Her Father's Fugitive Throne

by Brandon Barr

  Galthess continued to gaze down at the sphere in his hand. “I do question them. I struggle with the Scrivers’ writings. But I’m not convinced yet. I still have faith in the Consecrators and their mission.” His eyes lifted to her face. “You are an Oracle, Winter. A very dangerous Oracle. And though I wish it otherwise, I must kill you.”

  His words left her frozen even as a voice inside her head told her to run.

  He knelt and set the ball on the ground. “I promise it won’t hurt. Just a little prick and this will all be over.”

  The ball sprouted black, spindly legs, like a spider. Winter took two steps back toward the jungle.

  How would the gods protect her now? If she ran, it would be impossible to find her way back.

  The legs of the little black ball began to twitch into the air, then it jumped, and without hesitation, scampered toward her.

  Rational thought was cast from her mind as instinct took control.

  She spun and ran into the thick green trees, flinging away branches with her arms. Before she’d gone very far, a low vine caught her foot, and she slid face first into mud and brush. She hurried to her feet and threw a quick look behind her.

  Following her into the jungle was Galthess…and the little spider ball, its legs a flurry of deadly motion.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ISOLAUG

  “My Divine King!” cried a voice.

  The king turned in dignified slowness and appraised the figure running down the twisting rows of arched pillars. It was a clean-shaven man dressed in a robe the color of the lightest azure skies. The robe and the smooth scalp marked him as one of the Glory Watchmen who guarded The Temple of the Divine King.

  Isolaug’s small, scaly body lay hidden on the king’s neck. It was covered by the human’s long, smoky black hair that flowed in waves down to the golden sash tied about his waist. The king’s nose and mouth twitched slightly as Isolaug took full control of him.

  “My Divine King,” repeated the glory watchman, falling to the ground and kissing the smoothed stone the king stood upon. “The Guardian Cultivator wishes a word with you.”

  “I shall wait here for him,” said Isolaug.

  The watchman rose to his feet, bowed, then hurried back through the pillars. Isolaug moved to the window and peered over the stone ledge where a fierce wind ruffled his hair. The long walkway to the temple rested on the top of an ancient volcanic ridge that curved back and forth like a serpent until it reached Mount Durazyn, where the four caverns of the temple lay embedded within.

  Down below lay the vast city of Praelothia, hemmed in by the ring of mountains and walls. A gong sounded in the distance, signaling that the Divine King was in view. A cry, like the distant hum of insect wings, rose all about the city as the worshippers fell to their knees and searched for the sighting. Those on the road at the base of the ridge pointed excitedly up at him. Shuttered windows sprang open all along the cottage towers, and bodies spilled out of shops and balconies to grovel and hope for the good fortune of seeing their deity.

  Isolaug lifted the king’s hand into the air and waved, his loose white robe whipping about him in the gale. Then he turned back into the confines of the temple walkway, lest his worshippers abandon their daily duties in an adulate frenzy of praise.

  The gong sounded twice, marking The Divine King was no longer in view.

  Isolaug waited in the shadows of a pillar. The current king’s body was the healthiest one he’d inhabited in the last five hundred years, much improved over the long succession of kings of the royal lineage of the Star Garden Realm. Even so, he already had an eye on the most promising descendant when the time for a new king arose.

  Down the winding walkway, the Guardian Cultivator appeared with an escort of six Glory Watchmen.

  “My Divine King,” said Hezzat, performing a meager bow. The six watchmen encircled the king, drawing thin, steel swords from the folds of their sky-blue robes before taking a knee—the mandated procedure whenever the king spoke to an unbeliever.

  Isolaug could smell the hot disgust on the Cultivator’s breath. He knew how much Hezzat despised his unquestioned power over the Praelothians. He was a weak and fearful man, deeply bothered by the Divine King’s ascendency.

  Isolaug smiled. Fearful men like Hezzat were so easy to control. “What news have the portal Guardians for the king?”

  “Were you expecting a starship to arrive yesterday?” queried Hezzat in his typical flat tone. It was a poor mask for his annoyance.

