Throne of the Dead (Seraphim Revival Book 2)

by Jacob Holo

  Veketon pulled the sword away and extinguished the blade. He tossed it aside, letting it slide across the ground with a high musical note.

  “This will not do,” he said.

  Quennin’s breath quickened, and she cried out as the slipsuit relocated her hip and set her broken leg in two brutal jerks. She lay on the ground, gasping in pain.

  “I had hoped this would be enough. Believe me when I say this.” The sad way Veketon spoke sent a chill down her spine. “Unfortunately, it appears I was wrong. Dendolet! We’ll try the other approach!”

  Veketon reached down and laced his fingers through her hair near the scalp. In a single fluid motion, he lifted her up and shoved one arm behind her back.

  “Stop it!” Hot pain shot through her leg and hip.

  Without a word, Veketon forced her to walk to the edge of the training hall. A black wall screen unfolded against the training hall’s abused surfaces. Veketon pinned her against a nearby building. He clenched a fistful of her hair and turned her face towards the wall screen.

  Quennin breathed in quick, pained gasps.

  “Please, just leave me be!”

  “No. Now watch.”

  The wall screen flickered to life. It showed images from a sterile, white medical ward of Aktenai design. A woman lay in a futon. She was young, slender, tired, and wore a green blindfold around her head for some reason.

  A man appeared in the picture, somewhat short, with black hair and dark, penetrating eyes. He wore a pilot’s storm-gray uniform and a purple armband with the seal of Aktenzek.

  In his arms was a child bundled in a gray blanket. The man knelt and the young woman rose. She reached for the child, somehow knowing of its presence without sight. She took the child into her arms, a look of pure joy on her face, as if all the pain and effort she had just endured had been worth it.

  Seth smiled back at her with a look of fatherly pride.

  Tears ran down Quennin’s cheeks.

  “Her name is Tesset Daelus,” Veketon whispered into her ear. “Their daughter’s name is Saera.”

  “It’s not true,” she said, unable to take her eyes off the images. “It can’t be true!”

  “The child is now two years of age.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “Our allies within the Choir have provided this. Perhaps you would like to see more? I think you would be surprised by how closely monitored you pilots are.”

  “I don’t believe you! Seth would never do such a thing!”

  “He already has,” Veketon whispered. “Oh, he grieved your loss for a time, but in the end, even your beloved Seth abandoned you. Just like everyone else did.”

  “He wouldn’t!” she cried, her vision blurry from the tears.

  “Everyone has thrown you away. Your leaders. Your friends. And yes, even your lover.”

  It finally came loose. She didn’t hold back, didn’t try to stifle the emotions pouring through her. She just wept. Even after all she had experienced, she’d believed that Seth would remain faithful to her, longing for her even as she longed for him.

  But that was an illusion, one she’d expertly crafted for herself and passed off as reality. The sadness ebbed, replaced with a rising sense of betrayal, deeper and hotter and stronger than anything she’d ever felt. Everything came together. All the betrayals. All the lies. All the indignities and emotions and fears. Everything balled up inside her.

  The pain cleared her mind, pushing aside reason and logic, letting the true brutal wrongness of her treatment burn with perfect clarity. She was angry, and that anger filled her. She wanted to lash out, to strike something, anything! It didn’t matter what. Her anger needed release, needed to go somewhere. It couldn’t stay inside her.

  Something snapped.

  Her body chilled. Ice water surged through her veins, but she didn’t feel the cold. All she felt was the rush of familiar power.

  “GET OFF OF ME!!!”

  Black light exploded around her, and Veketon flew back through the air. His back struck a building corner, and he tumbled wildly past it through the air. His body hit the ground, rolled, bounced, hit again, and kept rolling. Veketon finally stopped when his head smacked against the opposite wall. He lay sprawled about, unmoving.

  Quennin looked back at him. “What… what just happened?” she pushed off the wall, hobbling towards him. Her slipsuit continued its repairs. She felt mobility slowly returning to her leg and hip.

