Riddick nodded tersely. He still maintained his grip, but loosely. “I’ve seen it. Too often.”
“My alternative was to bend to the Necromonger way, or to die,” the Purifier continued. “Not much of a choice. If Vaako reports you dead, you have a better choice—and that’s a powerful thing.”
His fingers opened, and the unearthly blade dropped to the ground. As Riddick’s clutching fingers relaxed, the Purifier stepped out of the big man’s grasp and around him, heading for the open hangar portal. Riddick watched him go, saying nothing, making no move either physically or verbally to intercept the man who had saved his life. It was what he wanted, or he wouldn’t be doing it. Atonement, perhaps. A solitary expression of regret. Or maybe the man who had been Furyan and had become the Purifier was simply tired.
Stepping out into the ferocious glare of direct sunlight, he soon started to smoke. Flames, small at first, then curling larger, began to erupt from his head, his arms, and all other exposed skin. As he walked, he talked, conversing with himself as he had been and as he was now.
The last words Riddick heard him speak were, “If only I could still feel the pain. . . .” Then he crumbled to his knees, and the flames and sunshine consumed him utterly: by his own hand, the Purifier had been purified.
Riddick watched him burn until white bone began to show. Then he bent and picked up the dagger. It was cold in his fingers, maybe as cold as the UnderVerse itself. Turning, he started silently toward the merc ship.
XVI
From space, Helion Prime looked no different. Clouds continued to form and scatter, waves continued to break on its shores, flora still reached for the sun while native fauna crept through the depths of its forests. Only in the cities and the places altered by man was change noticeable. Here and there fighting still raged as remnant government forces continued to contest the uncompromising Necromonger onslaught. But with the major centers of population now brought under control, it was only a matter of time before the last pockets of resistance were subdued and the planet added to the growing list of those that had been brought under the sway of Necropolis.
Within the Basilica, it was a time of celebration. In keeping with Necromonger tradition, there were no flaring banners, no blaring bands. Like everything else in Necromonger society, salutation was a matter of solemnity.
Vaako stood tall as the new cloak of rank was draped across his shoulders and new ceremonial armor was fitted to his existing undergarments. Burnished and glowing, it confirmed his promotion to the rank of commander general. Arrayed around him were his fellow commanders, their envy kept under control as strict as their posture. Standing nearby was a singular female figure. To look at her, one might have thought it was Dame Vaako who was receiving the honors and not the commander himself. In a sense, it was.
The Lord Marshal beamed with satisfaction as he spoke to the newly anointed commander general. “I may have lost a Purifier, but I gain a First among commanders. The one is as valuable as the other, and the other can be replaced. It’s overdue, isn’t it, that we acknowledge your many accomplishments in the service of the Faith, your steady ethic, and above all, your unflinching loyalty.” He smiled, and for once, it seemed to be an honest smile.
“I know how you felt about this expedition. That you believed it to be unnecessary and a waste of time. But you went, and carried out the task that was assigned to you. For this as much as for the success you achieved you are to be commended.”
Aware of all the eyes that were on him, Vaako stiffened. “Obedience without question. That is our way.”
The Lord Marshal nodded approvingly. “Well done, Vaako. This is a day of days, to be remembered by all who have witnessed it. Again, my congratulations.”
With that, he turned and departed, leaving Vaako to be congratulated—sometimes honestly, sometimes grudgingly—by his fellow commanders. One by one, they filed past to pay their respects.
“First and always, Vaako . . . Whatever He ordains is so . . . Death in due time come to us all. . . .”
When the last of the senior officers had left the room, only two remained—and of them, only Vaako seemed unimpressed by his own success.
Sensing his disenchantment, his companion strove to buoy his spirits. As always, Dame Vaako spoke as eloquently with her body and her eyes as she did with her voice.
“Try to look more pleased, Vaako,” she admonished. “You are promoted to commander general. No higher rank can be achieved short of Lord Marshal. What more could you desire from this episode, that began with such disagreement? You’ve laid to rest both his enemy and his suspicions.” She put a hand on his arm. “By so doing, you’ve acquired something more precious than mere rank. You’ve gained freedom.” Now she leaned closer and her voice fell to a whisper. “The freedom to move—in whatever direction you choose.”
Vaako only half heard her. Perfectionist to a fault, rather than enjoying his moment of triumph, he was still obsessing over what he had not done. Of course the breeder Riddick was dead. Vaako had left him dead following the peculiar and still unexplained incident that had also killed a number of his troops. Even if some small flicker of life had remained in the man, a few moments exposed to the raw sunshine of Crematoria would have been more than enough to reduce to ashes anything that remained. There was no reason to be second-guessing his actions. He’d been forced to move, and move fast, to save his own life and that of his surviving soldiers from the full force of the rising sun. It would not do for them to perish before due time.
Still . . .
“Should’ve brought back the head.”
Dame Vaako sighed wearily. No matter how hard she tried to bolster this man, it seemed he would be forever reconsidering his labors. She resigned herself to having to, once more, reassure him.
