War of the Bastards

by Andrew Shvarts

  I didn’t get it, but Lyriana did. “It’s a history,” she said. “The history of the Titans. Look.” She stared up at the first panel, which showed a ray of light descending from a starry sky with a giant nude figure within. “‘The Titans came from the heavens above,’” she said reverently, and even a skeptic like me knew that was the first line of scripture. “‘From the stars beyond the sky.’”

  “Look at the next one,” Ellarion said. This one showed a map of the continent, not that different from the one we’d plotted our route on, except it was floating and made of light and so detailed you could make out trees swaying in forests and clouds drifting over mountaintops. Two dots on it glowed red: one in a sprawl of grassy plains I knew were the Heartlands, and the other down here, in the Red Wastes. “Two Titan cities. Lightspire, and another. Here. Where we are now.” He shook his head. “All this time we thought we were chosen…and there was a whole second Titan city just to the south.” He let out a noise that was maybe a laugh, if a laugh could be deeply sad. “There was nothing special about us at all.”

  “You should probably keep looking,” Zell said. His eyes were on the third panel, and when I saw this one, I actually gasped. It showed people, humans, undeniably our ancestors, dressed in clothes that were little more than rags. And it showed what the Titans had done to them. It showed the humans dragging huge stones across the plains, laboring away with hoes and shovels in fields of grain, mining deep in dark, damp mines. I saw faces slick with sweat, backs straining from yokes, bleeding hands and weeping eyes. And everywhere our ancestors labored, the Titans stood behind them, watching, judging, not with malice or cruelty but with that awful smiling calm.

  “No,” Lyriana gasped, and I felt sick. I’d heard the slaves theory before, back when I’d been going through my questioning phase. But it was one thing to hear the theory, and another to see it so vividly.

  “It’s as I said!” Trell cried. “The Nightmother and her siblings! They enslaved us! For centuries and centuries!” He jabbed a finger at the image accusingly. “You see? You see it now?”

  The next pane showed the fruits of their labor: a Godsblade, erected in the earth, and a city springing up around it like ivy: first buildings of wood and stone, then structures of metal and glass, and finally dozens and dozens of towers of shimmersteel. The Godsblade itself grew taller and taller as levels were built below it, turning it into the majestic spire it became, surrounded by a city of wonder. An image of a Titan appeared before it, as tall as the building itself, a moving statue made of glowing light that loomed over all the city’s denizens. No wonder we thought they were gods.

  But it was the next panel that really caught my eye. It showed a series of images, flickering, flashing, almost too fast to follow. I saw what looked like a battlefield from above, as armies of Titans surged toward each other. I saw fire raining from the sky onto a tower, the tower I’m pretty sure we were in, colossal meteors of searing orange that flattened the city around it, that burned the jungles to cinders, that left only charred sand. And then I saw the streets of an undemolished city, Lightspire, but things weren’t looking great there, either. The Titans collapsed to their knees, clutched at their throats, tore at their faces. Thick white blood streamed down their cheeks as their eyes melted in their skulls.

  “A war,” Zell mused. “Between the two cities. Fire and plague, the magic of destruction.”

  “They killed each other,” Lyriana said, and I could hear the exact moment her faith broke. “There was no Ascendance. No great vision for mankind. No purpose. No point. Just more war and death, forever.”

  “Nothing ever changes,” my father whispered.

  “There’s another panel,” Syan said, and she was right. This was off to the side, a little disconnected from the others, and if the last panel of war had been hard to follow, this one was incomprehensible. I saw raging fires and trembling earth, pulsing storm clouds and surging rivers. I saw a flickering rune that looked just like Lyriana’s, and I saw an endless procession of screaming faces. It was chaos, total chaos, like looking into the last few seconds of a nightmare.

  “My dream,” Syan whispered. “This is my dream. This right here. All of it. How?”

  “Maybe it’s a—” Ellarion began, but he never got to finish his sentence, because right then the Titan in the throne sat up and opened its eyes.

