Etherwalker

by Cameron Dayton

  His eyes were closed, and he had his hand splayed against an outlet next to the portal. As soon as they were in earshot, he smiled, and without opening his eyes, he gestured and invited them to sit. The boy’s shadowcat pet purred a greeting to G’Nor and shifted color to a matching tawny brown. G’Nor ignored her. Mesha pretended not to notice, leaping off of Enoch’s shoulder to explore the hallway behind them.

  “You are late, Sera. G’Nor. The guns will be starting soon, and we have to be ready to move quickly.”

  Sera climbed off of G’Nor’s back, careful not to jostle her wings.

  “Sorry, Shepherd Boy. I had G’Nor unlock the manticore cage and hurry out before shutting the trap door—those clever monsters should be able to figure out how to open it eventually. It will be a nice surprise for the Huntsmen when they go up to prepare the King’s next foray.”

  Enoch opened his eyes and looked at her crossly. He didn’t like when his plans were changed.

  “Sera, there is a good chance that ‘those clever monsters’ will find a way out of that chamber. There is a vent shaft they could fit through, possibly alerting the tower security earlier than we had planned. And the trap door itself isn’t built to withstand . . . hey, you didn’t let the troll loose, too, did you?”

  Sera let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Have a little bit of faith in your conspirators, Enoch. I blocked access to the vent with my own cage. And G’Nor moved the troll pen in front of the trap door, not close enough for our slobbering friend to touch it, but close enough for him to grab any manticore which dares to approach.”

  Enoch was quiet for a moment. He nodded, then turned back to the outlet he was monitoring.

  He’s going to have to learn to trust us.

  G’Nor signed to Sera. He wanted to know what Enoch saw.

  It was a good question. If things were as rushed as Enoch claimed, what had captured his attention like this?

  “G’Nor wants to know what you are looking at.”

  Enoch put his other hand against the wall and murmured, “What is that?”

  “What? What are you seeing, Enoch?”

  He was shaking his head, and Sera watched a blue-white thread of electricity curl from the outlet and wind around Enoch’s scarred wrist.

  Eyes still closed, he shook his head. “I’m watching the Vestigarchy front lines from the docking cameras—the lenses are old and cracked, and I can’t focus in as close as I’d like to. But the blackspawn have just pulled back and . . . something has just come forward.”

  Sera stepped closer.

  “Something?”

  “It . . . it looks like a man. But he’s being carried by . . . no, they are metal, but those are his legs . . . hold on, let me try and see if I can . . .”

  Enoch’s lips began to move in some sort of chant. Sera recognized it as the mantra he used on occasion to focus his powers and send his mind great distances. He had used this litania eteria to explore Windroost Spire after she had told him about her people’s home. And he had discovered the explosives Nyraud had placed on the supporting girders that ran up through the garden—insurance against the Alaphim’s disobedience.

  Even after having learned of the king’s hunts, this new information shook him. Enoch still wants to believe in Nyraud’s goodness.

  She placed a hand on Enoch’s rigid shoulder. His lips had stopped moving. The boy was deeply focused on the events of the battlefield below. Sera was still worried about her own people.

  Luckily Enoch was able to send word of the explosives to Lamech in his navigation bridge-turned-perch. I’ll bet that old rooster was surprised to see one of his “bookshelves” come to electrical life—and then spell out the need for our Spire to be evacuated.

  The thought made Sera sad, and she had to remind herself of its necessity.

  If Enoch had risked deactivating those bombs, the king could have simply replaced them at any time. My people have to move on—I hope they listened to Lamech. And I hope that I will be able to find them again. I wonder where they will—

  Enoch cried out and jolted away from the wall, his eyes popping open. He spun around and pointed an accusing finger at Sera. G’Nor surged forward with a growl.

  “He’s one of you!” shouted Enoch, his teeth bared. “The leader of the blackspawn is an Alaphim!”

  “What? You’re wrong. That can’t be true!”

  Enoch took an angry step forward, accusatory finger jabbing at Sera.

  “He has your bones. He’s one of you!”

