Of Darkness and Dawn

by Wight, Will

“So I began the single most ambitious construction project I've ever attempted. As you may realize, that is a significant statement.”

  The Emperor had been involved in the construction of virtually every great manmade monument in history, but Shera wasn't sure which of them would be considered the most impressive.

  “Three hundred and twelve concealed nodes, arranged all over the globe,” he continued. “Each constructed with the help of the alchemists and Magisters and installed at precise points. It's a system designed to allow me to Read Intent from around the world, and respond to threats without ever having to come near danger myself. I call this system the Optasia.”

  Lucan leaned over to Shera. “It's a pre-Imperial word for a divination tool.”

  “I don't care,” Shera said. It didn't matter what they called it, only what it could do.

  Meia shushed them.

  The Emperor turned his back to them, facing the polished wood panels. “I can only control it from my throne.”

  Lucan cleared his throat. “Will we have to fight our way to the throne room?”

  The Emperor didn't bother to turn around. “That thing is nothing more than a showpiece. A symbol. It's there to receive Intent and distract the people. My real throne is right here.”

  He placed his fingertips against the wall, and the planks flowed aside as though they had melted. Once again, they revealed a set of white armor and a pair of bronze swords. This time, though, the Emperor swept these aside as well, and they slid into hidden compartments.

  Pressure poured from that direction like an invisible current, and Lucan had to avert his eyes and clutch his gloved hands together. The force didn't lessen when the weapons and armor disappeared. If anything, it increased.

  Behind the weapons rack was a room about the size of a broom closet. It had the space only for a construction of shining metal bars and wires that at first made no sense to Shera. It looked like a nest of steel parts randomly meshed together.

  After another second or two, the picture finally clicked: it was a chair-shaped metal frame, looking more like the skeleton of a throne than the throne itself.

  The Emperor watched it for a moment as though he thought it might leap up and bite him. “Do you recall the night we faced down the traitorous Watchmen on Nakothi's island?”

  Shera could only assume that was one of the Emperor's rhetorical questions, because there was no way she could have possibly forgotten.

  “I had you meet me here not because I was woken from my sleep, but because I had tried to use the Optasia.” He hesitated. “I found that I could not.”

  A light shone in the corner of Shera's mind, and she realized the answer to a question she had asked herself many times before. She'd always wondered why the Emperor insisted on dealing with issues involving the Great Elders personally, if he knew there was a risk of going insane. Why not send General Teach, or another of the Guild Heads? Surely together they could do anything the Emperor could not, and if it ended up being too dangerous for them, they could always withdraw and inform him. It seemed foolish for the Emperor to risk himself on a distant island in the Aion when he didn't have to.

  Now, the answer became clear. He’d tried to solve the problem from here, with his device, and he'd failed. He couldn't tell the Guild Heads that he was getting weaker, because his personal strength was the cornerstone of the Empire.

  So he'd set out alone.

  “Truthfully, it worked too well. Sensing Intent through the Optasia is much like Reading it directly, only on a global scale. Can you see why that might be a problem?”

  Shera couldn't, but the statement hadn't been directed at her.

  “You're Reading Elders directly,” Lucan said, horror in his voice. Even Shera knew enough that she shivered at the idea: it was one of the great taboos of Reading. When Readers tried to examine Elder Intent, they had to do so indirectly. Otherwise, they risked facing the alien minds of the Elders, and the result was always insanity.

  The Emperor nodded, still not facing them. “When I looked into the Optasia, it was like staring into Nakothi's face once again. I had to stop immediately, or forfeit my sanity. Four years ago, when Ach'magut began to stir in the town of Silverreach, I ran my Intent through the Optasia again. This time, I tried looking at its surroundings. But I couldn't decipher Ach'magut's plan without examining it more closely and I had to give up, before the temptation became too much.”

  He clutched the Heart of Nakothi through his robe. “So I went in person, only to discover that I had arrived too late. Whatever the Overseer meant to do in that town, he'd already accomplished.”