  Veketon rolled onto his hands and knees. He let out a deep pained sigh. “Ooooohhh… that hurt…”

  And then he started laughing.

  “Veketon?” Quennin asked, limping closer, using nearby walls for leverage.

  He stood up, placed a hand at the base of his neck and rolled his head around. He wheeled his arms about, shook one leg, then the other.

  “Good, everything seems to be in order.”

  “But…”

  Veketon smiled brightly. “Yes. You just threw me across the room. Fortunately, my barrier prevented any major injuries. I was hoping for something from you but didn’t expect that! Quennin, that was amazing! You did it!”

  Dendolet’s hologram flickered into existence. “A sudden coefficient spike of five hundred thousand percent, you will be pleased to note. This came as a response to her extreme emotional distress, as I predicted. However, it has since dropped back down to more mundane levels.”

  “But she did it!” Veketon patted Quennin on the shoulder.

  She winced.

  “Oh, my apologies.” He jerked his hand back as if burned.

  “There is still much work to do,” Dendolet said. “We have made the first connection to her latent power, but it appears atrophied. Her talent must be trained again.”

  “Yes, of course,” Veketon hurried into one of the buildings and came out with two new swords. He tossed one to Quennin.

  She caught it single-handed.

  “Go on. Try it now.”

  Quennin put her back against a wall and pulled the sword out of its scabbard. She held it in front of her, visualizing the blade. The power was there. She could feel it now!

  Energy wavered along the sword’s edge, warping light as if it were hot air. And with shocking suddenness, the blade flared alive with black light, edged in a haunted green nimbus. Experimentally, Quennin swung the sword into the ground. It cut through effortlessly.

  “There!” Veketon said. “Now that’s more like it!”

  “Given these results,” Dendolet said. “I believe we can expect her coefficient to plateau at roughly twenty-five hundred.”

  Two and a half thousand! Is that even possible? Only Jack has a coefficient higher than that!

  “Well, then. We should get right back to it,” Veketon said. “Your injuries?”

  Quennin pushed off the wall, experimentally testing her legs. The slipsuit reported almost full repairs, though raw aches still followed each movement. However, she felt a strange nimbleness to her movements. Power for the sword also found its way to her slipsuit, vastly augmenting any move she made.

  “Good enough,” Quennin said, satisfied with the test.

  “Excellent. Then let us continue.” Veketon raised his sword and lit it.

  ***

  Veketon stepped into the audience chamber beneath his estate. It was a dark room just large enough for eleven people to stand in a circle. Such a space was, technically speaking, not required. The other Eleven could appear anywhere equipped with the proper emitters and transceivers, crossing space via hypercast from Zu’Rashik’s choir. But the room helped focus Veketon’s mind, a problem the dead didn’t have.

  Veketon wore a perfectly tailored white suit, trimmed at belt, cuffs, and collar with his personal heraldry. His colleagues appeared one at a time, Dendolet first, and then the others in sequence of station. They all wore immaculate clothes, whites and blacks mixed in differing patterns and quantities, but always that same duality. Some chose young forms, others appeared seasoned with age and experience. All ca
rried ancient knowing eyes.

  Not a thread or hair out of place, Veketon thought wryly. I miss that advantage of being dead.

  He glanced over their faces, gauging the mood of the room. The rift between living and dead seemed particularly large today.

  “My colleagues,” Veketon said. “We move closer to the realization of our shared dream. Our divinity is at hand.”

  Dendolet raised a finger. “Quennin S’Kev is a rogue element in our equations. We have awakened her submerged talents, yes, but at our own peril. She could yet become a powerful enemy.”

  “This is a calculated risk,” Veketon said.

  “One that may cost us dearly.”

  Veketon grimaced. “If you have a direct concern, be out with it. Otherwise, we will continue as I have dictated.”

  Looks exchanged between Dendolet and the other Eleven.

  “Our concerns are not limited to Quennin S’Kev,” said Balezuur, who preferred the guise of an old man. He pulled at his unruly beard and adjusted a cloak of black and white diagonal steps.

