He bore almost as many scars as he did tattoos. White, jagged lines crossed his face and scalp, marring his glyphs and bisecting his right eye socket. The Divine Masters had blessed him with a new biomech eye, silver hued and piercing, to replace the one he’d lost in battle. The girl felt her markings were pathetically few in comparison. She had often pictured her own face, honored with glyphs and scars for all to see as long as she lived.
The older Zohlun-Lo informed Spear they were handing over the unseen into his charge for the final preparations before the pit. He saluted in return and led the girl into the old stonework antechamber. As an attendant, Spear had earned responsibilities and freedoms unheard of for all but a select few of humanity. Responsibilities and freedoms the girl was ready to kill or die for.
“Star Father see me,” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Our pyramid just returned home a shift ago,” he said. “The Warseers honor me. They knew a child of my bloodline was entering the pit for the ninth time. Trickster's Pit. Remember this when you are a servant, faithful service will be rewarded and honored.”
“I know, Grandfather,” she said. “I’ll remember.”
“Good, good. I know you will.” An announcement of chiming horns rang through the antechamber. “Speaking of, the warseers I serve wish to observe you before the pit. They’re here now, turn and kneel.”
The girl did as her grandfather instructed. Just before lowering her head, she glanced the observation balcony looming over the antechamber. Two Gohnzol-Lo Warseers entered in full regalia. She felt like a wave of hot needles washed over her face and burned down her spine.
The Warseers were a branched-off race of the Overseers and shared many similarities. They each had three piercing yellow and orange eyes. Conical sense mounds protruded from either side of their heads just below the horns, about where human ears would be. However, Warseers were taller and more muscular than Overseers. Gohnzol-Lo skin had a more silvery sheen than the dullish gray of the Zohlun-Lo. The nine horns encircling the Warseers’ sloped foreheads were longer, sharper.
Kneeling beside her, Attendant Spear announced in Ihziz-Ri, “Hail Urzdek Rab Izd, Pinnacle of Pyramid Zol-Ori, whom I am honored to attend. Hail Hamu Ohrus Izd, Penultimate of Pyramid Zol-Ori. Conqueror see them and all of Clan Izd!”
“May the Divine Masters see you, Attendant Spear,” answered the penultimate. “May Conqueror see you and all your bloodline.”
“May the pitter honor the bloodline crafted by your Master and our patron, the Holy Ihvnahg-Ra himself,” said Pinnacle Rab Izd.
The girl’s face burned hotter and hotter when they spoke, her guts knotted tight within her. She had never been in the presence of such highly ranked warseers before.
“It would not be proper for the Ihvnahg-Ra’s property to succumb to a vermin of the Monarchy,” the pinnacle continued. “Fail, nameless one, and your carcass will be fed to the infidel afterward, flesh and bone.”
Oh Gods, she thought, did a warseer just address me directly? What should I do?
“Conqueror see you,” replied Spear. “Should our Divine Master be dishonored by my bloodline’s failure, I’ll deliver the nameless flesh to the vermin myself.”
“Resume your duties with the unseen, then come and attend us,” commanded Penultimate Ohrus Izd.
“Yes, Penultimate.”
The two Gohnzol-Lo left, and the hot waves prickling the girl’s head and face quickly receded. The knot in her belly unraveled. They arose to their feet, and Grandfather Spear busied himself at a small nearby table, pouring the contents of a bottle into an old drinking bowl.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Grandfather spoke in Khvaziz again. He turned to face her, holding the bowl in his hands. “Yes, a warseer saw you. The pinnacle of a pyramid ship, no less. I think he sees what I do, a gem that’s been buried beneath stone long enough. Our bloodline has served the Clan Izd Warseers for generations, as our Master intends. Your Blood-Mother Gunna attended to Pinnacle Rab Izd before her promotion.”
Grandfather Spear handed her a chipped bowl filled with a milky, greenish liquid. “The pitters brew. Conqueror see you, may you drink and be victorious.”
The girl drank all of the thick, bitter liquid. Her mouth and throat tingled with a metallic aftertaste. The warm brew spread through her belly.
