Seven Devils

by Laura Lam

  Discordia slid her hand into her pocket and grasped the firewolf, running her finger over the carved grooves already growing shiny from the oils in her fingertips. It had become a talisman. A memento of the first moment she went against expectations by letting him live.

  “What if you don’t have to die?” Discordia asked.

  Xander’s smile faded. “What?”

  “What if I chose you instead of Damocles?” At his hesitation, she grasped his arm. “You said yourself that he’s not fit to lead. Damocles is too impulsive. He can’t think clearly.”

  “I also just said that I’m not fit to lead, Discordia.”

  “Then be my second. My Brigadier, my Spare. We can take Damocles out while he’s too distracted with the conflict at the Garnet.”

  Her father wanted to conquer a newly discovered planet in a nearby solar system that tests determined had excellent soil composition: another potential source of food for their expanding empire. One the Evoli Oversouls were just as interested in making theirs, and the conflict had killed too many soldiers as it was. Discordia knew it was only a matter of time before her father had her direct more forces away from the planet and engage the Evoli in more familiar territory. Until then, Damocles thought to prove himself to the Archon by coming and going from the frontlines.

  “Discordia . . .”

  “Do you want to die?” she asked him. “Do you want me to take this gun and shoot you today and say last rites? Strike your name off my list? Do you want Damocles to be the one who stands second in line to the throne?”

  He exhaled, long and slow, then shook his head.

  “Then help me, frater.” She saw his surprise at her use of the old word for brother. “You said to change the Empire and make it mine. I say we make it ours. I can’t do this on my own. We can make it better.”

  By killing Damocles.

  40.

  ERIS

  Present day

  They descended into an old mining tunnel.

  A few glimmers of ichor threaded through the black rock like rivers of opal, and while Eris admired its beauty, she reminded herself of the danger. Rhea had heard something down there, and they didn’t know how stable this tunnel was.

  Eris strained to listen for any indication that they weren’t alone. She heard nothing more than the echo of their steps and the cadence of four other breaths crackling through the comm devices in their helmets, one more ragged than the others.

  Rhea.

  Concerned, Eris glanced back to see Rhea stumble, only just managing to hold herself up by the handrail. Through the helmet, Eris could see Rhea’s dark hair stuck to her temples, beads of sweat dotting her forehead.

  “Rhea?” Eris said. “Are you all right?”

  “Something the matter?” Nyx’s voice echoed through the shaft. The soldier was leading the way, the light from Ariadne’s tablet held aloft.

  Rhea steadied herself once more. “I’m fine. Probably still shaky from transport sickness. Bullet crafts are unpleasant.”

  Eris didn’t believe her. Rhea’s expression went blank when Eris studied her closely, but her shoulders remained slightly hunched. Her body swayed. She held up a hand, eyes pleading. A clear Don’t ask. Not right now.

  Eris nodded once and continued down the passage. Who was she to demand someone’s secrets? She still kept her own.

  As they descended farther into the earth, the air grew musty and cold. The tunnel bent, and Nyx’s light showed a gray door with a panel to the right. A slim shaft of light filtered from the bottom of the door, catching on the glittering colors of the surrounding ichor.

  Nyx handed Ariadne the tablet and raised her Mors. Eris did the same and eased her body in front of Ariadne and Clo. If someone came out shooting, she would not have the others go in first. They weren’t soldiers trained for a potential ambush.

  Ariadne went to work on the panel, tapping a few commands into her tablet. Within a few minutes, the door slid open.

  Nyx and Eris met gazes. Nyx tapped her finger once to the side of her helmet just over her ear, then to the glass by her eye, and gestured to the other women. Eris understood why Nyx didn’t say anything over the Pathos: she would go in first, and if anything happened to her, Eris would lead everyone out. She’d sacrifice herself and stay behind.

  Eris bristled at the idea, but Nyx made the motion again. A clear indication to stick with her plan. Before Eris could silently argue further, Nyx pushed open the door and went in, Mors at the ready.