  “You have changed,” said Xixek, smoothing her white gown. Black thorns circled the cuffs and hem.

  “All of us have witnessed it,” Dendolet said.

  “Changed? Of course I have changed!” Veketon snapped. He walked a dangerous line with his colleagues. The transition from dead to living had altered him far more than any of them yet realized, and he could not let them find out.

  They are close, Veketon thought. But they have not yet made the link between the changes and my actions involving Quennin. I can still keep this hidden.

  “We only voice our concern for you and for our plans as a whole,” Dendolet said. “Nothing more. Your actions do not exhibit their usual caution. You still command us, but we see you taking unusual risks.”

  “But don’t you see?” Veketon asked. “We are closer to achieving our goals than ever before. We have the male thrones and Bane Donolon’s template. The first female throne nears completion. We have retrieved the portal lance from the ruins of Imayirot, and our former servants have secured the Homeland Gate for us. All the pieces are coming together. We only need the will to reach out and seize this opportunity.”

  “You should not risk the portal lance in combat,” Balezuur said. “Out of the eleven originals, we only have the one.”

  Veketon raised an eyebrow. “Should I instead leave our most powerful weapon behind to collect dust?”

  “It is true we do not know where the other lances are,” Dendolet said. “But in this case I side with Veketon. No science of this universe can destroy a portal lance. And even though the other lances were scattered, they can be found again.”

  “Besides, I’m a bit out of practice.” Veketon shrugged as if embarrassed. “I must reacquaint myself with its functions if we’re to escape this universe.”

  “Well stated, First,” Balezuur said. “I concede the point.”

  Veketon gave his colleague a curt nod. “Back to the matter at hand. In Quennin S’Kev, we now have something not in our possession for twenty thousand years. We now have an ally that can activate Lunatic Ziggurat.”

  This received an immediate reaction.

  “You certainly cannot mean—” Dendolet began.

  “Yes!” Veketon said. “I propose we return to our old laboratory there and, with Quennin S’Kev’s help, reactivate it!”

  The room erupted with questions and crosstalk. Veketon silenced them all with a raised hand.

  “My colleagues, please calm yourselves. This is not as drastic as you might think. Only Vierj or one of us in our original lives could have reactivated Lunatic Ziggurat. Now that we have, in a sense, reclaimed our wayward twelfth member, our path is clear. We shall return to Lunatic Ziggurat.”

  “I cannot agree with this,” Dendolet said.

  “And why not? Think of what awaits us. We have equipment there that cannot be replicated in this universe. There, transferring our personalities to the thrones would be a simple matter. We would achieve our divinity! Why do you hesitate?”

  “The child. You place too much trust her. Now you propose we escort her to Lunatic Ziggurat? We have never and shall never share that kind of power with anyone.”

  Veketon exhaled slowly, then spoke in a low voice. “As I said, we have reclaimed our twelfth member.”

  Dendolet stared at him with a look of shocked horror. “You cannot be serious.”

  “The first of the female thrones is nearly complete,” Veketon said. “She will pilot it.”

  “Reckless,” Dendolet said.

  “But not without benefits,” Xixek said. “By infusing life into that giant corpse, she will give us the data we so desperately need.”

  “Exactly,” Veketon said.

  Dendolet shook her head. “There are other ways.”

  Veketon dismissed the notion with a wave. “All of them futile. With the data we gathered from Vierj’s corpse, we can only construct the female thrones. We can’t activate them. By letting Quennin imprint it, we gain all the data we need in one quick stroke.”

  “But to let her pilot the throne? To even bring her before Lunatic Ziggurat?” Dendolet said. “You go too far. I oppose this path and call a vote. ”

  Veketon paused before answering. His swept his eyes across the circle, studying his colleague’s faces. As always, he saw their intentions plainly and knew the outcome.

  “Agreed,” Veketon said. “Those in favor speak now.”

  “Balezuur.” “Xixek.” “Shalmael.” “Heit.” “Ziriken.” “Melekuur.”

  “Veketon. Those against speak now.”

