A Thousand Eyes
Christian Leese
Published: 2018
ISBN: 978-1-62210-455-0
Published by Blue Swan Publishing. Copyright © 2018, Christian Leese.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Manufactured in the USA
Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Blue Swan Publishing or Ten West Publishing.
Blurb
When Canis Rayne is unwillingly sent to collect a Scourge sample—a parasitic horde—from beyond the city walls to further his master’s experiments, he becomes a vessel through which they attack the city. His insane master, Mortalo, is killed by the Scourge, and they conspire to dominate Canis and turn him into the dead tyrant. He must rely on his brother, Vann Xan, and their friend, Beatrix Thorne, to keep his mind from collapsing.
To stand against the enemy means the sacrifice of his body, brother, and life. Canis becomes one with the parasite inside him; a destructive force of clouded allegiance that even his closest friends conspire to destroy.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to Katie. You saved my life, and you inspire me every day to keep going. You are my reason.
Chapter 1
Human fat makes for the worst candles, thought Mortalo as he struck the flint. The flame grew, bleeding light into a damp-riddled room. He swallowed hard, his eye twitching, as the chittering cries of the Scourge continued to torment him. My children, however twisted, deserve more than this.
He grabbed the journal hanging from his belt and slammed its bulk onto the table. The paper, crafted from the skin of the dead, was rough under his ink-stained finger. He scanned through and stopped on a name—Canis Rayne.
Mortalo strode out of the room, the candlelight giving way to the dark of the citadel. Water dripped from the ceiling, wires hanging down from where lights used to be. The pulsating hum of the city’s mechanical heart vibrated through the stone building, mocking him as it churned the souls of the dead into energy.
A scream echoed through his halls. He tried to remember what he had done to whom or what, but the distant groans of the Scourge kept forcing their way to the forefront of his mind. He needed to see if the streets were safe, to see if the Scourge-freaks had managed to find their way in to the city. I’m not ready, he thought, not yet.
He passed barred windows, ascended the stone steps to what used to be his roof, and peered into the gloom of day. Specks of light penetrated the dome-like mesh of thorns that had outgrown the city of Blackrose after centuries of isolation. Drifting between the overgrowth and into the sky, the green souls of the dead glowed.
He peered over the city and placed his arm around his homemade scarecrow. A spike caked in dry blood held the body erect. He looked to the south wall where The Herald’s Ravine cut through, allowing water to flow. Wardens—automatons—guarded it, though, and the surrounding land was a graveyard of failed escapes.
“We’ll set these people free, Edwin,” said Mortalo, looking into the scarecrow’s drooping face.
“Madness,” someone said out of the darkness.
Mortalo turned. He darted a glance at Edwin, but his eyes soon found their target. “Teller, what’re you doing up here?”
Teller Redmaw emerged from the shadows. “Canis hasn’t moved for hours.”
Mortalo nodded and his heart steadied itself as his slave scuttled off. He snatched at the journal hanging from his belt—Teller looking weak,Mortalo wrote, his body thin, but his mouth brave. I’ll have to increase his dose of fluids, maybe a blood transfusion. I’ll see how further tests to Canis Rayne go before deciding what will b—The ink dried before he could make any more notes. He threw the quill onto the floor.
“Teller! I need another quill, Teller!” His voice was like thunder in the night air.
He scanned previous notes. Cell four. I’m coming, Canis. He flicked a maggot from his hooded robe and, after one more glance at the city, descended into his citadel. The stairway opened onto a narrow hall with sealed chambers on either side, numbers scratched into the stone above.
CHAMBER ONE—a limb graft had died during the night. Its new bionic arms had peeled off and swung from the restraints.
CHAMBER TWO—in its death throes, having rejected the solution of distilled asp-tongue mold Mortalo had replaced the better part of her blood with.
CHAMBER THREE—a slave had dissolved like flour in the rain. Teller will have to clean that.
CHAMBER FOUR—he pushed open the door and adjusted his robe to block the frigid air rushing out; his ice-chamber was working as it should. Frost clung to the stone walls and the icy cloak of nature latched onto his skin.
“Canis,” Mortalo called, his breath visible.
Nothing stirred. He took a few steps in. Canis was slumped against the far wall. The boy’s torso had gone black in some spots from the night of cold exposure. Canis’ long brown dreadlocks were frozen, framing a youthful face that was in direct contrast to his deformed body.
“Canis,” he repeated, thinking he was dead.
After all you’ve survived, it was one night of cold. Dammit, boy! He rummaged for the quill, forgetting he had thrown it away, when Canis coughed. Mortalo jumped at the start, his heart beating with an excited flutter.
“Canis,” he called again, deeper, more commanding.
The boy breathed, shallow but steady, yet no response. A wisp of green smoke trickled out of Canis’ nose. Mortalo didn’t know if it was the boy’s soul escaping or the ether he had injected.
Mortalo stomped over and struck him across the face. “I’m speaking to you!”
Round, light blue eyes looked at him.
“My boy,” Mortalo said with a smile, crouching to eye level. “You know I don’t like having to hurt you, but if you would just listen to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Canis managed to say, his lips the same color as his eyes. He shivered, a mass of contracting muscle and metal, each crease of skin an open wound.
