Birthright (The Technomage Archive, Book 1)

by B.J. Keeton

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Damien could hear the constructs chasing him. Or, more accurately, he could hear the destruction they caused as they chased him. The ground shook under him, which spurred him to run faster.

  The hallways passed him in a blur as he weaved through doorways and around corners. He occasionally passed a person who gave him a funny look, but he couldn't warn them about what was heading in their direction. If he did, the constructs would catch him and he couldn’t have that.

  So he ran. Hard. He pushed himself to his physical limits, and he was just barely able to stay ahead of the security drones.

  The crashes were getting closer as he ran. Blocks of stone and pieces of metal began to shoot past him, landing in his path. As he rounded a corner, he felt the energy of a Horrith golem’s bolt zip past his face and slam into the wall next to him. Dust erupted into his eyes.

  He blinked them clear as he ran, and that’s when he saw it. The Library. The massive doors leading to the central hub of Ennd’s Academy. Damien’s natural instinct was to drop to the ground and relax.

  He had made it!

  But he couldn’t stop yet. Stopping would get him killed.

  So Damien Vennar focused his fear, and the nanites in his veins energized his muscles into one last burst of speed toward the brushed metal doors.

  He reached the doors just as a nicely dressed female professor entered a passcode into the control panel in the wall. She seemed oblivious to the constructs rampaging through the halls as she nonchalantly pulled the doors open with a whuff-pop. Damien leapt at her, hooked his arms around her waist, and dragged her into the Instance she had just opened. The destination didn’t matter right now. Any Instance would do, would keep him safe from the golems.

  Immediately upon entering the new Instance, Damien closed the door. He had to lock the security constructs out and hoped that Ennd's still wiped the last passcode from the entrance panel when the door shut. He heard no banging from the other side of the door, and nothing crashed through. He assumed he was safe for the moment.

  “Get off me!” the professor said. She tugged at his hands around her waist, trying to free herself from Damien's grip.

  He let go and said, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “I have a strange feeling you aren't,” she replied. “Just what do you think you are doing? Who are you?”

  “Damien Vennar,” a voice behind them said.

  Damien whirled, taking in his surroundings as he did so. High windows let bright sunlight beam into the oval room, where rounded walls housed books from nearly floor to ceiling. In the gaps where there were not books, numerous weapons sat in transparent cases. Damien recognized many of them from his youth, but some of them were not Erlonian in origin. As he turned to face the voice, his view was blocked. A gigantic holovid was being projected from the ceiling. The hologram dissipated as he faced it.

  Sitting behind a crescent-shaped desk was a middle-aged man, balding, dressed in a very fine suit. He rose as if to greet Damien, but instead, he ignored him and spoke directly to the professor.

  “He's an old acquaintance of mine, Nary,” Headmaster Squalt said, and Damien smirked at the remark. “I thought he was deep into retirement by now. How is retirement, Damien?”

  Professor Nary Thralls distanced herself from Damien and walked toward Squalt. Her demeanor had gone from anger to confused anxiety the moment that Squalt had said his name.

  Damien stayed put. He put on a show of absorbing the events going on around him, but in reality, he was resting from the fight and chase that led up to his serendipitous arrival in the headmaster’s office.

  “Retirement was nice.” His inflection said everything he needed it to. He added, “If you two have business to take care of, I can wait,” as though he had just dropped by to chit-chat.

  Squalt smiled, but it never touched his eyes. “Oh, heavens, no. I wouldn't dream of making an old colleague like you wait while we handled mundane academy work,” he said, which translated into I'm going to get you out of my office as fast as I can one way or another, and you're not going to hear anything about my school while you're here.

  Damien smiled back, but it never reached his eyes, either. “I'd never want to intrude, Gilbert.”

  Nary Thralls shifted her weight from one foot to another. She said, “It's nothing major, Headmaster. I can come back later.”

  “No, I don't think you can,” Damien said. He was still smiling, but the force in his voice showed that he meant to take control of the situation. The not-so-friendly banter was getting them nowhere, and Damien needed answers. “Why don't we all have a seat and visit for a while?”

  Nary Thralls looked at the headmaster who nodded in the affirmative.

  Damien gestured at a couch and two chairs that Squalt used for comfortable meetings. Damien sat dead center on the couch, while the headmaster and professor each took a chair facing him.