  Isolaug raised his chin and spoke as if not insulted. “I am expecting the sky merchants to arrive this month, but you know how they are. They come when they come.”

  Hezzat’s high-bone cheeks lost their color. “Why were we not informed? When you are expecting a starship, it is policy that you tell us.”

  “You watch the skies all day and all night with your intricate apparatuses. Why should we inform you? It should be the other way around.”

  “It is charter protocol that you inform us of off-planet arrivals you are aware of. It is for your safety, O Divine One.”

  Isolaug enjoyed when Hezzat was driven to sarcasm. And when he feigned to not have comprehended the insult, it only frustrated Hezzat further.

  “Very well, I shall strive to have you informed, though I can’t see how it will help you. The Sky Merchants might not arrive for another two months.”

  Some condescending twinkle shone in Hezzat’s eyes. “A starship crashed on Hearth yesterday. I suspect it was your merchants, for they were heading straight for Praelothia when their ship abruptly turned off course and crashed near the foothills across the wasteland.”

  Isolaug was silent a moment, his face as calm as a windless sea, but lying beneath the mask was fury. His most prized animal was aboard that ship. The climax of half a millennium would not be delayed!

  In the stillness he carefully concealed his anger—which currently rested on Hezzat’s twinkling, humor-filled eyes. At a simple command, the Glory Watchmen would have dutifully sawed the Cultivator’s head off.

  Isolaug drew a long lock of his hair over his shoulder and stroked his fingers through it until he was ready to speak. “This is…terrible news,” he finally declared.

  “I have the coordinates of the wreckage,” said Hezzat. “I assume you’ll want them.”

  “Thank you,” said Isolaug, gathering his white robe to him. “Give the coordinates to the head watchman. And have him inform Captain Danturas.”

  Isolaug spun about and walked briskly toward the temple gates.

  “There is one more matter,” called Hezzat. “Rueik, the Guardian Missionary, has returned home. He is eager to speak with you.”

  Isolaug turned a quarter-step back toward Hezzat. “Rueik? Send him to the temple immediately.”

  With that, Isolaug turned again for the temple gates. He had been anticipating Rueik’s return, and the good news that Loam was finally rid of the Guardians as they had planned.

  At the king’s presence, a line of thirty Glory Watchmen began to chant. One by one, they bowed their heads to the ground as the king approached the great wooden gate.

  None shall pass these doors but our king and any he deems worthy. May his progeny grow strong and healthy and may the loins of the child bearers give fruit.

  The last of the watchmen reached up and pulled open the wicket door as the king neared. Above stood the massive, opal-studded gate that had not been opened since its creation four hundred years ago. It was designed for one purpose. Not grandeur, nor vanity, but a large body. A body that would destroy every kingdom on Hearth…and if he could outmatch the other Beasts, vanquish a thousand portal worlds beyond.

  Isolaug did not relish many things, but the look on Hezzat’s face when he realized the true purpose of the temple…that would be a moment to savor.

  An echo of voices began to call as the king took the stairs down to the Sanctuary of Descendants. “Divine Father! He’s here!”

  A group of more than five hundre
d small children ran to the king, their voices echoing gleefully in the large cavern.

  Isolaug raised his hand and the horde of pattering feet slowed, happy voices quieting to whispers. “Don’t touch Father—slow down—don’t push—remember the rules. Careful of Father’s hair.”

  “Will you play with us?” asked one of the younger boys, a thick, tawny braid draped over his right shoulder.

  “Yes, Divine Father! Play!” squeaked a younger girl.

  Isolaug glanced through the king’s hazel eyes up at the far stone platform where several hundred mothers sat together, bellies swollen. They cackled excitedly as their children were now preoccupied by their father.

  “I promise to play with you as soon as I finish my duties,” said Isolaug to the children.

  They all bowed and said in well-rehearsed unison, “We await your promise, Divine Father.”

