Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1

by Seeds of Earth

  into the cool, humid darkness of Segrana's interior,

  down towards the forest floor, towards a sheltered

  pocket of old, impenetrable shadows where an ancient

  swamp lay. It quivered as he plunged into it, a black,

  gritty wetness grasping his struggling limbs, dragging

  him down further down . . .

  Return to the soil, return to the seed of things ...

  He was drowning yet not drowning, while immense

  thoughts coursed through his mind.

  ... to your soil, to your seed ...

  The swamp faded, its enfolding dark trembling into

  misty night strewn with stars and swirling haze, and the

  rich light of a planet turning slowly overhead. Umara,

  the beautiful blue orb that he had watched countless

  times from the high towns of Segrana. But his gaze was

  drawn to another distant quarter of the sky where an

  array of glittering points moved steadily nearer, stretch-

  ing across almost half the firmament, and behind it was

  another vast formation and behind that another and

  another. Then his mind . . .

  His mind was within one of those points, a vessel

  crammed with metallic shapes, incomprehensible

  devices, all webbed with furious energies while lodged at

  the vessel's heart was a creature, an intelligent being ...

  An enemy to be pitied, a knight of the Legion of

  Avatars, the truncated remnant of something that had

  once walked upright. Their race became entangled in

  its own technical hubris, eventually surrendering to a

  union with the machine, inveigled by promises of

  immortality. They hate the flesh and its flaws, a hate

  that bred fear and a hatred of other species less invaded

  by technology ...

  Suddenly Chel was back, staring up into the deepness

  of the night as arrow-formations of glittering points

  swept towards the spreading web of Legion vessels. An

  eyeblink and he saw the graceful lines of the newcomers,

  long contours adorned with curved wings and vanes yet

  seemingly too few against the swarming attackers.

  In their millions the Legion invaded from another

  universe, and battles like this bloomed in hundreds of

  star systems. Facing desperate odds, the High Ancients

  rallied together and wrought a terrible weapon in the

  cause of the Great Purpose ...

  As battle was joined he was shown fleeting glimpses

  of clashes near other farflung worlds, saw scientists and

  workers of many races working without cease to finish

  the weapons that would end the Legion's destructive

  rampage, tunnels bored down into the deep layers of

  reality - warpwells.

  Vast amounts of power were needed to bring the

  warpwells to life, so hundreds of millions of High

  Ancients gave up the energy of their minds and bodies to

  create those vortices of destruction. Witness their dignity

  as they sacrificed themselves to the greater good. A hun-

  dred thousand years ago, a sacrifice long forgotten by

  almost all, yet our memory is everlasting and we will

  deny the Unmaker a final victory . . .

  Chel saw the warpwells reach out to drag everything

  into their dazzling maws, dust and meteorites, the debris

  of battle, lifeless bodies, warships of either side. Some

  Legion craft on the edge of the conflicts tried to escape

  but the High Ancients gave more minds to fuel the

  warpwells and their reach extended out to the space

  between the stars. He saw Legion vessels by the thou-

  sand drawn inexorably down, many reduced to

  wreckage, spilling vapour and ragged fragments, while

  others still grappled with the larger High Ancient war-

  ships, all funnelled inwards, crashing together, hull

  against hull. Then Chel was . ..

  Chel was in the middle of it, hurtling downward

  amidst the grinding shriek of metal, the buzz of horrify-

  ing weapons and the roar of the warpwell vortex, whose

  ice-blue-spear-black light blurred everything. Suddenly, a

  world loomed - his second descent - rushing upwards, a

  dazzling bright eye that gaped, a lacuna of energies into

  which he plunged.

  From all sides came glimpses of strange worlds and

  stranger firmaments, deranged landscapes, inconstant

  tracts, distortion, decay and desolation, fleeting and

  fading, a shadowy succession of realities through which

  he fell. Openings began to appear, pulling great swathes

  of mangled machines and vessels, and Chel seemed to

  see this from outside, see all the warships, Legion and

  High Ancient alike, disintegrate and scatter across the

  dark, deep layers of hyperspace. He realised that the

  same thing was happening at all the other warpwells,

  the utter destruction of the Legion of Avatars, millions,

  perhaps billions of them, a cataclysm to stagger the

  mind.

  Could anything survive such a descent? The rushing

  blur slowed as he fell with the battered, broken rem-

  nants into a foggy abyss webbed with flickers of silver

  radiance, slowing still further, drifting down past black

  cliffs . . .

  Many died that still many more and their successors

  might live on . . . yet Unmaker takes many forms . . .

  The cold shadows faded, and he blinked slowly as he

  looked up. Once more he stood on that high place,

  gazing at the planet overhead and almost crying out

  when he saw that it was burning from horizon to hori-

  zon. A few stretches of pockets were still green but

  smoke veiled the surface of Umara, great wings and tails

  of darkness sweeping across forests, plains and moun-

  tains.

