Rings of the Inconquo Trilogy

by A. L. Knorr

  The magnitude of his insanity was mind-numbing. I suddenly felt like I was drowning and needed to push away from the suffocating weight of his vision, to bring things back to a scale I could understand.

  “So what do you want with me then?” I shouted to be heard over the rising chorus. “Why this whole production?”

  Ninurta’s brows rose, a shadow briefly passing over his face before he knelt in front of me, bringing me to my feet. His huge hands took mine in a firm but gentle grip. He on his knees, and I on my feet, we were eye-to-eye; and snared in those deep, dark pools, I couldn’t move.

  “I want you to join me, child.” His voice was quiet but impossibly clear through the tumult. “You, whether through will or destiny have risen above any who came before you. I am determined to never need an heir, but it would please me to have you at my side, adding your strength to mine in this great work. Be my princess, be my consort, be my queen, be whatever you will, but be so with me. Let us remake the world together.”

  I stared at him, wind tugging at my hair as the sky threatened to tear itself apart.

  The offer, as abhorrent as it was, still had temptation – not least because I knew Ninurta would not take rejection well. The idea of such power for a girl who’d spent her life scuttling along the bottom of the proverbial barrel was incredible. Looking at Ninurta’s bright eyes and soulful expression, I could almost convince myself that with time and tact, I could influence him. Wasn’t it better to guide such power?

  One look around me answered that question. Thousands of his descendants enslaved in his dreamscape, chanting his praises. Ninurta was a force of nature, a malevolent tidal wave, either I rode with him into destruction pretending I was in control, or I stood in defiance.

  I am a guardian.

  “No,” I met his gaze levelly. “I won’t join you. Not now, not ever.”

  He was composed in the face of rejection. “Oh, my dear, you don’t even know what I am going to do. It will be magnificent.”

  I shook my head, refusing to look away. “I’ve heard fanatics muttering doomsday prophecies: the world made new as the wicked are destroyed and the faithful rewarded. I will not be part of your apocalypse.”

  Ninurta frowned and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  “If apocalypse is what I bring, then you will be bound up in it, like it or not.” A genial grin lit his face. “But you mustn't take those poor souls too seriously. They’re pawns, not princes. It is their place to serve, and be sacrificed for the good of better men.”

  Now it was my time to smile, grim and hard to match my voice.

  “And that right there, is why my answer is never. They aren’t pawns to be cast aside, but people who need to be protected.”

  The skies shivered as rivers of lightning coursed searing tracks overhead. Something hard and ugly appeared in the king’s gaze before it sank deep into eyes growing watery with sad resignation.

  “I hoped this wouldn’t happen.” He got up and walked toward his throne, his movements weary, as though bearing a heavy burden. “I’d hoped that whatever had made me had resurfaced in you.”

  He settled into place with a ponderous elegance. Even knowing what he was, he looked noble, as though stoically shouldering the weight of ruling on his broad, sculpted shoulders.

  “I had expectations, but I will wait a little longer for one who has awoken to the same truth I have.”

  The spell broke on the word ‘truth’. He really saw himself as the tragic hero, and somehow knowing that fractured whatever glamour he’d woven over me. He was a self-pitying monster, no matter how he dressed it up.

  My lip curled. “You’re breaking my heart, but if it means you’re going to crawl back into your metal box and sleep another few millennia, then I’m all for it.”

  Ninurta stared at me for a few heartbeats, and I looked right back, my chin thrust out. I’d chosen defiance and I would give it my all.

  Something passed between us that told me he knew what I’d seen. His wickedness, his selfishness, his madness.

  “There is no turning back after this,” he said. “Once I end this dream, there will be no conversation, no parley, no second chances.” His voice grew colder, sharper with every syllable.

  “Promise?” I asked in an exaggeratedly hopeful voice. “Cross your heart and hope to die?”

