‘I … think so,’ Drake said as he knelt down, sliding into the spot that Qorza had vacated. ‘You wanted a family so much it didn’t matter if it wasn’t a perfect one.’
Joss nodded. ‘And when your father gave you his spear … all I could think was how much I wanted something like that. Some inherited memento, some token of a family legacy. And now I’m here, with this.’ He held up the thunderbolt pendant. ‘And all I can think is that I’d trade it in an instant if it meant he was here instead.’
Drake sat absorbing what Joss had said. ‘Family,’ he said at last. ‘It defines you in so many ways, doesn’t it? Both good and bad. I thought for the longest time that I was the opposite of everything my family wanted me to be. Turns out it was more complicated than that. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a perfect relationship with them. In fact, I doubt that’s even possible. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be a relationship worth having. And even if it’s difficult at times, even if we fight or fall out, that doesn’t mean I won’t still have family. Because whatever we may lack in the home we were born into, whatever we may have lost along the way, there’s one simple thing to remember – family is whatever you want it to be.’
Drake touched Joss’s shoulder. ‘You may not have your parents with you, Joss. That pendant may not be able to bring your father back. But you have us.’
Joss didn’t know what to say. Though from Drake’s warm expression, it seemed that he didn’t have to say anything at all.
‘Land ahoy!’ The call came with a ringing bell from the crow’s nest, and they looked again at the horizon to see Stormport ahead of them. It was little more than a distant constellation, its buildings twinkling silver, its wooden docks a ruddy brown in among the glacial blue of the landscape. Squinting, Joss could just make out the fleet of submersibles docked in the bay, their copper hulls gleaming in the light of the setting sun.
‘Strange to think that we’ll be in the Northern Tundra soon, back at the beginning.’
‘And with all our training still ahead of us,’ Drake said. ‘Ready for it?’
‘More than ever,’ Joss said. ‘You?’
Drake grinned. ‘Just try and stop me.’
‘Ganymede?’ Hero called up from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Edgar’s onto his fourth helping of stew with no sign of slowing down. If you or Joss want any chance of eating anything, I’d come quickly.’
‘On our way!’ Drake replied, then turned back to Joss. ‘Come on. There’s still some time before we reach shore. We’ll have some food and play some castes. You may even win a round this time.’ His grin reflected Joss’s own.
‘You go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.’
Drake nodded before taking his leave. Only when he was sure that he was alone, Joss again removed his mother’s journal from his inside coat pocket. He was still amazed that he’d somehow managed to keep it safe through everything. Flipping it open, he re-read the Rakashi Revelations as written out in his mother’s hand.
‘From beyond silver seas, from out of blue skies, from the ruins of a lost life, there will come a galamor, with right hand marked by fate and carrying a vaartan rhazh. Only the galamor will stand when all else fall, and rise when all else kneel. Only the galamor can bring light to the oncoming darkness, and draw hope from a dying dream. Only the galamor, and the galamor alone.’
Joss closed the book, its words echoing in his head as he stared again at Stormport, where the next step of his journey awaited him. If what the revelations said were true, did that make him the galamor? And, if so, could the destruction of Daheed have fulfilled the prophecy? After all, he’d carried a vaartan rhazh – the Champion’s Blade – while opposing a cult dedicated to an oncoming darkness. If that didn’t fit with the prophecy, what else could?
Thrall had talked of a master, a greater power to whom all his sacrifices had been made. But Thrall was gone. Surely whatever looming threat he’d spoken of had perished with him. After all, the dead rarely finished what the living had started.
Joss tucked the book back away before slipping the thunderbolt necklace over his head and under his tunic. It rested cool against his chest, soothing the dull heat of the faded wisp scar.
And so, with the inheritance he’d received from his mother and his father sitting beside his heart, he pulled himself up from the edge of the ship and went to join his brethren. Whatever lay ahead, he couldn’t hope to predict. But he knew one thing, at least.
He wouldn’t be doing it alone.