“Stand.”
Canis tried. His legs shook, and he was hunched over. Mortalo glared at him, and the boy straightened, the vertebra crunching into place. Canis looked at the floor as Mortalo inspected him. Heavy damage to the skin, but nothing more. I’m getting close. I have to be.
Canis hugged himself. “D-Did I do good?” he stuttered.
“You did well. I’m proud of you.”
Canis stared at him, eyes wide. Mortalo undid his restraints, then set the braziers alight with a torch from the hall. Canis stayed in place, his head down, as the wind shuttered against the thick walls and whistled through the hairline cracks. The braziers burned bright enough to ward off anything hiding in the shadows. The room started to thaw, air relaxing and warming with each passing second.
Mortalo scanned through the previous night’s illustrations in his journal—body grafts, limb transplants, augmentations, makeshift piles of flesh with no discernible shape, sheet after sheet of formulas and ingredients, and lineage charts, mapping generations of his slaves and their parents, keeping track of the most desirable qualities and forcing them down the line from estranged brother-parent to unknown nephew-child. There was a blurred line between guesswork and genetics, bionics and pain, slave and madman, but some gems like Canis Rayne remained out of comprehension,
his ability to heal, to survive the most draining of experiments, causing years of confusion. And this might be the culmination of it all. We’ll see soon enough. I’m their savior, their father, and I can be father to the world.
Canis stood without a word, shivering and his muscles tense.
“What’re you staring at?” Mortalo asked. “Speak.”
“Is Vann okay? Is he still alive?”
“Who?”
“Vann.”
“Ahh, Vann Xan.” Mortalo flicked back a few pages. “Actually, he’s still with us, last time I checked. We almost lost him yesterday, though. Not like you, dear Canis. Perhaps, one day, Blackrose’s savior.”
Canis smiled at the praise.
Mortalo pulled a handful of dried mushrooms from his pocket and extended his hand. Canis’ gaze fixed on them and his master saw the anticipation as the man-boy’s mouth opened, licking scabbed lips in dry quivers.
“Your mooncap for the evening.”
Canis grabbed the fungus and chewed. He retreated into the corner Mortalo had found him in and slumped into submission. The ice in his dreadlocks had begun to melt, streams of water trickling down his face. His pupils grew and his breathing picked up. He rocked back and forth in a ball, picking scabs, muttering gibberish whilst twisting his mouth into uncontrollable and exaggerated shapes. Mooncap was good for controlling their inbred rage, but better for escaping reality.
Mortalo smiled. “That’s a good boy.”
Chapter 2
Canis Rayne fought the rage building inside. His teeth chipped at the edges and his face swelled with blood. He looked at the room through a red haze, his vision blurring between reality and projected emotion.
Tears welled as he remembered the vague image of his mother. His life had been a nightmare of hallucinations since he and his brother, Vann Xan, had been caught, not that he could remember anything different, just flashes of gaunt faces and fleeting love, smiles one moment and pain the next.
Canis clawed his face.
A white flash of light burst into his vision. Then another—his urge to rip heads from bodies gone. Faint lustre from outside bathed the room and, as his head hit the floor, he saw Mortalo standing over him, his godly silhouette unmistakable.
“You fool,” said Mortalo.
Mortalo didn’t explain any further and grabbed Canis by the hair, yanking him from the cell. Flames from torches flickered above, blurring everything in harsh light. Bits of skin tore off as his naked body was dragged through the halls. He couldn’t prevent the scream frothing in his throat.
They came to a room. An iron bath stood in the middle. Canis tried to remember if he had been there before. Mortalo lifted him to his feet. Still unsure of what was happening, unable to gather a sense of himself, Canis put his trust in Mortalo and didn’t fight.
A force hit him in the back and he tumbled headlong into the bath. The fluid spilled over the sides. Canis cursed himself for making a mess, but the instant relief the liquid brought left little room for regret. He gripped the side and whipped his wet dreadlocks back. The burning evaporated, and his vision sharpened. He saw the rust on the tub; his hands orange after clutching the edge for balance. Like milk laced with potent mooncap, the fluid stroked his ravaged skin. He looked to Mortalo, expecting the same look of bliss, but his master’s face was grim, a thick layer of powder hiding any emotion. Shadows gave depth to the old man’s features.
Mortalo grabbed him by the hair again and ripped him out of the bath. Canis fell to his knees, and Mortalo pressed a walking stick under the boy’s chin. Steam rose from him. “Get up, Canis,” said Mortalo. “Here, let me help you.”
Canis hesitated. “Thank you, master.”
“Follow me.”
A fierce pride emerged inside Canis and tears formed. His bruised manhood stood erect. He followed Mortalo, hoping his master wouldn’t turn around, still getting used to his developing body, not sure if it was normal.
Mortalo stopped. Canis cowered and his cheeks went red hot. Mortalo grunted and motioned for him to enter the room to their left. Lined on the walls were combat shields and armor. Lots of weapons, many weapons. He managed one step into the room before he was rooted in awe.
“Pick a blade,” said Mortalo.