  There was a rush of russet motion, and Enoch was suddenly pinned to the ground beneath G’Nor’s paw. The Ur’lyn roared, and the walls of the tunnel shook.

  Sera strained forward.

  “No! Don’t kill him! We need to know what he saw out there!”

  G’Nor hesitated, then retracted his black claws. Five thin lines of blood ran down Enoch’s chest. The boy was staring at her still, his face a mask of anger and confusion.

  “Listen, Shepherd Boy, I don’t know what you saw out there, but it doesn’t excuse you from courtesy. You chose not to be a prince anymore. Now you have to choose not to act like one.”

  Enoch’s breathing calmed, and Sera could see him forcing down the anger. He looked up and placed his hands on G’Nor’s restraining paw.

  “I . . . I’m sorry, Sera. Get your pet off of—”

  G’Nor’s roar blasted Enoch’s sable hair flat against his skull.

  “Sorry . . . would you please ask G’Nor to let me up?”

  G’Nor turned to her and signed.

  Sera shook her head.

  “G’Nor, we need him to help us out of these tunnels. We need him to guide us through the coming fusillade and past the blackspawn.”

  She looked down at Enoch, who appeared to be calculating how to move out from under G’Nor. His hand started moving slowly towards the sword at his waist.

  “And besides, we owe him our trust for setting us free. Maybe he will be different from his posterity? Maybe he won’t be a Worldbreaker?”

  Enoch’s hand stopped moving. G’Nor lowered his muzzle to rest it against the boy’s chin and then opened his jaws wide. The white and yellow fangs encompassed Enoch’s entire chest. G’Nor licked the blood from the puncture wounds he’d left and signed to Sera.

  “G’Nor says that now he has tasted your blood. He will be watching you. He will know if you turn. And then he will kill you.”

  Enoch reached up with his hands and grasped the sides of G’Nor’s jaws tightly. Sera could barely hear his whisper.

  “Don’t let me become like them. Please.”

  G’Nor pulled back and closed his mouth. He sat back on his haunches and regarded Enoch with surprise.

  Sera bent over and helped Enoch to his feet. He couldn’t look her in the eye.

  “Okay, so G’Nor has decided to trust you, Shepherd Boy. Now . . . tell me what you saw.”

  Enoch, still avoiding her gaze, walked over to the outlet and placed his hand against it. He spoke, and his voice was in the detached monotone of his pensa spada trance.

  “The man who is approaching the front lines of the coldmen, the man all of the blackspawn are bowing to, he . . . isn’t a normal man. At first I thought he was some sort of monster, one of those Iron Ogres you hear about wandering the ice-fields of the North. He is covered in thick plates of armor, and is suspended from six massive steel legs—insect-like legs rooted in his back—”

  Sera gasped.

  “His back . . . ?”

  “Exactly. As soon as I looked closer, looked inside of his construction, I could see the truth. He is an Alaphim, Sera, just like you. Only his wings have been replaced by these automated insect legs, and the armor around his form is fused to the metal in his bones. And Sera—he’s old. The design of his frame, the weave of his metal, it is more primitive than yours. Even the metal itself is of a cruder substance, not the light ceramic alloy you have.”

  Why does it make me feel naked when he talks about me li
ke that?

  “But the legs, the armor—all of the unfamiliar elements that disguised his true nature from me—they are designed without the artistry of his inner structure. They are designed by the Serpent. Simple, rough, pragmatic; no thought towards beauty. Koatul’s work. I’ve seen it in the coldmen weapons. I know it.”

  Enoch finally looked up at her, his eyes cold. “Why didn’t you tell me your people served the Serpent?”

  Sera held back the urge to shout.

  Remember he’s still just a boy. He doesn’t know.

  “Enoch, you need to know a little bit of history. Originally, my people were the Pensanden’s greatest allies. And after the Schism, your kind deliberately ignored us; they were too worried about keeping their power and regaining control of the world. We had to find the most inaccessible places in the world—our Spires—to avoid the hatred that came from our association with you. A few of the Alaphim, a cursed few, were angry enough about the Pensanden abandonment to join the Vestigarchy. They were known as the Arkángels. We never knew what happened to them after the Hunt. Now . . . now I guess we can see that the Serpent kept them alive, or at least one of them. He must be very old. Centuries.”

