Before the Shattered
Gates of Heaven
Part 4: Sacrificial Altars
by
Bryan S. Glosemeyer
Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven
Part 4: Sacrificial Altars
Bryan S. Glosemeyer
Editor: September C. Fawkes
Cover: Dan Van Oss,
Covermint Design
Published February 2019
Copyright ©2019
Bryan S. Glosemeyer
Void Forms Media
All rights reserved.
Kindle Edition
This e-book is licensed for personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold, re-distributed, reproduced, or given away to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Void Forms Media logo designed by Orion Harbour.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For my Mother, who always wanted me to write,
And for my Wife, who supported me when I finally did.
Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven
Part 4: Sacrificial Altars
38.
DRENCHED IN COLD sweat, Sabira wedged herself into the corner of the quarantine cell, curled up in a ball, and shivered uncontrollably. Earlier, she had been convinced she was burning alive. The cell’s walls and ceiling had sprayed her from every direction with boiling enzyme showers. In her mind’s eye, she had envisioned the shower like plasma fire, scalding away her flesh into vapor and ash. Now, the press of the ceramic walls felt cool against her naked, feverish skin.
The eon still spiraled within her mind, warping and transmuting everything around her. The walls and ceiling pulsed through a spectrum of colors, and thousands of orange and black eyes protruded from every surface, staring at her, lidless and fierce, penetrating into her being.
Overwhelmed by the thousands of staring eyes, she closed her own. Instead of black, silent relief, the eon cycled her through memories of her capture like a terrifying, waking dream. A dream far more vivid and lucid than any she’d had before. Over and over, she remembered.
Grandfather Spear slicing through Gabriel’s arm. His heavy knee smashing that beautiful face. Grandfather cradling her in his massive arms on the Embassy balcony. The hum of his armor’s hover pods, rising into the night.
Trails of fire cobwebbing the black sky like a hellish dome over the city. The green orb atop the ancient fortress rupturing, an emerald shockwave skimming the tops of buildings. The sparkling rings of Dlamakuuz stretched across the horizon turning hard, lethal, a diamond-sharp scythe looming over the planet.
Into the bay of one of the wreckers lurking in the sky a hundred meters above the Embassy. Devoured by the ship, swallowed whole. The medics blurring into scanners and questions—something about quarantine, safety precautions. Daggeira already inside getting quick-scanned, ignoring everyone but Sabira. Staring straight at her, eyes like pale steel. Silent and unwavering. Sabira’s face burning beneath her glare.
And then again. Gabriel, bloody and mutilated on the floor right in front of her. Grandfather, sky, fire, Daggeira. And again.
Gabriel, Grandfather, sky, fire, Daggeira.
Again.
Sabira wanted to die.
“Don’t say that,” the boy said. “You’re a fighter.”
Sabira lifted her trembling head from her arms. Her neck protested. Everything felt stiff and weak. The motion made her dizzy. “Zonte?”
Two disarmingly pretty faces, Zonte and Playa, looked back at her from across the little room for a quick, cutting moment, before dissolving into abstraction, just a play of the light strips gleaming off the wall. Sabira felt as if a coarse, heavy stone had lodged itself into her lower belly.
For a second there she’d thought she wasn’t alone.
Thonk.
Sabira turned toward the hollow thumping sound. Thonk. Torque sat curled in a ball on the floor next to her, rocking, shaking. Thonk. Hitting her head against the ceramic walls.
Thonk.
Silence again. Alone again. Just her and the walls of orange and black eyes staring at her naked thoughts, probing her every secret.
Or maybe there were no eyes. Maybe no one saw her, no one at all. No Servants. No Warseers. No Gods and no Masters. Just her and the walls and nothing else anywhere in all the galaxy.
She screamed. Her mind flashed—screaming in the fighting pits, calling on Divine Masters and Gods to see her kill. See her bleed. See her victorious. Now she never wanted to be seen again.
Sabira screamed until her throat burned out and her lungs tired, then kept on screaming until only strained, weak noises escaped. She collapsed face-first to the floor.
Slowly, she understood she was on a pyramid ship. These dull, pale walls should have felt comforting, normal, after all the bright colors and indulgent textures of the Vleez and the Embassy. This should have felt like home. She understood then what her home had always been, in truth. Home had been a cell. Home had been slavery.
She felt as if in some deep labyrinth of herself there was vital work begun but left unfinished. Key buttresses left incomplete and crossbeams unsecured. The whole labyrinth of her being quivered, threatened collapse.
If she died, it could all be over. Just one last death.
No, that’s when it begins. The start of an eternity, drifting in the cold, black vacuum. Forever barred from Heaven.
And if there is no Heaven? If this universe is only hells, one inside the other, for infinity? Why have hope, if it will only be cut down before you? Why have realization, if you’ll only ever know captivity and degradation?
Why anything at all?
Well, you do exist, so stop crying about it. Death is for the weak. You’re strong. You’ve always been strong. You’ve always survived. And now you have to keep on surviving. And to survive in the Holy Unity, you need to listen to me. Once those infidel drugs have worn off, you’ll be able to think straight again. You’ll listen to me then.
