Wrath of the Forgotten

by Aaron Hodges

  Erika swallowed. “Are you?”

  Nguyen grinned. “On the contrary, princess. I was hoping you might help me.”

  10

  The Soldier

  Adonis, what have you brought me?

  Adonis had dropped to his knees with the other Tangata, but now he stood.

  An anomaly, Matriarch, he replied, apparently making no efforts to shield his words from Lukys. This human possesses the ability to Speak, and to Hear.

  Is that so, human? Milky eyes turned on Lukys. You can Hear us?

  Lukys flinched—this time the Matriarch’s voice was far louder in his mind, as though all her will had suddenly focused upon him. The creature lifted its eyebrows at his reaction.

  So it’s true. Her attention returned to Adonis. An anomaly indeed. How did you make such a discovery?

  Chance, Matriarch, came Adonis’s response. He was broadcasting when we pursued the Anahera into human territory. He hesitated. She may have a connection with this human. She revealed herself trying to free him.

  Pieces fell into place in Lukys’s mind at Adonis’s words. The Anahera were the Tangata’s name for the Gods. His blood ran cold as he realised the truth. His first day on the frontier, the Tangata had attacked, slaying dozens and suffering heavy losses themselves. But that had also been the night Romaine had arrived with the injured Cara. He frowned, staring at Adonis. Did the Tangata really hate the Gods so much that they had pursued Cara across the river, even thrown away so many of their own lives for a chance to slay her?

  So the Anahera are finally returning to the world, the Matriarch mused. Perhaps there is hope yet. Her eyes shifted back to Lukys, and again the strength of her voice redoubled. Tell me, human, what interest do the Anahera have in humanity?

  Lukys’s skin crawled at the power of her words, though this time he thought he managed to keep the reaction from his face. Suppressing a shudder, he made to climb to his feet. A hand from Sophia stopped him until the Matriarch nodded her permission.

  “The Goddess is a friend to my people,” he said out loud, the words echoing in the silent chamber, “and she will come for us.”

  Laughter rasped around the room as the Matriarch shuffled to the edge of the dais. Goddess? A smile curled her lips. Yes, of course, humans are such superstitious creatures.

  There was a flicker of movement, and suddenly the Matriarch was leaping forward, clearing the pool of water in a single bound and landing beside Lukys. He cried out and tried to retreat, but a wrinkled hand caught him by the shirt and dragged him back.

  Tell me, human, are you truly a friend to the Anahera?

  “I…” Lukys swallowed, suddenly finding himself trapped in that awful gaze, in those bleached white eyes.

  Words abandoned him, but images flickered through his mind, memories of Fogmore, of time spent with Cara and Travis and Romaine. Good times, gone now, swept away by the madness of the Archivist’s expedition.

  So you speak the truth, the Matriarch murmured, and Lukys shuddered as he realised she had seen the memories. Then she sighed, and released him. Still, it must be a faint hope that she would come to this place of her enemies.

  Lukys swallowed as she swung away from him, his entire body trembling. Had she simply read his mind, or had he been broadcasting those memories? Swallowing, he forced the fears away. He had to be strong.

  “What do you want with us?” he asked, taking a step towards her.

  A hand caught him before he could take another. He muffled a curse as Sophia dragged him back to where the other Tangata stood, though the Matriarch paid him no attention now.

  I understand there are other humans without, Adonis? she asked, moving to stand before him.

  Yes, Matriarch, he replied. We brought fifteen for assignment.

  So many, the Matriarch mused. And have you chosen one of your own?

  Adonis hesitated, but finally he shook his head. Lukys frowned at the exchange, but the Matriarch continued.

  You are of the third generation, Adonis, she reproached him. The last of my true progeny. You cannot delay forever, however distasteful you consider the chore. Then she sighed and waved a hand. But let that be a matter for another day. Tell me, how did so many come into your possession?

  Adonis’s eyes flickered to where Lukys stood before returning to the Matriarch. The humans led an expedition into our territory, he said, his mental voice dropping to a murmur.

  An expedition? To what ends?