  Isolaug passed through the second gate. He fingered over the king’s mind like a ghost touching upon the world of the spirit and the flesh. Over the millions of years of his existence on Hearth, he’d tinkered with the countless creatures he’d created from the varied forms the Makers had bestowed him with, adjusting their blood languages and cellular arrangements. Humans were the only animals directly created by the Makers, but still, it was no difficult task to tinker with their inner makeup. Over the last five hundred years of his reign, Isolaug had managed to alter the king’s reproductive capabilities to maximize offspring.

  There was a never-ending need for more children, especially as the reptilian body he would inhabit grew in size. He wanted a healthy, well-fed brood for feed purposes. Only the choicest meals for his most precious creation. As it was, he had to supplement the reptile’s voracious appetite with child offerings from his subjects, young men and women given to the Divine King for temple duty in order to receive a blessing over the family.

  Upon arriving at the mating quarters, Isolaug withdrew from the king’s mind and the human made his way into the rooms of two wives currently ovulating. The king was about to enter a third room when Captain Danturas appeared with an escort of Glory Watchmen.

  Isolaug took over.

  “Do you have the coordinates to the wreckage?” asked Isolaug.

  “Yes, Master,” said Danturas, “But I’m afraid it will require no less than three weeks on foot.”

  “Do what it takes.”

  Danturas hesitated, “There is another way. We could promise the Nightmare mutations double helpings if they retrieve all that you wish.”

  “No, not the Nightmares,” said Isolaug. “They’re only good for occupying the minds of the Western kingdoms. That ship has precious cargo—too precious for mutations to handle. We must find that starship. It contains brains collected from Loam, and it has another Beast’s servant in cryo freeze. I need that one for purposes of interrogation. But more important, it has my kiehueth aboard.”

  “What if the creature died in the crash?”

  “A kiehueth dies only of old age. No weapon of man can kill it. I will have that creature…I need to study it.”

  “If it is as indestructible as you say, then likely the animal has gotten loose. It would be nearly impossible to find so long after the crash. And besides, how would we catch it?”

  Isolaug waved for Danturas to follow and led him through the third gate. On the other side were The Divine King’s older progeny, just as numerous as the younglings. Isolaug pointed at a girl who looked about fourteen years. She was pretty enough, but slightly gangly, with a nose too thin and an unpleasing smile. Isolaug had known it would be her turn sooner or later.

  “Come, daughter,” said Isolaug. He turned his eyes to a boy with obvious flaws. A weak chin, a spatter of freckles. Eyes too happy. “And you son, come.”

  Their brothers and sisters shouted praises to their father and praised the names of the young man and woman chosen for divine unification with their Heavenly Family.

  Isolaug led the two older children and Danturas through a fourth gate. The boy and girl stared in joyous rapture as they entered into a space where only the chosen were allowed passage. Many of their brothers and sisters had gone this way with similar excitement. They had been chosen by their father. They would become part of the Divine as they were granted access to Paradise.

  Together they walked the long hall called the Passage to Eternal Harmony. It was an enormous round tunnel carved out of the volcano. At the tunnel’s end, a gate of coiled metal lifted, revealing a grand opening in the shape of a circle that glowed orange with steady firelight. Isolaug led his small party through the circle into the vast cavern of his prized creation.

  Men with torches stood upon ledges that dotted the tall cavern, each trained in the simple commands that the creature at the center of the room understood.

  Isolaug’s eyes swept over the intimidating form with manifest pride gleaming from his face. The entire body from tooth to tail glistened white and pure, like a pearl waiting within the protective shell of the mountain.

  A broad reptilian head swung toward Isolaug on a long, thick neck. Spikes rose from its back, each fuming a trail of smoke into the air through a venting slit at their base. Beneath the spikes was a craggy shell that was a cross between a terrapin and a thorn lizard’s hide. Two sets of wings lay folded about the creature: the main wings, which had feather-like appendages made of then, pebbled skin—like a toad’s—and smaller, asymmetrical air vanes that stretched out behind the main pinions and would help the massive creature glide when it finally became airborne. The tail was twice as long as the neck, and at the end, fanned out into more toad-skinned appendages, but with spindly, retractable bones that were long, and sharp enough to cut a bull in half.

