The Last Archon

by Richard Watts

  Detective Pagliano took a step back, mouth slack. Deckard ignored him and focused on his protective gear. He’d crafted it himself, piece by piece. It had taken him centuries to refine the metalwork and the enchantments graven into it. He knew every line of runes, every golden curve, every gleam of jade. The weight of time and responsibility he assumed every time he put it on.

  “By my power do I defend the powerless. By my knowledge do I instruct the ignorant. By my blood do I die for the living.”

  Deckard carved new runes into the surface, chiseling them there with precise strokes of his Axiom laden will: Life. Awareness. Voice. Spirit. He connected all of them to the web of sigils for protection and wholeness. It was a dreamcatcher, a trap for a lost soul.

  Deckard paused, gathering himself and the Axiom he needed for the last step. The last portion of the legend said the unnamed sorcerer had succeeded in placing his mind in the armor. But without dreams and wants, without pain or need, without change, he forgot his purpose and lay in his tower, a dead man wrapped in living death, until the tower collapsed and crushed his bones and the armor to dust.

  “I pledge myself to the people of Atlantis, from now until my dying breath.”

  Trembling with mingled fear and hope, Deckard lowered his instinctual defenses, letting the Axiom touch every part of him. It rushed through him and out again, a tributary that eddied through his armor. Its current tugged at his being. With the last of his living breath, Deckard Riss let go of life and let the river carry him away.

  Detective Pagliano watched in horror and wonder as the cloud of golden light wrapped both Dr. Riss and Archon’s armor in its glowing embrace. The elderly man whispered to himself constantly, a flow of words in a language Pagliano couldn’t understand. Riss’s eyes transfixed the armor above him, and they shone with something very, very close to madness.

  Unsure of what to do, Pagliano forced himself to wait and watch. Underneath Riss’s raspy speech, the heart monitor beeped rapidly. The numbers climbed.

  The old man raised an age-spotted, trembling hand. His voice grew louder. With a rush of air, the cloud of light collapsed into the armor. Riss’s raised hand fell and an alarm sounded from the monitors. The intercom sounded outside, calling a code blue.

  Pagliano stared at the armor still floating on its back above the bed, cape-like stole drooping from its shoulders. Light still shone through the seams at the shoulders, the boots, and under the hooded stole.

  The doors opened, and a crash cart pushed through, followed by several anxious-looking people in scrubs. They pulled up short at the scene, joining the detective in staring upward. The armor spun upright. Everyone in the room took a step back as glowing golden eyes settled on them, burning in a mask-like face that shifted like a heat haze. Pagliano dropped a hand to the gun at his hip.

  The armor looked down at the bed, as though memorizing Dr. Riss’s face. Pagliano looked at the still body of Dr. Deckard Riss lying on the bed, then back up to the blazing visage in the armor. “Archon,” he whispered.

  The living armor’s attention settled on him for a second, then it gave a brief nod. “Goodbye, Detective.” The voice boomed hollowly, but Pagliano recognized it.

  The remnant of Deckard Riss looked at the ceiling, then space rippled around him, and he vanished from sight.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened into a dimly lit foyer of marble tiles. Hayden stepped warily forward. The entryway continued for about ten feet, then opened onto a combination kitchen and living room. Clean lines and light, neutral colors popped with vibrant art on the walls. The leather sofa looked brand new. A tiered wine rack held bottles in multiple hues that prismed the radiance of the suspended bar lights in dots of deep reds and greens.

  Beyond them, floor to ceiling windows opened onto a dazzlingly bright display. Lightning fountained from the pillars standing sentinel around the edges of an outdoor pool, arcing between and above them. Directly through the open doors, a disk of absolute darkness the size of a manhole floated in a cradle of lightning four feet from the madly dancing waters. Marcus Wolfe stood in front of it, hands raised, voice rising and falling in a sing-song chant.

  Hayden crept forward, crouched, testing every step. The air in the apartment thrummed with magic, making Hayden’s skin pebble. The gate hummed palpably here. Cold air from the Autumn night gusted in, making him shiver, and the hard-edged, silver-blue light strobed and flickered outside. He eyed the distance to Wolfe, maybe forty feet. He had elevation and the ceilings were every bit of twenty feet high, but the doorway to the pool was narrow and the glass-and-metal lintel much lower.

