She dismissed them more with a feeling than a gesture. Anthrom had to fight not to also turn around and leave, revealing himself. It was a moot point though.
Anthrom, she said. He shuddered. I know you’re there. Could he possible ignore her call? She had told him never to refuse her. Anthrom, are you ready to receive your gift? She didn’t care about the spying.
‘Yes,’ he said, without hesitation.
It is time.
*
Anthrom felt like a caged animal.
He lay prone on his stomach, strapped to a wooden gurney that held him suspended diagonally; the room around him was pitch black, save for the ethereal blue light that came from the tank behind him. His face was twisted to the side, his cheek pushed against the hard wood. A fidgeting twinge flickered down his scarred shoulder and into the skin of his exposed back.
There were a hundred stories about how people became thralled, and Anthrom had heard them all; how the Cephean require pain and fear to join correctly, how the Chironex drained its hosts within seconds, how the Celestial would obliterate a thrall’s mind, its power was so great.
For all the accounts, physically lying prone, waiting for one to take you…well, they paled in comparison. The clinical detail of a scholar’s words had not prepared him for the shortness of breath, the tenseness in his muscles, the outcry of wrongness in his mind.
‘Comfortable?’ Harling’s gaunt face drifted past, his smile dripping with insincerity, lit by the tank.
‘Hardly.’ The tank, Anthrom thought. Inside that tank was the Medusi he’d seen in Harling’s office, the one that had been bred for him. He shuddered. He was still repulsed by the entire idea, but there was no going back now. You dealt with the Iminguis, you can deal with this, he told himself.
Despite having to deal with Harling, he was grateful Noctiluca wasn’t present. Though it might have been a relief to surrender his faculties to her coercive magic, he wanted his wits about him. He wanted to be aware.
Harling wasn’t concerned with his comfort. ‘The apparatus ensures the most accurate thralling tube placement. In the wild, if a Medusi stabs with the intent to thrall, the shot can be off target, it can take multiple attempts. It can end up killing a target instead of thralling it, or the thralling tube will be unable to connect to the spinal column and simply drain the thrall, with none of the benefits.’
Anthrom remembered the Chironex flailing about in the throne room, stabbing its tentacles through a soldier and reanimating him to attack Anthrom. That creature had been accurate, scarily so.
‘I know this,’ he said irritably.
Harling rolled his eyes and stepped away, leaving Anthrom staring into the darkness. When he returned, he dragged the tank with him on a pulley system attached to the ceiling.
‘I know you’ve seen this Medusi before, when you snuck into my office. Take a good look.’ Anthrom did; the creature was nondescript by Medusi standards, not small like a Cephea, not large like the Chironex. It was like a Wild or Common variety, with maybe a little more of a colourful oil-like sheen on its bell-shaped body. They were so impersonal; without eyes, without clear features like mammals, it was impossible to ascribe intent to them. Instead they seemed blank, like vacant space, completely alien and unnatural. Like all the others, it shone from within an ominous blue.
The light was the magic of the Overlords, he’d overheard. The tiniest fraction of their power lay within every Medusi, or at least every one that had been bred from Noctiluca’s Amnion.
He thought of what she had said about Amnion and Chorion, the first Medusi. Did they predate even the Overlords? Was the magic of the Overlords actually the magic of those two original creatures?
Could it be that the one before him held the same potential?
He was about to become a god. No even better, he was about to become an Overlord.
And he knew Harling hated it. There was something so satisfying about that, he almost forgot his revulsion at how this was to be achieved.
‘This one was specially bred for you. If it has bred true, it will take some trait from deep inside you and remake it into your power.’
A trait from him? Something he already possessed? Anthrom was confused; surely it would be something like one of the Overlords’ powers? ‘It wasn’t like that for Abrax,’ he said.
‘Correct. Abrax holds what is actually one of the Overlords residual magics. That of Heikriss, Master of Storms.’ Harling moved the tank back slightly and gazed at his own creation. ‘This species does not work like a Celestial; it is more of an enhancer, cloned from Noctiluca’s own Medusi, Amnion. Every thrall that this type joins with would manifest a different power. And every thrall must learn their power for themselves. For you, Anthrom, who knows? Maybe it will take how much of a little shit you are and turn you into a monster.’
