Demorn: City of Innocents (The Asanti Series Book 2)

by David Finn

  The Tyrant leapt forward and grabbed her hand. A cold wind chilled her to the bone. They were back in the Arena. It was vast and empty. Stars glittered in the open sky.

  She held the blade. She couldn’t remember it spawning from her. Xalos had never been so dim and felt so cold.

  The same circle was etched into the stone ground. The Tyrant was fully armored. He traced the circle with his hand. The edges glowed brighter as his glove touched the ground.

  We were very young.

  ‘Talk to me,’ she reminded him.

  ‘We drew a circle, far bigger than this, ten of us. We swore many things. We were very young, we didn’t realize what we’d promised each other, what we had started.’

  The circled seemed to catch heat, glowing a warm orange. The blade felt lighter and more deadly in her hands. A purple flame licked across the katana’s metal edge.

  He looked at her. ‘Do you know what sacrifice really is, Princess?’

  Demorn nodded, eyes blank. ‘I know.’

  He took her hand, his energy surrounded him, multi-colored.

  Can you imagine if we won?

  ‘What would you need?’

  His purple eyes were sad.

  That’s the scary part, Princess. I need hearts and souls.

  Demorn laughed her scary laugh. Of course he needed that. ‘Great, you’re just like every other god then.’

  She drew his armored hand to her breast under the black shirt. The metal was cold on her skin, on her ruby heart.

  ‘Do you gods even know what you ask of us? A girl left my heart in ashes so I barely feel anything. The Goddess of the Innocents took a chunk of my soul for some pretty magic eyes. I’ve rented a room to a Pain God, to win a few fights.’

  His purple vision flicked across her. Demorn removed his hand from her ruby heart.

  ‘Whatever’s left, I’d rather die with it being mine.’

  He laughed softly. His mind-voice was like a sigh.

  You have given enough, Princess of the Swords.

  He drifted up in the air, holding her, silent for a while. The ship was reforming around them, the stars were gone. She felt like they were in a giant tomb, immense black mirrors reflecting them.

  You should be careful of the Pain God, I can see the markings upon your soul.

  Demorn was philosophical. ‘My life is dangerous, it’s hard not to get killed.’

  The Arena and the stone steps vanished. Surrounding them was a soft blackness. Far beneath them was a small burning circle, the only flickering light in the void.

  On the mirrored black walls she saw images of a glamorous woman in a light blue gown, a white gem glowing on her throat, a zombie wizard in the background.

  It was the same woman from the electronic wallpaper in his bedroom. She seemed more real here, more vivid, the white gem blazing.

  ‘Wow-ee,’ she said, ‘Check out those cheekbones. Was she the One?’

  The Tyrant looked quizzical. ‘The One?’

  Demorn couldn’t help herself. ‘The Only One, like in some classic rock ’n’ roll song, sung by the voice of an angel who sends a shiver down your spine.’

  She smiled her crooked smile.

  He brushed her brow, leaving a shimmering purple haze.

  ‘You have quite the imagination behind those magic eyes, don’t you, Demorn?’

  ‘This ship brings it out in me. It’s how the Spire would be, if the crash hadn’t crippled us.’

  He was silent, his mind far away, watching the mirrored walls. She wondered what he saw and if it was more than here.

  ‘She was the One wasn’t she?’

  He rested his head against her for a moment. The woman changed inside the black mirrors, different costumes, younger and older, the White Gem always on her throat, the Zombie Wizard beside her, occasionally human, mostly dead.

  ‘Of course she was the One,’ he murmured.

  ‘Did she have to call you Tyrant, too?’

  His voice was quiet. ‘I wasn’t the Tyrant back then.’

  ‘Did she have to win stupid reality shows just for the privilege of finding you’re a really sensitive guy?’

  The Tyrant grinned. His purple eyes were sparkling. ‘No, we were friends.’

  Demorn looked at the small, flickering circle so far below.

  ‘This is a really weird space ship,’ she said.

  A warm summer wind was blowing strong. Strangely, they were back in the control room. The wind died away. The star charts were gone.

