Forever After (Post Apocalyptic Romance Boxed Set)

by Rose Francis

She was paralyzed but could still feel, could still see. It seemed a cruel trick of nature. Surely it was easier to render her unconscious? Why would the myriad have such venom?

  Lucia braced herself for whatever came next—resigned to death upon the sands—when an eerie howl shivered over the sands. A wolf’s howl, she was sure. But there were no desert wolves out here.

  The myriad hesitated, afraid. The spiders left off their cocooning of her limbs to rush together into man shapes, and then again into the massive house-sized spider. The creature’s waving mandibles tasted the air. Its legs twitched as it looked around.

  The howl sounded again, closer. The spider’s reaction was intense. It fled at terrible speed, fast as her dive bike, down into the shadowed valleys of the ravine.

  There’s something worse out here. Worse than an army of spiders.

  The sand under Lucia shifted slightly as something approached from behind her. She wanted to turn, to roll over, to at least see what was going to devour her before it happened.

  Into her field of vision came a white wolf, larger than a man. Nearly as big as a horse, it stared at her with bright, intelligent eyes. Blue runes were tattooed in the beast’s skin, standing out amongst the fine pale fur. Swirls marked its shoulders, hips, and paws. The wolf bent and sniffed at her face, before licking her forehead gently.

  The beast sat upon its haunches, looking like a pet desiring a game of fetch. Then the air hazed like a heat mirage and where the wolf had been was now an old man dressed in dirty robes. He was bald with thick white eyebrows and a beard that hid his mouth like a mask. He had sad eyes and a thin, bent body.

  “That was a close one,” he laughed, his face lighting up with mirth.

  Foxtail emerged from the dunes, sand streaming off her scowling face. “General Conwynne?”

  “Yes, yes,” he nodded. “Help me lift these two onto this contraption. That was but a portion of the myriad’s power. It cannot abide a challenger. It will gather its full strength and return soon. We best be gone before then.”

  Foxtail grunted and slung Triptongue over her shoulder while Conwynne sliced the thick webs off Lucia’s body with a clawed finger.

  “I cannot relieve you of the venom, child. But I can make the journey more pleasant.” He bowed his head to hers, pressing their foreheads together and she felt the ground fall away as sleep mercifully took her.

  “You look just like your mother.”

  Lucia awoke with a start. The old man sat at her side in an old-styled house. Runes inscribed on the windows pulsed gently, repelling danger and vermin. Foxtail slumbered on the floor, tail gently swaying. Triptongue was sprawled on a long thin table, his wide flat feet hanging off the edge.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Quite a while. The hunter’s venom is quite strong and they rather overdid it on you.”

  Lucia tried to sit up but found her arms had the strength of boiled grass.

  “I can understand why, though. They must have sensed the alpha in you.”

  Lucia snorted. “There’s no alphas left.”

  General Conwynne raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  With a start she remembered his wolf form. He actually shifted. No one could shift anymore.

  “How did you do that?”

  “The Suzerain thought he killed all the alphas, but some remain. In hiding. We are old though, out of practice. Working our arts in secret.” The old man studied her, as if deciding how much he could say.

  “Is that what you do out here?”

  He nodded, lifted a sweet tea to her lips. It was hot and every sip restored more strength to her flesh. “Great evil lives in the ravine. The hunter you saw is the least of it. I have made it my mission to see that none of it escapes to ravage our fragile world.” He tapped the tea cup. “Also, there are stores of supplies in the depths of those buildings untouched all these years. They may have broken the world, but those ancient peoples had fantastic taste in tea.” He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in merriment.

  “You fight monsters and loot the ruins?”

  “And bring medicine to those what need it.” He agreed. “And watch over you.”

  “Me?”

  “I knew your mother. And your father. They were great alphas in their day. Amongst the strongest ever.”

  Lucia couldn’t help herself, she laughed at the crazy old man. “My parents weren’t alphas. They were merchants, working for my uncle. They were traders.”

