Breaking Chaos

by Ben Galley

  Liria gestured behind Nilith, and the empress turned to find Anoish standing behind her, dwarfed between two horned scarabs bearing pairs of riders. He had been groomed from snout to tail, and was bedecked with gold and turquoise ribbons. A skirt of mail hung from his sides, and a gold, spiked shaffron placed over his proud nose. His dark, chestnut eyes stared at her with part-excitement, part-blame for his costume. Nilith thought he looked regal for a desert horse.

  ‘You deserve none of this, Mother!’ Sisine cried.

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Farazar joined in.

  Danib threatened both of them with the tip of his greatsword.

  ‘You stay back, beast. You didn’t scare me in the time of my father, and you don’t scare me now,’ argued Farazar.

  Danib growled at that, making vapour puff from the vents of his horned helmet like the hot breath of a beast. Farazar shrank away.

  Weak as Nilith was, mounting the horse took several tries, but with Caltro’s help, she managed it. It felt satisfying to be astride the horse again. Anoish seemed to feel it, too, prancing this way and that, his hooves clopping on the floorboards.

  With the clanking of chains, the doors of the warehouse were opened, and bright sunlight spilled across the dusty floor. Nilith could see palm trees and sandstone pillars, etched with weathered faces of past emperors and empresses.

  A horn was blasted somewhere amidst the throng of glowing soldiers, and with a rumble of feet and hooves and armour, the entourage formed up to leave.

  The procession gathered momentum within moments. Shouts ricocheted down the Avenue of Oshirim, bringing crowds from the towers and grand houses that lined the wide street. With the Cult soldiers forming a blade of shields and spears, they cut through the growing crowds swiftly, leaving Nilith to look about at the Arctians as she rode at the front of the procession. Caltro rode alongside on a horse, looking rather uneasy. The sisters rode behind them in an open carriage, shielded from the sun by cotton umbrellas. The ghost prisoners were kept in a similar carriage that tailed theirs.

  ‘Nyxwater! Nyxwater!’ came the shouts from the crowd, over and over, no matter how many cheers or yells of, ‘Empress!’ and no matter how much richer the avenue around them grew.

  ‘I wish I could tell them that by the end of today, they won’t need to worry about Nyxwater,’ Nilith muttered to the ghost by her side.

  Caltro didn’t deign to reply, merely looking around, eyeing up the living who brayed for water.

  ‘You’re quiet today, locksmith.’

  The ghost turned his white eyes upon her. ‘Is it me, or has everything been said? Doing, not talking, is what today needs,’ he replied sternly, as if trying to convince himself of the same truth.

  Nilith remained silent for the remainder of the journey, too busy drinking in the moments she had dreamed of for months, perhaps years, if she was truthful. It was too easy to be swept up in the adoration, the power of it all, if she let herself fall for it. Freedom. Justice. Nilith kept the words spinning around and around her head, even when swathes of the crowd fell to their knees as she passed, as if she were a dead god risen, and when lotus and rose petals fell like snow on Krass steppes.

  Before long, Nilith spied the black tips of the Grand Nyxwell’s tusks over the smaller high-roads and more modest buildings. Her heart, stubbornly clinging on despite the flesh about it turning to cold mist, began to thud, reverberating around what was left of her body. Nilith forced herself to count every beat, less some cruel twist of luck make it fail before she had claimed Farazar’s throne. She clutched the grey cloak about her left arm, ensuring it hadn’t slipped.

  Their progress slowed as the crowds squeezed into the half-dozen Spoke Avenues that met at the Grand Nyxwell. Looking over the heads of the masses, almost equal parts glowing and living, Nilith could see the avenues congested for miles, until distance and heat haze stole their number from view. A large quota of wagons parked along the sides of the streets complicated issues greatly, but Cult soldiers stood around them, even used them as parapets from which to watch the crowds.

  Once inside the plaza, Nilith gazed out over the knight statues kneeling before the Grand Nyxwell, swords in hand and heads bowed. It took another hour, perhaps longer, for the ghost soldiers to part the crowds enough to make a path to the Nyxwell’s dais. The cries of, ‘Nyxwater!’ became almost constant. Here and there, she spotted handcarts carrying slumped corpses, or the familiar sight of bloodied sacks tugged by ropes. Some were hopefuls, eager to bind their dead in the same well and water a royal had been bound in. The rest were desperate, and looked as though they had been dragging their unbound for almost as many miles as Nilith had, just to find a Nyxwell that wasn’t dry. Fights broke out here and there beyond the ever-moving halo of cheering and bowing bodies. Red-cloaked soldiers spread amongst the crowds to put them out like forest fires.

