The Path to Loss (Approaching Infinity Book 4)

by Chris Eisenlauer

  “We were lucky. Kels knew much about the Shields, knew which one to pick for himself and which one to pick for me. These would enable us to flee, to cross the ocean.”

  “So you, too, have crossed?”

  “Yes. Though I would never do it again, not willingly. It was terrible.”

  “Chan Fa knows that you and Kels Ansrath will be present. I believe he comes in good faith, though it may be that he cares little about the invaders and simply wants to collect his revenge.”

  She shivered unconsciously. “There is no escaping Chan Fa, the Everliving. He is as inevitable as death if he wishes it. We got away because we tricked him and by the time he knew of the deception, it was simply too inconvenient for him to pursue us. As you say, it is possible that he has decided once and for all to settle old debts. Let us hope that this is not the case.”

  1.3 GOLDEN VICTORY

  10,735.228

  Kels Ansrath was a giant of a man. He stood at least a full head taller than any of the small group gathered in Sera Fontessa’s receiving hall. The muscles of his chest, arms, and legs were great knots, standing out as a testament to his prodigious strength. His hair and beard, too, black, shot with gray, heaped, wild, and kinked, cried strength. His skin was, like Fontessa’s, inclined towards black rather than red, and there was something different about him, something that only Chan Fa might recognize as heralding back to times long past.

  The copulating couples were absent now. As host, Fontessa was present, as was her lieutenant, Karsten Rolst, and Gim Peshil. The fifth and sixth members making up the group were the twin Shields, Alos Enstra, the Body, and his sister, Una Enstra, the Mind.

  Ansrath dominated the room with his presence and with his voice. “We cannot wait,” he said. “I do not doubt that Chan Fa is coming, but his motives and his intent, these I cannot help but doubt. Even if he lied about how long it would take him to come here, I know that it will take him at the very least five days to arrive, which still gives us time.”

  “So what are you suggesting,?” said Alos Enstra, a youngish man with startling white hair.

  Ansrath turned to him, his lip curling slightly. “I am suggesting, Alos Enstra, that we go in advance of Chan Fa’s arrival and halve the number of threats to Shields and to Thrax Palonis. You can believe or disbelieve whatever you like about Chan Fa, but Sera Fontessa and I know him and what he is capable of.”

  “I, too, have met Chan Fa,” Peshil said. “While I don’t dispute the truth of your words, Kels Ansrath, I may say that he appears to have mellowed somewhat.”

  Ansrath snorted. “Do you have any idea of how old Chan Fa is?”

  “Well, he is the Everliving,” Peshil said with a straight face.

  Ansrath stiffened and narrowed his eyes. “You have grown bold recently, Light Smith. Is there something we should know about your association with Chan Fa?”

  Peshil met his gaze steadily and finally said, “I’m waiting for you to make your point, Kels Ansrath.”

  Grinding his teeth to stifle a shout, Ansrath forced out a controlled response. “My point is that time means little to him. His moods are changeable, but he cannot change what he is, what he’s become.”

  “Fine, fine,” Peshil said, waving his hands dismissively. “But do you really think that the six of us can accomplish this?”

  “Seven when Toth Talpas arrives,” Ansrath said.

  “And he will arrive in time?” Fontessa said.

  “Sera.” Ansrath’s rigid posture collapsed a little in defeat. “Not you, too.” He approached her and took her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. “You know as well as I do what Chan Fa’s coming might mean.”

  “You two are thieves,” Una Enstra suddenly blurted out, appalled.

  Only her brother and Karsten Rolst looked around from face to face in the vain hopes of confirming everyone else’s confusion, but they were the only two at a loss.

  “What do you mean, sister?” Alos Enstra said.

  “They,” she said indicating Fontessa and Ansrath, “did not receive their Shields from their fathers and mothers. They took them. They are the first to bear them.”

  Peshil shrugged and shook his head. Rolst looked at his mistress with a combination of feelings he didn’t appear to understand. Alos Enstra simply stared, mirroring his sister’s obvious disgust.

  “What does it matter?” Peshil said, sighing.

