A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  He looked towards his captor, sat opposite him. A faint aura surrounded the person, the face blurred. ‘Why have you chained me? Is that you, Pen Luthus? Thought I’d killed you already. It’ll really irritate me if I have to do it a second time.’

  ‘You have chained yourself.’ The face and body were dissolving, as if another person was being born before his eyes. The process stopped halfway, leaving a shimmering blur.

  What is going on here? ‘Why would I do something stupid like that?’

  ‘You don’t recognise me?’

  Something in the voice tickled his memory, although it seemed neither male nor female.

  ‘Thought is a powerful force in this place,’ said his captor. ‘It can create or destroy, even bind. You must give up those negative thoughts. You think you’re not worthy, that your abilities are not good enough, and that you are a failure.’

  The way this person spoke brought feelings of warmth, despite the uncomfortable subject. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Do you remember the pond?’

  ‘I don’t ... what?’ Threadfin remembered. He shut his eyes, and recalled Sarscha attempting to drown their sister, an impossibility since Aiyana was undead. It had still been a terrible thing to witness.

  The voice changed in tone, becoming softer, and Threadfin felt a shock of recognition. ‘Little Yana,’ the blur laughed. ‘She drew on the life of crows and spent months collecting them. Some servants got sick, guardsmen too, but she never meant harm, no more than you did. In time, she learned how to focus, to only draw life from birds and animals.’

  ‘What ... I,’ Threadfin stammered.

  The shadowy form leaned forwards, and two hand-like appendages touched Threadfin’s head. There was warmth in that contact. He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to keep his wits, but something had taken control of his mind, and it beat down all resistance as the memory filled him.

  ‘Freaks,’ Sarscha yelled after them. ‘Father will hear about this. He won’t stand for a freak on the throne.’

  They ran towards the palace but as they did, Threadfin had a feeling. He stopped and glanced upwards at a tower, ignoring Aiyana tugging on his arm. High above, he saw a figure peering between two merlons.

  Grandfather would understand. He knew what being a viral meant. Threadfin still wasn’t sure, but he had promised that Threadfin would understand one day.

  Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or an errant ray of sunlight, but he thought he saw his grandfather smile. For a moment, the face shimmered to reveal a shrivelled ruin.

  He ran indoors with his sister, ready to face whatever punishment was to come. It would be okay because grandfather would make it so.

  The blur drew back. The face changed, the body growing smaller, until he recognised Tezcat’s greying skin, sunken eyes, and cheeky smile.

  ‘Cat?’

  The blurring occurred again, swifter than before. When it ceased, what remained was a shock of white hair above a wrinkled face, a sunken left cheek where Olen Quintus had taken a spear thrust in his youth. Threadfin groaned as the serpentine chains bit deeper, their venom weakening him.

  ‘Hello, Fin.’

  ‘How can you be here? Is this some sort of trick?’

  ‘When I died,’ said his grandfather, ‘I joined the countless viralic souls, who are entwined with your sister’s spirit, the result of a complicated spell. Yana and I shared a particular magical talent, and so she can give us the freedom to roam the world, for short periods. It does take a toll on her, I’m afraid. We see and hear what she does, when she wishes it. It is because of her I am here now. She sent me to you, as she once sent Tezcat, because she cannot follow herself.’

  Threadfin stared at his grandfather, speechless for once. He recalled curling in his lap by a roaring fire, listening to his tales in wonderment. He had always found time for Threadfin. ‘You, you were ... and now, you’re... and Cat, she’s—’

  Olen Quintus nodded. ‘It is a long story, Fin.’

  ‘Wait a minute, if you’re undead like me, how can you be my grandfather? We are Plagueborn. How is it you came to sire my father? It isn’t possible, is it?’

  ‘That shared talent with your sister, I mentioned, well, that’s how. My ability meant I could produce life in myself, and therefore in your grandmother’s womb, and yes, she was a breather.

