Wrath of the Forgotten

by Aaron Hodges

“Don’t!”

  Erika appeared—not from the boulders but seemingly thin air. Romaine started, so shocked by her materialisation he almost forgot about the armed men around him. But instinct carried him forward and as the Gemaho responded to the Archivist’s orders and parted, he joined them in the line. Spinning, he raised sword and shield, prepared for the inevitable charge.

  Steel shrieked on steel as a crossbow bolt struck his shield and embedded there. Thankfully, its razor tip missed the flesh of his arm. Romaine's eyes were drawn to the hillside where Yasin still stood, calmly reloading the weapon. Gritting his teeth, Romaine prayed for the ability to strike the man down, but already the Flumeerens he’d scattered were forming up again.

  The Gemaho gathered to either side of Romaine, more than one flicking him bewildered glances, but he ignored them, his attention fixed on the Flumeeren, on Yasin above. Their eyes met and the man sneered, but then the Flumeer were upon him and Romaine had time only for the battle.

  A shudder jarred his arm as his shield deflected a sword. Pain tore at his chest and Romaine’s knees buckled. Silently he reached within, drawing on his last reserve of strength, and surged forward, short sword stabbing low. Trapped between his fellow Flumeerens, his foe had no room to manoeuvre and Romaine’s blow took him in the stomach. Blood burst from the wound as Romaine tore back his blade and retreated to his position amongst the Gemaho.

  Another of Yasin’s men stepped in to fill the gap and the battle raged on. Despite his early success, Romaine found the others who came against him far more wily, and slowed by his wounds, he struggled to fend them off. Luckily, blows that would have killed him were diverted as attackers stumbled—due to Erika’s magic no doubt, though the woman had vanished again.

  Yet even with the Archivist’s magic, the Gemaho were being pressed back, their numbers whittled down by the relentless assault of Yasin’s warriors. Caught off-guard, the ground they defended offered no advantages, and too many had fallen in the first minutes. And Yasin’s arrows continued to do their damage, though he hadn’t managed to strike at Romaine again.

  “Romaine!” Erika’s voice rose above the clash of weapons, drawing Romaine’s attention. “We need you.”

  Unable to turn his back from the enemy, Romaine stepped back from the frontline, allowing the Gemaho to close ranks around him. Only then did he glance back, though he kept an eye out for more of Yasin’s arrows. There was no sign of the Archivist though, and puffing, he was about to return to the fight when something grasped him by the arm.

  “Quickly!”

  Romaine flinched as Erika’s voice spoke from empty air. The pressure on his arm tugged him towards the boulders, and still shocked by whatever new magic she was wielding, he allowed himself to be drawn away.

  There was a flash of light, and then suddenly the Archivist was standing before him. Despite their inherent danger, the rage Romaine had been nurturing over the past weeks boiled to the surface. This was the woman who had betrayed him who had kidnapped Cara and sold her loyalty to a foreign nation. His fist tightened around the hilt of his sword and he clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to drive the blade through her chest.

  “Cara needs you,” the Archivist hissed.

  The words cut through Romaine’s anger like a knife. He lowered his sword, heart racing. Erika’s lips were pursed and there was fear in her eyes. Blood was beginning to seep through a bandage wrapped around her upper arm, though she didn’t seem to notice. Light glowed from the gauntlet she wore on her arm, and Romaine frowned, still wondering how she had fooled the queen. But there was no time for questions now. Only one thing mattered.

  “Where is she?” he growled.

  Erika glanced at him, and she hesitated as their eyes met. Romaine wondered if it was guilt he saw in her eyes, but she quickly broke away, nodding towards the cluster of boulders the soldiers were protecting.

  “In there,” she said.

  Movement came from the shadows and a second woman stepped out from behind a boulder. She held a globe of brilliant white in one hand, though there was no source of fire. Magic, like Erika’s, he presumed. For the first time, he looked around, noticing the dome that enclosed the area before the boulders. Beyond, the soldiers still fought, but they looked indistinct now, as though viewed through a film. Putting the connections together in his mind, he faced the newcomer.

