by Wight, Will
Calder rubbed his bandaged shoulder. “You might say I was warned not to.”
“I did. It's like staring into the eyes of Kelarac himself.”
The captain responded as though his thoughts were elsewhere. “Kelarac doesn't have any eyes.”
Lucan watched the man's face for some clues to his expression. What was that supposed to mean? How would he know what Kelarac looked like? Was he admitting a connection to the Soul Collector? His wife was a confirmed member of the Sleepless...
Perhaps picking up on Lucan's Intent, Calder raised his hands defensively. “It's common knowledge. Haven't you read Fisher's Treatment of the Aion Sea?”
Lucan had never heard of it, and the Emperor had never mentioned anything about Kelarac's eyes...but then, the Emperor went out of his way to avoid talking about the Great Elders more than absolutely necessary. Personal trauma, he supposed.
“Feel free to Read it for yourself,” Lucan said, bringing the conversation back in line. “It's a conduit straight to the Great Elders. The Emperor was afraid to use the device, lest he draw too much attention, but now...anyone who sits in that thing might as well feed themselves to Kthanikahr.”
Anger seethed over from Calder, as though the emotion had been released from a pricked bubble, but he wasn't looking at Lucan. He was glaring into the Optasia as though it had killed his family. The power of his Intent pounded on the inside of Lucan's head.
After ten or twenty seconds, he mastered himself and controlled his emotions. “Thank you, I don't believe I need to do that. Let's say I have every reason to believe you're correct.”
He leaned over to the orange-eyed Guard captain, saying something that Lucan couldn't quite catch. She strode out of the room immediately.
“Consultant Lucan, I would like your opinion of a small personal matter. Please observe, after which I have a few requests to make of you.”
Anything he asked wouldn't be a request so long as Lucan had ropes around his wrists, but that wasn't what he was most concerned about. “Will you destroy the Optasia?”
“I think you'll find this discussion very relevant.” He was avoiding the question. Lucan sharpened his Intent despite his aching head, focused on the bonds on his arms. The ropes had been woven recently as part of a batch by an unfocused child volunteer, so there was practically nothing invested there. They'd be difficult to work with, but it seemed like Calder was giving him time.
Calder shot him a knowing smile, as though he'd sensed what Lucan was trying to do. That shouldn't be possible, but Lucan relaxed his focus anyway. “As a show of our good faith, I'd like to introduce the newest addition to my crew. I believe you've met.”
The Imperial Guard captain came back in the door, supporting a woman that could have been her cousin: pale skin, short blond hair, athletic build. The main difference between the two women was that this one seemed too weak to stay on her feet, though she tried. She limped into the room, leaning most of her weight on the Guard, edging gingerly through the door like it took all her strength to move. She wore all black, and a pair of daggers on the back of her belt...
“Meia?” Lucan asked, astonished. What was she doing here? Why wasn't she back on the Gray Island with Shera? Was this some secret assignment?
Meia looked away from him, embarrassed. “I was careless.”
That would be embarrassing for her, if she was sloppy enough to get herself captured alive. Her pride had always been so prickly.
Those thoughts were clear, but distant, as part of his brain started working on its own. The rest of him gained a new, clearer goal.
Calder Marten had taken Meia captive, and had obviously done something to keep her weak and compliant. Alchemy, most likely; his file suggested he had a capable alchemist onboard his ship.
Lucan shifted him from “Potential Ally” to “Target.”
Reader burn or not, he would break Meia out of here if it killed him. All he had to do was break out of his bonds and free Meia. If he could restore her to fighting condition, they had every chance of getting her out of here alive.
By contrast, Calder Marten's chances of survival had just dropped significantly.
There was only one thing he didn't understand—if Calder had Meia as a trump card to ensure Lucan's cooperation, why bring her out now? He was already cooperating. He didn't need the extra threat. Did this represent a promise to release her if he played along?
Calder backed away from Lucan, hand going to his cutlass. “Meia, please convince your friend. Hurry. Hurry, please.”
