by Anna Carven
The suit had invisible pockets that sat close to his body. Ashrael carefully concealed the following items on his person; a plasma gun, three small but extremely sharp Callidum throwing knives, a long, thin blade designed for stabbing, a Callidum wire garrote, and several injectable vials of deadly poison.
He picked up the death mask and placed it over his features, closing his eyes as he said a silent prayer to the Goddess. He briefly wrapped his ka’qui around their bond, caressing it gently even though Noa wouldn’t register anything right now. The peaceful rhythm of her sleep filtered through to him, and he allowed it to engulf him one more time before he let go, trying to distance himself and push her to the back of his mind.
Of course, that was impossible. She would never be an afterthought.
Ashrael re-directed his ka’qui, sending it through the suit and over his mask, drawing on the energy around him so that everything blurred and blended together; the shadows, the skinsuit, his hidden face.
He was invisible now; ordinary beings would not be able to see him.
On silent feet, he exited the chamber, making his way towards the General’s command room. He passed several Kordolians in the corridor. They didn’t see him, but as he passed, they stared after him, probably sensing something had come their way.
He hadn’t lost his touch. His invisibility was still as effective as ever, but he hadn’t used qim yet. A skilled fighter would still be able to sense his aura.
As he reached the entrance to the command room, he opened his mind and exhaled slowly, allowing his ka’qui to dissipate from his body like vapor. He left only a small amount of energy swirling over his body and face, maintaining his disguise.
With no will to contain it, his ka’qui drifted outwards, merging with the underlying energy of the Universe, making his physical body blend with its surroundings.
His soul had temporarily become part of the nexus. He was present but not present.
He stood and watched for an interminable amount of time, until the one called Rykal appeared at the General’s door, fully armored and equipped for battle. The Qualum doors unfused and Ashrael followed Rykal inside, undetected.
He wouldn’t be able to keep up this disguise forever, but he could hold it far longer than anyone else he knew.
Balanced between reality and the nexus, he stood and watched as Rykal joined his comrades. Including the General, there were six of them in total. There were more than six members of the First Division, but Ashrael hadn’t seen the others since they’d left Earth. Perhaps they had been assigned elsewhere.
He’d heard that the General had left a significant force behind to protect Earth.
“Two of you are to stay here and guard the ship,” Akkadian said, his voice a low, commanding rumble. He too was in full armor, a pair of twin longswords sheathed at his back.
“I’m torn,” Rykal said, making a face. “My head is telling me I can’t miss the action, but my heart wants me to stay on Silence and keep an eye on Arin.”
“Remember, we are there in a supporting capacity,” the General reminded him. “The Five Commanders are leading the operation, and we are to provide the necessary backup.” He narrowed his eyes, a calculating look crossing his face. “The chance of Silence being discovered is almost zero,” Akkadian said, “but I need someone to stay just in case. A large proportion of the Empire’s fleet is currently occupied with fighting the alliance armada in the Z-sector, and our own warships are providing reinforcements at the inter-sector border. The diversion has worked quite nicely, but even the most advanced cloaking can be hacked, and if Silence is discovered, our first priority will be to protect the females. In the unlikely event that we are boarded, I need someone I can trust absolutely to carry out my orders.”
“I’ll do it,” Kalan said gruffly. “So will pretty boy here.” He nodded towards Rykal. “We have a mutual interest in keeping our Humans safe. I’d keep the dark one too,” he nodded towards the warrior with the scarred face, “but you’ll probably get more value out of him on the ground. He doesn’t work well with others anyway.”
The scarred one, Kail, stared at Kalan impassively, but said nothing.
Rykal opened his mouth to protest, but the General silenced him with a look. Then he looked beyond Rykal, focusing on Ashrael.
Ah. You sense me, General?
Ashrael wondered if Akkadian possibly had a little of the talent imbued in him. The General had always been able to read Ashrael’s moves just a little bit better than all of the other fighters.
“Show yourself, katach,” the General said, his aura radiating menace.
Slowly, Ashrael brought his ka’qui back into his body. From the warriors’ perspective, they would see him materializing out of thin air.
“Ah, fuck,” Rykal exclaimed in surprise, spinning around to face the assassin. “How long has he been here?”
“Long enough,” Ashrael said smugly. He so enjoyed seeing these arrogant warriors thrown off guard, but in truth holding his invisible form for so long had been starting to tire him. “I was just testing my ability before I embark on my mission. Long periods of disuse can make one rusty.” He shrugged. “It’s good enough for now. It will be sufficient for what I need to do.”
“Fucking wraith,” Rykal grumbled, but this time he didn’t make the sign of the Goddess, probably because he’d spent long enough as Ashrael’s sparring partner to understand that the assassin wasn’t really all that different from the rest of them.
Ashrael smiled behind his death mask before pulling it off his face. Rykal muttered something under his breath.
“You understand what you have to do, katach,” Akkadian said, wasting no time with pleasantries.
Ashrael nodded. He was ready, and like all good assassins, he didn’t ask questions.