  “Very well.” He looked down his nose, not amused. “Ibukun Bashir, once the bright hope of a degenerate generation, I declare you my enemy and unworthy of the blood you carry in your veins. I shall come for you. I will not suffer the insult of my children’s defiance.”

  Ninurta gave a dismissive flick of his hand.

  “Take her from my presence.”

  Hard hands grabbed my arms and hauled me backward. More gripped my throat, my legs, and my waist. My first instinct was to scream in outrage, but I reminded myself this was a dream. You can’t hurt me. This is a dream. Only a dream. My mind whispered reminders to my heart to keep it from pounding itself into a panic. The murky-faced figures in the innermost ring carried me away from the throne, and I let them, focusing on keeping the fear they wanted to incite at bay.

  They dragged me closer to the next circle where they squeezed and wrenched at my limbs and body, passing me to the hands of the next ring. My world became a suffocating tide of rough fingered and sharp nailed hands, dragging me away in the cruellest way possible, away from the throne and toward the ziggurat’s edge.

  With the surety of a dream I knew what they intended, and just as surely, I surrendered to the oppressive current.

  It is just a dream.

  That became my mantra…until I was plummeting, screaming, toward the shadow-swathed city below.

  12

  A churning, humming sound grated on my frayed nerves but the hands were still there, though perhaps not as many. I loosed an enraged scream.

  “Get off me!”

  “For god’s sake, hold ’er down!”

  The grips tightened, but so did my resolve to escape.

  The world was a blur of colours that didn’t make sense, but I sensed open space to my right and hurled myself toward it.

  Profanity-laden cries erupted. Hands lost their grip, and my feet hit solid ground. I shrieked a defiant victory, dragging those I couldn’t twist away from as I tried to run.

  “Ibby, please stop!”

  I knew that voice, but when massive arms wrapped around my body, engulfing me until I was sure I would be crushed to death, the primal will to fight, to escape, to survive, overcame me. I heard grunts of pain as I fought, but the grip held.

  Eventually I collapsed, exhausted, my rage expired. The forced embrace didn’t withdraw, but as my legs gave way I was lowered into a sitting position. By degrees the arms loosened, slabs of muscle slowly relaxing. As the constricting force lessened, the fog of the nightmare and claustrophobia dissipated. The world began to make sense again.

  I was high up, overlooking London. The sky was indigo with bands of violet and the city glittered with a million lights. A second longer and I recognised the whirring sound, now slowing and fading: as helicopter blades. Understanding crashed over me. The dream was over. I was still alive. I was seated on the rooftop helipad of The Nakesh Corporation building, less than a metre from the edge.

  I shuddered at what had almost happened – my dream becoming reality – and unconsciously pressed myself against the broad chest that braced me.

  “Can I let go now?” Marcus’s voice was breathy from his exertions. “Or are you going to go mad again?”

  “I think I’m good,” I whispered, “but that doesn’t mean you should let go.”

  The second he let go, everything would come crashing back in and a new kind of madness would take hold. What had I done, defying such a force as Ninurta? Even taunting him. Had I gone momentarily nuts inside that dream? It was like I’d had a death-wish. Strangely, I was more afraid now than when I had been inside that nightmarish dreamscape.

  “Okay,” he whispered back and
pulled me in closer. “Have it your way.”

  The wind was cold, but Marcus was warm against me. He shifted his position and slid his thick legs alongside mine, a protective shield. I rested my head against his chest and savoured the steadying rhythm of his breathing.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked after a long while and our hearts returned to a normal rhythm.

  “I met Ninurta,” I croaked, licking at dry lips.

  Marcus tensed, but to his credit he waited, letting me share in my own time.

  “He pulled me into a dream. One he created with his mind, but it was so real, Marcus. Full of zombie Inconquo worshipping him.” I shuddered with disgust.

  “That sounds … terrifying.” Marcus slid his hand up and down my arm in soothing strokes. “Why did he bring you there?”

  “To recruit me.”

  The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of dancing glows.