“Child of my blood,” said Grandfather Spear, “the Nahgak-Ri, our Divine Masters see you. The Handmaiden sees you.”
The accelerants in the brew started kicking in with the sound of his voice. She focused on hearing every nuance of the old man’s words, heavy and dry as the stone vaults enveloping them, while muffled, indistinct rhythms of drums seeped through the gate and into her head, awakening generations of warrior breeding.
“This infidel has been handpicked for your Trickster's Pit. A prisoner from the conquest of Dancer’s World. They say it tried to eat the flesh from the servant’s bones even as they confiscated it. Filthy vermin. Tough though. This is its seventh pit, more than any vleez before it. That just means when you kill it, your glory will be even greater.” He took the empty bowl from her hands.
“The Gods will see you,” he continued. “This is your purpose and your blessing. This is why the Divine Masters made you. Prove that you are more than a hen. Earn your name. Take your place among the Servants, and bring the Divine Will of the Gods to the galaxy.”
He stepped away from the gate. Without his large frame blocking the way, bright light poured into the antechamber. The light strips in the pit were always dialed up higher than in the tunnels and warrens. The gate to the fighting pit was clear as glass, though stronger than metal.
The girl’s pupils dilated, her heart thudded, her stomach burned. The first few moments of the brew taking effect were the hardest. The rush of anticipation for the coming battle mixed with the accelerants in the brew and propelled each other into a crackling surge through mind and body. Violent urges strobed through her mind, distracting her from the burning in her stomach. If she had eaten the loaf instead of giving it to the squabbling mine rats, she’d barely feel the sharp burn in her gut.
In vivid detail, she remembered all the killing blows of her previous battles. Eight victories, eight glyphs, eight dead at her feet. The first four had been khvazol humans from other Labyrinths. The first time, Star Father's Pit, the boy cried and pleaded with her, sobbing and howling in pain at the tip of her spear. The aggression awakened by the pitters brew had propelled her forward, stabbing again and again until the screaming stopped.
The last four opponents had been vleez, repulsive and alien vermin from the Monarchy. She remembered the sounds each made in their terror, the smells of blood and sweat and oozing insides. And now, with the brew igniting within her, she craved more. Some part of her, deep inside, cringed from the rising fire, ashamed of her bloodlust. She stomped down that shame, refused to heed it. The girl had survived eight pits by giving herself over to the bloodlust. She wasn’t going to let herself die, nameless and unseen, out of shame for doing what she must.
A low-frequency sonic gong slammed the air. The gate between the antechamber and the pit slid up, and her belly got its priorities clear. Every sight, sound, smell, and touch instantly snapped into a new clarity. Her heart, drumming its own insistent rhythm, fueled her new aggressive focus. She loved the way she felt in these moments. Awake and alive and dangerous. She felt as if all the time not spent burning with the pitters brew, about to fight to the death before her Masters, was nothing more than the hollow dreams of a half-dead girl.
“Divine Masters and warseers throughout the Unity are watching.” Grandfather Spear gripped her shoulder in his thick hands, a rare gesture of affection. “The Handmaiden is watching. Be seen, child of my blood. Be named. Squash the vermin beneath your heel.”
She wanted to bury her face in his broad chest and hold onto him like a child. Instead, clenching her fists, she turned to face the gate. It was time. She walk
ed through the triangular portal and into the bright, humid air of the pit.
The gate stomped shut behind her.
3.
HER MOUTH DRY, her lower back cool with sweat, the girl strode forward to the lip of the small platform overlooking the pit. The air was thick and steamy. She struggled not to squint. She must not show the slightest weakness or disadvantage. Not ever.
The pit, a vertical, triangular shaft crudely hewn from pale stone, fell away beneath her to a gravel floor about thirty meters down. Three mounds of rock and broken masonry studded the pit floor. Hanging in long tangles from the lights above, green-black vines stretched the vertical length of the pit.
