The Reminiscent Exile Series, Books 1-3: Distant Star, Broken Quill, Knight Fall

by Joe Ducie

  All I had to do was grit my teeth, think of Paddy’s, and fall.

  The Blade and I were like two magnets being drawn together. The stronger, more powerful magnet—the ship—was pulling me in. But blimey, if this worked, they’d be studying it in the Academy for centuries to come. If it didn’t—well, they’d still be studying it, but as a warning that no matter how much raw talent or power a Knight might have, he could still suffer from a monumental case of the fuckups.

  As far as deaths went, though, I could’ve gone in a lot worse ways than by being pulled apart in the storm clouds of Jupiter. No one would ever say I died boringly.

  Or without anyone to carry on your name…

  I pushed that thought aside and concentrated on the task at hand.

  The ability to pull enchantments out of stories already written was one of the greatest strengths of the Knights Infernal. We had needed to be precise, careful, and clever in devising my invisible protective layers, but because the general idea existed within the pages of a book, the enchantments could adapt and account for a thousand little details that simply wouldn’t have occurred to someone not versed in orbital diving. I didn’t glance off the atmosphere or shatter my bones into dust, because the enchantments absorbed the impact, pierced the upper atmosphere like a needle through a balloon, and flung me into the tortured sky of the planet.

  I hit the storms a few minutes later and stretched the enchantments to their breaking point.

  The storm was power.

  Raw, untempered, elemental power.

  The only thing I’d ever felt that came close to the sheer intensity of the storm raging around me was when I’d wielded the Roseblade to destroy the Reach near the end of the Tome Wars. Not even in Atlantis, where I’d fallen broken and bloody from the tower through a break in time and reality to my death, had I come close to the apocalyptic hurricane of bruised purple and harsh orange tornadoes that battered against my enchantments.

  Epic thunderclaps, muffled somewhat by my protections, still rattled my teeth. Violent, acidic winds that would have dissolved me in seconds ran down my arms like slick oil on glass, only to be swept away. I plummeted through the storm, mostly blind and on my own but anticipating contact with the Blade—the tug was growing stronger. A half minute later, I struck gold.

  Having washed most of my speed off in the storms, I hit the hull of the ship with about as much force as if I’d fallen from ten feet or so. It jarred me for a minute, and I rolled along the sleek, silver hull like a rag doll, but the enchantments soon stuck me down—two magnets, pinned together.

  Sweet, broken quill—I made it!

  I lay there for a moment, spread-eagled to the outside of the Blade, and took a moment to catch my breath. The artificial air bubble had left a weird taste in my mouth, and it seemed so fragile next to the majesty of the storms raging around me, now that I wasn’t hurtling through the atmosphere, but I sucked in great gulps of the air, as if I’d been suffocating moments before. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and made the hair on my arms stand to attention.

  After a minute or so, I activated my Will and picked at the threads holding all the enchantments together around my body and lessened the one that magnetized me, just enough so I could move about the hull.

  Find the nearest airlock. Pint with Vrail when all this is said and done.

  I managed to turn over onto my arms and knees, though the pull of the magnetic enchantment wanted to flatten me against the hull again. Slowly, carefully, I began to crawl forward as the storms raged around me. It felt like moving through treacle or tree sap, but I made grudging progress. Although I couldn’t feel it thanks to the invisible skin of enchantments keeping me alive, I imagined the hull of the Blade would be cold enough to strip the flesh from my bones. Not a happy thought—but then, I wasn’t in a happy place.

  The storms and the lights on the outside of the ship were enough to show me the path. After about five minutes, I found an airlock. I glanced through the porthole and found it empty.

  He was only one pseudo-man, but once I activated the door lock, Shadowman would know I was there. A console up on the bridge would flare to buzzing life.

  He may be able to feel you out anyway… You’re two halves of the same whole. He may already know you’re here. Not that I could sense Shadowman, but I was used to being at a disadvantage in these matters and had to err on the side of caution. He probably knows you’re here.