  “Phoura.” “Yyryn.” “Kaspen.”

  “Dendolet. Seven to four. I concede the point, though I wish to make one final suggestion.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Quennin will be powerful, friend or foe, of that I have no doubt. However, she is only human. Her death should be easy to arrange if we found the need.”

  “Oh, your concern is misplaced. She will not betray us.”

  “And why, pray tell, are you so certain of this?” Dendolet asked.

  “It’s simple.” Veketon grinned wryly. “She’s a better, more honest person than any of us.”

  Chapter 10

  Redemption and Death

  Jared watched his doom come at him. He had only himself to blame.

  “I’m going to…” he muttered, waggling his finger between two possible moves on the Za’Chei board. A small gravitic field suspended its red and blue glass game pieces across the three dimensional grid. Hologram emitters added dynamic visual flourishes to the game.

  “Going to what?” Tesset leaned smugly back in her seat. Her smirk and confident posture more than made up for her lack of eyes.

  The two pilots sat in the crew lounge adjacent to the recreation center and its basketball court. A few rectangular tables were arrayed about the circular room. Simulacrum screens covered the walls and ceiling, making the small room feel surprisingly spacious. Verdant coniferous forests stretched out in every direction with mountains rising through distant veils of mist. Sparse villas dotted the landscape and its few maglev roads.

  Home… Jared thought, glancing away from the board. How much longer till I rotate back for some R&R? Another month, I think.

  “Jaaaared,” Tesset said.

  “Oh, sorry. I zoned out for a moment.” Jared glanced over the board. His situation had not improved.

  “Would you like to start over?”

  “What? Oh, no. We’ll finish this game.” Jared highlighted three game pieces. “Okay. I’m going to take these ships here.”

  “Two type-eighteen dreadnoughts and your command ship.”

  “Right. Those three. And I’m going to move them around this big blob that’s been disrupting my entire game.”

  “The class-five area terrain.”

  “Yeah. It’s supposed to be a nebula, right?”

  “If you like.”

  Jared scratched his head, still struggling w
ith the rules. It didn’t help that Tesset was an expert player. Za’Chei was complex and multi-layered with many specialized rules for the different units. It depicted fantasized and abstracted space battles in much the same way chess depicted land battles, though the similarities ended there.

  It’s the third dimension, he thought. That’s what’s giving me so many problems. If this game were flat I’d be doing better.

  Jared decided to finally accept his fate. He linked with the Za’Chei board, ordered his three ships around the nebular obstacle, and resolved his turn.

  Tesset’s counterattack came swiftly. One of Jared’s dreadnoughts flared with a small holographic explosion, then its red glass piece settled down into the board’s base. His command ship shuddered from repeated attacks, but held on for another round.

  “Bleh, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I’ve played Za’Chei since I was a child.” Tesset resolved her turn and leaned back. “My mentor used it to train my sense. He taught me to focus on even minuscule differences in shape and texture while placing them mentally in space.”

  “That’s interesting,” Jared muttered.

  Tesset shrugged. “There really was no alternative. By the time I realized I could have replacement eyes, I already had something better. Besides, the surgical alterations to my occipital lobe make the surgery a little impractical.”

  “Hmm.” Maybe if I pull the command ship back.

  “Are you even listening?”

  “Hmm. What? Oh yes, of course. Occipital lobe. Stuff like that.”

  Tesset gave him a doubtful look. Again, impressively without eyes. “And what did I say about my occipital lobe?”

  “Umm… well…”

  “Yes?”

  “How about I just make my next move?”

  Jared pulled his command ship back and ended his turn.

  Tesset immediately looped a frigate squadron around the nebula. They came in behind Jared’s command ship and began pounding its rear armor. Jared’s last dreadnought turned and engaged them.

  He rested his head in his hands and puffed out a gloomy breath.

  “Any news from the meeting?” Tesset asked

  “Not really. Seth and the two head Renseki have sealed off the command center. I think they’re talking to Jack as well, but all my requests for updates just bounce back. They’ve been at it for over two hours, so something’s got to give.”