Wrath of the Forgotten

by Aaron Hodges

  “What was that all about?” Travis asked as he approached, Dale just a step behind.

  The other Perfugians wandered over to the tables, most taking seats while a few fetched drinks from their houses. With night falling over the city, coffee looked to have been swapped for ale.

  Lukys focused on his two friends. “Felt like I needed to move after all that time in the cell,” he offered. “Besides, it’s good to practice. No point forgetting everything Romaine taught us.”

  A grin twisted at Travis’s lips. “I suppose. Seems a bit much like hard work to me.”

  Lukys only shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to be prepared though, right?”

  Dale frowned, then clapped Lukys on the shoulder. “I know it’s hard to let go. We gave so much of ourselves to the cause. But we’re safe here, Lukys. No one’s sending us to our deaths, ordering us into the frontlines. I doubt we’ll have to ever fight again.”

  “And thank the Gods for that,” Travis added with emphasis. He shivered. “I especially don’t miss the cold!”

  Eyeing his friends, Lukys found himself nodding to their words. He might not understand the speed at which their attitudes had changed, but he could appreciate their reasoning. Flumeer and Perfugia both had betrayed them, treating them like playthings, to be cast away when their entertainment ran out. Yet amongst the Tangata they had found acceptance, even appreciation, for their presence.

  Though…looking at Travis, he wanted to ask him about Cara. Travis had fallen hard for the Goddess, and while he hadn’t known her true identity at the time, she…had seemed to reciprocate the feeling. Had he so quickly given up on the object of his desire?

  Movement came from the street beyond the open gates and Lukys watched several Tangata entering the courtyard.

  “I suppose it is good exercise, though,” Travis said. He grinned, though his eyes were on the approaching Tangata. “Gods know, I need to keep up my strength.”

  That is why we must take human partners.

  Lukys’s cheeks burned as two females broke off from the group and approached them. Smiles lit Dale and Travis’s faces. No words passed between them—they still could not hear the Tangata apparently—but soon they were wandering away with their assignments. Swallowing, Lukys tried to dismiss the nausea in his stomach.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Lukys…

  Ice spread through his veins as he found Sophia standing behind him. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say to her after their conversation that morning?

  Maybe we’d better go inside? she murmured, looking surprisingly hesitant as she stood there.

  Swallowing, he nodded, and together they crossed to the stairwell. Laughter carried up from the courtyard as they slipped into their apartment and Lukys’s cheeks warmed again. They found themselves standing in the living room, staring at one another from across the coffee table.

  I’ll make some tea, Sophia said abruptly, then spun and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Closing his eyes for a moment, Lukys slumped onto the sofa. What was he going to do? He had agreed to this arrangement to escape his cell, but he had not accepted this new life as the others had. How could he? Despite all the revelations, the realisation that the Tangata were not so different…it was still wrong. Wasn’t it?

  Movement came from the doorway to the kitchen as Sophia reappeared holding two steaming mugs. She hesitated, then crossed quickly and placed one of the teas on the table before Lukys.

  Peppermint, she said, stepping aside. For the anxiety. She paused. May I sit?

  Letting out a sigh, Lukys nodded. The sofa was big enough for the two of them. Picking up the cup, he breathed in the steam, then took a sip. The pounding in his head retreated a little and he managed a smile.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, eyes in his mug.

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the living room. Lukys watched as a few pieces of green leaves bobbed to the surface of his cup. It was one of the ceramics from the cabinet that stood nearby. He noticed the teapot was missing from the set as well. When had she taken them?

  “Sophia, I don’t know what to think of any of this,” he said at last.

  I’m sorry, she replied, and he noticed she didn’t seem able to look at him either.

  The others, my friends, they don’t know…the real reason they’re here?

  Sophia shook her head, and Lukys let out a sigh. He’d thought as much, but it was best to be sure before he accidentally blurted out any secrets. It meant he was likely the only human alive who knew the Tangata’s secret.

  What is it that you want, Lukys? Sophia’s voice whispered in his mind. What is it you fight for?

  Lukys looked at her sharply. “For humanity…” He trailed off, a lump lodging in his throat and he slumped into the sofa. Absently he took another sip of the tea, wondering at the question. How could he not fight for humanity?

  And yet, what had his fellow man ever done for him? Other than Romaine, the only friends he’d ever had in this world were sitting outside enjoying the cool evening air. And they had sided with the Tangata.

  “I don’t know what I fight for anymore,” he said finally. “I’ve only ever known what they taught us in the academy, but that was all lies. I’m lost.”

  They were silent for a while then, though it was pensive. There was a depth to Sophia’s expression now, her eyes lost in the distance, as though she were contemplating the secrets of the universe.

  I never wanted to be a warrior, Sophia said at last. I did it for my people, to protect the weaker amongst us. But I am tired of killing for duty.

  Lukys nodded. He recalled the last Tangata he had slain on the banks of the Illmoor. It had hardly been older than himself. Lukys recalled the fear he’d glimpsed in the creature’s eyes before the final blow. Maybe that had been Zachariah. He would never ask.