  True, so instead of clinging to the hull of the ship and wondering, it was time to remove all doubt and board the Blade of Spring.

  I knocked once and then let myself in.

  *~*~*~*

  Inside I pressurized the airlock, undid the half-dozen enchantments that had kept me alive, and wondered if anybody had ever cheated death more often than I had.

  The air was warm inside the Blade, and more importantly, it didn’t have the recycled bland taste of the stuff I’d used to get here.

  In the corridor outside, I found the Historian of Future Prospect waiting for me, wearing the same serene smile on her face that I’d only ever seen her wear—even as a child.

  She’s still a child, seventeen if she’s a day.

  “Hello, Declan,” she said warmly. The Historian had Forgetful eyes, which meant they varied in color—Clare had possessed a pair, and even Annie had shown some talent in changing her eye color. Although she was unaware of it, Annie had a spark—a troubling spark that shouldn’t have been, given that she had no Will of her own.

  At the moment, the Historian’s eyes were a soft sky blue, and her lips were as red as blood. Her silver hair hung in gentle waves over her shoulders, and she wore a net of spun gold, sort of a crown for her station, on the top of her head. Her long blue dress had silver trim, and a white shawl covered her shoulders. A tiny sapphire gemstone glowed on a golden chain around her neck.

  “Hello, my dear,” I said. “You Saw me coming, huh?”

  “My gift can show me a great many things, but to you I am blind. The abomination holding me captive directed me here to greet you.” She sighed. “Shadowman, as he calls himself, knew you were coming. Did you just jump from orbit to get here?”

  We could take our time, then. No sense being stealthy, if I was expected. “More a precision fall than a jump. Are Sophie and Ethan still alive?”

  The Historian nodded. “On the bridge, cuffed in star iron, but mostly unharmed. Oh, they have your fire, Declan. You can inspire such terrible loyalty.”

  I ignored that remark, which felt more like a gibe. “Has he told you what he wants?”

  She shrugged and put her hand in mine as we began a slow amble up through the ship. Her fingers were warm against my cold skin. “To kill the Everlasting.”

  “Which one…” I muttered. The Nine were down to Eight, with Emily’s death, which begged the question. “Did you see… Did you know about Emily Grace?”

  The Historian gazed at me with eyes far too old to belong to such a young and innocent face. Sky blue flickered to violet and back again. “Fair Astoria sleeps,” she said sadly.

  She had known.

  “Christ, you could’ve warned me last time we met that she was Everlasting.”

  The Historian tsked. “Had you found out too soon, Scion would have killed you and claimed True Earth as his dominion. What I See, Declan, in my mind… It’s like cords of light, billions of threads, and the futures that are more likely to happen are brighter, you ken? Some futures blaze like the sun, all but certain to happen, while others are as dark as midnight.”

  “So not likely to happen?”

  “Yes, but also no. All the futures that surround you are dark, because of the bargain struck with Oblivion for your shadow. Shadowless, you turn certainty to shadow, Declan Hale. That’s what makes you so dangerous and why I did not risk telling you about Astoria. I’ve steered you as best I can, but you are not to be steered. Worlds come tumbling down and collide like marbles when someone is foolish enough to try to steer you. But when you play with ev
ents, you mask what may be the true future, the brightest cord, in shadow. That’s why… I insisted on your exile six years ago.”

  I missed a step. She argued for my banishment? At the time, she would have been barely eleven years old. Blimey. “Well, maybe we’re better off not knowing the future,” I said, a touch bitterly. I had considered the Historian something of an ally. “That way we can at least pretend everything’s going to be okay…”

  The Historian brushed a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear and smiled wistfully. “If only.”

  We entered the gravity platform at the end of the corridor, which shot us straight up a dozen levels, toward the bridge of the ship.

  The Historian didn’t seem to want to let my hand go, which was comforting in a friendly sort of way. A gentle reminder that I wasn’t multi-universally hated. Gosh darn it, Declan, people like you…

  After having crossed half the ship in about half a minute, we stepped off the gravity lift. I was familiar enough with the design of Knights Infernal vessels to recognize that the wide corridor ahead, lit by illuminated wall panels, led to the bridge. We started up it, headed for the bow of the ship.