  THE NIGHTMOTHER’S EYES WERE BLUE, an impossible icy blue like the depths of the hottest flame, full of color with no iris or pupils. She craned her head up toward us with an odd stiffness, and I could hear the crunch of her bones, like someone cracking their knuckles, if their knuckles were their whole body. The pipe, cable, whatever, that had been hooked into the base of her skull fell limp to the ground, and she drew her massive pale hands out from the grooves on the throne.

  I screamed and staggered back, stopped from sprinting only by Zell grabbing my shoulder. Trell collapsed onto the ground, and Lyriana raised her hands, defensively. But the Nightmother barely seemed to notice. She rose up to her feet slowly, one cable detaching at a time, and rolled her head across her shoulders with a stretch. Standing up, she was so much scarier than sitting down, her massive frame towering over us, her enormous alabaster body shining bright in the light from the panels. There was this air about her, an aura of utter power and indifference. She took a step forward, and as her bare foot hit the shimmersteel floor the lights in the room turned on, casting the whole chamber in a faint bluish glow.

  At last, the Nightmother saw us. She froze in place, her head tilting very slightly as she took in the sight of our party huddled together. Her expression didn’t change; I’m not sure it could change. But there was something in her manner that I read as confusion.

  Then she spoke. Spoke isn’t really the right word, though. Her lips didn’t move, and there was no sound. She just stared at us, her eyes blazing blue, and a voice sounded in our heads, reverberating around the inside of our skulls, a rumbling deep voice that boomed within us.

  Who are you? she asked. What is the meaning of this?

  “Die, demon!” Trell screamed. He moved fast, too fast for any of us to stop him. With a shriek, he whipped a small knife out of a hidden sheath in his boot and rushed forward.

  The Nightmother didn’t move. Her hands lay still at her sides. But her eyes flicked to him, just the slightest bit.

  Trell froze mid-stride. He jerked up off his feet, into the air, a terrified look on his face, hanging like a marionette. And then…he crumpled. It was like he was being squeezed by a giant invisible fist, crushed like a wad of paper in someone’s hands. With a sickening crunch and a spray of blood in all directions, his whole body caved in on itself until it was a fleshy lump about the size of a watermelon. Then the Nightmother flicked her hand, bored, and what was left of Trell went flying, tossed to the side like a piece of garbage, leaving a long wet streak across the chamber’s floor.

  Syan screamed and Ellarion jerked back. Zell threw up a fist, the gesture for freeze. “No. One. Move,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Don’t try anything.”

  The Nightmother swiveled back to regard him, and then she noticed Lyriana. Well, more specifically, she noticed the orb of Light hovering next to her. Finally, she seemed interested. How are you doing that? she demanded. Explain yourself.

  “The…the Light?” Lyriana asked, still staring at the horrifying remains of Trell. “It’s magic. An Art.”

  Magic, the Titan repeated, like she was tasting the word. No. That should be impossible. You can’t use the Deep Magic. You’re just apes.

  “Apes?” I asked, because I had to.

  The Nightmother ignored me, focused entirely on Lyriana. Prove it. Make another. Now.

  “Uh, okay.” Lyriana raised a trembling hand, turning it over in a simple circle. A second orb appeared, this one duller than the first, but burning nonetheless.

  The Nightmother stared at it for some time, and then she laughed, and that was the worst of all, a rumbling thundering laugh mocking m
e from within my own mind. Oh, remarkable. Utterly remarkable. Apes using the Deep Magic. Whenever you think you have everything figured out, the universe still finds a way to surprise you.

  She turned away and raised her hand, her seven fingers bending into an incredibly complex form; I noticed, for the first time, that each had an extra knuckle. Behind her, the blackened ember that was this place’s Heartstone gave off the faintest light, its exterior quaking like the surface of a lake when there’s a distant tremor.

  Then images appeared. They were like mirrors, I guess, or windows, squares of light, hanging in the air all around us, bright blue and just a little translucent. Some showed pictures of the desert outside, while others were covered in arcane runes and symbols, flickering as they streamed down like droplets of rain on a pane of glass. I had no idea what was going on, but I could tell this was magic on a whole other level, a mastery worlds beyond what any human could do. The Nightmother waved her hands, beckoning one pane closer, and examined it. Seven hundred and seventy-eight years. Far too soon to be woken. Yet I am awake nonetheless.

