by Jack Conner
The Empress-Regent looked at him, then away. “Most chose to consume the minds of prisoners, of the worst we could find. No innocents would suffer because of our blessing. But some of my forebears believed they were above such laws. They were indiscriminate in their feedings, and word leaked out beyond the household circles. Fear spread among the people. Some mongered rumors. Others openly turned on us. It took time to quell the unrest and make them forget, if only partly, and since then we’ve kept our secrets tighter. And the truth of what we are is only the top layer of what we must suppress. What we guard in the heart of the city ...”
“The Necropolis,” Avery said. “Yes. I think I see your need for privacy, Your Majesty. But now the world needs something else from you. It needs you to awaken the Sleeper, or to aid us in doing it.”
“The Sleeper will wake when it is ready,” the Empress-Regent said. “Some say the time is now, that omens have declared it so, but I disagree. Nothing is inevitable.” A dark look crossed her face. “And ...”
“Yes?” Sheridan said. “What is it?”
The Empress-Regent clasped her hands as if to suppress the urge to fidget. “We, none of us, know what is in the Tomb. What is the Sleeper, really? What if we open it and we unleash something terrible upon the world?”
“The Sleeper is just a means to an end,” Sheridan said. “Its role is to unlock an ancient monastery left by its people.”
“A monastery?”
“A holy city, rather. Never mind. The Monastery must be accessed, and only the Sleeper can do it. I don’t know if that’s what it’s been waiting for, but we mean to see it done.”
For the first time, the boy spoke. He’d risen from his seat and was staring at them with incredulity. “I would hear more of this monastery,” he said. “Nothing of it was ever mentioned in our scrolls.”
“Later,” Sheridan said.
“No,” the Empress-Regent said. “Jered is right. We need to know this. We are the keepers of the Sleeper and its secrets, not you. Just who are you, and what is this all about? I admitted you because Lord Onxcor requested the meeting, as well as because we’re trying to renew our ties with Ghenisa after King Idris resumed the seat of his family, and rebuking you would be counter to that. Not to awaken the fucking Sleeper.”
Avery flinched. Hearing a monarch curse was unnerving. “It would take too long to explain,” he said. “Only know that opening that Tomb is the most important thing in the world—not to us, mind, but to the world.”
Actual sweat stood out on the Empress-Regent’s forehead. Color had come into her pale cheeks. “I will need more to go on than your words, Lord Avery. The Necropolis and the Tomb it holds inside its crystal maze have been the centerpiece of our faith for an age. It’s what the entire empire was founded around, though most don’t know it. It is our holy of holies. For countless generations my family has both dreamt of and dreaded the day when the Tomb would open. Now you want to make that happen. You must understand that is no small thing.”
Avery considered. “Duke Leshillibn believed in signs. Surely you must as well, if you’re devout in your faith. The Sleeper left prophecies, and those must have been coming true at a steady rate to renew your family’s faith over the years.”
“Yes,” the Empress-Regent said. “That much is true.”
“Like the volcano eruption in Evisbi,” young the emperor-in-waiting said. “Or the sun flare last winter.”
“And many more,” the Empress-Regent said. “Yes, Lord Avery, what of it?”
“The Sleeper also prophesied the time of its own awakening,” Avery said. That much he had gleaned from the Duke.
“Yes yes. There have been signs and portents, and Duke Leshillibn has been using them to curry power with the other lords. He says I refuse to act out of fear, but he only wants to act in order to gain the throne. He no more wants to open the Tomb than I do, Lord Avery. You must believe that.”
Avery remembered the duke praying in his alien chapel and wondered if he did. “Even so, those portents did occur,” he said. “The time you spoke of is here, and we are the ones to usher it in.”
“You?” The Empress-Regent sniffed. “You are not ... the one.”
Her, Avery thought. She almost said Her.
“Who, then?” Sheridan said, clearly impatient. “Who will do it if not us?” When the Empress-Regent did not answer, Sheridan said, “We are the ones with the Codex.”