  And froze just a single step inside, a choked gasp wrenched from her throat.

  “Nyx?” Eris shoved the door wide and went in. “What—” She made some strangled noise at the sight before her.

  Not all of the miners had left Ismara.

  Behind her, a retch echoed through the clinically bright room. Eris couldn’t tear her eyes away from what she saw in that medical wing, hidden away for a damn good reason.

  In the middle of the room was a quarantine enclosure—no, that was too generous.

  It was an airtight glass prison.

  And in that cell were dozens of corpses.

  Gods of Avern. These people had been executed, and not recently. Their skin was gray, puckered, stretched tight and making its slow way to bone. About thirty in all, with most wearing the rough clothes of their trade. There were a few minor Tholosian soldiers. Their skin was pale and waxy, partially preserved only due to the temperature in the room. Decay had begun to set in.

  “Who did this?” Clo asked softly. “And why? Why would they . . .”

  Rhea came up beside her, gesturing to a closed door just off the main cell. “In there,” she whispered. “Open it, Ari.”

  Ariadne gave Rhea an unreadable look before hacking the door’s lock. When the bolt released, Eris took the lead and pushed open the door.

  Another prison, smaller.

  The three men in the glass cell wore the gleaming buttons of Tholosian officers. Eris counted them, taking in the symbols branded into the metal, each one symbolizing rank. The colors had faded, but these were undoubtedly a commanding officer and two juniors. She couldn’t see the two other names stitched to their breasts, but the commander’s read Talley.

  Avern, Commander Talley even had a symbol of valor on the jacket of his uniform—the two infinity symbols for the God of Death. He’d probably retired to this godsforsaken outpost after the Battle of the Garnet. It was an easy position for an aging officer, away from violence and brutality.

  At least, it was supposed to be.

  Eris hung back as Nyx approached the glass. The men were as gaunt as the corpses in the other room, their skin nearly as gray. The three sprawled against the glass, dark liquid caked at their ears and the corners of their mouths. The ducts of their eyes darkened with red-black tears.

  The commander opened his eyes.

  Nyx gave a startled cry and jerked back, smacking so hard into the ichor wall of the cave that Eris worried she’d damaged her helmet. Eris stepped forward, alarmed, when she noticed the small tear in the arm of Nyx’s suit. The other woman quickly patched it from a kit in her belt pouch.

  Eris kept her focus on the commander.

 

  Commander Talley blinked at the brightness, the whites of his eyes turned black. He was alive. Gods of Avern, he’s fucking alive.

  What about the other two? They looked dead—seven devils, the commander had looked dead until the moment he opened his eyes. He was trying weakly to lift his head. How was he still moving? He had a cluster of small dark lesions at his temples, wattles at the base of his jowls.

  Nyx hurried to the cell door, but the commander spoke. “No,” he croaked. “Don’t open. Might be dangerous.”

  Nyx paused. Eris’s fear spiked.

  “Keep it sealed,�
�� he managed. “Safe . . . safer.”

  Eris looked at Ariadne. “You said the pilot rattled off medical expertise during deprogramming, right?” Ariadne nodded. “Good. Then maybe he’s useful. Take the shuttle back to Zelus and tell him to bring the med kit and an extra decontamination suit from the lab.” Eris gestured to where Rhea stood in the corner of the room, barely supporting herself on the medical table. “And take Rhea with you outside. Get her some air.”

  Ariadne seemed uncertain as she wrapped a supporting arm around Rhea’s waist. “Okay, but I don’t know if Cato can walk yet. Deprogramming—”

  “Then tell him to crawl,” Eris snapped.

  The girl hurried away as quickly as she could with Rhea.

  Eris returned her attention to the commander and crouched near the glass. “We’re getting someone who can go in there to see you, all right?”

  Commander Talley only drew in a shaky breath and took in their protective suits. He spent a moment studying Eris; she fought to remain expressionless. She doubted she succeeded.