  The Emperor ran a hand over the skeletal throne, then turned to them. He looped his hands behind him like a prisoner with his wrists bound. “So you see, I have a problem. The more powerful the Elders become, the more quickly and definitively I need to respond. Which requires using the Optasia. But the more powerful they are, the more using my device becomes like Reading them directly. It's a strain. It gives her more room to act upon me. I've been relying on it less and less for the past twenty years.

  But now, events have outpaced me. After Silverreach, I was counting on Ach'magut building slowly, but I should have known he would anticipate as much. I can only hope he hasn't calculated this as well, because I no longer have any other choice. The corruption has become too widespread to correct one incident at a time.”

  He spread a hand, indicating the world outside his chambers. “You may have wondered about this uprising of lesser spawn. Surely you’ve noticed that, even in an invasion such as this, the Imperial Palace is in no danger of falling. The Luminians and the Blackwatch are cleansing the Capital of Elderspawn as we speak. But it is not limited to the palace, or even this city. Unless I'm very much mistaken, this is happening all over the world.”

  Lucan's gloved fists tightened, and Meia growled deep in her chest. Even Shera's eyes widened.

  She had wondered why the Elders had decided to target the Imperial Palace, but if this was happening everywhere...how long would the Empire last?

  The Emperor carefully leaned down, placing himself into the throne.

  It twisted around him, binding him in a meshwork layer of steel. In seconds, it looked less like a throne and more like a cage, with him locked at the center of an impossible puzzle.

  Through the metal lattice, he met each of their eyes in turn. “The last two times I've attempted to use this device, I have barely managed to escape with my sanity intact. I don't expect to do so this time. When I am finished, I will certainly be weak. I may be mad or enthralled. If you suspect I am not entirely in control of myself,” his gaze flicked to Shera, “you are to execute me.”

  Shera had known she might not be able to keep her promise to General Teach. She hadn't thought she'd break it so quickly.

  Meia started to say something, but stopped. A second later she looked away, tears in her eyes.

  Tears. From Meia. The Empire might fall tonight, and somehow this seemed like the craziest thing she’d seen all day.

  Lucan clapped a fist to his chest, saluting as the Imperial Guard did. “It has been an honor serving you, Imperial Highness.”

  Shera shrugged and raised a hand. “Don't worry. We'll kill you if we have to.” She was only relieved that he would be weaker than usual.

  He smiled a little at that, and closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the grasp of the throne. The Optasia. “Well, then. Now that you're ready, let's begin.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The journey from the Capital to the Gray Island took Shera the better part of two days. Her Luminian escort kept her under heavy guard, and even Darius and Ayana weren't allowed to visit her. Many of the Luminian Order had called for her immediate execution, but their Guild Head had determined that her fate should rest in the hands of the Architects. She'd violated the terms of her mission, killed the Head of the Magister's Guild, and turned on her allies in the heat of battle. The handful of knights and Pilgrims onboard the ship were there to bot
h keep her in control and ensure that she faced an appropriate punishment.

  It should have been tense, with potential execution looming over her head, but she found the atmosphere relaxing. It was the first time in over two weeks that she'd been free of Syphren's constant presence—the blade was locked in an invested chest somewhere in the hold. She still found herself sensing the presence of her fellow shipmates, daydreaming about the feeling of power rushing through her, but they were hollow thoughts now. Easily ignored.

  She spent most of that two days catching up on her sleep.

  High Councilor Tyril met the boat at the docks, a pair of lesser Architects in tow. Shera searched the dock in mild surprise, looking for Kerian or Yala, but Bastion's Veil was at half-strength now. All she saw were dark shapes in a wall of gray cloud, and when the Veil returned to its full power, she would be able to make out nothing more than featureless mist.

  Tyril was the only other person Shera had ever met who slept as much as she did, and he usually looked ragged: unshaven, hair wild, clothes unkempt. When he met with a client, like today, he seemed like a different person: hair and beard trimmed, his all-black suit tailored and pressed. He beamed at Darius as the Knight-Adjunct walked down to the dock, not batting an eye at the shadow-shrouded face under the hood.