  Adonis swallowed visibly. They had discovered another of our Birthing Grounds. Thankfully, the human’s broadcasts forewarned us. We arrived first.

  Good. Perhaps now the humans will respect our territory, she paused. And what did you discover there?

  The Old Ones, Matriarch, he whispered.

  His words were met with a stunned silence. Watching the Matriarch’s face, Lukys thought he glimpsed something there…of wonder, or hope? The thought sent a tremor down his spine as he remembered the creatures Adonis spoke of, the so-called “Old Ones.” He could still recall the madness in their eyes, the bloodlust. They had slain even the Tangata that had woken them.

  Suddenly he realised that words were no longer flowing through his mind, and looking up he saw the eyes of Adonis and the Matriarch on him. Adonis licked his lips, glancing uncertainly at his leader.

  The human is right, he said finally. The centuries had destroyed their minds. We fled before the creatures killed us all.

  Is that so? The Matriarch took a step towards Lukys, her eyes boring into him once more. And how did the humans know where to look for this Birthing Ground?

  We do not know, Matriarch, Adonis replied.

  The milky eyes did not leave Lukys. Well, human?

  Lukys shivered, an image of the Archivist’s map rising unbidden in his mind. Desperately he tried to press it back down, to hide it away. Laughter rasped from the aged creature as she stepped closer.

  He resists me. Her whispers reverberated through Lukys’s mind. Let us see your strength then, human.

  A sudden, searing pain blinded Lukys at her words. In that instant, he felt as though his very being were being washed away, and in the distance he heard a voice crying out, agony ringing in his ears. The strength went from his legs and he sank to the ground. For a second the cold stones offered relief—but then another wave broke upon his soul, and the map he had glimpsed just once sprang to life in his mind.

  Coloured lines and stars and circles appeared before his inner eyes, each depicting some real-life feature of the world in which they lived—mountains and forests and rivers and so much more. Inevitably his eyes were drawn to a scattering of scarlet stars spread throughout the kingdoms. The ancient sites of the Gods, what the Tangata had called their Birthing Grounds.

  Lukys’s pain vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Letting out a cry of relief, he slumped against the ground, sobbing softly into the granite floor. He knew, in that moment he had betrayed his people. The secrets of that map were important in a way none of them had ever realised, not until they’d stepped foot in those dark tunnels and discovered the Old Ones waiting.

  Ahhh, so there is a map! Despite his misery, Lukys could not keep out the words of the Matriarch. It shows all of our Birthing Grounds, even those long forgotten.

  There are others? Adonis asked, his mental voice betraying his excitement.

  Several… Lukys looked up as the Matriarch hesitated, and saw a frown creasing her face. Even…could it be…the home of the Anahera?

  Truly? Adonis hissed. Then there is a chance—

  No, the Matriarch interrupted. I have seen your memories; our people are not prepared for a confrontation with the Anahera, not yet.

  Then let us forge an accord! Adonis cried. Surely they must understand our plight—

  Guard your thoughts, Adonis, the Matriarch interrupted, flicking a glance at Lukys. Adonis swallowed visibly at the creature’s admonishment, and Lukys wondered what he had been about to reveal. After a moment, the Matriarch went on: No, the
risk is too great. The Anahera are as likely to slaughter us as treat with us. But…there is another Birthing Ground yet to uncover. Perhaps…

  Matriarch…is that wise?

  An icy feeling spread through Lukys’s gut—fear. But not his own. Images flickered through his mind as he stared at Adonis, of bloodshed and death and vicious creatures screaming in the darkness. Adonis too feared the Old Ones.

  We must take the risk, she said, dismissing his objections. Go, Adonis. If you will not take an assignment, then this is your task. Take five of our finest warrior pairs and find this final Birthing Ground. If the Old Ones slumber there, wake them, and do your best to bring them back to us.

  The map welled in Lukys’s mind again, but this time it came not from him, but the Matriarch—she was projecting it to Adonis. He found his focus drawn to one of the scarlet stars he’d paid little attention to. There, far in the south, deep in the ancestral lands of the Tangata, on an island not far off the coast.

