Dark Age

by Pierce Brown

  I nod, knowing there’s much work left to do.

  “No, look at me, child.” He turns my chin so that I look deep into the eyes underneath those tangled eyebrows. “It has possessed my thoughts. You deserve this day. You deserve this joy. You deserve this proof that your faith is not just right, but necessary.”

  I find myself in tears, and I can’t reason why. There are things you know, but when revealed to be known by others can make the world shine in a peculiar way. I feel seen, as only my husband has ever seen me. Kavax dabs the tears away. “There, there,” he says, bringing me into a hug. I’ve been too busy to see Kavax. Or maybe just too frightened to see him weak. How dare I presume his strength is in his body. I hug him hard and Sophocles paws my leg in jealousy. Always mindful of his father, Daxo scoops the fox up to give us the moment.

  “Will you come today?” I ask, pulling away.

  “No,” Kavax says. “No, I am tired of all this rancor. I think I will go to the sea with Sophocles. I don’t like the Citadel without Niobe.” He takes Sophocles back from Daxo. “And I’ve been promising this one a swim, haven’t I, and you know how passive-aggressive the little prince gets. Yes, he does. Yes, he does. Shit in my shoes! In my closet! Everywhere!” He open-mouth kisses the fox, who takes perhaps too much enjoyment from it.

  “But we will have dinner tonight at my estate. A family dinner. For my son”—he sets a hand on Daxo’s shoulder—“who has done himself proud, resurrected his family’s honor, and whom I could not be happier for. Except if he found a wife! I want babies to ride Sophocles! Or a husband!” He covers Sophocles’s ears. “Cloning is always an option, remember.” He laughs to himself. “And my daughter will come too”—he looks at me—“for she has been the twinkle in my eye since that summer she joined our family.” Sevro appears in the door. “The sea!” Kavax booms. “To the sea I go.”

  “Here’s your stupid cane,” Sevro says.

  “I need no cane! What am I, an invalid? A dullard?” Kavax booms. “I just wanted to see if you’d get it. Now who is the dullard! Ha!”

  “Man.” Sevro chuckles. “You’re so crazy.”

  After Kavax has sauntered away with his pet, Daxo makes a small noise of distaste. “That was emotional. I hope he’s not dying.”

  “He’s not. I just think he’s finally realized he’s mortal,” I say.

  “I think we should clone him,” Sevro says.

  “Jove. The fox is bad enough,” I say.

  “Yes, but could you imagine a child Kavax with that beard?” Sevro asks. “He’d be a right legend. He could marry Electra!” I make a face. “What? She can’t marry Pax. No offense, but he’s too smart. And my girl likes being stupid.” He scratches his goatee. “Bet Mickey would do it. We’d need to keep it secret. Yes.” He chews his lip in thinking over the logistics.

  “I could raise him,” Daxo says. “I have always wanted a worthy child to shape and mold.”

  Sevro and I look at each other. “Nah, prolly a bad idea,” Sevro says. “You know, clones are creepy and all. Always something wrong with the human ones.” Daxo is lost, peering at the ceiling in thought. Behind his back, Sevro makes a big X with arms at the cloning idea.

  “Be careful on Earth,” I say. “Old Tokyo is Warden territory. Get in. Get out. And bring me that Queen’s head.”

  “Attached?”

  “If possible. If not, permission to cauterize. And, would you mind taking the tunnels out, please.”

  “Done.” He lurches forward to slap Daxo’s ass and stalks out. The smell of wolf lingers.

  “I have thought it over. I think I would be a good father,” Daxo says at last. “After all, I have a fine example to follow.”

  THE DAY IS CRISP AND CLEAR, and bountiful with the scents of a Luna spring. The sky is the color of young fire. The trees along the promenade that leads from the Palatine Hill through the central Citadel park to the Forum blaze with color and life and pungent floral notes. Soldiers stop to salute as my motorcade rolls past. Administrators rush along park paths toward the Forum to make it there in time to watch the vote from the steps. Gaggles of children from the Citadel schools trot along in small packs, amongst them Lyria’s little nephew, Liam, his eyes gazing wide up at the trees and the monkeycats swinging from the branches with fresh sight. Though Victra took the girl, and likely has already disposed of her, Lyria’s bravery should be rewarded. I made sure Mickey himself gave the boy his sight months ago.

