by Will Wight
And with the typical logic of frightened people, these good Capital citizens were stopping the few who could actually protect them. General Teach was wading grimly through the sea of men and women, constantly asking people to stand aside, and Cheska drifted along in her wake. Her grip on her cutlass was tight, as though she wished she could draw and cut her way through.
“Join the General, Bliss,” Calder said. “Andel, Foster, and I will walk ahead of you and try to keep the streets clear. Don’t hurt anyone, please.”
Bliss treated him to the same suspicious scrutiny she had given the leaf, but just when he was planning on retracting his suggestion and throwing himself on her mercy, she nodded. “Very well. We should walk quickly.”
With that, she moved over to Jarelys Teach. For two or three seconds, the crowd didn’t recognize that Bliss wasn’t one of them, but each person who finally noticed the girl in the long black coat staggered backward. In less than a minute, a space had cleared around Teach. The General placed a hand on Bliss’ shoulder in thanks, and then ordered the crew of The Eternal to fall in behind her. The noise hadn’t lessened—the people were shouting louder now, hungry for a reasonable explanation—but at least they had some space.
Calder muttered orders to Foster and Andel. Foster immediately agreed, drawing his pistol and ordering people away from Teach. He managed to clear his way up the street a little faster, and the speed of their tiny procession increased.
Andel didn’t obey immediately. He adjusted his sleeves as he walked beside Calder, buying time to talk. At last, he said, “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”
Not a joke. Not a complaint. Not even a criticism, really, though it could be taken as one. Andel was serious.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you seen how desperate they are?”
The faces around them proved Andel right. The people around him weren’t just pushy or demanding, they were terrified. They begged as though they were starving and only the Guild Heads had bread. But the street hadn’t been this chaotic when he’d seen it from the ship; only the sight of Cheska and Teach, people who might have answers, had incited this kind of panic.
It didn’t mean that they weren’t afraid before, but that they’d pushed the fear down. There was nothing they could do about it, so they’d tried to live their lives as normal. Only, at the slightest hint of something they could do to save themselves, they snatched at it like wild dogs fighting over a scrap of meat.
“They didn’t get this way because the Imperial Palace shut its doors,” Calder said aloud.
“These people have seen something. If we don’t know what it is, we risk running straight into it.”
Andel joined Foster after that, moving people aside physically when necessary, but Calder fell back. This crowd didn’t care about him; they only even noticed him when he blocked the way to Teach or Cheska.
He let himself drown in the mob.
It would have been a simple matter to open himself to their Intent, but Reading a situation rather than an object was risky. For one thing, the impression was more fleeting, and he often came up with nothing of use. For another, if the Intent of a crowd was focused enough, they could sweep him along with them. Instead of understanding the mob, he might join it.
Besides, his head was already lightly pounding from the previous days’ exertions. He’d hardly had a chance to recover from the fight on the Gray Island before The Eternal was ripped to shreds, and since then he’d been Reading constantly: to communicate with the Lyathatan, to hold The Testament together, to rig up the net that dragged half a ship back home. He’d kept himself within his limits, but he was approaching them nonetheless. If he wanted to be of any use to anyone in the next few days, he needed to keep himself from Reader’s burn now.
So he had to try more mundane methods of investigation.
Calder spoke to a shouting man beside him. “The Guild Heads came in on my ship,” he yelled into the man’s ear. “I’m with the Guild Heads.”
Several people turned to him eagerly, babbling their questions one at a time. He held up a hand. “We’ve been at sea. What’s happened here?”
Explanations came one on top of the other.
“The Luminians, they won’t heal my son—”
“...doors of the palace shut! The last time they did that was when the Emperor died, may his soul fly free.”
“...Greenwardens closed up their chapter house. I had an appointment, and now they’re telling me you Imperialists drove them out of town!”
“...Magisters gathering together. They’ve sensed something coming, they know the end is here.”
“...men in black, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.”