  For some reason Enoch seemed unimpressed by that, but he was contrite as he turned back to the outlet.

  “I’m sorry, Sera.”

  “That’s okay, Enoch. Next time ask before accusing.”

  She could see him clenching up, holding back the pride and anger at her condescension. It was good that he was able to show this kind of control, but Sera couldn’t help but enjoy his turmoil.

  Shouting at me like that!

  “So what is the Arkángel doing?”

  Enoch tilted his head, curious.

  “He is holding something. A . . . a metal staff. It’s a machine. The circuitry is incredibly complicated, but it looks like some sort of antenna, something meant to broadcast a pattern . . .”

  “He is walking forwards—he is coming within range of the cannons! Is he trying to die? I can see Father’s Huntsmen bringing the front battery into position. The weapon is charging . . . He’s raising his staff . . .”

  Enoch went quiet. He brought his other hand up next to the outlet. The walls around them shuddered as the massive cannons fired. For some reason, even though she didn’t know this Alaphim, Sera cried out. Her kind were so few. This suicide didn’t make sense!

  Did he see this as a way of escaping from Serpent’s hold? Is the Arkángel atoning for his betrayal?

  “Enoch? Enoch, what happened?”

  “He’s stopped right at the edge of the cannon range. Father sent a salvo into the earth in front of him, but the . . . the Arkángel seemed to know exactly how far he had to go. How would he know that?”

  Sera shook her head.

  Has the Serpent blessed him with Pensanden sight? It sounds like he is more machine than angel now. Did he willingly surrender himself for this power?

  Enoch continued narrating as he watched.

  “The Arkángel’s staff . . . he has activated it. It’s broadcasting the pattern now . . .” Enoch turned to look at Sera, “I don’t know what he thinks that is going to do—I’ve changed the patterns on all of the cannons and entry gates to my own coded resonance. There’s no way he can affect . . .” He turned back to his focus. And smiled.

  “He’s leaving now! He just gave a sign to the blackspawn armies behind him. They are departing as well! They’re going!”

  Sera couldn’t believe it.

  “Enoch, they wouldn’t bring a force like that here and then allow a little artillery to frighten them off. They’ve got enough coldmen out there to swarm this place!”

  Enoch turned to her triumphantly.

  “No, Sera. They’ve seen what I’ve done here. They’ve realized that my cannons can hold that perimeter indefinitely, or at least as long as it would take them to expend their entire force. They’re giving up!”

  “Enoch,” Sera said, her voice low, “the Vestigarchy doesn’t give up. They’ve ruled over this broken world for centuries now. I’m sure your cannons are impressive, but—”

  Enoch interrupted her with a laugh, extending his hand to the portal. With a groan of rusting metal, the wheeled handle began to twist open. Apparently the automatic functions were still intact.

  “We better make our escape while my father is up celebrating with his men. My hours of ‘concealment’ in the Core Unit just turned into minutes.”

  G’Nor was already nosing the door open, and a wave of humid swamp air washed over them. He growled encouragement.

  Sera waved off his urgency and turned back to Enoch. There were bigger concerns.

  “Are you sure that they are leaving? Are you sure that we are safe going out now?”

  Enoch, still unbearably sure of himself, smiled and motioned for her to exit with G’Nor. Mesha was already outside, and Sera wondered if the shadowcat would leave them now that it was home again.

  “Just let me shut down my planned barrage of the northern swamps—it would just be wasted energy. The draconflies have already moved beyond range, are already past our own exit. You know, it was a good thing you showed up late after all!”

  With a laugh he turned from Sera to put his hand on the outlet. Sera gave him a worried look and then followed G’Nor out the door.

  The swamp spread out before them seemed so open, so alive after her long weeks in a cage. Gnarled trees grew up around the metal exit, and the ground in front of them sloped forwards a few feet before sinking into still, mottled water.

