All through the night he’d practiced. His powers were limited, but he was sure they would become more apparent with time. He could not, for instance, cover up every part of his body so that he became invisible. Try as he might, it didn’t look right to him, and he couldn’t maintain the effect if he moved even an inch.
He couldn't make himself invisible, but he could hide the truth.
Maybe with practice, he thought.
For now, he decided he would hide his power from Noctiluca. He felt like disobeying her again – it had felt good last night – and she likely only wanted to see him to check on his progress. He carefully dropped each illusion he had conjured, reverting to his pallid grey almost burnt skin, so like hers and Cassandra’s. He let his scarring show, let the tube and the Medusi shine brightly again.
Each little disobedience felt like sweet rebellion.
Miriell was long gone when he emerged, returned to her cell no doubt. He was grateful, she was now a liability; she had seen him since his thralling yet without his Medusi. She had seen the illusions he didn’t want Noctiluca to know about. She can stay down there for all I care, he told himself. It was even mostly true.
When he reached the throne room, there were thralled architects and builders around one end. They were excavating, digging and tunnelling up from the chamber, constructing a channel and a staircase that led down here directly. Currently access was through the restrictive corridors and spiral staircase in the west wing, but once the tunnel was complete, Noctiluca could leave her throne room freely; the entrance would be in the current grand foyer.
Nothing? said Noctiluca into his mind as Anthrom approached the throne. Her voice was milder now. He was either growing used to it, or he’d become slightly immune with his awakened power.
He shook his head. ‘I’m am sorry, Noctiluca.’
Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I thought it would have manifested by now.
‘I wish it had,’ said Anthrom. ‘But I will continue to be vigilant of any stirrings or strange talents.’
She nodded, her jawless skull lolling back and forth. And keep me informed. She took a long moment studying him before she spoke again. It was the first time she had seen him since Harling’s ministration. Since his thralling. It suits you.
Anthrom was not convinced being a thrall suited anyone, but he played along. ‘Thank you.’ He bowed his head. ‘I am in your debt.’
I can feel their connection, she said. The little one is meeting its ancestor for the first time. The power of Amnion, the first Medusi, flows through me and now to you. It will awaken your power.
It was hard to deny the power; the room almost hummed with it.
Was it possible the huge Medusi that hung in the space above them could know if his powers had manifested? If so, he was going to be in big trouble. It didn’t sound like it though.
Perhaps you will come into your power on your way to Argentor?
‘Argentor?’ Anthrom’s mind raced. Aurelia had fled to Argentor taking Cassandra with her, Noctiluca had asked him about it months ago, and he’d said he knew nothing about it. Why would she be sending him there?
A good word, debt. It is time for you to serve me, Anthrom. Time to begin the long process of paying back for your elevation. He’d just known it was too good to be true. It had just been a figure of speech. You will be my emissary, my representative there.
‘But what can I do?’ he said. ‘Surely someone better qualified exists. There must be a general, a commander in those captured throughout the city.’ He’d spent months arguing that he was worthy to be her right hand, yet when the time came, he argued against it. He wasn’t even sure why.
Of course, there are. But I want you. Now, the Duke is dead. When you arrive Argentor will be in the control of one of my people. You will serve as a potent reminder to him to maintain his loyalty during his city’s final hours. Even the House of Nectris bows before my rule. You will send a powerful message just by your very presence.
The city will be open to you, their scant defences undeployed. The army your sister fought so hard for will be unprepared, unready.
She stood and glided down the steps to him. I will move our army from here, give commands to the Cephean who will accompany you, and I will make the thralls and the Medusi obey.
Anthrom was almost too stunned to speak. He’d been so fixated on Miriell as his reward, he hadn’t considered she would give him another that he actually wanted. Command of her army, battle and glory in the Order’s war against Argentor. He felt foolish for opposing her, childish for hiding his powers. Should he reveal them now? No, then she would catch him in a lie.
