Dark Age

by Pierce Brown

  “I did not return to claim anything,” I say. “I have no scar, no inheritance, no right. I have come only to heal the divide that created the Rising.” I look to Atalantia. “If I may?”

  She nods. “This will be fun.”

  The doors open and Diomedes and Seraphina are ushered through. Animosity floods the room. I step back, allowing Diomedes the floor. Seraphina broods at his side.

  “By Jove…” Atalantia mutters. “Dour as a cloud. Pale as a corpse. Is that a Raa, or the spirit of Akari himself?”

  “He’s far less talkative,” Ajax says.

  “Salve, Aureate.” Diomedes dips his head in respect. “I stand Diomedes au Raa, son of Romulus and Dido, Storm Knight of the Rim Dominion, Taxiarchos of the Lightning Phalanx.”

  “Ooo, what’s that?” Atalantia asks.

  Diomedes is caught off guard. “A specialized mobile legion.”

  “Aren’t all legions mobile? Or do you have new flight hardware?”

  He blinks at the pivot, then clears his throat. “This is my sister Seraphina, Lochagos of the…Eleventh Dustwalkers.” He waits for another interruption.

  “Go on,” Atalantia encourages. “You’re doing splendidly, young man.”

  “It is our duty to bring you the tidings of the Moon Council and the Consuls Dido au Raa and Helios au Lux. They have given us the Dominion Seal.” He lifts his fist to show a huge iron gauntlet implanted with rotating stones. “I am authorized to engage in parley with intent to find an agreeable and lasting truce between the Rim Dominion and the Society remnant in order to counter the disease of demokracy.”

  There’s stunned silence.

  “I’ll be damned,” Scorpio mutters. “It is true.”

  Asmodeus cackles in disbelief. “Dido au Saud a consul? Impossible. Those heathens despise civilized company! Prithee, has Romulus gone mad?” Secretly he is worried. Dido betrayed her family by marrying a Raa. If she were to ally the Rim with Saud…oh dear. His predominancy on Venus may be threatened. Kalindora seems to enjoy Asmodeus’s vexation.

  “Asmodeus, please desist,” Atalantia says. She turns back to Diomedes. “Well, you certainly have your father’s…presence. But tell me, why is Romulus the Bold no longer Sovereign? Did he grow weary of pontificating? Atlas won’t believe it.”

  “Our father is dead,” Seraphina replies.

  I did not include that in my communiqué.

  No one speaks until Atalantia raises a hand like a pupil. “Dead?”

  Diomedes nods. “Under an oath of truth, he revealed that he knew the destruction of the Ganymede Dockyards was perpetrated by Darrow of Lykos and Victra au Julii, not Roque au Fabii.”

  “Darrow did that?” Atalantia laughs and claps her hands together. Hypatia’s tongue licks outward at her mistress’s delight. “Father was right. I knew it wasn’t Fabii. Darrow. Darrow. Darrow. That mischievous little cockroach! I’m almost proud of him. One trick too far, it seems. Well, we’ve all been there. But Romulus dead. Dead? I did not think Romulus could die. Tell me, how did he go? Civil war? Assassination? Or did your mother finally eat him right up?”

  “After admitting his deceit and his slaughter of White Arbiters, there was only one way to reclaim his honor,” Diomedes explains. “He walked Akari’s Path to the Dragon Tomb and succumbed to the elements.”

  They stare at him like he’s gone raving mad.

  “Did he reach it?” Ajax asks.

  Diomedes swallows. “No.”

  Then, as one, they begin to laugh.

  It fills me with loathing to see their disrespect for the man I admired nearly as much as I admired Cassius. Seraphina looks like she would draw her razor if she had one.

  Only Diomedes stands unmoved. He’s learned from his little talk with Ajax, and he’s learning what to expect from the rest of them.

  My respect for the man grows. As does Kalindora’s, it seems.

  “There is your monster in the shadows waiting to strike at Venus, Asmodeus!” Atalantia laughs. “All that fretting over a delusional suicide. Why, I daresay we shan’t ever need bring the fight to the Rim. If we can just get them to all lie to one another, their honor will take care of the rest!”

  “Romulus was an Iron Gold,” I say. “Honorable by any measure.”

  “Several steps short, it seems,” Ajax corrects.

