‘Careful,’ Vortan said. ‘Just be careful. Don’t touch it. We don’t know who he is!’
‘He’s just a boy. Just like us. Hello,’ she said. ‘Are you all right? Can you hear me?’
The boy grumbled, lay on his back. ‘They . . . it . . . coming . . .’ he murmured. ‘Coming . . . no . . . no, really . . . coming . . .’
‘Come on,’ said Lanfranc. ‘We should leave him. He could have come from anywhere out there.’
‘I’m not leaving him,’ she said. ‘Run back to the manor and fetch some of the grounds-men. There may still be some around.’
‘Casandra, no!’ He pulled her away. ‘He could be dangerous.’
‘I am not leaving him!’ She shrugged him off. ‘Now go on. Run back and I’ll wait here.’
Vortan hesitated, then thought better of it and ran from the crater.
Casandra remained with the boy on her knees, covered in ash and dirt. The boy turned over and looked up at her.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
He didn’t reply.
She stroked his cheek with her palm and leaned in closer. ‘I’m Casandra. Casandra Justus. Where did you come from?’
‘Far . . . away,’ he said.
‘Who are you?’
‘Cathal. My name is Cathal.’
She smiled. ‘Hello Cathal.’
‘Where am I?’
‘Earth,’ she said.
‘What . . . year is it?’
How could he not know?
‘Forty-two twenty-two.’
‘I made it,’ he said. ‘It . . . worked!’
‘What worked? You’ve been mumbling. You said something’s coming. What is coming?’
‘They are,’ he said. ‘They are coming.’
‘Who’re they?’
‘It’s over.’
‘What’s coming, Cathal?’
His head lolled back. He closed his eyes and mumbled one more time. ‘They are coming.’
THIRTY-THREE
THE SUN WAS rising. As he stood upon the manor roof, a small warmth found Justus’ face and he closed his eyes, imagined he was ten years old again. Leaning over the parapets of the great manor house, gazing at Avaris City in the distance. His mother was cooking dinner and Vortan yelling at him to get down before he broke his neck. He wished he could go back to those days and see his mother again. Hold her close.
The tickle of a water droplet slipped down his cheek. He did not wipe it away. It belonged to her. A part of him.
Footsteps grew louder behind him. His eyes remained closed. He had prayed, ever since Dimal told him of an old man, tall and wise, that it was him, that the man he had long thought gone was still there, watching. Beside him the footsteps stopped.
‘I know who you are,’ he said, opening his eyes and staring at the old man before him.
The man looked back carefully. ‘Do you, now?’
‘Vortan told me your name is Cathal. Why did you leave us, me and mum?’
‘Antal,’ he said, ‘I never left you.’
‘I needed you. We both did.’
‘You were safe here, with Vortan. Your mother had another chance to be happy, to be well—’
‘But she wasn’t,’ he said, feeling the familiar fury flooding through him. ‘Yes, we were safe here. We had money and servants and . . . and when mum married Vortan simple things were no longer issues. But the fire inside her died with you. Everything that happened after that happened because you left us. I blamed myself. For years—’
‘Antal,’ the old man said, ‘I—’
Justus shook his head. ‘I thought Vortan was depraved. But he was only involved with them because he was following your commands, at great risk to himself. You’re the selfish one!’
‘I was following my own commands, son—’
‘Don’t call me son!’ He slammed his fist onto the wall, crumbling a small section into rubble. He remained bowed down, staring at his shaking hand, breathing heavily. The anger built up inside him dissipated, leaving that same empty feeling he always felt when he thought of what he’d lost.
‘The hardest thing you ever did was come back here,’ Cathal said. ‘I know that.’ Justus looked up to find him smiling. ‘That’s some echo you have there.’
‘What?’
‘You met Peter Marx.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’
He turned and looked out across the valley at the city on the horizon. ‘Let me tell you a story, Antal. It begins with the fall of the moon Europa, and the extinction of the Iástron people.’