Lucan felt like someone was drilling into his skull with an ice pick, but he pulled his wrists through the ropes as if through cobwebs. The Imperial Guards reacted as though he'd pulled a pistol, bringing their own weapons forward and slamming his knees against the floor. The Guard captain screamed instructions, but Lucan kept his watering eyes locked on Calder.
Until Meia hobbled forward, pushing the Guards aside, and slapped Lucan weakly on the back of the head. “Calm down. If I wanted to escape, I could have done it anytime.”
Between the pain in his head and the confusion, his Intent wavered. “He's not keeping you captive?”
“He couldn't,” she said dryly. “And I'm not a member of his crew, either.”
“Provisional member,” Calder said, cutlass still ready to draw.
“I already have a Guild, thank you.”
Lucan relaxed his resistance, letting a burly Guard with fur-covered arms push him harder into the ground. “So what's wrong with you?”
“More carelessness.” She shook her head, grim. “When we get back, I'll have to report myself to the Architects.”
It wasn't a joke; Meia was serious. He didn't need his Reading to understand a friend he'd known since they were both children. She sincerely believed she deserved punishment for a lapse in judgment.
More than anything, that convinced him that she was in control of her own actions. No one expected more out of Meia than Meia.
Calder exhaled. “You can let him up now.” The Guards looked to their captain for instructions, so the Navigator raised his voice. “Release him.”
This time, they did, but Lucan remained on his knees. It was easier than standing, with the pounding in his head. “What's the assignment, Meia?” She never did anything without either instructions or approval.
“Stop the Elders,” she said immediately. “They're the highest priority for all of us. The Imperialists can't keep an Emperor on the throne if he's constantly under threat of Elder possession, and the Independents can't successfully establish a new world order if they're only serving the world up to the Elders piece by piece. We should be working together, not against each other.”
Lucan agreed with every word she said, but he couldn't believe he was hearing this from Meia. Meia, who held onto every rule during their training like sacred law. “Did the Architects order you to do this?”
She hesitated. “They would.”
That was good enough for him, though they'd need a more thorough talk later. “Maybe they would. Captain, I'm still here because I agree with Meia. Whatever else we do, the Guilds can't dance to an Elder's tune.”
A strange expression crossed Calder's face at the words, and Lucan thought he detected a whiff of unease in the man's Intent, but then the Reader burn kept Lucan distracted enough that he almost missed the Navigator's next words. “...why I kept you here, Consultant Lucan. Anyone who can look past our current Guild rivalry is someone I can work with. And your personal knowledge of the Optasia will come in handy for our next guest.”
Calder gestured to the Guard captain.
She stared at him blankly.
He cleared his throat. “Could you bring the next guest in, please?”
Her orange eyes darted around the room as though searching for answers. “I wasn't aware we had another guest, sir.”
“My wife, Captain.”
Disgust lit her face, but she bowed and moved out of the room.
“That would have worke
d better if I hadn't been forced to explain,” Calder said to Lucan. “More dramatic.”
Lucan was more focused on the idea that his wife, the Elder cultist, was present and coming here. “Are you still in frequent contact with the Sleepless, Captain Marten?”
Calder turned his back to the wall and faced the door. “Too frequent, Consultant Lucan.”
The door opened again, and Jyrine Tessella Marten was escorted into the room.
She looked even worse than she had when she was a prisoner on the Gray Island: her clothes looked like a secondhand Imperial Guard uniform that had narrowly avoided being thrown out for rags, her hair was loose and wild, and there were circles under her eyes. Shackles led to chains on both her wrists and ankles, and she stared at Calder with open anger. “You just drag me out of my hole whenever you wish, now?”
“That's one of the perks of being Emperor. I get to drag whomever I like wherever I like.” Lucan could sense Calder's restrained fury even without the aid of his Reader senses.
Jyrine made a sound like a cross between a grunt and a growl. It carried all the frustration of a caged animal. “You're not the Emperor, but you could be, if you would just listen to me!”