  A whisper of effort called forth a construct and a short, hafted, leaf-bladed spear fell into Hayden’s right hand. He’d only have one shot. Wolfe had bested Deckard in a fair fight. Add in Hayden’s injuries, including a left eye rapidly swelling shut, and he had to be certain his first blow was all it took. Hayden stalked a little closer.

  He stopped at the edge of the foyer. Wolfe continued his chanting, oblivious to everything else. The gate above him slowly swelled as more energy funneled into it. As Hayden watched, another light winked out in the city beyond, eaten by that hole in reality.

  Hayden found it hard to control his breathing. He knew he had to take the shot. Memories rushed in: the sickening voice luring a girl to her death, the savagery of the wolf twins, Chain’s mangled new body, Wolfe’s face twisted with madness, the absolute hunger of the Worm. Wolfe’s plan endangered millions of lives. He’d lied and manipulated and killed. He’d nearly killed Deckard and Vivian and Hayden himself. Wolfe had to die.

  Hayden shifted his grip, testing the balance of his spear as he sighted his target. He took one more step forward and brought his right arm back, planting his foot.

  “Aim for the spine.”

  Hayden pivoted left toward the kitchen to see Wolfe calmly walking in from another room, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. He wore a black button-down shirt and his campaign smile.

  “Right between the shoulder blades.”

  Hayden spun back to the right and saw another Marcus Wolfe leaning casually against the corner of a narrow hallway.

  “That way, if you miss a little, you still hit something vital.”

  The silhouette by the pool turned around and lowered his hands, spreading them before him in a gesture of welcome.

  “It’s good to see you Hayden. I was hoping we could talk.”

  Hayden set his feet and hurled the spear at the pool door. His rushed throw went wide and the Wolfe outside merely leaned out of the way as it passed. Hayden didn’t stop to watch his weapon vanish into the pool waters. He dashed to the right and launched himself at the second copy, summoning a jian and lunging forward in the same step. The thin blade of energy passed through the rippling image of Wolfe and buried itself three inches into the wall behind him. The mirage blew away into tendrils of greenish light, unraveling. Wolfe’s smug smile vanished last, hanging in midair for a moment like the Cheshire Cat.

  Hayden ripped the sword free and spun, already shortening and thickening the construct. He used the momentum of his turn to launch the throwing axe straight at the image stalking out of the kitchen. It, too, shimmered and unraveled as the thrown wedge tumbled through it and smashed the microwave door into chunks of plastic and glass.

  The final copy of Wolfe stepped into the apartment and created his own Axiom construct, a basket-hilted rapier.

  “We can put these away,” he said mildly, twisting sideways into a fencer’s stance. He flicked his rapier into position, point aimed at Hayden’s heart. “You can still live.”

  Hayden called up a new jian and circled the couch, back toward the kitchen, until he faced Wolfe directly across from the door. Ten feet separated them.

  “Three Card Monte? That’s your best play? I expected better.”

  Wolfe ignored the jibe. “I admire your determination, Hayden, but you’re injured, emotional, you have no element of surprise,
and you possess neither the power nor the knowledge to challenge me directly. Surrender, and I’ll spare both you and the girl.”

  Hayden’s anger boiled over. He charged Wolfe, closing six feet in a blink. Wolfe tracked him calmly. Flat, patient eyes peered through Hayden’s sternum, rapier point steady. Hayden called the Axiom into him and leapt.

  Fire flooded his veins, lending molten power to his tired muscles. He soared over Wolfe, jian held cross body, twisting as he went. Wolfe watched him sail through the air and made his own turn, shuffling back to avoid any falling strike. Hayden landed just a hair too hard and his booted foot slipped on the tile, torquing his ankle. He stumbled back, letting the Axiom recede and blinking the flames from his vision. Fires smoldered in his torn shoulder and behind his eyes, but he’d managed to get between Wolfe and the gate.

  Wolfe closed with a long lunge. Hayden parried and issued a frantic repost, forcing Wolfe to hop back. He used the half-second of breathing room to back up two steps through the pool door and slam a wall construct over the whole glass wall. Between the translucent glow of the Axiom wall and the wicked half-light of the gate, he lost sight of Wolfe.

