by Darren Joy
There was a deep hatred in Canaan’s face, but it wasn’t for Aiyana. Loyalty among the Fallen was fickle it seemed. She gripped the bone hilt of the dagger tight in her fist, but her body resisted all commands to strike. She delved within herself, seeking the strength. I will not let you die for nothing, Cath. That much I can give you. Goodbye, my love.
A bloodied Liviana beat her wings furiously as she turned her attention on Aiyana, perhaps sensing the threat. She didn’t see Pen Luthus approach from out of the gloom. The gorgons prowled behind her, all with eyes for the undead princess.
CANAAN RUSHED AT THE harpy, his own wings erupting in euphoric agony. He did not expect to survive, but neither would she. Her focus on the viral, she never heard him until the last second. She whirled about, just as he collided with her. The princess rose at the same instant, and drove the soul splice into Andromeda’s back, between the wings. Aiyana Todralan held on to the bone hilt, the wings buffeting her violently.
Andromeda gasped. Canaan held her in place, preventing her escape. It was not over, yet. Her claws bit into his shoulders as her wings beat a hurricane, now battering him. She let out a shriek, the sound akin to a million women roasting alive. Her power slammed into him lifting him off the stone flags. He felt dozens of flaming spears pierce his body. Her raging counter had killed him, but it was too late for her too. He smiled, despite the blood welling in his mouth. He had to hang on, to see justice one last time.
The Plagueborn gripped the hilt with purpose and pulled, staggering backwards. As the soul splice emerged, it drew with it a filament of light, brighter than a sun. Andromeda’s soul fought back, the blade of the splice turning to rust. Though the splice was voracious, separating spirit from flesh, it had failed. Wounded, the harpy was still too strong. The flow of light ceased. The remaining gorgons growled, but made no move to attack. Canaan fell to the floor, and getting to his feet, attempted to back away, but his legs were weak and he stumbled.
Andromeda wore a deadly smile. She reached out to grab him, no doubt to rip him apart. Instead, she halted with arms outstretched. Her face transformed with shock. She was staring upwards at something they couldn’t see, something in another world. The harpy within screamed as brightness erupted within her core. The light exploded outward in a brilliant burst. Canaan shielded his eyes. The walls and ceiling cracked with the sound of thunder. He got to his knees, which was as far as he could manage.
The light dissipated. The corpse of the woman named Liviana collapsed to the floor. The splice was a rusted relic in the princess’s hand. Then she too, fell.
The ceiling trembled and daylight burst through ragged holes. The walls vibrated, as masonry toppled. A marble column fractured, followed by a second. The last of the gorgons tried to escape as the gorge closed. Those already at the lip fell in. Cracks in the floor erupted outward.
Justice.
Canaan Pen Luthus, for the first time in his human life, smiled.
The Great Hall of the Blue Palace collapsed.
Chapter 44
A Horned Reflection
THREADFIN, HAVING RETURNED to the human world, withdrew into the gloom between two buildings. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten back, and didn’t care. His naked body shivered. He was in one piece again. At least, that was something. However, he felt different, and couldn’t decide if he should be worried.
Shouts arose from survivors, cries of disbelief and joy mixed with sorrow. Gog was retreating with his horde. Their heavy feet thumped past the alley in which Threadfin lay, hundreds of them. He didn’t need to kill their leader. Gog of Magog was no longer a threat, the power controlling him, severed. He was an ordinary giant once more, if perhaps a confused one.
Black spiralling mist shaped itself to his body. It enfolded him in a cloak of deep night as though his power sought to soothe him. It was instinctive. Must’ve been, since he couldn’t remember how he’d done it. It seemed, he no longer needed reflections to work every bit of magic, though he would still make use of them. There was much to learn now he had taken control.
With his pathetic flesh groaning and shivering, smoke-like whorls leaked from his fingers. There was no time to rest, to regain strength. Liviana was dead, Andromeda vanquished, but he had no idea if Aiyana was okay.