  “He deserves your respect,” I snap. “Or at the very least the courtesy of not laughing before his progeny.”

  The militant Falthe finally breaks his silence. “I will not be lectured about honor by a scarless boy, no matter his name. I was at Ilium, young man. Romulus slew my sister. He drew his blade across her belly until her spine cut down the middle. Until you have fought these…woebegone ruminants in a corridor, you know nothing.”

  “You ask us to respect Romulus, Lysander?” Atalantia asks. “Respect for a man whose honor outweighed the common good? Respect for the fool whose very rebellion allowed for the Reaper to rise? Respect for the traitor who fought side by side with the slave hordes at Ilium? Who forsook his duty so terribly that even his own brother could not stand at his side?” She wags a slender finger at me. “I think you’re still lost, Lysander. Or are you as mad as them? What do you think, nephew?”

  Ajax tongues his teeth in contemplation. “He doesn’t look mad.”

  “So you’re not mad,” Atalantia says. She comes nose-to-nose with me, her tone warm and confiding. “Then what are you? Confused? Did they torture you?” Her eyes flick to Diomedes and Seraphina. “Was it the brute? Or the dusty little mouse? We’ll peel them apart if you like. Put them on one of Atlas’s poles.”

  “You need an ally to tip the scales.”

  She frowns. “No. All I needed was imperium. For years, Father kept me on a leash as he waged his conventional retreat. Apologies, war. For a hybrid foe, you need a hybrid warrior. I have turned the tide, Lysander. My agents spread poison in the enemy’s citadel. Atlas spreads it to the cradle of their birth. Soon the rabble will slaughter one another. We need no traitors here. We are upon the cusp of victory.”

  I search their faces and find nothing but arrogant isolation. Each is barricaded behind their own power and prejudice. It is warranted. Some recall relatives lost in the Rim’s two rebellions. Many believe in the cultural superiority of the Core. But all remember the taxes the Rim’s rebellions cost them.

  They cannot stand to admit the Rim would be helpful. So they must be humbled first. It would be far easier had I battles to my name. Legions at my call. A scar on my face. But the tools I do possess are not exactly toothless.

  “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you do not need the Rim. But…” Atalantia turns on me with a warning look. “…if you have all you need, then why are there so many ships still damaged by the Battle of Caliban?” I ask. “Orion did not go down without a fight. Why not send the crippled ships back to the Dockyards of Venus for retrofit?” I look around innocently. No one answers. “Unless there is some reason you cannot? Perhaps the Minotaur did more than kill Magnus after he was freed by Darrow. Did he, by chance, take the dockyards while he was on Venus?”

  “You little scheming weasel!” Asmodeus cries. “How could he possibly know that?”

  “How many ships did the Minotaur take?” I press. “All that were in dock? Clearly this play against the Free Legions is a trap to lure the Republic fleets. Draw their main might and sneak around to raze their planets. But without support from Venus, you can’t sail on Mars or Luna. The jaws of the trap are set, but your foot is in it too.”

  “Lysander, please. Enough showing off,” Atalantia says.

  “After the Minotaur’s capture, many of his men must have gone over to you, Atalantia. How many swell to his banner now? How many ships have slipped away? Apollonius was a popular man. And it would make a curious mind wonder why he would be so eager to kill Magnus. Perhaps he was betrayed. Given ov
er to the enemy.”

  They look at me as if I’ve suddenly grown fangs.

  I may not know the rules of the Rim. But I know the Core. And I was right. Apollonius was betrayed. Likely because of his popularity.

  I feel a sense of loneliness. These are the people who Cassius thought would send assassins for him. The ones he judged so much worse than the Rising that he gave his life to ensure they never won this war. If they do not even agree to entertain the idea of allying with the Rim, then he died for nothing.

  “My goodmen, you are mid-stride into a campaign. One which I assume was intended to be an unrelenting advance. But without lifting a finger, Darrow has cut off your back foot. Without your docks and reinforcements, you are unable to go forward or backward. I offer you an ally ten years fresh. One with no claim nor desire nor manpower to rule your spheres. They have been spit upon, and they have come for satisfaction. Refuse them if you must. It is your choice to make, not mine.”

  The crickets by the fountain carry the conversation.

