“It’s…nothing,” a familiar voice spoke from behind him.
He turned, and with a smile, extended his hand to Ereshkigal, Inanna’s elder sister. “It could be something.”
“There isn’t even any life down there. The land has scarcely emerged from the ocean. The air is poison. Where are we to live?”
“You can live here, with me. Is it so uncomfortable here on the Dalkhu Libbu?” Arman drew her into his arms, holding her close until the tightness melted from her shoulders, until she leaned against him, the curve of her body molding to his.
“Not if you’re on it, but do you really intend to remain on this ship?” Ereshkigal asked.
“Someone has to protect the Tiamat. Inanna insists, and I agree with her, that it would be too dangerous to land the Tiamat, with its vast stores of aether, on the nascent planet. The planet is too unstable, and we don’t know how it could react with the presence of aether. But neither can we just leave the Tiamat in orbit, unguarded.”
“You don’t really think that the Aldebarans will pursue us here?”
“To retrieve the aether? I think they would go to the ends of the universe for it.” From the expansive view on the bridge, they watched in silence as the smaller starships carrying the Beltiamatu, the race of people Inanna created to serve the family of An, traveled toward the planet.
“They will not find the planet welcoming,” Ereshkigal murmured.
“The oceans are ready for life, even if the land is not,” Arman said. “We’ll survive, Ereshkigal.”
“No thanks to Inanna,” Ereshkigal retorted. She disentangled herself from Arman, too much on edge to be calmed by his embrace. “It was Inanna’s fault. Our people feared the repercussions of her actions and cast us all out. She killed Tiamat, and why? Just to prove that she could take on the galactic dragon? And the demon prince? How did he offend her to justify her, literally, taking his heart?”
“By attempting to mate with her against her will?” Arman shrugged. “Inanna is reckless, but she will not be turned into a plaything, nor will she allow herself to be manipulated. That is admirable.”
Ereshkigal stared at the planet, but Arman doubted that she actually saw anything. She folded her arms across her chest, and in that moment, she seemed desperately alone. Intensely vulnerable. “She wants you.”
Arman turned his face away. The last place he wanted to be was between two sisters. “She’s told you that she doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”
“Just because you’re Beltiamatu instead of Illojim?” Ereshkigal flung her arm out. “Who cares about that? The Beltiamatu were created in our image, to serve us. Why would we not find you attractive, even worthy?” She scowled. “Inanna’s trying to cast doubt in my mind. If I turn away from you, she’ll sink her claws into you.”
“Give me credit for knowing my own mind,” Arman said simply. He extended his arms to Ereshkigal. “I know who I love. And it is not Inanna.”
“Inanna has always done as she wished. She has always taken what she’s wanted.”
“She loves you. Respects you,” Arman told Ereshkigal. “Whatever she feels about me or imagines she wants from me, I do not think she will hurt you.”
“You’re the only one who attributes to her more self-control than she has.”
“Maybe I’m the only one who trusts her to do the right thing when it matters most.”
The deep furrow on Ereshkigal’s forehead smoothed, and she drew a deep breath. When she exhaled, her shoulders relaxed. “I should go down to the planet. Who knows what Inanna will do down there if left to her own devices. The heavens forbid she give the Beltiamatu fish tails. Will you prepare a shuttle for me?”
Arman nodded, placing the palm of his hand upon the ship’s control panel. His thoughts flowed through the Dalkhu Libbu. In the hanger, a shuttle lowered from its docking station and moved smoothly across the smooth floor, propelled by his will. The dim lights within the shuttle brightened to a welcoming glow; the cool interior warmed into Ereshkigal’s preferred temperature. Arman turned to Ereshkigal. “Your shuttle’s waiting.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Inanna can have the planet and everything on it. I’ll come back to you once I make certain your kin are comfortably settled. We’ll make our home on the Dalkhu Libbu together.”
From the bridge of the Dalkhu Libbu, Arman watched the shuttle streak toward the small planet. Home, he turned the word over in his mind. And yet, it was not home, not in the way the Dalkhu Libbu was. The bridge, located in the upper right atrium of the heart, could have accommodated a giant three times his height. The ventricles, which served as hangers for other starships, were even larger. The corridors of Dalkhu Libbu—tiny veins and arteries that crisscrossed the heart—made for convoluted paths through the ship, but he knew his way well and could navigate his ship blindfolded.
