The Shivered Sky

by Matt Dinniman

  The “fire-proof” flight suit was nothing but a strand of char that turned to dust when he touched it. The helmet was like paper. Levi tried to pick it up, but it fell apart in his hands. Has it really been that long?

  He crawled in, sinking into the ruined seat. One side of the chair groaned and broke, causing him to fall lopsided. He wiped his hand across the panel.

  A few lights still blinked, but the center display was cracked. Her back was broken. She would never fly again.

  One light in particular caught Levi's attention, however. It glowed purple, blinking incessantly. At first he thought he was hallucinating. Or he had gone mad.

  It told him two things, both of which caused him to jerk upright in the chair. One, the radio was still receiving communications. Secondly, this was a Critical Action Message. They were important communications that went out to all military command vehicles, encrypted with a code that could only be broken by a verbal pass. Or an engineer who had designed the system himself.

  A Critical Action Message in itself wasn't all that remarkable. Hundreds of them were issued on the day this plane was crashed. But all old messages blinked blue. Most were yellow when first received, and about an hour later, the light turned orange. After about twenty hours, the light became blue. Purple meant something entirely different.

  He ripped open the under panel. The familiar feel of power-laden wires, like a second heartbeat, consumed him. There was only one place this message could be from. There was only one structure that contained the equipment to send it.

  This message, less than twenty hours old, was sent from the Tower. In a room high above the Athenaeum, high above the Sphere. In this command center was a machine with a code no scientist or engineer could crack. If a Critical Action Message is sent from this machine, the resulting messages blink purple, to let the commanders know the importance of it. It was said only six angels knew the code to this machine.

  Each one of them a Seraph.

  The Gathering of Clouds

  “No, this way is a dead end,” Indigo said. “Around the corner will be an exit. Probably sealed like the others.” An angel came back a moment later, confirming it.

  Something very strange was happening to Indigo. From the moment they first came into the room that carried the giant Sphere, things began coming back to her like a flood finally ripping through a dam. The important stuff, like who she was, still wasn't there, but it was clear she had spent a great deal of time here in this tower. She worked here, for sure. Maybe even lived somewhere in these tall, opulent halls.

  If anyone had expected Tamael to break down, they were mistaken. She was all seriousness now, feverishly detached, barking orders.

  After the angel and Dave absorbed into the Sphere, they blew their way out of the room into the chamber above. Debris littered this room. They quickly traveled up, sealing every door they could. Level after level they climbed. They ran into no more resistance. All the external exits, which normally peppered the Tower all the way up to the flight ceiling, were all sealed from the outside, effectively blocking them in.

  The déjà vu got increasingly more frenetic, coming and going with the strangest things, like an upholstered chair that faced the wrong way, or a bookshelf that appeared emptier than normal, or a room that just simply looked too empty. But when they left the official Athenaeum, through the massive steel doors, and into the Cherubim's internal city, she knew this was real.

  She knew because the sight of the Village (that's what they called the next thousand levels of the Tower, designed for the purpose of Cherubim affairs) broke her heart. She had a clear image, then, of the vertical community rising within the belly of the infinite Tower. It was dead now. A mockery of what these angels once had.

  The center waterfall, a thin stream falling from a distant height, still spilled into the azure pool, a pond that took up a good portion of the Village's floor. It was surrounded by a circling pattern of blue tiles. Various sub buildings, smooth, curved structures, rose along the walls like the great ribs of a serpent.

  The Cherubim were the spiritual leaders of Cibola, giving advice and lectures on this issue or that. But they were also the keepers of all knowledge, and they were responsible for making sure the Athenaeum texts were accurate and up-to-date. As well as disseminating the messages and policies relayed to them via the Seraphim.

  The Village was a living, breathing thing. While the Seraphim above were the brains of Cibola, the Cherubim were the heart. Indigo did not like seeing it like this.

  “Nothing living here,” Iopol muttered. “Just the ghosts of the past.”

  * * * *

  Ungeo slowly became aware of the changes within Ravi over a course of several feedings. The juvenile Dahhak was rapidly filling out, his features darkening, his muscles bulging. And it wasn't just him, but all the young males within the temple.

  She spent much of her time in her chambers after the botched assassination attempt on the Geyrun. The prelate and rector were surprisingly forgiving of her grand failure. Though they certainly were worried about the inevitable interrogation of the assassin, it didn't faze them nearly as much as it should. They seemed to have abandoned their original plan of replacing the assistant.

  Or, Ungeo surmised, perhaps the whole thing had been a decoy, a way to keep her out of their business, but at the same time test her allegiance.

  Finally she asked Ravi what was happening. He hesitated at first, but then shrugged and told her. Dahhak males grew to their juvenile size after a very short period of infancy. From there, they could remain physically young indefinitely. They served in a temple for 101 Dahhak cycles before they were allowed to perform the ceremony that released the hormones in their blood. Ravi had only been serving Moloch temples for 60 Dahhak cycles, so he had a long way to go, but recently all young Dahhak serving in temples were required to perform. The ranks were being bolstered. A secret army was being built.

