Wrath of Storms

by Steven McKinnon

‘I’m not worshipped, Sul. This is a haven for people like me—children, whom I will offer the guidance I never had—the understanding.’

  Sul spat. ‘Your tomb.’

  Musa fought hard to get inside Sul’s defences. She should have killed him long ago.

  Sul tapped the side of his head. ‘A gift from our true gods. Man has surpassed you, Musa. Ignicite has gifted us with power even stronger than yours.’

  From behind the scribe, strange statues emerged, like suits of armour brought to life. They were hewn from marble but moved like men.

  Musa’s soul-whisper floated over them, but she couldn’t get inside the statues’ heads; there was nothing for her power to grasp onto.

  ‘You believed yourself above the rest of us,’ Sul continued. ‘Manipulated Aldus and the others, manipulated men and women into worshipping you. But you are no god—compared to our true gods, compared to their resplendent majesty… You’re nothing.’

  The spirits-sealed-in-stone advanced—slow, juddering. Aud whimpered.

  ‘Sul, I have never wished you harm—leave this place, leave me—’

  ‘Harm?’ The scribe’s eyes glistened, and when he spoke next, his voice cracked. ‘The Old Gods were benevolent. They loved us, as I loved Aldus.’

  ‘An illusion, Sul—all of it. My greatest regret is seeing Aldus die, but it was his choice—his decision. The Old Gods robbed us of our free will, drew the life from us for their own immortality. They hid behind their illusions as their tendrils leeched our very souls.’

  ‘The Orinul were mankind’s benefactors!’ Sul’s voice grew wild, lashing like a whip.

  ‘No—to them, we are mindless drones, existing only to serve.’

  ‘Lies! Aldus’ bones lie in the mud because of you.’

  Musa winced, recalling Aldus’ last words. ‘Do it. Musa, I beg you. I am dead anyway.’ She’d killed him, killed the man she loved to spare him being used by the Orinul.

  The statues lumbered forward. Musa retreated, but she couldn’t stop their stone fists striking her and Aud. The child screamed, an inhuman sound too cruel to come from a child. Musa threw herself in front of the girl, letting stone fists pummel her. Blood filled her mouth.

  Aud must survive…

  Musa’s soul-whisper burned brighter. It couldn’t penetrate the barrier in Sul’s head—but it was a power born from the Orinul—like ignicite.

  Aud’s cries ceased.

  No!

  A terrible scream tore from Musa. Her soul-whisper erupted and a resounding quake rocked the hall. Musa summoned ignicite from the ground. It punched through the walls, sending the statue warriors flying across the room, crushing one into dust.

  Sul cowered as debris rained from the ceiling—Musa relished his fear. From the ignicite, a blinding, fiery light burst forth—Musa clasped it in her fingers, as though the light was tangible. She directed it against Sul.

  Sul screamed. ‘Please… Please! Don’t hurt me…’ He fell to his knees, tears streaming from his blue eyes. ‘No! No!’

  But what mercy Musa may have had died alongside Aud.

  Whips of crimson lightning arced across the scribe’s face, slashing his skin. He howled, twisted on the floor, blood seeping from his wounds.

  Musa clenched her fists and forced the light into Sul’s eyes, burning them in their sockets.

  She fell to the ground, spent. Her soul-whisper receded—exerting such power for the first time in decades had weakened her.

  The living statues moved. Some sported cracks but they didn’t show pain.

  ‘My eyes… My eyes…’ Sul mewled. ‘The light… The light…’

  The ground rumbled, bringing one of the pillars down.

  Musa grabbed Aud’s body and ran to the stairwell. The spirits-sealed-in-stone followed, feet stomping hard. Blood leaked from Musa’s wounds and pain stabbed at her, but she ran, clutching the girl tight.

  ‘Children,’ she panted. The other siren-born crowded her. ‘The doors, close the doors!’

  The children did, but the sound of the statues grew louder. They hammered at the door.

  ‘I’m still here, Musa…’

  Sul’s voice. Weak, but filled with rage. Whatever the demons had done to him kept him alive when he should have perished.

  Musa’s vision darkened. She fell to one knee, warm blood trickling over her fingers. ‘Children…’

  She had nothing left to give.

