A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  The white-haired man he’d first met tossed him a scrap of bread. Threadfin ignored it, knowing it for an insult. Always, he thought of escape, but knew it pointless. Although not secured to the floor or walls, the shackles meant all movement was agony.

  His head throbbed. I’ll pay you back, Gurg. He’d wrap the chains around that fat neck. They’d said they wouldn’t kill him. Sounded like they wouldn’t miss the bastard either. He glanced up through the ragged ceiling at the rafters, and beyond the torn edge of a roof, the sky spat hail. He couldn’t see the downpour in the gloom but heard its drumming above, and on the wooden floors beneath. His captors stood close to a narrow window. Nailed to the wooden frame was an oiled sheepskin.

  He stood with difficulty, and yelled with the pain. Their chatter ceased. They stared at him. He knew they’d stop him, but he wanted to confront them, Gurg in particular. If that was all he achieved, fine. How would he like barbs in his flesh, and several kicks to the head?

  He turned and hobbled towards an open stairwell. The pain drove him to the floor. He rose, hobbled another two feet. He knew he’d never make it, but something inside him had changed. Being trussed up had brought a rage to boil.

  ‘See, better crack skull. Nobody listens, Gurg.’

  ‘Shut your hairy gob and grab him.’

  Hands tried to pin his arms to his sides. He felt each barb multiply, spreading throughout his insides. His vision swam.

  Struggling, he freed an arm. He managed to elbow someone in the face, hoping it was the Raddhonar. He used the back of his bony head to break a nose. He hoped that was the bastard too.

  ‘Hold him.’

  ‘Da brick broke dose! He broke by bucking dose, look, is bud.’

  ‘Back off from him, you fat lummox. Let me handle it.’

  ‘I cut ’roat, hear? You broke dose!’

  ‘Enough,’ roared a voice.

  The hands released Threadfin. He made a waddling dash for the doorway, but fell three feet short. A man barred his way, dressed as a soldier in leather greaves, black swals, boiled leather breastplate and a red tunic and cloak. Raising his gaze to that dark visage, Threadfin groaned.

  Canaan Pen Luthus’ eyes were tired, his face worn. He stepped closer. ‘You cannot escape,’ he said. ‘Enough of this.’ He shoved past and spoke to the others. They scattered, gathering cloaks and weapons.

  ‘Oblivion Chains do not just bind you,’ he said turning back to Threadfin. ‘They ensnare your soul as I am sure you have figured out. You cannot break free. Save your energy.’ He turned to the others. ‘They are here. Buy me time to perform the ritual.’

  Gurg nodded, and holding his bloodied nose with a glare for Threadfin, left by the stairs. The others he didn’t see leave, except for one. Niyala was crouched on the low sill of the window, her hair flowing in the breeze. She’d ripped away the sheepskin, and now stuck her head out, looking in all directions.

  Drawing twin long knives from sheathes strapped to her lower legs, she sliced one of her wrists. Flaming wisps erupted with her blood, enveloping her, and she leapt.

  ‘The Aidari have come for me,’ said Threadfin, with a wild grin as he tried to rise, ‘haven’t they.’ They weren’t all dead. He’d seen Lorn alive and maybe Scatter had made it too. He felt a wave of relief. ‘Not going to have it all your own way, Pen Luthus.’

  A blow struck him and he reeled back. Another blow and he was flat on his back, nausea engulfing him. A foot connected with his neck. He felt bones fracture. A breather would’ve died from the blow. The high exemplar then grabbed him, hauling him up into a sitting position against the wall. Blinking, Threadfin watched him remove the shackles with no key or clasp. They just obeyed his touch.

  He cried out as the barbs dislodged, retracting. Grabbing his arms, before he could react, Pen Luthus shackled Threadfin’s wrists instead. The barbs stabbed into his flesh once more, hungry. From a sheath on his hip, the chimera drew a strange looking weapon, the surface of the blade appearing like swirls of flame beneath glass. Threadfin wanted to yell, recognising the same blade from Lame.

  Shouts rose outside, and the unmistakeable sound of clashing weapons. Feet thumped on the roof, several sets. The exemplar whirled at the sound, barking a curse. He forced Threadfin to his feet. There came a series of sickening thuds and more shouting from outside.

