Vontaura

by James C. Dunn

  She looked at Anna anxiously. ‘Anything?’

  Her student shook her head. ‘There’s nothing we can do. It won’t come off. It’s as though it’s not even there anymore.’

  Anna clutched Callista’s hand tightly as it rested between them. They both breathed deeply, thinking carefully.

  ‘Perhaps this is the reason, child, that we have yet to see an echo. I fear this thing has begun to influence you in ways we cannot even recognise. It may reveal something. Until then we must wait.’

  Callista sat alone that night in her bedroom as one by one the candles breathed out, the scented spices and wisps of grey smoke filling the air. Anna had once dreamt, strange dreams, confusing dreams. Now she didn’t dream when she slept. The black band was dangerous, she had no doubt.

  It was Callista who suffered the nightmares now. Her visions had so far been muddled and vague; she found it difficult deciphering them. Until tonight. Until she saw how the night would end. She dreamt the first dream since she had arrived. When she jumped up to write it in her dream diary, she fell back onto the bed, realising she no longer had a diary.

  Then something caught her ear. The dream! She listened carefully. A long, slow whine resonated from outside.

  The door to the apartment.

  Callista crept from her bedroom, down the steps, and into the apartment’s living room. The front door stood ajar. Faint light poured in, revealing the silhouettes of two large men.

  Callista breathed out. Exhausted, hungry, and scared, she could hardly force her commands upon them. She couldn’t make them leave. She was at their mercy.

  ‘Wh . . . What do you want?’

  One whispered to the taller of the two, who chuckled, and said, ‘We are here to see the Berenguer girls.’

  ‘For . . . what?’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Are they upstairs, old woman?’

  Callista grasped why they were here.

  No! No, you can’t!

  ‘We will show the Berenguer girls what real Crilshan men do. We will show them, whether they want to or not.’

  ‘You . . . You can have any woman on this world. You don’t need my girls.’

  ‘We will have them.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Whatever you had intended for them, I myself can do it instead.’

  They looked to each other, thought carefully. The taller nodded. They each took her arm, and dragged her silently from the apartment.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE FACES OF the victims of his people haunted Yux Dishan, reminding him forever of his own fate. As he had sat in his chair, unable to move, and barely able to utter a sentence without anguish, his sister would tell him stories of Crilshar’s power, of their family’s deeds. And he promised himself that, if he ever left his chair, if he ever had the chance to partake in the deeds of the age and lead his people himself, then he would rise higher than all those before him.

  Now he had that chance. But he could not do it alone.

  Yux stood at the command centre of his sister’s old vessel and watched the image of the planet in the distance. An orb of pale yellow encircled a dark world and Yux’s insides became even more knotted. The spiked craft soon reached the atmosphere and Yux watched the dark rock of Hellfire move closer. Dwelling place of the worst criminals the Four Systems possessed.

  The capital moon of the three which made up the Retani Peninsula was now known as Iraan. Following the attack upon Crilshar, Retani Iraan returned to his home moon and had his father removed and executed – as per Lord Malizar’s order. Nobody knew Yux was now here. He had been left to send poor Maxim Pinzón, once Lady of Titan and one of the Iástron children, down to the prison moon Hellfire. He had done so. He wished he hadn’t.

  The dark caverns of Hellfire were endless. The screams echoed amongst the dead rock as though the stone itself cried out with anguish. The stench of fear and death caused only fear and death. Hope and light were but memories in the darkness, as the tunnels sloped downwards, making for any man or woman lost below an endless struggle to clamber out.

  But the true darkness within was the evil a man took with him.

  Yux’s spiked craft touched down on the surface and was thus carried below. The sound of an engine was now alien to the survivors of this demonic world, and their only chance of escape they now feared; and so they ran from the shuttle as it was lowered beneath the surface of screaming rock.

  Down, down, and down farther the craft fell, as though the boned fingers of hell itself reached out and welcomed newly picked substance. Touching where no light reached, a gate opened and from the shuttle a single shape emerged. Yux Dishan stood still among the bloodied bones and the foul stench of demise and misery.

