Nyxia Unleashed

by Scott Reintgen

  The Daughter’s smile brightens to blinding. She’s just as excited to meet us as the other Imago were, but she wears it regally. “You are a gift our people will cherish for generations. I understand that one of your number has been Gripped. Will she come forward?”

  Before we can answer, Holly strides out, unable to resist the beckoning of a queen.

  “She will come with me,” Ashling says, and it is not a question. It’s a statement that becomes reality. “I will watch over her with my own life. Arrangements are being made to treat her. The process will depend on her instincts and toughness. If it is in our power to guide her back, the next time you see your friend, she will be as you knew her.”

  A whispered word from Ashling has Holly marching toward the nyxian carriers. Ashling eyes us for another moment, nods once in expectation, and turns. Two guards follow, protecting her flank. No one says a word as nyxia swallows them, as the vehicles become dark streaks along the distant hills. My heart beats hopefully. I have to believe Holly is tough enough to survive.

  Thesis steps forward in Ashling’s place with all the dramatic flair of an actor.

  “If we want to start the entrance ceremony before nightfall, we should begin the journey. I believe you’re providing your own transportation?”

  Parvin uses Corporal West’s glove to bring the trucks out of their loading bays. She’s savvy enough with the tech to preset our coordinates for Ophelia Station. She tucks the glove into her knapsack when she’s done. Morning gives her a look and she shrugs.

  “You never know. Might be useful.”

  I start to follow Morning into the nearest truck, but Omar cuts me off and climbs up behind her. I raise an eyebrow and follow. We take our seats in the cab and Morning actually groans when she realizes that he’s planted himself between us.

  “Now this is a proper date,” he says, smiling.

  Longwei’s helped into the truck in front of us. Jaime and Azima sit with him in the back of the truck bed. He actually waves at me. I grin and wave back like a little kid. It’s like we’ve summoned some new version of Longwei into being and I don’t want to lose him. Azima throws an arm around him. She whispers some joke and they laugh together.

  Morning leans far enough forward that she can get a good look at me.

  “We’re a family now, aren’t we?” she asks.

  “Didn’t start that way, but yeah. Those are my brothers and sisters up there. Katsu’s more of a cousin, though.”

  “Don’t forget,” Omar rumbles, “we have two more sisters waiting in Sevenset.”

  “And a brother,” Morning corrects, just in case Babel is listening. “I haven’t forgotten them. Let’s just hope the Imago have helped all three come to their senses.”

  The drive begins quietly. The rumble of the engines drowns out conversation. The hills of Grimgarden roll past. Black spheres ride in protective formations along both flanks. If the slings make another appearance, we’ll meet them with force this time. I try to glance over at Morning, but Omar’s broad shoulders are in the way. He shoots me a lopsided grin.

  “If you want to write her a note,” he suggests, “I could review it before passing it on.”

  I shake my head. “Back on Earth, Omar’s not allowed on any dates.”

  Morning laughs. “Dates? You asking me out?”

  “There’s this restaurant in Detroit. It’s where my parents went on their first date. Burgers as big as your head. I thought we could go there. And if that goes well, I could take you over to the RiverWalk.”

  Omar nods. “Sounds wonderful. Just send me a date and time.”

  Morning leans past him. She’s clutching her dark braid, cheeks blushing.

  “Are you asking me out? Or asking me out?”

  I smile. “Both. You wanna go with me?”

  “For burgers?”

  “No. Like go with me. Dating for real. Boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  She deadpans. “You’re seriously asking this with him right here?”

  “We’re on an alien planet. You saved my life. And this is what bothers you?”

  She snorts at that, sitting back. After a few seconds, I notice Omar elbowing her.

  “Well?” he whispers. “You can’t just leave him hanging.”

  “Whatever,” she says, and I can hear the smile. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

  The truck continues to thunder over the hills. I feel like I just launched into space again. Omar sits there looking pleased with himself. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

  I roll my eyes at Omar, but there’s no way I could be mad now. It’s like Morning’s smile is the only thing that exists in the world.

  It takes another hour to arrive at Ophelia Station. The building looms, identical to Foundry. We see the matching silo, the paneled tower reaching skyward. They’ve arranged the greenhouses differently, but otherwise it looks the same.

  One noticeable change is the figure waiting by the front gates.

  Corporal Ava Rahili. She flags us down as we approach. I remember that Requin’s reasons for sending us here didn’t even come close to lining up. I’m hoping our exchange with Rahili will shed some light on Babel’s real intentions.

  Rahili sports the same glove that Kit did. As the trucks pull in across from her, she raises the digital interface and makes some adjustments. I glance around the base, looking for a response from the solar windows or the greenhouse roofs, but nothing happens.

  She backhands the screen away and sweeps her other hand through dark hair. Matching eye shadow gives her a thoughtful, brooding look. She’s not quite as young as Kit, but I doubt she’s clear of twenty-five. It’s only when we’ve climbed down from the trucks and started walking her way that I realize how short she is. Barely up to my shoulders. She might not be tall, but she’s still plenty intimidating.

  “You’re here early,” she says.