  “He thought I’d be tempted to join his legion of doom as queen of his new world order.” I could hardly say the words without nausea closing off the back of my throat.

  Marcus took in a heavy breath and then let it out slowly.

  “Then he really doesn’t know you. Such goodness as you have is foreign to him.” He kissed the side of my head.

  Love surged through my heart for the man cradling me, his utter faith that I would do the right thing. Mingled with that affection was a touch of shame and I let out a long exhale, feeling my heart throb. Could I ever fully be who my sweetheart thought I was? I hadn’t the heart to tell him that I had in fact been momentarily tempted, even if I had been in a trance.

  “I hope you told him where he could stick his offer.” Marcus chuckled: a warm, buttery sound that made me want to melt in his arms and be cradled there forever.

  I nodded against him and he kissed my cheekbone.

  “He didn’t take it well.” I said, feeling a little bit of the cold creeping in. The wind was picking up. “Said he was coming for me.”

  The muscles enfolding me quickened, ridges of indignation flexing. Muscular strength would be useless against Ninurta, but right now, holding me like he was, it was a kind of magic to soothe my soul.

  “Things are about to get worse, aren’t they?” Concern thickened his voice.

  “Much worse, at least for me.” Ninurta had promised to come for me.

  There was a long pause, only his steady breathing and the wind broke the silence.

  “You aren’t alone,” Marcus whispered in to the nape of my neck. “Please, remember that.”

  I looked out over my beautiful city and envisioned the kind of ruin Ninurta could bring to the glittering, metal-boned landscape. I saw the Gherkin folding in on itself as people screamed and fled, the Shard bifurcating to plunge like two titanic blades on the wailing masses. Death, chaos and ruin to appease the mad narcissist.

  I could see the truth of what needed to happen. For a guardian there was no other choice.

  “I’m not alone right now. And that’s enough.”

  ---

  “I need to face Ninurta on my own.”

  I sat in Marks’ office with Stewart, both of us cleaned up but looking the worse for wear. Stewart’s eyes were haunted, and his craggy face seemed gaunt. I looked even worse. We’d concluded the debrief; Stewart had filled in the missing pieces about separating me from Sark after we plummeted to earth, while I explained about the dreamscape. Now we were discussing the next step.

  “Is this some sort of warrior code, soldier’s honour, nonsense?” Marks turned a withering look on Stewart.

  The sergeant gave me a side-long glance as he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

  “I dinna think that’s the case, mum. I ken Ms Bashir’s reason, though god knows it hurts me. She wants to do this on her own because … well, because we’re no use to her in this fight.”

  It felt wrong to nod my head at an admission that probably cost Stewart more than I could appreciate, but it was true. I mouthed thank you as Marks spun away to prowl around her desk.

  Stewart gave me a short nod, his eyes soft. The soldier finally understood our respective places in this fight.

  “I don’t invest so much in an asset just to let that asset engage in a suicide mission,” Marks remarked coolly, turning her gaze to me. “I didn’t get this far wasting resources.”

  It was chilling to realise that was how Marks saw me: an asset, a resource. I supposed she had to view people like that to keep from being crippled by the emotional turmoil of making tough decisions, but still … damn.

  “We need to limit the damage,” I explained. “If Ninurta comes for me while I’m in London, he’ll bring carnage on an incredible scale and there will be nothing any weapons can do. In fact our weapons would only become fodder for his assault. I need to be somewhere he won’t be able to hurt anyone but me.”

  Marks frowned, arms crossed, tapping manicured nails on her silver-grey jacket.

  “Do you really believe he’d be that reckless?” she asked. “Would he disregard the secrecy so valuable in this business?”

  “This isn’t business to Ninurta.” I leaned forward to emphasise my point. “This is destiny. He’s not going to be subtle. He once ruled the world, or close to it, and he plans to do so again. He doesn’t care about secrecy because he plans for the majority of the population not to be here anymore.”

  Marks blinked, paling. “And how exactly is he going to do that?”

