by Chris Fox
Marid raised her head ponderously, looking back the way she had come. Something twinkled there, too bright to be a star, too bright even to be a planet. Too large to be one of the crude spellships the younger gods were constructing. There was only one thing it could be: a god. An old one.
She hovered in space over her world, preparing a litany of magical defenses. Yet, as the deity approached, Marid knew all those preparations were useless.
“Why have you come, Shivan?” Marid demanded, floating a bit further away from the world so it would not be caught in a stray spell, should this turn to battle.
“I have come with grave news,” the destroyer said. He cradled an immense golden spear in his right hand. Marid recognized Worldender, though she’d never thought to be its target. “Draco Matrem has fallen. Her mind has been ensnared, her body left where it can draw out her children. When they approach, Krox seizes them. He plants his own children within hers. It was a masterful stroke.”
Marid recoiled, the implications rippling outward. She contemplated sixteen trillion possibilities, quickly reaching an equilibrium. “Then only I remain, of the eldest. Should Krox take me, all the Wyrms will serve that monster. The galaxy will never recover.”
“Yes,” Shivan said, hanging his head.
“Yet Krox will not face me himself. Instead, he sends you. When did he seize you, Shivan?” Marid asked, sadly inspecting her cousin’s aura.
“Countless millennia ago. His hooks were buried deep—so deep I didn’t even recognize them, until he pulled them for the first time.” Shivan raised Worldender. “I am sorry, cousin. It shames me to be an instrument in this.”
Marid sketched a defensive ward, even as the spear left Shivan’s hand. The weapon twisted in the void, growing closer at an alarming rate. Marid considered three trillion possibilities. Only two might result in the eventual defeat of Krox, and neither allowed her survival.
Marid abandoned her ward, instead sketching a complex spell. She breathed upon it, giving the spell life. “Go now. Go to the world I have shown you. Take up residence, and wait for her to come. When she does, aid her against Krox and his foul children.”
The spell swam through the void. Thankfully, Shivan did nothing to stop it. Perhaps it was a final sign of defiance, a shred of his will maintained in the face of Krox’s binding. Whatever the reason, the spell escaped, even as Worldender punched through Marid’s chest. The weapon carried her into the world below.
Her coming doomed her children on this world, filling the sky with endless dust and ash that would blot out the sun for full cycles. How pathetic that her last thought was for her children. How fitting. That compassion was the reason they were losing, the reason their children were being overcome.
Marid stared up into orbit, watching as Shivan flew from the shattered world. Already her mind fragmented, thoughts breaking apart as she crumbled.
Aran came to with choking gasps, looking around frantically as he tried to understand who and where he was, to understand what he’d seen in Marid’s mind.
“Yes, you begin to understand,” the Guardian rumbled, its slitted eye moved within a few meters. Aran could only gawk. “I see my mother has gifted you with water magic, to aid you in your war against Krox and his children.”
Aran realized the beast was speaking to him. He looked around, not seeing any of the others. As the beast had indicated, he felt a new source of power in his chest. It was cool, and fluid, ready to be called upon.
Nor was it the only thing changed. Aran’s armor was whole, the battle damage completely repaired. His spellrifle had grown longer, and now bore a primitive intelligence just as his spellblade had. This one seemed more curious, and less aggressive.
“You are the first to return. In a few moments, we will see if they too have survived a brush with my mother’s mind.”
“So, uh, this is your mother’s grave?” Aran asked. How did one make small talk with a demigod dragon Guardian mountain thing?
“Indeed, and I am the Guardian of that grave. Though I have tended poorly to my responsibility. In my grief at my mother’s death, I sought magical slumber. I hid from the truth, and hid my mother as well. First, I moved the world to a distant system, planting it in orbit around a similar sun. Then I created the ward to hide my mother’s signature. I hoped the other young gods would come together to kill Krox, and I can see from your memories that they seem to have succeeded.”
“What will you do now?” Aran asked, feeling a swell of pity for the poor creature, even if it did scare him enough that he wanted to wet himself.
“In breaking the ward, your companion has left me little choice.” The Wyrm flapped its wings, turning in midair to face the night sky. “The primals will come now, a vast swarm of them. They will seek my mother’s light. If I do not stay and protect them, then Krox’s children will enslave them. They will be sent to scourge your worlds, and the carnage will be terrible for both sides.”
“You paint a pretty grim picture. But you’re going to stay here and raise these primals?” Aran asked.
“I will shepherd them, and I will watch over this world. When the time comes, I will lead them into battle against the children of Krox. I do not yet know who leads them, though I am thankful Krox himself is dead. If he were not, all of us would be nothing more than mindless husks.” The Wyrm glided gracefully, landing silently despite weighing as much as a small mountain. “Ahh, your companions emerge from mother’s mind. I will return you to your vessel, where you may rejoice in your shared survival.”
“What if we need to contact you?” Aran asked, knowing the major would want him to ask.
“You have not seen the last of me, war mage. One day, we will ride to battle together, against an unbeatable foe.”