  Awake? Was that the difference between this and the chamber we’d found in Lightspire? That had been a crypt, a place to preserve the dead, and this was a chamber for the living? Were all the other Titans around us just…asleep?

  I didn’t like that at all.

  The Nightmother waved her hand, ushering the square in front of her away. Why are you here?

  “You called me here,” Syan said. She had dropped to her knees, her head bowed in deference, which I think the Nightmother found amusing. “You sent me the dreams. You warned of Zastroya. You asked me to come find you.”

  I did no such thing, the Nightmother said, then turned curiously to examine more of the glowing panels behind her. Ah. Yes. I enchanted those to send my story out for any of my kind who survived the war. But your minds should never have been able to receive their message. She paused, thoughtful. Unless your minds changed. Unless the residual energy altered your capacity for magic. She moved her hands again, and they spun on her wrists in a way that made no sense, full 360-degree rotations. I felt a warmth pass over me, and Syan let out a little gasp. There it is, the Nightmother said. Will wonders never cease? There were none left who could do magic…so the magic created those who could use it. She clapped her hands, and the screens vanished, leaving her burning blue eyes boring right into us. How many are there like you?

  We all looked at each other uneasily, like maybe this wasn’t something we should answer. “Mages?” Lyriana said at last. “I mean, hundreds. Thousands if you count the bloodmages and the Torchbearers.”

  No. Too many. Far too many. The panels behind the Nightmother dimmed, and I swear she was getting taller. Have the earthquakes started again?

  “There have been earthquakes, yes,” Ellarion said. “Getting worse and worse. But what does that have to do with—”

  Then it has already begun, she cut in, and it really sounded like was she getting angry. History repeats itself. First the earthquakes. Then the firestorms. The seas rise, the skies burst. And for all we sacrificed, for all we gave, this world will be lost to darkness.

  “Zastroya!” Syan exclaimed, sounding almost relieved. “The Storm That Will Consume the World. It is real. You were trying to warn me. Nightmother, I heard your call!”

  Night…mother? she repeated, at once incredulous and condescending. Oh, you pathetic apes. You took the distress signals I sent out and your mushy brains turned them into what? Myth? Legend? She took a step toward us now. I was scared, that kind of deep bone-level scared where you can’t even scream or run, you just sit there, frozen, desperately wanting it to be over. Foolish creatures. Your minds can’t begin to comprehend what’s happening. You end the world without even understanding what you’re doing!

  The air around us pulsed with gathering energy, and the Titan’s hands clenched tight, shimmering with surging heat. Lyriana stepped forward, head held high, but I could see her knees trembling, her hands shaking, the fear behind her bold gaze. “Great Titan,” she said. “I am Lyriana Ellaria Volaris, true Queen of Noveris. I do not claim to understand what’s happening here. It’s obvious that much of our understanding has been…misinformed.” Her eyes flitted to the panel showing the enslaved workers, but her expression didn’t waver. “But I can tell you that we came here because we want to prevent whatever catastrophe it is that you’re describing. We want to save this world from ourselves.” She took another step forward, and that was maybe the bravest thing I’d ever seen anyone do. “We come as your allies.”

  My allies, the Nightmother repeated, glancing down at her. Her expression hadn’t changed even once since she’d stood up, still that placid smiling mask, but I was starting to read her body language. She looked curious. Perhaps you do offer something of value. Perhaps this problem and its solution are one. I could smell something in the air, a dusty chemical scent like the floor of an apothecary. You pledge to me your service, little Queen? You vow to carry out my will?

  “Could we maybe find out what your will is first?” I blurted out.

  The Nightmother jerked her head up to stare through me, and oh boy did I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. You ask for understanding? Yes. You will perform better with knowledge. She gestured back toward the panels with an open hand, her seven fingers unfurling like an anemone. You saw the Wall of History?

