Embrace of the Medusi (The Overlords Trilogy Book 2)

by Toby Andersen

  But which one to follow? She hadn’t felt much like an Empress recently; it felt good to give an order and be obeyed.

  ‘I need you to follow someone. Wherever they go, whoever they speak to, I want to know about it.’

  Chrysaora frowned. ‘I would advise against this. With the week you have had, things could escalate. You need me around to keep you safe.’ When Aurelia didn’t respond, she said, ‘Who?’

  ‘Faibryn or Nepheli. Cassandra thinks one of them is out to get me. Who would you follow?’

  ‘I don’t trust anyone,’ said Chrysaora. ‘But certainly not slighted young girls with vendettas, or young Marquis’ with something to gain and nothing to lose.’

  Aurelia nodded slowly.

  ‘Things won’t escalate if you follow the culprit,’ she said. ‘Follow Nepheli. Get me some proof.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Anthrom

  Introducing Noctiluca to the throne room beneath the palace had turned out to be something of a double-edged sword for Anthrom. She was grateful, and he’d gone some way to protecting himself, but he’d overlooked that the chambers were built long before the fashion for hollowed-out walls had swept the upper levels.

  There was nowhere to hide, making it all but impossible to spy on her. The Medousa had only left her new chambers once in the last three weeks. Anthrom could admit to himself when he was in a reflective mood, that he had a pathological need to see others in their most unguarded moments. With the Medousa, he hadn’t yet managed this and it was making him uncomfortable, becoming like a physical urge, despite the danger, an itch he had to scratch.

  The only place where he could both listen and not be seen, was a small alcove at the bottom of the staircase that led underground, with his ear flush against the door. When she was in private, her area of influence shrunk down to just twenty feet or so in any direction. Anthrom did not know the extent of her power, if she could reach people miles away for example, but when she didn’t want to be heard by the rest of the castle she wasn’t.

  The alcove may have been hidden from those inside the throne room, but it was open to anyone approaching from the steps, or if he wasn’t quick enough when someone was leaving the chamber.

  He was there now, listening.

  Noctiluca was entertaining her Cepheans, the strange nursery of children that she kept close to her at all times. The chamber that Anthrom had made his own had been repurposed; now it was filled to bursting with cushions and soft furnishings, drapes and hangings and bedding. He had only managed one fleeting glimpse inside when Noctiluca had dismissed him once and then struggled to squeeze herself inside the room. Just before the door closed, he saw the twenty or so children knelt in the centre of the recessed cushioned area, waiting for her with rapturous looks on their faces, tiny Medusi bobbing just above each one like a little crop of mushrooms.

  Anthrom longed to know what happened in there. Did she eat them? Drain their living essence to sustain her? Or did she hold them close like a mother, tell them stories and feed them sweet nothings. She communed with them, mind to mind, that was about all he could discern. He didn’t know what to think, because despite how disturbing he found it, his overriding emotion was jealousy.

  He had been brought into the inner circle, gained Noctiluca’s trust, he’d even been forced to kill his friend and mentor – no, don’t think about that – but he wasn’t listened to. He wasn’t loved like the Cephean children. He didn’t have autonomy and power like Harling, despite what he had done.

  It was somehow unjust, that the children were more elevated than him, despite their being merely glorified messengers. He was the Prince Elect of Theris. Without Noctiluca around he was as good as Emperor. Why was it that she did not make use of him?

  He was envious of the children, but he did not wish to become them. He yearned for the mother love they seemed to be shown in the nest, but balked at the idea of becoming one. Noctiluca had said he was useless to her as a spy, where would he go, who would he spy on? So why was she forcing him to serve her?

  His mind rebelled. He remembered the wash of Verismuss’ bright red blood over his hands, the look of quiet resignation in the man’s eyes. He’d said it was okay at the end, didn’t he? He knew I had no choice. It was him or me. So why do I still feel guilty?

  Noctiluca’s voice rose above the general murmur, jerking him from his thoughts. He could hear movement, suddenly her voice was inside his head, Goodnight, my darlings. Sleep now.