  “Last time we met,” I said, “you said I was going to be given a choice—a choice to do something important, something no one has ever done before. Was that choice severing the Infernal Clock in Atlantis? Did I make the right choice?”

  In the light, the Historian’s silver hair seemed to sparkle under her cap of spun gold, as if a bunch of those hovering snowflake sparks on Old Voraskel nested in her curls. She shook her head, seeming uncertain. “That future… it still hasn’t happened yet. Severing the Infernal Clock and unlocking the Everlasting’s prison was not… was not as vital as the choice yet to come.” She pressed her hand against her forehead, as if some thought pained her. “I’m sorry. I can only See glimpses of the futures you brush against, and even those possibilities, far removed from the worst of your influence, are vague and darkened by your shadow. It is somewhat frustrating.”

  “But what I did in Atlantis… it’s going to start a war. Hell, I’ve already been fighting that war for half a year! Just waiting for the rest of Forget to catch up.” I cursed and sliced my free hand down through the air. “Historian, if plunging the entirety of creation into a war against the Everlasting wasn’t the world-ending choice I was supposed to make, then what the hell could it be?”

  For some unknown and possibly insane reason, the Historian of Future Prospect smiled. “I do not know.” She giggled. “And do you have any idea how rare that is?” She giggled again and a tear of mirth ran from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth.

  The wide illuminated corridor of smooth and glossy gray floors ended in a pair of pneumatic doors. We were about to enter the demon’s lair, and me without a bottle of something to take the edge away.

  “Do you have a real name?” I asked, having never thought to ask before now. “Beyond the title, I mean.”

  A delighted smile lit the Historian’s face. “No one ever asks.” She giggled once more, like—well, like the young schoolgirl she might have been, if not for her curse. “My name is Amy. Before taking up the mantle of the Historian, I was born Amy Delacroix.”

  I squeezed her hand in mine. “A pleasure to know you, Amy Delacroix.”

  We stepped forward, and the doors parted right down the middle and slipped into the walls, revealing the bridge of the Blade of Spring.

  My dark reflection spun in the commander’s chair to greet us. He cocked his thumb and forefinger like a gun and shot me an all-too-friendly grin.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Blade of Spring

  “Declan!” Shadowman said, smiling from ear to ear. “Welcome aboard! Rather unorthodox entrance, wasn’t it? I admire your—our?—resolve. How far you’ve travelled since first we met in the cold and the rain outside your bookshop.”

  “Nice ship,” I replied. The bridge was a wide-open space containing banks of monitors, thin screens of computerized glass, and about a dozen chairs for the various command positions, such as navigation and weapons control. A long piece of shielded glass formed a half-circle from one corner to another, and on the other side of the glass churned the bruised storms of Jupiter. “You can fly it all by yourself, huh?”

  He stretched his arms out wide and smirked. “Scheduled maintenance aside, she’s built to fly on hopes and dreams.” He tapped the device that wrapped around his ear and covered his left eye with a small, transparent visor. “Oh, sure, you could outfit her with a regular old crew. But the control column responds to my thoughts. As fast as I can thunk ’em.”

  I rolled my eyes, the effect doubtless ruined somewhat by the eye patch. “Shit, I’d like to meet the guy who thought that was a good idea.” I scanned the bridge and saw some familiar faces sitting in the navigation pods. “Hello, you two. I send you to have a chat, and you end up kidnapped? For shame.”

  “Hey, boss.” Ethan looked weary and drawn, but that would be the star iron, working an enchantment of fatigue as well as blocking his access to Will. “Can you believe this? That’s Jupiter out there!”

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed, no. Sophie?”

  “Did you…” she began carefully. “Did you see Tal?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, Declan,” Shadowman said. “We’d very much like to find Oblivion. That creature is at the top of my to-kill list. He made me and will die for such folly. But where are my manners… please, would you have a drink with me?” He produced a half-empty bottle of amber scotch from down the side of his chair. Shadowman took a long pull on the sauce and offered it to me, as he had done back at the start of this game in Riverwood Plaza.

