Dark Age

by Pierce Brown

  “Did I take my own eye?” Ozgard says in protest.

  “Odin did. What is an eye to a fool? Your only weapon is your tongue.”

  “I saw Volsung Fá. A creature from the blackness! From the edge of the Ink itself. He spoke in the lost tongue! He challenged our Queen! Grarnir saw what I saw.” Great. Thanks, oldboy.

  Valdir nearly tips over as he turns to glare at me. “The Gray is a whore, who will do anything for money. Did you pay him to lie, Ozgard? To pretend it was Ascomanni? Or did you, my Queen?”

  The room goes dead quiet.

  If duels were allowed, any brave could call him out for challenging their honor like that. But to challenge the Queen’s…shit. I don’t know. She could probably just kill him here. An insult to her honor is an insult to the tribe. Punishable by death. Still she does not move. Valdir is the heart of the male braves. Their pride, their Big Brother. Gods, I feel for her.

  “Sefi the Quiet,” Valdir crows, stumbling as he waves his arms about. “No need to use that cold tongue. Your eyes sang your jealousy. I saw. We all saw. Did you decide to kill her because she took the mines? Or because she killed the drake? Or because she held my heart in her hands? Or because she is young? And you are old?”

  “Your cock is yours,” Sefi says out to the host. “Fuck a goat for all I care. But your valor is your tribe’s. Do not sully it by wagging your tongue like stupid heatlander.”

  “You feel nothing,” he hisses into her face. “It is not you who is quiet. It is your andi.” He grabs the flagon from his cupbearer and shoves his way out of the room. Pax lifts his eyebrows to me and Electra takes the azag from the neighboring jarl and downs the whole horn.

  Sefi sighs and eats a grape from a spilled dish. She waves to the open doors, where light snow drifts down. “It is foul weather outside. Much thunder.” She admires the high walls and vaulted ceiling. “Stone echoes loudly, but it remains stone. Strong, with no memory.” She smiles at her host, her message clear and clever. “Minstrels! Drown out the thunder, please.”

  Many laugh as the minstrels pour into the hall. But not all. Not Valdir’s cadre of male braves. Not the skuggi. Not me.

  As the minstrels sing, I feel the need for fresh air. I stand in the archway between the Bellona doors to watch snow fall on Olympia. Even in the night, the construction does not pause. Skyscrapers rise anew.

  “Seems your myths have a nasty bite,” I say. Familiar soft footsteps approach from the hall. Pax extends a hand out into the snow.

  “I told you they weren’t myths. I just said they were far away.”

  “Looks like you don’t know everything.” I squint over at him. “You believe me, right?”

  “I believe you think you saw Ascomanni. But from your description, they seemed to be built the same as our Obsidians. After several hundred years, that would be unlikely.”

  “I only saw Fá clearly. The others were…it was dark and fast.” I chew the inside of my cheek. “You think it might have been imposters?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. If it is the real Volsung Fá, how did he get here so fast? How did he make it to the surface? Why did he target Freihild? The Ascomanni raiders in the Belt are resourceful, but none could evade the Republic sensor grid, or the instruments of the Pandora.”

  “Maybe he was already here,” I say. “Maybe he knew Sefi was coming here.”

  “How would he know that?” Pax asks.

  I glance back into the hall where Ozgard watches the minstrels from Sefi’s side. “That is the question, isn’t it? The two servants in Sefi’s favor, Ozgard and I, walk away with their lives. The one screwing her concubine hangs on a hook.”

  “Do you believe Valdir then?” he asks. “That Ozgard is complicit?”

  “I don’t have a bloody clue. All I know is that Fá is the scariest man I’ve ever met. And I’ve met quite a few.” In the hall, Sefi departs. Xenophon heads our way.

  “One question puzzles me the most,” Pax says. “Why would the Ascomanni have any interest in the Alltribe? For five hundred years, the only enemy they knew was themselves and the Moon Lords.” He hesitates. “And the Fear Knight.”

  He’s prevented from saying more, and takes on a thoughtful expression as Xenophon arrives.

  “The Queen would like a private word. With both of you.” Xenophon motions us to follow. I linger behind with Pax.

