by C A Nicks
“Tig, I…” His mind was in turmoil, trying desperately to make some order of the conflict raging within him.
In front of him, the dream he’d so fiercely guarded since the day of his Fall. His focus had been unwavering until the day a new dream had quietly taken its place. That of a pale-haired woman with an iron will who promised the chance to love and be loved. To change with the seasons and watch his children grow, knowing that when he died he would leave something of worth behind.
Senna held out her hand, palm upwards. “I can give you what you lost. Why do you hesitate?”
Tig remained still, silent. Unwilling to plead for him? No. He knew well how she loved him. So much that she would let him go without complaint, should that be his wish.
Hal motioned Janx from the dais, his expression unreadable. Did the man still hope for Tig? If not Hal, would another man claim her?
An unbearable thought. No, she was his to love and protect. No man would ever care for her as much.
“I hesitate because I have found more than I lost. You may leave. I have no further need of your services. Janx, Hal, escort her out.”
A pitying glance. A look that said they hadn’t seen the last of her. Senna thought him a fool. Perhaps, but a fool who’d just made the wisest decision. Beside him, Tig exhaled and groped for his hand.
“Will you have me, Tig?” After showing doubt, he could no longer assume her undying loyalty. “I wish to grow old alongside you.”
“Oh Fabian,” she said, the smile a little wobbly now. “If you’d said yes to her, I think I’d have shot her myself. Or tried to follow you. Of course I’ll have you. I want nothing else.”
“You must help me. There is so much I still do not know.”
“Not going anywhere, Fabian. You have me for life.”
For however long that may be.
He’d traded eternity for an unknown period of bliss. And he couldn’t be more content.
Epilogue
He often watches the night sky, wondering where Marcellus landed. What life he made. Whether he ever forgave him.
Most of all he wonders if his brother ever made it home. After all these years, that thought still leaves him a little envious.
“Felix refuses to go to bed until you promise him that sword. He’s been a horror today. Poor Sunas is tearing her hair out. ”
Fabian turns to the voice, unable to stop the smile that appears at every mention of his children. Wilful, strong, intensely loyal, he loves them with a passion that leaves him breathless at times. A worry and a joy. Something of himself and Tig to leave behind after they’ve passed over to the other world. He cannot imagine life without them.
Tig joins him at the balcony, resting her hands on the balustrade and her head against his arm. The newest addition to the family is barely six moon’s old and yet Tig still looks as slim as the day they met. Two girls and two boys as promised, and now she says she’s done. He’ll have to work hard to talk her into a fifth. A man cannot have too many children.
“Felix is my heir. He will have his ceremonial sword at his next birthday. And we will begin his training.”
“Let’s hope it will channel some of that spare energy he’s so full of. He’s asking to sit in on the next senate meeting, too. He wants to propose a new town square with mosaics and statues. And he thinks the drains need looking at in the old quarter. They smell worse than hell on a bad day, apparently.”
“Does he now? My children seem overly eager to usurp me. Perhaps I will be retiring earlier than I imagined.”
He’s gently teasing, immensely proud that even in their youth, his children take their roles as leaders of the community so seriously. With privilege comes great responsibility. That much they’ve taught them. A leader needs vision and compassion and Felix has that in abundance.
“Does it feel odd?” Tig shivers against the cooling night breeze. Tucks closer into his side. “To be moving on ahead of them knowing they’ll one day take your place?”
“Yes and no.” As the years pass, his past existence becomes more and more elusive. Like a life lived in a dream he once had. Some days it’s hard to remember how it felt to be the one still point in the crowd. The one who remained behind while others moved on.
“This feels somehow more natural.”
He always knew it would.
Below him the new town takes shape, spreading farther into what was once desert by the day. Soon, the lights flickering in windows will be powered by technologies forgotten since the great war that turned the sky dark and the people back into savages fighting each other for power and dominance. It’s been a hard road, but uniting the people in this forgotten part of this world has been his life’s work.
“Oh, I meant to show you this.” Tig retrieves a notebook from her pocket. Flicks it open. “What do you think?”
He fingers the drawing thoughtfully, secretly pleased at the honour while trying to look as if such vanities are behind him, now. “Have I been here this long? It seems like only yesterday.”
“You like the design? Because I can change it. They’ve not started production, yet.”
“As always, you do me proud.” A new story plate to follow those, commemorating his victory over Warrington, the founding of the new town and the birth of each of his children. This one depicts the opening of the new senate building. He nods his approval.
“I’ll tell them to start production tomorrow, then.” Tig curls her hand around his. “I’ve one more thing to show you before we go to bed. Come with me.”
She likes surprising him and he likes being surprised. Sex under the moon on their secluded rooftop-terrace, that’s what he’s in the mood for. When he leans down to nuzzle her neck, she pushes him off, laughing. “Patience my love. You’ll like this, I promise.”
They’re in his private study. On the table is an ornate wooden box, inlaid with ivories and precious stones.
She pushes him forward. “Go on, open it.”
He does so, slowly opening the lid with no idea what could be inside until he spies the plates and the gold-embossed letters around the rim.