  Ten thousand years ago Unmaker came again as the

  Dreamless ...

  Something crossed the bright edge of the planet, a

  strange cluster of spikes growing as a large silhouette

  came into view, a solid curve of blackness, some kind of

  disc with antennae and probes radiating, Chel guessed.

  Then a rod of polychromatic light stabbed out and

  something exploded in planetary orbit, shedding a burst

  of illumination upon the silhouette. Chel saw that it was

  a massive globe covered with countless columns and

  spires of varying sizes, wavering like the spines of a

  colossal sea creature. And there were others drifting in

  from the lightless gulf of interplanetary space, black

  bristling orbs unleashing glittering barbs that fell on the

  world below.

  From a mountaintop on Umara he saw them strike

  and tear apart the land, great slabs of ground and forest

  rising up, twisting and disintegrating in the grip of a

  terrifying destruction. But the Uvovo held their posi-

  tions throughout the burning, tormented forests. Chel

  could see them in underground chambers, in hilltop

  strongholds, in fortified caves, all working with strange

  mechanisms through which the green force of the

  planet-girdling forests was channelled.

  As I once was, with unity and with a voice . . .

  He saw the Waonwir temple in its original state, pil-
>
  lared, open floors rising from the hollowed-out

  prominence, Uvovo everywhere engaged in serious

  tasks. Its uppermost levels tapered to a slender tower

  that sprouted numerous leaflike vanes which shimmered

  with energy. Periodically, a massive flash obscured great

  stretches of forest and a glowing membrane of light

  would leap up into the sky, straight and fast, flying up

  out of the atmosphere and wrapping itself around one of

  the Dreamless vessels. Spines sheared and snapped, the

  globular hulls cracked, the energy membrane surged

  inside and found . . . nothing.

  So weak, the last remaining, yet an old ally came . . .

  Chel knew the story in his heart - at the darkest

  moment of the battle, when it seemed that the

  Dreamless had won, the Ghost Gods arrived - and now

  he was seeing it. Their ships were immense and fash-

  ioned to resemble ferocious beasts, four- and six-limbed,

  winged and serpentine, many-tentacled and carapaced,

  all bigger than mountains and numbering but thirty all

  told. When battle was joined they were like giants

  assailed by insects, but the Dreamless were relentless.

  Wave after wave, horde upon horde of their machines

  was hurled against the Ghost Gods' massive vessels, and

  while most were destroyed a few got through the

  weapon barrages and shields. Of those even fewer sur-

  vived the defences and Sentinels, managing to break

  through the hull, and of them just a handful evaded the

  interior guards.

  But that was all that was needed to seed ducts and

  pipes with swarms of deadly metal vermin, to infect the

  vitals with contagion. Eventually, even these colossal

  craft began to succumb one by one to the pitiless tide of

  Dreamless machines, to fail and break apart amid blos-

  soming clouds of fire.

  And Segrana, knowing that defeat could now be

  avoided only by paying a terrible price, gave up the

  greater part of itself. The forces of the world-forest

  were diverted into opening a way to the domains of

  hyperspace where the Dreamless kept their vast citadels.

  There went the greater essence of Segrana to infiltrate

  those strongholds, to spread itself transformed and

  unseen across every sense and knot of fleshless mind,

  every source of power, and to perish in a cataclysmic

  destruction from which not a single machine escaped.

  The interlinked meshes of communication and domina-

  tion which had given them such strength were also the

  cause of their downfall.

  Such a victory, such loss, yet Unmaker never wholly

  dies.

  The vision of ships and fortresses burning in star

  mists faded.

  These new Dreamless know of our great well, the

  last, and they hunger for it.

  Sky-filling planetary vistas rolled away into shadow.

  Weak and untested, still we must prepare for battle,

  for invasions, for desperate sacrifice.

  Cold silence enclosed him, limbs held fast, body

  curled up, thoughts at rest, eyes tightly shut.

  Your time approaches. Elders wish you remade but I

  want less from you, much more later.

  Was he inside a shell or was he the shell that was

  going to crack open and reveal something new? Some

  kind of pressure eased and he could relax fingers from

  gripping, arms chest-wrapped, shifting his limbs a little,

  then shakily standing, feeling with eyes still closed for

  the vodrun chamber inner wall, running a hand over

  the rough carvings.

  'Are you well, seeker?' came the Unburdener's voice

  from outside.

  Chel smiled as he heard the sound of the door being

  unfastened and cracked open his eyes to the lamplight

  pouring in.

  And screamed.

