Throne of the Dead (Seraphim Revival Book 2)

by Jacob Holo

  Seth flew out of the expanding Maelstrom detritus. He scanned the area quickly, searching for evidence of what had transpired after his battle with Quennin.

  Aktenzek loomed before him like a smooth off-white pearl, Alliance fleets arrayed about it in organized battle formations. Space was thick with the echoes of combat, from the hewn bodies of archangels and seraphs to the tortured hulls of immense warships, but the Alliance appeared victorious.

  “For all the good it will do us,” Seth sighed. The Homeland Gate had never been the real target, and now Aktenzek guarded a useless prize, pulled away from the real target within the Earth.

  Seth headed for the Alliance fleet. An Aktenai seraph squadron vectored towards him, not overtly hostile, but they approached fully armed and ready for battle.

  Of course. His seraph retained its old silhouette, but to disappear within the Maelstrom and then emerge carrying a portal lance? The Choir wouldn’t know what to make of that.

  They must be nervous. Well, let them be.

  A long list of incoming summons queued in Seth’s mind. He ignored most of them, his mind’s eye draw to a familiar name. He linked with the EN seraph.

  “Go ahead, Jared.”

  “Sir, is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Jared.”

  “What happened? We lost sight of you after the Maelstrom went nuts. We thought you were dead.”

  “I passed through the Gate and met the Keepers. They accepted me into their order and were kind enough to repair my seraph.”

  “Huh… the Keepers, you say. Wow,” Jared said in a vacant way. “So, what’s a Keeper?”

  Seth permitted himself a smile. It felt good to be amongst his comrades again. Even ones like Jared. “I’ll explain later. First, I need to know what’s been happening. Is Tesset okay?”

  “Yeah, Tesset’s fine. She cleared the Maelstrom just before we lost contact with you. That was about eighteen hours ago. Aktenzek showed up shortly afterwards, and the Outcasts seemed to lose interest. I don’t know. They spent an awful lot of ships and archangels. It doesn’t make sense for them to cut and run.” Jared let out a long sigh. “Knight Squadron is in bad shape. We lost Mansfield and Hafner, plus S’Zet might not pull through. She was in bad shape when we got her back to the Resolute.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Seth said. The Aktenai seraph squadron formed up and escorted him back to the Alliance fleet. They kept their distance.

  “It could have been worse,” Jared said. “A lot of squadrons were wiped out. We’re still trying to reorganize. Plus, with the loss of the Renseki, well… I guess it hasn’t set in with me yet. It just doesn’t seem possible.”

  “I know…” Seth said quietly, not really sure if he’d accepted their deaths either. “Jared, I want everyone back onboard the Resolute and ready to fold as soon as possible. We’re heading for Earth.”

  “Sir, our standing orders from the Choir are to secure this position. The Outcasts are sure to attack again. Reinforcements are coming here from Earth, not the other way around.”

  “I know. We need to get them turned around. Just trust me on this and get the Resolute ready. I’ll deal with the rest.”

  “Confirmed, sir.”

  It was such a beautifully simple ploy. A feint designed to draw forces away from the real target, made possible by the Alliance’s ignorance of the second Gate. But now Seth knew the Eleven’s true goals, and it was the Eleven who were marching into battle blindly. They had no way of knowing their plans were revealed.

  Not wishing to be overly rude, Seth finally opened a channel to Sovereign Daelus and the Choir. He had kept them waiting long enough.

  “Sovereign. Choir. We have much to discuss.”

  Chapter 18

  Path to Lunatic Ziggurat

  Veketon paced down the halls of his estate onboard the Glorious Destiny, his mind elsewhere. A few Outcast servants stopped when they saw him and bowed until he passed. He opened his neural link, made contact with the estate’s surveillance network, and cycled through the available options.

  Quennin was still in her new quarters, still deep in thought. She sat motionless, eyes fixed on that small knife of hers resting in her hand. She’d been like that for almost an hour. It was time he did something about this dark mood of hers.