  “How are you doing that?” he asked.

  The woman only raised an eyebrow. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now?”

  Romaine shook his head, and stepping past him, Erika gestured into the boulders. “Come on, Maisie is hiding us, but she won’t last much longer.” She hesitated, looking over her shoulder. “And neither will they.”

  With that Erika slipped into the shadows. Casting a final glance at the Gemaho soldiers himself, Romaine followed. He felt a pang of guilt at abandoning them, but there was nothing he could do to save them.

  The Archivist didn’t ask how he’d come to be there. She had probably guessed he’d come with the Flumeerens. Nor did Romaine hurl accusations. There seemed little point when they might all be just minutes from death.

  They didn’t have to go far before Erika came to a stop again. Romaine froze as he saw the figure lying propped against a nearby boulder. Cara’s auburn wings lay limp in the dust and her copper hair stood out in stark relief against her pallid skin. With each inhalation, her eyelids fluttered. She appeared to be unconscious, but as he took a step towards her, she spoke:

  “Romaine…” Her voice was like sandpaper, and his name was followed by a soft groan, lines wrinkling her forehead. “I thought…I smelt you.”

  A sob tore from Romaine and in a second he was at her side, drawing her into a hug. “I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured.

  Pained laughter rasped from the Goddess. “How…?”

  “We’ll talk about it later, lass,” Romaine murmured.

  He’d never seen her like this, not even when he’d found her injured and alone in Calafe, when the pain of her broken bones had caused her to pass out. Swallowing, he looked at Erika.

  “What happened to her?”

  Erika shook her head. “She was poisoned.”

  27

  The Tangata

  New Nihelm.

  For some reason, Adonis was surprised to find himself looking down upon the city. When he’d left, a part of him had been convinced he would never return, that the Old Ones would slay him when they woke. Looking at Maya standing beside him, he could hardly remember why he’d feared such a thing.

  Wearing the clothing of Adonis’s fallen sister, Maya’s slender figure was covered now, though he had come to know it in intimate detail this last week. She had invited him to lie with her their first night, pinning him to the stone. She seemed to delight in his weakness, in her power over his body…his mind.

  He could feel her touch on his consciousness now, like the constant beating of a drum, though he could never quite make out the words she whispered. It no longer seemed important.

  New Nihelm lay spread out beneath them, its lights glittering on the surrounding waters, waiting. It had taken them just a week to return. They had moved faster without his fallen brethren, and Adonis had found himself the slower of the pair. It did not bother him. He was only thankful she had chosen him.

  Maya’s long blonde hair swirled in the breeze as she turned to look on him, dark grey eyes aglow by the rising moon. Your city reeks of humanity, Adonis.

  Adonis bowed his head. Yes, he replied deferentially, we have spoken of the Tangata’s weakness. We need them.

  No longer, Maya whispered, running a hand across his cheek. Come, it is time your Matriarch and I spoke.

  Her gaze returned to the city and despite himself, Adonis shivered. Maya was everything the Matriarch had hoped for—powerful, intelligent, sane. An opportunity to sever themselves from the humans altogether.

  Silently, he followed her down the hillside. The southern bridge beckoned and Maya strode across
without hesitation, unchallenged. Only as they approached the island did two shadows appear to bar the way.

  Who goes there?

  The words seemed mere whispers in Adonis’s mind after so many days spent with Maya. The Old One advanced on them, her stride unchecked by their warning, and Adonis hurried to catch her before blood was spilt.

  Adonis, he called. He didn’t recognise the guards, but they would know him. There weren’t many of the third generation left now. We have returned from the south.

  Confusion shone on the guards’ faces as Maya finally drew to a stop before them. Their eyes flickered from her to Adonis.

  Where are the others?

  Adonis shook his head. They were lost.

  How—

  You guard these shores, child? Maya’s voice interrupted, so strong each of the guards leapt back half a foot.

  A long silence followed as they stood staring at the Old One. Understanding seemed to dawn in their eyes and they straightened, bowing their heads in respect.

