A few times, after Riffolk had used her, she'd been left with bruises. On her neck, her arms, her buttocks. Seeing them made her sick, but she also felt a stinging, fluttering pride in her chest. I let him do this to me, she thought to herself each time, I couldn't stop it, but I took it without too much screaming, and I survived. And each time, she grew a little less sick and a little more proud. Seeing the mess of deep bruising on her shoulder made her feel sick again; it was so much worse than anything Riffolk could have done. But she felt an even more intense pride. This time it was a real, actual monster. And I still survived.
"What did it do to you?" He said, barely even whispering, "how did you survive this?"
She shrugged, then gasped at the pain, her head spinning as the buzzing intensified. Perhaps out of impulse, perhaps out of desire, his hand rose straight to her uninjured shoulder, and he steadied her. Without meaning to, she let out a tiny moan as his hand touched her. For a second he removed his hand, and she felt him tense up behind her. Then his hand fell on her again, gently. No man had ever touched her so gently. She turned, facing him full on, and he handed her the blouse she'd dropped to the floor. He looked her in the eye, ignoring her body again.
"We have medical facilities here, the doctors will examine you properly to make sure there's no internal damage. After that, I have some more questions for you."
His tone was gentle, but firm. Mara faltered. She thought there was something between them; that he desired her the way Riffolk did. She thought he was on her side, that he'd protect her. Like Riffolk? Like Pera? Like father? No. She looked into Commander Corby's eyes, ignoring her own wishful thinking with a huge effort, and told herself there was nothing there that would help her. She sat on the bench, dropping almost as if her knees had given way. Memories had begun flooding her mind, now stripped of their previous shiny lustre. Beneath it all was the image of Riffolk shooting Pera right in front of her, of Pera's body laying on the cold lab floor, her head a jagged and broken stump.
A sickness spread through her insides. A kind of cold, twisting weight. Had anyone ever truly cared for her? Did she matter to anyone at all? Her father sold her off to the richest family in Ermoor, her husband only paid attention to her when he needed her body, and Pera... She had been a friend, hadn't she? She gave me nothing, Mara thought, she only wanted to get to the lab. She... She used me. She never cared. And Commander Corby was using her to find the creature; he didn't care either.
Emotion suddenly felt beyond her. She was numb and cold, her mind a roiling storm. Everything she had believed was either broken, misunderstood, or simply wrong. Even God. She closed her eyes, tears running down her face. Commander Corby strode from the room, his heavy boots thumping the ground. In the chaos of her mind, she barely noticed.
God had suddenly become an empty concept, a desire as naively wishful as the love she'd thought she had from those she cared about. His lack of contact, not just with her but with seemingly all of Ermoor, made His absence that much clearer.
Since the creature's escape, however, she'd felt its presence in the back of her mind. She'd heard its voice, and spoken to it with her mind. It was how she'd imagined a relationship with God would be; it was what she thought the Priests experienced, and everyone else who was devout enough. Except her. But now, she could feel this powerful being in her mind, was connected to it, and she felt a thrilling sense of importance.
When she was younger, she had occasionally grown frustrated with never hearing God's voice. She would kneel by her bed, recite as many prayers as she could remember without reading from the scriptures, and then she would wait for a response. Usually, with a terrifying anticipation, she would speak directly to him. "Are you there?" she would whisper, her eyes squeezed shut as she imagined a booming voice replying. Each time she spoke to him, she felt almost certain he would say something back, anything. There would never be a response. After the anticipation melted away, there was only her empty, silent room.
Now she was alone, in the cold, bare room, and the same terrified anticipation seized her. She didn't pray, but she did kneel on the floor in front of the bench, placing her hands together and closing her eyes. In that place in the back of her mind, where she always hoped God's voice would speak, there was usually a horrible void. Now, she could feel its presence. Only faintly, but definitely there. She reached out tentatively, hoping for a reply and dreading one at the same time.
"Hello?" she said, "are you there?"
Nothing happened. The room's silence suffocated her, making her heart thump loudly in her ears. She focused on the presence in her mind, not fully understanding what she was doing. It felt like a hand, on her shoulder, but a little less there somehow. Like the feeling of being watched, or the tiny whoosh of air she felt if someone moved close behind her. Or like seeing a faint shadow or the vague shape of a person standing in a distant window. Imagining all of those, she pictured herself facing them, signalling the person in the window; turning to face the person behind her, the person watching her.
"Are you there?" she said again.
This time, she felt a shift. A sudden movement, like the shape in the distant window suddenly coming to life.
I am here.
Mara's breath caught in her throat. For the first time, she'd reached out to another being, asking for acknowledgement, and she'd been answered. She wasn't sure if the creature was God or something like him, but knowing it answered when she asked was enough.
"What are you?"
I am still unsure. Though I am almost certain I am one of the Gods.
One of? The thought terrified her more than she would have believed. How could there possibly be more than one God? It made no sense at all.
I can sense their power. There are four others like me.
"Where are they?"
A pause stretched between them.