  As always, Veketon found it strange just how immediate the need to help her was. Even with three years in this body, it amazed him how powerful and irrational its emotions could be. He had given excuse after excuse, turned the Eleven’s attention this way and that, all to hide the ugly truth he himself was ashamed to admit.

  Too long had he spent merely “existing” within the Choir. Eating, sleeping, and procreating had no meaning in that artificial realm of the mind, and Veketon had been poorly prepared for their return. Emotions and hormones ran rampant through his young body, and the natural desire to find a mate and sire children burned within him.

  It had started simply enough. With the Eleven’s plans approaching fruition, they had turned their attentions to Quennin in order to complete the female thrones. Veketon had studied her, had learned everything about her. He knew every detail of her past and present. The lives of Aktenai pilots were well documented, and the Eleven’s spies within the Choir had provided comprehensive records.

  That knowledge had matured into respect and then, finally, into something more.

  Veketon gazed at her through his mind’s eye, following the sensuous lines of her body. He felt an odd shame at this. As a member of the Choir, he had carefully observed many pilots. But he had never taken a personal interest in any one female, and certainly not for such base reasons. What would have been the point?

  But was this not natural? He was alive once more. Did it not make sense for him to seek a mate? Was not Quennin, with her strong spirit and fine beauty, worthy of his attentions?

  This foolishness gets me nowhere. I need to focus on the matters at hand. Veketon mentally reached to disconnect the visual feed, but hesitated and let the view linger for an embarrassing period of time.

  He arrived at the entrance to Quennin’s quarters and palmed the tone.

  “Quennin, it’s me. May I enter?”

  “Come on in.”

  The door slid open, and Veketon walked in. The room still held scars from Bane Donolon’s recent visit. Damaged furnishings had already been replaced, but the walls and floor were scarred and pitted from gunfire and grenades. Veketon stepped in and grimaced when his boots crunched across tiny bits of debris on the floor. His servants would hear of this.

  Quennin sat in one of the dining table’s ornate chairs, staring down at the sheathed knife in her palm. She glanced up at Veketon. With a sideways nod of her head, she asked him to take a seat.

  Veketon moved a chair next to Quennin and sat down. She showed no respect for his position or seniority anymore, but he did not feel insulted. She’d been treating him more like an equal and somehow, strangely, that was the better of the two. In death he would have punished such insults, but in life her openness gladdened him.

  Quennin laid the sheathed knife in her lap.

  Veketon cleared his throat. The silence unnerved him. He decided to break it with something neutral and safe.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  Quennin shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t believe what I’ve done.”

  “I understand that this has been difficult for you.”

  “How could you possibly understand?” Her face contorting as if tears were close.

  “And why shouldn’t I understand? You feel torn between two sets of loyalties. I do understand, and I sympathize. Could I betray one of my colleagues? No, of course not.”

  “That’s different,” Quennin said.

  “Is it really? I share a bond with them, forged in struggle and violence. I admit it is a very old bond, but it is not so different. I could never betray one of the Eleven. They are my comrades through all the long millennia, and they are my friends. Believe me when
I say this. I know how difficult it was for you to keep your oath to us. Perhaps it was cruel of us, burdening you so quickly with so much. We should have given you more time to adjust and accept matters.”

  “The choice was mine.”

  Veketon regarded her sadly. He placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but it seemed to have no effect. He pulled his hand away, slightly embarrassed.

  “You know, I am reminded of our war against the Keepers. I lost many friends in that war, and not all of them were killed by our enemies. Brother against sister. Parent against child. The war split allegiances in the cruelest ways. Zo was a close friend, wasn’t she?”

  “Hmm. Perhaps you do understand after all.” Quennin clenched her knife tightly in both hands. “Dendolet came here.”

  “Oh? I was not aware of this.”

  “She criticized my failure to kill Seth,” Quennin said in a soft voice. “And she questioned my loyalty.”

  “She did what?”

