A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  He looked up and saw Sarscha out in the middle of the pond. He couldn’t be touching her, but he felt her. She was staring about her now, holding Aiyana out of the water. She looked confused.

  Threadfin reached in deeper, with both arms, careful not to fall in. Out of the water behind his sisters, two shadowy arms emerged. He grabbed hold of Sarscha and pulled her backwards. She let go of her younger sister and fell into the water with a screech. He felt his fingers clutch Sarscha’s neck and squeeze. She struggled, splashing, and tried to scream. He didn’t want to hurt her, just to stop her, but the finger’s continued to squeeze. He yelled in fear at what he was doing, no, at what the other Threadfin was doing.

  With a final cry, he pulled his arms out of the water. Realising what he’d almost done, he felt terrified, and colder than ever. Aiyana was standing there, looking normal again. He called her name and she responded, wading towards him. He helped her out just as Sarscha found her feet, spluttering and glaring.

  ‘Freaks,’ she cried, staring at Threadfin for once. ‘Father will hear about this. He won’t stand for freaks on the throne.’

  Threadfin knew that she was right. He was different, a freak. He didn’t know what the word meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. It had something to do with the other Threadfin in the water. He didn’t like him, no, not at all. The other him was scary, and he didn’t care if he never saw him again. In fact, he made a promise to himself he never would.

  They ran towards the palace, with Aiyana crying, ‘I’m not a freak, I’m not. I’m beautiful, I am!’

  Threadfin had a feeling and glanced upwards to a palace tower. High above, he saw a figure peering between two merlons.

  He couldn’t see his father’s face, couldn’t see if he was angry. He didn’t know what it was he’d done, couldn’t explain it. It scared him, but he’d had to help Aiyana. He’d saved her.

  It was all that mattered.

  He ran indoors, hand in hand with his sister, trying to soothe her, ready to face whatever punishment was to come.

  Chapter 32

  One More Job

  Present Day

  CANAAN FELT PAIN throughout his body. Hitching the hem of a turquoise cloak, he sidestepped masonry and stone. His own he’d discarded several streets away, when he’d changed form. His boots, also from a dead man’s feet, scrunched glass underfoot. His body was healing, slowly, the skin charred and the flesh bleeding in numerous places. Sight had returned in one eye, the left one a gaping wound. The soul splice lay in the rubble half a city away. The Spectrum be damned if he was going to go back for it.

  He’d moved across the city as a warg this time, and had entered the slums beyond the walls, a shade in the predawn. He could not bring clothing or weapons in bestial form, but it had given him time to heal, recover. He had also moved far quicker, despite his wounds.

  He had held the splice in one fist, Todralan in the other. Still, he had failed and that fool woman was to blame. Liviana had underestimated the Plagueborn’s strength, not to mention the help he had in those Aidari meddlers. Liviana had promised him a world of his own, but now he knew it would not happen.

  The building he occupied stood near the abandoned scaffolding on Byrsa’s walls. Part of the roof had caved in. Whatever its function had been, the house was shattered, the outer walls crumbled. Fallen beams barred the entrance into the next room. It had remained that way since the quakes. Soon the earth would tremble for a different reason. Already the giants had begun their bombardment.

  How could she have thought he could control that? Todralan was death itself. Canaan knew he had met his match, and the viral would grow stronger. He could not stop the mage. He had thought to get Todralan away, while the thraels ran interference. Thraels, another of her useless ideas. What a waste of angelic power, giving them shards. Once bound, they were loyal to a fault, but they were still humans with fancy blades. They were so fragile using the power killed them. Only by blending human and angelic souls at birth, could a satisfying result be obtained. However, she was too impatient.

  Gog could stop Todralan, yes, but Canaan no longer believed they would allow Liviana to gain control of this world. She had failed too much. No, in the shadows, the Titans waited, their favourites. From the day she’d left for Raddhon, she had miscalculated everything. If she had not outranked him, he would never have followed her idiotic plan. She had dangled the prospect of a world to call his own. He had hoped to bring order and justice to such a world, as he had once to the Spectrum. He suspected she had lied about all of it.