  “Your uncle,” Conwynne growled. “Is that what he told you? Yes, he would, wouldn’t he? What a threat you must be to him. Intelligent, yes. But with a good heart as well. He must know that it’s just a matter of time until you see his evil for what it is and rise to stop him. He must have plans for that. Men lying in wait with silver-tipped spears. Perhaps a marriage to a distant lord, to keep you out of his hair? Yes? He sees you as a great tool, unimaginably useful, but too dangerous to wield. Though he is tempted. How sorely he is tempted.”

  A shiver shook Lucia. She knew the old man’s words for truth. Her uncle was an evil, controlling man. And had she the power, she would stop him. Overturn his empire and bend his machines to some nobler purpose.

  “But here I am, nattering on like the old fool I am. Tell me, young lady, what brings you and these foxes out to the edge of the ravine?”

  Lucia sat up, took the tea from the general. Prickles ran up and down her body like the feet of ten thousand spiders. “We came looking for you, actually. Or rather, Foxtail did. I was looking for her.”

  “Foxtail? Is that the name she calls herself these days?

  “You know her?”

  “Oh yes, yes. We were acquainted in our youths, fighting against the Suzerain back when he was just a cagey northern warlord. No one suspected his true power, you see. He hid it very well. Lured the entire council of alphas into a trap and seized control of the wastes.”

  Lucia knew a version of the story. The greatest alphas who ever lived, chasing a rogue shifter across the sands of the wastes, the fields of the plains, the peaks of the mountains. Vanishing one by one until only the Suzerain remained.

  “Foxtail had a message for you. An amulet thing and a crystal claw.”

  “A crystal claw? How unusual. Please, let me see it.”

  Lucia fished the claw out of her pouch, desperately glad that it hadn’t been lost during the spider attack. With the way the sands shifted near the ravine, it could have been lost for a thousand years. Conwynne took the claw, turned it over in his palm reading the engravings closely.

  “A message like this is difficult to craft. It must be quite important.”

  “It’s from a prince.” Lucia blushed as she thought of his handsome face.

  “You have come all this way,” the General said, “shall we view it together?”

  He took her hand in his. A sense of well-being flowed into her, of family, of protection. The old man held the claw up to the light.

  “Focus on the depths. Fall into the light.”

  “I’ve already seen the message.”

  “Oh? That is very impressive. Only a true alpha can see the memories locked within.” He laughed. “Please, humor an old man and look again.”

  This time was different.

  It was as if Lucia leapt into the claw, as if she was bodily in the room with the prince. Holding her hand was General Conwynne, eyes alert under his fluffy eyebrows.

  “It has been too long, old friend. I trust my loyal servants have found you well and in good health. There is a terrible danger coming and I need your help to stop. General Conwynne, we need your help.” The room they were in was round and narrow, with views stretching across the horizon. Endless mountains, topped with snow, huddled in the distance. The prince stood in a tower then, a table with hastily sketched maps before him.

  “The Suzerain has perfected some dread new magic. I have not seen it in action as yet, but I have witnessed the aftermath. An entire village laid waste. Two thousand lives snuffed out, the
bodies dropped where they stood like puppets with their strings cut. I saw no signs of violence, but the tread of his soldiers was clear. They’d surrounded the village—Springsteel, it was—with a force of men to ensure no one left alive. Then the weapon was activated. They died so suddenly that none even ran. No panic at all. It was a message for us, that I’m certain of. Springsteel had provided weapons for us, armor. The Suzerain’s attack on them was an attack on us. And I fear who he shall target next. We’ve bent the knee to him, but he knows we still resist. It’s only a matter if time before he attempts to crush us again.”

  Lucia stood dumbstruck. There was so much more to the message, so much she hadn’t seen.

  “My loyal servant has found you and she brings the slightest hope with her. The Suzerain’s diplomats are here now, negotiating new taxes and levies. They have an army with them and I’m fairly certain they mean to capture me alive as a bargaining chip. Foxtail managed to steal an amulet that is a key to the Suzerain’s flying fortress. It’s from this ship the weapon emanates. It’s the seat of his power, as well. None but an alpha could sneak in without his knowledge. And you, my dear friend, are the last alpha I know. Please help us. Please take the key and stop the Suzerain from unleashing his slaughter on any more innocents. I beg of you, General Conwynne. Only you can save us.”