Anthrom could still reply with venom, despite the situation. ‘You are simply jealous,’ he spat back.
Harling smirked. He levered the tank away and manoeuvred it into position above Anthrom’s back, out of sight, but certainly not out of mind.
‘You are,’ said Anthrom. ‘You are drawing this out, making it worse because you are jealous. You’re jealous that I am being thralled ahead of you.’
‘You may want to shut that royal mouth of yours, before you say something you will regret.’
‘Or what?’ Anthrom was incredulous. ‘You can’t threaten me. Noctiluca would have your head.’
‘Noctiluca is quite far away right now,’ said Harling. ‘What if my hand slipped? I did just warn you that thralling can very easily go wrong. I could just tell her the procedure went badly.’
‘She’d kill you, if you killed me,’ said Anthrom with a confidence he suddenly didn’t feel.
Harling’s laugh was mirthful. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking you are irreplaceable. It’s a hard lesson, but no one is.’
Anthrom didn’t have a ready reply, but he wasn’t replaceable. There was only one prince in Theris, only one royal with the Medousa’s favour. He was her favourite.
Harling took his momentary lapse as opportunity to bring the thralling tentacle into position. The tank had a porous membrane in the base; he reached his hand inside despite the stinging barbs and grasped the thralling tentacle in his hand, drawing it back through the membrane.
Anthrom was just opening his mouth to accuse Harling of yet more infantile jealousies, when he felt the very tip of the sharp tentacle brush his bare back, sending a cold shock of electricity through him. He jerked against his bonds, all thought of Harling’s insecurities forgotten.
The tentacle touched him at the base of the neck, where the top of the spine connected in a small ridge. And all the bravado, all the confidence of the past few weeks, left him like the trickle of piss down his thigh.
‘Wait,’ he said. It was almost a whimper. He was breathing fast.
‘Wait?’ said Harling.
Anthrom didn’t know what to say, what to do? There was no way out of this now. He felt like he could see a long winding trail backward through all the actions that had brought him here. He’d betrayed those children, delivering them to evil, he’d killed Verismuss in cold blood, he’d pandered to Noctiluca rather than running away. Even further back he’d hurt Cassandra, tried to usurp Aurelia’s throne, bargained with the enemy, and sabotaged endeavours that might have won the war. His father had never really loved him, he’d wanted Aurelia to take the throne at the end. His mother had never had time for him, he’d had to make his own way always, prove himself, take what was rightfully his.
But where had it got him? A dark fetid cell, with a dark man, trying to attach an evil creature to him. It was wrong. This was not the life he’d seen ahead when he first set off down this path.
In the end, all he said was, ‘Will it hurt?’ It was a whimper. Pathetic. His loathing for himself stung more than the laughter he heard from Harling.
‘Will it hurt?’ said Harling. ‘Of course it will hurt, like a knife in the
back of the neck. It will meld with your flesh, seer into your nerves.’
‘I don’t want this,’ Anthrom cried. He felt warm tears on his upturned cheek.
‘It’s too late for that. This is what it’s like playing with the adults. You’ve made your choices, now you have to live with them.’ Harling came around to face Anthrom again. ‘You are ungrateful. The Goddess has taken a piece of herself to give to you, a piece of magic, of her power. You will be thralled, your shoulder healed. You will attain the next level of existence, becoming one with the creatures we were split apart from so long ago.’
‘I don’t want your stupid religion,’ said Anthrom.
Harling seized his chin in a tight grip. ‘I have killed and toiled and slaved for the opportunity you are being given, and all you can think is how much it will hurt. Life is pain, Anthrom. You should know that. What pleasure have you known in your short life? None, I’d wager. Grow up. You’re scared, what are you fifteen? I was fending for myself on the streets before I was ten.