  Around the Nyxwell, intersecting rings of house-guards protected Araxes’ richest – those who had apparently survived Temsa’s cull. Nilith looked down upon tors, tals, sereks, celebrities and war heroes, and every one of them looked back with burning envy. The soldiers raised their shields higher as they descended the tiers of the Grand Nyxwell, and Nilith was glad for it. Her heart was climbing up her throat. The tension was a bowstring at full stretch.

  A cheer began to course through the countless masses, rising and falling as it reached different hemispheres of the great stone plaza. Nilith felt her breathing become short, as if their voices stole the breath from the air.

  In the vacuum between the crowds and the dais, grey-robed Nyxites waited behind ranks and ranks of dead soldiers. They watched Nilith avidly, bowing timidly as she dismounted Anoish and began to tread the stairs. Caltro walked behind her, with Liria and Yaridin seeing to the ghosts and the body of the emperor, which, Nilith was pleased to see, had been rewrapped.

  Nine… eight… seven… Nilith counted down as she climbed, as if she had been counting since Belish. ‘Six…’ she muttered aloud as she stumbled, her left leg shaking. ‘Not now,’ she hissed to herself.

  To her surprise, Caltro was there, keeping her upright and dignified. His face was expressionless, eyes somewhat glazed over, as if he walked through a dream he’d had before.

  Up they climbed, until they stood on the platform they’d graced not two days before. Nilith was as breathless as she had been then. She stared out across the Nyxwell, and the masses stretching to a man-made horizon of spires and towers. The crowd must have been a million strong, perhaps a million more in the streets. And half that number dead, she thought.

  Swallowing the choking beat of her heart, Nilith stood tall and strode to the edge of the platform. Below her, a pool of black water awaited a body. The vibrations from the feet of the crowd rippled lazily across its oily surface.

  Nilith turned to find the platform crowded with the Cult and the chained ghosts. Before her, two Nyxites waited with the body of Farazar. They were busy cutting open the fresh wrappings. She caught Farazar peering past Danib’s shoulder to ogle his own corpse. Judging by the foul look on his face, he immediately regretted it. Nilith watched as they peeled back the cloth to show a corpse twisted and warped by rot and the elements. Most of its features had collapsed, showing the white skeleton in places. Portions had dried like old meat, desiccated and speckled with sand. Other parts were black and slick with putrid liquid, and the tails of maggots could be seen waving about. Farazar’s face was what held her gaze: a gawping mask of shock, visible even in death and decay.

  The Nyxites had iron stomachs, and without blinking, they positioned themselves at the edge of the platform, at Nilith’s feet, ready to surrender the corpse to the Nyx.

  If she thought Farazar had finally accepted his fate, Nilith was wrong. He began to rage against his chains, yelling, ‘I am the emperor! She is a murderer! I am the emperor!’ over and over. He caused so much fuss, Danib had to squeeze his head between his arm and his chest to silence him.

  As the cheering died and whispers spread between
the crowds, the Enlightened Sisters came close, speaking in turn.

  ‘It is time, Empress.’

  ‘Take your place amongst history.’

  ‘Do what you set out to do all those months ago.’

  ‘Free the empire,’ Liria urged.

  With a deep breath, Nilith turned to face the droves waiting on her. Save for the rustling of chatter here and there, and the occasional shouting, the crowds were eerily silent.

  In all the time spent fighting the desert, she had prepared speech after speech for this very moment. Now, a million eyes were turned upon her, heavy with expectation, every rehearsal had faded from memory. All she had to do was convince them to reverse a thousand years of history.

  ‘Arctians!’ Nilith bellowed, as loudly as her hoarse throat would allow. ‘I am Empress Nilith Rikehar Renala, daughter of Krass King Konin, Lady of Saraka, wife of once-Emperor Farazar Talin Renala the Eighteenth, and in accordance with Emperor Phylar’s decree, I am here to stake my claim on the throne of the Arctian Empire.’