  The shuttle remained where it was, though it lifted its access ramp. Who knew what could find its way on board?

  Yux stepped forward twice and stopped. All was silent. His eyes watered at the stench. He covered all but his blurred eyes with a thin head cloth.

  ‘Ruben Berenguer!’ he cried. His words resonated through the miles and miles of endless tunnels – dark passages of the Eternal Pits. ‘Ruben Berenguer!’ he cried again.

  ‘I’d be careful what you shout,’ spoke a voice from the shadows. ‘Who knows what you might wake?’

  Yux turned to see one of the many gatekeepers of the prison moon appear from the shadows; laughing and bent over on a crooked stick he shuffled into view.

  The old man began, ‘I am—’

  ‘I’m not looking for an introduction,’ Yux interjected. ‘I was never here.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  ‘The air down here is foul.’

  ‘Tainted,’ the gatekeeper said. ‘What else is a man to smell like who has been thrown down here to rot?’

  ‘Do they survive long?’

  ‘You’re thinking of going in?’

  ‘I am looking for a man.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to go in.’

  Yux wanted to find the safety of an enclosure. He felt exposed.

  ‘The strongest man lasts about six weeks down in the lowest dungeons. If he makes it past six, then he’s not a man anymore.’

  ‘The man I look for is stronger than most, I say. I stowed him alive with another in their crate.’

  The old man shuffled around. ‘We could try and search my records.’

  ‘He will not be in any record.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because nobody knows he is here.’

  ‘Ahh, much like you.’

  ‘Yes, old man.’

  ‘Less of the old man!’

  Yux poured on further scorn. ‘You will speak, Retani, when I tell you to.’

  The gatekeeper raised his thin stick and struck it across the back of Yux’s legs. Yux almost laughed at his retort. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’

  ‘I don’t care who you are.’

  ‘Well, you should.’

  ‘Up there, maybe. But down here we’re all savages.’

  He had a point.

  The keeper hobbled to one side, and spat upon the ground. ‘I think I will have to contact his High Lord’s people regarding this request.’

  Yux considered his options. Wivartha had no idea that Yux saved Ruben Berenguer. That Ruben had not died below Crilshar. That Yux had stowed him away inside Maxim Pinzón’s casket. That Yux had betrayed his own people because he had one thing so many had not. Because he had a conscience.

  It must remain that way. This old man did not realise who he was. He could simply have him removed, shot dead without a second’s thought, right here and now.

  But that is exactly what Wivartha would command. Yux’s greatest strength was the fact he was not his uncle.

  ‘I will not command you any which way, Retani,’ he said after some thought. ‘I would, however, ask you to wait until I return before informing anybody of my visit.’

  The old guard chewed it over, and at last nodded his head, face bowed down, thick beard twisted and unclean.


  ‘Thank you. You will have your teams search this man out for me?’

  ‘Ruben Berenguer?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because, sir, you yelled it within fifteen seconds of leaving your craft.’

  ‘Oh.’ Yux started back. ‘If you find anything, good or bad, have a message sent to my private wavelength. You will have it stored by now.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Until next time.’

  Yux boarded his craft. This was not the time. He had to find another way to save his people. As the ramp retracted, the old man, having followed, stood nearby and said, ‘Be careful who you trust! I have heard things down here. I have seen things and done things. Trust only yourself, High Lord.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  CALLISTA BERENGUER STOOD with her ear to the locked door. Gruff voices on the other side kept her quiet, though she couldn’t control her breathing half as much as she would have liked to. A blunt kitchen knife shook in her hand. She was not well versed in Crilshan, but could guess what the two were talking about.

  She hadn’t told Anna or Gílana about what had happened. It wouldn’t be fair. But if either of the two creatures now only several bolts away even dared try it with her girls, she would make it her duty to ensure the brute left without a vital slice of his anatomy.

