by Anton Le Roy
“Exactly. They have proved most useful, becoming much more than I could possibly imagine. They are not bringers of the apocalypse! Instead, they are assassins. Mages. Spies. Treasure hunters. Their numbers breed in various societies and my reach was on the brink of extending across kingdoms and enemy empires!”
“Your dirty lot always get off on the same shit.”
“Now, now, no need to be rude, Veteran.”
Destroying other nations from the inside to make them her own. Strengthened by magical artefacts and a fanatical army. Sounds very plausible, “But you’ve made two mistakes, Princess.”
She looks down at the bloody wound. “And I presumed it was only the one.”
“The first mistake was hiring Satipo. The second was letting him take Loktie’s pipe.”
Finally, uncertainty in her voice. “He betrayed me. Me! The Princess of Tore! I provided Satipo with the opportunity to lead my Newborn. I provided him with so ruddy much and opened the doors to a life of wealth few could only dream of! He knew the truth behind this all and that it was just a ploy. And I believed he was under my spell. I believed I knew how to control him…”
“Men like Satipo can never be controlled. He’s made your ruse a reality at the cost of us all.”
“Twaddle! Satipo has become mad with power. Such lunacy has allowed his addled mind to believe our tall tales that he himself has spoon-fed to his own people. There is no reality to any of it whatsoever! Soon, they will discover the futility of any such ceremony, that it is all a sham and finally my fantastic scheme will fail. Then you shall understand the stupidity of all this. You shall find yourselves outnumbered and then very much dead. There are far too many Newborn for the few of you.”
“We’ve faced such odds before, your highness,” replies Capt. “And still we stand.”
As if on cue there is a rumble, the ground shudders and the night sky brightens a little. Up above, the suspicious looking star dazzles unnaturally bright. Umbra. This is my day of reckoning, the moment that this whole quest, and perhaps that fateful day the Six fell, has been leading towards. Bring it on.
She rolls her eyes. “Coincidence, nothing more. How can a tall tale created by myself now be a reality?”
Uninterested in any more of her argument I get up and start walking off, “Fine, think what you like, Icromm, I don’t really care.”
She closes her eyes and rests her head against the wall. “Then please, all of you, let me die in peace.”
And we do.
We follow the breadcrumbs, that being a series of dead Palace Guards and the occasional Newborn casualty. The trail leads us into a surprisingly wide field still unaffected by the mountain snow and bordering the area are high palace walls in the distant haze. There are only tall grasses, clusters of trees and wild gardens – perhaps this is where the nobles enjoy a bit of hunting. Atop a small hill is a great big temple lit up by a whole bunch of lanterns while Umbra’s blazing star hangs ominously over it. The ground beneath our feet shivers in anticipation of her arrival.
“I’d hazard a guess and say that’s the place,” Gregor remarks.
“Look!” exclaim the Twins, “The Coyote!”
We all stare at it for a while before it scampers into the shadows of the structure. The double doors, marked with the sign of the Newborn, are open and inviting.
Artefacts everywhere just like a museum only this one is much different. The magic bleeds into the walls, floor and ceiling, oozing from each treasure piece like spilt oil – invisible to the eye it’s heavy in the air making everything seem slightly muffled and dampened. A combination of power I’ve never felt before. What things have the zealots found? Countless items, from the seemingly innocent to the obviously potent: weapons, armour, idols, jewellery, ornaments, urns, chests, paintings, stones, vases, pots and even, hanging over a blazing hearth, a dragon egg. Of course, draped across the walls is always the sign of Umbra.
Chanting (why is it always chanting?) echoing from ahead. We bar the entrance doors to stop any the guards following us and then we go through a set of double doors into a huge atrium area with a glazed roof and big windows, allowing us a view of the night sky and Umbra’s star and we also have a good view of the many spired city down below.
A whole host of Newborn are in here – well, probably all of them, I’d wager – must be over a hundred of them, all seemingly pretty surprised by our appearance. Whatever ritual is being performed is in full flow between the open arms of a small group of wizards, including Vim, and a magical conflagration of greys, reds, blacks and purples fizzes over the head of one man in particular at the centre: good old Satipo smoking merrily on Loktie’s pipe. While he smiles at us in delight the pipe smoke drifts up lazily into the created energies.
I’ll say this about Capt Booke, he’s not easily fazed. We’re seriously outnumbered here and he has the balls to instruct them to surrender. “Drop your weapons, and that pipe, or, by Ganer’s balls, things are gonna get damned ugly damned quick.”
“Who the hell are ya?” Satipo asks, puzzled. “And how did ya get here, Vet, old buddy?” Satipo chuckles and scratches his blotchy head. “Wow, Gregor is here too, back from the dead! I’m genuinely surprised by all this! So, what the hell I miss while I was away?”
“Hello, old friend,” replies Gregor sarcastically and then he adds, with fire in his eyes, “You missed us killing all your idiots in Broken Naile.”
“And ya gonna do the same to my guys here, are ya?” he asks, thumbing over one shoulder.
“Naturally,” answers Gregor.