  Hayden turned, eyes up on the still-growing portal, now the size of a round folding table. Wolfe would be through his barricade in no time, but if he could do enough damage to the spells powering the gate, the whole web would collapse and the gate would seal itself before the Worm could come through. He took a step to the right, heading for the nearest pillar.

  An invisible spear punched through his armor, piercing his lower back and tearing out of his chest. Hayden coughed and blood bubbled into his mouth. He staggered sideways and fell to his right, landing hard on his hip and arm. He couldn’t breathe. His will wavered, and both weapon and wall constructs collapsed.

  “You impress me, Hayden. You’re raw, but you have talent, tenacity. And you have a killer instinct in you. Just the sort of person the new Atlantis could use as a protector.” Wolfe shimmered into view two feet away, looking down at Hayden with a small smile. Hayden crawled away, clutching at the smooth concrete and dragging himself an inch toward the pillar.

  Wolfe grinned. “See! Still fighting, even now. Then, half your life has been fighting, hasn’t it, Hayden? Fighting with Tarran, fighting with the Axiom, fighting yourself.”

  Wolfe knelt beside him. Hayden’s lungs frothed, and he fought to roll away. Wolfe laid a hand on Hayden’s arm and the boy’s muscles seized up. It was all he could do to roll terror-wide eyes to Wolfe’s face.

  “Do you know why the Axiom keeps rejecting you, Hayden? It wanted to make you whole, but couldn’t. When Tarran stopped me, he ripped my being into pieces and scattered them to the four winds. But you can’t destroy souls, Hayden. The pieces linger. And one of them wound up in you.”

  The thought passed through the cloud of cold wrapping Hayden’s mind. Wolfe’s soul? Deckard was right. The nightmares, the visions. It was connected.

  “The Axiom sought to merge the two pieces together, but that’s impossible. You can change a soul, slowly, but you can’t stitch them together, not that way.

  “That’s why I came to Atlanta, why I invented the Wolfe persona. To track down the last of me still out there. I thought Tarran had it trapped, obviously, but I never thought he’d use a child to do it.

  “Can you see how he used you? Kept you close, used you as bait, used your talents knowing the Axiom would burn you up from the inside? But I kept you alive, didn’t I? That killer instinct, that survivor’s will?”

  Wolfe leaned close over Hayden’s face. “Once you die, I’ll pick up that last piece. But I promise you, once the Worm is returned to this reality, I’ll bring you back. With my knowledge and your talent, we can reform the Knights. We can rebuild paradise! You never saw Atlantis in its glory, but I’ll show you, and together we can rule a kingdom without end!”

  The hum of the gate shifted pitch, lowering until it disappeared from hearing. The lightning flared and bent entirely into the portal. Wolfe gripped Hayden by the pauldron and hefted him upright, one-handed, without apparent effort. He held Hayden over the waters of the pool.

  “It’s time, Hayden. Let Setuklash-Toth tear away everything you were never meant to carry.” Wolfe wrapped his free hand around the force jutting from Hayden’s chest and twisted.

  The Worm’s roar pierced Hayden’s mind, and a cold, writhing barb ripped its prize from him. Wolfe lifted a bloody hand holding a grey-green flame. It flared with hideous light. Hayden arched backward, clutching at the lance of sorcery as Wolfe dropped him into the pool.

  Waters covered him, dancing with light and shadow. Hayden’s own blood drifted past him in ribbons of red-tinged ink. The cold clamped onto his limbs, and death whispered to him, just out of sight. Above the waters, a new chant reverberated through the night. Wolfe cried out, exultant, expectant. Even dulled by the chill fluid bathing him, Hayden could feel lines of hungry, loathsome power reach for every spark of life in a score of miles.

  The fragile shell of the world rested in the hands of Hayden’s murderer.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The memory of terror assaulted Hayden, as it had nearly every night for the last ten years of his life. He’d experienced death thousands of times. He knew its presence, implacable, unyielding. But not unstoppable.

  As he had in a thousand nightmares, Hayden reached out for the power of the Worm crystalized in the spike impaling him. Slick tendrils of putrid energy formed a web that repelled the touch of death, held his spirit in his battered body, and stitched the shreds of his life together.