  “Please understand, I… I just couldn’t kill him.”

  Dendolet, what are you doing? Are you trying to ruin everything? How dare you speak to her behind my back!

  Veketon masked his anger behind a friendly smile. “Dendolet is being too harsh. That’s all. The Aktenai and the Grendeni have never been our true enemies. They are only obstacles to overcome on our path to divinity.”

  “But she said…” Quennin bit her lip.

  “There was nothing wrong with your choice,” Veketon said. “Don’t give it another thought.”

  She looked up at him, some of the sadness leaving her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You are quite welcome.”

  “What do you think happened to him?”

  “I’m not sure. The Gate’s reaction to my test was… unexpected. Perhaps the Keepers were watching and caused that reaction. It’s hard to say.”

  “Do you think he’s still alive?”

  Not a chance. Gate forces that strong must have broken him down to atoms in seconds.

  “I sincerely doubt it,” Veketon said.

  “I see…” Quennin sighed heavily, staring at her knife.

  “We don’t have to launch for a few hours,” he said. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

  “No, I would prefer to be alone. Thank you, though.”

  “As you wish.” Veketon stood up, masking his disappointment with a neutral tone. He was almost to the exit when—

  “Wait!” Quennin rose and hurried over. She grabbed his wrist and placed her suicide knife in his hand. “Take this.”

  Veketon looked down at the sheathed blade.

  “Dispose of it,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t need it anymore.”

  Veketon pulled the knife halfway out. He inspected the blade, then sheathed it with a soft click.

  “I must admit this is unexpected,” he said.

  “It’s just another kind of running away. I’m through running.”

  “Very well. I will do as you ask.”

  Quennin nodded. She had the look of a woman whose burden had just been lifted.

  Veketon left the room and descended down his estate tower. He didn’t go far before Dendolet’s hologram shimmered into existence.

  Good, he thought. He had some strong words for the Second today.

  “How dare you speak to Quennin without consulting me!” Veketon shouted.

  Dendolet flinched in the face of his sudden anger. But she quickly recovered and faced him.

  “I am the Second. You do not rule with absolute power, Veketon, and you would be wise to remember that.”

  “But that doesn’t give you the right to endanger our plans! How dare you confront her like that! Can’t you see how hard the battle was for her?”

  Dendolet was unfazed now, her serene demeanor fully restored. “She refused to kill Pilot Elexen. What other order might she refuse?”

  “She refused nothing!” Veketon shouted, his face reddening. “I gave her that choice! Are you blind?”

  “What gives you the right to speak to me in such a fashion?”

  “Quennin needs to come to terms with her new life, in her own time! Rushing matters could prove disastrous, and you are not helping!”

  “You care too much for that child.”

  “And you show too little care! We need her help! Don’t you understand that? Can’t you see the damage you did just now? Do not speak to her again unless I give you permission.”

  “Fine,” Dendolet said with finality. “Keep that child to yourself. She is your prize, after all. Treat her as you see fit. But I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “You ignore her potential, Dendolet.”

  “And you are blind to the danger she represents. Do not place our divinity at risk.”

  Dendolet vanished, a momentary column of excited light and then nothing.

  Our divinity… he thought.

  That goal had seemed so clear when he was dead, but now other goals clouded his path. Did he truly wish to return to the Homeland? Did he want to have his mind affixed to a throne permanently? The process would give him untold power, enough to crush the entire Homeland. But did he really want that?

  Veketon found his thoughts drifting to Quennin. Would she accept such a transformation as well? Or would she retain her human form? Should it even matter to him what Quennin chose? The more he thought of her, the more he realized just how important her decision would be.

  If Quennin refuses, should I refuse as well? The thought was foolish. What did one woman matter in a scheme that had lasted millennia? But foolish though it was, Veketon admitted she held sway over him. The power and revenge of their plan had lost its appeal since his rebirth. He didn’t want the Homeland or revenge or power or glory.

  He wanted Quennin.