  I want children, Lukys. His heart clenched and he struggled to look at her as she continued: To bring life to this world, instead of death.

  The truth shone from her eyes, could be seen in the earnestness of her smile. For just a second he wondered what that would be like, to give himself to this strange creature. A shiver ran down his spine and he stood up suddenly.

  “I can’t,” he gasped, heart suddenly racing.

  Sophia stared at him for just a moment, those solid grey eyes wide, then looked away.

  I think you must have Tangatan blood, you know.

  Lukys started at her words. “What?”

  She still couldn’t look at him, but was instead inspecting the blue flower pattern on her cup. It’s the only explanation for your talent. It’s why I chose you.

  That’s impossible! he shouted in his mind, but still she did not look at him.

  It’s not…unheard of, she murmured. Those of the seventh and younger generations, many are born with human eyes. They practically are human. They sometimes went to live amongst the Calafe, before the war.

  He shook his head. “How would they have gotten to Perfugia?”

  Sophia shrugged, but there were no answers this time. Lukys swallowed, his mind turning over her words. It wasn’t possible, was it? Perfugia was hundreds of miles away from the Tangatan homeland. How would one of the creatures, even one who appeared human, have reached the distant island? And yet…if not the Tangata, where had his ability come from?

  There were still so many questions, but he wouldn’t find the answers this night. Letting out a long breath, he looked towards the bedroom.

  “I’m…going to sleep,” he said, his voice strained.

  Still Sophia did not look at him. I’ll sleep here.

  There was no missing the sadness in her voice. It tugged at Lukys, but he steeled his heart and nodded. Goodnight.

  He strode through the open door and closed it softly behind him. Then he was alone, looking down at that soft bed, the empty covers, the pillows plumped and stacked lovingly against the headboard. Tears stung his eyes and he slumped onto the cushioned mattress.

  It w
as just all too strange.

  23

  The Tangata

  Adonis stood in the unnatural glow of the magic lights and gazed upon the Old One. His heart was racing, fear setting his every sense on edge, images of blood and gore flashing through his mind.

  The Matriarch had been right. They had found one, alive, still slumbering in a magic sleep. The creature hung before them in the giant glass cylinder, suspended by the liquids within, her bare body cast in a red glow by the illumination rising from below. A slight hum filled the room, like the distant buzzing of bees, but otherwise the Birthing Ground was silent, as though the very earth held its breath, waiting for what came next.

  A shiver ran through Adonis as he looked upon his ancestor. The red light felt almost a warning, as though whoever had left the creature here had feared someone might one day try to wake her, and was sending him a warning.

  But Adonis could not heed their council. The female hanging suspended before him represented the hope of his entire race, their last chance to restore strength to future generations. From her would spring a new first generation of Tangata, their powers, their strength restored. Then humanity would quiver before the might of his people.

  If she was sane.

  His skin crawled but Adonis fought to suppress the sensation and held out his hand for a hammer. There was no point lingering, delaying that which must be done. Breath held, he stepped forward and hefted the tool. But as he approached the cylinder, his doubt came rushing back, and he hesitated, hammer raised to strike.

  Was this the right thing to do, the right decision for his people, for the world?

  What do I care about the world if it belongs to humanity?

  He brought the hammer down.

  A crash shattered the peace of the Birthing Ground as the glass caved outwards, the pressure of the liquid within sending the cylinder’s contents spilling across the ground. Adonis leapt aside as the body followed. Not the most dignified reawakening for his ancestor, but the Tangata did not know enough about the magic of this place to free her any other way.

  Retreating to stand with his sisters and brothers, Adonis watched as the Old One slowly woke. He kept the hammer clutched tight at his side as he waited, watching for the first hint of madness, for a clue that the endless passage of time had stolen her sanity. If he struck fast enough, perhaps he could avert disaster…

  A hiss whispered through the chamber as the Old One took her first breath. Lying naked amidst the broken glass and strangely gelatinous liquid, blonde hair plastered against her skull, she sucked in great lungfuls of air. Her skin was drained, turned an unhealthy grey, almost translucent, though as Adonis watched, colour reappeared in her cheeks, life returning. The hammer shook in his hands; the window to act was quickly closing. But he did nothing. Slowly the Old One’s head lifted, and her eyes fell upon them.

  A soft growl rasped from her throat as she rose, and despite himself, Adonis took a step backwards. The terrible eyes flickered in his direction. They were the eyes of the Tangata, pure grey, pupils dilated by the light, but in those depths he saw none of the intelligence of his people. The madness was upon this creature, the berserker rage that sometimes came upon them in battle.

  He tensed, sensing what the creature was about to do, and lifted the hammer.

  There was a rush of movement, a harsh thud. Beside Adonis, his brother Tangata died.

  A cry echoed through the chamber as the Tangata leapt back from their companion, weapons held at the ready, but the female did not pay them any attention. Instead, she held their dying brother by the top of his skull, his feet an inch above the floor. Blood still pulsed from his throat, but as Adonis watched, it slowed to a trickle, the last of his brother’s life fled.