  “You’re not . . . with them?” he whispered.

  “Who?” Eris asked.

  “The . . . Empire.”

  Eris managed to keep from showing surprise, but only just. “No. We’re not.”

  The commander gave a shaky sigh of relief. That was proof enough of how close to death he was, that the Oracle was no longer in control of his thoughts or feelings. One had simply gone into background processing, One’s tendrils loosening as the brain began to die.

  Eris pressed her gloved hands to the glass. “What did they do to you?”

  Talley’s head lolled to the side. The blackness near his eyes cracked, sending a new tear of red-black down the grayed skin of his withered cheek. Eris hadn’t wanted to admit it to anyone, but sending for Cato had not been to examine this man alive—there was no saving the commander. No, they needed to examine his corpse.

  And another part of her had wanted Ariadne and Rhea out of this room. Away from the bodies, the death, and the dying. Some people shouldn’t have to see such things. Eris wished she hadn’t.

  “Check . . . the logs,” he said. “In my office . . . the barracks.”

  “I will,” she told him. “I’ll make the Empire pay for this, commander. I promise.”

  His nod was so slight she might have missed it had she not been watching. “They’ll be back,” he murmured, shutting his eyes. His voice was so faint, Eris could barely hear it. “For . . . rest of the ichor. You should . . . leave. Don’t let them . . . find you.”

  “We’ll do that,” Eris said. “Thank you, Commander.”

  They all remained silent, waiting for Ariadne and Cato to come. Eris didn’t want to voice her concerns to Nyx or Clo aloud—that they had come mere moments before the commander was to give his last breath. Eris slipped a hand into the pocket of her suit and grasped her scythe pendant.

  Talley began to cough, red blood trickling from his mouth. He tilted his head to the side, sucking in a rattling breath.

  The other hand went into her pocket where she kept Xander’s carved firewolf. She felt the grooves of the firewolf’s muzzle.

  Xander, she thought, watching the commander’s chest go still. I’m failing.

  “Eris?” Ariadne’s voice was hesitant at the doorway. “I’ve brought—”

  “Gods of Avern,” Cato murmured, limping into the room.

  Clo pointed to the commander. “Get in there and help him. He’s still alive.”

  “He’s not.” Eris straightened. She was gripping her scythe hard in her glove. “He’s gone.”

  Nyx swore softly.

  Eris unhooked her necklace, bent her head and whispered last rites. Nyx and Cato joined in. Clo and Ariadne stayed silent but bowed their necks in respect.

  Hold it together, she told herself.

  When she had trained to be her father’s Heir, Eris used to imagine a space inside her chest. An empty chasm that was deep and endlessly dark. If she ever became overwhelmed—if she ever felt too much—she’d picture that space filling up and up and up, like the banks of a forest stream in the rain.

  And when it became too much, she’d empty it. Empty herself. All those emotions would drain out of her, leaving that hole in her chest barren and dark once more. It used to come easily, but near the end, it was like the more that chasm filled, the more emptying it was like trying to drain a whole ocean.

  She wondered if it’d ever be easy again. If it’d stop hurting so much.

  The firewolf in her pocket reminded her that it probably never would.

  Eris finished her prayer and returned her necklace to her pocket. She gave the firewolf one last squeeze and turned to the others. “He said there were documents in the barracks that would explain what happened. I saw the buildings just past the warehouse. Before examining the”—Eris took a breath—“the bodies. We ought to know what we’re dealing with.”

  Without another word, she strode out of the glimmering tunnel—past those glass prison cells-turned-tombs—and hurried up to the surface. The others were only too eager to follow. Outside, she caught her ragged breath.

  Rhea watched her from where she had been resting against a tree. “Eris. Is everything all right?”

  “The commander is dead,” Eris said, and Rhea blanched. Eris cursed her tactlessness, but she couldn’t offer soft words. No comfort. She was not made for these things.

  Hold it together. Eris left Rhea, striding toward the barracks. She didn’t care if the others followed. You can’t fall apart now.