  ‘It is a rare talent among the undead, and none is better at it than your sister. Of course, my being your grandfather had nothing to do with you two birthing as virals. You were both born of the plague, like me. Was it a coincidence we were of the same line ... perhaps, or could it have been by design? Well, there is only one I could ask that question of, if I could.’

  ‘What happened?’

  The old viral grimaced. ‘My Darken betrayed me, a man I trusted and bestowed great responsibility upon. It seems history repeated itself with your father’s death, and in that, there was design. However, I was more careful in the choosing of your Darken. I was able to influence that through your sister.’

  Threadfin ceased in his struggle against the serpents. He stared at the old man in disbelief.

  ‘Normally, you would’ve had one from birth. Your father chose otherwise. In that, he erred, but I set it right. Yana always was able to sway him, where I could not.’ He gave a mischievous smile that was identical to Aiyana’s. ‘You don’t know who I’m talking about, do you?’

  Threadfin racked his maggot-riddled brains, but ended with a shake of his head.

  ‘He doesn’t seem like much, I know,’ said Olen Quintus, ‘and he isn’t really Aidari as I’m sure you’ve figured out. That’s why I chose him. Be wary of those Aidari, by the way. They have their own agenda and you cannot trust them all. Well, once they somehow discovered he was your Darken, they recruited him. You did always moan about not having one.’

  He had a Darken and it was, Podral Pole? Several moments of silence went by as he let it sink in. ‘You know, for a time, I hated his guts.’

  ‘And you loved Tezcat like a sister. I think she’s a little jealous of you and Yana, you know. Just because she’s, full dead, as you like to put it, doesn’t mean she has no feelings. She never had a brother. She died during the purge.’

  How many souls were within his sister, or connected to her, or whatever? He didn’t pretend to understand how it worked. Although Olen Quintus looked substantial, Threadfin thought he could see through him. He bit back on the urge to poke him. The ship lurched and rolled, several of the amphorae snapping their ropes, and smashing against the hull.

  ‘Fin, you must listen to me now, as you once did. You’re nearing your destination, but you must throw off your shackles. The time will come when you must lose yourself.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘Believe in not just what you are, but who you are. You fear what you might become. You fear your own power. Being a viral does not define you, nor what people think about you. You are still my grandson. A boy who defended his sister, who loved, laughed, and never gave a care to what others thought. That is the grandson I knew. When the time comes, you must let go of your fear and trust in who you are. Then, you must lose yourself. That is the only way you will find yourself again.’

  The ship lurched as though turning. It rose and fell on the troubled waters outside. Threadfin wasn’t sure he liked what he heard. ‘You’ve never shown me what you look like. In all those years, I never saw your true face, not properly.’

  For a brief moment, his grandfather revealed a deathly grey visage that many would’ve mistaken for a ten-year-old corpse. It vanished as quick.

  ‘You, Tezcat, all those others, you’re not really dead.’

  ‘Oh, we are dead, but our souls are stuck halfway between this world and nothingness. If not for Aiyana and Beezer’s spell, we would be lost.’

  Beezer? Olen Quintus’ image then flickered and faded. ‘Grandfather,’ said Threadfin, unable to keep the anxiety from his voice, ‘what’s wrong? What’s happening?’

>   His grandfather shook his head. ‘Your sister is weakening. I don’t have much time with you. You are nearing the point of arrival. Yana will try to guide you, if she can. It will take less effort than sending us, but she won’t be able to do much.’

  ‘What’s happened to her?’ Threadfin asked with dread in his gut. ‘Is she alright?’

  ‘Do not let this place lull you, Fin. What you see is just your mind trying to make sense of it all. You must believe in yourself.’

  Footsteps thudded on the deck above, but the sound was wrong. Was there a crew on this craft? The ship lurched, but it wasn’t the motion of water. It was as though something hammered against the hull, trying to break in.

  With a start, he realised he was alone. He struggled against his bonds, the snakes coiling tighter. Bound like this, he couldn’t do much. His grandfather had said something about his mind making sense of it all. Yes, that was it!