  Ansrath had bowed his head in an effort to calm himself and he spoke now in a deadly tone. “Una Enstra, if you ever enter my head again to snatch my thoughts, I will reach into your mouth, push my fingers through its roof to snatch your thoughts, and pull them out through gates of your broken teeth, thereby leaving the Body without a Mind. Do I make myself clear?” He spun around when she didn’t answer immediately and cried out, sending a gobbet of spittle into her eye, “Do I make myself clear?”

  She shook, tried to respond verbally and couldn’t so made herself nod. Her brother watched, wide-eyed and unable to move.

  “I,” Ansrath said, maintaining his fervor, “am more entitled than any of you to bear a Shield. Your forebears, even Chan Fa, were all usurpers. Not even that. Backward and pathetic inheritors of a superior culture that had already run its course.

  “It doesn’t matter. Thrax Palonis is what it is now and if we’d like to see it continue, we will work together. Keep your petty, groundless pride to yourself.”

  “He’s right,” Peshil said. “I mean about working together. The invaders are here. Let’s focus on one threat at a time.”

  “Toth Talpas will come,” Ansrath said. “We will be enough.”

  10,735.228

  “So tell me about the Ten Deaths,” Jav said.

  Hilene cocked her head, looking away with a shy smile.

  “Come on.”

  They were taking a break from their sparring, sitting on the active gravity block, facing each other. Jav insisted that, even though she had topped out at the standard maximum of twenty-five gravities, she train passively at higher settings. He was dressed in a white T-shirt, baggy black pants tied off at the ankles, and simple black cloth shoes with everplastic soles. She preferred to remain semi-Dark most of the time since it gave her the most control over her power. In this state, she appeared to be covered in a perfect, seamless silver skin up the extent of her throat. It hid nothing and further made her the impossible object of desire for untold thousands.

  She was surprised by his question. He’d agreed to practice with her, but had never been in the habit of engaging her, or anyone except maybe Raus Kapler or Forbis Vays, in conversation. She’d been unprepared for any reciprocation of her advances, however meager that reciprocation might have been. She’d been trying for so long—subtly, of course, but consistently since she’d joined the Titan Squad—and finally Jav was starting to crack. Recently he’d been responding to her more. She was sure of it. What she wasn’t sure of was whether she was excited or scared or both.

  “I’ve only encountered one other martial art rooted in a dead religion,” Jav said.

  “Oh?” she said, becoming interested.

  “The Lead Cloud Steps. They used to worship Kar Ahn and still invoke him when fighting.”

  She stared at him for a moment to confirm his sincerity. It wouldn’t bother her if this was mere small talk. She just wanted to know one way or the other, especially on a topic like this. There were few things she felt were worthy of her respect. The Darkness Piercing Spear Hand was one. Jav was another. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to choose one at the expense of the other.

  “It’s really the Ten Deaths of the Martyr. With the Attenuated Splitter, it’s literally ten deaths, but originally, the technique was supposed to recall the Martyr’s death at the hands of his ten betrayers, each punching a spear through him, with each thrust alone being mortal. The temple, the eye, the throat, the heart, the lung, the armpit, the groin, the middle of the back, the kidney, the inner thigh: those are the targets. The technique was expanded to be
spread out over ten opponents, but a successful delivery of this form of the Ten Deaths—resulting in ten fatalities in ten seconds—has never been accomplished, or at least proved. There are stories of course, and now, as I say, the Attenuated Splitter makes it simple and simultaneous.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. The martyr was killed by the spear, right? So you emulate his betrayers?”

  She shook her head. “His spirit returned, turning a ghostly version of the weapon of his destruction against the guilty to assert justice. Each betrayer received the same wound he delivered, and his wound became a mark of shame, thereafter becoming symbolic of a particular sin.”

  “I would like to believe in a god who promised that kind of justice. Maybe deities like that existed in antiquity.” He cocked his head, considering for a moment. “It makes for a beautiful story, though, and you translate that into perfect motion, graceful and poetic. Look, I’m not questioning your efficiency in the field, but how would you feel about being able to accomplish the Ten Deaths technique—the second version—without the Attenuated Splitter?”

  She flushed, broke into a smile, and had to break eye contact with him. Raising her eyes tentatively again, she said, “Would you help me with that?”