Just like before. Just like always.
Could she go back, could she forget? Embrace what she had purged? It wasn’t long ago. Days, a few weeks. So much had changed so quickly.
Sabira had no idea how much time had passed since she’d been thrown in quarantine. She couldn’t count how many glimpses of Torque, Zonte, and Playa formed in the corners of her vision before blinking away. How many of their whispers almost heard between each breath. Fluttering hallucinations had tricked and tormented her for so long that she began doubting that anything could be real. Maybe this quarantine cell was no more real than a vision of blue skies and river valleys. Maybe this was all just a test of the sacrament, and the Servants had never returned, never maimed Gabriel and recaptured them all, and in reality she lay on the Embassy floor, trembling with sacramental visions.
Maybe she had already died after all, and this was her hell, alone and screaming and insane for all eternity, forever shut out of Heaven for her betrayal.
“Sabira. Hey. Hey, it’s Orion.” His familiar voice was stretched and distorted into countless fragments.
“Please just stop,” she sobbed. “No more hallucinations. No more tricks. I can’t take it anymore.”
�
�No look, it’s me. Orion. Here. In the flesh. Or well, hologram.”
“Go away. Just let me die. Please. Let it stop.”
“Enough drama, Sabira. You’re having a bad trip. That’ll pass eventually, but I need you to get it together now. I need your help.”
Sabira pulled her gaze slightly up from the ball she’d curled herself into. Orion’s spiky-haired head floated in the middle of the room. “Are you real?” she whispered.
“As real as I’ve ever been,” he said. “For what it’s worth.”
“They’ll see you, then. They’ll know I’m not just talking to myself” A new wave of panic started boiling in her gut.
“Don’t glitch. It’s fine,” he said. “I took over the surveillance. Anybody watching will see the same thing they’ve been seeing. No one will know. Not until it’s too late at least. I hope.”
“I don’t understand. How?”
“It’s like this,” he said. “You and your military friends, you’re good at sneaking into cities and ships. I’m good at sneaking in, too. But different. I sneak into systems. And with this old antique, I didn’t even have to try. Remember, Constellation tech was all inspired by Slavers tech going way back. And talk about cultural stagnation; this biomech network looks like it’s barely advanced at all in, what, nineteen centuries. Pathetic.”
“Can you get us out?”
“What do you think I’m trying to do here? I figure Ed has about thirty hours, give or take. We need to get him to my ship. I finally cracked this bioweapon. It’s a good thing they don’t put as much effort into their firewalls as they do their germ warfare. That’s not the point, though. Thirty hours, that’s how much time we have, and I’m going to need your help. I’ll figure out the distraction, but I need you to round up the kids and get them back in time for dinner. The Shishiguchi is nice and close, and my stealth tech isn’t two thousand years out of date. They’ve got no idea.”
“The Warseers, the Servants, they’ll just come back. They always come back.”
“I’ve factored that into my timing. The Monarchy’s fleet will finally be here and ready to kick some theocratic ass just as you all should be leaving. Gabriel established some emergency comm channels when we set up the Embassy. I’ve been tickling their tendrils since your old friends showed up. Looks like the Monarchy pulled a feint of their own, drew their fleet way out. They should be here in about a day. Then it’s Monarchy versus Theocracy, and we sneak away to the Gates and get the hell out of here.”
Sabira hoped it could be true. They could really escape, even heal Edlashuul. To have hope of any kind felt dangerous, foolish, even. But if this wasn’t another trick . . .
You know it’s all lies. These foreigners have told you nothing but lies and twisted you around so much you even turned your back on the Gods. Don’t believe it. You know there’s no escape from the Unity. Divine Will cannot be stopped.
“How do I know you’re not an eon vision?” she asked. “Don’t give me false hope. If this is all a lie, it’s too godsdamned cruel. I’d rather die.”
“Stay strong, Sabira,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to come visit. Remember we need you.”
“But how can I know?”
“Someone’s coming. I’ve got to go.” And he was gone. Whether hallucination or hologram, there was nothing left to see.
From inside the wall, a hollow clang was followed by a series of clicking sounds before the door slid open. The grim, scarred face of Grandfather Spear looked down at her from the open doorway, one eye pale blue, one eye biomech gray.
“Star Father see me. Conqueror see me. I thought you were dead. I feared the vermin had . . .” Grandfather paused for a breath and studied her face. “My faith is always rewarded. I’ve missed you so much, Granddaughter. Gods beyond the Gates, it’s good to have you back.”
39.
“LOOK WHAT THEY’VE done to you. The infidels. It breaks my old heart, seeing you like this.” Grandfather Spear knelt down on one knee and placed a crisply folded uniform on the floor beside her. His uniform tunic left most of his thick arms bare. Crude, acid-melt scars, still pinkish and swollen, covered his skin there in webs of distorted flesh. The pain must have been agonizing, yet somehow he survived Glish and rejoined the Unity. Where she and Daggeira failed, he had prevailed. Like he always did.
Like he wants for you, whispered the splinter.