‘The difference between you and I, is that you did this to yourself,’ said Harling, echoing Anthrom’s own self-recriminations. ‘No one else put you here. You have had multiple chances to choose a different path, but each time you have desired power. The Medousa has set tests and questions before you, and each time you have taken the path towards her and what she can give you. You may have fooled her, but you don’t fool me. You are not ready for this, you are simply a greedy spoilt little prince, a brat who thinks he is a whole lot more important than he is. The entire Order is being put aside for you, Anthrom. You should have had to earn this. Then maybe you’d see what a gift it is.’
‘I did earn this,’ Anthrom said.
‘No, you chose it. I mean earn it. Through years of toil and sweat and blood and death. Like the rest of the Clerics and acolytes.’
Anthrom could not abide the way Harling spoke to him. He had to gain the upper hand. ‘You are jealous,’ he spat. ‘I had it right. You wish you were me. She is stringing you along, Harling. All her teachings are just lies, to control you. She will never let you be thralled. You will die of your fucking tumours.’
Harling stepped away, his hands reaching up over Anthrom’s back. ‘You have no respect.’ His voice was like the hiss of a snake.
Before Anthrom could respond, he felt like an arrow had been fired through his neck. His whole body convulsed, jerking forward at the point of entry, driving his face and collarbone into the apparatus. His mind couldn’t form words to describe the pain, the onslaught of flame and shock down every nerve in his body. He screamed, soundless and intense, his brain filling with white pain like looking into the sun, but starting at his neck and shooting into every pore.
And then as quickly as it came, it changed. The sensation became a soothing, numbing rush, endorphins firing, his brain soaring on a chemical high like nothing he’d ever experienced. The Medusi smothered his pain with pleasure, triggering stimulating hormones in his mind. Goosepimples spread across his skin in a wave.
The pleasure masked the melding he could sense underneath; the Medusi joining with his nerves, joining with his mind, its tendrils inside his flesh now, seeking connection, seeking union. Seeking something deep within him. The trait that it would enhance with its power.
Then euphoria and white noise engulfed him.
Chapter Thirty
Totelun
Totelun was dredged from sleep with a cry of pain. He grasped his side, feeling padding and gauze, bandages wrapped across his chest and his abdomen. Awake, he could feel the burnt skin beneath, the recess where his stomach muscles should be. He was in a familiar wood-lined cabin, but he couldn’t quite work out why he recognised it.
‘You’re lucky to be alive.’ He knew that voice.
Totelun looked up from inspecting his wounds to find the huge bulk of Captain Shandan Cane staring at him from across the small cabin. The man was the same as when he’d last seen him; great furry beard, short dark hair, and the pockmarked skin of a seaman that he shared with his crew. A thick meaty hand returned the snifter that had roused Totelun to a pocket stretched tight across his broad chest. ‘Seems like every time we meet, you’re banged up and injured. You should take life a little more easily, my boy. Like me.’
Totelun smiled. It was just so good to see a familiar face. Even if was not one he had expected.
‘You’ve been asleep for a week, lad. You were pretty well done under there, I’d say. I like my steak a little rarer.’
‘I got hit, by a bolt of lightning,’ Totelun winced. Abrax had meant to kill him finally. There would be no more games between them, no more cat and mouse.
Shandan sighed inwardly in a considered manner. ‘Lightning, eh? Tangled with our flying friend again, did you? The thrall with the Celestial?’
Totelun nodded.
‘He’s becoming your nemesis, that one.’
‘Aye,’ said Totelun, remembering some of the sailor lingo he’d heard on the voyage they’d taken months back. He and Naus had hired on to Shandan’s ship – the Neri’id he recalled – and convinced him to sail from Corolan on the east of the Terracon steppe, round the southern cape and to the edge of Theris harbour where, if they could convince the Therian Empress to let him make landfall, he would make a massive profit bringing supplies to a besieged city. Cane’s stipulation had been that they protect the ship from Medusi en-route, which they’d been forced to do when ambushed by Abrax’s storm. Thankfully, the threat of a large harpoon gun in the hold of the Neri’id, had been enough to see him off that time. It wouldn’t be again.