The Dalkhu Libbu, however, was dwarfed by the Tiamat, which hovered like a celestial dragon over the planet. Orichalcum gilded its bones, and adamantine shaped its hull into a memory of its former, terrifying self. It was the largest Illojim ship, and carried within its cavernous belly Inanna’s precious, vast stores of aether.
The aether was more than Inanna needed, more than any planet, indeed any galaxy needed, but Inanna had refused to leave even a speck behind. She could be spiteful, even vengeful, when offended, and Inanna had been more than offended by her people’s revolt against, and murder of, her father.
Now she was on a nascent planet, accompanied by all the Beltiamatu, but two—Arman aboard the Dalkhu Libbu and Marduk on board the Tiamat. With her penchant for transforming life to suit her whims, who knew what Inanna would do to the planet, or to the Beltiamatu. Ereshkigal, however, would temper the worst of Inanna’s excesses. The bond between the sisters was deeper and stronger than either cared to admit.
Arman visually traced the arc of Ereshkigal’s shuttle over the curve of the blue-green planet, then glanced toward the Tiamat as a sleek starfighter streaked from it, toward the Dalkhu Libbu.
Marduk.
After all, everyone else was down on the planet.
Arman remained on the bridge, then glanced over his shoulder with a rare smile when the door of the bridge slid open several moments later. “Was it too quiet for you on board the Tiamat?”
Marduk chuckled, but the hollow sound was undergirded by bitterness. “The Tiamat can practically fly itself, as can the Dalkhu Libbu.” He glanced at the control panel. “It’s a marvel, one so commonplace now that we don’t even really think about how unusual it is. To have the awareness of one person so tightly leashed to the ship that it obeys the captain’s every thought…”
Arman shrugged. It had been yet another of Inanna’s experiments with the Beltiamatu, one that had worked better than most. It imbued the ships with consciousness—the consciousness of its captain—and allowed the massive Illojim starships to be single-pilot crafts.
The process had been excruciating, as if Inanna had torn him apart to his soul and rebuilt him, psychically weaving him into the Dalkhu Libbu, until it was no longer clear where he ended and where the ship began.
Then, she had done the same to Marduk and the Tiamat.
No need for vast legions of crew. There was only the commander of the ship.
Marduk wandered the circumference of Arman’s bridge, not touching anything, yet his every step bounced with restless energy.
“Shall I send for something to eat? Or drink?” Arman offered.
Marduk opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, a voice resonated through the bridge. “Arman.” It was not Ereshkigal’s smooth, low tones. Instead, the female voice shimmered with deep and rich power.
Arman and Marduk exchanged glances. “Yes, Inanna?” Arman spoke.
“I have laid adamantine channels from the planet’s core, and multiple paths through its mantel. Are you ready to install the controls on board the Dalkhu Libbu?”
“Yes, Inanna.” Arman set his hands upon the flat surface of a con
trol panel and braced himself.
The vastness of Inanna’s power touched his mind—terrifying, awesome, and utterly humbling—as if he were standing on the crevice of infinity. He could almost see the universe the way she saw it, the glowing threads of dark energy melding into a tapestry of iridescent colors.
To Inanna, the universe was beautiful and radiant in a way it was to no one else. No wonder she considered it her private playground. She danced across it, utterly wild and free. Dark energy molded around her, as responsive to her whims as the Dalkhu Libbu to his wishes.
Inanna’s power rippled through Arman, a sharp and painful jolt that quickly escalated into agony. Beltiamatu bodies were not made to handle aether, but mercifully, aether—a living vortex of dark energy—was quick in its mercilessness. Beneath the palms of his hands, the controls of the Dirga Tiamatu shimmered into existence.
Death at his fingertips.
Arman’s breath shuddered out of him as Inanna’s power withdrew and the otherworldly resonance faded from the bridge of the Dalkhu Libbu.
