THE PATREANS HAD built an impressive makeshift fort out of improvised barricades atop one of the long bridges that spanned the two twisted halves of the city. Wagons, doors, crates, and bits of stone formed high defensible walls where archers could perch. Tents and bedrolls were being laid out in orderly rows.
Shannon sat on an empty barrel huddled under a blanket, watching through their eyes. They worked as a team, soldiers from both sides, securing a perimeter, gathering weapons, organizing into platoons. The bridge had no river below it, just an endless abyss. Providing nothing snatched her from the depths, it was as secure a place as any.
They were more effective when not under her direct control, but they seemed to accept, even welcome her ability. Like her brothers and sisters, she was strong in her own way. She coordinated through her web of shared senses, leading more of her siblings to the fort. And I thought I had a big family before.
A few of the soldiers jokingly called the bridge “Fort Shannon” as it was being built around her safety. The air about the encampment was serious but also one of excitement.
If any group of people would be excited about the potential end of the world, it was the Patreans. They had been preparing for centuries, maintaining caches and stockpiling arms.
Scarcely a minute went by that someone didn’t offer her water or bread or ask if she was injured. “I’m fine,” she said each time, thanking them and trying to remember their names. To outsiders, all Patreans looked alike, but they had a fine-tuned way of recognizing each other—the pattern of the iris was unique, something she had never noticed before. Now it was the first thing she saw when looking at someone.
A burly man who’d introduced himself as Titus approached her. “How are you holding up?” The others deferred to him because of the markings on his arms and neck. They were of a similar style to the runes that appeared on her skin, but more blocky and sharp edged.
Shannon smiled. “Everyone keeps asking me that. I’m fine.”
“You’re very important to us.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “These soldiers will die before we let anything happen to you. Do you even know why?”
“Because I’m one of you?” she asked.
“More than that,” he said. “You’re a new hope for our people—a Patrean who can use magic. This changes everything for us, Shannon. For centuries we’ve spilled our blood in their wars because it’s all we knew. That was our purpose. Fight and keep Creation safe. The High Command denied your existence. They took kids who were even slightly different and shipped them off to Fathers know where.
“Some of us are sick of that shit. We’re sick of being treated like second-class citizens by the people we die for, like we’re disposable. My mother and brothers were human. She raised me. As you can imagine, her husband was none too happy when she popped out a Fodder instead of a blue-eyed Turisian. They put me to hard labor on the farm, and when I got tired of being their mule, I enlisted. Didn’t care for it. Still don’t.”
Shannon frowned. “I always knew there was something more for me out there in the world. I just never imagined it would be this. We had security in House Ibazz, but I was always told they were nothing more than soulless livestock. I didn’t know what I was, just that I was different from my brothers and sisters. I think that’s what drew me to Lyta. She was… something different as well.”
He nodded.
“Just tell me one thing. Are we going to survive?” Shannon asked.
Titus smiled. “Surviving is what we do. The Fathers chose us to carry on their legacy.”
“The Fathers didn’t make my breed as fearless as yours.” She placed her hand on his. “But Lyta and my brother are with people who seem to know what they’re doing, may Ohan guide them through darkness and into the light of dawn.”
“You’re a religious type, then?” He had a twinkle in his eye. “My mother prayed to the Host. We’re supposed to be atheists, but I do it sometimes myself. It’s not like there are hells for bad atheists, you know?”
Shannon looked over the edge of the bridge at the yawning blackness. “I was raised in House Ibazz as one of the seven daughters. Force of habit, I suppose. So what happens if my friends succeed?”
Titus shrugged. “Dunno. That’s up to you. You’re our leader.”
“I don’t know the first thing about leadership.” Shannon blushed. But that isn’t exactly true, is it? She had spent years in Ibazz listening to the secret dealings of the Patriarchs and Dessim delegates. She knew the intricate workings of the city and had reams of scandalous information on every high-ranking official. Hells, when it suited her purposes, she had even let a few secrets find their way to Vyzad or Safina.
Shannon said after a while, “The Assemblies will hold a joint emergency session to impose martial law during reconstruction but—”
“Do we follow the Assembly?” he asked.
She chuckled at the thought. “They have no power to impose martial law without an army. We could take the city in the chaos. We could demand votes for a new Assembly and elect our own members. Hells, I may still be listed on the roster for Ibazz if they don’t have a replacement. With enough of us in the districts to take seats, enough to break the deadlock between the two sides, the Mirrored City could be ours if we wanted it. It would be easy…”
He leaned in closer. “It’s as good a city as any, sister. A new start for our race.”
“The Protectorate would never allow it,” Shannon said.
Titus weighed that idea, stroking his chin. “Yeah, but who would they send?”
She felt the floodgates open inside her mind. Beneath her own memories, the memories of the Fathers came rushing forth. Their methods, their strategies. “This was their plan all along. Send their soldiers to every corner of Creation as mercenaries. Replace the militias with sworn sellswords of unquestioning loyalty. Make them think we were their submissive property. It was always a plan to gain leverage until Patrea was ready to return to glory.”
“Huh.” He scratched his head. “Really? That seems like a long shot.”