  Pen Luthus shoved him down the stairs, Threadfin stumbling. He found it difficult to maintain proper balance with bound hands, and the delving barbs sent shocks of pain along his arms. They reached the bottom floor and waited. His captor glanced outside, the strange dagger glowing in his hand. Niyala was there waiting, black weaves of power licking her from head to toe. Several bodies lay unmoving in the alley. She nodded to Pen Luthus and then ran off towards the sound of more fighting.

  The high exemplar shoved him outside. Freezing rain drenched them both. They kept close to the buildings as Luthus forced him onward. No doubt, the exemplar sought a quiet place to complete his ritual.

  It was a matter of biding time. Threadfin’s captors had gone from five to one. He could use the chains to throttle him, if he could withstand the pain. He wouldn’t get a better chance, but he now knew this man to be lethal, and the chains had weakened Threadfin.

  They emerged from the alleyway into an empty street, then another alley, all the while moving further from the building. The rain fell in sheets, and within the shimmering curtain, Threadfin saw hope. He felt the shadows gathering as he reached through that fragmented reflection within the raindrops. The barbs dug deeper and he doubled over.

  ‘I warned you,’ Pen Luthus hissed in his ear. ‘Plagueborn. They bind the soul as well as the body. Your friends are dying, and they can’t help you now.’

  Forcing him on, Pen Luthus gave him no respite, confident his prisoner couldn’t escape, but Threadfin didn’t quit. He stomached the pain as he stared through the rain into other worlds. He would not quit.

  The shadows of life oozed through walls and cracks in the paving stones. He tried not to think about who or what such life forces belonged to. The grey light of dawn spread across the city. Gloom deepened where the light didn’t reach, and Threadfin began to fight back. He forced the barbs out, through sheer will. Pen Luthus didn’t understand something about him. Half of Threadfin’s soul was dead and didn’t reside in this world, which meant the chains bound only the living half.

  He smiled. Scatter would be proud of her student.

  In the distance, came the concussive sound of artillery thudding into walls, buildings, and streets.

  Threadfin attacked.

  THE VEINS IN HIS FOREARMS swelled as if with a thick liquid. It was his dead half, his viralic power. Black tendrils erupted from Threadfin’s fingers, and the shackles binding his wrists buckled. The barbs had just a short time to re-infect his flesh and hadn’t sunk as deep.

  The iron links cracked, then shattered.

  Pen Luthus tried to stab him, but Threadfin was too quick. He slid past the fiery blade, and gripped the other man’s skull. The Valtari’s black hair smoked, catching alight, and he screeched. Blood trickled from his ears and nostrils. His face bulged. The body convulsed as blood and yellow-green ichor seeped from damaged eyes. Growths appeared from his shoulders, as wings emerged. The Valtari’s body twisted and transformed as a beast tried to take over, but it burned too.

  Plaster flaked to the ground as surrounding buildings vibrated. Paving stones beneath their feet stuttered and lifted, splitting. Pen Luthus heaved as spasms took him, green-tinged blood spurting from his animal jaws. The alley grew darker as the new day grew bright. Threadfin’s power loomed above them, his shadow enveloping both men.

  Sometime later, he stumbled out of that alley and on through another, and another. The streets had begun to swell with soldiers, iron tipped spears pointed skyward, bronze coated shields strapped to the left arm. Columns of sydarags followed and many flat nosed, square footed skunks with broad backs. These last were slow, and had artillery pieces and other
weapons lashed to their backs and flanks. The leather straps sliced into their shorthaired flesh, oozing yellow blisters. These were the supply lines bringing up the rear, disembarked off ships from the capital.

  There was a ban on skunks in the capital for many years now. The beasts stood five feet to the shoulder and delivered a regular foul fart that clung to hair and clothing. Grass fed, they could carry immense loads. Kept to the rear, their handlers wore facemasks and were as shunned as their charges. Despite this, the Actaeon Guard kept skunk farms less than an hour from Icarthya within the foothills.

  Threadfin hid within a doorway as the skunk lines passed. He was oblivious to the stench. At each collective stomp and wail of horns, he shuddered. He crouched into a ball, small and inconspicuous, conscious of the red-brown staining of his clothing. He’d never killed in such a manner before, and it did not sit right with him.

