The Fifth Empire of Man

by Rob J. Hayes

Feather’s teeth found Jolan’s ear and the boy bit down, tearing a new scream from Jolan’s mouth. Smithe rushed forwards, his knife back in his hand, and punched Feather hard in the face. The metal of Smithe’s knuckle rings broke the boy’s nose with the first hit, and the quartermaster didn’t stop there. Smithe punched him again and again, until Feather lost his grip on Jolan and crashed to the floor.

  “My fucking ear. My fucking ear! Tell me it’s still there, Jotin.” Jolan was shaking all over. Blood dripped steadily from the wounds on his head and chest. Pavel ran forwards to tend to him.

  “Um…” Jotin shut his mouth and shrugged at his brother.

  Feather was still twitching on the floor, gurgling on the blood weeping out of his ruined face. Smithe stood over the boy with his vicious knife still in hand.

  “Fuck this.” Smithe dropped to his knees, straddling Feather. He started punching, each strike accompanied by a sickening thump. Aimi was certain she’d have lost her stomach again if there’d been anything left to lose.

  By the time Smithe had finished, he was dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. His expression had turned from rage to disgust, and blood and worse dripped from his fist onto the floor beside Feather’s body. Pavel was busy wrapping a bandage around the head of a wincing Jolan, and the others were either silently watching Smithe or had turned away from the violence. Aimi huddled against the arch, her knees drawn up close.

  Smithe stood and staggered away from the body, and Aimi got a good view of the wreckage the quartermaster left behind. Her stomach roiled and she dry-heaved.

  There was nothing left of Feather’s pretty face to recognise. The boy’s head was all torn skin, smashed skull, blood, and bits of brain. Never before had Aimi seen anything so hideous, and none of the others had either, judging by their similar reactions. Even Smithe looked sickened to his soul at the carnage he’d wrought.

  “Let’s…” Smithe took a deep breath, and it came out ragged. “Let’s go.”

  Alfer appeared at Aimi’s side, holding out a hand to help her up. She took it gratefully and pulled herself to her feet, joining the others as they started once more towards the exit.

  Aimi heard shuffling behind her, and turned to see Feather’s corpse twitching on the floor. As if tugged by a puppet’s strings, the headless body rose up into a crouch, facing the fleeing expedition.

  “Ya gotta be fucking joking,” Smithe said. “Ya don’t even have a head!”

  Feather’s body lurched forwards a step, and Smithe grabbed the torch from Aimi’s hand and flung it at the boy.

  “Run!” the quartermaster screamed. It was all the permission they needed. As one, the group turned and sprinted for the dim rectangle of light that marked their way out.

  With six people all trying to get out of the temple at the same time, it was a fair squeeze through the doorway and Aimi clipped her shoulder against the stone door. She cried out in pain as her momentum spun her around, and she tripped over her own feet, crashing to the ground. The world twisted and spun about as she rolled down the steps.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Alfer stopped at Aimi’s side and picked her up once again. Every limb hurt, and she was grazed and cut all over. Her knees were protesting at the beating they’d taken, but there were more important things to worry about.

  “Where’s Kebble?” Jotin said in a high, panic-stricken voice. The marksman was nowhere to be seen.

  “Which way did we come to get here?” Smithe said.

  Alfer pointed. “That way, I think.”

  “You think or you know?”

  Feather’s headless body lurched into view in the temple doorway. The vines infesting the building started to move, winding around pillars and crawling across the stone like snakes. The chittering noise was louder now, and a dark tide of legs and carapaces flooded out of the temple around Feather’s feet.

  “I think.” Alfer said, walking backwards.

  “It’ll do,” Smithe whispered. “Everybody, run. No stopping for anything. Go!”

  Chapter 44 - The Phoenix

  Kebble wandered alone through the ruined city that had once been his home. The figures he saw in the streets weren’t spirits; they were ghosts of his past. People he’d once known, people he’d once loved. All dead and gone. All his fault. Now nothing but figments of his imagination.