  He was intrigued by the color in her cheeks, how it contrasted the with the otherwise cream-white of her skin and nearly matched that of her eyes and her short red hair curling up to points under each rosette. “Yes,” he said. Then, in a matter-of-fact tone, he continued. “I like you, Hilene, and I’m extraordinarily attracted to you right now. It’s no secret that, over the last five decades, my interaction with the opposite sex has been nothing but businesslike. I’m a little out of practice regarding the finer points, and quite frankly, I’m not sure I’m interested in changing that, but perhaps you and I can work out a compromise. I mean—”

  “Or a turnaround?”

  He smiled. “Or a turnaround. And not as a condition.”

  She looked at him sheepishly, still smiling herself. “Either way.”

  “I, uh, promised to meet with Raus. You and I will pick up where we left off a little later. Okay?”

  Her expression didn’t change. Her eyes, the irises ruby red, linked them for a moment, as if the path of her gaze were a heavy chain. She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and it was only then that he felt he’d been given leave—physical leave—to go.

  He gathered his black leather jacket and exited the room with a backward glance her way.

  Outside, leaning up against the wall ten meters down the corridor on the way to the jump deck, was an unwelcome presence that was becoming all too familiar. He started walking, intending to ignore Icsain, but when Jav reached him, the other straightened and moved so that he blocked Jav’s path.

  “It’s been a few days of quiet. I wonder what it means,” Icsain said.

  “It’s pretty simple,” Jav said, having to stop before him. “They’re either gathering their forces or planning to die quietly. It doesn’t take a genius to arrive at those two possibilities.”

  “Good for you, Mr. Holson. Exercising your brain for a change. Still, don’t you find it interesting? Their use of Shields? Even the mention of the word seemed to give you pause out there when meeting Gim Peshil, the Light Smith. What did you find so interesting about Shields, Mr. Holson?”

  At this moment, unbeknownst to either of them, Hilene peered from the around the open doorway to take in the scene occurring down the corridor. She’d only been hoping to watch Jav as he proceeded towards the jump deck without his knowing. It was an adolescent whim to which she felt no shame in acquiescing, and what she went on to see only cemented the already substantial feelings she’d been cultivating for Jav Holson.

  Jav sighed. “Get out of my way.”

  “You have grown ever bolder since we first met.”

  “And you’ve grown ever more irritating. You know? I’m really tired of your cryptic idiocy. What is it with you, anyway? What is your problem with me?”

  “We are natural enemies, Mr. Holson.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Enemies?”

  “Yes, Mr. Holson, and while I find your present. . . predicament amusing, I must, for the sake of my cousin, the Emperor, remain vigilant should your memories slip back into place.”

  “And then what?”

  “Come now. Though the discrepancy between our mental powers is great, I know you understand plain threats. Don’t forget, that you are speaking to a god. And don’t forget how angry gods are often disposed towards mortal men.”

  “Actually, to be accurate, you’re a could-have-been god, cut down in his infancy. Seems to me that you’d still be on—what was it? Zahl?—if not for our intervention. And as for me being a mortal man, you may outclass me on the gravity block, but you remember that I do exercise my mind regularly and have the means to cast you—broken—from this Palace. Don’t tempt me to do it the next time we’re in transit.”

  Icsain affected a sigh himself as he shook his head. “You forget the Relic Cords, Mr. Holson. They would render you docile the moment you showed the first sign of aggression.”

  Jav narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see when the time comes just how docile you can make me.”

  Icsain humphed, but did not yet make way for Jav.

  Jav placed his hand upon Icsain’s ball-joint shoulder and pushed, employing AI, so that the wooden man was sent bodily into the corridor wall where he disfigured the smooth, hard resin and buckled an electrical conduit that promptly sent a spray of sparks out from either side. Then, with a speed Icsain refused to accept, Jav whirled and caught the several Relic Cords hurled his way. He caught them, though they’d been sent at the speed of thought. He caught them, though they should have been invisible and intangible to him. And he caught them below the leaf-shaped tips, which were the nerve interfaces, rendering them completely useless and in fact turning them into a liability for Icsain.