  “No,” he whispered, finally struggling to rise. His heart hammered in his chest and he held out a hand. “No, you can’t, those creatures, they’re insane!”

  But it was already too late, as Adonis bowed his head and left the chamber. Alone before the Matriarch, he swallowed as her eyes fixed back on him.

  We do as we must, human, she spoke into his mind.

  You can’t control them, Lukys replied, so desperate now that he cast the thought at her, and all the memories of bloodshed and death he had taken from that dark place beneath the earth. They’ll kill us all.

  The Matriarch remained unbending. So be it, came her reply. Better the world burn than have my children go whimpering into extinction.

  Lukys shook his head, wishing he could somehow convince this strange creature, but already she seemed to have dismissed him. Then movement came from alongside him. He looked around in time to see Sophia approaching. He’d almost forgotten she was there.

  Matriarch? she murmured, her head bowing slightly in deferment.

  The Matriarch started at her words, seemingly surprised at her interference. Yes, my child?

  I wish to claim my assignment.

  The Matriarch’s frown deepened and the pale eyes looked Sophia up and down. You are of the fifth generation? She paused, only going on when Sophia nodded. You are still young, child. There may be time for you yet.

  My partner was slain, Sophia replied. Suddenly her grey eyes fixed on Lukys. His blood ran cold as she continued: Slain by this human.

  Blood pulsed in his ears and he longed to flee. But there was nowhere for him to run, nowhere he could escape Sophia’s gaze. So instead he stood fixed in place, knees trembling, and waited for his fate to be decided.

  Ahhh, the Matriarch murmured, joining Sophia now. Are you sure, my child?

  Yes, Sophia replied, turning again to Lukys. The human slew many of my generation. He will be a good assignment.

  There was a long pause before the Matriarch spoke again, and all the while her eyes watched Lukys. He could feel them drilling into his soul, the touch of her mind upon his, and finally he was forced to look away.

  Very well, my child, the Matriarch said finally. He is yours—though beware, the Anahera may yet come for him.

  Then we will deal with her, Sophia replied, bowing her head deferentially. Thank you, Matriarch.

  Lukys swallowed as footsteps approached. Fear and anger warred within him as Sophia moved forward. He would not be made a slave, would not surrender to these creatures, his will crushed so he only served them. Silently he steeled himself.

  Then his eyes met Sophia’s, and he felt something brush against his mind. His emotions faded as she stepped up before him, grey eyes piercing him just as the Matriarch’s had. The resolve he’d felt just moments before drained away like a plug had been pulled in his core. And her voice whispered in his mind.

  Now you truly are mine, Lukys.

  11

  The Fallen

  Standing atop the river terrace, Romaine let out a long breath as he looked across at the Illmoor Fortress. Curtain walls of stark granite swept out from the cliffs, the blocks seeming more an extension of the mountains themselves than a manmade structure. Watch towers marked the ramparts at intervals, their twisted rooftops flying the yellow of Gemaho.

  Their approach would have been noted days ago and now hundreds of soldiers stood atop those walls, armour shining in the noon sun. Looking on the men and women who opposed them, Romaine was reminded again of the madness of it all, that humanity should war upon itself while the Tangata still threatened their very existence. Not that he would be involved in much of the fighting. He had been training in the sword with Lorene and his injuries were healing well, but he would be little use in a pitched battle.

  Pushing the thought aside, Romaine continued his appraisal of the enemy fortress. Away to the right, the waters of the Illmoor River had narrowed until they were just half a mile wide. The currents rushed between the twisted peaks of the Mountains of the Gods—and beneath the broad walls of the fortress. An incredible feat of engineering had erected a bridge of stone above the rushing waters as an extension of the curtain walls. Iron grates between the support pillars prevented the passage of ship or swimmers, and could be raised during storms or to allow debris to be removed. Only in the centre of the river were ships allowed to pass through a giant portcullis—at least during peacetimes.

  The walls continued on the southern banks of the river, ensuring none could pass unnoticed into the lands of Gemaho. Other than the water portcullis, the only way through was the land gate—massive doors of heavy oak bolted by steel. Without ships for an aquatic assault, it was there that the queen would launch her attack.

