The Forgotten City

by Nina D'Aleo

  She remembered herself at thirteen year-cycles seeing Christy Shawe for the first time. He’d been rumbling with a bunch of his gang-mates and she’d thought then that he was the strongest boy she’d ever seen. She’d wanted him to notice her – to see her as well. But he never had. So much had changed since then – and so little as well.

  Diega sensed the light dipping and looked up through the canopy. A purple sun rode high in the sky, with a second orange sun to one side and a white moon on the other. And no stars. Anywhere. It was highly disorientating for her, so much of a Fen’s senses and self were taken from the stars. She realized this was the reason her skills were gone.

  A low humming sound disturbed her thoughts as the dragonfly, Tickleback, dropped back to her side, leaving the beetle girl, Trilly, to lead.

  “These are the three guardians of Praterius – the Thor, the Anvil and the Plenitude. As the Thor rises the Anvil sets and as the Anvil rises the Thor sets. The Plenitude never drops and no storm can blacken its light. Here it is always light.” Tickleback smiled.

  “Then why is it getting darker?” Diega asked.

  Alarm flashed in the dragonfly’s emerald eyes. He glanced ahead at Trilly.

  “What?” Shawe demanded, having come close to listen in.

  Tickleback paused, then spoke with a lowered voice. “A plague sweeps across the realms of the universe. The Indemeus X and his Arequium Mors are blackening the Zenzenya Lights and imprisoning all. The first signs of the apocalypse are a darkening of the light that only outsiders can see. After this – the Mors come.”

  Diega’s skin prickled. “Who is this Indemeus X?”

  Tickleback shook his head. “I don’t know what he is, only what he means.”

  “Death?” Diega said. “Because we just fought the demon of death, and it didn’t go so well for him.”

  “No, not death,” Tickleback said. “Death is mercy and he has none. He cuts our connection with our Shais in Zenzenya Zinel. They are our eternal echoes in Paradise – and without them, we can’t die, but we’re not alive, and he takes us as slaves into his realm of Ursae for eternity.”

  “Sounds like a fairy’s tale to me,” Shawe grunted.

  “How can he be stopped?” Diega asked.

  Tickleback fixed her with his solemn stare and said, “He can’t. There is nothing to be done, but to make peace with the manner of life and take in the seconds.”

  “If it moves, it can be stopped. If it breathes, it can be killed. And if it’s looking for surrender, it’ll be disappointed,” Shawe said, quoting one of Diega’s favorite sayings. It was painted across a wall in Warsaul, a suburb near the old Headquarters. She’d stopped to read it every single time she’d passed. It had always fortified her.

  Her face must have shown something because Shawe said, “What?”

  “You’re quoting battle philosophy?”

  “Yeah, so? You didn’t think I could memorize things?” he asked.

  “I didn’t think you could even read.”

  Shawe snorted. “Typical, trutting, thinks-her-shite-don’t-stink fairy-breed. That battle philosophy, I wrote it – yeah, I can write, too. What do you think about that?”

  Diega had no idea how to respond, and had to give this one to him.

  Shawe scratched at the binds around his wound, giving her and the dragonfly a glimpse of his back. The dark lines of poison had reached further up, corrupting more of his skin, but then they faded out. It looked as though the toxin had met Christy Shawe’s armpits, then curled up its toes and died.

  Diega saw Tickleback’s eyes widening as he spotted the injury. Concerned the insect-breed might think it was something contagious and stop helping them, she said, “He was just stabbed.”

  “Yes, by an Omarian – injected with fireblood,” Tickleback said.

  “Omarian?” Diega and Shawe repeated in unison.

  “Can’t be,” Diega said. “A person we know is the last Omarian.”

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to clear her blurred memories of the attack. Had she seen firebird dragon bloodline marks? Maybe …

  “Perhaps your person is the last Omarian on Aquais,” Tickleback suggested. “Many more exist in their own realm, Omar Montanya.”

  “They took her, our Omarian – that’s why we’re here. Why would they want her?”

  Tickleback shook his head.

  “Forget why,” Shawe said. “Just tell us how to get to them.”