“...these Independents want to tear the Empire down! You’ll put them in their place for us, I know you will.”
To each person, Calder responded as neutrally as he could, but the crowd wouldn’t have let him leave if Cheska hadn’t reached in and hauled him out by the elbow.
“Learn anything useful?” she asked him.
“Something is definitely happening in the Capital,” he said. “It’s not just the palace closing. Everyone has personally seen something that worries them.”
“Uh-huh. And what do they say is happening?”
“Best I can tell, they’ve noticed the Guilds at each others throats.”
Cheska clapped her hat to her head at a sudden gust of wind. “Yeah, I’d put that together too. Everybody wants me to take care of the other Guilds, like I can tell the Consultants how to do their jobs.”
However long it actually took them to reach the Imperial Palace, it felt like all day, and the sun was beginning to sink as they arrived at the gate. The Guards crossed spears out of habit and training when they saw the party approach, but when they saw Jarelys Teach’s scowling face and the hilt of her sword sticking out over the crowd, they hurried out to clear the way for their Guild Head.
It took a kind of slow-motion brawl to sort out everyone who was supposed to be inside the palace from the people who had to stay outside. Petal was trembling and clutching her bag to her chest, looking around wide-eyed like a mouse who had just survived a lightning strike. Calder made a mental note not to ask too much of her in the coming days.
Not that anyone else was in much better condition. Even Jarelys Teach, pillar of Imperial strength, had dark circles under her eyes, and she walked as though her armor had been weighted down with anvils. But as the gates crashed shut behind her, she issued an order.
“Report,” she demanded. A woman in the uniform of an Imperial Guard, a blonde with orange cat eyes, saluted. She looked familiar enough that she sparked a memory in Calder.
Where’s Meia?
He hadn’t seen the Consultant for virtually the entire voyage to the Capital, nor on the longboat to shore, nor on the long hike up to the palace. If he believed in kind Fates, he would have thought she’d been lost at sea, swallowed up by one of the million hazards of the Aion.
But his luck wasn’t that good, and he knew it. She would show up when she wanted, and likely at the worst possible time.
“We’ve engaged the enemy around the Emperor’s quarters, ma’am,” the orange-eyed Guard said. “Conventional arms seem ineffective, so we mobilized all Soulbound and combat-capable modifications. Each time we inflict enough damage, it grows back instantly.”
“What is it?” Teach asked, marching down the hall as though she meant to plow straight through a brick wall. Calder and the others had no choice but to let themselves be dragged behind.
“A mass of what seems to be Elder flesh surrounding the complex. It seems to be growing out of the Emperor’s room, ma’am. It rarely strikes back, and when it does, it’s more disruptive than dangerous. We’ve sustained no real casualties.”
“How long?” Teach asked. On her back, the black sword Tyrfang radiated such a hostile Intent that Calder actually fell a step back.
“This is the fifth day, ma’am.”
The att
ack on The Eternal had come roughly three days before. Five days ago meant it had grown during the fight with the Dead Mother’s Children, or soon after. A strange coincidence, that this should grow almost immediately after he threw Nakothi’s Heart into the sea.
Calder edged closer to Bliss. “Is the Optasia inside the Emperor’s rooms?”
“That’s very classified information.”
He was dealing with Bliss, so he was prepared for the conversation to take longer than necessary. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be using it, so...” Hopefully, she’d get the hint.
She looked at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Oh, you’re right!”
“You forgot?”
“I suppose since you are the one who needs to use the Optasia, you should have the clearance to know its location. Very well. I hereby grant you clearance.”
Calder suddenly wished for the sweet embrace of Reader’s burn. Even a pounding, unstoppable headache would be a relief from this. “Thank you, Bliss.”
“Yes, the Optasia is in the Emperor’s personal quarters.”
So the Elderspawn in the courtyard outside was protecting whichever Reader had attacked them through the Emperor’s throne. Or...the Elderspawn itself had done it. That was a disturbing thought; the Great Elders had broad enough power already without granting them access to a global net of devices that amplified Intent.