The Empress-Regent’s eyes widened. “You have the Codex?”
“We do,” Sheridan said. “Surely there’s a prophecy about the ones who bring the Codex.”
The Empress-Regent blinked rapidly. She shared a secret, almost furtive look with her son, then glanced back, not at Sheridan, but Avery. There was something queer in her expression, almost hungry. Once more, he started to edge away from her, but caught himself.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing. Nothing.” She hesitated. “Very well. You have the Codex. Why should that surprise me after everything else you’ve said? I trust you didn’t bring it with you?”
“Of course not,” Sheridan said. “We couldn’t be sure of our reception.”
“Understood. Well, you are received as friends. I will put the two of you up in this palace, and you will not want for luxury for however long you choose to remain. Meanwhile you will make the Codex accessible to me. I must see if ... well, it is said that only one with great power may use it.”
“Power?” Sheridan said. “You mean the kind you get from leeching other people’s minds?”
“If you must. But yes. Only one from my family’s line with great ability can use the Codex to open the Tomb. The prophecy gives a ... description of this person. This Chosen One. I don't fit it, but one never knows. Bring it to me. Let me see. We’ll go from there.”
* * *
The Empress-Regent was as good as her word, and Avery and Sheridan were soon installed in a magnificent suite overlooking the profusion of black, wet towers rising from the tangled sprawl of Salanth. It was a confusing riot of a city, and since the Ysstrals seemed so organized and efficient in their normal business Avery had to assume the chaos was intentional, either on the part of the city designers, the rulers, or those who had inspired the rulers. Had the Ygrith encouraged such disorganization or its appearance to foster hopelessness and despair among the populaces who worshiped them and so increase the relative majesty of the godhead?
“Interesting how she changed her tune, isn’t it?” Sheridan said, lighting a cigar and staring out at the omnipresent rain.
“Mm?”
“One minute she feared what would come out of the Tomb, the next she was tripping over her feet to use the Codex. Why?”
“Yes, I noticed that, too. I don’t know.”
Sheridan drew in her first puff, let it play around her mouth. “It had something to do with you. The way she looked at you. What was that all about?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
She maintained eye contact with him just a moment too long. “Don’t you?” As she spoke, smoke issued from her mouth.
He made himself return her look, at least for a moment. “No.”
“What are you holding back?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The Empress-Regent knows about Ani. It’s the only answer. But that still doesn’t explain ... “No,” he said. “I really don’t know anything more.”
Sheridan let it go. Later, the Empress-Regent invited them to supper and they accepted. It was a lavish affair, and Avery felt out of his depth surrounded by lords and ladies, plus important people from around the world. Many had come to seek audience with the Empress-Regent and gain her favor. The Ysstral Empire was expanding in the wake of the War of the Lightning Crown, as the Octung-led conflict was being called. Many countries had all but given in under the financial strain of rebuilding, and some were eager to be annexed by so mighty an entity as the Empire. Others, former Octunggen vassal nations, the Empire was annexing
by force, and few of the still-functional countries were able to do much about it.
Avery was surprised to see that one party present at the table was from Octung itself, and Sheridan tensed when she noticed them. From others they learned that the Octunggen delegates had arrived by submarine. They obviously knew who Sheridan was, but they did not approach her, and the cold radiating from them whenever they turned their eyes on her was palpable.
“They know,” she said, cutting into a braised crab with more force than strictly necessary, and Avery didn’t need for her to explain what she meant; the delegates knew of her betrayal aboard the Floating Fortress.
“That means Uthua lives,” Avery said.
“Was there any doubt? He fell, renewed himself in the sea and sought out his allies. Or subjects.” She swore.
“What is it?”
She swallowed her bite of crab, seeming to have to force it down. “What if they call him?”
Feeling suddenly weak, Avery lowered his fork. “They will,” he realized. “Of course they will.”