  One of them must have asked her something because she paused then replied. I will return, I promise. I must see to my palace, my Clerics. I have neglected them for too long down here.

  Was she leaving the throne room? Anthrom started, jumping up, finding his nose was bleeding again. The blood on his fingers looked like Verismuss’ blood. He saw a flash of the man collapsing at his feet, and felt faint. He wondered absently how much blood he lost listening to the Medousa. Where he stood was the only way out of the chambers into the rest of the palace. He needed to move right now, even if she didn’t end up coming out.

  He dashed up the stairs as fast as his legs could manage. The worst thing that could happen would be to be caught spying on her; if he was discovered, he was as good as dead. He took the stairs two at a time, even three. As he gained the top, he could hear the doors far below being opened. He had been right to move, and not a second too late. Would she notice the speckles of blood he’d left?

  And where was she going? he thought. Not Aurelia’s throne room, she hated it. There were very few places that she actually used in the palace, mostly leaving it to the Clerics. Harling? He was the only one she spoke to. Harling’s office.

  Anthrom set off to reach the office first. If he was wrong, it was no great loss, but if he was right, potentially he had much to learn. This was an opportunity he didn’t want to miss.

  Harling’s office was on the upper level backing on to Aurelia’s throne room. He had spied on him there before. The excavated section of wall was accessible from the servant’s corridors nearby and curved round the inside of the office’s back wall. It ended with a crack in the stone low to the ground. Harling had placed a short table over it, but the view was only partially obscured. As Anthrom slowly and quietly shifted his way inside, he knew Harling was there just a wall away. He had to be silent. He feared Harling – he rubbed at the slowly healing flesh of his collarbone – and was jealous of him at once. Harling had autonomy; he could leave as he pleased, he gave orders in the palace, he managed the Order, it seemed, while most of the time the Goddess remained hidden away.

  Anthrom had flirted with the idea of becoming an acolyte and working his way up to Cleric, but reasoned that his own inherited position should put him higher in the pecking order already and he wasn’t prepared to put in the years of service necessary.

  A rat passed by underneath his feet as he levered himself down so that he was almost lying on the ground. He didn’t move a single stone, nor disturb a single cobweb. He lay down and his eye ended up exactly in line with the crack.

  Harling sat at his desk, wearing his customary luxurious robes minus the long ornamental stole. Blacked-out windows meant the light came from an array of dark biological experiments; huge glass tanks and canisters, with Medusi of all shapes and sizes inside, floating either in air or in a transparent liquid solution. Harling had all of it transported from the temple in Terracon to Theris.

  The High Cleric rose to open the study door at a knock.

  ‘My Queen!’ He bowed low immediately. ‘You honour me. You did not need to come up here. You need only have sent for me.’

  I wished to see the specimen’s progress. Her voice was tightly controlled, but Anthrom was barely six feet away. He would be able to hear everything.

  Noctiluca stepped inside at Harling’s bowed invitation. Her Medusi, the enormous one that attached to her ridged back struggled to get inside. After a moment it managed, squeezing it’s jelly flesh through the small door. Anthrom wondered if it could act
ually slide into any size gap given time.

  I’m going to have every door in this palace enlarged, she said irritably.

  As it expanded into the space above, it collided with the shelves near the door, sending books and apparatus tumbling, but thankfully no tanks. Noctiluca barely acknowledged the mess it had created, and Harling knew better. Instead, he showed her to a large cylindrical tank sitting in pride of place on his workbench. Anthrom could barely see with them both in the room, but there was a Medusi inside, a small young one, not yet an adult.

  ‘My Queen,’ said Harling. ‘This is the specimen I am growing for Anthrom.’

  Anthrom struggled not to shout out loud. What? They were growing a Medusi for him. She intended to thrall him after all?

  It’s beautiful. Noctiluca ran her talons over the glass.

  ‘Engineered directly from Amnion’s Ephyrae,’ said Harling.

  Anthrom knew what an Ephyrae was, the offspring of a Medusi; often deposited inside a host, they would eat their way out. But Amnion? He had no idea what or who that was.

  My Amnion? She sounded coy, indulgent.