  The message ended with a wink, sending Lucia’s mind tumbling back to her body. Conwynne stood by one of his runed windows, the red lines of power ebbing and flowing with light, casting shifting shadows across his thoughtful face.

  Dread crept into Lucia’s chest, smothering her like a too-warm blanket in the summer. “You’re going to go after them, aren’t you.”

  “Oh, yes. I expect I must.” The old man muttered, his gaze unfocused but still directed on the sands outside the windows.

  She was on the verge of tears. “Okay, I get it. My part is done. I brought you the foxes and the message and the key. Now I can go back to my uncle’s and . . . ” Lucia buried her face in her hands. She was so close. So close! To escaping, to getting away from the baron’s miserable, disreputable existence. Dying nobly fighting the Suzerain would be so much better a life than living under the baron’s thumb for the rest of her years. Escape had been so near, and here it was slipping through her fingers. They didn’t need her anymore. They had Conwynne, last of the alphas.

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “I’ve done what I had to. I’ll just slow you down.”

  “Do you want to stay behind? To go back to that vicious gangster you call uncle?”

  “Well, no.”

  Conwynne frowned at her. “Then it is settled. You’ll come with us. An invaluable member of the expedition, I expect. How else can we begin your training, hmm?” The old shifter turned to address the curled up sleeping foxes. “What say you, Foxtail? Yes, I know you’re awake.”

  “Has promise,” the woman muttered.

  “You will never find a better spy than Foxtail, my lady, but as a conversationalist she leaves something to be desired.”

  Lucia sat on the roof of Conwynne’s modest home, staring out at the yawning gulf of the ravine while the old man packed for their trip. It was tight quarters in his home, and she quickly grew tired of moving every five seconds so the man could search another drawer, move another pile of books, lift another floorboard to search for some hidden treasure.

  The desert wind whipped sand into her face, but with her goggles down and her scarf up, it was no bother at all. How long would the house last with Conwynne gone? Would the sands scour it away, or would it become the home to some terrible predator? Without his presence, would the terrors of the ravine surface? What then of her uncle, of her home? He may have been an evil man, but those that worked for him weren’t all terrible. There were kind souls in his employ. Men and women who worked the mines, who cooked. Even some of his criminal associates weren’t bad men. They were just unlucky, forced into a life they didn’t want by circumstances outside their control.

  Would the myriad come for them? Creeping nearly invisible across the dunes as a sea of spiders, it could pass undetected. The fence was designed to keep away men and beasts. Spiders could walk right through it. Lucia imagined the myriad shifting into its largest form, ripping the house apart. A spike of fear stabbed at her.

  For a moment she could feel the fear as if it was a tangible thing, a burning rope she could grasp and pull. But then it was gone.

  Foxtail crawled under the dive bike, tools strapped to her chest. The only time that woman didn’t scowl was when she tinkered with something. Triptongue knelt beside her, speaking to her in a quick chirp. The wind stole his words from Lucia’s ears. But the fox man’s fear was plain to see.

  “Lucia,” Conwynne hollered. “Come on down here. I’ve something for you.”

  Lucia climbed down the ladder into the cool closeness of Conwynne’s home. Drawers stood open everywhere. The man was ransacking his own goods. She peeked into the bedroom, into the kitchen. But he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Conwynne?” she called. “General?”

  A hatch in the floor slid open. It had been seamlessly disguised as the wooden floor. “I’m not a general any more. Haven’t been for ages. Now come down here. There’s a gift waiting for you.”

  The hatch led to a wide cavern, or as Lucia realized as her eyes adjusted, a storage area of some sort. The walls and floor were of rough poured concrete, not unlike her favorite hill back home. But this building stood strong. The years had not toppled it. Metal shelves taller than she could reach lined the walls. And on those shelves were boxes. Hundreds, maybe thousands of boxes.

  “What is this place?”