You will destroy the premiers, subdue any resistance, and then thrall the city, she said, coming close.
‘And what about Aurelia?’ he said, relishing his new opportunity. He looked up at her, suddenly grateful once again. It didn’t feel natural, but it felt right.
As Noctiluca stooped, she brought her tall frame down to Anthrom’s level. She looked deep into his eyes, her own unfathomable and black and ancient. Anthrom felt again like he was falling into them, like falling through a gateway to the past.
I had meant to tell you this, Anthrom, she said. Your sister was executed yesterday. Aurelia is dead.
Anthrom heard the words, but for a second, they didn’t register. Then he felt his cheeks twitching, the corners of his mouth creeping upwards. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
Chapter Thirty Four
Totelun
Totelun felt a more than a twinge in his side as he jumped from the gunwale of the Neri’id and landed on the strange coral jetty, splashing into the foot or so of water that covered it. The injury to his stomach was mostly healed, but he would clearly need to take things carefully. He hoped he wouldn’t be forced into too much action in the days ahead. As he edged toward the waterfall, he caught a glimpse over the lip; the sea just flowed into an abyss without end. A person could fall forever into that great rift in the sea. Like home, he thought. In many ways, at least for him, hanging over a bottomless abyss just felt familiar.
He wondered where the riders had come from. Underground? The centre of the planet?
Totelun turned back at a yell from Cane; only he had a voice that deep.
Cassandra stood next to the Captain looking annoyed. Totelun could guess it was because he had just gone to the waterfall’s edge. The waterfall I am supposed to be avoiding, he thought guiltily. It didn’t feel dangerous, not to him. She had her Cephea hidden away in a little hood; her skin was grey and difficult to hide, but she found it more comfortable not to have the Medusi hovering behind her. It had never fully recovered from the bomb blast and preferred to sit and rest rather than float.
Totelun reached up a hand to help her down; Cassandra batted it aside and landed beside him, splashing him up one side, without any need for help. He should have known.
He beckoned to Cane, but Cane laughed, shaking his head. ‘You want to help me down? I’d squash you,’ he shouted, over the noise of the falls. ‘I’m staying right here, kid. This one’s all yours.’ He waved him off, striding back to his crewmates who were securing anchors on both ends of the ship – she wasn’t going anywhere for now.
When Totelun looked around, Cassandra had stepped toward the falls herself. Knee-deep in crystal clear waters for miles in one direction and pristine waterfall at the edge of the world on the other, she looked incredible, like the flaming red-haired adventurer she was becoming.
One of the Thunwing flock above shrieked, whipped past them and out over the falls, coming about. Totelun could see they were coming in to land. The jetty served a dual purpose; a dock for what seemed was the rare ship that ventured out here, but also as a landing strip and launch drop for the Thunwings. He remembered how they used to launch on the Islands – by rolling off a ledge into open air. His father had maintained a stable where half the floor had reached out over the side of the island, and the Thunwings had simply dropped through the f
loor.
The Thunwing and its rider swooped in and slid along the jetty in a wave of saltwater, drenching them both. Just as Totelun was drying his eyes, he looked back and a second one landed in the same way, kicking up another crest that soaked them all over again. It was a graceful landing, they were just standing in the wrong place. Thunwings didn’t really have legs, and so required the slide to land with any kind of elegance. His father had often commented that although they might be less than graceful on land, they made up for it in the sky.
The two in front of Totelun looked like breeding stallions; their bodies were shaped a little like that of a seal rearing up, but also similar to a large slug, their faces sported a mouth like the folded over lips of a horse, all rubbery and wet. On top of their heads were sturdy antenna they used to fly so well, giving them a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree sensory picture of their environment. Their wings came in pairs, three sets down the length of the body; up near the head and thick fleshy neck, the main wings were like a splayed hand with a hundred fingers, some ten feet across at the widest point, the second set served as stabiliser and an anchor for the rider’s feet, and the third at the end of the long tail, as a rudder in flight. Their skin was like that of a frog to the touch; they were like a flying amphibian, a salamander with wings instead of legs. The reason Totelun thought they were stallions was more than just their size and bearing, it was also in their colours. The first was a muted orange, with vibrant red and yellow stripes making him look vaguely poisonous, the second a grey with white patchwork sections down his sides. Any mares would be duller in colour, but they were the ones who picked their mate by his colouring and displays.