  ‘Of course. All the Order’s Medusi came from yours, in an unbroken line. I splice in other elements when necessary, like when we made the Cephea, but they all start with yours.’

  Noctiluca looked up at her own Medusi. Anthrom could just see that rictus grin, with her missing jaw. Was it called Amnion? Was that its name?

  You are more right than you know, Harling. Amnion is the source of all Medusi. The last surviving original.

  Harling smiled. ‘Tell me.’

  There were two in the beginning. The other was named Chorion. Amnion and Chorion were the last surviving Medusi from the purge that followed the separation of our species. All the species you know came from them. In the beginning there was a great machine the likes of which you could barely imagine, but it performed a function much like you do now. It took the tiniest of cells, changed the very codes of life from these two original sources. It created the Celestials, the Chironex, the wild and common Medusi that bred and spread rampantly across the planet, looking for humans to join with.

  ‘But not rampantly enough.’

  No, not nearly enough. They need my help. From the very start, the fates of humans and Medusi were intertwined. Now we must help them to fulfil their original destiny, of elevating this planet to the next plane of existence.

  Harling knew the dogma of the Order well. Instead he asked, ‘What happened to Chorion?’

  Chorion was destroyed long ago early in the War of the Overlords. Eleutheria’s assassin, The Thorn, slayed it at her order.

  Anthrom could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Noctiluca had knowledge of things that had never been in the bestiaries he’d read. He wasn’t aware that anyone knew these things. But he was learning quickly not to doubt her.

  The Order created hybrid Medusi from the cells of others, that much he knew. But they were all descended from just two original creatures? Or just one? How far back did that information go? There was so much more to the tiny morsel she had spoken.

  Was she a surviving Overlord? thought Anthrom. One of the seven? That would explain some of the knowledge she had, why she disliked Eleutheria so. Maybe even why she was thralled to one of the original Medusi. Amnion.

  And the Thorn had slain the other original creature. That must have been at least a thousand years ago. Anthrom racked his mind for the story that would cover it, but in the legends The Thorn killed many Medusi, he couldn’t know when and where this had happened.

  ‘That is a pity,’ Harling mused.

  Do you wish it had survived? Her voice was whip sharp. Another Medusi like this one?

  ‘Of course.’

  So that you could challenge me?

  ‘No, my Queen. Never.’ Harling cowered before her. Then suddenly one hand went to his forehead and he grunted in pain. Anthrom’s one open eye widened; was he about to witness Harling be destroyed? And for such a minor infraction?

  Anthrom could feel the power wash off her as she held Harling down. The old man grunted and shook. He fell to one knee. After a long moment he gasped and began to breathe again.

  You are jealous, she said. That Anthrom is to be elevated ahead of you.

  ‘No, my Queen,’ he said, breathing hard.

  Do not lie to me!

  He stayed quiet. A wise decision in Anthrom’s opinion.

  Speak. The command seared Anthrom’s brain too, almost making him give himself away.

  ‘This Medusi is special.’ Harling looked at the ground, not capable of meeting her dark eyes. ‘Anthrom will gain powers from this creature. It is a fragment of you. Of the power of the Overlords.’

  Do we know yet what powers?

  ‘We never know. Not until the thralling.’

  And you are envious. She was coaxing him. You wish it was your turn.

  Had Anthrom heard correctly? Not only was Harling growing a vat-bred Medusi for him, that Noctiluca intended to thrall him with, it came with the possibility of powers? Powers akin to those of the Overlords. Like her voice? Or Abrax’s control of the storms? In Anthrom’s mind, the promise of power battled with the disgust of how it was to be achieved. He still had a visceral aversion, but maybe he needed to overcome it, like he had with the Iminguis? In pursuit of the greater reward.

  She did intend to reward him, it seemed, but he had to submit completely first, and become a thrall.

  ‘Am I not worthy to ascend ahead of a mere boy?’ said Harling. ‘He is not ready for this.’

  High Cleric, I hope you are not questioning my decisions. Somehow she sounded even more menacing.

  ‘No. Of course not,’ he said weakly.

  Ever since you joined my Order, have I not elevated you above all others?