Calder knew they’d arrived when they crossed between two Guards, one with horns and one with the arms of a gorilla. Both of them were clutching halberds caked with rotten greenish blood. They struggled to their feet and saluted when Teach came into view.
She didn’t wait for them to say anything, but pushed a pair of doors open.
The battle beyond was not what Calder had expected. In fact, if he hadn’t already heard otherwise, he wouldn’t have recognized it as a battle.
An open courtyard surrounded one building, which was big enough to swallow The Testament and The Eternal side-by-side, masts and all. The stone tiles of the courtyard were broken and spattered with inhuman blood, hosting a dozen Imperial Guards who all held long-hafted weapons.
But they weren’t fighting. They were hacking away at the building.
The Emperor’s quarters were covered in mounds of gray-green flesh that vaguely reminded Calder of Nakothi’s Heart. Lumps of gristle oozed from the walls, covering any doors or windows completely. Only pieces of wall or roof showed through, and even those were crossed by tendons or patches of skin.
As the Imperial Guards struck with axe or spear, they gouged deeper wounds, revealing layers of pink, healthier-looking meat. Still not ‘healthy,’ exactly—nothing he would dare accept from a butcher—but deeper in it could actually pass for rotten meat rather than Elder flesh.
But as fast as the Guards chopped, the skin and muscle stitched itself together even faster. They had barely hacked away a few scars in what must have been five days of work.
“Stop!” Teach commanded, and they threw their weapons down gratefully, sucking in air. The stench was like Nakothi’s dead island—sour wound and rotting flesh, but muted to tolerable levels.
“You’ve accomplished nothing,” Teach said. “Why continue?”
The orange-eyed Guardswoman hesitated. “We tried stopping, ma’am, on the second day. The...substance...covered the whole courtyard in hours. In three days, we’ve just managed to cut it back to where it started.”
Indeed, only seconds after the Guards had dropped their weapons, the greenish flab on the walls began to advance. Wounds sealed, slowly but visibly, and some of the patches of skin started to bulge outward.
The Guard with the orange eyes drew a sword and walked up to the wall. “We can’t destroy it as fast as it grows. But as long as we do cut it—” She gave it a shallow slice, just to demonstrate. “—it stops.”
The flesh froze in the wake of her cut, and even the healing stopped. After a few seconds of silence, the rapid growth resumed.
General Teach ran a hand over her head before allowing herself to reach back and grab Tyrfang’s hilt. “Captain, get everyone back.”
Calder was startled to hear Teach addressing him, and perhaps a little flattered. The Guild Head had never spoken to him with anything but hostility, and now she was trusting him enough to give him a responsibility. She would have to lose the habit of giving him orders if she wanted him to do anything useful as Emperor, but it was a start.
He had raised a hand to wave people back when the cat-eyed Guard spoke first. “Everyone ten steps back!” she bellowed, her voice filling the courtyard. “If you’re not a Guard or a Guild Head, clear out. The General needs her space.”
Ah, yes. Captain was a rank. That could get confusing, with Navigator captains and military captains all mixing together. If any captains of industry showed up, they’d have to start calling each other by name.
Calder lowered his hand, hoping no one noticed, and complied with the captain’s order by retreating. Technically he wasn’t a member of the Guard or the Head of a Guild, but he had every right to be here. He projected that confidence into his stance in the hopes that the Guards would overlook him. If he was dragged off like a willful child and he had to resist, that could be...awkward. If he knew one thing about governance, he knew that it was unwise to start a hostile relationship with one’s own guards.
When everyone had backed away, Teach drew her sword. Nothing dramatic, nothing ostentatious, simply a woman pulling a weapon from its sheath.
The dramatic part came immediately afterward.