The warrior who fell from the sky.
“The first plates.” The sight brings a lump to his throat. Rumours of the man who fell from the sky have become something of a myth to be interpreted more as metaphor than literal truth. He’s happy with that. Humans had an alarming capacity to turn on what they didn’t understand. He came from nowhere and became their saviour. That’s all they need know. Tig never finished those first plates. Or so he thought.
“Strictly limited edition,” she said. “But I had to do it. The story isn’t complete without this.”
“Thank you.” The words seem so inadequate. Her gesture so generous. “Does this mean you finally believe with all your heart?”
“That you were immortal? That you fell from the sky? Oh yes, I believe.” Her eyes sparkle with a mischievous light. “With all my heart? Well that remains to be seen.”
“You’ve always been a cheeky wench,” he says fondly. “How can I convince you?”
Reaching on tip-toe she whispers a suggestion that sends his blood racing below his belt. Before he can grab her, she’s running through the door towards their bedroom. “It’s such a fantastic story, Fabian,” she calls back. “I’m going to take a lot of convincing.”
He can do that. By the time he’s finished with her, she’ll be a believer.
She’s so many things to him, wife, lover, mother of his children, but most of all, she’s his joy and his anchor. The place he gets to lay down his head and rest. All his former wealth pales to nothing compared to what he has now.
A man who’s lost everything can only gain. He still doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve such redemption, but he thanks every god he knew for it. And will continue to thank them for the rest of his mortal life.
The End
Thank you for reading Lords of the Dark Fall, book one, Fabian. For a first chapter preview of book two, Marcellus, pleas
e read on.
Lords of the Dark Fall, Book Two - Marcellus
Prologue
The museum was quiet today. Just the two of them and one other visitor peering into a display case on the other side of the marbled hall. Cassandra Evans spared the man only a fleeting glance before following her excited nephew to his favourite exhibit. The culmination so far of her life’s work.
“The falling man plates. I want to see your falling man plates.” The small child could barely see into the display case. Eagerly he rose on tip-toe, pressing his nose to the glass. Behind him, his aunt looked on indulgently.
“They’re not my plates, sweetie. Wish they were. Aunt Cassie was just lucky enough to be the one to find them. Aren’t they beautiful?”
Cassandra fingered the glass reverently. Looking beyond the chipped ceramics with their faded paintings, she could only imagine the lives touched by this story. “He was a warrior, a true hero.”
“The warrior who fell from the sky.” Solemnly, the child picked out the words of a story he knew by heart. The legend of the man who came from nowhere and became a great leader. Who showed the people that by working together, they could rebuild what had been lost.
“Did he really come from the sky? Was he an alien?”
Cassandra tousled her nephew’s hair indulgently. The one person guaranteed to listen without question to her outlandish theories.
“You’re too young to understand, sweetheart. We’ve found no life in our solar system but ours. And yet…” She turned to gaze at the plates and the etching of a man hurtling to the ground without the aid of parachute, micro-flyer, or power-wings. And yet why were museums across the world full of artefacts that said otherwise? Throughout the ages pictures had been etched onto cave walls, pottery and standing stones showing visitors arriving as if from nowhere. The falling men, she called them. She’d made it her life’s work to find out whether the legends surrounding them were true, who they were and more importantly, where they came from.
“I believe there is life out there. And the falling men are the key.”
“Fabian had a key?” The child understood more than his years. One day he might take on her research and perhaps be the one to find the elusive key that unlocked these enigmatic stories once and for all.
“Just a figure of speech, sweetheart, but yes, his story may well be the key. We should know more. It’s so frustrating.”
The child returned his attention to the display. Beside the plates sat a small portrait etched on bronze. The stern expression frightened him a little. He reached for his aunt’s hand.
“Fabian looks cross.”
“What did he just say?”
Cassandra moved protectively to shield the child from the tall man who’d crossed the hall to stare alternately at the display and then at her nephew. A vagrant by the look of his dirty rain-coat and matted hair hanging in strings about his face. And what a face. Stunned by the mixture of elegance and strength, the eyes dark as a midnight sea, she was unable to look away. Had they met before? He looked familiar.
For a split-second, the hall disappeared and it was just the two of them, staring in surprise into each other’s eyes. Blinking, heart beating a little too fast, Cassandra found herself just as suddenly back in the museum hall and reaching for her nephew’s hand.
A vision? She took in a steadying breath. Not here. It never happened this far from the dig-sites.
“He was commenting on the etching of the warrior who fell from the sky,” she said, gathering her scattered senses. “If you’ll excuse me, we were just leaving.”
“I think not. Enlighten me. What do you know of this warrior?”
Despite his poor garments, the man commanded attention in the way he stood, the way he spoke. When he grabbed at her arm to keep her in place, she shook him off, wondering where the security guard had disappeared to. A druggie who'd wandered in out of the rain, no doubt. He stank of some cheap liquor.
“Aunt Cassie knows everything about Fabian Lucim…Lucimanticus the Great. She found him,” the child announced with pride. “Didn’t you, Aunt Cassie?”