  Lionguard greet me as I arrive at the western entrance to the Forum with Daxo and Holiday. The whole cadre of loyal Optimate senators, Golds, Grays, Whites, and half the Silvers wait with two dozen Martian senators as Daxo and I disembark. Publius the Incorruptible stands beside this group surrounded by dozens of Terran and even a few Lunese senators that I sacrificed my Silver alliance to gain. With Holiday standing watch, I shake the traitor’s hand.

  “A fine day for a fine moment,” Publius says.

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  I take Holiday by the shoulder and step away. “After Dancer gives me the Vox votes, the crowd may get unruly….”

  “We have support legions ready to go on the field of Ares, ma’am.”

  “Good.” I sigh. “This is it then.”

  “Ma’am…” I turn back to her. “It must be said: It is in honor to serve a true Sovereign.”

  I don’t think I can adequately explain how much that means from someone like her. I nod and step away from the protection of the Lionguard to that of the blue-cloaked Warden, guardians of the Senate and Republic.

  I begin my ascent up the Forum’s Western Stairs, Daxo at my right, and the phalanx of Optimates and new allies behind in their flowing togas. At the crest, we enter the grand fifty-meter-high doors, through the stone columns onto the varnished floor. From the Southern Stairs, Vox Populi make their own entrance, Dancer limping along at the head of sixty strong senators of Red, Orange, Brown, the core of the Vox, and their less zealous allies, Blue, Green, and Violet. They carry a standard made of raw wood and ugly iron—an upside-down pyramid unadorned with flourishes. Under the watch of the neutral Wardens, the two opposing factions descend to their seats as the oceanic sounds of the crowd in the East Park lap into the Forum. The Obsidian are already seated, making it clear they stand apart.

  If only all knew how far gone they already were.

  I do not yet take my Morning Chair down in the center of the Senate pit. I walk around the rim of the pit to the East Door, where several stout Gray Wardens stand guard, and look down the Eastern Stairs, past the line of Wardens and anti-matter pulseShields that stretch between metal pylons at the base of the stairs, to the park below. A sea of humanity fills it, their disparate faces distorted by the shields so that they look like the confetti brushstrokes of a Frankish Impressionist. Roars of approval and condemnation lap against me. I smile. Soon they will witness the vindication of our way of governance.

  * * *

  —

  “Senators of the Republic, you are convened today in common assembly to vote upon a matter of dire urgency,” I say from the discomfort of my chair. The senators surround me, looking down from their seats on the tiered marble steps. “Much has been made of the divide between our peoples. Today I hope to see that divide closed. A resolution has been put before you by Senator Telemanus. Senator.”

  Daxo stands to his imperious height. The Optimates shout acclamation. He looks around with vibrant eyes and that clever, mocking smile.

  “Being that the greater strength of our veteran legions are trapped behind enemy lines due, in no small part, to our own befuddled hands, I reintroduce that very same resolution which was voted down one long month ago.” The Optimates stamp their approval. “Prior arguments against this resolution disparaged the strength of those Free Legions.” The Optimates guffaw. The Vox rumble in discontent. “And contended that they would capitulate to the stre
ngth of the enemy before rescue could avail them. That they would fold!” Laughter from the Optimates. “That the Reaper of Mars was but a shadow of his former self!”

  “No! No!” roar the Optimates.

  “While the Reaper has much to answer for”—the Vox murmur agreement—“he has been embraced by the troops as the commander in the field, and it would be folly to discredit their wisdom on this day. The Free Legions live. With their victory, we can see that such…pessimism, such defeatism, such…” He wants to say “cowardice,” but a look to me reminds him to stay his tongue and preach conciliation. “Caution was unfounded. And while it is a courageous notion to hold fast our lines, to protect our spheres with all our might, I cannot see a world in which we, my goodmen, my goodladies, can rest our weary heads and look ourselves in the mirror knowing we condemned our brave fellows to death. Therefore! I reintroduce my resolution to grant the Sovereign wartime imperium over the defense fleets, so she may, in her wisdom, prosecute this war to its rightful and expedient conclusion!”