“Uthua will be on his way shortly, if he’s not already. We can only hope he doesn’t get in touch with his ngvandi on the way.” Both knew that for hundreds of years Uthua had been the lead deity of an unholy triumvirate that had ruled over many tribes of savage infected people throughout the Borghese Mountains that separated Ghenisa and the Ysstral Empire … mountains that were only two hundred miles south of Salanth.
“That’s an awful thought,” Avery said.
When they asked the Grand Vizier, who had stopped to make introductions, why the Octunggen were present, he replied, “The Ysstral Empire’s invading their territory, so they say. They seek reparations.”
“Reparations?” Avery said. “That’s absurd.”
“I think it’s more likely they mean to negotiate. They’ll let us have this country if we let them keep that. They want to bargain for spoils. Or to keep some of what they have already.”
“It’s a ploy,” Sheridan said, when she and Avery were talking privately again. “They may want to keep their territory, or as much of it as they can, but that’s not why these people are here.” She indicated the group of Octunggen.
“Why, then?”
“Think about it. Uthua knew where the Sleeper was. He told his people, and they sent a delegation team, or something that looks like one, to pretend to sue for peace with the Empress while they arrange their strike, or whatever it is Octung means to do. They need to awaken the Sleeper.”
Sudden nervousness made Avery sit back.
“And you?” he said. “Whose side are you on?”
She looked amused. “Yours, obviously. It’s your friends that possess the Codex. It’s you who will awaken the Sleeper.”
“Aren’t your interests still tied to Octung? Don’t you still want what they want?”
She paused. “I did. I wanted revenge on the old, corrupt Ghenisa that killed my daughter. That Ghenisa’s gone. Now I only seek what I always have, above my own desires—what’s in the best interest of the world.” She turned to Avery. “I believe you have some plan, Doctor, and if it succeeds it might be better for the world than if Octung does.”
Relief settled over him, but it was cautious. “That’s high praise.”
“Yes,” she said. “It is.”
After dinner, they made love on the massive bed of their suite, and it was the closest Avery could ever remember being with her—the closest, and the least guarded. The most vulnerable. For the first time ever he felt that they might actually be on the same side, their goals aligned, their methods in tune. He still had reservations, and doubts, but they were shrinking.
In the morning, after breakfast in bed, the Empress-Regent sent them a message via courier. “She wants us to have the Codex brought to the Palace,” Avery said, reading, once the courier was gone.
“Do you trust her?” said Sheridan from the bed; Avery had risen to answer the door and was still standing before it in his new silken pajamas.
“I trust her not to steal the Codex from us. That’s about it,” he said.
“That’s quite far enough. I’m not sure if I do.”
“Well, there’s no other choice. If we withhold the Codex, we’ll never awaken the Sleeper.”
He called Janx and Hildra, and by mid-morning the two presented themselves at the Palace. One stage at a time, they were admitted past the layers of security, and when they were done Avery welcomed them warmly.
“This place ain’t half bad if you like crypts,” Hildra said, eyeing the surrounds. They occupied a lounge room off a side hall.
Janx answered gruffly and patted the box that contained the Codex. A dozen soldiers surrounded them, discreetly, but they were there. Avery wasn’t sure if they were guards or captors, or perhaps the Empress-Regent had merely instructed them to safeguard that which their new guests brought. More than one cast glances at the box, which was chipped and stained and had likely been a container for fish or crustaceans until being drafted into higher service.
“Let’s get this over with,” Janx said. “Place gives me the creeps.”
They met the Empress-Regent in a small study, and only her son was present with her. She eyed the box with the sort of reverence Avery had expected, but, perhaps surprisingly, she did not rush to open it. Once they were all seated and comfortable, she visibly suppressed her eagerness and bade them explain it all to her, how they had come here with the Codex, what it all meant and what they intended to do. Janx and Hildra let Avery talk, and he offered the Empress-Regent an abbreviated account of their most recent adventures, leading up to the forging of the Codex, their flight to Salanth and capture by Duke Leshillibn. Throughout it all, the Empress-Regent and her son listened silently, rarely interrupting except with pertinent questions. By the end, Avery’s mouth was dry, and he sipped liberally of the tea that had been provided him.