  In the end, it proved simple. He stared at the coiling bonds, their poisonous fangs sinking deeper, and imagined them as his doubts. Then, he just let them fall away. The snakes vanished before they struck the hull. A feeling of purpose, of resolve, filled him. Huh, that went better than I expected. He prayed to the Spectrum above the rest would prove as easy.

  Aiyana was weakening. He now understood if he failed here, she would die. What would happen to his grandfather then, or Tezcat? There was nothing for it. He would just have to succeed.

  He listened to the scratching and thumps, snarls, and distant screeches, and also wondered what would happen if those things got inside. Then it all began to dissolve around him.

  HIS FINGERS GOUGED at the soil until he could force one bony arm through. His head broke the surface. Flesh slopped from the raven’s beak as it trained one beady on him. The bird fluttered to one side as he hauled himself out of the ground. Spreading its wings, the scavenger rose from the wasteland with a raucous cry.

  He clawed dirt from his lank hair. It clotted his vision. He tried blinking tears to clear it, but his eyes were bone dry. Churned earth came into view, with crumbling monoliths towering in the distance. Chunks of stone and rotting wood littered the plain in front of him. He rose and took several awkward steps towards a cadaver. He knelt beside the ribboned flesh. Though he was naked, he felt no cold. There was no breath of wind in that place. It felt as if there was no air at all, but that couldn’t be. He needed to breathe, didn’t he?

  Touching cold dead lips with thin fingers, he smiled. There were others beneath the tossed stones. The corpses excited him. He stroked the woman’s hair. Clumps lifted away, skin tearing from the emaciated flesh. The woman’s eyes opened within a damaged face. He smiled at her.

  He couldn’t remember his name. He didn’t know that place. It didn’t matter. He felt at home. Strange, because he didn’t think he belonged there.

  Sounds came from the desolated buildings. He ignored them. He glimpsed small creatures with spiked tails and wings, darting through the shadows. He ignored those too. Howls rose in the distance. Now, those he did not ignore. Those beastly wails sent a shiver of fear through him. He didn’t like feeling afraid. It was a cold feeling.

  The dead woman gripped his hand. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he said to her. ‘It’s me they’re after.’ How did he know that? That it was the truth was not in question. He stroked her hand. Why couldn’t he remember his name?

  ‘Listen up good, Threads,’ the woman responded. Her voice was familiar, too familiar. ‘I is here to help. You needs be careful, or you will lose yourself. You needs wait for the right moment. Member what your ol’ grandfather told you.’

  ‘I have a name?’ he asked. Threads?

  The woman’s face was deadpan. ‘You is Threadfin Todder, stupid. Member yourself.’ Then she whispered, ‘She’s here, somewhere. Be careful.’

  Her answer didn’t please him. Not his name, but the mention of, she. Threadfin was certain he knew the dead woman. She knew him. Threadfin, yes, the name did trigger something in his mind. ‘Todder,’ he mumbled, and then asked, ‘What is this?’

  ‘The between-worlds, or leastways, it’s what I calls it. Be careful, Threads. Tis treacherous. There is few rules in this place, if you can calls it a place. I doesn’t know much more.’

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’

  ‘Course you does, stupid.’

  Standing, to search the barren earth, he scratched at his scalp. He had the feeling of something burrowing into it. An idea maybe or lost memories. Something tickled his thoughts that this was a constant problem. He couldn’t understand why.

  He looked up at the circling crows, and then walked towards the monoliths.

  When next he glanced up, the crows had disappeared. In their place, circled dark shapes with long horned tails.

  Chapter 42

  A Nauseating Revelation

  REACHING THE RUINED metropolis, Threadfin noticed the change. His surroundings became a monotone of grey, no colour. He recognised the Watcher, half concealed within ruins. Claws raked the hair of a woman’s corpse, as it looked into sightless eyes.

  It looked up from the cadaver, and Threadfin saw recognition in its eyes. Perhaps it had sat there all this time, playing with the corpse, or maybe time meant nothing and Threadfin had been gone for only seconds or minutes. Tezcat had said few rules bound this place. It all seemed as it had the first time, but he wished he knew one of the rules. He remembered who he was, at least. Aiyana had sent him what help she could. His friend’s voice from that corpse haunted him, but it was good to speak with her again. Almost like old times.