  “What is the ceremony?” Ungeo asked. While she now spent hours upon hours between temple services and feedings poring over the Decretal and other ancient texts of Molochism, she still knew very little of the Dahhak race.

  “To mate with a queen, of course,” Ravi said. “Why else do you think they've smuggled the young queens in here?”

  Ungeo remembered the queen from her meeting with the prelate. It made her uneasy. When she slept, sometimes she thought of the queen's eyes staring back at her. “Where are they doing this? Even the temples are too small for the children these queens must be breeding.” It was hard to imagine this same creature was locked in a room somewhere, her body expanded to an obscene size.

  “None have given birth yet of course. But they're to be spawned in the underground setts I believe. At least that's where the queen I mated with is now. I don't know where the other queens are, but there are quite a few. Young Dahhak are arriving by the thousands as well. They don't get listed as soldiers in the transport manifests. Only assistants, so it won't raise suspicions.

  “Once they've arrived they're brought to a queen to mate, then hidden away. Other, older Dahhak are training us in weapons and flight formations.”

  “These baby Dahhak,” Ungeo asked. “Once they are born, how long before they will grow up?”

  Ravi shook his head. “Not fast enough. I heard the rector and prelate speaking of this earlier. Once the queens begin birthing, there will be too many to hide. Some will be kept and raised, I suppose. Others will be used for Moloch, or smuggled to the Sedim ovens, or given ... other uses. Unless we are trained in time. Then we can act before this becomes an issue.”

  Ungeo looked down at the steaming plate of food Ravi had brought her. She suddenly felt ill. It appalled her, strangely so. She wondered what these queens thought about this. They wouldn't think too highly of it, she was sure. Unlike the Sedim, Dahhak were fervent creatures. She was sure the women were the same. She tried to imagine how she'd react if they were her own chicks.

  “How long before these queens birth?”
<
br />   Ravi shrugged. “Half a cycle, maybe less.”

  This was a definite problem. Ravi didn't see it as he was still young, unskilled in the workings of the Dominion. While several races were allowed to breed within Cibola, the ones with more explosive type populations were not. Like the Mites and Nidhoggs and Dahhak. This issue had caused a great deal of tension before the Dominion was officially formed. No one race was to be clearly dominant.

  They would have to make their move before this was discovered.

  Half a cycle, maybe less. A lot could happen in that amount of time.

  Soon thereafter came the news of the attack on the rector. Ungeo had terribly underestimated this one-handed Geyrun. He had overcome an assassination attempt by a highly-skilled Dahhak, whilst injured no less. And in an attempt to arrest her, he had the rector shot in the wing while the unarmed clergyman had a caduceus in hand.

  It was a blasphemy beyond words. A defiling of the church. An unspeakable atrocity.

  The rector, the same Dahhak who had reluctantly given Ungeo the chance to prove her worth, was of course oblated. Along with all the acolytes in his presence at the time. But even that would not cease the blistering of the congregation.

  Ungeo even saw the anger in Ravi's eyes. The boy, while always cocky, had never been foolhardy. His sudden ascension into adulthood was starting to alter his personality, and it worried her. She didn't want her young friend to become another dark face in the crowd. A voice amongst a legion that had little worth compared to the rest.

  “Don't you think it's best to wait until we're ready, until you're fully trained?” Ungeo asked the Dahhak. She cracked a talon. The missing toe no longer bothered her, but the sensation wasn't as satisfying as it once was.

  “Moloch teaches that retribution must be swift and decisive,” Ravi said, pacing back and forth in her small room. He had brought his dancing board, but they hadn't played in a long while. “They think they can spit upon our rites, our holy places. They must learn the power of our faith.”

  Ungeo leaned forward. “Moloch also says that reason is the tool on which you sharpen your blades. The most holy of fighters cannot overcome an unstoppable wall.”

  Ravi shook his head. “No, my Charun friend. Even if I opposed it, we would still have our vengeance. With or without the blessings of the prelate and the elders.”

  Ungeo clicked her beak. “Moving too swiftly will cause us to fail.”

  “He was my father, you know,” Ravi said. “The rector.”

  The statement was so unexpected, Ungeo thought she had misheard. “How do you know?”

  “I just do. I could feel it. He knew it, too. That's why I was in his favor.”

  Somehow, she believed him. It also explained several things. Like why the prelate kept Ravi on as an aide even after the rector's demise. And why Ravi always seemed to know things before they happened. “Then I am sorry for your loss.”

  Ravi nodded but said nothing for a long time. Together they stared at the dancing board, neither making a move.

  “There's a storm coming,” Ravi finally said. “A real one, I mean. With rain and everything like at home.”

  She looked up, intrigued. It didn't rain much in the world from where Ungeo came, but when it did happen, it was usually in the form of short, violent bursts. She abhorred being wet.

  “And it's big. Big enough to cover the whole city. They say the northern rain is common, but it comes to the city only once every ten thousand cycles. They are scrambling to protect the setts from flooding.”

  In ancient Charun folklore, the coming of great storms signaled the change of an era. If the great sand basin was filled with water beyond the first peak, the royal family was to be killed, a new one appointed. It had never come to pass in her lifetime. Or her mother's. But when it did, there was always war.