Focusing on the giants who thundered past, those whorls of power became complex weaves, which rose from his body. They sought out the puddles of water on the ground, the reflected worlds within. Threadfin was still learning the extent of his power, and its limits.
The weaves ripped at the fabric of time and existence. A vortex formed within the largest pool of water. Nephilim closest to the alley stumbled and fell, as he drew on their gargantuan life forces. He could draw on dozens at a time, hundreds if he wished. Most would suffer horrible ailments for weeks to come, if not longer. Several dozen would die. Well, it served them right after the mess they’d made. He was tired of feeling guilty.
The black hole sucked him into the puddle, and out of all time, and reality.
THREADFIN STEPPED THROUGH the shattered corridor, which was all that remained of the Blue Palace. He carried a limp form. Aiyana’s right arm was shredded, the trunk of her body torn with a large gaping hole, but she was conscious. A breather wouldn’t have survived. Being half dead did have advantages.
A dark wreath, woven with his magic, enfolded most of her. Her face was pale grey, dull patches of hair hanging from her patchy scalp. Her sunken eyes sought his. ‘Fin.’
He smiled at her. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered. ‘I’m going to take care of you, like you once took care of me.’
She smiled. ‘My dearest little brother,’ she whispered reaching to stroke his face with damaged fingers. ‘You are changed.’
‘And you are beautiful, as always. And you are also the imperatrix now.’ Getting a vote would take time, but none of that mattered. There was no one to stand against her. If there was, Threadfin would have a nice chat with them, perhaps over a cup of tea and a fig biscuit.
‘Imperatrix of a broken imperium, you mean,’ she whispered back.
‘No, my sister,’ he said with a smile, ‘of a viral imperium.’ And all those breathers are just going to have to learn to live with it, he thought, or they would have him to deal with.
As he descended the shattered steps, the remaining corridor imploded behind them. A wave of white dust engulfed them. Howls of wargs haunted the streets as they retreated with their masters. As the dust cleared on a light breeze, it began to snow.
Laying her on the damp ground, he brushed back her greyed hair. Retracting some of his power, he unveiled more of her body. He leaned over to stare into her eyes. Both iris and pupil were missing in each. Soiling the whites was a swirling cloud, like ink stirred into water. Pulsing veins appeared along the length of her body. His attention was drawn to the ring on her left hand as she raised it to his face. Though the gold shone bright as ever, the once silver wings had blackened. He wasn’t the only one who had changed.
AIYANA TOUCHED HER brother’s face. Their father had ruled in his way, but he hadn’t understood the ordinary person. Aiyana thought she did, as much as any noble could. Hah, noble, that was a joke, but she could try. No, she would succeed, and she would survive. She had to. The world wasn’t safe, not yet. The Fallen Ones were the beginning, a testing of their defences. Worse was to come, much worse. She would rule, and do all in her power to protect her people, but she wasn’t their saviour, she wasn’t the important one. At least, she no longer needed to hide what she was, although her distinct talent might still prove useful.
Ghostly figures crowded the edge of her vision. She guessed they were faces of lives she’d recently stolen with her power, for there were exemplars among them. She was too tired, too broken to examine this strange phenomenon.
Cathya, I’m so sorry. She forced back the pain, saving it for later, when no one could see.
Her fingertips examined the horns protruding from Fin’s face and forehead. Short and sharp, they m
arked him, as did the new faint iridescent scales of his skin. A dark unnatural weave clothed him and provided him with a cloak. A glance belied its true appearance; its weave one moment hardened scales, then ethereal like black mist, and with another blink like feathered wings. There was something different about his manner, the tone of his voice. He was more forceful, assertive. No longer desiccated and fragile, Threadfin was something more than a viral, though what, she didn’t know. No matter what he said, however, he was still a Todralan, and all she had left.
She knew he didn’t trust those who breathed air, whose hearts pumped blood, but she could tell his feelings had changed. They were ignorant, weak, and vulnerable. They needed a guardian, someone to stand between them and oblivion.
They needed a viral mage.