Their riders were no less impressive, sporting goggles like those of Totelun’s own people, like Cassandra wore now, and second skins that kept them warm in flight through wet or dry. They were armed with needle sharp harpoons and spears. The first to step down had a cape like a set of lace wings. Totelun wondered if it were a status symbol, marking him as a pilot or of a certain rank.
He stood before Totelun, a little taller, a little fuller in the chest. A warrior – now that, Totelun could respect. And a pilot. He pulled off his goggles, smoothed wet hair out of his face. He looked down at Totelun.
‘Who are you?’
Totelun was surprised he could understand him. He supposed it was similar to what Naus had said about Totelun’s own accent and dialect; a thousand years had allowed their dialects to drift, but not enough to make it impossible to communicate. He touched his chest. ‘I am Totelun Altanji. And this is Princess Cassandra Nectris.’
The rider looked over; his Thunwing was chomping gently at Cassandra’s outstretched hand with its rubbery lips. She smiled over at them. Totelun realised he couldn’t hear her laugh all over again.
‘If she is a Princess, what are you?’
Totelun frowned. ‘Her bodyguard,’ he said. ‘A warrior, like yourself.’
‘We don’t get many visitors. You must come down to the city.’
Totelun nodded. The city? he thought. Down there? He raised his chin. ‘Who am I speaking to?’
‘Kasimir,’ was all the man said. He looked up at the ship. ‘The ship must not leave without permission.’ The crew had hidden away as the riders came in, but they would have been seen from above.
Totelun nodded. ‘They will stay. Don’t you want to know why we are here, Kasimir?’
‘I will leave that to the Matriarchs.’ He stepped back and gestured Totelun to the saddle on the front Thunwing where there was a second seat. Totelun stepped up, putting his feet in the stirrups and swinging over, remembering how to mount up from watching his father. Cassandra watched him and then did the same on the other grey and white Thunwing. ‘Ever ridden one of these, impressive warrior?’ Kasimir asked.
Am I being mocked? ‘Yes, actually.’ Totelun couldn’t hold the stoic tone and grinned, feeling the clammy wet skin on the Thunwing’s flank. He was too excited. They were going to fly.
Kasimir mounted in front of him, and the Thunwing began to lumber round to the waterfall’s edge at a small movement from the reins. It used its front wings as flippers to manoeuvre across the dock and slide across the coral. At the edge it held still for a moment, waiting for its partner to get in position.
‘Hold on tight,’ said Kasimir, and the Thunwing rolled sideways and over the side of the waterfall. Totelun left his stomach behind as they plummeted into the mist below. He looked back and watched Cassandra’s hair waft up as her Thunwing rolled and dropped.
He could hardly form a coherent thought; he was just euphoria through and through, blinking back tears of joy in the spray. I’m going to get home! he managed eventually. He could feel himself grinning, because he was getting mouthfuls of water. He would need to get new goggles here if he intended to fly one of these himself.
The riders swept round the great rift, angling ever further downward, making a large circuit. Totelun knew Kasimir was just demonstrating the majesty of the place. The lower they went the more he began to be able to hear himself again over the rushing water. Surrounded now by a waterfall on all sides some hundred and fifty feet above them, Totelun leant over and looked down. There was just darkness below him, an endless descent into a dark chasm. He could feel the warm air currents coming up from the depths that buffeted the Thunwing, he could see steam and water vapour rising. It was colder down here, but he felt it was clear if you kept going it would get much warmer.
‘Where’s this city?’ he shouted. He thought it would be at the bottom, but there was no way; the fissure in the ocean was miles down. Wouldn’t it be long since flooded?