  He nodded, eyes shut.

  I brought you in from obscurity. I found you, experimenting on the fringes of the Empire. You were a filthy Watcher, a priest with a flock who cared nothing for what you had to offer them. You were deliberately thralling the children of your town, a sadistic practice of which you had no idea of the ramifications. I saved you from the wrath of the citizens there, when they discovered what you had been doing. They long suspected the missing children could be attributed to you.

  I showed you the true path. I demonstrated true power. I showed you that thralling was my gift to bestow upon the world. Not yours. And where it is mine to give… She stopped and waited.

  Harling didn’t make her wait, but the words clearly pained him. ‘It is yours to withhold, Goddess.’

  You are still serving a punishment, Harling. Do not forget that. I may be holding you back, but you have not yet served your time. Yet you do have a gift. You are aiding me in all things, aiding me to thrall the world. If I let you ascend to the next plane, who will help me in my noble mission?

  ‘You know I am sick,’ he pleaded. Anthrom found the whole exchange oddly satisfying. To watch Harling reduced to this snivelling sycophant. Anthrom was glad he had not demeaned himself like that. ‘I have the wasting disease. Tumours inside me that absorb all I consume. It will soon consume my flesh as well. A Medusi will clear the tumours from my body, refresh and heal me.’

  Was that true? Anthrom had no idea, but it sounded strange.

  I understand that. Soon, Harling. Serve me a little longer, help me to take Argentor, and deliver the weapons you promised and then maybe I will consider your debt paid.

  Harling bowed. ‘Thank you, my Goddess.’

  She dismissed his worship, gesturing for him to stand. I had a second reason for visiting with you tonight. You are to leave for Argentor with a message for the Premiers and Aurelia.

  ‘Can’t your spy do that? They are there in the city.’

  You would have them reveal themselves over a mere message? Ridiculous. Have you lost your objectivity as well as your faith?

  Harling wisely didn’t answer that. ‘It will take me weeks to get there.’

  Take four Cephean guard an
d the fastest horses that remain in Theris. Take spare remounts. A week there, a week back. And remember the package.

  ‘What about my experiments? This is a crucial time. You don’t want the boy’s Medusi to-’

  Anthrom winced as his head was filled with Noctiluca’s voice. You will do as I command. It was mixed with a strange intoxicating sound, like a lullaby, that made him feel good about the mission Harling was being sent on.

  Harling fell to the floor and Noctiluca drove her clawed toes into the back of his right hand. They were like the talons of an eagle and they pierced right through.

  Question me again and it will be the last time. Do not make the mistake of thinking you are irreplaceable.

  Her claws retracted from his hand red with blood, but Noctiluca was unconcerned. She turned and left, her Medusi squeezing through the door with difficulty. Harling paused only a few moments, to wrap a bandage around his injured hand, and gather the few things he would need on the road to Argentor.

  When he had left also, Anthrom breathed a sigh of relief. He pushed himself up on arms that were like dead flesh they were so numb. He clambered and slid slowly around the room and out of the wall to find the corridor empty outside. He dusted himself off, tried Harling’s office door and found it unlocked.

  It was strange to see the room from this angle after the long hour he had spent in the dusty corner behind a wall. You could see the crack, but nothing beyond it; he’d been invisible.

  Without conscious thought, he found himself in front of the canister that held the Medusi they had been looking at. The creature was a fine healthy-looking Medusi, a little on the small side, but not much different in shape and structure to a wild one. It wasn’t a defenceless listening organism like the Cephea, but neither was it a hunter like the Chironex. It was amazing to think all Medusi had come from the same source. At least if Noctiluca was to be believed.

  Its thralling tentacle was short and undeveloped; he was sure he’d read somewhere that the thralling tentacle was one of the last things to grow and wasn’t wholly distended until the creature was an adult. He thought of being thralled, of letting that tentacle enter his flesh. It would pierce his neck, near the great scar he would soon have, and attach to his spinal column, his nervous system. It was far worse than the Iminguis taking a drink of his blood. There was power in there, power akin to an Overlord, but the cost. He was very unsure of the cost.