  “We saw that you came from the stars,” my father said, and even though his voice was calm and affectless, I tensed up. “We saw that you enslaved our ancestors.”

  Yes, the Nightmother said, with absolutely zero indication she saw anything wrong with that. Through their labor, we built two great cities: Kaichkul, here, and Veshtanar to the north. Through their labor, we built the Great Towers. And through their labor, we forged our greatest achievement: the Heartstones. She glanced over her shoulder at the massive black slab, glowing with only the faintest light, and was that a hint of real sadness?

  The Heartstones granted us magic, the means to bend the rules of physics and usher in an era of true wonder. Through them, we transcended our original bodies, and adopted these perfect forms. We outgrew hunger and pain and want. We created paradise.

  “And yet?” my father asked.

  And yet, our actions carried a terrible price. We saw, too late, what happens to a world when its very reality becomes unraveled. The Nightmother glanced down. It started with earthquakes. Then storms, surging from the seas, swallowing the coast. Then the mountains began to slide, and the forests began to rot, and we realized, truly, the damage we’d done.

  “You caused Zastroya,” Syan said, a hand over her mouth.

  We began it, the Nightmother said. A world can only sustain being bent for so long before it breaks. It was clear the two great cities could not keep using magic. One of them would have to stop. And yet those fools in Veshtanar would not listen.

  “You went to war,” Zell said. “Neither of you would give up your magic. So you slaughtered each other over it.”

  I had thought they would see sense when they saw the superior numbers of my army. But those cowards sank even lower than I could imagine. The ground below her feet trembled, little motes of dust rising to dance at her ankles, and a few tiny sparks of flame flicked around her hands. Their mages unleashed the rain of fire on my city, on my civilians, defenseless, unarmed. They destroyed it. They killed thousands. This room, this scattered few, huddled here in the safety of the tower, are all that remain.

  “And you retaliated,” my father said.

  Oh yes, the Nightmother replied with an uncomfortable amount of relish. I had a weapon of my own. A plague that fed on magical energy, that ate away flesh it had touched. My eyes darted toward that mural with all the dead Titans, their skin sliding off their bones like a layer of curdled milk. And I unleashed it on the world.

  “You killed all of them. All the Titans who lived in Lightspire.”

  In the world, the Nightmother clarified. I annihilated my own kind. With one simpl
e act, I murdered nearly a hundred thousand of my kin. I saved the planet, saved my kind and yours. I made the only right choice. I served the greater good. I— She stopped, collecting herself. The other survivors and I sealed ourselves in here. We put ourselves into a deep sleep, intending to emerge in a thousand years, when the plague would fade away, and the land would be safe to settle again.

  And yet here I find myself, awakened too early, and for all my efforts, the continent is threatened yet again, she said, and it was unnerving how calm she sounded about it. You miserable apes have accessed the Heartstones, and you abuse them, pushing them to collapse, straining them until they break and unleash world-rending chaos.

  “The bloodmages,” my father said. “In just one year, Miles created hundreds of new ones. That must be what’s causing the earthquakes.”

  “Then Syan’s visions were right,” I added. “The bloodmages…Miles…they’re tearing the world apart.”

  “Zastroya,” Syan said. And in a way, it was only fitting, the final awful turn of the knife to cap off all the horrors that had come before. Miles ruined everything he touched, destroyed everything he came near. Of course he’d somehow find a way to put the whole world at risk.

  The enormity of it sank in, stunning us into silence. All of us except Lyriana. “So we really were nothing to you,” she said.

  You were useful, the Nightmother replied. As you are useful now. Together, we may yet stop this.

  “How?” Syan demanded. “How do we stop Zastroya?”

  Your little mages are widespread, but they are still weak, delicate. Nothing compared to my kind. The Nightmother’s hands darted through the air, faster than my eyes could follow, and the glowing panes whirled around her, flickering and pulsing, strange runes and numbers scrolling down their surfaces. I can grant you my power. The power to truly use the Heartstones, the power to target and cull. She extended her hand, and something hovered above her palm, a pale yellow crystal turning slowly in the air. As I wiped out the threat among my people…so you can do the same to yours.