  The veins of her robotic glove hold their blue glow, like she’s ready to summon the base’s systems into action at a moment’s notice. She doesn’t have the same automatic trust that Kit did when we first arrived. Parvin takes the lead, and Speaker and the other Imago remain safely in the background.

  “We were redirected by Requin,” Parvin explains. “We came here to make sure you were still alive. After checking in with you, we’re supposed to head directly to Sevenset.”

  Rahili nods along like this is all news to her. “What happened to West?”

  “He’s dead,” Parvin answers. “The slings came for him. You haven’t had any visitors?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Rahili replies smoothly. “What about the trucks? Are you taking them all the way to the gates of the city?”

  I hear a distant ping cut through the air. It’s the same sound you hear when a program finishes downloading. Rahili ignores it, but I notice the palm of her glove flashing like she’s got a new notification or something. I file it under S for Suspicious as Hell.

  “We’re leaving them a specific distance away,” Parvin answers. “Speaker mentioned there’s a rule in place because of the treaty. A line we’re not allowed to cross.”

  “The Proximity Clause,” Rahili confirms. “Here, I’ll program the trucks to return to Ophelia so I can outfit them and send them back to Myriad. As you can see, I’m alive and well. Feel free to move on after I program the return sequence.”

  Parvin nods before taking a polite step back. Rahili brings up the interface again. Morning gives the all clear, and our crews disperse back to their trucks. I follow the order, but my eyes trail back to Rahili. She took the news of West’s death easily. Maybe she’s tough.

  Or maybe she already knew.

  The consoles inside the truck show loading symbols in the top right corner. Rahili’s instructions walk our systems through their new directives. We sit there waiting until the screen finishes the uploa
d. Morning waves down to her when it’s done.

  “You’re all set,” Rahili calls up. “Fire away.”

  And just like that we’re leaving Ophelia Station behind. The trucks angle away from the base, heading northeast. I crane my neck to get a look back, but Rahili’s already vanished inside the tower. I keep my suspicions locked away for now. I’ll talk to Morning when we’re not sitting inside a Babel-made truck.

  I’m not sure what just happened, or why the exchange with Rahili felt so wrong. I just get the feeling that Babel’s plans are spinning all around us like invisible webs. I can still see the faces of all the frozen marines they have buried in their hidden basements.

  Genesis.

  Not just the name the Imago chose for us. Babel calls us that too. I realize we’re heading for a city that Babel—in spite of all their power and intelligence—has never entered. It’s been over two decades, and they’ve been cut off at every pass by a superior species. Jerricho’s not the only one who views us as a new way through the dark. Babel does too.

  Genesis.

  As we walk through the city’s gates, is Babel walking through them with us?

  The outer wall of Sevenset looms darkly against the horizon. Above it, a span of blue brushstrokes. Below it, blinding green fields that look so fake I have to reach down and run my fingers through the blades of grass, just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  The wall is a study of black. Midnight spires stagger up every three hundred meters, narrowing to spikes the color of pitch. The walls look charred, like dragons have breathed fire against them for centuries. A towering, five-story gate sits at the very center of the construction.

  There’s a full hour between the first time we see the distant gates and the moment we stand before an older, outer gate. We leave the trucks behind. It’s like throwing a huge weight off our shoulders. Babel’s grasp on us is about to loosen. The Imago escorts lead us to the smaller wall, one that could only be called a ruin. Stones have fallen from their keeps. Weather has worn down the structure for what looks like centuries.

  They walk us to a fragmented archway. It’s thicker than I expected, and the space beneath the arch has been carved out with purpose. Thesis asks us to take seats around a pit that’s been dug in the ground. We can see the actual gates looming just a football field away.

  “A traditional entrance ceremony,” Thesis announces, his voice taking on a dramatic weight. “Every true Imago partakes in this ceremony. It’s a taste of our history.”

  A mouse-quiet guard named Journey moves through our ranks. There’s something odd about him that I can’t quite peg. He doesn’t really lock eyes with us or acknowledge our thanks. He does get a fire going in no time, though.

  The sun starts its descent as the flames get bolder, brighter. We watch as Journey places a triangular table over the pit and sets twenty matching alabaster cups on its flattened surface. He removes a bottle that’s full of the purest, most silver-looking liquid I’ve ever seen and pours a measure into each cup before stepping back and letting the fire heat them from below.

  “Straylight,” Thesis names it. “A way to look back.”

  Smoke curls out from each cup. It’s so quiet that I can hear the substance start to boil. Thesis uses a hand-length tool to snatch one from the tray. He sets it on the ground in front of Morning, then moves on to the next person, and the next. He instructs us not to drink until the liquid stops churning. He raises his own cup when the time is right.

  “To old ways and new.”

  Our escorts—and the guards—echo the phrase. We all repeat the words and take our first, tentative sips. Noor almost chokes. It takes a few slaps on the back from Parvin to set her straight. The liquid curls around my tongue. It’s heavy, like warmed honey, but it skips from one taste to the next as it goes down. It’s like my tongue is chasing flavors it can’t quite catch.