Justus didn’t know what to think. ‘I know the story. I recently . . . met an old woman. A survivor of Europa.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. But you have not heard this version. After the disaster, having lost his people, Peter Marx travelled the Systems, searching for any remaining Iástrons. But he was also searching for someone in particular.’
‘Malizar,’ Justus said.
‘Yes, Marrak Malizar. Not happy without a body, without some proof to rest his mind. Peter knew he had not died below the moon like so many others. He spent years looking for him, alas to no avail. The Córonat, as he now calls himself, was beyond intelligent. He knew Peter was searching for him. So he hid, for a long time, under the name Viticus. He concealed himself on Earth, and began his pursuit for power among the Von.
‘Peter’s journey also brought him to Earth. In those years of solitude Peter found friends. They were few. And they were loyal. Some were Von. This is where Vortan and I met him. Only briefly, but enough to see his power and his compassion. We offered our help. We swore to keep vigilant and protect the people of the Seven Rivers from Malizar, should he ever emerge. Which, of course, he did. Only recently, mind you. And much too late for anything to be done. As for Peter—’
‘Ten years ago he disappeared for good,’ Justus said.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because here is a version you haven’t heard. Two months ago I met Peter, though for most of that time I didn’t know it was him.’
Surprisingly, and without hesitation, Justus told Cathal all that had happened upon Erebus. They sat talking as light swelled over the horizon and morning arrived. ‘But most dire,’ he said, finally, ‘is the fact that one man is responsible for all that happened upon Erebus. The masked man calling himself the Córonat.’ He bunched his hands into fists and punched the wall again. ‘And because of that place Peter Marx is now dead!’
‘But Peter cannot die,’ his father said.
‘What is death?’ Justus asked. ‘Peter Marx is no longer here. And I cannot think of a way to get him back.’
‘There is always a way. But now we have a problem.’
‘What problem? Malizar couldn’t have survived that fall from the craft.’
‘Are you sure, Antal? From what Vortan and I have gathered, it appears you and the Córonat share something in common.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Vitality,’ he said. ‘A rare capacity for survival. A most useful echo. It is no coincidence that your echo from Peter is one of strength. You are a survivor. You have been all your life. But so is Malizar. That fall would not kill him, and neither will much else on this Earth.’
‘You spent time with Peter,’ Justus said. ‘Didn’t you or Vortan or anyone else receive an echo?’
He shook his head. ‘I was not willing to receive one. And Peter, after seeing the horrifying fate of his failed Iástron society, was no longer willing to share his gift. When we met him he was lost. By the time he left us he was truly alone.’
‘Then I’m the only one left. What am I supposed to do?’
‘Not go rushing to take on Malizar, that’s for sure. If Peter is gone as you say it will not be long before Marrak discovers he no longer has to consider him. He no longer needs to think of the worlds of the Alignment either. He and his Allied Moon will take up the title of Vontaura, and with no rival become the leaders of Earth.’
‘I can’t let him.’
‘We won’t. But we need to be smart. Secrecy is our greatest weapon now, and we must wield it wisely. And you are not alone. I am not so old yet that I cannot be of use.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Teach you,’ he said. ‘Prepare you. You will become a Iástron, and I can teach you how. I and others spent time with Peter, listening and learning from him. Together we will find a way to stop Malizar.’
‘Then let’s do it.’
Cathal shook his head. ‘You must understand. Peter chose you. He only chooses those whose futures he sees as worthy. If you are going to focus you have to leave your friends behind.’
‘No.’
‘You have to. There has never been such a threat. Malizar will bring war down upon us. And you will lead us into battle.’
‘I can’t even lead my own crew!’
‘I’m sure your crew would beg to differ.’
‘I won’t leave them.’
‘Then stay. Stay and see everything you love burn. Or come with me. Take Peter’s place and fight.’
Justus looked out at the manor grounds. Tombstones of different shapes and sizes as far as he could see. ‘I spent my life growing up here. I turned my back on it once already.’