  “You and Hatchetface wearing your harnesses?” I ask.

  “Always.”

  “Good lad.”

  * * *

  —

  In her private chamber, Sefi hunches over the fire as I tell her for the third time what I already told her underlings of our night in the ruins. Her gloved finger strokes Aja’s razor. Electra slouches by the fire, poking it with her own finger. Pax remains quiet, not yet addressed.

  “You know humans well,” Sefi says carefully to me. “Did…did it seem to you that Ozgard knew this Fá?”

  I look between her and Xenophon. “Who is asking?”

  “I am,” Sefi says.

  “I don’t think so. He looked scared shitless. But I’m not a Bloodhound.”

  She purses her lips and looks at Pax. “Do you believe Volsung Fá is real?”

  “Yes. The context of the RRD briefs my mother passed to me suggest he is a myth to the pirates, but a real figure in the Kuiper Belt. However, we have intercepted tightbeams with phrases such as ‘the Fá orders’ or ‘send them to the Fá,’ followed by instructions. Not just as an epigram.”

  She mulls this over. “You remember these messages?”

  “Verbatim, however it could simply be they’ve adopted the word Fá as a title.”

  “You will transcribe the message for Xenophon.” The White stands apart from us, keeping record. Pax says he will. “This Fá. Did your mother believe he is from the Far Ink?”

  “According to classified Society records, yes. There is a civilization there, as you know. One that has harried the Moon Lords for years. But the transit would take over a year’s sail on a destroyer. And the Moon Lord sensors are at least as sophisticated as ours. They hunt down Ascomanni as they do everything—thoroughly.”

  Sefi frowns in thought. “If he could make the transit, what size of force could he wield?”

  “Again, that would be guesswork,” Pax says. “Fifty thousand if the raiders in the Inner Belt are his allies. If his real strength is in the Kuiper Belt…it would be ridiculous to even posit a guess. But even if it is a large force, the convoy required to ferry them here would have been spotted by the Moon Lords.”

  “Maybe they sent them,” Sefi hazards.

  “Romulus would rather die than ally with Obsidians,” Pax says.

  “He allied with your father.”

  “Romulus would never ally with Obsidians.”

  “Men change.” She shrugs, probably thinking of Valdir.

  If Sefi arranged this to kill Freihild, she’s putting on an elaborate show. “I believe it time to consult with your mother, Electra,” Sefi says. Electra keeps prodding the fire. “Republic must think we are strong, we cannot ask them. Will she aid us if we need assistance?”

  “It’ll cost you one of us,” Electra says. “She’ll ask for me. You’ll say no. She’ll block your calls until you’re attacked. She’ll call and ask for me again. You fear you won’t have leverage if you give me. So you’ll give Pax—with his parents likely dead he means less in the macro. But it’s Pax she wants, because she’ll put Darrow and Virginia over herself and Da, and because it is moral.”

  “Well, that was brutally succinct,” I mutter.

  She just glowers at the fire, stooped and unhappy. The door bursts open. Braga, Pax’s chief bodyguard, and one of Sefi’s wingsisters, stand with tears in their eyes.

  * * *

  —

  The stone stairs up to the griffi
ns’ aerie are covered with feathers and dander. There’s sobbing from above. Blind Obsidian stablemasters weep into their hands. When we arrive at the roost, we are greeted with a scene of carnage.

  Sefi staggers past pools of blood and half a dozen butchered stablehands toward the pale mass of her griffin. Godeater lies on the floor, her neck hacked to the bone. Her huge eyes stare wide and terrified at the ceiling as she twitches in agony. The rest of the griffins are gone. I can barely make out their silhouettes against the moonlight over Olympia as they fly toward Loch Esmeralda.

  The stablemasters dare not approach Godeater. Her long claws rake against the stone in pain. Only when Sefi approaches with her throat bared does the beast still. Sefi strokes her muzzle and puts her head to its great sternum. Frowning at what she hears, she closes her eyes to look at the griffin’s spirit. Pax watches thoughtfully as she drives her razor into Godeater’s heart. Sefi breathes in the griffin’s death rattle, and wraps her arms around its neck before standing.