  While the nobles clapped their hands in mock appreciation, the crowds beyond merely rumbled with ambiguous noises. Nilith clasped her cloak tight, making sure no vapour would betray her.

  ‘Traditionally, the emperors or empresses that have stood before me have proclaimed wealth and prosperity for all. I have always thought them liars!’ Nilith proclaimed, garnering more of a response, albeit a shout for, ‘Nyxwater!’

  ‘Precisely!’ Nilith yelled, feeling her momentum growing. ‘Emperor Farazar did nothing but continue this royal trend. And what has he done for you but hide in his Sanctuary, and let this proud city sink under the weight of murder and poor rule? You cry “Nyxwater” because Farazar, and scores of others over the centuries, have done nothing but perpetuate a society that feeds upon itself. A society that breeds monsters like Boran Temsa, who would see this city on its knees for their profit. Like many that stand before you today!’

  There came the shouts and cheers of approval. The scapegoat for the city’s angst had been named. Danib thrust Temsa forward to show him to the crowd, and boos and jeers joined in the noise. They spread through the crowd like a spark through a dry field. Through it all, Nilith stared at the nobles around the Nyxwell, much to their glowering.

  ‘Ingrates!’ yelled Temsa, receiving more hatred from the crowd. Half of that audience must have been murderers themselves, yet a mob will never fret about turning on its own.

  From the corner of her vision, Nilith caught Caltro staring at her, waiting on her words like every other citizen of the City of Countless Souls. She took the fierce look in his white eyes for one of encouragement.

  ‘I wish for change, as I know many of you do! I want a city that does not need to suffer shortages of Nyxwater!’

  A roar of voices rose, like a hurricane approaching shore.

  ‘Or grain, or shelter! A city that protects its neighbours, instead of murdering them in their sleep!’

  Applause joined the shouts, like fat drops of rain on a palm-frond roof.

  ‘A city not constrained by the rules of a despot from a thousand years ago!’

  Thousands of fists punched the air in agreement. Nilith ripped the copper coin and chain from her neck and held it high. Her boot hovered over Farazar’s corpse, ready to push.

  ‘A city without binding and indenturement!’ she roared.

  Nilith’s spell over the masses broke like a stained-glass window before a boulder. Those nearest the Grand Nyxwell fell still first, and their confusion spread out in waves. Some who were not without their wits saw sense, and began to chant in favour. Ghosts, in their hundreds, took up the chant. A brawl broke out.

  ‘No!’ barked a nearby serek.

  ‘That is treason!’ yelled another.

  Hot tears spring to Nilith’s eyes. Tears of anger and disbelief. The entire city was comprised of fools, still reaching for fire with hands covered in burns. Plainly before them, they could see the evil that plagued their lives, and yet were content to let it stay. Even willingly invite it in. Not in all her days and nights enduring the sands had she dared to imagine this.

  A shout ripped from her throat, echoing across the plaza like a battle-horn.

  ‘I am Empress Nilith Rikehar Renala, first of that name, and my first decree is—’

  It was then that Caltro seized her. Nobody was more surprised than Nilith, suddenly grappling with a ghost who was desperately trying to pull her arm off.

  No.

  Not my arm.

  With a flapping of red fabric and the twang of a strap, her cloak ripped free, along with a gauntlet. As Nilith wrenched backwards, she bared her ghostly hand to the sunlight for all the crowd to see.

  ‘Caltro! What are you doing?’ Pointy’s panicked shout filled my head, momentarily deafening me as I ripped Nilith’s gauntlet free.

  The gasp that sprinted through the masses was almost comical. What was far from comical was the reaction. Half the crowd were stunned silent. The other looked revolted. It was no surprise the latter half still had a beating heart in their chests. Scattered fighting broke out as opinions clashed.

  ‘What is that?’ came the complaints, multitudinous in their outcry.

  ‘Is she dead or alive?’

  ‘A dead queen!’

  ‘No shade can sit on the throne!

  ‘Caltro!’ yelled the sword, cutting through the tumult of voices.

  Ignoring him, I turned with a victorious grin stretched across my face, facing the Enlightened Sisters. Behind them, the chained ghosts struggled against their captors.

  ‘A revolution requires a revolt. Your plan has been laid bare, Sisters!’ I crowed, much to the confusion of every face in my vicinity. Even the Nyxites had the cheek to look shocked.