  As soon as he heard the screaming, Listener Eshlo broke

  off from his meditations and climbed quickly up to the

  Contemplation platform then to the Threshold. It was

  not unusual for the freshly husked to be overwhelmed

  and distraught, although such a vocal outburst was

  quite rare. But when he clambered onto the small shelf

  he was helped to his feet by a panicky Unburdener who

  pointed to the vodrun. Its door stood open and the

  naked, unchanged form of Cheluvahar lay slumped half

  inside, head bowed in the shadows, shoulders trembling

  as he wept uncontrollably.

  'My son,' he said. 'Compose yourself, stem your

  sorrow.'

  The sobbing abated a little.

  'Pain . . . Master, in everything I see . . .'

  The Unburdener gripped Eshlo's arm. 'His eyes,

  Master!'

  Eshlo met her fearful gaze for a moment then put

  aside his own unease and reached down to drag

  Cheluvahar out of the vodrun chamber. The scholar

  cried out, shielding his face from the lamplight. But not

  before Eshlo saw the four new eyes spaced across his

  forehead, blinking and watering.

  'Sister Unburdener,' Eshlo said, barely able to keep

  his voice from shaking. 'Tear a strip from your robe -

  our brother needs a blindfold.'

  23

  KAO CHIH

  He was dreaming, a disjointed reverie of arguments held

  in odd, shadowy halls, and inexplicable searches

  through dusty, half-lit shelves, all the while evading

  threatening, dog-headed men in a pursuit that led

  through the storerooms and backstages of a strange and

  immense theatre. Then he came to a towering, cav-

  ernous corridor that sloped down towards a colossal

  door of fire which was the sole source of light as well as

  a smothering warmth. A series of wagons and carriages

  passed by, filled with beings from every species, a noisy,

  chattering cavalcade that seemed unaware of their jour-

  ney into fiery doom. He ran alongside them, away from

  the blazing portal, shouting and trying to warn them,

  but they took no notice.

  The carriages grew larger as the procession moved

  onwards and downwards, became interstellar vessels,

  tierliners and freighters, garbage scows and warships,

  then great cityships and immense orbitals of wheel or

  cone or helix or cluster configuration. And, impossibly,

  entire planets and their moons joined the parade, sailing

  ponderously past, their cloud-strewn surfaces tinged

  reddish-gold by the furnace that awaited them.

  Then suddenly he was on one of the great, open-

  topped carriages, accelerating down towards the

  stupendous flaming maw. There was no way to escape -

  he was hemmed in by oblivious sentients as the heat

  grew intense and the incinerating light flooded his

  senses, blinding, burning . . .

  And he awoke, stretched out on a wooden floor,

  bound hand and foot, with a bright light shining in his

  face.

  'It's awake,' said a sibilant voice. The words were in

  a guttural 4Peljan variant, but the linguistic enabler

  Tumakri had given him made them understandable.

  'Good,' said another, deep and hoarse. 'Get it on itsr />
  feet and move that band up to its knees. It can walk -

  I'm not carrying it.'

  With the light trained on his eyes, one of his captors

  hauled him upright then slid the restraint from ankle- to

  knee-level. Kao Chih felt groggy and full of aches from

  erratic sleep and lack of food - he didn't know how

  long he had been held prisoner but guessed it to be

  nearly a day. They had locked him in an upper-floor

  room in poor Avriqui's residence, during which time he

  had been given nothing but a plastic bowl of brackish

  water.

  Now, as he was led along a low passageway by a

  rope tethered to his neck, he was able to see his guards

  more clearly. Both were Henkayan, a brawny, four-

  armed race of humanoids taller than Humans by head

  and shoulders. However, one of these two was if any-

  thing slightly shorter than Kao Chih, scrawny and

  walking with a limp. This was the one with the torch,

  still held carelessly, and who suddenly became aware of

  Kao Chih's regard. Without turning the Henkayan

  paused and buffeted the side of his head with an upper

  hand.

  'Why you looking, Human scum?'

  'Leave it alone,' said the other. 'Munaak wants it

  undamaged.'

  'But it stare at me. Curses with eyes, maybe.'

  'Everyone stares at you, Grol, trying to understand

  why you're so ugly.'

  Grol shook the torch in anger. 'You shut, Tekik, you

  shut! You scum-eater ...'

  'Shut up your vlasking,' said Tekik, voice louder and

  threatening, 'or I'll ram that light down your gullet and

  Munaak will shove a spikel up your waster - if you

  don't get a move on!'

  Kao Chih stared at the floor, his gaze never lifting as

  he was steered up a narrow stairway consisting of many

  shallow steps. Earlier, while lying awake in the darkness,

  he had almost been overwhelmed by the grimness of his

  situation, lost far from home, his only companion,

  Tumakri, almost certainly dead, while he himself was in

  the hand of ruthless brigands. Even if he could somehow

  escape, all the border documents and the ship ID tag

  had been in the Roug's pocket, along with the hard cash

  and the credit spines. But without his or Tumakri's live

  presence, they were useless to whoever had them, which

  wasn't much of a consolation. Yet somehow the worst