter had said the Spectrum contained other realities, not just worlds. Existence didn’t just mean life, and the proof of it was before him. Though dead, these spirits existed.

  Dead children dodged between older ones, appearing to move quicker than the adults, if not in normal time. The young caught hold of the old by hand or leg. They tugged and pulled, desperate to move faster. Shakti was weeping. The healer’s face was haggard, with a lost look. Her fear was palpable. A pale child tugged at her as Shakti looked at Threadfin, dead eyes accusing.

  Dark forms with wings prowled beyond the ghastly mob. These were predatory. Winged shades neared their prey with each second.

  The ghosts reached him.

  Shakti’s spirit washed over him. A thrill rushed through his body. Frost formed on his dead skin and though it caused him no harm, he was aware of the depth of such cold. Without question, it would’ve stopped a breather’s heart.

  Winged shapes leapt from above. One snatched a ghost from its slow run, then another. The spirit of a little girl ran towards Threadfin, arms outstretched, eyes bulged. Her scream was soundless, but he thought he heard the whisper of her cry. It might’ve been the wind. A vast form enveloped her. The hunter’s ghostly jaws snapped shut. She was five feet away from him, and the deception of safety. Her body dissolved in a flurry of black wings.

  Threadfin crawled on hands and knees to get behind a tree, to put something between that and himself. It wasn’t fear that assailing him, but guilt, helplessness.

  When he next looked past the tree, nothing moved. The shadows that had enfolded him had vanished. His own appeared unremarkable, and it faded as leaden clouds devoured the moon. A thin film of frost remained on his skin, proof, as if he needed any.

  He’d seen the dead flee, hunted by ... by the nameless Darkness, Nalrost had discovered. It had to be. He clutched at the silver crucifix about his neck. He’d considered giving himself up, to save his sister, but now he knew it for foolishness. The Darkness would win, devouring this world once he was full dead, and Aiyana along with it.

  He lay on the frozen mulch beneath the tree, staring downhill towards the glow of a city. It seemed he wouldn’t need to return to Icarthya after all. The Nephilim hunted him, which meant Gog knew where he was. All he need do was enter that city and wait. Gog would come for him.

  He would make an end of it there, and then he would find Liviana Avitus and deal with her. Perhaps then, Aiyana would be safe.

  He longed for a simpler time, when they were children. When all they did was run riot throughout the palace, play pranks and laugh.

  What he wouldn’t give to have that time back again.

  Chapter 28

  A Piglet and Three Slinkts

  Year 906YC, seventeen years earlier

  THREADFIN GRIPPED HIS sister’s hand, sweat trickling between their fingers in the summer heat. Huddled together, they watched the men and women gather below. Many of them were ancient, wrinkled and bent with white hair or no hair at all. One, who was younger with hair in long dark braids, glanced up towards the gallery.

  Both children ducked. They held their breaths, waiting to see if someone would come. It had been Liviana Avitus, the youngest conclavist in history. She was the talk of the city, though Threadfin didn’t understand why. He didn’t like the way she looked down her nose, the way she seemed not to see him.

  Aiyana giggled and her brother grinned. She didn’t seem to mind Avitus, suggesting she might be a good fit for their father, though pockmarks marred the young woman’s face from a childhood condition. Avitus had flirted openly with the
imperator, but Markus Olen hadn’t appeared to notice. Threadfin didn’t know much about flirting. Aiyana did.

  His sister had a small leather-bound book in her left hand, one finger wedged between the crinkled pages. Paper. That book alone was worth a fortune since Atlantis had disappeared two years ago. Some folk said the sea had swallowed the island. Others suggested giants had smashed it to dust. He wondered what she was reading, but instead whispered, ‘Where is grandfather? I don’t see him. We can’t do this if he arrives.’

  ‘I don’t know, but father won’t be here.’

  ‘Why not?’ It was normal for at least one Todralan representative to attend conclave gatherings.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, trying to appear all knowing and regal, ‘but I heard father saying something about an attack in Lame, in the borderlands. A full cohort was slain I think, and some Redcloaks too. Not that they are any loss. Some sort of creature, or something. I think he was just looking for an excuse. You know father hates politics. Anyway, today is probably nothing important,’ she added judiciously. ‘Old people always talk about nothing. It’s our best chance.’