  Lips curled back in a snarl, the Old One leaned in close, as though to inspect her victim. Whatever she’d expected to find, apparently their brother was found wanting. With a flick of her wrist, she sent him toppling sideways. And the grey eyes turned once more to the living.

  A cry escaped Adonis’s throat, one of rage and frustration, of the knowledge that he and his comrades had made a terrible mistake. Hammer clutched in one hand, he moved towards the Old One.

  She was faster. Another of his Tangata cried out and Adonis watched, helpless, as his sister crumpled, a terrible hole torn through her chest. Laughter whispered from the Old One as she stood over the body, blood dripping from her fingers.

  Stop her! Adonis screamed, and his brethren charged.

  They died one by one, the Old One dancing between them like a fox amongst the chickens, dropping them at will. Adonis’s hammer blows failed to touch her and even his enhanced vision struggled to follow the speed of her movements.

  Aghast, Adonis found himself retreating from the carnage. He watched in horror as the best of the fourth generation were butchered like humans. It took the Old One just moments to finish his warrior pairs, though the last she lingered with, feinting, toying, as though she enjoyed watching his fear, his pain. Finally, with a cry of defiance, the Tangata leapt, hammer raised in a desperate strike. She struck him with a backhanded blow so powerful he was flung backwards into the broken cylinder, impaling him on the giant shards of glass.

  Then she turned her insane eyes on Adonis. Something in their icy depths seemed to understand he would not fight her, and a smile touched her lips.

  Adonis shivered as she approached him, her naked figure covered in the blood of his companions. He knew now how great their error had been. This creature cared not for the Tangata. It cared only for death. This creature would see the world burn.

  Death, death, death.

  The words pounded in his skull and Adonis found himself taking a step back. Faster than thought, the Old One was there, her fingers closing upon his throat like an iron vice. He cried out, but a squeeze stole the sound away as her fingernails clamped upon his windpipe. Desperately he tried to break her hold, to tear himself loose, but for the first time in his life, Adonis’s strength failed him in the face of a greater foe. The hammer was still in his hand and awkwardly he tried to swing it for her face. She caught him with her spare hand.

  Death, death, death.

  The fist tightened around his throat, but through his agony, Adonis finally recognised the whispers for what they were. Gasping, he thrust out with his mind.

  Stop, please!

  The Old One let out a cry, and releasing him, she leapt back, teeth bared, eyes wide. Adonis collapsed to the ground and gasped in great breaths of the stale air. The creature’s scent was strong now that she was free of her liquid cocoon and he found his head swirling. But eventually fresh oxygen restored strength to his failing body and his mind cleared.

  Slowly, Adonis drew himself back to his feet. His eyes were drawn to the bodies of his brethren. They lay all about him, their blood staining the cold stone. He quickly looked away, looking at the Old One once more. Why had she stopped? She hadn’t hesitated to strike a mortal blow against the others.

  She made no move to attack now, only stood watching, as though she were waiting for something…

  What…are…you?

  Adonis leapt back as the words reverberated in his skull. The Old One’s voice was so loud she was practically screaming into his mind.

  So strong!

  He drew in a breath, then sent his thoughts out towards the creature.

  We are your descendants, Old One, he said, his gaze drawn again to the dead. His heart twisted at the loss, but he forced his mind to focus. The grey eyes still watched him. Centuries have passed since you began your slumber. We came to wake you, to free you from your chains.

  The Old One regarded him in silence. The strange liquid still dripped from her naked body, mingling with the blood of his brethren. Adonis clenched his fists as he suffered her gaze, wondering what it must have been like, to slumber for so long, to wake in a foreign world. No wonder she was insane…

  Show me. She spoke in a softer tone this time, with more control, though the words still
pierced Adonis to his very core.

  He bowed in response, and silently he summoned memories of these past years—of the terrible force of humanity that had invaded their homeland, slaughtering children and innocents, of the Tangatan counterattack, the years of battle and death as wave upon wave of humanity came against them. Each time the Tangata had emerged victorious, yet still the enemy fought on, and all the while the Tangatan numbers dwindled, their strength fading.

  Finally he saw again that last battle on the banks of the Illmoor, the humans they had taken—and the Anahera that had come against them, wings spread in the wind. The Old One started at this image, a frown creasing her forehead.

  Adonis let the images fade. You see?

  There was a long pause before the Old One replied: These…Anahera, they are your enemy?

  Adonis hesitated. The Anahera had not been seen in centuries—a single one did not mean they had joined the war on the side of humanity. And yet…there was a glow in the Old One’s eyes as she watched him, and swallowing, he nodded.

  So it would seem.

  The Old One took a step towards him and Adonis flinched, still expecting to be struck down. But she only reached out a hand, gentle now, as though fearing she might harm him unintentionally.

  What is your name, child?

  A shiver ran down his spine at the creature’s words and for a second he felt an inexplicable desire to flee. He could feel the weight of her mind pressing against his, the power behind her words. It was almost like…

  He shook his head as the thought trailed away to nothing. I am Adonis.

  The Old One nodded. You may call me…Maya. Her smile grew as she traced a finger down the curve of his jaw. Fear not, child. I will see our enemies burn like the forest before an inferno.

  24

  The Fugitive