Above her and set back from the rim so that she could hear but not see them, servants surrounded the upper lip of the fighting pit. On drums huge and small they banged out the ancient rhythms of battle. To the girl, it sounded like the old stone walls were caving in. Before she had passed through the gate, the drums were a hollow rumble in the back of her mind. Now on the pit side, she heard them in full deafening volume. The air shook. With senses peaking from the pitters brew, she could feel every beat and thud rumbling the air, vibrating across her sleek, alabaster skin. The rhythm of the Servants’ war drums called to her, enveloped and overtook her. Her heart synchronized to its beat.
Above the drummers, somewhere beyond the harsh glare of white lights, watched the Nahgak-Ri, her Divine Masters. At the Masters’ feet would be the Handmaiden—the highest-ranking Servant of the Holy Unity, most honored of any human in the galaxy—and she would be scrutinizing the girl very closely.
All throughout the pit were hidden an array of small, hidden camera eyes. From what she had been told, every growl, whimper, and drop of blood was transmitted to not only around Nahgohn-Za, but to ships, stations, and worlds throughout the Holy Unity.
A low-frequency gong announced her combatant entering through an identical gate on the far side of the pit, about twenty meters away. Her opponent was indeed a vleez vermin, one of the infidel races from the Monarchy. Almost two meters tall, it stood erect on long, thick hind legs. Four more limbs extruded from its torso, ending in dexterous claw-hands. Instead of ears, eyes, and nose, six sense tendrils wriggled from the front and top of its head, like plant stalks ending in a single spade-shaped leaf. The creature was draped in a ragged, soiled tunic. She didn’t know if it was male or female, or if they even had sexes. It was too far away and far too alien for her to read any emotions in its body language. But the way it slowly crept to the platform’s edge seemed timid and uncertain.
Another deep gong silenced the drums. On a third balcony, higher up and directly between the two combatants on the third wall of the triangular pit, the door slid away. Two godseers stepped out. Bright lights gleamed off the Allseer’s glyph on their ceremonial chest plates. Between them a naked, bloodied man hung suspended, his arms stretched high overhead and fettered to the top of a spine. Rows of sharp, hooking tusks lined each side of the spine, digging into arms, neck, ribs, and legs, keeping him suspended and immobile. The base of the spine was grafted into a hover pod. A biomech lifeform crafted by the Masters for a singular purpose, it was properly called an altar, most khvazol called it the ribs.
The godseers positioned the altar to the side of the balcony before taking up stations on either side of it. Their gray hands hovered along the altar’s muscular spine. Next, a tall, imposing figure entered the balcony, the High Overseer of the Labyrinth. His bright crimson ritual headdress and uniform seemed to burn in the harsh lights.
“May the Nahgak-Ri see me,” intoned the High Overseer, his amplified voice echoing through the pit. “May the Akuh-Ori, the Gods beyond the Gates, see me now. I am the instrument of Their Divine Will. I am the hand of Their Divine Justice.”
The godseer to his right stepped up from behind and offered him a curved sacrificial blade, the nihkazza. He held the blade high as spoke.
“Human, you disobeyed your Zohlun-Lo Overseers, you blasphemed the names of the Nine Akuh-Ori. Trickster has sown ahns seed in your heart, and it has taken root. Allseer has beheld. Star Father has judged. She Who Waits shall wait no longer. With this sacrifice, you will be purged of your taint. Your blood will consecrate this battleground. You will be reborn before the dark mysteries of the Gates, blessed with a new life of eternal service to the Gods.”
With that, the godseers triggered the altar’s nerve clusters, and the tusks gripping the man’s left torso stabbed in and pulled apart, cracking open his ribcage with ruthless efficiency. Even without amplification, the man’s scream tore through the pit. His wail disintegrated into a sobbing gurgle, then into a wet gasping, and then into silence. Using the nihkazza blade with severe efficiency, the High Overseer sliced free the ritual offering.
The High Overseer held up the glistening heart in his hand, blood streaming down his gauntlet. He turned and pointed the heart at her opponent. “Vleez, infidel of the Monarchy, by the grace of the Nahgak-Ri, you have been granted life. Fight and emerge victorious, and you shall have the grace to live another day in their Holy Unity.”