  Several dozen Valkyrie stand sweating beyond the dead animal. The mangled corpses of three of their sisters lie broken and hacked as if by a mindless monster. Medical teams attend three survivors. The rest part for Sefi. Valdir kneels on the stable floor amidst the straw. He is drenched head to toe in blood and covered with long gashes from the griffin’s talons. Burn marks from stun weapons congeal patches of the blood. The axe he murdered Godeater and the Valkyrie with lies on the floor covered with feathers and viscera.

  He pants like a dog on a hot day. Muscles twitch from residual electric shock.

  “Did you love her so?” Sefi whispers.

  “As much as I loved you before you became stone.” His voice morphs into a mad growl, making Sefi tilt her head. “You feared she would become queen instead of your Volga. My pathfinders found skip trace back to the Echo of Ragnar.” At first I thought I misheard him, until Pax and Electra glance at me, just as confused. Valdir’s head twitches as he twists it around. His teeth are purple and pulled back in a primal grimace. “Do you feel anything now, Sefi?”

  Sefi takes the stunFist from Beildi, one of her bodyguards, and shoots him again and again and again until he steams on the floor, flat and laughing. Only when I call her name does Sefi pause, just short of killing him. She drops the stunFist and orders without a trace of emotion, “Bind this creature and throw it in the deep cells.”

  In one of the stables, Pax crouches by a discarded flagon of azag. “Give that here,” I say, taking over as Valdir is dragged from the room. I signal Xenophon and several minutes later one of his aides returns with a sample kit. We feed several drops of azag in. When the readout comes, Xenophon’s hand twitches.

  “What is it?” Sefi demands. Xenophon lets the kit go, and I bring it to Sefi. She takes it in her bloody hands and her face grows dark with rage. “Bring me the shaman.”

  “There is no proof that it was his doing,” Xenophon intones. “I caution you against—”

  “Obey, servant!”

  * * *

  —

  Twenty long minutes later, I watch Ozgard fall to his knees, begging for Sefi to believe he did not put the fever cloud mushroom into Valdir’s azag. The Queen watches him from inside her sanctum as snow falls outside. She has not spoken since the Valkyrie dragged him in. Half of Griffinhold writhes in rumor, half in grief.

  “All I have done, I have done for you, my Queen,” Ozgard begs, and I believe he thinks as much. Valdir was always a threat to him, a skeptic of his prophecies, a man who held sway over Sefi’s heart in a way he never could. I know the type. In his story to me on the ice, he seemed tragic and noble in his lies. But now the underbelly of that self-myth reveals the reptile. He finally saw his chance to end a competitor, a man he could never challenge, who mocked him daily. And he took it.

  Still he bleats on. When even he runs out of words, Sefi finally looks at him.

  “You brought us to Mars, Ozgard. You helped me believe in the Alltribe, and make my brother’s dream. For that, I am in your debt. Your prophecy is the andi of the tribe now. I will not sully it. But this is the last time I speak to you. For good of tribe, you will live amongst us, but you are a shadow to be seen, never heeded, never heard, never noticed. Begone.”

  The shaman knows better than to call her bluff. Broken, he looks at me. Yeah, right, oldboy. You’re on your own. He stands and shuffles toward the door. “Ozgard.” He stops and turns to his Queen in hope. “I will find the truth. If this…Fá is known to you, there will be no mercy.”

  The Valkyrie shove him out.

  Of the four in Sefi’s council when first she hired me, only the human calculator remains. This fact almost makes me hold my tongue. Almost.

  “Why would Volga be queen?” I ask.

  Sefi nods, expecting the question. She gestures to the hearth and calls for the servant to bring wine. I do not join her in sitting. She watches Amel’s replacement open the bottle and pour the wine. Xenophon samples it, nods, and returns to his perch behind her shoulder. She drinks heavily and gestures for me to join her.

  “I don’t think I’ll be drinking anything around here anytime soon. Why would Volga be queen? What was Valdir growling about?”

  She twirls the wine with her gloved hand. Xenophon pipes up. “Your Majesty knows I was hesitant with regard to the hiring of Mr. Horn. I believe he has contradicted my assessment. More than ever, he is of value to the Alltribe. Show him or you will lose him.”