  Footsteps now. The talking had stopped. One outside, maybe none. She let the air out of her lungs. One on their own wouldn’t try anything. Coward.

  Callista backed up, placed the knife into her pocket. The wooden floor was cold on her bare feet as she tiptoed up the steps. It was so quiet, so dark.

  Gílana’s room was empty. It always was now. Gílana had spent every night in Anna’s bed. Best that way, she knew. Callista was in Ruben’s old room, but every so often she would spend the night with the girls.

  She tread carefully along the corridor and opened Anna’s door. The two were asleep in the bed.

  Stay asleep. I’ll protect you. No one will harm you while I am here.

  Anna kept her eyes closed until Callista had gone. She hadn’t slept all evening, though Gílana tossed and turned beside her, speaking out as she dreamt.

  When Anna did manage to sleep, the disappointment that filled every waking second did not end. She could not dream. Having spent all her life up to this point dreaming about her parents, her mother, and so many other terrifying thoughts she had so often repressed, not being able to dream now simply felt wrong. Like a wound that would not bleed.

  She waited until Callista returned to her own room, and then a little longer just in case she was not yet asleep. Then she made her way downstairs, back into the hidden vault through the concealed passage, making sure to close everything behind her. Once inside she gathered a set of paper plans to the cities, and activated the second hidden door she had found within. She had no idea where it led, but descended the narrow passage nonetheless.

  It took some time to reach the bottom, but once there she realised she was within an underground conduit. From there she climbed up and into the dark, silent streets. She carried on, in the direction of the outer edges of the city. Her heart hammered her chest. The free air filling her lungs was worth the risk. The plans she had taken now helped her avoid the main city connector routes, and the access gate back into the underground conduit was just where it should have been. The retrieval codes were written on the map. It was like her uncle had left them for her, as some sort of last resort were anything ever to happen to him. From there it was simple enough to enter the rest of the cities. But there was only one she needed to go to. Only one had what she desired most.

  The Forest City was beautiful, even in virtual darkness. Many of the trees in the vast oxygen-gathering wood were dying through reduced surrogate sunlight. The air was cold but it smelt of warm ash, as though a recent bonfire had filled the dome. She knew where she was headed. Through the centre of the city and the largest of the trees lay a small pool of silver-glowing water, and beyond that a garden filled with purple Larkspur, thick plots of cool Lobelia, and strings of moss hanging down from the branches above like natural bunting.

  The dome-shaped gravestones of her mother and father lay untouched. The most precious gift she could have asked for. The Dark Race’s evil had limits not even they realised.

  As she knelt upon the cold grass, her vision blurred, a tear fell down her cheek and she read and reread her parents’ memorial stones.

  ‘I wish you were here,’ she told them. ‘Things would be so different. I know they would. And yet I’m glad you’re not. I’ll take care of Gílana. I will die before I let anything happen to her. I have some news. You might be a little angry, but go easy. She’s pregnant, you know? A little boy. Not long now, then you’ll be grandparents.’ She smiled.

  A twig snapped behind her. She jumped to her feet and spun, unable to see anything. Then, from nearby, the sound of laughter. Three bodies moved in the shadows. Slowly. Taunting.

  No, no. Not here.

  ‘Icha ita nada?’

  ‘Drabu der nachutar.’

  ‘What do we have here?’

  Anna wanted to run, but found herself unable to move.

  ‘I said what do we have here?’

  Another figure moved nearby. She couldn’t run. They would only follow. The four surrounded her. Crilshans. No older than Gílana.

  ‘Female,’ one whispered.

  They sniggered, swaggering forward. The shortest strutted up to her, pressed his face into hers.

  She breathed in. ‘Well—’

  His fist plunged into her the stomach. She fell to her knees and felt a blow to her shoulder, knocking her onto one side. One of the youths spat at her. Another kicked her hard in the stomach several times. They were not fooling around. They meant to kill her. She coughed and spluttered, knew she was going to lose consciousness. Another drove his foot into her stomach.