‘And yet here you stand, Antal. And here I am beside you. The question at hand, however, is what do you do next?’
Aíron Veryan rushed up the stone steps, three at a time, stumbling and gasping, searching everywhere for Justus. She had to speak to him. She had to know what was going to happen to them. She missed her home. She missed her parents. She missed Raj, so much.
The sound of footsteps echoed behind her. She hid in a wall nook and watched Dimal pass. Aíron followed her through the manor and up to the roof. Justus stood there alone, leaning over the edge. She waited, hidden in the shadow of the steps, and watched Dimal approach him.
‘I got your message,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
Everything went quiet. Justus stared at Dimal, unblinking, as though daring himself to form words.
‘No,’ she said before he could speak. ‘You bastard. Don’t—’
‘Adra, listen to me.’
‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you DARE leave us again!’
‘Adra, you know me better than anyone ever has. I trust you and I know you trust me. So trust me. Trust what I say. I am coming back.’
‘That’s not good enough.’
‘Look, just because I walked away before doesn’t mean I will again. I’m not running away – you know I’m not. But if there’s a chance that I can save lives, that I can stop that murderer, I have to do it. This is my fight. But I need to be prepared.’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘No. Just no.’
‘What do you mean, no?’
She looked him deep in the eye. ‘I mean . . . no.’
‘Hell, Dimal! Do you even realise what we’re facing?’
‘Do you?’
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘But my father says he can teach me. And when I return—’
‘You’ll find me gone.’
‘Adra—’
‘No, Antal. I can walk away where you can’t. Like you said, this is your fight. Not mine. I’d stay, not for the others, but for you. I would die.’
Justus didn’t reply.
‘If you go,’ she said, ‘then so do I. Don’t come looking for me . . . if you come back.’
Justus held out his hand, reaching for her cheek. ‘I’m sorry.’
She pushed his hand away and stared intensely for several seconds. Then she turned and walked away, down past Aíron as she knelt in the shadow of the steps, and disappeared into the room below. Justus stood where he was, and she continued to watch him, wishing herself to stand up and go to him. But she didn’t. He was leaving. At last, the crew of the Crimson Flux was broken.
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and turned to see Vortan and Cathal standing on the steps behind her. Sceptre in hand, the old man walked past her, up the steps. Vortan gestured and she followed him down. At the bottom of the stairway he turned.
‘You’re not alone, Aíron.’
‘I am. Raj has gone. Justus is leaving. Dimal won’t stay. Noah and Shree just want to be left alone. Shree lost her brother.’
‘You are all going to stay here at the manor for the foreseeable future,’ he told her. ‘There is plenty of room here. It’s safe. I will look after you, Aíron.’
She burst into tears, and punched an expensive-looking vase from a table nearby. The flowers inside fell slowly to the floor. She breathed in and out deeply, before looking up at him.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘Antal was just like you when he was young.’
‘He . . . was?’
‘Yes. Full of aggression and frustration. His mother didn’t know what to do with him. Do you know what I made him do?’
‘What?’
‘Use it. Channel it. Focus it. Until it resembled something close to a skill. I taught him to fence. Have you ever seen him fight?’
‘No, but I hear he’s good.’
The old man nodded his head gently, and motioned with a long, single finger. ‘Follow me.’
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘We’re going to do something with that frustration.’
‘What?’
The Von winked. ‘Channel it.’
Justus lifted his bag over his shoulder. He strode down from the house’s main entrance, his boots crunching loose asphalt at the bottom of the steps.
I’m ready. I’m ready to do what needs to be done.
Cathal waited in the shadow of the large red craft in front of him. The Scarlet Flux his father had named it, in ode to the fallen beauty that had been his home for several years. Justus turned and sighed, waved to Vortan, Aíron, Noah, and Shree as they stood at the top of the steps.
I will see you again.
Justus sat back in the Scarlet Flux’s cockpit. The leather seat was soft and new. He closed his eyes. You’re doing the right thing.