They exist on a different plane, a different realm, for now. I cannot reach them. I am not sure what brought me to the physical world, but I know it's what the Others are trying to achieve.
"What for?"
If this creature was telling the truth, four immensely powerful beings were all trying to enter Pandeia, along with the one that had destroyed a large chunk of Ermoor. Mara had a lot of trouble believing they were Gods, but then again this thing could speak directly to her mind, something the scriptures said only God himself could do. And its power was undeniable; she'd seen the aftermath of its escape with her own eyes. No mortal creature held that kind of power.
To continue the war.
The creature didn't elaborate. Mara's entire body shook; her mouth was dry, her mind wiped blank. Ermoor was going to be destroyed. Pandeia was going to be destroyed. She couldn't even conceive of a battle between creatures like the one she spoke to now, but she knew it would be devastating. Her shoulder pulsed, and as she glanced down at it she remembered the power she'd felt while being attacked by the soldiers. She'd reduced them to ashes in an instant, and there was a distinct feeling of depth to the energy coursing through her; as though she'd barely even scratched the surface of the deadly magic.
"Can anything be done to stop them?"
I am sorry, child. I do not remember.
Arthor
A monster is loose in the city. Riffolk Hayne is dead. The servant's voice echoed in his head, driving all other thought from his mind. Riffolk's terrible project, the thing with the power of a whole city, had escaped and destroyed everything in its path, including Riffolk himself. Just as I warned the Twelve, he thought, though it gave him no satisfaction. He wondered if this meant they'd be less likely to kill him, or more so. The Twelve are the most stubborn and prideful people I've ever had the displeasure to meet; they will definitely still send someone after me.
Hopefully hunting the creature down and keeping it contained would distract them for long enough to allow Arthor to find some way to escape Ermoor; though he doubted it. Ellie had woken up before the servant broke the news, so she heard the whole thing.
&n
bsp; "A monster? What monster?" Her voice was shrill, disbelieving but still fearful.
Ellie didn't know any of the work that Arthor did for Ermoor. She knew he was the Lord Commander, of course, and she knew he commanded the military. But any more specific details than that were strictly forbidden to discuss with those outside the highest circles of authority. So when she glanced at him in fear, and found him looking scared, but not shocked, her skin paled and she shrank from him, bunching the blanket in her hands up to her neck. It broke his heart.
He'd always thought of himself as a good man. Anything questionable he did was done in the service of Ermoor. For the good of all. He didn't agree with the methods the Twelve Crowns used most of the time, but they were working towards achieving a just and secure society. He didn't like it, but whenever he felt guilt for Ermoor's attacks on Shanaken, he reminded himself that he was serving Ermoor, and God.
What saved his conscience, the one thing that helped bring what little sleep he got, was the knowledge that the Shenza were vicious, tree-dwelling savages. If they'd been a civilised society more like Ermoor, they could have established trade negotiations and spread the wealth and knowledge of Ermoor to Shanaken. Every archived military report Arthor had read about the first contact between Shanaken and Ermoor was devastating; the Shenza began their attack before the Ermoori explorers even realised the country was already inhabited.
Ever since the first landing, the Shenza had been ruthlessly intent on destroying any trace of the Ermoori from their land. The Twelve Crowns maintained that Shanaken held some immensely valuable resource necessary for Ermoor's growth and development. Arthor had no idea what it was or how it was used, but the records didn't lie; the original explorers had found literal tons of it, according to their journals. The only thing redacted was the name and use of the resource.
The original landing had been at least a thousand years ago. Arthor enjoyed learning about history, and knew everything there was to know about the ancient conflict between Ermoor and Shanaken. Over the years of research, Arthor had uncovered a huge number of gaps in recorded events, ranging back to even before Ermoor landed on Shanaken for the first time. There was also almost no recorded history he could find on the other countries in Pandeia other than ancient myths and legends, and only a few minor accounts of Ermoor having landed on them. All of Ermoor's exploration and military history revolved entirely around Shanaken. Their latest preparations were alarming in comparison; a full-scale invasion of Pandeia. This was no exploratory mission; they were setting out to take over.
Arthor returned his attention to Ellie and the servant. He'd taken too long to respond; feigned shock would be as obviously false as waving the "monster" off as nothing. He was stuck. Facing his wife, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the difficult conversation ahead. He gestured to the servant first, keeping his eyes on Ellie.
"Leave us," he said.
With the door closed, and his wife more terrified than he'd ever seen her, he began to speak. Instead of simply telling her about his choice to shut down Riffolk's lab as he had earlier, he told her everything. There was no reason to hold back any more; either the Twelve would kill them both, or the escaped creature would destroy all of Ermoor. Either way, all he wanted in that moment was for there to be no secrets between him and his wife.
Ellie held him close, and though she hadn't said anything since he stopped talking, her willingness to be this close comforted him more than he could say. Her only reaction to his words had been to steadily grow paler, her mouth shrinking into a thin line. When he finally reached the creature, and its potential power, combined with the fact of its escape, tears began streaming down her ghostly cheeks. Now, it had been at least half an hour since he'd stopped talking. She continued to hold him, silent and trembling.