  Yes…Old One, the one who had been speaking replied.

  Good, Maya rasped. Her gaze lifted to stare down the broad avenue that stretched across the island. And there are others…to the north? When the two nodded, she stepped closer, placing a hand on the first’s chest. Better. Go to your brethren in the north. Tell them that none may leave the city this night. Then return to your post.

  I… the Tangata’s eyes flickered in Adonis’s direction. He gave a slight nod, and the Tangata repeated the gesture to the Old One.

  Releasing him, Maya stepped back. The guard seemed to take a moment to gather his composure, then he spun and started down the avenue, running with the long, bounding stride of the Tangata. Maya turned her gaze upon the second of the guards.

  You know your duty, child? she whispered.

  The Tangata nodded eagerly. Maya left him as he was and with Adonis they started down the avenue after the first of the guards, though they soon turned onto lesser streets. They made their way quickly through the moonlit avenues, over bridges and between the blossoming trees, making for the grand basilica the humans had raised to honour their so-called Gods.

  The thought sparked an image in Adonis’s mind and he saw again the Anahera as it soared towards him, wings flared, teeth bared. With the memory came anger. The Anahera could have aided the Tangata, could have stood alongside them against the disease that was humanity. Instead, they had sided with the enemy.

  He shook his head. The Anahera would pay dearly for their betrayal, but that revenge would have to wait. The creatures were too powerful—first the Tangata must regain their strength.

  The sound of voices came from some of the buildings they passed, and at these Maya would pause, eyes shimmering in the lanternlight. Adonis could sense her anger, that her descendants had fallen so low. But she never made a move towards the revellers, and finally they neared to the basilica.

  Crossing the open plaza, they found the great doors of the temple barred. Guards of the fourth generation stood to either side, eyeing their approach, though they bowed their heads in respect when they recognised Adonis.

  We must see the Matriarch, he called to them. Our greatest hope has been realised.

  Grey eyes turned to inspect Maya. She said nothing beneath their appraisal but met their gaze with a soft smile. To Adonis’s inner ears, it seemed the pounding in his skull increased in notch. A flicker crossed the guards’ faces.

  Old One, they whispered, any hints of defiance evaporating beneath her piercing stare.

  The Matriarch, Maya’s voice all but thundered in the silent square.

  The guards leapt to obey, thrusting open the great doors to admit them. Maya strode through, once again leaving Adonis scrambling to keep up. The familiar darkness greeted him within, though it made little difference to his vision. An aged figure moved upon the dais as the Old One strode across the chamber.

  Adonis, my child, what have you brought me? The Matriarch rasped into his mind as they came to a stop before the pool that surrounded the upper dais. He was surprised at its softness—always before her voice had rung with power. Now it seemed but a whisper beside the thundering of Maya’s words.

  He fell to his knees all the same. Matriarch, he called, I bring you Maya, of the Old Ones.

  Whispers spread through Adonis’s mind as movement flickered at the edges of the chamber. Beside him, Maya said nothing, though her eyes flickered towards the unseen guards.

  So it’s true. Clothing rustled as the Matriarch leapt from the dais to land before them. She inclined her head to Maya. Welcome to New Nihelm, Old One. You have no idea my joy at your emergence.

  Maya leaned her head to the side, regarding the Matriarch with those deep, dark eyes. And how did you find my prison?

  The Matriarch smiled. A human who came to us. He bore a map of the Birthing Grounds from which the Tangata sprung. Yours was the last.

  Silence answered the Matriarch’s words as Maya paced. And why did you seek me?

  Our people are dying, unable to produce offspring without a human partner, the Matriarch responded. And so our powers fade with each generation. But if we were to merge our line with yours, we could begin to rebuild, to create a new generation of Tangata.

  Maya did not immediately reply to the Matriarch’s words. Her gaze fell upon Adonis, still knelt upon the floor beside them. A frown touched her face.

  Why does he kneel? she murmured, though even at a whisper her words had the strength to make the lesser generations flinch.