“So, that’s it.” Marduk looked over Arman’s shoulder. “Inanna has finally transformed a planet into a weapon.”
“The planet’s not going anywhere. A weapon that is merely sitting in its orbit is not dangerous unless approached,” Arman pointed out. “The Dirga Tiamatu is a defense, nothing more.”
“A defense against what?” Marduk asked, anger in his voice. “Who’s going to come after the children of An? And with what? We’ve taken everything from them. The planet of Aldebaran is sinking into darkness and death.”
“They’ll find something—an alternative energy source.”
Marduk shook his head. “You’re a foolish optimist. There is nothing left on Aldebaran. There was practically nothing on Aldebaran to begin with. That ancient and feeble civilization was on its last breath when Inanna spun aether out of nothing, and resuscitated life on Aldebaran. All the technology they had come from aether. All the energy to power that technology, even the air flowing into their homes, came from aether. And now that it’s gone—every last bit of it…”
“It goes back to the way it was before Inanna’s interference.”
Marduk’s jaw dropped. “That’s it? We have friends back there. Family—”
Marduk’s voice broke, wrenching with anguish, and Arman’s breath caught.
After a courtship that lasted years, Marduk and an Illojim woman had finally pledged themselves to the other in marriage. The celebration had taken place in a small town, isolated from much of the political unrest rippling through the rest of the planet. Days later, however, the coup had broken out and Marduk was summoned back to the palace to defend the royal house of An.
Obedient to his masters, he had left immediately. His Illojim wife was to follow once she had packed her belongings.
No one expected the coup to succeed so quickly, or the royal family to be immediately banished. Marduk, bound to the Tiamat, had left Aldebaran along with the Dalkhu Libbu and the other starships carrying the royal family and their servants into exile.
His Illojim wife had been left behind, with the others, to die in darkness.
Did the people scream? Did they wail when they realized Inanna had taken with her all the aether? Or did they stare in shock at the empty aether regulators, utterly silent as the certainty of death settled like a shroud over their hearts? They would not die quickly—seven days perhaps, as the Illojim measured time, perhaps even up to ten days. But those seven days would be spent in darkness, in hunger, in cold.
It would have been kinder if Inanna had simply exploded the entire planet in her wake, but she had chosen the crueler way.
A muscle twitched in Arman’s cheek. Inanna rarely did things the kinder way.
“It’s not too late to go back.”
Arman’s head snapped up at the crazed hope in Marduk’s voice. He searched his friend’s face. “What are you saying?”
“The aether is onboard the Tiamat. It’s been mere hours since we left Aldebaran. If we take the aether back now, scarcely more than a day would have passed for them. They would still be all right—afraid, but all right. It’s not too late.”
“You’re going to steal Inanna’s aether and bring it back to Aldebaran? What’s to stop Inanna from going after you and retrieving it?”
“You have to come with me. There are no other starships. Only the Dalkhu Libbu and the Tiamat remain. All of the others were dismantled for their adamantine and orichalcum to build Inanna’s monstrous, planet-destroying weapon.” Marduk glanced down at the small sphere, serenely floating in space, unaware that its heart, its core had been transformed into a conveyor of death. “Who does she think is going to come after her? The Illojim? We have stranded them on a dying planet.” He shook his head. “This isn’t us, Arman. This isn’t who we are.”
Arman’s eyes narrowed. “We were created to serve the royal house of An.”
“But they did not make us unthinking slaves. We were created in their image, worthy even to be loved, cherished by them. We know right from wrong, and we know that what Inanna did was wrong.”
“And you intend to right that wrong by marooning Ereshkigal, Inanna, their family, and our people on this planet?” Arman shook his head.
“There are consequences for actions!” Marduk roared. “This is the consequence of Inanna’s cruelty. She deserves to be abandoned. She deserves to have her power—her aether—stripped from her.”
“What then are the consequences for the Illojim’s rebellion against An?” Arman challenged. “You acknowledged it yourself. The Illojim were doomed to die before Inanna learned the art of weaving aether cores from dark energy. Every advancement, every miracle, came from Inanna’s control over aether. Is this how they repay her, by thinking that they could cast her out while keeping the wonders she had, herself, made and shared with them?”