  Squalt eased himself into a chair. He squinted slightly at Damien. The look on his face said that he was being careful, that he knew Damien Vennar was dangerous.

  Good.

  “Do you know Nary Thralls, Damien?” Squalt asked as the trio settled in.

  “No, I can’t say that I do.” The old man extended his hand to her. She hesitated, but eventually shook it. “Damien Vennar, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She just nodded and sat back in her chair.

  “Nary is a new professor at Ennd's this year,” Squalt informed him. “She teaches culinary arts, and I have to tell you, I have never tasted Yaghian goulash like hers in my life. You’ll have to try it some time.”

  “Indeed I will,” Damien said.

  “So what brings you to our neck of the woods, Damien?” Squalt asked.

  “How is Ceril these days?” Damien responded, completely ignoring Squalt's question. “I haven't been able to speak to him in years.” Venom dripped from Damien's words.

  “Oh, that's right!” Squalt said in faux remembrance. “Ceril is your grandson!” He turned to Nary Thralls. “You weren't here when Ceril Bain was a student, but he was a very promising young man who wanted to go into agriculture, if I remember correctly.”

  Damien glared. “Cut the act, Gilbert.”

  Thralls’ eyes darted from her boss to Damien and back again, indicating that this was not the professional work environment she was used to.

  “What do you want, Damien?” Squalt asked. The friendliness in his voice was gone.

  “Answers.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How is Ceril these days?” Damien repeated.

  “From the reports I get occasionally, I hear he's doing well. The last report I got from Nephil was that he was off-ship in an Instance doing thesis research on the connection between religion, myth, and location. Interesting stuff. You'll have to read his thesis when he's finished. He might be finished by now, actually. That report was a few months ago.”

  “I doubt I'll ever have that chance,” Damien said.

  “It's a shame. He's turned into quite the golden child for the Charons.”

  Nary Thralls eyes bulged. “What?” she said. It was the first word she had managed to speak since being dragged into Squalt’s office.

  Damien responded before Squalt could propagandize the reply. “You know the Charons, right, Nary? The technomages of ages past and the stuff of legends?”

  “I know the stories like everyone else,” Nary said. “There is no need to patronize me.”

  “I'm sure you do. I'm sorry,” Damien said, and he meant it.

  “That still doesn't explain what Headmaster Squalt meant when he said that your nephew—”

  “Grandson.”

  “—grandson was a golden child for the Charons, though.”

  Both of the men ignored her.

  “Golden child, huh?” Damien asked.

  “Did you expect any less?”

  “Hoped, I guess.”

  “Is that all you came here to ask me, Damien?�
� Squalt asked. He scratched the side of his head absently. “Because if it was, then your hermit's lifestyle has affected you too much. You could have always just sent a message to check on the boy.”

  “You know damn well that's not the reason I came.”

  “Then out with it, old man,” Squalt said sharply. “I don't have all day.”

  Damien glanced at Nary and said, “I'm sorry.” She looked puzzled. “I've been writing lately, Gilbert.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You see, in the village I lived in back in Ternia, I was a storyteller. I didn't socialize much, but on special occasions and events and for festivals, I told stories. I figure that I've seen enough that the least I can do is spin a yarn that the young kids want to listen to and that the adults have to wonder about.”

  “Interesting stuff,” Squalt said. He raised his eyebrows and shut his eyes at the same time. He faked a yawn. “Go on.”

  “I planned to,” Damien said. “Somewhere in there, I got the crazy idea that I needed to tell another story. This time, a true story. Of how all this happened.”

  “How all of what happened?” Nary asked.

  “All of this. Everything we know, really. Ennd's. The technology we take for granted that was just miraculously left to us by the,” he whispered, “technomages.” He turned his attention back to Headmaster Squalt. “So I set out to write it all down. All of it, mind you. The truth.”

  “And who would believe you?” Squalt mocked. “The technomages are legends, and Erlonian society has functioned the way it has for thousands of years. You would come across as just another conspiracy nut. Or worse, a religious weirdo.”

  “There is that possibility,” Damien conceded. “But there was also the possibility of people finally having the truth and knowing what to do with it.” Damien leaned back and extended his arms across the back of the couch. “Either way, I started to write it down. Just a little at first, but since you took my boy, I had the inclination to finish it out, say it right.”

  “And what does this have to do with me?” Squalt asked.

  “That's actually why I'm here. My home was recently broken into.”

  The room was silent.

  “And?” Squalt prodded.