He wore the death mask now, and that meant he wouldn’t rest until his target was dead.
Such was the custom of the Silent Ones, the sightless, voiceless, soulless killers of the Empire.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Noa woke to find Ashrael’s side of the bed empty and cold. Instantly, she reached out to him and found his presence far away.
Ash? Where are you?
Doing what I have to do. A cold, icy calmness resonated through their bond. He felt different somehow. Rest, my love. Do not worry about me. Even the Universe itself can’t stop me from returning to you.
What do you mean?
But he didn’t answer, and although she was connected to him, he felt distant.
Noa let out a frustrated sigh and tried to let go of her worry, but it was impossible. The uncertainty was like a thorn under her skin, tormenting her and preventing her from being able to lie still.
Her peace of mind was shattered.
Damn him. He should have told her he was going, instead of sneaking off in the middle of her sleep-cycle like the damned shadow assassin that he was.
And now, he wasn’t even talking to her.
You’d better come back to me, she growled, pushing some of her anger through their bond, or I’ll kill you. Her frustration gave her power, and she felt a glimmer of surprise from Ashrael.
But he didn’t answer. He just became more distant.
Bastard.
And she felt helpless.
And that feeling was back, the weird pressure that threatened to pull her mind out of her skull. This time, instead of fighting the pressure, she embraced it, giving in to its pull.
And she felt her ka’qui swell.
Shit. That thing, whatever it was, had amplified her power. She should tell someone about it. She should go and talk to Elgon and see if he had found any more information in his endless tomes and datafiles, but she was too wracked with anxiety to move.
Damn Ashrael and his fucking covertness. She suspected that whatever he was about to do was very dangerous, but of course, he wouldn’t say that even if it were true. Abbey and the others had warned her about this particular trait in Kordolians. They thought it was best
to shelter their mates from all the unpleasantness in the Universe, even when it was staring them right in the face.
As her frustration grew, so did the psychic power coursing through her. Abandoning her fear and resistance resulted in the outward pressure in her head dissipating, giving way to a growing storm. She was responding to something much larger than all of them; a dark, magnetic presence tied to the Universe itself.
Strains of music - this time it was the Ocean Etude - drifted through her head, and she flexed her fingers, yearning for her instrument, but pianos were nonexistent in this corner of the Universe, so she withdrew into herself as the music in her mind became tempestuous.
She closed her eyes and saw an image. It was a monolithic presence, cloaked in shadow.
Instinctively, she knew that this was Kythia, the Dark Planet itself. Her ka’qui was reacting to its presence. The Dark Planet was calling to her.
It wasn’t evil or malevolent. It was just dark. Dark and ancient and indifferent. Ashrael’s home planet. That fact alone made her yearn to see it for herself.
But she was stuck in a windowless, lightless room on an alien battle cruiser, pining for her stubborn, secretive sarien, who had left her to do something terrible and dangerous.
Come back to me, Ashrael, she called to him, but all she got in response was cold, infinite silence.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The stealth flyer hovered over an area on the outskirts of the civilized zones, high above an area called Flatedge, where small, low-set dwellings hunkered on the ice-covered ground, extending out onto the plain of thick ice that marked the beginning of the Vaal. Out here, so far from the center of the civilized zones, they were unlikely to be detected.
Nobody cared about what went on in Flatedge.
Ashrael studied the area below with his second sight, planning his downward trajectory. The buildings beneath him were small and haphazardly arranged. They were the homes of slaves, servants, and those Kordolians who did not have either a profession or title. These latter inhabitants were called the quiescents; they were neither here nor there, and they had no hope of changing their circumstances in this lifetime.
A quiescent’s only hope of moving out of the flatedge was to be born female, for then she would surely be absorbed into one of the Noble Houses.
Ashrael may have been mute, but he wasn’t deaf or stupid. He’d had a lifetime of silence in which he’d been able to observe the world around him.
From time to time, he learned things.
A hatch in the lower compartment opened, and a gust of icy wind swirled through the belly of the flyer. The cold air invigorated Ashrael; during his time on Earth he’d missed Kythia’s frigid climate.
The wingcape strapped onto his back flapped in the breeze as Ashrael stepped in front of the opening and jumped, wasting no time.
He leapt out into the open sky, the wind rushing around him as he angled his body downwards, his arms locked by his sides and his legs pressed together tightly so that he became a speeding arrow, plummeting towards Kythia’s barren surface.
He felt Noa’s sweet, tender expression of concern through their bond, but he pushed her away, guilt pricking at his conscience. He said a silent apology to her as he fell to the ground. He couldn’t afford to become distracted right now.
As he lost altitude, the air became denser and Ashrael caught a gust of wind. He thrust his arms open and the wingcape snapped taut, pulling him into the current.
Ashrael glided like an Earth bird, surfing the wave of air as he angled downwards, heading towards the sprawling settlement.