  I took a deep breath, knowing that this part wasn’t going to be easy to swallow.

  “Ninurta plans to somehow harness the power of his many descendants to affect the earth’s metal core. The incredible destruction will jump-start a contest for survival. The winners of that contest, superior humans, in his eyes, will be the foundation of his new empire.”

  “These are the ravings of a madman,” Marks said with a shake of her head. “I need actual intelligence.”

  “Insane or not, it would be stupid to underestimate both his conviction and his power.”

  “And facing him alone doesn’t strike you as underestimating your opponent?” Marks asked, cocking one eyebrow. “This isn’t some spaghetti western where good and evil square off to decide the fate of the common folk.”

  “I’m not doing this because I think I can beat him,” I answered, folding my hands in my lap so she couldn’t see my fingers tremble. “This is about damage control, pure and simple. Every minute he spends focused on me is time you can use to secure as many Inconquo as you can. If we can keep them out of his grip, maybe we can stop him.”

  “You were the way to stop him!” Marks’s face scrunched into a snarl. “You are the weapon we were supposed to wield against him!”

  Marks’ words cut, but I wouldn’t let her see that. She hadn’t met Ninurta, she had no idea what we were facing.

  “I am not enough.” I replied, my voice quiet. “For better or apocalyptic worse, I’m a shield, a guardian, not a weapon. That may not be enough to stop Ninurta, but I can slow him down, so that is what I intend to do.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed together into a tight line.

  “I could stop you.” She spoke so softly that I struggled to hear her. “Detain you until I found some way to encourage your compliance.”

  My hackles rose; a rush of anxious, violent energy drove me out of my seat, to stand eye-to-eye, matching the older woman’s glare.

  “Steady now, Bashir,” Stewart warned.

  The Rings quickened in my hand, responding to my heightened emotions. I ground my teeth and set my jaw against a hundred angry words that ran circuits in my mind.

  “You could,” I said, carefully forming each word. “But that would be a waste of the limited time and resources you have. If you try to keep me here you are calling destruction down upon London. Let me go and I can give you time. You have several brilliant strategic minds here at TNC, employ them in the time that I’ll make for you.”

  Marks stared at me for several agonising seconds.
I waited, somehow feeling that was improper to look to Stewart for a sign.

  “We have access to Otterburn in Northumberland.” Marks’ shoulders sagged a little, her voice worn and brittle. “We’ll arrange transport and put the word out that you are training there. It is secluded. I don’t imagine you’ll have to be up there for long if Ninurta is as hot on your heels as you say he is.”

  “Thank you.” It seemed an odd thing to say to someone letting you go on a suicide mission, but I was thankful for her acceptance.

  “Don’t thank me.” She waved a hand. “I’m just being pragmatic.”

  I nodded, feeling a pang of pity for the defeated tone in her voice.

  “What is Otterburn?” I asked. “A game reserve or national park?”

  “It’s an ATE, Army Training Estate,” Stewart said as he heaved himself out of his chair. “Sees regular use by the military, but I’m sure Marks can pull the strings necessary to see you’re not disturbed.”

  Marks didn’t bother to comment. She’d swung her chair to look out the window, putting her back to us.

  “Could you give me a map and details of the layout?” I asked.

  Stewart nodded and motioned toward the door.

  “I’ll make sure you’re as briefed as you can be, dinna worry aboot that.”

  Stewart and I moved toward the office door.

  “Ibby.” Marks called while still facing her window.

  I paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Yes, ma’am?”

  Marks drew in a breath, squaring and straightening her shoulders. She turned to face me and her voice was as clear as the first day I’d met her.

  “Make the bastard work for it.”

  ---

  Marcus thumped his bag down next to mine. “I’m coming.”

  Gritting my teeth as I rammed the last of my clothes into a rucksack TNC had issued me, I sent a glare his way. I had known this was coming. I wanted to both hug and throttle him for it.

  “What’s next, you going to offer my uncle ten goatskins for me to have your babies?”