Marduk blinked repeatedly, as if caught off guard by Arman’s retort. “It’s not the same thing. Inanna is one person. The Illojim are many.”
“So it’s perfectly acceptable for the many to take from the one without the act being considered theft, but when the one defends her property and refuses to give it up for the use of the many, she’s wrong?”
“You are twisting my words!” Marduk slammed his fist down. “But what is Inanna’s injured pride compared to the lives of millions left to die on Aldebaran?”
“It’s more than injured pride. You propose to maroon our masters here on this tiny, nameless planet, with no means of leaving it. And not just the royal family, but our people. Thousands of them who look to you and me as their leaders. No, Marduk. Who do you think will bear the brunt of Inanna’s anger if we leave with the Dalkhu Libbu and the Tiamat?”
“You’re afraid?” Marduk sneered. “Of Inanna? Of a frivolous, whimsical princess?”
Arman fought to get a grip on his rising anger. “I will protect my people. I owe my life and my loyalty to the family of An. And I love Ereshkigal.”
Marduk thumped his closed fist against his chest. “And I love Siduri! She did nothing wrong. Why does she have to die because the council—those arrogant fools on the council—chose to revolt against the royal family?”
Arman’s chest tightened against the stab of empathy. Both he and Marduk loved Illojim women, yet only he had the relief of knowing that his lover was alive and well. He glanced away, his gaze resting on the planet the children and servants of An now called home. His heart ached for Marduk, for a man he considered his brother-in-arms, for the joy ripped from Marduk’s arms, for the love stolen from his life. Arman drew a deep breath. “Ereshkigal and I will talk to Inanna. We can convince her to send some of the aether back. It will keep the Illojim going for decades, centuries, enough time for them to find an alternate power source—”
Arman’s breath cut off. His back arched against the sudden pain. Weakness bludgeoned him to his knees.
Instinct—panicked survival instinct—twisted him onto his back. The slippery sensation
beneath him was the slickness of his own blood.
Arman bought up his arms to shield his face and chest as Marduk slashed and hacked with the twin swords in his hands, but Marduk’s adamantine blades cut through the thin leather of Arman’s body armor, through skin, through flesh.
Arman slammed his leg against Marduk’s chest, pushing Marduk away. Bleeding from multiple cuts, Arman staggered upright, then lurched, his eyes unseeing, his body sagging against the daggers Marduk plunged into him—one into his lungs, the other into his stomach.
Arman crumpled to the floor.
Marduk’s swift footsteps echoed into silence.
His body cavities filling with blood, crimson leaking from his mouth, Arman dragged himself to the control panel. He placed his hands, stained with his blood, on the cool, black surface.
The ship’s controls wrapped around Arman’s fading awareness and dying mind.
The hangar doors slid close.
Too late.
Marduk’s starfighter appeared in the expansive space view, a speck over the blue-green planet, fleeing from the Dalkhu Libbu, heading back to the Tiamat.
Arman’s breath was a thin wheeze, most of the air escaping from his punctured lungs before it ever reached his heart. He had to stop Marduk before Marduk fled with the Tiamat and its precious stores of aether.
Obedient to his commands, the ship panel morphed into the command panel for the Dirga Tiamatu. His thoughts unified the control systems of the Dalkhu Libbu with that of the Dirga Tiamatu.
Deep in the Earth, the molten core churned with angry heat. Liquid rock poured into one of the adamantine channels and shot up toward the surface.
In the distance, the Tiamat’s engines roared to life. The narrow slits of the dragon’s eyes gleamed, swirling purple and black. It was on the move, and if it fled beyond the narrow range of the coordinates Arman had programmed into the Dirga Tiamatu, the blast of energy from the planet—the one chance Arman had of stopping Marduk—would completely miss the Tiamat.
The coldness of death was settling like a shroud over Arman’s mind. Sluggishly, the Dalkhu Libbu stirred into motion and lurched toward the Tiamat, as unsteady and erratic as Arman’s fading thoughts. His blood dripped over the control panel. His vision had frayed into shreds of white against black.
Cursed Legacy: Lord of the Ocean #3 Page 14