‘Where’s your old man?’
‘What, Naus?’
‘Yeah, that was it. Not dead, is he?’ Cane looked concerned.
‘I don’t think he’s dead,’ said Totelun. How did he explain where Naus had gone, without explaining everything? ‘He had a different destination to me, and we were forced to go our separate ways.’ That didn’t even begin to cover it. Then he surprised himself. ‘I miss him something terrible.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find each other again.’
‘I don’t see how.’ Totelun glanced away, realising it was true. How on Arceth was he ever going to find Naus again? ‘The world’s too big a place.’
Cane laughed so hard his belly shook.
‘What?’ he scowled.
‘You don’t see the irony, do you?’ He laughed again. ‘You can say that, sitting here on my ship again? In all the world, in all the seas, you wind up floating back to a safe place when you need it most. You are special, boy. You have a purpose. I’ve seen you almost killed twice, maybe three times, and yet here you are talking to me again. If you are meant to find the old man again, you will. The world will help you, not stop you.’
It was the nicest appraisal of his life he’d heard in, well, forever. Naus was rarely that complimentary, and his father never was. He filled with hope again, not realising just how lost he’d felt until now. The further up that mountain he’d gone, the more lost he’d felt.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Oh, we fished you out of the sea, boy. You were floating out of Theris harbour in a tiny walnut.’ Theris? he thought. That didn’t make sense. ‘And the girl, she don't talk much.’
Totelun jerked with surprise. He had forgotten about Cassandra in his relief at seeing Cane. He gasped – sitting up had yanked at his healing skin – and then settled back to a position where it didn’t hurt. ‘That's Princess Cassandra.’
‘Oh, I know who she is. That's why I'm doing as I’m told.’
‘Is she alright? Is she hurt?’
‘She is fine, boy. Better then you. Do you want to hear how we found you, or you going to keep interrupting?’
Totelun nodded.
‘We left Theris just as a battle began,’ said Cane, ‘got out of the harbour when your friend with the Celestial showed up. We sailed back to Kerinoa, but then I decided to come back. I wanted to see what had happened to the place, who won. I wanted to know
if you still lived, boy. Well, let me tell you, Theris has been completely remade; it is a ghost city, forsaken and cursed. The buildings are covered in decay and grime and there was filth everywhere like the black ink of an octopus. We could hear screams at night across the water, so we never ventured very close. And there were thralls everywhere, like the city had been reclaimed by them.’ Cane shook his head in disgust. ‘I feared the worst, and decided to turn the ship around without making landfall. But then late that night as we were leaving, my navigator spots a strange pod floating out of the harbour. He could only just see it, even with his enhanced vision. He calls down to me, says there’s a girl in a tiny boat. The crew almost mutiny when I say to leave it, they want to see if it’s a survivor. And who should be in there but you and one of the Therian princesses’
‘But how did we get to Theris?’
Cane nodded. ‘She says you were at the top of Cartracia, and dropped into an underground stream which connected with the Theris river. You flowed all the way down the river, under the city, and out into the harbour. I told you, special.’
‘You said you’re doing what your told. What did she tell you?’ Totelun asked.
Shandan stood and eased a large palm under Totelun’s back helping him to sit up, none too gently, but he appreciated it. The man bumped the small table beside the bed with his belly as he reached to produce a map. It was the one Cassandra had found in the cave. He laid it on Totelun’s lap. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘She told me where I was to take the ship next. The princess told us your destination, and you know what, I agreed. She said there was a wonderful site to see, and I figured I owe you. You and your old man brought me the biggest haul I’ve ever taken.’
‘I don’t know our destination,’ admitted Totelun. ‘This is news to me.’
Cane pointed at the map with a fat finger. Totelun judged the spot he indicated to be somewhere southwest of Theris harbour, but judging by the scale it was almost as far away as it had been between Corolan and Theris.
‘Wait, how long have we been at sea?’ he said, incredulous. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
Embrace of the Medusi (The Overlords Trilogy Book 2) Page 41