“In point of fact, that's exactly why I've brought you here. I'm going to ask you a question, and I'd be very interested in listening to the answer.” He stepped to one side, holding out a hand to present the Optasia like a salesman presenting a fine horse. “What exactly should I do with this, Jerri?”
She frowned. “It's a relic of the Emperor. You sit in it.”
Calder nodded along. “And then what will happen to me?”
“Calder, I'm not a Reader.”
“No, you're a Soulbound,” he cut in. “But I have every faith in your ability to answer the question.”
“As I understand it, the device will expand your awareness. Thanks to a network of relays, you'll be able to Read practically anything on the planet from this spot.”
“Including the Great Elders.”
“Of course including the Great Elders,” Jyrine said, frustration evident in her voice. “That's the whole point. This is the only way for you to understand them, and to negotiate with them on an equal level. With you on the throne, humanity will finally have someone to speak to the Elders on our behalf. You'll have a seat among the immortals, Calder. It's something we all desperately need.”
Calder turned to Lucan. “We've heard from the crazed Elder cultist, and now let's hear from a neutral party. Jerri, Lucan here is a Consultant who came here to sabotage the Optasia. He Read the throne for himself, and instead of leaving, he stayed here to warn me.”
“And you call him a neutral party?” Jyrine scoffed, then she looked away from Calder's face for the first time to focus on Lucan. “Consultant Lucan, did you say?”
“Jyrine. I'm glad you made it out alive.” Lucan had been under the impression that Jyrine had most likely perished as her cell collapsed, though Shera had been quick to note that they hadn't found a body. Honestly, he was glad she'd survived; he'd shared hours of discussion with her while they both remained prisoners, though he mostly used it as an opportunity to glean details about the Sleepless for his journal. If nothing else, she was a true believer in her cult.
Calder wouldn't be distracted. “Lucan, what would happen to me if I tried to use the Optasia?”
“You would go insane in minutes,” Lucan said without hesitation. “Perhaps seconds. The Great Elders would core you like an apple and put whatever they wanted in your place.”
“That's some compelling imagery. Jerri, your rebuttal?”
Locked on Lucan, her eyes narrowed. “Lucan. The Consultant named Shera visited you while you were in prison. Do you know her well?”
It didn't take a Gardener's training to recognize an occasion to lie. “We've worked together.”
She looked at Meia, frizzy hair pulling away as she moved her head. “How about you? Do you know Shera?”
Meia gave her a blank look. “I don't believe I'm required to answer you, madam.”
Jyrine nodded, as though Meia had confirmed her suspicion, and something flashed green under the veil of her hair. An earring, perhaps? Had Calder allowed his wife some jewelry?
Jyrine turned to face her husband, back straightening. “You've met Shera before. She's tried to kill both of us. She did kill Urzaia. Would you trust her companions?”
Calder looked from her to Lucan and back. “Consultant Shera and I have a separate account to balance. If I refused to do business with any Guild whose members have attempted to execute me in the past, I'd be working alone. Or maybe with the Greenwardens,” he added, after a moment of consideration.
“I've been warned against Shera quite recently,” Jyrine said, sliding a little closer to Calder. The Imperial Guards stepped closer around her, prepared to seize her if she moved. “However little you know of her, let me assure you: she is the greatest threat to you and to the future of humanity, not any Guild.”
“Recently?” Calder asked. His hands moved down to the weapons on his belt. “Who warned you, Jerri?”
“She's your enemy, Calder, whether you believe it or not. And whether you like it or not, I'm still your ally.”
She whipped her head around to face Meia, and something gleamed green in her hair.
“Stop her!” Calder shouted, drawing his orange-spotted sword. The Guards shoved her against the floor. They weren't faster than her Intent.
A dart of green flame, no thicker than a finger, flashed from Jerri to shoot like a bullet at Meia's neck. She had no chance to react, and the Guards moved too slowly.