  “Cheers,” I said, taking the bottle this time. The scotch burned down my throat as it always did, and it settled warm in my gut. A little kick in my step and something to calm my nerves after my fall from on high. I put the bottle on the navigation column beside me and rubbed my hands together. “So, give me the ship.”

  Shadowman snorted and stroked the buttons on his old worn waistcoat. Not only did he look like me, but he had a few of my mannerisms, too. “But now that you’re here, we can get underway. I knew you’d follow. Do you know where we are?”

  “Jupiter,” I said. “Universe One, being bombarded by storms and violent pressure that will, given enough time, tear even this mighty ship asunder.”

  “Yes, but do you know what’s hidden here?”

  I shook my head. “I’m going to assume very little worth writing home about. Look at it out there. Nothing could survive for long.”

  “And yet look at this!” Shadowman blinked, and the entire ship shuddered. We descended through the storm, gases and ugly rain falling across the hull.

  Look at what? “What am I supposed to…”

  Something came into view. A structure, floating without visible support within the storms—of old stone, parapets, collapsed domes, and cracked cobblestoned walkways that ended in wide, circular platforms. “Is that… is that a temple? It looks vaguely Atlantean.”

  “It’s been there for hundreds of thousands of years,” Shadowman said seriously.

  “That’s… impossible,” I said, but the truth of it was staring me in the face. The distance was hard to judge, but the temple looked as if it stretched in a rough diamond about a half a mile long by the same wide.

  “I know. I know!” Shadowman laughed. “First of all, it should never have existed in such an environment, let alone survive abandoned for half a million years.”

  “Okay, you have my attention. What do you think it is? And how did you know it was here?” Half a million? If that was accurate, the temple was far older than Atlantis.

  “I could smell it,” Shadowman hissed and tapped the side of his nose. “Smell what’s locked away inside it. Oblivion forged me not only from your shadow but from Void essence and old—old—magic. I can smell the Everlasting.” He snarled. “Broken quill, but they reek. That, Declan, floating out there amids
t the storms, is a prison for one of them.”

  “But the prisons, as I understand it, were created about ten thousand years ago. You said this has been here much longer.”

  Shadowman nodded along with my words. “Yes! So my question is, if whatever is in there can hold something as powerful as one of the Everlasting, that might be something worth having, don’t you think? And no harm taking out the Elder God while we’re down there.”

  “A weapon…” I said slowly, stroking my stubbly chin. Shadowman mirrored me. “Against the blight.” Damn it all, I was intrigued. More than intrigued—I wanted what my dark reflection wanted. We were on the same page.

  “Declan,” Sophie said carefully, “this is a bad idea.”

  “I am inclined to agree,” the Historian said.

  Ethan yawned and shrugged against the star iron bonds. “You’re going to go anyway.”

  I nodded. “Best bad idea I’ve had today, though. So which one is it?” I asked Shadowman. “Who are we going to bother?”

  Shadowman sniffed the air and growled with distaste. “The stench of Scarred Axis roams like plague rats through that temple.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I Still Don’t Like Mondays

  We used one of the cruisers in the Blade’s transport bays to travel over to the old temple. Cathedrals of storm clouds battered our tiny cruiser, but she was made to bear the brunt of the weather, just like her mother, and we landed on one of the platforms encircling the temple.

  Shadowman cycled down the engine and ran some diagnostics, using the crystal core–powered instruments to scan the environment. “Not surprisingly, there’s nothing alive out there. Axis is here, I guarantee you, but he doesn’t register as alive. What is surprising is the bubble of atmosphere… There’s breathable air out there. As if we’re expected.”

  I glanced out through the porthole, at the wild storms lashing the temple, and grunted. The violent climate of Jupiter did seem to be giving the temple a beating, but at the right angle, I could see that the storms glanced off an unseen barrier like stones skipping over the surface of a lake.