The terrain below appeared to him in sharp relief, a dense network of energies and souls contained within simple rounded structures. He spun ka’qui over his body and face, making himself invisible. He angled his arms as he neared the ground, increasing the air’s resistance against the wingcape so that he slowed and momentarily hovered on the air. Then he glided down, gently landing on a domed roof. He discarded the wingcape and dropped off the roof, breaking into a silent run as he navigated the narrow streets and alleys.
The streets were more deserted than usual; slaves and Kordolians alike had retreated to their dwellings, and a strange energy emanated from them, curdling the air with tension. It was as if something momentous were about to happen.
Ashrael ignored the ominous feeling radiating from the collective consciousness of thousands of souls and ran on, avoiding the main thoroughfares. As he reached the more central zones, he began to spread his ka’qui, preparing to enter the state of qim.
He was invisible, and now he would become undetectable.
He ran faster and faster, merging with the cold air, merging with the wind as he became nothing more than rush of air himself.
He evaded the guard-bots and surveillance detectors and motion sensors. He passed the Trader’s Market and the military barracks and the pleasure sector. He scaled and leaped over the wall of the inner citadel, and its automated guard turrets failed to register his presence. He ran on, gaining speed as he shot past an armored sentinel, reaching the large, lavish residences of the Nobles.
He found a long wall that extended between two large compounds. In a few steps he had scaled the wall and was running along its narrow length, easily evading the surveillance bots that appeared every so often.
He passed giant palatial structures; towering, windowless affairs with mercenaries posted at the entrances. He dropped off the wall once it ended and sped through the compound of an administrative tower, passing the soaring black spike of a building with barely a glance.
Such towers were owned by the Noble Houses. They were seats of power from where the Nobles administered their ever-growing empires, having staked claims to planets and resources all across the Nine Galaxies.
He reached a wide expanse of barren land. The hard surface of the land was highly polished, and the only thing covering it was a thin layer of frost. To the unaware, it could be incredibly slippery, but Ashrael had crossed this surface hundreds of times before.
He didn’t hesitate as he ran across the perimeter, moving so fast that his feet barely hit the ground.
This was the icy surface that formed a wide ring around the Palace of Arches. It was ten kuliks wide and it was covered in motion sensors.
That didn’t matter to Ashrael. He was fully immersed in qim now; he had become ephemeral and spirit-like, and none of the sensors were triggered as he crossed the flat plain.
He reached the base of the palace and began to climb. The Palace of Arches was really more of a fortress. It was nestled atop a giant towering column of manufactured rock, and as a consequence, it was only accessible from the air.
Unless one was invisible and extremely agile.
Unless one was trained in the arts of infiltration.
Ashrael began to scale the steep walls, using his ka’qui to propel himself upwards. At the same time, he relied on momentum and speed and the hard points of his claws, which flicked through the thin fabric of his skinsuit.
He had to be very quick and careful with his claws, because sticking them in the wrong place could set off a motion detector.
But finely honed instinct and an uncanny sense for energy told him exactly where he should gain a handhold, and so he ascended the wall using a combination of speed, ka’qui, claws, and instinct.
It was little wonder the General had picked him for this task. None of the First Division soldiers would have been able to accomplish this without being detected.
Ashrael, however, knew exactly what he was doing. He’d navigated this same route a hundred times before, and he knew it like the back of his hand.
After all, the Mistress, his minders, and the mysterious Program operated from within the walls of the palace, and one of his first tests as a novice had been to escape and re-infiltrate the palace undetected.
His legs started to ache as he reached the top of the wall, but then he was hooking his arm over the perimeter barrier and jumping over it, landing on his
feet without making a sound. He took a moment to rest, catching his breath and bringing his mind back to a place of stillness.
Maintaining the qim was starting to drain him, but he forced himself to ignore the sensation of weariness that had crept into his muscles and into his mind. He fought to ignore the incessant pull of his bond with Noa.
She was up there in space, and without her, he felt incomplete.
Not now, you fool.
He was talking to himself, of course, because he had a job to do. He had to maintain his invisible state at all costs. He had to cloak his mind at all costs. The Mistress was bound to be within the palace walls. For now, his bond with his sarien protected him, but without it he would fall back underneath the spell of the original mindbond, and that would be a disaster.
After tasting such blissful freedom and after discovering his one-in-a-billion Noa, he couldn’t go back to that fucking curse of a mindstate.
He had to be careful.
He couldn’t afford to slip. Not now. Not when he was so close.
Forcing his mind back into a state of icy control, he drifted back into complete qim and stepped across the threshold, entering the Palace of Arches.
All he had to do now was seek out Empress Vionn, and that wouldn’t be hard, because she was the heart and center of the palace, and everything on Kythia revolved around her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
He slipped through the halls of the palace like a ghost, watching from behind thick columns as servants, slaves, and Nobles went about their business.
There was no sense of life or bustle here, as compared with the cities he’d observed on Earth, where Humans created their own frantic energy. The Kordolians were silent and somber, and for the first time he was able to appreciate how fucking dire the palace was.
Earth was a fountain of life. His sarien was a source of pure, precious, fragile life.