  As the last skunk and handler passed, he stood and crossed the fouled street. It was daylight now, and there was more chance of being recognised. Finding a building, partially demolished, he crawled under fallen beams. Withdrawing into the gloom, he ignored the smell of dead bodies. Sitting with knees to chest and smeared in dirt, he would stay there unseen for a while. He watched morning turn to midday, listened to soldiers shout and people cry out.

  He found scraps of food within the rubble. It was days old at best. Virals didn’t get hungry as breathers understood it, but they did feel ... a lack, was the only way he could describe it. Unfortunately, the food had him clutching his stomach afterwards. He brought it all up minutes later. His body was showing signs. Maggots burrowed into numerous parts, though that wasn’t new. He also felt his flesh rotting. It was always a slow process, but now patches of his lank hair had fallen out. He didn’t think it was just a lack of sustenance. His body didn’t take the use of such power well, but he was too weak to care.

  The bombardment resumed, missiles pounding the ashlar-faced walls. How long before the giants took the city, and how long before Gog found him? It seemed Liviana’s trap had worked. Crouched into a ball, he shook with each rock that landed. He felt lost. When he’d killed Pen Luthus, he’d been a spectator. Someone else, hidden within himself, had committed the act, his other self from another world. He remembered it now, that someone else. He’d seen it before, in the water of a pond, many years ago.

  The apparitions interrupted his thoughts. There were several, and they no longer held to the edges of his vision. A sense of familiarity grew as their voices erupted in his head. He clutched his ears, groaning in pain. A personal cost, Scatter had told him. He now understood what she had meant.

  It was enough to drive a viral insane.

  Chapter 31

  Shadow in the Water

  Year 901YC, twenty-three years earlier

  THE YOUNG PRINCE clutched his sides in wheezing laughter, as the dead flock descended upon the breathers. The men atop the open guard tower shouted and ducked as the black feathered assailants swooped low over the battlement. Archers had peppered several of the crows with arrows, to no effect. His golden-haired sister giggled beside him and lost concentration for a moment. Several birds dropped towards the ground before she regained control.

  Threadfin thought it hilarious, as the men ducked and screamed, and he clapped his hands. Finding ways to terrify the palace guards was great fun.

  Seated together beneath the apple grove in the palatium gardens, brother and sister sheltered from a light rain in their cloaks. Not that they felt the cold, but it was unpleasant getting wet. The rain drops pebbled the water of the garden pond. Aiyana had been collecting dead crows for over a month, hiding them until she had enough. Several of the birds were rotting, feathers nothing more than matted clumps clinging to hollow bones, as they fluttered about the tower. The guards screeched in terror. It was a good day.

  ‘Where’d you get that from,’ Threadfin asked, pointing.

  She raised her hand to show off the gold ring, while keeping an eye on her birds. There were silver wings in the centre. Threadfin thought it was beautiful. ‘Grandfather gave it to me. He said it was a signet ring, worn by rulers. Father has one, but his has a full angel on it. Grandfather said it means I will rule one day.’

  ‘Can I get one?’ asked Threadfin.

  ‘What have you done?’ interrupted Sarscha, their older sister who’d just turned fifteen. She strode through the rain in a dark purple cloak embroidered with silver. Her hood blew back in an errant breeze to reveal tresses of silver blue hair and a stern face.

  The crows fell, landing without a sound on the wet grass feet away.

  ‘Aiyana Mayala Todralan. What, in the name of the Holy Spectrum, do you think you are doing?’

  ‘Don’t full name me, Sarsch,’ the younger sister snapped, getting to her feet, ‘and you shouldn’t call on the Spectrum like that. It’s bad luck. Anyhow, you’re not our mother, no matter how you like to act it. You have no say over me.’

  Threadfin drew his knees under his chin and hugged them tight. Fights between his sisters had become normal, but he’d never grown used to it. They weren’t fun and Sarscha scared him. Why couldn’t she let them have a little fun? ‘The guards never saw us,’ he said, in defence of Aiyana. ‘We were careful. It’s just a joke. Everyone likes jokes.’

  Sarscha didn’t acknowledge him. She rarely did, though Threadfin couldn’t understand why. Instead, she focused her anger on Aiyana. ‘Have you any idea what would happen if they knew you were behind it? This is the fifth time, Aiyana. You are eight years old now. You cannot behave this way.’

  ‘Go on, tell father. It’s what you always do. Go on, tell him.’