“Well, I’m sorry to have to disappoint ya, but in a few minutes there won’t be sod all ya can do about it anyway.”
“We met Icromm,” I say, “She seemed quite surprised too, considering she made this all up in the first place.”
Satipo laughs. “Oh she had such a limited view of the Newborn’s potential, so we gave it a little nudge. Ain’t it amazing what can happen if ya just believe in it hard enough? Umbra was just an idea, an ideal, and we gave her life! Of course, things like this pipe helps give her substance.”
The faces of the Newborn members all around have total obedience to their goddess as they stand there chanting in complete dedication. Sheer belief made Umbra real. Isn’t that what religion does? If a god is nothing without believers, as we discovered with Loktie, then why can’t the reverse happen, why can’t believers create their own deity for real?
“Me lads been working at this conjuration for weeks,” adds Satipo, “Now, just watch.”
The chanting intensifies, as does the brightness of their magic. More smoke is produced from the pipe, the magical energy overhead fizzes and pops and then, before anyone can do anything, a huge beam of energy discharges upwards from above Satipo, blasting the glass roof into a million shards. It surges into the night sky, higher than the clouds and out into the depths of space as nothing more than a sliver of light. Then, the flaring of Umbra’s star signals her awakening. An explosion of energy slaps everyone off their feet, even the Newborn, and, when I’m smashed against a marble pillar, unconsciousness temporarily takes me.
Chapter 27
Elsewhere.
The Coyote is in my dreams again.
It’s old and mangy, sitting beside its master, who is also old and decrepit. Upon a throne, upon a hill, upon a land of snow. The valley is below and within it the followers have disappeared only to be replaced by hundreds of skeletons with wind blowing snow and ice between bleached bones. Loktie is slumped with chin resting on chest, pipe vaguely emitting smoke and then he tumbles from the throne. Dead. The Coyote whines, snuffles at its master’s body and then finally snatches the pipe in its jaws, only to find that it decays into dust. Sitting upon the throne the sad creature turns to regard me. I dutifully approach and willingly kneel before it.
Tears of green blood drip from the beasts aged eyes.
“Why do you pester me so?” I ask. “What do you want?”
“Make whole,” the Coyot
e howls within my head. The voice is too loud and I clamp my hands to my ears while falling to the floor in agony. It’s a futile attempt to drown out the sound. “Make strong!”
“How?” I stammer, helplessly curling up from the onslaught.
A deep growl from the back of the throat that rattles my bones. “Umbra.”
I peek out from my protective ball. “You can defeat her?”
“Destroy her, but only through you.”
Through gritted teeth I wheeze, “How? What must I do?” The ground shudders. Cracks appear in the valley floor. Desiccated bodies tumble into the ruptures. Avalanches mar the valley walls. “What must I do?” I scream above the noise.
There’s no answer, only chaos.
Now.
I awake.
My eyes open. Dream? Reality? Whichever, I must stop this. Picking myself up, I feel like crap and head is wobbling but there’s not enough time to feel sorry for myself. Everyone else, even the Newborn members, are all slowly getting up too. Only person I can’t see is Satipo – I don’t need to see him to know where he is though. A shadowy staircase of bubbling energy curls upwards into a throbbing shadowy doorway with snaking tendrils and bulging shadowy smoke. At the foot of it is Vim, dark grey magic pouring forth from his shrouded arms. Either side of him are three other mages, also locked in concentration. Dark coils reach out over our heads to collect all the artefacts from the treasure room and they disappear through the mysterious door. A bunch of Newborn members quick on their feet stumble up the steps and vanish through it too, where I suspect they will all hide, in total safety, while the world around them is destroyed. Meanwhile, high in the sky, Umbra’s star is now a comet, complete with a flaming tail as it hurtles towards our planet for her big reveal. Time is running short!
“Capt!” I shout, pulling the portly man up onto his feet. “Guard the stairs and don’t let any more of the Newborn up there.” Thirty Blackwater versus over a hundred Newborn. That’s doable by their previous standards, surely?
He nods, understanding it all too. “By Ganer we’ll hold, surer than ever before. What about you?”
“Gregor and me are going inside for Satipo. Ignore the Newborn wizards for now, we need the door to stay open for us.”
“Right you are.” Capt looks up with wide eyes. “Ganer’s balls… Damned sky’s falling…” He points to Umbra, “And her?”
“Satipo and that pipe are key to stopping her.”
“How do you know that?”
“The Coyote.”
Capt nods and turns to his soldiers with steely resolve. “Alright, you lot, you heard him, let’s crack some damn heads!”
Gregor and me dash past preoccupied Vim and even though nothing would make us happier than repeatedly kicking him in the nuts while he is unawares and unable to retaliate, if he closes the portal we have no hope of getting Satipo. I know Gregor wants revenge for what he did to Awl, dammit so do I, but revenge will have to wait.