FROM OUT OF THE DEATH and dying, through falling snow, Scatter stumbled into view along with Podral Pole. The latter was holding the former whose face was a mask of blood. He scowled when he spotted Threadfin. Beneath the blood, the Aidari leader’s face bore a dark look, as though something enraged her. Not something he’d seen in her before.
‘You do know, Pods,’ said Threadfin with a cheeky grin, ‘that as my Darken, it’s me you’re supposed to be helping.’
‘Oh,’ grunted the other man, ‘so you heard about that.’
‘Did you have a nice time then, while I was saving the world? You know, you look great, no, really.’
They both halted, Podral with a surprised look, though whether for Threadfin’s words or his appearance, he didn’t know.
‘Lorn is gone,’ said Scatter, standing straighter. Anger flashed in her eyes. ‘And, I do not mean dead.’
‘Are you listening, lad?’ asked Podral, before spitting to the side. ‘She’s not wandered off traipsing the countryside. She has vanished, from this world, and Scatter thinks she’s taken something with her.’ He gave his charge a meaningful look.
Threadfin turned back to look at his sister. ‘The Shathra Stone, yes, I know.’ He didn’t bother to look back at them, not caring if they were shocked. The world needed Aiyana more than it did him. It needed a ruler who had the strength and power to rule, but who cared for them too, who loved them. He didn’t think it was something he could do. ‘I guess that just means I’m going to have to hunt her down, but not today.’
He couldn’t explain it, but the fact it was Lorn who had betrayed them, betrayed him, well, it hurt. He forced those feelings aside, to examine later, just as he shoved back those apparitions of River, Wither and Raze, among others. No more guilt. No time for self-indulgence. Life was the price of his power, and he’d found himself willing to pay it.
Aiyana’s fingers probed his face, as though she’d never seen him before and she smiled. Then she closed her eyes, exhaustion overcoming her.
From a dark mist, a girl of seventeen or thereabouts appeared. She knelt beside his sister’s sleeping form. Behind her came Nipper, stomping through a slush-rimmed puddle with a bandaged head. He thought of Sprog, of his loyalty and bravery. Perhaps he’d misjudged the creatures. Nipper growled and spat at Threadfin, before trying to bite him. Perhaps it was how mongrels said hello, or maybe they just didn’t like him. He didn’t care. He’d never been as glad to see one.
‘We used do stuff together, ’member?’ whispered Tezcat with a mischievous grin. ‘You ’member, Fin, don’t you?’
He stared into the water, rippling in the mongrel’s wake. All was the way it should be, and whatever was to come, well, he’d worry about it later. For now, he was content. ‘I remember, and we will again, Cat, I promise.’
The viral mage smiled, and the horned reflection, smiled back.
This Ends
A PLAGUEBORN NOVEL
BOOK ONE
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Dramatis Personae
Imperial Family
Markus Olen Todralan, imperator of the Icarthian Imperium
Aiyana Mayala Todralan, daughter of Markus Olen and heir to the throne
Sarscha Todralan, eldest daughter of Markus Olen, and imperial marshal
Olen Quintus Todralan, former imperator (deceased), and Markus Olen’s father
Mayala Lyn Todralan, Markus Olen’s wife, died giving birth
Seats in Conclave
Todralan, the throne, which equals ten seats
Avitus, ten seats
Aidarius, six seats
Augustus, seven seats
Cipius, four seats
Tystrus, eight seats
Brutus, three seats
Shivar, one seat
Saelos, one seat
(Fifty seats make up the patriarchal class, one hundred and fifty the minorum class)
Virals
Threadfin Todder, an exile and thief in the borderland city of Lame
Tezcat Licolo, a viral teenager and companion of Threadfin
Exemplars
Canaan Pen Luthus, high exemplar and imperial bodyguard
Niyala, second in command to Pen Luthus
Altus, formerly a captain in the Actaeon Guard