Shannon shuddered. “They never thought small or short term. It was never about just surviving with them. They wanted us to inherit the world after they were gone.”
“Shit,” he said. “I don’t know that we need all that. I kinda like humans, to be honest. But it would be nice if they treated us as humans, too.”
“Conquering the world was the Fathers’ vision.” She looked at the troops as they buzzed about the encampment, sharpening weapons, setting up fortifications. “Right now I’d kill for a hot bath and some scented oils.”
Titus chuckled.
A week ago Shannon was like a bird in a gilded cage. She had not been treated as badly as the warriors, but she knew a thing or two about being second class in a society that viewed women as objects. As a woman, she was bound to the obligations of status without power to go with it. She never had any grand ambitions aside from being able to walk freely in the street and hold Lyta’s hand for all to see. Even that simple freedom had been denied to her.
Now she was handed the keys to an empire, essentially. It was no longer a cage, but the burden felt even heavier. Perhaps her brother—
Pain blossomed in her chest.
A crimson stain, unfolding like a flower across her dress with a stem like an arrow shaft.
She leaned into Titus, clawing desperately at his arms.
Blades were drawn. Shouts erupted all around her.
She felt herself laid gently on the cool stone of the bridge. Ruptured aorta. Some clinical self-diagnostic part of her racial memory floated to mind.
It hurt, but she shut out the pain, allowing her senses to flow outside her body into the myriad swarm of eyes around her.
There! Atop one of the fortifications. An archer, her bow drawn and back hunched slightly, eyes locked on Shannon’s bleeding body.
“I’m sorry,” the archer whispered. “It had to be done.”
Shannon’s last word was “Mother?�
�
FORTY-ONE
Vessel
3.7. When Achelon unleashed the Fifth Harrow, it fell to Creation in a plume of golden splendor and became Elethant.
3.8. Elethant was a Prince, son of a weak emperor of the same name in a city called Nemethae. It is told that his features were horrific to gaze upon and that he wore a mask night and day.
3.9. It is told that Elethant had once been fair but was filled with envy over those whom Ohan had granted greater fairness, and he desired to become the most beautiful among men.
3.10. So Elethant took the faces of others and stitched them to his own. The more perfect he became, the more he saw his own ugliness until not even Ohan could gaze upon him.
3.11 The Harrower chose Elethant and became the embodiment of vanity.
—EXCERPT FROM THE DAWN, BOOK EIGHT, CANTO 4
KELTIS COULDN’T HELP but stare at his ruined face in the mirrored chamber. The lavish room around him was all mirrors. The well-appointed furnishings, the walls, the table—even the fucking fruit. He couldn’t escape his reflection. It wasn’t so bad on the right side, but that almost made it worse—a reminder of his former perfection.
He was still alive and, as it turned out, the vessel for some cosmic being called Elethant. He knew the stories about the Harrowers. Every kid in Creation went to bed each night terrified they would be taken in their sleep by the horrible monsters. But having become one, he had to admit he wasn’t really all that scary.
Yes, he was nearly omnipotent and could indulge in any perversion he could invent (he was getting very inventive), but it brought him little comfort as he traced his fingers over the melted skin on the left half of his face. The skin had bubbled away, revealing the meat underneath. For all his supposed power, it was the one thing he couldn’t alter.
He poured himself a glass of wine, or some reflective version that looked like mercury, and swirled it around his glass. It tasted divine.
Keltis had always been keen to enjoy the finer things life had to offer. Up until recently, the height of his ambition had been to work his way into the patronage of Assemblyman by seduction or blackmail and spend his days basking in a rooftop garden or having decadent parties in a winter estate somewhere.
The whole Harrower thing was a bit of overkill, but he would adapt. He was nothing if not resourceful, and he had an entire city to play with. Currently they were still tearing themselves apart. He merely allowed them to do something they had wanted to do for generations. It was cathartic for them, and he had all the time in the world to make them do whatever he wanted.
He felt Soren and the mage, Maddox, burrowing deeper into his domain. They were nothing more than insects compared to the power he held. By the time they reached him, they would either be his slaves or his broken enemies. They were the ones who had ruined his face, and their payback would be an eternity of suffering.
There. A presence.
A man appeared from nothing in the center of the chamber. He had a forgettable face, handsome but not extraordinary. Serenely he addressed Keltis, “Do you know who I am?”
“Greetings, Emissary,” Keltis said. He had never met the man before, but he knew all sorts of things if he cared to recall them.
This was one of the First Mages, well known to the Harrowers. His body radiated theurgy. He wasn’t just a man, but a representative with the collective wyrd of the Travelers’ magic shielding him from Keltis.
The Emissary bowed his head slightly. “Greetings, Elethant… Or do you go by another name?”
“Keltis is fine. To what do I owe the honor of such an illustrious visit?”
He walked over to a chair and sat, making himself comfortable. “As is our duty, I have come to help release you from the shackles of this plane of existence. You do not belong in this world, and you know it.”
Keltis sat across from the Emissary. “I kind of like it here, Traveler.”
His face became a mask of false empathy. “Why do you subject yourself to this misery?”