  “You are looking at the last records of the council of alphas. I spirited them away in a sandship before they fell into the wrong hands. As well as being the last of the alphas, I am also their librarian, it would seem.”

  Lucia’s heart raced as a question came to her. “Do you have a photo of my parents?”

  Conwynne startled. “Oh my, that hadn’t even occurred to me. You see, most of these records require special devices to read. They aren’t just books or paper. When the council set down their knowledge, they intended it to last forever. It’s possible your parents are in here somewhere,” he swept his arm, indicating the rows that stretched on into darkness, “but I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “I see.” Lucia’s heart fell.

  “And anyways, we have little time. The prince would not have sent his favorite servants if he was not in dire circumstances.”

  “So what did you want to show me?” Lucia snapped. Conwynne failed to notice the irritation in her voice.

  “Take this lantern. Follow me. What I have for you is at the rear wall, hidden behind some debris. It should take but a moment to clear it.”

  Dust lay thick on the floor. It had been some time since Conwynne had been down to his records room. What had the man been up to all these years? Was his plan just to hide in obscurity until he died?

  At the far wall the general shoved aside a pile of bent and dented shelves to reveal a gleaming row of silver swords. Each was different. The shortest was the length of a long dagger, its hilt shaped like a roaring bear. The longest was taller than Lucia, and as broad as she was wide. Grooves traced a path from tip to handle, inscribed with ancient prayers.

  “Are these glaives?”

  “Very good,” Conwynne said. “Tell me what you know of them.”

  “I’ve heard stories. Fairy tales, I thought, about magic swords the old alphas carried. Swords that focused their will, that could slay any beast.” Lucia reached out, ran a finger down the flatness of one of the weapons. The silver made her finger itch. “I’ve seen traders hawking glaives to my uncle, but they didn’t look these. They were crude things, like lengths of rebar dipped in silver.”

  Conwynne stepped forward, lifted a middle-sized blade from the case. The blade was a handspan wide at the tip, but narrowed to half as much at the hilt. Runes etched
darkly in the surface showed a pack of wolves charging as one under the moon. “The glaive is as much science as it is magic. There is nothing else like them in the world. The lore of their creation is forever lost to us. Silver is a soft metal. She does not want to be made into weapons. But the first alpha knights were also the last true men. They had not yet forgotten the secrets of their civilization. Their knowledge of metal working, of smithing, was peerless. They bound the silver with other alloys, embedded machines within the sword itself to aid control and balance. The glaives have a memory, child. They remember the hands that held them.”

  The old man stepped away into the darkness, but the glaive in his hand emitted an eerie light. He snapped the blade up into a guard, then spun, slashing and parrying at the air, evading imaginary blows while fighting through an army made only of memories. When he moved, he looked fifty years younger. As if the glaive preserved a piece of him forever.

  “Receiving your glaive—after years of practice with a master—was the final step in an alpha knight’s training. This was my sword. I named her scath mharu, or Shadowkiller.” The old man’s eyes unfocused as he stared at the blade. What memories haunted him? “It was forged at the fall of man. Mine is only the latest grip to hold it.”

  Lucia turned to the case. Nine glaives hung there, awaiting her. One of them called to her, like a song heard once as a child and then again on a winter’s eve. She touched each of the grips in turn, wondering at her fate. She’d trained with her uncle’s guards in combat as much as he’d allowed, but swords were beyond her skill. Stick them with the pointy end and don’t get killed, was the extent of her knowledge. Did she want a long sword, a short one? One of them had a wicked hook protruding from the handle that she was sure she’d gut herself with if she tried to fight with it.

  “I can’t decide. They’re all beautiful, but they feel so unlike me.”

  “None call to you?”

  “Something calls. Like a melody on the wind, but the source is not these swords.”

  Conwynne nodded. “There is another you may consider. I’d forgotten it until just now.” He vanished into the depths, rummaging through boxes until he returned with an oiled canvas bundle the length of Lucia’s arm. He knelt as if praying, closed his eyes for a moment, and then unwrapped the bundle.