  “A portal into Omar Montanya is the only way,” the dragonfly replied. “But Omarians are a people you cannot fight. Brutality defines them and their prince, Lecivion Oflock, will destroy you in a glance. He is evil fighting evil, and evil always wins.” He turned to Shawe and said, “To survive their poison you must surely be of godlike strength.”

  “Finally!” the gangster bellowed. “Someone recognizes my true worth.” He grinned savagely. “See, sunshine – godlike. Remember that.”

  “We need an antidote to their poison,” Diega told Tickleback. “Our other companion, the man we’re looking for, was stabbed as well.”

  “An antidote,” the dragonfly repeated, pupils dilating and shrinking as he thought. “I don’t know of one, but for all our sicknesses here we go to the healing plants of the Eti River.”

  “The river,” Diega said. “How do we get there?”

  “There is a shortcut on the borderline of the Blackwater Forest, through the Head of Solomon, but Tickleback must warn you the Eti flows in what was once the Zanzarra Basin. It has now been corrupted, blackened and turned into the Murkmire Slough. It is a foul place, full of hidden treachery and mortal danger.”

  “Sounds like where I grew up,” Shawe said, and Diega snorted.

  “Here!” the beetle girl, Trilly, cried out ahead of them. “Here’s the turn!”

  She whirled to the left and vanished out of sight.

  The others ran to catch up, taking the sharp turn and stepping into a clearing. In it stood a tribe of impossibly thin insect-breeds with mottled brown and olive-green skin. Some had partially missing limbs in various stages of regeneration. They stared with tiny eyes, then collapsed to the ground, lying in a heap, looking like a pile of sticks. Beyond the stickmen, four giant stone sculptures sat around a table, holding cards as though they were playing a game.

  “Morning greetings, friends,” Tickleback called out to them. They animated suddenly, their gray-brown faces stretching into gruesome but friendly smiles.

  “The Bouldermen mark the first shortcut to the Woods,” Tickleback told Diega and Shawe.

  “I thought we were already in the trutting woods,” Shawe swore, swatting at a tiny pixie dancing on his head.

  “Not yet.” Tickleback smiled.

  He led them past the stone giants to the edge of the trees, where they stepped out into a field of tiny violet and dark pink flowers. Trilly was already halfway across the field, heading for more forest on the other side. All around her gigantic blue and purple snails with crooked houses built into the shells on their backs were munching their way through the flowers, leaving silver trails behind them. Diega and the others hurried to catch up with the beetle girl. They re-entered the forest on the far side of the field and headed toward the distant shhh of fast-running water. The sound intensified to a roar as they closed in on the source, finally breaking through the trees to a place where two rivers, rushing from either side, met in the center. Their waters crashed down a mammoth fall, churning into white froth on the rocks far below. Behind the thundering falls a city was built into the rocks.

  “Illendriel,” Tickleback told them, pointing to the shimmering city. “Second shortcut to the woods.” He smiled and plunged straight off the bank, zooming all the way down into the water, vanishing into the froth. Diega peered down and felt her stomach turn.

  “Scared, princess?” Shawe grunted beside her. He stepped off the edge and dropped like a bomb into the water below.

  “Prick,” Diega muttered and jumped straight after him.

 
Chapter 16

  Eli

  Aquais

  Scorpia (The Graveyard)

  As soon as the hangar roof boomed closed above them, Eli leaped from the pilot’s seat and ran to where Jude and SevenM lay on a makeshift stretcher. He found Penman hovering anxiously over them, holding one of SevenM’s legs in a tentacle. The little 0318 gave a mournful beep as Eli checked Jude’s heart rate – it was still slow but steady. A serene expression had settled on the Ar Antarian’s face, almost as though he was asleep, but his silver skin was blanched white. “I’m here.” Eli patted Jude’s arm. “I’m back.”