  Eris’s boots were silent across the moist soil. The temperature had dropped since they landed, even if she couldn’t feel it through her suit. If she hadn’t left Tholos—if she had remained the general—she wouldn’t have let them all die. Maybe they’d still be alive. Maybe—

  Stop. A maybe solves nothing. A maybe changes nothing. Do your damn job.

  The barracks were threaded with the dark red mushrooms and mold that snaked their way up the black timber of the officers’ quarters. In the thin afternoon light cast between the clouds of the overcast sky, it looked like the building was bleeding.

  Eris swallowed hard and turned the rusted handle of the door, pushing her way inside.

  The interior was wet and colder. The automatic lights flickered on, lazily, casting the room in a hazy, yellow glow. It was a bare room, only consisting of a single desk with a small cot off to the side. Nothing appeared touched or rifled through. It was a small relic on this dead planet. It had the damp, musty scent of disuse, dust gathering across the surfaces of the few pieces of furniture. How long had Talley been down in the glass box?

  Eris walked over to the desk, her eyes skimming the stacks of paperwork, the little trinkets of Talley’s life. She picked up the small digipad in the corner of the desk that had stuck on a single vid file of a woman, also in uniform, standing outside the barracks with her head tipped back and a smile on her face, her hair ruffling in the breeze.

  The caption read: Octavia on our first Ismaran anniversary.

  Eris’s chest tightened, eyes stinging with unexpected tears. It took her a few tries with her gloves, but she managed to load the digipad. They were built to keep power for hundreds of years, a digital library that would last for three generations at least. Maybe more.

  A creak made her glance up. The others had come inside but hesitated at the doorway. Their features were all stricken. As much as Eris wanted to spare them knowledge of whatever awful information they would find in Talley’s logs, they all deserved to know the truth.

  “Ariadne,” she said, voice low. “Project the logs so everyone can see them, please.”

  The girl nodded and navigated the files. A miniature hologram of the man they had just watched die loaded. Hale and healthy, barely a trace of the shadow he would become.

  Gods. He’d recorded this less
than three Tholos moons before. Turned from a proud, loyal, muscled Tholosian officer to a desiccated husk of a man, who had just died choking on his own black blood.

  Four logs, dated just before the mines were reported as shut down. Eris clicked on the first one. The miniature version of Talley-I-32, paced the desk and spoke, as if he had returned from the dead:

  Data log: 89 days ago:

  The miners are making good progress. Extraction is difficult. Toxin levels in the caves are increasing as drilling progresses. We have introduced new tools to assist with their work—larger drills that run hotter. The sparks have injured several workers. Request additional protective gear, including respirators.

  Supplies incoming, but continue work until then. Your usual quota of ichor by the end of the moon is expected.

  Understood. In His name.

  For the glory of Tholos.

  Ariadne pressed her lips together. She tapped the next file, from just a few weeks later:

  Data log: 71 days ago:

  Respirators have arrived, but despite this, the miners continue to sicken. Please see the attached file for a catalog of symptoms. Dr. Octavia Byze-M-71 is attending them, but so far, they are not responding to treatment. It does not appear to be contagious but acts like atmospheric poisoning. This is new—over the last five years I’ve been on this planet, I’ve never seen anything like this. Ten dead, and the medic center is filling up fast. Your command, sir?

  Senior Commander, what are our next steps?

  Sir?

  Any time now. Sir.

  Ariadne clicked open the med file for a miner. Chloe Marinos-C-1. Age: 39 Tholos years. Notes filled out by Dr. Octavia Byze-M-71.

  First day: Patient experienced nausea and vomiting two days ago. Pulse 96 beats per minute—elevated from last recorded 58. Breathing heavy, labored. Eyes puffy. Skin sloughing on palms. Buildup of dark red liquid at corner of eyes and ear canals, and genitals. Swelling of lymph nodes in the neck and under the armpits, which were lanced. Medications ineffective.