  Hayden’s heartbeat strengthened, and the cloud fogging his mind ripped away in a rush of pure spite. He would tear Wolfe limb from limb! He would eat his blackened, charred heart!

  Hayden called for the Axiom, intending to blast Wolfe, and the whole apartment, into cinders. The instant he touched it, fire raced through him, drawn to the places he’d sewn with bits of Setuklash-Toth’s essence. Pain flared in his every pore, his every atom, but in its wake the unreasoning rage boiled away and Hayden found himself. He pulled more Axiom in, fighting to shake himself free of the touch of the Worm.

  The Axiom flooded his being, pouring out on him like the wrath of God. Hayden screamed soundlessly and embraced the agony. For the first time in his life, he welcomed the fire of the Axiom. Wounds closed. Cells reformed, renewed. The tendrils of the Worm shriveled before the flows of molten power in his blood, smoking away into vapor. The great beast howled as it was denied another prize.

  With a sizzling snap, the last strand of vileness severed. Hayden’s pain ended in the same moment. Instead of liquid fire, the Axiom rolled into and over him like warm summer sun, rich and bright. The aches left his body and his senses sharpened, instantly focused. Energy surged in his muscles. He held the Axiom easily, effortlessly. It poured off him in waves of golden light. The glory of it filled him with awe.

  Hayden’s feet touched the bottom of the shallow pool. He raised his face to the surface and smiled like a hunting cat. Drawing in yet more Axiom, he flexed his knees and pushed.

  Tiles cracked. Hayden exploded from the pool in a rush of water and streamers of golden energy that trailed from his body and from the massive curve of the falchion he carried in both hands. He sailed under the gate straight at the pulsing star in Wolfe’s hand. Threads of sorcery spilled from it, thrashing and clutching at the world of men. Hayden swung the falchion with a twist of his entire body.

  The plane of eldritch energy sheared through Wolfe’s arm. His scream vibrated the building and rent the air. Hayden’s leap carried him past his target and onto the walkway at the left edge of the pool. Gibbets of blood spattered the ground around him.

  Hayden turned, dismissing the falchion and calling up a glaive in its place. Wolfe stared at him from across the pool, face ashen, eyes wide. Though he shouldn’t have been able to hear it under the continued roaring of the injured chaos god, his Axiom aided senses caught Wolfe’s gasp.

  “Kess?�
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  Hayden whirled the polearm, building up momentum, spun in a precise circle, and sliced the curved blade through the pillar behind him. The top two-thirds of the column toppled forward to shatter on the concrete. Chunks of rubble bounced and clattered. Lightning erupted wildly from the marble stump and the edges of the gate wobbled as the arc of energy sustaining it grew smaller.

  “No!” Wolfe screamed. His severed limb bubbled and burst, transforming into a puddle of foul ichor. A new arm built itself from slithering, skittering creatures that bled from the stump and Wolfe rushed at Hayden, who danced away, glaive twirling. Hayden hewed into the second pillar, partially severing one of the sigils carved along its length. Before he could deliver the felling strike, a stream of noxious black energy hit him on the left side with crushing force. Wolfe shrieked in rage.

  The glaive construct ripped from his fingers as he tumbled end over end and slammed up against the glass-and-metal railing at the far edge of the deck. Glass cracked behind him. Specks of darkness bit at him through the rents in his armor. Panic drove Hayden to the Axiom, desperate to drive the bugs back.

  A ring of flame answered his call and raced over Hayden’s head and neck, searing the crawling bugs to ashen husks. A moment of shock froze Hayden in place as he realized what he’d just done. His dazed mind didn’t see the second lance of darkness streaking toward him until the last moment. He flung a shield up, but the ferocity of Wolfe’s strike caught him unprepared.

  The construct cracked apart, scattered into bits of energy and half-formed will. The force of the blast threw Hayden off balance and knocked him flat. Wolfe stalked forward, flinging a new torrent of oily darkness at Hayden, forcing him to roll toward the pool. The blast of energy collapsed into itself, forming a hissing blob. He scrambled to his feet, edging back from the ragged, lapping puddle of blackness reaching for him.