“Lucimanticus?” Shock, relief and hope. All three emotions flitted across the man’s face. He took in a deep, heaving breath, as if to steady himself. His fingers curled into tight fists. “What do you know of Fabian Lucimanticus? Tell me, tell me now.”
Cassandra stepped back hastily, dragging the child with her. Spotting a security guard, she motioned him over. The guard frowned and made his way across the museum, footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
“I’ve called security,” she said, motioning to the advancing guard with her chin. “Scat before he gets here and throws you out.”
The man followed her gaze. “You don’t understand. I’ve been looking for him for so long. Fabian Lucimanticus, where is he? I must know.” He glanced again at the security guard. “I mean you no harm. I only wish to know where my brother can be found.”
Stunned by his words, she looked him up and down, suddenly realising where she’d seen him before. The etching. There was the resemblance. The man could be Fabian’s twin.
If they hadn’t been born hundreds of years apart.
“Your brother?” She arched an eyebrow. “Go back to wherever you call home and lay down your head for a while. Sleep it off. I need to get my nephew home and you need to go sober up.”
She waved away the security guard. Whoever this man was, he didn’t feel a threat. He’d merely startled her by looking too much like a living version of the man she’d been studying for so long. She cut him a break because anyone that passionate about her beloved Fabian, deserved a break.
“He’s in there,” she said pointing to the display case. “That’s all we have of him. If you want more information, my book is available at the gift-shop downstairs.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, his flat palms pressed against the glass, as if he needed to be close. He scanned the words, the etching. “You wrote a book about my brother?”
“No,” she said patiently. “I wrote a book about him. Fabian Lucimanticus. My special field of study.”
“And you say he cannot be my brother?” The vagrant looked affronted. As if no one had ever dared question his word. “This is my brother. What makes you say otherwise?”
“Because Fabian Lucimanticus the Great lived over seven hundred years ago, that’s why. I’m sorry about your brother. There’s a police-house on Great Norton street, two blocks along. Maybe they can help you.” Bored, the child tugged on her arm. Time to go.
The splintering of glass nearly stopped her heart. Before she, or the security guard could react, the man punched a fist into the display case, grabbed the etching and then to the sound of alarm bells ringing, barged his way past the guard and disappeared through the exit.
Chapter 1
During his fall he’d had only one prayer. That he be reunited with Fabian, his brother. Gazing at the engraving while he wrapped his injured hand in a scarf to stem the bleeding, Marcellus managed an ironic smile. Anxur-Jopra, the family demi-god should be renamed the god of frustration. He always answered their prayers, yet uniquely failed to grant them what they actually wanted.
So much blood, already forming a dark stain on the thin binding. If it continued to bleed, would he die here in this squalid room in this strange land? Who would find him and who would care about his passing? Reaching for the bottle on the dresser, he wondered if there remained enough of the coin he’d stolen to buy himself a willing woman for the night. Of all the things he’d expected to feel during and after the fall, loneliness wasn’t one of them. In this city heaving with people and vehicles that moved as if by magic, he, who had commanded awe and respect, felt invisible.
Taking the liquor to the window, he twisted off the cap with his good hand and lifted the bottle to his mouth. An immortal did not pay for sex. He’d vowed never to stoop that low, no matter that he ached for some comfort and warmth. Hell-fire, never mind the sex. He’d pay someone merely to talk to
him in a civil manner. In a city of noise and perpetual motion, the silence was sometimes deafening.
The purple haze of dusk shrouded the city, and yet the infernal growling of the land-vehicles and the high-pitched whine of the airships did not abate. Humans moved with a restless energy towards goals he could not imagine. Perhaps because their lives were so short they felt the need to make use of every moment? At this time of night, the whole world seemed to be on the streets, moving purposely towards home from their places of work. Tomorrow morning they would do the same in reverse, spilling back into the underground passageways and trains that would shoot them through tunnels to their destinations.
He’d walked the streets for the waxing and waning of three moons, watching the crowds, always hoping for the impossible. Despite jumping less than a heartbeat after his brother there had been no sight of him, no word of him, until today. On the dresser lay the best evidence yet that he had at least landed on the same world as the author of their misfortune.
Fabian, his brother and now long gone from this world. Dead and buried here? Or had he managed to go home as he’d vowed at their banishment?
Turning to the dresser, he decided that tonight he would remain sober and exchange the few hours of oblivion the amber liquor afforded him for a clear head. A twinge of resentment soured his gut. So typical of Fabian to land on his feet and immediately set to making himself the top dog. No longer immortal, he’d nevertheless managed some semblance of immortality. Seven hundred years later and they were building shrines to his memory.
Should have informed that woman the shrine wasn’t nearly big enough to contain his brother’s ego. She’d been as moon-struck by the man as all women were. As eldest he’d been prime in everything and had never once let anyone forget that. Never listened to any advice that contradicted his own desires. The Imarna would capitulate without a whimper. Fabian had been so sure that he’d taken only a token army to annexe a strip of land he didn’t even want.