  “Knight-Adjunct Allbright, please allow me to be the first to welcome you to the hospitality of the Gray Island. My name is High Councilor Tyril, and you have my personal word that whatever you require during your stay—any service, any entertainment—will be provided you instantly and without charge. You are a guest of the High Council, and you may stay as long as you desire.”

  “I'll test you on that,” Darius said pleasantly, his shadowed face surveying the mist. “Do you have a place to rest that isn't in the middle of a cloud?”

  Tyril laughed. “The Veil is a parlor trick more than anything else, Knight-Adjunct, nothing to intimidate you. It's not nearly as thick as it looks, and behind it waits a beautifully untamed island...yet still with all modern amenities, of course.”

  Bastion's Veil was a product of the most powerful Awakened artifact in Consultant possession, and there wasn't an inch of the Gray Island that could be called 'untamed.' Tyril had been a Shepherd during his days in the field, but he lied like a Mason.

  Darius gestured behind him. “We have two of your Guild members with us. My grandfather thought it would be more appropriate for you to decide their fate.”

  Tyril gave Shera an exaggerated glare. “She has plunged the Consultants into a premature conflict, and has lost control of herself and of her Vessel. More importantly, she endangered you, our valued client and ally. The Consultant's Guild will spend decades repaying you for that discourtesy, I can promise you.”

  “Don't count my life against her, if you don't mind,” Darius said, turning his empty face toward her. “I still have it, after all.”

  Once again, Shera was forcibly reminded of Lucan. Involuntarily, she shuddered and looked away.

  What would Lucan think when he found out what she'd done? The thought scared her more than her possible sentence.

  “I'm not sure how the other was involved...” Darius began, turning to look for Ayana. He stopped when he realized she wasn't on the dock. “I would swear she disembarked with us.”

  Tyril put a gentle hand on Darius' shoulder, guiding him away from the ship. “Pardon her rudeness, I'm afraid we teach stealth as a virtue here on the Island. Come, let's get you settled in.”

  A pair of Shepherds materialized around Shera grabbing her by the upper arms and half-carrying her into the nearby woods while Tyril led Darius up the winding path to the chapter house.

  Shera didn't resist. She could sense Syphren a distance behind her, still sealed, so they weren't disarming her for good. “You mind if I ask where you're taking me?”

  The two Shepherds glanced at each other above their shrouds, and Shera resigned herself to not receiving an answer. But the one on her left spoke. “To High Councilor Kerian, Gardener.”

  That was a relief. At least it would be Kerian and not Yala. Whatever was going to happen to her, a sympathetic ear would be more than welcome.

  Surprisingly, they didn't lead her to the Council chambers, or to Kerian's personal quarters. They marched her on a familiar route: closer to Lucan's cell.

  Were they putting her in a cell with Lucan? That would be more generosity than she expected, even from Kerian. Maybe the High Councilor wanted to talk to both of them.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she realized that it was approaching lunchtime.

  Kerian awaited her at the edge of the trees, wearing a dark green dress and leaning on her crutch. Her hair swayed in a hundred different braids, and the pale line of the scar down the middle of her face stood out in the shadows of the leaves overhead.

  The two Shepherds released Shera, taking a step back to flank her on either side.

  They weren't bringing her closer to Lucan. Did Kerian have something to say to her alone, or was the location of this meeting just a coincidence?

  “Welcome home, Shera,” Kerian said. She stepped closer, placing a hand on Shera's arm.

  That was unusual, to say the least. Kerian was friendly with Shera, but affectionate was not the right word. Any physical contact was rare, sparing, and usually with a purpose. Shera glanced down to make sure the woman wasn't slipping a secret note into her sleeve.

  “Are we not here to see Lucan?”

  “That's more complicated than it might seem. You see, more has happened to the Guild this week than just your...disturbance.” She looked off to the west, where Shera knew a hairline crack still waited in the sky. “You haven't been back long enough to tell, I'm sure, but the Island is preparing for another attack.”