  The city lit up beneath them like a glittering beast. His armor vanished. He was in a long red robe. His face was healed.

  She was sarcastic. ‘God, you love a costume change. It’s so theatrical. Why do you keep wearing the Blood Clan clothes? I commanded them for a day, once. How did you get them to come after me?’

  The Steel Bracelet was upon his wrist. There was no disguising the dried blood all over his hand, the fresh blood that still seeped from the wounds beneath the metal. And she knew then, she knew.

  ‘I know much about Firethorn, Demorn.’

  Something shifted in her, a coldness came, and she felt her tall, silver glass crown weigh upon her head.

  I am from a time before your line and your rule — PUT YOUR SILVER CROWN AWAY.

  Demorn removed the glittering crown. It flashed and vanished from the control room.

  ‘Talk to me then. Don’t be so rude.’

  ‘There were ten of us. Ten in the beginning, all of us exiles or castaways.’

  He seemed about to say more, unable to restrain himself from an almost desperate need to communicate. He was the Tyrant and she could tell he was used to keeping his own counsel.

  Demorn doubted that any Runners had gotten this deep within the Ship, through all these layers of dreams and perception. She wondered if Alex had. Alex was connected to the moment. Alex liked shooting things and having sex with beautiful people. She had known Alex for years and she had barely shown the slightest interest in Demorn’s past or the legend of the Firethorn prophecies which haunted and followed her. Would she even care at all about this stuff?

  Demorn wanted him to say more. For as long as she had been in Babelzon, she had thought the Tyrant would either be a sick monster or an illusion. A myth, a fraud. To find he was neither was as intriguing as it was dangerous.

  ‘Demorn, personal question, if I may?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you really think you could kill me and collect that contract Tony holds in his secret drawer?’

  6

  * * *

  She gripped the hidden locket. Pain and savage strength flooded her system. Xalos caught fully aflame in her hand, pulsing and alive.

  His voice was calm. At times his body was hardly there at all; all she could see was the churning energy spiral. He held his palm out. Pyramids flashed upon it. She saw the insignia of Wrecking Ball. She saw Triton disintegrating in code.

  He said, ‘Please don’t. I don’t want to be your pretend super-villain. I don’t want to fight and burn you. I don’t want to mourn you.’

  ‘Why would you spare me then, Tyrant? Rifling through my mind like the thief you were,’ she hissed, her eyes ablaze with green electricity.

  ‘It’s not your fault I can pierce your thought-screens. They’re strong and you’re well trained, but this is my ship. People are like glass to me.’

  Slowly, she released the locket with an unsteady hand. Blood was in her mouth. The power seeped out, leaving a horrible weakness, a cancer of the soul. She coughed slightly, careful not to show the blood.

  ‘I hadn’t made my mind up about the contract.’

  He laughed inside her head.

  Princess, one thing you don’t mind displaying is your naked love of cash.

  She rolled her tongue around her bloody mouth. Control was coming back. She knew how careful she had to be, how much every word cost.

  ‘I wouldn’t take it personally. Tony has had a contract for every member of the Council for yea
rs, tucked in deep on his computer for a rainy day.’

  Is it raining?

  She saw Tony’s crumpled grey suit, the wreck of White Lion. She knew how far you could fall in two years.

  ‘It’s going to be a dark and stormy night.’

  He trusts you?

  ‘His wife was Asanti,’ she said.

  The Tyrant was surprised. ‘Is that really all it takes?’

  Demorn’s gaze didn’t waver and told nothing. ‘She died with my planet. She didn’t make it out, but she helped us out, my brother and me. I owe her. I owe him. He needs your vote, it’s as simple as that.’

  The Tyrant lowered his palm.

  ‘So why are we fighting? My vision is deep. I understand Tony better than he realizes. I know what he is. I know to what depths he may reach. I was once a thief who dined and dealt with many such men.’

  Beware, Sword Princess, beware, Demorn chanted to herself, in Asanti. She sheathed the blade on pure instinct.

  The night felt long suddenly. Babelzon hung before them, immense. He wasn’t just a ruined, dead sun, watching them all from so far above.