  The creature’s talons stroked the frozen cheeks of the woman. It appeared to enjoy the company of the dead. Somehow, Threadfin knew it felt the silent echoes of torment, which had been their lives. It fed on those echoes as though tangible things. He remembered thinking these things before, and now he did wonder if he had left at all. It felt as though this was the same moment, the same space in time.

  What was different was the sky. It shimmered and rippled as though water not air, if there was any air at all. It seemed to be a thinning of reality or unreality, whichever applied. Perhaps neither did, and what would one call that? His head swam with such thoughts, but not for long as he discerned the image within the opaque curtain.

  The view proved unpleasant. As Threadfin looked up, he found himself looking down, from above and behind the Nephilim prince, Gog. The Blue Palace lay ahead and all resistance was crumbling. The giants and their wargs ran amok as the last of the cohorts fell back. The ordinary citizens had gathered before the palace walls, but there was no protection. Liviana did not intend to save lives. It was over. Within minutes, Gog would reach the palace and kill everyone. There was no place for Aiyana to flee to.

  He pulled his gaze from the sky. The Watcher was part shadow and part substance, with huge transparent wings of purple hue, and a sinuous scaled body of similar colouration. A face filled with teeth and horns stared at him with human eyes. No, not human. They held intelligence and a knowing beyond human. With a sickening dread, he realised what this creature was.

  A dread rose within him. It was a manifestation of his power. Perhaps it was instinct, a gut reaction, but he knew. Within this place, this emptiness between realities, this was what his magic looked like.

  A coiling tail with horns slithered behind the beast. Most of its body appeared as shredded smoke. About them, a new metropolis took form as though created by a wild imagination. The Watcher liked cities.

  Threadfin headed towards a set of tall buildings lining a dock. He wanted to get away from it. Huge ships with vast, wispy sails fought thunderous waves. The sky grew boisterous, as shadows darted between the ruins. Some were shredded mist where others had sinuous bodies with long horned tails. The Watcher’s gaze followed him. A howling wind arose in the distance, but no, that wasn’t the wind.

  ‘Threads,’ called his friend’s voice, fainter than before. ‘You needs take control o’ it. Don’t just ignores it, you idiot.’

  Cont
rol it, he thought with a laugh. Easy for her say, but has she seen what it looks like? He knew she was right. Tezcat was always right. It was a thing of women, he supposed, dead or undead. He turned about to go back and face the Watcher, and felt unreality shift.

  THREADFIN SHUDDERED awake. His foot struck a small table. It looked like a room he should know. At least he was wearing clothes. They were tattered rags with bloodstains. He thought he hadn’t worn anything before, but that couldn’t be right. He didn’t know the rules of this place, few as they were. Someone had told him that. He didn’t remember who. Absently, he picked at a maggot worming into his chest. I’ve really let myself go lately. Damn natron is useless.

  Billowing curtains covered a narrow window. A gap allowed smoky light through, and screams. The cries were distant, as though from another world.

  He got to his feet and staggered towards a door, groping sticky walls. His head hurt. Stepping out into a corridor, he looked along its length. There were no lamps or torches but his gaze pierced the gloom.

  An old man sat on the floor. He held his knees hunched to a thin chest, gripping a clear cracked bottle in one hand. A rat sniffed his wrinkled toes before scampering. He was naked, but what appeared to be faint scales with a purple hue covered his hide.

  ‘Morning,’ spat the old man, ‘or evening if you prefer it.’ He cackled as though at a hidden joke. His left eye was missing. The cavity was as a dark cave set within a cracked mountain wall. The remaining one was milky white, sightless.

  Fear gripped Threadfin and he tried to shut the door. The old man leapt with abnormal speed, and jammed a scabby foot in the gap. Horns emerged from his forehead and face.

  Threadfin managed to force the door shut and then backed away, terrified. He saw no way to lock it.