  There had always been a tugging. Kebble had felt it for long over a thousand years, an invisible rope always pulling him back to HwoyonDo. He’d searched for his death everywhere in the known world, but here and now, he knew why he’d never been able to find that end he longed for.

  Kebble was a relic of a long-forgotten past. He neither desired nor deserved to live, and neither did he belong to the current age. His god had cursed him with long life. Now Kebble realised it was only until his return, only until his god could claim his miserable soul.

  He passed the house that had once belonged to his first wife. They’d met at the library, both children of patronless scholars. The romance had been a whirlwind of passion and competition. Hiria had been as determined as Kebble, though she simply hadn’t been able to keep up with the speed at which he absorbed knowledge. They married in the spring, and by the end of that winter, Hiria had given Kebble his first son.

  Kebble moved on. He had no wish to dig too deep into those memories. He remembered his first son as both a babe and as an old, wrinkled man bitter at his father’s permanent youth. Kebble remembered all of his children in their twilight years.

  Walking past his father’s ghost, Kebble averted his eyes. He had no wish to see the man beaten and bloody, clutching his right hand to his chest and praying his fingers weren’t broken. It was a dangerous game his father had played with the criminals of HwoyonDo, and eventually it cost him everything.

  Kebble’s weary legs carried him to the great library, house of all knowledge the Forgotten Empire had ever earned. In many ways it represented the beginning of his journey, the beginning of his life. He had a feeling it would also be the end of both. Kebble wondered if any of the texts inside had survived the many years. Perhaps, before his end, he would learn something new.

  Turning away from the library, Kebble set his feet back towards the temple. It was likely the others would have finished looting the place by now, and they might need help returning to the gate. Kebble would lead them to their destination. He wished to speak to Captain Stillwater once more, to thank the man and say goodbye.

  A spirit drifted past Kebble. He couldn’t see them, not like some could, but he could feel them. It was their hatred towards him that he sensed. It was hard not to feel that much malice emanating from something, even an ethereal whisper like the spirits that infested what had become of the empire.

  Another spirit floated past, and then another, and another. Kebble found himself assaulted from all sides by the hatred flowing from the creatures. They were all going the same way, towards the temple.

  Kebble broke into a run. He needed to warn the others what was coming.

  Chapter 45 - Starry Dawn

  They walked in silence for a long time after leaving the Observatory. Elaina could tell Keelin was deep in thought, and she could guess the subject. It wasn’t every day someone asked you to betray a friend and sit your arse down on a throne. Not that the pirates had a throne. Now that Elaina thought about – and she thought about it quite a lot – she wanted one. A crown seemed a little ostentatious, but all kings and queens had thrones, and some of them were more than a little grand. Elaina imagined a nice wooden chair, tall and exquisitely carved out of driftwood salvaged from their enemies’ scuttled navies. The image brought a smile to her face.

  Keelin stopped and threw up a hand so suddenly that Elaina walked into it.

  “What the fuck…” she started, but the complaint died in her throat.

  Bronson was back, and the big pirate looked even worse than before. The roads were quite well lit, with the clouds clearing up and the moon and stars shining down upon them. Even in the dark, Elaina co
uld see the man wasn’t only infested with spirits; the vines that crawled along the walls of the buildings had taken up residence in his body as well.

  Dark green cords wound up his legs, through his bloody skin, and inside his body. There was a small, wiggling end protruding from Bronson’s ruined eye. The pirate’s skeletal hands had been snapped away, and in their place sat Keelin’s lost cutlasses, wedged into the ragged flesh of Bronson’s arms and held in place by coiling vines.

  “I’m starting to form a real dislike of this city,” Keelin said quietly.

  “You always were a bit slow, Stillwater,” Elaina replied, taking a shaky step forward. If she could get close to Bronson without him attacking, it was possible she could hypnotise the spirits again. Hopefully she could distract them long enough for Keelin to deal some damage.

  “We should be able to take him together,” Keelin said, though he didn’t sound too certain.

  “Maybe you ain’t noticed, Stillwater,” Elaina said, already beginning to sway from side to side as she approached the thing that had once been Bronson, “but he’s pretty mangled and he ain’t down. Killing these things ain’t really an option.”