  “And the only thing the intruders took after ransacking everything I own was this unfinished book.”

  “Well, that's just a shame,” said the headmaster.

  “Isn't it, though?” Damien retorted.

  “And what does that have to do with you being here?”

  “I want you to tell me who took my book and why.”

  Squalt laughed. It was an easy laugh, but Damien thought he heard some strain in it. Or maybe that was just his prejudice against the younger man. “I don’t know anything about your book, Damien.”

  “Don't lie to me, Gilbert.” He looked at Nary Thralls, whose expression was somewhere between interested and frightened. She smiled, and the edges of her mouth barely curled upward. She blinked hard a few times as she looked back and forth between the men. “You know more than you're letting on,” he said.

  “I don't! Why would I know anything about someone stealing a book from your house?”

  “I don't know. But I heard them speaking our language, so I’m sure you could—”

  “This is ludicrous,” Squalt said, standing. “If you'll excuse me—”

  “Sit. Down,” Damien said. Squalt actually felt the power Conjured in Damien Vennar’s voice, felt it echo in his chest. Squalt sat down, and Nary leaned back a little in her chair. “Gilbert, I'm going to ask you again: who took my book? And why did they take it?”

  “I really don't know, Damien.”

  “Gilbert,” Damien said, his voice even and measured, “I’m just an old man.”

  Squalt snorted a laugh.

  Damien continued, “I want to know why someone would break into my home, ransack my personal space, and then leave after only taking a single, unfinished book off of my shelf. You’re going to tell me, or things are going to get pretty ugly in here.”

  Squalt smiled. “Damien, if I knew anything, you know that I would be the first one to tell you. But I do not know anything. And Nary here certainly doesn't. She was just coming in to discuss a few students who failed her cooking courses in Phase II.”

  “I honestly regret that she got caught up with this,” Damien offered. “But it's too late to cry over that kind of coincidence. I've worked too hard and been through too much today. I am going to find out what's so important about me and my book.”

  Squalt laughed at that. A legitimate, heartfelt laugh that took both Damien and Nary by surprise. He said, “You should know by now that there is absolutely nothing important about you anymore. And your book, I'm sure, is equally uninspiring. You're a relic, Damien. You had your chance, and you gave it up. Now, I know you did good things—great things—once upon a time, but you gave it all up. I don’t know anything about your little storybook being stolen, but I do know that you caused me a great deal of trouble today.”

  “Glad I could be of service.”

  “I had been given reports that a visitor who claimed to be Swarley Dann's uncle kept trying to get the automated transport system to bring him to my office or the Library or something. And then when Uncle Dann could not get to where he wanted to go, his visitor’s pass disappeared. Coincidentally, right after that, our security drones were activated. I assumed they would take care of any problem. And yet, here you stand in my office.” The headmaster stood up, and Damien said nothing to stop him this time. Squalt went to his desk and tapped the screen on his tablet. “My newest report says that we’re down nearly half a dozen security golems, and that the Phase II corridors are…in need of repair. Ring any bells, Damien?”

  “Not a one, I’m afraid.”

  Squalt smacked his lips, “Then I think our business here is at an end, old friend. It seems we're at a stalemate, an impasse. We are both equally ignorant of the other’s problems, so what can happen now, but to part ways and keep in touch occasionally?”

  Damien cringed at the headmaster's melodrama. He was putting on a show because the cooking professor was here. Damien stood, too, but Nary remained seated. He walked behind her and said, “We do seem equally ignorant of one another these days, Gilbert.”

  That was when Nary Thralls started screaming. It was a high-pitched shriek that indicated terror more than pain. Damien’s face showed no hint of emotion. He just stared at Squalt.

  Golden light from the late afternoon sun shone through the windows, and it was tinted ever so slightly by the wooden shelves that lined the room. One window was perfectly aligned to shine light directly on the area where the three of them just sat, making it lightly glow with a hazy afternoon feeling of warmth. The effect was actually quite picturesque.

  In stark contrast, Damien’s right hand rested on Thralls’s neck. Black tendrils extended themselves out of his hands and wrapped around Nary Thrall’s neck. The blackness worked its way inside her body, and it slithered around her torso and face, crawling between her skin and the muscles beneath it.

  It took Squalt a moment to realize what was happening, but when he did, he shouted, “Let her go!”

  Damien scoffed. “No.” He waited a moment, then added, “Tell me who broke into my house and stole my book.”