  Nilith shoved me, sending me sprawling across the white marble. ‘You stupid fuck, Caltro Basalt! Look what you’ve done!’

  ‘They plan to turn the dead against the living. A massacre, Nilith. They showed me!’ I yelled, trying to figure out why Liria and Yaridin still wore their infernal smirks, and why Danib hadn’t reduced me to smoke. ‘I figured it out. With the Code abolished, ghosts have no masters to fear. What’s the result? An uprising, led by the Cult. Look! Where are the scrutinisers? The Chamber? Have you even noticed Chamberlain Rebene isn’t even here? Where are your Royal Guard? All they needed from you was a crowd.’

  ‘Dead gods, Caltro, you’re right,’ Pointy breathed.

  I levelled a finger at the sisters. ‘I know I’m right! So were the dead gods! They thought they could pull the wool over my eyes, but not me. That is the flood they want to unleash on the world. A flood of dead!’

  It was as if scales fell from Nilith’s eyes as she looked through the crowd. The only soldiers that stood near the dais were made of vapour. When her gaze fell upon the corpse of Farazar, I could have strangled her. I saw my own stubbornness staring back at me.

  ‘It has to be done. To save our humanity!’ she yelled.

  ‘No!’ I lunged for her once more, but her gold fist swatted me away. ‘Stop, Nilith! It’s not worth it.’

  With a snarl, Nilith broke the copper coin in half with brute strength. I dove for her legs, bringing her to her knees. With a barrage of savage kicks, she fought me off, managing to jam one half of the coin into the corpse’s disjointed mouth. With a shriek, she threw her shoulder behind Farazar’s body and pushed it over the precipice. I barged Nilith as it tumbled, driving the wind from the empress with my armoured shoulder. I saw the copper half-coin burst from her hand, and I dove after it as if it were my own.

  The tips of my fingers grazed its metal. I snatched it like it was the edge of a cliff I was about to topple over. In truth, that wasn’t far from my situation. My body was sliding after me. My hips had already slipped over the marble edge. And yet, even as I began to topple, I still had time to watch the desiccated, rotting corpse swallowed by the Nyx. Before his grinning face was consumed by the black water, I saw the flash of copper between Farazar’s ashen t
eeth. No sooner had it vanished than I noticed the burning deep within my palm, as the copper half-coin seared my vapours.

  It was then that something grabbed my legs.

  Chapter 26

  The Battle Of Araxes

  Of all the epic poems told of the deeds of men, many forget the story of Calabar, who purportedly stood alone against a thousand men with a single soulblade. Few details survive the two hundred years that have passed, but they speak of smoke surrounding him like a tornado, billowing from his blade.

  From ‘A Reach History’ by Gaervin Jubb

  The first thing I noticed was the vengeful snarling of Nilith, and her sharp fingers digging at my armour in her rage. ‘Everything I’ve worked for!’ she was screaming. The rest was wordless.

  Danib dragged me away from her and threw me to the side, and the second thing I noticed was the laughing. The uproar had reached fever pitch as the masses witnessed the debacle upon the dais, and yet the musical notes of the sisters’ laughter somehow cut their way straight to my soul.

  It was Liria and Yaridin, baring wide smiles. ‘Caltro Basalt. The wise, all-seeing Emperor Caltro Basalt, first of his name,’ Liria called.

  I stared down at the half-moon in my hand, watching my vapours spit and sizzle around it, and realised what I had done.

  Yaridin clapped her hands silently. ‘How far you’ve come, Caltro. You arrived in this city a thief and now you stand as emperor.’

  I struggled to my feet, watching Nilith seethe. ‘No. I… I’ve stopped your flood. The Code still stands.’

  Sister Liria stepped forwards. ‘Wisdom was never your strong point, was it, Brother Caltro? You were correct about the crowd, but the Code does not matter to us. It is the Tenets we trust in. Gods-given by almighty Sesh. No man or shade can change them, not even the emperor.’

  Nilith stopped struggling. I swore I heard screams somewhere amongst the sea of yelling people. I chanced a look over my shoulder. There was a commotion on the far side of the plaza. I could see its ripples sweeping outwards, like those of a rock cast in a lake. I heard the anxious whinnying of a nearby horse.