“I don’t understand,” said Canis, trying to scan everything at once, Mortalo at his back.
“Pick a weapon, clothe yourself. It’s your turn to leave the city.”
“I don’t think I’m ready.”
“You’re a man now, Canis, a beast,” Mortalo grabbed Canis’ wet biceps from behind and squeezed. “And the world will see you as such.”
“But…”
“Don’t concern yourself. Just return to me alive. Prove to me that the years of tests and experiments haven’t been wasted. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Of course they haven’t. You’re the King of Demons. A great man!”
“Either a great man or a great fool. Time has yet to set my title. Here, let me show you.”
Mortalo stepped around Canis and unhooked a set of carapace armor. It looked tough and thick, dotted with scars and freckles. Canis stood stiff, unable to move as his master first placed the bracers on his forearms. He knew it was made from the skin of dead slaves and failed experiments, but to have his own clothes was more than he had ever wanted. The bulk of his arms squeezed in.
Mortalo dressed him, strapping on each section, and motioned for him to turn around. Mortalo smiled and pinned a black hooded cloak around Canis’ neck. The material itched on parts of his skin the armor didn’t cover, but it was his now, a cloak of his own, armor of his own. One day, if he was the perfect slave, he might be able to dress like Mortalo.
Mortalo tried to pick a weapon for Canis, but they either broke or stayed wedged in the ancient racks. At the far end glowed a green axe, its blades forming a circle, its edge a creator of fear. Tubes filtered across from the handle, small sparks dancing over the metal. He couldn’t take his gaze off it.
“The Imperium made that before the Scourge took over,” said Mortalo. “This one is called the Butcher’s Cleaver. Powered by pure ether mined from the souls of the dead. You’re lucky to even gaze upon it, boy.”
“The Butcher’s Cleaver,” Canis whispered. “Are there more?”
“Several in Blackrose, but they’re made like the Wardens with metal and ether, not something that can be replaced, and so are not easily obtained.”
“I want one.”
“You are Blackrose’s weapon, my weapon, and you won’t have to rely on the forgotten technology of the Imperium.”
“I will stop the Scourge!” said Canis.
“Yes, you will. Pick a different blade. We only have until the clock tower rings before the Wardens start the next patrol. Pick one. Now!”
Canis dragged his gaze from the Butcher’s Cleaver and spotted a two-handed sword. It looked heavy, unbalanced, and as blunt as the stone beneath his feet.
“That one,” said Canis, pointing to the old combat sword.
Mortalo shrugged and carried it to him. It was already in its sheath, and Mortalo tied it to Canis’ back. His master gathered the powered axe for himself, the cleaver more of an extension than a tool, its wielder more demon than butcher.
“Follow,” said Mortalo with a wink as he left the room and, like so many times before, Canis scuttled at his heels.
“Will you guide me?” asked Canis as they navigated through the halls of Mortalo’s citadel.
“Only as far as the city walls,” Mortalo said. “I need to make sure the Wardens don’t hack you apart or the vermin on the streets rob you. If you’re going to cross the different Companies of the city, you’ll need me.”
“They can try.”
“People will have sold your organs long before you feel the blade slicing you open. Don’t trust anyone, Canis. If you do survive the night, survive the Scourge outside Blackrose, then you must return to me. I need you alive.”<
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“I won’t let you down,” said Canis as they stopped on the ground level.
He felt the cold from under the main doors of the citadel, the rain knocking hard. They were bolted from the inside, the dark wood hidden by the metal latches and analog computers that kept them safe. Teller Redmaw limped into view with three head-sized bags. He passed them to Mortalo who tied them to Canis’ belt.
Mortalo pointed to the satchels. “Mooncap, food, and a med kit. Everything a healthy inbred swine like you could ask for.”
“Thank you!” said Canis, patting them.
“Are you ready?”
Canis nodded, but his stomach contracted. Teller emerged from the shadows, as he always did, and unlocked the doors, having to stand on his tiptoes to undo the highest locks before limping to the terminal.
Mortalo put his hood up before slipping out of the citadel.
Canis followed, donning his own hood. Rain gushed from the sky. They sped past an iron gate and an ancient tree. A crow disappeared into the dark of a waterlogged passage. His leather-bound feet squelched in the mud as he mimicked Mortalo’s bent-over run. The air was heavy with filth, and it reminded him of his cell; the odor created when blood and scat mixed together.
Canis glanced back. They were alone, with only the distant outline of the citadel visible as fog and rain engulfed it. He heard the loud clunks of the doors as Teller locked up behind them.
They darted from one street to the next, water splashing the backs of their legs. The cobbles beneath his feet were uneven and sparse.
Canis looked to the sky—was it night or day? He couldn’t tell as the cloud of tormented souls, still human in shape, floated high above. Everything was dim; the city, a canvas of dull green. Then he saw the white eye of the moon. He shivered.
Each street grew narrower, his shoulder knocking against protruding stone, his hands scraping against jagged edges. A faint light radiated from around the next corner. Mortalo placed a strong hand on Canis’ chest whilst his other gripped the hilt of his axe. They retreated into the shadows.
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