  Silently, Romaine turned his gaze to the floodplains before the fortress, where the queen’s army had formed up, shields and spear tips glinting in the noonday sun. Behind the formation, others were hard at work preparing the camp fortifications. Romaine was again impressed by the speed at which they were securing the position. Unlike some of the irregulars he’d fought alongside on the frontier, the Queen’s Guard were professional soldiers, and each knew his role.

  Dozens had already paced out a perimeter for the camp and were now directing men with shovels where to prepare the defensive ditch. Others were preparing latrines downwind from the main camp, while still more went about setting the tents and organising the now-empty supply wagons into a second defensive perimeter. All the while, a squadron of archers stood in reserve.

  Within an hour the camp would be set. Shaking his head, Romaine spurred his horse down the hill in search of the queen.

  He found her amongst the soldiers standing in formation, her banner fluttering overhead, as though daring the Gemaho forces to attack. Sitting on her great destrier, garbed in the scarlet armour of the Flumeeren royalty, Romaine could imagine for a moment how it must have looked when she had led the charge against the Tangata in the disastrous southern campaign.

  A smile lit her face as she turned and saw his approach. “Calafe, we’ve been waiting for you. Are you ready?”

  Romaine frowned as he drew his horse to a stop alongside the queen. On her other side, Yasin grinned, though the gesture was mocking. Ignoring the silent taunt, Romaine rested his hand on the pommel of his saddle.

  “Ready for what?”

  “There is to be a truce for discussion. I plan to demand the Goddess’s return. Given your affiliation with her Divinity, I thought you might wish to attend the meet.”

  Romaine hesitated, flicking a glance at the towering walls, but there didn’t seem to be any activity atop the ramparts to indicate an attack was eminent. So instead he nodded, and the queen kicked her horse forward. Romaine followed. The ranks of scarlet soldiers split ahead of them, while a squadron of guards formed up behind the queen’s delegation. Leaving behind the shelter of her army, they rode some hundred yards towards the fortress before pulling their horses to a stop. There they waited.

  It wasn’t long before the gates to the fo
rtress creaked open to emit a column of riders. The queen’s soldiers tensed, but Romaine was thankful to see their opposites numbered the same as their own party. They approached at a slow trot, finally drawing up a dozen yards from the queen and Romaine.

  “King Nguyen,” the queen said as one of the riders heeled his horse forward a step. “I had not expected you to welcome me personally to your kingdom.”

  A grin appeared on the rider’s face and still in the saddle, he offered a mocking bow. “Of course, my lady,” Nguyen replied. “When I learned of your movements I made for the Illmoor with all haste. I would be a poor king indeed if I did not offer greeting to a neighbour who comes to visit.”

  “Ay, poor indeed,” the queen said, her voice as frigid as the snow-capped peaks towering above. “Though no more poorly than sending thieves behind a neighbour’s back.”

  “Thieves, my lady?” the king said, feigning horror. “What has become of the world that such suspicions enter between friends?”

  “The Gemaho have not been friends to Flumeer for a decade,” the queen snapped.

  She edged her horse forward and the soldiers behind the king reached for their swords. One, though, flinched at the queen’s advance. Romaine frowned as he looked past the king to the soldier…

  …only the rider wasn’t a soldier at all. It was Erika, the queen’s former Archivist. The one who had taken Cara.

  “You!” he hissed, pointing a finger at the woman. He kicked his horse forward, but several of the king’s soldiers drew between him and the opposing party. Teeth bared, Romaine bellowed a challenge. “What have you done with Cara?”

  Blood hammered in his ears as he looked past the soldiers at Erika. The Archivist’s face had grown pale at his challenge, but now her features smoothed as she quickly masked her emotions. Nearby, the king smiled.

  “Ah, so I see you have met my new Archivist,” he said with a laugh.

  Watching at Erika sitting amongst the Gemaho, Romaine felt himself a fool. She had convinced him to trust her, to believe she was the long-lost princess of Calafe, but it had all been a ploy, a way to escape the clutches of the queen.