  The chimera sensed the other approach. Liviana had managed to secure the throne, and the capital city, but without the Key, she would not rule for long. Still, he would not put it past the woman to succeed despite her failures. It would be just like her. She would need to offer someone else in her place, to appease them. It galled him to think she might rule this world, while he suffered a thousand torments in her place.

  His stalker, Altus, arrived behind him. ‘What happened to you?’ asked the thrael. ‘You don’t look too good, you know.’ He croaked a laugh. Altus had become too familiar. They all had, and the time for their usefulness had ended.

  Perhaps fate had led him to this, but the thought was fleeting. Such human notions were pathetic. Fate was a fallacy. There were those who did what needed doing, and those who did not.

  ‘She’s on her way, you know.’

  The high exemplar nodded, not that he thought of himself as such any longer. The time for mortal disguises had also passed.

  Altus hacked phlegm and spat. There was a faint whisper of iron on leather. ‘She will be waiting for you at the Blue Palace. She wants you there to report once she arrives. I think she’s a little upset with you.’

  ‘I know.’ With a faint smile, Canaan whirled, his hand twisting into a claw. It slashed the human’s throat. The thrael fell to his knees, neck gushing blood, and keeled over. He still clutched the soul shard. Not a copy either. The chimera stared at his hand, human in form again. He stared at the swirling pattern of fire within his veins. Coming to his senses, he turned and left the ruined building.

  There was one more job to do.

  Chapter 33

  Desool

  AIYANA AWOKE WITH a start, followed by a headache. Pain prevented her eyes from opening. She felt disorientated and remained on her back gathering her senses. She remembered stumbling through a forest of maple and stunted hemlock, which had bordered a wide river. Exhausted, she’d fallen into the water. She could remember splashing about, choking and spluttering. She had an unreasonable fear of drowning.

  A hand lifted her head and someone thrust a chipped bowl against her lips. She lashed out, striking the bowl. She heard it shatter against something.

  Her first thought was, Liviana or her soldiers. Sitting up, she willed her eyes to open. Instead, she flung herself to the left and retched.

  ‘Desool Veelp,’ said a voice close to her ear. She leapt up and her eyes flashed open in terror. Her vision swam and she tottered. A hand gripped her arm and steadied her, which she tried to shrug off while stumbling backwards. The hand persisted. Her vision began to clear though her eyes watered. She forced herself to calm.

  It was a grubby room with rough walls and patchy plaster, sparsely furnished and covered in cobwebs. Her vision improved a little, nearby objects clearer. Several fat tallow candles and two three-wick clay lamps covered a battered wooden table in the room’s centre. There were large piles of refuse scattered along the walls. There appeared to be no windows, just a single wooden door and a thick crossbar.

  The Nephilim sat back onto the low cot. To be precise, it was an imp. The same height as Aiyana, beneath a cloak it would’ve look like a tall muscular man. However, it was a child or perhaps a teenager. Not worth the fuss. Thinking of those staff wielders, she swallowed a lump in her throat, revising her opinion. She remembered him now. When she’d seen him looming over her, she’d been certain that was it. He must’ve hauled me from the water, she
thought, but why bother?

  Soiled blankets crawling with life covered the bed. The end of the cot, where the giant sat, looked damaged. Although they were the same height, he weighed a lot more. Several crawlies emerged into the flickering candlelight, to disappear within the disturbed folds. Aiyana ruffled her hair, scratched at her clothing. She didn’t fear insects, but she wasn’t fond of them either.

  ‘Desool Veelp,’ said the imp in a thick voice. ‘Minat al, Canaan, no, a resh at desool met.’

  What in Grim’s black blood was wrong with her eyes? Tears dripped down her cheeks, though she wasn’t crying. She scrubbed away a thick film of crust on her eyelids.

  ‘A resh at mana col a dark?’ There was a concerned look in its eyes. ‘To rel rast a min no?’