  He turned to the compound analyzer, which he’d left testing the toxin, and saw immediately why it hadn’t sent through any results. The poison had melted into the machine and completely burned it out. He’d never seen a toxin this voracious – and if it was doing this to the fortified metal of the analyzer, what would it do to simple flesh and bone? With a deep sense of dread, Eli forced himself to lift the bandages over Jude’s wound and look. The poison lines had progressed across Jude’s body and the necrosis of the wound had widened, but not as badly as Eli had feared. Jude being half-Androt meant his more vulnerable Ar Antarian skin was infused with the special living metals of the Androts’ bodies. It was extremely resilient and rapid-healing – Jude’s broken arm was already completely fused – but even so the poison was on the move, reaching black tendrils of toxin toward Jude’s heart and brain. The heart, and all the other essential organs, could be transplanted or replaced by real or robotic implants, but the brain – that was another matter completely. Certainly it could be repaired or modified in minor ways but a complete transplant had never been achieved. It was still a case of lose the brain, lose the person … Eli was determined not to let that happen.

  He immediately started hooking Jude up to machines that would keep his body alive in the event the poison took everything out. Even though Jude was completely shut down, his body was still holding an equilibrium that needed to be maintained for him to survive. After he was satisfied Jude’s vital organs were all supported, Eli ran along his workbench, rifling through piles of inventions until he found his advanced He-Ro series that he’d been working on. He chose one of tested success and attached it to Jude’s chest. Should his heart fail, the He-Ro would immediately take over. After it was secure and activated, Eli moved on to injecting more slowing serums and healing mixtures into the wound until he felt sure that he’d done everything he could, then he grabbed a cushion from one of his chairs and positioned it carefully under his friend’s head. He watched Jude for a moment longer before stepping back from the stretcher feeling ill to his stomach and shaky.

  Penman stayed hovering close to SevenM, keeping his eyes on him. It was the first time he’d been anywhere near another machine-breed. His former owners had always kept him alone. Sensing movement, Eli glanced into Nelly’s enclosure. The otter had put herself into it and was swimming in one of her pools. After the horror and heat of the desert, the enclosure had suddenly become more acceptable to her. Eli himself wished he could shower and try to scrub off some of the foulness he felt still crawling under his skin, but that would have to wait.

  Shuffling sounded behind him and Eli turned to see Flintlock standing beside the bench where Ismail lay, still unconscious, but starting to twitch. Diamond was thankfully back in Ufftown, where they’d dropped her off and watched her walk with dragging steps into her apartment block.

  Eli felt weary enough to collapse, but he forced himself to stay on his feet.

  “How is he?” he asked, hurrying toward Flintlock.

  The towering Corámorán considered his question and replied, “There’s something very wrong with him, Master Eli, Something …” she pointed warily to her chest. Eli nodded in agreement – something was undeniably wrong, but the question was what?

  “Flintlock, see that body scanner over there?” He pointed to the large piece of equipment near to the bench. He’d been waiting for a reinforced hoist to lift it into place and form a makeshift, but functional diagnostic chamber, should any of the team need it. “Is that too heavy for you to lift?”

  The Corámorán took three big strides over to the scanner and picked it up without so much as a strain.

  “That …” Eli had to pause for a moment to marvel at her strength, “is impressive …” He snapped out of the trance and said. “Can you place it that side up over Ismail?” He pointed to the bench and Flintlock moved immediately to obey.

  “We need to see exactly what’s going on inside his chest,” he explained, activating the scanner’s holo-screen.

  Eli positioned all the primary scanners over Ismail’s heart and started them up. The screen flickered, fuzzed over then brought up an image. He stared, for a moment thinking the machine must be stuck on its last scan. This couldn’t be Ismail’s body – the heart was blackened, clotted and definitely deceased – but then he saw the heart was beating, or actually not so much beating as pulsing in a slumped and odd kind of way as though it was being animated via electricity not by voluntary movement. It took several more moments of fast thinking before Eli realized what he was seeing. He stepped back a little from the screen with shock.

  “The witch put her heart in him – that’s what’s keeping him alive – but the heart itself is dead.” He raised his stare to Flintlock who shook her head silently, her deep, solemn eyes reflections of his ill-ease.

  “If it’s dead, how is he alive?” she asked.

  “Magics – dark magics,” Eli replied, then a terrible idea occurred to him. “If it’s still beating it means she’s still alive – or at least still dead-alive …” Fear for Luther twisted painfully inside him.