  ***

  Seth strode across the Resolute’s seraph bay, hands behind his back, looking up at his seraph. Tesset followed him with an excited bounce to her steps. She kept grabbing his arm and pointing and asking questions one after another. It all left a warm smile on his face.

  Seth’s discussion (if he could really call it that) with Sovereign Vorin Daelus and the Choir had ended well, for him at least. Vorin treated him cautiously, as befit a ruler meeting an unforeseen factor, but the Choir’s response was unexpected.

  They feared Seth now. They feared him deeply.

  And Seth had used that fear to his advantage. The fleets of Aktenzek had turned about, now heading for Earth with all due haste. Aktenzek itself would take weeks to recharge its fold engines for the journey, and so Seth expected the attack to fall before then.

  In fact, he expected the attack to commence very soon. Once the Eleven realized their ploy had only partially succeeded, they would strike hard and fast. They would exploit the opening, sending Zu’Rashik to Earth.

  Seth hoped they did just that.

  Three Aktenai technicians hurried into the bay. Upon seeing him, they came to a clumsy stop and bowed their heads until he passed. Seth frowned at this but said nothing. He’d been respected by his fellow Aktenai before, but now that respect bordered on outright worship, even amongst the dead.

  Seth had spoken with the deceased Renseki shortly after his return. Zo and the others had been relieved to see him alive and a little shocked by his new status. They also kept apologizing, as if he had won every past argument by default.

  They may not have seen eye to eye at times, but Seth could not deny the pain he felt at their loss. He mourned their passing, but at the same time rejoiced in their ascension. The Choir had bestowed an unheard of honor on the Renseki, accepting all six into its chorus. It seemed only fitting, for all six had personally fought against the Bane and had aided greatly in that creature’s defeat.

  Seth’s encounters with Earth Nation pilots had gone as expected. Jared and the others didn’t understand his elevation to the Keepers and so were politely congratulatory.

  And Tesset… poor T
esset had distanced herself even further from him. Initially, she seemed at a loss for what his elevation meant. But this problem was well within his power to mend, and he did so now by proving to her only his seraph and uniform had changed.

  She’d responded quite well, he thought.

  “So what does it say?” Tesset pointed at the indented Keeper script adorning his seraph.

  Seth repeated the Keeper’s Oath, finding the words easy and comforting.

  “And the portal lance says the same thing?” Tesset asked, tugging on Seth’s arm.

  “Yes. The Oath is repeated several times over the lance’s surface. The top declares its wielder.”

  “Oh? What does the top say?”

  “Slayer of the Bane.” Seth had shared none of the knowledge he’d received from the Keepers, including their linguistics. He’d horded all the Gate and realm technical data for himself. But then, it would have been wrong of him to freely disseminate such a treasure. He was a Keeper now, and his duty was to them, not Aktenzek or the Choir.

  “Your seraph is amazing.” Tesset smiled. “It feels a little like Jack’s seraph now, but not scary. I can’t describe it. It’s just so beautiful.”

  “The change is that distinct? I wonder what the Keepers did to it.”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  Seth shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Well, I can sense… they’re like nodes inside the seraph,” Tesset said. “Like along the arms or in the wings. They are a lot of them and they seem to be… here, let me see something.”

  Tesset tugged on Seth’s arm, and he found himself being pulled closer to the seraph.

  “Yeah, they’re reacting,” she said. “Definitely something going on. I can feel the seraph responding to your presence as you get closer.”

  “Interesting.” He would have to explore this more thoroughly once matters calmed down. The Keeper archives surely had something to explain these changes.

  “I wonder if you’ll be able to control it from a distance like Jack can,” Tesset said. “By the way, have you heard from Jack since he left for Earth?”

  “Yes. He was a bit upset last time I spoke to him. He said something to the effect of—” Seth cleared his throat. “‘I go all the way to Earth, pick up the Mark II, get halfway to the Gate, and then you tell me to turn around and head back?’ Something like that, anyway.”