  ‘Don’t think I won’t,’ snapped her sister towering over her, fists on hips. ‘It’s about time father introduced you to your Darken. I don’t know why he’s delayed it, but it’s about time. Someone has to keep you from trouble.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to know who my Darken is,’ said Aiyana, matching her sister with her own fists on hips, and glaring as hard. ‘That’s against the rules. I know because grandfather told me. He told me all about them. Anyway, I don’t want one. I’ve got, Fin. He can be my Darken.’

  ‘Father has already chosen her, but he’s kept her from you. She is already one of your friends. Don’t worry, only he knows who it is. You’re the one who breaks the rules around here, not me. I’m sick and tired of your antics. You must grow up.’

  ‘Someday Fin here will be imperator. Then I can do whatever I want and you won’t be able to stop me. You don’t even look at him. Talk to him. Talk to our little brother.’

  Threadfin jumped when he heard that, and shook his head to deny any part of it, either the first or the last bit. He had no interest in ruling. He’d watched from the shadows and all he’d seen was his father bullying people. No, he didn’t want to be that. He didn’t want Sarscha talking to him either.

  ‘I am the eldest,’ she snapped, confirming how scary she was, ‘and I am talking to you. Why do you try to hide yourself?’ She brushed at Aiyana’s golden hair with a sneer on her face. ‘You hide, as though you are ashamed. Well, you should be.’

  ‘The son always follows the father,’ said Aiyana firmly, tears in her eyes as she spoke, while Sarscha’s eyes widened in shock. ‘You will never be imperatrix. Father loves me more than you, and you know it. I am beautiful and I am normal. You’re too correct, too proper as father calls it. I would rule before you, but Threadfin is next. A viral imperium and you will have no place in it.’ Aiyana screwed her eyes shut then, crying, as she frowned hard.

  Threadfin had heard the word, viral, before, but he didn’t understand what it meant, just that it referred to both of them. She didn’t like talking about it. She liked pretending she was like everybody else. Aiyana was good at pretending.

  A girl appeared with green-tinged skin and blond hair. She materialised behind Sarscha. The child held a switch and she struck the older girl hard on the bottom, twice. Sarscha whirled angrily and struck the girl who faded into
mist with a mischievous smile.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Sarscha in a cold voice, whirling back to face her sister. ‘I’ve had enough of your filthy tricks, and your venom. Perhaps a cold bath will help calm you.’ She lunged for Aiyana who’d just opened her eyes in time to yell.

  Sarscha dragged her by the hair towards the shallow pond. Threadfin leapt to his feet. ‘No,’ he yelled. ‘We were only playing. Please, don’t.’ He ran after them, terrified. ‘She didn’t mean it. We were only playing.’

  Fear thrilled through him. It felt cold and unpleasant but Threadfin never felt cold. He was different that way, like Aiyana. Maybe that was what the word meant – not being cold. He didn’t like Sarscha drowning their sister. He ran to the edge of the pond, bordered by a low brick wall that came to his knees.

  Sarscha stood in the water and was dunking Aiyana’s head into the pond. Aiyana was thrashing as her older sister pulled her head out for a few seconds, then dunked her back in. ‘This will teach you respect, little sister,’ Sarscha snarled. ‘You are both freaks. This is how we teach freaks manners.’ Aiyana’s pretending was going wrong too. Her face had turned grey, her eyes sunk in her head, and bald patches replaced her hair. He knew she couldn’t drown, not like other people, but their sister was still hurting her.

  ‘Stop it,’ Threadfin yelled, but his older sister didn’t hear, or perhaps didn’t care. She was always bullying them. They never hurt anybody. They just liked playing together. This wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t they all just leave them alone?

  Awkwardly, he climbed on to the wall and knelt on the edge of the pond. Despite all the ripples and splashing, he saw his shimmering reflection. The other Threadfin looked darker as though he was nothing more than shadow. The shadow smiled.

  Threadfin touched his face, but he knew he wasn’t smiling. He was too upset. The thrashing continued. A thought occurred to him. The shadow in the water could help. He reached down and touched the disturbed water with his fingers, willing the other Threadfin to help. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just did it. He wasn’t angry anymore. Instead, a coldness surged through him. He reached deeper into the water, to his elbow and then he felt it, Sarscha’s leg.