  I think I’ll ride on G’Nor’s back for this part of the journey.

  She snapped the distance ring down on her cheek mounts and looked into the gray morning sky. Sure enough, the retreating forms of black draconflies were spread across the horizon.

  Is it possible that this shepherd Pensanden boy has done what scores of his own people never could? Has he driven the Vestigarchy away?

  A cry came from the portal behind her, and she scrambled back through the opening. Enoch was horrified, staggering back away from the outlet.

  “Enoch? Enoch! What is it?”

  Enoch turned, his eyes angry and shocked.

  “Are the blackspawn coming back? Should we go—”

  Enoch stumbled, pushing her out of the portal, and then followed. He turned to close it.

  “Enoch?”

  He leaned into the heavy iron doorway, and Sera could hear the machinery inside tightening with a brutal strength. The border around the door began to glow with the heat of friction, and steam rose from the surrounding damp earth. There was a shriek of metal, and sparks flew from the hinges. Sera grabbed Enoch and spun him to face her.

  “Enoch! What are you doing?”

  Enoch avoided her eyes again, shook her hand from him, and trudged down the path and into the water. Mesha leapt up onto his shoulder, and he absently stroked her tail. He was heading north.

  “I sealed the portal. It will never open again.”

  Sera gestured to G’Nor, and he lowered himself so she could clamber up onto his back. He signed to her, signed that he had heard screams from the tunnel just before the Pensanden had closed it.

  Screams?

  She looked back as G’Nor stepped into the water behind Enoch. The portal was solidly welded into place, the red metal cooling to black as steam wound around its form. As G’Nor moved nearer to Enoch, Sera could hear the boy mumbling to himself:

  “The coffins. Entire rooms of those electric coffins, and I never looked inside them. Why didn’t I check the coffins?”

  Sera leaned down to place a gentle hand on Enoch’s shoulder. He flinched.

  “Enoch, what coffins? What did you see?”

  He turned to look up at her, eyes wet and darkly wrought.

  “Silverwitches. The Arkángel woke them with his staff. He brought his army here to keep our eyes focused on the walls, to keep our forces with their backs to the real danger.”

  Sera recognized the look. He was as
hamed. He was ashamed at being wrong, ashamed at failing his father, but more than anything he was ashamed at having been outthought when he’d had weeks to perfect this plan. His voice broke into a whisper.

  “Platabrujas. Hundreds of them.”

  Enoch turned his attention back to his pace through the stagnant water in front of him, whispering the last part almost to himself.

  “They will kill everybody.”

  Sera put her hand on G’Nor’s shoulder, directed him to fall behind by a couple paces. The Pensanden Prince needed space to grieve. He had just lost his kingdom, his tower, his father, and his pride.

  Chapter 20

  “The Hunt is over. You shall return to the West and take your place in the trenches with your brothers. Your thirst for blood is needed in another place now, in another form. But do not worry—it will always be needed.”

  — Arkángel Desgarrar, to the new Hiveking

  The wind roared at this speed, and Mosk felt cold.

  Cold? The blackspawn do not feel cold!

  Mosk tightened his grip on the antennae, and the draconfly rumbled in protest. They were high in the air, higher than the creatures were meant to fly, and Mosk knew that if he didn’t steer down into lower altitudes its breathing slits would freeze up. The draconfly would suffocate before challenging an order.

  This is true of all blackspawn.

  Except . . . except for the Hiveking.

  He could still see the crowning, couldn’t strike the image from his mind. Proximate Isk had been ready for the enzyme bath, the marks on his shoulder-plates and belly already changing from blue to purple. Two members of the serving caste had lifted Isk into the swirling depths of the bath while another perched above them, kneading the length of the Matriarch’s swollen mesothorax. Dark green oozed from the moist glands at the tip of her abdomen and slopped into the freshly dug pit. Proximate Isk immersed himself in the fluids while the servants left to inform the Arkángel. The coldmen weren’t much for ceremony.