  She looked at Aud’s body, looked to the rest of her children. They gazed at her with a mixture of hope and worry—looked to her for answers.

  The hammering grew louder. Cracks appeared in the doors.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘This will be your tomb, Musa… Your light will turn to darkness. Like Aldus, no-one will ever find your bones.’

  The door smashed inward, and the spirits-sealed-in-stone marched inside.

  Serena snapped back to the present, her lungs breathless and her pulse racing.

  ‘The statue guards I found in Musa’s tomb—they weren’t her guardians.’ Serena’s eyes burned. ‘They were the things that killed her.’

  The Ageless was still muttering to himself, rummaging through his things. Enoch stood still, his fearful eyes watching Serena.

  She set the ignicite tablet down, dragging deep breaths to ease the tremoring in her fingers. The visions cleared her head, removed a fog she hadn’t even realised was there.

  I have to get out of here.

  Why had she come to Palthonheim? Why had she followed this strange man into unknown depths?

  Ventris.

  The vision the pirate queen shared—it had planted something inside Serena’s head—too weak to manipulate her directly, but strong enough to plant notions in her head and will her to come to Palthonheim.

  And Serena had allowed it.

  No wonder I knew the mist would part before me—it was goddamn telling me.

  ‘Removing your power, Serena, and giving life to a dead thing requires tremendous energy,’ the Ageless said. ‘Energy gifted to us by the ignicite.’

  The ignerium in Serena’s pocket weighed heavy. Gifted from ignicite—and the Orinul brought ignicite…

  The Ageless turned; Serena felt his closed eyes roaming over her. ‘Sirens are a mathematical anomaly, Serena. A repeating conundrum propagating through time, no matter how many of you we exterminate.’ A curved knife with a bone hilt glinted in his hands. ‘This is the weapon I did it with. When I found Musa cowering with her siren-born, she begged me not to hurt them after I gutted her. This very blade found all of them.’

  Serena wanted to vomit.

  ‘Call it genetics, evolution, a mutation.’ As the Ageless spoke, the gems on the six glowering obelisks lit up. A discordant frequency vibrated in Serena’s head. ‘Call it magic, if you’re so inclined.’

  Serena backed towards the door, summoning the siren-song. ‘Enoch, we gotta go.’

  The gems in the obelisks glowed hotter, like burning coals. Their dissonant clamour filled Serena’s head—and choked the song from her.

  ‘You’re connected to the planet, Serena.’ The Ageless glided closer to her. ‘Connected to the ignicite and the Orinul. Musa snatched a fragment of their power and used it against them.’

  ‘You,’ Serena panted. ‘Are you an Orinul?’

  ‘Merely their vessel. Like you, I wield but a fragment of their power.’

  Serena’s blood froze. ‘Enoch, I can’t use my power against him—’

  ‘Hold her,’ the Ageless commanded.

  Enoch’s arms wrapped around Serena and squeezed the breath from her lungs.

  ‘Enoch, what are you doing? Enoch?’ She tried to wriggle free from Enoch’s grip, but it was useless.

  ‘He is under my command,’ the Ageless said. ‘He will obey my voice only.’

  Serena kept yelling, but the Stone Man paid her no mind.

  ‘He is the result of hundreds of years of research,’ the old man said. ‘Seizing every siren-born I
could, dissecting them, finding out how they worked—perfecting my stone soldiers after expending all my ignerium reserves, implanting them with the power to seek the Sirens out and destroy them. But like the others, he’s a failure—though not without his uses.’

  Serena stopped wasting her strength. ‘If you’re gonna kill me, why did you stop him back in the courtyard?’

  ‘I needed you here, within the safety of my sanctum—Musa came close to killing me, and I couldn’t risk you using infernal light, as she did.’

  Waves from the obelisks swept through Serena’s mind. The siren-song stayed silent within her.

  ‘No need for illusions, now.’ The Ageless shuffled closer. Before Serena’s eyes, his skin grew withered and yellowed, pulling tight against his skull. His pristine teeth decayed, turning black and rotten.

  Enoch’s grip strengthened.

  ‘My friends…’ The words caught in Serena’s throat. ‘My friends… will find me.’

  Sul’s eyes shot open, revealing black, empty holes. ‘Your friends are gone.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Gallows stood with his hands on his hips, taking in the library’s strange mural.