  A shadow of herself, Sefi listens to her White. She takes off her coat, then her vest underneath, and rolls up her right sleeve and removes her glove and a thin layer of a medical wrap. The limb smells of rotting meat.

  I recoil. “What is that?”

  “Yellow death,” she replies.

  Her skin is sulfur yellow and hideous. Mottled scales climb from her elbow down to her hand. Raw fissures crack the skin and wind through the patches to weep murky pus. Where she would have held her griffin’s reins, a strip of raw skin shows where the scales sheaved off. Fresh scales are already pushing their way to the surface. She winces as she moves the hand.

  “A gift from Atalantia,” she says. “It is a designer poison. It corrupts the DNA itself, I am told. It cannot be contained by removing the arm. If the arm is removed, it moves to find another region of the body.” She rolls her hand around to inspect it. “It has not conquered me yet, despite what Valdir thinks. It disgusts him, as it should. That is why I let him lie with Freihild. It is why I grew cold to him. What it touches, it infects.”

  “And it’s why you couldn’t draw the bow.”

  “At times I grow weak until the pain passes. For all the medici and scientists, it is only Xenophon who slows it. But I was foolish. I did not take his medicine on the hunt. Old Creed.” She grimaces. “It cannot be stopped by any means we possess, or all our helium can buy.”

  “When?”

  “Several years still,” Xenophon says. “Her Majesty is strength.”

  Sefi grimaces at that and tries to wrap the medical bandage back around, but fumbles. Tenderly, Xenophon kneels and helps her, taking care not to touch the skin. Gently, the White fits her glove back on and rolls down her sleeve. She smiles absently at the loyal servant in gratitude.

  “In my time, I did what no one has done. I have united the tribes of all Ice.” She snorts. “Most Ice, at least. But they have not forgotten their old feuds or the Old Creed. When I die…Valdir would lead them to more of Tyr Morga’s wars. Only one thing can bind them, maybe in peace. The blood of Ragnar. I am not the last to carry it. Volga is Ragnar’s daughter.”

  I feel hit by a train. “Naw. She was born on Luna. She was an experiment. A tube baby.”

  “In a breeding stable run by the family Grimmus, the owners of my brother, my father, his father before him. My father, Vagnar the Pale Horse, was their prized stud. He begat scores of spawn. When he coupled with my mother to make thei
r brood, he had long been in the stars. It was his privilege to return to the ice on the condition he make more slaves. In time, he’d made enough. He took my brother and me hunting one last time before the gods called him back. I never saw him again. When they took Ragnar…” She shakes her head. “They found a more practical method. A way to make as many spawn as they desired and keep him at their wars.”

  “How many?”

  “Two hundred from his seed. We thought all died when the Jackal’s atomics destroyed the facility. But when the Julii captured Volga, she ran her DNA.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Valdir, Ozgard, and Xenophon. This is second reason why I push toward modern age. So when I die, Volga will not be seen as abomination Golds made, but Queen. I heeded Xenophon’s warnings. Truly, I feared Ozgard’s ambition to seize the mines. It is too much to risk to make a kingdom for a prophecy, when I knew it would shatter at my death…My DNA is corrupt. It would transfer to any kin. But with a living heir with Ragnar’s blood…”

  “You were going to use her.” So much for her benevolence, for giving her back to me. I wasn’t earning Volga’s freedom. Sefi was going to keep her all along. We’re all pieces on a board to her.

  “I am going to give her a kingdom. My brother’s blood will fulfill our dream for our people.”

  “And you wanted me to be your spokesman, to vouch for you,” I say, backing away from her. “That’s why you bought me with a ship, took me on the hunt, had Ozgard pour honey in my ear. Not for me but because you needed me to recruit her. To drag her into this…” I surprise her with applause. “What a clever lady you are.”

  “Volga belongs here. With her people. Even if she is…”

  “An abomination?” I smirk. “You’ve thought it all out. But you got one problem.” I tap my temple. “I know how the rest of this plays, and it’s all downhill. Dreamers die bad.”

  “Mr. Horn. Ephraim, my people deserve a future without war. It cannot be done in my time, but in Volga’s it may be. I need her. My people need her—”