“Uh, okay,” Aran allowed. “See you around?”
There was a blinding flash of light, and Aran was standing back in the Wyrm Hunter’s hangar.
65
Consequences
Aran stared down at the blue-white planet through the hangar’s airlock membrane. It looked so peaceful from up here, so untroubled by all the suffering and death that had taken place over the last few days. He rested a hand against the bulkhead, thankful that—for now at least—the dying was over.
He didn’t really understand everything that had happened, or what he’d seen inside Marid’s mind. They were embroiled in something larger than them, a war between gods that had died dozens of millennia ago. Longer, maybe. But somehow, they had a role to play in that war.
Aran could feel Marid down there, the power echoed inside of him. He’d gained something there. Water magic, if Drakkon were correct. Maybe he’d even have enough time to learn what that meant now that he wasn’t being shot at.
“I feel naked without my armor.” Nara’s voice came from behind Aran, startling him out of his reverie. He shifted to face her, smiling.
“All I heard was naked,” Bord said, sprinting up. “I’ll play the pity card if I have to. I mean, I did die…” He grinned at Nara hopefully, and Nara rolled her eyes.
Aran couldn’t help but laugh. As crass and crude as Bord was, the bastard was growing on him.
“Just go wait in the airlock, Bord,” Nara said sweetly. “I’ll be right in.”
“You can’t jettison me into space. You need me. I’m the healer. And I’m a water mage now.” He pointed both of his thumbs back toward his chest. He did start walking away, though, back toward the stall where his armor sat. “Also I’m pretty. Don’t forget that. If you change your mind, I’ll be right over here, watching.”
“Yeah, watching creepily,” Kez said, hopping down from her armor. She put a hand on the small of her back, stretching. “I know what you mean, Nara. After so many days in that armor, I feel weird outside of it. Like I’m going to get picked off by a sniper.”
Bord started walking back over to the drifter. “You’re right, Kez. Being in that armor was murder on my back, too. I bet you could use a massage—”
“That
you’d be happy to give her?” The major’s voice came from the edge of the hangar. She walked swiftly in their direction, Captain Davidson in tow. He’d been almost mute since they’d returned from the swamp, and hadn’t spoken about whatever ability he’d gained from the Catalyst.
Aran couldn’t really blame him. His Marines had been wiped out nearly to a man, and from what Aran gathered that outcome was all too common at the end of most battles involving the Krox. It was a sobering reminder of the price they paid every time they fought.
“Uh, hello, Major.” Bord hurried away from Kez, back to his own armor. “I wasn’t doing anything improper, just, uh trying to fulfill my duties as medic.”
“At ease, Specialist.” The major gave a rare smile. It softened her face so much Aran barely recognized her. “I’ve come to talk about what happens next.”
“Already?” Crewes said, clanking up in his armor. The surface had been scorched black during the battle, and it amazed Aran that it still functioned. He lit a cigar with a small torch, then used an armored hand to put it between his lips. “Come on sir, how about a day off?”
“Sergeant, we delivered a crippling blow to the Krox here. These Wyrms cannot simply be replaced. But that will only make the Krox more desperate, and desperate enemies make bold moves,” the major explained. She clasped her hands behind her back, pursing her lips. “I didn’t come to put you to work, though. You’ll have plenty of time to relax over the next week, while we’re in the Umbral Depths. Now that the battle is decided, I need to report to Shaya, to answer for my actions here. There is every likelihood I will be stripped of command.”
Everyone protested at once, but fell silent when she raised a hand.
Aran spoke up. “Sir, they can’t do that. If you hadn’t done everything exactly as you did, this planet would belong to the Krox. They’d have had an unstoppable army in another year or two.”
“Ternus will speak up for you, at the very least,” Davidson pointed out. “Admiral Kerr thinks the world of you, and the people think the world of the admiral. You’ve got a strong ally there.”
“Isn’t your mother an important part of the consortium?” Bord asked, blinking.
“Enough,” the major snapped, the smile gone. She raised a hand when Crewes moved to speak. “I appreciate what you’re doing. Anything could happen when we reach Shaya. I do have allies, and our success here gives us some leverage as well. Depths, they could even decorate us. But I want you to be prepared for the very real possibility I will have to answer for my decisions here. My career could be over. We’ll fight that battle soon enough.”
“You’ve got our full support,” Aran said, “for whatever that’s worth.”
The rest of the company nodded their agreement.
Crewes awkwardly patted the major’s back. “You might catch some flak for what happened here, sir. Especially to Thalas. But in my book? You did something no one else could. We’re proud of you, sir.”
“Today’s victory wouldn’t have been possible without all of us working together. That said, there’s one person I think needs to be thanked publicly.” The major looked uncomfortable in a way Aran had never seen. “I’m sorry, Aran, about forcing you to enlist. Technically, my actions were legal, but they are against the spirit of the law. My brother gave you a way out, and no one would have blamed you for taking it. I wouldn’t have blamed you. Thank you for choosing to fight.”