  ‘Hunter!’ Tiera called at his back. ‘When you’re done admiring finger-paintings, help me keep an eye on Ventris.’

  The longer he gazed at the mural, the more questions it posed. He’d missed it before, but a figure battling Belios possessed a subtle spike jutting through his chin. It could’ve been coincidence, or a mistake by the sculptor—but the rest of it was so pristine, so flawless. Only one answer made sense to Gallows: The spike belonged to the warrior with the deformed canine jutting through his chin. ‘Arik Blood-Tooth, standing in a battlefield with Phadrosi cannons.’

  He cross-referenced the mural with ancient scrolls and newer texts, all describing various points in history but containing sketches similar to the events depicted in the mural. There were references to Arik Blood-Tooth captaining a dragon ship that could sail without wind or crew; Gallows himself had seen carvings of Arik riding Belios’ war dragon, Schiehallion—until now, he’d believed that was just Ryndaran propaganda.

  So what connects Arik Blood-Tooth with the Phadrosi? Ryndara conquered Vermeaux, and Phadros conquered half of Imanis, but that was centuries apart…

  It wasn’t the first time Gallows had found evidence that contradicted the history he knew; with Damien’s help, he’d escaped a thirteenth century Phadrosi castle in the Sanctecano Islands, though there was no record of expeditions from Phadros ever landing there at that time.

  ‘Oi! Finisa!’

  ‘Right.’ Gallows tore himself away from the books. Really could be doing with Myriel here.

  He stood with Tiera, each of them staring at Ventris; the pirate sat by one of the stone tables, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, her eyes following something. As far as Gallows could tell, there was nothing there. Maybe she really does believe in shadow dragons.

  ‘Soon as she gets the chance, she’ll kill us,’ Tiera said. ‘We should strike first.’

  Gallows didn’t disagree. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  ‘So, you got any ideas on how to get out of this mausoleum?’

  Gallows eased a crick from his shoulder. ‘If there’s a way out, I reckon it’ll be in one of these books.’

  ‘Great. I’ll take the fifty thousand on the right, you take the fifty thousand on the left.’

  ‘Been a while since I read a good—’

  In a dark corner of the library, something crashed. It echoed across the stone walls, a cacophony in the silence.

  Gallows raised his shotgun—the noise came from near the hidden door Enoch had found, beyond the rows of looming bookcases.

  Tiera unslung her bolt-action rifle and motioned to Gallows to go left, while she went right. Even tied up and unarmed, Gallows was reluctant to let Ventris out of his sight, but he nodded his agreement and proceeded through the dark, silent aisle.

  From the other side of the bookcase, Tiera’s footsteps sounded. He got closer to the source of the noise, deep breaths steadying his heart.

  Then Tiera’s footsteps disappeared.

  He rounded the corner and saw her huddled on the ground, whimpering.

  ‘Tiera—you okay?’

  She turned around.

  But it wasn’t Tiera.

  ‘Sera?’

  Peering through her weapon’s iron sights, Tiera examined the source of the crash.

  Nothing.

  The door Enoch and Serena had gone through remained undisturbed—just an arch carved into the wall.

  ‘Gallows, you find anything?’

  The ex-Hunter didn’t answer.

  Screw this. She marched back the way she came—but the path between the bookcases ended in a brick wall.

  She spun around.

  An identical brick wall loomed ahead.

  She was trapped.

  Tiera hammered at it. ‘Gallows—you there? Gall—!’

  ‘Yulia,’ a far-off voice called—a voice that froze Tiera on the spot.

  She raised the rifle, breath catching in her throat.

  The brick wall at her back crumbled, revealing a rose-red and cobalt-blue stained glass window. It depicted Belios.

  Tiera knew it well.

  My monastery.

  Phadrosi folk music whispered around her; the high notes from a stringed bandurria tripping over themselves, the whistle of a flabiol flute and the punch of a small tamboli drum.

  ‘No…’

  The ceremony.

  The ceremony where she entered the service of the Fayth.

  ‘No.’

  The brand on the small of Tiera’s back itched.

  ‘Yulia…’ the voice called again.

  She fired at the stained glass window—it refused to shatter. She pulled the bolt back and fired again, again, again.

  But still it glowered at her, mocked her.