  As Daxo sits, the Optimates stand with a roar. And outside, the smaller part of the crowd echoes their agreement as they watch the great projection of the Senate that streams above the Forum. But the greater part, the lowColors with their more numerous constituencies, wait for the man who has bound them together and given them a voice as loud as any Gold’s in the Society.

  Dancer politely waits for the other blocs to speak.

  The Silvers sit in silence. I have half their votes, if not their love, votes from those who fear my wrath outweighs their fear of Quicksilver’s. The Coppers also sit in silence. I look to Publius and tilt my head. It is his turn to stand. Yet he demurs, passing his time to the next bloc. I try to catch his eye. Something has changed. This should be where the trap springs and he denounces me. Has he made a deal with Zan?

  Does he know I have Dancer?

  My internal com beeps a priority message from Theodora. Keeping my face blank, I allow it through. “My Sovereign, Sevro has a priority-one message from Earth.” I instruct her to put it through to Daxo as well.

  Dancer eases to his feet.

  The rugged man in brilliant white looks at me with a soft smile of reassurance as I wait for Sevro’s message.

  “It is good today that the weather is fine and bright. That so many of our concerned citizens parted with the rigors of their own lives, and many rigors there are, to attend this assembly, lifts my heart.” He tries hard to match Daxo’s eloquence, but is more at home with simpler diction. “How far we have come in ten short years from the darkness of Society. How many of you could envision this day? Not as some dream, but as reality? Few. Very few, I wager. Even Fitchner Barca, the father of this revolution, had doubts. As did I.” He smiles, perhaps remembering the pain of those long years with the Sons. “My fellows, you are to be congratulated for your part, small as it may seem, in making this grand experiment possible.”

  He hiccups softly before continuing.

  “Our union is based not on our shared past, but on our hopeful future.” He frowns in irritation as a Brown senator behind him hiccups loudly into her sleeve. “Yet, even now agents of the enemy seek to divide that…”

  “Mustang…” There’s fear in Sevro’s voice. He’s out of breath. I hear boot steps on metal grating. “Mustang…Boneriders in Old Tokyo…trap.” There’s an explosion and the feed cuts to static.

  Boneriders.

  I hear blood in my ears.

  I look over to Daxo. Billions are watching on live stream. I can’t leave. We need this vote now. Theodora will have to take point. She’ll dispatch units to aid Sevro.

  Boneriders?

  How could it be possible? They should still be imprisoned in Deepgrave. Has the prison been penetrated yet again?

  Are they working with the Syndicate?

  It makes no sense. It has to be a trick. Sevro must be mistaken.

  If Sevro is not mistaken, this is exactly the sort of public venue where the Boneriders would like to make a splash. I look up and search the ceiling as if I’ll find a bomb hidden there. The Forum was checked a dozen times by Holiday and the Warden. It has to be clean. If Old Tokyo was a trap, then how did the Syndicate know I was coming? A mole? Did they count on me cracking the duke? I whisper for the Pegasus Legion units I have on standby north of Hyperion to come to the Citadel to join my Lionguard on the Field of Ares. Outside the Forum, Holiday goes on high alert.

  Another hiccup escapes Dancer’s lips and he reaches up with a hand to scratch his throat. “Our Gold enemy profits when we are divided.” He clears his throat roughly. “…So today I seek an end to that—”

  A great mucus-filled hiccup escapes his lips and his hands wrench into a cramped, infantile movement to paw at his chest. The Red senators beside him rustle in concern. But then another hiccups in their ranks. And another. Using the shoulders of the senators beneath him, Dancer pulls himself upright, his eyes confused and unfocused. “Today I seek to—”

  Then comes the horror.

  A clump of blood and lung tissue vomits out of Dancer’s mouth.

  It bathes the togas of the senators beneath him in red pulp. Hands windmilling, he topples over onto their heads. They collapse under the weight and with shouts set him on the ground. Panic swirls around Dancer as he contorts violently on the stone, blood dribbling from his bodily orifices. His eyes bulge from his head and his hands paw the ground. Publius rushes to cradle his head. “Gas!” I shout, holding my breath. But the pathogen detectors do not wail. The room does not seal and vent. And my personal defense-ring around my wrist continues to blink silver, detecting no abnormalities.