  ‘I thought the Tyrant would be a Tyrant. But the Court is empty of courtiers. It’s just you and some ghosts.’

  He spoke in a quiet voice. ‘Tell Tony he has my vote.’

  ‘Does he?’

  The Tyrant nodded vaguely. He lowered his shining palm, the pyramids fading, stopping their vibration on his hand.

  ‘Yes. We won’t try to kill each other, Demorn. I always liked Asanti, and I’m tired of pointless little death games. People forget the importance of talking things out.’

  The cityscape vanished, replaced by a blazing yellow sun, and wide green grassy fields. She saw a huge blue sparkling lake which she recognized from her dreams.

  For a moment her eyes saw a horde of Pales in the water, their horrible rotting skin on display. She saw their terrible, burning Orange Sun standard flashing in the glittering water. But they were not there, it was all in her imagination, nothing was real.

  He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  ‘We all thought we’d live forever in the magic kingdom of visions. Some of us didn’t think we could die.’

  He knelt, his white fingers running through the sand. He walked towards the darkening water. He slipped off the red Blood robe.

  His translucent form sparkled with savage energy. He drifted over the surface of the water.

  ‘Are we really here?’ she asked, confused.

  Do you know what this place is?

  ‘Some crazy place from my dreams.’

  It’s where your father was buried. The Dead King. That’s what they call him.

  Xalos surged into her hand and she followed him into the shallows. She had tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t sad. She didn’t know how she felt.

  He slowly sank, energy morphing with the crystal-clear water. Demorn felt a frisson of fear as the water became hotter.

  A shadow had fallen across the Sun. Demorn was cold. It didn’t seem fun or magical anymore.

  ‘So he died here?’ she asked.

  No, he was buried here, along with so many others, so many friends who are just dreams now.

  Demorn looked deep into the waters. She saw blood. Miles of it, drenching her soul.

  She tore her gaze away.

  ‘Why are you showing me all this?’

  It’s called the Source. It’s the heart of this ship, perhaps the heart of me by now. People quest their whole lives for this point. Like fools and puppets they seek their prize. To some it is a magical lake where they bathe in dreams. To others it is a Sun-palace which rises and falls from the Endless Ocean. They think it will solve everything, save everyone. But you can’t save everyone from everyone else. It just doesn’t work like that.

  Did you even try, Demorn thought. Did you even try.

  The Tyrant floated out of the water, legs crossed. A white star flickered, rising from the lake. The shining white gem the woman had worn upon her throat.

  As he reached out and took it, the energy faded momentarily, his glowing skin became normal flesh. She saw his power lessen and die. He became a normal man.

  ‘It’s taking your power.’

  Oh no, Demorn. That’s the gift you see, when you start to leave humanity. The Source reminds you . . . there was a life and a way of living before all this.

  The sky was an ocean of stars. It was much like the Jade Room, but it felt more mechanical, less based on spells and magic. There was the skeletal framework, a program running beneath everything.

  Can you see them? Look into the stars—

  The sky had become a glass-like mirror, infinite. She saw a tiny figure pressed into an infinity of white. A tiny prisoner, dwarfed by everything. He wore a tattered red coat. A metal bracelet hung from his limp wrist. His eyes were empty caverns and his bones were skeletal, brittle things.

  He moved only to crawl, and he said please kill me please kill me please kill me on a loop that made her nauseous—

  ‘It’s you.’

  Yes. but it’s not just me, Princess. It’s not just me.

  She watched a thousand other stars circling the void, shining like glass in sunlight. As she looked closely, one of the stars revealed itself to her keen, magic eyes. She saw a female figure in black, a broken blade scattered around her, the katana’s energy spent and exhausted. Blood poured from a savage gash upon her face. Her black kimono was wet and slick with blood.

  The girl was on her knees, inert. It was the same White Room the Tyrant was locked in. The girl in the Room was silent. But Demorn knew the look, for it was one she hated most of all. It was the complete humiliation of total defeat. A look in which hope had died long ago. In misery, only hate lived.