  Ajax is the first to speak. “If we destroy the Free Legions as they strike the Belt bastions and the Dockyards of Phobos, the trauma to the Republic would be absolute. Lysander’s argument is not without virtue. Nor does it detract from our imminent endeavor.”

  “I know his argument has virtue,” Atalantia snaps. “It’s obvious to a genital wart it has virtue. I. Just. Hate. Moonies.” Her fingers trace Hypatia’s scales as she thinks. “I will be terribly honest, young Diomedes. I don’t think it wise to dance with venomous creatures I didn’t nurture as pups. But you did not kill my father, did you? Nor Octavia for that matter. Nor Aja nor Moira. Murdering you would be to court quagmire. And there are so many others you can help me kill.

  “Answer me this. Your docks were destroyed, yet somehow you found a way to build new ships like that curious corvette in my hangar. No, I will not dissect it, because it will likely detonate if I do, yes?” Diomedes shrugs. “Clearly you have an energy source to make war feasible, even though the termites have made Mars an impregnable bastion. How? Are you using foil caraval to skim helium from the Gas Giants?” She bares her teeth. “I know Atlas would know if you dared mine the Kuiper…” Diomedes remains motionless as Atalantia’s queries multiply. “How many warships does the Rim possess? How many legions? These are things I need to know.”

  Diomedes is amused she thinks he would ever tell her. “In the event of an alliance, any tasks given to the Rim necessary to the agreed-upon strategy will be fulfilled. That is all I will say.”

  “Oh, to be young and think you know how things are done,” she says to the Primuses. “These are not injurious queries, Diomedes. If I don’t know how strong you are, why would I choose you for a dancing partner, young man?”

  “Because all others are taken, and the song creeps upon crescendo.”

  Atalantia watches him with a growing smile. “Wait till Atlas sees you!” She sighs. “There you have it, goodmen. The ugly truth. To the boudoir we go again with our ugly cousins.” Carthii tries to interrupt. “I am Dictator, Asmodeus. My war powers are absolute. To protect our predominance tomorrow, we must make concessions to pragmatism today.”

  Only after Atalantia assures the Primuses they will have a hand in crafting the treaty after their imminent endeavor do their holograms disappear one by one. It is not done. There will be weeks of negotiations. Neither side will budge. And eventually they will both leave feeling cheated. But the alliance will happen. What’s more, I believe Atalantia wanted it to happen as soon as she heard it was a possibility. She does not celebrate, but in her mind she has just won this war, and now has an angle on the next.

  First the Rising. Then the Rim.

  I feel suddenly very heavy wondering how I will manage to convince her not to turn on the Raa as soon as she sees profit in it.

  One of Atalantia’s muscular male slaves brings her a piece of bread on a platter. She breaks several pieces to share with the Raa. Once they have eaten, they are formally her guests and under gens Grimmus protection. Whoever means them harm is her enemy. It is a formality that actually bears weight as it did for our ancestors; Atalantia can hardly accommodate another enemy at this stage.

  “We will begin discussion tomorrow atop the Water Colossus of Tyche,” Atalantia says. The Raa look at each other then at the planet below. “Today, however, I require a demonstration of good faith.”

  She snaps her fingers and a hologram of Mercury three stories tall fills the star globe. It is stained with markers for known enemy strongholds and legions, and wrapped with thousands of dropship and starShell trajectories.

  I knew something was afoot by the battle readiness within the Annihilo, but I did not expect this.

  So it will be an Iron Rain.

  It is a risky and declarative gamble that could prove very expensive. So either Atalantia is swollen with confidence, or she thinks her window is closing. I suspect I know where Atlas is now.

  Diomedes takes in the battle plan and frowns. “Our instruments suggested the planet was shielded by a fortified landchain of shield generators.”

  “All suitable landfalls, yes,” Atalantia says. “For now.”

  “How will you…”

  She smiles. “Do you think Atlas returned from his Kuiper sojourn just to tan in the desert? We have over nine million Martian slaves trapped. I broke Darrow’s armada. I broke Darrow’s heart. Now I break his back. If we kill him and destroy the legions here, we shatter the alliance between Mars and Luna. Virginia will see her little rebellion split right down the center.”