Up the steps and we pause at the doorway. Behind us the fighting has started; Blackwater Platoon doing what they do best and holding their line, stopping the tidal wave of Newborn from getting up here. There are a few low rank mages in the mix on both sides and as with most mage battles they end up cancelling each other out and being in the main pretty pointless. As for the fighters, while many of the Newborn don’t have the skillset to swing a sword with any real conviction, they make up for it in blind fanaticism, wild enthusiasm and sheer weight of numbers, although there’s still a good portion of the Newborn that are decent fighters. Maybe it’s then a surprise for them that Blackwater Platoon is much more than it appears. Old Blackwater faces and even new faces have a measure of strength about them rarely seen. It’s obvious why the Coyote wanted them to fight with me and I couldn’t ask for a more reliable bunch – after what happened at Dead Man’s Drop, they were willing to stand beside me and Gregor without a single complaint. Once again they’re the rocks. Once again the enemy are the water and once against they break against Blackwater. It’s like they were destined to fight here all along.
Putting a hand to the portal I’m surprised to discover it’s completely solid – figures, we aren’t part of this sick family, we aren’t accepted and that’s what the black dot on the palm of the hand must be for. For some reason I get the sense that Fussby’s sword will come in handy here and sure enough a swipe with the mysterious blade and a doorway is opened, just as easily as it sliced off Loktie’s werewolf leg. Best get through before it closes. First, I put Fussby’s sword away and turn to my old friend.
The pathetic creature I became in Satipo’s cell is no more, I’m me again, and Gregor – by the Gods, he’s much, much more too!
“Gregor… sitting in that cell I’d hit rock bottom. It’s a bit embarrassing really.”
“I know.” A roll of the eyes and a shake of the head. “Seems like I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you falling to pieces.”
“Aye, and I really did. You dying, getting beat by the Reeve, seeing Wetlock and Satipo again. All these damn ghosts… I’ve been a mess.”
“You know your problem, Vet? You think too much. Stop assessing everything and just get on with it. Just do what you gotta do.”
“Like you?”
“Aye. Just like you said earlier, fucking and fighting.” He smiles. “Nice and simple, right?”
He’s right of course, I do think too much. When I first joined the army the gang called me Veteran straight away, without me actually being one, because I acted like someone who’d seen it all. Someone who knew all about war and death. They were kind of right. It’d been bred into me, regardless of my parents trying to hide it from me. Father once told me I’d even been born on the battlefield. It’s in my blood and just because it’s who I am and who I’ve always been it doesn’t mean I have to act like a veteran all the time.
If we make it out of this I know with absolute certainty that I’ll return to Wetlock again and finally fight for something that doesn’t involve holding a sword. Something pure and beautiful. Sure, I’ll never escape who I am and I don’t think I ever should. I just need to learn to accept and to adapt.
First things first though, we enter the doorway, just like we did the first time around when going to steal Loktie’s pipe. This time we’re stealing it for the right reasons.
There are a couple of Newborn in our way before we can even take in our surroundings. They don’t stand a chance as our weapons taste blood: abstract patterns of gore on the magical steps, a whimper cut short by a final sword swing and then we’re done. What is this strange world? A shivering reflection of the one we’d just left, that’s what. A messed up version of the temple with everything askew: stone walls constantly twisting and the grey stone floors always warping, with rippling staircases leading to other hovering platforms of bizarre construction. It’s difficult to walk properly without concentrating really hard. The magical artefacts are floating all over the place as if caught up in a slow motion tornado and below us, as if at the bottom of a shallow pool of murky water, is the real world. Can see Blackwater Platoon grouped around the staircase and fighting against overwhelming numbers of Newborn members. Above us, Umbra’s falling comet appears much closer and I bet people out in the towns and cities and countryside are starting to notice this plummeting meteor with a serious sense of trepidation.
“Satipo,” snarls Gregor, pointing to a figure on the highest platform.
Smoke from the pipe, I realise, is all around, merging with Umbra’s shadows and giving her and this alternate reality strength. At the core of the pipe smoke is Satipo, who waves down at us while the small group of Newborn, those who managed to get inside, surround us on various floating platforms and steps.
“Now I never did expect this turn of events,” Satipo calls, “Ya really are formidable men. Annoying, but formidable.” He waggles a finger, “Even ya ain’t stopping the inevitable though.”
“Enough of this bullshit, you dopey bastard!” roars Gregor.
“You’ve still got time to stop this!” I add.
Satipo chuckles. “And then what? We’ll all pop down the local tavern and have a chat about the good old days over a few ales? Are ya fucking mad?”
We’re mad? Well, maybe I am because I still haven’t given up on Satipo, not while there’s still the chance to save him. Even if that chance is slim.
Satipo continues. “Gregor understands perfectly. Don’t ya, old pal? Right now he wants to beat me to a pulp, maybe even kill me. Ain’t that right?”
“You ain’t our old pal,” Gregor barks. “You’re someone else now.”
Satipo shrugs. “Like I told Vet, maybe I did die back there on the battlefield, maybe the dragon fire burned away any humanity I had, and now I’m gonna do the same to this world. Vet, I wanted ya to witness Umbra’s coming and me ascension in all its glory but now I’ll just have to settle with ya quick deaths. Shame.”