  Crushing his rage down under the weight of his will, Jav breathed out in a deadly tone, “You keep these away from me, or I will rip them out of you, one by one. I have the strange feeling that I’ve done something like that before. But then maybe you know better than I do about that. You keep them away from me or I will put you through the Palace wall the next time we’re in transit. Keep them away.” He flung the Cords back towards Icsain, turned on his heel, and strode away.

  Hilene watched as Icsain took a few moments to compose himself. She was convinced that no one had ever seen him as she was seeing him now. He extracted himself from the wall, brushed off the bits of plastic and metal that yet clung to him, looked down the corridor both ways several times, mumbled something, audible but unintelligible, to himself before finally setting off for the same jump deck Jav had used. The wooden man’s constant assertions of superiority were, in general, believed, but they didn’t endear him to anyone. Only the Emperor truly accepted Icsain. Hilene didn’t care. Even if Icsain had seen her she wouldn’t care. All she could think about was Jav. She shook with awe and what she realized was lust, pure, simple, and at this moment, overwhelming.

  The Palace shook then, rocked from what felt like multiple impacts.

  A klaxon sounded, over which came a female voice through the PA system. “Alert! All Shades report to the Gran bay. Six masses of or exceeding two thousand cubic meters approaching Root Palace by air. Repeat: all Shades report to the Gran bay. . .”

  • • •

  Jav emerged from the jump deck into the Gran bay and trotted towards Gran Mid, which was still coiled and waiting in pseudo sleep. Technicians were disconnecting the heavy power cables that supplemented the Grans’ internal power plants and which kept them topped off while idle. At the approach of its master, Gran Mid’s eyes lit up with recognition, and the great snake of articulated bone stirred from its slumber, straightening for departure. Jav kicked off with out a break in his stride and sailed through the air, flipping once, to land catlike upon Gran Mid’s brow. Gran Mid was already moving for the opening bay doors, the caution alert
echoing through the vast, enclosed space. Behind him, Raus was mounting Gran Pham. The Porta Fighter buzzed through the bay and out the doors, preceding Jav. Jav watched him go and noted that Gran Mal had already retreated somewhat from its place in the encircling courtyard wall to allow the Grans exit beyond. He was aware of the jump deck activating, glanced over his shoulder to see that it was Hilene and snorted at Icsain’s tardiness. He wasn’t going to wait for him.

  Through his Artifact, he communicated to everyone present. “Move out, Raus. Hilene, you’re with me. Nils, don’t exceed our perimeter.”

  Everyone sounded off in the affirmative.

  “Vays,” Jav said through his Artifact. “What have we got?”

  “More of the same we encountered just following planetfall.”

  “General Holson?” It was Scanlan, formal as always.

  “Yes, Scanlan.”

  “Request permission to engage secondary configuration.”

  “Granted.”

  “Excellent. Mr. Vays, Miss Karvasti, brace yourselves for transformation—”

  Because of the timing, one might have thought that it was at Scanlan’s command that the following occurred. A great hole opened up upon Gran Mal’s back. Jagged flower petals of rent golden metal blossomed outward, giving vent to fiery gouts of erupting flame and sharp shards of giant shrapnel. Immediately beyond Gran Mal’s wound, just inside the courtyard wall, crouched the dragon form of Karsten Rolst, the Red Lance. As Rolst rose to his full height, he was struck in the back of his thick, scaly neck by a Lightning Gun shot from Gran Mal. Scanlan emptied the remnants of Gran Mal’s failing power into the attack which was sufficient to send Rolst, smoking, back to his knees.

  A volley of laser light came down then, riddling Gran Mal further, and causing the Shades emerging from the Gran bay to scatter.

  Only Raus was unmoved by the onslaught. From his perch he cried out, “Gran Pham! Charge!”

  With only the instant it took to place its forefoot back upon the ground, Gran Pham disappeared from its place and was next seen crashing its steel shod tusks into Karsten Rolst’s great, lowered head. The prodigious neck gave a sickening crack, and the dragon fell over dead. Raus wasted no time. He pointed to the heavens and brought his finger down to point to his victim. A single bolt of lightning rained down from the blood red, cloudless sky, striking Rolst who shook reflexively with the jolt, and then proceeded to rise from where he died, his head hanging limply and at a disconcerting angle.