  ‘I don’t speak gibberish,’ she snapped, scratching, feeling tiny legs all over. ‘Don’t you known any Icarthian words?’ He gave her a blank stare. ‘Where am I?’ Green pottery shards were scattered across the floor, the boards wet. It was trying to give me a drink.

  It grunted at her, ‘Desool Veelp.’ Its voice was musical, though it spoke in deep tones. She assumed it was the Raddhonar tongue or whatever form the giants used. There were several dialects, the human form easier to learn.

  She felt dizzy and sat back on the cot. Why was it helping her? Was it alone? No, that wouldn’t make sense. This imp served someone in the city, someone human. It was a logical conclusion, and a worrying one. It seemed harmless. Am I a prisoner then? What will it do if I try to leave? She thought maybe she might try to learn more before making the attempt. Besides, her body didn’t feel strong. It could stop her if it chose to and without much effort, she didn’t doubt. She checked for her ring and found it on the middle finger of her left hand. She kissed the silver wings, thankful she was alive.

  She offered a prayer for Cathya, and after a moment’s hesitation, one for Turol. She recalled staggering towards trees, vision doubled. In her drugged state, she hadn’t been able to think. She should never have abandoned Cathya. If you hadn’t, she thought, by all accounts, you’d still be drugged to your eyelids, helpless.

  There was a wooden pallet with more rubbish and blankets on the floor behind the table. She thought they were inside a city from the echoes filtering through. Likely Byrsa, then. How long had she lain unconscious? Her headache made thinking difficult and though dizzy, she tried to stand. Her legs wobbled, but she refused the oversized hand. She needed time.

  Had she lain here in this place too long? ‘Where is your master? Who is he, or she?’ Its master had to be human; otherwise, she was way too late. She decided to name him, Desool, since he liked that word. If Desool understood, he didn’t answer. His arms were the only exposed part, his body bound in ribbed leathers. She noticed abrasions in his shoulders and two across his left cheek, one leaking pus.

  His skin was ebony, covered in patches of fine grey hair. He wore black hair in braids past his shoulders. His forehead was thick and jutting, and his nose broad. His face wasn’t unpleasant despite that. The imp had no wings like certain adults of its kind. The Rephaim clan had those, she knew from books, anyway. Maybe they developed them at puberty, which meant if Desool was Rephaim, he was young. After all, he was only over six feet tall, thereabouts.

  ‘Minat resh at stone blood col mot,’ rumbled the giant, grabbing and holding her hand, gentle but firm. In it, he placed a metal object. It took her a moment to realise it was a dagger of sorts. It had an odd design, a split down the centre. It appeared like two curved blades joined at the hilt. The inner edge of each blade was serrated, which seemed strange. The left glowed dark blue, while the right shone like the finest iron. The hilt was plain by comparison, white bone.

  ‘Rettar minat bequest col,’ it said in its rumbling voice, closing her fingers about the hilt. Its hands were warm and soft, not hard like she’d expected. What a strange gift.

  It was then she spotted the inert form on the wooden pallet, what she had taken for rubbish. The light was dim and she hadn’t noticed before. Where had he come from? That it was male, she saw clearly. Grabbing a piece of blue cheese, she munched as she examined their guest. She wasn’t worried about any threat, not with Desool there. He’d made it clear he was helping her.

  ‘Namta,’ said the coarse voice at her back. ‘Namta, minat al, Canaan. Tool resh a dark blood?’

  ‘Listen,’ she said between bites, not taking her eyes from the pallet, ‘I don’t understand you, okay? You’ve a lot to tell me, it seems, but you’re wasting your time.’ No, she thought. I’m the one wasting time. She had to move, and quickly if she was to stop Liviana.

  Desool continued expounding in his tongue as though relating a long-winded history, which she attempted to tune out. She turned away, thinking of leaving, and tottered towards the door. She felt stronger. Whoever the man was, he wasn’t her concern. Maybe she could bring Desool with her. A better bodyguard she couldn’t ask for, but what if something happened to him? He was only a child after all. No, she’d go alone.