  The lines on the Matriarch’s face deepened as she frowned. Kneel? She glanced at Adonis, then gestured for him to rise. It is a gesture of respect, Old One.

  I see. There was a long pause as she regarded the Matriarch. Then…kneel.

  Shock registered on the Matriarch’s face and even Adonis lifted his head in surprise.

  I am the Matriarch. The response was slow in coming. This is my city, the Tangata my people. I bow to no one.

  Cold grey eyes watched her for a long moment, then Maya smiled. Of course.

  Turning away, she paced to the edge of the chamber where the guards stood watching. She started her way around the circumference of the chamber, eyes on the dark alcoves in which the Tangata hid. Adonis and the Matriarch watched as she disappeared behind the dais.

  Such grandeur, Maya’s words carried to their minds. All of it, crafted by the strength of your Tangata?

  She reappeared, rounding the chamber, drawing the eyes of the guards. Doubt showed in the Matriarch’s face as she watched the Old One’s return.

  Crafted by humanity, she admitted hesitantly as Maya returned to stand before her. Taken from them as spoils of war. It will be the foundation on which we build our own civilisation.

  Civilisation…Maya seemed to roll the word in her mind as she appraised the Matriarch. And…what of the humans who live amongst you?

  To Adonis, the Matriarch seemed to shrink before Maya’s presence. The assigned are carefully controlled.

  A frown touched Adonis’s forehead and he stared at the leader that had guided the Tangata for so many decades. Her power, her cunning and strength of resolve had held his people together when the threat of humanity might otherwise have broken them. They owed her for that, honoured her for it, and yet…

  …Adonis saw none of that strength now. Instead, a creature withered by age stood in place of the Matriarch, her will crushed by the endless warring, the relentless threat of the enemy. Where before there had been awe, now Adonis felt only disdain.

  Controlled? Maya smiled and looked around the hall. To Adonis, it seemed her eyes fell upon every one of the guards. Their stench is everywhere, even in this place that you claim as your seat of power. Her eyes returned to the Matriarch. I ask you, do you seek to defeat your enemy…or become them?

  A snarl crossed the Matriarch’s lips and she stepped in close to Maya. Her eyes burned as they faced one another, and for a moment the strength of the Matriarch’s voice matched that of the Old One. />
  Everything I have ever done was for the survival of my people!

  Maya did not react to the words, though a flicker of movement went around the chamber as the Tangatan guards flinched at the force of her voice.

  Survival? Adonis found himself replying, his voice taking on a bitter tone. Is that what you call this? Living amongst the hovels of our enemy, forced into bondship with them, to breed with them?

  There was no choice! the Matriarch spat back. She turned her strength on him now, but bolstered by the rhythmic pounding of Maya in his mind, Adonis endured. Faced by his defiance, she seemed to wither and her voice took on a desperate tone. Please, Adonis, my child, you were ever my champion.

  Adonis shuddered as he felt two minds pressing upon his consciousness. But in the end there was no contest. He stepped up to Maya’s side.

  He is your champion no longer, Maya replied.

  The Matriarch retreated a step, her pale eyes taking on a panicked look. She swung around, searching the shadows, her movements betraying her desperation.

  My children, guard yourselves! she cried to the guards hidden in the wings. Before—

  One by one, the guards emerged from the shadows. Their eyes were focused not on the Matriarch, but Maya. Advancing until they stood in a circle around the three of them, the Tangata fell to their knees.

  For a long moment the Matriarch stared at them, shoulders slumped, one hand extended as though to lift them back to their feet. Then slowly she faced Maya, and for the first time, fear registered in her eyes. Adonis watched on, impassive, as Maya laid a hand on the Matriarch’s shoulder.

  You have allowed humanity to claim this world, the Old One said softly, almost apologetically. Allowed them to infect our own people, to bring the Tangata to the brink of extinction.

  A tremor shook the Matriarch and her pure white eyes fixed on Maya’s face. A single tear slid down the lines of her cheek, but she did not retreat from the Old One’s gaze.

  It is you who will lead my children to extinction, Old One, she replied, her voice little more than a croak now.