“But I don’t understand,” said Lord Jered, the emperor-in-waiting. “Just who are these people you call the ‘mystery party’? What do they want?”
“Just as important, what can they possibly have to do with Duke Leshillibn?” the Empress-Regent asked.
“I have no idea,” Avery said.
“Whatever it is,” Hildra added, “it’s got to do with those pirates taking Maryss Island. Fucking Segrul.” Realizing her choice of words, she cast an apologetic look to the boy.
“It’s all right,” Issia said. “He’s heard worse, much of it from me, I’m afraid—if in a different language. At least you’re teaching him something new.”
“Let’s just wake the Sleeper up,” Janx said. “We’ve been through a bit of trouble to get here, Your Highness, and I’d like to get it done before the R’loth decide to go to Plan B.”
The Empress-Regent’s gaze strayed to the box. She blinked, then swallowed, and seemed to force herself not to spring up and rip the top off. “Just what do you think will happen once you awaken the Sleeper? You’ve said that doing so may lead to the enslavement of the human race—indeed, of all sentient life on the planet, or native to it. Why then would I possibly want to open the Tomb?”
Janx and Hildra shifted uncomfortably and looked at Avery, while Sheridan grew quiet, watchful. His mouth felt very dry.
“It seems you’re the one with the answers, Lord Avery,” Issia said. “Please, do tell. If you want my cooperation, you must give me a reason to open the Tomb. Rest assured, you cannot get access to it without my leave.”
“Yes,” Avery said. “Well.” Now’s the time. Having a plan was one thing, but sharing it was quite another. They were all counting on him, he knew, all hoping and praying he had some way to deliver them from ruin. They had all risked their lives, and more, to help him get here because he’d told them to trust him. That he had a solution. A way out. Now was the moment to unveil it, and he could only hope they didn’t laugh, or, worse, hate him for asking so much for so little.
“Go on,” Hildra said. “Spill it, bones.”
Making himself s
it as straight as he could, he said, “Only the Sleeper can access the Monastery where much of the power of its people is kept safe—for its use, one supposes, upon its waking. Its people used those weapons to conquer a world once, and they may mean to again, who’s to say. The R’loth, although they hold the Ygrith in high regard, principally mean to seize the weapons and use them against the peoples of this world, to bring them—us—to our knees. If they don’t accomplish this, they mean to simply exterminate the sentient races and start building their own slaves from the ground up, or perhaps they have some other plan; Captain Marculin hinted at multiple possible doomsdays. At any rate, one of them should be launched into motion quite soon.”
“Yes, I think I understand that part,” the Empress-Regent said slowly.
“It’s awful,” said Lord Jered, who looked pale. “I can’t believe that anything could be so evil.”
“They’re not evil,” Avery said. “They’re just gods, or believe themselves to be, and we’re scum. To them. Unworthy of even being preserved unless we bow to their will.”
Issia’s expression could have been carved from ice. “It is awful,” she allowed, with a glance to her son, “but the threat of extermination, even within such a short window of time, does not sway me. If the choice is slavery or death, I would choose the latter.”
Avery raised his eyebrows. “Would you make that choice for the world?”
“I would. I do.”
Avery took another breath, then let it out. “Good.”
“Good? I’ve just damned the world to its doom and you say it’s good? Even I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I have no intention of going along with the plan of the R’loth. I have another plan. A better plan.”
Sheridan leaned forward. The leather creaked under her, just slightly. “Yes? And what is that?”
Avery allowed himself a smile. “The R’loth mean to use those weapons against the world. I say, why not get to those weapons first ... and use them against the R’loth?”
THE END
OF VOLUME TEN
OF
THE ATOMIC SEA