  “So what should we do?”

  “Hamstring the fucker and run like all the Hells are behind us. Which is pretty close to the reality of it.”

  It was almost like a dance as Elaina moved step by step towards Bronson, swaying from side to side as she went. It was a trick she’d learned back on Fango, only back then she’d never thought she’d actually have a practical use for it, as none of the spirits there were homicidal.

  Bronson lurched forwards. Elaina saw the cutlass coming and could do nothing to stop it, couldn’t dodge it. The world seemed to slow, and then she was flung backwards past Keelin and rolling in the dust.

  Elaina shook her head and looked up. Keelin was wielding her sword with a skill beyond her own, swatting away Bronson’s wild slashes and scoring a number of hits on the bigger man’s body. The damage didn’t so much as slow him down.

  Bronson brought both cutlasses over his head and down, forcing Keelin to block. Driven to his knees, there was nothing Keelin could do but yelp in surprise when a vine ripped its way out of Bronson’s forearm and wrapped itself around Keelin’s hands.

  Elaina leapt past the restrained captain, right inside Bronson’s reach, and planted her little dagger in the monster’s good eye, then ripped it out and slashed at the vine holding Keelin.

  Tearing himself free, Keelin shook his hands violently until the damned thing fell away. Elaina danced away from a wild swipe and crashed into him, sending them both rolling in the dirt.

  Keelin was on his feet first and helped Elaina to hers. His hands were red and blisters were already beginning to show, but they had bigger concerns in the form of a mad spirit attempting to slice them in two.

  Bronson was thrashing about wildly, swinging from side to side with Keelin’s cutlasses. The man opened his mouth as if to scream and another vine thrust forth, ripping through his cheek and coiling about his neck.

  Elaina glanced at Keelin and then nodded upwards. Keelin nodded back; he’d seen what she had – they’d switched positions with Bronson, and the big pirate was now between them and the Observatory. Elaina scooped a rock from the ground and hurled it at the spirit-infested pirate, a last distraction before she and Keelin turned and fled.

  Chapter 46 - The Phoenix

  Kebble watched the six figures fleeing through the streets. From his elevated position they looked so small. They ran with reckless abandon, terrified by the lone follower. Only he wasn’t alone. From his vantage point, Kebble could see the ground moving with the creatures that flowed after the expedition.

  It was a trick of the mind, and Kebble squinted to see past what his head was struggling to comprehend. The earth wasn’t moving; it was the millions of insects crawling and scuttling along that made it look as though the ground were giving chase itself.

  The six fleeing pirates probably didn’t even know just how much danger they were in. Clearly the spirit that had taken and warped Feather’s body was no mere angry whisper – more like a bellow of rage. Kebble hadn’t realised they could grow so powerful.

  Kebble leapt across a fallen skybridge and ran from rooftop to rooftop in an attempt to keep his comrades in sight. They were moving in the right direction, though he didn’t think they would make it out of the city without his help. He only hoped they would be safe if they made it back to the forest.

  Some of the six were starting to flag and fall behind. The priest of Pelsing was more stumbling than running, and the others weren’t faring much better. The insects and Feather’s body weren’t moving quickly, but their pursuit was steady, relentless. Echoing shouts reached Kebble’s ears and he saw the priest stagger to a halt and drop to his knees, clutching at his chest. Smithe skidded to a halt and ran back to him, shouting. The cry echoed up through the buildings, but Kebble couldn’t pick out the quartermaster’s words. Smithe grabbed the priest beneath his arms and hauled the smaller man to his feet, giving him a rough shove to drive him onwards.

  Kebble heard another shout, and he set off at a sprint for the south side of the rooftop. There, looking down into the streets below, he saw Captains Stillwater and Black also running for their lives, chased by a figure that looked a lot like it had once been Bronson. Any vines Bronson passed came to life, wriggling and detaching themselves from the walls they infested, slithering along the ground like snakes.