EPILOGUE
TOGETHER the cloaked figures swept into the circular chamber, moving in perfect unity. Iron braziers ignited at their presence, spitting crimson flames, while the flickering candles on the overhanging chandeliers wept black wax. Stone markers were arranged in a circle at the centre of the room, each marker inscribed with its own unique rune. The cloaked figures formed a ring as they all took their positions atop their own individual markers, with the largest of them stepping up onto the rocky slab at the head of the chamber.
The marker beside his remained empty, the only untended place in the ring.
‘One of our number has fallen,’ he said, his feather cloak bristling as he addressed his fellows. ‘May the darkness take him!’
‘May the darkness take us all,’ intoned the gathering.
‘We commemorate his passing with the drawing of fresh blood …’
‘May it be so,’ the others replied, and again in unison they drew their swords. The red of their crooked blades looked unremarkable in the crimson firelight, even as they crossed the steel along their gloved hands. Blood ran as black as the candles above, dripping into the channels that had been carved in the granite floor. It flowed like a river down into the drain set beneath the feet of the largest figure, who spoke up again to address the gathering.
‘Though we now number fewer than we did before, we are not weaker for it. Every day His Majesty grows stronger, his time grows closer.’ The figure drew back his hood, revealing his stone mask and the harsh runes that covered it, mirroring the characters carved into the circling markers. ‘And we loyal servants of the Court of Thralls will have his eternal favour.’
‘May the darkness take us!’ the many Thralls said as they raised their hands, their wounds already healed. The largest Thrall stared at them, his grim satisfaction apparent even through his mask.
‘May the darkness take us all.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THIS book owes a great debt to a whole range of people. I’d like to start by thanking the Hardie Grant Egmont team for all their hard work. Special thanks must go to my publisher Marisa Pintado, editors Penelope White and Alison Arnold, and to Sarah Magee, Haylee Collins, Kristy Lund-White, Mandy Wildsmith and all the sales force. Many thanks also to my agent Clare Forster and her colleagues at Curtis Brown Australia for their guidance as well as to Hayley Crandell for her help and enthusiasm.
Despite a demanding work schedule, Jeremy Love returned to provide another beautiful piece of cover artwork with Milenko Tunjic joining the team to provide internal illustrations. Big thanks to both.
Similarly generous with her time was Tina Healy of Gender Diversity Australia (aka GenDA), who went above and beyond in reviewing the manuscript and offering her invaluable insights. I’m in awe of Tina’s courageousness, which partly inspired the creation of Ganymede Drake. My immense gratitude to her.
As always, my family has been a great source of support. Thank you to Mum, Dad & Suze, both Nans, Judy & Carl and Nicole & George.
This is a book about fathers and sons. During the course of its writing, our son Max was born. And what a dramatic entrance he made. I’d like to thank all the staff at the Northern Hospital, Mercy Hospital and the Royal Children’s Hospital PIPER team for their compassion, dedication and diligence.
To Max; I’m already so proud of you. There’s a vast horizon out there waiting for you, and it will be my greatest privilege to help guide you towards it.
Finally, I’d like to express all my lo
ve and gratitude to Max’s mother – my wife, Simone. This book is all the better for her influence. As is my life. And I can’t thank her enough for it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steven Lochran spent his childhood writing stories and now he does it for a living. He graduated from Queensland University of Technology with a Bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing, and has worked as a film critic, projectionist and DJ. He’s spent the last decade in the publishing industry, during which time he’s written the Paladero and Vanguard Prime series of books. He lives in Melbourne with his wife and son, as well as two spoilt cats, but you can find him at www.stevenlochran.com
For Max
Welcome to the world, kiddo
Paladero:
The City of Night Neverending
published in 2017 by
Hardie Grant Egmont
Ground Floor, Building 1, 658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121, Australia
www.hardiegrantegmont.com.au
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.
A CiP record for this title is available from
the National Library of Australia
eISBN 9781743584798
Text copyright © 2017 Steven Lochran
Design copyright © 2017 Hardie Grant Egmont
Cover design by Kristy Lund-White
Cover illustrations by Jeremy Love
Internal illustrations by Milenko Tunjic
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