  I summon the Lionguards waiting underneath the Forum, but none reply on my internal com. None come through the interior doors.

  I connect to Holiday. “Evacuation Protocol. The Wardens are likely compromised. Fire if they move to engage.”

  “Already moving to West Door. Support. Lionguards unresponsive.”

  Daxo rushes to me along with the Gold and Gray senators, and they form a wall around my person. Through their shoulders, I watch Dancer and his lieutenants die, helpless to stop it.

  The Vox Populi shout in anger, in fear, calling for medici as the Yellow senators push through their ranks to come down the stairs. But then one stumbles and grips his chest before heaving his own blood onto the floor.

  Amidst Vox Populi, the clutch of Dancer’s most stalwart moderate lieutenants reel, beset by the same violent malady. Blood pours from their convulsing bodies as their limbs flail in an atavistic dance and those around them are torn between helping and running, for fear that the pathogen is carried in their blood.

  “Wardens, help them!” someone shouts.

  But the Wardens above, around the rim of the Senate pit, do not rush to give aid. In their green cloaks, they watch without pity or connection, and then file out the doors. On the floor, Dancer’s spasms have subsided. His blood smears Publius’s face and hands. He pulls back from the Copper to look up at me with eyes wild and white as a dying horse’s. His mouth opens, a bloody, twisted maw. He mouths something to me, but his voice has been robbed from him and no sound comes out.

  “He’s dead…” Publius whispers. “O’Faran is dead!”

  The hope in me dies with him.

  Then Publius cu Caraval stands in the chaos.

  I know, as his lips curl back from his white teeth, as his eyes glimmer bright with long-hidden fervor, and his bloody finger extends in my direction, that he knew Dancer and I had come to terms. How?

  “Murderer!” the Incorruptible wails. “Tyrant!”

  “Tyrant!” the surviving Vox echo, pointing their fingers like blood-drenched scarecrows amidst the field of their dying compatriots. “Tyrant!”

  We flee in force. Optimates cluster around me and we ascend the stairs away from the charnel house. My internal com swarms with dread.


  “Citadel and Skyhall are under attack. Republic forces…”

  “Seventh Legion shuttles taking fire…”

  “Warden forces firing on Lionguard outside Moon…”

  “Echo of Ares reports their captain has been shot…”

  “ArchImperator Zan moving on Augustan ships.”

  “…Lake Silene has inbound Republic assault craft.”

  Ships are going for Darrow’s mother, Vox legions assaulting ones loyal to me.

  It is a coup.

  With Daxo pushing me along in the center of a knot of Optimates, I rush up the last of the stairs to the West Door. We make the flats around the senate pit and rush to the exit. At the head of a clutch of heavily armed Lionguard, Holiday exchanges heavy fire outside the Forum with Warden elements. Taking casualties, they press up the stairs outside the forum as aerial soldiers in gravBoots dogfight over the parks.

  But as they reach the top stair and make to meet us at the door, a forty-meter-tall Drachenjäger lands at the edge of the park. Its twin railguns train themselves on Holiday. She shouts to take cover. Too late.

  I watch in horror as metal slugs moving at three times the speed of sound make my Martian soldiers mist. The slugs shred the marble steps and skip up into the Forum, raining splinters of rock down on us. I’m flattened by Gold and Gray senators, who use their bodies to shield mine. Senator Tiberius ti Han screams as his arm is taken off at the elbow by a ricochet. The next one takes his torso off at the hips.

  From under their bodies, I see out the doors. The Drachenjäger is teetering sideways, a huge hole in its cockpit. From amidst the bodies of dead Lionguard, Holiday turns her anti-tank railrifle up the steps at the Wardens blocking our escape. Five Wardens are cut in half. A sixth Warden explodes in a shower of gristle and metal. His cape detaches and slaps wetly against the groaning marble door as it slides to trap us inside the Forum. Daxo reaches the door alone and hauls against it till the veins stand out in his neck and his fingers crack the stone. A shoulder pops from its socket.