  “There's talk,” Ravi continued. “About how Dahhak can fly and fight perfectly in the rain while many others can not.”

  She waited for it

  “We're going to take the council. Every sector's Overseer will be killed, and the council will be removed.”

  Bloody hell.

  * * * *

  “You are removed from your post, effective immediately, yesss,” Uzkiev said evenly. He and Ascot had come back early from their council business after news of the incident at the Temple. While the temple didn't technically float in Uzkiev's sector (being outside of the city, it wasn't in anyone's), he was given control of the situation. And he wasn't pleased. Not in the slightest.

  They all stood in the landing bay outside of headquarters. Ko had already emptied his quarters of his personal belongings and verified that the proper correspondence had been sent back to the bankers guild on his own world. He wondered what they would tell Qulp. Would they tell him his father had died a traitor's death? Hung for disobeying orders. The thought made Ko sick.

  The ramifications of the failed attempt to arrest the Charun were still resounding over the whole Dominion. The news had spread swiftly. Before Uzkiev could return, Ko spent a long time just walking the streets, listening to the conversations. He visited the new marketplace, and he didn't have to wait long to hear a score of arguments.

  “These Dahhak are getting out of control,” he heard one Shishi trader say loudly to a Marid sifting through his wares. A group of Dahhak stood nearby, waiting in line at a food booth. The group and the merchant exchanged acid glares. “They think their religion is above the law. It's shit. The whole thing is shit.”

  The Dahhak broke from the line then, but Ko didn't stay to see what happened. It wouldn't be long before either of them noticed the Geyrun standing nearby had only one arm. The crazed assistant of Uzkiev who caused it all. The scene was repeating itself all over. A terrible division was ripping through the Dominion, exactly what he had wanted to prevent. The knowledge that this was his fault ripped at him savagely, ruthlessly.

  Not just his fault, though. The Charun haunted his mind. His hate for her became a living thing. It consumed his thoughts.

  “I do understand your actions,” Uzkiev said. “Ahh, but they surprise me. I've always thought you to be a more peaceful creature.”

  “My Lord, I apologize for whatever harm I've done. I hope my execution will bring some closure to the issue.”

  Ascot laughed. The small demon buzzed off Uzkiev's shoulder. “Execution? What makes you believe we'd let you off that easily?”

  “I ... I don't understand,” Ko said, looking between the two of them.

  “You silly buffoon,” Ascot said, buzzing around his head. “Uzkiev here is rather fond of you, whether you're aware or not. He admires your perseverance and spirit. He thinks you should be executed to spare you. I was inclined to agree, but I have a better use for you.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  Then Ko understood. He'd known for a while, really. But he just hadn't pieced it all together. All this time he had been addressing the wrong person. It made sense. Since everyone thought Uzkiev was the envoy—and now the sector commander—they acted freely in Ascot's presence. Plus, if there was ever an assassination attempt...

  But the news that he wasn't to be executed overshadowed this sudden revelation. What worse could they do? Sell him back into slavery? Torture him?

  “The Footie soldier who fired the shot that wounded the rector has been discharged, sent back to his world. This leaves a space open in the platoon.”

  Ko did not like where this was going. “I have no military training. My presence would compromise them.” He looked desperately at Uzkiev, who wore a sad smile.

  “I've personally spoken with the captain of the unit,” Ascot said. “He welcomes the idea. In fact, I'd say he relishes it. You made an impression on him.”

  Ko felt numb. Him? In a combat unit? The idea would be just as ridiculous if they named him to the council. “I ... I don't know what to say.”

  “Just be thankful, you fool!” Uzkiev said. “You're still alive, yesss. And soon, you'll be given
a second chance at your Charun. We can't allow his Lord's orders to be blatantly disregarded, can we?”

  “Really?” Ko said. His head spun. “You're going to confront the Dahhak?”

  Ascot held up his tiny hand. “Such things are not for conscripts such as yourself to know or discuss. You are to report to your platoon immediately, soldier.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” Ko said, bowing and backing away, absorbing it all. He felt numb, almost like he was floating out of his own body, looking upon someone else. He didn't know what scared him more. That he was actually going to be a soldier, or that the idea excited him.

  The Wheel

  They flew upwards for an eternity. Though so much was coming to her, and this world was suddenly as familiar as anything, Indigo still couldn't recall the journey ever taking so long. Frish held her now. The female Power was ever silent.

  They came to the very top levels of the Village without once coming across any other angels or even signs that any had been here since the Fall.

  A mosaic hung here, too. Blue and green and sparkling in the light. It was of a great sea serpent with the torso and head of an angel and a long, white beard. All around him the sea raged, and above the sky was full of birds, locked in combat. A bloodied gash was open on the side of the creature, situated directly in the center of the image, and from this wound the water flowed, pouring to the pond miles upon miles below. The monster's mouth was also open, giving a wide entrance to the level above.

  She remembered something very vividly, then. Through the mouth of the Serpent they will meet only death. She couldn't remember who said it, but the voice was familiar and strong.

  “Wait,” Indigo called as they headed for the mouth. “That's not the correct way inside. Through the wound at the side of the serpent.”