  ‘Well, well,’ said a voice behind her, halting her halfway, ‘look at what Goliath’s long lost great bloody grandson went and dragged in.’

  AIYANA WHIRLED TO STARE at the man on the pallet. Of all people, sitting up proud as you please, he was the last person she’d expected. He’d changed. Taller for a start, but the deterioration was more pronounced too. She hadn’t noticed it before with his back turned to her. She gave him her most imperious stare. ‘It appears even giants will pick up anything off the streets these days, all sorts of leftovers.’ Desool moved to a far corner of the room, shoving rusted armour and other refuse out of the way. It appeared that was where he slept.

  The man chuckled. ‘Ouch!’

  She leapt towards Threadfin and embraced him in a tight hug, her anger evaporating. Why she’d felt anger at all, she wasn’t certain. By the manner his body shuddered, he was laughing, and she laughed too. They were both alive, and for the moment, together. She pretended they were young again with the run of the palace, giggling over a prank. The pretence was shallow, reality weighing upon her.

  ‘Never thought I’d see you again, little brother,’ she whispered in his notched ear. ‘I don’t care how you came to be here. I’m sorry. I know you must’ve hated that place.’

  She pulled away from him to look at his face. His green-tinged skin was more desiccated, eyes more sunken, hair dull and lifeless, but he appeared unharmed. He gave her a cheeky grin. ‘Miss me, then, sis?’

  ‘You know, you were not sent into exile, just to turn around and come right back. You were supposed to stay there. Anyhow, I thought someone was getting you to safety.’ Yes, that was why she’d felt annoyed.

  ‘I could say the same about you. What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be anywhere near Byrsa or any city. They promised me.’

  She looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of anger or pain. Anger would’ve been better. ‘You knew it was me behind it, didn’t you?’

  Threadfin winced. ‘Father always listened to you.’

  ‘Liviana knew about you, Fin. It was just a matter of time. I think she planned to use you to bring down our family, and take power.’

  ‘It seems like she managed it, just fine.’

  ‘True, but she didn’t get you. I hated myself for it. You believe me, don’t you? It was the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do. I’ve missed you.’

  He nodded, and then paused for a long moment, before he asked, ‘Did father know the truth?’

  The question caught her off guard. The look on his face, his tone, gave no doubt as to what he meant. There was a low rumble from the corner where Desool dozed. Otherwise, it was quiet. Too quiet, considering there was a huge city out there. ‘I don’t, I ...’

  Another grin, mischievous and cheeky. ‘I finally remembered the crows. Besides, I did the math. Our mother was infected with plague thirty years ago, seven after Sarscha was born, but less than one before you came along. I guess she was in the early stages with y
ou, when she fell ill.’

  ‘I ... I thought you’d forgotten. You were so little.’

  ‘All those breathers getting ill, guards, servants, it was you all the time.’

  ‘Wasn’t always me,’ she said, feeling defensive, and resentful of the feeling.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, holding out his hands in a placating gesture, ‘We will always have the crows. That, I will never forget again.’

  She couldn’t help but wince at the memory, at what had followed. It was the last time she had openly displayed her nature.

  ‘We do what we have to,’ said Threadfin. ‘I’ve learned that much since leaving.’

  ‘In answer to your question, yes, father knew.’ She watched for his reaction, but he just nodded. It surprised her. He had changed, becoming somehow wiser, if that was possible.

  He shook his head then and laughed, ruining the image. ‘Right then, what other talents you got? Twisting father around your finger can’t have been all. Obviously, I know you can hide your appearance. Neat trick by the way. Could use a few tips in that direction. You know how hard it is to get a date looking like this?’ He gestured at himself with another grin. ‘Good job I got my charm. Most girls who chew on my ear get more than they bargained for.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come back. It’s gotten too dangerous. My Darken turned on me, and abducted me! Can you believe that?’

  ‘Actually, yes.’

  ‘She meant well, but I can’t run. I won’t.’

  ‘You really want it that bad, don’t you?’ he muttered