Light itself suffered as the blade seemed to wash everything in shadow. Calder’s vision grew slightly fuzzy, as if everything shook, but the world felt deathly still. It was only to his eyes that even the stone of the courtyard buzzed in place. And to his Reader’s senses...
Death, decay, execution, blood, carnage, war...
He pulled his mind back. Even the shallowest Reading revealed Tyrfang’s deadly history, and if he looked any deeper, he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. Instead, he focused on the appearance of the blade itself: rough black metal with veins of bright red crawling down the flat. As though the metal had absorbed some fraction of the blood it spilled.
Teach flicked the weapon at the Elder flesh surrounding the walls, drawing a thin black line the length of Calder’s hand.
When Calder had fought the Children of the Dead Mother, Kelarac had given him an Awakened blade to use against Elderspawn. It had worked even better than Calder had ever expected; with a single cut, it reduced lesser Elders to nothing more than black sludge.
Tyrfang had a similar effect on this Elder fortification...but on a much greater scale.
No sooner had the black scratch appeared on the skin than the entire outer layer of the building blackened and sloughed off, filling the courtyard with piles of dead and rotten flesh. Foul liquid splattered everywhere, bringing with it a stench like corpses dissolved in acid.
Calder’s shoes were splashed with black goo, and he kept his expression composed, as suited an Emperor. He would have all his clothes burned before dawn.
More of the structure was exposed now, surrounded by pieces of raw, pinkish flesh. Teach had drawn back her sword for another blow, stepping forward to drive the sword in, but an agonized shriek held her back.
It seemed to come from all around, from every bit of meat still living in the confines of the courtyard. A second later, the flesh attacked.
Ropes of muscle whipped out from the windows and the door, slapping at Teach. At the same time, smoking liquid sprayed from a bulb on the second floor, aimed to land on the General’s head.
She slapped away one tendril with the flat of her weapon, blackening and killing it instantly, and backhanded another with her gauntlet. Teach sidestepped the fluid without looking up, taking a few casual steps back until the Elder thing couldn’t reach her anymore.
When she was far enough away, the tentacles retracted, and the flesh ballooned out even faster than it had grown before.
“Bliss?” Teach asked, without turning around.
The Head of the Blackwatch leaned forward, squinting at the creature. “Hmmmm...I will examine it tonight. By morning, I’ll know what to do.”
“Very good.” Teach turned to the Guard captain. “Rotating shifts, just as you had before. Don’t let it grow any further before the Blackwatch are finished with their tests.”
The orange-eyed captain saluted. “Ma’am.”
As for the rest of them, that left the delightful proposition of finding rooms in a palace they knew was haunted by Elders. It was one thing to face Elder influence on the Aion, when you had your ship around you and your crew close at hand, but it was entirely worse to try and sleep in a bedroom where the building itself could be your enemy.
It will be clear in the morning, Calder told himself. Bliss would know what to do, and he could get on with being Emperor. It was strange; he was close to sitting on the throne, closer than he’d ever been since he’d first considered the possibility, but it had never seemed farther away. It was as though the Elders and the Fates were conspiring to throw every obstacle they could in his way.
He burned his clothes in a bonfire outside a palace window.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ten years ago
Calder and Jerri sat on boxes, huddled over a table in The Testament’s cabin. The room was so cramped it felt like a closet, and Calder sometimes found himself breathing too quickly, as though he were going to run out of air. The table was strewn with navigational charts, notes, and half-scribbled maps that Andel had provided.
For the last six weeks of their journey, Andel had plotted their course, and was even taking most of the burden of steering the ship. Calder helped with his Soulbound powers as best he could, but it was like trying to play the violin after having watched a genius musician. It seemed simple and intuitive, until you tried it. Calder felt that he should have been able to furl and unfurl the ship’s sails with nothing more than a thought, but in practice, the green-veined stretch of skin had simply wrapped itself around the mast and refused to be dislodged. The two Champions had been forced to leap up to the crow’s nest and untangle the sheet by hand.