  He pushed the retract button on the scanner and the machine’s chamber slid back. He stood staring down at Ismail. The He-Ro was still firmly implanted in his chest, so at least if the zombie heart failed he could theoretically survive, but who knew what effects the dark magics were having on his body. Eli contemplated if he should try to remove the alien heart completely, but concluded that doing so without knowledge of what impact it might have on Ismail was ill-advised. What if the magics reacted to him removing the heart? What if it alerted the witch immediately or killed Ismail, or exploded like a bomb – who knew what curse the witch had put on it.

  Eli blinked into his front-core implant and said, “Search – zombified organ transplants.”

  Immediately the words popped up in front of his eyes – “no results found for zombified organ transplants.”

  “Of course not, because that would be insane,” Eli muttered. As he continued thinking, his eyes traveled along Ismail’s bloodline marks and he noticed for the first time that he was an extremely strange blood mix – he had three lines, not two. Normally this would be impossible; usually it was the mother’s blood and the father’s blood showing up the two most dominant lines in their heritage. But he had three equally dominant lines. Sometimes, very rarely, scullion women could have one egg fertilized by two different men at the same time – and the baby would be a genetic composition of three people. In Ismail’s case he was Blackwater Wolf, plus some variety of human-breed shark and bat-blood.

  He considered the deep lines in the scullion’s forehead and the parasites he could see crawling through Ismail’s hair. It made Eli feel like madly scratching his own shaved head, but what troubled him more was what the state of Ismail’s mind would be … obviously it would be a disaster zone – but what if he attacked them – then they’d have to lock him up and then how would he see them? Exactly as he’d seen the witch – as a threat he needed to escape from, and Eli didn’t want that … But he didn’t have time to build trust with Ismail to help him overcome the horror he’d been enduring. With the witch heart in his chest and the cursed shackle still attached to his ankle, Eli imagined it would be impossible for Ismail to even start to psychologically heal.

  Eli hadn’t done much research into long-term captives, it was more in the commander’s field of interest, but he knew
that often survivors would adjust to freedom quickly and successfully, only to later crash into depression and flashbacks, with the slow realization of the true impact of the imprisonment on their lives. All this interlaced with fluctuating feelings of guilt and anger, happiness, terror, self-hatred, confusion – and sometimes also of missing their captivity, even if they’d suffered and hated it. The brain was a complex and frightening thing – a bit like a tamed wild animal that could turn on its owner at any moment. All that said, scullion-gypsies were known for their mental resilience, their ability to endure all kinds of ill-treatment and hardship and survive and thrive over most other races. So if anyone would be able to come out of such a situation with their sanity intact it would be a scullion.

  Physically, aside from the zombie heart, the regenerative and healing formulas that Eli was feeding into Ismail’s body via a drip were beginning to have a visible effect. His muscle and fat stores were starting to take a more pronounced shape, his ribs less visible every minute that passed. Ismail would wake up in a far better physical condition than how he went out, which meant he was going to wake up stronger, sharper and pain-free – more able to rip them apart if the urge hit. Eli reached for a fast-working sedative and placed it in the priority position in his weapon belt. They had to be prepared for the waking to go badly. A parasite crawled out of Ismail’s hair and across his forehead and Eli immediately scratched at his own head, deciding it was way past time to shave Ismail’s beard and head and douse him.

  “Flintlock, would you please fill that tub there with water?” Eli asked the giant, who was still standing silently beside the bench. She instantly obliged, lifting the tub and heading over to the tap, while Eli got to work with his scissors and razor.

  By the time he and Flintlock had clearly shaven Ismail and given him a thorough wash all over, the water was black, and Ismail looked completely different – less wild animal and more handsome man. He had a strong, heavy jawline and a powerful layer of muscle developing fast across his body. Eli examined the scars around his wrists and neck. The wrists looked like old bondage wounds and the neck as though someone had attempted to take his head off. Eli followed the scar all the way around to the back of Ismail’s neck where, during the shaving, he’d noticed an interesting tattoo.