The High Overseer turned and pointed the dripping heart down toward the girl. “Human, you are khvazol, nameless and unseen, created by the Divine Masters in their wisdom and in accordance with Divine Will to serve their Holy Unity. You have chosen the shaft of the Servants. Only with nine victories in the pit can you earn your name and join their ranks. Emerge victorious, and by the grace of the Masters, it shall be granted.”
The High Overseer tossed the severed heart down into the pit. It landed with a meaty flopping sound on the gravel below.
“Vleez. Human. You fight on consecrated ground. Should you find yourself before the Shattered Gates of Heaven, may the Gods find you worthy of eternal service.”
A fourth low gong sounded as the godseers exited back through the gate, taking altar and sacrifice with them. Three chosen crawled out on their hands and knees, taking the godseers’ place at the high balcony, and began cleaning the spilled blood.
The drum leader called out, and the pounding rhythms erupted once again. Grandfather Spear’s parting words came back to the girl. She was going to squash that vermin, crack open its skull, and splatter its guts across the pit. She screamed furiously as she leaped from the platform and into the open air.
She grasped a nearby vine and swung out over the pit. Using her momentum, she released and threw herself again, arcing down through the sweltering air for a brief, exhilarating moment, before grabbing hold of another. Three weapons lay hidden somewhere at the bottom. She needed to find one first.
Using her momentum, the girl launched herself to the next vine tangle. She was already halfway down, and the vleez hadn’t even left the platform yet. She had fought vleez four times already. Some had been drones. Some had been warriors. All had died.
Grandfather Spear said this was its seventh pit. So it must be a warrior, but it’s being timid like a drone. It wasn’t like Grandfather to mislead her or to steer her from a challenge, but she thought maybe this would be an easier pit than she expected.
A metallic, rattling cry came from the alien as it sprang off the platform into a tangle of vines. Vleez weren’t able to breathe the same air as Humans. Those captured by the Unity had a biomech breathing filter grafted over part of their faces. The filter twisted their already hideous voices into a hollowed out, metallic buzzing.
Its piercing cry sent tingles up the girl’s spine. Something deep and primal within her detested Vleez. Every instinct, now jacked and accelerated from the brew, screamed out to crush that thing. From the time she was a small girl crawling through the mines, she had been frightened by stories of the Monarchy. They rejected the Divine Will of the Nine Gods. Their very existence was a blasphemy. Since the ancient times, some say even before the Labyrinths were bored out, they warred with the Old Masters. And most vile of all, it was the Vleez ancestors who allied with Trickster to shatter the Gates of Heaven. Grandfather Spear taught her that wh
ere the Masters brought light, order, and unity to the lifeforms of the galaxy, the foul races of the Monarchy sought to only consume, devouring world after world, bringing destruction and chaos.
Loosening the grip of her hands and thighs around the vine, she slid down as fast as gravity and friction could allow.
It wasn’t fast enough.
When it came to climbing and descending, Vleez hold a distinct advantage over Humans. Six spindly appendages carried her opponent all the way down a vine and onto the rocky floor while she had only descended three-quarters of the way.
When only a few vertical meters remained, she swung from the vine and landed on a wide flat boulder atop one of three mounds of rock and rubble rising from the triangular pit floor. Her legs were powerful for her age, and she absorbed the shock of landing with ease, ready to spring into an attack or dodge a blow.
Above, the war drums thudded their ancient beats. Below, her heart answered with its own insistent throb. She was ready for blood, for death, for victory. But where was the vermin? Skulking behind curtains of vines or rocky mounds? Maybe. Trying to find a weapon to kill her with? Much more likely.
The girl scanned around the rubble pile she had landed on, but there was no sign of weapons nearby. All the hanging vines partially obscured her lines of sight to the other two mounds. A glint from the corner of her eye caught her attention. It came from another pile of boulders a little more than ten meters away. Wedged in a crevice between two great rocks near the top, almost entirely out of sight, a blue spark shimmered in the pit’s harsh white light.
Not wanting to give up the advantage of the high ground, she sprung from her crouch and caught hold of a nearby vine. Momentum carried her forward to a thicker and heavier tangle. One more strong swing should have gotten her to the rock pile, but she lost her momentum on the thicker vine.
Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven Page 2