  ‘They’ll tell him when he returns.’

  ‘No, they won’t, not if they don’t see us, and neither will Sarscha. She’s got blade practice for another two hours. Swords, I think. I’ve planned this out, like last time.’

  ‘Last time we got caught.’

  ‘Just trust me.’

  She let go of his hand and crept ahead towards the broad marble stairs. She listened, watched, and then signalled for him to follow.

  Outside, the day’s heat was oppressive, for breathers anyway. It was not yet midmorning. Threadfin stood in the shadows. He’d pulled the cowl of his linen tunic over his head, a cloth mask covering his nose and jaw. He wasn’t old enough to wear the traditional dalba, a ridiculous cloak thing, which covered everything. Customary for a Todralan beyond the palace walls.

  Aiyana was of age, but she always managed to wriggle out of it. She was good at doing that. The dust of the streets, mingled with the stench of the sewers, meant most citizens wore masks. Adding the grolg and sydarags fouling the streets not to mention pigs, fowl, and the skunks held in their pens at the far side of the city, meant father was irritable on hot days. Grandfather would rebuke such criticism, saying it was the smell of trade, of a living imperium. He should embrace it, and not grumble. Their father never took such criticism well.

  Close by, a ring of tanned children in faded rags joined hands. They danced in a circle of dust, singing. Threadfin wished he could join them. He knew the rhyme, and found himself mouthing the words.

  A white stone

  A blue stone

  A green stone

  Four

  A cloud stone

  A sun stone

  A star stone

  Eight

  Spectrum guide and Spectrum hide

  Inside, outside

  A Shathra Stone gate

  Children also raced about playing Whip the imp or imperator’s limp, both games being much the same, while traders hollered and bickered. Older men sat smoking pipes while playing Soul & Fury on wooden or cloth boards, or The Gorgon & Grim, a game strictly for Muckers. Throughout was a bustle of activity that said the city was alive with purpose and promise.

  He watched as his sister stood on a street corner, her friend Cathya holding her book for her. She nattered with local boys, who didn’t know who she was. Then again, maybe they did. Threadfin saw the way their leader, a boy of ten, seemed in awe of her. He smiled at her shyly. Several of them appeared pale, scratching at open sores on their arms. There had been minor outbreaks of sickness. Threadfin knew it bothered Aiyana, if not why.

  Dressed in a borrowed servant’s tunic, her legs and arms exposed, his sister appeared as another runt from the Muck, if a little less dirty. He knew he could never do the same. His appearance had grown worse the last few years. Even in the Muck, folk considered virals lower than animals, not that many believed they existed. Rumours he suffered a skin condition had spread throughout the population, and Aiyana did her best to encourage such tales. ‘Better a skin blight than angry mobs trying to kill you,’ she’d told him once, and he couldn’t find fault with her logic. People thought Plagueborn responsible for all maladies.

  ‘Why do they hate me?’ he’d asked once.

  ‘They don’t hate you,’ she’d answered patting his head. ‘How can they, when they don’t know you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t like them.’ Aiyana had discovered a non-infectious skin disease in her books to explain his appearance. He didn’t recall the name, and didn’t care. Breathers didn’t matter to him, nor what they thought. She was all he had in the world. All that mattered.

  The lead boy held out his hand and she placed three silver coins into his palm. After a debate, she added a fourth. Scrips were all Muckers could earn. It was illegal for them to have coin. She always took risks. Grinning, the boys broke up and mingled with the market crowd.

  Skipping back to her brother, Aiyana wore the biggest grin. ‘They’re greedy, but I can’t blame them. Cath and Rylana have agreed to help, though I think Rylana’s going to chicken out last minute. She always does, but she does insist on being included. Least those children can buy something to eat now. I gave them enough for several months.’ She spoke as though she were many years older rather than a few.

  ‘If they get caught with it, they’ll end up in the dungeons.’ That idea didn’t bother him much. He didn’t like how they’d smiled at her, especially the lead boy.

  ‘Not the first time they’ve had coin. They know to use it outside of the city with the foreign merchants.’

  ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘Like me. We’re helping them too, right? Not just, I mean, not just ... them.’

  ‘I help all who I can,’ she said, and he knew she wasn’t telling him something. ‘Their lives are worse than ours, after all.’

  ‘You mean their fathers are nastier?’ Why did she care? They were breathers. So was she, but that was different. He didn’t how, but it was.

  She threw a thin arm around him and hugged him, kissing his shredded cheek. ‘No, they just don’t have any big sisters like me to look after them.’

  ‘No, I suppose they don’t.’ Even if they had big sisters, none could compare. She was his, and no one else’s. Sarscha didn’t count.

  ‘Let’s go, they promised it would happen soon.’

  ‘Won’t they just run off with the coin?’ Most of them were thieves from what he saw of them. He didn’t like thieves.

  ‘They’re poor but honest, and they know who I am. They’d never squeal. Besides, no one important listens to children, and never to Muckers.’

  ‘Better hope father doesn’t find out. He always seems to know things, no matter what you say.’

  ‘Here,’ said his sister, holding out her hand. Resting on her palm was a small piece of dull metal and a piece of cord. ‘A boy gave it to me. He told me it would protect me. I think he likes me, but his ears are too big.’

  Like smaller ears would make a difference. ‘He’s a Mucker, Aiy. You’ve got to remember who you are.’ That boy had been leering at her, he was certain.

  ‘Like I can forget,’ she said with a wry twist to her mouth. ‘Can’t I just give my little brother a present?’

  ‘Don’t you want it?’

  She grinned. ‘Your life is worth more to me, even if it’s only half a life. I never want anything to happen you, Fin. They call it a crucifix. Some say one of the Angelborn, her name was Etruria, that she was nailed to one. It was long ago after a big battle. She protects soldiers and such, but I think she’ll make an exception for you. Don’t let anyone see it. The paladins have banned them. They say they’re blasphemous. Father would be apoplectic.’ She giggled.

  Threadfin didn’t know what that last word meant, or that other one, but then she was always using fancy words. She spent half her time in the libra
ries. He placed it around his neck and tucked it beneath his tunic. He would value it for as long as he existed. Not because of what it was, but because she had given it to him, because the Church had banned it. Threadfin didn’t like paladins much. Patriarchs of the Church, they didn’t like virals, always denouncing them. He thought he knew what that word meant. It wasn’t anything good, anyway.

  Once they’d settled back into their spot on the narrow gallery, they waited. Rylana had chickened out as predicted. She’d never gotten over that whipping.

  Half an hour passed before the first screech and guttural whines erupted. From a small doorway in the apse of the chamber, a piglet and three juvenile slinkts emerged. The piglet squealed in terror as it dodged between pillars and wrinkled feet. The predators, no more than a year old, gave chase. Even at that age, vicious teeth filled their narrow snouts, although when young, their piercing whines were ineffective. The conclavists shouted or yelled, with the odd screech thrown in. A guard managed to skewer one slinkt with a spear.

  Men and women yelled, hitching their cloaks and tunics, leaping atop their seats. One or two fled towards the main entrance, looking to escape. Two conclavists collided and ended in a heap with a snarling slinkt leaping over them. One young woman, however, stood stock still throughout. Liviana Avitus stared up at the gallery, with a deep frown.

  In the shadows above, Threadfin, Cathya and Aiyana laughed until it hurt. It was a great day.

  They fled out into the street, in hysterics, losing themselves in the stink and furore of the city, young and happy, and oblivious.

  Chapter 29

  Byrsa

  Present Day

  WHAT SHOULD’VE TAKEN a few hours to reach the city had become two days. During that time, a bone chilling cold had descended on the land. Bone chilling, that was, for a breather.

  Threadfin shuffled towards Byrsa at the back of a ragged line. Hunted without mercy, he’d gone devoid of rest. The Nephilim had rediscovered their prey’s whereabouts, and had stood between him and the city. He’d almost abandoned Byrsa, but out there in its hinterland, he didn’t stand a chance. It felt as though his body might fall apart any moment, a pile of skin and bones all there would be to say he’d existed. It had taken all his skills to elude them, as he had not dared touch his magic again.