  And she saw the other hungry stars held prisoners. She saw the Tyrant imprisoned in a thousand white rooms. With a hollow heart, she saw herself, a broken captor pressed against the burning holy purity of blank white nothingness.

  Demorn turned away from the stars, feeling sick, ready to throw up. It was too much infinity. It was too many prisons. It was zero hope.

  She collapsed on the grass.

  ‘You look into Mirror Worlds where reality has collapsed upon us! You gaze too deep! Why would you do that?’

  He chuckled dryly. ‘Why? It’s still a reality. It’s just not the one we would choose.’

  Demorn felt drained and empty. She could hear the sickly sweet song of seduction, singing from the Iron Cage, as she had heard in whispers on The Grave, the murmur of the enslaved Bone, the promise of the Void.

  ‘Are all the Mirrors you look in so beautiful, Demorn? Please, show me them, then.’

  Demorn closed her eyes, stilled her mind. He was so smart and so clever and so wrong.

  ‘The Grave was a Mirror. In my throne room at Firethorn, I saw Kate walking in the Winter Park in Chicago, the cold sun upon her hair, wearing the same jumper she had worn the day we had met.’ Her voice was somber. ‘I had lost her in the regular world. She’s wasn’t coming back to me. So I followed a pretty mirage. But there was nothing but bones there.’

  She smiled sadly at the white prisons above them. The bones beneath them, in the bottom of the lake.

  ‘It’s all a trap. Maybe even this is. In five years, with battles won and lost, we could find ourselves back here, swords at each other’s throats, accusing the other of being a traitor. I wonder if either of us is.’

  The Tyrant smiled. ‘You’re very cynical, aren’t you?’

  Demorn sighed, tired.

  ‘You should try walking a mile in these shoes. I won the fairytale war. I killed the witch. I’d killed just about everybody I wanted to kill. So I went through the magic door, to find my love. And that world was a dimension of death.’

  She looked at him with blank honesty.

  ‘Can you offer me something better, Tyrant?’

  The blank white prisons faded away, leaving the image of a beautiful Sword Princess on a glass throne, the tall, spik
ed silver crown upon her head, blown up to immensity. The Princess watched a burning door appear on the carved wooden wall, in amongst the strange, carved faces, terrifying and solemn.

  The door opened. Images of Kate filled the mirrored sky around Demorn, just as they had back then. Kate laughing at a coffee shop. The Princess laid down her spiked crown, got down from her glass throne, and walked through the burning door.

  ‘Did you really think it was going to be a happy ending?’

  She shrugged, nostalgic.

  ‘I wanted to be happy. I wanted to really feel love. I wanted good coffee. I wanted that world where the Beatles stayed together a bit longer. I wanted to dance with Sinatra in Vegas again. Is that really so bad?’

  The Tyrant was kind. ‘No, but it’s how he almost captured you.’

  A chill ran through her. She could feel the bones in the sky, the ice that had eaten her heart for so long in the dimension of death.

  Inside the shards, she caught the flicker of a shadow. The Ice Worm, fully formed, emergent and rising in her imagination.

  ‘He really is the fucking Abyss, isn’t he?’

  The Tyrant was gentle, sad. ‘He is what crawls from the Abyss. Ultimate Fate was never the Corizan witch in your White Fort. He is nothing so simple as the End Boss in some video game. It is infinitely more complex and malignant, more a virus than living entity. I’ve seen whole cultures die still asking what it was. An infection that spreads across the mirrors, worlds interlaid across the other, gazing into the tombs of each.’

  As he spoke the bones surrounded the sky, cracking the mirrored surface, bleaching everything to a toneless, dead grey. Glass surrounded her. Reflected pain.

  The Sun was gone. Rain pelted the lake, drenching her. Demorn could see the bones of the Dead King, splayed fossil-like on the base of the lake. Jewels encrusted them. Honored even in the afterlife. How she could not have seen them before? How could she have not known this was where he lay?

  She could see the countless number of the dead. So many by her own hand. So many she could not save. She saw Red Morning. She saw brother and sister Innocents. She saw too much.

  ‘He wrenched Xalos from my heart and soul. How can we ever beat him?’