  Isolaug stroked his hand under the creature’s nape.

  A tongue flicked in and out of the mouth as the snout rubbed up and down against the king’s robes.

  “Father! What is the meaning of this magnificent creature?” asked the boy, who held the hand of his sister. Both stared in awestruck wonder at the great white body.

  “This is Astrum, the Sky Serpent spoken of in the stories taught you by the mothers. He is the bridge to eternity.”

  The ground shook as a small tremor passed through the mountain.

  Isolaug turned to Danturas. “Touch the serpent, feel its skin.”

  Danturas looked surprised. “Master, I—”

  “Touch his skin,” commanded Isolaug.

  Danturas timidly stretched out his hand and took an uncertain step forward.

  “Dig your finger under the crease of his hide,” said Isolaug, “Do you feel the muscle beneath? How a fluke arrow shot by our enemies might catch within the fold of his carapace and do damage?”

  Sweat beaded across Danturas’ brow as he obeyed. His fingers slid beneath the hard fold. Then, just as quickly, his hand sprang away, and he took a step back. “Yes, I see,” he reported.

  “The kiehueth must be found. I will not wait another year for the merchants to catch a second one.”

  Isolaug paused, searching Danturas’ thoughts. They remained untainted. His only quarrel with hunting down the kiehueth was the amount of time he’d be away from the wall building projects. He’d grown too comfortable building up Praelothia’s defenses. Soon enough, it would be time to attack.

  Isolaug placed his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “I must have the kiehueth, or we risk delaying our grand event. As soon as Astrum is perfected, I can be rid of this frail human carcass. I will rule a hundred worlds, and one of the first I take will be yours to govern.”

  Danturas bowed. “I look forward to the day, Master.”

  “Father,” called the girl, “our hearts are ready.”

  The boy, with his weak chin and freckled nose grinned enthusiastically. “We are eager to travel the bridge to eternity.”

  “Come here, my children,” said Isolaug. “Stand before Astrum. Tell him your names, and he will take you where you wish to go.”

  Isolaug moved to the hindquarters of the se
rpent as the two youths announced their names proudly. Danturas followed swiftly behind Isolaug, almost stepping on the skirts of the king’s robe in his haste.

  With pride, Isolaug turned and looked on.

  Take them unto eternity

  The great head swooped down gracefully and hovered above the two, a ritual it had performed many times.

  “Feel its belly,” whispered Isolaug to Danturas. “Feel it swell.”

  Without hesitation, Danturas placed one hand upon the serpent’s side. Isolaug glanced at his captain’s face and found the trace of amusement in his eyes. The fear Danturas had earlier displayed seemed to have vanished now that Astrum’s attention was occupied with the two youths.

  The children waited, as if standing on a precipice. The girl looked to her father, tears of joy winding down her cheeks. The boy’s eyes were fixed above, as if he’d already caught the first glimpses of paradise.

  One moment they stood awaiting the journey, the next moment they were burning alive, engulfed in a maelstrom of flames so hot that before their bodies fell to the floor, the meat had cooked on the bones.

  When the flame withdrew into the reptilian mouth, the two bodies lay sizzling on the earthen floor.

  There was no finer meat available to Isolaug’s growing body. The king’s children were fed the most nutritious meals: fresh fruits and vegetables, the choicest meats available. And Astrum supped on four or five worthy young men and women a week, depending on the children’s girth.

  Astrum’s head bent down and sniffed the steaming meal before him. He would take his time, morsel by morsel, pulling at the meat and bone and organs, enjoying the unique tastes of the various parts.

  The serpent’s palate was quite refined for a carnivore, eating only freshly cooked meat. Never raw.

  Danturas’ mouth wore a grim smile. “As you’ve taught me, Master: the powerful would be impotent without the weak.”

  Isolaug nodded. “Without sheep, the shepherd would be naked, hungry and insignificant.” He rubbed his hands over a hard, bony spike. Smoke wisped from the slit at the base. “Go now. Find the kiehueth and bring back the bodies and brains aboard that ship.”