by Ben Galley
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.
&nbs
p; 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 teeth. 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.
‘What is it, Caltro?’ Pointy asked, sounding nervous.
Yaridin spoke loudly over the roar. ‘We care nothing for the throne.’
‘We care nothing for charity!’ cried Liria.
I looked out, to the closest the buildings came to the Nyxwell. There was something spanning the avenue. Wagons. Barrels. A wall. I could tell not, but the crowds scattered in their thousands trying to escape it. I felt a deep unsettling within my chest.
‘You snakes! It was too good to be true! What are you doing?’ Nilith demanded.
‘We told you, Nilith. A sacrifice is demanded to build the new world!’ yelled the sisters as one.
It was a slaughter. The Cult of Sesh had made a trap of the plaza. A death trap, and their prey numbered in the millions. Panic overtook the crowd. Shoving and screaming, they surged from avenue to avenue in clumps of thousands. Straining my dull eyes, I could see the walls of barrels and wagons blockading the streets. Ghosts in red armour that had roamed through the dense crowds began to hack, stab and slash at anything made of flesh and blood. Every direction I looked in, I saw phalanxes of cultists going about their bloody work. Even living soldiers turned against their own kind. Riders on tall beetles paraded through the chaos, spearing stragglers. Even around the Nyxwell, Cult and royal soldiers that had stood guard about clusters of nobles turned their spears on their charges, bringing the murder close at hand. I saw Anoish barge his way through a shield wall, fleeing the madness.
I peered at the streets again and saw cultists attacking the barrels with hatchets, cracking staves. As murky Nyxwater cascaded onto the plaza, drenching those that had already fallen to the Cult’s blades. I realised then what all the preparation had been for. Grey vapour began to curl from the waters as if they boiled around the dead.
‘Don’t just stand there!’ Pointy howled, and I flinched instinctively. A triggerbow bolt clattered from the black stone tusk behind me. More bolts began to fly at the platform from a troop of house-guards. Some pudgy serek, far too slow on the uptake, seeking to make his name out of the bewilderment, even though his own house-guards were at that moment being overrun by Cult soldiers.
‘Caltro!’ yelled the empress.
I dove to the stone near Nilith, whose saucer eyes were still trying to make sense of the chaos that had descended upon the plaza. We were at the eye of the battlefield, and everywhere I looked, fighting and murder reigned. More insects, spiders and centipedes were barreling through the crowds on the eastern side. A fire had broken out in the north. Smoke was now sweeping across the plaza, darkening the skies.
‘I…’ I began, but the empress shook her head so avidly I thought she was having a seizure.
‘After. If there’s going to
be an after!’ Nilith hissed at me.
‘Witness Sesh’s glory firsthand!’ Liria and Yaridin were screeching over the roar of the dying and the terrified.
Nilith hauled me upright with her ghost hand, our vapours mingling. ‘I don’t know about you, Emperor,’ she shouted in my ear, ‘but I’ve had about enough of those fucking sisters!’
‘Pair of cunts, if you ask me. And I’ve come to strongly despise the colour red,’ I said, baring my teeth at the sisters, and the monster that stood beside them. Dread swamped me. I had come to the Grand Nyxwell expecting to leave it fighting. I had wrestled with this inevitability every hour of the night, and still no escape had presented itself. It had taken me until dawn to realise it was the price of my freedom. And yet even now I glanced over my shoulder, considering the pit of Nyxwater below me. But alas; the runner had finally run out of places to run. ‘Fuck it,’ I said to myself, resolving to have a strong word with the next dead god that showed his face.
‘Caltro!’ Pointy bellowed at me aloud. Quickly stowing Farazar’s coin beneath my armour, I seized the soulblade from my belt.
‘What?!’ I yelled, staring at the sisters and their damnable smiles.
‘I never told you my other name,’ said the sword.
Danib rolled his shoulders, and I heard the crunch of armour over the roar of the massacre.
‘I remember! Absia!’
‘No! I once went by another name: Yer’a Ankou.’
The great monster stepped forward, and the entire platform shuddered. With a ring, Nilith drew her scimitar, a great curve of silver and copper.