  Kebble ran across a skybridge and then across the next rooftop, leaping over a small gap to another new building. He could see the gate from his position, and it wouldn’t be long before the expedition could too. The wards on the gate were designed to keep the forest out, but they’d long ago failed; it was unlikely they would work now to keep the forest in.

  Kebble moved quickly to the east side of the rooftop and took up position, drawing his rifle from its sling and bringing it up to his shoulder. Looking down the sight helped him concentrate, helped him focus on the details.

  The six members of the expedition were still running from the spirit chasing them. They were moving much more slowly now, with many of the group clearly struggling. Fear was driving them on past their own exhaustion. Kebble swept the barrel of his rifle along the street until he came to the figure chasing them.

  Feather’s headless body lurched along in a broken lope, trailing gore and insects behind him. With so many of the little creatures, anyone caught would soon be reduced to their bones, and the bugs might not even stop there.

  Kebble steadied his breathing and took aim. He let the world recede around him as he targeted Feather’s heart and slowly squeezed the trigger.

  Feather’s body was flung sideways, rolling to a stop in the street. The insect swarm surged around him like a protective shield, but nothing could protect the boy from Kebble.

  Kebble reloaded and took aim again. His last shot had been dead on, punching through Feather’s chest right where his heart would be. The boy’s body was still twitching, still struggling to get to its feet. Even with no head and no heart, the spirit was still able to control the corpse. Kebble admitted then that he had no idea how to destroy the spirit, but he might be able to slow it down long enough for the others to escape.

  As Feather struggled back to his feet, Kebble aimed lower and fired again.

  Feather’s left knee exploded and the body hit the ground once more, flailing, his limbs flinging out in every direction. Kebble reloaded again and took aim once more. Feather got his hands beneath him and crawled onto all fours, though one leg dragged uselessly behind him. The insects surged around and over him, coating the boy in thousands of little shells. His vision of the body obscured, Kebble aimed for what he hoped was the right knee.

  A sharp pain flared on Kebble’s neck, and he swatted at it with his hand. When he pulled it away he found a squashed beetle, its legs still twitching, and it wasn’t alone. Hundreds of the little bugs were starting to crest the ledge around the
rooftop, and they were swarming towards Kebble.

  Chapter 47 - The Phoenix

  Keelin staggered to a halt, leaning against a wall that crumbled under his weight. He was breathing hard and struggling to keep up with Elaina. Keelin hated to admit it, but the woman was in better shape than he was. She barely even seemed out of breath, though the red in her cheeks and the fire in her eyes made her beautiful.

  They’d put some distance between themselves and the monstrosity that had once been Bronson. It wasn’t enough. The big pirate was slow, but seemingly unstoppable, and nor did he tire. Keelin didn’t even want to think about how the bastard was controlling the vines snaking their way through the ruined city.

  Elaina winked at him and moved forwards to the intersection. They’d been heading north for the most part and needed to cut east if they were to meet up with the others at the gate.

  A shot ripped through the air and echoed around the streets. Keelin recognised the sound of Kebble’s rifle. He looked up, but he couldn’t see the marksman anywhere.

  “Trouble, ya think?” Elaina said.

  “We’re already in trouble,” Keelin replied between breaths. “Not a stretch to think the others are too.”

  At the end of the street, six members of the expedition barrelled past. They didn’t stop to look, so intent were they on their headlong flight. Keelin shared a glance with Elaina and then pushed back into a run alongside her.

  Another shot echoed around them as they reached the intersection and stopped. To the right Keelin saw the six pirates running for their lives. His heart skipped a beat when he realised Aimi was among them, and a wave of relief washed over him, followed quickly by a much larger wave of guilt. Keelin looked left to see what they were running from, and his blood froze.

  Scuttling up a vertical wall was a decapitated body, and from the remnants of shredded clothing it wore, Keelin could tell it was – or at least had been – Feather. It was moving like a grotesque out of the deepest nightmares. Thousands of insects flowed around the lad, far more than was worth even thinking about counting. Above, Kebble was running and leaping from rooftop to rooftop, his rifle in his hand.