Berg, formerly a captain in the Actaeon Guard
Imperial Legions - Actaeon Guard
Begnar, a legion marshal
Pontus, a legion marshal
Acart, a paladin of the Church
Julius, a paladin of the Church
Ralan, a paladin of the Church
Wyn Rollic, a captain serving under Sarscha Todralan
Turol, a captain of the Actaeon Guard
Imperial Conclave
Liviana Avitus, Markus Olen’s mistress, a conclavist and a paladin of the Church
Davard Tystrus, a very large and sweaty man
Rylana Cipius, a childhood friend of Aiyana Todralan
Markus Cipius, Rylana’s brother and a paladin of the Church
Polius Augustus, a sometimes vocal critic of Liviana Avitus
Lucius Aidarius, a friend and confidant of Polius
Cicero Augustus, Polius Augustus’ father
Eadricus Brutus, a paladin of the Church
Eadan & Markus Brutus, Eadricus’ brothers
Ornias Saelos, opponent of Liviana Avitus
Aidari
Scatter, leader of a group of Aidari
Zane, a rival leader
Wither, a scout, who often appears to vanish, nicknamed the Wraith by Threadfin Todder
River, a young woman
Lorn, a confrontational and smart-mouthed young woman
Raze, a young man
Slither, a young man
Tinder, a young man
Nephilim clans
Rephaim, nicknamed the Dead Ones these are the biggest and have flightless wings
Anakim, second largest clan after the Rephaim they are said to have long necks.
Avim, most unusual of the Nephilim with long double-jointed limbs and pale skin
Emim, primarily warg-handlers they also function as sappers
Zuzim, imperial records have no information on this clan at this time
Horites, most peaceful and reclusive of the clans, they are guardians of the fabled Shathra Stone
Horim, believed to be the smallest of the Nephilim reaching only seven feet in height
Others
Rasnal Nalrost, a High Mage long since dead (non-viral)
Cathya Shivar, Darken to Aiyana Todralan
Crawl, a prime in the city of Lame
Podral Pole, a thief, and a guardian to Threadfin Todder
Ludwole Felps, an ex-legionary and a guardian to Threadfin Todder
Gog of Magog, a Nephilim prince and leader of the invasion of Adalalcas
Desool, a Nephilim Imp, possibly Rephaim, in the city of Byrsa
Gurg, a Raddhonar and a strong-arm serving the exemplars
Nipper, a mongrel scribe serving Aiyana Todralan
Shakti, a he
aler and witch, possibly associated with the Aidari
Sprog, a mongrel and companion of Tezcat Licolo
Cyllo, a warghound
Nape, a warghound
Glossary
Acolyte, one who studies to become a paytor of the Church
Actaeon Guard, name of the Legionary Guard. From a standard-bearer named Actaeon who centuries earlier died protecting the body of his imperator (see also, Green/Blue Cloak)
Adalalcas, the northern continent (see also, Imperium)
Adalcis, ocean to the east
Aidari, regarded as fanatics this group have committed acts of terrorism against the imperium
Angels, considered divine by humans, they are spirit guardians of the Spectrum. Legend and the White Daemoni suggest they once took fleshly bodies and walked among humans, and were known as Angelborn
Angelborn, angelic spirit reborn as a flesh and blood human, retaining angelic powers
Atlantis, a vanished island to the east, it was the centre of great wonders and technologies
Batav, a broad river boat for carrying goods
Bent, refers to magical ability (see also, Talent)
Black Birth, name given by breathers to the birth of a viral
Black Palace, palace in the capital, Icarthya, and home to the Imperial Family
Blue Cloaks, refers to the legionaries of Byrsa. These are the only Actaeon Guard soldiers to wear a different colour. A civil war erupted between Blue and Greencloaks centuries ago. Byrsa’s garrison is the only one to wear a different colour, and are proud of the fact, although in Icarthya, blue is the colour of a plebeian
Blue Palace, imperial seat in Byrsa, occupied by a Governor
Borderlands, mountainous western region of the imperium. Suffers from constant rebellion and conflict (see also, Ewsannec Tribes)