  ‘Stop!’

  The beating halted, though the pain continued to send her head spinning.

  ‘Byna!’

  Grunts and the sound of beating fists were all she could make out. Shouts and low cries. Then silence. And darkness. She took several deep breaths, hoping that it was over, contemplating whether she was still in the wood.

  Before long a strong hand raised her up off the ground and led her over to the base of a nearby tree. Her spinning vision slowed and she looked up into a dark face.

  ‘Gordian?’

  ‘Hello, little girl.’

  ‘Gordian. How did you . . . find me?’

  ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on you.’

  She frowned, gazed about them. ‘Where did they—’

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘You . . . You—’

  ‘Gave them a beating they’ll remember for a while.’

  ‘Won’t they report me?’

  ‘They don’t know who you are. But I would like to know how you got down here.’

  Anna hesitated.

  ‘You can tell me, Anna. I give you my word I won’t take you in.’

  ‘I snuck out the front door. Our guards aren’t very good.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me then.’

  ‘Since you’re here, Gordian, could you tell me something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Any . . . Anything.’

  ‘Hope is a dangerous thing.’ He stood and took out his hard-ridged blade, holding it up towards her. ‘Hope can destroy just as easily as it can build.’ He plunged the sharp tip into the grass. ‘Hope is like a weapon. We must wield is shrewdly. I will put it differently. Who would you like to know about?’

  ‘My uncle,’ she said at once. ‘Is there any word?’

  Gordian looked away, shook his head. She knew he wouldn’t tell her if there was.

  ‘What about Ferranti? Please tell me he’s all right.’

  He nodded.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Ferranti, Avéne, and the professor are in the martial city. Sharing a cell, you may be pleased to hear.’


  ‘I’ll be pleased when we’re free.’

  ‘You think that’s a possibility?’

  ‘My hope is a strength.’ She stood, wiping away the grass from her clothes. ‘Is yours?’

  ‘What does the old Iástron have to say, Anna?’

  ‘Not very much, these days. She’s weaker. I don’t know how long she’ll last. I worry about her. I worry she’ll be taken.’

  ‘I will do everything in my power to stop that.’

  ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I actually believe that. Hell knows why.’

  He tilted his head, dark eyes gazing down. ‘Mistress Sudana. She is the Iástron that professor Kramer spoke of. Callista seemed most worried by her mention.’

  ‘Mistress Sudana serves the Córonat,’ Anna told him. ‘That’s why. She serves Lord Malizar. He is the one responsible for all of this. He is to blame.’

  ‘Here.’ He reached into his large coat and handed her a pair of small, dark goggles. ‘Some of the Crilshan migrants are wearing them. The surrogate sun here is still a little brighter than they are used to beneath Crilshar. Take them. They may mean the difference between being stopped and making it past a patrol.’

  ‘I don’t care anymore,’ she said, though she took the goggles from him.

  ‘Yes. Yes, you do.’

  ‘You know that?’

  ‘I know you care for your sister, Anna. Go back to her. Treasure what time you have left.’ He placed his blade into his belt. ‘Stay in your home. Only there will you be safe. I may not be there next time.’

  ‘But if I need you . . . where can I find—’

  ‘I will be watching out for you, Anna. If your need is beyond desperate you can find me in the old wine cellars.’

  ‘Near the southern edge of Central City?’

  ‘Yes. But I would not risk it unless absolutely necessary. Even then, really.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you know your way back?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then go. And be careful. This is not Titan anymore.’

  FORTY

  TITAN’S MARTIAL CITY. Midnight. Muted voices carried through the brightly lit prison pod at the centre of the labyrinthine detention complex. Avéne Ketrass sat straight up and squinted through the bright light at a figure stood outside her cell. The Crilshan Gordian, goggles securely fastened over his face, stared into her. She stared back for some time, and watched him turn and walk back up the steps, glancing at her cell as he addressed his superior.