  “And you need the tank factories of Heliopolis and your dockyards need Mercury’s metal to further your campaign,” Diomedes adds.

  “It has been a long war,” she allows. “You say you wish to fight with us at the end, Raa?” Here it comes: the proverbial snakebite. “Prove it. Fall with us in an Iron Rain. Shed blood at my side and I will know I have a true ally.”

  The silence grows as Diomedes considers. “I am sorry. But I cannot.”

  “Of course not,” Ajax says with a laugh. “The Sword of Io is best in its sheath.”

  “I was trusted to be a voice, not a sword. It is impossible.”

  Atalantia raises her eyebrows, dangling the bait. “A pity. I saw such promise in our union. But how can I trust an ally tomorrow who will not fight with me today? Ajax, please escort them to their ship and send them back to their dust bowl.”

  I watch Kalindora as Seraphina thinks. Is Kalindora like the rest of these predators? Enjoying the hunt, watching for the takedown? Her face remains the same, but her eyes search the shadows cast by Atalantia’s braziers as Seraphina steps forward.

  “I will do it.” Her brother wheels on her, overestimating yet again the patience of the women in his family. “You are the voice of the Rim, Diomedes. I am here only to assist you in your mission. If I die, what of it?” She holds one hand over the other hand in her family’s private way of saying “shadows and dust.” “You desire a quota of blood, Grimmus? You may have all of mine. Does that satisfy?”

  Atalantia smiles. “It satisfies.”

  As Diomedes realizes his sister will fall amidst an army of men who would proudly mount the head of his father above their mantels, he grows very still. I feel for him, but after seeing Seraphina amongst the Ascomanni, if anyone can survive their first Rain, it is her.

  Diomedes gives me a dark look as he and his sister are ushered toward the door by Ash Guards. Atalantia nods for Kalindora to leave. I am left alone with her and Ajax to watch the door close. Atalantia drifts to the viewport to stare down at the planet. She will be wondering what machinations move in Darrow’s mind. I wonder the same.

  “Ward?” Ajax says suddenly. I expected his anger, but that did not diminish my dread of it.

  “I—”

  He moves with the sort of staggering velocity that is impossible in the
low gravity of the Rim. His fist cracks against my jaw so fast only the Willow Way’s instinct to go with the blow saves me from having my jaw shattered and my neck fractured. I slam into the ground nonetheless.

  “Ward?” he roars.

  Atalantia doesn’t even watch the reflection of the violence in the viewport. I lift a hand toward Ajax. Lovely as he was as a child, his moods could switch at the drop of a pin. It’s far more noticeable now.

  “Ajax…”

  “That Bellona cunt killed my mother,” he growls, stepping on my groin. “She was more a mother to you than your own, you cockless cur.”

  “Yes, she was,” I wheeze.

  “And yet you tagged at Bellona’s heels for ten years? Ten fucking years.”

  “I had few…alternatives.”

  “You could have returned to us. To me. Brother.”

  “I am sorry, Ajax. I…should have. But…” He pushes down harder, causing nausea to cascade up my belly and my lower back to ache. “I was afraid.”

  He’s horrified by the admission, and almost takes his boot off me completely. “Of what? Us?”

  “Not you, Ajax. Never you. Of court. Of Gold eating Gold.” I try to stand but he pushes me back down, more gently this time. “You think I enjoyed seeing Aja cut to ribbons? You think it meant nothing seeing Octavia hewn from groin to sternum? You think I did not see how we did the Rising to ourselves? The Jackal, Fitchner, Cassius, the Martian Feud—all symptoms of the same disease. I wanted no part of it.”

  That, he understands.

  As children, we mocked all the scheming snakes of the court. Only Atalantia ever made it look good anyway, and she did it for laughs. Moira was pure in her obsession for truth. Aja pure in her duty to Grandmother. Lorn pure in his honor. Even Darrow was pure in his then-inexplicable lust to win.

  Those were the people we admired. Not the snakes.

  “Then why return now?” Atalantia asks. She senses but cannot identify the private understanding Ajax and I share. Is she jealous of it? Or suspicious? Either way, she turns from the viewport.

  “Because I believe it can be different,” I say. “The Rising has shown itself incapable of rule. While there were injustices in Octavia’s time, there were not two hundred million dead.”