Cathal sat beside him. ‘You know, Antal, I do understand.’
‘What? What do you understand?’
‘The guilt. The shame. The clawing knives of a memory. I know what drives you, what pushes you on. The very thing that forced you to come back.’
Justus looked him in the eye.
‘You never could forgive yourself. For your mother. For your friends. And now for Peter. Guilt is a powerful emotion, but it can be so, so destructive.’
‘Your point being?’
‘Let go of your guilt. Find something else to motivate you.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what we’re going to discover. Together.’
The craft lifted off and took to the skies. Justus did not see his oldest friend, his co-pilot, his love, leave Vortan Manor. Dimal slipped away without a single goodbye, never to step foot on the manor grounds for as long as she lived. Justus knew he would lose her eventually. Because every man must do what he feels is right, but never can he expect to do something of so great a consequence without surrendering a thing or two along the way.
II
BLOOD OF THE ALIGNMENT
THIRTY-FOUR
A SILENT, CLOSED-OFF chamber lay in the lower portion of the Crilshan vessel Thagomizor, the young hours of morning. A single candle lit the cavity where High Lord Yux Dishan sat undisturbed, studying a collection of scripts on the history of Crilshar.
4262. The year of insurrection. The year of genocide. The year of repression and absolute rule.
Yux’s sister, back when she was alive, made all of this sound so much . . . greater. She wrote often of the glory of Crilshar and the rise of what the rest of the Alignment had come to term the Dark Race. And he was meant to feel proud? How?
He sat in silence and re-read a page he imagined was more significant than his sister believed when she wrote it:
. . . as the origins of Crilshar’s conflict with the powers of the Systema
l Alignment are hidden deep in the caverns of history. From my research down in our deepest dungeons I have come to question whether the truth of our ancestors is buried deeper still . . .
. . . For the planet Crilshar, known as Ignis many centuries ago, was once the meeting place of a dark terror now possible in legend alone. The Imperial Wars, brought on by the rise of the Four Empires, permeates Alignment history. The Crilshan race’s genesis is forgotten. Its significance is not . . .
. . . Perhaps it is true that we came from evil intent. And if that is so then I fear what we are really capable of, and whether it is good at all.
Yux stopped reading and peered up. Wivartha Dishan strode into the room and sat in a seat nearby, his face almost fully shadowed. Yux observed the dark-orbed necklace sat around his uncle’s thin neck. The same necklace he had taken from Ruben Berenguer’s dying body back in the attack upon Crilshar.
‘Uncle,’ he said.
‘Commander would be more appropriate, Yux.’
Yux swallowed, a lump filling his throat. ‘How long until we reach home?’
‘Not long, I estimate.’ He reached across with a long, thin arm and took the book from Yux’s hand. He placed it onto the table between them. ‘What do you plan to do when we reach Crilshar, my kin?’
‘I would like to see it. All of it.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Because until now, Commander, I have spent my life in two places: my bed and my chair. I would like to see my world.’
Wivartha snatched a sharp intake of breath and leaned in. ‘While you are High Lord by hereditary right, I am still commander of the legions.’
Yux shifted nervously. ‘I am happy to let it stay that way. I only want to see all I have missed the past thirty years.’
‘That is well, as we will very shortly possess the worlds of the old Alignment. Then you may go where you please.’
‘But the Córonat . . .’ Yux began, but stopped short upon glimpsing his uncle’s change of face.
‘Lord Malizar is impure,’ his uncle said. ‘The man is no more a man than the women in my bed!’ He raised a finger, dark nails reflecting the candlelight like the eternal image of his sister’s parched blood, and slowly placed it over the tall candle bent over the table. He embraced the sting of the flame as it went out, before rising to his feet. ‘Lord Malizar is khulul. See your worlds, Yux, do your duties, and time will take its toll on the old Iástron.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘We are the future, boy. Purity over frailty. You will see.’
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