  “When you finish,” Thesis says, “watch the city walls.”

  He gestures to the distant gate. We all sit there, waiting patiently, unsure what we’re supposed to see. Jazzy’s the first one to let out a gasp of surprise. The noise echoes through our group. I realize that whatever the effect is, it’s hitting the lighter and smaller of us first.

  I’m starting to wonder if straylight is a type of alcoholic beverage when I finally see it.

  The distant wall has vanished. The plain appears empty, just a set of cliffs that overlook a brooding ocean. It’s not possible. As I watch, the plain fills with people. They’re burdened, stumbling on in a huge group, setting themselves down wearily. Thesis begins his narration.

  “After the March of Folly, our ancestors came here. The population had suffered a massive blow. The people you see were determined to live. It became the dominant characteristic of our kind. Come rain or fire, come plague or famine—we survive.”

  Time speeds forward. We watch buildings rise up, burn back down, and rise again. Enemies attack the edges of the makeshift village, but the survivors turn them back. The houses bloom larger; outer walls spin into existence. We watch centuries pass by in minutes.

  “A village became a town. A town became a city. A city cast itself over the water.”

  My attention is drawn to the harbor. Boats roam the shore as another wall flings itself skyward. Taller this time, meant to separate the land from the sea. We can see the village in front of us shrink as the wall grows.

  “As various primes evolved into our natural predators, we created the first barrier. The outer ring of Sevenset began here. A queen named Marimar directed us to build out into the ocean using nyxia. She oversaw the creation of the Sixth Ring. Her granddaughter led the construction of the Fifth. And then the Fourth…”

  My entire body becomes weightless. I feel like I’m flying. Something pulls me forward by the chest, and my vision struggles to take it all in. I hold my breath as momentum carries me right through the outer wall of Sevenset. Out over the first fledgling ring, now known as the Seventh.

  Thesis’s words carry us over massive stretches of ocean. To the next ring, and the next, and the next. Until finally…“The Sanctum.”

  Our bird’s-eye view shows an island dominated by a single, sprawling building. It stretches over everything like the roots of a tree. One side is dominated by a vast glass window. The other shows off countless spires, all scraping their way to the clouds.

  “Home of the current Daughters,” Thesis explains. “Our queens. But all of this began here. As you walk each ring, as you become the first human group to grace our city, know now what went into its making. Know how our history shaped this impossible place. Know that we did whatever it took to survive a cruel and difficult world. Know this is our home.”

  I flinch back as the images reverse. We fly from the Sanctum, crossing oceans, skipping rings, until we’re sitting around the fire again. The sunlight is fading. The vision vanishes.

  Thesis stands solemnly before us. He holds out his hands like he’s just completed a performance on a stage. I glance to my right and realize Speaker is weeping. Many of the guards are too. They don’t wipe the tears away. Maybe among their kind it’s not something worthy of shame. Thesis allows us to feel the full weight of his words before smiling.

  “It’s also a tradition to celebrate. Pour our friends more drinks, Journey.”

  The transformation happens in five minutes flat. The rest of the Imago are curious and excited to be with us. Their enthusiasm is infectious. Speaker leads the cooking. He spits and roasts two animals I’ve never seen before. We mingle with the honorary escorts as he does.

  Journey’s talent for beverages has our cups filled with a drink we’re told will have us dancing in no time. I stand with Speaker for a while, trying to understand the story Thesis just told us. “So the Daughters? They live in the Sanctum?”

  Speaker nods. “At the very center of Sevenset.”

  “Wh
y didn’t Babel know about them? I don’t remember learning about the Daughters from any of Babel’s studies.”

  “We never allowed Babel to meet them,” he says. “Your employers knew about the last child born on Magnia. I assume they made their own conclusions on the subject.”

  “So how many are there?” I ask.

  “There are always two ruling Daughters.” Speaker points up to the sky. “One for each moon. The Glacian queen protects and preserves and builds. Those queens are known for peace. Most will forgo the protection of a Sword like me, because they are called to rule with quiet patience, not steel and blood. She protects and preserves. Our people all agree that Ashling sits the Glacian Throne quite well.”

  Speaker’s voice skips a little as he describes the second queen.

  “The other reflects Magness. She rules with fire and passion. She’s a reminder of powers we can’t control. None would argue with how well Feoria fits that description.”

  I glance back up at the moons. Tonight, Magness and Glacia are dancing awfully close to one another. “Two queens,” I repeat with a nod. “But that’s not what I was really asking, Speak. How many women are in your world?”

  Speaker considers me for a long time. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, what he’s weighing. His face takes on a sadness I haven’t seen since he had to bury three of his own people.

  “There might be twenty remaining. The count varies.”

  He doesn’t have to explain. Twenty women left in an entire society. We came here knowing their odds of survival were low. A society without women can’t go on. Somehow the specific number makes it feel more real. There’s no way they’ll make it past the current generation. Their excitement in hosting us makes more sense than ever.

  We are a reminder of what’s been lost, a reminder of what they’ll never find again.

  “I’m sorry, Speak. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “So Feoria,” I say with a knowing smile. “You like her or something?”