  “I don't kn—”

  Nary Thralls screamed. Her cheek erupted as the black nanites burst out from under her skin. Blood speckled the arm of the chair. Damien looked at her and said, “Oh, please, Nary. It doesn't hurt that much.” She screamed in response. He looked back at Squalt. “Well, it doesn't.”

  “I don't know who stole your book, Damien,” Squalt said. “Let her go.”

  “I said no to that, already, Gilbert.” He turned his attention to Nary. “What’s about to happen, however, is going to hurt quite a bit.” Tears welled in her eyes and her mouth opened to scream, but Damien clamped his left hand down on it before she could. “Let's try this the quiet way first. What d
o you say?”

  She responded by blinking tears from her eyes and letting them run down Damien's hand. Squalt said, “Damien, why are you doing this?”

  “I need answers, Gilbert.”

  “And you're not likely to get any from Nary Thralls. She's as oblivious to all this as… old man, she didn't even know the Charons were real until a few minutes ago. You heard her.”

  “More's the pity,” Damien said. His whole right arm was pulsing now, the skin rippling as black tendrils of nanotechnology flowed from his body and out of the back of the hand he had attached to Nary Thralls' neck. She made a sound that would have been a shriek had he not been covering her mouth.

  Squalt watched as the culinary professor’s pale white skin darkened. Her cheeks and lips began to bulge, and her veins began to fill with nanites. Half of her face was filled with the tiny machines under Damien's control, and they were working their way up and down simultaneously. They poured from her nostrils and through his fingers, finding their way into her mouth. Damien removed his hand; it was no longer necessary to keep her silent. The nanites rushed into her throat and filled her airways and her mouth. Her neck expanded and throbbed as a solid layer of nanites separated her skin from her muscle. Tears rolled down her cheek and onto Damien’s hand.

  Her eyes looked back and forth between Damien and Squalt, and when they rested on the headmaster, he looked away when he saw the fear and pain in them. She was asking him for help, and he would do nothing.

  Damien saw their eyes meet and focused his concentration on the nanites in her throat. The nanites released her airways, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Then she did what Damien had hoped she would do: she screamed. It was louder than he had anticipated, and it made Squalt flinch.

  “You can help her, you know,” Damien said. “Just tell me who took my book. Tell me why those people would break into my house and take something from me. In fact, you can tell me how they knew I was writing it in the first place.”

  Squalt ignored him. “What I don't get, Damien, is that you were able to breach our security and do this,” he gestured at Nary, “but you weren't able to stop a few men from removing a single book from your home?”

  “My nanites were inactive,” Damien said.

  “Of course they were,” said Squalt, condescendingly.

  Nary's cries and weeping became louder. She stared at Squalt the whole time, urging him wordlessly to help her. Damien urged the nanites to coat her eyes.

  “I don't know who took your book, Damien,” Squalt continued. “Why don't you let her go and stop this?”

  “If you want me to let her go, then you'll tell me what I want to know. And you'll start within the next five seconds.”

  Squalt pursed his lips and sat down. He rested his elbows on the surface of his desk and steepled his fingers.

  At the end of the five seconds, Damien leaned down to Nary's ear and said, “I truly am sorry for this. If any gods truly exist, you'll be in a much nicer place than I ever will.”

  She cried harder. She screamed louder. Her airways were once again blocked by Damien’s nanites as they ramped up their expansion. Her once pale skin was now a dark shade of grey that was growing darker by the second. Her face, neck, and upper torso were bloated. Nary Thralls’s skin looked wrong, like a sweater that didn’t fit quite right. Her chest heaved as she tried to suck in air, but couldn’t. Every so often, Damien would open her throat, letting her inhale or exhale, but never both. Every exhalation was a raspy scream, and every inhalation was a gasp.

  Through it all, her tears never stopped. It only took a moment for Damien to finish what he had started.

  Damien recalled his nanites; they rushed back to his body, coating him entirely for a split second before soaking back into his flesh. He looked at the dead woman, then back at Squalt, who said nothing. Damien fixed both of his hands on either side of Nary's skull. He twisted and pulled up at the same time, pulling the skull free along with a few vertebrae with a wet snap-pop.

  He lobbed the professor's skull toward Squalt, and it landed on his desk and rolled toward the headmaster. He rose off his steepled fingers and elbows just in time for the disembodied head to fall directly into his lap.