“You told me everything that transpired. I see no reason for your anxiety. You saw him go down. You saw him unbreathing. You saw him dead on the ground. You may not be able to explain everything that happened, but that does not matter. All that matters is the result, not the mechanism by which it was achieved. What is important is that he is dead, not how it came to pass.”
Vaako was shaking his head in remembered bewilderment, refusing to be so easily reassured. “I don’t like what I can’t understand.” He turned to her. “This Riddick, he was no common breeder. Something happened out there the like of which I have never encountered before, nor heard reported. As he himself went down, he dropped twenty of my team without raising a finger. No weapons, no gas; nothing. One moment they were advancing on him, and the next . . .” His voice trailed off, unable to find words to explain what he had seen.
Entirely prosaic, Dame Vaako shrugged off his confusion. “All mysteries are not miracles. Not even in this religion. I was not there, but I am sure there is a perfectly sound scientific explanation for what you witnessed. Provide the details to our analysts, and I have no doubt that they will supply one that satisfies even you, my worrying love.”
When he still did not appear convinced, she struggled to contain her frustration. “Come, come, Vaako; this doubt does not become the fleet’s newest commander general. You say that you saw him die, and left him dead. That is what matters. If you say you’re certain about it, then it is certain. And we’ve already said it, haven’t we?”
He nodded slowly, taking the full import of her words. “That we have.”
“And who would dare to contradict the word of a commander general recently anointed by Lord Marshal himself?” She turned coquettish, seeking to draw him away from depressing thoughts and back to the more festive present. “Now you must come with me, so that I can bestow upon you a promotion of my own devising.” Slipping her arm into his and smiling suggestively, she led him away from the chamber and toward their private quarters.
The special bonds were forged of much more than mere metal. Designed to hold a being who had the unnerving ability to move through the air without seeming to set foot to ground, they had been built to restrain anything short of
sheer aether.
Certainly they seemed to be doing an efficient job of holding in one place the Elemental known as Aereon. Like overlapping spiderwebs, the overkill of restraints kept her unceremoniously staked to the floor. Despite this, her bearing was of one patiently waiting for something rather than that of an individual in fear for her life.
She didn’t even bother to turn when the door to the holding room opened. She knew who it was. The man’s aura preceded him, poisoning the air ahead of his advance.
The Lord Marshal stopped directly in front of her. She could have turned away, but chose not to. She could have protested her treatment, but chose not to. Aereon was the very embodiment of the patience for which the Elementals were famed.
Unlike her, her visitor, however, was far less inclined to waste time in idle contemplation of his immediate surroundings.
“Tell me the report is true. Vaako was very confident. That is not the same thing as being utterly positive. Tell me the Furyan is gone and I can close this campaign without hearing his bootsteps.”
“Let me see.” Just the faintest hint of mockery tinged her response. “If he is dead, I sense I’m not far from the same fate, being of no further use to you. So, as a matter of self-preservation, shouldn’t I tell you that Riddick is still alive?”
Elementals and their elliptical responses were a pain to all who were forced to endure them, he thought. “Don’t try me, Aereon. I can plow you under with the rest of Helion Prime. Push me the wrong way and I’ll bury you so deep your precious air will never reach you.”
“Dear me,” she replied, her tone unchanged. “Then I’d best mind what I say, hadn’t I?” The mocking tone vanished and she became quite serious. “No one really knows the future. What people call clairvoyance is in reality nothing more than acute intuitive insight. Or a lucky guess. It is certainly not the infallible talent some claim. Inerrancy, Lord Marshal, is a fallacy to which only fools aspire.”
If she was speaking of those claiming to be clairvoyants, then she was answering his question. If she was using the subject under discussion to deliver a veiled warning, he ought to have her killed for insolence. Since he couldn’t be sure of either, he forbore from ordering the latter.
He tried another tack. “Very well. If you cannot foresee what is to come, and insist no one else can, either, then tell me the odds that Vaako met with success. That I’ll now be the one to carry my people across the Threshold and into the UnderVerse where they can begin True Life.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Surely you can do that for me, Aereon. Since, as you say, you people are always calculating. Tell me what I want to hear—and maybe I’ll save your home world. For last.”
Somewhat to his surprise, she didn’t hesitate. Nor did she attempt to dance around his query any longer. Eyeing him without flinching, or even without ran-cor, she murmured, “The odds are good.”
“‘The odds are good,’” he repeated irritably. “The odds are good—for what?”
“That you’ll reach the UnderVerse soon.”
He nodded understandingly and, apparently satisfied, turned to leave. He was partway down the access corridor when the alternate import of her response struck him. Turning, he glanced back the way he had come. Nothing was drifting down the corridor toward him, and the shadowed alcoves of the walkway remained devoid of flickering, dancing shapes. Only the shadows mocked him. Since he could not order their arrest and execution, he had no choice but to continue on, more unnerved than he would have cared to admit.
Having no equal, he was forced to debate with himself what to do. Helion Prime had not yet been completely subjugated. But it was badly weakened, and unlikely to offer serious resistance if attacked afresh. Vaako had been so certain, but still, still . . .