His presence tugged at her like gravity. She wanted to be strong and fierce and subservient, just as he had taught her to be. Sabira had always loved Grandfather, and always would, but now that love felt like a blade of ice knifed into her ribs. She rubbed absentmindedly at the scar across her breast.
Spear held a small cylinder in his right hand and uncapped it. The tip of the device ended in a small wriggling stinger. “The medics reported they found some exotic toxins in your blood. Said it would make you see things, perhaps even believe things that weren’t there. Must be some kind of brainwashing drug. This will help you with the withdrawal.”
His left hand cupped her chin, tilted her head to the side, and his right brought the cylinder to her exposed neck. The stinger probed her flesh, the needle-like tip scraping across her skin until it found the vein, and stabbed. It throbbed against her jugular as something cold injected into her blood.
“Their drugs will wear off soon,” he said. “In three or four shifts, you’ll be yourself again. Probably sooner.” He capped the spent stinger and placed the cylinder into a pouch on his belt.
Had he injected her with the same psychotoxins the eon had purged from her system over the last few days? Would it now, in turn, purge the eon’s “toxins” from her? She might lose whatever mysterious insight into herself she had gleaned from her eon experiences. But what really troubled her was the thought that the way she understood the world, how she understood herself even, was determined by little more than what chemicals coursed through her veins at the time.
“You’re aboard the Pyramid Zol-Ori,” he said. “The Ihvik-Ri is in orbit around the aku-vayk mines of Target Thirteen-Nine-Seven-dash-Seven-Three. It remains to be seen yet if the Pinnacle will have you absorbed into crew and task here or transferred back.”
This wasn’t her pyramid, then, but Grandfather’s ship. Pinnacle Urzdek Rab Izd’s ship. She laughed a little at the ironic taunt of it. The Pyramid Zol-Ori. It meant, “Seen by the Gods.” What a cruel joke.
It’s no joke, whispered the splinter. It’s a sign. The Gods see you. The Allseer knows your heart. Where do you think you can hide from Divine Will?
She looked up into his mismatched eyes, eyes she had looked up to all her life, and hoped to find some sign, unsure of what she was trying to see. The last traces of the sacrament continued to mutate her vision, uncoupling color from form. The tattoo glyphs covering Grandfather’s head slowly wriggled across the scarred alabaster of his face.
This is the man you owe everything to. This is the man who made you who you are. Listen to him. Do as he says, just as you’ve always done.
There was a comfort in that—the familiarity, the certainty, the love—and it pulled her heart to him. She was a little, nameless mine rat again, sitting at his knee, listening to stories of the Gods, stories of his conquests to spread their Will. The same stabbing blade of ice burned cold between her ribs again, jolting her from the comfortable memories.
“You must be unsettled right now, after everything that has happened,” he said. “The way those aliens drilled with your mind. Just remember, you’re safe now. You’re back with your own people. Back with me. And our mission is finally completed. The stolen khvazol have been returned, the agents of Trickster have been captured, and Target Planet Thirteen-Nine-Seven-dash-Four has been unified. Divine Will always prevails. Isn’t that right?”
Sabira knew she was supposed to respond, but her tongue felt thick and lifeless. Her attention was stolen by the squirming glyphs as they grew restless with grandfather’s face and began le
aping off, one by one, onto her own cheeks and brow. She could almost feel them burrowing into her skin.
“Divine Will always prevails. Isn’t that right, Servant Sabira?” he repeated.
“Yes. Yes, that’s right, Grandfa— Attendant Spear.” Her voice cracked, throat raw and dry. “Divine Will always prevails.”
A flash then, the splatter of Gabriel’s blood across her face. His dark, severed arms lying in shifting pools of shadow and blood. Grandfather Spear towering over them, the glint of his palukai’s blade reflecting myriad small fires.
“Child of my blood”—his large hand caressed her sweaty scalp—“I thought I had lost you back there. Thought your whole crew had passed beyond the Gates. Mother of Life sees us, and we are blessed. She brought us you and Daggeira both. We weren’t expecting to find you two there at all. Between her injuries and you being drugged, we got to you just in time. Did any others from your crew survive? First Drum Lance? Caller Arrow?”
“No.”
“The left arm?”
“I don’t know. I never saw them again. I was all alone. Was sure everyone was dead. I thought you were too.”
“For a moment there, I thought I was as well. I was burned. Badly. I lost my stick. Never lose your stick. I was closing in on our target when a sentry popped out of nowhere. So I ran. Found a place to hide, an old cellar. We have intel. The scanners on those sentries are calibrated for surface probes. They can penetrate somewhat through building walls but not so well underground. “I had a few extra doses of breathers. When the Unity forces made planetfall, the Vleez signal-jamming was taken out. I made contact and was lifted out to the Zol-Ori within a few hours.”
“So close,” Sabira said, little more than a whisper. “We were so close. Daggs and I followed your trail. We were injured, too. She was really bad. Our breathers wore off. Her backup oxygen was gone. We found the target by accident. We were just looking for a place to hide. I thought we were going to die, too, choking. We were so close. And then they found us. They . . .”
Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven Part 4: Sacrificial Altars (Shattered Gates Volume 1 Part 4) Page 1