“I could ask the same question of humanity.” Keltis’s voice became low and metallic. He wasn’t really sure it was him saying that, but whatever. “Why struggle to perpetuate something that is ephemeral and fleeting? Your existence serves no purpose other than to further your own existence. You are a chemical reaction. A slow decay of water and carbon, existing in a mere fraction of Creation.”
The Emissary smiled, a smug little quirk of the lips. “And you’re a mindless force of nature trapped in the personal hell of a callow young man with a ruined face.”
“Half ruined,” Keltis corrected sharply. “And as far as personal hells go, this is a pretty sweet setup. I have everything I could ever want. I just have to think it and it happens.”
“As you like.”
Keltis looked around, as if sniffing the air. “You’re trying to bind my power.” He could sense them, scattered across Creation, pouring everything they had into the most obscure magics their minds could comprehend.
“We are,” the Emissary admitted. He folded his hands on his lap and stared with his watery gray eyes.
Keltis leaned forward, a wicked grin plastered on his face. “That’s adorable. It won’t make me go anywhere.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Keltis let out a long, exasperated sigh as he examined his manicure. He glanced up at the Emissary, who was still there, sitting patiently, a smug look plastered over his face. He didn’t seem scared in the least.
Keltis lunged, knocking over the table and wine bottle and glass. They exploded into shards as they crashed against the floor.
The Emissary moved faster than Keltis thought possible, catching his wrist before his blow connected. His fist was inches from the Traveler’s cheek. Keltis could see his snarling, disfigured reflection in the other man’s placid gaze.
The Traveler cocked his head slightly. “That wasn’t nice.”
Keltis suppressed a chuckle. “I’m barely trying. How are you holding up?”
A bead of sweat formed on the Emissary’s brow. “Just dandy.”
Keltis pushed his fist closer to the man’s head. The Emissary grunted with exertion as his strength gave out and the blow made its way inexorably toward his face.
The floor shook as the men struggled. The shattered remains of the table jiggled with the vibration, a musical chorus of dancing glass. A crack formed on the mirrored floor between them, spiderweb-like fractures radiating outward through the chamber, racing up the walls and through the furniture. Trails of glittery dust fell from the ceiling where the cracks spread.
The Emissary began chanting under his breath, a glossolalia of the old words strung together with some new. His eyes showed the slightest glint of terror.
Keltis leaned in so he was inches from the Emissary’s nose. “You Travelers think you’re so smart. You’ve got it all covered—a whole plan of attack for the next Incursion. Between you, the fucking Eye of Ohan, and your mortal instruments, you think you can contain us. But we can adapt, too…”
The Traveler lashed out with his other hand, but Keltis caught it just as easily as the Emissary had caught his own. They were locked. Shards of glass peeled from the walls and ceiling of the chamber.
“Nice try, Preston, but you can’t smack me around like your fiancée. What was her name? Julia?” Keltis glanced at the Emissary’s clenched fist.
The Emissary grunted, continuing his incantation. A line of red dripped from his nose.
“That’s right, Preston. I know all about your little temper tantrums and how daddy covered it up. They sent you halfway across the universe so you wouldn’t sully the good name of the esteemed Godfrey family. You’re a disappointment to everyone. You’re nothing.”
The Emissary snapped his head forward into Keltis’s nose. His vision exploded in white stars as he reeled back.
The room collapsed in a shower of broken mirrors, and the two of them fell into an Abyss of nothingness below.
The thing inside Keltis wailed i
n indignation as they tumbled through the void. Shards of glass and mirror spun through the air, plummeting alongside them. Keltis grappled the Emissary, scratching at his face and kicking him.
The pieces of the shattered room shot down faster, knitting together into larger pieces. Below them, a new room formed as each of the shards fell perfectly into place, rebuilding the room from the ground up.
It met them as they fell, and the two men hit the hard mirrored floor as the chamber reconstructed itself around them.
Keltis sprang to his feet. “I hope you’re happy. You may have weakened me temporarily but at the expense of weakening yourself even more. I think I should still have more than enough power to dispatch you.”
The Emissary did not get up. He rolled to the side, his arm draped across his ribs. He was hurt—and weak.
And he’s still prettier than I am. We can’t have that.
Keltis stepped toward the Emissary, but he vanished. “You fucking cowards!” Keltis shouted to the empty air.
A woman’s voice came from behind him. “Vanity. I should have guessed.”
He turned to see a dark-skinned woman holding a long gleaming sword. Not just any sword, the Sword.
Keltis smiled. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
FORTY-TWO
Sacrifice
SWORD
Fuck proverbs.
—THE ICONOCLAST, TRAVELER’S PROVERBS
“YOUR FACE LOOKS like melted cheese. Not a good look for the avatar of vanity,” Sword said, readying her blade. Having a joined consciousness, the Sword hadn’t had any problems passing deeper into the Cyst. Her friends would be along shortly. She just needed to distract the Harrower.
Keltis scoffed. “You’re a fifty-year-old woman in skin-tight black leather. Forgive me if I don’t take fashion advice from you.”
“Touché,” Sword said.
“Are you going to try to kill me now?”
“You could always kill yourself. It would save me a lot of time.”
The Mirrored City Page 32