“I understand why you did what you did, sir.” Aran smiled, releasing a tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding onto. “You did the right thing. At first I wanted to run. I thought this wasn’t my fight, but after peering into the mind of Marid…after seeing what Krox did, and what Nebiat and the other Void Wyrms are doing in his name? They have to be stopped. I’m committed to that now. This is bigger than us.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Nara said, offering a hand to the major. After a moment the major took it. “I don’t know who I was before, but I know who I am now. I’m a Confederate Mage, sir. And I’m with you.”
“And I’ll be right behind her, staring at her backside,” Bord said, framing his hands over Nara’s butt. He gave her an exaggerated wink, which she ignored.
“All right then,” Voria said, sliding her hands into her pockets. “You’ve got the day off. Tomorrow, we start training in water magic. That includes you, Captain Davidson.”
“Sir?” Davidson said. “I’m a Marine. I need to rebuild my unit, not prance around as a tech mage.”
“There’s nothing to say the head of the Marines can’t be a tech mage. And you’ve now got an unfair advantage, Captain. One you can use to protect your men.” The major pointed across the hangar at the three surviving tanks.
Aran hadn’t noticed them, but now that he looked he realized one of the tanks was larger and sleeker than the others.
“Inuran technology is a blend of magic and tech, Captain. Every tank is designed to benefit from a Catalyst, and yours is now both more powerful and bonded to you,” Voria explained. She smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “I know we’ve sacrificed a lot—but not everything. In some ways, we emerged stronger, better able to protect our people in the next battle with the Krox.”
Davidson stared dumbly at the tank. Then he started to smile. It was the first crack in the depression they’d seen since Davidson had learned the fate of his men. “Well, all right then. Let’s get back to Shaya, get the major cleared, and then get back in the action.”
Aran stared at the lot of them, from Nara and Kez laughing, to the grin on Davidson’s normally too serious face. Somehow, these people had become family. He might not have a past, but he damned sure had a future.
Epilogue
Nebiat halted her flight, sketching the first sigil in her Fissure spell. It brought light to a lightless plane, a beacon for the denizens of this place. Even she feared the worst of what lurked in the depths, though the odds of anything threatening reaching her before she completed the Fissure were slim.
She sketched the next sigil, and the next. The process look longer than it would have if cast through a starship, and she knew her father would chide her for her growing dependence upon such technology.
A heavy crack split reality, fissuring outward around the break. The cracks widened, their blazing purple glow illuminating the depths behind her. Nebiat saw something slithering through the void in the distance, growing slowly larger.
She plunged through the Fissure, releasing the magic behind her. It snapped shut, walling her off from the depths. If she had needed to breathe, she’d have sighed in relief. As old as her kind were, they were children compared to the things that lurked in that place.
Nebiat focused on the system she’d arrived in. A large red dwarf smoldered near the center, orbited by dozens of worlds. Each world belonged to a Void Wyrm, but she didn’t make for her own world, the fourth in the system.
Instead Nebiat flew toward the second system, the world belonging to her father. It was a tiny ball of magma, a pool of superheated rock kept together by the star’s still considerable gravity. She made for the planet’s light side, scanning seas of magma as she sought her father.
An enormous black spot lay right under the surface of the southernmost magma sea, the hottest part of the planet. She glided closer, hovering over the world but keeping to high orbit, ready to flee if she had to.
The magma around the black spot roiled and bubbled, ejecting a Wyrm many times larger than herself—larger even than Drakkon had been. Her father’s scales were covered in scalding magma, which quickly cooled to a thick rocky crust as he glided up into orbit.
“Tell me everything.” He raised both wings, basking in the glow of the nearby sun.
“Kheftut is dead. Drakkon is awake, but not bound.” Nebiat left out the part about every other Wyrm she’d been sent with also being dead. It was trivial, next to the other two facts.
“So, you’ve managed to free one of our most powerful enemies, while ensuring he has cause to focus solely
on opposing us,” her father roared, the magic surging up within him.
Nebiat cringed, but resisted the urge to flee. She couldn’t outrun her father.
“In the process, you lost your elder brother—and, I suspect, all your younger siblings?”
“Yes, father,” she said, as meek as she’d ever been.
Her father flipped over, exposing his back to the sun. He basked for several seconds before speaking again. “I do not believe you are entirely at fault in this.”
“Father?” she asked, blinking. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve long suspected the intervention of a third party,” her father mused, “a god or gods bent on opposing Krox.” He looked at her, flames flaring in his eye sockets. “This time I have a much simpler task for you. Find this god. Destroy their tools. Lay waste to their plans. Can you do this for me, daughter? Or should I consume you now and hope my next spawning proves more fruitful?”
“I will not fail you again, father. I know exactly who our enemies are using as their principle agent, and I look forward to picking apart Major Voria’s mind to find out who she serves.”
Nebiat smiled cruelly, already envisioning Voria’s adoring smile after her will was broken.
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