  Shera had seen nothing to suggest military preparations, but that wasn't unusual. The Gray Island could have housed the entire Consultant's Guild and still look uninhabited to a casual inspection. “By the Magisters?”

  “Partially. You did stir the pot, as it were, and the Imperialist Guilds have seized on the assassination of one of their number as a reason to launch an attack. We expect the might of the Magisters, the Navigators, and the Blackwatch here within the week.”

  Shera had considered the magnitude of her actions before, but the full ramifications were only hitting her now. She might well have plunged the Guild into a full-scale war.

  She was of two minds about that. On the one hand, the Guilds were effectively in a cold war already. She had only pushed them along a bit, which was progress. On the other hand, she hadn't meant to start a war. It wasn't a calculated decision, she had only lost control.

  She'd gone through a host of unusual emotions since the news about Maxwell's killers had surfaced, and shame was the latest. She'd handled her Soulbound Vessel poorly, so she was ashamed. She should have done better.

  But perhaps one good thing had come of it after all. “What about the assassins with the Magisters?”

  Kerian nodded, as though she'd anticipated the question. “Fortunately, it seems they were under the Guild Head's personal supervision. Through somewhat...exhaustive means, we were able to gather all the survivors. They arrived this morning. Our Readers are currently examining them.”

  At least something had gone right, then.

  “So what's going to happen to me?” Shera asked, peering through the trees, trying to catch sight of Hansin. He'd be upset that she arrived on his shift again, though it wasn't her fault this time.

  “We've digressed just a bit. I mentioned that something else happened this week.” Kerian hesitated, gathering herself. “The Navigators and the Guard held the Imperial Palace, as you're probably aware. And not long ago, they began attempting to gain access to the Optasia.”

  Shera gave Kerian her full attention for the first time. The last time she'd seen the Emperor's throne was about two minutes before she'd killed him. “Did they?”

  “They were opposed by the Sleepless. Our information at this point becomes...
less than reliable...but it seems that in that conflict, the Imperial Palace sustained some damage, and an unusual astronomical phenomenon became visible in the sky.”

  Kerian had many virtues, but she had never learned to speak directly. It would have been far easier to say the sky had cracked.

  “It was then that the Council decided we had to gather more information, so we looked for Guild members who had firsthand experience with the device in question. You were deployed with Ayana, and Meia was still missing in action—though we've gained some new insight into her location. That left us with one option.”

  Unease wormed its way into Shera's heart. If Lucan was still gone, why were they meeting here?

  “I had intended for Lucan to take a team of Shepherds, but others felt it would be more resource-efficient to send a Gardener on his own. It was intended to be a simple reconnaissance mission, including some sabotage if the opportunity presented itself. I didn't think anything of it when Lucan left without his team.”

  Others felt. That would be Yala. The same woman who had sent Shera out alone to face the entire crew of The Testament. Then again, Lucan would have been more than willing to operate on his own—she wasn't at all surprised that he'd left alone.

  “We're not clear about what happened next,” Kerian said, and ice began to creep into Shera's heart. As though her body had figured out what was coming before her mind did. “By all accounts, Lucan accomplished his objective, then elected to meet with Calder Marten alone. The Optasia has been successfully destroyed, which we suspect would have accelerated the Guild War with or without your actions. It was an inevitable path, you've just moved us a bit further along.”

  “Lucan?” Shera asked. It was strange that she didn't sound concerned.

  Kerian met her eyes, searching for something there. “His body arrived on the ship this morning.”

  The cold didn't thaw. The ice didn't crack. Inside Shera, there was a bleak white wilderness. “You've confirmed it?”

  “The Readers checked his condition at the same time as they began inspecting the imitation Gardeners. We've sent his final action report down to the Miners. Shera, Captain Marten sent a letter of personal regret signed by the Heads of the Imperial Guard and the Navigators. It appears that they were close to some sort of an understanding. Either way, he died in the course of a successful mission.”