Finally, he pulled her away, holding her shoulders gently and looking into her eyes. They shone with tears and fear, wide and innocent and trusting. After everything he'd just told her, knowing she trusted him still brought tears to his own eyes, and she sobbed when she saw him crying.
"What can we do?" her voice shook as she asked.
Stay. Fight. The Twelve deserve to die.
"I don't know. I think we need to leave Ermoor, but the Twelve have eyes everywhere."
She nodded. They talked for a little longer, each desperate for ideas. Eventually, Arthor started packing their things into a large chest; it was time to leave.
Mathys
If any man in Ermoor truly deserved to die, it was Riffolk Hayne. Mathys would never have said it out loud, but it rang as true as the blue in the sky nonetheless. Still, hearing the news brought no pleasure to him. He didn't wish death upon anyone; but he refused to mourn for a man such as Riffolk. There was no funeral, at least not yet; no body was found, and Riffolk was revered by the public. They would be devastated to learn that the man who single-handedly brought Ermoor into a new technological era was dead.
Riffolk's wife, Mara, wasn't devastated. The more he thought about her the more it disturbed him. There was something wrong with that girl. Even after the trauma she'd suffered, and after losing her husband, she attempted to seduce him. By all accounts, the girl had been absolutely in love with Riffolk. Why then, would she behave so crudely such a short time after his death?
There were also the reports of her capture. Several soldiers said she'd shot lightning from her hands. A couple of them said she had some secret weapon Riffolk designed for her, which was the most logical possibility; except for the fact that no such device was found after her capture.
One said he saw a glimpse of the creature in her place as she was knocked out, and that it wasn't Mara Hayne at all. Mathys immediately disregarded that as hysterical, although the idea had briefly chilled him. Regardless of his soldier's exaggerations, one thing was certain; three of his men had died trying to bring her in.
He sat at his study desk, the scent of the heavy oiled wood mixing with the candles burning. There were electric lights in his study of course, but they were harsh and gave him headaches. The candlelight helped him relax and brought a cosiness to the study that he greatly enjoyed. An array of documents splayed over the desk; reports of Mara's capture, damage reports from the mysterious creature's rampage through the city, reports from the attack on Dreadhold, and more.
Several of Riffolk's latest inventions, Photographs, were spread over his desk as well; he still hadn't gotten used to the idea of capturing such a life-like image on paper. The devastated street where the creature had rampaged loomed up at him. Riffolk's lab, half destroyed, sat eerily flat on another sheet of paper. Sighing, he pushed his reading glasses up with his fingers to rub his eyes; the Lord Commander handled larger issues like warfare and national security. Mathys' job was to administer law and order, which included disasters and strange events like the one he was looking at now.
It didn't make him more equipped to do this particular job; it was baffling. The creature was obviously linked to Riffolk; most likely part of his project, but Mathys had only caught glimpses and snippets from sitting in on meetings. As far as he could tell, the creature was being drained of some kind of power, which was to be used to develop weapons. Mathys had argued endlessly with Arthor about the project, to no avail.
Added to that was a young girl who seemingly had magical powers, a destroyed lab and a dead scientist without a body found so far. He could make assumptions based on the nature of Riffolk's project, which were logical, but Mathys never gave much weight to assumptions until they became facts. Besides, the Twelve wouldn't act on anything without proof, and even that could take a long time.
He'd spoken with Mara several times, and as far as witnesses went, she was almost useless. Her memories were vague at best, she was confused and hysterical, and her moods completely changed from moment to moment. But she seemed to be a genuinely good person, and Mathys found himself wanting to protect her. Protection of individuals wasn't part of his job description at all, but something about her was so naive an
d vulnerable that he couldn't help it.
At the same time, he recognised the significance of her being at the centre of the mystery; he would only protect her as far as she remained innocent in the eyes of the law. Obviously she'd been found without a male escort, and she would be punished accordingly for that, but her involvement in the mysterious creature's escape and the death of Overseer Hayne was yet to be ascertained.
He felt certain of one thing, however; regardless of how innocent Mara Hayne was, there was something very different about her.
Riffolk
Riffolk woke, confused for the first time in his life. His entire body hurt, but his shoulder and neck pulsed with an intensity that made his eyes water. Then he remembered where he was; in his secret lab, on the cold ground. It was dark for the first time since he'd had it built. No power. It's escaped. Both thoughts were immensely unsettling. His plans had never gone so wrong before. The worst part about it was that he'd allowed the Tyran girl to surprise him into firing at the tank, setting the creature loose and destroying his project; it was his own fault.
At least she was dead now. How satisfying it had been to obliterate her head as she made her last defiant attack. Though now he'd never get away with wiping out the rest of the Tyrans; without the creature and its power, Ermoor was once more completely reliant on the giant wheels under the city. And with his project shut down, he wouldn't be able to continue his work without the separate source of power. And what good was his vast fortune if he couldn't use it to fund his work? He would have to plan and build another secret laboratory somehow... But power still remained an issue.
Daughter of War Page 15