Standing at the railing allowed him a sweeping view over Necropolis. Now he turned abruptly, so abruptly that his move startled the officer standing behind him.
“Ascension protocol. Now. Relay the order throughout the fleet and to all ground units.”
Caught off guard by both the speed of the Lord Marshal’s turn and the nature of his request, the officer blinked uncertainly. “We still have numbers out there, Lord Marshal. Sweep teams, recon ships, mop-up squads that—”
Another man might have yelled in the officer’s face. Lord Marshal’s astral self snapped out furiously, slamming the unlucky officer across the room and into a wall, smashing his bones. The hesitant officer crumpled wordlessly to the floor, a broken heap. Without so much as a murmur of regret, the Necromonger’s supreme commander growled at the next officer in rank.
“Get my armada off the ground.”
The officer did not need to be told twice, nor did he think to question the inexplicable command. He had already seen what happened to someone who did. Indicating acquiescence, he took steps to issue the necessary orders.
Across the surface of Helion Prime, warships began to withdraw from sites they had been patrolling. Ongoing attacks were halted as vessel after vessel lifted and turned toward the rendezvous point near the capital. Foot soldiers raced for transports’ loading bays. Too dazed to celebrate, and worried that what they were witnessing might be nothing more than an elaborate feint, Helion’s surviving defenders were hesitant to emerge from their remaining redoubts. But their instruments marked the departure of both Necromonger ground troops and ships and their gathering in the skies above the capital. Was another massive demonstration of power to be forthcoming, or was something afoot that not even the most eclectic strategist could visualize?
In the ravaged capital itself, Necromonger officers and nobles congregated on the Basilica steps to observe the gathering of forces. While none knew the reason for the contraction, all had confidence in the decision-making ability of the Lord Marshal and his staff. Preparing some devastating surprise for the remaining stubborn resistance, no doubt. That was the general consensus.
Dame Vaako watched as columns of troops filed past the onlookers and into the Basilica itself. The flurry of activity was as puzzling as it had been unpredictable. Why were their forces withdrawing from the objective, when the final conquest of all Helion Prime loomed so near? Had the Helions unearthed some previously unsuspected deadly weapon, or been promised allies from out system? If so, she’d heard nothing of either, and there was little that escaped her notice.
So little that, as the Basilica steps themselves began to retract, her eye was caught by a profile. One profile in a sea of profiles, all rendered vague and distorted by helmets and visors.
She could have sounded a general alarm. But if she was wrong, and her admittedly slight suspicion was proven false, under the circumstances she could be charged with the serious offense of interfering with a mass evacuation. There were those within Necromonger society who would be more than happy to attend the punishment hearing that would follow. Before she said or did anything, she had to be certain that what she had glimpsed was more than just a disturbing memory impinging on a field of faces.
Forsaking her place, she drew her robes about her and hurried into the ship, moving fast as she labored to catch up to the officer she had seen. Unwilling to call for assistance until she knew for sure whether she was hallucinating or not, she was forced to push her way through the sea of soldiers and personnel that packed the Basilica’s main entrance. Where was he? In the ocean of armor, it was almost impossible to distinguish one soldier from another. But she persevered, wanting to be sure, needing to be sure—that she was wrong.
Then a set of inner doors began to close, separating soldiers from the rest of the vessel as they continued toward their quarters. Officer after officer turned in her direction as dim internal illumination took over from external sunshine.
Just before the inner doors shut tight, the pupils of one officer glinted with a singular flash.
Too stunned by the news to pace, object, or do more than gape uncomprehendingly at his companion, Vaako could only blurt, “You mean, ‘on Helion’?”
A handsome fool was still a fool, she told
herself heatedly, but this man was the best she could do. Berating him aloud would only be counterproductive. In the scheme of things, there was no alternative to the newly promoted commander general. She had too much invested in him to alienate him now.
They had been handed a shock. Well, she had dealt with difficult, unforeseen circumstances before. Many who had underestimated her resourcefulness and resolve had preceded her to the Threshold— prematurely. She was not about to let one man, whatever his abilities, send her on that untimely journey now.
“I mean on this very ship,” she snapped. “Right here, in the sanctuary of the Basilica itself.”
Though he had never had reason to doubt her before, Vaako found it hard to believe. Difficult enough to imagine anyone surviving direct exposure to the sun of Crematoria. To expect him to believe that Riddick had not only survived, but made it back to Helion Prime and onto the Basilica, was almost too much to envision. Yet no matter how strongly or sensibly he objected, she continued to insist that she had seen him here.
Presented with a seeming impossibility, he sought other explanations. “Could you be wrong? Could your mind just be fabricating what we fear? We have been under considerable stress lately; stress caused both by professional demands and personal expectations.” He moved closer to her, searching her face, meeting her gaze. “Could you be wrong?”
She saw that he did not want to accept an unpleasant reality. Well, he’d better find a way to accept it, and fast. Whatever Riddick had in mind, she doubted the breeder would wait long before putting it in play. They needed to be ready. For whatever might come.
The Chronicles of Riddick Page 23