Kasimir huffed a laugh and tucked his head down, coaxing speed from his mount. He aimed straight for the waterfall below the jetty, if Totelun hadn’t got too turned around. The Thunwing dived; at this speed they would hit the waterfall and the rocks behind and just be splattered to pulp.
‘Maybe you want to slow down!?’
His escort just laughed. Was he just trying to psyche him out, because it was working? Totelun half shouted, half screamed as they smashed into the water at full pelt, then they were through and Kasimir whipped the Thunwing round in a tight arc, cutting speed and gliding again.
All around him Totelun could see the city; it grew from the rocks and cliffs below him like a coral reef. At first, he thought it was a coral reef, but as his eyes became accustomed to the scale, he began to see the city for what it was. The cavern stretched for a mile or so behind the curtain of the waterfall and the city climbed vertically up its sides.
The buildings were not constructed but grown from colourful coral; sturdy dome-like homes sported cultivated shapes made of latticework growths coated in rainbow amoeba. Platforms jutted out all down the cliff’s surface, providing docks and foundations for further buildings. Pods and shells stuck out from the rock clutching translucent bubble homes inside which he could see people living. Walkways were strung from pod to platform, hundreds of them, connecting every coral structure to its neighbour. Stairways and ropes linked tunnels and caves dug into the rock. Totelun had never seen anything like it; a vertical city hanging from an almost sheer cliff, hidden by a waterfall at the end of the world. It was breath-taking in colour and shape; every little detail unique and individual.
He felt something of an affinity for the people here as he spotted some waving the Thunwings in. They were a civilisation literally on the edge, suspended above an endless chasm; it wasn’t that far away from the Floating Islands.
And the Thunwings.
The coral that formed stepped levels and platforms also made for fantastic nests and stables. He could hear them now calling out to each other with their gentle drones. There were thousands of them, frolicking about, tousling in the sky, lounging on rock outcrops. They groomed each other and grazed on reeds and grasses that grew from the cliff. He saw mothers with babies in precarious nests out where the falling water would keep them constantly damp.
The breeding grounds of the Thunwings.
Kasimir took them in close, skimming the shell buildings; his Thunwing keened out loudly and found a deafening chorus in response. He aimed them in and landed on one of the largest docks, sliding in with a little more care and grace shown than they had on the jetty above.
Kasimir dismounted with a flourish, accepting a feedbag from one of the dockhands and hooking it over the Thunwing’s face. He slapped its flank affectionately and the Thunwing cooed in pleasure. Totelun could tell they had been together for a while; it possibly had a better friendship with its pilot than his father had done with his Thunwing.
Cassandra and her escort, who turned out to be a young woman, landed just a minute later. Cassandra leaped down and was back on solid coral, wringing her long hair out before Totelun even managed to extricate himself from the harness. She offered him a hand, sarcastically in his opinion.
Once he was down, she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed back across the platform.
A whole congregation was approaching, led by more warriors dressed similarly to Kasimir, each with one arm clad in leather and hardened plate on their legs and torsos. They didn’t sport the lace wings. The crowd broke apart to allow three elderly women through, two of which were still hale but clearly in their eighties – Totelun suspected the moist air was doing nothing for how they looked, he could already feel his fingers pruning – and the third in her fifties.
The Matriarchs, he guessed.
The three women eyed him carefully, one of them walking round, peering at him. Another looked at Cassandra’s grey skin very closely, mouth pursed in concern.
‘Welcome to Reunalis,’ said the youngest of the three. ‘We have not had visitors from the surface world for hundreds of years. This is most exciting. Come, let us get you some dry clothes and refreshment. We want to hear everything you have to say.’ A much more civilised greeting than he’d received from the last city leader he’d come before. That had been Aurelia, and she’d threatened to cut his and Naus’ faces off.
Embrace of the Medusi (The Overlords Trilogy Book 2) Page 47