  The brand turned hot.

  ‘Fire purifies—the sign marks you out as a follower of the Indecim. Do you choose Belios over all other Gods, save Aerulus? This is the final test, Yulia. The Fayth will guide you. Give yourself to us.’

  Sweat rolled down her face. ‘You are not here.’

  ‘But I am, Yulia.’

  Datthias’ voice crackled like fire, his hot breath on the back of Tiera’s neck. She roared and swung the rifle around, but only shadows greeted her.

  ‘Always quick to anger, lass.’

  Tiera smelled Fitz’s scent before she heard his gruff voice. He placed a paw on her shoulder and squeezed.

  ‘Fitz?’ Tiera’s voice cracked.

  ‘Aye, lass. It’s me.’

  Tears burned in Tiera’s eyes. When she spoke, the words were strained. ‘I miss you.’

  Fitz pulled her close and kissed her. Gods, she missed the strength in his arms.

  ‘We don’t have to be apart any longer. We can be together.’

  Tiera wrenched herself away and raised her rifle. ‘You’re not here…’

  ‘O’course I am, lass. I’ll never lea—’

  Tiera pulled the trigger. Anguish spread over Fitz’s face as he dissolved.

  Tiera roared, a guttural, primal scream. The library changed around her—strange, glowing symbols appeared in the walls, words of a language she didn’t know.

  A ghostly woman with metallic red eye shadow flitted in and out before her. ‘Little rat, in a trap, running around scared. Little rat, in a trap, should know when she’s been snared.’

  Tiera knew those words, knew that voice. A vice grip tightened on her chest.

  Jynx.

  The bitch who drugged her, who manipulated her into starting a war on Dalthea’s streets.

  The rhyme repeated over and over. Tiera screamed to drown it out. She opened fire, the scrape of the iron bolt, the recoil in the stock at her shoulder providing something real.

  ‘Little rat, in a trap, running around scared…’

  ‘You’re not her
e!’

  Fitz’s cigar smoke wafted through the air. ‘Aye, well, sometimes a lie is better’n the truth, lass. Follow me, and I’ll show you.’

  Enoch held Serena still. She wriggled but couldn’t break free.

  ‘You don’t want to do this, Enoch… Please, stop. Stop.’

  ‘That whore sealed me in her hall for centuries,’ Sul told her. ‘Only the Orinul’s power kept me alive, gave me sight beyond seeing. Missionaries found her fortress and placed her bones in a tomb. The world beyond sickened me—Palthonheim had grown and knew nothing of Musa’s betrayal. But even the centuries cannot conceal the truth.’ The bastard grinned, showing off his ugly, crooked teeth. ‘I destroyed every window, every mural, every painting depicting her. I slaughtered every heretic who forgot what this place was meant to be, every denier. I scribed for Aldus—if Musa hadn’t infested his mind, hadn’t corrupted him…’ Something like sadness crossed Sul’s face. ‘Through me, the Orinul’s wrath spilled through every street, through every home in Palthonheim.’

  Icy sweat rolled down Serena’s back. ‘The red scrawls in Musa’s tomb—you left them? And the Calamity wasn’t because of deep ignicite mining… It was you. Why?’

  ‘The Orinul possess the power of life over death. If I am good—if I am loyal…’ Sul’s voice changed, growing high-pitched, like an excited child’s. ‘They will return Aldus to me.’

  The light from the obelisks grew brighter. ‘The Orinul were demons, asshole. They created illusions, put images in people’s minds to stop them rebelling. I felt it, when I was in Musa’s—’

  ‘Soul?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure, whatever. They kept humans docile and happy, enslaved us so they could feed. We paid for their immortality in blood—Musa liberated us.’

  ‘But we were at peace—for the only time in human history. Is that not worth the deaths of a small number? How many died in Musa’s war? How many have died since as a result? Serena—is free will worth the price of brother killing brother in an endless cycle? How many betrayals brought you here? How many lies?’

  Serena couldn’t find the words to argue back.

  ‘But soon the lies will stop,’ Sul continued, his finger running the length of his sacrificial knife. ‘I will re-write every book in the Great Library, scratch the name of every God from every page. I will remove Palthonheim’s defences, and man will know the truth. I will usher in a new period of—’