Lucan didn’t.
With an effort that felt like it would tear his brain in half, he shoved protective Intent around Meia. He was too far away to effect much of a change, but it was enough: her Consultant blacks were heavily invested anyway, and familiar to him. They became twenty pounds heavier in an instant, dragging her weakened body a fraction toward the ground.
The bolt passed over her shoulder.
The ensuing pain blackened Lucan's vision, choking out his awareness. He came to himself a second later, awash in pain, sure that someone had put a sword through his head.
But a watery vision at the corner of his eye confirmed that Meia was alive and moving. Good. It was all worth it.
He allowed himself to drift off on a sea of pain, but something else caught his attention on the other side. Jyrine Tessella Marten, looking into his face from only a foot away. She stared at him amidst a forest of Imperial Guard boots.
“I'm sorry,” she said, and her eyes told him she meant it.
He'd Read her before. She was committed to a cause that all of his experience taught him was crazy and outright evil, but she believed it to her core. It informed her, guided her every decision. She was wrong, but he couldn't hate her.
Not even when another finger-thin blast of green flame blew through his stomach.
Why isn't it hot? he wondered. Fire was supposed to be hot. Instead, it felt as though he'd swallowed a bucket of snow. Well, at least it was a distraction from the Reader burn in his head, which seemed to be fading away.
In place of the pain was a sort of pleasant drowsiness. He knew he should probably be focused on something more important, but all he wanted was to enjoy a nice nap. It was strange; he'd never enjoyed naps. That was Shera's territory, and she slept enough for the both of them. Now here he was, sleeping in the middle of the day.
She would be proud of him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the primitive culture of men before the Elder War, an Optasia was a device used to divine danger or predict the future. With the rise of Readers, this sort of superstitious talisman fell from common usage.
Later manuscripts mention the Emperor’s attempts to ‘build’ a particularly large or intricate Optasia, but those references faded away in the second century. The idea is now largely considered mythical.
—Pre-Imperial Myths and their Modern Equivalents, Chapter 6
>
~~~
Five years ago
The Emperor's Imperial Palace was a pillar of history, taking up almost a fifth of the Capital. Among the people of the Capital, it was often said that the palace was a city unto itself, with its own secrets and concerns.
Shera had spent most of the last seven years inside the Imperial Palace. It wasn't unusual for her to be sent back to the Gray Island for training, or outside the palace proper on an assignment, but she spent the bulk of her time here. As a result, she'd been forced to learn her way around.
To her surprise, she had initially found the process easy. Her training in the Garden had focused primarily on entering and exiting common structures, many of which were represented in the palace complex. Within a few months, she’d memorized the layout.
None of that helped her now.
In the space of an hour, the palace had been completely transformed. The spawn of Ach'magut, the spider-like Inquisitors, crawled over every surface. They skittered about in the shadows, examining everything with their stalk-eyes. They had taken over the palace as ants took over a hive, outnumbering the human inhabitants five to one.
That alone made it hard enough to navigate—she had to weave around Elderspawn as she ran, afraid to slow down lest they grab her—but their experiments made everything worse.
One of the Inquisitors hunched over a pile of junk, its ten legs bent at the joints, its proboscis teasing the floor in front of it. It stood almost up to her chest, its stalk eyes raised to the same level as her face. Most of its eyes were turned down, toward its project on the ground, and the others scanned the horizon. It seemed to ignore both her and others of its own kind, focused on its business.
Running past, she made the mistake of glancing down at it. It was crouched over the body of a man in the red, blue, and gold livery of a palace servant, digging in the man's chest. It rummaged around in the corpse like a child in a toybox, and Shera hurried past.
There was nothing she could do for a dead man, so she wasted no more thought on him. But it did spark her attention for a different reason: how had the Elders moved so fast? She'd only spent the better part of an hour with General Teach, and there had been no hint of an alarm. Now the Inquisitors were swarming on the walls, openly dismantling servants.
